Work Text:
Lan Wangji does not know if he should curse his brother or thank him.
He had been prepared for a straightforward night hunt: go to Caiyi Town’s Biling lake with Brother and some of the other Lan disciples, investigate and exorcise the water ghosts the villagers had reported, and ideally return to Cloud Recesses within the day — provided that the problem does not run deeper than mere water ghosts, which are unusual for the area.
Instead, Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin had intercepted him and Brother on their way, and convinced Brother to let not only them, but also the Wen siblings, come along for practice. Additionally, they are to spend the night in Caiyi Town before they assess the water ghost infestation at the lake.
Caiyi Town is not far from Cloud Recesses, which makes the overnight stay unnecessary in Lan Wangji’s eyes. Alas, Brother wants everybody well-rested to make the most of the learning experience, and he says it is important for the big sects to support the local businesses whenever possible. Lan Wangji has to admit that those are valid arguments.
It does not explain why Wei Ying is going to share a room with Lan Wangji rather than Jiang Wanyin. But Wei Ying had, uncharacteristically, not protested at Brother’s assignment, and so Lan Wangji resigned himself to his fate.
He watches Wei Ying climb the stairs behind the innkeeper, already engaging the man with some easy chatter, and takes a grounding breath before he follows them.
Brother means well, but he does not know just how dangerous Wei Ying is to Lan Wangji’s self-restraint.
The innkeeper is in urgent need of business. He readily admits that his establishment has not seen guests in a while, mostly due to the disappearing fishermen around the lake. It shows: the room is dusty, and Wei Ying sneezes when they enter. Lan Wangji resolves to open a window and get some air circulating.
The rest of their party are waiting for the innkeeper to settle them in as well. All too soon, Lan Wangji finds himself alone with Wei Ying in their shared quarters.
Thankfully, the room is rather spacious, if sparsely furnished. There is a small desk, long but narrow, and two beds on opposite sides of it. Candle holders are placed strategically throughout the room.
Lan Wangji realises that he is staring at the bed in front of him. He blinks and walks over to sit behind the desk instead, back to the wall and legs folded beneath him. Wei Ying follows him. He is clearly in a talking mood — attempting to engage Lan Wangji in a conversation about their upcoming night hunt. However, Lan Wangji is determined to use this time for meditation, and not for providing Wei Ying’s entertainment, and so he only gives two curt responses and then shuts his eyes.
“Lan Zhan,” he hears in a put-out voice that sounds entirely too close. He does not react.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying repeats with an almost-whine. A few moments later, Lan Wangji hears him flop down on one of the beds with a huff — the bed closest to the desk Lan Wangji is sitting behind. The one he had been staring at earlier.
It proves difficult to empty his mind and to focus solely on the spiritual energy flowing through his body, with Wei Ying so very close-by. Finding focus had already been challenging in the library at Cloud Recesses, with Wei Ying at a suitable distance; Lan Wangji finds that the distraction is even worse when his eyes are closed and he cannot see what Wei Ying might be up to. He knows too well that a quiet Wei Ying is often a precursor of trouble.
Wei Ying lets out a couple of exaggerated sighs, making sure Lan Wangji hears that he is very bored indeed. They send a shiver down Lan Wangji’s spine, but he is confident that his face remains passive.
Eventually, he hears Wei Ying get up and grab his sword. “I’m not waiting around for the night hunt doing nothing,” he announces. “I still haven’t seen all of Caiyi Town. Maybe they sell some interesting talismans on the market, don’t you think, Lan Zhan?” He pauses expectantly.
When Lan Wangji does not acknowledge him, Wei Ying sighs. “Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning might want to go,” he says. His tone turns a bit petulant. “Well then, have fun meditating, Lan Zhan. See if you turn to stone. I won’t help you!”
He leaves with an abundance of unnecessary noise.
Lan Wangji lets out a breath he had not realised he was holding. He consciously relaxes his shoulders.
Wei Ying is infuriating. He is disobedient; he is shameless; he talks back to Uncle, and he does not accept due punishment graciously. He is chaotic and undisciplined, and his whole being seems to beg for Lan Wangji’s attention, but the worst part, by far, is this: Lan Wangji wants to give it to him.
He lays his eyes on Wei Ying and feels himself mellow; feels an urge to allow him his mischief, curious to see where it will lead him next, and what intriguing consequences will arise from it. It is completely irrational, of course, and incompatible with the rules Lan Wangji has always lived by; and therefore Lan Wangji, very consciously, does the opposite, and endeavours to be as strict with regard to Wei Ying and his various misdeeds as he is with barely anyone bar himself.
He wonders, sometimes, if Wei Ying is flirting with him — but even if he is, he does it to make fun of Lan Wangji, and so Lan Wangji forces himself to ignore it as best he can. It is the safest course of action, particularly after he had so humiliatingly lost his composure on their last day spent together in the library pavilion.
Lan Wangji pushes all thoughts of that incident out of his mind and tries to feel relieved that Wei Ying has gone out. He can finally complete his daily cultivation practice in peace.
It really does not bode well that he is so easily distracted by Wei Ying.
A couple of hours later, Wei Ying returns. Lan Wangji looks up from the essay he is writing — there is no reason to postpone working on his regular assignments just because he is on a night hunting trip. Wei Ying sees him look, and his face breaks into a smile. Something flutters in Lan Wangji’s stomach.
“Ah, Lan Zhan! I see that you’ve finished your meditation.”
He joins Lan Wangji at the desk and tips his head to one side as he tries to decipher the words on the page he is working on. Wei Ying must be good at reading upside down, because he scrunches up his nose and says, “‘How to eliminate a ghost that cannot be suppressed?’ That’s so boring. I still need to write that. But I have something much more interesting planned for now!”
Lan Wangji refrains from reminding Wei Ying not to procrastinate on his homework. He has tried before, in the library, and to no avail. Instead, he lowers his gaze back down to his essay.
In his peripheral field of vision, Wei Ying produces several blank sheets of paper and a brush from his qiankun bag and arranges them carelessly on the desk, slightly to the side of Lan Wangji. The desk is narrow but long, so there is space for both of them to work, provided that they do not sit directly across from each other. Still, Lan Wangji misses the safe distance of two separate desks that he had enjoyed in the library pavilion at Cloud Recesses.
He begins to write his next character and finds that the tip of his brush has dried out. When he moves to dip it into his inkwell, another brush unexpectedly joins his own.
“You don’t mind sharing your ink, do you?” Wei Ying asks as he wipes off the surplus ink on the rim of Lan Wangji’s inkwell.
Lan Wangji does, in fact, mind. Mostly, he minds that Wei Ying did not properly ask but just presumed. He glares at Wei Ying.
Wei Ying does not seem to notice. After a moment’s contemplation, he puts his brush to the paper and paints quick strokes with Lan Wangji’s ink. The result is messy, as Wei Ying’s characters usually are, but its shape tells Lan Wangji that he is drawing a talisman. And then, he draws another. And another. They appear to consist of subtly different strokes, but Lan Wangji finds it difficult to recognise even the main character since he is looking at it upside down. He presses his lips together and forces himself to return his focus to his essay.
It is easier said than done. Wei Ying is leaning forward, and several long strands of his hair sway dangerously close to the drying ink of Lan Wangji’s essay. Even more distractingly, whenever Lan Wangji reaches the left edge of the sheet he is writing on, he feels Wei Ying’s breath ghost over his fingers, making his skin prickle.
For a little while, the only sounds in the room are the rustling of paper and the soft wetness of their brush strokes.
The silence does not last long.
“Huh,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, and rests the end of his brush against his slightly parted lips. “Hm. No, that won’t do.” He scratches something out.
Lan Wangji has to re-read the last two lines of his notes. He has written three more sentences in his carefully measured calligraphy when Wei Ying shifts again, shaking his head.
“Can’t use potentially opposite meanings, no, no. Never a good idea.” He crumples up his sheet of paper and sighs, a long, drawn-out sound.
Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. “Work quietly.”
“Aiya, Lan Zhan! You’ve had a lot of quiet before I came back. There’s no need to be so strict. This isn’t Cloud Recesses, you know.”
Lan Wangji is well aware of that. He does not deign to grace it with an answer. Unfortunately, Wei Ying seems to take his comment as an invitation for further conversation. He sets down his brush and leans over to Lan Wangji.
“Wow, your essay is really long already! I don’t think mine will end up being even half as long.”
Against his better judgement, Lan Wangji feels compelled to say, “You like to talk a lot. Put some effort into writing it down.”
“Ah, but the elimination of ghosts is boring, Lan Zhan! I’d much rather work on my talismans. See this one?” He ruffles through the chaotic stack of papers in front of him and places a talisman draft in front of Lan Wangji. Reluctantly, Lan Wangji lets himself take a look.
“It’s a distraction spell! It’s adapted from a fire talisman, and paired with a blow of wind spell. Now, I know what you’re going to say — what Jiang Cheng said, anyway: ‘Pairing a fire talisman with a wind spell, that sounds like a recipe for disaster!’ But don’t worry, Lan Zhan. It’s a very controlled, contained version of a fire talisman. There’s no heat at all, and the fire scatters into the wind, and it barely even looks like fire! It works great for distracting young Jiang disciples from their meditation, but I bet it could also come in handy during an actual fight.” He gives Lan Wangji a winning smile.
Lan Wangji finds himself, once again, grudgingly impressed. He has heard of Wei Ying’s talent with talismans, but as talismans are not a focus of Gusu Lan’s summer lectures, he has not actually seen Wei Ying’s inventions before. Lan Wangji is naturally able to produce all of the standard talismans with appropriate care and skill and imbue them with just the right amount of spiritual energy, but he has rarely had occasion to think of modifying them. After all, the standard talismans he uses are common for a reason, and have already been perfected throughout the centuries by many people smarter than Lan Wangji.
He looks at Wei Ying’s talisman, trying to puzzle out how he modified the usual fire talisman’s components. The characters for heat and focus appear to have been omitted in favour of one that cools, keeping the fire weak and unstable. He is unsure how the distraction effect that Wei Ying has mentioned would be achieved, but he does not doubt that the talisman can do what Wei Ying has claimed.
Wei Ying is still looking at him expectantly, almost earnestly. Lan Wangji feels his ears heat up.
“It is creative,” he allows.
Then, he pointedly goes back to his essay. He will not let himself be drawn into further conversation only for Wei Ying to make fun of him again. He has not forgotten how they parted ways on Wei Ying’s last day in the library pavilion.
“I know you’re impressed,” Wei Ying says. There is a pout in his voice. “I was going to offer a demonstration, but now I won’t.” He goes back to his latest talisman experiment — silently.
Lan Wangji tries not to feel disappointed. It is irrational.
Eventually, Lan Wangji puts down his brush. The essay is finished, and the daylight is starting to dwindle. Wei Ying’s various talisman drafts have migrated to form a half-circle around him, and Wei Ying now appears to be mostly comparing different designs rather than creating new ones.
“It is almost time for dinner,” Lan Wangji says, and rolls up his essay carefully. “We should meet the others downstairs.”
Wei Ying’s face lights up. “Dinner! I’ve been looking forward to this all day. I really can’t take any more of your tasteless, spiceless Gusu Lan rabbit food diet.” He gives an exaggerated shudder as he haphazardly shoves his assorted writing materials back into his qiankun bag.
“I’ll go ahead, I’m starving!” he throws back over his shoulder as he bounds out of the room.
Lan Wangji has just about finished getting his own writing supplies back in order when he notices a piece of paper on the ground that must have escaped while Wei Ying was gathering his notes. He picks it up and uncoils it, smoothing the wrinkles out with his fingers.
It is yet another talisman draft. Lan Wangji recognises the standard protection character inherent to most talismans that shields a place or a person from possession or possession-like influences. It is accompanied by a character that symbolises strength of will. Unexpectedly, though, the characters are modified by their surrounding strokes in a way that unsettles Lan Wangji. He almost suspects that the additional strokes contribute to a modification or a change in meaning of the two central characters. The end result is not wrong, per se, but he is not sure what the intended effect might be. Or what such a talisman might be used for.
Gusu Lan does not place a lot of importance on the art of talisman creation. Lan Wangji is starting to wonder if perhaps that is an oversight.
He carefully places the talisman on Wei Ying’s pillow before he walks out of the room.
Naturally, dinner at the inn with a number of guest disciples is a louder affair than dinner at Cloud Recesses.
Lan Wangji sits with Brother and has his meal in silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Wei Ying laugh rambunctiously with Jiang Wanyin while Wen Qionglin smiles shyly at them and Wen Qing shakes her head at their antics.
Brother gives Lan Wangji a searching look over his bowl of soup that Lan Wangji ignores. He recalls what Brother had said to him when he had questioned Brother’s decision to take Wei Ying and the others with them on this trip.
Brother has always known him too well.
After dinner, Lan Wangji bids his brother goodnight, and returns to the room he shares with Wei Ying. The Lan disciples follow his example, seeing as it is getting close to curfew, but the guest disciples, Wei Ying included, are staying behind.
By now, the sun has set. Lan Wangji lights a few candles on the holders next to the two beds. One by one, he takes off his three outer robes, carefully folding each one and putting it aside. He is irrationally grateful for Wei Ying’s continued absence as he dresses down to a single layer of inner robes.
He should not care about Wei Ying’s eyes on him. He should not want to look at Wei Ying. But the more time he spends around Wei Ying, the harder he finds it to look away. Not only is Wei Ying an excellent swordsman — as Lan Wangji had already found out the night they met — but he asks questions and provides arguments which are smart despite their contrariness, and he is quick with his wits and free with his laughter in a way that Lan Wangji very much is not. Lan Wangji finds himself drawn to Wei Ying’s spirit, and the more he learns of his spirit, the more tantalising, in turn, becomes his physical form.
He meditates for another half an hour to calm his heart, finding comfort in reciting familiar rules in his head. Afterwards, he puts out most of the candles and lies down to sleep.
The full moon is visible beyond the window, bathing the room in low shades of blue that merge with the soft circles of gold around the two candles Lan Wangji has left burning on the holder next to Wei Ying’s bed.
A little light in the room does not usually keep Lan Wangji from sleeping. Tonight, however, the minutes pass, and he remains awake. Tiredness seeps into his bones, but his heart is beating strongly and sleep continues to elude him.
He is acutely aware that Wei Ying has not yet returned. Some stubborn, irrational part of Lan Wangji dislikes the thought of Wei Ying entering his room while he is asleep for some reason he cannot entirely fathom. It should not matter. Lan Wangji’s body is long-accustomed to a very particular circadian rhythm, and his inability to fall asleep now feels like a betrayal.
By the time Wei Ying finally, finally returns, Lan Wangji is extraordinarily irritated. His body and mind are working against him, and Wei Ying comes back late without a care for anything in the world.
“So dark,” he hears Wei Ying mutter as he slides the door open and then shut again.
Lan Wangji’s eyes have already adjusted to the dim lighting. He watches as Wei Ying carefully navigates towards the desk. He can tell exactly when Wei Ying spots him, because he freezes and stares at Lan Wangji as if he sees him for the first time.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, sounding slightly strangled. “You’re in bed already?”
“It is past 9 PM,” Lan Wangji points out. He is suddenly reminded of a different late-night encounter with Wei Ying under the full moon. Back then, Lan Wangji had not yet felt quite so off balance.
“I know,” Wei Ying says and makes a ridiculous face. “But... are you actually going to sleep right now? To sleep?”
Lan Wangji continues to look at him, not a muscle moving in his face.
Wei Ying laughs incredulously. “I thought the curfew was just to keep everyone inside! I can’t possibly sleep this early. I’m not tired at all.”
“We leave early in the morning. Sleep.”
“I absolutely will not, and you can’t make me, Lan Zhan, because this isn’t Cloud Recesses,” Wei Ying says triumphantly, and sits down on his bed to take his shoes off.
Lan Wangji’s irritation abruptly gives way to panic when he considers the very real possibility that Wei Ying might be about to undress. He turns his head away and firmly closes his eyes.
There is nothing to focus on but the noise generated by Wei Ying’s movements. The sound of cloth as he shifts on the bedding. A crinkle of paper, followed by a soft exclamation — Lan Wangji remembers the talisman draft he picked up and left on Wei Ying’s bed before dinner. His heart is beating just slightly too fast to fall asleep.
More shifting of cloth on linen, and a slight groan of wood as Wei Ying gets comfortable on the bed again. The unmistakable sound of a book being opened and pages flipped.
After a little while, a suppressed giggle.
Lan Wangji has not giggled at a book since he was six years old. He is suddenly feeling very hot.
Wei Ying would not dare to bring another one of those books, let alone look at it while Lan Wangji is right there, would he? Was it not enough to humiliate Lan Wangji once?
The suspicious sounds of suppressed delight do not abate.
Lan Wangji takes a very deliberate breath, in and out.
“Wei Ying,” he forces himself to ask, because he has to know. “What is there to laugh about?”
For a brief moment, there is silence, and then Wei Ying bursts out laughing.
Against his will, Lan Wangji turns his head back so he can look over at Wei Ying. Thankfully, he is still wearing more than one layer of robes, having only taken off the outermost one, which Lan Wangji can spot draped over the side of the bed. Wei Ying’s shoulders are shaking with laughter.
“Ah, it’s nothing, Lan Zhan,” he says eventually, and wipes his eyes with the back of his index finger. “I just remembered something funny. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you!”
He proceeds to recount a time he and Jiang Wanyin had gone to the docks at Lotus Pier, where some pretty girls their age had called for them to take a closer look at the pouches and purses they were selling, made from the softest leather. They had made their way to the girls’ stall and admired their goods while the maidens boldly admired the two young masters. Jiang Wanyin had been so flattered by their compliments and flirtations that later, as he was trying to retreat in a casual manner, still exchanging pleasantries with them, he had misjudged the distance to the edge of the pier and ended up falling in, long-sleeved arms flailing madly. Wei Ying had had the best time laughing with the maidens as Jiang Wanyin emerged from the water and heaved himself up onto the pier, dripping and spluttering. “That was during one of the hottest weeks of the last summer, though, so you don’t have to feel too bad for Jiang Cheng!” he finishes, and smiles. “Actually, we were all envious we didn’t get to cool off in the same way.”
Lan Wangji did not feel bad for Jiang Wanyin. He acknowledges the fact that Jiang Wanyin is Wei Ying’s younger sect brother, and the Jiang’s heir, but is otherwise politely indifferent to his existence. There have not been enough interactions for him to form any kind of strong opinion on Jiang Wanyin, and he does not feel the need to seek them out.
He does, however, dislike the easy way Wei Ying speaks of laughing and flirting with the maidens, and it only adds to his furious embarrassment at himself for his earlier assumptions. Wei Ying’s laughter had not even been related to his book. At least he cannot read the unsavoury thoughts in Lan Wangji’s head.
“Ridiculous,” he snaps. He turns his head away from Wei Ying as far as he can while still lying on his back and resolutely closes his eyes again. His pulse is loud in his ears.
Wei Ying chuckles to himself some more, but silence eventually descends upon the room again. When the next few minutes pass without further disturbance, the tension gradually leaves Lan Wangji’s body. A certain melancholy remains in its stead.
From time to time he still hears the rustle of pages being turned, and Wei Ying’s slow, measured breathing becomes almost soothing. Lan Wangji’s heartbeat finally slows to a rate that is appropriate for the late hour, and he drifts off into sleep.
The next morning, Lan Wangji wakes at 5 AM as usual. He does not, however, feel as rested as usual. He is missing several hours of sleep, and his dreams had been uncomfortably vivid. Wei Ying’s easy, carefree laughter is still ringing in his ears as he looks over to the other bed.
Across the room, Wei Ying is fast asleep, unaffected by the diffuse light of dawn entering through the windows.
Lan Wangji gets up as quietly as he can manage, gathers his clothes and dresses quickly and efficiently while trying to remain out of the line of sight of the other bed. When he turns to check on Wei Ying again, he is relieved to find that he has not moved at all. With the reassuring weight of a complete set of robes on his shoulders, Lan Wangji finishes his preparations for the day. Only then does he step over to Wei Ying’s bed.
“Wei Ying,” he says, looking down at his sleeping face.
Wei Ying’s features are relaxed, and none of the mischief often seen there is visible in this moment. His mouth is soft with only the merest hint of the easy smiles it forms when he is awake. He does not react except for a small twitch of his brows.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats, a little louder. He swallows, then puts one hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, shaking him perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary. “Get up.”
“Ngh. Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks drowsily, his voice thick from sleep. Lan Wangji lets go of his shoulder like it burns him, and takes a step back.
“Breakfast is in half an hour. Afterwards, we will go directly to Biling lake,” Lan Wangji informs him. In response, Wei Ying scrunches up his face and pulls his blanket above his head.
Lan Wangji should probably stay to ensure that Wei Ying gets up on time. He ascertains that he has all of his belongings stowed away, then he goes to sit behind the desk to read up on some notes for Uncle’s next class.
He tries not to pay attention to the pitiful groans and unhappy moans coming from under Wei Ying’s blanket. After a few minutes, Wei Ying manages to sit up, thankfully facing the other way. His hair is messy, falling over one shoulder, and Lan Wangji feels his gaze drawn to the way his thin white Gusu Lan-issued undershirt clings to his back with sweat. Heat curls deep in his belly, and he looks away quickly. Wei Ying in one layer of robes is at least two layers too few.
When Wei Ying finally gets to his feet and bends down to retrieve a robe that had slipped to the ground, it is abruptly too much. Lan Wangji grips his sword close and gets to his feet.
“I will see you at breakfast. Do not be late,” he says in Wei Ying’s direction. He grabs the scroll he was reading and leaves without another glance back.
When the door slides shut behind him, his body is still thrumming with restless energy, but at least he can breathe deeply again. Actual fresh air should serve to clear his head even more.
Lan Wangji contents himself with the knowledge that the hardest part of this trip is already over. Dealing with the water ghosts at Biling lake will be easy by comparison.