Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian is never getting married.
This is a conviction that he’s held ever since he was young, but between shijie’s gentle prodding recently and all of these horribly formal assemblies he’s forced to attend, Wei Wuxian makes a vow to himself out of spite, at the GusuLan assembly, that he’ll remain a free man until he dies, untethered to anything except the open wind and a fine jar of liquor.
He tells Nie Huaisang as much, who moans and tilts his head back dramatically.
“Wei-xiong,” his friend whines, flapping his fan over his face. “You’re so unromantic that it’s boring. Surely there’s someone here you can picture yourself with.”
Wei Wuxian scans the population of the room and just scoffs.
He, shijie, and Jiang Cheng had arrived to the Cloud Recesses this morning for one of the bi-monthly assemblies, which are allegedly hosted with the purpose of sect unity in mind but are really, what Wei Wuxian suspects, an opportunity for a bunch of sexually repressed disciples to meet suitors from other clans. The GusuLan sect in particular is shockingly boring, with limited dancing and zero alcohol permitted, but people had of course smuggled in liquor anyway, so a large group has started to dance close by to where a small group of Lan disciples is performing music with flawless execution.
“These poor, poor Lans,” Wei Wuxian says, shaking his head sadly to see the rest of the white-clad Lan disciples standing stiffly on the sidelines. They look slightly horrified but mostly confused to witness the ever-growing sea of drunken dancing happening under their own roof. “They’ve probably never done a single fun thing in their lives.”
Several different colors and decorative styles interweave throughout the room — the pristine white and blues of the Lan sect, the glittering white-gold of LanlingJin, the charcoal robes crosshatched with gold from QingheNie, and the familiar blues and purple lotus shapes of his own YunmengJiang sect — a few other colors, in lesser quantities, from the smaller sects. The only color noticeably missing, Wei Wuxian realizes, is the crimson red of the QishanWen. Had they simply not been invited, or had they refused to attend?
Anyway, thank god he’d found Nie Huaisang earlier in the day, otherwise he’d be wasting away from sheer boredom. The two of them had managed to down an entire jar of Emperor’s Smile before the event had started, so there’s at least a pleasant buzz ringing in Wei Wuxian’s ears, his cheeks warm and the room a hazy, golden glow around him.
The liquor makes it much more fun to remark on suitors, and to dare each other to ask other disciples to dance. Despite Nie Huaisang’s nagging, Wei Wuxian hasn’t danced yet — although he’s not bad at it, bordering actually on “quite good.”
Jiang Cheng suddenly materializes beside them with an unhappy expression — which is to say, his usual one.
“Jiang-xiong!” Nie Huaisang says brightly.
Jiang Cheng ignores Nie Huaisang to narrow his eyes at Wei Wuxian. “Are you drunk? You smell drunk.”
“No,” Wei Wuxian says indignantly, then hiccups.
“Why the hell didn’t you save me any?” Jiang Cheng demands, then rubs at a temple with a bone-weary energy that seems much older than him. “I’m not going to last.”
“Jiang-xiong, aren’t there any women here you want to woo?” Nie Huaisang asks with a sly, impish grin. “What’s your type, anyway?”
“Oh, I know his type,” Wei Wuxian interrupts before Jiang Cheng can open his mouth.
“Don’t you dare, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng warns.
“To win my shidi’s heart, a woman has to be naturally beautiful, nurturing and virtuous, soft-spoken, frugal, from a good family —” Wei Wuxian lists off in a scholarly tone, and Nie Huaisang breaks off into loud guffaws.
“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng hisses, punching his arm. “You don’t know shit.”
“We met some friends from the QishanWen sect a few years ago, when they stayed at Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian says, leaning an elbow onto Nie Huaisang’s shoulder. “You should have seen him, Nie-xiong. Jiang Cheng was obsessed with our friend Wen Qing. Smitten, really. It was cute, if not really sad.”
“Aww, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang coos as Jiang Cheng flushes a violent shade of red.
“Shut the hell up,” Jiang Cheng blusters, shoving at Wei Wuxian again with a hard scowl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s rare that anyone has friends in the Wen sect these days,” Nie Huaisang says, philosophically, and a considering, moody silence descends over their small group.
“Well, this has been fun,” Jiang Cheng deadpans. “Fuck you guys.” And he strides off, headed toward shijie.
“Jiang Cheng’s way too easy to rile up,” Wei Wuxian observes as he goes, shaking his head. “He’s going to need to work on that as sect leader.”
Nie Huaisang suddenly gasps, redirecting Wei Wuxian’s attention with, “Wei-xiong, look. The Twin Jades are here!”
As Nie Huaisang speaks, there’s a small disturbance in the steady babble of the room as everyone turns toward the Lan brothers’ arrival, who float into the room like two celestials descended from the heavens.
“Lan Xichen, Zewu-jun, and his younger brother Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun,” Nie Huaisang says in a hushed voice, and — yeah, okay, Wei Wuxian stares.
The two brothers appear strikingly similar — snow-pale, ink-black hair adorned with elaborately curled silver headpieces, resplendent white robes accented with soft touches of light-blue clouds. The golden filigrees of their forehead ribbons glint starkly in the dimly lit room. They have alike complexions and features, and they both move with frightening, near-feline grace, but the similarities end there. While Zewu-jun is warm and amicable, his mouth tilting up often in soft smiles as he goes about the room, Hanguang-jun is as cold as a winter wind, his ivory features carved as though from marble. His eyes are also an unsettling gold-amber hue, hard and glittering like polished jewels.
Wei Wuxian momentarily loses his breath. It’s hard not to stare at the younger brother. While both men are equally handsome, there’s an unsettling, ethereal quality to the beauty of the second Lan — like the first morning frost of autumn.
“Lan er-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang sighs, half-hiding his face behind his fan as he flaps it frantically. “What a stunning, graceful man. So sleek and powerful.”
Wei Wuxian’s reflex to be contradictory hits like a knee-jerk, and he finds himself saying, petulantly, “Eh, he’s alright.”
“Alright?” Nie Huaisang splutters, as though his own bloodline has been personally insulted. “Do you have eyes, Wei-xiong? If you think Hanguang-jun is just average-looking, then I fear for your standards.”
Wei Wuxian scoffs again, but he finds his eyes magnetized to Hanguang-jun all the same, following his path across the room. His profile is so perfectly sculpted that it’s like….it’s like…
Metaphors fail him, but luckily Nie Huaisang picks up the slack.
“Hanguang-jun is like a piercing shaft of winter moonlight,” Nie Huaisang says in a dreamy voice, absent-mindedly fanning his face.
“It’s not proper to mention piercing shafts in such an elegant setting, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian replies with a coy grin, and Nie Huaisang gasps and smacks him with the fan, grinning ear-to-ear and giggling maniacally despite himself.
Wei Wuxian is surprised to see that the Lan brothers join up with Jin Zixuan, who his shijie is infatuated with but Wei Wuxian has never liked. They’ve all known each other since they were children, given Jin Zixuan’s and shijie’s long-standing engagement, and he’s always come across to Wei Wuxian as arrogant, puffed-up, and shallow.
“Why are they with that peacock?” Wei Wuxian mutters to himself, watching as Zewu-jun familiarly greets Jin Zixuan.
“You don’t know?” Nie Huaisang asks. “The Lan and Jin sects are fairly close ever since they’ve been working together to suppress the Wen sect. Da-ge has been involved with it, too.”
Jin Zixuan is evidently ignoring whatever Zewu-jun is saying to him, instead staring off like a forlorn puppy. Wei Wuxian realizes with disgust that the object of his gaze is shijie, who is speaking animatedly to another woman from the Jin sect.
“I mean, who does he think he is, anyway?” Wei Wuxian complains, ruffling more when shijie returns Jin Zixuan’s gaze and offers a shy smile.
“The third-most handsome bachelor in the gentries,” Nie Huaisang answers, pointedly. “And also the Jin heir.”
“Okay, sure, but other than that, I mean.”
“Ah, Wei-xiong, he’s really not that bad. Or — I mean, not as bad as you think he is —”
Wei Wuxian is still watching Hanguang-jun, who has deposited himself on the far side of the room to stare off coldly into the ether, and he hears himself say, more to himself than Nie Huaisang, “Fine, okay, I’ll allow it, he’s handsome. Hanguang-jun, I mean. Apart from the funeral clothes.”
“And filthy rich,” Nie Huaisang replies, eagerly adapting to the change in subject. “He’s the cultivation world’s most sought-after bachelor right now. Women have been lining up outside the Cloud Recesses for li just for the chance to speak with him and beg their case.”
Wei Wuxian laughs at that, heartily amused by the thought. “Good luck to anyone who tries to talk to that face and not immediately wither on the spot.”
Nie Huaisang nods his agreement and grins crookedly.
Soon, the two get bored of speculating about the Lan brothers, as well as the festivities as a whole — they sneak outside not too much later, where Nie Huaisang has stashed two jars of Emperor’s Smile in the shrubbery directly outside the event hall. Through one of the low, open windows, Wei Wuxian has the vantage point of the Lan brothers’ perfectly-shaped backs, and he and Nie Huaisang settle directly under it, quietly cackling at their own daring all the while.
Wei Wuxian leans his shoulders against the wood, taking a long swig of liquor. The night air feels cool and refreshing after the overheated stuffiness inside, and through the open window, he can hear the warm, overlapping hum of several people speaking and enjoying themselves. It’s...nice. Jiang Cheng and shijie will be wondering where he capered off to, and their suspicions would probably be correct, but he’s willing to face consequences later.
“Wei-xiong, I’m so glad you’re here,” Nie Huaisang says with a sigh, leaning back with him and taking a long sip from his jar. “I don’t know what I’d be doing otherwise.”
“Agreed,” says Wei Wuxian, bobbing his head. “I hate events like this. All of these formalities and expectations for marriage — it makes my skin crawl.”
“Lots of beautiful people, though,” Nie Huaisang says wistfully.
“Lots of beautiful people,” Wei Wuxian agrees, and they dissolve into tipsy giggles again.
It’s then that Zewu-jun’s voice drifts through the open window, barely audible above the chatter of the crowd: “ — will you dance, Wangji?”
“No, xiongzhang,” Wei Wuxian hears the curt reply — a deep, rich voice, quiet but sharp with decision. It’s low, but cuts through the noise.
Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang turn to look at each other open-mouthed at the eavesdropping revelation, then both collapse into silent mirth again.
“There hasn’t been anyone who’s caught your eye?” Zewu-jun asks amiably. “I know you’re not one to socialize, didi, but you’re of the age where you should try.”
“Hn,” Hanguang-jun replies, sounding like he disagrees.
“How about....” Zewu-jun’s voice trails off, presumably as he scans the room for potential suitors. “Jiang Wanyin?”
Both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang clap hands over their mouths to contain their giddy crows of laughter.
“No,” says Hanguang-jun.
“Or….Wei-gongzi, from the YunmengJiang sect?” Zewu-jun asks, and Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang turn to widen their eyes at each other again, gleeful smiles creeping to their faces in tandem. “He has a lively character, and he’s quite handsome, wouldn’t you say?”
Wei Wuxian puffs his chest at Nie Huaisang, fully prepared to boast, then pauses at Hanguang-jun’s reply, more tense than before: “Just so-so.”
Wei Wuxian frowns up at the open window, more irritated than insulted. Nie Huaisang has frozen in place, his mouth rounded in a tiny o as he tracks Wei Wuxian’s reaction.
“What an ass,” Nie Huaisang rushes to say a moment later, once they’ve both recovered from the surprise. “I’m sorry, Wei-xiong.”
Wei Wuxian snorts, waving one hand. “Oh, I don’t care. Let him think what he wants. It’s not like I’d be interested in a fuddy-duddy like him in any case.”
“Still,” Nie Huaisang insists. “You’re one of the most attractive men here! Believe me, I have the expertise and the good taste to say that with confidence.”
Wei Wuxian pats a placating hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, then squeezes. “Nie-xiong. I’m not offended. Really. Let’s go dance.”
Hanguang-jun’s dismissive comment digs small teeth under his skin, just a little — mostly, it’s his vanity that’s injured — but he quickly forgets all about it when he dances with a handsome boy from the Nie sect, the alcohol starting to settle fuzzily in his head, and then he manages to convince a cute girl nicknamed Mianmian from the Jin sect into a quick-footed flirtation with him.
He’s only just started to really enjoy himself when he gets signaled over by Jiang Cheng, who’s beckoning a hand at him frantically with his brows furrowed in a scowl.
“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, flopping over to him out of breath, his hair tangled and his cheeks flushed with both liquor and exertion.
“Would you please at least try to look presentable?” Jiang Cheng says through his teeth. “It’s the Jiang sect’s turn to greet the hosts.”
Wei Wuxian redirects his attention over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, where he can see the Lan brothers speaking with Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue. Well, Lan Xichen is doing the talking. Lan Wangji is staring stonily at nothing.
“Ugh,” he mutters, but attempts to wrangle his hair and clothes back in order regardless.
Shijie joins him at his other elbow, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “A-Xian, did you meet anyone you like?”
“A few,” Wei Wuxian replies. “But none so much as my shijie.”
Shijie swats at his shoulder lightly. “A-Xian, you’re of courting age! That’s part of what these events are for, after all. You know…” Her voice trails off suggestively, then resumes, “To meet potential partners.”
Wei Wuxian hefts the long fall of his hair up to cool the sweat on the back of his neck, and says with disdain, “Ah, you know me, I’m not one to be tied down. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever marry.”
Shijie just gives him her knowing senior sister look and says, “You will. You just have to meet the right person.”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Don’t care about meeting people. What’s the use in liking people like that, anyway? It seems inconvenient.”
Jiang Cheng tugs him forward suddenly, and Wei Wuxian stumbles and looks up to realize the Nie brothers have left and the full force of Lan Wangji’s golden eyes is now on him, powerful as a ray of sun but with none of the warmth.
Lan Wangji blinks for a moment, then narrows his eyes when Wei Wuxian offers him a small, insolent curve of his lips. Lan Wangji’s gaze flits away from him at once, resuming his chilly stare into the middle-distance.
“Lan-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng says, saluting, and Wei Wuxian and shijie echo him and do the same. “Lan er-gongzi.”
Both the Lan brothers salute in return and chorus, quietly, “It’s an honor.”
“Are you enjoying the assembly?” Lan Xichen asks with a warm, close-lipped smile. He really does, in some ways, look like an exact copy of Lan Wangji, except for the fact that he actually moves and speaks like a human being. “Wei-gongzi, I saw that you were dancing earlier.”
“Yes, I love to dance,” Wei Wuxian answers, breezily, then adds, “Hanguang-jun, I noticed you haven’t danced at all this evening. Did no one here catch your eye?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flare in surprise at being singled out, then they refasten on him; he looks slightly puzzled, slightly annoyed, like he’s not sure what Wei Wuxian is doing. Wei Wuxian isn’t really sure what he’s doing either, but he’s halfway to drunk and sort of feeling antagonistic.
“No,” Lan Wangji eventually answers, his voice cold. “I do not dance, nor do I touch strangers.”
“Well, it’s never too late to start,” Wei Wuxian says, and Jiang Cheng throws an angry, mortified elbow sideways into his ribs.
Lan Xichen seems amused by the exchange, his gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them. “Wei-gongzi, perhaps you have some advice for those of us who aren’t as inclined to dance as you are.”
“Of course,” Wei Wuxian replies, keeping his eyes on Lan Wangji. “To start, you should find a willing partner — even if they’re just so-so.”
Lan Wangji immediately meets his gaze again, the clay mask of his expression cracking just a little — his lips twitch downward, as though in chagrin — and then Wei Wuxian is saluting and slipping away, Jiang Cheng apologizing profusely for him in his wake.
Nie Huaisang corrals him the second he’s out of earshot, grabbing him by both arms to swing him away from the crowd of dancers. “Wei-xiong, what did you do? Did you say something? Jiang Cheng’s forehead vein is about to burst!”
Wei Wuxian sniffs, dusting an imaginary piece of lint of his sleeve. “Hardly. I just asked Hanguang-jun why he doesn’t dance, that’s all.”
Nie Huaisang’s eyes go round, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Reverently, he says, “Wei-xiong, you’re so bold! Daring to say such things to Hanguang-jun!”
Wei Wuxian chances another glance across the room. He finds Lan Wangji staring at him, expressionless but intensely focused, before the latter man tears his eyes away, refocusing on Jiang Cheng and shijie.
“Well, hopefully I never have to see him again anyway,” Wei Wuxian says. “No matter how handsome he is. Imagine having to be around someone so stuffy and cold.”
—
He and Nie Huaisang resolve to get more drunk that evening after the event ends, given there’s absolutely nothing better to do in the Cloud Recesses, but unfortunately their nearby supply of Emperor’s Smile is depleted, which means Wei Wuxian has to sneak out to collect the two jars he’d left under a tree outside of the walls earlier that morning.
He manages to get out smoothly enough, scaling the high wall with ease, and the tree isn’t too far from the bounds of the Cloud Recesses, but it’s much harder to get back in; he has to tamper with a few locks, and his muscles are sort of sluggish and tired from dancing all evening, plus he’s still a little drunk.
Wei Wuxian manages to grunt his entire way up the outer wall anyway, scaling a leafy trellis. He takes a moment once he reaches the rooftop to tip his head back and take several deep, ragged breaths of cool night air when he suddenly experiences the prickling, overpowering sense that he’s being watched.
He glances over, and sure enough, a glowing white figure has materialized on the rooftop with him — opalescent in the moonlight, the frosted sheen of a sword drawn. Wei Wuxian swears and scrambles to his feet, his heart pounding in his throat as he prepares to attack, when he suddenly recognizes the intruder.
“Ah, Lan er-gongzi,” he calls out, relaxing a little. “Out to enjoy the moonlight this fine evening?”
Lan Wangji sheaths his sword and crosses to him across the roof tiles with his hands behind his back, his expression deathly severe.
“Out past curfew,” he says, a deep monotone. “Breaking and entering. Forbidden liquor. All violations of our sect rules.”
Wei Wuxian laughs at this, incredulous. “It’s a good thing I’m not Lan then, right?” He winks at Lan Wangji conspiratorially. “It’s okay to lighten up a bit, yeah? No appearances to upkeep, now that the assembly is over.”
For some reason, this seems to make Lan Wangji angrier. His dark brows knit together, his mouth tightening. “You are a guest here. It is common courtesy to abide by the rules we have set in place.”
“You’re one to talk of courtesy,” Wei Wuxian replies, “when you speak of potential suitors so disparagingly. Really, Hanguang-jun, just so-so? I lost a lot of face there.”
The same expression as earlier fleets across Lan Wangji’s face — embarrassment, maybe, at being caught speaking so discourteously. Wei Wuxian grins.
“Perhaps one should not be eavesdropping on private conversations,” Lan Wangji says a moment later, bitterly.
“Fair enough, fair enough, Lan er-gongzi. I’m only teasing you, really. Although I must say, it is somewhat disappointing.”
Lan Wangji’s lips move soundlessly for a moment. He still appears angry, but also strangely lost, like he’s not fully tracking on the conversation. “What is?”
Wei Wuxian taps one of the jars to his chin, feeling the corner of his mouth curl up. “I hear all of these lovely maidens from every sect are begging for a chance at Hanguang-jun’s hand, and little do they know the man they’re pining after is so rigid and dismissive.”
He watches the flex in Lan Wangji’s jaw, as though his teeth are silently grinding together. “You,” he says through locked teeth, and then nothing else, as though at a loss for words.
Wei Wuxian throws his head back and laughs, loud and unbridled into the chilled mountain silence around them. “Okay, okay, I’ll be off now. Sorry to disturb your evening. Let’s just forget about this, okay?”
“No,” Lan Wangji says stubbornly. “You will report to shufu and xiongzhang to apologize and receive punishment, in accordance with breaking our rules during your stay.”
“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I’ll be gone tomorrow! What’s the use in dragging all this out?”
Lan Wangji unsheathes his sword again with a sharp shing — Bichen, he vaguely remembers Nie Huaisang gushing to him earlier. The blade holds moonlight like a pearl, the intricate patterns of the hilt glinting silver.
“So unforgiving, Lan er-gongzi?” Wei Wuxian asks with a nervous laugh as he backs up, thinking to himself, I can get out of this. “Surely you wouldn’t fight one of your guests over something as minor as this.”
An icy, light-blue glare seems to glow from Bichen, reflecting off of Lan Wangji’s scowling face.
“So much for a well-mannered gentleman,” says Wei Wuxian with a pout, and he flees.
—
Fleeing goes poorly.
Lan Wangji catches up to him in no time, they spar for a bit (Wei Wuxian keeps Suibian sheathed the entire time, because he’s fucking civil), and then he’s dragged unceremoniously to Lan Xichen’s quarters, called the hanshi, where he’s expected to grovel on his knees to him and Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian has yet to be bested in a fight by anyone his age, so even though the match was technically a draw, the whole ordeal is humiliating, and it only makes his contempt for Lan Wangji grow more fervent, a smooth, orange coal lodged in his chest that pulses brighter with each passing minute.
“I can’t believe you fought Hanguang-jun,” Nie Huaisang marvels hours later, in the crisp, violet-laced hours of early dawn, as they all shuffle their way exhaustedly along the mountain paths leading away from the Cloud Recesses. “And that he beat you!”
“He did not beat me.” Wei Wuxian sniffs. “We tied. Anyway, I’m glad we’re leaving so I won’t have to see that mean fuddy-duddy ever again. He’s earned himself a sworn enemy for life.”
“You don’t mean that,” shijie interjects, overhearing him from behind. “A-Xian is too forgiving for grudges.”
“Not this time!” Wei Wuxian throws back over his shoulder, vowing to tend to his dislike with a dedicated ferocity for the rest of his life.
By the time they reach Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian has forgiven Lan Wangji — at least for the most part. He’s still nursing his wounded pride more than he’d like to admit, but he can at least reflect on the evening with a touch of good humor and something approaching grudging respect. It’s almost gratifying to know all of the rumors of Hanguang-jun’s great swordplay skills aren’t just empty chatter; maybe he does deserve some of Nie Huaisang’s mawkish fawning, after all, as irritating as he is. Wei Wuxian has a long and extensive history of being reprimanded and punished, but never has he been taken to task so forcefully and unforgivingly — and by someone his age, at that. Who is also a stranger.
Well, if nothing else, the look on Lan Wangji’s face had been funny, so stern and befuddled and indignant all at once.
Wei Wuxian can’t stop thinking about it, for some reason.