#in the sect's eyes he violated the rules of the setting

[llycaons]

you can make the wens mob bosses if you want but the jins had power that was legitimate by the standards of the setting and they has zero oversight or restrictions on their actions. it's more accurate to characterize them as an actual governing body, or at least a very powerful business with ties to politics, a lobbying body that pushes laws to let them legally murder or torture people, a massive legal team to keep them out of trouble, and a fantastic PR team that keeps their image clean

#jins as evil but legal businessmen is so important to me #bc wwx was right but he had to defect and rebel against the ENTIRE cultivation world to save the victims of the jins #in the sect's eyes he violated the rules of the setting #and in a modern AU it just makes sense for him to have no legal leg to stabd on besides the fact that it was the right thing to do #AU where he wq and wn are undocumented immigrants struggling to make it from day to day my beloved #ficblogging

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 14

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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“Do you think something unfortunate happened between Cangse Sanren and Jiang Fengmian?” Lan Qiren asked Wen Ruohan, who just stared blankly at him. “Do not think that I am complaining, given how much it accrues to my benefit. It is only that I really cannot imagine doing a thing that would cause that much internal strife to a person I consider to be my friend.”

Despite his reluctance to ever let his two nephews out of his sight again now that he’d seen them again, Lan Qiren had quickly approved Wen Ruohan’s proposed plan to have Cangse Sanren smuggle Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji out of the Lotus Pier, taking advantage of the fact that as a rogue cultivator she could leave early and with relatively little suspicion.

He knew, just as Wen Ruohan knew, that the two of them would be the prime suspects in the disappearance when it was inevitably discovered and reported – it was inevitable, given Lan Qiren’s role in his nephews’ lives up until this point, and the rumors of discord between him and his brother. No matter what they did, it would be impossible to conceal Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji well enough to keep them from being found and returned to their father and sect. And, once returned…

Well, Lan Qiren’s brother had been clear enough about what would happen to them, and that had been before Xichen and Wangji had flagrantly violated Lan sect custom (although not the rules, strictly speaking) in a manner that displayed their preference for Lan Qiren over their father.

(Lan Qiren wished that he could trust his brother to be fair and impartial in imposing punishment, limiting himself only to the rules the boys had actually broken – but his trust in his brother had disappeared long before his love for him had gone. Even in his youth when his brother had only disliked him, Lan Qiren had found his brother to be rather petty on the subject of punishment.)

Lan Qiren thought that Wen Ruohan had been surprised by how swiftly he had agreed with the plan, which he’d done more or less immediately after he’d finished wiping the tears from his nephews’ eyes. Neither Xichen nor Wangji had wanted to leave him, with Wangji being especially distraught, but Lan Qiren had explained the issue to them to the best of his abilities, sticking as much as possible to his desire to see them again rather than expressly stating or even implying any insult to their father. He’d then set rules for their upcoming trip, cautioning and scolding them in exactly the way he would if the trip were merely to go down to Caiyi with their cousins to buy sweets, and he’d seen with satisfaction the way they had both relaxed as soon as the sense of familiarity settled in. He hoped it would help, particularly with Wangji, who was so very clearly suffering greatly from all the changes and the lack of the set schedule Lan Qiren had so painstakingly helped him put together…

No, Lan Qiren couldn’t think of that. Not that, nor of how nervous and burdened Xichen looked, weighed down by responsibility years before it should have fallen upon him. It would only cause himself pointless distress, when he should instead spend his time thinking of the future and what he could do to abate their distress going forward.

(“I thought you’d object,” Wen Ruohan remarked to him in an undertone while Cangse Sanren had been very colorfully introducing herself to the boys, both of whom seemed somewhat doubtful and possibly mildly disapproving in a way that suggested they were in the process of being thoroughly charmed. Cangse Sanren had a very particular way about her of doing that. “Or at least that you would need some convincing that it wasn’t necessary to send them back to the Cloud Recesses where they belong, rather than let them come into my grasp.”

“I told you before that I intended to use you,” Lan Qiren replied, cognizant of but not entirely understanding the flash of delight on Wen Ruohan’s face at his words. “They will return to the Cloud Recesses only once their well-being has been secured to my satisfaction, which I expect will require, at minimum, negotiations with my sect elders. Until that time they must be in a safe place that can resist the disapproval of even the entire cultivation world. Other than your Nightless City, I can think of nowhere else that would do, short of barricading myself in some unpleasant locale naturally inclined towards defense. You will simply have to suffer their presence until then.”

“After hearing the way you used your sect rules to justify keeping them, I doubt I will be suffering,” Wen Ruohan said, voice droll. “Your Xichen in particular has picked up your fondness for loopholes.”

“They are not loopholes. The rules are complex and require tailoring to the present circumstances – ”

“They can keep company with my Chao-er,” Wen Ruohan interrupted. He’d been smirking. “Perhaps they can improve him.”)

In short, Lan Qiren had been quite satisfied with Wen Ruohan’s proposed plan. What he hadn’t expected was that Cangse Sanren would take the initiative to add her own twist, which she did by walking straight up to Jiang Fengmian and asking for permission to take his children on a trip through the cultivation world. She’d claimed that the idea had come upon her abruptly and that she hoped that it would build better ties between their families – to allow her Wei Ying and his Jiang Cheng to grow naturally into friends, the way Jiang Fengmian had with her husband Wei Changze, who had not attended the conference.

That absence seemed slightly odd to Lan Qiren, given that Wei Changze had been the one who’d grown up in the Lotus Pier to start with, but he hadn’t had time to question Cangse Sanren on the subject – assuming he even could, given that in truth they were not particularly well-acquainted. One summer’s worth of something combative that could barely be termed friendship, if one squinted, and a few casual greetings in passing since then, an unreturned letter or two…

Lan Qiren’s life had not left him much room for friends, which he now regretted. There were so many times he had let a relationship that seemed ready to grow wither away instead – Lan Yueheng, Cangse Sanren, Lao Nie… He would have to do better in the future. Perhaps this escapade would allow him to regain something of the acquaintance he had once shared with Cangse Sanren, and then he would be able to ask her questions directly, rather than needing to inquire with Wen Ruohan.

At any rate, Cangse Sanren had made the request, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Jiang Fengmian had agreed. Cangse Sanren had then very enthusiastically and very quickly wrangled up both Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng, commandeered a carriage, and driven away from the Lotus Pier without so much as a backwards glance – or any indication that the carriage contained two sets of children, one sitting on the seats and the other hidden in the interior compartments, wrapped in sheets and pretending to be pillows. Her statement to the door guards, that she was traveling with some children entrusted to her, would have made any Lan sect politician proud, being both completely truthful and absolutely unhelpful.

It was only after they’d all already left that it had come out that Jiang Fengmian had agreed to Cangse Sanren’s proposal without consulting or even telling his fearsome wife…and she was not happy about it.

Politeness dictated that, as guests of the Lotus Pier, everyone attending the discussion conference should respect their hosts’ privacy. And they were, even if that meant pretending not to hear the shouting and crashing of items being thrown – but their hosts were certainly not making it easy.

Surely at some point they’d think to put up a privacy screen of some sort…

“I do think that she did it deliberately,” Lan Qiren continued, thinking aloud. “Not just in terms of what she asked to do, but in then leaving without confirming the request with Yu Ziyuan, though she must have known that it would cause Jiang Fengmian no end of trouble. I even understand the logic – the fight between the two of them, which they seem to incorrectly think we cannot hear or perceive, has captivated the attention of the cultivation world. The information about my nephews’ disappearance has thus been held back a little longer. But it seems…not cruel, precisely. But certainly it seems rather cutthroat a move to pull on someone close to you. Wouldn’t you agree?”

When Wen Ruohan didn’t respond, Lan Qiren shrugged.

“I thought you might have some insight,” he explained. “You and Lao Nie – you have something similar, do you not? You are lovers, but I noticed that you are also often at each other’s throats, and not in a way that could be explained through mutually consensual sadism. In fact, that is another thing I would like to understand. Is there some new cause for that? I had not seen you two interact for a while, but I recall that you did not behave like that with each other before – ”

“Could we not discuss this right now?” Wen Ruohan interrupted. His voice sounded strained. “Perhaps – later…?”

“Ah, of course, of course,” Lan Qiren said, nodding in apology, though his remorse was not as genuine as it probably should be. He had been doing it on purpose. “This is supposed to be for you, after all. I should focus my attention more thoroughly. Would you like to finish again?”

“No,” Wen Ruohan said fervently. “Four in one night is enough, thank you.”

“I think you can manage once more,” Lan Qiren said encouragingly, making Wen Ruohan whine and dig his nails into Lan Qiren’s sides in an encouraging way that was far from consistent with his words of denial. “You were the one who wanted me to…hmm, what was the phrase you used – ”

“Your sect has to have some sort of rule against this,” Wen Ruohan complained insincerely. “When I said I wanted you to fuck me into next week, this is not what I meant.”

He would probably try to take Lan Qiren’s head off if he actually tried to stop.

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren reminded him virtuously, then added, perhaps a little maliciously: “But you are correct, there is an applicable rule, I suppose. How does Sect Leader Wen feel about Do not bully the weak…?”

Predictably, Wen Ruohan growled at the suggestion that he was weak, and yet again at Lan Qiren’s suggestion that he really could just stop what he was doing if it was getting to be too much for him. Lan Qiren did put a pause on the conversation after that, at least – he knew that Wen Ruohan enjoyed listening to him talk, which was probably the first time anyone had ever paid him that particular compliment, but also that after a certain amount of exertion and pleasure he found it increasingly difficult to keep up with the strategic analysis that he most liked hearing. It would be discourteous to abuse that knowledge.

Well, more than he already was, anyway.

Lan Qiren hadn’t been lying about wanting to do something for Wen Ruohan. He was grateful, overwhelmingly grateful, grateful enough that it was almost frightening. Wen Ruohan might not have arranged his nephews’ departure from the Cloud Recesses, they had done that themselves – and the mere thought of it was enough to make Lan Qiren’s heart freeze in his chest in terror – but he had found them, and he had swiftly taken action to help Lan Qiren keep them. Even if he was acting in part due to his own motives, which Lan Qiren never doubted, he had still done it, and in so doing, had saved his nephews from whatever foul plan their father had in mind for them.

The rules said Have affection and gratitude, and Lan Qiren would do his best.

“Fuck,” Wen Ruohan said when Lan Qiren coaxed him to finish yet again, his entire body gone utterly limp and relaxed. “Fuck, that was – good. Painfully good. How are you not done yet?”

“I am using my spiritual energy to improve my stamina,” Lan Qiren said. He’d thought it was pretty obvious, but Wen Ruohan gave him a look that suggested he thought Lan Qiren was the insane one of the pair of them.

“That phrasing suggests that in previous incidents you didn’t – ”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought it was necessary before.

“– and also, stamina is only stamina, even when backed with spiritual energy. You still need willpower to direct your actions without being distracted or overwhelmed by pleasure.”

“Willpower is something I am not short of,” Lan Qiren said dryly, enjoying the way the words made Wen Ruohan’s throat work as he swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in a way that suggested that the mind was still willing even if the body was no longer able. “As for the question I believe actually you meant to ask – namely why I haven’t finished yet – I thought you might enjoy it if I kept going after you passed out. If I were to use you for my own purposes and my own pleasure at a time when you were no longer able to resist.”

“…fuck,” Wen Ruohan said, and shut his eyes. “Yes, do that.”

Lan Qiren obliged him.

When he was done, he got up to engage in the necessary clean-up, which included applying healing salve to the myriad of little injuries Wen Ruohan invariably left on him. The other man was unquestionably a sadist, with strong fondness for physical pain – he liked the scratches and bruises he left littered on Lan Qiren’s body, liked inflicting them and liked seeing them later so that he could smirk in reminiscence of having caused them. Mindful of that, and of his gratitude, Lan Qiren purposefully did not seek to fully heal the marks Wen Ruohan had left on his neck, each one purposefully high so that the edges would show even if he wore his most concealing high-collared robes, while being just barely low enough that Wen Ruohan could claim that he’d done it unintentionally.

Normally, it would annoy Lan Qiren, but – well, he was grateful. Let Wen Ruohan have his fun.

The next morning, he rose at his usual time and instructed the servants at the door not to wake Wen Ruohan until he rose naturally. The whole cultivation world had tacitly agreed to jointly pretend that the original postponement of the usual morning meeting to lunchtime had always been meant as a postponement until lunchtime the next day, so as to avoid embarrassing their hosts more than they were already embarrassing themselves and also to provide the Jiang sect disciple scrambling to fix things with a little more breathing room. That meant there was no point in making Wen Ruohan drag himself out of bed early for socialization he already had little to no interest in.

Instead, when his morning routine was done, Lan Qiren dressed himself in the most atrocious of the robes Wen Ruohan had had prepared for him – the ones streaked with bright red suns, similar to the ones the main Wen clan wore, and completed with an embroidered belt in which the subdued black-on-black pattern of clouds was eclipsed by the gold and ruby of the sun used as the clasp in what must be the most unsubtle of metaphors – and went out himself. In truth, he hated the social aspects of the discussion conferences just as much, if not more, than Wen Ruohan did, since Wen Ruohan only disliked making time for those he perceived to be his social inferiors or his competition, while Lan Qiren could have done very well without seeing any of them at all.

But as all sect leaders eventually learned, dislike of an act could not mean disregarding it.

Lan Qiren might not like socializing, no, but he could do it, and he could do it well. He had ten years of knowledge at his fingertips, enabling him to personalize his interactions with each sect leader he met – he knew which ones had recently had children and which ones had married, which ones had had recent success in night-hunts and which ones had had embarrassing failures, knew when to offer congratulations and when not to. He knew to always compliment Sect Leader Huang on his wife and ask Sect Leader Ouyang about his only son, knew to avoid mentioning Tingshan He to Huaitang Wu while always doing so the other way around, knew that a casual reference to the fierce ladies of Chenwei Zhao would make the sect leader of Songdian Zhao panic and yield under almost any circumstances…

Do not embarrass your wife in public, he had written to himself, setting it as a rule and thinking of Jiang Fengmian, and he’d been right, hadn’t he? Support your wife’s family, for they are now your own.

And Lan Qiren…Lan Qiren was grateful.

So he ignored his dislike and even his dignity, and made the informal rounds of visits to the other cultivation sects, greeting who he should greet and snubbing no one he shouldn’t snub. He let them look at him in his Wen sect clothing, Wen Ruohan’s blatant symbol of possession, and equally he let them smirk at the marks on his neck, revealed by the low collar of the robes he’d picked out. He was polite and…well, not charming, he didn’t think he could manage charming, toneless and tactless as he was.

But he could certainly manage to be compelling, implying without saying that Wen Ruohan had made significant plans and that he was aware of them while refusing to share any details. For some sect leaders he put on a concerned look, suggesting that he disapproved of what he had heard but was helpless to do anything about it, while for others he permitted himself an expression of mild satisfaction, as though he had succeeded in convincing Wen Ruohan to do something out of his usual line. In each case, he left the sect leader he spoke with something to think about, something that they would turn over and over again in their minds until they could think of nothing else, until they wanted nothing more than to meet up in groups to speculate with each other about the Wen sect’s next move.

Anyone else seeking to accomplish something at this discussion conference would be hard-pressed to get in a word. Even the return of his brother, which would have otherwise been the main subject of the day, was cast aside as old news, unable to make a dent in the furor.

Because Lan Qiren was grateful, but also because he was spiteful, too.

“I like the outfit,” Lao Nie said to him, eyes curved with glee, when Lan Qiren visited the portion of the main dining hall typically (if informally) set aside for the Great Sect leaders. Lan Qiren’s brother was standing by his side, stonily mute once more. “Very…colorful.”

He was making a comment on the mauled state of Lan Qiren’s neck, Lan Qiren surmised. He had heard similar comments all morning, some far less subtle than others.

“Thank you,” he replied politely. “All credit goes to my wife.”

If he put a mild stress on the word wife, or allowed his voice to be louder than usual so that it would carry, causing the rest of the room to burst out in whispered speculation at the fact that Lan Qiren had said it not once but twice, then it was only a matter of good politics. Everyone would wonder at Wen Ruohan’s intentions, worry about the possible results of his schemes. Their minds and mouths would be filled with nothing but him – just as Wen Ruohan had wanted.

Be your wife’s partner, after all.

And if those very same acts of good politics also happened to make Lan Qiren’s brother’s eyes fill with anger at the reminder that Lan Qiren had taken the insult he’d intended to degrade him and turned it into a source of power instead…well. Lan Qiren had promised himself that he would make his brother live in regret, and he intended to do it.

There would be consequences to his current display, Lan Qiren knew. His brother was quite capable of disregarding their sect’s rule against bearing grudges, and he was both powerful and clever in his own right, however out of practice he might be at the moment. He had been raised by their father to play the political game in ways Lan Qiren had never been, and he had been good at it, those few years he had managed the sect before he had gone into seclusion. He would be thoughtful, and he would be vengeful, and Lan Qiren had relatively little power to resist any retaliation his brother might wish to take in revenge for this slight. Lan Qiren knew too well, as most of the other sect leaders did not, that his relationship with Wen Ruohan was a delicate one, born of cooperation held together solely by mutual interest; he wasn’t anywhere near as favored or as influential as he was pretending to be, and his brother would eventually learn that, even if he didn’t know it yet. There would be consequences.

But now that Lan Qiren knew that those consequences would not fall on his nephews, he didn’t care.

Do not be haughty and complacent, the rules said. He was knowingly breaking that rule, and to knowingly break a rule was worse than an accidental violation – he would require a more severe punishment to correct his future behavior. Possibly even to the point of needing physical discipline, rather than merely reviewing the basis of the rule or copying it out.

(Perhaps Wen Ruohan would enjoy administering it? That seemed likely. And Lan Qiren was grateful…)

“Oh, that reminds me,” Lao Nie said with a smirk that suggested mischief. “Your secret marriage meant that I didn’t get a chance to send a wedding present. Naturally I will have to make up for that. Do you have anything in mind? Or should I just dig through my treasury?”

Lan Qiren grimaced at the thought of yet more priceless items ending up unused in Wen Ruohan’s treasure rooms, swords left to rust and instruments gone out of tune.

“I suspect my new household already has everything that it needs,” he said, then added, dryly, “Though I understand that my wife has always appreciated having a little more land.”

Lao Nie cackled. “Not a chance, my friend. Not a chance.”

“In that case, we will be satisfied with no gifts at all, and your presence at dinner some time.” Lan Qiren glanced sidelong at his brother and added, a little colder and much less sincere, “Naturally, Xiongzhang should also come to visit us when it suits him best.”

His brother smiled thinly. “I would be more than delighted to visit, of course, when you have a chance to settle down. I know how…busy…you’ve been, in the service of your new family.”

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure what his brother meant to imply by that, but it made the smile on Lao Nie’s face fade away into a mild frown, which meant it was probably some sort of subtle insult.

“Half the people I spoke to this morning said that you’d already been to visit them,” his brother continued in seeming explanation, and Lao Nie’s expression cleared up, though Lan Qiren was sure that his brother had actually meant whatever insult he’d initially implied. “Don’t let yourself get worked over too hard, Qiren.”

There was another insult there, which again Lan Qiren couldn’t figure out, but he was more interested in the fact that his brother had also been making the informal rounds of socialization. He didn’t know his brother well enough anymore to be able to determine if he’d done it because he’d had a specific goal, or merely as a means of reintroducing himself to the cultivation world, or else simply because he enjoyed socializing more than Lan Qiren ever had. If his brother had been anyone else, and Lan Qiren still in his position as sect leader, he would have made a point of trying to find out – and he still could, he supposed, though he would have to do it through Wen Ruohan’s means rather than his own. Still, it would mean losing face, having to ask someone else a question about his own brother…

“Sect Leader!” someone called, and multiple heads turned, but it was a Lan sect disciple who was calling. An older one, one of the ones that had never liked Lan Qiren, and he looked worried, rushing forward at an unusual speed to whisper into Lan Qiren’s brother’s ear.

Ah. It is time, then.

Lan Qiren inclined his head to Lao Nie and started making his way away from them. It would be better to appear that he had no idea what was being said before the news came out, if only because his brother would eventually find a way to confront him, presumably in private –

“Qiren, stop.”

His brother’s voice cracked like a whip, drawing attention from the room at large. Lan Qiren pressed his lips together in irritation, wondering if his brother had no care for their sect’s face. Was he really going to confront him here and now, in front of everyone?

Nevertheless, he turned back. “Yes, Xiongzhang?”

“My sons have gone missing from the Cloud Recesses,” his brother said, watching him with a cold expression, and Lan Qiren pressed his lips together further: it seemed that his brother did, in fact, intend to do this here and now. “Do you know where they might be?”

On the road to Xixiang, Lan Qiren thought to himself. Cangse Sanren had mentioned hearing rumors of something there that might be worth night-hunting, a matter of some urgency – it was one of those no-man’s-land regions that lacked a local cultivation sect and therefore relied on the kindness of rogue cultivators like her and her husband. Critically, it was not too far from the Lan sect’s outer borders, meaning that Cangse Sanren would have a plausible (though not especially believable) place where she could have run into Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji that didn’t involve stealing them away from their rightful home, and from there she would make her way towards the Nightless City.

“I do not know where they are right now,” he said, careful to be precise: he didn’t know where on the road they might be, whether they’d gone fast enough to be past the nearest town by now or if they had taken a longer, more circuitous route. With Cangse Sanren involved, it could be anything. For all he knew, she could have decided to go backwards. “Do you mean to say you do not know? Is there any risk that they have been kidnapped?”

Lan Qiren rarely had reason to be thankful for his natural lack of affect, which made others perceive him as being dull and uninteresting, but it was helpful now – he was a poor actor, but no one would question his relative calm or use it as a reason to doubt his sincerity. His brother would suspect him even more, knowing as he did of Lan Qiren’s meltdowns, his fears, his recent emotional instability, but he couldn’t mention any of those, not without explaining why he might think such a reaction was likely. That wouldn’t leave either of them with any face, and his brother cared deeply for his face, even if he sometimes seemed to forget that his sect also had face that he should concern himself with.

That left him helpless – unless he could force Lan Qiren to admit to something.

“Do not tell lies,” his brother said.

“I am not lying,” Lan Qiren said, forcing himself to look at his brother directly, or at least as close as he could tolerate. “Xiongzhang, you know that I would never risk letting my nephews come to harm.”

Even if the harm comes from you.

His brother’s eyes narrowed. He understood the implied message – that Lan Qiren did know where the boys were. More: that his strongest leverage against Lan Qiren had disappeared along with them.

“Qiren – ”

“I think that is enough,” Wen Ruohan said, his powerful voice carrying through the room. Lan Qiren glanced over to look at him: he was standing at the door, with his hands clasped behind his back and that cruel smile he used in public. He’d timed his entrance well, with the late morning sun glittering off the water to frame him and his incredibly strong cultivation was rolling off of him in waves, a display and reminder that he was so much more powerful than the rest of them. “He has already said he didn’t know, and we all know Lan Qiren doesn’t lie. I will not permit one of my people to be baselessly questioned any further.”

He strolled forward, ignoring the way they all gawked at him.

“I assume you will nevertheless want to check my Wen sect’s rooms…?” he said mildly, stopping only when he was standing by Lan Qiren’s side. “You are welcome to do so. You will find no lost children there, but by all means, go ahead and waste your time.”

“I thank Sect Leader Wen for his courtesy,” Lan Qiren’s brother said smoothly, jerking his head in the briefest of inclines before sweeping out the door.

Lao Nie glanced at the two of them with a brief frown of his own, but then opted to head out as well, undoubtedly off to offer his assistance with the search. That was the Nie sect: always willing to fight evil no matter where it might be.

Once they were gone, the room quickly lit up in gossip, everyone immediately seeking out someone else with whom they could discuss this newest twist. And to think that when they’d arrived, they probably thought that they would spend the entire conference talking about the return of Lan Qiren’s brother…

“I heard that you had a busy morning,” Wen Ruohan murmured in Lan Qiren’s ear. When Lan Qiren looked at him, his eyes were shining with barely restrained excitement. “You look – ravishing.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. Tell me, is it the outfit that stakes your claim or the chaos I caused in your name that does it for you?”

“Can’t it be both? Surely I’ve demonstrated the genuine nature of my interest in you by now.”

Lan Qiren snorted. He was quite certain that Wen Ruohan would happily drag him into a convenient bedroom and demand service at this very moment if he thought they could get away with it.

“It was the least I could do,” he said instead. “Have affection and gratitude. You should make the rounds yourself, while you can – if things keep going the way they are, this entire conference will end up getting canceled.”

“Mm, a good point.” A smirk played around his lips. “Perhaps I’ll go check in on Sect Leader Chang to see how Yueyang Chang is settling in. It is their first discussion conference as a subordinate clan of the Wen sect.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes at the other man’s smugness. The plan had worked out just as Lan Qiren had proposed, much to Wen Ruohan’s evident delight, though if he kept tormenting Sect Leader Chang with how badly his scheme to defeat his neighbors had gone, the man was likely to work himself into an aneurysm. Which would make him much less useful to Wen Ruohan!

“What about you?” Wen Ruohan asked. “Do you have more people you want to see?”

“‘Want’ is not the word I would select in this context,” Lan Qiren said with a faint sigh. “And no, not quite. At any rate, it would be inappropriate for me to continue socializing while my nephews are missing, even if, as a member of another sect, it is equally inappropriate for me to assist in the search without permission. However, I am certain that if I remain here unattended any number of my peers will come to express their best wishes on my nephews’ swift return.”

“Your analysis is shrewd as ever, Lan Qiren, but for one thing: you have no peer.” Wen Ruohan’s icy smile briefly curled up into something a little more genuine. “Other than me, of course.”

Of course you would think that, self-absorbed narcissist that you are, Lan Qiren thought to himself, but perhaps a little more fondly than before. Self-absorbed or not, Wen Ruohan had helped him when he had needed it most, and not only once. Have affection and gratitude indeed…

The first few people who approached Lan Qiren only came to fish for gossip, but he repelled them easily enough. The next two after that actually had something interesting to say, though whether they meant to have said it Lan Qiren could not be sure. Potential allies or enemies, in any event, and he noted down their names to share with Wen Ruohan afterwards.

The one after that, though, had a different goal entirely.

“It’s just, you see, you did such a good job with A-Ling,” Sect Leader Xie said apologetically. He was the head of a small independent sect loosely allied with the Lan, but he’d only made a cursory attempt to comfort Lan Qiren over the disappearance of his nephews, focusing instead on his own concerns. “Everything about him has improved: his conduct, his temperament, even his martial skills and cultivation. A-Yi has been immensely jealous, and we’ve been promising him all year that he would get the chance to attend your classes once he was old enough…”

“I intend to resume my classes,” Lan Qiren reassured him. “They will need to be held in the Nightless City, as I now reside there, and as a result I expect to start later in the season than usual, but they will still be taking place.”

Indeed, Wen Ruohan was likely to insist on it.

“The Nightless City,” Sect Leader Xie repeated, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t mean to be rude, Teacher Lan, but…”

“Naturally anyone who comes to my classes will have my personal guarantee of safe passage, as well as the same guarantee from Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren said firmly. He would insist on it, and he thought he was likely to get it – it wasn’t as though Wen Ruohan could run the classes without him. Anyway, Wen Ruohan saw the classes (however incorrectly) as planting seeds for the future, a long-term investment, so he was highly unlikely to risk that future by acting against any of Lan Qiren’s students in the present. “If anything ever happens that makes me doubt that guarantee, I will cancel rather than risk any student that is entrusted to me.”

“Oh, that’s good, that’s good. Very good! As always, Teacher Lan, you are the most reliable!”

Lan Qiren inclined his head and watched with no little bemusement as Sect Leader Xie bustled away back to his preferred clique, saying some words to them that made them all perk their heads up and look over at him like a gaggle of meerkats from some distant foreign land. He was aware, of course, that he had developed something of a reputation as a teacher, but it was rather gratifying to see other people so enthusiastic about the notion of sending him their children…

Lan Qiren shook his head and turned his attention back to politics.

Another five visitors later, his enthusiasm was starting to flag, as he would have expected. The process of politics was seemingly interminable, and the amount of time and effort it took to deal with people was simply exhausting. He was just thinking that he should find his way to a slightly more obscure corner –

“Murder!”

Lan Qiren startled, as did everyone around him, each of them falling silent and wondering if they’d misheard.

“Murder!” someone shouted. It was a panting, panicked disciple in nondescript colors that had clearly just run into the main hall, chest heaving and eyes wide as saucers. “Help, please! Someone’s been murdered!”

Lan Qiren started making his way forward at once, his fingers immediately itching for either his sword or his guqin, but found that he was making no headway. Everyone else was still staring at the disciple blankly, as if trying to understand how something like that could have happened here, amongst all of the cultivators, and when all of them were unarmed, too.

“I’m telling you, someone’s been murdered…!”

Lan Qiren gave up on subtlety and started forcing his way through the people in his way. It was rude, but it worked: the crowd parted before him as soon as they noticed him, the smaller sect leaders instinctively deferring to a Great Sect leader, even though he wasn’t one any longer.

“Who has been injured?” he said sharply to the panicked disciple, and when that didn’t work, added, “Show me. Where are they?”

The disciple led the way outside, where a number of people were already gathering, muttering to each other. There was the smell of blood in the air, mixing unpleasantly with the flowers and water, and when Lan Qiren finally made it through the crowd, he found that its source was a middle-aged man in a green robe, splayed out on his belly in a puddle of his own blood, half-in and half-out of one of the Lotus Pier’s many pavilions. Several people were already kneeling next to him, helping turn him over.

He looked – familiar.

“It’s Sect Leader Pei!” someone shouted, recognizing the man at exactly the same moment Lan Qiren did. “Wangdu Pei!”

Sect Leader Pei? Why is that name familiar – Oh no.

Oh no.

“But who would want to hurt him?” The whispers had already started. “He didn’t have any enemies. Wangdu Pei is a subsidiary sect of Lanling Jin. Who would dare?”

And then, inevitably, as Lan Qiren had already known they would –

“Didn’t Sect Leader Pei get into a dispute with Sect Leader Wen? He did, didn’t he? Yesterday, at the morning meeting, he called out the former Sect Leader Lan for where he was sitting. Sect Leader Wen was angry, you saw him, you saw his face. He wanted to hurt him…he wanted to kill him…”

Lan Qiren gritted his teeth and ignored the whispers, kneeling beside the body and pressing one hand to the man’s neck, the other to his nose, seeking breath. Abruptly, he flashed back to being in a similar position with He Kexin’s body, all her once-prodigious beauty rendered abruptly hollow, spelling the beginning of so much horrible change.

For a moment he found it hard to breathe.

And then he felt something under his fingertips, something that had been absent with He Kexin, and that brought him back to himself.

“He’s not dead,” Lan Qiren said. No one heard him, they were too busy gossiping. This was why his sect had set Talking behind others’ backs is prohibited as a rule.He raised his voice to his best schoolteacher’s bellow: “Listen to me!”

Everyone fell silent and looked at him.

“Sect Leader Pei is not dead,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “There is still a pulse, and breath. Someone go fetch a doctor at once.”

No one moved.

“Is he really not dead?” Someone unseen hissed. “Or is Teacher Lan just covering up for his lover…?”

Lan Qiren was about to retort that Wen Ruohan was his lawfully married wife, not a lover, when he was interrupted once more.

This time, though, it wasn’t a verbal interruption. Rather, a sudden sense of tremendous pressure suddenly came crashing down on him, on all of them, knocking half the sect leaders still standing down to their knees and making the rest stagger. It felt as though the weight of a mountain had abruptly settled down on their shoulders. The force of it curved their shoulders from the strain, crushing their chests and lungs, making it impossible to draw air –

“I would offer my own services,” Wen Ruohan said pleasantly from the doorway to the main hall, looking out at all of them in the reverse image of how he had entered the same hall not long before. “But for whatever reason I don’t think they would be properly appreciated, despite my sect’s fame in medicine.”

He had his fingers up in a gesture not unlike a pinch, with a small round fleck of black smaller than a grain of rice rotating rapidly in place like a spinning marble, held between his thumb and middle finger.

Lan Qiren had never seen anything like it before. What was that…?

Wen Ruohan pinched his fingers a little closer together, causing the immense pressure to momentarily tighten – Lan Qiren felt as though he were drowning – and then brought them together in a swift snap that shattered the sense of heaviness all at once, freeing them from the terrible weight.

Lan Qiren inhaled sharply, drawing in air to fill his screaming lungs once more, and he wasn’t the only one to do so. He still didn’t know what it was that Wen Ruohan had just done, but he was tremendously grateful that it was over…and also, retroactively, that none of them had actually managed to succeed in truly angering Wen Ruohan, that ancient monster of the cultivation world.

He turned his head to catch Wen Ruohan’s gaze and nodded at him in thanks, as that had been a very efficient – if perhaps excessive – way of getting everyone to stop gossiping. Wen Ruohan smirked in response, inclining his head and spreading his hands by his sides in a subtle silent bow as if he were a performer that had just finished pulling off a particularly magnificent stunt of sleight-of-hand.

Ridiculous man.

“There must be a doctor somewhere,” Lan Qiren said loudly, trying to focus on what was important. Human life takes precedence. “Yunmeng Jiang must have some on retainer. Has someone sent a disciple to summon them?”

Luckily, it turned out someone had, and a few moments later three of them arrived, each one holding their medical kits. With Lan Qiren and Wen Ruohan both glowering at everyone, a path was swiftly opened up for them, and soon enough they were crouched around Sect Leader Pei, wielding acupuncture needles and bitter-smelling poultices and bandages and the like.

Lan Qiren took the opportunity to retreat, heading back to Wen Ruohan’s side. He had to speak with him as soon as possible – and privately, if they could manage it.

Unfortunately, that would be difficult, given all the people around them, many of whom were still eyeing them both suspiciously. But it was necessary, and urgent. He had to tell Wen Ruohan what people had thought when they’d seen Sect Leader Pei lying there, what they had suspected, who they had suspected…

Only Lan Qiren wasn’t quite sure how to manage it.

Leaving the scene together would only be deemed even more suspicious, and at precisely a moment in which it was absolutely vital for them to avoid increasing the already tense atmosphere; it was impossible. But neither was there some easy way to simply draw Wen Ruohan aside for a quiet word. It wasn’t as though Lan Qiren could just walk up to him and whisper in his ear…

Ah, no, wait. They were married. There was no reason he couldn’t.

Lan Qiren matched action to thought at once, arriving at Wen Ruohan’s side and leaning his head in close as if he were trying to kiss him on the cheek. Wen Ruohan reacted at once, reaching out one hand to wrap around him and pull him in closer, as if into an embrace, his second hand reaching up to cup the back of Lan Qiren’s head and draw him in close the way a man might to comfort a shaken loved one, cooperating with the illusion almost as if he knew what Lan Qiren were trying to do.

“Someone is trying to frame you,” Lan Qiren hissed into his ear.

To his surprise, Wen Ruohan snorted.

“Do not laugh. This is serious, take it seriously. I am entirely in earnest.”

“You always are,” Wen Ruohan murmured back, voice low. “But to jump immediately to framing…you recall that you haven’t seen me all morning, do you not? Who’s to say I wasn’t the one who did it…?”

Lan Qiren pulled his head back and gave Wen Ruohan his best glare, though he kept his voice quiet. “I told you to be serious. Naturally you did not do it! Others may doubt it, more fool they, but I know that you are neither insane nor an idiot. Even if you did intend to kill him, why would you do it now, when it serves none of your interests and would only harm your sect’s reputation if it were known?”

“An excellent point,” Wen Ruohan said. He was smiling, his eyes curved with good humor rather than dead and cold. “You’re entirely correct, as usual. I did not kill him, and I am being framed.”

“I know that. I said that. That is how I started this conversation. The question is what to do about it – ”

“Sect Leader Wen.”

Lan Qiren turned, drawing away from Wen Ruohan as he did. It was Jiang Fengmian who had called, a look of solemn neutrality on his face. Behind him were Lan Qiren’s brother and Jin Guangshan, the latter tapping his fan against his palm, and a few steps behind them was Lao Nie, lingering by the pavilion with Sect Leader Pei with a frown on his face and his hand resting on the hilt of his famous saber Jiwei.

Four Great Sects, joined together to face down the Wen, which as always stood alone.

Well, not quite alone, Lan Qiren amended. He put his hands behind his back, grounding his stance and making it quite clear from his posture that he had no intention of going anywhere.

Jiang Fengmian drew to a halt in front of where Wen Ruohan and Lan Qiren were standing.

“Sect Leader Wen,” he repeated, and raised his hands to salute respectfully. “There have been certain questions raised that I request that you answer, if you are willing. If you would come with me…?”

There was a dangerous smile playing at Wen Ruohan’s lips, though for once Lan Qiren could not sense his usual rage at anything even remotely suggestive of a challenge to his authority – on the contrary, he seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood. Lan Qiren had no idea why that might be, given that he was blatantly being schemed against.

Though perhaps that was it. Lao Nie had once remarked to Lan Qiren that Wen Ruohan did not seem to overly mind betrayals provided that they were conducted with sufficient style, evaluating them the way an aesthete would fine art. Lan Qiren had found the notion strangely sad, which Lao Nie had not understood and which he had never been able to explain, not even to himself.

“I would be more than happy to accompany my gracious host and provide whatever assistance I can,” Wen Ruohan said smoothly, causing a good three quarters of the room to exhale in relief at the realization that no wars would be starting today. “Lead the way, Sect Leader Jiang.”

Jiang Fengmian bowed a little and turned, with Jin Guangshan and Lan Qiren’s brother both stepping to the side to allow him to pass.

Lan Qiren glanced at them, wondering if he should go as well, but Wen Ruohan caught his eye and shook his head lightly in refusal. Lan Qiren inclined his head back and left him to follow Jiang Fengmian alone, although as they entered the pavilion Lao Nie turned and joined them – a little shameless of him, but then again he was notoriously shameless. Not to mention quixotic enough that no one would be able to guess whether he’d joined in order to be on Wen Ruohan’s side or against him.

Perhaps that was why Wen Ruohan hadn’t wanted Lan Qiren to come along. If he had, it would have given his brother the opportunity to do the same, and they knew that he wasn’t on their side.

Though, now that Lan Qiren thought about it, it was something of a surprise that Jin Guangshan hadn’t insisted on joining the interrogation himself. Wasn’t Wangdu Pei one of Lanling Jin’s subordinate sects…? Surely he would have a vested interest, and even if he didn’t care about his own subordinate sect, he certainly could have plausibly claimed to –

“I wouldn’t have expected such an unseemly display from you, Qiren.”

Lan Qiren stiffened when his brother came to stand next to him. “I am not sure I know what you mean.”

His brother hummed, though it was barely audible, the room having erupted into conversation once more, everyone rushing over to talk with their friends and allies and occasionally even enemies if they thought they might have something worth saying. Jin Guangshan in particular was standing at the center of a large circle of people, fielding questions with his usual slimy smile. Presumably that was a greater draw than the interrogation.

“Only that you have always seemed so detached from worldly pleasures. Who would think that once you were married, you would be shamelessly hanging all over another in public…” Lan Qiren stiffened in outrage, and his brother chuckled in a low voice. “Ah, but you are the expert on the rules! Naturally I don’t need to remind you. Though perhaps a refresher would be in order on Do not be promiscuous…”

“We are married,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth, instead of objecting the way he would like to the lurid mischaracterization of his actions, which were nowhere near to what his brother seemed to be implying. It was pointless, and would only make his brother laugh at him even more. “I am certain I do not need to remind you that it is a husband’s duty to ensure his wife is satisfied – ”

He choked at the sudden burst of pain in his abdomen, staggering back in surprise. He stared up at his brother in shock: had he just hit him?

His brother was looking down at him, unconcealed wrath twisting his features into something ugly. He stepped closer, lifting his hand once more…

There was a burst of laughter from the door, deep and compelling and distinctive, immediately identifiable to Lan Qiren despite how rarely he heard it. Everyone else seemed primarily confused, perhaps wondering who would be laughing at a time like this, and all together turned to stare at Wen Ruohan, who was leaning against the railing of the walkway next to the pavilion and laughing loudly with his head thrown back.

“No, no,” he said, lazily waving his hand at Jiang Fengmian. “Please go on! Tell me more! Yes, of course, when you put it that way, it couldn’t have been anyone but me, could it? Everyone knows that I am hot-headed and passionate, always the first one to act irrationally for the sake of…what was it again…”

“Love, I think,” Lao Nie drawled. He was visibly rolling his eyes.

“Oh, yes, of course. That.”

Lan Qiren would be amused by the sheer dripping disdain in Wen Ruohan’s voice – certainly it was doing an excellent job of getting the rest of the room to abruptly realize that they’d been too caught up in the moment to actually think about how unlikely it was that Wen Ruohan, of all people, would be sufficiently moved to action by an insult to Lan Qiren – but his brother had caught him by the wrist and was squeezing tightly enough that it felt as though his bones were grinding together.

“How very shameless you are, Qiren,” his brother hissed, and Lan Qiren had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sound of pain when he felt something give way in his arm. “Shameless and spoiled, with your so-inflexible righteousness scarcely hiding the rot of your hypocrisy. How many losses will your lover be willing to bear, do you think, before the cost of you begins to outweigh the benefit…?”

Lan Qiren stared at his brother, realizing what that must mean. “Do you mean you were the one who – ”

“I didn’t do it!” someone cried out, yet again drawing the attention of the gathered group to where the investigation was continuing. It was poor Sect Leader Xie, that little rabbit of a man that had promised his A-Yi the chance to attend Lan Qiren’s classes. “I mean – I know – I was there, yes, but I didn’t do it! I didn’t even see anything!”

“That’s a little implausible,” Lao Nie pointed out reasonably. He’d obviously stepped forward to be the lead investigator for the matter. “You’re saying a man was attacked only a few steps away from you and you missed it? Because you were, what, looking the wrong way?”

“But I was!”

Lan Qiren tore his arm away from his brother, mind working furiously to try to find a way out of the present crisis. His brother had all but admitted to him that he had been the one to orchestrate the framing, but no one else had been paying attention, and he was unlikely to be willing to admit it where anyone else could hear it.

His aim had undoubtedly been to create trouble for Wen Ruohan, and Lan Qiren could see how it would. Even if Wen Ruohan managed to deflect actual blame for the attack, as he was so ably doing, people would still associate the incident with him later, upon retelling, and the Wen sect was not yet so powerful that it could afford to ignore public opinion completely. It made sense, as a countermove: Lan Qiren had been flaunting Wen Ruohan’s power, so his brother attacked and diminished that power…

Worse – it would cost his brother nothing he deemed of value to cover up his own involvement.

Only a single small independent sect, not even a subsidiary, set up to be the perfect scapegoat.

And Wen Ruohan would take the bait and accept that conclusion, of course. Why wouldn’t he? Even if Lan Qiren could get to him in time to tell him who had actually committed the crime, having someone conveniently there to take the blame would minimize the harm that any rumors would do to the Wen sect’s standing or to Wen Ruohan’s own reputation. People would be more inclined to talk about who’d actually done the crime than who had been merely suspected of it, whereas if the culprit were not found, Wen Ruohan would remain the likeliest option. Forcing Sect Leader Xie to bear the blame instead, regardless of whether he was genuinely guilty or innocent, was the obvious next step – it made perfect logical sense, perfect political sense.

It was wrong, against all principles and morality, but since when did Wen Ruohan care about that?

“Lao Nie,” Wen Ruohan suddenly spoke, his powerful voice easily overriding Sect Leader Xie’s sobs. “Be careful. You are on the verge of insulting me.”

Lao Nie blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected interruption. “What? How’s that?”

“Sect Leader Jiang, our gracious host, has already said that he believed it was me at fault.” Wen Ruohan shrugged in a grandiose fashion and smirked. “And didn’t I already admit it? Turning around and accusing another like this…it’s almost as if you doubt my word.”

“Hanhan, you were being sarcastic.”

“Says who?” Wen Ruohan waved his hand. “You have as little evidence that it was him as you do that it was me. Anyway, Sect Leader Pei isn’t even dead. Just call it a friendly accident and let us move on – surely we have better things to do. We haven’t even had lunch.”

Lao Nie protested, but Jiang Fengmian was already nodding in agreement, clearly all too happy to wash his hands of the entire incident, and there were fervent murmurs of agreement already rippling through the crowd. It seemed that all of them had had enough excitement for the day.

Sect Leader Xie even stopped crying, seemingly realizing that he was being spared. He looked poleaxed, as if he didn’t understand exactly what was happening but nonetheless overwhelmingly grateful for the unexpected reprieve.

For his part, Lan Qiren stared at Wen Ruohan, wondering what in the world had gotten into him.

There was no benefit to Wen Ruohan in speaking up to spare Sect Leader Xie, nothing at all; it was pure loss for him, for both him personally and his sect more generally. A small loss, to be sure, but a loss nonetheless, and a loss that could be laid squarely at Lan Qiren’s feet – moreover, it was a loss Wen Ruohan could have reduced to almost nothing, effortlessly, and yet chose not to. Why…?

Wen Ruohan turned and caught Lan Qiren’s gaze from across the room. His cold smirk widened, very briefly, into a smile, and he winked, startling Lan Qiren and making him stare even more blatantly. And then, once he was sure he had Lan Qiren’s attention, Wen Ruohan once again inclined his head and very subtly spread his hands out beside him in the most minute of gestures – the same gesture he had made earlier, a silent bow, smug, like a performer having done a trick he thought the audience would like.

He’d done it…for Lan Qiren?

Not for his own benefit, not for any calculation, but rather just…just to please him.

Because he’d noticed Lan Qiren’s distress at the wrong person carrying the blame for something they did not do. Because even if Wen Ruohan didn’t care about what was good and what was right and certainly not about someone as irrelevant as Sect Leader Xie, Lan Qiren did.

And Wen Ruohan, it appeared, cared about that.

…oh, Lan Qiren thought, unsure of why his stomach suddenly felt beset by butterflies, a strange anxiety he hadn’t felt even when his brother had been threatening him – and then abruptly not unsure at all. Oh, no.

He knew exactly why he felt the way he did.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #qingheng-jun #my fic #my fics #Megafic #:D #happy over 100k everyone

[motimatcha]

Characters: Urd, Rigr, Ky Luk.

Warning: yandere.

Mention: murder, possessiveness, violence, manipulation.

Aggressive yandere.

- He killed your parents, friends and even acquaintances before he took you to his place. Ky doesn't feel guilty about this.

- Any vampire and person is perceived by him as an aggressor who wants to encroach on his property. But he does not show open aggression towards vampires, unlike people who have forgotten their place.

- He rarely takes your opinion into account, only if he is in a good mood. At such moments, he often gives you some expensive gifts or talks about how in some year he killed a human / vampire.

- It's too tight a hug, even if he tries to control his strength so as not to break your bones. Bruises from his fingers are often visible on your body.

- Scares you with promises that he will kill anyone you talk to or make you suffer for the rest of your life. Ky allows other vampires to be rude to you in public, because he likes the way you run to him with tears in your eyes and not go further than a meter (if another vampire goes too far, then no one will see him the next day)

- Ky says he has a set of rules for you, violation of which will lead to punishment. In fact, he sets the rules himself, and if he just doesn't like what you do, Ky will say about breaking the rules.

"I love you so much that I want to kill you."

Yandere manipulator.

- He rarely uses violence or open threats.

- Rigr is too smart and strong for you to escape his supervision. It's also complicated by the fact that he keeps you in the lair of the Hakuya sect with hundreds of vampires subordinate to him. Nevertheless, Rigr will get rid of anyone who wants to somehow harm or disfigure you.

- He perceives you more as his beloved pet and only then as an independent person. He also buys a lot of clothes that are beautiful in his opinion, with an open neck, shoulders, collarbones and wrists.

- By his actions, deception and manipulation, he made you abandon your family in his favor. Rigr put everything in such a way that they are against your relationship and do not understand that you have sincere love for each other.

- He has better control of his strength. Rigr also knows where to push, so that there are no traces left, but it was very painful.

- To keep you alive, he turned into a vampire, but gave very little blood, which is why your strength is not much more than an ordinary person. Rigr wants you to stay close to him as long as possible, but at the same time cannot escape.

"Just think, what could be so special about being an ordinary, worthless person? Shouldn't you be grateful to me for saving our love?"

Calm (protective) yandere.

- Most likely, Urd entered into a marriage contract with your parents, or, if events take place after the apocalypse, he simply took you to his place as a personal servant.

- He is very tenacious and tactile, especially after a long day of work or separation. Urd deliberately leaves his fingerprints on your body because he likes the way it looks.

- Urd makes expensive gifts for good behavior. First of all, he bought you an expensive collar, where his and your name are written, the address where to bring you.

- It would be better if you were still a child when Urd took you, because that way you get used to him faster and you will trust him more than others.

- There is a set of rules that you must not be broken in any case, no matter how much he loves you. Perhaps you will have chances to justify yourself and if you are really innocent, and you were persuaded / forced / deceived, then Urd will kill the real culprit after a while.

- You are forbidden to leave the residence without Urd, an escort, or Ky Luk, who is simply not interested in you. Other vampires are forbidden to talk to you for long.

"My love, don't get me wrong, but it's too dangerous outside. I can not lose you."

#owari no seraph x reader #ky luc x reader #rigr stafford x reader #urd geales x reader

[drwcn]

“Discordance” Chapter 7 Updated! 

[Read on AO3] or below the under cut! :) 

It is brighter than usual when he rolls over in bed and grumbles into his pillow. Wei Wuxian pulls the edge of his blanket closer to his chin and wiggles a little in the warm cocoon he has wrapped around himself. Unwilling to subject himself to the reality of daytime just yet, he breathes in the calming sandalwood scent lingering on his pillow and sighs in contentment.

Wait.

He blinks awake, brows furrowing as the cogs and wheels in his mind begin to grind against the heaviness of sleep. Though sandalwood is a rather common incense used by Cloud Recesses, Zewu-jun prefers aloeswood.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes fully, turns over onto his back, and stares at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Where…where the hell am I?

This isn't Hanshi.

…

…This is Jingshi.

Jingshi?!

"Shit!' He shoots up, twisting this way and that as he takes in his surrounding. There, over by the center vestibule is Lan Wangji's writing desk. Scrolls painted by his preferred artist from the previous dynasty hang along the wall on the opposite side of the room. By its side is Wangji, Lan Zhan's guqin.

Fuck.

Definitely Jingshi.

"Lan Zhan?!" Wei Wuxian calls out, but receives no response.

How did I end up here? What happened last night?

His hand shoots to the front of his chest and he is relieved to find that he still has all his clothes on. Only his shoes are removed. Phew. Alright, so that means nothing nefarious happened, but gods, judging by the height of the sun it must be way past sunrise. People would be looking for him soon. In fact he is pretty sure he is supposed to meet with Uncle after breakfast to discuss - to discuss - gods he can't remember. If anyone catches him in Jingshi like this, in Lan Wangji’s bed no less -

- oh he is dead, dead!

The sheer gossip would be enough to kill him.

"Fucking hell," Wei Wuxian curses under his breath, pulling on his boots and trying to comprehend why he has such a headache.

It is almost as though he is hungover -

Hungover.

Emperor's Smile.

Oh, that's right -

 ~~~

 "Er-gongzi's birthday?"

It is on the return journey from their gruelling, two-week long night hunt that Wei Wuxian learns of this news from his senior disciples. They are about a day's trip away from Cloud Recesses, and due to exhaustion, have collectively decided to stay the night at a comfortable inn rather than camping out in the outdoors like they were forced to do during the most intense interlude of their hunt.

Ever thrifty, Wei Wuxian has planned well for their trip and so their funds are in excess. The team, composed of five senior disciples and two of their most-well trained juniors, are sent on a semi-classified mission by Zewu-jun and the Elders to investigate strange sightings reported by subsidiary clans in their border lands.

"You are not to speak of this to anyone outside of those in-the-know, understand?" Commanded Wei Wuxian when he rounded up his charges at the end of their hunt, standing over the remains of fierce corpses littering the forest floor.

"Understood, Wei-jun."

They've done well, and Wei Wuxian is all about rewarding where rewards are due. Tonight would be their last night out before returning home, so he orders a round of hearty dinner for their group of eight. Three of the disciples just about cry when Wei Wuxian takes pity on their stomachs and orders them chicken AND pork. They aren't within the confines of Cloud Recesses, so technically speaking, they are allowed to eat meat.

As their food is served, one of the seniors scoops a large spoonful of braised pork into his bowl of rice and says, "I was complaining initially that we'd miss Hanguang-jun's birthday and therefore possibly the best meal of the year, but this more than makes up for it."

His friends hum in agreement, but the conversation lulls as they dig hungrily into their own bowls.

Wei Wuxian, however, is more interested in this tidbit than eating. "It's Lan Z…er'di's birthday?"

"Yeah, three days ago," says a junior, carelessly violating the 'silence while eating' rule. "Tang-shen'er in the kitchen used to be Er-gongzi’s nanny, or wet nurse - uh, something like that - and she always makes the best dishes on his birthday. Of course, everyone at Cloud Recesses eats the same thing, so naturally, we all benefit." (note: Tang-shen'er = auntie Tang. The difference between shen and yi is that shen = wife of a younger uncle, yi = mother’s sister. They are both ways to say auntie.)

The boy grins, biting down into a honeyed chicken thigh. "But thank you for indulging us, Wei-jun. I haven't had meat in months."

Wei Wuxian nods, "I see…"

He feels wrong-footed. Lan Wangji is arguably his best friend since coming to Cloud Recesses, his companion, his confidant, his person. That he didn’t even prepare a gift of some kind, or a well-wishing message, or even had knowledge of his birth date is downright criminal. He estimates that Lan Zhan, the good, hardworking Lan-er-gongzi, probably doesn’t even notice his own birthday coming and going each year. The Lans are notoriously austere in this way.

Normally, Wei Wuxian would be confident that Lan Xichen would dote on his little brother, but even that's not guaranteed this year since Zewu-jun became embroiled in this nasty fierce corpse business. Uncle Qiren on the other hand hardly seems like the type to be celebratory and indulgent, which is probably why the kitchen cook of all people is remembered by the disciples as the one person who makes an occasion of it.

This is absolutely unacceptable.

Wei Wuxian sighs, something twisting unpleasantly in his stomach. Lan Zhan ought to be the happiest on his birthday; he is the best of people, and if anyone deserves it, he does. The little fuddy-duddy probably thinks nothing of it, that’s just the kind of person he is, but as his self-appointed bestfriend, Wei Wuxian cannot in good conscience let it go. It is a faux-pas that must be corrected upon his return.

His gut response, true to his Yunmeng upbringing, is to sneak some alcohol into Cloud Recesses for a little bit of private celebration. Sadly, alcohol is still forbidden, and it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Lan Zhan would go for.

"Zhanggui'de," Wei Wuxian waves down the innkeeper. "What non-alcoholic beverages are available and popular at your establishment. Surely not all customers order alcohol.”

"Ah, yes sir, quite right sir. Plum cider is an extremely popular drink in this region, especially in the winter. Would you and your party like to try some?" 

Plum cider? Hmm, excellent!

Wei Wuxian pays for enough to go around the table, using his disciples as unwitting test subjects. The taste of it is tangy and tart on his tongue, but it goes down smooth and leaves a pleasant aftertaste. Not bad indeed. The disciples think so too.

This is perhaps as close to plum wine as any of them is going to get.

A plan formulates in his mind. Wei Wuxian nods happily at another round of thanks he receives from the disciples and begins plotting. That night, while the disciples sleep off their weariness, Wei Wuxian gets down to work. The next morning, he leads the team home.

They arrive at Cloud Recesses a bit before dinner. Lan Xichen is away on another meeting with Jiang Fengmian and Nie Mingjue, thus leaving Wei Wuxian to report the findings of the night hunt to Lan Qiren. Lan Wangji is present as well, much to his delight.

"All went as expected?" The Second Jade of Lan inquires quietly upon seeing him, which is as verbal as he would ever get with his well-wishes. It is the equivalent to a good-to-see-you hug that Wei Wuxian is used to receive from Jiang Cheng. 

"Not quite," replies Wei Wuxian, but he grins nonetheless. "But I'm back now."

He is positively giddy with anticipation for what he has planned, but first, business.

"We tracked the fierce corpses into Lanling's territory, along its southern most region where our jurisdiction crosses that of the Jins and the Wens. That was where we encountered a group of patrolling Wen disciples." Wei Wuxian gestures at the map laid out on Uncle's desk. "They were led by Wen-zongzhu's second in command, his shidi, Wen Zhuliu -"

Lan Qiren frowns at the name, his gaze sliding surreptitious to Lan Wangji, an odd reaction which only Wei Wuxian catches.

"You know of him, Uncle?"

Lan Qiren clears his throat and shakes his head. "No, but I’ve heard of him some years ago."

Wei Wuxian gets a strange sense that the usually no-nonsense man is not entirely the truth. Lan Wangji does not seem to notice.

"What happened next?"

"He did not offer assistance but assured us that any issues within Qishan's territory would be dealt with by Qishan Wen and requires no further interference from external forces."

Lan Qiren considers this silently, stroking his beard. "Yes, their land is vast and has supervisory offices set up throughout their territory. Qishan Wen's disciples are diligent and trained. If the fierce corpses escaped into their land, we do not need to worry. Wen-zongzhu is a sensible man; he would deal with it accordingly."

"Is Wen-zongzhu still reluctant to join forces with xiongzhang, Nie-zongzhu and Jiang-zongzhu?" Lan Wangji inquires, his suppressed frustration leeching into his speech.

Over the last couple of months, he had witnessed how his brother slaved over this issue which grew by the day. That there are still sect leaders out there able to sit back and watch Lanling's ambition unfold is unfathomable. Truthfully speaking, Lan Wangji can admit to himself that he does not have the best head for politics, but the inaction of others on an issue the solution to which seems obvious to him often elicits feelings of frustration he cannot temper.

Wei Wuxian lays a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Jiang-shushu often told us that the Wens are physicians first and cultivators second. They do not concern themselves with the politics of others. Wen Zhuliu may have been curt, but not unkind."  

Qishan Wen are a private people, and the man who leads the sect - Wen Ruotian – is in possession of a clear mind and a level head. Under him, Qishan is stable and prosperous and able to withstand pressures from outside forces, especially that of the Chief Cultivator Jin Guangshan. Wen Ruotian has two children, his heir Wen Ning, and an elder daughter Wen Qing, neither of whom Wei Wuxian has ever seen in person. Wen Qing is younger than his shijie but older than Jiang Cheng and himself, so even when she had come to Cloud Recesses to study, they did not have occasion to meet. Wen Ning is younger still than all of them, and has never been known to leave Nevernight.

Lan Qiren folds his hands behind his back. "You did well, Wuxian. I will relay this information to Xichen. Unfortunately, he has gone out to meet with Sect Master Nie. He might return later tonight or early tomorrow. Rest now. You've been gone for days. We'll see you at dinner."

“Yes, shufu.”

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji bow, sensing that they are being dismissed. Together, they make their way out of their uncle's study.

"Hey, Lan Zhan -" Wei Wuxian whispers under his breath, tugging on Lan Wangji's sleeve furtively just as Lan Qiren suddenly remembers something else and calls out to him,

"Oh, Wuxian, I meant to ask -"

Wei Wuxian drops Lan Wangji's sleeve immediately and spins around too quickly with too bright a smile. "Yes Uncle."

What are you doing? Don't act suspicious, you weren't doing anything wrong!

Then why is his heart pounding so fast, like a child whose hand is caught in the pastry jar.

Thankfully, Lan Qiren does not seem to notice. Rather, he clears his throat, a sign that he is feeling somewhat awkward at what he is about to say. "I don't mean to pry, but as your elder it is my responsibility to ensure that you and Xichen are well. You are…well, yes? I know Xichen isn't often home, given how things have been, but things are going…amiably for you two, yes?"

What Lan Qiren is really trying to ask - and what Wei Wuxian is mortified to realize - is whether he and his husband are having an amorous marriage, to which the answer is no, absolutely not. Lan Xichen has not so much as attempted to kiss him since their wedding night. It's been terribly disappointing - not to mention a blow to his confidence.

But it's not like Wei Wuxian can very well tell Lan Qiren that Lan Xichen is treating him like a trophy husband in the sense that he is literally left to collect dust on the shelf.

"Everything is great, Uncle, please don't worry. There's no concern. Zewu-jun - ah, Xichen - is very kind to me, very caring."

Behind him, he can feel Lan Wangji's eyes boring into his head. Wei Wuxian maintains his smile. This isn't lying, not at all. Lan Xichen is indeed very kind to him, always courteous, always gentle. He just keeps him at arm's length, even when they lie right next to each other at night. 

Lan Qiren, however, seems satisfied with his response. "Good. Good."

Wei Wuxian bows again and quickly makes his escape before Uncle could think to ask any more uncomfortable questions.

Lan Wangji, who is aware of his situation, waits until they are both way out of earshot before stealing a glance his way. "Wei Ying…"

"Don't start, Lan Zhan, not today." Wei Wuxian shakes his head. "I'll be fine. Besides, I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Um hm!" Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, pushing all negative thoughts aside. "Don't eat too much at dinner. Knowing you, you probably won't, but… leave some space for later, alright?"

Lan Wangji frowns in confusion, "But why?"

"You'll see."

 ~~~

 Truth be told, Wei Wuxian is exhausted. He'd been up most nights the last two weeks keeping the disciples safe, and when everyone else rested last night, he had spent his time preparing Lan Wangji's surprise, which he really hopes his friend likes.

After dinner, Wei Wuxian makes his way towards Jingshi, a lightness in his steps and anticipation fluttering in his chest. Lan Wangji is waiting for him on the front porch, watching the snow that has just begun to fall again. Sesame and Coconut (Zhima and Yezi) - the two bunnies Wei Wuxian rescued before New Years lie curled up in his lap. The black one, Sesame, is currently having his fur stroked and is having the time of his life.

Wei Wuxian pauses at the gate of Jingshi to admire the view for a moment (it's not weird to admire your brother-in-law). Lan Wangji truly lives up to his name, as beautiful and elegant and pure as jade.

As if sensing his gaze, Lan Wangji looks up and offers a quiet greeting, "Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian hurries his steps and trots up to his friend and brother-in-law, depositing three individually wrapped packages in front of him before taking a seat on the veranda. "Sorry, did you have to wait long? I came as quickly as I could, but an elder wanted to talk to me about the night hunt."

Lan Wangji passes the dosing white bunny Yezi to him and says, "No matter. For Wei Ying, I'll wait."

Wei Wuxian laughs, lifting Yezi to nuzzle against his soft fur and earning him an affectionate sniff from the sleepy creature. Lan Zhan is such a funny odd man. An absolute treasure.

"I hear you have a title now. What did the Elders pick as your ‘hao’?"

"Hanguang."

"Han. Guang. Hanguang-jun. The light bearer. Hm, apt, very apt indeed. Lan Zhan is good and righteous, our very own light bearer, the pride of all Gusu Lan." Wei Wuxian reaches out with one hand and pats the other man on the head, half in jest.

"Wei Ying. I am not a child." Lan Wangji pouts in response, much to Wei Wuxian's delight. He is almost too easy to tease.

"No? But A-Zhan is my xiao-shuzi, my husband's baby brother."

"I am older than you are."

"Only by a couple of months. And besides, what is the old saying again? 长兄如父，长嫂如母. Oldest brother is like father, oldest sister-in-law is like mother; well, as your oldest brother-in-law, technically I am your elder!"

His words only cause Lan Wangji's glower to intensify.

Wei Wuxian laughs delightedly some more. "Aiyo, alright, alright! I take it back; I take it back!"

Despite his rascal ways, Wei Wuxian has never been much of an accomplished liar and cannot hold up his pretense for long, especially when the subject of his teasing is glaring at him with such an adorable pout. (The back of his mind gives a rattle of alarm, wondering when has he begun to think of Lan Wangji, this stubborn boring fuddy-duddy, as adorable. However, he does have long to dwell on that thought before his conscious mind gives it a firm shove back into the subconscious, or at the least, stalling it in the mental space of procrastination, to be pondered upon later.)

"Hm." Lan Wangji lets out an aggrieved huff and turns away from him.

Wei Wuxian softens, leaning forward to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Lan Zhan, all kidding aside, I am glad for you… and proud of you too, if I may be so bold as to assume that I have earned the right to be. Hanguang suits you well. And…I do mean it honestly, Lan Zhan, you are the best of us."

Warm eyes flick up to look at him in surprise, and Wei Wuxian smiles in return. He does not understand those who think Lan Wangji cold and unexpressive. Sure, he may not say very much, but this idiosyncrasy does not make him unfeeling. Even from the early days, Wei Wuxian could tell that Lan Wangji is in fact very opinionated, and everything he does not put to words are expressed with those lovely, almond-shaped eyes. Wei Wuxian cannot claim to be able as adept at reading him as his brother Lan Xichen, but he has grown to appreciate this strange but wonderful man more and more with each passing day.

Life at Cloud Recesses is not what he thought it would be, it's true, and if he says that he doesn’t have regrets, he would be lying. Yet, for all that things have not turned out the way he had hoped, and all that his marriage is not what he dreamed for himself, Wei Wuxian cannot regret that Lan Wangji is now a part of his life. As it is, he can hardly imagine his days without his Lan Zhan and knowing this about him scares him more than he cares to admit. That he now refers to Lan Wangji as "his Lan Zhan" in his mind...well, he doesn't think too hard about that either. 

"I mean it, Lan Zhan. Your brother is tremendously proud of you, and I know there is no one he would rather have succeed him than you.”    

"Thank you, Wei Ying." Ears tinged pink, Lan Wangji averts his eyes and brings his gaze down towards the packages set between them.

Wei Wuxian drags himself out of his melancholy and changes the topic because he can do something he can't take back. "Well, are you going to open it or just stare at it?"

"What is in these?" Lan Wangji tilts his head curiously. There is something about him in moments like these, relaxed, unguarded, and young, that evokes an unspeakable urge inside Wei Wuxian to make him smile.

His treacherous heart gives a little jump. "Why don't you open them and find out?" 

The tips of Lan Wangji's ears darken even more, if that’s even possible. Carefully he unwraps the packages, revealing three different kinds of osthamus pastries. “Wei Ying…”

“I would have made these myself, but I have been told by various disciples that what I make is utterly inedible and close to torture. I know they cannot replace your mother’s osthamus cakes, but I hope you like them.”

Wei Wuxian pushes the first package closer towards him and says, “These are from the town we went to for the night-hunt. There is this little old granny with a pastry stall right outside the inn where we stayed, and she sold these 桂花千层酥 (puff pastry with osthamus filling). Gosh are they good, flaky, and not too sweet. And then I remembered Yunmeng has our own osthamus cake - 藕粉桂花糖糕 - made with lotus root paste -"

" - You went to Yunmeng?"

"Huh?" Wei Wuxia blinks, then chuckles nervously with a sheepish scratch of his head. "No, but I sent courier to Lotus Pier last night, and Jiang Cheng had our fastest disciple deliver fresh ones to Caiyi Town just before dinner." He grins, waving his hand carelessly and dismissing the fact that he had used his sect connections for the sole purpose of expediating food delivery to Lan Zhan from across their regions. "Anyways, speaking of Caiyi town - of course, I couldn't forget your personal favourite, the traditional osthamus cake that Zewu-jun says you only allow yourself to have on special occasions.”

Lan Wangji takes a breath, a Lan precept already on the tip of his tongue. "One must not overly -"

"- indulge, yes, I know, I know, but this isn’t over-indulgence, it’s a special occasion! One only turns twenty once! Now you are truly an adult! " Wei Wuxian picks up a piece of the flakey osthamus cake and holds it out. "Have a taste!"

What happens next should have alarmed both of them, but Wei Wuxian only looks on with joyous anticipation as Lan Wangji leans forward and takes a delicate bite of the cake straight from his hand. Dark lashes flutter close against pale cheeks as he savours the taste quietly, giving in to this one moment of indulgence.

Wei Wuxian does not realize he has been holding his breath until he opens his mouth to speak again. "Is it - is it good?"

"Mn."

"You got a -" He hesitates, one hand hovering in the air, as he aborted the urge to go any further. "Uhm, you've got -"

Realizing his intention, Lan Wangji subtly swipes at the corner of his lips with the tip of his tongue, attempting to get rid of some of the sugar clinging there.

"It's still - uhm - here let me -"

It's not that he doesn’t know that if anyone were to walk in now, this would look very bad indeed, but it is as though some vicious force has possessed and overtaken his self-control. Wei Wuxian reaches out and brushes the sugar crumbs from the corner of Lan Wangji's mouth with his thumb, stroking his bottom lip in the process.   

Lan Wangji's eyes widen in shock, but he does not pull away.  Instead, he holds still and allows Wei Wuxian to finish.

"There. All decent."

Decent? A voice that sounds suspiciously like Jiang Cheng comments in his head. Is there actually anything decent about what you just did?

"Wei Ying.…” A warm hand catches his own.

Wei Wuxian lets him. “Happy birthday, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian! This time, the voice belongs to Madam Yu. This is your xiao-shuzi! What are you doing?! 

He pulls away. “Ah, right then! Onto part two!”

He pretends he doesn’t hear Lan Wangji sigh.

“There is…part two?”

"Well, of course! Everything comes in threes. You didn't think I was going to slack off on your birthday, did you?"

From the depth of his qiankun pouch, Wei Wuxian pulls out two ceramic jars. "Shh, don't tell Uncle."

"Alcohol is forbidden." Lan Wangji frowns.

"This isn't alcohol. It's plum cider," explains Wei Wuxian as spiritual energy flows from his fingertips, golden light coalescing into runes and talismans in thin air, wrapping around the shiny brown ceramic in his hand. Within seconds, gentle steam begins to ascend from the rim, carrying with it the fruity aroma of the beverage within. "Hmm, doesn't that smell lovely, Lan Zhan? I know nothing beats our Emperor’s Smile, but this is very delicious as well. No alcohol, I promise.”

"But what’s that one.” Lan Wangji points to the white ceramic jar that Wei Wuxian purposely neglects to explain.

"Ah…haha yes.” Wei Wuxian pushes the white jar behind him, attempting to protect it. “Alright, you caught me. This one is Emperor's Smile. I …couldn't resist. You won't tell, will you?”

There is at least 50% chance that Lan Wangji will spoil this night and make him copy lines. He is the disciplinary officer of Cloud Recesses after all. But even if Lan Wangji opts to punish him for breaking the rules, Wei Wuxian would not change any part of his current plan. It’s Lan Wangji’s birthday, and for just this night, they should be able to have to a good time. And if that means Wei Wuxian gets planked in the morning for it…well, so be it.

 Lan Wangji lets out a sign of resignation. “Just this once.”

He picks up the warmed bottle of cider just as Wei Wuxian pop open the cork of his Emperor's Smile. Two ceramic jars clink quietly in celebration. 

Worth it indeed.

 ~~~

 Wei Wuxian smacks himself on the forehead.

Emperor’s Smile! Fuck me!

So he may have drunk more than he should last night. But it really wasn’t his fault. He only had one jar. One! Back in the days, one jar could hardly get him started, but he hasn’t drunk a single drop of anything remotely alcoholic in almost a year, except on his wedding day when he was tipsy at best. Even before coming to Cloud Recesses, Madam Yu had banned alcohol for him, insisting that it was “practice” for when he eventually marries into the Lan family.

Man, living with the Lans is seriously making me lose my edge.

What happened after we started drinking?

Right, he had set off the firework talisman – the product of his all-nighter. The talisman was designed to ignite lights like dancing firebugs and butterflies, lingering in the snow-covered garden as though it were the height of summer. Everything had worked out perfectly. Lan Zhan had smiled…

Good…good he liked it.

But what happened next?!

Wei Wuxian wracks his brain, but he just can’t recall the details. He hadn’t slept properly in almost a week, constantly on the look out for danger and keeping the disciples safe. And on their last night out, he stayed up till dawn working on the firework talisman. Then he had made the brilliant decision to drink…

Of course he was gonna get fucked up! He should have anticipated this!

Fuck’s sake, what does it matter now? The rice is cooked. I need to find Lan Zhan and ask him –

Because for him to end up in Lan Wangji’s bed, under the covers, boots off, tucked in, means someone had to haul his dead-ass into Jingshi and put him there. It’s probably Lan Zhan, which is fine, because you know, they’re friends, and this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Alright so he got drunk, which means he might be sentenced to some unpleasant disciplinary action, but he’s a big boy, he can deal with it –

Wei Wuxian heads to the door of Jingshi, ready to flee from the scene of the crime. No - not scene of the crime – because there was no crime. He merely slept over. It was an accident! Nothing happened between him and Lan Zhan, nothing at all –

It’s not like they slept together in the same bed – I mean – it’s not like they shared a bed. No, Lan Wangji would never do that.

But if I slept here…where did Lan Zhan sleep? This is his residence, where – where could he go? Did he…did he…sleep next to me?

I have to get out of here.

Wei Wuxian yanks open the doors and runs headfirst into Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen.

Zewu-jun. The Sect Master of Gusu Lan.

His lord and husband.

Shit.

“Zewu-jun!” Wei Wuxian feels a rock drop to the pit of his stomach. “It’s not – it’s not what it looks like! I didn’t – last night – I – “

But Lan Xichen is smiling. He holds up a calming hand. “Wuxian, it’s alright. Wangji already told me everything.”

Behind his shoulder, Wei Wuxian catches sight of Lan Wangji standing there.

“He…told you?”

“Yes.” Lan Xichen walks into Jingshi as if nothing is wrong. “Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses but seeing that you did it in spirit of celebrating Wangji’s birthday, I’ll let it slide this one time.” Then, inexplicably, he winks. “Just don’t tell Uncle.”

“O-Oh, yes, thank…thank you Zewu-jun. I…ah,” Wei Wuxian scratches the column of his nose, feeling so thrown by the turn of events that it seems almost like an out-of-body experience. “I may have imbibed a little too much. I…I fell asleep. Sorry, Lan Zhan –”

Shit!

Nobody calls Lan Wangji ‘Lan Zhan’, and up until this point, Wei Wuxian has taken care to always refer to him as ‘er-di’ or ‘Wangji’ in front of other people and especially in front of Uncle and Lan Xichen. 

Lan Wangji too, tenses at the familiarity of Wei Wuxian’s address.

Yet, Lan Xichen merely chuckles. “Well, I’ll say. Emperor’s Smile is a very strong liquor indeed. Drink more cautiously next time yes? Or else, my poor little brother will have to sleep on the floor again.”

Wei Wuxian's blush intensifies. So Lan Zhan slept in the same room, but not on the bed. Thank the sky and the earth…   

“You know, I’m so pleased that you two have gotten along so well.” Lan Xichen continues to say. “It’s about high time that Wangji makes some friends his age.”

“Xiongzhang.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t tease.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to gawk. Everyone knows the Twins Jades are close and that Lan Xichen’s brotherly affection for Lan Wangji can only be rivalled by Nie Mingjue’s tolerance (read: indulgence) for Nie Huaisang’s plethora of shenanigans. But even so, Wei Wuxian could not believe the man could react so nonchalantly to his own husband waking up in his little brother’s bed.

Though perhaps…perhaps it’s not so much that Lan Xichen overly trusts and indulges his little brother, but rather that he doesn’t care at all for the man who is his husband.

Ones simply does not become jealous over something that does not matter to oneself.

The thought makes him cold.

“It’s good that you are both here,” Lan Xichen gestures for them to take a seat around the writing desk. “We have much to discuss. Jin Guangshan has finally revealed his ambition.”

The world is big, and Wei Wuxian is just one man. One boy really. That Lan Xichen has other priorities should not surprise him. He is small compared to all that Sect Leader Lan carries on his shoulders.

“Zewu-jun, is it really… the Yin Iron?”

Lan Xichen nods solemnly.

If he cannot earn his husband's affections, then he will have to settle with being useful. Wei Wuxian can do that. He can be useful, and that starts with tucking away his childish hurt. “How can we help?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on him.

He does not see.

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #discordance #corie fics #im sorry this took like half a year #are there even ppl still reading this haha damn

[imaginaryelle]

Fic: And One He Writes Himself

(also yesssss. \o/ headcanon, but even though everyone blames wwx for the new rules, lwj going off script 100% freaked the clan out way more and imo would make the clan elders far more likely to chip out some more lines on the wall than anything wwx could do alone, lol)

@vera-invenire​​, here it is! Thanks very much for the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing for it :D Many thanks also to @morphia-writes​​ and @miyuki4s for their wonderful beta work, you are all awesome people.

Tags: CQL-verse, Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji, Wangxian, five times fic, pining, getting together, first kiss, long distance relationship (with meet-ups)

Length: ~6k (AO3 link here!)

**

1: Do Not Use Clan Techniques Inappropriately

*

To His Excellency, the esteemed Chief Cultivator, Hanguang-jun, the letter begins.

How will you ever know which letters are mine if I start them so formally? I promise, I promise, never again. Forever onwards you will be only Lan Zhan in letters, no matter what I have to write on the address.

But Lan Zhan, did you know? I’ve heard the most outrageous rumor lately. It’s the talk of traveling merchants and wine houses everywhere that you used the Lan Clan silence spell during the last cultivation conference. On every sect leader! Lan Zhan is so cruel. How could you do such a thing—and not invite me to see it? A baker in Yingchuan said Sect Leader Ouyang turned redder than his robes, and that Sect Leader Yao risked his throat and mouth still trying to speak. I’m tempted to call on Jiang Cheng and extract a full account from him, but we’d probably only fight again. Especially if you used it on him, too! Perhaps Jin Ling will be more accommodating for his long-lost uncle. Can I even think to trust a version of the tale from our dear Sect Leader Nie? I’m sure he managed to keep his voice unhindered, sly fox that he’s become.

It looks as if the rain is letting up, so my caravan will be leaving soon. I’ve heard all my life how beautiful Kuizhou is and now I finally have the time to visit. Have you seen it? I’ll send sketches of the landscape in my next letter; if you’ve been, we can compare notes, and if you haven’t perhaps they’ll help you decide if the rumors are true. For now, I can only offer this picture of your Gusu mountains. Think of it as a promise that I’ll come see them again someday.

Yours,

Wei Ying

P.S. I know you won’t tell me the story yourself, but I plan to beg you for it anyway. A tale like this is too good to keep behind your lips.

Lan Wangji reads it twice, committing the ebullient flow of Wei Ying’s writing to memory. The drawing is inked in a looser hand than he remembers from portraits and rabbits so many years ago, but he recognizes the landscape as the ridge on which they bid each other farewell, as seen from the trail towards the Qingling mountains.

He sets it to the side, smooths it carefully, and tries to take up his work again. The Jin Clan’s collected accounts of the last twenty years are neatly stacked before him, the white-gold bindings gleaming in yellow lantern light. He even manages to open one before his mind flits away, following the swooping energy of Wei Ying’s brush strokes into the night. He puts down the ledger, snuffs out the lantern, and stands. Perhaps he will check on the rabbits before curfew.

There is no announcement to go with the new rule listed in the main courtyard; it simply appeared on the Wall one morning, and then in all the library copies on the day after. But rumor swirls, of course, even in this place where gossip is prohibited. Perhaps especially here, behind white-and-blue sleeves in the juniors’ classes and through barely-moving-lips in the crafting, sword and music halls. As seems to be happening ever more frequently in the past few months, the name on the wind is Hanguang-jun.

Lan Wangji walks the wide, wandering paths between the back mountain and the Jingshi with the crisp folds of Wei Ying’s letter pressed between his yi and hanfu, over his heart. “Inappropriately” is a qualifier with more leniency than he is used to hearing from the Lan Clan elders. He wonders, with a sudden surge of surprise, if they are just as unsettled by and unprepared for his appointment to the position of Chief Cultivator as everyone else. Or perhaps it is simply that they have all attended more cultivation conferences between them than he ever wants to imagine. He can’t be the first Lan to have such an impulse. Loudly proclaimed falsehoods are, after all, exactly what the silencing spell was created to counter.

Yes. He is secure in his judgment. He has no doubts.

If the Sect Leaders cannot restrain themselves to speaking the truth, they will not speak to him at all.

*

2. Do Not Bother the Kitchen Staff

*

It’s supposed to be a surprise. A good surprise, for Wei Ying’s first visit to Cloud Recesses since Lan Wangji’s appointment as Chief Cultivator. He’s been working on it for weeks, ever since he received the letter declaring Wei Ying’s intent to visit for Qixi: he knows that Wei Ying’s greatest complaint about Cloud Recesses is the food, and so he will make certain Wei Ying has at least one meal more fitting to his tastes.

He knows it’s foolish, wishful thinking, but the idea that if he could just fix this one thing Wei Ying would stay has snuck into his mind, and so he purchases dried chilies and their oil from Yunmeng and spicy peppercorns and ginger from Caiyi, and rises before five every day for two weeks so that he might visit the kitchens and learn enough to prepare something simple.

If the kitchen staff are curious about his presence, they never let him see it. Li Jing seems pleased enough to teach him—stern and exacting, but never cruel—and pronounces the dishes of hot clear noodles, freshly pickled mushrooms and spicy tofu soup Lan Wangji produces “acceptable,” which is the highest praise she ever gives anyone. He makes them again the afternoon Wei Ying arrives, so that they will be ready for the evening banquet. He leaves a preservation talisman over the tray, and a note: For Wei Wuxian’s Return.

He doesn’t have time to check on it again. Wei Ying arrives like a spring storm, wild and sudden and casting the quiet paths of Cloud Recesses into disarray. He flits here and there like a blown leaf, greeting Lan Sizhui with an enthusiasm that violates at least three Clan principles before teasing Lan Jingyi with familiar humor and then complaining aloud—and loudly—that the rabbits still don’t like him. Never once does he venture further away than the reach of Lan Wangji’s shadow, and rarely even so far as that, but it is still not quite enough to quiet the tangled threads that pull and knot in Lan Wangji’s center. The press of paper against his chest is a habit born of a new kind of waiting, and now that Wei Ying is here, in front of him, the warmth it brings is more distraction than comfort.

Evening comes quickly, sweeping over Cloud Recesses with a cool, creeping fog and painting the mountain peaks in lively shades of red. Wei Ying tips his head back to watch a pair of cranes fly overhead and Lan Wangji watches the tilt of his mouth as he smiles and the line of his neck as he turns and waits.

He would have preferred a private dinner in the Jingshi, where Wei Ying might pair his special meal with his favorite wine and there would be no audience to comment on a lingering touch of fingertips as the cup passed between them. But it is not to be: his uncle is eating alone to aid his recovery after several days’ work refreshing the outer wards and his brother is still in seclusion, and so it falls on Lan Wangji to be present in the main dining hall for the evening meal.

Wei Ying pouts at this revelation but he joins the crowd without much protest—with so little in the way of objections, in fact, that Lan Wangji is certain he has some small rebellion in mind. As he is a single note of black and red in a chorus of white and blue, whatever it is is sure to be noticeable, but perhaps the food will be distraction enough. It is at least different from what Wei Ying has been served in Cloud Recesses before. Different enough that he frowns at it, and then opens his mouth to speak before he catches the slight shake of Lan Wangji’s head: silence during meals. Instead he fishes a whole dried pepper out of his soup for inspection and shoots Lan Wangji a questioning glance. The look of glee on his face when Lan Wangji nods is so captivating that Lan Wangji hardly even looks at his own portion before he starts eating.

It’s not that he doesn’t notice the unexpected added spice; his mouth burns after the very first bite, but Wei Ying’s surprised pleasure is worth any momentary discomfort. Even if it means he can’t actually taste most of the meal. It’s only when Lan Jingyi makes a faint choking noise that he realizes anyone else’s food has been affected. He can see the moment Wei Ying notices it too—his lips curl in like he’s clamped them together with his teeth trying not to smile, and his eyes widen even as he determinedly doesn’t look at anyone. Lan Wangji keeps his own eyes lowered as he examines the room. He is abruptly thankful that his uncle is not present, but many of the other elders are not so lucky. Several have already gestured for more tea or rice, an action that quickly ripples through the attending juniors as well.

The prohibition against talking during meals has never felt so smotheringly present as in this moment, watching faces turn red behind fiercely-clutched cups of tea. It’s Lan Bai who stands from his table and glares at Wei Ying, his face transformed more with emotion than the spicy food. He doesn’t speak—silence during meals—but he flaps his sleeve derisively and starts to sweep contemptuously past them, and Lan Wangji knows he will go straight to the Grandmaster, and then to the Sect Leader if he is still unsatisfied, because he always does. It will be an unpleasant waste of everyone’s time and an unnecessary stress on both of them because Lan Wangji already knows this incident is highly unlikely to repeat itself. It can only have happened at all in Li Jing’s absence, which means she has been called away earlier than expected for her grandchild’s birth in Caiyi.

“Do not be picky about food,” he reminds Lan Bai, and even the clicking of chopsticks stops in the wake of it. Lan Bai looks so affronted that for a moment Lan Wangji thinks he will actually argue the point.

Anything that might have been said is promptly forgotten as Wei Ying hurriedly stands and runs from the hall. He makes it just outside the doors before laughter bursts out of him, loud and joyous and likely audible to the whole of Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji holds Lan Bai’s gaze. He will not have this falling on Wei Ying’s shoulders, and he is no longer just the Second Jade of Lan, too young and too-headstrong, who spends too much time away from home. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lan Sizhui nudge Lan Jingyi, and both pick up their chopsticks. Slowly, the normal sounds of dinner resume, if with a great deal more tea than usual. Slowly, Lan Bai manages a rather stiff bow and excuses himself without further dramatics.

After he’s gone Wei Ying returns, mirth still spilling from every movement. He finishes his meal without speaking but it’s clear, as cultivators file out of the hall in silent rows, that he has plenty to say.

“That was—” He laughs again in the quiet of the Jingshi. “Lan Zhan, I can hardly believe someone so righteous as you would do such a thing. And to so many at once! Do you know how many times I tried to get into the kitchens when I was a student here?”

“It was unintentional,” Lan Wangji admits as he pours wine into Wei Ying’s cup. The incident is, in retrospect, rather reminiscent of a childish prank, and he should not be surprised to learn that Wei Ying might have planned something similar. “My preparation of your portion was not meant as a general instruction.”

Wei Ying accepts the cup with a soft brush of fingertips and a grateful smile, and then stills with it halfway to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan.” He sets the cup down with a sharp click. “Are you—Lan Zhan you made that? You—” his gaze drops for a moment and then he slides around the corner of the table to sit beside Lan Wangji instead of across from him. “You cooked that? For me?” His eyes are very wide, all traces of humor gone.

Lan Wangji hesitates, his fingers curling deeper in his sleeves. Perhaps his confidence was misplaced.

“Was it unpalatable?” he asks, because of course that’s possible. He hardly knows what the dishes are supposed to taste like to someone who actively enjoys them.

“It was delicious,” Wei Ying assures him. He reaches out with both hands and finds Lan Wangji’s fingers, and then his wrist. “Perfect.” He laughs, the sound a little watery. “I can’t believe—” he squeezes Lan Wangji’s hand, “—no one’s cooked just for me since—” he breaks off and turns away. His breath shudders through his frame.

Lan Wangji turns his wrist and links Wei Ying’s fingers through his own. This is perhaps not the reaction he hoped for, but he is hardly unfamiliar with the ways grief can lie in wait to ambush the most vigilant of minds.

“Sorry.” Wei Ying’s grip tightens. He manages to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes before ducking his head again, his chin tucked to his chest. “Sorry, sorry, this is—I don’t know why I—”

“It is alright, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji guides his head back up and wipes the tears from Wei Ying’s cheek with his sleeve. “I’m here,” he promises. For you, always here for you, goes unspoken, caught somewhere deep in his chest.

Wei Ying’s face crumples. “Lan Zhan,” he says, the syllables half strangled on a sob, and he leans first into Lan Wangji’s shoulder and then sinks lower, until his head rests on Lan Wangji’s forearm above their joined hands, and he cries. It is not a particularly comfortable position, but Lan Wangji does not protest, even when Wei Ying’s tears soak through his sleeves to dampen his skin. He is, for a moment, at something of a loss for what to do. A faded memory comes to him of another night in this room, so long ago it’s more feeling than image: his mother’s soothing warm hands on his back and soft humming above him. And then another memory: Lan Zhan, won’t you sing for me echoing back at him from two decades passed.

He strokes Wei Ying’s shuddering shoulders, and he hums, soft and soothing, and he holds Wei Ying’s hand until he quiets, wrung out and limp with exhaustion.

Tomorrow he will rise early and prepare another meal for Wei Ying’s breakfast, shuttered away from curious eyes and open judgment. Tomorrow there will be music, and stories of mountains and rivers they never saw in their youth. Tomorrow they will walk the paths of his home side-by-side, and visit Little Apple and the rabbits, and he will watch Wei Ying revel in the afternoon sun. Tomorrow, together, they will build a lantern and release a promise to the heavens.

Tonight, he unbinds Wei Yings hair and combs it smooth with long, slow motions. Tonight he guides Wei Ying carefully to the bed and removes his boots and sees him settled under the blankets. Tonight he holds Wei Ying’s hand in his own and sits vigil against any specters of memory or dream that might come to haunt him, and for tonight—for tonight, that is enough.

*

3. Do Not Be Overly Affectionate in Public

*

“Pssst. Wei-qianbei.”

Wei Wuxian stops, much to Little Apple’s annoyance, and lets one hand slide down to Chenqing as he inspects his surroundings more closely. Cloud Recesses’ main gate is just around this bend in the path, and sometimes he thinks the donkey might be looking forward to their arrival even more than he is.

“Wei-qianbei.” A flash of white on the mountainous side of the path reveals Lan Jingyi, stumbling down to meet him with Lan Sizhui at his side and a gaggle of other young Lans in his wake.

“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian greets Lan Sizhui with a grin, “and so many upright young Lans. Whatever could you all be doing outside your own warded walls?”

Lan Sizhui steps forward. “Wei-qianbei,” he says with a bow, proper as anything, “before you meet with Hanguang-jun, there’s something you should see.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips, considering. “How many rules are you planning to break with this venture?” he asks.

“Um. None.” Lan Sizhui looks back at his companions and then nods firmly. “It’s actually the Wall of Discipline we want to show you.”

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue in disappointment. Youthful creativity squandered once again. “Really, A-Yuan, don’t they teach you Lans anything about negotiations? This proposal is not at all appealing to me. I’ve seen enough of those rules to last a lifetime. Or two.”

“We know that.” Lan Jingyi folds his arms over his chest and smiles like he has something to be smug about. “But we think you’ll want to see this one.”

Hm. There’s a bit of cunning in Lan Jingyi’s expression that Wei Wuxian must admit is refreshing to see in a Lan. And he’ll have to walk past the rules anyway, on his way to the Jingshi. It can’t really hurt to take a look.

“You see?” He gestures at Lan Jingyi. “This is much more intriguing. Take note.” He ponders for another moment, then nods. “Alright,” he agrees, nudging Little Apple back into motion. “But it had better be quick.”

They get some curious looks from the cultivators on gate duty, and it takes some time to get Little Apple settled, but soon enough they’re in the main courtyard, staring at the engraved hunk of rock that dictates so much of life in Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian isn’t certain what he’s supposed to be looking at. Yes, there’s a new rule: Do not be overly affectionate in public. He’s just not certain what was so important about it to merit a special visit.

“It was added months ago,” Lan Wangji says, appearing at his shoulder. “Shortly after your departure.”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, searching for some hint of what he’s supposed to be understanding here. Lan Wangji is doing his best impression of an implacable jade statue, which generally means he’s having some very pointed thoughts indeed. Wei Wuxian leans in to jostle his shoulder and gets a faintly amused deepening of the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth in response. Success.

“How long was that, a few breaths?” Lan Jingyi asks to their right, too-loud as ever. “A count of ten?”

“I’m not certain that breaks it,” Lan Sizhui says, softer, “You’ve never been punished.”

That prompts Wei Wuxian to watch Lan Wangji more closely, waiting for confirmation or denial. But surely not. Surely they couldn’t mean...

Slowly, ever so slightly, Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Wuxian stares at the characters so carefully etched into the rock and struggles to contain his laughter.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, trying to hide his snickering behind his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, they can’t be serious. This sounds like they think I’m going to ravish you in the central courtyard.” It’s a joke. Very much a joke. He would happily ravish Lan Wangji in private, of course, if he could ever be certain Lan Wangji was interested in such pastimes, but—

“It’s not you they’re worried about,” Lan Jingyi says, though his smirk slides off his face almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Lan Wangji’s gaze settles on him for a moment, until Wei Wuxian draws his attention back by tugging at his sleeve because that—that doesn’t make sense.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Is this—this can’t be about Qixi. Can it?”

Lan Wangji looks away. The tips of his ears are turning pink.

“It is?” Wei Wuxian thinks hard, but he can’t remember anything from his last visit that would be drastic enough to prompt a new rule as a response. He frowns. “But we only built a lantern together. Building a lantern is hardly debauchery in public.” Even if it had felt like a bit more than just building a lantern at the time, with the mix of hope and nostalgia rising in his chest.

“Wei Ying is shameless,” Lan Wangji observes.

“I was a perfect gentleman!” Wei Wuxian protests. Well, alright, perhaps he had been overly touchy in his affection for Lan Sizhui. Or overly loud, at least. And there had been, admittedly, several moments where he’d had to to sternly restrain himself from kissing Lan Wangji in full view of all his elders and students. He had restrained himself precisely because he hadn’t wanted to spend the precious after-dinner hours of the festival writing lines or banished to kneel somewhere as some sort of penance. And also because even he wasn’t so shameless as to subject his first kiss to such a display. What if he did it wrong? Getting it wrong in front of Lan Wangji would be bad enough, but the whole of his clan as well? It hardly bears thinking about.

And yet, Lan Jingyi had said…

Wei Wuxian does have some well-worn memories of that time, of Lan Wangji’s steady presence at his side and the jumping, choking pulse of hope and want thrumming under his skin. There had been moments. When Lan Wangji plucked leaves out of his hair after an afternoon’s game with some of the younger Lan disciples. When their hands had touched over and over and over again as they built their shared lantern. The way Lan Wangji had looked at him after they’d released it. The mornings, when Lan Wangji presented him with breakfast made especially for Wei Wuxian, and the evenings too, when they played together, sharing songs both old and new, or simply sat together in easy quiet with a cup of Emperor’s Smile passed between them: one to pour, one to drink, fingers brushing. Moments when he’d thought—maybe that kiss was going to happen.

Maybe Lan Wangji had thought that too. Maybe—maybe he was waiting for Wei Wuxian to move first, maybe—

“Lan Zhan.” He reaches for Lan Wangji’s sleeve again. Lets his fingers slide down to linger on Lan Wangji’s own.

Lan Wangji turns, just slightly. Just enough to actually be facing him. There’s a quickly muffled noise to their right, which Wei Wuxian resolutely ignores.

“Lan Zhan,” he repeats, softer. “I really… I really do like you.” He shifts closer.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s fingers clench around his hand, and Wei Wuxian squeezes back.

“I like you so much,” he says, “and I wish...” He drops his gaze to Lan Wangji’s lips. “I wish...” His words dry up. All he can do is squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand tighter and stare at him and hope that—that his intent is clear. That Lan Wangji… understands and—

And then Lan Wangji is kissing him, moving their linked hands up to Wei Wuxian’s jaw and holding him still with Bichen pressed against his side and kissing him, and Wei Wuxian suddenly remembers the rules—rules Lan Wangji is breaking! For him!—and their audience, and he can’t stop the blush that burns on his face and neck but he’s not going to stop kissing Lan Wangji either.

“That definitely breaks it, right?” Lan Jingyi says in a whisper that is likely louder than he thinks it is, and Lan Wangji pulls away.

Wei Wuxian, embarrassingly, whimpers a bit, which turns into a only-somewhat aborted exclamation of surprise as Lan Wangji turns and starts dragging him along in the general direction of the Jingshi.

“Lan Zhan!” He jogs a little to keep up. He wonders how many rules they are breaking now—they’re not exactly running, but they’re certainly moving faster than usual. He’s definitely making noise. Is kissing someone still an impulsive act if he’s spent months and months thinking about it? And he’s quite certain that anyone looking at his expression, at least, would mark him down for “excessively happy” because the smile he’s wearing feels like it’s been stamped onto his face.

“Lan Zhan!” He stops in the Jingshi’s doorway and clings to the wall a little and waits for Lan Wangji to look at him along the taut line of their still-joined hands.

“What is it?” Lan Wangji’s voice is unexpectedly flat, and his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens as his eyes drop to that point of connection. As if he is perhaps afraid Wei Wuxian will try to slip free now.

“I just wanted to say, it is an honor to break the Lan Clan rules with you.” Wei Wuxian’s grin widens as Lan Wangji’s gaze narrows. He loves that glare so much. So, so much it feels like emotion is going to burst out of him like a breaking dam. “And,” he adds, gleeful and almost giddy, “I’m happy to help you break that one again any time you like.”

There is a moment of considering silence.

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji allows, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips, and Wei Wuxian steps over the threshold and lets himself be pulled in like the moon pulls the tide—surging, crashing, and eternal.

*

4. Do Not Speak to Wei Wuxian

*

There is a new rule on the Wall of Discipline. Lan Wangji glares at it, which has little effect except to make his lover cling to his sleeve and laugh at him.

“Unjust,” Lan Wangji mutters. The rule has, admittedly, come in the wake of three separate disturbances to the Lan Sect’s calm, quiet existence, but Wei Ying is not to blame for them. If anything, it had been Lan Wangji himself who asked his young students the question: Who is just, and who is evil? Who is wrong and who is right? Who decides what is black and what is white? And how will you tell the difference outside these walls? 

Just because Wei Ying is present in Cloud Recesses does not make him responsible for disruptions, even if he does take a certain amount of glee in watching such debates unfold.

Wei Ying’s glee is currently threatening to completely undo him as he collapses under the force of his own humor, more and more of his weight coming to bear where he holds Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps, laughing enough to be hardly intelligible, “this is my favorite rule.”

Lan Wangji steadies him and waits, patiently, for an explanation. There usually is an explanation even if it is not always something Lan Wangji himself would consider reasonable or logical. Wei Ying tries to speak three times, each instance interrupted by a fresh peal of laughter before he finally heaves a few calming breaths and stands straight.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes, “with this rule, any time your uncle yells at me, he must break it. And the other elders! How will they punish me for talking at meals and running in the courtyards if they can’t speak to me?”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. “Ridiculous,” he says.

Wei Ying smiles, wide and exuberant. “Yes, yes, yes, so many of your rules are ridiculous,” he agrees, which is not what Lan Wangji meant, but he is well familiar with Wei Ying’s opinion in this matter. “But Lan Zhan,” he continues, “this one is silly. If only speaking to me were such a danger then you, you! Hanguang-jun, the Second Jade of Lan, the Chief Cultivator! You would be entirely beyond hope.” He shakes his head, incredulous and dismissive. Matter closed.

The implication, Lan Wangji is certain, is meant to be that he is obviously still an upstanding member of the Lan Clan, committed to its principles. This is true, but is perhaps truest in Wei Ying’s eyes, and in his own self-perception, rather than that view belonging to his Clan’s elders; Lan Wangji’s interpretation of the rules differs from his Uncle’s, and he knows the friction that causes is unlikely to resolve itself quickly. And then there are the rules he breaks willingly, repeatedly. The rules he is breaking right now, standing here with Wei Ying without attempting to hide either his affection for the man before him or his critique of an elder’s decisions. Speaking to him, as is apparently now prohibited. Lan An’s principles—and his exceptions—are well known to the Lan Clan elders, but Lan Wangji is still certain his ancestor would be much more forgiving of his transgressions than his living relatives are.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying leans into him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you want to know the best thing about this rule?”

Lan Wangji nods, and Wei Ying presses his lips tightly together, perhaps suppressing another laugh.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, leaning ever closer, until his hair brushes Lan Wangji’s ear and his breath is warm on Lan Wangji’s face. “Just think,” he says, conspiratorial and jubilant oh-so-dear, “I can never be punished for breaking it.”

*

5. Do Not Vandalize Sect Property

*

Their belongings are packed, the weather is clear, and Wei Ying is eager to return to the road. Lan Wangji, if pressed—by Wei Ying, in a quiet moment caught between breaths, private to themselves—might allow that he is also pleased to be leaving Cloud Recesses, at least for a time. To go night hunting again, to use his cultivation skills where they are most necessary, and to extract himself from the incessant politics of squabbling clans. To spend time with Wei Ying, and only Wei Ying, and to see the world as Wei Ying sees it. He has dedicated months of planning to this journey. Weeks of work to guarantee that they will not be interrupted, and that the cultivation world will weather his absence without more than the usual level of strife between sects. 

Still, he stops in the courtyard, before the Wall.

“I will meet you at the back gates,” he says.

Wei Ying shoots him a curious look. “Is this about whatever had you talking to Zewu-jun for days and days?”

“I will meet Wei Ying at the gates,” Lan Wangji repeats. This topic is only tangentially related to matters he has discussed with his brother recently, and it only concerns Wei Ying in the way that most of Lan Wangji’s life concerns Wei Ying—his thoughts ever returning to him like the flow of rivers into the sea. There will be time to inform him of this later, when they are alone on the little-used mountain path to the southern provinces. He retrieves a bundle of bok choy and carrot tops from his sleeve and holds it out for Wei Ying to take. “For the rabbits.”

Wei Ying pouts, but he takes both the vegetables and the direction. “Secret Lan Clan business,” he mutters. He frowns and shakes the carrot tops at Lan Wangji. “You could have told me you were planning something.”

Lan Wangji could have, it’s true, but he knows Wei Ying. Even the hint of something unusual is enough to keep his interest for days—often long days, featuring frequent leading questions—ambushes from a probing enemy. And this is Clan business. Clan politics. Involving Wei Ying even as an observer courts resentment at best and chaos at worst. Wei Ying himself at least seems to realize the same. He sighs and waves the topic away.

“If you take too long the rabbits might start to like me best,” he teases instead, turning away and deliberately avoiding Lan Wangji’s skepticism.

Lan Wangji watches him until he’s out of sight and waits several slow, steady moments longer. He has gathered an audience, eyes watching from latticed windows, just-barely-open doors, and entirely-too-convenient conversations stopped just far enough away to allow observation. But that has been true of his life for years now—eyes wherever he goes, whatever he does. Here, now, perhaps it will actually be useful.

He approaches the wall and runs two fingers along the top edge, where he can feel the protective layers of generations of cultivators’ wards and talismans sunk into the stone. He could break them, with enough effort, or unravel them with the right array, but it won’t be necessary. What he has planned should not interfere with any of them. He steps back, pulls a talisman from his sleeve, and centers himself. He’s still not certain the words are exactly right, but they are the closest he could get.

It’s easier than expected. Perhaps due to something in his bloodline, or his cultivation level, or the memories he can bring to bear, stretching back past this handful of years, past Wei Ying’s resurrection, past his death, past Lan Wangji’s own injuries and seclusion, stretching back across long years to a childhood spent etching rules into his bones in the hope of one more afternoon listening to his mother talk and laugh and sing.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Clan has simply depended more on custom and reverence to protect the Wall than he anticipated. Perhaps they thought to ward only against actual damage. Whatever the reason, it is only the work of a few heartbeats to write the seal, focus his intent, and let it go.

The ink shines against the stone, stark against the carvings: An attempt to control others is a loss of self.

It won’t scrub off, or be easily banished. It will wear away with time, and rain, and wind, as all the world does. It will last weeks, at least. Perhaps months. Long enough. He suspects, in the utter stillness that the courtyard has suddenly become, that even a day would be long enough.

He does not look at the watchers in the windows, or across the courtyard. He turns and walks away, looking only forward. To Wei Ying, who is sitting on the ground near the back mountain gate with a leaf of bok choy in one hand as he attempts to coax a rabbit ever closer.

Wei Ying, who pouts as Lan Wangji approaches and the rabbits immediately lose interest in his offering of treats, instead gathering around Lan Wangji’s ankles. Wei Ying, who stands and tosses the leaf aside with a disappointed sigh more befitting of a child than a cultivator of his talent.

“Important Clan business done with?” he asks.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji gently nudges the rabbits away and steps over them, joining Wei Ying and Little Apple at the gate’s threshold. Wei Ying nods a few times, like he’s not really aware of his actions.

“You know, Lan Zhan.” His voice is oddly low, the words stilted. His hands move aimlessly in the space between them. “If you’d rather stay here—if you don’t want to come—”

“I want to, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji assures him before that line of thought can go any further.  He takes Little Apple’s lead and holds Wei Ying’s gaze. “The paths we walk do not need to be lonely ones.”

Wei Ying smiles, his eyes overbright, and something between a sigh and a laugh bursts from his lips. “Lan Zhan,” he says in something closer to his normal voice, “you just say these things and I can’t—” His hands rise warm and familiar to Lan Wangji’s jaw, and their lips meet, and Lan Wangji stands still and steady and kisses Wei Ying for as long as it takes for Little Apple to become agitated and shove her head into Wei Ying’s hips, pushing him back. Based on the displeased scrunching of Wei Ying’s face as he glares down at his donkey, Lan Wangji is certain they would both agree it wasn’t nearly long enough. But there will be more chances. More long afternoons, more starlit nights and soft morning sunrises to share. He watches Wei Ying shake his head fondly and rub the donkey’s ears. Watches him grip Chenqing at his belt and turn with a smile.

“Alright, Lan Zhan,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with good humor and excitement and what Lan Wangji has tentatively started to think of as love, right there on his face for the whole world to see. “Where should we go first?”

#wangxian #the untamed #chen qing ling #lan wangji #wei wuxian #cql #alex writes

[aquadrazi]

Find Someone to Carry You

Chapter 32

………Cloud Recesses………

When Wei Ying woke he realized that he was securely wrapped in a blanket, in what he recognized as a place in Cloud Recesses.  It took him a minute to remember what had happened before he fell asleep.

I’m in the Jingshi.

I must be in Lan Zhan’s bed.

He heard a guqin playing and smelled sandalwood.  He knew he was safe. He was about to roll over and greet Lan Zhan when he heard a knock at the door.  Instead he pulled the covers tighter to him.  He didn’t want to see anyone.  He wasn’t ready.

“Wangji”

“Xichen”

He heard Sect Leader Lan enter the Jingshi.

“I see he’s still resting.”

“Mn.  He had a couple nightmares last night, so he will rest for longer.”

Huh

I don’t remember that

“So, you’ve cleansed him of his resentful energy?”

Wei Ying heard a clink of a teacup being mishandled.

“Oh come on Wangji, I pulled those texts for you from the Forbidden section.  It makes sense now why you wanted them.”

“Wei Ying has been cleansed.  He also has regrown a tiny core.”

Wei Ying heard a sharp intake of breath.

“He lost his core?”

“Mn”

“Is that why-“

“Yes.”

“That poor boy.”

There was silence for a bit after that.

“Wangji…how did you find him?  Where WAS he?”

“Wei Ying was not killed in the Burial Mounds.  He was taken prisoner.”

No Lan Zhan…

Please don’t…

“He was the Koi Tower Sex Slave”

Wei Ying felt shame wash over his entire body.

“No…it can’t…but that would mean…”

“Mn”

“A-Yao wouldn’t…”

Wei Ying heard someone stand up and start pacing.

“…all this time…but he said…he SWORE to me that it was consensual!”

Wei Ying heard the sound of a cup shattering against a wall.

“He LIED to me.  I let it happen.  I’m so SORRY Wangji, I should have stopped it.  I should have VERIFIED”

Wei Ying felt sick.  He’d caused trouble again.  Sect Leader Lan shouldn’t feel guilty.  He certainly shouldn’t be apologizing over HIM.

“No wonder he reacted that way when he saw me. All those times I could have stopped it and I did NOTHING.”

Wei Ying didn’t want to hear any more.  He wanted to leave.  Maybe he could make it to the door without them noticing.  He could just crawl away and it would be easier for everyone.

“I’m so sorry Wangji.”

“You didn’t know.  I was in the same ROOM as him and I didn’t know either.”

WHAT?!

When?!

Lan Zhan had SEEN?!

Wei Ying wanted to disappear into the earth.  Lan Zhan had seen.  They both KNEW.  He curled into himself and let out a long whine.

“Wei Ying?!” Lan Zhan rushed over to him.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”  Wei Ying screamed and jerked away from him.

Dirty

I’ll get him dirty

More than I already have

Why did he LET me?

“Wei Ying, you’re safe.  You aren’t there anymore.”  Lan Zhan tried to comfort him.

Wei Ying felt raw, exposed.  More than when he was put on display in Koi Tower.  Because now, they KNEW.  They had SEEN and they KNEW who it was.  They KNEW what he was.

He heard Sect Leader Lan begin to play his xiao, blanketing him in waves of comfort.  He began to sob.  He didn’t deserve it.  He should just leave. He causes trouble wherever he goes.

“Wei Ying…please…”  Lan Zhan sounded so broken.  “How can I help you?”

“Just let me die…”  Wei Ying sobbed.

“Never.  Wei Ying is NOT allowed to die.” Lan Zhan said firmly. “Wei Ying is MINE, do you understand?”

“You can’t want me Lan Zhan…I’m…I’m”

“Stop.  Wei Ying may violate any Lan rule except THAT one.” Lan Zhan interrupted him gently, but firmly.  “Wei Ying is MINE.  And nothing of mine is dirty, or worthless, or broken, or unwanted.”

“But…h-how can you still want me?” Wei Ying sniffled.

“Will always want Wei Ying.  Wei Ying is kind. Generous. Precious. Smart. Selfless. Caring. Wei Ying’s smile is only rivaled by his laugh in brightness.  Wei Ying is like a breath of fresh air on a warm summer night.  Wei Ying is like the energy of the sun bottled up and sent to earth.  Wei Ying is an unrivaled brilliance and Wei Ying is MINE.”

Lan Zhan gently sat down on the bed.  “Will Wei Ying allow me to touch him?”

“Y-yes” Wei Ying whispered quietly.

Lan Zhan slowly crawled over to Wei Ying, and curled up behind him, shielding his body with his own.  “Wei Ying is safe.  Wei Ying is protected.  Wei Ying is loved.”

Lan Xichen continued to play his xiao as Lan Zhan held Wei Ying.  Soon, the smell of sandalwood, the comforting and protective embrace of Lan Zhan, and the comforting waves of music from Lan Xichen drove away Wei Ying’s despair and he was left feeling warm and safe.

“Better?”  Lan Zhan asked quietly.

“Yeah”  Wei Ying’s voice cracked.

“Would Wei Ying like breakfast?”

Wei Ying nodded timidly.  Still utterly embarrassed, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it now.  He would have to face everyone eventually.

Lan Zhan picked him up, blanket and all, and carried him over to the table.  Lan Xichen stopped playing and joined them.  He didn’t say anything, but he had an understanding look on his face.

“I apologize Sect Leader Lan.  I just…it’s just…”  Wei Ying tried weakly.

“No need Wei-Xiong.  You are doing very well, all things considered.”  Lan Xichen said with a soothing voice.  Wei Ying wondered if he practiced it.  “If there is anything you require, please don’t hesitate to ask for it.”

“Other than your death.”  Lan Zhan added sharply.

Lan Xichen laughed lightly.  “Yes, other than your death.  I believe we might have to add a new rule to the wall.”

“What IS the rule?  No one has actually told me, I just get reprimanded for breaking it.”  Wei Ying whined.

“No speaking poorly of Wei Wuxian.”  Lan Xichen replied with a sad look in his eye.

“I can’t believe the Lan Elders would allow a rule like that.” Wei Ying muttered.

“It was for Wangji’s own protection.  There was much…talk…after your supposed death, and Wangji didn’t take it so well.  After the incident with the drinking and the…branding…it was decided to add the rule.”

Lan Zhan shot his brother a stern look.

“The BRANDING?!  The DRINKING?!  Lan Zhan!  You got drunk and branded yourself because you were upset about people saying bad things about ME?!”  Wei Ying couldn’t believe it.

“Wei Ying is my husband.  It was disrespectful. Had to punish myself because I wanted to punish them even though they hadn’t broken a rule.” Lan Zhan said as if it was obvious.

“Oh Lan Zhan…”  Wei Ying sighed. “THIS is why you have to clear all punishments with me.  You realize that right?”

“Yes Wei Ying.”

Lan Xichen burst out laughing.

Both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan looked at him in confusion.

“You two are perfect for each other, and I’m glad you’ve finally figured it out.”

Lan Zhan and his brother left Wei Ying alone after breakfast, to go check on Mo Xuanyu.  Lan Zhan had been sure to point out where he had laid out Wei Ying’s notes that had been rescued from Koi Tower, in case he wanted to pick up where he’d left off on any of his previous works.  Leave it to Lan Zhan to find something that would distract him from the realization that he now knew that they KNEW what had happened to him.

He shook his head quickly to clear that train of thought before it spiraled out of control, and set himself down to go through his old notes.

It didn’t take long for him to slip back into old habits because he didn’t even realize any time had past until Lan Zhan was back, holding a tray of food.

“Lan Zhan!”  Wei Ying jumped up excitedly, knocking a stack of talisman paper onto the floor.  “Look!  All I needed to do was combine what I was working on with THIS one, with what A-Sang developed with THIS one and then you get one that looks like the cultivator disappeared into a ball of fire!”

“That seems, very dramatic”  Lan Zhan replied as he set the tray of food down and guided Wei Ying over to the table to eat something.

“Oh, it WILL be.  Can we try it out later?”  Wei Ying grinned at him.

“Mn” Lan Zhan replied as he sat down next to Wei Ying. “Will take Wei Ying to meet the Juniors and have them try it out.”

#mdzs fic #the untamed #self-loathing #suicidal thoughts #possessive lan zhan #whump

[afternoonteawithme]

The Cold and the Emperor’s Smile - (Part 1)

Fandom: MZDS / Pairing: WangXian / Rating: G / WC: 1552

(Read it on AO3)

Lan Wangji woke to the sound of rain. For a moment, he lay where he was, enjoying the warmth of the blanket wrapped body burrowed in against his side.

At some point in the night, Wei Wuxian had taken all the covers, so the rest of him was half frozen in the damp morning air. He didn’t mind, particularly, except the heat radiating out of Wei Wuxian was a little higher than it should have been.

Quietly, he lifted his free hand and started searching through the layers of blanket. As he expected, when his fingertips brushed the skin of Wei Wuxian’s forehead he found it burning with dry heat.

He sat up and reached for the lemon water he’d set out the night before, then began the process of peeling back fabric until he had Wei Wuxian’s face fully exposed.

Wei Wuxian grumbled, and tried to burrow back into Lan Wangji’s side.

“Wei Ying. Drink.” Lan Wangji held the lip of the bowl to Wei Wuxian’s lips.

With his eyes still tightly shut, Wei Wuxian sipped at the water. He wrinkled his nose. “It’s cold.”

“I’ll go make more.” Lan Wangji set the bowl down and moved to get off the bed, but had to stop when arms wrapped around his waist and held him in place.

“Stay.” Still wrapped in blanket, Wei Wuxian curled himself around Lan Wangji until he could press the side of his face against his stomach. “You feel so nice and cool.”

Gently, Lan Wangji laid the palm of his hand on Wei Wuxian’s exposed cheek. “Your fever is worse.”

“It sure is.” Wei Wuxian sighed. “Such terrible timing, getting sick right now.”  

Since that was true, Lan Wangji said nothing.

“I don’t want to think about having to get up yet, let’s just stay here for a while longer.”

“You should rest for today. Miss the conference.”

“Can’t,” Wei Wuxian’s voice was stuffy, and a little hoarse. “I promised Jin Ling I wouldn’t leave him on his own.”

“He won’t be alone. Sect Leader Jiang will be there.”

“Yes, but Sect Leader Yao isn’t afraid of him, unfortunately, the only thing that made him shut up yesterday was me and Chenqing. He’s not as scared of us as he used to be but he didn’t even notice Jiang Cheng almost pulling Sandu on him.” Shifting his position, Wei Wuxian pulled himself further around Lan Wangji’s body so he could press his face against a new, colder section of his stomach. “Being appointed as the spokesman for all the absent clans and sects really went to his head - what could they have been thinking? He’s the last person I’d want ever speaking for me.”

“He talks a great deal. Maybe they mistook that for him having some intelligence.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, and then grinned up at him. “Could be. I do love watching the way you interact with him. Or don’t.”

“As useless as he is, he is proving to be a problem.”

“I know it. He seems to be making a point of disagreeing with the major sects on anything he can disagree over, and unfortunately he represents so many clans now that nobody can do anything unless he agrees to it. I can’t imagine what he’s getting out of being such a pain, unless he just likes the feeling of bossing everyone else around.””

“Likely.”  

“Whatever he thinks, he goes too far, when he speaks to Jin Ling the way he does. If Jiang Cheng had any less self-control he would have strangled him with Zidian already. ‘You’re too young to understand, Sect Leader Jin’, ‘why don’t you wait until you have more experience before speaking, Sect Leader Jin’.” Wei Wuxian snorted. “I nearly pulled out Chenqing for real when he started going on about ‘the youth’ needing to learn to give proper credit to their elders, right after Jin Ling finished described the strategy he put together to deal with the bandits in the western mountains.”

“He’s a fool. He forgets Sect Leader Jin will not always be as young as he is now.”

“No, and young as he is he’s already been in charge of Lanling Jin for more than five years. He’s no child relying on Jiang Cheng for support, not anymore.” Wei Wuxian sighed, and then sneezed. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve before continuing. “I wonder if Jiang Cheng had to deal with people treating him like that when he took over Yunmeng Jiang. He was younger than Jin Ling is now.”

“It was a different time. He’d experienced a great deal that Sect Leader Jin has not.”

“Yes.” Wei Wuxian was silent for a long moment, and from the expression on his face, Land Wangji knew a part of his mind had gone back to that different time. “He was far, far more alone, though.”

Lan Wangji had no response to that, so he simply reached out and stroked Wei Wuxian’s hair back from his forehead.

The dark look that had started to form in Wei Wuxian’s eyes cleared as he looked up into Lan Wangji’s face, and he laughed softly. “Well, after all, those were the days of Jin Guangshao. He bossed all the sect leaders around, no matter their age. I do wonder how Sect Leader Yao managed to live through Jin Guangyao though, if he was even half as annoying back then. I’m surprised he never had an ‘accident’ along the way.”

“Lianfang Zun had many methods.”

“Yes, I suppose he likely had him in the palm of his hand, didn’t he? No one has his knack anymore. Even Nie Huiasang spent most of yesterday playing with his new fan.” Wei Wuxian paused, and then said thoughtfully, “Maybe he’ll come up with a good ‘accident’ for Sect Leader Yao, if we give him long enough.”

“I don’t believe so.”

“No.” Wei Wuxian sighed again. “He doesn’t care enough. And in the meantime, every time I sneeze in front of Sect Leader Yao I become a little less intimidating, and he becomes a lot more annoying.”

“Let it be, today. Sleep and get better. I don’t doubt the conference will still be going tomorrow.”

“Sure it will. It’ll be going next year, at this rate.” Wei Wuxian shifted, pillowing the back of his head on Lan Wangji’s thigh so he could see him clearly. “How’s Lan Xichen holding up?”  

Lan Wangji kept smoothing his hand over Wei Wuxian’s hair, and thought of his brother. “He’s trying. He said he wants to be of use.”  

“I’m glad he’s finally out of seclusion, at least.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, and then nodded. “Mn.”

“You think he’ll go back?”

“No. Or not for as long. He is the sect leader, and he refuses to follow our father’s path.”

“Then what worries you?” Wei Wuxian’s stuffy nose didn’t hide the concern in his voice.

“It’s…difficult for him. He doesn’t trust his own judgement anymore.”

“Ah.” Nodding, Wei Wuxian smiled softly up at Lan Wangji. “Which is why you didn’t call Sect Leader Yao out yesterday. You don’t want to take any of your brother’s authority away.”

“Mn.”

“Well. Maybe Sect Leader Yao will get ill too, and then he’ll have to leave it all to Sect Leader Ouyang, and since he’s a little afraid of Jiang Cheng, maybe this conference won’t be completely pointless.” Wei Wuxian looked hopeful for a moment, and then sneezed, before shaking his head. “Except he’s not the type to get sick when it’s convenient for anyone but himself.”

When he started to wipe his nose on his sleeve again, Lan Wangji stretched over him to the pile of folded cloth he’d set out with the lemon water. He handed one to Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian scrubbed at his nose, before scrunching the cloth in his hand. “Well then. Go do what you  have to do. If I can get rid of this fever in time for this afternoon’s session maybe Jiang Cheng won’t think I got sick on purpose.”

“I’ll tell him you didn’t.”

Wei Wuxian laughed softly. “He’ll probably believe it too, if you say it.”

“I will, then.” Lan Wangji had noticed Wei Wuxian’s eyelids starting to droop, and hoped he’d fall asleep. He was so very pale, despite the flush riding high on his cheeks. “Rest. I’ll stay with you for a little while longer.”

“That sounds nice.” Smiling, Wei Wuxian reached up, lazily trailing his fingers over Lan Wangji’s forehead, where his ribbon would soon be. “But it’s got to be past five now. Aren’t you violating a whole bunch of Lan Sect rules?”

“Nothing important.”

“I really did mean to be there this time, you know. At the conference.” Wei Wuxian stretched, and then curled up in the blanket at Lan Wangji’s side. “I wanted to help you and Jin Ling. And Jiang Cheng, too.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I know I’ve got a bad history when it comes to things like this. But I was sort of looking forward to not making a scene at this conference.”

“Mn.”

“I think, if I just figure out how to terrify Sect Leader Yao a little more, then everything will be fine.”

Lan Wangji sat at his side, watching as he drifted off to sleep. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

#the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #elliemoran #my fanfiction #hurt/comfort/humor #bc why not #this isn't a long story overall but it just doesn't work as a oneshot #so i'm breaking it up a bit

[evilpixiea]

I didn’t know you liked vampire the masquerade omg, I’m excited. Ok, here I go because vampires are a good trope. In which clans would you put the batfamily in (I assume they all would be vampires)? I’m curious about how you made a worldbuilding meshing these two. Did you included other characters in your headcanons besides the batfamily? Don’t be surprised if I keep asking about it later, based on your answers. I never thought you’d like VTM and I’m excited

I am a very new fan of VtM and White Wolf's World of Darkness. I haven't even played my first session yet (next month!) so I'm not super knowledgeable.That said, I have honestly surprised myself with how much I am enjoying learning about it. I am normally more of a werewolf sorta gal so the fact that I am enjoying the Masquerade so much speaks, I think, to the quality of storytelling and world building. It really is very in depth and complex... so much to sink your teeth (heh) into.The long and short about my Batman/VtM crossover ideas are:Bruce's parents were shot to death by a mugger after coming out of a movie theatre... in 1920. He grew up and was embraced some time in the late 30s. As for which clan embraced him? Why... I think it would have to be the Venture. They would see the young millionaire (because billionaire is just a little too unlikely in this time period and fits with the Batman comics of the day) with no heirs and seeming every intention of flinging himself off a cliff given the opportunity and think he too valuable an asset to leave mortal.Only Bruce proves wilful and his tastes... not what one would expect from an upper class Venture. He likes criminals. And he likes them afraid. In fact, he needs that. Will cough up any blood that doesn't fit that description.He also refuses to kill despite his obvious disdain for his prey.And thus, in 1941, (because I'm a comic nerd and I like the idea of Detective Comics #27 being his first appearance) Batman is born.This, understandably causes come conflict between him and the ruling kindred class. After all, even back then, it was a pretty blatant Masquerade violation and Gotham is a bastion of the Camarilla.They decide he needs to be removed. But Bruce has friends in unexpected places. Ra's Al Ghul is a VERY old VERY powerful vampire. The leader of a large sect of Banu Haqim Assimites... and Bruce has caught his eye. He likes him. Wants to see what he can do. So he protects him.He also embraces a woman, Talia, who Bruce had known in life and who is raising Bruce's biological son, Damian.Bruce doesn't learn about his son but he does meet Talia again and the two have a brief affair before Bruce decides he needs to return to Gotham.He does so in secret and gathers his allies for a push against the old corrupted vampires (and his sire) who tried to kill him (again) and who he believes are corrupting Gotham.He recruits the help of his old butler, Alfred, and creates his own little Anarch movement, carving out territory in Gotham.Dick's his first recruit. A young Toreador who has been hiding in a travelling circus, using his gifts to delight and amaze the crowd.Jason comes next, some time later. A Brujah who is somewhat sceptical that this Ventrue really gives a shit about the lower classes of vampire but feels better about hunting in his half of the city than the half with the old guys that all want him dead.Barbara is a Nosferatu. Good at finding things, keeping secrets, and sticking to the shadows. She enters the picture in the early 70s.By this time Bruce has taken control of most of Gotham and has become old enough and powerful enough to be feared by most vampires in the area.Alfred is also still in the picture but not because he's a vampire. He's a ghoul. He drinks Bruce's blood to stay young and alive... but has no wish to become what Bruce is... despite many offers from the family members.Then modern nights start... and along with it superheroes. Oh, there had always been some. Strange bright people with all sorts of origins who set out to do good things. But now there is an alien that is fuelled by the sun, can shoot fire out of his eyes, and who is rallying gods behind him with a messages of truth and justice.This is where DC's timeline starts to win out over VtM's... just because I have a hard time believing the masquerade would stand up against Superman. People start to know about vampires and one vampire in particular who hasn't been very subtle these last century.This is when Clark meets Bruce and they start to learn about each other... as potential allies... potential enemies. Neither of them trust each other. Why should they? Sun god. Night stalker. Different worlds... and yet intertwined.Heh. Yeah. You can see what I'm doing here. I'm Superbat trash.Anyway. This attention brings about the second inquistion. People start hunting vampires again which causes the collapse of a lot of old vampire societies and structures. Including the old Camerilla organizations still active in Gotham and the Tremere pyramid.This is where Tim comes into the picture. He was a tremere blood slave but escaped when that collapsed and fled to Gotham, his closest Anarch state. He seeks refuge from his sire... and Bruce gives it to him. After all, it's always handy to have a blood mage hanging out in the basement... especially one as smart as this one.But then Damian comes back (adult of course) and embraced by his mother. Good at turning his blood to poison and stabbing people with it. Especially Tim.Annnnnndddd... that's sort of what I was thinking. Wow. This is longer than I thought it would be. I'm going to stop talking now............Okay. I lied. Bruce totally joins the Justice League and yes Hal he is a vampire but he's not going to bite so can you please stop leaving garlic around the watchtower? It doesn't do anything and is stinking up the place. Oh, and hey, turns out there is another type of blood Bruce can drink besides 'scared bad guy'. 'Horny Kryptonian' works just as well. Go figure.And that is my Vampire Masquerade Batman crossover. I hope you liked it.

#Superbat

[theconservativebrief]

MOSCOW — “Stay in the car,” Yuri says. He looks out the window, up at the grey Soviet-era tower block we’re idling outside. An old woman is staring out the window. “She’s looking at us. She’s suspicious.”

Eugeny and his wife, Lyudmilla, have already gone inside. But Yuri (who, like everyone quoted in this article, has asked to be identified by first name only for security reasons) is worried that entering as a group will attract attention. Attention means somebody might call the police. And when you’re a Jehovah’s Witness in Russia — labeled by the government as a member of an “extremist” sect, the same designation they use for neo-Nazis and ISIS members — dealing with the police is the last thing you need.

Eight million Christians around the world self-identify as Jehovah’s Witnesses. Their worship is characterized by frequent public proselytizing.

And, according to a new law signed this week by President Putin, they are unable to share their faith with one another in the street — or in private homes. The law, among the most sweeping in post-Soviet history, prevents any form of evangelism outside of state-approved buildings, including in private, in homes, and on the Internet. In practice, it affects members of non-Russian-Orthodox religious groups, including Jehovah’s Witnesses, members of the Church of Latter-Day Saints, and Protestant Christians.

This is not the first legal strike against Russia’s religious minorities. In April 2017, Russia’s Supreme Court ruled that Jehovah’s Witnesses, which represents the faith of an estimated 175,000 Russians, violates the country’s anti-extremist statutes. An appeal was refused in June 2017 continuing years of state-sponsored persecution of Jehovah’s Witnesses as a religious group.

Police frequently raid Jehovah’s Witness services — both in private homes and in Kingdom Halls — and, according to members, turn a blind eye to discriminatory civilian violence. Yuri recalls one instance where a “sister” — as Jehovah’s Witnesses refer to female members of their community — was beaten and threatened with a gun by another woman while out preaching, only for the police to dismiss her as a “cult member” and a thief when they finally arrived. But since the most recent Supreme Court ruling, Yuri says, things have gotten worse.

“We’re on their radar at all times,” says Yuri, an affable man in his 50s who apologizes, frequently, for his near-perfect English, which he taught himself through the internet. Their largest Kingdom Hall, located in a northern suburb of Moscow, lies empty, the entrance marked with caution tape, after the building’s owner deemed it too risky to let Jehovah’s Witnesses use. We are meeting in July of 2017, shortly after the refusal of the first ruling’s appeal.

Still, the community has developed a strategy to keep its faith and worship alive. They enter the building in twos and threes to avoid attracting attention. They mix up the homes they use, to keep it difficult for government forces or potential harassers to track. They set a table laden with food, which, during the Saturday worship session I attended in July, goes entirely untouched. It’s there so that if police arrive, they can claim that they’re simply gathering for a party. And, Yuri tells me, they always keep a few bottles of vodka on hand. If the police come, he says, they can down it quickly. The police will smell their breath, notice their inebriation, and believe that they’re been carousing, not worshipping.

Because the Jehovah’s Witness translation of the Bible is banned in Russia, many access their sacred texts via smartphone.

Today, about 20 Witnesses gather in this Moscow suburb. They are roughly split evenly by gender, and a mix of ages. Nearly all follow the lesson on their tablets or phones, using specialized apps. (Importing physical copies of the Jehovah’s Witness Bible is also forbidden.)

Yuri’s wife, Alla, helpfully translates the verses from Russian to English for me on her phone. They pray for the wisdom of their rulers, reading verses from the Book of Daniel about faith in times of turmoil. They affirm Jehovah — their rendering of the term for the Judeo-Christian God — as lord of the universe. From time to time Yuri and his friend Eugeny, a wide-eyed bald man fond of speaking with his hands, ask questions of the flock, calling on members of the community to help interpret the Bible.

The worship service, which runs about 90 minutes, is a muted affair. After all, they can no longer sing during services in people’s homes, lest the sound attract the suspicion of neighbors.

But it is, Yuri says, the best they can do.

To be a Jehovah’s Witness in Russia, after all, is to fall afoul of the extremely complex interplay between nationality, faith, and nationalism in Vladimir Putin’s Russia, which — as I have previously written — bolsters its authoritarian regime by appealing to the fundamental “Russianness” of the state Orthodox Church. For Putin and his supporters, Jehovah’s Witnesses seem like a dangerous foreign influence. Yuri jokes that other Russians think Jehovah’s Witnesses are foreign spies, or that their frequent doorstop evangelism is actually a ploy to gather data to send back to the CIA; after all, in Russia, their religious expression inherently codes them as dangerously “Western” and “other.”

The history of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Russia, and the former USSR more widely, has always been tied up with politics. They were the subject of suspicion under the hyper-secularist Soviet regime. Lyudmilla, Eugeny’s wife, tells me that both her grandfather and father were sent to Siberian gulags by Stalin for decades for being Jehovah’s Witnesses. The religion spread during the chaotic 1990s, shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union, when religion was finally no longer taboo, and people started asking questions about God.

“A lot of people started when the Soviet Union was destroyed, to say what is written in the Bible,” Alla recalls. “[Talking about religion] became open. After the Soviet Union fell, you could talk about God openly — no problem! That was very interesting [to me] — [I wondered] what was inside [the Bible]?”

Kingdom Halls like this one in a northern suburb of Moscow lie empty after the latest Supreme Court decisions.

For others, faith allowed them to find meaning in the chaos of the fall of the Soviet Union. Eugeny proudly tells me his religion under the USSR was “communism!” He served in the army, all the way up until what he called “civil war — Russians firing on Russians” — marking the fall of the Soviet Union.

When communism started to fall, Eugeny felt himself at sea. “I was communist, but at the same time, geopolitics was interesting for me,” he says. “And in the army I realized that the most great geopolitician was Jehovah. But I didn’t know him [yet]” — he had felt the stirrings of religious longing but had not yet become a true believer.

Only when his now-wife Lyudmilla started to preach did the world start to make sense to him. “[I realized that I] have to serve God. I realized that God is Almighty and I wanted to serve him,” he said. Geopolitics at last makes sense, he says. Now, he says, he sees the world as a chess board, God as the ultimate player.

For all four of the Jehovah’s Witnesses I interviewed, religion in the Soviet years had been primarily a function of national and ethnic identity, not faith. Yuri, who was raised in Uzbekistan, considered himself Muslim because of his ethnicity, nothing more. “I was born in a Muslim family?” He shrugs to demonstrate emphasis. “Okay, I’m Muslim.”

He remembers being shocked the first time he saw an Uzbek Witness try to convert him. “I said, what? Look at you? Look in the mirror, you are Muslim. And you became … Christian? Why?”

His wife, Alla, was a “Christian” in the same way Yuri was raised as a “Muslim.” She grew up in Siberia before moving to the warmer climate of Uzbekistan for her health. That’s where she met Yuri.

At first, Alla was more receptive than her husband to the Jehovah’s Witness evangelists who knocked on their door. But Yuri was worried at first about the mysterious strangers who studied the Bible with his wife — and their foreign ways.

“I was worried, a little bit, that it wasn’t the traditional way … I worried that it was a cult,” he said. But he started to warm to the idea of a faith that was led by discussion and asking questions — not tradition. And the idea of being religious in name only did not appeal to him. “[Russian] Orthodox people, they drink a lot. They can lie, they can steal, they can do many things. But at the same time, they wear the cross. I said, ‘Hey, you are not afraid of God. If you are Christian, your behavior should be according to the Bible.’ But I didn’t find [that] with Orthodox people.” Jehovah’s Witnesses were different, Yuri says. He stopped drinking, smoking, hanging out with a “bad crowd.” His family was shocked — and suspicious. What he was doing wasn’t “traditional” after all. But they couldn’t deny the change in his behavior.

For as long as Yuri can remember, Jehovah’s Witnesses in his native Uzbekistan dealt with similar harassment under the recently deceased nationalist dictator Islam Karimov as they face now in Russia, where he moved for work some decades ago. They’d have to pay the odd bribe or fine at a police station, or they’d get into trouble with local toughs. But the situation in Russia under Putin, all agree, has gotten worse, reminding them of the worst days of Stalinism, except with a different ethos. In the old days, Jehovah’s Witnesses were a threat to the secularist state. Today, they are a threat to the Russian Orthodox establishment. But the methods remain the same.

“My father, my grandfather, were prisoners for reading the Bible,” sighs Lyudmilla, “Then they were rehabilitated [after the fall of the USSR and considered] the victims of political repression. The government said sorry to that generation. But now they’ve started to put us under stress again.”

They all agree, however, that this does not let them stop practicing their faith — or even proselytizing. Although they do not stand on street corners any longer, they go a few times a week to knock on doors and try to preach what they believe is God’s word, even if they’re more likely than not to be shouted at or attacked as suspected foreign spies or agents of treason. “The [state-run] TV and newspapers, they demonize Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Yuri says. “But we aren’t stopping preaching — and we won’t stop preaching.”

Yuri makes sure to say that he is not political. Jehovah’s Witnesses are expected to be neutral bystanders in political affairs (worldwide, for example, they request exemptions from mandatory military service, something that they are denied in Russia). “It doesn’t matter who is the president. Just don’t touch us. We don’t want to change the president. We have to pray for the [leaders] — that they can manage the country with wisdom.”

Still, he is more than a little caustic when reminding me of the story of the biblical prophet Daniel, once the prisoner of a disbelieving king.

“Daniel, he had good days, he had bad days,” Yuri says. “But he held to his faith. Every day, he served God.” He points out that the biblical word he uses in Russian, spastayanstvom, has the connotation of a donkey: day by day, turning in circles to mill the grain. In other words: Daniel was stubborn.

“Now we have bad day in Russia,” he says. “But we will continue to worship God as Daniel did. Thanks to God, Daniel was saved. And he will save us. But who has to worry? The people who put Daniel in the lion’s den. They had to worry. Because when Daniel was released from the lion’s place, the bad people were killed by the king — you see what I mean?”

Yuri winks at me. “So, the people who do the same things in Russia have to worry. Not us. Jehovah’s Witnesses survived in Hitler’s time. In Stalin’s time. We survived gulags. Siberia. We have a God. The people who persecute us — they’re the ones who have to worry.”

Update: this story, originally reported in July 2017, has been updated to reflect Russia’s latest legal developments

Original Source -> Jehovah’s Witnesses are banned in Russia. That doesn’t stop them from worshipping.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

[robininthelabyrinth]

Here's a mini fill! For a twist, LQR actually doesn't like quiet and order. He is a huge stickler for the rules because he has to set a good example, but every so often he sneaks off in disguise and just goes WILD. (Inspiration: that photo of Huang Ziteng with LQR hair and makeup wearing that PERVERT jersey)

cont of assassin!LQR

“Tell me another story,” Lan Qiren’s brother requested, sounding gleeful as any child asking for a bedtime story – in actual fact, come to think of it, he sounded precisely the way Lan Xichen did while making a similar request; the only thing missing were the big round eyes and quivering lip. “Come on, Qiren, I’m bored. The least you could do is tell me about something interesting.”

“I already reported to you about all the assassinations I’ve done recently,” Lan Qiren protested.

“Those are reports. I want a story.”

“What’s the difference?”

A small thud from behind the door. A fist on the doorframe, perhaps?

“Qiren, don’t mock me. Don’t you dare.”

It was probably better not to antagonize his brother any further, Lan Qiren decided. The oath Qingheng-jun had taken as a result of the situation with his wife was a dire one, nasty, but if he managed to hold out in seclusion until his younger son was a full adult, crowned at twenty, he would be able to emerge with a cultivation far, far more powerful than anyone else. Even Wen Ruohan wouldn’t stand a chance against him – which was one of the reasons the entire situation was kept quite so secret, layer upon layer of misdirection: first that Madame Lan had only been sickly, second that he’d secluded himself only due to guilt...

Lan Wangji was already sixteen. It wouldn’t be long now.

“All right,” Lan Qiren said. “What do you want to know? I don’t think I’ve done anything that interesting recently – I’ve actually gotten terribly boring, you know. All rule-following and such. It’s on me e to be a good role model, since you’re not around to do the job.”

His brother snorted. “Don’t give me that crap. I know you, Qiren. Too much rule-following gives you hives if you don’t cut loose every once in a while…surely you must have done something recently that counts as having fun?”

“Well, I did play a small prank on Jin Guangshan, but that hardly counts.”

“Tell me about it anyway.”

“Well, you know how he blathers on to his prostitutes, right? Always boasting, always dribbling out every thought that passed through his head. A clever girl would be able to extract just about any sect secret you like from him – but of course, he doesn’t like them clever any longer, which I suppose is a sign that a man can learn. Certainly after the first few times it happened, anyway…anyway, I thought it might be fun to play on his paranoia a bit.”

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“I attended every one of his nightly parties during the last discussion conference in disguise,” Lan Qiren explained. “And then every following single day I used something that I learned from him during his nightly rambles against him. It drove him up the wall.”

Lan Qiren’s brother sniggered. “I bet it did, I bet it did. Didn’t he try to take precautions against you?”

“Of course he did. One night he even bought out the entire place and refused to allow anyone in there but women.”

“What’d you do then? Pay one of them to tip you off?”

“Please, xiongzhang, do I seem like a quitter to you? Obviously I dressed up as a woman and made my way in anyway.”

Silence for a brief moment, and then – “Qiren, I seem to recall you mentioning some time ago that you’d grown a beard.”

“Veils exist.”

His brother was starting to laugh again, Lan Qiren noted with relief. “Did you wear make-up?”

“Naturally. I have very striking eyes. Shouldn’t I make the best of them?”

“I want a picture,” his brother demanded. “Or a show, if you can manage it without violating my vow of seclusion.”

“Xiongzhang…”

“Find a way. I know we’re in the Cloud Recesses and you have a reputation to maintain, but you’re a resourceful bastard – you can think of something. No, better: think of it as a challenge.”

Damn his brother, Lan Qiren thought. Mostly damn him for knowing him so well: now that the challenge had been issued, he was already getting excited in thinking of how to manage it despite all the obstacles.

“I’ll think of something,” he finally agreed, rolling his eyes. “But you have to do something for me in return.”

“I don’t have to do anything for you,” his brother fired back, fierce as ever – good, it was better than him begin depressed – though a moment later his voice softened. “But I’ll consider it. Something to do with the boys, I assume?”

“Mm, indeed. Wangji, this time. He needs a little fatherly advice. You see, I think he’s developed a crush…”

#mdzs #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #my fic #my fics #alt headcanons #dunno that assassin one just stuck with me

[newstfionline]

Jehovah’s Witnesses are banned in Russia. That doesn’t stop them from worshipping.

By Tara Isabella Burton, Vox, Aug 24, 2017

MOSCOW--”Stay in the car,” Yuri says. He looks out the window, up at the grey Soviet-era tower block we’re idling outside. An old woman is staring out the window. “She’s looking at us. She’s suspicious.”

Eugeny and his wife, Lyudmilla, have already gone inside. But Yuri (who, like everyone quoted in this article, has asked to be identified by first name only for security reasons) is worried that entering as a group will attract attention. Attention means somebody might call the police. And when you’re a Jehovah’s Witness in Russia--labeled by the government as a member of an “extremist” sect, the same designation they use for neo-Nazis and ISIS members--dealing with the police is the last thing you need.

Eight million Christians around the world self-identify as Jehovah’s Witnesses. Their worship is characterized by frequent public proselytizing. In April, Russia’s Supreme Court ruled that the faith of an estimated 175,000 Russians violates the country’s anti-extremist statutes.

An appeal was refused late last month, continuing years of state-sponsored persecution of Jehovah’s Witnesses as a religious group. Police frequently raid Jehovah’s Witness services--both in private homes and in Kingdom Halls--and, according to members, turn a blind eye to discriminatory civilian violence. Yuri recalls one instance where a “sister”--as Jehovah’s Witnesses refer to female members of their community--was beaten and threatened with a gun by another woman while out preaching, only for the police to dismiss her as a “cult member” and a thief when they finally arrived. But since the most recent Supreme Court ruling, Yuri says, things have gotten worse.

“We’re on their radar at all times,” says Yuri, an affable man in his 50s who apologizes, frequently, for his near-perfect English, which he taught himself through the internet. Their largest Kingdom Hall, located in a northern suburb of Moscow, lies empty, the entrance marked with caution tape, after the building’s owner deemed it too risky to let Jehovah’s Witnesses use.

Still, the community has developed a strategy to keep its faith and worship alive. They enter the building in twos and threes to avoid attracting attention. They mix up the homes they use, to keep it difficult for government forces or potential harassers to track. They set a table laden with food, which, during the Saturday worship session I attended in July, goes entirely untouched. It’s there so that if police arrive, they can claim that they’re simply gathering for a party. And, Yuri tells me, they always keep a few bottles of vodka on hand. If the police come, he says, they can down it quickly. The police will smell their breath, notice their inebriation, and believe that they’re been carousing, not worshipping.

Today, about 20 Witnesses gather in this Moscow suburb. They are roughly split evenly by gender, and a mix of ages. Nearly all follow the lesson on their tablets or phones, using specialized apps. (Importing physical copies of the Jehovah’s Witness Bible is also forbidden.)

Yuri’s wife, Alla, helpfully translates the verses from Russian to English for me on her phone. They pray for the wisdom of their rulers, reading verses from the Book of Daniel about faith in times of turmoil. They affirm Jehovah--their rendering of the term for the Judeo-Christian God--as lord of the universe. From time to time Yuri and his friend Eugeny, a wide-eyed bald man fond of speaking with his hands, ask questions of the flock, calling on members of the community to help interpret the Bible.

The worship service, which runs about 90 minutes, is a muted affair. After all, they can no longer sing during services in people’s homes, lest the sound attract the suspicion of neighbors.

But it is, Yuri says, the best they can do.

To be a Jehovah’s Witness in Russia, after all, is to fall afoul of the extremely complex interplay between nationality, faith, and nationalism in Vladimir Putin’s Russia, which--as I have previously written--bolsters its authoritarian regime by appealing to the fundamental “Russianness” of the state Orthodox Church. For Putin and his supporters, Jehovah’s Witnesses seem like a dangerous foreign influence. Yuri jokes that other Russians think Jehovah’s Witnesses are foreign spies, or that their frequent doorstop evangelism is actually a ploy to gather data to send back to the CIA.

The history of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Russia, and the former USSR more widely, has always been tied up with politics. They were the subject of suspicion under the hyper-secularist Soviet regime. Lyudmilla, Eugeny’s wife, tells me that both her grandfather and father were sent to Siberian gulags by Stalin for decades for being Jehovah’s Witnesses. The religion spread during the chaotic 1990s, shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union, when religion was finally no longer taboo, and people started asking questions about God.

“A lot of people started when the Soviet Union was destroyed, to say what is written in the Bible,” Alla recalls. “[Talking about religion] became open. After the Soviet Union fell, you could talk about God openly--no problem! That was very interesting [to me]--[I wondered] what was inside [the Bible]?”

For others, faith allowed them to find meaning in the chaos of the fall of the Soviet Union. Eugeny proudly tells me his religion under the USSR was “communism!” He served in the army, all the way up until what he called “civil war--Russians firing on Russians”--marking the fall of the Soviet Union.

When communism started to fall, Eugeny felt himself at sea. “I was communist, but at the same time, geopolitics was interesting for me,” he says. “And in the army I realized that the most great geopolitician was Jehovah. But I didn’t know him [yet]”--he had felt the stirrings of religious longing but had not yet become a true believer.

Only when his now-wife Lyudmilla started to preach did the world start to make sense to him. “[I realized that I] have to serve God. I realized that God is Almighty and I wanted to serve him,” he said. Geopolitics at last makes sense, he says. Now, he says, he sees the world as a chess board, God as the ultimate player.

For all four of the Jehovah’s Witnesses I interviewed, religion in the Soviet years had been primarily a function of national and ethnic identity, not faith. Yuri, who was raised in Uzbekistan, considered himself Muslim because of his ethnicity, nothing more. “I was born in a Muslim family?” He shrugs to demonstrate emphasis. “Okay, I’m Muslim.”

He remembers being shocked the first time he saw an Uzbek Witness try to convert him. “I said, what? Look at you? Look in the mirror, you are Muslim. And you became … Christian? Why?”

His wife, Alla, was a “Christian” in the same way Yuri was raised as a “Muslim.” She grew up in Siberia before moving to the warmer climate of Uzbekistan for her health. That’s where she met Yuri.

At first, Alla was more receptive than her husband to the Jehovah’s Witness evangelists who knocked on their door. But Yuri was worried at first about the mysterious strangers who studied the Bible with his wife--and their foreign ways.

“I was worried, a little bit, that it wasn’t the traditional way … I worried that it was a cult,” he said. But he started to warm to the idea of a faith that was led by discussion and asking questions--not tradition. And the idea of being religious in name only did not appeal to him. “[Russian] Orthodox people, they drink a lot. They can lie, they can steal, they can do many things. But at the same time, they wear the cross. I said, ‘Hey, you are not afraid of God. If you are Christian, your behavior should be according to the Bible.’ But I didn’t find [that] with Orthodox people.” Jehovah’s Witnesses were different, Yuri says. He stopped drinking, smoking, hanging out with a “bad crowd.” His family was shocked--and suspicious. What he was doing wasn’t “traditional” after all. But they couldn’t deny the change in his behavior.

For as long as Yuri can remember, Jehovah’s Witnesses in his native Uzbekistan dealt with similar harassment under the recently deceased nationalist dictator Islam Karimov as they face now in Russia, where he moved for work some decades ago. They’d have to pay the odd bribe or fine at a police station, or they’d get into trouble with local toughs. But the situation in Russia under Putin, all agree, has gotten worse, reminding them of the worst days of Stalinism, except with a different ethos. In the old days, Jehovah’s Witnesses were a threat to the secularist state. Today, they are a threat to the Russian Orthodox establishment. But the methods remain the same.

“My father, my grandfather, were prisoners for reading the Bible,” sighs Lyudmilla, “Then they were rehabilitated [after the fall of the USSR and considered] the victims of political repression. The government said sorry to that generation. But now they’ve started to put us under stress again.”

They all agree, however, that this does not let them stop practicing their faith--or even proselytizing. Although they do not stand on street corners any longer, they go a few times a week to knock on doors and try to preach what they believe is God’s word, even if they’re more likely than not to be shouted at or attacked as suspected foreign spies or agents of treason. “The [state-run] TV and newspapers, they demonize Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Yuri says. “But we aren’t stopping preaching--and we won’t stop preaching.”

Yuri makes sure to say that he is not political. Jehovah’s Witnesses are expected to be neutral bystanders in political affairs (worldwide, for example, they request exemptions from mandatory military service, something that they are denied in Russia). “It doesn’t matter who is the president. Just don’t touch us. We don’t want to change the president. We have to pray for the [leaders]--that they can manage the country with wisdom.”

Still, he is more than a little caustic when reminding me of the story of the biblical prophet Daniel, once the prisoner of a disbelieving king.

“Daniel, he had good days, he had bad days,” Yuri says. “But he held to his faith. Every day, he served God.” He points out that the biblical word he uses in Russian, spastayanstvom, has the connotation of a donkey: day by day, turning in circles to mill the grain. In other words: Daniel was stubborn.

“Now we have bad day in Russia,” he says. “But we will continue to worship God as Daniel did. Thanks to God, Daniel was saved. And he will save us. But who has to worry? The people who put Daniel in the lion’s den. They had to worry. Because when Daniel was released from the lion’s place, the bad people were killed by the king--you see what I mean?”

Yuri winks at me. “So, the people who do the same things in Russia have to worry. Not us. Jehovah’s Witnesses survived in Hitler’s time. In Stalin’s time. We survived gulags. Siberia. We have a God. The people who persecute us--they’re the ones who have to worry.”

#Russia #Jehovah’s Witnesses in Russia #persecution

[ficfanstrikecommander-blog]

The Universal Bro Code

The Bro Code 1) You must always have your bro’s back. No exceptions. 2) When your bro’s girlfriend inquires about his whereabouts you know nothing, always. 3) You are only obligated to wingman for one bro per social event, after that the bro is on his own. 4) When a bro designates you as his wingman, you may not fail him. This is the most important role a bro may play for a bro, and may not be violated or debauched. 5) You must always do whatever is in your power to stop a bro from soiling himself with a poor looking girl. Unless the bro is able to stand up, look you in the eye, and articulate that he is to a decent extent sober. Then you are absolved of any responsibility. 6) When a bro pays for all the alcohol for an occasion himself, this must be made known to all present and made out to be the greatest feat ever observed in human history. A bro may skip out on kicking in for beer if he has done this recently. 7) A bro must always respect another bro’s car, house, and parents. 8) Love thy father and mother. A bro will never ever get with a bro’s biological mother or sister. Step sisters and mothers are fair game. 9) When a bro is showing his bro’s his new ride, he is always required to open the hood and showcase the contents. All bros present are required to admire the content, even if they know nothing about cars. 10) When a bro asks a bro what he thinks of his girlfriend or date, a bro is always required to give an honest answer. The phrase, “I’d bang her” is off limits. 11) A bro will never ever leave his bros without a ride. A bro may never be allowed to walk alone more than 2 blocks. 12) A bro will never ask for gas money for a ride unless he truly is hard up, or the ride exceeds the distance of 20 miles. 13) When gas money for a ride is offered, it may be accepted. Use your own bro-judgment to determine if you should accept. 14) A bro shall never make another bro ashamed for hooking up with a girl. Even if she was truly nasty, a bro will make excuses for his bro. Example, “you were drunk so…” 15) If a bro is terrible at sports, excuses may be made, no matter how bad they are. Good bros will start to play worse so that their bro doesn’t look so bad. 16) A bro will never make another bro look bad in front of a target girl. The wingman should swiftly punish any such attempts. Afterwards the bro who infringed upon this rule may be confronted by the whole circle of bros. 17) A bro will always ask around before taking the last of anything. If a bro should ask you if its alright, unless the need is great or direct ownership is applied, you will let him have it. Common courtesy and the bro code go hand in hand. 18) A chick may be included in the bro code if she has proven herself worthy via general bro concession. 19) A chick may never be informed of the sacred rules of the bro code. A chick may be treated as a bro but never told of the rules. When reprimanding a girl for an infringement of the bro code, say “its just common courtesy.” 20) A bro will never let another bro drive drunk. Space must always be found or made for a drunk bro who needs to leave. If necessary, the theft of phone and keys shall be done for his own good. (exception: a designated group drunk driver exists, this bro has mastered the art of driving under the influence and has proven his worth) 21) A bro will never allow another bro to drunk dial or txt a girl. No exceptions to this rule. When a bro is truly smashed and his girl calls, the phone will be confiscated until a sober state of mind is achieved. 22) If a bro’s girlfriend calls you and asks about a bros actions the previous night, (I.e. the bro claimed to be sleeping at a friend’s house) you will always claim that yes he was there and you may even claim he is still there. Studies show that 8 out of 10 bros will do this without thinking. The other 2 bros claimed he was still with them but unavailable to talk. 23) You will always make excuses for a bros actions, no matter how obscene. All things done by a drunk bro must be forgiven. No exceptions. 24) A bro should always be allowed to make amends for his actions. 25) A bro will always give his bro’s girl a ride to wherever, so long as restitutions are made for the action. 26) A bro will never give detail when describing a sexual encounter. Doing so will force your bro to imagine you naked and this is unforgivable. 27) A bro will always do his best to help another bro’s self esteem. The Alpha-Bro should always be handing out the wisdom and power of his skill. A bro will always recognize the master seducer of the group. 28) A bro should never ever under any circumstances sleep with a bro’s ex-girlfriend. A bro may proceed to make moves on another bro’s failed target (he got rejected) but only after asking permission first. If the bro declines your invitation to bust some moves, you must adhere to his wishes and find a new target. 29) If permission for rule 28 has been given by a bro, and success is evident for yourself. One must always put it down to it being the girl’s preference and not due to your superior abilities. If a bro proceeds to become butt-hurt about your success where he failed, you are under no obligations to make him feel better or apologize for your success. 30) A bro will always take care of a bro who is blacked out, throwing up, and incase parents or girlfriend call. If a bro’s parents demand he comes home immediately, one will immediately allow him to use a shower and whatever else is necessary to make sure a bro receives no enemy fire on the home front. 31) A bro will always tell a bro what he did when he was blacked out. No matter how bad. 32) A bro must always maintain a safe physical distance from a bro’s girl, especially when drinking. Physical contact may only be made with a bro’s girl, when saying good bye. No exceptions. 33) A bro will always do his best to stop a bro from getting tattoos. A bro’s skin is the largest organ he has and the second most important. Especially if the tattoo is of a girl. Chicks will dump you and play with your heart, but a bro will protect you like his own private parts. 34) When a promise is made, it shall be kept. And under no circumstances shall it be broken. 35) The way of the bro is sacred, cherish it like a sect or cult. The bro life is like being in Jedi training camp. You must always show your bro love and be joyous when bro love is shown to you. 36) Bro-mance is allowed but only among your tightest bros. Never take your bro-mance too far. And if anyone should remark negatively upon your bro-mance. An immediate beat down should ensue. Should a girl comment negatively upon the bro-mance, kindly explain to her that she will never know love from a man such as you and your bros share. And let her know what a privilege it is to be a mere witness to your glory. 37) The fist bump is a bro’s greatest weapon aside from the bro code itself. It should be used to show support, acceptance, pride, and it is an all around green light for an action that was committed. Use the fist bump often, and show constant appreciation for your bro’s jokes and skills with it. 38) Corollary to rule 37, the denial of a bro’s fist bump is a terribly powerful slap in the face. To deny a fist bump is no light thing, and should only be done when there is very great disapproval of an action. 39) Never refer to a bro by his last name, this is a sign of disrespect. Always refer to a bro by their name, nickname, or any standard bro word. 40) Standard bro names include but are not limited to; bro, dude, man, and anything with bro in it. (example: broham.) 41) Always respect a bro’s viewpoints about anything from politics to cars to religion. The only time a bro’s views do not matter is when they conflict with the bro code. If such a case should happen, the bro should be immediately evicted from the bro circle, until correctional actions have been made. 42) A bro should always treat for food when a bro is broke. Signs that a bro is broke are phrases like, “I’d rather eat at home”, “I’m not hungry”, “I just ate”, and finally “I’m trying to save money so ill eat at home.” 43) Similar to rule 42, when discussing the purchase of party beverages, if a bro declines to offer money. The other bros should cover for him. No bro should be denied thirst quenching goodness just because it’s a tight week or month. 44) A good bro will always encourage his bros to be an Alpha-Bro when it comes to talking to girls. If necessary demonstrations of your prowess may be made to give your bros something to work with. 45) A bro is only allowed to do really stupid things when he is really drunk. A bro may be denied further access to alcohol when it is obvious he has drunk too much already. 46) All things must be forgiven among bros, with the exception being your drunk bro feels up your girlfriend. This allows for an immediate punch to the face, but only after all other bros have been told and are gathered to watch the punishment. Before the blow is delivered, your drunk bro must have the situation explained to him. Because he is drunk, he will probably agree that he needs to be punched. 47) Under no circumstances should a bro ever be hit in the genitals for any reason. EVER! 48) You should only ever make fun of a bro for minor things that don’t affect their physical attributes. Example, dam man you got really goofy shoes.  The exception is for something that doesn’t exist, example; making fun of your friend for having man-boobs when he clearly doesn’t. 49) The only time that cockblocking is condoned by the bro code is when the designated cockblocker (aka the bombardier) has viable reasons to stop a bro from hooking up with a girl. 50) The Golden bro rule that everyone knows, Bros over hoes. This rule may be seasoned to taste by the bros themselves. Example; Bros over hoes except at the close. This rule of the bro code is what sets the male gender apart from the female gender. It is the very essence of the bro code, and embodies the true awesomeness that is bro love. The Bro Code, everyone. Learn it. Live it. Cherish it. 

You can always read another version here:

http://www.brocode.com/code

#bro code #LIVE IT #bros #bros always come first #girls can be bros to imo

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 21 - ao3 -

When he woke, Lan Qiren expected to find everyone talking about what had happened.

He might have even preferred that, despite the cost it would undoubtedly do to his personal reputation; instead, he found that the entire incident had been largely covered up, with even Lan Yueheng uncertain as to what had caused Lan Qiren’s injury other than that it involved some sort of dispute with his brother. That a mangled version of the story had not spread was as sure a sign as anything that He Kexin, whatever her faults or reckless willingness to act on assumptions with little base in reality, had in fact explained what had really happened, and that his brother had decided that he wouldn’t permit her reputation to be tainted by her actions.

Anyone might have expected the honorable Qingheng-jun to have apologized to Lan Qiren at that point for his own reckless assumptions, but his brother had not. On the contrary, he had left orders for Lan Qiren to be punished for breaching the rules of hospitality in striking an honored guest, and for violating several other rules not publicly specified. 

Lan Qiren could imagine which ones his brother had in mind.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Lan Qiren said to his teachers, blankly staring down at the punishment order, written in his brother’s hand. He hadn’t even been given the courtesy of being told about it to his face, as anyone might have expected, nor allowed the opportunity to defend or justify himself; he had been summarily sentenced in a note. “I really didn’t.”

His music teacher and his swordsmanship teacher both looked uncomfortable and awkward, each one clearly aware of the breach of protocol taking place – and, given their position as sect elders and honored teachers, very likely the actual facts of what had occurred. They knew that the only thing he was being punished over was for having the misfortune of being selected as the tool for He Kexin’s scheme, and his brother’s order – vastly excessive for a breach of the sort listed as the reason, given the usual standard of punishments – was due only to his own embarrassment and chagrin, and maybe his jealousy that Lan Qiren had unwillingly gotten even a little of the attention he so greatly desired and could not have. And yet, despite that…

“He is your sect leader,” one of them, the latter, said, and if his voice was a little regretful, it was also cold and passionless. “He has issued punishment. Are you defying his order?”

Lan Qiren’s hands were like fists on his knees. “Where is my brother?” he asked. He didn’t think an appeal would be a good idea, even if he were technically entitled to it – it’d be futile, unless his brother abruptly realized how foolish he was being – but he would be fine with it if only the answer wasn’t…

“With Rogue Cultivator He. She has agreed to give him another chance.”

Lan Qiren bit his lip and looked down. He did not like He Kexin, and not only because she had so grossly transgressed against him in an obvious attempt to convince his brother not to like her any longer – an attempt that, given the extent of his brother’s love-madness, probably wouldn’t have worked even if Lan Qiren hadn’t been utterly repulsed by the idea of bedding his brother’s prospective bride – and the idea of her giving his brother another chance at this point, even after having done so much to try to make him go away…

Perhaps she liked men that fought over her, he thought bitterly. Or perhaps it was only that she appreciated how much of his love she had for him to treat his younger brother as nothing on her behalf - though if that was what she was thinking, she was sorely mistaken. 

“Something will need to be done about my brother’s behavior,” he said, looking up at them desperately. “You must know that this is not sustainable, honored teachers.”

“That is not your concern,” his swordsmanship teacher said, while his music teacher merely looked sad and helpless, as if what was happening was a force of nature that could not be quelled or diverted, and not merely a single man’s inappropriate behavior. “Will you accept the punishment? Or do you intend to defy the sect leader’s order?”

Lan Qiren shook his head mutely, and went to the discipline hall.

Afterwards, Lan Yueheng scurried in after him, shoving a healing pill into Lan Qiren’s mouth and holding his mouth shut until he swallowed it. “You should go,” he said, glancing around anxiously. “You don’t want to be here any longer than you have to.”

“You assume I don’t have to,” Lan Qiren said, still shaking from the pain. He’d never gotten that many strikes all at once, not in his life; he could barely stand unaided, and leaned on Lan Yueheng gratefully. “I’m supposed to kneel and meditate on my actions for three days –”

“You can do that somewhere else!”

Lan Qiren shook his head.

But for once Lan Yueheng was right and he was wrong. On the first two days of his punishment, he saw his brother pass by the discipline hall in an excellent mood, his ‘second chance’ with He Kexin going better than he had hoped – according to the gossip Lan Qiren overheard, apparently she did like it when handsome men fought for her and believed in her, and moreover apparently one of her friends had intervened on his behalf – but on the third day, just as he was about to complete his penance for crimes he had not committed, his brother returned suddenly in a fury over some setback. In a bout of bad luck and bad timing, he saw Lan Qiren just as he was making his way out of the hall, and in a fit of temper he had extended his order from one set of strikes to two, even though such a retrospective revision of punishment was contrary to both the letter and spirit of the rules.

He was the sect leader, though. According to the rules Lan Yi had set down so many years ago, as sect leader, he was entitled to vary the rules if he felt the need to do so.

This time, when the punishment was done, Lan Qiren hauled himself out of there, using the wall and sheer willpower to force his shaking legs to carry him, and stiffly announced to the teacher supervising punishments that he planned to meditate in penance in the Cold Spring instead of the discipline hall.

It was technically against the stricter interpretations of discipline, since he’d been punished to kneel, not meditate, but the Cold Spring was known to have recuperative and pain-easing properties as well as acting as an aid to cultivation; his teachers, which had overseen his punishment for the second time with tightly pressed lips signifying disapproval that meant nothing if they were unwilling to take any action to stop it, did not dispute him, and with a nod his freedom was assured.

Lan Qiren had a brief moment of disquiet when he got there and realized that he would have to strip off his clothing in order to bathe – he’d only had enough time to wash himself since the incident with He Kexin, and a quick scrub in the cold air did not leave time to worry about who might try to find him while he lacked a protective layer of clothing – but with a deep breath he reminded himself that he, unlike his brother, would not allow his life to be governed by He Kexin’s whims. Anyway, it would be unhealthy to wade in with all his clothing on; the wet cloth would serve only to make him feel colder and get less benefit out of the water’s healing properties. Even if his golden core was strong enough to resist most of the negative effects of catching cold, there was no need to tempt fate.

He put his clothing somewhere he could easily see it, tucking his access token into the clothing in such a way that summoning the token would drag along the robe as well, and then unsteadily entered the water, wincing at the bracing chill as he sank down until he was neck-deep in the water, settling himself in the proper position to meditate. Or, well, to sit blankly and wait for there to be a little less pain: even putting aside the severity, it was also the first time he’d ever been subject to back-to-back punishments in such a reckless fashion. Lack of treatment after a punishment was fairly standard if the sentence also included kneeling – technically, Lan Yueheng shouldn’t have given him a pill to encourage healing, and Lan Qiren shouldn’t have accepted it, although doing so was not a major breach. Moreover, given that the teachers had ignored it rather than adding on any additional punishment, it might even be seen as having been subtly countenanced.

Lan Qiren rather wished he had one now.

Or Lan Yueheng, for that matter. Or even Cangse Sanren, far away in Yunmeng, or Lao Nie, or someone, anyone, who would be friendly and take his side, even –

“Lan Qiren?”

Lan Qiren blinked, surprised to note that the angle of the light had changed considerably; he must have fallen asleep or otherwise drifted off. Or perhaps he was still asleep, because why else would he be hearing Wen Ruohan’s slow drawling tone saying his name in the middle of the Cloud Recesses?

“Ah, little Lan,” the man himself said, gliding out of the mist that surrounded the Cold Spring like a wraith. “There you are.”

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. “You’re – here.”

It didn’t feel real. How could Wen Ruohan be here?

“I am,” Wen Ruohan said, his lips curved in his usual arrogant expression, the one that said I don’t care what you think of me. “Or am I expected to await your invitation in the future?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said, because he felt even less in control of anything to do with his sect than he had been when he’d been its second young master, even though he was now the presumptive heir. His vision of Wen Ruohan blurred and briefly doubled; he blinked to clear it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Even if it was true.

Wen Ruohan’s eyes briefly widened, and then he smirked, looking delighted by the admission. “So you missed me after all,” he said, his voice low and intimate; one might almost call it a purr. “Ah, my stubborn little brother…”

Lan Qiren briefly closed his eyes. Had his brother ever referred to him directly like that? He couldn’t remember if he had.

He wished that it had been some single moment in time, some rash act, that had driven his blood brother, born of the same father and mother, so far away from him. He even wished that it was something that he had done so that it could be something he might fix, might repair with apologies and penance, but he knew that it wasn’t.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that Wen Ruohan had come closer, prowling along the edge of the Cold Spring with his red eyes fixed on Lan Qiren. His pace, as always, was slow and steady – it felt inexorable, unstoppable, and Lan Qiren did nothing to stop him, watching blankly as he came forward, crouching down right beside the place where Lan Qiren was sitting beneath the water.

“Little Lan,” Wen Ruohan purred. “My little Lan…”

He reached out, his long-nailed fingers tracing down along Lan Qiren’s cheek, as light as snowflakes, and down to his chin, catching it in a strong grip and turning his face to look up at Wen Ruohan.  His thumb brushed against Lan Qiren’s lips.

Lan Qiren swallowed. It had been, he thought, too long since he had felt the touch of someone who wished him well, or indeed anyone at all; he had missed it more than he had realized.

Wen Ruohan noticed, and his smirk widened.

“I heard a rumor that you had been caught in attempted adultery,” he remarked. “I didn’t believe it, of course, and no one else did, either – but I had to come see for myself.”

“I didn’t,” Lan Qiren croaked. His voice felt strangled and inexplicably hoarse, and he found himself absently calculating distances in the back of his mind: Wen Ruohan must have left the Nightless City for the Cloud Recesses the very moment he received the report from his spies on what had happened in order to be here now. “I really – didn’t.”

“I believe you,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding cool and amused. “It didn’t really seem like something that my little Lan would do. My little Lan, who missed me so…”

Lan Qiren tried to turn his head away, not wanting to see the smug satisfaction in Wen Ruohan’s voice and face and manner – Wen Ruohan hadn’t won, he thought stubbornly to himself. Lan Qiren hadn’t given up on his conviction that such torture was wrong or that Wen Ruohan was wrong in engaging in it. It was only that Lan Qiren was tired and in pain, and willing to accept comfort from just about anyone.

Wen Ruohan wouldn’t let him turn away, though, and overpowered his weak movement easily.

“Don’t fret,” he said coaxingly. “I missed you, too.”

That sounded nice.

“I must admit, I tried not to. I thought to myself that if you were so foolish as to turn away from me, the consequences should be on your own head, nothing to do with me. But despite my best efforts, you were never far from my thoughts…”

Wen Ruohan’s hand released Lan Qiren’s  chin and drifted down to his throat, lightly pressing his nails against his skin as if examining how the color changed when he did. He moved closer, too close for Lan Qiren to see him clearly given the mist and the angle; his second hand fell upon Lan Qiren’s shoulder, while his first continued to drift down, skating along his collarbone, drifting over to his side –

His touch slid across one of the stray bruises left over from his punishment.

Lan Qiren flinched.

That was a bad idea, of course. The involuntary reflex moved his body too quickly, straining all his other cuts and bruises, and the spike of pain from that made him gasp and instinctively curl up. His vision briefly whited out, and he struggled to control his breathing, keeping it slow and shallow to let the pain pass over him.

After a moment that felt overly long, his vision cleared. When it did, he became aware that Wen Ruohan’s fingers were pressed to his brow in the place between his eyes, transferring warm qi to him in such a torrent that it almost hurt; Lan Qiren lifted up a hand to stop him.

Wen Ruohan was faster than him, though, and he pulled away his hand and caught Lan Qiren’s, pulling it up to examine the bruising that was already appearing on the back of his arm – stray marks, in the main part, since the majority were on his back, between his neck and thighs. “What happened?” he asked, voice sharp. “How did you get these wounds?”

Lan Qiren looked at him in bewilderment: was this not the same man he had seen twist human beings into shapes their bodies could not bear, burn them with fire and slice them into bits? Why would he care so much over a few bruises and cuts, the marks left behind by unyielding wood when it struck flesh, instruments of discipline used a thousand times over in every single sect? 

“You know already,” he said, unable to keep the slight tone of plaintive accusation out of his voice. “You said you believed me…”

Wen Ruohan stared at him, expression strangely blank, and then in a single gesture he pulled Lan Qiren up to a standing position, waist-deep in the water and choking on the pain of it, back bent forward like a bow, the worst of the marks now visible to Wen Ruohan’s burning gaze.

“What is this?” he demanded.

It wasn’t really a question that needed answering, and he wasn’t really asking, not anymore, but Lan Qiren responded regardless: “Punishment.”

Wen Ruohan’s hand was tight on his wrist.

“For what?” he snarled, and he sounded furious. Lan Qiren didn’t know if he’d ever heard Wen Ruohan sound this angry - he didn’t know if anyone alive had heard him be this angry, and if they had whether they’d survived the experience. “It is impossible that you actually bedded your brother’s lover. So what possible reason could they have for punishing you?”

“He’s my sect leader,” Lan Qiren said groggily. His head was starting to hurt; he had exited the cold water too quickly. “Does he need a reason?”

The hand on his wrist tightened still further. Lan Qiren would probably have bruises there in the morning as well, equally undeserved - but he minded these far less. 

At least Wen Ruohan was angry on his behalf.

“Qingheng-jun is daring indeed,” Wen Ruohan said, his voice as smooth as silk and as dark as a moonless night. “To think he can act with impunity to anyone he wishes, even going so far as to harm one with whom I share an oath –”

“…do you?”

Wen Ruohan stopped. “Share an oath with you?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said. His head lolled a little, and he found that somewhere along the line he had been drawn into Wen Ruohan’s arms, making it easy to rest his head on the other man’s shoulder. Wen Ruohan was overly warm, as always; his sect always preferred cultivation techniques involving yang energy and fire – it wasn’t a surprise, not really, but it was unexpected how pleasant it was. “Need a reason.” He shook his head a little. “You hurt people, too.”

“You are not just any person,” Wen Ruohan said. “You’re my little brother.”

“I’m his little brother, too.”

He felt Wen Ruohan’s hand, blazingly hot against his water-chilled body, come to rest on his hair.

“You were born with poor luck in brothers, little Lan,” he said, his breath warm against Lan Qiren’s ear. It was as if all the heat in the world was contained in his body, and Lan Qiren capable only of leeching off of it. “Not just him, but me as well; we each fail you in turn. I will not apologize for having bound you to me, for I do not regret it – but I will endeavor to make it up to you.”

Surrounded by all that warmth, Lan Qiren drifted off to sleep.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

[robininthelabyrinth]

I recently found out that Meng Yao's name means 'radiant piece of jade' and I can't stop thinking about Lan Yao, the Third Jade of Lan. I don't know how this would happen (he goes to a clan that forbids gossip instead of the Nie? After he rescues Xichen, Xichen asks him to stay and be his righthand man and he agrees?) but I'm obsessed with it. Preferably Xiyao content, but gen is fine too!

Untamed

“The penalty for the deliberate murder of a superior during battle is death,” Nie Mingjue said dully. “As you know, Meng Yao.”

“I understand,” Meng Yao said, and closed his eyes. “No matter how it ended, Chifeng-zun, serving you was the greatest honor of my life.”

Nie Mingjue should do his duty and execute him.

And yet, he cannot. The number of his friends can be counted upon a single hand, and to know that he himself took the step of ending the life of one of them would break his heart…and anyway, he has an excuse, does he not? Meng Yao clearly committed a crime, ending the life of a Nie sect commander during battle, thinking he could blame it on Xue Yang, as he had done, or perhaps on the Wens, but at the same time he had also saved Nie Mingjue’s life; it would not be too much to use that as an excuse, to turn away from the stringent requirements of righteousness and pardon Meng Yao for what he had done...he would still have to leave, of course.

A commutation of punishment, then, from death to exile.

The taste of it was like ashes on his tongue.

Nie Mingjue had always been a decisive man, righteous even to the point of cruelty – even to himself. But today he would be losing his right-hand man, one way or the other, and tomorrow he would have to send his little brother into the tiger’s den…

He was tired of loss.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said, choosing to speak aloud his thoughts rather than hide them as he normally would. “Nor do I wish to exile you. Meng Yao, I hold you in the greatest esteem – if he had wronged you, why could you not have come to me? Why did you have to break sect law, which I am bound by honor to follow?”

Meng Yao opened his eyes. They were wet – if it had been before, he would have thought it regret, but now he wondered if it was only regret that he had been caught. “Sect Leader Nie…”

“Do you not understand the meaning of rules?” he asked. “Why we have them – the purpose? Is it all nothing in your eyes when set next to advantage that could be gained?”

It was behavior he would have expected – should have expected – from a son of Jin Guangshan.

Perhaps he’d truly been fooling himself all this time.

“Don’t you have an answer for me?” he asked, voice hoarse. His spiritual energy was unstable, his body injured, his heart hurting; he did not want to lose Meng Yao as well, but what choice did he have? What choice had Meng Yao left him? “Meng Yao, you always know what to do, you’ve always advised me well. If you had to decide on your own fate, what would you do? To kill you would be to stain my hands with the blood of a friend, to exile you would be to abandon you into the wilderness, but to absolve you would make me the most wretched of men, who enforces the law only for his own whims and preferences – who lets the guilty go as long as they are his own. I cannot be Wen Ruohan for you, Meng Yao. It would destroy me.”

“…I don’t know, Sect Leader Nie,” Meng Yao murmured. “I cannot judge.”

Perhaps that was real regret on his face, now. Regret not only that he’d been found, but that he’d violated Nie Mingjue’s bottom line, his principles, his law…

His rules.

Nie Mingjue frowned, thinking of the letters Nie Huaisang had sent him while he had been at the Cloud Recesses. Thinking of the first one, the one that detailed their welcome ceremony…full of gleeful observations regarding how Meng Yao had looked at Lan Xichen, and how Lan Xichen had looked back…

“Neither can I,” he said, even though he should. He was sect leader; it was his burden to be the final arbiter of such things. It was his own weakness that kept him from making the decision he needed to make – but a type weakness, he hoped, that could be succored by time. Time and clarity. “Meng Yao, when you were at the Cloud Recesses, you met Zewu-jun, correct?”

Meng Yao’s eyes widened, clearly surprised, and he nodded.

“Good,” Nie Mingjue said. “Therefore I sentence you to neither execution nor exile; the decision on your fate will be deferred until a later date. For now, you remain my deputy, with all concomitant rights and duties.”

Meng Yao swallowed.

“Until the final outcome has be reached you cannot remain here,” Nie Mingjue continued. “Without a foundation, there can be no structure; without trust, nothing can be built. I send you out – not in exile, but on my orders. I order you to go with all haste to the Cloud Recesses and contact Zewu-jun regarding the intelligence we have received regarding the Wen sect’s threats; once you have arrived, stay by his side and assist him as you have assisted me. If tragedy can be prevented, do so; if it cannot, salvage what you can.”

“Sect Leader Nie…!”

“Go,” he said. “Go to them, be a jade among the jades; and when you are done, return to my side, and – and we will see what must be done then.”

Perhaps Lan Xichen’s kindness, kindness and even love, would be able to help heal Meng Yao where his trust and respect had not. Maybe Meng Yao would learn from the Lan sect’s rules what he hadn’t from the Nie sect’s principles – or maybe he wouldn’t, and Nie Mingjue was just postponing the inevitable.

He would write a letter to Lan Xichen explaining the circumstances, he decided. He would entrust Meng Yao to him, and him to Meng Yao, and hope that all his hope was not in vain.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #meng yao #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #it's xiyao but in the background I guess? #also Mingjue also means jade #so much jade #all around #rainbowrites

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lotus Pier was always loyal, aware in the way that objects only are after hundreds of years, and she expected to disappear after she was destroyed. Instead she wakes up, rebuilt in both place and spirit, stronger than ever, at the hands of a grieving Jiang Cheng.

The Lotus Pier always loved the bright spirits of the world, the free and unrestrained; she held them cupped in her hand like birds, ready to fly away, to go where their whim takes them, to return because they loved her. Her cultivators reflected that, shining bright, standing against the world and attempting the impossible.

But they were only humans, their lives short and too easily cut shorter; when the invading armies came to the Pier, she tried her best to help her people – help them fight, help them flee – but the enemy was already invited inside her gates.

There was nothing she could do.

Her walls were thrown open, her treasures taken, her children killed – her very core, layer upon layer of arrays painted by all the Jiang sect disciples through all the years, violated.

The Wens sought to make her their own, in their blunt, stupid, grasping way. They didn’t know what she was, of course. No one knew. Only the Sect Leader – each one learning about her from their predecessor at the moment of their accession, the secret as well as a set of vows, an oath of mutual loyalty, and those who refused the oath were killed at the very moment of their supposed triumph.

Her children were good to her. In return, she was good to them.

When the Wens tried to seize control of her, to make her nothing more than a fortress, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to disappear – to die, destroyed in both body and soul, rather than allow herself to be used by those who killed her children.

She did not expect that anyone would be able to reawaken her.

Who could? It was impossible. Only the Sect Leader knew her secrets – and he was dead, dead long before he could pass along his knowledge to his heir, and of course it wasn’t written down anywhere.

Awakening, therefore, came as a surprise.

It was even more of a surprise to realize that she was still herself, still the Lotus Pier of old; she had half-expected the Wen sect to have cracked open her arrays and found a way to make her obedient.

But no.

It was not the Wens.

It was a single man, little more than a half-grown boy, kneeling in the center of an array painted in his own heart’s blood, his chest still wet as the bandages slowly soaked through.

He was wearing her purple, embroidered with her lotuses.

“My name is Jiang Cheng,” he said, and her heart thrilled: of course he was a Jiang. Only her children would be brave enough to attempt something as insane as this. “Great Spirit, I come to you as a supplicant. I need your power to help me protect my home.”

He did not know who she was.

It amused her not to tell him – meaning only to hide it for a little, only at first, of course. He was a Jiang, and Sect Leader; they were bound together, the two of them, like the Nies and their sabers.

It was fun at first.

Jiang Cheng was rebuilding her body, each plank and each joint fitting together, the wood from the best of trees, the arrays hidden within the walls. He spoke to her about it, sometimes – it took him a while to get used to her dwelling inside of him, her presence at the back of his head, but in time he got used to it.

It didn’t seem as if he had anyone else to talk to.

He loved her, dearly. She could see it in the way his hands were soft over her, the way he worried over small details, the way he insisted everything had to be perfect.

He did not think she loved him.

She didn’t find that out until some time in: he was proud, her little Jiang, full of pride, but his shoulders were weighed down with grief and responsibility. He was not spontaneous, preferring rules that he could understand and implement – he had been a disappointment to someone once, and it had sunk into his bones. With a rule he could do the right thing and hope to please; without, he was on his own, and he had no faith in himself. He knew himself to be no genius, knew that all he had to offer was his hard work – and oh, he worked so hard. He tried, so hard.

And he thought that it meant nothing.

“Wei Wuxian knew the motto better than me,” he said once. “The impossible was easy for him, a snap of his fingers…impulsive, reckless, free. A proper Jiang. He always said he had a mother and a father, that all the rumors about my father being his were false, but how would he know? Was he there when he was conceived? Or maybe it’s just easy enough to understand, so easy that someone else’s son can do it, and only I fail to even grasp it.”

The Lotus Pier did not pay much attention to the bright sparks that drifted above her, certainly didn’t know them by name; she did not know who Wei Wuxian was. Still, her heart hurt to hear her Jiang speak about himself like that.

You did the impossible, she reminded him. You survived. You revived. You returned. You summoned me.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I only did it because I’m the only one left. Anyone else would have done a better job than me, but there was only ever me.”

She argued with him, confused as to how the Jiang sect motto had been so perverted – it didn’t matter if he was stiff and stern, if he liked rules, if he liked winning, if he was grumpy and rude and prone to yelling, expressing affection through his scolding rather than warmth; it didn’t matter if his first thought each morning was of his obligations and what he needed to do, rather than what he wanted, that he put his sect first in his heart over all other matters; it didn’t matter that he needed to think about what was right and what was wrong rather than simply knowing immediately in his heart what he should do.

That was who he was, the boy he was born and the man he’d become. That was fine.

All she’d ever cared about was that they be resolute and determined, brave enough to do what must be done without flinching.

Her little Jiang Cheng – he did the impossible every day, all alone, and he never once realized it.

Eventually, she told him who she was.

He did not take it especially well. But then, she’d expected that – he was most sensitive to matters of deception, tender in only the way a boy who had been a little too trusting could be. She regretted that she’d hurt him, that she hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t enjoy her teasing the way some of his ancestors did – but in the end he had bound himself to her, body and soul, so it wasn’t as though all his storming around could really have an impact.

He did leave, for a while. When he came back, he had a small child asleep in his arms and a beatific expression of sheer joy.

“My sister’s child,” he explained, having apparently completely forgotten how she’d hurt him. He’d remember later, of course, in the dark of the night when he counted all his grievances, but right now he needed to tell someone and she was, very sadly, the only person he knew. “Jin Ling. When he’s older, I’ll introduce him to you.”

She reminded him that her presence was usually a secret kept to the Sect Leader.

“What good does that do? If I get killed, won’t you just disappear again? Besides, he deserves to meet you. He deserves everything I can give him, and more.”

It turned out the sister was dead, too. Dead, like his parents, like Wei Wuxian – he’d had an old grandmother who’d come to help for a while, but she hadn’t long survived burying her black-haired daughter.

He only had the child – and her.

Time passed quickly enough, and the Lotus Pier flourished under Jiang Cheng’s control. He indulged her just as he indulged his nephew, building her more bridges, more buildings, another pier or two; she was pleased by it, spoiled by it.

Used to it.

And then something came and nearly destroyed it all. Someone.

She wasn’t aware all the time, spending much of her time simply being the Pier, and so she only saw a small part of it – Jiang Cheng screaming (not new), sobbing (not especially new), and then running around like a maniac, begging for people to try to draw a sword from its sheath (new and a little disturbing).

He retreated to the room that held her core and collapsed on the array.

“It’s not mine,” he said, his face covered. “It’s all been him. Everything I’ve done – all his. Same as always. I’m always second to him –”

He said more than that, too. Not very intelligently, or coherently, but in time the story came out.

He gave you nothing but power. You did the rest. You were the one who build me back up from nothing, alone; not him, you. He left. You stayed.

“Just wait,” he said. “Just wait. He’ll come back, one day, and then you’ll see – he’s just like what you like best. Better than me. Everyone likes him better. Even Jin Ling – you’ll see.”

The Lotus Pier did not keep people by force: she let her birds fly free, following their hearts. She did not consider herself abandoned when people left, no matter how good or bad the reason. And yet…

“He loves him,” Jin Ling told her, curled up in his room. “Uncle loves Senior Wei so much. He gave up everything for him. Did he tell you?”

I live in his mind. I know.

“I don’t know why he won’t make up with him!”

Wei Wuxian followed his heart. Jiang Cheng followed his. Their paths conflicted; their hearts broke. Who is to say the path chosen by one, trying his best, is better than the other’s attempt to do the same?  

“But they’ll both be happier if they make up. Senior Wei is – I don’t know. I like him. It’d make Uncle happy to have him back. Even if only sometimes, if only for a little. I wish there was something I could do!”

Your uncle is competitive. Remind him that you love him best. It will help calm him.

It wasn’t clear to her what exactly Jin Ling did – it wasn’t at the Pier – but somehow Wei Wuxian came to visit, his husband in tow, a wary but hopeful expression on his face. They had dinner together, all of them. It was awkward and awful, Jiang Cheng alternating between snapping and biting his tongue, Wei Wuxian making light of things he shouldn’t and dismissing past pain, Lan Wangji looking as though he would rather be dead and Jin Ling with his head in his hands more often than not.

Bring him to see me.

“Absolutely not!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

Wei Wuxian, who had been in the middle of complaining about eating nothing but vegetables at family feasts, stared.

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Jin Ling clarified, but that didn’t help; if anything, Wei Wuxian looked even more concerned.

He won’t understand. Bring him to me.

Jiang Cheng swallowed, his fingers clenching in fear; she has told him time and time again that she would never abandon him, couldn’t, but he still didn’t believe her.

Still – he loved her. He loved her best.

He stood up.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?” Lan Wangji asked, suspicious.

“The ancestral hall.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed there,” Wei Wuxian said with a nervous laugh.

“I need to show you something,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just you. There’s – someone I want you to meet.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jin ling #my fic #my fics #dunno why but there's a lot of jiang cheng today #all the prompts together at once #Anonymous