Chapter Text
Lan Wangji prided himself on his meditative stillness, but for the past three days, his spiritual clarity had been thoroughly thoroughly compromised.
Standing in the middle of the Library Pavilion was a man wearing Wei Ying’s face, Wei Ying’s black robes, and Wei Ying’s red ribbon. But the posture was all wrong. Instead of Wei Ying’s bright, expansive, devastatingly reckless energy, this person possessed a slinky, languid sort of gravity. He looked less like a mischievous sun and more like a beautifully tailored shadow.
And currently, he was trying to hang himself from the ceiling beam with Wei Ying’s belt.
"Do not," Lan Wangji said, his voice flat, his hand tightening on Bichen's hilt.
"Ah, Lan-er-gongzi!" Dazai Osamu sighed from atop a stack of priceless, centuries-old commentaries. He loosely looped the silk around his neck, looking thoroughly bored. "You have such a beautiful, pristine sect, but your rules are so stifling! No alcohol? No fun? I asked that lovely disciple with the forehead ribbon if he would join me in a lovers' suicide, and he nearly wept and ran to get an elder. How cruel."
Lan Wangji closed his eyes. Do not kill him.
Yet, the frustration burning in his chest was a terrifyingly familiar sensation. This man—who claimed to be a 'mafia executive turned detective' from a land called Yokohama—shared Wei Ying's absolute, pathological inability to follow a single rule. But where Wei Ying broke rules out of a passionate, chaotic zest for life, this Dazai broke them with a terrifyingly calculated nihilism.
"Down," Lan Wangji commanded.
Dazai let himself slip off the beam, dropping with a feline grace that defied the fact that he didn't even know how to circulate qi yet. He leaned into Lan Wangji’s personal space, his eyes dark, glittering, and entirely vacant. "You know, you look just like a dog my partner used to have. Stiff, angry, and entirely too loyal."
Before Lan Wangji could formulate a response that wouldn't violate the rule against speaking ill of others, a distant booming sound echoed through the mountains.
Outside, the massive stone Wall of Discipline—carved with over three thousand rules—had just been split cleanly down the middle. Lan Qiren was standing in the courtyard, his eyes rolling back into his head as he clutched his chest.
Dazai hummed thoughtfully, dusting off his sleeves. "Oh, dear. I told the old man that his rules lacked artistic vision. I didn't think he'd take my feedback so poorly."
Lan Wangji stared at the ruined wall. For the first time in his life, he thought his Uncle might actually just smash the rest of it down himself out of sheer exhaustion.
—
"I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR TEETH IN, YOU BANDAGE-WASTING PIECE OF SHIT!"
The roar echoed across the Armed Detective Agency, followed immediately by the sound of a desk being flipped violently into a wall.
Wei Wuxian, currently inhabiting a tall, lanky body wrapped in a tan trench coat, dodged the flying furniture with a delighted laugh. He leaped onto the windowsill, a bottle of Chuuya’s finest, most expensive red wine dangling from his fingertips.
"Aiya, Chuuya-xiong! Your temper is even shorter than your stature!" Wei Wuxian cheered, taking a swig straight from the bottle. He winced slightly at the taste—it wasn't Emperor's Smile, it was sour and heavy, but the alcohol content was marvelous, and the magical glowing red energy this short man possessed was absolutely fascinating. "In my land, we respect our elders, but since we are peers, let's share a drink! Why are you so angry?"
Nakahara Chuuya looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His gravity manipulation was flaring so hard the floorboards beneath his boots were cracking.
He had been sent by the Port Mafia to deal with a 'strange anomaly' at the Agency, only to find Dazai acting... completely wrong. Dazai didn't laugh like this. Dazai didn't smile with actual, unadulterated warmth. And Dazai certainly didn't look at Chuuya's gravity powers with the eyes of a fascinated child at a festival.
"Who the hell are you?" Chuuya hissed, his aura pulsing. "Where is the mackerel? What did you do to his body?"
"I told you! I'm Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian!" Wei Wuxian grinned, completely unfazed by the death threat. He hopped down, stepping right into Chuuya’s oppressive gravity field.
To Chuuya's absolute shock, the moment Wei Wuxian touched his shoulder, the red glow of Upon the Tainted Sorrow sputtered and died. No Longer Human was still active in the DNA, completely nullifying the ability.
But instead of pulling away like Dazai usually did with a smug smirk, Wei Wuxian grabbed Chuuya’s gloved hand, examining it closely. "Wow! Your spiritual energy is tied to the earth, isn't it? But it feels so angry! Here, let me show you something."
Wei Wuxian twirled a random black ballpoint pen between his fingers like it was a flute, bringing it to his lips. He whistled a sharp, eerie note.
Suddenly, the ambient negative energy of Yokohama's dark—the lingering resentments of a hundred mafia turf wars—stirred. The shadows in the corner of the office elongated, twisting into dark, smoky shapes that bowed toward Wei Wuxian.
Chuuya’s jaw dropped. Dazai was supposed to nullify things, not summon demons with a stationery supply.
"See?" Wei Wuxian beamed, the shadows dancing harmlessly around Chuuya like terrifying, ghostly puppies. "You just have to channel the resentment properly! Though, I do miss my husband. He has a much prettier face than you do, and he doesn't yell nearly as much.
" Chuuya stared at the smiling lunatic wearing his ex-partner's face. The sheer, unadulterated chaos radiating off this guy was exhausting, but strangely... less depressing than the real Dazai.
Slowly, Chuuya rubbed the bridge of his nose, his gravity fading entirely. "You're a pain in the ass. Put the wine down."
"Only if you buy me one of these little metal carriages that move without horses!" Wei Wuxian bargained cheerfully. "I want to see how fast it goes!"
Chuuya closed his eyes, silently praying to whatever god looked after Yokohama. Please give me back my suicidal waste of bandages. This one is going to accidentally destroy the city with a ballpoint pen.