Moonlit Hearts

Chapter 63: Moonlight Between Us

Wei Ying found him crouched beside the slender tree near the edge of the garden, one hand resting lightly against the bark. He didn’t call out right away—just watched for a moment, quietly taking in the stillness of wangji’s form, the way his fingers moved with quiet familiarity over the trunk, like tracing something remembered.

“There you are,” Wei Ying said at last, voice soft, threaded with affection. “You vanish like a ghost when no one’s watching.”

Lan Wangji turned slightly. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“No, of course not,” Wei Ying replied, stepping closer. “Just doing your famous silent brooding in a scenic location.”

He sat down beside him without waiting for an invitation, knees drawing up, shoulders brushing. Wangji didn’t move away. Instead, he let out a breath, slow and deliberate, as if he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Wei Ying said after a beat.

“I’ve been listening.”

Wei Ying tilted his head. “To what?”

Lan Zhan paused, then answered, “The garden. The wind. The parts of me that aren’t only mine.”

Wei Ying’s brow furrowed, curious, cautious. “You mean Xuanyu?”

Lan Wangji gave a slight nod.

Wei Ying shifted to face him more fully, voice gentle. “I thought… he was gone. After you woke up, you didn’t say much.”

“He’s still here,” his beloved said. “Quieter. Calmer. He doesn’t want revenge anymore. I think.”

Wei Ying didn’t speak for a moment. The lanterns flickered gently around them, casting long shadows through the grass.

“And that’s… okay with you?” he asked finally.

“It is. We’re not the same as we were when we began,” Wangji said. “Neither of us.”

There was something steady in his voice—not resignation, but acceptance.

Wei Ying studied him in silence, then reached out, taking Wangji’s hand into both of his. His palms were warm. Familiar.

“I like this version of you,” he murmured. “The one who rests. The one who lets himself be held.”

Wangji turned his hand to interlace their fingers.

“He told me I got my happy ending,” he said quietly. “And not to forget his.”

Wei Ying blinked. “He said that?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

There was more. There always was. But he didn’t say it yet.

Wei Ying didn’t press. He only squeezed his hand, his gaze steady. “You’ll tell me someday.”

“I will.”

They sat like that for a while—hands joined, shoulders leaning, breath syncing with the quiet rhythm of the garden. Above them, the leaves rustled gently in the night breeze. One of the lanterns floated a little closer, casting its glow over their faces.

“Do you remember,” Wei Ying said suddenly, “the first time we lit lanterns together?”

“At Cloud Recesses,” Wangji said. “You nearly set your sleeve on fire.”

“I did not,” Wei Ying laughed. “It was your sleeve.”

Wangji gave him a look that made the corners of Wei Ying’s mouth twitch.