wuding | Why is it Always Meditation?

Why is it Always Meditation?

The ride home gives him time to think and overthink everything they’ve been talking about. There’s a substantial side of him that wishes he could somehow take back everything that they’d been speaking about. He doesn’t want to face his demons. He wants to snuff them out completely and never think about them again.

But now that he’s let Lan Zhan in on it, he can’t see a way to get out of it. He feels exposed after sharing some of his inner workings and there’s plans set in motion to expose more. He hadn’t been lying about trusting Lan Zhan with that side of himself, but he hadn’t been thinking about how much it would hurt Lan Zhan to know about it.

By the time he reaches Cloud Recesses, he’s feeling more than a little frazzled. He leaves Little Apple near the stables where she can have the finest grasses in Gusu to appease her royal senses. He even gives her an apple he’s only had a couple bites of before he finishes the trek back to the jingshi on foot.

Luckily for Lan Zhan, there are only a few people loitering around outdoors so he isn’t flagged down to stop and chat with anyone. Carrying Liang around in public always tends to invite conversation.

He pauses outside the door and shifts Liang in his arms to free his right hand so he can open the door. “Lan Zhan, I’m home!” He doesn’t know what to expect after everything. The thing he looks forward to the most is being in Lan Zhan’s arms, and he can only hope that things haven’t become awkward between them. “I rode as fast as Little Apple could carry me. We should bring some more fruit down for her.”

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It is not his place to feel off-balance, startled. To grieve, when Wei Ying's own sorrow overwhelms. Lan Wangji has lost nothing, in the span of a year. Gained everything. Had assumed, and this tightens his jaw and slackens his tongue and makes him feel a silhouette and ghost of himself, a fool — he had presumed that his husband shared in his levity, wanting for nothing. That they were united in their appetite and ability to construct a new life together, immune to the shadows of their blood-oiled past.

Nothing so kindly, so simple. Perhaps he should have championed the development of Wei Ying's new-found trust. That he should hail his lover's freshly discovered sincerity of confession. Yet some part of him feels — rattled, impossibly removed from himself, a failure as a soulmate, a companion, the man intended to know Wei Ying better than all. To think his husband had suffered through the sickness of his consumptive doubts for months, and Lan Wangji had only lingered, sleeping tenderly at his side.

By the time Wei Ying enters the jingshi, he ripples with tension, arms stiff and nearly arrested when he accepts Lan Liang in their cradle, soul briefly balmed by the sweetness of their son who greets him with cooing, hands in his hair, a hungry little mouth suckling on Lan Wangji's silk-clad shoulder. He think, at first, to take the child in his arms — then, armed with better wisdom, reaches out to accept Wei Ying in his embrace, their son between them. His mouth rushes down to press warm over Wei Ying's forehead.

"See her rewarded." A fine creature, delivering Lan Wangji's most beloved gift so diligently — one he shamelessly welcomes so, for all they have barely crossed the threshold into the privacy of their home.

He can tell at once that Lan Zhan is tense when he takes Liang from his arms. Guilt for upsetting his husband bubbles up in him, even though he knows that it’s a good thing to place that trust in him. What had possessed him to admit all that embarrassing stuff, anyway? It’s not like it’s a new issue. But maybe Lan Zhan can understand why he’d been so opposed to living in separate houses this way.

He steps closer to Lan Zhan, drawn in by the invitation to be held. He sighs contentedly, pressing a kiss to Liang’s head and then another to Lan Zhan’s jaw. His arms circle around his husband’s middle and he gives him a tight squeeze.

“Did you miss us?” He asks in his usual perky voice. The only thing that’s changed is that Lan Zhan knows about the issues plaguing his mind and spirit. They’ll probably talk about his confession tonight since their plans of archery and a duel have fallen through. He isn’t looking forward to it, so he grasps at whatever he can to delay the inevitable. Lucky for him, their little one is the perfect excuse.

“Looks like A-Liang’s hungry again. Want to feed him or should I do it?” He asks, squeezing his husband one more time before letting go with one arm to rub the baby’s back.

He does not wish to let go, to embrace this fruitless abandon. Hangs off Wei Ying's arms, catches and holds and lingers with his son, and he is a pale and monstrous thing, profoundly dependent. His mouth bloodless, his cheeks drawn, and the look of him strained, the ugly twist of his lips soured.

Wei Ying relinquishes him first. Pulls back, appetite dwindled. Lan Wangji lingers by, then softly, tenderly assumes position to take over their child and soothe Liang against his chest, trying him perfunctorily for wetness. Of course, nothing. Wei Ying would have said. It is... a strange discovery, to know himself helpless and knosn, himself juvenile.

Milk was called for, with their dinner, and the broth of the Lan diet suits the young. A fine feast for master Liang, alongside congee. Lan Wangji settles down at the low table with him, careful to start the inquisitive child on a spoonful of broth. He tastes it, face scrunched, befofe relaxing into acceptance. His majesty, appeased. Another spoonfull, then.

"Missed you," he murmurs belatedly, and tests fate with a bite of the congee that Liang suffers through, heroically. "Come eat. You are... at ease?"

He brings himself up onto his toes to kiss Lan Zhan’s cheek, then has a seat at his usual side of the table. He hadn’t expected a meal upon arrival, but now that he smells the fragrances of some of his favorite spices, he becomes aware of the hollowness in his stomach. He waits for Lan Zhan to settle with Liang before reaching greedily for his favorite dish. The pork rib and lotus soup that came with the recipes he’s brought back from their trip to Lanling. He lets out an appreciative moan after the first spoonful.

“I missed you more,” he teases with a smile. This isn’t so bad. Lan Zhan still seems a little awkward after his confession earlier, but not as much as he’d been anticipating. He reaches across the table with his chopsticks to pick up a morsel of something green and leafy to hold up for his husband to eat.

“I’m good, Lan Zhan. We can talk about the other stuff after Liang goes to sleep,” he suggests, turning his attention back onto his own food. “I’m not used to riding for speed anymore. My inner thighs feel bruised and I didn’t even get to have fun first!”

Whatever Wei Ying's fears and his burdens, he has at least thawed sufficiently enough to accept light feeding, steering himself towards dinner. Against Lan Wangji's chest — nobly enduring while his father turns him, so his little feet dangle in the air, back to Wangji's belly and sat in the cradle of his father's crossed legs — Liang surveys the feast before him, before banging a miniature fist on the table.

Obediently, Lan Wangji prepares a spoonful of deep mushroom broth, only breaking long enough to accept the greens from Wei Ying's chopsticks with a grateful nod and a hummed murmur of satisfaction.

"Will reacquaint Wei Ying to hard rides each day." Perhaps a miracle of composure and weeping injury against the pride of Gusu Lan, that Lan Wangji prevails to say so without cracking a smile. All hail him. Then, softer, "Ride, before breakfast. We may prepare a travel horse."

An animal better equipment in both physique and temperament to tolerate Wei Ying's fledgling return to form, and unlikely to unsaddle him throughout his exercise. Their quest to revitalize Wei Ying's physique may advance a step forward.

As if sensing he is not paid his due attention, Lan Liang slams his fist against the table again, this time while yet being served his dinner.

Clicking his tongue, Lan Wangji says, "You have returned my young master wrathful."

His grin edges on sly at the innuendo of their hard rides. “I wouldn’t mind taking a ride with Lan Zhan first thing in the morning,” he teases back. He picks up a mushroom from the vegetarian side of their meal and offers it to his husband the same as he’d done before.

It feels comfortable like this. He’d been so worried that things would be weird between them if Lan Zhan were to discover the darker side of his mind. He’d always been the one to smile and crack jokes or tease, choosing to run from the darkness lest he be consumed by it. The thought of confronting it on his own terrifies him, but maybe with Lan Zhan’s help as an anchor, he’ll be able to keep his head afloat.

He just hopes that it doesn’t hurt Lan Zhan too much in the process. His burdens are his to carry and it would be unfair to leave his husband’s heart ruined by them. And then there’s the problem of deciding what to tackle first. His sister’s death comes to mind, though he feels like he deserves the pain of that. There are the lives he’s taken, his betrayal of the Jiang sect, his donation of his golden core, his failure to protect the Wen remnants, his own death, and the memories he still hasn’t been able to recover.

He pushes some of the food around on his serving plate for a moment, then picks up a bite and forces himself to eat it. He’d said they’d talk after laying Liang down to sleep, so psyching himself up about it isn’t productive.

“The ride got bumpier when I sped up. It disturbed the young master’s rest. I wouldn’t be surprised if his butt’s as sore as my thighs. Maybe Lan Zhan should check my inner thighs for marks once our young master has his fill and settles down for the night.”

They’ll have a bath, he assumes because of the warmed water buckets near the tub, and then they’ll cultivate. That is, unless Lan Zhan wants to skip that for the night, too. They need to talk though at least something to give Lan Zhan the satisfaction of helping him. In the bath, then.

He reaches across the table and pokes Liang’s little nose. “The royal treatment isn’t enough for you, huh? You’re going to be a tyrant if we’re not careful.”

More vegetables, more tender mouthfuls. He hums along with the offerings, gladly accepting to sate both his hunger and the churning disquiet between them. Wei Ying lends himself to the rite, to the gladness of providing even when they both know Lan Wangji has only known hunger in the brief custody of the Wen indoctrination. He, unlike his husband, has not gone wanting.

Neither has Lan Liang, who first rewards Wei Ying's torture and agony with an anguished cry, because scent betrays his parent, and he is all grins and bell-like laughter, hands batting at Wei Ying's in the effort to latch and catch and hold. A happy child, ingenious, readily spurned to gladness.

Lan Wangji kisses the top of his hand, palm sat steady and warm against the babe's belly, preventing him from tipping over when he leans across to reach Wei Ying. "Shall search both of you for the wounds of your hardships."

For all he suspects Lan Liang's inspection will lead to the child dutifully and sweetly swaddled, while Wei Ying's will celebrate a far less restful outcome. "Fault is mine. I requested undue haste. Wei Ying and Lan Liang undertook great sacrifice."

Grinning, he continues to tease and tickle their child to fill the air with the sound of laughter. A happy family. The one thing he’s always wanted and never expected having until his second life brought him closer to Lan Zhan. He laughs a little when Liang catches his hand and pulls it down where he can gnaw on his fingers. “Hey, don’t bite your mama. I can feel your teeth growing in.” Despite his words, he doesn’t try very hard to remove his hand from his son’s mouth.

He spoons up some of the pork broth and offers it in exchange for his hand. Liang lights up at the fragrant dish and tugs the spoon clumsily towards his mouth where about two thirds of it lands in his mouth while the rest spills down his chin. “You like that, don’t you? The ginger tastes good, huh?”

He feeds the baby another spoonful, allowing Lan Zhan to feed himself for a few moments. It’s always best when they can share the duties of feeding, otherwise Lan Zhan tends to only eat after Liang’s and Wei Wuxian are finished.

“I wanted to get home, too,” he confesses, drinking a spoon full of his soup with a morsel of pork to go with it before offering a third to Liang. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since I left this morning,” afternoon, “Sizhui and Jingyi should be heading back by now. When should we talk to him about sorting out who he can spend one-on-one time with Jin Ling?”

Their child has slept far too little, restlessness propelling him to irascibility. He reveals it now, fussing and hissing, only to laugh after, greedily sipping and grinning around mouthfuls of the broth Wei Ying imparts gleefully. Then, looking at Lan Wangji, he laughs, drips of the soup tainting the corners of his mouth. Tsk.

"Perhaps Liang should bathe with us." And make a sweet game of his cradling, for all Lan Wangji suspects young master Liang will concede to tire himself to fitful exhaustion and sleep once his appetites have waned. What a troubling disposition. Is this what they have to look forward to? No matter his own eccentricities, Lan Sizhui was ever reliably docile as an infant.

His brother appears to have borrowed far more of Wei Ying's own temperament in this. For his efforts, he earns the reward of more bland congee.

"I shall speak to Sizhui of his obligations. He is of age. Must reread our marriage book." And all the other Lan manuals that document mannered behaviour in preparation of matrimony.

When Lan Zhan takes over feeding, he turns his attention to his dinner once more. He doesn’t bother wiping Lan Liang’s drool off his spoon before eating another bite of soup. He’ll get to the rest of his dinner once he’s finished with his favorite part. Maybe he’ll even take a bite or two of some vegetable or another to prove he really is trying to keep himself healthy and well-fed after vowing he would.

“He needs it,” he points at the kid with his chopsticks. “He had a real nasty accident while we were shopping. I cleaned him as well as I could, but I’m sure it’s not up to Lan standards.”

He wonders if he should glance through some of those texts. He might know the older two-thousand Lan doctrines by heart, but he really doesn’t know all of the in and outs of life as a member of the sect. He should know for their kids at the very least.

“You’ll take care of it, then? Or do you want someone to back you up?” He doubts Sizhui will put up a fight about it, but it couldn’t hurt to put up a united front. He owes Lan Zhan that much after encouraging the betrothal in the first place. He’d been putting the happiness of Sizhui and Jin Ling over the happiness of his husband. And now they’re scheduled to lose their son to Lanling in as few as three years’ time.

He reaches across the table with his palm facing upward. An invitation to hold his hand, but not a demand for it. Lan Zhan would have to cease interacting so thoroughly with Lan Liang if he were to take it.

"Allow me," he murmurs with the sketch of a nod, at once ill at ease and grateful. Sizhui is a sensitive, kindly, mannered child, fundamentally obedient. What streaks of stubborn pride and misplaced rebellion rear are the footprint of impatience, sooner than malice. He will listen, heed and honour. It is his way, his birth right.

In between bites — his own and Lan Liang's — Wei Ying makes a silent overture, palm stretched out like sullen bait, and Lan Wangji dips it to give answer. At the last moment, Liang snakes his way in, whip-fast and eager, slapping his smaller hand over Wei Ying's, before erupting in peels of incontinent, effusive laughter. How easy it a creature so small can spread so much joy?

Gently, Lan Wangji follows, settling his hand below Wei Ying's to cup it and leave pride of place to Liang. "This young man whose company Wei Ying keeps so extensively would claim his time whole." Truly shameless, Liang. "Unfair competition. Wei Ying must give me advantage."

Even though the invitation is stolen by Liang, he laughs too and closes his hand around it. “He likes to be the center of attention,” he concludes, rubbing a thumb across tiny knuckles. “He’ll outshine all the rest of us and Lan Shufu is going to blame me every time he misbehaves.” He says it with amusement more so than dread. This kid is going to be able to get away with all sorts of mischief when he’s old enough to rabble rouse.

But Lan Zhan’s hand is under his and all is right in the world in this moment. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. A-Liang wins fair and square. We’ll have to make do with the dregs of our time once the little tyrant lays down for the night.”

As much as he’d love to have Lan Zhan all to himself, there’s a shadow looming over them now. Lan Liang is holding it at bay, but they’ll have to face it sooner rather than later. He reminds himself that it’s a good thing even if it’s going to be painful for both of them. They already share so much together and it does Lan Zhan a disservice by keeping these things to himself.

Wei Ying's voice thins, reedy and lost, the shape of him distant despite their physical proximity. He feels slightly remiss, as if he has done Wei Ying a strange disservice by inquiring after his welfare, by taking the temperature of his husband's needs. In Lan Wangji's arms, the infant starts to fuss, already impatient to return to Wei Ying.

He soothes him, dipping his head to kiss the crown of Lan Liang's hair and swaying him each way to settle him down until the tyrant concedes to quiet.

"...eat," he murmurs Wei Ying's way, gaze warm, fond and lingering. "It is only us."

There need not be discomfort between them, for any undue awkwardness. It is them, together. Them, united against whatever threat yet lurks. Wei Ying's fears will not be what divides them.

He nods once, leaning over the table so he can kiss Liang’s little hand before letting it go so he can do the same to Lan Zhan’s. He turns his attention back to his food, choosing to eat a little bit of the pile of green on Lan Zhan’s side of the table. He crinkles his nose at it, but the flavors of soy and light oil uplift the taste of the treacherous vegetable so that it’s palatable.

“Just me and two of my three favorite people,” he answers between bites. His stomach isn’t feeling its best due to his anxieties, but it’s not so bad that he’s lost his appetite completely.

“Want me to bathe him after dinner or were you being serious about squeezing all three of us into the tub at once?” There should be enough room for all of them, but one of them will have to interrupt the bath long enough to dry off the baby and set him down to sleep. Once Wei Wuxian’s out of the tub, Lan Zhan will have to be his most charismatic to lure him back in if he’s the one that puts their son to bed.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, are we still going to cultivate tonight?” Part of him wants to delay it so they can just focus on each other after their serious talk, but maybe they could incorporate it somehow into the meditation part of the exercise. “I guess we can decide later. I still have enough of your qi to hold me over if we wait until tomorrow.”

They need not cultivate on this night. Perhaps, to sense the pale fluctuations of Wei Ying's qi, the easy way in which he has begun to temper his consumption — not even tomorrow. He feels sedate, despite the obvious jitters, a man beholding the abyss.

He thinks, fleetingly, for the words to soothe and stall Wei Ying, to call him back himself. Wonders, not for the first time, what has drawn his love to anguish, when so little has altered between them — and certainly not seismically. They remain, as they were. The only difference lies in the level of Lan Wangji's awareness, the help he now has to understand his husband.

Silently, he reaches out to woo a communication butterfly close, murmuring an invitation for the nursemaid to come collect the youngest son of their family for the evening. He sends it out, after.

"Wei Ying." Calm, terse, patient. "What has changed? What consumes you?"

He had assumed, if anything, their circumstances will be improved by the bravery of Wei Ying's confession. That the epiphany will propel them forward.

He sets his utensils down when he’s eaten his fill. Lan Zhan’s taken the initiative to correspond with the nursemaid and the conversation he’s been dreading is just around the corner. Perhaps with Lan Zhan being there with him, he’ll be strong enough to face his demons, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable facing them in the first place.

He tilts his head to the side when Lan Zhan asks his question. “What’s changed… well, you know that I’ve been having trouble finding peace with my first life now. And… I don’t know if I’m ready to face those things yet. I know I won’t be alone when I try to face it now, but I’m not sure if I’ll be strong enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever be strong enough, but I don’t want to drown under it, either.”

He sighs, reaching across the table to poke at Liang’s little feet until the baby kicks and dissolves into ticklish laughter. It makes Wei Wuxian smile and move to the other foot. “So nothing much has changed. I’m just dreading getting started, you know? Even though I know it’s going to be good for me in the long run.”

It feels at once as if a large weight has been removed from his shoulders, only to land now squarely on his chest. He breathes, and the world seems to exhale with him, stilled and stubborn and sullen and far too slow. Lan Liang kicks at Wei Ying, the sole point of levity of their evening.

With a huff, he brings the child up, subjecting him to a long moment of Lan Wangji's studied indifference, before his face erupts into the creeping shadow of a smile — and Lan Liang echoes him, ten times over, impossibly delighted.

He stops, only to peer around the child in his arms at Wei Ying. "You taught me this. And I dreaded engaging my own son, prior."

Because of this face that he was born with, to the apparent admiration of hundreds of maidens who require only beauty and grace and conventional composure. Because he struggles so very much to bond, and it is work that he may fail at, to reach a level of communal understanding. Liang may well have refused him.

He did not. The worst did not come to pass. Wei Ying, too, must learn to trust in this. He descends the child, patiently sitting him in his arms again to cradle him, only this time directing the smoldering brunt of his gaze to target Wei Ying.

"Do not anticipate a grand reckoning. A moment's battle. We will simply ask, when your mood darkens, why." And ask again, and hold one another, and mourn. "Do not fear."

He watches Lan Zhan with their son, amused to see that smile on his husband’s face and Liang’s delighted response. It makes him feel just a little lighter to see the two of them interact so sweetly. He knows that he’d encouraged Lan Zhan to smile more with their child, and he’s pleased to know how well it’s worked.

Had Lan Zhan really dreaded to interact with Lan Liang before that?

He likes the way Lan Zhan’s looking at him now. So determined to get his point across. His heart feels fond and he moves to touch the back of the hand holding their son up.

“That’s it..?” He asks quietly, fiddling with Lan Zhan’s fingers and Liang’s plump little behind between them. “We’re not going to plunge head first into it tonight?” He feels a wave of relief and his face immediately brightens up. “I can handle that much. I’ll tell you when something like that starts to affect me. It’s not all the time or anything. But… a lot of it is after you’d be asleep. Do you really want to give me permission to wake you up for something like that? I already keep you up past the time you usually fall asleep half the time.”

He hears the nursemaid’s knock at their door and takes the initiative to let her in to collect their son. He explains what he’s been fed over the course of the day and the last time he’d been given his numbing balm. He lets Lan Zhan decide when to hand over their little emperor.

He surrenders his child.

How is it any man can presume to doubt his discipline and commitment, when Lan Wangji steels himself like a hero before a final battle, and transfers their child to their nursemaid's waiting arms willingly? He goes, yet laughing, only scrunching up as if to break in a storm of fits and coos when he notices his parents increasingly at a distance. But the nursemaid, too, is a beloved face, and she has brought his little bell toys, besides, and he grins soon enough, batting at the pleasing trinkets to hear their crystalline laughter.

And Lan Wangji is alone, abandoned, lost, ill placed. He waits for the door to shut with certainty behind the woman, before he spirits away from his post to arrive behind Wei Ying, yet knelt on the floor, his legs bracketing his lover's thighs, belly to Wei Ying's back. His arms fetter his husband, as if he too were a prized possession — another bell, equally prone to pretty sound.

"At times, you will have to wake me," he whispers in Wei Ying's ear, settling down with his prize. And softer, "At others, we will spend the night awake." Unsleeping, not to make love or indulge, but to hold, to grieve, to honour. "At others too, you will have to balm my scars in the cold."

It is not only Wei Ying, after all, who must reconcile with his hurts. "We learn, together."

He breathes out a pleased sigh when Lan Zhan settles behind him, content with the future of their evening now. Strong arms encircle him and he feels safe, cherished. They’ll have the rest of the night alone together, so there’s no rush in their affection. All he wants to do is touch and hold Lan Zhan and be touched and held by him just the same.

He shivers at the puffs of warm breath against his ear, reaching up with one hand to push his hair out of the way and leave his throat inviting. “I was worried you’d be sad and I didn’t want to be the one to make you feel that way,” he admits, letting his eyes fall shut so he can just focus on the way it feels to be cradled against the man he loves and trusts more than anything. “That’s another reason I only ever reach out for comfort when it’s nightmares. Not anymore, though. We’ll be together. Even if we’re apart, we’ll be together because I’ll write to you instead of drinking or touching myself until I pass out.”

He sighs again, smiling to himself as he does it. “Thank you for trusting me with your care, Lan Zhan. Your scars are a part of you and I love them as such. My scars aren’t on my body, but they’re a part of me, too. I should have let you love that part before now.

You are loved in part and whole. But he need not say so, wilting beneath the weight of Wei Ying's words, his one turn of requesting reassurance. Wei Ying, his Wei Ying, who never demands, never calls to himself.

It is Lan Wangji's privilege to envelop him, to hold him, to take in the scent of his nape, to breathe him in and squeeze. "Wei Ying."

For a moment that sprawls into a short eternity, he says nothing further. Lets it brew and bask between them like a leisurely cat, lets it take shape and loiter. Beloved, soulmate, my half, my truth. A name. Never 'only that.'

"How do you feel today?" Perhaps they must start so, with baby steps. Simple measures.

It feels nice to be held and to be, at least momentarily, at peace with the world. He drops his hand down to Lan Zhan’s arm and strokes the silk-covered skin there with his thumb. This is exactly what he’s needed. To just bask in Lan Zhan’s love like a cat in the sun. They haven’t even done any work on his issues yet, but he feels relief in spite of it.

“Good,” he answers, squeezing his arms around Lan Zhan’s. “I was worried earlier, but I feel good right now. I’m done running. I don’t know how I’ll feel later, but… I guess we’ll take it one step at a time.” Knowing him, since he’d been thinking about various dark things earlier in the day, he’ll end up having nightmares during the night. Nothing he can do about that, though.

“What about you, Lan Zhan? You said you were worried about me earlier. Are you still worried?” He hopes the answer is ‘no’, but he’d rather have the truth than placations. Not that Lan Zhan is prone to keep something like that to himself. He isn’t Wei Wuxian, after all.

Maybe if he can come to terms with some things, he might be more willing to follow Lan Zhan’s wishes and strive for immortality for the kids’ sakes instead of solely for Lan Zhan’s. He keeps that to himself for now, since it’s just a hypothetical. It’s just as likely that his past will overcome his efforts.

Good, only yet troubled, for all he at least does not shiver, does not break. The syrupy, drawling quality of the moment between them thins, breaks down. He feels the edges of Wei Ying's anxiety, the point where he is close, so very close to collapse — but holds himself up as a point of mere stubbornness. And so, Lan Wangji, arms tighter around his beloved's waist and upper ribs, chooses his words.

For once, he hopes, wisely. "I am."

The truth, above all things. Do not lie, and it is not the old adage of the precepts, learned and rehearsed and hollow, but a deep understanding of their importance in marital congress. He cannot be false to his lover true. He cannot build conjugal bliss on a foundation of insincerity.

"But it does not consume me." A pause. "It is as knowing my leg must be favoured for some time. Not disappointed. Not hurting. Only aware."

He stills at his husband’s admitted worry over him, feeling all at once guilty of making him feel that way. Not guilty enough to take everything back - not that he could if he wanted to - but enough to feel somewhat saddened. If only he’d been open and forthright in the first place, Lan Zhan would know that this is just a part of him he wishes quiet.

“I’ll have to work on it, but I won’t keep things from you anymore. I’m afraid I’ll feel like a burden, but I don’t want to leave things up to your imagination because you can’t trust me to be upfront about things, either,” he explains, fiddling with the delicate embroidery on his husband’s sleeve.

“By the time we have our next wedding, you’ll know everything about my hurts,” he says, then pauses for a moment. “Everything I remember, anyway. There’s still some pieces missing… I’ve tried to remember a few things but they feel just out of my grasp. Like the time between the battle at Nightless City and the end. All I can remember is… darkness, I guess.”

Their next wedding. A now distant, faint and nearly neglected specter darkening their horizon. He wishes to say that the day's revelations haven't whittled down his appetite for matrimony, but do not lie. As Wei Ying's fingers nibble at his sleeve's embroidery, he releases long enough to pull back and walk his mouth on his husband's nape, the top of his head — not to entice or seduce, but fondly, with an enthusiasm far more often reserved for soothing Lan Liang.

"I love you." This, reassuring. "As you are, as you would be." Mere man, wise immortal, the founder of demonic cultivation. The Wei Ying who swore with him to protect justice and the weak. "What does not return to you will not cripple you. You are sufficient."

What use, in truth, of ugly memories? What does Wei Ying wish to know? How his own creatures devastated and destroyed him? How the cultivation world preceded them with evil and ingratitude?

"You do not favour meditation, but in this, it may assist."

Edited 2024-05-21 20:10 (UTC)

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Why is it Always Meditation?

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