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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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.

Unbidden, his hand travels to caress Wei Ying's lower back, supporting him as they continue down the steady path to the main residential district. It is a palatable distance by foot, and a blink by sword, but their new home waits sufficiently afar that they will inject a degree of separation, of privacy from the rest of the sect. He wonders, fleetingly, if that will further isolate Wei Ying, who already struggles under the mark of shame inflicted by his uncle, or empower him to seek out friendship on his own terms.

"No." This, after minor consideration, after checking in with himself. "He is a man of rash impulse and stubbornness, but not cruelty."

For all he knows Wei Ying, upon seeing the lattice of scars on Lan Wangji's back, has begged to disagree. Even so — and even in his perpetual criticism of Wei Ying and the slowness of his thawing — his uncle is not purposefully, irrevocably unkind.

"He has failed to show you kindness." A truth, no matter anyone's interpretation. "Though he learns, and Sizhui and Liang teach him. But he does not wish to humble or reap sorrow. He merely... misunderstood mother's grief."

Okay, even with the conversation topic, their walk still feels a little romantic. He smiles to himself, glancing up at the crescent moon and stars starting to twinkle while they walk. He finds himself leaning closer to Lan Zhan with an exaggerated shiver. It’s not too cold for him, but he likes being close.

“No kidding. He’s always been strict,” he agrees with a little laugh at the understatement. They’d really rubbed each other the wrong way since day 1. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed some of that softening whenever Lan Liang is involved. The first time he’d seen the man smile had been after Lan Zhan brought the baby home.

His smile fades into something more compassionate when Lan Zhan mentions his mother. “He likely didn’t understand yours, either,” he points out. He means the grief of Lan Zhan losing his mother, but he could say the same thing about Lan Zhan’s grief after his death. “I don’t think he means ill or anything, but he can be… cold when it involves the heart.”

And he can be equally cold when it comes to discipline. As much as Wei Wuxian despises how severe Lan Zhan’s punishment had been, he understands that it would have been necessary to appease the rest of the sect. Be that as it may, it should have been less extreme.

"He is... of a different era. Denied by the Heavens that which the clan holds dearest." From the teachings of their founder, they are a sect of profound, consummate romantics, collared by the need to find true love. "Perhaps raising Xichen and me distracted him from courtship."

There is that burden too to bear, to consider as their own. A price was paid: it was Lan Qiren who opened his heart and his purse, in the wake of his brother's confinement, then passing.

"I wish him opened to you. So that two of the men I hold close may know each other's beauty and truth." Perhaps, he supposes, more of these virtues lie with Wei Ying — but cerainly, even his uncle is not without merits. For Sizhui's sake. For Liang. For Wei Ying, too, who is far more deserving than the sects have ever paid as his due.

He opens his mouth to say something. To remind Lan Zhan that he's already thinking about which widow or older maiden might spare an evening of her time to have dinner and maybe a walk with Lan Qiren, but he stops himself from speaking the words when Lan Zhan continues.

"He's... getting better. I think," he says thoughtfully. Really, the only reason he spends any time with Lan Qiren is Lan Liang. They never take their meals together, though he did try to sit next to Lan Qiren one day for Lan Qiren's midday meal and his own breakfast. He'd been scowled at so much that he eventually moved down a seat to give the elder his space. That had been before the youngest Lan's adoption.

"I don't dislike him or anything. Think he'd feel better if I told him he could stop by anytime he wants to see A-Liang? He really loves that kid," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know how much he'd open up to me, but it's worth a try. I can hold a conversation easily enough even if I'm the only one talking. I can't exactly tell him too much about me since it's against the Lan precepts to brag and to complain - not that I have a lot to complain about in the present."

"Offer tea. It will flatter him to be greeted as an honoured elder." Especially if Wei Ying masters the art of successfully pouring a cup and only sacrificing half of his pot's contents. Even so, there mere gesture, the kindness of the invitation should appease and smoothen whatever hairs on the older man's back that remain bristling.

Without notice, he finds his arm winding around his husband's waist, cleverly aware of just when they risk entering the radius of the residences' vantage and he must withdraw himself to preserve the appearance of dignity. For now, for another few heartbeats, this small transgression may pass, as he directs a few slivers of his pulsing qi to warm Wei Ying against the evening's sharpening chills.

"Remember: he knows, between you who would be chosen." That Lan Wangji, who barely lingered among the sect last time, would not hesitate to walk out if his lover were banished or offended. If Wei Ying so much as asked. "He must earn your approval, as much as you do his."

Edited 2024-03-31 19:53 (UTC)

"Tea, got it." He's the type who would either go without offering refreshments or to offer what he'd like to drink, which is almost always wine over tea. But he could train himself to offer tea when Lan Qiren comes around. He might even try to perform a ceremony with it if it means getting the Lan elder to feel important. Even if he doesn't really care about things like decorum, this is a reminder that some expect it. "I'll offer the good tea," he says, despite not knowing which would be considered as such. Lan Zhan's favorite, maybe.

He doesn't mean to gasp when Lan Zhan starts the qi transfer, but he does it anyway. Before they started working on his core, he would have brushed the gesture off as something entirely frivolous and unnecessary. But Lan Zhan knows what happened to his golden core and he's also learned how to accept qi despite it.

"I'd never make you choose between us," he says, doubting that Lan Qiren would ever do anything to insult him badly enough to react that way. It's not impossible, but it might as well be. The only reason he could think of to do it is if Lan Qiren hurt or insulted Lan Zhan or one of the kids enough to push Lan Zhan to distance himself from the sect on his own. He'd obviously side with Lan Zhan in that case!

"I guess the best way to do it is to suck up to him, huh?" he asks after a moment, looking up at Lan Zhan's face. He looks good in any lighting, doesn't he? "Just because I never bothered to before doesn't mean I don't know how. I'll be courteous enough that he won't know how to handle it."

The good tea, as if every brew and blend in their household has not passed the exacting standard of a residential attendant who carefully and personally curates the second master Lan's every indulgence. No, best not to afflict Wei Ying with immediate knowledge of just how expensive his day-to-day attendance proves.

In the interim, just as they start to come close to the main path, Wei Ying flinches with a gasp, and Lan Wangji removes his hand and interrupts the qi transfer, only mouthing softly, "Hurts?"

Surely not. Surely, and yet his heart is a troubled thing, a bird furiously beating its wings and petrified of the possibility of causing Wei Ying any flavour of hardship. Perhaps he is overstimulated after devoting himself to the wards, and Lan Wangji troubles him further.

"Wei Ying. Do not be submissive to him. Cordial, but not conceding." This, spoken with quiet, molten surety. "You are my husband. My wife. My soulmate. You outrank him in the sect and in my favour."

But he understands, inevitably, the instinct to make peace, sooner than war. No matter outright rank, it is always better to please and cater to, than to irritate and indispose.

“It’s not pain,” he says, his grin just a little sheepish. “I was just surprised. It felt pretty good, actually.” And it did feel nice to accept Lan Zhan’s qi into him. It’s become a familiar sensation and one his body has learned to associate with a different sort of pleasure.

He guides Lan Zhan’s hand back to where it was on the small of his back. It’s an invitation to transfer a little more of that warm qi to him, if Lan Zhan feels so inclined or to just touch him like he’d been doing before.

It feels weird to be reminded that his position in the Lan sect outranks Lan Qiren’s. It’s not a surprise, really, but it’s just something he hasn’t spent much time thinking about. As the man who raised Lan Zhan and his own former instructor, it just doesn’t feel natural that their positions are now reversed. He wonders how much of Lan Qiren’s softening distaste for him is due to that or if he really is earning the old man’s respect.

“He’ll lose what respect he’s gained for me if I coddle his ego too much,” he agrees. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. Being submissive isn’t my style unless it’s with you. In bed.” And now that he’s reminded of their relative ranks in the clan, he might open up to the elder on his own. After all, he isn’t the sort who cares for authority.

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