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hgjspringbooks · 2 years ago

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Setting the event scene: There are days when the Cloud Recesses become just a little too much for Wei Wuxian.

Specifically, the days where Lan Zhan is busy with some manner of sect business that keeps him occupied with things other than his husband.

Wei Wuxian understands that need, even as he plans to spend his evening bemoaning the neglect he has suffered until his husband makes it up to him. At least twice.

On days like these, Wei Wuxian likes to take himself to Caiyi, slipping out over the walls like a wayward youth sneaking away from his studies.

Today is such a day.

It’s one of the first warm days of the year, the sun shining, the last vestiges of snow turning to brown slush beneath his feet. He’s underdressed, too eager for springtime to bother with a heavy layer. Lan Zhan would be sure to scold him if he saw him out dressed like it’s summertime—he’d be right too. Wei Ying has always been more sensitive to the cold, his fledgling golden core still too weak to fend off more than the most mild of sniffles.

But it’s worth it, to feel the sunshine on his neck and wrists. Besides, there are worse things in the world than Lan Zhan coddling him through a cold.

Caiyi is invigorated by the warm weather as well. The little city is bustling, more lively than Wei Wuxian has seen it in months. Vendors call out to him as he passes, one aunty deliberately wafting a fan over the fresh meat buns she’s selling, blowing the fragrance towards him. He buys a half dozen, sinking his teeth happily into one before passing out the others to the kids who flock around his skirts, knowing him to be an easy mark for treats.

All in all, it’s a pleasant day and Wei Wuxian is feeling content, despite missing his husband. He hopes the weather will hold out until tomorrow. He looks forward to dragging Lan Zhan away from his work into town. Maybe they can grab a meal together at the new shop that opened last year, where a family from near Yunmeng sells food that is very-nearly as good as what Wei Wuxian remembers. None of it is quite as spicy, no doubt adapted for the sweeter Gusu palate, but it’s close enough that it settles the quiet ache that Wei Wuxian carries for his home.

He’s thinking about whether or not he could convince Lan Zhan to break his diet and try a bit of the yingshan pork, when something strange catches his eye.

At first, he’s not sure what it is, head turning automatically towards the strangeness. White robes, he realizes. It’s not so strange, to see white robes in the streets of Caiyi. But what is strange, is that Wei Wuxian has the distinct impression that the person is sneaking. They’re moving through the crowded streets in a way that is desperately trying for discretion, which, of course, just means they stick out even more in the crowd of easygoing shoppers.

It’s too intriguing for Wei Wuxian to leave well enough alone. He’s a curious person by nature, after all, and a genius to boot. And as a genius, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know anyone who would wear white robes out and about in the muddy, spring roads of Caiyi except the exact sort of person who should never be sneaking: a Lan cultivator.

Wei Ying takes his remaining bun of the half dozen he’d bought, dividing it in two and handing one half to the pair of siblings currently quibbling over who deserves it most. “Go on then, rob a poor man blind,” he says, winking at each of them, before wiping his sticky fingers on his skirts and following the white robes as they dart through the crowd.

It’s a disciple, almost certainly. Wei Ying can’t recognize them yet, following at a distance as he is, but he would guess by their size and the way they move—trained, yet awkward, as if still growing into their feet and knobbly knees—that they’re around sixteen. Which means, they are definitely skipping class.

He’s impressed, honestly. They might not be particularly skilled at sneaking, but for any Gusu Lan disciple to even try it is an act of rebellion that rivals anything Wei Ying could’ve gotten up to in Yunmeng in his youth. After all, in Yunmeng, it was expected for the disciples to get into a bit of trouble. To try things, to sneak around. It wasn’t against the rules to do those things. Attempt the impossible! wasn’t just a meaningless motto, so much as an edict guiding their education. What was against the rules was getting caught.

It would be up to Wei Wuxian to teach this little Lan a bit of the tenets of rule breaking. After all, Wei Wuxian wasn’t the first disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang back in his day for nothing.

The white-robed disciple stops abruptly. Wei Ying continues to meander with the crowd, keeping one eye on the disciple, who looks over both his shoulders in an exaggerated display of vigilance that makes Wei Ying want to belly laugh, before ducking into an alley.

Interesting.

Curious, and perhaps feeling a little mischievous, Wei Wuxian reaches into the sleeve pocket of his robes and activates one of the silencing talismans he keeps there for “emergencies”. Those emergencies usually involve Lan Zhan and far fewer onlookers, though, and Wei Wuxian is a little loath to use one for this. But he’s on a mission now. He takes the talisman out and smacks it onto his own chest before strolling casually over to the alley and peeking his head around the corner.

The disciple isn’t alone. They’ve crept into the shadowed corner of the alley, beneath the canopy of one of the adjoining buildings, melted snowing dripping on their shoulder in a rhythmic plink-plink-plink as they speak with a figure Wei Wuxian can’t quite make out.

The dark figure is shorter than the disciple, but their voice is deep. They are conversing in rapid whispers, and Wei Wuxian is so delighted to catch a good little Lan junior cultivator in a criminal act that he can’t help himself. He strolls into the alley, silencing talisman still activated, until he’s right behind the cultivator. The shadowy man notices him first, jumping back as if Wei Wuxian had drawn a sword.

Not that he carries a sword anymore. Nor does he have a flute on him. Maybe he should’ve considered this before sneaking up on an armed cultivator, but Wei Wuxian has never been one for considering things.

The Lan cultivator is, lucky for him, slow to notice the man’s reaction, their attention fully occupied with their ill-gotten purchase. Wei Wuxian lifts a finger to his mouth at the stranger, simultaneously tearing the silencing talisman from his robes.

“My my, Lan-gongzi, what is that you have there?”

The Lan drops what he’s holding, hand flying to his sword almost faster than Wei Wuxian can stop him.

Almost.

But open closer inspection, this Lan is even younger than he’d guessed. Maybe fourteen, and the gawkiness of his limbs is more evident than ever in the tight confines of the alley. As such, Wei Wuxian manages to easily disarm him with a simple sidestep and a well-placed strike to his wrist. The sword clatters to the ground, and the disciple stares at him.

Wei Wuxian sees the moment when the little Lan realizes who he is, and thinks that the child is about to run off, leaving his sword behind.

“Go on then,” he says, stepping out of his way. “And don’t forget your sword! I am not carrying it back.”

The disciple nods vigorously, feet slipping on the wet ground as they dip to grab their sword and bolt out of the alley.

“And I want five copies of the rules on the desk by morning!” he shouts after them. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have a desk, nor that he has no idea who the kid was, nor that he has no intention of following up on the punishment. The kid’s a troublemaker, but he’s still a Lan. Wei Wuxian has no doubt that the copies will be done by nightfall.

He notices movement behind him, and turns around just as the mysterious peddler attempts to sink into the shadows and make off down the alley.

“Ah, where are you going, friend?” Wei Wuxian asks, smiling at the man so brightly that he freezes on the spot. “Why don’t you show me what you have for sale?”

“Please, forgive me,” the man says, dropping to his knees so fast that Wei Wuxian hears them crack against the stone. “I’m just trying to make a living—I mean no disrespect—please—”

He drops his head to the ground in supplication, hands splayed in front of him, barely a cun from Wei Wuxian’s skirts.

Wei Wuxian has no idea what the man is talking about, but he isn’t about to let him know that. Whatever it is, the is clearly expecting some punishment. Given, he does live near the Cloud Recesses, which means his wrongdoing could be as simple as a book of rude poems. Or it could be something much more sinister. Wei Wuxian would hold his judgment until he knows more.

“Stand and show me what that disciple was buying,” he says, channeling some of his husband’s cold power into his voice. The man scrambles to his feet immediately, reaching into his robes…then hesitates.

“I—”

“Go on,” Wei Wuxian commands again. “Show me.”

The man closes his eyes and draws in a shaky breath as he takes a book from his robes.

Hardly a book, actually. It is more like a pamphlet, roughly bound and dog-eared. The cover is blank, piquing Wei Wuxian’s interest further. What clearly well-read book would go unnamed, and yet be of interest to a young Lan cultivator? Is it a book of illicit cultivation? He hopes not. If it is, then he’ll have to report it to Lan Zhan, and the punishment will be far heavier than copying out the rules.

He takes the book, turning it over in his hands, but it doesn’t appear dangerous. He sees no sign of curses tied to it. It appears to be nothing more than a book.

Until he opens it.

It takes him several heartbeats to understand what he is looking at, his mind unable to make sense of how his own imagination has been poured into ink on a page.

When he does understand, though, he nearly stumbles, light-headed from the sudden surge conflict within him. Disbelief, awe, horror, lust, and, most of all—rage.

“Where did you get this?” he asks, his voice deadly calm. The man whimpers, and looks as though he’s about to drop back to his knees.

“Young master, I—”

“Where. Did you. Get this.”

“I don’t know!” he shrieks, actually falling back to the ground this time. “A man, he comes through town every now and then with new copies to sell.”

“Copies? How many?”

“I—I’m not sure—”

“Then guess.” Wei Wuxian knows he shouldn’t but he reaches for the resentful energy around them, pulling it out of the stones and the mud, black tendrils circling the cowering man.

“Dozens.”

Dozens. There are dozens of them—of these—?

“Give them to me.”

The man whimpers, and shakes his head. “I—I can’t. That’s the last. My last copy. They’re…they’re very popular.”

Wei Wuxian’s vision goes red.

“Please—no, please!”

There’s a terrible gargling sound, and Wei Wuxian blinks the rage from his eyes. The man is bound by the resentful energy, one tendril looped around his throat.

Jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ache, Wei Wuxian forces it to let him go and the man falls into a pile on the ground with a wet slap.

“Th-thank you,” he wheezes as he catches his breath. “Young master, I—”

“If I ever catch you in Caiyi again,” Wei Wuxian interrupts, glaring down at him, “I will kill you.”

The man whimpers.

“Do you understand?”

A nod.

“Then go. Now. Before I change my mind.”

He doesn’t have to tell him twice. The man is on his feet and running out of the alley in the span of a blink.

Wei Wuxian, though, doesn’t leave right away. He stays in the alley, composing himself for a long moment, until he feels calm enough to open the book again.

The first page is an exquisite painting of a man, well-muscled, naked except for a sheet of fabric draped artfully over his lap. He is reclined but alert, staring off to the side as though waiting for someone. His hair is pulled back, a few tendrils escaping over his face and chest, draped over the snow white ribbon still tied along his forehead.

An inscription at the bottom of the page reads, Hanguang-Jun Bears His Light.

--------

Wei Wuxian returns home exhausted, and much later than he intended.

He’d spent the whole day in Caiyi on an important mission: track down every copy of the damned book he could, and make sure Lan Zhan never found out.

The good news is, he’s fairly certain he has all of them. Or, all of them in Caiyi at least, unless people changed a lot more when he was gone than he’d realized and are suddenly a lot more resistant to being threatened.

Not that he’d threatened them, exactly. He’d just…insinuated that bad things might happen to them if they didn’t cooperate.

Ah, nevermind. That’s not what’s important now. Anyway.

What’s important is that it had taken most of the day, and now he has a very short window of time to work with to hide the damned books in the jingshi. It’s a calculated risk to hide them here, but he doesn’t trust leaving the vulnerable material out of reach, and for some reason, he can’t stomach the idea of just destroying them. Besides, if he studies them closely, maybe he can find some hint as to where they’re coming from.

Where to stash them in the meantime, though? The compartment in the floorboards is no good—that’s where Lan Zhan keeps the Emperor’s Smile. There the wardrobe, but Lan Zhan keeps it too neat for it to be good for hiding anything.

The same is true of the whole jingshi, in fact, except for—ah, of course. Wei Ying rushes over to his table, where he does his work. It’s not an amazing hiding pace, being out in the open as it is, but he’s sure he left it here somewhere. Unfortunately, this is the one untidy spot in all of th jingshi, and Wei Ying has somehow managed to lose his qiankun bag under the stacks of talisman papers and notes. This is what he gets for mooching off of his husband. He never takes his qiankun bag with him—what would be the point, when he has a perfectly good husband with all those Lan muscles to carry things?

He shoves papers aside, not really caring where things end up. A pile of ground ink stick that he’d left “for later” ends up upturned over is latest notes. He ignores the ruined pages, resigned to fixing them later when—-

“Ah-ha!” He snags the bit of red silk cord peeking out from beneath the pile and yanks the qiankun bag free. “Found you, you little—”

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying freezes.

No no no, he’s so close. Never in his current life has Wei Ying been less happy to see his husband return home.

“Lan Zhan!” he cries, spinning and doing his best to put himself between Lan Zhan and the pile of smutty books behind him. “You’re home!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums.

“What kept you so late? It must have been something very important to demand the great Haguang-jun’s attention for so long ha-ha. If they still need you, I understand! This one will miss his husband, of course, but I understand that he is in high demand for greater things.”

Lan Zhan makes a face without actually doing anything with his face that is both achingly fond, and the equivalent to an eye roll. It’s exceedingly cute and makes Wei Ying’s heart do something flippy and fluttery in his chest. This man!

“My business is concluded for the evening,” Lan Zhan says, walking towards him. “Are you looking for something—”

“No!” Wei Ying screeches, jumping to his feet to intercept Lan Zhan before he sees.

Unfortunately, Wei Ying has created something of a series of obstacles. In the process of leaping to his feet, he lands on one of his many loose sheets of paper. It slips beneath him, and Wei Ying finds himself careening back down to the floor even faster than he’d left it.

Right until a pair of familiar, sturdy arms wrap around his middle and keep his face from making intimate acquaintance with the floor.

“Ah—Lan Zhan, so good at catching me, always,” he laughs, patting those arms fondly. “I’m fine, though, really! I was just—ah—getting a little work done.”

Lan Zhan’s grip on him loosens and Wei Ying steps out of his arms just in time to see Lan Zhan reaching for one of the books.

What happens next….well. Wei Ying might lose his head a little. That’s the only explanation for why he tackles his husband to the floor. It’s the only explanation for why he thought that might work.

It doesn’t, of course. Instead, Wei Ying ends up with Lan Zhan on top of him, eyes dark and heated as Wei Ying squirms to get free. He thinks maybe, for a moment, that Lan Zhan will be too distracted to notice the books, but…no. Lan Zhan is infuriatingly good at focusing on one thing at a time.

“Lan Zhan, don’t—”

But it’s too late. Lan Zhan already has one of the books in his hand, opened to a random page in the middle, his ears immediately turning as red as if he had eaten a spoonful of Wei Ying’s chili oil.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, ah— I’m so sorry. I’m going to take care of it, don’t you worry. Whoever did this—well. I’ve got it, okay? Leave it to me. And don’t worry about it, okay? This book, it’s…it’s not even that good! Well, no. The art is actually pretty good, but it doesn’t come close to capturing you! Anyone with eyes can see that the drawings aren’t even half as beautiful as you are,it’s a pale imitation, truly.”

Wei Ying’s snaps his mouth closed with effort, no longer even certain what he’s saying. But Lan Zhan’s face has gone hard, which is a bad sign. He waits, giving Lan Zhan space to find the whatever it is he wants to say. Is he angry with Wei Ying for bringing this filth into their home? But no, Lan Zhan has brought far lewder things to the jingshi himself. Is he feeling violated? Wei Ying meant to leave the killing in his past, but he can make an exception.

“You do not like it.”

Wei Ying blinks. The blinks again, as if that will make the words make sense. “Huh?”

“The book,” Lan Zhan says. “You do not like it.”

“Um.” Wei Ying swallows, feels his face heating as he remembers some of what that book contained. “I wouldn’t. Say that. But why…” he trails off, an interesting thought occurring to him. “Lan Zhan, do you want me to like it?”

Lan Zhan, notably, does not answer.

“But…Lan Zhan, aren’t you upset? That somebody used your image so…so….promiscuously?”

That makes him frown. “Books cannot be promiscuous.”

“No, right, I get that, but….wait.” Wei Ying pushes hijmself up onto his elbows, looking directly into his husband’s beautiful face. “Books? As in, more than one?”

There’s no mistaking the sheepishness in Lan Zhan’s humming reply.

“Does that mean there’s more than one of these types of books out there? And that you knew about them?” Wei Ying’s head is swimming. It doesn’t make any sense! “Why didn't you do anything about it?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, but his ears are impossibly redder, the blush new spreading into the tops of his cheeks. He doesn’t look embarrassed, exactly. He looks…he looks…

Pleased.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quietly, unable to keep the tease out of his voice, “do you maybe like having a book of sexy drawings of you out there?”

“Ridiculous.”

Wei Ying laughs and throws his arms around him in delight. “Yes, maybe, but my husband is a ridiculous man. After all, he married me.”

It’s too good. This man…how did Wei Ying get so lucky?

“Not ridiculous,” Lan Zhan disagrees, wrapping his own arms around Wei Ying in turn and lowering him back to the floor so he’s lying on top of him. He places a gentle kiss against his neck, then bites. “Wei Ying is very marriageable.”

“Lan Zhan! Ah! Stop trying to distract me!” Wei Ying kicks his feet and playfully struggles. “Husband, gege...tell me. Do you like the drawings? Do you like people looking at them?”

“...mn,” Lan Zhan answers, hot face buried in Wei Ying’s neck.

Wei Ying thinks his heart is going to turn to go from how tender he’s feeling. He brings his hands up and runs his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair, catching the ends of his ribbon and tugging. “Good. Thank you for telling me. But you know, Lan Zhan....the art could be better. It's so....uninspired. We could do better.”

That gets Lan Zhan to pull back out of the safety of Wei Ying’s neck to look at him.

“Wei Ying?”

“Come on, gege,” Wei Ying says, untying the ribbon and wrapping it around his hand. “Clothes off. I want to draw you.”

--------

Nie Huaisang has had one hell of a day. Running a sect is not an easy task. True, he’s managed to delegate most of the truly tedious work—nobody wants him to be responsible for things like counting anyway. But there are still decisions that have to be made that require his attention, and today had a high quantity of piddly items to handle. Truly, the worst kind of work.

It only fits that he should treat himself now that he’s done for the day, and it just so happens that he has just the thing in mind.

He unwraps the book delicately, taking time to admire the pretty cover and the new book smell. It’s the most recent installment of a new spring book series, written by a mysterious author who goes without even a pseudonym.

The books have flooded the jianghu….secretly, of course, given the subject matter. Also, given the subject matter, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by his unexpected visitor.

“So, you approve, then?”

Nie Huaisang shrieks, diving beneath his desk, earning him a hearty laugh. “Wei-xiong!” he scolds, coming back out and rubbing at the space over his heart “You scared me!”

“I got that,” Wei Wuxian says, flashing him a smile. He comes away from the corner that he’d been lurking in, dropping into a sloppy seated position across from him. “But do tell me. What do you think of that?” He taps the cover of the book.

Nie Huaisang twists his fan in his hands, watching his old friend as he carefully chooses his words. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve only just seen it—”

“Ah, come on,” Wei Ying says, waving at him impatiently. “Don’t be so cautious with me! I want your really honest opinion! Do you like it? Do you approve?”

Wei Ying…doesn’t seem to be upset. Nie Huaisang quickly reassesses the situation. “Approve? It really is good work, Wei-xiong. Although I'm a bit surprised you're okay with this being out there!”

“Why's that?” Wei Ying asks, cocking his head to the side, the air of innocence so thickly applied that it would make a brothel worker blush. “The art is very good, I know, but it pales in comparison to the real thing. And I do have the real thing. Very real. Every night, we—”

“Yes, yes, we all know all about it!” Nie Huaisang interrupts, flapping his fan at him, really not wanting to hear it. “But Wei-xiong. Why are you here?”

Sharp is the only word Nie Huaisang can think of to describe Wei Wuxian’s smile. “I just wanted to bring you a little gift.”

“A gift?” Nie Huaisang turns redirects the fan towards himself, feeling a little sweaty. “Why?”

Wei Ying doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a familiar book. Nie Huaisang doesn’t touch it, out of fear that it might curse him, or worse. Wei Ying must sense this, as he opens the books for him, to a particularly salacious drawing of Hanguang-Jun emerging wet from a pool of water, white robes clinging and transparent. Nie Huaisang recognizes it, of course he does, except this is different. The drawing is better, more realistic. Realistic in the way that makes Nie Huaisang certain that there had been a live model involved in its creation.

His hair blows back as he begins to fan himself harder.

“Just a little thank you to the original artist,” Wei Ying says with a wink. “Fair's fair, after all.”

There is a new genre of spring book sweeping through the back alleyways of Caiyi Town...

Join the countless artists and writers paying tribute to HJG's beauty and add to their collection of Underground Spring Books from Feb 20-28, and then again March 20-28 for a make up week!

For more, check out our carrd!

Art by @lemonlushff / @lemonlushff-art Fic by @schwamb

#mdzs #mdzs fandom #mdzs fanart #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanart #cql fanfic #the untamed #lan wangji #hanguang jun #UndergroundSpringBooks

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