wuding | a home.

a home.

They fall together, like fresh snow off the mountaintop: first, in measured, patient, cultivating reunion after an extended dinner at their inn. Then, with passion. Then, syrupy and slow, with morning. In a rare, turn, after bathing, Lan Wangji denies himself the rigors and discipline of morning and coaxes them back abed, to hold his lover throughout his rest near sunrise, until halfway to midday.

He stirs them, inevitably, when the blinding bright white of the day overwhelms, and they must set for the road to make good pace to Cloud Recesses while still enjoying their stroll. They arrive, meandering, in the depths of a trickling, golden afternoon, when much of the clan is distracted with the latest lecture of a visiting hermit — they say, an aspiring immortal — and neither Uncle nor Sizhui can be politely parted from his wisdom. First, a brief stop with Liang. Secondly, for Lan Wangji, yet slowed by his fading wounds and bruises, to test the recovery of his disciples.

Lastly, facing the dregs of an afternoon together with no duties, no assignments, no occupation — curiosity wins over. With the packed necessities of a quick meal in his qiankun pouch, he steers Wei Ying to walk the winding, if peaceful path toward the peripheral territories, past the liminal, isolated quietude of the jingshi and into the periphery of Lan Wangji's inherited grounds.

A short walk, yet they may have breached the threshold of a brave new world. He had chosen the space for its proximity to river water, cunning, lively spikes of rice stabbing the field, alongside feral flowers. Already, the builders and architects have marked a path to make a road, but they have yet to set down wood or stone for steps. These, he knows, are still young days for their home, Wei Ying's house, rising on strong, sprawling bones that stretch out over a considerable territory: a number of rooms, some superfluous, including an isolated study for Wei Ying's pleasure and a music chamber. A large kitchen, for all much of the house yet misses its roof. A segment for the archery post Lan Wangji had bidden. The house, designed to host an inner garden, even boasts the allocated space for a pond men had been digging until mere hours prior, when their toil ended.

"To grow lotus," he murmurs, nodding ahead where the pond is yet to glisten and crest, where its waters are short of rising. And he does not ask, Do you like it, what it can be? But his gaze flickers between Wei Ying's face and the home in desperate, hungry study.

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He puts the finishing touches on the last talisman and then proceeds to display them in what might look to be a randomly chosen order to most people, but there’s a method to his madness. He takes the kerchief and wipes the blood off his finger. The flow is mostly stopped already, but he pushes down on the insignificant wound to stop the bleeding completely.

“I’ll have to deliver a charm to Wen Ning next time I see him so he can come to visit Sizhui,” he says, knowing that Wen Ning may also think to visit him, too. They used to be pretty close back in Yiling, but there always an awkwardness between them now as they both learn to navigate their friendship without the subservient elements of before.

“The only one who’ll be able to steal me is invited to do so any night he chooses,” he flirts and puts a hand on Lan Zhan’s forearm briefly as he looks around at the rest of the entrance that he’s missed entirely upon seeing the state of the talismans hanging there.

It strikes him, with distant satisfaction: Wei Ying does not request his permission to grace Wen Ning with a pass-key to their home. He does not hesitate, does not remotely consider. He decides, as a true master of the house — and it is Lan Wangji who has given him this authority, who has fostered his confidence. His smile languishes and blooms, deepening when Wei Ying touches him without cause or reason past the simple pleasure of passing contact.

"He may have to. He has not been offered a charm." Meaning, in other words, that Lan Wangji must struggle to make his own way inside their abode, perhaps stealing Wei Ying along the way. "Must prove his worth."

Belatedly, he lifts his arm to offer it out to Wei Ying, reassured that his husband may have exhausted the quiet energy that previously motivated him to flit around the house like a firefly. "You have finished?"

He could answer with the truth that Lan Zhan is not undead and would not need a charm to make his way through the wards he’d just improved. Instead, he slips his arm around Lan Zhan’s with a little smirk. “Sneak into our room tonight and give me a taste of the theft I’ll anticipate living here,” he says with mischief in his eyes. It’s been a while since they played around with dubious consent and it sounds delicious.

He nods affirmative that he’s finished with the tour of the house so far. His house where he can raise his family and make his own rules if he feels like it. Once A-Liang begins his rein of terror as a walking toddler, he probably will suggest a few rules.

To think the son of a servant who spent time living on the streets and in a cave would have such a grand house. Life is full of twists and turns and he hopes this particular turn will stay for a long time. Forever if he has any say in it.

“What do you want to do now, Lan Zhan?” He asks as they walk down the hall towards the exit. “We’ve still got some daylight left. Want to take a detour to look at the river?” It’s too cold to want to get in the water, but it’s such a pretty view. It’ll be even prettier with Lan Zhan at the banks.

He does not answer the plain, shameless and delightful provocation — sneak into our room, Wei Ying says, as if their hearth home at the jingshi, carefully shared with their youngest son and his nursemaid in a nearby quarter, is not also dutifully protected against assault, subterfuge and vicious crime. But he can play the part. Perhaps, on this night, they may ask the nursemaid to acquaint herself to her formal quarters in the main encampment of Cloud Recesses and leave the babe with them in his cradle, permitting their intimacy. This part of the arrangement will prove tenuous until the move to their new home has finalized.

For now, he takes Wei Ying's arm, uninvited, steering his husband towards the garden so that he might oversee the river's side he wishes close. The light is still golden, mellow, daunting. Wei Ying, inevitably is beautiful — so much so that Lan Wangji cannot help himself, steadying them in place and turning to set both hands into his lover's hair and unwind it from its ponytail, until soft tresses caress him.

He catches strands from each sides of Wei Ying's face, weaving it to bind in a half-tied, half-loose hairstyle that is impossibly, heart-breakingly familiar, corseted by Wei Ying's blood-red ribbon. The same, and yet changed: Wei Ying's hair is straighter now, tame where his first body's mane accepted neither comb, nor coaxing. He takes a step back to admire his work.

"You have a start until I count to five. After, if I catch you, I shall toss you in the river."

He lets Lan Wangji lead him towards the other side of the house. While they walk, he takes in the enormity of the house from the outside as well. He can imagine what the place will look like once they come in and make it their own. “We should set up a bench or a couple chairs in the garden, maybe with a little table so we can eat outside when the weather is nice,” he says as they approach their destination.

He blushes ever so slightly when he catches the way Lan Zhan is looking at him. It’s not a lusty look, but one of serene fondness, but it’s enough to stir his heart. His eyes drift closed when Lan Zhan takes down his hair and he expects a kiss that doesn’t follow. Instead, Lan Zhan restyles his hair to match the style he’d worn over the last few years of his first life. He waits until the styling is done before opening his eyes. Where he expects some syrupy words, instead is given a challenge.

“What? Only to 5?” He asks, buying an extra couple of moments while his brain establishes a route. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he chooses his direction - past Lan Zhan and around to the other side of the muddy future lotus pond. “What do I get if you can’t catch me?”

"Cheater," he calls out, yet fondly, but stills himself and does not begin the count even as Wei Ying takes unscrupulous advantage. The point, after all, is to signal he knows, not to interrupt or inhibit. He stretches out his limbs, assumes the quiet, rigid posture of a watchful predator.

"I shall catch you." Quiet, serene, certain. If not out of confidence for his own ability, then because they have yet to set a time for the enterprise. He has every chance of exhausting Wei Ying until the point of his surrender.

"I am tasked to intrude and steal the Yiling Patriarch this evening." As if it is not Wei Ying who gave the instruction, and who will also suffer the better part of his husband's enthusiasm. "Choose a penalty that will not intercede."

By way of commitment or time.

With Lan Zhan standing ready and communicating, he stays on his side of the muck. They should establish some parameters of their little game before Lan Zhan starts his counting. It also gives him a few more moments to take in his surroundings in a different way than he’d done before. Perhaps he should have looked around for potential escape routes on their tour, but he had no reason to!

While Lan Wangji stands with the presence of a tiger, Wei Wuxian stays as alert as a rabbit, watching for any sign of pursuit. Unlike a rabbit, he doesn’t have a little hole to hide in where Lan Zhan won’t be able to get him.

“You have until sundown,” he says, which will limit the timescale of the game and work in his favor. He doesn’t know if Lan Zhan will actually throw him into the river, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. It’s too damn cold to get drenched in even colder water. There’s no risk of getting sick because his of the recent qi transfer, but that doesn’t mean it would be a pleasant experience. “And if you throw me in the river, I’ll pull you in after me!”

"You will try," he agrees, because Wei Ying's finest efforts barely present him as a modest threat. He lacks nothing in strength, in cunning, or in sorcery — and everything, at present, in tolerance of the watery dangers that wait. Lan Wangji can overcome him.

For now, he understands the assignment, and, a gentleman before an honest competition, he nods once and affords Wei Ying the kindness or shuttering his eyes to bide his countdown. Better for Wei Ying's purposes that he does not see where his husband has fled, whether the gardens or the deep trenches being dug to secure the house's primitive water flows from the nearby river, or the half-risen stable. Perhaps a quarter, or the flower field beyond.

There is a great, beautiful land, and it pleases him to give it.

At present, he starts to murmur, "Five. Four..."

If he were still in his first body, he would have all the advantages he’d need to weasel his way out of getting plunged into the river, but he’s no longer the same challenge he’d been before. Despite their equal footing in a fight being one of the reasons Lan Zhan had fallen for him, it doesn’t seem like it’s a deal breaker that he no longer possesses the strength and stamina to be equals. It’s something that’s troubled him off and on. Surely, Lan Zhan won’t grow bored with him because he’s weaker just like he won’t judge him based on his new appearance - other than the constant desire for him to put on some weight.

As soon as Lan Zhan closes his eyes, he takes out one of the talismans he’d brought along to dampen sound - just in case they wanted to fool around while they were on their walk. He activates it on himself and leaps back across the pond and then upon the skeletal structure of the roof. When Lan Zhan gets to the count of ‘one’, he ducks down and hides.

If he can’t beat Lan Zhan fairly, maybe he can keep from being spotted until the sun finishes its descent.

His eyes shut, he thinks — as all warriors do — to cultivate his advantages, ears sharp and keen and heeding, attentive for any flicker of motion.

None erupts.

At first, he assumes his husband must have been paralyzed in place, considering his alternatives. A fair enough quandary. Only, yet no sound, Wei Ying is not to be heard, the countdown is nigh, perhaps he has been harmed —

And Lan Wangji startles, eyes bursting open as he nearly stumbles forward, hand clammy as he drags Bichen up and starts, teetering, to hunt. Through the gardens first, back to the house's walls, nearly fearing his husband — or his assailants? — might catch him unaware. Then, by the river's side, near pebbles. Perhaps, through The house —

He does not know why fear blooms so quickly in his heart. Paranoia that he dispels on a hundred counts of reason: there is nothing to beware. No one could infiltrate their grounds. They are fine. They are safe. Wei Ying merely withholds himself mutely, as the game urges.

And yet, coming out of the house again, he calls out as the sun is close to sinking, "Wei Ying...?"

He’s grinning to himself and thinking of how clever he is. He crawls a little closer to see the back of his husband as he finishes his count. He’s not sure why Lan Zhan’s unsheathing Bichen, but it’s not terribly surprising. They could add a little dueling to their game as a way to cultivate. He pulls back when Lan Zhan looks like he’s turning around to go back towards the house.

He tries to follow Lan Zhan’s trek by listening more than risking being seen, but every time he sees his husband’s back. And he laughs about it to himself thinking the only reason Lan Zhan has to be upset is the potential to lose the game.

That is, until he hears the quality of Lan Zhan’s voice. He sounds… off, somehow. He opens his mouth to speak, then remembers the talisman. He almost feels bad that he hasn’t given Lan Zhan a single chance to win. It’s no fun this way. So even though the sun’s not completely down yet, he traces a path on the talisman with one finger and deactivates it.

“I can’t believe you never checked the roof,” he calls out, waving his hand over his head. “I was on my stomach most of the time, so I wouldn’t have had a chance to stay dry.” He’s wary of Lan Zhan, though. This could be a trick to get him to let his guard down. There’s still enough time to grab him.

...and there. There he is, Lan Wangji's mouth a sudden, rare and grateful bloom, cleaved by a smile. He cannot help it, impossibly fond and infatuated, looking up where the silhouette of his lover could be anyone, perched on a rooftop, but is Wei Ying, galvanized.

He is beautiful like this, fearless and carefree, anchored only by playfulness and whim. Beautiful, unexpected and tragically too far, when Lan Wangji's heart feels so full. He finds himself stretching his arms out, palms outward, blatantly urging his lover to descend and making no effort to cover the distance between them.

He could, they both know: a mere leap could raise and propel him, and talismans could encircle and paralyze Wei Ying in place, securing Lan Wangji's victory. The finding is the worst of it; after, the game becomes one of endurance that Lan Wangji possesses in full.

"You win." This, with only heartbeats to spare, before the sun sinks. "Jump. I shall catch you. No river bath for Wei Ying."

Come hell or second life or high water, he will always catch this man.

He folds his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows when Lan Zhan extends his arms out towards him. He isn’t going to fall for it! Just because Lan Zhan looks so inviting and lovely doesn’t mean he’s going to get any closer to him while they’re still playing their game.

And he wonders why Lan Zhan looks so happy to see him. First, he’d heard the emotion coloring his name and now he can practically feel the relief and joy radiating from his husband. It’s not the reaction he’d anticipated and it throws him off.

Oh. By using the sound dampening talisman, had he somehow sent Lan Zhan into a panic at his sudden ‘disappearance’? He knows Lan Zhan will feel a spike of loss and dread waking to an empty bed, but he hadn’t thought that he could trigger the same sort of reaction tonight. He wants to go to him so badly and hold and kiss him, but there’s still a sliver of sun left in the sky.

But then his victory is announced. He grins back at Lan Zhan and doesn’t hesitate at all before throwing himself off the roof towards his husband’s waiting arms. He doesn’t use any qi to soften his fall because he trusts Lan Zhan to catch him. No matter how bad things get or how much his own mind twists his emotions up, Lan Zhan will always be there to catch him.

He lands easily in his husband’s arms and he squeezes him tightly, burying his face against the crook of his shoulder. “Now if you want me to get into the river, you’ll have no choice but to get in, too,” he says, even though Lan Zhan had said that there would be no river bath. “I’m not going to let go of you until we get back to the jingshi and maybe not even then!”

If he trusts me to catch him, I will trust him with my life.

He remembers thinking so once, before a tree, when Wei Ying's devotion was still fledgling and uncertain, when they had no name for the red string that bound their fates. When Lan Wangji could not depend on his lover's acceptance.

Now, he knows better: catches Wei Ying confidently, yet still has to take a step back to preserve his balance, a trembled exhalation marking his catch. But he does not waiver, both arms trapping Wei Ying's waist as he turns in a circle to rebalance, nuzzling the crook of his husband's neck and colliding their cheeks, as if to share his scent.

"Don't disappear." Not bittersweet, not heated. Only a quiet plea he now understands will be respected, because Wei Ying loves him well and true. In increments, the shivers he hadn't acknowledged his body was perpetuating begin to soften, to wane. He is here. Wei Ying is close.

Affection shared between them, he turns on his side, so they may both tip their heads and behold the sun sinking behind mountaintops in the crisp horizon. The view from their home, hereon. A pretty sight.

"You hid so well. What a fine predator. Must feed him a rich dinner, so he will allow me uneaten."

Laughter bubbles up his throat when he’s spun around, one leg bending up like a maiden enjoying her courtship. How he loves this man more than he thought he could ever love anyone. He presses a firm kiss to Lan Zhan’s shoulder, tilting his head towards his nuzzling husband so their cheeks have more content with each other. They were only separated for a matter of moments, but it’s left Lan Zhan trembling and scared. He feels a little bad about it, but he won’t let it get him down. Not when Lan Zhan is being so affectionate and loving.

“I’m here,” his voice is muffled against Lan Zhan’s skin now, his throat now that he’s turned his head a little. “I’m here and I won’t ever leave you. I love you so much, Lan Zhan.” He kisses Lan Wangji’s throat and cheek, only stopping when they’re turned around again, this time to look at the sunset.

He smiles at the sight and leans his head against his husband’s. “You were the predator, remember? I’m the clever rabbit who knew how to hide his tracks. But I might take a nibble when you fall asleep before me.”

"Rabbit," he repeats thoughtfully, passing his gaze over Wei Ying as if he anticipates some great revelation of ears and a perky, fluffy tail. Ah, the realm of possibilities. As if to congratulate that description, he brushes his cheek against Wei Ying's with more heated enthusiasm. Very nice.

"Too cold to alight here," he murmurs wistfully as the sun bleeds red, and the skies start to accept their dark. He entreats himself more than Wei Ying back to reason, certain that neither of them would enjoy the chills and hardships of a night spent curled up on a rigid floor. And yet, he is tempted. It will be a beautiful house, an enticing home. They could cherish their first night here, together.

"Soon," he decrees instead, kissing the top of Wei Ying's head before regretfully descending him back down on his own feet.

“I’ll be your rabbit,” he flirts, closing his eyes and smiling through the next burst of affection. His heart always feels full when Lan Zhan’s like this. He would easily agree to anything right now, including camping out in the unfinished house. He always has supplies for camping out on him, which may have something to do with needing to sleep outside without them a few times in his first life.

As soon as he’s on his feet again, he grabs Lan Zhan’s arm and hugs it to his chest. “Soon,” he agrees, “Unless you wanted to stay the night?” They really shouldn’t. It’s going to be cold and it might rain. They won’t get to say goodnight to the boys, either. But it’s still tempting in its potential for romance.

Then again, they already have soft plans for their everyday tonight. He’s looking forward to Hanguang-Jun taking advantage of the unsuspecting Yiling Patriarch. It’s a good thing the sun’s down so Lan Zhan wont notice how much he’s blushing just thinking about it.

"I apologise," he offers in the end, half-hearted, half-certain. They both have responsibilities beyond the whimsical appetites that so often subdue them. His hand slips down, chasing Wei Ying's arm, then his elbow, until he latches to hold his lover's own in a lukewarm clasp. "I miss my children."

Unlike Wei Ying, he has not enjoyed the pleasure of their company throughout travel. Lan Liang might tolerate another day's neglect, possessing a fickle grasp of time. But Sizhui pines and lived through enough of his childhood in the absence of his parents to have earned their doting now.

And softer, "Uncle and Xichen have received my reports. Likely worry."

No matter his experience as a veteran night hunter, family will be family, and terse correspondence that describes his wounding will do little to assuage their natural fears. Lan Wangji, who now starts to walk his husband toward the jingshi, should best greet at length and present himself, whole and hale.

"Perhaps when spring blooms." And the ground warms, and the thought of a night outdoors is no longer a cruel necessity, but a welcome diversion.

Laughing, he shakes his head again and squeezes Lan Zhan’s arm briefly. “No need, no need,” he says without any hint of disappointment. Their plans will work just as well - and probably better - if they go back to the jingshi for the evening. They can spend the early evening with Sizhui and Liang, then the late evening together. He’ll even tolerate spending time with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen because he doesn’t want to leave his husband’s side at all.

“Do you think the construction will be done by the summer?” He asks, not really knowing the ins and outs of things like that. He doesn’t want to rush the workers, but now that he’s seen the house and can picture what it will become, he’s a lot more excited by the idea of moving.

He looks back at the house for a few more moments before they start on their way back to their current residence. “When should we start commissioning the furniture?”

By summer, a seemingly ambitious target, made practical by the discipline of Gusu Lan constructors. Many of the men will be required to start the work to prepare grounds for reaping. Building must finish ahead.

He nods, at first tentative but increasingly certain: it can be done. Will be done. "By summer. We shall seek out merchants in the coming days."

Sculpting, chiseling and pouring furniture and decorations is an exercise of months, stretching into seasons. Better to start early, for all they'll have the basics of the jingshi to tide them, as needed. He hesitates, measuring his words before finally treading ground, "Will you want our bed of the jingshi, or one new?"

Elopement deprived them of the traditional offering of their wedding night bed, to be reconstructed as their conjugal spread — but the jingshi was still the first nook to welcome. Nevertheless, a bitter, saddened place. There is enough reason to welcome or reject the proposition.

It’s hard to keep walking while he’s holding Lan Zhan’s arm, so he squeezes once more before letting it go and taking a hand instead. There’s still enough lingering light to see their way without lighting a lantern and he thinks they’ll get back to the lighted path before the remaining moments of twilight fizzle away into full dark.

“I’ll think about what sorts of things we’ll need for our comfort first,” he says with good intentions, but he knows he might need to be reminded later on when the time to do so actually comes. “We can worry about filling the other quarters after we have our immediate needs met.”

He hums thoughtfully, thinking about their bed in the jingshi. He doesn’t have the same sort of emotional feelings towards those rooms as Lan Zhan does. To him, it’s more of a matter of practicality. “Maybe we can leave that bed where it is. We aren’t moving that far, but it would be nice to have a place to stay if you’re needed for political conferences that will go on multiple days in a row. Unless you think Lan shufu would want to repurpose the jingshi when we move?”

Their immediate needs, in truth, now orbit their sons. Lan Liang has the lion's share of necessities, but Sizhui too was raised as a young lordling, the son of a disciplined but affluent sect, denied nothing. He will not learn deficits now, nor will Lan Wangji strive to teach him so. He is nodding, agreeable and fond and Wei Ying prattles —

Until the last of his questions.

His uncle. His uncle, having rights over the home of Lan Wangji's mother. The woman he too forsook at the mercy of a clan that misunderstood her and heavily preferred her husband. The same mistress of the sect whom he failed to protect.

No. He growls, nearly, teeth sharp and visible, the feral and visceral quality of his answer plain. "I shall sooner put the house to flame myself."

With his two hands, stubborn and willing, forgiving not a cinder, leaving not a pillar to stand. The home that embraced him for decades is better off falling than becoming a repurposed accommodation, stripped of its grief and dignity.

He shouldn’t be surprised at Lan Zhan’s reaction. The jingshi has been his home through good times and bad times. It’s part of who he is, so of course theorizing that it could possibly be repurposed is a cruel thing to bring up. It’s also a possibility. Lan Qiren is sour about the prospect of Lan Zhan moving to the outer territories of Cloud Recesses already. Then again, he hasn’t done anything to the Gentian House besides maintaining it, so maybe there’s nothing to worry about there.

He rubs his thumb over Lan Zhan’s knuckles in a silent apology. “If it comes to that, I’ll help in any capacity you’d want me to,” he offers. “But if he knows you want it maintained, surely he won’t be so cruel as to take it away from you.” No, the cruel one is Wei Wuxian who callously mentioned it in the first place.

He brings Lan Zhan’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it a few times for good measure. “Whatever tomorrow brings, let’s face it together.” Always together.

Ah, his sweet thing, his beloved. So quick to soothe and still him, as if Lan Wangji were a wolf baring his fangs. He acquiesces, easing into the comfort, curling his fingers inward to catch Wei Ying's thumb and rub back, then lingering his touch over his lover's cheek after it is kissed.

Skittish like a lamb before the anger of his loved ones, Wei Ying does not need his misplaced fury. No. And there is, too, a cradle of ignorance in which they've allowed this matter to fester, Lan Wangji taking a scant part in introducing his husband to the legacy of his long-departed mother-in-law.

"...my love. I apologise. I have startled you." He has startled himself. "You bear no blame."

“You can be angry around me, Lan Zhan,” he says while nuzzling his cheek against his husband’s palm. “I know you aren’t mad at me or anything.” And even if he were the beneficiary of his husband’s ire, he could shoulder it. Sometimes it might make him feel small when they argue to the point of anger, but he’s willing to weather any storm to be with Lan Zhan.

“Are you worried that he’ll retaliate against you because we’re moving?” Or retaliate against Wei Wuxian because surely it must be his fault to lure the second son of the sect away from his ancestral home. It’s not something he’s put much thought into.

One kiss against Lan Zhan’s palm later, he lowers their hands and he starts walking again. They’re walking at a sedate pace, but it’s not like they haven’t traveled in the dark before. They’re still far enough from the main lands of Cloud Recesses that the lighting is dim. It would almost be romantic if they were talking about something different.

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