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Jiang Wanyin knelt in front of his family’s altar and stared at the incense sticks waiting to be burned. He was not sure why he had come here. Whenever he was upset, his feet took him right here, to this shrine and this cushion, but he wasn’t sure if this was the right moment for him to be here. What would his parents and sister even say? My nephew just called to complain about his uncle showing up, but I know it was really my brother, and I don’t know what to do. Also, another person I have conflicting feelings about is alive when they should be dead. Also also, I don’t know if I should be angry or not. He let out a frustrated groan and slapped his hand into the floor beside him.
Jin Ling had called just before Wanyin had been about to go to sleep to tell him about the night hunt he had just had. Wanyin had not been pleased to hear that his nephew had gone to the temple on Dafan Mountain, no matter if it was the other kids’ idea, and he had especially not been pleased to hear that the soul-eating statue there had woken up. It was a good thing Hanguang Jun had shown up when he had, even if Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning had been there. Even if? It was a good thing they had been there, too. They had saved Jin Ling’s life. But it was their fault Jin Ling was an orphan. But was that their fault?
“A-Jie, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Wanyin told the table in front of him. “Wei Wuxian is alive. I know he is. What do I do? ” The nameplates had no answers for him. He picked up the lighter sitting beside the box of incense sticks and lit them. The smell was nice, but that did nothing for him. He settled back on his knees and looked up at the smoke rising towards the roof. “I know it was him, a-Jie. Lan Wangji has never looked twice at anyone else; why would he be dating Mo Xuanyu all of a sudden? Wei Wuxian is in disguise. But I don’t know why he chose to be Mo Xuanyu.” He rubbed his hands down his thighs. “And a-Ling said Hanguang Jun has a son. Wei Sizhui. So I have two nephews. But I don’t have two nephews, because Wei Wuxian defected. And I kicked him out of the Jiang clan. He’s not part of our clan anymore.”
The smoke from the incense twined lazily around the central part of the shrine, and Wanyin looked out at the lake. “A-Ling says that Sizhui is brave and plays the guqin well. I’m sure he does, what with his father. And...Wen Ning was there. Jin Guangshan said he burned him, but he must have lied. I should have known he would lie. But I don’t know why he left Wen Ning alive. I should ask Jin Guangyao. Or I’ll ask Zewu Jun to ask Jin Guangyao. Or I just won’t ask.” He scowled. “I don’t know why everything is so complicated now, a-Jie. I was settling into hating him. Why does he have to come back and…” He trailed off. The truth was too much to verbalize. Why does Wei Wuxian have to come back and make me remember that he’s my brother? That I still don’t know how I feel about him? “I miss you, Jiejie. You always make things make sense. And I know a-Ling misses you, too, even if he doesn’t...even if he can’t remember you.” A soft wind blew through the shrine, and the smoke from the incense drifted around Wanyin. He wrinkled his nose. “It’s late. I just...I don’t know. I need to sort my thoughts out. But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know what to do!” Wanyin realized abruptly that tears were trickling down his face, and he wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his face with an irritated motion. “I need to go to bed. I will be back. I always am.”
He bowed to the shrine, went through the motions of honoring the ancestors, then blew the incense out and walked back across the docks and towards his bedroom. He paused at the door to the house proper and looked out across the lake. It had been so quiet here in the past sixteen years, or at least it had seemed to be quieter. Maybe Wanyin was just missing the old days, when he and his brother and the other disciples their age had run around like wild things. There were fewer children these days. Jin Ling had had a few friends among the handful of Jiang disciples his age, but they were still not fully recovered from the massacre that had started the Sunshot campaign. Wanyin was certain that there were still bloodstains soaked into the stones, although those could just be part of his nightmares. The nights that he did not wake up covered in sweat were rare, even nineteen years later.
The jingling of Fairy’s collar woke him out of his reverie, and he reached down to scratch her ruff.
“What are we going to do, Fairy?” he asked. Fairy sat down and leaned into his leg. “I think we should go to sleep, too.” They walked inside and down the hall to Wanyin’s bedroom. His sheets were cold when he finally crawled in between them. He lay in the darkness for a while, listening to Fairy’s breathing at the end of the bed and studying the gray of the ceiling. It took him a while to realize that he was waiting for a ‘good night’ that he hadn’t heard for seventeen years.