The Mo family (what's left of it, anyway) rather belatedly offers for the junior disciples and Master Lan to stay in their guest quarters, but Lan Wangji refuses with little more than a tilt of his still-swimming head. No, he will take the juniors far from this dark house-- the inn he is staying in has rooms enough, and he wishes to do his thinking with more ease than he would find in a manor that swirls with scents of terror and doubt. He busies himself with the spirit pouch and then is walking, trusting his juniors to fall in line. They all know he does not waste breath.
As always, Lan Sizhui is the one to translate his dismissal into more diplomatic words and perfect bows, "Thank you very much, but we are eager to return to the road. Although the spirit has been subdued, it is best that we not allow it to linger here." The Mo household gives the barest of token objections, and the Lan disciples follow their leader down the road. It is not exactly a happy parting, but each side is glad to see the last of the other.
They have done their duty, and are now moving onwards, as befits cultivators. Lan Wangji does not allow himself to turn around, or abandon his charges in order to stalk the byways out of the manor. He is a disciplined man, and a fever-dream of recognition against a slip of fabric is not enough to make him forget himself. Though, if after his charges are safely asleep, he breaks the Lan precepts and heads out past nine to check once, just to be sure, who's to say?
And if, while walking those streets and covering the countryside astride Bichen, he can't detect the slightest scent of rusting iron and too-ripe fruit, who would know? If he landed once in a field with a flurry of anticipation, only to have his hopes crushed by an abandoned axe soaking in a sad little puddle, why did that matter? If he returned to the inn past eleven and wondered forlornly if he was even remembering Wei Ying's smell right or if he'd lost it at last--
Well, as long as his control only slipped in private, it was almost like it never happened at all.
---
The next morning, Lan Wangji takes the juniors to Dafan Mountain.
He does it because night hunting is good practice; he does it because the people of the area are in need, and that means the Lan are obligated to help. He takes them that way because it is close to Mo Village and because one way forward is surely as good as another, as long as they follow the precepts. He does not take them there because it is a place he had shared with Wei Wuxian, in another life. He does not take them there while dreaming that he might round a corner and see that cocky smile, hear a teasing, "Lan Zhan, what took you so long?"
No, he takes them because it is the sensible thing to do. And if the sensible course runs in the same river as the silent dreams of his heart, well, that can hardly be helped, can it? Logical men can get very good at rationalization, given enough time and desperation.
As Lan Wangji and his juniors walk the paths up the mountain, it becomes clear that not every sect is interested in sensibility. Lan Wangji sees the elaborate spirit nets, smells the struggling visitors caught in their web, and tenses ever so slightly. Golden tassels, more money than sense-- it does not take great knowledge to know who else hunts this mountain. The faint scents of lightning and battlefield blood, of lotus and over-brewed tea, just confirm it.
"Oh, so many nets. Hanguang-Jun, the Lanling Jin sect is surely here in full force."
"It's so excessive." Lan Sizhui might be staying diplomatic, but Lan Jingyi is clearly unhappy with the poor sportsmanship shown by such ostentation, snorting his opinion as they walk the leaf-strewn path.
Lan Wangji pauses for a moment and tilts his head in reproach, but otherwise does not respond. The voice in his head (the one that sounds alarmingly like Wei Wuxian) agrees with Lan Jingyi, but a Lan does not share gossip or malicious words behind another's back.
In a less regimented clan, such an inoffensive outburst would be accepted from an alpha like Jingyi, but the Lan are no such clan, and Lan Jingyi's answering gulp shows that he has belatedly remembered that. It does not matter that his type is meant to run hot and Sizhui's is meant to run soft-- they are above such things, and are expected to act in accordance with their teachings rather than their natures.
Lan Wangji resumes walking, and the silently chastised disciples follow. They are able to keep their neutrality for all of ten minutes, and then it is broken. By Lan Wangji, of all people.
---
Lan Wangji has many feelings towards Sect Leader Jiang. At present, as in general, they are overwhelmingly negative.
He had tolerated the man, once. Had even almost liked him, in those frozen months when it felt like the two of them were the only ones in the world who cared where Wei Wuxian had gone. They'd walked the paths of Qishan together, spent long nights checking battlefields and roadside shrines until Lan Wangji knew Jiang Wanyin's scent better than almost anyone's-- could find him in the dark from a field away. Sure, the Jiang clan's focus on "living free" meant that at times the firstborn son was a caricature of alpha traits that Lan Zhan could hardly handle, but at least he had loved his brother. And if that same childhood had created Wei Wuxian, who was Lan Wangji to complain and act superior? He would not trade Wei Wuxian's fire for anything.
Plus, Jiang Wanyin gave him hope. Gave him hope that they'd find Wei Wuxian, because "Lan Wangji, trust my words: my brother is far too stubborn to die." Gave him hope that when they found him, Lan Wangji might be able to make an offer, even with Wei Wuxian somehow knowing his secret. After all, he'd rarely seen two alphas share such open and nipping affection-- surely if Wei Ying loved having a brother that tested him so, he'd be open to similar dynamics with a lover. Even if Wei Wuxian seemed closer to Jiang Yanli, Lan Wangji knew it wasn't because of her omega status, knew that their bond wasn't anything to concern himself with. It would be alpha foolishness to worry about such things-- worry that his softness towards his sister was a sign that he'd want an omega himself, when the time came.
Except in the darkest hours of his rut, he recognized that. Lan Wangji respected the Jiang-Wei bonds, even as he envied them. He was all about overcoming your biology. What he could not rise above was when their bond of brotherhood was thrown away like it meant nothing. Like Wei Wuxian meant nothing. When one sibling mattered more than the other and a dying wish -- a dying one! -- and over a decade of brotherhood were tossed aside in the rage of a wounded animal.
Lan Zhan had begged Jiang Wanyin to stop this madness, with his words and a scent that he'd never before sent out into the world, and the bastard had ignored him. Everyone talked about the scentless Lan like they were a revelation, and in his pain and desperation, he'd let down those barriers, betrayed his teachings and acted like his father-- given his scent to another, in public, in pleading, and-- and it hadn't made a bit of difference. He'd thought the act alone would shock Jiang Wanyin out of his blood-rage, but the man hadn't even blinked. Had never acknowledged the waves of desperate and bargaining alpha scent that had rolled off of Lan Zhan like resentment and broken promises. Had ignored the subservience Lan Wangji had offered up recklessly.
Jiang Wanyin had killed the love of his life, just as surely as if he had plunged that sword directly into him. He had killed the love of his life and walked away a hero . A hero, over the ashes of his sworn brother. A hero who had spent the last sixteen years destroying anyone who might carry on any part of Wei Wuxian-- his cultivation or his soul. Who had three extra years to ruin any hope of finding him, while Lan Wangji suffered through his wounds and regrets. Sect Leader Jiang had become the antithesis of everything Lan Wangji carried in his soul, and at times he hated the man for it.
But resentment is a poison that affects your temperament and damages your body, as he'd often warned Wei Wuxian. So Lan Wangji kept his words and faces neutral, even as he and Jiang Wanyin circled one another like wolves for over a decade-- both looking for scraps of Wei Wuxian, albeit for very different reasons.
---
But at the edge of these woods, watching Jiang Wanyin tip vitriol into the ear of his heir-- who would always be too beta for the man-- Lan Wangji feels something inside him snap, and it is by the slimmest of margins that he holds on to his famous Lan neutrality. He is expressionless as he deflects yet another Jin blade from a neck that he can barely stand to look at. His face (if not his mind) is impassive as he sends that energy slicing through every other spirit net on the mountain. He is stone as he wills himself not to respond to Jiang Wanyin's open mockery of his useless quest to find Wei Wuxian.
Look for someone indeed-- as if you yourself have not spent your years searching him out. The voice inside his head is not nearly as schooled in the Lan precepts as he is-- Lan Zhan tells himself this is because the voice is some small part of Wei Wuxian, out of his control. He knows that is a pathetic lie, but he clings to it anyway. If Wei Wuxian's soul went to anyone, it would not be him-- and that's part of why Jiang Wanyin infuriates the usually unflappable Lan. Because despite their mutual animosity, sometimes in the curve of his sword or the movement of his qi, Lan Wangji swears he sees pieces of Wei Wuxian in the man, and the injustice of it is maddening. The thought that Wei Wuxian might still choose his hatred over Lan Wangji's love--
But none of that matters, now.
What matters is calmly facing the storm of bitterness and resentment that stands before him in purple robes. As always, it is Lan Jingyi who comes to his very un-Lan rescue, and Lan Sizhui who tries to talk things out. If those two keep at it, everyone will know their status in no time, and for that, Lan Wangji knows he should intervene. But not today-- not while regret still colors his thoughts and clouds his senses. For his part, Lan Wangji stays silent, the conversation taking him back to when he last heard complaints on the fairness of a hunt-- on Phoenix Mountain.
At Pheonix Mountain, Wei Wuxian's confidence had called to and frustrated him in equal measure, but here, Jin Ling's bragging swagger feels unearned-- an insult to a memory that only Lan Wangji holds dear. He does not have the right to talk rules like Wei Wuxian once did, so Lan Wangji silences him. It is… an unorthodox choice, and it does not go unnoticed.
"You're not the one who should discipline him!"
No, but since you aren't doing the job, it seems I must.
Another slip by the trickster who lives in his head. Lan Wangji does not respond. Once again, it falls to young Lan Sizhui to soothe ruffled feathers, explaining a spell that Jiang Wanyin surely saw enough times to remember. It falls to him again, when Jiang Wanyin, who wears his alpha status like a talisman of danger, learns that all their spirit nets have been destroyed.
Lan Sizhui does not know what to make of that-- Lan Wangji does not normally involve himself beyond immediate correction, but he explains and apologizes anyway. The scent of ozone and burnt offerings is almost overwhelming now, as the junior disciple plays diplomat. For the entire exchange, Hanguang-Jun stays silent, as if such matters are beneath him. Sect Leader Jiang can't help a parting shot though-- and when he mentions disciplining juniors from other clans-- as if that was all Wei Wuxian was to either of them-- well, such moments are exactly what Lan training is for.
It is only when the others leave that Lan Wangji breaks his silence, sending his juniors onwards with a handful of calm words. It is only when they leave that he will grant himself a reprieve or a ruination--
Either way, he will turn his head and finally see who is behind that tree.
---
A gasp, a jump, a very un-alpha response to his slow inspection. No, the boy might look and cultivate a bit like Wei Wuxian, but the man himself had never been one to shy away from attention. Certainly not Lan Zhan's-- not until the end. He'd stood tall, even when he should have bowed, talked back when he should have silently seethed. Whoever was behind that tree-- their rapid-fire and wordless rejection-- the cloying scent of omega fear that they sent out, almost as if unaware of it--
It would take something a great deal more earth-shattering than death to turn Wei Wuxian into that person.
Still, Lan Wangji is not prepared for the sense of loss that overtakes him as he reaches these conclusions.
Ridiculous, really. He'd only thought Wei Wuxian might be back for a few days-- only seen the boy with the red ribbon and the idiotic mask for a few minutes, and yet he'd been desperately hoping that it would be him. That somehow, Wei Wuxian would untie the mask and waggle his fingers and the last sixteen years would be forgotten. But Lan Wangji should really know by now that he never gets what he longs for.
He turns towards the path and hides his feelings as surely as he hides his face. It was nice while it lasted.
---
Lan Wangji wishes he had a jar of Emperor's Smile. Or a nice stand of bamboo to destroy in a very un-Lan venting of emotions. Wei Wuxian has always brought out the wildness in him, even if most missed it.
He wishes he had anything, really, but sharing a dining pavilion with Sect Leader Jiang has left him with few options. At least there are no others here to force conversation. He holds himself still and thinks back to the young man's lips-- not that he normally takes an interest in such things, but the boy-
Oh, he could have sworn Wei Wuxian had just such a beauty mark, right under his bottom lip. Then again, Lan Zhan knows that he has imagined those lips too many times to trust himself-- in his rational life, he would never, but during his ruts he--
Well, he'd done shameful things, imagining that very pair of lips so often that he can no longer tell what's real and what's a half-remembered dream anymore. He should have asked Wei Wuxian to draw a self-portrait to go with the one he gifted Lan Wangji so many years ago. It would have been embarrassing, but at least he would have something concrete to look at and remember as his love. Maybe the boy just had nice lips, and that plus the dark robes was all it took for him to see his Wei Ying. Not that he'd ever been his, not even fleetingly. There'd been moments, in the caves and-
But no matter.
An attitude and nice lips did not a Yiling Patriarch make, and Lan Wangji was not going to terrorize the boy.
As Lan Wangji eats a soup that he doesn't care enough to taste and waits obligingly for flares that will hopefully not come, he attempts to clear his mind of Wei Wuxian and find his balance once more. A full meal later, and Lan Wangji is growing annoyed at himself. He's been dutifully meditating, yet the delusion is just taking firmer hold. Now, in addition to imagining the boy as Wei Wuxian, he can almost swear he hears his flute playing on snatches of the ever-changing wind.
But no-- he knew for a fact that Chenqing was locked away with the Yunmeng Jiang sect. His brother had told him as much when he'd drunkenly torn through the Cloud Recesses treasure room, looking for a flute that wasn't there. He'd found the branding iron instead, and that had been too much and not enough, all at once.
But then-
But then, he hears it. Piped through an inferior instrument-- but their song. A song that he only played when he was particularly melancholic-- one that he taught to no disciples. One he shared with no one but the man that he had composed it for, as water dripped down and a sad fire burned and he-
Lan Wangji is flying through the air with the fervor of a drowning man heading for the surface of a fathomless lake. He cannot think or breathe or exist but to know that no one else knows that song, and all it matters is reaching him before he's spirited away.
Wei Ying, Wei Ying, please wait for me.
---
Too much is happening on the wide washout along the mountain. There are disciples on the ground and a corpse that he'd recognize as Wen Ning (if he cared enough to look), but Lan Wangji has one focus: The omega in the ugly mask, who is inexplicably playing their song.
His heart shatters and is reformed, over and over, until he settles of belief. He does not understand-- it's not as if there is a guide for these things-- but when the masked boy bumps into his shoulder, Lan Wangji chooses to believe. Against years of disappointment and ruined dreams, he believes that the shock that runs through him and the stillness he feels is his soul being knit back together, now that his soulmate has returned.
But there is danger here too. Not in the possibility of secrets revealed or the corpse the boy is calling (though perhaps he should be worried about that), but in the fact that the love of his life is evidently back, and after sixteen years of pent-up everything- if Lan Zhan feels another second of him against his chest and hip, he's going to do something unforgivable and alpha and very un-Lanlike and probably ruin things forever. Again.
So with all the self-control that Lan Qiren has ever taught him, Lan Wangji, peerless jade of the Lan sect, clamps down on his emotions, steps to the side, and settles for a familiar wrist grab. No skin to skin contact at all. It's a stretch to say Lan Qiren would be proud, but at least he wouldn't be offended.
The boy looks at him, and Lan Zhan knows. He can see past the mask, see eyes that he wants to whip himself for ever imagining that he could forget, see the way Wei Ying raises the flute to his lips and continues playing-- surely, if he were a stranger, he'd demand Second Master Lan take his hand away. Wouldn't he?
And then, the corpse leaves and the flute falls and the way Wei Wuxian grips his hand and pleads with silent eyes-- it's like forever passes between them, and Lan Zhan knows .
Wei Wuxian is back and none of the details matter.
Which is precisely when Lan Wangji's least favorite Sect Leader (after the ignoble death of Jin Guangshan) arrives to destroy the happiness that Lan Wangji has just grasped. He can feel the tension in Wei Wuxian's frame, and what's more, he can smell it.
Scents are not supposed to change, yet this is the second time that Lan Wangji has had to adjust to a new scent from the one he wishes to call his own. It is good he has his training-- an unfocused alpha might be driven to distraction by such impossibilities.
Wei Wuxian has definitely been deposited in an omega body, and he must not know how to control it, because he is radiating longing and fear and a guilt so deep it very nearly takes Lan Wangji down with him. The alpha posturing up the road only makes the sensations worse, especially when Jiang Wanyin turns his eyes on them.
Lan Wangji does not let go, not until the last minute of battle-readiness. He will protect him. Not because he's an omega, but because he is Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji has been dying to go back and protect him properly since those first days of disaster.
When Lan Wangji fails (again) he is certain that the loss will kill him. He doesn't know why Wei Wuxian ran! He never used to run, always trusted Lan Wangji to fight by his side, but this time he runs and Lan Zhan is too slow and all he sees is the arc of Zidian as it slashes across Wei Wuxian's back. It is the third-worst moment of his life.
And...that's it. Apologies to his clan, but he is going to kill Jiang Wanyin and then kill himself, because Zidian expels spirits and if Wei Wuxian was an omega in this brief new life, that means this is a possession and not a resurrection and that means Wei Ying is gone.
Lan Wangji had him back for half of a song, not even time to confess his wretched feelings again, and now he's gonegonegone . That Lan self-control turns brittle and fractious. He's frozen, staring at the body of his lost-again love but at soon as he can call his swor-
And then, the body moves and every rude word out of that pretty mouth shows that it's still Wei Wuxian in there, and Lan Wangji lets out the shuddering breath that no one knew he was holding. He can't quite keep the rage from his eyes, but Wei Ying is, impossibly, still here. Lan Wangji has never been so happy with Wei Ying's commitment to rule-breaking. Wei Ying needs him, so he will behave.
Honestly though, it's good that Lan Wangji has had decades to love Wei Ying as an alpha, because if he'd been an omega from the start, Lan Wangji is pretty sure he'd have a much harder time tamping down on his protective instincts and need to retaliate. Even if Lan are supposed to be above such things, there are limits to human endurance.
Instead he settles for holding up his sword and placing himself between Wei Ying and danger. He lets his more level-headed disciples explain all the logical reasons why this boy can't be the feared Yiling Patriarch, and feels a small frisson of pride at having instructed them so well, even if his own objectivity is harder to chase. Even if he knows they are mistaken, and this short little hurricane is his chosen one. Things are being handled. Everything is working out. They might have a future, of some kind, cobbled together from whatever pieces of him Wei Wuxian will want.
At least until Wei Wuxian passes out. Then, Lan Wangji once more comes very close to losing himself completely.
---
While Lan Wangji loses his ever-loving mind, Wei Wuxian dreams of lotus root soup and papers that fly around libraries on their own accord. He dreams of pleasure and pain and a moment-- one terrible moment-- when he'd felt a connection, scented a bond that couldn't be, before the whole world went mercifully black. Of tears and blood and gently falling ash. Maybe Second Young Master Lan always wore white because from the start, he knew Wei Wuxian would meet a bad end, and wanted to be appropriately dressed for the event. Lan Zhan, thank you very much for making it to the occasion of my funeral. It's okay that you didn't bring paper money to burn, I'm sure Lan blood is worth more anyway, right Lan Er-gege?
Wei Wuxian snorts and snuggles, and then he lets go completely.
He lets the dreams take him, and nuzzles into the sandalwood that seems to arrive and chase away his blood-soaked regrets at every bend. He dreams of cool mists and strong arms and chants whispered against his ears. He scents an Omega, and though he doesn't recognize the liquor-dipped smell, he pretends it belongs to his shije. Or maybe a certain stern-faced Lan, now wouldn't that be funny? He dreams of belonging and belief and all the other things he lost in the Burial Mounds. And for some reason, he dreams of Lan Zhan.
Oh, Young Master Mo, what did I tell you about that. Honestly, where's your dedication here? You can't fixate on the first familiar face we see, it's too shameless, even for me! At least you didn't choose Jiang Cheng. Now that would have been unbearable. But honestly, set your sights lower. If we pester Lan Zhan, the only one getting revenge will be him, and I don't want these cuts to last forever.
"Oh, come on already! You're too fat to carry all the way up, have some mercy." Lan Jingyi pulls at Little Apple's harness but the donkey stays firmly planted, having abandoned the road to Cloud Recesses in favor of new grass growing along the streambed. In exasperation, he turns to his fellow juniors, who awkwardly move to pick up the lock-legged creature like they might a corpse on a stretcher.
They make it another hundred steps before the hellspawn starts braying so loudly that the cowed disciples have no choice but to plop it back on the ground and watch the glutton return to its grasses. Lan Sizhui pats A-Jing's shoulder comfortingly, but Lan Jingyi is in no mood for conciliation. He wants to be home and asleep and following the principles, even the annoying ones. He is tired of smelling like donkey and feeling on-edge, which he vents to his too-patient neighbor.
"But why do we have to talk this smelly thing up with us at all? Just because some crazy probably stole it from somewhere…"
"Lan Jingyi! Please don't say such unfair things. Young Master Mo is a guest of Hanguang-Jun. We must take his property up with us."
"But I need to get home. You must know-"
Lan Sizhui cuts him off with one look. Yes, he knows, but he really shouldn't. For all his outbursts, A-Jing is normally more composed than this, and the undissipated stress probably means his rut is approaching. But Lan Sizhui should not know such things! Even within the Sect, only the leaders and the individual are meant to know their secondary gender. Like the forehead ribbons they are each blessed to wear, status is something only touched on by your most intimate family members. A-Yuan only knows because, as a fellow foundling, he occupies the room right next to A-Jing, and four years ago, when A-Jing scented for the first time, it was diligent Lan Sizhui who (calmly walked, never ran) to alert Hanguang-Jun. It was A-Yuan who voluntarily sealed his sense of smell and entered the room, washing A-Jing's sheets and robes so that no one (including himself) would accidentally breach Lan Jingyi's privacy and learn that most intimate part of him.
But still, they never spoke of it! To do so would be obscene.
Still, Lan Sizhui understands, cutting his friend off from a loss of control with a head tilt reminiscent of Lan Xichen and a quiet insistence that, "Perhaps the donkey is shy. Why don't the rest of you proceed and we will follow behind?"
Lan Sizhui had his 'time of seclusion' last month. He is in no danger, and he enjoys the quiet of the evening air. Even if he and the pot-bellied animal have to sleep outside the gates, he will not mind. He is quite sure (though he can never remember why) that he has slept in far less pleasant places.
With a happy wave, he bids the rest of the juniors goodbye, sits at the stream, and allows the night to roll over him. Only when Master Mo's strange companion starts nibbling on his hair does he rise and lead the now placid animal up the steps once more.
"Yes, thank you, but please stop-- I'm not a radish, you know!"
---
For the first night in ages, Lan Wangji uses his guqin to play something other than Inquiry. He plays the song that brought them back together, listens to Wei Wuxian's now-soothed breathing, and feels the deep-seated contentment of one for whom this small intimacy could be enough. If all he ever gains is the chance to hear Wei Wuxian breathe again, he can survive on that. It will become his second inedia-- just as cultivators can last without food by their practice, he can last without love. This is more than he expected, and it could be enough. Small acts of service are sufficient-- he can make this last.
That is the thought that sustains him as the adrenaline leeches from his bones and he allows himself to be soothed, as much as he is soothing, through his playing.
At Dafan Mountain, when Wei Wuxian had fainted, Lan Wangji had worried that somehow, the effects of Zidian were delayed and Wei Ying would be leaving him after all. But no, after a quick and harried exploration of his qi, Lan Wangji knew that this was a spiritual exhaustion, rather than an eviction.
Of course he would be overwhelmed. Back to life, hunted by his sworn brother, grabbed by his… whatever Lan Wangji was in his mind… attacked by a fairy and rescued by a should-be-dead friend and forced to attempt to cultivate after years in the ether, to cultivate in a body whose qi moved differently than his own, the shock of no longer being an alpha… of course he had collapsed.
It was a great deal for anyone to take in. Perhaps, once the immediate danger had passed, Lan Wangji too would feel the weight of it all. But not while Jiang Wanyin had been staring at Zidian as if it had malfunctioned-- as if he was eager to try again. Lan Wangji had decided to finally, after all this time, take Wei Wuxian back to Gusu with him. If he felt a tremor of regret at the knowledge that he could only accomplish his task while his guest was spiritually exhausted… Well, that was his pain to bear. He grabbed hold of Wei Wuxian's limp wrist and hoisted one arm above his own shoulder. Jiang Wanyin took exception, naturally.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Young Master Mo will go to Gusu." Lan Wangji does not stop arranging the young man, even as he smells more ozone building.
"Young Master-? We haven't even established his identity! No, he will stay." His voice is full of alpha command, and Lan Wangji (respectfully) could not give less of a shit.
"Do you think to stop me?" The words are still and silent like a grave.
It is a tone that Jiang Wanyin has never heard from the emotionless Lan Wangji, and he has heard more than most. He knows what it sounds like when the "peerless" pleads and screams and feels deep relief and betrayal, but this is something else entirely. This is a promise, that he and the man he calls Young Master Mo (but clings to like Wei Wuxian) will leave here together, even if it rips the world asunder. The Sect Leader considers... Jin Ling is here. Jin Ling is here, so a shaking Jiang Wanyin backs down.
Lan Wangji had unsheathed Bichen and jumped astride, taking the boneless Wei Wuxian aboard with him. It was perhaps not the best use of his qi when walking would serve just as well, but Lan Wangji had neglected his alpha instincts for too long and by that point, needed to remove Wei Wuxian from this danger. Perhaps he would come to his senses a few mountains from here, and resume walking, but he doubted it.
As they departed, he gave terse directions to his open-mouthed juniors, not sparing Sect Leader Jiang another look. Sure enough, he flew them the whole way back to Cloud Recesses, unable or unwilling to let Wei Wuxian go, even as he felt his energy start to falter.
---
Wei Wuxian slept for a full day, and for a full day, Lan Wangji sequestered himself and played, discovering as much as he could of this new Wei Wuxian without taking liberties or disturbing his healing.
He learned that though those eyes and lips might seem the same, Wei Wuxian was not as he had left him. Of course, the change in status was the most obvious, honeyed liquor and sweet chili glaze filling Lan Wangji's nose whenever he checked Wei Wuxian's pulse and felt his fluttering qi, weaker than he ever remembered, but growing stronger.
But he was also shorter. Which was...surprisingly hard to adjust to.
Lan Wangji might not be able to remember the exact configuration of each freckle, but he knew for a fact that Wei Wuxian used to be as tall as him, or at least very close to it. As they rode Bichen and he put Wei Ying to bed, it just felt like something was… missing. At first, Lan Wangji had attributed it to the boneless slump of an unconscious body, but the detail had niggled at him until he had carefully and shamefacedly laid himself out alongside Wei Ying in the bed (not touching, of course, never touching) and measured himself against the sleeping beauty.
Yes, definitely shorter.
Before, he had always imagined kissing Wei Wuxian as a battle with an uncertain victor, but now he knows that if such a blessing were to occur, he would have to tilt his head down and invite the action. Boldly. He'd have to lean his head forward and wet his lips and look into those eyes in the type of invitation he'd never managed before… The thought is enough to send placid Lan Zhan sprawling out of the bed and to the other side of the jingshi for several more hours of quiet contemplation and focus. Wei Wuxian snores through his torture.
Only when the junior disciples return does Lan Wangji venture out of the jingshi, and only for the most perfunctory performance of his duties. Behind his back, Lan Xichen frowns, then smiles, then says nothing.
---
Lan Wangji cannot express what it means to him, that he is there and playing when Wei Wuxian first awakens. He can taste the tears on the air as the replenished omega stirs, and all his fancy words fly away at the softness in Wei Ying's words and scent. Lan Wangji feels the loss that buffets his guest, and he resumes playing Wangxian , hoping that somewhere in those notes, Wei Wuxian will grasp what he is trying to express. What he has always been trying to express.
We are linked, and I will never abandon you.
They talk. They talk, and though it's not nearly enough, Lan Wangji answers and asks what he can, without exposing his unwanted heart. He feels relief that Wei Wuxian does not know where his soul has been hiding-- relief that he is intact and that he was not intentionally spurning Lan Wangji's Inquiry. And if there are volumes left unsaid for every few words that pass between them, Lan Zhan accepts that.
Did you really believe me, back then?
It is a hard question to answer, but Wei Wuxian seems to expect no response. By the time Lan Wangji has collected his thoughts enough to piece together something that is neither a lie nor a blatant confession, Wei Wuxian is engrossed in fiddling with each and every container in his rather barren quarters. He tips the incense holders with his fingers and thumbs through priceless books, snooping for something embarrassing and revealing. Just as Lan Wangji is starting to worry about his unanswered question and the likelihood of Wei Wuxian discovering the lovingly-preserved drawing, made so many years ago, Wei Wuxian is (accidentally) exposing himself instead.
"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, your jingshi smells so nice. I think sandalwood is my new favorite, but I have a question."
Wei Wuxian is gently dusting his wrists with incense powder, like a girl at a festival, and Lan Zhan has to close his eyes at the sight of it. It's almost as good as Wei Ying asking him to scent him directly. Does this mean you like my scent? I can cover you with it, every day, just say the word and it's yours. I will coat every inch of you until the entire world cannot separate my scent from yours. Still, he knows Wei Wuxian can't possibly know the significance, and he knows that if he ignores two questions in a row, the teasing will become relentless. He opens his eyes and tries to keep the strain out of his voice:
"Then ask it."
"I thought the Lan were supposed to be scentless. All those times you got so flustered when I brought it up. How come you have incense burning when you aren't even in meditation? Surely there's a precept about that!"
There is not. Other than his permissive older brother, no one else even knows that the controlled Lan Wangji insists on sandalwood because it reminds him of his own scent, a weak phantom of the complex layers of alpha that Lan Zhan has never had occasion to share with another. (He refuses to count Jiang Wanyin, and since the man himself will never visit these rooms, his secret is safe). Incense is perfectly permitted, and though Lan Qiren no doubt would object if he knew the reason for the flavor -- because more often than he'd like, peerless Lan Zhan loses himself in a dream and lets his scent escape him, calling out for a ghost-- he doesn't, so he doesn't. Lan Wangji shakes his head, and straightens the holders Wei Ying has left crooked in his wake. Organization against chaos, always. Routine is what keeps us steady in a maelstrom world.
"No precept like that. You like the smell?" There is a weakness in that question, addressed with his back to Wei Ying.
"And if I hated it, would you change to another?" Wei Wuxian teases, scrunching up his nose as if he's suddenly smelling something foul.
"Would try." Earnest eyes snap to his, and it's too much for the wide-awake Wei Wuxian to deal with.
Ugh, he sounds like he's making a vow! How dull and strange, late at night and when talking about nothing at all! If the Lan have to be serious even about such trivial things, Wei Wuxian is sure he will perish here, even if it's only a short visit. It's a miracle they don't trip over themselves constantly, with all the oaths they seem to hand out willy-nilly.
"Lan Zhan, you're no fun to tease when you're this agreeable. And anyway, I just told you I like it. Come, doesn't it smell nice on me?"
Wei Wuxian steps into Lan Zhan's personal space, bringing his incense-coated wrist to Lan Zhan's flaring nostrils, so close that the peerless jade could dart his tongue out and lap at the exposed skin.
" Wei Ying! "
There it is. The flaring pink across the tips of his ears, the widening eyes, the quivering nostrils: This is the Lan Zhan who once nearly expired from shock when Wei Wuxian jokingly started to strip in the Xuanwu cave. This is the man who jumped like a wet cat when Wei Wuxian slipped the tiniest bit of Nie Huaisang's pornography into his book. This is someone familiar, someone that Wei Wuxian does not have to worry about the company of.
"There we go! That's the face I was looking for. Ha, but I was starting to think you'd changed too much in these last years. Anyway, I think I'm going back to sleep, so please don't bother me, yeah?"
As Lan Zhan sputters in righteous indignation (or something else entirely), Wei Wuxian smirks to himself and takes back over the bed, too pleased to have shocked his savior to worry about stealing his place to sleep for yet another night. He cuddles into the pillow and lets the sounds of oddly hitched breathing send him back to sleep. All that reaction, just from a little thing like incense. Clearly, no one has been teasing Lan Zhan while Wei Wuxian's been dead, and the Second Master now has a terminal case of seriousness. It will fall to Wei Ying to treat that.
---
As Wei Wuxian wraps himself around Lan Wangji's covers in a way that he'd call intentionally indecent, if he didn't know the man was sleeping in earnest once more, Lan Zhan tries to control himself. After three beats, he gives up and walks the garden and recites the precepts, just to double-check that there isn't anything about incense.
After tonight, he thinks there perhaps should be. There's certainly room on the wall.
He leans his head against the cool wood of the outer wall and whimpers, actually whimpers, at the scent of Wei Ying and sandalwood, at the oils still lingering under his nose. He has never made such an undignified sound in his life. Even during rut, even that first one after Wei Wuxian was dead and he was so injured and so needy that he'd cried his way through an untouched nightmare, he'd not made sounds like this. This was-- self-denial pressed to unbelievable levels. He wants to cup his hands over his mouth and nose and inhale that mix of scents until he's lost to the world. He wants to take himself in hand and imagine terrible and beautiful things, buffeted by the smell. He wants to drink down Wei Ying like he's the last bottle of Emperor's Smile, fill his lungs like the world is about to burn, lose control.
The alpha he'd loved for as long as he'd known what love was had returned. He'd returned as a sweet-smelling omega and he was laying in his bed and saying such provocative and accidentally lewd things about scent and Lan Zhan just had to sit there and take it. Had to sit there and take it and couldn't even press into any kind of relief, because that would be immoral.
There was a precept against taking sexual gratification in an unknowing recipient, and fantasies counted. There was leeway during heats and ruts, but Lan Wangji wasn't in his time of seclusion. He was just-- weak, without any extra hormones to lessen his shame. It would be wrong to grant himself relief. It would be disgusting, even. More shameful than that kiss on Phoenix Mountain, over which he'd tortured himself for four months and two self-flagellating ruts.
And it's on that track that Lan Zhan paces and condemns himself, until his blood cools and he is able to return to the Jingshi.
But then Wei Wuxian lets out a breathless little something in his sleep and it's back out the doors with Lan Wangji.
Maybe a nice ten-hour soak in the Cold Springs is exactly what he needs.