The next phase of Wei Wuxian’s completely unnecessary romantic crusade began with a cake.

Not just any cake. A seven-tiered, lotus-shaped monstrosity layered with osmanthus cream, edible gold leaf, and the blood, sweat, and spiritual energy of seven overworked Lan disciples. Wei Wuxian had “accidentally” commissioned it under the alias Wei Yiling, Devoted Romantic.

When it arrived, it had sparklers.

“Who ordered this?” Lan Qiren asked, stepping back in horror as the cake was wheeled through the gates on a lacquered platform carried by three red-faced Nie cultivators.

Su She attempted to throw himself in front of it. “I DID. NO—WAIT. I MEAN—I WISHED I HAD.”

Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan. “Don’t be silly, Su-gege. I ordered it. The sparklers were my idea. Lan Wangji deserves a celebration of love.”

Lan Qiren turned faintly green and had to sit down.

Wei Wuxian watched from a tree.

“They’re stealing my thunder,” he muttered, arms crossed, chewing aggressively on a peach. “That cake was supposed to be my grand gesture!”

Lan Wangji, standing with eternal serenity, stared at the cake. Then at Nie Huaisang. Then at Su She, who was weeping. Then upward—just briefly—at the tree.

“I can see you,” he said without turning.

Wei Wuxian fell out of the tree and landed directly into the cake cart.

“I meant to do that!” he shouted, covered in frosting. “This is symbolic! Of how I fell… for you!”

Lan Qiren audibly screamed.

Later, once the frosting was no longer in his ears, Wei Wuxian launched Operation: Jealousy.

“You know what we need?” he announced to the juniors, dragging Jingyi and Sizhui into a spontaneous meeting behind the Cold Spring. “A fake dating scenario.”

“Fake… dating?” Sizhui blinked. “Who’s dating?”

“We are!” Wei Wuxian declared, grabbing Jingyi by the shoulders. “You and me, kid! It’s completely fake, obviously. We’re just pretending to make Lan Zhan realize what he’s lost.”

“I’m fourteen!” Jingyi shrieked.

“…Right. That would be problematic. New plan.”

Sizhui raised a hesitant hand. “Shouldn’t you just talk to him about your feelings?”

“NO,” Wei Wuxian said, scandalized. “That’s not how love works. We need drama. That’s how people fall in love—through misunderstanding and watching your beloved with someone else while sad music plays.”

Jingyi nodded. “That tracks.”

“See? He gets it.”

The next day, Wei Wuxian could be found in the training field, arm-in-arm with Wen Ning—who was looking extremely uncomfortable—and performing a choreographed routine involving synchronized sword twirls and suspiciously timed laughter.

Lan Wangji walked past, glanced once, and kept walking.

“…Do you think he noticed?” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Wen Ning looked terrified. “I think he thinks you’re possessed.”

“Good. That means it’s working.”

The day after that, things escalated.

Jiang Cheng arrived in Gusu with dark circles under his eyes and an energy akin to someone who had accidentally adopted seventeen stray cats and was pretending it was fine.

“I’m here to duel Lan Wangji,” he said, pushing open the gates like a man with a personal vendetta against doors. “For honor. And possibly love. I’m still working out the second part.”

Lan Qiren had to be physically restrained.

Lan Wangji blinked once. “You’re… challenging me.”

“For his hand in marriage,” Jiang Cheng clarified. “Or whatever the Lan version of that is. A musical duel? Silent meditation? Something involving flower arranging?”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Wei Wuxian hissed, dragging him behind a pillar. “You’re not even into him!”

“Neither are you!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “And yet you’re turning this sect into a damn brothel with all your frolicking!”

“I am courting with dignity!”

“You rolled across the dinner table last night wearing nothing but your sash and a flower crown!”

“DIGNITY!”

From the courtyard, a small cheer went up. Nie Huaisang had unfurled a banner that read MAY THE BEST CULTIVATOR WIN HIS HEART in pink glitter.

Su She released a dove.

Lan Wangji glanced up at the dove. “That’s my pigeon.”

“It returns only for him!” Su She cried, collapsing dramatically into the koi pond.

Lan Qiren took up drinking.

By the fourth day, Wei Wuxian had begun to crack.

“Nothing’s working,” he groaned, draped upside-down over a bench in the Library Pavilion. “He’s immune. It’s like trying to seduce a statue. A hot, emotionally repressed statue that smells like sandalwood.”

Sizhui patted his arm. “Maybe he just has a very strong sense of self.”

Jingyi added, “Or maybe he’s waiting for you to be sincere.”

Wei Wuxian scoffed. “I am sincere! I sincerely want to win this increasingly dramatic competition for his affections. I sincerely planned a public confession flash mob next to the Forbidden Sect Records tomorrow morning.”

“Why the Forbidden Records?”

“Because the acoustics are perfect for ballads!”

He sighed and covered his eyes.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should’ve just stuck to the classics. You know—seductive flute playing. Talking about our tragic past. Getting stabbed in front of him.”

There was a long pause.

“Please don’t do that last one,” Sizhui said carefully.

“No promises.”

That night, Wei Wuxian stood outside Lan Wangji’s quarters with a lantern in one hand and a flute in the other. The robe he wore was technically within Lan standards—but barely. It was black, embroidered with silver clouds, and cinched so tightly at the waist he could barely breathe.

Lan Wangji opened the door exactly halfway.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said softly, flute raised. “Do you have a moment? I wrote a song.”

Lan Wangji nodded once.

Wei Wuxian played.

It was… awful.

To be fair, it started lovely. The melody was wistful, full of longing and unresolved tension. But halfway through, a cicada flew into his flute, he coughed, tripped over his sleeve, and somehow managed to hit a high note that made all the rabbits run for cover.

“I meant to do that,” he whispered hoarsely.

Lan Wangji stared.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

“...You’re laughing,” Wei Wuxian said, stunned. “You! Lan Zhan! Are you laughing at me?”

“I am not,” Lan Wangji said, expression blank again.

But his shoulders shook just slightly.

Wei Wuxian lit up like a lantern.

“I made you laugh. You’ve been holding it in this whole time, haven’t you? You knew everything—you just wanted to see how far I’d go!”

Lan Wangji raised an eyebrow.

Wei Wuxian pointed dramatically. “You’re a menace. A beautiful, stoic menace who watched me fake amnesia, flirt with children, fall into a cake, and nearly orchestrate a musical just to see what I’d do.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Lan Wangji said mildly.

“I WASN’T. I mean, I was, but that’s not the point!”

He stalked up to him, chest heaving. “You’re supposed to be the normal one! I’m the chaos! You’re the serenity!”

Lan Wangji stepped aside, motioning him in.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You’re wet,” Lan Wangji said simply. “And you are wearing that robe incorrectly.”

“Incorrectly how?”

Lan Wangji tugged the sash.

Wei Wuxian made a truly undignified squeak.

“I hate you,” he muttered, stepping inside.

“I know,” Lan Wangji replied.

Outside, Nie Huaisang clutched his fan to his chest. “Did you see that? The tension? The banter?”

Su She emerged from the shadows, clutching a bouquet of spiritual violets. “It’s not over. He may have won the robe battle, but the war for Lan Wangji’s heart is eternal.”

Jiang Cheng growled and unsheathed his sword. “One more word and I’ll eternal you.”

The moon shone gently over the Cloud Recesses as a dozen cultivators plotted increasingly dramatic gestures of love. Meanwhile, inside, Lan Wangji poured Wei Wuxian a cup of tea and asked, very softly:

“Is there a flash mob tomorrow?”

“…Not anymore.”