Chapter Text
“What is it like, Baba? To have two romantic soulmates?” He remembers asking Wei Wuxian during a quiet evening after the birth of his daughter; Sizhui is twenty and his daughter had been born with two red marks upon her wrists; they shine under the sun the same way Sizhui’s marks seem to dance under the sunset.
Next to him A’ Fen hands their daughter to Lan Wangji with a tired smile. She wants to sleep, so does he. Their little Yue-er has been keeping them awake for the last three days; but they are eager to hear Baba’s answer.
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian scratched the back of his neck. “That’s one hell of a question, little radish.”
He rubs his left wrist, the one where Nie Mingjue’s soul mark had supplanted Mo Xuanyu’s original marks all those years ago, and sighs.
“I do not think Yue-er will experience it the same way I did. I hope she will not.” He finally says, eyes lowered and lost in the memories of a man long dead.
“Is it that bad?” Wonders A’ Fen and Sizhui squeezes her hand to reassure her.
Wei Wuxian sobs out a chuckle. “No, it is everything but bad. Growing up the knowledge that I had two romantic soulmates lifted my spirits, made me live everyday harder in hopes of meeting them; it made me surpass myself everyday so they would be proud of me.” He reclines on Lan Wangji’s shoulder to smile at their granddaughter’s sleeping face. “And in my darkest time, they gave me strength to survive.”
Wei Wuxian placed a kiss on his husband’s brow. “But without Mingjue, it feels like half my heart stayed behind when I was resurrected. It feels incredible to have two love soulmates, but it can also cause pain if one of them is lost. That’s why,” he bent down to kiss Lan Yue’s chubby cheek and sniffed. “I hope she will not experience it the same way I do.”
At the tears on his husband’s voice, Lan Wangji finally removes his eyes from their granddaughter and nuzzles against Wei Wuxian’s chin. “She will not, and if she does, she will have you to guide her through that. She will have all of us.”
Sizhui is certain he has never loved his parents more than in that moment as he watched them cuddle his daughter and support each other; he is certain he could not have asked for a better family. And yet part of his mind wonders how it could have been had Nie Mingjue never died and succeeded in fulfilling the promises he made to his Baba during the war.
He sees his fathers’ making funny faces at his daughter and wonders how Nie Mingjue would have fitted inside their little family.
Nie Mingjue’s words heat lightly against his shin and Sizhui shakes his head to erase such thoughts; there is no use in what if’s.
It takes no time for Nie Minguje’s men to surround them, to hide them from the view of those still thirsty for the Yiling Patriarch's life. Upon seeing Nie Mingjue’s face Wei Wuxian’s lips had parted in a delighted smile and had begun to struggle against Sizhui’s hold.
Annoyed and tired, Sizhui frowned, forehead resting against Wei Wuxian’s bloodied shoulder. “Baba, stay still.”
It is useless, it is as if Nie Mingjue’s arrival had reignited a flame in Wei Wuxian’s chest. His Baba struggled until he was free to march and bury his face on Nie Mingjue’s chest. From his position on the floor Lan Sizhui watches them through bleary eyes; he marvels at the way they seem to fit against each other, the same way Baba and father used to do. He marvels at the speed in which Nie Mingjue’s furious eyes soften at the sight of Wei Wuxian’s face.
“A-Jue.” Grins Wei Wuxian, ignoring the rest of the world, ignoring the way the mountain still hisses inside their brains in warning.
But there is little time for greetings, as suddenly a scream filled with grief cuts across the battlefield.
“The Yiling Laozu has bewitched Chifeng-Zun!”
And it's quickly followed by hundreds of angry voices.
“We must save him!”
“Wei Wuxian really has no shame!”
Sizhui has the sudden urge to slam his head against the ground, instead he raises on shaky legs, using his guqin as support and walks over to his Baba. As he approaches, Nie Mingjue throws him a cautionary glance but allows him to stand next to them as he recognizes Sizhui is probably the only reason his soulmate is still alive.
Sizhui scans the crowd until his eyes land in the half-hidden face of Jin Guangyao, whose eyes are focused on the way Nie Mingjue seems to lift Wei Wuxian’s spirits just by standing behind him. On sect leader Nie’s red and exposed soulmark.
Hate is forbidden, but Sizhui loathes that man.
He wishes to see his head rolling on the floor the same way Guangyao saw his Baba being eaten by corpses with happy, calculating eyes. The same way he saw Nie Mingjue torn to pieces and dispersed across the land.
Sizhui’s fingers close into tight fists as he puffs out his chest and inquiries as politely as he can with a dry throat and the eyes of Lan Qiren fixed on his every move, on the guqin strapped to his back.
“That is a bold claim to make, Jin-Gongzi.”
Jin Guangyao takes a step away from the protection of his disciples, who had crowded around him as soon as Jin Guangshan’s head had touched the ground; protecting their new sect leader, and snarls at Sizhui in his best impression of a grieving son.
“You killed my father! And still have the nerve to address me in such a way?” Guangyao made a hysterical sound, similar to a drowned animal and full of rage. “It is no wonder you stand next to such an evil creature!”
“...evil creature inside the Cloud Recesses!”
Sizhui watches his father rise from the corner of his eye, Hanguang-Jun’s entire body has turned stiff, cold seems to radiate from Bichen’s sheathed form as Lan Wangji stares down at the elder that has dared to slander his beloved husband. Surprisingly, it’s Lan Qiren who shuts the elder up with a side glance, before carrying on evaluating the talismans Wei Wuxian had presented to the council.
“I see no evil creature here, great cousin.” Stated Lan Qiren, humming as his eyes roamed across the brilliant display of runes on his hands. “ Just my nephew’s husband.”
Sizhui would never forget the way his Baba’s face had brightened up as he bowed low to Lan Qiren, nor the way Father had seemed fit to restart his weekly tea with granduncle Qiren.
He would never forget how Lan Qiren had died prey of the same plague (he had looked to pale and bloated for someone who died of sickness) that had killed his daughter’s soulmates and ripped her from his arms.
He would never forget the grief that came down upon his family and the way not even Baba’s best smile seemed to comfort Hanguang-Jun in the absence of the man that had raised him.
How nothing Baba did could cheer nor Sizhui nor his wife after they’d buried their little girl and burned ghost paper for her.
It had taken them years to build themselves back together, to the day his wife could not set foot in the Gusu nor the Cloud Recesses; she lived on her homesect, content to receive Sizhui whenever a night hunt took him nearby.
Sizhui would never be able to forget the way Baba had smiled when he’d suggested a road trip, just the three of them. Like Baba always wanted, with a donkey and night-hunting whenever their feet carried them.
His parents had seemed to come back to life for the few months they wandered around, and with them, Sizhui began to heal.
Until the world and their hatred caught upon them and decided it was a good idea to remind Lan Sizhui that he’d once been Wen Yuan; that his parents could be taken from him as easily as they'd come his way.
Hanguang-Jun’s bloodied lips and desperate eyes as he unsheathed Bichen and pushed his husband behind him.
“Run!”
Baba’s desperate face as he whistled and willed the ghosts to remove their attackers.
His father’s last stand, forehead ribbon stained red, a gash upon his face.
His father’s knees hitting the ground.
Emptiness inside his soul.
“Diedie!”
His family had died due the world's black and white view of things, they had left him alone because some Lan elders decided Wei Wuxian had corrupted Lan Wangji to the point of immorality; that death was the kindest thing they could do for Hanguang-Jun.
His Father died quickly.
His Baba smiled through red teeth, torment clear on his face. On his screams.
Hands shaking, Sizhui did his best to control the anger swirling under his flesh and burning at his core, he failed miserably as he snarled down at Jin Guangyao.
“Who is evil, the man that seeks to protect the innocent, or the one that burns them?”
Jin Guangyao titled his head a fraction to the side, a millisecond before he counterattacked. “You can't deny it, so you slander righteous men! You stand next to a monster!” He raised Hesheng, its sharp tip pointed at Wei Wuxian’s kneeling figure. “I won’t let you take Da-ge as well, young man!”
Something flickered across Lan Sizhui’s face, something that made Lan Qiren take a step back and Lan Xichen made an aborted motion to quiet his sworn brother. Something dangerously close to the glare Wangji had sent their way as he defended Wei Wuxian and made thrity-three elders bleed to protect the evil he loved. An expression so similiar to Qingheng-Jun’s stern face as he married a murderess.
The face of a Lan pushed past its breaking point.
Sizhui dropped his broken guqin to the ground and pulled Wangji from his back. He is not a young man any more, he is twenty-seven. He is the father of a daughter that died under the strain of two black soulmarks, the husband of a wife with a butchered heart and the son of murdered parents. He is not young and he is in no mood to be cordial, he wants to mourn in peace, he wants to grab his Baba’s leg and never let go. He wants to heal the wounds the young version of his father is suffering from. He wants his rage to subside and yet… he turns to his Baba, eyes red and teeth bared.
A creature of order ready to create chaos.
“Summon the ghost general, Wei-qianbei.”
It's a risk, a gamble he hopes will work in turning the crowd away from his Baba and the Wens. Wei Wuxian flinches inside Nie Mingjue’s embrace and looks at Sizhui as if he’d grown a second head.
“Wen Ning is dead, Sizhui.”
“No,” drawls Sizhui, eyes fixed on his Baba’s face, on his red eyes-- the only clue he is about to lose it. “He is not. Summon him.”
Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side and raises Chenqing to his lips, as he plays the first tune an arrow-- with feathers of pale green, like the ones his wife used to night-hunt-- flies above Nie Mingjue’s shoulder and impales on Wei Wuxian’s lower belly.
The army cheers.
Lan Sizhui screams as his Baba falls, he lets out a sound low and dangerous, too animalistic to be human, and places his shredded fingers atop his father’s guqin. His guqin.
He is no demonic cultivator, but heavens above, he is the son of one.
Nie Mingjue dives down to cradle Wei Wuxian on his arms and a Nie disciple shoots down the man that shot their sect leader’s soulmate.
Wen Yuan’s eyes blaze red as he pulls a note from his guqin and summons with all his might; he breathes in and calls for uncle Ning to come and help him.
Please, he begs to the resentment around him, please.
Let my family be safe.