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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His breath catches in his throat when his torso joins in the fun of submersion. It’s so hard to just breathe in water like this when Lan Zhan seems to thrive in it. He’s impressed. He moves closer to Lan Zhan, bodies pressing close together even as their physical need for release is tempered.

“I feel like I’ll never be warm again,” he admits, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s middle and holding him tight. “You’re amazing, Lan Zhan. You look so comfortable and collected!”

Despite his complaining and his avoidance of discomfort, Lan Zhan has a point. The cold water has his blood pumping like he’s in the middle of a workout! It’s as exhilarating as much as it’s awful. “Remember the first time we bathed together?” Back after they’d both been beaten with Lan rules for leaving Cloud Recesses during curfew. “You’re so much nicer to me now. You wouldn’t help me stay warm at all back then.”

"You would not have wished me to." Despite his constant whining and complaints that Lan Wangji ignored him, Wei Ying has conceded countless times already that he would not have welcomed overtures, that he would have needed coercion through duress to accede. That whatever would have been born between them at that time would have been wrongly done.

He does not wish that, now, for all he once upon a time had desired to turn the years back and intercede, and steal Wei Ying back to Gusu against his own wishes. Not anymore. Not ever again. They have stumbled upon each other organically, after Nie Huaisang and the Heavens allowed them a second try.

Now, he welcomes Wei Ying in his embrace and starts to inflict the friction of rapid caresses over his upper back, his arms. "Focus on your body. Become aware of it. At peace and balance with it. Welcome its hurts, the strain it allows, only to house and protect you within it."

A strange mantra, but so often the difference between acknowledging and indulging in pain. The sect does not cultivate through masochism, but true discipline, born of respect and gratitude.

“I would have! Maybe not like this, but I would have welcomed the warmth of you being next to me. We were both suffering after the beating we got,” he says, but there’s no real way to test that theory now that he’s biased towards romance. “It might have been embarrassing, though. And I would have probably teased you about coming onto me after.”

He welcomes Lan Zhan’s attempts at warming him, even if there’s not a lot of warmth being generated. Lan Zhan’s hands are almost as cold as the water! He sighs and gives his husband a playfully sulky pout. “You just want to trick me into meditating,” he accuses, but if meditating will help him feel less frozen, he’s willing to try it.

He lowers his head and presses his forehead to Lan Zhan’s chest, then he closes his eyes and lets his husband guide him through it. Nope, not working. “I’m trying, but focusing on my body just means focusing on how cold it is right now. Is this really supposed to help?”

Still shivering, still ill at ease. Some part of him despairs that he might be inducing harm and affliction, that Wei Ying forces himself to withstand this moment at the cost of his own flesh. He hastens, now dragging water in cupped hands and rapidly passing it over Wei Ying's shoulders and back, to at least accelerate the cleansing.

"You focus on your body's hurts, not your body. Not the strength within it. Concentrate on your energies. Your core." A beautiful, fledgling thing that burns bright and brighter with each moment. "Thank it for supporting you. Thank yourself for your ability."

And then, fleetingly weak, he brings his arms around his husband's shoulders, calling him into his chest where Wei Ying has already wilted, holding him close. "You are a remarkable being. Stronger than this moment. The strongest person I know."

His breath hitches when Lan Zhan drips water onto him, surprised by the additional coldness, but he finds that it doesn’t prolong his discomfort for long. It should be easy enough to convince Lan Zhan to take a bath when they get home. A nice, hot one where he can regain some of his warmth.

“My hurts… and my core,” he repeats, then steadies his breath to give it a try. And what are his body’s hurts? Pain doesn’t usually bother him much because he doesn’t focus on it. But his feet were a little sore after all the walking he’s been doing. His shoulder throbs a little where Lan Zhan bit him. He’d taken quite the pounding the night before, but that’s more discomfort than pain. He has a few minor cuts, bruises, and scrapes, but they barely register at all. He goes through them, one by one. Linking his core to each and also to the cold water.

He relaxes a little either from the attempt to meditate the cold to a tolerable level or because Lan Wangji’s put his arms around him. “You’re stronger,” he admits readily, grounding himself to his husband’s body and voice. “I might have been an equal in my last life, but I’m still catching up in this one. You’re my inspiration, Lan Zhan. I want to become stronger so I can protect you and our family.”

"Qi is not strength," he contradicts gently, tongue slack and mouth failing him, when he looks over Wei Ying like this, surrendering himself to his meditation and to ample awareness of his body, whole. He nods, feeling out the quiet tremors that still rock Wei Ying's body, listening to the rhythm of his exhalations. "Only an instrument."

That which he was blessedly born with in larger quantities than most, a product of his bloodline and his breeding. Nature is to thank for Lan Wangji's excellence. His discipline and control merely polished an advantage already presented to him. In this way, he takes little credit.

"Wei Ying is strong for his will, his justice, his losses. His determination. His pride." All that which first raised, then conspired to compromise him. But he supposes they need not speak of such things now, with a lifetime of amends and rewards before them. "Do you wish to leave?"

Already, Wei Ying has exceeded his expectations by suffering through the river water at all. If he wants to put an end to their detour, it is his right.

“Not just qi,” he answers, though he’s still trying to focus on the exercise. It leaves him feeling more calm than anything else. And his voice might sound a bit more neutral than usual. “You’re physically stronger, too. With no spiritual or demonic qi, I could have held my own against you before.” He knows that Lan Wangji means a different kind of strength and that he’s just being pedantic. The truth is that he admires the strength of Lan Zhan’s spirit as much as the strength of his body.

He can feel the heat spreading across his face and neck at hearing Lan Zhan praise him. It makes him laugh briefly to himself. “That’s one way to warm me up,” he mutters, burying his face more thoroughly against Lan Zhan’s chest. He wonders if Lan Zhan can feel how warm his face has become.

He’s just still not used to having someone compliment him in a straight-forward way. His gut reaction is to deny it or compliment Lan Zhan even more, but he lets it linger in his heart this time.

“Have you finished what you wanted to do here?” He asks instead of giving a direct answer. “I don’t want to stay too much longer, but I think I’m okay now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t hold you to your end of the deal.” Sometimes it’s nice to let himself be pampered and it seems like Lan Zhan enjoys doing the pampering.

"A moment," he pleads after Wei Ying's question, distancing himself a few wading steps back before submerging himself completely, head sunken beneath waters alongside the rest of his body. An initial chill arrests him, breathing cut off to a point where he considers panic — before accepting, as he had urged Wei Ying, that the pain of his body is transient. That he exists separate and untouched by his hurts.

He brings up his hands to pass them through his hair, working out the tangles and shedding off any filth or dust collected throughout the day. Unlike Wei Ying, he enjoys the rite of ablutions, these few moments to reacquaint himself with his body, for all the cold breaches his scars and strains old hurts.

He re-emerging, water beading off his cheeks and chest, nodding to suggest what was meant to be achieved has now finished. "Now, finished."

Everywhere that had been warmed by Lan Zhan’s presence feels cold anew when his lover moves away. He folds his arms over his chest again, rubbing his upper arms to work up some more heat. He wonders if he should follow Lan Zhan’s example and dip his whole body into the water. The places Lan Zhan had dripped water on him feel colder than his lower half because of the light breeze.

Lan Zhan isn’t submerged for very long, and he looks great as he breaches the surface. Oh to be one of those drops of water clinging to his lover’s pale skin.

“Might as well,” he says to himself and takes a deep breath before lowering himself into the water. The cold hits him almost hard enough to knock the air right out of his lungs, but he only lets a few small bubbles out of his nose. He struggles to concentrate on his body and his core, but he does try to.

Only a few moments pass before he lets out his breath and emerges. Instead of looking majestic like Lan Zhan, he probably looks more like a drowned rat with his hair plastering his face. “Lan Zhan, share some more of your warmth,” he demands and wades his way over.

Wei Ying —

Only, for once, he cannot scream, cannot greet his husband's later convoluted gesture of self-sacrifice with the appropriate degree of indignation. This time, they are both fleetingly underwater, excused from screams and awe, and they break to breathe only to behold each other after.

Wei Ying is... in another debut, yet again for the first time in their relationship, artless. A little clumsy. Like a drowned kitten. Ah.

He can't help himself, can't help the spell of laughter that breaks from him as he wades to embrace his husband, sharing his bodily warmth and simultaneously starting to steer them ashore. Before exiting, he slips a hand beneath Wei Ying's knees to raise him, hushing him before he pulls his lover in a proper carry and they must both face the wicked sting of the wind on their bare, wet skin.

"You need not have joined me in dive," he chides, finally setting Wei Ying down beside their robes.

He’s breathless and shivering after dunking himself, but he grins and joins in the laughter. He pushes his hair back and out of his face so he can watch Lan Zhan glide his way over to him. He would have erupted out of the water, glistening and pretty, but the cold made him clumsy and eager to free himself.

He meets his husband halfway, practically throwing himself into Lan Zhan’s arms. It’s no use, Lan Zhan’s warmer than the water, but his extremities still feels cool to the touch. “You’ve got us in ice cold water, yet you think my ankles are a problem,” he teases.

If he thought the diving was bad, a sudden gust of cold wind reminds him that it can always be worse. He groans about it and tries to maneuver himself to avoid it… which just means using Lan Zhan as a shield. At least until he’s being lifted up into the air where his freshly soaked legs feel like they’re going to freeze off.

“Please tell me you packed some drying cloths,” he pleads. He might have some used ones he’d forgotten to take out from their last trip. Unless Lan Zhan cleaned out their soiled robes and cloths when he wasn’t paying attention.

“You made it look so easy!” He finally let go of his husband to give him the space he needs to check his possessions. He doesn’t want to get his clothes wet since he’ll have to wear them all the way back to the jingshi, so he doesn’t reach for anything to put on just yet.

"A set," he soothes, because he remains, despite the looming descent of his brother's title upon him, a wandering cultivator who attends evil where it is found, and his qiankun purse houses every manner of urgent necessity. Coin, changes of robes, base medicine, his husband's portrait.

For now, he presents the drying robes preferred in wet travel climates to Wei Ying, who will have to fend for himself against the greater size of the garment, while Lan Wangji slips back into his previously discarded clothes. More than the cold, his concern is modesty: were this a typical river dip, he would have brought linens to dry himself; now, the silks stick to his limbs. He packages Wei Ying's robes in his qiankun purse, shallowly stepping back into his boots without binding them tightly for the short walk.

"Can my sweet wife bear the distance, or shall I carry?" After all, he supposes he owes Wei Ying at least that little coddling.

He happily takes the drying robes from Lan Zhan and slips into them. It’s not as good as a heated cloth, but the difference in chill is like night and day. He sighs contentedly, feeling a bit like he’s wearing a nice blanket. It’s not the first time he’s worn Lan Zhan’s clothes and he likes the scent of sandalwood emanating from them. He almost feels bad leaving Lan Zhan to his regular robes, but he appreciates the way the silk clings to his husband’s skin.

“Carry me,” he says with a wide grin. Before, he didn’t want things like this because he felt embarrassed and worried about Lan Zhan’s reputation. Now he cant get enough of their flirting public and otherwise.

Once he’s lifted, he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and snuggles close. “Feeling better, Lan Zhan?” He asks, and despite being tempted to kiss on his throat, he behaves himself. For now. “Today was fun, don’t you think so?” He rests his cheek on one of Lan Zhan’s shoulders and closes his eyes. “Maybe next time we check on the status of the house, we can bring the kids.”

And carried, Wei Ying is: in arms that envelop him gently, dragging him up in a loose hold so that his husband might shift and wriggle and avoid any spots where the natural wet of Lan Wangji's plain robes might upset him. It is a matter of a few steps, after, and they lack in voyeurs: most of those who did not attend the visiting monk's lessons are either in confinement or performing critical tasks for the upkeep of Cloud Recesses.

It is only when they have nearly entered the jingshi, itself peripheral, that Lan Wangji sets his beautiful prize down onto the steps, tidying Wei Ying's robes for the last few moments when his lover is likely to suffer them. A moment, to send a vutterfly requesting fresh bathing water of the attendants that serve for the evening — then he turns to Wei Ying, half warring between soft adoration and concern.

"The house pleases you? You are... content?" Despite their tensions of the past few days and the looming shadow of Jiang Cheng and an imminent altercation. It matters, more than anything, that Wei Ying should live a life fulfilled, absent regrets.

He hums to himself, swaying one of his feet to the tempo of his improvised tune while he’s being carried. He doesn’t mind the wet spots too much because they’re covered from the wind. It’s his neck and ankles that feel the most chill now that the natural warmth of their bodies kick in. He still feels energized from their dip into the river. As unpleasant as it had been during, the benefits of it afterward make it almost worth doing again sometime.

Once he’s back on solid ground, the wet spots from where they’d been touching bug him more. As soon as the nursemaid leaves for the evening, he plans to strip down and bask in the tub. If Lan Liang doesn’t have alternative plans.

“It’s coming along well,” he answers and hooks an arm around Lan Zhan’s. “It’s a little big for just the four of us, but we have forever to fill it up with our family. Oh! We can host the juniors after night hunts, too. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished.”

But he hasn’t answered Lan Zhan’s question yet.

He turns to face him at the entrance to their rooms, standing on his toes to kiss his husband’s cheek. “It’s going to be perfect, Lan Zhan. I’m more than content.”

It's going to be perfect. As only life alongside Wei Ying has any right to be, and his cheek blossoms from the print of heat where his lover's mouth scorched him. He leans into it, flower absorbing the generosity of his sun-god, and comes in again for a kiss to Wei Ying's mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids. Beautiful, lovely Wei Ying, his darling.

"Then we move forward with it." And would he have tumbled down a house whole, if Wei Ying had expressed the smallest reservation? He wishes to think he would have been a measured, more self-contained man, but he has learned the limitations of his own composure.

They begin and end with Wei Ying. He nods along for his husband to retreat inside, just as the heavy steps of disciples carrying water buckets materialize in the distance. Their bathing water, delivered.

"Go. Dismiss the nursemaid. I shall receive dinner and our bathing water and meet you at our table." And softer, after, "There is something I wish to speak of."

“You make it sound like you’d tear it down and start over if I didn’t like it,” he says, thinking that it would be ridiculous to do so. A waste of money and resources, something he’s still not over feeling protective of. He’s had over a year’s worth of good eating and sleeping in warm beds under a roof, but the poverty mindset isn’t easy to shake.

The affection makes him laugh quietly out of a rush of pure joy. His eyes squeeze shut when they’re kissed and he pulls his husband down for another quick succession of kisses before gradually letting him go.

“Something good?” He asks, glancing over at the sound of the disciples approaching. Had they seen their displays of affection? Well, there’s nothing they can do about it if they had and knowing the typical Lan disciple, they probably wouldn’t mention it. He smiles at Lan Zhan again before letting himself into the jingshi.

He chats with the nursemaid for a few moments, letting her go through everything that had happened in the day and the instructions for the rest of his care this evening. He tries to listen carefully, but figures they can easily figure it out if something goes wrong. He thanks her and hands her a few extra coins as he’d seen Lan Zhan do at times.

Lan Liang looks like he’s stubbornly gripping onto consciousness now that his ‘mother’ is back home to greet him. When she leaves, he picks up the baby and gives him a snuggle. “Did you stay up to see me?” He asks, not expecting an answer. “I missed you too, A-Liang. Know where we went today? We went to go see our new house. It’s not finished yet, but you’re going to have a whole room to yourself! That might not sound great to you right now, but once you’ve seen another ten years, you’ll be pleased about it.”

There are moments, he supposes, when he deserves to sink into the ground, reduced by his own shamelessness. One walks towards him now, manifesting by way of two incredulous, quickly flushing disciples, who never quite accuse him of conjugal indecency, but gently and pointedly look away at the mere menacing possibility of glimpsing Hanguang-Jun seduced (yet again).

...perhaps they should not be so liberal with their love. Perhaps too these young hopes of the sect must steel themselves before displays of carnality. They will face this and more in villages, when they present themselves to attend to local cases.

For now, Lan Wangji ruthlessly pretends to have seen nothing, acknowledging even less as he waves them in to leave the buckets of hot water inside, by the door. Lan Wangji himself only sets down talismans to preserve their temperature, then takes over the dinner platter, murmuring his thanks and their dismissal before heading onward to his love. The nursemaid also begs her leave, only urging Lan Wangji to set the babe to rest at the right hour, do not allow Master Wei to spoil his sleep.

He pledges it will be done, only to instantly falter, once he has set down the dinner offerings on their low table, turning to find Wei Ying helplessly doting on their young son. He joins, lured as if by a siren, slipping an arm behind his lover's waist to peer over his shoulder at the child. Lan Liang, typically so enthralled with Wei Ying, for once focuses more intently on the novelty of Lan Wangji's presence after an extended parting. He waves, kicking his little feet out and cooing with the fury of a hundred small tyrants.

"Apologies to the prince of heavens. This unworthy one has been remiss in paying tribute." And cannot lift the child to his chest now, besides, for how wet his robes are.

Edited 2024-04-06 21:08 (UTC)

He’s carrying on, telling Lan Liang all the things they’d done throughout the day when he hears Lan Zhan come up behind him. He turns halfway towards Lan Wangji to present their little emperor to him. “And look here. It’s your baba.” He starts to hand him off only to be declined. “Oh, right, your parents went swimming in the river. Baba can’t hold you until he’s wearing dry clothes. What’s that? You want to slobber on him anyway?”

He adjusts the baby until his hands are under Liang’s arms so he can present him for some kisses from Lan Zhan, too. “Oh, no you don’t. You shouldn’t grab Baba’s hair like that.” He shifts his hold again so he can help untangle Lan Liang’s little hand from Lan Zhan’s hair. “Sorry, Lan Zhan, I thought he only liked to eat my hair.”

So much for a quiet evening. Between the two adults, they’ve given their baby a second wind. They’ll have to calm him down and get him to fall asleep again before they can get into the bath. Oops.

In truth, Lan Liang has long learned not to discriminate, sabotaging the hair of both his caretakers gladly, and at times making rare swipes at Sizhui. Lan Wangji permits it patiently, only interrupting him to lean in and press his face closer to that of the baby, subjecting his cheeks to a few friendly slaps. Yes, of course. How dare baba have absented for nearly three days? The audacity of him. He must accept his harsh lesson and never frighten Liang so.

"Attend him for a moment."

Peeling away, he surrenders their son to Wei Ying, only withdrawing long enough to their bedroom quarters to ease out of his wetted robes, summarily dry his body, then in a fit of pure indecency, only enshrines himself in one layer of silks after. He returns after, holding out both arms to receive his youngest son.

"Shhhhhhh. Liang. Be good." The babe, gazing wide-eyed and thoughtful, seems to briefly consider before delivering a well-placed smack to Lan Wangji's shoulder. After this last mutiniy, however, he settles obediently, cooing out his grievances. "Yes. It is a harsh life, to be a swaddled, beloved babe. I thank you the reminder. You bear it with dignity."

He cuddles Liang against his shoulder where the baby watches the betrayal of his father leaving him behind to go change his clothes. He sways and continues his tale of their day's adventure. He's just finishing up with their river diving when Lan Zhan returns to them. He hands their son over and kisses each of their cheeks before excusing himself to the next room. "Take care of baba for me, okay?"

He's only halfway out of the room when he starts shedding his robes. He leaves the sash tied and lets the torso of the robe drape across his backside. It's not dripping wet like Lan Zhan's robes, but the dampness is annoying anyway. Not annoying enough for him to take the whole thing off and change his clothes, though.

Smiling to himself at the sound of his husband and son bonding, he gets to work setting out their dinner on the main table. As usual, he sets most of the green dishes closer to Lan Zhan's side and the red ones closer to his own. The brown foods go in the middle where both sides can reach easily. One thing that never gets delivered to the jingshi is wine, so he fetches some from under the floorboards and brings it back to the table. Since he knows he's the only one that will drink any of it, he opens the seal and takes a few sips straight from the bottle, spilling only a couple drops down the side of his jaw and throat in the process.

In the end, it is a long procession: Wei Ying, efficiently excusing himself to attend to their dinner, barely makes sound. Lan Liang compensates: cooing and beating the drum of Lan Wangji's chest, demanding attention. He is all bustle, all nervous energy, riding on the cusp between overstimulation and exhaustion that only a small child so tellingly visits.

Lan Wangji hushes him, dragging him close to his heart, where Liang settles to hear the beat with animal, primitive instinct. They linger, Lan Wanghi's voice devolving into the dulcet notes of a Caiyi children's song about a brace of ducks, which Liang seems to either criticize or valiantly — and largely toothlessly — attempt to mimic.

"Shhhhh. Do not speak during meals," he coos at Lan Liang, settling on his knees with the babe in one arm, before nodding his gratitude towards Wei Ying. They are far less stringent in upholding this particular principle than other Lan households, but still. "Your father will think us unmannered."

He grins when Lan Zhan approaches, setting the wine bottle down so he can kneel next to the table and pour his husband some tea. He doesn’t usually serve the drinks because he just doesn’t think about it before Lan Zhan takes the initiative on most days. Today, he has the chance because his lovely husband has a baby taking up his attention.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says with a wink towards their little one. He situates himself to sit with his legs folded lotus-style. He’s also just wearing the one layer, but he keeps everything that could be considered obscene covered.

He picks up his chopsticks and uses them to take up some sort of green leafy vegetable lightly seasoned and offers it to Lan Zhan. “Open up! Your hands are full,” he explains with a good natured smile. He’ll pout about wanting to be the pampered one after the baby is back in bed. “Did Liang give you any trouble? He looked pretty cranky when I handed him over.”

"Teething," he admits gracelessly, with the growing despair of every father who knows this fate of wails and fussing awaits him for weeks to come. At least he dips in, taking the soy-braised aubergine with a delighted, muted moan and chewing leisurely, before pre-empting Wei Ying's willingness to continue the meal in this manner and repositioning Lan Liang.

First, he considers holding it in one arm, but the child has grown enough that his requests for mobility can no longer be fully denied. And so, master Liang is sat with his chubby legs to sit on Lan Wangji's thigh, while his back sprawls on his father's supporting belly. There, a handsome thing, likely to outdo Lan Wangji's own claim to good fortune. This, he wishes upon all of his children, present and to come.

At least, Lan Liang seems cooperative enough to inspect the table with squinting, likely diffuse interest, waving his hands at bowls outside of his reach. Lan Wangji rewards him with a chopsticks' fill of plain rice that Liang half ingests, half spits out, before his mouth is duly wiped. Thankfully, the disciples have seen fit to provide them with additional bowls and cutlery.

"Master Liang's days of hardships are not behind him." It will be weeks until the teething has ended, and even then, likely only for a brief respite. "If it perturbs your peace, the nursemaid may rest overnight."

He sits back and picks up a bite of fish for himself after Lan Zhan situates their son. “He’s going to be in a bad mood for a while, huh? It’s a good thing he’s so cute, otherwise we’d be frustrated too.” No, the main reason they’ll be able to skip true frustration is the nursemaid. She hasn’t complained to them about Lan Liang’s temper, but he’s witnessed the baby flailing and crying when it’s getting close to the time to reapply the numbing agent.

“She deserves some time to rest,” he says, using the chopsticks to point at Liang. “I’ve seen what he puts her through. She’s got the patience of a monk to deal with our little tyrant.”

The real reason he declines the offer is because he knows Lan Zhan hasn’t had much time with Lan Liang after their extended parting. It’s good for both of them to be able to cuddle and bond. Maybe if Liang’s still not ready to sleep after their dinner, they can recline on the bed and play with him for a while.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something,” he says curiously. “Is it about the house?” Knowing Lan Zhan, he’ll probably tell him that he has to wait until after they’ve finished eating to tell him.

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