Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian is not what Lan Wangji expected.
At least, he doesn't think so. The alpha is hard to get a read on. He was rather all over the place at their first meeting, one moment being exceptionally vague, and the next oversharing like an excited puppy. Or like an excited academic. The way his face lit up realizing that Lan Wangji also has a very niche field of study… He is beautiful.
So beautiful.
And now, for one or all of those reasons, Lan Wangji has volunteered himself to help Wei Wuxian learn how to do his job. Qin Su and Luo Qingyang are equal parts annoyed and amused, but Lan Wangji can't quite shake the feeling that something is Off about the way Wei Wuxian was brought on.
Why was he brought here, without ceremony or guidance? Not to be ungenerous, but why would Jin Guangshan be so neglectful of Wei Wuxian's on-boarding while also giving him a personal research lab with zero visible strings attached? He's not exactly known for his kind and altruistic nature.
Lan Wangji has a suspicion that the answers to these questions are important. Unfortunately, he has no idea how to find those answers. It's not like he can come out and ask.
It's been three days, and he still has no idea. Lan Wangji does what he knows best. He brews a pot of tea, accepts a meeting request for an hour from now, and refreshes his memory.
According to the internet, it happened like this:
Talisman and array arts were lost centuries ago, having fallen out of use as swordwork and spellcasting took priority. During the early centuries of global exploration, land contests were perpetual, and sorcerers of various disciplines often found themselves unable to fight each other effectively. A cultivator from Shandong and a hedgewitch from Ireland have just enough in and out of common to be both explosive and useless against each other. By the time anyone realized that written sorcery had been neglected, most was forgotten. The Lan Sect has always carried a quiet, personal pain for this lapse - many records and texts were lost in a burning of Cloud Recesses almost a millennia ago.
(This part, Lan Wangji knows. It seems like this loss has always been a part of him despite the passage of time. He understands. His Sect is made of cultivators and of archivists. The burning was a tragedy, an assault not only on knowledge, but on identity.)
Then along came Wei Wuxian, a young cultivator of modest and obscure background, with some connection to the Great Sects but virtually no involvement in their doings. Reportedly working out of a rented storage unit, he surged to fame when, after his dissertation was rejected for lack of credibility, he used a reconstructed shielding array to divert a forest fire away from civilians. Almost overnight, Wei Wuxian became a household name among cultivators and mortals alike, and his designs were patented and sold to cultivators in the form of pre-printed talismans.
He has not once mentioned to anyone what the next phase of his research will be.
Lan Wangji suspects that next phase is a mystery to Wei Wuxian himself.
"Hey!" The alpha himself knocks on the doorframe, grinning. "I let myself in. Hope that's okay."
"Mn. Please, come in."
Wei Wuxian seems rather delighted by this, skipping into his office and scooting his chair up to Lan Wangji's desk, knees knocking against the front panel, passing him a clump of handwritten bullet points regarding potential course materials and substitutions. It's distractingly charming in its own way.
He chatters as he works, narrating his thoughts out loud. He ruminates on Lan Wangji's syllabi but also on the subject matter itself, asking questions without waiting for the answer, words jumping ahead like the answer materializes in between his half breaths.
Wei Wuxian scribbles notes into the margins of the syllabus in a nearly illegible shorthand, asking questions about grading attendance policies, then answering them on his own before Lan Wangji can do more than take a breath. He chews on the top of his cheap gel pen and tugs on a lock of his hair until the twist comes apart and he's left with a feathery, wild trail of fluff over his shoulder.
He's truly beautiful: intense, focused, insightful. Possibly insane.
It's a strange feeling. The Jianghu whispers about Wei Wuxian like he's a mysterious disease, but he's been marketed as some kind of transcendental genius by the layfolk: an untouchable Other in black hanfu with an epic, mysterious history and a dark, sexual allure. Now, he's sitting at Lan Wangji's desk like many students have in the past, in a faded t-shirt with holes in the collar and armpit and a pair of jeans held together with darned seams and woven patches. His cultivation ripples off his body like summer heat off green grass, flaring in and out as his energy shifts with his thoughts. He even smells lovely: like lapsang souchong tea and honey.
He's fascinating. Alluring. Some primal part of Lan Wangji's brain wants him. Viscerally.
"Would you like some tea?" he blurts.
Wei Wuxian blinks at him, clearly derailed from his thoughts. "Oh. Sure. Yes, that sounds nice."
Lan Wangji's ears burn with embarrassment. It's been a good while since he felt interest for someone, but that's no reason for his senses to vacate him like this.
"I don't believe gongfu cha is feasible at the moment." Lan Wangji gestures at the documents and computers spread over his desk. "But I can make a pot. Do you have a preference?"
"Not really! I usually go with red tea, but I like everything. Make whatever you're in the mood for."
"Mn." Lan Wangji decides to take him at his word. He fills his electric kettle with distilled water and sets it to 79C. Looking through his office stash, he finds a tin of gunpowder green tea.
"Gongfu, eh? Are you an enthusiast?"
Lan Wangji considers the question. "I believe in doing things properly."
This makes Wei Wuxian laugh, a wild cackle that reminds Lan Wangji of a raven. "So when I walked in here, not knowing my ass from my elbow?"
"The fault is not entirely yours." The electric kettle beeps. "It is difficult to do things properly when you are given no instructions or expectations with which to begin."
Lan Wangji pours some of the hot water into the teapot. Once the clay is hot to the touch, he empties it into a jar to water his plants with later. Then, he spoons in some of the pearled leaves and fills the pot with more hot water.
"Hm… I have a feeling you're being quite generous with me."
"I find. Peace," Lan Wangji says, attempting to explain, "in doing things properly. Not everyone feels the same way."
Turning, Lan Wangji finds himself being studied, that bright gaze turned sharp. He waits, bracing for Wei Wuxian's judgement, be it to praise or condemn.
"Which do you find more satisfying: a thing done well, or the doing?"
Lan Wangji blinks. Nobody has ever asked him that. Turning to the collection of tea cups stored upside down on a shelf hanging on the wall in between the windows, he does his best to hide his sudden discomposure.
"I take pleasure in doing something well, and find satisfaction when it is finished." He pours out the tea, a charred, vegetal aroma rising in a cloud of steam. "I find peace in the ritual."
Wei Wuxian accepts the cup with a smile, sniffing it. "Gunpowder?"
"Mn. My mother enjoys roasted teas. Hojicha is her favorite."
"I'm surprised. I thought your family would be drinking top-shelf stuff all the time."
"I do enjoy fine tea, yes. But my mother was a rogue cultivator, and well-travelled. She lived among regular people, and loved the simple pleasures in their lives. Japanese and roasted green teas like zhucha-" Lan Wangji gestures to the cup of tea in front of him. "-hojicha, and genmaicha are her teas of choice."
"And yours?" Wei Wuxian asks, meeting his eyes over the rim of his cup. "Mn, your mother isn't wrong. This really is a good one."
"I prefer white and green teas. When it comes to red teas, finery such as first flush Darjeeling or high end oolongs are my preference."
"So… any white or green or the very best of the reds?" Wei Wuxian grins. "It suits you."
"I am particularly fond of jinya dianhong. And you?" Lan Wangji asks, certain he's being teased.
"Oh, I'll drink anything! I'm about as cultured as fresh milk!"
Lan Wangji doesn't buy it. Wei Wuxian might excel at dodging personal questions, and he does lack the refinement of Lan Wangji and his social peers, but he is also intelligent and well-educated. He definitely has thoughts and feelings about tea.
The alpha sips his tea and smiles into it, licking stray moisture from his lips. Some primal corner of Lan Wangji's brain preens over this. It's an instinct of the human species, this desire to provide for each other. Lan Wangji is an omega. For him, this instinct presents as a drive to nurture those close to him.
Wei Wuxian does not yet count as "close", but Lan Wangji thinks maybe he could… Even if he's using a heavily annotated copy of Lan Wangji's syllabus for Theory and Praxis of Musical Cultivation as a coaster.
"I'm told I need to finalize my courses by next week," Wei Wuxian tells him. "I need to have a minimum of two classes, with two sections each."
"That is a lot for a researcher."
"Yeah, but the more students attend, the better my chances are that one will want to be a TA or lab assistant next semester. I need to be able to prove that my work isn't a fad and that it's worthy of study…"
Lan Wangji waits. Something heavy and unspoken settles on the papers between them. After a long moment, Wei Wuxian shrugs, reaches for his tea, and pulls another syllabus toward him: Qin Su's for Introduction to Digital Curation.
Once again, Lan Wangji chooses not to ask. But this time, he can hear the truth in the silence.
I need to prove myself.
It's a feeling he understands all too well.
Lan Wangji is not, for the record, just pretty. He's fucking gorgeous. He's fascinating. Wei Wuxian wants to chew on his cute, pink ears. He wants Lan Wangji to chew on whatever part of him strikes the omega's fancy. He wants to pound on every single one of Lan Wangji's buttons. He wants Lan Wangji to draw his sword and kick his ass right in the library, or on the university mall. Even better, he's pretty sure Lan Wangji could actually do it, because standing next to the guy makes the air feel like running his fingers over the static of an old CRV television. And maybe it's just because Wei Wuxian has finally allowed himself two seconds to fucking breathe, but he thinks Lan Wangji might be the most interesting person he's ever known.
The two seconds to breathe end when his sister throws herself into the passenger seat of the car.
"Let's get the fuck outta here." Xiuming scrunches down in her seat, arms folded over her chest, scowling.
"You okay?" He pulls out into traffic, remembering to check his mirror for once. He misses taking the train. There is nothing wrong with trains. Trains are for everyone, not just the working class.
He has appearances to keep.
"Fine. Some of these people are just always scheming for a way up the ladder. A lot of them are okay. Out of touch maybe, but okay. And then some of them are just insufferable."
"Sorry, mei. That sucks."
"Yeah." Xiuming turns to stare out the window. "Takes getting used to, I guess."
"Do you want to get used to it?" Wei Wuxian asks.
"What choice do I have?" she bites out.
"Well," Wei Wuxian begins. "You can get used to it, and I don't think that would necessarily be wrong of you to do. You can also endure it and keep hating it. Or you can tell them that their behavior sucks, and that you won't entertain it."
"Yeah… Maybe."
Wei Wuxian picks up sweet and sour spare ribs from their favorite Hunan street vendor on the way, and throws together smashed cucumbers, stir-fried cabbage, and rice in their kitchen. It's still weird, having such a large kitchen. They have four burners now instead of two, and a dishwasher. And the counter space! Wei Wuxian started learning to cook when he was fifteen, but he's begun to really enjoy it now that he has more space.
Cooking for his sister is one of his favorite things. The alpha in him likes watching her eat what he makes, especially when she actually likes eating it.
Today, she's quiet, picking at her food. There's obviously something bothering her, a hint of burnt sugar in her scent, but he doesn't want to push. She goes to her room right after dinner, leaving him to clean up alone. He doesn't mind.
Sometimes, a person just needs to feel bad about something in peace for a while.
After the kitchen is clean, Wei Wuxian scrunches up in the corner of their couch and checks his phone.
Baba:
- How are you and A-Ming?
- Are you settling in well?
- We miss you.
This last message is followed by images of their day. Blue, snowcapped mountains on the horizon, green valleys rich with water, slopes covered in pines or tea trees, meadows of yellow wildflowers. Despite spending less than half the year there, Wei Wuxian can't help the lurch of homesickness he feels for The Mountain and surrounding lands. He likes urban life well enough, and enjoys the conveniences of it, but it's been so long since he properly saw the stars and breathed fresh air. He wishes he could see his grandmother.
He wishes he could ask her what to do.
Wei Ying:
- We're doing well. There's plenty to get used to, but it's going alright.
- We miss you too.
- How is Mama?
He doesn't expect a response any time soon, but his father replies about an hour later, while Wei Wuxian struggles to arrange his lessons for Introduction to Talismanic and Array Language into an order that would make sense to a beginner.
Baba:
- Some of her martial brothers are here. She's been catching up with them. They're lovely people.
- You haven't heard from her?
Wei Ying:
- Not since you left.
Baba:
- I'm sorry.
Wei Wuxian does not throw his phone across the room, but only because it's a shared wall and his neighbors don't deserve that. Instead, he swallows the bitterness, sets his phone facedown on the coffee table, and indulges in a scalding hot shower.
His parents didn't leave Sect life behind on a whim. Cangse Sanren has always been loudly critical of orthodoxy, and often refers to the Great Sects as modern-day parasites or thugs. His father left not just to please her, but also because he too wanted their pups to grow up away from all the politics and bureaucracy.
Wei Wuxian tips his head forward to press against the cool tile. The water beats down on his back.
He doesn't disagree. He's never disagreed. But what else was he supposed to do?