lightbearinglord | [ open post: Lan Wangji, training ]

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[ open post: Lan Wangji, training ]

Lan Wangji is upside-down.

This is not unusual for him, although he is more used to practicing this in the company of students, his brother, or his husband.¹ Recently, however, his mind has come up against more turmoil than he would prefer, and turmoil of a variety that is unusual for him. It can't go amiss to return himself to the basics of his training.

He is in a small enough room, largely bare aside from the stick of sandalwood incense² he has set burning on a side table. Its scent drifts into the hallway, and anyone who follows it to the source may see a white-clad cultivator standing on his hands.

Well: standing on his hand. Lan Wangji needs one only to keep himself aloft, his body straight as an arrow. His hair is pulled into a ponytail so that it may pool off to one side over his neck and onto the floor rather than spilling in all directions, the long ends of his forehead ribbon tucked into the same tie and falling in the same way. He is in trousers and an undershirt of a decent heft, in deference to the fact that he is arguably in public.³

With the hand that is not currently holding him up, Lan Wangji is holding an ink brush. He is copying, from memory, the lines of a sutra.

¹Wei Ying is not good at it. Particularly not in his second body.
²This may explain it to anyone who has been wondering why he always smells faintly of sandalwood himself.
³If he does this in their quarters, Wei Ying insists it must be done with nothing on his torso at all. Lan Wangji invariably becomes distracted. Now anyone else is welcome to distract him (in a different way, ideally).

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There's a moment's pause as Lan Wangji picks up his cup of tea, although it's not cool enough yet to drink. The smell of it is richer and grassier after steeping, and he breathes it in. "We spoke of waiting. I told him that it is possible to wait for someone who is already, in body, beside you."

Claudius follows Lan Wangji in picking up his tea, letting it warm his hands through the little cup without a handle. He finds he has to hold it closer to his face to drink, and that lets him better appreciate the scent of it, like the bouquet of a wine. He also picks up the topic with no need for prompting, as ready for gossip as tea. "Like his Aziraphale," Claudius says appreciatively. "Thou didst well to tell him so. Perhaps now that he and Aziraphale are side by side again, Crowley will have a better view of what he's waiting for ... but opposite as they are, I think they're equals in resisting change. Hast thou met Crowley's other half yet?"

"His celestial colleague," Lan Wangji says, quoting Claudius back to himself with a hint of amusement. "No." This blankly curious expression is an invitation to elaborate, in the event that Claudius has met Aziraphale himself.

Claudius likes little better than to talk about people he’s met, and the silent invitation makes him smile. Seldom has he felt so understood by a friend. “Aziraphale has a bookshop in Soho. All rare manuscripts, I think he said. Thou needst not know where Soho is, but imagine that -- imagine a man for whom it's a point of pride that he's had the same collection of old books growing older, and kept them in the same place for centuries. I'm sure the Cloud Recesses runs on men like that. And recall that man is an angel. I don't know how angels are in thy world, but I was raised to believe angels were messengers and instruments of God's will, that they had strange, awe-inspiring shapes, with many wings and eyes, blazing with holy fire. Aziraphale is a human-looking man with blond hair, and he dresses much like I do -- in suits, but lighter colors. He likes the same red wine that Crowley does, has a fondness for genteel entertainments, and is terribly easy to tease."

Edited 2023-11-02 14:51 (UTC)

This may come as no surprise, but Lan Wangji sincerely enjoys sitting in silence and listening as someone he cares for talks. He settles into his seat, holding his cup of slowly-cooling tea, and attends to this description with focus. The Cloud Recesses does indeed have quite a collection of rare texts, although it was diminished to some extent when the rampaging Wen clan burned the library to the ground.

Once Claudius is done, he remains silent for a measure of time and takes his first slow sip of tea. "As you said," he notes, "they have an interesting balance. Complementary."

Edited 2023-11-02 18:49 (UTC)

"Just so. Thou understandest me," Claudius says, smiling over the rim of his cup. "And they have a history. Crowley told me they circled each other for ages -- I'm sure real ages, rising and falling epochs -- before deciding they preferred each other's company to any of their respective sides. And this is a secret only known to myself and Crowley." There's no need to lean closer, in Lan Wangji's private rooms, but Claudius does lean a little.

"There was a book of magic in the library here that foretold the future. Whether or not it comes true may be up to the person who reads it ... but I think the futures concerned those closest to one's heart. For Crowley, it said that he'd live one day with Aziraphale in a cottage in South Downs. Again, thou needst not know where South Downs is -- neither do I, but I hear it's a bucolic place."

Again, Lan Wangji's eyebrows quirk the tiniest bit upward, this time with quiet interest rather than incredulity. He is not precisely in the habit of exchanging secrets. Most of his own are too closely guarded. Wei Ying does like to make the rounds, however, chatting with every Lan sect disciple and every townsperson in Gusu and Caiyi, and then bring endless tales of romance, drama, and petty squabbling back to Lan Wangji as a child with a prize.

Bucolic. Wei Ying had a dream, once, about the two of them sharing a house on a farm. Lan Wangji had been relegated to weaving.¹

Lan Wangji examines the surface of his tea and the leaves settling beneath. "In his first life," he says, "Wei Ying did not consider me in that way. He flirted with every girl and thought of no alternative." In fact, Wei Ying presumed they were rivals at best, enemies at worst. "One's heart may be closed not to another, but to possibilities."

¹"It's because you like things that are boring, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying had said later, upon their waking, with such utter affection in his voice that Lan Wangji could not protest.

"Thou hast the right of it," Claudius says with a laugh, imagining a young Wei Wuxian with another face, flitting and flirting with women while Lan Wangji watched and quietly simmered. "Whenever I tease the subject with Crowley, I'm left wondering -- and this may not surprise thee -- whether I've been too subtle. I'm almost afraid to startle him, like a bird that's lighted somewhere it thought was a branch. But the last time the three of us drank together, Crowley made a passionate declaration of everlasting friendship, using a metaphor with a bird and a mountain -- and that was progress. Every other time he simply says they work together, or not even work together, across from each other. I think they should dance together. Music, as thou know'st, is the food of love, and dance one of the first courses to enjoy it in."

Perhaps he should make this clear to Claudius, as he has not yet said it to him in plain words. Looking briefly but distinctly embarrassed, Lan Wangji says, "When alcohol affects me in that way, my memory fails me." It is actually a wonder that he and Crowley found their way to the relevant subject despite that fact.

"Crowley repeated the meaning of that story to me," he continues, not eager to linger on the topic of his own weaknesses. In fact, he takes another fortifying sip of tea. "He remembered that I spoke of Wei Ying." Again, Lan Wangji reflects, it's truly unbelievable that they muddled their way into a sincere conversation. He gives himself another pause, and then looks at Claudius with something knowing, and a little bit fond, in his otherwise placid expression. "You are making plans."

Edited 2023-11-03 14:17 (UTC)

Claudius gives only the briefest, barest nod of acknowledgement, so that Lan Wangji sharing his weakness won't feel like a waste, but neither will either of them dwell on it. It does entertain him -- Lan Wangji's reactions to alcohol may be remarkable, but Crowley's memory can be a muddle at the best of times. He raised the story again, independently? That image must have been pecking away somewhere in Crowley's mind.

Claudius sips his own tea and considers. "I started planning the same day we'd read that magic book. I didn't know what obstacles were ahead of me, of course -- I still thought getting Aziraphale here would the biggest one. But I find I'm undaunted." He smiles. "Crowley was my first man here I could consider a confidante. He's made me realize a great many things about myself, directly and indirectly ... and in a way, I wouldn't have the relationship I do with Galahad, if it weren't for Crowley. I'd like to return the favor."

Lan Wangji listens to this politely, lightly baffled behind that exterior. Crowley? A confidante? It's only very recently that the two of them have managed to string together a single intelligible interaction, and not without considerable effort.

Well, he knows that Claudius likes stories. When it comes to Crowley, he's no shortage of those. "On our first meeting, I presumed him possessed by an evil spirit. I attempted to cleanse him with my qin."

Claudius loves a story, eyebrows raised with shocked delight. "Thou didst?" He laughs, and waves an idle hand at his own question. "Why wouldst thou not? He's something like an evil spirit, even if he's not possessed by one. And how did he take it?"

"You and I are not speaking the same language." This seems obvious enough, although Lan Wangji has yet to discuss it with anyone here. He can remember easily his initial surprise at the foreign styles of dress, the foreign faces, he encountered when he arrived. "Some force here has granted us mutual intelligibility." He delivers this sentence with the barest hint of warmth, as he's grateful for that fact.

Now, how to explain this? "The demon Crowley greeted me with the speech of an uneducated child or a madman. After I played Cleansing, that largely resolved." Yet another pause. "There was no other effect."

Claudius envisions the scenario as best he can, trying to guess what his friend Crowley was thinking — it’s one of his favorites games to play, the game of guessing intent. For his time limit, he allows himself a sip of tea, and the length it takes to raise it to his mouth and set it back down on the table.

“How utterly incomprehensible,” he laughs. “What could he have been playing at?”

The corner of Lan Wangji's mouth twitches in fleeting mirrored amusement. "I couldn't say," he admits. "He has not spoken in that way again." Reflecting on the entirety of his bizarre acquaintanceship with Crowley is, frankly, alarmingly confusing. His eyes narrow briefly as he recalls one of their stranger exchanges¹. "Once I discovered his true nature, I took to him with Bichen in hand. I can't say why, but he believed that I was angry because of Luo Binghe's interest in men." This particular story beggars belief, which, of course, is why he is sharing it, to better entertain Claudius.

¹Unlike Crowley, unless he has been drinking, his memory is perfect. He can recall everything they have said to one another easily. The trouble is understanding it.

“Thou?” Claudius laughs even louder and longer at that — Lan Wangji can well understand why. “Of all men? I told him thou hadst a husband, a very charming one. But I also told him the name of every person in the mansion, back when I thought Luo Binghe could be perfectly biddable when coaxed. How did Luo Binghe’s name even arise?”

The question requires Lan Wangji to, once again, relive that conversation. As he does so, he finishes the contents of his cup of tea, then refills it, as well as refilling Claudius' back to its original level.

"Something to do with Peak Lord Shen," is the best he can offer, with a dip into frostiness on the deployment of Shen Qingqiu's title.

"Ah, the mercurial Peak Lord. Their names do go together, don't they? I tried to find out more of their story, but the truth is Peak Lord Shen is in such a blind, self-denying love he passes that love on to other men, and assumes everyone looks on Luo Binghe with the same indulgent eye." Claudius shakes his head -- at least Shen Qingqiu seemed to have made some progress in admitting his attraction, and to other men besides Luo Binghe. "They deserve each other, I think. Was this conversation with Crowley before or after the business with the demon's blood¹?"

¹ That delicate business where you need to drink one demon's blood to fight another demon's blood you drank previously.

"Before." Lan Wangji's expression has shifted into something flat and icy at Claudius' description of Shen Qingqiu's feelings for Luo Binghe, cold enough that Claudius may understand what he meant the other day when he alluded to the cultivation world seeing him as distant and intimidating. "Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu deserve one another," he agrees, subtly but obviously contemptuous.

"Thou hast such a way with words, even mirrored ones. I said it, and still I don't believe I could've said it better myself." Claudius smirks in appreciation -- there's something so artful and enjoyable about Lan Wangji's iciness. "But no, it makes sense it would have been before, since you knew Crowley was the demon I meant when I spoke of him. I assume that's the nature you discovered? After he spoke to you in tongues and you seemed to exorcise the habit out of him?" Which Claudius has to shake his head at, lifting his refilled tea.

Lan Wangji lets some of the frigidity drain back out of him in favor of a certain resigned amusement. "Mn. My sect has four thousand rules." He says this neutrally, easily; those rules are such a fact of his life that he could recite all four thousand without a moment's hesitation. "One of those contains a directive to banish demons."

Obviously, he did not banish Crowley. He allows this fact to speak for itself.

Claudius laughs, and though it's hardly traditional to toast with tea, he does so now. "And I've witnessed the exemplary and diligent disciple you once were, not to mention the fine cultivator you've become." The formality is teasing, in a way it wouldn't have been before. Lan Wangji may or may not catch the nuances, but the intent is there. "At least thou gav'st him leave to explain himself, however inexplicably. I'm quite grateful he's here."

There are two ways that Lan Wangji could take this discussion. He could explain that he is, he believes, a fine cultivator to the best of his abilities. He knows every rule inscribed into the Cloud Recesses Wall of Discipline, and he understands the purpose of that wall. The rules are not to govern every breath, every movement. They are an invocation to the understanding that asceticism and dedication can shape a junior disciple into an instrument of justice.

He could also explain that he is married to the Yiling Patriarch and that if a demon is kind and causing no harm, Lan Wangji has no inclination to harm him in turn.

Rather than saying any of that, he lifts his own cup of tea in answer to Claudius' toast and takes a tidy sip. He has at least one more story to share. "Recently," Lan Wangji says, "Crowley believed Wei Ying and I had divorced. He offered condolences." The minute twitch to his mouth betrays how funny he finds this, but also how improbably endeared he is by a demon who bothers to offer words of sympathy for the dissolution of a human marriage.

"Crowley," Claudius exclaims with shock and delight and all the same improbable fondness. "Thou art a trove of stories for him, Lan Wangji. Thou see'st why I made him my confidante. He has a mind unlike anyone else's. I've sometimes had to correct his misapprehensions," which makes Claudius feel useful, "but he's also had to correct one or two of mine¹. Even when he has no counsel for me -- and he rarely does, he's a demon who doesn't tempt so much as encourage mortals on whatever path they're keenest to take -- he has a perspective I haven't. And his encouragement's always sorely needed, feelingly given. He has a compassionate nature, which it flusters him to hear." Smirking, he says, "But really. Armageddon would come again before you and Master Wei Wuxian divorced. I haven't the slightest how he got there."

It doesn't need saying, perhaps, but Claudius also values Lan Wangji for his perspective. His perspective on another friend is a double gift, and a deeply amusing one.

¹ Damien, obviously, the 'or two' was King Hamlet being in the mansion, which is a misapprehension Crowley influenced.

Lan Wangji listens quietly and fondly to this recitation of Crowley's attributes. He drinks his tea, thinking on how perceptions of another's nature may shift over time. He never feared Crowley, particularly, but he also never anticipated tolerating him, even occasionally enjoying him, to such a degree.

He does actually have some idea of Crowley's logic on this false assumption specifically. "He encountered me at fifteen," he admits, faintly rueful about the memory. "When he spoke Wei Ying's name, I was... agitated." The conclusion Crowley drew is evident, although Lan Wangji is unsure how it was not obvious that he was not his usual self at the time.

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