Chapter Text
Part I.
Wei Wuxian, like every other person living in the dazzling era of technology and the modern age, knows that there's a hidden world tucked between society. It reeks of magic, wonder, horror, and everything in between, hidden in the shadows unless one dares to look. If one chooses not to see, they will never find a single hint that something different is amiss. As someone enamored with smartphones and laptops, Wei Wuxian never thought he would stumble upon the mystical.
Until one day, his landlord couldn't see him.
Okay, it is his fault he's behind on rent and got his things thrown out to the busy street below, but could he be truly blamed when almost no one at the coffee shop can see him? It's jarring for him to suddenly be walking straight through people! Like he's a ghost! Or a hologram.
He nearly broke down behind the counter at the fact that no one could perceive his existence when one girl with shiny pink sparkles in her glimmering wings took one look at him and asked, "One caramel delight to go?"
"You can see me?"
She didn't seem distraught at the rotund man sticking his entire arm through her stomach. "Of course," she confirmed, her glossy pale butterfly wings fluttering slightly. Glitter, Wei Wuxian swore, was landing on the floor, staining the tiles permanently. "You're close to metamorphosing," she noted with a keen eye. "It's why people no longer perceive you."
"How do I live like this?" He swallowed down gulps of panic, his mind buzzing. Metamorphosing? But he's never got a touch of the mythical, a touch of magic. He's ordinary. An orphan with dead parents he can't remember and one dwindling checking account at the bank. He's been gleefully lying flat for the first half of his twenties, not that he had a choice in between saving and spending.
"My drink," she insisted first, passing over the correct change.
He had to force himself to pull away to make the drink. For the first time all week, he felt hope. There were others out there like him, and if they could survive and live like this girl, then so could he. He held her drink out, not quite giving it to her. "Can you help me? Or know someone who could?"
She bit her lips and then tugged out her phone, ignoring the impatient foreigner shouting at the barista next to him. "There's an eccentric but rich Chinese vampire with the European variant of vampirism. He owns a hotel where many of us would sometimes go for sanctuary. His only rules are no excessive noise and you don't be a dick."
"Chinese vampire with European variant?" He echoed, bewildered.
"The sexy kind with blood drinking," she explained, tapping her foot and making even more glitter fall from her wings. "Not the gross kind where he's a rotting corpse and has to kill people for their qi. He lucked out."
"Am I going to turn into something like that?" His words came out strangled.
She eyed his mouth critically. "Doubtful. You don't have fangs coming out." She grabbed her receipt and a pen, scribbling something on the back. "This is the address. I wish I could talk more, but I have to attend a healer’s conference."
That was two days ago. Now is exactly twelve hours after Wei Wuxian has spent two hours digging up what he could carry from his meager belongings. The rest have all been abandoned by the road, where his landlord left them. His two suitcases clatter along the sidewalk in the rich area of Lanling, knowing that he has to trust the word of a stranger that there is a safe place for someone like him to stay.
He wishes, not for the first time, that he got her name and number before she left. At very least, he would know someone different like him out there.
When he finally reaches the address according to his smartphone, he has to scan the building, or rather, the majestic skyscraper, to double-check that it is indeed a hotel. The inscription in the front by the fountain is tastefully labeled in gold as Koi Tower Hotel, and there's a hanging sign near the entrance swinging the blackened words of NO VACANCY. It's not anything Wei Wuxian imagines to be the home of a vampire. He expected something more European, like a dark cliché castle on a cliff with stormy clouds overhead and not a single ray of sun to be found. Not something that could be passed off as a rich and idle man's tourist-catering hotel that can rival Four Seasons.
As he walks in and stares at the gold inlays in the stone walkway of the hotel's lobby, Wei Wuxian has never felt so damn aware of his ripped black jeans and the random t-shirt bedazzled with a random no-name band that was giving out free shirts at their one and only performance in a shitty bar in a hole. He feels like a dirty speck of dirt in a carefully curated golden paradise.
There's no one at the front desk. However, there is a wooden sign that tells him to ring the bell for assistance.
So he does with slight hesitation.
A man suddenly appears out of thin air, so beautiful and stoic that Wei Wuxian loses his entire train of thought. With a white headband tied around his forehead, he's dressed in white robes with cloud motifs, resembling a man living in the era of Ancient China when hanfu robes dominated fashion. He may be wearing white, as if attending a funeral, but the style only adds to his appeal. His eyes open, revealing golden orbs that seem to bespell Wei Wuxian. Without a doubt, this man is of the supernatural world. Maybe even a dusting of divinity, if gods are real. No one could be this perfect in real life with all the regal bearings of the finest jade. He doesn't think he's seen a movie with a man this handsome, so gorgeous that he could cry.
"Huh?" Wei Wuxian suddenly realizes the man has been speaking.
"Would you like a room?"
With you? Yes, please , is the first thought in his head. Then he realizes the receptionist meant an actual hotel room. This is what one does when at a hotel; they request a room. "Yes." His throat is dry.
The man enters something on the computer. “One bed?”
“Yes.”
“King or queen?”
“King.”
“Where have you heard about the Koi Tower Hotel?”
It sounds startling out of something his new dentist office would say. Oh, how have you heard of us? From a friend’s recommendation or an advertisement? Baidu?
“This woman with wings.” As the answer slips through his mouth, he wonders if the receptionist will react and tell him he’s crazy, that Wei Wuxian has been imagining his torment for the last week and is currently undergoing a mental breakdown.
He doesn’t even blink. “Name?”
“I didn’t get it.”
“What was the color of her wings?”
“Pale. Slightly pink but also translucent.”
The receptionist answers his own question, “Wen Qing.” Then he settles back into silence, typing away at the computer.
Wei Wuxian desperately stares at the Ancient Chinese seismometer behind the man. Balls are kept in the mouths of bronze dragons evenly sticking out on the outside of a fine pot. Directly underneath the dragons are open-mouthed frogs waiting to catch the balls in the event of an earthquake, and to Wei Wuxian’s poor dirty-minded brain, the seismometer resembles too much of something else, so he quickly turns around and counts the armchairs and couches spread across the lobby.
“One room, two queens,” demands a stubborn-looking man in a sleek white suit, throwing his shiny car keys on the front counter. His hand passes right through Wei Wuxian, and doesn’t that startle him?
The receptionist doesn’t blink. “No vacancy.”
“Don’t you know who I am?” he spits out, his face turning an odd shade of purple-red. He goes on the rant. “I know how hotels work. I know you have rooms here. I demand to speak to your manager.”
“I am the manager. You’re not qualified to speak to me.”
“What?”
The receptionist flicks the car keys back, sending it sliding to the very edge of the expensive ivory countertop. It’s the precision and the exactness of the movement and force that gets to Wei Wuxian, the receptionist so perfect in his dismissal. The receptionist pointedly turns back to the computer and continues typing, pretending not to see the man.
He splutters in shock.
It’s probably the first time in his entire life he’s ever been denied, Wei Wuxian suspects. It’s made this already beautiful, heart-stopping man a hundred times more attractive. He’s never seen anyone handle something rude so callously. The man, after standing still for several moments, reaches for the keys, sending it to the floor, and is forced to awkwardly pick up his car keys from the ground and leave in a fit, driving out in his shiny white-purple convertible with a very loud exhaust.
The receptionist, or actually, the manager, plants a hotel key card in front of Wei Wuxian. “Your room key for room number 1102. I’ll show you where it is.”
Wei Wuxian picks up the card. “Wouldn’t it be on the eleventh floor?” Logically, the first part of the room number denotes the floor of the room while the last two digits would signify the room number on that floor.
“No.” He moves around the front counter and heads towards the elevators.
“Wait, what about payment?” Wei Wuxian would love to stay in a fancy hotel like that, but he suspects he’s been priced out. Considerably.
“No payment is necessary unless you break two rules.” The manager, his robes flowing gracefully as he walks, does not make a single sound in his footsteps. He casually gestures with his elbow to a wooden sign above the elevator buttons tucked between two silver elevator doors.
There are indeed only two rules. In bold, it declares, 1. No excessive noise. 2. Don’t be a dick. It’s exactly what Wen Qing, that lady with wings, said.
The elevator on the left opens with a ding. The manager pushes the button for the twenty-third floor. He stands still, perfectly still like a statue. Then he says, “There is one additional but unwritten rule. You must attend dinner in the Grand Golden Ballroom on the third floor at exactly seven o’clock.”
“That’s in thirty minutes.” Then Wei Wuxian taps his chin. “What if I’m late?” His voice takes on an unintentional teasing quality.
“Punishment.”
Wei Wuxian is so thrown off by that answer that he can’t even come up with a response. The elevator opens to the twenty-third floor with a ding, and they step out to a floor where the first thing both of them hear is the sound of enthusiastic licking. He throws a bewildered look at the manager, who remains dispassionate as if he's seen it all before. A golden door labeled as 1102 is at the end of the short hallway. There are double doors open on their right.
The scene inside looks straight out of a horror movie. A woman with black hair in a flowery elaborate two-bun updo is wearing flimsy purple silk lingerie that is see-through enough Wei Wuxian can see the shadow of her nipples and her pubic hair. He may be gay, but he can appreciate how pretty she is, if one ignores the massive amount of a suspicious red liquid coloring and dripping down her skin. She reminds him of the story of Countess Elizabeth Bathory, bathing in the blood of her victims except for the fact she’s lounging and ruining a sofa’s upholstery rather than a bathtub. He steals a quick look at the manager, who doesn't seem affected by this scene. He quickly glances back into the room to look somewhere safer, a kneeling man who is the source of the licking sound. The man, wearing a collared but bloodied yellow silk shirt and black slacks, doesn’t seem to notice them at all, so enthralled in the woman’s gaze even as he’s slurping the red liquid off the pointed heel of her purple stilettos.
He looks like an utter simp for this woman.
The manager pauses in his steps and quietly closes the both doors to the scene. They don't even stop. He then moves on and says, gesturing to the doorknob, “Tap with the key card.”
Wei Wuxian, still holding the key card in his hand, does. His mouth drops at the suite before him. He stares at the splendid decorations, the lavish gold linings in the curtains, the old Chinese style in wood furniture. He asks, "Am I in the wrong room?" He turns to find the manager.
He's not there anymore.
Wei Wuxian stares at the blank space for a long moment. He's certain that man didn't take the elevator or open the door to the stairs to escape.
As someone who remembers what it was like to be hungry on the streets before the orphanage took him in and fed him small meals and stories about Yiling’s mythological figures like the Yiling Patriarch to stave off the hunger, Wei Wuxian doesn't dare to be late for dinner, especially in the prospect of free food. However, he would quietly admit that "punishment" may indeed be worth finding out. He hasn't lost that curiosity, that urge to fuck around and find out, especially if he might be found out by the hotel manager.
Besides, he also wants to avoid his neighbors. He would rather not look into their eyes out of sheer trauma while walking to the elevator. He might jump out of that hallway window if he has to pass by them again.
It’s impossible to miss the Grand Golden Ballroom on the third floor. After all, the elevators open up to the bronze-gold double doors leading to the ballroom. The ballroom seems to take up two stories, eating up the space usually delegated to a fourth floor. A long table is placed on the far side of the ballroom, leaving a massive amount of empty space that could be used for ball dancing. Wei Wuxian is not the first person there. There is a lady with feathered pink-yellow wings sitting at the right hand of the head of the table. The table could seat at least forty, though not all of the plates have been set in front of every seat.
He counts the plates. Fifteen. Perhaps there are only fifteen guests at the hotel? He notes that there are two plates set at the head of the table with a cushioned carved wooden bench, indeed wide and large enough to seat two people. There are no name tags at any of the plates, but Wei Wuxian knows better than to sit at the bench. He pulls out a chair a few seats down from the winged lady, who is talking to someone barely visible though they could be heard clearly.
A feminine voice emerges from the ghostly form sitting on the other side of the table. “Can’t find those herbs anywhere anymore. They’ve been cutting down the trees for months, and without the trees, those herbs can’t grow without protection from the fog, Mianmian. They’re stubborn herbs. They refuse to be grown in my greenhouse.”
“The rooftop greenhouse?” asks the winged lady, Mianmian.
“I don’t have any other greenhouses. I can illegally grow it in my neighbor’s yard, but that idiot’s dog keeps eating it.”
“What kind of herb, Mianmian?” Wei Wuxian can’t help but butt in.
The winged lady glares at him. “That is not my name.”
“Her name is—”
“No! Do not tell him my name.”
He taps his chin cheekily. “Then your name must be Mianmian,” he logically concludes, smiling widely at the outraged look on her face. Letting the silence build for a moment, he then tells her, “Your wings are stunning.”
The compliment does not soothe her outrage. She looks at him with suspicion. “You’re a new guest here?”
“I am,” he confirms, feeling both pairs of eyes turned towards him.
“Metamorphosing?”
“I…” He pauses, as if unsure, “Yes?”
“Did you get bitten by something? A dog?”
Wei Wuxian shudders. He hasn’t been near a dog in several years, and he’s more than happy with that record. “No.”
Before she can say anything else, the elevator’s bing dings. More guests shuffle into the ballroom. There are eight of them, and he tries not to stare at any particular one for too long. There’s one boy with a careful handcrafted fan covering most of his face. A strange golden-red bird about a toddler’s size hobbles in, its wings flapping as it moves. A scowling man in a purple collared shirt and black slacks shuffles forward to sit next to the ghost. A gentle-looking girl and a blindfolded man in white robes, who appears as if he could be a distant cousin of the hotel manager, walk arm-in-arm. The blindfolded man sits himself next to Wei Wuxian while another man in a dark blue leather jacket goes to the chair on Wei Wuxian’s left. A glowing speck of light, which reminds Wei Wuxian of a lightbulb just without the glass bulb, flies to the table. Last of all is a crocodile slowly hobbling along, climbing onto the table. Its nose kicks the silver plate off the table and to the floor with a clatter, and everyone else acts as if it's normal to have an animal that is at least twenty feet long on the table. Its little claws scrunches up the tablecloth.
It's like a zoo.
The elevator dings again, and Wei Wuxian quickly glances away and stares hard at his empty plate. It's that couple, except thankfully, the woman is not covered in blood anymore and the simp isn't sucking at her shoe with ardent devotion. She’s wearing a purple hanfu with lotus motifs while the simp is dressed like a modern businessman one can easily find in the financial districts of Shanghai.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notes that the two of them sit at the head of the table. He stares harder at his plate, wishing his hair is out of his ponytail. Maybe they can’t see him if he’s blinded by a curtain of his hair. He’s absolutely not questioning why he’s the one feeling embarrassed when they were the ones being scandalous.
From somewhere, a clock strikes seven.
“Good, we’re all here,” says the simp. He raises a wine glass filled with a suspiciously red liquid and announces, “We have a new guest, who arrived today.”
Wei Wuxian lifts his head up, looking at the other half of the table and avoiding the couple’s direction. He nods at their casual acknowledgement and participates in ganbei, drowning down the white wine glass that suddenly appeared at his right.
The simp, unfortunately, continues to talk at Wei Wuxian, putting him under the spotlight. “You are metamorphosing.”
“So it’s been said.” Wei Wuxian notices that two seats across from him are currently empty. Didn’t the simp say everyone was here?
“Were you bitten? By a dog, perhaps?”
“No,” he answers, wrinkling his nose at the mention of a dog.
“Are you certain?”
“Certain.”
“I can feel the magic emerging. It’s only budding, so you would have some time before you undergo metamorphosis. Maybe a year if you're not actively using your magic,” he tells him, and to Wei Wuxian, that is actually useful information. His fangs and teeth are stained red, blood visible as he speaks.
“What am I changing into?”
The simp looks speculatively at him, as if trying to pry what lies underneath Wei Wuxian’s skin with his own eyes and to discover what makes him tick. “If you weren’t bitten—”
“I wasn’t,” Wei Wuxian insists.
“Then you were born with your magic,” the lady next to the simp finishes. Placing her hand on the simp’s arm, she smiles kindly and inquires, “Did you know what your parents were?”
“No. I can’t remember. Can’t remember anything about them. Can’t remember their names. They died when I was young,” he answers, and then he has to forcibly shut his own mouth before he reveals anything more, because that is far more than what he would typically admit to anyone at all. He doesn’t even tell his coworkers any details about his life.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, and every word sounds so genuine that Wei Wuxian has to believe her sincerity. “It’s not easy to walk this world alone.” After a pause at the table, she introduces herself, “I am Jiang Yanli, and this is my husband, Jin Zixuan.” She briefly asks for Wei Wuxian’s name and nods with grace. "A wonderful name." She gestures to Mianmian and says, “That is Luo Qingyang. Next to her is Nie Huaisang. Across from her is Pei Fei. To your right is Xiao Xingchen and on your left is Song Lan.”
A-Qing is the girl sitting next to Xiao Xingchen. The scowly man is Jiang Yanli’s brother, Jiang Cheng. The bird is introduced as A-Yun, and the speck of light, which is resting on a plate, is Huang Li.
Wei Wuxian is not going to remember a single name. He does not have enough space in his head to remember them all.
Jiang Yanli pauses at the crocodile. “His old collar said his name is Bob.” She shrugs at that.
“It’s a crocodile,” he blurts out.
“He has a name. It’s Bob.” Her eyes flash dangerously purple, and Wei Wuxian has to stop before he digs himself into a hole and puts himself on her bad side by inserting foot into mouth. “Are you going to Florida by any chance?”
Wei Wuxian hasn’t left Yiling his entire life until the last twenty-four hours happened to him, much less visited a whole different country. “No.”
She hums in disappointment. “He’s been wanting to return home.”
It’s a long pause before the simp, Jin Zixuan, says, “Let’s eat.”
Then food suddenly appears in the center of the table. It’s a wide variety of everything. There’s the typical Chinese cuisine, but there’s also the stereotypical pile of hamburgers that the crocodile is swallowing by twos and threes.
"How rude that you don't uncover me while you all eat!" A voice thunders. It seems to be emerging from a covered silver platter across from Wei Wuxian. “I need to eat too!” The voice shrieks.
In a blink of an eye, the hotel manager suddenly appears behind the empty seat, like magic. He’s still dressed in the traditional robes with the white ribbon around his forehead.
“Lan-er-gonzi,” says Jiang Yanli. She requests, “Could you please move Wen Chao to a different seat? He’s startling our new guest.”
“Mn,” the hotel manager hums, lifting the covered platter to an empty area next to the crocodile. He carefully holds it with a single hand, a perfect waiter’s posture. He lifts the cover to reveal a decapitated but moving head, dark hair sweeping off the platter. It’s frankly disturbing, and Wei Wuxian can’t stop looking at it. The cut on Wen Chao’s neck is faintly pink like an old scar.
“That’s Wen Chao,” Jiang Yanli introduces, smiling gently.
“He…” Wei Wuxian pauses, not sure what to even say.
“He what?” Wen Chao shouts, his head reeling around like a spinning top to stare at Wei Wuxian. “Yeah, he what? Bodiless? So what? A particular, certain person tried to murder me! But alas, I was too strong to be killed by a mere bug, and you see now? I have yet to die!” He crackles, clearly off his rocker. “Do you know who I am? Have you heard of the stories they tell about me?”
“I haven’t,” he says. There’s something grating about Wen Chao’s voice and the maniac look in his eyes that makes Wei Wuxian wary of him, even if he is decapitated and without a body.
“But you know who I am?”
“Talk or eat,” the hotel manager says in warning.
“Fine, fine, fine.” Wen Chao grumbles, and shockingly, a long tongue emerges from his mouth and begins cupping up the communal miso soup. The tongue is red and forked, and it’s so disgustingly wrinkled and flexible like an elephant’s trunk that Wei Wuxian thinks he might throw up just from looking at it.
The hotel manager, or Lan-er-gonzi, proceeds to sit directly in front of Wei Wuxian, taking the seat next to the place Wen Chao’s head once occupied. His long sleeves fall back slightly, and he grabs all the vegetarian options, silently eating. His manners are flawless and graceful, making Wei Wuxian far too aware that he’s never been taught table etiquette in his whole life.
“You’ve already met our hotel manager,” Jiang Yanli notes, delicately setting down her chopsticks. “Lan Wangji. If you need any assistance with anything at all, you can ask him for help.”
With that, conversation begins to flow and Wei Wuxian listens carefully, eager to discover the dynamics of the hotel guests. Jin Zixuan is the simp and the vampire owner, idle and rich. His wife, Jiang Yanli, is an impeccable hostess with perfect manners and posture that could almost make one feel like the dirt on the ground yet her warm nature, instead, draws one in and comforts. Without her, the simp would be left floundering in his noticeable lack of social grace. Mianmian, who Wei Wuxian has already forgotten her real name, seems to be Jin Zixuan’s employee. A-Qing, Song Lan, and the crocodile don't talk at all and neither does the bird or the speck of light.
Xiao Xingchen, on the other hand, makes a long update about some sort of cultivation research he’s been pursuing involving a monster Wei Wuxian has never heard of, and then he proceeds to not talk anymore.
Jiang Cheng throws an interesting dynamic in the conversation. Despite his scowls, he seems to tolerate Jin Zixuan’s presence though this concession still doesn’t seem to bridge the mile-long rift between the two men. Jin Zixuan tries to make an effort to include him in the conversation, and to Wei Wuxian, it’s like seeing two people who can’t get along yet are still trying to win a three-legged race for the Jiang Yanli’s sake.
Nie Huaisang, who Wei Wuxian thought was an unassuming boy but is actually a young man once he stopped covering his face with his fan, actively claims to be ignorant of everything and is fully immersed in a life of the idle rich yet actually is more keen than one would suspect. He’s already roped Wei Wuxian into visiting his suite on the eighth floor while claiming Wei Wuxian would be interested in a game of Go.
Throughout the meal, Wei Wuxian keeps an eye on the enigmatic hotel manager, who hardly makes a single expression through his stoic demeanor. However, he did briefly side-eyes Nie Huaisang when the other man invited him to his room. Lan Wangji doesn’t speak nor does anyone speak to him.
And Wei Wuxian feels all too well like the fish out of water, too carefully to do anything drastic that may lead him to being kicked out of the only place he has to stay.
Nie Huaisang is actually the nastiest opponent he has ever faced in Go. He smiles slightly at Wei Wuxian while he’s tearing apart his strategy. That being said, Nie Huaisang, which Wei Wuxian is grateful to find out, has all the deets and can’t spill the tea about the hotel’s strange residents fast enough. It’s an even better introduction than what Jiang Yanli has given to him over at the dinner table.
“Jin Zixuan was turned by a British vampire back in the 80s,” Nie Huaisang reveals, staring at the board. “On orders of his father, he was studying business management, but what he actually wanted to study was viticulture in California. So after he was turned, he retreated to this hotel and took some time to recover from the revelation of what he’s become. Eventually, he shuts down the hotel from the public and meets Jiang Yanli on a rare trip to the outside world back in ‘85 and the rest of it is history. Today, he spends most of his time developing mixtures of blood and wine. You probably have heard of his father.”
“I have?”
“Jin Guangshan.”
Wei Wuxian can’t help the disgusted expression spreading across his face. Oh, yeah, he has unfortunately heard of Jin Guangshan. He’s this dirty old pervert, who is heavily photographed and discussed in appalling Chinese forums with posters regularly judging his current young barely-legal fling on a subjective hotness scale despite his still living wife being two years younger than him. Severe emphasis on old, like skin-clinging-to-a-skeleton old. When Wei Wuxian was born, he was already older than some of the grandpas out there. The women he dated at that time have to be in their forties by now. Some of them have birthed his children, though that has never stopped him from dating a fresh new victim. Nor has it stopped new girls from dating him.
He’s also infamous for owning a significant piece of Chinese and other Asian media corporations and using the corporations to push his own political agenda. A very rich billionaire.
“He’s always been one of the more spiritual humans out there,” Nie Huaisang says. “Tunely aware of the modern and supernatural world. He’s been seeking immortality or at least a way to extend his lifetime. He asked Jin Zixuan back in the 90s to turn him into a vampire, but Jin Zixuan refused.”
Never has Wei Wuxian felt grateful for Jin Zixuan’s decision, even if he has never met Jin Guangshan.
“Jin Guangshan was very upset, but ten years later, he claimed to Jin Zixuan that he’s grateful for his decision. He would live a very sad life if the average person can no longer perceive him.”
“How does that work? A human aware of both worlds?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I’m not a human.”
“Then what are you?”
“What are you?” he counters.
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t get bitten? By a dog?” he asks.
What is up with everyone and dogs? Wei Wuxian couldn’t keep all of the irritation he’s feeling out of his voice. He stresses, “No, I was not bitten by anything and especially not a dog.”
Nie Huaisang raises his hands up in defense. “It’s a valid question. A lot of people who are changed and not born the way they are have been bitten by a creature that resembles a dog. When globalization took off, when the world got smaller because of airplanes and ships, lycanthropy spread everywhere. There’s no continent that does not have a werewolf present. Most individuals undergoing metamorphosis are suffering from the onslaught of lycanthropy.”
“Oh.”
“If you weren’t bitten by anything or didn’t swallow anything unusual, then it’s more likely you were born with magic. Earlier, at dinner, the vast majority of us there are born with it.”
“Lan Wangji?”
Nie Huaisang picks up his fan, his mouth covered as he speaks. “Yes, Lan Wangji was definitely born with it. He comes from a prominent family who all have the same abilities as him, though most are not as skilled as he is.”
“Is he a magician?”
He ignores that question, and instead, makes his move. “Lan Wangji’s family and mine used to be very close. My family, like his, are born with our abilities. His older brother, my older brother, and Jin Zixuan’s brother, Meng Yao, are involved.”
“In your abilities?”
“No. Dating.”
“Oh.”
“My older brother is a jiangshi.”
“So are you a jiangshi?” he asks, tapping his chin. Wei Wuxian has heard of these creatures. They’re considered as Chinese vampires, but they are actually reanimated corpses that must feast on qi or else they will perish.
“No. He was made that way.”
“Made?”
“Meng Yao killed him.”
“Yet they’re dating now?” He’s not sure if he can forgive anyone who has killed him and then proceed to date them. He might kill them back, just to prove a point.
“My brother’s story is a cautionary tale, a reminder that customs of the past do not necessarily carry well into the future and that filial piety can cause widespread harm, that pain and suffering will beget even more trauma that will not be stopped unless they put an end to it themselves. Lan Wangji’s older brother, Lan Xichen, was indirectly complicit in my brother’s murder. Now, he saves him.”
Wei Wuxian is baffled. How could a jiangshi be saved when it needs to kill people for their qi? “A jiangshi needs qi to survive.”
Nie Huaisang tilts his head forward. “Thankfully, Lan Xichen has plenty of it.”
“Is Meng Yao a vampire like his brother?”
“No. Though he is the son of Jin Guangshan, he has inherited his traits from his mother. He is a shapeshifter whose form takes on the appearance of a yellow tripedal crow. The only reason why his father was interested in him was because he could consume a certain type of grass that would grant him immortality. It’s to Jin Guangshan’s disappointment that the grass wouldn’t work for him.”
“Your family and Lan Wangji’s family,” Wei Wuxian concludes, shuddering at the thought of old creepy man Jin Guangshan achieving any form of immortality, “have the same abilities, and you will not tell me those abilities.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang quickly blabbers, his fan flapping as he hides his face. “I don’t know anything. I’ve never been great at my abilities. My brother used to scold me for having such poor talent.”
That is not a no.
He decides to push on for a little more hint. “Can you tell me about Lan Wangji?”
“Lan Wangji is his courtesy name.”
Wei Wuxian is astounded by that. “His courtesy name?” Very few people in modern China use and have courtesy names. “Is it because his family is very traditional or is he very old?”
“The Lans are indeed incredibly traditional. His birth name is actually Lan Zhan,” Nie Huaisang tells him, his voice dropping to a whisper. His fan drops a little, and a sly but knowing grin appears on his lips. He leans in, as if dropping a revelation. “You should see his sword.”
He chokes on thin air. He’s not sure if Nie Huaisang means a literal sword or a figurative one, and no amount of pleading from his end will get Nie Huaisang to elaborate on anything regarding Lan Zhan’s sword.
He, however, does drop the deets on everyone else. Mianmian and Wen Qing are both fenghuangs, which are mythological birds capable of flight and bringing light in great darkness. Their wings are visible in their human forms, though Wen Qing, who has a stronger ability over illusions, has her wings wrapped in illusions to appear like a delicate fairy rather than a feathered bird’s. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng come from a family of qilins.
“When I was a child, I rode Jiang Cheng in his qilin form. Nowadays, he’ll stab you with his antlers before he lets you ride him,” he says, and that sounds about right.
Nie Huaisang has no good explanations regarding the crocodile named Bob, but he does explain that A-Qing and Song Lan are cursed with mutism by an old enemy. Xiao Xingchen is a huli jing, an adopted son and disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Baoshan Sanren, the immortal, is the greatest and most well-known huli jing with nine tails. “She keeps herself to the mountain, which is the same place where she was born. She must do it for her own safety, because the tails of a huli jing could be harvested for unscrupulous means. It doesn’t help that the nature of a huli jing is mischievous and tricky and heinous in some huli jings, which makes many in the supernatural community want to kill them. Not only the Asian community but also the international community.”
“Actual kill? As in murder?”
He nods seriously. “Xiao Xingchen has cultivated four tails and a good enough reputation that most in the community would leave him alone. For those who aren’t satisfied with this, Koi Tower Hotel provides an immense amount of protection for Xiao Xingchen and has a powerful deterrent that prevents shady figures from trying anything. He, A-Qing, and Song Lan are the oldest residents here. He’s been working on lifting their curse for the last twenty years.”
Wei Wuxian notes, “That’s impressive. His devotion.”
A-Yun, the bird, is an artist who hasn’t been able to sell any of their paintings. Pei Fei has a condition where she can’t be fully seen by humans until night falls, and Huang Li, a normal human, has been under an elaborate love curse caused by her own family for over a century due to refusing to marry into an arranged marriage. The intended groom has been long dead, but theoretically, she could break the curse if she marries into that family. Nonetheless, she’s actually quite happy as she is.
“What about Wen Chao?”
Nie Huaisang grimaces. “He’s a longgui.” It’s a dragon turtle, believed to bring about good luck and prosperity. “He’s the reason why everyone must attend dinner at seven on the third floor.”
“How?”
“He ate four of our guests,” Nie Huaisang explains, shivering in disgust. “No one realized anything was wrong, because they tend to stick to themselves and rarely leave their rooms.”
Wei Wuxian shudders at that. He can’t quite imagine Wen Chao being physically capable of killing anything unless they somehow got strangled by his tongue. “A decapitated head managed to kill four people and he’s still a guest here?”
“First of all, he’s immortal, though he is alive only because of Jiang Yanli’s sense of mercy. Second of all, he killed four people before he got decapitated. The rest of his body has been burned to ashes.”
And that makes much more sense. It’s hard to imagine how a talking head with a very long tongue like an elephant’s trunk could kill four people. He tilts his head. “How did he come about?”
“Corrupted ever since he got a taste for human flesh a long time ago. His story, his myth predates the modern age. Unknown to us when he first arrived here four years ago, he killed thousands in the countryside before he decided to try some different meals.” At Wei Wuxian’s apprehensive look, Nie Huaisang assures, “He won’t try anything as long as you’re on Koi Tower Hotel’s grounds. If he tries anything, he will be snuffed out. Besides, you can easily outrun him.”
That horrifyingly implies Wen Chao, even if he is stuck as a decapitated head on a silver platter, can still move, can still give chase.
Nie Huaisang changes the subject. “You’re staying in room 1102 on the twenty-third floor?”
He’s not sure how the young man found that out. “Uh, yes?”
“Have you explored the room yet?”
Wei Wuxian honestly hadn’t. While Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan were still busy with each other, he quickly made his way back into the elevator to avoid seeing them on the way to dinner. “No, should I?”
“I have the best and most expensive suite in the entire hotel,” he informs in a matter-of-fact tone, tapping his chin. “It takes up three floors, and it’s got an art gallery on the tenth floor, which only I can visit. There’s also a gym, which I don’t use at all, on the ninth floor, and the other half of the floor has enough space for my pet songbirds.”
Nie Huaisang, he is beginning to discover, thinks, acts, and speaks like someone idle and rich, because he is indeed idle and rich. No average person would even think to have or need those things in their hotel suite. Wei Wuxian allows him to continue his train of thought.
“1102’s layout is exactly the same as Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s penthouse suite, number 1101, which was designed for honeymoon couples. Same layout, incredibly good sound insulation,” he says, his face almost taking on a dreamy quality. “It’s the best available room, well, formerly available room in the entire hotel. No one stayed in that penthouse before since the hotel closed. You should take the time to explore all of its floors and amenities.”
“Floors,” Wei Wuxian echoes incredulously. He then glances hopefully at the young man. “You said good sound insulation?”
“Very good.” His smile is practically impish.
“Not for me,” he quickly says in outrage.
Nie Huaisang laughs. “I know, I know, I was teasing you! Everyone knows about how loud Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan can get. It’s another reason why they have to stay in that penthouse. If they’re together and outside that layer of sound insulation, everyone can hear them. Everyone. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even stay in the tower. He’s been traumatized.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No. The property of this hotel extends a half of an acre away from the street,” he tells him, gesturing backwards, towards northwest. “It contains gardens but also well preserved siheyuans that used to house families centuries ago. Jiang Cheng stays in the furthest complex from the tower.”
“I’ll have to explore my room.”
“Definitely. You might never want to leave.” His eyes fall shut, his lips forming a smile. “I recommend for the sake of your metamorphosis that you approach Xiao Xingchen for basic breathing techniques and methods. He’s been trained by Baoshan Sanren and is the second best teacher here.”
“But I’m not a huli jing like him.”
“Well, we don’t know what you will turn into,” he agrees, deftly shutting his fan. “But Xiao Xingchen can still teach you something or two. Just don’t ask for help from me. I’ve no talent or memory for those things.”
By the time Wei Wuxian is done speaking with Nie Huaisang, it’s long past twelve o’clock and he’s dead tired despite having a decade-long habit of never sleeping before two in the morning. He takes the elevator up and hobbles back into his room, no, his penthouse. There’s so many switches for lights that Wei Wuxian has gotten too fed up with trying them all in effort to find the bedroom, which seems to be evading him. It turns out to be on the second floor of the penthouse, and the scene, which he can make out from his phone flashlight, is completely red with silk bedding and sheets and curtains. Glass vases of fresh red roses tastefully present a faint flowery scent. The display of pillows and throw pillows on the bed is so lovely that Wei Wuxian has to force himself to ruin it by sleeping in it.
The sheets are so soft against his skin that he strips off his shirt and lays in bed in only his boxers. He stares at the dark ceiling and shuts his eyes, his hand moving down to tease his skin. Wei Wuxian has never gotten a decent night of sleep without getting himself off. He remembers Nie Huaisang’s comment about good sound insulation and feels his muscles relax.
His neighbors have frequently complained to the landlord, who never does anything useful, that Wei Wuxian is loud.
And for once, he has a chance to be loud without anyone complaining.
He begins with the softest of moans, using the very cloth of his boxer shorts to tease his stiffening cock. He doesn’t dare touch himself yet. Denial and patience makes the night oh, so much more satisfying. A skim of his nail draws out a hiss, and then he sets his mind to wander, thinking about nothing in particular.
His finger trails to his hole, circling yet not pushing in. He remembers that silicone dildo he left in his backpack by the entrance. He loudly whimpers. He would like to get it, to get something to stuff his hole, but he’s desperate, pushing himself closer to the edge. In his mind’s eye, he thinks of white silk and large hands and pleasure courses through his veins.
Then he’s freely moaning, frantically stroking himself. What would it be like to suffer punishment under Lan Wangji? What would it be like to freely touch the other man, to see him unravel? He’s so stoic yet there’s something in his golden eyes that haunts Wei Wuxian—
Two knocks, somehow loud enough for Wei Wuxian to hear, strike the front door. His hand moves faster, desperate now.
Another two knocks, somehow sounding even more insistent than before.
He screams into his pillow out of pure frustration, pulling his hands away from his aching leaking cock. Fuck it. He’s not putting on any clothes. Whoever has decided to ruin his night deserves to see what they’ve done to him.
As soon as he opens the door, he instantly regrets not putting his clothes on. Lan Wangji’s eyes are too observant, and he feels as if he wears nothing, as if the peerless man before him can see the mess he's made in his boxers.
His ears are tinged red. "No excessive noise."
But since it would make the shame all too apparent if he suddenly turns away to put clothes on, Wei Wuxian straightens, as if he answers all his doors almost naked. "I wasn't. And there's good sound insulation. Nie Huaisang told me so."
"Is he here?"
Wei Wuxian is bewildered. "Uh, no. He's staying on the eighth floor," he tells him, as if a hotel manager with only fourteen guests is completely unaware of where they are all staying.
Lan Wangi merely says, "First warning." Then he turns around.
"Wait, Lan-er-gege," he shouts, watching the other man pause in his step. He asks, feigning innocence, "How many warnings do I get?" No answer. "If I break the rules, will I get a punishment? Delivered by you?"
"Mark your words."
"Huh?" He blinks, but the other man is already gone, fleeing through the window. Wei Wuxian chases him with a gasp and looks out the window, but he only sees a flutter of white robes out in the distance, quickly gliding through the air.
Xiao Xingchen stays on the fifth floor with Song Lan while A-Qing has her own suite on the same floor. After finding the blind man at breakfast and requesting lessons, Xiao Xingchen has happily invited Wei Wuxian to his room for introductory exercises.
While Song Lan putters around in the background with cleaning supplies, Xiao Xingchen takes Wei Wuxian’s wrist, as if measuring his heartbeat. With his four pure white tails wriggling between his robes, he frowns, "You have qi, a growing pool of it. Your meridians are beginning to open. Not many metamorphoses have qi." He lets go. "Nie Huaisang is correct in pointing you in my direction."
"Can you narrow down what I'll become?" Wei Wuxian doesn't feel any different. There's no secret bundle of nerves swimming in his stomach. No strange urges to eat people. He feels normal, a complete 0 out of 10 on the pain scale. There is no place a physician can push to make the area hurt even more.
"I can put forth a few guesses, but it's better I don't tell you or else you may mentally ruin yourself when you finish your metamorphosis. My worst fear is that if I tell you that for example, you'll become an armchair, that your mind would be thrown off when you actually turn into a television. Different existences." At the bewildered look on Wei Wuxian’s face, who is still trying to imagine becoming a piece of furniture, he adds, "It's why I don't even dare tell you an example of a living animal. I don't know what you think, but I don't dare give you ideas."
Song Lan shuffles over with a phone in hand. The phone says, "Start with breathing exercises. He can focus on building his qi."
"If I do this, will the process for metamorphosis speed up?"
"Certainly."
Now Wei Wuxian isn't sure about his incoming metamorphosis, but as he moves to the floor and copies Xiao Xingchen sitting in the lotus position, he figures it can't hurt.
For the first ten minutes, they quietly sit and breathe.
Then Wei Wuxian cuts through the silence. "Nie Huaisang said you're the second best teacher."
"I'm not certain if I am the best or second best. Each student has different needs, and not every teacher will fit their students like puzzle pieces."
"So who does he think is the best?"
"Without a doubt, Lan Wangji."
It's been three months since Wei Wuxian first came to the hotel, and there's something unsettled underneath his skin. He's been following a neat schedule, spending most of his time training with Xiao Xingchen and gossiping with Nie Huaisang. Training doesn't amount to much, but he thinks he does see a difference. Literally. His vision is better at night, and the sunlight streaming overhead during noon has never made him want to nap so hard before. The third floor of the penthouse is actually the rooftop with a large, well-cared greenhouse, and Wei Wuxian has spent many days napping on a blanket underneath a shady guava tree.
Time can be slowed down, and his reflexes are better than a professional criminal avoiding cops. Lan Wangji, as it turns out, isn't suddenly appearing out of thin air. He's actually moving so fast that Wei Wuxian used to think he was teleporting.
He also doesn't seem to be just the hotel manager. He's also the custodian, security, receptionist, and everything else the hotel needs to keep function. Everything except the cook, because Jiang Yanli and her husband, who serves as the sous chef, are machines at cooking. Wei Wuxian once caught Lan Wangji, still dressed in his traditional robes, restoring the rooftops of a siheyuan, and is there anything he can't do?
Well, perhaps teaching Wei Wuxian.
The first time he asked, Lan Wangji power-walked away so fast that he was lost in the other man's dust. It's not a no, but it's not a promising yes either.
And he can feel the want inside him building up. Xiao Xingchen is almost about to reach the end of what he could teach, because everything else he knows is specifically for a huli jing, and he can feel his qi building up inside him, like a bomb ticking away. He knows if Lan Wangji teach him or maybe even something else, that bomb would finally exploded, and maybe then, he could feel settled down.
So if Lan Wangji is avoiding him, then Wei Wuxian must deliberately lure him out. After all, Lan Wangji has made a promise to him before.
So instead of attending dinner like everyone else, Wei Wuxian proceeds to take a long jog around the hotel’s property at six-thirty, purposely still running in the gardens once the clock runs past seven. His presence will be missed, and he knows that a rule-stickler like Lan Wangji will definitely seek him out.
It doesn’t even take ten minutes for Lan Wangji to find him. The man stands on the rooftop of siheyuan, graceful as a cat and still as a gargoyle.
Wei Wuxian’s heart flies to his throat, and he quickly turns to avoid the other man, pretending he didn’t see him at all.
Of course, it doesn’t work.
Lan Wangji is too fast, catching Wei Wuxian at his elbow first and pulling him to a stop. “You must attend dinner.” His expression is completely blank.
Wei Wuxian thinks a man so handsome shouldn’t be so stoic. It’s a loss in his attractiveness. “Lan-er-gege,” Wei Wuxian protests, trying to break Lan Wangji’s hold. The man simply has a strong grip on his wrist, and it’s impossible to escape from it. He winks, peering through his eyelashes. “I will if you teach me. I’ll be very good for you. I'll do anything for you.”
“Shameless,” he grits out.
His heart races, and his mouth flies open without thinking. “Lan-er-gege, Lan-er-gege,” he says, simply loving the way the words taste on his tongue, “I can be so shameless. Shame? Don’t know her. Have never met her.” Wei Wuxian, who has a strong tolerance for alcohol, strangely feels drunk, uninhibited.
The only reply is Wei Wuxian’s loud footfalls.
“Lan-er-gege. Lan-er-gonzi,” he tries, helplessly following the other man as he’s tugged back into the hotel by the wrist. “Lan Wangji?”
No reaction.
“Lan Zhan!” he exclaims, and he’s rewarded with a slight stumble. He grins gleefully, knowing he’s poked right in the tiny chink in Lan Wangji’s armor. “Lan Zhan—” His mouth closes, unable to open and let sound escape. He’s dragged into the elevator and then into the ballroom, where conversation stops as if surprised by unexpected entertainment. He’s forced into his seat, and finally! Finally! His mouth can speak again. “Hey!” he shouts in outrage.
“Silencing spell?” Jiang Yanli looks at Lan Wangji with a raised brow.
“A silencing spell?” Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue, and now that he can speak, he will make sure he makes Lan Wangji regret casting it. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, how dare you treat someone as delicate as me like this? If you marry a wife one day and she becomes fed up with your stuffy nature, would you manhandle your delicate wife like this?” Out of the corner of his eye, as he stares at Lan Wangji, he catches Jiang Cheng’s expression sputtering with outrage, Nie Huaisang either choking to death or stifling his laughter behind his fan, Jin Zixuan face-palming, and Jiang Yanli looking interested in the proceedings.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji simply replies, his ears slightly red.
“What?” Wei Wuxian shrieks. His lips wobble in shock, and he can’t come up with any sort of witty comeback to that.
Even though Lan Wangji seems so boring, Wei Wuxian can’t help but ask Nie Huaisang for more deets and information about the other man. Lan Wangji, after all, is living rent-free in Wei Wuxian’s head, and Wei Wuxian thinks it’s because Lan Wangji is a mystery and he loves a good mystery to solve. Plus, it’s too much fun to stir him up.
Nie Huaisang seems uninterested in Wei Wuxian’s explanation. But he warns, his unfinished fan covering his entire face, a paintbrush in his other hand, “You should be careful around him. He’s the one who decapitated Wen Chao and burned the rest of his body.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open. “How come you didn’t tell me that the first day I arrived here? Or any other time I’ve spent with you?”
“Didn’t seem that important. You weren’t likely to draw his attention, and now, you might be getting on his nerves, so I want to warn you not to mess with him.”
Song Lan has a sword, Wei Wuxian knows. He should ask Song Lan for tips on how to dodge a sword and pulls out his phone, creating a reminder to ask that man before he forgets. It’s especially important now that he gets that training now that he knows for certainty Lan Wangji does indeed have a sword.
“He came a couple years after Xiao Xingchen arrived,” Nie Huaisang informs, lifting the paintbrush to his fan.
“Why did he come?”
“He had disagreements with the elders of his sect, Gusu Lan, a long, long, long, long time ago. He’s been drifting ever since, but Koi Tower Hotel is the longest he’s stayed anywhere, or so I’m told.”
“He doesn’t really talk, so how do you know this?”
“His brother talks to my brother, who talks to me.”
It’s disappointing how Nie Huaisang, who knows dirt on everyone else in the hotel, could say so little about Lan Wangji. Then Wei Wuxian perks up. “Hey, which room does he stay in?”
“Twenty-second floor. 1001. Why?”
Wei Wuxian keeps his head down. For the most part, anyway. The most mischievous thing he’s done in the months since Lan Wangji cast a silencing spell on him is laugh wickedly and teasingly in Lan Wangji’s presence and accidentally-but-on-purpose hit the elevator for the twenty-second floor to snoop around. The door labeled as 1001 is locked, but Wei Wuxian has noticed it’s directly below his penthouse. The layout has given him a bit to think about.
In the meantime, he has been getting good at dodging Song Lan’s sword and he’s noticed he’s gotten far stronger than a normal human ever could be. On a whim, he leaps in the garden and lands easily on the old rooftops a story or two high. This becomes yet another routine, where Wei Wuxian would practice running around the garden and then hop into the rooftop, jumping to where he pleases. He’s never felt so powerful, so fast, so strong that he can’t help but feel giddy in anticipation of the day when he will poke the bear that is Lan Wangji once again.
What seemed like a long time ago, his ankles would scream when he jumped off the dinner table to fix the ceiling lights. Nowadays, he can jump from the third floor of the skyscraper without feeling an impact in his bones. He hasn’t dared try any higher, but he has scaled the skyscraper with ease up to the eighth floor to which Nie Huaisang has spotted him and opened the window, chatting about the recent sale of a 17th century painting.
To celebrate Xiao Xingchen declaring there’s no more new techniques to teach Wei Wuxian and that it all depends on him to continue practicing the techniques to refine his qi, Wei Wuxian escapes the hotel property to stumble into a nearby liquor store. Wei Wuxian, with his excellent nocturnal vision, has spotted a delivery truck delivering cases of Gusu’s very best liquor, Emperor’s Smile. It’s probably morally incorrect to steal from someone he doesn't know, but he figures they probably won’t miss a bottle or two when there are so many cases in the store. If it’s as good as they say it is, he’ll beg Nie Huaisang for some money to pay them. If not, then that’ll teach the liquor store from investing in and selling subpar alcohol.
To be fair, he does feel guilty at the thought of not paying. Slightly. But hey, it’s not like he can pay and it’s definitely not like the cashier can even see Wei Wuxian.
Of course, it’s while Wei Wuxian is huffing and puffing while climbing the stone barrier separating the hotel’s land from the rest of society when he spots a pair of white leather boots standing at the very top of the wall. He’s got two wine containers that are quickly grabbed and disappeared into Lan Wanji’s sleeves. He shouts in warning at the sudden change in balance, but Lan Wangji manages to catch him by the collar. He dangles over nothing but air, his feet kicking.
“Broke second rule.”
“Huh?” Then Wei Wuxian remembers the second rule. “But what does that have to do with jars of Emperor's Smile?”
“Stealing is breaking the second rule.” Lan Wangji’s arm strength is amazing. He’s not even shaking with effort as he still holds Wei Wuxian at his mercy.
He nervously laughs. “How are you so certain I was stealing?”
Lan Wangji simply looks, as if peering right into Wei Wuxian’s very soul. Then he warns, “Do not do this again.” He lifts Wei Wuxian onto the wall and quickly turns around.
“Lan-er-gege,” Wei Wuxian calls, not even fixing his disheveled appearance. He grins broadly, his eyes nearly fall shut. “Will I be punished?”
Lan Wangji leaps onto the rooftop, not responding.
He laughs at Lan Wangji’s escaping back. Wei Wuxian thinks Lan Wangji is all bark, no bite. It means that Wei Wuxian is certainly going to cross the line. Very soon.
Which is why he’s opening his window on the twenty-third floor and carefully lowering down a rope made from his bedsheets. Not the silk one, but the one he’s brought from his old apartment. It’s precisely noon, and he’s spotted Lan Wanji doing repairs on rooftops again, so he feels it’s reasonably safe to try to sneak into Lan Wangji’s room to find those jars of Emperor’s Smile.
The first thing he smells is a very nice scent. Woodsy and enticing with a flowery accent. He's noticed his sense of smell has severely heightened in the last few months. The second thing he notices is the man's sense of interior design which is minimalistic and all in pale white and blue colors. A wooden bookshelf is actually filled with scrolls and neat stacks of books.
Wei Wuxian isn't sure why he is so surprised. He’s so distracted by the messy calligraphy in a book about puzzling cultivation techniques with a dried peony tucked between pages that when he finally puts it away and backs up, he bumps into a hard body and bounces away. Stunned, he whirls around and shouts, “Lan Zhan!”
The man is standing there with the most blank expression.
Wei Wuxian knows that he’s in deep trouble, the deepest shit ever known to mankind. He does the only logical thing he can do—he bolts out the front door for his life with Lan Wangji still standing there stunned.
He dives for the stairs, the door slamming shut behind him. He’s on the nineteenth floor’s stairwell when he hears the door upstairs opening, so he quickly slips out of the stairs with his heart pounding in his throat. He pushes open the window next to the stairwell, and without thinking about it any harder, he begins climbing up, putting his fingernails into the ridges and planting shoes on the slight ledges. He slowly moves three windows up and shuffles himself to the right until he’s close to reaching Lan Wanji’s window again.
The man probably thinks he escaped to his penthouse, but little did Lan Wangji know, Wei Wuxian has returned to the last place he would look for him.
And that’s when the world gets blurry and confusing. The scent of sandalwood intensifies so much that Wei Wuxian would like nothing better than to lie in that scent and drown in it. He practically flies onto Lan Wangji’s neatly made bed and makes a mess out of the sheets and silly throw pillows. The man’s scent is intense here, and he feels so much better, as if cocooned in a haven that’s been specifically made for him. He blinks, and he thinks he sees Lan Wangji’s face swarming inches away.
Lan Wangji’s mouth moves, but whatever he says is drowned out as if Wei Wuxian’s ears are underwater. He frowns.
“Lan-er-gege,” Wei Wuxian laughs, giggling. “Don’t frown like that. You’ll get wrinkles, and then you’ll ruin your perfect face.”
He seems to frown even harder.
Wei Wuxian pouts, his hands reaching out from the burrows of the blankets. He clutches the side of Lan Wangji’s face and seriously tells him, “No frowning.” A pause. “Lan Zhan, why aren’t you listening to me?” When the frown doesn’t disappear at all, Wei Wuxian tugs the other man down into a kiss and oh, Lan Zhan’s lips are so warm and soft and there’s something inside of Wei Wuxian that is twisting in relief, as if there’s been a bubble forming inside of his chest and finally, the bubble is starting to give.
Lan Zhan pulls away in a flash, his ears flushed red.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian mumbles in disappointment. He can feel his eyes water, and he buries his head underneath the blanket out of crushing, broken hope. He does not know how long he’s been lying there in a ball, but he comes to when he hears the sound of Xiao Xingchen speaking in the living room.
“Are you certain?” he says.
“Mn.”
“I didn’t think he would be one. I tested him myself, and he reads more like a cultivator, which is why I’ve been telling him he should be taught by you.”
“Test him again.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then Wei Wuxian hears footsteps approaching the bed. Xiao Xingchen speaks softly, “Wei Wuxian, how are you feeling?”
“Like the world is ending.”
The bedside sinks with weight. “Can I get you anything?”
“No,” he chokes.
“Alright.” Then he asks, “Can you stick out your hand to me? Doesn’t matter which one.” Soft hands clasps Wei Wuxian’s hand, and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers press his wrists. “Alright. Wei Wuxian, go rest. Sleep. You’ll feel better.”
“Am I dying?”
“No. You’re metamorphing,” he explains. Then the bed rises, and Xiao Xingchen quietly slips out of the bedroom. In a low voice that Wei Wuxian can somehow still hear, he says from the living room, “You’re right. I’m not sure how I missed it, but I see it now.”
“How can I help him?”
“His behavior towards you makes complete sense now,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs. “As an emerging huli jing, he finds your presence quite comforting. As the object of his desire, his attraction, he feels the most safe around you. What I don’t quite understand is why he feels much older than he has been telling us.” A pause. “I must ask you to not reveal this to anyone else, even your brother. This has been a highly kept secret among the huli jings.”
“Mn.”
“Huli jings, unlike many creatures, undergo several metamorphosis. At the fifty year mark of their life, they discover their first form. Typically, this is the form of the opposite sex they’re born in. Thus, first tail. At a hundred, their fox form emerges. A second tail is gained as well, but this is where it becomes different for every single huli jing. It’s at the mark of the second tail where huli jings can begin cultivating qi but not like how cultivators cultivate their cores. Depending on the strength of their will and power, the next tails can form at different years until they’ve finally reached nine tails.”
“But Wei Wuxian?”
“It’s as if he’s going through the first tail and second tail all at once.” He pauses again. “So you can see it’s double the stress for him. The best thing we can do is keep him safe and comfortable while his body goes through the metamorphosis. He’ll just have to be kept in your bed until the metamorphosis is complete.”
Lan Zhan might have said something after all, but all the weariness that has sunk into Wei Wuxian’s very bones have taken over and drawn him into sleep.
He wakes up screaming, his very bones aching in pain and his head splitting in two. Maybe it’s nightmares he’s seeing, but he thinks what he sees is very real. “Mama,” he pleas into the darkness. “Please. Don’t.”
His mother’s four tails used to be so splendid, but now they lay limp against the ground, as if decaying. And his mother’s hands, bloodied and wrinkled, push at the talismans forming a belt around his waist. She push so much spiritual energy in the talismans that yesterday’s pain bleeds into today’s, and maybe he’s even bleeding from his wrists at this very moment, and he’s squirming hard against the weight pushing him down at the shoulders and arms, so he’s kicking desperately—
Then there’s nothing.
Someone is feeding him soup, the sweetest and tastiest chicken soup he’s had in a long time. His eyes weakly blink open, and he sees Lan Zhan gently holding his head and torso up, his golden eyes so focused on Wei Wuxian. In between sips, he whispers, his throat dry, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“It’ll be alright,” Lan Zhan assures. And he sounds so certain that Wei Wuxian feels himself relaxing, feels himself giving in. Lan Zhan carefully lowers his upper body and soothes, “Go back to sleep, Wei Ying.”
One pleasant morning, Wei Wuxian wakes up with all his muscles sore but in an oddly good way, as if stretching an arm that hasn’t been moved in a long time. He blinks awake and pushes himself up, and he frowns at the sudden weight on his chest. No, weights. His hand immediately reaches up to touch the soft tissues, and he freezes, because it’s not as if someone has strapped weights around his chest.
Instead, there are actual breasts, soft, supple, and perky. They are too big to fit into his palms perfectly.
“What?” he gasps, but his voice isn’t coming out right either. It’s higher, light, and feminine, and he repeats himself as if there’s something wrong with his ears, “What?” He’s fully groping his own chest as if trying to find an illusion to tug it off.
A gentle clearing of the throat forces Wei Wuxian to look up and to hurriedly withdraw his hands to avoid looking like a complete pervert. His ears red, Lan Zhan stands there on the side of the bed, glancing politely away from Wei Wuxian. He holds a tray of steaming buns.
Wei Wuxian quickly shakes off the embarrassment. “Lan Zhan,” he crows in delight. “I’m hungry.” In a flash, he steals away one of the buns, but his center of gravity has changed. It’s lower than before, and while his balance is better, he’s not used to having weight in different places than before. He ends up toppling off the bed, easily caught by one of Lan Zhan’s steady arms. Wei Wuxian can swoon. Never has he met a man so strong yet so graceful and still capable of balancing the tray in his other hand. “Lan Zhan,” he says again, gasping. “You caught me.”
Lan Zhan’s golden eyes seem to pierce right into Wei Wuxian’s very soul. “Wei Ying,” he simply says, and oh, it sounds so terrifying, so wonderfully right.
The moment is interrupted when Wei Wuxian spots something black and fluffy with a white tip slithering up to smack against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He shouts in warning, “Lan Zhan! Watch out!”
“Wei Ying,” he repeats, not moving even as the fluffy thing, which Wei Wuxian realizes is an actual tail, happily smacks against the left side of Lan Zhan’s face. The tail toys with Lan Zhan’s white ribbon, getting tangled with the strands. “It’s alright. You should rest some more.”
“Why? I feel like I have so much energy.” His eyes follow the strange tail, and he glances down to realize that it’s connected to his own body. It’s actually coming from his own behind. His mouth wobbles, and he stupidly says, “Wait, that is my tail. I have a tail? A fox tail?”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers, placing the tray on the nightstand and then lifting Wei Wuxian easily back into bed. “Rest. Sleep.”
His eyelids obediently fall shut. Maybe the tail is only a strange dream.