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Chapter Text

Mianmian sits down across from Wei Wuxian and leans over the table, eyes sparkling. “I hear we have a visitor.”

He pauses, noodles dangling from his chopsticks. “And?”

“Zewu Jun.” Mianmian preens with the satisfaction of having delivered hot gossip.

“Zewu Jun? What, he’s getting rid of Meng Yao?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s obviously here on behalf of his brother.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, wagging his chopsticks at her. “Meng Yao has been with him for, what, five years? Maybe Zewu Jun is ready for a replacement.”

“Oh please, it’s Meng Yao.”

He stuffs the noodles in his mouth and chews ostentatiously. “Mm. Didn’t he murder somebody?”

She wrinkles her nose as bits of noodle fly across the table. “That’s just a rumor. Probably. Point is, omegas like Meng Yao don’t get traded in after only five years.”

Wei Wuxian eats his lunch, contemplating, and ignores Mianmian sneaking a dumpling off his plate. She deserves it this time. “So, you think he’s here for Hanguang Jun?”

“Gotta be,” Mianmian says, mumbling around a mouthful of stolen dumpling.

“Is Hanguang Jun here too?”

She shrugs.

He takes a drink of water and then slams the cup down on the table. “Let’s go find out.”

She grins and trots after him without protest. This is why Mianmian is the best.

As they pass through the dining hall, it’s obvious the news is spreading. The usual mealtime murmur has crescendoed to a clamor as novices bend their heads together. Since the cultivation conference began last week, the temple has been buzzing with anticipation. Between the novices trading rumors about which cultivators are in the market for omegas and their teachers scurrying to prep them for visitors, the usually drowsy temple has burst into life.

And if Mianmian is right, and Zewu Jun is here to secure an omega for his younger brother . . . Well, the competition might get bloodthirsty. With Zewu Jun firmly in Meng Yao’s undoubtedly well-manicured claws, Hanguang Jun is the current first-ranked alpha of the cultivation world. Securing a contract with him is the dream of every novice in the temple.

Well, all but one. Wei Wuxian grins wryly as they head to the courtyard. Nothing against the renowned Hanguang Jun, but Wei Wuxian refuses to wind himself up about being someone’s plaything. Not that it’s likely to happen, anyway.

Still, he’s curious. Everyone says the Twin Jades are not only beautiful, but also extremely powerful. These days, he only gets to see cultivators when they come to browse the merchandise, and it’s rare to see anyone as fabled as the Lan sect leader and his younger brother.

The temple’s courtyard is empty, and the next most likely place is Senior Wu’s office, but they can’t just lounge outside the door to eavesdrop. Not that such excellent knaves as he and Mianmian would stoop to something so obvious. Instead, they creep through the bushes until they reach Senior Wu’s quarters. Just as expected, voices carry through the screened window. A man’s voice says something about how considerate Senior Wu is to go to so much trouble. Senior Wu replies that he is honored to serve his esteemed guests.

Wei Wuxian gives Mianmian a thumbs up, then jerks his thumb at the next window. She nods, and they shuffle to the next window, which they long ago discovered opens into Senior Wu’s private library. With the ease of long practice, Wei Wuxian boosts Mianmian up to the window. She slides it open silently and crawls through. When she’s in, he hauls himself up and over the sill.

He lands softly, his slippers nearly soundless on the lacquered floor. Mianmian has already snuck over to the door between the library and Senior Wu’s office. The door is ornately carved with plenty of slits in the design that are convenient for spying on private meetings, but a lot less convenient when one is, say, hiding out after sneaking into the temple master’s office to steal his booze.

He pads across the room and peers over her head. The man sitting at Senior Wu’s table is wearing gorgeous blue robes and a white ribbon across his high forehead. Zewu Jun is every bit as beautiful as the rumors say. His eyes crinkle a little when he smiles at something Senior Wu says, which must mean he’s kind, too—no one ever smiles at Senior Wu.

“I must apologize for the irregularity,” Zewu Jun says. “I know it is customary for omegas to meet their prospective alphas before any negotiations are finalized.”

Senior Wu bows his head. “Zewu Jun is wise in these matters. However, the Lan sect’s reputation must surely settle any potential doubts. I am certain that any of our novices would be honored to serve Hanguang Jun.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. Sure, who wouldn’t be eager to sign away a year of their life to a total stranger, sight unseen? As he’s sneering at that, he notices the man standing behind Zewu Jun. The man’s eyes are lowered, his hands neatly clasped at his waist. Pretty, demure, inobtrusive. Meng Yao.

As if Meng Yao heard Wei Wuxian’s thought, his head tilts, his eyes sliding over to their hiding place. Wei Wuxian barely restrains himself from flinching back. His heart pounding, Wei Wuxian misses the next bit of the conversation, but his ears prick when Zewu Jun announces that he is only interested in auditioning male omegas. “My brother’s preference,” he explains.

Zewu Jun and Senior Wu finalize the timetable—the usual (literal) song and dance set for the next afternoon—and then they both rise from the table. Zewu Jun is tall, but still elegant, even graceful, though he looks like a giant in Senior Wu’s cramped little office.

Wei Wuxian squints through the slats, trying to get a peek at Zewu Jun’s sword, but there’s no sign of a weapon, spiritual or otherwise. Senior Wu gestures for Zewu Jun to proceed him out of the door, and Zewu Jun sweeps out, long robes swishing across the floor. Meng Yao turns toward their hiding place. He winks, then glides after his alpha. Senior Wu, having noticed nothing, trails behind them.

“Oh, he’s good,” Wei Wuxian mutters.

“Legendary,” Mianmian sighs.

They shrug at each other and head back to the window to make their escape. As they’re walking back to the novice quarters, Mianmian bumps his arm. “Looks like you’ll be busy tonight. Zhang-laoshi will have all the boys rehearsing.”

He groans and slouches, dragging his feet across the cobblestones. “What a waste of time. Like Zewu Jun would ever pick me.”

“Stop whining. You need the practice.”

“I’ve gotten a little better!”

“You broke A-Bao’s toe two weeks ago.”

“He should’ve known better than to dance that close to me. Besides, I have other talents.”

“Sure, if you want to call burglary and arson ‘talents.’”

“It’s only arson if it’s intentional,” he argues, but his mind isn’t on the argument. Instead, he’s thinking about Zewu Jun, about cultivators and swords that fly, taking their wielders anywhere they want. It’s an old hurt, one he’d thought he’d put aside, but it’s creeping back—the old ache of what could have been. If the world were different. If he were different.

“Why are you moping?” Mianmian asks. “At least we won’t have class tomorrow.”

He brightens a little. Auditions aren’t any less agonizing than lectures, but at least they’re a break from the monotony of temple life. “I won’t have class,” he says. “But you heard Zewu Jun: his brother is only interested in men.”

She scowls and tosses her head. “I hate the picky ones.”

He hums his agreement and resigns himself to a long night of pointless rehearsal.

*

It is indeed a long night. The male novices are barely even given a break for the evening meal. The temple’s instructors are more snappish than usual as they prepare their students to audition for not only a clan leader, but also one of the most prominent cultivators in the country. Wei Wuxian and a dozen other eligible omegas are tossed from instructor to instructor—when they aren’t being dragged away for last-minute costume adjustments.

The dance rehearsal is the worst, however. By the time their instructor surrenders and shoos them away, Wei Wuxian’s feet are cramping, his shoulders creaking. Even his elbows are sweating.

The next morning, they’re pinned into their gauzy dance costumes and sent before Zewu Jun. The first few minutes of the routine are fine, but then Wei Wuxian notices Zewu Jun watching him and smiling softly. Wei Wuxian forgets the next step, stumbles over his own feet, and nearly crashes into the dancer beside him. “Sorry,” he whispers, chuckling at his own foolishness. The man groans and spins away.

Wei Wuxian’s own spin sends his long sleeve slapping across his face. A giggle erupts as the silk nearly wraps around his throat. Strangled by my own sleeve, he thinks, snorting. A most appropriate death for an omega.

When he fights free of the sleeve, he peeks again. Zewu Jun is grinning broadly now, his head bent to whisper to Meng Yao. Wei Wuxian sighs as he finds his place in the routine. Oh well. Not like it would’ve mattered anyway.

After the dance, the novices are rushed out of their dance costumes and into their best robes—white and austere, tailored for modesty. Boring, but at least this robe won’t try to murder him. Grumpily, he gathers his hair into a high ponytail. One of the instructors notices and scowls, but she doesn’t reprimand him. Like him, she probably knows it won’t matter. Besides, he’s sweaty from the dance. If he has to stand about idly for the next hour, he at least wants the hair off his neck.

He’s one of the last men to enter the audition chamber, so he gets the worst spot—last in line, tucked into a corner. He doesn’t mind, though. It isn’t as if he has a shot today, and at least the corner has a window.

Zewu Jun enters, and they all bow from their respective spots. Wei Wuxian watches as Zewu Jun approaches the first novice, Hu Rong. Hu Rong has been here even longer than Wei Wuxian, and he probably fought tooth and nail for the first spot in line. Not that it’s likely to help him. As usual, he recites poetry, the same dull piece about honor and duty. Hu Rong drones on and on, but Zewu Jun listens attentively, nodding encouragement.

Maybe Zewu Jun isn’t kind, Wei Wuxian thinks. Maybe he’s simple-minded. Shrugging, he settles onto his stool to wait. He covers a yawn as he stares out the window, tapping his dizi on his knee. He’s exhausted, and the audition chamber is too warm. If it weren’t for the hard stool digging into his ass, he’d probably fall asleep. Then Senior Wu would probably throw him out of the temple, as he’s no doubt longed to do for years now.

“May I speak with you?”

The question makes him jerk, and the dizi rolls off his knee. He lurches forward and barely manages to catch it before it hits the floor. When he looks up, Zewu Jun is smiling at him, his eyes sparkling.

Wei Wuxian groans internally and bows. “This one apologizes.”

“No need,” Zewu Jun says gently. “It was my fault for startling you. Will you play for us?”

Wei Wuxian sneaks a peek through his eyelashes. Meng Yao stands behind Zewu Jun’s shoulder, his mouth twisted in a wry grimace. When Meng Yao catches him looking, he twirls his hand in an elegant gesture that clearly means get on with it, idiot.

“This one would be honored,” Wei Wuxian mumbles. He rises from the bow and raises the dizi to his lips. As he plays, Zewu Jun’s placid smile grows brighter, and his eyes widen in appreciation. Wei Wuxian tries not to be smug about it, but he is good. Not even the sternest of his instructors can fault his playing.

It’s also hard not to be smug about how Zewu Jun must have ignored several novices to get to Wei Wuxian so quickly. A quick peek around the room verifies this: everyone is staring at Wei Wuxian’s corner, and those who were skipped aren’t bothering to cover their scowls.

Preening, Wei Wuxian plays louder, letting himself sink into the music. He’s endured several of these auditions, and it’s rare that any of the alphas even bothers to approach him. Omegas aren’t exactly valued for their artistic abilities, no matter what the instructors like to pretend. And Wei Wuxian is notably different—a tall, gangly weed among a bed of demure blossoms. So it’s nice to be appreciated for once.

When the song ends, Zewu Jun actually applauds. Wei Wuxian bows, his face heating. “Well played,” Zewu Jun enthuses. “Very well played. I am Lan Xichen.”

“Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian. This one thanks Zewu Jun for his attention.”

A gentle hand to his elbow encourages him to rise. He does, but he keeps his eyes lowered in deference.

“The pleasure is mine,” Zewu Jun says. “Are you acquainted with Meng Yao?”

Meng Yao steps forward and inclines his head. Wei Wuxian bows back. “This one has not had that honor.” He lets his eyes drift up to Meng Yao’s face. The man is so short that it’s hard not to look him in the eye.

Meng Yao gives him a chirpy little smile. “Wei Wuxian is very talented . . . at the dizi.”

Wei Wuxian acknowledges the praise and ignores the implied dig at his dancing in the little pause.

Zewu Jun asks him a few more questions about his artistic inclinations and then bows his head. “Thank you for your time. A pleasure to meet you, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian bows, a little thrown by such courtesy. Some alphas stride through the hall inspecting novices like they’re buying a new mule. When Zewu Jun and Meng Yao drift away, he falls back onto his stool. This time, he watches intently as Zewu Jun tours the other novices. Although he is courteous to all of them, Zewu Jun doesn’t linger long with any of the others. As one of the younger men warbles through a song, Zewu Jun’s eyes wander back to Wei Wuxian. Zewu Jun smiles at him before returning his attention to the mediocre singing.

Huh, Wei Wuxian thinks, spinning his dizi. Imagine that.

*

Even though Zewu Jun was clearly impressed by his playing, Wei Wuxian is still shocked when he’s told that Zewu Jun has requested a private audition. He’s never been picked for one of those before.

He can barely sit still as Mianmian works on his hair. He yelps when she stabs him with a hair pin.

“You’re wiggling!” she scolds, and smacks his shoulder.

He sticks out his tongue at her reflection. “I’m going to dump tea in his lap.”

“That should make for a memorable evening.”

“You aren’t helping.”

She smirks and pops the pin in his topknot. “I thought you didn’t care about being picked.”

“I don’t,” he huffs. “But I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of Zewu Jun.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t do the tea in the lap thing.” She kisses his cheek and shoos him off the stool. She takes his hands and squeezes. “Just be yourself.”

“That’s horrible advice.” He tugs his hands out of hers and stomps toward the door. “No one here likes it when I’m myself.”

“I love you, Xian-didi!”

He tosses a final sneer over his shoulder. “You don’t count.”

Once he’s in the hallway, he stops to take some deep, fortifying breaths. It’s just tea. He can serve one cup of tea to one cultivator. It will be awkward and weird, but then it will be over and he can go back to being the worst novice the temple has ever attempted to train.

That settled, he heads toward the instructors’ wing. It’s strange being in this area by allowance. Usually, he’s trying to avoid being caught, not striding down the hallway. He passes a few instructors who give him curious glances, and he tries to nod at them like this is a normal day, nothing bizarre or terrifying about it at all.

The door to the chamber stands open. He approaches slowly, listening for voices, but it’s quiet. He pauses in the doorway and peeks in. The room is empty except for Senior Wu, who’s inspecting the tea service. Wei Wuxian has only been in this room once. In his first year at the temple, he snuck in to have a look, but only because he broke into all the rooms. There’s little of interest in this one, given that its only function is to host these meetings. It’s the most elaborately decorated space in the temple, but once he’d looked at all the artwork, it was pretty boring.

He clears his throat, and Senior Wu turns, lifting an eyebrow. “About time,” he grunts.

Wei Wuxian bows, holding back his eyeroll. He’s actually a few minutes early. For once.

Senior Wu gestures for him to enter, then lifts his chin and looks down his nose, inspecting Wei Wuxian like he’s cataloging faults. Apparently, he doesn’t find anything worth commenting on, but he still sighs. “Try not to embarrass us.”

Wei Wuxian bows his head to hide his gritted teeth. As if his main concern right now is the temple’s precious reputation.

Zewu Jun and Meng Yao arrive a few minutes later—right on time, no doubt. Zewu Jun’s smile is even warmer than it had been that morning. Even Senior Wu seems charmed.

Zewu Jun and the others take their seats around the low table, and Wei Wuxian manages to pour their tea into their cups rather than in their laps. He breathes out his relief as he sets the kettle on the tray and tries to fade into the background.

“Please, join us,” Zewu Jun says. He makes it sound like a request rather than a demand, but Wei Wuxian can’t help gaping a little. A quick glance at Senior Wu’s furrowed eyebrows confirms that the request is unusual. Carefully, Wei Wuxian folds down to the empty cushion and clasps his hands in his lap.

“Would you care for tea?” Zewu Jun asks. As Wei Wuxian braces himself to pour again, Zewu Jun makes polite conversation with Senior Wu about how well-appointed the room is, how courteous the temple’s staff has been. Almost like he’s trying to take some of the pressure off.

Only when Wei Wuxian has taken his first sip of tea does Zewu Jun return his attention to him. He asks questions about Wei Wuxian’s time at the temple, the activities he enjoys, his favorite songs and poems. Throughout Wei Wuxian’s halting answers, Zewu Jun smiles and nods like he’s fascinated.

“You are quite talented,” Zewu Jun tells him. He sips his tea and beams at the cup as if it’s pleased him. “Our sect values music very highly.” He leans a bit closer to Wei Wuxian like he’s confiding a secret. “My brother, Lan Wangji, plays the guqin.”

“How nice,” Wei Wuxian offers weakly. Zewu Jun nods like that was a good response.

“I am here on his behalf,” Zewu Jun continues. “I realize this is not an orthodox approach, but Wangji entrusted me with this decision. I hope you will not think his absence here today a discourtesy. Wangji is the most honorable man I know. However . . .” He trails off and looks to Meng Yao for help.

Meng Yao bows his head, dimples creasing his face. “Hanguang Jun prefers solitary pursuits. When he is not away on night hunts, he enjoys a quiet life.”

Zewu Jun nods at this description. “Yes. Wangji prefers his life to be serene. However, it is my belief that my brother could benefit from more . . . vivacious company.” Wei Wuxian can almost feel Senior Wu repressing his snort.

Wei Wuxian bows his head to acknowledge the compliment, but he wonders if Hanguang Jun is aware of this plan to disrupt his “serene” life.

The audition lasts through another round of tea, with more questions for Wei Wuxian and more praise of the absent alpha. Finally, Zewu Jun stands and pats Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Thank you for your time, Wei Wuxian.”

Senior Wu ushers them out of the room and pauses in the doorway to shoot Wei Wuxian an incredulous glance. Wei Wuxian shares the sentiment. Zewu Jun can’t be serious about choosing him for his brother, a man who’s apparently so opposed to socializing that he can’t be bothered to pick his own omega.

*

No one else brags about being chosen for a private audition—and they would certainly brag if they had. Being the only one chosen catapults Wei Wuxian into unwanted speculation after Zewu Jun’s departure. However, when several days pass and no contract arrives, the novices conclude that Zewu Jun must have found another contender outside the temple, and Wei Wuxian is once again the novice the instructors like to hold up as an example of what not to do.

Wei Wuxian has almost managed to dismiss the whole experience, filing it away as just a story to tell the new acolytes—the time he had tea with the Lan sect leader—when one morning, he’s pulled out of class and ordered to Senior Wu’s office.

At first, he thinks he’s being sent to Senior Wu for the usual reasons, and he wracks his brain trying to remember what he’s done lately to warrant punishment. But when he enters the office and sees the contract laid on the desk, realization hits. He drops into the visitor’s chair, his knees wobbling with shock.

Senior Wu doesn’t even complain that Wei Wuxian neglected to salute. “Zewu Jun sent a contract.”

“Oh.” He eyes the parchment like it’s going to slither across the desk and attack him.

Senior Wu sighs. “One year. Standard stipulations. Renewable on agreement by both parties.” He imbues the last part with contempt, as if he has no doubt that Hanguang Jun will rue his decision. Then Senior Wu names a sum that makes Wei Wuxian choke on air.

“The Lans are very generous,” Senior Wu says bitterly. Too bitter considering that the temple will also get an ample negotiation fee. “You leave in two days.” Senior Wu slides the contract across the desk and lays a brush beside it.

Two days? Wei Wuxian has dreamed of leaving the temple ever since he arrived, but he’s always imagined escaping and returning to Lotus Pier in disguise. And then he’d dramatically throw aside the disguise, revealing his true identity to Shijie and Jiang Cheng, who would welcome him back with joyful tears. Or he’d become a rogue cultivator, traveling the world and defeating monsters, becoming so famous and powerful that no one would care that he was an omega. At heart, he’s never truly believed that he would be chosen by an alpha. Or an alpha’s brother, in this case.

“But I’ve never even met him,” he mutters. He’s only talking to himself, but Senior Wu grunts.

“I should think that’s a good thing. I can hardly imagine—” For once, he declines to finish his insult. Something anxious and furtive passes across his face. Then he huffs. “Just sign it. I have other duties to attend to today. Unless you intend to decline?”

Like he hopes Wei Wuxian is fool enough to do such a thing. Maybe it’s the cruel, eager light in the temple master’s eyes that drives Wei Wuxian to pick up the brush. Maybe it’s the belated realization that Senior Wu was afraid to finish his insult. Afraid of Wei Wuxian, who once he signs the contract, will belong to one of the most revered cultivators in the land. An honorable gentleman like Hanguang Jun might see an offense against his omega as an offense against himself.

Either way, Wei Wuxian picks up the brush and stares down at the contract awaiting his signature. Hanguang Jun has already signed. Unless he asked his brother to do that, too. Wei Wuxian studies the signature as if it will reveal something about the man to whom he’s meant to bind himself. The strokes are precise and perfect. No signs of hesitation. The temple’s calligraphy instructors would adore him.

What had Zewu Jun told Hanguang Jun about Wei Wuxian to make him agree to the arrangement? Or had he even cared?

Senior Wu interrupts his thoughts by clearing his throat.

Part of him wants to linger even more just to be a brat—to indulge himself now that he can. There’s nothing Senior Wu can do to him now, after all. But he tears his eyes away from the signature to read the contract. As Senior Wu said, it’s all standard and agreeable. There is even a clause stating that either he or Hanguang Jun can terminate the contract early in case of incompatibility.

When he reaches the part about potential offspring, his stomach twists, and he quickly averts his eyes. That isn’t something he can bear to consider right now. Instead, he focuses on a bit of strange language near the bottom of the scroll that states that he is expected to adhere to Lan sect principles.

“Lan sect principles?” he mutters.

“I understand those will be provided to you later,” Senior Wu offers, sounding strangely gleeful. “I assured Zewu Jun that you would be amenable.”

More rules, he thinks with a sigh. Just what I need. Out of habit, he represses the urge to roll his eyes, then thinks, why not, and lets them roll. Senior Wu grunts, but does nothing else.

Smirking, Wei Wuxian dips the brush in the ink stone and holds it above the parchment. His eyes drift back to Hanguang Jun’s signature. A drop of ink splashes down, spreading black wings across the page.

“Wei Wuxian,” Senior Wu groans.

Fine. What has he got to lose? Quickly, before he can lose his nerve, he scrawls his name, forced to cram it in awkwardly underneath the ink blotch.

The brush lands on the desk with a clatter and rolls, splattering ink across Senior Wu’s pristine desk. Wei Wuxian pushes back from the desk, breath coming quick. “Bet you thought you’d never be rid of me.”

Senior Wu meets his bold stare and cocks an eyebrow. “Indeed.” Then he studies Wei Wuxian like he’s searching for whatever Zewu Jun saw—and failing to find it. He sighs. “Be well, Wei Wuxian.”

It’s a kinder dismissal than anything Wei Wuxian ever expected. He bows. “And you, Senior Wu.”

He strides out of the office with his shoulders back and chin high, but once the door shuts behind him, he falters. Fuck. He turns to one direction, then the other. Fuck. What now?

In all the years he’s lived in the temple, his time has been rigidly scheduled, day after day, the same boring lessons. Endless attempts to mold him into a proper omega, submissive and subdued. He’s always prided himself on his instructors’ failures and gloated when alpha after alpha rejected him. Yet somehow, he’s been plucked from the herd and given a position that will make him the envy of every omega in the temple. How the fuck did this happen?

Mind whirling, he picks a direction at random and starts walking. His feet, better trained than he, take him back to class. He leans against the door and listens to the teacher drone on about an omega’s responsibility to their alpha: “A master’s displeasure is the servant’s humiliation.” It’s a lesson he could recite by heart: submission, care, diligence, pleasure.

Pleasure. Something skitters in his belly. It had never seemed real before, that an alpha might want him for . . . that. Laughable, even.

It seems a lot less funny now.

Well, at least he never has to sit through another lecture. He kicks off the wall and keeps walking. He knows every inch of this temple, but as he wanders, he finds himself studying his surroundings like he’s one of those nostalgic saps who returns to reminisce about their days as a novice. He may have hated every second of his life here, but the temple has been his home since he was thirteen. It’s unsettling to think that in two days, he’ll be gone.

He huffs and heads to his room, intending to pack, but when he gets there, he drops onto the bed. His feet dangle off the end. The temple’s beds were chosen with more typical omegas in mind: the small, soft creatures that surround him every day. As such, he fits onto the bed as badly as he fits every other aspect of temple life.

But why me? he wonders, swinging his legs and banging his heels on the slats. Part of him is almost offended on the mysterious Hanguang Jun’s behalf. Maybe Zewu Jun secretly hates his brother. Maybe this is some kind of bizarre sibling rivalry, and Wei Wuxian is meant to be a disaster.

He sighs and disregards that idea. It’s possible, but even the secluded temple denizens know of Zewu Jun’s immaculate reputation. And of Hanguang Jun’s. And Wei Wuxian saw for himself how kind Zewu Jun is, how affectionately he spoke of his brother. Zewu Jun could be the world’s best actor, but Wei Wuxian knows from fake smiles, and Zewu Jun’s smile seemed like the real thing.

He sprawls there concocting theories until dinnertime, when habit propels him to his feet. He walks into the dining hall, ignoring the stares and whispers. Mianmian hurries to meet him and hauls him aside. “What happened? I heard you were called into Senior Wu’s office.”

“Zewu Jun sent a contract,” he tells her. His voice comes out flat, but at least it doesn’t tremble.

She gasps and bounces, nearly tearing off his arm. “Really? You’re going to be Hanguang Jun’s omega?”

He nods and swallows down acid. “I leave in two days.” One and a half now.

“Oh.” The grin falls from her face. “So soon?”

He should make a joke about how much she’ll miss him. Or about getting picked before she did. But neither of those things really seems funny right now. All he wants is to flee this room.

He tugs his arm out of her grasp and does just that. Mianmian calls after him, but he ignores her.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the courtyard. Then he vaults into the air without checking to make sure he isn’t being observed. The roof is cool against his back as he sprawls across the tiles. The sky is only just darkening, spreading bruised and vast above him.

Mianmian leaps up and settles beside him. He never should have taught her how to do that.

“I’m fine,” he tells her. “You should go to dinner.”

“I’ll grab something later. The cooks like me.”

Wei Wuxian grunts. The cooks do not like him. Set one little fire in the kitchen, and they hold a grudge forever, no matter how many times he’s tried to explain that it was an accident.

“Hanguang Jun,” Mianmian says breathlessly. “One of the Twin Jades of Gusu. The most handsome cultivator of his generation. Not bad.”

“Shut up,” he groans, covering his face. She giggles, and he turns to peer at her through his fingers. “It has to be a mistake, right? Some mix-up with the names. I’ll get there, and they’ll say, ‘Sorry, wrong guy.’”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. You’re adorable.”

“Pfft.” He drums his fingers on his chest and watches as the night’s first stars shimmer through the dusk. Will he ever get another chance to do this? Or will he spend the rest of his nights staring at the ceiling while his new alpha—

“You’re freaking out,” Mianmian says as she pokes his forehead. “You think so loudly. It must be a nightmare in your head.”

“I haven’t even met him. I signed that fucking contract and pledged myself to a guy I’ve never even seen!”

“Yeah, to the most handsome man in the country. Literally. There was a vote.”

He makes a strangled sound. “He could be an asshole, though. What if he didn’t come to the audition because his personality is so vile that no omega would ever accept him?”

She snorts. “Hanguang Jun? He who goes where the chaos is? Defeating evil and saving the common people?”

“And rescuing kittens from trees, I’m sure,” he grumbles. “Could all be horseshit.”

“Then you end the contract.”

“Right. And come back here, tail between my legs. Sit through endless, boring lectures until I’m old and gray. Until I keel over and drown in my congee.”

“You are the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Mianmian says.

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.” She sighs and lies down beside him. “You’re always whining about wanting to go back to the cultivation world, and now you are. The Lans, Xian-di. The fucking Lans.”

“Not as a disciple. They aren’t going to hand me a sword and send me on night hunts.”

She shrugs, and the gesture sends her shoulder sliding against his. She’s warm at his side. Familiar. Beloved. The thought of losing this, of losing her, yet another sister he’ll be forced to leave behind, brings tears to his eyes.

“You might go on night hunts,” she says.

He swallows down the tears and clears his throat. “Maybe. To clean Hanguang Jun’s boots and warm his bedroll.”

“To polish his sword,” she says, giggling.

He snorts laughter. “You think he’ll let me ride his sword?”

A harsh caw erupts before she covers her mouth. “Well,” she snorts, “if he’s as tall as Zewu Jun, and if they’re . . . proportionate . . .” She smothers another giggle.

He groans. “Should’ve added a clause in the contract to cover the medical bills.”

She wheezes another laugh. Her hand fumbles over to his and squeezes tight. “You’ll be fine. You’re always fine. You’ll have Hanguang Jun eating out of your hand before you know it.”

“Kinky.”

Mianmian tugs at his hand until he turns to look at her. Her eyes shine in the starlight with unshed tears, and her smile wavers. He has to look away before he starts sobbing like a child. Like he had the last time he’d been ripped away from his home.

“Show Hanguang Jun how amazing you are.”

He huffs a laugh, his lip quivering.

“Or don’t,” she says, her tone fierce. “Tell him to go fuck himself and come back here.”

He grins, ignoring the tears spilling down his cheeks. He shoves her with his shoulder. “Never. I’ll tell him to go fuck himself with his big sword, and then I’ll run away. I’ll become a world-famous rogue cultivator while you will be moping around some palace with ten little brats clinging to your skirts.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she drawls, but when he burrows his face against her neck, she pets his hair and holds him tight.

*

At his request, Mianmian doesn’t come to see him off. She doesn’t even argue, like she understands that it would be worse if she were watching.

His music teacher, Yan-laoshi, escorts him to the courtyard where two disciples in white robes are waiting beside a carriage drawn by two white horses. Yan-laoshi is one of the few instructors who doesn’t totally despise him. As they enter the courtyard, she chatters about how the Lans are a perfect fit for him. “They are brilliant musicians,” she says. “It’s no wonder Zewu Jun chose you.”

He nods and tries to smile, but all his attention is on the men in the courtyard. Is one of them his new alpha? It seems unlikely. They’re both pleasant to look at, but neither of them strikes him as the world’s most handsome cultivator.

As Wei Wuxian and his teacher approach, one of the disciples bows. “Wei Wuxian. Hanguang Jun sent us to escort you to the palace.”

Ah, of course he didn’t come himself. Wei Wuxian hasn’t even met the man, and he’s already annoyed with him.

“Goodbye,” he tells Yan-laoshi. “This one appreciates Yan-laoshi’s wisdom.”

“Safe travels,” she says. Then she shocks him by patting his cheek. “I know you will make us proud.”

She steps back, smiling. His eyes are watering again. It’s ridiculous.

The disciple ushers him into a waiting carriage. Wei Wuxian pauses in the doorway and searches the courtyard, half-hoping Mianmian disobeyed him, but she’s nowhere in sight. He waves, just in case she’s hiding somewhere, then finally gets into the carriage.

The driver snaps the reins, and the carriage moves forward. The disciples ride beside the carriage like his own honor guard.

He does not look back.

It’s a nice carriage. To distract himself, he pokes around the plump cushions and twangs the handle with his finger. There’s even a tea set, already billowing steam. He ignores it and sticks his face to the window.

The temple omegas are rarely allowed outside the walls for fear of “corruption.” Wei Wuxian prides himself on the number of times he’s snuck out, but the last time he was caught, Senior Wu threatened to kick him out if he ever did it again. As much as Wei Wuxian hated the temple, the only thing worse than being its prisoner was being ostracized. When they weren’t gossiping about available alphas, the novices’ favorite topic was horror stories about omegas forced to navigate the world alone. Wei Wuxian wasn’t like the cringing cowards who shrank back from every stranger’s stare, but even he had to admit that setting out on his own was a frightening idea. He’s lived in the gutter and has no desire to go back there.

Ensconced in the carriage, however, he is free to stare out at the bustling world beyond the temple walls. Their procession creeps along through the crowded streets. Apparently, Lans are too polite to careen along like he’s seen other drivers do. At this rate, it will take them all day to reach the palace. He cranes his neck to look up at those distant towers. It’s hard to imagine living in such a place. For the last seven years, he’s seen those looming structures from his bedroom window, but the palace has always seemed like a fantasy world, no more real than the tapestries on the temple walls.

Eventually, he gets bored of people-watching and pours himself a cup of tea. There are no snacks, sadly. After skipping dinner and barely touching breakfast, he’s famished. He considers ordering the driver to stop so that he can buy something from the vendors meandering the streets, but he doesn’t have any money. Not yet. Even he isn’t so thick-faced that he can ask one of the disciples to buy him candy.

He is almost asleep, exhausted from a sleepless night and lulled by the carriage’s gentle rocking, when the motion stops. The carriage door opens, and the same disciple tells him they’ve arrived. He thanks the disciple distractedly, annoyed at himself for missing his arrival. Stepping out of the carriage, he finds himself in the shadow of one of those immense towers. It’s so tall that he can’t see the top without toppling over.

“This way, Wei-gongzi.” The disciple is waiting for him a few steps ahead, no sign of impatience on his pleasant face.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to protest that he isn’t gentry, but then he snaps it closed. He kind of is, now. He nods and follows the disciple into the tower.

The stairs are steep and winding, and he’s nearly panting when they reach their destined floor. His escort isn’t the least bit winded, which rankles. It isn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that he’s spent years sitting on cushions in lecture halls.

The disciple leads him into what looks like an audience chamber, though there’s no audience except for the two of them. Then the disciple bows and leaves him there. “Um,” Wei Wuxian begins, but the door is already closing. “Right,” he sighs. He stands in the center of the room, unsure if he’s allowed to sit. Maybe he’s supposed to be doing something? The room offers no suggestions. There is an air of disuse, despite the tasteful décor. Which makes sense, given that Hanguang Jun apparently dislikes people. Doubtful he’d do much entertaining.

Itching with nervous energy, Wei Wuxian wanders over to study a tapestry of a mountain obscured by clouds. The door opens behind him. He spins and drops into a bow, barely glimpsing the figure who entered. The fleeting glance showed only a tall man in white robes.

The door clicks shut. Soft footsteps tap across the floor. “Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian treats it as a question, though it hadn’t really sounded like one. “This one is Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian.”

“I am Lan Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and goes to his knees. He prostrates himself, feeling every bit of his flushed face, the sweat dampening his hair, his undoubtedly frizzy hair. He’s always hated the servility of this position, but right now, he’s almost grateful for the chance to hide his dishevelment.

“You may rise.”

He stands smoothly, for once grateful for the years of practice in doing so. Otherwise, he’s pretty sure he would have fallen on his face. When he’s upright, he folds his hands at his waist and settles his eyes on the clouds drifting across Hanguang Jun’s chest.

Hanguang Jun is silent for so long that Wei Wuxian almost starts to fidget. “Welcome,” Hanguang Jun says, finally. “If you require anything, please inform the steward.”

Wei Wuxian nods his thanks and uses the gesture to peek up at his new alpha’s face. Hanguang Jun seems to be staring at something roughly behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, so Wei Wuxian lets himself look. Oh. Oh yes, that is the certainly the world’s most handsome face. Hanguang Jun isn’t smiling like his brother always seems to be, but he’s every bit as beautiful. His eyes are unusually light, a golden brown that reflects the morning sun, and the warm color is a startling contrast to his frosty expression.

Those golden eyes shift to Wei Wuxian’s face, and Wei Wuxian quickly drops his gaze to Hanguang Jun’s chin. “You may resume your duties,” Hanguang Jun announces. Then he glides back through the door.

Wei Wuxian stares at the closed door, gaping. “What duties?” he mumbles.

A gray-haired woman—the steward, presumably—comes to fetch him a few moments later. As she leads him away, he wonders if she was listening at the door or if she just assumed the interview would be short. They pass by several doors before they reach their destination. “Your quarters,” she explains as she opens the door. Then she turns and nods toward the door at the end of the hall. “Lan er-gongzi is there.”

Of course, he thinks wryly. Right next door. For easy access.

He steps past the steward and into his new quarters. His bag has already been delivered. It slouches beside his bed, looking even shabbier than usual against the elegant décor. This room puts the temple’s fancy tea room to shame.

The steward clears her throat, and he stops gawking at the room to give her his attention. She explains Hanguang Jun’s daily schedule: rise at five (ridiculous, evil), meditate until six (dreary). Then Wei Wuxian is expected to serve his breakfast (sent up from the kitchens, thankfully). Dress him and send him out to do his important cultivator business. Then dinner at six, bedtime at nine. Followed by a round of ravishing the new omega Wei Wuxian finishes in his mind. Or maybe the ravishing happens between dinner and bedtime? Gotta get a good night’s sleep if he wakes at five.

He realizes he’s drifted away a bit when the steward stops speaking. His eyes snap back to her guiltily, but she merely continues, her face bland. It doesn’t take long for her to finish explaining his duties. After all, his main function is hardly something that a steward would discuss.

Her recitation over, she lifts a large book from a shelf and hands it to him reverently. “As a member of Lan er-gongzi’s household, you are expected to abide by the Lan sect’s principles.”

He accepts the book, opens a page at random and reads: Alcohol is prohibited. Walking too fast is prohibited. Sitting improperly is prohibited. Page after page of rules. Now he understands Senior Wu’s malicious glee. This tome puts even the temple’s harsh restrictions to shame.

“Do you actually have all these memorized?” he asks the steward, grinning a little.

She doesn’t return the grin. “Of course.” Then she turns and strides out, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Scowling, he returns the book to the shelf and then stands in the center of his new room, uncertain what to do with himself. From what the steward told him, he’ll be left to his own devices for most of the day while Hanguang Jun is preoccupied with the conference.

Too preoccupied to do more than give his new omega the barest of welcomes. Sighing, Wei Wuxian wanders the room, tapping his knuckles against a vase, trailing his fingers over a tapestry. It isn’t like he expected Hanguang Jun to throw him to the ground and take him right there in that fancy audience chamber, but he’d expected something. Some hint of interest. Some curiosity. Instead, his new alpha had acted like greeting Wei Wuxian was a task he needed to tick off his list. Much as the steward had behaved. Greet the new omega, tuck him away until he’s needed. Like a trinket placed on a shelf. Except less interesting, apparently.

His inspection of the room brings him to the bed, and he eyes it warily. It isn’t elaborate, but it is wide enough for two. Would Hanguang Jun visit him here, or would he expect Wei Wuxian to come to him?

He puts his back to the bed and crosses to the window. He’s high enough to see past the palace walls and into the nearby marketplace. There’s even a little balcony with a bench. This high, the air is chilly, but he ignores how the wind stings his face. Below him, disciples mill around the courtyard in little clusters. His heart leaps at the sight of one group’s robes, but what he’d mistaken for purple turns out to be a deep blue.

Are they here? Jiang Cheng is 20 now, just like him, so it’s likely that Jiang Fengmian would have started bringing him along to conferences. He’s to be the next sect leader, after all. Shijie hadn’t mentioned anything about it in her last letter, but then she wouldn’t have, even if they were coming. She never discusses that sort of thing in her letters. She probably—rightfully—thinks it will depress him.

Which means she could be in the palace right now! And he’s not a temple novice anymore, so there’s no reason they can’t meet.

He bangs back into the room and dashes to the writing desk. The Lans, thoughtful hosts that they are, have provided supplies—fresh ink sticks, a new brush, and several sheets of parchment.

Heart pounding, he writes to Jiang Yanli. Then he falters because he isn’t sure he’s allowed to send messages, much less meet old friends.

Tomorrow, he thinks, blowing on the ink to dry it. He’ll figure that out tomorrow. For now, he writes another letter to Mianmian, just telling her that he’s arrived safely and that so far, all is well. He even brags a little about his fancy room. He does not mention Hanguang Jun.

A servant arrives with a tray as he’s finishing the letter to Mianmian, and he falls on the food gratefully, barely caring what he’s eating. Which is a good thing. Apparently, the Lans’ impeccable taste in décor does not extend to their cuisine. The steamed vegetables and rice are pitifully unseasoned even compared to the temple’s meals.

After that, the servant returns with new clothes. He dutifully washes up and pulls on the robe. It’s boring white with only a few clouds embellishing the shoulders, but it fits him well. It’s the first robe he’s owned in years that doesn’t end above his wrists. He smooths it over his chest, pleased to be back in the land of regular-sized people. Actually, he might be short by Lan standards.

His dinner arrives at five—he must eat before serving Hanguang Jun—but by then, he’s too nervous to do more than pick at the limp vegetables. By ten minutes after seven, he’s pacing the floor, convinced that Hanguang Jun has decided to send him back, and unsure if that would be better or worse.

Finally, the same servant who’d brought his dinner rushes in and beckons him. “Lan er-gongzi was delayed,” she explains as they head down the hall. The man himself is not inside. Wei Wuxian follows the servant to the low table and helps her set out dishes from the tray waiting there.

They’re still crouched by the table when Hanguang Jun enters. They both stand quickly and bow, but Wei Wuxian’s eyes catch on the white sword clenched at Hanguang Jun’s side, and he watches intently as Hanguang Jun places it on a rack inside the door. It’s been years since he’s seen an actual spiritual sword, and this one is likely to be more powerful than even Jiang Fengmian’s.

Hanguang Jun folds down onto the cushion behind the dining table, and Wei Wuxian forces himself to look away from the glittering scabbard. “Good evening, Hanguang Jun,” he says, proud that his voice comes out steady. Hanguang Jun inclines his head but doesn’t look at him.

The servant leaves as Wei Wuxian pours the tea. All of it lands in the cup—another victory. Then they’re alone in the room, with only the soft sounds of Hanguang Jun’s clicking chopsticks to fill the silence. Wei Wuxian fades back against the wall and tries not to fidget. He restrains himself from staring at Hanguang Jun’s perfect profile and preoccupies himself by examining the food, which includes the same dishes as his own boring dinner. There must be rules in that big book about that, too: Flavor is prohibited.

Hanguang Jun doesn’t seem to mind, however. He eats mechanically, fastidiously, neither rushing nor dawdling. He doesn’t even slurp as he drinks his tea.

When he’s finished, he stands and cuts his eyes at Wei Wuxian before crossing the room to sit at the dressing table. Wei Wuxian hurries to follow and hovers behind him. Hanguang Jun says nothing; he only sits and waits. Wei Wuxian tries to catch his eyes in the mirror, but Hanguang Jun’s gaze is locked on the dressing table.

Tentatively, Wei Wuxian reaches for the silver guan and draws out the pin. A few strands of hair come with it, but Hanguang Jun doesn’t flinch. “Sorry,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Hanguang Jun’s eyes shift to the side, and then he goes back to staring at the table.

Thankfully, the guan is fairly simple, and Wei Wuxian manages to remove it without scalping his new alpha. After he lays the guan on the table, Hanguang Jun silently holds up a silver tray, and Wei Wuxian drops the pin onto its surface. With that obstacle managed, he picks up the comb and starts on Hanguang Jun’s hair.

It’s lovely hair, thick and silky, without even a single tangle. Whoever took care of it before Wei Wuxian arrived had done well. Combing it, letting it fall through his fingers, he relaxes a little, breathes a little deeper. The room smells of sandalwood, but under that crisp scent is something warmer. Richer. Watching the comb glide through dark hair, he breathes in, chasing that richness. It’s almost sweet, like licking honey off his fingers.

Oh.

His fingers clench in Hanguang Jun’s hair, and he darts a furtive glance at the mirror, but Hanguang Jun’s eyes are still hooded. If he noticed Wei Wuxian sniffing him, he gives no sign.

Grimacing, Wei Wuxian takes down Hanguang Jun’s top knot and starts combing the top layer. Well, who could blame him? He’s never been this close to an alpha. Not like this, anyway. Still, it’s embarrassing, going all weak-kneed just because Hanguang Jun smells nice.

“Enough,” Hanguang Jun says suddenly. Wei Wuxian drops the hair he’d been fondling and steps back, rubbing his tingling palms on his robe.

Hanguang Jun rises from the table and crosses to the wardrobe, where he again stands silently. Waiting.

Right. Wei Wuxian draws in a deep breath and follows. He can do this. He just can’t think about what happens after the clothes come off.

Hanguang Jun is as still as a statue as Wei Wuxian pulls the first layer down his arms. It’s warm from his body and heavy with his scent. Wei Wuxian hangs the robe beside the others—more white with a few hints of sky blue—and tries not to breathe deeply. But the more layers he removes, the stronger the scent becomes. The bottom layers require Wei Wuxian to bend close, his knuckles pressed against Hanguang Jun’s chest and sides as he works open the ties.

Sweat has popped at his temples by the time he’s finished, both from nerves and from Hanguang Jun’s immense body heat. Do all alphas run so hot? Not that even a drop of sweat has stained Hanguang Jun’s white robes, though.

While Wei Wuxian is still arranging the last robe in the wardrobe, Hanguang Jun sits on a stool and takes off his boots. Isn’t that my job? Maybe he got impatient. Hanguang Jun doesn’t look angry, though. At least, no angrier than he’d looked before.

Hanguang Jun sets the boots aside and stands. “You are dismissed,” he says, his eyes never landing on Wei Wuxian. Then he disappears behind the screen.

Wei Wuxian gapes after him. That’s it?

Confused, Wei Wuxian picks up the boots and gives them a perfunctory brush even though they’re spotless. Then he tidies the dinner tray and lifts it, heading toward the door. At the door, he pauses, but Hanguang Jun doesn’t pop back out to say, just kidding, time for ravishing.

Wei Wuxian leaves the tray outside the door and goes back to his own room. He kicks off his slippers and stretches out on the bed, which is plenty long enough for him, and stares at the ceiling. That’s it?

He should be relieved. He is relieved. It’s just, why is he here if Hanguang Jun doesn’t want to bed him? Wei Wuxian scrubs at his face, but his hands smell of Hanguang Jun—a scent as honey-warm as his eyes. Surrendering, he breathes deep, drawing that scent inside him. His new alpha is gorgeous and smells like heaven, but wants nothing to do with him. Fucking figures.

With a grunt, he pushes himself off the bed and goes to undress himself. Maybe Hanguang Jun was just tired tonight from whatever had delayed him. Or maybe he’s actually kind under that icy exterior and wants to give Wei Wuxian time to settle in before he deflowers him.

Yeah, that’s probably it, Wei Wuxian decides as he climbs into bed. That sounds like something the honorable Hanguang Jun would do. Mollified by this reasoning, Wei Wuxian tries to sleep.

*

He isn’t terribly successful, despite the comfortable bed. It feels like he’s barely closed his eyes before breakfast is delivered the next morning. Groaning, he climbs out of his warm blankets and slumps at the table. The sun isn’t even up yet. What is even the point of getting up so early?

Breakfast is even worse than yesterday’s meals. He forces himself to eat half of the plain congee. At least the tea is excellent. Then he splashes cold water on his face, hoping it will wake him, even if it will do nothing for the bruises under his eyes. Yawning, he puts on the plain white robe and tries to do something with his hair. Since he didn’t receive a new guan with the robes yesterday, he’s forced to use his old leather band. When he’s done all he can, he stares balefully at his expression. He doesn’t care for the anxious face that greets him in the mirror, so he sticks out his tongue.

Very suave, he imagines Mianmian saying, and he grins. Then he watches the grin fall as he remembers that Mianmian is on the other side of the city. Might as well be on the other side of the world.

Scowling, he turns away from the mirror and waits to be summoned.

*

Hanguang Jun is waiting at the table when Wei Wuxian enters. His light eyes flick up to Wei Wuxian as Wei Wuxian chirps good morning, then return to the table. Hanguang Jun’s response is slow to come, his voice low, like he’d needed to search for the words. He says nothing else as he drinks the tea Wei Wuxian pours and eats the same ascetic bowl of congee.

After breakfast, they return to the wardrobe. Hanguang Jun seems softer, somehow. Serene rather than stiff. In the light of dawn, he’s almost luminescent, the bare skin at the base of his throat as pale and smooth as his silk undershirt. A silk undershirt that is so sheer that the thin morning light shines right through it.

Looking at him is almost painful, but smelling him is even worse. This morning, Hanguang Jun’s scent is even stronger, like his skin is still warm from bed. And dressing him takes longer than undressing had. It also involves more touching. The robe Hanguang Jun had approved with a tiny nod has to be situated on his broad shoulders, then smoothed out with palms that tingle over solid muscle. Wei Wuxian spends years on his knees trying to make his trembling fingers tie the laces along Hanguang Jun’s sides, cursing the tailors for their fussy designs. Finally, he draws on the last layer—a gauzy white robe that almost floats in his hands as he settles it on Hanguang Jun’s shoulders.

While this was happening, Hanguang Jun had stood as immobile as the mannequin the novices had used for practice, but as soon as the last layer is on, Hanguang Jun heads to the dressing table. Wei Wuxian combs his hair—only a few minor tangles even now—and does his best to copy the style Hanguang Jun had worn yesterday. Now he wishes he’d practiced more. He doesn’t have Mianmian to fix his disasters anymore.

When the topknot is as straight as he can make it, he reaches for the guan. Putting it on is much harder than taking it off. By the time he’s finished, Hanguang Jun’s eyebrows have taken on a severe slant.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says weakly.

Hanguang Jun grunts an acknowledgment and picks up a white ribbon. Wei Wuxian watches as he centers the cloud insignia in the middle of his forehead and draws the ends behind his head.

“Shall this one—” Wei Wuxian begins, reaching to help him, but Hanguang Jun jerks away.

“No,” he grunts, shooting Wei Wuxian a scathing look in the mirror. He ties the ribbon with quick jerks, like he’s worried Wei Wuxian will reach for it again. Then he grabs his sword and leaves the room.

Wei Wuxian scowls after him. He hadn’t done that badly with the guan, had he? Grumbling under his breath about persnickety alphas, Wei Wuxian tidies the tea set and the dressing table. Then he stomps around the screen to make the bed, but it’s already done. Good thing, too, since the bed reeks of alpha scent.

He smooths the already smooth blanket and investigates the rest of Hanguang Jun’s quarters, telling himself that he isn’t being nosy—it’s his job to predict his alpha’s needs, so he should learn all he can.

The room doesn’t reveal much, though. This is only a temporary residence. Everyone knows that Hanguang Jun lives in the mountains of Gusu. As such, the room is nearly devoid of personal items. He pokes through a few books neatly stacked on a table: some poetry, sheet music, and two volumes on cultivation that he’d love to read, but he forces himself to leave them alone.

A door at the back of the room leads to a bathing chamber. In the center stands a tub so huge that Wei Wuxian could probably lie in it without bending his knees, though Hanguang Jun probably still has to scrunch up a bit. He realizes that he’ll find out for sure soon. The thought of bending next to that tub to wash Hanguang Jun’s bare skin rattles him so badly that he flees to the safety of his own quarters.

Once inside, he has no idea what to do. After bouncing around for a bit, he wanders back out to the balcony. His new robe offers little protection against the wind, but he ignores his chattering teeth and folds his arms on the railing, propping his chin there to watch the people below.

He’s still on the balcony when lunch arrives. He smiles at the servant as he tries to chafe warmth back in his arms. Might as well try to make friends, especially with the young woman who’s apparently in charge of his food.

“Pardon the intrusion,” she says, “but Zewu Jun has asked that Lan er-gongzi and Wei-gongzi join him for tea this afternoon.”

“Ah, thank you.” He returns her bow and pushes that worry aside for a moment. “I was hoping to send a letter to someone in the palace. Or to someone who might be in the palace. And one to the temple. Could you help me?”

“Of course,” she says, bowing again. So formal, these Lans. She doesn’t ask any questions when he hands her the envelopes. He supposes that he might be challenged about it later, but for now, it’s a relief to be treated without suspicion.

“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “What’s your name?”

The young woman blinks at him, looking a little stunned. Weird. Then she bows. “This one is Chang Qing.”

“Lovely to meet you Chang-guniang. Hey, I’ve got another question.”

Her eyes dart to the door like she’s considering bolting. “Yes?”

“Earlier, you said ‘Lan er-gongzi’ instead of ‘Hanguang Jun.’ The steward did the same thing.” Chang Qing nods and shoots another desperate look at the door. “I just wondered why.”

It takes a few moments for her to prepare her response. Then finally, she says, “That is Lan er-gongzi’s preference.”

“Huh.” Wei Wuxian taps the side of his nose, considering that. So Hanguang Jun doesn’t prefer his fancy title? Well, that sort of makes sense. After all, his reputation is based on being the kind of hero who helps everyone rather than the kind who cares about status. But then, the younger brother of the Gusu sect leader hardly needs to earn more status. Not to mention being the most handsome cultivator of his generation.

“Does Wei-gongzi require anything else?” Chang Qing asks, clearly hoping the answer is no.

“No, sorry. Thanks for your help.”

She bows and scurries out. He drops behind the dining table and sighs at yet another tray of Lan cuisine. This time, he should try to make a better impression on the cooks. It’s the only way he won’t starve during his time here.

*

Ten minutes before he’s due to meet Zewu Jun for tea, there’s a knock at his door. He flings it open expecting the steward, but instead, he comes face-to-face with Hanguang Jun.

“Ah, good afternoon, Lan er-gongzi.”

“Good afternoon. Xiongzhang is expecting us.”

Hanguang Jun doesn’t sound particularly happy about that, but then he hasn’t seemed particularly happy about anything during their short acquaintance. When Wei Wuxian mumbles his agreement, Hanguang Jun spins and heads down the hallway. Wei Wuxian hurries after him and follows him up more stairs to the top of the tower.

Another steward admits them and leads them to a room where Zewu Jun and Meng Yao are already waiting.

“Wangji,” Zewu Jun calls, smiling like he hasn’t seen his brother in weeks.

“Xiongzhang,” Hanguang Jun returns, bowing deeply.

Wei Wuxian is pulled from his own bow by Zewu Jun, who pats his shoulder and beams at him. “Welcome. I hope you’re settling in well. Is there anything you need?”

“Zewu Jun is too generous. This one has everything he requires.”

Zewu Jun gives him another pat and leads him to a small dining table. Surprised, Wei Wuxian lets Zewu Jun guide him onto a cushion. The four of them sit, knees nearly brushing, as Meng Yao pours tea.

“I apologize,” Zewu Jun says to Wei Wuxian. “I had hoped to have you both here for dinner last night. And Meng Yao wished to be there to greet your arrival, but this conference . . .” He trails off and shakes his head. “It has been one catastrophe after another, hasn’t it, A-Yao?”

Meng Yao nods and hands Wei Wuxian a cup. “Some cultivators are clearly better-suited to dealing with the undead than with their colleagues.”

Zewu Jan laughs at this, and Wei Wuxian is startled into a tense chuckle. Hanguang Jun’s expression never flickers.

“Well said. Regardless, we are happy to be able to greet you now.” Zewu Jun salutes Wei Wuxian with his cup.

The rest of the afternoon would’ve been quite pleasant if it were not for Hanguang Jun. Seeing him and his brother sitting so close is bizarre. The Twin Jades are aptly named, yet their personalities could not be more different. As Hanguang Jun sits quietly, nursing his tea and seemingly ignoring the conversation around him, Wei Wuxian realizes that Zewu Jun and Meng Yao had rather understated his detachment. Hanguang Jun responds politely when his brother asks a direct question, but he offers nothing more than a concise answer. He never interjects with a thought of his own, and he never smiles at jokes.

At least it isn’t just me, Wei Wuxian thinks, but he can’t feel relieved that Hanguang Jun is apparently this cold with everyone. It’s sad, really.

After the first cups of tea are drunk, Zewu Jun turns to his brother. “Wangji, has Wei Wuxian played for you yet?”

Hanguang Jun shakes his head and avoids looking at any of them.

Zewu Jun sighs and gives Wei Wuxian a sympathetic look. “I told him how wonderfully you played at the temple.” He turns to Hanguang Jun. “I’m sure he will be pleased to listen.”

Hanguang Jun ducks his chin at the admonishing tone but doesn’t respond. Zewu Jun and Meng Yao share an exasperated look.

“It is important to make time for little pleasures,” Meng Yao says lightly. Zewu Jun smiles and takes his hand, squeezing it before returning his attention to his guests.

Soon after, Zewu Jun reluctantly declares that he has a dinner to attend, and they all stand to say their farewells. Wei Wuxian follows his silent alpha downstairs and into Hanguang Jun’s apartments. Hanguang Jun ducks into one of the side chambers and shuts the door behind him without a word.

Wei Wuxian blows out a breath and goes to his room to wait for dinner.

*

While he’s taking down Hanguang Jun’s hair that evening, he decides he’s had enough silence. “It was kind of Zewu Jun to invite us today.”

Hanguang Jun blinks down at the table. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian sighs and braces a hand on Hanguang Jun’s shoulder as he leans over to lay the guan on the dressing table. Hanguang Jun doesn’t object to being used for leverage, but his eyebrows draw together a fraction.

“This one would be happy to play for Lan er-gongzi, if he wishes.” Too late he remembers that he doesn’t actually have a dizi, but it doesn’t matter. Hanguang Jun just hums again, a little lower than before, which sounds like thanks but no thanks.

Again, Hanguang Jun does his best impression of a statue while Wei Wuxian undresses him. He’s tempted to poke Hanguang Jun’s ribs just to get a reaction. This time, he claims the stool and reaches for Hanguang Jun’s foot. Undaunted, Hanguang Jun lets Wei Wuxian pull off his boots. He doesn’t even steady himself on the wardrobe, balancing perfectly on each foot.

Wei Wuxian huffs to himself, a little impressed, and starts brushing off the white boots.

“I will bathe tonight,” Hanguang Jun announces.

Wei Wuxian’s head shoots up. “Oh.” He watches, slack-jawed, as Hanguang Jun takes a dressing gown from the wardrobe and heads for the bathing chamber. Biting his lip, he finishes cleaning the boots. When he can’t pretend that they still need cleaning, he stows them in the wardrobe and goes to the bathing chamber.

He’s just in time to see Hanguang Jun lowering himself into the tub. The sight makes him stumble, and he bumps into a table, sending the pitcher rocking. He catches it before it can crash to the floor and steadies it back on the stool, his heart pounding.

“What are you doing?”

He turns back to the tub and sees Hanguang Jun glaring at him over his shoulder. “Um, sorry. Didn’t see that there.” Taking a deep breath, he lifts the pitcher and steps forward. “Would Lan er-gongzi like for this one to wash his hair?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian falters and nearly drops the pitcher. Hanguang Jun’s eyes are flashing, his ears bright red.

“Oh. Okay. I could—”

“Get out,” Hanguang Jun snaps. His hands grip the sides of the tub like he’s seconds away from flinging himself out and strangling his worthless omega.

“But—your bath?”

“Out!”

Wei Wuxian whirls to comply. He reaches the door and realizes he’s still holding the pitcher. He scurries back, eyes downcast to avoid looking at the naked man, and sets it on the table. It rocks precariously, and he tries to secure it, but his hands are shaking so much that he nearly knocks it off. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Going now.” He can almost feel Hanguang Jun’s glare on his back.

He doesn’t stop until he’s in his own room. If Hanguang Jun wants him back, he can damn well send for him.

Hanguang Jun does not send for him.

It makes no sense, Wei Wuxian fumes as he stares up at his ceiling. Why did Hanguang Jun even want an omega if he’s going to throw a tantrum because one offered to wash his hair? Why bother taking him from the temple? Any old servant could clean Hanguang Jun’s boots and comb his hair. It’s such a waste. All those years of training, and for what? Hanguang Jun doesn’t even want him here.

He groans and flops onto his stomach. He didn’t even want this ridiculous job, but even if his job is humiliating, it’s better than being useless. And that’s what he is here—useless. No, he’s worse than useless. He’s a burden.

Same as always. He’s always a problem that gets dumped in people’s laps. First as an untrained disciple, struggling to catch up with shixiong his own age. Then an awkward novice who could never master the simplest dance steps. Now, he’s an omega to an alpha who despises him.

By morning, he’s decided that if he’s going to be sacked, he’ll bear it with dignity. He isn’t going to slink around his room waiting to be turned off; he’s going to do his damn job. So after breakfast, he heads to Hanguang Jun’s quarters. He’s actually a little early, so Hanguang Jun is just rising from his morning meditation.

Before Hanguang Jun can order him out—or throw him out the window—he falls to his knees. “This one has offended. Please punish this unworthy one.”

With his eyes locked on the floor, he can’t see Hanguang Jun’s reaction, but during the long pause, he thinks he can almost hear Hanguang Jun’s teeth grinding.

“Unnecessary,” Hanguang Jun says finally.

You’re damn right it is, Wei Wuxian thinks, but he salutes and rises. Thankfully, Chang Qing arrives soon after with Hanguang Jun’s breakfast. During the meal, Wei Wuxian is obnoxiously servile, rushing to refill Hanguang Jun’s cup every time he takes a sip. It’s gratifying how Hanguang Jun’s ears redden and his brow furrows until he’s outright scowling.

Wei Wuxian’s bravado almost fails when it’s time to dress him. While he’s tucking Hanguang Jun into his layers, his mind insists on replaying that moment when Hanguang Jun lowered himself into the bath, his bare skin gleaming in the lantern light, a pale shoulder peeking through his lovely hair.

That lovely hair doesn’t take quite as long now that Wei Wuxian’s fingers have learned the guan’s tricks, but it’s wavy this morning. That’s what you get for kicking me out last night, he thinks as he combs out the tangles.

As Hanguang Jun is leaving, Wei Wuxian calls, “Have a good day, Lan er-gongzi!” in the most revoltingly cheerful voice in his arsenal. Hanguang Jun pauses, shoulders stiffening. Then he sweeps out of the room.

Wei Wuxian spends most of the morning on his little balcony, watching the people below. He’ll miss this view, if nothing else.

He’s nearly asleep when he spots a familiar figure approaching. Even at this height, Hanguang Jun’s perfect posture stands out from the crowd: chin high, fist jammed against his lower back, robes billowing behind him.

There could be many reasons why Hanguang Jun is returning to the tower so early, Wei Wuxian tells himself, but he isn’t very convincing. Sure enough, footsteps tap down the hall, followed by a knock at his door. Sighing, he shakes out his skirts and goes to answer. This is it, then.

The steward leads him to the same audience chamber where Hanguang Jun had greeted him that first day. It makes sense. The audience chamber is a more formal setting than Hanguang Jun’s quarters. Less intimate. When he enters, Hanguang Jun is standing by the window. He turns as Wei Wuxian bows.

Silence.

Wei Wuxian folds his hands and stares at the floor. Just get on with it. His throat tightens with tears, and he’s furious at himself for being affected. It doesn’t matter, he lectures himself. This was never going to work anyway. The lecture doesn’t help. It’s still painful that Hanguang Jun doesn’t want him, that Wei Wuxian actually tried, and it wasn’t enough. Now he’ll have to go back to the temple, where everyone will know that he’s a failure, just as they all expected.

“I apologize,” Hanguang Jun says finally. “For my behavior last night.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at the floor. Huh?

“I was not familiar with the customs,” Hanguang Jun continues. “However, Xiongzhang explained that . . . omegas are trained to serve in that manner.” He stumbles over the word ‘omega’ like he’s soiling himself to even speak it. “I understand now that Wei-gongzi was merely attempting to fulfill his duty. My reaction was inappropriate.”

It’s hard to say which is more surprising—the apology or the fact that Hanguang Jun hasn’t spoken this many words in the three days Wei Wuxian has been in the tower. Then the absurdity of it hits him: had Hanguang Jun assumed Wei Wuxian was trying to defile him or just share his bathwater? Wei Wuxian has to clear his throat to hide the laugh that wants to erupt. Oh, how he wishes he could see Hanguang Jun’s face.

He bows low. “Lan er-gongzi is too kind.”

He waits to be dismissed, almost giddy with relief. When the dismissal doesn’t come, he gets nervous again. Maybe Hanguang Jun is going to fire him anyway.

“Yesterday, Wei Wuxian offered to play.”

“Um, this one would be honored to play for Lan er-gongzi. However, this one has no instrument.”

“Mn. This way.” Hanguang Jun walks past him, and Wei Wuxian hurries to follow him down the hall. They enter a room that must be a library and then pass through a door tucked away behind a screen. This small chamber is centered around a white guqin resting on a low table. “It’s lovely,” Wei Wuxian says, barely resisting the urge to stroke the gleaming instrument.

Hanguang Jun takes a dizi from a rack and turns to him. Wei Wuxian accepts it and waits while Hanguang Jun settles onto a cushion. “What song would Lan er-gongzi prefer?”

“Whatever you like.”

Wei Wuxian plays a few notes to get a feel for the instrument. It’s in excellent condition, the sound bright and clean. Then he plays “Plum Blooming in the Snow.” After the first few measures, Hanguang Jun’s eyes snap to him and stay there.

Wei Wuxian can’t help smiling. So this is what it takes to get Hanguang Jun’s attention? Well, he will not disappoint. He gives the song everything he’s got, sinking into the music. He’s always loved playing—almost as much as he’d loved swordplay. This dizi is much nicer than the one he’d used at the temple. It responds sweetly to his every wish. Even he is impressed by the song that emerges.

When the song is finished, he bows. “Lan er-gongzi honors this one with his attention.” Hanguang Jun keeps staring, his eyes sharp and lips slightly parted. Wei Wuxian feels the blush creeping up his face and ducks his head.

“You play well.”

Wei Wuxian grins at the floor. “Thanks. Zewu Jun mentioned that Lan er-gongzi plays the guqin?” He lets the end of his sentence rise into a question. It’s a bit presumptuous, but Hanguang Jun obligingly goes to the white guqin. He shakes out his sleeves and looks up at Wei Wuxian. He blinks once, slowly, then looks at the cushion he’d abandoned.

Surprised, Wei Wuxian hurries to sit. Hanguang Jun gives him a nod, then begins to play. The music is beautiful, but Wei Wuxian gets distracted watching Hanguang Jun’s long, elegant fingers strumming and stroking. Hanguang Jun’s expression softens as he plays, and Wei Wuxian can’t help gawking at the wonders that expression does to Hanguang Jun’s already beautiful face.

Hanguang Jun looks up and catches his eye. Wei Wuxian drops his gaze and realizes he’d been smiling—ogling and grinning like a fool. His cheeks ache with it.

When the song ends, Wei Wuxian jumps to his feet and bows. “That was beautiful. Truly. This one is honored.”

Hanguang Jun stands and inclines his head. “Our sect studies music for use in cultivation. However, I also enjoy playing. And listening.”

Wei Wuxian would love to hear more about this musical cultivation, but nothing more is forthcoming. He realizes he’s still clutching the dizi, so he places it in its stand, thankful that it doesn’t slide out of his greasy hands.

“You may use the dizi whenever you would like,” Hanguang Jun says. “However, I must ask that you do not touch the guqin. It is an heirloom of my sect, as well as a powerful spiritual instrument.”

Wei Wuxian bows his understanding. “This one would be honored to play for Lan er-gongzi again. And to listen.”

“Mn.” There’s a long pause while Hanguang Jun appears to contemplate the wall. “You are dismissed.”

As he walks back through the library, Wei Wuxian wonders if that might have been reluctance in his alpha’s voice. Grinning, he heads back to his room.

That night, the atmosphere in Hanguang Jun’s chambers is much less strained. But neither of them suggests a bath.

*

The next day, Wei Wuxian is chipper enough to start exploring the tower, starting with the rooms he’s sure he’s allowed in—the library and music room. The white guqin is a powerful temptation, but he’s able to resist. For now.

Instead, he pokes through the books. The selection of cultivation manuals is pretty disappointing, but then, the Lans wouldn’t keep the good stuff here. There are some volumes of sheet music that look interesting. Maybe Hanguang Jun will let him borrow them.

For the moment, he leaves them behind and wanders back into the hallway. He’s readying himself to open another door when Chang Qing finds him.

“Wei-gongzi, is there something you require?”

He yanks his hand back from the door and turns to grin at her. “Good morning! I was just coming from the library.”

She seems confused, but she doesn’t challenge him. “A letter has arrived for Wei-gongzi.”

He leaps forward to take the envelope from her hand and grins at the lotus blossom emblem in the wax seal. “Thank you!” he calls over his shoulder as he hurries back to his room.

Shijie’s letter is full of excitement about his new position and eagerness to see him. But she’s departing the city today for a hunt in the mountains. She promises to write again when she returns so that they can meet.

He’s disappointed, but also a little relieved. Even if he’s allowed to have visitors, he doesn’t want Shijie to see how awkward the situation is. He can’t go to her, either. Not if it means facing his former sect as . . . this. They could meet somewhere else, but he’d probably get hopelessly lost trying to navigate the capital alone. He hates that he’s become such a timid little concubine, but after years of cloistering, the thought of walking around by himself makes him nervous.

He sighs and starts composing his response. At least there’s no reason to trouble Chang Qing again so soon. It will be days before Shijie returns to the palace.

He’s just sealing the letter when there’s a knock at his door: the steward tells him he has a visitor. Heart leaping, he follows her to a room at the end of the hall. Shijie must have stolen away to see him before she left for the hunt!

But his visitor turns out to be Meng Yao. Meng Yao quirks an eyebrow. “You seem disappointed.”

“Not at all.” Wei Wuxian ushers him to the table and tries not to pout.

Chang Qing brings them tea, and Wei Wuxian pours it, too disappointed to worry about presentation. “So, to what do I owe this honor?”

Meng Yao sips his tea and smiles blandly. “I wanted to make sure that your misunderstanding with Lan er-gongzi has been resolved.”

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian winces. “You heard about that, huh?”

“Indeed. Lan er-gongzi was quite distressed.”

Wei Wuxian groans. “All I did was offer to wash his hair!”

“Relax. You were not at fault.” He smirks. “I take it you haven’t gone to bed with him?”

Wei Wuxian snorts in reply.

“Not surprising.”

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian says dryly.

“I only meant that Lan Wangji is rather aloof. Don’t take it personally.”

“Kind of hard not to. How am I supposed to do my job when he doesn’t want me anywhere near him? Did he even want an omega?”

Meng Yao sighs. “This was Zewu Jun’s idea. He hopes you’ll be good for his little brother. Zewu Jun worries that Lan Wangji spends too much time alone.”

“I’m trying. I really am! But everything I try seems to make it worse. The other day, I offered to tie his ribbon, and he nearly hit the ceiling.”

Meng Yao laughs. It’s rolling and real, nothing like his earlier polite chuckles. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He wipes his eyes as another chuckle escapes. “Truly. I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just—” He snorts and lays a hand on his belly. “The Lan ribbons are sacrosanct. Only parents and spouses are allowed to touch them. There are several rules about those ribbons, actually.”

“Yeah, they seem fond of rules,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. He’s a little pissed that Hanguang Jun hadn’t just explained that instead of stomping out.

“Very fond,” Meng Yao agrees. “I’m sure you’ve read your copy of the principles.” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Some,” Wei Wuxian hedges.

“Better memorize them.”

Wei Wuxian scoffs, then realizes he’s serious. “Oh fuck.”

“Mmhmm.” Meng Yao takes a long sip of tea and studies him over the cup’s rim. Wei Wuxian can’t help fidgeting. He feels like he’s auditioning again. It’s difficult to forget that the man sitting across from him is lauded as an exemplar for omegas. Next to him, Wei Wuxian must look like an utter rube.

“I don’t envy you,” Meng Yao says finally. “Lan Wangji is a difficult assignment, for sure. The usual methods aren’t likely to work on him.”

“Usual methods?” Wei Wuxian leans forward, intrigued. Somehow, he doesn’t think Meng Yao is referring to the temple’s pedagogy.

“No,” Meng Yao continues. “You can’t play the naïf and get him to seduce you. And you’ve already seen how he responds to flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” Wei Wuxian protests. “I’m not trying to seduce him. I just don’t want to get fired!”

“You don’t find him attractive?”

“Well, of course he’s attractive,” Wei Wuxian huffs. “Everyone thinks he’s the prettiest. There was even a vote. But I’m not trying to lure him to bed.”

Meng Yao smiles. “I think Zewu Jun was right.”

“About what?”

“I urged him to choose someone a little more . . . traditional for Lan Wangji. Someone who could handle him without Lan Wangji realizing he was being handled. But perhaps the forthright approach is better.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him, parsing this. “You’re saying that it’s a good thing that I’m uncouth. I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Perhaps you should.” Meng Yao cocks his head and studies him again. “You are charming, in a rustic sort of way.”

“And now you’re calling me a rube.” He huffs. “I know you’re better at compliments than this. Give me some face and at least try a little.”

“And you aren’t stupid. That’s something, at least.”

Wei Wuxian sighs and slumps over the table. “But I’m not a mind-reader. Help me out here—what does Hanguang Jun like, besides music?”

Meng Yao’s brows furrow as he considers the question. “He reads. He often goes on night hunts, so I suppose he enjoys them.” Then realization lights his face. “I believe he is fond of rabbits.”

“Rabbits? Like, to eat?”

“Doubtful. The Lans don’t eat meat.”

“Ugh.” Wei Wuxian gives up on comportment entirely and flops onto his back. “How have you survived here for so long?”

Meng Yao chuckles. “The position has its pleasures. Perhaps you will discover them for yourself . . . eventually.”

*

The next night, Wei Wuxian cleans Hanguang Jun’s boots and watches from under lowered lashes as Hanguang Jun polishes his sword. He’s been dying for a closer look at it, and it doesn’t disappoint. He can sense the sword’s power from five feet away. But he’s almost distracted from the gleaming steel by Hanguang Jun’s elegant hands stroking the blade.

“There is no need to fear it.”

Wei Wuxian jumps at Hanguang Jun’s low rumble and ducks his chin. Apparently, he wasn’t being as sneaky as he thought. “It is beautiful. Does it have a name?”

“Bichen.”

“Good name.” He hunts around for something else to ask. “How old was er-gongzi when he got it?”

“Twelve.”

Same as me, he thinks. Of course, he only had his own sword for a year before having to give it back to Jiang Fengmian.

To avoid thinking about that, he asks, “Does er-gongzi also use the guqin in battles?”

Hanguang Jun nods, his eyes fixed on the sword. “I am not yet fully proficient, however.”

“Oh.” He stows the boots in the wardrobe, gathers his nerve, and joins Hanguang Jun at the table. Hanguang Jun’s shoulders tense for a moment. Then, as if deciding to allow it, he returns his attention to the sword.

“Would er-gongzi tell this one about musical cultivation?”

Hanguang Jun blinks at him, his perfect brow scrunching a little. “What would you like to know?”

Everything. “Well, this one has heard that some cultivators use music to communicate with spirits. Is that true?”

Hanguang Jun nods.

Wei Wuxian grins and tries not to bounce on his cushion. “Does er-gongzi know how to do that?”

Another nod.

“How does it work?”

Haltingly, Hanguang Jun explains how the Lans use Inquiry, but it’s dry and technical, like he’s reading from a manual.

“Has er-gongzi ever used it in the field?”

Hanguang Jun sheathes his blade and lays his hands on his knees. “Mn.”

It takes every ounce of Wei Wuxian’s patience to keep dragging out Hanguang Jun’s responses. Still, Hanguang Jun doesn’t seem offended at being interrogated. “This one would love to hear er-gongzi’s stories.”

Hanguang Jun looks at him, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian forgets to drop his gaze. “It is late,” Hanguang Jun says.

“Ah. Apologies. This one thanks Lan er-gongzi for his patience.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Hanguang Jun says softly.

Grinning, Wei Wuxian bows and leaves him in peace.

*

Wei Wuxian is in the little music room trying out one of the songs in the book Hanguang Jun loaned him when Mianmian’s letter arrives.

The first line reads: That bad, huh?

He snorts and twirls the dizi through his fingers as he reads the rest—and drops it when he reads that she’s been chosen as Jin Zixuan’s omega.

That little peacock! Grumbling, he checks the dizi for wounds. He determines it’s unscathed and carefully places it on the stand. True, he hasn’t seen Jin Zixuan since they were kids, but he’d been such a snobby little shit. No way is he good enough for Mianmian.

The plus side is that Mianmian will be joining him in the palace soon. He writes a response that includes his opinions on her foolish life choices and says she’d better visit as soon as she arrives.

Then he skips out of his room to find Chang Qing. She accepts the envelope and cringes back from his no doubt alarming grin. He sighs and watches her scurry away.

His mood dips as he wanders the halls. He has good news, but there’s no one here to share his happiness. Hanguang Jun is out, as usual—not that he’s interested in such things anyway. And despite Wei Wuxian’s best efforts, he hasn’t made any progress befriending the other servants. The problem is that Wei Wuxian holds a singular position in the household: he isn’t gentry, but neither is he a regular servant. As such, the other servants treat him like a valuable decoration, something to be polished but otherwise avoided.

He feels like a ghost, invisible and desperate for attention. He’s beginning to sympathize with restless spirits. Now he understands why they’re always so pissed. Being ignored sucks.

Then with his usual impeccable timing, Meng Yao arrives. He cringes back from Wei Wuxian’s enthusiastic welcome. “Let’s get you out of this tower,” he says.

“We can do that?”

“Of course,” Meng Yao scoffs. “You aren’t a novice anymore. Besides, you should celebrate.” He takes a money pouch from his sleeve and holds it out. “Your first wages.”

Somehow, Wei Wuxian had forgotten that part. Wide-eyed, he accepts the pouch and opens it. “Fucking hell, this can’t be right.”

Meng Yao smiles indulgently. “Lan er-gongzi requested that you earn a bit extra.”

“A bonus? But I’ve barely done anything.” He blushes as Meng Yao snorts. This much money is usually reserved for omegas who are good at . . . stuff.

“Maybe he hopes you’ll use it to buy yourself something nice. Something for your hair, perhaps?”

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian pats his hair. “Meng Yao must educate me on the proper methods.”

“Indeed,” Meng Yao sniffs. “The pouch is yours to keep, of course. Another gift from your alpha.”

Wei Wuxian strokes a finger over the cloud insignia on the white pouch and tries not to blush. He tucks the pouch inside his robe. “So, where are we going?”

“The market, obviously. You need robes for the banquet next week.” Meng Yao gestures elegantly at the door, his long sleeve swaying. Wei Wuxian really needs to learn shit like that.

As they pass through the door, alone, Wei Wuxian asks, “No guards?”

“I assure you, we’re quite safe.”

“No, I know. I just thought . . .” What had he thought, actually? That he wasn’t allowed outside? That Hanguang Jun was worried that he’d hoof it? Ridiculous. He’s here by his own choice—an employee, not a slave. Besides, Hanguang Jun would probably love to be rid of him.

“I do remember what it was like,” Meng Yao says as they walk downstairs. “Leaving the temple. How strange it is. And how frightening. But it will pass.”

Wei Wuxian nods, but he can’t imagine the man beside him ever being afraid. As they get closer to the bottom of the tower, his heart beats faster, but he tells himself that it’s excitement, not fear.

Meng Yao walks through the door and holds it open. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and steps into the sunlight.

The marketplace’s roar nearly deafens him at first—the crowds are so much louder down here than they are from his balcony. For the first few minutes, he feels like a piece of driftwood being swept down river. People flow all around him, even brushing against him as they hurry past, and he shrinks away, tempted to cling to Meng Yao’s sleeve.

The most shocking thing is that no one pays attention to them. According to his former instructors, the world outside the temple is full of lawless alphas waiting to pounce on unattached omegas. Even though he’d always rolled his eyes at their warnings, he had assumed he’d be a little more conspicuous.

Then he realizes that they aren’t the only omegas in the market. Although they’re the minority, they’re hardly rare. Most move in pairs or groups, but some even walk alone. Some are dressed conservatively, some are bejeweled and glossy, but other than a few appreciative looks, they’re all left unmolested.

“This way,” Meng Yao says, interrupting his gawking. “I’ll show you my favorite stores.”

The first store sells robes. “We didn’t bring seamstresses to the conference,” Meng Yao says. “An unfortunate oversight. You’re so tall, especially for an omega.” Wei Wuxian bites back a snide comment that everyone must seem tall to Meng Yao. It isn’t as if Meng Yao is wrong—he’d heard endless complaints about his height at the temple. At least he’d grown into a bit. He used to be all legs and ears.

Meng Yao dithers endlessly over blue silks that look exactly the same before finally selecting one. Then Wei Wuxian is subjected to the seamstress’s pinching fingers as she measures him. After that, they have to buy more undergarments and a luxuriant dressing gown. He almost wishes he had stayed in the tower.

“Lan er-gongzi was generous, but I’m not sure I can pay for all this,” Wei Wuxian warns him.

“You aren’t expected to pay for your banquet clothes. The Lan sect is footing today’s bill.” As if to prove it, Meng Yao pulls out a bulging pouch, much larger than the one tucked in Wei Wuxian’s robe.

“Are you sure we don’t need guards?” 

Meng Yao laughs, a charming, tinkling sound that Wei Wuxian envies. His own laugh sounds more like a drunk donkey. Meng Yao dips his hand inside his sleeve and emerges with a dagger. “There. Does Wei-gongzi feel safer now?”

“Depends. Do you know how to use that?”

Meng Yao dimples at him sweetly and stows the dagger back in his robe.

Even though they could probably buy the whole store with what’s in the pouch, Meng Yao haggles mercilessly with the merchant, making veiled threats about visiting other establishments and throwing Zewu Jun’s title around until the merchant finally meets his demands.

“Ruthless,” Wei Wuxian says admiringly as they walk out of the store. Meng Yao has even arranged for their purchases to be delivered to the tower, free of charge.

“Nonsense. Negotiations are expected.” He looks pleased, though, his chin jutting high as they move to the next store.

At the next store, Wei Wuxian selects a new guan, something he thinks Hanguang Jun would appreciate—silver, not too showy. But his fingers stroke an elaborate design, sheer filigree with tiny rubies nesting among the tendrils. Much too expensive, however. And no doubt too gaudy—and too red—for the Lans. He also leaves with a new comb and hair oil scented with sandalwood. Hanguang Jun seems to like that one.

They have lunch at a tavern, and Wei Wuxian stuffs himself with every spicy dish they have. “Finally, real fucking food,” he moans, slurping his soup.

Meng Yao grimaces as soup drips down Wei Wuxian’s chin. “Didn’t your temple offer etiquette lessons?”

“Yep.” Wei Wuxian swipes a napkin over his face and stifles a burp. “I just chose to ignore them.”

After lunch, Meng Yao lets him run loose in the market, but too soon, he snags Wei Wuxian’s sleeve and says they need to return to the tower.

Wei Wuxian sighs his agreement, but then he spots a flower stall. “Just one more stop.” He ignores Meng Yao’s protest and jogs over to the vendor. He selects some white orchids and gives haggling a shot, but Meng Yao’s flat stare tells him it wasn’t impressive.

That night, Hanguang Jun’s eyes land on the vase of orchids Wei Wuxian placed on the dining table. It’s difficult to tell, but Wei Wuxian thinks he might be pleased. “This one thought Lan er-gongzi might enjoy fresh flowers.”

“Thank you. You went to the market today?”

“Yes, with Meng Yao.” He bows low. “This one thanks Lan er-gongzi for his generosity.”

“No need,” Hanguang Jun murmurs. Throughout the meal, his eyes often drift to the orchids. Hanguang Jun’s pleasure in the flowers makes something warm and joyous sing through Wei Wuxian’s blood, and he chases it away, annoyed at himself. He is not going to become the simpering omega the temple wants him to be. It’s just that somebody should make Hanguang Jun smile.

*

A few days later, Wei Wuxian is putting away Hanguang Jun’s last robe, examining it closely for signs that it needs laundering, when Hanguang Jun speaks.

“I will bathe tonight.”

Wei Wuxian nearly drops the robe. “Would Lan er-gongzi like this one to attend him?”

Hanguang Jun doesn’t answer at first. Wei Wuxian hangs up the robe and turns to him. Hanguang Jun is frowning intently at nothing. Finally, he jerks his head in a nod.

Wei Wuxian tries very hard not to have a facial expression about this. He follows Hanguang Jun into the bathing chamber and turns away while he undresses. When the splashing stops, he takes a deep breath and turns back. Hanguang Jun sits perfectly upright and motionless in the tub, looking more like he’s awaiting execution than a bath.

Biting his lip, Wei Wuxian grabs the pitcher and kneels behind him. Slowly, broadcasting his movements, he pours water over Hanguang Jun’s hair. He cards his fingers through the dark mass to let the water permeate the strands. Keeping his eyes firmly averted from all the . . . everything, he dips the pitcher and repeats the process. Habit takes over, and his palm goes to Hanguang Jun’s crown to tilt his head back. Hanguang Jun flinches at the touch, and Wei Wuxian jerks his hand back.

“Apologies. Will er-gongzi tilt his head back a bit?”

Hanguang Jun grips the sides of the tub and arches his neck. Wei Wuxian can’t help staring at the long line of his throat. His eyes follow a drop of water that trickles down Hanguang Jun’s neck and splashes against his collarbone. His eyes want to follow that drop farther down, but he shakes his head and raises the pitcher. This time, Hanguang Jun doesn’t flinch as Wei Wuxian lays his hand over his forehead to shield his eyes.

Progress, Wei Wuxian thinks wryly, and sinks his fingers into Hanguang Jun’s hair to knead his scalp. A breath escapes Hanguang Jun’s pinched mouth, almost a sigh. Smiling, Wei Wuxian digs in a little harder and scritches with his nails. Hanguang Jun doesn’t make a sound, but his eyes drift shut, and his shoulders lose their rigidity.

See, isn’t it nice? Wei Wuxian wants to crow. He wonders if anyone has ever washed Hanguang Jun’s hair. Surely when he was a child? Surely even baby Lans have mothers?

As he rinses Hanguang Jun’s hair, he realizes that he’s missed such simple touches, too. At the temple, the novices always bathed together and dressed each other—it was part of their training. This leads to the realization that Hanguang Jun probably never touches anyone. He tries to imagine Hanguang Jun nudging someone with his elbow or slapping a buddy on the back, but it’s impossible.

When he finishes Hanguang Jun’s hair, he picks up the scrub brush and moves to Hanguang Jun’s shoulder. Hanguang Jun’s eyes slant to him. “I will finish the rest.”

Wei Wuxian hands him the brush. Then he goes to the bedchamber to wait. He checks his reflection in Hanguang Jun’s mirror. His face is as red as he’d feared, his hair frizzy from the steam. Scowling, he tries to smooth it down. He’ll have to wash it tonight or it’ll be a rat’s nest in the morning.

Hanguang Jun joins him soon after and sits at the dressing table. His skin is pink and polished, the sheer robe clinging to his damp skin. Wei Wuxian tries desperately to think of nothing but his task, but Hanguang Jun’s scent is so strong, rising from his warm skin like steam. Wei Wuxian’s scent sparks in response.

Hanguang Jun has to notice, but when Wei Wuxian dares to peek at his reflection, Hanguang Jun’s face is blank as ever, like he’s retreated inside himself to avoid this clumsy encounter. Where does he go? Wei Wuxian wonders. What does he see when he withdraws inside himself?

“All done,” Wei Wuxian says softly. He gives Hanguang Jun’s shoulder a little pat. Hanguang Jun blinks at Wei Wuxian in the mirror like he’d forgotten he’s there.

“You are dismissed,” Hanguang Jun says, his voice sounding like it comes from far away.

Wei Wuxian hurries through his own bath and plaits his hair into a clumsy braid. It will be curly tomorrow, but he can wear it up. It isn’t like Hanguang Jun pays attention, anyway.

As soon as he slides under the covers, his hand dives under his waistband, his fingers moving slick over his clit. He barely gets his fingers inside before he’s clenching around them, stifling his grunt with the heel of his hand. He hadn’t even had time to form a narrative—the simple image of Hanguang Jun’s throat working on a pleased sigh had been enough.

He wipes his wet fingers on the sheet as he gasps at the ceiling. He is truly the worst omega who’s ever lived: tragically horny for his alpha, who barely deigns to look at him.

*

Wei Wuxian pauses, ignoring the people who huff and shove past him, and stares at the tavern doors. Even though he’d chosen the place where he’d eaten lunch with Meng Yao, he’d still gotten lost on the way, so he’s horribly late. She might have given up already.

Grimacing, he smooths down his hair and goes inside. The host scurries over. “Welcome, gongzi. Would you like a table?”

Wei Wuxian tries to act like he visits taverns alone all the time. “I am meeting someone.” He scans the room, but he doesn’t see her.

“Ah, this way.”

Wei Wuxian follows the host upstairs, his skirts clenched in his fists. The host leads him to an alcove and draws back a curtain to reveal two strangers. The man and woman peer up at them. Then the woman’s face breaks into a tentative smile. “A-Xian?”

The grown woman with Shijie’s smile stands up and takes his hands. “A-Xian, is it really you? You’re so tall!”

Wei Wuxian blinks down at her. The last time he’d seen Jiang Yanli, she had been a few inches taller than he was. Now, he towers over her. “Shijie?”

She nods, laughing, and he laughs with her. Her hand cradles his cheek, and her thumb strokes away his tears. She’s crying too. They stare at each other, crying and laughing like two imbeciles.

“This is embarrassing,” a gruff voice says. Wei Wuxian looks over Shijie’s head at the man hovering behind her.

Shijie rolls her eyes. “You begged to come,” she tells the man. Then she turns back to Wei Wuxian. “Don’t listen to A-Cheng. He was dying to see you.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at the man, trying to see his little brother in that strong jaw and broad shoulders. “Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Who else would I be?”

Grinning, Wei Wuxian reaches over Shijie and claps his shoulder. Jiang Cheng grunts and slaps his hand away. Yep, definitely Jiang Cheng.

“You’re huge,” Wei Wuxian says. He sidles up to Jiang Cheng and pokes his chest. “What are they feeding you in Lotus Pier?” Jiang Cheng is taller than he is, and much broader. And he smells like alpha, which is so weird that Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose.

Jiang Cheng scowls harder and pushes back his shoulders like he’s trying to look even bigger. Wei Wuxian pokes his belly, and the scowl twists into a surprised laugh. There. That’s the boy he remembers.

“Boys,” Shijie scolds fondly, just as she always did. Both of them whip their heads toward her. She smiles and gestures at the table. “Let’s sit. You can poke each other later.”

*

“You’re so thin.” Shijie frowns as she drops more chicken into his bowl.

He dutifully picks it up, but he’s too excited to focus on the food. “That’s because the Lans eat like rabbits,” he tells her. He gives her his best mournful look. “They don’t even eat meat. How can I ever have lotus rib and pork soup again?”

She pats his hand. “I’ll bring you some next time.”

Beaming, he shoves the chicken in his mouth.

“I still can’t believe you’re Hanguang Jun’s omega,” Jiang Cheng says for the third time.

“A-Cheng,” Shijie sighs.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “His brother picked me. Zewu Jun has good taste.” He grins as Jiang Cheng huffs.

“I mean that Hanguang Jun is just so . . .” Jiang Cheng cuts his eyes at Shijie’s warning look and sighs. “He just kind of stares.” Jiang Cheng pinches his lips together and tries to imitate Hanguang Jun’s I’m pretending none of you exist expression. “Does he ever talk?”

“Sometimes,” Wei Wuxian says blandly, keeping his eyes on his bowl. “We talk about music. And he’s been telling me about the Lans’ musical cultivation, which is awesome.”

Jiang Cheng grunts, but Shijie smiles. “Did you tell him that you—?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and tries to return her smile. The temple instructors had worked hard to convince Wei Wuxian that he should forget he ever trained as a cultivator. It’s “unseemly” for an omega to wave around a sword. “I don’t remember any of that stuff anyway,” he tells her, his stomach twisting. “No point in bringing it up.”

“Oh,” her smile falters, and they sit in uneasy silence.

“So what do you do, then?” Jiang Cheng asks finally. “Just lounge around all day?”

Wei Wuxian quirks an eyebrow and tries to look very worldly. It must work because Jiang Cheng flushes and looks away. Relenting, Wei Wuxian says, “Hanguang Jun likes to listen to me play the dizi.”

“Oh, how nice!” Shijie says.

“Other than that . . . yeah, I pretty much hang around doing whatever I want.”

“Must be nice,” Jiang Cheng grunts.

Wei Wuxian nods and tries to look smug about his incredibly boring life.

*

Hanguang Jun’s banquet outfit is much more elaborate than his everyday clothes, and one of the layers has five ties that snug against Hanguang Jun’s ribs. Five. By the time Wei Wuxian has finished tying them, he could gleefully murder every tailor in the capital.

The guan Hanguang Jun will wear tonight is as big as his head. It keeps slipping through Hanguang Jun’s silky hair. The third time this happens, Wei Wuxian unthinkingly grabs Hanguang Jun’s hand and presses it against the guan. “Here, hold this for a second.”

It’s only when he sees Hanguang Jun’s reflection in the mirror—placidly holding the guan steady—that he realizes what he’s done. Oh well, he thinks, going back to work. If Hanguang Jun doesn’t mind, then who cares?

“There,” he announces when the guan is secure. “Lan er-gongzi looks very handsome.”

Hanguang Jun studies his reflection for a moment, then inclines his head. He stands, and Wei Wuxian follows him around the room, inspecting the robes for wrinkles. Tonight’s banquet will be his first public event with his new alpha, and he can admit that he’s a little nervous.

Hanguang Jun pauses and turns to him. “Wei Wuxian should go dress now.”

“Oh, right!” He ducks a quick bow and hurries back to his quarters.

Once inside, he throws off his clothes and goes to work on his own hair. He copies a style he saw an omega wearing at the tavern the other day, and it turns out pretty well, though he doesn’t have any little beads to add to the braids. When he’s finished, he grins at the mirror. All his practice with Hanguang Jun is paying off.

He’s pulling on his last layer when there’s a knock at the door. He steps into his slippers and flings open the door. Hanguang Jun doesn’t fall at his feet and praise his beauty, but he gives a little nod.

Beaming, Wei Wuxian follows him out of the tower and tries to ignore how he’s already sweating under seven layers of silk.

*

“Hanguang Jun has arrived!”

The announcer’s voice rings in Wei Wuxian’s ears as he follows Hanguang Jun into the banquet hall. He keeps his eyes locked on Hanguang Jun’s back as they make their way to their seats. Hanguang Jun gracefully folds onto his cushion and shakes out his sleeves. Wei Wuxian takes position behind him and sighs in relief. With the grand entrance complete, all he has to do now is stand here and look pretty.

Well, that and serve tea. He pours a cup from the set by his knee and places it on Hanguang Jun’s table. Then he fades back and takes a look around. Many of the seats are still empty. They must be unfashionably early. Zewu Jun isn’t even here yet.

Most of the cultivators who have arrived are milling around, chatting and drinking wine. He scans the crowd looking for Shijie and Jiang Cheng, but he doesn’t see any Yunmeng purple. However, he does see a big splotch of gold. One of the gold-robed figures looks over and smiles. Wei Wuxian grins back at Mianmian. She points to her head and gives him a thumbs up, approving his braids. He tosses his hair, feeling very smug about how cute he looks.

“Zewu Jun has arrived!”

Wei Wuxian turns away from Mianmian to watch Zewu Jun and Meng Yao’s entrance. Unlike Hanguang Jun, Zewu Jun stops to chat along the way. When Zewu Jun finally reaches his seat, he greets his brother, then turns to Wei Wuxian. “Good evening, Wei-gongzi. Are you enjoying your first banquet?”

Surprised, Wei Wuxian bows. “Good evening. Yes, it’s very interesting.”

Zewu Jun smiles warmly and sits to talk with his brother. Meng Yao takes position behind Zewu Jun. He gives Wei Wuxian a little up and down, then nods. Wei Wuxian tries not to preen.

When the Jiangs are announced, Wei Wuxian can’t help inching forward to get a better look, but he ducks his head when Yu Ziyuan’s gaze sweeps over him. He doesn’t know if Shijie told her that he was here. Hopefully not. That’s all he needs tonight.

Then Shijie and Jiang Cheng parade by, and his breath catches at how beautiful she looks, how grown up they are. The rest of the banquet is pretty disappointing. There are several dull speeches, and everybody praises everybody. Many toasts are drunk, but those aren’t a problem for him since Hanguang Jun sticks to tea. His only real entertainment is making faces at Mianmian from across the room.

Finally, the main event is over, followed by idle socializing. Unfortunately, his anti-social alpha stays in his seat, so Wei Wuxian can’t even sneak away to chat with his old friends.

Instead, they come to him.

Jiang Cheng and Shijie approach Hanguang Jun’s table and bow. Hanguang Jun rises to greet them. “Hanguang Jun,” Jiang Cheng says. “It is a pleasure to see you. Are you enjoying the banquet?”

Hanguang Jun says that he is, rather unconvincingly.

“Forgive our intrusion,” Shijie says. “Wei Wuxian is our dear friend from childhood. If Hanguang Jun does not object, we would like to speak with him.”

Hanguang Jun stands aside so that they can move past him. Wei Wuxian searches his face for any sign that he has feelings about this, but he’s as blank as ever.

“What are you doing?” he hisses as they join him in the shadows.

“We’re going to visit you as often as we can,” Shijie says, her chin tilted up defiantly. “He might as well get used to it.”

After Shijie and Jiang Cheng have moved along, one of the Jin cultivators—clearly wasted—strides up to Zewu Jun’s table and brandishes a jug of wine. “Zewu Jun!” he bellows and salutes unsteadily. “Toast with me!”

Zewu Jun smiles thinly and shakes his head. “Jin Zixun is very kind, but I must decline.”

Jin Zixun’s face reddens, and he makes snide comments about how it’s snobby to refuse a toast. He’s drawing a lot of attention from the drunk, nosy cultivators. Fucking Jins, Wei Wuxian thinks. He catches Mianmian’s eye, and she shakes her head in disgust.

Meng Yao scurries forward and gives Jin Zixun his best doe eyes, but no matter what he says, Jin Zixun persists. He pours a cup and shoves it at Zewu Jun like a weapon.

Sighing, Zewu Jun pats Meng Yao’s shoulder. “A-Yao, it is no bother.” He looks bothered, though. Zewu Jun drinks the cup of wine and hands it back to the smirking boy.

Puffed up with success, Jin Zixun turns to Hanguang Jun. “Your turn, Lan Wangji,” he says, pouring another cup of wine. Hanguang Jun ignores the cup and doesn’t respond when the boy stammers protests.

When the boy shoves the wine in Hanguang Jun’s face, Wei Wuxian gives in to his simmering anger. He tucks his hands behind his back and crooks a finger. The cup flies back and splashes wine on Jin Zixun’s face.

Laughter erupts around the hall. Jin Zixun swipes his sleeve over his dripping face, glaring at Hanguang Jun.

“Ah, young Jin-gongzi has drunk too many toasts!” a stocky man exclaims. Several others chime in with snide comments.

Fuming, Jin Zixun whirls and stomps out of the hall.

Wei Wuxian picks up a napkin and bends beside Hanguang Jun. “Lan er-gongzi, did any of the wine spill on you?”

Hanguang Jun looks at him for a long moment, then shakes his head. Wei Wuxian smiles and returns to his post.

*

It is well past Hanguang Jun’s bedtime when they head back to the tower, yet the hall is still full of revelers (minus one loathsome Jin disciple). As much as Wei Wuxian hates to admit it, it’s a relief to be headed home, and he can’t wait to take off all these robes.

Hanguang Jun lets out a tiny sigh as Wei Wuxian lifts the enormous guan from his head. Smiling, Wei Wuxian takes down his top knot and lets that gorgeous hair fall free. As he massages Hanguang Jun’s no doubt aching scalp, Hanguang Jun’s eyes drift closed.

“Would Lan er-gongzi like this one to wash his hair tonight?” Wei Wuxian asks softly.

Hanguang Jun grunts a no. He looks perfectly content to stay here and have his head rubbed. Wei Wuxian adds some fingernail scritches, and Hanguang Jun’s head actually lolls a bit.

Wei Wuxian pets him a little longer, then steps back. “Lan er-gongzi must be exhausted. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Hanguang Jun hums his agreement and heads to the wardrobe. He seems half-asleep as Wei Wuxian undresses him, but when Wei Wuxian kneels to take off his boots, Hanguang Jun asks, “How did you do that?”

Confused, Wei Wuxian looks up at him. “This one doesn’t understand the question.”

“You knocked the cup from his hand. How did you do that?”

“Ah.” He tugs off the second boot and moves behind Hanguang Jun to put them away. “This one trained as a disciple. Before the temple. I still remember a few tricks.” When he turns from the wardrobe, Hanguang Jun wraps his fingers around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

Shocked, he simply stands there as Hanguang Jun closes his eyes, his fingers pressing against Wei Wuxian’s pulse. He’s never touched me before, he thinks as he watches Hanguang Jun’s brow furrow.

Then Hanguang Jun’s eyes fly open to stare at him, stunned.

Oh, he thinks, understanding finally. Hanguang Jun releases his arm, and Wei Wuxian drops his gaze.

“Why did you abandon your training?”

Abandon? He grits his teeth against the surge of anger. “Omegas are not allowed to train as disciples.” He knows he’s sneering, but he can’t seem to stop. “After all, we’re only good for one thing.”

Even over the thunder in his ears, he hears Hanguang Jun’s sharp intake of breath. Fuck. He falls to his knees and salutes. “Please forgive this one’s insolence.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Unnecessary. Wei Wuxian must be tired. You are dismissed.”

Nearly choking with relief, Wei Wuxian watches from his knees as Hanguang Jun disappears behind the screen.

*

As Wei Wuxian is dressing him the next morning, Hanguang Jun says, “Your core is strong. How long did you train as a disciple?”

“Almost six years.” He isn’t sure what’s more surprising: that Hanguang Jun isn’t mad about being snapped at last night, or that he’s asking Wei Wuxian questions about himself.

“How long has it been since you’ve trained?”

“Well, I left Yunmeng when I was 13, so seven years, give or take.”

The next question comes when he’s combing Hanguang Jun’s hair: “Did you train with a sword?”

“Yes, but I didn’t have much time with a spiritual sword.”

“You had a spiritual sword?”

Wei Wuxian smiles at the surprise in his voice. “Jiang Fengmian gifted this one with a spiritual sword, but it had to be left behind.”

Hanguang Jun frowns down at the table. Wei Wuxian gives his hair one last stroke, then starts puttering around the room. Hanguang Jun’s eyes follow him. “Would you like to resume your training?”

He drops the dust cloth and turns to Hanguang Jun. “My training?”

Hanguang Jun nods.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian gasps. “Yes, of course.”

Hanguang Jun nods again. Then he picks up Bichen and leaves without another word.

Wei Wuxian goes back to dusting in a bewildered haze. Surely Hanguang Jun wasn’t offering to let him train. He warns himself not to hope—such a hope is too bright to bear.

As the days pass, Hanguang Jun fails to mention it again, and Wei Wuxian tells himself that it was foolish to even consider it. Hanguang Jun was just curious, not presenting it as a possibility. Why would he? The Lans weren’t lacking in talented disciples. They’d hardly want to take on a grown man who hadn’t trained for years. And they’d never break tradition for an omega.

*

Life in the tower continues, but much richer than before. He introduces Mianmian and Shijie, who adore each other on sight, and even Jiang Cheng sneaks away from the conference a few times to play with them. They wander the capital, eating junk and sampling the local wine. No one ever complains about Wei Wuxian’s absences from the tower, if they even notice.

One morning after Hanguang Jun departs, Wei Wuxian roams the tower, wanting something, but finding nothing that pleases him. As the day progresses, he grows more and more irritable. He even returns to Hanguang Jun’s room, breathing in the scents of sandalwood and honey. That distracts him for a bit, and he rambles around, tidying things that don’t need to be tidied and trailing his fingers over the furniture. When he opens the wardrobe, the rush of Hanguang Jun’s scent makes his mouth water. He has to slam the door before he buries his face in the robes.

The conference’s final banquet is to be held that night. As he’s bundling Hanguang Jun into his robes, the tension inside him crescendos to a shriek. He wants nothing more than to nuzzle against Hanguang Jun’s belly and drench himself in his scent.

The urge is so strong that he can’t rise from his knees. He just stares at the clouds drifting across Hanguang Jun’s robes, paralyzed with want and with the realization of what’s happening. He’s in heat. He’s in fucking heat, but he has another fucking banquet tonight. Fuck.

“Is something wrong?”

He forces his eyes to move to Hanguang Jun’s face. Hanguang Jun stares down at him, brow furrowed.

“Sorry,” he breathes. He staggers to his feet and wavers. Hanguang Jun’s hand rises as if to steady him, but Wei Wuxian steps out of reach.

Hanguang Jun’s arm floats between them for a moment before he tucks it behind his back. “Are you unwell?”

“Just a bit dizzy for a moment.”

Hanguang Jun gestures at the stool. “You should sit.”

“That isn’t necessary. It passed. We should finish.”

Hanguang Jun doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and stays silent as Wei Wuxian finishes dressing him.

By the time they move to the dressing table, saliva is pooling in his mouth, sweat soaking his back. His trousers are damp with slick, and his scent must be ridiculously obvious. Any second now, he expects Hanguang Jun to mention what a wreck he is, but as always, Hanguang Jun says nothing.

When he finally gets the enormous guan situated, Hanguang Jun stands and turns to him. “If you are unwell, one of the others can serve at the banquet.”

He should accept the offer, but the idea of someone taking his place makes his teeth snap together. He salutes stiffly. “Lan er-gongzi is too kind. This one can serve.”

After a long pause, Hanguang Jun inclines his head.

*

Wei Wuxian realizes how naïve he was when he’s in a room full of alphas. The banquet hall reeks of them. Even the air feels heavy with their noxious scents. It takes all of his will to keep from bolting.

During a lull between speeches, he bends to Hanguang Jun’s ear and makes an excuse about needing another water pitcher, barely waiting for Hanguang Jun’s nod before he takes off. He just needs a minute to compose himself.

Somehow, he manages not to run as he makes his way behind the dais. He ducks behind the screen and leans against the wall, trying to breathe. A few seconds later, Mianmian joins him.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses.

“My job,” he grits out.

“Idiot. I can smell you across the room.”

He groans and thunks the back of his head against the wall. He was hoping he wasn’t that obvious.

Then Meng Yao stomps around the screen. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian kicks off the wall and grabs a water pitcher. “Lan er-gongzi needs more water.”

Meng Yao rolls his eyes and grabs the pitcher. He shoves it at Mianmian. “Take that to Hanguang Jun.” Then he grips Wei Wuxian’s arm and marches him out of the servants’ door. “I meant, why the fuck are you here when you’re obviously in heat?”

Although Meng Yao is much smaller than he is, his little hand is like a claw in Wei Wuxian’s bicep. “I didn’t know it’d be this bad,” he whines as he’s dragged along.

The death grip loosens a bit, but Meng Yao doesn’t slow down. “It’s your first?”

Wei Wuxian nods miserably.

“Unfortunate timing,” Meng Yao sighs. “It would have been better to wait until we returned to Cloud Recesses.” He sighs again, this time for effect. “Still, I suppose it will give everyone something to talk about besides politics.”

Wei Wuxian cringes. It’s bad enough to make a fool of himself, but they’ll be laughing at Hanguang Jun, too.

Meng Yao bustles him into his room and onto the bed. He leaves and returns with one of Hanguang Jun’s sleep shirts, which he tosses in Wei Wuxian’s lap. “Here. This will help until Hanguang Jun can attend you.”

Wei Wuxian holds the shirt in his lap, crushing it in his hands. “He won’t. He isn’t interested in . . . that.”

Meng Yao scoffs. “They’re all interested in that.”

“Then he isn’t interested in me.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Meng Yao pours a cup of water and sets it on the bedside table. “You must be patient. He’s warming up to you, isn’t he?”

“I guess. Not like that though.”

Meng Yao shakes his head. “Well, this is fascinating, but I must return to Zewu Jun. Do not leave this tower until your heat is over.”

Meng Yao shuts the door behind him like he’s slamming a prison cell. When he’s gone, Wei Wuxian curls up on the bed and brings the shirt to his face, inhaling deeply. It does help a little. Hanguang Jun’s warm honey scent settles the edge of the tension and chases away the other alphas’ stench.

He kicks off his slippers and throws off all his layers, then burrows back into bed. He snuggles the shirt, daydreaming about Hanguang Jun flinging open the door and falling on top of him. A few strokes of his fingers are enough. Something breaks inside him as he comes, crying out into Hanguang Jun’s shirt.

“Such an idiot,” he mutters, already drifting off to sleep. He should’ve known, but he’s been horny pretty much constantly since he arrived at the tower. The heat just made it more obvious to everyone else.

Everyone except Hanguang Jun apparently.

*

The next morning, Chang Qing brings his breakfast and informs him that Hanguang Jun will not require his services until he is “recovered.”

“Thanks,” he mutters. Hanguang Jun must be mortified.

Being relieved of service is a blessing, though. The heat has gotten worse, to the point that he can’t stand even the brush of his underrobes against his skin. He spends all day in a haze of lust, writhing on his bed and cursing himself for taking this contract. By nightfall, he’s ready to crawl into Hanguang Jun’s room and beg to be taken. If he didn’t know that Hanguang Jun would just throw him out the window, he’d fucking do it.

The heat shakes him in its grip until the following morning, when he wakes sticky with old sweat but finally free of rampaging lust. It’s well after six o’clock, however. Too late to dress Hanguang Jun for the day. Instead, he takes a much-needed bath and spends the day on the balcony to avoid encountering any of the staff.

That night, Hanguang Jun’s eyes widen when Wei Wuxian enters his quarters, but he doesn’t grab Wei Wuxian by the throat and throw him out the window. Honestly, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have blamed him this time.

“Good evening,” Wei Wuxian says, bending into a bow. “This one apologizes for his absence.”

When he lifts his eyes again, Hanguang Jun is staring at the wall. “You need not return. If you are not recovered.”

“This one is well. This one thanks Hanguang Jun for his kindness.” Seriously, thanks for not telling me I’m a moron.

Dinner is awkward enough, but then it’s time to take down Hanguang Jun’s hair. Pressed so close behind him, Wei Wuxian’s fingers tremble with an echo of yesterday’s heat. Hanguang Jun’s reflection reveals nothing, but the tips of his ears redden. Embarrassment, no doubt. He’s probably wondering why Zewu Jun saddled him with such a pathetic omega.

As he removes Hanguang Jun’s robes, he cringes at the memory of rolling around with Hanguang Jun’s shirt—the shirt that he hid in his own wardrobe so that the servants couldn’t take it away with his dirty laundry.

When Wei Wuxian goes to bed later that night, he takes the shirt with him. They all want that, Meng Yao had said. At the temple, Wei Wuxian had heard countless stories about ravenous alphas turning feral at one sniff of an omega in heat. He buries his face in the shirt and sighs. Shows what they know.

*

While the rest of the tower staff are busily preparing for the return to Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian heads out for one last afternoon with his friends. After all, it might be months before he sees them again.

Shijie and Mianmian promise to write, their smiles bright and brittle. Jiang Cheng grumbles when Wei Wuxian hugs him, but he hugs back even tighter.

After he leaves them behind, he mopes around the marketplace. No longer the sheltered novice, he roams freely, ignoring the hopeful vendors who call to him. Tomorrow, he’ll have to leave this place behind and follow his alpha to Cloud Recesses.

By now, he should be used to being uprooted and dragged away to a new place. And this time, he’ll only be exchanging one tower for another. What difference does the view from his window make? But it’s maddening to always be subject to someone else’s whim. He’s just luggage—something to be packed up and carted to a new place without any say in the destination.

So, the next morning he’s a little pissy as he follows Meng Yao down to the courtyard. He gets extremely pissy when Meng Yao leads them toward a carriage.

Wei Wuxian scowls at the pretty carriage and the pretty white horses. “A carriage? Wouldn’t it be faster to fly?”

Meng Yao dimples one of his most condescending smiles. “Trust me, flying that far is a lot less pleasant than you’d imagine.”

“I’ve flown on a sword before,” he mutters. By himself, actually, though he isn’t going to tell Meng Yao that.

“Not over the mountains of Gusu. You should be grateful for your warm carriage.” Meng Yao climbs into the carriage and settles back on the cushioned seat. Wei Wuxian heaves a sigh and sits down across from him. He feels like a delicate vase wrapped up for travel: a pretty, useless thing in a pretty little box.

A young disciple shuts the door behind them. “Aren’t Zewu Jun and Hanguang Jun riding with us?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“They have gone ahead. On their swords.”

Wei Wuxian pouts even harder. He’d thought that the one highpoint of leaving the capital would be riding Hanguang Jun’s sword, and he’d enjoyed several daydreams of Hanguang Jun’s arms wrapped around his waist as they zoomed away. Even if he were just a passenger, he’d still get to feel the wind whipping his hair. He’d still get a taste of freedom. He misses a lot of things from his days as a disciple, but nothing more than that incredible feeling of soaring among the clouds. In that boundless blue, the world spread out below him, there had been no fear. No constraints.

Instead, he’s stuck in this gilded confection of a carriage, trundling along like a mere mortal.

“Don’t pout,” Meng Yao teases. “You’ll be reunited with Lan er-gongzi soon enough.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “I’m surprised Zewu Jun could bear to be parted from you. Doesn’t he worry you’ll be stolen away by bandits?”

“We are hardly undefended.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he’s just referring to the dagger up his sleeve. He raises the curtain to look out the back window, and sure enough, their carriage is surrounded by disciples on horseback. Of course, he thinks, rolling his eyes. We’re valuable cargo.

“Well then,” he says, lounging back in the seat. “What shall we do to pass the time?”

Smirking, Meng Yao roots around in a bag by his seat and pulls out a thick book. He passes it across, and Wei Wuxian recognizes it as a copy of the Lan principles. The book he hasn’t touched since his first day in the tower.

“You have much to learn before we reach Cloud Recesses,” Meng Yao says.

Wei Wuxian pouts again. This is going to be a long trip.

*

Most of Meng Yao’s lessons involve not pissing off Hanguang Jun’s uncle, Lan Qiren. As the carriage bumps along, Meng Yao recites a long list of things that Wei Wuxian MUST NOT do, lest he incur the wrath of Lan Qiren and the clan elders. By the end of their first day on the road, Wei Wuxian is convinced that Lan Qiren will take one look at him and fling him off the mountain. Lan Qiren sounds worse than Wei Wuxian’s instructors at the temple. Maybe worse than Yu Ziyuan, if such a thing is even possible.

“No alcohol,” Meng Yao warns. “You might get away with a bit of wine in Caiyi, but you have to be discreet.” He pauses to lift an eyebrow as if he doubts Wei Wuxian knows the meaning of the word. “This isn’t the capital where you’re just another omega.” From Meng Yao’s expression, Wei Wuxian wasn’t as sneaky as he thought on his excursions.

“And don’t come home drunk,” Meng Yao continues. “And don’t even think about smuggling booze through the gate.”

Wei Wuxian winces because he was already planning the latter. It isn’t fair. If nothing else, he’d thought that getting a contract would mean an end to pilfering booze. But, he thinks, sighing, it seems his smuggling days are not yet over.

After days of mind- and butt-numbing travel, they finally arrive at the base of the mountain. There, they disembark the carriage to begin the long trek on foot. At first, it’s a relief to stretch his legs. For the first hour or so, he’s ecstatic to be in the open air. After years in the temple, being out in nature is as strange and fascinating as the capital had been. But as the path grows steeper, his calves begin to burn, and even the cool mountain air can’t keep him from sweating like a pig. The only consolation is that Meng Yao isn’t doing much better.

Disciples stride past them on the narrow path carrying armloads of luggage, mostly Meng Yao’s. Meanwhile, he’s puffing like an old man even though his arms are empty. He wants to tell the disciples that it isn’t his fault that he’s so out of shape. Omegas are only expected to exert themselves in the bedroom, and he doesn’t even get that opportunity.

Finally, they reach the outer gate where a disciple awaits to summon them to Lan Qiren’s quarters. Meng Yao’s face pales except for twin pink spots on his cheeks. “Come,” he barks to Wei Wuxian. “We can’t keep them waiting.”

Wei Wuxian hitches up his skirts and trots up the stairs, but Meng Yao’s head snaps toward him. “No running.”

Right. Rule number whatever. He tries to match Meng Yao’s scurrying little stride, but his legs are too long.

After many more stairs, they reach the compound. He gawks eagerly as they hurry down several winding paths. Cloud Recesses is beautiful and serene. Too serene. Dozens of white-robed disciples stroll the other paths, but there is no chatter. They act more like monks than cultivators. Even the temple novices weren’t this subdued. The Lan disciples don’t even seem curious about Hanguang Jun’s new omega. All he gets are a few polite nods.

He and Meng Yao approach a pavilion that looks pretty much like all the other pavilions. Meng Yao pauses outside the door to smooth his robes and pat down his hair. He inspects Wei Wuxian, sighs, and turns away. Ah, that bad, huh? Wei Wuxian wipes the sweat off his forehead but doesn’t bother trying to tame his hair.

Meng Yao knocks on the door. A disciple opens it and goes to announce them. When they enter, Hanguang Jun, Zewu Jun, and an older man who must be Lan Qiren are sitting around a table having tea. Hanguang Jun stands and turns in their direction. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches, and he tells himself that he’s still winded from the climb. He is absolutely not going weak-kneed from seeing Hanguang Jun again. For fuck’s sake, it’s only been a few days.

“Shufu,” Hanguang Jun says. “May I present Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian bows in Lan Qiren’s direction. As he stares at the floor, a drop of sweat falls from his face and splashes on the dark slats. His back protests, still grouchy about the carriage ride and the hiking.

Finally, an unfamiliar voice says, “Welcome to Cloud Recesses.” The words carry no inflection. Apparently, Zewu Jun is the anomaly. His charm must come from the other side of the family.

Wei Wuxian rises and folds his hands at his waist, doing his best impression of a meek omega who regrets wasting the alphas’ air.

“A-Yao, how was your journey?”

Meng Yao bows to Zewu Jun. “Without incident. This one thanks Zewu Jun for his concern.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Wei Wuxian, welcome. I hope you will feel at home here.” As Wei Wuxian bows his thanks, Zewu Jun turns back to Meng Yao. “A-Yao, would you show him to the Jingshi? You must both be tired.”

As they leave, Wei Wuxian peeks back at Hanguang Jun. He has already returned to his seat and appears to be contemplating his tea cup. Well, what did he expect? Did he think Hanguang Jun would wrap him in his arms and exclaim how much he’d missed him? Pfft.

Wei Wuxian buries his disappointment as he and Meng Yao walk away from the pavilion. “So, how do you think it went?”

Meng Yao cuts him a sour look. “Just try to stay out of his way.”

*

They leave the main compound and head down a narrow, winding path through the trees. They walk so far that Wei Wuxian begins to suspect that Meng Yao is leading him into the woods to abandon him. But at the end of the path is a wooden archway leading to a small pavilion.

His heart sinks as they cross the little bridge. The Jingshi must be some kind of secluded omega enclave—a place for Hanguang Jun to stash him when he isn’t needed. But when they step inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scents of sandalwood and honey. And Hanguang Jun’s white guqin sits on a low table by the window.

Meng Yao looks around the room for a moment, then heads toward a screened-off corner. “Here,” he calls back. Wei Wuxian joins him behind the screen. A narrow bed is pushed against the wall. Beside it is a small washstand. There is barely room for him and Meng Yao between the bed and the screen.

“We’ll order another wardrobe for your clothes,” Meng Yao says. “Until then, you can share Lan Wangji’s.”

Meng Yao swishes back around the screen, but at first, Wei Wuxian is too stunned to follow. He stares down at the little bed, thinking about the white guqin. It can’t mean what he thinks it means.

“Hold up,” he calls, darting around the screen. “You’re saying that Lan er-gongzi lives here? I’m sharing this with him?”

Meng Yao lifts an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him, then turns back to the screened-off corner, which now that he’s paying attention, is clearly a hasty remodel. The balance of the room is thrown off by this addition. He’s being crammed into Hanguang Jun’s home the same way he was crammed into his life.

“Does he know that?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Meng Yao rolls his eyes. “I admit, this place is a bit small for two, but Lan Wangji is fond of this house. However, if it proves too much of an issue, the two of you can always move to a larger house.” He gives the room another sweeping glance and sniffs. “After all, it is only sentimentality that keeps him here.”

Sentimentality about what? Wei Wuxian wants to ask, but Meng Yao is already headed toward the door. “Wait, what do I do now?”

Meng Yao turns and sighs. “Rest. Bathe. Whatever you want, as long as you don’t make a fool of yourself.”

Wei Wuxian blanches. Meng Yao closes his eyes and heaves another sigh. “Sorry, I’m very tired. Lan Wangji usually takes his meals here, and dinner will be served soon. The Lans are quite strict about their schedules.”

“So you said.” Repeatedly. “Thank you for your help.”

Meng Yao smiles, and this one feels sincere. “You’re welcome. It is a relief, really, having another omega here. I’ll see you soon.”

He leaves Wei Wuxian there, alone in a house that he will apparently share with Hanguang Jun. Wei Wuxian stands in the center of the room and surveys his newest cell. Oh fuck. Hanguang Jun’s bed is right there. There isn’t even a screen, just a curtain, and it isn’t even drawn. He investigates another screen at the back of the room. Just as he feared, the bathtub sits behind it. He’s going to share Hanguang Jun’s bathtub.

That conjures images that he can’t deal with right now. Even though the windows are open, he suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. He yanks open the door and stumbles out onto the porch.

This can’t be what Hanguang Jun wants. He’s so private, so distant. Just look at where he chooses to live. Even among his own clan, he sets himself apart. He can’t want Wei Wuxian banging around in his serene little house.

Wei Wuxian’s breathing calms a bit, and he scowls at the gentians swaying gently in the breeze. A blue heron bends its graceful neck to the pond and flutters its wings. The whole vista could come from a tapestry. Serenity and beauty. Wei Wuxian is like a blot of black ink marring the landscape’s clean lines. How Hanguang Jun must resent him.

Then the disciples arrive with his luggage, and everything gets worse. There is nowhere to put it, even though he really doesn’t have that much. Not compared to Meng Yao’s huge trunks. But there isn’t space in his little corner, so he has to pile his bags against the screen—on Hanguang Jun’s side. He’s reluctant to unpack the clothes and shove them into Hanguang Jun’s orderly wardrobe. There isn’t even room for him to change back here. He’ll have to wait until Hanguang Jun goes to bed to avoid offending Hanguang Jun’s noble little eyes.

Oh fuck. He’s going to live like this for months, a meek little existence shoved into someone else’s corner.

By the time Hanguang Jun arrives, Wei Wuxian has worked himself into a grand sulk. He’s tempted to stay perched on his cot and wait for Hanguang Jun to call for him, but he heaves himself up and goes to bow.

“Wei Wuxian, I am glad you arrived safely,” Hanguang Jun says in his emotionless voice.

Not that you could be bothered to escort me yourself. “This one thanks Lan er-gongzi for his concern.” He folds his hands and sets his gaze on Hanguang Jun’s shoulder.

“Is there anything you require?”

A room of my own? A life of my own? He considers making some banal request: another pillow, a pair of slippers, but he can’t be bothered. “This one has everything he requires.”

“I apologize. For the accommodations. I am used to living alone. I hope you will not be too uncomfortable.”

Matching Hanguang Jun’s monotone, he replies, “This one thanks er-gongzi for his concern.”

Hanguang Jun’s brow pinches, and he stares silently at the screen behind Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s anger deflates. Hanguang Jun has been patient, after all, the bath incident notwithstanding. He hadn’t even mentioned the heat thing. None of this is Hanguang Jun’s fault. And it isn’t like anyone is forcing Wei Wuxian to be here. He could leave. He just has nowhere else to go.

Peeking up at Hanguang Jun, he grins. “Dinner would be nice.”

Something that is almost a smile softens Hanguang Jun’s face. “It should arrive shortly.”

He watches Hanguang Jun place Bichen in its rack. “What is Lan er-gongzi’s routine here?”

“Much as it was in the palace. Fewer banquets.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. That was almost a joke. “That’s a relief. Shall this one take down er-gongzi’s hair?”

Hanguang Jun nods, almost eagerly, and sits at the dressing table. He explains his typical day as Wei Wuxian removes his guan and rubs his scalp. Wei Wuxian listens intently, wondering how he fits in with all the sword-training and teaching. The answer, of course, is that he doesn’t.

A knock at the door makes both of them turn. “Dinner,” Hanguang Jun says, starting to rise.

“Let me.” He pats Hanguang Jun’s shoulder and heads to the door. The disciple on the other side gives him a startled blink. Wei Wuxian tries to copy Meng Yao’s elegant gesture to usher him in, but he doesn’t think he manages it. The disciple just looks more confused.

The disciple didn’t bring tea. Wei Wuxian groans inwardly and makes it himself. That is another thing he’ll have to improve.

When he brings the tea to the dining table, Hanguang Jun looks up at him. “You should join me.”

The tea tray clatters on the table. “Join you?”

“Xiongzhang says that he and Meng Yao eat together,” Hanguang Jun says evenly, but his ears are turning pink. “There is only one table. It is logical to eat together.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and sits across from him.

They eat in silence, which isn’t surprising because Hanguang Jun is Hanguang Jun, and because according to the book Meng Yao made him memorize on the trip, the Lans aren’t allowed to speak during meals.

As they eat, he sneaks glances at Hanguang Jun. He doesn’t seem to mind Wei Wuxian’s horrible tea, but then, the food here is even worse than at the palace. Wei Wuxian’s tea probably tastes great in comparison.

After they’re finished, he sets the tray outside the door, per Hanguang Jun’s instructions. When he comes back in, Hanguang Jun is standing by the wardrobe frowning over at Wei Wuxian’s bags. “You may hang your things here until your wardrobe arrives,” he says.

“Thanks. I pity the one who has to carry a wardrobe up the mountain.”

Hanguang Jun’s mouth actually curls a little. Grinning in triumph, Wei Wuxian starts peeling him out of his layers. He has to force himself to ask if Hanguang Jun wants a bath.

Hanguang Jun stiffens a bit. “Not tonight. But if you would like one . . .”

He really, really does, but he declines.

Once Hanguang Jun is hidden behind the bed curtain, Wei Wuxian washes up in his little basin and bangs his elbows against the screen changing into his sleep clothes. Unsurprisingly, he lies awake, listening to the wind and the occasional owl. The temperature has dropped significantly with sunset, turning a pleasant early spring day into a frigid night that would be more at home in winter. The sleep clothes Meng Yao had picked out for him are much too thin. Tomorrow, he’ll have to figure out who’s in charge of bed linens so that he can get another blanket. Hanguang Jun had offered to equip him, but he isn’t going to trouble his alpha with crap like that. Besides, he needs to find his way here, and a big part of that is knowing who to go to for the little things.

Finally, he can’t stand it anymore. He throws off the blanket and goes to his bags, hissing at the freezing floorboards. In the scant moonlight, he finds stockings and tugs on two pairs, plus his dressing gown, before diving back into bed and pulling the blanket up to his nose. Fucking mountains.

He’s tempted to put more wood on the fire, but he’s too conscious of Hanguang Jun asleep on the other side of the room. With his luck, he’d set the whole house on fire. It wouldn’t be the first time.

When he wakes, he’s much warmer. The room is still dark, but his body tells him that it’s morning. Or at least what the Lans call morning.

He gets up and peeks around the screen. The fire is blazing high. Hanguang Jun sits on a mat, eyes closed in meditation.

Wei Wuxian creeps back onto his bed, hugs his knees to his chest, and waits for breakfast to arrive.

*

After Hanguang Jun heads out, Wei Wuxian explores the room, which is tidy and almost as impersonal as Hanguang Jun’s quarters had been at the palace. Even though the sun has risen, he’s still brittle with cold, so he wraps the blanket from his bed around his shoulders and hunkers by the fire to write to Shijie and Mianmian.

Hanguang Jun returns before noon bearing two folded blankets. “The nights are often cold here,” he tells Wei Wuxian as he hands them over. Wei Wuxian tries not to blush as he accepts them. It’s just that Hanguang Jun has never actually given him anything. Not personally. His wages have been distributed by the steward, and aside from the money pouch the first week, Hanguang Jun hasn’t added anything extra.

Then Hanguang Jun holds out a jade pendant. “This will allow you access through the gate wards when the guards are not present.”

The pendant is gorgeous, and Wei Wuxian strokes it, admiring the white and blue tassel, before the significance hits him. When the guards are not present. According to Meng Yao’s lessons, the guards are relieved at nightfall and replaced with a barrier ward. In other words, Hanguang Jun basically just told him he can come and go as he pleases.

He mumbles his thanks as he secures the pendant to his sash, chiding himself for overreacting. Two blankets and a pendant aren’t exactly love tokens. Still, the blankets were thoughtful and much more useful than some silly comb.

After lunch, Hanguang Jun surprises him again by inviting him to tour the grounds. They visit the library first. Hanguang Jun shows him a record book and explains that he must sign out any books he borrows.

“Anything?” Wei Wuxian asks, surprised.

“All books must be recorded.”

“No, I meant—never mind.” What Wei Wuxian meant was that surely he wasn’t allowed to just take any book from the Lan library, but apparently he is.

After the library, they visit the communal dining hall, which Hanguang Jun admits he rarely uses, and pass by classrooms where white-robed disciples sit attentively, backs straight and ears pricked. It’s all interesting enough, but Wei Wuxian is having a hard time concentrating on the tour rather than his guide. Hanguang Jun seems different here. A little softer. A little more relaxed. And had Wei Wuxian thought Hanguang Jun’s eyes were beautiful by lantern light? Because that’s nothing compared to how they gleam in the sunlight.

Hanguang Jun slows on the path and gives him a slow blink, a look that Wei Wuxian is coming to recognize as his you’re being weird expression. Wei Wuxian clears his throat and ducks his chin, mumbling something about the lovely scenery.

They continue on down the path and arrive at the training grounds. A group of young disciples barely old enough to wield swords is training on the sand. The instructor sees them approach and calls out a welcome. The kids leave off their exercises to pipe a delighted chorus of Hanguang Juns!

Hanguang Jun nods back at them, and they return to their practice, their backs a bit straighter than before. Occasionally, Hanguang Jun comments on their sword forms. Wei Wuxian tries to listen, but his fingers itch to grab a sword and join in. It has been years since he’s seen disciples train, and he’s never seen the Lans’ technique before. It’s clearly elegant and graceful, though the kids on the sand aren’t terribly apt. Perhaps it’s their audience that is making them fumble, though. Every time one of the young disciples makes a mistake, they dart a worried glance back at Hanguang Jun.

Hanguang Jun seems to notice this, too. “We should go,” he says softly. Wei Wuxian nods, and in his excitement, he falls into step beside him rather than following behind. He notices this a few minutes later, but since Hanguang Jun doesn’t seem to care, he stays where he is.

“Would anyone mind if I watched them train sometimes?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Hanguang Jun considers this for a few steps, then shakes his head. “It should not be a problem. More advanced groups train in the mornings.”

“Would Lan er-gongzi mind if I watched his group?”

Another headshake. “If you like.”

Beaming, Wei Wuxian breathes in a huge lungful of crisp mountain air. “Lan er-gongzi must be glad to be home. It’s so beautiful here.”

When Hanguang Jun doesn’t answer, Wei Wuxian turns to him, still smiling. Hanguang Jun blinks again, a little wide-eyed. This is an expression Wei Wuxian hasn’t categorized yet. Then Hanguang Jun nods. “Mn.”

*

Watching Hanguang Jun train is both one of the best decisions he’s ever made and one of the worst. It begins okay. The disciples bow to Hanguang Jun and stare at him just as worshipfully as the kids had. Wei Wuxian has to smother his smug grin at how awesome his alpha is.

But then the drills begin. Both Bichen and its master shimmer in the morning sun as Hanguang Jun leads the disciples through advanced sword forms. It’s everything Wei Wuxian can do not to drop his chin to his palm and sigh.

When they’ve worked through drills, the disciples pair off to spar. At first, Hanguang Jun only watches, moving through the groups and giving advice. It’s when Hanguang Jun joins the fray that Wei Wuxian begins to wish he’d never followed Hanguang Jun to the training grounds.

Although Hanguang Jun is clearly holding back, he’s gorgeous and deadly as he absolutely obliterates the other disciples who are attacking him en masse. A spotless white boot strikes one man in the chest, sending the poor guy flying across the field. Without ever touching the ground, the same boot sails back and catches another disciple in the belly. Wei Wuxian can’t decide what he wants more: to learn that move, or to climb Hanguang Jun like a tree.

When Hanguang Jun finishes the lesson and joins him, Wei Wuxian hopes that Hanguang Jun interprets his red face as sunburn rather than sheer lust. Hanguang Jun, of course, hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Very impressive,” Wei Wuxian squeaks.

Hanguang Jun takes a wooden training sword from a rack and carries it with him as they head back to the Jingshi.

“Does Lan er-gongzi have another lesson?”

Hanguang Jun follows his eyes to the sword. “This is for you.”

Wei Wuxian stumbles and nearly topples off the path. “For me?”

Hanguang Jun neglects to explain further, and Wei Wuxian is too shocked to ask questions. When they reach the Jingshi, Hanguang Jun leads them past the house and to a small clearing. There, he offers Wei Wuxian the training sword and looks at him expectantly.

“Um,” Wei Wuxian begins, the sword loose in his grip. “Were you—uh, does Lan er-gongzi wish me to . . .” Are you going to watch me? is what he wants to ask. Part of him wants to drop the sword and flee rather than have Hanguang Jun see him flail around like one of those kids.

Hanguang Jun regards him patiently. “Do you remember any of the drills from your youth?”

“I think so. It’s been a long time, though.” After he first left Lotus Pier, he snuck away at every opportunity to run through sword drills using whatever he could scrounge—broom handles, twigs, even soup ladles. But as time passed, the drills had come to seem like childish fantasy, so he abandoned them.

“Then that would be a good place to begin,” Hanguang Jun says. “Your body may remember more than you realize.”

Wei Wuxian nods. He’s familiar with the concept of muscle memory, though it hadn’t served him much during dance lessons. “Just don’t laugh, okay? I haven’t held a sword in years.”

Hanguang Jun nods at this solemnly, but for a second, Wei Wuxian thinks he’s restraining a smile.

Wei Wuxian draws in a shaky breath and swings the wooden sword in circles, trying to get a feel for the weight. It’s surprisingly heavy, and he wonders if that’s because Lan training swords are heavier than those at Lotus Pier or if he’s just that weak now.

He closes his eyes and tries to conjure Lotus Pier’s training grounds: his shizun’s growl, the sand shifting under his boots, Jiang Cheng grunting with effort at his side. “First position,” Shizun orders, and his body automatically moves to obey. His body does remember this, and he lets it take over, focusing only on his sense memory as he lunges and parries.

When the last form is complete, he blinks back to the present, almost surprised to find his feet stand on the spongy forest floor rather than smooth sand.

He turns to Hanguang Jun, smiling and a little breathless. “Well, was I terrible?”

Hanguang Jun shakes his head, and the corner of his mouth curls just a bit. “Not terrible.”

“Coming from Hanguang Jun, I will take that as high praise.” Still grinning, Wei Wuxian twirls the sword a few more times. His wrist already aches, and his shoulder will kill him tomorrow, but he can’t wait to try again.

“Your wrists are weak,” Hanguang Jun adds. “You will need to strengthen them.”

Nodding, Wei Wuxian rests the sword against his shoulder. “Did you squeeze oranges, too?” he asks, referring to the Jiangs’ favored method.

“Rocks,” Hanguang Jun replies. Wei Wuxian almost chuckles before he realizes that Hanguang Jun isn’t joking.

The next morning, he once again watches Hanguang Jun train, and he’s too sore to be spun by Hanguang Jun’s incredibly sexy competence. Or almost too sore. Afterwards, Hanguang Jun gives him a training manual. It’s for kids half his age, but Wei Wuxian still has to blink back tears. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, bowing even though it kills his back.

“No need,” Hanguang Jun mutters. “You should continue training. If you wish.”

“I do!” Wei Wuxian agrees, nodding wildly. “Um, this one does wish that.”

*

A few days later, he considers taking back that wish. Remembering how to perform sword drills doesn’t mean that his body is willing to do them. He runs drills under Hanguang Jun’s watchful gaze every day after lunch and squeezes smooth stones after supper, but he doesn’t feel stronger. He feels like he rolled down the mountain and then the mountain stepped on him.

Eyelids drooping, he washes Hanguang Jun’s hair, then climbs into the tub after Hanguang Jun has made himself scarce, as has become their custom. He can’t stifle his groan as he sinks into the hot water. The bath and his weariness overcome him, and he actually falls asleep in the tub. Hanguang Jun has to wake him with a loud (for him) call from the other side of the screen.

The next afternoon, Hanguang Jun orders a break in his new training regiment and leads him down a path he hasn’t explored. At the end of the path is an archway leading to a sparkling pool.

“The waters here are useful for cultivation and healing,” Hanguang Jun explains.

Wei Wuxian dips his fingers into the water and hisses. “It’s freezing!”

“Your body will adjust,” Hanguang Jun says, and then he turns to leave.

“Lan er-gongzi isn’t staying?”

Hanguang Jun pauses without looking back. “I should return to the Jingshi.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian tries the water with his other hand, but nope, still cold. “Are you sure I won’t freeze to death in here?”

Hanguang Jun turns enough that Wei Wuxian can see the wry tilt of his eyebrows. “You will be fine. If you do not fall asleep.”

Wei Wuxian snorts and starts pulling off his slippers. “My chattering teeth will keep me awake.”

Hanguang Jun gives him a grunt that almost sounds amused and leaves him at the spring.

After a short internal debate, Wei Wuxian removes everything but his trousers, takes a deep breath, and plunges into the water. The cold shocks the breath from his lungs, and for a few seconds, he fears he’ll drown in this shallow little pool. But then he draws in a shuddering breath and finds his feet. Good thing. Jiang Cheng would smash his memorial tablet if he found out Wei Wuxian drowned in four feet of water.

With great effort, he makes his muscles unclench until he can lean back against one of the big rocks framing the pool. There, he tries to find the meditative state that will circulate his spiritual energy and hopefully keep his extremities from freezing off. The water does seem to help his sore back and shoulders, though he might just be too numb from cold to feel their ache.

He’s almost achieved something like zen when a group of disciples comes down the path. He sits up, his eyes flicking to his clothes laid on the bench, and tries to calculate if he can reach them before the boys reach the pool. His indecision makes that impossible, and he’s still in the water when they round the bend and see him.

The boys in front stumble to a halt and stare at him wide-eyed. The ones in the back grumble and try to shove the leaders forward. “It’s Hanguang Jun’s omega,” one of the leaders hisses, and shocked mumbles follow as the boys shuffle on the path like startled sheep.

Sighing, Wei Wuxian starts to wade out of the pool. “It’s fine,” he calls to them. “I was just getting out anyway.”

One of them gasps, and they all turn away as he steps out of the water. They keep their backs to him as he pulls on his clothes. As he squishes by them in wet slippers, he smiles. “Enjoy your swim, boys.”

They bow to him, their eyes still averted even though he’s fully dressed. “Thank you, Wei-gongzi,” one of them murmurs.

He shakes his head, chuckling, as he continues on the path. But his amusement is brittle. Returning to training had made him feel like a disciple again, but who is he kidding? Hanguang Jun may not mind his omega training in his yard, but that doesn’t change what he is. He will never be anything to those boys but their first disciple’s concubine.

*

Even the Lans have rest days, and on the first of these, Hanguang Jun says that he is going to the back hills to check on the wards. “You may come. If you wish.” Hanguang Jun says this with his eyes locked on the wall behind Wei Wuxian to avoid eye contact, which is a bit of a step backward from the progress they’ve made, but Wei Wuxian is too excited to worry about it.

“Of course!” Wei Wuxian abandons his sketch and leaps up.

They walk out of the compound side by side, discussing a talisman idea Wei Wuxian is working on. Well, mostly, Wei Wuxian discusses it, and Hanguang Jun makes either an affirmative or negative hum in response. Their path winds them higher in the mountains, but Wei Wuxian still has enough wind to keep chattering. All the training has helped his stamina already.

They are far from the hushed sounds of the compound when Hanguang Jun halts and raises his hand. Wei Wuxian watches closely as Hanguang Jun traces a sigil in the air and pushes it forward. Ahead of them, the air shimmers, and then Wei Wuxian feels something uncoil, a barrier opening to allow them entrance. He looks around, trying to embed the location of this barrier in his mind, but it doesn’t look much different than the rest of the woods.

They step forward. Traces of the barrier spell tingle his bones for a moment, and then they’re past the border.

“The pendants don’t work on that one, huh?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Hanguang Jun shakes his head. “Disciples are prohibited from entering the back hills.”

“Why?”

At first, he thinks Hanguang Jun doesn’t answer because the question is presumptuous, but then Hanguang Jun frowns. “I do not know.”

“Huh. Maybe there’s some big secret hidden out here.” Wei Wuxian bumps Hanguang Jun’s arm with his shoulder. “Like buried treasure.”

Hanguang Jun doesn’t seem to notice that his noble personage was just accosted. “That is unlikely,” he says blandly.

They walk on through the most amazing spring day Wei Wuxian has seen since childhood, possibly ever. The air is warm with a light, fresh breeze. The sun shines through marvelously fluffy clouds that look as soft as feather mattresses, almost close enough to touch. The mountain vegetation buds and sprouts; pastel blooms wave from verdant stalks. Birds sing, bees hum, and Wei Wuxian wants to gather it all in, crush it to his chest and bury his face in all that life.

As they crest a small hill, he can’t take it anymore. “Does the rule about running apply out here?”

Hanguang Jun thinks about this for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Good.” With a whoop, Wei Wuxian throws his arms wide and starts running. His feet pound against the soft grass, but his heart feels light enough to soar with the birds. Somehow, he makes it to the bottom of the hill without falling, and he twirls around the meadow until his head spins. Then, grinning like a fool, he falls back into the grass and closes his eyes in a blissful sigh.

There is a flap like wings above him, and then a soft thud to his side. He turns his head and squints his eyes open. Hanguang Jun gazes down at him, nonplussed.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian giggles. “Couldn’t help myself.” He throws his arms out to the side and breathes in the sweet grass and tangy pine. “It’s so gorgeous here. And we didn’t go for many nature walks at the temple.”

“Mn.” There’s a pause, and Hanguang Jun’s face tenses, which means that he’s gathering his words. “There is a waterfall nearby. If you would like to see it.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian breathes. “I’d love to.”

The waterfall is loud and stunning, and Wei Wuxian can hardly tear his eyes away from the water roaring over the rocks. Too cold for swimming, but in the summer, it’d be a fantastic spot to kick off his shoes and dangle his feet off the flat stones.

“Did you come here a lot when you were a kid?” he asks, trying to imagine a tiny Hanguang Jun kicking his feet in the spray.

Hanguang Jun shakes his head. “Not often. But my father brought Xiongzhang and me here once.”

“To fish?”

Another headshake.

“Right. Fish aren’t on the menu.” He leans over the water to peer at the silvery fish darting around the pool. “Too bad, I see some real monsters in there.”

“Do you like eating fish?”

“Oh yeah. Fresh-roasted fish is delicious, especially if you catch them yourself.”

Hanguang Jun does a confused little head tilt. “That affects the taste?”

Wei Wuxian nods, trying to look solemn and wise. “Victory adds spice to a dish. Lan er-gongzi didn’t know that?”

Hanguang Jun appears to consider this very seriously, like he’s pondering a new philosophical theory. “It is difficult to achieve victory over a vegetable.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, realizing he’s been played. Hanguang Jun doesn’t smile, but there’s a hint of smugness around his eyes. “Maybe so, but there can be satisfaction.” Now that he’s started to spin this nonsense, he can hardly back off. “It’s like climbing a tree to pick fruit from a high branch. Expending effort to achieve results makes those results sweeter.”

Hanguang Jun blinks and frowns, and Wei Wuxian realizes that Hanguang Jun has never shimmied up a tree to pick a ripe plum. Possibly, he’s never climbed a tree for any reason, just as he’s probably never gone careening through a meadow for the joy of it.

That cracks something in his heart, and his bullshit turns earnest. “Don’t you find that food tastes better after a battle? Like tucking into dinner after besting some beastie? When your body is tired but your spirits are high?”

Understanding lights Hanguang Jun’s face, and he nods.

“There, you get it.” Wei Wuxian slaps his arm and chuckles as Hanguang Jun startles and then peers down at his arm like he’s expecting the slap to have left a smudge on his white robes. Then he seems to accept it and settles back into his resting position, tall and regal.

I should report this to Zewu Jun, Wei Wuxian thinks, hiding his smirk against his shoulder. He imagines drawing Zewu Jun aside after afternoon tea to share that Hanguang Jun now allows his arm to be slapped and has to stifle a giggle.

“Could we explore some more?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Hanguang Jun studies the sky, then nods. “We must check the wards first, however.”

“Right, the reason we came.”

*

The wards are fine, so they continue on until they come to a meadow where cherry blossoms turn the grass pink and white. “There are rabbits here sometimes,” Hanguang Jun says softly as they step into the meadow.

Meng Yao had mentioned that Hanguang Jun was fond of rabbits, Wei Wuxian remembers as Hanguang Jun’s eyes scan the greenery like he’s searching for them.

“Do you like rabbits?”

Hanguang Jun’s jaw tightens. Then he jerks his head in a nod like he’s ashamed to admit it.

“Let’s sit, then. Maybe they’ll wander by if we’re quiet.”

They sit. Wei Wuxian leans back on his elbows, grateful for a rest. He tilts back his head and watches the puffy clouds form pictures against the blue.

He’s nearly dozing when Hanguang Jun murmurs, “There.”

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. A dozen or so little fluff balls are nosing through the fallen petals on the other side of the meadow.

Smiling, Wei Wuxian watches their adorably awkward bodies shuffle and hop. A large white rabbit lifts its head and twitches its nose at them. Then, apparently deciding they aren’t worth its time, it turns back to foraging.

Wei Wuxian turns to whisper something to Hanguang Jun, but he forgets what he was going to say. Hanguang Jun is smiling as he watches the bunnies. His cheeks are as round as the rabbits’, making him look like a tender boy of twelve, and his golden eyes are lit with pleasure as they follow the little creatures.

Sighing, Wei Wuxian watches him watch the bunnies. Oh, Hanguang Jun, you are precious.

As if he heard this thought, Hanguang Jun turns to him, that youthful smile still shining. It pierces Wei Wuxian’s chest sharper than a sword.

Helplessly, Wei Wuxian smiles back, but Hanguang Jun seems to remember that he doesn’t make facial expressions, and the smile fades off his face. He turns back to the rabbits, his ears blushing.

“We should bring them something next time,” Wei Wuxian says as they leave the meadow. “Like vegetables. They might come closer if we fed them. We could even catch one and bring it home with us.”

“Pets are not allowed.” Hanguang Jun frowns, almost pouting. Then after a few more steps, he allows, “They might enjoy vegetables, however.”

If pets aren’t allowed, then what am I doing here? Wei Wuxian thinks, the old anger sizzling. Then he pushes it away. Today is too beautiful for self-pity and pointless resentment.

“Sure they would,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Maybe you could pet one. That wouldn’t break a rule, would it?”

Hanguang Jun’s ears turn pink. “I believe that is allowed.”

*

That night, while Hanguang Jun reads, Wei Wuxian sketches the big white bunny. His drawing gives the rabbit an imperious air, like a bunny version of Lan Qiren looking down his little bunny nose at the interlopers. While Hanguang Jun is finishing his bath, Wei Wuxian slides the drawing into Hanguang Jun’s book.

After his own bath, he sees the sketch lying on Hanguang Jun’s writing table, the ink stone and incense burner securing the corners.

Hanguang Jun doesn’t mention it, but his eyes are warm and his mouth is soft while Wei Wuxian combs his hair. Wei Wuxian resolves that he will get Hanguang Jun a pretty little rabbit to pet if it’s the last thing he does.

*

About a month after Wei Wuxian’s arrival, a visitor arrives and disrupts their new routine. At first, Wei Wuxian is excited to hear of Jin Guangshan’s imminent arrival, but when he learns that Mianmian isn’t coming with him, he ceases to care.

And then he becomes outright resentful. While the greasy old man is here, Hanguang Jun abandons him for several meetings and even leaves him alone while he eats dinner with the elders and their guests.

Bored and grouchy, Wei Wuxian neglects his afternoon training to loll on the porch. Hanguang Jun will probably give him his disappointed face when he finds out Wei Wuxian is shirking his training, but Wei Wuxian is just petulant enough not to care.

He’s dozing in a warm sunbeam when there’s a knock on the door. After an indolent stretch, he pads to the door, yawning.

Meng Yao doesn’t even say hello. “I need to get out of here, and you’re coming with me.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at the snappy tone, then shrugs his agreement. “Where are we going?”

“Caiyi.”

Wei Wuxian’s lassitude falls away as he grabs his money pouch, much heavier now, and scribbles a quick note for Hanguang Jun. He hasn’t visited Caiyi yet—he hasn’t felt any need to leave, really—but now he’s raring to go.

He manages not to ask any questions as they leave the compound, but once they’re past the guard at the gate, he turns to Meng Yao. “What’s got you so snippy?”

Meng Yao shoots him an incredulous look, his doe eyes flashing. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Know what? Wei Wuxian almost shoots back, but then realization hits. “Oh,” he says stupidly, scratching his nose. “Right, I forgot.”

Meng Yao huffs and walks faster, his feet like tiny pistons on the path.

Wei Wuxian had never been as interested in gossip as most of his fellow novices, but even he had heard the rumors. That Meng Yao is Jin Guangshan’s bastard is no secret: Meng Yao had even lived in Koi Tower. As an omega, he was a useful political tool, a gift that could be given to a rival or ally, but unlike a chest of gold or a few acres of land, this gift could report back to its original master.

Yet something had caused Jin Guangshan to send Meng Yao away. The possible reason for that had spurred many rumors, each more outlandish than the next. However, since meeting Meng Yao, Wei Wuxian has sometimes wondered if the truth might be more sensational than the stories.

As they head down the mountain, Wei Wuxian attempts small talk, even lowering himself to comment on the weather, but Meng Yao ignores him, his face pinched and pale.

A carriage awaits them at the little guard post at the foot of the mountain, and Wei Wuxian wisely doesn’t sneer this time as he climbs in behind Meng Yao.

Caiyi is but a rural hamlet compared to the capital, but Wei Wuxian loves it immediately. The crowds here move slower, chattering away in Gusu’s sugary dialect, and a lazy river winds through the center of town, reminding him of Lotus Pier. Unfortunately, his companion has no interest in gawking. Instead, Meng Yao marches them straight to Jinzhenhe tavern.

“Emperor’s Smile,” Meng Yao barks at the waiter as soon as they are seated.

Delighted but shocked, Wei Wuxian peers around the curtain separating their table from the rest of the guests. Thankfully, he doesn’t see any white robes or forehead ribbons. “I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“Special circumstances,” Meng Yao snaps. When the wine is delivered, he pours generous cups for both of them and throws his own cup back in a single gulp.

Wei Wuxian takes his time, savoring the liquor. He’s heard tales of Gusu’s legendary Emperor’s Smile, and it’s as delicious as he’d hoped, perhaps even more delicious because it’s illicit.

The first pot empties quickly. Wei Wuxian is pacing himself, but already his stomach tingles, that lovely warm swaying through him. Meng Yao still looks tense, despite the truly impressive amount of wine he’s consumed.

As they’re working on the second pot, Meng Yao suddenly sighs and regards his cup bitterly. “I hate that old man.”

Wei Wuxian swipes his sleeve over his mouth. “Jin Guangshan?”

Meng Yao’s lip curls. “Jin fucking Guangshan.” He downs another cup just as quickly as the first. Wei Wuxian is amazed that his little body can hold all that wine. “You know why he’s here, don’t you?”

“Um, something about the autumn hunt?”

Meng Yao nods. “He’d love to snatch it away from the Wens. He thinks that he should be the chief cultivator, but greedy as he is, he’s too chicken to go against Wen Ruohan. So, he’s trying to chip away at the Wens’ control. Taking the hunt away from them would be a step in that direction.”

Wei Wuxian swallows more wine as he mulls that over. “How are the Lans involved?”

“They supply the majority of the game for the hunt. Koi Tower just pays for the snacks.” Meng Yao snorts at this, smiling wryly.

“Game” refers to supernatural creatures, Wei Wuxian knows. He never attended a hunt when he was still a disciple, but he’d heard stories. He can’t help a moment of fierce pride, knowing that a great deal of that game was probably captured by his own alpha.

“What does Zewu Jun think about his ploy?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Meng Yao sighs, sagging a little in his exquisite robes. “A-Huan is a peacemaker. He’ll smile and charm, and Jin Guangshan will return home with nothing more than he arrived. Sometimes, though, I wish he were a little less charming.” Meng Yao laughs and weaves a little on his cushion. “I’d love to see that old man roll down the mountain.”

Meng Yao slipping and calling Zewu Jun A-Huan is even more telling than his drunken weaving. Wei Wuxian has never heard him use anything other than Zewu Jun to refer to his alpha.

“Let’s get some food in you,” Wei Wuxian says. “I don’t want to have to carry you up the mountain.”

“Pfft,” Meng Yao says, flapping a hand. “I can hold my liquor.”

Wei Wuxian lifts an eyebrow at said liquor as the cup tilts precariously in Meng Yao’s little hand. “Even so,” he agrees mildly, “I’m not wasting a chance to eat real food.”

The sun has set by the time they leave the tavern. Meng Yao falls asleep on the ride to the guard station, and Wei Wuxian has to lift him out of the carriage like a sleepy toddler.

Wei Wuxian stands at the foot of the mountain, gazing up that long, dark path with Meng Yao tucked under his arm. Fuck.

The disciple on duty at the station peers at Meng Yao. “Should I send for Zewu Jun?”

Wei Wuxian gives Meng Yao a little shake, but Meng Yao just groans and buries his face in Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Wei Wuxian’s new muscles might not be strong enough to bear even such a little guy up the mountain. With a silent apology to Meng Yao, Wei Wuxian nods at the guard. “That’s probably a good idea. Unless you want to carry him up on your sword?”

The disciple’s eyes widen. “I must not leave my post.” He whispers something to a piece of talisman paper and then tosses it into the air. The talisman shimmers for a moment, then transforms into a glittering butterfly. Wei Wuxian watches as the butterfly flutters its way up the mountain.

“Nice system,” Wei Wuxian mumbles. He lowers Meng Yao into a chair inside the station and settles beside him to wait.

As they wait, he wonders exactly how much shit they’re going to be in. Hopefully, the butterfly will find Zewu Jun alone, not having dinner with the elders. Especially not Lan Qiren. Or Hanguang Jun. Wei Wuxian winces as he imagines Hanguang Jun turning cold again. It was his fault! he thinks, glaring at Meng Yao, who’s drooling with his chin on his chest. If I hadn’t gone with him, he’d probably be passed out in that tavern!

Hanguang Jun probably won’t be too impressed by that logic, though. Sighing, Wei Wuxian kicks back and awaits his doom.

*

Zewu Jun rushes into the station, his pleasant face concerned rather than angry. “Oh, A-Yao,” he mutters as he lifts Meng Yao into his arms. He gives Wei Wuxian a faint smile. “Thank you for looking after him.”

Relieved, Wei Wuxian follows them outside, and almost runs right into Hanguang Jun’s chest. He swallows his yelp and tries to smile. “Ah, Lan er-gongzi.” Hanguang Jun just looks at him, his expression unreadable. “Meng Yao and I went to Caiyi, but he isn’t feeling well.”

“Mn.” Hanguang Jun turns and moves back to the road where Zewu Jun is lifting off with Meng Yao tucked against his chest. Hanguang Jun steps onto Bichen and holds out his hand. “The path is precarious after dark.”

“Oh, okay.” Trying not to grin like a fool, Wei Wuxian takes his hand and lets Hanguang Jun pull him onto the sword. They take to the air slowly, but Wei Wuxian’s stomach still swoops, likely more from the wine than the flight. Hanguang Jun’s hands take his waist to steady his stagger.

“Ready?” Hanguang Jun asks.

Wei Wuxian grins back at him. “Oh yeah.”

They rise through the clouds, high enough for the stars to light their way. Shivering with cold and a bit nauseated from the wine, Wei Wuxian still wants to shout with joy. He’s flying again!

The sky is velvet dark, the stars brilliant white against it. The wind whips his hair, and he gathers it in his hand so that it won’t slap Hanguang Jun’s face. It is cold, almost as cold as the spring water, and now he understands what Meng Yao meant about flying over the mountains back when they traveled here. But Hanguang Jun’s hands are warm on his waist, and he can’t be bothered with a little cold when he’s shooting across the dark sky like a comet.

Too soon, they land in front of the Jingshi.

“You should bathe,” Hanguang Jun says as they enter the house. “It will warm you.”

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Just let me sit by the fire for a minute, and then I’ll wash your hair.”

“I will bathe in the morning.” Hanguang Jun disappears behind the screen. There’s a hiss, and steam billows from the bathtub. He comes back to where Wei Wuxian is shivering by the fire. “Bathe,” he repeats, adding a note of you dumbass.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t argue. He peels off his robes with numb fingers and slides into the tub, yelping when the steaming water hits his icy skin. He feels so frozen that he imagines melting like a chunk of ice dropped in hot tea.

Warmth returns almost painfully at first. Then the guqin begins to strum. Hanguang Jun plays a song that calms his mind and warms his blood almost as well as the bath.

When he finally climbs out, he’s warm again and surprisingly sober. Huh, he thinks as he sinks down in front of the fire and wrings his hair. Lan music can do everything.

He gives Hanguang Jun’s reflection an apologetic smile as he combs his hair later. “Sorry for making you come all the way down the mountain. I wasn’t expecting our trip to end so badly.”

Hanguang Jun nods back at him. “I did not mind. Dinner was . . . quite prolonged this evening.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding sagely. Translated from Hanguang Jun’s polite speech, that means that Jin Guangshan was being a real blowhard, and Wei Wuxian’s emergency was a welcome respite.

Still, best to clear the air and accept whatever punishment awaits him. “We, um, had some wine at the tavern.”

Hanguang Jun’s brow scrunches, and he is silent for a long moment. Then: “Alcohol is prohibited within the compound and for disciples. However, Xiongzhang says that you and Meng Yao are under no obligation to abstain. If you practice moderation,” he adds, flicking a knowing glance at Wei Wuxian in the mirror.

Wei Wuxian steps back and sinks into a bow. “That is most reasonable,” he says solemnly, then peeks up to grin.

Hanguang Jun does something that is almost an eye roll and stands from his stool. “Was your trip to Caiyi pleasant?”

“Oh yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, following him to the wardrobe. “Aside from Meng Yao passing out.” He tells Hanguang Jun about the tavern’s food as he undresses him. “We should go together someday. If you have time.”

“Mn,” Hanguang Jun agrees easily, like he’s looking forward to it.

*

Lan sword forms are vastly different from those he learned as a child. Their technique is more like a dance than a battle. Though, he thinks with a smile as he pushes his body through the moves, he was never this good at dancing.

“Do not extend your arm so far,” Hanguang Jun says.

Wei Wuxian nods and completes the move again, stopping the motion before his arm straightens completely. It’s difficult because the training sword has grown heavy and wants to drag down his arm.

When he’s completed the final thrust, he pokes the sword’s tip into the earth and leans on it, giving Hanguang Jun a hopeful look through his eyelashes. Hanguang Jun inclines his head. “Better. You learn quickly.”

Wei Wuxian beams and rolls his aching shoulders. “Lan er-gongzi is an excellent teacher.”

He gets a slow blink in return, and then they head into the house. After dinner, Hanguang Jun says, “I have received word of an issue in a nearby village. I will go there tomorrow.”

“A night hunt?” At Hanguang Jun’s nod, Wei Wuxian shuffles closer. “Are you taking any disciples?”

Hanguang Jun’s mouth curls in one of his tiny smiles. “No, but I thought Wei Wuxian might like to accompany me.”

Wei Wuxian bounces on his cushion before he can control himself. “Yes! What are we hunting?”

“I am not sure yet. The village elder who sent the letter stated that livestock has been taken, though no one has seen the culprit.”

Disappearing livestock isn’t terribly interesting, but Wei Wuxian is too excited to be picky. “When do we leave? Can we fly there?”

“After breakfast. And yes, it is not far.”

*

“Lan er-gongzi!” Wei Wuxian wails, “What has this one done to deserve such punishment?” He’s attempting to tie the cuffs on Hanguang Jun’s preferred hunting robes, but each cuff has a dozen tiny eyelets, and his clumsy fingers keep fumbling the silky ribbons.

“I could wear a different robe,” Hanguang Jun suggests dryly.

“No, this one is so pretty! I just wish these holes weren’t so tiny.” Wei Wuxian blows his hair out of his face and tries again.

Finally, all the damn laces are tied, and he steps back to survey his work. The blue robe he’s laced Hanguang Jun into is different from his usual attire. Instead of flowing white layers with swooping sleeves, this robe is sleeker. And tighter, emphasizing his lean frame. “Very handsome,” Wei Wuxian declares, trying to keep his tone light while his mouth waters.

Hanguang Jun’s eyes slide away, and he busies himself gathering their supplies for the hunt.

Riding Bichen in the daylight is even more glorious than riding at night. The mountain falls away, and they sail low over Caiyi, then follow the river as it winds through lush farmland. Wei Wuxian grins even as the wind stings tears from his eyes. Maybe someday, he’ll have a sword of his own again, and they can fly side by side. Until then, he’s well pleased with Hanguang Jun’s big hands holding his waist.

They reach the village they’re seeking and land outside the gate. Wei Wuxian is proud that he doesn’t stumble as he steps off the sword, though his legs quiver beneath him. They walk through the gate and enter the village. It’s sleepy and quaint, with only a dozen or so market stalls surrounding the town center.

Hanguang Jun gets directions to his contact from one of the vendors, and they head to the elder’s house. The man greets them enthusiastically, nearly kowtowing when he realizes that Hanguang Jun has come himself. He doesn’t question why Hanguang Jun also brought his omega, if he even notices.

Then they head to the farm which is the site of the most recent livestock disappearances. Hanguang Jun strides down the road like doesn’t notice the dust marring his robes. As they pass a farmer herding sheep, Wei Wuxian turns to him. “This ‘monster’ could turn out to be some guy stealing sheep.”

“Unlikely,” Hanguang Jun says. “A thief would not be content to steal one or two animals.”

“Good point. So what do you think it is?”

“Too soon to tell. Many creatures feed on domesticated animals. They are easy prey.”

“Why did you come yourself? A few missing sheep aren’t a big deal.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “You could have sent some of the younger disciples. Like a training opportunity.”

With that almost-smile, Hanguang Jun says, “This is a training opportunity.”

“Oh. Right.” He grins back and tries not to blush.

*

The farmer with the missing livestock doesn’t have much information to add, but near his barn they find signs leading into the woods. Whatever had taken the sheep had not spilled much blood. All they have to go on are some bent stalks and a few silky strands clinging to the vegetation.

Wei Wuxian plucks one of those strands off a shrub and examines it. “Ugh, sticky.” The white strand clings to his hand, and he wipes it on his skirt. “Is this spider webbing?”

“Yes.” Hanguang Jun stares down at a clump of the white silk with wide eyes.

“Um, how big of a spider are we talking about, do you think?”

Hanguang Jun straightens his shoulders and peers into the dark forest. “Big.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says weakly. A spider big enough to carry a sheep through the woods. And hadn’t it taken a couple of cows, too? That’s a big fucking spider.

They enter the woods. The trees are gnarled, their branches twining together to blot out the sun. But even in the gloom, the spider’s trail is easy to follow. The creature’s passing has sheered away tree limbs and trampled the underbrush.

Even to Wei Wuxian’s city-boy ears, the forest is eerily quiet. The birds barely respond to their presence, and he sees no squirrels or chipmunks scampering through the trees. It’s picked the forest clean, he thinks as they walk through the silent trees. And then it moved on to the farms where all it had to do was reach over a fence to grab a meal.

Wei Wuxian’s dainty slippers were not made for hiking through the woods, and his feet are aching. Part of him wishes he were back in the Jingshi, reclining by the fire like a good omega. That part of him, which sounds a lot like Senior Wu, wonders what he thinks he’s going to accomplish, hunting a giant spider without even a sword of his own.

But he isn’t afraid. Why should he be afraid when Hanguang Jun is by his side? He might be useless, but he’s no coward. Besides, he isn’t going to pass up a chance to see a spider the size of a donkey!

The sun has sunk below the treetops when they reach the end of the trail. Unsurprisingly, the tracks have led them to a cave. They stand at the cave’s mouth, staring into yawning blackness.

Hanguang Jun raises Bichen, and the sword emits a soft blue glow. “Stay close to me.” Wei Wuxian nods and readies a handful of talismans.

Inside the chamber, webbing drifts from the rock. Bichen’s light spooks several small spiders that scurry away from the intruders and disappear down a passageway. Hanguang Jun gives him a nod and they follow the spiders. The passageway seems too narrow to admit a beast that could cart off a cow, but that doesn’t make it easy going. More webbing hangs from the low ceiling and clings to their hair. One particularly insistent web nearly rips Hanguang Jun’s guan from his head, and Hanguang Jun grimaces as Wei Wuxian picks the sticky strands from his hair.

As they continue on, Wei Wuxian’s foot squishes into something soft. He flicks a talisman alight and sees that his slipper is submerged in the corpse of a squirrel. He breathes out his disgust and drags his slipper against the rock. If he’s going to keep hunting, he really needs to buy some boots.

A fuzzy black body plops down on Hanguang Jun’s shoulder and starts toward his face. Wei Wuxian flicks it off and smashes it under his heel. Hanguang Jun looks down at the flattened spider, then raises his sword. As Bichen illuminates the cave’s ceiling, they see dozens of the little spiders racing toward them.

“Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes.

Hanguang Jun reaches into his Qiankun pouch. Wei Wuxian expects some kind of weapon to emerge, but instead, Hanguang Jun opens an umbrella over his head. “Here,” he calls, and draws Wei Wuxian against him.

As they shuffle along, feet tangling together, more spiders thump against the umbrella and scurry down their arms. They brush the little bodies off their sleeves, but one of them sinks its fangs into Wei Wuxian’s hand. He smacks it off, but his hand begins to swell immediately.

He strikes his acupuncture points to halt the poison’s spread and waves off Hanguang Jun’s concern. “I think I can do better than the umbrella.” Wei Wuxian sketches a sigil in the air and sends his own web above them. The golden strands form a tight cage around them, keeping out all but the smallest spiders.

Hanguang Jun gives him an approving nod, and they keep going, stomping the spiders who squeeze through. The little sentinels harry their progress, and they both sustain several bites.

Then the passage widens and they approach another chamber. As they draw closer, the spiders abandon their attacks and run ahead into the chamber.

Hanguang Jun pauses and turns to him. His cheek is red and swollen with poison. “Remember, stay close.”

Wei Wuxian nods. He’s absolutely prepared to cling to Hanguang Jun’s thigh if necessary.

Hanguang Jun stows his umbrella and raises his sword. “I hate spiders,” he mutters, and then he heads down the passageway.

The chamber is lit from above, cool blue moonlight spreading down from fissures in the rock. At first, it appears to be empty aside from swathes of webbing hanging like curtains from the stalactites.

But as they step inside, there comes a tumble of small rocks and a crescendoing susurrus. Black bodies burst from piles of loose stone and rush toward them, hundreds, maybe thousands of fuzzy legs brushing together and echoing against the rock walls.

As the guqin shimmers into Hanguang Jun’s hands, Wei Wuxian casts another web. It falls over them, and spiders the size of wolves lunge against it, snapping their fangs. His golden web doesn’t block the guqin’s blast, however, and its harsh notes send the spiders tumbling back, shearing off waving legs and bursting plump little bodies.

But the spiders keep coming. They pounce from the ground and drop from the ceiling, jabbing their legs through his cage. Wei Wuxian divides his concentration between maintaining his barrier and sending out red bursts to fry the spiders into sizzling black lumps.

Red and blue explosions light the cavern bright as day as they destroy rush after rush. Their numbers seem impossible. Endless. How long have they been here? he wonders as he stomps on a spider that wiggled through the barrier. With so many mouths to feed, it’s a miracle the spiders haven’t started taking people as well as livestock.

“You dare!”

He and Hanguang Jun whirl toward the scream. From the shadows rises an enormous creature. Its eight legs are as pale as moonlight, and they extend from the body of a shriveled gray woman. Her mouth stretches wide as she screams, revealing long fangs dripping with poison.

The pale legs move, lifting her withered body so high that her head nearly brushes the cave’s ceiling. Shrieking, she stalks toward them. “What cause have you to come here with your swords and your tricks?”

Gaping up at her, Wei Wuxian whispers, “Is that . . .?”

“Demon,” Hanguang Jun whispers back.

“So much for the beginner’s lesson,” Wei Wuxian mumbles.

Hanguang Jun shoots an anxious look over his shoulder. “Run.” But then he turns back to the demon and readies the guqin.

No way is Wei Wuxian leaving him here alone, so he stands his ground. Hanguang Jun’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. There isn’t time with the spider demon lurching toward them.

Each strike of her legs against the stone makes the cave shudder. The smaller spiders weave around her legs like excited puppies.

Hanguang Jun strums the guqin, and a blue wave surges toward her. Her spindly legs quiver, and she screams in rage and pain.

Wei Wuxian decides to let the real hero fight the demon while he focuses on the minions. He blasts one in the face, kicks another so hard its body bursts, splattering gore. His feet move faster than he knew they could, twirling him through scurrying spiders. If only his dance instructors could see him now.

The demon’s legs are seeping ichor from Hanguang Jun’s attacks, but she still pursues them, wailing and stomping wildly. They dart around her attacks, but they don’t have much room to dart in the cavern.

“Up,” Hanguang Jun calls. He soars up and balances delicately on the tip of a stalagmite. He sends a sword flare toward the demon’s eyes, and she howls, tossing her head.

“Good idea.” Wei Wuxian flies to another stalagmite. His arms flail as he tries to balance on one flimsy slipper. The smaller spiders climb after them, but they’re easily dispelled with a few blasts. Their courage seems to fail—or perhaps it is their mistress’s cries of pain that make them hesitate. They leave off their attacks and creep back to the shadows as Hanguang Jun explodes light into the demon’s eyes.

Wei Wuxian smiles, thinking how wise that is of Hanguang Jun. This creature is almost certainly photosensitive from living in a dark cave. There’s no way her bulk could squeeze down that passageway, so she would never see sunlight beyond what leaks through the fissures. Bichen’s attacks must feel like bolts of lightning.

But even though that light causes her pain, it isn’t enough to kill her. They leap from perch to perch to evade her stamping legs. One wrong step, and they’re goo.

“I have an idea!” Wei Wuxian calls. “Keep her distracted for a minute!”

Hanguang Jun nods and flips through the air, landing behind her. His sword slashes at her leg, carving out a chunk of pale flesh.

While she curses and spits, Wei Wuxian casts his newest creation: a spiritual cord. He designed it after Hanguang Jun told him about one of his clan’s methods involving a guqin string. His little string isn’t that powerful—and it’s untested—but he has to try something.

He jumps off his stalagmite and trots closer to one of the demon’s legs. He shoots the cord toward a leg, and the cord obligingly wraps around the hairy flesh. Holding the end, he leaps back, yanking the knot tight.

The blue cord sinks into the demon’s leg, and she snarls, trying to turn her ungainly body toward him. He ducks behind a stalagmite and anchors the cord around the spike. She stumbles as her leg refuses to follow her instructions. But she’s strong, and as she yanks against the cord, he’s battered against the stone. The cord burns his hands as it’s dragged through his palms.

With a cry, he holds tighter, ignoring the searing pain. The cord cuts her even deeper, and she thrashes like a fish on the hook.

Just when Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he can hold on any longer, Hanguang Jun lands beside him. “Let me,” he says, and grabs the rope. Wei Wuxian releases it and sags back, cradling his wounded hands to his belly.

Hanguang Jun winds the cord around his hands and gives it a fierce yank. The demon shrieks as the cord bites through her leg. It severs in a burst of ichor. She crashes against the wall, her cries echoing through the cavern.

Hanguang Jun releases the cord, and turns to him. “Are you injured?” he asks, reaching for Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“I’m okay. We should—”

He’s interrupted by a fuzzy body the size of a calf barreling into him. He rolls across the cave floor, knocking his head against the stone, and comes to a stop with the spider pinning him down. Its black beady eyes flash as it snaps at his throat.

“Nasty little fucker,” he mutters as he frees an arm and punches it in the face. It chitters furiously and keeps going for his throat.

Then it’s sailing across the cave and hitting the wall with a wet plop. Hanguang Jun wraps a hand around his arm and hauls him to his feet. “Go!” he shouts, “I can finish this!”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have time to argue. Two more spiders drop from the ceiling and wrap their spindly legs around their heads. He yanks it off and hurls it against the floor. Hanguang Jun sends his flying into the wall. But more are coming. Whether by the demon’s command or just responding to her agony, the rest of the army has found its courage and is rushing toward them.

He and Hanguang Jun whirl apart, sailing back up to the stalagmites. The fight continues, but Wei Wuxian is tired. His spiritual energy has never been tested like this, and he wobbles as he leaps through the cave trying to stay ahead of the attackers. For a while, he knows nothing but the battle. He repels spider after spider, but he’s doing nothing but riding on instinct.

Then Hanguang Jun shouts.

Wei Wuxian whirls toward the sound. He’s never heard his soft-spoken alpha sound so distressed.

One of the larger spiders has shot out a strand of silk and dragged Hanguang Jun from his perch. Hanguang Jun squirms and tugs at the silk tangled around his legs, but his efforts are futile. Bichen has fallen from his grasp and lies a few feet away. The demon, seeing her enemy rendered helpless, staggers toward him, her mouth stretched in a horrid grin.

Wei Wuxian dives toward the sword. Wrapping his hand around the hilt feels like grasping a lightning bolt. Searing white power surges up his arm, and he might have let go, but his hand seems fused to the sword’s hilt.

Gritting his teeth, Wei Wuxian closes both hands around the hilt and drags it higher. His meridians burn like he’s swallowed lava, but he fights for control, calling on all his reserves just to raise the sword to his waist.

The spider who captured Hanguang Jun is dragging him across the cavern, bringing its prey to its mistress. Roaring, Wei Wuxian leaps toward them. Bichen yanks him across the cavern and plants itself in the spider’s body. It dies with an indignant squeak.

Its mistress hisses and lumbers forward. “Humans,” she hisses. “Sniveling little pests. I will suck out your miserable little hearts.”

Wei Wuxian’s mind is on fire, but he hasn’t dropped the sword. Bichen thrums like it’s eager for another victim. “Good boy,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Let’s kill this monster, okay?”

He isn’t sure if it’s his idea or the sword’s, but they fly forward like a comet, straight to the demon’s eye. Bichen pierces one of those black eyes with a sick squelch. He dangles from the hilt as the demon rages and thrashes. One savage toss of her head sends them flying.

He crashes to the ground and rolls, still cradling the sword to his chest. He lies there stunned, blinking up at the silken strands crisscrossing the ceiling. Something touches his shoulder, and he lets out a startled cry. Then Hanguang Jun says, “It’s okay. Let it go.”

Hanguang Jun has to help him peel his fingers off the hilt. Then Bichen is back in Hanguang Jun’s hands, and he turns to the demon. Wei Wuxian watches as Hanguang Jun soars toward her and slices off her head with one elegant strike.

“Yay,” Wei Wuxian wheezes. There is a chorus of timid squeaks as her army reacts to her death, but none of them come toward Wei Wuxian’s helpless body. Maybe because she no longer directs them. Maybe because they understand that Wei Wuxian is a badass.

Hanguang Jun kneels beside him, eyebrows furrowed. “Wei Wuxian, are you well?”

Wei Wuxian tries to smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry about grabbing your sword.” He cranes his neck to examine his hands. They feel like they should be charred black, but all he sees are red welts left by the cord.

He lets his head flop back to the ground. It feels so heavy, and it’s hard to breathe, like all the air has been sucked from the cavern. But he’s the one who got sucked dry.

Hanguang Jun lifts his wrist and does something that makes warmth soak through his veins. He shudders with relief as that golden light rushes through him.

“That—that’s so nice,” Wei Wuxian gasps. “I can . . . I can feel you.” Because the power flowing into him is Hanguang Jun. It’s his golden eyes, his warm hands, his courage and kindness. “I can feel you,” Wei Wuxian says again, smiling helplessly.

“Concentrate,” Hanguang Jun murmurs.

With enormous effort, Wei Wuxian sends his head sagging to the side to get a look at him. His smile grows as he watches Hanguang Jun’s pinched face. A beam of light surrounds the hand he’s wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

Hanguang Jun’s eyes blink open. “Concentrate,” he repeats, his voice so soft that Wei Wuxian can barely hear him.

He tries to obey, but everything is blurring. All he wants to do is sink into that warmth. Dimly, he hears Hanguang Jun’s voice again, but his eyes are drifting shut, and soon, the world slides away.

*

Wei Wuxian wakes in the dark. For a moment, he thinks he’s still in the cave, but wherever he is smells of hay and horse. Groaning, he pushes himself up. He feels lumpy and feeble, dozens of bites and bruises shrieking to life as he moves. “Lan er-gongzi?” he croaks.

Hanguang Jun’s pale face swims out of the gloom. “I am here.”

“Where are we?”

“The farmer’s barn.”

“Oh.” He shifts, looking around, and straw rustles beneath him. Faint light seeps in through slats in the barn walls. It must be early morning.

Blearily, Wei Wuxian tries to recall how they got here, but the last thing he remembers is lying in the cave while Hanguang Jun fed him energy. Oh shit. “I passed out?” Somewhere nearby, a horse whickers and stamps in protest at the noise.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian groans and slaps a hand over his forehead. “I can’t believe I passed out on my first night hunt.”

“You passed out after. Which is preferable.”

He chuckles dryly and examines the strips of cloth wrapped around his hands. “You bandaged my hands?”

“Yes. The farmer’s wife had some medicinal herbs.”

Wei Wuxian nods and folds his bandaged hands in his lap. Hanguang Jun must have carried him here, then doctored him while he slept. So embarrassing.

“How do you feel?” Hanguang Jun asks.

“I’m okay. Sorry for . . .” He waves a bandaged hand in the air, trying to convey his regret that Hanguang Jun had to lug a useless omega to a barn. And, oh fuck, he’d used Bichen. He’s lucky Hanguang Jun didn’t leave him with the spiders.

“No need.”

Wei Wuxian snorts and studies his lap. “I guess this is the last time you take me on a night hunt, huh?”

“Wei Wuxian performed very well.”

Surprised, Wei Wuxian looks up. Hanguang Jun’s brow is furrowed in confusion. “I fainted,” he protests.

“You saved my life,” Hanguang Jun says earnestly.

Wei Wuxian gapes at him, too stunned to look away.

Hanguang Jun’s mouth curls. “Though you should refrain from handling Bichen until your core is stronger.”

“Heh, right. I didn’t even think. I just—”

“It is my fault,” Hanguang Jun says, almost interrupting him, which is a first. “I did not expect our opponent to be so powerful. I apologize for endangering you.”

“Are you kidding?” Wei Wuxian slaps a hand on Hanguang Jun’s arm, then winces as his wounded palm protests. “We killed a spider demon! It was awesome!”

Hanguang Jun gives him a hesitant smile. His cheek is still swollen from the spider bite. Unthinking, Wei Wuxian lifts a hand and lays his fingers on Hanguang Jun’s jaw, tilting his face into the light. “Did the farmer’s wife not have enough herbs to treat that?”

“It is fine,” Hanguang Jun says roughly. He stands, and Wei Wuxian’s hand falls back to his lap. “If you are well enough, we should continue on.”

*

Hanguang Jun insists on flying to the village. Wei Wuxian murmurs an apology to Bichen as he steps onto the blade, hoping it doesn’t dump him off in revenge. But there’s little chance of that considering how tightly Hanguang Jun holds his waist.

They visit the village elder to report their success. He is amazed to learn that hundreds of giant spiders had made their home so close to the village. He offers payment, which Hanguang Jun gently rebukes. “Although the demon has been vanquished, we were unable to destroy all of the spiders,” Hanguang Jun says. “Please send word if your village suffers any attacks in the future.”

Wei Wuxian practically glows with pride as they make their way to the village’s sole tavern. Hanguang Jun is everything a cultivator should be. Even stained with gore and swollen with spider bites, his elegance draws the eyes of the sleepy villagers. And why shouldn’t they stare in awe? They’re beholding a conquering hero who traveled to their remote village to deal with a few missing sheep, and he doesn’t even expect payment. And damn is he pretty.

At breakfast, Hanguang Jun eats heartily, though still neatly. If he were allowed to speak, Wei Wuxian would ask if their victory has stoked his appetite. The tavern’s food is simple but tasty, and Wei Wuxian puts away a respectable number of juicy pork buns himself.

When they can’t eat anymore, Wei Wuxian leans back from the table and pats his bulging belly. “That was so good, but I’m too full to fly. Could we hang around here for a bit?”

Hanguang Jun nods. “We will stay here for the night. I have already requested a room.”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian grins, but then he realizes that Hanguang Jun thinks he’s too feeble for the trip home.

The tavern owner wants to thank them for saving the village from a demon by giving them free breakfast. Word travels fast in this little village, apparently. Hanguang Jun refuses and stiffens more and more as they debate until finally, Wei Wuxian steps forward and bows. “We do not wish to take advantage of your excellent hospitality. We thank you for the generosity of your table; however, we must insist on paying for our lodging.”

Satisfied, the tavern owner bows and leads them upstairs, promising that their room is the best in the house. When he leaves them, Hanguang Jun turns his frown on Wei Wuxian. “We should not accept payment.”

“That wasn’t payment. Not really. See, you did something amazing for them, something that couldn’t have done themselves. Letting them thank you with a meal honors them more than you. Now, they feel like they did their part.”

Hanguang Jun frowns harder and stares at the wall.

“Think of it this way: you dropped out of the sky and rescued them. If you flew off without letting them thank you, they’d feel more powerless than before. It was honorable to refuse the elder’s silver, but you should let them show you kindness in return for yours.”

Hanguang Jun nods but doesn’t look less concerned.

A servant comes to fill their bathtub, and Wei Wuxian chatters on about the battle while he washes spider silk out of Hanguang Jun’s hair. “That talisman worked pretty well didn’t it?” Hanguang Jun hums agreement as Wei Wuxian rubs his scalp. “Bichen is even more powerful than I imagined. It really did all the work. I was just along for the ride.”

After Wei Wuxian’s bath, Hanguang Jun examines his wounded hands again, but the welts have already faded to pink lines. Hanguang Jun’s power has healed him much faster than he could have otherwise.

When they’ve dried their hair by the fire, Wei Wuxian leans toward him. “We could honor the villagers further by visiting their marketplace.”

“You should rest.”

“Just for a little while. I bet they have candy down there. We never got candy in the temple.”

“Candy?”

“Has Lan er-gongzi never eaten candy?” At Hanguang Jun’s headshake, Wei Wuxian slaps his thighs. “Well, that settles it. We have to go buy you some candy.”

He quickly laces Hanguang Jun back into his robe, and they head downstairs. An old auntie sells candied hawthorn at one of the stalls, and she insists on gifting them each a stick. “Such good boys,” she croons, patting Hanguang Jun’s hand. Hanguang Jun flushes and murmurs his thanks.

Hanguang Jun tries to hide how much he likes the candy, but he finishes the whole stick. His pretty pink mouth turns even pinker from sucking the little red balls. It’s torturous to watch him eat them, but Wei Wuxian resolves to fill the Jingshi with candy from now on. It’s worth the suffering.

As they wander the little marketplace, Wei Wuxian leans against him and offers the rest of his candy. Hanguang Jun shakes his head, but his eyes linger on the half-eaten stick.

Then a young woman selling hair accessories lures them over. Wei Wuxian strokes his fingers over a shiny red ribbon while the vendor works on Hanguang Jun. She holds out a comb and grins. “For your omega. Such a pretty one should have pretty things.”

Wei Wuxian’s breakfast curdles in his belly. “I’m going over there,” he murmurs to Hanguang Jun and sets out toward a stall selling pendants. He’d love to tell the comb-seller that he just battled an army of spiders. “Pretty one,” he huffs as he glares down at the pendants. “Could a ‘pretty one’ stab a spider demon in the eye?” The vendor gives him an uneasy look and shuffles to the other side of the stall, not bothering to entice him.

Hanguang Jun collects him later. “Are you ready to return to the room?”

He nods, no longer interested in wandering the market. When they’re back in the room, he makes tea and then joins Hanguang Jun at the little table.

Hanguang Jun sips his tea. Then his hand dips into his Qiankun pouch. He sets a lacquered box on the table and slides it toward Wei Wuxian.

“What is that?”

“A gift.” Hanguang Jun’s eyes are locked on his tea cup, and his ears are flaming.

“For me?” At Hanguang Jun’s nod, Wei Wuxian picks up the box and opens it. Inside is the red ribbon he’d admired earlier. His stomach twists, torn between amazement and shame.

“You do not need to wear it. If you do not like it.”

“No, it’s pretty! But you didn’t have to—” Wei Wuxian’s fingers stroke the silky ribbon. They’re trembling, he realizes.

“To thank you,” Hanguang Jun says, still avoiding his eyes. “For your courage.”

“Oh.” Not just a pretty thing to adorn a pretty thing, then.

“You said that I honored the villagers by accepting their gifts,” Hanguang Jun says hesitantly.

Wei Wuxian nods and swallows back ridiculous tears. “Then I will honor Lan er-gongzi by accepting.” He draws the ribbon from the box and slides the silk through his fingers. “It’s lovely, thank you. I like red. It will kind of stick out back at Cloud Recesses, though.” A splash of crimson in clouds of white and blue.

“There are no rules against wearing red,” Hanguang Jun says dryly.

Wei Wuxian snickers and goes to the wavy mirror in the corner. He ties the ribbon in his hair and admires how the red stands out against his hair. He drops back down to the cushion and turns his head for Hanguang Jun see. “How does it look?”

Hanguang Jun clears his throat. “It suits you well.”

Grinning, Wei Wuxian leans over to pat his arm. Hanguang Jun’s neck flushes as red as the bite on his cheek.

*

During their biweekly tea with Zewu Jun and Meng Yao, Zewu Jun turns to Wei Wuxian and asks, “How was your first night hunt?”

Wei Wuxian sucks tea down the wrong pipe. While he’s coughing, he darts a glance at Hanguang Jun, who is gazing placidly at his own tea cup. Hanguang Jun told his brother about the hunt? Zewu Jun knows he’s been training?

When Wei Wuxian can breathe again, he says, “Um, it was successful.”

Zewu Jun smiles patiently. “What was the problem?”

“Spiders,” Wei Wuxian says. “Big ones.”

“Oh.” Zewu Jun gives his brother a worried look. “That is unfortunate.”

Hanguang Jun finally chips in. “They were controlled by a demon.”

“A demon?” Zewu Jun looks between them like he’s searching for injuries. “Did you defeat it?”

They both nod. Hanguang Jun says, “Wei Wuxian used a talisman to injure one of its legs. Then he stabbed it with Bichen.”

Zewu Jun and Meng Yao turn to Wei Wuxian. He fidgets under their shocked stares. “Lan er-gongzi is too humble. He finished her off.”

“There are still many spiders in the demon’s cave,” Hanguang Jun tells his brother. “They should be less dangerous without the demon’s influence; however, it would be wise to send disciples to eradicate them.”

“How many spiders?” Meng Yao asks.

Hanguang Jun shakes his head, and Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It’s hard to say. Some of them were tiny.” He holds his fingers an inch apart. “I think we got most of the bigger ones, though.”

“How big were the big ones?”

Wei Wuxian taps his nose and looks at Hanguang Jun. “The biggest ones were about chest height, wouldn’t you say?”

Hanguang Jun nods. “Approximately. Similar to a tiger. Or a small horse.”

“The demon, though.” Wei Wuxian blows out a breath and extends his arms to the ceiling. “She wouldn’t even fit in this room.”

Zewu Jun’s shock gives way to a pleased smile. “You two have had quite the adventure. It seems Wei Wuxian’s cultivation skill is progressing well.”

“He has been diligent in his training,” Hanguang Jun says. “He has already mastered the basic forms.”

Wei Wuxian hides his fluster behind his tea cup, but he still catches Meng Yao’s wink.

*

On his next trip to Caiyi, Wei Wuxian buys a terrifying amount of candy and then finds a vendor from Yunmeng. They chat while Wei Wuxian samples the man’s wares. He doesn’t have lotus rib and pork soup, not that it would have been as good as Shijie’s anyway, but Wei Wuxian stuffs his face with spicy shrimp balls and steamed fish. The vendor even makes some meatless balls for Wei Wuxian to take back home for Hanguang Jun. Hanguang Jun would never admit that Cloud Recesses’ food is awful, but he should get nicer things to eat than bland steamed vegetables.

As he’s leaving town, he passes by a wine seller hawking snow-white jars of Emperor’s Smile. Wei Wuxian sighs and quickens his pace.

“Gongzi!” the wine seller cries. “You have a thirsty look. From Cloud Recesses, aren’t you? Surely you need a fine wine to warm you on cold nights?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, but his feet have slowed. It’s getting dark, and he doesn’t have time to drink before he leaves. And he can hardly drink at home, can he? It isn’t like he can chug wine at Hanguang Jun’s dining table. But maybe on their next night hunt? Wouldn’t a bit of wine be delicious after a victorious battle?

He turns back to the wine seller, who grins, knowing he’s hooked a victim. “One pot,” he says firmly, shaking his finger at the man. He’s too short on time to bargain, so he pays the man’s asking price and tucks the wine jar into his bag.

At dinner that night, he unwraps Lan er-gongzi’s gift and lays one of the balls in his bowl. Hanguang Jun gives it a confused little frown.

“There was a vendor from Yunmeng in town today,” Wei Wuxian explains. “His food is really good! I had him make you something with no meat.”

Hanguang Jun picks up the ball with his chopsticks. He regards it for a moment, his expression soft and pleased. Then he takes a dainty bite. As he chews, his eyebrows furrow. His prominent Adam’s apple bobs violently as he swallows.

“Too spicy?” Wei Wuxian asks, cringing. He’d asked the vendor to go easy on the chili, but Hanguang Jun has absolutely no spice tolerance.

Hanguang Jun looks at him, his eyes red and watery. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a pained gurgle emerges.

Oh fuck. “Here!” Wei Wuxian yelps, and thrusts Hanguang Jun’s water cup into his hand. Hanguang Jun gulps the water, but that only seems to make things worse. Hanguang Jun’s entire face is crimson now, and tears stream down his flushed cheeks.

Right, water doesn’t help. He used to know that. What had worked, though?

He grabs the bag he’d brought from the market. He thumps it down on the table and digs through it, looking for anything he can feed Hanguang Jun to cool off his mouth. As he searches, he flings things aside carelessly. The wine jar clatters on the table and rolls toward Hanguang Jun. Groaning, Hanguang Jun grabs it and tugs off the cloth.

Too late, Wei Wuxian realizes what’s happening. “No, not that!” he shouts, but it’s too late. Hanguang Jun throws back his head and gulps the wine. Spluttering, he drops the jar, then bends over, retching.

Fuck. Wei Wuxian will be the first omega in history to accidentally poison his alpha without ever even getting in bed with him. He creeps over to Hanguang Jun and rubs his heaving back. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t die.”

Hanguang Jun looks up at him, weaving a bit. The veins have popped in his eyes, giving him a fierce appearance. “That was wine?” he croaks.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes roll back, and he collapses face first into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

“Lan er-gongzi! Are you—?” Wei Wuxian pats Hanguang Jun’s back, and he groans. Oh, thank the heavens, he isn’t dead. Hanguang Jun snuffles against his neck and makes confused sounds.

Okay. Okay, this is . . . what is happening? “Lan er-gongzi,” he whispers. Hanguang Jun mumbles something, and he pats Wei Wuxian’s thigh like Wei Wuxian is patting his back.

“Oh, are you drunk?” A hysterical giggle threatens to bubble out of his chest. No wonder the Lans forbid alcohol. “Lan er-gongzi,” he whispers again, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Hanguang Jun grunts as his pillow shakes underneath him. “Tired.”

“Okay.” He has to stop laughing. This isn’t funny. When Hanguang Jun wakes up tomorrow with a hangover and indigestion, he’s going to throw Wei Wuxian off the mountain. But imagining himself bouncing down all those steps just makes him laugh harder. “Okay, let’s get you to bed.”

Hanguang Jun hums his agreement and rolls off the cushion. He pauses on his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders. Wei Wuxian grips his arm and tries to draw him up, but Hanguang Jun is a lot heavier than his lean frame would suggest.

“Help me out, er-gongzi.”

Hanguang Jun sighs and staggers to his feet, then nearly topples over. Wei Wuxian wedges his shoulder under Hanguang Jun’s arm and wraps his arm around his back. He half-guides, half-carries Hanguang Jun to the wardrobe. He should just put him in bed, but undressing his alpha is his job. It would feel wrong to tuck him in fully dressed.

He props Hanguang Jun against the wardrobe and starts unfastening robes while Hanguang Jun watches him through lowered eyelids. The humor in the situation fizzles as Wei Wuxian considers that this may be the last time he ever gets to undress Hanguang Jun. The man has been more than patient, more than kind, but tonight’s fiasco is bound to be the last straw.

Thinking those cold thoughts, he hangs Hanguang Jun’s robe and strokes the warm silk. “Will Lan er-gongzi forgive this one for his idiocy? Truly, I didn’t mean to be such a disaster.”

Hanguang Jun makes a questioning noise behind him.

“You probably won’t even remember this tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian tells the wardrobe. “Fuck, I hope you don’t remember.” Only, that might be worse, knowing what he’s done without receiving any blame. He isn’t sure he could endure Hanguang Jun’s kindness when he’s carrying around so much guilt.

Shaking his head at his own megrims, Wei Wuxian returns to his job. The wine has made Hanguang Jun pliable. His shoulders slump, and his head lolls as he follows Wei Wuxian’s movements. It feels dangerous, being this close when Hanguang Jun is defenseless. Not that Wei Wuxian would ever harm him. Not on purpose. He’s certainly proven that he can make a mess without meaning to.

Finally, Hanguang Jun is stripped to his undergarments. “Okay, bedtime.”

Hanguang Jun blinks at him, then reaches out to tug at Wei Wuxian’s sash.

Wei Wuxian yelps and stumbles back. Hanguang Jun frowns and follows him, his red eyes locked on the sash under Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Lan er-gongzi, what are you doing?”

“You too,” Hanguang Jun mutters, fumbling at Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“No!” Wei Wuxian shrieks, batting his hands away. Hanguang Jun pouts like a mopey child. “I mean, I’ll do it myself. Lan er-gongzi doesn’t need to—”

But Hanguang Jun turns away. Wei Wuxian watches him stalk off, the impact lessened by the way he weaves across the room. And he’s headed away from the bed.

“Wait!” Wei Wuxian races to throw himself between Hanguang Jun and the door. “Where are you going?”

Hanguang Jun doesn’t answer. He just glares balefully at Wei Wuxian’s waist.

“Your bed is this way,” Wei Wuxian says, tugging at Hanguang Jun’s arm. With a heavy sigh, Hanguang Jun allows himself to be tugged. “That’s right. Nice, warm bed, just waiting for you.”

When they reach the bed, Wei Wuxian draws back the curtain. Hanguang Jun hovers beside him, pouting down at the bed. Wei Wuxian pulls back the blanket and pats the mattress. “In you go.”

Hanguang Jun turns his pout on Wei Wuxian, who smiles and gestures at the bed. Hanguang Jun drops down to the bed and then looks up at him like he doesn’t know what comes next. Wei Wuxian kneels and grabs his feet. Hanguang Jun grunts as Wei Wuxian lifts them onto the bed. Off-balance, Hanguang Jun teeters back, but Wei Wuxian cups the back of his head and lowers it to the pillow. Hanguang Jun sighs, but this time it’s the pleased sigh of a weary man achieving his well-earned rest.

Slowly, Wei Wuxian slides his hand out of Hanguang Jun’s hair, thankful that he’d removed the guan before dinner. Before he can escape, Hanguang Jun grabs his wrist and brings it to his face. He inhales deeply. “Smells good.”

Wei Wuxian chuckles at his dopey expression. “Lan er-gongzi smells good, too.”

“I do?” Hanguang Jun’s eyelids flutter as he gazes up at Wei Wuxian.

Oh yeah. “Mmhmm. Very pleasant.”

Hanguang Jun’s mouth curves, but his little smile is broken by an enormous yawn. His grip on Wei Wuxian’s wrist loosens, and his hand falls to his chest.

“Good night, er-gongzi,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He stands, and Hanguang Jun’s eyes pop open to watch Wei Wuxian draw the blanket up to his chest.

“Good night,” he murmurs back. He yawns again and snuggles into his pillow. He’s still wearing his sect ribbon, and it lies crooked on his forehead. Right now, he looks like a sleepy boy up too far past his bedtime.

Wei Wuxian can’t help his foolish smile as he pats Hanguang Jun’s hand. “Sleep well. Please don’t hate me in the morning.”

Hanguang Jun makes a dismissive sound. Almost a pfft. Wei Wuxian chuckles and squeezes his hand.

He watches until Hanguang Jun’s breath slows to its sleeping rhythm. Then he cleans up the rest of his mess. Wine has spilled over the dining table, making the whole room reek of fermented fruit. He lights a handful of sandalwood sticks to mask the stench.

Idiot, he chides himself. He dumps the shards of the wine jar in the rubbish. Can’t even do one little thing right. Hanguang Jun’s life was fine before Wei Wuxian came crashing into it. He should learn to accept that instead of trying to shake things up.

*

The sun has already risen when Wei Wuxian wakes in the morning. Last night’s events return in a rush, and he squeezes his eyes closed, wishing he could turn back over and sleep away his guilt.

Instead, he peeks around the screen. Hanguang Jun isn’t on his meditation mat. He creeps over to Hanguang Jun’s bed and draws back the curtain. Hanguang Jun sleeps peacefully with his hands folded on his chest.

“Lan er-gongzi.”

Nothing.

Wei Wuxian gives his shoulder a little shake. “Lan er-gongzi, it’s time to wake up.”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes blink open. He gazes up at Wei Wuxian muzzily, then mumbles something that might be what time is it?

“Nearly breakfast time.”

Another slow blink. Then Hanguang Jun bolts upright. He scowls and presses his palm against his forehead. Wei Wuxian cringes as he watches Hanguang Jun battle his first hangover.

“I’ll get you some water.” He scurries to pour a cup of water, but Hanguang Jun is already coming toward him, squinting in the morning light.

“Last night. Did I . . . drink wine?”

Wei Wuxian falls to his knees. Water splashes from the cup as he prostrates himself. “This one deserves punishment.”

“Wei Wuxian.” Silk rustles, then Hanguang Jun’s hand touches his shoulder. “I do not understand.”

Wei Wuxian gulps back tears. This would be so much easier if Hanguang Jun just yelled at him. He lifts his head just enough to talk. “You drank the wine that I brought back from Caiyi.”

Hanguang Jun’s hand disappears from his shoulder. Then there is a long moment of silence. “Alcohol is prohibited here.”

Wei Wuxian nods miserably.

“Sit. Please.”

He drags in a breath and pushes up to his knees. He sets the water cup on the table and climbs on his cushion. He stares down at his folded hands. “I wasn’t going to drink it here. I don’t even know why I bought it. I just thought . . . It doesn’t matter what I thought.” He peeks up at Hanguang Jun, who’s frowning at the table. “I’m really sorry.”

“Did I—” Hanguang Jun scowls and rubs at his temple. “Did I . . . do anything?”

“Like what?”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes slide toward him, then away. “Never mind.” He pours more water into his cup and drinks it. “Please do not bring alcohol here again.”

Wei Wuxian nods frantically. “I won’t, I swear, I’m sorry.”

“It tasted foul. Was there something wrong with it?”

He almost laughs. “No. It’s just an acquired taste.”

“Mn,” Hanguang Jun grunts doubtfully. He pours another cup and sips it slowly.

“Er-gongzi, what is my punishment?”

Hanguang Jun frowns and stares at the wall. A full minute ticks by with the executioner’s axe poised above Wei Wuxian’s head. “You may not train for three days. Instead, you will copy the principles 30 times.”

That’s it? Sure, it will probably take him longer than three afternoons to copy all those principles 30 times, but he still thinks he got off easy. He salutes. “This one is grateful.”

*

The rabbits in the back hills are easy to charm, perhaps because they have little reason to fear their human neighbors. Once they realize that the humans bring carrots and cabbage, they start bouncing over as soon as he and Hanguang Jun enter their meadow. One particularly brave rabbit, a big fluffy guy, actually snuggles up to Hanguang Jun’s thigh and lets Hanguang Jun stroke him.

That night, Wei Wuxian draws a picture of Hanguang Jun petting his bunny, trying to capture Hanguang Jun’s soft look of wonder. He doesn’t give that one to Hanguang Jun, though.

To make up for the wine debacle, Wei Wuxian starts carving a rabbit for Hanguang Jun. It takes a long time because he wants it to be surprise, but they are together for most of the day. He manages to sneak in some work while Hanguang Jun is in meetings, and he finishes the rest by staying up late and carving under a single lantern.

When he’s finally finished, he sets the little rabbit on Hanguang Jun’s dressing table. Hanguang Jun notices it as he settles onto the stool, and his happy little gasp is almost more than Wei Wuxian can stand.

“Do you like it?”

Hanguang Jun nods and reaches for the rabbit. He strokes his thumb along its ears, smiling softly.

“I thought that since you can’t have a real rabbit, I’d make you one.”

“You carved it?” Hanguang Jun stares wide-eyed at Wei Wuxian’s reflection.

Wei Wuxian ducks his head to hide how hard he’s blushing. “I did. It isn’t that great. I haven’t whittled in a long time.”

“It is well done. Thank you.”

The next day, Wei Wuxian sees that his little carving has achieved pride of place on a shelf right beside a vase that’s probably worth more than all of Caiyi.

*

Aside from the food and his gigantic unrequited crush on his alpha, life in Cloud Recesses is pretty great. Well, he would prefer fewer rules. And everybody except Hanguang Jun, Zewu Jun, and Meng Yao avoids him. But Hanguang Jun is the best. The most perfect person to ever exist, except maybe Shijie. Everyone avoids Hanguang Jun, too. Or maybe Hanguang Jun avoids them—Wei Wuxian can’t decide which. So it all works out, really.

There are more night hunts—much tamer than the first—and frolicking in the back hills and nights playing duets in the Jingshi. His cultivation skill increases at a phenomenal rate under Hanguang Jun’s tutelage, and Hanguang Jun has even mentioned getting him a sword. The problem is that Lan Qiren and the elders would have to be consulted for that, and they don’t know about his lessons. “Xiongzhang thinks they would disapprove,” Hanguang Jun says, frowning.

Wei Wuxian nods and tries to hide his disappointment. He already has more than he ever expected, so it’s foolish to yearn for more.

Three months after his arrival at Cloud Recesses, life gets even better. Every year, the Lan sect hosts a lecture series for young disciples. Even Shijie is coming this year. According to her letter, Hanguang Jun invited her personally.

He reads this as Hanguang Jun polishes Bichen beside him. He nearly crumples Shijie’s letter as he slides off the cushion and goes to his knees. “Lan er-gongzi, thank you!”

“I do not understand.”

Wei Wuxian grins up at him and tries to blink back his tears. “Shijie. You invited her here?”

“Mn.” Hanguang Jun sheathes his sword and settles it across his knee. “You speak of her often.”

Wei Wuxian would love to hug him, but he settles for patting Hanguang Jun’s knee. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Hanguang Jun flushes and avoids his eyes. “Perhaps we may host them for tea. When they arrive.”

They’ve never had anyone over for tea. Not even Zewu Jun. “Yeah. That would be great.” He can’t help giving Hanguang Jun’s knee another squeeze, but then he withdraws. “I can’t believe it. How long will they be here?”

“The lecture ends just before the autumn hunt.”

So long! They’ll be here for months. And maybe Mianmian will come, too! He has to jump up and pace the room to let out some of his excitement. Hanguang Jun watches him bounce around with an expression that Wei Wuxian likes to think is fond.

*

The day the Jiang sect is due to arrive, Wei Wuxian heads out early to wait for them in Caiyi. Hanguang Jun seems relieved to see him leave. Admittedly, Wei Wuxian’s excitement in recent days has probably made him difficult to live with.

Standing on a stone bridge, he watches boats sail down Caiyi’s little river and leans over the rail to peer at their occupants. Finally, he sees two familiar figures in lavender standing on a prow. He waves so hard that he nearly topples into the water, then runs down to the dock.

Shijie takes the hand he offers, laughing at his eagerness. He helps her onto the dock and hugs her so hard that she squeaks.

“Wei-shixiong! Wei-shixiong!”

Shocked, he turns and sees a group of young disciples waving from the other boats. He returns the wave feebly, still not sure they’re actually talking to him.

“What, you don’t remember your shidi?” Jiang Cheng says as he punches his arm.

“Surprised they remember me,” Wei Wuxian mumbles.

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Like anyone could forget you.”

They have lunch at Jinzhenhe tavern before heading up the mountain. “Eat as much as you can now,” Wei Wuxian warns them. “There are no spices in Cloud Recesses’ kitchen.”

As they’re leaving the tavern, Jiang Cheng draws him aside. “I brought you something.”

“Yeah?”

Jiang Cheng reaches into his bag and withdraws a sword. “Since you’re training again, you could probably use this.” Jiang Cheng lays Suibian across his palms and holds it out in offering.

Wei Wuxian’s lunch tumbles in his belly as he stares at the sword, unblinking. “I thought—I thought Jiang Fengmian must have given it to someone else.”

Jiang Cheng snorts and pushes the sword toward him. “It sealed itself after you left. Your sword is as stubborn as you are.”

Wei Wuxian can’t seem to make his hand reach for the sword. Shijie steps beside him and rubs his back. “It was waiting for you, A-Xian.”

He lets out a shaky breath and wraps his hand around the hilt. He half-expects its power to overwhelm him as Bichen’s had, but he feels only a pleasant buzz. Shijie and Jiang Cheng watch him expectantly, but he’s afraid. What if it doesn’t know him anymore? What if it still refuses to leave its sheathe?

“Go on,” Shijie says gently. “Just try.”

He nods and grips the sheathe. The blade slides from it with a sharp rasp. He barks out a laugh and stares at his wide-eyed reflection in the steel.

“See?” Shijie says. “Suibian remembers its master.”

“C’mon,” Jiang Cheng grunts. “Everybody’s staring.”

Wei Wuxian follows him out of the tavern with Suibian clenched in his grasp. Carrying it feels strange and familiar at the same time. Amid thousands of tumbling thoughts, one shines the brightest: I can’t wait to show Hanguang Jun.

*

“Suibian?” Some of Hanguang Jun’s enthusiasm over Wei Wuxian’s announcement falls from his face. “You named your sword ‘Suibian’?”

Jiang Cheng snorts, and Wei Wuxian throws an elbow into his side. “It’s a long story,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Not really,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“Anyway,” Wei Wuxian says, rolling his eyes, “It doesn’t matter what it’s called. I’ve got a sword again!” He offers it to Hanguang Jun to examine.

Hanguang Jun wraps his hand around the hilt. “Oh, it won’t—” Wei Wuxian breaks off as the sword obediently pops out of the sheath. Hanguang Jun inspects the blade, not noticing the flabbergasted onlookers.

“Why can he do that?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Maybe it unlocked when I drew it in the tavern.”

“It is powerful,” Hanguang Jun says as he passes the sword back to Wei Wuxian.

“Yeah. Not like Bichen, though.” He turns to Jiang Cheng and Shijie. “I nearly qi-deviated when I used Bichen in the spider cave.”

Jiang Cheng gapes at him. “You used Hanguang Jun’s sword?”

“Just once. I thought I wrote to you about that.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Of course I was serious! Hanguang Jun can back me up.” He winks at Hanguang Jun and slaps a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder to guide him toward their dining table. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you all about it.”

After tea, which Hanguang Jun endures patiently even though he’s radiating discomfort at hosting strangers, Wei Wuxian walks Jiang Cheng and Shijie to the student quarters.

“You really live with him?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Both of you in that little house?”

“A-Cheng,” Shijie scolds.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Yeah, so what?”

Admittedly, the Jingshi had seemed terribly small when he’d first moved in, but now it’s . . . cozy. Hanguang Jun is surprisingly easy to live with, horrible unrequited crush notwithstanding. He never even complains about how Wei Wuxian’s stuff tends to wander out from his corner.

While he’s ruminating, Shijie links her arm with his. “You seem happy here. I’m glad.”

“It’s okay, I guess.” He beams down at her. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Hey, what about me?” Jiang Cheng asks. “I brought your damn sword.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and leans down to fake-whisper to Shijie. “When did he get so grumpy?”

She pats his arm and sighs. “Don’t you remember? He’s always been like that.”

Jiang Cheng growls as they giggle like children.

*

“There are leaves in your hair,” Mianmian fusses. He’s finally managed to steal her away from the hordes of Jin disciples, and they’re strolling down one of the lesser-used paths in Cloud Recesses to avoid the crowds. Since the students arrived, Cloud Recesses has gotten a lot less serene.

“Well, I can’t exactly swing my sword in the house, can I?”

She rolls her eyes. “Only you would sign up to be Hanguang Jun’s omega and end up a disciple.”

“I’m not a disciple. And Hanguang Jun might as well train me since he doesn’t want to bed me.”

She gives him a sympathetic pout. “Oh, Xian-di, you’re so in love.”

He shoves her off the path and watches with his hands on his hips as she stumbles back to him, cackling. “He’s Hanguang Jun,” he snaps. “Everybody thinks he’s awesome.”

“Yeah, but you loooove him.” She links her arm with his and drags him on. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

He scowls but lets her lean on him as they stroll. “Whatever. Let’s talk about something else. How’s your pasty-faced peacock?”

“Jin-gongzi is a very kind man,” she says primly. “I don’t get why you hate him so much.”

“Because he’s a pasty-faced peacock who turns his nose up at everybody.”

“He’s just shy,” she argues. “Besides, the whole world thinks your alpha is the scary one.”

“Hanguang Jun isn’t scary! Who says that?”

She snorts a laugh into his shoulder. “Calm down, didi. You have to admit, he is kind of cold.”

“Pfft. He just seems that way at first. He’s really nice when you get to know him.”

“Mmhmm, but you want to get to know him much better.” She waggles her eyebrows and nudges her elbow into her ribs.

“I can’t believe I was ever friends with you. You are the worst.” He yanks free of her arm and stomps off, ignoring her giggled apologies.

*

The Nie clan leader is a dear friend of Zewu Jun, Hanguang Jun explains. They’re on their way to Zewu Jun’s quarters to greet Chifeng Zun and his brother, whom Chifeng Zun has escorted to Cloud Recesses for the lectures. Oddly, Hanguang Jun doesn’t seem tense about the impending social occasion.

“Is Nie Huaisang a friend of yours?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Hanguang Jun frowns and seems to contemplate that for several steps before settling on, “I have known him for many years.”

Wei Wuxian remembers Chifeng Zun from the conference—it was hard to miss the enormous alpha with the enormous saber—but it’s a bit intimidating to actually socialize with him.

Nie Huaisang, however, is a tiny beta who does little but hide behind his fan. They’re all seated around one table having tea. While Zewu Jun and Chifeng Zun are avidly reminiscing about their own days at the lectures, Wei Wuxian leans closer to Nie Huaisang. “Nice fan.”

Nie Huaisang startles and flutters the fan faster. “Thank you.”

“Is it a spiritual weapon?”

Nie Huaisang snorts. “No.” He spreads out the fan and moves it closer to Wei Wuxian, who dutifully admires the design. Then he launches into a long-winded, incredibly detailed history of the fan’s components. Wei Wuxian, who was just trying to make conversation, bites his tongue and nods along.

Then Zewu Jun says, “Wei Wuxian, I was telling Mingjue about the spider demon earlier. He is curious about the talisman you used.”

Wei Wuxian shoots a frantic look at Hanguang Jun, who nods back at him, seemingly unconcerned that Zewu Jun is apparently telling everybody about Wei Wuxian’s training. “Um, it’s just a little cord.”

“You designed it yourself?” Chifeng Zun asks.

Wei Wuxian nods and tries not to squirm under the big man’s keen gaze.

“Wei Wuxian has invented several talismans,” Hanguang Jun says. There might even be a hint of pride in his voice.

After that, Wei Wuxian has to show off his cord talisman, and the butterflies, and even the dumb one he made to clean spider guts off Hanguang Jun’s boots.

Later, while Chifeng Zen and Zewu Jun are trying out the butterfly talisman and grinning like children, Nie Huaisang steps beside Wei Wuxian. “I thought you were Hanguang Jun’s omega.”

“I am.”

“Then why are you going on night hunts?”

Wei Wuxian stiffens and looks to see if Hanguang Jun heard, but he’s watching his brother and Chifeng Zun play with the butterflies. “I trained as a Yunmeng Jiang disciple when I was a kid. Lan er-gongzi is kind enough to let me accompany him sometimes.”

“But you killed a demon!” Nie Huaisang wails.

“Yeah?” He’s getting irritated, and he’s tempted to tell this little beta that if he has a problem, he can take it up with Hanguang Jun.

But Nie Huaisang’s distress isn’t about how Wei Wuxian is breaking tradition. “Great,” Nie Huaisang moans, “Even Hanguang Jun’s omega is a better cultivator than I am. Da-ge will never let up on me now.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help giving the little guy a shoulder pat. Nie Huaisang slumps and gives him a mournful look.

“If you want, I can teach you how to make the butterflies.”

Nie Huaisang shrugs, but he giggles when the sparkly butterflies he makes flit around his face and alight on his fan.

*

The Jingshi is empty when Wei Wuxian returns home from a trip to Caiyi with his little group, which now includes Nie Huaisang. Wei Wuxian was looking forward to hanging out with Hanguang Jun tonight. Since the lectures began, Hanguang Jun has taken to hiding at home to avoid all the strangers, but he isn’t here now. Wei Wuxian stows his purchases and then stands in the middle of the room flicking his nose.

Well, might as well go find him. Wei Wuxian heads down the path, swinging his arms and humming. Even after the trip down the mountain and back, he’s still full of energy. Strange to remember how he’d huffed and puffed on his arrival.

Hanguang Jun isn’t in the library, but one of the disciples there says that he saw Hanguang Jun headed to the cold spring. Wei Wuxian compliments the boy’s calligraphy and sets out for the cold spring.

Summer has finally arrived in Gusu, but here on top of the mountain, the air is still fresh. As he strolls down the path, Wei Wuxian breathes deep and smiles at the breeze lifting his hair. For the first time in years, everyone he loves is in one place, and his only problem is that there aren’t enough hours in the day to spend time with all of them. He and Hanguang Jun have cut his training down to three days a week so that he can visit with Jiang Cheng and Shijie more often, and Hanguang Jun is often busy with the lectures. Wei Wuxian misses him. That’s dumb since they live together, and he feels horrible even thinking it, but he kind of misses when it was just the two of them.

He crests the hill and pauses to peer down into the spring. Even from this distance, he knows the torso sticking out of the water belongs to Hanguang Jun. He is very familiar with that perfect back.

“There you are,” Wei Wuxian calls. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Hanguang Jun gives him a little nod. Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the spring and dips his hands in the icy water to splash a bit on his face. Even in summer, that water is ridiculously cold, but right now, it feels nice on his sweaty face.

“Sorry for interrupting. It’s almost dinnertime, though. I bought some loquats and that tea you like. Are you ready to get out?”

“In a moment. I will meet you at home.”

Hanguang Jun’s back is turned, and Wei Wuxian wishes he could see his face. Something just feels . . . off. “Is something wrong?”

Wei Wuxian watches Hanguang Jun’s back rise and fall in a deep breath. “No need for concern.”

That sounds like a yes. Still, Wei Wuxian lets it go. For now. “Okay. I’ll see you back home, then.”

Hanguang Jun returns to the Jingshi only a few minutes before dinner arrives, so Wei Wuxian can’t interrogate him immediately. During dinner, Wei Wuxian watches him surreptitiously. Hanguang Jun keeps his eyes on the food although he eats very little.

“Not hungry tonight?” Wei Wuxian asks as he clears the dishes.

Hanguang Jun shakes his head, and they move to the dressing table. He stares down at the dressing table while Wei Wuxian chatters about his trip to Caiyi. He’s flushed, not just his ears, but also the tip of his nose.

Wei Wuxian combs the damp tips of his hair and lays the comb on the table. “Lan er-gongzi, are you unwell?”

Headshake.

“Hmm. Did the kids stress you out today?” He grins at their reflections and gives Hanguang Jun a little shoulder rub. Hanguang Jun shudders. “Are you cold? How long did you stay in that water?”

“Not sure.” Hanguang Jun stands abruptly and moves to the wardrobe. He’s unusually stiff while Wei Wuxian undresses him, and he stares fixedly at nothing. It’s almost like the old days at the palace when they first began this ritual.

His body definitely isn’t cold, though. If anything, he feels hotter than usual. “I think you may be running a fever,” Wei Wuxian says, and he lays the back of his hand against Hanguang Jun’s cheek.

Hanguang Jun steps back, out of reach. “I can finish the rest.”

“What? Why?”

But Hanguang Jun turns to the wardrobe, putting his back to him.

“Lan er-gongzi, what . . . this one apologizes if he gave offense.”

Hanguang Jun sighs gustily. “You did not. I only wish to finish alone tonight.”

Gutted, Wei Wuxian bows, even though Hanguang Jun can’t see it with his back to him. “As Lan er-gongzi wishes,” he mumbles.

“It is not—I am not displeased with you,” Hanguang Jun stammers. Hanguang Jun never stammers. “I am . . . indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” Wei Wuxian takes a step toward him and stops himself when Hanguang Jun shuffles away. “Are you ill? I can fetch the doctor.”

“Unnecessary. I only wish to rest.”

Wei Wuxian lingers, fretting, shifting from foot to foot. Cultivators rarely get sick. And they haven’t been on a night hunt recently, so he shouldn’t be affected by anything spiritual. He takes a deep breath, drawing Hanguang Jun’s scent deep, and nearly smacks himself in the face for being so stupid. If he hadn’t spent the last few months deliberately ignoring Hanguang Jun’s scent, he probably would’ve known immediately.

“Wei Wuxian. Please.” Hanguang Jun’s fists clench at his sides, and his head drops, his hair curtaining his face.

“Yes, er-gongzi.” Face burning, he retreats behind his screen and drops to the bed. Hanguang Jun is in rut. He’s in rut, but he still doesn’t want Wei Wuxian to touch him.

He stays there, listening to Hanguang Jun undress himself, which hurts almost as much as the rejection. Then there’s the faint rustle of Hanguang Jun getting into bed. It’s too early for bed, even for Hanguang Jun. There’s no way Wei Wuxian could go to sleep, even if Hanguang Jun weren’t in rut on the other side of the room.

He should try to sleep, though. Or at least extinguish the lanterns. Hanguang Jun probably wants privacy to . . . deal with his issue.

Imagining that is too much, and Wei Wuxian leaps back out of bed, wishing he could pace the floor. He hasn’t had a heat since the first one in the palace, but the idea of Hanguang Jun suffering through something like that . . . It’s horrible. It’s ridiculous. This is what Wei Wuxian is for. Forget the traditions and the hair combing: this is why alphas take omegas. What good is he if he just cowers in his corner while Hanguang Jun is in distress?

Resolved—terrified, but resolved—Wei Wuxian undresses and pulls on his dressing gown. With a snap, he extinguishes all the lanterns except for the one nearest Hanguang Jun’s bed. He crosses the room and draws back the curtain.

Hanguang Jun sits on the bed, fists tight on his knees. He looks up, eyes widening, like he hadn’t heard Wei Wuxian approach. Although his knees want to lock, Wei Wuxian kneels at Hanguang Jun’s feet and bows his head. “This one would . . . this one wishes to . . .”

Years of training, but the words won’t come. He raises his head. Hanguang Jun looks as terrified as he feels. “I would like to, to help you,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “If you will let me.” He lays a hand over one of Hanguang Jun’s clenched fists. “May I?”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes shine in the dim room. The full moon hovering in the window behind him turns his skin to silver. His throat clicks as he swallows. “I would not ask that of you.”

“This one knows that Lan er-gongzi does not find him . . . desirable, but—” His stomach twists, and he chokes on the words. “But I could try to make it . . . good.”

“Wei Wuxian is desirable,” Hanguang Jun says abruptly, almost blurting it out. Hanguang Jun’s eyes dart away, and he flushes even harder. “But you do not have to . . .”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says softly, tucking his joy away for the moment. Wei Wuxian is desirable. “I know that you would not ask it.” Of course he wouldn’t. Of course he would suffer alone rather than ask for something Wei Wuxian is absolutely willing to give. He bends his mouth to Hanguang Jun’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “But I would like to.” He wraps his other hand around Hanguang Jun’s ankle and strokes with his thumb. Hanguang Jun’s breath rattles in his chest.

He lays kisses over Hanguang Jun’s hand until it relaxes enough that he can turn it over and press his mouth against his wrist. This slender wrist hardly seems capable of wielding a sword, and the pale skin is so soft. Underneath his lips, Hanguang Jun’s pulse races.

He slides his hand up his calf and lays his cheek on Hanguang Jun’s knee. For years, he scoffed at the idea that he would ever kneel like this, but he can’t feel shame now. This feels less like submission and more like reverence.

“Lan er-gongzi,” he murmurs, kissing Hanguang Jun’s knee, the top of his thigh. His hand strokes over tense muscles, rigid as stone. He dares another look at Hanguang Jun’s face and almost groans. Hanguang Jun’s eyes burn, and though he looks lost, there is hunger there as well.

Shuddering, Wei Wuxian pushes himself to his feet. He unties the dressing gown and lets it slide down his arms. He can’t look at Hanguang Jun as he lays the dressing gown aside and climbs on the bed. His heart hammers as he lowers to his elbows and presents himself. Gods, it is humiliating, sticking his ass in Hanguang Jun’s face. It’s worse that he’s quivering, aching and empty, almost like he’s the one in heat. He’d never expected to want like this.

Nothing happens. He kneels there, naked and exposed, his face burning, but nothing happens. Is Hanguang Jun going to politely tell him to put his clothes on and go back to his own bed? Oh fuck, what if Hanguang Jun just doesn’t know what to do? Is he going to have to coach Hanguang Jun through deflowering him?

The bed shifts as Hanguang Jun stands up. Resisting the urge to peek, Wei Wuxian waits with his breath rattling against the mattress.

Something touches his back, and he almost screams. Then he realizes it’s Hanguang Jun’s hand, almost scorching against his skin. “Wei Wuxian. Are you—are you certain?”

Wei Wuxian fumbles back until he can squeeze Hanguang Jun’s hand. “I’m certain. Please.” He bites off the last and releases Hanguang Jun’s hand. He won’t beg. The worst thing out of a lot of horrible possibilities here would be Hanguang Jun fucking him out of pity.

The bed dips. He imagines he can feel the heat of Hanguang Jun’s body behind him. Hanguang Jun’s hand settles on his back like a butterfly alighting. “I do not wish to hurt you.” His voice is low, raspy, but still loud in the silence.

“You won’t,” he murmurs back, though he isn’t certain of that. He’s kept his eyes averted during months of baths, but he isn’t blind. He takes Hanguang Jun’s hand again and draws it below him, to where he’s wet and aching.

Hanguang Jun sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t pull away. Wei Wuxian releases his hand and curls his fingers in the sheet as Hanguang Jun’s fingers stroke over him. One of those perfect, slender fingers dips inside him, and he gasps.

The hand stills. “Is that—should I stop?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, rolling his forehead against the mattress. “It’s good. Please.” He can’t help arching his back to press his hips back.

Everyone knows that alphas in rut are desperate beasts. Their instincts overtake them, turning them feral with desire, and beware any omega in their path. Yet Hanguang Jun touches him so slowly, so gently. Wei Wuxian clenches around his fingers and stifles his moans against the bed.

“Wei Wuxian,” Hanguang Jun grunts. His hand grips Wei Wuxian’s hip tight. “I—”

“Yes. Yes, please.” Just do it, he wants to scream. His head is blurry, feverish. Nothing is clear except for the ache at his center.

Hanguang Jun pulls away, and a whine creaks out of Wei Wuxian’s throat. But then he’s back, his hand holding Wei Wuxian’s hip as the head of his cock pushes inside. There is pressure, heat. Hanguang Jun hisses as he slides inside.

“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian gasps. Hanguang Jun hovers there, pressed inside him, and for a moment, all he can think of is Mianmian’s joke about Hanguang Jun’s big sword. His hysterical laugh becomes a groan as Hanguang Jun pulls out and presses back in.

“Are you—” Hanguang Jun gasps and sucks in air. He never loses his breath. “Are you well?”

“Mmhmm. Don’t stop.” He shifts a little, and both of Hanguang Jun’s hands grip his hips.

There is another thrust, deeper than before. Big fucking sword, Wei Wuxian thinks dreamily as Hanguang Jun fucks him. Long, deep thrusts roll him toward the headboard. Hanguang Jun holds him up, hold him tight, and takes him, his breath harsh and pained.

“Er-gongzi,” he murmurs, grinning against his arm. “Er-gege.” Hanguang Jun’s hips stutter, and then he’s bending over Wei Wuxian’s back, his breath hot on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

That’s even better. Wei Wuxian smiles wider and lets his body go limp, lets it flow into the cage Hanguang Jun has made of his arms. Hanguang Jun’s chest slides against his back as he moves faster, his mouth open and panting against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

Hanguang Jun shudders. His hips jerk, and his hand slaps against the bed beside Wei Wuxian’s face. The next thrust is shallow. The knot swelling the base of his cock presses against him, but Hanguang Jun doesn’t push inside.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian whispers. He opens his eyes—when did he close them?—and fumbles for Hanguang Jun’s hand. He brings it to his mouth and kisses the palm. “All of you,” he murmurs against Hanguang Jun’s fingers.

Hanguang Jun makes a sound that’s almost a whimper. His hand trembles in Wei Wuxian’s grip as he pushes inside. It feels impossible, that stretch, but then Hanguang Jun is flush against him, his gasps puffing against Wei Wuxian’s throat. There’s something that sounds like Wei Wuxian’s name burning there as Hanguang Jun surges against him like he wants to be even deeper.

Wei Wuxian works his other hand underneath them and strokes his clit. In seconds, he’s crying out and sinking his teeth into Hanguang Jun’s wrist. Hanguang Jun shudders, and his teeth close on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, holding it in his jaws.

Wei Wuxian gives Hanguang Jun’s thumb a nibble, then a kiss. His hips and knees ache, but he’s buzzing, floating. Hanguang Jun shifts them to the side, and Wei Wuxian stretches his legs with a grateful sigh. He wraps his hand around Hanguang Jun’s wrist and falls asleep with Hanguang Jun pressed against his back.

*

When he wakes, he’s still in Hanguang Jun’s bed, but he’s stretched out on his stomach with a blanket pulled up to his waist. The room is dark, but the moonlight shows him Hanguang Jun sitting upright in the bed next to him.

He’d like to pull the blanket over his head and hide, but the time for embarrassment is done. If he can get on his hands and knees and offer himself, he can damn well deal with the fallout.

“Lan er-gongzi?”

Hanguang Jun flinches. “I am sorry for waking you.”

“Well, I’m in your bed, aren’t I?” He sits up and holds the blanket to his belly. Bit too late for modesty, too. “I think I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No need.” Hanguang Jun has a white-knuckled grip on the blanket in his own lap. Most likely, he was trying to sneak out of bed to avoid this very moment.

“Is er-gongzi still . . . indisposed?”

Hanguang Jun hesitates like he’s considering lying, but then jerks his head in a nod.

“Well, we know how to handle that, don’t we?” Calling on every ounce of his bravado, Wei Wuxian shuffles closer and presses his mouth to Hanguang Jun’s shoulder.

“You do not have to.”

With a sigh, Wei Wuxian knocks his forehead against Hanguang Jun’s arm. Not this again. “If you don’t want to, then send me back to my bed. But if you do . . .” He shoves the blanket down and straddles Hanguang Jun’s thighs.

He settles his hands on Hanguang Jun’s shoulders. “I’m yours if you want me,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Hanguang Jun is cold blue in the moonlight except for his eyes. His golden eyes gleam up at Wei Wuxian like he’s seeing something new, something wonderful.

Hanguang Jun’s hands move to his waist. He inclines his head.

Their faces are so close. The temptation is too great. It may be silly to balk at kissing at this point, but . . . He would know, Wei Wuxian thinks. If I kissed him, he’d know that I’m—

Pushing that thought away, he presses against Hanguang Jun’s shoulders until he lies back. He cups the back of Hanguang Jun’s head as he lowers him to the pillow. Hanguang Jun watches him through lowered lids.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at him, then shuffles back, takes a fortifying breath, and tugs down Hanguang Jun’s pants. Hanguang Jun’s cock somehow looks even bigger than it had felt, and he strokes it lightly, fascinated by the soft skin stretched tight, the wet head peeking out of his foreskin.

Aside from his strained breath, Hanguang Jun doesn’t make a sound, but his hands grip the sheet as he stares up at the ceiling.

Stop playing, Wei Wuxian chides himself. There’s no telling how long Hanguang Jun has been like this while he slept beside him. He lifts up and positions Hanguang Jun’s cock at his entrance. He’s wet again—or maybe he’s still wet. He doesn’t hurt, but it still punches the air from his lungs when he takes Hanguang Jun inside him.

Gasping, he leans forward, his hands clenching Hanguang Jun’s shirt as he wiggles, trying to find room inside him for the rest. Hanguang Jun has turned his face aside, his eyes pressed shut, his lips parted. Oh, this is even better, getting to watch him. Wei Wuxian lifts up, then shimmies down, and Hanguang Jun blows out a breath. His hands come back to Wei Wuxian’s waist, but he doesn’t interfere—he just holds on, like he’s keeping them both steady.

Wei Wuxian’s body adapts quickly, eagerly, and he finds a rhythm, rising and falling, grinding against Hanguang Jun’s pelvis on every wave. He watches Hanguang Jun’s face for every twitch and curl of his lip, when his teeth glint in the moonlight and he almost seems to growl soundlessly.

Wei Wuxian would love to hear those repressed noises burst free. He’s lost control of his own voice, and his moans and gasps fall free as he moves faster, his own pleasure making him tremble and whine.

It breaks, out of control, and he locks in place, all of his muscles shocked into stillness, his fingers curled so tightly in Hanguang Jun’s shirt that he can’t let go. And then he’s falling, he’s on his back, and Hanguang Jun is spreading his legs, pushing back inside, his golden tiger eyes wild. When the knot breeches him, he comes again, crying out against Hanguang Jun’s shoulder. Hanguang Jun groans, his fingers like claws in the back of Wei Wuxian’s thigh as he holds him open. He pushes his face against Wei Wuxian’s neck and rumbles, low and pleased.

He drifts mindlessly with only Hanguang Jun’s weight to keep him anchored. Then that weight shifts. Hanguang Jun pulls out and gently detaches Wei Wuxian’s fingers from his shirt. He should let Hanguang Jun have his bed back, but getting up seems like too much work. Instead, he wiggles against the wall, ignoring the wet spot under his thigh. Hanguang Jun pulls the blanket over them and lies back with a sigh so weary that Wei Wuxian has to laugh. But the giggle becomes a yawn, and then his eyes are closing, sleep pulling him down and holding him tight.

*

When he wakes, he is alone in Hanguang Jun’s bed with his nose pressed against a mattress that smells of sandalwood and sex. He rolls over and blinks against the brightness. He’s overslept. In Hanguang Jun’s bed.

He finds his dressing gown and cinches it tight. Hanguang Jun isn’t on his meditation mat. Maybe he dressed himself and left already? Wei Wuxian is headed back to his corner when he sees the figure looming in the corner.

Wei Wuxian yelps and stumbles back, banging his butt against his wardrobe. Hanguang Jun is holding himself up with one arm, hanging upside down like a big white bat. “Lan er-gongzi,” he gasps, “What are you doing?”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes open slowly. He cartwheels out of the handstand and stands smoothly. His face is red, but that might be from all the blood rushing to his head. “Meditating.”

“Oh.”

They stand there, awkwardly. Hanguang Jun is perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the wall. Wei Wuxian fidgets with the ties of his robe. For once in his life, he has no idea what to say.

“Want some tea?”

Hanguang Jun nods grimly.

Dressing him is excruciating. Now, Wei Wuxian’s hands think they should get to stroke that broad chest. He is so focused on not letting his touches linger that he fumbles over the ties. Hanguang Jun is so still that Wei Wuxian isn’t sure he’s breathing.

Hanguang Jun seems better, though. His scent has settled. Wei Wuxian tells himself that he isn’t disappointed.

Hanguang Jun doesn’t speak until he rises from the dressing table. Then he inclines his head. “Thank you.”

From the way his eyes slide away, Wei Wuxian doesn’t think Hanguang Jun is referring to his hairdressing skills.

“My pleasure. I’ll see you this afternoon?”

Hanguang Jun nods stiffly and heads out.

When he’s gone, Wei Wuxian blows out a shaky breath and sinks down on the stool. None of his lessons at the temple had taught him how to deal with the awkward morning after.

He goes to the tub and casts a talisman, heating the water to almost boiling. His hips and knees ache, and the muscles in his thighs protest as he lowers himself into the steaming water. Groaning, he lays his head against the rim of the tub. The temple hadn’t mentioned that sex was more taxing than running sword drills, either. It seems there are some major gaps in the curriculum.

When he’s scrubbed clean, he heads to the student quarters. The disciples are in Lan Qiren’s boring lecture right now, but it isn’t Shijie he wants. This morning, he wants his other sister.

Mianmian takes one look at him and pulls him outside, leading him away from the nosy Jin servants gawking at them. When they’re alone, she links her arm with his. “Was it that good or that bad?”

“It was good. But it was . . . a lot. He was in rut.”

“Ah, so the great Hanguang Jun is just flesh and blood after all.”

He scoffs and draws her down on a bench. “It was so awkward this morning. I had no idea what to say.”

“That is hard to believe.”

“Right? But how do you make small talk after that?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

He groans. “Could you at least try to be helpful? If I’d wanted to be mocked, I would’ve gone to Meng Yao.”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you have any tea?”

“You want me to make you tea?”

“No, dummy, the tea. Or do you want to have a baby Lan?”

“Oh shit, the tea!” He tumbles off the bench and paces in front of her. “I forgot the fucking tea!”

“Come on,” she says, tugging him after her. “Let’s go find the Lans’ doctor.”

The doctor waits patiently for Wei Wuxian to stammer out his request. Then she just nods and grinds up the herbs. She scoops them into a little pouch and hands it to him. “Put a pinch of this in your tea every morning.”

“Does it, um, work the day after?”

The doctor pauses, blinking slowly like Hanguang Jun does when Wei Wuxian asks weird questions. “Yes, but it’s more effective if you use it every day.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He bows, and she turns back to her herbs.

*

He walks Mianmian back to her quarters and heads to the Jingshi to drink the tea. Although today is one of their scheduled training days, Hanguang Jun doesn’t appear. While he waits, Wei Wuxian bundles up the dirty sheets and spreads new ones on Hanguang Jun’s bed, forcing his mind to stay blank. Then he considers training alone, but he’s so agitated that he’d probably slice off his own arm.

Hanguang Jun returns late that afternoon, his scent frosty from the cold spring.

“Hi!” Wei Wuxian lays down the book he wasn’t reading and jumps up. “How was your day?”

Hanguang Jun flinches at what is probably a painfully cheerful greeting. “It was fine.”

Wei Wuxian watches as he places Bichen in its rack. “Dinner will be here soon. Do you want me to take your hair down first?”

Hanguang Jun ignores the question. He steps closer and tucks an arm behind his back. Wei Wuxian steels himself for whatever is about to happen. Hanguang Jun takes a deep breath. “Are you unwell?”

“Uh, no, I’m great.”

“I saw you leaving Lan-daifu’s quarters earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah. I just needed to, um, get something.”

Hanguang Jun frowns. His hand clenches at his side. “Did I hurt you?”

“What? No!” Hanguang Jun looks so miserable that Wei Wuxian forgets that he’s nervous and pats Hanguang Jun’s arm. “I’m fine, really. I just needed to get a . . . a special tea.”

“Tea?”

Now the awkwardness is back in full force. “It prevents, you know.” He waves a hand over his belly. Hanguang Jun’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion. “Um, pregnancy.”

Hanguang Jun’s eyebrows fly up. He hadn’t looked this freaked out when they were fighting the spider army. His wide eyes drift down to Wei Wuxian’s waist, then slide away. “I see.” 

“We hadn’t talked about it, so I just figured . . .”

“I had not considered . . .”

“Yeah, I nearly forgot. Mianmian reminded me.” Wei Wuxian flicks his nose while Hanguang Jun stares at the wall, dealing with all that. “So, your hair?”

“Yes. Please.”

*

The next few days are just as tense. Although Hanguang Jun remains courteous as ever, he’s locked himself away behind a blank mask. Wei Wuxian is starting to wish he’d stayed behind his screen that night.

One night, as he’s combing Hanguang Jun's hair and making stilted small talk with his impassive reflection, he can’t take it anymore. “Will Lan er-gongzi spare this one a glance?”

Hanguang Jun blinks and pulls himself out of that secret place in his head. “Pardon?”

Their eyes meet in the glass. Wei Wuxian smiles, but it looks pained even to him. “That's better. I was beginning to feel like a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

Wei Wuxian nods at Hanguang Jun's perplexed reflection. “Yep. Invisible.”

Hanguang Jun stiffens and lowers his eyes to the table. “I apologize.”

Here we go again. He sighs and taps the comb against Hanguang Jun’s shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I just . . . miss talking with you.”

“I miss that, too,” Hanguang Jun murmurs.

“Okay then, what should we talk about? Did your uncle yell at anybody in class today?”

Hanguang Jun takes a deep breath and twists around on the stool. “Wei Wuxian, you do not have to—I understand if you are displeased with how I . . . behaved.”

Wei Wuxian tosses the comb on the dressing table and steps in front of him. “What are you talking about? I’m not displeased with you! I mean, yeah, it’s been kind of awkward lately, but—”

Hanguang Jun shakes his head, frustrated in a way Wei Wuxian has never seen him. “I should not have taken advantage of your kindness. It was my first—I did not realize how overwhelming it would be. But I should have controlled myself.”

“That was your first rut?”

Hanguang Jun nods miserably.

Sighing, Wei Wuxian sinks to his knees before him. Hanguang Jun’s eyes widen, and belatedly, Wei Wuxian realizes how similar their positions are to that night. His face heats, but he bites his lip and persists. “Lan er-gongzi, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He lays a hand on Hanguang Jun’s knee, ignoring how Hanguang Jun tenses at the touch. “I wanted to. Really. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

“You have?”

He nods and squeezes Hanguang Jun’s knee. “I’m sorry if it, if it wasn’t good. For you.”

“It was good.” His ears and the tip of his nose are bright red.

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian wiggles closer and perches his chin on Hanguang Jun’s knee. “I thought so too.”

Hesitantly, Hanguang Jun strokes his hand over Wei Wuxian’s hair. Wei Wuxian smiles and presses into the touch. “There is no reason we couldn’t do it again,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, appalled at his own shamelessness. “If you want to.”

The hand stills on his hair, and he peeks up through his eyelashes. Hanguang Jun stares down at him for a long moment. “You would want that?” Hanguang Jun’s voice is low, husky, and Wei Wuxian shivers.

“Yes.” He rubs his cheek on Hanguang Jun’s thigh. “I want that. If you do.”

The hand strokes his hair again, then cups his face and pulls gently. Wei Wuxian flows with it, letting Hanguang Jun tilt his face up. Hanguang Jun bends and presses his lips to Wei Wuxian’s forehead, his nose, then his mouth.

Shivering, Wei Wuxian lets himself be kissed, lets his mouth fall open as Hanguang Jun’s lips move against his. Hanguang Jun’s thumb strokes his cheek, his fingers soft on his jaw.

It’s tender, sweet, and Wei Wuxian’s hands curl at his sides, longing to touch, longing to sink into this kiss, but he can’t, he’ll reveal too much, he’ll—

Hanguang Jun pulls back. “Is this good?”

He nods in Hanguang Jun’s grip and licks his lips. He’s too breathless to speak.

“Mn.” Hanguang Jun presses forward and deepens the kiss. Wei Wuxian melts into it, fumbling his hands up to grasp Hanguang Jun’s knees so that he won’t slither to the floor.

Hanguang Jun’s other hand cups his neck, cradling his face, tilting his head. His tongue flicks against Wei Wuxian’s lips. Whimpering, Wei Wuxian skates his hands up Hanguang Jun’s thighs.

He knows he’s practically hanging limp in Hanguang Jun’s arms, knows he should do something, but Hanguang Jun’s mouth is so soft, his big hands so warm and gentle. All he can do is lean against Hanguang Jun’s thigh and accept kiss after kiss.

Hanguang Jun pulls back again, and Wei Wuxian nearly falls against his chest. One of Hanguang Jun’s hands brushes through Wei Wuxian’s hair and tugs the ribbon closer. The red silk runs over his fingers; then he smooths it back against Wei Wuxian’s hair. He picks up Wei Wuxian’s hand and kisses his knuckles, turns it over and presses his lips to his wrist. “Will you come to bed?”

Despite how his body wants to melt into a little lovestruck puddle, Wei Wuxian nods eagerly. He’s never imagined that Hanguang Jun could be seductive. Now, he’s so turned on that he’d crawl to the bed if Hanguang Jun asked him to.

Hanguang Jun doesn’t ask him to crawl. He stands, pulling Wei Wuxian up with him. One of his big hands closes around Wei Wuxian’s wrist and leads him to the bed. Then he reaches for Wei Wuxian’s sash.

Wei Wuxian snorts a laugh as Hanguang Jun unties his sash. Hanguang Jun raises an eyebrow. “You wanted to do that the night you got drunk,” Wei Wuxian explains. “You probably don’t remember.”

“Mn.” Hanguang Jun removes his robes quickly and efficiently. As a professional, Wei Wuxian is impressed. Then Hanguang Jun guides him to sit on the bed. Hanguang Jun kneels and lifts Wei Wuxian’s feet into his lap.

Having his alpha kneel before him is unsettling enough, but Hanguang Jun strokes his beautiful hands over Wei Wuxian’s ankles as he removes his slippers. Even the bottoms of his feet get attention. If Hanguang Jun is aware of how utterly indecent he’s being, he gives no sign.

When Hanguang Jun is finished with his feet, his hands stroke up Wei Wuxian’s calves, his thighs, then his waist. Wei Wuxian lifts his hips so that Hanguang Jun can pull off his pants. Then Hanguang Jun pauses, his face tensing as he collects his words. “I would like to . . .” He spreads Wei Wuxian’s knees and kisses the inside of his thigh. “I would like to use my mouth.”

“Um, okay?” He braces his hands on the mattress as Hanguang Jun draws his legs over his shoulders and kisses along his thigh. That probably doesn’t mean what he thinks it—

Oh fuck, that is what he meant. He squeaks and bucks at the first brush of Hanguang Jun’s mouth against his clit, and soon he’s falling to his elbows, writhing helplessly as Hanguang Jun’s tongue flicks inside him.

Oh, the temple certainly hadn’t taught him about this. He’s seen it in pornography, of course. Porn was a hot commodity amongst the novices. Books were always being smuggled in and passed around, studied and giggled over. But he’d never expected Hanguang Jun to—

Hanguang Jun grunts like he knows Wei Wuxian’s mind is wandering. Hanguang Jun pulls him closer, tilts him up, and thrusts his tongue faster. Gasping, Wei Wuxian braces a hand against the wall and tries not to kick Hanguang Jun with his flailing feet.

It’s so good, too much and not enough at the same time, but then Hanguang Jun’s fingers thrust inside him while his tongue laves Wei Wuxian’s clit, and Wei Wuxian shrieks something at the ceiling. Hanguang Jun presses harder, and Wei Wuxian flies apart, shouting helplessly as he clenches around Hanguang Jun’s fingers.

He’s still quivering when Hanguang Jun lifts him fully onto the bed and lowers down on top of him. His legs spread of their own accord, and Hanguang Jun settles between them. Hanguang Jun stares down at him, his lips shiny and wet. “Was that good?”

Wei Wuxian wheezes a laugh and flops his head in what he hopes looks like a yes.

The side of Hanguang Jun’s mouth curls, and he keeps staring, his eyes soft and amused.

It isn’t fair of Hanguang Jun to make this much eye contact when Wei Wuxian can barely focus on his face. He gathers his scattered brain cells and tugs at the ties on Hanguang Jun’s shirt. “Will er-gege take this off?”

Hanguang Jun nods solemnly and kisses his forehead. Together, they open the ties, and then Wei Wuxian gets to fulfill one of his favorite daydreams: pushing Hanguang Jun’s undershirt off his shoulders. He gets to touch those shoulders, too, and he takes full advantage of the opportunity while Hanguang Jun kisses him, licking his own taste into his mouth.

Hanguang Jun rolls against him, sliding their chests together, his cock a hot line through his trousers. Wei Wuxian works his hand between them and dips inside his trousers to grip it, letting it slide hot and wet through his fist.

“Er-gege,” he murmurs as Hanguang Jun’s mouth moves down to his neck, nuzzling and sucking. “I want to, want you.”

Hanguang Jun groans against his neck, his cock jerking in Wei Wuxian’s hand. He pulls back, shoves his pants down his thighs. Wei Wuxian tugs him back down and murmurs encouragement as Hanguang Jun pushes inside.

Hanguang Jun grunts, almost sounding surprised as he slides all the way in. Slowly, he withdraws and pushes back in, shuddering, his eyes shut tight.

Moaning, Wei Wuxian clutches his back, trying to urge him on. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “Please, gege.”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes open, and he stares down, breathing unsteadily. “Wei Ying.”

The name sounds so good rumbled in Hanguang Jun’s husky voice. Grinning, Wei Wuxian nods like he asked a question. “Yeah. Yes, gege.”

Hanguang Jun falls on him, taking his mouth. Wei Wuxian moans and curls a leg over his hip, opening wide to take everything. Yours, he thinks savagely. He lets himself feel months of yearning, doesn’t stop his hands from grasping. The kisses are clumsy, but he arches up seeking more, wanting everything all at once.

His second orgasm strikes like lightning, so fierce that he forgets how to breathe. He sobs when it finally releases him and buries his face in Hanguang Jun’s neck. He holds on as Hanguang Jun’s hips snap, as he groans into Wei Wuxian’s hair. His knot doesn’t swell, but he stays pressed inside anyway, rolling his hips and bringing his mouth back to Wei Wuxian’s for drowsy kisses.

When Hanguang Jun pulls out, he lowers himself on his side, one arm still stretched over Wei Wuxian’s belly. Still dazed, Wei Wuxian drops his head to the side and smiles loopily. “Hi.”

Hanguang Jun smiles back. He looks pretty fried, too. “Hello.”

Giggling, Wei Wuxian drags a hand over his face. “Wow. Er-gege.” He bites his lip and shifts onto his hip so that they’re face to face. “We should do that every night.”

“Mn. If you like.” Hanguang Jun’s voice is bland, but his eyes flash.

Still grinning, Wei Wuxian falls asleep with Hanguang Jun petting his hair.

*

Hanguang Jun is true to his word, though “every night” expands to include mornings and afternoons. One morning as Wei Wuxian is kneeling to tie Hanguang Jun’s robes, he takes advantage of his position to nuzzle against Hanguang Jun’s cock. He gives his first blowjob there beside the wardrobe with Hanguang Jun panting above him as he tries to fit all of that big sword in his mouth.

It’s easier on the bed, though, and he loves watching Hanguang Jun struggle to control himself as Wei Wuxian licks his cock. Sometimes they don’t make it to the bed. They fuck in the bathtub, splashing and soaking the floor. They fuck on the dining table. Messy, but hilarious. Wei Wuxian pillows his head on his arms and giggles as the dishes rattle and tumble to the floor.

Once, they even fuck in the yard after Wei Wuxian flirts a bit too hard during training. “Er-gege can’t even wait until we go inside?” he asks, laughing as Hanguang Jun tears off his pants.

“No.” Hanguang Jun yanks him onto his cock, and Wei Wuxian’s laughter turns to moans.

And then there’s the kissing. They kiss on the porch, curled together to watch the sunset. There are good morning kisses and goodnight kisses. Getting dressed requires a lot of kissing. Shaving Hanguang Jun’s pretty face requires even more. Wei Wuxian gives up on restraining himself and sighs into all of those kisses, curling his fingers in Hanguang Jun’s hair, climbing in his lap and nuzzling his neck where his scent is sweetest.

He is always Wei Ying now, and every time Hanguang Jun says it, it feels important. It almost seems okay that Wei Wuxian is ridiculously in love with him. It almost seems like Hanguang Jun might feel the same.

Except they don’t talk about it. And they don’t discuss what happens when their contract ends. But that’s months from now, he tells himself whenever he thinks about it. Practically an eternity.

*

“Ow, fuck.” Wei Wuxian sticks his bleeding thumb in his mouth. He’s trying to mend a rip in his pants, but his sewing is worse than his dancing. He’s tempted to ask Shijie for help, but she might want to know how his pants got ripped, and that is something he can’t discuss with his sister. Mianmian would just laugh and tell him to mend his own damn pants.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and shoves the pants in his wardrobe. He can afford new pants. Or he could just stop wearing pants. Hanguang Jun would probably prefer that.

Hanguang Jun walks in the door, and Wei Wuxian skips toward him. “Hi, would it be okay with you if I stopped wearing pants?”

Hanguang Jun’s arm wraps around Wei Wuxian’s waist as he accepts Wei Wuxian’s enthusiastic hello kiss. “Is something wrong with your pants?”

“Well,” Wei Wuxian drawls, “somebody ripped them last night. And I poked my thumb trying to fix them.” He offers his wounded thumb as evidence.

With the gravity of a man doing heavy penance, Hanguang Jun kisses his thumb. “I will buy you new pants.”

Wei Wuxian tries very hard not to swoon and fails miserably. “So sweet, gege! But wouldn’t it be easier if I just stopped wearing them?”

It takes Hanguang Jun awhile to decide, but he finally shakes his head. “Pants are necessary.”

He sighs morosely as Hanguang Jun steps out of his arms and puts away his sword. He’s carrying a long box under his other arm. “What’s that?”

“It is for you.”

“Ooh, a present? It isn’t pants, is it?”

Smiling, Hanguang Jun shakes his head. Wei Wuxian sets the box on the dining table and raises the lid. His breath catches as he stares down at the white jade dizi nestled inside. “It’s beautiful! This is for me?”

“Mn.” Hanguang Jun’s ears are bright red. “It has spiritual power.”

“Oh, oh wow.” Reverently, Wei Wuxian lifts the dizi from the box. Power sings through his hands, something lighter than Suibian, like the tinkling of rain on treetops. There is even a red tassel dangling from the end.

“You said you were interested in learning musical cultivation,” Hanguang Jun says.

Wei Wuxian nods, chewing his lip so that he won’t cry. “Thank you. It’s . . . thank you.” That isn’t enough, so he crawls into Hanguang Jun’s lap. “I love it, thank you.”

“You are welcome,” Hanguang Jun murmurs into his hair.

“Does it have a name?”

“Wei Ying should name it. But not ‘Suibian.’”

Wei Wuxian snorts a laugh and hugs him tighter. “I’ll think of something.”

*

The new dizi soars through the Jingshi like a dove, gliding over Hanguang Jun’s deeper notes. Their song is Hanguang Jun’s composition, something he began after they returned from the palace. They play it almost every day, finding something new in it every time, but now, the white jade dizi deepens the song’s melancholy beauty into something that makes his heart ache. For Wei Wuxian, this song captures all of the Jingshi’s warmth and serenity, all of Hanguang Jun’s secret little smiles and the joy of his kisses. Playing it feels like the freedom of flying and the bliss of waking up in Hanguang Jun’s arms.

They are quiet after the song ends. Perhaps neither of them wants to mar the echo of the notes still lingering in the room. Wei Wuxian nestles the dizi back in its box and takes Hanguang Jun’s hand to lead him to the wardrobe. His hands linger as he removes the robes, sliding his palms down Hanguang Jun’s chest, stroking his shoulders. Hanguang Jun watches him, silent and still, but intent. The hunger in that expression is obvious once one knows what to look for.

Slowly, Wei Wuxian moves behind him, runs his hands around Hanguang Jun’s waist and flattens his palms on his belly. As he unties the sash, he presses against Hanguang Jun’s back, dropping kisses on his shoulders. The silk sash rasps, loud in the silence, as he draws it off.

He kisses each bit of skin revealed as he removes the rest. He pays special attention to the collarbones and the delightful hollow at the base of Hanguang Jun’s throat. Hanguang Jun’s cock is already stiff and dark when he pulls off his pants, but he only gives it a single kiss and stows the pants in the wardrobe.

Hanguang Jun leads him to his wardrobe, regal even in his nudity. Maybe even more so. Hanguang Jun insists on this now, undressing Wei Wuxian every night, though it’s often less formal than this. Tonight, he removes each item carefully, precisely. He’d make a great omega. Although he doesn’t grope or flirt, his eyes are hot and intent on the body he’s revealing.

By the time Hanguang Jun is finished, Wei Wuxian is dizzy with anticipation. They haven’t moved so slowly before, taking their time. It’s decadent, serious, and he’s tempted to crack a joke to lighten the mood.

When they’re both bare, Hanguang Jun presses closer and kisses him, a light press of lips that feels more erotic than any of the many things they’ve done so far. They move to the bed. Hanguang Jun sits and pulls Wei Wuxian down to straddle his thighs. Shuddering, Wei Wuxian winds around him, overwhelmed by the shock of Hanguang Jun’s warmth against his tingling skin.

Hanguang Jun’s mouth is soft on his throat, brushing against the underside of his jaw. Wei Wuxian wants to hurry them along, to break out of this languorous torture. But he also wants to prolong it, to see how long he can stay suspended in this heightened state.

“Wei Ying,” Hanguang Jun murmurs, and he almost laughs because Hanguang Jun is the one who broke the silence.

Wei Wuxian folds over him and mouths at his ear. “Lan Zhan.”

He didn’t mean to say it, is horrified for the brief moment between the words escaping and Hanguang Jun pulling him tight against his chest. Then Hanguang Jun kisses him, deep and hungry, like he wants to taste his name in Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

The lassitude falls away then. He rocks in Hanguang Jun’s lap, fighting against the tight cage of Hanguang Jun’s arms to grind against him. Hanguang Jun grunts and flips them over, annoyed like he only gets when he’s too horny to be polite.

“Wait, wait, I’ve got an idea.” Wei Wuxian plants his foot on Hanguang Jun’s shoulder to hold him off.

Hanguang Jun hesitates, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian thinks he’s going to be ignored. “An idea?”

Wei Wuxian wiggles out of his arms and heads to the dining table. He lights a stick of incense and moves the incense holder to the bedside table. “Okay,” he says, climbing back in the bed. “We can’t finish before that burns up.”

Hanguang Jun frowns at the incense. “Why?”

Wei Wuxian takes advantage of his distraction to straddle him again. “Think of it like a game.”

Hanguang Jun shifts his eyes from the incense to the naked man on top of him. He lifts an eyebrow. “What does the winner receive?”

“I’m pretty sure we both win.” Wei Wuxian gives him a bright smile and pushes him down on the bed.

To Hanguang Jun’s credit, he is very patient while Wei Wuxian teases him. Almost too patient. It’s not as fun if he doesn’t suffer at least a little. Wei Wuxian kisses his belly, grinning as he so slowly makes his way to Hanguang Jun’s straining cock.

He pauses there with his lips almost touching the head and slants a look at the incense stick. “Still a lot to go.” Hanguang Jun shudders as his breath puffs against his cock. The tip is almost as red as the burning incense stick. “How are you doing, gege?”

“Fine,” Hanguang Jun grunts, then clenches his jaw as Wei Wuxian gives him a lick.

“Hmm. Just ‘fine’?” He runs the tip of his tongue over the head, chasing it when it twitches.

Hanguang Jun sighs bitterly. “I would prefer—” He breaks off in a gasp as Wei Wuxian’s lips mouth at the head. “I would prefer. To reverse. Our positions.”

Chuckling, Wei Wuxian drifts a thumb up and down his shaft. “Can’t take it, gege?”

There’s a pause while Hanguang Jun controls his breathing. Then he raises his head and meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “I can take it.”

“Good boy.” Hanguang Jun’s eyes flash at this, but he says nothing. He drops his head back to the pillow and grips the sheet while Wei Wuxian goes back to work on driving him mad.

Ash curls from the incense stick. Sandalwood smoke drifts around them. Hanguang Jun’s eyes are clenched shut, his jaw tight. His cock scorches Wei Wuxian’s mouth as he sucks it down, hollowing his cheeks and curling his tongue against the throbbing vein.

“St-stop,” Hanguang Jun stammers. He pushes at Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and scoots back against the headboard. His wet cock jerks angrily.

They both turn to the incense stick. Not even halfway gone yet.

Wei Wuxian licks his swollen lips and grins. “Er-gege did very well,” he croaks.

Hanguang Jun bares his teeth. Wei Wuxian shivers.

Hanguang Jun pounces. He flips Wei Wuxian onto his belly and yanks his hips in the air. Moaning, Wei Wuxian struggles to get his knees underneath him and brace himself for the railing he’s sure he’s about to receive.

He isn’t expecting the soft touch of Hanguang Jun’s tongue, lapping at his slick entrance. “Oh, oh that isn’t fair.” He whines and wiggles, but Hanguang Jun holds him still and dips his tongue between his folds so slowly.

He breaks shamefully fast. He begs. He complains. He flirts. Hanguang Jun ignores all of it. “Gege, we’ve been good. We don’t have to wait anymore. Please, Lan er-gongzi.”

Hanguang Jun’s mouth moves away, and then his teeth nip his ass. “How are you feeling?”

Wei Wuxian groans and thumps his forehead against the bed. “I’d feel better if you were fucking me.”

“Mn. Not yet.” Hanguang Jun’s tongue licks over his asshole, and Wei Wuxian cries out.

“What are you—” It happens again. “Lan er-gongzi!”

“You do not like it?”

“I—I’m not—why is your tongue there?”

Hanguang Jun hums thoughtfully and spreads his cheeks. The licking begins again, lingering and spreading heat all the way to Wei Wuxian’s toes. “Do you like it?”

Like doesn’t seem an appropriate word for how Wei Wuxian is trembling from just a few licks, but he nods. He has to hide his face in his arms when Hanguang Jun continues. It’s so dirty. Not even the nastiest books he’s read covered this.

Hanguang Jun seems to like it, though. Why else would he be fucking his tongue in Wei Wuxian’s ass and humming pleased little notes?

Soon, Wei Wuxian is grinding back against his mouth and clenching on nothing, almost as wild as he’d been during his heat. “Gege,” he murmurs. “Please.” He tries to use his fingers, but Hanguang Jun grabs his hand and presses it back on the bed.

He isn’t completely cruel, though. Hanguang Jun wraps an arm around his waist and strokes his clit, slipping the tips of his fingers inside while his tongue works his ass.

Wei Wuxian is so close, panting and quivering around Hanguang Jun’s fingers. It’s going to be fantastic, mind-blowing. Hanguang Jun is so good, so talented. He tries to tell him that, but the words come out slurred and mushed into the bed.

But just as he’s nearing that crest, that exquisite pleasure just waiting for him, Hanguang Jun stops. Wailing, he collapses on the bed and grinds his pelvis against the mattress. “Er-gege, what, please.”

Hanguang Jun strokes a soothing hand over his ass. “Not yet.” It would seem like an apology if he didn’t sound so smug.

“What?” Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side. A fourth of the incense stick remains. Is it cursed? How is it not gone yet? He slaps his hand on the bed. “I don’t care about the fucking incense!”

Hanguang Jun rolls him onto his back and gives him an imperious look. “We may not finish until the incense has burned. That was your rule.”

“Fuck the rule.”

“Are you not enjoying the game?”

Wei Wuxian is tempted to kick him off the bed. If his legs didn’t feel like jelly, he probably would. “I can take it,” he says, mimicking Hanguang Jun’s deep voice.

Hanguang Jun smiles, which takes away most of Wei Wuxian’s annoyance. He’s such a sucker for that crooked smile, especially if Hanguang Jun is naked when he smiles. Plus, Hanguang Jun’s cock looks painfully hard, so he isn’t the only one suffering.

“Okay, come here then,” Wei Wuxian sighs and holds up his arms. Hanguang Jun lies on top of him, hissing when his cock brushes Wei Wuxian’s belly.

Wei Wuxian forgets that Hanguang Jun’s tongue was just in his ass and surges up, sucking on Hanguang Jun’s tongue. He wraps all his limbs around Hanguang Jun and holds tight. He could almost come from this, just their bodies grinding together, Hanguang Jun’s mouth hot on his throat.

Hanguang Jun pulls back a little and turns his head toward the incense holder. “How much longer?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Soon.” He shifts them so that his cock slides against Wei Wuxian’s entrance.

Wei Wuxian moans and moves beneath him. The ache is driving him mad, like his body has been hollowed out and only the emptiness remains. As if he understands, Hanguang Jun slips two fingers inside him and holds them there, letting Wei Wuxian flutter around them.

“Gege, please.” He runs his teeth over Hanguang Jun’s throat and bites at his collarbone. “Just put it in me, okay? Please?”

Hanguang Jun makes a noise that’s almost a growl. His fingers slide out. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and looks at the incense stick again. Wei Wuxian almost blasts the thing off the table.

Another piece of ash falls. Hanguang Jun rises to his knees, grabs Wei Wuxian’s hips, and pulls him onto his thighs. When Wei Wuxian is spread open in his lap, his shoulders digging into the bed, Hanguang Jun drags him on his cock.

A pitiful whimper escapes him, but he doesn’t care. He’s powerless, his lower body fully in Hanguang Jun’s control. Hanguang Jun’s hands grip his waist, holding him still while he thrusts slowly, every blessed inch dragging fire inside him.

“Not yet,” Hanguang Jun whispers. Wei Wuxian thinks he’s talking to himself.

“Lan Zhan, please.”

“Almost.”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and gives in. Lets himself go limp. Hanguang Jun circles his hips, sparking pleasure everywhere. “Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Wei Ying.”

Hanguang Jun moves faster, lifting his hips and bouncing Wei Wuxian off his thighs. Then, with a strangled groan, he drops Wei Wuxian to the bed and falls on top of him.

“Wei Ying, now.”

“I—no.” I can’t is what he means to say. It’s too much. Hanguang Jun is fucking him hard and fast. It’s too much.

“Wei Ying, come for me.”

It’s the desperation in Hanguang Jun’s voice that sends him over, that tells his battered nerves that it’s okay to let go finally. His scream chokes him. Hanguang Jun shouts back something unintelligible, and when Wei Wuxian gets his brain back, he’s going to be extremely smug about that.

*

Hanguang Jun seems nearly impervious to cold, but when Cloud Recesses is hit with a heatwave, he ruffles like an angry swan. The toasty alpha body that warms Wei Wuxian in the night bakes poor Hanguang Jun. He tries to deny it, but his dewy pink face affirms his torment.

Wei Wuxian, who grew up in Lotus Pier and suffered several sweltering summers in the temple, isn’t too bothered by the sudden heatwave, but Hanguang Jun doesn’t have to know that.

“Please, gege,” he whines. “It’s too hot to train today. Let’s go soak in the cold spring.”

Hanguang Jun gives him a suspicious look, but he lets Wei Wuxian tug him along.

When they reach the cold spring, it’s already occupied by several splashing boys, but the disciples scramble out of the water when they see the new arrivals. Wei Wuxian chuckles after the fleeing boys, but Hanguang Jun barely seems to notice them. He’s shucking his robes with an alacrity usually reserved for sex. Wei Wuxian pitches in to help and then shoos him into the water when he reaches for Wei Wuxian’s sash.

“I’ve got it. Get in before you melt.”

It’s a testament to how miserable Hanguang Jun is that he doesn’t even watch Wei Wuxian undress. Instead, he wades into the pool and sinks below the water with a pitiful sigh.

“Hey, wait a second. You forgot your ribbon.” As far as Wei Wuxian knows, there aren’t any rules against getting it wet, but Hanguang Jun would probably qi-deviate if it washed downstream.

Hanguang Jun swims to the edge of the pool and unties the ribbon. Then he extends his arm toward Wei Wuxian.

“You want me to . . .”

“Place it on top of my robes, please.”

“Oh, okay.” Sending a prayer to any gods who might look after disaster omegas, Wei Wuxian takes the ribbon. The gods must be in a good mood today because he doesn’t drop it. When the ribbon is safely laid on top of Hanguang Jun’s folded robes, he blows out a relieved breath and grins down at it.

“Wei Ying?”

“Coming. So impatient.”

Hanguang Jun rolls his eyes and dives back below the surface. Wei Wuxian sheds the rest of his clothes, trying to subdue his goofy grin. Bet Meng Yao doesn’t get to carry Zewu Jun’s ribbon.

The water is still freakishly cold, heatwave be damned, but it’s more bearable now that he can cuddle up to Hanguang Jun. He twists Hanguang Jun’s hair over his shoulder and trickles cold water over the back of his neck. “It’s a good thing you live in the mountains,” Wei Wuxian tells him. “Summers in Yunmeng are much worse.”

“Mn.”

“We used to eat chilled watermelon to cool down. I’ll buy you some in Caiyi.”

Hanguang Jun hums happily as Wei Wuxian rubs icy fingers over the back of his neck. “I have never eaten watermelon.”

“You’ll like it. It’s really sweet. A lot of seeds, though. I used to spit them at Jiang Cheng.”

Hanguang Jun smiles indulgently. “Your teeth are chattering. You do not have to stay in the water.”

He burrows closer. “I can stand it a little longer if you keep me warm.”

It is warmer pressed against Hanguang Jun, and the worst of his shivers dissipate. Thinking about watermelon reminds him of the lakes at Lotus Pier where the water was a normal temperature. He wishes he could take Hanguang Jun swimming there among the lotus blossoms. But he can never return there, no matter who his alpha is.

He pushes that away and props his chin on Hanguang Jun’s chest. “If you could go anywhere in the world and do anything you wanted, what would it be?”

Hanguang Jun is silent for a while, twisting a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair around his finger and releasing it to curl over his shoulder. Wei Wuxian waits for him to think about it, knowing that the answer will be worth the wait. The instructors at the temple had told Wei Wuxian that he was impatient, stubborn, and in one memorable lecture, volatile. But none of them were worth waiting for. Not like Hanguang Jun, who actually listens to him. Who is much more interesting than some temple instructor.

Hanguang Jun draws in a deep breath. “I have always wanted to be the best that I could be. For Shufu and Xiongzhang.”

“You are. You’re the best at everything.”

Hanguang Jun breathes out something like a laugh. “Not so. But I have tried to help those who needed it. And I enjoy hunting. And music. But I do not know . . . I do not know what else there is to want.”

Wei Wuxian hides his face against Hanguang Jun’s chest. You don’t know how to want things, he thinks bitterly. Even at the temple, Wei Wuxian never met anyone else who’d been so well-trained to ignore their own desires.

“Okay, here’s an easier question.” Wei Wuxian grins up at him. “If you could eat anything you wanted right now, what would you eat?”

“Red bean buns,” Hanguang Jun blurts, then flushes like he’s ashamed to admit it. Or maybe he’s remembering how he scarfed down all of the red bean buns Wei Wuxian bought last week.

“Then let’s go get some.” Wei Wuxian tugs on his arm. “We can fly to Caiyi. It’ll be nice and cool in the air.”

“It is not time to eat.”

Wei Wuxian rises from the water and plants his hands on his hips. “Do you want to eat them now?”

Hanguang Jun shifts his eyes to the side in a way that means yes.

“Then now is the right time to eat them.”

Whether he accepts that very logical assertion or just really wants red bean buns, Hanguang Jun allows himself to be led to the shore.

While they’re strolling around Caiyi eating sweet buns, Hanguang Jun turns to him. “What would you do?”

“Hmm?”

“If you could go anywhere and do anything you wanted, what would you do?”

He shrugs and licks sugar off his fingers. “I’m not sure. The world is a big place. But I think I’d start with the ocean. It’s so hard to imagine: water as far as the eye can see, creatures as big as houses living under the waves.”

“I have seen it,” Hanguang Jun says.

“Yeah? What is it like”

“Vast. The waves are taller than men.”

“Did you go swimming?”

He shakes his head. “We left after the hunt was concluded.”

“You should take me next time. We can play in the waves. And maybe find some seashells. You can hear the ocean in them, you know.” He used to have a seashell that Jiang Fengmian gave him, and he had loved to hold it to his ear and listen to its roar. Another thing he’d left behind.

“I know.” Hanguang Jun smiles and wipes a smear of sugar from the corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Next time.”

*

“Hey, there you are!” Wei Wuxian lifts his skirts and trots down the stairs (trotting, not running—important distinction). Of course, he’d broken the volume limit, but with so many young guests in the compound, the Lans can’t be bothered to enforce that particular rule these days.

His targets pause on the walkway to let him catch up. “Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang calls, waving his fan.

Jiang Cheng sneers. “Oh, so you do remember who we are.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and shoulder checks him. “Aw, did you miss me?”

“Hardly.”

Shijie and Nie Huaisang nod behind Jiang Cheng’s back. Wei Wuxian winks back at them.

“So, where are we going?” Wei Wuxian asks as he offers Shijie his arm.

“Nowhere in particular,” she says.

“There’s nothing to do here,” Nie Huaisang moans.

“We could go to Caiyi tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian suggests.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. “We’ve been there a million times. The stores never have anything good.”

Wei Wuxian bites back a snippy reply. He used to complain about Gusu, too, but it isn’t Nie Huaisang’s fault that he doesn’t have a Hanguang Jun to entertain him. “Caiyi isn’t so bad. There were some new vendors there when Lan er-gongzi and I went the other day. He ate three red bean buns. Big ones.”

Jiang Cheng groans dramatically.

“What?”

“You think we care how many buns Hanguang Jun ate?” Jiang Cheng sneers. “Just because you’re obsessed with him doesn’t mean we have to hear about it all the time.”

“A-Cheng,” Shijie scolds, and Jiang Cheng’s big jaw clenches tight.

Oh no, Wei Wuxian has become one of those omegas, the starry-eyed fools who gush about their amazing alphas until you want to puke. “Taking care of him is my job,” he mutters. “What else would I talk about?”

“We know,” Shijie says, patting his arm. “Don’t pay any attention to him.”

Speaking of Hanguang Jun, there he is, gliding through disciples like a swan amongst pigeons. “Lan er-gongzi!” Wei Wuxian calls. In an instant, he forgets his embarrassment and trots over to meet him.

Hanguang Jun halts and waits for him to approach. His ears are pink, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach twists as he realizes Hanguang Jun probably heard their conversation. “Uh, hi, where are you off to?”

“The Jingshi.”

 “Oh, do you want me to go with you?” He ignores Jiang Cheng’s irritable huff in the background.

“Unnecessary. You should stay with your friends.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later?”

Hanguang Jun nods stiffly, bows to the others, and strides away.

When he’s out of earshot, Jiang Cheng pouts his lips and bats his eyelashes. “Oh, Lan er-gongzi!” Nie Huaisang hides his snicker behind his fan.

“Shut up,” Wei Wuxian snaps, and stomps on Jiang Cheng’s toes for good measure. “Unless you want me to tell you more about Lan er-gongzi. Because there’s a lot I haven’t said, trust me.” He waggles his eyebrows as lasciviously as he can.

Jiang Cheng pretends to gag. Shijie covers her face. “I wouldn’t mind hearing that,” Nie Huaisang chirps.

They’ve wandered to the edge of the compound when Jiang Cheng stops in the walkway and points. “What’s going on over there?” Disciples from several different clans have gathered in the grass beside the training grounds, and they all appear to be looking at something.

“Let’s go find out,” Nie Huaisang says.

The disciples are standing in a rough semicircle around a young man in Ouyang’s red robes. The Ouyang disciple’s voice carries across the compound, and he gestures dramatically as he reads from what is apparently a lurid romance novel: “Yes, alpha, bend this humble omega to your will!”

Wei Wuxian groans and plants his feet. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“No!” Nie Huaisang whines. “I want to hear it.”

“Of course you do.” Wei Wuxian has seen Nie Huaisang’s porn collection. It’s frighteningly thorough—or at least, that’s what he thought before he started having sex with Hanguang Jun. Now there are several things he could add. “But Shijie shouldn’t have to listen to that crap.”

“Why not?” Nie Huaisang argues. “She’ll be married soon, so she should learn what she can.”

“What? Shijie isn’t getting married.” But when he looks at Shijie, she’s staring down at the ground. “Shijie?”

“Good job, dumbass,” Jiang Cheng says, smacking the back of Nie Huaisang’s head.

Nie Huaisang rubs the back of his head. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Who are you marrying? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“A-Xian, I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It’s just that I know you don’t like him, and—”

He follows her gaze to the big clump of gold robes. Mianmian is already looking back, biting her lip. She must know, too. Everybody knew but him. “No, no, no. Not him.”

“It’s Mother’s idea,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “Hers and Jin-furen’s.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head in denial, staring across the field at Jin Zixuan’s pasty peacock face.

“It’s okay,” Shijie says soothingly, like he’s the one who needs comfort. “It’s a good match.”

Then why do you look so miserable about it? “Do you even like him?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know him very well. But I like Mianmian, and she says Jin Zixuan is a good man.”

Mianmian does say that, but it doesn’t help. She and Shijie deserve someone better than that guy. Not that anyone would be good enough for Mianmian and Shijie. Except Hanguang Jun. Or maybe Zewu Jun.

“Shijie,” he pleads, taking her hands. “You don’t have to marry some stranger just because she wants you to. You deserve someone who makes you happy. Someone you love.”

She smiles weakly and squeezes his hands. “We can’t all be as lucky as you, A-Xian.”

“I don’t—” He pulls back, heart shuddering. “That’s different.” He shakes his head and focuses on the issue at hand. “Jiang Cheng, don’t tell me that you’re okay with this?”

Jiang Cheng bristles. “Of course not, but what am I supposed to do? Mother always gets what she wants. You know that.”

Of course he does. In his nightmares, he still hears her shrieks, the sizzle of Zidian as it burns his back. She’d hated him even before he presented as an omega, but afterwards . . .

“But the Jins,” he scowls at the horde of Jin disciples, twice as big as any of the other groups. Even Zewu Jun had commented on the number of disciples the Jin sect had sent to the lectures. Excessive, had been Zewu Jun’s word. Meng Yao’s was grotesque. “They’re so . . . arrogant.”

“Look who’s talking,” Jiang Cheng mutters, then tenses. The worst Jin—the little creep that had tried to make Hanguang Jun drink at the banquet—has apparently noticed their discussion and is sauntering over with a few other creeps at his heels.

Jin Zixun ignores Wei Wuxian completely and barely inclines his head to Jiang Cheng. “Jiang Wanyin. Nie Huaisang.” His beady eyes shift to Shijie, and his lip curls in derision. “Jiang-guniang.”

Jiang Cheng and the others salute him because they have actual manners, even though their social status is far above whatever this guy has. Since Jin Zixun ignored him, Wei Wuxian doesn’t bother to bow.

“Are you enjoying the performance?” Jin Zixun asks, leering at Shijie. Jiang Cheng’s hand clenches on his sword hilt.

Wei Wuxian steps between Jin Zixun and Shijie and grins. “The Ouyang disciple is enthusiastic enough, but I fear the story’s author lacks a . . . proper education.”

Jin Zixun’s cheeks flush. He’s too young to have taken an omega and probably thought he was listening to something shocking. Well, Wei Wuxian has enough cheek and experience to blow this kid’s head off.

Jin Zixun rakes his eyes over Wei Wuxian scornfully. “Aren’t you Lan Wangji’s omega? What are you doing with them?”

Wei Wuxian bows as sarcastically as he can, which is pretty sarcastic according to his former instructors. “This one is indeed Hanguang Jun’s omega.” He rises from the bow and stares down at the boy, meeting his eyes defiantly. He was already annoyed, but hearing this little shit say Lan Wangji is too much. “I’m honored that Jin-gongzi remembers me.”

Jin Zixun snorts and turns to one of his cronies. “He’s the one who came to the banquet in heat.” They all laugh, and Jin Zixun turns his smug face back to Wei Wuxian. “Doesn’t Wangji know what to do with an omega? Maybe he’s the one who lacks a proper education.”

Warning bells clang in Wei Wuxian’s head. He tucks his hands behind his back to hide his clenched fists. “Don’t worry about Hanguang Jun. He is exceptional in every way.” He tries to hold it back, but this guy is insufferable. “Hanguang Jun certainly has no difficulty holding a cup. I seem to remember that is something you struggle with.”

Jin Zixun’s face turns an alarming shade of purple as his friends try unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter. “You!”

Wei Wuxian lifts an eyebrow at the finger pointing at his chest. “Me? How could I, a mere omega, throw wine in your face? Don’t blame others for your own clumsiness.”

Jin Zixuan throws a wild punch that Wei Wuxian dodges easily with his hands still tucked behind his back. Shocked murmurs rise around them. Jiang Cheng steps forward with his hand on his sword, but Wei Wuxian shoots him a quelling look.

Having his punch so easily evaded by an omega seems to be more than Jin Zixun can bear. He lurches forward to try again. Wei Wuxian strikes out and knocks him flying with a slipper to the chest. It’s a beautiful kick, a move Hanguang Jun taught him, and Jin Zixun has trouble standing back up. He rubs his chest and glares at Wei Wuxian unbelievingly.

No one in the clearing is interested in romance anymore. The crowd has shifted to encircle Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixun. Jin Zixuan steps between Jin Zixun and Wei Wuxian. “Cousin, stop this. He is an omega. Hanguang Jun’s omega.”

The crowd’s murmurs get louder. Mianmian catches Wei Wuxian’s eye and mouths, “What the fuck?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs back and waits to see what happens next.

What happens next is that Jin Zixun pushes past Jin Zixuan and draws his sword. The crowd gasps. Jin Zixun lunges forward, the sword’s tip driving toward Wei Wuxian’s heart. Wei Wuxian readies himself to leap away and draw the fight farther from Shijie, but his view of his attacker is suddenly impeded by several figures: Jiang Cheng and several Lan disciples have inserted themselves between him and Jin Zixun.

Jin Zixun skids to a stop and glares at the men blocking his attack. But he doesn’t sheathe his sword, and some of the Jin disciples join him, their hands reaching for their swords.

In front of Wei Wuxian, blades hiss from their sheathes as Jiang Cheng and the Lan disciples draw their own weapons. Oh fuck, this is way out of hand. “Jiang Cheng,” he whispers, “calm down.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jiang Cheng hisses back.

“Cousin, stop this!” Jin Zixuan barks. His sheathed sword is clenched in his fist as he stares between the two groups. “All of you, stand down!”

Jin Zixun’s face twitches, and a few of the Jin disciples cringe back. But violence is thick in the air, too many alphas in one space. Things may have already gone too far. Slowly, Wei Wuxian steps back to shield Shijie.

No one else moves. Jin Zixuan falls quiet, stepping back like he has also realized that this fire can’t be so easily smothered.

Then Jin Zixun twitches forward, his eyes widening. The men guarding Wei Wuxian tense, but Jin Zixun’s sword tilts toward the ground.

“Drop the sword, cousin,” a sweet voice croons from behind Jin Zixun’s back.

The sword tumbles to the ground, but Jin Zixun snarls as drops it. “You would dare. You—” He grunts and jerks again, but there’s a small white hand gripping his arm. “Get your hands off me.”

“Now, cousin, you’re a guest of the Lan sect. You must behave yourself.” Meng Yao’s face peeks out from behind Jin Zixun’s shoulder as he unsuccessfully tries to wrench his arm out of Meng Yao’s grip. “You should count yourself lucky that Hanguang Jun isn’t here. If he saw this, you wouldn’t leave this mountain with all your limbs. If you left at all.”

The fury falls from Jin Zixun’s face, leaving him pale as a ghost. The Jin disciples hastily sheathe their swords and fall back.

Meng Yao steps away from Jin Zixun and turns to Jin Zixuan. “Dear brother, would you be so kind as to take Jin Zixun’s sword?”

Dear brother Jin Zixuan shoots Meng Yao a scathing look, but he bends down to retrieve Jin Zixun’s sword.

Jin Zixun’s face darkens again, and he darts forward like he’s going to take his sword back. Meng Yao grabs his sleeve, but Jin Zixun flings him off, sending Meng Yao stumbling back. Jin Zixuan holds out his own sheathed sword to block Jin Zixun’s grab. “Enough. You’re being ridiculous.”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say to an arrogant alpha who’s just had his ass handed to him by two omegas, one of them half his size. Jin Zixun’s fists ball at his sides like he’s considering striking his own cousin. “Give me my fucking sword!”

Now the Jin disciples hurry to defend Jin Zixuan. Even above the new clamor, Wei Wuxian can make out Mianmian muttering for fuck’s sake.

Above them comes a rush of wind like eagles’ wings. “Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian mutters as Zewu Jun and Hanguang Jun drop from the sky. Zewu Jun lands beside the two squabbling Jins, but Hanguang Jun thuds down right in front of Wei Wuxian, so close that his hair flies back into Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Fighting is prohibited in Cloud Recesses,” Zewu Jun says grimly. He’s holding a flute instead of a sword, but he looks pissed. The Jins cringe back like guilty children. “You will all report to the discipline chamber immediately.”

Zewu Jun turns toward Hanguang Jun. “Wangji, would you . . .” He falters, and Wei Wuxian worries about whatever Zewu Jun is seeing on Hanguang Jun’s face. “Never mind. I will escort them myself.”

The Jins obediently file away. Zewu Jun pauses beside Meng Yao. “A-Yao, are you injured?”

Meng Yao smiles and shakes his head. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

Zewu Jun pats his shoulder and turns to them. “You must all come as well. Let’s get this mess sorted out.”

Jiang Cheng and the Lan disciples follow him out of the clearing. “Do I have to go?” Nie Huaisang whines. “I didn’t do anything!” Shijie shushes him and leads him away.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t follow them because Hanguang Jun is still standing motionless in front of him. “Um, I think we should—”

Hanguang Jun finally turns. Wei Wuxian draws back from the fury on his face. Hanguang Jun swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay. I’m sorry. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I just hate that guy. I didn’t mean to start . . . all this.”

Hanguang Jun gives him a look that Wei Wuxian interprets as how are you this fucking stupid? “I am not angry with you.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Meng Yao’s message said that you were being attacked. Jin Zixun is an alpha, a trained cultivator—”

“Oh come on,” Wei Wuxian scoffs. “Meng Yao exaggerated. I wasn’t in danger from that stupid kid.”

“He had a sword. You did not.”

“That would have just made it a challenge.”

It’s too soon for jokes, apparently. Hanguang Jun heaves a breath and turns away. “We must go to the discipline chamber.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “What do you think they’ll do to me?”

“Wei Ying will not be punished,” Hanguang Jun declares.

*

It takes a long time to unravel the afternoon’s events. Even though the altercation itself couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, the competing arguments drag on for nearly half an hour.

Jin Zixun seems shocked to be the main target of the Lan elders’ ire, but when the Lan disciples who rushed to Wei Wuxian’s defense describe how Jin Zixun drew a sword on their first disciple’s omega, even Lan Qiren looks disgusted.

“But he stuck a sword in my back!” Jin Zixun wails, pointing an accusing finger at Meng Yao.

Meng Yao blinks his big doe eyes. “This one apologizes for his impertinence, but Jin-gongzi is mistaken. This one cannot wield a sword.”

“It must have been a dagger, then!” Jin Zixun sputters. Wei Wuxian barely restrains his laughter.

Meng Yao cowers in front of the elders looming above him on the dais. Somehow, he makes himself look even smaller and about as harmless as a plucked flower. “This one would not dare. However, this one did interfere.” He sinks to his knees. “Please, punish this one’s insolence.” Now, Zewu Jun is also having difficulty restraining his amusement.

“Unnecessary,” Lan Qiren grunts. “It was brave of Meng Yao to act on Wei Wuxian’s behalf.”

As Meng Yao bows and scurries aside, Lan Qiren turns to Wei Wuxian, who’s trying to copy Meng Yao’s I’m just a meek little omega vibe. With Hanguang Jun bristling beside him, he probably does look pretty vulnerable. “Wei Wuxian, is it true that you struck Jin Zixun?”

Oh fuck. Wei Wuxian bows low. “This one did kick Jin Zixun.” And I hope he has a foot-shaped bruise on his little weasel chest. He drops to his knees. “This one deserves punishment.” Hanguang Jun huffs a pissy sigh.

Lan Qiren leaves Wei Wuxian on his knees while he questions the Lan witnesses. One of them gives Wei Wuxian, or possibly Hanguang Jun, a regretful look but admits that Wei Wuxian was the only one to land a blow that afternoon.

“How is this so?” Lan Qiren demands. Wei Wuxian winces as Lan Qiren’s eyebrows take on the vicious slant that he recognizes from Hanguang Jun’s mad face. “Does Wei Wuxian have training?”

Jiang Cheng, bless him, steps forward and salutes. “Forgive my intrusion, but Wei Wuxian trained as a disciple at Lotus Pier before . . . before he went to the temple.”

The elders mutter at this and shoot Wei Wuxian disapproving looks. Zewu Jun shakes his head as one of the elders hisses something in his ear. Then he steps forward. “Wei Wuxian should not be blamed for defending himself. We should be grateful that he was not harmed today.”

Some of the elders subside at this, but Lan Qiren only looks more suspicious. “You trained at Lotus Pier?” he asks Wei Wuxian. “You were a Jiang disciple?”

Wei Wuxian bows from his knees. “That is correct.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren mumbles. “You are Cangze Sanren’s son?”

Wei Wuxian jerks out of his bow. “You know my mother?”

The elders tut at his breach of decorum, and Lan Qiren’s face darkens. He rounds on Zewu Jun. “Cangze Sanren’s son? That is who you chose?”

Zewu Jun blanches. “Shufu, this isn’t the place to—”

Lan Qiren overrides him. “Did you not research his background before you had Wangji sign that contract?”

“Of course I did. I didn’t think it would—”

Wei Wuxian knows his jaw is hanging open, but he has no idea what’s happening. He looks at Hanguang Jun, who looks back and shakes his head. He seems just as bewildered.

Lan Qiren spins away from Zewu Jun and points at Lan-daifu. “Examine him,” he snaps, and swoops his finger to Wei Wuxian. Lan-daifu steps off the dais and walks toward Wei Wuxian.

He stands and warily shifts closer to Hanguang Jun. Lan-daifu’s face is as mild as ever, though, and she pauses in front of him. “May I have your wrist, please?”

Wei Wuxian looks from her to Hanguang Jun, who nods and lays a hand on his shoulder. Lan-daifu sets two fingers against his pulse and closes her eyes. After a few moments, her eyebrows raise. She pats his hand and releases his wrist.

“Well?” Lan Qiren demands.

Lan-daifu turns to him. “His core is quite strong for one his age.”

The elders and the crowd react to this as Lan-daifu climbs back on the dais. The worst part is how smug Jin Zixun looks.

No, actually the worst part is what happens next.

Hanguang Jun steps forward and bows to the dais. “Shufu, I already knew that Wei Wuxian had trained as a disciple.”

“Oh no,” Wei Wuxian groans. The rest of the onlookers shut up immediately, all their attention snapping to Hanguang Jun.

“Wangji,” Zewu Jun calls and starts forward like he wants to slap a hand over his brother’s mouth.

Hanguang Jun ignores him. “Wei Wuxian told me of his training. I did not consider it to be an issue.” Because he knows Hanguang Jun so well, Wei Wuxian can clearly hear the undertone of and it’s none of your business beneath his words.

Lan Qiren knows his nephew, too, and he huffs. “You did not consider it to be an issue? Have you so little regard for your sect?”

Zewu Jun whirls toward his uncle. “Shufu!”

“I do not understand how Wei Wuxian’s past affects our sect,” Hanguang Jun says mildly. “However, if there is fault, it lies with me, not with Wei Wuxian.”

“He can answer for himself,” Lan Qiren snaps. “Wei Wuxian, step forward.”

Wei Wuxian steps forward and folds his hands at his waist. He keeps his eyes locked on the waxed floorboards. The room is silent except for Hanguang Jun’s harsh breathing beside him.

Something hurtles toward him, and Wei Wuxian instinctively snatches it out of the air. His stunned mind takes a moment to understand that he’s grasping an incense holder. He raises his eyes to the dais and takes in Lan Qiren’s smug expression. He lobbed an incense holder at my head?

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren booms, “I believe you have been untruthful. You have never ceased training, have you?”

The crowd explodes at this. Zewu Jun’s chin falls to his chest.

“Um, this one remembers a few things,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, but Hanguang Jun grabs his wrist.

“I have trained him,” Hanguang Jun snaps. “As I said, if there is fault, it is mine.”

Lan Qiren jerks back like he was struck. He hadn’t deduced that part, apparently. “Wangji, what—”

“Wei Wuxian is talented,” Hanguang Jun continues, his voice rising to overwhelm Lan Qiren’s. “I wished to nurture that talent. He is not to blame.”

“Lan er-gongzi, stop,” Wei Wuxian whispers. Hanguang Jun’s hand tightens on his wrist.

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow on that hand like a viper. “Deceiving your elders. Allowing an omega to train as a cultivator.” He snarls and turns away. “This is not the boy I raised.”

“Wei Wuxian’s core is quite strong,” Lan-daifu says. She’s looking at Lan Qiren like he’s a child having a temper tantrum. “It may be unconventional, but it’s a shame to waste a power like that. If Wei Wuxian wishes to train—”

“He is an omega!” Lan Qiren bellows. Lan-daifu rolls her eyes.

Zewu Jun steps back on the dais. “Shufu, we should discuss this another time.” He cuts his eyes at the group of disciples witnessing the drama.

Lan Qiren grunts and looks around like he’d forgotten about their audience. “Very well.” He turns to Jin Zixun, whose smirk drops as Lan Qiren proclaims, “Jin Zixun will receive 100 strikes.”

Jin Zixun scowls, but he shrinks back when a Lan disciple emerges from behind the dais holding an enormous bastinado. “With that?” he cries. “Cousin, stop them!” Jin Zixuan eyes the bastinado and shakes his head, stepping away from his cousin’s grasping hands.

Lan Qiren ignores the boy’s whining. “Wei Wuxian will receive 50 strikes.”

Zewu Jun gasps along with the rest of the crowd and clutches his uncle’s shoulder. “Shufu, no. He is an omega.”

Lan Qiren shakes him off. “Is he?” And he isn’t finished. “Lan Wangji will also receive 50 strikes.”

“No!” Wei Wuxian blurts before he can stop himself. That bastinado is big, but he’s been whipped before. He can take the pain and the humiliation, but he doesn’t know if he can stand seeing Hanguang Jun take a beating because of him.

Two more disciples appear holding bastinados. Their eyes flicker uncertainly to Hanguang Jun and Wei Wuxian. Probably they never thought their day would end with beating their first disciple and an omega. If Wei Wuxian had any horror to spare, he’d feel bad for them.

“No.” Hanguang Jun’s low voice thunders across the chamber.

“What?” Lan Qiren demands. His beard quivers with fury.

“I will accept the punishment. Wei Wuxian shall not.” Hanguang Jun salutes the dais. “I will take Wei Wuxian’s strikes as well as my own.”

Zewu Jun’s eyes drift closed, and Wei Wuxian wants to shake him. Aren’t you the sect leader? Can’t you stop this?

The elders confer behind Lan Qiren’s back. He tries to ignore them, but he finally sighs and listens to an old man with a long gray beard. When he turns back, he nods grimly. “Lan Wangji may take Wei Wuxian’s punishment.”

One of the disciples fades back while the other steps toward Hanguang Jun. Hanguang Jun goes to his knees.

Wei Wuxian squats beside him. “Lan Zhan, don’t do this,” he whispers. “It isn’t your fault. I can take it.”

Hanguang Jun’s eyes slant toward him. “You will not. Return to the Jingshi.”

“No.” He turns so that he’s kneeling at Hanguang Jun’s side. “I’ll take my own damn punishment.”

“You will not,” Hanguang Jun hisses.

The bastinado-wielding disciple falters and looks to the dais for help.

“Remove him,” Lan Qiren commands.

Two Lan disciples scurry over and grab Wei Wuxian’s arms, hauling him up. “No!” he shouts. “Lan Zhan!”

Hanguang Jun ignores him. Wei Wuxian stomps on one disciple’s foot and elbows the other’s ribs. He squirms free and runs back to Hanguang Jun. “This is wrong. Please, I can’t—” Don’t make me watch this.

But then Jiang Cheng is there, and Meng Yao, and they take his arms. “Don’t make it worse for him,” Meng Yao hisses.

“How could it be worse?”

“Would you have him fight his own sect for you?”

“He wouldn’t—” Wei Wuxian begins, but now he isn’t sure. He sags in their grip as they lead him away. But when they try to lead him outside, he balks and fights free. “I’m not leaving him.” They hover close as he shoves back through the crowd and stands at the front. Where he can see Hanguang Jun’s face. He at least owes him that much.

Hanguang Jun is kneeling with his chin high, back straight. Proud and alone in the center of gawking onlookers, just waiting to see him humbled. Wei Wuxian knows that feeling well, and he wouldn’t wish it on Hanguang Jun for anything in the world.

“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian mutters. Jiang Cheng’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

Then they have to wait while more disciples drag a squealing Jin Zixun over and shove him to his knees. The enforcers take position with their bastinados.

“Begin,” Lan Qiren orders.

The first blows land with dull thuds. Jin Zixun yelps and falls forward. Wei Wuxian shudders. Hanguang Jun doesn’t flinch.

Wei Wuxian counts the blows, feeling each one like a sword to the heart. Being beaten had never made him feel as nauseated and helpless as he feels right now. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until tears drip onto the hands he’s clutched in front of his mouth. To keep from screaming. His vision blurs with those tears. He swipes his eyes and keeps watching. If that disciple hits Hanguang Jun once more than the allotted strikes, Wei Wuxian will kill him.

It seems to last an eternity. In reality, it’s probably over in a few minutes. The disciples don’t waver once they begin, so the strikes fall fast. Even when Jin Zixun topples forward, unconscious, the blows continue falling on his back.

Ninety-nine. Wei Wuxian drags in a breath.

One hundred.

Lan Qiren raises a hand. The disciples lower their weapons. Wei Wuxian flings off the hands on his arms and stumbles to Hanguang Jun. He falls to his knees and stretches out a hand. “Lan Zhan.”

Hanguang Jun stiffens and shakes his head. Wei Wuxian pulls his hand back and watches helplessly as Hanguang Jun unfurls from his knees and stands, only a tiny grimace marring his usual grace.

It’s Wei Wuxian who staggers as he stands up, weak-kneed with horror.

Hanguang Jun salutes his dais, bowing deeply despite the pain it must cause. Then he spins and strides away.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t bother saluting. He ignores Zewu Jun’s sympathetic face. As if sympathy could make up for what he just allowed to happen. He dodges Jin Zixun’s limp body being dragged away and runs to catch up with Hanguang Jun. If they want to beat him for running, then so be it.

He walks beside Hanguang Jun silently. He doesn’t question it when Hanguang Jun turns down a path leading away from the Jingshi. It’s obvious where they’re headed anyway.

The sun sets as they walk to the cold spring. They pass under the archway, and Hanguang Jun heads straight for the bench. He lowers himself carefully, but it’s too dark to see his expression—if he’s in pain, if he’s angry.

Wei Wuxian kneels before him and pulls off his boots and stockings. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry.”

Hanguang Jun grunts as he bends forward and cups Wei Wuxian’s face in his hands. Thumbs smooth over his cheeks, dragging through fresh tear tracks. “Wei Ying.”

Shuddering, Wei Wuxian looks up. More tears spill over, but he doesn’t care about how pathetic he looks. “It was stupid. I’m so stupid. Lan Zhan, I’m sorry.”

“No.” Hanguang Jun’s voice is firm, but his hands are soft, wiping away the tears. “There is no need for apologies.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I could have taken it. I’ve had much worse, believe me.”

Even in the dark, he sees Hanguang Jun’s eyes flash. “At the temple?”

“No. Before. I’ve always been terrible.” He clutches Hanguang Jun’s wrists. “So don’t do anything like that again, okay? I’d rather be thrown off the mountain than watch that again.”

“Wei Ying will not be beaten.” Hanguang Jun pronounces it like he’s adding another rule to the discipline wall.

Wei Wuxian sighs and turns his head to kiss Hanguang Jun’s wrist. “I’m a fool. You can’t blame those who would punish foolishness.”

“You are not a fool,” Hanguang Jun snaps. “It is foolish to punish you for training as a cultivator. You have more strength and talent than any of the other students.” His words tumble out faster than Wei Wuxian has ever heard him speak. “It is foolish to punish you for defending yourself against that, that weasel.”

Despite everything, Wei Wuxian snorts a laugh. “He does look like a weasel, doesn’t he?”

Hanguang Jun grunts, clearly in no mood for humor.

“Lan Zhan. Er-gege.” Wei Wuxian scoots closer and wraps his arms around Hanguang Jun’s waist. “Please don’t be angry.” This anger is tearing him up. His heart is breaking, but his body wants to roll over and wriggle in it. It wants to submit and appease.

Hanguang Jun sighs and strokes his hair. “I am not angry with you.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian whispers. Even if you should be. He pulls back and kisses Hanguang Jun’s knee. “Let’s get you in the water so you can soak, hmm?”

Hanguang Jun lets Wei Wuxian pull him up and stands still as Wei Wuxian undresses him. In the dark, Hanguang Jun’s back is a blur of shadows that will bloom into bruises by morning. Wei Wuxian kisses his unmarked shoulder. “Okay, get in.”

He undresses as Hanguang Jun wades into the pool and sinks down until his chin bobs on the surface.

“You do not have to,” Hanguang Jun says as Wei Wuxian joins him in the water.

Ignoring that, Wei Wuxian kneels in front of him. “Hold on to me.”

“Unnecessary.”

Hanguang Jun sways with the current. He’ll have to tighten his muscles to hold himself upright, and leaning back against the rocks is definitely out. “Stubborn boy,” Wei Wuxian huffs. “Just hold on to me.”

When Hanguang Jun refuses, Wei Wuxian presses close and draws Hanguang Jun’s arms around him. “Now focus on healing.”

Hanguang Jun grunts indignantly, but he bends and presses his cold nose against Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“Good boy.” He finds places to rest his hands that won’t cause pain—Hanguang Jun’s shoulder and his hip. Hanguang Jun relaxes and lets more of his weight rest against him. Stubborn fucking Lans. Got to be the perfect martyrs, denying themselves even an ounce of comfort and fleeing from gratitude.

“Thank you,” he whispers against Hanguang Jun’s shoulder.

Hanguang Jun’s hands tighten on his back. “No need,” he whispers back. As if anyone else would have done the same. The fool. Too good, too noble to even understand what he’s done.

No one has ever done something like that for Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng and Shijie had protested sometimes when Yi Ziyuan cracked her whip, and Shijie had always cared for him after, but not even she had thrown herself to her knees and demanded to take the beating for him. Not that it would have worked if she had. Yu Ziyuan was not the sort who allowed her will to be thwarted.

They kneel there until after the dinner bell sounds, and Wei Wuxian is sure he’d be frozen stiff without Hanguang Jun’s heat pressed against him.

Then Hanguang Jun pulls back and kisses him once, soft, warm, before leading him out of the water. They both shiver as the night breeze chills them. Wei Wuxian ignores Hanguang Jun’s protests and wraps him into his robes before he grabs his own. Hanguang Jun has to help him because his hands are trembling too much to finish.

Hanguang Jun walks slowly on the trip back. He even slumps a bit—for him, anyway. But he shakes his head when Wei Wuxian offers a shoulder to lean on.

When they reach the Jingshi, Zewu Jun is waiting on the porch. “Wangji, are you . . .?” Zewu Jun seems to realize what a stupid question that is and hangs his head.

“We have been to the cold spring,” Hanguang Jun says. “I am well.”

“Good.” Zewu Jun takes a pouch from his sleeve and offers it to Hanguang Jun. “I brought you this. Lan-daifu says to apply it to your injuries at morning and evening for at least three days.”

Hanguang Jun nods and accepts the medicine.

“She also said you should rest for a few days. You are excused from your duties until you are recovered.”

“Unnecessary,” Hanguang Jun sniffs. Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes.

Zewu Jun shakes his head like he expected that reaction. “It would make me happy if you rested for a few days,” he says gently: an order that sounds like a request.

Hanguang Jun pouts, but he nods.

Zewu Jun turns to Wei Wuxian. “Wei Wuxian, I apologize. Our uncle can be . . . severe in his judgments.”

Yeah, no kidding. Wei Wuxian bows and mumbles his thanks.

Zewu Jun pulls him up with a touch to his elbow. “I suspected that Shufu would react badly, but I did not expect . . . But please don’t worry. I will speak with him.”

Zewu Jun steps back and gestures at the Jingshi. “I took the liberty of allowing dinner to be delivered. It is waiting inside. Please forgive my impudence.” He inclines his head. “Now, I’ll leave you to rest.” As he walks away, he pats a hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Take care of my brother, please.”

Wei Wuxian nods and promises that he will. He will even if he has to tie Hanguang Jun to the damn bed.

When he’s satisfied that Hanguang Jun has eaten enough to promote healing, he peels him out of his damp robes and bullies him onto the bed. Already, the bruises are vivid splashes across his pale skin.

Wei Wuxian swallows down his horror and grabs the ointment. Hanguang Jun doesn’t make a sound as Wei Wuxian smooths it over his back. In Wei Wuxian’s experience, any medicine worth a damn has to stink, but maybe Lans are different. This one smells pleasantly of cinnamon, but his hands are numb only seconds after he begins.

“All done. Do you want to put your shirt on?”

Hanguang Jun shakes his head and starts to roll over.

“Better sleep on your belly or you’ll rub off all the ointment.”

Hanguang Jun huffs and settles on his stomach. Wei Wuxian pulls the blanket over him and kisses his hair.

He leaves Hanguang Jun in the bed and washes the ointment from his hands. Then he clears the dishes, tucks Hanguang Jun’s boots away, tidies the dressing table. When there is nothing else to do, he watches Hanguang Jun lying in bed, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow.

He chews his lip, shifting from foot to foot. No, he snaps at himself. No Hanguang Jun for you tonight. He heads to his old corner. It’s been a while since he slept in his own bed, and he has to unearth it from stacks of books, talisman paper, and other debris that have somehow gathered on the mattress.

When all the junk is shoved under the bed, he climbs in and snaps his fingers to extinguish the lanterns. He stares up at the ceiling as the stink of sulfur from the lanterns burns his nose. He’d forgotten how cold this bed is. And the sheets are musty from disuse.

There’s a shuffle from Hanguang Jun’s side of the room and a waft of cinnamon. “Wei Ying?”

“Yes?”

Hanguang Jun’s face rises like a pale moon above him, his features hidden in the darkness. “You wish to sleep here tonight?”

“I thought you’d want the bed to yourself.”

“Unnecessary.”

“Oh. You’re sure? You need to rest.”

“I can rest with Wei Ying.”

“We don’t usually do much resting,” Wei Wuxian says before he can stop himself.

“Mn.” Then, his voice small and hesitant: “Would you prefer to stay here?”

“Nope.” Wei Wuxian throws off the blanket and sits up. It’s not his fault. He tried to be considerate. But if Hanguang Jun wants to be snuggled, Wei Wuxian will damn well snuggle him. “Anyway, I should make sure you don’t roll onto your back.”

He makes Hanguang Jun get in bed first, then eases in beside him. It’s weird like this. Hanguang Jun always sleeps on his back, and Wei Wuxian tends to flop on top of him. Finally, he lies on his side and tucks a leg over Hanguang Jun’s. “Comfy?”

Hanguang Jun hums flatly, which means no, but I suppose I must endure this nonsense.

“Good. Go to sleep.”

Hanguang Jun sighs dramatically and closes his eyes.

*

Wei Wuxian wakes the next morning with Hanguang Jun’s warmth pressed against his back and a very obvious erection poking his ass.

“Nrgh?”

“Good morning,” Hanguang Jun husks against his shoulder, followed by a kiss.

“Mmhmm,” Wei Wuxian agrees, already pressing back. Hanguang Jun rumbles his approval and rolls against him. Wei Wuxian loves morning sex. Mornings are all soft eyes and warm skin, languorous kisses and tangled limbs.

Then he remembers. “Wait. Wait, Lan Zhan.” He pats the hand splayed over his belly. “You’re supposed to rest today.”

“Am resting,” Hanguang Jun murmurs, then latches onto Wei Wuxian’s neck.

Wei Wuxian shudders as Hanguang Jun sucks a bruise into his skin. “That is not restful.”

Hanguang Jun releases him and sighs. “I am in bed.”

“Stubborn,” Wei Wuxian huffs. “Does your back hurt?”

There a few beats of silence as Hanguang Jun obviously tries to think of a way to deny it without lying outright. “It is improved.”

“But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Hanguang Jun huffs a hot breath against his throat. “I am fine.”

Wei Wuxian clamps his hand over Hanguang Jun’s hand to halt its stroking. “Lan Zhan,” he says softly, “if you don’t take it easy, it will take longer to heal.”

Hilariously, Hanguang Jun’s cock twitches against his ass, like it’s arguing with him. “I know,” Hanguang Jun admits, barely above a whisper. “But just like this.” His hips roll, grinding gently. “This is not . . . arduous.”

Wei Wuxian bites back his moan and refuses to participate. “I think Lan-daifu might disagree with your assessment.”

Hanguang Jun hums into his skin and sucks on his earlobe. Wei Wuxian’s traitorous body shivers. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes shut and searches for a shred of decency, of responsibility. Hanguang Jun twines their fingers together and runs his tongue along the shell of Wei Wuxian’s ear.

“Okay, but you have to rest after. Really rest. You have to loaf around all day.”

“Yes,” Hanguang Jun breathes in a heavy gust that makes Wei Wuxian shudder all over. Hanguang Jun untangles their hands and tugs at Wei Wuxian’s pants. Wei Wuxian wiggles his hips, trying to help. “I mean it. You can’t lift so much as a calligraphy brush today. You have to be lazy.”

“Yes,” Hanguang Jun agrees, but Wei Wuxian can tell that he isn’t really listening as he works Wei Wuxian’s pants down his thighs. While the pants are still twisted around his shins, Hanguang Jun lifts Wei Wuxian’s leg and pulls it back over his own.

“Wait a second,” Wei Wuxian protests. He tries to kick the silk from his legs. Hanguang Jun ignores him and cups a palm over his mound, stroking with his fingertips. “Ah, so impatient.”

“Been waiting for you to wake up,” he grumbles as his middle finger circles Wei Wuxian’s clit.

Wei Wuxian grips his arm to feel the muscles shift under his skin. “Well, wake me up next time. Or don’t. Just start without me.”

Grunting, Hanguang Jun slides two fingers inside him, sinking deep and easy.

“I’d like that,” Wei Wuxian says as he rolls his hips to follow Hanguang Jun’s fingers. “I’d like to wake up to er-gege fucking me.” There would be a moment of confusion, maybe even fear, before he realized what was happening. But then he would know, he’d know that Hanguang Jun wanted him so badly that he just had to take him right then.

Hanguang Jun’s breath quickens; his heart pounds against Wei Wuxian’s back. “You would like that?”

“Mmhmm.” He cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, but he can still barely see the tip of Hanguang Jun’s cute little nose. “That would be a lovely way to wake up.”

Hanguang Jun moans and surges up to kiss him. The angle is strange, but so good. Hanguang Jun’s mouth falls away, then comes surging back every time he thrusts up, driving his cock against Wei Wuxian’s ass. Even through Hanguang Jun’s trousers, Wei Wuxian can feel the wet smear against his skin.

With a desperate groan, Hanguang Jun throws off the blanket, then yanks at the pants tangled around Wei Wuxian’s ankles. That gives Wei Wuxian a view of his back, mottled and dark but not as bad as he feared. Still, it gives him a guilty start.

“Hey,” he calls down. “Take it easy, remember?”

Hanguang Jun ignores him. He pulls the pants free and drops them beside the bed. Then he pushes back behind Wei Wuxian, tugging at his own trousers at the same time, more graceless than Wei Wuxian has ever see him.

Wei Wuxian giggles as Hanguang Jun fight his trousers. “Er-gege, you promised me that you wouldn’t exert yourself. Are you really so insatiable that one night without it has you so worked up?”

Hanguang Jun wins the battle against his trousers. He lifts Wei Wuxian’s thigh and slides in with a snarl. Wei Wuxian’s giggle turns to a gurgle. Hanguang Jun fucks him slowly but without hesitation, not bothering to give him time to adjust. He just holds Wei Wuxian open and takes what he wants.

That thought makes Wei Wuxian quake, his leg jerking in Hanguang Jun’s grip. Oh fuck, Hanguang Jun should always just take what he wants. Wouldn’t Wei Wuxian give him anything, anytime? Wouldn’t he lie back, bend over, kneel and present himself whenever Hanguang Jun wanted? Yet Hanguang Jun is so surprised that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t mind getting fucked in his sleep. As if there’s any moment, sleeping or waking, that Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him.

“I want it,” Wei Wuxian says dreamily, not meaning to but not exactly caring, not when Hanguang Jun is fucking him so well. “You can do whatever you want, just, ah, roll over and put it in me. Bet you could make me come even in my sleep.”

Hanguang Jun groans and bends over him to nip at Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Quiet. If you want me to go easy, you have to stop saying such things.”

Wei Wuxian makes an assenting noise. Hanguang Jun kisses him, then pushes his leg forward until his knee hangs off the bed. Hanguang Jun grips his hip and fucks him faster.

“You like that idea?” Wei Wuxian asks, ignoring Hanguang Jun’s irritable huff. “You should do it. Tomorrow morning. I’ll sleep naked. Make it easier for you.”

“Demon,” Hanguang Jun hisses as his cock jerks inside him. A few more jagged thrusts, and he pulses hot, his teeth snapping at Wei Wuxian’s ear.

Wei Wuxian laughs, then moans as Hanguang Jun rocks in deeper. He’s such an idiot, ruining this for himself, but he so loves when Hanguang Jun loses control.

Hanguang Jun’s hand reaches down to stroke him, but Wei Wuxian stops him. “Let me,” he says. “You promised you’d rest after, remember?”

“Not ‘after’ yet,” Hanguang Jun grumbles, but he obediently moves his hand to Wei Wuxian’s hip.

“Good boy.” The angle is bad, so Wei Wuxian squirms a bit more onto his back and drops his ankle over Hanguang Jun’s leg, opening himself wide. “Just stay there,” he says as he rubs his clit. “Stay inside me.”

Hanguang Jun hums his agreement and hooks his chin over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder to watch. It doesn’t take long. Not with Hanguang Jun pressing kisses against his throat, breathing heavily as he watches Wei Wuxian get himself off. Even without being able to see those golden eyes watching him, he comes in only a few minutes, clenching hard on Hanguang Jun’s cock.

The world is hazy for a while. Weak sunlight through gauzy curtains billowing in the morning breeze, Hanguang Jun kissing his jaw and petting him. Whining, Wei Wuxian tries to turn to him. Like he knows what Wei Wuxian is seeking, Hanguang Jun shifts up until he’s smiling down at him. “Kiss me,” Wei Wuxian mumbles. He does.

When he pulls back, Wei Wuxian grins at his soft, sated face. “You should lie on your belly.”

Hanguang Jun shakes his head. “This is good.” He curls around Wei Wuxian and lets his weight rest against his back.

Wei Wuxian pets his arm. “Well, as long as you’re resting.”

*

Shijie brings them vegetable soup that night and all but falls at Hanguang Jun’s feet to thank him for protecting Wei Wuxian. Hanguang Jun stammers adorably and shoots Wei Wuxian a pleading look. Taking pity on him, Wei Wuxian walks Shijie back to her quarters.

She wraps a hand around his arm as they walk. “A-Xian, Zewu Jun told me that he wrote to Father. Zewu Jun has invited him here.”

He blanches until he remembers that he isn’t a member of the Jiang sect anymore and therefore has nothing to worry about. “Because of the fight?”

“Sort of. He thought, because of the engagement . . . But I think Lan Qiren wants to speak with Father.”

“Oh. Right.” In his horror over Hanguang Jun’s beating, he’s barely thought about the rest of the debacle.

“You should speak with Zewu Jun,” she says.

“Yeah. I will.” And he means to, but not until Hanguang Jun’s back has healed. And not until he’s sure that Lan Qiren won’t murder him at first sight.

*

Hanguang Jun stares at him mournfully until Wei Wuxian climbs in the bathtub with him. The water barely ripples around them as he rides him slowly, riding him until the water cools and Hanguang Jun is flushed and trembling. “Please,” Hanguang Jun gasps, and Wei Wuxian tucks him under his chin, holding him close as Hanguang Jun shudders through his orgasm.

Later, while he’s combing Hanguang Jun’s hair by the fire, he tells him what Shijie said. “I don’t remember my parents. They died when I was very young. All I know is that my father was Jiang Fengmian’s servant until he ran away with my mother. I have no idea how your uncle knew her.”

“Was she an omega?” Hanguang Jun asks.

“An alpha. My father was a beta.”

Hanguang Jun turns in his arms.

“Yeah, I know. Pretty rare. And I know they were cultivators. The people at Lotus Pier said my parents hunted together. Until they were killed during a night hunt.”

“Then you lived with Jiang Fengmian’s family?”

“Uh, yeah. Eventually.” He ducks his head and works on the ends of Hanguang Jun’s hair. “I was alone for a while. Before that.”

“How long?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Long enough.”

“I am sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” He kisses Hanguang Jun’s shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. I have no idea why your uncle was so upset about my mother, but it can’t be good.”

Hanguang Jun pulls his hand in his lap and strokes his thumb over Wei Wuxian’s knuckles. “I do not think it was only your mother that concerned him.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother was my father’s omega. She was . . . she did not wish to live here. She killed my father’s shizun. Afterwards, he brought her here. To hide her. And he married her, despite the elders’ protests.”

“Oh. Lan Zhan, I’m sorry.”

Hanguang Jun nods miserably. “She must have been unhappy, but she never showed it when we were allowed to visit. This was her house. Her cage.”

“Shit.” Wei Wuxian pushes closer and presses his forehead to Hanguang Jun’s shoulder. It’s a horror story every omega learns: the alphas who forge contracts or just forego them entirely, locking omegas away as prisoners. Even if Hanguang Jun’s father did it to protect her, it must have been a miserable fate.

“She died when I was a child, too young to understand at first. Father died soon after.” There is silence; then Hanguang Jun draws in a breath. “I have often wondered if she took her own life. To escape.”

“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, no idea what else to say. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shufu always warned us against—against losing ourselves to desire. He does not wish us to repeat our father’s . . . choices.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that.” Some of Lan Qiren’s fury about his training makes sense now. Still ridiculous, but maybe a little less so.

“Wei Ying is not her,” Hanguang Jun says, squeezing Wei Wuxian’s hand. “Not that she—Mother was a good person, but she was . . . troubled. It is wrong of Shufu to judge you because of her.”

“Yeah.” He cups Hanguang Jun’s face and smiles. “But he shouldn’t judge you because of your father, either. You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

Hanguang Jun sighs and presses his cheek into Wei Wuxian’s hand. “I would like for you to continue training. If that is your wish.”

“We’ll see.” Wei Wuxian drops a kiss on his nose. “No training until your back is healed anyway.”

*

Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan arrive in Cloud Recesses to discuss the recent altercation. According to Meng Yao, Jin Guangshan invited himself to the discussion. Wei Wuxian stays in the Jingshi as much as possible and hopes that everyone just forgets he exists.

Mianmian admits that Jin Zixuan isn’t happy about the engagement either. After some pressing, she confesses that she told Jin Zixuan he’d be lucky to have Jiang Yanli. And then she reminded him of his family’s many deficiencies, including the weasel who had to be sent away from the lectures before Hanguang Jun murdered him.

“And how did Jin Zixuan take that?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“Jin-gongzi is a reasonable man,” Mianmian says primly. Then she squeezes Shijie’s hand. “It isn’t that he’s opposed to you. He’s just . . . Okay, he is a spoiled brat, but once you get past that, he’s really sweet.”

A compromise is reached in which the engagement is left in limbo until the potential bride and groom have a chance to get to know each other better. Then they will decide whether to marry or to call the whole thing off.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t consider that a suitable compromise at all, and he knows he’s being extremely bitchy about it, but he can’t seem to restrain himself. It’s just that now the peacock is wooing Shijie. So gross.

He even refuses to be pacified when he and Hanguang Jun run into Shijie and Jin Zixuan strolling around the compound and Jin Zixuan apologizes for his cousin’s behavior. He’s only doing it because Mianmian is looming behind him, after all.

He sulks about it all day. Then Hanguang Jun says that his displeasure may be causing Jiang Yanli distress. “It is her decision,” Hanguang Jun says softly. “Would you force her hand?”

Wei Wuxian sputters and has to leave the Jingshi before he snaps at Hanguang Jun. When he cools down and comes home, Hanguang Jun is woefully contrite. “I apologize. I should not have intruded.”

“No, you’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m sorry for being so dramatic.”

The other reason Jiang Fengmian was called to Gusu remains a mystery. Even Hanguang Jun is excluded from those discussions. Meng Yao must know what they’re talking about, but he’s harder to interrogate than Mianmian. All he’ll say is that Jiang Fengmian has been complimentary of Wei Wuxian.

So, time passes. Hanguang Jun’s back returns to its pale perfection, and no one throws Wei Wuxian off the mountain. If Wei Wuxian ignores the stares he gets when he leaves the Jingshi, everything would seem pretty much back to normal.

*

Wei Wuxian answers a knock on the Jingshi’s door. He’s so stunned by his visitor that he forgets to bow.

“A-Xian,” Jiang Fengmian says, then shakes his head. “Wei Wuxian. You’re all grown up.”

Wei Wuxian drops into a salute. “I, um, this one is—.” Fuck it. “Hi. Would you like to come in?”

“I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to . . . A-Li and A-Cheng say you’re doing well. I am glad.”

Wei Wuxian nods uneasily.

“Are you happy? With Hanguang Jun?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. He should be back soon if you wanted to—”

“No. We’ve spoken already. He seems pleased with you as well. That’s good. I’m glad it—I’m glad that it all worked out.”

You mean shipping me off to the temple? Ripping me away from my family? Sure, worked out great.

“Wei Wuxian, I’m sorry. I wish . . . I wish things could have been different.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Perhaps in the future—”

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

They both turn at the interruption. Hanguang Jun stands on the bridge, his face stony.

“Hanguang Jun,” Jiang Fengmian says, bowing. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

Hanguang Jun glares at him for a moment before he returns the salute. “Would you like to stay for tea?” he asks in a tone that means don’t you dare.

“No, thank you. I must be going.” Jiang Fengmian nods at Wei Wuxian and then heads toward the bridge. Hanguang Jun stands motionless as Jiang Fengmian passes him, then turns to watch him disappear down the path.

“Are you mad at Jiang Fengmian?” Wei Wuxian asks when Hanguang Jun joins him on the porch. “Did something happen?”

Hanguang Jun hesitates, then shakes his head. He kisses Wei Wuxian’s forehead and heads inside.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t ask about it again. He isn’t sure he wants to know.

*

When Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan leave, they take their disciples with them. Wei Wuxian doesn’t see them off. Instead, he breaks into the back hills and sprawls facedown on the grass in the rabbits’ meadow, letting them bounce around on his back. Hanguang Jun finds him there at sunset and doesn’t mention the broken wards. He only pets Wei Wuxian’s hair when he rolls over to lay his head in Hanguang Jun’s lap.

Hanguang Jun endures days of his moping without comment, and even joins him on the roof to brood under the stars, but then one afternoon, he suggests that Wei Wuxian should return to training.

“I don’t want to get you in more trouble,” Wei Wuxian argues. The elders haven’t actually decreed that he is forbidden to train. Not yet. Zewu Jun is still working on it, and he has managed to persuade a few of them, including Lan-daifu. But Wei Wuxian suspects that the only reason he’s been allowed to keep Suibian is that Lan Qiren doesn’t know about the sword.

Besides, he was planning to spend the afternoon slumped here at the dining table, doing some despondent doodling.

“The principles do not forbid you from training,” Hanguang Jun says, like that matters.

“Amazingly, the world has rules that aren’t covered in your code.” Wei Wuxian smiles wryly. “It was stupid anyway. I’m not a disciple.”

“Wei Ying should be whatever he wants to be.”

“Wei Ying is Hanguang Jun’s omega.” He squeezes Hanguang Jun’s knee. “I signed a contract, remember?”

Hanguang Jun bows his head. “I could release you from that contract.”

Wei Wuxian jerks back. “What?”

“Or you could terminate it. That is your right.”

“Lan Zhan, I don’t want to—why would I do that?”

“You could go anywhere,” Hanguang Jun continues, like he isn’t listening. “You could return to Lotus Pier. To be with your family.”

“My family,” he repeats dully. So they can try to figure out what to do with a shitty omega who thinks he’s a cultivator? As if Yu Ziyuan would let him come back. She’d burn the place to the ground first.

Hanguang Jun nods. “Jiang Cheng returned your sword. Perhaps when he is clan leader . . . But if that is not an option, you could take another—” He stops to clear his throat. “Another contract.”

Wei Wuxian stares at his bowed head in horror. “Another contract. At Lotus Pier.”

Hanguang Jun turns away.

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian pushes away from the table. His legs tremble as he stands. “I see. You’ve, um, you’ve given me a lot to think about. I’m. I’m just going to—”

He heads toward the door, not feeling the floor under his slippers. Hanguang Jun calls his name, but he doesn’t stop. He just flees. Hanguang Jun doesn’t follow.

He’s halfway down the mountain before he realizes that he left without his sword or his money pouch, but he can’t go back, so he keeps going. The staff at Jinzhenhe tavern know him, and the proprietor assures him that he is welcome to run a tab.

A waiter rushes over, all smiles. “Good day, gongzi. Are you dining alone today?”

Wei Wuxian winces. Of course he’s alone. “Yes. No. I’m not dining. Just bring me wine. It doesn’t matter what kind.”

The waiter’s smile wavers, but he hustles to deliver the wine. Emperor’s Smile, of course. The waiters here know he’s rich.

Wei Wuxian stares at the white jar. He hasn’t touched wine since the night he almost poisoned Hanguang Jun. Fuck, it’s no wonder Hanguang Jun wants to get rid of him. He rips off the cloth and gulps straight from the jar.

He’s working on the second jar when Meng Yao sits down across from him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Meng Yao pours himself a cup of wine. “Which wasn’t difficult. This was the first place I looked.”

“Did Lan er-gongzi send you?”

“Not exactly. When you failed to show up to tea—”

“Oh fuck, I forgot.”

“—we were all concerned. Lan Wangji confessed that you seemed troubled. He believed he might have said something that upset you.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “What, just because he’s planning to get rid of me? Why would I be upset about that?”

Meng Yao pauses with the cup hovering in front of his mouth. “What?”

Wei Wuxian pours more wine down his throat. “I don’t get why you’re surprised. I haven’t exactly been a model omega.”

“He said he was terminating the contract?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Pretty much.”

Meng Yao’s eyes narrow. “That is unexpected. Did something happen?”

“You mean besides the beating he took for me? Or how everybody’s pissed because he’s been training me?”

“That’s why?”

Wei Wuxian groans and drops his head in his hands. “It doesn’t matter, okay? I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to drink until it doesn’t—I just want to drink.”

Meng Yao sighs. “I suppose I owe you one.”

“Great. Let’s get wasted.”

Two jugs later, he’s leaning over the table, clutching Meng Yao’s arm. Meng Yao has a lot of arms tonight, like a spider demon. Except he has a lot of heads, too. Or maybe Wei Wuxian is a little tipsy.

“You have to make sure he gets another omega,” Wei Wuxian pleads. “Don’t let him go to his, to his . . . head place. Make him go to the temple himself next time. Make him pick his own omega. He deserves somebody good, somebody who’ll take care of him. Somebody better than me.”

“We’ll take care of him.”

Wei Wuxian sniffs and drags his sleeve over his face. His eyes are sweating. “Get him somebody good. But not one of those simpering little wimps. He needs somebody who’ll make him have fun. And they have to buy him candy. He really likes candy. And red bean buns. And bunnies. But not to eat. To pet.”

“I’ll do my best. Are you drunk enough now?”

“Not drunk.”

“Right. Even though you are still completely sober, will you come home?”

“Not my home.”

“Please don’t start blubbering again.”

“I don’t blubber! And I’m not drunk!” Wei Wuxian stands up, meaning to show just how fine he is, but the room spins, and he stumbles against the table. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna, gonna pass out a little.”

And he does.

He dreams that he’s in Hanguang Jun’s arms, soaring above the clouds. In his dream, he begs Hanguang Jun to let him stay. He knows it’s a dream because Hanguang Jun smiles and says yes, stay. Wei Ying, stay with me.

*

Wei Wuxian groans as he wakes. His throat aches, his sinuses throb, and something slimy uncoils in his gut. His eyes are matted shut. When he forces them open, he sees Hanguang Jun’s chest. “Hrgh.”

“Good morning.”

He wiggles to look up at Hanguang Jun’s face. Pain lances through his brain. “Ow.”

“Does your head ache?”

Wei Wuxian answers that with a moan. Then he remembers why his head aches, and he shoots upright so fast that he goes blind for a few seconds. Oh no. Oh fuck. He presses the heel of his hand against his throbbing left eye. Maybe it was just a bad dream. But if it was just a dream, then why is he hungover?

Hanguang Jun sits up and rubs his back. Wei Wuxian squints out the window at the evil sunlight. “Why are you still in bed?” he croaks.

“Wei Ying was sleeping on my arm,” Hanguang Jun says, like that’s an answer. There’s a big wet patch on his shirt where Wei Wuxian drooled on him.

Wei Wuxian groans and buries his face in his hands. Hanguang Jun’s lips press against his forehead, and his headache lifts a little. It’s ridiculous, but Wei Wuxian can believe that Hanguang Jun’s kisses have healing properties.

“I will make you tea,” Hanguang Jun declares, and swings off the bed.

While he scrubs the funk off his teeth, he tries to remember how he got home. But there’s nothing. There is only the tavern, and Meng Yao, and a lot of wine. His stomach lurches at the thought of wine, and he nearly vomits in the basin. But his aching brain won’t remember anything about coming home and going to bed with Hanguang Jun.

Instead, his traitorous brain wants to do nothing but replay yesterday’s conversation with Hanguang Jun, especially the part where Hanguang Jun suggested Wei Wuxian should end their contract and go serve another alpha. Like it’s nothing. Like Wei Wuxian would just shrug and say, Sure Lan Zhan, one alpha is the same as the other. I’ll spread my legs for whoever. And then Hanguang Jun would say, Yeah, obviously. Nice knowing you. I’ll write you a good recommendation.

He can’t stay here, he decides as he sits beside Hanguang Jun drinking tea and trying not to puke on the congee he isn’t eating. Even if Hanguang Jun decides to wait out the remainder of their contract, Wei Wuxian can’t spend months knowing that this isn’t what he thought. He can’t pretend this is just a job. He can’t stay here when Hanguang Jun is just biding his time, too courteous and too kind to shame Wei Wuxian by ending the contract early.

Hanguang Jun offers to dress himself. Wei Wuxian brushes off his concern and forces himself through the ritual one more time.

“Rest,” Hanguang Jun says as he’s leaving. He strokes Wei Wuxian’s hair and kisses his forehead.

Wei Wuxian pulls him down and kisses him, throwing himself into it. If this is the last time, he’s going to—he just needs something to carry with him. Hanguang Jun makes a surprised noise and pulls him close. It doesn’t mean anything, but it feels so . . . It feels like everything.

Hanguang Jun pulls back and pants against his mouth. “Wei Ying. I have to—” He brushes another kiss across Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “I have to go.”

“I know.” He tries to smile, but it trembles on his face. “Have a good day, Lan er-gongzi.”

Hanguang Jun smiles his sweet, crooked smile and leaves.

For a long time, Wei Wuxian stands in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door, his chest ripped open.

Finally, he makes himself move. He doesn’t pack much. All of his clothes are covered in little clouds. And they smell like sandalwood and honey. He pulls on his plainest robes and ties the red ribbon in his hair. Puts on the boots and leaves the slippers. Ignores all the books and the little trinkets. Maybe the next omega will want them. He hesitates over the white jade dizi. Then he snaps the lid shut and sets it back on the shelf.

The money pouch Hanguang Jun gave him bulges, the fabric straining to contain his riches. He tosses it in his hand, wavering. He wants to leave it here, but that would just be dramatic. Foolish sentiment. This was a business arrangement. The money pouch proves that. He tucks it in his robe.

He swings his shabby old bag over his shoulder and picks up Suibian. Then he remembers the jade amulet. He unties it from his sash and lays it on the dining table. There. That’s everything.

He strides to the door. Pauses. Even if this is only a business arrangement, he should still leave a note. Especially since it’s only a business arrangement. Leaving without a word is something a spurned lover would do.

He grabs a sheet of parchment and a brush. The words won’t come. Ink splashes down on the parchment. Fuck. Quickly, he scrawls a message, not bothering to sign his name. Thank you. I’m sorry.

The brush is still clattering on the desk when he closes the door behind him.

*

Wei Wuxian drops through the clouds, and there it is. The end of the world.

He steps off the sword. His legs threaten to buckle. He’s pushed himself too far, staying in the air until his body is ready to collapse, but he made it.

He ignores his unsteady legs and walks toward the edge of the bluff. Below him, the sea stretches to the horizon and whatever lives beyond it. Maybe he’ll find out. Maybe he’ll find a boat and sail over that horizon.

But not tonight. Tonight, he will sleep on this bluff, on a bed of soft grass, and smell the salt on the air. And he will admire the moon, so bright and beautiful. “The moon, rising, is a white eye to the hills,” he mutters. “After it is risen, it is the bright heart of the sea.” He smiles, but it’s brittle. There’s no one here to admire his recitation.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Tonight, I will hum songs until the dawn.” He takes his new dizi from his belt. It’s a cheap thing he bought from a street vendor, but that doesn’t matter either. There’s no one here to complain about its screech.

Every night, he means to play something else, but every night, he plays Hanguang Jun’s song. Just as they do every night, his eyes blur with tears.

Someday they won’t. Someday, he will play this song while he thinks of something banal, like what he had for dinner, or what the weather is like. Someday, the hollow in his gut will shrink, and he’ll be too distracted by his chapped skin or itchy bug bites to mourn what he had. Someday, he will stop expecting Hanguang Jun to be there when he turns around.

For now, he plays the nameless song and lets himself feel every prick and shudder of his grief.

“Wei Ying.”

The song ends because he has no breath to continue it. The wind lifts his hair, carrying salt and sandalwood and honey.

He closes his eyes, tells himself he’s imagining that scent. Tells himself that he only imagined Hanguang Jun’s voice on the wind.

Slowly, he turns. The dizi falls from his hand.

In the moonlight, Hanguang Jun shimmers like a fallen star. The wind gusts, fluttering his hair, tossing the ends of his white ribbon. Wei Wuxian can’t breathe with how beautiful he is, with how impossible it is that Hanguang Jun is standing here on this bluff, miles from Gusu.

“Wei Ying.” Hanguang Jun steps forward.

Wei Wuxian bows his head and raises his hands in salute. “Lan er-gongzi.”

Hanguang Jun stumbles to a halt. “Wei Ying. I . . . I am sorry. For anything I did to drive you away. I apologize.”

“You didn’t—” He groans and scrubs his face. “That wasn’t—it wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?” Hanguang Jun moves closer. “Wei Ying, please.”

“I thought this way would be . . . easier.”

“If you wanted to be released from the contract, I would not have impeded you.”

“I know.” That was the problem. “It was just . . . time.”

He stares into the darkness as Hanguang Jun considers that. Then, softly, Hanguang Jun asks, “What will you do now?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Whatever I want.” He tucks his hands behind his back and gazes at the moon, hoping he looks nonchalant and not like he’s breaking apart.

“What do you want?”

He opens his mouth to say something pithy, but he can’t think of anything. “I have no idea.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I guess I’ll have to figure that out.” He picks up his dizi and shakes off the bits of grass.

“The night before you left, you said you wished to stay.”

“Did I?” He watches the dizi spin through his fingers. “I don’t remember.”

“You do not remember?”

He shrugs. “Meng Yao and I drank a lot of wine. I don’t remember anything after that.” That’s true. Those memories haven’t returned. But then, he’s tried very hard not to think about it. “Sorry if I gave you trouble.”

“You do not remember.”

Wei Wuxian winces at his flat tone. “That bad, huh? Sorry.”

Hanguang Jun’s hand closes on his arm, and he stiffens. Hanguang Jun releases him but doesn’t move away. “Wei Ying, you do not remember what I said that night?”

He cuts his eyes toward Hanguang Jun, but he can’t stand more than a glimpse of his earnest face. “No. Why? What did you say?”

Hanguang Jun sighs. He doesn’t need to see Hanguang Jun’s face to know how exasperated he is. “Would it matter?”

Wei Wuxian swallows down the hope that wants to crack him open. “Should it?”

“I do not know. Perhaps not.”

Hanguang Jun moves past him and stares out at the ocean glimmering below them. His sword is clenched in one hand, the other fist tucked against his back. Closing himself off. A memory of that night finally surfaces: Hanguang Jun’s voice low and urgent, murmuring into his hair. But the words stay hidden. Maybe it’s not a memory. Maybe he’s just conjuring it, lying to himself.

“What did you say?” Hanguang Jun doesn’t respond. “Lan Zhan, what did you say?”

Hanguang Jun’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “I asked you to stay. With me.”

“You wanted to renew the contract? But I thought—”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian flinches back at the harsh tone. Softer, Hanguang Jun says, “No, not another contract. I wanted . . . I wanted to marry you.”

He almost laughs. Shrill hysteria churns in his chest. He has to touch Hanguang Jun’s arm just to prove that he isn’t a hallucination brought on by loneliness and heartbreak. “Lan Zhan. What?”

Hanguang Jun bristles.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t be serious. Your uncle would never allow that.”

Hanguang Jun sniffs testily. “Shufu does not decide whom I shall marry.”

“But you were going to send me to Lotus Pier.”

“If that was what you wanted.” Hanguang Jun turns to him. “I wished for you to be happy. You were not happy after your family left. And Jiang Fengmian said—”

“What? What did he say?”

But Hanguang Jun shakes his head and shifts his eyes to the side. “It does not matter.”

“Okay, let’s get back to the part where you were going to marry me. Would that make you happy?”

“Yes,” he snarls, lip curling.

Wei Wuxian does laugh then. He drops his face into his hands and shrieks laughter. “Lan Zhan, you can’t say things like that.”

“I can do ‘whatever I want.’” Hanguang Jun’s imitation of Wei Wuxian’s voice is as accurate as it is insulting.

Wei Wuxian peeks through his fingers at Hanguang Jun’s scowl. He needs to touch him. He hooks his fingers in Hanguang Jun’s sash and pulls himself close. Hanguang Jun’s pout flickers as Wei Wuxian grins up at him.

“You want to marry me? You want to take me back to Gusu with you?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian’s grin dies, but Hanguang Jun smiles and brushes the hair back from his face. “I want to marry you. And I want to go with you.”

“Go with me? Where?”

“Wherever we wish to go.”

“But Cloud Recesses is your home! What about your family? You’re Hanguang Jun!”

“I would like to be Lan Zhan.”

This has to be a hallucination. But even if it is, he’s not going to waste it. He knocks his forehead against the hallucination’s broad chest. “Okay, Lan Zhan. Where shall we go?”

“I believe you wished to swim in the ocean.” He smiles and nods toward the sea.

Wei Wuxian slides his arms around Hanguang Jun’s waist. Hanguang Jun’s arms wrap around him. “You really want to run away with me?”

“Mn.” Hanguang Jun’s eyes sparkle down at him, full of stars. “I want to help you find what you want.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and squeezes him tight. “I already did.”

Coda

Wei Wuxian drifts awake from his afternoon nap. There’s no warm husband behind him. Still, the inn’s bed is soft, even if the blankets are scratchy on his bare skin. He yawns and stretches. The bed is long enough for great stretches. It’s also proven to be quite sturdy. Some of the beds they’ve encountered along the coast have failed to withstand his husband’s vigor. Not to mention the poor bathtubs. He’ll have to commend the proprietor.

He flops onto his side and smiles. His husband is reading by the window, the sunlight wrapping him in gold. His husband is wearing only his trousers and loafing around with a mediocre novel in the middle of the afternoon. Wei Wuxian loves that for him.

He stretches once more and rolls out of bed. He finds his pants, pulls them on, and goes to his husband. His husband smiles as Wei Wuxian kisses his forehead. “There is tea if you would like some.”

“Mm, thanks.” Wei Wuxian smacks another kiss on his husband’s perfect head and journeys toward the tea.

He takes his tea over to the window and leans a hip against it. He sips tea and watches the villagers pass to and fro below him. His mind drifts from thought to thought, nothing sticking around for long.

The inn’s tea is okay, but he should find something better. His husband never complains about it, but he shouldn’t have to drink mediocre tea. Tomorrow, he’ll head to the market and find that orange blossom stuff his husband likes. He likes it, too. It masks the taste of Lan-daifu’s herbs.

More thoughts dance through his brain, but he keeps circling back to the tea. And the herbs. Something about the herbs.

Fuck.

The teacup crashes to the floor. Hot tea splatters on his bare toes, but he barely notices.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian whirls away from the window. His husband is already there, his eyes darting over him anxiously.

“The Tea!”

“Did you burn your hands?” His husband takes his hands and turns them over to check for wounds.

“No! Lan Zhan, I forgot about the Tea!”

His husband frowns at the teacup on the floor.

“No, not that tea. The Tea! The one I have to drink every day so I won’t have little Hanguang Juns. The fucking Tea!”

“The Tea,” his husband whispers, giving it the proper capitalization. He looks like he’s been hit in the head with a tea kettle.

Wei Wuxian nods frantically. “Oh fuck. I’m such an idiot.” And oh fuck, he was in heat just a few days ago. They spent two days in this room having a truly ridiculous amount of sex. Just so much sex. Not to mention all the other sex they’ve been having since they reunited. Their honeymoon has been fantastic. It hasn’t always been the kind of sex that makes little Hanguang Juns, but still.

“I didn’t even think about it,” he babbles as he paces the little room. “I mean, I didn’t bother to pack it when I left. It wasn’t like I needed it then. And then you found me, and I—” He makes a gesture by his head to indicate how his brain left his body. He’s just been so happy. Deliriously happy. A happy idiot. A happy fucking moron.

“Wei Ying.” His husband halts his pacing by laying big hands on his shoulders. He looks a little stupid with shock, but still a thousand times better than Wei Wuxian. But then, he’s not the one might be pregnant. “Wei Ying, are you . . . do you think you are . . .”

“Pregnant?” Wei Wuxian squeaks. Even saying the word makes him dizzy.

His husband shoots a terrified look at his belly.

“How am I supposed to know?” He’s nearly shrieking now. “Babies don’t exactly announce themselves, do they? Wait, do they?” He scrubs at his face, trying to remember anything he’s ever heard about pregnancy. “People puke a lot when they’re pregnant, right? I haven’t puked.” Except now he feels like puking.

“Your menses are late.”

“What? No they aren’t. How would you even know that?”

His husband lifts an eyebrow. “It is a monthly cycle.”

Wei Wuxian pokes his chest. “Don’t explain menstruation to me, buddy.” Then he feels bad and pats his husband’s chest. “But it isn’t like I’m so regular. How late am I?”

“You are regular,” his husband insists. “Three days.”

“Pfft.” Wei Wuxian flops a hand. “Three days is nothing. My heat probably threw it off.”

His husband’s eyes widen. “Your heat.” Guess he’d forgotten that tidbit.

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter.” Wei Wuxian finds his discarded robes and starts tugging them on. “I’ll just go find the local doctor and buy some. It isn’t even an issue.” He firmly ignores the memory of Lan-daifu saying the herbs are more effective if used every day.

His husband stops him again. “Wei Ying,” he begins. It’s his softest voice, the one that makes Wei Wuxian want to compose poetry and melt in his arms. He usually only does the second thing. “If you want, we could . . .” His eyes drift back down to Wei Wuxian’s belly.

“We could what?” Wei Wuxian shakes his shoulder when he doesn’t respond. “Lan Zhan, I love you to pieces, but I’m really freaked out right now, and I need you to finish your damn sentences.”

His husband takes a deep breath and meets his eyes. “We could have the baby.”

Wei Wuxian has three heart attacks and falls in love all over again. “Lan Zhan, you don’t have to say that. I mean, who in their right mind would let me have a baby? I can’t even remember to drink the damn tea that prevents babies!”

His husband strokes his hair. “I would like to try. If that is what you want.”

Is that what he wants? It’s so much already, having Lan Zhan all to himself. It’s perfect, actually. Would a baby ruin that, or would it be even better?

Of course, he would be a terrible parent, but his husband would be an awesome dad. He’s the best at everything. And their kid would undoubtedly fall in love with Lan Zhan. Any kid would be lucky to have Lan Zhan for a dad. He can just imagine a tiny Hanguang Jun trailing after the big one, imitating his fancy walk and swinging a toy sword.

He can picture that future: their little family on the road, the baby tucked into a pouch across Lan Zhan’s chest. And then the kid, maybe a little boy, perched on a donkey’s back as he and his husband walk on either side.

His husband slowly reaches down and lays his palm across Wei Wuxian’s belly. He smiles. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful, like his husband already loves the little one that might be living there.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian gasps. He swallows down a huge sob. “Okay, we can do this.”

His husband gazes up at him, that beautiful smile shining even brighter. “You wish to . . .?”

“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian swipes away a tear. “I want that. Fuck the Tea.”

His husband huffs a laugh. “Mn. Fuck the Tea.”

He catches Wei Wuxian when he collapses in his arms, trembling and laughing. “My husband will be a wonderful father,” he murmurs into Wei Wuxian’s hair.

Wei Wuxian laughs against his neck. “Probably not, but my husband will be good enough for both of us.”

Chapter Text

When Lan Wangji returns to the Jingshi, Wei Ying hurries to greet him, pink-cheeked and smiling. Wei Ying dances around him as Lan Wangji places Bichen in its rack, his hands fluttering toward Lan Wangji but never landing. Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to signal that Wei Ying’s touch is welcome, so they continue to the dining table where lunch awaits them.

Although it is past mid-day, Wei Ying still wears only his dressing gown and trousers. As if he has been waiting for Lan Wangji to return.

Something greedy and fierce rises in Lan Wangji at that thought. He pushes it aside. Yes, Wei Ying said every night, but it is not night currently. It is only afternoon, as the sunlight gleaming on the skin at the base of Wei Ying’s throat attests. Perhaps Wei Ying only neglected to dress because of the day’s heat. Lan Wangji certainly feels warm.

Wei Ying leans over the table to pour more water into Lan Wangji’s cup. Wei Ying’s hair is bound and draped over his shoulder, and Lan Wangji’s eyes are drawn to a dark mark on Wei Ying’s throat.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, forgetting that the meal has not yet ended.

Wei Ying turns to him, his eyes huge and startled. “Yes?”

Lan Wangji lays down his chopsticks. He wasn’t interested in food, anyway. “Your neck.”

Frowning, Wei Ying blinks at him. He sets down the pitcher and lays a hand across his throat. “My neck?”

Lan Wangji starts to ask if Wei Ying is injured, then realizes how stupid that would be. It is obvious how the mark came to be there. He bows his head. “I apologize.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying snorts—why does Lan Wangji find that so appealing?—and scoots a bit closer. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

Lan Wangji peeks up at him. Wei Ying is grinning, his fingers prodding at the bruise. Is this why Wei Ying has not left the Jingshi today? Perhaps he is ashamed for his friends to see.

“Er-gege,” Wei Ying croons. His voice is reproachful but warm. He crawls over until he is sitting beside Lan Wangji, their knees brushing. “You didn’t hurt me. I liked everything we did last night. And the first night.”

Lan Wangji swallows, attempting to keep his eyes on Wei Ying’s face and not the golden skin or the bruise in the shape of Lan Wangji’s mouth.

Wei Ying tugs at his sleeve. “I bet I left some bruises on you, too.” His fingers drift up to Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Here.” The hand moves down to Lan Wangji’s waist. “And definitely here.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenches at the memories of Wei Ying’s hands clutching him, urging him on. Wei Ying grins like he knows what he is thinking. He probably does. Wei Ying has learned his mind so swiftly. Only this particular desire seemed hidden—until recently. Now, Wei Ying will be privy to all of him. The idea isn’t as unsettling as it should be.

“Maybe I should take a look.” Wei Ying winks. “To check.”

Wei Ying draws him to the wardrobe. His hands make quick work of Lan Wangji’s sash. Wei Ying undresses him as meticulously as he always does, but now he smirks and lingers close, wrapping Lan Wangji in his scent.

By the time Wei Ying removes his undershirt, Lan Wangji is having trouble breathing. It is inconceivable that he endured this so many times without breaking.

When Lan Wangji’s torso is bare, Wei Ying looks him over, trailing fingers up his arms. He hums thoughtfully. “Here.” His thumb traces circles above Lan Wangji’s collarbone. “Does this hurt?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. His mouth is too dry to speak. He can only stare into Wei Ying’s silver eyes, wide with feigned sympathy and shining with mischief.

“Good. Better kiss them, though. Just in case.” Wei Ying leans in to brush his lips over the places his fingers touched. Then he pulls back and smiles at what must be visible confusion on Lan Wangji’s face. “Kisses make them heal faster. Didn’t you know?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

Wei Ying moves to Lan Wangji’s other shoulder. Five kisses. One for each finger and the thumb. There is a tingle of pain from the last mark that makes his skin twitch.

“Yes, that one is the darkest,” Wei Ying mumbles. He kisses there again, harder, and pleasure thrums through Lan Wangji’s body, low and hot. Breath escapes from his pinched lips like steam from a boiling kettle.

Wei Ying’s hands have been light on his waist, but now his fingers tighten, the tender skin shivering under his touch. “Better?”

Lan Wangji jerks his head in a nod. Not that it matters. Wei Ying has already moved on from his shoulder to brush kisses along his shoulder to his throat—light, tickling presses that make him shudder. He tilts his head back to let Wei Ying kiss the hollow of his throat. Everywhere Wei Ying’s mouth has touched, the skin rustles in his wake.

“You,” Lan Wangji grunts.

Wei Ying hums a question and continues to Lan Wangji’s other shoulder.

“You also require healing.”

Wei Ying huffs a laugh against his collarbone and peeks up at him. “Indeed I do.”

Wei Ying pulls back, smiling and soft-eyed. He spreads his dressing gown until it nearly falls from his shoulders. “Will Lan-daifu do this one the honor of attending his wounds?”

There are more marks on Wei Ying’s shoulders and chest. One on his right shoulder where teeth sunk deep enough to leave red dents. Mottled fingerprints disappear below the waist of his trousers. Part of Lan Wangji is horrified. The rest of him boils with something much hotter and harder to control.

He steps forward, pressing Wei Ying back against the wardrobe. His hands latch onto Wei Ying’s hips, mindless of the bruises. His lips press against the mark on Wei Ying’s throat.

Wei Ying makes a punched sound and bares his throat. His hips shift restlessly as Lan Wangji’s tongue swipes the bruise. His fingers dip under Lan Wangji’s waistband and curl, his nails dragging across the skin.

Lan Wangji kisses the old wounds, then moves on to making new ones. Wei Ying tugs at his hips, but Lan Wangji resists, for now, taking his time to taste Wei Ying’s skin, to feel the soft whines humming under his lips.

“Please, er-gege,” Wei Ying whispers. He grips the hand Lan Wangji clamped to his hip and moves it to his belly, then guides it inside his trousers.

Lan Wangji’s mouth slackens as his fingers slide through the slick, the rich scent making his mouth water. Wei Ying’s chest heaves as he uses Lan Wangji’s fingers to stroke himself, circling their fingers on that rigid spot.

Lan Wangji pushes his forehead against Wei Ying’s temple and lets Wei Ying teach him. He listens to Wei Ying’s breath change as the tempo increases, feels how he shudders and rolls his hips, fighting for more even as he moves Lan Wangji’s hand slowly.

Wei Ying groans and rocks forward, shoving Lan Wangji’s hand down. Obediently, Lan Wangji slips two fingers inside, letting Wei Ying control the depth. The walls clutch at him almost as tight as Wei Ying’s fingers around his wrist.

His knuckles brush the soaked fabric of Wei Ying’s trousers. He had not expected so much slick. The books he’d studied had mentioned the importance of such a response, but they had been short on details. Wei Ying had blushed about the state of the bed this morning and promised to change the linens. Lan Wangji had tried to express how very much he did not mind, but he is poor at effusiveness. He doesn’t know how to say that he loves the messiness of this act, loves Wei Ying’s scent drenching his sheets, his skin. And his tongue.

The memory of licking inside Wei Ying last night makes him surge and close his teeth on Wei Ying’s neck, makes his fingers thrust deeper.

Wei Ying shudders and rocks into him, tries to spread his thighs, but they are trapped inside his trousers.

“Is it good?” Lan Wangji pants, his lips brushing the new mark he has just made.

“So good,” Wei Ying moans. “You don’t know what you do to me, er-gege.”

Lan Wangji yanks his hand back and shoves Wei Ying’s pants down. Laughing, Wei Ying kicks them off and lets the robe drop from his arms. Then Wei Ying’s hands go to Lan Wangji’s waistband.

“Come on,” Wei Ying mutters, more like he’s speaking to the pants than to Lan Wangji. “Come on, off.”

Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying’s face as he pushes the pants down. His cheeks are flaming, his lips parted and red even though—Lan Wangji realizes—they haven’t kissed yet today. That is something that must be remedied immediately.

Wei Ying moans as Lan Wangji presses him against the wardrobe and kisses him, tongue slipping inside as his fingers thrust back into the glorious heat. Wei Ying clings to him, one leg curling around him, his heel digging into the back of Lan Wangji’s thigh.

The sound around Lan Wangji’s fingers is wet and almost hungry. The sound of their mouths meeting is much the same. Wei Ying sucks on his tongue and tugs at his lower lip with sharp teeth.

Lan Wangji ruts against Wei Ying’s hip, his cock dragging more wetness across Wei Ying’s skin. So messy. So wonderful. He pushes the heel of his hand against Wei Ying’s clit, and Wei Ying grunts, his walls squeezing Lan Wangji’s fingers. Soft and slow at first, Lan Wangji tells himself, straining to hold the thought while his animal body is in control. Then harder, faster. No matter how successful their first attempts had seemed, he still has room for improvement.

The rapid flutters, he has already learned, are a sign that Wei Ying is close. When they begin, Wei Ying takes control again, fucking himself with Lan Wangji’s fingers in short, harsh thrusts. Wei Ying cries out, knocking his head back against the wardrobe, and grips Lan Wangji’s wrist tight, stroking slowly now in a soothing rhythm.

Wei Ying’s eyes are closed, his mouth open and soft. Lan Wangji watches him until Wei Ying’s hand falls away and frees him.

Lan Wangji wipes his drenched hand on his trousers as Wei Ying’s eyes flutter open. Wei Ying grins, broken and beautiful. “Er-gege.” He pulls Lan Wangji against him and wraps a hand around his cock.

For a few trembling heartbeats, Lan Wangji endures it. He considers covering Wei Ying’s hand with his own and guiding him into a tighter grip, a faster rhythm.

Instead, he moves Wei Ying’s hand away. He grips the backs of Wei Ying’s thighs and lifts him, pressing close and spreading him wide. Wei Ying meeps in surprise and clutches Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

Lan Wangji’s cock slides through the slick, but he doesn’t push inside yet. “Wei Ying?”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying gasps. His eyes are wide as he wraps his legs around Lan Wangji’s waist. “So strong, gege.”

“Wei Ying is not heavy.” He holds Wei Ying with one arm and guides his cock inside.

Wei Ying takes him easily, but his groan does not sound entirely pleased. Lan Wangji pauses there, gritting his teeth. “If it is too much . . .”

Wei Ying’s face crinkles in a grin. “You worry too much, gege. I’m not so fragile.” He watches, rabbit teeth biting into his lower lip, as Lan Wangji slowly withdraws and even more slowly pushes back in.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying sighs. “Yeah, that’s good. You feel so big like this.”

Lan Wangji kisses him to keep his mouth busy. He isn’t sure that he’s prepared to hear Wei Ying expound upon the process.

But Wei Ying is not easy to thwart. And Lan Wangji is too short on air to kiss him well. “Not that you didn’t feel big the other times,” Wei Ying says. “I like it, though.” His walls clench like he wants to emphasize his statement. “And I’ve thought about this so many times.”

Wei Ying’s words tumble out easily, only shaking a little when Lan Wangji rocks inside. Lan Wangji is beginning to wonder if he’s doing something wrong for Wei Ying to be so articulate.

“Almost every time I dressed you—and every time I undressed you,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji rolls his hips, and Wei Ying pauses to moan. “Every time, I’d think about you fucking me against this wardrobe.”

Lan Wangji hisses and smacks his hand against the wardrobe. The pain pulls him back a bit, but his hips still move faster, fighting his control.

Wei Ying chuckles and relaxes into Lan Wangji’s hold, tilting his head back to study him. “Did you ever think about it, er-gongzi?”

“Yes.” He spits the word, almost vicious. Of course he had. All those mornings and nights with Wei Ying’s hands moving over him, his bright silver eyes following the path of his hands. The way Wei Ying’s scent had warmed, calling to him, or so it had seemed. Knowing, the entire time, that Wei Ying had signed himself into Lan Wangji’s service for just that reason—that Wei Ying probably expected him to ask for it.  

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t ask for that, not if Wei Ying only granted it because of a contract, because Wei Ying saw it as his duty. Even now, part of Lan Wangji’s mind watches what he’s doing with shame. Shame that he is too weak to resist, to honor Wei Ying as he deserves to be honored.

But this is not a mere business arrangement. Certainly not for Lan Wangji, who has fallen in love so swiftly, so completely, that his mind reels. Wei Ying has inserted himself there so easily, his dazzling smile at the beginning and end of Lan Wangji’s every thought. And unless he is deluding himself, it is not only a contract for Wei Ying either.

“Is it as good as you thought it would be?” Wei Ying asks. His tone is teasing, but his teeth worry his lip as they do when he is uncertain.

“Better,” Lan Wangji gasps. “Wei Ying is perfect.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying’s lips stay rounded on the word, the word that slipped from his mouth as if by accident. His eyes are as round as his mouth and locked on Lan Wangji’s. “Oh,” Wei Ying says again, his mouth spreading in a bright smile. His fingers dig into Lan Wangji’s shoulders, the bruises twinging delightfully.

Lan Wangji kisses him, slow and deep, his hips slowing and circling. “Perfect,” he sighs against Wei Ying’s mouth. “Could not have imagined this.”

Wei Ying shudders and grips him tighter. “Ah. You are . . .” Lan Wangji pushes harder, rocking him up the wardrobe. His pelvis grinds against Wei Ying’s clit. “Fuck. You are good at this. Good at talking, too.”

“Not as good as Wei Ying.” He works his free arm behind Wei Ying’s lower back, pulling Wei Ying tight against him, slides the other to cup his ass, sinking his fingers deep.

Wei Ying whispers a plaintive oh fuck, and then stops talking.

Lan Wangji needs to come. His ears burn with it. His thighs tremble with it. He focuses on Wei Ying’s reactions, instead. He wants Wei Ying to come again first, and he employs everything he’s learned so far in that effort.

For all his efforts, however, what pushes Wei Ying over the edge seems to be Lan Wangji gasping Wei Ying against his ear. That sends a ripple all through Wei Ying, his thighs squeezing Lan Wangji’s waist, his fingers clawing at Lan Wangji’s back. The sound he makes is devastating, and Lan Wangji follows him gratefully. The wardrobe rocks ominously, but he slaps a hand up to steady it and groans into Wei Ying’s shoulder.

For a while, he knows only Wei Ying’s heart pounding against his chest, the rush in his head like water tumbling over rocks. Wei Ying brings him back, twining fingers through his hair, kissing the new tender places on his shoulder.

“Lan er-gongzi.”

Lan Wangji pulls back and blinks the blurriness from his eyes.

Wei Ying grins, gorgeously tousled. “Hanguang Jun, you are so much fun.”

Lan Wangji blinks again, in confusion this time. No one has ever told him that he was fun. Not even Xiongzhang.

Wei Ying giggles and hugs him, arms and legs squeezing tight. “So much fun.” Wei Ying hangs there, wrapped around him, and lets Lan Wangji bear his weight. He doesn’t mind. Wei Ying is no burden, even now that Lan Wangji’s legs feel like boiled noodles.

Lan Wangji lifts Wei Ying and slides out. Slick and spend coat their thighs. So messy. So wonderful.

He settles Wei Ying more firmly in one arm and uses the other to tug up his pants. Then he moves away from the wardrobe.

“Where are we going?” Wei Ying asks, his head lolling on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Bath.” The tub is full, but the water needs warming. Wei Ying likes his baths hot.

Once the charm has sent the water steaming, Lan Wangji lowers Wei Ying into the tub. Wei Ying moans as he lies back and stretches his arms over his head. “Good idea. You should join me.”

Yes, Lan Wangji thinks, greedy even now for more. “In a moment,” is what he says. He fills the pitcher and pulls Wei Ying up to wet his hair. Wei Ying says nothing while Lan Wangji washes his hair, but his lips press together in a suppressed smirk, and his cheeks redden like he’s embarrassed. Or that could be the water heating his skin. Eager though he is, Lan Wangji doesn’t intend to step into that water until some of the heat has dissipated.

Wei Ying lets Lan Wangji scrub him from neck to toes, giggling and preening. He will be easy to spoil, Lan Wangji thinks, delighted at the prospect.

When Lan Wangji sets down the brush, Wei Ying leans over the tub and pouts. “Now will you get in with me? The water is cooler, I promise.”

Lan Wangji nods and removes his boots and trousers. Wei Ying scoots to the end of the tub and bunches up his long legs to make room. As soon as Lan Wangji is settled, Wei Ying lies back between his legs. “I’ll wash you in a minute. I need to relax first.” Wei Ying sighs and stretches out a leg, flexing his foot and wiggling his toes. Even his toes are beautiful. It’s almost unfair.

Lan Wangji hums his agreement. Sweat already beads on his forehead, but he wraps an arm around Wei Ying anyway, pulling Wei Ying’s flushed body tighter against his chest.

Wei Ying sighs, heavy and happy. They cook in silence for a few moments. Then Wei Ying laughs. He tilts his head to grin at him. “Remember the first time I offered to give you a bath? I thought you were going to murder me! Or fire me, at least. Now look at us.”

Lan Wangji feels his ears getting even hotter. “I apologize.”

“It’s okay.” Wei Ying pulls Lan Wangji’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “I was scared, too.”

Lan Wangji’s heart sinks to the bottom of the tub. “Of me?”

“No! Well, maybe a little bit. Just at first! Mostly, I was scared of how much I wanted you to ravish me.”

“Oh. I was scared as well.”

“Of how much you wanted to ravish me?”

Lan Wangji swallows. He has just ravished Wei Ying. It should not be so difficult to admit it. “Yes.”

“Ha!” This pleases Wei Ying so much that he kicks his feet, sending sprinkles over the edge of the tub. “Well, now you may ravish me as often as you like. Ravishing is not only allowed, but encouraged.” He slaps the water. “No, it is demanded.”

Lan Wangji smirks and kisses the back of Wei Ying’s wet head. “I will do my best.”