Chapter Text
The whole unfortunate ordeal starts out with a night hunt, as most unfortunate things in Wei Wuxian’s life regularly do.
He and Lan Wangji had been part of a small hunting party in response to some complaints near Caiyi Town of graves being ravaged and upturned. The whole situation was pretty unbecoming, with half-decaying limbs being dragged out of the ground here and there, and the locals were starting to complain about the smell, among other things.
Wei Wuxian certainly isn’t in Gusu for his health, nor for any night hunts that the GusuLan sect could easily take care of themselves. No, he’d found himself in Gusu with Jiang Cheng and shijie, mostly against his will, for a conference at the Cloud Recesses later in the week, where sect leaders and some select disciples would discuss next steps in the wake of the Sunshot Campaign — and the power vacuum left by the QishanWen sect’s fall from grace.
All fine, and good. Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly thrilled to be back in the Cloud Recesses, save for the liquor selection, but he far prefers it to Nightless City.
The corpse-disturber, or whatever it is, was surely nothing that a small group of cultivators couldn’t handle, which is why he, Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, and a few others had been deployed to solve the issue.
Unfortunately, the day’s hunting party included Jin Zixuan, who was steadily tempting Wei Wuxian into committing homicide.
After seeing the seventh snappy flip of hair over a bow and arrow, Wei Wuxian had decided he’d had quite enough of that, thank you, and had roped a reluctant Lan Wangji into splitting off from the rest of the group to follow a separate trail of tracks, leading south while the rest of the party headed west.
Which is how the two of them had ended up alone in a small, dank-smelling cave, currently struck dumb by an ear-splitting screech and an explosive flash of light.
It takes several moments for Wei Wuxian to come back to himself; he blinks hard, but the darkness of the cave doesn’t abate even a little bit, other than the searing white dots flickering in his vision. His ears are still ringing.
The cave is silent now, aside from their own mingled breathing — the creature, whatever it is, had been effectively spooked off.
Fine, maybe this hadn’t been one of Wei Wuxian’s brighter ideas, as Lan Wangji had been so fond of reminding him every step of the way here. Not in words, of course, so much as judgy mannerisms and withering squinting.
“Lan Zhan?” he asks, panting and groping around in the dark. He finds a wiry shoulder under his palm a moment later. “Lan Zhan.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji replies, and something sounds — different about his voice. Off. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think much further on it.
“Are you okay? Ugh, it’s so dark that I can barely breathe. Here.” He sinks his teeth into his thumb, wincing at the sting as he draws blood, and traces a lighting talisman into the space in front of him.
A gout of orange light flares around them, illuminating Lan Wangji’s tired face before his and it’s — it’s — gray eyes gazing back at him, caught silver in the talisman’s glow, and Wei Wuxian has one stunned, uncomprehending moment to take in his own features gazing back at him before he shouts, and the light snuffs out.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s voice — Wei Wuxian’s voice — rings out in the dark, and he sounds panicked in a way that Wei Wuxian can’t ever recall hearing from him. “My core, it’s — it’s —” He can’t finish his sentence, the words choking off, and Wei Wuxian feels every drop of blood in his body ice over.
“Oh,” he says, weakly, “about that,” and then conveniently passes out.
—
When Wei Wuxian comes to, it’s to the uneven stagger of footsteps beneath him, and he squirms. There’s a sharp huff of effort directly above him, and when he opens his eyes, bleary, he sees his own jawline above him, jutted in concentration. He’s being carried — with considerable strain, given the new size difference — and Wei Wuxian struggles harder as he grips his bearings.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, “what are you — put me down.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t answer him, just stubbornly keeps walking without looking down at him, and Wei Wuxian can’t tell if he’s unspeakably angry or just pigheaded.
“Please,” he adds. “Lan Zhan, what happened?”
Lan Wangji stops, then sets Wei Wuxian gently on his feet. The change in elevation makes all the blood rush to Wei Wuxian’s head, and he sits with a heavy thud on the ground.
Wei Wuxian looks around, trying to reorient himself. It seems they’re still some way from the entrance to Cloud Recesses, but still, Lan Wangji had carried him an impressive distance, given he’s bleeding from a head wound and shaking with fatigue.
Trembling, Wei Wuxian stares at his hands. The fingers are long, beautiful, moon-pale — nothing like his own worn, sun-browned hands. They carry the delicate elegance of a seasoned guqin player and the weathered strength of a practiced swordsman.
They’re Lan Wangji’s hands. Wei Wuxian would know them anywhere. This is Lan Wangji’s body.
Apparently seeing his own body before him hadn’t been sufficient for the reality of the situation to set in. Now, he’s beginning to fully panic.
“Lan Zhan,” he says in a strangled voice, patting down his chest (broader than his own), his arms (much stronger than his own), his waist—
“Stop that,” Lan Wangji says in a similar tone, and Wei Wuxian looks up at him; his fists are clenched, his lips pressed into a thin white line.
“What the hell happened?” Wei Wuxian asks, shriller than anything befitting Lan Wangji’s low voice.
“I don’t know,” Lan Wangji says tightly.
“How do we fix it?”
“I don’t know.” Lan Wangji closes his eyes, seeming as though he’s wading through some implacable emotion, before he says, “Wei Ying.”
“What?”
“Your golden core.” A slight tremor shakes the composure in Lan Wangji’s voice. He closes his eyes, as though pained. “It’s…”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji’s eyes fly open. “You have to swear to me, Lan Zhan, that no one can know.”
“Know what?” Lan Wangji whispers. He's still shaking a little; carrying Wei Wuxian all that way must have really sapped his strength.
Wei Wuxian falls silent.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, much harsher.
“It’s gone,” Wei Wuxian says, and he feels a hard knot slide up his throat. He swallows around it with difficulty. “I gave it up.”
Lan Wangji takes a stumbling half-step back, like he’s been dealt an unexpected blow.
“Who did this,” he says then. His voice is clipped, quiet, dangerous. He’s definitely shaking now, more than before, his expression one Wei Wuxian has never seen. It’s murderous. His fists are clenched at his sides. He asks again through his teeth: “Who.”
“It was my choice." Wei Wuxian is suddenly unable to look Lan Wangji in the eye. He knots his fingers in the grass, roping it around and around his knuckles until the circulation cuts off.
“Why,” Lan Wangji says, faintly. “How.”
“Because Jiang Cheng lost his,” Wei Wuxian says. “He’s sect leader now, and — and I had a perfectly healthy core. It wasn’t even a question.”
Lan Wangji makes this quiet noise like he’s been punched.
Wei Wuxian swallows the unpleasant emotion welling up in him, fast and thick. “He can’t ever know,” he says. “Lan Zhan, please, I’m begging you — please keep it between us.”
“You…” Lan Wangji starts, and then is evidently unable to finish whatever he wants to say, because he cuts himself off, goes silent again.
It’s too intense. Too serious. Too much. With all his effort, Wei Wuxian summons up a thin smile, dons his bravado like armor again. “Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s all fine, really. What did the son of a servant need with all that anyway? Much more fitting that Jiang Cheng has it.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers.
“Enough, enough.” Wei Wuxian’s skin is starting to prickle; he can’t take Lan Wangji’s scolding if that’s what he’s going to do, not on this. Not about this. “Let’s not speak of it, okay? Let’s figure out what we’re going to do. I…I realize this predicament leaves you powerless now, huh? It’s okay, I can teach you some talismans on the most basic things. That way you can protect yourself, just until this situation sorts out.”
Lan Wangji is still faced away from him, his chin angled in the direction of Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian’s crimson hair ribbon flapping in the wind behind him. Is he angry? Wei Wuxian can’t tell. He’s probably angry — a golden core transfer is certainly not orthodox.
“Thank you for carrying me out of there,” Wei Wuxian begins.
“Do not thank me,” Lan Wangji says at once. So, definitely angry then.
Wei Wuxian goes quiet again, uncertain of what to say in the uncomfortable silence that follows. He tries for levity.
“Consider yourself blessed, Lan Zhan! You’re now much more handsome than you were before,” he says with a forced laugh, and makes a face when he’s stonewalled with Lan Wangji’s cool silence. “Fine, fine, I know I got the better end of the deal here. Who wouldn’t want to be the beautiful, powerful Hanguang-Jun, shining Jade of Gusu and the cultivation world’s most eligible bachelor —”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again, tensely.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing.” For now.
He rustles himself to his feet, tripping for a moment — Lan Wangji’s robes are tighter than his, and his limbs are longer, his feet bigger. He’s surprised to feel that Lan Wangji catches his elbow, propelling them both forward.
“This isn’t so bad, Lan Zhan,” he says as they start walking again. “It could even be fun. Think about it — when will this kind of thing ever happen to us again?”
“No,” says Lan Wangji, and that’s all he says, but it shuts Wei Wuxian up, and they’re silent the rest of the way.
—
It’s still early afternoon when they finally get back to the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji immediately drags him to the yashi before anyone can catch sight of them, Wei Wuxian whining in protest the whole time. The rest of the hunting party must not be back yet, still out looking for the creature; the Cloud Recesses are even more silent and austere than usual.
He waits around, bored and restless, while Lan Wangji tends to the head wound Wei Wuxian had managed to pick up before they’d been cursed. Wei Wuxian watches as Lan Wangji gingerly dabs at the blood with a wet cloth until it’s just a pink, shallow scratch; he watches him move around in his body for a few moments more, then finally has to look away. The whole thing is too strange and surreal, watching himself with Lan Wangji’s mannerisms and tics.
Lan Wangji’s pristine white robes have been muddied with dirt and blood, but Wei Wuxian isn’t sure offering to change them will go over well, given Lan Wangji’s stormy expression as he attempts to clean his face.
Still, the headband is itchy and sticking to his forehead with sweat. How does Lan Zhan stand this all the time —
“No touching,” Lan Wangji says sharply, seeing Wei Wuxian’s intent — which, of course, means he has to touch it now.
“Why not?” Wei Wuxian says, his lips creeping up in a mischievous grin. “I am Hanguang-Jun, after all.” He runs a thumb along the fine silk of the headband, smiling wider when Lan Wangji turns a dangerous shade of pink. “What’s so special about it, anyway—”
“Stop,” Lan Wangji says in a low voice, a vein in his forehead starting to pulse. Wei Wuxian concedes, laughing and throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Fine, fine. For you, dearest Lan Zhan, I’ll stop.”
“Stand still,” Lan Wangji orders, crossing to him, and Wei Wuxian gives a mock-serious nod and straightens his shoulders as tight as they’ll go, holding his head aloft and adopting Lan Zhan’s usual deadpan.
Wei Wuxian squirms in place as Lan Wangji considers him silently, his eyes trailing from head to toe. The metal of his ridiculous headpiece is digging painfully into his scalp, pinching the roots of his hair; he’s sweating like a pig under all these layers, and all the dried sweat and blood from earlier is uncomfortable; his ribs itch from the undershirt stuck to his body —
“Stand still,” Lan Wangji says again, not harsh but stern, and Wei Wuxian stops fidgeting and starts sulking. “Temper your expression.”
Wei Wuxian’s lip had been edging toward an instinctive pout; he schools his expression, straightening his shoulders and fixing his features in a neutral, somewhat bored look. He hoods his eyes for extra effect.
Lan Wangji, with Wei Wuxian’s head, nods once in approval. “Good.”
“So, what — I just have to not move at all, do nothing, and look like a corpse, and people will believe it’s you?”
Lan Wangji gives him a look that Wei Wuxian thinks is supposed to be wry and doesn’t deign to respond.
“What about you?” Wei Wuxian counters. “Nobody is going to believe it’s me for a second if all you do is stand there, look imperious, and say Mn.”
Something fleets across Lan Wangji’s (Wei Wuxian’s?) face — embarrassment, maybe — before it passes just as quickly, and Lan Wangji returns to glaring at him.
Wei Wuxian feels a helpless grin steal over him again. He bounces forward into Lan Wangji’s space, the becoming-Hanguang-Jun lesson forgotten at the prospect of merciless teasing.
“What do you know about being shameless, Lan Zhan? Have you ever tried it?”
Wei Wuxian is perhaps a little too thrilled to see a low flush start at the base of Lan Wangji’s neck. Lan Wangji’s gaze cuts away, purposefully avoiding eye contact as he practically simmers with discomfort.
Wei Wuxian leans closer, and it’s strange to be this close to his own face and features, to see them move independently in a manner that’s nothing like he would recognize of himself.
“It’s okay,” he hears himself saying, before he can stop himself. “I can teach you. I’m an expert on this topic.”
Lan Wangji tenses further, his gaze fastened to some apparently fascinating speck of dust on the floor. “No need.”
“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian’s voice borders on a whine, which is both hilarious and surreal, hearing it in Lan Wangji’s low baritone. “Make this a little fun for me, will you? It’s the least you can do, seeing I’m stuck as the venerable Hanguang-Jun with all his boring, insufferable duties and rules for the foreseeable future.”
Lan Wangji’s expression doesn’t change, but Wei Wuxian sees the bob of his throat as he swallows.
“What would you…have me do,” he says quietly.
Wei Wuxian counts this as a small victory, and he feels a huge grin split his face. It feels different from smiling with his own — more wooden, less natural, like Lan Wangji’s facial muscles aren’t accustomed to the expression.
“Well, first off, you can drink as much as you want to now,” he says, and Lan Wangji starts to glare again. “No, really, I mean it! My body has the tolerance of a horse. Two horses, probably. You can tease Jiang Cheng as much as you want to — in fact, I’d encourage you to, to fully sell the part. Pranks are good, breaking rules is good.” He pauses. “What do you know about flirting?”
Lan Wangji full-body flinches like he’s been scalded. “Ridiculous,” he snaps.
“I’m just being thorough! Wei Wuxian is well-known among young cultivators as being a shameless flirt, and good at it,” Wei Wuxian insists, ignoring the way Lan Wangji’s starting to look like he swallowed something extremely sour. “You can practice on me, if you’d like. Friend to friend.”
Lan Wangji takes a step back, like he’s unconsciously trying to flee.
“See, that’s exactly what you won’t do,” Wei Wuxian says disapprovingly. “Lan Zhan, you’ve faced down vengeful spirits, fierce corpses, and a mythical, murderous turtle. What could possibly be so scary about this, eh? It’s just talking.”
“I…do not know how to,” Lan Wangji says, then looks furious at himself for the admission, his brows pulling together.
“Sure you do. I’ve been flirting with you for ages. Just copy what I’ve been doing.”
Lan Wangji’s head snaps up. He stares at Wei Wuxian with a slapped expression. “You…”
“Me…?” Wei Wuxian prompts.
The blush is crawling up steadily toward Lan Wangji’s jaw. “You…flirt. With me.”
Wei Wuxian arches his eyebrows. “…yes? You can’t mean that you haven’t noticed.” Subtlety is not one of his strong suits, as he’s so endlessly been informed.
Lan Wangji appears to visibly struggle with digesting this information. Finally, in a quieter voice, he says, “Why.”
“Because it’s fun,” Wei Wuxian says with a shrug. “You’re so easy to rile up. Your ears get all red; it’s cute.”
Lan Wangji's expression shifts — if Wei Wuxian didn't know better, he'd say he looks crestfallen. Abruptly, though, the expression shifts to a scowl, too quickly for Wei Wuxian to question anything else.
“Lan Zhan ah, if you keep doing that with my face, it’ll get stuck like that,” Wei Wuxian chides.
“This will not work,” Lan Wangji mutters, more to himself than Wei Wuxian. “Xiongzhang will take one look and know the truth.”
“You underestimate my acting abilities,” Wei Wuxian says, who thinks he’s quite good at pretending to be things he’s not, when there’s suddenly a knock at the door. Both of them jump.
“A-Xian,” shijie says at the door with a warm, dimpled smile, and Wei Wuxian says brightly, “Shijie!” before remembering that’s exactly what he’s not supposed to do.
Shijie’s gaze flits away from Lan Wangji to him, her brow creasing in confusion.
“…Wei Ying’s shijie,” he scrambles to recover. “Wei Ying, your shijie is here.”
Shijie still looks puzzled, possibly at the prospect of Hanguang-Jun speaking more words to her than he collectively ever has, but she sets the pot of soup on the ground to salute him. “Lan er-gongzi.”
Wei Wuxian remembers himself; he salutes back, keeping his back stiff and his features as neutral as Lan Wangji would. “Jiang-guniang.”
“A-Xian, I thought I’d find you here,” shijie says, turning back to Lan Wangji, who’s starting to look like ants are crawling up his spine. “The hunting party returned and they asked after you. They haven’t located the creature yet, but everyone said you did well today.”
“He did,” Wei Wuxian says, crossing his arms proudly, and Lan Wangji shoots him a Look.
“Ah…yes,” Lan Wangji says, and just the two words alone are enough to sound the alarm bells in Wei Wuxian’s head. He watches, with rising concern, as Lan Wangji attempts to make expressions with his face. “Yes, I performed…admirably. I am certain that...several maidens would be impressed.”
Wei Wuxian covers his face with one hand.
Shijie stares at him, faltering more uncertainly by the moment. “A-Xian, are you feeling well? You look….” She, understandably, can’t seem to find a word to describe exactly how Lan Wangji looks, as Wei Wuxian doubts anyone would.
“I’m fine, shijie,” Lan Wangji says, more animated than before, and Wei Wuxian peeks out from between the slats of his fingers, surprised. “You brought pork ribs and lotus root soup?”
Shijie visibly relaxes; Wei Wuxian frowns. How does Lan Wangji know his favorite soup?
“I couldn’t find lotus here in the Cloud Recesses,” shijie admits, stooping to pick it up, “but I made the next best thing. I even added extra spice for my Xian-Xian.” She reaches out to affectionately tweak his nose. Wei Wuxian watches as Lan Wangji physically struggles not to reel backward at the familiar touch.
“Thank…you,” he says, and Wei Wuxian has to bite his lip to keep from jumping in.
Usually, he and shijie would spend another several minutes talking and teasing, catching up, eating together. But Wei Wuxian is familiar with Lan Wangji’s tolerance for spice — shijie will know immediately that something is amiss if he starts to gag on her soup.
“Jiang-guniang,” he says, quieting his voice in the way that Lan Wangji does, and Lan Wangji flares a look of disgruntled surprise in his direction. “Please forgive the imposition, but I need to discuss certain matters with Wei Ying in private.”
Shijie can hardly contain her surprise. She darts another glance back to her presumed brother, who is watching her with all of Lan Wangji’s characteristic, face-melting intensity.
“I, ah—of course, Lan er-gongzi.” She looks at Lan Wangji again, confusion clear in her face, before she says, “I hope A-Xian will enjoy his soup, and that we’ll talk later.”
Lan Wangji nods once. “Yes. Of course.”
Shijie salutes Wei Wuxian one more time, and casts another searching glance at Lan Wangji, clearly trying to catch his eye to communicate something, but Lan Wangji keeps staring into his soup, his head down.
The moment shijie leaves, Wei Wuxian says with a gusty sigh, “Well, that could have gone better.”
Lan Wangji surprises him, then — he tentatively sniffs at the soup, then takes a sip.
“Hey!” Wei Wuxian darts forward to snatch the bowl from him. “That’s for me!”
Lan Wangji makes a slightly pained expression, then pauses to consider. Then he says, near-thoughtful, “Your tastebuds have evidently become numb to extreme spice, after years of regular destruction.”
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian says with a sniff, then takes a sip for himself. He immediately chokes and sucks in a breath, Lan Wangji’s bland, virgin palate rebelling at the overwhelming burn of the spices, but he’s determined to enjoy this one good thing left to him, in these circumstances, so he continues to eat, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Jiang-guniang,” Lan Wangji says after another moment. He stares at the doorway, looking uncertain. “She knew. That something was wrong.”
“Ah, it’s fine. Shijie knows me better than anyone, so of course she would realize something is off,” Wei Wuxian tells him, slurping down the soup noisily in a way that would surely make any member of the GusuLan sect keel over in shame. “I don’t expect you to know exactly how to be me, after all.”
Lan Wangji pauses, then after a quiet moment, begins to speak, with a lilting hesitancy. “You…have a furrow between your brows when you are focused, or cultivating.”
“Hm?” Wei Wuxian pauses in his soup-slurping.
“Sometimes you stick your tongue out, too, when you concentrate,” Lan Wangji says, still in that soft, reflective voice. “When you laugh, you throw your head back; sometimes you clutch your own arms, or sides, when you cannot stop. You stroke your nose twice, when you are thoughtful or irritated. Your nose crinkles when you smile with all your teeth; you have a dimple on one side. You always push your hair out of your face, like you need to see things more clearly.”
Wei Wuxian stares at him, soup forgotten. That’s more words than Lan Wangji has said to him in…well, ever.
“You notice a lot of things, huh?” he says after a moment, recovering from his surprise. There’s a weird flush of warmth in his belly that’s surely from the spice of the soup.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says. Then, like a punctuation mark, “I do.”
—
An hour later, Wei Wuxian is napping, sprawled out on the steps of the jingshi to soak in some of the late afternoon sunlight, when he’s rudely awoken by someone hitting his knee.
He jolts into consciousness. “Aiyo!”
“Sit up straight,” Lan Wangji orders, and Wei Wuxian takes a few moments to blink, dizzy and disoriented, at his own angry face swimming before him. “If anyone were to see…”
“See what?” Wei Wuxian says petulantly, then looks down at himself. Lan Wangji’s body is draped over the steps, his white-clad legs akimbo and spread, one knee cocked up on a different step than the other, his head resting on one of his hands.
“You must meditate at least three times a day to maintain core and yang energy,” Lan Wangji instructs. “My body, it’s…”
“Built?” Wei Wuxian suggests, running an interested hand over the sharp, lean cut of Lan Wangji’s ribs, his hips. “I must say I’m impressed, Hanguang-Jun. No one would guess at all this muscle under all those stuffy, needless layers.”
“Stop at once,” Lan Wangji grits out, and Wei Wuxian bursts into a loud, delighted peal of laughter to picture the image that’s eliciting the horror mirrored back on his own face — the esteemed, pearl-white Hanguang-Jun, sprawled out in overly formal attire, still muddied and bloodied, feeling himself up in broad daylight.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian chuckles, clambering to his feet. “But learn to take a compliment, will you? You have nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I —”
“Enough.” Lan Wangji is turned profile to him now, staring off with a fixed, steely expression, a muscle in his jaw working. His ears are red. Wei Wuxian’s never seen his own body blush before, obviously, so it interests him. “This is an unfortunate enough predicament without you…you…”
“Aren’t you a little curious?” Wei Wuxian teases, drawing closer. Lan Wangji takes a responding step backward. “It isn’t every day you get to wake up in a body that’s not your own. It’s okay to have questions.”
The second the words leave his mouth, Wei Wuxian has an unbidden image of Lan Wangji touching Wei Wuxian’s own body, running his hands over it the way he himself just had — undressing himself, staring in the mirror and — his mouth immediately dries out, heat buzzing through his head.
Lan Wangji’s lips are pinched with tension, his shoulders rigid at Wei Wuxian’s implications. His fists are so tight that his knuckles whiten.
“No,” he hisses, and that’s all he says.
“Okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian says, putting his hands up in concession. He’s admittedly a little unbalanced by the very thought that’s perhaps troubling Lan Wangji so much. “I promise I’ll behave. I won’t take advantage of you, Lan Zhan, I swear. I wouldn’t do that.”
His tone must be severe enough because Lan Wangji relaxes an increment, but not completely.
“But you do have a nice body,” he can’t resist adding, all in one breath, and Lan Wangji says, near-spluttering, “You —” then nothing else.
“Here,” Wei Wuxian says, “come here,” and turns Lan Wangji by the shoulder. “I haven’t gotten to see my own face up close yet.” He grabs Lan Wangji with one hand by the jaw as Lan Wangji startles backwards, and intensely peruses his own features as Lan Wangji struggles in his grip — but for once, he has the upper hand on physical strength and height, thanks to Lan Wangji’s stature.
“Hmm,” he says, examining each feature while Lan Wangji freezes in his grip, mute with what Wei Wuxian can only assume is fury. “All of my features are backwards than how I usually see them. Ah, you know, I don’t think I’m as handsome as people say I am. At least, not anywhere as handsome as Hanguang-Jun.”
“Hey!” calls out a harsh, familiar voice, and both of them go very still. “Lan Wangji, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
Realizing how the situation must appear to an outsider, Wei Wuxian lets go of Lan Wangji at once. They both turn.
“Jiang Ch — Jiang-zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says hastily, with not even a scrap of Lan Wangji’s usual composure. He salutes.
“What the hell were you doing?” Jiang Cheng demands, stalking over to them and casting a frank once-over to Lan Wangji. “Wei Wuxian, is he bothering you?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, honestly, and Wei Wuxian makes an affronted noise. “No. We were talking.”
“That looked very touchy for talking,” Jiang Cheng says, and crosses his arms with a suspicious scowl to Wei Wuxian. “I don’t care if you’re a precious Jade of Gusu, Hanguang-Jun, if you lay a hand on my brother—”
“That’s enough, Jiang Cheng. You look like a puffed-up grape when you make threats,” Wei Wuxian says, and really, he has fraternal reflex to blame more for that than anything, but Lan Wangji makes a hissing sound through his teeth and Jiang Cheng’s jaw drops open in comical shock.
“What — what did you just say to me??” he splutters, uncoiling his hand at once. Zidian crackles with a flash of electric purple. “Just what are you trying to start, Lan Wangji?”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and Jiang Cheng looks at him so fast his neck nearly cracks.
“What the hell is going on?” he shouts, and Wei Wuxian knows very well that firstly, Jiang Cheng is going to start whipping people, probably, until he gets a coherent answer, and secondly, it’s going to make a public scene.
“Jiang Cheng!” he says, at the same moment that Lan Wangji says, firmly, “Jiang Wanyin, control yourself.”
Jiang Cheng’s head whips back and forth between them like he’s following a particularly zippy and irritating fly.
“Don’t call me Jiang Cheng!” he blusters, pointing an accusing finger at Wei Wuxian. “Lan Wangji, where’s your sense of propriety?”
“Where’s yours?” Wei Wuxian returns. “Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wanyin — put Zidian away and let us explain, please?”
Jiang Cheng hesitates, clearly torn, before his confusion wins out, and then Zidian recoils, curling around his finger into its resting serpentine shape. “Talk. Now.”
“So, the night hunt,” Wei Wuxian begins, and Jiang Cheng turns to stare at him, visibly baffled to hear Lan Wangji speaking so informally — or at all, for that matter. “There was a…small setback. Lan Zhan and I, we separated from the group because we had a lead — don’t look at me like that, I would have brought you with us if I didn’t know you would react like this — and the creature lured us into a cave; things got very loud and very bright all of a sudden, and when we woke up, everything was dark and the creature had vanished, and —”
“I am in Wei Ying’s body, he is in mine,” Lan Wangji says, more succinctly than anything Wei Wuxian’s continued rambling would offer.
Jiang Cheng gapes at them for another moment before he turns to Wei Wuxian, wearing Lan Wangji’s face, and says, “You deserve this.”
“Hey!” Wei Wuxian protests. “Well, I mean. I’m not complaining too much. Look how cute he is, no?” He pinches Lan Wangji’s dirtied sleeve and then winks at Lan Wangji, who’s glowering at him and flushing to his roots.
“Only you could be so shameless wearing the skin of Hanguang-Jun,” Jiang Cheng says through his teeth. “This is bad. Very bad. You do realize that the rest of the sect leaders are gathering here in three days’ time? If that display just now was the best you’ve got, they’ll immediately know something is wrong. The GusuLan sect will have your head for defiling their most precious disciple with your demonic tricks.”
“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says again, much more weakly than before, because no, he hadn’t considered that possibility, and yes, Jiang Cheng is absolutely right.
“Wei Ying didn’t do anything wrong,” Lan Wangji cuts in, to Wei Wuxian’s relief. “It was an honest mistake. I will see if the library can provide answers for how to switch back.”
Wei Wuxian groans at that and stretches. Lan Wangji’s body is much suppler than his, given all his rigorous training and the abundant golden core energy flowing through him. When he gets back to his own body, he won’t have that anymore.
Wei Wuxian viciously shoves the last thought down, and the sharp ache that accompanies it.
“You can go to the boring library,” Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji. “I was thinking of going to Cold Spring.”
“No,” Lan Wangji says, in such a frightful voice that it brings Wei Wuxian up short.
“What? I’m not trying to be inappropriate. You told me to meditate, and you’re right — Cold Spring is the best place to do it.”
“No,” Lan Wangji repeats, and Wei Wuxian sulks at him.
“Can you stop thinking about getting undressed for two seconds?” Jiang Cheng asks Wei Wuxian, exasperated. “You’re an embarrassment.”
“I wasn’t! Thinking about that, I mean—” Was he? He certainly is now. Wei Wuxian is shocked to find his ears are hot.
Hmm. Maybe not so shameless, after all.
Lan Wangji, without so much as a by-your-leave, turns and stalks off toward the library, his black-clad shoulders a stiff line and his arms clasped behind his back.
“Hey, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls after him, disappointed, then bites out, “Ow,” when Jiang Cheng elbows him hard in the ribs.
“What’s wrong with you? Can’t you leave him alone?” Jiang Cheng demands. “This situation is humiliating enough for him without your torturing him.”
“I’m not torturing him,” Wei Wuxian protests, wincing and rubbing the tender spot on his ribs.
Jiang Cheng huffs. “Imagine being trapped in the body of the person you hate the most. No wonder he can’t stand the sight of you, parading his body around and acting like that!”
Wei Wuxian stares after Lan Wangji’s receding form, a tightness lodging in his throat. He knows he’s irritating, usually deliberately so, but does Lan Wangji still really dislike him so much? Even after everything?
“—time to act like a fool about your giant crush on Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian tunes back in to Jiang Cheng saying. “Have a little decency, for my sake if not your own.”
“I don’t — I don’t have a —” Wei Wuxian stammers, unbalanced by this unexpected affront, and he grapples for words for the next few seconds while Jiang Cheng watches, his eyebrows creeping closer and closer to his hairline. Eventually, all Wei Wuxian can summon is, “Jiang Cheng, what are you saying?”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes upward as though seeking answers from the heavens. “Crush, infatuation, whatever it is. Just leave him alone until we get this sorted out.”
“I don’t like him!” Wei Wuxian protests, still stuck on this heinous accusation. “I mean, I like him just fine, but a crush, I mean, he’s—he’s so boring, and stuffy, and mean.”
“You like mean,” Jiang Cheng points out.
Wei Wuxian has never felt so attacked in his short, painful life.
“Believe me, I don’t pretend to understand,” Jiang Cheng says, with a properly nauseated expression. “But we’re wasting time. Let’s follow him to the library and look for answers.”
They walk together in uncharacteristic silence, and surely an odd sight they’d make to any Lan disciples walking by—the impervious, tall, reserved, dove-white Hanguang-Jun, still dirtied and bloodied from today’s night hunt, side by side with the scowling and colorful Sandu Shengshou.
Wei Wuxian can’t shake Jiang Cheng’s words, even though they’d clearly only been meant to nettle him. They shouldn’t — Jiang Cheng has historically said far, far worse.
Wei Wuxian had, admittedly, been somewhat obsessed with Lan Zhan in his early days at Cloud Recesses. Fine. But it was only because he was entertained and fascinated by Lan Wangji’s clear, unadorned hatred of him. As the weeks had gone on, it had turned into a fun challenge, or a particularly frustrating riddle, to try to get Lan Wangji to like him, to make him stammer and blush, to watch his gold eyes spark like molten metal when his temper flared.
Wei Wuxian has long made a sport of being annoying, but so far, he’s charmed his way out of every instance where exasperation toed the line of ill regard. There hasn’t been anyone, as far as he’s known, who has genuinely disliked him in spite of his best efforts. Except for Lan Wangji. (Well, and Madam Yu, but she doesn’t count.)
It had been funny, at first, and then a private thrill to attempt to charm him, and Lan Wangji certainly isn’t hard to look at. Wei Wuxian has always been unabashedly hedonistic, admiring beautiful things and beautiful people in all forms, and there is no finer specimen in the cultivation world than the jade-edged Hanguang-Jun.
Who could blame him if he is a little infatuated, after all?
But Jiang Cheng is right. To Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian knows he’s brash, loud, crass, intolerable to his very idea of existence. Over time, the more experiences they’d shared together, he’d thought that maybe…maybe he hadn’t imagined the way he’d caught Lan Wangji looking at him when he thought Wei Wuxian wasn’t paying attention. But likely, he realizes, it had been wishful thinking, because he wants Lan Wangji to like him. He really does.
He wants Lan Wangji to really like him.
“Are you listening to me, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng snaps, and Wei Wuxian comes back to himself, blinking. They’re in front of the Library Pavilion now, and Jiang Cheng is scowling at him.
“What?” he says, succinctly.
“I said, once we get in there, leave Lan Wangji alone,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Wuxian sighs and nods.
He will, he’ll be nice. He’ll be good. He’ll try.