Wei Ying checks his look in the mirror one last time before he sets out. He waited until the house was quiet before changing into the deep blue hanfu Wen Qing had made him buy once, nagging in that caring way of hers and insisting that he should have at least one set of traditional clothes for special occasions. Wei Ying wasn't even sure at the time, why he kept saying no when it was obviously important to him to have a piece of his own culture in his closet, close enough to touch whenever he needed to. But the way this precious set of clothes was kept pristine in a cloth-covered hanger spoke volumes about his feelings instead.

He's carefully wrapped his long hair into a top knot secured by a red pen. It's embarrassing, but it is either that or one of Wen Popo's ceremonial chopsticks, but he hasn't got the guts to ask her. Having said that, he knows that if he asked any members of his family for something a little more special, he would have been given any number of decorated hairpins. But his family has given him too much anyway, and he doesn't want to ask for more. The red highlights in his hair glint, enhanced by the red ink of the pen. It will have to do. A few strands loosen to frame his face, and Wei Ying sighs.

He's feeling tired but excited.

Last night, he had expected a disagreement when extricating himself from Lan Zhan’s side for the evening, and thank God Lan Zhan was distracted because Wei Ying was able to get away without a fuss. He still had lots of finishing touches to apply, and the problem with anything creative is exactly that. When the process is layered, each addition is questionable, and even when the words are said out loud, phrases like, “is that enough? Maybe a little more,”, the rendering meant a little more work. Consequently, Wei Ying had been up until three o'clock in the morning. He allowed himself a tiny sleep in until A-Yuan had woken him up again with a wet but not unwelcome sloppy kiss to his cheek about an hour ago.

“Lan Zhan likes you,” he whispers to his reflection. “Even if he doesn't like what you've made, it's okay. Material things are just that. It won't change his mind.” Wei Ying swallows down his nerves, feeling too nauseous for breakfast. “Let's get this show on the road.”

If his hand trembles on the door frame as he leaves, he purposefully ignores it.

Sunday morning is quiet in Yiling. Everyone is either asleep or still convincing themselves that they need to be, so no one meets Wei Ying on the road. It's not even midday yet, and so most of the shops are closed too. Wei Ying forces himself to concentrate on the way the sunlight glimmers on the lush green leaves of the full trees, most of them more than twice his age, lining the pavement that he walks upon, admiring the few dandelions that have dared to bloom along the edges of the grassy verges alongside the main road. He spots a robin and a few strangely common green parrots and a few dozen monochromatic magpies cackling up above him.

They're a sign of good luck, he remembers, thinking about the age-old tale of the cowherd and the weaver girl separated for all time, only destined to meet via a bridge of these beautiful sympathetic birds who came together to unite them.

Someone must be cutting grass somewhere because the air is magnificent with the perfume of it, a fragrance that simultaneously makes Wei Ying hungry and anxious and delirious with joy.

His feet are walking that much faster, needing and wanting to reach Lan Zhan sooner.

How is it that his life has changed so much in such a small amount of time? How is it that he can feel any number of vastly different emotions and want to share it, share them, and share everything with this one person? It feels so big, suddenly. That at the end of this road, Lan Zhan is waiting for him.

Wei Ying pulls out his phone and calls him, even as he breaks into a sprint.

“Lan Zhan!” He shouts it out, his heart overflowing with a sea of his love.

Lan Zhan picks up immediately.

“Wei Ying? What's wrong–”

“Nothing, nothing…Oh! I'm outside your door?” It comes out like a question because Wei Ying is genuinely surprised where he is. He laughs.

The door opens to a wild looking Lan Zhan, who pulls him straight into his arms. He buries his face in Lan Zhan’s neck, needing that lovely spicy-sweet sandalwood scent to ground him.

“I thought–”

Wei Ying grabs his face, letting his thumbs gently caress the top of his lovely cheeks. His lovely golden eyes shimmer like heat waves across magnificent sand dunes of the desert. Lan Zhan stares back at him without blinking, letting him have this. It stops him from speaking, even as he eases Wei Ying inside and pushes the door closed. Now he can concentrate on Wei Ying.

“I love you,” Wei Ying tells him, and then horribly, his eyes fill with tears.

Lan Zhan hums, gathering him closer. Breathing in and out slowly, he listens for Wei Ying’s heart to match his pace, slowly rubbing circles on his back. Their chests are pressed together, rising and falling at the same time as Wei Ying nuzzles at his shoulder, letting his nose touch the soft, smooth skin of Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan feels warm and comforting.

Lan Zhan feels like home.

“What are you wearing?” Wei Ying says, clearing his throat and suddenly noticing his clothes. He leans back slightly to see better.

Lan Zhan has on a white traditional hanfu with silver thread work, a pattern of elegant swirling clouds that cover the front of the garment, the soft silk moulding across his body like a second skin. There are frog-fasteners all the way up to his lovely throat, the top two undone as if he was in the middle of dressing when Wei Ying called him.

His sleeves are long and his muscles ripple gracefully on the outer edges, the soft floaty fabric covering his hands when he puts his arms down, as Wei Ying pulls him forward so he can walk around him and fully admire his boyfriend properly.

“Do you like it?” Lan Zhan’s deep voice makes him shiver.

Wei Ying stops at his back, letting his fingers trace the delicate design on his shoulders, smoothing across the thin fabric. Each sinewy muscle of his back is a shadow of strength under the flimsy barrier. Lan Zhan trembles under his hands, and just like that, Wei Ying hugs him, unable to endure being even that much distance apart.

“Very much.”

When his arms reach in front of Lan Zhan to clasp tightly together, Lan Zhan covers them over his flat stomach with his own bigger, warmer hands, leaning back into his embrace. They stand like that for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's closeness. The warmth, the quiet feeling that neither is alone anymore, that they have each other now, is something to be treasured and to be grateful for. To know that they share something so rare and utterly priceless, something special that's just for them. It is enough.

Then Lan Zhan says in a quiet voice, “Wei Ying, come upstairs with me.”

Reluctantly, Wei Ying lets go of him, and Lan Zhan turns in an instance to capture his lips. Kissing Wei Ying feels like a gift all by itself, and in this precious moment, something they both need. Wei Ying just melts against him, his mouth languid and sugarplum sweet as he takes his time moving slowly. Each whisper of their stolen breaths, each slide of wet lips only makes them linger for longer, savouring the unique taste of each other, and Lan Zhan wonders why he was ever in a hurry in the first place.

Even when they pull apart, Lan Zhan takes his hand as he picks up the bag he had dropped, and they climb the steps to his apartment.

But it's Wei Ying who gasps when he enters the flat.

“Lan Zhaaaan!” He turns in a wide circle, letting go of Lan Zhan’s hand just so he can bounce towards the gorgeous pearl and fairy light garlands entwined with silk organza flowers hanging from the ceiling, his fingertips appreciating the myriad of textures to be felt.

Gone is the minimalistic pale colour scheme, though it's still here in spirit, but somehow, it's much more. Lan Zhan has transformed his living room into a fairytale paradise with surreal precision. There's so much to see that Wei Ying doesn’t have a clue about where to start first.

There are fun-fur fluffy cushions thrown casually but artistically with good-sized gaps on the sofa, the very same sofa that used to be white but is now a shimmering soft jersey of the palest creamy shade. And bizarrely, there's a disco ball throwing prismic rainbow hues as it turns, somehow attached to the centre light. Everything is brighter, livelier, enhanced, and Wei Ying once he gets over the surprise, saunters back to Lan Zhan, biting his bottom lip shyly.

“Lan Er-Gege, this must have taken you so long to set up. And while I'm also excited because of uh, reasons, I feel I must ask you why.” Wei Ying blinks up at him, and Lan Zhan drops to one knee.

He smiles, but it's definitely full of nerves, his hand anxiously running through his gorgeous hair more than once before he finds the determination and courage to continue.

“Wei Ying.” His voice still comes out hoarse and trembling. Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hands in his, looking up at him earnestly. “I accepted all the courting gifts your family gave me. I think it's time to ask you a very important question.”

Wei Ying feels his knees give out, and all of a sudden, he's facing Lan Zhan on the same level. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, wait! Wait! I have something for you, too!” Wei Ying beams at him, fully aware that he's hijacking Lan Zhan’s moment, but it makes sense in his head. “Those gifts were from my family, and don't get me wrong, I love them, the gifts and the Wens, but, but the thing is, they mean well. Honestly, they do,” he blinks rapidly now, frustrated by the annoying tears that make Lan Zhan’s face blurry to him, but he still perseveres undaunted, wanting Lan Zhan to know how he feels. “And yet to me, it didn't feel right. I kept thinking about what I wanted to give you. And it wasn't any of those things.”

“We'll give them to Uncle and Brother.” Lan Zhan insists, trying to make Wei Ying feel better about them. He succeeds because Wei Ying giggles.

And it's still Lan Zhan’s favourite sound.

Lan Zhan gently pulls Wei Ying closer so he can kiss his forehead. His lips linger there, calming them both. Who knew a proposal could be so nerve-wracking and draining? And he hasn't even gotten to ask Wei Ying that all-important question yet! He hadn't planned on doing it like that at all! So rushed and mind-blank that he hadn't even been aware of his own body and what it decided to do on the spur of the moment.

“Okay, let's get comfortable.” Wei Ying sits down in the kneeling position, waiting.

“Believe it or not, that was spontaneous,” Lan Zhan stands up instead, an unwilling smile playing on his lips. “I have something for you, too. I'll be right back, my love.”

“Oh, then can we do this on the couch?” Wei Ying giggles again and stands up before Lan Zhan can say anything. “These old knees ain't what they used to be.”

Lan Zhan simply smirks and escorts him to the revamped sofa and waits until Wei Ying sits down before bringing his hand up to his lips. He kisses the back of Wei Ying’s hand reverently, smiling when it makes Wei Ying blush most adorably. His hand is released and Lan Zhan disappears into his bedroom.

Wei Ying can't sit still, and he keeps changing his position, sometimes sitting on his hands in case they start pulling out the presents ahead of time and accidentally spoiling the surprise. Now that the moment is finally here, he's full of impatience. He wants to know what Lan Zhan thinks about the gifts in his bag, and he wants to visually record his reactions to each one. These are the real deal, the genuine courting gifts he wants to offer Lan Zhan, not exactly in exchange for himself, but as a token of his promises.

And don't they say that great minds think alike? What are the chances that Lan Zhan thought about doing something similar today, too? Isn't all of this just so crazy?

Lan Zhan comes back with a bundle of cloth and a small wooden box.

“How many do you have?” He asks. “Only because I'm trying to decide who should go first.”

“I have three, well, two and a half really,” Wei Ying beams at him in victory.

“It's not a competition,” Lan Zhan protests with another one of his rare tiny smiles.

“Okay, Mr. I have only two…”

“Fine. Wei Ying can go first.”

“Okay, okay…” Wei Ying lets out an unholy squeal. “You have to close your eyes.”

Lan Zhan does exactly that.

“No peeking? I think you can still see through your lashes!”

Lan Zhan squeezes his eyes shut tightly, his lips twitching because he can hear and imagine Wei Ying’s pout. Something cold and hard is placed in his hands then.

“You know I said two and a half? Well, that's one and a half technically.” Wei Ying says close to his ear. “Open your eyes now, Sweetheart.”

His hot breath skating over his ears makes Lan Zhan shiver, and he opens his eyes slowly.

Wei Ying watches him, holding his breath tight in his chest. Lan Zhan’s beautiful golden eyes widen imperceptibly, the minute change to his features only visible to the one scrutinising him, like a fisherman waiting for plankton. It's only because Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan will be affected that he's pleased. The signs are there for anyone caring enough to look properly, and Wei Ying is absolutely one hundred percent invested in what Lan Zhan thinks about this, the first gift he thought of.

Lan Zhan’s long, elegant fingers trace over the blue gentian flowers carved and painted onto the cherry wood box reverently. His lips are slightly open in shock, and he hasn't blinked once! His lovely thumbs caress the corners of the lacquered box gently, and then he lifts his gaze in awe.

“Wei Ying. Did you–I mean, where…no,” he shakes his head to himself. “I don't believe it's possible to buy something like this. The detail, the skill!” Suddenly, his eyes burn with a golden intensity. “Wei Ying made this with his own hands.” It's a statement, with no question marks. He knows.

Wei Ying’s face goes hot and red without any warning.

Lan Zhan puts the box down on the coffee table as carefully as he can, and then he scoots closer to Wei Ying to lift up his chin so he can be thoroughly kissed. It's filthy, it's deep, and best of all, it's sincere.

“This is the key,” Wei Ying whispers, holding up a silver chain with a tiny blue key dangling off it. The head of the key is shaped like a heart. “I went for cheesy,” he adds with a wide grin.

Lan Zhan will do anything for that particular smile. He kisses it again, making Wei Ying laugh out loud.

“Are you going to kiss me every time I give you something?” He chuckles, lifting his own hands up to his flushed cheeks, trying to cool them down.

“Mn. Wei Ying should know that he is appreciated. And,” Lan Zhan considers, and his gaze turns shrewd. “Since we are in the process of promising ourselves to each other, I'd say that gives me access to unlimited kisses.”

“I haven't said yes, yet.” Wei Ying states, primly, sticking his nose in the air. But he's still smiling, pleased.

“We'll see.” Lan Zhan promises back.

His fingers brush Wei Ying’s as he takes the delicate silver chain from them. The tiny silver padlock securing the box opens easily. Lan Zhan flicks the catch open, his sharp ears honing in on Wei Ying’s quick intake of his breath. But as soon as the lid opens, his attention is stolen away by the contents of the box. There's a cover of royal blue silk satin. Lan Zhan is familiar with fabrics enough to know that this is premium quality. In fact, he even recognises it.

“Is this ours?” He lifts a corner of the soft material, it's ethereal glow undiminished by the shadow of the lid.

“Yeah, but I paid for it, don't worry.” Wei Ying bites his bottom lip, anxious suddenly. “I saw it and thought of you, so I cut off three metres and there was a tiny bit left. A sign from the Universe for sure.”

“It's very nice,” Lan Zhan replies, very confused. But he dutifully puts the box down to kiss Wei Ying again.

“Open it,” Wei Ying urges, between laughing.

“I did.” Lan Zhan doesn't pout. He looks at the box again, and admires it. It's lovely, and Wei Ying must have spent hours and hours engraving that pattern into the surface of the wood, not to mention the painting and the lacquering of it. Now the box gleams in the glow of the fairy lights, polished to perfection. Only Wei Ying would know how much gentians mean to Lan Zhan.

“Wait! Did you think that's it?” Wei Ying stops laughing only to cackle in delight. “You did, didn't you? Oh my God!” He wipes away his tears and gives the box back to Lan Zhan. “Open it, and this time, look under the silk.”

Lan Zhan sheepishly pulls away the vibrant blue silk and now he gets why Wei Ying found it so funny. There are two gorgeous red candles lying on the blue silk under the top layer. Lan Zhan lifts them out of the box one by one, marvelling at the intricate design. Wei Ying has carved the wax into auspicious dragons, painting them with a golden fine line, and dipping the wick into gold paint. These are works of art by themselves.

“How?” He breathes out, completely in awe of this man and his creative skills.

“Well, I couldn't give you an empty box,” Wei Ying shrugs, going for nonchalant but secretly exploding with happiness. “I did it in between waiting for the box to dry. Turns out, the lacquered effect takes AGES to dry,” he adds with a chuckle.

“But…when did you do this?” Lan Zhan narrows his gaze at the naughty man. “You did not miss a day of work.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan! How could I miss a chance to spend valuable time with my favourite person ever?” Wei Ying leans forward to dangle his arms off those impressive shoulders. He kisses Lan Zhan’s pouting lips, trying to tease him out of pursuing this subject.

But Lan Zhan refuses to be deterred. “When?”

Wei Ying sighs, not risking looking at him. “At night.”

“But Wei Ying, we spent every night together. You sometimes leave after ten,” Lan Zhan accuses him.

Wei Ying looks away petulantly. “This was important. I wanted to finish it as soon as possible but at the same time, I wanted it perfect. Not rushed, or ship shoddy. It needed to be good.”

“It IS good,” Lan Zhan brings him closer to hug him. “But promise me that from now on, you won't sacrifice sleep to do something like this.”

“I promise,” Wei Ying says easily, kissing his neck affectionately. Lan Zhan is going easy on him, and he knows it. This is a compromise he can understand and agree with.

Lan Zhan pats his head and lets go of him. It's his turn now. He picks up the little box next to him. This is a souvenir too, from one of their rare trips to the beach near Xinxing town. The box is covered in pretty little shells, from tiny pink conch shells to vivid shimmering scallop shells, tiny fake pearls with an iridescent shine. It's a cheap trinket but to Lan Zhan, it's a reminder of the time his family was whole. And what it contains is priceless.

“What's that?” Wei Ying asks him quietly. His hand cups Lan Zhan’s right hand, his thumb gently smoothing the soft skin across his knuckles.

Lan Zhan takes his hand and turns it around to place the box in the centre of his palm.

“Tell me about this?” Wei Ying says, letting his fingers move along the ridges and the smooth parts of the shells covering the lid. There's no lock on it, he notices. But it's obvious from the pain in Lan Zhan’s eyes, the tightness of the skin around them, and that crease between his shapely brows, that this box means something more to him, something beyond a monetary value.

“When I was five years old, my parents took us to Shanghai. I think it was a business trip, but my mother insisted on taking my brother and I to the beach. The town we travelled to was called Xinxing, and I remember walking down to the beach, and the road to it had many shops. All tourist traps probably, but my mother indulged me when I saw this in the window of one of them.” Lan Zhan can still remember that day. “It was off season, and the beach was empty when we got there. But there was a man selling donkey rides and my mother made both of us go on them,” he recalls.

“Aww, that's cute!” Wei Ying scrunches up his nose, grinning back at him. He carefully opens the box, well aware that it is over twenty years old now. And then he gasps.

Nestled in tissue paper is the most beautiful comb he's ever seen.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s head shoots up with his question.

“It's a jade comb. A Lan family heirloom. Traditionally handed down to all those who join us, specifically the first wife out of two brothers. In this case, my husband. It belonged to my mother, my grandmother, and my great grandmother. It goes back seven generations and you are the eighth, luckiest person to accept it. Do you?”

Wei Ying is already nodding, even as his mysteriously ever present tears make another appearance. He feels more than seeing Lan Zhan take the comb out of the box, briefly put it into his hands and then reconsider. He tries not to gasp again as Lan Zhan plucks it from him and gently tucks it into his hair carefully.

The comb is as white as jade can get with a pattern of clouds that ebb and flow along the body of it. More precious than any metal, Wei Ying smiles as Lan Zhan wipes away his tears, checking to make sure he's alright.

“I am honoured to accept,” he says, earning another warm kiss. Then he remembers his second gift and presents it to Lan Zhan. He's wrapped the cloth bundle with another material, a pale blue organza.

Lan Zhan unties the elaborate gorgeous bow with careful fingers, mindful of the effort it must have taken Wei Ying to do this. And then, as the baby blue organza falls away like a lotus flower unfurling to reveal its secret centre, there is a meticulously folded piece of royal blue silk satin. However, he can see a pattern emerging over the right shoulder, a brilliant silver dragon's head amid fluffy clouds. His fingers tenderly lift it up.

It's a hanfu. For him.

Wei Ying made this with his own hands, and as Lan Zhan turns it around to admire the back, he realises that the rest of the dragon's body is embroidered onto the back of the garment. Silver beads glimmer back at him, a glow of the dragon's power, its aura spreading all the way down its magnificent body. Lan Zhan can't believe how beautiful it is.

“Wei Ying…when? How did you make this?”

“Right under your nose,” the man under scrutiny giggles. “Whenever I was sewing in the shop. Do you know, Lan Er-Gege,” Wei Ying purrs, pushing aside the hanfu to climb into his lap. “You always stare at my face. I never noticed it before, but this gift was the last test.” He snickers.

“Mn. If Wei Ying is in the room, how can he expect my vision to settle for anything less?”

“Lan Zhaaaaan!”

Lan Zhan shuts his mouth with another deep, mesmerising kiss, and many minutes later, he finds himself flat on his back being kissed all over his face. Well, that's unexpected but pleasant. Those elusive lips are caught and ravished, with a bite at the end.

“I accept.” Lan Zhan tells Wei Ying.

“What?”

Wei Ying is staring back at him with a dazed look, clearly uncomprehending his words.

“Yes, I will marry you. Now, it's your turn.” Lan Zhan’s thumb traces over Wei Ying’s bottom lip, smiling as he winces when the fragile, slightly broken skin is touched.

“Yes, I will marry you?” Wei Ying murmurs, guessing.

“Good enough.” Lan Zhan sits up and pulls the bundle he'd brought over before. He extracts a red velvet box. “Wei Ying. You are everything to me. For me, there is no other.” He opens the box and shows Wei Ying the two matching rings nestled inside. “Gold or silver?”

“Gold because of your eyes.” Wei Ying immediately says, and giggles because Lan Zhan looks so smug. Maybe because he picked well.

“Mn. I wanted the silver for the same reason. It's actually platinum so it's worth more. Are you sure? We can still swap, if you want to.”

Wei Ying shakes his head furiously and holds his left hand out. Lan Zhan kisses his third finger and puts the ring on it, kissing the ring too, afterwards. Then he holds his left hand out.

“Why is it always the left hand?” He wonders, doing the same to Lan Zhan’s lovely hands. But he kisses each finger as if he's worshipping each one. “I'm never taking mine off.”

“Vena Amoris. Vein of love. It is said that a single vein from this finger goes all the way to your heart.” Lan Zhan puts a finger on Wei Ying’s heart and he trembles. “And me too. I'm never taking mine off, either.”

Wei Ying pushes his hands out of the way and throws himself into Lan Zhan’s arms. That's it, I'm all out of romance, he thinks pitifully.

Lan Zhan huffs out a laugh.

Oh. He might have said that out loud.

“Wei Ying, dance with me,” Lan Zhan says, after a while.

They stand up and Lan Zhan puts some music on his phone. He brings Wei Ying into his arms and they begin to sway together to the music, just staring at one another.

They're finally engaged.