The final morning dawned with an almost mocking cheerfulness. The air was crisp, the sun dazzling, the mountains glowing in a way that suggested divine blessing, and yet the camp itself was drowning in tension. Everyone knew what was coming. It was written on the schedule like an execution notice: Final Challenge – Karaoke.

Wei Wuxian leapt out of his tent like a man reborn. “Lan Zhan! Jiang Cheng! Jin Ling! Wake up! Today’s the day! Voices will soar, tears will flow, squirrels will probably faint—it’s destiny!”

Jiang Cheng groaned from inside his tent. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make sure you’re the one fainting.”

“You’re just nervous,” Wei Wuxian said, grinning as he tugged open Jiang Cheng’s tent flap without permission. “But don’t worry, I’ll coach you. You’ve got a surprisingly decent voice if you don’t yell all the time.”

“I do not sing,” Jiang Cheng said flatly, sitting up and glaring. “This is stupid. Cultivators don’t do karaoke.”

Wei Wuxian gasped dramatically. “How dare you! Karaoke is the truest expression of the soul. What is cultivation but reaching for harmony? What is harmony but music? And what is music but karaoke with extra steps?”

Jiang Cheng stared. “You’re insane.”

Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, who had just emerged, immaculate as always. “Lan Zhan! Back me up. Karaoke is cultivation, right?”

Lan Wangji paused. “…Mn.”

“See!” Wei Wuxian crowed. “Lan Zhan agrees. Therefore, it is law.”

Jin Ling trudged over, rubbing his eyes. “If you make me sing, I’ll disown myself.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Wei Wuxian said, slinging an arm around him. “Think of it as training. A cultivator must project their voice with confidence! And if you can belt out a tragic love ballad in front of your enemies, you can handle anything.”

Lan Qiren arrived with the dreaded clipboard, his expression carved from stone. “Final challenge begins at dusk. Prepare yourselves.”

Wei Wuxian saluted cheerfully. “Yes, sir! Prepare my vocal cords, my dramatic poses, my interpretive dance—”

“No dancing,” Lan Qiren barked.

“Too late, I already choreographed it!”

By noon, the camp was buzzing with rehearsals.

Wei Wuxian was practicing loudly, his flute discarded in favor of exaggerated hand gestures. He belted out snippets of nonsense lyrics to test his range, making up lines like, “Lan Zhan is handsome, Jiang Cheng is cranky, Jin Ling has soup trauma—”

“STOP,” Jiang Cheng yelled, throwing a shoe at him.

Wei Wuxian caught it, twirled, and used it as a mock microphone. “Wow, thank you for the prop!”

Across the field, Jin Ling was pacing anxiously. He muttered to himself, trying to decide whether to sing something solemn or to just fake a sore throat. Every time he opened his mouth, Wei Wuxian shouted encouragement from across the camp: “Project, A-Ling! Louder! Pretend you’re yelling at your uncle, you’re good at that!”

Jin Ling screamed in frustration.

Lan Wangji, meanwhile, sat in serene silence, polishing his guqin. He hadn’t rehearsed a single note. Wei Wuxian kept pestering him: “Lan Zhan, don’t you want to warm up? La la laaaa, like that? Or should we practice harmonizing? I can be the high part!”

“No,” Lan Wangji said.

“You’re so mysterious,” Wei Wuxian sighed happily. “I bet when you sing, everyone will faint. The squirrels, the disciples, even Uncle Lan. Especially Uncle Lan.”

Lan Qiren, overhearing, snapped, “I will not faint!”

The juniors weren’t so sure. Rumors spread quickly: What if Hanguang-jun has the voice of the Heavens? What if it breaks the barriers of the Cloud Recesses? What if it summons spirits?

By dusk, the makeshift stage had been prepared: a flat platform near the campfire, decorated with hastily strung lanterns and a banner that read in crooked brushstrokes: CULTIVATOR IDOL: FINALE!

Wei Wuxian had clearly painted it himself, as tiny doodles of rabbits, yams, and wine cups filled the edges.

Lan Qiren’s face was thunderous as he addressed the gathered crowd. “Each participant will perform one song. Judges will evaluate based on effort, harmony, and… presentation.” His eye twitched. “Begin.”

Jiang Cheng was shoved forward first.

“I’m not doing this,” he said immediately.

“You have to!” Wei Wuxian called cheerfully. “Uncle Lan said so. Don’t dishonor the Jiang Sect by chickening out!”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng snapped.

With visible suffering, he picked up the provided microphone—a strange artifact delivered by the so-called production crew that somehow carried voices across the entire meadow. He cleared his throat, glared at the audience, and began to sing.

It was… surprisingly good. His voice was low, rough, but steady, carrying a kind of simmering passion he would never admit to in speech. The juniors blinked, taken aback. Jin Ling’s jaw dropped. Wei Wuxian clasped his hands to his chest.

“My brother!” Wei Wuxian shouted when Jiang Cheng finished. “So full of hidden talent! Why didn’t you ever serenade me before bed when we were kids?”

“Because I hate you,” Jiang Cheng barked, thrusting the microphone down and stomping off stage.

Jin Ling went next, reluctantly. He picked a solemn ballad, his young voice a little shaky but sincere. As he sang, the fire crackled brighter, and the juniors swayed along. By the end, there was genuine applause.

Wei Wuxian sniffled loudly. “My sweet nephew, carrying the legacy of song! Your parents would be so proud!”

Jin Ling flushed scarlet. “Shut up!”

Then came Wei Wuxian’s turn.

He strutted onto the stage like he owned it, spinning the microphone dramatically. “Ladies, gentlemen, esteemed cultivators and judgmental uncles! This one’s for Lan Zhan!”

“Sit down,” Lan Qiren barked.

Wei Wuxian ignored him.

What followed was… indescribable. He began with surprising grace, his voice light but steady, carrying a playful tune. Halfway through, however, he added claps, stomps, spins, and increasingly absurd lyrics about rabbits, wine, and how beautiful Lan Wangji looked under moonlight.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my one and only man—”

“STOP,” Jiang Cheng shouted, covering his ears.

The juniors roared with laughter. Even Jin Ling was clutching his stomach, wheezing.

Lan Wangji sat silently, eyes never leaving Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian ended with a flamboyant bow, blowing a kiss directly at Lan Wangji. The meadow erupted into cheers.

“Thank you, thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, wiping fake tears. “It’s so hard being this talented.”

Lan Qiren was on the verge of collapse.

Finally, it was Lan Wangji’s turn.

The meadow hushed instantly. Even the squirrels in the trees froze, tails twitching in anticipation. Wei Wuxian leaned so far forward on his log he nearly fell into the fire.

Lan Wangji stepped onto the stage, expression calm. He held the microphone with elegant ease. For a long, breathless moment, he simply stood there.

Then he began to sing.

The voice that emerged was deep, resonant, and achingly beautiful. It was like listening to a mountain stream flowing under moonlight, like a temple bell echoing through snow. Every note carried weight, clarity, and quiet intensity. The meadow seemed to hold its breath.

The juniors’ eyes went wide. Jin Ling’s mouth fell open. Jiang Cheng froze mid-scowl. Wei Wuxian’s entire face softened, tears already gathering in his eyes.

Even Lan Qiren, though he tried to remain composed, blinked furiously against sudden moisture.

And yes—the squirrels cried. Tiny, squeaky sobs echoed from the branches above.

Lan Wangji sang of longing, of devotion, of love unspoken yet eternal. He did not name anyone, yet every glance, every softened gaze, made it clear who the song was for.

Wei Wuxian covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. By the time Lan Wangji’s final note faded into the night, the entire camp sat in stunned, emotional silence.

Then Wei Wuxian launched himself forward, tears streaming, and yelled, “LAN ZHAN, I LOVE YOU!”

The camp erupted in chaos. The juniors screamed and clapped, Jiang Cheng nearly had an aneurysm, Jin Ling buried his face in his hands, and Lan Qiren looked seconds away from fainting for real.

Lan Wangji simply opened his arms, and Wei Wuxian barreled into him, microphone clattering to the ground.

“It’s official!” Wei Wuxian declared loudly, clinging to him. “We win karaoke! We win life!”

“No,” Lan Wangji said softly, but his eyes glowed with warmth. “We win… together.”

The meadow exploded into cheers, laughter, and squirrel sobs.

And thus, the Cultivator Idol retreat ended not with discipline or solemnity, but with karaoke, tears, and the undeniable truth that team-building sometimes meant letting your heart sing—literally.

Wei Wuxian grinned at the crowd, holding Lan Wangji’s hand aloft like a champion. “Thank you, thank you, everyone! Tune in next season, when we tackle—Lan Zhan, wait for it—dancing competitions!”

Lan Wangji blinked slowly. “…No.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said firmly.

The crowd laughed again.

And in the background, Lan Qiren collapsed into his chair, groaning, “Never again. Never, ever again.”

THE END.

💖✨ Thank you so much for reading my silly little adventure! 🙏🐰🎤 Your time, laughs, and support mean the world to me 🌍💜. I hope it made you smile 😄🌸. Stay tuned for more fun chaos ahead 🎉🔥🍷—and until then, sending you all love & hugs 💕🤗!