Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts, as so much mischief does, because Wei Wuxian is bored.

Well, okay, that’s maybe being a little ungenerous—it’s a combination of things, really. Lan Zhan is away from Cloud Recesses for the day, investigating rumors of a monstrous dog spirit that’s been menacing a nearby village. Wei Wuxian has elected to sit this adventure out, for obvious reasons.

Lan Qiren retreated to the depths of the family library as soon as dawn broke, probably hoping to wait out Lan Zhan’s absence—and the next twelve hours of an unsupervised Wei Wuxian—in relative peace. Lan Xichen, fresh out of seclusion, is still a little too fragile to tease, and Wei Wuxian has just spent the whole morning lecturing the junior disciples on talisman creation. 

They’re so cute, all big earnest eyes and perked-up ears. Like a bunch of little bunnies, eager for him to impart wisdom to them.

And they’re so much better behaved than he remembers being at their age. He’s turned his back on them several times, giving them ample opportunities to pass notes or sneak out. But no, nothing. It’s almost like they’re excited to be in class.

Undoubtedly the most well-behaved student is Lan Sizhui, who sits at the front and center of the classroom where he can serve as an example for his peers. With his forehead ribbon tied precisely in place and his notes diligently taken in neat script, not to mention the way he aims admonishing glances at Lan Jingyi whenever the other boy gets a little too excited, he’s like an—admittedly less uptight—echo of the Lan Zhan of years past.

That’s his fatal mistake.

Like Lan Zhan, A-Yuan’s calm and collected expression makes Wei Wuxian want to poke at it.

With Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian knows he’s succeeded in breaking his husband’s cool when Lan Zhan’s ears go red, or, if he keeps pushing, when Lan Zhan’s control snaps and he tackles Wei Wuxian to the nearest horizontal surface for some well-deserved punishment.

Sometimes the surface doesn’t even have to be horizontal. Wei Wuxian sighs dreamily, lost in memories of his husband’s godly upper body strength.

Luckily, his mouth has a lot of practice running without too much input from his brain, and by the time he comes back to reality, he hears himself dismissing the students for their midday meal.

“Except for Lan Sizhui,” he adds. “Xian-gege will treat you to lunch in Caiyi Town.”

There. That should do it. A-Yuan will blush, his classmates will titter at the childish nickname, and with that itch scratched Wei Wuxian will be able to keep his mind on other things until Lan Zhan gets back later tonight.

Except.

A-Yuan only smiles warmly, face completely blush-free despite the giggles that break out around him as the juniors file out of the classroom.

“I would like that, Wei-qianbei,” he agrees.

Lan Jingyi, who has lingered behind his desk, snickers into his sleeve.

A-Yuan jostles him lightly with his shoulder and looks up at Wei Wuxian through his eyelashes.

“Xian-gege,” he amends, not a trace of embarrassment in his voice. As Wei Wuxian fights to hide the surprise from his face, A-Yuan carefully gathers up his belongings and shoos Lan Jingyi toward the dining hall.

“Xian-gege,” he says again. “What would you like to eat?”

“Ah, there’s a bakery that had just opened up the last time I visited—” Wei Wuxian lets himself ramble as he takes A-Yuan’s elbow and nudges him toward the gates of Cloud Recesses, but his thoughts are racing.

Why didn’t A-Yuan react at all? He always blushes when he calls Wei Wuxian “Xian-gege” in public. 

Could it be this is just a fluke? A one-off happenstance? Or will Wei Wuxian need to try harder to elicit that adorable red face from now on?

Clearly, more investigation is needed.

In the meantime, there’s plenty of diversion to be had in Caiyi Town, and, well, if Lan Zhan goes where the chaos is, and there happens to be chaos happening in Gusu, then doesn’t it stand to reason that he’ll come home a little sooner?

Lan Zhan is not technically a co-conspirator in Wei Wuxian’s quest to get under A-Yuan’s skin.

But Lan Zhan is observant and clever, and Lan Zhan has years of practice deciphering (and usually, enabling) Wei Wuxian’s harebrained schemes, and most importantly, upon his return that evening, Lan Zhan doesn’t object when Wei Wuxian interrupts A-Yuan’s dutiful welcome to exclaim, “Aiyooo, what a formal child! Didn’t you used to call him baba?”

The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears do go red, though, which Wei Wuxian is counting as a bonus.

Lan Jingyi is wheezing into his sleeve and a few of the other junior disciples who have gathered around to greet their esteemed Hanguang-jun are looking up, down, anywhere but Wei Wuxian’s face—

But A-Yuan is nodding pleasantly, catching and holding Wei Wuxian’s gaze. “So I did, a-die. Sizhui thanks you for the correction.” He turns to Lan Zhan and salutes again, smiling softly. “Baba, welcome back.”

No one has ever accused Wei Wuxian of having a thin face. Whatever is going on with A-Yuan, how can Wei Wuxian do anything but take it a step further?

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, your son missed you!” Wei Wuxian latches onto Lan Zhan’s arm like a particularly sticky piece of rice, burying his cheek in his husband’s shoulder and beaming at A-Yuan.

A gentle, amused huff of air rolls over the shell of his ear. “Our son,” Lan Zhan corrects him.

A-Yuan’s smile brightens even more. Lan Jingyi has given up trying to cover just his mouth and has resorted to raising the fabric of his sleeve to cover his entire face.

Wei Wuxian can’t leave well enough alone.

“Don’t be so stuffy,” he scolds A-Yuan. “Come over here and give your baba a proper hug.”

There are a couple of muffled gasps from the juniors in the background. Wei Wuxian chuckles to himself, wondering what they would think if they could have seen little A-Yuan as a toddler, clinging to the unparalleled Hanguang-jun’s leg and wailing in the streets. They might well have heart attacks to give Lan Qiren a run for his money.

It’s true that the sight of Wei Wuxian wrapped around various parts of Lan Zhan has become relatively commonplace over the past few years, but he’s always had a reputation for being loud and disruptive in Cloud Recesses.

Lan Sizhui, however, is a Lan through and through. Rarely anything less than dignified, ever observant of Gusu Lan’s thousands and thousands of rules… Why, just the other day Lan Zhan mentioned that even the older disciples have been coming to A-Yuan for advice!

Wei Wuxian opens his free arm and grins at A-Yuan, secure in the knowledge that he’s finally managed—

A-Yuan tucks himself into the space between his fathers, moving just a hair faster than one might consider strictly appropriate. Most of the other disciples read the atmosphere and scatter.

“Baba. A-die,” A-Yuan says into Wei Wuxian’s collarbone.

Lan Zhan’s arm wraps around both of them.

“Mm.”

Wei Wuxian is struck speechless.

Lan Jingyi may actually be in danger of drowning in the depths of his own sleeves.

Wei Wuxian is actually strategizing now. At first, he tries to think of the most embarrassing memories from his own childhood. But with a memory like a sieve, all he can remember is the good times. (And yeah, there are some darker spots that he’ll never be able to forget—can never allow himself to forget—but he bats them away. They’re painful but not embarrassing, anyhow.)

What he does have going for him, though, is an older sibling’s perfect recall of every single even mildly embarrassing thing that has ever happened to his little brother.

A-Yuan and Jiang Cheng have very different personalities and very different temperaments, so not everything will be directly applicable, but Jiang Cheng wasn’t always the ill-tempered stormcloud that he is today.

The timing is the crucial bit.

Wei Wuxian takes a few days to lay the groundwork for the next stage of his plan. He charms a couple of the servants into keeping him informed of A-Yuan’s whereabouts, then spends entirely more time than is reasonable working out the correlation between how much homework is assigned in class, the weather, how many bowls of soup Lan Jingyi has at lunch (sometimes more than three, the delightful sneak!), and where the mob of junior disciples decides to converge on A-Yuan on any given day.

(He also gets a good peek at the developing dynamics of the future leadership of the Gusu Lan Sect. If A-Yuan is the one holding court amongst his peers, then Lan Jingyi is his right-hand man, speaking up for those who are too timid to raise their voices and never hesitating to shout down the overly presumptuous.

More and more, Wei Wuxian is coming to understand the expressions he’s seen on Lan Qiren’s face as he stares at Lan Jingyi. It’s a very familiar mix of despair, resignation, and exasperated pride.)

Anyway, once Wei Wuxian is confident in his ability to pinpoint when A-Yuan will be surrounded by people—Lan Zhan is a lot harder to fluster in private than he is in public, after all, and that seems like the kind of thing that’s passed down—he picks a day when Lan Jingyi has had two and a half bowls of soup and catches A-Yuan just as he folds himself into an impeccable seated position on the grass among a circle of his peers.

“A-Yuan!” he exclaims, dropping a bunny that he has prepared for this exact purpose onto A-Yuan’s head.

A-Yuan, more than a little accustomed to being buried in bunnies by now, reaches up to steady the furry creature with both hands. The tiny paws scrabble around in his hair for a moment before he gently detangles it from the loose strands and lowers it to his lap, studiously brushing the dirt off the bunny’s limbs before it can leave pawprints all over his robes.

Wei Wuxian hears a couple of the disciples coo at the sight, and they’re not all directed at the rabbit.

A-Yuan blinks up at him, eyes almost as big as the bunny’s. He’s already dressed all in white; Wei Wuxian taps a finger against A-Yuan’s nose so it looks like it’s twitching and chortles to himself.

Aiyo, Lan Zhan, I buried him like a turnip and you buried him in rabbits, and somehow together we’ve raised our own white bunny.

“Did you need me for something, a-die?” A-Yuan bumps Wei Wuxian’s finger with his nose.

Wei Wuxian ignores the spike of pleased surprise in his chest. He was the one who demanded that A-Yuan call him that in the first place, what reason does his stupid heart have for going thump thump thump just because his son is doing as he asked?

"A-die?"

He spent so much time recreating A-Yuan’s schedule that he hadn't actually gotten further than vaguely thinking up the gist of his excuse, but he’s always been good at improvisation. And whatever he comes up with, Lan Zhan will undoubtedly corroborate his story.

“I found this little guy hiding in the bushes right outside the jingshi! He must have gotten separated from his family and wandered out of the back mountain. I’ll take him back later, but I was just about to convince Lan Zhan to have some fun with me—”

And okay, Jiang Cheng never had to deal with his parents making these kinds of insinuations, Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu would never, but Wei Wuxian chooses to think of this as putting his own spin on Jiang Cheng’s traumas.

“—so I thought I’d bring him over here so you could watch over him for a bit!”

One of the Lan disciples drops his brush, and there is a brief kerfuffle as the boys around him scramble to avoid getting ink on the hems of their robes.

A-Yuan is bafflingly unruffled. His hands never once pause in their long, careful strokes down the rabbit’s back.

“A-die and baba don’t get enough time to themselves,” that adorable, frustrating child agrees. “I will return this little one to his family after our study group.”

Wei Wuxian beams. “What a filial son we’ve raised!”

Now for the killing blow.

“Oh, A-Yuan, you’ve got some dirt on your face, let me—”

Just as he remembers shijie doing to a humiliated Jiang Cheng right in front of the other boys of Lotus Pier, he licks the pad of his thumb and scrubs it against the mark on A-Yuan’s cheek.

If he takes the opportunity to squeeze A-Yuan’s other chubby cheek as he does, well, that’s what A-Yuan gets for being such a round-faced little bunny.

To top it all off, he smooths A-Yuan’s forehead ribbon back into place from where it was knocked askew by the rabbit’s nervous pawing, centers the embroidered clouds so they are once more aligned with the bridge of A-Yuan’s delicate nose, and lays a loud, smacking kiss against the dead center of the fabric.

The color of Lan Jingyi’s face as he presses his lips together in an attempt to stifle his laughter indicates that Wei Wuxian’s job here is done. With a dramatic swirl of cloth (“Black, like the color of your soul,” Jiang Cheng once snarked under his breath when he thought Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear him), Wei Wuxian bids the juniors farewell with a jaunty bounce to his step.

But when he turns around to check on the chaos he’s left behind him, safely hidden behind a conveniently-shaped bush, A-Yuan is still smiling serenely, like a statue of Guanyin made of flesh and cloth.

Wei Wuxian is starting to get worried.

Maybe the problem is that A-Yuan is not Jiang Cheng, or indeed anything like Jiang Cheng. Maybe Wei Wuxian needs to tailor his next move to A-Yuan specifically. Maybe—unthinkably—being in public just makes A-Yuan stronger.

Opportunity strikes without warning, as Wei Wuxian joins his little family for an after-dinner visit in Lan Xichen’s newly reopened quarters. 

He wouldn’t dream of making life harder for his brother-in-law, not when Lan Zhan has worked so hard to convince Lan Xichen to rejoin the world. But it’s a damn pity that Zewu-jun doesn’t smile nearly as often as he used to, and Wei Wuxian is of the firm opinion that laughter is indeed the best medicine.

(The one time he said that to dear, practical Wen Qing, she had smacked him on the shoulder and scolded him for putting fanciful ideas in people’s heads. But she hadn’t disagreed with him.)

“Zewu-jun, do you want to hear about the time A-Yuan was so jealous of Fourth Uncle’s mustache that he drew on a mustache of his own for a whole month?”

A-Yuan’s eyes widen and he sits up even straighter, leaning forward as if to push his hand over Wei Wuxian’s mouth. But Lan Zhan places a hand on their son’s shoulder, glancing fondly at that distressed face.

“I would like to hear this story as well,” Lan Zhan says. The corner of his mouth curls up as he squeezes A-Yuan’s shoulder lightly and adds, “After all, we can only tell xiongzhang about burying you in the dirt and the bunnies so many times.”

“I was there for the bunnies, Wangji,” Lan Xichen sighs.

“Mm.” Lan Zhan nods. “But it is a good story.”

A-Yuan relaxes a little, settling back into his seat. 

No no no, Lan Zhan! Wei Wuxian whines in his mind. Lan Zhan, I was so close to embarrassing him!

But the moment has passed. A-Yuan is back in control of himself, looking expectantly at Wei Wuxian.

“Tell us about Fourth Uncle’s mustache, a-die,” he prompts. “He… he used to dye it, didn’t he? I remember his topknot and his eyebrows were all grey, but his mustache was dark and impressive.”

That's all it takes for Wei Wuxian to admit defeat for the moment. How could he ever hold his knowledge about A-Yuan’s family over his head, especially for something as petty as Wei Wuxian’s pride? Not to mention, little A-Yuan’s antics are objectively hilarious even when current-day Lan Sizhui is not the butt of the joke.

Even Zewu-jun looks like he’s anticipating a good chuckle.

Wei Wuxian takes a moment to get over himself, and then he settles back against the solid line of Lan Zhan’s torso and tells his family about the walnut dye that was Fourth Uncle’s single concession to vanity, and how one day A-Yuan decided that he was grown-up enough to have facial hair too. He borrows Sizhui’s hands to demonstrate the mess that he and Wen Qing had to deal with in the aftermath, not only on A-Yuan’s face but also his grubby little paws and everything he touched before they finally managed to chase him down and wrestle him into a bath.

That story is successful enough that it is quickly followed by another memory from A-Yuan’s childhood, this time chronicling A-Yuan’s first attempt at fishing, which ended with a wriggling toddler tossed over a soaked Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and no fish for dinner that night. Lan Zhan and A-Yuan take turns coaxing amusing anecdotes out of Wei Wuxian’s terrible memory, and Lan Xichen’s smile doesn’t fade even when it becomes clear that the Lan sleep schedule has overcome A-Yuan despite his most valiant efforts.

“I think that is enough for tonight,” Zewu-jun says gently, ruffling A-Yuan’s hair.

The sweet smile that A-Yuan gives his uncle is the mirror image of Zewu-jun’s own expression.

“Good night, bofu.” A-Yuan tries to rise to his feet and wobbles. He catches himself at the last minute, but what he catches himself on is Zewu-jun, who is also falling prey to the same sleepiness.

Lan Zhan, who has developed something of a tolerance for being up late thanks to Wei Wuxian’s influence, steadies them both before they devolve into undignified flailing.

“Careful there, Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian laughs, taking his brother-in-law’s elbow. “Let’s get you settled first.” Over his shoulder, as he leads Zewu-jun toward the bed in the corner of the room, he calls, “A-Yuan, you’re falling asleep on your feet. Let your baba carry you back to the dormitories, hm?”

He’s too busy making sure Zewu-jun makes it to bed to catch the expression on A-Yuan’s face, but the boy’s soft noise of assent and the rustling of cloth as Lan Zhan crouches and straightens back up doesn’t give Wei Wuxian much hope of seeing a red face.

Once Zewu-jun is settled, Wei Wuxian quietly closes the door to the hanshi and catches up with his husband and son. A-Yuan’s cheek is pressed to Lan Zhan’s collarbone and his arms are wrapped tightly around Lan Zhan’s neck. 

“Are you asleep, A-Yuan?” Wei Wuxian teases.

“No sleeping outside of one’s own bed,” A-Yuan murmurs in response, but his eyelids flutter like he’s fighting a losing battle.

If anyone else were watching, or if the moment were any less tender, Wei Wuxian would grab his chest and dramatically proclaim that his heart is too weak for this. But in the dark, in this comfortable quiet, with no one to perform for, he simply drops a kiss on the crown of A-Yuan’s head and exchanges a soft glance, full of contentment, with Lan Zhan.

One last try.

Wei Wuxian has one final plan, and there is no way it will fail.

It’s a shame he already asked Zewu-jun to give A-Yuan the talk years ago; in hindsight he should have taken care of it himself because it would have been hilarious. Alas, he’s too nice, and at the time he had thought to spare A-Yuan the embarrassment.

But now he can’t afford to spare A-Yuan.

It almost seems mean, to put their son through this, but he reasons that it was going to happen naturally sooner or later, given the nature of his relationship with Lan Zhan and the fact that both of them have maaaaaaybe a little bit of an exhibitionist kink.

Anyway, it’s not like he’s going to let A-Yuan actually see anything that might scar him for life.

He tells Lan Zhan about this one. It wouldn’t be right not to, not for this.

He’s only a little surprised when Lan Zhan agrees to the plan after only a split second of hesitation. How far his Lan Zhan has come since his days as one of Cloud Recesses’ disciplinarians, to have become this lovey-dovey husband who never denies Wei Wuxian anything!

Riding the high of Lan Zhan’s indulgence, Wei Wuxian teases, “Lan er-gege! What was that pause for? Afraid that you won’t be able to stop after A-Yuan ‘catches’ us? Is your love for me so passionate that you won’t be able to hold back no matter the consequences?”

“Mn.”

A direct hit!!

Wei Wuxian reels, clutching his chest and pitching backwards in a dramatic flurry of silk. Lan Zhan catches him in one arm, steady as ever. There is a faint crease between those delicate eyebrows and a glimmer of concern in Lan Zhan’s eyes, even though Lan Zhan has to know that Wei Wuxian is just playing around.

Wei Wuxian lets the exaggerated display of swooning fade into something softer and more genuine as he gazes up at Lan Zhan’s perfect face, overwhelmed by the depth of feeling he harbors for this man. This ridiculous, doting man.

“Well, do your best,” he says, patting Lan Zhan’s cheek.

Lan Zhan’s hand comes up to cup his fingers. His husband’s eyes are dark, pupils huge despite the sunlight pouring through the paper walls of the jingshi.

Wei Wuxian is so blessed, to have a husband who’s always on the same page as him. He glances up coyly at Lan Zhan through his eyelashes, tilting his head just right so his hair slips into a picturesque waterfall around his face.

“Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan, maybe we should work off some of the tension before we go out in public.”

He can’t help but let out a delighted giggle at Lan Zhan’s immediate hum of agreement. And then he lets out a yelp as Lan Zhan tackles him to the ground. 

So as it turns out, by the time they’re getting busy in the clearing near the rabbit warrens, he’s glad that Lan Zhan has promised to take it easy on him. And anyways, it’s a nice change of pace, this slow, luxurious tumble in the grass, with Lan Zhan’s weight comfortably pinning him down as their mouths slick together.

One of the bunnies is sniffing at Wei Wuxian’s ankle. 

Between moans Wei Wuxian laughs, “Lan Zhan, who says—ah—that we can’t be quiet when we—mm, Lan Zhan—make love? The—ha, oh, do that again—bunnies don’t even know that we’re doing it right now!”

Lan Zhan takes Wei Wuxian’s earlobe between his teeth and bites down as if in retribution for Wei Wuxian’s ridiculous words.

Wei Wuxian, true to character, lets out a loud whine. “Lan Zhaaaan, you were being so nice to me! Why do you always have to bi—i~i—te meeee?” His voice shoots up two octaves when Lan Zhan decides that there are even better parts of him to bite instead.

“Should be loud,” Lan Zhan murmurs against Wei Wuxian’s pectoral. “Part of Wei Ying’s plan.”

“O-oh… oh!”

Lan Zhan isn’t wrong. Wei Wuxian shakes himself, trying to remember what, exactly, his plan is.

It comes back to him in a flash when he hears the pitter-patter of footsteps coming down the path. A-Yuan doesn’t walk so much as glide across the surface of the earth, much as Lan Zhan does, but Lan Jingyi has never taken an unhurried step in his life.

Wei Wuxian pushes himself up on his elbows, vibrating in excitement.

“Here they come!” he hisses, hooking an arm around Lan Zhan’s neck.

Lan Zhan hums in acknowledgement, hauling Wei Wuxian into his lap with a hand that nearly spans half of Wei Wuxian’s waist.

Wei Wuxian shivers for a very different reason.

“Wei Ying, be loud.” 

With Lan Zhan breathing hot and fast against his temple and Lan Zhan’s low, silky voice right next to his ear, not to mention Lan Zhan’s hands wandering under the skirt of his robes, Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to try hard at all make a noise loud enough to catch A-Yuan’s attention.

“What’s— Who is that—? Wei-qianbei? Hanguang-jun??” Lan Jingyi yelps, clapping his hands over his eyes.

“Sizhui. Lan Jingyi.” Lan Zhan’s voice is utterly unruffled. How does he do it?? Wei Wuxian has to know.

“B-baba, a-die…”

Wei Wuxian tugs Lan Zhan’s hand out of his clothes and turns to face the boys, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and pulling at his lapels in a way that pretends to be an attempt at straightening his robes but which he knows just makes the collar gape more.

“A-Yuan! Jingyi. What brings you here?” He catches sight of the basket of carrots and hay, although he doesn’t really need the clue. Not when he’s the one who planned to be here making out with his husband around the same time A-Yuan and Jingyi usually come to feed the rabbits.

“Rabbits,” Lan Zhan says helpfully, one hand stroking possessively down the side of Wei Wuxian’s arm. Lan Zhan is, maybe, a little too into the part he’s playing. 

Well, it’s not like Wei Wuxian wasn’t warned.

“Here to feed the bunnies?” Wei Wuxian grins. “What good boys! Well, go on, go on. Don’t mind me and Hanguang-jun over here.” He gasps. “Lan Zhan! Where do you think you’re touching?”

“Mn.”

“Lan Zhan! ...Lan Zhan, do that again.”

Lan Jingyi can’t take it anymore.

“We can come back!” he sputters. “Sizhui, let’s—”

“One moment, Jingyi.” A-Yuan has yet to avert his eyes, and Wei Wuxian feels a chill run down his back as their son opens his mouth.

“A-Yuan—”

“A-die.” A-Yuan puts the basket of rabbit food down on the ground with a soft thump. Then he folds his hands together behind his back, looking like nothing more than a miniature Zewu-jun. “Baba. I hope you are being responsible?”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him.

“Mn?” Lan Zhan’s octopus hands fall still.

A-Yuan is undaunted by their silence. There is a faint smile hovering on his lips. Lan Jingyi is staring at A-Yuan like he’s never seen him before.

“I know passions can strike anywhere, and it’s admirable that baba and a-die are so caring that they can share their love with the rest of the world—”

“It’s really not,” Lan Jingyi mutters, apparently unable to curb his tongue even through his shock.

“—but,” A-Yuan continues, nudging Lan Jingyi without ever losing that terrifying smile, “if this happens very often, I hope that you carry the right preparations to help things go smoothly.”

Having said his piece, their son settles back on his heels and looks earnestly at them.

Wei Wuxian coughs, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. “A-Yuan, what—”

“Bofu told us about using oil and taking your time with preparation. And that just saliva isn’t enough.” A-Yuan’s brow furrows and oh, no, this is really happening.

There’s nothing like getting a paraphrased version of your brother-in-law’s sex talk from your eighteen-year-old son to kill the mood.

“A-Yuan, stop—”

“Of course baba and a-die pay close attention to each other's reactions so you can know to stop if anything goes very wrong, but bofu also said that it’s important to know that either—that is, any of the parties—can say no at any time for any reason. And even if you don’t want to stop entirely, sometimes everyone just needs to take a moment to reassess the situation and make some adjustments.”

Lan Jingyi may have ascended. How is Wei Wuxian going to explain to Lan Qiren how the most un-Lan-like Lan to ever live was the first to achieve immortality?

Wei Wuxian might be ascending. It certainly feels like it.

There are more urgent problems to address.

“Lan Sizhui!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. “Stop right there!”

A-Yuan blinks.

“Look at your baba!” Wei Wuxian wails, squishing Lan Zhan’s cheeks between his palms and tilting that perfect head up so that A-Yuan can see it more clearly. “Look at how red his ears have gone! Have you no sense of filial piety? Spare your poor parents before you give us a heart attack!”

Oh. This must be how Lan Qiren feels all the time.

It’s almost enough to make Wei Wuxian feel bad for how much trouble he makes for his husband’s uncle. Almost.

"We're going to go to the jingshi," he says sternly, and borrows one of Lan Qiren's favorite phrases: "And you're going to explain yourself."

"What is there to explain?" Lan Jingyi demands, having apparently recovered at some point during Wei Wuxian's revelation. 

But A-Yuan picks the basket of rabbit food back up and hands it off to him.

"I think we've taken this as far as it can go, Jingyi," he says, and damn if that isn't a terrifying sentence to hear. "I think at this point my parents deserve an explanation."

Lan Jingyi looks skeptical and a little bit regretful, but shrugs, already headed toward the nearest clump of rabbits.

"Suit yourself," he says. Then he grins. "Let me know how it goes afterwards."

Nobody speaks until they are safely ensconced in the jingshi. Wei Wuxian slides the door closed, carelessly activates a privacy talisman, and whirls to face A-Yuan.

"Just what has gotten into you lately?" he demands, dropping onto a seat cushion at the low table. "Pretending you're unaffected by things that I know embarrass you? Lecturing us about using oil and saying no during sex??"

A-Yuan pauses at that. "To borrow Jingyi's words," he says, "you were kind of asking for it that time."

And you know what? That's fair, the kid has a point.

“But about all the other times, a-die, I wasn't pretending,” A-Yuan says very earnestly, leaning forward slightly to look his fathers in the eye. “I like hearing how much you love me.” He pauses thoughtfully and then continues, “When I was younger, I was encouraged to call Hanguang-jun by his title.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, an expression that he can see mirrored in the downward turn of his husband’s lips. The sect elders really had some nerve, forcing—sorry, strongly encouraging—a child to hide his relationship with the only family he had left in some kind of misguided attempt to save the sect some face. As if taking A-Yuan in has been detrimental to the sect in any way.

But A-Yuan doesn’t dwell on the past. “I like it when you tell me to call you baba and a-die,” he says, cheeks scrunched up in a smile. “Not like it’s merely allowed, but rather that this is the natural course of things.”

Lan Zhan nods. “A son should address his parents appropriately.”

With a carefully blank face, A-Yuan swipes the hem of his sleeve across his eyes.

“Aiyo,” Wei Wuxian says to distract himself from the way his heart is beating so loudly against his ribcage that it almost hurts. “Crying again, A-Yuan? Lan Zhan, how did such a soft-hearted boy ever come from the two of us?”

“Got his heart from Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan responds promptly.

Wei Wuxian buries his face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, slapping lightly at his husband’s chest. “Lan Zhan! Now who’s being shameless?”

A-Yuan lets out a watery laugh. “It took me a while to realize what you were doing, a-die, because you two are always like this. At first I thought you were just being extra insistent because you missed baba.”

Wei Wuxian slumps into Lan Zhan’s lap. “I was trying so hard to be embarrassing,” he laments to Lan Zhan’s elbow. “And he didn’t even notice!”

“I did eventually!” A-Yuan hastens to reassure him.

Wei Wuxian can feel the intensity of a father-son staredown happening over his head. He doesn't bother to join in. Lan Zhan is excellent at getting the truth out of young disciples.

“...I realized as soon as Jingyi pointed out that you were being more, um, enthusiastic than usual.” 

When Wei Wuxian cranes his neck to peer up at their son, there is a sheepish expression on A-Yuan’s face.

This sounds like the beginning of an explanation.

Wei Wuxian jackknifes back up into a sitting position, narrowly missing a collision with Lan Zhan’s jaw as he goes.

“You’re hiding something!” he exclaims. He bounces gleefully in his seat. 

Lan Zhan ignores the way he is being jostled by Wei Wuxian’s excitement.

“Sizhui,” is all he says.

A-Yuan ducks his head, folding his hands together on the table in front of him. His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to find words.

“Do I need to have Lan Jingyi summoned here?” Wei Wuxian threatens, only mostly joking. “I’ll do it, A-Yuan, you know I will.”

“Wei Ying. Words take time.”

Ah, Lan Zhan, always the voice of cool reason. Wei Wuxian inclines his head, acknowledging the point.

A-Yuan presses his lips together in thought, cheeks puffing out in a way that makes Wei Wuxian’s fingers itch to pinch them. He manfully resists the urge.

“Jingyi dared me,” A-Yuan starts, and, well—

Honestly, that’s half the explanation right there.

“Jingyi guessed that you were trying to embarrass me for some reason.” From the look on A-Yuan’s face, Wei Wuxian is pretty sure that Lan Jingyi had a good guess—probably a correct one—about the reason, but A-Yuan is too polite to say so. “And he thought it would be funny if I did the opposite of what you expected.”

“So instead of reacting in embarrassment, you encouraged more of such behavior.” Lan Zhan’s voice is even, but Wei Wuxian can see a glint of amusement in his husband’s eyes.

Ahh, Lan Zhan, he thinks, we’ve really ruined you, haven’t we? To think you have such a soft spot for troublemakers!

Anyway, in hindsight, many things now make sense.

“Jingyi took some time to help me practice keeping calm,” A-Yuan confirms. “But I don’t think he was expecting you to let us catch you—”

There’s a slight grimace at the mention of his parents’ sexual activities, but A-Yuan’s face and ears are still blush-free. If this is the result of Lan Jingyi’s efforts and A-Yuan’s willpower, truly these two youngsters are forces to be reckoned with.

Lan Zhan hums. “Xiongzhang will be pleased that you have retained the information from his discussion with you.”

A-Yuan’s pained expression is priceless. “You don’t need to mention it to him, baba. Please.”

Wei Wuxian snickers. On one hand, this seems like the kind of topic that Lan Zhan and Zewu-jun prefer to avoid talking about if possible, but on the other hand, Lan Zhan would brave many awkward conversations if they brought with them the possibility of coaxing a chuckle out of his older brother.

“So?” Wei Wuxian nudges. “Are we never going to be able to embarrass you again?”

How quickly children grow up!

The distress drops from A-Yuan’s face, to be replaced by contemplation. “I’ve become quite accustomed to keeping a straight face now,” he says. “And Jingyi says it’s good for my reputation.” He shrugs a shoulder in a way that would be an eyeroll on anybody not of the Gusu Lan Sect.

Good for his reputation? Recalling the way the other junior disciples have been watching A-Yuan with no little intimidated respect ever since they saw him fail to react to the idea of his parents having some fun, and the couple of times that Lan Jingyi has been overheard loudly extolling the sheer audacity of Lan Sizhui's responses to some of Wei-qianbei's more outlandish stunts, Wei Wuxian just bets it is.

Lan Jingyi. Playing at clan politics, unwittingly or not. Strengthening Lan Sizhui’s position as a leader and simultaneously establishing himself as the first line of contact between Sizhui and the rest of the world. What is the world coming to?

Wei Wuxian’s head hurts.

“Will be useful,” Lan Zhan observes. “For when xiongzhang officially acknowledges you as his successor.”

A-Yuan grins widely. “Yes,” he agrees, voice not quite smug enough to break rule number 324. “Can you imagine? If I can deal with baba and a-die every day, the Sect Leaders of the cultivation world will be child’s play in comparison.”

None of those grumpy old men will ever be able to ruffle Lan Sizhui’s feathers, Wei Wuxian realizes with dawning delight—and maybe a little terror. No one should have this much power.

He imagines Jiang Cheng's face when he realizes he has to discuss sect matters with a miniature Lan Zhan who is entirely impervious to Jiang Cheng's barbs, and he thinks about Jin Ling, who is too much like his uncle for his own good and even now is already volatile enough to have earned the "Young Mistress" nickname. He thinks about how both of them react to perceived condescension. He thinks about how Jiang Cheng always seems to be under the impression that any expression on Lan Zhan's face is condescension.

“Lan Zhan,” he says in a stage whisper, pride burning fiercely in his chest as he looks at their beautiful, horrible son, who is smiling placidly at them. “Lan Zhan, we’ve created a monster.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, voice rich with satisfaction.