Where Spring Remains
How this Wangxian fanfiction came to be
I have known BunJi for a long time. He is not a character I invented myself, but he fascinated me so much that I wanted to create him in my own way. To give him my own look, bring him into cosplay, and keep everything I love so much about Lan Wangji. And so I started working on my version of BunJi. A white and blue hanfu, long rabbit ears, delicate details and, of course, the expression of someone who could probably be driven to madness only by Wei Wuxian.
The more I thought about the two of them, the more I wondered what kind of world they might live in. I did not want to simply add ears and a tail to familiar characters. It mattered to me that Lan Wangji stayed Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian stayed Wei Wuxian. That they kept their principles, their humour, their stubbornness and their ability to understand each other in a way no one else does.
That is why this story is not only about fated mates, but above all about being each other's zhiji. A bond that does not appear automatically, but grows gradually out of trust, shared decisions and mutual respect. Where Spring Remains is my own version of the story of BunJi and FoxXian. A little like a fairy tale, a little romantic, painful in places, but above all about searching for a place where you can truly be yourself.
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Winter in Cloud Recesses possessed a peculiar kind of beauty, unlike anything Wei Wuxian had encountered during his travels. The mountains lay hidden beneath the snow, the branches of ancient pines bent under the weight of frost, and thin, translucent layers of ice formed across the surfaces of small ponds. Even the flowers that had failed to bloom before autumn’s end remained imprisoned in its embrace, as though nature had decided to preserve their beauty until spring returned. What made it particularly remarkable was that some of them never withered. Their petals retained their colour, and beneath the ice, even the delicate veins running through their leaves remained visible. One could almost believe that all it would take was the first warm day for them to bloom again.
Wei Ying had initially assumed that some ancient cultivation technique was responsible, but he later learned that the gardens had remained this way for generations. The rabbit clan of Lan, after all, had a habit of preserving things far longer than he considered necessary. That included rules whose origins no one quite remembered anymore, yet which continued to be observed with unquestioning devotion. Cloud Recesses itself was a perfect example. The entire sanctuary lay concealed high in the mountains, protected by barriers that the clan’s finest cultivators had refined over countless generations. No one in the outside world knew precisely where it was, and the rabbits had no intention of sharing that knowledge.
When Wei Wuxian first found his way there, however, he had little time to admire the surrounding landscape. At the time, he was far more interested in finding somewhere he could get a decent night’s sleep without being thrown out or having what little money he had left stolen from him. Several months had passed since he had left Lotus Pier, and life on the road had proved considerably harder than he had expected. Not that he was incapable of earning a living. As a cultivator, he possessed skills people were willing to pay for, and whenever a particularly dangerous commission appeared, he could usually complete it faster than most. Unfortunately, good intentions did not guarantee a full purse, and his fox ears certainly did him no favours. Some people refused to open their doors to him, others tried to bargain down an agreed payment, and occasionally someone would accuse him of having caused the spirit-related trouble himself.
For the most part, Wei Ying managed to rise above it. Whenever someone refused to pay him because foxes couldn’t be trusted, he would generally smile, remind them that only moments earlier they had been begging that very fox for help, and continue on his way. He had always possessed enough confidence not to be unsettled by the opinion of someone who knew nothing about him. Even so, after a while, it became exhausting to have to prove his honour in every new village while others needed only to display the insignia of a respected clan. Sometimes he thought how pleasant it would be to meet someone who looked at him before looking at his tail. Or perhaps someone who would offer him a place at their table without expecting him to earn it first.
He tried not to think about Lotus Pier. Not because he didn’t miss it, but because he knew he would never return.
During the trial, he had publicly renounced every bond tying him to the Jiang clan. And although Yanli’s plea for him to reconsider still echoed in his memory long afterwards, he could no longer pretend that nothing had happened. The Wen clan had accused him of attacking their cultivators, even though he had merely intervened against men who were using innocent villagers in a dangerous experiment. Madame Yu had regarded his actions as further proof of his recklessness and a threat to the entire Jiang family. When the punishment came, Jiang Fengmian had been unable to prevent Zidian from striking him. Jiang Cheng had tried to object, but he lacked the authority to stand against his own mother, and in the end, what Wei Ying carried away from that hearing was the memory of the people he loved standing nearby while others decided his future.
He had never entirely blamed Jiang Cheng for failing to protect him. He understood the position his brother had been in, and perhaps that was precisely why their parting hurt so much. Worse was the knowledge that it could all happen again. That one day he might do something he believed was right, only for the people he called family to have to decide whether he was still worth standing beside.
The consequences of his punishment, moreover, reminded him of the past almost every day. His Golden Core had never fully recovered from the strikes of Zidian, and over the following months, Wuxian had been forced to accept that he could no longer rely entirely on his own abilities. He could still wield a sword, create talismans, and work with spiritual energy, but its flow was erratic, and sometimes a single demanding technique was enough to leave him so unwell that he could barely remain standing. He experimented with different meditation methods, adjusted his techniques, and even kept notes on how his body responded to various forms of cultivation. Nothing, however, brought any lasting improvement. Eventually, he learned to conserve his strength, rest between commissions, and, above all, avoid letting anyone see when he wasn’t feeling well.
That last habit would eventually come back to haunt him.
He entered the mountains towards the end of autumn, when the first snow had begun closing the passes and merchants were shortening their journeys to avoid being stranded in dangerous terrain. Wei Ying had originally intended to cross only a few mountain paths before reaching a small village on the other side of the valley. His most recent commission, however, had drained almost all his strength, and when the weather worsened, he began having trouble maintaining his bearings. It didn’t help that he could sense an unusually powerful flow of spiritual energy in the surrounding area, repeatedly interfering with his sense of direction. Several times he tried retracing his footsteps, only to discover that he was travelling in something very close to a circle.
When he noticed the first traces of a protective barrier among the trees, his attention sharpened immediately. This was no ordinary spell of the sort smaller clans used to protect their residences. Its individual layers were woven together so perfectly that he could scarcely distinguish where one ended and another began, and the entire system responded to changes in its surroundings. For a while, Wuxian even forgot about his hunger and began investigating how such an arrangement might work. He had to admit that whoever had created the barrier was extraordinarily skilled. At the same time, however, he noticed a slight imbalance where the flow of spiritual energy met the mountain winds. Under normal circumstances, it would have been almost impossible to detect, but the snow and wind had weakened the protection for a few brief moments.
Wei Ying knew perfectly well that he ought not enter someone else’s territory. He also knew that spending another night exposed to the elements might push his Golden Core into a state from which recovery would be considerably more difficult. In the end, he took advantage of the brief opening and slipped through, intending to find someone who could direct him towards the nearest village. If an experienced cultivator lived here, perhaps they could also explain why the local spiritual energy behaved in such an unusual manner.
The landscape beyond the barrier surprised him enough to bring him to a halt. The forest was exceptionally quiet, yet it did not feel deserted. Narrow stone paths wound between tall pine trees, bordered by carefully tended shrubs, and in the distance, the roofs of several pavilions were just visible. Snow lay over the ground in soft layers, and ice glittered across the surface of a small pond, beneath which flowers could still be seen. Wei Ying knelt at the water’s edge and cautiously touched the transparent surface. The blue petals were so perfectly preserved that he was briefly tempted to break the ice just to discover whether they were real.
“I’d quite like to see these up close,” he murmured, leaning over the pond. “Who in the world could have made something like this?”
An answer came much sooner than he expected, although certainly not in the form he had imagined. Behind him came the quiet ring of a sword leaving its sheath, and at the same moment he sensed an exceptionally pure, powerful spiritual energy. It was not hostile in the sense that it immediately sought to strike him, but its presence was unmistakable enough for him to realise that someone had discovered him.
When he turned around, he genuinely forgot what he had intended to say.
Standing on the path before him was a figure dressed in white, blending so perfectly into the snowy landscape that for a moment he thought he might be looking at some mountain deity. Wei Ying had always appreciated beautiful people and had never been particularly secretive about enjoying the sight of them, but this time he was surprised by how difficult it was to look away. His first thought was that he had found an extraordinarily beautiful young woman, whose delicate features contrasted sharply with her stern expression and the sword pointed in his direction.
Her long black hair was partially swept up, while the rest fell freely over her shoulders and down her back. Rising from among the dark strands were two long rabbit ears covered in fine, pale fur that shaded into soft grey along their edges. The inner surfaces held the faintest hint of pink, and Wei Ying noticed that one ear had turned ever so slightly towards him. Across her forehead lay a beautiful silver ornament adorned with tiny blue and white flowers, holding stray strands of hair away from her face. Beneath it were dark eyes that were now studying him intently, and an expression so severe it could probably silence even the most unruly disciple.
Her clothing was no less fascinating. Wei Ying had seen many beautiful robes during his travels, but never workmanship or embroidery quite like this. The outer hanfu was the colour of freshly fallen snow, its sleeves exceptionally wide, flowing around her arms in soft folds with every movement. Pale turquoise trim followed their edges, while delicate branches bearing blue and grey blossoms were embroidered across the white fabric. The same patterns decorated the lower sections of the sleeves, and long panels of pale blue material, subtly patterned, fell from her neck across her chest. Several layers of sashes gathered the robes at the waist, accompanied by an ornamental cord from which small tassels and beads hung. Despite being made of numerous layers, the entire outfit appeared wonderfully light, and Wei Ying found himself thinking that someone must possess remarkable patience to keep something so beautiful clean in the middle of snowy mountains.
“Well, this is certainly a more pleasant surprise than another snowstorm,” he remarked with a smile, slowly raising his hands to show that he had no intention of fighting. “Miss, if I’ve wandered into your garden, I apologise. I was looking for a way down into the valley and got a little lost. Perhaps you could tell me how to reach the nearest village?”
The stranger looked him over from head to toe, and Wei Ying noticed her gaze lingering on his fox ears and long black tail. Unlike the people he had encountered on his travels, however, she showed neither disgust nor fear. Instead, she looked like someone confronted with something previously known only through stories, and who had absolutely no intention of underestimating the possible danger.
“Who are you?” came a calm voice, deeper than he had expected.
Wei Ying blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. “Wei Ying. And you? Or should I say, you, my lady? Forgive me, I’m not entirely certain how I ought to address you.” He glanced at the sword in her hand and raised an amused eyebrow. “But perhaps we could start by lowering that? I swear I haven’t come here to bother anyone today.”
“Leave.”
“I would quite like to, except I haven’t the faintest idea which way to go,” he admitted, glancing back towards the forest. “And if I may ask, perhaps you could first tell me how to reach the nearest village. I haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
The sword rose slightly, and Wei Ying understood that this was no longer merely a warning. His beautiful opponent had no intention of negotiating, which was rather disappointing, since he was certain that under different circumstances they might have enjoyed a perfectly pleasant conversation. Instead, he was forced to reach for his own sword and prepare for a fight he would much rather have avoided in his present condition.
The first attack came so quickly that he barely had time to deflect it on instinct. Bichen met Suibian, and Wei Ying immediately recognised that he was facing an exceptionally accomplished cultivator. His opponent’s movements were precise, perfectly balanced, and utterly free of wasted gestures. Yet Wei Ying couldn’t shake the impression that this beautiful little rabbit was testing him rather than genuinely trying to injure him, so he allowed himself a few unconventional techniques that would probably have earned him considerable disapproval during ordinary training.
“I must admit, you’re very good,” he observed after managing to deflect another strike and retreat between the trees. “But don’t you think we could talk first? I’d hate to ruin such lovely clothes.”
His opponent gave no answer, merely changed stance and attacked again. Wei Ying smiled and attempted to use the surrounding terrain to his advantage, but at precisely that moment, his Golden Core betrayed him. A sharp pain tore through his lower abdomen, his spiritual energy scattered, and his right leg gave way beneath him. One mistake was all it took. Before he could recover, he was kneeling in the snow with a cold blade pointed at his throat.
Under normal circumstances, he would have attempted to stand immediately, but this time he knew doing so would only make matters worse. Instead, he raised his eyes towards the figure above him and, for the first time, had a proper opportunity to study that beautiful face. The delicate features and striking eyes had caught his attention already, but now he noticed details that had escaped him during their fight. The rabbit ears were much longer than he had expected, their fine fur almost shimmering in the light. The silver ornament across the forehead resembled tiny flowers dusted with frost, while the pale blue layers of the hanfu contrasted beautifully with the black hair. Wei Ying was perfectly aware that a sword was still aimed at his throat, but he simply couldn’t help himself.
“I must say, you have a rather unusual way of welcoming guests,” he remarked, attempting a smile despite the nausea beginning to rise within him. “And here I thought I’d finally met a beautiful girl who might show me the way.”
“I’m not a woman,” came the answer from above.
Wei Ying looked up in surprise and stared at his opponent for several moments. Then the corners of his mouth slowly began to rise.
“Really? Then you have my apologies. Though it doesn’t change the fact that you’re beautiful.”
Had he felt better, he would probably have added several more observations, because his new acquaintance had just adopted such a stern expression that it was becoming irresistible to tease him. Unfortunately, the pain intensified again, forcing Wei Ying to brace one hand against the ground. His vision darkened, and he knew perfectly well that this was no ordinary exhaustion.
Lan Wangji had never seen a living fox before. He knew them only from chronicles and the stories told by the elders, who described them as cunning, dangerous creatures capable of exploiting every weakness in an opponent. When he detected the disturbance in the protective barrier, he had expected an intruder he would need to drive out immediately. Instead, he had discovered a young cultivator who had somehow made his way through one of the clan’s most intricate barriers while looking as though he had scarcely eaten in days. During their fight, Wangji had recognised his extraordinary talent, but had also noticed something troubling. The stranger’s spiritual energy flowed irregularly, as though his Golden Core could no longer reliably control how much power it released.
When the fox collapsed, Wangji immediately lowered Bichen and knelt beside him. He carefully moved part of the damaged robe aside to check for serious injuries, and it was then that he noticed the old scars around the stranger’s wrists. Others ran along his shoulder and disappeared beneath the fabric, where the marks left by a spiritual weapon could also be seen. Wangji knew what such injuries looked like, and their number suggested that the stranger had endured something far worse than an ordinary fight.
Wei Ying tried to stand, but his body refused to cooperate.
“If you’re going to throw me out, could you at least give me a few minutes?” he asked, looking down at the snow beginning to soak through his clothes. “I’d much rather leave on my own two feet, but they seem to have other ideas.”
Wangji studied him for a moment before offering his hand. Wei Ying looked at it as though uncertain whether it truly belonged to the same person who had been holding a sword to his throat only moments earlier. Eventually, however, he accepted it and attempted to get up. The moment he put weight on his right leg, another wave of pain swept through him, and Wangji had to catch him before he collapsed again.
It was at that very moment that something happened which Lan Zhan could not explain.
His spiritual energy responded to the stranger’s presence in an unusual way. It was neither a violent surge nor an attempt to transfer energy. Rather, it was a brief, unexpected harmony that he felt the moment their hands met. For an instant, it seemed as though two separate currents had encountered one another and, instead of resisting, had naturally adjusted to each other. He had experienced something vaguely similar during advanced joint cultivation, but never so effortlessly, and certainly never without conscious effort.
Wangji committed the sensation to memory, but made no attempt to reproduce it. The stranger was seriously injured, and he had far more pressing concerns than investigating his own spiritual energy’s peculiar reaction. Supporting Wei Ying by the arm, he slowly led him towards a secluded pavilion away from the main paths. He knew that bringing an unknown person into the protected sanctuary violated the rules, but he also refused to leave an injured cultivator lying in the snow. If there were consequences for his decision, he would accept them. For now, he needed to ensure that the fox survived long enough to receive proper treatment.
Wei Ying remembered only fragments of the journey. The cold air, the scent of pine needles, the softness of white robes, and the quiet footsteps of someone who refused to release him despite his protests. Several times he tried to insist that he could walk on his own, but each attempt was met with the same curt instruction to conserve his strength. Eventually, he decided it was better to obey, particularly since the pain was beginning to erode what little patience he had left.
When he woke later in a clean bed, the first thing he saw was a familiar white figure sitting at a low table. His rescuer’s long black hair had been carefully arranged, the silver ornament rested across his forehead, and his rabbit ears immediately turned towards the sound of Wei Ying moving. For a while, Wei Ying simply watched him before an irrepressible smile spread across his face.
“So you really aren’t a woman?” he asked, earning himself such a severe look that several more remarks immediately came to mind. “Forgive me. I just wanted to be certain. You see, I didn’t exactly have much time to admire you properly during our first meeting.”
“Drink your medicine,” his rescuer replied, offering him a bowl of dark liquid whose smell promised nothing pleasant.
Wei Ying frowned at the bowl. “All of this? Don’t you have anything that tastes a little better? Wine, perhaps?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
Wangji gave him another stern look, and Wei Ying sighed. He finally accepted the bowl, but before taking a sip, he raised his eyes again.
“At least tell me your name. It would be terribly unfortunate to die of poisoning without knowing whom I ought to thank.”
“Lan Wangji.”
“Lan Wangji,” Wuxian repeated, considering the name for a moment. “And what do your friends call you?”
Wangji said nothing, but his expression made it abundantly clear that he saw no reason to discuss such matters. Wei Ying smiled and finally drank his medicine. It tasted even worse than expected, but for once, he decided not to comment. Instead, he made a mental note to discover exactly what lay beneath that beautiful, severe face.
During his first days in Jingshi, Wei Ying attempted to remain as inconspicuous as possible, an effort that lasted approximately until he could finally stand without assistance. It wasn’t that he wanted to cause his rescuer trouble. But spending entire days in bed, drinking bitter medicine, and listening to the bamboo rustling outside the window was almost unbearable for someone who had spent the past several months travelling. Besides, there were so many fascinating things he wanted to examine. Ancient cultivation texts lay on the table, books stood neatly arranged along the shelves, and beyond the window stretched a section of the garden he had only glimpsed during his journey to the pavilion. Most fascinating of all, however, was Lan Wangji himself.
Wei Ying quickly discovered that his rescuer spoke only when he genuinely had something to say. He rarely answered unnecessary questions, disliked having his personal space invaded, and responded to every attempt at flirting with such a perfectly serious expression that a less determined person would have given up immediately. Wuxian, however, had always possessed a particular fondness for such challenges. Especially once he noticed that Wangji’s long rabbit ears were not quite as disciplined as the rest of him. When irritated, they generally stood straighter; when surprised, they tilted slightly forward; and when a remark genuinely unsettled him, their tips trembled for a fleeting moment.
One morning, Wei Ying decided to put his theory to the test. Lan Zhan was preparing another dose of medicine when he settled comfortably against his pillows and regarded him with the expression of someone who had just thought of something exceptionally important.
“Lan Zhan, may I ask you something?” he began innocently, although Wangji didn’t even look up. “You said your ears are sensitive. Does that mean you can hear things other people can’t? For instance, when someone talks about you in the next room?”
“Wei Ying.” Wangji set the bowl down and gave him a brief look that clearly indicated he had no intention of entertaining this conversation.
“All right, all right, I’ll be quiet.” Wuxian raised his hands, although the smile never left his face. “I’m only curious. You know, if I had ears as beautiful as yours, I’d probably be very protective of them too. Though I must admit, I’d quite like to take a closer look.”
When he reached towards them, Wangji immediately stepped back, his gaze hardening. There was nothing theatrical about the movement, merely an unmistakable refusal that Wei Ying understood more quickly than any spoken reprimand. He withdrew his hand and rested it on his knee instead.
“All right, Lan Zhan. I won’t touch them,” he said more quietly. “I only wanted to tease you.”
Wangji regarded him for a moment, as though considering whether he could be trusted, before placing the prepared medicine in front of him. Wuxian noticed that his ears gradually returned to their usual position and decided to abandon such experiments for the time being. Teasing Lan Zhan was entertaining, but he had no intention of crossing boundaries the other man had made perfectly clear. There were, after all, plenty of other ways to make a beautiful rabbit lose his composure, and Wei Ying was convinced he hadn’t yet discovered half of them.
In the meantime, Wangji cared for him with the same meticulous attention he devoted to everything else. Every morning, he checked the flow of spiritual energy, prepared his medicine, and made certain that his patient actually rested. When he discovered that Wei Ying reacted badly to certain herbs, he adjusted their proportions without considering it necessary to mention the change. Despite his many responsibilities, he always found time to check on his condition, and sometimes remained with him during his evening meditation. Yet he never questioned him about his past or pressed him to explain the injuries whose origins, as an experienced cultivator, he must have recognised.
That surprised Wei Ying more than anything.
He was accustomed to people wanting to know everything. Why had he left the Jiang clan? How had he acquired those scars? What exactly had he done to inspire such unpleasant rumours? Lan Zhan never asked. When he needed to know something for the sake of his treatment, he asked a specific question, and Wuxian answered it. But whenever the conversation approached something more personal, Wangji allowed him to decide whether to continue.
At first, Wei Ying assumed it was disinterest. With time, however, he discovered that his rescuer remembered even things he had mentioned only in passing. When he once remarked that certain medicines left him feeling cold, he found an extra blanket beside the bed that evening. When he complained that the food was rather bland, a small bowl of spicy sauce appeared on the table the following day. And when his Golden Core failed him during meditation, Lan Zhan interrupted his own practice without a word and remained beside him until his spiritual energy settled again.
During one of these meditations, Wangji also found his first confirmation of the suspicion that had formed during their meeting in the forest. Wei Ying’s Golden Core was indeed damaged, and the flow of his spiritual energy was disrupted in several places. Yet whenever Lan Zhan helped him stabilise it, an extraordinarily natural harmony developed between them. Their spiritual energy did not interfere with one another. Instead, the two currents adjusted to each other with an ease Wangji had never experienced. He knew of ancient texts describing such a connection, but had always regarded them more as accounts of forgotten traditions than something he might encounter himself.
According to those records, some people could meet another person in their lifetime whose spiritual energy naturally resonated with their own. Such bonds were exceptionally rare, and the old chronicles described them as the bonds of fated mates. It was not simply attraction, nor was it a connection that could be manufactured through cultivation techniques. Often, it manifested long before either person understood what the other meant to them, and sometimes it remained unrecognised throughout their entire lives.
Lan Zhan considered the matter for a long time. He did not believe it wise to draw conclusions from a handful of unusual reactions, particularly while Wei Ying was so badly injured. And even if they truly were fated mates, that did not give him the right to decide the other’s future. All he knew was that the unfamiliar fox he had considered a dangerous intruder only days before had awakened an interest in him that he could not fully explain. For now, it was enough that Wei Ying was safe and slowly recovering.
Their secret, however, could not remain hidden forever.
Lan Xichen noticed the changes in his brother’s behaviour during the very first week. Wangji was in excellent physical condition, rarely fell ill, and certainly had no habit of neglecting his health. When Xichen discovered that he had repeatedly requested medicinal herbs used to treat a damaged Golden Core, he began to suspect that something had happened. His younger brother was also spending considerable time in a secluded pavilion, having additional portions of food prepared, and had declined several invitations to dine together on the grounds that he had other responsibilities. Xichen knew him far too well to believe it was all coincidence.
So when he made his way to Jingshi one afternoon, he expected to find an injured brother attempting to conceal his own medical problems. What he certainly did not expect was to hear an unfamiliar voice from inside the pavilion, apparently trying to persuade Wangji of something.
“Lan Zhan, just listen to me for a moment. The herbs have the right properties, but the combination is dreadful. If you’d let me adjust the proportions a little, I could make something that doesn’t taste like water wrung from old socks.”
Wei Ying was sitting on the bed with a bowl of medicine in his hands, looking entirely convinced that his argument was beyond dispute. Wangji, seated opposite him, showed not the slightest interest in modifying the prescription. He merely held out his hand and waited for Wuxian to drink the medicine, which the fox naturally had no intention of doing.
“And you don’t need to look at me like that. I know what I’m doing. I could even show you a few interesting techniques, if you were interested.”
“Medicine,” Wangji replied.
Wei Ying sighed, recognising that he was unlikely to win this particular argument. He was just drawing breath to try another when he noticed a figure in the doorway. The second rabbit was older than Lan Zhan, dressed in similarly pale robes and bearing a clear resemblance to him, although his expression was considerably more welcoming. Wuxian glanced between them, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Lan Zhan, you never told me you had a brother. Do you keep all these beautiful faces hidden away up here in the mountains?”
Wangji immediately turned towards the door. Upon seeing Xichen, he rose and inclined his head slightly, but Wei Ying did not miss the way he positioned himself between the bed and the newcomer. It took Xichen only a few seconds to realise that he had discovered something rather more interesting than an injured brother.
“Wangji, I believe you owe me an explanation,” Xichen observed with a mild smile, despite being fully aware of the seriousness of the situation. His gaze settled on the fox ears, then the bowl of medicine, and finally on Wangji’s face, which revealed absolutely nothing. “I assume those medicines aren’t for you.”
“No,” Wangji answered, then added after a brief pause, “Wei Ying is injured. I found him near the western barrier.”
Wei Ying decided it would be better not to leave his rescuer to explain everything on his own. He set the bowl aside and attempted to rise, but barely had he stood when the familiar pain swept through his lower abdomen. He stopped, waited for it to pass, and only then offered a respectful bow.
“Wei Wuxian. And to avoid any misunderstandings, your brother didn’t invite me here. I crossed the barrier myself. If I’d known this was a private sanctuary, I would certainly have asked permission before entering.” He glanced at Wangji and raised an amused eyebrow. “Although, considering the welcome he gave me, I rather suspect he wouldn’t have answered anyway.”
Xichen noticed that Wangji’s ears straightened slightly at the last remark, but his brother made no reply. Instead, he approached Wuxian to make certain he did not require assistance. He did not touch him, merely remained close enough to catch him if he became unsteady again. Xichen knew that small gesture of attentiveness well. Wangji behaved similarly towards those for whom he felt responsible, but this time there was something more personal about it. He couldn’t have said precisely what, yet it made him reconsider the question he had originally intended to ask.
“Wei-gongzi, please sit down. I’d rather you didn’t exhaust yourself on my account,” he said, then turned towards his brother. “Wangji, we will have to inform Uncle about this. I understand why you helped him, but we cannot conceal the fact that someone managed to cross our barriers.”
Wei Ying fell briefly silent. He knew he had caused his rescuer trouble, but only now was he beginning to appreciate its true extent. Over the past several days, he had learned how strictly the rules were observed in Cloud Recesses, and he certainly did not want to be the reason Lan Zhan faced punishment.
“If my presence is a problem, I can leave,” he offered, making no attempt to joke this time. “I’m feeling better, and I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me.”
“No,” Wangji answered immediately.
Wei Ying looked at him in surprise. Wangji stood beside him with an utterly serious expression and apparently saw no need to explain his decision. Wuxian smiled, though this time there was something different about it.
“Lan Zhan, do you actually want me here?” he asked with the lightness he habitually employed whenever he wasn’t quite certain what to make of something. “If I’d known you were going to miss me, I wouldn’t even have offered to leave.”
Wangji gave him a stern look, but Wei Ying noticed a tiny tremor at the tips of his ears. Before he could decide whether to tease him further, his rescuer handed him the bowl of medicine and curtly instructed him to finally drink it. Xichen, who had been observing the entire exchange, had to conceal his smile behind his sleeve. Suddenly, he was beginning to understand why his younger brother had seemed so unlike himself lately.
Later, as they left the pavilion, Xichen stopped and turned towards Wangji once more. Wei Ying had remained inside, his condition having worsened again during the conversation, and Wangji had insisted that he rest.
“Wangji,” Xichen began quietly, “do you understand how serious what you’ve done is?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you told me nothing about him.”
Wangji lowered his eyes. “I didn’t want to jeopardise his treatment.”
Xichen was silent for a moment. He knew his brother well enough to recognise that this was no excuse. Wangji genuinely considered the injured stranger’s health more important than his own comfort, but Xichen was also beginning to realise that something else might lie behind his decision.
“Wangji, is there something unusual about him?” he asked after a while.
His brother looked at him and remained silent for several moments. Then he slowly nodded.
Xichen waited, but no further explanation came. In the end, he decided not to press the matter. He knew Wangji’s nature and understood that if something troubled him, he needed time to come to terms with it himself. Nevertheless, Xichen made a mental note to pay attention not only to the unfamiliar fox’s health, but also to the way his younger brother behaved in his presence.
Lan Qiren learned of the stranger’s presence the following day, when both nephews requested a private audience. Xichen considered it only right that their uncle hear the entire matter directly from them, and Wangji agreed to accept responsibility for his decision. Neither, however, expected quite such a furious reaction.
“A fox?” Qiren repeated, slowly setting his teacup down. “Are you telling me that you found an unfamiliar fox inside our protective barriers, brought him into Jingshi, and concealed him there for several days without informing anyone?”
Wangji nodded. “He was injured.”
“I understood that!”
Qiren drew a deep breath and turned towards Xichen, apparently expecting his older nephew to provide a more reasonable explanation.
“And you knew about this?”
“I learned of it yesterday, Uncle. Wangji explained what happened, and we agreed that we must inform you.”
Qiren braced his hands against the table and studied them both for a moment. It was clear that he was struggling to contain his anger, but the thought that someone had managed to penetrate the sanctuary his ancestors had protected for generations genuinely frightened him. Cloud Recesses was no ordinary residence. It was the last safe refuge of the rabbit clan, which had once come close to destruction precisely because its people had placed their trust in the wrong hands. The protective barriers, strict rules, and limited contact with the outside world had arisen in response to events the clan continued to preserve in its chronicles. And now his own nephews were informing him that someone capable of breaching those barriers was living inside them.
“Wangji, do you have any idea what the consequences could have been?” he demanded at last, his voice far more serious than before. “If one stranger managed to enter, others could discover our sanctuary as well. And if he truly is a fox, we have no assurance whatsoever that his intentions are as innocent as he claims.”
“Wei Ying has harmed no one,” Wangji replied calmly. “I’ve repaired the barrier. His Golden Core is damaged, and further travel would put him at risk.”
Qiren pressed his lips together and regarded his younger nephew. Wangji had made no attempt to excuse or diminish his decision, but it was equally clear that he had no intention of abandoning something he believed to be right. Qiren knew that expression well. He had seen it countless times throughout Wangji’s childhood, particularly when his nephew decided that a rule conflicted with what he himself considered just.
“And what about his origins?” the elder continued, reaching for one of the chronicles on his desk. “Do you even know why our ancestors feared foxes? It wasn’t merely their ability to lie or change their appearance. Some huli jing could control resentful energy, summon the dead, and employ techniques that other clans condemned as demonic cultivation. We have records of what happened when such power escaped their control.”
Xichen frowned. He was, of course, familiar with these stories, but he also understood that their age and the manner in which they had been handed down did not make them unquestionable truth.
“Uncle, we don’t know whether Wei Wuxian possesses any such abilities,” he pointed out. “And if his Golden Core really is damaged, what he needs first and foremost is treatment. We shouldn’t make an enemy of him simply because he is huli jing.”
Qiren gave him a severe look.
“It is precisely his damaged Golden Core that concerns me, Xichen. You know as well as I do that desperation can drive even a capable cultivator to use techniques he would otherwise reject. And if this young man is truly as talented as Wangji claims, he may be capable of far more than we ourselves can imagine.”
Wangji had remained silent throughout the exchange, but when Qiren turned towards him again, his answer was as composed as before.
“Wei Ying has not used such techniques.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I examined his spiritual energy,” Wangji replied. “I found no signs that he has used resentful energy.”
Qiren hesitated. He knew his nephew would never make such a claim without reason, yet the possibility that the fox might one day choose to use abilities he had not yet demonstrated continued to trouble him. Eventually, he sighed and decided to proceed more cautiously.
“Bring him here,” he said. “I wish to speak with him. Until I decide otherwise, he is not to leave Jingshi.”
When Wei Wuxian appeared in Lan Qiren’s study several hours later, he knew exactly whom he was about to face. Xichen had already warned him that their uncle held extremely strict views concerning the clan’s rules and the presence of outsiders, and Wuxian had decided that, for once, he would avoid unnecessary provocation. Not because he was frightened. He simply understood that Lan Zhan had broken several important rules on his behalf, and he had no intention of making matters worse for him.
Lan Qiren studied him for a long time before allowing him to sit. Wei Ying remained standing beside Xichen and noticed that his host possessed the same long rabbit ears as the brothers, although his fur was somewhat darker and shaded towards grey at the edges. His expression was so severe that Wuxian immediately understood where Lan Zhan had acquired some of his remarkable ability to silence people with a single glance. The difference was that Wangji’s sternness generally amused him, whereas he suspected similar remarks directed at Qiren might not end particularly well.
“Wei Wuxian,” the elder addressed him, gesturing for him to come closer. “I assume you know why I’ve summoned you.”
“Lan Qiren, your nephew explained that my presence presents a problem,” Wei Ying answered with a slight bow. “I had no intention of trespassing on your clan’s territory. I was searching for a way into the valley and discovered the protective barrier by chance.”
“By chance?” Qiren raised an eyebrow. “Are you claiming that you accidentally passed through a barrier our ancestors spent generations creating?”
Wei Ying hesitated for a moment. He could simply agree and allow the elder to believe that it had been an extraordinary coincidence. But that wouldn’t be true, and besides, it would insult the intelligence of the man sitting before him.
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “I examined it first. It’s exceptionally well designed, but when the direction of the spiritual energy changes, a brief imbalance develops along the western side. I noticed it and used that moment to pass through.”
Qiren frowned. “And why didn’t you go around it?”
“Because I was exhausted, freezing, and had no idea where I was,” Wuxian replied evenly. “I thought there might be a path or a village on the other side. If I’d known it was your sanctuary, I probably would have tried to find another way.”
“Probably?”
Wei Ying sighed. “Very well. I certainly would have tried to find another way. But I can’t promise I would have made it very far in the condition I was in.”
Qiren studied him for a moment, then rested his hands on the table, his expression hardening.
“Do you even know why our clan hides from the outside world?”
Wuxian shook his head. “I know a few stories about the rabbit clans, but I don’t know what happened to yours specifically. And I won’t pretend to understand when I don’t know the details.”
Lan Qiren reached for an old chronicle lying beside his tea and opened it at a page marked with a faded ribbon. Wei Ying immediately recognised the symbol of the huli jing in the margin and tilted his head to examine several ancient illustrations. They depicted foxes with long tails surrounded by dark currents of energy, alongside figures apparently intended to represent the dead being controlled through unfamiliar techniques.
“I assume you know the history of your own kind,” Qiren began. “Our ancestors did not encounter foxes merely as merchants or cultivators. There are records of those who could control the dead and manipulate resentful energy in ways other clans considered unacceptable. Some of these incidents had very serious consequences.”
Wei Ying examined the book, then raised his eyes.
“I know those stories. Some are quite fascinating, although I’d say their authors occasionally had rather overactive imaginations.” Noticing Qiren’s expression, he decided to continue more seriously. “But yes, I understand what you’re referring to. Huli jing can perceive resentful energy differently from most cultivators. Some can even work with it. That doesn’t mean every fox in the world goes around summoning the dead.”
“And you?” Qiren asked, closing the book. “Do you possess such abilities?”
Wuxian considered his answer. He could deny everything, but that would hardly be sensible, particularly when he was speaking to someone who had devoted his entire life to the study of cultivation.
“I can sense resentful energy, and I understand certain principles on which such techniques might be developed,” he admitted. “But I’ve never used them. And before you ask, that isn’t because I believe myself incapable. I simply haven’t yet had a reason to risk using something I might not be able to control.”
Lan Qiren regarded him for a long time.
“Your Golden Core is damaged. What will you do if one day you can no longer use spiritual energy? Or if you find yourself in a situation where no other choice remains?”
Wei Ying disliked the question, largely because he had considered it himself countless times. He knew his Golden Core might not withstand another serious injury, and he was well aware that such circumstances could force him to make a decision he had not yet faced. But he had no intention of making Lan Qiren a promise he wasn’t certain he could keep.
“I don’t know,” he answered after a moment. “If I had to choose between letting someone die and using a technique others consider forbidden, I would have to think very carefully about which was truly worse. But you cannot condemn me for a decision I haven’t made.”
Qiren drew breath to reply, but Wangji, who had been standing quietly beside his brother, spoke first.
“Wei Ying has not chosen that path,” he said calmly, looking directly at his uncle. “We have no reason to assume he will.”
“Wangji, danger does not disappear simply because you choose to ignore it,” Qiren objected, but his nephew did not look away. Wei Ying noticed that Wangji’s ears remained perfectly upright, and he knew exactly what that meant. Lan Zhan was prepared to stand by his decision however long the conversation lasted.
“I’m not ignoring it,” Wangji replied. “I know Wei Ying’s character.”
Lan Qiren looked between them and realised that further arguments were unlikely to change his nephew’s mind. What surprised him more, however, was Wuxian’s answer. The young fox before him had not promised never to do anything wrong, nor had he pretended that dangerous techniques did not exist. He had acknowledged his own abilities and his uncertainty about whether he might ever use them. Qiren disliked that openness, because he would have preferred an unambiguous promise. Nevertheless, he had to admit that it was more honest than many answers he had heard throughout his life.
“You will remain in Cloud Recesses only until you recover,” he decided at last. “And I expect you to refrain from experimenting with any techniques that could endanger others. Particularly those involving resentful energy.”
Wei Ying bowed and nodded.
“That I can promise. I have no intention of using Cloud Recesses for dangerous experiments. Incidentally, if you wish, I could show you how I passed through your barrier sometime. There is one section that might benefit from a little adjustment.”
Qiren studied him at length before turning towards Xichen.
“See that the weakness is corrected.”
Xichen nodded, and Wei Ying noticed the faint smile appearing on his face. Lan Zhan, meanwhile, stood beside him with an entirely composed expression, although Wuxian thought one of his rabbit ears had relaxed slightly. Perhaps that meant he was relieved. Or perhaps his neck was simply getting tired from standing so long.
When they left the study later, Wei Ying leaned closer to Wangji and quietly observed that his uncle possessed a truly remarkable ability to make someone feel guilty even when they hadn’t actually done anything yet. Lan Zhan gave him a brief look and reminded him that he should respect the clan’s rules. Wuxian smiled and promised to try, although both knew perfectly well that his interpretation of proper behaviour would probably present Lan Qiren with a long-term challenge.
Over the following weeks, life in Jingshi gradually settled into a routine. Lan Qiren kept his word and allowed Wei Wuxian to remain until his Golden Core had at least partially recovered. Xichen, meanwhile, made certain that the members of the clan responsible for protecting Cloud Recesses were informed of the stranger’s presence. There was no reason to continue concealing him, particularly once it became clear that the barrier truly did contain the weakness Wei Ying had identified. Nevertheless, his movements remained restricted, and Wangji insisted that he avoid demanding cultivation exercises for the first few weeks. Wuxian naturally protested on several occasions, but after discovering that Lan Zhan could be even more stubborn about matters of health than Jiang Cheng, he eventually decided to concentrate on activities that didn’t require leaving Jingshi.
It soon became apparent that this was not at all easy.
Wei Ying was constantly coming up with new ideas, and whenever he wasn’t studying one of the ancient cultivation texts, he was attempting to modify talismans that Wangji had brought him from the library. Certain techniques fascinated him so much that he began keeping his own notes, and several times he even asked Lan Zhan to explain the principles behind the methods used by the rabbit clan. Wangji answered briefly, but he never dismissed a genuine question concerning cultivation. Wei Ying soon discovered that if he stopped trying to unsettle his companion and began discussing something they both understood, they could have surprisingly long conversations. Lan Zhan still spoke far less than he did, but his observations were precise and frequently made Wuxian reconsider his ideas from a different perspective.
One evening, Wei Ying was attempting to modify a simple protective talisman so that it would respond to changes in its surroundings. He sat at the low table with papers scattered around him, beginning the same symbol for the third time, when Lan Zhan appeared beside him and examined his work.
“This stroke needs to go in another direction,” he observed, indicating a particular line.
Wei Ying looked at him, then back at the talisman, and finally smiled in satisfaction.
“Lan Zhan, you’re a genius. Do you realise that if we worked together more often, we could invent some truly fascinating things?”
Wangji examined his other notes and calmly replied that some of the techniques had already been described in older texts. Wuxian immediately brightened and began asking where he might find them, which led to yet another evening spent studying together.
It was during such moments that Wei Ying began to realise that his attraction to Lan Zhan went far beyond his appearance. Never before had he met someone who could keep pace with his thoughts so effortlessly. Wangji was meticulous, considered matters deeply, and could identify flaws Wuxian had overlooked in his enthusiasm. Yet he was not someone who rejected new ideas simply because they differed from established methods. If Wei Ying could explain why a technique should work, Lan Zhan was willing to listen and, when appropriate, test it with him. Wuxian enjoyed this kind of collaboration more than anything. He did not have to pretend to be less capable than he was, nor worry that his questions would be regarded as inappropriate.
With the arrival of spring, Cloud Recesses slowly began to change. Snow retreated from the lower mountain slopes, streams regained their usual strength, and the first tiny flowers appeared between the stones. Wei Ying had recovered enough to take longer walks and resume certain cultivation techniques. His Golden Core was still far from healthy, but regular treatment and shared meditation with Wangji helped keep his spiritual energy more stable than it had been during the last months of his travels.
Lan Qiren eventually agreed that Wuxian could move beyond Jingshi, provided he respected the clan’s basic rules. This decision, however, soon brought a few unexpected complications. The younger disciples began showing considerable interest in the unfamiliar fox, and since Wei Ying had always had a natural affinity for children, it wasn’t long before a small group of curious young rabbits began gathering around him.
At first, some were frightened of him. The stories they had heard from their elders about foxes were alarming enough to make them keep their distance, but Wuxian possessed a peculiar ability to put people at ease. He never mocked them for questions he considered foolish, and whenever someone failed to understand something, he could find an entirely different way of explaining it. He soon discovered that the young rabbits had excellent foundations in cultivation, but that certain techniques were taught so mechanically that their underlying principles were often lost.
One afternoon, for instance, he came upon a young disciple sitting on the steps outside the library, looking as though he might burst into tears at any moment. Several talismans lay scattered before him, none of them functioning correctly, and it took Wei Ying only a few moments to understand the problem. The boy was trying to reproduce his teacher’s instructions exactly, but he had no idea why the different symbols needed to follow a particular order.
“Show me that last one,” Wuxian asked, sitting down beside him. “Do you see this stroke here? When you draw it in this direction, the spiritual energy begins gathering in the centre of the talisman. But you need it to spread outwards, otherwise the entire spell collapses.”
He took the brush and corrected one of the unsuccessful attempts with a few simple movements. Then he handed the paper back and encouraged the boy to try again. When the talisman finally glowed with a gentle light, the young rabbit looked at him with such delight that Wei Ying couldn’t help smiling.
“See? You’re not bad at this at all. You’ve just been trying to memorise something you didn’t really understand.”
The boy nodded and immediately began asking about other techniques. Wei Ying answered patiently, entirely unaware that Lan Qiren, who happened to be passing the library, was observing them from a distance. The elder had initially expected to find the fox teaching his disciples some dubious tricks, but instead he witnessed a method of instruction that, although unconventional, was remarkably effective. Wuxian did not merely demonstrate the correct solution. He guided the children towards understanding why the techniques worked and encouraged them not to be afraid of asking questions.
Qiren was not particularly enthusiastic about this approach, since it generally led to far more questions than he considered necessary. Nevertheless, he had to acknowledge the results. Several disciples who had struggled with cultivation for some time improved significantly over the following weeks and even began showing a greater interest in theoretical study.
Not everyone, however, shared his slowly growing appreciation.
Su Minshan, a younger member of the clan who had long sought greater recognition from the elders, regarded Wuxian’s presence as a dangerous precedent. He resented the fact that a foreign fox had been granted opportunities some members of the clan had spent years working towards, and he was even more irritated that the younger disciples were beginning to bring Wuxian questions they had previously asked only their teachers.
One afternoon, he therefore decided to draw Lan Qiren’s attention to several talismans Wei Ying had been using during his informal lessons. They were written in black ink and contained symbols that did not appear in the Lan clan’s standard textbooks. Su Minshan claimed that such methods might be connected to demonic cultivation and demanded that Wuxian be forbidden from teaching until his techniques had been properly investigated. Lan Qiren examined the talismans and had to admit that some of the symbols were unfamiliar to him. Nevertheless, he decided to hear their creator’s explanation before taking any action.
Wei Ying arrived at the study carrying several pages of notes and immediately understood what was happening. Upon seeing the talismans spread across the table, he glanced at them before turning towards Su Minshan, who stood beside Lan Qiren with the expression of someone convinced he had just uncovered something of extraordinary importance.
“So these are my talismans,” Wuxian remarked, picking up one of the papers. “I must say, they look quite good. I drew this one last week when we were experimenting with changing the direction of spiritual energy.”
“These symbols do not appear in our textbooks,” Su Minshan pointed out. “And some resemble techniques described in forbidden texts.”
Wei Ying looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Really? Then show me which ones. I’d be rather interested to know how you reached that conclusion.”
Su Minshan hesitated briefly before pointing to one of the modified symbols. Wuxian examined it and slowly nodded.
“Ah, so it’s this stroke that bothers you. I can see why it looks unusual, but its purpose is entirely different from what you think. If you drew it in the opposite direction, it really could attract resentful energy. But I’m using it to distribute spiritual energy into a protective field. Here, I’ll show you the difference.”
Lan Qiren stopped him immediately.
“No experiments involving resentful energy.”
Wei Ying smiled and set the brush down.
“I wasn’t planning any. All I need to do is adjust the other part of the talisman, and the difference will be visible without any risk.”
He took a clean sheet of paper and drew a simple variation of the original symbol, then activated it with a faint current of spiritual energy. For a moment, a soft light appeared around the paper, and a small protective barrier formed above the table. Wuxian allowed both men to examine it before calmly explaining why his method was safe.
Qiren remained silent for a moment before nodding.
“The technique is sound.”
Su Minshan immediately attempted to object, but the elder interrupted him.
“That does not mean we shall automatically regard every unfamiliar method as suitable. Wei Wuxian, I expect you to submit new techniques for examination before teaching them. And you, Su Minshan, would do well to make certain you actually understand what you are criticising next time.”
Wei Ying bowed and accepted the condition without further comment. Only after leaving the study, where Lan Zhan was waiting in the corridor, did he allow himself a small smile.
“You know, Lan Zhan, I think your uncle is beginning to like me. Today he even admitted I’d done something right.”
Wangji studied him. “Don’t provoke him.”
“Me? Never.”
Wuxian smiled innocently, but then his expression grew more serious.
“Do you know what annoys me most about this? That some people only have to see black ink before they assume I’m trying to summon the dead. If they bothered to examine the symbols properly, they’d realise it’s an ordinary protective technique.”
Lan Zhan was quiet for a moment before looking at him.
“Your work is good.”
Wei Ying paused, then smiled much more sincerely.
“Thank you, Lan Zhan. Coming from you, that means a great deal.”
Wangji nodded and continued walking. Wei Ying followed him, reflecting on how strange it was that someone so reserved and severe could improve his mood with a handful of words far more effectively than others managed with elaborate speeches. He was beginning to understand that certain things worked very differently between them than he was accustomed to.
By summer, Cloud Recesses had become almost unrecognisable. Snow had disappeared from most of the gardens, and little flowers Wei Ying had previously seen only in mountain meadows now bloomed between the stone paths. The streams ran with clear water, bamboo groves offered welcome shade, and the soft notes of a guqin drifted from the open pavilions. Wuxian was particularly fond of a path leading alongside a small pond, where he could hide from everyone for a while and watch fish swimming among the stones. He often went there with Lan Zhan, who gradually showed him other parts of the sanctuary and told him about their history.
One day, Wangji led him to a garden Wei Ying had never seen before. It was concealed behind tall trees, reached by a narrow path that would have been easy to overlook without knowing where to search. Beautiful blue flowers grew within, but unlike the rest of the gardens, a thin layer of ice still covered the ground. The flowers beneath it were perfectly preserved, and tiny crystals of frost glittered around them, although summer had long since begun everywhere else.
Wei Ying stopped and looked around in wonder.
“Lan Zhan, this is beautiful. How can it still be frozen?”
Wangji remained silent for a moment before answering.
“It belonged to Mother.”
Wuxian looked at him and immediately understood that this was no ordinary garden. He knew Lan Zhan rarely spoke of his family, and although Xichen had previously hinted that their childhood had not been easy, he had never dared ask for details. Now, however, he stood beside someone who was gazing at the frozen flowers with an expression Wuxian had never seen on his face before.
“I came here as a child,” Wangji continued after a while. “Once a month.”
Wei Ying sat down on a low stone bench and allowed him to speak at his own pace. Eventually, Lan Zhan told him about his mother, whom he and his brother had been allowed to visit only on designated days, about their father, who had withdrawn from public life, and about their uncle, who had assumed responsibility for raising them. He did not speak at length, but Wuxian could piece together far more from those few sentences than Wangji probably expected.
“So your mother lived here alone?” he asked at last, looking towards the small pavilion at the centre of the garden.
Wangji nodded.
Wei Ying frowned. “And no one did anything about it?”
“It was Father’s decision.”
Wuxian sighed and watched the flowers beneath the ice for a while. He did not want to judge a man he had never met, but the thought of a woman confined to a garden where her own family could visit her only once a month left him deeply uncomfortable. It reminded him of too many things he had witnessed throughout his life. People who decided the fate of others because they were convinced they knew what was best for them.
“You know, Lan Zhan,” he said more quietly, “sometimes people believe they’re doing someone a kindness by protecting them from the world. But if they take away that person’s right to decide how to live in the process, I’m not sure it can still be called protection.”
Wangji looked at him and was silent for a long time. Wei Ying began to wonder whether he had said too much, but before he could apologise, Lan Zhan slowly nodded.
“Mn.”
Wuxian smiled faintly and leaned back against the bench.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to speak badly of your family. It simply reminded me of things I’ve experienced.”
Wangji sat beside him and watched the frozen flowers for a while. Then he turned towards Wuxian and asked a simple question he had never previously allowed himself to voice.
“Lotus Pier?”
Wei Ying looked up. He knew Lan Zhan had long since connected his scars with injuries inflicted by a spiritual weapon, and although he had never questioned him, he must have formed at least some suspicions. Wuxian considered falling back on his usual teasing, but eventually decided that this time, he would conceal nothing.
He told him about the Jiang clan, about Yanli and Jiang Cheng, about his decision to help several villagers, and about the trial that followed. He made no attempt to portray himself as a helpless innocent. He admitted that he had lost his temper more than once during the proceedings and that certain remarks he had made had done nothing to improve the situation. Even so, he insisted that under the same circumstances, he would make the same choice again. He could not have allowed innocent people to die simply to protect his clan’s position.
When he reached the part about Zidian, Lan Zhan straightened slightly. His expression remained unchanged, but Wei Ying noticed his fingers tightening around the edge of his robes. Still, Wangji did not interrupt. He let him finish and only then asked whether anyone had treated his injuries after the punishment.
Wei Ying shook his head.
“I left as soon as I could. I didn’t want to stay there a single day longer.”
Wangji lowered his gaze to his hands, where the old scars were still visible. For a while, he said nothing. Then he spoke words Wei Ying had certainly not expected.
“You did the right thing.”
Wuxian looked at him in surprise.
“Lan Zhan, you don’t even know everything that happened there.”
“You saved innocent people.”
“But the entire clan suffered consequences because of it.”
Wangji lifted his eyes.
“The blame for injustice does not belong to the person who stands against it.”
Wei Ying stared at him for a long time, momentarily at a loss for words. Over the past several months, he had heard countless opinions about his actions. Some had considered him irresponsible, others dangerous, and still others a fool who had failed to understand his own position. But Lan Zhan was the first person who had managed to separate his decision from the consequences he had suffered and judge it according to what he believed was right.
Wei Ying slowly smiled, without a trace of teasing this time.
“You know, Lan Zhan, I think I’m beginning to understand you.”
Wangji watched him for a moment and gave the slightest nod.
It was then that Wei Ying first truly understood what Lan Zhan meant to him. He was not merely a beautiful rabbit whom Wuxian enjoyed provoking, nor simply the person who had saved his life. He was someone who could understand his decisions without requiring him to explain every last detail. Someone unafraid to stand against the rules when they conflicted with his own moral convictions, yet who could still respect the traditions in which he had been raised.
There was a word for such a person in the old stories: zhiji. Someone who truly knew and understood you, someone before whom there was no need to pretend. Wei Ying had read about such a connection before, but had never imagined he might experience it himself. Now he was sitting beside Lan Zhan in a garden filled with frozen flowers, feeling that after so long, he had finally found someone before whom he did not need to hide either his pain or his beliefs.
Lan Zhan, meanwhile, studied his face and for the first time allowed himself to acknowledge that his feelings for Wuxian had long since grown beyond mere curiosity. He knew about the unusual harmony between their spiritual energy, was familiar with the old records concerning fated mates, and had confirmed during their shared meditations that something existed between them which ordinary cultivation techniques could not explain. Yet what mattered far more to him was what he had just heard. Wei Ying was someone who could confront injustice even at the cost of his own suffering, and still retain the ability to laugh, help others, and see the good in people.
After a while, Wuxian reached out and lightly rested his hand beside Wangji’s. This time, Wangji took it of his own accord. Wei Ying looked at him in surprise, but upon discovering that Lan Zhan had no intention of pulling away, he simply smiled and allowed their fingers to intertwine. They remained that way for a long time, while the light slowly changed among the trees and the frozen flowers caught the last delicate reflections of the setting sun.
Towards the end of summer, Wei Ying finally ventured beyond Cloud Recesses with Lan Zhan. It was no great expedition, merely a journey to several nearby villages where problems involving resentful energy had begun to appear. Xichen had originally intended to send a small group of cultivators, but when Wuxian learned the details, he immediately offered to help. He recognised such cases from his own travels and knew that certain kinds of spirits could be dealt with far more easily using properly modified talismans than through a long and dangerous fight.
Lan Qiren was not enthusiastic about his proposal, but eventually agreed. Mainly because Wangji would lead the expedition and could ensure that Wuxian did not overexert himself. Wei Ying smiled at the thought, knowing perfectly well that his beautiful rabbit would take such a responsibility extremely seriously.
The first two villages presented no major difficulties. In one, they needed only to restore the protective talismans around an old burial ground, while in the other they had to remove several objects in which resentful energy had accumulated over many years. The third case, however, was more complicated. Near an abandoned temple, corpses had begun appearing after sunset, attempting to enter the surrounding homes. The villagers were afraid to go outside, and several cultivators who had tried to solve the problem before them had returned with serious injuries.
Wei Ying examined the temple and immediately realised that these were no ordinary resentful corpses. Many years earlier, someone had created an incomplete summoning array here, which had gradually filled with resentful energy and begun responding to the presence of the living. It was particularly dangerous because the dead were not being controlled by any conscious force. They responded only to the energy drawing them in, and if someone attempted to destroy the entire array too quickly, the accumulated resentful energy might be released in a violent surge.
“This is going to be interesting,” Wuxian remarked, bending over one of the damaged symbols. “Whoever constructed this had a fairly good understanding of the basics, but then apparently stopped thinking about what would happen once the array filled up.”
Lan Zhan stood beside him and examined the remnants of the talismans.
“Unstable.”
“Exactly.” Wei Ying smiled at him in satisfaction. “See? That’s why I like you so much. I don’t have to explain everything from the beginning.”
Wangji gave him a stern look, but this time he did not move away when Wuxian leaned closer to indicate another section of the array. They examined its individual connections together before devising a method to disperse the energy gradually without endangering the surrounding houses. Wei Ying proposed several talismans of his own design, and Wangji supplemented them with a Lan clan protective technique capable of containing the resentful energy within a designated area.
While they worked, Wuxian became aware several times of just how easy it would be to attempt to control the accumulated resentful energy directly. He could sense its currents far more clearly than most cultivators and recognise points where a single correctly directed talisman might be enough to bring the entire array under his command. This was not the first time he had considered such a possibility. During his travels, he had encountered techniques that could form the foundations of demonic cultivation, but he had never used them. Not because he feared them, but because he understood how easily such power could turn against the very people he wanted to protect.
Now, moreover, he had Lan Zhan beside him, and for the first time in a very long while, he did not have to solve everything alone.
Once they had stabilised the array, Wangji used Bichen to sever its final connection while Wei Ying activated the prepared talismans. The resentful energy gradually dispersed, and the dead who had been moving around the temple only moments before finally collapsed to the ground. Wuxian leaned against the nearest pillar and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his Golden Core beginning to protest again. Lan Zhan noticed immediately, but this time he simply rested a hand on his shoulder and waited for him to straighten on his own.
“All right?” Wuxian asked with a smile once he had caught his breath.
Wangji studied him. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“A little,” Wei Ying admitted, standing upright. “But we managed it. And most importantly, no one was hurt.”
Lan Zhan nodded and helped him towards the place where they had left their belongings. As they walked, Wuxian realised that throughout the entire encounter, he had never once felt the need to resort to a technique he could not fully control. Not because Lan Zhan had forbidden him from considering it, but because together they had found another solution. He found that thought strangely comforting.
The journey also brought them something beyond the satisfaction of solving problems involving spirits. For the first time, Lan Zhan witnessed how people outside Cloud Recesses treated foxes, while Wei Ying realised that his companion had never encountered certain aspects of the world that he himself had long since come to accept. When one local administrator, for example, refused to pay the agreed fee on the grounds that foxes were notoriously dishonest, Wuxian merely smiled and decided to leave. Lan Zhan, however, stopped and turned towards the man with an expression Wei Ying knew very well.
“Wei Ying fulfilled his part of the agreement,” he said calmly. “He is entitled to his payment.”
The administrator attempted to object, but Wangji interrupted before he could continue.
“A cultivator’s origins are not grounds for breaking an agreement.”
Wei Ying watched him for a moment before smiling.
“Lan Zhan, are you standing up for me?”
Wangji turned towards him. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“I know, but I must admit I rather like it.” Wuxian leaned a little closer and added mischievously, “If you keep this up, I might really fall in love with you.”
Wangji straightened immediately, his rabbit ears lifting slightly. Wei Ying noticed and smiled in satisfaction, but this time he was surprised when Lan Zhan did not look away. Instead, he held his gaze for a long moment, as though trying to determine whether he truly meant what he had said.
Wuxian suddenly realised that he might have gone further than he had intended. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to dismiss the moment with another joke. He simply smiled at Lan Zhan and allowed him to decide how he wished to respond.
“Wei Ying,” Wangji said at last.
“Yes?”
Lan Zhan was silent for a moment before leaning the slightest bit closer.
“Don’t toy with that.”
Wei Ying blinked in surprise. He wasn’t sure whether it was a reprimand or something far more personal, but when he looked into Wangji’s eyes, he understood that another teasing remark would be unfair.
“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” he said more softly. “I’m not playing with you.”
Wangji looked at him for a few moments longer before nodding. As they resumed walking, their hands brushed together several times, but neither saw any particular need to move away.
It was also during this expedition that Wei Ying learned more about the ancient traditions of the rabbit clan. One evening, while they rested in a small mountain shelter, Lan Zhan told him about fated mates and the way their spiritual energy could recognise one another. Wuxian listened with growing interest, since he knew similar tales mostly from folklore and had never considered them an actual phenomenon of cultivation.
“And how do you know when you’ve met someone like that?” he asked eventually, leaning against a folded blanket. “I assume a sign doesn’t simply appear above your head.”
Lan Zhan gave him a brief look.
“Spiritual energy responds.”
“That sounds rather interesting.” Wei Ying considered the idea before smiling mischievously. “And what happens if the other person decides they don’t want a fated mate?”
Wangji paused.
“It’s their choice.”
“So fate can offer you something, but it can’t force you to accept it?”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying smiled and watched the small fire burning in the middle of the shelter.
“I like that. I’ve never been particularly fond of people telling me what I must do simply because it’s expected of me.”
Lan Zhan watched him for a moment. Then he slowly extended his hand and placed it beside Wuxian’s, just as Wei Ying had done several weeks earlier in his mother’s garden. Wuxian glanced at it, and for a moment his breath caught. He needed no further explanation. It was enough that Wangji was sitting beside him, leaving him free to decide whether to take his hand.
When their fingers finally intertwined, he felt a faint tremor of spiritual energy. It was neither powerful nor painful. On the contrary, for a brief moment, his Golden Core seemed to settle in a way he had never experienced before. He looked up in surprise and found Lan Zhan watching him with an expression that suggested he knew exactly what had just happened.
“Lan Zhan,” he began slowly, “you’ve felt this before?”
Wangji nodded.
Wei Ying studied him for a long moment before a smile appeared on his face, gentler than his usual ones.
“And you didn’t tell me all this time?”
“I didn’t want to influence you.”
Wuxian laughed softly and rested his head against his shoulder.
“You know, Lan Zhan, sometimes you really are unbelievable.”
Wangji did not pull away. He simply gave his hand a gentle squeeze and allowed him to settle more comfortably against him. For a while, Wei Ying watched the flames before speaking quietly again.
“I think I’ve known what you mean to me for a long time. I just wasn’t sure whether I was allowed to say it.”
Lan Zhan lowered his head towards him, and their eyes met. Wei Ying smiled, without his usual teasing, and slowly leaned closer. He gave Wangji ample time to move away if he wished, but the rabbit remained where he was. When their lips finally met, it was a brief, tentative kiss, carrying far more meaning than all Wuxian’s previous remarks about his beauty.
Lan Zhan then gently drew him closer, and Wei Ying realised that something he had longed for far longer than he cared to admit had finally happened. He needed no more words or explanations. He knew that the man holding his hand understood his decisions, respected his past, and did not expect him to change who he was for his sake. And that was precisely why he was his zhiji, regardless of whether their spiritual energy had truly chosen to follow some ancient destiny.
When they returned to Cloud Recesses in autumn, Lan Xichen immediately noticed that something had changed between his brother and Wei Wuxian. There were no grand displays of affection. Wangji remained as reserved as ever, observed the rules, and showed no greater leniency during training than he had before. Yet he now spent almost all his free time with Wuxian, and Xichen had several times caught him looking at the fox when he believed no one was watching.
He knew that look.
He had seen it in their father once, and he remembered all too well the consequences of his decision to stand against his clan for the sake of love. The difference was that Wangji made no attempt to conceal anything. He did not consider his affection for Wei Ying something to be ashamed of, and although he knew perfectly well that not everyone would accept his decision, he had no intention of abandoning it simply to avoid an unpleasant conversation.
So when he appeared in Xichen’s study one afternoon and requested a private conversation, his older brother already had a fairly good idea of what he intended to say.
“Xiongzhang,” Wangji began calmly once he had taken his seat. “I’ve found my mate.”
Lan Xichen stopped smiling for a moment, but quickly recovered. Although he had expected something of the sort, the absolute certainty in Wangji’s voice still surprised him. His younger brother had never spoken lightly about his feelings, and Xichen knew that if he had said something like this aloud, he must have thought about it for a very long time.
“Wei Wuxian?” he asked softly, although he already knew the answer.
Wangji nodded.
“Mn.”
Xichen leaned back and studied his brother for a while.
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“And does he feel the same?”
“Yes.”
This time, Lan Xichen smiled with genuine happiness. It was strange to see Wangji so composed during a conversation that would have left most people thoroughly flustered, yet it also seemed entirely natural. His brother had never made decisions in the heat of the moment, and if he had found someone with whom he wished to spend his life, he saw no reason to discuss it differently from any other important matter.
“Then I ought to congratulate you both,” Xichen said, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze his brother’s hand. “I’m happy for you, Wangji. Truly. But I think we should also speak to Uncle.”
Wangji nodded, although his expression changed slightly. He knew Qiren would not be pleased, and while he respected his opinion, this time he had no intention of allowing anyone else to decide his future. Xichen noticed and was reminded for a moment of how much his younger brother resembled their father. The difference was that Wangji had no intention of hiding his love or turning it into something for which anyone should be punished.
Their conversation with Lan Qiren took place several days later, and it was nowhere near as peaceful.
The elder listened to Wangji’s decision with the expression of someone who had just discovered that every effort he had made in raising his two nephews had been for nothing. When he learned that Wangji intended to bond with the fox they had considered a dangerous intruder only a few months earlier, he was forced to draw several deep breaths to prevent himself from saying something he might later regret.
“Wangji, do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?” he demanded at last, his voice considerably sharper than usual. “That man comes from another clan, has a past about which we still don’t know everything, and above all belongs to a species our ancestors spent generations protecting themselves against.”
“Wei Ying is not dangerous,” Wangji answered calmly.
“You cannot know that.”
“I know.”
Qiren pressed his lips together and turned towards Xichen, apparently expecting his older nephew to finally help him bring Wangji to his senses. Xichen, however, remained seated beside his brother, observing the conversation attentively. When their eyes met, he inclined his head slightly and spoke in the diplomatic tone he employed when dealing with other clan elders.
“Uncle, Wei Wuxian has been with us for several months. During that time, he has harmed no one. On the contrary, he has helped our disciples and alerted us to weaknesses in the protective barriers. I believe we ought to judge his actual conduct more fairly than the stories told about foxes.”
Qiren regarded him for a long time before looking back at Wangji. For a moment, something appeared in his eyes that neither brother could immediately identify.
It was fear, carried within him for many years.
He remembered his brother, his decision to protect the woman he loved, and the consequences that followed. He knew how easily love could turn into suffering when the entire world stood against it, and it was precisely for that reason that he had worked so hard to protect his nephews from a similar fate.
“I don’t want what happened to your father to happen again,” he said eventually, more quietly, lowering his gaze to the tea that had long since grown cold. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to make certain that neither of you would have to endure what he endured.”
Wangji watched him for a while. Then he bowed slightly and answered in a manner so characteristic of him that Xichen could not quite suppress a smile.
“I understand, shufu. But Wei Ying is not my mother. And I am not Father.”
Lan Qiren raised his eyes.
For several moments, silence settled between them, during which the elder realised that his nephew was right. The past did not have to repeat itself simply because someone had chosen to love a person others considered unsuitable. And if he attempted to forbid Wangji’s decision, perhaps he himself would be the one creating the conditions for another family tragedy.
At last, he sighed and slowly nodded.
“If you are both certain, I will not stand in your way. But I expect Wei Wuxian to respect our clan’s traditions, and he must not assume that bonding with you gives him permission to disregard the rules.”
Wangji bowed, and Xichen could finally smile again. He knew the conversation was far from over and that their uncle would have many more observations to make about the matter, but what mattered was that he had allowed them to decide their future for themselves.
When Lan Qiren met with Wei Wuxian several days later, he chose to speak with him once more, this time without either nephew present. He wanted to be certain that the fox truly understood the significance of the decision he was about to make, and that his affection for Wangji was not merely gratitude for having his life saved.
At the same time, the question of demonic cultivation, which they had discussed during their first meeting, still troubled him. He knew Wei Ying had never employed such techniques, but he was equally aware that his abilities might one day become dangerous if he found himself in a situation where no other option remained.
Wei Ying listened to his questions with unusual patience. He knew that Qiren feared for his nephew’s well-being, and although he considered some of the elder’s views exaggerated, he understood why he had held on to them for so long.
When Qiren finally asked whether he was genuinely certain that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Wangji, Wuxian thought for a moment before smiling.
“If you’d asked me a few months ago, I probably would have told you I was looking for someone I could take care of. Someone I could protect and build a home for. I thought it would be quite simple once I met the right person.”
Wei Ying laughed briefly, then continued with considerably greater seriousness.
“But Lan Zhan showed me that I’d been thinking about it the wrong way all along. I don’t want to be the only one taking care of him. I want him to be able to be himself, to know that he can depend on me, and that I can depend on him in return. And if you’re asking whether I’m certain, then yes. I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
Qiren studied him before lowering his eyes towards the tea. It was not the answer he had expected, but it sounded sincere.
Over the past several months, he had come to know Wei Wuxian as someone capable of being insufferably cheeky, constantly asking questions, and possessing a remarkable talent for disturbing the peace even during the most carefully organised lessons. At the same time, however, he had seen how patiently he worked with the younger disciples, how he stood up for those weaker than himself, and how seriously he regarded Wangji’s health and happiness. Perhaps that was precisely why he eventually concluded that he had no reason to oppose their bond.
“And what about your abilities?” he asked once more, watching Wuxian’s face carefully. “If one day you find yourself forced to choose between your own safety and the use of demonic cultivation, what will you do?”
Wei Ying sighed.
“Lan Qiren, I’ve already told you that I don’t know. I don’t want to promise something I can’t decide until I’m actually faced with such circumstances. But I can promise you something else. I would never knowingly endanger Lan Zhan or anyone in your clan out of a desire for power. And if I ever find myself having to consider dangerous techniques, I won’t make that decision lightly.”
Qiren regarded him for a long time before slowly nodding. He would have preferred an unequivocal refusal, but he knew such a promise might be meaningless. Instead, Wei Wuxian had offered him something he had gradually come to regard as far more valuable.
Honesty.
“Then I hope you understand the responsibility you’re accepting,” he said at last, and Wei Ying bowed.
“I do. And I promise I’ll try not to cause you too much trouble.”
Qiren gave him such a severe look that Wuxian immediately realised his last remark had perhaps been ill-advised. Nevertheless, he couldn’t quite suppress his smile, because there was far less distrust in the elder’s voice than there once had been.
The bonding ceremony itself took place at the beginning of autumn in a small garden near Jingshi, where the last blue flowers still bloomed beneath the old trees. The Lan clan had no tradition of holding noisy celebrations, and Wangji had no desire for anything of the sort. Nevertheless, it mattered to both of them that their union should take a form which respected the traditions of the rabbit clan while allowing them to express their own decision to remain together.
Wei Ying woke unusually early that morning. For several minutes, he lay on his back watching the light filter through the curtains before finally realising that, for once, he truly had nowhere he needed to rush off to.
Even so, he was nervous in a way he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. He had faced countless dangerous situations, fought spirits, survived a trial, and endured months of travelling alone, yet the thought that in a few hours he would stand before Lan Zhan’s family and publicly promise to spend the rest of his life with him filled him with a peculiar mixture of happiness and apprehension.
It wasn’t that he doubted his decision. Quite the opposite.
He had simply never imagined that something like this could truly happen to him.
When he finally dressed and stepped onto the veranda, he found Lan Zhan waiting beneath a branch covered in the last blossoms of the season.
He wore a ceremonial white hanfu, its wide sleeves embroidered with delicate blue flowers, while long panels of pale turquoise fabric fell across his chest towards his waist. The silver ornament across his forehead glittered in the morning light, and his long rabbit ears had been carefully groomed until their soft fur looked almost like silk.
Wei Ying stopped and simply admired him for several moments.
Despite all the time they had spent together, he could still be taken by surprise by just how beautiful his mate was.
“Lan Zhan,” he called at last, smiling as he approached, “you do realise that if you keep looking at me like that all day, I’ll probably forget everything I’m supposed to say during the ceremony?”
Wangji raised his eyes, and Wei Ying noticed the slightest movement at the tips of his ears.
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t wish to.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think Uncle would be particularly pleased if I spent the whole ceremony standing there smiling at you.”
Lan Zhan offered him his hand, and Wuxian accepted it without hesitation.
It was strange how natural that touch now felt. Only months earlier, they had barely known one another, and Wangji had refused to allow him anywhere near his rabbit ears. Now they were walking together towards a garden where, before their family, they would confirm their decision to remain together.
Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren, and several of the clan’s closest family members were waiting for them in the garden. On a low table stood two cups of tea, a small bowl of clear water, and a long pale blue ribbon, traditionally used by the rabbits when bonding with their life partners.
Wei Ying had heard about the ritual several times already, but only now did he fully understand how much it meant to the Lan clan. A bond was not merely a personal decision made by two people. It also meant welcoming a new member into the family and promising to care for one another regardless of what the future might bring.
Lan Xichen greeted them with a smile and briefly explained the meaning of the ceremony’s different stages. Then he offered them the bowl of water in which they were to symbolically wash their hands, leaving the past behind as they began their life together.
Wei Ying hesitated for a moment.
He knew that a few drops of water could not simply wash away the past, but when he looked at Lan Zhan, he understood that this was not the purpose of the ritual. They did not have to forget everything that had happened. It was enough that they had chosen not to allow their past to dictate the shape of their shared future.
When the time came to bind their hands, Lan Qiren stepped forward and picked up the pale blue ribbon from the table. Wei Ying expected him to hand it to Xichen, but instead, the elder stood directly before them and examined them both for a moment.
Eventually, he turned towards Wuxian and spoke much more gently than anyone might have expected.
“Wei Wuxian, since the day you arrived in Cloud Recesses, you have caused us a great deal of trouble.”
Wei Ying couldn’t entirely suppress a small smile, since this was certainly not the opening remark he had expected at his own bonding ceremony. Qiren, however, continued before he could comment.
“Nevertheless, you have also demonstrated that courage, kindness, and honour are not qualities belonging exclusively to any one clan or species. If you are prepared to accept Wangji as your lifelong mate, I expect you to take that decision seriously.”
Wei Ying looked at him, and this time he did not smile.
“I will,” he answered quietly. “Lan Zhan gave me something I thought I’d never find again. A home. I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Qiren nodded before turning towards Wangji.
His younger nephew stood calmly beside Wuxian, but his long rabbit ears were held slightly upright, and there was an expression in his eyes that Qiren had known since his childhood. Wangji had made his decision, and nothing would persuade him to change his mind.
For a moment, the elder remembered his brother again, but this time the memory did not awaken the same fear it once had.
“Wangji, do you accept Wei Wuxian as your lifelong mate?”
“Yes.”
Qiren slowly wrapped the ribbon around their joined wrists and paused for a moment to look at them both.
“Then I wish for you to always find in one another what you have been searching for. And may you never forget that a life together requires not only love, but patience.”
At the final word, Wei Ying glanced at Lan Zhan and had to exercise considerable self-control to avoid laughing. If anyone was going to need patience, it was his beautiful rabbit, who had an entire lifetime ahead of him with someone capable of asking more questions in five minutes than most people managed in a day.
When the ceremony continued, Xichen invited them to join their spiritual energy.
It was neither a test nor an attempt to prove that their decision was correct. According to tradition, the moment merely symbolised the trust they had chosen to place in one another.
Wei Ying hesitated briefly, however, aware that his Golden Core was still far from healthy. Lan Zhan noticed immediately and gently squeezed his hand, as though reminding him that he did not have to do anything that might cause him harm.
Wuxian smiled at him and slowly released a small amount of spiritual energy. Wangji responded just as carefully, and their energies met between their joined palms.
This time, however, Wei Ying felt something far stronger than he had during their previous meditations. It was neither pain nor uncomfortable pressure, but rather a peculiar sense of peace spreading throughout his body. His Golden Core responded to Lan Zhan’s spiritual energy so naturally that, for one brief moment, it seemed as though everything that had been damaged inside him for so many months had finally settled into its rightful balance.
Lan Xichen smiled faintly as he watched their joined hands.
He knew the ancient records concerning fated mates and understood that such harmony between spiritual energies was exceptionally rare. Yet something else pleased him far more. His younger brother was standing beside someone he had chosen for himself, and for the first time in many years, he seemed genuinely content.
Lan Qiren watched their connection for a while before slowly nodding. He was not a man who changed his opinions easily, but he could not deny what he had just witnessed. And perhaps, in that moment, he finally understood that in trying so desperately to protect Wangji from pain, he might have almost deprived him of something far more important.
When the ceremony ended, Xichen offered them the prepared cups of tea, and they bowed together before the elders.
For a moment, Wei Ying felt something loosen within his chest. It was neither fear nor sadness, but rather a peculiar relief that came with the knowledge that he no longer had to prove himself worthy of belonging somewhere.
Lan Zhan gently squeezed his hand, and Wuxian turned towards him with a smile that had nothing to do with his usual teasing.
Later, after the others had departed and the garden had settled into silence again, the two of them remained standing beneath the trees.
Wei Ying carefully examined the pale blue ribbon still binding their wrists before looking at Lan Zhan.
“So now I’m really yours?” he asked softly, something unusually tender in his voice.
Wangji looked at him and nodded.
“Mn.”
Wei Ying smiled and stepped a little closer.
“And you’re mine?”
“Yes.”
Wuxian raised his free hand to Wangji’s cheek and studied him for a while. His long rabbit ears lowered slightly when Wei Ying’s fingers approached the soft fur near their bases, but Lan Zhan did not move away this time.
Wei Ying stopped, remembering perfectly well how firmly his mate had forbidden such touches in the past.
“May I?” he asked quietly.
Wangji held his gaze for a moment before slowly nodding.
Wei Ying smiled and carefully touched one of the long ears. The fur was even softer than he had imagined, and Lan Zhan gave the slightest involuntary movement at the contact, but remained where he was.
Wuxian leaned closer and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead, just beneath the silver ornament still carefully arranged in his hair.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispered with a smile, “I really do love you.”
Wangji slipped an arm around his waist and drew him closer.
“Wei Ying,” he answered softly, but his eyes conveyed far more than his words.
Wuxian leaned against him and closed his eyes for a moment.
He had always imagined that when he finally found someone he loved, he would be the one taking care of everything. But life had apparently had other plans, and instead of the delicate girl he had once dreamed of, it had brought him a stubborn rabbit with a sword, unwavering principles, and an inconveniently accurate knowledge of when Wei Ying had last eaten.
Over the following months, Wei Ying gradually learned what it meant to share a home with someone. At first, he had a tendency to consider everything his own responsibility, and whenever a problem arose, his first instinct was to solve it alone. Lan Zhan, however, never allowed him to carry worries that belonged to them both. When Wuxian needed rest, he reminded him. And when Wangji returned exhausted from training or a lengthy meeting, Wei Ying prepared tea and gave him a little peace, despite usually having at least ten questions he would have liked to ask. They learned to respect one another’s needs and gradually discovered that their different personalities did not have to be an obstacle.
One evening, for example, Wei Ying decided it might be pleasant to prepare dinner together. Lan Zhan returned to Jingshi later than usual and found his mate in the kitchen, attempting to modify a traditional Lan clan recipe to include at least a little seasoning. In Wuxian’s opinion, the result was absolutely delicious, but Wangji looked at the prepared food with an expression suggesting considerable doubts about its suitability for consumption.
“Lan Zhan, don’t look at it like that,” Wuxian admonished him, offering him a bowl. “I swear I only used a little chilli. And besides, I’ve made you a portion without any spice, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Wangji studied him for a moment before sitting down at the table. Wei Ying noticed the slight movement at the tips of his ears when he tasted the first mouthful and had to make a considerable effort not to laugh. In the end, however, he decided to let him finish his meal in peace, because he knew very well that small concessions like these meant far more to his mate than they might have appeared to anyone else.
The following winter arrived in Cloud Recesses a little earlier than usual.
Snow covered the mountain paths, the ponds froze once more, and familiar layers of frost appeared among the trees, just as they had when Wei Ying first discovered the sanctuary. This time, however, he had no need to search for somewhere to shelter from the cold. Jingshi had become his home, and life with Lan Zhan had settled into a comfortable rhythm to which he had grown accustomed far more quickly than he had expected.
At that particular moment, he was sitting on a wide windowsill, one leg folded beneath him and the other dangling into the room. His long fox tail swayed lazily over the edge while he watched Wangji, who sat at the low table carefully folding clean clothes.
His white robes looked every bit as perfect as they had during their first encounter. The layers of fabric flowed over his shoulders and arms, the silver ornament across his forehead kept his dark hair in place, and his long rabbit ears occasionally moved at sounds drifting in from outside.
Wei Ying had long since learned that these movements were never entirely random. Wangji’s expression might remain perfectly composed, but sometimes his ears betrayed him far more reliably than words ever could.
“Lan Zhan, have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Wuxian asked, making no attempt to look away.
It was hardly a new observation, and he certainly didn’t expect Wangji to answer. Nevertheless, he enjoyed watching those long ears straighten ever so slightly while their owner continued folding clothes as though he hadn’t heard a word.
Wei Ying smiled and rested his chin in his palm.
“If I’d met you at a market that day, I would definitely have invited you out for wine. Assuming you hadn’t stabbed me first, of course.”
“Wei Ying,” Wangji said calmly, although there was something in his voice Wuxian knew all too well.
It meant that he should stop teasing, at least if he didn’t wish to spend the next hour listening to a lecture on improper behaviour. Yet Wangji had never been quite as severe as he first appeared. Particularly not towards him. Wuxian had begun noticing that during those first weeks when Wangji had secretly sheltered him in his pavilion and patiently treated his injuries.
Wei Ying jumped down from the windowsill, but the moment his feet touched the floor, a familiar pain stabbed through his lower abdomen. It wasn’t severe, yet it forced him to remain still for a moment and wait for the unpleasant sensation to pass.
That was enough to make Wangji look up.
He set the last folded robe aside and rose without a word. Wuxian tried to wave it off as though nothing had happened, but his mate was already beside him, gently taking his wrist to examine the flow of spiritual energy.
“Lan Zhan, I’m really fine,” Wuxian protested, although he knew Wangji wasn’t going to be dissuaded. “I just got up a little too quickly. You don’t have to look at me as though I’m about to drop dead.”
“Rest,” Wangji replied, releasing his wrist only after making certain that his condition was stable.
Wei Ying watched him for a moment.
In the past, such concern would have prompted a whole series of jokes intended to divert attention elsewhere. Now, however, he merely nodded and allowed himself to be led towards the table, where a cup of warm tea was already waiting for him.
He had never been particularly accustomed to someone caring for him so naturally. At Lotus Pier, he had always tried to be the one helping everyone else, and when he later found himself travelling alone, he had no choice but to depend on his own abilities.
Wangji had never demanded that he earn his care, nor made him feel indebted for receiving it. He simply handed him his tea, pushed a bowl of food towards him, and sat beside him.
Outside, it had begun snowing again. Fine flakes settled over the stone paths and disappeared among the bamboo branches, while the muted voices of younger disciples drifted from a nearby courtyard.
Some of them had long since stopped being afraid of foxes, and Wei Ying had become one of their favourite companions during afternoon training.
Lan Qiren was still not particularly enthusiastic about this arrangement, especially whenever he discovered that his carefully instructed disciples had begun asking questions to which even he could not always provide an immediate answer. Yet Wuxian possessed a patience with the young rabbits that most adults would never have expected of him, and his unconventional teaching methods produced results. In the end, even Lan Qiren had been forced to admit that the presence of a foreign fox was not necessarily the disaster he had originally feared.
“One of the little ones came to see me today,” Wuxian remembered as he watched Wangji pour more tea. “He wanted to know whether all foxes really are as dangerous as the chronicles claim. Do you know what I told him?”
Wangji raised his eyes, and Wuxian settled more comfortably in his seat.
“That of course we are. Most of us are simply far too lazy to hurt anyone without a good reason.”
Wangji sighed, but Wei Ying noticed the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth, something he had long since learned to recognise. It wasn’t quite a smile, at least not the sort anyone might expect from another person, but with Wangji, it was more than enough.
For a while afterwards, they sat together watching the snow.
Wuxian rested his shoulder against Wangji’s and allowed his tail to lie loosely across his lap. Once, he had imagined that when he finally found someone with whom he wanted to spend his life, he would be the one taking care of everything. He would earn the money, protect their home, and make certain that the person he loved never had to endure the things he himself had experienced.
But life had apparently had its own ideas, and instead of the delicate girl he had once dreamed of, it had brought him a stubborn rabbit with a sword, unwavering principles, and an inconveniently accurate knowledge of when Wuxian had last eaten.
And despite the occasional disagreement that came with living together, Wei Ying would not have traded him for anything in the world.
Wangji gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes, and Wuxian lifted his head towards him. It still surprised him how tender the hands of someone who wielded a sword with such certainty could be.
He reached up and carefully touched one of the long rabbit ears.
Wangji flinched ever so slightly, but did not pull away.
Wuxian knew this was a privilege no one else would be granted, and that was precisely why he treasured it so much. When he settled his head back against Wangji’s shoulder, his mate slipped an arm around his waist and drew him a little closer.
But this time, something happened that Wuxian did not expect.
Wangji gently took his hand and, instead of returning it to his lap, guided it towards his own lower abdomen.
At first, Wei Ying didn’t understand what he was trying to tell him. But when he looked up, he noticed something unusual in his face.
Lan Zhan appeared as composed as ever, yet his ears betrayed a nervousness he was clearly trying to conceal. One was lowered slightly, while the other trembled almost imperceptibly when Wuxian rested his palm where Wangji had placed it.
“Lan Zhan?” he asked quietly, trying to catch his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
Wangji looked at him for a while before lowering his eyes towards the hand resting against his abdomen.
“A-Yuan,” he answered so softly that Wei Ying wasn’t entirely sure he had heard correctly.
It took several moments for him to understand what his mate meant.
His gaze moved from Wangji’s face to the place where his palm still rested, then back again. At first, he thought there must be some misunderstanding, but when Lan Zhan finally looked at him and gave the slightest nod, something blossomed within him that he could not immediately put into words.
It was a peculiar mixture of surprise, joy, and almost unimaginable happiness, spreading through his entire body within the space of a few heartbeats.
Wei Ying had long since stopped believing that he might one day have a family of his own. He had imagined a shared home, someone he could love and protect, but he had never quite allowed himself to think that he might have a child as well.
“Our A-Yuan?” he whispered at last, his voice so unfamiliar that he scarcely recognised it himself.
Wangji nodded and placed his own hand over Wei Ying’s.
For a while, Wei Ying could only look at him. Then a smile slowly spread across his face, and he drew him into his arms.
This time, he felt no need to joke or ask another question. He simply held him, gathering him carefully against his chest as though afraid that one sudden movement might somehow disturb the moment.
Images began appearing in his mind, things he had never quite dared to imagine before. Small rabbit ears that their child might inherit from Wangji, a fox tail that might remind him of his own childhood, and tiny hands he would one day hold in his.
He had no idea what their child would look like, nor what the future might bring, but for the first time in a very long while, he was not afraid of it.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmured into his hair, “I love you.”
Wangji nestled a little closer, and Wei Ying felt him gently squeeze his hand.
He needed no further answer.
He knew his mate well enough to understand what such a gesture meant, and although under ordinary circumstances he might have tried to coax at least a few more words out of him, this time he was perfectly content simply to sit together and enjoy the quiet afternoon.
Later, when they went for a short walk through the gardens, Wei Ying felt as though he couldn’t stop smiling at everyone they passed. Wangji walked beside him, occasionally glancing his way as though checking that his mate hadn’t completely lost his senses.
Wuxian naturally noticed, but decided that for once, he would make no comment. Instead, he allowed himself to be led between the snow-covered trees, wondering whether it might be a good idea to begin making some toys.
He had always been clever with his hands, and during his travels he had learned to carve small wooden figures. He couldn’t imagine a better use for his spare time than preparing something for A-Yuan, even though many months remained before their child would be born.
But Wei Wuxian would hardly have been Wei Wuxian if he had truly stopped at a few ordinary wooden toys.
A little later, he encountered a group of younger disciples attempting to build a snow rabbit, and it immediately occurred to him that it would be much more interesting to create several small snow animals capable of moving on their own with the help of talismans.
The children were delighted, and within minutes they were gathered around him as he explained how to channel spiritual energy correctly through a simple movement spell.
Lan Zhan watched them from a distance for a while before heading towards the library. He knew that as long as nothing dangerous was involved, there was little point in trying to stop Wei Ying.
Half an hour later, the courtyard was full of bouncing snow rabbits, several little foxes, and one particularly unsuccessful dragon whose legs, for reasons no one could explain, kept tangling together.
The children were laughing so loudly that their voices carried into the more distant parts of Cloud Recesses, and Wei Ying was in the middle of explaining to the youngest disciple why adding too much spiritual energy to a movement talisman was not a particularly good idea when he heard a very deliberate clearing of the throat behind him.
Lan Qiren stood in the middle of the path, staring in disbelief at a tiny snow creature that had just run across his shoe.
His gaze travelled slowly towards the group of laughing children before finally settling on Wei Wuxian, who still held a brush in one hand and looked very much like someone who had just been caught doing something entirely innocent.
“Wei Wuxian!”
The stern voice silenced the entire courtyard in an instant.
Wei Ying slowly straightened, hid the brush behind his back, and offered the elder his most convincing smile, although he knew perfectly well that another lecture about the rules was coming.
And when a familiar figure in white appeared behind him, with long rabbit ears that straightened ever so slightly at the sight of the chaos, he had to use every ounce of self-control not to burst out laughing.
After all, he had only just discovered that he was going to become a father.
And if A-Yuan was going to grow up in Cloud Recesses, surely someone had to make certain that, among all those rules, there would always be room for a little fun.
The End
Yours, Mimosa
Mimosa Confiante
By day, I work somewhere between marketing, copy and campaigns; by night, I usually end up somewhere between fanfiction, cosplay and yet another “what if” that refuses to leave me alone. I write mainly in the Harry Potter and Mo Dao Zu Shi fandoms, most often Snarry, Snamione, HarryLu and WangXian. My healthcare background means that anatomy, medicine and far too much research occasionally find their way into my stories. Cosplay is another way for me to play with the characters I love, whether I stay close to canon or turn them into my own fanfiction and AU versions. In Diary of a Slytherin Girl with ADHD, I write openly about life with a brain that usually has far too many tabs open at once.
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