Chapter Text
It was not that Lan Xichen held any resentment towards Wei Wuxian or begrudged his and Wangji’s happiness. How could he possibly do so? He did neither know what Wangji told Wei Wuxian nor did he care whether or not Wei Wuxian knew why Lan Xichen never met with him over the months following the night at Guanyin Temple.
It was just … he couldn’t bear their happiness. It was something that seemed so unimaginable to feel that he felt suffocated any time people did so much as smile anywhere he could see it.
And truth be told, Wei Wuxian almost never stopped smiling when he was around Wangji, as if trying his best to smile for the both of them, even though it was barely necessary – Lan Xichen knew Wangji well enough to see the warmth in his eyes when he was with Wei Wuxian. What was no more than a silent look of contentment on Wangji’s face would have been a mad grin on anyone else’s.
Lan Xichen was in truth grateful for Wei Wuxian’s existence; his return to the world – while a curse for some – had turned out to be a blessing for Wangji, who at the moment seemed to have everything he ever wished for in his life.
Maybe, Lan Xichen thought as he watched them walk side by side under the magnolia trees at Cloud Recesses from afar, hidden behind the windows of his own residence, he was jealous.
He couldn’t even look Wei Wuxian in the eye when they met at official banquets, no matter how many times Lan Xichen wanted to approach him. But he was barely able to keep up appearances, sometimes not even managing to hold a simple speech.
His “secluded meditation” indeed was a sad excuse when in truth most of the time he just sat about in his rooms, watching the shadows move with the day’s passing, reminiscing happier times.
Yet right now, watching Wei Wuxian’s black robes fluttering around Wangji’s white ones that swayed softly as they walked out of sight, he couldn’t help but remember a time where the situation had been the other way round.
It had been a gloomy morning, the sky hidden behind heavy clouds and rain pouring down when Lan Xichen had been disturbed by a young disciple, charged with looking after Wangji’s wounds. “Young Master Lan! Zewu-Jun!” the disciple cried, knocking against Lan Xichen’s door in a very unbecoming way, “HanGuang-Jun is gone! His rooms are empty!”
Lan Xichen, already fully dressed and almost on his way to see his brother, immediately opened the door. “What are you saying? Where is he?”
“We are looking for him,” the disciple huffed, “but he doesn’t seem to be at Cloud Recesses! Sect Leader Lan is being notified at this very moment.”
“Impossible.” Yet, despite his words, Lan Xichen knew. Only the night before had the news of the Yiling Patriarch’s death reached Gusu – and thus, Wangji. Lan Xichen had insisted on bringing him the news himself, remembering the scene at Burial Hills, where Wangji had spoken so softly with the apathetic Wei Wuxian. At first, Wangji didn’t react. He was weak from his wounds, both the ones he had suffered during the battle in Nightless City as well as the ones from the most severe punishment likely to ever have been implemented at Cloud Recesses, and for a moment, Lan Xichen had feared he might just collapse on the spot. Yet after a minute or so in utter silence, Wangji put out his arms and pushed Lan Xichen away with more force than he should have been able to use at this point.
“Get lost.”
Lan Xichen remembered the words, though he had never heard them out of Wangji’s mouth – but now he spoke them in almost the same voice as Wei Wuxian only a few days prior, and just as the latter completely unable to acknowledge the people around him.
“Wangji …”
“GET OUT!”
Lan Xichen couldn’t remember ever having seen Wangji in such a state before. Helpless, he left.
The next day, Wangji was gone.
After making sure he wasn’t somewhere at Cloud Recesses, after Lan Xichen had searched the Back Hills, scaring a dozen rabbits in the process, he convinced Lan Qiren to not immediately send out a search party. “What is there to be gained, Uncle? He will return when he is ready, and when we track him down and force him, it’ll likely make things worse.”
Lan Qiren, visibly struggling to suppress his anger, gave a curtly nod. “Three days. Should he not be back by then, we will go out and get him.” Despite his fury, he also was worried – Lan Wangji hadn’t been in good condition, and definitely should not be travelling on his own.
I wasn’t very hard to guess where he had gone, and why. It was said that not a single trace of Wei Wuxian’s body or soul were left. He had been torn apart by his ghouls, the moment he finally lost control for good – and from what Lan Xichen heard, no one really knew how much of this final loss of control had been by accident or on purpose, and while he pondered the latter, a hint of resentment tugged at him. How could Wei Wuxian do this to Wangji? He ought to fight! No matter how difficult, he would have had Wangji by his side, even if they both stood alone against the entire world.
But it was too late. By the end of the third day, when Lan Qiren was already deciding on whom to take with him when he went to search for Wangji, the latter returned.
They saw him coming from afar, holding on with the last of his strength to keep aloft on Bichen, and carrying in his arms a strange bundle of ragged cloth. When he landed heavily in the courtyard at Cloud Recesses, he immediately collapsed. If not for Lan Xichen catching him he would have fallen to the ground.
“Wangji …” Lan Xichen fought the urge to hug him closely.
“Brother …” Wangji panted. “Take … sick.”
At first, Lan Xichen fought Wangji was talking about himself as he obviously had worsened his injuries during the ordeal of the past days. His robes were torn at the hems and brown from dirt. His face glistened from sweat. He was feverish.
But it wasn’t concern for himself urging him on. Only now did Lan Xichen realize what the bundle of cloth was that Wangji held.
A child.
Little over two years at the most, it hung limp in Wangji’s arms, dirty and way thinner than a child its age should be.
“Wangji, who is this?”
For a moment, Wangji lifted his gaze. Despite his eyes being glazed over from fever and unspeakable pain, both physically and mentally, he looked at Lan Xichen with the utmost urgency. “The child … must be saved. A-Yuan … must …” With this, his body sagged down. He had lost consciousness. Blood seeped through his white robes, his wounds torn open again. But even now, his arms didn’t relax, still clinging on to the child as if for dear life.
And maybe this wasn’t too far from the truth.
Afterwards, Wangji remained unconscious for three days. His fever high, he sometimes thrust about in his bed, murmuring unintelligibly. Only a few words, at times, could be heard. “Nothing … nothing … left … Wei … ing.”
Sitting at his bedside at night, Lan Xichen couldn’t help but truly feel resentment towards Wei Wuxian. Never had he dreamed of seeing his brother in such a state. This shouldn’t be.
“The boy is going to be fine,” Lan Xichen softly told him during the third night. “He is recovering and has drunk a little soup today, though he will need to rest for a few days more. You called him A-Yuan, didn’t you?”
When Wangji finally woke up the next morning, he didn’t say a word, not acknowledging Lan Xichen’s presence in any way. When Lan Qiren entered the Jingshi to visit – and possibly scold him – his eyes flickered towards him, but he remained silent. He had nothing to say, and he wasn’t interested in anything his uncle could do to him. Scoldings, punishments, more whip marks? What were these to him? Had he not received the ultimate punishment for his failures already? His failure to protect the single most important person in his life? Nothing was left to hurt him anymore, to make him regret more. Sometimes, punishments for breaking the rules were futile. What were rules to the grieving heart?
Lan Qiren realized this. He sighed. “Lan Wangji. When you have recovered enough to get up, you will meet me in my office to explain the presence of the boy.”
He looked at the unmoving Wangji, eyes half closed, face almost paler than the cushions he was leaning against, and shook his head, turning away. “How could this be,” he murmured to himself. “A shame. This Wei Ying, how could he ...”
“Do not call him that!”
Lan Qiren stopped, already on his way to the door, likely unable to suffer the sight of his once-glamorous disciple anymore. As he turned back, he was met with two bright eyes, burning from anger despite deep shadows of fatigue surrounding them.
“You cannot call him by that name,” he repeated, every word heavily emphasized despite the weakness in his voice.
Wangji looked Lan Qiren straight in the eyes, hands clenched into fists, crumbling the blanket, body tense.
Without another word, Lan Qiren left.
Already exhausted from this, Wangji sunk back again, closing his eyes. “Brother … the boy?”
Realizing Wangji couldn’t remember anything Lan Xichen had said while he had been unconscious, he forced himself to smile. “Recovering well. He is much better than you, actually.”
Wangji let out a small breath, the smallest hint of relief showing on his face. He didn’t speak any further, and Lan Xichen left him alone soon, fully aware of the fact that Wangji would take a very long time to recover, both physically and mentally as well. Likely even more so.
Yet only a few days later did Lan Wangji rise from the sickbed, ignoring advice and the help of outstretched hands. Fully dressed, without even a strand of hair out of place, he walked out of the Jingshi and met with Lan Qiren. He didn’t allow himself to show any weakness, and Lan Xichen barely noticed how much it cost him to even move, to focus on the task ahead, despite the pain he was undoubtedly in.
“The boy’s name is Wen Yuan,” he told Sect Leader Lan, voice clear and respectful, showing nothing of his feelings.
Lan Xichen’s lips parted in surprise. A member of the Wen Sect was still alive?
Lan Qiren didn’t move. “Explain.”
“He was among the survivors under the protection of Wei Ying.” Was there the slightest hesitation in Wangji’s voice as he said that name out loud? A faint trembling, revealing what was ever so hidden? Lan Xichen couldn’t tell for certain, which meant that the answer likely was yes. “As you well know, they all have been murdered. I found the boy hidden at Burial Mounds, the single remaining survivor. Thus, I brought him here. He would not have lived much longer without help.”
“And what is to become of him now that he is here?” Lan Qiren demanded to know. “He has no parents, no family. Where should he stay?”
“He does have me.” Wangji spoke with clarity, communicating a decision he had made by himself and on which he wasn’t going to go back.
“You are planning on raising the boy?” Lan Qiren’s voice clearly showed his disapproval.
“I am.” Wangji met Lan Qiren’s eyes calmly. “At this moment, only three people in the world know the truth about the boy’s heritage. All three are in this room, except for himself, who likely won’t remember much, growing up.”
It was obvious that Lan Qiren thought little of this plan of Wangji’s.
Lan Xichen met Lan Qiren’s gaze in silence. The latter frowned slightly. “You are dismissed,” he informed Lan Wangji. “I will decide on this matter in time.”
Wangji bowed without another word, swaying for the fraction of a second standing up, but as he left the room, his steps were firm.
“He’s overexerting himself,” Lan Qiren noted. “He ought to remain in bed for a month.”
“He is concerned about the boy.” Lan Xichen couldn’t help but speak up for him. “Uncle, forgive me for being so bold, but please consider the matter. I … I fear for him.”
“Do not lecture me!” Lan Qiren’s face was dark. “I have seen the same things as you, if you remember. Now, I am going to see the boy and decide later.”
The next night, Lan Xichen could only watch helplessly while Wangji kept on rampaging through the storage room in search of a flute that wasn’t there, that no one knew whether it even still existed in the first place.
No one knew how and when Lan Wangji had left Cloud Recesses to buy liquor, but everyone knew the day after that HanGuang-Jun had been drunk that night, though few saw the brand on his chest. When Lan Xichen realized what Wangji was about to do, he ran over to stop him, but he was too late. This night – a most shameful episode in the life of Lan Wangji – left a reminder in form of a brand mark on his chest, staying there forever. And seared into Lan Xichen’s mind was the memory of Wangji’s eyes, utterly lost and without any idea about how to deal with his grief.
The next day, when he had sobered up, he couldn’t remember anything, and as he caught sight of this new wound, atop the still not healed whip marks, he refused to say anything on the matter. Neither Lan Xichen nor Lan Qiren managed to get the truth out of him. Why this iron? Why branding himself like this? Even without the memories of the act itself Wangji ought to know what it meant, but he remained silent, and Lan Qiren gave up. He wasn’t going to have his most outstanding disciple back anytime soon, and he finally saw there was no point in beating him down further. He chose the lightest punishment he could, and with Wangji’s condition, kneeling for an entire day still was a kind of torture.
At the end of the punishment, Lan Qiren came out to see him. “I will allow you to raise the boy. He will remain in the custody of the sect’s carers for the time being, until your confinement has ended.”
Wangji looked up, nodding.
“You may leave.”
Lan Xichen tried to help him up, but Wangji refused. His whole body had stiffened up while he was kneeling. He was sweating despite the cold. Had his fever returned?
“I will see the child now,” he told Lan Xichen, and slowly, he made his way to the children’s residences.
Wen Yuan was sleeping peacefully.
The disciples tending to the children quickly made way for HanGuang-Jun, already knowing about his claim to raise the child.
Lan Wangji did not wake him up, nor did he stay for long. He watched the boy sleep, stretching out his hands, unable to keep them from trembling any longer. He didn’t say a single word, only brushing A-Yuan’s face with his fingertips before turning away and walking back to the Jingshi.
“I can make the rest of the way on my own” he told Lan Xichen, leaving no room for interpretation as to what he meant: he wanted to be alone.
Lan Xichen stopped, worrying, watching his brother close the doors of the Jingshi behind him, separating himself from the world.
He did not come out for a very long time.