Chapter Text
The first time the rich man returned to visit was Wen Yuan’s sixth birthday.
It was apparently unintentional. It was the rich man arriving without fanfare, crossing the wards that kept them in and the world out to slip into the settlement. Wen Yuan was in the lotuses with Wei Wuxian when Wen Ning came to announce the visitor. He saw the change that came over his face, his sudden infectious, brilliant excitement.
A-Yuan; lifting him under the arms and swinging him in a gleeful circle so that his head spun, we have a guest!
Wei Wuxian had set A-Yuan down in front of the rich man: say hello to A-die, he’d said triumphantly, and A-Yuan understood he was being teased but didn’t know how to respond.
The rich man looked down at him, face softening slightly. You may call me ge, he said solemnly.
Wen Yuan gave the careful bow that Auntie Wen had taught him, beneath Wei Wuxian’s brilliant giggle. Tell Lan er-gege how old you are, he said after a moment, resting his hand on the crown of A-Yuan’s head.
This was one Wen Yuan had practiced for. Tomorrow I’ll be six, he announced, showing it on his hands. There’s going to be a really big party! Do you want to come?
He knew he’d said the right thing by the way Xian-ge swept him up onto his hip, like he was tiny again.
Now, how could you refuse an invitation like that? Wei Wuxian had said.
The rich man had only inclined his head in reply, but he stayed.
True to his name, he’d brought a gift, birthday or no: a wooden dragon only the length of Wen Yuan’s longest finger, carefully painted in spectacular greens and reds. Wen Yuan treasured it above everything but the woven butterfly he kept it alongside. The memory of his favorite day, when he’d been allowed to accompany Xian-ge into the town, when there had been delicious soup and the rich man offering anything he wanted from the toy vendor’s stall.
Wen Yuan’s sixth birthday had been a close second, good food and gifts and much more attention than he was used to. The rich man left the next day, and A-Yuan hadn’t understood then why this meant that he wouldn’t see Wei Wuxian for a while, but Qing-jie and Ning-ge had more time for him than usual, so he didn’t really mind.
After that, he came for every birthday.
When Wen Yuan turned seven Lan Wangji brought him a kite in the shape of a butterfly, white with blue paint and silver leaf at the edges and the eyes. The kite meant a special trip to the top of the hill beyond the wards, where Lan Wangji set out a cloth with food and cold tea and Wei Wuxian taught Wen Yuan how to run holding the string until the kite flew on its own, delicate wings fluttering in the breeze, the string tugging at A-Yuan’s hand.
When Wen Yuan turned eight it was a lantern painted with a black and a white rabbit on one side, and a return to the hill at dusk to light it and set it aloft.
Wish carefully, Wei Wuxian had told him, unusually solemn.
A-Yuan had wished that Lan Wangji would stay and live with them at the Burial Mounds, and Wei Wuxian looked so sad afterward that he almost wished he could take it back. No one had spoken another word all the way back to the settlement.
On Wen Yuan’s ninth birthday, it had been a pair of live rabbits. Wei Wuxian joked all through the evening about how long it had been since he had tasted meat that fresh, until Lan Wangji admonished him to notice Wen Yuan’s look of horror. Ah, I’m only teasing, you, A-Yuan. If we ate one now, they would never have the chance to make any more! You have to wait until the third generation to start picking them off, that’s the rule.
Wen Yuan wouldn’t let Wei Wuxian near the bunnies for weeks, until Wen Qing sat them both down for a good talking to.
On Wen Yuan’s tenth birthday, it was a set of cultivation books that Lan Wangji had copied out by hand, so that Wen Yuan might begin his formal studies. If you cannot bring the child to the library in Gusu, Wei Wuxian had quipped, then you will bring the library to the child, eh, Lan Zhan? And they had shared such a look that Wen Yuan felt his ears heating.
The morning of Wen Yuan’s eleventh birthday was spent on sword drills with Wei Wuxian along the road that led out of the settlement. This was unusual—mostly Wei Wuxian would only design the drills and then send him to Wen Ning to practice, or sometimes simply to the unlucky old oak in the north pasture.
That day it had been Wei Wuxian’s suggestion in the first place, and Wen Yuan was not inclined to disagree.
Wen Ning arrived with lunch around midday. One of the buns was impressed with a yuan that had been carefully constructed with shredded daikon, although it had stretched slightly in the steaming. A-Yuan gave him a hug and thanked him for the courtesy. Wen Ning gave him a proud half-smile and squeezed his shoulder briefly.
An hour or so later, Wei Wuxian dropped the wooden sword he was handling in the middle of a round, just as A-Yuan had taken the advantage and surged forward to deliver what would have been a killing blow to his side. Wei Wuxian didn’t seem to notice.
“Lan Zhan!” he called. “We were just starting to think you might not come!”
Wen Yuan turned quickly around. Sure enough, Lan Wangji was striding serenely along the road to the settlement, having apparently passed through the wards without any trouble yet again. Wen Yuan dropped his sword as well and ran to meet him. “Lan er-gege!” he said, throwing his arms around his waist.
Lan er-gege, whose ease with such things had improved somewhat over the years, rested one hand lightly at the top of A-Yuan’s back. “Happy birthday,” he said quietly.
Wei Wuxian had closed the distance between them, taking Wen Yuan’s shoulder in one hand and Lan Wangji’s in the other.
A-Yuan was overcome by a sudden warm happiness. “This is my favorite time of the year,” he announced, releasing Lan Wangji to look up at both of them. Neither of them looked back, although Wei Wuxian’s hand shifted to the back of A-Yuan’s neck and squeezed gently.
“He just likes the presents.” The tone was light, but there was something melancholy in his face, that look he got around the end of Lan Wangji’s visits.
“That’s not true!” Wen Yuan protested, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him anymore.
That evening they celebrated in the main hall, which had been decorated for the occasion with a profusion of colorful paper lanterns, and smelled richly of the myriad dishes steaming on the tables.
Wen Yuan hadn’t noticed anything strange in the elaborate celebrations that came along with his birthday when he was small, which were rivaled only at the turning of the new year. Certainly no one else’s birthday got much beyond basic verbal acknowledgement or small gifts.
But as he had gotten older he had come to understand more of what went unsaid at the Burial Mounds, and his role as the only surviving member of his generation. Some things he managed to wheedle out of Wen Ning, and others from the aunties who were inclined to worry within earshot of him becoming spoiled. It’s a good thing the child has a pure heart, he’d heard one of them tell another, or he’d be insufferable, the way he’s doted on. At the midday meal, that same auntie had slipped an extra loquat into his lap.
In the years they’d lived at the Burial Mounds, which comprised nearly all of Wen Yuan’s memory, no children had been born, although there were a few couples of age. On the rare occasions this was mentioned, it was generally put down to the inauspiciousness of new life coming to be in a place so defined by the dead, but it seemed that even to speak of the matter was unlucky.
With a greater understanding of his role came a sense of responsibility. Wen Yuan committed himself to his studies, talismans and swords with Wei Wuxian, medicine with Wen Qing, archery with Wen Ning, his clan’s history with two of the older aunties. He was rarely permitted to work in the fields, so most of his free time he spent with the elders, sharing tea and listening to their stories.
In return there was no hearth where he was not welcomed, and rarely anyone who seemed less than glad to see him. And, of course, there were his birthdays.
This particular birthday was one he’d been looking forward to, because Wen Ning, who could keep no secrets from Wen Yuan, had been studiously avoiding anything more than brief conversation with him for days, which meant there was almost certainly a good surprise waiting for him. But by the time he was seated at the central table in the hall, surrounded by all his favorite food and people, Wen Ning’s reticence and even the promise of the qiankun pouch tucked in the folds of Lan Wangji’s robes were the last thing on Wen Yuan’s mind. He was just happy.
The meal was kicked off by Wen Ning lifting the lid off a large, ornate tureen at the center of the table that Wen Yuan didn’t recognize. Beside him, Wei Wuxian gave an audible intake of breath.
“A-Yuan,” Wen Ning said, dipping his head slightly, “maybe you remember that once when you were little you had some very delicious soup from Wei-gongzi’s senior sister?”
“Yes, I remember!” A-Yuan interrupted, excited, “you brought it to me, in the fancy bowl.”
Wei Wuxian made a little noise in the back of his throat, and Wen Yuan glanced to his left to see that he was gripping the cuff at Lan Wangji’s wrist as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. Wen Yuan was astonished and slightly embarrassed to notice the sheen in his eyes.
“She sent some along for your birthday,” Wen Ning continued, glancing at Wei Wuxian. “Maybe Wei-gongzi would like to serve it?”
Wei Wuxian reached for the dipper Wen Ning was offering with a hand that shook violently. Beside him, Lan Wangji rose to his feet in a single, fluid movement, without disturbing Wei Wuxian’s hand on his cuff, and intercepted it. “Allow me.”
Wei Wuxian laughed weakly, releasing his grip on Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Yes,” he said in a tremulous voice, “perhaps that’d be for the best.”
Along with the soup there were dumplings and unending platefuls of Wen Yuan’s favorite vegetable dishes, and fine tea from the shop in town. As the meal came to a close, Wei Wuxian, who had been drinking steadily since his first spoonful of the soup, poured a half-measure of wine into Lan Wangji’s untouched cup and held it out to Wen Yuan.
Wen Qing clucked from the other side of the table, but Wei Wuxian waved her away. “He is old enough for just a taste,” he said. “As long as he can handle his liquor better than his second-favorite gege—” here, an elbow to Lan Wangji’s side— “we have nothing to worry about.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re his favorite,” Wen Qing returned.
“Aiya, who said I was his favorite? I was talking about your brother.”
“I don’t have favorites,” Wen Yuan put in loyally, which raised a round of fond laughter.
Wei Wuxian inclined his head. “A toast to our little diplomat, then,” he said, raising his cup. “Perhaps Hanguang Jun can make a Lan out of you yet.”
After the wine there were sweet cakes and freshened tea, and then the tables were cleared, and Wei Wuxian raised his cup once again, calling for attention.
Once the room had hushed he turned to Wen Yuan and gazed quietly at him for a long moment, smiling fondly. “You are growing up so well and so quickly,” he said, voice thickened by the wine. “A-Yuan…” he trailed off.
Lan Wangji reached into the front of his robes and pulled out the qiankun pouch, placing it meaningfully on the table within Wei Wuxian’s line of sight.
Wei Wuxian looked at the pouch for a few seconds, opened his mouth to speak again, and then seemed to decide against it. He turned the fond smile on Lan Wangji, patting his knee a few times. “Lan Zhan, why don’t you.”
Lan Wangji inclined his head. “Wen Yuan,” he said, and Wen Yuan felt, as always, captured by the sincerity of him, held in the beam of his attention. “Wei Ying asked me some time ago if I might assist in selecting your courtesy name.”
Wen Yuan straightened up a little in his seat. Lan Wangji reached into the pouch to extract a small scroll of cream-colored parchment bound by a red ribbon, and extended it to Wen Yuan, who accepted it with a small bow. With trembling fingers he untied the ribbon and unrolled the thick parchment, holding it flat by the narrow rolls at either end. Three characters in Lan Wangji’s neat, flowing calligraphy were bordered by a set of narrow red and gold lines.
“Wen Sizhui,” Lan Wangji said, and a line of goosebumps ran down Wen Yuan’s spine. “It is an honor.” At this he stood, crossing his palms before Bichen’s hilt, and bowed formally.
Wen Yuan, flustered, leapt to his feet to return the obeisance. “Thank you, Lan er-ge,” he said. He hesitated a moment, then rounded the table to give him a hug.
“Do you like it?” Wen Ning asked hopefully, when he had released Lan Wangji.
Wen Yuan turned to face the expectant smiles of his family. “Oh, yes,” he said earnestly.
“Our little A-Yuan is a man already!” one of the uncles called, and a round of laughter and cheers went up, along with another round of wine.
For the first time all evening, Wei Wuxian seemed too distracted to engage in the drinking. He was still looking at Lan Wangji, who had sat back down and stowed the qiankun pouch away. There was something lost in his expression, something so raw that Wen Yuan felt as if he were intruding on something just for noticing.
“Xian-ge,” Wen Yuan said uncertainly, and he seemed to snap back into focus, straightening and turning to face Wen Yuan.
“Wen Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian said, lingering over each syllable. “Then there is only one thing left to do.” He rose slowly to his feet. “Wen Ning?”
Wen Ning appeared at his side and produced, with a small flourish, a long wooden sheath. Suibian . Wen Yuan felt his lips drop apart.
“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian prompted after a moment. Wen Yuan jumped up and reached out to accept the proffered sword, grasping the hilt and running his fingers along the metal banding; the engraving of its name. “Xian-ge, I—”
“Use it well and wisely,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice more solemn than Wen Yuan had heard it, “and it will be your truest ally.”
Wen Yuan looked from the sword in his hands to Wei Wuxian. “I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.
Wei Wuxian’s features slipped into a comfortingly familiar smirk. “‘Thanks’ will be just fine.”
“Thank you,” Wen Yuan said, bowing. “Xian-ge, Ning-ge; thank you.” He felt suddenly overwhelmed by the evening. He turned to Lan Wangji and bowed again. “Lan er-ge.” Then to Wen Qing, who had presented him with a set of three fine needles of his own earlier that evening, then to Wen Ning, then to the remaining members of his clan and family. “Thank you,” he said, again and again. “I am very grateful for you all.”
Wei Wuxian wrapped an arm around Wen Yuan to pull him into his side. “Alright, we’re all thanked enough,” he said. “If you keep bobbing like that, you’ll pass out.” He cupped his hand around the side of Wen Yuan’s head and pressed him briefly into his shoulder. “Happy birthday, A-Yuan,” he said, more quietly.
“Happy birthday,” Wen Ning repeated, and then it echoed around the room, happy birthday, A-Yuan! until A-Yuan’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He glanced at Lan Wangji, who was gazing serenely down at him.
“Happy birthday, Sizhui,” he murmured, and Wen Yuan felt happy and proud enough to burst.
— — —
Wei Wuxian remained at the table long after Wen Ning had led A-Yuan off to bed, after Wen Qing had retired and then the rest of the Wens, one by one, had taken their leave. He’d lifted the jar of wine and found it empty for the second time before he remembered he’d already done so.
“Ai, Lan Zhan,” he lamented, “you didn’t bring me any Emperor’s Smile to carry away my woes this time?”
“You’ve had enough,” Lan Wangji replied.
Wei Wuxian gave him a weak slap on the arm with the back of one hand. “You’re as bad as Wen Qing,” he said. “It’s so rare we get anything stronger than tea here. You two should let me have my fun, eh?”
Lan Wangji, who had been drinking tea at a pace almost to match the wine, tilted the pot over Wei Wuxian’s wine cup. Wei Wuxian downed it obligingly.
“Our little A-Yuan, hm? All grown up before I stopped to notice what was happening.” He held his cup out for another pour of tea. “He’s turning out well, isn’t he?”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed, refilling the offered cup.
“Eh—Lan Zhan, it must be past your bedtime, no?” Wei Wuxian said, realizing suddenly. “How are you still upright?”
“You should retire as well.”
“I don’t want to retire,” Wei Wuxian returned petulantly. “If I sleep you’ll be gone when I wake up, won’t you?”
“I must return to Gusu,” Lan Wangji said, pouring himself another cup of tea.
Wei Wuxian grinned. “You’re drinking all this tea for me, aren’t you? Because I’m keeping Hanguang Jun awake so late? Careful, Lan Zhan, you’ll be up peeing all night.” He dropped his chin into his hand, but the weight made him dip sideways, falling into Lan Wangji’s side.
Lan Wangji caught him easily around the shoulders. “Let me help you to bed,” he said. Wei Wuxian looked up at him, sticking out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “I promise to stay until you fall asleep,” he added, and Wei Wuxian relented, letting Lan Wangji pull his arm over his shoulders to stand with him.
“Then I promise not to fall asleep,” he said, and then clucked his tongue. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you make me say the stupidest things. Of course I’ll fall asleep, and now I’ll feel terrible about it.”
Lan Wangji only guided him away from the table and into the recesses of the Demon-Subduing Cave, where, at Wen Qing’s insistence, a dense straw mat had been set up on a wooden bed frame. He deposited Wei Wuxian on the bed, loosened his belt, and knelt to remove his boots. Wei Wuxian dropped one hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, pliant, and let his feet be lifted one after another, shrugging out of his outer robes.
“I must be the luckiest person in the world, to have Hanguang Jun himself tuck me into bed,” he said sleepily, as Lan Wangji pulled the blanket up over his chest and settled on the edge of the bed beside him.
Wei Wuxian gave his head a little shake, widening his eyes as if he might be able to pin them open by sheer will. Then, remembering something, he grabbed hold of Lan Wangji’s hand, sitting bolt upright. “You saw my shijie? The soup...” he swallowed.
“Her note for you is on the table,” Lan Wangji said, indicating it with a glance.
Wei Wuxian let out a shaky breath. “She is well? And her child?”
Lan Wangji inclined his head.
Wei Wuxian gripped Lan Wangji’s hand between both of his, squeezing it tightly. “Lan Zhan. Ah, Lan Zhan. What would I do without my tether to the world?”
Lan Wangji stared down at his hand in Wei Wuxian’s, throat bobbing in a swallow.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said again. Lan Wangji met his eyes, but he only grinned sleepily at him, apparently wanting no more than the attention. Then all at once a shadow seemed to pass over him. “What will I do?” he whispered. “Except fade slowly until I die.”
Lan Wangji’s eyebrows twitched minutely together, and suddenly he looked quietly devastated.
“What does one do once they are no longer useful to the world?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Lan Zhan, I have served all the purpose there is in me. I have nothing left.”
Lan Wangji’s hand tightened in his. “And A-Yuan?”
“A-Yuan will leave, eventually,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Or else stay and rot with the rest of us.”
He relaxed back into the pillows with a sigh. “Sizhui,” he breathed. “Ah, Hanguang Jun, sometimes you are unfathomable.” His eyelids fluttered. “Lan Zhan, won’t you be so kind as to give me a lullaby?”
Lan Wangji swallowed, and then started to hum.
“That’s nice,” Wei Wuxian murmured distantly. “My dear musical friend. Lan Zhan, you might be any mother’s dream, if only…”
But he was asleep. Lan Wangji finished the song, and then folded Wei Wuxian’s hands carefully across his chest. He swallowed again. “Wei Ying…” he shook the thought away. “Good night.”