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His forehead throbbed like it would split in two any second. The bruise between his brows didn’t even allow a frown, punished him the moment a mere wrinkle appeared between them. Jiang Cheng couldn’t aim like this. To aim with bow and arrow, he needed to frown, needed to narrow his eyes and squint at the target in the distance. He wasn’t quite at a point where he could hit it blindfolded. Not quite. But he was a decent archer. Usually.

His arrow missed the entire target and shot into the distance next to it. To his right, his senior brother giggled. Jiang Cheng tried to ignore the noise. His head throbbed and throbbed, as if another bruise had been added, one to each his temples, and the pain resounded within his mind like Wei Wuxian’s cackle.

Jiang Cheng pulled another arrow from his quiver and drew it into the bow. The target was about twenty metres away from him, squeezed between the other targets to the right and left. He had chosen a terrible spot. His senior brother’s target to the right was pierced symmetrically with arrows. He seemed eager to make a pattern. The target to the left was somehow even worse because this person took the competition seriously. Bullseye, arrows piercing into one another.

A breeze carried a hint of sandalwood over to him. Jiang Cheng scrunched up his nose. Fucking wind trying to ruin his aim.

To his left, Second Young Master Lan didn’t care about the wind, drew another arrow that would be as unbothered by it as he was.

Jiang Cheng hated the spot he had chosen, stuck between two annoying fuckers trying to outshoot each other. He hated that he couldn’t breathe without smelling sandalwood, couldn’t frown, couldn’t even curse when he was shooting worse than a beginner.

His bowstring trembled in his grasp as he listened to the sound of Lan Wangji’s string being drawn. Such a petty fucker. Trying to be faster than him, he knew it. Jiang Cheng was above such challenges. He drew his arrow so far back, his shoulder cracked. His bruised forehead throbbed when he squinted at the target.

Lan Wangji shot, and Jiang Cheng let his arrow fly as well.

He hit the bottom of the target, barely in range to count as a pity point, and Lan Wangji was already drawing his next arrow. Unbothered, above such feelings, not interested in competing with a failure.

Jiang Cheng growled, over the throbbing pounding in his head, over the giggles of his senior brother, and Lan Wangji startled so hard his next arrow hit the bottom of the target. He scowled, exactly when Jiang Cheng made the mistake to look at Lan Wangji. Scowled at him with his handsome face scrunched up utterly displeased. As if this lacking display of skill had anything to do with Jiang Cheng. Perfect Second Young Master Lan could apparently not take a shot that missed. He looked fucking scary, about to stab him with the last arrow in his quiver.

Jiang Cheng almost smirked at that, felt a little less pain in his forehead. He could win some challenges, even when it came to archery. Even when it came to Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng reached behind his shoulder for another arrow. Missed it and grabbed only air. Tried again. Stretched and half turned to find the last arrow.

Giggles turned to gawking laughter. Wei Wuxian couldn’t contain himself, dipped deeper than any of his bows and held his stomach as he burst into ear-deafening laughter.

Jiang Cheng turned and turned to look into his quiver, and miserably turned in a circle only to realise that he was out of arrows. All of them stuck somewhere in his target, most of them shot somewhere into the horizon. Fuck.

For once, Wei Wuxian had reason to laugh at him. Jiang Cheng blushed harder than this morning after he had hit his head twice in a row in some cave, crawling ahead, pretending he knew the way to their targets. He had only gotten them both lost, embarrassed himself to his useless core and beyond, and Wei Wuxian had somehow still scored more points than any other Yunmeng-Jiang disciple in this competition. So many even that he was ranking among the best of this competition, the damned peacock and the infamous Twin Jades.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t at the bottom, but he wouldn’t fall far from his spot somewhere in the middle. Average as always. His dignity was already lost. He turned his back to Lan Wangji, who was surely judging him, and listened to him shooting his final arrow. Wei Wuxian pretended to be a good person and hopped over to cheer him up.

“You did much better than back at home.”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow at that, and paid for it with a jolt of pain through his head.

Wei Wuxian patted his shoulder violently, attention already drifting back to the oh so boring Second Young Master of Gusu-Lan. “We’re used to shooting kites in the air, which is much harder.”

“I know that,” Jiang Cheng said, fully aware that the loud voice screaming into his ear wasn’t trying to get his attention or cheer him up. “It’s not like I never hit those either, by the way. It’s just not my day.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian wasn’t even looking at him, started waving while leaning on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. His entire weight pressed on Jiang Cheng’s aching back, and he even started hopping up and down like a stupid frog. “Did you ever practice with kites? It’s fun! You come to Lotus Pier and we show you how it’s done. Right, Jiang Cheng? Lan Zhan!”

Wei Wuxian groaned somewhere deep within his throat when he was ignored, a breeze of sandalwood drifting past them when Lan Wangji left the shooting range as if he had heard nothing. Jiang Cheng wanted to laugh at Wei Wuxian, ridiculous fool desperate for attention, if it weren’t such an embarrassing sight, drawing the attention of all the disciples nearby. Even Jin Zixuan rolled his eyes at them from twelve targets away.

“Lan Zhan! Don’t be like that. It’s much more fun than this stiff competition,” Wei Wuxian called, and for some reason started shaking Jiang Cheng back and forth with him. “We’ll make our own competition, just the three of us, come on. I show you how to shoot blindfolded, help you with wrapping something around your eyes, and Jiang Cheng can hold the kites. All the female disciples will be there, they are so pretty, come on!”

Jiang Cheng elbowed Wei Wuxian between the ribs. The noises of pain did little to cheer him up. Lan Wangji showing them nothing but his back didn’t help either. The Second Young Master returned to his elder brother to accept the praise for his shooting with a bow, unimpressed and unbothered by the dramatic sighs of Wei Wuxian.

“You’re fucking embarrassing. Shut up right now,” Jiang Cheng hissed, hating every pair of eyes that turned to stare at them. All of them judging, all of them failing to make Wei Wuxian feel as ashamed as he should feel.

Wei Wuxian grinned back at him. “No need to be jealous, Jiang Cheng. I’m not leaving you behind. I follow you on horseback, like I followed you into that cave this morning when you hit your head!”

Jiang Cheng slapped his hand on Wei Wuxian’s grin, clawed his mouth close. “I fucking throw you off the horse and leave you to rot in a ditch if you ever mention again that I hit my head.”

“Twice!” Wei Wuxian tooted into his palm.

Jiang Cheng moved to punch him, but Wei Wuxian was faster. He flicked his fingers against Jiang Cheng’s forehead, hit the bruise hard, setting the old pain aflare. Jiang Cheng bit a yelp back and slammed his flat hand against Wei Wuxian’s forehead. He dodged the next hit, somehow, and turned out of Wei Wuxian’s reach. His anger hurt his brow more than the flick had, and rubbing the bruise didn’t help to soothe it.

“If you’re like that, I’m not teaming up with you,” Jiang Cheng muttered.

The stupid annual archery competition the Wens liked to host during discussion conferences consisted of three parts this year.

Starting with a morning hunt on foot in the mountains for monsters and ghosts that lured you into a vast cave system to get lost in and hit your head. Twice.

Followed by target practice with all disciples at once to make you think it was a good idea to step between your senior brother and some boring Second Young Master to stop them from offending and annoying each other, resulting in the embarrassment of one bruised heir to Yunmeng-Jiang.

Concluding with a riding competition, shooting from horseback in the vast fields and forests for more points the more dangerous the target. His last chance to climb the ranks from his ignorable spot somewhere in the average midfield. His last chance to return to his father with something achieved for once. Teaming up with a partner was encouraged, though not necessary.

“Well, if you’re like that, I’ll be teaming up with my dear friend Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, as he ripped the arrows out of his target.

It was also utterly dumb to team up with someone from another clan, but Wei Wuxian was usually dumb, otherwise there would be a queue lining up to partner with dearest Lan Zhan, impressive archer and quiet companion that he was. No annoying cackling increasing headaches from him.

Jiang Cheng snorted. “In your dreams.” He didn’t have many arrows to collect. Most of them were somewhere in the field, and the rest had pierced too hard into the target, splintered and lost their sharp edge. He would just collect some new ones at the stables.

“What do you mean? You think he wouldn’t want to team up with me?” Wei Wuxian quickly ripped the last of his arrows out of his target and ran after Jiang Cheng. “Lan Zhan and I are a great team.”

“When it comes to crime and punishment you are, yes,” Jiang Cheng said. They walked past the Lan disciples that had their heads stuck in their Second Young Master’s butt, complimenting Lan Wangji for his elegant display of skill. Lan Wangji seemed stuck in an eternal loop of bowing his thanks, before he managed to turn away and followed Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian down the path towards the stables all by himself. His elder brother abandoned him to apprehend the Lan disciples for their shower of compliments that apparently made Lan Wangji “shy” or some nonsense that he was incapable of feeling. His face showed no emotion, cold and detached, eyes only interested in the dirty ground.

Wei Wuxian stared at him again, waved again, kept shaking Jiang Cheng like he wanted him to wave as well. Lan Wangji noticed, his eyes flickering up for a barely more than a blink of thick lashes, before rolling away from Wei Wuxian. He rarely looked at Jiang Cheng, not even for support to shut Wei Wuxian up. Not even when they had been left to themselves during their studies in the Cloud Recesses, even when they had shared a table in the Library Pavilion, Second Young Master Lan’s eyes had always been avoiding him.

Wei Wuxian turned and twirled and waved and demanded attention by continuously tooting Lan Wangji’s name. Would get a precious look soon. Lan Wangji was already blinking, his jaw tensing. His long hair falling over his shoulder when he moved to turn.

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng snapped.

Wei Wuxian pouted, draped his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and didn’t stop. “Lan Zhan really is exceptional at archery. Did you see how he hit his own arrow? And his posture is straight from the books. It’s not really my preferred way of shooting, way too stiff in the shoulders. He couldn’t move quick enough when he tried to keep up with us. Did you see when he got stuck in his headband?”

“Why would I look at him? I was busy,” Jiang Cheng said, glanced, forced himself to look ahead before he caught more than Lan Wangji’s profile two steps away from him. He didn’t fucking care.

Wei Wuxian did. “It’s still loose. Do you see?” He chuckled. “Proper, perfect Lan Er-Gege all dishevelled from the competition. At this rate, he’ll accidentally undo his robes while shooting. Can you imagine? Can you? Lan Wangji shooting, his robes slipping down, his chest all free and naked, sweating in the heat. Ah, the girls at Lotus Pier would love the sight!”

Jiang Cheng remembered fondly how he had kicked Wei Wuxian in the river for running around half-naked again, wished he could repeat it right now to drown that crazy, weirdly high-pitched laughter. He rolled his eyes away, somehow resting them on Lan Wangji again.

His headband was looser than normal, barely noticeable if you didn’t stare at him for hours without end. The knot on the back of his head had tilted, allowed one end of the ribbon to escape the strong hold. Still more secure and less dishevelled than Wei Wuxian’s ponytail. Jiang Cheng regretted even looking when Lan Wangji walked past them, close enough for his scent to annoy him again, and caught them whispering, turned his head and stared daggers at Jiang Cheng. Of all people.

Freezing hot, whenever those eyes stared into you. His gaze stupefied limbs and bones, stabbed between ribs into beating muscle, boiled even ice-cold blood. Uncommonly light eyes, meant to charm people, not scare them away forever. Lan Wangji’s infamous beauty was nothing but a curse for anyone that looked at him and then realised he was nothing but a stubborn bastard.

Wei Wuxian chuckled again, voice gravelly, eyes stuck on Lan Wangji passing by, eager not to miss a second of him snapping his head forward so hard that his long, dark hair whipped through the air. His headband held on desperately.

“He really didn’t like that you made him miss his shot,” Wei Wuxian said.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, accidentally looked back at Lan Wangji walking ahead of them now. His quiver was filled with arrows again, a few missing that he had pierced because he hit more bullseye than not. His bow effortlessly hanging from his shoulder, string so tightly drawn he might as well try to play a melody on it. For some reason, it was hard not to look at him. He looked rather strange wearing something different than white for once. They were all stuck in these ill-fitting Wen-red robes for the competition. Nothing to worry about.

“Yeah, sure.” Jiang Cheng elbowed Wei Wuxian again, finally managed to shrug him off and get some of the too hot air to himself. “I wasn’t the one giggling to myself like some demon child.”

They split from Lan Wangji by the stables, not that they had walked together. Lan Wangji forever kept his distance to everyone. Even the horses looked ready to bow to him. He found himself a white one that immediately fell in love with him.

Jiang Cheng had no time to think anything about that, or to imitate Wei Wuxian and gaze longingly after Lan Wangji. He walked towards the horses readied for Yunmeng-Jiang and saddled a calm looking brown one. Wei Wuxian liked black things, always had, and gravitated towards a majestic looking black steed. He brought it over to Jiang Cheng’s horse, which shuffled to the side to make room. In comparison to the black steed, it suddenly seemed to shrink to pony-size. Jiang Cheng felt like he had chosen wrong once again.

“What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian asked, and Jiang Cheng looked at him confused, had already forgotten what they had talked about. “You think he was so impressed by my shots that he couldn’t concentrate?” Wei Wuxian chuckled to himself like he did when some pretty girls in Yunmeng giggled at his jokes and gave him free food.

Jiang Cheng grabbed a set of leather reins and wondered if he could strangle Wei Wuxian with them before he dared to open his mouth again. “Fucking sick,” he muttered to himself. Wei Wuxian had sharp ears, blinked at him innocently to repeat his words. “Get your damn horse ready. I want to get a spot at the front.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t speed up, brushed through his steed’s mane with his fingers. He was staring over to Lan Wangji, who had already readied his horse with enviable efficiency and now picked out new arrows. At this rate, he would leave first as always, get all the prey and leave nothing for the others. Jiang Cheng sped up. His forehead throbbed from how deep his frown was.

“Didn’t think Lan Zhan would get so into anything. Imagine if we teamed up. Oh, Jiang Cheng, can you imagine if we teamed up? We would win this within an hour, take down all the prey, the biggest prey. Rumour has it, there’s a demon roaming in the forests. Some cute Wen boy told me this morning. Ah, I really wanted to tell Lan Zhan about it, but forgot. Imagine if we teamed up, Jiang Cheng, and slayed a demon together. Lan Zhan would be so happy, he’d smile. Laugh, even. Lan Zhan laughing! I want to hear it.”

“Then fucking team up with him!”

Wei Wuxian blinked, his eyes suddenly huge, and Jiang Cheng’s head throbbed like his heart was beating only in his temples. He didn’t mean to shout like that, even some of their junior brothers turned to look at him, scared by his tone. Wei Wuxian wasn’t scared of anything, but more shocked than he should be. Jiang Cheng wanted to apologise.

He snorted and straightened the reins of his horse.

Wei Wuxian snorted back. “I see how it is. Then I go and team up with Lan Zhan.”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “Why don’t you use his arrows, too, and shoot for Gusu-Lan? If you get enough points, he’ll even take you back to Gusu with him and you can live in your beloved Cloud Recesses.”

“You wish,” Wei Wuxian retorted, but led his horse around and away.

Jiang Cheng watched him walk towards Lan Wangji, all the fury of the day boiling up so hot, he felt like he was about to implode. He tore his gaze away before Wei Wuxian did more than wave annoyingly again at his dearest friend.

It made literally no sense to team up with someone from another clan in a competition amongst clans. Only Wei Wuxian would think that reasonable. Probably thought it would be fun to have an additional competition with his dearest friend while riding next to him. Most likely, he didn’t think anything and just wanted to be around the most unlikeable, arrogant bastard in the world. For some reason.

Jiang Cheng breathed against the urge to look over to them. As annoying and humourless as Lan Wangji was, apparently he was still better company than Jiang Cheng.

A stir of gasps shook the other side of the stables. Jiang Cheng did look over to find an entire flock of Lan disciples surrounding Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian was quite literally fleeing, walked faster than his horse seemed able to keep up. Before Jiang Cheng could get a look what Lan Wangji had fainted about this time, Wei Wuxian was back and blocked his view. Seemed desperate to do so. He guided his horse so that Jiang Cheng couldn’t even look over while stretching. That grin on Wei Wuxian’s face was sheepish, a rare sight, a worrying sight.

“What did you do?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“What? You have no trust in me, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, patting his horse that watched him full of judgement. “I just rather team up with my Shidi.”

“I’m not teaming up with you. You think I want to pick up Lan Wangji’s discarded clothes?” Jiang Cheng tried leaning past the black steed again to get a look at the ruckus, curiosity pulling and tearing at him to get just one look at Lan Wangji. And instead, Wei Wuxian’s grin appeared right in front of him.

“Not you. My beloved Shidi here.” Wei Wuxian grabbed the next best junior in his vicinity and pulled him to his side. The surprised look on the junior’s face would have been funny, if Jiang Cheng didn’t feel like stabbing everyone around him. Wei Wuxian still looked like everything was funny, even the strange, unfamiliar blush on his face. “Since when would I call you Shidi?”

Jiang Cheng waned to punch his fist into and straight through Wei Wuxian’s chest, not that there would be any heart in there for him to find. “Suit yourself,” he growled, glaring at the frightened junior trapped in Wei Wuxian’s chokehold. “You better win this competition now.”

A whine from the junior, a roaring laugh from Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng ignored both and climbed on his horse. His foot got stuck in the horse’s tail, kicked the hair up and scared the horse. It trotted ahead before Jiang Cheng had settled, almost shook him off and dashed towards the gate. He managed to stay up, barely, tightened the reins too harshly and the horse complained, but slowed down. All his junior brothers looked at him like he was a mad drunkard speeding around. Fuck it.

Jiang Cheng directed his horse around, tightened the reins and headed for the gate. He did catch a glance, barely more, of Lan Wangji’s tall figure climbing on his horse now. A swift move that would have made soft hearts swoon and faint with its elegance. The Lan disciples surrounding him did gasp again, but seemed more shocked than in awe of their beloved Second Young Master, who paid them no attention and rode off in front of Jiang Cheng. Lan Wangji did look different from behind, something strange about him. Not his defined shoulders, not his too tightly strapped in waist. Something else was off. He wasn’t holding to the reins of his horse but reached behind his head, grabbed the ribbon and fastened it tightly. Ah.

Jiang Cheng noticed how loose the white fabric was still hanging. Lan Wangji steered the horse with nothing but his strong thighs and otherworldly determination as he tried to retie his loose headband again. Stupid idiot should just get off the horse, not ride ahead to show them all that he didn’t even need reins to command a horse. At least he wouldn’t fucking fail at the knot then. His headband was tilted right below the bun of his hair, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the smirk, relished in the imperfect display of perfectly perfect Lan Wangji.

Who turned. Stared right at him. Ears and face redder than his robes. Eyes deadly. Heart left in flames after one look.

Jiang Cheng bit into his cheeks to kill the smirk. His blush worsened the pain in his head. He wanted this day to be over, put a cold cloth on his bruised forehead and sleep. He wanted to be home and stuff himself with the cooked ribs from his sister’s soup, leave all the lotus pieces and broth. Only the meat. All the juicy, tender bits that healed the worst moods. Fucking Lan Wangji might be in need of some as well. Not that he had ever tasted meat in his life on top of that vegetable infatuated mountain. Would probably spit it right back at Jiang Cheng if he offered him a bite.

Well. Jiang Cheng shook his head, focused on the horse.

Despite dashing ahead like that, he was far from the first one at the gate. Jin Zixuan looked at him like Jiang Cheng had tried and failed to race him to his top spot. Arrogant peacock that he was, he thought everything was about him. Lan Wangji had already positioned himself as well, his hair now accidentally tied into his headband. Jiang Cheng’s horse felt it was a good idea to squeeze between Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan. He raised his chin and pretended it was purpose.

“Do you expect me to move so your Shixiong can squeeze between us as well?” Jin Zixuan asked.

“I’m not teaming up with Wei Wuxian, so no need for you to worry that he might punch you off your horse,” Jiang Cheng replied dryly.

“I see, I see…” Jin Zixuan made a point out of sitting straighter than a stick, his horse following and lifting his head in a ridiculous display of arrogance. “You might not know this, but taking this challenge on by yourself is only recommended for highly skilled archers. Those that rank highest in this competition. Not… Well.” He sized Jiang Cheng up like he actually had anything more to say and wasn’t just being a dick. “I admire your confidence. Let me reassure you that there isn’t anything shameful about accepting help, should you think so. It can actually be quite fun to hunt with someone on your level, even if you compete for points. I, for my part, would not be averse to having a partner that can keep up.”

Jin Zixuan made a point out of looking at Lan Wangji, who, after the softest breeze of a snort, turned his horse and rode to the other end of the gate. Jiang Cheng almost laughed, pressed his lips together and still failed not to smirk. Jin Zixuan looked ready to kill him, and, from the other side of the gate, Lan Wangji did as well.

Some things never changed. Thinking Lan Wangji was funny was the worst mistake to make. Usually punished by none other than Lan Wangji himself, as if saying something amusing was the worst thing anyone could ever do.

He remembered accidentally chuckling a few times when Lan Wangji had taught Wei Wuxian a lesson, that dry, cold voice just too funny even as an echo trapped in a memory. He remembered that one time they had accidentally spent a winter’s day in the Library Pavilion, silently judging each other’s reading choices, only to reemerge for the evening training and slip on the snow-covered path at the same time. Just too fucking funny, Lan Wangji and him, in sync once in their life, grabbing for the same pillar not to fall. Lan Wangji had not thought so, scowled and glared and everything he liked to do when his layers of perfection folded into a wrinkled human mess. He remembered laughing once, chuckling, grinning, something that had felt soft around the lips and he wasn’t actually sure about, when Lan Wangji had bumped into him in the back of the mountain, carrying some small rabbit whiter than the snow, hiding it in his white sleeves, little injured paw carefully bandaged. Just too funny, something, to remember his handsome face shy, bright red in the white winter forest, voice colder than ice telling Jiang Cheng to mind his step, or he would slip again and hurt himself as well. Holding the rabbit’s little paw as if to demonstrate the dangers of slippery, snowy paths. Letting it slowly drop when Jiang Cheng chuckled silently, only his lips turning up.

So much for that.

The other riders arrived at the gate soon after, so many people clad in red that it was soon difficult to differentiate between clans. Their arrows were infused with a charm similar to signals, and would blow up much like a firework in their colours to account the points. Jiang Cheng’s headache flared up again when it was demonstrated with the Wen colours, a sun framed by flames scorched into the sky. For some reason, it seemed already larger than any other clan’s signal. Barely worth to acknowledge such arrogance.

Wei Wuxian had already abandoned his new favourite junior brother and was fraternising with the enemy. A few rows behind him, Jiang Cheng caught him chatting happily to a shy looking Wen boy. He seemed to have completely forgotten about his dearest friend Lan Wangji. Nothing new there. Wei Wuxian found new toys quickly and was excited about them for a few weeks before forgetting what he had called them. Lan Wangji’s headband was still tilted, his ears still red when they galloped out into the fields. Not that Jiang Cheng cared.

He dashed ahead like a madman, not a drunkard, and left the crowd quickly behind him. At least he wasn’t the worst rider. He heard screams of some disciples, unknown voices, when they fell from their horses and caused a stop to the flow of riders. Which was why a spot at the front was worth making a fool out of yourself.

The bruise on his forehead seemed to laugh with its throbbing sensation. Jiang Cheng rubbed over the swollen flesh with his sleeve and decided to ignore the pain, not that he had much choice. At least he could decide his destination without much competition yet, most people still trapped far behind him. He galloped into the forest.

A river was running past it in a few kilometres distance, easy to reach, and waiting with the promise of some water spirits that he knew how to take care of. His horse manoeuvred the thicket of the woods well, jumped over fallen branches and dodged flocks of birds scattering from the trees. And Jiang Cheng almost got hit in the face by the low hanging branches. He was too busy keeping his head down in the right moment to look out for any spirits or imps.

The forest thinned out into another field, cut by the large river. His horse seemed thirsty and drawn towards the water. Jiang Cheng allowed it to approach the shore slowly and pulled his bow. He wasn’t a bad rider, but not exceptionally skilled. Drawing the bowstring while on horseback was still a challenge, but at least his senior brother wasn’t around to chuckle at his attempts and show him how it was done. At least his father wasn’t around to proclaim Wei Wuxian was born to be a wandering cultivator, like it was in his blood.

Jiang Cheng breathed the thoughts away. He pressed his thighs tightly against the horse, something between fear to be shaken off and the hope he could actually direct the animal like that. Like Second Young Master Lan had done so easily. It didn’t feel easy. The horse tensed under the pressure of his thighs, but at least didn’t complain. If it moved in any direction because of the pressure or because it was thirsty remained forever a mystery.

The river was clear and filled with malicious intent. The Wens didn’t keep their land clean nor safe. They pretended it was all purpose for their beloved competitions, additional challenges and fiercer opponents to train a young generation of cultivators. In truth, and Jiang Cheng had knelt in the hall of ancestors for telling his father so, the competitions were only an excuse to have other cultivators clean up the Wens’ messes.

The water spirits here definitely feared nothing. Approaching on horseback, Jiang Cheng noticed two spirits lazily hanging around the shore. Their limbs flowed in the current like algae, dead fish caught in them that they seemed to munch on distractedly, only biting their heads off and letting the other parts drift off. Jiang Cheng didn’t feel hungry anymore. His forehead complained even more about the air here. It smelled of rotten fish, foul algae, and almost like demons.

He aimed the arrow at the spirit that was farther away. To give himself some time in case it got away. The other would surely try to escape downstream with the current, and directly past him. Jiang Cheng could imagine it all, shooting the first spirit, shocking the second and scaring it off, only to hit it with his next arrow.

Branches breaking somewhere behind him. Jiang Cheng startled and shot – too fucking early. Too little strength. The noise warned the spirits. They turned and stared at him. Hissed. And another arrow pierced them both with one shot, trapped their dead bodies together. They were swirled away by the current, dissolving into bright blue light.

The sound of hooves galloping at maddening speed right behind him, closing in. Jiang Cheng turned as the signal of clouds flared up in the sky above him.

Lan Wangji dashed out of the forest, not a hand on his horse’s reins, already busy with drawing another arrow. He rode past Jiang Cheng, completely ignoring him, faster than his arrows. And Jiang Cheng’s horse reared up, more screaming than neighing, and dashed after. Scared, challenged, something. Jiang Cheng grabbed the reins, pulled, turned, held on for his fucking life.

“Stop. Stop. Stop! Fucking calm down!” He screamed and was ignored by his horse. It chased after Lan Wangji’s horse that crossed the plains like a lightning bolt, somehow catching up, somehow. How. Jiang Cheng held on to his horse’s entire neck now, close to using his spiritual power to cling to the horse, feeling his hold slip and slip with every metre.

And Lan Wangji drew another arrow. At this fucking speed. Shot another spirit that was hiding in the woods on the other side of the plains. Drew another arrow and shot. Shot and shot. Fireworks of clouds all around them. Jiang Cheng’s horse was out of control, so fucking fast, it actually managed to catch up to Lan Wangji.

Head-to-head, they galloped across the field. And when Jiang Cheng’s horse took the lead, somehow, actually ran ahead of the other horse, Lan Wangji turned to look at him for the first time. Pure anger reddened his handsome face, furrowed his brow so hard that his headband hung even more loosely, his eyes flashing like lightning across the night sky. He shouldered his bow. However it was even possible to ride at this speed without holding the reins. And Lan Wangji could go even faster. Clutching the reins, eyes piercing into Jiang Cheng, he sped ahead. Jiang Cheng’s horse didn’t like that. Didn’t like it at all. He clung to it, holding on as it tried to keep the lead, and hated that he was draped over his horse’s neck like a complete beginner rider. A useless, unremarkable fool. A fucking loser.

Jiang Cheng growled. His brow stung with pain as he shot a look sharper than an arrow at Lan Wangji. He grabbed the reins and straightened. The wind was cutting past his cheeks at this speed. Every step felt like it would throw him off. He clenched his legs around the horse, his fingers cramping around the reins, and commanded the horse to go faster, his voice sharp, deep, something he had never heard, dragged out of him by all the wind and anger around and within him. He almost laughed when it worked. Fucking worked. And Lan Wangji made a strange noise that sent shivers all over his body. Hot and cold, and pulling at something.

Because he was ahead. Ahead of Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng turned back to look and smirked, grinned, laughed hoarsely at Lan Wangji’s scowl that looked like a pout. That face more handsome than anything distorted because of him. More shivers, throbbing worse than his aching head, because of that expression. He did laugh. Threw his head back and cackled like the madman that galloped across the plains, the wind drying his throat, the shivers now goosebumps down his spine. And some noise like a huff behind him. Almost amused.

They raced towards another patch of forest, no plan, no reason, just wind and throbbing aches within his chest. The thick trees seemed ancient, had grown tall over centuries, and blanketed a mountain rising in the distance. Shadows crept between the trees, seemed to peek out at them racing past. Did peek at them. Jiang Cheng looked back at Lan Wangji, who had of course also noticed the eyes of shadows.

He wouldn’t let him have that one, too.

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes at him as if he had voiced that challenge out loud. He grabbed his bow and pulled it from his shoulder, drew an arrow as if he wasn’t galloping forward at top speed. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t let him fucking have this one.

He tightened his thighs’ grasp around the horse and let go of the reins. Shaking, trembling, balance swept away by a breath of wind. And Lan Wangji was catching up. Jiang Cheng snatched his bow and arrow and aimed into the thicket of leaves ahead. The shadow eyes blinked at him, the little imp understanding and moving to turn, run, escape.

Jiang Cheng shot. Didn’t care about the fucking imp stupid as a stone and turned to look for Lan Wangji’s reaction. His jaw dropped.

Lan Wangji was standing in the saddle, bow already drawn, and jumped from the horse. Legs and spine curved elegantly, still straight, shoulders strong, muscles in his arms pulling back as he shot. The imp screeched somewhere in the shadows, pierced by Lan Wangji’s arrow. Jiang Cheng’s arrow missed and simply disappeared in the dust left by the imp’s evaporating body.

And Lan Wangji almost dashed into him and his horse. Jiang Cheng grabbed the reins with his free hand, commanded the horse to calm down. Watched with wide eyes and mad heart how Lan Wangji cut through the air.

The force of Lan Wangji’s jump threw him right into the forest, and he clashed into a tree. Not clashed. He had fucking aimed for the tree. Lan Wangji landed on a branch, catapulted himself off with one foot and changed directions. His horse galloped past him, and he simply hopped back on. Sliding back into the saddle with no change of expression, he shouldered his bow and took hold of the reins again. Perfect, elegant, fucking impressive. A cursed show-off. With no one around to sing about his legends here. Because Jiang Cheng would never waste a word telling Lan Wangji’s stories.

Another firework of clouds erupting across the skies. As if he hadn’t seen enough of that today.

Jiang Cheng snorted at him, and Lan Wangji glared back. Hard. Jiang Cheng wanted to curse right at him, call him out for being a sore loser, a fucking arrogant disaster of a living being that should stay on his damned mountain and haunt nothing but nightmares. He only snorted again, louder, and rolled his eyes as obviously away as he could. Lan Wangji rode into his view, his eyes drifting back to him as they rode along the forest side by side.

The horse allowed him to slow it down when the river cut into the forest, the wide, open field now nothing but horizon behind thick layers of trees. Mountains rose up in the distance, the sun’s light breaking on walls made of sharp rocks.

Lan Wangji had stopped his horse from galloping, but stayed behind Jiang Cheng, staring at him. Waiting for some compliment for his display of abilities that he would wait six lives for. His cheeks glowing as red as his ears. Chest heaving under heavy breaths, like he had been the one running across the field, not his lucky horse. Jiang Cheng gulped. His throat was so fucking dry that he could feel his pulse there.

“Had enough?” Jiang Cheng asked. Something felt wrong with his throat, scratched his voice into something hoarse and despicable.

“Hmph.” Lan Wangji leant forward and rubbed the horse’s neck, soothed the raging pulse there and didn’t care about any other’s.

Jiang Cheng rubbed his own neck, throat, focused on his horse. There wasn’t anything else for him to do. His besotted horse followed Lan Wangji’s horse towards the river all by itself, and Jiang Cheng felt a lack of everything, especially protest. If his horse wanted to drink, he had no reason to stop it. If it wanted to gaze longingly at Lan Wangji, it could very well drown.

He slipped off the horse’s back and led it to the shore by the reins. Lan Wangji allowed his horse the same, but didn’t hold it by the reins. He busied himself with the arrows in his quiver, counting them, stroking over the feathered ends, long fingers very busy. He didn’t have many arrows left. Jiang Cheng gave into the urge to check his own. He had lost one in his failed attempt to shoot the water spirit. Which hadn’t actually been his fucking fault. And another lost in the woods thanks to Lan Wangji showing off.

“Lan Wangji, that was my target by the river,” Jiang Cheng drawled. “You should feel guilty, claiming other people’s prey without reason. And don’t think I’ll even acknowledge your shot just now. This is a riding competition, not whatever that was.”

“I apologise,” Lan Wangji said. Just like that.

Jiang Cheng closed his mouth before more words escaped him. He kicked the ground – too hard. A bundle of earth and grass flew over to Lan Wangji, hit him in the shin. Jiang Cheng quickly looked at his horse when Lan Wangji slowly turned.

He had felt incredible a moment ago, speeding ahead for once, followed by none other than that annoying bastard that thought himself too perfect to follow anyone, and now the feeling of being forever doomed with stupidity was back. He sighed and patted his horse to apologise. Poor thing trapped with him.

“I guess we’re even,” Jiang Cheng said. “You take my prey, and no one hears about whatever Wei Wuxian did to annoy you earlier. Deal?”

Another one of those weird huffs. “You witnessed what he did and failed to reprehend him?”

“I’m here for the competition, Second Young Master Lan, not to ogle you from three stables away, even if you expect everyone to have nothing better to do.”

He stilled, too late, his sweat already cold on his aching forehead. Jiang Cheng turned to find another new expression on Lan Wangji’s reddened face. Shock, the faintest hint of it on his stoic face looking so very, very wrong. As if no one had ever talked to him like that. Acknowledging that there was no one more beautiful in any realm imaginable, despite it being nothing but simple truth. As if he didn’t expect to hear it from Jiang Cheng.

Because Jiang Cheng should remember to be polite to people. His father would have him kneel again until he “calmed down”, fuck.

Lan Wangji stopped stroking his arrows, closed his fist around them. “I care little for what you look at, Young Master Jiang.”

He had never heard Lan Wangji’s voice hissing like that. Any other day, Jiang Cheng’s head would have warned him, stopped him, but there was nothing but pain within it right now.

“Sounds like you do care,” Jiang Cheng said with a smirk.

Lan Wangji ripped a feather out of his arrow. His face could turn even redder. With his hair dishevelled from the wind, trapped and knotted into his loose forehead ribbon, he looked like he had just fought an entire army of imps on his own. Furious, wild, ready to stab whoever addressed him with a flicker of impoliteness. Pretty. Fucking nonsense. Truth, nothing else. Quite pretty.

Jiang Cheng leant on his horse, scowled over its back at Lan Wangji. “I’ll keep it in mind, and next time, I’ll strut over to do to you whatever Wei Wuxian did, so you can care very little about that as well. Deal?”

Lan Wangji walked, fast, approached him with a few steps and lost feathers on the way. Ripped his hand away from his arrows and couldn’t stab him. Wouldn’t. Jiang Cheng still moved back, only ended up with his back towards the river. His horse was useless as a shield, too enamoured with Lan Wangji, who walked around it like it was as immobile as a fence and up to Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji stopped, didn’t say a word, only raised his brows to say it all. Go ahead. Do it, then. As if Jiang Cheng was afraid to tear his damn ribbon off and feed it to his traitor horse.

Fucking Lan Wangji thinking he was right about everything. Never the others in the wrong. Always Wei Wuxian’s fault.

Jiang Cheng raised his chin, could actually look down at Lan Wangji like that, not much difference in height between them. One or two summer’s in the future, and he would be taller than this arrogant fucker and look down on him as much as Lan Wangji liked to do right now. Make him choke on his own medicine.

“You know, if for once in your life you would get down your high horse and have one nice word for him, he wouldn’t care. He’d leave you to rot in peace, all by yourself. That’s how Wei Wuxian’s head works. Most people’s heads. If you’d ever talked to other human beings, you’d knew a thing about them.”

Pure anger on that face, somehow even more handsome, eyes blazing with more than hatred. Something hurt. Pain flashing up so heatedly the sparks pierced into Jiang Cheng’s heart. He had no time for guilt. He didn’t.

“If Yunmeng-Jiang cared about education, the Young Master would know when to lecture unruly disciples,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng leant in to that tense face, wanted to find more of that fury, that anger, and only found something glittering in those uncommonly light eyes. “If you wanted the Young Master of Yunmeng-Jiang to stand up for you, you should’ve talked to me more than three times during our studies, Second Young Master Lan.”

A blink. Something wet stuck in thick, dark lashes that should never be tainted like that. Who would have known that Lan Wangji felt anything, especially hurt from words. Which Jiang Cheng should have swallowed.

Lan Wangji lowered his gaze, as if to battle whatever burnt there by himself, and stared somewhere at Jiang Cheng’s face. Judged the sneer stuck there. Jiang Cheng forced his lips down.

He didn’t like the view, really didn’t, of that face looking like something to pity not admire. Lan Wangji looked wrong, too real, with his hair hanging in his face, his ribbon barely holding on to his forehead, skin there exposed for once, almost indecent to look at it. His lips seemed even fuller, stuck in the softest, barely visible pout he had ever seen. Bottom lip twitching in the attempt to hold back something. His chin looking soft and smooth and in reach to tip it up and make him stop with this. Just fucking stop to look like anything.

Jiang Cheng breathed in, and Lan Wangji looked up like he had hit him. His eyes wide and open, lashes thickened even more by something wet. That shade of brown so light, eery, mesmerising, like some polished jewel he had seen once in his life and not failed to forget.

“I apologise,” Lan Wangji said, voice quiet and softer than the wind, drowned by the river’s stream.

Jiang Cheng leant in to hear him better. “Hm.”

Lan Wangji didn’t lean away, tilted his head to pin him down with his eyes. Unfathomable deep, the black that was encircled by that peculiar shade of brown, inviting you to stare into him. Widening to allow you in. Only that he couldn’t lean in further. He would feel more than a breath on his lips. A tickling breath drying his opening lips.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji swallowed as if he heard that. “Did you do that on purpose?”

Jiang Cheng blinked. The river’s stream crashed into his mind like a sudden downpour. He blinked again, looked to the right and left and back at Lan Wangji standing way too close. Jiang Cheng stepped back. Reached for his horse and missed, grabbed into nothingness. The fucking animal had fucking moved at some fucking point. Jiang Cheng stumbled, turned, and barely managed to retrieve his balance. Lan Wangji’s gaze too hard on him to ignore.

Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. “What? This?” He rubbed over the swollen spot on his forehead. “Why would I do that on purpose?”

“Distracting me,” Lan Wangji said. “Earlier.”

Oh. Jiang Cheng couldn’t forget that menacing look even if he wanted to. Not that he didn’t want to. Well. His head hurt too much for anything, apparently. He shook it to make it worse.

“You honestly think I had time for any ulterior motives? I was busy making a fool out of myself.” Jiang Cheng fled from the eyes and scent and everything, turned towards the river and washed his hands. Splashed some water in his face for good measure. The bruise on his forehead thanked him when he pressed a cooler palm against it. Didn’t seem to help with whatever was wrong with his chest. He would have to scratch that out at this rate. Vomit it out, preferably, and never think about whatever that was ever again. Never look at annoying, arrogant Lan Wangji ever again.

“As if I could ever keep up with you. Or him. Really. I don’t have time for games if I don’t want to listen to my father say something insulting like, you tried your best, A-Cheng. Well done.” The fact that he didn’t even have to imagine his father’s voice saying these words, only remember them from all those past competitions. Remember his face lighting up when he could compliment Wei Wuxian’s shots, Wei Wuxian’s skills, Wei Wuxian’s everything. “So no, it wasn’t on purpose. Only in your head, Second Young Master Lan.”

“Why fool?”

Jiang Cheng looked back over his shoulder. “You saw. I know you looked at my shots. Don’t play innocent.”

“You didn’t shoot badly. Over half your arrows hit. It was an acceptable score.”

Jiang Cheng straightened again, smoothed the red robes over his knees twice for good measure and still felt he looked more dishevelled than Lan Wangji. “Acceptable.” He couldn’t contain the sarcasm, whatever sight Lan Wangji presented, and dipped into a bow. “Thank you for your praise, Second Young Master Lan.”

Lan Wangji clicked his tongue. “You should shoot alone if your confidence suffers around others.”

“My confidence is none of your business. I will shoot alongside whoever I like. And if it weren’t for you, I’d be by myself right now,” Jiang Cheng snapped.

Lan Wangji looked ready to snap back. He took a breath instead, sadly, and his gaze wandered towards the forest. He walked back to his horse and attached his quiver to the saddle, then stood there looking weirdly lost, almost shy. His face, etched with crimson frustration, seemed to soften. He nodded toward the forest.

“There are imps within the woods, Young Master Jiang,” Lan Wangji said. He stood there, waiting for something, bow shouldered but no arrows.

“What, you want to leave them all to me?”

“I help with your posture,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

“What’s wrong with my posture?”

“It’s lacking.”

Jiang Cheng breathed against whatever his heart was doing with this insult. Fucking insult. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want to be around Lan Wangji, looking shy and lost and dishevelled and handsome and red to the ears. He wanted nothing of this. Especially not after telling Lan Wangji he had no friends. Jiang Cheng swallowed, felt like he understood.

“Fine.” He grabbed an arrow from his quiver and drew it, ready to aim, and walked next to Lan Wangji into the forest.

If Wei Wuxian saw them – no. Jiang Cheng didn’t want to go there. His head filled with images of Wei Wuxian’s weird attempts at friendship that sounded more and more like he had taken a romance novel as guidance. Jiang Cheng would not go there.

Lan Wangji next to him looked less and less bothered. The last time Jiang Cheng had seen Lan Wangji this calm had been sometime this morning, before the mountains, so early, he remembered barely more than looking at him during breakfast, surely long before he had suffered from this embarrassing bruise on his forehead. That strange enticing frustration on Lan Wangji’s face calmed under the shadows of the trees. As if he was breathing in incense instead of damp forest air, leaves and moss barely covering the hint of something evil. Similar to the river. Lan Wangji turned his head, seemed to notice as well. A hint of it, nothing else.

Lan Wangji caught him looking, eyes back to nothingness, cheeks paled, ears nothing but an illusion of red. He nodded towards a crowd of bushes nearby. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes in response. He could notice a few imps by himself. Although it seemed strange that they huddled together into the leaves, thorny leaves even, instead of dancing around eager to annoy them and their horses. Lan Wangji was looking back towards the river. His horse quiet, Jiang Cheng’s nudging at it for attention.

They were well trained horses that wouldn’t run off without them. Jiang Cheng made a disgruntled noise in hopes Lan Wangji would understand and regretted it the moment he was stuck with a look from him again. Fucking eyes, he had been happier when he could hate them for avoiding him. Less distracted. More distracted. Whatever he had been.

Jiang Cheng drew his arrow and aimed into the bushes. The imps seemed confident in their hiding spot, crouching out of sight. It really was not a difficult target to hit. They wouldn’t even be worth many points.

Lan Wangji agreed and nodded at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “Shoot and I adjust afterwards, or I demonstrate and you adjust. Whatever you prefer for training.”

“You…” Jiang Cheng breathed against his headache. He was less offended than he should be. “You see anything wrong already?”

“Not wrong. Improvable.” Lan Wangji raised his hand, and Jiang Cheng tensed. Something pulsed in his arm. He had never thought about there being actual veins with blood in his arm, and now they wanted him to know. Pulsed and boiled with anticipation at a touch. That never came. Lan Wangji’s fingers came closer, reached, twitched right before Jiang Cheng’s biceps, and he pulled away before ever touching it.

“Relax your biceps.” Lan Wangji moved his fingers over the stretched seams of Jiang Cheng’s sleeve that he had never noticed. They looked about to tear. “Your wrist shakes because you are tense in this area. Focus on your shoulder to control the movement.”

Embarrassment. Somehow even hotter than his bruise and frustration. He didn’t want Lan Wangji to look at him right now. Knowing his luck, he would tense in all the wrong places and accidentally pull the seams of his sleeve and shoulder like an idiot. And Lan Wangji would give him the laugh that Wei Wuxian craved so much. Already, Lan Wangji’s eyes were staring at the seams as if he could sew them in place like this.

Some sudden, peculiar fear of tearing his robes and standing here half-naked rose within him. He blamed Wei Wuxian for painting it too vividly for him earlier. Only that no one ever came to watch him shoot bare-chested in the summer. And Lan Wangji would… what the fuck was he thinking about?

Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. The imps in the bushes startled at the noise but continued to hide. He adjusted his hold on the arrow and drew it again. Lan Wangji’s watchful eyes didn’t allow him to think about more than please, please, please don’t tear the robes like an idiot.

“Anything else?” Jiang Cheng asked.

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Ah.” Jiang Cheng pulled the bowstring all the way, pushed his hand up against his cheek to aim better. Lan Wangji shook his head, so he lowered his aim again. His frown still hurt, but he couldn’t aim low and not squint at his target. He pulled the bow up again.

“Aim low for targets on ground. If your forehead hurts when aiming, use your core to sense the energies,” Lan Wangji said. He was the worst teacher in the world, telling an entire book of instructions within two sentences.

Jiang Cheng aimed low and complied. Lan Wangji seemed to wait for his seams to burst open, kept staring at his biceps. His blood didn’t like that, rushed to his heart and forced it to beat hard and fast. Whatever. Even if his fucking sleeve cut open in front of proper Second Young Master Lan, he wouldn’t be ashamed. He had an acceptable figure and – would not go there.

“You train with the spiritual whip practiced among disciples of Meishan-Yu,” Lan Wangji said, for some reason.

According to his mother, he failed at the spiritual whip, would never lay a finger on Zidian, and should stick to bow and arrow to embarrass their entire clan.

“Your muscles memorised the movements, which also show in how you handle the sword.”

“How would you know how I handle the sword?”

“We studied together. If you had talked to me more than three times during our studies, you would remember our training.”

“Getting cheeky, Teacher Lan?” Jiang Cheng retorted, for some reason, and Lan Wangji rolled his eyes away from him. Blushed. Differently. His cheeks flushing, his ears crimson, his neck colouring so deeply that his robes couldn’t challenge the shade. And Jiang Cheng couldn’t breathe like this. His rapidly heaving chest getting into the way of his aim.

Lan Wangji was apparently not made for banter amongst friends. Neither was Jiang Cheng, it seemed.

“I only wanted –”

“Talk later, I need some quiet,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji paled within a heartbeat, and Jiang Cheng wanted to apologise. Wanted to have him look again. Watch him. He lowered the bow to demand attention like some stupid dog, when that scent hit him full force. Evil, pure evil. He scrunched up his nose, shifted closer to Lan Wangji and his calming scent of sandalwood to ask.

The horses neighed and whined, started to move. Something rumbled all around them, trees started shaking, leaves raining down on them, and the earth seemed to split. Jiang Cheng felt his balance slip again, his head screaming with pain, and he grabbed for hold, clutched at Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

Like a flash of lightning, the horses bolted past them. Lan Wangji turned to hurry after them when the shadow engulfed them like a sudden thunderstorm. Jiang Cheng barely saw more than the outline of something huge. His body acted before his head could even think, and he grabbed Lan Wangji, yanked him behind the nearest tree.

A large creature burst out of the ground. The imps screamed, screeched so violently his ears echoed with their pain. Within a blink, they were swallowed by a rippled opening in the creature. Jiang Cheng pulled Lan Wangji against his chest, tried to hide him behind the tree and simultaneously attempted to lean around to look.

He regretted every glimpse he caught. Lan Wangji clawed his nails into his arm at the sight.

A giant worm-like creature, flesh covered in dirt-coloured scales, dug itself out of the ground. It munched on the imps, their screams still audible as they were cracked in halves and quarters and uncountable bits and pieces.

Jiang Cheng sucked in a breath – and a hand clasped his mouth shut before the yelp could escape. Lan Wangji pressed back against him, turning slightly to hold his mouth shut, eyes glued to the creature. The monster smelling of demon.

Jiang Cheng clutched at Lan Wangji, arms wrapped tightly around him, keeping him as close as possible. To stop him from running at the worm thing, to keep him close, close, to stop him, and stop himself. Panic raptured his thoughts.

The worm thing looked around. It had eyes, or more mouths, a thousand holes pierced its head. Most of them were smeared with imp pieces, others with parts of animals, some had teeth, others fur around it like some bad attempt at drawing eyelashes. The wrinkles down its throat seemed to be hard and soft at the same time, stained with blood and earth, rotting flesh hanging out between them. Scales patterned its weird skin and flesh. One was chipped, torn apart and revealing its body beneath.

It sniffed. The worm’s head turned towards them, folded backward and opened the biggest hole again. They could see the imp pieces in there, some of them still screaming despite being torn apart, a single hand trying to climb back out. Bones scattered in the abyss of its throat. And it came towards them.

So, this was how his life would end. Clutching at Second Young Master Lan, sweating with panic, no sword, only a bow he couldn’t use to protect them. Lan Wangji released Jiang Cheng’s mouth and raised his bow, had no arrows, but stretched the bowstring like he wanted to aim anyway. His spiritual energy gleamed blue along the string.

In the distance, the horses screamed.

The worm turned its head or whatever the fuck that was and slithered away faster than a boulder rolled down a mountain. Trees crashed and burst in two, the hills shook, and it was gone, leaving nothing but a crumbling hole in the earth.

Lan Wangji let out a shaking breath, and Jiang Cheng could feel that going through his body, too tightly pressed against him. He quickly let go, moved away, shuffled back up to his feet.

“What the fuck was that?” he managed to say.

Lan Wangji managed to scowl at him. “I do not know.”

“We need to get away from here,” Jiang Cheng said, picked up his bow and dropped arrow, shouldering it all. “Come.”

“The horses.”

Jiang Cheng stopped, turned to listen. He could hear them in the distance, almost drowned by the thunder of the worm creature.

“Go,” Lan Wangji said. “I look for them.”

“Are you fucking mad?” Jiang Cheng hurried in Lan Wangji’s way to stop him from simply running off. “They’re lost, they’re gone. That thing will slurp them up within a blink. Let’s get the fuck out of here right now before it comes back. We walk. Come.”

Lan Wangji tried to walk past him.

“Lan Wangji.” Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the elbow, pulled him back too hard. Lan Wangji’s shocked face came too close, too suddenly. He slammed a hand against Jiang Cheng’s chest to steady himself, the only reason that their heads didn’t crash into each other. Jiang Cheng tried to focus, almost failed. “We walk. It’s only a day’s walk at most on foot. Let’s go.”

“The horses,” Lan Wangji repeated, fucking idiot that he was. “The horse wouldn’t be out here if I had chosen a different one. It doesn’t deserve to be abandoned. I need to check, if nothing else.”

“Second Young Master Lan,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head. “You would throw yourself in front of your enemy, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you abandon them?” Lan Wangji asked, earnestly.

Jiang Cheng nodded. “Yes.” He let go of Lan Wangji’s arm and pointed down the path of destruction the worm had left behind. “Let’s go. Stay close.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes softened while looking at him, and Jiang Cheng wanted to leave him here and never think about him again.

They followed the path through the forest, broken trees leaving a gaping hole within it. None of the other forest patches had shown signs of movement like this. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to have been sleeping underground or living somewhere completely different. A wave of spiritual energy from so many competitors as today might have lured it here from wherever.

“The mountains,” Lan Wangji said.

The path did lead towards the forest covered mountain area. Jiang Cheng took a deep breath. He wasn’t much of a mountain person. If this was a lake creature, he might have been of use, might have even known what it was, made Lan Wangji gasp with all his experience, but in the mountains, he was only a fish out of water.

Next to him, Lan Wangji continued pulling at his bowstring. He had no sword either, and his quiver had been stuck on his horse’s saddle. Jiang Cheng offered him his full quiver.

“Keep. We don’t know what to expect,” Lan Wangji said. “Stay vigilant.”

Which was why it was the stupidest idea to leave the arrows with him, not the master archer.

“Here.” Jiang Cheng gave him one arrow, at least like that Lan Wangji could pretend he wasn’t afraid that their only weapon was stuck with the wrong person. “One won’t make a difference.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, then took the arrow. He ran his fingers through the feathered end again. Slender, pale fingers that looked best on his sword, tugging at the strings of his guqin, wrapped around a scroll he offered to some lost fool in the library. His fingers were soft, and Jiang Cheng hated that he knew that now. Would forever remember them pressing against his lips out of all places. His mouth tingled, like he was leaning too close to a fire, merely because of the memory of a touch.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said and drew the arrow into the bow, kept it ready to aim at anything moving within the woods. He didn’t have a quiver or anything to store it in. Just another burden.

“No need to thank me. If you shoot anything, it’ll be points for Yunmeng-Jiang,” Jiang Cheng said. Lan Wangji didn’t seem to care, kept staring at the arrow like he had never been given anything in his life. Like it meant something. “How else would you defend yourself? Just strangle people with the bow?”

Lan Wangji nodded. Just like that.

It took a moment for Jiang Cheng. The panic hadn’t quite settled, and his head refused to ignore the pain there any longer. He remembered that glow of blue energy streaming along the string, and he felt even more stupid.

“Chord assassination,” Jiang Cheng muttered more to himself, but Lan Wangji nodded. “You can do that with any string? I read it was limited to musical instruments.”

“Chord assassination makes use of music to increase strength and follow attack patterns, but its simple attacks can be used with any string. You read about it?”

“Lan Yi’s theoretical scriptures are available to everyone in Gusu-Lan’s library, Second Young Master Lan. I wasn’t sneaking around to steal your techniques.”

Lan Wangji’s look scolded him for even thinking that. Of course, he knew what scriptures were available to everyone and which weren’t. He apparently just thought Jiang Cheng was too dumb to be interested in reading.

“I remember you spending acceptable amounts of time in the Library Pavilion,” Lan Wangji said. “I was only intrigued… how. With what.”

What the fuck. Jiang Cheng felt his bow slipping from his shoulder, pulled it back up, and had to repeat that two more times before it felt secure. His hands started to sweat.

“Ah.” Jiang Cheng sped up, wanted to get this over with quickly and return with zero points for his clan. Get away from Lan Wangji and the echo of his voice soothing the pain from a stupid bruise. Intrigued. Remembered. Fuck. He liked it better when those memories had been only his curse, not a shared burden with Lan Wangji, somehow only weighing him down.

The forest opened into a vast clearing that led to a rocky slope up the mountain. If they hadn’t known and seen the giant worm creature, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have thought much about the slope, about the rocks squished into the mountain as if something incredibly heavy had moved over them. There was something that looked like a huge cave entry, only that it didn’t lead into any cave but into a hollowed-out part of the mountain. From the crunching noises echoing within there, it seemed to be the creature’s lair.

To the right of the slope was a climbable part of the mountain, seemingly overlooking the hollowed-out part. Jiang Cheng exchanged a look with Lan Wangji, and they headed to the climbable part. He couldn’t hear anything from the horses anymore. They were most likely dead, devoured by that creature, or if they were lucky, they had run the right direction and would return to safety soon enough.

He did hope for the latter, even if Lan Wangji thought him a heartless jerk surely.

The rock wall was steep with edges sharp as swords, but climbable with some good jumps. Jiang Cheng positioned himself by the wall, crouched and placed his hands together.

“I help you up,” he said when Lan Wangji simply stared at him. “Then you pull me up. It’s safer.”

Lan Wangji looked up the wall. He still needed spiritual energy to make the jump, but this was a legend in the making. If someone could jump this wall without killing himself, it was Lan Wangji. He nodded, shouldered his bow and stored the single arrow somewhere in his red robes, close to his chest. Slipped it between the red layers as if to keep it safe forever.

With a strange tension in his muscles, he grabbed Jiang Cheng by the shoulders and put his foot on Jiang Cheng’s hands. He was heavier than expected. Lan Wangji looked and moved like he weighed nothing, swift as a sword, airy as a feather trapped in a storm. He cut through air with his moves when manoeuvring the sword, and somehow the wind still embraced him, pulling his long sleeves and robes into a mesmerising dance that was best watched from afar. Not that he had done that more than three times. To study his technique. Maybe one time, maybe half a time at best, stared at him because he was quite handsome.

With a soft groan, Jiang Cheng pushed Lan Wangji up into the air. He nearly made it all the way, an arm’s length too short. On the ground, Jiang Cheng stretched his arms out, worried, struck by it like lightning, that Lan Wangji would fall. Crash. Hurt himself. Fuck.

Lan Wangji grabbed the edge of the mountain wall. He dangled there for a moment, his red robes billowing around his long legs, then he pulled himself up. It didn’t take long, only felt so, before he appeared again, dark strands of hair and white ribbon falling over the edge of the mountain. He stretched his hand out for Jiang Cheng. With a bit of a running jump, Jiang Cheng pushed himself off the ground. He was good at this, knew he could make this, knew this hand out of all hands would grab him and not pull away at last second, watch him fall and laugh, tease, chuckle at his bruises. It felt so easy to jump like this, as if that knowledge, that certainty, whatever it was, gave him an additional push.

Lan Wangji caught him by the wrist, and Jiang Cheng grabbed him tighter by his. The leather bracers strapping their sleeves in slipped out of his sweaty fingers. Lan Wangji held him, though, incredibly tight, as if he had never touched a human and didn’t know how fucking strong he was. He pulled Jiang Cheng up the mountain. If it weren’t for the bracers, his grip would leave another bruise. His wrist still tingled, tingled and tingled, his pulse too hard because of a touch through clothing. Fuck.

They climbed the rest of the mountain until they reached a small plateau overlooking the creature’s lair. The worm thing lay there in a swirl of scaled flesh. From up here, it looked massive, a moving mountain in itself.

Lan Wangji crouched down next to him, pointing him at a corner barely visible behind the creature. A pile of bones and flesh was scattered there, and next to them were the horses. Both of them alive and moving, scared, shaking their heads and tails back and forth, but unable to get past the massive creature that blocked the entry with its body.

“Is it keeping them for later?” Jiang Cheng wondered out loud.

Lan Wangji looked disgusted by the mere thought. Angry at it. If he planned to hop down there and slay the creature, Jiang Cheng would have to grab him again.

“What is it even?” For the first time, he could get a look at the worm that wasn’t clouded by panic. It didn’t help at all. The long, worm-like body was covered in scales, even dirtier after it had destroyed an entire forest in its hunt for food. The thousand holes in what seemed to be its head were closed right now. “Some sort of demonised dragon?”

“I do not know,” Lan Wangji said. “I can only assume whatever it was admired a dragon’s appearance and cultivated a form similar to it.”

“That would take centuries.”

“Qishan-Wen is irresponsible in its supervision of this area. They tend to neglect eradicating such threats early on and hope for others to solve the resulting issues.”

Jiang Cheng smirked. His father would make Lan Wangji kneel for that if they were at Lotus Pier right now. Which was a ridiculous image. Lan Wangji at Lotus Pier would be nothing but problems. And whatever this was, whatever Lan Wangji thought right now, they weren’t friends.

Jiang Cheng glanced at him again, his smirk fading, softening into something weird. Lan Wangji was completely focused, his eyes shooting back and forth, his brow slightly furrowed, the headband slipping down to his ear by now. The sun gleamed in his eyes when he turned to look at Jiang Cheng, determined.

“The missing scale there is exposing its weak point. We can eliminate it,” Lan Wangji said. “It cultivated resentful energy, but not skilfully. While it appears massive, I sense little strength in it that would shield it from a well-aimed shot.”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. If only his heart wouldn’t think anything to be possible if it was already decided by that calm, steady voice. “You are insane, Lan Wangji. That thing is bursting with resentful energy. It’s more demon than monster. Little strength, sure, and what the fuck is a lot to you?”

“Are you afraid?” Lan Wangji asked.

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I said you’re insane, not that I’m not with you. Let’s teach that thing it will only ever be a worm, not a dragon.”

A flicker, a twitch of something across Lan Wangji’s lips. His eyes burning in the sun like glowing amber. Pulling at Jiang Cheng with a look only, with that devastatingly handsome face that could destroy all realms if it chose to. Destroyed him right here on some detached mountain cliff. Begged him to lean in and extinguish that light, catch it, ignite it a thousand times stronger. Once before he died down there.

“I will climb down and attack it from the front,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng stopped, had to support himself on the ground after leaning in too close to Lan Wangji’s handsome for whatever reason. “Shut up, or I’ll kick you down there.”

“Too loud,” Lan Wangji said, fucking bastard.

“I’m not letting you attack it head on by yourself. We go together.”

“No. You have more arrows,” Lan Wangji said, as if they couldn’t exchange those. “The creature’s heart is still protected by half a scale. I will use Chord Assassination to expose its weak point completely, then you will shoot. This should suffice.”

“What is your plan if it doesn’t?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Improvise,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng smiled, smirked, something in between. “You’re full of surprises, Lan Wangji. I wouldn’t have…” He swallowed when Lan Wangji blinked too quickly, probably confused, weirded out, about to throw him down this mountain to feed him to a worm. “Your plan relies on my shooting skills.”

“Shoot well,” Lan Wangji said and rose to his feet. His red robes fell over his legs like they couldn’t wait to touch him again. He whipped his dishevelled hair back, and the ribbon slipped even further. It seemed to hold on by nothing but will and a knot in his long hair.

“Be careful,” Jiang Cheng said, but Lan Wangji didn’t seem to have heard him. He took off without another word and jumped down into the hollowed-out part of the mountain. The worm startled awake the moment Lan Wangji’s delicious spiritual energy filled the air around it. There was no sneaking around this thing. It opened all its eyes and mouths at once, targeting Lan Wangji before he even hit the ground.

Jiang Cheng readied his bow and aimed. He tried his best to keep his biceps relaxed, to aim low, to frown despite the pain and sharpen his sight. Sharpen his mediocre core to feel all the disgusting, muddy energies veiling the mountain.

Lan Wangji was quick, incredibly fast, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t do more than keep half an eye on him. He needed to keep aiming at the half-chapped scale, pierce it as soon as possible. The moment Lan Wangji destroyed it. He had to. There was no improvising in this. One wrong step, and Lan Wangji would be dead. For some fucking horses, or honour, or searching glory, or just because he felt the need to clean up another Wen mess before it streamed down a river to doom the innocent.

The worm creature stretched. And stretched. It stretched all the way up into the sky and almost reached the mountain top like this. Stones from the surrounding cliffs came lose when it scraped alongside the mountain, rained down on Lan Wangji and the horses. The animals were terrified, squeezing far back into the corner, trampling the bones around them. Lan Wangji dodged a larger stone with another jump, almost clashing into another. The worm stopped stretching, and threw its body forward to squish Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng shot, hit the scales, and a thousand eyes focused on him. The giant mouth opened and slammed forward, right at him.

A strum of something sharp, blue light illuminating the rock walls, and a noise of pain rumbling through the mountain. Lan Wangji had strummed the bowstring, his energy cutting into the worm’s body. He pulled the single arrow from the inside of his robes, drew it faster than Jiang Cheng could up here. And the worm slammed its body down.

“Fuck!” Jiang Cheng dashed forward, only to be slammed back by the shockwave. Dirt and stones scratched his skin. He clawed at the rock, somehow managed to stay upright. As fast as possible, he hurried back to the cliff, repositioned his bow.

The area below him was hidden in a thick layer of dust. The worm creature moved again, pushed its body back up to stretch again. Its gaping mouth hungrily sucked the dust from the air, everything clearing up. Lan Wangji was there, catching Jiang Cheng’s eyes. Some fucking miracle had helped him to stay on his feet. Not fucking human. He seemed calmer than the sea before a storm, and actually pointed at the worm that was about to squish him.

The chipped scale was gone, lay broken on the ground, and the weak area was exposed. But Lan Wangji’s keepsake arrow was nowhere to be seen. Jiang Cheng had no choice. Aimed. Scrunched his swollen brow together to fucking see the damned weak point, please. And the worm turned and turned away to slam down again.

Fuck it.

Jiang Cheng jumped. Both feet landing on the rock slope, he slid down into the hallowed-out area and aimed the arrow at Lan Wangji. Gaping at him. Like he was the mad one here. And Jiang Cheng shot. His arrow had nothing but a gentle curve, much like earlier when he had missed the target over and over, no speed, no strength to his shots. Only distance.

The arrow drifted through the air and dropped to the ground, slithered a little further, almost all the way to Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng stumbled off the slope at the same time, but didn’t stop. Eyes on Lan Wangji, who dashed for the arrow nearby, Jiang Cheng sprinted over to the horses. He watched Lan Wangji draw the bow, aim at the worm, shoot, just as he reached the horses. With a hoarse scream, Jiang Cheng slammed his hand down on the ground, drawing a quick protection shield. The worm’s scream echoed through the shield. Arching up into the sky, the creature started cracking, bright fires bursting out of its body, tearing it apart from the inside. It wiggled, like a worm, nothing like a dragon, and burst into a thousand pieces. Stones and dust and century old bones rained down on them. The shield cracked. Too weak. The horses ran around him in panic. And Jiang Cheng pushed all his energy into the barrier.

It hurt. Every muscle, even those he had never once thought about in his life stung with the energy pulled out him. His heart ached when he looked up and searched in vain, saw no figure in red, only dust. He cursed, over and over, for allowing this. For supporting it. For not dragging Lan Wangji back right away.

The horses calmed down, and Jiang Cheng still searched the dust in front of him. The worm’s body had covered the ground with all its pieces, some of them still glowing and slowly crumbling into ashes. Something red, somewhere.

There. Moving in the distant dust, something red, approaching him. Jiang Cheng released the barrier and left the horses, ran ahead. Ran, sprinted, jumped over dust and bones. With each step, more and more of that tall, slender figure became clearer. He almost flung himself against Lan Wangji, and for a moment, he thought Lan Wangji was reaching to catch him.

Jiang Cheng slid to a halt right in front of him, steadied himself by grabbing onto Lan Wangji’s arm, steadied him. Both of them.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Mn.” When Lan Wangji grabbed him back, held onto Jiang Cheng’s arm even tighter than he held him, he couldn’t restrain himself. Jiang Cheng cupped Lan Wangji’s face, streaked with dust, and wiped his thumb back and forth to clean it. A single drop of blood had run down his soft chin, easily swiped off, his core scratched but not gravely so. Jiang Cheng kept shaking his head. His sweaty hands made the dirt worse, spreading it over that handsome face. Something warm beneath his touch.

Lan Wangji blinked, stared and stared at him, his rare, beautiful eyes not letting him go. Then turned and stepped away from Jiang Cheng’s touch. Blinked fast as if to get rid of the memory. Jiang Cheng pulled his stupid hands back, wiped them clean on his robes, couldn’t keep them still. He avoided looking at Lan Wangji, about to stab him for some dumb, impromptu touch.

“Well improvised,” Lan Wangji said instead.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Fucking idiot. You ever do that again, and I just throw you into some demon’s mouth as a distraction.”

“You curse a lot,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng was about to punch him, stab him, when something exploded right above them. The signal from Lan Wangji’s arrow filled the sky. Only that it wasn’t a pattern of clouds, but purple lotus. So staggeringly large, the petals eclipsed the sun and clouds all around it.

“Fuck.”

Lan Wangji scowled at him like the only thing that bothered him about any of this was a soft curse.

“You used my arrow to kill this thing. Look at the size of that lotus. That’s a massive amount of points for Yunmeng-Jiang, if we don’t tell them quickly.”

Lan Wangji was limping past him towards the horses. “No need.”

“What?” Jiang Cheng followed. “What do you mean, no need? These are your points, Second Young Master Lan. I don’t need your pity. What is with your leg?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, Young Master Jiang,” Lan Wangji said as if they hadn’t just been a finger away from hugging on top of a dead demon’s remains. “My horse seems to have hurt its ankle, though.”

It had indeed. Lan Wangji’s horse had stopped running around and remained completely still. Jiang Cheng’s horse was more agile, trotting around the other almost protectively, stomping over leftover bones and bits of worm. Lan Wangji walked past it, not showing another sign that he was limping, and stroked the horse’s mane. He soothed it for a moment before he looked at the right foreleg.

Jiang Cheng watched him too closely and failed to catch his horse’s reins because of that. He forced himself to focus, snatched the reins when the horse dashed past and was dragged with it for a couple of steps before he managed to bring it to a stop.

Lan Wangji didn’t seem bothered by another display of complete failure. “The ankle is sprained, and I have too little spiritual energy left to strengthen it. The horse can walk, but slowly and without a rider. If your horse is uninjured, you should ride ahead. Please inform my brother that I will not return for dinner.”

Jiang Cheng had no words. He clutched at his horse’s reins and tried his best not to utter the one word he had. Not to fucking curse in Lan Wangji’s fucking perfect face again.

“You’re such an idiot. Let’s go,” Jiang Cheng said and walked ahead.

Lan Wangji watched him, seemed confused, as if Jiang Cheng was the one void of reason. They were in this together, they would walk out of it together, even if it meant a day’s walk until they would reach the competition grounds again.

It took too many steps before Lan Wangji followed him. His horse was not badly injured, could keep up well, but it would definitely take them hours, maybe even the entire night to return to the competition grounds.

They exited the hollowed-out part of the mountain through the giant cave-like entrance and left the mess created by the demon behind. It wasn’t worth another look, really, not when there was a path ahead, forest and fields bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun.

Lan Wangji caught up and walked by his side. His dirt-streaked face and dishevelled hair a sight to stain thoughts, his stupidity squeezing even cold hearts, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t find the words for it. Within or without. Whatever he felt right now was surely best left alone.

Thankfully, Lan Wangji preferred silence.

“You hit the weak spot right away.” If only Jiang Cheng could keep his mouth shut as well. “I knew you would. Second Young Master Lan rarely misses a shot.”

Lan Wangji should be used to compliments, should at least be aware of politeness and bow to him, before ignoring him like he did with his juniors and seniors constantly. He dropped his gaze, not to bow with his head, only to look at the ground almost shyly as if Jiang Cheng had complimented his rare beauty, not his skill.

“I failed to assess the situation correctly and was careless. Without your support, this monster would have continued to demonise and grown into a dangerous threat in the next year. If you hadn’t –”

“Lan Wangji.” Jiang Cheng didn’t want to hear anything about thanks. “I’m aware why you sought to throw your life away for some horses.” His horse neighed as if to complain, and he ignored it. “This thing needed to be eliminated or it would’ve harmed innocent people sooner rather than later. We had no choice. Really.”

Lan Wangji looked away as if he planned to run off and hide in the woods from the truth, from his infuriating kind nature that would doom him one day, perhaps even all of them. His horse had grown attached to him within a day, and it nudged him with his head as if to cheer him up. Jiang Cheng felt the weird urge to shove it away from Lan Wangji.

“It was an impressive sight,” Jiang Cheng said, because he was an idiot, and now it was too late to take the words back. Lan Wangji was already glancing at him from the side, was fucking reddening like he had declared some other unimaginable nonsense to him. “An impressive story, really, if only we could tell it.”

“Why not tell it?” Lan Wangji asked.

Jiang Cheng shrugged, because it should be obvious, and Lan Wangji only looked at him like it wasn’t. “I’m not good at telling stories.” And Lan Wangji wasn’t either. His stories were told by others, and he never cared how much truth or lies were hiding within them.

Lan Wangji started kneading the reins, his horse unbothered by it, trotting happily next to him. “Would you… like to tell it?”

“As if anyone would believe me,” Jiang Cheng said. “You and everyone else has seen me shoot. Fail to shoot any target today. They would just think that I’m trying to steal your thunder.”

“You didn’t fail,” Lan Wangji said. “Your arrow reached me without breaking, in perfect condition, which is a near impossible task. The horses were safe under your barrier. It was an impressive display of skill and quick thinking.”

Jiang Cheng’s cheek twitched up, a little smile, and he bit into it to keep it down. His chest warmed from a simple compliment, some honesty, because Lan Wangji had no reason to flatter him or anyone. He never spoke to anyone like that, and now he felt the need to give Jiang Cheng of all people such rare and precious words. What to do with that? What to do with his chest warming, boiling, heart beating so violently his ribs would burst after one more breath.

“Whatever. I have no proof, nothing to show, not even some memento to keep and think back to this day. Should’ve grabbed a bit of worm flesh, hm?”

He had wanted to make a joke, something else he wasn’t good at, and for some reason Lan Wangji seemed completely disheartened. He touched his chest, the leather string that held his quiver and his shouldered bow wrinkling the red fabric of his robes.

“You have the points,” Lan Wangji said. His fingers clutched at his robes like he was missing something there, searching for it.

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Great. I’ll steal your thunder and your points. That’s what you think of me.”

Lan Wangji continued to rub his chest, the fabric tightening over it, making it hard to ignore the shape of his slim figure. His stupid heart out of control, trembling and beathing along to Lan Wangji’s hand moving up and down, stretching and wrinkling the red fabric of his robes. Not long ago, his arms had been wrapped around that chest, and his mind had been too trapped in panic to enjoy it. Or anything. Just feel and remember it.

“They are your points, too,” Lan Wangji dared to say.

“I don’t need your pity points. They’re yours only, no one else’s,” Jiang Cheng bellowed and was close to slapping Lan Wangji’s hand. “Stop touching yourself. Are you fucking hurt or something?”

Lan Wangji dropped his hand, and cut into Jiang Cheng with a look. “I have lost the arrow you gave to me,” he said quietly. “It broke when the creature hit me.”

Jiang Cheng wanted to punch him, slap him, strangle his long, pale throat and hate how soft it would feel. He wanted to touch his shoulder and say that he was sorry. Wanted to give him another arrow, his quiver, a kiss, fuck, all of it at once. He wanted nothing, only drop to his knees and hit his head against the ground until he never had another thought in his life.

“It’s a worthless arrow, Lan Wangji. It means nothing to anyone. You don’t owe me anything. Let’s get going now.” He pulled at his horse’s reins to make it walk faster.

Lan Wangji followed, slower, something wrong with his movements. Jiang Cheng tried not to care. His forehead throbbed and no one cared about that either. No one even asked or noticed. All he wanted was something to cool his headache and freeze his thoughts.

They reached the patch of forest again, slashed apart by the worm’s body. Trees had fallen in their absence, their desperate attempts to hold on failed, and now they were dead on the ground, blocking the path back towards the river. Manoeuvring the horses around the broken pieces of wood wasn’t easy. Lan Wangji’s horse was slowing down considerably, and so was Lan Wangji. He did limp. Only when the broken ground refused to make walking easy. Only when stones and branches tried to block them. Only for watchful eyes to catch.

“We should take a break. For the horses,” Jiang Cheng said when they reached the river again. Lan Wangji agreed as silently as he did everything and led his horse to the shore. Pretending not to limp.

Jiang Cheng led his horse a large distance away so it could drink. Lan Wangji shot him another look for that, as if he cared about anyone keeping his distance to him and didn’t crave being alone in his damned perfection. The horses were the only ones hating the distance between them, looked for each other, tried getting closer, and Jiang Cheng pressed with his entire body against the horse to keep it in place. When that didn’t work, he cursed, cursed loud enough that fucking Lan Wangji heard it and could be a stuck-up bastard about it in his pure and proper thoughts.

Jiang Cheng abandoned his horse and walked back into the forest.

The hole there had worsened. The worm had left a gaping abyss in this forest, and they all knew what Qishan-Wen liked to do with an abyss they should fill.

Jiang Cheng looked back to Lan Wangji by the river. He had never seen a more foolish person. Whatever amount of energy he had left, apparently too little to help, he still poured it into the horse’s leg. The animal didn’t care, drank from the river and enjoyed the soothing flow of energy. In some fairytale, it would have neighed its thanks and turned into a god in disguise that would offer Lan Wangji impossible riches and whatever reward he wanted for his heroic deeds, and Lan Wangji would ask for nothing but some stupid arrow.

Jiang Cheng breathed. He hadn’t even asked for some arrow. Why would he? Probably just thought he had to return it to its owner in perfect condition. Nothing else.

He rubbed his forehead. Maybe he had lost his mind in some cave this morning. Hopefully, he was unconscious after hitting this head, and this was just another dream of impossible night hunts, of eyes on him, those eyes, that would slip away after waking up. He would open his eyes any moment and have only Wei Wuxian next to him, grinning and laughing at his ridiculous, shameful dreams.

Just some fucking arrow, not a token of anything, least of all friendship. Or worse. Whatever Lan Wangji thought it meant was wrong. Wrong. And how fucking dare Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan, Second Young Master Lan think Jiang Cheng meant anything more than nothing by it. How dare he try to keep that damned arrow safe, keep it to himself, as a keepsake.

His heart hammered at the thought, painted him an embarrassing image of Lan Wangji back on his cold, detached mountain, some stupid, useless arrow sitting on his perfectly clean and polished shelf and making him smile. What the fuck. He wouldn’t give him anything. And fuck Lan Wangji if he had any indecent thoughts like that. Whatever was indecent about that. Fuck. Those lips, smiling, fuck. At an arrow, at him. Fuck…

Jiang Cheng squeezed his eyes shut and almost yelped, sharp pain jolting through his forehead. He rubbed it hard, the bruise flaring up even more, and his skin was already burning anyway. What was he thinking about here? Lan Wangji attempted to be polite, maybe to tie an easily loosened knot of casual friendship. Nothing more. Just earlier, he’d been so close to those lips, his mind hadn’t recovered yet. Too much pain in the head and there was no room for reason, so it seemed. That was all.

“Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng ripped his eyes open. The dim forest light too bright still, blinding him, his head and heart throbbing in a losing battle against something strangely warm. He slowly turned, first his head, then his entire body, to face that threat calling his name.

Lan Wangji was right behind him, not too close, and much too close for his usual love for space. He held a damp cloth out to Jiang Cheng.

“To cool your head,” Lan Wangji said, cheeks rosy, face framed by long strands of black hair and the white ends of his ribbon. Behind him, the sun started to set early for the chance to drop behind him, stroke him with its golden rays of lights like some fucking perverted freak. Fucking sun.

Jiang Cheng breathed. “My head?”

Lan Wangji nodded, held the cloth a little higher, blushed a little deeper. Jiang Cheng wanted to fire his arrows at the sun and tear it down for the audacity of bathing only Lan Wangji in this light. He wanted to push Lan Wangji, throw him into that river, together with his stupid cloth. Drown him there, rob him of his voice, his breaths. Close those lips. Just once.

“You think I need that?” Jiang Cheng said, voice low and harsh, head and heart mad.

“The swelling is worsening. Looks painful,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng lifted his hand, and Lan Wangji’s hand twitched towards his. His fingers and knuckles glistened wet, asking to be grabbed, dried and held and unimaginable things.

Jiang Cheng slapped the back of his hand against Lan Wangji’s and pushed that damn cloth away. Stared at Lan Wangji. Watched the blush fading, eyes darkening, then lighting up like a sudden fire at night. Lan Wangji glared back at him with full, heart-enraging force.

“I don’t need your pity,” Jiang Cheng hissed through clenched jaws. “You think some wet cloth will erase how hard I embarrassed myself today? Do you have any idea how this happened?” He slapped his own forehead, idiot that he was, and barely held back the groan of pain. The bruise had swollen even more, stretched his skin with fiery pain, and he woke it from the slumber of other embarrassments.

And Lan Wangji looked steadily at him with that glare burning fiercely in his eyes. He clenched his fist around the wet cloth, water dripping to the broken forest earth.

Jiang Cheng smirked at that, at Lan Wangji’s whitening knuckles, veins on the back of his hand pulsing. “You thought of something, didn’t you? Why not share your thoughts with me, Lan Wangji, since we’re on such familiar terms. I’m sure you came up with a lovely heroic tale about Jiang Wanyin saving a flock of phoenixes from ghosts, an entire cursed village too, or just his annoying Shixiong. Hm? Some story on par with selfless Lan Wangji, risking his life for two animals, hurting himself fighting some creature on the verge to a demon.”

A flash of something over Lan Wangji’s face. “Hurt…”

“You think I’m stupid and didn’t notice you limping? You know what people do when someone doesn’t want to talk about their injuries? They fucking shut up and let them suffer with no scratches to their dignity.”

“I am fine.”

“Lying is prohibited, so I’ve been taught,” Jiang Cheng drawled back, and Lan Wangji blushed, blushed like he wanted Jiang Cheng to reach out and feel if it was as warm, hot, burning as the shade of red looked on his skin. “You want to know how I got this? Hm?” He tapped his forehead again, paid for that and suffered even more when Lan Wangji pressed his perfectly curved lips into a thin line. Jiang Cheng stepped in close, stared at that mouth, trembling under the tension of lips pressed together, and forced his eyes up to meet Lan Wangji’s glare.

“I hit my head,” Jiang Cheng said in a rasp, something weird scratching inside his throat. Against his madly beating pulse. “When I crawled through a fucking cave, so sure I knew the way, and slammed right into the rock. Twice. Wei Wuxian thought it was very funny, and I even got us lost, to make it even funnier. Then I didn’t hit a single target – also very funny to everyone. Was that part of whatever story you made up about this fucking bruise?”

Lan Wangji breathed in, his calm quaking like it was about to collapse. “I did not assume anything.”

“Ah. You didn’t gaze at me and imagined heroic nonsense. Sure.”

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes, blushed, bit into his cheeks as if he could stop the redness spreading all the way to his ears. Fuck. “What?” Fuck.

Jiang Cheng felt heat in his own face, couldn’t breathe against that without his chest bursting from his beating heart. He smirked instead. “Find yourself some fucking hero to stumble after like some lost puppy, and stay the fuck away from me. That’s all. I embarrassed myself to the core already, and you’re only making it worse.”

Lan Wangji didn’t run off, didn’t call him shameless, didn’t draw his sword and demand a duel like he did after people showed him erotic pictures in romance novels. He was as red, though, as Wei Wuxian had described him, and didn’t do anything Jiang Cheng expected. Lan Wangji stepped in, instead, his boot bumping against the tip of Jiang Cheng’s.

“You think embarrassment is reserved for you, Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Wangji replied, voice cutting with a cold edge that boiled between the ribs. “Only you are allowed to wish for this day to end?”

Every word was breathed against his lips, as if to make it all worse on purpose. And Jiang Cheng was a fool but not dumb. He looked at Lan Wangji’s white headband, usually tidy and straight at all times, hugging his head and hair as if it didn’t want to let go. Now holding on for dear life, hanging low on his forehead, crinkled by his tightly drawn together brows, slipped so low that it was hanging from his crimson blushing ears.

“I don’t care. I’m not kind enough to care,” Jiang Cheng said.

“I noticed,” Lan Wangji said. “Or you would have scolded your Shixiong for ripping my headband off.”

Jiang Cheng stepped forward, kicked his boot into Lan Wangji’s, his feet firmly rooted to the spot. His strong, tall body not giving way. He could feel the heat from Lan Wangji’s chest, stomach, entire body, almost pressing back against his.

“Is that what you want? Some hero on a horse riding in to scoop you off when some idiot annoys you? Is that what you’re gazing at me for all day?”

Lan Wangji did lean back at that, jolted, like he was slapped across the face, and Jiang Cheng followed, made him step back with a single move.

“Is that why you’re choosing an exceptional archer as your partner?” Lan Wangji replied, stepped back further, and looked down when Jiang Cheng followed. “Why you choose a spot between two good archers for yourself?”

Jiang Cheng growled at those words, felt his breath hitting Lan Wangji’s, and dashed forward. Lan Wangji moved back, and bumped into the tree in his back.

“What the fuck?” Jiang Cheng trapped him against the tree, framed by broken earth and blinding sunlight from each side. Not caring for anything other than those eyes hating him, despising him, judging him from the fucking beginning.

“You want to feel inferior. You are not a bad archer, far above average, yet you voluntarily choose exceptional company to feel worse. Embarrassed.”

“Challenged.”

“Frustrated.”

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng growled, and Lan Wangji pursed his lips as if to spit back at him. Full and red, stretched by the anger flaring up on his handsome face. “I rather partner with my best friend than ride all by myself, even if he’s better than me. It’s called friendship. You wouldn’t understand.”

Hurt, again, slashing through those light-brown eyes and filling them with something scintillating more beautifully, more painfully than the river’s rippled surface in the dying sun.

“I wouldn’t,” Lan Wangji answered in a sharp whisper. “I won’t offer my help again, Young Master Jiang.”

Something snapping within him. Jiang Cheng kicked his foot forward and blocked Lan Wangji the moment he turned – to leave, escape, drown himself. Whatever. He didn’t want any of that.

Jiang Cheng wanted that heat radiating against his body, boiling within him. “Your help? Your fucking help?” He leant against Lan Wangji, breathing hard, and felt it boiling, boiling, pulling and throbbing everywhere from toes to bruises. “You stole my prey, twice, you showed off doing so, fucking desperate to impress me, you hurt yourself so badly that you’re limping, only to offer me some stupid cloth, as if I can’t take half your fucking pain. You let me have your points. For slaying a fucking demon.”

“Your points,” Lan Wangji insisted.

“My points. You hide your fucking pity behind kindness, nothing else,” Jiang Cheng snarled right into Lan Wangji’s face, turning away from his words too late. “If you’d think me a decent archer, would you do any of that?”

Lan Wangji’s full lips opened a slither, but no words escaped him before he sealed them tightly, shutting them together as if to demand something, one or two fingers, to push them open. Spit out his insulting, honest opinion.

“You never answer questions that aren’t worth your time, Second Young Master Lan,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji shook his head. “No pity.” Shook his head again and looked away, couldn’t face Jiang Cheng. “I only…”

“Only what?”

Lan Wangji took a deep breath and simply turned away, wanted to walk away like a coward. Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the elbow before he managed even one step. He yanked him back against the tree.

“Only what?” he growled right against Lan Wangji’s face.

“Let go,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng grabbed his arm tighter. Lan Wangji’s eyes stabbed into him, angry, and his voice was softer than a feather on naked skin.

“Only what?” Jiang Cheng repeated. Lan Wangji tried to pull himself free, but Jiang Cheng refused, yanked him back against the tree. If Lan Wangji wanted, his strength would be no match for Jiang Cheng. Yet, he fell back against the tree and allowed Jiang Cheng to invade his preciously guarded space with face and body and all his boiling heat. Jiang Cheng shifted closer, for some reason, felt Lan Wangji’s chest against his, the leather string of his quiver pressing uncomfortably against Jiang Cheng’s bones. His body was hot. Fucking burning. Jiang Cheng put his hand next to Lan Wangji’s handsome face, caged him against the tree. “Only what?”

Lan Wangji was blushing. He turned his head away, his forehead ribbon stuck in the tree’s split bark and pulled, pulled as he shifted to move away. Walk away. Run off.

Jiang Cheng didn’t want that, didn’t want him to move, didn’t want to feel his body pressing back into his as he tried to scoot away, wanted to trap him here and push him away, keep him and scare him away. “Only fucking what?” he growled, pressed in and in, felt more than the hard leather and gear pressing back against him.

Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered close. “Only share…” There it was, that voice so thin it would rip and tear any moment and end this fucking day. Finally.

Jiang Cheng let a laugh escape, cold and mean. “I knew it. Fucking share with everyone that I didn’t do anything, then. Just stood there and watched you score for Yunmeng-Jiang. In my fucking stead. You want proof? I have enough arrows left to prove that I did nothing, perfect condition, great, really, you can show them off and humiliate me. Tell them how handsome I looked, failing to shoot some water spirits, almost falling off my horse. How great you looked each and every moment. Here.” Jiang Cheng reached back into his quiver, snatched one of his countless arrows and pushed it into Lan Wangji’s hand. His wet cloth dropped to the ground. “You wanted this one so badly, take it.”

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji warned.

“Not good, that one? All in good condition.” Jiang Cheng grabbed another arrow. Lan Wangji dropped them both when he pushed them between his soft fingers. He clasped Lan Wangji’s hand on accident, quickly let go, and Lan Wangji grabbed him back, scratched his knuckles when he clutched at his fingers, hand, wrist, pulling him closer, over and over. His nose bumped against Jiang Cheng’s, his breath stroking over his lips, drying his mouth, throat, drawing him closer. And Jiang Cheng growled and ripped himself free, grabbed another from the countless arrows in his quiver. “Now you don’t want them. Fucking almost cried when that one broke earlier. Rubbed and touched yourself –”

“Jiang Wanyin!” He had never heard Lan Wangji shout, had never dreamt of feeling it on his lips. Wanted him to scream and whisper and laugh and everything in between. Right now.

With a swift dash of his shoulder, Jiang Cheng slammed the arrow into the tree next to Lan Wangji’s face. The bark split open, and Lan Wangji gasped for air. Lips and voice shaking under a breath, eyes darkening like clouds covering the burning sun as he trailed his gaze over the arrowhead in the bark, along the wood, over Jiang Cheng’s fist clenching, tighter and tighter, around the arrow’s shaft. Lan Wangji swallowed, breathed again, and Jiang Cheng leant in to hear that sound again, remember it, keep it to himself. Never share with anyone.

Lan Wangji’s blazing dark eyes asked him for a thousand things he couldn’t offer, only take.

Jiang Cheng snapped and dashed, crushed their mouths together, and Lan Wangji caught him, body and lips, kissed him back. His lips so soft, so warm, so easy to catch and lose and search, find them again and kiss, kiss him. Slipping between his lips with his tongue, feeling his breath tremble, warm, his voice breaking. Shivers running up and down, scratching into his veins to burn his blood and flesh. Jiang Cheng pressed against Lan Wangji’s body, pressed and pressed, felt him. Him. His body made to lean against, to feel, made for his body to push against him, into him. If only. Press and shove and rub until Lan Wangji’s legs made room for his thigh, until they could melt against the tree with no room for air between them.

Lan Wangji’s arm slid around his waist, urging him even closer, and Jiang Cheng shivered, shook under that slender hand so strongly grabbing him. He tried, tried and failed, couldn’t come closer. Could kiss and kiss him, kiss Lan Wangji’s upper and bottom lip, the corners of his mouth, feel and meet his tongue, push it back into his mouth, deep, winning at this, wanting to lose, opening his mouth wide against Lan Wangji’s to focus, feel, come even closer. Closer.

He grabbed Lan Wangji’s jaw, tilted his head, more and more, rubbed their tongues together and chased that feeling, that heat, strongest between them. Grinded his hips up against Lan Wangji’s, and the heat devoured him, surged through his body. Lan Wangji clawed at the small of Jiang Cheng’s back, gasped against his tongue, and the arrow broke in Jiang Cheng’s fist.

The loud crack of wood forced them apart, wide, shocked eyes on the broken arrow, splinters scratching over Jiang Cheng’s palm. He swallowed hard. His lips throbbed, so differently to a bruise, just as hot and distracting, and he didn’t want to ever lose that feeling. Looking back at Lan Wangji was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he found Lan Wangji struggling as well. His eyes hidden behind heavy blinks, focused on Jiang Cheng’s hand, trying over and over to look back up at him. When he finally managed, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but smile. And Lan Wangji shouldn’t be able to blush harder, somehow managed something this impossible.

Jiang Cheng felt the heat under his other palm, still resting on Lan Wangji’s cheek, cupping his face with too much force, like his body wanted to leave a bruise there to remember for a while.

“Are you hurt?” Lan Wangji touched his hand, where Jiang Cheng clutched one half of the arrow. The other was firmly stuck in the tree.

“Did I embarrass myself again?” Jiang Cheng replied.

Lan Wangji frowned a little, his loose ribbon slipping over his eyes, covering it when Jiang Cheng wanted to look at him. He pushed it up and shook his head barely noticeably.

“Then I don’t care,” Jiang Cheng said and leant in again. “You look like a mess.” He stroked the strands of hair out of Lan Wangji’s face, eyes wandering over the loose ribbon, back and forth, dropping to Lan Wangji’s eyes, hiding away, and distracted by them, leaning in and in. Lan Wangji closed his eyes like in anticipation, and Jiang Cheng smiled before he kissed him again. Gently brushed their lips together, turning his head along the movement to just feel the soft lips opening underneath his touch. Kissing him, breathing with him, leaning against him…

A bang shaking the forest. They pulled apart, gentler this time, and turned to watch a pattern of fireworks erupting over the sky not too far away. Half a dozen purple lotuses, woven around a larger sun of red flames. What a team.

Jiang Cheng turned back to Lan Wangji and couldn’t quite be bothered with the sounds of fireworks closing in. His eyes, so dark in this moment, eclipsed by the forest’s shadows and something too hot to think about, reflected only a fool’s face looming close.

“We should head back,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still holding half a splintered arrow in his hand. Somehow, he couldn’t do more than shake his head at that. “This… uhm…”

Lan Wangji shook his head, only seemed interested in Jiang Cheng’s hand, took it to look for scratches, splinters, ended up only holding it. More and more firework signals illuminated the sky in the distance.

“Take this one,” Jiang Cheng said and handed Lan Wangji the broken arrow. Because he was an idiot. A complete fool. Embarrassing himself with every breath.

Lan Wangji’s lips twitched, the closest to a smile he had ever been, his eyes lighting up brighter than a sky illuminated by fireworks. He reached over his shoulder and tore the other half of the arrow out of the tree. With his illusion of a smile, he offered it to Jiang Cheng.

So embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing that he wanted to kiss him again, kiss him, hold him, never let him go.

Jiang Cheng took the arrow. Bark was stuck to the sharp head. “You shouldn’t give me this part. I accidentally stab myself or something.”

Lan Wangji slid his part of the arrow carefully between the layers of his robe, despite having a quiver now. Eyes bright and glistening and utterly enchanting. Looking only at Jiang Cheng.

“Keep this part,” Lan Wangji said quietly. “You should use it again. Like this…”

“What? You want to see me stabbing a tree again?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed, like it was something out of his fucking proper and virtuous dreams.

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath and fell forward. He wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji to hold him. Just for a moment. And Lan Wangji grabbed him back, his hands wandering up Jiang Cheng’s back past the quiver and bow, between them, heat following his fingers, flaring up when Lan Wangji clutched at his back to keep him close. Jiang Cheng breathed and dropped his head to rest against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He nestled closer, hiding his face in Lan Wangji’s neck, and held him. Just for one moment. Please.

“So much for never thinking back to this fucking day ever again,” Jiang Cheng muttered in the safe space of Lan Wangji’s neck. “I just wanted this to be over, and now… All your fault.”

Lan Wangji made the sweetest, faintest noise that would have escaped him if he weren’t so close. Like he was smiling. “Mn…”

It didn’t sound quite right, and Jiang Cheng grinned anyway, wrapped his arms even tighter around Lan Wangji and hugged him close, something so very warm spreading through his entire body.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. He wanted to hide in Lan Wangji’s neck forever. “We should really get back to the horses.”

Lan Wangji smiled a lot, actually, without ever really moving his lips. His eyes so bright and beautiful, no night would ever be dark around him.

Jiang Cheng turned away before he said anything like that out loud. He stored the part of the arrow between his robes, much like Lan Wangji had, and felt so light, so weird, so dizzy that every step towards the river promised another embarrassing stumble. Jiang Cheng reached back and took Lan Wangji’s hand, just for balance, maybe to feel his soft palm for a moment longer, and if only he was brave enough to look at his face as he pulled him towards their horses.

Letting go of that hand felt horrible. He hovered uselessly behind Lan Wangji and watched him crouch by the river to use the water as a mirror and adjust his headband. All of his thick, long hair still made it a difficult task. Jiang Cheng was tempted, so very tempted, and his dizzy head didn’t allow him to be reasonable.

“Let me help.” He crouched down behind Lan Wangji and reached for his hair. Lan Wangji took such a deep breath, Jiang Cheng could hear and feel it. Probably a mistake, a horrible mistake, ruining all he had just felt and allowed to happen. Fuck. But he was already sitting here, and Lan Wangji wasn’t moving, sat perfectly still in front of him and stared into the river. Jiang Cheng’s fingers were trembling. Lan Wangji’s hair scared something within him more than a freaking almost-demon did, apparently.

“I’ll just… uhm, hold your hair up. If you want to.”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything, only nodded. A shiver went down his long, pale neck when Jiang Cheng first touched him. He watched goosebumps pulling at his skin as he scooped up all of that thick, long hair. So soft. Even this dishevelled, his fingers moved through the strands without resistance, easily pulling them up and out where they were stuck beneath the headband. Lan Wangji untied it, pulled it away.

Jiang Cheng had never seen him without it, and his heart enjoyed the idea too much. He peeked, cautiously stretched to look over Lan Wangji’s shoulder into the river. Was caught. Lan Wangji met his eyes on the river’s surface and blushed.

“Ah, hold on.” Jiang Cheng quickly focused and tied half of Lan Wangji’s hair back in a bun, combed through the strands as best as he could with his fingers. Lan Wangji reached back and wrapped the ribbon around his head, tied it in a neat little bow below the bun. He stared at his reflection a while longer, adjusting the ribbon on his forehead until it sat even straighter than before. Jiang Cheng watched him, hanging half over his shoulder, being no help and only a nuisance. His fingers absentmindedly played with the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair, brushing over his waist now and then.

“Is it straight?” Lan Wangji turned to him as if he needed his approval.

Jiang Cheng reached for a strand framing Lan Wangji’s face, felt its softness between his thumb and index finger as he followed it all the way down to the ends. He smiled and nodded. Something urged him to lean forward, kiss that forehead, and when he moved, Lan Wangji didn’t pull back.

More fireworks in the distance. Fucking annoying.

Jiang Cheng pretended he was leaning forward to get back to his feet and helped Lan Wangji up as well.

“How’s your leg?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sprained. Doesn’t hurt,” Lan Wangji said. “Your head?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. Back in the forest, he could see the wet cloth lying by the trees. He should kneel for being such jerk as soon as he was back home. That image, Lan Wangji at his side, placing a cooling cloth on his forehead to help soothe the pain, maybe allow him to use his lap as a cushion and be whiney, would forever be nothing but a dream because he was an idiot.

“It’s fine. I’m… I’m sorry for that.” He pointed at his forehead, as if that made sense, and Lan Wangji blinked at him as if it actually did. “You know.”

Lan Wangji stepped close, rose to his tiptoes, and leant close enough to brush his lips against the bruise. No pain, only warmth. Gentler than a breeze. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure how he survived this. Lan Wangji dropped back to his feet and quickly turned around, walked to the horses. His leg seemed alright, his ears visibly blushing even from behind now that his hair was tidily pulled back.

“We’ll share,” Jiang Cheng said. He quickly caught up to Lan Wangji and snatched the injured horse’s reins from his hands, led it around and tied them to his horse’s saddle. “It can carry the two of us, and yours will be quicker now that you wasted your precious energy on its injury. We’ll still be slow, but whatever. I’m not walking all the way.”

He expected protest, something, but Lan Wangji looked like he was under some other demon’s spell or something. Maybe he was dizzy, maybe his feet stumbled over air as well for the moment, maybe he was heavily injured. Jiang Cheng approached, a little worried, and grabbed him by the elbow. He sized him up, frowning so hard his aching head tried to forget the memory of a kiss there. Lan Wangji seemed alright, his face too red, his eyes too bright, his chest heaving under deep breaths when Jiang Cheng leant too close.

He smirked, had never quite felt anything like this. Someone looking at him like this was bound to happen once or twice in his life. This one person looking at him, when there were so many people more handsome, funnier and smarter, better at everything than he would ever be. What should he make of that? He wanted to scream it out in the world, have everyone watch and remember how Second Young Master Lan looked at Young Master Jiang, and he wanted to keep it to himself, keep it safe, tell Lan Wangji’s stories when he didn’t care to right them, share some of them only he knew, hold and kiss Lan Wangji as long as he was allowed to. Even if it was just for the ride back.

Something cold spreading within his chest. Jiang Cheng swallowed hard. He clasped Lan Wangji’s hand and received a startled look, a questioning noise, when he wrapped his arm around Lan Wangji’s waist and helped him up the horse. Just in case his injured foot or leg made it difficult. Nothing else.

“Scoot back.” Jiang Cheng said, trying not to look at Lan Wangji’s reaction, wanting nothing more and being too afraid. He pretended not to care about anything and climbed on the horse in front of Lan Wangji. The horse didn’t complain about the additional weight. It shook its head and mane when Jiang Cheng patted its neck. “Seems fine. Are you good back there?”

“Mn…”

Jiang Cheng took the reins and directed his horse around, the injured horse followed obediently. More fireworks in the distance. The others were still not finished hunting little imps and monsters. Jiang Cheng didn’t even care about the patterns and colours. Something inside of him felt like he was about to lose everything, despite Lan Wangji right behind him, so close that he could feel his body’s warmth, weight, and all of that making him painfully aware that he might not be able to repeat any of this the moment they reached the competition grounds again.

“I… uhm…” Jiang Cheng glanced over his shoulder, found Lan Wangji looking at him, waiting for him to finish stuttering like nothing was more important. “Lan Wangji, what just happened there… It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

No answer, nothing more than a rustle of clothes behind him, barely audible over the hooves trotting on the grassy earth.

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath as the sun started to set before them. “It can mean something. If you want to. I just don’t want you to think that it has to, because we had a bad day.”

“Not bad,” Lan Wangji said, stated, nothing to doubt there.

Jiang Cheng grinned. “Still… You should think a little, and if you like to, I don’t know, think with me. Talk to me. There will be a seat next to me during dinner. If you… want to take or leave it.”

More rustling behind him, the warmth coming closer. Lan Wangji’s hands slid on his waist, all the way around to his stomach, fingers knotting into each other to hold close. Jiang Cheng held his breath, felt one wrong move from his body, his lungs tensing, his heart beating, would scare him away. With his arms wrapped around Jiang Cheng’s waist, Lan Wangji leant forward, rested his head against his shoulder, and Jiang Cheng breathed again.

His bruised forehead didn’t even ache when he smiled. A good thing, since he seemed unable to ever stop again. Jiang Cheng leant back, nestled his head against Lan Wangji’s resting on his shoulder, felt his hair and skin against his cheek, his perfectly tied ribbon rubbing along his bruised forehead. And he really didn’t care.

If only they could have ridden forever. With the sun setting behind the mountains in the distance, Lan Wangji started holding him tighter and tighter. The competition grounds seemed to appear out of nowhere, despite them riding across a wide, open field. Jiang Cheng’s horse slowed down, like it, too, felt the impending end of their journey. Lan Wangji was clinging to him by now, a slight tremble in his arms, and Jiang Cheng hated that feeling. Like nothing of this would be left the moment they dismounted the horse.

“Jiang Wanyin.” How he loved the sound of his name from that quiet voice, whispered directly into his ear.

Jiang Cheng turned around. “Hm?”

Lips on his. Lan Wangji kissed him, barely longer than a heartbeat, then he pulled away and scooted back. Even his hands leaving Jiang Cheng’s waist.

Jiang Cheng licked his lips, the kiss too warm there, too memorable. How was he supposed to look at anyone else today and not tell them that Lan Wangji had touched him like this, held him, kissed him. Him.

Jiang Cheng turned back and focused on the horse, trotting ahead, wondered why the corners of his eyes burnt this embarrassingly. One last kiss, a little distance, that didn’t mean the end to anything other than this ride together.

They were some of the last disciples returning to the stables. The servants came to help them when they noticed the injured horse, and one of the elders supervising the competition was around as well. He looked like he couldn’t be bothered with their recounting of the events, even less with the horse’s injury, and yawned when Jiang Cheng attempted to mention Lan Wangji’s injury. Lan Wangji asked him not to try again with a soft headshake, and Jiang Cheng didn’t, but remembered the elder’s face for a future grudge.

The points weren’t redistributed. It wasn’t possible, apparently. No one could prove that Lan Wangji had shot the arrow, it wasn’t how this worked, they should both be more careful not to switch arrows next time.

Jiang Cheng was left flabbergasted, mad, angry, confused as he watched the elder walk away to welcome some juniors of his clan, suddenly sounding three times as happy. He exchanged a look with Lan Wangji, who was clenching his fists.

“Qishan-Wen knows nothing about honour,” Jiang Cheng muttered.

Lan Wangji didn’t scold him for that remark, frowned just slightly, barely visible in the dim lantern light illuminating the twilit courtyard. Perhaps he wasn’t disagreeing. After all, Gusu-Lan still dealt with the Waterborne Abyss to this day.

“Lan Wangji…” Jiang Cheng wanted to take Lan Wangji’s hand, but an entire flock of junior disciples waddled past them, quarrelling about something, and from the other side of the stables, even more noise came closer, someone happy enough to cackle loudly. Maybe this was not a good audience to have around for even fleeting touches.

Lan Wangji watched Jiang Cheng’s nervously twitching fingers and didn’t say anything, somehow didn’t look like he would slap him away if he tried to touch him.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do about the points,” Jiang Cheng said, exasperated, pretending he wasn’t thinking about hands but important things. “I’ll complain to my father. He’ll send me to meditate by the lakes again to cool off for that later, but… We can’t just ignore this.”

“I don’t mind the points,” Lan Wangji said. “Why meditate?”

“What?” Jiang Cheng stepped close, incredibly tempted to just take Lan Wangji’s hand now that it was in reach, unable to hide away in the tight sleeves of his red robes, the fabric glowing in the flickering lanterns’ light around them. The smell of horses and hay losing against the faint scent of sandalwood filling him with every breath the closer he stepped. “Meditate to cool off, aren’t you listening? Because I’m angry and say things that will be hard to apologise for. And I’m going to walk up to that fucking old imp with fish skin and make him give you all my points if I think about it one more time.” He kneaded the string of his bow, as if he could hit even an old, crawly bastard with an arrow. “Maybe try strangling him with the bow…”

“Meditating by the lake sounds pleasant,” Lan Wangji said quietly, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t stifle the laugh. He reached out, really wanted to hold his hand now. Wanted to ask him, then, if it sounded so very pleasant, if he wanted to come see for himself. Join him…

“Jiang Cheng!” Someone laughed louder than he ever could. Quick footsteps hurried towards him. Jiang Cheng pulled his hand back and turned just in time to dodge a tackle. Wei Wuxian caught himself before he faceplanted on the ground, grabbed Jiang Cheng and choked him like he wanted to strangle someone as well. Punching and pinching him only made him laugh harder, not let go. And Lan Wangji was watching yet another embarrassing sight.

Trotting after Wei Wuxian like a lost puppy that he wasn’t afraid of for once, was the small Wen boy from earlier. He kept his distance, bowed to Lan Wangji when he was noticed, then stared at them from the shadows.

Wei Wuxian was still laughing too hard like they were having fun, despite Jiang Cheng running out of air in his choking grip. “I leave you alone for one day and you slay a whole demon by yourself? The points got you straight to the top ten. You! I forgot which rank exactly, but whatever. Everyone’s talking about what you might’ve encountered. We want to hear every detail. Uhm…”

Of course, Wei Wuxian had noticed Lan Wangji, grinned at him now. He still seemed weirdly sheepish, even slipped behind Jiang Cheng, suffocating in his senior brother’s chokehold.

“Lan Zhan… Ah. You look very tidy again. Uhm.”

Lan Wangji raised his chin and stared daggers at Wei Wuxian. He made for quite the terrifying sight, shadows electrified with murderous intent around him, eyes colder than frozen lakes, fists clenched so tightly, Jiang Cheng wanted to hold them even more.

“Did you want to congratulate Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asked, grin shaking. “For… For his score. Very impressive, isn’t it? You two aren’t too far apart, actually.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snapped and ripped himself out of the chokehold. “I didn’t slay anything. The points were wrongfully attributed.”

Wei Wuxian wrapped his arm back around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, but didn’t choke him again. He simply seemed desperate to use him as a shield. “Huh? How’s that even possible? Did the demon slay itself and you poked it with your arrow for the points? That’s kind of clever, actually.”

“No.” Jiang Cheng failed to shake Wei Wuxian off again. “They’re Second Young Master Lan’s points.”

Wei Wuxian glanced back and forth between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, then grabbed Jiang Cheng even tighter and pulled him away from Lan Wangji like they were dodging daggers together. “You don’t want to congratulate Jiang Cheng, but take revenge because he stole your points? Lan Zhan! We can talk about this! Take only his hand, not his head!”

Jiang Cheng punched Wei Wuxian between the ribs, simply ignored. “Stole?!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, fists trembling, voice steady and sharp. “The points were not stolen. They are Young Master Jiang’s as well. Apologise at once.”

Jiang Cheng stopped struggling in Wei Wuxian’s loosening grip, couldn’t care anymore, even if he would have been choked. Could only smile at Lan Wangji. And Wei Wuxian let him go like he had burnt himself on the smile, stared at him like he was possessed.

“Young Master! Young Master!” More noises, more footsteps, quicker than a horde of horses surrounding him. Within a few too quickly passing moments, a dozen Yunmeng-Jiang disciples had flocked around him and started talking all over each other, asking him questions about demons, how many he had faced, all by himself, how he had taken them out, with his bow, really, could they see, please, one demonstration, please. And Wei Wuxian happily volunteered to play the demon.

Jiang Cheng slapped him over the head. “Quiet,” he bellowed, and as usual, most didn’t listen to him and simply laughed it off. Jiang Cheng stretched and stretched to look over all the heads bopping up and down in front of him for attention, and couldn’t find the one person he was looking for. Lan Wangji had vanished. The spot where he had been standing was deserted. Only the Wen boy was still standing there, looking lost.

Jiang Cheng had felt too much of his heart this day for it to simply abandon him at this moment. His junior and senior brothers tugging and pulling at him for attention, for stories of glory, like he had always wished for at the dead of night, and now it meant so little. He pushed and pulled himself free.

“Stop,” he demanded, and finally some quiet spread between his fellow disciples. They stared at him somewhere between confusion and annoyance at his usual temper, some of them glancing to Wei Wuxian as if hoping for his protection in case Jiang Cheng exploded. “The points aren’t mine.”

Gasps and huge eyes, someone making a noise as if he was fainting at the implications alone.

“There was some creature, demon-like thing, whatever, but Second Young Master Lan shot it. He used my arrow, so the points were added to my score. The Wen elder here refused to redistribute them. I’m going to take care of it.”

Disappointment erupted from all those wide-open mouths. Within a blink, they were looking at Jiang Cheng like he had promised them candy and then given them vegetables.

“Lan Zhan said they’re your points, too,” Wei Wuxian said. “You contributed somehow, I’m sure, or he wouldn’t say it.”

Flickers of excitement again, heads nodding at him, curiosity ignited again.

Jiang Cheng cut the demands for a story off with a sharp gesture. “I did help, whatever, and I don’t care right now. I have to fix this with the elder and talk to Second Young Master Lan. Get away from me. Now!”

The disciples clutched each other, turned and twirled in the wrong directions, bumped into each other and hurried away like headless chickens.

Wei Wuxian sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Jiang Cheng… Why are you so mad? They’re just points in one forgettable competition. Lan Zhan probably doesn’t even care.”

And he left without a goodbye. Jiang Cheng lingered on the spot where Lan Wangji had just stood, still in reach, one grasp away for braver people, so real. Gone now like all that had happened on this day was as fleeting as a lingering dream after waking up. After watching him being the one celebrated for the points that were… theirs. Theirs. Their battle, their points, their story to share.

“I care,” Jiang Cheng said. “They’re Lan Wangji’s points. I’m fixing this.”

Wei Wuxian hurried into his path when Jiang Cheng turned to find the elder to strangle. “Hold your horses.” He giggled about his joke, already distracted, so Jiang Cheng made a run for it. Wei Wuxian grabbed him, almost ripped his arm off when he yanked him back. “Hold on, hold on. Wen Ning? What do you think?”

Jiang Cheng let himself be pulled back. His forehead didn’t like how hard he frowned, completely confused. Wei Wuxian waved at the Wen boy, who slowly came closer.

“I… I don’t think it’s a problem, Young Master Wei,” the boy said, voice bumping over his nervousness. He was avoiding looking at Jiang Cheng for longer than a short glance. “The elders often change points between the competitors. Second Young Master Wen loses his arrows and uses those from other disciples all the time.” He smiled shyly, like he was well aware Wen Chao wasn’t someone playing fair games.

“Ah, see? If Wen Ning comes with us, I’m sure the elder will listen to you,” Wei Wuxian said, then jumped like someone had stabbed him from behind. “Oh! This is Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin, by the way. We met this morning.”

Wen Ning quickly dipped into a bow and mumbled an incomprehensible greeting to Jiang Cheng. He bowed back, hoping, hoping, hoping.

“You would accompany us, Wen Qionglin?” Jiang Cheng asked.

Wen Ning dropped his head like he rather wanted to bury himself under the stables, then glanced up at Wei Wuxian grinning at him. He shuffled his feet, nodded eagerly, gazed at Wei Wuixan like he would offer him this life and the next on top of it. Wei Wuxian clapped happily.

“Let’s go!” Wei Wuxian called, like he was cheering them on to ride into battle.

When they found the elder, though, he still looked far too bored for any battles. Every enthusiastic word from Wei Wuxian’s mouth made him squint like something was blinding him, and Jiang Cheng’s demands made him gaze around, distracted by a fat moth dancing around the nearby lantern. If it weren’t for Wen Ning, he would still not listen. For some reason, the elder sighed at Wen Ning’s stuttering words and patted his head.

“Ah, well. I guess such things can happen in the rush of the competition,” the elder said and yawned in the middle of his sentence. “I will have the points moved to Second Young Master Lan’s score. He’ll rank first, then. You’ll drop out of the top ten, Young Master Jiang. But if you really didn’t contribute more than an arrow…”

Jiang Cheng breathed in so hard, he could feel the broken arrow press back against his chest. How great would that be, to return home and have his mother be proud of his rank among the top ten, his father asking for his stories once, his sister giving him a large bowl of soup as a reward. How great would it be not to turn into a coward at every fleeting chance.

How great that had been… Lan Wangji trusting his support, trusting his skill, trusting him. This hadn’t been a night hunt, and still better than any he had ever experienced. He wanted to tell this story how it had happened. Wanted to think back to it, look into those bright eyes, and smile about how stupid they had been, running after some horses, cleaning up other people’s messes, fighting and riding. Kissing…

Jiang Cheng fell into a bow, his heart speeding up at the memory alone, the tingle of those lips on his long gone and still there somehow. He breathed hard. “Please split the points between Second Young Master Lan and me.”

“Jiang Cheng.” Wei Wuxian lowered his voice as if the elder right in front of them couldn’t hear them then. “What are you doing? That won’t bring you back into the top ten, but Lan Zhan won’t rank first anymore.”

Jiang Cheng stayed firmly rooted in his bow. “Please split the points.”

The elder agreed, Wei Wuxian sighed, and Wen Ning looked at Jiang Cheng like he had just ripped the moth’s wings out for sheer pleasure. But the points were split between Lan Wangji and him, Jiang Cheng ranked somewhere in the upper midfield, and Lan Wangji second.

“I go and find Lan Wangji to tell him,” Jiang Cheng said as they walked out of the stables. “If you see him, tell him to find me.”

Wei Wuxian sighed again like Jiang Cheng had asked for a death sentence. “I’d tell you to run, Jiang Cheng. Not sure what else to say. You’ve always been like that.”

Jiang Cheng stopped, confused, stupefied, that sting inside his chest seeping right into his core. “Wei Wuxian. You think you know him better than I do? You spent hardly three months around him.”

“It’s not about how long, Jiang Cheng, but what you do with that time, right?” Wei Wuxian walked ahead, grabbed his new friend. “Let’s go eat, Wen Ning. Tell everyone of our little adventure.”

Jiang Cheng stayed behind in the stables, alone except for a distant, familiar neighing. His horse shared a sleeping spot with the injured horse nearby. Jiang Cheng walked over to give it a pat on the neck.

“He’s not wrong about that for once, hm?” He rubbed the horse’s neck, then reached over to brush the mane of Lan Wangji’s horse. “You two watch yourselves. No running into any demon’s lair again, understood?”

No understanding. The horses dropped their heads, tired, enjoyed a few more strokes and allowed him to leave. Probably already forgetting the ordeal of the day and preparing for the next night hunt. Jiang Cheng left them to find Lan Wangji.

He wasn’t at the banquet hall for dinner. His brother couldn’t help either, only smiled and thanked Jiang Cheng for generously sharing his points with Lan Wangji. Apparently, most people now thought he had given Lan Wangji some pity points, and he really didn’t want to waste time now explaining it all over and over to random faces that would never bother talking to him again. He wanted to find Lan Wangji. Needed to find him.

Jiang Cheng walked up and down the competition grounds, the laughter from the banquet hall growing fainter in the distance. Lan Wangji’s usually so bright, white figure was nowhere to be seen, veiled into their uniform red of the day. Jiang Cheng walked and searched and failed to find even a trace. He was stuck somewhere between worry that Lan Wangji’s injury had been graver than expected, that he was half-dead somewhere, crawling instead of walking, suffering alone in his rooms, and that Lan Wangji had heard him fail to speak, surrounded by disciples thinking him better than he was, and decided there was nothing to feel for Jiang Wanyin other than disgust and aversion.

After an hour of just walking, Jiang Cheng was fighting the urge to give up and accept that he had lost all that was good about this day. Then he heard the sound of an arrow cutting through the air, slashing, piercing, and repeat. He followed the noise to the training yards where they had shot earlier today.

Lan Wangji stood there, bow drawn and aiming at the targets in the distance. Once again, his target was pierced by countless arrows, only that none of them had hit bullseye or even pierced another this time. His aim was immaculate as always, but when he let the arrow fly, it seemed to lack strength. In a soft curve, it floated towards the target, gently pushed into it by something hardly fiercer than a breeze. Lan Wangji sighed and reached for another arrow.

Jiang Cheng approached, his footsteps too heavy and clumsy to be unnoticed. Lan Wangji tilted his head, but didn’t turn around. He moved to shoot once more. His shoulders trembled under the tension of the drawn bowstring, under an exhausting day, maybe even something else.

Jiang Cheng joined him at the target to Lan Wangji’s right. The target in the distance was mostly unscarred, the person that had shot here earlier today apparently distracted and too frustrated to do more than shoot somewhere into the field. He would like to correct some of that. Jiang Cheng pulled bow and arrow and aimed. Next to him, Lan Wangji hesitated to shoot. He breathed calmly, continued to aim steadily. Waited. When Jiang Cheng had drawn his arrow and aimed, Lan Wangji shot at the same time.

Jiang Cheng’s arrow hit the target before Lan Wangji’s, despite them letting go at the same time. He couldn’t feel happy about that.

“Lan Wangji…” Jiang Cheng reached for another arrow, only quickly glancing over to Lan Wangji, who was doing the same. “Are you not hungry? I expected you at dinner.”

Lan Wangji shook his head, and drew the arrow. He was aiming low, his elbow pulled too far back. His shot still pierced the target, but just barely. He sighed and looked to the ground, his long hair falling over his shoulders and covering his face.

“If you don’t want to sit next to me, I can accept that,” Jiang Cheng lied and drew another arrow, frowned too hard when aiming, his bruise complaining again. The headache was so familiar by now that he just ignored it. “Don’t skip dinner to avoid me.”

He shot, so much force in the arrow that it splintered from the impact.

“Don’t assume my reasons,” Lan Wangji said, aiming again.

Jiang Cheng followed. “Enlighten me, then.”

“I avoided dinner so that I wouldn’t draw attention from your story. It seemed to be enjoyable to share. With your friends.”

“As enjoyable as feeding a flock of starved chickens.” They shot again. Jiang Cheng hit bullseye, and Lan Wangji’s arrow pierced the grass below his target. A sigh louder than his voice. Lan Wangji looked disheartened, reached for a new arrow anyway. He didn’t have many left.

“I wouldn’t know.” Lan Wangji shot once more, a perfect hit, bullseye, his eyes gleaming like polished gold even in the dim lantern light from afar. Frustration, again, boiling up to anger. “Celebrate your points, Young Master Jiang, you deserve each and every one.”

“Ah…” Jiang Cheng snatched another arrow from the quiver, flicked it against the string and aimed. The tension in his arm usually meant he would fail. He breathed in, that hint of sandalwood in the air reaching him, and released the arrow. It hit bullseye. “I asked them to redistribute the points again.”

Lan Wangji shot somewhere into the field. He breathed like it was Jiang Cheng’s fault. “Jiang Wanyin. What is wrong with you?”

Jiang Cheng wondered that as well when he hit the target bullseye again. He was almost impressed with himself, weirdly calm, close to smiling when he looked over at Lan Wangji, who lowered his bow and faced him. Glowing with something, even so far away from the lanterns.

“I told them to split the points between us,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji blinked at him, the light in his eyes brighter than the moon rising above them.

“Wei Wuxian befriended some Wen boy, and he managed to convince the elder. I’m sorry, Lan Wangji, but I didn’t make the top ten and will be just another failure of this competition. Nothing worth mentioning. Except that I robbed you of enough points that you only rank second now instead of first. Both of us won nothing at this competition now.” Jiang Cheng opened his arms, making himself a more tempting target. “You can try hitting me if the other targets are too hard for you, what about it?”

Lan Wangji shouldered his bow, his gaze softening, hitting Jiang Cheng deadlier than an arrow to the heart. Useless to fight this.

“You asked to share?” Lan Wangji rarely spoke useless words, and now he seemed even at a loss of breaths, pulling them in shakily and without rhythm. “Despite gaining nothing?”

“I wanted…” Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure why breathing was so hard, perhaps Lan Wangji’s erratic breathing was contagious, perhaps his smile made it all worse. “I wanted to think back to today and remember that, even if it was just for one day, Second Young Master Lan enjoyed some time with me. The points are proof of that now. It’s all incredibly selfish and more embarrassing than all that other shit today.” He breathed and somehow failed at that. His body was too hot to do anything with air. “Fuck.”

Lan Wangji dashed forward, quicker than lightning. Jiang Cheng dropped his bow and barely managed to raise his arms in time to catch him. Their bodies crashing together, the arrow hidden between his robe’s layers trying to pierce his chest, and he grabbed Lan Wangji tighter in spite of it. As tight as he could, even if it would tear his skin, break his bones. Jiang Cheng grinned so wide that his burning cheek pressed into Lan Wangji’s.

“You don’t mind?” he asked.

“I don’t mind,” Lan Wangji whispered. “I wanted it…”

Jiang Cheng leant his head back, just enough to look at Lan Wangji, handsome and beautiful and so real. “You did?”

Lan Wangji nodded, cheeks red, eyes gleaming and locking onto him, hitting him with full force. And Jiang Cheng let himself gladly be pierced and devoured by those eyes, leant even closer to them, felt the heat of Lan Wangji’s face warming him as he leant against his forehead. His bruise was nothing, unimportant nonsense, as he rubbed his forehead against the perfectly straight headband. Lan Wangji let out a sudden sharp breath, and Jiang Cheng could only smirk, enjoy the shivers running over his body, feel the tremble in Lan Wangji’s shoulders and back. He grabbed him by the waist, pulling him in. Not ready to let go all night.

“What else do you want?” he asked in whatever raspy splinters were left of his voice.

“Night hunt with you again,” Lan Wangji breathed.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t quite expected this, his body asking him to think of something completely different. His mind already painting him images of demons begging for mercy at the same time. “Fine by me. You come to Lotus Pier and we’ll find some lake demon. I’ll show you around, pick you a lotus to keep, and we’ll meditate by the lake to cool off when I embarrass myself again. Promise?”

Lan Wangji nodded so eagerly, his forehead ribbon slipped down to his brows. Jiang Cheng quickly lifted a hand to catch it, kept it safely pressed against Lan Wangji’s temple and leant in. Sealed that promise with a kiss to barely smiling lips.