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First time Lan Xichen touched his brother accidentally—in the Cold Springs. They used to come there together since Lan Zhan’s childhood and didn’t feel any uneasiness while bathing together. He tried to reach for his hairpiece and unwittingly stroked Lan Zhan’s bare chest. It wasn’t like he oughtn’t to touch his brother like this, but that unforeseen, almost insensible touch sent waves of shivering throughout his body. Touching Lan Zhan’s skin, taut and pale, without any mark, was like touching unblemished jade—cold and firm, but nevertheless adorable.
Of course, it wasn’t their very first touch in their lives. But this time, when Lan Xichen finally dared to lift his eyes to meet his brother’s gaze, he saw Lan Zhan’s ears blush, though he was wearing his usual blank expression on his face. Lan Xichen froze, torn between the need to explain and the awkwardness of any possible explanation. Certainly, nothing had happened at all. Later, he guessed that nothing had truly happened that day—because his confusion was just blossom of already grown tree.
That time they left the Cold Springs, barely looking at each other, never mind talking. Next day brought new troubles, and the strange touch was forgotten—at least, they pretended it was.
It wasn’t their first touch, but Lan Xichen memorized it as the first.
Lan Wangji received his courtesy name, and Lan Xichen thought he could no longer treat him as his little didi, though he wanted to. He wanted his brother to need his guidance and support, need him. Watching him becoming more independent made his heart clench. He wished only good for him, his brother exercising with his sword was the greatest joy for his eyes, but he realized he already missed that endearing sight of his little didi clinging upon him, clutching his robes in search for comforting, calling him gege. The formal xiongzhang felt quite painful, like a sting.
Second time he touched Lan Wangji was quite deliberate. He watched his brother mastering his calligraphy with his back straight, his golden eyes tracing the strokes of the brush. He sat behind him and placed his hand upon Lan Wangji’s, who didn’t object. Lan Xichen expected him to ask what he was doing, but his brother was silent as always—only his pulse under Lan Xichem’s grip spiked. Or, perhaps, there was no need for him to say it loud as well. Lan Xichen held his hand while he was drawing characters, still perfect, and regretted nothing.
Lan Wangji accepted his tenderness, all of Lan Xichen could give him, and gifted him back. The third time they touched each other with unusual to brothers tension happened just a couple of days, and then Lan Xichen stopped counting.
Lan Xichen was drowning. He kissed and was kissed—chastely, then clumsily, then fervently. He taught his brother how to caress and please and was learning it himself. He got confused himself but calmed Lan Wangji, petting his cheeks, holding his hands, stroking his tights. He held his brother’s shaft in his hands and mouth and let him do the same to him; he took and was taken.
During those months of bliss, he hated daybreaks.
As they grew up, Lan Xichen learned what shame was. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to get ashamed of their relationship. He tried his best to see it as inappropriate and immoral, and he failed. Nothing impure could attach those golden eyes.
Lan Xichen couldn’t help marveling how pure his Wangji remained, even when he left marks on his skin and spilled inside of him.
Since Lan Wangji was obviously enjoying, though he never confessed he was in love with his elder brother, since he came to hanshi at night to warm him, Lan Xichen regretted nothing.
The childish affection had evolved into something deeper than brotherly bond, something that could thin out, get blurred, but never fade away.
Wei Wuxian entered Lan Wangji’s life and thoughts, beckoning with his captivating smile. He craved Lan Wangji’s attention but had no idea that the latter’s feelings became stronger every single day. Lan Wangji didn’t own up to his brother, but Lan Xichen didn’t need to hear his words to realize that his didi—whom he cherished and loved, taught how to love—had chosen his own path. All Lan Xichen could do was to watch him closely, being ready to catch him if he would stumble.
Since then, they never mentioned their nights spent together in hanshi, never talked about what they should do further. It all seemed to remain in the past. Though he hoped Wangji’s golden eyes silently said suspended. Yet, all that was left to him was to submit.
He even tried his best to make his silent brother put his tacit affection into words. But Wei-gongzi seemed not to need Lan Wangji’s deeper feelings, as he played with him nonchalantly. So, Lan Wangji concealed his love and kept the confession for a better day. He told he would talk to Wei Wuxian after the lectures, then he postponed it to the end of the troublesome time, then it was too late.
Wei Wuxian’s vanishing was not a relief. Watching his brother suffer was grueling. All of Lan Wangji’s pain was taken out on their Wen enemies, though it didn’t alleviate his grief. Lan Wangji was stubborn: he waited, he searched, and when all of this came out futile—he plead the Heavens to bring his love back.
Lan Xichen secretly prayed along with him. Their bond, the red string of their fate was still visible, but he promised if Wei Wuxian’s return would snatch his brother from the clutches of mourning, he would let it go. Let his Wangji go.
His heart ached and couldn’t find solace.
But then it was proposed by A-Yao.
He didn’t even realize at what point he got hopelessly smitten by those eyes, tender and compassionate. Maybe it happened during his stay at Meng Yao’s so-called home. Maybe during the Sunshot Campaign, when he visited Nie Mingjue, trying to sneak a glimpse at Chifeng-zun’s deputy.
A-Yao always spoke politely, always looked modest, either in Qinghe Nie Sect’s simple colors or in Lanling Jin Sect’s resplendent robes. Lan Xichen discovered how it was to be adored, and adored his sworn brother back. Love didn’t blind him: he always knew that many of Jin Guangyao’s deeds were not pure nor righteous. But the Gusu Lan Sect leader was tired of finding out who was right and who was wrong.
He was drowning again—this time, in the calm A-Yao’s presence and words gave him. And he wanted to let himself drawn, needed it.
It seemed to him he would love Jin Guangyao even if his feelings remained unrequited. He wanted to love as other people love. It almost made him forget about his odd teenage experience with Wangji. His brother’s face, too young, next to his own began to seem unreal like a distant dream.
Lan Xichen couldn’t say whether it was good or not.
One day he told his current lover about his past. Jin Guangyao looked unimpressed, as if he already knew. He reassured Lan Xichen that was not abnormal or immoral—just little spicy things all teenagers do. Zewu-jun tried to believe. At least, one part of him wanted to.
Then Wei Wuxian was gone again.
Lan Xichen tried to resist the urge. His little brother was now adult and able to cope with his grief, he told himself. He could help, he had to help, and he craved to take as much of his brother’s pain as he could.
He asked his lover and confidant to let him stay beside his brother. To heal the wounds, to repair what was broken. A-Yao smiled at him in his own knowing way, as if he had foreseen all the consequences, as if he knew the day would come before they had even met. His smile was bitter, resentment stayed behind his lips, but he let Lan Xichen go.
Wangji’s blood and tears stopping to run, his slight gasps of relief, his hands around his brother’s neck—this was enough for Lan Xichen to feel his duty fulfilled. But the closer Lan Wangji leaned, the less Lan Xichen could think of it as duty. The hotter their breath felt against each other’s skin, the less they needed someone else.
Lan Wangji’s kisses felt like fire refusing to turn into ashes and smoke. So desperate, still heated, still pure and purifying.
As always, the night concealed their arcane affection, and the daylight didn’t dare to uncover any flaw in their bond.
Lan Xichen was named after sunshine, but sometimes he hated the sun.
He cradled Wangji in his arms, carefully avoiding causing him pain, and regretted that the red string reveals itself only when calamity breaks out.
Lan Xichen was not blind. Once he had found out about one of Jin Guangyao’s misdeeds, he never thought his sworn brother was the most honest person in the world. He just let himself believe that there was always an explanation for every trick and even cruelty. He let himself think that love is enough to shield someone, to keep him safe from misfortune.
Yet, the Guanyin Temple ruined everything. His hope that happy ending is for everyone, his belief that if one wants to save his loved ones, nothing will hamper him. The loss and guilt gnawed an empty hole in his chest—the wound that burned and made it hard to breath. Lan Xichen let it torment him. He just chuckled sadly, as Heavens mocked him and his destiny.
Everyone was or at least seemed to be happy, everyone except Lan Xichen. Uprooted, he searched for solid ground. Secluded meditation within the cold of hanshi walls seemed to freeze his pain, make it bearable, and he almost got used to it.
He sat there for hours and days, reminiscing. His first love, which he tried to hide in the most remote corners of his heart, was still there.
His Wangji was happy, reunited with Wei-gongzi. Lan Xichen didn’t dare to ask anything else. He buried his clandestine feelings even deeper—no one was going to claim them anyway, he thought.
The emptiness aches.
Like a ghost among living people, Lan Xichen is not seen, but felt by someone who still cares.
And now, Lan Wangji comes to his lover and spouse to ask for permission to go. To heal the wounds, to repair what was broken, to seal the barely visible bond with never-fading feelings.
Wei Wuxian gives him a knowing look, shakes his head and gasps—lets him go.