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Over the course of a millennia, many things are possible.
Lan Wangji has seen many things over the course of his life. He’s seen the fall of the Jianghu, he’s seen world leaders come and go, and he’s seen the rise of new, modern nations, in the east and in the west.
China has changed a lot since the fall of the Jianghu. Cultivation is a distant practice nowadays, and most only learn it because they come from a cultivation family. Most don’t even know they come from cultivation families– many people with the potential to become cultivators live their entire lives without knowing what cultivation is.
Lan Wangji himself is the only member left of the original Lan family line(discounting Lan Sizhui, but he technically doesn’t count). He’s watched many people pass on– his brother, his uncle, even some of the juniors that he and Wei Ying so treasured. When Lan Sizhui first lost Jin Rulan, he’d refused to come out of his room for months. But millenniums dull most of the pain of losing people– one gets used to it, after a while.
Lan Wangji understands. When he first lost Wei Ying, he’d felt like his heart was about to rip out of his chest. When he lost Wei Ying the second time, this time to old age, he’d attempted to go blind, if only to never see a reality where Wei Ying would not come back.
He’d already cultivated to immortality by that point, the first in his generation to do so. Wei Ying had been so close, but his core just hadn’t been able to handle it.
(He hasn’t forgotten anything of Wei Ying, even after so long. Lan Wangji still remembers his voice, the way he carried himself, the way he bat his eyelashes at him when he wanted something. He would never forget. Never.)
So, in the twenty-first century, he explores whatever he hasn’t seen. He’s been to every continent, been to countries that no longer exist, watched several wars be fought. He’s seen pretty much every marvel that the world has to offer. He has more time than he knows what to do with, so he figures he may as well see everything he can.
So he’s done a lot of things, to pass the time. One of those things was a ceramics class, for the fun of it. He spends his time crafting cups, similar to the ones he used to drink tea from, many centuries ago. His classmates(that sounds elementary, but how else does he refer to them?) are fascinated by his ever-abundant knowledge of times of old, so he’s made acquaintances with a few of them.
Which is how he’s ended up here.
One of his acquaintances happened to be invited to a masquerade, to which he received a plus one for. His original plus one hadn’t been able to make it, and he’d had the extra slot, and he’d asked Lan Wangji if he’d wanted to go. Lan Wangji hadn’t had anything else to do, so he’d agreed.
Lan Wangji is dressed in a suit that reminds him a bit of his old cultivation robes. He has a pristine, white dress shirt under a beautifully intricate vest, embroidered with grey patterns and designs, paired with straight, black slacks and dress shoes. It’s simple, but it reminds him of grey eyes and bright laughter, so it’s worth it. He still wears a bright red ribbon, even now. He wishes he had Wei Ying’s old one, but it’d long fallen apart, so he keeps it in a box under his bed. He has one in his hair, a replica of the original, but it brings him comfort nonetheless.
He also has a silver mask, given to him before he’d entered the establishment. Lan Wangji hadn’t realized he had to wear a mask, but he supposes that’s where the mask half of masquerade comes from. It helps a little– no one here will remember him, so if he reunites with anyone, no one will question the fact that he’s looked the exact same every time they’ve met. He plans to drop his ceramics class in a few years to avoid that same problem. He can’t keep the same friends for long, because they ask questions. It’s much easier to mourn in private than in public.
Lan Wangji looks up from the wine glass that he’s nursing. He’s long since grown tolerant to alcohol, and while none tastes as sweet as Gusu’s Emperor’s Smile from Wei Ying’s lips, this white will do just fine.
As he raises his gaze, he catches the eye of someone across the room.
He recognizes him instantly.
This man has been watching Lan Wangji very closely the entire time. He has no idea what the man could possibly want with him, but every time he’s looked up, the man has been in the corner of his eyes somewhere. He’s wearing an off-white silk shirt with more ruffles than Lan Wangji has ever seen on a shirt, some kind of silver necklace that Lan Wangji can’t really see from all the way over here(but he would not mind if the man came closer, so Lan Wangji could get a better look at him), and black slacks. There’s something black around his neck, too.
Lan Wangji is no stranger to pretty men. He married Wei Ying, the prettiest man of all time. He’s not stupid, he recognizes beauty when he sees it. But no one has ever made him quite as intrigued as this man.
Something is so utterly familiar about him, and Lan Wangji just can’t put his finger on what. It’s infuriating.
He nurses his wine, cursing quietly under his breath as he wonders where he could have possibly seen this man before. He can’t make out the man’s face from here, but he wouldn’t be able to even if he was closer since the man is wearing a mask, just as everyone else. But there’s something about how he carries himself that strikes Lan Wangji as so familiar.
Where could he have seen it before?
He’s staring into his wine glass when he sees a reflection behind him. He whips his head around, absolutely decimating the man who’s been watching him with his long hair. It’s a long lost practice to grow out one’s hair, but he still does, out of habit. It makes the man chuckle a bit, and Lan Wangji immediately puts his wine glass down to apologize. He stands up, but the man shakes his hands in Lan Wangji’s face.
“No need, no need.” The man murmurs, in a low voice. It’s unfamiliar, lower than Wei Ying’s(he uses Wei Ying’s voice as a way to measure how high someone’s voice is. Sue him. Wei Ying’s voice was medium, in Mo Xuanyu’s body. In his original one, it had a delicious, rich timbre, but still not too low), but still not as low as Lan Wangji’s own.
The man offers his hand to him, to Lan Wangji’s surprise.
“Care to dance, good sir?” He smiles, and Lan Wangji sneaks a glance at his face from what he can see under the mask. It’s not a full face mask. It goes from his hairline down to right above the man’s cupid’s bow, and exposes everything else. It’s adorned with silver embroidery.
Lan Wangji thinks Wei Ying would have liked what the man was wearing. His heart pangs a bit.
He stares at the man’s outstretched hand in hesitation. He’s never dated since Wei Ying’s passing. He never even looked at another person this way. Even now, despite the voice in his head telling him the man is frighteningly familiar, he isn’t interested. Not at all.
But one dance wouldn’t hurt, he supposes. Not all of the people on the dance floor are couples. So he nods his consent, and takes the other man’s hand. The man’s smile enlarges, and he leads Lan Wangji to the dance floor.
Admittedly, Lan Wangji has never been a dancer. He knows the basic movement of western dance, but he’s still unfamiliar with it. He’s good with a sword, which he supposes is a dance in itself, but a partner is an entirely different story.
The man dancing with him, however, seems entirely familiar with it. He leads Lan Wangji along as if they’ve done this a thousand times before, swaying gently to the waltz. Funny enough, it feels like they have done this a thousand times before. Lan Wangji uses the opportunity to observe the man holding him.
He’s beautiful, Lan Wangji realizes. His hair brushes his shoulders, and his bangs are cut very similarly to how Wei Ying used to keep his. One small section of his hair is braided in the front, and it gives him an almost scholarly appearance. He has a pretty lithe build. He’s not quite pressed up against him, but he’s close enough that any muscle mass would be obvious. So the man is lithe. Interesting.
They dance for a while in silence, simply listening to the waltz in the back to keep in time. The man is really good at this, Lan Wangji thinks belatedly. Several times the man picks him up and sweeps him around, bending him and tipping him back as they move with the music. He watches a few other men do the same to their female partners, and he blushes a little, but he finds he doesn’t mind the treatment that much.
He reminds Lan Wangji so much of Wei Ying, it makes his heart hurt. Even the smile on his face reminds him of the other. Lan Wangji misses Wei Ying so much.
“Something on your mind, beautiful?” The man asks politely, and Lan Wangji blinks.
“Nothing.” Lan Wangji gingerly replies. “Just.. the past.” He doesn’t know why he says that. But something about this man makes him want to tell him everything. And he’s so frustrated by the fact that he can’t figure out what.
“The past?” The man echoes. Lan Wangji nods. The smile on the other's face widens a bit. “What part?”
“You..” Lan Wangji starts, trailing off a bit. Why is he so willing to tell this stranger everything? He hasn’t told anyone in his life about Wei Ying. Only Lan Sizhui knows, and it’s because he was there and he knew Wei Ying personally. “You remind me of someone I met, a long time ago.”
“Really?” The man encourages him to continue, leading his feet as he sways them alongside the rest of the pairs as the music swells and diminishes. “Who?”
Lan Wangji swallows, hesitant. “My partner.” He says after a long pause.
The man nods. “Yeah? What was he like?”
Lan Wangji bites the inside of his cheek, images of Wei Ying filling his brain. This man really is similar to him.
“Beautiful.” Is all he ends up saying. “The most beautiful man I ever knew.”
“Is he dead, now?” The man asks quietly.
Lan Wangji nods his head, his heart throbbing at the ever constant reminder. Every once in a while, even now, he’ll turn to his side as if to tell Wei Ying something, only to be met by empty space. He’ll still have those days every once in a while where all he can think about is Wei Ying dying in his arms, or Wei Ying being torn to pieces.
It’s easier with Lan Sizhui around, but his son isn’t a fan of the city, and chooses to live in a more rural area. Lan Wangji doesn’t see him often. But they text a lot.
“Yes.” Lan Wangji confirms, eyes downcast.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The man murmurs. The song has changed– what was once a more upbeat waltz turns into more of a slow melody, gentle and quiet. The man pulls Lan Wangji closer to himself, leaning his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
He does the same, grateful for the soothing words on a wound that still pulsates to this day.
“I’m sure he will come again.” The man says quietly. Lan Wangji makes an affirmative noise in the back of his throat.
“Over the mountains, and through the night.”
And suddenly, something in Lan Wangji’s brain clicks.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying had whined. “When are you ever going to put words to our song?”
“Mh?” Lan Wangji had replied, half asleep. It’d been way past his bedtime. “Never?”
“No. Boo.” Wei Ying had complained, clinging to him under the bedsheets. “You have to put text to it so I can sing it when we go out!”
“I’m no poet.” Lan Wangji had murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss to Wei Ying’s temple. “The whole reason I wrote the song is because I couldn’t find the words to tell you properly.”
“Then I’ll write them! Then it will truly be our song!”
Lan Wangji freezes, and his head snaps up to look this stranger in the eyes. His throat tightens so fast he can barely breathe as his heart begins to race in his chest.
The other man chuckles, as if he’d expected that reaction. He lifts his head from Lan Wangji’s shoulder and slowly removes the mask on his face.
The sight that greets Lan Wangji is enough to make his eyes sting.
He thought he’d never see that face again. But those eyes could never lie to him, and he’d recognize them anywhere.
Wei Ying’s eyes. Unmistakable, undeniably so. His face is different, his voice is different, his body is different, but Lan Wangji is used to that. He lived through Wei Ying in Mo Xuanyu’s body, he can live with this.
“I’m back, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying giggles. “Sorry it took me so long.”