Work Text:
Surveying the scene, Wei Wuxian was hit with a heavy wave of nostalgia.
Rings of young cultivators, grouped together to form an even greater circle. All wearing Cloud Recesses white. All preparing their lanterns, varying expressions of concentration, frustration, laughter across their faces.
Each one with hopes, dreams, fears, anxieties.
Each one putting who they were into their lanterns.
Wen Ning and Sizhui smiled softly as they painted the Wen sect symbol together. Their own modification – different enough that no one would conflate it with memories of the war, similar enough that the residents of Dafan Mountain, the little family in the Burial Mounds, would have recognized it.
Jin Ling and Jingyi lounged by their lantern, instructing Zizhen, the appointed artist, to add this and that. The lantern was covered in a jumbled mishmash, each angle revealing a different image: a dog, a donkey, a peony, and what looked like the first line of a poem that Zizhen had been composing and recomposing aloud to himself throughout this visit.
All the lanterns were made of standard, Gusu-sourced materials. There was no priceless paper from the Cheyun Works in sight.
Sometimes Wei Wuxian wondered what the others had wished for back then. Should he have asked? Waited for a true answer? Had Wen Qing been calculating, even then, how to keep herself, her family safe? How to get them out of an impossible situation? Wei Wuxian remembered that Nie Huaisang had laughed later that day, saying he had only wished to never have to come back to Cloud Recesses. Jiang Cheng had rolled his eyes and it was impossible to tell whether his flush was one of anger or of embarrassment when Wei Wuxian said he must have wished for his dream girl to come to him one day. Had Shijie really wished for him to mature gracefully, to be well-behaved, or had she actually wished for a good marriage? He hoped the latter. He wanted to believe that his Shijie had had at least some of her wishes granted.
That had been almost 20 years ago. Now, not one of them was here.
“Wei Ying?” his husband gently cut into his musings.
“Ah, it’s nothing, Lan Zhan,“ Wei Wuxian said quickly, “I was just thinking about wishes and…” he shook his head, smiling softly, “It’s nothing.”
Lan Wangji looked at him skeptically, but seemed to decide that this was neither the time nor the place. “Are you ready to launch ours?”
Ours. Wei Wuxian looked down at the lantern. His carefully drawn rabbit next to the first few notes of their song, carefully written out by the composer. Another change from back then, but a welcome one.
His smile grew warmer, more heartfelt, lighting from within.
“Mnm. Yes.” Wei Wuxian nodded.
He looked around one more time. He recognized each one of the young faces in the clearing, not all by name, but certainly by the wonder on their faces. The unknown, unwritten futures each of them represented.
They launched the lanterns as one, flames lighting up the sky, paper lanterns rising like snow that didn’t yet know it was meant to fall.
As they all closed their eyes, Wei Wuxian was once again already sure of his wish.
I, Wei Wuxian, wish that whatever these young disciples wish for, so long as it comes from the heart, will come to pass. Without suffering. Without regret.