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They just sat down to a meal when Father’s message arrived.
Wen-shushu, Sizhui learned, did not need to eat. Of course, it stood to reason. He still did, a little, for appearances or company perhaps. It seemed a little rude to ask how that exactly worked, but that didn’t mean Sizhui was not curious. Would it have been more or less rude to ask Senior Wei instead? Perhaps more.
Sizhui, in turn, was famished. They’ve spent the day investigating the cursed house on the outskirts of town. It was, apparently, left alone for years - Wen-shushu remembered the stories from when he was little. But Wen Ruohan never thought it worth his attention enough to send cultivators, and since then it seemed that nobody bothered either. The town was far from any main roads and this far beyond the Nightless city it was rare to see rogue cultivators either.
The townsfolk dealt by studiously avoiding the house, but every once in a while, an unwitting traveller or a curious child would venture in.
“The curse might need to wait,” Sizhui told him. The talisman was still warm in his hand, the script not faded yet, though it would in a couple of moments. It was Senior Wei’s design, and worked over greater distances than almost any other communication charm, with a speed that almost rivalled then Jin clan butterflies. “Father- they found Wen Qing,” he said and Wen-shushu looked up sharply, stilling with a tea cup halfway to his mouth.
“Alive?” he asked, barely a whisper, and Sizhui nodded quickly. “Where?”
Sizhui took out a scroll from his qiankun bag, unrolling it on the table and waving his hand over it, calling up a map of southern Qishan. “Here,” he pointed to the southwest, then traced his finger up the map. “And this is where we are. We could be there by nightfall.”
Wen-shushu was already rising to his feet. Sizhui followed him, scrambling to fish out a piece of silver and put it on the table. The food hasn’t arrived yet, but the inn staff had already gone to the trouble of making it.
“Wen-shushu,” he called out, pausing only for long enough to produce his sword. This time his use of this particular honorific was not corrected. He felt himself smiling a little. “Flying will be faster.”
“Not too far?” Wen Ning asked, pausing in his steps, and Sizhui shook his head immediately. Even carrying a passenger he should be alright, for most of the way at least. Even if they needed to walk the last leg of the journey, it would still be faster than even renting horses now. Wen-shushu searched his face for a moment and then nodded, stepping onto the sword in front of Sizhui.
They travelled in silence for a while, but it was a bit strange when standing on the same sword. Wen-shushu was fidgeting a little, either nervous or concerned, and while Sizhui wasn’t sure an interruption to his thoughts would be welcome, he spoke up anyway. “Tell me about her?” he asked.
She was always on the periphery of Wen-shushu’s stories about the time in the Burial Mounds. The others were prominent, Senior Wei the most vivid amongst them. Sizhui could easily imagine his animated expressions when he planted lotus seeds, or when he haggled about turnips, or when he proudly cooked inedible food. He could almost imagine the others as well, Granny, and Fourth Uncle, and everyone else. Wen-shushu was a quite decent storyteller once he got started.
But he only talked of Wen Qing when it was about others. Sizhui suspected her loss still hurt him, that even though it has been years, he’s been in darkness for all that time, that it was still a fresh wound.
“She’s the best doctor in the world, you know?” he started now, proud and bright, and as he continued, a silly story of how Senior Wei feared her needles and how she would threaten him with them when he tried to avoid chores, Sizhui’s eyes prickled a little, but he could easily blame the sharp wind at this altitude.
They finally came up on the town Father’s message mentioned, and landed to inquire about further directions. And, though Sizhui didn’t admit that out loud, to rest for a moment, as he was not quite used to prolonged flights with a passenger.
They barely started to ask questions before Sizhui noticed a familiar figure down the street and set out in that direction in a hurry, his robes fluttering behind him. It was not quite a run - any Cloud Recesses disciple worth their salt developed a quick pace that was not technically a run, and it was a tough habit to break even while not in Gusu - but he was followed by Wen Ning, who was definitely running.
Father noticed them soon enough, stopping in his tracks to wait for them. Sizhui came to a halt and then smoothed down his sleeves, moving to bow properly. Wen-shushu did so as well, belatedly, still fidgeting a little.
“Sizhui,” Father offered, and it was a question as much as it was a welcome, his gaze sliding up and down to assure himself.
“I am well,” Sizhui confirmed. It was still a moment before Father nodded, seemingly only after ascertaining it for himself. “What brought you into town-” he started and got another sharp nod.
“The matter is concluded. We can go,” he offered, turning to Wen-shushu, inclining his head. Sizhui understood, though he was pretty sure Wen Ning didn’t.
“Wen-shushu, we are probably going to be faster if you fly with Hanguang-jun.” He belatedly noticed the quick flicker on Father’s face, his gaze moving between Sizhui and Wen Ning. It was as blink-and-you-miss-it as most of Father’s expression, but Sizhui felt a quick current of worry run down his spine.
Wen-shushu hesitated, but Father nodded at him, producing Bichen, and the need to move fast won. They were in the air in seconds, Father leading the way. Sizhui had been right, this was much faster; he was unused to flying with others and the flight left him a little tired, Father was perfectly capable of maneuvering easily with passengers.
Sizhui never saw him do that often, but he did remember his own first flights, with his feet balancing precariously and his arms up a little as Father held on to his hands. He thought he also remembered a different flight now, perhaps his first ever, cradled carefully with his arms around Father’s neck, feeling drowsy and unhappy, his skin clammy and hot. The land moved fast then, making him even more dizzy, and he pressed his face against Father’s skin, cooler to the touch, and felt a hand move slowly and slightly hesitantly on the back of his head.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on that now, this flight was a short one, and he could already see two houses and two figures in front of the bigger one, one already quite familiar, dark-clad and fidgety, and the other- the other was familiar too, he thought, something rising up from the dregs of his memories.
Wen-shushu was already running, jumping off the sword effortlessly, and the woman he knew to be Wen Qing ran up to meet him. Senior Wei trailed behind her, eyes bright and a wide grin splitting his face, and he reached them about the same time Sizhui and Hanguang-jun did. Sizhui offered a very hasty bow out of habit, words getting stuck in his throat as he saw Wen Qing rock her brother in her arms, her face wet with tears but alight with the brightest smile too.
Senior Wei threw an arm over his shoulder, studying his face for a moment. “Silly boy,” he said quietly, hand reaching up and a thumb wiping across Sizhui’s cheek. Sizhui hadn’t even realised he had been crying. He leant into Senior Wei instinctively, feeling his hands shake just a little when the hold on him tightened immediately.
He could hear Wen Qing repeat the same thing over and over again, “I’m here,” like she was not just assuring Wen Ning but herself as well, like she didn’t quite believe that. Wen-shushu’s shoulders were shaking, his hands clenched on her robes.
“Ay, we’re making a scene here, and embarrassing Lan Zhan,” Senior Wei offered after a moment, and Sizhui was pretty sure his voice was shaking too, his eyes extremely bright.
“Not embarrassing,” Father said immediately, but Wen Qing nodded sharply, standing up and pulling Wen Ning up with her, her hands on his arm and holding on tightly. She looked between them and nodded at Sizhui.
“Thank you for bringing Wen Ning here,” she said politely. “Hanguang-jun,” she added. “We would be honoured if you could join us for dinner. I think we- We probably need to talk. Wei Wuxian told me- some things.”
Father inclined his head. “Mn.”
She turned to Sizhui, offering a quick bow. “This one is Wen Qing,” she said politely and Sizhui nodded quickly.
“I know. Wen-shushu told me a lot about you, and I also remember some now-” he paused as he saw colour drain from her face, her eyes widening.
“Wen-shushu?” she asked sharply, and took half a step forward, pulling Wen Ning with her, her gaze fixed on Sizhui’s face.
“Wei Ying,” Father said, admonition in his voice, and Senior Wei offered a whine in response.
“It slipped my mind, you know what that’s like. There was a lot to talk about.” Father hummed in response, and it was hard to tell if he was agreeing or disagreeing.
Wen-shushu stepped forward a little more, in-between Sizhui and Wen Qing. “This is Lan Yuan,” he offered softly, something like pride in his voice. “A-Yuan.”
“A-Yuan?” she asked, reaching out with her free hand, palm to his cheek. He nodded quickly, feeling hot tears press against his eyelids again. “I thought- Wuxian said he died too. I thought there would have been no one-”
“Sorry about that,” Senior Wei interjected, sounding genuinely apologetic, at the same time Father volunteered “I found him.”
Wen Qing’s eyes slid to him and then back to Sizhui, moving up to his ribbon. Her hand dropped. “Lan Sizhui,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Sizhui nodded slowly, his mouth opening to say- he wasn’t sure what. She turned to Father and bowed, deeper than before. “It seems I owe you a greater debt than I thought.”
“No,” Father said immediately. “No debt,” he added firmly and stepped a little forward, his shoulder in line with Sizhui’s, and then bowed deeply. Sizhui glanced between everyone, seeing his own shock mirrored in their faces. “I owe Wen Qing my apologies.”
“Lan Zhan,” Senior Wei muttered, as Father straightened up and shook his head at him sharply. Wen Qing held his gaze for a moment, before nodding, a soft smile blooming on her face.
“My thanks, then,” she offered, getting a quick sound of acknowledgement from Father.
Senior Wei, however, raised his finger at her indignantly. “No. No thanks,” he told her, and then turned to Father, “and no apologies. We all agreed,” he muttered. Father said nothing, but watched him indulgently with a small smile.
“I agreed to nothing,” Wen Qing informed him with an arch smile, then reached out, her hand on Sizhui’s arm. “Come on, then. It seems we have more to talk about than I thought.”
She turned on her heel, heading for the house, Wen Ning happily moving with her, their arms linked. Senior Wei lingered for a moment, his hand tightening on Sizhui’s shoulder comfortingly. Sizhui found himself leaning into it once more, feeling warmth seep into his bones, until Senior Wei nodded at them both and followed the Wen siblings into the house.
Sizhui took a moment trying to find the words to say what he wanted, and as he did, he watched Father look after Senior Wei with the soft smile still lingering on his face, and then turn his gaze at Sizhui, expression unchanging.
“You do not mind,” he said slowly. Not a question, he realised, he was already sure of what his Father thought of it. “Wen-shushu and- and Aunt Qing.”
“Be a filial child,” Father quoted flaty, but with softness rather than sternness in his voice. “Your family. Wei Ying’s family. No, I do not mind,” he said firmly, offering Sizhui a quick, approving nod. He didn’t say anything else before following the others into the house, and Sizhui did the same, warmth well-settled in his chest.
When they entered, Wen Qing and Wen-shushu were seated at the table, her hand in his, and Senior Wei was leaning against the windowsill, talking animatedly. “Well, it’s not like you can really stay here,” he was saying. He paused, frowning. “Unless you want to? Do you want to?”
“No,” Wen Qing offered decisively, sharply. Sizhui could see her shift in her seat, then run a soothing hand over Wen Ning’s arm when he looked between them with concern. “But it might be the best option for a bit, while we figure out how safe it is for me to come back from officially dead.”
“Safe,” Father said flatly, moving to stand by Senior Wei, folding his arms. “Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao are both dead. Jin Rulan is unlikely to oppose,” he offered with a glance at Senior Wei, who nodded in agreement. “Nie Mingjue is dead, Nie Huaisang won’t argue on this.” Another nod. “Minor sects will follow.”
“What about Gusu Lan?” Wen Qing asked, raising her chin up.
“Brother is in seclusion, but he would agree. Uncle will not argue.” Great-uncle would argue, Sizhui thought, but not publicly. He had left most of the external affairs to Father, concentrating on internal matters for the time being.
“You said nothing of the Jiang,” she said next, her gaze moving carefully between Father and Senior Wei. Wen-shushu looked between them too, opening his mouth and then closing it just as quickly.
“Jiang Wanyin knows better,” Father said flatly, and Sizhui almost laughed, because the tone suggested that Father didn’t believe Jiang Wanyin knew better, but that he’d make sure that he would. Wen Qing narrowed her eyes.
Senior Wei did laugh. Well, it was more of a snort, but it was still there. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about from him,” he offered, and his gaze slid briefly to Wen-shushu, like he wanted to say something else, but chose not to.
Wen Ning shifted in place uncomfortably. “Sect Leader Jiang knows about the golden core.”
Sizhui didn’t know what that meant, but Wen Qing clearly did, her gaze snapping up to Senior Wei, then flickering between them all, stopping on Father for a long moment. Father held her gaze steadily for a long moment and she turned back to Senior Wei. “Speaking of, don’t think I did not notice before that you have one,” she said, incomprehensibly to Sizhui. She sounded- surprised? Which made no sense.
Senior Wei shifted, straightening up and rubbing at his nose. “Ah, yes. Mo Xanyu’s, I’d guess. Perhaps it needed somewhere to go.” Sizhui knew he was staring, but he had absolutely no idea what was going on. “Part of a long story.”
“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing said flatly, staring him down. “I have nothing but time.”
“Well, then you can wait,” he argued. “Besides, you are being a terrible host, you know. A-Yuan must be hungry.”
“No need,” Sizhui muttered, though he did have to admit he was a bit hungry, they never had dinner after all. Father gave him a considering look, one that was quite familiar. It was the same look he would give Sizhui when he still lived in the jingshi and would try to obey the three bowls rule even though he wasn’t yet quite full. Sizhui could guess what was coming next.
“Wen Qing. Would you mind if I used the kitchen?” Father asked politely, and she raised her eyebrows, but shook her head.
“By all means,” she offered, turning to look at Senior Wei pointedly. He raised his arms incredulously, staring back, and she stood up swiftly.
“I do not have enough plates, I am sure. But the guards house will have more. Wuxian will help me.”
“I will?” he asked and then, at her look. “Oh, I will,” he decided. Wen-shushu was watching them with a small, amused smile, looking more at peace than Sizhui had ever seen him.
They were gone for a while, long enough that the food was almost ready. Sizhui started to set the table, Wen Ning moving to help him. When they came back, Senior Wei carrying the plates and setting them on the table, Wen Qing sat down, fixing Father with a steady gaze. She waited until the food was placed down and until he was seated as well.
“I am sure you will understand that I am not really inclined to trust a Chief Cultivator.”
“Mn,” Father agreed, and to Sizhui’s surprise, offered in a low voice, “I would not expect you to.”
She studied him for a moment, and nodded. “Good. I am willing to trust you, because Wuxian does, though I am sure we both know he is not always reliable, considering his self-preservation instincts, or lack there-of.”
“Hurtful,” Senior Wei told her, though he sounded fond.
“Not untrue,” she said, not looking at him. As if Senior Wei had not spoken, she continued. “And I am willing to trust you because we do owe you,” she said, with a look at Sizhui.
“No,” Father said sharply. Wen Qing turned her gaze back to him, a little startled, and he inclined his head in apology. “I understand. But A-Yuan is my son,” he said insistently, and Sizhui felt something rise in his chest and up his throat, a heat behind his eyelids. He was never prone to crying, not even when he was little, he thought, but he was really doing it a lot today.
Father was never prone to declarations like this, and Sizhui knew he in fact found it hard sometimes to express what he needed to. He had his ways, and Sizhui had always known he was loved, never had a single doubt. But it meant everything when he tried like this. And he had before, Sizhui remembered him saying the exact same words in fact, only filled with anger, that anybody would suggest otherwise. He glared at teachers in the children's hall who tried to mollify him, and at everyone who tried to say anything that wasn’t an apology. Sizhui remembered feeling mortified and unbelievably happy at the same time.
There was no anger now, but there was still a deep feeling behind the words, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who saw it.
“Wen Qing,” Senior Wei said insistently, reaching out to cover Father’s hand with his without even looking down, like he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing.
She lowered her gaze first. “I apologise,” she said, reaching out for her tea cup. “You are quite right.”
“You are still my family,” Sizhui told her, and he didn’t need to look at Father to know that he nodded.
“Mn,” he confirmed.
He looked between Wen-shushu, who smiled encouragingly, softly, and Wen Qing, who looked at him for a moment before nodding. “You know, if Wen Ning is your shushu, I would not oppose being your gugu.”
Sizhui felt a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “I would like that, gugu,” he offered, and she smiled warmly. Slowly, she turned to look at Father, her smile not fading but turning a little wry.
“It seems that we are now family, Hanguang-jun, and so there will be no debts between us.”
“Mn,” Father agreed, sounding somewhat pleased. Senior Wei caught Sizhui’s eye, grinning widely, and Sizhui couldn’t help but grin back.
“I do not want to... hide, anymore. I have done this for too long,” she said. “But I don’t think I’m ready to make it known that I’m- not dead, I guess. Not yet.” She looked at Senior Wei, and it was clear that they somewhat talked about it when they were in the other house.
“We can do that, right, Lan Zhan?”
“You could come to Gusu,” Father offered, and she hesitated, for a long moment.
“No,” she said. There was an almost apologetic tone in her voice, but she was firm. “Even if I was ready to trust any of the great sects completely, you are Chief Cultivator now. Even with how unwelcoming the Nightless City could be at times, I remember people coming in to see Wen Ruohan, bringing in their cases and petitions. I do not think that would have changed.”
“No,” Father admitted.
“I will not be shut up in a house, even for my own safety. It’s too many variables, in a place where many people are likely to know me.”
Father had gone- pale, Sizhui thought. Not much, not perhaps very visibly, but enough for Sizhui to notice. The only other indication that something was wrong was that he turned his hand, palm up, squeezing Senior Wei’s hand, knuckles white. Senior Wei grimaced, even before that happened, so it was not from the pain of Father’s crushing grip.
“Yiling,” Senior Wei said quickly. “We know who to avoid there, and we know some people we can trust. And very few cultivators ever come around,” he added. “And I can stay around for a bit, too. I have been meaning to head that way anyway.”
Father looked at him sharply, questioning, and Senior Wei just shrugged. It looked like they were having an actual conversation without words for a moment, until Senior Wei looked away, nodding at Wen Qing. “What do you think?”
“Yiling,” she said consideringly. “Well, it’s not the worst place, the worst place is a couple miles up the mountain.”
Her voice was almost teasing, but Senior Wei hummed thoughtfully. “I may have some plans about that,” he offered and then grinned at Father’s look. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, you’ll be the first to know if they turn into more than vague ideas.” He turned to Aunt Qing. “Are you sure? I know Yiling is my idea, but there are options. I’m sure Lan Zhan would make it safe for you in Gusu, and I know Jin Ling could-”
“No,” she said sharply. “I am sure your nephew can be trusted,” she said in a tone of voice suggesting that she was more polite than earnest, “but the Koi Tower is out of the question. I am sure. It will do, for now at least. It’s getting late now, but I will start packing tomorrow. I have things here that I have been working on.”
“I’ll help,” Wen Ning offered, and she reached out to touch the side of his head, patting down his hair softly. Wen Ning leant into it, smiling sweetly.
They finished dinner and cleared out the table, and Father announced he had something to do. That something, after Senior Wei and Sizhui followed him, turned out to be bodies of the guards. “Right,” Senior Wei muttered, scratching at the back of his neck as he thought it over. “We could notify the Jin sect,” he started, sharing a look with Father, who shook his head minutely, “or we can bury them here, I guess. I’ll get Wen Ning to help.”
“Leave him,” Father said quietly. “His sister,” he added and while Senior Wei looked like he was going to complain, his expression cleared.
“Quite right. Well, I saw a shovel by the shed, so I guess I’ll go get that.” There was only one shovel and while they took turns, Sizhui ended up doing most of the work. He didn’t mind.
When they were laying the bodies down - or Sizhui was, really - Father looked at Senior Wei, a silent beat of understanding passing, and took out his guqin, at the same time Senior Wei reached for his dizi. The first notes of Rest sounded together, perfectly in tune, and Sizhui joined only moments later, once he sat down on the ground and took a moment to get his own guqin.
It was, perhaps, a very strange moment in which to enjoy oneself, but Sizhui did. Father seemed content, gaze sliding to Senior Wei in a way Sizhui had seen before, like he was trying to assure himself of something. Senior Wei smiled at them both, almost wide enough that it should have influenced his playing, but the notes were clear and perfect. Even Jingyi wouldn’t be able to find fault with them, probably.
Then again, Jingyi also often complained about things just for the sake of complaining, so it was not entirely certain.
“I’ll go check in on them, say goodnight,” Senior Wei offered when the last notes faded. His voice was a little shaky, and the way he twirled his flute as he walked away seemed like he was trying to occupy himself with something. Sizhui watched him with a small frown, until Father came to stand by him.
“You could stay with Wen Qing and Wen Ning for the night,” he said quietly. Sizhui glanced up at him. “Spend time with them,” he elaborated. For Hanguang-jun it was a lot to have said, not just by the measure of words.
“You don’t mind?”
“I will ask you to go back to Cloud Recesses tomorrow, once we get them settled in Yiling. Messages for Brother and Uncle, too long for talismans. And things to collect from there.”
Sizhui nodded in understanding. Before he could speak, Father shifted, turning to him.
“You can take as much time as you need after that, stay in Yiling.”
“I think- I might like that, for a while. Travelling with Wen-shushu was good, but it was cut short now. I’d like to-”
“Yes,” Father agreed and then turned towards the house, just as Senior Wei became visible.
Sizhui bowed to them both. “I will see you in the morning. Hanguang-jun. Senior Wei.”
Senior Wei peered at him. “So, just you and me, Lan Zhan? Just like the old times, then. Well, I say old times, but it was just a few months ago, wasn’t it? Did you miss it?” he asked, and Sizhui could see him elbow father in his side, lean in teasingly.
“Wei Ying,” Father offered, his tone reproachful, but did not move away, and they fell in step as they headed for the smaller house.
Sizhui couldn’t help but smile. Father had been- happier, since Senior Wei had returned. It was not easy to read Father’s moods and feelings, he knew, and it was not quite because he hid them well. Most of the time, Sizhui thought, it was more because he did not even know how to show them.
Sizhui was always better at reading him than most, not as good as Lan Xichen, perhaps, maybe better than Great Uncle. But it was not due to skill or talent, but because with him, Father would try. To explain, to work through it, to make sure Sizhui understood even when he would not go to such lengths for himself. There were many ways in which Father was patient, and great many ways in which he definitely wasn’t, but with this, he worked at it carefully.
Right now, it was plain that he was at peace. Like something that nobody could tell was missing now slotted into place. Sizhui understood it acutely, because it was akin to what he felt too. He had never felt unhappy about missing some of his early memories, how could he. But there has been an emptiness in the size and shape he didn’t know until Senior Wei was there, until Wen-shushu spoke to him of his family, until now.
Father, he thought, remember perfectly what he was missing, but the feeling could not have been dissimilar.
He doubted he would hear Inquiry in the jingshi again.
He made his way to the house, finding Aunt Qing and Wen-shushu talking quietly, hands linked. For a moment, he wondered if he was imposing, but they both looked up with a smile, Wen Qing moving to make a little more room next to her. “Come, come, A-Yuan. Sizhui. Did Lan Wangji name you?” she asked and Sizhui nodded, folding himself into the offered seat. She smiled knowingly, and he smiled back though unsure what her arch look was about. “Tell me, Sizhui, how have you been all these years?” she asked then, echoing her brother’s words unknowingly, and Sizhui felt something soft turn under his ribs.
“I’ve been well,” he offered, and then, as she waved her hand expectantly, he started talking. Some of it were stories Wen-shushu already knew, some were perhaps new to them both. He talked about Cloud Recesses and Father, and Jingyi, and bunnies, and Zewu-jun and Great Uncle, and of the night hunts, and classes, and of the time after Senior Wei came back, though Wen-shushu was there for parts of it. He paused every once in a while, certain that he has talked too much already, but then one of them would ask a question or two, and he would be coaxed into talking again, way past midnight.
And then Wen Qing picked up the stories, filling in the gaps of the ones Wen-shushu told him, of Granny, and Fourth Uncle, and Fifth Uncle, and the others, of Senior Wei’s experiments, of the turnips and the lotus pond. And then of the time before that, of what she knew of his first father, who was her distant cousin, who was rarely if ever in the Nightless City and usually beneath Wen Ruohan’s notice.
“He married outside of the sects,” Wen Qing told him. “I never met his wife - your mother - and when I met you, you were already with Granny. I have- I always assumed she would tell you everything, once you were old enough, so I did not press her to tell me. I should have,” she said, regret in her voice, and Sizhui shook his head, and gave into the impulse of taking her hand.
“I would have liked to know of them,” he admitted, “but it is far from your fault. And I am still grateful for the family I do have.”
She smiled, rising up in her seat a little, and kissed his forehead, above the ribbon, moving a little hesitantly until Sizhui leaned into it. “Go get some rest. It has been a long day,” she told him, and then laughed, on the edge of disbelief. “It has been just a day,” she muttered, shaking her head at herself. “You too, A-Ning,” she shooed him away, trying to sound stern and failing completely.
She was right about getting rest though, because the next day was busy. They packed everything she wanted to take, and it did not fit in between their qiankun bags. Father and Senior Wei were going to make another trip back after they settled her and Wen-shushu in Yiling. Sizhui offered to do the same, but Father insisted he go back to Cloud Recesses straight from Yiling, so he could get back as soon as he wanted.
Senior Wei spent the better part of the afternoon going from an inn to inn and a shop to shop in Yiling, chatting with people and working up to inquiring if they know of a house that was up for sale, because he was looking for one for his widowed sister. Sizhui honestly wondered what Aunt Qing was going to make of that, but in all honesty it was not half a bad story.
The search finally yielded results; a comfortable house on the outskirts of town, suitable for a large family but empty for a couple of years now. The price was steep, but it was mostly because it seemed like the owner did not really wish to sell. Zhao Lei was an older woman, who had moved into a smaller house once her children moved out and her husband passed, living with just a companion.
“She didn’t sell yet because she says she didn’t like the look of anyone who wanted to buy,” the companion was the one to inform them, her tone exasperated. “It’s a hassle, that’s what it is, to have someone clean it and maintain it, and it just stands empty. Too many stairs in that damn place.”
Senior Wei hummed thoughtfully and asked about their address and a convenient time to visit to discuss it, and then insisted Sizhui went with him. It was the strangest negotiation Sizhui has ever witnessed, because neither the house nor the price were really mentioned, and instead the conversation circled around the terrible weather Yiling had lately, best ways to utilise turnips, and Sizhui being a smart and filial young man.
Sizhui’s input was, thankfully, not needed, beyond eating what was put in front of him and praising every dish, which was easy because everything was incredibly good, including the turnip cakes served at the end, which somehow had a similar effect as Senior Wei’s congee, but in reverse; they were so good that they reminded him of something on the edge of his memory, something long forgotten.
“Very well,” she said finally, once they finished taking their tea. “Li Jiao can give you the keys and show you around. Bring your sister for dinner sometime next week too, if we are to be neighbours.”
Senior Wei bowed low to her, Sizhui following suit, and then, after a short conversation with Li Jiao, gold was produced and handed over, from a bag readily supplied by Father earlier, to put down the first payment. Sizhui’s travel to the Cloud Recesses was, in part, to bring the rest.
“You have done well for yourself,” Zhao Lei said as they were saying their goodbyes. “And your son,” she added, with a warm look at Sizhui. “We’ve wondered, some of us. When you stopped bringing in the turnips.”
Senior Wei looked on the edge of sputtering for a moment, an almost comical look of shock passing through his face, but he simply bowed to her. “We could not return for a while,” he offered, sidestepping any explanation. “But hopefully I will be around more, once my sister settles in.”
Sizhui waited until they were away from the house before looking at him incredulously. “Do you think she knew… who you were?” He suspected few people in town would recognise Senior Wei on sight, in fact through the day no one seemed to. Would she know the connection between the man who came into town to sell turnips and the fearsome Yiling Patriarch?
“If she did, it didn’t seem to trouble her,” Senior Wei shrugged. “And to be honest, I am somewhat proud that she seemed to remember our turnips. It’s not the worst thing I’ve been known for,” he offered philosophically and Sizhui laughed. Yeah, it probably wasn’t.
They went back to the inn to collect the others, and soon enough it was time to part ways. Sizhui was going back to Cloud Recesses, while Father and Senior Wei were heading back to collect the rest of Aunt Qing’s things. She and Wen Ning went to the new house, taking note of things that would need to be done before they could properly move in. Sizhui hoped to be back soon enough to help.
Once in Cloud Recesses, he headed to see Great Uncle first, with a missive from Hanguang-jun. The journey from Yiling took him half the night, with a stop in Caiyi town so he would not disturb the night rest in the Cloud Recesses. He arrived right past the morning bell, and as he joined Master Qiren, he was just sitting down for breakfast, gesturing for Sizhui to join him.
Master Qiren read the letter as they ate, which was not explicitly against the rules like talking was, but it was usually frowned upon. Bad for your digestion, Sizhui was told, which made no sense, but was a minor matter not worth getting in an argument over.
“Can you tell me why does Wangji need a doctor in Yiling?” he asked when they were done.
Sizhui considered the question and the precise phrasing of it. “No,” he offered. Sizhui was not going to lie to Great Uncle, but he also was going to respect Aunt Qing’s wishes and not make her survival widely known. It was toeing a fine line, but for one, he had learned that particular skill watching bobo, and for another, Great Uncle phrased the question too carefully for him not to expect this kind of an answer.
Great Uncle folded the letter carefully, allowing himself a heavy sigh. Sizhui has seen him little since the siege of the Burial Mounds, but he seemed more tired than usual since then, and more careful, thoughtful. “Is Wuxian involved?” he asked and then shook his head before Sizhui could say anything. “You don’t have to answer. Are you coming back, after bringing them the supplies?”
“I think I will stay there for a while. Wen-shushu is there as well,” he said, and couldn’t hear the shake in his voice he was sure was going to be there. Great Uncle looked up sharply, but the surprise was shorter lived than he might have expected.
Sizhui held his gaze carefully, until Great Uncle huffed, shaking his head again. “I- suspected,” he told Sizhui. “Wangji never told me. Perhaps he thought I’d believe the ridiculous notion that he’d have a son with a woman we’ve never met,” he scoffed. “He would not trust me with much, then. I don’t think that improved greatly,” he muttered, with a glance at the letter, and this time he truly looked tired, weary.
“Father is coming back soon, after his business is concluded in Yiling. Probably within a couple of days after I leave,” he offered, folding his hands in his lap, sleeves falling over his fingers as he tucked them in. “Perhaps talking to him in person might be better,” he said, though Great Uncle did not look convinced. “And if this disciple might be so bold,” he continued, pausing until Great Uncle nodded for him to speak, “a conversation with Senior Wei. Could go a long way.”
There was just a shadow of irritation where once would have been a full grimace. Sizhui carefully considered the progress. “I don’t really know what to say to the man,” Great Uncle offered, and while it could have been interpreted in various ways, Sizhui decided to take it at face value.
“In my experience, Senior Wei carries a great deal of any conversation he’s in,” he offered and was gratified by the briefest flicker of exasperated amusement on Great Uncle’s face. He lowered his head. “This disciple thanks the Master for his time. I need to see Zewu-jun before I leave.”
Great Uncle shook his head. “Take your time. Gathering the supplies will take a while. Though it could go faster if you can take over the afternoon history class. I could perhaps ask Jingyi, but he has been swamped with everything else.”
“This disciple will be honoured,” Sizhui offered readily. A little more time would also allow him to talk to Jingyi and others; he had left rather abruptly. He thanked Great Uncle again and took his leave, then made his way to Zewu-jun’s.
Zewu-jun didn’t say anything when he entered; he was, after all, in seclusion. He did look up, a small smile blooming when Sizhui bowed, but didn't stop his writing. Even from the other side of the room Sizhui could recognise the clan rules copying. He also could tell that some lines were missing in-between.
“Bobo,” he said, maintaining the bow. He was here on a personal matter, not on sect business. It was a long moment before Uncle nodded, and yet another before he spoke.
“A-yuan. Sit, please,” he offered. Sizhui took out the folded paper from his pouch and placed it on the table. Uncle made no move to reach for it, and instead turned to pour the tea, pushing one of the cups towards Sizhui, who nodded his thanks and drank.
Silence stretched out between them for a moment. Not uncomfortable, as such, but unfamiliar. Usually, Zewu-jun was the one to start conversations, and Sizhui felt a little ill-footed without the preliminary small talk.
“How have you been?” he heard himself asking, and Uncle smiled thinly at him.
“Well,” he said, and Sizhui was almost moved to point out lying was forbidden. Still, perhaps lies so obvious did not even count as lies.
“Father told me to ask you,” he started, watching as Zewu-jun tensed up, his jaw clenching, “for what you have kept for me.”
That got him an entirely different reaction. A quick flash of shock followed immediately by deep concern. He searched Sizhui’s face and then nodded, standing up swiftly. “You should come with me, then.”
He led Sizhui to the treasure vault, and then beyond even that, to a room Sizhui knew was not accessible to anyone else in the clan. Sizhui could recognise the items housed here, the most precious artifacts of the sect, dating back to its beginning, ancient swords, and writings of Lan An and his contemporaries. And then there was one shelf that differed visibly from the rest, things that did not belong to the Lan sect; scrolls marked with a seal of a sun, a sword in a dark red sheath, assorted boxes with the same markings.
“It is not much. The majority of things taken from Wen Ruohan’s treasuries after the Sunshot Campaign are in the possession of the Nie and the Jin. The Lan- we didn’t really bother to lay claim to much then, beyond what was due as reparations, and that was used to rebuild Cloud Recesses, and some of the ancient texts to replace the ones we’ve lost. Those are in the library,” he said, stepping closer to the shelf and looking over the gathered things. “I have started on this- a few years after you’ve come to us. Wangji and I thought you might want it someday.”
Sizhui moved closer, picking up the closest scroll. It bore the sign of Wen Mao, the paper a little faded but writing clear.
“These all came from the personal collections of the Jin and Nie leaders. Some of the writings I borrowed, under the guise of study, and thought to copy them, but I do not think anyone will lay claim to them now.”
“You knew about me from the beginning?” he asked and Zewu-jun nodded slowly.
“I don’t know how much you know-” he started and Sizhui laughed softly.
“It’s hard to know what I don’t know,” he offered, and got a soft smile in return. “Father brought me in after Senior Wei died in Nightless City.”
“Before, I think. He wouldn’t have had time to go after,” he said and sighed. “We did not- talk about it much. The aftermath of the Nightless City was- chaos. Many died, many were wounded. Many didn’t understand what happened, the stories and rumours abounded. When I learned Wangji brought you here, you were in the care of Lan Ting, and Wangji was- in seclusion already.” He walked a couple of steps towards the wall, hands behind his back, not quite pacing, but as if a little restless. “Wangji was not very- forthcoming, at the time. But he did tell me finally that he went to look for Young Master Wei and found you instead.”
Sizhui nodded. He knew most of it already, perhaps not in full, but enough of it to give it shape.
“These- I started to gather them a couple years later. Wangji thought it was dangerous, but he still agreed you should know, if you asked one day. He implored me to be careful, and was vehemently against giving anyone any cause for suspicion. I thought-” he paused, a quick grimace pulling at his mouth, before he carefully schooled his expression down. “He was right, of course.”
He turned to look at Sizhui, his face decidedly unhappy, in a way he rarely showed. He was trying to hide it, Sizhui thought, just not managing very well at all.
“I always believed that knowledge of one’s ancestors could shed light on one’s nature. Help understand our actions and faults. Perhaps mistakenly, in some cases,” he said and then nodded at Sizhui and inclined his head towards the shelf. “But these are all yours. I hope they can be of use.”
“I am grateful,” Sizhui hastened to tell him. “I did not think anything like this would have even survived. Thank you, bobo,” he offered, and the smile he got in return was a little more genuine, even if weak. “If you do not mind, I would like to share this with Wen-shushu and Wen-gugu.”
That made Uncle startle in surprise, his eyes flickering to Sizhui’s, his thoughts visibly racing.
“Wen Qing,” he supplied. “The Ghost General was not the only person considered too valuable to kill. She was kept under guard, in a house in southern Qishan.”
It took Uncle a moment to speak. “Jin Guangyao.”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly. Uncle closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out slowly. Sizhui could see his hand twitch, a clench of his fist, knuckles going white.
Sizhui never knew Jin Guangyao well, despite his rather frequent visits to Cloud Recesses. It made sense now, and even before, he rather got the sense that Father didn’t like him much. But he knew how important he was to Uncle. And he thought how it must be, to grieve a person you thought you should not grieve.
For years, he saw Father grieve a person everyone told him not to grieve.
“Bobo,” he offered quietly. “Master Qiren asked me to teach the history class today, and I need to prepare. But perhaps I could impose on your afternoon and join you for dinner?”
A sharp intake of breath, before Uncle nodded, his voice quiet when he spoke. “You would be most welcome.”
Good, Sizhui thought. He could not stay in Cloud Recesses long, but this would do. Perhaps breakfast tomorrow too. And perhaps- “And if bobo would indulge me further, perhaps Jingyi could join us? I have not seen him for a while either.”
And honestly, no one could prevail in a despondent mood for long around Jingyi. Sizhui had tested that theory multiple times, and it had yet to fail.
“Jingyi would be welcome as well,” Uncle allowed, albeit slightly reluctantly. Sizhui was going to take it anyway. It was perhaps not quite in line with what seclusion meant, but the seclusion was self-imposed and, Sizhui was starting to realise, far from a good idea.
“This nephew thanks Zewu-jun,” he offered, with as proper a bow as he was capable of, and then decided to dispose of all formality and stepped in close. Uncle startled at first, but his arms went up instinctively, moving to close around Sizhui, letting himself be hugged. After a moment, his chin rested on top of Sizhui’s head, and his arms tightened as he took in a shuddering breath.
Sizhui was determined to hold on for as long as he could, letting his Uncle be the one to pull away first. It was not as long as he might have liked, but longer than he thought it would be. When Uncle moved away, his eyes were bright, but his expression was just a little lighter.
“Thank you,” Sizhui offered, before Uncle could say anything. “For this, too” he added, stepping back and gesturing to the shelf. “If you do not mind, I will leave them here until I know what to do with it all. They will be safer here than with anyone else,” he offered, and another slight smile passed across Uncle’s face as he nodded.
“Of course. Take your time.”
Some things, Sizhui agreed, would take their time. But it was alright, he had plenty of it.