Chapter Text
Lan Wangji returns to his empty, dark house feeling like a soaked rag, both literally and figuratively. Silence greets him as toes off his drenched shoes.
His day had started out fine. He had meditated, ate breakfast, and left for work at his usual time which allowed him to reach the Lan sect headquarters 20 minutes before the actual work hours started.
His day didn’t start going sideways until he had to go and investigate a case regarding a ghost sighting. According to the report given to Lan Wangji, the ghost had often been seen in the basement of an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Gusu.
There haven’t been many incidents noted, since the building hasn’t been in use in decades and was only recently bought to be used as a warehouse by a businessman. The first sighting noted was by the businessman himself.
In the report, the man’s direct words were: “When I’d gone to check the basement, I heard muffled cries coming from the back. I was confused because I was told that this building hadn’t been in use for decades. So, I went to check on whoever it was. From the sound of the cries, the person seemed to be a man. When I walked past an old rack, that was when I saw it. There was a man sitting on the floor wearing weird looking clothes—the kind you’d see in those historical Chinese dramas. I was pretty weirded out but still, I asked the guy if he was okay. Which, it turned out, was a huge mistake, because when the man looked up his eyes were literally pitch black, with tears of blood running down his face. I didn’t even look back once and ran out.”
The case seemed strange from the start. Since they didn’t have much information regarding the ghost—what its motivations were, whether it was hostile or not—making a plan for the hunt was far more difficult than it would’ve been if they had even a bit more information.
Because the night hunt was more on the extraordinary side and had a chance of going south, Lan Wangji decided to go by himself. Most of the experienced cultivators were already on hunts of their own, and Lan Wangji preferred to work alone anyway.
So, Lan Wangji had driven to the address of the abandoned factory given in the report. Houses and stores started lessening more and more until all that could be seen for miles were fields of grass. The building seemed to have been built in the middle of nowhere. It was not an area where factories were built, and there was no record of it as far as Lan Wangji was aware. It just always has been there, without any knowledge of its origin ever being known.
It was strange, but then again, most things related to the supernatural were. Soon, Lan Wangji was parking his car beside the factory.
The factory itself looked like any other abandoned building; old, barren, and barely holding itself together. Other than the location, nothing seemed too odd about the building considering how long it hasn’t been in use for.
Lan Wangji took his guqin from the backseat, along with Bichen, and stepped out of the car, locking it behind himself. With his guqin strapped to his back and Bichen in hand, Lan Wangji walked towards the entrance.
The moment he entered through, he was engulfed in the smell of old dust that had gathered over the period of time. Despite this place having been bought, no work had been done to bring it into a better shape yet—which, Lan Wangji supposed, made sense considering the fright the owner had the last time he had come here.
Though, beneath the dust, there was a hint of resentment in the air. A faint trail leading to a door at the end of the hallway, which Lan Wangji could only assume was the basement.
Lan Wangji followed the trail of resentment and walked through the door, down the steps leading to the basement. As he walked further down the stairs, the resentful energy only grew, a faint trail turning into all a cloud so strong it suffocated Lan Wangji’s enhanced senses.
The second Lan Wangji took the last step and entered the basement, he heard it; the sounds of muffled crying, as had been described by the businessman in the report.
Lan Wangji’s grip on Bichen tightened ever so slightly. He followed the cries to the far end of the room, making his way through the rows of storage boxes and racks all covered in years of dust. When he walked past the last rack, he paused. Huddled in the far off corner was a man, wearing what looked to be old robes in dark blue. Dirty, bloodied, robes.
The ghost’s cries were muffled, arms wrapped around himself and head buried inside the safety of his arms. Lan Wangji slowly approached the ghost. On a closer look, the robes that the man was wearing seemed far too old, too intricate in a way that didn’t resemble anything of this age. An old soul, possibly multiple centuries old. Robes of that kind had not been in use for quite some time.
The robes did not look similar to cultivator garb that was used by cultivators centuries ago, if he went by the records of them that were still kept in the Library Pavillion of the Cloud Recesses. Still, even though they were dirty, they looked to be of good quality. This man could have been a noble, or perhaps the son of one.
Lan Wangji’s eyes raised from the man’s robes to his face— only to find bloodshot, pitch black eyes staring back at him. Tears of blood streaked down the man’s pale cheeks, staining porcelain skin dark red. Despite now being aware of Lan Wangji’s presence, of him looking at him, the ghost didn’t attack. He simply stared back, gaze hazy yet intense in a way that made goosebumps prickle at the back of Lan Wangji’s neck.
Seeing that the ghost was not hostile—at least for the moment—Lan Wangji asked, “Can you speak?”
The ghost seemed to think the question over, as though wondering whether answering would be worth the effort it would take. In the end, he only shook his head in a ‘no’.
That made Lan Wangji’s work a bit difficult, but he’d make do with what he had. He unstrapped the guqin from his back and lowered himself onto the ground, placing the guqin on top of his lap.
The ghost’s pitch black eyes followed his every movement, alert despite the hazy look that clouded over them. Lan Wangji plucked a string, and the first few notes of Inquiry resonated throughout the dilapidated basement.
“Who are you?”
Lan Wangji’s hands retreated, an invitation for the ghost to reply. The ghost’s void-like eyes stared at the guqin, feeling its spiritual pull. Slowly, he unwrapped an arm from around himself and reached for the guqin’s strings. Trembling, pale fingers plucked a few strings.
“Liu Jian.”
That was a good start. Even though—with how strong Lan Wangji’s technique was—spirits couldn’t refuse to answer, this ghost—Liu Jian—didn’t put up a fight at all. As if he was waiting to be heard, after centuries worth of silence. Lan Wangji was there to listen, this time, so Liu Jian spoke in whatever way he could. Lan Wangji brought his hands back to the guqin and began playing again.
“What happened to you?”
This time when the ghost began plucking the strings, red gathered in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. Lan Wangji’s own gaze softened ever so slightly. The young man seemed to be barely over 19, and already dead. Such a young soul, trapped in this basement for who knows how long.
“Suicide.”
Lan Wangji swallowed, watching the way helpless void-like eyes turned to him. He could see the request for help lurking within them—yet, there was something more. Something Lan Wangji could feel yet couldn’t understand fully. There was yearning, but for what?
… For whom?
It was evident that there was a lot more to Liu Jian’s story that couldn’t be told through the answers that Inquiry allowed. Inquiry could only let him know so much. An overview of what happened but not details worth knowing, emotions worth knowing. There was no way he would be able to understand any of it unless he saw Liu Jian’s story— his life, through his own eyes.
Lan Wangji knew that both his uncle and his brother wouldn’t be happy with how he decided to handle the situation. He himself didn’t prefer this method either— especially without a supervisor. Yet, looking into desperate pitch black eyes, Lan Wangji knew that he had to do it. If it helped this poor soul move on, then making exceptions sometimes was not the worst idea.
Lan Wangji lifted his guqin off his lap and set it beside himself, then looked at Liu Jian again with renewed determination.
“I would like to perform Empathy on you. It will allow me to see the events of your past life,” he said, watching the ghost closely for any sign of recognition. Of course, as expected, there were none—but it wasn’t exactly about seeing if the ghost knew what that technique was. It was more so to let the ghost know that he was willing to help, to listen. That—if it all goes as Lan Wangji wanted it to—Liu Jian would not have to be trapped inside this basement any longer than after their session of Empathy.
With how Liu Jian’s eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise, the hazy look getting taken over by a hint of slowly emerging hope, Lan Wangji was certain that the ghost understood him.
After a bit of shuffling, with Liu Jian’s spirit sitting in front of him cross-legged, Lan Wangji nodded, then closed his eyes, entering a meditative state, an indication for Liu Jian to do the same.
Not long after the connection was initiated—then accepted—did Lan Wangji feel the foreign energy entering his being. Despite having done enough research on the technique, actually performing it was something else entirely. He could feel the way his own spiritual energy was a tad more restless than it usually ever was, faced with energy that was not its own. Lan Wangji pushed through anyway, slowly calmed himself down. Being restless would not help in a process as tricky as Empathy.
Like that, once the discomfort was gone, Lan Wangji opened his eyes to find not the years old basement, but sunlight peeking through green leaves. He didn’t hear ghostly sobs, but the sound of water flowing in a river. It took Lan Wangji a moment to get his bearings, to recover from the shock of finding himself in a place so bright and lively after being in an isolated place such as the basement he’d found Liu Jian in.
When he could focus more on what was happening, that was when he noticed gentle fingers scratching his scalp, warm brown eyes looking down at him. The emotions surging in his heart—or, more accurately, Liu Jian’s heart—told Lan Wangji enough about the relationship between him and the man whose lap he currently had his head on.
“A-Jian,” murmured the man, voice quiet, soft as though afraid to break the spell of calm. “Tonight, we will leave. Meet me near the abandoned cottage at the edge of the village, okay?”
He felt his heart race—emotions flooding him to the brim, each stronger than the one before. Yet, beneath it all—worry, nervousness, terror—was a feeling bigger than any. Relief. Lan Wangji couldn’t help but wonder why the couple were leaving.
Just… what were they running from?
Right then, Lan Wangji got pulled from the memory before being pushed into a new one. Gone were the chirps of birds and sounds of river, now replaced with pants of exhaustion. He—Liu Jian—was running. The path ahead was illuminated only by the moon hanging above. Lan Wangji could feel exhaustion dripping from every muscle of Liu Jian’s body, yet he never stopped and kept on running. That was when Lan Wangji realised; Liu Jian was headed towards the spot where he and the other man had agreed to meet at.
But, as he turned around the corner and the abandoned cottage came into view, what Liu Jian saw was not what he had expected to see at all. Instead of a warm smile turning his way, Liu Jian saw dim, lifeless eyes. Saw the body of his beloved on the ground, blood pooling around him, soaking his white robes.
“Yu Ming!”
The words weren’t spoken, yet Lan Wangji heard them anyway, for they roared in every breath Liu Jian took.
Before he knew it, Liu Jian was running, covering the distance between himself and his love in quick strides. Liu Jian was falling to the ground the moment he stopped, pulling Yu Ming’s body on his lap, hugging him close.
His breaths left him in quick puffs of air, eyes frantic in the way they scanned each and every inch of his love’s face, his body. He was so pale. The change was so jarring against the colour of happiness Liu Jian had seen covering Yu Ming’s being just this afternoon.
Liu Jian intertwined his fingers with pale, limp ones. His heart ached when, instead of squeezing back like they used to, they remained lifeless. Liu Jian lifted Yu Ming’s hand and pressed it against his tear-streaked face. His hand was so cold, fingers limp and unmoving.
“Hah…” Liu Jian sobbed, kissed Yu Ming’s palm. For a moment there, he felt the hand in his own tremble and the hope that burnt in his chest almost made him dizzy. It fizzled out just as quickly when Liu Jian realised that it was just him, his own hand that was trembling while holding onto Yu Ming’s.
“Well, it seems like the cut-sleeve is here,” came a voice from inside the abandoned cottage, emerging in the form of a man that Liu Jian vaguely remembered as the man who works under his father.
Liu Jian’s blood ran cold.
“How sad, you didn’t get to watch the way he was groveling and begging earlier. Seems like you’re a tad bit late, kid.” As the man walked towards them, Liu Jian could see 3 more men walking out of the cottage, following him. They all wore expression that were a mixture of pride and disgust and amusement. As though they were proud they got a disgusting cut-sleeve off the street.
Liu Jian’s grip tightened around Yu Ming’s body, and even as tears stained his face, his gaze hardened.
Liu Jian never wanted to scream, yell and curse more than he did at that moment. Of course, he couldn’t do that either. He couldn’t be there when his beloved needed him the most, couldn’t save him from the scorn of society, couldn’t arrive just a few minutes earlier than he did.
Liu Jian would not let this man taint his love in death too.
Gently, reverently, Liu Jian laid the body of Yu Ming on the ground. He caressed his love’s cheek, cold skin meeting Liu Jian’s burning one. Slowly, he brought Yu Ming’s hand to his lips. Liu Jian raised his eyes and met those of the one who killed his beloved, and kissed Yu Ming’s hand. He didn’t look back at the man to see his reaction, gently laying Yu Ming’s hand on his stomach.
Liu Jian stood up, watched the man’s eyebrow raise in a challenge. “Well,” the man mused, smirking. “Guess it won’t be just one cut-sleeve tonight.”
Liu Jian distantly heard the rest of the men laughing. He didn’t care. Not when his fist met that face sporting a cocky smirk.
Lan Wangji came to realise that Liu Jian didn’t remember most of the fight. It passed by in the form of fragments and images. A punch here, a broken bone there, and by the end of it, Liu Jian stood alone, panting, surrounded by bodies and blood. Sharp pain emerged from his ribs and left arm. Broken bones, most likely. Liu Jian barely felt them as he dragged his exhausted body towards where Yu Ming’s body still laid on the ground.
He bent down and gently picked Yu Ming up, arms underneath his back and knees, as though afraid of jostling him. He wouldn’t want to disturb his beloved’s sleep.
Liu Jian ignored how each and every muscle, every bone in his body screamed in protest. It didn’t matter. Not more than getting Yu Ming away from the gore, the people who did this to him.
He panted as he climbed uphill, yet never once stumbled, never once jostled his love. Soon, Liu Jian reached the river and gently lowered Yu Ming to the ground beneath the shade of the tree beside it, propping him against it, then sat down himself.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that for. He didn’t know how many tears spilled over and down his face. He didn’t know how many kisses he pressed against unresponsive lips and hands. All he knew was that, with the moon hanging high in the sky as a witness and source of light, Liu Jian pulled out the knife he stole from the murderer of his beloved. The moonlight reflected off its clean parts. There was still blood on it, most likely Yu Ming’s.
It would only be fitting if it was stained with Liu Jian’s blood too.
Liu Jian turned in Yu Ming’s direction. He watched moonlight falling on pale features, devoid of any warmth yet so, so beautiful. Liu Jian leaned in, and as he pressed a gentle kiss against his love’s forehead, he felt his own eyes sting with already falling tears.
Intertwining his fingers with his beloved’s, Liu Jian’s lips curled into a small, pained smile. If living together—far from the life they knew so nobody could hurt them—was something they couldn’t have, at least death didn’t make that distinction.
Lan Wangji didn’t stay in the memory long enough to see Liu Jian stab himself to death. It wasn’t his to know, or his to watch, or live. Within a few moments, Lan Wangji was pulled out of Liu Jian’s memories and pushed back into his own body. The experience left him dizzy, head throbbing.
Yet, the most prominent feeling of them all was the sympathy he felt for the two lovers, separated both in death and life.
Lan Wangji opened his eyes and found sad, black eyes on himself, watching him closely.
He didn’t say anything for a few tense moments. Lan Wangji took those moments as some time to calm down, to take a deep breath and sort through everything he saw; which was definitely a lot.
For some strange reason, the story of the two doomed lovers shook him to his very core, a strange sense of sadness veiling over him. And, no, not in the way one would feel sad after watching the misery somebody else had suffered. It almost felt like the sadness of a shared experience, as absurd as that thought was. Lan Wangji had not experienced something as gut-wrenching as watching his non-existent partner suffer and be killed for no reason, resulting in him joining them in death.
(Lan Wangji refused to think about being faced with a bright smile, a cheerful voice calling out to him and constantly teasing him. He refused to think about years of radio silence, years of absence without a goodbye. He refused to think about how there’s a chance of that smile no longer existing, of that man no longer existing.)
Lan Wangji shook that thought away. There were more pressing matters at hand, like showing Liu Jian the way to afterlife and peace.
Lan Wangji placed his guqin on his lap again, and once again, a few notes of Inquiry rang out, only with a different question.
“What do you want?”
Before Lan Wangji would put Liu Jian to rest, asking if there were any last wishes the ghost wanted fulfilled may assist in moving on a bit more easily. There was a significant chance of Liu Jian immediately moving on after his wish had been fulfilled, without Lan Wangji having to play Rest.
Though, the response the spirit gave… confused Lan Wangji, made him a bit sceptical.
“Come here.”
Of course, Lan Wangji had heard those words plenty of times during Inquiry. Vengeful ghosts playing the part of innocent victims, trying to get him near them so they could kill him and gain his spiritual energy in order to grow stronger. Lan Wangji, obviously, never listened and simply played Rest, let them move on or eradicated them.
But this time… Lan Wangji found himself considering it. He knew how dangerous getting closer to the ghost could be. Definitely something his uncle would frown upon. Yet, he also knew what happened to Liu Jian, had seen it with his own eyes. Lan Wangji knew getting emotional never served well in this field of work. Still. He could sense that the ghost had no malice, no bloodlust emanating from him.
So, despite the alarms ringing in his mind, despite every instinct telling him otherwise, Lan Wangji set his guqin aside, and slowly approached Liu Jian.
But the moment Lan Wangji was fully in front of Liu Jian, the ghost’s hand shot forward. Lan Wangji reacted immediately, dodging what he assumed was a blow— but all Liu Jian was wrap his fingers around Lan Wangji’s wrist, immediately letting go afterwards.
Wide golden eyes shifted from Liu Jian’s hand to his face. To his glowing, swiftly disappearing face.
“What—” Lan Wangji began, stunned, watching as the ghost’s body dissolved into thin air, leaving behind hints of spiritual energy.
What shocked Lan Wangji greatly was the wistful smile he saw Liu Jian wearing seconds before he was gone.
Just like that, Lan Wangji was left alone, dumbfounded in the basement.
It was only a few seconds later that he remembered: Liu Jian had grabbed his wrist right before he moved on.
Lan Wangji looked down at his wrist and, sure enough, there was a curse mark on his wrist, in the shape of fingers wrapped around it.
And that is how Lan Wangji managed to get himself cursed. His day had only derailed from there. When Lan Wangji had walked out of the factory, he came to realise that it was raining and had to run to his car, the downpour thoroughly drenching him in the process.
He had gone straight to the Lan sect headquarters solely to give his report so he could just go home, only to get roped into a bunch of tests to see if the curse was anything life-threatening. Xichen had been worriedly hovering near him the entire time.
Lan Wangji knew that getting the curse mark checked was the wiser thing to do but he was just so exhausted, both mentally and physically. Still, he endured the tests, waited for the results, and got to leave the second they told him that the curse isn’t lethal. Xichen had hesitated, had asked Lan Wangji if he would be okay since while the curse was not life-threatening, they still didn’t know what it would do.
Lan Wangji had assured his brother to the best of his ability and left for his home, which brought him here, in his bedroom, putting on fresh and blessedly dry clothes.
Lan Wangji pushes himself to go through his night time routine, finishing everything that needs to be done, and only then does he allow himself to lay down on his bed.
Lan Wangji is asleep before his head even hits the pillow.
~
Soft sunlight falls into the room through the space between the curtains, and Lan Wangji wakes up to bright blue, feline eyes staring back at him, blinking lazily. The only reason behind him not jumping straight out of bed is because of the composure that has been ingrained into him since he was a child, and because he has the presence of mind to know that it would jostle the cat.
Lan Wangji wonders, for a moment, if he’s still dreaming. For a moment, he even considers this being the work of the curse mark still present on his wrist. Surely, there couldn’t be a fluffy white cat that he does not own in his house, in his bed, and on his chest, staring at him as if he’s the one who is in a place where he's not supposed to be.
Though, when the cat brings out a paw from underneath itself and splays it on top of his collarbone, Lan Wangji is forced to acknowledge that this, in fact, is not a dream. There is a cat in his room, loafing on his chest.
“Hello,” Lan Wangji says dumbly, still a bit shocked by the presence of the cat. How long has it been here for? It shows just how tiring yesterday was if Lan Wangji didn’t notice the cat before his actual time to wake up.
The cat just blinks back, which, fair. A cat saying hello back wouldn’t be the most normal thing to happen. Before Lan Wangji can think about what exactly to do with the cat, he hears the doorbell ringing.
Lan Wangji rubs a hand down his face. Just what is happening today?
Sighing, Lan Wangji slowly puts his hand on the cat’s back and sits up. Surprisingly enough, the cat allows it. Now that he’s thinking about it, the cat has been nothing but calm despite being in an unfamiliar place, even if it seems a bit judgemental. But then again, most cats do.
After making sure that the cat is comfortable against his chest, Lan Wangji gets out of bed to go see who’s at the door. Even though Lan Wangji himself wakes up at 5 am every morning, that doesn’t mean he’s happy about someone being at his door at this time. Who even goes to somebody’s house when the sun is barely up in the sky?
Lan Wangji unlocks the door, the other hand absentmindedly scratching the cat’s back. He opens the door and promptly freezes.
Right there, standing in front of Lan Wangji is the man Lan Wangji thought he would never see again. Standing in front of him, on Lan Wangji’s porch, is the one man Lan Wangji could never manage to forget or get over.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breathes, golden eyes wide in shock. Wei Ying in turn looks equally as shocked and almost as if he’s contemplating running away at this exact moment.
Not again, Lan Wangji thinks distantly.
Recovering from the shock, Wei Ying chuckles nervously. “Ah, Lan Zhan.” He smiles. It’s a small, nervous smile. Lan Wangji loves it anyway. “Um. Hi.” It’s almost like even if Wei Ying is shocked, he expected this to happen to some capacity and is only coming to terms with it actually happening.
Lan Wangji swallows, closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. When he opens his eyes, Wei Ying is shifting from one foot to the other nervously. Despite how deeply he wishes to hug him, despite how deeply he wishes to hide him away and ask him where he has been for more than a decade, Lan Wangji understands how uncomfortable this situation must be for him too. He decides to put him out of his misery.
“Hi,” Lan Wangji says, then glances at the cat in his arms just as the cat looks up and says, “Mrow!”
“Oh! Here she is,” Wei Ying says. When Lan Wangji looks at him, he sees him pointing towards the cat in his arms. “She’s yours?” he asks.
“Yeah. Funny how she met you before I did.” Wei Ying smiles, and this time, it’s softer, apologetic in a way that makes Lan Wangji’s heart ache. It’s a familiar feeling, one that Lan Wangji did not think he would ever get to experience again.
Lan Wangji’s face must be doing something without his knowledge, because Wei Ying’s eyes soften slightly as he says, “I moved into the house beside yours, by the way. Funny coincidence.” A very lucky coincidence, Lan Wangji manages not to say. Though, by the way the corner of Wei Ying’s lips twitches, the way his eyes widen, he doesn’t think he managed to keep his face in check. He can’t be blamed. He’s meeting the love of his life, regardless of whether the man in question knows it or not, after more than a fucking decade. His brain and heart deserve a break.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying murmurs, eyes flicking from Lan Wangji’s lips to his eyes, before he shakes his head slightly, smiles. “Didn’t think your smile could get prettier, but I guess I underestimated Hanguang-Jun’s otherworldly beauty, huh?” Wei Ying chuckles— or Lan Wangji thinks he does. He can’t tell, not with how his vision suddenly whitens, ears start ringing until he hears laughter— he thinks it’s laughter. The voice is so faint, like the echo of an echo, suppressed yet refusing to be gone. He sees someone—a boy—though his face is clouded over by grey patches in his vision. Like a long forgotten memory.
“I’ll give you a jar of wine. Smile, you’d be much cuter smiling,” he says, grinning wide. It’s infuriating how beautiful his smile is. Infuriating how close it is to actually working, to actually making Lan Wangji yield. Close, but not entirely. He won’t be swayed by a pretty smile of all things.
“Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji says, to which the boy replies with a roll of his eyes, “What isn’t forbidden here?”
“The rules are on the Wall of Discipline. Go read them.” Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow, a barely perceptible change on his face.
“Hah! Who even reads those rules?” the boy says, chuckling, before wincing slightly once he sees Lan Wangji’s glare. “Okay, fine. I won’t go inside with the alcohol—” he pulls the cloth off the jar’s top with a grin. “—I’ll just drink it here. I won’t be going inside with alcohol if I do that!”
Before Lan Wangji even has the time to be shocked by the boy’s shameless behaviour or make a move to stop him, the boy tips his head back and pours the Emperor’s Smile into his mouth. Some of it escapes his lips and trails down his jaw and neck. Lan Wangji resolutely tells himself not to stare. He mostly succeeds. It’s a very captivating sight, to Lan Wangji’s utter dismay.
Enraged by the display and perhaps by his own reaction, Lan Wangji lunges with Bichen drawn. The boy escapes with ease, bouncing from one place on the roof to another. Despite the boy’s efforts, Lan Wangji manages to toss the remaining jar of Emperor’s Smile. It falls and meets its doom on the ground in front of the gates, crashing with a loud sound.
The boy gasps. “That was good wine, you know!” Despite the boy’s theatrics, there’s a grin on his face as he fights back, pulling his own sword out. What Lan Wangji doesn’t expect is how good the fight ends up being, how exhilarating it is. The boy meets him blow for blow, swords clanging against each other with enough force to shake the earth. It feels like getting his first talisman right. Like pulling off his first sword form effortlessly.
Like fighting an equal.
“—an? Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice drags him out of the vision, which is when he realises that he’s leaning to the side against the doorframe. Fortunately, one of his hands is still holding onto the cat, though the cat is no longer resting but standing with her paws against Lan Wangji’s chest, fluffy white head rubbing against his jaw as though to soothe him.
She’s not the only one who's far too closer than she was before. Wei Ying is standing right in front of him, hands pressed against his shoulders to keep him upright. He’s staring at Lan Wangji with a concerned expression—previous nervousness long forgotten—which is so familiar that Lan Wangji momentarily forgets why they’re in this position in the first place.
Seeing Lan Wangji’s eyes open, Wei Ying sighs with relief. “Oh, good. You’re awake. Are you okay? What happened?”
Lan Wangji opens his mouth to reply, then pauses. The thing is, Lan Wangji is not sure himself what that… vision was, or why he blacked out throughout the time period it went on for. It felt so familiar, almost like he lived it himself, as absurd as that thought seems. He feels conflicted, confused about it all and, while he has a theory about what could possibly have caused him to see that vision, he can’t tell Wei Ying until he knows it for sure. He knows how Wei Ying is. Knows Wei Ying won’t stop at anything to know everything about the vision and how to deal with it. Lan Wangji just does not wish to subject him to such issues right after they met after more than a decade later.
“A night hunt. It was draining and I suppose I am still tired,” Lan Wangji says, which is not exactly a lie.
Wei Ying, clearly still suspicious, hesitates, but he lets it go for now. (Lan Wangji knows from experience that small mercy won’t last for long.)
Desperate for any distraction, Lan Wangji asks, “The cat?”
Wei Ying blinks, startled by the abrupt change of topic, though he lets it slide. Wei Ying glances at the cat still rubbing against Lan Wangji’s jaw and amusement takes over the lingering concern.
“Yeah, that’s Radish,” Wei Ying says, visibly holding back a laugh at the overly affectionate behaviour of the cat. Lan Wangji wishes he wouldn't hold it back at all.
“She’s… affectionate.” Lan Wangji looks at the cat—Radish—which brings him on eye level with the cat. Seeing this development, Radish brings her head out from underneath Lan Wangji’s jaw to pat his cheek with a paw. “Meow!”
Wei Ying chuckles and oh, Lan Wangji missed that. Missed the way his heart would stutter—still does—in response to that laugh, so airy and beautiful that it immediately puts people at ease if they weren’t already. Lan Wangji is helpless against the faint smile that takes over his face.
When Wei Ying’s laughter dies down, there’s a moment when they just stare at each other, so similar to the way they were doing when Lan Wangji opened the door earlier but so far different with their quiet, shared smiles. At last, the moment breaks when Wei Ying’s phone rings in his pocket, breaking the two of them out of the trance of shared solitude.
Wei Ying digs his phone out of his pocket and, after seeing the notification, turns an apologetic smile towards Lan Wangji.
Oh, no.
“I’m really sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying begins as he pockets his phone. “I have to go for now. But.” He glances away, nervous all of a sudden, then turns the full force of his gaze at Lan Wangji again. “I’ll be free tomorrow. If— if you want, um, you can stop by? If you want to?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Before Wei Ying can take the offer back out of sheer nervousness, Lan Wangji nods, says, “Yes, of course, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying beams, so wide and open, and Lan Wangji’s heart aches.
“Great! I’m… I’m glad, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, soft and sweet, before he visibly gathers himself and asks, “Can I have the kitty?”
Lan Wangji pauses, before carefully handing Radish to Wei Ying. It’s not that he forgot about the cat. He was just a bit preoccupied by the fact that before today, seeing Wei Ying was a wish, a hope he always carried with him and now Wei Ying is his neighbour.
“Right, so. I’ll, um, see you tomorrow?” Wei Ying asks, something hopeful in his eyes. Lan Wangji would be a monster to say no.
“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, and preens internally when he sees the relief entering Wei Ying’s expression.
Wei Ying smiles one of his quieter yet no less happier smiles, the one that digs its place deep within Lan Wangji’s chest and warms him up from the inside, and Lan Wangji watches him walk to his house where Wei Ying waves back at him—Lan Wangji waves back—before entering his house.
Lan Wangji walks back into his own house feeling this quiet warmth in his heart, the warmth that only comes from Wei Ying’s presence. Lan Wangji can’t believe he gets to see him, gets to be in his presence once again when he had lost all hope that he would ever get to.
Just as Lan Wangji is locking the door, his eyes catch onto a faint glow flickering on his wrist. Lan Wangji freezes.
The curse mark… Lan Wangji sighs. He had a feeling that the… vision, he just had, may be related to the curse mark on his wrist, but to see his theory being true only brings forth an exhausted headache.
Just when he thought it was about to get better, it, of course, got worse.