Chapter Text
[Lan Wangji POV]
The scent of sandalwood usually brought a deep, meditative peace to the Jingshi, but tonight, it only felt like a heavy shroud.
I sat cross-legged at my desk, the dark wood cool beneath my knees. The seven strings of Wangji rested perfectly beneath my fingers, gleaming faintly in the low candlelight. I plucked a single note. The sound rippled through the quiet expanse of the room, carrying a low, mourning resonance that vibrated through the floorboards before dying into the silence of the Gusu night.
Behind me, my pale blue dragon tail lay still against the wooden floor, heavy and stiff. My silver horns, which usually caught the pristine mountain moonlight with pride, felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on my brow.
How had it come to this?
I had done nothing to deserve this shackle. I had broken no rules, committed no crimes, and made no promises. Yet, the elders of the Lan clan had spoken, and their words carried the weight of absolute law. The clan required massive wealth to rebuild the final remnants of the scorched libraries left behind by the Wen sect's fires. The Zhao clan possessed that gold. They also possessed a fiercely ambitious, wealthy omega daughter—Zhao Meihua. She was a powerful, venomous snake hybrid who viewed me not as a husband, but as a prized trophy to be captured, displayed, and dominated.
Because I was considered a flawless Alpha dragon, my duty to the sect was to submit to this political alliance. I was expected to bind my spirit to a serpent.
I closed my eyes, letting the cold air of the mountain fill my lungs. The memories of my true desires burned fiercely behind my eyelids. Long ago, after the bloody fields of the Sunshot Campaign, a beautiful, wild Huli Jing omega had sat beside me under a canopy of stars. Wei Ying. He had laughed, his dark fox ears twitching with endless mischief, his fluffy tail brushing against mine as we whispered about the future. Because he was an omega, his natural instincts had always yearned for a nest, for a home, for a family—no matter how much he masked it with playful arrogance. We had talked about things a cold dragon should never dare dream of.
“Lan Zhan, do you think dragons and foxes can have babies?” he had teased back then, his silver eyes glittering with a heat that made my core ache. “Imagine a little pup with your stubborn golden eyes and my fluffy ears. Wouldn’t that be something?”
I had wanted that. I had wanted it with every fiber of my being. Even now, years after his death, my brain still spun agonizing scenarios of what would happen if I had been able to claim him properly. If I could have held him through a nesting cycle, watching his body grow round and heavy with our children. We wanted a family. We wanted a life together.
Instead, I was bound to a snake.
My body knew the truth, even if my clan forced the lie. I had never allowed Zhao Meihua to sleep within the sacred walls of the Jingshi. When my ruts tore through my veins, consuming me with a blinding, agonizing heat, she would arrive at my courtyard. She would hiss violently at my doors, releasing her possessive, suffocating pheromones to force me into submission, demanding to be let in.
But my dragon nature completely denied her. My instincts violently locked down, rejecting her venomous presence entirely. My body would rather tear itself apart in isolation than touch an omega that was not Wei Ying.
A soft, hesitant scratching sound at the Jingshi door broke the silence.
My ears twitched, catching the gentle, fragile rhythm. A bunny.
"Enter," I spoke, my voice low but instantly softening the hard edge of my alpha aura.
The door slid open. Lan Sizhui stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him to keep the mountain chill out. In public, he was a model Lan disciple, perfectly composed and rigid. But here, in the safety of the night, his fluffy, snow-white rabbit ears dropped back in exhaustion, and his small, round cotton tail twitched nervously against his robes. He held a stack of lesson scrolls tightly against his chest.
"A-Die," Sizhui murmured softly.
The word was a sacred privilege. Only he was allowed to say it, and only behind these closed doors. He was not born of my blood, but from the moment I brought his fever-ridden body back from the burning ruins of the Burial Mounds, he had been my son. I had raised this little omega rabbit as my own, and he looked up to me with a fierce, quiet devotion.
"Sizhui," I replied, gesturing toward the soft mat across from me. "Come. Sit."
He smiled weakly, walking over and settling down. He looked smaller tonight, the heavy, suffocating scent of the upcoming political wedding clearly weighing on his sensitive rabbit instincts. The entire cloud recesses was suffocating him.
"I... I had a few questions about the musical cultivation techniques in the advanced lessons," Sizhui admitted, spreading a scroll out between us. His voice trailed off, his rabbit ears drooping further until they brushed his shoulders. "But truly... I just wanted to see you, A-Die. The sect... everyone is talking about Lady Zhao. They say she will be moving into the main quarters soon."
My dragon tail twitched, hitting the floor with a heavy, resonant thud. I reached across the table, my large, calloused hand gently resting over his smaller one. My Alpha scent flared slightly—not with aggression, but with a deep, protective warmth meant to soothe his rising anxiety.
"She will never command this room," I promised him, my golden eyes fierce and unwavering. "This space belongs to our family. It belongs to you. Do not fear her, Sizhui."
Sizhui looked up, a wave of profound relief washing over his youthful face. He squeezed my hand back, his fluffy ears perking up just a fraction. "Thank you, A-Die. I know you treat her politely because you must... but I know your heart."
We spent the next hour reviewing his scrolls. I patiently guided him through the complex fingerings of the guqin, watching proudly as his small hands mimicked my movements perfectly. He was brilliant, kind, and resilient. He was everything Wei Ying and I would have hoped for in a son.
When the hour grew late, Sizhui gathered his scrolls, bowing deeply. "Goodnight, A-Die. Please... try to rest."
"Goodnight, my son," I murmured.
As the door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the dimming candlelight, a sudden, inexplicable shift occurred in the air. The phantom scent of a wild, free fox seemed to drift through the open window—spicy, rich, and entirely intoxicating. It was a scent I hadn't felt in sixteen years, yet my dragon core roared in instant recognition.
Wei Ying was gone. But my soul refused to belong to anyone else.