Work Text:
Lan Zhan does not expect much from Mo Village. It is, as his brother gently reminded him, a hunt more suited for the juniors. Just some fierce corpses, no need to bother Hanguang-Jun.
But his heart has been restless. His back aches, and each day the Jingshi feels less like a sanctuary and more like a prison. Lan Zhan swore once never to be like his father; he will not become his mother, either.
The fierce corpses are barely worth the weight of his blade, but he dispatches them all the same. It feels like disappointment. He does not know what else he expected.
(Lies are forbidden, his brain whispers. You expected the shrill cry of a flute, eyes that glint red, a smile more dangerous than any gui.)
Lan Zhan has become accustomed to disappointment.
He is turning to leave, off to chase the chaos, when he hears the cry.
A boy.
The boy is young, and yet not so young. A few years less than Wei Ying, when they met the first time.
Exactly young enough.
Lan Zhan touches his wrist, feels the thready pulse of a golden core reach out to meet his own. His spirit soars. He knows this boy, even if this boy does not know him.
Lan Zhan looks at him, with his sharp cheekbones and his too thin wrists and his rouged eyes.
He’s young. Too young.
But someday.
Someday, perhaps, he might stand as tall as Wei Ying once did. Might wield that smile as a sword. Might remember who he once was.
Someday Lan Zhan will remind him.
*
The boy agrees to come to Gusu with him.
Lan Zhan has never heard words so sweet.
*
He learns about this new body that houses his soulmate. The boy’s mother was a maid; his father a sect leader. The irony is not lost on Lan Zhan, that a man who had campaigned against Wei Ying’s life had also sown his rebirth.
The boy does not remember who he was, but he will. Lan Zhan can show him. Lan Zhan can mold him. Lan Zhan can read him forbidden texts collected from a man long dead, wrap him in red under robes, pour him Emperor’s Smile until he is loose and lazy, tipping warm and wanting against Lan Zhan’s side.
Lan Zhan swore once, not to be like his father. But he has learned from his mistakes.
This time, he does not hesitate to kiss the boy in the library, to brand him with the dark remnants of fingerprints against his hips. “What is your name?” he asks as he spreads the boy open, finds his way home.
“I don’t know,” the boy cries, even as his body blooms. “Please, Hanguang-Jun -"
Lan Zhan does not want to hear that title, not from him. He bites into his neck; the boy knows better.
"Lan Zhan -” the boy's voice breaks on the name, and it is the most beautiful thing Lan Zhan has ever heard. He kisses him, licks into his mouth to draw out the secrets that hide there.
“What is your name?” he asks again.
“I don’t remember!”
He never does. That is okay. Lan Zhan will remind him, with touch and teeth and time. He grips the boy’s hips close as he comes, plants his memory deep inside.
Wei Ying does not remember him yet. But he will.