Chapter Text
And the years passed like sand sifting down an hourglass, collecting into a dream.
Wuyu Pavilion was one of the famous restaurants in the region. The smell of spices and warm food wafted in the air. Loud laughter and the glow of the paper lanterns beckoned everyone inside. On one of the tables, a group of travelers huddled together. Jars of wine and empty cups litter the table.
“Have you heard? The first emperor and Hanguang-jun were spotted in CaiDie Town three days ago!” A loud voice cried. The man leaned on the table and beckoned his companions closer. “You know that town with the ghost marriage tradition? They said that it was plagued by a ghost bride who was killed by her husband’s family after they stole her perfume recipe. Hanguang-jun and the first emperor swooped in and made the family admit their crimes in public!”
The rest of the travelers nodded and toasted. One of his companions, however, snorted in disbelief. “Aish, you old fool. Stop listening to those stories.”
The man rolled his eyes.
“What were they like?” Another of his companions piped up, ignoring the other.
The man rubbed his hands and said, “They said that one of them had a flute and the other one had a qin. Crows, there were crows -”
“It proves nothing! Many cultivators use them! Why would the first emperor descend just to what? Help out a town? Keep dreaming! ” The cup was slammed on the table.
When the first emperor of the cultivation world abdicated the throne in favor of the Crown Prince Sizhui, he and his husband, Hanguang-jun, retreated from the public and lived in seclusion as immortals were wont to do. No one had heard from them since and people began weaving tales to fill in the blank spaces of history.
Some said that they ascended together. Some storytellers bravely told hyperbolic tales of their achievements - from the Xuanwu, the Sunshot Campaign, to the first emperor’s ascension and his reign. However, it didn't matter which version was told, the two were never separated and Hanguang-jun’s devotion became popular to the poets.
Years after their seclusion and the new emperor's enthronement, rumors of two immortal rogue cultivators and a donkey roaming the lands and extending their help in places the sects ignored without payment rose. The rumors said that one of them wore black and the other one wore white. They both wore veiled hats that obscured their faces but wherever they went, the sound of a dizi and a qin accompanied them. Like smoke, the two would disappear without a trace.
There were whispers that the one with the dizi was a demonic cultivator - an unimaginable feat since the last demonic cultivator was the first emperor and he destroyed every trace of his cultivation method so no one could follow in his steps.
Those with bolder tongues cast their suspicions that these two were the first emperor and Hanguang-jun themselves. But to do so was akin to inviting heaven’s punishment - after all, who would be brave enough to pretend to be them?
“Eh?” A young man came up from behind them. “Uncle, why do you think that they won’t descend to help? Isn’t it their job to help those in need?”
The man in question laughed and turned to him. “Ah, young master. Their Imperial Majesties are immortals, not ordinary cultivators. Why'd they care about worldly matters? They have other things to do."
“Indeed, indeed.” The young man nodded thoughtfully and scratched his nose. A white silk ribbon was wrapped around his wrist. "Can uncle tell this one what he thinks their Imperial Majesties are doing now?"
"Bah! Probably getting serenaded by fairies!" Their drunk companion interrupted. The others on the table shook their heads and sighed. “My great-grandfather once told me that the first emperor used to have a ghost harem. Let me tell you, young master. If I was the emperor, I'd surround myself with beauties and treasures- oi!”
He was cut off by a slap on the head.
The young man looked like he was about to say something but someone wearing a white veiled hat came and ushered him towards the private rooms upstairs, a hand pressed against the small of his back.
The travelers resumed their tales. More wine was poured.
Wei Wuxian lifted the pearl curtains, lips pressed tight with barely restrained laughter. Once they were inside the private room, he started laughing.
"Serenaded by fairies!" He grinned. “A ghost harem. Lan Zhan, they really have wild ideas about what we're doing.”
The only things serenading Wei Wuxian nowadays were the frogs and insects in the fields. But who would believe that he turned his back from luxury and power to tend to his farm with his husband? Or night hunt with him just like he promised for the rest of their lives? The wildest theory he heard included a dragon. If Wei Wuxian had a dragon, he wouldn’t suffer Little Apple’s temper.
No, let the world have their fantasies, this part of their lives was theirs and theirs alone.
"Do I not serenade or entertain you enough?" Lan Wangji asked. He stood in the middle of the room, the white gauzy fabric obscured his face but Wei Wuxian could detect a hint of wry amusement in his tone. He didn’t need to see the small upturn of his lips to know that it was there.
Wei Wuxian stepped in front of him and parted the veil. Hours ago, Lan Wangji did the same to him, only that he was wearing a red bridal veil as they were married again by the Ghost Mistress during their night hunt. If it could be even called a wedding with all those corpses and paper brides.
A hundred years ago, Wei Wuxian would laugh at the bitter irony of the Yiling Patriarch being married in a ghost marriage.
He remembered their wedding. It had been the grandest wedding the cultivation world had seen. Wei Wuxian wasted no expense - Lan Wangji didn't deserve anything less. Swathes of silk - red, turquoise clouds, gold and black. The years spent with Lan Wangji ruling by his side. Lan Wangji's forehead ribbon now a permanent fixture on his wrist, and his own hair ribbon tied on Lan Wangji's hair when the man renounced his ties from his sect to avoid the political ramifications.
The moment their son was finally allowed to address them both as his fathers in public.
Tomorrow, Wei Wuxian thought. They would return to their cottage. Tomorrow, the two of them would plow the fields again. Their cabbages and peppers were due for a harvest.
“Mm. You do. My Lan Zhan is the best.” He ducked and leaned close until the veil hid them from view. He traced his smile. Wei Wuxian won't get tired of seeing Lan Wangji's smile. It settled, sunlight warming his heart. The stars would turn to nothing from shame.
Lan Wangji leaned into his touch, wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close.
“Baobei, beloved, husband. We’re retired but everyone is still talking about us.”
Lan Wangji pressed his lips against his forehead, then to the grin on his mouth. Wei Wuxian leaned into the kiss, tasted the peaches from earlier, and laughed when he felt Lan Wangji wander down to cup his ass, when he felt him squeeze.
"So impatient. Lan Zhan, do you really want to take your poor bride right now?" He licked Lan Wangji's bottom lip and fluttered his lashes. "Can't resist me, huh? It's a shame that we have to burn the wedding robes. We could've repeated the wedding night."
"Mn. My husband is very tempting," Lan Wangji said softly. His eyes darkened at Wei Wuxian's last words.
"And they say that you're the virgin," he complained, still annoyed at the remark from one of their previous clients. He felt a pinch. Wei Wuxian smacked his shoulder, pouting. "Er-gege! Don't be too rough. You just had me earlier."
A sharp clatter interrupted them. Wei Wuxian saw the blurry figure of their server who stammered his apologies and nearly ran away.
He buried his face against Lan Wangji's neck and laughed. He felt Lan Wangji huff a soft amused sound.
Wei Sizhui carefully folded the letter, a wistful smile on his face.
He reached for the painting beside his qin. It was of his fathers playing with two rabbits. All soft careful strokes of the brush and gentle washes of the pigment done by Wei Wuxian’s own hand. It was a stark difference from the official portraits depicting the two of them in their ceremonial garbs with severe expressions.
He quickly wrote his reply, blew the ink dry and tied it to his a-die's crow. The bird cawed and nudged his hand before it opened its wings and flew. He watched it disappear from view.
“Your Imperial Majesty," Lan Jingyi spoke beside him, breaking him out of thoughts.
Wei Sizhui sighed, a prickle of discomfort lingered each time Lan Jingyi addressed him by his title. “Jingyi, you do not need to call me that when it is just the two of us.”
It was only the two of them in his pavilion. The sun was starting to set. Summer was making its way to autumn, the changing of the seasons was inevitable. The two of them were older now but Wei Sizhui still missed playing hide and seek with Lan Jingyi, Jin Rulan and Ouyang Zizhen along the magnolias trees back in their youths.
He wondered if he should have plum blossoms planted too.
Lan Jingyi relaxed and made a face. "You're right. It still feels strange."
Wei Sizhui couldn't stop the fondness from welling in his chest.
“I've always wanted to ask,” Lan Jingyi began, “why are there so many magnolia trees in the palace?”
Wei Sizhui ducked his head and smiled. “A-die said that they remind him of baba.”
“Oh. So Ouyang Zizhen and the young mistress were right,” Lan Jingyi muttered to himself.
Wei Sizhui pretended not to hear the last part.
“Do you want to visit them?”
“Someday.” Wei Sizhui tucked the letter in his sleeves and looked up at him. “The road ahead of us is long, Jingyi.”
Lan Jingyi grinned, bright and clear. “I’m by your side, Sizhui.”