The Silence And The Song

The soft Edge Of Morning

Chapter 2: The Soft Edge of Morning

The morning bell for the Lan clan’s mandated rising hour was still thirty minutes away, yet Lan Wangji was already fully dressed, his robes immaculate, his hair perfectly secured by the white jade guan. He was sitting at his desk, but for once, he held no brush or scripture. His gaze was fixed on the sleeping form curled under the thick white blankets.

Wei Wuxian was a delightful disaster in sleep—a sprawl of limbs, his breath soft and even, one arm flung carelessly across the pillow Lan Wangji had abandoned. The stillness of the Jingshi was profound, broken only by the chirping of crickets outside and the quiet, steady beat of Lan Wangji’s own heart.

He knew he should be in the main hall for morning assembly, practicing his discipline, clearing the lingering memory of the previous night’s surrender. But his feet were rooted here. He realized, with a shocking clarity, that he simply did not want to leave.

He watched as Wei Wuxian stirred, burying his face deeper into the pillow, mumbling a soft complaint about the cold.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmured, his voice gentle but firm enough to cut through the heavy sleep. “The hour approaches.”

Wei Wuxian responded with a deliberate, exaggerated groan. He slowly unfolded, pushing the covers down to his waist, stretching languidly like a spoiled cat. His gaze, when it found Lan Wangji, was heavy with sleep, and utterly content.

“Lan Zhaaann,” he whined, the sound drawn out into a childish plea. “Don’t be so cruel. The sun isn’t even truly up yet. Why rush to face all those rules when this place is so much... softer?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered down to the untouched corner of the mattress next to him, then back up to Lan Wangji’s face, a lazy, sensual challenge in his gaze.

Lan Wangji felt a painful tightness in his chest. Softer. The word itself, spoken by Wei Wuxian, felt like a direct assault on the stone pillars of his discipline. He cleared his throat.

“Duty must be fulfilled,” Lan Wangji replied, his voice a shade more distant than he intended.

“Duty can wait five minutes,” Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice dangerously low. He sat up, pushing his messy, long black hair away from his face. “Last night, you taught me that some moments are more important than any written rule.”

He reached out a single hand and held it open, palm facing up, toward the sitting Lan Wangji.

It was an impossible request. If anyone saw, the shame would be immense. But if Lan Wangji refused, the silence and the coldness would return, erasing the precious, messy truth they had shared.

Lan Wangji looked at the outstretched hand, then at the bright, expectant face of his husband. He thought of the thousands of rules he obeyed, and then of the one, sacred commitment he had made beneath the stars: marriage.

Slowly, carefully, Lan Wangji rose from the chair. He crossed the short distance, and instead of taking the offered hand, he sat on the edge of the bed next to Wei Wuxian. The fabric of his pristine outer robe instantly rumpled. It was a tiny, monumental failure of form, and for the first time, Lan Wangji felt joy in the breaking.

Wei Wuxian immediately closed the distance, not demanding more, but simply resting his head against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, a profound gesture of possession and comfort.

“See?” Wei Wuxian sighed, entirely pleased. “It's much better this way. For a few moments, the Jingshi belongs to the two of us, not to the Lan clan. We can worry about bowing and silence after the sun fully rises.”

Lan Wangji could feel the heat of Wei Wuxian’s breath against his collarbone, the heavy, contented weight of his body. He raised his hand and hesitantly, tenderly, ran his fingers through the soft, dishevelled hair.

He did not speak. He did not need to. In that quiet, shared space, the rigid Second Jade of Lan was learning that true strength lay not in perfect adherence to old rules, but in the brave creation of new, private truths.

He closed his eyes, and for a silent minute, he let the discipline of the world dissolve into the soft, warm edge of the morning.