Jiang Cheng feels himself dissolving, coming undone like silk threads unraveling beneath skilled fingers. Their hands find each other in the half-light, fingers weaving together with an inevitability that makes his heart stutter. He’s spent years building walls, perfecting the art of pushing people away before they can leave him first. But here, in this moment, one truth crystallizes with startling clarity: the thought of Lan Wangji walking away feels like a blade between his ribs. Like losing his golden core all over again, his soul and heartbeat echoing in an empty chamber where something vital once lived.
The world narrows to gentle points of contact, the whisper of breath against his skin, the feather-light press of lips against his temple. Each kiss feels like a blessing, like cool water on fevered skin, washing away years of doubt and self-loathing. Yet those old fears cling to him like shadows at twilight, dark thoughts that wrap around his mind with thorned fingers. They whisper that he doesn’t deserve this, that happiness was never meant for someone like him.
His breath catches in his throat as Lan Wangji’s lips trace a path across his cheek, each touch a silent promise. The tension bleeds from his shoulders, his body swaying instinctively toward the warmth of the other man like a flower seeking sunlight. Before he can gather his scattered thoughts, Lan Wangji claims his mouth in a kiss that steals the very air from his lungs. It’s not forceful – it’s consuming, like sinking into deep water, like falling into starlight. Jiang Cheng surrenders to it completely, his hands finding purchase in soft robes as he guides them both to the floor. The words slip out between kisses, fragile as moth wings, heavy with meaning: ❛ What if I… never want you to go?❜
Jiang Cheng’s imbalance reaches the very core of his existence, and he crumbles, undone and unraveled, in Lan Wangji’s arms. The Lan Jade catches him, undeterred by the powerful reaction of the rogue sea. It will crash against him many times, it will scatter its foam over the polished stone walls, and inevitably, it will reach its tranquility. Lan Wangji does not know when Jiang Cheng will reach his true peace, but until then, his lips will travel to the wrinkles of Jiang Cheng’s worry, flattening them with a passing breath and whisper. He doesn’t know how to assist his beloved, much less how to eliminate this turmoil against him. So he holds his tempest with thunder in his chest, and he brings him closer, seeking an answer in the powerful stare. Jiang Cheng is as beautiful as he is intimidating, but Lan Wangji cannot translate it into words. He was never good at them.
And so he follows him. They descend, and Wangji still holds onto Jiang Cheng’s arms, his waist, the sides of his face, plunging fingers into his hair to pluck the dark tresses like strings of an expensive guqin. The kisses are slow and quick, tender and firm. It is a war of two friendly sides that want each other despite the differences in their approaches. Somehow, it works. Somehow, words are never needed between them. A mere gaze. A mere passing touch.
“Then ask me to stay always.” Lan Wangji hums his answer, tucking a loose strand of Jiang Cheng’s bangs between his ear. “Do not say never.” Despite this, Lan Wangji’s voice trembles. He is nervous.
you need someone to talk to, to remind you that you will survive, that you are loved, that you are needed… because you are having a hard time believing it, yourself.
⌜◈⌟ ▌ ── 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 spring Shi Qingxuan will spend as a mortal again after 400 years, and they have never felt so utterly alone.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 not unfamiliar with loneliness. It was once their only steadfast companion aside from their ge and ever-present fear, sitting with them through long days spent sequestered in a ramshackle mountainside cabin. It was fallible in those days, easy to influence with daydreams and passing fancies. Now it is sharper, more resilient, a resurrection that cannot be sent back to the grave. It blooms in the center of their chest, roots burrowing deep into the cracks of a broken heart.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 long as they can. What reason do they have to feel alone, anyway? They are surrounded by fellow beggars and vagabonds, each and every one as precious to them as polished jade. And they can’t idly languish in self-pity as they once had. There are always mouths to feed, clothing and tents to patch, the sick and elderly to care for. The encampment can’t stay in one place for too long; shop owners and tenants eventually lose their patience, and finding anywhere inside the city walls with enough space to temporarily house everyone is growing more and more difficult. Needless to say, they have no time to mope, no time to weed out this persistent melancholy. And that is fine, really. They like this life. This is the life they chose. The life they want.
𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 spring thunderstorms rumble in the distance, the loneliness spreads until they cannot breathe without it constricting their lungs, their ribs, their very core. Chasing sleep proves useless. They only fall headlong into snapshot memories, traitorous vignettes that close around them like a snare.
( Ge, look! The pear tears are blooming! They’re too high for me to reach; pick one for me, please? )
𝘼𝙝.I want to see the pear blossoms. Have they wilted already?
( Ming-xiong, I said we were sharing halves but you’ve barely left me a quarter. I can easily get us some more if you’re really that hungry, so play nice with me here! )
𝘼𝙝.I want to eat a plum. If I go to find some, will they still be ripe enough to share when I return?
( Your Highness, it’s already so hot out here in the countryside! Why don’t I cool off Puqi Village with a nice breeze? Don’t worry, I won’t make a show of it. )
𝘼𝙝.I want to feel the wind on my face again. I want to be the wind again.
𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, before the first rays of sun have pierced the gray predawn, they rise from their mat, roll it into a neat bundle against the wall, and bid all the aunties and uncles already awake farewell. Not forever, of course. Probably not for more than two weeks, maybe three. Some unfinished business, they lie. This earns every response imaginable in the broad spectrum of knowing looks and disapproving tuts.
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 days of travel is a week for them. “I really am an ancestor,” they mutter to themself more than once while rubbing at their swollen knee after a long day of limping down winding roads, palms blistered from the friction of their uncured wooden cane (strange to think that not even a year ago, they would have thrown a fit over the mere idea of suffering the indignity of such blemishes). They don’t know where they’re going. To the mountains, maybe. Somewhere they can see the flowers in bloom. Anywhere that doesn’t smell like the sea.
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 the basin of a secluded waterfall with nothing around except wildlife and the wide open sky, it feels right. Natural. Like this had been the destination in mind all along.
𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 they do nothing but sit at the water’s edge, alternating between staring down at their own rippling reflection or dozing in the sun’s warm embrace. This is nice. Peaceful. They can almost forget–
𝘼𝙝…I want to die.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. Pristine white twinkles on the lake’s wind-kissed surface, reflected adjacent to their own mirrored image. Robes, they belatedly realize. On a person. Is that…?
𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 other, eyes wide as a fawn’s, Shi Qingxuan squawks, “Oh my, Lan-gongzi! What a surprise, hahaha! You shouldn’t be showing yourself to mortals, you know? Bad luck! Real bad luck! Hurry and hide, before I’ve looked at you for too long. Or, wait, no, don’t worry, I’ve got it under control!”
𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐤,they cover their eyes with splayed-open hands. There. They can’t see him, he can’t see them. That’s how this works, right?
𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥 𝐛𝐲. A minute. Two. Behind the meager cover of their hands, Shi Qingxuan’s lower lip trembles. ’Say something,’ they demand themself. Do something, anything. This is unbearable; how can either of them save face like this? They peek from between their fingers, lashes misty and smile wan.
𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.
𝙋𝙡𝙞𝙥.Plip.One tear, another, and another, and why are they crying, exactly?
“𝐄𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬– that’s strange. Haha– ah? Hahahaha. Sorry. I’m. I’m being very, very weird right now. Please, um. Pleasedon'tlookatme. Ha. Ha.”
Lan Wangji stared at the gates of the Mighty Heavenly Hall, hands hidden in his sleeves in search of familiar comfort. Even his elated and tender skin was as cold as ice despite his journey into the peach gardens of immortality. His eyes were lost in the cascading waterfalls of clouds, a symbol of his sect that readied him for this very moment: embracing his fate. Behind him stood generations of souls that never reached the pearly marble of the Heavenly Court. His father cast himself from these blessings, went into seclusion, and averted his gaze from a lonely pavilion where Lan Wangji’s mother remained quietly until she was no more. Lan Xichen also turned away, but he had not wronged the immortal world. It was not his time yet, as he wished to serve as a mortal. That left Lan Zhan to ascend amid a great heartbreak.
A loss. A loss so great it erased itself from a god’s mind, thrusting him into the arms of aesthetics that made no sense to him. Lan Wangji trailed through the Hall with his eye cast downward, seeking something in the polished reflection. He could not recognize his face, although nothing had changed. A silhouette greeted him, wearing a scolding face but an even smile. The Emperor himself greeted the new god, although Lan Wangji had not realized he wandered into the lair of His Highness, stuck deep in thought. Jun Wu seemed to notice this too and spared the deity from getting to know his place in the hierarchy of woe. Instead, he asked what Lan Wangji was looking for. And to that, Lan Wangji answered:
“My home.”
A crystalline waterfall crashed into a catfish lake that took up a small corner of a mountain bed. Beneath the veil, the Mourning Pearl resided in a cave in seclusion. Lan Wangji’s role in Heaven was unconventional, and so many gods did not bother him with trifling missions or questions. Bothered by prayers of the grieving mortals instead, Lan Wangji decided to meditate while discerning their messages. It was solemn that he did not understand quite a lot of them. Loss, grief, mourning. These things eluded Lan Wangji for the majority of his life. From the very beginning, he was removed from learning that sometimes people left, some for a long time, others permanently, and that moving on was a part of life. Wangji could not suggest those things as blessings because he was situated in a similar predicament. What blessing would Lan Wangji have asked for if he knew, just before his body became light and distant, that he was going to leave unuttered words behind? The wind took his voice and carried it to a lonely, unmarked grave.
His guqin trembled in his lap as Lan Wangji stilled his fingers, inches away from plucking a string. Someone wandered into the Mourning Pearl’s abode, a realm drenched in invisible grief. It was quiet for a long time. Lan Wangji kneeled in a moving cloud of white hares as they hopped about their master, politely avoiding nibbling on his snow-white robes. Dressed like a phantom, Lan Wangji resembled what the last words may look like. His face was framed with distance, this certain dissociation between mind and soul. As he elevated from his seat, his robes cascaded like plumes of clouds, bearing faint hints of his sect’s honor: billowing clouds at the edges of thinning layers. Then, he turned to face the entrance and observed the belly of the waterfall for a long time before finally stepping outside.
A guest bestowed the Mourning Pearl’s shores, bringing a breeze that smelled of mint and sea. Lan Wangji could not recognize if the stranger was a traveler or a lost soul. And so, with an approach of a cautious feline, he advanced forward, rounding the edge of the lake until he was merely a few feet away from the curled figure. They looked cold as they shivered, but the mountain’s abundant realm was warm beneath the sun. The god looked upon his counterpart in silence, daring not to disturb the swaying ripples of their breath. Beneath them, white-scaled catfish curiously stared with their onyx eyes. In the reflection of their fins, Lan Wangji noticed the stranger’s eyes moving.
And then, it was no stranger anymore.
A soft glint of familiarity passed between Lan Wangji’s golden-sun eyes. Shi Qingxuan, as he recalled, resembled the finest calligraphy during their time in the Heavenly Capitol. At least, it was how the Mourning Pearl memorized them when he observed the residing gods for the first and last time before his departure into divine seclusion. He hadn’t made contact with a soul since then, both mortal and ascended. Shi Qingxuan looked like a shadow, a mere suggestion of what used to be a god. And they were drowning in an azurite glimmer of grief. Lan Wangji blinked, surprised by this appearance. It surprised him more that someone managed to wander into the heart of his realm. Before he could greet the god (or former god) properly, Shi Qingxuan spoke first, offering their recognition of Lan Wangji’s station. That was too much of a surprise to Lan Wangji. He opened his mouth and tears spoke over him as Shi Qingxuan jerked his trembling pupils away, hiding from the god that now seemingly towered over him. Wangji felt regretful.
Was it bad luck to be seen by mortals? So Shi Qingxuan was mortal now? Lan Wangji did not dwell in Heaven long enough to care about any affairs or scandals. It was useless to him.
Lan Wangji did not know what to do. His eyes widened as he looked to the catfish, seeking aid. The fish seemed to catch the god’s hint and turned their heads, swimming toward the lake’s emerald bedding. The God of Grief was left alone in the presence of a weeping being. To someone else, Shi Qingxuan may have appeared to be a man, struck by feverish ramblings. Lan Wangji was not moved, however, to part ways.
“You are at my lake.” It was the first thing he delivered to Shi Qingxuan. What he meant to say was that the former deity was welcomed by his realm when they wandered in. After a moment, Lan Wangji slowly knelt by Shi Qingxuan. Recalling the other’s request, Lan Wangji cast his eyes to the water. “This is not strange.” The deity watched as cast tears fell and touched the lake’s surface, turning into delicate, snow-white pearls. The catfish eagerly darted toward them, capturing each pearl into their mouth to carry like treasured food. Scoffing, Lan Wangji pressed his lips into a tight line. He remained still for a moment longer before his voice found its way to the tip of his tongue again.
Me when I see someone call Lan Wangji boring: I… *holding back my likely 5 part thesis about lwj’s character arc, the subtext in the novel and why it means so much to me* respectfully disagree.
His jaw clenches until pain shoots through his temples, a familiar sensation that accompanies the self-loathing now coursing through his veins. Jiang Cheng can’t even pinpoint the trigger anymore—was it a word, a look, a memory? The cause doesn’t matter; rage has become his constant companion, an unwelcome shadow that stretches longer with each passing day. The weight of it exhausts him, bone-deep and hollow.
Across from him stands Lan Wangji, an immovable mountain against Jiang Cheng’s stormy seas. There’s something infuriating about that serene composure, the way those amber eyes seem to see through every defense, every wall he’s built. Lan Wangji carries stillness like a second skin, his presence as soothing as moonlight on still water. Somehow, he knows exactly how to draw the truth from Jiang Cheng’s reluctant lips, to make him voice the feelings he’d rather leave buried.
The moment Lan Wangji’s fingers brush against his arm, Jiang Cheng feels his carefully constructed barriers crumble. His anger melts like spring snow, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable. He finds himself drowning in Lan Wangji’s gaze, those eyes like liquid gold in the afternoon light, holding secrets and promises he’s afraid to name. ❛ I… I want you to stay, ❜ he whispers, the words scratching his throat like grains of sand. His fingers seek out Lan Wangji’s hand, desperate for an anchor. ❛Please stay. ❜
Lan Wangji catches the tempest in his arms, letting it slam against him without losing air from his lungs. He knows Jiang Cheng’s sharp eyes, the way his eyebrows draw over the bridge of his nose when he is letting his tongue roll in the hot waves of his growing resentment toward the world that rejected his kindness. He knows this because he felt that rage many times before. But Lan Wangji is a man who tames emotions. He does not exploit their nature and does not add coal to the unending inferno. Sometimes, it makes him look insensitive even though he suffers for beings in silence. With Jiang Cheng, he is no different. The gust picks up and Lan Wangji stands still, letting it beat against him until it evens into a light breeze.
He feels a hand in his own and slowly their fingers lace. Despite his desire to touch skin that he always deems forbidden and unattainable, Lan Wangji slows. He feels their knuckles passing by and he answers quietly, dipping lower than Jiang Cheng’s tone but remaining firm. “I will,” he promises, eyes ignited by the desire to be present. Without fail, Lan Wangji will not depart any time soon. “For you.” He concludes, leaning in to press his lips against the outer corner of Jiang Cheng’s brow, right by his pulsing temples. Then comes his cheekbone, where the muscles usually jerk when the man is irritated or having an intense dream. Jiang Cheng’s hand receives a soft squeeze.
“When you ask, I will come.” He mutters, finally breaking eye contact to tilt his head and capture his counterpart’s lips into his own.
