By sunrise, Wei Wuxian had developed a new theory: Lan Wangji wasn’t just unaffected—he was actively taunting them.

“Think about it,” he whispered to Wen Ning as they hid behind a garden wall, spying on Lan Wangji trimming bonsai trees with unnecessary elegance. “He walks around, looking like that, saying nothing, with that noble silence and emotional constipation—and still manages to turn fully trained cultivators into love-drunk teenagers.”

Wen Ning blinked. “...I thought you were one of them.”

“I am, but I’m also trying to expose the truth.” He turned, deadly serious. “Lan Zhan knows. He’s always known. And he’s letting this chaos unfold because he thinks it’s hilarious.”

Wen Ning tilted his head. “That sounds right.”

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “Which means we need to raise the stakes.”

“More than cake? And the rain confession? And—what did you call it—Operation Fake Dating Disaster?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said grimly. “It’s time for the Big One.”

“…Death?”

“No! A Lan Recesses–themed accidental marriage ritual! The most sacred of all rom-com traps!”

The plan, on paper, was brilliant.

Step 1: Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji would be forced into a secluded ritual site together due to “unforeseen spiritual interference” (read: Jingyi and Sizhui dragging Lan Wangji off while throwing smoke bombs).

Step 2: Wei Wuxian would feign injury—again—and request spiritual assistance in the form of shared qi through hand-holding and longing eye contact.

Step 3: A conveniently placed elder would misinterpret the scene as a cultivation bond sealing ritual, thus triggering a flurry of gossip and a marriage-by-accident situation.

Step 4: Lan Wangji would be so touched he’d finally kiss him.

What actually happened:

Lan Wangji looked at the smoke bomb.

Then looked directly at Sizhui holding the match.

“Return it,” he said calmly.

Sizhui wilted. “Yes, Hanguang-jun.”

Wei Wuxian, already lying dramatically on the ritual mat holding his side like he was mid-tragic opera, opened one eye. “No one commits to the bit anymore.”

“You’re bleeding jam,” Lan Wangji observed, pointing to the sticky smear across Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“Cherry,” Wei Wuxian said proudly. “It symbolizes the fragility of mortal life.”

Lan Wangji sat beside him.

“Do you want the jam?”

“I do not.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said softly, “this was supposed to be the moment where you cradle me in your arms, overcome with the fear of losing me.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“I mean, a little emotional concern wouldn’t kill you.”

Lan Wangji reached out—and gently dabbed a cloth at his jam wound.

Wei Wuxian beamed. “See? Romance.”

From behind a rock, Nie Huaisang dropped his fan in horror. “They’re bonding! We’re losing ground!”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “Good. Maybe now the rest of you will shut up and stop flooding the Cloud Recesses with scented letters and emotional declarations like this is some kind of feelings retreat.”

“You sent poetry,” Su She hissed.

“I WAS DRUNK.”

Meanwhile, Lan Qiren had gone into self-imposed exile.

“I refuse to be part of this,” he muttered from inside a sealed meditation chamber. “This is not what the Lan sect is about. Our rules do not accommodate… choreographed serenades and love triangles.”

A muffled voice came through the door: “It’s a pentagon now, actually.”

Lan Qiren screamed into his sleeve.

Desperate to reclaim momentum, Nie Huaisang deployed his secret weapon: the Confession Scroll of Sizhui.

It was 22 pages long, scented with sandalwood, and illustrated with watercolors of Lan Wangji doing various noble things like saving a puppy from a demon, planting a tree, and listening to a music recital without blinking for 40 minutes.

It was presented during breakfast. Along with fruit.

Wei Wuxian looked at the scroll, then at Sizhui, who was covering his face.

“You wrote this?” he asked.

“No!” Sizhui yelped. “Huaisang-ge stole it from my diary!”

“You had a diary confession scroll?!”

“It was private!”

Lan Wangji, who had been quietly drinking tea, looked up and said, “I liked the part about the puppy.”

Sizhui burst into flames.

Wei Wuxian stood. “Right. That’s it. We’re done playing nice.”

Nie Huaisang arched a brow. “You were playing nice?”

“Time for the final, ultimate rom-com tactic,” Wei Wuxian declared, eyes blazing. “The dramatic goodbye.”

It began with a letter.

Lan Wangji found it folded neatly on his zither, weighed down by a lotus petal.

Dear Lan Zhan,

I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried everything—fake amnesia, cake-based flirtation, emotional performance art. I even fell into a pond.

You win.

I’m leaving.

Forever.

Unless you stop me within the next 48 hours.

Love, Wei Wuxian

Lan Wangji read the note in silence.

Folded it.

Then went about his morning like normal.

Wei Wuxian, hiding in the rafters with Wen Ning, nearly exploded.

“Why isn’t he coming after me?!”

“You gave him 48 hours,” Wen Ning said helpfully.

“It’s been twenty minutes! That’s practically a lifetime in goodbye hours!”

Wen Ning tilted his head. “Are you sure he doesn’t have a plan?”

“No one plans more than me,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

At hour 30, Wei Wuxian set up camp on a scenic hill outside Gusu, complete with tragic silhouette poses and soft flute solos.

At hour 38, Nie Huaisang sent a messenger pigeon with a haiku.

He walks alone now
Lotus fallen on the breeze
Your thirst is showing.

At hour 46, Su She arrived uninvited with a picnic basket.

“I thought you might need a companion in your heartbreak.”

“I’m not heartbroken. I’m being strategically tragic.”

“Do you want cheese?”

Wei Wuxian took the cheese.

Finally, as the sun dipped behind the mountains at hour 47:59, Wei Wuxian stood up, robe billowing, arms outstretched.

“This is it! The final moment! If he doesn’t come now, I’m truly gone!”

Su She sniffled. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Correct,” Wei Wuxian said proudly.

And then—

Lan Wangji arrived.

On horseback.

Holding two rabbits.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait—two?”

“One is yours,” Lan Wangji said.

“Are you… giving me a rabbit as a romantic gesture?”

“I believed that was the custom.”

Wei Wuxian stared.

Then laughed.

“You really have been watching this whole time, haven’t you? You knew every step of my plan and just let it happen.”

Lan Wangji dismounted, set the rabbit gently in Wei Wuxian’s hands, and said softly, “You looked happy.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart exploded into approximately one thousand butterflies.

“I hate how romantic you are.”

“I know.”

He took Lan Wangji’s hand, sighing dramatically. “Fine. You win. I’ll stop throwing myself into fountains.”

“Appreciated.”

They walked down the hill, rabbits in hand.

Behind them, Su She collapsed again.

Nie Huaisang fanned himself into unconsciousness.

Jiang Cheng punched a tree.

But somewhere deep in the recesses of the forest, a plan was forming. A final strategy. Because though Wei Wuxian had claimed the prize, the war for Lan Wangji’s affection was far from over.

Nie Huaisang narrowed his eyes.

“We’ll see who has the last laugh,” he whispered. “The next phase is about to begin.”