Work Text:
Fresh snow covered the mountains and forests in a thick layer, silencing everything around the Cloud Recesses like the Lans’ Silence Spell, muting even the sounds of Lan Wangji’s light footsteps on the path as he walked up the slope, enjoying a short reprieve from his duties. It had been Wei Wuxian’s idea to take a walk in the pristine snow, but now Wei Wuxian was dragging behind, letting Lan Wangji set the pace and choose their path. Lan Wangji had always liked winter—the serenity of white all around, the clean look of things hidden under the feathery frosty blanket, and the peacefulness it brought, slowing life down, emptying the alleys and patios as people sought shelter inside by the braziers. He also appreciated how invisible the snow made him to the world as he waded through the downy layer, leaving clean footprints, measured and neat, the only disturbance in the otherwise intact wilderness. He didn’t mind the cold—it was his close, well-known companion whose presence had been comforting in Lan Wangji’s darkest moments. It’d been there for him to chill his fingers and knees when his mother stopped opening the door for him. It’d been there, numbing his pain during the years he spent in seclusion in the Cold Pond after Wei Wuxian’s death.
Ever since Wei Wuxian had come back to life, Lan Wangji’s strolls in the snow hadn’t been as silent anymore, for which he was grateful. But that thought made him realize than Wei Wuxian had been silent for a suspiciously long time now. Lan Wangji turned around to look at Wei Wuxian’s dark figure following him. Usually Wei Wuxian got bored with slow and aimless walks; he’d either wander around, searching the surroundings for anything interesting, running back and forth like a curious dog, or he’d prattle on about everything and nothing in particular as he joined Lan Wangji. However today he just followed Lan Wangji meekly, with his head down and hands tucked under his armpits.
“Are you cold?” Lan Wangji asked.
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “No,” he said, but it came out hoarse and he had to clear his throat twice before he finally managed with a nervous chuckle, “Maybe a little.”
Lan Wangji frowned. It was unlike Wei Wuxian to admit to being inconvenienced. He always claimed that he was spoiled and demanding and liked to complain loudly, but it wasn’t true when it came to things that really mattered. Most often Wei Wuxian pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t, and it took years of Lan Wangji’s hyperfocus on Wei Wuxian’s expressions and behaviors to be able to read between the lines. “Shall we go back?” he asked.
“No, no, Lan Zhan, no need,” Wei Wuxian said, but he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. His teeth chattered and his lips had a blue tinge to them.
“We’re going back.” Lan Wangji turned around and took Wei Wuxian’s arm, steering him down the steep incline, underneath the pine forest, boughs laden with snow that dropped in heavy chunks and crashed against the granite boulders.
“Lan Zhan, really, you don’t have to walk me back!” Wei Wuxian tried to argue. “You love the first snow. Continue on your walk. I’ll wait for you back home.”
Lan Wangji felt warm inside every time Wei Wuxian called the Jingshi home, but he wouldn’t get distracted right now. His hand slipped down Wei Wuxian’s arm, and as he clasped his fingers around Wei Wuxian’s palm he felt that it was oddly warm instead of cold in this weather. Wei Wuxian’s forehead and cheeks also felt a bit too warm when Lan Wangji checked them by pressing the back of his palm to Wei Wuxian’s skin.
“I think that you are running a fever,” Lan Wangji said, surprised, because cultivators rarely fell ill, outside of dire circumstances like swimming with open wounds in the dirty water of Xuanwu cave. Managing spiritual energy was different for Wei Wuxian, of course, due to the lack of a golden core, but he still was able to heal his wounds and maintain his youth in a way a common person wouldn’t be able to.
“It’s nothing,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling brightly, which didn’t reassure Lan Wangji at all. “Just a little sore throat, that’s all.”
“How long?” Lan Wangji asked, a bit angry—with Wei Wuxian for not saying anything, but mostly with himself for not noticing earlier that his husband was sick.
“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian turned away, preparing to brush it off as usual.
“Since when have you felt ill?” Lan Wangji insisted.
“Not long,” Wei Wuxian shrugged. “Since this morning, maybe? Okay, okay, since yesterday,” he finally admitted upon seeing Lan Wangji’s expression. “But it’s really nothing, Lan Zhan!”
Were it nothing he wouldn’t be shivering and his voice wouldn’t sound like this, and most importantly, he wouldn’t be following Lan Wangji obediently. Now that Lan Wangji took a closer look he could see that the dark shadows that were almost always visible under Wei Wuxian’s eyes were even more prominent, that there was a glassy shine to his eyes, and that he looked way, way more tired than usual.
The problem with Wei Wuxian was that he always pushed himself past his limits until his body failed him, no matter if it was during a fight, a night hunt, while he was inventing something, or even during sex. Sometimes Lan Wangji felt like he had to stay vigilant at all hours, constantly on alert and monitoring Wei Wuxian’s well-being even if on a rational level he understood that his husband was an adult who could take care of himself. Mostly.
As they entered Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji stirred Wei Wuxian gently but deliberately away from the Jingshi, towards the building at the back where their clan physician lived. The snow that had stopped in the morning picked up again, the sky darkening as thick snowflakes started to fall down like heavy butterflies, sticking to their clothes and hair.
“Lan Zhan, honestly, there’s no need!” Wei Wuxian said, trying to wriggle away from the physician’s quarters and back to their shared house. “I’m really fine. It’s just a cold. A sore throat is nothing serious. I just need to sleep it off!”
Perhaps. Perhaps not, Lan Wangji thought as he tugged Wei Wuxian along. There was a tightness in his chest that wouldn’t ease up when he looked at Wei Wuxian shivering in the cold air. There was snow on Wei Wuxian’s eyelashes. Lan Wangji wanted to kiss the flecks away.
“Physician Lan.” He bowed upon entering the doctor’s office. “Could you assist us for a moment?”
The physician—an older man who reminded Lan Wangji of Lan Qiren a lot—looked up from where he was reading some medical treatise and scowled. He probably had a poor opinion on them because of the noise they sometimes created, but Lan Wangji couldn’t care less. The physician wouldn’t dare disobey the Chief Cultivator anyway. He gestured for Wei Wuxian to sit down and he took his pulse for a long time; then he asked him to open his mouth, and he tapped at various points on his chest and back. Lan Wangji didn’t like the doctor touching his husband, even if it was for professional help, but he remained silent, not wanting to disturb the examination.
“It looks like Master Wei has succumbed to the winter sickness. Recently we’ve been having quite a number of cases in the town, as well as a few among our youngest juniors.”
“Are you sure?” Lan Wangji asked, even if he knew that the physician wouldn’t issue an opinion if he had doubts. Matters of health were taken seriously in the Cloud Recesses.
“Positive.” Physician Lan nodded, but at Lan Wangji’s frown he added with a bow, “Although of course it’s prudent to monitor the patient to make sure the sickness doesn’t progress.”
“See, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian smiled. He looks very tired even as he jumped back to his feet. “It’s nothing! Thank you, Doctor!” He patted the physician on his arm, making the old man flinch. The Lans could never get used to how easily casual touch came to Wei Wuxian.
The physician bowed again to cover up his discomfiture. “I suggest Master Wei remain in bed for the next three to four days, drink a lot of water and tea, and in case his fever rises, I will prepare a medicine.” He turned to the wall full of tiny wooden drawers where he kept various dried herbs, powders and other medicines, humming to himself as he picked out a few ingredients to mix them together. He gave them to Lan Wangji rather than to Wei Wuxian, who shook his head first with exasperation but seemed to be too exhausted to quarrel.
Lan Wangji took the medicine with a slight bow and they marched back to the Jinghsi. If Lan Wangji could get away with it he’d scoop Wei Wuxian in his arms and tuck him into bed, but Wei Wuxian was always difficult to contain. Even now he tried to laugh and tug Lan Wangji along to the bed, joking about the early hour. Lan Wangji indulged him for a while, allowing Wei Wuxian to press a kiss to his neck, but then gently but decisively wrapped their blanket tight around Wei Wuxian’s still shivering form and said, “Sleep now, okay? I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Promise?” Wei Wuxian asked, as his eyes drooped. His cheeks were splotchy and lips slightly chapped. He really looked quite ill.
“Promise,” Lan Wangji said, smoothing out Wei Wuxian’s hair.
In the night Wei Wuxian’s fever got higher. His body was like a furnace, hot and dry to the touch, and Lan Wangji worried. He got up to change the wet cloth that he’d placed on Wei Wuxian’s forehead and checked his pulse. It was too fast and way too jagged, even for Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji had learned not to mind the slight irregularities in Wei Wuxian’s pulse, how his heartbeat sometimes seemed to skip some beats only to kick back with force, making up for lost pace. Lan Wangji didn’t know if it was the condition of the body Wei Wuxian now inhabited, or the remaining side effects of using resentful energy, or maybe it was just how Wei Wuxian had always been wired—tense, like a tight bowstring, and always running too hot, like a burning star.
Lan Wangji wrapped one more blanket around Wei Wuxian and stepped out behind the screen dividing the room where a low table was placed. He lighted a candle and mixed the yellowish powder the physician had given him with a bit of water. The powder smelled like artemisia flowers, which brought up memories of Lan Wangji’s own childhood fevers and later, much later, almost in another life, the nights spent watching baby Sizhui whenever he fell sick. It was a common medicine and Lan Wangji shouldn’t be surprised because the doctor had told him not to worry, repeatedly, but still he thought that maybe Wei Wuxian required something more potent—something exclusive, made only for him, not a simple medicine that was given to children or to women for their monthly pains.
Still, he took the bowl with the ready mixture back to the bed and sat next to Wei Wuxian. He checked Wei Wuxian’s pulse again and pressed the back of his palm to Wei Wuxian’s cheek to feel the temperature. Hot.
He wished he could share his spiritual energy with Wei Wuxian. The inability to do so left him frustrated. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, slipping his hand under Wei Wuxian’s back to prop him up a little. “Sit up.”
Wei Wuxian opened his eyes—just a sliver. They looked glassy and bloodshot. His hair flowed down like the leaves of a weeping willow as he sat, supporting himself on one hand.
Lan Wangji brushed the hair away, placing it over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Normally he’d love to see his husband like this, in half-opened silky thin inner robes, and with his hair undone and wild around his face, but now his heart ached. He wished they were in the middle of some formal meeting, with Wei Wuxian up and well, properly dressed in all the layers and bored out of his mind.
He touched the rim of the bowl with the medicine to Wei Wuxian’s lips, who obediently swallowed the liquid without any complaint. This worried Lan Wangji the most. Lucid and healthy, Wei Wuxian would surely whine about the bitter taste.
Outside the wind picked up and threw snow and icy rain hard against the Jingshi’s windows, howling like demons fed on resentful energy, searching for the souls to devour. If Lan Wangji didn’t know better he’d think that he hears the clash of swords outside and the sounds of a melody playing one of the forbidden songs.
Wei Wuxian shivered in Lan Wangji’s arms, but Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if it was because of the fever, or the cold seeping in through the walls along with the gusts of wind, or maybe it was the nightmares that haunted Wei Wuxian’s dreams on stormy nights.
“Wei Ying, do you want some tea?” he asked. Despite it being the middle of the night he was willing to go heat the water—perhaps this would help Wei Wuxian feel better. His fever must still be rising if he was cold. Hopefully the medicine would work soon. Wei Wuxian shook his head and made a move to lie down, so Lan Wangji let him, tugging the blankets back tightly around him.
Wei Wuxian fell asleep again almost immediately, but his breathing was shallow and rapid. Lan Wangji sat on the bed with Wei Wuxian’s hand in his own. He was wary of letting go. He swallowed hard when the memory of Wei Wuxian’s bloodied hand slipping away from his own hit him with force. Sometimes, even now, after so many things had been repaired and put back in their rightful spots in the universe, Lan Wangji had moments of panic darkly tightening around his heart. Sometimes he wasn’t sure what was real and what was just his wishful thinking. Sometimes he thought that he might be still in the Cold Pond, his back searing from the whips and his bones frozen from the water, hallucinating his new life with Wei Wuxian in it.
Wei Wuxian whined softly through his sleep and his fingers twitched in Lan Wangji’s grasp. Perhaps he was holding his palm too hard. He forced himself to release the grip, at least a little. He watched Wei Wuxian’s sleeping face—the lines of it smoothed out, but tensing as dreams invaded his mind, his eyes visibly moving underneath closed eyelids and his lips parted as he took a sharp breath in and out. Lan Wangji wanted to crawl into Wei Wuxian’s dreams and fight all the monsters there. He had his own nightmares, sure, but they weren’t even half as bad as the horrors that Wei Wuxian had been through. Lan Wangji wished he could take all Wei Wuxian’s pain away, too. If it meant more years in seclusion and three hundred more whips cutting his skin, he still thought that it would have been worth it.
He rubbed his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s dry palm and then leaned down to kiss it.
“Please, get well,” he whispered. Alone, in the middle of the dark, moonless night, with the winter storm raging outside, he couldn’t find light in his thoughts. The cruel, hurtful images wouldn’t stop tormenting him: of Wei Wuxian getting pierced through his chest with an arrow and pulling it from his body forcefully as if it were nothing, of Wei Wuxian getting branded with hot wire and then maimed by the beast in the Xuanwu Cave, of Wei Wuxian’s side being stabbed through with Jin Ling’s sword, of Wei Wuxian in Lan Wangji’s arms, blood on his face, of Wei Wuxian’s bloodied hand—slipping away, slipping…
Lan Wangji made a pained noise and schooled himself to keep still. He shouldn’t disturb Wei Wuxian’s sleep. The wind howled, hurling a particularly hard gust of ice into the window. The candle flickered, and Lan Wangji found himself whispering aloud, not sure if he was addressing the spirit or gods or some other outside forces, “Whoever it is that controls this stuff out there, you listening? You don't take him from me. Because I promise you, I will storm the gates of hell itself to get him back. So just don't. Just… don't. Please.”
He would. If anything happened to Wei Wuxian again, he wouldn’t hesitate to bargain with the dead, to conjure the resentful energy and to spar with the Ghost King himself.
It was still mostly dark when Lan Wangji woke. He’d fallen asleep sitting next to Wei Wuxian, and now he felt stiff, his mouth full of wool and his head muzzy. Wei Wuxian was warm again, stirring in the bed and kicking down the covers.
“Ugh,” Wei Wuxian groaned. He sounded muted, and he started to cough and sneeze at the same time. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Lan Wangji asked. It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that he’d fallen ill.
“I sneezed all over you. That’s disgusting.” He lay back on the bed, covering his eyes with one hand.
Lan Wangji wanted to tell him that nothing he did would feel disgusting to Lan Wangji, but Wei Wuxian would just laugh at that. So instead Lan Wangji pressed a piece of soft cloth into Wei Wuxian’s hand so he could wipe off the snot, and he stood up to prepare more medicine. He mixed the powder, adding the rest of what was left in the pouch to the cup, and stirred it until it was dissolved enough. This time around Wei Wuxian made a face at the taste but managed to swallow it all down.
“Bleh, that’s really bitter,” he said, gratefully taking the cup of cold sweetened tea that Lan Wangji held ready for him. “I’m so hot,” he complained, not allowing Lan Wangji to cover him with blankets again.
Perhaps the brazier had been stuffed with too much coals, Lan Wangji thought as he stood up. But no—there were only last embers in the stove and it didn’t feel overly hot in the room. Lan Wangji took a glance through the window. It looked like the snowstorm had ceased but it was still snowing lightly. He pushed the window open a little, letting the cold air seep in. There was indeed no wind anymore—just the snowflakes falling slowly down, down, down. The silence of the early gray dawn was almost suffocating—no sounds at all emanated from their surroundings. Even though the Lans rose early, it was still a bit before their usual hour of awakening. Lan Wangji closed the window and went back to check on Wei Wuxian. His fever rising again was worrisome. Lan Wangji decided he’d fetch the physician first thing in the morning to make him check on Wei Wuxian in case his sickness actually worsened and was of concern. In fact he should fetch the physician right now, he thought, and he made a move to stand up, but before he could do that Wei Wuxian grabbed his hand as if he was privy to Lan Wangji’s thoughts. In the dull, bluish light coming from the outside Wei Wuxian’s eyes glistened like black jade.
“Lan Zhan,” he said. “Sleep.” He tugged on Lan Wangji’s hand and Lan Wangji went with it, lying stiffly on his back. A moment later Wei Wuxian curled around him to his normal position in which they always slept. His cheek felt warm on Lan Wangji’s chest even through the layers of clothing.
They both drifted back to sleep but not for long. Soon, the gong announcing the rising hour rang, and Lan Wangji stirred. Wei Wuxian grumbled and half opened his eyes. They didn’t look as glassy anymore in the early morning light, but they were a bit unfocused. Wei Wuxian’s mouth spread in a large smile.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. “My husband is so beautiful. So hot, too.”
“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji admonished him but Wei Wuxian only chuckled and then started coughing again.
“Lan Zhan!” he whined loudly once he fell back on the bed, tired from his coughing fit. “Everything hurts! My bones and muscles! Everything! Help!”
Lan Wangji looked at Wei Wuxian with concern. He looked puffy from sleep and the fever, but he didn’t seem worse than the previous day or night or even an hour ago. Lan Wangji checked his pulse and the temperature of his forehead. The fever was gone for now.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked.
“Everywhere!” Wei Wuxian made a broad gesture, almost knocking over the teacup that was placed on the table next to the bed. “You need to kiss it better!” he added with a pout. He was behaving similarly to when he drank too much alcohol. Perhaps the medication had a special ingredient in it after all, or maybe Lan Wangji made a mistake while measuring the dose. What was important was that Wei Wuxian was better enough to whine and make a show of how poorly he felt, so instead of rolling his eyes at Wei Wuxian’s antics, Lan Wangji smiled lightly and turned to him. “Show me where it hurts.”
“My fingers!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, allowing Lan Wangji to pick his hand up from the slightly rumpled white silk sheets and bring it to his lips.
“This finger?” Lan Wangji asked, and kissed the tip of Wei Wuxian’s index finger.
“Yes.” Wei Wuxian nodded. “And this one!”
Lan Wangji kept kissing the pads of Wei Wuxian’s fingers. “This one too?”
“Mm,” Wei Wuxian hummed. His eyes were even more unfocused. He was smiling.
“What else?” Lan Wangji asked.
“My…” Wei Wuxian paused, considering. “My lips.”
“Your lips? Are you sure?” Lan Wangji asked, imitating concern.
Wei Wuxian nodded so energetically he winced when the movement must have disturbed his headache. “Very sure.”
Lan Wangji leaned over to kiss Wei Wuxian on the lips. The kiss was chaste at first, but he lingered for a second one, enjoying how Wei Wuxian’s hand tightened on his arm as they kissed, lips pressing harder over each other, and tongues gently prodding. Wei Wuxian’s breath was warm and he tasted of fever and sleep and the bitter medicine but Lan Wangji didn’t mind.
“How do you really feel?” he asked, pausing the kiss for a while and brushing away Wei Wuxian’s hair. It was soft to the touch and Lan Wangji loved playing with the silky strands. He used to think that he abhorred intimacy, but he could never get enough of touching Wei Wuxian and getting touched in return.
“I’m fine.” Wei Wuxian smiled, still dopey from the lingering effects of the medicine or from the kiss. “Told you it was nothing serious.”
Lan Wangji closed his eyes for a moment. He was too anxious. Perhaps he should meditate on it, so he didn’t panic in the future whenever Wei Wuxian got hurt or sick. And Lan Wangji had to be honest with himself—it would happen because that was who Wei Wuxian was. He couldn’t close Wei Wuxian in the Jinghsi and keep him here, warm and fed like a tropical bird. He couldn’t repeat the mistakes of his father. But that didn’t mean he didn’t worry.
“You told me so,” Lan Wangji nodded. “But you always say you are all right. Even when you are not.”
Somehow the atmosphere in the room changed from playful to much more serious. It felt as if the air had become denser all of a sudden. Wei Wuxian’s dark eyes held a question in them as he looked at Lan Wangji.
“But, Lan Zhan! I’m fine.” He shrunk a little under Lan Wangji’s gaze and looked away. “You shouldn’t have worried unnecessarily!”
Lan Wangji swallowed hard. “Can I trust you?” he asked.
“Lan Zhan, what…?” Wei Wuxian asked, sounding hurt.
“No.” Lan Wangji shook his head. “Not like that.” Sometimes he hated his inability to express himself more clearly. “Can I trust you to tell me if you are unwell in the future?” Wei Wuxian was still looking away. “So I don’t worry unnecessarily?”
Wei Wuxian bit his lip and for a while he stayed very still, pinned by Lan Zhan’s body and Lan Zhan’s question. But eventually he looked up. His gray eyes were serious when he said, “I will do my best to try.”
That would have to be enough for Lan Wangji so he nodded and said, “Thank you.” He leaned in for another kiss. “Rest now,” he said, getting up. “Stay in bed for the day. I’ll bring you breakfast.” He probably had to get more medicine as well, since he’d used all the powder already. He really wanted to ask the old physician if he’d put a special ingredient in the mixture, and he had questions about how much of it he could give Wei Wuxian in one day. He didn’t want to poison his husband by mistake.
Wei Wuxian rolled on his side and sneezed into the cloth Lan Wangji had left for him, then settled back under the covers, making a nest out of the blankets. He closed his eyes, looking peaceful enough that Lan Wangji felt assured that it was all right to leave him for some time. He needed to get hot congee for Wei Wuxian and prepare more tea. Maybe there would be tangerines in the kitchens, too. He remembered vaguely his brother feeding him tangerines in winter whenever Lan Wangji didn’t feel well as a child.
He donned his winter robes and stepped outside of the Jingshi. The snow had stopped falling, leaving the morning crisp and fresh. The sun was rising in the sky, sparkling bright against the downy white—enough to force Lan Wangji to shield his eyes. The disciples and teachers of the Cloud Recesses went about their morning business, walking slowly to the dining hall and preparing for the day. A young disciple giggled, and Lan Wangji turned in the direction of the sound to see Sizhui dodging a snowball, then throwing a snowball back at the younger disciple, sprinkling him with the sugary powder of it. The scene made Lan Wangji pause, his mouth twitching with a contained smile when Sizhui outright laughed and waved at him. Noise and idle play weren’t welcome at the Cloud Recesses, so to see Sizhui playing with the younger disciples in the snow so freely and without fear of being scolded made Lan Wangji realize that Wei Wuxian’s presence had changed things after all. Even if some of Wei Wuxian’s behaviors—well, most of them—were still frowned upon, others took root, making the Cloud Recesses a livelier and happier place than it’d been during Lan Wangji’s childhood. He waved back at Sizhui, who grinned broadly.
The dining hall was well lit and warm, but Lan Wangji strode past his usual spot at the top of the hall—next to his uncle—and went into the kitchens to ask for a meal for himself and Wei Wuxian. It wasn’t unusual for them to take meals in the Jingshi, but normally Lan Wangji would eat his breakfast with the disciples while Wei Wuxian was still asleep. Today he asked for warm congee to be packed for both of them, and for tangerines to be added to the basket.
“Is Senior Wei all right?” the cook asked as she packed the dishes. The older woman sounded worried. Lan Wangji bowed slightly while taking the basket. “He is a little under the weather; thank you for your concern.”
“Oh no!” she said. “Let me add ginger root tea with honey for him.” She hurried to the back of the kitchen to mix the hot concoction that she brought back in a closed flask and placed in the basket. “Make sure your husband drinks it all, Excellency!” She bowed again. “I hope he feels better soon!”
If Wei Wuxian thought that everyone in the Cloud Recesses despised him, he was deeply mistaken. He clearly had won over some hearts, Lan Wangji mused on his way back to the Jingshi. The snow crunched under his feet in the most satisfying way. If Wei Wuxian felt better later, they could maybe go ice skating on the frozen pond or take the youngest ones sledding. For now, though, Lan Wangji shut the Jingshi’s door, closing off the glare of the sparkling snow, and came back to the soft, warm, and subdued light of their bedroom. In their bed Wei Wuxian slept soundly, his lips parted, his long eyelashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks. His breathing was even and he looked peaceful and comfortable, like a sleepy rabbit. Lan Wangji placed the basket with breakfast on the floor, and after a brief moment of consideration, stripped out of the outer layer of his robes to slip into the bed next to Wei Wuxian, who uttered a contented sigh and in the blink of an eye wrapped himself around Lan Wangji like an octopus. Lan Wangji kissed the top of Wei Wuxian’s head and closed his eyes, tightening his arms around Wei Wuxian’s slender frame.
Lan Wangji could heat up the breakfast later. His Excellency’s obligations could wait, too. Some duties were more important than others. There was snow outside and he had a sick husband to keep warm. It was going to be a beautiful day.