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“Go to your own bed,” Lan Wangji calmly says without even opening his eyes.
The silence falls on the Jingshi again. Lan Wangji thinks for a brief moment that Sizhui gave up and that he could let his body fall asleep after an exhausting day.
But it won't be that easy.
An unexpected weight falls over his stomach, forcing Lan Wangji to bend his body up and sit on his bed with a whimper of pain and surprise.
“I don’t want to.” Lan Sizhui exclaims, burying his face in Lan Wangji’s stomach. “I’m not tired yet.”
That's an obvious lie, Lan Wangji can tell just by the slurring of his voice. Sizhui takes advantage of the silence to climb onto Lan Wangji's lap and nestle his small body on his clothes.
“A-Yuan, you have your own bed,” he says.
Even though he knows a four-year-old young boy should sleep by himself, his fingers automatically run through the boy's hair and Lan Wangji does nothing to prevent Sizhui from laying on his chest.
“I don’t like it. It’s dark and cold, and dark and too far away!”
Right, so that's the problem. Hanguang Jun tries to remember if he too had such fears during his infant days. Did he? The fear of being alone. Even if he hadn’t felt it then, he most certainly feel it now. Making peace with this kind of worry is his everyday challenge.
Lan Wangji sighs and looks up, searching for guidance from above. He's new at this, he's still learning how to be responsible for someone so little, so fragile. Children weren’t a problem for him, even though he had never contemplated the idea of having one. Some could say he brought this burden to himself - bringing Lan Sizhui was his decision after all.
However, it was never a matter of choice.
He hadn't chosen Wei Wuxian to own his heart, he demanded it from the first moment Lan Wangji saw his smile. And he believes - he knows - that Wei Wuxian also didn’t choose to bring that kid so close to his heart. Being an orphan himself, he could probably see in Lan Sizhui’s eyes the same silent request for love. The request Lan Wangji saw when he looked at him today.
And Lan Wangji knows how Lan Sizhui used to make Wei Wuxian smile.
Sometimes he even asks himself if this is somehow moved by a selfish urge or not. Having Lan Sizhui as his own feels like a reluctant way to never leave Wei Wuxian's smiles behind.
“It itches!” the kid rubs the ribbon on his forehead, making the fabric lose and wrinkle on his head.
“It’s only your first day wearing it, you’ll get used to the ribbon soon enough,” he says, adjusting it on his forehead. He knows, however, that in a matter of seconds, it would be crooked again. “Do you remember what it means?”
“To regulate himself.” Lan Sizhui answers proudly.
“Oneself,” Lan Wangji corrects him with a soft tone. “You’re right. And what else?”
“JingYi can’t touch it,” he frowns.
“No one can,” Lan Wangji adjusts his posture so the boy could cuddle him properly.
“Why?”
"It's a major symbol of our Clan,” Lan Wangji breathes in deeply. It's too late in the night for another round of whys and hows.
“But why?” by the tone of Sizhui's voice, Lan Wangji understands now he's just buying time to escape their sleeping schedule.
“It’s a symbol, A-Yuan. We are disciplined, centered,” he explains, but Lan Sizhui yawns widely on his lap and Lan Wangji gets a bit lost staring at him for a second, “and firm. It means control. Like a promise," he finally finishes his thought.
“But you touch it!” Lan Sizhui exclaims, widening his tiny eyes and getting up to sit on the bed in front of him. “You touched my control just now!” he scowls, holding the ribbon with his chubby fingers.
“I can.”
Lan Wangji limits himself to these words. Lan Sizhui will know the meaning of them when he's old enough.
“Now, bed,” Lan Wangji points to the other side of the Jingshi.
But Lan Sizhui throes himself on the mattress faking a tearless cry. Lan Wangji remains undisturbed by that scene, waiting patiently for him to get tired of it. Eventually, he did. Although that behavior is completely inadequate, Lan Wangji knows he's just a child. However, something feels wrong.
Just that simple thought make Lan Wangji's chest sink in a sea of concerns.
Maybe it's the way Lan Sizhui sounds a little too agitated for that late hour. For sure, more than he was last night or any other before that. He would be sleeping by now, or at least dozing off, judging by how high the moon was in the sky.
Can it be pain? Is Lan Sizhui in pain in front of him all that time and Lan Wangji is oblivious to it?
Is he sick? Again? Or worse?
Could he be carrying a dark curse? Maybe the stroll into the woods the young disciples asked to do with the children went bad, and they refused to report it. Wooden ghouls have been seen around Gusu recently, many fishermen were attacked last week. If that's the case, the disciples have a lot to explain. Not just for failing to report the assault, but also for failing to protect the kids. That's unacceptable.
Lan Wangji needs to think. To think beyond the fog of consternation that takes over his mind in a blink.
He needs to know what it was to repel it. Curses or simple tricks from wood creatures can be easily reversed, but he must be sure what is afflicting Sizhui before any--
“I had a nightmare…”
Lan Sizhui declares lowering his head, almost like he's confessing to a crime.
The great Hanguang Jun closes his eyes and exhales in relief.
His hands are sore when he lets go of his tight grip on the sheets. He can feel the holes his nails made on his own palm’s skin, digging through the thin fabric. Now, the air finds its way in and out of his lungs with no restraints, and only then he comes to realize he was holding his breath.
A nightmare, of course.
Feeble issues like these fail to cross his vigilant mind sometimes.
However, feeble shouldn’t be the chosen word to describe something that scared the boy like it seemed to. He must take it seriously.
“Tell me what happened,” he asks, placing his hands on his bent knees, just like he does in formal meetings.
“Yiling Patriarch…” Lan Sizhui trembles. “JingYi and Sicen said he captures children when they sleep…” he whispers slowly. “When I sleep… He’s running after me and trying to turn me into a rabbit!” his thin voice cracks, too weak to compete with the tears on his face. “ I don’t want to be a rabbit, Hanguang Jun!”
It isn't a loud cry. It would be better if it was.
A-Yuan is all huddled like a tiny ball, hugging his legs and burying his face on his own knees too scared to even look up. That was genuine fear.
“Come here.”
Lan Wangji gets up, and the kid follows him with his swollen red eyes. Lan Sizhui makes a move intending to get on his feet on his own, but Lan Wangji's faster. He picks him up with no difficulty.
Little by little, the sobbing against Lan Wangji's shoulder gets weaker until there's only the slow pace of Lan Sizhui’s breathing.
Lan Wangji crosses the Jingshi with him in his arms like he weighed nothing, and sits by the table with his guqin in front of him. He lets out a deep sigh as he held Sizhui closer to his chest, gently letting his ear touch the kid’s hair.
He promised he would never do what he was about to do again.
He swore to himself those days of torture were long gone by now.
Hanguang Jun feels his eyes burning lightly before a warm tear drop run down his cheek. He seeks strength inside his heart in silence.
And he finds it, but not within himself. He finds it in the frail grip of small fingers on his sleeve. There's all the strength he'll need.
And then, he runs the tip of his fingers through the guqin’s seven strings .
“A-Yuan, I want to tell you a story.”
Once Lan Wangji is certain that Sizhui's secure between his body and the table, he takes his other hand off his back and landed it on the guqin, too.
“A bedtime story, Hanguang Jun?” Sizhui almost jumps with enthusiasm.
“Mn.”
Lan Wangji makes him lay his head back on his shoulder before returning to the instrument. His fingers just play with the chords, making sounds that flow like a weak stream.
“About what?” Sizhui asks, rubbing his cheeks on his shoulder.
Lan Wangji stops for a moment and takes a deep breath in. It's time.
His fingers dance over the guqin strings, making it sing the first notes of Wangxian.
“About a prince, A-Yuan.” he says. “The most courageous prince that lived in a far away mountain-palace.”
Years had passed, but Hanguang Jun’s fingers can play their song even if he was asleep. No matter how long it has been, all notes strike his heart just as strongly as they did when he composed them in his head.
“What’s his name?” Sizhui yaws.
“Lotus,” Lan Wangji answers promptly. “Prince Lotus used to play his magic flute when he was in distress. He never lost one single battle when he played.”
As he plays their song, Lan Wangji feels the stubborn head getting heavier and bumping against his shoulder every now and then. When Sizhui gives up on battling with sleep, he finally rests his cheek on his arm and yawns again.
The boy takes the end of Lan Wangji’s ribbon between his fingers, grabbing a few strands of hair along with it. As if he isn't aware of what he is doing, Sizhui begins to roll it on his fingers slowly, entangling Hanguang Jun’s ribbon in his hand.
“Prince Lotus saved dozens of souls,” Lan Wangji keeps playing along with the tale he was telling. “He fought a war all alone, with his magic flute as his weapon. After that, Prince Lotus decided he had enough of fighting. Enough of the world that did not like him. He built the mountain-palace for himself, and for everyone that needed a home. He decided to be their home...
“But even though he did so, even though he was living in peace, the other princes envied him for his wits and his looks.
“And they wanted him gone.
“Prince Lotus had to go away,
“Prince Jade even asked him to stay,
“Prince Jade took him for granted, a mistake Prince Jade regrets every day.
“So Prince Lotus went away,
“He is nowhere to be found, and I’ve tried to find him so many times…”
The weak pull on his ribbon was gone long before the song was over. A-Yuan always snores softly like that when he had an agitating day.
“But I promised Prince Lotus I would take care of you, son .”