The morning of the “Best Plant” contest dawned crisp and bright, with a light mist drifting between the courtyards of the Cloud Recesses. By the time the juniors reached the hidden garden, Wei Wuxian was already there, sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely, bustling about with the kind of energy that could only mean trouble.

He had erected a large banner—painted overnight, judging by the smears of ink on his fingers—that read:

LAN SECT GARDENING CLUB PRESENTS: THE FIRST ANNUAL BEST PLANT COMPETITION!

Beneath it was a small wooden platform, flanked by two stools. A third stool sat slightly forward, clearly intended for the judge. On it lay a simple wooden placard labeled: Hanguang-jun.

Lan Wangji was not yet in sight.

“Why is there an audience area?” Jingyi demanded, gesturing at the neat row of benches Wei Wuxian had set up facing the platform.

“In case of spectators,” Wei Wuxian said brightly. “You never know who might hear about this and rush over.”

“No one knows about this,” Jingyi said flatly.

Wei Wuxian gave him a mysterious smile. “We’ll see.”

Sizhui, kneeling to adjust the placement of a potted herb, asked, “Senior Wei, are there… actual rules?”

“Of course there are rules,” Wei Wuxian said, waving a hand airily. “Rule one: all plants must be presented in their best form. Rule two: contestants—meaning the plants—may perform if they wish. Rule three: bribes to the judge are strictly forbidden unless they’re very clever.”

“That last one’s not a real rule,” Sizhui said.

“It is now,” Wei Wuxian replied.

Lan Wangji arrived just as preparations were finishing. He took in the platform, the benches, the banner, and Wei Wuxian’s beaming face with one long, unreadable glance. Then, without comment, he crossed to the judge’s stool and sat down.

“We may begin,” he said simply.

Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Let the competition commence!”

Entry One: Jingyi’s cucumber trellis.

Jingyi presented it with great dignity, pointing out the straightness of the vines and the impressive uniformity of the fruit. The cucumbers hung in perfect lines, gleaming in the morning sun.

Lan Wangji examined them, then gave a single nod. “… Good symmetry.”

Jingyi looked both proud and faintly unnerved by the seriousness of the judging.

Entry Two: Sizhui’s chives.

Sizhui had tied tiny blue ribbons along the neat rows, their soft color contrasting with the deep green of the plants. “They’re not flashy,” he said modestly, “but they’re reliable and useful.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze lingered for a moment. “… Consistent.”

Wei Wuxian, watching from the side, whispered, “You’re doing great,” as though Sizhui were competing personally.

Entry Three: A potted flowering tea bush from one of the younger juniors.

The blossoms were delicate white with pale pink edges, and their fragrance drifted sweetly through the air.

Lan Wangji leaned closer, eyes half-lidded. “… Pleasant.”

Wei Wuxian made a dramatic sniffing gesture behind him. “I might steal this later.”

The juniors relaxed somewhat as more entries passed—a tidy row of lettuce, a bed of healthy beans, a patch of fragrant mint. The judging was quiet, precise, and remarkably fair.

And then came Madam Tuberine.

The potato tree was magnificent. Her thick, twisting trunk supported broad green leaves, and her hanging bulbs glowed faintly in the daylight. The juniors murmured among themselves; even they had to admit she was impressive.

Wei Wuxian approached her like a showman introducing a star performer. “Ladies and gentlemen—behold the Majestic Matriarch of the Garden, the one, the only… Madam Tuberine!”

As if on cue, a low shimmer of light pulsed through her trunk, making the hanging bulbs gleam brighter.

Jingyi hissed, “Did it just… react to him?”

“Yes,” Sizhui whispered back.

Wei Wuxian guided Lan Wangji closer. “You won’t find a potato like this anywhere else in the cultivation world. Sturdy, luminous, and—” He plucked one of the hanging bulbs and held it up. “Generous.”

The bulb rolled in his palm like it had been waiting to be picked.

Lan Wangji’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze moved from the bulb to the trunk, and for a moment he seemed to listen. Then he said, “… Strong.”

Wei Wuxian beamed. “High praise from Hanguang-jun himself!”

Finally, the last entry: the rabbit carrots.

Sizhui and Jingyi had tried to herd them into neat rows, but the carrots had other plans. As soon as Wei Wuxian called for them, they bounded forward in a loose, hopping formation—then, astonishingly, arranged themselves in a circle and began to hop in perfect unison.

It was… a dance.

The juniors stared, half-amazed, half-concerned. Wei Wuxian’s eyes shone with pride. “Look at that form! That coordination!”

Even Lan Wangji’s gaze sharpened slightly, following the rhythm of their movements.

The carrots finished with a synchronized little bounce, leafy ears perking. A couple of them even leaned toward Lan Wangji’s stool, as if awaiting approval.

He looked at them for a long moment. “… Expressive.”

Wei Wuxian put a hand over his heart. “That’s practically a love letter, coming from him.”

When all the entries had been seen, Lan Wangji was left to deliberate. The juniors gathered on the benches, chattering quietly, while Wei Wuxian prowled the platform like an impatient host at a talent show.

After a long silence, Lan Wangji stood.

“… The results,” he said.

The chatter died instantly.

“Most Beautiful,” Lan Wangji began, “—the flowering tea bush.”

The young junior responsible beamed, bowing shyly.

“Most Useful—Sizhui’s chives.”

Sizhui smiled, clearly pleased.

“Most Unique—Jingyi’s cucumbers.”

Jingyi blinked, then straightened with pride.

“And—” Lan Wangji’s gaze swept the garden “—Best Overall… Madam Tuberine.”

Wei Wuxian whooped loud enough to startle the nearest rabbit carrot. He bounded forward, practically skipping onto the platform.

“Yes! I knew she had it in her!” He threw an arm around the potato tree’s trunk like it was an old friend. “On behalf of Madam Tuberine, I humbly—well, not that humbly—accept this great honor.”

“Senior Wei—” Sizhui began.

Wei Wuxian ignored him. “First, I’d like to thank the juniors of the Lan Sect for tolerating my gardening genius. Second, I’d like to thank Lan Zhan for his impeccable judgment—” He shot Lan Wangji a playful smile, which earned the faintest narrowing of eyes in response. “—and third, I’d like to thank Madam Tuberine herself, without whom none of this would be possible.”

The potato tree pulsed faintly with light, as if acknowledging the speech.

Wei Wuxian clasped his hands together. “May she continue to grow strong, inspire future generations, and occasionally roll her glowing children into my room as midnight snacks.”

Jingyi buried his face in his hands.

The contest concluded with mild applause—more polite than enthusiastic—but the juniors lingered, laughing quietly and comparing notes. Wei Wuxian moved among them like a triumphant champion, making sure everyone got a chance to “pose” with Madam Tuberine for imaginary portraits.

Lan Wangji remained by his stool until the garden began to empty. Then, when only he and Wei Wuxian were left, he approached the potato tree and placed one hand gently on the trunk.

Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Giving her your personal blessing, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji didn’t answer directly. “… She is strong,” he repeated quietly.

Wei Wuxian’s smile softened. “So are you.”

They stood there a moment longer, the evening light washing the garden in gold, before heading back toward the main courtyard—followed, unnoticed, by a single curious rabbit carrot hopping along at a discreet distance.