When Wei Ying was a child, his favorite game was playing house. "I'm Mama and you're Baba," he would say to Lan Zhan. And Lan Zhan would nod solemnly, fat cheeks wobbling.
"This is Xiao Baobao," he would say as he shook his stuffed rabbit. It had a brown stain on one of the ears that Wei Ying as a child could never stand to look at without wanting to cry.
While this would go on, Yu-ayi would be dragging Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli to piano classes under Lan Qiren's tutelage with Lan Zhan's older brother Lan Huan. Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying were the same age, but somehow, Wei Ying was never worthy of extracurricular activities.
Too much trouble, Yu-ayi would cite. Wei Ying never figured out if he was the trouble or if the trouble was coordinating activities for him with the money his parents left him. (Wei Ying also never figured out why Lan Zhan only lasted one day in that joint piano lesson.)
And so when Wei Ying was a child, his idea of family was him, Lan Zhan, and a bloodied stuffed rabbit masquerading as a baby. He thinks this primed him for his life now with Lan Zhan as the only one left by his side.
It was never a purposeful disconnection that separated Wei Ying from the Jiangs; it was just the natural drifting apart of people at different stages in their life.
Wei Ying is still in grad school with Lan Zhan; Jiang Cheng is in an entry-level position at Yunmeng Jiang Ceramic Technology Co., Ltd; and Jiang Yanli is off on her honeymoon with Jin Zixuan.
When the texts and phone calls start to trickle off, Wei Ying doesn't even notice. It's just the way drifting apart creeps up on you. One day, Wei Ying suddenly found himself with all his chats inactive, even his university chats, and only his chat with Lan Zhan still active.
(His chat with Jiang Cheng has been deleted but he cannot find it within himself to wonder at it further). He wonders when his whole world became Lan Zhan—just going through the motions with the world outside.
It's like looking through a window and realizing that it's been frosted glass this whole time.
"Do you think I should start making friends again?" Wei Ying says in a small voice.
"Why?" Lan Zhan says. His voice reverberates through Wei Ying, chest to Wei Ying's back as the arm slung over Wei Ying's waist tightens.
"...I don't know," Wei Ying answers. "I just feel like I should. This isn't healthy, right? Have you even been talking to your brother and uncle?"
"I only need Wei Ying."
Is this love?
Maybe.
It's all Wei Ying's ever known, never quite fitting in with the Jiangs and feeling too damaged to ever fully relax with his previous friends. Lan Zhan has always accepted him unconditionally.
Lan Zhan has always been an introvert, but he had never begrudged Wei Ying leaving him at home, only staring at his back with solemn, golden eyes. Lan Zhan has never asked beyond what Wei Ying is willing to give.
There are strange sounds coming from the cryogenesis room. Wei Ying's contract expressly forbids him from entering the cryo room, lest he inadvertently or purposely sabotages the "goods". He can't even enter the corridor where the room is—
at least not without setting off klaxons and having the spaceship's AI send off a message to the company back on Yunmeng. Nevertheless, it's a pretty cushy job. He just has to sit around and make sure life support and cryo doesn't fail; the ship's AI does most of the maintenance.
Wei Ying is meant to be the human element on the ship, to patch up the gaps of AI. There are a thousand sounds that AI perceives, and in those thousand sounds, Wei Ying hears one: the sound of a guqin emanating from cryo. It's a deep, resonant tone that reverberates through him.
History of Music Cultivation is a grad-level class and yet Wei Ying manages to snag a coveted spot in the class. Wei Ying is accustomed to charming professors into allowing him into their overfull classes—a winning smile and effusive compliments.
And yet Wei Ying somehow thinks that Lan-laoshi is not convinced by the curve of Wei Ying’s mouth & the sweet words from his tongue. Nevertheless, Wei Ying triumphantly brandishes a signed form as he says to Jiang Cheng, “Guess who’s learning musical cultivation this semester!”
“Nie Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng says dully. He swats at Wei Ying’s smugly twitching hand.
“Ha, Nie Huaisang wishes! I heard he got stuck with History of Cultivational Etiquette under Meng-laoshi.”
Jiang Cheng grimaces. “Good luck to him,” he mutters.
What cultivator doesn’t have a bit of inhuman blood in them? Wei Ying doesn’t discriminate! He even has some jiaoren blood in him from his father’s side of the family—just enough for him to breathe underwater.
And yet when Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan, he thinks that those golden eyes are not “a bit of inhuman blood”. There’s something about the way Lan Zhan’s mouth parts ever so slightly whenever he enters a room, as if catching a scent. His teeth are endlessly white and sharp.
It makes Wei Ying swallow dryly as his eyes flicker around the room, searching for a place—any place to take refuge in. Jiaoren are predators of the sea but on land, they are more prey than predator, with pearls falling from their eyes as they cry ever so prettily.
Five bells toll deeply in the Cloud Recesses, cutting through the howling wind. The ringing reverberates through Wei Ying’s body as his muscles tense and his meridians flow freely with qi. Slumber sloughs off Wei Ying just as—
easily as his loosely tied robes slide off his shoulder. A white hand, long-fingered & calloused, reaches to slide cloth upwards.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs on the fifth toll, “what was that?”
“Five tolls,” Lan Zhan says in a sleep-rough voice, “for a death—in the main line.”
Wei Ying stiffens. “You told me,” he says, “that there were no issues with the night hunt.” If not Lan Xichen, then could it be Lan Qiren for whom the bell tolls? Or Sizhui, their dear boy?
“I told you,” Lan Zhan says, voice still raspy, “that I was eager to come home to you.”