The Cloud Recesses had always been quiet—quiet enough to hear the wind brushing against bamboo, quiet enough for one cough in the library to feel like a thunderclap. But lately, something else echoed between the pristine white walls. Something bright. Something loud.

Wei Wuxian’s laughter.

Thin-faced disciples tried very hard to maintain the cultured serenity expected of them, but even the strictest posture couldn’t hide how heads tilted whenever he sprinted past, sleeves flying behind him like banners of mischief. His morning cackles bounced off the walkways like a flock of unruly birds, interrupting meditation sessions, study periods, and at least three attempts at silent breakfast. Some pretended to be disapproving. Most weren’t convincing.

Lan Qiren, naturally, was the last fortress standing. He insisted—on a near-daily basis—that no one in the thousand-year history of the Lan Clan had ever been this loud before noon. His brows pinched together like he was personally holding the entire sect’s composure by sheer force of will. And yet, despite himself, there was a sliver of something suspiciously close to softening whenever Wei Wuxian passed by and offered a polite bow before darting off to his next disaster. Lan Qiren would never admit it. He’d sooner swallow a copy of the rules, cover to cover.

The younger disciples, meanwhile, had surrendered entirely. Lan Shizui followed Wei Wuxian with the wide, hopeful eyes of a child watching fireworks. Lan Jingyi trailed along with the overexcited energy of someone convinced he was keeping things under control (he wasn’t). Even Jin Ling—who pretended very loudly that he didn’t need anyone—kept pace with the group like a duckling who had not yet realized he was adopted into a new, extremely chaotic brood.

It didn’t matter if Wei Wuxian was demonstrating questionable archery techniques, poking at warding arrays he definitely should not be touching, or scaling roofs with the confidence of a man who had never once fallen off one in his life (which was, objectively, false). Wherever he went, there was a cluster of disciples behind him, bobbing and stumbling after him with equal parts alarm and adoration.

And behind them, always composed, always steady—Lan Wangji.

He moved like a shadow stitched to Wei Wuxian’s heels, the quiet counterpoint to Wei Wuxian’s sunburst of energy. He didn’t restrain him, didn’t scold him, didn’t so much as raise his voice. He simply existed in the space Wei Wuxian created, grounding it, framing it, turning chaos into something strangely harmonious. A calm orbit around a blazing star.

Lan Xichen saw it all unfold from walkways and windows, and for the first time in years, peace felt effortless. His brother walked with a lighter step now, a softness returning to his expression that no war or loss could quite erase but Wei Wuxian somehow soothed. The Cloud Recesses themselves felt different, warmed from within. The air was less brittle. The rules seemed less suffocating. Even the bamboo swayed like it approved.

Wei Wuxian ran—laughing, bright, unstoppable—and Lan Wangji followed, steady as moonlight trailing behind sunlight.

And for the first time in a long time, the Cloud Recesses felt less like a sacred, silent mountain and more like a home that had just remembered how to breathe again.