#for the xiongzhang who tended to him foR THREE YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[a-cutebird]

can we take a moment to examine how shitty & selfish lwj is post-canon and also what lxc has to endure after guanyin?

first, lwj just fucking... DISAPPEARS with the resurrected yiling laozu who's still under a great deal of suspicion (though, less now than before because he saved a bunch of cultivators’ lives during the second siege). lqr is two steps away from having an aneurysm, and the sect is in a bit of a disarray because their HEAD! DISCIPLE!!! vanished without a word. so lxc has to both calm his uncle down AND delegate lwj's duties to other trusted disciples, all because lwj couldn't wait like two more goddamn seconds to bang wwx on the side of the road without lube.

... anyways.

next, the ceremony of burying nmj/jgy's coffin. it sounds like nhs organizes the whole thing, so lxc simply has to be present, but my god, can you imagine how harrowing that would be?? there's probably still jgy's blood on the thing because the resentful energy is so strong & volatile that ppl are afraid of disturbing it any more than necessary. and just knowing that his sworn brothers are in there, trapped for at least 100 yrs... ugh. not to mention, there are probably rumors flying around the entire time that lxc is bound to catch wind of because ppl aren't as slick as they think they are (and also because no one in mdzs can speak more quietly than a stage whisper, apparently), and they'd be so fucking ridiculous, ranging from dramatized retellings of what happened to actually offensive conspiracy theories about 3zun that lxc should strike down but he's so tired, too tired, so he just... keeps a faint smile plastered on his face & feels numb - and! has absolutely no one to support him, because lqr sure as fuck won't/can't, and lwj is, again, GONE.

but then! lwj comes back!! and... announces that he's married to wwx??? which throws the lan sect into absolute chaos for the second time in 3 - 4 months. there's an uproar from cultivators who still haven't forgiven wwx (for, y’know, murdering hundreds of lan cultivators 13+ years ago - which is absolutely fucking reasonable, honestly). lqr probably gets so mad/stressed that he's bedridden for a few days. and lxc - poor, poor lxc. even though he wants nothing more than to simply empty his mind and meditate, lxc takes one look at lwj, sees that he clearly doesn't give a shit whether his family accepts his marriage or not and is therefore going to do fuck all to control the situation, then heaves the world's weariest & heaviest sigh, and does what he's done for lwj so many times by now:

addresses everyone's concerns one by one until he's managed to salvage his idiot rebellious brother's reputation once again and also managed to get the sect to at least tolerate wangxian's marriage since outright acceptance is likely out of the question.

all this man wants to do is disassociate - sorry, "meditate in seclusion" - and stop being in acute emotional pain for like five minutes - but no. the world (and lwj) can't give him even that tiniest sliver of rest.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 4 - ao3 -

“Qishan Wen has sent the invitations for the discussion conference,” their father said. “They will be holding a competition.”

The elders murmured thoughtfully in response.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure why, since the Wen sect always held some sort of competition when it was their turn – the other sects tended to vary the main event, feasts and hunts and academic discussions, but the Wen sect loved competitions. Although perhaps it was just Wen Ruohan himself who did; since he’d been the sect leader for so long, it was impossible to tell the difference between his preferences and his sect’s.

“Qingheng-jun can lead the disciples,” one of the sect elders said, and Lan Qiren’s brother stood and saluted respectfully before sitting back down. “As for the rest…what skills should we select for?”

“Equestrianism,” their father said. “And music.”

“Music?” one of Lan Qiren’s teachers – an old man who usually all but slept through these meetings, but respected enough that no one commented on it – asked, blinking awake and rubbing his eyes in a way that suggested he thought he was being discreet.  “Since when does Qishan Wen appreciate music?”

Lan Qiren's teacher in music, who'd clearly been about to ask the same question, shut his mouth with a poorly-hidden smile.

“They don’t have to appreciate it,” another teacher, this one of swordsmanship, said, his tone distant and cynical. “They just have to have someone in mind that they think will win. Qishan Wen values victory over all else.”

“And they are crafty," yet another said, nodding. "Including it in the listing might be a stratagem to get us to send more disciples talented in music and fewer in other areas, to reduce our chances of winning the main event –”

“Both riding and music are listed as the main events,” Lan Qiren’s father said, his cold clear tone slashing through the others’ voices and putting an end to the debate. “Let us proceed in selecting disciples to attend.”

The list was quickly settled, and for once Lan Qiren was nominated to go. He hoped it was on account of his musical talents, which he was pretty proud of, although he acknowledged it might very well be due to his heritage. He made plans to go to visit the library pavilion at once, thinking about what scores might be appropriate to study in preparation – based on the description in the invitation, there would be a technical challenge, in which they would all play the same piece, and then an individual selection where each player could show off their personal skills…

“Looking forward to showing off for your lover?”

Lan Qiren slowed to a stop. It was one of the wittier, more personable disciples, a distant cousin of his named Lan Ganhui – one of the ones that thought they were funny, and others seemed to agree.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked, puzzled. It seemed as if he were, but at the same time... “I don’t have a lover.”

“Really?” His cousin was smiling. “But we’ve all heard how highly Sect Leader Wen thinks of you.”

Lan Qiren blinked. “He complimented me once. Three years ago. When I was thirteen.”

With the benefit of hindsight and age, it was clear to him that his father must have been right about Wen Ruohan’s motives: he had only been making trouble deliberately, trying to stir things up. A test of his brother’s mettle as the prospective new leader of the Lan sect, no doubt.

Occasional teasing aside, what were the chances that he'd actually found Lan Qiren to be interesting?

“You’re far too modest, Qiren-xiong. Everyone knows how picky Sect Leader Wen can be – you must have done something to get his attention.”

Lan Qiren was not good at understanding people and their subtleties as a general rule, but he had sufficient practice at childish taunts to understand the implication, and he felt his ears burn.

“Do not speak ill of people,” he said, putting his hands behind his back to hide how his fists clenched. “You should report to the discipline hall for violating the rules.”

“Violation excused,” his brother said from behind him, voice calm – even cold – as always. “Don’t take things so seriously, Qiren; it’s only joking between friends.”

Lan Qiren was not friends with Lan Ganhui, but he probably should be. It was his duty as one of the heirs of the main clan to be magnanimous with the other disciples of the sect.

As irritating a task as that might be.

“Walk with me,” his brother ordered, and naturally Lan Qiren obeyed.

They went in silence for a while, their path the familiar one used to make the rounds of the Cloud Recesses – it was a task they were all assigned once they were old enough, and Lan Qiren recognized the twists and turns of it at once. He wondered what that meant, if anything.

If he were with one of his teachers, he would be able to extrapolate that the subject of imminent discussion was not a serious one; that they felt they could both fulfill their duties and speak with him meant that it was not a subject that required their full attention. But somehow, despite their closer relation, Lan Qiren sometimes felt as if he did not understand his brother anywhere near as well as he understood his teachers: it was possible that in this case the subject  was  important, but his brother more capable than their teachers of splitting his time and attention, or maybe simply didn’t care about one of the two tasks he was performing.

That was one of the things Lan Qiren had never really understood about his brother. His brother was the great hope of their Lan sect, the bright light of their generation; when he finally became sect leader, it was expected that he would help lead them to an ascendant position in the cultivation world and allow their clan to flourish, one andall. Yet sometimes it seemed as if he saw his duties as merely a burden, to be completed as quickly as possible – he was always trying to do more than one task at a time, trying to finish and put them aside, as if he had compared them to some ideal in his mind and found them wanting, purposeless, and therefore irrelevant, even if the task were key to the well-being of their sect.

Their teacher in swordsmanship – one of the few people his brother seemed to really like, though of course he was properly filial to all his teachers – said that he had the best chance of any in their generation of becoming a true immortal, if only he devoted himself, and Lan Qiren supposed that that was his brother’s goal. After all, hadn’t Wen Ruohan raised his sect higher and higher simply on account of having been there longer than anyone else…?

“This will be your first discussion conference in several years,” his brother said, drawing Lan Qiren’s attention. “Will it not?”

“Since the last time our sect hosted,” Lan Qiren agreed. It had been the Jiang the year after, and at fourteen he was too young to go to an official conference; then the Jin the year after that, and the Lan sect never sent too many people to suffer the rush and bustle of Lanling City. If he had had some extraordinary achievements, they might have sent him, but he didn’t.

This year, though, he was sixteen – just under the official age of eligibility for those not in the main families of the Great Sects, which was seventeen – and known to have some talent in one of the areas in question, so it would be a loss of face for their family  not  to send him. Otherwise, he suspected they would have waited another year until the discussion conference was held by the Nie sect, who as a close ally to the Lan sect would offer a much safer way to be introduced to the cultivation world.

“I see,” his brother said, and continued walking some distance. “You will need to be mindful of your actions, of course.”

“Of course,” Lan Qiren echoed, and despite his best efforts he felt some dissatisfaction. Beyond the resentment he bore him on account of their mother’s death, his brother had never really paid him all that much attention; Lan Qiren had been assured by several of his teachers that he was merely imagining how much his brother didn’t like him, or at least that the irritation would pass as he got older and more accomplished, less of an embarrassment. Most of the time, his brother’s gaze was turned inside to himself and his own cultivation efforts just like their father before him, so it made sense for him not to know too much about Lan Qiren, but…still. It wasn’t exactly like Lan Qiren was a known troublemaker that needed to be taken aside and especially warned to be on his best behavior.

He idolized his brother, Lan Qiren reminded himself. Just like everyone else. It was only the itchy emotionality of adolescence that was causing him such frustration.

“You understand what you did wrong, then, and will not repeat it.”

“…what I did wrong?” Lan Qiren ground his teeth together, realized he was doing it, and stopped at once. No one else had ever said he had done something wrong during that discussion conference, but perhaps they were only being polite. “Xiongzhang, I am too ignorant, and do not understand. Please tell me what you mean.”

His brother looked at him sidelong. “In connection with Sect Leader Wen.”

“Xiongzhang! I didn’t –”

“You are old enough now to understand how dangerous he is,” his brother said, cutting him off, and Lan Qiren fell silent, because that much was true. When he’d been thirteen and even more single-minded than he was today (and truly, how could he condemn his brother’s disinterest in so many things when he himself was similarly focused on his own interests?), he had been ignorant of the rumors that swirled around Wen Ruohan. It was said that beneath his seemingly composed countenance, he could be violent and moody, impulsive and selfish and cruel – how he had to have the best of everything for himself, and would stop at nothing to obtain whatever it was, no matter who it harmed. And then there were the stories of his mysterious Fire Palace, where he was said to collect implements of torture and to enjoy sating his bloodlust by practicing them upon those unfortunate enough to be his prisoners –

How much of that was true and how much merely rumor, Lan Qiren did not know, but he knew that it was well-accepted enough to be considered news rather than frivolous gossip.

"Yes, xiongzhang," he muttered, and dropped his eyes to the ground. "I know."

"This isn't like last time. We're going to be in the Nightless City, on his ground, not ours - you're not adept at politics, so you might not know it, but Sect Leader Wen's arrogance is beyond belief; he only sometimes considers himself to be bound by the laws and customs of the cultivation world, not like the rest of us. If something happens, I won't be able to protect you."

Lan Qiren nodded. He appreciated his brother's concern for him.

"Try to avoid him entirely," his brother instructed. "And if you do end up seeing him, don't pester him this time! Think beyond yourself: our sect cannot afford to draw his ire, if it turns out that he does not find you as amusing as he did before.”

It hadn’t been Lan Qiren’s fault that Wen Ruohan had found him amusing the first time. It wasn’t like he intended on spending time with the man – it had just happened!

“And what if he approaches me?” Lan Qiren asked, more to be contrary than out of any actual belief it would really happen. Wen Ruohan had seen him as a tool to needle his brother, nothing more, and had probably put him out of his mind long ago - it'd been three years, after all, and Lan Qiren was very young still; if it hadn't been for the Wen sect's selection of music as a main event, he probably wouldn't be going along at all.

“If he starts speaking with you, then you are to respond gracefully, and comply with his wishes until such time as someone can come to collect you.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Are you sure?"

His brother stopped and frowned at him.

"I just mean, we've met in person before," Lan Qiren explained. "He won't mistake me for a servant; he'll know who I am. And the Great Sects are all equal, so isn't there a chance that we might lose face if one of our main bloodline yields to everything he wants at first request, as if we were some nameless clan beneath his…”

“Are you questioning me?”

Lan Qiren faltered. “No, xiongzhang.”

“I don’t want anything disturbing the discussion conference,” his brother said, his gaze already sliding away and his fists tight at his sides. Lan Qiren thought over his words and was ashamed of himself: he shouldn't have reminded his brother that he was part of the main bloodline, same as him; he knew it was a painful subject for his brother, and to bring it up anyway probably came across as arrogant and tactless. “I am acting as leader for this trip, and the responsibility for everything that happens is mine. Do not make me lose face. Do you understand?”

“Yes, xiongzhang. I won’t lose face for the sect.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

[stiltonbasket]

so i binged all of renouncement verse in one go and lwj sewing clothes for a-yu was so sweet i was wondering if we could see him finally do that for wwx?

(brief author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

anon 2: maybe something about wwx getting things ready for the baby?? and lwj helps to feather their love nest a little more too (´• ω •`) like maybe carving a crib or making little clothes! they have advance warning about a baby for the first time ever!

anon 3: For Renouncement Verse: can we see WWX finding new hobbies such as sewing/embroidery to pass time and maybe even sewing their baby some clothes pls <3

__

When Wei Wuxian was a child—about seven years old, or six—he spent a week in bed after catching a mild case of lake fever, which rarely gave children anything worse than a headache and a cough. But lake-fever requires rest to heal, so the healers confined him to his room with strict orders not to move. 

Naturally, the young Wei Ying had disliked this immensely, and soothed himself by making kites for Jiang Cheng with his uncle until Madam Yu deemed him well enough to get up again.

“Did kite-making truly keep you occupied when you were sick, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks now, so lovingly that Wei Wuxian nearly drops his needle and thread. “I thought you would have tried to run away and fly them as soon as you were finished.”

“How do you think I learned how to sew?” he laughs, tucking up the hem of a tiny blue gown and fastening it with a line of straight stitches. “I broke my leg once when I was around nine, and then I broke my other leg the year after that, so Shijie sat with me and taught me how to mend all the clothes I ripped whenever I went out to play. It was nice, even if I thought it was boring, and then I started to like it enough to keep going.”

Lan Zhan nods and sews another clear red bead onto the garment spread across his lap. Whatever his husband is making is far too large for little A-Lan, but it doesn’t seem to be the kind of robe Lan Zhan would wear. Lan Zhan prefers gowns in blanch-white and azure blue, and this one has plenty of pale red flowers scattered among all the blue threads and silver embroidery. 

“Is that for you?” Wei Wuxian wonders, putting the finished baby dress aside. “When did you start wearing red, sweetheart?”

His husband’s lips curl up into a small smile as he shakes his head. “It’s yours. To wear to A-Lan’s full month celebration.”

He gestures to the fourteen feet of pearly silk and its glittering su xiu stitching, which Lan Zhan had done partly by hand and partly with the help of a crafting talisman. The robe is covered in sparkling flowers and soft white clouds, with most of the blossoms raised above the pale fabric in beadwork; from his vantage point on the bed, Wei Wuxian can see crimson lotuses and pale blue gentians sewn beside a flock of silver-feathered birds the size of his thumbnail, so delicate and fine that he has to squint to look at the details in their wings.

“For me?” he hears himself gasp, reaching out to touch it. “Lan Zhan!”

“A-Yu will wear the robe I made him, so I thought you might like to match,” Lan Zhan says, looking up at him with so much adoration in his eyes that Wei Wuxian’s heart turns to jelly. “I will make one for A-Lan, too, but later on. It will be much faster, and there is no telling how much she might grow in the first month.”

Lan Zhan glances at the tiny socks in Wei Wuxian’s hands—a pair of little knitted things, made in dyed pink instead of blue or white because Xiao-Yu insisted on choosing the color—and goes back to his work, adding in a pair of clear leaves and berries on the sleeves of the festival gown.

“I must hurry,” he says apologetically. “We only have another week at most, and then there will be no time for anything but tending the little one.”

Wei Wuxian sighs in wordless agreement and picks up his two long knitting needles. It hasn’t really sunk in that he’s going to have three children instead of two in less than ten days, even though the baby never lets him forget her presence even for a moment, and part of him is deathly afraid of what lies ahead even if he will have Lan Xichen’s help when it comes to giving birth to her. 

He is also afraid of doing something wrong after she arrives, since A-Yuan and A-Yu were both old enough to walk and talk by themselves when he adopted them.

“She’s going to be so tiny,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. “Lan Zhan, what if we—what if I end up hurting her? What if she cries and we can’t tell what she wants, or—or what if she gets sick, and we don’t notice? I’ve never even held such a little baby before. How are we going to do this?”

Lan Zhan takes Wei Wuxian’s hands in his and kisses them. “We will do it together,” he vows—and oh, it feels as if mountains would gladly level themselves at the sound of his husband’s voice, just so Wei Wuxian could have a clear road to walk on and sunshine to light the way. “When we do not know what to do, we will ask Shufu or perhaps Jiang Wanyin. And there are always healers, and my cousins who have had children.”

“Lan Zhan…”

And then Wei Wuxian realizes exactly what his beloved had said. “We can ask your uncle for help?”

“Xiongzhang was given to him to raise when he was only eighteen,” Lan Zhan explains. “There was a nurse, of course, but Shufu insisted he should bring us up if our parents were not permitted to do so.”

Wei Wuxian relaxes a little at the thought of practiced hands being near. “You hear that, A-Lan?” he chuckles, tapping his side over the spot where he last felt a nudge from the baby. “There’s no need to worry. Your shugong is here, and he’s better at this than your A-Die is.”

“Not for long. You will learn, sweetheart, and so will I.”

“You promise?” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Promise, Lan Zhan.”

(And Lan Zhan promises, as he always does, and kisses him until the last of his fears finally melt away.)

[stiltonbasket]

could i possibly please prompt you for some grown up kiddies? like the girls and a-yu, what's their dynamic like when they're like teens? do they like to get into trouble a lot or follow all the rules strictly? it'd be interesting to see them on a nighthunt together, maybe. what do they do when they get into trouble, how do they solve problems together? i adore all your fics and your oc's, i'm in awe of you bro

Boys Over Flowers

by stiltonbasket

The worst day of Wei Shuilan’s life comes not long after her fourteenth birthday, when her A-Die hands her a packed lunch in a basket and tells it to take it to her elder brother in the produce field.

“Xiao-Yu sent a butterfly saying he couldn’t leave his moonflower sprouts,” A-Die says. “Go bring him his lunch, A-Lan, and then hurry back so your food doesn’t get cold.”

Looking back on it, that was the moment Wei Shuilan's world imploded.

(Or: nineteen-year-old Lan Xiaohui falls in love. His sisters try to cancel his romance subscription.)

All of those days were miserable in their own gloomy ways, but the worst day of Shuilan’s life comes not long after her fourteenth birthday, when her A-Die hands her a packed lunch in a basket and tells it to take it to her elder brother in the produce field. 

“Xiao-Yu sent a butterfly saying he couldn’t leave his moonflower sprouts,” A-Die says—because Lan Yu is a shidao cultivator, and the medicinal herbs and crops he grows are so strong and wholesome that Uncle Xichen once swore that the dandelion tea from Yu-gege’s field could cure his reading headaches. “Go bring him his lunch, A-Lan, and then hurry back so your food doesn’t get cold.”

Shuilan nods and takes off at a run with the basket balanced on her elbow, dodging over rocks and clumps of grass until she gets to the produce field. She expects to find her brother kneeling in one of the flowerbeds, since his moonflowers have proved even more stubborn the enormous cactus he grew for burn paste, but the moonflower bed is decidedly free of muddy teenage boys with equally muddy forehead ribbons, and a squint around the field reveals that Yu-gege is standing near the lotus pond instead. 

Yu-gege isn’t alone, though. There’s a young man hovering next to him, dressed in the colors of Qinghe Nie, and his face is so red that Wei Shuilan can see his ears turning scarlet all the way from the gate. 

“I thought you might like these,” her brother’s strange companion seems to be mumbling, shoving a bunch of fire lilies in Lan Yu’s direction. “They, um. They still have the bulbs on, and the shop said they would put out new roots just a day after touching soil, so you can p-plant them.”

“Zhuyan!” she hears Lan Yu cry, obviously delighted. “How pretty! But—oh, no, my—will you dig out some holes for me over there, Zhuyan-xiong? I can’t leave my moonflowers seedlings for another hour, or I’ll have to start from scratch all over again.”

Wei Shuilan feels her blood run cold. 

No. No, it can’t be. 

“I can help you with them,” the other youth says shyly. “Can I?”

Not the moonflowers! Wei Shuilan wants to scream. Gege doesn’t even let me touch the moonflowers!

That’s because you keep trying to combine the modao with Xiao-Yu’s shidao cultivation and turning his radishes into demons, a voice that sounds a great deal like her Xiongzhang’s scolds in the back of her mind. Of course he doesn’t let you touch them!

“Do you mind waiting until they’re a little stronger?” Lan Yu replies, cheerily oblivious to his own younger sister coming to deliver his lunch. “They should be able to handle double spiritual signatures in a month, I think.”

Horrified into speechlessness, Shuilan throws the lunchbox at his head with a burst of spiritual energy and flees. Yu-gege doesn’t even blink, though, and neither does the stranger, and Yu-gege only looks up when the basket thumps gently to the ground at his feet.

“Oh!” he frowns. “Wait, that’s the basket A-Niang uses for my lunch. Was someone here?”

“I don’t think so,” the stranger says, with an adoring face like a dumb calf that nearly makes Shuilan sick on the spot. “I didn’t see anyone but you, A-Yu.”

Oh no, you don’t, Shuilan thinks, stomping back to the jingshi with clenched fists and helping her parents lay out the lunch dishes so angrily that they exchange a pair of startled glances over her head. I don’t care who this Zhuyan-xiong is, but I’m not going to let him take our Yu-gege away!

*    *    *

Wei Shuilan comes from a rather large family, which is rare among the Lan clan: and among the Weis, as far as she knows, because six generations’ worth of records at Lotus Pier show that her A-Die’s forefathers tended to have single children. Papa has only one brother, Uncle Xichen, and their father had a single didi, Great-uncle Qiren; but Wei Shuilan is the third child out of four, and her parents sometimes joke that they wouldn’t have minded another dozen. 

Her eldest brother, Lan Sizhui (or Xiongzhang, to his siblings) is almost as old as A-Die is, due to A-Die’s sixteen-year stint as a dead man that began when Xiongzhang was a baby. By the time A-Die came back to life, Xiongzhang was almost eighteen, and then he and Papa adopted Yu-gege, who was only two years old when A-Die found him in a brothel in Yunping. Shuilan arrived three years later, after her parents were married, and her younger sister Chunyang was born just after Shuilan’s third birthday.

Shuilan and Chunyang are the closest in age, and the youngest of the four, which is why Shuilan makes a beeline to her sister’s desk after lunch to ask if A-Chun knows a young master from the Nie clan with the courtesy name Zhuyan. 

“Of course I do,” Chunyang says, her warm sweet voice tinted with confusion as she looks up from her book of fu verses—a gift from Uncle Zizhen, who wrote most of the poems in collaboration with Nie-zongzhu. “He’s Nie Zhuxi-gongzi’s younger brother.”

“Really?” Shuilan frowns. Nie Zhuxi is something of a family friend, since he’s Nie-zongzhu’s heir, but he barely visits the Cloud Recesses because Father never even makes an effort to hide how much he dislikes him. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Why did you ask about him?” A-Chun wonders. Shuilan fights the urge to poke at her chubby steamed-bun cheeks and then decides that she might as well just do it, because A-Chun is nearly eleven and her adorable round cheeks probably won’t last for much longer anyway. “Jiejie?”

“I saw him just now in A-Niang’s produce field,” she sulks. “He was giving Yu-gege flowers.”

“So what?” Chunyang’s bewilderment makes sense, she supposes, because everyone gives their brother plant-related gifts when they visit Gusu; he’s the most famous shidao cultivator within the four great sects, though most of his fame comes from that one time he ran into a dog yaoguai when he was seventeen and yelled for A-Die and Father to save him. “Nie-shushu always gives Gege flowers and seeds. And he couldn’t come this week for your birthday, so he must have sent the flowers along with Nie Zhuyan.”

“It’s different when it’s Nie-shushu,” Shuilan protests. “He sent A-Die a baby dress for you before you were even born! But this Nie Zhuyan, he blushed when he was giving flowers to Yu-gege, and his ears were red! Like Papa’s always are when he looks at A-Die!”

“Oh!” her sister gasps, shooting straight out of her chair and grabbing Shuilan’s hands. “You mean—you mean he was giving Yu-gege flowers as a courting gift?”

A-Chun’s eyes look like sparkling black stars, and Shuilan nearly groans out loud before pulling the little girl back down to earth with a bump. “A-Chun, that’s bad! He’s not allowed to court Yu-gege!” she hisses. “We don’t know a thing about who he is, or where he comes from, or—”

“But...but he’s Nie-shushu’s cousin,” A-Chun points out. “And we’ve visited Qinghe Nie hundreds of times. We know his older brother, too!”

Shuilan’s eyes go wide. “That’s right!” she cries, bringing her fist down on the table as A-Chun leaps two feet into the air. “We know Nie Zhuxi, and we can’t trust him!”

“Um...why can’t we, Jiejie?”

“Because Nie Zhuxi tried to steal A-Die from Father! Before A-Die and Father got married, they were staying at the Unclean Realm, and Nie Zhuxi kept on flirting with him! He came to A-Die’s room after dark, and he made A-Die wear his clothes, and—”

The door slides open. 

“Nie Zhuxi?” their father’s voice croaks, right before they turn around to find him standing in the doorway with a frozen kind of look on his face. “A-Lan. Has Nie Zhuxi been here?”

Chunyang pouts and crosses her arms. “Papa, it’s time you made up with Nie-gongzi! You know Uncle Huaisang was just bribing him to flirt with A-Die so it would make you jealous!”

“I do not like him,” their father says snootily. “He demanded the clothes off your A-Niang’s back, and then he had the nerve to laugh when Wei Ying took them off and returned them to him.”

“That’s why we have a problem, Papa!” Shuilan cries. “His brother is trying to court our Yu-gege!”

Their father’s lips turn white. “What?”

“I saw him! He showed up with flowers for Gege, and he kept blushing—and Papa, Gege was staring at him so much that he didn’t notice I was there! I came to give him his lunch basket, and he didn’t even look at me!”

“Courting,” Father says, in a strangled voice that makes Shuilan’s own throat ache. “Not—not possible. Xiaohui is only nineteen.”

“He’s of age,” Chunyang pipes up, apparently under the impression that someone courting Lan Yu is a good thing instead of the worst crisis their family has ever had to endure. “And if they’re courting now, they’ll probably court at least a year, right? Gege will be twenty by then, Papa. Don’t worry.”

“I must speak with Wei Ying,” Father mutters, before absconding in a whirl of white satin robes and the flash of a silver hairpiece. “Courting my son, without leave! As if I would ever let such a thing happen!”

And then he disappears, leaving his daughters blinking in a sudden draft behind him. He’s probably going to find A-Niang in the jishi, which means that A-Niang is going to be responsible for telling Nie Zhuyan to stay away from Yu-gege. 

(For a moment, Wei Shuilan almost feels sorry for her brother’s would-be suitor, for having his dreams crushed the moment he worked up the courage to give Lan Yu a courting gift. 

Only almost, though.)

*    *    *

“So, Xiao-Yu!” A-Die says at dinner that night, as cheerful as ever as he fills Yu-gege’s bowl with hot rice and makes sure he gets plenty of vegetables from the dish in the middle of the table. “What’s this I hear about you going courting? Did you really grow up so much when I wasn’t looking, baobei?”

“Courting?” Lan Yu asks, around a mouthful of stew beef and potatoes. “Who’s going courting?”

“You, you silly cabbage. Aiyah, A-Yu, why didn’t you tell us? I’ve been looking forward to seeing you get married for so long, baobao, honestly—”

“I’m...I’m not courting anyone, though,” Gege replies, looking like a stunned rabbit for a minute before shaking his head and serving himself a helping of beans. “I’m too young, A-Niang! I just want to cultivate my plants and help you take care of A-Lan and A-Chun. And I don’t even like anyone, either.”

“You need not fear to tell us if you grow to care for someone, Xiaohui,” Father says anxiously. Shuilan can’t work out whether he’s still upset or not, because that sounded like he was upset at the thought of Lan Yu courting someone in secret rather than by the fact that he was courting at all. “We are your parents, and it is our privilege to guide you through all aspects of your life, including this.”

“Um. Thank you?” Lan Yu offers, clearly bewildered by the worry in Father’s eyes. “I really don’t want to court anyone, though. And I promise to tell you if I ever do, Papa.”

“Then what about Nie Zhuyan?” Shuilan wails, bursting into tears. “He gave you flowers! I saw him! And you were looking at him like he was the only one left in the world, and—”

Unexpectedly, her brother throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, my poor little A-Lan!” he coos, putting down his chopsticks and coming around to her side of the table to hug her. “Oh, no! I’m not courting Zhuyan-xiong. Those flowers were from Uncle Nie, not him, and—don’t cry, Lan-bao! Nie Zhuyan is the last person on earth I would ever think of marrying, you know. And besides, he already has someone he likes! He told me so.”

“Really?” Chunyang asks, looking so disappointed that A-Die passes her a dish of sweet bean porridge. “Who is it?”

“Oh, it’s Mianmian. You remember Auntie Qingyang’s daughter, right? She’s just a little older than Zhuyan-xiong, and he’s been making eyes at her for years. You know, I baked some of A-Niang’s lotus cakes for her once when we went to visit Ling-gege, and Zhuyan was so upset when he heard! He cried, actually, and he didn’t stop until I promised that I didn’t like her that way.”

A-Die’s face turns purple, and he almost chokes on a bit of meat before burying his head in his hands and laughing until he cries. Next to him, Father’s face goes oddly still, and stays that way until A-Die drags himself upright again with tears of mirth running down his cheeks. 

“He likes Mianmian?” he gasps, bursting into another fit of giggles. “Oh. Oh, so it’s like that.”

“What does that mean?” Chunyang inquires, as Father puts his chopsticks down and closes his eyes. “Like what? Papa?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” A-Die snorts. “Here, A-Yu, have some more of the lotus pudding.”

And after that, for some reason far beyond Wei Shuilan’s fourteen-year-old comprehension, the subject of Nie Zhuyan courting her brother is never brought up again.

*    *    *

“Oh, that poor boy,” Shuilan hears her A-Die cackle later that night, while she and Chunyang are brushing their teeth in the bathroom. “Oh, that poor boy! Lan Zhan, he’s just like me!”

“I am aware,” Father says wearily, followed by the creaking sound of her parents climbing into bed. “I do not doubt that Xiao-Yu will remain blind to Nie Zhuyan’s love for the next several years.”

A beat of silence, then. “Lan Zhan,” A-Die whispers, “you—I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I should never have made you wait for me for so long. Sometimes I think of how I love you now, and how much it would hurt me to lose you, or believe that you didn’t love me back, and…”

“I would have been the happiest man in the world even if you rejected me,” Father whispers back. “As long as you were happy, and healthy, and safe. I would you rather hate me, torture me a thousand ways, than injure a single hair upon your precious head—Wei Ying, you were gone, and then you returned to life when I spent the last sixteen years cursing myself for letting you go. What more could I ever have asked of you, my love?”

“I made you wait for me a whole year after I came back, darling. You can’t tell me that wasn’t torture to bear, Lan Zhan, because I won’t believe you.”

“Xingan,” their father chides, before the sound of a kiss makes A-Lan giggle so much that her toothbrush falls out of her mouth. “I had my beloved sleeping in my arms, with our son sleeping between us, and you think I was unhappy?”

“Well, when you say it like that…”

“That was the happiest year of my life, A-Ying. And then I married you, and the next year was the happiest. And then we celebrated our first anniversary, and the next year was happier still.”

“Does that mean that today was the happiest day of your life, then?”

“No,” Father says decidedly. “It was yesterday. Before I heard about Nie Zhuyan.”

“Aiyah, Lan Zhan. Our little ones have to grow up someday, you know. A-Yuan might not ever marry, but A-Yu and A-Lan and Chun-bao are going to fall in love, and have people fall in love with them, and they might even get their hearts broken, but—”

“Never! Never, not while I draw breath. I have had my heart broken into pieces, and I would rather die than see our children suffer so. If that means I must pass a decree forbidding that boy to enter the Cloud Recesses, then it shall be done.”

The conversation doesn’t end there, but A-Chun’s eyes are slipping closed, and Shuilan doesn’t want to hear any more kissing, so the two of them go back to their room and jump into their beds.

“Jiejie?” Chunyang asks, after Shuilan puts out the lights and drags her pillow up over her head. “Do you want to fall in love? Someday, when you’re older?”

Wei Shuilan shakes her head. “No. I hate boys. The only one who even wants to talk to me is Lan Fang, and all he ever wants to talk about is how demonic cultivation corrupts the body and wounds the soul.”

“But it doesn’t corrupt A-Niang’s body and soul, does it?”

“He doesn’t mean A-Niang,” she sniffs. “He means me. Lan Fang thinks he knows better just because he’s a boy, and I hate him.”

“Oh,” A-Chun nods. “Jiejie, I think I want to fall in love.”

“Then Jiejie will support you! Do you like anyone, Chun-bao?”

“Not yet. But someday!”

And then Chunyang closes her eyes and falls asleep, leaving Wei Shuilan to her own muddled thoughts until she falls asleep, too.