Chapter 2: Silk and Sighs in the Moonlight
The first thing Wei Wuxian became aware of was the weight.
Not a crushing weight. Not the kind that pinned you down and stole your breath. This was different—a warm, solid pressure draped across his chest, an arm thrown carelessly over his ribs, a leg tangled between his own. The second thing was the smell. Sandalwood. Clean cotton. The faintest trace of something sweet and dark that he couldn't name.
He opened his eyes.
Moonlight poured through the window, silver and indifferent, and in its glow he could see the curve of Wen Mingfeng's shoulder, the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his dark hair spilled across the pillow like ink in water. He was still asleep. Still here.
Wei Wuxian's chest tightened.
He should leave. That was the sensible thing—the smart thing. Get up, find his clothes, slip out before the situation became complicated. Before Mingfeng woke up and looked at him with those amber eyes and asked questions Wei Wuxian couldn't answer. Before the thread between them pulled tighter and made it impossible to walk away.
But his body wouldn't move.
He lay there, frozen, Mingfeng's arm a warm bar across his chest, and tried to remember the last time someone had held him like this. Not fucked him—that was different, that was heat and motion and forgetting—but held him. After. In the quiet hours when the world was soft and the walls came down.
He couldn't remember. Not since he was a child, maybe. Before the Jiang Sect. Before everything.
Mingfeng stirred. His arm tightened, pulling Wei Wuxian closer, and his breath ghosted warm across Wei Wuxian's shoulder.
"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "I can hear it."
"Can you?"
"Mmm." Mingfeng's lips brushed against his skin—not quite a kiss, just contact. "Loud thoughts. Bad sign."
"They're not bad thoughts."
"No?" Mingfeng's eyes opened slowly, amber catching the moonlight. "Then what are they?"
Wei Wuxian's throat tightened. He could lie. Deflect. Crack a joke and change the subject, the way he always did. But something about the darkness, about the weight of Mingfeng's arm, about the impossible tenderness in those eyes—it stripped away the armor.
"I was trying to remember," he said quietly, "the last time someone held me like this."
Mingfeng's expression didn't change, but something in his gaze sharpened. "And?"
"I couldn't."
The silence stretched. Mingfeng's hand moved—slow, deliberate—sliding up Wei Wuxian's chest to rest over his heart. The touch was warm through the thin layer of sweat cooling on his skin.
"That's a fucking tragedy," Mingfeng said.
Wei Wuxian laughed—a surprised, cracked sound that hurt his throat. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?"
"Once or twice." Mingfeng's thumb traced a circle over his heart. "But I mean it. Someone should have held you. Someone should have—" He stopped. His jaw tightened. "You deserve better than what you've had."
"You don't know what I've had."
"No. But I know what you haven't." Mingfeng's eyes met his, steady and certain. "I know you've been alone. I know you've been starving for something you couldn't name. I know because I've felt it too."
Wei Wuxian's breath caught. "You—"
"I told you. I've been looking for something my whole life. Something I couldn't find in Nightless City, or in my father's court, or in the endless halls of the Wen Sect." Mingfeng's voice dropped, soft and rough. "And now I've found it. You. And I'm not going to let you slip through my fingers because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You are." Mingfeng pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at Wei Wuxian with an expression that was equal parts tenderness and challenge. "I can see it in your eyes. Every time I touch you, you flinch. Every time I say something real, you deflect. You're waiting for the moment I'll turn on you. Waiting for the moment this becomes a weapon."
Wei Wuxian's chest ached. "Maybe I am. Maybe that's just who I am."
"Maybe." Mingfeng's fingers brushed his jaw, tilting his face up. "Or maybe it's who you've had to be."
The words hit like a blade between the ribs—precise, devastating, true. Wei Wuxian had spent years building walls, wearing masks, becoming whatever he needed to be to survive. The troublemaker. The genius. The unbothered, carefree idiot who laughed at everything and felt nothing.
But here, in this room, with Mingfeng's hand on his cheek and his amber eyes seeing everything Wei Wuxian had tried to hide—the walls were crumbling.
"What are you doing to me?" he whispered.
Mingfeng's thumb brushed across his cheekbone. "I'm trying to show you. What this could be. What we could be."
"I don't—"
"You don't have to do anything." Mingfeng's voice was gentle. "Just stay. Just let me touch you. Let me prove that I'm not going to hurt you."
Wei Wuxian's breath came fast and shallow. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to let go, to trust, to believe that this wasn't a dream he'd wake up from.
But the fear was there—old and deep and bone-deep. The fear of being used. Of being discarded. Of being broken open and left hollow.
"I don't trust easily," he said.
"I know." Mingfeng's lips curved—that almost-smile, that flicker of warmth that made Wei Wuxian's stomach swoop. "I don't either."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm willing to try. For you." Mingfeng's hand slid down, fingers tracing the line of his shoulder, his chest, the curve of his ribs. "Because I'd rather risk everything than spend the rest of my life wondering."
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. The touch was gentle—feather-light, soothing, but it burned all the same. Every brush of Mingfeng's fingers sent heat skittering across his skin, settling low in his belly, curling around his spine.
"You're going to ruin me," he murmured.
"I'm going to try." Mingfeng's lips found his ear, warm and soft. "If you'll let me."
And there it was—the choice. The open door. Wei Wuxian could walk through it or close it, and Mingfeng would accept either. He'd catch him if he fell and let him go if he ran.
The power of that—the trust—was terrifying.
"Show me," Wei Wuxian whispered. "Show me what you want."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and once they were out, there was no taking them back. His eyes were shut so tight he could almost pretend this wasn't happening—the darkness kept it all tethered to some unreal distance, some place where consequences couldn't reach either of them.
Mingfeng's hand stopped on his stomach. The stillness was a question, and Wei Wuxian felt his own heartbeat hammering against it, loud enough that the whole street probably could have heard.
"Are you sure?" Mingfeng's voice was rough now, stripped of its earlier calm. "Wei Ying—tell me you're sure."
He only ever used his courtesy name. Not Wuxian—not once. It hit something deep and raw, and Wei Wuxian realized with a start that no one had called him that since—since—he couldn't remember.
"Yes." The word was barely a breath. "Fuck. Yes. I'm sure."
Mingfeng's mouth was on his before he could finish the sentence—hot, hard, desperate. His tongue pushed inside with a boldness that made Wei Wuxian's toes curl against the mattress. His hands yanked at the thin blanket; his weight was a heavy heat pressing Wei Wuxian into the mattress, their hips aligning with a friction that sent sparks shooting up his spine.
"Fuck," Mingfeng growled against his mouth. "I've been thinking about this. Trying not to. Do you have any idea how distracting you are? Now, hush. Keep your mouth shut. Unless it's to say my name."
The sheer audacity of it startled a laugh out of Wei Wuxian—then Mingfeng shoved a thigh between his legs, and the laugh broke into a shaky gasp as friction sparked along his length. His hands flew up to grip Mingfeng's shoulders, nails digging into the muscle.
"Noted," Wei Wuxian gasped. "Quiet. Got it."
"Good."
Mingfeng's mouth slid down his throat, teeth skimming over his pulse point—one sharp nip, then lapping over it with hot suction. Wei Wuxian's head thumped back against the pillow, his hips jerking up helplessly at the wet heat of it. One of Mingfeng's hands left his shoulder, sliding down between them to palm him through his trousers. The touch found him already hard, already leaking, damp fabric clinging to the ridge of his cock.
"Fuck," Wei Wuxian hissed. "Don't tease."
"Who said anything about teasing?" Mingfeng's fingers worked the tie at his waist, tugging the trousers down in a rough, impatient drag. The night air hit his bare skin and raised goosebumps, and then Mingfeng's hot hand wrapped around his cock.
Wei Wuxian made a sound he wasn't proud of—something between a moan and a whimper. Mingfeng's grip was firm, his stroke a maddening, wet glide from root to tip, swiping through the fluid leaking from the head. His thumb pressed into the slit just right, and pleasure jolted up his spine.
"Look at you," Mingfeng murmured, eyes dark and lidded as he watched his own hand move—the slow, deliberate rhythm he set. "So hard. So wet. So good for me, Wei Ying."
"Shit—I—" Wei Wuxian's fingers twisted in the sheets. His hips were snapping up into Mingfeng's hand in counterpoint, each pull a slow stroke that was driving him steadily out of his mind.
"Did you hear that?" Mingfeng whispered it against his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. "The sounds you make. Anyone walking by would know exactly what's happening in here. Anyone at all."
Wei Wuxian's face burned. His hips bucked violently into the grip and a broken, needy sound tore from his throat.
"That's it," Mingfeng said, satisfaction thick in his voice. "You want it. Want me to—"
"Fuck me," Wei Wuxian heard himself blurt. "Don't want to come yet. Fuck me. Please."
Mingfeng went still.
Then he shoved Wei Wuxian's legs apart, settling between them with a roughness that made the whole bed creak. "Want you on your hands and knees," he said hoarsely. "Obscure curse words fall from your mouth and you open up like a—fuck. Roll over. Now."
The command was absolute, threading through the haze of lust. Wei Wuxian rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself up with trembling arms. His legs fell open. The position left him completely exposed, the damp air of the room brushing over his skin, and he shivered.
"You have oil?" he asked, voice muffled by the pillow.
"Yes." Mingfeng sounded wrecked, his voice a low rasp. "Stay right there. Don't move."
Wei Wuxian heard rummaging, a rough sound, a sharp inhale, and then the bed dipped behind him. Mingfeng's hand settled on his lower back, the touch grounding him. His fingers traced a small, soothing circle at the base of his spine.
"Tell me you want this," Mingfeng said, low and clear. "Tell me you want me."
Wei Wuxian swallowed. His heart hammered. "Fucking—naked and grinding on a mattress, do you need it written in blood?"
"Yes."
The answer was simple. Direct. The tone was all hunger beneath the quiet. Mingfeng's fingers slipped lower, pressing with slick heat against his entrance—then inside. One finger, then two. The stretch was sudden, sharp. Slick and tight and right.
"Ah—fuck," Wei Wuxian gasped, arching back into the touch. "Mingfeng—"
The fingers curled inside him. Sparks shot up his spine and his entire body jolted, a loud, shameless moan cracking out of him.
"That's it," Mingfeng said behind him, voice raw. "No coming until I'm inside you. I want to feel you squeeze around me."
The order burned through him. Wei Wuxian grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it. "Hurry the fuck up, then."
Mingfeng's fingers withdrew. The blunt, hot pressure of his cock replaced them. He pushed in slowly—a long, grinding slide that made Wei Wuxian sob into the pillow. This was nothing like the first time, when it had been frantic and messy and over almost before it began. This was deliberate. This was devastating.
"Gnh—fuck—fuck," Wei Wuxian gasped, his fists twisting the sheets."Move. Mingfeng, move, or I swear to every god—"
Mingfeng didn't give him the chance. His hips snapped forward, and Wei Wuxian arched sharply as the thick length drove all the way in. Mingfeng pulled out almost completely and slammed back in—no patience left, just a brutal, possessive rhythm. Skin slapped against skin. The bed slammed against the wall with every thrust, the headboard a steady, rhythmic thud against the plaster. Or maybe it was the other way around. Wei Wuxian didn't know. He didn't care.
"Fu—ah—Mingfeng—" Wei Wuxian choked out, his voice shuddering with every impact. "There—right there—don't you dare stop—"
The angle shifted. In an instant it went from good to blinding—brushing that spot inside with every stroke. Wei Wuxian inadvertently tensed against the sudden onslaught of pleasure and Mingfeng groaned, a ragged, guttural sound.
"Mingfeng—!"
"So fucking perfect," Mingfeng gritted out. "You're so perfect. Absolutely perfect."
His hand came down—open-palmed—against Wei Wuxian's ass. The quiet crack echoed off the walls; the sharp, stinging heat of contact went straight to Wei Wuxian's cock.
"Ah—!"
Mingfeng didn't pause—just struck the other cheek, then slid his slicked fingers between the red handprints he'd left behind. The sting bloomed and faded, merging with the thick, dragging friction inside him until Wei Wuxian couldn't tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. It was all the same. All one glowing, consuming flame.
"Please—please, I'm—" Wei Wuxian's hand scrambled for purchase on the headboard.
"Choke yourself with your own fingers," Mingfeng rasped. "Come when you want. I want to feel it."
Wei Wuxian couldn't move fast enough. He shoved his fingers into his own mouth, biting down as the pressure inside him climbed and climbed—higher, hotter, until it broke. His back curved like a drawn bow; his hips lurched forward, and he came with a guttural, muffled cry. The pleasure ripped through him in waves, his body clenching tight around the thick, hot length still driving into him.
Mingfeng's rhythm faltered. "Fuck—fuck, Wei Ying, I can feel you—"
"That's right," Wei Wuxian slurred, fingers falling from his mouth, spit-slick and trembling. "Come on. Since you feel good enough. Now it's your turn. Come on, come on, come on."
Mingfeng came with a harsh, broken sound and a violent shudder. His hips drove forward one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled into him with a low, ragged moan. For a long, suspended moment, they both froze in that perfect, shaking, blinding hot moment. Then the world rushed back in—the bed, the air, the moonlight, the distant clang of a harbor bell.
Mingfeng pulled out slowly and collapsed matter-of-factly on top of Wei Wuxian's back, his breath fast and hot against his shoulder. For a long moment, they both lay there, just breathing. The air was thick with sweat and sex and the faint scent of the oil.
Wei Wuxian turned his head just enough to look at him, his mouth curling into a smile. "Well. That was worth falling for."
Mingfeng huffed a laugh as he finally rolled onto his side. But even as he did, his hand stayed firmly in place, fingers tracing idle patterns along Wei Wuxian's spine. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, stripped of its usual composure.
"You're going to be the death of me, Wei Ying. You know that, right?"
"Probably." Wei Wuxian shifted onto his side, wincing at the pleasant ache already settling into his muscles. "But what a way to go, hm?"
Mingfeng's answer was to bury his face against the back of Wei Wuxian's neck, one arm wrapping tight around his waist. His breath was warm against Wei Wuxian's sweat-dampened skin.
"I meant what I said," he murmured. "I'm not going to let you go."
Wei Wuxian's chest ached. The words settled into him like stones dropping into still water—ripples spreading outward, further and deeper than he wanted to admit.
"I know," he said quietly.
He didn't say I'm not going to let you go either. He didn't say I want to stay. He didn't say the things that were crowding against his teeth, desperate and terrified and desperate to be heard.
But he reached down and laced his fingers through Mingfeng's, and that was enough.
For now, it was enough.
The night stretched on. The candle burned down to a stub and guttered out. And in the darkness, Wei Wuxian lay with his soulmate's arms around him and listened to the canal whisper outside the window, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn't feel alone.
He didn't know what the morning would bring. He didn't know what would happen when they left this room and faced the world—their sects, their duties, the impossible tangle of politics and family and fate.
But he knew one thing, with a certainty that settled into his bones like a promise.
He wasn't going to run.
Not yet. Not from this.
Mingfeng's breathing evened out into sleep, but Wei Wuxian stayed awake, watching the moonlight shift across the ceiling. His body ached in ways that made him smile. His heart ached in ways that made him afraid.
And somewhere beneath the fear, beneath the ache, something new was taking root.
Hope.
It was a fragile thing—a seed that needed tending, that could be crushed with a single wrong word. But it was there, and it was his, and Wei Wuxian held it close.
Mingfeng would keep his promise—the thought caught him off guard. Mingfeng would not let him go. And Wei Wuxian... Wei Wuxian would not be the one to pull away first.
The night stretched on. And in the silence, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes.
Wei Wuxian woke to the sound of gulls.
The morning light had turned the canal to hammered gold, and somewhere below the window a fisherman was arguing with a merchant about the price of carp. The bed beside him was empty. The sheets still held the shape of a body, still smelled of sandalwood and sweat and the ghost of last night's oil.
His body remembered before his mind did. The ache in his lower back, the tenderness between his thighs, the small bruises on his hips where fingers had gripped too hard. He shifted against the mattress and winced, then smiled at the ceiling.
"Fuck," he said, to no one in particular. "Hell of a way to start the morning."
The door clicked open. Mingfeng stepped inside carrying a tray—steamed buns, a pot of tea, a small bowl of something that smelled like ginger and scallions. He had dressed in fresh robes, his hair tied back neatly, but there was a softness around his eyes that hadn't been there before. His gaze found Wei Wuxian immediately, and something in his expression shifted.
"You're awake," he said.
"Astute observation. You must have been top of your class."
Mingfeng set the tray on the low table by the window. "I was. Second, actually. My brother was first."
"Only second? How disappointing." Wei Wuxian pushed himself up on his elbows, the sheet falling to his waist. He didn't miss the way Mingfeng's eyes tracked the movement. "I'll have you know I was first in my class. Well. First at getting into trouble. First at drinking. First at making my shidi want to strangle me."
"That sounds more impressive than any exam score."
"Doesn't it?"
Mingfeng crossed the room, tray forgotten. He sat on the edge of the bed, and his hand came up to brush the sleep-mussed hair from Wei Wuxian's forehead. The gesture was so tender, so utterly at odds with the way he had fucked him into the mattress hours ago, that Wei Wuxian's breath caught.
"How do you feel?" Mingfeng asked quietly.
"Like I got run over by a very handsome cart." Wei Wuxian's grin was crooked. "Worth it."
"Good." Mingfeng's thumb traced the line of his cheekbone, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "I was worried I might have been too—"
"Don't you dare apologize." Wei Wuxian caught his wrist. "If you apologize for that, I'll be genuinely offended."
Mingfeng's mouth curved. That almost-smile again, the one that made Wei Wuxian's chest feel too small for his ribs. "I wasn't going to apologize. I was going to ask if you wanted me to do it again."
Wei Wuxian laughed, surprised and bright. "You're greedy."
"Apparently." Mingfeng leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Eat something. We have a problem."
The shift in tone was abrupt enough that Wei Wuxian's grin faded. "What kind of problem?"
"Nie Huaisang was at the front desk when I went down." Mingfeng sat back, his expression carefully neutral. "He's been looking for you all night. He looked...frantic."
Wei Wuxian's stomach dropped. "Fuck. Huaisang. I forgot—"
"He's your friend?"
"More than that. He's—" Wei Wuxian swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the pleasant ache that followed. "He's a member of the Qinghe Nie Sect. He's my friend. And I abandoned him in the middle of a crowded market because I got distracted by a pretty face."
Mingfeng's eyebrow arched. "Pretty face?"
"Don't fish for compliments. It doesn't suit you." Wei Wuxian found his trousers and yanked them on, his movements quick and efficient. "Where is he now?"
"Downstairs. I told him I'd have news for him shortly." Mingfeng rose, his hand settling on Wei Wuxian's shoulder. "Breathe. He's fine. Just worried."
"He's always worried. It's his default state." Wei Wuxian pulled on his robe, fingers fumbling with the ties. "I need to go down. Explain… something."
"Explain what?"
Wei Wuxian stopped. His hands fell still on the fabric. He turned to look at Mingfeng—really look at him—and the words died in his throat.
What could he say? That he'd found his soulmate? That he'd spent the night getting fucked within an inch of his life by the third son of Wen Ruohan? That the thread between them was already braided so tightly he wasn't sure he could cut it if he tried?
"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what to tell him."
Mingfeng's hand slid down his arm, fingers lacing through his own. "Tell him the truth. Or don't. It's your choice."
"You're being very reasonable about this."
"I'm trying." Mingfeng's voice was dry. "It's not my default state."
Wei Wuxian found himself smiling despite the knot in his gut. "What if he doesn't believe me? What if he thinks I've lost my mind?"
"Then perhaps he doesn't know you as well as he thinks."
Wei Wuxian pulled his hand free, but gently—a squeeze before release. "I'm going down. Alone."
Mingfeng's expression flickered. "Alone?"
"I need to talk to him. He's been my friend for years. He deserves an explanation without—" Wei Wuxian gestured vaguely at Mingfeng. "Without you standing there looking like a very tall threat."
"I do not look threatening."
"You look like you could snap a man in half."
"I could. But I wouldn't." Mingfeng paused. "Unless he touched you. Then I might."
Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. "I'll be back. Try not to murder anyone while I'm gone."
"I make no promises."
Wei Wuxian found Nie Huaisang in the inn's small common room, hunched over a cup of cold tea with a fan clutched in his white-knuckled grip. His face when he looked up was a complicated mix of relief, fury, and exhaustion.
"Wei-xiong."
"Huaisang." Wei Wuxian slid into the seat across from him. "Before you yell at me—"
"Yell? I'm not going to yell." Huaisang's voice was too calm. Too measured. "I'm going to ask you a question. One question. And you're going to answer it honestly."
"Huaisang—"
"Where the fuck have you been?"
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth.Closed it. Opened it again.
"I met someone," he said.
Huaisang's fan snapped open. His eyes narrowed. "You met someone."
"Yes."
"You disappeared for ten hours because you met someone."
Wei Wuxian winced. "When you put it like that, it sounds bad."
"It sounds like you were kidnapped. Or murdered. Or both." Huaisang's fan snapped shut again. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I searched every alley from here to the old fishing quarter. I bribed the harbor master. I bribed a beggar. I bribed two beggars."
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Huaisang leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hiss. "Who is he? What's his name? Is he a cultivator? What sect?"
Wei Wuxian's silence stretched too long. Huaisang's face went pale.
"Wei-xiong. What sect?"
"Qishan Wen."
The words fell between them like stones. Huaisang didn't move. Didn't blink. His fan hovered in front of his face like a shield, and behind it, his eyes were wide and fixed.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
"A Wen. You spent the night with a Wen."
"Technically I spent the night with a Wen's son. The third son. Wen Mingfeng." Wei Wuxian's voice was steady, but his hands were shaking. He folded them in his lap. "He's not like his father. He's not like his brothers. He's—"
"He's a Wen." Huaisang's voice cracked. "Wei-xiong, do you have any idea what this means? If Jiang-zongzhu finds out—if anyone finds out—"
"I know."
"They'll think you've betrayed them. They'll think you've been compromised. Turned." Huaisang's fan was trembling now. "You're the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. You can't just—you can't—"
"Huaisang." Wei Wuxian reached across the table, his hand settling over his friend's wrist. "I know what it looks like. I know what the world will think. But I felt something. Something I've never felt before. And I can't ignore it."
Huaisang stared at him. The anger in his eyes flickered, wavered, and something else crept in—something softer and more afraid.
"What did you feel?" he whispered.
Wei Wuxian's throat tightened. "Like I'd been looking for something my whole life without knowing it. Like the world shifted into focus. Like I could finally breathe."
"That's very poetic."
"It's terrifying."
Huaisang's fan dropped to the table. His hand found Wei Wuxian's, and squeezed. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." Wei Wuxian let out a shaky breath. "I don't know. But I can't walk away from this. Not yet."
Huaisang closed his eyes. For a long moment, he was silent—his chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Then he opened them and fixed Wei Wuxian with a look that was equal parts exhaustion and affection.
"You're going to kill me," he said. "You're going to kill me, and then you're going to attend my funeral, and you're going to flirt with all the mourners."
"Only the pretty ones."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"I do." Huaisang pulled his hand back, but it didn't happen immediately. "I also think you're making a mistake. A huge, dangerous, possibly fatal mistake. But you're my friend, and I'm not going to abandon you."
Wei Wuxian's chest ached. "Huaisang—"
"Shut up. I'm not done." Huaisang picked up his fan, tapping it against the table. "What's your plan? And don't tell me you don't have one. You always have a plan, even if it's a terrible one."
"I don't have a plan."
Huaisang stared at him.
"I have a feeling." Wei Wuxian's voice was quiet. "And I have a promise."
"What promise?"
"He said he wouldn't let me go." Wei Wuxian looked down at his hands. "And I believed him."
The silence that followed was heavy. Huaisang watched him for a long, measuring moment, and then he let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"Fuck," he said. "You're really doing this. You're really going to defy the entire cultivation world for a man you met last night."
"Probably. Yes. Definitely." Wei Wuxian looked up, meeting his friend's eyes. "Are you with me or not?"
Huaisang's fan flicked open. He held it over his face, the way he always did when he wanted to hide, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian couldn't read him at all.
Then the fan lowered, and Huaisang smiled—crooked and reluctant and warm.
"I'm with you," he said. "Against all my better judgment. I'm with you."
Wei Wuxian's breath rushed out. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm going to be complaining about this and cursing your name for the next fifty years." Huaisang stood, gathering his things. "Now. I want to meet him. Properly."
"No."
"Wei-xiong—"
"No.Not yet. I need to—" Wei Wuxian ran a hand through his hair. "I need to figure this out first. What this is. What it means. I need to make sure he's not going to—"
"Going to what?"
Wei Wuxian's jaw tightened. "Going to turn on me. Going to use this. Going to go back to his father."
The words hung in the air, ugly and honest. Huaisang's expression softened.
"You're scared," he said.
"I'm terrified."
"That's how you know it's real."
Wei Wuxian laughed, shaky. "What a terrible philosophy."
"It's the only one that works." Huaisang squeezed his shoulder. "I'll be in my room. I need to sleep. And you need to figure out what you're doing with your life."
"I won't figure it out today."
"Then at least figure out where he's taking you for breakfast."
Wei Wuxian watched him go, his fan waving a lazy goodbye, and felt the weight on his chest lighten. Not gone. Not even close. But lighter.
When he returned to the room, Mingfeng was standing by the window. He had not moved from where Wei Wuxian had left him, though his posture now held a tension that hadn't been there before—the careful stillness of someone waiting.
"Well?" he asked, without turning around.
"He's going to support us. Sort of. Reluctantly. With lots of complaints."
Mingfeng turned. His face was carefully blank.
"Apparently I used that word." Wei Wuxian crossed the room and stopped at the window. The canal winked below, and beyond it, the city was waking up—a great, sprawling beast, stretching its legs. "Is that a problem?"
"No."
"Good." Wei Wuxian leaned against the windowsill. "Because I'm not taking it back."
Mingfeng finally moved. He crossed the room and stopped before Wei Wuxian. Reached out and touched his cheek, the touch gentle, and then let his hand drop to Wei Wuxian's chest, palm flat against his heart.
"There's something you should know," he said quietly. "About my father. About what he's planning."
Wei Wuxian's chest tightened. "What?"
"Not now. But soon." Mingfeng's eyes met his, steady. "You need to be prepared. What's coming. What I might have to do."
"What are you talking about?"
Mingfeng didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Wei Wuxian's forehead—soft and lingering, a benediction and a warning all at once.
"Just stay," he whispered. "Stay with me. And I'll tell you everything."
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. And nodded.