Elegant Flirtation

Later, when Wei Wuxian thought it over, he figured the bad blood between him and Lan Wangji could probably be traced right back to the three months when he was fifteen, when he and Jiang Cheng went to attend lectures at Gusu Lan.

The Gusu Lan Clan had a venerable, highly respected elder named Lan Qiren, who was renowned throughout the great clans for three particular traits: he was pedantic, stubborn, and a strict teacher who produced outstanding pupils. The first two made many keep a respectful distance, even secretly loathe him, but the last drove them to rack their brains trying to send their children to be educated under him. Under his hand, quite a number of fine Lan disciples had been shaped. Any child schooled in his hall for a year or two, no matter how utterly useless when they entered, usually came out at least presentable in manner, so vastly improved in bearing and etiquette that many parents, fetching their sons home, were so moved they wept old tears.

To this, Wei Wuxian only said: “Aren’t I already presentable enough?”

Jiang Cheng, far more far-sighted, declared: “You will go down as the shame of his entire teaching career.”

That year, aside from the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, young masters from quite a few other families came as well, all sent by parents who had heard of the master’s reputation and sought his tutelage. These young masters were all around fifteen or sixteen. The great clans kept frequent contact, so even if they were not close, their faces were at least familiar. Everyone knew that although Wei Wuxian did not bear the surname Jiang, he was the son of an old friend of Yunmeng Jiang Clan’s master Jiang Fengmian and also the head disciple, treated as this master’s own. And as youths seldom cared about birth or bloodline the way their elders did, they quickly became thick as thieves, calling each other “gege” and “didi” all around after just a few words. Someone asked: “Your Lotus Pier in Yunmeng is a lot more fun than here, isn’t it?”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Whether it’s fun or not depends on how you play. We’ve definitely got fewer rules, and no one makes you get up this early.”

In the Gusu Lan Clan, they rose at the mao hour and retired at the hai hour, with no delay permitted. Another asked: “What time do you people get up? And what do you do every day?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Him? He rises at the si hour and sleeps at the chou hour. Once he’s up, he doesn’t train with the sword or meditate—he goes boating, splashes around, picks lotus pods, and hunts pheasants.”

Wei Wuxian said, “No matter how many pheasants I bag, I still rank first.”

One boy cried, “I’m going to Yunmeng to study next year! Nobody try to stop me!”

A douse of cold water followed: “Nobody will stop you. Your big brother will just break your legs, that’s all.”

That boy deflated immediately. This was the second young master of the Qinghe Nie Sect, Nie Huaisang. His older brother Nie Mingjue was known for his swift, decisive manner and commanded authority among the hundred clans. Although the two brothers were not born of the same mother, their bond was deep. Nie Mingjue supervised his younger brother with extreme strictness and was especially concerned with his studies. Thus, though Nie Huaisang respected his brother deeply, he feared nothing more than Nie Mingjue bringing up his schoolwork.

Wei Wuxian said, “Actually, Gusu is pretty fun, too.”

Nie Huaisang said, “Brother Wei, take my heartfelt advice: the Cloud Recesses is nothing like Lotus Pier. Now that you’ve come to Gusu, remember that there’s one person you must never provoke.”

Wei Wuxian asked, “Who? Lan Qiren?”

Nie Huaisang said, “Not that old man. The one you need to be careful of is that prized student of his, called Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian said, “The Lan Zhan of the Twin Jades of Lan? Lan Wangji?”

The two sons of the current Gusu Lan Clan master, Lan Huan and Lan Zhan, had long been famed as the Twin Jades of Lan. From the age of fourteen, they were held up by elders of every clan as models to compare against their own children, and among the younger generation they outshone everyone so thoroughly that it was impossible not to have heard their names. Nie Huaisang said, “Which other Lan Zhan? That’s exactly who. Gods, he’s the same age as us, but he hasn’t a shred of youthful liveliness. Rigid and strict—more so, if anything, than his uncle.”

Wei Wuxian gave an “oh” and asked, “Is he the one who’s quite good-looking?”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “In the Gusu Lan Clan, who’s ugly? They won’t even take disciples with irregular features. Go on, find me one who’s plain.”

Wei Wuxian stressed: “Exceptionally good-looking.” He gestured. “All in white, a forehead ribbon, a silver sword on his back. Pretty, but with a stiff face, like he’s dressed for mourning.”

“…” Nie Huaisang confirmed: “That’s him!” He paused, then added, “But he’s been in seclusion lately, and you only arrived yesterday—when did you see him?”

“Last night.”

“Last… last night?!” Jiang Cheng was flabbergasted. “The Cloud Recesses has a curfew—where did you see him? How come I didn’t know?”

Wei Wuxian pointed: “Over there.”

He was pointing at a high stretch of wall.

Everyone was speechless. Jiang Cheng, whose head was already throbbing, ground his teeth. “You just got here and you’re already getting me into trouble! What happened?”

Wei Wuxian beamed. “It wasn’t anything, really. When we were on our way here, we passed that tavern that sells ‘Emperor’s Smile.’ I tossed and turned all last night, couldn’t bear it, so I slipped down to town and brought back two jars. You can’t get this in Yunmeng, you know.”

Jiang Cheng: “And where’s the wine now?”

Wei Wuxian: “I’d just climbed over the wall, one foot not even in yet, and he caught me.”

A boy said, “Brother Wei, you really have some luck. He’d probably just come out of seclusion to do night patrol, and you got caught red-handed.”

Jiang Cheng said, “Those who return after the mao hour aren’t allowed inside. How did he let you in?”

Wei Wuxian spread his hands. “So he didn’t let me in. He insisted I take back the leg I’d already stepped inside. Tell me—how do you take that back? Then, light as anything, he went straight up onto the wall and asked me what I was holding.”

Jiang Cheng, already nursing a headache and a bad feeling, said, “What did you say?”

Wei Wuxian: “‘Emperor’s Smile! I’ll share a jar with you—just pretend you didn’t see me, alright?’”

Jiang Cheng sighed. “…Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. One offense, doubled.”

Wei Wuxian said, “That’s exactly what he told me. So I asked: ‘Why don’t you tell me, in your clan, what isn’t forbidden?’ He seemed a little angry and told me to go read the Wall of Discipline in front of the mountain. Honestly, over three thousand rules, and in seal script—who’d ever read them? Did you? Did you? I sure didn’t. What’s there to get angry about?”

“Exactly!” The group felt an immense, sympathetic resonance, and all launched into complaints about the Cloud Recesses’ bewildering, antiquated regulations, lamenting that they hadn’t met sooner. “Which clan has three thousand-plus rules without a single repeat? ‘No killing within the grounds, no private dueling, no licentiousness, no night-wandering, no noise, no running’—fine, those are understandable. But then there’s ‘no laughing without cause, no sitting improperly, no more than three bowls of rice’…” Wei Wuxian cut in, alarmed: “What’s that—private dueling is forbidden, too?”

Jiang Cheng: “…Forbidden. Don’t tell me you actually fought him.”

Wei Wuxian: “We fought. And knocked over a jar of Emperor’s Smile.”

A chorus of thigh-slapping and wails of “What a waste!” erupted at once.

Since the situation could not possibly be any worse, Jiang Cheng’s focus shifted: “You brought two jars—where’s the other one?”

“Drank it.”

Jiang Cheng: “Where did you drink it?”

“Right in front of him. I said: ‘Alright, drinking is forbidden inside the Cloud Recesses, so I won’t go in. But if I stand on the wall and drink, that’s not breaking the rule, is it?’ And I drained it all, right before his eyes.”

“…And then?”

“And then we fought.”

“Brother Wei.” Nie Huaisang was stunned. “You are truly outrageous.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “Lan Zhan’s got good moves.”

“You’re dead, Brother Wei! Lan Zhan has never suffered a loss like this—he’s bound to fix his eyes on you. Be careful! Even though Lan Zhan doesn’t attend lectures with us, he’s the one who metes out punishment in the Lan clan!”

Utterly unafraid, Wei Wuxian waved a hand. “What’s to fear? Isn’t it said that Lan Zhan’s been a prodigy since he was small? So precocious—he must have long since mastered everything his uncle could teach, and spends all day in seclusion training. How would he ever have time to keep an eye on me? I…”

Before he could finish, the group rounded a lattice window wall and saw, seated rigidly upright inside the Orchid Room, a young man in white, his long hair bound up with a forehead ribbon, his entire presence shrouded in frost, sweeping an icy glance over them.

A dozen mouths were instantly stilled as though struck by a Silencing Spell. They filed into the Orchid Room without a word, silently picked their seats, and silently left the whole ring of desks around Lan Wangji perfectly empty.

Jiang Cheng clapped Wei Wuxian on the shoulder and murmured, “He’s got his eye on you. May fortune favour you.”

Wei Wuxian turned his head and caught just the line of Lan Wangji’s profile—long lashes, remarkably fine and elegant, and a bearing absolutely upright, gaze level ahead. He was about to try to strike up a conversation when Lan Qiren strode into the Orchid Room.

Lan Qiren was tall and lean, his back ramrod straight. Although he sported a long black goatee, he was by no means old, and, following the Gusu Lan tradition of producing handsome men down every generation, certainly not ugly either. Pity that his whole being was so steeped in pedantry and rigidity that calling him “old man” felt entirely fitting. He entered carrying a scroll, unrolled it so that it ran clear across the floor, and, using only that scroll, launched into a lecture on the Lan clan rules. Every youth in the room turned a shade of green. Bored out of his mind, Wei Wuxian let his gaze drift, and it landed on Lan Wangji’s profile beside him. Seeing that the other’s expression was one of unmistakable, unfeigned focus and gravity, he was inwardly shaken: “Even this boring drivel, and he can listen with such serious attention!”

All of a sudden, Lan Qiren at the front tossed his scroll aside with a cold laugh. “Carved onto the cliff walls, yet no one reads them. That is why I have been reciting them, rule by rule, to see who will still claim ignorance as an excuse when they break them. Since, even so, certain people’s minds are elsewhere—very well, I shall teach something else.”

Though this could have applied to anyone in the Orchid Room, Wei Wuxian had a feeling it was a warning aimed straight at him. And sure enough, Lan Qiren said: “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian answered, “Here.”

“I ask you: are yao, mo, gui, and guai one and the same thing?”

Wei Wuxian smiled. “No.”

“Why are they not the same? And how does one distinguish them?”

“Yao come from living things that are not human; mo come from living humans; gui come from the dead; and guai come from dead things that are not human.”

“‘Yao’ and ‘guai’ are especially easy to confuse. Give an example to distinguish them.”

“Easily said.” Wei Wuxian pointed at the lush green trees outside the Orchid Room. “Take a living tree, for example. Over a hundred years it absorbs the scent of books and learning, cultivates into a spirit, develops consciousness, and causes mischief—that is a yao. If I take an axe, cut it down at the waist so nothing’s left but a dead stump, and that then cultivates into a spirit—that is a guai.”

“What trade did the ancestors of the Qinghe Nie Sect ply?”

“Butchers.”

“The Lanling Jin Clan’s emblem is a white peony. What grade of white peony is it?”

“Sparks Amidst Snow.”

“Who was the first person to elevate clan rule over sect rule in the cultivation world?”

“The ancestor of the Qishan Wen Clan, Wen Mao.”

He answered every question in a flowing stream, while everyone else present felt their hearts rise and fall as they listened. Half-hoping, half-praying, they desperately willed him not to stumble—please, let him keep answering, and not give Lan Qiren any excuse to call on someone else. But Lan Qiren went on: “As a disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, you ought to know these things so well you can recite them backwards; answering correctly is nothing to make a fuss about. I’ll ask you another: there is an executioner, with parents, a wife, and children all alive, who in life beheaded over a hundred men. He dies a violent death in the marketplace, his body exposed for seven days, his resentment festering and condensing, and he begins to cause calamities. What should be done?”

This time, Wei Wuxian did not answer right away. Everyone assumed he was stumped and began to fidget. Lan Qiren barked, “What are you looking at him for? Think for yourselves. No opening books!”

Everyone hastily snatched their hands back from the books they had been preparing to riffle through, and they all shared the same difficulty: died violently in the marketplace, body exposed for seven days — this was undeniably a great Wrathful Ghost, a great Fierce Corpse, extremely hard to deal with, and they prayed that old man Lan would not choose any one of them to answer. Seeing Wei Wuxian still silent after a long while, merely looking thoughtful, Lan Qiren said, ‘Lan Wangji, tell him how it is.’