Chapter Three

The morning was cool and silent in the Lanshi*. Long before the official start of classes, the students took their places in neat rows with Clan Heirs in the first few seats. Lan Wangji sat at his usual spot—a model of quiet composure—with his gaze fixed on the rows of parchment awaiting his careful review. Directly behind him, nearly unnoticed, Meng Yao had taken a seat. His expression was calm, his posture impeccable, and his mind clearly at work over the intricate passages of the discipline texts.

It had only been a few weeks but Meng Yao grew more accustomed to his additional role at Cloud Recesses. He attended classes during the morning, studied and ran errands during the afternoon, and attended to his masters in the evening. Although some others know he was an attendant, not many knew that his real position was that of a concubine. His primary duty was to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. Even though it was "only" his duty, he couldn't help but enjoy the thrill of being so close to the untouchable Twin Jades of Lan. 

Wei Wuxian arrived a little later with Jiang Wanyin, his steps quick and light as he maneuvered into the hall. Despite his notorious reputation for causing mischief, he never spared a glance at the unobtrusive figure quietly studying behind Lan Wangji. Today, his attention was elsewhere—secretly chatting with Nie Huaisang, and complaining about the sect rules. The subtle presence of Meng Yao passed like a phantom, unacknowledged by Wei Wuxian.

As the assembly settled, Lan Qiren strode into the room with a measured step. An instant hush fell over the room. Collectively, everyone stood up and gave their greetings. Lan Qiren sat down and waved his hand, gesturing for everyone to sit. His calm voice, precise and laden with expectancy, filled the hall as he began the day's lesson on one of the most perplexing passages in the Lan Sect's studies.

"Today, we revisit the doctrine on temperance and duty," Lan Qiren intoned.

After a brief pause to allow the words to sink in, he reached a point of uncertainty in the text—a question which had stumped even a few seasoned disciples. He scanned the room thoughtfully, and his gaze fell on the quiet figure behind Lan Wangji.

Lan Qiren was aware of his nephews' concubine*. He had personally met the boy. Polite, and measured with great beauty. But the reason he agreed to allow him to attend the lectures with other students was because the child was a rare genius. And so far, his expectations haven't been disproven. The boy was able to keep up with his studies despite his age, low cultivation, and other duties.

"Meng Yao," he called out, the syllables deliberate yet gentle. "Explain to us. What is the significance of 'subduing one's inner tumult to cultivate true clarity' as set forth in the precepts?"

Wei Wuxian, who had until then been casually oblivious to any name other than his own in the crowd, turned with a slight frown. He'd never heard the name Meng Yao spoken aloud before in this setting. The silence that followed was heavy with expectation.

From his seat tucked neatly behind Lan Wangji, Meng Yao lifted his head; his eyes—sharp and calm—met Lan Qiren's steady gaze. In a measured tone that betrayed both his youth and a precocious understanding, he began, "Respected master, the phrase calls for each disciple to first conquer his own inner passions before attempting to navigate the uncertainties of the outer world. Only by mastering the self can one remain steadfast when external chaos beckons."

There was a brief pause as those present absorbed his succinct yet profound explanation. Even Wei Wuxian, typically prone to bluster and irreverence, found himself genuinely taken aback by the clarity of Meng Yao's response. For a moment, he looked over his shoulder toward the quiet youth—now identified by name—and wondered at the gentle brilliance he had so effortlessly displayed.

Lan Qiren offered a nod of approval. "Indeed. Let that be a lesson in humility and study." His tone was both praising and advisory—as if reminding everyone that even the least conspicuous among them might hold insights far beyond their apparent years.

Wei Wuxian's attention is unmistakably drawn now. So… that's how you understand it? he thought to himself as he shifted in his seat. Though Wei Wuxian might have wished to joke at his expense soon afterward, for now the unspoken lesson had been delivered: every disciple, no matter how young or inconspicuous, had something valuable to share.

For once, he recognized that there was more to the morning than his usual playful disregard. The question that had baffled him was answered clearly by someone he'd barely known was there until this very moment.

In the crisp, early morning air of the Cloud Recesses, the serene discipline of the Lan Clan was only interrupted by the whisper of bamboo leaves and the echo of footsteps across stone pathways. Meng Yao, diligent and poised, made his way towards the Jingshi* where Lan Wangji awaited him. The summons had been unexpected, yet Meng Yao approached it as he did all things—with a blend of humility and carefully concealed ambition.

Having prepared for class beforehand, he hurriedly dressed and brushed his hair. It wasn't a long walk but he quickened his steps just a little so he could get back to prepare again sooner. The previous day's lecture still lingered in his mind, particularly the maxim he had recited about conquering one's inner passions. It was a truth he wielded skillfully, manipulating perspectives and insights to navigate the precarious world he inhabited.

Lan Wangji stood by the window, his back straight and his posture exuding an aura of untouchable coolness. The morning light cast a halo around him as it filtered through the paper screens. Meng Yao bowed respectfully, his mind already calculating the myriad reasons for this meeting. 

"Second Master Lan," Meng Yao began, his voice smooth and respectful. His bow was perfect, not too low but not high enough to be said to be disrespectful.

His mind was troubled by a vision that had come unbidden—a glimpse into a future fraught with darkness and moral ambiguity. In this unsettling vision, Meng Yao—who would become Jin Guangyao—stood at the precipice of his own desires, yearning to belong, to be accepted, and willing to cross lines that should never be crossed.

The images were stark and haunting: Meng Yao, yielding to temptation, his hands stained with the metaphorical blood of ambition and betrayal. Acts of violence committed in the name of power and acceptance flickered through Lan Wangji's mind like a somber play, each scene more disturbing than the last.

Yet, as he returned to the present, his gaze fell upon the very same Meng Yao standing before him—not yet Jin Guangyao, not yet tainted by the choices that lay in his path. The boy was poised, delicate in appearance but with a steely resolve that belied his gentle demeanor.

Lan Wangji found himself caught between these two realities—the vision of potential ruin and the tangible presence of the youth before him. There was a softness to Meng Yao's features, more earnestness than ambition in his eyes that spoke of the better nature he still possessed.

Lan Wangji turned, his gaze piercing and unreadable. "Meng Yao, your answer during the last lecture was intriguing."

Meng Yao nodded, his expression one of earnest modesty. "I merely conveyed the principles as I understand them."

"'Mastering the self,'" Lan Wangji repeated, his tone even but carrying a weight that belied his words. "What do you believe is the nature of restraint?"

Meng Yao paused, considering his words. "Restraint is the foundation of discipline. It is the ability to control one's desires and impulses, to remain true to one's principles even amidst temptation."

Lan Wangji's eyes narrowed slightly. "And do you practice this restraint?"

Meng Yao felt a chill despite himself—a momentary vision, perhaps triggered by Lan Wangji's scrutiny, of paths he might tread, of darker deeds that whispered in possibilities yet unrealized.

"I strive to," Meng Yao replied smoothly, meeting Lan Wangji's gaze with calculated sincerity.

Silence stretched between them, a current of unspoken understanding and suspicion swirling beneath the surface. Lan Wangji stepped closer, his expression inscrutable, and before Meng Yao could process the shift, he was enveloped in an unexpected kiss—one filled with a stark contrast of restraint and fervor.

The world tilted slightly, Meng Yao's composed demeanor unraveling just enough to reveal a flicker of surprise. Lan Wangji's lips were cool but insistent, a contradiction that left Meng Yao breathless and off-balance. The kiss deepened, a silent exploration, a question and an answer all at once.

When Lan Wangji kisses Meng Yao, there is a deliberate coolness to his touch, as if each movement is calculated and precise. His lips are firm and unwavering, offering a glimpse into the strength of his character and the weight of his principles. There is a sense of privilege in the way he kisses, allowing neither passion nor impulse to overtake him completely.

In contrast, when Lan Xichen embraces Meng Yao, it is with a fervent desire that reveals the depths of his emotions. His touch is gentle yet urgent, his lips expressing a deep-seated yearning that he cannot easily contain. There is an openness in his affection, a heartfelt vulnerability that speaks of trust and connection. Lan Xichen's kisses are filled with an unabashed want.

But both never fail to make Meng Yao breathless and aroused.

Meng Yao wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji's neck, while Lan Wangji kept one hand on Meng Yao's waist and the other on his head. Given their height difference, the Second Young Master Lan needed to bow his head a bit while Meng Yao stood on his tip toes. His head tilted just a bit.

The kiss was a dance of sorts, each move choreographed with an intensity that belied its outward calm. As their tongues touched, it was as though an electric current shot through the air. Meng Yao could feel the heat emanating from Lan Wangji's body, even as he maintained a cool demeanor on the surface.

The younger boy's heart raced in his chest as he felt himself being pulled closer to his master, their bodies pressed tightly together. There was a desperation to Lan Wangji's kisses, a hunger that he couldn't quite suppress.

Every time their tongues brushed against each other, Meng Yao felt a shiver run down his spine. It was as though Lan Wangji were painting him with his touch, leaving behind a trail of desire that scorched its way through Meng Yao's veins. Despite the restraint shown by Lan Wangji, there was no denying the passion that burned beneath the surface.

Their lips moved together in perfect harmony, each tongue teasing and tasting with a level of expertise that left Meng Yao reeling. It was a stolen moment, hidden away from the world around them, where nothing mattered except this forbidden connection. And in that moment, Meng Yao knew that he would do anything for another taste of his master's lips.

When Lan Wangji pulled away his touch lingered like a ghost over Meng Yao's skin. Meng Yao was breathless. When Lan Wangji looked at his face, he saw a youthful beauty with dewy eyes and flushed cheeks with his mouth open, small red tongue darting back in.

Lan Wangji swallowed, heat growing in his chest. No matter how restrained he was, it was hard to not react to such alluring beauty. He released Meng Yao's body and undressed his robe, slowly kneeling down to his chest.

As Lan Wangji knelt before him, Meng Yao felt a rush of both fear and desire. The younger boy's heart raced in his chest as he watched his second master's lips part, preparing to taste his skin.

The coolness of Lan Wangji's tongue against his sensitive nipple sent shivers down Meng Yao's spine. Each flick and tug was meticulously calculated, designed to heighten the pleasure while also pushing him to his limits. It was clear that Lan Wangji knew exactly what he was doing—he was an expert at teasing and tormenting in equal measure.

Meng Yao gasped as he felt himself growing harder under Lan Wangji's ministrations. He couldn't help but moan, the sensations overwhelming him in the best possible way. He arched his back instinctively, offering himself up for more.

But just as it started, Lan Wangji pulled away. And without a word, he reached into a small box on the table nearby, producing a set of delicate silver clamps*. It was made of two slender, flat strips of bamboo, about the length of half a finger, the ends are slightly curved for easy grip. They're joined at one end by a small piece of string, acting as a flexible hinge. When squeezing the end, it would open, the joint end held together by tension. There was a tiny tassel at the ends of each of them.

Meng Yao's breath hitched, understanding dawning with a mix of intrigue and trepidation. Lan Wangji brushed his fingers over his nipples. Meng Yao and closed his eyes.

"These will remind you," Lan Wangji said softly, his fingers deftly fastening the clamps over Meng Yao's nipples, "of the nature of true restraint."

The pressure was both sharp, a constant reminder of what lay beneath the surface. As he dressed, adjusting his robes carefully to conceal the evidence of their encounter, Meng Yao's mind whirled with the implications of the torment. He understood the lesson. True mastery was not in the absence of desire, but in living with it, shaping it, turning it to his advantage without succumbing to its chaos.

Lan Wangji licked his lips. "Classes start soon," he said. "Go now and prepare."

The library was quiet amid the soft clatter of paper and ink. Under the wood ceilings, Lan Wangji supervised with an austere calm as Wei Wuxian—ever irreverent even in punishment—sat at a long wooden desk, forced to copy out yet another batch of the Gusu Lan rules with meticulous regularity.

Just then, the doors opened quietly. In walked Meng Yao, carrying a neatly bound stack of scrolls and papers. The hands low as the top papers were held just under his chest. His eyes were wet, his face carried a slight flush on his cheeks, and there was a hint of breathlessness as he approached Lan Wangji's station. With a respectful nod, he stepped forward.

"Second Master Lan," he said, voice soft and slightly raspy, his tone as measured as his posture. "I've brought the papers for today's documents."

At that moment, Wei Wuxian couldn't resist, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he leaned over with a playful smirk. "Ah, what delicate spring blossoms flutter into our midst? Tell me, Meng Yao, are you such a slender, celestial beauty that even the moon envies your form? Truly, you seem so petite and gentle—one might think you were fashioned of the softest porcelain."

Meng Yao's flushed face deepened further, his eyes narrowed. He looked at Wei Wuxian with wet eyes as he tried to regain his composure. "Young Master Wei," he interrupted quietly, something about the word 'petite' didn't sit right with him. "I… I am only twelve."

A brief hush fell. Wei Wuxian paused mid-tease. Lan Wangji, ever unyielding in his measured tone, glanced briefly at the exchange and then spoke in his characteristic clipped cadence, "That is correct."

Wei Wuxian's smirk faltered into a look of genuine surprise and a tinge of admiration. After a few seconds of silence that seemed to stretch like the long shadows of early morning, Lan Wangji inclined his head imperceptibly, "Meng Yao, thank you. You may return."

With that, the quiet efficiency of the library was restored. Wei Wuxian, still ruminating on the delicate flush of Meng Yao's cheeks, raised his voice in a low murmur. His eyes roved over the tidy stack of papers now resting in front of Lan Wangji's supervision as he corrected the punishment work of copying the Gusu Lan rules.

There was something uncannily sensuous about the way the youth's face glowed, as if the morning light had kissed every contour with a secret, poetic grace. Wei Wuxian couldn't help but muse inwardly with a quip that recalled a line of Chinese poetry 'Like a lotus bud in spring's tender blush, your beauty outshines even the gleam of dawn'.

Curious, he leaned close to Lan Wangji. "Who is that promising little blossom?" he asked, his tone teasing yet admiring.

Lan Wangji's expression remained measured as he replied, "He is my brother's talented young attendant: Meng Yao. The child bears wisdom beyond his years despite his tender age."

At those words, a faint chuckle escaped Wei Wuxian, both in wonder and a trace of envy at such pure talent expressed even in youth.

Meanwhile, in the corridor beyond, Meng Yao, still flushed with unshed tears and catching uneven breaths, hurried along the polished stone passages back to his quarters. He kept his head bowed, his slim fingers clutching the documents rougher than he usually did.

Just outside one of the quiet halls, Nie Huaisang, ever the dandy whose admiration for beauty rivaled his penchant for literary art, nearly collided with the younger boy.

"Ah—sorry," Nie Huaisang said, stepping aside with a graceful bow.

Their eyes met briefly, and in that instant Huaisang found himself spellbound by the gentle, delicate features of Meng Yao, the subtle flush on his cheeks like the bloom of a rare flower at first light. He flinched when he noticed the tears that fell from the younger boy's eyes. Somehow, that only enhanced Meng Yao's beauty.

Though the words of affection were left unsaid, Huaisang's eyes shone with quiet adoration. After a polite exchange of greetings, each brief and careful, not daring to reveal too much, the dandy murmured softly, "Perhaps you would honor me with your company for tea later?"

His invitation, casual yet laden with a secret yearning for beauty, hung in the crisp air. Meng Yao, still in a slight rush, managed a courteous nod and promised to consider it, before quickly disappearing down the corridor to his quarters.

Later that twilight, alone in his dormitory room, Nie Huaisang settled before his small easel. With careful strokes of his brush and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, he began to paint—a playful, almost scandalous series of images that captured every nuance of Meng Yao's beauty. His work, tongue-in-cheek and erotically charged yet tender in its portrayal, was a risqué departure from the ordinary. Huaisang's painting dripped with sensuality: softly blushing cheeks rendered with the delicate gradient of an autumn sunset, eyes that mirrored fragile innocence and secret wisdom, and a hint of youthful vulnerability that lent the entire composition an exquisite, forbidden charm.

Wei Wuxian, still musing on the ethereal memory of that flushed, trembling beauty, found his thoughts equally softened by the sensual image of Meng Yao. In a rare moment of introspection amidst the usual chaos of his mischief, he recalled the delicate glow on the boy's face as a vision of gentle yet ineffable allure—a reminder that even among the strict hierarchies and rigorous discipline of the Cloud Recesses, beauty could burst forth in the unlikeliest of forms.

Meng Yao, relieved of his attending duties of his masters, hurriedly removed his clothes. Gingerly, with gritted teeth, he removed both clamps. Once removed, he laid on his back and controlled his breathing. His nipples were swollen and ached from soreness. He glanced at the clamps. The silver gleamed in the candle light. His lips trembled. Meng Yao tried not to cry but a few tears still slipped past.

Story Notes

*Lanshi = Orchid Room | A Classroom

*In Ancient China, brothers sharing concubines did happen. But it was usually not the norm in Confucian society, which emphasized clear family roles, hierarchy, and sexual order. However, there were exceptions such as sons of the emperor inheriting their father's concubines after his death, even if they were younger than those women. And brothers of an emperor might be given concubines as political rewards, some of whom had originally been meant for someone else.

This story follows a similar structure. In Reddit, I read a thread with the theory that the characters didn't marry right away because of their parents' marriages and/or family trauma. The late Clan Leader Nie (Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang's father) died terribly, not to mention both their mothers died when they were young. Jin Zixuan noticed his own parents' horrible marriage, and his father's behavior. Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan argued a lot and weren't the best parents. Qingheng-jun (Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji's father) was hardly there for his sons (probably true, he was in seclusion most of the time), and Madam Lan died when they were very young. Wen Rouhan is Wen Rouhan. Xue Yang and A'Qing were orphans. Xiao Xingchen was raised by Baoshan Sanren (unknown how he was raised but probably more like a disciple). Song Lan | Zichen was a disciple of Baixue Temple. Even though Meng Yao was raised in a brothel and was likely abused, he had the care and love of his mother. Just that society didn't share such views of parents being prostitutes.

That being said, Meng Yao in this story is registered as only Lan Xichen's female concubine despite being addressed as a man because he is intersex. Lan Qiren is aware that the two brothers share Meng Yao and since they don't overstep other boundaries (and he actually likes Meng Yao because of his clever mind and obedience to the rules), he lets it be. But to be real, the canon Lan Qiren would not have liked Lan Xichen taking an intersex concubine before marriage or letting him share Meng Yao with Lan Wangji.

*Jingshi = Quiet Room | Lan Wangji's bedroom.

*Clamps = I researched this a little. Ancient China was advanced in many ways but they didn't have "clothing pins". Especially not like the spring-loaded wooden clothespins we think of today. Those didn't come into popular use until much, much later (like, 1800s in the West kind of later). They hung their clothes on poles or over ropes, sometimes indoors but usually outside. In some wealthier households, they would use bamboo rods or wooden racks. These were placed under eaves or in courtyards to catch sunlight and breeze without being too exposed. Clothes were often pressed or smoothed by hand before drying to avoid wrinkles.

Meng Yao has never seen Clothing Pins, or as written here: Clamps, before. He cries both because of the pain and the realization that his Master's creatively thought of a punishment for them.

Has anyone ever had nipple clamps put on them for a long period of time? I've read novels and most kind of gloss over the pain and soreness while jumping straight into pleasure. Meng Yao has had his nipples sucked but never had clamps put on him for such a long period of time. He was flushed and breathless because of the pain, the pleasure was long gone by the time he got home.