The Gusu Lan sect, typically a bastion of pristine white and muted blues, was utterly transformed. Crimson silk draped every archway and pillar; scarlet lanterns cast a warm, unfamiliar glow over the serene stone paths. It was the grandest celebration Cloud Recesses had seen in generations, and beneath the collective excitement thrummed a palpable, singular curiosity: how would this union unfold?
And perhaps, hidden deepest of all, beneath layers of silent composure, Lan Wangji himself felt a thread of that same anticipation.
Wei Wuxian arrived at the ceremonial stage, a vision in layered red robes embroidered with swirling black lotus motifs. A delicate red veil, held in place by a ornate gold guan, obscured his face. The fabric felt strange against his skin, a barrier between him and the world. His usual bravado had evaporated, leaving behind an unusual, heavy silence. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum counting down to an unknown fate.
He walked forward, steps measured by the solemn ritual music—a profound guqin melody that seemed to resonate in his very bones. Through the haze of the veil, his gaze lifted and found him.
Lan Wangji.
Also in red, a stunning contrast against his usual white. The robes were immaculate, edged with silver cloud patterns that shimmered in the light. And, as ever, the tell-tale blush graced the tips of his ears, now a shade darker and more pronounced against the crimson silk.
Lan Wangji watched Wei Wuxian approach, his own heart performing a frantic rhythm against his sternum. The red suited him—of course it did—but the veil was an agony. It hid the expressions Lan Wangji had grown to read like his favorite texts: the mischief, the defiance, the unexpected softness. He clenched his hands at his sides, nails pressing half-moons into his palms. Composure.
They stood facing each other, a whisper of space between them. The officiant's voice rose, clear and solemn.
"Bow to heaven and earth."
Lan Wangji bent at the waist, a picture of perfect, elegant obedience. Wei Wuxian hesitated. A beat of palpable rebellion hung in the air, so thick the crowd seemed to lean forward. Then, with a slight, almost imperceptible slump of his shoulders, he bowed.
A collective, soft exhale rippled through the spectators.
He bowed.
The thought echoed in Lan Wangji's mind, more unsettling than any refusal would have been.
"Bow to ancestors."
They turned and knelt. Wei Wuxian's lavish robes pooled around him like a sunset. Lan Wangji's sharp eyes caught the faint tremor in the hands that pressed to the polished floor.
"Bow to each other."
This was the one. Wei Wuxian froze entirely, a statue in red silk.
Lan Wangji lifted his head. And there, through the translucent scarlet gauze, their eyes finally met. Gold burned into silver. A silent, charged conversation passed in that shared breath—a lifetime of rivalry, longing, and sheer, bewildered panic.
Wei Wuxian let out a sharp, shaky exhale and bowed, his forehead dipping low.
Lan Wangji mirrored the movement, their heads so close the tassels on their guans almost tangled.
"By the grace of the clans," the officiant declared, satisfaction in his tone, "you are united... and married."
The words landed with the weight of a sealed fate. The world narrowed to the space between them, to the sound of Wei Wuxian's unsteady breathing making the veil flutter.
"The couple will exchange cups of wine."
Cups were presented. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, a spark that made them both flinch. Wei Wuxian's face beneath the veil was surely the color of a ripe tomato. He drained his cup in one go, the burn of the liquor doing nothing to cool his internal crisis.
Gods above, what awaits in the bridal room?
Lan Wangji sipped his wine, his gaze locked on the veil. The urge to lift it, to see, to know, was a physical ache. But not here. Not yet.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of tradition and well-wishes. Soon, they were mercifully released, the path to the bridal chamber looming before them like the entrance to a cave of unknown beasts.
Lan Wangji was detained for a moment by his uncle, a low, stern conversation about duty and decorum. Lan Xichen appeared at his side afterward, leaning in with a brotherly, slightly mischievous whisper. "Wangji, a word. Be… gentle. It is his first time in such a situation. Do not overwhelm him. Remember, he may panic."
Lan Wangji gave a stiff nod, his ears burning anew. When he finally extricated himself and looked for his new husband, Wei Wuxian was nowhere to be seen.
After a brief, concerned search, he found him not in their marital quarters, but in a quiet corner of the ancestral hall, knelt fervently before a statue of a Lan sect guardian deity.
Wei Wuxian's hands were clasped, raised in pious supplication. His muffled, desperate prayer was just audible: "…please, dear gods, let me survive this weird nightmare. Let him be tired. Let him fall asleep instantly. Let there be a sudden sect emergency…"
He bowed deeply, then scrambled to his feet—only to whirl around and find Lan Wangji standing silently a few feet away.
"Aah!" He clutched his chest, the veil swaying. "I—! Um. Sorry. I was just… praying. For us. For our… prosperous and, uh, harmonious union." He let out a small, nervous laugh that was more of a squeak.
Lan Wangji's gaze was unreadable, but a softness lingered at the edges. He took a step closer. "What were you praying for?" he asked, his voice low.
"For the cultivation world's prosperity!" Wei Wuxian said too quickly, then amended, "And ours! Of course for ours! It's very important for all… newlywed couples. Hehe."
Just then, Lan Xichen reappeared, gliding toward them with an air of benign conspiracy. "Ah, Wei-gongzi, Wangji. Still here? I thought you would have retired by now." He smiled, then pressed two bottles into Lan Wangji's hands—one of fine, fragrant wine, and one of warm, familiar milk.
"A small gift from your brother," Xichen said, his own ears tinged pink. "The wine is for… celebration. The milk is for you, Wangji, to help you sleep. You have always had difficulty without it." He patted Lan Wangji's shoulder, his smile turning into a distinctly encouraging grin. "Good luck. I wish you a very happy marriage."
He vanished as quickly as he appeared, leaving a profound silence in his wake.
Wei Wuxian stared, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a carp on dry land. He slowly turned away, raising a hand to his veiled face in utter defeat.
'I'm going to die. Xichen-ge, you traitor! You gave him fuel! And milk for stamina! I am seriously dead. Is there a secret compartment in this room? A hidden ceiling panel? Anything?!'
Lan Wangji looked down at the bottles in his hands. The milk was thoughtful. The wine, specifically the label 'Emperor's Smile', was blatant provocation. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips.
He lifted the wine, examining it. "The finest Emperor's Smile," he remarked, his tone deceptively casual. "Your favorite."
Wei Wuxian's blush was visible even through the red veil. He peeked at the bottle, a flicker of his old craving battling with his new, all-consuming terror.
Lan Wangji caught the look. His voice dropped, taking on a softer, more suggestive tone. "Would you like to taste it again?"
Wei Wuxian's throat felt like sand. "Um. Perhaps… when my stomach feels lighter," he managed to stammer out.
'DANGER! PROXIMITY ALERT! ABORT! ABORT!' His thoughts screamed in panic. In a final, desperate act of self-preservation, he bit his lower lip nervously beneath the veil—a gesture that, to Lan Wangji's suddenly not-so-innocent eyes, looked like something else entirely—and then he fled, slipping silently into the darkness of the bridal chamber.
Lan Wangji stood frozen for a moment, the bottles held tightly in his grasp. The sight of Wei Wuxian biting his lip, then running away… it sent a jolt of something hot and entirely unbidden straight through his core. His usual composure cracked, just a sliver.
He took a steadying breath that did very little to steady him.
Then, he followed.
He pushed open the doors to the bridal chamber, the red light from the lanterns within painting the scene in warm, intimate hues. The door closed behind him with a soft, definitive click.
Inside, the silence was louder than any music, and the space between them felt charged with every unspoken word, every nervous thought, and the shared, terrifying, exhilarating promise of the night ahead.