含光君

On the whole, Lan Wangji has found peace at the mansion. There are parts of his life that are missing; his disciples and their laughter, the waterfalls and natural beauty of the Cloud Recesses, the clarity of purpose of night-hunting. He worries for his brother and hopes that no one has wrested him too early from his seclusion. He dreads, a little, privately, the explanation he will need to give his uncle upon their return.

And yet: he does trust his students. They are capable and clever, even Lan Jingyi, although you wouldn't know it to read the boy's schoolwork. Wei Ying trusts Wen Qionglin, and Lan Wangji trusts Wei Ying. And yet: Wei Ying is here. Wei Ying is here, and there is nothing that could matter more than awakening to his bed-warm limbs and his hair spreading like spilled ink across Lan Wangji's chest where his head is pillowed.

Wei Ying is, and has been, buried in his talismans. Lan Wangji has fed him, brought him tea, and tempted him into bed once already today. Now he has deigned to give his husband space, and has found his way to the library. Improbably, there are some texts here that he recognizes, tomes of musical cultivation he was wholly certain were found only in the Cloud Recesses library.

As such, he can be found perusing that particular section. Little of this is new to him, but there's a kind of nostalgia to reading over the foundational texts of his own cultivation practice. It reminds him of home.