The Lan Sect was famous for many things—its strict rules, its pristine courtyards, the ever-present air of discipline and serenity. What it was not famous for, at least publicly, was the Lan Sect Gardening Club.

Technically, it wasn’t even a formal club. Lan Yuan had just started tending to a few vegetable beds one spring, joined quietly by a handful of other juniors who found solace in the gentle rhythm of watering, weeding, and watching green shoots reach for the sun. Over the next few months, they’d begun to meet regularly in a tucked-away section of the Cloud Recesses grounds, where the air was a little warmer and the stone walls shielded them from prying eyes.

They’d kept it secret for two reasons. First, there was a rule somewhere in the Three Thousand Rules that might be interpreted to mean extracurricular cultivation activities must be approved in advance. And second… they didn’t want Wei Wuxian to find out.

Of course, the universe had other plans.

On a bright morning, Lan Jingyi knelt beside a row of young cabbage plants, frowning in concentration.

“No, no—water at the base,” Lan Sizhui corrected gently, pointing to where the soil was looking a little too soggy.

“I am watering at the base,” Jingyi grumbled. “It’s not my fault this watering can is possessed.”

“Maybe it’s just you,” Lan Qiren’s nephew Lan Xichen teased from a few paces away, his sleeves neatly tied back as he planted a row of bean seedlings. The Sect Leader wasn’t officially part of the club, but occasionally wandered in to “check on the juniors.” Today, however, there was a glint of enjoyment in his eyes that suggested he was there for more than supervision.

Sizhui glanced up at the sound of distant footsteps. “Someone’s coming.”

The juniors froze.

And then, around the corner, Wei Wuxian strolled into view—hands behind his back, whistle on his lips, wearing a smile that suggested he’d just discovered the world’s juiciest secret.

“Ohhh,” he said, drawing the sound out until it was nearly a song. “What do we have here? Lan Sect… dirt enthusiasts?”

Jingyi muttered under his breath. “We lasted four months.”

Sizhui stood quickly, bowing slightly. “Senior Wei, this is—”

“A garden!” Wei Wuxian cut in, sweeping his arms out dramatically. “A flourishing, verdant oasis hidden in the serene heart of Cloud Recesses! I’m touched. Truly. My invitation must have gotten lost in the post?”

“It wasn’t sent,” Jingyi said flatly.

“Oh? And why ever not?” Wei Wuxian asked, already crouching down to inspect the nearest vegetable patch. He poked at a sprout. “These are carrots, aren’t they? Very proper. Very… rectangular.”

“They’re carrots,” Sizhui confirmed, trying to edge him away from the tender young plants.

Wei Wuxian grinned. “I could help, you know. I have loads of experience with farming. Back in the Burial Mounds—”

Jingyi groaned. “If you say ‘composting corpses’ we’re kicking you out.”

“I was going to say ‘composting vegetable scraps’—but fine, ruin my joke.” He plucked a weed with a flourish and tossed it aside. “See? I’m a natural.”

“Senior Wei,” Sizhui began carefully, “this is… sort of a club for the juniors.”

“Perfect! I love juniors. I used to be one. In fact, I’m quite youthful still.” He tapped his cheek as if daring someone to disagree.

From the far end of the plot, a quiet voice spoke. “No unauthorized members.”

Wei Wuxian’s head shot up. Lan Wangji had appeared, standing in the shadow of a cherry tree, his guqin case balanced easily against his shoulder. His gaze was calm, but there was a subtle tightening of his grip that suggested he had already anticipated this exact scenario.

Wei Wuxian beamed at him. “Lan Zhan! Fancy seeing you here. Did you know your juniors were keeping secrets?”

Lan Wangji stepped closer, his eyes scanning the neatly organized rows. “… Yes.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Yes? And you didn’t tell me?”

“This is theirs,” Lan Wangji said simply.

“Ohhh, I see how it is.” Wei Wuxian pressed a hand to his chest in mock injury. “The juniors get exclusive club privileges, but I, your beloved—”

Jingyi coughed loudly.

Wei Wuxian ignored him. “—companion in battle and life, do not?”

“You are… disruptive,” Lan Wangji said, in a tone that was far too calm to be anything but a warning.

Sizhui tried to intervene before things spiraled. “Perhaps Senior Wei could visit—just once—to see what we’ve planted.”

“Excellent idea, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said brightly. “I’ll just need to fetch a few things from my room.”

“What things?” Jingyi asked warily.

“Oh, nothing special. Just some… unique seeds, my secret compost blend, and maybe a few—”

“No,” Jingyi said firmly.

Wei Wuxian was already walking away. “Back in a flash!”

When he returned, it was with an armful of burlap sacks and a suspiciously lumpy basket. He knelt in the dirt and began pulling items out like a magician performing a trick.

“This,” he announced, holding up a knobbly, oddly purple potato, “is a spirit-blessed tuber of abundance. Grows twice as fast, yields three times as much. I may have… borrowed the original from an eccentric farmer who said something about curses, but I’m sure that was just superstition.”

“It’s glowing,” Jingyi pointed out.

“Only a little,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “That means it’s healthy.”

Next, he revealed a small jar of compost that smelled faintly of sandalwood—and more strongly of something no one wanted to identify. “My special blend. Very nourishing.”

Sizhui eyed it politely. “What’s in it?”

“Trade secret.” Wei Wuxian winked.

Finally, he set out a handful of strange, pale seeds. “And these will grow carrots with… personality.”

Jingyi crossed his arms. “I don’t trust any of this.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Wei Wuxian asked, already digging a shallow trench in an empty corner of the garden. “Lan Zhan, back me up.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a moment, then stepped forward and—without a word—took one of the strange carrot seeds from Wei Wuxian’s palm. He planted it in the neat soil beside his own allotment.

Wei Wuxian lit up. “Ha! See? The great Hanguang-jun believes in me.”

“Not… exactly,” Lan Wangji said quietly, covering the seed with earth.

Wei Wuxian grinned all the same.

The rest of the morning passed in a peculiar mix of order and chaos. The juniors tended their plots with their usual discipline, while Wei Wuxian flitted between rows, occasionally offering “help” that mostly consisted of unsolicited advice and dramatic storytelling about his past “farming” adventures.

“—and then, the radishes grew so big that one rolled down the hill and flattened a chicken coop,” he was saying to an increasingly skeptical Jingyi.

“That didn’t happen,” Jingyi muttered.

“It absolutely did. Ask Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji, weeding silently nearby, said nothing.

By midday, everyone was dusty, a little tired, and—though none of the juniors would admit it—just the slightest bit entertained. Wei Wuxian’s energy was infectious, and despite their reluctance, the garden felt livelier than usual.

As they packed up their tools, Sizhui approached Lan Wangji. “Hanguang-jun… should we really allow Senior Wei to plant here?”

Lan Wangji’s gaze slid briefly to where Wei Wuxian was humming to himself, tucking the glowing potato into the earth. “… We will see.”

And though his tone was neutral, there was something almost imperceptible in the way his hand lingered over the soil of his own plot—a quiet acceptance, or perhaps anticipation.

Wei Wuxian looked up just in time to catch that glance. His smile softened. “This is going to be fun, Lan Zhan. You’ll see.”

Lan Wangji didn’t reply, but he didn’t stop him either.

That night, under the moonlight, the garden lay still—except, perhaps, for the faintest glimmer of purple from beneath the soil, where a certain potato was beginning to wake.