Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“No. Absolutely not.”

Lan Wangji sighs, trailing behind him as he storms back to the mouth of the fox den.

“Wei Ying,” he says, “please be reasonable.”

“Excuse me?” Wei Wuxian gasps, whirling on him. “I’m being unreasonable? I’m not the one who wants to bring a bunch of…attention-seeking puffballs into this relationship!”

He gestures angrily at the rabbits making themselves at home in his garden, nibbling on his grass, making eyes at his fiance. Their ears perk up, craning their little heads to look at him, their beady little eyes watching him with knowing glints, before hopping to a patch of grass closer to Lan Wangji’s feet. The sheer nerve of them! The audacity! They dare to mock him on his turf? Wei Wuxian gapes at them, mouth opening and closing, too annoyed to speak.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji tries again, reaching for his hand. “Please.”

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and turns his back on Lan Wangji, his hands crossed over his chest, pouting.

“No,” he repeats firmly. “They’re not staying here in Qing Qiu. Not now, not after the wedding. Especially not after. The only way rabbits will be allowed here are if they’re on the dining table!”

It’s a pity Lan Wangji is so attached to them. He hasn’t had rabbit meat in a while. And these little buggers look really fat; they’ll probably taste really delicious slow roasted over a fire. His mouth waters just thinking about it.

Lan Wangji’s arms come around him from behind, pinning his arms against his chest and wrapping around his waist to pull him backwards. He puts up a token protest as he falls back against Lan Wangji’s broad chest—he’s certainly not going to make it look easy to cajole him back into good spirits—and puffs out his cheeks to hide the rising blush as Lan Wangji rests his chin on his shoulder and brushes their cheeks together.

“Are you still jealous of the rabbits, Wei Ying?” he asks in a low voice, amused.

Wei Wuxian wriggles around to try and elbow the smug bastard in the ribs, but he’s held fast and gives up quickly.

“I’m not,” he lies, turning his nose up in the air with a sniff. “I’m just worried on behalf of our future children. They’re rabbits. They’re going to start spawning sooner or later, and then they’ll infest the whole place. There won’t be enough room for our children to play!”

There’s a hitched breath against his cheek as Lan Wangji goes still; the arms around him grow almost uncomfortably tight.

“Children?” Lan Wangji repeats faintly.

Wei Wuxian realises what he’s said, blushes and backtracks very quickly.

“I-I mean, other people!” he stammers. “You must have heard wrong. I mean if other people want to-to come stay with us, they won’t have room. Because of the rabbit problem. Yes. Rabbits spawn really quickly Lan Zhan! And Qing Qiu’s population is already so dense. Plus, are you really going to put them here with an entire realm full of foxes? They’ll never survive!”

He could smack himself for how much he’s rambling. It was just a slip of the tongue! He hadn’t meant anything by it. But judging from Lan Wangji’s reaction, he doesn’t believe it one bit.

“Hmm?” One hand cups his cheek and tips his head back to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Really?”

“Really!” Wei Wuxian insists.

“Hmm.” Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow. “That is strange. I thought I heard you say ‘our children’.”

The hand not on his cheek trails down to his lower back, snaking around his waist, before resting low on his stomach, fingers splayed. Wei Wuxian does not give him the satisfaction of squeaking at the suggestive touch, although his next breath does get stuck halfway up his throat on the way out.

“Y-You must have heard wrong!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says reproachfully. “One mustn’t lie.”

“I’m not—” he begins to protest, until an idea strikes him. Usually, Lan Wangji is a singularly focused individual who cannot be swayed from a course of action once he has decided to pursue it. But if there’s one thing he’s learned about Lan Wangji, it’s that this otherwise cold-blooded reptile has only one weakness, and that just so happens to be something only he is capable of and in which he excels. So why wouldn’t he take full advantage of it?

“Mm, Lan Zhan,” he says, looping his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and languidly playing with the soft hairs there. “Why would I lie to you about something like that?”

He grins as Lan Wangji takes the bait.

“I see…” The hand at his waist trails up and down his back in long, scorching sweeps, drawing him closer. “The rabbits will not pose a problem. There is plenty of room for everyone. And we can always make extra room. Qing Qiu is a very large realm, after all.”

Is he being deliberately obtuse, or does he just want to keep those stupid rabbitsthat much?

Wei Wuxian drags out his next sigh and finishes it off with a pout for good measure, their lips only millimetres apart.

“But, Lan Zhan…what if we do have children?” he wheedles, watching triumphantly as Lan Wangji’s eyes dilate and his breathing grows heavy. “Not even then? Not even for our future children?”

He leans up and brushes their lips together very, very lightly, pulling back just as Lan Wangji leans in to deepen it with an aborted groan.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says in warning. Wei Wuxian presses himself even closer and murmurs the next words against his lips. “Do not tease.”

“But Er-gege…” He nips at Lan Wangji’s lower lip playfully. “You haven’t promised yet.”

Lan Wangji growls, a deep, rumbling, primal sound from deep within his chest, and lunges forward. The force of the kiss punches the air from Wei Wuxian’s chest, sending him stumbling backward with only Lan Wangji’s arms to keep him from toppling onto the floor. He gasps when his back hits the cold stone wall of the cave outside his den, enough to allow Lan Wangji to deepen the kiss, his mouth moving hot and hungry against his.

He should be embarrassed by the sounds Lan Wangji is managing to pull from his throat: high, needy whines that echo around the den loud enough for any passersby to hear, but he’s too busy trying to press himself closer, clawing at any part of Lan Wangji he can reach, to care.

Let them hear it, he thinks. Lan Zhan is mine.

He’s not exactly sure how much time passes before they break apart, hair mussed and clothes dishevelled, their kiss-reddened lips a clear giveaway to any poor soul who might pass by what they have been doing. The thought of being caught—by Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, his parents, or even Yu Ziyuan—makes heat rush through his traitorous body; he squirms, mortified at his own reaction. Not that he’s going to let Lan Wangji see it, of course. He’d never be able to live it down. Plus he has a goal in mind, and he’s so close to achieving it.

“Well, what do you say?” He reins in his breathing and presses their foreheads together with a cocky little smirk. “Fujun?”

There is something feral and possessive in the way Lan Wangji’s eyes darken when the word leaves his lips that has desire pooling in Wei Wuxian’s belly. Got you. But his triumph is sadly short-lived. He yelps as strong hands splay out under his buttocks to hoist him off the ground, reflexively wrapping his arms and legs around Lan Wangji’s torso.

“Wait, Lan Zhan, where are we going?” he asks, startled.

Lan Wangji leans in to nip at his throat.

“Making children,” he says, and starts walking them to the mouth of the den.

“Wait—wait, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian protests halfheartedly against the persistent onslaught. “I can’t have—that’s not how this works! Lan Zhan!”

“Oops.”

He may have made a major miscalculation here.

In his defence, when Nie Huaisang had turned up in front of his fox den at Qing Qiu bearing gifts in the form of Emperor’s Smile, they had only planned to have a small gathering of their usual drinking crew—which was pretty much just the two of them, plus Jiang Cheng. But with Lan Wangji now staying with him in Qing Qiu semi-permanently (despite Lan Qiren’s objections that they should not be living together before marriage), it had felt rude not to invite him along as well. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d have fun, seeing as he didn’t drink alcohol, but Lan Wangji had given him that Look That Wasn’t A Pout and he had caved immediately.

And then Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang had gotten drunk in record time after losing several rounds of drinking games, and inviting Lan Wangji was suddenly an excellent idea once they started getting handsy with each other. He’d really not known that about the two of them, which is such a betrayal seeing as he’s known the two of them for more than fifty thousand years! How had he missed that particular development?

Eventually two of them disappeared somewhere together, and Wei Wuxian had turned to Lan Wangji in a stroke of perceived brilliance. Lan Wangji has never had alcohol, at least not in front of him—so is it because he can’t, or because he won’t? Would he be interested in trying, since he’s here anyway and they have a lot of wine left over?

The answer, as it turns out, is yes.

Which brings him to his current predicament.

The tips of Lan Wangji’s ears are flushed red and his amber eyes glassy as he lists from side to side. His fingers are still curled around the empty cup from which he had taken just one sip—one!—before getting into this state of…tipsiness? Drunkenness? Definitely inebriation to some degree.

Wei Wuxian sighs.

Did you know your alcohol tolerance is so horrifically low?” he complains, hurrying around to catch Lan Wangji before he can brain himself on the table. “So much for tricking you into skinny dipping in the lake.”

Lan Wangji perks up. “Let’s go.”

“Ah, ah, no way,” Wei Wuxian tuts, swatting away eager hands reaching for his clothing. “You are in no condition to swim, even if you are a dragon. I don’t want to explain to Tianjun why his son was caught drunk and naked in the lakes of Qing Qiu. Let’s get you to bed.”

Luckily for him, Lan Wangji seems amenable to the idea of going to bed, and obediently loops his arm over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. But when Wei Wuxian goes to haul him to his feet, he sags like a dead weight against him, almost sending them both crashing to the floor.

“Why are you so heavy?” Wei Wuxian pants. “You don’t even eat that much!”

Lan Wangji hums in response, distracted by the nape of Wei Wuxian’s neck as they stagger back to his room. It takes longer than he’d like, and they have to make frequent stops so he can readjust his hold on the dead weight formerly known as Lan Wangji, but eventually he deposits him unceremoniously on the bed. He watches him flop over onto his back like a dead fish, blinking blearily at the ceiling. There is none of his usual elegance or decorum right now, splayed across Wei Wuxian’s bed, arms and legs akimbo; it’s rather…endearing, if he’s being honest.

“Too cute, Lan Zhan,” he says, reaching down to pinch his cheek softly. “You’re going to be so embarrassed when you wake up.”

He’s arranges him into a more comfortable position and pulls the covers up to his chin. He leaves the room to fetch some water for when he wakes up—oh, he’s going to have the world’s worst headache when he does!—but when he comes back into the den, the bed is empty.

“Lan Zhan?” he calls hesitantly. “Lan Zhan, where are you?”

There’s no trace of him in the cave at all.

Where could he have gone?

He’s never dealt with an inebriated Lan Wangji before. What the hell is he supposed to do? What is Lan Wangji going to do?

And then he hears it: a roll of thunder, far too close for comfort.

No, not thunder.

“Oh no.” He runs outside in time to see a streak of silver flash across the sky, away from the den. “Oh shit. Lan Zhan!”

He’s never seen Lan Wangji’s original form before, but there is no mistaking a great big silvery white dragon glowing under the moonlight no matter how many—or few—you’ve seen in your lifetime. Dragons are just too big and eye-catching to just randomly fly across night skies for no reason. How is he going to explain this?

He takes off into the air after Lan Wangji, swearing under his breath as he sees he’s headed past the lakes and towards the farming lands beyond the main town. When he lands, Lan Wangji is nowhere to be seen, which in itself is both a relief and a cause for concern. There’s a farmstead up ahead that immediately catches his attention with its rickety gate opened wide.

Oh shit.

Any hope he has of finding Lan Wangji quietly minding his own drunken business is dashed when there is a sudden a flurry of activity somewhere to the side of the farmstead, followed by some very indignant squawking.

“Lan Zhan!” he hisses, hurrying towards the source of the noise. “What are you doing?”

Lan Wangji, blessedly in human form, turns around from where he’s crouched in front of the chicken coop, holding a chicken in either hand. His eyes are still glassy and slightly unfocused, his ears and neck flushed, so Wei Wuxian knows he’s still drunk. He all but shoves the chickens into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“For you.”

What the fuck?

“What the—why are you giving me chickens, Lan Zhan?” he asks, staring down at the indignant birds in his arms. He gets a face full of feathers as the chickens protest against being shoved around and drops them with a splutter. Lan Wangji catches them before they can fly away, an unhappy pout on his face as he thrusts them at Wei Wuxian again.

“For you,” he says insistently, and doesn’t stop until Wei Wuxian takes them from him.

“O-Okay,” Wei Wuxian says with an awkward chuckle. “I still don’t really get why you’re giving me chickens though—”

“Huili,” Lan Wangji says, suddenly much closer. Wei Wuxian has to hold the chickens out of the way in case they get squashed. “For the pinli.”

Oh. But—

“Lan Zhan, your family already sent the huili,” Wei Wuxian tells him patiently. “Remember? You were there when we received it.”

Lan Wangji frowns, his pout growing longer. It’s…too adorable for words, but brings with it the very real concern that he’s going to start crying in front of this chicken coop and wake the sleeping residents inside. How can he possibly explain why the Second Prince of the Nine Heavens and their own Crown Prince is here, on their farm, crying in front of their chicken coop?

“Okay, okay, how about this: I’ll accept these chickens,” he says. “They can be a part of your jiazhuang.”

He means the last part as a joke, but Lan Wangji settles back on his heels with a satisfied nod.

“Jiazhuang,” he agrees happily. Wei Wuxian sighs.

“Lan Zhan,” he chuckles. “I think you should probably avoid alcohol for a while. At least until the wedding—mmmph!”

Wei Wuxian squeals and drops the chickens as Lan Wangji pounces; neither of them pay any attention as the chickens scurry away in a flutter of feathers and offended squawks. At least, Lan Wangji doesn’t. Wei Wuxian tries to break free of the kiss to catch them with one outstretched hand, but Lan Wangji makes an unhappy little noise and catches his wrist, holding it in a vice-like grip in mid-air to keep him still.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian gasps, barely able to turn his face away from the onslaught of kisses. “We’re in public!”

Lan Wangji ignores him, trailing his lips over his jaw with a fierce determination. There is movement in the farmhouse behind him, and a candle is lit in the closest room to the garden. The garden where they’re currently making out like a pair of horny rabbits. Panicking, Wei Wuxian thumps him on the shoulder and slaps that same hand over Lan Wangji’s mouth to halt any further kisses.

“Lan Zhan! Stop it!” he orders with exasperation. “Not here. Let’s go back first. I promise we’ll do anything you want if we go home right now!”

That gets a reaction, because of course it does. Wei Wuxian had expected nothing less. What he didn’t expect (but probably should have) was for Lan Wangji to sling him over one shoulder like a bloody great sack and take off into the night without further ado.

“Lan Zhan! Put me down!” Wei Wuxian wails, beating his fists on Lan Wangji’s lower back a couple of times before going limp with a resigned sigh. “This is so fucking embarrassing. I can’t believe this is happening. How are you even real—”

He’s never getting Lan Wangji drunk again. Ever.

They are finally forced to part—meaning Lan Wangji is none-too-subtly strong-armed back to the Nine Heavens by his very amused brother and displeased uncle—a month before the wedding in order to finish the necessary preparations. Wei Wuxian assumes this to mean trying on the wedding robes and putting up decorations around the fox den, but apparently he has severely underestimated the amount of work that goes into a wedding. How was he supposed to know that they’d have to go personally calling on all of their close acquaintances to deliver invitations and small gifts? Who knew his parents had so many ‘close’ acquaintances to call on?

The last one he’d been to was Jiang Yanli’s, and all he really had to do was show up on the day and make Jin Zixuan’s life a living hell so he could prove himself worthy of taking his bride away. This isn’t what he signed up for!

“Wei Ying, be good,” Lan Wangji had chided him gently when he’d complained. “I will see you soon.”

But Lan Wangji—his beautiful, upstanding fiancé—relishes the process and the tradition behind it all, so Wei Wuxian swallows his complaints as best he can. If it makes Lan Wangji happy, then he’ll endure any kind of torture!

The month passes by with agonising dullness. The only upside is Jiang Yanli, who has elected to stay in Qing Qiu to help him with the wedding preparations. It’s been so long since he’s been able to spend so much time with her, and he makes sure to milk it for all its worth, devolving into what Jiang Cheng refers to as his “pathetic baby mode”. But he only calls it that because he’s jealous that Wei Wuxian is cuter and likes being babied by Jiang Yanli—and Jiang Yanli loves to baby him, so it’s a total win-win situation.

“Seriously, Wei Wuxian, I’m going to break those arms of yours since you don’t seem to be using them,” Jiang Cheng snaps on the fourth time he sees Jiang Yanli brushing Wei Wuxian’s hair for him.

Wei Wuxian whips around and sticks his tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous cos Shijie is paying more attention to me,” he says, and then winks. “Don’t worry, when you and Nie-xiong get married, Shijie will pay you lots and lots of attention too!”

“What the f—Wei Wuxian, what kind of nonsense are you spouting?” Jiang Cheng sputters, red-faced. “Don’t go saying weird things in front of A-Jie! You know she’s the only one who takes you seriously!”

“Nie Huaisang?” Jiang Yanli chimes in, right on cue, bless her heart. “A-Cheng, are you and Nie-gongzi involved?”

“A-Jie!” Jiang Cheng cries, outraged. “Not you too!”

Wei Wuxian cackles. “Shijie, you should have seen them the other night! Jiang Cheng had his arm—d”

“Thanks it, I’m leaving,” Jiang Cheng says abruptly, turning on his heel to do just that.

Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed he didn’t scream and try to rip his head off as he usually would. Maybe Nie Huaisang’s aversion to confrontation is rubbing off on him.

Among other things, his mind supplies gleefully. I wonder if Lan Zhan and I were that obvious…

“Hey, Shijie,” he says. “Did you know? About me and Lan Zhan? I bet it was a huge surprise for you as well.”

Jiang Yanli laughs softly, dipping the comb into the pan of perfumed water beside her.

“Of course I knew, A-Xian.”

“What?” He cranes his neck around to look at her. “How?”

“A-Xian, stop moving,” Jiang Yanli admonishes as she nudges him around to face the mirror again. “I can’t fix your hair like this.”

“Shijie,” Wei Wuxian whines, pouting at her through their reflections in the mirror. “You didn’t answer my question!”

She hums noncommittally. “What question is that?”

“How did you know?” he cries, slapping his hands on the table. She frowns when the movement makes his head shift in an unwanted direction and moves him back into place with a firm hand. “Even Ididn’t know!”

“Didn’t know what?” she asks, again in that noncommittal tone. He huffs at her and juts his lower lip out even further. “A-Xian…you…aren’t the most subtle when it comes to your affections. Did you know that?”

But he’s like that with everyone! He’s an affectionate person by nature! He likes to hug and tease and joke with the people he considers his friends.That doesn’t explain how she knew his feelings for Lan Wangji were different.

His mother walks in at that moment, just in time to catch the tail end of their conversation; she clicks her tongue at him as she takes a seat beside the dressing table, wagging a finger in his direction.

“Look at this stupid child,” she exclaims, exasperation written all over her features. “There must be a hole in his brain to miss something so obvious. I don’t know if you’re really that unobservant, or if you’re faking it.”

“Cangse-a-yi, I don’t think A-Xian is faking it,” Jiang Yanli says with a fond smile.

“Shijie understands me best,” he sighs happily, flashing her a bright, innocent smile. Cangse tuts.

“Aiyo, this child really.” She shakes her head. “How old are you? Still acting cute to get attention. Only your Shijie and Lan-er-dianxia would still fall for it.”

Wei Wuxian resists the urge to make a face, mostly because she’d see it and hit him over the head.

"I got it from A-Niang,” he mutters under his breath instead.

She narrows her eyes at him. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing!” He waves his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I swear!”

She hits him anyway, a light smack on the shoulder that feels more like a pat, but he makes a show of crying out in pain anyway, which only goads her into swatting him harder.

“A-Niang, spare me!” he cries theatrically, grabbing onto Jiang Yanli’s arm to use it as a shield. “Shijie!”

“A-Xian, A-Yi, please,” Jiang Yanli says. “We need to finish brushing your hair so you can get a good night’s rest. We all have a very early start tomorrow.”

“Yes, Shijie.” His shoulders slump in disappointment, but he obediently turns back to the mirror and submits himself to her attentions.

The look Jiang Yanli and his mother exchange over his head is a mixture of fondness and helplessness, much like you would give a particularly clumsy and disastrous child. She still hasn’t answered his question, but it’s clear that she’s amused by how transparent his feelings supposedly are—whatever he’s done to give himself away, it must have been very embarrassing. He wracks his brains trying to remember if there was a particular incident that stands out, and finds none.

Jiang Yanli must sense that he’s distracted, because she sets down the comb and sighs.

“A-Xian…” She steps around the chair he’s sitting on to rest a hand on his. “Do you remember that time you came back from attending Er-dianxia‘s forty-thousandth birthday banquet?”

He doesn’t remember any details, but in his defence, he’s pretty sure he’d been uproariously drunk on Xiao Xingchen’s special plum blossom wine. Why would they even serve it at Lan Wangji’s birthday when the man himself doesn’t drink? All that good wine would have gone to waste if he hadn’t been there to help them out—

Oh. Oh no. He thinks he knows where this is going.

“What did I do?” he asks suspiciously.

He’s lying on the steps outside the den when Jiang Yanli comes outside to see what the commotion is about, arms and legs akimbo, squinting up at the roof of the cave in the darkness. His face lights up when he sees her and he gives her a dopey little smile.

“Shijie!” he slurs. “I’m home!”

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli rushes forward to help him into a sitting position. “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you meant to be attending a banquet at the Nine Heavens?”

At the mention of the banquet, his face falls.

“Lan-laotouzi kicked me out,” he grumbles. “I didn’t even get to hear Lan Zhan play!”

He scratches his head, embarrassed.

“I think I remember something like that,” he says uncertainly. “But that doesn’t prove anything!”

His mother scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“It wouldn’t, no,” she agrees, “except you wouldn’t stop talking about him for the rest of the night.”

“I did not!” He looks to Jiang Yanli for support. “I didn’t, Shijie!”

She pats his hand sympathetically. “You did, A-Xian.”

He buries his face in his hands with a groan.

“It was pretty embarrassing,” his mother supplies helpfully. “You were waxing poetic about his fingers.”

“They’re so long,” he wails, holding out his own hands with his fingers splayed out before him. “How are they so long,Shijie?”

There’s a little chuckle from somewhere above him and he moves his hands away to look up at her face from where he’s lying with his head on her lap, letting her stroke his hair like she’s done since they were little. He loves her so much. She’s the best person in the whole world, bar no one—except maybe Lan Wangji. Who is way too perfect for his own good. How can someone be so perfect?

“They’re so pretty too,” he sighs mournfully, covering his face again with both hands and wondering if Lan Wangji could do the same with just one of his. “I wonder it feels like to hold them.”

Jiang Yanli chokes. “A-Xian—”

“I bet they’re really strong,” he continues, oblivious to her coughing fit. “And smooth—oh but he plays theqin and he fights so well, so they probably have calluses. His nails are so well-kept! Must be the qin—you can’t play the qin without growing out your nails, Shijie, did you know? I bet that’s why Lan Zhan plays so well. Or maybe his fingers are so nicebecause he plays so well. Or—”

“A-Xian,” she tries again with a laugh. “You really like Er-dianxia, don’t you?”

“Yes!” he says happily. She smiles and flicks his forehead.

“Have you told him then?”

“Yes!” he chirps again. “He’s my best friend, and we’re getting married! The tree said so!”

He muffles a shriek into his hands. What the hell? Had he really said all of that about Lan Wangji? In front of Jiang Yanli?

“Yes,” his mother tells him. “You were the only one who couldn’t see it.”

Damned mothers and their mind-reading skills! When had she learnt telepathy? At least he can comfort himself in the knowledge that Lan Wangji hadn’t heard any of it at the time, otherwise he would have been even more insufferable than he’s been in the last few months!

Lan Wangji must never know. He wouldn’t be able to face Lan Wangji again if he finds out!

“Stupid child,” his mother scolds half-heartedly, reaching over to slap him on the arm. “You’ve been in love with Er-dianxia this whole time. Did you not know?”

“No, I haven’t!” he protests, and then wilts under her and Jiang Yanli’s combined scepticism. “Not…the whole time. I just liked him a lot! But who doesn’t, really? Everyone likes Lan Zhan!”

Jiang Yanli hums and pats his hand again in a way that seems almost placating, rather than in agreement. His mother, however, is less forgiving.

“But not everyone gets themselves engaged to him as a joke, and then goes through with it,” she says. “Honestly, Ying-er—”

“Cangse-a-yi,” Jiang Yanli interrupts gently, sensing Wei Wuxian’s growing agitation. “I think we should leave A-Xian to get some rest. He has a big day tomorrow.”

She nods her head at the red silks draped all over the room, the double happiness characters in bright red paper stuck on the walls, and then to the elaborate red and gold robes laid out on the bed. His mother sighs.

“You’re right,” she agrees. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out sooner or later. I hope Er-dianxia has enough patience before then.”

And then he’s left by himself, in his soon-to-be wedding chamber, surrounded by wedding decorations, his wedding robes and Lan Wangji running metaphorical circles around his head.

“Fuck,” he says with feeling.

The day of the wedding dawns bright and sunny, which everyone takes to be a good omen for their marriage.

Wei Wuxian is awake with the sun, truly a rarity for him, but he had been so excited that he couldn’t sleep at all that night. By the time Jiang Yanli comes into his room, he’s already half-dressed in the first layer of his wedding robes—a set of plain, dark red under robes that matches the ribbon in his hair—and she’s so surprised that she almost drops the tray that holds his breakfast.

His parents are erstwhile occupied with the final preparations, making sure the Qing Qiu Fox Den—the official residence of the ruling family—is ready to receive the wedding party later in the day; guests will begin to arrive in a matter of hours, so the food must be ready, the wine must be stocked, the tables must be set. Qing Qiu has never been one for stuffy customs or ostentatious events, but even Wei Wuxian has to agree that the marriage of their one-and-only Crown Prince is no trivial matter, and that the success of the show they put on today is as much earning face for Qing Qiu as it is showing respect to the Nine Heavens. Imagine what the Jin family would say if it looked as though the Qing Qiu Fox Tribe wasn’t able to throw a grander wedding for their Crown Prince than the Bird Tribe did for theirs!

By the time he’s ready to set out to the Nine Heavens, he’s been thoroughly groomed from head to toe, standing at the head of a procession of two dozen people bearing wedding gifts and offerings, and a palanquin bedecked in bright red and gold silks.

The plan is for Qing Qiu to send a retinue, personally led by Wei Wuxian, to pick up Lan Wangji from the Nine Heavens. No expenses were spared—both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang had had a lot of fun (perhaps a little too much) designing the bridal palaquin that would transport Lan Wangji from his quarters at the Palace of Enlightenment to his new home with Wei Wuxian in the Qing Qiu Fox Den, and they had certainly not skimped out on the wedding gifts.

At some point during the planning, however, Lan Qiren had gotten hold of the palanquin designs and thrown a fit, deeming it unsuitably gaudy for an esteemed member of the Nine Heavens Imperial Family.

Which, okay fair. Maybe having a pair of biyi niao drawing the palanquin while two dozen rainbow coloured birds circled around it in the air had been a bit much. But still! Think of the auspicious omen that would be, with what biyi niao represent—two halves of a whole, completing and supporting each other—it’s as fitting an image as you can get for a wedding. But then Nie Huaisang’s biyi niao mount accidentally set the palanquin on fire when his master screamed at his older brother’s approach, and that had put an end to that particular discussion.

So they had to compromise. They’ll keep the bridal procession and the palanquin if they do away with the bridal veil and the biyi niao. The bridal veil had been an easy loss—Wei Wuxian has other plans in mind for it later that night—so he had heartily agreed to those conditions.

And now he’s here, outside the Palace of Enlightenment with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang at his side, facing off with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. His future brother-in-law and Nie Huaisang’s older brother, newly returned from the mortal realm and acting as part of the welcome committee today, bar their entry into the gates.

“Uh, so how does this work, exactly?” Wei Wuxian mutters under his breath, nudging Nie Huaisang with an elbow. “Do we fight them, or…?”

He loves Lan Wangji, truly, but Nie Mingjue is easily twice his size and both he and Lan Xichen have almost sixty thousand years of cultivation on him between the two of them; he wants to be alive and whole and ready to perform his husbandly duties tonight. He can’t do that if his soul has been disintegrated before he can even get through the gates.

“They’re supposed to give you a set of challenges!” Nie Huaisang says, fluttering his fan excitedly in front of his face. “Tasks to prove your love and devotion!”

My what now?

He turns to the two imposing figures before them and gulps.

“Taizi-dianxia, Chifeng-zun,” he laughs weakly. “Have you eaten yet? We’ve brought…cakes! And pastries! Please, have your fill!”

Lan Xichen smiles.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Xiao-dianxia,” he says, “but we have already eaten. Why don’t we focus on the task at hand, hmm?”

There’s a vaguely threatening twinkle in his eye that sends chills down Wei Wuxian’s spine and himself almost crashing into Jiang Cheng on his other side.

“What does Taizi-dianxia propose then?” Jiang Cheng asks, drawing himself up to his full height. It’s an admirable attempt at making himself appear more threatening, but he’s up against Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, which pretty much speaks for its effectiveness (or lack thereof).

Well, at least he tried. Wei Wuxian can give him that.

“Mingjue-xiong, what was the purpose of this exercise again?” Lan Xichen asks, voice light and airy. “To prove Xiao-dianxia’s love and devotion for Wangji, was it?”

The grin Nie Mingjue gives them is anything but light and airy. Nie Huaisang audibly gulps.

“I know just the thing.” He stretches out a hand and summons Baxia into his grasp. It glints menacingly in the sunlight. “How about a duel? If you defeat me, you may pass.”

“Is that a good idea, Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang pipes up from where he’s half-hiding behind Wei Wuxian. “We don’t want to hurt Wei-xiong before he’s had a chance to perform his duties!”

Wei Wuxian chokes and turns red immediately—Nie Huaisang is so dead. He’s going to kill him. It’s one thing for Wei Wuxian himself to think it in the privacy of his own mind. How can he say something like that in front of the Crown Prince? Lan Wangji’s brother? Does he want to get him killed? He still hasn’t seen Lan Wangji in his wedding robes!

“Nie-xiong!” he hisses. To Nie Mingjue, he offers a deep bow. “Chifeng-zun, please spare your junior on his wedding day. How could I possibly hope to defeat you in combat?”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue smirks. “Do you not want to be married then?”

“Chifeng-zun!” Wei Wuxian heaves an incredibly put-upon sigh. “Then you leave me no choice. Luckily, in situations like this, I can call upon my trusty brother to fight in my stead!”

He slings an arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and shoves him forward with an encouraging shout, grinning wickedly at the abject terror on his face as he comes nose-to-chest with Nie Mingjue. Still, he grits his teeth and squares his shoulders and actually looks like he’s going to fight so Wei Wuxian has got to hand it to him—what a good brother! He’ll never compare him to a puffer fish again!

The moment is interrupted by Lan Xichen clearing his throat.

“While that’s all well and good,” he says mildly. “I think Wangji would prefer it if we didn’t destroy his courtyard, or injure his husband before the wedding. Why don’t we do something else?”

He swears he hears Nie Mingjue blow a raspberry. A very tiny, petulant one out of the corner of his mouth. But definitely a raspberry. The task is changed to a test of endurance instead: Jiang Cheng is made to assume the horse stance with his arms outstretched before him, balancing a tray laden with heavy scrolls on his hands for one joss stick’s worth of time. It isn’t anything they haven’t done before—Yu Ziyuan is particularly fond of it as punishment for being lax in their training—so Jiang Cheng completes the task with ease.

“Jiang Cheng! Wow, you’re so cool!” Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang take turns stroking his ego enthusiastically; it works like a charm, because Jiang Cheng is practically preening by the time they stop complimenting him.

“Hah, that wasn’t so hard,” he says, dropping the tray and standing up as soon as the last of the ashes crumbled and fell away from the joss stick. “What’s next?”

“Well done,” Lan Xichen agrees with a ready smile, completely unfazed by their easy victory. “But now it is time for the task I have set.”

He waves his arm and a table appears in front of them with a blank scroll and a set of inks and brushes.

“Please write down all three thousand of the Lan family rules within the span of one joss stick.”

He beams at the sight of their collective jaws dropping on the floor.

“What?” Nie Huaisang whispers, horrified. “All of them?”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow.

“You were all gifted with a copy of them when you first arrived at the Nine Heavens,” he reminds him. “And Xiao-dianxia received another copy when we first sent pinli to your chambers at the beginning of this engagement. I trust you would have read them in preparation for your marriage. After all, these rules are very important to Wangji.”

He tops it all off with a beatific smile that has Wei Wuxian breaking out in a cold sweat. Okay, so he has read all three thousand rules before. Once. Sort of. Okay so maybe he’s skimmed them a bit. But to ask him to write them all down from memory just isn’t fair! He’s not even the one marrying into the Lan family! If anything, Lan Wangji should be the one to copy out Qing Qiu’s rules!

“Nie-xiong,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, nudging Nie Huaisang with his boot. “It’s your turn, right?”

“Wait, what?” Nie Huaisang protests. “Why me?”

“Because you’re my xiongdi!” Wei Wuxian tells him. He claps him on the back encouragingly. “Your job is to do whatever it takes to get me through that gate to Lan Zhan!”

“But there are over three thousand rules,” he wails. “There’s no way I can write all of them in one joss stick’s worth of time! My hand will fall off! And that’s if I even remember them at all!”

Surprisingly, it is Nie Mingjue who reaches over to cuff his younger brother over the head.

“Nie Huaisang!” he barks. “I didn’t raise you to run away from a challenge! Where is your loyalty to your brothers?”

An idea strikes Wei Wuxian over Nie Huaisang’s tortured cries of “Da-ge! Spare me!”, and he turns to Lan Xichen with a proposition.

“One joss stick’s worth of time is not enough to write all three thousand rules, Taizi-dianxia,” he reasons. “Are we allowed to make this a group effort?”

Lan Xichen cocks his head thoughtfully, looking between the three of them as if to size them up. Nie Huaisang looks at him, eyes shining with a desperate plea from within the crook of Nie Mingjue’s elbow, while both Jiang Cheng squares his shoulders and meets his gaze with a steely determination.

“I don’t see why not,” he allows.

Wei Wuxian sighs, relieved, and grabs both Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng around the shoulders for an impromptu strategy meeting.

“Okay, listen up. We split the rules into three. Nie-xiong, you take a thousand, Jiang Cheng another. And then I’ll finish off the rest.” He fixes them both with a serious look. “Write down every single one you remember. As fast as you can. Got it?”

“What if we don’t get them all?” Nie Huaisang asks, looking a little wild-eyed and frantic. “What if we double-up? What if we write the wrong ones? Wei-xiong, there are a lot of rules, but even if we make them up off the top of our heads we can’t possibly—”

A throat is cleared pointedly, interrupting their little huddle. Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are both smiling, and the discordance between the two expressions is slightly terrifying—how can a smile look so different just by virtue of being on a different face?—that has all three of them gulping. He forces his own smile and picks up the brush, glaring at both Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang until they do the same.

“Come on you two,” he says loudly; under his breath he adds: “I have a backup plan, don’t worry.”

And so they write. The first fifty or so come easily to him; he’s heard both Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji recite them over the years enough times to be able to parrot them back without really processing their meaning at all. What he’s surprised to find is that, the more rules he writes, the more he actually recalls; in fact, he makes it about three hundred rules in before he runs out of steam. On either side of him, neither Jiang Cheng nor Nie Huaisang are faring much better. Of the three of them, Wei Wuxian has always been the better student (but really only when he decides to apply himself), and it’s abundantly clear that they will never finish all three thousand rules in time.

“Taizi-dianxia,” he calls, still scribbling furiously. “If we don’t manage to finish this, will you really stop me from marrying Lan Zhan?”

Do not burn off people’s moustaches.

Do not dress in black.

He crosses them out as Lan Xichen chuckles. “We’ll see, Xiao-dianxia.”

Do not make up rules. That’s got to be a real one.

Do not threaten people.

Do not—

“Huh.” Wei Wuxian pauses in his writing, surprised that he would actually consider it. Surely they wouldn’t not let them through right? This is meant to be all for fun, right? Right? “I don’t think Lan Zhan would be very happy with that.”

“Well then, Xiao-dianxia, you mustn’t disappoint him then,” Lan Xichen quips, eyes glinting.

Half the joss stick has burned away along with the rest of his creative juices when he decides to put his backup plan into motion. He scraps the page he’s been working on with a great show of crumpling up the paper—ignoring Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng’s cries of dismay as they drop their own brushes in shock—in favour of smoothing out a fresh piece of paper and setting brush to paper with gusto. They want him to demonstrate his knowledge of the Lan family rules? Well, he’ll give them one better.

He starts to draw.

He lifts the brush from the paper with a final flourish just as the last part of the joss stick crumbles away into dust. A splatter of ink gets onto Jiang Cheng’s robes, but he’s too busy setting aside the brush and picking up his masterpiece to acknowledge his angry muttering. He offers it to Lan Xichen with a bow.

“Taizi-dianxia,” he says. “For your inspection.”

Lan Xichen’s face softens as he takes in what Wei Wuxian has given him.

“Xiao-dianxia…”

It’s a picture of Lan Wangji sitting under the shade of a peach blossom tree, playing the guqin, from the first time he’d visited the Nine Heavens. He remembers climbing over the wall to escape his etiquette lessons and stumbling into the Palace of Enlightenment completely by accident while Lan Wangji had been practising, how the sunlight had shone through the branches of the tree just so to bathe him in an ethereal glow—if they had not been already immortal, Wei Wuxian could have sworn he was a fairy descended to earth—and the way his breath had caught in his throat at the sight.

It was the first time he remembers really seeing Lan Wangji. Not as the cute little cultivator he liked to rile up, nor as the perfect, jade-like Second Prince of the Nine Heavens. Just…Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, the person. Dragon. Individual.

“Taizi-dianxia asked for all three thousand rules,” Wei Wuxian explains, motioning to the portrait. “The rules represent the values and virtues of the Lan family, right?” Lan Xichen acquiesces with a nod, which has him puffing out his chest proudly. “Well, Lan Zhan is the perfect embodiment of all the values and virtues of the Lan family. So drawing him is pretty much the same as writing out all three thousand rules, wouldn’t you agree?”

Nie Huaisang is smiling behind his fan while admiring the portrait, and even Nie Mingjue looks grudgingly impressed by his work. Jiang Cheng folds his arms over his chest and scoffs, but he too has a pleased little quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Lan Xichen says after a long moment, lowering the portrait. “I believe you’ve quite surpassed the task we set for you, Xiao-dianxia. Here is your reward.”

He steps aside.

Lan Wangji is standing at the door to the main chambers on the other side of the courtyard, dressed in layers of red and gold silk fitted to perfection around his broad frame. Even the customary silver pins in his hair have been replaced by a single one made of gold, fashioned into the shape of a dragon and slotted through a guan of flowing golden clouds. His honey-gold eyes are wide and stunned, his mouth falling open just a sliver as he looks Wei Wuxian up and down.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes. Wei Wuxian flushes, his insides squirming in pleasure under his scrutiny.

And oh.

Oh.

The ribbon tied around his forehead is not his usual white one, embroidered with the flowing clouds of the Dragon Tribe. It’s red to match his robes, and looks very familiar.

Wei Wuxian presses a hand over his pounding heart in realisation, the other hovering in mid-air as if reaching for the ribbon in his own hair.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, unable to stop the smile breaking out over his face. “I’m here!”

Lan Wangji hums, his eyes soft.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You are.”

Honestly, once Lan Wangji’s hand slots into place against his, right there in the middle of the courtyard in front of pretty much everyone in the Nine Heavens, Wei Wuxian stops really registering what’s happening around him. He vaguely recalls walking into the throne room hand in hand with Lan Wangji—he doesn’t, however, remember how exactly they had gotten there—and kneeling in front of the Heavenly Emperor, asking officially for his consent to marry Lan Wangji, and offering him tea. The Heavenly Emperor says something about marriage, which he really tries to pay attention to, but Lan Wangji’s ears turn bright red and all thoughts flee his mind on the spot.

He does remember helping Lan Wangji into the palanquin and then waving boisterously at the crowd gathered around them before he too gets inside, mostly because Lan Qiren lets out a strangled yelp of outrage and Lan Wangji had shaken his head with a fond, exasperated sigh.

“Wei Ying,” he say reprovingly, yet with no heat in his voice. “This is not proper.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian mimics his tone, raising both his eyebrows. “Are you going to stop me?”

A hand wraps around his wrist and yanks him down until he’s squeezed into the cushioned seat of the palanquin beside Lan Wangji. He grins and twists his hand around to lace their fingers together with a pleased little hum.

“Let’s go!” he calls out to their retinue. “Let’s not miss the auspicious hour!”

And then they’re outside the Qing Qiu Fox Den, where it seems more than half the citizens of Qing Qiu have turned up to witness their Crown Prince getting married. Normally, Wei Wuxian would be wading right into the crowd to greet everyone he can, but upon getting out of the palanquin hand-in-hand with Lan Wangji and coming face-to-face with the throngs of people gathered outside, he feels suddenly nervous. Lan Wangji senses it immediately in the way his grip tightens around his fingers, and he looks down at him, a slight frown marring his otherwise perfect brow.

“Wei Ying? Are you alright?”

Amber eyes are tinged with concern as their gazes meet, and there is a soft hesitation in the way his lips are parted; he’s not the only one who’s nervous, Wei Wuxian realises. As much as he finds himself looking to Lan Wangji for reassurance in this moment, Lan Wangji is looking to him for the same. The thought is rather comforting.

He smiles and gives Lan Wangji’s hand a squeeze.

“Are you ready, Lan Zhan?” he asks, just to be sure. One can never be too careful, after all.

Lan Wangji returns his grip twofold, and smiles.

“Yes.”

They make their way into the main chamber within the Fox Den, where Wei Wuxian’s parents are waiting, seated on either side of an altar draped in red and gold silks. There is a large red banner hanging on the wall with the character shuangxi—double happiness—embroidered in gold; Wei Wuxian recognises Jiang Yanli’s handiwork and catches her eye in the crowd. She smiles and waves back tearfully, beaming as the two of them approach the altar and sink to their knees on the red silk cushions, their fingers still intertwined. Wei Changze gives them both a gruff nod of approval; Cangse looks to Lan Wangji.

“Lan-er-dianxia, though you are marrying into Qing Qiu today according to Qing Qiu’s customs,” she begins formally. “We recognise this as an equal partnership that will further the relationship between our two realms. And thus we will also observe the rite of hand-fasting customary of marriages in the Nine Heavens.”

The hand in his trembles, tightens, and he can hear the nigh-imperceptible hitch in Lan Wangji’s breath; he offers an encouraging smile when Lan Wangji looks down at him in confusion, and nods. It’s something he’s been discussing with his parents in the past month, as a surprise for Lan Wangji. By all accounts, they do not have to agree—in marrying into Qing Qiu, Lan Wangji is essentially relinquishing his ties to the Nine Heavens and is expected to adhere to Qing Qiu’s customs—but Wei Wuxian knows how important this is to him. And a small concession like this would go a long way to demonstrating goodwill towards the Nine Heavens.

“Well?” he murmurs, tugging on his hand. “What are you waiting for?”

Lan Wangji shakes himself out of his reverie and bows, pressing his forehead to the floor.

“Wangji thanks Cangse-shangshen for her benevolence and generosity,” he says.

Cangse tuts. “Cangse-shangshen?”

Wei Wuxian nudges Lan Wangji, amused. “Shouldn’t you change the way you address our mother now?”

“Oh.” Lan Wangji’s eyes widen in realisation. The tips of his ears turn delightfully pink. “Yuemu-daren.”

“There’s a good boy,” Cangse says, satisfied. Wei Wuxian ducks his head to hide a snort. When was the last time someone called Lan Wangji a good boy? “Come on then, let’s get on with it.”

Lan Wangji turns to him with a serious look on his face, releasing his hand in order to reach back and untie the red ribbon around his forehead. Wei Wuxian doesn’t remember a time when Lan Wangji did not have his forehead ribbon—even swapping it out for his own red ribbon today had done terrible things to his heart, both from shock and the fact that Lan Wangji is unfairly suited to wearing red. Or anything other colour, in fact, but not only is red the colour of marriage and celebration, it is also Wei Wuxian’s favourite colour. The point is, once the ribbon comes off, he’s once again struck dumb by this new aspect of Lan Wangji’s beauty.

Very carefully, as if afraid of hurting him, Lan Wangji takes his hand again, cradling it in the palm of his hand. He wraps one end of the bright red ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, the other around his own, leaving a good length of it between them.

“The forehead ribbon symbolises self-restraint, discipline and control,” he says. His voice carries across the den, and everyone present listens intently. “Unless before parents or cultivation partners, we are forbidden from removing it, or having another touch it.”

Wei Wuxian inhales sharply. “Lan Zhan…”

Are you sure?

Lan Wangji reads the question on his face and smiles.

“Wei Ying is the one I have waited nine thousand years for,” he says quietly, firmly. “There is no one else I could—or would—give this to.”

A chorus of “awww” and envious sighs are heard from the crowd at his declaration. Heat rushes to Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and he has to fight the urge to squirm and hide his face away from the scrutiny. When had Lan Wangji learned to be so romantic?

“Lan Zhan!” he protests, voice strangled. “You’re—we’re—!”

It really isn’t fair, he cries internally. When had the tables turned on him? What happened to the cute little cultivator in the mortal realm who he took great delight in teasing until he grew so flustered he would try to attack? When had Lan Wangji grown so shameless?

“Now, children,” Wei Changze cuts in, thankfully, before Wei Wuxian can embarrass himself further. “The auspicious hour is upon us. Let’s not waste anymore time.”

Lan Wangji releases his hands, letting the length of ribbon hang in the space between them as they turn back to face his parents. The nerves return in full force as they sink into their first bow, to the Heavens and Earth; the warmth of Lan Wangji’s presence beside him is the only thing grounding him in place, even though his heart feels like it’s about to vibrate out of his chest.

They sink into their second bow, to honour his parents. When he rises again, he’s surprised to see his mother looking teary-eyed despite her otherwise calm demeanour, his father is equally emotional beside her. It tugs at his heart to see them watching him with such pride that he feels tears stinging his eyes, blurring his view of Lan Wangji as they turn to each other for the third bow.

Lan Zhan, you’re great. I like you. He gives him a wobbly smile. You truly are the best person I know. I like you so much.

They bow to each other, and he clutches the end of the ribbon in his shaky hands as he repeats those words to himself again, not trusting himself to speak. But when their eyes meet again, Lan Wangji is smiling—it’s truly amazing how such a small action can communicate so much joy—and the world shifts a little beneath his feet as everything clicks into place.

Oh, he thinks, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Oh.

The bed chamber is a quiet reprieve from the increasingly rowdy festivities outside, and Lan Wangji breathes a sigh of relief when he is allowed to retire for the evening while Wei Wuxian reluctantly returns to entertaining their guests. He sits on the bed—his heart stutters and skips a beat, warmth pooling in his belly at the thought of this being their room, and this being their bed—and takes in his surroundings.

It’s been just over a month since he was last here. In that time, someone—likely Jiang Yanli—had turned the cavernous den from a messy collection of knick-knacks and piles of half-finished projects into a cosy, welcoming bed chamber. Furs had been laid down on the floor to ward off the night chill, and candles had been arranged in strategic places along the stone walls so that the entire space was warmly lit despite the lack of natural sunlight. The large silk screen used to partition off the sleeping area has been covered with shuangxi banners and matrimonial blessings.

He allows himself to smile, running a hand over the red silk bedding beneath him, tracing the intricate details of the phoenix and dragon embroidery that must have taken months to complete.

The past month had felt almost surreal—without Wei Wuxian by his side, in his arms, Lan Wangji can still scarcely believe that this is all happening. Uncertainty and disbelief had lingered in the back of his mind, and he had had to constantly, consciously reassure himself that Wei Wuxian was his now, and he his, and they would be married before the Heavens and Earth, for the rest of their lives. After so many years—nine thousand, four hundred and fifty six years—of waiting for his little fox prince to finally open his eyes to romance and understand love, all of his patience has finally paid off.

Footsteps approach the bed chamber, quickly and quietly; Lan Wangji tenses—it is much too early for Wei Wuxian to be able to leave the festivities, so who could it be? He knows it’s customary for the wedding guests to storm the marriage chamber in an attempt to see a new bride’s visage without the veil to cover it, but he is neither a bride nor is he wearing a veil, so there isn’t any point. Whether or not the inebriated guests would think that far, however, is another story.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying?” He moves to stand, but is halted in place by Wei Wuxian’s cry of protest. “Is something the matter? You are very early tonight.”

His husband—he takes a moment to savour the words—is still lingering behind the partition and not moving any closer, which immediately piques Lan Wangji’s concern. Had something happened outside? Wei Wuxian laughs, a nervous little sound, and his silhouette behind the screen shifts from one foot to the other.

“Everything’s fine!” he says quickly. “I just—ah, I have a…surprise for you.” He clears his throat. “But you have to close your eyes first!”

“…Alright.” He obliges, both amused and curious to see what surprise is in store. He hears footsteps shuffling around, coming closer, and instinctively turns towards it. “Wei Ying?”

“Don’t look!” Wei Wuxian yelps, voice muffled. “Turn around until I say so!”

Once again, Lan Wangji obliges. The bed sheets shift as a weight settles beside him; he catches the scent of Xiao Xingchen’s peach blossom wine, and his tongue darts out subconsciously at the memory of the last time he’d tasted it on Wei Wuxian’s lips. Impatience simmers in his chest—Wei Wuxian is so close and this is their wedding night, why is he still not allowed to touch, or even to look? He has been looking forward to this particular part of the festivities for months now and it’s finally within reach.

“O-okay,” Wei Wuxian says after a long period of restlessly shifting. “Open your eyes.”

He’s immediately rewarded with the sight of his husband sitting beside him in his wedding finery, with a large red veil draped over his head. Upon closer inspection, however, Lan Wangji realises that he’s changed from the wedding robes he’d been wearing this whole day into a completely different set—the hems are wider, draping over his body in flowing layers of red and gold, soft and alluring. A bolt of desire strikes him when he finally registers that these are bridal robes. He clears his throat.

“What’s this?” he asks, trying to keep his voice carefully neutral so as to not betray the heat simmering in his veins. Wei Wuxian shifts, turns toward him.

“Can’t you tell what I am?” he asks in lieu of a response. “I’m dressed as the bride!” His hands, which had been sitting placidly in his lap, come up to fiddle with the veil. “It’s only fair since you are marrying into Qing Qiu and leaving everything behind for me—”

Lan Wangji catches one of his hands in his own.

“Wei Ying…” his breath catches in his throat, oddly thick. “I do not mind any of it, as long as it means I can be with you. It does not matter who is the one marrying, as long as we are marrying each other.”

He can tell his words have hit upon something because Wei Wuxian goes very still. If it weren’t for the fact that his wrist is in Lan Wangji’s grasp and he can feel the way his pulse races beneath his fingertips, Lan Wangji would have thought he’d turned into a statue. He moves in closer, brings the wrist in his grasp to his lips.

“Wei Ying,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there. A shudder runs through the arm at the contact, shaking Wei Wuxian out of his stupor, and stoking the fire beneath Lan Wangji’s skin. “Wei Ying—”

“Wait! Wait, hold on!”

Wei Wuxian tears the veil from his head with a startled shout, turning to Lan Wangji sitting next to him on the bed—their marriage bed!—with his eyes wide, mouth opening and closing in shock. He’s breathtakingly beautiful in red and gold, ribbons braided through his dark hair and his lips painted a bewitching crimson. Lan Wangji drinks in the sight of him hungrily, his amber eyes dark.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice pitched low, rumbling close to Wei Wuxian’s ear. “Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian shifts so that he’s facing Lan Wangji fully, twisting the veil between his hands and worrying his lower lip. He misses the way Lan Wangji’s eyes fixate on the movement, his own lips parting as he exhales.

“I, uh—you’re okay with this, right?” Wei Wuxian asks. He looks up at Lan Wangji through those dark lashes, his cheeks pink. “You’re okay with getting married? To me?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji replies immediately. He cups Wei Wuxian’s jaw with one hand and brushes his thumb over his lower lip. “Nothing pleases me more than to be married to you.”

He presses down lightly with his thumb and revels in the soft whimper this elicits from Wei Wuxian. He watches as a glassy haze falls over those big, soulful grey eyes as he leans in to brush their noses together.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian whispers. Lan Wangji hums.

“Wei Ying.”

He’s closing the last, scant bit of space between their lips when Wei Wuxian’s hands come up to clutch at his robes over his chest, holding him at bay. He rumbles his disapproval, but stops what he’s doing. Wei Wuxian is staring at him in a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

“I think…” he says hesitantly, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Lan Wangji is not the most verbose of people, but hearing those words from Wei Wuxian’s lips steals all coherent thought from his brain, and any response he may have had is lost in the surge of affection and adoration that overwhelms him. Wei Wuxian, however, takes his silence for displeasure.

“Lan Zhan?” he says, panic rising in his voice. “Lan Zhan? Say something? Is it too early to say it? Did I make you uncomfortable? I just—I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve wanted to tell you this all day—it just kind of slipped out? Sorry. Um…we can pretend I didn’t say anything—”

He’s on his back, pressed into the sheets beneath Lan Wangji’s weight, before he realises what’s happened. He gasps as Lan Wangji laces their fingers together and pins his hands on either side of his head with a low rumble. From this distance, his amber eyes seem almost reptilian as they stare down at him, and he whimpers under their scrutiny. But when Lan Wangji next speaks, his voice is soft and tender.

“Wei Ying,” he murmurs. He leans in to nose at his jaw and over his ear, chuckling as he starts to tremble. “I’m in love with you.”

Wei Wuxian gasps.

“Really?” He sounds incredulous, which makes Lan Wangji pull away with a discontented huff at his husband’s obliviousness. “Since when?”

Lan Wangji just looks at him patiently and waits for realisation to set in; Wei Wuxian gasps and tries to sit up, but Lan Wangji holds him fast. He lays pinned beneath Lan Wangji, legs tangled together, lips but a breath apart.

“This whole time?” he says. “Lan Zhan! Are you serious?”

One elegant eyebrow quirks upward before Lan Wangji leans in to brush a feather-light kiss at the corner of his mouth. He chuckles—low and primal, almost like a growl—as Wei Wuxian chases him unconsciously when he pulls away.

“Let me show you how serious I am,” he says.

And he proceeds to do so. Thoroughly. Repeatedly. And at great length.

No rest is had that night.