Constellations Traced in Summer

Nie Huaisang arrived at the Cloud Recesses with four other Qinghe Nie cultivators. His brother was conspicuously absent, in his opinion, but Da-ge had just sighed when Nie Huaisang had asked if he’d at least travel there with them. “I won’t be able to protect you forever,” he’d said, voice gentle. “You’re clever, Didi, and also my heir. I need you to walk your own path and make your own connections.”

It made sense, but Nie Huaisang hadn’t left the Unclean Realm for longer than a week at a time since Father had died, and he’d been with Da-ge on every single one of those expeditions. He’d swallowed, and said, “If I need you—”

“A-Mei, if you send for me I will come.” Da-ge wrapped his arms around Nie Huaisang. “I simply hope that you will be able to stand on your own.”

Nie Huaisang remembered that hug, the bonfire strength of his brother’s golden core pulsing against him. His own always felt like embers or fireflies in comparison, but Da-ge assured him that so long as his core had formed, it would continue growing stronger; Da-ge had a whole decade’s more time of building up his core, so of course his would be powerful. But still, Nie Huaisang looked up at the walls of the Cloud Recesses and wondered: Would all the heirs of the other Great Clans have stronger cores than him as well? Would they judge him for it? They surely had been pushed to cultivate and better themselves more strongly as children than Nie Huaisang had been.

(He did not regret his childhood, sheltered and dancing among flowers and learning delicate calligraphy and applying the same delicate touch to paint. But that child had died alongside her father, and only he remained. He regretted that, sometimes; she had not been afraid, the way he was, but he believed Da-ge’s words that she would have learned yet greater fear from the Wen had she been allowed to come of age.)

Nie Zhenjing coughed gently. “Nie-gongzi,” he said hesitantly; he was the oldest of the disciples sent to the Cloud Recesses, but Nie Huaisang—as Sect Heir—was their leader. “Are we entering?”

“Ah!” Nie Huaisang jumped a little, and then smiled sheepishly. “My apologies, Nie Zhenjing. Yes, we are entering.” He suited action to words, striding forward much more confidently than he felt. He didn’t like meeting new people very much; there was too much potential for someone to look too closely and see something he wasn’t supposed to allow them to see. But Da-ge said that he had to attend and make connections with the other heirs, so he would do it; he didn’t want to let his brother down.

The Gusu Lan cultivators at the gate kept impeccably neutral expressions as they checked the invitations, and then nodded and allowed them in. One, who introduced herself as Lan Yingchun, informed them of the rules of Gusu Lan, indicating them on a long stone wall. Nie Huaisang looked at them, read the first few lines to catch his eye, and sighed. “Lan-qianbei,” he said, “is there a guide for those of us who are visiting, so we do not need to return to the entrance to study it?”

Lan Yingchun inclined her head. “Our library has many copies, Nie-gongzi.”

“Perfect.” Nie Huaisang bowed properly, very aware of how the Gusu Lan stood on formality more strongly even than the Qinghe Nie. “Thank you for your guidance, Lan-qianbei.”

In what Nie Huaisang quickly learned was typical Lan manner, she acknowledged him without another word, and then sent them on their way. Nie Huaisang peered around the Cloud Recesses, curious how this monastic sect lived. Everything seemed to have been built in perfect harmonic alignment, as if the architects had cared about art more than function—a delightful reversal of how he often felt about the Unclean Realm. There were hidden gardens around every corner, and while Nie Huaisang didn’t hear much human noise, the soft murmur of birds sang bright in the air.

He loved it.

As soon as Nie Huaisang had ensured his belongings were stored in the guest room provided to him—both the Qinghe Nie and the Gusu Lan prided themselves on orderly rooms, though for different reasons—he set off in search of the library. He’d seen a building labeled as such, but he’d lost track of where it was; he’d been too busy making sure that he was following the path Lan Yingchun had laid out for them.

Retracing that path, Nie Huaisang found the library. Unsurprisingly for a sect known for its scholarly tendencies, it mirrored the formal hall; in a secondary place of pride, and just as big if not bigger. Nie Huaisang smiled, and carefully made his way into the building. It was cooler inside, and drier; when he checked the doorframe, Nie Huaisang saw sigils elegantly worked into the structure of the building itself to ensure proper conditions for the materials kept within.

He hadn’t expected the library to be empty at first glance. Nervously, Nie Huaisang called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

A Gusu Lan disciple swept around the corner a moment later. He looked about Nie Huaisang,’s age and the way he carried himself—beneath the bamboo-straight back and the snow-calm face—felt familiar, somehow. He looked up and down Nie Huaisang, moon-pale eyes assessing, and then said, “Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji, welcomes Nie-gongzi to the Cloud Recesses.”

Nie Huaisang bowed. Lan Wangji’s name had, of course, made it to Qinghe Nie; he hadn’t expected to meet the Second Jade so soon, but if luck wished to smile upon him, he wasn’t going to reject it. “I am Nie Mei, courtesy name Huaisang. I was told I could find references for the many rules of the Cloud Recesses here. I do not wish to offend during my visit.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji nodded. His expression didn’t change. How was he doing that? Nie Huaisang wanted to have that much control of his face. “Many are not so thoughtful. Please, let me show you where our guides are to be found.”

Nie Huaisang murmured his appreciation while his mind buzzed, contemplating what kind of person—presumably another guest disciple—Lan Wangji thought had been so specifically unthoughtful. He knew that the Qinghe Nie weren’t the first delegation to arrive, but he hadn’t paid attention to who was and wasn’t here. Likely the Yunmeng Jiang were; Lotus Pier and Cloud Recesses were close together. He suspected Lanling Jin’s delegation had arrived first, because everything he knew about them made him feel they just liked showing off like that. The Qishan Wen were apparently sending a delegation this year, but he didn’t know if they had arrived first or intended to arrive last. Any minor sects who might have been invited, he had no idea about at all.

Still, he hadn’t seen any sign of a major disturbance. Lan Wangji was spoken of as an exemplar of Gusu Lan discipline, so maybe it was something minor that few others would think poorly of. He suspected he’d learn for certain at the welcome dinner tonight; Lan-xiansheng had specifically said that he wished to welcome everyone at once, with the subtext being that he did not wish to spend all day sitting in the hall as all the visiting disciples trickled in. Nie Huaisang was grateful, regardless, because it meant that he could learn more specifically about Gusu Lan manners before interacting with their leader.

He was still interacting with the second son of the official sect leader without knowing the full extent of the rules, but Nie Huaisang suspected that Lan Wangji would accept stumbles on the path to good manners when he was being so earnest about wanting to learn them. Indeed, Lan Wangji gestured at a stack of identical books. “You may peruse these to your heart’s content within these walls, Nie-gongzi, but do not remove them from the library.”

“And the rest of the books?” Nie Huaisang eyed them; he could see that they were mostly about cultivation and music, which he liked well enough, but there had to be some books on poetry at least, if not other more trivial matters. “May I look at those freely as well—I wouldn’t remove them from the library, of course—or do I need supervision?”

He could practically hear Lan Wangji hesitate. Nie Huaisang wished he had one of his fans. Da-ge had forbidden him from bringing them—a way of reminding him to carry the sword he ignored, Nie Huaisang suspected, as well as a fear that he would seem too feminine with a fan constantly in his hands—but his fingers felt empty and aflutter without something to fidget with. He’d need to go down to Caiyi Town and purchase one soon, because this didn’t feel right. Lan Wangji sighed minutely. “What do you wish to look at, Nie-gongzi?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said promptly, looking at Lan Wangji with a smile. “Our library is so focused on military matters and rules of law, and I was hoping that—since you seem like you know your library very well—perhaps you could suggest something that’s fun to read? Or something beautiful?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, and Nie Huaisang realised he might have made a mistake. Not in asking for Lan Wangji’s help, but in assuming that Lan Wangji was commonly helpful. That wasn’t the face of someone used to being asked for advice like this. Nie Huaisang bowed slightly, but kept his eyes on Lan Wangji’s face, watching him narrow his attention yet further. The intensity edged on scary, but Nie Huaisang had lived through thorough examinations before; Lan Wangji’s eyes were curious, not trying to dissect him into the smallest scraps of worth.

“Do you like poetry,” Lan Wangji finally said.

Nie Huaisang laughed, equally delighted by Lan Wangji’s question and the way his mask was almost cracking. He wanted to push on it, but that seemed likely to backfire. “I love poetry,” he said instead, which was true. “What’s your favorite?”

Lan Wangji kept studying him for another few seconds, and then nodded. Nie Huaisang waited, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves, as Lan Wangji stepped quietly through the library. He knew exactly where he was going, though his hand hesitated for a moment between two volumes before firmly choosing one. Nie Huaisang watched, fascinated, as Lan Wangji returned with a face more shuttered than before, yet still held out an unwavering hand.

“Thank you for sharing, Lan-er-gongzi.” Nie Huaisang took it, and if his fingers brushed Lan Wangji’s it didn’t need to mean anything but that the volume was small and slender. “I look forward to reading it.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji turned away, strode to a table set up for calligraphy, and sat down; he must have been there before Nie Huaisang entered. “Read the rules of Gusu Lan first, Nie Huaisang. That is why you came here.”

“Yes, yes.” Nie Huaisang picked up a copy of those as well, and made his way to another table. It didn’t face Lan Wangji’s directly, but it was easily within sight. “But Lan Wangji, poetry is the best way to understand another soul.”

Lan Wangji sighed, but his pen stilled for a moment. “Read, Nie Huaisang.” He didn’t sound frustrated, but there was still tension in his words.

And, because Nie Huaisang didn’t want him to become frustrated, he said, “I am doing so,” and promptly shut his mouth and suited actions to words.

Two hours later, Lan Wangji stood and said, “Nie Huaisang, it is time to prepare for the welcome dinner,” and Nie Huaisang looked up from the poem he was reading, eyes still fuzzy from the imagery. He’d meant to read only one or two poems for each page of the Gusu Lan rules. Instead, after the first few pages of rules, he’d accidentally just started reading the poetry. Many of the poems seemed themed around transformation—the fruiting flower, the shifting moon, the butterfly spreading new-found wings—and Nie Huaisang didn’t want to stop inhaling their beauty.

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji repeated.

“Ah! I’m sorry, Lan Wangji.” Nie Huaisang smiled and noted his place in the poetry book. “They’re just so beautiful.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head. “Last year, Shufu allowed me the honor of creating a text compiling my favorite poems.”

Nie Huaisang paused, looked down at the poems and the lovely calligraphy, and then back up at Lan Wangji. “Then I am yet more honored that you shared it with me,” he said, falling back on courtesy because he was trying to work out why Lan Wangji had shared this, of all things, with him. “I would like to finish it, when I next have the opportunity.”

There was a tug at the edge of Lan Wangji’s lips, something like a smile. “I am often here.”

“I will do my best to find you.” Nie Huaisang rose and stretched. He just barely caught the way Lan Wangji’s eyes followed his movement; if he hadn’t been looking, he never would’ve seen it. “But for now, I believe you said we must prepare for dinner.”

“Yes.” Lan Wangji bent to retrieve the book of poetry. “Do you know the way to the guest chambers?”

Nie Huaisang thought about it for a bare second before saying, “I am not sure.” It wasn’t the whole truth—if pressed, he was certain he could find his way back—but it was true enough; a guide would make it much quicker.

Lan Wangji nodded. “If you would wait a brief moment, I will bring you to them.”

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang murmured.

Lan Wangji shelved his poetry, hands gentle and careful, and Nie Huaisang returned the copy of the Cloud Recesses’ rules to its neat little stack. Lan Wangji gave him that same little almost-smile, and Nie Huaisang happily followed him back out into the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji navigated them with ease, of course, and the other cultivators that Nie Huaisang saw bowed politely to them both.

And then they turned towards the guest quarters and a loud voice rang out, shattering the meditative quiet of the Cloud Recesses. It’s one of the rules, Nie Huaisang thought, turning towards the sound just as he realised Lan Wangji’s face had hardened. Not to shout, or make unnecessary noise.

Two youths—one in Yunmeng Jiang purple, the other in black with purple accents—came crashing out of the woods—definitely not from a path, and the louder black-clad one was holding up some kind of animal in triumph—and that was how Nie Huaisang realised three things at once:

First, that there really had been a breach of the rules; something that more than just Lan Wangji would be upset about.

Second, that he wanted to know more about the Jiang heir and his sect-brother; the ease of their interactions spoke to a joy that he’d never been allowed.

And, third, that the black-clad one—Wei Wuxian, from what Jiang Wanyin was shouting and Nie Huaisang’s belated memory of Jiang-zongzhu’s adopted son—was unfairly pretty.

Lan Wangji moved forward in a flurry, and Nie Huaisang hung back, creeping around the edges as he listened to Wei Wuxian shout at Jiang Wanyin about losing track of time, Jiang Wanyin yell back about that being Wei Wuxian’s fault, and Lan Wangji frostily insert himself between the two. “Thank you for the poetry,” Nie Huaisang shouted into the midst, waving at Lan Wangji before disappearing into the quarters assigned to him.

He immediately went to the window to watch, now that he wasn’t going to be tangled up in the conflict. It might not be as good a view, but that didn’t stop Nie Huaisang from enjoying the show.

Whatever it was Wei Wuxian had caught—a rooster, Nie Huaisang thought, but he couldn’t be certain from this distance—burst out of Wei Wuxian’s hand, ricocheted off Jiang Wanyin’s face, and then flew over Lan Wangji’s head. There was a moment of absolute silence and stillness, and then Wei Wuxian said, very loudly and clearly, “You scared it! Why did you do that?”

Jiang Wanyin looked like he was hissing something in Wei Wuxian’s ear, but it didn’t seem to have an effect on his dramatic pouting.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji said, still and straight as a winter pine. “It is forbidden to hunt and kill in the Cloud Recesses.”

“How do you expect us to know the rules already!”

“If you were diligent, like some young masters, you would study them.”

Nie Huaisang blushed, because he didn’t know what little gesture Lan Wangji had made, but both Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian were looking towards him now. Jiang Wanyin seemed resigned. Wei Wuxian looked affronted. Then, Wei Wuxian began to smile. “Okay, Lan Wangji. But please, tell me: Is there going to be any good food at dinner tonight?”

Lan Wangji turned and walked off without another word. Wei Wuxian chased after him, and Nie Huaisang blinked. Did he think that was going to help? But Jiang Wanyin seemed resigned as he turned back to another guest house where a young woman—Jiang Yanli, by the way she dressed and the familiarity between them—waited. Apparently this was, if not normal, not surprising. Nie Huaisang definitely had to learn more about Wei Wuxian, if only because he suspected that if he wanted to befriend Lan Wangji he’d be fighting with Wei Wuxian for the chance.

But for now, dinner, and dressing properly.

Nie Huaisang sighed, and went to find the most beautiful robes he had. At least Da-ge hadn’t forbidden him that.

The welcome and dinner itself went well, Nie Huaisang thought. Lan-xiansheng greeted each of them by name as Nie Huaisang and the rest of the delegation leaders presented their gifts. Nie Huaisang recognised more names than he’d expected—so many sect heirs were his age-peers. Nie Huaisang had known that absently, but seeing it was something altogether different. He understood, now, why Da-ge had been so insistent that he come and make friends; it would be the best opportunity to show himself favorably to the whole group at once.

So he did his best to pay attention during Lan-xiansheng’s opening speech, acted in a way befitting of a sect heir by following the rules as best he could, and fixed the names of as many visiting disciples as possible in his head. Many were simply a matter of putting a face to names he’d heard Da-ge talk about. Of those who weren’t the Wen delegation was by far the most interesting—and worrying. The Dafan Wen siblings didn’t seem dangerous, but they were still Wen and so he (along with most of the others, he was sure) planned to keep his guard up against them.

Yunmeng Jiang’s delegation managed to restrain themselves—meaning, Wei Wuxian—from causing any more incidents during dinner. Nie Huaisang watched them as covertly as he could and hid his smile behind a sleeve or a cup of tea as Jiang Yanli subtly elbowed Wei Wuxian, or Jiang Wanyin pointedly placed another elegantly-cooked red-bean dumpling on Wei Wuxian’s plate. They knew how to manage him, and thus the meal was only disrupted with occasional hissed words, not a loud conversation. It was awkward, Nie Huaisang thought, but at least all the visiting disciples were unified in their discomfort at Gusu Lan’s silent meals.

After, everyone dispersed. Nie Huaisang waved the other Qinghe Nie disciples off to their leisure while he watched to see where each sect group went. Most of them—the Dafan Wen, the Lanling Jin, the rest of his own Qinghe Nie—retraced the path they’d taken from the guest quarters. The Gusu Lan retreated into their own sanctums. The Yunmeng Jiang split, with Jiang Yanli following the main group, and Jiang Wanyin trailing after Wei Wuxian to go exploring.

Nie Huaisang didn’t follow them. He wanted to, but orienting himself to the space first seemed wise. So instead, he prowled around the Cloud Recesses, making a mental map of as much of it as he could before deep-toned bells rang the Gusu Lan bedtime hour. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it’d be until then, but he wanted to see more of the Cloud Recesses’ beauty than was contained in the walks between the guest rooms, the library, and the formal hall.

An hour later—after finding and walking along the walls surrounding the Cloud Recesses for a while and getting comfortably lost—Nie Huaisang wandered through one of the Cloud Recesses’ many meditation gardens and heard a dizi singing through the dusky air. He paused, and listened, and then turned to follow the sound. It led him to a small pavilion on a slight rise, just tall enough to peak over the low trees. Inside the pavilion was a dark-clad figure, and Nie Huaisang recognised—by the red ribbon in his hair, by the purple under-robes peaking out beneath the black outer robes—Wei Wuxian.

He stayed quiet and still on the edge of the clearing, watching Wei Wuxian. His first impression was easily confirmed—Wei Wuxian was beautiful. The sharp lines of his face, the graceful movement of his fingers, the relaxed curves of his long limbs were all compelling, and the stark darkness of his clothing contrasted the pale shades Nie Huaisang had allowed himself to grow used to in the Cloud Recesses. And, beyond all that, the easy way Wei Wuxian held his body spoke of long familiarity with his instrument and comfort in himself Nie Huaisang ached to experience himself.

Then Wei Wuxian opened his eyes and turned to face him with a smile. “Nie-gongzi! I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name; so many new faces and not enough to fix them upon.”

Nie Huaisang bowed instinctively. “Nie Mei, courtesy name Huaisang, greets Wei Wuxian.” Shyly, he looked up at Wei Wuxian and offered, “I didn’t expect to see anyone else out here.”

“Ah, I’m just trying to enjoy my time before Lan-xiansheng steals it all.” Wei Wuxian’s smile was brilliant, almost blinding, as he swung himself to his feet. “You were with Lan Wangji earlier, weren’t you?”

“I was.” Nie Huaisang smiled back. “Where did you get that bird?”

Wei Wuxian laughed as he waved Nie Huaisang to come join him in the pavilion with its seats. “So, Jiang Cheng and I were bemoaning the terrible food of the Cloud Recesses…”

Nie Huaisang listened, rapt and delighted, as Wei Wuxian told a story that he had to be embellishing; the sheer number of ridiculous escapes and near-misses Wei Wuxian described experiencing as he and his sect-brother went in search of meat to prepare their stomachs for the “bland vegetarian feast” couldn’t be real.

At the end, Wei Wuxian paused, and then laughed, saying, “Well, you saw how it ended. But Lan Wangji was in a good mood! No punishment, just a scolding.” Wei Wuxian lightly punched Nie Huaisang on the shoulder, and Nie Huaisang rocked into the motion, used to such violent fondness from growing up Nie. “What were you doing with him, that Lan Wangji was in a good mood?”

“Reading in the library.” Nie Huaisang shook his head, relaxed enough to mock Wei Wuxian with his smile. “Lan-er-gongzi implied that I was much better than certain rule-breakers. What’s the story there?”

A fraction of hesitation, and then Wei Wuxian leaned in close, eyes widening. “I tried to sneak liquor into the Cloud Recesses and he stopped me.”

Nie Huaisang pursed his mouth. “You know, I was expecting something more dramatic.”

Wei Wuxian’s injured look was worth it, especially when Nie Huaisang’s mask of seriousness slipped and they both started giggling again.

The evening bells rang out, deep and solemn, and Nie Huaisang winced. “Ah, Wei Wuxian, I promised my brother I wouldn’t cause trouble, and I certainly shouldn’t start letting you tempt me into adventures on my first day here.”

“But some other day?” Wei Wuxian asked, eyes glittering with the last light of the sun. “It’s good to have a new friend.”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said, chest singing in a mix of joy and confusion that Wei Wuxian could so easily call him a friend. He smiled back. “It is.”

Nie Huaisang spent the next two weeks learning the rhythms of the Cloud Recesses and weaving himself into its workings. He went to lectures, studied as well as he could, talked to Lan Wangji about poetry and philosophy and started to learn the heart beneath the Gusu Lan mask, and followed Wei Wuxian into potentially-questionable adventures for the sheer joy of it.

He loved being in the Cloud Recesses, he really did. It felt nothing like the Unclean Realm, and Nie Huaisang wondered if it was disloyal to delight so easily in the Cloud Recesses, but when he mentioned that thought to Lan Wangji at the end of the first week—sitting outside the library in the late afternoon sun, books of poetry and music in their hands—Lan Wangji gazed at him with his too-penetrating gaze and said, “Do you miss it?”

Nie Huaisang ducked his head, turning to the perfectly-written characters on the page. “Yet it never forgets its nest,” he murmured, tracing the poem’s final line. More loudly, he said, “I do miss it. I miss riding with Da-ge, and I miss our mountains—yours are lovely too, but the horizon is so different—and I miss listening to wild stories over dinner.”

There was no response, not even a little Mm like Lan Wangji often made when he didn’t have anything to say but wanted to acknowledge that he’d heard what Nie Huaisang had said, and so Nie Huaisang lifted his gaze from the beautiful poetry to the person who he was just gathering to courage to perhaps call his friend.

Lan Wangji was sitting perfectly still, eyes fixed on the poetry in front of Nie Huaisang. He’d been reading the book of Lan Wangji’s favored poems, and Nie Huaisang realised that Lan Wangji had to know every single poem by heart, so that a single line would be enough to call the whole to mind. This one was short, and beautiful, and sad:

I knelt in front of your door daily  
As snow settled and the owl called.  
I light incense and send lanterns across the waters,  
Asking you to watch me grow from child to man.  
I join the dragon dance bringing forth spring rains,  
My sword is drawn to protect our people,  
And I bow to your altar in remembrance:  
A crane may spread its wings to fly  
Yet it never forgets its nest.  

Rereading it, Nie Huaisang belatedly remembered: He wasn’t the only child who had lost their parents young. The young masters of Gusu Lan had a father sequestered in private meditation, and a mother who had been sequestered until her death. Nie Huaisang winced; he hadn’t meant to remind Lan Wangji of his loss. He gathered his courage—they were friends, or as close to friends as Lan Wangji seemed to be with anyone—and said, “Lan-er-gongzi? Did I say something wrong? I did not mean to offend, or remind you of that which you would prefer to leave forgotten.”

“No,” Lan Wangji said, and shook his head just enough to set his hair swaying down his back. “That poem is full of memories, Nie-gongzi; I was not expecting you to bring them to mind.”

“The final lines are why I was thinking about the Unclean Realm,” Nie Huaisang offered, a retreat from what had affected Lan Wangji so strongly. “But I suppose it is true; as much as I love it here—I’m so glad to have met you, and Wei Wuxian, and everyone else—there is as much to love back home, too.”

Lan Wangji nodded, and hummed his acknowledgement, and Nie Huaisang let them lapse back into simply reading and enjoying each other’s company.

Wei Wuxian convinced almost all the visiting disciples to follow him down to Caiyi Town for a market day on their free afternoon. The noisy pack was almost overwhelming in contrast to the Cloud Recesses’ quiet, and Nie Huaisang let himself fade into the trailing edge of the group. Nobody seemed to notice—or, those who did let him be after a quick look and his smile in return.

So by the time he arrived at the market, most of them were well-dispersed into clumps around the food stalls and bookshops and clothing stores. Nie Huaisang circled the market’s edge, looking without any particular intent, until he found himself halting in front of a fan stall. They were beautiful, and he missed the collection he’d begun to build in the Unclean Realm, and he had told himself he wasn’t going to buy more here even though he wanted to, and he should go look at other things that weren’t so very tempting.

Then Luo Qingyang said, “You should buy one.”

Nie Huaisang jumped, and turned to Luo Qingyang with an apologetic smile. “Da-ge suggested very strongly that I leave my habit of carrying fans everywhere behind when I came here.”

Luo Qingyang frowned at him and plucked one of the fans—white with cherry branches inked beautifully onto its folds—from the display. “It’s not a strange habit,” she said, snapping the fan open and closed a few times and then slicing through the air with it. “And these are well-made.”

“Da-ge just recalls that if I carry a fan, I begin to forget my sword.” Still, Nie Huaisang picked up one of the unpainted fans. Unlike Luo Qingyang, who he could tell knew some ways of fighting with a fan, he simply unfurled it and felt the paper for its quality; if he was going to buy a fan, it would be one that he could decorate himself.

“I’m not sure why carrying a fan precludes carrying a sword,” Luo Qingyang said, coming to a stop with the fan’s edge a hair’s breadth from one of the awning’s supports.

Nie Huaisang laughed and sliced through the air with the fan he held, attempting to replicate Luo Qingyang’s motions. He’d never seen anything like them in Qinghe Nie. “It doesn’t, I’m just forgetful because I’ve never liked saber cultivation.”

“It seems powerful and dangerous,” Luo Qingyang said, very neutrally, and Nie Huaisang was so deeply grateful to her for that. She snapped the fan she held closed and returned it to the stall’s owner. “Buy the fan, Nie Huaisang; I’ll teach you how to use it in a fight.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Nie Huaisang protested, but he passed over the necessary coins without contesting the amount he clearly wanted to learn. Da-ge’s objections might have more to do with accidentally acting too feminine than anything else, but if Nie Huaisang learned how to fight with a fan there wouldn’t be nearly as much to object to.

Luo Qingyang smiled at him, illuminating her face. He’d almost never seen her alone, and when she spent so much time trailing after Jin Zixuan it was hard to appreciate her intelligence. Nie Huaisang suspected she tried to get people to underestimate her, especially once she said, “If you aren’t interested in fighting head-on as Nie-zongzhu does, then having a subtle weapon at your side can make a great difference.”

Nie Huaisang flicked open his new fan, hiding his expression momentarily. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

Her face tightened into the clear mask he was more familiar with. “The Lanling Jin create beautiful things,” she said softly, looking straight into his eyes. “But there are many things that gilded words may hide.”

“And so you must protect yourself.” Nie Huaisang eyed Luo Qingyang’s elegantly simple hairsticks. He suspected she knew at least three ways to kill someone with those, too. “Hopefully not here?”

Luo Qingyang shook her head and took his elbow, guiding him through the market at a slow stroll. “Not here. The Gusu Lan’s rules may be overbearing at times, but they prevent many forms of harm.”

Nie Huaisang squeezed her hand. “Why tell me this, then?”

“You seem interested.” Luo Qingyang shrugged, and even that was elegant somehow. “And if you choose not to follow the sword in a sect of people whose way of life is the sword… I think you would find many of the tricks we’ve learned to be useful.”

“I am grateful for your kindness,” Nie Huaisang managed, mind racing. There wasn’t any way that Luo Qingyang could have discovered his secret; he was careful, and this was the closest they’d ever been to each other. “Yes, I would enjoy learning from your experiences.” Carefully, he looked sidelong at her and added, ruefully, “I’ve been learning how sheltered I am, compared to many here.”

“Your family is small.” She pulled him towards an herb store, where Nie Huaisang recognised Jiang Yanli and a very awkward-looking Jin Zixuan. “I’m not surprised Nie-zongzhu wants you to be safe. I just want to give you more options, Nie Huaisang. I had few enough myself, when I entered Jin-gongzi’s service.”

They were close enough now that Nie Huaisang had to choose his words carefully, lest he say something to concern the others. “I’m not unskilled.”

“No.” Luo Qingyang leaned closer, whispering into his ear in a way that could have been flirting if they were other people. “But there’s more you can learn.”

Nie Huaisang stared at her, confused, and she pulled away with a sunny smile as Jiang Yanli waved them over. Nie Huaisang allowed himself to follow along in Luo Qingyang’s wake. Even if it would be harder to find time alone with her, he wanted to find that time if he could.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Xichen said softly, “might I have a moment of your time?”

Nie Huaisang had been on the way to lunch after an extended practicum on drawing talismans, one of the few lessons where the Gusu Lan preference for silence was commonly adhered to, but he stepped away from the larger group of disciples and bowed to Lan Xichen. “Of course, Lan-gongzi.”

Lan Xichen touched his shoulder gently and led him along a quieter path. Nie Huaisang recognised it as a more circuitous route to the same place the rest of his cohort was headed, and relaxed slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to feel comfortable asking, “Lan-gongzi, what did you wish to speak to me about?”

“Your brother and I are age-mates,” Lan Xichen said, which wasn’t exactly an answer but was close to one. “Mingjue sent me a missive inquiring about you. For some reason, he doesn’t seem inclined to believe that you’re reporting accurately.”

“I’m telling him the truth,” Nie Huaisang muttered, shoulders hunching a little. He didn’t— If Da-ge was uncertain, he could ask directly, instead of going to Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen sighed. “I know, Nie Huaisang. I understand that you were much more, ah—” Nie Huaisang barely caught Lan Xichen’s wince and stared at him wide-eyed “—secluded in the Unclean Realm?”

Nie Huaisang pulled himself together, not wanting those warm silver-blue eyes (lighter than Da-ge’s, darker than Lan Wangji’s) to catch him staring. “There are only so many youths of my age,” he said, which was true and polite. “And our disciples favor cultivating the saber, not the mind.”

As if this was indeed enough explanation, Lan Xichen nodded. “Wangji speaks highly of you,” he said, and Nie Huaisang let himself show his shock this time. Lan Xichen politely hid his smile by turning to caress a flower. “You endeared yourself to him simply by taking the time to read the rules of your own volition, and sealed his friendship by appreciating his poetry. I do not know why Mingjue doubts your ability to befriend others, if you can balance both Wangji’s stillness and Wei Wuxian’s energy.”

“Lan-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang managed, bowing again. “Why speak to me of this?”

“Mingjue sometimes forgets that people change when beyond his sight.” Lan Xichen’s smile held something else this time, and Nie Huaisang knew he didn’t have anywhere near the background to be able to understand it. “He still thinks of you as a child, doesn’t he?”

Nie Huaisang shook his head instinctively. “He knows I’m not a child. Else he would never have allowed me to come to the lectures.”

“That’s not what I mean, Nie Huaisang.” Lan Xichen turned to face him, and in his soft eyes Nie Huaisang felt the slow pressure of a river working itself through stone. “Mingjue remembers who you were as a child, and my recollection from his letters is that you were quiet, and hid behind his robes more often than not. That isn’t who you are here, is it?”

Nie Huaisang swallowed, and didn’t step back only through stubborn will. Lan Xichen’s assessment was not inaccurate, even if it was more directly framed than Nie Huaisang had ever heard it said before. It bordered on rude, but the relationship between Lan Xichen and Da-ge was strong enough that Nie Huaisang didn’t feel offended so much as laid bare. It was disconcerting, and he didn’t like it, and he said, “I’m not a different person here.”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, and he began walking down the path again. “But you show a different side of yourself, now that you have the chance. I think that when you go home, Mingjue will see how you’ve grown, Nie Huaisang. If it frightens him to think of you growing up, well—” a soft laugh “—perhaps he should speak to other parents about letting go.”

Nie Huaisang didn’t know what to say to that, and thus said nothing at all. The idea sat in his gut, twisting and sliding through his mind all the way until he reached the kitchens. Then, as Lan Xichen parted ways and Nie Huaisang found his food and friends, the idea finally laid itself to rest behind his heart.

Perhaps, Nie Huaisang thought as Wei Wuxian pointedly slurped a noodle in blatant defiance of the spirit (if not the letter) of the Cloud Recesses’ rule against talking at a meal, he was changing. But so long as he liked who he was turning into, he didn’t find that to be a bad thing at all.

Nie Huaisang painted sighing cypress boughs on his new fan, thinking about what Da-ge’s reaction would be. He’d shake his head, and look at Nie Huaisang in that rueful fond way he so often did; like Nie Huaisang was both a gift and living in a realm utterly unlike the one that Da-ge himself did. Nie Huaisang was caught up in his imagining—contemplative, mostly; Lan Xichen had reminded him of how much he missed his brother—when Wei Wuxian appeared.

“So,” Wei Wuxian said, “what do you think Lan-xiansheng will say if my reflection upon the morality of accepting gifts from those we aid is just a single line saying It’s their choice, isn’t it?”

“He’d talk about the importance of not pressuring them simply by your presence.” Nie Huaisang looked up. “You could just do the work, instead of having arguments during lecture time.”

“That’d be much less entertaining for everyone,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, crouching down to look at Nie Huaisang’s work. “You’re good at this.”

“I practice when I can.” Nie Huaisang studied the sweeping boughs—soft grays, the same shade as his brother’s eyes—and added a few more marks. “I think that many disciples would appreciate being able to listen to the lectures we were sent here to absorb, even if it is more fun listening to Lan-xiansheng argue with you.”

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian tilted his head (and the rest of himself) from side to side. “But then I wouldn’t get to spend time with Lan Wangji.”

Nie Huaisang carefully set aside his brush. The fan’s design pleased him; he didn’t need to add anything more. Besides, he wanted all his attention for Wei Wuxian’s statement. “There are ways to spend time with him that aren’t punishment homework.”

“He doesn’t want to go to Caiyi Town, and he isn’t interested in exploring the woods, and if I suggest playing music he only wants to do classic music, not folk music.” At Nie Huaisang’s questioning look, Wei Wuxian clarified, “There are some traditional melodies that everyone knows, right? Ballads and dancing tunes, usually. So you can play around on those themes, which means that the music sounds completely different each time you play it, especially if you’re changing who’s playing it.”

“That does sound fun,” Nie Huaisang admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that kind of music.”

“I’ve only heard it in towns during festivals, usually while at least half the people involved are a little drunk.” Wei Wuxian looked speculatively at Nie Huaisang in a way he’d begun to understand often meant Wei Wuxian was scheming. “What instruments do you play, Nie Huaisang?”

“I’m passable at guqin.” Nie Huaisang shrugged. He’d been taught music because it was expected of him, but he hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about it. “I’ve played around at dizi, but you’re far better than I’ve ever been.”

“What do you think about playing together?”

Nie Huaisang squinted at Wei Wuxian. “Did Jiang Wanyin get tired of you bothering him?”

Wei Wuxian grinned shamelessly. “He said that if I could get someone else to agree, he’d join in.”

Nie Huaisang laughed. “Alright, Wei Wuxian. If it means tricking your brother into having fun, I’ll come play music badly with you—so long as you have a spare instrument for me to play.”

“We’ll figure that out,” Wei Wuxian said breezily, standing up and stretching. “Do you need to clean up your brushes and ink? I don’t think Jiang Cheng will believe that someone said yes unless you’re right there with me.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he tidied up his painting supplies.

The next afternoon’s lesson was a study of different sect’s sword forms, and right now Lan Wangji was demonstrating Gusu Lan’s. Nie Huaisang watched, paying almost more attention to Lan Wangji than the form itself, though he was idly sketching the form’s flowing lines.

Lan Wangji was beautiful, of course, but he didn’t seem aware of it, or like he really cared about whether or not anyone else agreed that he was. Watching his gorgeous pure motions made it clearer to Nie Huaisang just how skilled he was, and how different the Gusu Lan style was from the Qinghe Nie he was used to; the lines on his paper were fluid curves, nothing like the sharp slanted notations he took watching Da-ge and the others practice.

Lan Wangji spun, and as Nie Huaisang automatically traced the motion across his paper, he noticed something. His brush jittered a little as he looked more closely, not paying attention to the form but how Lan Wangji moved within its patterns. Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be able to do the form himself; even if it hadn’t been a sect form, he didn’t have the grace and strength Lan Wangji did, and he likely never would. He just didn’t have the same dedication to cultivating his golden core.

Nor, Nie Huaisang thought as he glanced at Wei Wuxian, was he a prodigy whose body seemed to treat any task he focused on as a form of cultivation. Wei Wuxian spent as little of his time studying as he could, and yet he knew all the answers to Lan-xiansheng’s questions—and often had at least one answer that Lan-xiansheng didn’t approve of, because it blurred the lines the Lan so carefully constructed for themselves.

He’d lost the thread of Lan Wangji’s form. Nie Huaisang sighed, setting down his brush and simply watching for the joy of movement in Lan Wangji’s body. The loose sleeves of the Lan robes became wings around him, alternately obscuring and enhancing the lines of his body. As Lan Wangji cut and thrust his way to the final strike, Nie Huaisang frowned, finally placing what he found so familiar about Lan Wangji’s style: His slender shoulders and his low center of gravity.

It was subtle enough that he doubted anyone else would notice, thinking it instead simply Lan Wangji’s personal variation upon Gusu Lan style. And that was certainly true, but Nie Huaisang was thinking about the specific differences between Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, and Lan-xiansheng. He’d seen the same thing in the way he moved compared to how Da-ge moved: The same style, trained from the same source, but presented differently. It wasn’t just that Da-ge’s cultivation was stronger, and that he’d long been bonded with Baxia; it was that his body was built differently, and that was something no amount of training and cultivation could change.

Lan Xichen flowed like water and bent gracefully like bamboo, just as Lan Wangji did—Gusu Lan forms looked like dancing, and Nie Huaisang wished he could learn them—and Lan Xichen also relied more on his arms than Lan Wangji did even in the same patterns. Most of the time, it wasn’t visible. It took Nie Huaisang multiple days of obsessive study, watching the Gusu Lan practice and taking notes, to be certain—especially when he remembered the poetry Lan Wangji had shared with him, that he’d been stealing time to read for pleasure when he could.

All of it added up to a truth Nie Huaisang carefully didn’t let himself think about until he was alone.

That evening, after the Gusu Lan disciples went to bed—save their night monitors—Nie Huaisang went for a walk into a shadowed meditation garden filled with softly-scented flowers that bloomed in the dusk and dark. There were other places more actively secluded, but the guest disciples sought those out with far more regularity than simply meditation gardens designed for peace and relaxation and where the Gusu Lan would frown upon certain extra-curricular uses that Nie Huaisang was certain some of the other disciples were getting up to.

Amidst the flowers and the carefully-arranged rocks, Nie Huaisang laid down and stared up through the leaves at the deepening blue of the cloudless sky. He’s like me, Nie Huaisang finally allowed himself to think. There’s someone else whose body is like mine.  

He couldn’t be like that because of politics, the way Nie Huaisang had first turned male for; Gusu Lan had its heir in Lan Xichen, and could have easily supported a young woman as well. But Lan Wangji was still a man. And that— Nie Huaisang blinked back tears and drew in a careful breath. He didn’t want to cry. He was still going to, at some point, but he didn’t want to. But the idea that someone felt strongly enough to do this—because this was hard, and lonely, and alienating—for no external reason—

Nie Huaisang sniffled and realised that the sky was blurry from his tears. He hadn’t been looking at it, really, but he still resented the fact that he was crying. There wasn’t any good reason to be crying. He was just thinking about a person who he didn’t really know, who he just studied with and saw walking around and sometimes managed to corner to talk about poetry and calligraphy, and who happened to be more secure in everything he was than Nie Huaisang, and it hurt and he didn’t want it to hurt at all.

He liked being seen as male. He liked the freedom, liked being allowed to study to his heart’s content, even knowing how much responsibility he would one day hold. (Qinghe Nie was very pragmatic about death; Nie Huaisang had long since known that Da-ge would die one day, younger than other sect leaders, and Nie Huaisang didn’t want that but mostly he just hoped that Da-ge got himself a heir of his body before that happened so that Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be expected to provide one.) But he’d also liked being a girl himself, sheltered and protected and cherished in a way that he’d never felt since his father’s death.

It wouldn’t help his feelings if he went back to living as a woman. He thought about it, sometimes, but it didn’t— It was unsatisfying in a different way. Being called Nie-guniang would be wrong, and the idea of ever being called Nie-furen made him feel nauseous. Being Nie-gongzi was better. He might not feel any particular connection to it, but at least it wasn’t bad.

Nie Huaisang wiped his eyes. The sky was full-dark now, stars spilling across it like the night’s own tears shed in commiseration. He looked up at it, tracing all the constellations he knew, grounding himself in their names and the forms they took. Slowly, his breathing calmed, and he felt less like he was going to explode with emotions he didn’t know how to name.

All that remained was the jade-pure certainty that he had to talk to Lan Wangji. He didn’t want to suffer like this alone.

Unfortunately for Nie Huaisang’s plan to talk to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian was everywhere. Nie Huaisang would find Lan Wangji, only to realise that Wei Wuxian was trotting alongside Lan Wangji on his way to copying out sect rules yet again because the act didn’t have any effect on his behavior. Or Nie Huaisang would think about searching for Lan Wangji in the cool evening, and Wei Wuxian would come knocking on everyone’s doors to invite them to an outing in Caiyi Town or a secret party with alcohol he’d somehow smuggled inside.

Sometimes, after lectures where everyone really should disperse and Nie Huaisang thought he’d be able to ask Lan Wangji for a quiet conversation, Wei Wuxian simply stayed in the middle of practice yards or the library doing something that looked like training or studying but definitely wasn’t what Lan-xiansheng wanted them to be doing. And where Wei Wuxian was, everyone else often congregated, and Nie Huaisang lost Lan Wangji in the swirl of the crowd.

If Wei Wuxian were doing it intentionally—or, indeed, seemed like he noticed his own charisma at all—Nie Huaisang would find it a lot more annoying. As it was, he just found it frustrating. Nie Huaisang would near Lan Wangji, and just as he caught up someone else would pass by and he’d lose his courage—which was perhaps more important than his chance, since Lan Wangji was perfectly happy to converse with Nie Huaisang on topics that didn’t turn Nie Huaisang’s stomach into buzzing twists.

It took a week for Nie Huaisang to both have an opportunity and commit to asking.

They had just been released from a lesson in swordplay when Wei Wuxian declared it was Too Hot. It wasn’t particularly hot—the Cloud Recesses had a fairly steady temperature—but it was warm and the sky was blindingly clear. Because it was Too Hot, Wei Wuxian had decided that he was going to take all the other disciples swimming. When one mentioned she didn’t know how, Wei Wuxian immediately offered to teach her and volunteered Jiang Wanyin’s help as well. For all his sputtering and performative outrage, Jiang Wanyin never denied that obviously he’d help, which Nie Huaisang liked about him.

When Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji—eyes bright and beseeching—Lan Wangji shook his head. “There are duties I cannot perform while supervising you,” he said, and sounded somewhat disappointed when he added, “I cannot join you at this time.”

“Lan Zhan, you always have work!” Wei Wuxian crossed his arms and pouted, while Nie Huaisang wondered when they’d become anywhere near close enough for Wei Wuxian to use Lan Wangji’s birth name. “Come have fun for once in your life!”

Lan Wangji’s face drew taut. “I have sources of joy in my life.”

“But swimming with friends?” Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically, leaning upon his brother. By his eye-roll and automatic shift of weight, Jiang Wanyin was utterly used to this. “I know the Gusu Lan forbid many things, but the feeling of cool water against your skin on a summer’s day is most certainly enhanced when shared.”

“Wei Wuxian, I have obligations. No.”

Wei Wuxian scowled and turned to Nie Huaisang, who automatically flicked open his fan and covered his face. “What about you, Nie Huaisang? You don’t have obligations, do you?”

“I do have incomplete work, though.” Nie Huaisang let the lie slide smoothly off his tongue. He’d caught up again recently, after forgetting about a few assignments because he’d been too busy trying to chat with Lan Wangji. “Forgive me.”

“Boring,” Wei Wuxian informed him. “Live a little!”

“I do!” Nie Huaisang waggled his fan. “Wei-gongzi is directly responsible for me both living a little and having work I need to do!”

At last, Wei Wuxian burst out laughing, still leaning on Jiang Wanyin. “Okay, okay! I’ll steal you away some other afternoon, Nie Huaisang!” He pushed himself upright and thrust his arms into the air. “Let’s go! Time to swim!”

The gaggle of other disciples dispersed, most following Wei Wuxian to the river that wound its way down the mountainside and chattering excitedly. Nie Huaisang watched them go, heart fluttering in his chest because Lan Wangji hadn’t moved from where he stood; not precisely beside him, but close. He took a breath to steady himself, then turned to face Lan Wangji. His eyes reflected the sky, there was no sheen of sweat on his skin, and his attention was already on Nie Huaisang.

“I wonder,” Nie Huaisang said softly, before he lost his courage, “why you do not follow them. I do not think it is because you have work to catch up upon.” He left unspoken that Lan Wangji was likely aware that Nie Huaisang didn’t have any incomplete assignments either.

Lan Wangji studied him, and Nie Huaisang didn’t look away. He’d seen Lan Wangji looking at him contemplatively, and heard him pause at the strangest places, and he was certain that Lan Wangji had as many suspicions about the truth of his body as he had about Lan Wangji’s. If he had to, Nie Huaisang would push, but he didn’t think he’d need to.

At last, Lan Wangji said, “Would you have interest in a more private place to swim?” There was an edge to his voice, something raw.

Nie Huaisang closed his eyes briefly, a shudder running through his body at hearing how affected Lan Wangji already was. “Yes,” he said, and he forced himself to open his eyes and meet Lan Wangji’s hungry gaze. “If you are open to sharing this space with me, I would be honored.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji bowed slightly; it looked like a reflex, a way of diffusing tension. “Come with me.”

Nie Huaisang returned his bow and followed him silently through the Cloud Recesses. The quiet was occasionally suffocating, but right now he was grateful for the Lan strictures; if either he or Lan Wangji were to open their mouths right now, Nie Huaisang didn’t know what would come out. Something that could perhaps be too sentimental, or too honest, or too—something. He’d been hiding his truth since he was eight, and he suspected that Lan Wangji had been living his truth for at least as long, from the grace and strength of his body and the utter lack of interest the other Lan had in his form.

They wound through the lush paths of the Cloud Recesses, each tiny garden tended with the same care as the largest meditation grove. Nie Huaisang kept careful track of them; Lan Wangji was leading him to the depths of the Cloud Recesses, where it had been made clear only Lan disciples were allowed without invitation. To his knowledge, none of the visiting disciples had ever been invited. Nie Huaisang’s body felt hot and his fingers didn’t want to keep still. He was being granted this honor, and for a reason that he could never share.

Lan Wangji’s footsteps slowed, and he paused where the path branched beside an old and full-leafed plum tree. “I live here,” he said, and for once he sounded as awkward as the rest of them. “Please do not share this with anyone else.”

“Of course not,” Nie Huaisang murmured. “It is your space, not mine.”

Something in Lan Wangji relaxed infinitesimally. He continued past the plum tree, turning down a tiny trail that seemed to lead into a truer wilderness than the carefully cultivated Cloud Recesses proper. Nie Huaisang thought he caught a glimpse of a cottage tucked away down the other—more well-trodden—path, but Lan Wangji’s pace didn’t allow him to linger. He’d think it was nerves, if Lan Wangji didn’t move so quickly as a matter of course. Nie Huaisang trotted behind him, refusing to allow himself to show how difficult it sometimes was to keep pace as Lan Wangji practically floated over fallen trees and slid past dense brush.

Finally, Lan Wangji slowed and glanced back with something almost a smile. “We are here,” he said, and stepped aside to allow Nie Huaisang to see a gorgeous—and clearly well-maintained—pool in the midst of an ambling stream. The water flowed in across rocks eroded into gentle curves that seemed likely to fit bodies into their dips, and slowed into green depths lined with more smooth rocks, before gliding over a dam formed of the greater part of a well-preserved tree.

“It’s beautiful,” Nie Huaisang said, as soon as he recovered enough to say anything at all. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

“Would you—” Lan Wangji hesitated, the slightest pause that Nie Huaisang didn’t think most others would hear “—join me in the pool?”

Nie Huaisang turned to face Lan Wangji and let himself drop the easy-going facade. “Will we be clothed, Lan-er-gongzi?”

“Would Nie-gongzi be comfortable with his body bared?” Lan Wangji replied, taking his own refuge in formality. The muscles around his eyes tensed as he admitted, “I had inferred so from your desire to join me here.”

“I did not want to assume,” Nie Huaisang said, but his heart was racing. It had been years since he’d been allowed to bathe naked in the presence of any other. “I will be comfortable with whatever Lan Wangji is comfortable with.”

Lan Wangji raised one eyebrow—a good trick, Nie Huaisang wanted to learn it—set Bichen neatly on the ground, and began carefully removing his clothing.

For the first five seconds, Nie Huaisang watched without understanding what was going on. Different sects had different standards for nudity—the Yunmeng Jiang tended towards laxness due to their proximity to the water, for instance; and his own Qinghe Nie primarily cared about practicality, shedding layers if they became blood-soaked or ripped enough to tangle—but the Gusu Lan were strict. Their rules, if Nie Huaisang remembered correctly, spoke not just of maintaining personal hygiene but also emphasised strict personal boundaries—including standards for how to dress when in the presence of those who were not Lan.

None of those rules would allow for Lan Wangji to remove even the outermost of his layers without reason. None of those explained the pale outer robe slipping off Lan Wangji’s shoulders. Nie Huaisang drew in a deep breath as Lan Wangji’s eyes flicked meaningfully at his own belt, and then started shedding his own layers. He’d meant it. He really had meant it. He just— It was entirely possible to go swimming and still wear layers of clothing.

The first flash of Lan Wangji’s jade-pale skin, a hint of collarbone bared by his disrobing, brought a flush to Nie Huaisang’s cheeks. “Lan Wangji, this was not meant to be a dare,” Nie Huaisang managed to say, even as he shrugged off his own outer robe and set it aside with his fan, leaving just the entirely-too-thin inner robe above his underclothes. “We do not need to.”

“I want to.” Lan Wangji’s words left no room for disagreement. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Nie Huaisang hesitated, thinking about that. His heart was hammering, and his skin felt unbearably fragile, but— “No.” He smiled, feeling the Qinghe Nie spirit bloom in his heart. He would not back down from what he had initiated. “My apologies for doubting you.”

Lan Wangji smiled faintly, and his inner robes fell to the ground, leaving him clad in naught but the pure white underclothes that the Lan were known for. Nie Huaisang drank in the shape of his body: Slender shoulders, lithe body, hips that flared out just a little—not so much as to be noticed by one who didn’t already know what to look for, but to Nie Huaisang’s eyes, trained on his own shape, as clear as the moon—and a soft chest pressed down by a final layer underneath even the underclothes.

A sharp spark of envy pierced Nie Huaisang at that; he’d never had anything but the luck of his own genetics and the padded fabric of formal Qinghe Nie robes to hide his chest. His hands trembled as he removed his own inner robes, but when he heard Lan Wangji’s soft gasp upon seeing the true shape of his body something else blossomed in his chest alongside the fear. Slowly, he looked up to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes. His face was more open than Nie Huaisang could recall ever seeing it before: Lips parted, eyes wide, and longing clear on his face for anyone to see.

Carefully, not wanting to disturb the moment, Nie Huaisang let his robes fall to the ground. His hips were more rounded than Lan Wangji’s. His chest was small, but more prominent due to not being compressed. He knew he looked like the girl he could still be, once all the concealing layers of the part he played—from necessity, for fun, because it was what he knew—were stripped from him. And, by Lan Wangji’s face, he’d never seen another soul whose body swam in ambiguity. Nie Huaisang smiled, and—projecting confidence instead of the hammering of his heart—said, “Are we ready to swim?”

“No,” Lan Wangji whispered. He closed his eyes briefly, and Nie Huaisang thought he caught the last phrase of a meditation on his lips. Then his long-fingered hands, graceful as swallows, undid the final ties on his undergarments. First he removed the shirt, leaving only the compression garment Nie Huaisang wanted to steal, and then his eyes slid open and he pulled that off too. Nie Huaisang heard himself whine a little at the smooth lines of Lan Wangji’s body, hips edging above his loose-tied pants and sliding into soft muscles pulled taut as his arms stretched over his head.

Then Nie Huaisang saw Lan Wangji’s chest and for a moment he thought he forgot how to breathe.

Lan Wangji was handsome. Everyone knew that. He was beautifully formed, and he lived and breathed the Gusu Lan directives. He wielded Bichen with utmost precision, and performed the Gusu Lan forms in a way that Nie Huaisang had seen make some of the visiting disciples cry. But like this, standing in nothing but his underpants and bound hair, Nie Huaisang realised something else about Lan Wangji that nobody seemed to realise or mention: He was the loveliest person Nie Huaisang had ever seen. He was not simply an example to live up to, and—with his uncertain determination and his clothes strewn around his feet, chest soft and nipples peaked with the pool’s rising chill—he was gorgeous and Nie Huaisang didn’t know what to do with himself save to smile.

That seemed to be enough. Lan Wangji neatly folded the compression shirt and placed it aside. When he straightened, he placed his hands on his hips, thumbs sliding under the edges of his pants. “Please join me,” he said, and Nie Huaisang only heard the catch in his voice because he’d spent so many years listening for the tremors in his own.

Nie Huaisang nodded, words catching in his throat, and placed his inner robes on the ground as well. He could feel Lan Wangji tracking his every movement. It didn’t feel like when Da-ge guided him through saber practice, which tended to make him self-conscious in a bad way of how he couldn’t live up to the standards expected of the Qinghe Nie heir. It also didn’t feel like when medics poked and prodded at him, carefully not looking at certain areas of his body for plausible deniability. It felt— Lan Wangji’s eyes felt good.

He pulled off his own undershirt without ceremony, and caught the blush staining not just Lan Wangji’s cheeks but his neck and some of his chest as well. “You can look,” Nie Huaisang said softly. He ran a hand down his chest, felt himself flush. “I— My relationship with my body is complicated, through no desire of my own, but— You can look.” He glanced aside. “I— I feel no shame in looking at you.”

Lan Wangji’s breath was louder than the distant birds, more real than the bright burble of water. Nie Huaisang watched him out of the corner of his eyes; Lan Wangji always seemed more comfortable at the edges, watching but not observed, and he could give this courtesy to the other youth. Lan Wangji’s cheeks were still stained the color of plum juice, and his tongue licked at his lips. When he moved his hand, it was slow and clear enough that even a toddler would see it coming with ease.

Nie Huaisang didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was frozen, heart racing and groin wildly hot in a way that he’d never felt before and didn’t want to think about, as Lan Wangji’s hand moved through the air with the slow grace of a heron stalking its prey. Was this how the fish felt? he wondered. Or are they less aware? And which is the kinder? He didn’t know. Maybe he’d look the next time he saw one, if this moment ever ended.

Lan Wangji’s hand touched his shoulder. In all the time he’d been here, Nie Huaisang couldn’t think of a time he’d seen Lan Wangji touch another person, save perhaps his immediate family. Lan Wangji’s fingers were feather-light as they brushed down his arm, tracing the curve of muscle Nie Huaisang was always surprised to see on his own body, carefully avoiding his torso despite how Nie Huaisang was almost certain Lan Wangji’s eyes were fixed there. Nie Huaisang tried to keep his breathing even, but when Lan Wangji’s fingers touched the pulse point on his wrist, his composure failed utterly.

He lifted his face to Lan Wangji’s and tried to smile through his moth-winged heart. “Lan Wangji.”

“Nie Huaisang.” Lan Wangji’s fingers pressed into Nie Huaisang’s wrist for a moment—Nie Huaisang didn’t know why—and then returned to Lan Wangji’s side. “I was too forward.”

“No.” He couldn’t articulate why the negation was so important, but it was. “It was unexpected. It was not— I liked it.” His feelings might be complicated and tangled, but Nie Huaisang was sure of that. As soon as Lan Wangji had withdrawn, he’d wanted that touch—slight as it was—to return. Nie Huaisang’s smile solidified. “But we came here to swim, did we not?”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji studied Nie Huaisang for another long moment, and then nodded. In one swift motion, he removed his final piece of clothing.

Nie Huaisang followed suit, because he desperately wanted to see Lan Wangji and knew that if he let himself look first he’d never stop looking, and that wasn’t fair to Lan Wangji at all. So it was only when he stepped out of his undergarments and set them neatly aside, sensitive skin tingling in the barest breeze, that he gave in to the desire he’d been trying to deny he had. He stood, naked amidst the trees, and delighted in the sight of Lan Wangji’s own nudity.

He’d been imagining what he might see, guilty in the privacy of his mind as he tried to sleep. There were some things he had been right about—the smoothness of Lan Wangji’s skin, the way his nipples stood out, the contrast between his never-sunned hips and the dark hair of his crotch—but even more things he never would have thought to add: A scattering of dark spots marked impurities Nie Huaisang wanted to find beautiful constellations in, a long-faded scar invisible save for the way it caught the sun trailing across one thigh, the way he stared defiantly at Nie Huaisang as if daring him to dispute his masculinity.

Or he might have just been looking at Nie Huaisang the way Nie Huaisang was looking at him. He really couldn’t tell. Nie Huaisang said, voice squeakier than he’d like, “Okay, now are we ready to swim?”

“Ah.” Lan Wangji shuddered, sending the tips of his hair—and the Gusu Lan ribbon that Nie Huaisang sometimes forgot wasn’t truly part of his body—swaying, but otherwise didn’t move. His eyes were still fixed on Nie Huaisang, too-bright even with pupils dark and wide. “Yes.”

“Great.” Nie Huaisang swallowed. He raised his hands, telling them not to shake, and bound his hair neatly up into a full bun. The way Lan Wangji watched him brought more heat than the day; Wei Wuxian had no idea what he was talking about, calling this day Too Hot when he’d never experienced the blaze of Lan Wangji’s full and joyous attention. Nie Huaisang stretched his arms up when he was done, just to see Lan Wangji’s eyes widen and his lips part. Nie Huaisang let his arms fall and smiled. “Come on, then!”

He tore his eyes away from Lan Wangji before he could do something he’d regret and sauntered down the verge. The moss was cool and squished beneath his feet, but wasn’t nearly as slippery as he’d feared. Nie Huaisang crouched down, settling himself on the rocks right at the pool’s edge, and then slid his feet into the water. He shivered a little; he’d known it would be cool, and he’d known it would feel good against the heat, but it was colder than he’d expected.

Still, he glanced back at Lan Wangji, grinning when he saw Lan Wangji was still standing stock-still, twisted just a little so he could watch Nie Huaisang. He was gorgeous, and Nie Huaisang sighed, tilting his head a little. “Lan Wangji,” he said softly, “please join me.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head slightly, automatically. “Yes.”

As Lan Wangji moved forward, confident on the stones, Nie Huaisang slid his body fully into the water. The chill lit up every nerve in his body, and he felt resoundingly alive and wholly present in his body in a way he rarely did. Da-ge talked about this, sometimes, as what he found in swordplay, but Nie Huaisang had never felt it. The sense of being in his body, of feeling that every single part of it belonged to him and was to be cherished for how it contributed to the whole— It was a dream, and to feel it now…

“Thank you,” Nie Huaisang said, before he could think better of it.

“For what?” Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the pool, twisting his own hair up into a much more precise bun than Nie Huaisang had bothered with. It showed off the curve of his neck, and Nie Huaisang wanted to trace that line, wondered if anyone else had ever seen Lan Wangji like this.

Nie Huaisang lay back in the water, drifting gently with the slight current. “For bringing me here.” He licked his lips, considered how much he wanted to say. “For letting me—” His voice broke, and he tried again. “This is the most honest I’ve ever been able to be with my body.”

The ripple Lan Wangji made entering the water was more noticeable than any sound. When Nie Huaisang turned to look, Lan Wangji was immersed up to his neck, head resting on one of the mossy rocks. “Do you not have confidantes in the Unclean Realm?” he asked, and the strength hiding under his words led Nie Huaisang to wonder what would happen if he said No. “Xiongzhang has always known. Shufu, too, though he took longer to accept it. I draw confidence from them, and they have helped me find everything I need.”

“Da-ge knows.” Nie Huaisang contemplated if it would be worth waiting for his hair to dry, just to avoid the feelings bubbling up for a little longer by hiding himself underwater. He bumped up against the old tree trunk and rubbed a hand against it, not looking at Lan Wangji as he continued to speak. “Nie Juexin, our doctor. Some of Da-ge’s confidants know, and some of my childhood friends, but they pretend that they never knew the girl I was. I’ve drifted apart from those friends of mine, anyway, and Da-ge says that’s safer.”

Lan Wangji knew a trick to silence that made it clear what he thought. Nie Huaisang closed his eyes and rested his forehead on fisted hands, just above the water’s surface. “Please don’t,” he forced himself to say through a constricted throat. “Lan-er-gongzi, let this be—”

“I did not mean my words to hurt,” Lan Wangji said, fast enough that Nie Huaisang didn’t need to figure out if he’d wanted any words to follow what he’d already said. “I am sorry. I wanted—” He sighed, an uncharacteristic break in his words. “I hold myself apart because I don’t want to show this self and not be seen truly still.”

“I understand that,” Nie Huaisang whispered. “I wanted the same thing.”

“Mn.” The softest splashes sounded as Lan Wangji moved. Nie Huaisang didn’t shift from where he was until he saw Lan Wangji’s arms come to rest next to his, felt the shift in the water’s ripples as it moved around this new obstacle. “We do not need to keep speaking of it now, Nie Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang raised his head and looked at Lan Wangji, whose face was unguarded enough to show his uncertainty. Nie Huaisang sighed and drifted over, not even thinking about what he was doing and what he wanted until his head rested instead on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Lan Wangji tensed, but didn’t shift away. Nie Huaisang closed his eyes. “Is this an imposition?” he asked, wanting to let his body drift closer too but afraid of how Lan Wangji would react.

An indrawn breath, which Nie Huaisang could feel, and then a softening of muscles. “No,” Lan Wangji said, voice trembling through Nie Huaisang’s bones. “That is… I like it.”

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang said, and relaxed into the warmth of his body, a comfort in the water. “Tell me if you want me to move.”

Lan Wangji hummed acknowledgement. As Nie Huaisang’s body floated closer, carried by the current, he even shifted to cautiously draw an arm around Nie Huaisang’s waist and hold him steady. Nie Huaisang smiled and released his grip on the fallen tree, allowing his body to speak for his enjoyment of the sensation as it nestled into Lan Wangji’s. He honestly hadn’t expected Lan Wangji to accept even his head resting on his shoulder, let alone the rest—but Lan Wangji had. He liked feeling the deep slow breaths Lan Wangji took, the way Lan Wangji’s chest expanded out to press against his arm and then retreated again, softer and gentler than his brother’s chest had ever been.

Eventually, though Nie Huaisang wasn’t certain how long, Lan Wangji murmured, “Huaisang, I wish to swim properly now.”

Nie Huaisang sighed, but grabbed on to the tree trunk so he wouldn’t bob underwater. “You’re so kind, Lan Wangji.”

“It is nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing to me.” Nie Huaisang heaved himself up onto the fallen tree, and the water eddied around his thighs where they rose out of the pool. “I wasn’t—” he bit his lip. “I hadn’t meant to impose, but there is such safety here with you.”

“Huaisang.” Lan Wangji was in the middle of the pool now, treading water. He shook his head slightly, and some of his hair fell out of its bun, trailing into the water and clinging to his throat. “We do not know each other.”

“We know the deepest secret the other keeps.” Nie Huaisang met Lan Wangji’s eyes. They seemed just as silver-reflective as the water. “I know you like poetry, and I suspect you wrote at least one of the anonymous poems in the collection you shared with me. You are at ease in your body and know how to use it for beauty and violence alike, between Bichen and your guqin. You watch the other disciples at ease but never join us. I think you want more friends than you have, and I want— You’re calling me by my courtesy name alone, Lan Wangji, and I do not mind that. There is an intimacy we have already created. If you do not want this kind of friendship, I will leave you be, but I do not think I’ve misread you.”

Lan Wangji’s face flattened, and from that Nie Huaisang thought he had guessed correctly, though his heart still hammered in his chest. Slowly, Lan Wangji dipped beneath the surface of the pool. Refracted, he was unearthly, ethereal as the moon. It wasn’t an answer, but Nie Huaisang didn’t think he could begrudge this request for time to think and settle the words in his heart. Nie Huaisang sighed and looked up at the curtains of leaves blocking the sun’s direct light from the grotto, watching the dappled shadows and the endless shifting patterns of green as he waited.

Cultivators could hold their breath for a very long time. Nie Huaisang knew this, and had skill enough that he could do the same, but Lan Wangji stayed beneath the surface for long enough that he started to wonder if he should maybe check on him. But just as he was screwing up his courage to do so, Lan Wangji rose to the surface just as slowly as he’d disappeared to begin with. His hair was a mess, myriad strands having come free and tangled around his face and shoulders, but Lan Wangji’s face was resolute. “Friendship?” he asked, each word careful. “That is all you desire?”

Nie Huaisang almost laughed, but he held back the sound, tried to keep it to just a smile. Lan Wangji likely wouldn’t take it well if he did. “Lan Wangji, I most earnestly desire your friendship,” he said, needing to fill this silence. He took another breath and carefully scraped his heart open to tell the more honest truth that he didn’t want to deny Lan Wangji. “You’re handsome and graceful and if you were interested in more I would consider it, but I grew up isolated and I really want an intimate friend more than anything else.”

Lan Wangji nodded, as if that made sense, which Nie Huaisang hadn’t been sure it would when the words were coming out of his mouth. “I would be glad of your friendship, Nie Huaisang.”

After a moment, when it became clear Lan Wangji wasn’t going to say anything else, Nie Huaisang laughed for real. “Friends, then!” He gathered his feet up on the log and launched himself across the pool, landing with a grand splash a foot away from Lan Wangji. The wave crested over Lan Wangji’s head, and he looked at war with himself over his expression when Nie Huaisang blinked water out of his eyes.

Lan Wangji’s expression resolved into the kind of fondness Nie Huaisang was more used to seeing on Jiang Wanyin’s face, confusion and exasperation underneath the true affection. “Huaisang,” he said, and it sounded like a caution.

Nie Huaisang ignored that. “Wangji,” he said, because if Lan Wangji wanted to be more informal he could be too, “have you ever had a splash fight?”

After searching Nie Huaisang’s face, likely for evidence he was joking, Lan Wangji said, “…no.”

“I bet the rest of them are having one, if the Yunmeng Jiang have anything to say about it.” Nie Huaisang tilted his head. “I wonder, between us, who would win? I have the advantage of knowing how to play, but I suspect you will have more ability once you understand it.”

Lan Wangji blinked once, still clearly suspicious, and then sighed. “How do you play?”

“Like this!” Nie Huaisang said brightly, shoving with both hands and no little qi to ensure another wave crashed over Lan Wangji. He swam away, laughing, and kicked up the water to add to the mess.

There was a moment where Lan Wangji was clearly processing everything that was happening, and then he swept out a hand and water engulfed Nie Huaisang. “Yes!” Nie Huaisang shouted as soon as he stopped sputtering. “Exactly!”

The fight that followed was short, violent, and didn’t quite result in their clothes getting soaked as they threw water everywhere. By the end, neither of them had hair in a neat bun anymore, and Nie Huaisang’s body was sore from laughing and sending water flying through the air as powerfully as he could. “I concede,” he managed to say after a particularly powerful drenching, panting through the words. “You’re too powerful.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “You taught me well.”

Nie Huaisang hummed, accepting that. “I think I’m done with water for now,” he said, paddling to the edge of the pool and finding his footing more properly—it wasn’t that much deeper than he was tall, but it was enough. “I don’t mind waiting if you aren’t, though.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji nodded. “If it is no trouble, I enjoy meditating in this pool.”

“So long as you aren’t there for an hour.” Nie Huaisang dragged himself out of the water and sat on the rocks to dry, still smiling as he carefully tried to squeeze water out of his hair without harming it.

“I will not spend so long as to make us both miss dinner,” Lan Wangji said drily. Then he tilted back, letting himself float on his back with eyes closed and limbs gently spread.

Nie Huaisang didn’t respond, not wanting to break the peace. Instead he watched Lan Wangji, following the ripples of the water around him and admiring the beauty of his form. Lan Wangji’s hair haloed him, graceful in the water as in his sword forms, and contrasted with the rest of his body’s muscled solidity as it rose ever so slightly out of the water. The slight curve of his stomach, the peaks of his chest, the muscles of his thighs—and his face, of course, but that was less interesting due to familiarity.

He didn’t have any of his art supplies with him, so instead Nie Huaisang tried to capture every detail in his memory. Later, when he had time, he wanted to recreate the feeling of peace and openness in this secluded place in a painting. He didn’t know what he’d do with it—gift it to Lan Wangji? Keep it for himself?—but he wanted the physical reminder of this day and everything it meant.

By the time Lan Wangji arose from the water, Nie Huaisang had dried off and replaced his clothes, though his hair was still bedraggled and damp and in only an informal bun. Lan Wangji didn’t seem troubled by this, simply stood, dripping, at the edge of the water and ran his hands through his hair in a complex pattern that Nie Huaisang belatedly realised shaped a talisman that dried his hair unfairly quickly. Nie Huaisang made a face and promised himself he’d ask about that later; he didn’t really want to break the silence right now.

Lan Wangji got dressed in clean and economical motions. Nie Huaisang couldn’t tell if he was drying his skin the same way he’d dried his hair or if he just didn’t care about dampness soaking into his clothes, but by the end it looked like he hadn’t gone in the water at all. Only once he was fully dressed did Lan Wangji turn to face Nie Huaisang; he didn’t speak a word, but the tilt of his head was highly communicative nonetheless.

Nie Huaisang nodded and stood, following Lan Wangji back to the Cloud Recesses proper in silence.

The truest sign of Lan Wangji’s pleasure was that he did not scowl at Wei Wuxian all evening, even when Wei Wuxian regaled everyone with the story of how he’d learned to swim before joining the Yunmeng Jiang because he’d wanted to be a frog. Instead, Lan Wangji simply sighed and reminded Wei Wuxian to wait until the meal had finished to share his story.

Nie Huaisang filed away the flabbergasted look on Wei Wuxian’s face—and his subsequent almost-silence as he whispered very loudly to his siblings about if someone had replaced Lan Wangji—to think about later. If Wei Wuxian was needling Lan Wangji by breaking rules to get a rise out of him, then helping Lan Wangji learn how to not find Wei Wuxian quite so annoying was either going to make Wei Wuxian back off or escalate, and Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure if he was yet curious enough to know which.

Regardless, he thought, as the last dish was cleared away and Wei Wuxian began his story again, that is a topic for another day.  

Tonight was for private celebration. He raised his tea to Lan Wangji in silent salute and saw the smile in his friend’s eyes. Nie Huaisang sipped his tea and let the camaraderie wash over him, glorying in the warmth and his own internal peace.

A week later, Nie Huaisang was still struggling to capture the moment in ink. He’d managed it in charcoal—softer, more forgiving of errors—but the same things that made charcoal easier to sketch made it harder to preserve. He knew an array to affix it, but it wasn’t permanent; it had to be renewed periodically. He didn’t want to give something like that as a gift unless he had no other choice. He wanted something that, by its nature, would retain its clarity and depth.

So he was working with ink and swearing about it when Wei Wuxian wandered into the well-lit pavilion they both preferred for their creative endeavours. It was out of the way enough that people rarely bothered him while he was there, but close enough to the central courtyards that it was easy to get to.

Wei Wuxian announced his presence by draping himself over Nie Huaisang and asking, “What’s that?”

Nie Huaisang jerked, sending droplets of ink off his brush and onto the paper he was working on. He sighed in as exaggerated a manner as possible and made a show of putting the brush away before saying, “If I can ever make it right, it’ll be a gift.”

Immediately, Wei Wuxian moved so that he was on the opposite side of the table, face alight with glee. “Are you courting someone, Huaisang?”

“Why do gifts automatically make you think of courting?” Nie Huaisang shot back, trying to ignore the twisting in his gut at the thought. He wasn’t— The implications of courting didn’t sit right with what he was doing with Lan Wangji. It implied thinking about marriage, or at least sex, and the thing Nie Huaisang dreamed about (when he let himself dream about Lan Wangji) was simply being curled up with him, safe in strong arms and silence.

Wei Wuxian tapped his finger in the air above the charcoal sketch with control he rarely bothered displaying, carefully not touching it. “It’s not for your da-ge, and I don’t think you have any other family, so… who else would you give something drawn with such love to?” He brightened. “Is it for Mianmian?”

Nie Huaisang glared at him and hoped the flush on his cheeks seemed more like annoyance than the embarrassment it was. “Don’t call her that,” he snapped. “She hasn’t given you permission to use that name.”

“Has she given it to you?” Wei Wuxian sat back on his heels, eyes dancing.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said shortly, thinking of the hours they’d spent together practicing the fan. Then—knowing it was petty but needing to get the topic off himself—asked, “How’s your courting going?”

Besides, Wei Wuxian loved talking about his problems, even when they weren’t really problems. Like right now, when he left off looking at the drawing and flopped dramatically to the ground. “Huaisang, you don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Nie Huaisang traced an array around his spoiled paper, one meant to withdraw the ink within it so he could try again. “The woes of being an older brother?”

“Ugh, no, Jiang Cheng is still mooning over Wen-guniang but that’s definitely not my problem.” Wei Wuxian dropped right back into his intentionally-whiny register as soon as he’d negated Nie Huaisang’s (intentionally incorrect) guess. “But Huaisang, how did you get Lan Zhan to like you?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. The ink had finished congealing on the paper’s surface, and he poured it into the inkwell to dissolve back into the liquid mass. “By not calling him that when he hasn’t given me permission to?”

“It’s more than that.” Wei Wuxian propped himself up on an elbow. His hair managed to artfully fall everywhere except in front of his face, and Nie Huaisang wished he knew how he achieved that. “You hang out together. I don’t see him doing that with anyone else.”

“You hang out.” Nie Huaisang put aside his art materials. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything while Wei Wuxian was here, anyway. “It’s just that you only hang out because he’s overseeing your punishments.”

Wei Wuxian sputtered, and Nie Huaisang watched with interest as the tips of his ears grew red. He didn’t know what that meant, but he did know that it was something he wanted to examine further. Finally, Wei Wuxian said, “That’s not hanging out!”

“You spend the whole time trying to talk to him.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Nie Huaisang shook his head. “That’s your problem, Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji doesn’t like talking all the time. He might like talking sometimes, but every conversation I’ve had with him involves silence as much as speech.”

“So you admit you hang out with him?”

“You’re jealous,” Nie Huaisang said, caught between delight and horror. He leaned forward across the table to flick Wei Wuxian in the forehead with his fan. “You’re jealous that he talks to me!”

“Huaisang!” Wei Wuxian grabbed at his wrist, but Nie Huaisang pulled it back before he could. “I just want to talk to him too!”

Nie Huaisang laughed, giddy as the pieces clicked into place. “You asked me about courting because that’s what you’re thinking about, isn’t it?”

Wei Wuxian scowled at him, shoulders hunching. “Are you going to help me?”

“Are you just going to bother Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian drew out his, “No,” long enough that Nie Huaisang tilted his head skeptically. Wei Wuxian added, sheepish, “I mean, I bother him by existing, but I don’t think he minds.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t need to get it.” Wei Wuxian rolled over until he was flat on his back, gesticulating at the pavilion's elegantly-arched roof. “You just need to help.”

Nie Huaisang sighed. Wei Wuxian was brilliant and clever and could think of a dozen unexpected solutions to any problem that wasn’t his crush on Lan Wangji. For that he could think of none at all, as far as Nie Huaisang could tell. “What sort of help do you want, Wei Wuxian?”

“What does he talk to you about?”

The first thought in Nie Huaisang’s mind was Our bodies, but that was too intimate and also Wei Wuxian would take it in a completely inaccurate way. He bit his lip, tapping out a rhythm on the table with his fan. “The first thing I talked to him about was the rules,” Nie Huaisang said, wanting to tease Wei Wuxian and buy himself some time. “But I think you’ve got that one covered.”

“Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang raised his hands and fan to cover his laugh. When he had control over his voice again, he said, “We both like poetry, and he’s been explaining the subtleties of musical notation to me and I’ve been discussing art with him. How to articulate the emotion in it, names for specific brush strokes, why artists might choose one style over another, things like that.”

“I can talk about art too,” Wei Wuxian said, and Nie Huaisang did not want to know what sort of plan was forming beneath his new-moon eyes.

“It doesn’t need to be art.” Every additional word felt like he was somehow helping dig a deeper hole, but he didn’t yet know if the hole would be then filled with spikes or a sapling tree. “It’s just— It’s nice talking about something we’re both interested in. Whatever that happens to be.”

Wei Wuxian hummed acknowledgement as he looked off into his own thoughts, and in that moment he sounded eerily like Lan Wangji.

Nie Huaisang sighed gently and turned back to his paper. A plotting Wei Wuxian could remain in that state for a very long time if not disturbed, and he still had art to do.

Lan Wangji wasn’t the only person Nie Huaisang hung out with, nor was Wei Wuxian the only one who sought him out. Nie Huaisang had come here to cultivate relationships, so cultivate he did:

He asked Jiang Wanyin to teach him sword forms and watched him bloom when allowed to exist outside his brother’s blinding charisma. He practiced the fan with Luo Qingyang, and talked with her about tea or how to diffuse tension and rage. He sat with Wen Qionglin and pretended not to understand theoretical problems so that Wen Qionglin could stutter through his own attempts to puzzle them out—which were perfectly intelligent; Wen Qionglin just needed encouragement to be sure of himself.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Lan Xichen sought him out, but it was unexpected; Lan Wangji’s brother was just enough older than the visiting disciples that he didn’t tend to spend time with them. Besides, he was usually busy apprenticing under Lan-xiansheng to learn the business of being a sect heir—though Lan Xichen’s father was technically Lan-zongzhu, Lan-xiansheng undertook the majority of the sect leader’s duties.

Nie Huaisang supposed they were alike in rank, if only because Nie Huaisang himself really should be putting more effort into learning how to lead a sect than he was. The Qinghe Nie were known for dying too early, after all. But he hated it, and he didn’t try very hard, and Da-ge didn’t push. In that, he and Lan Xichen were opposites: Lan Xichen was the perfect sect heir with his beautiful smiles and gentle words and clear interest in learning everything he could about how to manage his lands and protect his people.

None of that was what Lan Xichen wanted to talk about, which was clear from the first unnecessary pleasantries about how well Nie Huaisang was liking the Cloud Recesses (“It’s beautiful, of course, and I’m grateful to have the opportunity to study here; it’s such a different mindset from the Qinghe Nie”) and if the night-hunt Lan Xichen had been on recently had gone well (“It was a little tricky to work out what had actually happened, but once we understood the truth behind people’s recollections, it was simple enough to put the spirit to rest”).

“I’m glad you came to the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Huaisang’s attention sharpened, drawing him up into a more proper posture as he poured himself more tea. Lan Xichen gave him one of those gorgeous little smiles he was so good at, which seemed utterly natural even if they had to be designed to set others at ease. “Wangji has few friends, and rarely makes them so quickly.”

Nie Huaisang ducked his head and tried not to blush. Carefully fighting the smile threatening to overtake his lips—it was just a little too close to impropriety—he said, “Lan Wangji is a wonderful person. I’m surprised he doesn’t have more friends.”

Lan Xichen sipped his tea. As he set the cup down, he tilted his head to the side. “Are you truly?”

If he was asking— Nie Huaisang lifted his eyes and admitted, “He doesn’t seem inclined to idle chatter, and that’s how most people begin friendships.”

“Precisely so.” Lan Xichen hesitated, and his voice softened, turning a shade more intimate. “Wangji tells me he’s found in you a kindred soul.”

Nie Huaisang tried to keep his breathing steady as his heart raced and he felt sweat gathering on his palms. He didn’t know what expression he was making; he didn’t want to show the panic but he wasn’t sure how much he could hide and he didn’t know how much Lan Xichen could see through regardless of his attempts to conceal his feelings.

“He used those exact words,” Lan Xichen said after a moment. Every word felt deliberate, another stone in a river that was quickly accumulating enough to become rough rapids. “I do not want to make assumptions, Nie-gongzi, but I hope you know I never share secrets confided to me.”

“I am aware,” Nie Huaisang said automatically. He was. The Gusu Lan in general had a reputation for keeping secrets, and the Twin Jades took that to an extreme. That it might conflict with their other reputation—of honesty—never seemed to occur to anyone, but he thought that was probably because they’d at least have the courtesy to admit when they were holding something back due to promised confidence.

He still couldn’t look at Lan Xichen; the teapot as it shaded from pure white to the soft blue of snow-in-shadow was safe, as were the patterns in the steam still gently wafting from it. His fingers felt almost numb, and his throat felt so tight he wasn’t sure how he was still breathing as smoothly as he was. The part that cared about talking and the part that cared about breathing must be separate. Neither of them were helping him steer through the unexpected dangers of this conversation.

Lan Xichen didn’t press him, or indeed say anything at all. Nie Huaisang even heard him shift, and managed to glance up just enough to confirm that he’d moved to face the beautifully pruned penjing centerpiece of the little garden Lan Xichen had brought them to. It was so kind, and the thing in his throat moved to press at his eyes instead. They dripped onto his cheeks, and he resisted the urge to wipe them. It wouldn’t help. He’d just cry more.

His sniffling had to be audible, and Nie Huaisang could almost feel the way Lan Xichen was trying to balance giving care and giving space. That, of all things, was what allowed him to move his tongue and say, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“You have my word,” Lan Xichen murmured.

Nie Huaisang finally wiped at his eyes, furious and not sure what he was furious at. “How do you even say things like this?” he snapped, after a minute had passed and he still couldn’t find any more words.

Lan Xichen hummed, neutral, inquisitive, just like his brother.

“I don’t need advice,” Nie Huaisang added, just to be clear. He bit his lip and turned to face the same direction as Lan Xichen was. Seeing him out of the corner of his eyes was easier, somehow. He shifted so that he could draw his knees up to his chest, wanting to hide it and deciding that he really couldn’t manage to care about propriety if he was going to have this conversation with Lan Wangji’s brother that he’d never had with anyone before. He’d never needed to. Everyone who knew, knew; those who didn’t never would. Even with Lan Wangji, action had been easier than words.

Nie Huaisang rolled that thought around in his head, holding it separate from how grateful he was for the Gusu Lan propensity towards meditation. It meant that he didn’t need to worry about how long this was taking. He wanted to throw something, preferably something that would break or stain or otherwise make a mess, just to make it clear how wild the storm inside him was and how much it felt like he was being pulled into a whirlpool he’d never expected to see, let alone find.

The Cloud Recesses had been full of that lately, though.

Finally, after long enough that Nie Huaisang had seen the shadows move, he settled on saying, “My body and Lan Wangji’s are cast from the same mold.” It wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t right. And it was close enough, something that Lan Xichen surely would understand, and that— He wanted that. To have someone else know even this scrap of what he held daily to his chest, hidden as much as his chest itself was.

Lan Xichen nodded. “Wangji did not wish to break your trust in him,” he said, very gently, and Nie Huaisang didn’t want to keep crying but it didn’t seem like he had a choice. “I hope that I did not do so by accident. I, too, treasure the trust you have placed with us both.”

“It’s—” Nie Huaisang couldn’t bring himself to say It’s fine, because if he was crying it wasn’t, exactly. He settled on, “You didn’t break my trust in him.”

“I’m glad.” Lan Xichen smiled again. “He needs more good people around him, Nie-gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang swallowed and pressed his face against his knees.

“And—” The hesitation felt like Lan Xichen was considering something before taking the plunge into uncertain waters. A petty part of Nie Huaisang felt vengefully grateful; he shouldn’t be the only one uncomfortable here. “When Wangji told me the shape of his soul, I was uncertain he’d ever find someone else who would understand that part of him. I’m glad, for both your sakes, that you have found each other.”

“Me too,” Nie Huaisang whispered. He wasn’t sure if Lan Xichen heard him, but from the faint sound Lan Xichen made, he probably had.

They sat there until the shadows stretched long over them both. Only then did Lan Xichen begin clearing the long-cooled tea. Only then did Nie Huaisang uncurl enough to stand and help and politely protest that he couldn’t possibly allow Lan Xichen to do all the work himself. He allowed Lan Xichen to demur without more than the token protest, though, and stayed in the dimming garden as Lan Xichen murmured one final thanks and left him alone in the silence.

He didn’t cry, then. He still felt hollow, but it wasn’t— There wasn’t an ache, but instead the openness he felt after watching a particularly good play or hearing a heart-wrenching piece of music. Something that deeply felt, something which eased an ache he hadn’t known he was experiencing, something which left him almost but not quite lost.

Nie Huaisang looked up to the sky and breathed in the cool clean air of the Cloud Recesses. He wasn’t yet sure whether this peace Lan Xichen had found for him was a gift he could keep, but he would treasure it while it lasted all the same.

In the end, Nie Huaisang gave Lan Wangji the dreamlike charcoal sketch and an explanation of which affixing array he was using to preserve it. He just wasn’t good enough at ink yet to capture the emotion he wanted to present. He’d keep trying, he promised himself as Lan Wangji studied the drawing with a soft smile on his face that Nie Huaisang sometimes wondered if Lan Wangji was even aware he made.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said, when he finally looked up. “It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t say, What were you inspired by? or Is this me? or any of the other twenty things Nie Huaisang had been worrying about him asking. Nie Huaisang let out his breath in relief, a smile blooming on his face without any intent. “Please take care of it.”

“How could I not?” Lan Wangji carefully set the drawing on the table beside him. “You will need to check to ensure I’ve properly renewed the seal, when the time comes.”

“Two weeks from now,” Nie Huaisang confirmed, though it wasn’t necessary; Lan Wangji’s memory was the envy of every student. He could hear an explanation once and recall it, word-perfect, days (if not weeks) later. He could play new music by ear within the first three tries. It would be obnoxious if Lan Wangji thought it was anything special, as opposed to simply the result of Gusu Lan memory training.

Lan Wangji inclined his head, smiled in the small way he so often did. And then, in a gesture Nie Huaisang thought he must be more familiar with than anyone else but Lan Wangji’s family, he narrowed his eyes. A hesitation, the prelude to something he was unsure about saying. “Is this how you see me?” he asked softly, nodding towards the paper.

Nie Huaisang looked at his own work again, biting his lip and resisting the urge to hide his face with his fan. Lan Wangji had seen more intimate things than his facial expressions when asked about his art. He’d rendered Lan Wangji in pale dapples of sunlight against the dark water, the trees arcing around the scene as a frame. He’d only gone in and detailed the Gusu Lan headband along Lan Wangji’s forehead and floating in the water in the last few days, working carefully in places where the revealing details could not be seen by any over-invested eyes.

Finally, he started to speak. “It’s softer than I usually see you.” He didn’t want to see Lan Wangji’s face as he talked his way through his. “You aren’t— It’s not that you’re hard edges and firm muscles and nothing else, but that day you were relaxed in a way I don’t think you allow yourself to be most of the time. I wanted to capture that, and the intimacy of what you had shared with me. It’s not— It’s accurate, but it’s not everything.”

Lan Wangji’s silence met his own. With other people, Nie Huaisang might take that as condemnation. With Lan Wangji, he knew it was just contemplation.

“Your art is beautiful,” Lan Wangji said, breaking the silence. Startled, Nie Huaisang looked up to meet his eyes, and saw only honesty there. “I do not think I’ve ever seen myself rendered like this. I am not wholly sure how it makes me feel, but I will think upon it in the days to come. I treasure your insight and your art, Nie Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang bowed reflexively. “This one is honored by your praise.”

“Huaisang…”

He looked up.

“You have been distant lately.”

Nie Huaisang grimaced. He’d hoped Lan Wangji hadn’t noticed the way he’d withdrawn, obsessing over his art and schoolwork because it was easier than the turbulent feelings Lan Xichen had stirred up. “Perhaps we can have this conversation elsewhere?”

Lan Wangji’s forehead creased, right between his eyes. “Where do you suggest?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged, fingers automatically running along the ribs of his fan. It spread and snapped shut twice before he said, “When we are in your home, it can be… difficult to speak. Outside?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” Nie Huaisang finally raised his eyes, helpless. “It’s—the movement, and the wind, and the birds. It’s not about where.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth opened slightly, and then he nodded. “Follow me,” he said softly, rising. “I think I know a good place.”

Nie Huaisang followed him wordlessly, out past the plum tree and into the wilder spaces of the mountain. Lan Wangji had shown him many paths, little ones shaped more by the creatures of the woods than human feet, during their friendship. He recognised the one Lan Wangji took them on now; a winding path onto a lesser peak that overlooked the western face. Late in the day as it was—he’d asked to spend time with Lan Wangji after dinner’s end—they would get to watch the sun slowly setting if they stayed out late enough.

He hoped they did. The sunset was never as satisfying within the Cloud Recesses’ walls.

They were halfway up the path when Nie Huaisang finally spoke. “Lan Xichen came to talk to me a few days ago.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep going, speaking the thoughts prickling in his chest and digging into his brain. “He mentioned that you’d said we were kindred souls?”

“Mn.”

Nie Huaisang bit his lip. He didn’t like this topic any more than Lan Wangji did. “Is there a reason you didn’t warn me?” He hated how small his voice sounded, how scared he felt.

“I didn’t know how to.” Lan Wangji’s fingers lightly brushed the elbow of Nie Huaisang’s robes; comfort, or an attempt thereof. “I didn’t— I was uncertain how much of what I’d implied Xiongzhang had understood.”

“He’s kind.” Nie Huaisang’s eyes stayed fixed on the winding trail worn hard and thin by generations of feet walking upon it. The grasses on either side sprung up tall and arched away from the bodies that passed by, knowing that they, too, would be stepped upon if they came too close. “I’ve never— You were the first person I showed. He was the first person I told with words.”

“Huaisang.” Lan Wangji’s hand gripped his shoulder now, just on the edge of painful. “You never said.”

“It wasn’t important.” Neither were the tears welling up in his eyes. “I was too relieved that someone else could know.”

“It is important,” Lan Wangji insisted. “I do not want to have forced you, however accidentally, to say something you did not wish to say.”

Nie Huaisang turned his head aside, stared into the depths of the trees. Lan Wangji hovered in the corner of his vision, a pure-white crane in contrast to the melting green shadows softened by his tears. “I wouldn’t have confirmed his understanding if I didn’t want to.” Despite everything, his voice came out steady. “I don’t think I would’ve chosen it on my own. But I also don’t know if I ever would have; it’s… difficult.”

He let Lan Wangji guide him forward, along the path. The silence didn’t press on him. He could wait until Lan Wangji was ready to speak, or until more words came to his own mouth. At the very least, the quiet walk in the long shadows settled his tears and his lungs until he could look forward and follow the path on his own.

Nie Huaisang didn’t remove Lan Wangji’s hand, though; he simply reached up and clasped it in his own. “I cherish our friendship,” he said softly, feeling Lan Wangji’s fingers tighten. “Your xiongzhang is a good person to tell. He is kind, and honorable, and I trust that he will not share this.”

Lan Wangji murmured agreement, and withdrew his hand. Nie Huaisang risked a glance at him, and saw a slight crease in his forehead that spoke of his contemplation, and then let out a silent sigh. Lan Wangji would speak of his concerns when he was ready, and not one moment sooner.

The sun was low in the sky, and when they reached the meadow clearing it was still lit golden with warmth. Nie Huaisang stretched himself out on the ground and turned his face up to the sunlight. Lan Wangji settled beside him with a rustle of carefully-arranged cloth, close enough that the shade from his body drifted over Nie Huaisang’s elbow. He didn’t pay close attention, but the shadow had moved somewhat by the time Lan Wangji spoke.

“May I ask you a pair of questions?” Lan Wangji asked, polite as ever even as he added, “They may be too personal.”

This would be what had been coalescing in his mind as they’d walked, Nie Huaisang was sure. He sighed, listening to a jay sing in the distance, almost-harsh and loud. Soothing, in its way. “I have no objection to you asking,” he said, when Lan Wangji’s desire for a response became almost a physical presence of its own. “If I don’t want to answer, I’ll tell you.”

Lan Wangji hummed acknowledgement and the tension ebbed, but it still took some time before he asked, “How did your da-ge react?” His voice was soft against the darkening sky, and the context lay heavy between them. They’d never spoken of their childhoods directly, because it was fraught and seemed irrelevant in comparison to the present. An indrawn breath, and then, “How old were you?”

Nie Huaisang watched the clouds—they were beginning to take on peachy hues—and tried to figure out how to talk about when he’d become a boy. “It’s complicated,” he said at last, as the quiet between them finally wore through the confusion sticking in his throat. Lan Wangji nodded, affirmation and encouragement, his own eyes directed at the treeline and the birds chirping there. The gesture felt like it should’ve had more of an effect than it did, but maybe the problem was that Nie Huaisang was paying attention to Lan Wangji instead of sorting through the swirl of words in his head.

They all boiled down to one thing, anyway, and there wasn’t much way of getting around that. So eventually Nie Huaisang closed his eyes and steadied himself. He didn’t want to see Lan Wangji’s reaction straight on as he said, “Da-ge suggested it.”

This pause felt charged. Not like lightning, but like the time between a firework flying into the air and exploding into a burst of light. Lan Wangji’s words were very calm, but Nie Huaisang still heard polite disbelief in them. “Nie-zongzhu suggested it?”

That was better than Nie Huaisang had feared. He opened his eyes to meet Lan Wangji’s gaze and said, doing his best to match Gusu Lan serenity, “Father died from the Qishan Wen.” That still hurt, though speaking the simplest facts helped distance him from the pain. “Da-ge didn’t want them to marry me to Wen Chao and take Qinghe from us by marriage. So instead, he suggested I become a boy.”

“Did you want to be one?” Lan Wangji’s eyes seemed to glow, and the emotion in his voice was something almost painful. “Do you want to be one?”

Nie Huaisang blinked away tears. “I don’t know.” He didn’t like to admit this even to himself, and his chest felt tight as he said it aloud for the first time, finally allowing the idea to breathe. “But I don’t know if I’d want to be a girl, either. Being treated as a man is better, right now; I don’t want to be so easy a tool to be taken or traded. This is safer.”

Lan Wangji hummed, and then gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “If the Qishan Wen were not an issue...”

“I don’t know.” Nie Huaisang leaned his head against Lan Wangji’s arm. “That’s never been a choice to think about.”

Lan Wangji sighed, but he didn’t say anything else. Nie Huaisang was glad of that, and Lan Wangji’s hand, right up until Lan Wangji did speak again. “Was your name always your name?” he asked softly.

“I was born a peach and became a plum.” Nie Huaisang finally gave into temptation and reached up to wrap his fingers around Lan Wangji’s arm. “Huaisang was always my courtesy name, because I was young enough that nobody called me by it and so the only ones who knew it hadn’t shifted were my father’s close disciples. They had more important secrets to keep, though, and knew that if they didn’t keep them they would suffer Da-ge’s wrath.”

“Did you prefer one name over the other?”

“I miss being A-Tao.” Nie Huaisang turned his head to gaze up at Lan Wangji. He wanted— He swallowed, and said, “She was loved, and she spent her time enjoying the world, and I wish I could still have that.”

Lan Wangji gazed at him, searching for—something, Nie Huaisang couldn’t tell what. It took a minute, nearly two, before he found whatever he’d been searching for and murmured, barely audible over the crickets, “May I call you A-Tao?”

Nie Huaisang’s breath caught. “Lan Wangji.” He couldn’t say anything else through the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. His hand tightened on Lan Wangji’s arm. He didn’t know if that was answer enough, if the feelings rumbling through his chest (Her chest? No. That was no closer to being right, and less familiar now.) were clear enough from just the way he’d said Lan Wangji’s name.

“A-Tao,” Lan Wangji said, voice as soft as a rabbit’s fur. “You may call me Lan Zhan if you’d like, A-Tao.”

He broke. Nie Huaisang turned towards Lan Wangji—Lan Zhan—and pressed his face into Lan Zhan’s leg, shaking as he began to cry. He didn’t let go of Lan Zhan. He didn’t think he could bear to, just as he didn’t think he could bear right now to look at Lan Zhan’s kind face, beautiful and soft and not nearly as hard as the ice he heard the other disciples often compare him to. If Lan Zhan was frozen, it was because nobody cared enough to create a space where he could be warm.

That just made him cry more, clutching Lan Zhan as she shook, heart breaking about the injustice of their very beings. If she could— If he could— If they could— Why was it so much to ask that they just be allowed to live? Why did the way they presented matter so much to what they were allowed to do, to what was safe for them? Nie Huaisang wished— He didn’t know what he wished. To find another option. To live a less rigid life. Something like that, perhaps, would be enough.

Nie Huaisang set a weiqi board down in front of Lan Wangji with a smile. “I know you’re supervising,” he said with a nod at Wei Wuxian, who was blatantly ignoring the latest bout of copying Lan-xiansheng had foisted upon him. “But I’m sure you can supervise and play at the same time.”

“Huaisang, is this really the time?” Lan Wangji asked, yet he still slid aside the neat stacks of books he’d been looking at; they looked like music, and at least one looked like a partially-complete composition. “Wei Ying—”

“Would be more than happy to play if you don’t want to, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian’s cheerful interjection brightened the room with its hope. “What do you say, Nie Huaisang?”

“I came here to play with Lan Zhan.” Nie Huaisang sat down, unruffled as Wei Wuxian’s face went through three different expressions in a single heartbeat. He didn’t know what assumptions Wei Wuxian was making about their relationship, but he was certain at least one of them was flawed. “Wei Wuxian is, of course, welcome to enjoy a game after he has finished his work.”

Wei Wuxian huffed out a breath and scribbled something on the paper in front of him without moving his eyes from Nie Huaisang. “I’m sure I’ll be done before you finish a single round.”

“Good.” Lan Wangji’s eyes danced, but he didn’t even look at Wei Wuxian. “That is the work ethic expected of you.”

Nie Huaisang flicked open his fan to hide his grin. “Which color will you play, Lan Zhan?”

“Would you like an extra stone?” Lan Wangji asked in response, opening the white bowl’s lid and setting it aside. “I don’t wish to overwhelm you.”

Nie Huaisang scowled; their last game had been horrifically one-sided, mostly because Nie Huaisang’s brain had still been caught up in his conversation with Lan Xichen. Before that, they’d been more even—perhaps Lan Wangji won slightly more often, but not enough to be worth that. “I’m sure I’ll manage,” he said instead, perfectly polite as he opened up his own bowl and pulled out a stone. He set it on the board, as was proper and expected, with a beautiful click.

Lan Wangji nodded, and they drifted into silence punctuated by the sound of carefully polished stones on elegantly carved wood. Wei Wuxian’s ink and brush made more noise than they did, especially as the game progressed and they lost themselves in contemplation of the beauty and strategy of the game.

Nie Huaisang loved weiqi, and had been playing it since he was old enough to grasp the rules, but the game as Lan Wangji played was different from the game he played with Da-ge. In Qinghe, it truly represented the forces fielded in a battle. To the Gusu Lan, it was played for the beauty of strategy; not disconnected from battle but not intertwined such that each captured piece represented a bloodstain. In some ways, Nie Huaisang thought as he formed a second eye and guaranteed his formation’s safety, it allowed the Lan to play more dangerously, since they didn’t believe they were meddling with lives.

He was faintly aware of when Wei Wuxian set aside his copying and lounged between them with a flourish. Despite how often Wei Wuxian’s mouth ran loud and fast, he didn’t interrupt their game with anything more than his presence at the edge of their duel. The energy settling between them as the board progressed was sweeter than strawberries in the richness of summer, and more satisfying to Nie Huaisang than any duel with swords could ever be.

In the end, Lan Wangji prevailed, but it was by few enough points that one could—and Wei Wuxian did—represent them with one hand’s fingers. Nie Huaisang bowed formally, smiling with delight. “Thank you for the match, Lan Zhan.”

“My pleasure, Nie Mei.” The amusement in Lan Wangji’s voice, and the squeak that came out of Wei Wuxian’s throat, was enough to force Nie Huaisang to retreat behind his fan once more to hide his own laughter. “I look forward to our next match.”

Wei Wuxian finally found his voice and said, aggravated, “When did you start calling each other by your personal names?”

“When granted permission,” Nie Huaisang said lightly, reaching out to bonk Wei Wuxian on the forehead with his fan. “Is that so surprising?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whined, flopping onto the table with despair, though he neatly avoided the board they hadn’t yet cleared. “Play weiqi with me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji sighed. “I have been too long from my own studies, Wei Wuxian. Some other time.”

“What about you?” Wei Wuxian asked, turning his bright eyes on Nie Huaisang. “And don’t give me an excuse about schoolwork, I know you’ve done every written assignment we’ve been given.”

Nie Huaisang flicked a glance at Lan Wangji, then shrugged. “One game. And let us give Lan Zhan his table back.”

Wei Wuxian grinned in satisfaction.

He also spent the whole game trying to get more information about when and how Nie Huaisang had become so close to Lan Wangji. It didn’t work—for all that Nie Huaisang loved conversation, the game was the game and he wasn’t going to be distracted from it—and Nie Huaisang was certain Wei Wuxian’s fixation on gossip contributed to Wei Wuxian’s loss. Wei Wuxian did not play as beautiful a game as Lan Wangji, nor play as often as Nie Huaisang, but he was clever and intuitive and saw the whole of the board with an instinctive ease Nie Huaisang envied. However, when his mind was elsewhere—as it was today—he lost consistently.

Wei Wuxian took his loss gracefully and also did not stop trying to dig up information that simply wasn’t there. Or was, but was so obvious that he didn’t seem to think it mattered: They had been friendly since Nie Huaisang had arrived in the Cloud Recesses, and friends since the second week of classes, and the progression until now—two months in, nearing the end of the training period—was clear and unsurprising, as far as Nie Huaisang was concerned.

Nie Huaisang escaped the continued questioning by simply walking away, assuming that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t press such a personal issue when others had a chance of overhearing.

He was right, but he hadn’t accounted for Wei Wuxian’s persistence. Two days later, Wei Wuxian managed to corner Nie Huaisang for an extended conversation. It would’ve happened sooner, except that the intervening day was spent on endurance exercises that had left every student—except, frustratingly, the Twin Jades—utterly exhausted and incapable of doing more than dragging themselves to baths and beds once they’d eaten a Lan-silent dinner.

They’d still had lessons in the morning, practicing specific strikes and working on flying with their swords, because Lan-xianzheng was unforgiving and thought a single night’s rest would be enough. “For you must always be prepared,” he said, and there was sorrow in his eyes that made Nie Huaisang think of Da-ge’s face and the relentless training their disciples performed. Nie Huaisang had not pledged himself to the sword; he was not expected to match this discipline at home.

In one way was Lan-xianzheng kinder: Once it was lunchtime, they were at liberty for the whole afternoon.

Wei Wuxian slung his arm over Nie Huaisang’s shoulder as soon as swords had been sheathed and everyone had bowed farewell to Lan-xiansheng. “So,” Wei Wuxian drawled, red-cheeked but undimmed, “come into town with me, let’s get a real lunch.”

“The Cloud Recesses serves perfectly good food,” Nie Huaisang protested, more for the form of it and to be polite to their hosts than anything else. Wei Wuxian’s tastes ran hotter than his, but that simply meant Wei Wuxian could introduce him to all sorts of interesting places he’d never find on his own. “We don’t need to go elsewhere.”

“Uh-huh.” Wei Wuxian didn’t let go. It was just on the edge of uncomfortable, considering how much they’d both been sweating. “So, you’re coming, right?”

Nie Huaisang sighed, and knew Wei Wuxian would hear his capitulation even before he spoke. “Must we leave immediately? You don’t smell terribly sweet, nor do I.”

Wei Wuxian, because he had either never learned manners or just did not care, sniffed under the collar of his robes. “We’ll just be smelling the food,” he said, but he didn’t sound as enthusiastic as before.

“Or we could take the time to at least change our clothes, maybe rinse off the worst of the sweat?” Nie Huaisang started steering Wei Wuxian towards the guest quarters. “It’ll take no more time than a single incense stick.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Wei Wuxian let go and started to dash off, drawing the energy from somewhere. Not for the first time, Nie Huaisang thought wistfully of what it’d be like to have a golden core as solid and powerful as either Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian did. His was perfectly fine, but they were exceptional.

Still, he hurried his own way back, so that he could strip and put on something clean and therefore more comfortable. The binding undergarments Lan Wangji had slipped him a few weeks ago with a “Please let me know if these do not fit well; I was estimating your measurements as best I could” were wonderful, and had become part of why he disliked exerting himself: When he was wearing one, part of his energy was devoted to ensuring that it didn’t bind his lungs too closely even as it flattened his chest.

Lan Wangji wore them all the time, and it was just another reason Nie Huaisang was envious of his abilities and the support his family and sect had provided him. Nobody in the Unclean Realm had ever thought of such a solution—even Nie Huaisang himself had simply made a point of dressing precisely and in elegant layers such that his chest would be invisible from the padding. Now that he had this other option and could dress less self-consciously, he seized every opportunity he could to do so.

The pressure across his ribs was a comfort as he slipped into light robes almost Gusu Lan-pale, but decorated with palest green bamboo shoots brightening them out of austerity. As he was settling the final layer, he heard Wei Wuxian shouting outside. “Nie Huaisang! If you don’t come out soon I’m making you pay for both our lunches!”

“Just because you don’t care if you’re pretty or not doesn’t mean nobody does,” Nie Huaisang called back as he finished tying his belt. He grabbed his sword (because he was supposed to be formal), his fan (because it was hot), and his belt pouch (because he fully expected to need to pay for food, regardless of if Wei Wuxian was offering to pay or not). “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Wei Wuxian was, unsurprisingly, wearing almost exactly the same thing as he had been previously, just cleaner. He grinned irrepressibly and started in on a litany of his favorite places to eat in Caiyi Town, singing their praises as he decided where they should go. Nie Huaisang let the monologue flow over him, making the right noises in the right places but knowing that Wei Wuxian needed no encouragement on the topic of food.

Besides, as they entered Caiyi Town, Nie Huaisang found himself distracted by the simplest of things: A floral hairpiece, a well-embroidered robe, the touches of paint on faces. He’d seen others distracted by women, but he didn’t think they were distracted in quite the same way; the comments Wei Wuxian made loudly and easily (which Jiang Wanyin blushed furiously at, and which Wen Qionglin seemed faintly puzzled by) were about dazzling beauty and the potential desirability of companionship.

Nie Huaisang thought they were beautiful, yes, but not— It wasn’t about their bodies, visible or hidden, emphasized or veiled; it was about the aesthetics of femininity that he had been denied access to since childhood and wished he could wear again.

Wei Wuxian elbowed him in the side and waved at a cluster of girls wearing soft apricot-orange outer robes over plain off-white. “I thought you were courting someone!” he said, easily diverted from food by the potential for gossip. “But now you’re eyeing so many girls!”

“I never said I was courting anyone,” Nie Huaisang said peevishly, pushing Wei Wuxian away. He rocked absently with the motion as if he didn’t even notice it. “You assumed, and even when I said you were wrong you didn’t change your mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Wei Wuxian agreed, not sounding like he believed it. “Did you get rejected?”

“Did you decide where you wanted to get food?” Nie Huaisang retorted, because none of the truthful answers would help his case at this point. “I thought you were starving.”

“Liu-ayi makes the best chuan in town.” Wei Wuxian began steering him unerringly towards the riverside. “Everyone knows that.”

Nie Huaisang hummed agreement and allowed Wei Wuxian to return to waxing eloquent about his favorite flavors of spiced meat. He was still turning over the idea of acquiring some more accessories—he couldn’t pierce his ears without raising more questions than he thought he wished to, but hairpieces and beads he could braid into his hair would likely be acceptable, as would more jade charms for his belt. That should be within reason, especially as everyone knew he liked his frivolous fans and fine art.

“Liu-ayi!” Wei Wuxian called as they approached the stall, and the woman sitting by it smiled in recognition. Wei Wuxian easily settled into the rhythm of bargaining and flattery that Nie Huaisang thought would make him a fantastic negotiator one day if he ever thought to use those skills for something other than wheedling favors out of food-sellers.

When Wei Wuxian reached for his money pouch to pay for the array of chuan and realised he’d forgotten it, Nie Huaisang couldn’t resist laughing before reaching into his own pouch and drawing out the appropriate amount of coin. “Wasn’t this supposed to be your gift?” he teased, smiling at Auntie Liu.

Wei Wuxian bowed elaborately, eyes dancing. “Nie-gongzi, you’re too kind.”

Nie Huaisang snorted and let Wei Wuxian scoop up the array of skewers. “Wei-gongzi is ever the flatterer.”

Auntie Liu laughingly bid them farewell as they wandered further away to find a nice place to sit and eat. Wei Wuxian’s ramblings were halted, even as they walked, by his need to eat as soon as he could, and so instead Nie Huaisang listened to the sweet sound of him swearing and hastily blowing on a still-hot chunk of meat until they settled on a nice clump of grass overlooking the water.

They ate heartily, appetites easily overwhelming any desire to talk until they’d finished. Wei Wuxian leaned back with a hearty sigh and smiled up at the sky for a moment. Nie Huaisang was preparing to flop down as well when Wei Wuxian said, “Hey, so. You like drawing, right?”

Nie Huaisang looked at him sidelong. This didn’t sound like it was going to stay a simple question; Wei Wuxian was never round-about to his goal unless his goal was a little bit illegal. But he still said, “Yes, I do.”

“Great! I mean, I do too, but I’m pretty sure you’re better at it.” Wei Wuxian fidgeted, pulling apart grass stems in his hands. “Would you draw something for me if I asked you to?”

Very carefully, Nie Huaisang turned to face him fully. “What sort of thing?” he asked, too curious to avoid the obvious trap Wei Wuxian was creating.

“Well…” Wei Wuxian blew air through his teeth. “I was thinking of Lan Zhan.”

Nie Huaisang refrained from saying, As usual, but it took effort.

“And I was thinking of—” Wei Wuxian’s cheeks were faintly red as he stumbled his way very quickly through the rest of the sentence “—how he’d react to porn.”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “What.” He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I was wondering how Lan Zhan would react to porn,” Wei Wuxian said, much more clearly this time, warming to his subject. “And then I thought, I need to make sure he sees good porn, or else I won’t know if his objection is to the porn or to the bad art, and so… I thought of you!”

Nie Huaisang closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “So you want to know what it’d take for me to draw you porn so that you can show it to Lan Zhan,” he said, not so much because he didn’t believe that was what Wei Wuxian had said as because he needed to say it to wrap his head around the idea. He opened his eyes, pained, to ask, “Did it ever occur to you to try buying porn?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, waving a hand loosely in the air. “I couldn’t find any.”

“How hard did you look?” Nie Huaisang asked, this time sure he was digging a hole he might be buried in. “Because I can’t imagine the people here are very public about their porn.”

“I asked around,” Wei Wuxian muttered, definitely flushing now. “Nothing was good enough.”

Nie Huaisang sighed, not believing he was about to say this. “What sort of porn?” he asked, dreading the follow-up questions Wei Wuxian was going to ask and hoping that nobody would ask him why he knew enough about porn to even theoretically draw some.

Wei Wuxian’s head shot right back up with a smile. “So you’ll do it?”

“What kind of porn?” he repeated, because if he was getting himself into this he wanted to know exactly what Wei Wuxian’s plans were. “Also, why porn?”

Wei Wuxian made a face. “Well. Um.” He fidgeted more, eyes darting around.

Nie Huaisang propped his chin on a hand and smiled wickedly. “Shall I draw you men trysting together?” he asked, enjoying the way Wei Wuxian flushed and his eyes darkened. “Is that the imagery you wish to see Lan Zhan’s reaction to?”

“Will you do it?” Wei Wuxian asked, which was probably about as much confirmation as he was going to get.

“What do I get in exchange?”

“Hm.” Wei Wuxian looked thoughtful. “What do you want?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. He hadn’t gotten that far in thinking about this. “A favor owed?”

“Yeah, okay.” Wei Wuxian grinned, bright and blinding. “How long will it take?”

“The faster you want it, the bigger the favor you owe me,” Nie Huaisang warned.

“Okay, okay!” Wei Wuxian laughed. “Just let me know when it’s done, yeah?”

Nie Huaisang smiled back. “I will.”

Five days later, Nie Huaisang slipped Wei Wuxian a very modest-seeming booklet. As Wei Wuxian flipped through it, glee on his face, Nie Huaisang escaped to find a nice secluded place to read while Wei Wuxian had yet another study session with Lan Zhan. He didn’t expect to be very focused—he suspected Lan Zhan would come by as soon as he was free of Wei Wuxian—and so instead of a cultivation manual, or even poetry, he’d sweet-talked his way into borrowing a book of folk-tales.

He made it through three, distracted by imagining what was going on in the library, before he heard Lan Zhan’s footsteps.

“Nie Tao,” Lan Zhan said, voice honey-sweet in the way it always got when he was emotional, “why did you give Wei Wuxian a handbook of explicit figures with very prominent phalluses?”

Nie Huaisang lasted about ten seconds pretending like he had no idea what Lan Zhan was talking about before he started giggling. Even Lan Zhan’s fiercest scowl couldn’t quell him as he set down his book and gave Lan Zhan a wide-eyed and innocent look. “Lan Zhan, would you rather I had given him one accurate to your respective anatomies?”

“I would rather have not seen any illustrations of that sort.” Lan Zhan knelt down near Nie Huaisang, hands carefully folded on his lap. “Why did you even draw that?”

“How did you find out it was me?”

Lan Zhan looked flatly at him. “Nie Tao, I am aware of your hobbies. I am also aware of what your brushwork looks like.”

Nie Huaisang winced. “I mean, it looks different when it’s people?”

“Nie Tao.”

“Because Wei Wuxian has been pining after you since he first saw you—not that I think he’s quite admitted that to himself yet—and he thought this might make you pay attention to him more properly.” Nie Huaisang shrugged at Lan Zhan’s disbelieving look. “I thought it would be interesting to draw, wanted Wei Wuxian to owe me a favor, and thought it might make you think about your feelings towards him a little bit.”

Lan Zhan’s mouth opened and closed several times before he said, the word dragged out of him like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “…feelings?”

“Mn.” Nie Huaisang raised one eyebrow; he’d finally mastered the trick of it. “You know. Emotions? In this case, ones directed at other people?”

“You’re both playing a joke on me.”

“No.” Nie Huaisang straightened his back and bowed. “Lan Zhan, I didn’t think you would be so offended. Please, accept my apologies.”

Lan Zhan sighed and sat next to him. “You don’t need to apologise, Nie Tao.” He looked down at his hands. “I just— Is that how he thinks of me?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang admitted; every time he got close to asking, Wei Wuxian would deflect so wildly that getting back to the topic would be rude. “But I’m pretty sure he’s jealous of how close I am to you, and I can’t think of a reason why he’d ask me to draw porn for him to show you if he wasn’t thinking about doing something with you.”

The delicate darkening of Lan Zhan’s ears was adorable. “I don’t— My body—”

“Is wonderful?” Nie Huaisang finished; Lan Zhan stuttering broke his heart. “Even if it’s not what he expects?”

“Do you think it would matter to him?”

Nie Huaisang sighed and shifted closer to Lan Zhan, so that their shoulders touched. “He spends so much time talking about women,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if he does it so much when you’re around, because you don’t come along on our trips to Caiyi Town very much, but he’s always talking about them and how beautiful they are and what he’d want to do, but I think it’s posturing and teasing Jiang Wanyin more than anything else.”

“He doesn’t talk thus around me.” Lan Zhan leaned into Nie Huaisang ever so slightly.

“I think he’d be surprised.” Nie Huaisang tapped his fan against his lips, thinking. “I also think that Wei Wuxian, who loves finding third options and middle paths, would not be displeased. He might be overly fascinated,” Nie Huaisang admitted with a wince, “but I don’t think he’d mean it unkindly. He just likes learning new things.”

Lan Zhan hummed, neutral acknowledgement more than agreement. They sat in silence, watching bees flutter amongst the flowers, until Nie Huaisang asked, “Lan Zhan? Do you reciprocate his interest?”

Another long stretch of silence, broken only by birds and the distant sounds of other disciples going about their business, before Lan Zhan said, “If his interest is sex… no.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Lan Zhan’s hands, normally so well-controlled, twisted themselves in the fabric of his robes. “What else would it be?”

Nie Huaisang stared at him for a handful of heartbeats, rapidly changing his assumptions about Lan Zhan. “A-Zhan,” he asked slowly, “have you ever seen people who bind themselves together for love?”

“I know people do,” Lan Zhan muttered. “But in the Cloud Recesses… It is unseemly to act with such favor in public, and the townspeople rarely act in such ways in front of cultivators.”

“Ah.” Nie Huaisang bit his lip, worried it with teeth, and finally said, “The reason Wei Wuxian is jealous of how I act with you is because many of the things we do mimic the actions of people who are coupled together in love. We spend time together, we are easy in each other’s company, we allow touch that we would reject from other sources, we use personal names.” He did not mention the way Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian talked to each other, nor the amount of time they spent in each other’s proximity.

After a few seconds, Nie Huaisang added, “I have seen partners holding hands and kissing, which we don’t do,” and flushed; now he was thinking about the idea, and he wouldn’t mind either of those things also happening. “So I guess what I’m asking, Lan Zhan, is if you want to kiss Wei Wuxian.”

Lan Zhan was as still as stone. Nie Huaisang wasn’t even sure he could feel him breathe through the slight press of their bodies against each other. Nie Huaisang did his best to sit patiently, even though he felt like he was vibrating with the desire to know. It wasn’t that he thought Lan Zhan’s feelings—whatever they were—would change his friendship; it was that he wanted both of his friends to be happy, and if there was a chance they could be, then he wanted to find it.

The quality of Lan Zhan’s stillness changed, and Nie Huaisang looked at him, alert. When no words seemed forthcoming—Lan Zhan’s back tense, eyes fixed on his hands, cheeks still flushed—Nie Huaisang softly asked, “Have you ever thought about kissing anyone before?”

Lan Zhan stiffened, and his eyes flickered to Nie Huaisang’s face and then away again, whisper-quick.

Very carefully, Nie Huaisang turned so that he was facing Lan Zhan. He had to move the book he’d once been reading—it felt like forever ago—to align himself properly. Then, very carefully, he said, “Lan Zhan? Do you—” he finally blushed, heat racing along his cheeks, but the rest of the words came out even and confident anyway “—would you wish to practice kissing? With me?”

There was a heart-stopping moment as Lan Zhan looked at him, eyes wide and face open in a way that Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen since they’d first swum together. Nie Huaisang met his gaze, hoping that Lan Zhan would see the honesty in his eyes, and feel the way he didn’t quite know what it meant that he was offering this either, and maybe—

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said, and the air rushed out of Nie Huaisang’s lungs. “If you’re sure.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Now?” Lan Zhan murmured, eyes bright and dilated.

Nie Huaisang reached out, touched the corner of Lan Zhan’s lips, let himself enjoy the way Lan Zhan tracked the subtleties of his movement. “Will it change things?”

“No.” Lan Zhan licked his lips. His tongue just missed Nie Huaisang’s fingers. “Unless you want it to?”

“I don’t.” Nie Huaisang forced himself not to look away, took another jittery breath. “Are you sure?”

Lan Zhan caught his hand and tugged, pulling Nie Huaisang closer. “Do you doubt me?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang admitted.

“I know what I’m comfortable with, A-Tao.” Lan Zhan shifted his grip; now his fingers brushed a loose lock of Nie Huaisang’s hair behind his ear, and lingered. “And I’m comfortable with you.”

He leaned forward, and Nie Huaisang moved to meet him. Their lips touched, warm and dry and strange, and Nie Huaisang wondered why people seemed so obsessed. This was less intimate than simply resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, or dozing while Lan Zhan played guqin, or even debating poetry interpretations late into the night. It was nice—warm, and close, and he could smell Lan Zhan’s soap and scent—but it wasn’t special.

It wasn’t true, exactly, that he’d never kissed anyone before. A few times, as a child, he’d kissed his friends as part of games, but those had been fleeting things, and never supposed to mean anything. He’d flushed, and they’d blushed, and they’d giggled and moved on to teasing each other about crushes and it’d all been in good fun. He hadn’t cared about them, not in the way that he cared about Lan Zhan.

He wasn’t sure that he cared about Lan Zhan in the way his friends had teased about liking each other, in the way that he saw adults look at each other, but he cared about Lan Zhan and he’d thought—from the closeness they already shared, from the deep thrumming in his gut at the thought of kissing him, from the intensity in Lan Zhan’s eyes—that maybe it’d be a little more exciting.

Before he could follow that thought further into disappointment, Lan Zhan hummed and pulled back slightly to wrap his hand around the nape of Nie Huaisang’s neck. Nie Huaisang opened his mouth, about to ask a question, and then Lan Zhan kissed him again.

This time, with Lan Zhan pressing him close and their breath mingling, Nie Huaisang understood why people cared. Lan Zhan almost biting at his lips, Lan Zhan’s hand strong at his neck, Lan Zhan’s body next to his—there wasn’t space to think about anything else, even if he wanted to. Nie Huaisang tangled his own fingers in Lan Zhan’s hair in his haste to ensure Lan Zhan wouldn’t move away once more, and let himself open to Lan Zhan’s explorations.

He hadn’t expected— Well, he hadn’t expected Lan Zhan to be quite so enthusiastic about the idea, and he hadn’t expected to like it this much. Everything was hot, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands, and he was shaking in Lan Zhan’s grip. It was overwhelming and he still wanted more and then Lan Zhan’s tongue traced his lips and he moaned.

“Are you alright?” Lan Zhan asked, and—

“Do that again,” Nie Huaisang said, eyes wide and already tugging Lan Zhan closer. “I want to know—”

Lan Zhan swallowed any more words he’d had to say, and Nie Huaisang readily abandoned any pretense of remembering what the end of his sentence had been in favor of paying attention to every little thing Lan Zhan was doing. He winced as Lan Zhan’s grip tightened on his hair, and pulled back when Lan Zhan’s tongue pressed into his mouth, and melted when Lan Zhan peppered his lips, cheeks, ears with a hundred tiny peach-soft kisses.

Eventually, Nie Huaisang remembered himself enough to ask—from where he was curled against Lan Zhan in contentment— “Do you think it’ll feel like that with him?”

Lan Zhan laughed softly. “No. He and I have always fought, even when we agree.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, still thinking about what they’d done and how it felt. “I don’t want it to be a fight.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan carefully pressed a kiss to his hairline. “I would not wish to fight you, either.”

“That’s nice.” Nie Huaisang yawned. “Is there anywhere we need to be?”

Lan Zhan stroked Nie Huaisang’s hair, smoothing it back into place where he’d disrupted it. “No,” he said softly. “Rest. I’ll stay with you.”

Nie Huaisang hummed acknowledgement and closed his eyes, content.

In the days that followed, kisses became as much a part of their affection as the casual way they moved through and around each other’s space. Nie Huaisang enjoyed it far more than he would’ve expected, asked about his thoughts on kissing before this summer. He could tell that Lan Zhan might enjoy kissing more—or at least differently—than he did, but it didn’t take long for them to find a balance for their pleasure: Kisses on the cheek or the forehead or sometimes even the hand, and occasional kisses on the lips kept soft and short and sweet.

All in all, Nie Huaisang was happier than he could recall being in a very long time. In that happiness, he had the space to mention to Lan Zhan the one thing still niggling at his heart: That he wished he could dress more like a woman.

Lan Zhan looked thoughtful, and asked, “What elements do you desire?”

Nie Huaisang sighed. “I don’t know, I just… it’d be fun to experiment. Jewelry, I guess. I don’t— Their clothing is beautiful, but I don’t know if I could wear it comfortably in public.”

“What about in private?” Lan Zhan studied Nie Huaisang with an intensity that would be unnerving if he weren’t used to it.

Even so, Nie Huaisang flicked Lan Zhan in the shoulder. “You’re planning something,” he accused. “Stop it.”

“A-Tao,” Lan Zhan said, meeting his eyes. “Would you dare more in private?”

Nie Huaisang dropped his gaze, stomach roiling. He knew the answer. He just— But Lan Zhan always gave him honesty, and would never judge him. “Yes,” he murmured, fidgeting because he couldn’t think about the idea head-on. “I— I think I would.”

“Then it’s settled,” Lan Zhan said with satisfaction, and no matter how much Nie Huaisang demanded to know his plans, he wouldn’t share them.

A day later, Nie Huaisang left the jingshi after an afternoon he and Lan Zhan had intended to spend studying and practicing duets. Instead, they’d gotten into a theoretical discussion about what would be needed to entice all the major sects into an alliance, and how many minor sects would need to join as well before it would be possible to break the Qishan Wen’s dominating influence. It had been an invigorating discussion, and Nie Huaisang was still mulling over the manifold possibilities they’d offered and discarded when Lan Xichen appeared on the path in front of him.

He liked doing that, Nie Huaisang thought sourly as he controlled his instinctive flinch. “Lan-gongzi,” he said instead, bowing smoothly. “I was not expecting to see you today.”

“You were not intended to expect me,” Lan Xichen replied, confirming Nie Huaisang’s suspicions. “But my brother asked me to deliver something to you.” He proffered a neatly-wrapped package, and as Nie Huaisang opened his mouth to ask Why didn’t Lan Zhan give it to me himself?, Lan Xichen added, “Wangji wasn’t sure how to explain his reasons for giving them to you, so I offered to take his place.”

Nie Huaisang shut his mouth and took the cloth-wrapped bundle, fingers settling against the knotted string keeping it shut. It was soft, but weighed more than cloth alone would. “Should I open it here?” he asked instead. “Or would a more private location be preferable?”

Lan Xichen’s answering smile was soft, and gentle, and Nie Huaisang stared at the mischief in his eyes and wondered how many people overlooked it. Lan Xichen was a kind man, yes, but he enjoyed being in the center of things just as much as Wei Wuxian did—albeit in a rather different way. “Wangji suggested you would prefer to be in a private location.”

“And yet you gift it to me in a public one.”

Lan Xichen laughed, a quiet and musical sound. “Huaisang, would you allow me the honor of attending as you unwrap Wangji’s gift? You may choose the space, of course, but I will be better able to explain once you see the gift in full.”

Unbidden, Nie Huaisang turned back towards the jingshi; it was the closest private space.

“Allow Wangji his privacy in this,” Lan Xichen murmured, following his gaze. “You will understand, once you see the gift, why I find this easier than he does.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I don’t think returning to the guest quarters your sect so graciously provided would be the best option,” he said, running his fingers over the ever-more-mysterious gift. “I would attract too much curiosity with a gift in my hands and you by my side.”

“If you would allow,” Lan Xichen said, gesturing down the forked path, “I have a residence of my own.”

“You’re very kind,” Nie Huaisang murmured, bowing slightly. “I would be honored.”

Lan Xichen’s little home was built along similar lines to the jingshi, but in a less secluded space. Nie Huaisang silently followed Lan Xichen inside, and murmured assent to his offer of tea, and then—once they were both seated with the tea steeping between them—placed the gift on the table. He raised his eyes to Lan Xichen in question, and then, once Lan Xichen nodded, undid the central knot.

The strings all fell away, and Nie Huaisang unfolded the cloth to find a bag designed to look like a bird, embroidered with beautiful feathers and little gems for eyes. Nie Huaisang picked it up, unsurprised to find that it weighed more than fabric alone could account for, and looked questioningly at Lan Xichen.

“Our mother died when we were young,” Lan Xichen said, eyes tight and hands tense on his lap. “This has never been a secret.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. He had known it in the abstract before coming to the Cloud Recesses; after becoming so close to Lan Zhan, he sometimes felt Lan-furen’s absence as keenly as he felt his own parents’.

“We were young enough that Wangji’s truth had not been revealed and accepted by our family, let alone the sect as a whole. So when Mother died…” Lan Xichen looked at the steam slowly drifting from the teapot. “Her personal effects, those she had owned as Li Yan and not Lan-furen, were passed to the child then seen as her daughter.”

“Ah.” Nie Huaisang swallowed and looked down at the table himself. “Thus why Lan Zhan doesn’t want to be here himself.”

Lan Xichen sighed quietly and began to pour the tea. “He grieved more deeply than I did, because he was younger and Shufu explained less to him. I do not believe the grief has ever truly left his heart.” He nodded at the bag. “Open it, Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang did, because acting was easier than feeling, and having feelings about something which had happened a decade ago wasn’t the most productive act. He unfastened the ties and carefully pulled out the assortment of objects inside: Hairpins and combs and rings and bracelets, made of jade and gold and wood and brass; embellished with carvings and etchings and shining gems; all clearly well-cared for.

He looked up at Lan Xichen, trying to articulate any of the words bubbling through his chest.

Lan Xichen pushed a tea-cup in front of him. “They were given into his care,” he said softly. “Have you ever known Wangji to disrespect that which belongs to him?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang whispered, overwhelmed. He traced his hands along the beautiful jewelry. “But— Surely gifting these to a friend was not what your family expects.”

“Shufu is, perhaps, the only person other than us who will recognise where those pieces came from.” Lan Xichen smiled, and it was so sweet that it wrapped back around to being deadly. “He will not question you, and while I’m sure he expected them to be given to one of our wives as a gift, we never made any such agreement.” He paused, sipped his tea, and added meditatively, “I also do not believe either of us plans to take a wife unless politics force our hands.”

Nie Huaisang flushed and tried to hide his reaction by drinking tea of his own. He sputtered a little, but it was hot and strong and helped him ground himself in his body and not the implications of Lan Xichen’s words. “Why tell me this?” he asked, once he thought he’d be able to speak clearly. “I understand the rest, but—” He spread his hands helplessly. “These are family secrets.”

“A-Sang,” Lan Xichen said, gentle and soft and looking at him with liquid eyes, “I fully expect you and Wangji to be sworn siblings once you are old enough for such a pledge to be taken seriously. You are family, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Why does A-Zhan not tell me this?” Nie Huaisang whispered, tears filling his eyes.

“He has a habit of assuming the truth of his heart is obvious in his actions and forgetting how reassuring words may be.” Lan Xichen reached across the table and touched Nie Huaisang’s hand. “I believe you feel the same way about him?”

“Yes.” Nie Huaisang laughed a little. “I love him, he is my brother and my best friend. I have trusted him with my soul.”

“Then it is settled.” Lan Xichen retreated, feline pleasure on his face. “Take this gift, Huaisang. Is it not as I told you? You are changing, becoming something more than you ever would have at home. I want Mingjue to see your confidence full-fledged when you return to him.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, looking at the shining pile of ornaments: Flowers and birds and dangling beads that would add a shimmering chime to his movement. Nothing like the plain pins which the men of Qinghe Nie wore. More elaborate, in many ways, than what the women wore; they too rode to battle, even if in their homes they were expected to show their feminine roles. He picked up one, a simple jade pin with flowers blooming at its base, and reached up to carefully weave it into his hair.

Lan Xichen hummed approval, and Nie Huaisang bowed as best he could. “You’re overflowing with generosity,” he said, eyes wet with tears. “I don’t know how I could possibly repay you.”

“Keep being such a good friend for Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. “And that will be enough for me.”

Nie Huaisang had caught Lan Zhan watching Wei Wuxian with consideration many times, and smiled to himself; when Lan Zhan made up his mind, he wanted to see the explosion.

What he hadn’t expected, somehow, was for the explosion to begin with Wei Wuxian himself.

Everything came to a head on an evening Nie Huaisang spent in Caiyi Town with Jin Zixuan and Luo Qingyang, in part because he enjoyed Luo Qingyang’s company and in part because Da-ge had sent him a pointed letter last week about socialising with more people than just “The Second Jade and Yunmeng Jiang’s charity case”. For all that Jin-gongzi was a perfectly decent human being when he was engaged in a task, he was awkward and reminded Nie Huaisang rather much of a fledgeling stork at any other time: All sharp angles and a mantle he’d yet to understand how to make his own.

Luo Qingyang cushioned much of Jin-gongzi’s rough edges, and so they spent a pleasant hour browsing shops and conversing about the summer’s experiences. In one shop, focused on beautiful jewelry, Nie Huaisang lingered, brushing his fingers over the elegant shapes. He hadn’t quite felt brace enough to wear any of the jewelry Lan Zhan had given him, both because he didn’t want to be asked about the change in his style and because he still felt strange wearing Lan Zhan’s inheritance, but having the option had certainly awoken his desire to buy some of his own.

“Jin Zixuan,” Luo Qingyang said behind him, “perhaps you could make arrangements for our meal? Nie-gongzi and I will join you shortly.”

A pause, and Nie Huaisang pointedly did not look to see what face Jin Zixuan was making, or what Luo Qingyang’s expression was. Then Jin Zixuan said, “You know where to find me when you’re done?”

Nie Huaisang could hear the smile in Luo Qingyang’s voice as she said, “Yes. We will see you soon.”

Footsteps—a pair retreating, a pair approaching—and Nie Huaisang looked up to see Luo Qingyang looking at him with a crooked smile. “Do you want me to convince you to buy them?” Luo Qingyang asked, gesturing at the combs with her chin. “You're looking at them the same way you looked at fans at the beginning of summer.”

Words stuck in Nie Huaisang's throat, and he flicked his fan open to cover his expression.

Luo Qingyang's face softened. “I won't push if you don't want me to, Huaisang.”

“What do you see in me?” Nie Huaisang asked, a question which had been burning a hole in his mind since that first conversation and which he’d never found a good way to ask. Right here, right now—it still wasn’t a good time, but he thought his meaning would be more easily appreciated, at least.

“I have a shimei,” Luo Qingyang said, voice soft and face troubled. “She wears her hair in braids like you do, and she eschews the pins and combs that befit our station. She dresses in men's clothing, given the chance. I look at you and think, If I can help you find yourself, perhaps I can help shimei too. Do you understand?”

Nie Huaisang closed his eyes against tears, breath catching in his throat. “Yes,” he said, as Luo Qingyang must have known he would. “I do.”

“So, Huaisang,” she said, hand soft on his shoulder. “Do you want me to convince you to buy them, right now?”

He swallowed, and pressed his hand to hers, and said, “Yes.”

Jin Zixuan did not ask, but Nie Huaisang saw the silent conversation in his eyes and Luo Qingyang’s both. Whatever passed between them, it didn’t affect their dinner conversation: Freed of Gusu Lan rules about silence, the conversation picked up and turned to politics, where Nie Huaisang soaked up the Lanling Jin perspective on the world with wide-eyed fascination, not caring if it made him seem simple or naive; those meant the Lanling Jin would underestimate him in the future, and that could be a very useful tool.

After the meal they parted ways, Luo Qingyang and Jin-gongzi returning to the Cloud Recesses while Nie Huaisang circled back to some shops to pick up more items he’d been eying. If the shopkeepers thought he was courting Luo Qingyang because of it, that was fine; she had good taste, knowing how to find elegant hair-pieces and understated jewelry that nonetheless were clearly well-made. Nie Huaisang paid the shopkeepers with a wide smile and a jittery heart, thinking only of how it would feel to be able to wear them himself in the future.

So when he was walking back up the mountain, Nie Huaisang was in no way thinking of anything but the hairpin he was absently attempting to thread into his hair. It’d be easier if he weren’t moving, of course, but it was also growing closer to curfew than he’d realised, and he didn’t want Lan Zhan to need to rescue him from shameful exile outside the Cloud Recesses’ walls.

All this meant that when Wei Wuxian jumped on him, Nie Huaisang screamed and almost stabbed himself with the hairpin as he fell over.

Wei Wuxian yelped too, but that seemed more related to how he hadn’t expected Nie Huaisang to be quite so unaware than because he was in any danger. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, helping Nie Huaisang up. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Nie Huaisang assured him, brushing dust off his robes and making sure that the hairpin hadn’t bent. While it was also dirty now, it seemed structurally sound and he wasn’t bleeding, so he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good.” Wei Wuxian shifted from foot to food in a way that made Nie Huaisang regret his relief. “So. Um.”

Nie Huaisang squinted at Wei Wuxian for a moment, and when no words were forthcoming turned away to continue up the path, trusting Wei Wuxian would follow him. “You’re usually an endless river of words,” he commented. “What’s got your tongue?”

“Are you—” Wei Wuxian groaned and grabbed Nie Huaisang’s arm, forcing him to a stop. “I wanna see your face when I ask this.”

“Ask me what?” Nie Huaisang turned, though, and pulled his arm free. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Hours.” Wei Wuxian dragged his hands down his face. “When Peacock and Mianmian—” (“Don’t call them those names,” Nie Huaisang grumbled, not that Wei Wuxian was listening) “—came back, I was sure you’d be right behind them!”

Nie Huaisang sighed. “I had some more errands to run.”

“Private errands.”

Private was the wrong word—emotionally charged would be more apt, not that he was going to tell Wei Wuxian that. “Not really; just some things I’d remembered I wanted to purchase.” Nie Huaisang smiled sweetly. “Luo-guniang offered to stay, but I told her not to worry, and that I’d enjoy ambling back on my own. Is that so strange?”

“No!” Wei Wuxian waved his hands in the air and spun around. “I mean, not really! But!”

Nie Huaisang scrubbed his face with his free hand and wished that he’d thought to buy some wine to bribe Wei Wuxian with. Unfortunately, hindsight was always easier than forethought, so instead he said, “Is this about Lan Zhan?”

“I didn’t bring him up!” Wei Wuxian wheeled to a stop and stabbed Nie Huaisang in the chest with one finger. “You did!”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Nie Huaisang said, doing his best to remain calm as he pushed Wei Wuxian’s finger away.

Wei Wuxian scowled and crossed his arms. “Are you fucking him?”

Nie Huaisang looked at Wei Wuxian in perfect silence, mouth agape, for at least ten seconds before he started to laugh. At first it was giggles he tried to suppress, and then Wei Wuxian’s outraged expression made it even harder to keep them in and he curled into himself with full-throated laughter. “I’m sorry!” he tried to say, but he doubted it was very coherent. “I just—” He ducked away from Wei Wuxian, because he didn’t want to get punched when he finished his sentence. “Why would you think we had?”

“You’re always so—” Wei Wuxian clasped his hands together and fluttered his eyelashes, which just made Nie Huaisang laugh harder. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop being ridiculous!”

“I’m not being ridiculous!”

Nie Huaisang bowed in surrender, though he couldn’t stop his smile. “Wei-gongzi, I have never considered fucking Lan Zhan.”

“Then what are you doing when you sneak off together?” Wei Wuxian asked plaintively.

Nie Huaisang thought about it, shrugged, and let himself have another wicked grin as he said, “Sometimes we sleep together,” just to hear Wei Wuxian shriek again before adding, “Have you ever had the chance to nap with someone you like and trust? It’s very nice. He doesn’t sleep so much—something about Gusu Lan discipline makes them incapable of it during the day, most of the time—but it’s still good.”

“Impossible,” Wei Wuxian yelled, and Nie Huaisang was very grateful that they weren’t in the Cloud Recesses and also that there was absolutely no reason for anyone else to be nearby. He did not want anyone overhearing this conversation. “Nothing you’re saying makes sense!”

“Just because you want to fuck him doesn’t mean I want to!” Nie Huaisang shouted back, finally letting himself say what he’d been thinking for weeks. “I don’t know if I want to fuck anyone!”

Wei Wuxian’s face twisted up in confusion, and he was only down to moderately loud when he said, “You’re doing something with him, though!”

“Yeah!” Nie Huaisang shook his head, letting out another bark of laughter at the absurdity of the conversation. “We’re friends! We cuddle! We’ve tried kissing?”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened and closed several times, and he let out a truly fascinating whine like he was deflating, and then he said, “What— He—”

At least his voice was a normal volume now, even if he wasn’t forming a coherent sentence. Nie Huaisang listened for another minute before grabbing all the sentence fragments and tying them into the question he thought Wei Wuxian was trying to ask. “He’s good at kissing,” Nie Huaisang offered, because it was true and he was enjoying watching Wei Wuxian’s mind melt.

“I don’t need to know that,” Wei Wuxian protested.

Nie Huaisang watched Wei Wuxian’s face very closely as he asked, “But do you want to?”

Wei Wuxian blushed immediately, stumbling back a step in shock. “I—” He shook his head. “Nie Huaisang! What are you implying!”

“You’re clever,” Nie Huaisang snapped, turning away. “What do you think?”

“I don’t have any unseemly intentions towards Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian protested, scampering over to Nie Huaisang’s side. “I just— I like him! A lot!”

“I know.” Fed up beyond all measure, Nie Huaisang grabbed Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. “You like him and you want the physical intimacy that I have with him. Right?”

Wei Wuxian grasped Nie Huaisang’s wrists, but he didn’t pull away. Nor did he say anything, though Nie Huaisang could feel him vibrating.

“Am I wrong?” Nie Huaisang pressed, not caring how much he was exposing himself as he stepped closer. “If you tell me I’m wrong, I’ll drop this, and we can forget this conversation happened, but I do not think I am wrong, Wei Wuxian.”

He was close enough to see Wei Wuxian swallow, to feel his shoulders firm up, to hear the whisper as Wei Wuxian finally said, “You’re not wrong.”

Nie Huaisang rested his forehead on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Good,” he mumbled, feeling drained. “Please stop taking it out on me, I’m very tired.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, and gently pressed Nie Huaisang away. “Are you going to tell him?” he asked, sounding fragile for the first time Nie Huaisang could remember.

“I’m not going to lie to him.” Nie Huaisang finally tucked the hairpin away in his sleeve, and looked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s haunted eyes. “But I will not share this with him unless he asks.” He narrowed his eyes in return, thoughtful. “Will you?”

“Aha, well!” Wei Wuxian raised his hands with a nervous laugh. “Do you think— Would he be receptive to me?”

“He’s been staring after you since I told him I thought you were interested in things other than just sex.” Nie Huaisang shook his head and started walking up the path. They could talk and move at the same time, and then maybe they wouldn’t be late. “I don’t know if he’s made up his mind about what he wants yet, but he’s not outright opposed.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian fell in beside Nie Huaisang, clearly thinking. After a few minutes of blessed silence—save for the crickets chirping—he said, “You think I should tell him.”

Nie Huaisang closed his eyes, trusting to Wei Wuxian’s firm tread to keep him on the path for the next few steps at least. “Please tell him.” He looked beseechingly at Wei Wuxian, trying to convey the depth to which he was tired of being in between the two.

“I don’t know how to,” Wei Wuxian whined. “Can’t I just kiss him and get it over with?”

Nie Huaisang thought about it, at first appalled by the idea—just kissing someone without knowing how they’d react?—and then deciding that Lan Zhan could fend off Wei Wuxian if he really wanted to. Besides, it was in-line with how they’d started calling each other by their personal names. “If you do, please tell me; I want to see his reaction.”

Wei Wuxian broke out in a beautiful smile, a familiar bounce returning to his step. “No promises!” he sang, and Nie Huaisang laughed. He couldn’t begrudge Wei Wuxian that; if Wei Wuxian’s self-control shattered while he was alone with Lan Zhan, that would be completely understandable and he’d need to settle for hearing about it later regardless.

They walked the path together in the gathering dusk, chatting amiably about their friends and acquaintances among the disciples. Wei Wuxian had a lot to say about the Dafan Wen: He’d been helping Wen Qionglin with archery, and Jiang Wanyin was still debating if it was at all worth trying to court Wen Qing. Nie Huaisang mostly offered a sounding board for Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts, and that suited them both perfectly well.

When Nie Huaisang looked towards the horizon, glancing back because the shadows had grown so long they disappeared, he swore. “Wei Wuxian, we’re going to miss the gate curfew.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “So we’ll sneak over the walls.” He seemed deeply unconcerned by that, and Nie Huaisang scowled at him; just because he made a habit of breaking the rules in order to spend time with Lan Zhan didn’t mean that Nie Huaisang wanted to.

But he took a breath, and said instead, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lan Zhan came looking for me.”

The gleam in Wei Wuxian’s eyes was unsurprising. “That would be terrible,” he said, very earnestly. “We mustn’t make that too difficult for him.”

Nie Huaisang sighed. He’d invited this, he supposed, but that didn’t make him feel better. “Are you suggesting we stay put, like lost little children?”

“Exactly, Nie Huaisang-didi.” Wei Wuxian looked entirely too pleased. “We wouldn’t want to wander off the path in the dark.”

Nie Huaisang looked at him, looked at the wide and smooth path, and considered a dozen different comments about Wei Wuxian’s ability to craft talismans for any purpose he desired. None of them were going to help against the stubborn wall of Wei Wuxian’s will; Lan Zhan had the same effect, when he chose, and for that alone Nie Huaisang thought they were well-suited to each other. Nie Huaisang sighed. “Can we at least pretend to be walking back?”

“I guess.” Wei Wuxian began to amble, very slowly, up the path and Nie Huaisang didn’t bother debating the pace. His conversation dropped off, too, as they both peered through the dark. Even with qi-enhanced eyesight, details dwindled, and Nie Huaisang knew they were both looking ahead to see if a lantern would bob down the path and herald their favorite person’s arrival.

It didn’t take very long; Lan Zhan must’ve started out before it had truly gotten dark, likely because Nie Huaisang had lingered later than he had implied to Luo-guniang and Jin-gongzi that he would. When they saw the soft light of a lantern, Wei Wuxian elbowed Nie Huaisang. “I’m gonna do it,” he whispered, and Nie Huaisang had exactly enough time to hear and process that idea before Lan Zhan came properly into view.

He wasn’t dressed any differently than usual, but the lantern-light made his pale clothing seem to glow. As Lan Zhan rounded the curve, Nie Huaisang waved and called out, “I’m sorry we’re late, Lan Zhan! Wei Wuxian waylaid me, and we tarried longer than I expected.”

It was hard to tell from a distance, but Lan Zhan seemed to sigh. “Please quicken your pace,” he said, his voice carrying despite not being loud. “The longer you delay, the harsher Shufu will be.”

“That’s fine,” Wei Wuxian said, hurrying closer to Lan Zhan. Nie Huaisang hung back, not dragging his heels but not attempting to keep up. Wei Wuxian continued, slinging an arm around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, “Is he going to punish you for coming to get us? Because that’d be cruel, even for Lan-xiansheng.”

Lan Zhan eyed Wei Wuxian’s arm, but didn’t move it. That may have been related to how one hand held Bichen and the other held a lantern. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t hear the warning in his voice. “Lan Zhan,” he said instead, very happily. “Did you know? I don’t need to be angry at Huaisang.”

“Were you angry at Nie Mei?” Lan Zhan started back towards the Cloud Recesses as Nie Huaisang drew near, dragging Wei Wuxian along. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I was!” Wei Wuxian plucked the lantern out of Lan Zhan’s hand and held it out. “Huaisang, hold this for me?”

Silently, because to say anything would be to give away the game more than whatever his expression—horrified glee flattened under a court-neutral face—was already showing, Nie Huaisang took the lantern. Lan Zhan met his eyes, and Nie Huaisang saw the beginnings of realization dawning on his face as Wei Wuxian skipped ahead of him, shoving Suibian into his belt.

But before Lan Zhan could do or say anything, Wei Wuxian placed his hands on Lan Zhan’s cheeks and very seriously said, “I’m sorry if this is bad, Wen Ning didn’t want me to practice with him.”

Lan Zhan’s free hand came up to grab not at Wei Wuxian’s wrist but his hair, which did absolutely nothing to stop Wei Wuxian from leaning in and kissing him straight on the lips. Nie Huaisang winced anyway; having your hair pulled hurt.

Watching them, Nie Huaisang was very glad that he’d been given the lantern; if either of them had been holding it, it surely would’ve fallen to the ground. The only reason Bichen seemed to still be in Lan Zhan’s hand was deep-trained instinct, and Nie Huaisang idly wondered if that would ever break. Lan Zhan didn’t seem like he’d forgive himself if he dropped Bichen because he was too invested in kissing Wei Wuxian for all he was worth.

Nie Huaisang was also very curious how much they’d be delayed, because it had taken about two seconds for Lan Zhan to go from board-stiff to clutching Wei Wuxian like their lives depended on being connected at the lips. It sounded wet, and breathy, and honestly looked a little uncomfortable from how their swords had to be digging into each other, but neither of them seemed interested in stopping. Indeed, from the way Wei Wuxian’s hand was dipping down the back of Lan Zhan’s robes, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were more interested in escalating.

Nie Huaisang sighed, and sat down on the ground to watch and wait.

After an amount of time he thought would’ve been perfectly adequate for kissing but which obviously Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian didn’t think was enough, Nie Huaisang started counting very slowly to one hundred. If they hadn’t stopped by then, he was going to break them apart so they could all go back to the Cloud Recesses. Then, at least, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t need to sit here watching them. He didn’t want to kiss anyone the way they were kissing each other; even if he did want to, it was much less enjoyable to watch people kissing than to be involved in the kiss.

At fifty, Nie Huaisang started counting aloud. At seventy, Wei Wuxian pulled his mouth back from Lan Zhan’s enough to say, “Are you timing us?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said, only the faintest bit of annoyance coloring his tone. “If I’d wanted to time you, I would’ve started at least a minute ago.”

Wei Wuxian, to his credit, blushed. Lan Zhan laughed, one of the most beautiful and rare sounds Nie Huaisang knew. “Nie Mei,” he said, eyes bright in the lantern-light, “is this upsetting you?”

Nie Huaisang stood as gracefully as he could, gesturing at the velvet night. “I would prefer not to be asked to do hand-stands for two hours tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said, looking up at the slowly gathering stars. “Shit. Lan Zhan—”

“We are not spending punishment time kissing each other, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said with far more serenity than Nie Huaisang had expected. “It is, after all, a punishment.”

Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically, but unwound himself from Lan Zhan—except for one hand, which he affixed firmly around Lan Zhan’s. “Guess we’d better head back, then.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, but if make-outs were the best bribe possible to get Wei Wuxian to finally think about following the rules properly, so be it. He started walking, and didn’t comment on the awkwardness in Wei Wuxian’s stride that settled as time passed, or the way that Lan Zhan’s silence had a different quality than usual; he was simply too happy to be walking back to the Cloud Recesses late but unconcerned.

When he’d first walked to the Cloud Recesses’ gate, he never would’ve expected to be so cheerful to return knowing the consequences awaiting them. But then, Nie Huaisang hadn’t expected to find two such wonderful friends to share his punishment with—even if they were going to be completely exasperating if they kept acting like this any time they were together.