Chapter Text
Lan Xichen sits across the table from Lan Zhan in the jingshi. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since Lan Zhan’s seclusion officially began eighteen months ago, after his whipping.
Lan Zhan knows his brother well. Though he smiles and speaks lightly, there is a slight tension in his hands; he holds his teacup tighter than he needs to, his knuckles showing white. There is something he isn’t telling Lan Zhan, something he knows Lan Zhan won’t like to hear.
Eleven lashes of the discipline whip followed by a year and a half in seclusion seemed like an awfully light sentence given the nature of Lan Zhan’s crime; perhaps Lan Xichen is here to inform him that his seclusion is to continue. Lan Zhan certainly will not be pleased if he has to wait another two or three years before he can see a-Yuan again.
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen begins carefully after an extended pause in their conversation.
Lan Zhan sips his tea in silence.
“Now that your seclusion is ending, the elders have been discussing plans for you.”
So not an extended seclusion, then. Lan Zhan allows himself a small bit of relief. The council of elders will probably assign him some tedious duty meant to keep him out of trouble for the foreseeable future, such as putting him on the library restoration project, where he will sit and mend books day in and day out. That would be fine by him.
Lan Zhan had vowed to bear the consequences of his actions; he will shoulder it without a word of complaint, no matter what it is.
“They are in agreement that it’s time to address the matter of your marriage.”
Lan Zhan goes cold down to his fingertips.
Anything but that.
“No,” he says, more calmly than he feels.
Lan Xichen’s expression doesn’t change, but he’s gripping the teacup hard enough that the porcelain might crack any second. “I’m sorry, Wangji, but it can’t be avoided anymore. I am to propose the idea to Jiang-zongzhu within the month."
The click of Lan Zhan setting down his teacup feels deafening.
Of all people, why him?
“Politically, it is the obvious thing to do,” Lan Xichen reasons, as if in response to Lan Zhan’s unvoiced question. He doesn’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. “The Lan and the Jiang have both suffered hardships due to the war, but now we are in a position to help one another. It makes sense for us to strengthen our ties. And the elders think that it would do your image good to align yourself with the public enemy of demonic cultivation.”
Lan Zhan says nothing. Of course they would think that. They think Wei Ying’s horrible, corrupting influence needs expunging from their perfect, shining Second Jade.
“My brotherhood with Da-ge and a-Yao has given us ties to two of the other major clans; if the Lan and Jiang were united by marriage, then the bonds between the four major sects would be like steel.”
“You like Chifeng-zun and Lianfang-zun,” Lan Zhan points out, a sharp edge to his voice. “It is no burden for you to pledge yourself to them. You would ask me to leave our home, xiongzhang.”
Lan Xichen layers his hands on the table, saving his cup further strain. "I know this isn't what you wanted for yourself. I'm truly, deeply sorry, Wangji. If I could take this burden from you, I would."
"The sect leader has final say in matters of marriage."
A small furrow appears between Lan Xichen's eyebrows and he exhales through his nose, which is as good as a flinch on him. "I gave the council authority to make decisions about your marriage. You have to understand," he adds quickly as Lan Zhan leans back, betrayed. "Wangji, didi, they wanted you lashed thirty-three times with the discipline whip, one for each elder you fought. This was the only compromise I offered that got them to budge on that number. People have died from less than that many lashes. Please tell me you understand."
Lan Zhan does not understand; he's furious.
"You are just as bad as him," he snaps.
Lan Xichen flinches for real, the bloody words hitting their mark. Vindication drowns out Lan Zhan’s guilt for the low blow.
Their father once leveraged a marriage to lighten someone else’s punishment. The two of them are the result of that decision. They know first-hand what happens when love goes too far, when it takes more than it gives.
"Wangji," Lan Xichen pleads.
“I would have chosen the whip,” Lan Zhan tells his brother, and watches as Lan Xichen's heart breaks.
“I know," Lan Xichen confessess, closing his eyes. "It was selfish. I’ll repent for this however you wish me to, but I won’t go back on it. I’d rather you were safe in Lotus Pier than dead or permanently bed-bound in Cloud Recesses. I’m sorry, Wangji. I wish we lived in a world where you could have everything you want, but that’s not the world we’re in. I’m sorry.”
“You made a promise to me,” Lan Zhan reminds his brother, but the fight is already flagging from him.
The grim possibility of marriage has been hanging over their heads since they were adolescents. As sect heirs, at least one of them would be expected to marry and continue their line, especially because Lan Qiren had no wife or children of his own. Neither of them were particularly inclined to take a wife, and Lan Xichen wasn’t inclined to take anyone, which is where the aforementioned promise came in. They’d quietly vowed that even if they couldn’t marry for love – if they had to marry for politics – they at least would never marry out, so they could stay together as brothers in Cloud Recesses, forever.
“I know,” Lan Xichen repeats in a whisper, sounding very small and lost. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’ll understand if you can’t.”
I should have died with him. It’s a thought that tormented Lan Zhan for the first few months of his recovery, and it rears its head again now as he remembers the last time he saw Wei Ying. Gaunt and haunted, mumbling and screaming by turns, eyes rolling, blood leaking from the apertures— he was already lost, at that point. There was no saving him. Lan Zhan had still been prepared to die there no matter how futile it was. It would be an honor to die doing what felt right in his heart.
Instead, he’s been dragged clawing and biting back to the world of sect politics by his brother who loves him too much to let him go.
Typical, for their family.
For a brief moment, Lan Zhan hates his brother.
He contemplates saying it, how the words I hate you would feel leaving his lips, how Lan Xichen would break from hearing them. The hate rages against Lan Zhan’s ribs, a wild, howling thing, before subsiding into something weary and sad. He imagines tenderly bundling the feeling up in his arms and putting it to bed like a tantruming child.
They sit in a stalemate for what feels like an eon; neither of them is happy with what’s to come.
Eventually Lan Zhan says, “I would like to see a-Yuan.”
Lan Xichen nods and replies, “I’ll send for him.”
Jiang Wanyin’s response is swift and agreeable. Of course it would be; he’s not going to get a better offer than the sibling of another major sect leader. He does, however, stipulate that he wants to discuss it with Lan Zhan before officially getting engaged to him, which is more consideration than Lan Zhan expected to receive.
He arrives at the Cloud Recesses and they sit together in one of the receiving chambers after Lan Xichen has finished giving him a proper welcome.
“How are you these days,” is Jiang Wanyin’s awkward attempt at pleasantries.
Lan Zhan doesn’t indulge him. “Fine,” is all he says in response.
Jiang Wanyin scowls, or rather, his ever-present scowl deepens. “Seclusion seems to have damaged your manners, Lan-er-gongzi.”
Lan Zhan pretends he didn’t hear that and continues to stare past the other man’s head.
“Hmph.” Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes, then gives Lan Zhan a skeptical once-over. “You know, I was shocked to my core when I got that letter. If I didn’t know better I might have thought it was a prank. Somehow I can’t believe this was all your idea.”
“It wasn’t,” Lan Zhan says bluntly. “It was by the wisdom of my elders that you were contacted about my hand.”
Jiang Wanyin’s expression narrows in scrutiny. “And you’re okay with that?”
Lan Zhan has given it a lot of thought since the conversation with his brother. He could try to sabotage the engagement any number of ways, but the Lan elders would not be satisfied, and it might not even work, since Jiang Wanyin has nothing to lose and everything to gain by marrying him. There was only so much of a fight Lan Wangji could put up before he would have to deliberately disgrace himself and his family to get out of the engagement.
Disgrace doesn't scare Lan Zhan as much as it once did. But he does have another fear: that a-Yuan might be used against him somehow.
If he deliberately ruined his marriage arrangement, he might be forbidden from seeing a-Yuan. He’d rather be trapped in Lotus Pier with the possibility of a-Yuan coming to visit than be trapped in Cloud Recesses, never to see him again.
Besides– Lotus Pier had been Wei Ying’s beloved home once. If Lan Zhan could do something to help it flourish, shouldn’t he?
“It is an advantageous match,” Lan Zhan replies, devoid of emotion.
"Hm." Jiang Wanyin continues to look skeptical. "I was under the impression you didn’t like me very much."
Lan Zhan doesn't deign to answer that. It's true that he's never really cared for Jiang Wanyin. He earned a smidgeon of Lan Zhan's respect when they'd worked together during the sunshot campaign, but he'd lost it again when he publicly renounced Wei Ying.
"We couldn’t have children," he points out when it's clear Lan Zhan won't respond.
“If you don’t want to marry me, don’t,” Lan Zhan says, growing impatient.
“You know as well as I that want is a strong word for this situation,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “I’m just saying.”
They sit in silence for a moment, sizing each other up.
“If your elders are determined to marry you off,” Jiang Wanyin begins quietly, so as not to be overheard by anyone walking past. “Then shouldn’t you get your pick of people? You’re one of the Twin Jades, you could get a marriage with anyone. You don’t have to marry me, specifically.”
“An alliance between the Jiang and the Lan would benefit us both,” Lan Zhan repeats his brother’s words and wonders why Jiang Wanyin is questioning this so much.
“Right,” Jiang Wanyin says drily. “And that’s the only thing that matters.”
What does he want Lan Zhan to say? They both know the reality of the situation. They’re both political figures, whoever they take as a spouse will be a political decision. At least they have some familiarity with each other, as opposed to being complete strangers. At least they would each have a vague idea of what they were getting into, even if they didn’t like it.
Lan Zhan didn’t like it. He wasn’t going to hide that. But he would dislike any other marriage the same way, because the person he wanted to marry was dead.
“If we do marry, can I count on you to dedicate yourself to my sect the same way you’ve dedicated yourself to your own?” Jiang Wanyin asks.
Lan Zhan inclines his head. “I will do what I can.”
“You really have no objections?”
“I do not care,” Lan Zhan answers, toneless. “As you say, I will be married no matter what. The distinction of to whom means little.”
“Good to know you hold me in such high regard after so many years,” Jiang Wanyin says bitterly.
Lan Zhan just glares at him, radiating disapproval.
“Whatever. Fine." Jiang Wanyin stands in a huff, smoothing the front of his robes as he goes. "I'll speak to Zewu-jun about the arrangements, then, since you’re amenable."
Lan Zhan says nothing more, and doesn't watch him go.
Gossip is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, which is why it takes so long for Lan Zhan to learn that his betrothed is widely accredited for the death of the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying.
When he hears this for the first time, Lan Zhan is so filled with fury and grief that he spends a whole day and night at the cold spring. He has to focus on controlling his emotions lest he do something outrageous, such as fly to Lotus Pier and murder Jiang Wanyin in public.
The thought that eventually settles his rage is that even if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t killed Wei Ying, someone else would have. The blame lies not with a single person, but with the whole crowd. The terrible truth is that all four clans had come to the pledge against Wei Wuxian, they were all there to kill him— Jiang Wanyin just happened to be the one who accomplished it.
Still, as they sit down for tea together with Lan Qiren acting as chaperone, it is only the fact that Lan Zhan did not personally see Jiang Wanyin at the siege of the burial mounds that keeps him from dragging Jiang Wanyin across the table and beating his face in with bare fists. It is quite possible that if Lan Zhan had seen him there, baying for Wei Ying’s blood with the rest of them, that he would not have the same restraint.
“Being at the Cloud Recesses always reminds me of simpler times,” Jiang Wanyin says as a servant pours the three of them tea. The words are pretty, but his intonation is stiff, like he’s reciting them from memory. “Thank you for having me. It is no small honor to be courting your nephew, Lan-xiansheng.”
“You are, of course, welcome,” Lan Qiren replies, adjusting his sleeves. “It relieves me to hear that you take this matter of marriage seriously, Jiang-zongzhu.”
“Of course,” Jiang Wanyin replies, continuing the script. “Everyone knows that Hanguang-jun is peerless as a cultivator. He is highly regarded. I would be a fool to dismiss him, or take the matter lightly.”
“Hm.” Lan Qiren strokes his beard in a way that means he’s pleased.
Lan Zhan sips his tea and tries not to feel like he’s being bartered for at the market.
Jiang Wanyin clears his throat, his eyes darting to Lan Zhan. “I actually have a gift for Hanguang-Jun, if he would accept it.”
When neither Lan motions to decline, Jiang Wanyin gestures for one of the disciples in his retinue lingering by the edge of the pavilion to come over. She does so, and places a small stack of books, tied neatly with a purple silk ribbon, on the tea table.
“Poetry from Yunmeng,” Jiang Wanyin declares. “Your brother Zewu-jun happened to mention that you liked poetry, so I collected the finest poems from Lotus Pier and beyond and had them compiled for you. I hope you will enjoy them.”
It’s normal for courting couples to give gifts. The thoughtfulness of this particular gift takes Lan Zhan aback for a moment; Jiang Wanyin could have given him something generic, like a comb, but instead he gave him something tailored to his interests. It ticks Lan Zhan off a little bit. Does Jiang Wanyin think this will actually endear him to Lan Zhan?
He remains silent long enough that it starts to become uncomfortable before he says, “Thank you.” He makes no move to open the books or even touch them.
“Yunmeng is known for its beauty,” Lan Qiren muses. “It takes a true poet to distill that sort of beauty into language.”
“...Indeed,” Jiang Wanyin agrees, clearly unsure how else to respond. Lan Zhan and his uncle both tend to have that effect; where Lan Xichen learned how to speak so well, Lan Zhan has no clue.
The visit drags on torturously as they discuss news and night hunts and boring, boring things. Lan Zhan stays out of the conversation as much as he can, which definitely only makes it more awkward, but he doesn’t care. Eventually, Jiang Wanyin departs, having business at Jinlintai.
Lan Zhan places the poetry books on his shelf and leaves them there, unopened.
It's late spring, which means the pasture behind the Jingshi is full of stumbling young rabbits. Now that a-Yuan is well enough to leave the infirmary and Lan Zhan is no longer in seclusion, he brings him there often. He's instructed a-Yuan on how to pet them, gently, and not to pick them up.
A-Yuan sits in the pasture with five or six rabbits clambering over his little legs, trying to steal the leafy vegetables held in his hands while he giggles and scolds them.
"Nooo, have to wait. 'Do not be greedy.' It's a rule."
Lan Zhan sits a little ways away, one of the older, calmer rabbits nestled in his lap. He strokes the soft white fur of it and thinks of the man who gave him both these precious things— the rabbits and the child.
Lan Xichen sits with him. Lan Zhan doesn't have the heart to tell him to go away.
“I’ve done as you asked,” Lan Xichen says quietly.
Lan Zhan doesn’t thank him, because it’s nowhere near the end of what Lan Xichen owes him.
Lan Xichen lowers his voice even more, to ensure only Lan Zhan will hear. “Why keep him a secret? Don’t you want to take him with you?”
Lan Zhan watches a-Yuan distribute food to the rabbits with a dull ache in his chest. The truth is, he loathes the thought of leaving the boy behind to be broken and molded to fit the rules that Lan Zhan no longer has the same faith in; he knows now that they are not the immutable truths he thought they were for most of his life. He wishes he could be there to offer guidance, to help a-Yuan navigate the many difficult contradictions of the world.
But Lotus Pier would not be safe for a-Yuan. Jiang Wanyin’s hatred for Wens is rivaled only by Nie Mingjue’s, and it’s possible he may have met a-Yuan at the Burial Mounds. Maybe when he gets older, there will be less of a chance of Jiang Wanyin recognizing him, and he can visit, but until then, Lan Zhan won’t risk it.
Already he looks much different from the scrawny child Lan Zhan met in Yiling back then. Wen Yuan, now Lan Yuan, has filled out from regular meals, is clean of soil, and wears a little Lan ribbon that he still can’t tie on his own. Lan Zhan does it for him every morning, no matter how sore it makes his heart.
Lan Xichen idly nudges away a rabbit nibbling on the edge of his sleeve and sighs, seeming to accept that he won’t get an answer. “You never told me where he came from.”
This, Lan Zhan can answer safely. “I did not know his parents.”
Lan Xichen studies him. “And yet you risked your life to bring him here, while injured.”
“He would have died if I didn’t.”
Lan Xichen shakes his head, vexed.
“Gege, look,” a-Yuan calls. A young rabbit has fallen asleep mid-snack, a puddle of white fur in a-Yuan’s lap with a leaf hanging out of its mouth. “Isn’t it silly?”
“Very,” Lan Zhan responds warmly.
“I think you should take him with you,” Lan Xichen insists in that same low whisper. A-Yuan continues to giggle and pet the rabbits, oblivious. “He adores you. And I know you are reluctant to leave him.”
“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan says, meaning no. Meaning I can’t explain why. Meaning, as always, listen to what I cannot say aloud.
Lan Xichen sighs. “I suppose you want me to take over his care?”
It’s a selfish thing to ask. Lan Xichen has enough responsibilities. Lan Zhan had always wanted to help alleviate his brother’s burdens, not add to them. But Lan Xichen broke his promise. He is sending Lan Zhan away. So Lan Zhan thinks he is allowed to ask something selfish in return, knowing that Lan Xichen will not refuse him.
He nods.
“I will,” Lan Xichen promises. He sounds tired.
A-Yuan is now making faces in an attempt to wiggle his nose like a bunny. Such behavior could be viewed as going against several precepts. Comport oneself with dignity. Do not be frivolous. Treat plants and animals with respect. Lan Zhan will not correct him, in accordance with the precepts defend the innocent, and safeguard the young, for children are the future of the world.
“The matchmaker has come back with options for the wedding date,” Lan Xichen says after a long silence. “Do you have a preference?”
Lan Zhan does not say my preference is to not be married. He bites his tongue until he tastes sharp iron and says nothing at all.
Eventually Lan Xichen gets the hint and stands up, carefully brushing grass from his clothes. A-Yuan runs over to say goodbye, calling him Xichen-gege, then sits at Lan Zhan’s side, sniffling, as Lan Xichen walks away.
“What’s the matter,” Lan Zhan asks, soft in a way that is still new to him.
A-Yuan clambers into Lan Zhan’s lap, displacing the rabbit previously occupying it. Lan Zhan’s back twinges; his wounds have long since closed, but the scars still pain him when he moves in certain ways. He has reluctantly acknowledged that if he'd gotten the thirty-three strikes as originally intended by the elders, he would probably still be bedridden even now.
“Where does Xichen-gege go?” a-Yuan whimpers into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Does he come back? Why does he go?”
“Xichen-ge has many responsibilities,” Lan Zhan explains, hesitantly placing his hand on a-Yuan’s back. Wei Ying was better than him at this. He doesn’t know how to comfort a child. He tries to think of what Wei Ying would do. Pinch his sides, try to make him laugh? Lan Zhan does not know how to pinch playfully, and the last thing he wants is to hurt a-Yuan. He settles for patting the boy’s head and letting him cling. “You will see him again soon.”
He should tell a-Yuan that he is leaving, and won’t be back for a long time. Lan Zhan does not want to be the latest in a long line of caregivers that disappears from a-Yuan’s life without an explanation or a trace, even if a-Yuan does not remember the others. He will tell him.
Eventually.
It should be soon, so that a-Yuan has time to get used to the idea before it happens. But Lan Zhan can’t find the words.
Instead, he hums a familiar song until a-Yuan is calm, dozing lightly against his chest.
This is what is left, Lan Zhan thinks, the sorrow like a twisting, choking vine around his lungs. A field of rabbits and an orphaned boy, cradled – however temporarily – in Lan Zhan’s arms.
Once the date is set and the agreements signed and the bride gifts received, all that’s left is the wedding itself. It’s been six months since the engagement.
It's been two years since Wei Ying's death.
Lan Zhan is still mad at his brother. Despite this, he lets Lan Xichen wrap him in layer upon layer of red and gold finery on the day of his wedding. It'd never get done, otherwise. Lan Zhan would prefer to sit in the guest suite and see if staying still long enough would allow him to be absorbed into the scenery like a statue.
They've been in Lotus pier for four days already, the festivities just lavish enough to befit the marriage of a sect leader without being extravagant. Lan Zhan knows his austere reputation is being leveraged as an excuse for Jiang-zongzhu to not spend any more money on the wedding that he strictly has to. It might offend someone else, but frankly Lan Zhan doesn't care. He would feel the same about marrying Jiang Wanyin whether it was the grandest affair the cultivation world had ever seen or if they made their bows in a muddy pigsty.
While Lan Xichen combs his hair in silence, Lan Zhan reflects on the new life he's about to be thrust into. Generally the spouses of sect leaders take care of domestic affairs, running the household while the sect leader focuses on instruction of the disciples and distribution of night hunt assignments, but there have been exceptions. Jiang Wanyin's own mother was infamous for doing both duties; maintaining an iron grip over Lotus Pier while still managing to frequently night hunt alone or with a small retinue of hand-picked disciples.
Will Jiang Wanyin expect him to tend to the everyday drudgery of running a sect, or would he be happy to share the responsibility of night hunts? Lan Zhan has no experience with the former; he did his own cooking and cleaning during his seclusion, but knows nothing of how those things are done on a larger scale. The thought of having to build a rapport with serving staff fills him with dread— not because he looks down on servants or thinks he is above them, but because talking to other people is hard and Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to do when other people bring him their problems other than tell them to figure it out.
He's never been to Lotus Pier in his life until now, and now he is going to live here.
He's been avoiding thinking about it, but like a fox circling a chicken pen just waiting for an opening, the thought sneaks up on him: Wei Ying grew up within these walls.
Lotus Pier has been reconstructed, new buildings built where the old had been destroyed; Lan Zhan has to wonder how much of Wei Ying's history here has been erased under Jiang Wanyin's rule. Did he bother to preserve Wei Ying's favourite spots?
As if Lan Zhan knows where they would’ve been.
Wei Ying once said he wanted to show Lan Zhan around Lotus Pier. He never got the chance.
Lan Zhan closes his eyes, shooing the fox away from the pen, but the damage is already done. Blood and feathers everywhere.
"How are you feeling?" Lan Xichen asks, setting the comb aside.
He breathes slowly until the feeling subsides. He opens his eyes to take in his brother's concerned expression and the guilt behind his eyes. "Homesick," he says. Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. Homesick, but not for Cloud Recesses.
Lan Xichen makes a sympathetic sound. "It'll only be a year until you're able to visit. Jiang-zongzhu assured me we could write to each other. If you would have me, I can visit. And the Jingshi will be ready for you once the year is up and you’re able to come home."
Before they departed for Lotus Pier, Lan Zhan had walked slowly around the Jingshi, letting himself linger in the memories it held before he said goodbye to it. Some of the memories were happy, but it was happiness tinged with sorrow. The thing about grief is that it touches everything, warping happy things into sad things and making you want the sad things regardless.
He always imagined he’d live in the Jingshi for the rest of his life, perhaps alone, or perhaps with… someone. Someone not a sect leader with responsibilities that keep him far from Gusu.
“We’ll always be your family, didi,” Lan Xichen murmurs as he runs his fingers soothingly down the back of Lan Zhan’s skull. They do not often indulge in this kind of closeness; Lan Zhan allows the touch and tells himself it is not the same as forgiveness.
His relationship with Lan Xichen might never be the same again. It used to be that Lan Zhan’s brother was the person who understood him best in the world. He always knew Lan Zhan’s true meaning when everyone else thought him cold or angry or simply blank, which is why it hurt all the more when he couldn’t seem to understand why Lan Zhan wanted to stand beside Wei Ying when it mattered most. Or perhaps Lan Xichen did understand, and toasted to Wei Ying’s death anyway— but that would be worse.
Afterwards, when Lan Zhan was dragged back home, Lan Xichen tried to argue that Lan Zhan didn’t deserve to be punished so severely, he hadn’t known what he was doing. It came from a place of love, of not wanting to see him hurt, but Lan Zhan still resented it. Lan Zhan has never squirmed out of a punishment in his life. He knew he had broken the rules, and he would accept the consequences. He would have broken them again and again, would have taken a thousand lashings each time, if only—
It doesn’t matter. Wei Ying is dead, and Lan Xichen is giving Lan Zhan away to the man who killed him.
On some level, Lan Zhan begrudgingly respects Lan Xichen’s decision, if only because it was a wonder he’d argued with the elders in the first place. Lan Xichen spent too much of his life playing the role of mediator– trying to make everyone happy, trying to stay safely within the rules, bending them around himself like a shield while claiming impartiality. He thought he could stay neutral in every disagreement. He would rather let decisions be made around him than risk causing a fuss. He thought peace was more valuable than justice. But this time he said, no, I won’t let you do this.
If only he’d done so sooner. If only he’d picked a cause that Lan Zhan agreed with. Maybe then, he could have forgiven him.
As it is, once Lan Zhan’s hair is up and the heavy golden headpiece is weighing down his crown, when Lan Xichen offers him his ribbon, handling it with a piece of cloth, Lan Zhan does not ask him to tie it on for him the way he might have if things were different. It would not be out of line to do so, since their parents are not there to do it, but Lan Zhan likes it better this way. He puts his own ribbon on like a soldier dons his armor in preparation for a battle.
When he’s finished, he allows himself to check the mirror; the austere blue and white of the ribbon looks out of place amidst the red finery, a spot of impossible frost in a bright fire.
“You look handsome,” Lan Xichen tells him with a bittersweet smile.
Lan Zhan doesn't answer.
The ceremonies go by in a blur.
There is a lavish dinner that combines rich Yunmeng flavors into subtle Gusu dishes. Jiang Wanyin pours tea for Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, and Lan Zhan pours out tea for Jiang Wanyin’s deceased parents. They complete their bows and the next thing Lan Zhan knows, his new husband is leading him by the arm through the bridges and boardwalks of Lotus Pier.
They stop at a set of doors inlaid with the Jiang family crest, the nine-petaled lotus. Jiang Wanyin releases Lan Zhan’s arm and pushes open the door. “These will be your rooms,” he says stiffly. “They should have everything you need, but the servants will be happy to assist if you require anything else. I hope you find them to your satisfaction.”
Lan Zhan isn’t sure whether to be insulted or grateful that he’s apparently being banished to his own set of rooms straightaway.
The interior is spacious and warmly lit with paper lanterns; immediately he can see his zither placed upon a low table and Bichen resting in a wooden sword-stand. The familiar sight of his blade eases some of Lan Zhan’s tension. There is also a semi-stocked bookshelf, a set of calligraphy brushes, and a large bed scattered with flower petals.
The sight of the bed makes Lan Zhan tense all over again. He has given this moment a lot of thought. There are certain acts that come part and parcel with marriage, and he has no idea what Jiang Wanyin will expect of him for this. Lan Zhan knows what he would prefer, but—
Jiang Wanyin slides the door shut behind them and Lan Zhan focuses on keeping his breath even.
“I had a question,” he says, turning to face Lan Zhan.
Despite his dour bearing, Jiang Wanyin does look stunning in red. A fierce dragon twists up the brocade on his chest, embroidered in gold and grasping a lotus flower in each of its claws. His hair is braided and twisted around four golden pins that dangle with jade beads. It’s ostentatious, but he wears it well.
“About your ribbon,” he adds. “I spoke to your brother about various Lan customs that I would need to know, so… I know that traditionally when a Lan marries into another family the spouse will remove it after the wedding. But I had a thought and wanted to know your opinion.”
Curious despite himself, Lan Zhan arches an eyebrow to indicate he should continue.
“Since it's the symbol of your clan, would not removing it signal a stronger tie back to the Lan? You'll be here in Yunmeng, but no one will be able to forget the tie between my sect and yours. Or do you think people will see it as a sign that you're not fully accepted by the Jiang?”
Lan Zhan considers it carefully for a moment. From his personal perspective, there’s only one person who could touch his ribbon. Allowing someone else to do so feels like an immense betrayal. But from a political perspective…
“It would be unorthodox for me to keep it. Some might question the decision. Others will not care, or understand the significance.”
Jiang Wanyin’s seemingly-permanent scowl turns thoughtful. “Hm. I’ll leave it up to you, then. Would you like to keep it?”
There is a long, heavy pause. Lan Zhan already knows what he wants, but he has to contemplate whether it’s worth it to get what he wants. Eventually, he carefully says, “I think I will.”
“Alright.”
They stand there awkwardly for a moment, staring at each other.
There is still one rite of marriage left.
Lan Zhan takes a step backwards, towards the bed.
Jiang Wanyin clears his throat and looks away. “Right. Good. I’ll just let you get settled in, then. See you at breakfast.”
Lan Zhan frowns, puzzled. “You’re going?”
Jiang Wanyin frowns right back. “Why would I stay?”
“It is our wedding night,” Lan Zhan explains slowly, as if speaking to an idiot, which he very well might be. He watches in detached, nearly scholarly interest as Jiang Wanyin’s face gradually acquires a hue to rival his wedding outfit.
“It’s– we’re— everyone knows this is a political marriage,” he manages to splutter. “No one actually expects us to…” he trails off, still flushed.
“It is expected,” Lan Zhan argues. “An unconsummated marriage is not binding.” It would make the alliance look weak, and the alliance was the whole point. If they didn’t consummate, then their marriage was nothing more than a farce.
Jiang Wanyin grimaces. Had he really not known this? Lan Zhan sits on the edge of the bed, fisted hands resting on his knees as he carefully watches what Jiang Wanyin will do next.
What he does is rub his forehead in consternation. “Look,” he says, then stops. “Look,” he says again, more forcefully. “It’s not like people will be able to tell that we haven’t, right? I made sure this part of Lotus Pier would be empty. It’s not a big deal.”
Lan Zhan stares at him derisively.
“It’s not as if you actually want to, right?”
“Come here,” Lan Zhan says, because apparently he has to do everything himself.
Jiang Wanyin huffs and harrumphs and all but pitches a fit, but he still walks over. With distaste in his stomach, Lan Zhan goes to take Jiang Wanyin’s hand with the intention of guiding it to his sash, but Jiang Wanyin quickly moves his hand out of the way.
“Don’t,” he sneers.
Lan Zhan glares. Fine, then. He starts removing his sash himself.
“What are you– stop that!” The sneer turns to panic. Lan Zhan stops, caught between exasperation and relief. Jiang Wanyin laughs a little hysterically, his face beet-red. “I thought you’d want nothing to do with me, yet here you are so eagerly loosening your belt! What happened to your shame, Lan-er-gongzi?”
“We are married,” Lan Zhan tells him, on the edge of anger now. “It is not shameful. It is expected. There are rules. ”
“Well, stop expecting it! There's no need– we're not going to– I'm not a cut-sleeve! "
Lan Zhan sets his hands in his lap and his gaze on the far wall, expression stony. The slight sting of rejection he feels— do I truly disgust you so much? —is quickly washed away by cool relief that it is apparently definitely not happening tonight.
“Look,” Jiang Wanyin says again, lowering his voice. “I didn’t think I’d have to explain this to you. The reason for this marriage— I need allies. You’re my ally. There’s no need to make it complicated with—” he gestures broadly, presumably to indicate sex and feelings. Then he drops his hand and sighs, sounding bitter. “After all, why should we let anything so inconsequential interfere with a perfectly good marriage?”
The bitterness in his voice feels familiar.
Well, maybe Lan Zhan is tired of things that are uncomplicated and good. Maybe he wants a reason to put his body to use for something other than as a tool for warfare or a bargaining chip in a larger political framework.
Maybe Lan Zhan and Jiang Wanyin are both doomed to repeat the marriages of their parents; bound to each other not out of mutual love and respect, but out of selfishness and petty politics.
“You said your clan elders chose this for you,” Jiang Wanyin says. Most of his bluster is gone now that Lan Zhan has gone silent. “I suppose you’re just too good and obedient to go against them?”
Anger simmers in Lan Zhan’s core, but he remains still as a statue.
Jiang Wanyin sighs, visibly reigning himself in. “My intention is not for you to hate me, or to hate Lotus Pier. I hope that you will come to see this place as your home."
Lan Zhan continues to stare at the wall. He doesn't think this place could ever be his home.
"If this is going to be for the rest of our lives, the least you could do is not ignore me," Jiang Wanyin says testily.
“Say something worth my breath,” Lan Zhan replies tonelessly.
Jiang Wanyin’s face colours again. “You—! Are you determined to piss me off?!”
“Do not blame me for your poor temper,” Lan Zhan retorts, his own temper flaring. “Go away.”
“Fine!” Jiang Wanyin turns in a swirl of red fabric and jingle of beads, and shuts the door forcefully behind him as he exits.
Lan Zhan lets out a long, controlled exhale.
The nighttime of Lotus Pier is much different than nighttime at the Cloud Recesses. For one thing: it’s loud. Lan Zhan is used to stillness, occasionally graced by the tranquil tinkling of chimes or the resonant echo of a distant gong. Here, there is the pervasive sound of gently lapping water and creaking wood. Crickets and frogs sing in a disorganized cacophony. Lan Zhan readies himself for sleep but the noise invades him like a parasite.
At least it makes it impossible for him to think.