Consort Lan's Forbidden Devotion

Chapter 1: little rabbit

The forest was forbidden.

Lan Wangji knew this as surely as he knew the three thousand rules carved into the stone wall of Cloud Recesses. He had recited them every morning since he could speak, the words heavy as stone in his mouth. Lan disciples do not wander. Lan disciples do not speak unless necessary. Lan disciples do not indulge in idle curiosity.

And yet.

The lessons that morning had been endless: meditation until his knees ached, calligraphy until his wrist burned, etiquette until the very air felt rigid. The elders’ voices droned like distant thunder, always correcting, always reminding him of his place. Omega heir. Perfect. Controlled. Silent.

He had slipped away during the midday rest period. Not far. Just beyond the boundary markers, into the green hush of the mountain forest that bordered Gusu Lan territory. The air tasted different here—wild, alive with pine and earth and something sweeter, like sunlight on water. His heart beat too fast, too loud. He told himself he would return before anyone noticed.

Then he heard it.

A flute. Not the measured, ceremonial notes of the Lan clan’s xiao, but something wild. The sound tugged at him, curious and bright, pulling his feet forward before his mind could protest.

He pushed through a screen of bamboo and stepped into a small clearing.

A boy lounged against an ancient cedar, one leg bent, the other stretched out. He wore black and red robes—colors forbidden in Gusu Lan—loose and careless, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was tied high in a messy knot, strands escaping like they had a mind of their own. A red ribbon fluttered at his wrist as he played.

The melody danced. It was nothing like the disciplined scales Lan Wangji had been taught. This was joy made sound—careless, free, alive.

The boy’s eyes opened. They were bright, mischief-colored, and they found Lan Wangji instantly.

He lowered the flute. A grin spread across his face, wide and shameless.

“Well, hello there, little snow rabbit,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “You look like you’ve never seen sunlight before.”

Lan Wangji froze. No one had ever spoken to him like that—casual, playful, without deference.

He straightened, hands folding automatically into his sleeves. “This is Gusu Lan territory. You should not be here.”

The boy laughed, soft and delighted. “And yet here I am. And here you are.” He tilted his head. “Escaping lessons?”

Lan Wangji’s ears burned. He said nothing.

The boy pushed off the tree, sauntering closer. Up close, he was taller, broader, sun-kissed. A faint scent clung to him—something sharp and sweet, like lotus. Alpha, Lan Wangji’s instincts supplied, though he had never been this close to one outside of formal greetings.

“I’m just a wandering Crown Prince,” the boy said, offering a lazy bow that somehow managed to be both mocking and sincere.

Lan Wangji blinked. “You are… a prince?”

He grinned wider. “And you?”

Lan Wangji hesitated. Rules said he should not give his name to strangers. The rules said he should leave immediately.

But the flute was still in the prince's hand, and the clearing smelled like freedom.

“Lan Wangji,” he said quietly.

Prince’s eyes lit up. "Perfect.” He said it like he’d been waiting to call him that all his life. “Come here, Lan Wangji. I’ll teach you something fun.”