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The Jingshi had seen many strange things over the years, but never anything quite like this.
Lan Wangji sat in perfect composure at his writing desk, the pale sweep of his robes undisturbed, brush gliding silently across parchment. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and clean snow, until Wei Wuxian burst in like a storm.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian skidded to a halt on the polished floor, barely keeping his balance. His hair was slightly mussed, his grin far too wide, and he was clearly up to something.
Lan Wangji did not look up. “Explain,” he said flatly, which for him was practically shouting.
Wei Wuxian clasped his hands together dramatically. “Ah, my oh-so-dignified husband, noble Hanguang-jun, pillar of the cultivation world, please forgive this lowly scoundrel of a husband for what he’s about to do.”
Lan Wangji finally lifted his gaze, golden eyes narrowing. “Wei Ying,” he warned.
Wei Wuxian bounced on the balls of his feet. “Don’t scold me just yet! Hear me out. I was thinking about that little… uh, disagreement we had earlier.”
“You broke three rules.”
“Four, actually,” Wei Wuxian admitted cheerfully. “But listen! Instead of boring lectures and copying scriptures, why don’t we settle this like men? With a rap battle.”
Lan Wangji blinked slowly, as though weighing whether his husband had truly said what he thought he’d said. “Rap… battle.”
“Yes! I rap, you rap, whoever wins gets their way. It’s very romantic!”
“No.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Wei Wuxian clutched his chest dramatically. “You haven’t even heard me yet! Besides, you might like it.”
Lan Wangji’s brows twitched infinitesimally. “Wei Ying.”
But Wei Wuxian was already clapping his hands together, summoning his spiritual energy. “A one, a two, a three, four…!”
The words started well enough. Rhythmic, teasing, ridiculous and so typical for Wei Wuxian’s nonsense. But then the air thickened, a strange chill crawling through the Jingshi. The candles flickered wildly.
Lan Wangji stood, robes swirling. “Wei Ying. Stop.”
Wei Wuxian faltered. “Huh? Wait, that wasn’t supposed to…oh no.”
From the shadows under the table came a low, wet growl. The floorboards rattled. Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, the first skeletal rabbit clawed its way into the room. It was followed by a fox missing half its fur, then a hissing serpent of pure bone.
Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened. “Wei. Ying.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Wei Wuxian yelped, backing away as the horde grew. “I was just trying to rhyme ‘Lan Zhan’ with ‘handsome man’ and oh no, there’s a goat! Why is there a goat?!”
The goat bleated mournfully, its glowing eye sockets fixed on Lan Wangji like a challenge. Wei Wuxian spun, flute materializing in his hands. “I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it! Just give me a second!”
But every note he played seemed to make things worse. More undead animals poured in, scrabbling over furniture and knocking over priceless Lan heirlooms. A skeletal crane perched atop Lan Wangji’s guqin stand, clacking its beak like a metronome.
Lan Wangji moved with lethal precision. A single flick of Bichen, and three creatures dissolved into harmless dust. His expression remained perfectly calm, though a muscle in his cheek twitched.
By the time Wei Wuxian finally banished the last of the horde, the Jingshi was in ruins. Gouges marked the floorboards, the guqin stand was cracked, and a lingering stench of grave-soil hung in the air.
Wei Wuxian stood panting, hair in disarray, robes half falling off one shoulder. He gave Lan Wangji a sheepish smile. “Heh. Surprise?”
Lan Wangji stared at him for a long, heavy moment. “Rap battle,” he repeated, each syllable like a blade. Wei Wuxian gulped. “In my defense, it was… kind of impressive? Right? Creative, even?”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian backed toward the door. “You know, maybe we should just laugh about this later and ah, Lan Zhan, why are you taking off your forehead ribbon? Wait, wait, let’s talk about this!”
The door shut with a definitive thunk.
By the next morning, the Jingshi was once again pristine, the chaos erased as though it had never happened. Wei Wuxian, however, walked with a very careful, very slow gait and flinched every time someone mentioned goats.
Lan Wangji sat serenely at his guqin, as if nothing unusual had occurred. When Wei Wuxian tried to speak, he merely raised one elegant brow.
Wei Wuxian coughed, wincing. “Fine, fine. No more rap battles.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze was like cold moonlight. “Good.”
Then, softly but unmistakably “…Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian’s ears turned scarlet. “Y-yes, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji’s fingers hovered above the guqin strings. “Next time. I will win.”
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:
Wei Wuxian had just finished sweeping up the last pile of dust from the Jingshi’s floor when he felt it a weight in the air, a calm so cold it made his spine straighten without conscious thought. He turned to see Lan Wangji standing by the guqin, his robes flowing like still water, hands clasped behind him, expression impossibly serene… and terrifying.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, each syllable deliberate, precise. Wei Wuxian flinched.
“Yes, Lan Zhan?” he said, voice a little too high.
Lan Wangji approached slowly, boots silent on the polished floor. He stopped only a few steps away, close enough that Wei Wuxian could feel the faint scent of snow and sandalwood, close enough that his heart betrayed him with a rapid thump. “You endangered this place… and my peace of mind,” Lan Wangji said softly, yet every word carried an edge sharp enough to cut.
Wei Wuxian swallowed. “I… I didn’t mean to! It was just supposed to be a… uh… fun rap battle?”
Lan Wangji’s gaze didn’t waver. “Fun has consequences. Actions have consequences. You will learn them.”
Wei Wuxian shivered. “Y-yes, I will.”
Lan Wangji stepped closer still. “Consequences are not merely punishment,” he said quietly, tilting his head, “but also… reflection.”
Before Wei Wuxian could respond, Lan Wangji reached out, grasping his chin gently but firmly, tilting his face up so their eyes met. Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched; the warmth of Lan Zhan’s hand against his cheek made the cold in the room vanish, replaced by a pulse that throbbed in his chest.
“You will remain here,” Lan Wangji continued, “until you have memorized the proper use of spiritual energy, and until you have learned control… and humility.” His hand slid down from Wei Wuxian’s cheek to rest over his shoulder, holding him gently but inescapably.
Wei Wuxian swallowed again, nervously grinning. “Humility… huh? I can try. Maybe with a… penance song?”
Lan Wangji’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, though his eyes were still serious. “No songs,” he said. “Only… presence.”
Wei Wuxian tilted his head, confused but willing. “Presence?”
Lan Wangji guided him to the mat, seating him cross-legged on the floor. Then, ever so deliberately, he knelt behind Wei Wuxian, his hands resting lightly on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. Wei Wuxian froze, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from Lan Zhan, and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing.
“You will not summon, you will not joke, and you will not provoke,” Lan Wangji said, his voice softer now, almost intimate, brushing against Wei Wuxian’s ear. “You will focus on me. On discipline. On restraint.”
Wei Wuxian’s hands twitched, unsure if he should push back or melt under the closeness. “Yes… I… okay, Lan Zhan…”
Lan Wangji lowered his forehead to rest lightly against the back of Wei Wuxian’s head. “Good,” he murmured. His breath tickled the nape of Wei Wuxian’s neck, warm and grounding. “If you fail, you will feel my displeasure… fully. If you succeed, perhaps… you will also feel my favor.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart leapt. He felt it both the weight of Lan Zhan’s expectations and the heat of his nearness. “I’ll… I’ll try really hard,” he whispered.
Lan Wangji’s hands tightened ever so slightly on his shoulders, a pressure that was firm, possessive, protective. “Do not disappoint me,” he said, almost tenderly.
Wei Wuxian swallowed, a slow, mischievous grin tugging at his lips despite the seriousness. “I… I wouldn’t dream of it, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji remained still, silent, letting Wei Wuxian feel the consequence of his actions through proximity, through touch, through the undeniable bond between them. And though no words of affection were spoken aloud, the quiet warmth between them was a promise, a correction, and a connection all at once.
Hours passed in silence. Wei Wuxian sat, feeling chastised yet cherished, punished yet comforted. By the time Lan Wangji rose, straightened his robes, and finally released Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, the air between them was heavy with unspoken understanding and the faintest glimmer of laughter hid behind Lan Zhan’s stoic composure.
Wei Wuxian could only grin sheepishly. “I’ll behave… mostly. Maybe.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of amusement in his golden eyes. “See that you do,” he said quietly, and left the room.
But Wei Wuxian, alone on the mat, could still feel the lingering warmth of his husband’s touch and the promise that every punishment, every correction, was deeply personal… and deeply intimate.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:
By the time Lan Wangji returned, the Jingshi had been restored to its usual orderliness at least on the surface.
Wei Wuxian was still sitting where he had been left, but his posture had changed. Less restless. More… exaggeratedly obedient. Hands neatly folded in his lap, back straight, eyes forward.
If one ignored the way his foot was still tapping faintly against the mat. Lan Wangji paused at the threshold.
Wei Wuxian immediately brightened. “Hanguang-jun has returned. This humble one has reflected deeply on his sins, reviewed his spiritual energy circulation, and achieved enlightenment through suffering.”
“…Mm.” Lan Wangji stepped inside, closing the door behind him with quiet finality.
Wei Wuxian leaned forward slightly, grin returning in full force. “Did I pass? Am I forgiven? Do I get snacks? A reward? Emotional validation?”
Lan Wangji did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the table, poured a cup of tea, and set it down precisely in front of Wei Wuxian.
“Drink.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Ah… so it’s the ‘hydration is part of punishment’ phase?”
“Drink,” Lan Wangji repeated, calmer but firmer.
Wei Wuxian obeyed instantly, lifting the cup and taking a sip. The warmth settled into him, grounding the lingering chaos of earlier. He peeked up through his lashes. “Lan Zhan is being very strict today.”
Lan Wangji’s gaze flicked to him. “You summoned corpses into the Jingshi.”
“Undead animals,” Wei Wuxian corrected automatically. Then he winced. “That sounds worse when you say it like that.”
A pause.
“…It is worse.”
Wei Wuxian pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “Wounded. My husband wounds me with words.”
Lan Wangji stepped closer. Wei Wuxian immediately straightened again, but this time his grin softened, less teasing and more curious.
Lan Wangji reached out not to strike, not to restrain, but to adjust the collar of Wei Wuxian’s robe, which had shifted slightly out of place. His fingers brushed the fabric carefully, almost absentmindedly precise.
“You are not to leave the Jingshi this afternoon,” Lan Wangji said.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “House arrest?”
“Supervision.”
“Ah. Romantic.”
Lan Wangji’s hand paused for the briefest moment at Wei Wuxian’s collarbone. “Discipline.”
Wei Wuxian leaned into it anyway. “Same thing, really.”
That earned him a look that was cool, steady, and deeply unimpressed. But Lan Wangji did not step back. Instead, he finished adjusting Wei Wuxian’s robe and let his hand linger for half a breath longer than necessary.
Wei Wuxian noticed immediately. Of course he did. His smile softened into something quieter. “Lan Zhan is worried about me?”
“Mm.”
“Because I almost turned our home into a zombie zoo?”
“…Yes.”
Wei Wuxian chuckled, then shifted slightly closer, deliberately invading that carefully maintained space between them. “But I fixed it.”
“You created it.”
“I also fixed it,” Wei Wuxian insisted. Then, softer, “Eventually.”
Lan Wangji studied him for a long moment. The silence wasn’t cold this time. It was measured. Familiar. Then he sat beside him.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened a fraction. That alone felt like a concession. Lan Wangji opened a book of rules of the Gusu Lan Sect rules and placed it between them. “Copy.”
Wei Wuxian groaned instantly. “So the punishment is handwriting torture. Classic Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji handed him the brush. Their fingers brushed briefly. Wei Wuxian froze.
Lan Wangji did not. But his voice softened just slightly when he said, “Focus.”
Wei Wuxian exhaled, then leaned in, shoulder almost touching Lan Wangji’s. “If I behave, do I get something better than tea later?”
Lan Wangji didn’t look at him. “Such as.”
Wei Wuxian grinned again, slower this time. “Hmm. A reward.”
A pause.
Then Lan Wangji turned a page in the book. “Continue copying.”
Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically but began writing. For a while, the room was quiet except for the scratch of brush on paper. The steadiness of it was almost unfamiliar after the chaos.
Wei Wuxian stole glances every few strokes. Each time, Lan Wangji was there perfectly composed, endlessly patient, watching him only when he thought Wei Wuxian wouldn’t notice.
Eventually, Wei Wuxian leaned closer, shoulder brushing his. “Lan Zhan.”
“Mm.”
“I think your punishment is working.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes lifted slightly. Wei Wuxian smiled, softer now. “I actually feel… very supervised.”
“…Good.”
A beat.
Then, almost imperceptibly, Lan Wangji’s hand moved resting lightly over Wei Wuxian’s wrist as he wrote, steadying his strokes. Not restricting. Guiding. Anchoring.
Wei Wuxian looked down at it, then up at him.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmured, “you’re very good at punishment.”
Lan Wangji’s expression did not change. But his thumb shifted once, subtle and grounding against Wei Wuxian’s skin.
“Continue,” he said.
Wei Wuxian obeyed still smiling, far more quietly this time, as if the punishment had become something neither of them was interested in ending too soon.