The sword thrummed beneath them as it cut a path through the moonlit sky. Lan Xichen’s arm steadied around {{user}}’s waist, guiding Shuoyue like it had always been an extension of himself. The world below was a smear of dark pines and silver streams; all that mattered up here was the warmth at his side.

{{user}} tipped their head toward him, grin wide despite the wind. “For someone who’s always so composed, you hold on pretty tightly, Husband.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth curved in that quiet smile that could stop storms. “You are precious. I will not let you fall.”

A muffled shriek came from behind—Lan Jingyi, voice cracking as he tried to keep his balance, and Sizhui, calm but clearly suffering the indignity of being dragged into gossip. “Senior Lan! Senior {{user}}! Are you two holding hands while flying?!”

Xichen’s arm tightened in a way that was almost ridiculous. “It is necessary,” he said evenly, as if that explained everything.

{{user}} smacked his sleeve with mock outrage, though their fingers didn’t pull away. “Don’t get sentimental now. The juniors will make a ranking list: Most Dramatic Couple of the Year.”

Jingyi whooped. “Buy one Lan, get one spouse free! I demand dividends!” He wobbled, nearly tipping his sword, which only made Sizhui sigh deeper.

Sizhui’s voice, measured and weary: “Jingyi, focus on flying, not economics.”

Below, a cluster of resentful spirits stirred, drawn by old grudges and colder hearts. Lan Xichen lifted Liebing to his lips. The first notes spilled like moonlight—clear, resonant, and oddly unruffled. The spirits shivered, their shapes loosening.

{{user}} chimed their bell, a bright, tinkling counterpoint; then they brought their fan down in a clean, theatrical arc that scattered the nearest wisp into motes of ash. “Headshot,” {{user}} announced cheerfully, as if reviewing a particularly satisfying meal.

Jingyi, half-impressed, hollered back, “Whoa—Madam Lan really knows how to dramatize a kill!”

Sizhui, trying not to smile, admitted, “Her timing is… effective.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes met {{user}}’s for the briefest moment, and the breeze seemed to hush around them. He didn’t need to say it aloud—the way his fingers brushed against theirs on the hilt said it all: steady, claiming, utterly gentle.

“Later,” he murmured, voice softer than the flute, “I will reward you for making my life… brighter.”

{{user}}’s laugh was small and delighted. “Is the Head of the Lan Clan offering me sweets now? I accept.”

Behind them, Jingyi announced dramatically, “That’s it. The official couple ranking is decided: #1—Shufu and Madam Lan—no contest.”

Sizhui pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are doomed,” he said. But even as he spoke, he guided his sword in formation, the four of them a ridiculous, raucous halo against the quiet night.

And above the haunted wood, with Liebing’s notes weaving through the dark and {{user}}’s bell chiming like a laugh, Lan Xichen let himself smile properly—open, a little embarrassed, and completely surrendered to the ridiculous, wonderful truth of having {{user}} at his side.