Morning arrived dressed in gold, the Cloud Recesses bathed in early light, lanterns swaying gently in the breeze like they, too, were stretching into the new day. The final day of preparation had come, and the entire sect buzzed like a hive of mildly anxious bees. Disciples darted between tasks, some carrying trays of sesame cakes, others chasing down errant rabbits that had escaped their decorative pens.

Wei Wuxian emerged from the Jingshi with a dumpling in one hand and a bamboo flute in the other. His robes were freshly cleaned (a miracle considering how much ink he’d spilled the night before), and his hair ribbon had actually been tied with some degree of effort.

“Lan Zhan!” he called, skipping down the steps. “Today is the day. Are you ready to be serenaded before a live audience of horrified juniors and scandalized uncles?”

Lan Wangji, standing beneath the main archway watching over the morning bustle, turned his head calmly. “They are prepared.”

“They were prepared,” Wei Wuxian corrected, “until I added backup vocals.”

Lan Wangji blinked.

From somewhere nearby, Lan Jingyi shouted, “We were bribed! He promised us extra sweet buns!”

“Jingyi!” Wei Wuxian groaned. “Spoilers!”

Lan Sizhui appeared with a soft chuckle, holding a red silk cloth over a small tray of incense sticks. “Senior Wei, the junior disciples are... very excited. Nervous, but excited.”

“They’re going to be magnificent,” Wei Wuxian said proudly. “This parade will be the stuff of legends. Generations of Lans will say, ‘Ah yes, the year we accidentally invented musical theater.’”

Lan Qiren strode past just then, muttering darkly under his breath about “unholy spectacle,” “bamboo flutes of doom,” and something suspiciously close to “disgraceful romantic ditties.”

“Good morning to you too, Uncle,” Wei Wuxian said brightly, waving.

The morning passed in a flurry of final adjustments. Wei Wuxian helped tie a hundred tiny silk bows onto the lantern strings—though most ended up slightly crooked. He also tried to “help” the kitchen staff but was politely but firmly exiled after setting a rice cake on fire. How, no one knew. Including him.

By early afternoon, the Cloud Recesses had transformed.

The stone paths had been lined with paper lanterns in the shapes of lotus blooms, cranes, and rabbits. Tall white banners fluttered from the rooftops, each painted with a poem submitted by the junior disciples. Some were actually good. Others, Wei Wuxian suspected, had been copied from old scrolls and modified to include the word "dumpling.”

A wide platform had been built beside the main courtyard pond—Wei Wuxian’s “stage.” He stood upon it now, adjusting the placement of a single flower vase for dramatic effect.

“It must sit just left of center. That way, when I hit the high note, the moonlight will catch the petals and—Lan Zhan, are you listening?”

Lan Wangji was beneath the platform, arranging a set of lanterns to float on the water. He didn’t look up, but said, “I am always listening.”

Wei Wuxian froze, blinking.

Lan Wangji looked up then, just briefly. “You are… difficult to ignore.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened, then closed again. His heart did a complicated little flip.

“Was that flirting again?” he finally managed, voice slightly too high.

Lan Wangji straightened. “Observation.”

Wei Wuxian practically fell off the platform from grinning. “Lan Zhan, stop. At this rate, I’ll have to write a whole second song.”

“Please don’t,” Lan Jingyi muttered from behind a bush, where he and a few juniors were hiding, ears perked like gossip-thirsty squirrels.

As twilight bled across the horizon, disciples lit the lanterns with long-handled torches. The effect was immediate and stunning—waves of soft golden light cascaded over the white stone, bathing everything in a dreamlike warmth. Lanterns bobbed gently on the pond, flickering like stars fallen to the earth.

The courtyard filled quickly—disciples, elders, guests from neighboring sects. Wei Wuxian stood at the edge of the stage, peeking from behind a silk curtain.

“Lan Zhan, there’s so many people. What if I mess up the lyrics? What if I trip? What if Lan Qiren actually faints this time?”

Lan Wangji, standing nearby with his guqin strapped across his back, reached over and gently adjusted Wei Wuxian’s forehead ribbon.

“You won’t.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed. “You’re really sure?”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Because you are Wei Ying.”

The words weren’t fancy, but Wei Wuxian felt them settle somewhere deep in his chest, warm and steady like a heartbeat. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the light.

The applause was polite—at first. Wei Wuxian gave an exaggerated bow, earning a few chuckles from the crowd. Then he raised his flute, nodded to the juniors waiting with their petal baskets, and began to play.

It was ridiculous. It was tender. It was so very Wei Wuxian.

“Oh Lan Zhan, with brows like rain,
Your glare is sharp, yet never plain.
You drink your tea, you scold, you sigh—
But still you let me steal your pie.”

Petals flew through the air.

The crowd blinked.

Someone giggled.

Lan Wangji, expression unreadable, stepped onto the stage behind him and began to pluck a soft counter melody on the guqin.

Wei Wuxian turned, surprised, but didn’t stop playing.

They played together, the flute and guqin weaving into something delicate and sweet, like moonlight on water. It wasn’t flashy, or perfect—but it was real. It was them.

Wei Wuxian sang the final line with quiet reverence.

“And though your words are few and shy,
Your heart speaks loud—when you smile at I.”

There was a pause.

Then the courtyard erupted into applause—genuine this time. The juniors cheered. Sizhui looked teary-eyed. Jingyi was yelling something about “emotional damage.” And somewhere near the back, Lan Qiren had indeed slumped sideways, fanned frantically by two disciples.

Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, flushed with pride and adrenaline.

“That was... that was actually kind of amazing.”

Lan Wangji nodded once. “You were… beautiful.”

Wei Wuxian blinked.

Then he burst out laughing. “Lan Zhan, that’s five times now. If you keep this up, I’ll faint next.”

“You should sit,” Lan Wangji said, guiding him gently off the stage.

They walked together, slowly, away from the crowd. Lanterns drifted above and below them, reflections dancing across the pond. Fireflies had begun to flicker between the trees.

Wei Wuxian stopped beneath a blooming plum tree. “I’ve never had a Spring Festival like this. Not even as a kid.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, quiet.

Wei Wuxian’s voice dropped. “Thank you. For letting me be part of it.”

Lan Wangji stepped closer, reached out, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Wei Wuxian’s ear.

“You are not part of it,” he said softly. “You are the reason it shines.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him.

Then—

“Lan Zhan, are you trying to kill me?”

Lan Wangji smiled.

That made six.

And this time, Wei Wuxian didn’t announce it. He simply stepped forward and kissed him.

The lanterns rose.

And above the Cloud Recesses, the stars blinked softly—perhaps in approval.