Chapter Text
Lan Xichen isn’t entirely sure how long he has been in seclusion. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became… Years? Somewhere along the line, as far as he’s concerned, time ceased to be, and each passing moment simply bleeds into the next. Maybe it’s only been a few weeks; he really doesn’t know anymore. Truly, it is a miserable existence – but not one he feels undeserving of. If no one else will punish him, then he must do so himself. By his own instructions, he has no interaction with the outside world aside from the disciple who brings his meals and letters. ...And, of course, Wangji who often kneels outside of the Hanshi for hours – sometimes accompanied by Wei Wuxian. Lan Xichen wants to let him in, but he simply can’t face him – any of them – knowing how many have suffered because of how blind he had been. How can he protect those he loves, when the person he trusted most deceived him so easily? How can he protect them from himself?
He casts a weary glance at the pile of letters stacked on the table beside his qin that is covered in a thin layer of dust. He can hardly stand to look at it, much less play it. He might have stored it away someplace where he would not have to see it, if he could so much as touch it. Rolling his eyes in disgust, he picks up the letters and one by one drops them into the hearth. Unsurprisingly, every single one is from the various matchmakers that his uncle hired to try to find him a bride. Lan Qiren ignored his decision to step down from his position as sect leader, as well his refusal to accept correspondences. Even if he never leaves seclusion, which has been his intention from the beginning, Lan Qiren and the other elders are obsessed with having him married for the sole purpose of producing a blood heir. Lan Xichen isn’t sure which is worse: that they all seem perfectly content with using some poor woman like breeding stock, or how many hopeful brides also appear to be fine with it – judging by the absurd amount of proposals that appear alongside his breakfast each morning. What happened to the Lan sect’s so called morals, and the supposed importance they place on love matches?
He pauses, before tossing the last envelope into the hearth. This one is different, made of high quality parchment that is dyed pale violet, and closed with a wax seal bearing the crest of Yunmeng Jiang. It could be important, he thinks, frowning as he tears it open. Lan Qiren gave up trying to forward official business to him some time ago, after he refused to reply to any of it; perhaps the letter was delivered by mistake.
... Or not.
Lan Xichen groans when he recognizes the signature of one of the many matchmakers at the bottom of the letter. Once again he stops himself from committing it into the fire like the others before it when the name of the potential ‘bride’ catches his eye. Definitely a mistake, he decides and immediately confirms when he checks the envelope and sees that the letter was addressed to a female Lan disciple. The messenger probably didn’t even look and threw it in with the rest of the lot. He can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as he imagines the sheer audacity it would take to purposely send such a thing to him on behalf of sect leader Jiang. At least, he tells himself with some amusement, he obviously isn’t the only one being tormented by the ‘necessity’ of marriage. Hadn’t he heard a rumor ages ago that Jiang Wanyin was blacklisted by the matchmakers, though? ...And nearly all female cultivators?
Curiosity gets the better of him, and he reads over the list of traits that sect leader Jiang requires in a partner: ‘naturally beautiful, graceful and obedient, hard-working and thrifty, coming from a respected family, cultivation level not too high, personality not too strong, not too talkative, voice not too loud, and must treat Jin Ling nicely.’ Arguably, Lan Xichen could be considered a fit for most of the items on the ridiculous list (Did Jiang Wanyin actually write that nonsense?) – aside from being obedient and a weak cultivator. Well, maybe. He doubts he can wield Shouyue any more than he could play the qin or Liebing. ...Meaning most of his cultivation is completely useless now. His eyes dart to where the sword is mounted on the wall above a bookcase. Sometimes, he thinks he can see blood dripping out of the scabbard, down the wall behind it – A-Yao’s blood, and – breathe. Look away. Again, he hesitates instead of dropping the offending purple parchment into the hearth. He does, however, let go of the envelope that had the name of the intended recipient written on it.
In a completely uncharacteristic fit of spite and utter boredom, he quickly scrawls a note to Lan Qiren asking him to arrange a meeting for them – that finally someone has caught his eye and he is interested in courting them. He sighs as he attaches the note to the matchmaker’s letter. If nothing else, Lan Xichen desperately hopes his uncle will take the hint and stop bothering him about marriage. ...Assuming he doesn’t simply fall over dead when he sees who his prospective partner is. Admittedly, Lan Xichen is a bit disappointed that he will not be present to witness Lan Qiren spit blood when he reads the absolute stupidity that is the first, and only correspondence he has sent since entering seclusion. It isn’t that he wishes his shufu ill, but things have never been the same between them since he had been forced to watch Wangji’s punishment after Wei Wuxian’s death. Lost and heartbroken, Wangji had not deserved to endure such suffering. He only tried to do the right thing, to protect what he loved most. What truly haunts Lan Xichen, though, was learning exactly how cold and merciless Lan Qiren is capable of being. Yet, he knows his uncle has a good heart. Still, he tried to convince himself that he had his reasons, that Wangji had gone too far, but he never really agreed and was powerless to stop it. Useless. A coward – even then. Wangji deserved better, Wei Wuxian deserved better – they all –
Lan Xichen shakes his head, as if the motion will clear away his troubled thoughts. Absently, he stares at the pile of ash in the hearth. Today seems like a good day, at least. He is alone with his own demons, rather than accompanied by the ghosts of Jin Guangyao, Chifeng-Zun, or even sometimes his mother. ...Not their literal ghosts of course, but after having only himself to talk to for so long, sometimes Lan Xichen can swear he hears their voices in the silence of the Hanshi – whispering reminders of his failures in his ears. Perhaps the solitude is only serving to drive him mad in the end. It’s fitting, he supposes. After all, death would be far too kind of a fate for him, with what his actions wrought.
Jiang Cheng nearly passes out as he gasps for breath. There’s nothing quite as awful as accidentally inhaling steaming hot tea and choking on it with all the dignity of a Lan after half a sip of emperor’s smile. He cringes as he coughs, wondering exactly why he had to think of that particular metaphor.
“I-Is something wrong with your tea, sect leader?” A terrified looking kitchen maid asks, from a safe distance well on the other side of the dining hall.
He shakes his head and waves her away, turning back to the letter laid out on the table before him as he finally remembers how to breathe. He tries not to notice as the young maid bolts through the door like a startled rabbit, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to escape. It’s not like he would ever harm any of them. He’s trying to do better, really, but his temper is legendary for good reason. Still, it hurts that most of the residents of Lotus Pier seem to fear him as much as they respect and admire him. The letter, though… It has to be a mistake, surely meant for one of the female disciples. No, it’s definitely addressed to him, and he knows Lan Qiren’s handwriting and signature well enough to be certain that he actually wrote it. Alright, an elaborate prank, then. Yet, he has never known the old man to have a sense of humor, and even if he did… No. Absolutely not. He would never pull something like this, no matter how desperate he probably is to drag Zewu-Jun out of seclusion. Like the masochist he is, Jiang Cheng reads the letter again just to be sure he isn’t hallucinating. Maybe there is something wrong with the tea.
Sect Leader Jiang,
I am writing on behalf of sect leader Lan in regards to the correspondence we received from your matchmaker. Personally, I would advise against this match given both of our sects’ lack of a blood heir, and ask you that keep that in mind. However, my nephew has requested to begin a courtship with you. If there is the smallest chance that it could coax him out of seclusion, then I must allow it. He has already expressed his wishes to relinquish his responsibilities as sect leader before entering seclusion. While I have no desire to see that come to pass, I fear his mind is made up. His position should not serve as an obstacle to your courtship in that case.
I have arranged for you to meet with Lan Xichen in two weeks, at noon on the day of the spring solstice. I must ask you to visit us here in the Cloud Recesses, considering the circumstances. If the timing is inconvenient, please provide me with a more appropriate date in your response.
Respectfully, Lan Qiren
Jiang Cheng is charging across the courtyard before he even realizes he left the dining hall, with the letter unceremoniously rumpled in his tightly clenched fist. “WEI! WU! XIAN!” He shouts, stomping across a nearby dock to where the troublemaker in question is sitting with his feet dangling in the water and his husband perched like a bird on the edge of the dock beside him.
It’s taken heaps of patience, far too many awkward conversations, and copious amounts of alcohol, but little by little they’ve been picking up the pieces and starting over. Jiang Cheng may never be able to understand Lan Wangji properly, but at least their relationship is much less antagonistic than it once was. They even all mostly tolerate each other, and some days he and Wei Wuxian can have entire conversations without him wanting to maim everyone in the vicinity with extreme prejudice. Baby steps, he reminds himself, thinking of how the pair of them have been assisting with training the Yunmeng disciples and taking some of the older ones on night hunts to help lighten his load keeping the sect afloat. He hates to admit it but he definitely owes them, even though he knows it’s just Wei Wuxian attempting to make amends. But, they’re trying – all three of them.
“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, looking up at him. “Oh, he’s mad. Really mad. Look how red his face is,” he comments, winking at Lan Wangji.
“What did you do?” Lan Wangji looks like he doesn’t actually want to know, and in spite of himself, Jiang Cheng finds that he is more than sympathetic with the second jade.
“You little – Ugh!” Jiang Cheng shoves the letter in his brother’s face and barely reins in the urge to kick him into the water. “I know you’re behind this somehow. It has to be you! The matchmaker was your stupid idea, and you were the one who sent out those letters! No one else is this fucking shameless. Explain! Now!”
If he weren’t so furious, Jiang Cheng might laugh at the way Wei Wuxian’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he reads Lan Qiren’s letter. Or, Mo Xuanyu’s eyes, he supposes. He still can’t quite get used to Wei Wuxian wearing someone else’s skin. He tries, and fails, not to think of how that must be for his husband. No. Don’t think of that – anything but that.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian wheezes, trying not to fall into hysterics – or the lake – as he scrambles to his feet. “Is this real?”
For the first time since he’s met him, Jiang Cheng sees the slightest shift in Lan Wangji’s usually unreadable face as he skims over the now severely crumpled letter. “Mn. Shufu wrote this.”
Wei Wuxian doubles over howling with laughter. “Lan Qiren has been drowning Zewu-Jun in marriage proposals, but he never answers any of them. Some poor overworked messenger probably just threw that one in the pile without bothering to look at it, and it got sent to the wrong person,” He says barely stopping to take a breath as he speaks entirely too excitedly. “I think there was one supposed to go to some girl cultivator in Gusu.”
Lan Wangji flattens the letter and neatly folds it before offering it back to Jiang Cheng. “Will you go?” He asks.
He must be getting a little better at reading Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng thinks, because for a fleeting moment he sees a flash of something in his pale amber eyes that looks terrifyingly close to desperation. “What?!” Jiang Cheng sputters, eyes wide. “Why would I…? This has to be a mistake.”
“Can’t be,” Lan Wangji argues. “Shufu would never send this or spare a single moment to consider it if my brother had not truly asked it of him. Nor would Xichen have made such a request were it insincere, though it is beyond me what he sees in you.”
This, Jiang Cheng is certain, is the most he has ever heard Lan Wangji speak; he can’t help but stare open-mouthed at him, vacantly wondering if he should be insulted by his opinion of Lan Xichen’s supposed feelings for him. That doesn’t bear thinking about either. He and Lan Xichen barely know each other. Wherever did all of this come from?
“Can you imagine the old man writing that? Is he even still alive or did he drop dead from a qi deviation?” Wei Wuxian stifles another bout of laughter. “You’d better go, or else his noble sacrifice will be in vain.”
“But I am not like y – I’m not a cut-sleeve!” Jiang Cheng hisses in irritation, and briefly considers shoving Wei Wuxian into the lake again – anything to shut him up.
“If Zewu-Jun did request this, it would be the first thing anybody has heard from him since he went into seclusion,” Wei Wuxian replies in a more serious tone. “He hasn’t spoken or written to anyone, not even Lan Zhan. He doesn’t leave the Hanshi at all. We wouldn’t even know he’s still alive if he didn’t touch the food that’s delivered to him. Though, from what I’ve heard he might as well not be. Maybe it’s actually one of the rabbits or a rat picking at it, or –”
“Please go to Gusu,” Lan Wangji says to Jiang Cheng, interrupting his husband and shooting him an icy glare that could probably strike anyone else dead.
“He’s really gone on like that for three years?” Jiang Cheng asks incredulously. “Speaking to literally no one until this?”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji nods. “Please,” he repeats. His expression is neutral as always, and the tone of his voice betrays nothing, but he has never actually asked anything of him before. They’ve barely even spoken to one another like this. The enormity of it is not lost on Jiang Cheng who knows it’s basically the equivalent of him groveling at his feet and begging. He can’t blame him in the end; he just wants his brother back. It’s a feeling Jiang Cheng knows well, he realizes with a pang of guilt, though the sentiment is quite different in his case.
“Fine,” He relents with a defeated sort of sigh. “I’ll go, but I will not be courting Zewu-Jun.”
“We’ll come with you! We should go back to Gusu before they send the juniors to look for us,” Wei Wuxian replies gleefully. “And why not? Zewu-Jun is very good-looking, after all. You should try it. What's the worst that could happen, except that you might like it? Besides, if I know you, you’re probably still a vir – ” He lets out a sound a bit like a mouse being trodden on as Jiang Cheng's patience finally snaps and he kicks him hard in the gut, sending him flying backwards off the dock and into the water.