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The curse steals his breath, but it’s Wei Ying’s distant cry that stutters Wangji’s heart.
He’s sprawled facedown in the dirt, the bolt of searing pain having knocked him off his feet. Over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, he can hear the young disciples shouting. He must assure them all is well. Especially Sizhui, who calls for him sharply.
He’s on his feet by the time the boys arrive, eyes wide as they skid to a halt a respectful distance away. Beyond a stand of trees, Wei Ying is hurtling down the hillside so quickly Wangji could believe he was flying with Suibian.
“Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!” Young, anxious, too-loud voices fill the air.
Wangji somehow still grips Bichen and is surprised at the effort it takes to fist his other hand behind his back. It feels as though he is bending iron, but he achieves the proper posture.
Sizhui inches closer. “Hanguang-jun, are you hurt?”
He wants to deny it, yet to speak seems impossible. The pain radiating from his mid-back is hot and cold while both sharp and dull. The ache in his body from slamming to the ground is to be expected. It is…correct. But the impact from the curse leaves him terribly hollow while consumed by agony all at once. He can almost believe he’s back at the edge of the world in Nightless City watching Wei Ying fall.
He shakes his head in response.
Sizhui exchanges a worried glance with Jingyi before looking back to Wangji, taking another little step closer. “Are you positive, Hanguang-jun?”
He nods. His knees tremble, but he will not falter.
“I’m so sorry, Hanguang-jun!” Jingyi’s face is pink and sweaty. “I only wanted to practice an innocent curse, but, but—Jin Ling tripped me and my aim went wild.”
Naturally, this sparks an outraged squawk from Jin Ling. “I did not! I was doing what we were supposed to do! You were the one—”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is at his side, taking hold of his shoulder. Wangji is able to breathe a fraction more easily. Wei Ying snarls at the boys. “What did you do?”
“It was an accident!” Jingyi insists.
“No! You weren’t paying attention! You weren’t doing as you were told!”
Wangji wants to smile at Wei Ying of all people—of all people—scolding the boys. Yet it isn’t mere scolding. He vibrates with fury. Knuckles white on Chenqing, his lips press tightly as though a silencing spell had been cast.
All but Sizhui creep back, mouths gaping. Sizhui whispers, “Wei-qianbei, please. It was an accident.”
Wei Ying can’t seem to contain himself. His gaze narrows on Sizhui. “You know better than this!”
“He didn’t do anything!” Jin Ling protests—then looks surprised at his own words. He lifts his chin defiantly. “Well, he didn’t! It was Lan Jingyi.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Jingyi’s voice is so high he will summon a wind spirit if he isn’t careful.
Lan Zhan needs to put a stop to this, but it takes all his effort to breathe and remain upright with an impassive expression. He wants to gasp but holds his mouth closed and inhales in tiny increments through his nose.
Wei Ying glares at Jin Ling. “That’s just it! Sizhui didn’t do anything! He stood and watched. I saw it all. I saw how you weren’t obeying Hanguang-jun. You were supposed to be practicing how to tame a bull demon.”
“It’s not like it was a real one.” Jin Ling waves his hand dismissively. “It gets boring chasing Hanguang-jun’s conjured demons. Although I was doing it!” He narrows his gaze at Wei Ying and boldly says, “I thought you didn’t want to help teach us? You said you’d be in the library working on talismans. What are you doing hanging around?”
“I wanted some fresh air!” Wei Ying clenches his jaw.
It’s been months since they returned to Cloud Recesses together, and though Wei Ying chafes at the idea for some reason, he is a born teacher. All in good time, Wei Ying will get out of his own way. And perhaps they might even… Well. Perhaps.
All in good time.
As Sizhui starts to say something, Wei Ying snaps, “No excuses!”
Wangji steps between them, ignoring the burning pain. Sizhui has the telltale little hitch in his breath that means his eyes are about to fill with tears. Wangji still can’t speak, so he points in the direction of home and gives Sizhui a nod he hopes is decisive and comforting.
“Wait! Which curse was it?” Wei Ying demands.
The boys look to Jingyi, who clears his throat. “Uh, I was trying the, um, morning bright curse?”
This torment most definitely does not feel like morning bright, although Wangji won’t know for certain until nightfall if he closes his eyes and is kept awake by unnatural light.
“Fine. Go!” Wei Ying barks, and the boys race toward the trees.
The pressure on Wangji’s back and chest has loosened just enough to rasp, “I’m all right.”
Wei Ying levels him with a withering, disbelieving glare, then wraps his arm around Wangji’s shoulders. Wangji leans into the warm strength just for a moment or two. He discovers his legs are about to give out, so he makes no protest as Wei Ying guides him to a large rock and sits him down. At his feet, Wei Ying rubs soothing circles on his knees and peers up at him in concern. For once, he waits patiently, not speaking.
Wangji imagines Wei Ying slipping his hands underneath all the layers of fabric. How hot his palms would feel on Wangji’s knees.
“This is no morning bright curse,” Wei Ying finally says.
“No. Jingyi requires extra study.” Just saying these few words leaves him exhausted.
“And lots of lines. There are rules to be followed!”
Wangji smiles softly, although it morphs into a grimace.
Brow creased, Wei Ying takes his hand, fingers seeking the wrist meridian. The touch brings a wave of relief so sweet it makes Wangji’s head spin. He is embarrassed that Wei Ying will feel how powerfully his pulse races. He should be able to regain control.
“Was it only a stunning spell?” Wei Ying asks. “How do you feel? If he was trying for morning bright and messed it up, maybe he hit you with dark night instead? Do you feel very tired?”
Unbidden, he thinks of many lonely, empty years. “No. I am well.”
Lips pursed and head tilted, Wei Ying gives him another disapproving look. “Lan Zhan.”
“I will be well,” he amends. “Only time is needed.” Indeed, he is feeling better now.
They sit for quite a while longer, Wei Ying at his feet holding his wrist. When Wangji finds he can speak easily enough again, he says, “Sizhui is not to blame.”
Wei Ying’s shoulders slump. “I know. I was too hard on him. I shouldn’t expect him to never make mistakes. It’s just—” He lowers his head, and Wangji can no longer see his face. “It knocked you with so much force and you… You didn’t move.”
Throat dry, Wangji says, “Only for a moment. And I am recovered. I think it was only a stunning spell after all.”
Wei Ying looks up, smiling with hope and clear relief. “You feel better?”
“Much.” Wangji can breathe evenly, the pain almost gone. He rises.
A wave of terrible, hollow torture returns. Calling on his decades of meditation and discipline, he pretends all is well with each intolerable step. He will overcome whatever silly curse the boys were playing with. He mustn’t let Wei Ying worry.
*
Wangji would typically only visit the Cold Spring in early morning, which he considers the proper time. Yet as the sun slowly sinks that evening, he can wait no longer. Wei Ying has kept a watchful eye on him all day, but Wangji ensured there were two bottles of Emperor’s Smile for him at dinner. He is quite accustomed to ignoring his uncle’s glares by now, and even if Xichen weren’t in isolation, he wouldn’t mind that Wangji bends the rules for Wei Ying.
And if Wangji feels a small, acceptable amount of satisfaction from displeasing his uncle, where is the harm in that?
When he slipped away, Wei Ying was caught up in a spirited debate about which food donkeys like best. Sizhui and the other disciples sided with him eagerly and loudly, all to Uncle’s grumbling discontent.
At the water’s edge, Wangji impatiently yanks off his three robes. There had been no time to return to the jingshi for his bathing attire. It’s all he can do not to dive into the water fully dressed. Stripped to his thin white trousers, still wearing his full headdress although he’s knocked it askew, he trips in, relieved no one bears witness to his undignified behavior.
He sits on his customary rock, welcoming the numbing cold. Soon, he’s able to meditate, the throbbing pain fading into the background. Whatever Jingyi’s failed curse was, he will conquer it. There is no need to fetch the healer. He can admit there might be a need to interrogate Jingyi for more details, but he isn’t ready to declare defeat. If he meditates long enough, with purity of focus and strength…
“Lan Zhan!”
In the burnished bronze glow of sunset, he looks over his shoulder to find Wei Ying on the shore, his face creased in horror. Shame floods Wangji, banishing any gains he’d made from his meditation—which had been so deep he hadn’t heard Wei Ying’s approach.
“Your back!”
Wangji blinks at him in puzzlement. Yes. He has seen the scars before, here in this very spot. Why is he—
Wei Ying splashes toward him, boots and all. The lower half of his robes submerged, he staggers to a stop. “Lan Zhan!”
Wangji can only stare up at him in stunned silence. It is entirely improper to enter these sacred waters this way, though this is not the first time for that either. But Wangji has not put on his robe. He might as well be naked. And Wei Ying is very, very close.
And Wei Ying is touching him. The agony eases so suddenly Wangji almost topples against him in relief.
“Your back!” Knees bumping Wangji’s, hands firm on his shoulders, he peers around. Wei Ying runs a finger down his spine, leaving a tingling shiver in his wake. “You said it didn’t hurt anymore!” He gently prods the area the curse hit, but Wangji still feels wondrously better.
“It hurts far less.” This is the truth. “It will be nothing by morning.” Doubtful.
“This isn’t nothing!” Wei Ying now stands with one leg between Wangji’s, leaning over him.
If Wangji moved his face forward only a very small distance, he would be pressed against Wei Ying’s belly. If he slumped against him, would Wei Ying stroke his hair?
Quickly, he masters himself. His voice barely wobbles. “If there is a bruise—”
“If! If! I knew we should have taken you to the healer. This is no ordinary bruise! It’s the color of pure blood.”
“Oh.” He puzzles over it.
“Hmm. It’s fading before my eyes.” Wei Ying’s fingertips skate over Wangji’s skin, one hand planted on his shoulder. “How do you feel?” He tightens his grip and leans back enough to glare at Wangji. “And no more lying!”
“It feels much better. I swear it.”
But when Wei Ying steps away, Wangji doubles over, unable to swallow his gasp. Wei Ying drops to his knees in the water, his hands strong on Wangji’s bare arms. Once more, there is sweet, glorious relief.
“It’s touch!” they exclaim in unison. They stare at each other, then down at Wei Ying’s hands on Wangi’s naked skin. Wei Ying’s gaze lifts to the brand over Wangji’s heart, freezing there. Wangji can see him suck in a breath, his throat working.
He has never asked. Wangji was sure he would. He’d braced himself to confess. Yet the question never came. It does not come now.
“It’s all right,” Wei Ying murmurs, kneeling in the freezing water in his dark robes. He spreads his hands over Wangji’s ribs and peers around. “The color is fading again.” Stray strands of hair from his topknot tickle Wangji’s chin. Wangji shivers. The sun will set and the bell will ring before long.
“All right.” Wei Ying sits back on his heels, keeping his hands planted on Wangji’s arms. “It’s far too cold to stay here, even for the all-powerful Second Jade of Lan. We must simply be careful.”
There’s nothing simple about it as they wade out of the water and wrangle Wangji back into his thin inner robe while keeping Wei Ying’s hands on him. Wei Ying kneels to help him into his boots, his fingers curling around Wangji’s calves under the wet trousers. Wangji carries the other robes over his arm, and once they are walking, the most obvious solution is to hold hands.
They make their way along the secluded path with hands clasped in the falling darkness, and Wangji thinks he might be dreaming. Wei Ying keeps up a patter of ideas for talismans to try and ways to break the curse. Wangji insists Jingyi needs his sleep, and since the bell has rung now, they absolutely will not drag him from his bed for an interrogation.
“Fine,” Wei Ying mutters. “We’ll figure it out ourselves. Aren’t you glad I’m so brilliant, Lan Zhan?” He grins, swinging their joined hands. He still shoots Wangji worried glances as he goes back to forming a plan to break the curse.
Wangji grips Wei Ying’s fingers and tries not to want so, so much.
Just inside the jingshi’s shadowy solitude, Wei Ying kneels before him once more, and Wangji wants so intensely he thinks perhaps the pain of the curse is preferable. He holds the wall for balance as Wei Ying carefully removes one boot. He places Wangji’s foot down gently before circling the pointy ankle bone with his thumb.
“Can you take off your other boot while I hold onto you?”
Wangji realizes he is standing there simply staring. Flushing, he bends to yank at his boot and kick it free. His energy has been depleted by the curse, but he lights a lamp with a swirl and flick of his fingers. He promptly discovers his wet trousers and thin inner robe are quite…translucent. He barely resists dousing the lamp while Wei Ying struggles to remove his own boots while still holding Wangji’s ankle.
Sitting on his rear, Wei Ying tugs with his free hand, kicking and grunting and exclaiming happily when his sodden boots thud to the floor and topple over. He looks up, his triumphant smile fading as his gaze rakes up and down Wangji’s body. He laughs nervously and quickly neatens their boots on the mat. “Sorry, sorry. There. All better.”
Heat pulses between Wangji’s legs, and he grasps at his favorite meditation breath technique, regaining a sliver of control as Wei Ying leads him to the bed and sits him on the side. He kneels close, and Wangji calls desperately on decades of practice to achieve calm.
“We need to get you out of these wet things,” Wei Ying says. It’s barely a whisper. He pointedly averts his gaze. “If you can peel them off, then get right under.” He leans around Wangji to awkwardly pull down the neatly tucked sheets and thin blanket.
Cheeks burning, Wangji does it, almost kicking Wei Ying in the face when he maneuvers onto his belly and yanks the covers up awkwardly. Wei Ying holds one ankle again, and he rubs Wangji’s bare shoulder with his other hand. Wangji’s crooked headdress tugs at his partly damp and mussed hair, and he tries to remove it.
“Here, here,” Wei Ying murmurs. He holds Wangji’s head with one hand, his fingers threaded through his hair to rest against his skull. Gently, patiently, he untangles the interlocking sections of the headpiece and places them on the low table beside the bed.
“Thank you.” Wangji rests his left cheek on the pillow so he can see Wei Ying beside him.
“I still think we should wake Jingyi and demand the truth.”
“No.” He acknowledges he’s being stubborn, but if he admits to Jingyi—and Sizhui—that he cannot conquer this curse, how will that make them feel? When he was a boy, it was uncertainty that frightened him the most. He will not worry Sizhui and the others until every other avenue has been explored.
Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Heaven forbid they discover the great Hanguang-jun is not invincible. I suppose I’ll just have to keep touching you all night.”
His words hang in the jingshi’s stillness as they stare at each other. Wangji’s heart thumps far too loudly.
Wei Ying laughs awkwardly and smiles with too many teeth in a way that strangely makes Wangji think of chickens. “We’ll do it your way, Lan Zhan.” He frowns. “Damn it. I need paper and ink and—” He mutters the rest, gazing over at Wangji’s desk. Which is across the room.
“Go on.”
With a last squeeze of his shoulder, Wei Ying leaps up. The anguish returns on cue, but Wangji bites his tongue, refusing to make a sound. With a rush of air, Wei Ying is back, kneeling by the bed and dropping supplies on the table. Paper spills onto the floor and an ink pot spins and almost tips against Wangji’s headdress. Wei Ying rests his hand on Wangji’s shoulder above the edge of the sheet. Sweet relief returns.
He pillows his head on his bent left arm, watching Wei Ying work. Wei Ying scratches the quill over paper, deep in concentration already. It is strange to be comfortable in bed sprawled on his stomach, Wangji muses. He always sleeps on his back, in the correct manner.
(Aside from the time his back was ruined and bleeding and only despair remained.)
It is strange also to be completely naked.
Not only completely naked, but completely naked with Wei Ying. With Wei Ying right there. When they returned to Cloud Recesses, he almost asked Wei Ying to live with him in the jingshi. There is plenty of room for another bed, which would be proper, of course.
Yet didn’t Wei Ying deserve his own space? It was unfair to pressure him in any way. With Xichen in seclusion, Wangji must fill his brother’s role. He must be a gracious and generous host. What kind of host would pressure a guest—a dear friend—to share his room? Wei Ying might have felt obligated, so Wangji never asked.
And now he is completely naked in his room—his bed—with Wei Ying touching him, his hand idly stroking as he works. His fingers move lower and brush one of the scars, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Wangji can hardly breathe as Wei Ying traces the ridges of hard tissue across his shoulder blade. Should this not disgust Wei Ying? It seems not. As minutes pass, Wangji allows himself to fully relax. The touch feels like a strange sort of blessing.
The pain is completely gone, and his eyes grow heavy. The scratch of Wei Ying’s letters on the paper and his occasional mutterings are comforting even though Wangji is accustomed to absolute silence once the bell has rung.
He is almost asleep when he hears the distinctive sound of teeth chattering. Instantly awake, Wangji realizes Wei Ying is still wearing robes soaked in freezing water. He jerks up his head. “Wei Ying! You must get dry.”
Barely glancing at him, Wei Ying shrugs it off. “I’m fine.”
“You’re too cold. At least do a warming talisman.”
“No time for that.” Wei Ying’s brow furrows in concentration. “I think this might work to break the curse. Are you ready?”
“Not until you are dry and warm.” He cuts off what he knows is Wei Ying’s refusal. “Take something from the trunk.” He nods to the foot of the bed.
“Fine, fine.” Wei Ying moves to stand, apparently remembering at the last moment. Bent, keeping his hand on Wangji and dropping his eyes, he takes a step. Then another, his hand trailing down Wangji’s side beneath the sheets. Then skimming over his bare hip.
Down his thigh.
Wangji can barely breathe. He is fortunate to be on his belly.
He presses his face into his bent arm, squeezing his eyes shut. Once Wei Ying grasps his ankle again, there are grunts and mutterings as Wei Ying strips one-handed. He warns he will have to let go for a few seconds at a time, and Wangji assures him it is all fine and not to worry. The brief explosions of pain conquer his inappropriate lust.
When Wei Ying returns, sliding his hand up the side of Wangji’s body, he straightens the sheet and kneels again. “There,” he murmurs.
Wangji opens his eyes to find Wei Ying wearing a white, gossamer-thin sleeping shirt—probably the first thing he reached for. It hangs just past the knees and has a wide neck and sleeves. Wangji usually only wears this variety in the height of summer. As Wei Ying makes a few more marks on the paper, his hair falls over his shoulder, the red ribbon brushing his exposed collarbone. The Wen brand is visible.
What would it be like to press his lips to it?
Wei Ying lifts his head. “Lan Zhan?” Frowning, he spreads his fingers wider on Wangji’s back, rubbing slowly. “Is it worse?”
“No.” He’s breathing heavily. He grasps for tendrils of control.
Wei Ying looks dubious but puts on a bright smile. “All right, time to break this curse. I’ll just…” He gently pulls down the sheet covering Wangji’s back, tucking it in around his waist. “The red circle has faded. It’s pink.” He spreads his hand. “Let’s see. Ready?”
None of the talismans work.
At first, they think it’s because they are touching, Yet each time Wei Ying lets go of Wangji to try one, the pain gets worse and worse. Wei Ying is ready to tear his hair out in frustration, but Wangji assures him it doesn’t matter.
“It will be clearer in the morning, Wei Ying. We must sleep.” Or at least Wangji does, exhaustion after a day of agony dragging him down, his eyes too heavy.
He squirms and rolls onto his back and somehow only then remembers he is naked, the sheet twisted around his hips, barely covering his modesty. He goes rigid, embarrassed and unsure and, and—
“Ah!” Wei Ying holds up a finger, giving him another bright smile. He returns to the trunk, again skimming his hand along Wangji’s side. He snatches up another white summer shirt like the one he wears.
Wangji lifts his head and arms to help as Wei Ying eases the thin material over him and smooths it down. His hand comes to a rest on Wangji’s chest in the low, gaping neck of the garment. Atop the brand. Swallowing with a gulp, Wei Ying keeps his eyes down.
“How?” he finally asks, the question barely a breath of sound.
Wangji flicks off the lamp with his fading energy, plunging them into darkness. Wei Ying sighs as he shifts and wriggles onto his side, pulling the sheets and blanket over them. His hand still rests atop Wangji’s chest. Surely he can feel the tripping of his heart.
Wangji is so tired, but now he finds he must finally speak. “Xichen aquired…artifacts of the Wens. Locked away in the Forbidden Chamber as part of the record.”
The darkness has ceded its depths to moonlight, and if Wangji turned his head, he is sure he will find Wei Ying watching him. Wei Ying’s knees touch the side of his thigh, their nightshirts rucked up just enough for bare skin to meet.
“One night, I drank Emperor’s Smile and found myself exploring down there. I discovered the brand.”
Wei Ying’s fingers spasm a fraction on Wangji’s chest. “How did you heat it?”
It is not the question he expects. “A simple spell.”
“When did this happen?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Wei Ying exhales forcefully, his breath a warm tickle on Wangji’s ear. “When?”
“Nine years ago.”
“But…why?”
He cannot answer. Surely Wei Ying knows why he had to be punished.
As sleep claims him, he hears another sigh and feels Wei Ying’s fingers trace the brand over and over as if he can smooth it away like water on stone.
*
It’s barely a knock in the midnight stillness—more like a scratch at the jingshi’s doors. He lurches from sleep without thought, instinct propelling him to Sizhui, for it could be no one else. Wangji only takes a step from the bed before the agony bends him in half, but he drags himself forward, groaning.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s distant question is groggy. “Lan Zhan!”
As he opens the door to Sizhui, Wei Ying is there, one hand on the nape of Wangji’s neck beneath his hair, the other reaching under the wide sleeve of his nightshirt to grasp his forearm. Wangji rocks back against him gratefully, the burning torture receding.
In a blink, he assesses Sizhui—no blood visible, standing upright, limbs appear intact. The relief triples. He waits.
“Are you…?” Sizhui whispers, glancing between them with wide eyes. “Is it broken?”
Wangji shakes his head.
Sizhui’s dear face contorts into a mess of emotions—confusion, disappointment, guilt. “When Jingyi confessed how the curse is broken, they were all certain it would be easy and quick. But I wasn’t sure. I hoped, but…”
“How do we break it?” Wei Ying demands too harshly.
Hitch, hitch, hitch—Sizhui’s eyes fill with tears. “Please forgive me, Wei-qianbei! I’m sorry!”
Wangji reaches for him, and Wei Ying’s tone softens as he murmurs, “A-Yuan, don’t cry.” He releases Wangji’s arm to draw Sizhui close. In the jingshi’s doorway, the three of them huddle together.
When Sizhui breathes more easily, he steps back, sniffing and swiping at his eyes. With Wei Ying’s touch on his neck still grounding him, Wangji smooths Sizhui’s hair and straightens his headband. They move inside to sit around the table, moonlight flooding in. Wangji doesn’t light the lamps. He thinks it will be easier again to be honest in the dark.
“Tell us,” Wangji says patiently.
Sizhui drops his face as he mumbles a reply. Wei Ying is gentle now when he asks him to repeat it more clearly. Taking a deep breath, Sizhui lifts his chin and looks them in the eye as he says, “A kiss. It only takes a kiss to break the curse.”
Oh. Oh. Wangji’s ears burn, and he works to keep his face impassive. Wei Ying makes that awkward chicken laugh. His fingers tighten on the back of Wangji’s neck, then loosen, then tighten again like a reflex he can’t control. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and clamps them both around Wangji’s forearm, shifting to sit sideways.
Wangji asks, “Was the curse meant for me?”
He cannot blame foolish boys for pranks—and certainly should not feel wounded if one is aimed at him. He is their teacher. A small, acceptable amount of rebellion is only natural. Though to be the target of this curse in particular leaves him undeniably raw. The loneliness of so many years has taken a toll he hates to admit. When Sizhui shakes his head emphatically, relief washes through him.
“I swear it was not meant for you, Hanguang-jun! I swear it.”
He nods. “I believe you. Was Jin Ling the true target?“ A reasonable guess if Jingyi was behind it. At Sizhui’s miserable nod, Wangji sighs. “Jin Ling does not deserve cruelty.”
“I would not wish it!” Sizhui insists. “Not for Jin Ling.” He quickly adds, “Or anyone.”
“Jiang Cheng allowed him to come to Cloud Recesses because he trusts us—even if he doesn’t like us much,” Wei Ying says. “Although he can be difficult, Jin Ling should be safe and happy here. We expect better of you, A-Yuan.”
“I know. It wasn’t intended to be cruel! I didn’t even know what Jingyi was doing until later. It was supposed to be harmless. It was for my benefit—so rash and wrongheaded.”
“Your benefit?” Wangji frowns.
“Ahh.” Wei Ying chuckles. “If you want to kiss Jin Ling, there is an easier way.”
Oh. Oh. Wangji blinks, trying to make sense of this. He acknowledges that the thought had briefly crossed his mind some time ago while on a night hunt with the disciples, but he’d disregarded it. Their Sizhui is far too young for kissing.
Sizhui sputters and shakes his head. “I don’t! It’s not like—I don’t—I only—I have no idea why Jingyi thinks that! I swear it!”
While Wangji still finds himself without words, Wei Ying laughs easily. “If you say so. But if Jingyi might be right, you should never use tricks to kiss someone. If you want to kiss them, you should tell them and see if they want to kiss you back.”
He makes it sound so easy. And if that is what Wei Ying thinks… Wangji feels as young and foolish as Sizhui must.
Sizhui nods gravely. “Yes, Wei-qianbei. I would never use tricks this way.”
Wei Ying smiles. “We know. You’ve always been a good boy.”
“You have always made us proud,” Wangji adds.
Hitch-hitch-hitch. Blinking rapidly, Sizhui stands to circle his outstretched arms and bow. When he rises, he asks, “You…you will break the curse now?”
Wei Ying shoos him with that uneasy laugh. “Off to bed. Close the door behind you.”
Fighting a smile, Sizhui scurries off and does as he’s told. Now Wangji and Wei Ying merely need to kiss.
Simple.
Wei Ying shifts and tugs until they sit facing with legs crossed, knees brushing through their filmy nightshirts. He takes Wangji’s hands loosely. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I never imagined our first kiss would be to break a curse.”
The breath is instantly stolen from Wangji’s lungs. He can only stare at Wei Ying and grip his fingers.
Wei Ying tries to laugh it off. “I mean—not that I—” He wrinkles his nose and mumbles something.
Wangji does not laugh. He feels suddenly that they are again at a momentous, pivotal moment—the cliff’s edge or surrounded by the enemy at Koi Tower with Wei Ying pushing him away to protect him. “What have you imagined?” he whispers.
Smile vanishing, Wei Ying lifts his shoulders, then surrenders, meeting Wangji’s gaze. “Everything.”
Wangji can only swallow hard over the lump in his throat.
Wei Ying squeezes his fingers reassuringly. “It’s all right. I know I could never ask it. It’s enough to be here with you, as long as you will have me. I don’t expect—you’re—and I’m—” Wriggling, he lets go of Wangji’s hands to motion and rub his face.
Wangji crumples at the return of agony that is so much worse somehow. He tries to straighten his spine but can only gasp for air.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying clutches at him, taking his face in his hands, sending relief flowing. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He pulls him up to sitting and tries another smile. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. You know how stupid I can be.”
“Wei Ying has never been stupid.”
Thumbs caressing Wangji’s cheeks, he snorts. “We both know that’s not true.”
“I am stupid to have waited this long. Yet you never said. And I never said. But Wei Ying, I must kiss you.”
He leans in, seeing Wei Ying’s eyes widen and lips part. Wangji has imagined their first kiss in so many ways he shouldn’t be able to remember all the secret little fantasies. But he keeps a complete catalogue in his mind and none of it compares to actually pressing his mouth to Wei Ying’s.
Their lips are dry but parted gently, warm breath between them. Wei Ying’s fingers are hot on Wangji’s cheeks, not pulling, only holding. They kiss, barely moving, just…being. The curse crumbles to dust with a shudder through his body, and Wangji sighs as they part.
Wei Ying lifts his eyebrows in question. Wangji nods and captures him in another kiss, for he has waited far too many years not to taste him properly now. He slides his tongue inside, tangling his hands in Wei Ying’s hair and delighting at his gasp.
Panting, Wei Ying pulls away enough to ask, “Are we—should we—is this—are you sure? Should we slow down?”
Is Wangji behaving inappropriately? With enormous effort, he sits back as straight as Bichen’s blade, letting go of Wei Ying and folding his hands in his lap. Well, gripping his hands together so hard his knuckles feel as though they will split his skin. He is keenly aware of his body’s excitement, his iron-hard shaft nudging his palm through the silk of his nightshirt.
He drops his gaze to the corner of the table. The words are like a thousand tiny pebbles scraping his throat. “If this is what Wei Ying desires.”
Wei Ying makes a sound caught between a groan and a laugh. “Why is talking so hard? I’m usually so good at it! Lan Zhan, the curse is really broken? This is you? This is what you want? I’m what you want?”
He lifts his gaze to Wei Ying’s hopeful brown eyes. “Always.” His hard-won control snaps, and he launches forward to topple Wei Ying to the mat, swallowing his shocked laugh with a deep kiss. He presses their bodies together, fitting between Wei Ying’s thighs like he belongs.
The two filmy layers of white between them are no match for the building heat as they kiss and rut desperately, the evidence of Wei Ying’s matching arousal headier than all the Emperor’s Smile in the world.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, your cock. It feels so good. I always wondered…” Wei Ying rocks up, his hands grasping at Wangji’s buttocks, legs tight on his hips.
He can only grunt and rub against Wei Ying desperately, Wei Ying urging him on with shocking words and pleas. The rush of hot pleasure that erupts through Wangji leaves him shaking and sweaty, his stomach wet. Wei Ying is straining and taut like a guqin’s strings. Wangji squeezes a hand between them to take his shaft and give him release.
It’s like having firey steel in his hand, and Wangji is sure the silk between them will ignite or disintegrate into nothing as Wei Ying comes. They catch their breath, and he slumps atop Wei Ying, still sprawled between his legs. He finally presses his lips to the brand over Wei-Ying’s heart, kissing every tiny part of it.
Wei Ying does run his fingers through Wangji’s hair, sending ripples of pleasure through him like a stone plopped in the center of the Cold Spring.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for as long as I can remember,” Wei Ying says.
“From…before?” His heart is like a timid rabbit.
“Of course. You really didn’t know?”
The joy is so pure and sweet Wangji almost fears it. “I hoped.”
Wei Ying cups his cheek and urges him to sit up, rising with him, eyes searching Wangji’s face earnestly. “It was probably from the first time I saw you walking up the hill to Cloud Recesses like a god right from the heavens. So beautiful and perfect.”
He drops his gaze, embarrassed. More than that—guilty and ashamed. He doesn’t deserve such praise.
“But it was definitely from the moment I finally made you smile with my rabbit lantern. Do you remember?”
“I could never forget.” He traces Wei Ying’s lower lip with his thumb.
“So much time to make up for.” Wei Ying kisses Wangji’s thumb, then grins. “We agree there’s no need for slowness?”
“We do.” His pulse races.
“Good. I want more. Everything. Now. Now?”
Wangji nods.
“Do you want to be inside me?”
Oh. Oh. Wangji can’t breathe. He will shatter with wanting, but he shakes his head. “It will hurt you.”
Wei Ying’s eyes go soft, then transform with a mischievous spark, his grin sly. He looks young and carefree like he did when he first came to Cloud Recesses so many years ago. Wangji’s heart swells with love and grief and joy. He will shatter with this as well. His spine is so rigid it might snap.
Wei Ying raises his eyebrows. “Do you think you’re too big? The great Hanguang-jun and his mighty—”
“Wei Ying!”
He laughs, a peal of giggles as he takes Wangji’s face in his hands and kisses his heated cheeks. “I can take it. I don’t care if you hurt me.”
“I care.”
Wei Ying’s smirk fades. “I know.” He runs a feather-light finger over the shell of Wangji’s ear. “I think it will hurt at first, yes. But it’ll be worth it.”
Wangji hesitates. “You don’t…know?”
“No. Do you? Know?”
Wangji shakes his head.
Wei Ying’s eyes widen. “In all those years, you…?”
He shakes his head once more.
Sadness returns to Wei Ying’s face as he whispers, “Oh, Lan Zhan.” He kisses Wangji, a tender press of lips. Their foreheads rest together, only Wangji’s headband between them. He imagines the intricate swirls imprinting into Wei Ying’s skin like a brand.
Wangji whispers, “You could… Me.”
Wei Ying leans back, his fine brow furrowed. His eyes widen. “Are you saying…?”
He nods once. Decisively. “Then I will know.”
“Ah. Then you’ll know if it’s safe for me to take your massive—”
“Yes.”
The frown returns to Wei Ying’s beautiful face. “But I don’t want to hurt you either. I don’t want you to do this only for my sake.”
Wangji wants to argue that he will do anything for Wei Ying’s sake, but it is more than that.
Wei Ying taps his nose, looking off to the corner. “I suppose if you wanted it, it would not only be for me.” His gaze returns to Wangji with purpose. He leans forward, his voice a husky whisper. “Do you want me inside you?”
Wangji can only suck in a breath. Yes, the want surges again, and he sits rigid, afraid once again he will fall to pieces.
It’s only when Wei Ying’s slim fingers clasp Wangji’s fist behind his back that he realizes he’d reverted to his typical posture. Watching him carefully, Wei Ying draws Wangji’s hand toward him, prying the other from his thigh where he dug in his fingers.
With Wangji’s hands in his, Wei Ying smiles. “It’s all right. I want this too. I want to go so deep inside until there’s nothing between us. I want to open you and make it good. Do you want that, Lan Zhan? You don’t have to be in control all the time.”
He’s panting, and his heart will beat right through his chest.
“You don’t have to be in control,” Wei Ying repeats. “Do you want me to fill you? Fuck you—”
Gasping, he lurches forward, and for a moment he is back in Nightless City, reaching, reaching—holding onto Wei Ying.
This time, he’s the one falling.
They’re on the floor, kissing until they can’t breathe, Wei Ying under him until he rolls Wangji and straddles his waist. “We need oil.”
“Oil?” Wangji grasps Wei Ying’s slim hips. Words aren’t making sense.
He tsks playfully and waggles his finger. “Don’t tell me you never looked at those forbidden texts.”
Oh. Oh.
When they have the oil Wangji uses to keep his guqin in good condition, Wei Ying quickly sketches a talisman that makes him grin. Naked in bed, Wei Ying uses his long, beautiful fingers to open him, the oil pulsing with delicious heat from the talisman.
On his back with legs spread, Wangji is incredibly exposed and honestly shocked at his own surrender. But Wei Ying tells him how good he is, kissing and stretching him patiently. Wangji has waited so long. If this is a dream, he hopes to never wake again.
Wei Ying breaches him slowly with his long shaft, the burning stretch tinged with pleasure. Trembling, they share breath. Wei Ying leans down, and Wangji closes his eyes, eager for his kiss. When Wei Ying’s lips instead meet the silver curves of his headband, Wangji thinks his heart is too full to survive.
Yet it keeps beating. Soon, Wei Ying is moving inside him, tentative strokes that gain confidence and momentum. “Does it hurt? Tell me, Lan Zhan,” he begs.
“No!” Wangji gasps. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. He is stretched to the breaking point, but it is so good. He will not break. “Don’t stop.”
Groaning, Wei Ying thrusts harder. “I definitely want you to do this to me after. It feels incredible. You feel perfect. You’re perfect.”
Amid searing pleasure and joy, the grief of so many years surges, unbidden. Suddenly unstoppable. A sob escapes, and Wangji squeezes his eyes shut against traitorous tears. Wei Ying stutters and stops, the gusts of his exhalations hot on Wangji’s face.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s voice is full of concern. If he opens his eyes, Wangji knows he will see Wei Ying’s fine brows meeting in anguish. “Lan Zhan? Am I hurting you?” With a whimper, he pulls back, withdrawing.
Shaking his head, Wangji wraps his legs around Wei Ying’s hips, keeping him inside as he clutches at his ribs. He must open his eyes, and when he does, Wei Ying peers down at him in just the way he expected.
“What is it?” Wei Ying croaks. He swallows hard. “Please tell me.”
“Not perfect,” he manages, tears streaming. “I couldn’t hold you.”
Eyes wide, Wei Ying’s mouth gapes. “No! What? It wasn’t your fault. The rock was crumbling. You could have fallen. I couldn’t let you, Lan Zhan.” He takes Wangji’s face in his hot hands. “No, no, no. Don’t you understand?”
He shakes his head. “I should have saved you.”
Wei Ying’s tears splash onto Wangji’s cheeks. “Oh, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry.” His lips curve into a small, sad smile. “I had to go.”
Another sob wrenches free, and Wangji is powerless now. He weeps, and Wei Ying meets his tears with kisses, still buried deep inside him. He is breaking apart—the very thing he has feared for so long. Yet as he shatters into pieces too tiny to ever recover, it feels like another curse is lifted.
Wei Ying’s eyes search his face, a helpless cry of distress in his throat as he moves again to withdraw. Lan Zhan clutches at him, tightening his legs, begging. He squeezes around Wei Ying deep inside him, making him gasp.
“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, his hands caressing. He bends to kiss the brand. “Not your fault. Not your fault.”
Truth be told, Wangji will never believe it wasn’t his fault. But for the first time, he thinks perhaps he has been punished enough.
Their kisses are salty, faces still wet, but they move together. It is ecstasy that takes control now, and it is nothing like the furtive release of his own hand over the years, which he only allowed in weakness. In darkness.
Now, the moon illuminates the jingshi in glorious silver, and it is proper since Wei Ying should always be bathed in light. There is a place within Wangji sparking waves of bliss that leave him shaking, and any lingering pain no longer matters. And yes, he will do this for Wei Ying. They jerk and grunt and moan together. They don’t really know what they’re doing, yet he understands how much more there is to discover.
When Wei Ying takes him in hand, Wangji shatters again in the best way. He paints his stomach with his seed and feels no shame for his loud cries of joy. Wei Ying spills inside him, gasping and trembling. They are one. The past is gone. When the snake sheds its skin, it does not waste precious time looking back at what it has lost. It moves only forward, whole and new.
Not even Wei Ying can speak, it seems. He eases from Wangji’s body with a sigh, stretching out beside him. They curl toward each other on their sides with knees touching, Wangji’s back curved in comfort instead of pain.
Keeping his gaze locked with Wei Ying’s, he unfastens his headband.
First, he wraps it around his own wrist as he did many years before in the heart of the Cold Spring. Wei Ying watches closely, and Wangji knows he remembers. Of course he does. Holding the other end of the pale blue ribbon, he waits. Although Wei Ying returned with him to Cloud Recesses and has seemed quite content, and although they have just…
He waits.
Swallowing hard, his smooth throat working, Wei Ying holds out his hand. It does not tremble.
Wangji almost weeps again, heady relief flowing through him. He carefully binds Wei Ying’s wrist and finally asks it aloud because he still must hear it. “You will stay?”
For an endless moment, Wei Ying only watches him silently. Then his parted lips lift into a glorious smile, his eyes crinkling and fingers threading through Wangji’s, the ribbon starkly beautiful on their bare skin.
“Always.” Wei Ying’s hair is beautifully mussed, his red ribbon brushing their knuckles. Biting his lip, Wei Ying tugs it free and loops it around his own wrist over Wangji’s headband. He meets Wangji’s gaze and quickly says, “It isn’t special like yours, but—” He scoffs and laughs. “You don’t need to.”
Wangji solemnly holds out his wrist. Eyes alight, Wei Ying joins them, blue and red wound together.
In the wee hours, Wei Ying is atop him, Wangji buried in his tight, incredible heat. He loves the sway of Wei Ying’s loose hair as he grunts and groans, their hips eventually finding a sort of rhythm. Their wrists are still bound, joined hands digging into Wangji’s chest as Wei Ying leans forward, arching his back, his neck long.
Wangji’s wrist is bent awkwardly but he ignores the strain in his arm. He touches Wei Ying everywhere with his unbound hand, their skin slick and fevered.
“Oh, Lan Zhan. I knew you’d have a magnificent cock. The honorable Hanguang-jun, renowned for his propriety and integrity, was made to fuck me. And here I am, taking his massive shaft of light.”
Despite his best efforts, Wangji knows he’s blushing again. His face must be as red as the morning sun when it peeks over the mountains. Wei Ying has been smiling and talking almost nonstop, some of it mumbles of pleasure, the rest teasing. It’s nonsense that Wangji should be embarrassed by words when he is buried inside Wei Ying’s body.
“And I will have you again. Imagine what they’d say. The Yiling Patriarch taking Hanguang-jun on his hands and knees, making him beg for his cock. You’ll beg for me, won’t you. What a scandal!”
Wangji laughs, warmth spreading through his chest right to his groin. Wei Ying’s beautiful face lights up, and he squeezes Wangji’s fingers where their hands are clasped, the ribbons between them twisted and sweat-damp and resilient.
“As if you could get rid of me now, Lan Zhan.” They laugh together, and Wei Ying adds, “Would you ever have believed this?”
“No.” He rocks up forcefully and toys with Wei Ying’s nipples, delighted when he makes him gasp.
Circling his hips, Wei Ying moans. “Who would have thought legendary fuddy-duddy Hanguang-jun could fuck like a—”
He tumbles Wei Ying onto his back and thrusts hard, rewarded when Wei Ying’s laughs transform to cries of ecstasy. They will both ache in the morning. It will be exquisite.
Soon, he’s coming with Wei Ying’s spend between them. They finally rest, tangled in each other under soft sheets, sweaty and messy and perfect. In the twilight before surrendering to sleep, images of the past flicker. Wangji remembers their first battle on a rooftop, when he was so certain he knew the shape of the world.
In his dreams, they dance under the stars until tomorrow dawns.
Fin