Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Looking back on that day, in the confines of his heart during the scarcest moments of solitude, Wangji would ponder if it was fate or coincidence that that night hunt in particular brought him to Yiling of all places.

He remembered stopping in town, wandering aimlessly, heart feeling nothing and everything at once because no matter where he went or what he did, it was always aware of the absence by his side; a void that should’ve been filled with her carefree spirit, her unrestrained laughs and free smiles, her wisecracking voice, her light-hearted footsteps.

Every time his eyes would futilely scan crowds in search of a red ribbon in black tresses only to met with mounting disappointment as he realized that the wearer was not who he seeked.

It was confusing.

It was aching.

The form of pain stayed, never spiking but never fading. Like an itch in an unreachable area, like a splinter that's fused with skin.

Come to think of it, it was similar to the ache his mother’s death left behind.

(Sometimes, he wondered what his mother would say if she could’ve met Wei Ying.)

He was not hungry but there was a persistent tug in his being that told him not to leave Yiling. To stay, just a little while longer. To simply exist in the same area of a woman who was so close yet so far.

And he complied.

That was how he found himself sitting in a teahouse, simple peanuts and small cakes remaining untouched.

He poured himself a cup of tea. Through the sounds of liquid pouring, the words of the teahouse storyteller rung clear like the taunting toll of a bell.

“In my opinion, this Yiling Matriarch is a scourge! A menace of misfortune amongst mortals, I tell you.”

(Do not make assumption about others.)

The crowd of listeners in front of him murmured their agreements, nodding and nudging and whispering to each other.

“Who wouldn’t say so?” one patron in particular spoke up conspiratorially. “Let me tell you, the ancestral graves of my neighbour’s eldest aunt was dug up recently. It must’ve been her!”

(Talking behind other people’s back is prohibited.)

(Do not tell lies.)

(Do not use frivolous words.)

The table next to Wangji’s conversed and though eavesdropping was frowned upon, it technically wasn’t since he could naturally hear them.

Each word that ran through his ear sent a surge of fury into his chest.

“I heard she’s controlling others to dig up the graves of their own friends and families to turn into puppets.”

“Those who defy her are damned to rot in hell, never to reincarnate.”

“She’s that heartless?”

“I heard she sacrificed her own heart in order to gain such powers in the first place.”

‘Do not succumb to rage………’ Wangji restrained himself (though what he wanted to do more than anything was cast the Lan Silencing Spell on every fool in this room who dared speak ill of one simply because of fickle rumours).

“In Qiongqi Path, she turned a survivor of the Wen Clan into her personal bodyguard. She was so distraught she didn’t even let him part peacefully in death!” the storyteller continued.

“Some say that Wen dog was her secret lover.”

“He must be. Why else would she betray us all for them?”

The thought of Wei Ying loving someone other than him…..the thought of someone else capable (perhaps more so) of making her happy made the tea taste like bile down his throat.

“People call him the Ghost General. But after the tragedy of Qiongqi Path, his whereabouts remain unknown.” The storyteller said ominously.

The ache in his chest flared and Wangji forcefully shoved it down.

(“To die by your hand would be a worthy death.”)

“Where else could he be? He must be doing the dirty work of the Yiling Matriarch.” A patron huffed.

The storyteller cackled. “You people don’t know the half of it.” Ironic since he himself knew absolutely nothing to begin with. “She’s capable of more than creating puppets. Let me tell you……”

His voice lowered purposefully, everyone stepping closer to listen with rapt attention.

“She digs those corpses to crack bones and suck marrows to enhance her wicked tricks. She even snatches the souls of youthful maidens to preserve her beauty!”

Shocked gasps and exclamations rippled throughout the crowd, eyes fearful but intrigued as they hungrily absorbed every juicy word.

“If Yunmeng Jiang Clan hadn’t taken her in, she would be a mediocre roaming the streets. She defected the clan that raised her, spat on the sisterhood with their heiress and even sought to kill young Jiang-zongzhu in combat! A traitorous wretch like her deserves no less than death for such shameful acts!”

The delicate cup threatened to shatter in his vice grip.

Behind him, blissfully unaware of his accumulating rage, the patrons expressed their agreement, crowing of righteousness and spitting disapproval, all of them acting as though they had the right to condemn her-

(Do not succumb to rage.)

He slammed the cup with more force than necessary, tea sloshing onto his hand.

Like a scythe through wheat, the murmurs halted as all eyes whipped around to stare at the jade statue of a man within their presence. A chill settled over them like the icy surface of a lake, none brave enough to thread lest the fragile surface shatters.

His eyes were molten gold as they pierced through them all. So cold, it burned.

Wordlessly, he placed a chunk of silver on his table and left, posture perfect, white and blue silk robes billowing like clouds around his figure as he departed.

“Strange….what’s with that guy? Why did he look at me as though I put an arm around his wife?!” the storyteller spluttered in his wake.

The chattering of the marketplace faded into the background. Wangji forced himself to look forward lest their wares taunt him of her once more.

A red ribbon, a jar of wine, a bunny figurine, a black and red robe, a lotus hairpin, food laced with spice and chili oil-

Two separate weights simultaneously crashed into his legs, a pressure as both clung onto their respective sides like limpets. Had Wangji been someone else, he would’ve toppled over.

Instead, he remained standing. Slowly, his eyes drifted down.

Two children stared back at him, chubby cheeked and grinning, one with cheerful eyes of silver (like hers, like Wei Ying’s, his heart sang) and the other with impish eyes of duller gold.

He stared………

The grin faded.

And both boys promptly burst into tears.

Wei Wuxian inspected the potato in her hand, lips pursed in disapproval as she noticed how all of them had already sprouted.

“Laoban, all of these have already sprouted.” She pointed out.

The hawker scowled at her, rudely snatching the potato out of her hand.

“What do you want?” he asked curtly.

“Ey, laoban, make it cheaper. Please?” she fluttered her lashes slightly.

She could go to another stall to buy what she needed but this was the only stall that sold wares within the tight budget she and the Wen Remnants had. She could not afford to splurge on the simplest of supplies needed on the list.

“You can pick the ones that haven’t sprouted.” He huffed.

“Oi.” She deadpanned. Without even looking, she picked a potato. Like all the previous one and all the others, it was sprouted. “I don’t even need to see to know they’re all sprouted anyways.”

The hawker shrugged. “Tough luck.”

“You-!” ooooh, this guy had no idea who he was messing with. “Fine.” She sniffed, crossing her arms.

“Pick a random one and it’s sprouted, I wouldn’t want food poisoning anyways. Much less from a man with such little integrity. A-Yuan, A-Yi, don’t you agre-”

She looked down.

There were no twin toddlers there, only empty air.

“A-Yuan? A-Yi?” her head whipped around but they were nowhere in sight- shit, how long ago did they wander off? How far were they by now?!

(Some mother she is….)

She numbly dropped the sprouted potato.

A hysterical panic bubbled through her throat as she ran off into the crowd, eyes frantically searching through the masses of bodies for two toddlers.

“A-Yuan? A-Yuan! A-Yi!” she called out. Some of the elderly women and maidens looked at her, some with worry and some with disapproval, no doubt recognizing a distressed mother.

“Guniang? Are you alright?” a kind elderly woman asked.

“I’m looking for my sons. They’re twins, about two years old, have you seen them?” she asked.

“Well-”

A wail interrupted them.

Two wails to be precise.

Wei Wuxian wasted no time running towards the source.

Wangji has no idea what to do.

He’s fought a legendary Xuanwu beast with nothing but wire and a broken leg; he fought in a war and was known as one of the best cultivators of his generation.

But he was at a complete and utter loss of how to deal with the two children miserably sitting on the ground, clutching his leg as they sobbed and wailed.

As if the children’s distress wasn’t worrying enough, the gathering crowd made him uncomfortably aware that he was in a situation he had absolutely no control of.

He’d rather have himself backed against a wall with a sword pointed to his throat. At least that was a situation he could comprehend better than…than this!

“What happened?”

“Why are those two crying so miserably?”

“They look like brothers- heavens, they’re probably twins!”

“Were they scolded by their father?”

He blinked in alarm at the misunderstanding. Oh no, oh dear, this was escalating too far.

“I’m not-” the words lodged in his throat as they went unheard.

“Eh, everyone listen here! You see? He’s their father, definitely their father. Your noses look exactly the same!” one of them said accusingly.

Wangji surreptitiously spared a glance and indeed, their noses did look like his.

“Don’t you all agree?”  as though reading his thoughts, everyone agreed as they spotted the similarity.

“Yeah.”

“That’s right.”

“Exactly.”

“Such a cold man.”

“Look at how upset they are. Were they scolded by their father?” a man in brown robes asked him directly.

“He doesn’t even know how to hug and comfort the children. Just leaving them to cry on the ground like that. How can you be a father?” his friend scolded.

Wangji lowered his eyes because the admonishment was right- he could never be a father.

(He doubts he could even be a husband.)

One of the older men seem to take pity on him.

“So young. This must be your first time, yes? Twins no less. It’s overwhelming, I know. Back then, I was just like you, I had no clue at all. But after my wife gave birth to more, I began to understand. Raising a child is a process you have to slowly learn.” He advised.

Others knelt down, reaching out to soothingly pat the boys’ backs, trying to help them.

“Hai zi, where’s your mother?” one asked one twin.

“Xiao pengyou, don’t cry.” A young maiden soothed the other.

“Oi, where’s his mother?” they asked Wangji.

“Ish, you as a father can’t do anything.” A maiden tutted.

As they dragged him over the coals for his lack of parenting skills and tried to console the two crying boys in hopes of coaxing out their mother’s whereabouts, Wangji scanned the crowd as though the gods would bestow him a solution-

“Lan Zhan.”

The ache in his heart froze as hope, tentative and fragile but so very hopeful, surged.

There she was before his eyes. She smiled, silver eyes crinkling into moons, a red ribbon tied in her black tresses. She was dressed in simpler muted grey and duller red robes made of practical material, clearly clothes meant for labour.

The two boys sniffled, finally raising their blotchy faces from the fabric of his clothes.

The boy with golden eyes ran towards her, meeting her halfway as he cried tears that were hopefully of relief this time. His twin followed and she seamlessly scooped both of them into her arms for a hug.

“Who is she?”

“Obviously their mother.”

“So young and already with two….”

Wangji swallowed as the torrent of emotions threatened to choke him senseless.

(The thought of Wei Ying as a mother, the rapture at the dream of living a domestic life with her, free of worries and politics and expectations.)

Wei Ying seemed unaware of his turmoil as she shooed the crowd away before turning to him.

She smiled and oh, even now she looked beautiful. There were bruises under her eyes, her skin was paler and she looked worryingly thinner but it did nothing to dim the brightness of her spirit.

“Lan Zhan, what a coincidence. What brings you to Yiling?” she asked.

“Night hunt. Passing by.” He replied.

She nodded.

Swallowing, Wangji tried to search for words (he selfishly wanted to keep her attention, to keep hearing her voice talk to him) before settling on the two boys, one of them playing with a lock of her hair while the other stared at him innocently.

“These two are……..?”

“Mine.” She replied.

A crack fractured his heart.

(“Some say that Wen dog was her secret lover.”)

(“He must be. Why else would she betray us all for them?”)

Then she grinned (it was brittle) and laughed (it was forced), fondly patting both boys’ heads as they clung onto her legs.

“I’m kidding Lan Zhan. Ish, so serious!” she teased.

(He should’ve seen the signs that day.)

Belatedly, he realized her lips were still moving- she was still talking to him, asking him something.

“-do? Why were they crying?” ah, that was easy to answer.

“Nothing.” He replied honestly.

And really, that was what baffled him the most. He did absolutely nothing, so what could’ve warranted such an overwhelmed reaction?

She stared at him and oh, how many nights has he dreamed of having those eyes gaze at him? Her head was tilted pensively before she seemed to deduce an answer.

“Oooh, I know why. Lan Zhan ah, Lan er-gege, your face is beautiful yet you’re always so intense, as though you’re secretly bearing a lot of hatred. These two are still young, they can’t differentiate between beauty and ugliness. Faced with such an unwelcoming shushu like you, of course they’ll panic and burst into tears.” She explained.

That……..made sense……………………..

Was his face really that unsightly to children?

“A-Yuan, A-Yi, look look.” Wei Ying coaxed, pointing to a bunch of toys sold at one of the stalls.

A-Yuan and A-Yi gasped in delight at the toys, childish want evident in their gazes.

“Isn’t it nice?” she asked.

“Nice. Nice.” Both chanted.

She pinched their cheeks softly before standing, holding their hands in each of her own. “Come, let’s go see.”

Kneeling down, she picked up a straw butterfly and waved it in front of their faces.

“See? You like it?” she cooed.

“Like, like!” they agreed, reaching out to grab it.

She playfully flitted it out of their reach, eliciting giggles from both boys. Then she turned around and returned the toy to the hawker.

Dusting off her robes, she stood back up.

“Let’s go.” She said, walking off with the boys in hand.

Realizing they weren’t getting any toys, the boys dejectedly followed her.

Seeing the downcast expressions on such young faces twisted Wangji’s conscience.

(Do not fail to carry out your promise.)

“Wei Ying, why didn’t you buy it for them?” he asked.

“Why should I?” she asked.

“You asked them if they liked it or not. Doesn’t that mean you’re going to buy it?” he pointed out.

Even as a child, Wangji rarely asked for materialistic indulges such as toys since he preferred studies. Nonetheless, he’s always seen parents indulging their children with toys they show interest in.

“Asking is asking. Buying is buying. Who said you have to buy once you asked?” she shot back.

Wangji paused and suddenly, he felt like slapping himself when the answer became obvious.

All three of them wore the same practical simple clothing made of the same homespun fabric. Clearly, none of them could afford frivolous luxuries including toys.

He stared at the two boys who looked at the toys longingly. Yet, neither of them whined, clearly used to being unable to have much.

(Win friendships with kindness.)

He did make them cry…..perhaps he could do this much to earn their forgiveness.

“Which one do you want?” he asked.

It seemed to take them a moment to realize he was addressing the twins.

“Among these, which do you want?” he repeated.

A-Yuan and A-Yi stared at him with such naked awe, eyes gleaming with rapture at the gesture of kindness.

And Wei Ying-

She laughed.

Wangji stared, enamoured as he relished the sound, admired how the sunlight shone upon her like a halo, making her look radiant like the beauty she is.

Then she smiled at him.

And-

Wangji decided that if buying toys for these two children was what it took to keep that smile on her face, to alight such happiness in her heart, he would gladly buy every toy in the world for them.

Chapter Text

When A-Yuan (now ‘officially’ Lan Yuan, according to the grownups) first came to baba’s home, a place really really high up on a big big mountain, the first thing he noticed was how quiet everything was.

The quiet reminded A-Yuan of the needles Qing gugu used- precise and pro-es-o-nal (professional, bobo would gently correct). To his young ears, the quiet was small, almost unnoticeable until you stepped on it and realized that it was actually quite sharp.

It wasn’t bad per se but compared to the Burial Mounds and Lotus Pier, it was like stepping into a different world. Everything was so white and clean and perfect, it almost made A-Yuan afraid of dirt.

There were lots of words carved onto a huge mountain. Baba said he didn’t have to worry about those until he settled in. When asked what it was, he called it ‘The Wall of Discipline’.

Basically, it was rules.

Lots of rules.

“That’s no fun.” Gege had pouted. “Mama said rules are lame.”

A-Yuan nodded because mama had said so.

“Not all rules are lame.” Ba had told him.

Ba’s voice wasn’t like mama’s- mama’s was brighter and lighter like sunshine skipping on a lake’s surface; baba’s was heavier and deeper like smooth river stones that rippled in perfect circles.

But both of them were reassuring and right; who was little A-Yuan to disagree?

“Must we follow em?” A-Yuan asked.

Because although he was young, he knew what rules were. Even though mama didn’t like rules, she still had them back then. Like no more playing at night in the spooky dark and absolutely never ever ever going to certain places with scary monsters mama hasn’t beaten.

“……..some of them.” Ba admitted and for some reason, that made him look unhappy.

Baba then held his and gege’s hands and took them to a house called the ‘jingshi’. Ba told them that this is where he stays, thus where they will be staying too. This is their home in Cloud Recesses.

Ba’s room was also different from mama’s room- ba’s was neat with lighter cooler colours but mama’s was messy with warmer colours.

There was a chest and shelf for them to store their toys and other things, there were also soft and fancy looking clothes for A-Yuan and A-Yi.

The clothes were white and blue, like baba, bobo and shufu’s.

Suddenly, A-Yuan wished they were black, like mama’s.

Ba was quiet but never still. He was always there; helping them unpack, bathe, get dressed, combing their hair and sitting beside them to pat their heads.

“Ba, where’s bobo and shufu?” A-Yuan asked.

“They are busy.” He replied.

“With what?” A-Yi asked.

“Your bobo is sect leader of Gusu Lan, like what your jiujiu is to Yunmeng Jiang. Shufu is a teacher and advisor. He has to teach many people.” He explained.

“What does shufu teach?” A-Yuan asked curiously.

“Many things.” Baba said.

“Did he teach baba when little?” A-Yi asked.

“Mn.” He nodded. “Taught me everything.”

“Can he teach us?” A-Yuan asked.

If shufu taught baba everything, that meant shufu could teach them how to be strong and cool like baba too.

“When you’re older.” Ba patted their heads. “It is time to eat.”

The food was different from Lotus Pier’s food. The soup was nowhere near as tasty as yima’s either.

“No meat?” A-Yi asked.

“No.” ba said. “Killing livestock within Cloud Recesses is prohibited.”

A-Yi moodily stuffed rice and bland vegetables into his mouth.

A-Yuan suddenly missed the radish dishes that were a staple back in the Burial Mounds.

A-Yi scrunched his face up, as did A-Yuan because the food was icky.

“Ba, are we sick?” A-Yi asked.

Ba’s eyes widened in alarm. He placed a cool palm against their foreheads before relaxing.

“No.” he replied.

“Then why’s this icky?” A-Yi asked, poking at the icky dishes.

“Do not be picky with food.” Ba chided. “Different sects have different food.”

“Why is the food here icky?” A-Yuan asked.

“It is not icky. Just….different. It is healthy.” Ba said.

A-Yuan ate the food but secretly, he told himself that he still wouldn’t like it.

After the icky meal, there were sweet buns. A-Yi and A-Yuan liked them very much.

Baba then explained to them that tomorrow, he will talk to bobo and shufu about more adult things and the day after that, A-Yuan and A-Yi will start basic classes with other children their age.

A-Yuan was excited. If there were other people like him and A-Yi, that means more friends. A-Yuan loved his gege of course but it’d be nice if they could have someone else to play with instead of just the two of them all the time.

When they went to sleep, baba explained that from now on, every night they will sleep at this time.

“Sleep is important for growth.” Ba had explained. He kiss kissed them on the forehead and tucked them in.

But A-Yuan didn’t sleep. The blankets were warm and soft but he couldn’t sleep.

Gege couldn’t either. They snuggled and tossed and turned and squirmed, rolling and unrolling the blankets around themselves.

Then they heard it.

They heard the song.

It was soft but sad, like when mama smiled but her hands were shaky.

A-Yuan and A-Yi shared a glance.

The sound wasn’t like mama’s dizi, it was different. The song was different too.

Wordlessly, they rolled out from under the blankets and tiptoed over to where they can see baba sitting. He was awake which was wrong because he had just told them that everyone had to go to sleep at the same time every day, both children and adults, including baba.

Peeking past the privacy screen, they saw baba sitting by the table with his guqin before him. His hair was loose and he was wearing sleeping robes but his back was straight like stone.

When he strummed the string, there would be a pretty glow; it made baba look like a celestial being from a fairy tale.

But despite the glow, baba’s eyes looked dull, like when popo washed a piece of fabric over and over until the colours faded.

A-Yuan and A-Yi quietly watched as baba continued to play- and A-Yuan realized that he was repeating the same song, pausing for four breaths between every ending and new beginning.

“Baba looks sad…..is it because he’s not sleeping?” A-Yi whispered to him. “Or maybe he’s not sleeping cuz he’s sad.”

“He looks sad.” A-Yuan agreed.

“Let’s help him.” A-Yi said before moving away from the privacy screen.

Both of them approached baba. Baba didn’t even look at them. He just stared at his guqin, fingers shaking and dripping blood.

“Ba?” A-Yi tugged baba’s sleeve. “Ba, you’re sad and hurt.”

Baba blinked as though waking up.

“Sleep is important, baba.” A-Yuan echoed his words.

“Come sleep, ba.” A-Yi said, trying to pull baba up.

Both of them tried to guide him to his bed but it’s hard because baba is huge and his back seems to be frozen.

(A-Yuan suddenly wants to be sad too because he misses Ning shushu. If Ning shushu were here, he could easily carry baba to bed with his awesome strength.)

Baba was similar to mama in this sense. He would not sleep and stay up doing something.

It felt familiar, the motion of helping to clean up after putting the adult to bed. A-Yi used a cloth to stem the bleeding on baba’s fingers like what Qing gugu taught them while A-Yuan used another to wipe the blood off the guqin.

They cleaned what they could until they were too tired to continue.

A-Yi kiss kissed baba’s head so he could have sweet dreams to sleep and A-Yuan did the same before they both went back to their own beds.

This time, they did fall asleep.

Baba wakes them up the next morning. A-Yuan notices that his fingers are clean and no longer bloody.

“Ba, are you sad?” A-Yi asked him.

“I was.” He smoothed their hair. “I am sorry for worrying you two last night.”

“Ba can be sad.” A-Yuan patted his hands. “Even adults can feel sad.”

Baba smiled. It was happy and also sad.

(A-Yuan would one day learn the word ‘bittersweet’ and realize that’s how baba’s smiles feel like.)

“What were you playing last night?” A-Yi asked.

“A song for mama.” He paused. “Did it bother you?”

“No.” A-Yuan said. “Will you play it again tonight?”

Because while the song sounded sad, it also sounded soft and safe. It was like a lullaby and A-Yuan missed his mama’s lullabies.

(But mama wasn’t here anymore. She can’t sing lullabies anymore.)

“Mn.”

“Can we play too?” A-Yuan asked.

“When you’re older.” Ba replied.

“Can we eat?” A-Yi asked as his tummy grumbled.

This time, baba’s smile was lighter.

“Mn.”

The food was still icky but they didn’t complain.

Baba played the song again that night.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

A-Yuan didn't mind. The song gently eased the sharp quiet of the place; made it seem docile rather than daunting and it helped A-Yuan realize that the quiet was good because it helped A-Yuan notice the otherworldly beauty of music.

As he strummed the song on his guqin, humming with his deep and heavy voice, A-Yuan would close his eyes and if he listened close enough, hear the flute notes drifting in the quiet glow of moonlight.

Both in harmony.

Both in peace.

Perfectly close, at the same time, tragically far away.

Chapter Text

Similar to how the rules of Cloud Recesses ingrained upon their lives; every night, without fail, baba would play songs for mama.

He would play again and again until A-Yi knew every note by heart. Even when baba isn’t with him in classes, he can still remember each note on his own, every pluck of the string and even baba’s voice subtly humming in tune with it.

He told them that the name of the song was Inquiry. A special song for only mama to hear.

A-Yi hopes one day he can play it for mama to hear too.

Overtime, there were other songs too- Cleansing, Clarity and simpler folk songs.

One night, baba played a different song.

To A-Yi’s (now Lan Jingyi according to the serious grown-ups) ears, it was like reuniting with an old friend because he knew this song.

How could he not when mama sung it to him and gege every time they were plagued by nightmares?

“Mama, mama!” he wailed, burying his face into her black and red robes.

“Sssh, mama is here A-Yi.” Mama soothed. “Ah, why’s my little radish so sad?”

“Do-don’t- bad men- gold bad men!” he whimpered.

He hated the gold bad men. He remembers the wet cold rain and soggy slippery ground and how his skin was always dirty and hurting. He remembers how the gold bad men would always shout and hit popo, Uncle Four and Ning shushu; they were always so mean to everyone even though they never did anything- the gold bad men were the ones who hit them first!

Ning shushu would always try to protect them but then one day, the gold bad men had taken him away and when A-Yi saw him again, he was in a deep deep sleep and Qing gugu was crying.

Seeing Qing gugu cry made A-Yi want to cry too but everyone was already crying and A-Yi hated it so he didn’t do more of it.

Plus, mama didn’t cry even though she did when she was alone and it was sad because crying alone was worse than crying with others. It seemed sadder.

So, A-Yi told himself he wouldn’t cry with everyone else. He’ll only cry with mama and didi so they won’t do it alone.

Which brought him to where he was now, crying with mama.

“Oh baobei.” Now mama looked sad too and that made him cry harder because he didn’t want to make her sad.

She kissed his head and hugged him close. Her hair tickled his face and she smelled of sweat and smoke and lotus and spice but A-Yi didn’t mind.

“Mama is here. Mama will protect you from the bad gold men.” She reassured, dabbing away his tears.

“Loud. Shout and rain and thunder.” He sniffled. “It’s bad.”

Mama hummed, carding her fingers through his hair. She rubbed her nose before her eyes brightened.

“Then mama will sing you a special song.” She said.

“Song?” he asked.

She nodded. “Wanna know a secret?” she whispered seriously.

He inched closer.

“The song can make the bad noises go away. If A-Yi can’t sleep, all he has to do is remember this song and he’ll find peace.” She departed.

His eyes widened in awe.

“Sing sing!” he whisper shouted.

She hummed a song, her voice soothing like water washing off hot sweat and grimy dirt from skin. She rocked him in her arms, the simple repetitive motion lulling his body to relax.

“Ma……..” he yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open. “What….song……”

She could only smile.

She was smiling but still looked sad.

She kissed him on the forehead, just as his eyes fluttered shut.

(She didn’t tell him the name of that song.)

Jingyi, with all the awareness of a toddler, forgot to ask her for the name of that song the next day. Why should he? Back then, he thought that mama could simply stay with him forever and hum that song for him forever.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The bad men came. She kept her promise to protect him and didi from them but at the same time, she broke an even bigger promise by leaving them.

A-Yi wasn’t upset at mama leaving them- he was upset that the bad men made her have to. Mama would never leave them willingly unless really really absolutely had no choice.

The thought of never hearing that special song again made him want to cry.

But being able to hear it now, hear it as clear as sunshine in the day, it made him cry anyways.

It wasn’t until didi patted his cheeks that he realized his tears weren’t stopping.

“Mama……..” he sniffled. “Mama……..”

It was so hard; after mama left, A-Yi took it upon himself to make sure his younger twin was always happy. In order to do that, he couldn’t cry in front of didi or else didi would be sad too.

But he was crying in front of didi anyways because he misses mama and it isn’t fair.

“Mama’s still here.” A-Yuan comforted him. “Her memory is here.”

Wiping away his snot and tears, he rolled out of his bed and walked over to baba.

Baba paused in playing and let A-Yi sit in his lap.

“A-Yi, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Mama’s song.” He explained. “Mama sang this so the bad men will go away when I sleep.”

Baba said nothing but that wasn’t new. Unlike mama, baba was quiet but his quiet wasn’t serious, it was normal for him. Calm even. A-Yi found that baba’s quiet was actually quite nice.

“…….she remembered?” baba asked.

His deep voice was different. It sounded………shaky, as though his voice was trembling from cold.

(A-Yi would look back and realize that back then, what shook his baba’s voice had been hope.)

“Mn.” He replied.

Baba was silent for a while. A-Yuan had toddled over, blanket around his shoulders to sit beside him.

“…..it is our song.” Baba said at last. “I composed this song for her.”

“Why?” both of them asked.

“Because I loved her.” He whispered.

Baba’s voice was quiet but it carried to them as clear as the very songs he plays every night.

“What’s it called?” A-Yi asked.

Ba smiled.

It was just like mama’s when she first sang it for him.

“Wangxian.”

“Ba?” A-Yi asked.

“Mn?”

“Is Wangxian a combination of Wangji and Wuxian?” A-Yi asked.

Ba’s lips quirked up.

This time, his smile was not as sad as back then.

“Mn.”

Chapter Text

The lotuses are blooming in all their serene glory when the funeral boat drifts in its waters.

(“I really....wanted...t’see...the lotuses bloom.....”)

Their petals grace the woodwork as though they were old friends brushing shoulders. The waters carried her steadily in their current.

Jiang Cheng waits until the boat is in the middle of the river before loosening the arrow.

As the boat bursts into flames, he closed his eyes and heard laughter drifting in the wind. A-jie had silent tears streaming down her face and behind him, Jiang Cheng knew that his disciples were crying too, many still mourning for the loss of their da-shijie.

Wangji holds onto his sons hands, expression steady but eyes drowning in tears. A-Yuan and A-Yi leaned into their father for support as they bid their goodbyes to their mother in their young hearts.

Even Nie Huaisang cried openly, his fan nowhere to be seen. The man merely wiped his tears away with an embroidered handkerchief before passing another to Lin popo who accepted it wordlessly.

(“You’ll see them! You’ll get to see them when we return to the pier together, alright?”)

Without even knowing, he began to recite a poem; a poem everyone from Lotus Pier have they be a disciple or servant or farmer knew by heart.

(It was a poem Jiang Cheng insisted on teaching Wei Wuxian because knowing the poem meant knowing that she had a place in Lotus Pier, a home.)

“The lake of Yunmeng is so vast, lush lotus leaves reaching the sky.”

“Look, this year’s lotus flowers bloom even better than last summer.”

The next time Jiang Cheng sees A-Yuan and A-Yi, he has to do a double take because in the past six months alone, the boys seemed to have grown bigger and it hasn’t even been a full year yet!

For all that Cloud Recesses food was bland and tasted like medicine, at least it feeds them well.

Both of them truly looked like perfect baby Lans now, wearing white robes and the signature forehead ribbon to tell the world that they’re part of the direct bloodline.

“Jiujiu! Jiujiu!” A-Yi called, waving and hopping up and down on the boat with glee.

His voice rang as clear and crisp as the scent of lotus blossom across the lakes towards the pier.

Again, how such small beings can produce such ear-shattering volumes, Jiang Cheng will never know.

(And it comforted him. The boy may wear the ribbon that symbolizes restraint but clearly it did nothing to tame his spirit and that's good because he was a child, Wei Wuxian's child and children's spirits deserve to remain free.)

“A-Yi, no jumping!” A-Yuan scolded, gripping onto the side of the boat, fearfully eyeing the waters as though the boat would tip over at any given moment.

But the moment the boat docked, both boys wasted no time dashing off the boat onto the pier.

Wangji in his usual composed Lan manner calmly walked off. He was, of course, wearing Lan white and blue though Jiang Cheng wondered if he could somehow coax the man into wearing Yunmeng colors instead since they’ll be stuck with each other for half a year.

There was a cry of pain and much to Jiang Cheng’s alarm, in all of A-Yi’s rushed excitement, the boy had tripped and fallen.

“A-Yi!” Wangji exclaimed in alarm and oh, the man looked ready to have a qi deviation.

A-Yi sniffled but to his credit, didn’t wail. A-Yuan was beside him, shushing him.

“Jiujiu...baba....” A-Yi sniffled.

(“Shijie.......a-jie.....” a younger Jiang Cheng sniffled as he cradled the sprained wrist he got from his fall.)

Before Jiang Cheng knew it, he was kneeling beside A-Yi too.

“Aish, this child.” He examined A-Yi’s palms and saw it was only scraped.

“Jiujiu is here, okay? Didn’t jiuju promise to protect you? Silly boy, already forgetting such big promises so soon?” he chided but there was no heat in his voice.

(He will not repeat his parent’s mistakes.)

“He’s fine, don’t worry.” He told Wangji. “Calm down before you qi deviate.”

“A-Yi, this is why you must be careful when running.” Wangji said as he dusted off the boy’s robes.

At least Wangji wasn’t outright telling him running was prohibited. Looks like fatherhood has finally pulled the stick out of his ass.

“It’s okay, A-Yi.” A-Yuan said, pat patting his brother.

“I’m fine!” A-Yi declared, furiously wiping away his tears and snot. “A-Yi is okay.”

(“Aha, I’m okay, A-Cheng. Really, it’s nothing!”)

“If you’re okay now then can you give jiujiu a hug? Or does A-Yi and A-Yuan not love him anymore?” he asked with mock hurt.

“A-Yi and A-Yuan love jiujiu!” both reassured before giving him his due hug.

“Jiujiu, A-Yuan can count more than A-Yi now.” A-Yuan told him.

“Really? How much?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Ten.” He proudly showed all ten chubby fingers to emphasize.

“A-Yi can change without help!” A-Yi chimed in, not wanting to be outdone. “A-Yi is a big big boy now.”

“Mm, very big.” He nodded solemnly.

“They are brilliant boys.” Wangji said and though Lans were paragons of humility, Jiang Cheng could see the pride shining in his eyes.

“Of course, they are.” Jiang Cheng agreed.

(Just like their mother.)

“Jiujiu, lotus seeds.” A-Yi demanded, tugging on his skirts.

“Yima.” A-Yuan asked for instead. “Is yima and biao di still here?”

“Mn. After you see them, you can stuff yourselves with lotus seeds.”

A-Yi and A-Yuan cheered.

And Jiang Cheng smiled.

‘Welcome home......’

“Jiujiu wants to give you two something.” He told them after dinner.

Both boys were in good spirits thanks to a-jie’s natural charm, A-Ling’s endearing fussiness, their father’s relaxed mood and of course, hearty soup.

So both of them practically vibrated with anticipation when he told them that.

He took out the two clarity bells that he personally requested to be meticulously crafted for them.

“Bell! Like mama’s!” A-Yi said.

He nodded.

“They’re yours now.” He said, giving it to them.

Both of them cradled their respective bells reverently, similar to how one cradles a baby bird.

“This bell means you’re family. It means you’re one of us. Lotus Pier is your home, just like Cloud Recesses.” He told them.

“Two homes.......” A-Yuan breathed. “That’s a lot of homes.”

“Home isn’t just a place. It’s also the people.” He ruffled their hair.

(Because he understood now, how and why Wei Wuxian could stay at the Burial Mounds and call it her home. She had her sons with her, and that had been enough.)

(But Lotus Pier also had him, why didn’t she see that?)

“Jiujiu is home. That means mama is home too.” A-Yi said. Then the boy hugged him. “Thank you, jiujiu.”

“We love you, jiujiu!” A-Yuan chirped as he too joined in on the hug.

Jiang Cheng froze.

For a moment, he could’ve sworn he saw her arms encircle around all three of them too.

And for the first time since his sister’s funeral, the tears he shed were not of pain or grief.

“How’s everything?” Jiang Cheng asked Wangji the next day.

“Fine.” Wangji poured himself a cup of tea. “They like the rabbits very much.”

Jiang Cheng raised a brow. “I thought Cloud Recesses didn’t allow pets.”

“Not pets. Friends. Companions.” He defended.

“......you kept them.” Jiang Cheng mused.

“Love all beings.” He replied.

He set his tea aside. “Are they happy?” he asked.

“Yes.......but sometimes, I feel like it is not enough.” Wangji sighed. “Xiongzhang adores them and shufu is more lenient, but I worry that others might not be as amiable.”

“I thought one of your rules include ‘don’t bully the weak’ and ‘protect the younger’.” He pointed out.

“Not all disciples heed them. Even the teachers and Elders have lost sight of how to uphold our forefather’s teachings.” Wangji said.

(“What is right, what is wrong? What is black, what is white? Do not twist our forefather’s teachings to serve your position to oppress others.”)

“A-Yuan shows interest in learning how to play guqin and dizi.” Wangji said, clearly trying to branch the topic to more lighthearted waters.

“A-Yi is very eager to get his own sword.....perhaps too eager.” He added wryly.

“..........do the rules bother them?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“....sometimes, yes.” He admitted. “A-Yi does not tell me but I know he feels oppressed at times. His teachers and caretakers have expressed how his....outgoing personality tends to....stand out.”

“Basically, they’re telling the kid to be a quiet obedient perfect Lan like his father.” Jiang Cheng deadpanned.

“...........mn.”

“Well, that teacher can shove a scroll up his-” Wangji gave him a disapproving look so he dropped the crude wording.

“And, what are you gonna do about it?” he asked instead.

“Will keep an eye on him. Make sure A-Yi feels loved and accepted.” Wangji replied.

“And A-Yuan?” he asked.

“He and A-Yi balance one another. Many like him but at times, he too is opiniated. He will support his brother.

“But sometimes, I worry that A-Yuan is hiding. Jingyi uses strength to hide, A-Yuan uses kindness.” Wangji admitted.

“And?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“I......do not know how to ask them. I do not want to force them.” Wangji admitted.

He didn’t want to repeat the misunderstanding between him and Wei Wuxian.

Damn it, a-jie would be better at giving advice- hold on.

“Are you asking me for parenting advice?” he asked.

Wangji blinked as though it just occurred to him that that was exactly what he’s doing.

“Why the fuck are you asking me for parenting advice- a-jie is the other parent, not me!” he spluttered.

“I was merely asking for advice in general.” Wangji shrugged.

Okay, that was more manageable.

“Stay by their side. Support them, let them know how much you love them, never compare them to others or pit them against each other, treat them both fairly, don’t break promises you make and just.....love them.

“Show them that you love them. Express that you accept them. Teach them if they do something wrong or break a rule, don’t just tell them.” Jiang Cheng said.

Then he shrugged. “I’m no father and I’m no Lan but that’s all I’ve got.”

“It is very insightful.” Wangji said. “Thank you for your advice. I will bear it in mind.”

“Thank you, actually.” He blurted out.

He might as well say this before he loses his nerve.

Wangji looked at him with questioning eyes.

“For being a good father to them.” He said.

“I will not repeat my father’s mistakes.” Is all Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng didn’t know if he was saying that to him or to himself.

He didn’t prod.

In the blink of an eye, three months have passed. Already, half of A-Yuan and A-Yi’s stay was over.

Jiang Cheng sat by the pier. He had taken his boots off to allow his ankles to dip into the water and it was cool against his skin.

It was grounding.

“A-Cheng.”

A-jie didn’t sound surprised. She wasn’t at this point.

She sat beside him, placing her hand over his.

It was also grounding.

For a while, they sat there in silence. He watched the fireflies dotting the darkness and let his mind wander.

He thought about family.

About his parents.

And-

“Sometimes.....I think it’s easier.” He said, voice quiet.

Because here, he didn’t have to harden his voice to make choices; didn’t have to raise it to be heard; didn’t have to steel it to be acknowledged.

Here, his voice rang loudest in its rawest purest form.

“I think it’s easier because I don’t have to worry about looking over my shoulder to see a-niang’s bitter eyes or a-die’s disapproval; it feels easier to breathe because no matter what I say, die’s not here to just...just give me that look, that look that says I’m more my mother’s son, not his.

“It feels easier to breathe when I do something because a-niang’s not here to berate me and remind me of how I’m a disappointment. She’s not here to compare every little thing I do to Wei Wuxian and it feels so damn relieving.

“But then after that, I want to bash my head against the wall or stab myself with Sandu.” He looked into the depths of the lake (and wondered how easy it’d be to jump in and never resurface) “Because how can I, as their son, think of their deaths as anything good?

“I miss them but at the same time, a part of me is glad. How can I not feel fucked up over that?”

A-jie’s thumb rubbed circles over his knuckles as his tears dripped down his cheeks to join the waters of the lake.

“Every day, I wake up and look at the disciples, I look at A-Yuan, A-Yi and A-Ling, I look at the marketplace and the piers and I want them to be back here so I could say ‘Look. Look at all of this. Look at me. I did all this by myself. I rebuilt this sect. The girl you disdained has sons who love me because I’m better than you both. Me, this disappointment. I have a happy family despite the both of you being dead’.”

He buried his face into his hands as the façade he’s worked so hard to build crumbled.

He wasn’t a sect leader. In that moment, he could selfishly be the child he still was because the world screwed him over and forced him to grow up too fast.

“I miss them. I miss Wei Wuxian. I miss a-niang and die. I miss....I miss......”

I miss those carefree days of our youth.

I miss the happiness I got to share with Wei Wuxian.

“There is nothing wrong with being humane, A-Cheng.” A-jie shushed.

“.....I feel it too.” She admitted. “I feel at ease when I step into the kitchen because a-niang isn’t there to remind me how I can only cook and not cultivate. I can happily serve soup without worrying her berating me for serving another ‘servant’. When you’re proud of something, I don’t have to see a-die trivialize it and hurt you.”

She sniffled and wiped away her own tears before continuing.

“They loved us but that doesn’t justify the fact that they hurt us just as much. A-die’s passiveness doesn’t excuse his negligence and a-niang’s bitterness doesn’t excuse her letting it affect the way she treated us.

“It’s okay to feel resentful; especially if the ones who hurt us are the people who were supposed to love us and accept us for who we are.”

“I’m scared, a-jie.” He admitted.

He was scared for the future.

He was scared of ruining this bubble of happiness he has with the children.

He was scared of not being good enough to protect what was left of his loved ones.

He was scared of failing again.

He was scared of being doomed to be left alone.

“Me too, A-Cheng.....me too.”

Once upon a time, Lotus Pier had three lotus buds.

Once upon a time, one of the buds promised the other that they would bloom to become the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng.

But one bud was forced to bloom in fire and blood and war.

Another was cursed to bloom in shadows and darkness and resentment.

The eldest bloomed amongst peonies rather than waters.

The one that bloomed in shadows and darkness and resentment wilted.

There were only two lotuses left.

But there were many more buds waiting to blossom.

And in this new once upon a time, there are still three.

Chapter Text

The day before her shimei’s funeral, Jiang Yanli (sister, mother and widow) stood before a field of gilded peonies stained with blood and stalks slithering with vipers.

Hanguang-jun (now A-Zhan, her brother-in-law in her eyes) and Sandu Shengshou (A-Cheng, always A-Cheng, her precious baby brother) stood by her side like lion statues, Nie Huaisang quietly supporting in the background and a contingent of Yunmeng Jiang disciples at their back.

(Some of the disciples had a red ribbon in their hair.)

Jin Guangshan stood before them, a monster hiding his grotesque nature behind the shine of gold (like the shine of the sun, like Wen Ruohan).

The Jins rave and preach on how a heartless monster such as the Yiling Matriarch did not deserve a proper death. Her ashes should be scattered to the winds, her body left to rot and eaten by scavengers.

“Is that how you want your funeral to go?” Jiang Cheng snarled.

“Is that a threat, Jiang-zongzhu?” the title was spoke with mockery.

“You said so yourself, monsters don’t deserve a proper death, why the hell should you be an exception?”

(Even if my sister was condemned as a monster, you’re the worst monster of all.)

Jin Guangshan’s face turned redder than the vermillion mark on his forehead.

“You-! Don’t play coy with me, boy! Now you listen, you may carry the title of sect leader but you’re not more than a brat-”

“Big words coming from a man who might lose his only legitimate heir.” Jiang Cheng sneered.

At that, the red from his face was replaced with paleness.

“But-she- she married my son-”

“I am a widow in mourning. Forgive me but I cannot bear to return to a place that reminds me of my husband’s death everywhere I turn.” I will not return to a viper’s nest that killed my shimei. “I also cannot bear to be so lost in grief as to neglect my duties as a mother. A-Xuan would not want me to live in misery and A-Ling without love.”

(She will not repeat her parents’ mistakes. A-Ling will grow up loved and accepted for who he is. He will feel proud and fulfilled for his achievements will never be trivialized and constantly compared to someone else’s.)

“He will be raised by the best nannies Lanling has to offer. He’ll want for nothing.” He huffed.

Clearly, the man before them did not know the meaning of love.

Yanli almost pitied him.

Almost.

“Besides, the Yiling Matriarch murdered my son. An eye for an eye.” Jin Guangshan insisted.

“That leaves the world blind. And from where I stand, I see you still have one more.” Yanli looked at Jin Guangyao meaningfully.

Jin Guangshan didn’t even spare him a glance.

And-

Jin Guangyao merely stepped forward, a pleasant smile on his face. His dimples were deep, eyes keen with intelligence.

But they were cold, devoid of love and recognition it so desperately wishes to fill.

(This time, Yanli did allow a pang of pity.)

“Young Madam Jin-”

“Please, we are not in Jinlintai, there is no need to call me that.” she didn’t want to be associated with the revolting man who’s unfortunately her father-in-law.

“Jiang-guniang, the loyalty you preserve for the sisterhood you shared with Wei Wuxian is admirable. However, I ask on behalf of the bigger picture that you do not allow sentimentality to cloud your judgement.

“We mean no harm. We simply want to confirm ourselves. After all, to see with one eye is better than to hear from both ears, no?” he said.

The bigger picture, he says. To see the truth with their own eyes, he says.

The sheer irony of the words were not lost on her.

“Very well, on one condition.” Jiang Cheng said.

Jin Guangyao tilted his head in question.

“Only Jin-furen may see my shimei’s body.” He decided.

“What? Why her?” Jin Guangshan asked, baffled.

“She was a-niang’s sworn sister, I assume she would wish to pay her respects. Furthermore, she is your wife and can serve as a reliable witness to Wei Wuxian’s death.” He explained.

Such quick wit and controlled words- oh, how her didi has grown!

“She isn’t here right now and to trouble her to come all this way-”

“Jin-zongzhu, if someone of your status can sacrifice a moment of his time to come all the way here, surely your wife can spare the same? Especially if it’s for the sake of the bigger picture.” Jiang Cheng said, the underlying challenge evident in his voice.

Either Jin-furen comes to see herself or all of you leave.

Reluctantly, almost petulantly, Jin Guangshan sends a messenger butterfly to carry the message.

Jin-furen arrived in half the time usually needed to fly from Lanling to Yunmeng by sword.

Even though she still wore mourning colors, she flew on her sword valiantly and walked with grace, a steeliness firmly cocooning her own grief.

She easily agreed to their demand and well, Jin Guangshan had enough sense not to stand up against his already upset wife.

She saw her shimei’s body and didn’t spare it a single glance afterwards.

As soon as she finished her bows and incense to her sworn sister, Jiang Cheng casted a talisman at the entry to prevent eavesdropping.

“Wei Wuxian was framed for your son’s murder.” Jiang Cheng said.

And so they told her about A-Zhan’s findings via Empathy and suspicions. The second flute at Qiongqi Path that led to Wen Ning’s loss of control.

“That wretched despicable rat.” Jin-furen seethed. “I should have let Nie-zongzhu skewer him with his saber.”

“You need to be careful. I wouldn’t put it past Lianfang-zun to already have contingencies in place should he suspect that we’re onto him.” Yanli warned.

“Too late for that.” Jin-furen said grimly. “He already plans for my stay in Meishan.”

“What? He’s sending you away? But you’re the sect leader’s wife!” Jiang Cheng pointed out.

Jin-furen barked a sardonic laugh. “As if that ever mattered to either of them.”

“.................then it seems we have no choice but to play along.” Yanli admitted reluctantly.

“Jie?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“We are still in mourning. The clarity of our minds are clouded by grief. Who would deem a mourning widow and distraught mother a threat?” she explained.

“So we play their game again?” he asked.

“For now. We wait until they lower their guard. In the meantime, we prepare and observe.” She said calmly.

“Forethought can tame any ferocity of manipulation.” Jin-furen nodded, approving of her approach.

“Jin-furen, if you wish to stay away from Jinlintai, know that Lotus Pier’s doors are always opened to you as well.” Jiang Cheng offered.

Her usually rigid eyes softened and she gave them both a rare smile.

“I will keep that in mind, Jiang-zongzhu.” She nodded.

“Still, be on guard. I wouldn’t put it past those snakes to orchestrate some kind of ‘accident’ along the road of your travels.” He warned her.

“I can take care of myself. Or have you forgotten that I was the Violet Spider’s sworn sister?” She said.

The weariness was shrugged off as easily as a cape. In its place stood a woman of steel rather than a trophy wife of gold.

“Thank you, yuemu.” Yanli said.

Jin-furen smiled, warmly grasping both her hands.

“I could not save my son, but I will not fail you or my grandson. If you need anything, anything at all that I can help with, do not hesitate to send word to me.” She said.

Yanli allowed her to visit A-Ling and say her goodbyes to her grandson.

And although Yanli knew her mother-in-law was to be sent away to Meishan, it calmed her heart, knowing they had one more ally.

The night after her shimei’s funeral, Yanli found herself walking down the pier, a lantern in hand.

She paused by a willow tree.

There was a little ghost girl hiding in its branches, knees drawn up to her chest.

(“A-Xian, let’s go home.”)

(“No! No, there’s dogs!”)

“I’ll catch you.” She reassured the little girl.

The little girl sniffled, teary eyes gazing down at her. Naked trust, bare and vulnerable shining in her eyes.

Yanli opened her arms to embrace her as she fell.

And-

As she wrapped her own arms around herself, her embrace has never felt colder.

A week after her shimei’s funeral, A-Zhan, A-Yuan and A-Yi left.

Before leaving, both boys had given her a drawing they made. She couldn’t help but laugh when she saw the rather accurate frown etched across her little brother’s face.

“See? If he always does that, he looks ugly.” A-Yi pointed out.

“Then next time, A-Yi will have to try his best to make him smile.” She told him.

“Will biao di also grow up to be ugly?” he asked.

“Who knows? Maybe he’ll grow up to be even more handsome than you.” She playfully pinched his cheeks.

“Will we grow up to be handsome like ba?” A-Yuan asked.

Yanli hummed as she thought it over. To be fair, she truly wouldn’t be surprised if both boys were added to the list of eligible bachelor cultivators once they’ve grown.

“Only time will tell.” She settled on.

“Time takes forever!” A-Yi complained.

“That’s what makes it precious.” She said, patting the impatient boy’s head.

“Yima, will A-Ling be lonely?” A-Yuan asked.

Ah, so young but already so thoughtful.

“No. Not when he has two amazing biao ge to keep him company as he grows up.” She said.

A-Yuan nodded, reassured by her words.

“A-Ling, don’t grow up to be ugly like jiujiu, okay?” A-Yi whispered to A-Ling who was lazing in his bassinet. “Grow up to be pretty like yima.”

Yanli hid a smile behind her sleeve. Such sweet talkere these two are!

A-Yuan and A-Yi gave her the longest, warmest and tightest hug their little arms could squeeze and she returned it wholeheartedly.

She did the same for A-Zhan. He was stiff at first but eventually, he slowly returned it.

(Her big sister instincts vowed to give him more hugs in the future. He deserves to have such simple affectionate gestures in his everyday life.)

Although A-Zhan, A-Yuan and A-Yi left for Cloud Recesses in the mountains of Gusu, it soothed her heart knowing A-Xian was loved and that her sons were to be raised safely and lovingly.

When A-Ling was 5 years old, Jin Guangshan set his foot down and made it clear that her son could no longer stay away from his birthright.

(He also made it clear that he didn’t give two figs about Yanli’s emotional being- mourning widow or not.)

(He made it clear that Jin Guangyao still is and would always be his illegitimate son with no right whatsoever to the hierarchy.)

So Yanli returned to the viper’s nest nestled within peonies stained by blood.

She returned wearing the purples of Yunmeng Jiang on her body with the lotuses of her home pinned in her hair.

She walked with a dagger hidden in her sash and at least four Jiang disciples dutifully guarding her back at all times.

(None of the Jin disciples or advisors dared to complain. Not after a failed assassination attempt where they found Yanli holding a bloodied dagger while standing over the corpse of her would-be killer.)

(Not after the second failed assassination attempt where her disciples personally disposed of the second corpse.)

She held A-Ling’s hand and personally oversaw his teachings at the end of the day.

(He will grow up to be a good man. A man his father would be proud of. A man that will never allow himself to be blinded by the gold he wears.)

When she was unable to be beside her son, she left him in the care of a nursemaid who was one of her distant Yu cousins.

Yu Sidao played the part of an obedient, diligent but demure nursemaid but not once has she stood within Yanli and A-Ling’s line of sight without her spiritual weapon (ingeniously disguised in the form of a simple metal bracelet) on hand.

She never failed to entertain A-Ling with toys while keeping her eyes peeled. She never failed to tuck A-Ling to sleep and reporting to Yanli with a concise recount of anything and everything that happened each day.

(And if she would befriend some of the maids and subtly teach them tricks of self-defense, the more the merrier.)

She may stay within a field of peonies but she will always have her roots firmly planted in the crystal lakes of lotuses.

Try as Yanli might, at the end of the day, gossip would always be a constant presence in Jinlintai the same way air was.

Venomous words were muttered under breaths, contradictory critiques were spoken behind backs and really, honesty and sincerity were as scarce as hen’s teeth in this nest of vipers.

Still, even ignorance could be a useful tool when wielded correctly.

And so she drifted amongst the circles of high society, always sweet, always a demure pure lotus untainted by the harshness of politics, a dainty delicate remnant of tragedy.

She made sure to have Sidao keep them in line- men who forced themselves upon women had their dirty laundry aired by the end of the month and advisors who plotted to use her son as leverage soon suffered terrible illnesses.

Yanli of course did her part. She enjoyed cooking after all, getting her hands dirty wasn’t new to her.

Pregnant maids who came to her crying were given a year’s worth of pay and a letter of recommendation for better jobs in places to start anew; guards were tested with bribery and should they fail, they were demoted, those that succeeded were promoted; those who worked diligently and spoke of their own merit truthfully were given the praise and recognition they deserve.

Politicians who plotted to use her son as leverage would find themselves occupied with another sudden problem that spontaneously happened; cruel madams who neglected the needs of lower-ranked maids were punished to suffer the same circumstances she condemned them to.

She exchanged letters with A-Cheng, A-Zhan, Jin-furen and even Huaisang. It was reassuring to know that she would never be alone outside these shiny walls.

As soon as A-Ling was old enough to learn how to write, he too jumped at the chance to exchange letters with his uncles and cousins. He took great pride in doing so as he perceived it as a very grown-up thing to accomplish despite his young age.

Her son’s drawer was filled with letters and drawings from his cousins and uncles and recently, from another new friend he met during a cultivation conference- a young boy who was one of the sons of Ouyang-zongzhu.

Although she was forced to accept that her son would one day grow up to inherit a sect that was undoubtedly corrupted, it healed her heart knowing he would not have to do so alone.

Her son would grow to be a good man, a man who loves and is loved in return by family and friends.

And no matter what happens, Yanli will always be there to hold him at the end of the day.

Her son may carry himself with the pride of peonies.

But he will always have the purity of a lotus within his heart.

Chapter Text

“A-Yuan, A-Yi, come.”

A-Yuan and A-Yi have been in Cloud Recesses for two weeks now. In those two weeks, they’ve gotten familiar with how baba speaks.

Baba doesn’t talk as much as mama but his words are just as trusting. He doesn’t need to say much because he prefers to do things. If he tells them to eat, he will pass them food; if he tells them to nap, he will tuck them in.

So, when he calls for them to follow him, he offers his big strong hand.

(Baba didn’t need to say much because he’s safe. When one feels safe, one doesn’t ask questions because they have nothing to worry about. That’s what safe means and baba is safe, simple as that.)

A-Yuan and A-Yi both put their smaller ones in each of his.

“Ba, where are we going?” A-Yi asked.

“Today, baba wants to give you two something.” He said.

“Give what?” both asked.

“You will see.” He replied.

“Is it a surprise?” A-Yuan asked.

“Mn.”

“Fun!” A-Yi cheered.

“Important.” Baba corrected.

“That’s boring.” A-Yi pouted.

“It is important for family.” ba repeated.

“Is it scary?” A-Yuan asked.

Important family stuff was something only grownups did. And things that grownups did were scary most of the time.

“No. Not at all.” Ba reassured.

“Don’t worry didi, baba and gege will protect you!” A-Yi reassured.

A-Yuan nodded. He knew they would protect him of course but still, it was nice to be reminded he was safe.

Baba brought them to another house called the ‘hanshi’, the place where bobo stayed.

Once inside, bobo was there to greet them with his smile. Although bobo looks a lot like baba, he definitely smiles more than him. But secretly, A-Yuan and A-Yi both agree that baba’s smiles are better because he’s baba.

(Mama's smiles were still the best though, even if they can't see it anymore.)

Shufu was there too. Shufu, like baba, didn’t smile much but the difference is he didn’t seem to smile at all while baba sometimes did. Shufu reminded them of Qing gugu, but less pretty and older and crankier.

Baba then showed them the important things he wanted to give them- two beautiful ribbons that were white as snow with sky blue embroidery and an ornate cloud emblem.

A-Yuan and A-Yi instantly noticed that they looked just like the ones baba, bobo and shufu had.

“These ribbons are very important.” Baba explained with his deep heavy river stone-like voice as he gently ran his fingers through their hair.

“They are a symbol of our clan.” He looped the forehead ribbon around their foreheads. “It means self-restraint and as such, only family and spouses can touch it.” He told them as he secured the knot.

The white band around their foreheads were a contrast to the red ribbon tied in their little ponytails.

“Family.....” A-Yi muttered, running a hand over the piece of fabric across his forehead. “Like baba.”

“Sp-spouses?” A-Yuan asked.

“Mn.” He rubbed his wrist where both boys knew mama’s ribbon was tied. “Only after meeting your destined one, your zhiji, only then do you no longer need to be restrained.”

“Like when you meet mama?” A-Yuan asked.

“Yes.” He patted their heads. “Also like the black rabbit and white rabbit.”

“Ba, why didn’t mama have one?” A-Yuan asked.

“Because mama is....different. She is special.” He said.

(Baba still looked sad when he said that, because baba loves mama and still misses her.)

(A-Yuan and A-Yi knows baba will always love her. Does that mean he’ll always miss her and be sad?)

“These ribbons mean you are part of the direct Lan bloodline.” Shufu said, stroking his funny beard. “You must conduct yourselves with discipline, act with honor and fight for righteousness.”

A-Yuan and A-Yi nodded along even though those were complicated adult words their young minds still didn’t fully grasp.

“It means......” bobo’s smile was different now. Nicer, warmer. “You two are family.”

That, A-Yuan and A-Yi understood easily.

“Baba, what’s in the basket?” A-Yuan asked.

Currently, the trio of father and twin sons were venturing through the backhills. Aware that they were in a secret place away from stuffy adults, A-Yi took joy in being able to skip about freely without having to worry about the grass stains that will inevitably find their way onto his white clothes.

(He still misses mama’s black and red robes.)

“Lettuce, carrots and apples.” Wangji replied.

“For us to eat?” A-Yi asked, returning to his side (his robes notably had more patches of green now).

“Do you like carrots?” he asked.

His son hummed, thinking it over.

“No.” he decided. “Like potatoes.”

“And radishes.” A-Yuan chimed in.

“One cannot be picky.” He reminded them.

“Hmph!” both pouted.

“These are for rabbits.” He answered at last.

“Rabbits?!” A-Yi squealed, pout forgotten as he bounced in excitement. “We’re going to see rabbits?!”

Although his sons had been in Cloud Recesses for nearly a month now, Jingyi still struggled to abide by the prohibition of loud noises.

Then again, right now they were in the backhills with no Lan disciples to snitch on them. Plus, it was natural for a child should be excited. Excitement leads to curiosity and curiosity leads to motivation to learn more.

(Learning comes first.)

“Mn.” He nodded.

“Like in the story!” A-Yuan cheered.

“Mn.” Wangji smile, a slight quirk of his lips that made his sons’ steps lighter.

“Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits~” both boys chanted giddily as they skipped hand-in-hand while their father leisurely kept pace.

It warmed Wangji’s heart to see his sons’ happiness on full display. He had spent many uneasy moments worrying that the stern rules and rigid ongoings of Cloud Recesses would end up stifling his sons’ ability to freely express the simplest of emotions.

Clearly his worries had been unfounded. Still, Wangji reminded himself that he could not lower his guard just yet.

After discussing with shufu and xiongzhang, they agreed that A-Yi and A-Yuan would spend their first month attending lessons with shufu and xiongzhang personally to accumulate to their ways of education. After one month, they were to join their peers and entrust them to watch over his sons while their father attends to his duties.

The thought of A-Yuan and A-Yi inevitably having to leave him (even though they were still living and breathing in the same place) made his stomach churn.

The feeling was all too familiar to what he felt when he had to leave his mother when his visit with her inevitably came to an end.

He shook his head to dispel such despairing thoughts.

“Ba, ba, look!” A-Yi called, tugging on his skirts excitedly while pointing at the balls of fluff up ahead.

“Rabbits! Baba, so many rabbits!” A-Yuan squealed as he barely stopped himself from breaking the no running rule.

“I want one!” A-Yi declared.

“No pets. Remember, they are friends, companions, so we must be nice and gentle with them.” He said.

A-Yi and A-Yuan nodded.

Flicking his skirts aside, he gracefully sat down. His sons followed suit, plopping down onto the grass comfortably.

“Here.” Wangji passed them a carrot and lettuce from the basket. “Like this.”

He held out a piece of lettuce towards the closest rabbit. The fluffy creature sniffed at the offering before daintily nibbling on it.

His sons watched with rapt attention as Wangji showed them how to approach rabbits, movements slow and patient, gestures gentles and voice soft.

“Your turn.” He said.

“Little rabbit, here.” A-Yuan said softly, shyly offering his lettuce to another rabbit.

“Rabbit, eat the carrot.” A-Yi coaxed gently.

Both boys smiled ear-to-ear when their respective rabbits accepted their offerings, adorably nibbling away at the food.

“Ba, ba, look, they like us!” A-Yi said proudly.

“Little rabbit, we like you. Do you like us?” A-Yuan asked.

Then he purposefully pitched his voice higher. “Yes! A-Yuan and A-Yi are friends!” he answered in place of the rabbit.

The rabbit in question merely twitched its nose.

“Would you like to hold them?” Wangji asked.

Both bobbed their heads eagerly.

So, he showed them how to pet a rabbit and carefully guided them on how to pick one up to carry. Both boys paid close attention and soon, each of them had their own rabbit on their lap to pet.

“Ba, can we give jiujiu a rabbit?” A-Yi asked as he stroked his.

“Why?” Wangji can’t help but ask.

“Jiujiu is angry and lonely. His heart is hurt. Can we give him a rabbit to heal it?” A-Yi asked.

“..........no.” he replied.

“Why?” A-Yuan asked the rabbit in his lap nibbled on his forehead ribbon.

“Because if we take one to Lotus Pier, he will be separated from his family. He will be lonely and very sad.” He explained.

“.....like how mama was taken away from us?” A-Yuan asked softly.

“Yes.” He sighed.

(The wound still hasn’t healed. It was still scabbed over and likely to scar but it didn’t hurt with every breath. Not anymore.)

(But it was still there and it still hurts sometimes.)

“Then jiujiu should come here.” A-Yuan said as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

“Maybe he can. One day.” Wangji said.

Wangji didn’t know how long they spent in the backhills. Gradually, the fruits and veggies in the basket depleted but even then, his sons were content with simply petting rabbits and having small talk in them.

He closed his eyes, soaking in the innocent chatter happily flowing from his sons’ and took comfort in the soft fur of the rabbits as the sun kissed his face.

In that moment, he felt.....relaxed. Content. Happy.

He did have to have to maintain the front of a flowless jade, did not have to walk with unflappability befitting Hanguang-jun.

He was just Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan, a father.

Was this how mother felt whenever they were given a chance to visit her?

(Had he not hesitated then, had he allowed himself to act selfishly, had he broken the chains of restrain sooner, would this elation have lasted forever?)

Hearing a giggle, he saw his sons lying on the grass, allowing the rabbits around them to sniff their twitchy noses and lick their faces ticklishly.

A memory came to the forefront of his mind; one of the few he selfishly clung onto despite having no right to do so.

(His beloved burying them in the dirt, whimsically promising that it will make them taller and with enough sunlight, water and fertilizer, they will have more siblings to keep them company and they can play with to their heart’s content!)

Picking up a nearby rabbit, he gently placed it over A-Yuan’s body before doing the same to A-Yi.

He went back and forth, one on A-Yuan and then one on A-Yi; another on A-Yuan and another on A-Yi; a repetitive motion of gently picking up a ball of fluff and nestling them on top of his sons.

A-Yuan and A-Yi gleefully took it all in stride, doing their utmost best to remain absolutely still as their father drowned them under a mountain of rabbits.

Both them squealed and giggled underneath the living mass of fur, uncaring if fur, dirt and grass stained their pristine white robes.

(“Lan Zhan ah, how do you get around wearing those robes? They get dirty so easily, isn’t it troublesome?”)

He tensed upon hearing another set of footsteps approaching them. Turning around, he relaxed upon realizing that it was just his brother.

“Wangji-” his brother froze as he took in the bewildering sight of his two nephews being buried underneath a pile of rabbits.

“This-” he struggled to find the words before settling on a sigh due to his inability to find any.

“Xiongzhang.” Wangji simply greeted.

Xichen merely sighed once more, shaking his head though he failed to hide the fondness in his eyes.

Walking past Wangji, he knelt down and promptly plucked both his nephews out from the rabbit pile.

“A-Yuan, A-Yi.” He greeted.

“Bobo, rabbits!” A-Yi whined, squirming in his grasp, unwilling to leave the comfort of the rabbit pile.

“Bobo.” A-Yuan greeted with a toothy smile.

Xichen grimaced at the grass stains and dirt staining their white robes, their neat updos now slightly matted. He patted them down, trying to get rid of some of the damage.

“Wangji, these boys are so small, how could you bury them under a cluster of rabbits? Rabbits are gentle creatures but they can still bite when provoked. It would hurt the boys.” Xichen chided as he fussed over his nephews.

“They’re our new friends, bobo. Friends don’t hurt each other.” A-Yuan said, looking rather offended at Xichen’s implication that rabbits would hurt him.

“They’re soft and ticklish.” A-Yi nodded. “Bobo, do you want a rabbit?”

“No thank you, A-Yi.” Xichen declined.

“A-Yuan, A-Yi.” Wangji called. “Do you still want to play?”

“Mn!” both nodded.

Wangji gazed at them so tenderly it squeezed Xichen’s heart.

“Be careful when you run.” He said.

Both boys nodded before running off to frolic in the grass, eager for freedom before returning to their strict lessons.

Seeing Wangji express himself so vulnerably in front of his sons makes the uncle in Xichen so proud.

(Because it’s proof that Wangji wasn’t their father’s son. It proves that in the end, underneath all that stoicism and lack of words, his brother’s heart remembered the love it received from their mother and won’t hesitate to give his own sons the same undulated love.)

“..........Wangji.” he began, reluctant to have to ruin this content moment for his brother.

Sensing his reluctance but acknowledging the urgency, Wangji gave him his full attention.

“The Elders are......recalcitrant.” Xichen sighed. “Try as I might, some of our members, disciples, teachers and cultivators alike, staunchly support them.”

Try as he might to soften the blow, Wangji knew damn well what Xichen was saying- was warning him about.

There was a chance the Elders would once again try to take his sons away from him.

“I’m keeping my eye on them but they’re doing the same. Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past the Elders to implement new rules behind my back altogether and claim ignorance afterwards.

“Shufu is doing what he can to keep the teachers in line. He fears their...lack of approval towards your sons would also affect how they treat the other young ones.” Xichen went on, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Xiongzhang, you have not been sleeping.” Wangji pointed out.

“Astute as ever, didi.” His brother joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“It is not right.” Wangji said frustratedly.

“Knowing the existence of facts and acknowledging it are two different matters.” Xichen said sadly.

“They’re children.” Wangji pointed out.

“So were we.”

And look at where they were now.

Xichen patted his shoulder, one of the few affectionate physical gestures that was granted a constant presence in his life.

“Don’t fret over it, didi. Let xiongzhang and shufu handle these matters. You just focus on being a father. Plus, the next thing you know, you’ll be out of the Elder’s hair and in Jiang-zongzhu’s in a few months.” He chirped.

(In Lotus Pier, the disciples paused midway through their training drills as Jiang Cheng sneezed. Their sect leader barked at them to keep going.)

Wangji glanced at A-Yuan and A-Yi, seeing both boys waving branches and fighting off imaginary foes. Xichen followed his line of sight and chuckled mirthfully.

“They are accumulating to their new home well?” he asked.

“Mn.” Wangji nodded.

“You sure you don’t need anything else?” he prodded.

“...............I am fine.” Is all Wangji said.

Sensing the note of finality in his tone, Xichen tactfully dropped the subject.

After another incense stick’s passed, both brothers bid each other goodbye as one returned to his duties as a sect leader and the other to that of a father.

“Bye, rabbits.” A-Yuan waved.

“Ba, can we come here tomorrow?” A-Yi asked.

“No, baba will be busy and you two have classes. Maybe next week.” He replied.

A-Yi pouted but didn’t complain.

“Ba, where’d the rabbits come from?” A-Yuan asked.

(“Pets are forbidden.”)

(“You don’t want it? Alright, I’ll give them to someone else.”)

(“To whom?”)

(“Anyone who can make excellent roast meat. Look at this poor maiden’s body. Your clan’s bland food does nothing as sustenance.”)

(“Killing is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”)

(“Then I’ll just take them down the mountain and do it there. Not like you want them anyways.”)

(“Eh? Now you want them? Look at you, never speaking from the heart.)

“Your mother gave them to me.” He said softly.

“Mama is still with us.” A-Yi nodded.

“Always with us.” A-Yuan agreed.

He squeezed his sons’ hands as he was once again reminded that despite their innocence, his sons had long lost that pure ignorance any child would naturally attain.

“.....ba, we should play Wangxian for the rabbits next time.” A-Yuan suggested.

“Good idea.” He said, storing that away for next time.

“Ba, if you play In-i-ry with the rabbits, will mama come?” A-Yi asked.

“......I do not know, A-Yi.” Wangji sighed. “And it’s Inquiry.” He corrected.

“Do the rabbits miss mama?” A-Yuan asked.

“Mn, but they are not alone.” He said.

“Like us, baba.” A-Yi said, swinging their arms back and forth. “We miss mama but we’re not alone.”

“Mn! Have family!” A-Yuan grinned.

And-

Wangji smiled.

He still missed Wei Ying. Would always miss Wei Ying.

But he was not alone.

He had his sons.

And for now, they were safe and warm.

For now, Wangji was content.

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen knew what many thought of him.

A courteous nobleman worthy to be of a righteous gentry; a calm unflappable sect leader despite his youth; a perfect mediator and reliable politician in disputes during cultivation conferences.

Nowadays, when Lan Xichen finds himself alone with the stillness of night, hearing the fading notes of Inquiry drifting from his brother’s own house, he reevaluates his ‘open-mindedness’ as he questions the line between peace and ignorance.

Lan Xichen yearned for peace; since the moment he gained awareness, even as a toddler who could barely count, he was well aware of the fact that underneath the tranquil veil of Cloud Recesses, peace was thin ice waiting to shatter.

He knew his upbringing was so he could shoulder the weight of morality and ensure he was ready to stand firm by his morals to fight for peace; so naturally, at the same time, his upbringing was also to mentally prepare him for when he would have to live in times that weren’t peaceful.

The Sunshot Campaign was an ugly, if not true, reminder of that.

Lan Xichen hated war- he never told anyone, not even shufu, about how he hated the wet squelch from slicing flesh; hated it when blood dried onto his skin, making it harder to scrub of; hated it when people cheered him for a hero as though doing so would allow them to ignore the fact that people died, civilians, cultivators, friends and family, all of them dead because they were unfortunate to be born in a time where a tyrant chose to strike.

Lan Xichen hated war.

But the war was over.

(Was it really?)

Yet, the battles never stopped.

His brother also won the war but Xichen could see, he could tell that Wangji was still grappling with battles against relentless foes.

He remembers seeing Wangji crawl out from one of those battles- it was after Wangji had returned from his nighthunt near Yiling.

Really, for all that people talked of how his brother scorned Wei-guniang, if one looked close enough, it didn’t take the wisdom of a civil god to realize how the string between Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Matriarch was much more tangled than that.

And it sure as the sky is blue didn’t take Xichen even a second to guess what had happened.

His brother must’ve passed through Yiling, the same place that was closest to the Burial Mounds where Wei-guniang and the Wen Remnants spirited off into.

Xichen did not know if it was unfortunate coincidence or cruel fate that led to his brother confronting her.

In the end, he found Wangji kneeling in the snow, back ramrod straight and arms steady as they held the wooden laths aloft.

Flecks of white clung to his brother’s long hair, eyebrows and lashes. He stood as still as a statue, body as cold as winter.

Yet-

Wangji’s eyes said it all.

(Lans only fall in love once.)

(It was a blessing and a curse.)

(“Xiongzhang, there is someone.....I want to bring back to Cloud Recesses. Take her back....to hide.”)

Numerous teachers and men twice their age have always complimented the Twin Jades on their maturity but oh, if only they knew the truth.

That deep down, underneath all that flawless jade, both of them were children.

Xichen knew that the little Wangji who would kneel in front of their mother’s house month after month, year after year, had never grown up.

Xichen knew his brother’s steadfast obedience to their clan’s rules wasn’t simply discipline but also remorse- as though if he kept following them, if he staunchly upheld their clan’s morals, the gods would deem him worthy to have happiness.

(The same happiness he lost the moment their mother died.)

And-

Xichen was no better.

He thought if he followed the rules, his forefathers would bless him with a lifetime of simple happiness; if he focused on the brighter side of the world, he can simply will that brightness to chase away the ugly darkness.

But what is black, what is white? What is right, what is wrong?

(He didn’t know.)

Looking at A-Yuan and A-Yi, Xichen ponders if his family was eternally cursed to bear children who will be forced to endure tragedy at a young age.

(If said tragedy is destined to be caused by their own kin.)

But each time he sees the twins happy, each time he sees Wangji happy, he is grateful for these small blessings.

Wangji was still mourning- something told Xichen that he wouldn’t stop doing that anytime soon.

Yet despite that, his brother was still living; his brother swam in grief but refused to allow it to drown him and Xichen couldn’t help but be proud of his brother’s iron will in the face of such adversity.

However, his brother was but one man.

A man that the Elders have deemed a stain on their clan’s name.

Xichen will admit, perhaps he is naïve but he is not incompetent. He knows damn well that despite their clan’s distaste towards rumors, they had their own mill of information that threaded amongst all.

Xichen knows that in the world beyond their mountain, others still spoke of the events of Nightless City- many debating whether Wei Wuxian’s demise was that of a martyr or well-deserved karma or a deeper more nefarious plot that will take place sometime in the future.

Xichen knows that numerous other sects have attempted to summon Wei Wuxian’s soul back only to fail (and secretly, Xichen hopes they’ll never succeed).

He hears of sightings many notice of cultivators in Yiling, all of them going to the Burial Mounds like scavenger crows going to a carcass, all of them desperate to pick any lingering flesh off the bones.

He hears the whispers of his brother.

Some say he was the one to end Wei Wuxian- which was so far from the truth it was laughable- while some say he had been utterly scarred by their final encounter.

In a way, that was true.

His brother was scarred.

If their mother’s departure was a shard of ice in Wangji’s heart, Wei-guniang’s death was shards of glass embedding into it, painfully digging deeper as it continued to beat every waking moment.

(And Xichen had played a part in shattering that glass, had done nothing to fix it as the cracks spread.)

Xichen-

Couldn’t do anything about it.

He was Zewu-jun, Lan-zongzhu, a sworn brother of the Venerated Triad.

But to his own family, he was powerless.

The one-month period Xichen, Wangji and shufu had agreed on where all three of them would personally give the boys private education was over.

Wangji gave his sons a long hug (and oh, how much his little brother had grown to be unafraid of expressing such blatant affection to his sons in public) before reluctantly parting from them.

“They are bright, brave boys, Wangji. They will be fine.” Xichen reassured.

His brother’s lips merely thinned into a straight line but he did not make any further protests as he went to handle his own duties.

(His white-knuckled clench around Bichen’s hilt was still a dead giveaway to his brother’s anxiousness.)

For a while, everything was okay.

Maybe it wasn’t good but it wasn’t bad either; Wangji was executing his duties proficiently, A-Yuan and A-Yi’s studies seemed fine and-

Xichen allowed himself to lull into it.

A foolish mistake.

A month later, while he was composing a letter for Mingjue (they haven’t been able to keep in touch lately) a teacher asked for his attention.

Setting his brush down, he allowed the teacher entry.

The teacher in question was Lan Tengfei, a cousin of Elder Lan Lingrong.

He looked as though he had eaten an unripe loquat.

“Lan zongzhu.” He greeted, barely restraining the curtness of his voice lest he disrespects proper propriety before a sect leader.

“Lan Tengfei, whatever’s the matter?” Xichen asked.

“That nephew of yours.” He spat the word with no small amount of vitriol. “Needs to be taught discipline. He is a disgrace to his father’s name with such impudence. His presence alone disrupts everyone in class and heavens forbid he influences the others when he's already a handful.”

“He is a child.” Xichen said, putting heavy emphasis on the word. “Children need time to adapt. 路遥知马力, 日久见人心.”

“So, we allow his impertinence to run wild and fester into arrogance? Did you learn nothing from what happened to that child’s accursed mother?” Tengfei seethed.

“Lan Tengfei!” Xichen’s voice rose, an uncharacteristic note of anger burning in each word.

(He was a child grappling with the fact that his mother was ‘gone’ once more.)

(He was a child as he listened to the Elders bemoan the fate of his father while cursing his mother’s existence in their life.)

“Do not disrespect the younger.” He said, trying to reign in his indignation. (Do not succumb to rage.)

“And you intend to allow one of them to inherit your position in the future?” Tengfei hissed.

“Yes.” He said, resolutely looking Tengfei in the eye.

“They will ruin this clan.” Tengfei whispered.

“They will not.” He said with a conviction that surprised even himself.

“They are their mother’s son. And you, you are your father’s.” Tengfei spat before leaving.

Lan Xichen allowed his words to echo within the confines of his mind.

He thought of his father, driven mad from an unrequited love that reaped tragedy; his father who was shattered by grief into a hollow husk; his father who lingered as a reminder to all of how easily a Lan’s heart could fall in love and how it was even easier to crush it.

His father who the Elders deemed a fool for allowing love of all things to ruin him.

His mother, who was condemned a curse for being a harbinger of his damnation.

His mother who was-

Kind.

Gentle.

Loving.

Patient.

Supportive.

Bright, brighter than any moon or star.

And-

The parallels of his parents that aligned with his brother and Wei Wuxian could no longer be ignored.

The parallels between Wei Wuxian and his mother.

The parallels between Wangji and his father.

The parallels between Xichen and his father.

The fear that gripped his core during the burning of Cloud Recesses dwarfed in comparison to the icy stab of horror that oppressed his heart as the epiphany dawned on him.

The epiphany stayed with him, clinging out of sight, its presence constant like a shadow.

And Xichen let it stay, allowed it to stay as a reminder.

As his own repentance.

He stared at the Wall of Discipline.

He recalled a time when he was young, when he allowed himself to crawl into his mother’s lap and snuggle into her bosom as she wrapped her arms around him, tickling his face with her nose and cooing at him.

He remembers innocently asking her about the Wall of Discipline after proudly telling her he could write most of the rules stated there.

And-

His mother’s face had changed. Her smile had faded like whittling petals and her eyes turned sad.

“A-Huan, life is not like that. Humanity can’t be compressed into words on stone.” She had said.

He had been too young to understand the depth of her words back then, too young to grasp the anguish that turmoiled her being.

But he wasn’t a child anymore.

(None of them had that privilege since the Sunshot Campaign.)

And as he stared at the mountain of rules that had acted as a scalpel to shape his life.

The only words that resonated within him were his mother’s.

The world was not white.

But Lan Xichen refused to believe it was wholly black.

The world was grey.

Perhaps it was not as pure as white, but well, Lan Xichen was an optimist; he was optimistic enough to acknowledge that grey wasn’t as bad as black either.

After Wangji returned with A-Yuan and A-Yi from their 6-month stay in Lotus Pier, his brother came to him with purpose shining in his eyes.

He spoke of a vow he made; a vow to protect the weak, the uphold righteousness and justice, to give the weak support and the oppressed heard.

But Xichen could sense the dissonance in his brother’s core; the need to leave the cold mountain and the oppressive eyes of the Elders. The need to continue repenting by helping those who were condemned to misfortune and wrongfully vilified.

Who was Xichen to deny him this?

Wangji stayed for another week. Xichen gave A-Yuan and A-Yi permission to spend every moment of the day with their father rather than lessons.

A week passed and Wangji said his farewells before descending the stairs of Cloud Recesses.

During the next cultivation conference, everyone who was anyone inquired about his brother’s whereabouts and ‘well-being’.

And each time, Xichen would merely smile at them pleasantly.

(His eyes held no warmth when he did.)

“My brother is upholding the motto of our clan.” Is all he would say.

Be righteous.

“Such resilience despite the tragedies that has befallen him!” Jin Guangshan praised. “A toast!”

“No.”

The wine cup froze mid-way.

All eyes turned towards Xichen who made no move to accept the wine offered by the servant.

“As gracious as such an offer is, I must decline. My alcohol tolerance is low. A genetic trait.” He said lightly.

“Bah! Restraint is unnecessary outside the premises of Cloud Recesses.” Jin Guangshan waved off.

“It is not restraint, Jin zongzhu. But I acknowledge the sincerity of your gesture.” Xichen said.

“I can drink it for you, er-ge!” Huaisang volunteered.

“Many thanks, Huaisang.” He said in a warmer voice.

It will take time; time for Xichen to rectify all his mistakes, time for him to adjust his embrace towards a world of gray rather than black and white.

Perhaps he may not succeed, perhaps the world would never return his embrace.

Still, 冰冻三尺，非一日之寒.

Nurture aspirations.

Embrace the entirety of the world.

Believe sincerely.

Have a strong will and anything can be achieved.

Store your inner wisdom deeply.

Humanity cannot be compressed into words on stone; so he will carve his own understanding of it with his eyes as the chisel, his mind as his hands and his heart as the surface.

Chapter Text

Jin Ling is 3 years old when he learns about his ayi.

Even though he was little, he knew that like his a-die, ayi was gone. She was gone like a-die which also made a-niang sad.

As he sat in a-niang’s lap while she combed his hair, admiring the sprawling lotus lakes before them, she would tell him stories.

Stories of three children- the youngest one with a sulk like thunder but a heart gentle as a lotus; the middle one who was as untamed as the weather with the mischief of a hulijing and the oldest who loved both of them so very much.

The middle one was his ayi.

Ayi was younger than a-niang but older than jiujiu (“Even though Xianxian always said she was three.” A-niang would laugh fondly). She was a-niang’s shimei and a-niang loved her very much, which obviously she would since his mother loves everyone, especially A-Ling.

(He wonders if that love was also what made her sadder, what made her miss a-die and ayi all the more.)

A-niang would tell him that ayi had a smile like sunshine and a kindness that was as vast as the sky. She was a troublemaker but never selfish, always loyal to her family. She was brave, a war hero that fought till the end.

Jin Ling, who was young and so very innocent of the bloody prices heroes must pay for the titles they bear, was in awe.

He told himself that one day, he would grow up to be as brave and awesome as his ayi.

(For some reason, jiujiu always seemed sad whenever he said that.)

Jin Ling is 5 years old when he has to leave the crystal lotus lakes and sprawling wooden piers for a tower of gilded gold and fields of white peonies.

Jin Ling was not happy.

His numerous tantrums made that abundantly clear but no matter how much he screamed, wailed, kicked and punched, it did nothing to change the fact that he had to leave jiujiu and all the nice aunties and uncles from the Yunmeng marketplace and the Jiang disciples.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even have his two biao ge with him either.

A-niang had explained that this is because like him, Yuan-ge and Yi-ge also had to return to their father’s home.

Even though this was a-die’s home, Jin Ling didn’t like it. Yeye was creepy and loud and smelly (he would grow to learn that said ‘smelly’ was all the alcohol) and nainai wasn’t there despite being yeye’s wife.

(A-Ling has only met nainai three times and each time, despite nainai not smiling much like jiujiu, she loved him like a-niang and always gave him extra cakes after meals.)

He did get to meet his xiao-shushu though. Like a-niang, he smiled a lot and he was......nice. Certainly better company than yeye.

But his smiles weren’t like a-niang’s. Somehow they felt....different. He had a nice smile, Jin Ling could tell, but it wasn’t......it didn’t feel the same as a-niang’s or even jiujiu and yizhang’s rare tiny ones.

He’s also very busy so Jin Ling can’t spend much time with him. But xiao-shushu does give him lots of toys and books when he can.

The other kids here are different too- they’re....they’re mean. They always make fun of him for not having a father and it hurts because Jin Ling didn’t ask for that.

Yi-ge always made fun of him too but it was different, it was nicer compared to this. What Yi-ge did was teasing and annoying him, he did so in a joking manner to rile him up but would never hesitate to say ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ at the end of the day.

These kids? They did it meanly, they did it to hurt him.

(And gods, did it hurt.)

He got angry when they kept doing that and well, when he’s angry he ‘lashes out’ as a-niang would say.

Basically, he hit those kids.....and bit them when his hands couldn’t do the job.

It was wrong of him to do so; he knows it was wrong but he can’t help it because he didn’t ask for a-die to not be here, didn’t ask for them to mock him for his lack of a father and didn’t ask for them to be so cruel to him when he didn’t do anything to them other than asking if they wanted to play together.

Jin Ling is 5 years old when he learns that life isn’t fair.

He knows he’s fortunate. He has food, shelter, clothes and his a-niang’s love; he never wants for anything have it be toys or sweets. He’s grateful for the family he still has and the affection they never hesitate to give.

But he can’t have everything.

He can’t have his a-die back because he’s dead and yes, he knows what that means. He knows.

He can’t make a-niang’s sadness go away because missing someone doesn’t work that way.

He can’t-

He can’t have friends in Jinlintai.

Because like the gold they all wear, they’re hard and cold.

He wishes jiujiu was here so he could glare at them, or even yizhang who can scare them off with his quietness.

But a-niang always taught him to never dwell on the bad because if you do, you’ll drown in it and the miss the good that was floating nearby.

Like when you step into the lake, if you focus on all the mud, you’ll miss the beauty of the lotus blossoms.

So, he looks at the good things- everyday, even if it’s a bad day filled with bullies and boring lessons, a-niang is always there to hug and kiss and cuddle. She’ll ask about his day, never scold him for not liking his lessons and instead patiently help him understand them in a better way. She’ll also greet him with delicious soup that reminded him of Lotus Pier.

He has Dao-jie to watch over him when a-niang can’t. Dao-jie was also a lot more fun than the other nannies who watch over him because she actually plays with him. As in, she helps him climb trees and run around instead of just pawning off toys.

There were also the four jiang disciples a-niang was allowed to bring with her. Whenever she had to sit through boring meetings and bring Jin Ling along to them, they would keep him entertained while adults talked boring stuff.

Jin Ling is 5 years old when he also learns that life isn’t fair, but it can still be good, it can still be happy and that’s okay.

It was enough for him.

Jin Ling is 6 years old when he learns of the Yiling Matriarch and the part she played in his father’s death.

He is 6 years old when he realizes that his father’s murderer and mother’s shimei was the same person.

He is 6 years old when he sees a-niang at her strongest and weakest.

She had cried and every tear that spilled down her face stung; every choked sob that wracked her body shook his core; the agony radiating from her was a heavy boulder crushing his heart.

But her arms were strong when she embraced him, her voice firm and gaze steady despite the torrent of tears.

“Your ayi did many things.” A-niang said, hands on his shoulders. “She did bad things as well as good things but that does not make her evil.”

“But she killed a-die!” he had exclaimed, eyes puffy and voice hoarse from his fair share of crying.

“It’s not that simple.” She shook her head. “A-Ling, remember when a-niang cut her finger with a knife?”

Jin Ling remembers.

“Is the knife to blame for me getting hurt?” she asked.

Jin Ling opened his mouth to answer yes, it was the knife that drew blood-

But the knife was a sharp object. Just an object. It didn’t think and feel like A-Ling.

“Your ayi and the Ghost General were the weapons, like the knife. They were controlled against their will. Yes, they played a part in killing you’re a-die, but they are not the ones to blame.” She said.

A-Ling was 6 years old......and he was conflicted.

He should hate the Yiling Matriarch.

But that would mean hating ayi.

And-

He didn’t want to hate her.

Because a-niang loved- loves ayi. Jiujiu loves ayi and according to Yi-ge and Yuan-ge, yizhang loves ayi with all his heart. Ayi was also Yi-ge and Yuan-ge's mother, they loved her too.

If ayi really was the monster everyone claimed her to be, how could so many people still love her?

“They were both good people.” Dao-jie confided to him a week later.

A-niang had to help with the arrangements for the next adult meeting so Dao-jie took A-Ling to the lotus pond to wait for her.

(A-Ling loved the lotus pond for many reasons. 1) his a-die built it himself to woo a-niang, 2) it reminded him of Yunmeng and jiujiu and 3) it was his, a-niang and Dao-jie’s personal secret happy place.)

“Your father was a good man, certainly better than your grandfather.” Her face turned sour at the mention of his yeye. 

“If they were good people, why did they die?” he asked.

Dao-jie’s face turned sad and she rubbed a thumb over her bracelet, eyes looking through Jin Ling rather than at him.

“A-Ling, when you pick flowers, which ones do you pick?” she asked softly.

“Pretty ones.” Obviously.

“Think of the pretty flowers as good people then, and the people who pick them as the guilty party.” She said.

(The world is not always kind to good people.)

Jin Ling is 6 years old when he realizes that the sharpest blades can be kinder than its wielder.

“A-niang, why are you so kind?” he asked her that night.

“Why do you ask that, A-Ling?” she asked patiently (always patient, always strong underneath that delicate beauty).

A-Ling told her what Dao-jie told him.

“Oh A-Ling.” She said, caressing his cheek.

“You’re right, the world is not perfect. The world is filled with bad people who do bad things that hurts others. It can be unfair and dangerous and evil. But the people that live in this world aren’t simple.

“Sometimes, people become evil and do bad things because someone else had hurt them. They’re cruel because they do not know kindness or compassion. They’re manipulative because they grew up with nothing and no one.

“That is why I will continue to be kind. In this awful imperfect world, I will show them the beauty in kindness and the strength of compassion."

She kissed his forehead.

“Perhaps if more chose to be kind too, there would be less people like the ones who caused your a-die’s death and took your ayi away from your biao ge and yizhang.”

Jin Ling is 6 years old when he decides that like a-niang, he too will be kind.

(Though he’ll still be fierce like jiujiu and proud like a-die.)

Jin Ling is still 6 when yeye dies.

When A-Ling asked how, everyone told him it’s because he was old and over-ex-erted himself too much to the point he got sick and dropped dead.

(He wouldn’t learn the darker details until years later.)

Jin Ling did not miss yeye.

He wore mourning whites still.

But he did not grieve.

Yeye never hit him or scold him, always giving him toys and sweets and books and anything he ever asked for.

Except yeye never gave him love like a-niang or attention like yizhang or play with him like jiujiu, Yuan-ge, Yi-ge or Dao-jie.

So A-Ling found that.....he wasn’t that sad.

When he confessed this to a-niang, she did not blame him in the slightest.

“Your yeye was not a good man.” Is all she said.

“Is it good that he died?” A-Ling asked, morbidly curious.

“Death is not a good thing, but for some people, it’s not always a tragedy either.” She said. “Death is never a simple matter.”

Jin Ling is still 6 when he realizes that death could be much more complicated than he ever thought it to be.

Jin Ling is 7 years old when he gets his first friend in Jinlintai.

“Little Fairy!” he declares.

Little Fairy woofed, tongue lolling and tail wagging merrily. She was satisfied with her new name so clearly it was a good one.

A-niang laughed, eyes shining with mirth. That reaction further proved his point that he had excellent naming skills even if Yi-ge says otherwise so take that Yi-ge!

(Even xiao-shushu’s smile had seemed genuine.)

He’s also 7 when he makes his first new friend that wasn’t his cousins or Little Fairy.

It was during a cultivation conference. Since yeye passed away, a-niang and xiao-shushu has been talking a lot, mostly about who should take yeye’s place. Because of this, a-niang was busier than usual and even Dao-jie spent more time with the adults than with A-Ling now.

(Not that A-Ling could blame them. Dao-jie still snuck him an extra candy at the end of the day and a-niang would always make sure to spend at least a sichen with him every day no matter how tired adult stuff made her.)

“You spoil her to much.” Yi-ge scolded as he gave Little Fairy a treat.

“She’s hungry. I have to feed her, it’s my responsibility.” He huffed.

(He’s proud that he’s learned the word ‘responsibility’ because it’s mature.)

“She’s just greedy. At this rate, she'll become fat.” Yi-ge said.

“Don’t be mean to Little Fairy!” he snapped. 

“A-Ling, A-Yi didn’t mean to bully her.” Yuan-ge said. “A-Yi, you shouldn’t be rude to Little Fairy either.”

“I don’t believe it. You guys love a dog more than me!” Yi-ge bemoaned.

A-Ling rolled his eyes (something he proudly learned from jiujiu).

Seriously, was Yi-ge really the oldest one here?

“I think she’s really cute.”

Three eyes turned towards a boy in olive green robes who was the same age as Yi-ge and Yuan-ge.

“Who are you?” Yi-ge asked.

“O-Ouyang Zizhen. Nice to meet you!” he said cheerfully if a bit nervously.

“Are you the son of Ouyang-zongzhu?” Yuan-ge asked.

“Mm. I’m his second oldest.” Zizhen said.

“I’m Jin Ling, these are my biao ge Lan Jingyi and Lan Yuan.”

“I can introduce myself little mistress.” “Nice to meet you too!” they replied respectively.

“Hey!” Jin Ling squawked.

“Lan? Like Lan Wangji? Hanguang-jun?” Zizhen asked in awe.

Yi-ge puffed his chest out proudly while Yuan-ge blushed bashfully. Both of them nodded with an affirmative ‘mn’.

Sometimes, the difference in reactions but the perfect timings to them baffles Jin Ling.

It was creepy and cool at the same time.

Little Fairy barked, demanding attention.

“You wanna pet her? She’s super soft and doesn’t bite. She’s the best spiritual dog!” Jin Ling said.

“S-sure!” Zizhen said.

He eagerly petted her and before long, Little Fairy even allowed him to give belly rubs.

“You’re so lucky to have such a loyal companion.” Zizhen said.

“We’re lucky to have you here.” Yi-ge said.

Zizhen blinked. “Me?”

“Nobody likes us cuz they’re mean bullies.” Jin Ling said.

As a trio, they did admittedly stand out, especially his biao ges. Sometimes, depending on which half of the month, they’ll wear Yunmeng purple with their white Lan forehead ribbons, their silver Jiang clarity bells and Gusu jade tokens hanging from their belts.

“They’re jealous cuz we’re awesome.” Yi-ge nodded.

“Ouyang-gongzi, can we.....can we be friends?” Yuan-ge asked shyly but hopefully.

Zizhen stared before starting to sniffle.

A-Ling panicked, wondering if he should ask why he’s crying or just apologize when Zizhen rushed forward and tackled them into a hug.

“Call me Zizhen!” he proclaimed through tears and snot. “We’re friends now!”

Friends, he said.

A-Ling had a new friend.

Jin Ling is 7 years old when he realizes that even if all the others kids his age in Jinlintai were meanies, he didn’t have to be sad.

Because he has friends.

Jin Ling is 10 years old when he receives a-die’s sword, Suihua.

Nainai was the one to present it to him. She had looked proud and happy despite crying.

(When adults cried, it was really complicated.)

“Your a-die would be proud of you.” She said, squeezing his shoulders before pulling him into a hug.

Jin Ling is 10 years old when death arrives at his family’s doorstep once more.

This time, he grieves.

Nainai looked nothing like the strong grandmother that put a-die’s sword in Jin Ling’s hands just a few months ago.

He is also 10 when he has to accept the horrifying fact that death was merciless.

Death took away his a-die, ayi and nainai.

And it also took away his tang di, Jin Rusong.

A-Ling had been ecstatic when he learned that shenshen was going to give birth to a baby; was going to give A-Ling a younger sibling he can dote on like how Yuan-ge and Yi-ge doted/annoyed him.

A-Ling won’t admit it but he almost cried when Rusong learned how to call him tang xiong and oh, he had been so excited at being able to teach Rusong how to hold a sword!

At best, now all A-Ling could do was help sharpen Rusong’s toy wooden sword.

It wasn’t fair, it was so so cruel because Rusong was only 4 years old and he was so young and small and it wasn’t fair that his life has to end so soon.

“This is why we must treasure every moment spent with our loved ones.” A-niang whispered to him as she tucked him into bed. “We never know when they’ll leave us.”

He thought about a-die and ayi.

He thought about nainai.

He thought about Rusong.

He thought that even if death wasn’t evil, it most definitely was not kind.

He’s almost 11 years old when he meets Mo-gugu.

Mo-gugu was.....odd to say the least.

She was pretty but standing next to tall elegant a-niang, she looked petite and youthful.

And although she was pretty, she always covered her face in heavy makeup; caking her skin with so much powder she looked like a ghost and adding rouge on her cheeks and lips. The red was so bold, it looked as though her mouth was painted with blood.

She was quiet as a mouse but as jumpy as a rabbit. The only person she felt (more or less) calm around was a-niang.

One day, while Jin Ling was taking a walk around the gardens, he noticed Mo-gugu nearby. Not wanting to scare her, he hid behind a wall.

He contemplated approaching her and talking to her. She was a bit weird but she was still family and family loved each other. If he can love jiujiu despite his grumpiness and yizhang despite his stoicism and Yi-gege despite him being an annoying brat, surely he can get along with Mo-gugu too.

And-

As she stumbled past, he noticed the bruise on her cheek.

The next morning, there was more powder than usual applied over that same cheek.

“Mo-gugu.” He called.

“Oh!” she almost dropped the scrolls she was carrying. “Ah, y-yes? Oh, he-hello Jin-gongzi.” She greeted with a shy shaky smile.

“A-Ling.” He corrected.

She blinked.

“We’re family so call me A-Ling.” He explained as though it were obvious (which it kinda was).

“A-Ling........” she smiled again, this time slightly wider and less shaky. “How can I help you?”

“You should help yourself.” He said. “Did you tell a-niang?”

“T-tell her what?” shit, she was nervous again.

“About the people hurting you.” He said.

“It’s nothing!” she blurted out almost instinctively. “It.....” she inhaled and exhaled slowly, her grip crumpling the scrolls. “It’s no big deal.”

“Does your cheek hurt? Do you need salve? I can go to the apothecary.” he asked.

“No need.” Then she awkwardly glanced to the side. “I-I’m afraid I must leave to attend my duties now, Jin-gong-A-Ling. I will....see you next time?”

“Dinner. Come eat dinner with a-niang and I and try her soup.” He insisted.

She hesitated.

“Please?” he added.

(It would be nice to able to have another family member at their dining table.)

She smiled tentatively.

(A-Ling wondered how’d she’d look like if she smiled naturally without all that horrendous makeup.)

“I will think about it.” She said before leaving.

She didn’t come for dinner that night.

But she did come the next night.

He understands a little now, why a-niang is kind. 

Chapter Text

Huaisang had been in the aviary when it happened.

Now that the war was over, he could happily focus all his attention on refilling his aviary with beautiful exotic birds. It has been a while since he painted these avians and he did want a new fan for a while now.....

He had been contemplating between painting a canary or a sparrow when the crow came.

Huaisang had been so shocked he probably squawked worse than any feathered friend in the aviary but the crow was silent.

Frankly, that silence was even more unnerving.

He watched warily as the crow landed on the table nearby.

Up close, he noticed the letter tied to its leg.

“For me?” he asked.

The crow cawed and Huaisang could’ve sworn it rolled its eyes.

He cautiously reached out for the letter and to the crow’s credit, it remained obediently still for him to detach it.

Unrolling the letter, he had to blink because the writing was absolutely atrocious.

But also very familiar.

‘Wei-jie.......oh, what have you done now?’ he bemoaned.

(It was almost reminiscent of their days in Cloud Recesses when they would coax the other into some half-brained shenanigans that risked expulsion.)

Pulling his own piece of paper and brush out from his qiankun pouch, he replied with a succinct answer.

He wrote down a location and a time. The location was a place he frequented enough that no one would be suspicious but private enough for this meeting.

Huaisang was a useless person.

That does not mean he was a useless friend.

Huaisang liked to enjoy life.

He liked to be ‘useless’ because that meant he was boundless from responsibilities; he enjoyed painting and poetry because he could pass time while simultaneously ignoring the sucky reality; he did whatever he wanted and was a dandy because he enjoyed freedom. He knew damn well that he would never cultivate to immortality and hey, if life was limited, might as well live it to the fullest.

But for once, this one decision ate away at him like mold festering over rotten food.

Wei-jie had pleaded, begged and even threatened (brittle as it was) for him to keep this a secret, practically swearing him to take it to his grave.

And-

Huaisang agreed.

He already had a few inklings as to why she needed to find the Wen siblings and why she insisted that she could only trust that particular healer out of literally any other healer in the whole cultivation world; he noticed how she would subconsciously lay a hand over her midriff and he saw the raw uncertain but vulnerable fear behind eyes that lost their spark.

Huaisang wasn’t as righteous as a Lan but he wasn’t heartless like a Jin.

So, with a solemnity he rarely felt, he swore on his life and literature collection that he would take this secret to his grave and promised to pull a few strings to find the hidden Wen siblings.

He managed to narrow their location down and told Wei-jie of his findings. He could’ve been more specific but she had simply told him that he’s done enough and she could take over from there.

He was worried because Huaisang of all people knew his limits and he knew how knowledge could never set anything in stone.

Fortunately, three months later, the crow revisited him.

The handwriting was still as horrible as before but the message was crystal clear.

Thank you, Nie-xiong.

Thank heavens his decision wouldn’t fester into lifelong regret.

He was wrong.

The decision he made never left, merely scabbed over.

And Wei-jie’s death made it bleed again.

It wasn’t solely his fault- he had enough clarity in his thoughts to remember that before he could let the self-loathing drown him like some certain people- but he wasn’t free of guilt either.

Of all times for him to have a moral compass, of all times to let conscience take the reins when it was in a moment of weakness, of all times to stay quiet-

Wei-jie was dead.

Because she killed herself.

She paid for a debt she never owed the world with her own life and she took her own life with her own hand.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jiang-xiong seethed.

Ah, to be faced with the combined wrath of Sandu Shengshou, Hanguang-jun and Jiang-guniang was truly a force Huaisang never dreamed he would confront.

“Because I promised her.” He replied, sipping his tea. (Ah yes, he’s missed the lotus blossom tea specialized in Yunmeng.)

“Promise......” Jiang-xiong shook his head. “She’s good at promises, isn’t she?”

So angry and so hurt. So young but already so bitter......

Huaisang couldn’t help but pity him.

“To be fair, you can’t really blame her for doubting you.” He said.

Jiang-xiong’s eyes sharpened dangerously but Huaisang pushed on.

“Jiang-xiong, with all due respect, Yunmeng Jiang was the weakest amongst the Great Sects and Wei-jie’s reputation was slandered every passing day. You didn’t dare to upset any other sects because you knew if they turned against you, you and your clan wouldn’t survive another siege.

“So, whenever someone spoke of some hearsay or another of Wei-jie, you kept silent and let them vilify her because it was either your one shijie or the remaining Jiang disciples. And Wei-jie being the selfless but stupid person she is decided that she was expendable to Yunmeng Jiang at the end of the day.”

Jiang-xiong’s fist clenched so hard Huaisang worried his nails would cut into the palm.

“And since young you were raised by parents who weren’t the best examples of support. One ignored you and the other compensated by egging on your pride, pitting you against your own shijie and exposing you to her bitterness and resentment.” He added.

Jiang-xiong’s head snapped up in surprise and Huaisang rolled his eyes.

“I loathe studying but I’m not incompetent. I would very much like to paint fans and admire birds but for crying out loud, da ge was only slightly older than you when he became sect leader, do you really think he could shield me from politics forever?” he sniffed.

“Rumors are like rain. Regardless if it’s a drizzle or a downpour, it comes and it leaves puddles and wet patches that anyone can notice.

“And no offence to Yu-furen, may her spirit rest in peace, but anyone could sense her bitterness from the next province away.” He added.

Jiang-xiong was shaking like an autumn leaf, erratic sparks radiating off Zidian. Jiang-guniang reached out and placed her hand over his, allowing the sparks to calm somewhat.

“You could have told us. You could have told me, told Yanli-jie.” Wangji said, speaking up for the first time.

“Yes, sure, let’s allow the world to know of how the Yiling Matriarch and Hanguang-jun have two bastard children. Stuff like that might mean fig to Jin Guangshan but trust me when I say it won’t be nearly as merciful for you two.” He pointed out.

Wangji’s lips pressed into a line as thin as a string.

“She would’ve never forgiven herself if she found out that she ruined you like that.” Huaisang said in a kinder tone. “Deep down, she saw herself expendable to the Jiangs, the very clan that took her in and raised her, what made you think she would view herself as anything special in your eyes?”

Wangji was clutching Bichen’s hilt like a lifeline. The raw cracks that had spread throughout his cold jade-like exterior made Huaisang guilty because it meant he could see through the gaps to notice how fragile this entire ordeal has shaken the Second Jade.

Oh god, if Lan Wangji started crying now, Huaisang honest to god (for once, truly honestly) wouldn’t know what to do about that.

“And Jiang-guniang, even if I had told you and your husband, may Jin Zixuan rest in peace, were to negotiate a period of peace with Jin-zongzhu, I doubt it would’ve been a long-term solution. Sooner or later, he’ll have another shitshow orchestrated and pin the blame on Wei-jie and we all know damn well that everyone will eat that up.” He said.

“You are correct, Nie er-gongzi.” She nodded. Her eyes were sad but her bearing was steady. “We need your help.”

He blinked. “Me?”

She amiably refilled his cup of tea and oh, Huaisang understands now how Wei-jie can admire her shijie so very much.

“The Wens are gone but the war is far from over.” She said.

“Ah......” he snapped his fan open. “So this is a war council?”

“Of a sort.” Jiang-xiong grunted, seemingly managing to rein himself in.

“Why me? I don’t know anything, I really don’t know.” He simpered.

“Bullshit.” Jiang-xiong deadpanned. “After all that crap you spewed, you really think that’ll work on us?”

“You can see the bigger picture. Not many can.” Wangji added.

Huaisang did a double-take because wow, that was the most words Wangji has ever said to him (hell, it was a compliment even!) and the Second Jade even seemed to agree with Jiang-xiong!

Such development, he really must get all the details later!

“Jin Guangshan is a tyrant but he’s one with nothing beyond his wealth.” Jiang-guniang said.

“He’s more cunning than he lets on.” Huaisang pointed out.

“What good is his manipulation when he has no gold for bribery? What good is his ambition when he’s a ruined man with nothing?” her voice was serene as a lotus petal on water but her eyes gleamed with a viciousness that terrified Huaisang.

(But then again, Jiang-guniang was also the daughter of the Violet Spider.)

“Slip a tasteless scentless poison into his tea.” He suggested.

Jiang-xiong snorted. “Too merciful. And besides, what good will that solve?

“He dies, they write it off as a tragic end due to an assassination attempt. And even if his crimes were exposed, he would already be dead so what trial would there be to punish him accordingly? No, it would be too swift.”

In that moment, Jiang-xiong and Jiang-guniang truly did look like siblings.

“Jin Guangyao is the biggest threat. Smart, cunning. Will do anything Jin Guangshan asks. Jin Guangshan has amibition for goals, Guangyao has competence and diligence to execute plans.” Wangji said.

Huaisang felt a tinge of hurt as he as reminded of what became of Meng Ya-

No, not Meng Yao. Not anymore.

“..........he should be Jin Ziyao. He is not delusional. Sooner or later, he will realize that the recognition he seeks is fool’s gold and when he does, he will not be forgiving.” Huaisang said.

For all that Meng- Jin Guangyao was determined and diligent, he was not delusional or boneheaded. He knew when to cut his losses and move on to the better alternative.

(And well, he was willing to coldly murder one of the Nie guards that bullied him. If he would do that to a stranger that treated him badly, Huaisang shudders to think of how he’ll retaliate against a family or friend that betrayed his trust.)

“So, we let him do the dirty work for us?” Jiang-xiong picked up.

“It probably won’t be our choice to make. Jin Guangshan is arrogant enough to say it to his face and ignorant enough to never suspect his loyal bastard son to retaliate against him.” Huaisang said.

“He would murder his own father?” Wangji asked.

“I would be lying if I said no.”

That was a reply Huaisang knew without a doubt.

Da ge is dead.

Da ge-

Da ge is-

“-sang. Huaisang!”

Someone was calling him.

It wasn’t da ge’s voice-

He would never hear da ge berate him for not practicing the saber, never hear da ge scold him in a gruff voice with fond eyes, never-

Da ge was dead and Huaisang could do nothing about it.

And through the devastation that ran rampant in his heart.

Huaisang could’ve sworn the Sparks Amidst Snow emblem on san ge’s chest was smiling, almost mockingly, at Huaisang’s misery.

“Oh A-Sang.”

Yanli-jie hugged him. The purple and pink silks she wore were soft, her embrace was steady and her gaze was all too understanding.

And-

Huaisang cried.

He buried his face into her robes and sobbed. She hummed softly, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he clutched at her robes like a lifeline.

After a while, the tears no longer flowed and his throat was tired of wrenching wails. Sniffling, he detached himself from Yanli-jie’s embrace.

Wordlessly, she passed him a cup of tea, a calming brew.

“......I need some time.” He whispered.

“Okay, A-Sang.” She patted his arm and left him to his thoughts.

Huaisang finished the tea in one gulp. He eyed the teapot and suddenly bemoaned the lack of a wine jar because fuck, he could use a drink right now.

A long heavy drink that will knock him out flat drunk if only to allow himself a selfish moment of bliss, hangover be damned.

As though hearing his thoughts, there was a knock on the door. Opening it, he found Jiang-xiong awkwardly standing with two wine jars in his arms.

“..........you forgot the peanuts.” He noted.

Luckily, Huaisang had his own packet of peanuts in his qiankun pouch.

As they sat themselves at the table, alcohol surging into their systems and peanut shells scattered on the surface, it was nostalgic and almost heartwarming.

(Such simple days of youth felt like a lifetime ago.)

“Da ge is strong.” His words were slurring a bit but his mind was still pretty keen. “He was so strong......” he stared at his wine jar morosely (they hadn’t bothered with flimsy cups). “How.....”

“Wei Wuxian was strong too.” Jiang-xiong said. His voice wasn’t angry or bitter, just.....resigned. “The strongest out of us and in the end......” his fingers shook but he forced himself to take another gulp as though to drown away the fresh sorrow.

“It isn’t fair......” Huaisang said. “They were good people.”

“It’s always the good ones.” Jiang-xiong said, voice uncharacteristically soft. “Always the stupid, stupid good ones.”

“Selflessness is stupidly overrated.” Huaisang said.

“Selfishness is overused.” Jiang-xiong snorted but it did nothing hide the self-loathing.

“......how’d you do it?” Huaisang asked him, setting his wine jar aside.

Sensing the change in mood, Jiang-xiong also set his now empty wine jar aside.

“How......” Huaisang ran a hand over his face. “How did you process it all?”

“Who says I’m done processing anything?” Jiang-xiong said. “Listen, when it comes to processing stuff like this, there’s no....schedule. No certain period of time for it to start and end. It just happens and then someday it ends. Maybe it’ll end in months, maybe in years, I honestly don’t know.

“Even now, I’m still processing.” Jiang-xiong confessed. “I have to process that I’m a sect leader without a council of elders to back me up. I’m processing that I still have to rebuild Lotus Pier and make sure everyone in Yunmeng territory is well-stocked for the monsoon seasons. I have to process that a-jie and A-Ling won’t be staying here forever and I have to get used to being alone.

“I still have to process that Wei Wuxian is gone.” He swallowed. “I have to process that we both fucked up. I have to process that I’m going to hold onto this guilt, all this anger and bitterness for god knows how long and live with it. I have to process that once all that anger and bitterness and resentment and grudge.....I have to process that once all of that is gone, where will it leave me?”

Then he shook his head.

“Fuck that, not here for your pity. The point is, I get it. I get how shitty this is, I get how painful it is. It hurts like fuck and it won’t stop hurting. But like it or not, it’s happened and you have to pick up the pieces. At the very least, gather it up, try to more or less put it back together then once you’ve done that, you can take a moment to be selfish and just.....let it out.”

Huaisang pondered over his words before looking at Jiang-xiong.

Jiang-xiong was tired.

But he was far from defeated.

“You are much stronger than anyone gives you credit for.” Huaisang said.

“No, I’m not. I still have a-jie.” He said.

“I didn’t notice.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice, harsher than he intended.

“And I couldn’t afford to fall apart. I couldn’t because if I did.........” Jiang-xiong tipped the wine jar back and scowled when he remembered it was empty.

“You couldn’t afford to and you didn’t. If that’s not strength, I don’t know what is.” Huaisang snorted.

“You’re strong too.”

He froze.

“You’re not your brother. You can’t fight with a saber. But you’re terrifyingly smart and pretty damn shrewd when you want to be. In a world of politics filled with hypocritical assholes? Those are some of the best assets you could ask to have.” Jiang-xiong said.

“...........you really think I can do this?” he asked.

“I know damn well that you can.” Jiang-xiong said solemnly.

And-

The faith he had in him was.....touching, encouraging.

“Thank you, Jiang-xiong.” He said.

“That’s what friends are for.” Jiang-xiong said. “........can we still be friends?”

Ah, at the end of the day, Jiang-xiong was still that young awkward teen underneath all that prickly temperament.

“Friends.” Huaisang said, firmly but sincerely.

For the first time since the Sunshot Campaign ended, both of them shared a smile.

It was small but genuine.

It was beautiful and Huaisang knew how to appreciate the beauty in life.

“Pretty fan!” A-Yuan gasped.

“Why thank you, xiao shaoye!” Huaisang preened. “The landscapes of Meishan are utterly breathtaking when the plum blossoms are in full bloom.”

“Sang-shushu, look! A-Yuan drew you!” A-Yuan said, showing him a caricature of a man holding a fan.

“Wah! A-Yuan, your drawing skills have improved!” Huaisang praised, noting that A-Yuan has even added dots of ink to represent the braids in his hair. Already the little boy had an eye for detail!

“A-Yi also drew one but it’s shufu.” A-Yi said.

“Really? Oh, you must show me!” Huaisang gushed.

“Da-dada-dang!” A-Yi showed proudly and-

It took every fiber of willpower in Huaisang’s being to not laugh his ass of as he looked at the caricature A-Yi masterfully drew of a cranky Lan Qiren spewing fire and wielding a scroll like a sword towards a stickman crowd of cowed students.

“This is your best piece yet, A-Yi. Can Sang-shushu keep it?” he asked.

“Mmmmm.....” A-Yi tapped his chin to think it over. “If Sang-shushu gives A-Yi sweets then he’ll trade!”

‘Ah, I really have spoiled these two.’ He thought. But you can’t blame him! Seeing their adorable eyes and chubby cheeks, he couldn’t help giving them sweets and treats.

“Look at you, cheeky little imp.” He pinched A-Yi’s cheek softly. “Already knows how to haggle.”

“Mama showed us how to!” A-Yi crowed.

‘Ah, Wei-jie. You really do leave an impression on others.; he thought bittersweetly as he gave A-Yi sweets.

“Sang-shushu?” A-Yuan called.

“Mm?”

“Were you friends with mama?” he asked.

He smiled. “Yes, I was.”

“Good.” A-Yuan nodded. “Mama deserves friends.”

“Sang-shushu, why are you not like the others?” A-Yi asked.

“Like who?” he asked.

“The bad men.” Both boys said with a solemnity no boys their age should have.

“The bad men who took away mama.” A-Yuan added.

Huaisang’s heart squeezed as he was reminded of the prejudice even Wei-jie’s children were not spared from.

“Because I remember your mama. I remember her for who she is, not what she did.” He said quietly.

“Tell us stories about her?” A-Yi asked tentatively.

“Oh, I have plenty! Ah.....” he snapped his fan open and fluttered himself like a storyteller in a teahouse. “Where do I even begin.....”

And so, he told them the story of three student disciples in Cloud Recesses; one who would suggest trouble, one who got into trouble and one who was forced to get them all out of trouble.

It was the first anniversary of the Yiling Matriarch’s death.

Huaisang came to Cloud Recesses the day after. Yanli-jie was there to greet him but her smile was bittersweet.

“Is Wangji-xiong here?” Huaisang asked.

“He is in his rooms. A-Yuan and A-Yi are swimming in the lakes with Shuiwu.” She said.

He nodded in thanks and made his way to Wangji-xiong’s rooms.

He knocked on the door. “Wangji-xiong?”

“Huaisang?”

(Yes, they were on a first name basis now.)

Opening the door, he saw Wangji sitting there. The man wore white as usual but Huaisang knew this was different.

This was not the pristine white of Gusu Lan’s Second Jade or the pure white of flawless snow.

It was the mourning white of a grieving widower.

“Am I intruding?” he asked, noticing the guqin set before Wangji.

“..................no.” Wangji said.

Wordlessly, he poured them some tea. Huaisang focused on the ceramics instead of the slight red in Wangji’s eyes.

“I wanted to give you something.” Huaisang said after a few quiet sips.

He took out a parcel from a qiankun pouch and placed it in the middle of the table.

Wangji slowly reached out and accepted it.

Unwrapping the parcel, Wangji carefully unrolled the scroll-

His breath stuttered and for a moment, he felt his world turn ust a bit brighter.

“Wei Ying.......” he breathed.

She looked like a goddess- hair as free as the wind; silver eyes untamed; robes of black and red with touches of delicate purple billowed around her figure; a flute and lotus flower in hand, a sword at her hip and ribbons fluttering amongst her locks.

Tied around her wrist was a Lan forehead ribbon and resting by her feet were two rabbits.

Huaisang was proud- this was undeniably his finest work yet.

Shakily, Wangji set the scroll down reverently before looking at Huaisang, golden eyes shining with tears.

“Thank you.” Wangji whispered, the soft volume speaking a thousand words.

Huaisang smiled. “If A-Yuan or A-Yi ever want to see her again.....I hope this will suffice.”

A-Yuan and A-Yi expressed their thanks through teary-eyed hugs.

“Thank you, Sang-shushu.” A-Yi choked out through his hiccups.

“Thank you for being mama’s friend.” A-Yuan sniffed.

“Thank you both for loving her when no one else could.” Huaisang said softly as he hugged them. For once, he couldn’t care less about the tears and snot staining his stylish robes.

‘And thank you all for treasuring her memory.’

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren remembered the day Cangse Sanren barged into the order of his life like a hurricane.

A rogue cultivator had arrived at the entrance to Cloud Recesses in simple practical robes of black and silver. Her eyes were sharp and untamed against a graceful face with only a silk ribbon to keep her black tresses in some semblance of neatness. She bore a sword but no emblem to signify a sect save for a token attached to her belt.

She was Cangse Sanren, disciple of Baoshan Sanren and she was here to attend the Cloud Recesses lectures to learn and sate her curiosity.

“They say you have the best education throughout the cultivation world. How could I pass up on that?” she said.

Barely even a week passed and already the tranquility of Cloud Recesses was no more within her presence.

For all her beauty, Cangse Sanren did not carry herself with the same poise or decorum as other noble ladies of a gentry. She laughed as loud as she wanted to without restraint; she grinned, smirked, snickered or snorted in a very unladylike manner; she held no interest towards trinkets, rarely adorning even a single hairpin in her hair as she preferred plain ribbons.

She was also frustratingly rebellious.

She was as untamed as the winds and as unpredictable as the weather. She challenged restrictions and waltzed around the laws that shaped their clan for generations.

“Rules smules. How can you live life to the fullest if such rules prevent you from having one in the first place?” she had said.

Qiren had been scandalized of course but such reaction only made her laugh- she had the gall to laugh at his face!

“Ah, that purple goes well with your robes, Qiren.” She snickered.

He yelled at her to get out and she skipped off, unfazed by his anger.

Then, much to his further chagrin, they were assigned on a night hunt together with Jiang Fengmian and Wei Changze.

And he was reminded that for all of Cangse’s silliness, she was still a disciple of one of the best cultivators in the world who attained immortality.

He awoke that night and his heart seemed to drop through his chest because her face was so close, too close-

Then she grinned, bright as the moon even in the dimness of his room and ran off.

He yelled after her but he was too slow. Lithe as a cat, she hopped out through the window.

His indignation turned to alarm but when he peeked through the window, he saw her safely caught in the arms of Wei Changze.

“My hero!” she gushed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Even from his vantage point, he could see Wei Changze glowing as red as a tomato.

Looking into his reflection and noticing the lack of his beard (he had been so proud to finally grow it), he roared loud enough to wake the whole inn.

Through the volume of his fury, Cangse’s laughter still rang out with the clarity of a bell.

Lan Qiren remembered the day his brother fell in love.

He knew his brother had fallen in love the moment he returned from a night hunt where he told him with more passion than usual that he encountered a rogue cultivator.

“She was beautiful.” Cuiyong sighed. “You should have seen how she fought. She was strong yet her movements were like that of a celestial fairy.”

“You have not told me the name of this celestial fairy.” He had teased in a rare moment of affection.

“Yan Zihua.” Cuiyong said the name reverently as though it were sacred.

Qiren had brushed it off then, amounted it to a silly crush that would not last, a brief infatuation that would fade overtime because surely as a rogue cultivator, the chances of them encountering one another once more were slim to none.

How wrong he was on both accounts.

(After all, Lans only fall in love once.)

(His brother, sect leader or not, was no exception.)

It was a curse, Lan Qiren declared to himself as he stood to bear witness to a marriage without love.

Many called the Lans romantics for falling in love once.

Lan Qiren deemed it a curse that damned them all.

If a heart of a Lan could so easily fall in love, it was even easier for love to tear that heart apart.

They had fought. They had not gone as far as to draw swords but the words that lashed from their tongues wounded more than any stab or slash.

(Do not break faith.)

(Do not argue with your family, for it does not matter who wins.)

Qiren had begged and pleaded but his words fell on deaf ears to a man who would only listen to a heart that beat with a love that wasn’t reciprocated.

Lan Qiren was a scholar, a teacher at best. Yes, he was a swordsman but he preferred to hold brushes rather than wield a sword.

Throughout his life, he had naively believed that he would be granted more freedom than his brother. That he would not have to carry such weight of responsibilities.

Once again, he was wrong.

He wanted to be angry at Zihua, it would have been easy to blame that woman for ruining his brother.

Yet, as he stared at the Gentian House that would serve as her prison, he found that the resentment was for naught.

She too was a victim of the curse all Lans bore.

And in the end, perhaps she was the most tragic victim of them all.

Lan Qiren remembered the day A-Huan came into the world. He remembered the other when A-Zhan also joined their family.

He remembered the vow he swore that neither boys would grow up to repeat their father’s mistakes.

A-Huan and A-Zhan grew up well. A-Huan had an optimism Qiren and Cuiyong had once upon a time while A-Zhan had Qiren’s diligence. They were well-behaved most of the time, complying with the rules and excelling in studies.

Both boys grew up to content themselves with being able to see their mother only once each month. They grew up accepting that their clan had rules to maintain order in their life. By maintaining order, they will not stray from the righteous path.

Then their mother passed away.

And each time Qiren watched as A-Zhan knelt before a house that would never welcome him again, he would watch his nephew dejectedly head back to his dorms.

(He watched as A-Zhan chipped away a piece of himself each time he left doors that never opened for his mother to embrace him.)

As they grew up, their peers revered them as The Twin Jades.

As they grew up, Qiren loosened the anchor of paranoia that shackled him. He had faith in both his teachings and his nephew’s characters.

Then, as though the heavens wanted to mock him, Wei Wuxian arrived.

Just like her mother, she descended upon them like a hurricane. Unlike her mother who at least had enough tact to wait by the entrance, Wei Wuxian had the gall to try to break into Cloud Recesses; not only disassembling their ward but sneaking alcohol in as well.

Such audacity! Truly she could only be the daughter of that madcap woman.

Then, to his further horror, he had to watch as Wei Wuxian spent every waking moment deadset on tormenting his nephew.

Did Cangse Sanren wish to spite him that much? Was his beard not payment enough already?

‘Cangse, is my kin doomed to be mingled with yours.’ He bemoaned in the privacy of his mind.

And then-

The Wens attacked.

Cloud Recesses burned.

Xichen went missing.

Wangji was dragged away to that mockery of an Indoctrination Camp.

His brother died.

And once again, Qiren was left to pick up the pieces and salvage what he could.

He watched as war made his nephews grow up. Any remnants of boyhood burned away like the very sun they fought against. Eventually, the boys got used to their white robes being stained with blood, learned how to wash them away with a detached necessity, would diligently sharpen blades stained with blood and helped their fellow comrades bury the bodies they could afford to put to proper rest.

Lan Qiren was a scholar, a teacher at best. He rather hold a brush than wield a sword.

During the Sunshot Campaign, he wielded his sword on the battlefield and when he was not there, he brandished his brush as he engaged on the administrative side.

The war changed his nephews.

It changed Wei Wuxian.

Qiren did not see her much but he saw her enough to know that truly, as a teacher and her as his past student, he has truly failed.

She wielded resentful energy with terrifying adequacy and chose to forgo her blade for a cursed flute. Where she was once a butterfly flitting around Wangji as though he were a flower, she was but a withered shadow of her former self.

(Stay on the righteous path.)

(Do not fall to evil. Do not associate with evil.)

Yet.....

Yet-

Qiren denied it at first. Perhaps it was his pride as a guardian, a teacher that did not want to accept this for if he did, he would have to admit that his teachings has failed. Perhaps it was desperation for that young boy who had to fill his older brother’s shoes did not want to do so again.

But eventually, he could not.

Even after the war was won, the battles continued.

Qiren and Xichen threw themselves into rebuilding Cloud Recesses. Xichen adapted to being official sect leader and selfish as it is, Qiren was glad that he could finally shed that weight off his old shoulders.

Wangji helped of course. Being the filial child that he is, he rigorously helped copy texts to restore their library; helped carry supplies during labor and even helped Xichen with the simpler administrative tasks.

But the moment they were steady on their feet-

Wangji left.

Day after day for almost weeks, he would go to one night hunt after another. He did it with the single-minded dedication of a man on a mission, as though he would drown the moment he stopped.

“Wangji is not content with inaction.” Xichen said. “The war has left him on edge. Perhaps some night hunts will allow him to vent it out.”

Wangji spent a lot of months ‘venting’.

One day, Qiren returned from a meeting with the magistrate in Caiyi Town when a disciple informed him that not too long ago, Wangji had subjected himself to punishment; kneeling in the snow for hours while steadily holding a pair of wooden laths.

Alarmed, Qiren went to see Xichen whom explained that he was just as shocked.

“He had passed through Yiling on the way back.” Xichen said quietly.

He did not have to say anything else.

Qiren inhaled sharply, eyes closing in dismay.

“Where is Wangji now?” he asked.

“In the jingshi.” Xichen said.

He walked towards the jingshi briskly (running is prohibited) and as he approached it, he heard the drifting notes of a song.

Surprisingly, it was not one he was familiar with. Yet, each note spoke of such painful yearning and heartfelt devotion.

Shoving aside such sentimentality, he knocked on the door.

“Shufu.” Wangji greeted.

“You were in Yiling.” Not a question.

“Mn.” He confirmed.

Qiren’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Silence passed between them.

“.............Wei Ying means no harm.” Wangji said quietly, yet his eyes shone with defiance.

“She is a demonic cultivator.” Qiren said.

“She wants peace. To be left alone. Has not hurt anyone.” Wangji insisted and oh, such determination, such stubbornness.

(Lans only love once.)

It was hauntingly familiar to the same dedication he saw his brother devote to an unrequited love that destroyed him.

“No.” Qiren said softly.

Wangji’s eyes widened minisculely.

“Shufu?” his voice was so fragile-

“No!”

Wangji looked heartbroken.

(Qiren was wrong once more. Underneath all that flawless jade, deep in his nephew’s precious heart, he was still the little boy kneeling in front of the Gentian House.)

“You will not repeat your father’s mistakes.” Qiren seethed.

If Wangji was heartbroken before, he was distraught now.

It was cruel, it was so very cruel of Lan Qiren to deal such a blow onto his nephew.

But he’ll be damned if he lets that god-forsaken curse ruin his family once more.

He should’ve known better.

Should’ve known that like her mother, even in death, Wei Wuxian would intertwine with Lan Wangji.

“Do you understand what you are doing?”

(Do you understand that there is no going back?)

“Shufu, I understand the shame of my actions. However, it would be a true disgrace if I were to not take responsibility for them.” Wangji gazed at his two sons with all the devotion of a parent.

And suddenly, Qiren was younger, barely older than Wangji as he cradled a baby Wangji in his arms and allowed a toddler Xichen to nap in his lap.

He was a younger brother forced to watch as his brother died on his sickbed, still a heartbroken Lan till the end of his days.

Wangji would not budge.

And-

If Qiren denies him this, he is denying Wangji his heart. If he denies Wangji his heart, he will be but a husk.

And in the end, although Wangji’s heart continued to painfully yearn; not once did he repeat his father’s actions for the Gentian House remained empty.

“Shoulder the weight of morality.” Qiren nodded.

“Shufu......?” there was such painful tentative hope in Wangji’s eyes.

Wangji was young but he was not a child.

Lan Qiren was still a scholar, a teacher at best.

But Wangji was no longer his student.  

“Uphold the value of justice. Wangji is no longer a child, shufu trusts you to live your own life.” He patted his nephew’s shoulder.

“You will not repeat your father’s mistakes. You are not him. But your mother would be proud. I do not approve of your wife’s actions, but you have my blessing to acknowledge her and remember her as your zhiji.”

It was still a curse in his eyes.

But maybe, just maybe, he can mitigate the curse so it doesn’t ruin Wangji completely.

Lans only love once.

A happy Lan in love, no matter the faults of their destined one, was preferably to a heartbroken one.

Contrary to what many believe, Lan Qiren does not hate Cangse Sanren.

Yes, he was perpetually annoyed at her antics. Yes, he did not tolerate her rebelliousness and yes, he was very incensed when she shaved off his beard back then.

But by the gods, he would never go as far as to hate her.

He disliked her, still dislikes her but not once has he disrespected her. For all that she was incorrigible, she was a strong cultivator, a skilled swordswoman and a good soul with a righteous moral compass.

(Be mighty, and others will die for you.)

And contrary to what many believe, he does not hate Wei Wuxian either.

Perhaps he did at first. Back when he was still bitter over the fact that history was repeating itself but alas, like an ignited fuse it eventually burned out.

(Do not succumb to rage.)

(Do not hold grudges.)

The part of his heart, the one that had devoted itself to raising his nephews as a guardian, was so very proud whenever he saw Wangji raising his sons.

There were moments of uncertainty, naturally, but not once has Wangji faltered in the journey of fatherhood.

Wangji raised his sons, loved them, taught them and guided them by himself.

He mourned, oh how his nephew mourned for the lost of his wife (his robes were always white without a hint of blue), but he refused to allow the grief to drown him. Seeing him prevail against such raw sorrow was truly a testament to his strength.

And as for his grandnephews......

The Elders viewed them as bastards, will still view them as such despite their names being in the records, despite the forehead ribbons adorning their heads.

Yet-

Qiren could not fault them. Could never remain angry at them.

Perhaps he was getting soft with old age.

Or maybe.....maybe he was tired of being so paranoid. Tired of being bitter and stern all the time. Of constantly allowing his fear of the curse to plague his life.

But was it the curse he feared? Or was he simply a maudlin old man tired of being alone and bitter?

“Shufu!”

Qiren turned sharply at the alarmed voice.

“What is it?” he asked.

Xichen looked panicked, his usual serene calm nowhere to be seen.

“A-Yuan and A-Yi are missing.”

Qiren cursed a very un-Lan word in his mind.

“What happened?’ he asked.

“I don’t know. They ran out of class and the teacher reported that they have not returned.” Xichen said.

Qiren sighed.

“Where were they last seen?”

And so Qiren found himself roped into searching every nook and cranny in Cloud Recesses for any signs of a pair of twins.

Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him down a familiar dirt path he has not threaded in a long time.

However, as his ears picked up the sounds of sniffling, his pace quickened.

A-Yuan and A-Yi knelt by the ground. The former twin had his head buried in his arms while the latter twin was trying his best to console his upset brother.

“Lan Yuan, Lan Jingyi.” Qiren called in what he hoped was a gentle voice.

“Shufu.......” A-Yi was surprised.

“Shufu........” A-Yuan merely cried harder. “I’m sorry!” he bawled.

Qiren frowned. “For what?”

“It’s not A-Yuan’s fault!” A-Yi vehemently defended. “He was just asking questions and the teacher asked him to be quiet and he was rude and mean so A-Yuan ran away to cry cuz if he cried in class, the teacher will get madder and-and-”

“Calm down, child.” Then he took a deep breath to calm down. “I am not angry at either of you.”

“You’re not?” both asked quietly.

“A-Yuan, what questions were you asking?” he asked.

“Don’t remember.” A-Yuan admitted. “Was asking lots of questions.”

Had the teacher unfairly scolded both boys out of petty annoyance? Unreasonable- the teacher of all people should be patient with students. Yes, they must be unwaveringly stern with standards but they must also prioritize patience amongst all students.

Especially if the students in question were children.

(Do not disrespect the younger.)

“A-Yuan is sorry.” The child said miserably. “A-Yuan will be good.”

“What did A-Yuan do wrong?” Qiren asked.

“Ask questions?” both boys chorused.

“Wrong. What is rule 55?”

“Learning comes first.” A-Yuan answered a second before A-Yi.

“And what were you doing?” Qiren asked once more.

“Learning.” A-Yuan replied.

“You did nothing wrong, boy.” Qiren’s gaze softened. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to learn more.”

“The teacher was mean.” A-Yi said, puffing chubby cheeks out angrily.

“Do not disrespect the elder. Do not disrespect the younger.” Qiren intoned.

“So, the teacher was in the wrong?” A-Yi asked.

“In this case, yes. However, this does not mean you can shirk from your classes. You must be diligent in your studies and respect your teachers, understand?” he said.

“Yes, shufu.” Both boys replied.

Then they both looked at the Gentian House curiously, blissfully ignorant of the tragic story within its walls.

“Shufu, who lives here?” A-Yuan asked.

“Nobody.” No one has for a long time.

“Why’s it here?” A-Yi asked.

‘To act as a prison. As a reminder.’ “For....memories.” he said.

“Happy memories?” A-Yuan asked.

Qiren wished that were the case.

“No.” he found himself admitting.

“If it’s bad, why’s it here?” A-Yi asked again.

“Sometimes, we need to remember the bad so we do not repeat them.” Qiren sighed.

“Like how you have a beard?” A-Yi asked.

Qiren’s head snapped at the child.

“Cuz it looks silly but you keep it anyways.”

Qiren’s face turned into an alarming shade of puce and oh, this child......

The worse part was how the child said it so guilelessly, eyes void of mockery. If anything, he phrased it as though he were saying the sky was blue.

“It is not silly.” He gritted out.

“It is.” Both boys disagreed.

Wei Wuxian must be laughing with Cangse in the afterlife.

“.......shufu?” A-Yuan asked.

“Yes?” he asked gruffly.

“Can you teach us again?” the boy asked shyly.

Qiren shouldn’t show such bias, especially in teaching.

“Please, shufu?” A-Yi pleaded. “We miss you and bobo teaching us.”

Lan Qiren was a scholar, a teacher at best.

He was also an uncle, a brother, a parent and now a granduncle.

“I expect you both to work hard and be on your best behavior.” He harrumphed.

“Yes, shufu!” both boys cheered, clinging onto his legs like limpets.

Qiren huffed but patted their heads.

As they walked back, he spared the Gentian House one last glance.

“Wangji will not repeat his father’s mistakes.” He said softly. “You would be proud of him.”

The gentians swayed, as though slumping their shoulders in relief.

Someday, one day, the boys will learn of the memories in the confines of their nainai’s house.

But maybe, just maybe, those memories can be treasured rather than mourned.

Chapter Text

As A-Yuan and A-Yi stepped out from the privacy screen, Wangji noted that their trousers seemed too short and the seams of their robes a bit strained.

With a jolt, it occurred to him that his sons were 7 years old now.

His sons, his beautiful brilliant sons, were growing.

Jingyi, for all that he had his father’s eyes, clearly had his mother’s personality.

His language was already quite advanced compared to his peers, an ability he was extremely proud of. It seemed to be a deadly combination of Wangji’s bluntness and Wei Ying’s opinionated mind.

If A-Yi didn’t like something, he would make his disapproval clear; if he found something pointless (even if it was important like propriety or in most cases, rules) he would question it in front of the authority’s faces; if he didn’t like someone, he would not hesitate to lay out every unsavory quality the poor victim of his ire had.

(Though if said victim happened to be the occasional Lan Elder, Wangji heard nothing. He was a very busy man giving his work full attention.)

A-Yi struggled with sitting still and paying attention in class, preferring to run around rather than revise material. His calligraphy was good, something he boasted about......despite those skills being developed due to the fact that he was punished to copy lines in response to many daily transgressions.

(“Just like that damned woman.” The Elders would say each and every time.)

(“Just like his mother.” They murmured with the same disdain that had been shown towards Wangji’s mother.)

He loved to tell stories and give orders, always eager to engage in conversation, especially if he was in a quiet place like the stifling Cloud Recesses.

Yet for all that he loved to tell stories, A-Yi was also fond of listening to them. Every night, without fail, even though he would constantly claim he was too old for certain things, he would never hesitate to ask Wangji to tell him his favorite story.

(Underneath that bravado was a little boy who missed his mama that cuddled and sang him Wangxian.)

But he was also mature in a way Wangji had never been. He was blunt but never cruel. He was straightforward but never callous. He could sense when adults said words they did not mean, or expressed choices that did not truly reflect their emotions. He noticed when the string of a bond was tangled but undeniably intact.

A-Yuan, for all that he had his mother’s eyes, clearly had his father’s calmer disposition.

Though he did not speak as much as his twin, his words were notably more tactful. Already, he was ahead of his peers in writing and arithmetic. He has even begun to learn the basics of playing a guqin, fingers not quite dexterous enough to pluck all the strings but with every fiber of diligence.

(Sometimes, Wangji would hold a dizi in his hands and wonder if it is A-Yuan’s birthright to learn how to play it.)

(A week after he began to teach A-Yuan the guqin, the Elders declared that any form of musical cultivation done with a dizi warranted 5 lashes from the discipline whip.)

(The dizi was confiscated and snapped into pieces before Wangji could even show it to A-Yuan.)

He had a politeness like Xichen’s but a matter-of-fact tone like shufu’s. He emulated his maturity through the way he executed his chores and tasks and how he managed to balance out his twin’s more outgoing approach. Patient with his younger, dedicated to his duties but still fiercely loyal, supportive and protective of his loved ones.

(“Like his father.” The Elders grudgingly admitted.)

(“Good. At least one of them isn’t a lost cause.” Already, they were setting his sons’ fates in stone.)

More than once, Wangji noticed A-Yuan trace symbols in the air, brows furrowed in concentration. He saw the extra notes jotted on the margins of his work, saw the books and scrolls about talismans A-Yuan borrowed from the library, heard the questions he would ask with boundless curiosity and the restlessness that appeared when it was not sated.

For all that he seemed to bear the maturity of a Lan, he had his mother’s untamed curiosity.

“Ba?”

Wangji blinked. He had gotten lost in thought- if his sons were growing up, was he already growing old?

“Can we go now?” A-Yi said, bouncing on his heels impatiently.

Right, today is finally the day they can go to Lotus Pier. (The day Wangji can get away from the heavy scrutinization of the Elders, away from this suffocating, unrelenting pressure, away away away-)

“Do you have everything?” he asked.

“Mn.” Both nodded.

“A-Ling will be there?” A-Yuan asked.

“Yes.” Thankfully, Yanli managed to negotiate A-Ling’s stays in Lotus Pier to correlate with A-Yuan and A-Yi’s.

As they left the misty mountains of Gusu for the humidity of Yunmeng, Wangji breathed easier, head lighter than it’s been in a while.

If A-Yi was a sunflower, Lotus Pier was the brightest sun he would unfurl his petals under. He eagerly roughhoused with the other disciples, have they be older or younger, and gleefully splashed away in water fights. He wasted not a second of his stay there bullying A-Ling, riling the boy up and teasing him till the younger cousin was as red as the vermillion dot his clan bears.

Thankfully, A-Yuan was there to stop A-Ling from exploding and rein both unruly boys in before they could bring Lotus Pier down to the ground. He had excitedly showed his yima how much he could count before contenting himself with swimming in the lakes and flying kites with the other disciples.

And every night before Wangji slept, without fail, he would enter the ancestral hall to visit Wei Ying.

“Wanyin threw A-Yi into the lake. He thought it fun and begged his jiujiu to do so again and again to the point I almost worried Wanyin’s arms would fall off....almost.”

“A-Yuan is eager to learn how to draw his first talisman. He has your curiosity, your brilliance.”

“A-Yi and A-Ling dared each other to climb a tree but couldn’t get down. A-Yuan handled the dilemma wisely.”

“Tomorrow, we will be harvesting the lotus pods. The boys are very excited.”

“A-Yuan accidentally fell into the lake because he saw a big fish.”

“A-Yi snuck a frog inside and it accidentally found its way into Wanyin’s rooms.”

He would tell her everything and anything, relay to her every moment of his day, every second he spent living, breathing and walking in her childhood home.

And sometimes, sometimes he feels just a little more alive.

His sons were 9 years old when they learned of the Sunshot Campaign.

He listened to how they both recited the historical recount of the beginnings that were the catalyst for that war. The Wens invading and burning Cloud Recesses, Wen Xu breaking his leg (“He’s an asshole.” “A-Yi, language.” “But jiujiu says it a lot.” “A-Yi.”) and Xichen forced to flee to save their forefather’s texts and teachings which devastated their morale (he still remembers the vice grip of fear that had strangled his heart during his brother’s disappearance).

They looked at him with stars in their eyes as they regaled the tale of how he survived the horrid Indoctrination Camp; the fortitude to withstand the physical pain and mental turmoil. How he, along with the heirs of Jiang and Jin, were forced into a cave to confront a nightmarish beast without their swords.

How he selflessly distracted the Xuanwu beast while Wanyin led the others to escape. How he was trapped with the Xuanwu alone, weaponless and crippled with wounds and hunger, for a week.

And by the time the Jiangs and Jins returned to save him, the Xuanwu had been slaughtered single-handedly by him using Lan Yi’s infamous chord assassination technique.

When they’re finished, he wraps his arms around them both. They blink in surprise but lean into his embrace, resting their heads against his chest.

“That is not how it happened.” He said.

“Eh?” A-Yi said, befuddled.

“Ba, what do you mean?” A-Yuan asked.

He smiled bittersweetly as he stroked their hair, his fingers occasionally grazing the cloud emblem on their foreheads.

“I did not kill the Xuanwu by myself.” He replied.

“So laoshi lied? Isn’t that against the rules?” A-Yi frowned.

“Your laoshi did not fight in the Sunshot Campaign. The archivist who wrote the records purposefully omitted certain details to fit their preferred narrative.” He sighed solemnly. “History is always written by the victors. Never rely on the narrative of others to seek your own version of the truth.”

“What did they omit, ba?” A-Yuan asked curiously.

“I had someone very important by my side. Without her, I would have never been able to kill the Xuanwu.” He said.

“Who?” A-Yi asked.

“Your mama.” He whispered like a caress. “She was always there, by my side.” Even though he never stood by hers. “Through the indoctrination, during the Xuanwu slaughter and throughout the Sunshot Campaign. She was always there.” Even if she could never be here by his side.

“Popo always said that mama was a war hero.” A-Yuan said wistfully.

“Ba, can you tell us the real story then?” A-Yi asked.

Wangji tilted his head so his hair could tickle their cheeks.

“Mn, I will.”

And so he told them a story.

He told them the truth.

And it was enlightening to have it be heard.

The next day, A-Yuan and A-Yi burst into the jingshi utterly devastated.

Wangji held them close, whispering soothing nothings and rubbing their backs, cradling their bodies against his.

Through their sobs and hiccups, they told him that today, they learned of the Yiling Matriarch.

They learned the hard way that time doesn’t always heal all wounds.

“They-they called her a m-monster. They said she was a-a disgrace and the worst person to exist.” A-Yi choked out.

“A-Yi and I said he was wrong. He was wrong, he was wrong! Mama isn’t l-like that. Mama......mama......” A-Yuan’s tears renewed as the wound of losing his mother reopened.

And Wangji-

He could only hold his sons close, allow them to lean on him for support.

(Even though he was ready to shatter himself.)

Wangji watched as Wanyin helped a merchant carry his wares. Him, a sect leader, mingling with the common folk and aiding them in everyday chores.

He watched as Yanli-jie always made sure to pass a warm mantou and enough coin to last a day to any and all beggars she saw on the streets. How she would give the street children a smile and a warm pat on the hand, uncaring of the grime and filth on their bodies.

He watched.

And as he watched A-Yuan, A-Yi and A-Ling play with the children, disciples and non-disciples alike, he decided.

If one can watch, they can also hear.

(Love all beings.)

(Honor good people.)

(Uphold the value of justice.)

(Shoulder the weight of morality.)

And he will be there to listen as he learned.

A week after returning to Cloud Recesses, he left.

Wangji; to be free of worldly concerns.

He will be free, but he will be one with the world he lives in for that is how he will live.

(He will live for the vow he made with Wei Ying to protect the weak and oppressed. He will honor her memory. He will reflect on his journeys and repent through his actions.)

They called him Hanguang-jun, Light Bearing Lord.

Like the light he bears, he is untouchable; like the lord in his title, the people revere and respect him.

The common folk called him a paragon of righteousness, a noble hero of virtue, the personification of justice for he always goes where the chaos is.

Some people (the ones who are oppressed, the ones who are shunned and maligned, the ones who have no voice to be heard, who’s hearts are left to be trampled upon) called him a melody.

Like a melody, he is heard but not seen. He is there but untouchable.

His presence is meaningful despite being brief like the blue moon; his eyes were lonely for all they were cold; his face though handsome was bitter; and for all the strength his bearing brings, it too carries a prominent veil of melancholy.

“That’s cuz he lost his wife.” A merchant whispered to his friend in a teahouse. “Died at Nightless City I heard.”

“Was she a cultivator?” another asked.

“Mn, one of the best.”

“Pah! Nonsense.” Another patron scoffed. “They just say that so they don’t have to say her actual name.”

“What’s her name?”

“Why, the Yiling Matriarch of course!”

“Oh please, now that is definitely nonsense. As if a man of such virtue would want to be a li within that vile wench’s presence.”

Some cultivators (particularly if they were of the Jin) sneered at his light. They spit on it, claiming that it’s brightness will inevitably dim to show the ugly flaws underneath that fragile jade (hypocritical considering the gold they wear). They scoffed at praises and laugh at admiration.

“Didn’t you hear? Recently, Hanguang-jun’s got himself an heir. Two of em in fact!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and get this, they’re inner clan disciples I heard.”

“They’re his biologically?”

“They say he looks after em like a dragon.”

“Ha! Looks like the Lans aren’t as ‘restrained’ as they preach to be. They’re only human after all.”

“They’re men just like us with simple desires. Hey hey, who do you think he knocked up?”

“Must’ve been some whore or another during the war.”

“Was probably the Yiling Matriarch. Didn’t he carry her body himself after the shitshow at Nightless City?”

“Nah, even a beggar would have better standards than to knock it up with that witch.”

Such rumors and hearsay pressed against Lan Wangji like rain off an umbrella.

He let them speak. Let them speculate. He did not care for words when his actions can speak for themselves.

And as he travelled; as his eyes saw places and his sword slayed demons, ghosts and fierce corpses, his ears listened and his heart remembered.

He learned that the words of Jins were nothing compared to the weight carried in the words of the oppressed.

He never asked for payment for his services. At most, he would only inquire for a meal and a place to stay the night.

At best, he would ask for a story.

“They do not care for us. Why would one waste something as precious as care on something soiled? Something broken?” a withered old lady told him.

She had told him her story; of how she was once a prostitute who had run away from the brothel after cruel treatment from one too many patrons, taking her chances and trying to get by independently. How the madam of said brothel retaliated by ensuring every person in town knew of her past occupation. How she spent her years being shunned and ostracized, barely scraping by with her own resilience.

“We have no voice. The whores, the ugly, the old, the tainted, we are stains that have been dunked and wrung over and over.” She had said, voice resigned.

“Can you tell me something? Mind you, it may be personal but could you spare this old lady an honest answer?” she asked.

“Lying is forbidden.” He intoned.

That got a chuckle out of her. Old but genuine.

“The Yiling Matriarch, she was once a cultivator too?” she asked.

“Yes. One of the best. She was....my equal.” He confessed.

“Hanguang-jun’s equal!” she guffawed. “Ah, I always knew there was more to that gal than that crap those assholes spewed.”

She shook her head, smiling but her eyes were sad once more.

“I sensed a kinship with her, you know? When I heard them vilify her skills and slander her name, all I could hear was my own being spit upon.” She sighed.

“Determined, resilient, you are like her too.” Wangji said.

“You flatter me with your praises.” She laughed.

Then she patted his hand, her hand as wrinkled as old leather from years of labor and bony with old age.

“You allow others to see your light but when those in the dark need a presence to hear, you are there. To have your story told and listened to is a blessing not many of us have.”

And listened he did.

He listened to the man with a constant limp who was framed by a petty nobleman simply because he committed the crime of loving a woman said man intended to court. Of how he was unfairly trialed and disowned, left with little to nothing. How thugs had broken his leg, resulting in the limp he carries now. How he still prevailed and eventually, even adopted a daughter who was soon to be wed.

He listened to the prostitutes who were cast away from their brothels like broken toys; of the slaves who were treated no better than livestock for simply wanting to have a voice, even a whisper; he listened to the gambler whose greed costed him his happiness; to the farmer who lost his son to sickness because he could not afford a doctor or medicine; he listened to the mute beggar who had his tongue cut off for snitching his favored brother out on his wrongdoings; he listened to a woman with hair as white as his robes and a burn scar on her cheek who was forced to raised three unwanted children alone after her 'fiancé' had an affair.

He listened to every word, every testimony to a crime forgotten like a dusty artifact of little worth.

He remembered each person, every battered, broken, branded, bruised but breathing person who allowed their hearts to beat despite how they have been forgotten.

(“We are not forgotten. So long as you are here to listen, to remember, we will never be forgotten. We will rest in peace knowing that.”)

(“Thank you, thank you for listening.”)

Most people call him Hanguang-jun, the Light Bearing Lord that always appears where the chaos is.

But further away, spoken in the hushed but revered voices, eyes shining with gratitude rather than admiration, they called him a solemn melody that seeks to hear the lost songs of the silenced.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing watched as Wei Wuxian picked at her food, eyes disheartened but resigned. She has worryingly lost weight but had no appetite to eat. Even more worrying was how her stomach seemed unable to stomach certain foods, forcing her to rely on congee for sustenance.

“Wei Wuxian, don’t play with your food.” She scolded but her voice lacked heat.

“Hm?” Wei Wuxian blinked.

Wen Qing sighed before scowling. “You didn’t sleep again.”

“I-”

“Wei Wuxian, go to sleep tonight or I’ll put you to sleep.” She warned.

Wei Wuxian pouted. “So mean!” she huffed.

For extra insurance, Wen Qing made sure to purposefully leave A-Yuan and A-Yi with instructions that they are to not go to sleep unless their mama did as well. And since children undeniably needed sleep, Wei Wuxian was forced to concede.

Peeking past the curtain Wei Wuxian set up for privacy, she was relieved to see that for once, Wei Wuxian really was asleep.

It was a wholesome if slightly sad sight. A-Yuan and A-Yi snuggled close to their mother, both of them wrapped in what was undoubtedly whatever spare pieces of cloth Wei Wuxian could scavenge. The woman herself only had a patchy threadbare blanket as her only defense against the chill.

Once again, Wen Qing was reminded that for all she claimed to be different from Qishan Wen, at her core, she was still a Wen.

And like all Wens, she was selfish.

She remembered that day when Wei Wuxian found her and A-Ning, how terrified she was that they were discovered and undoubtedly going to be brought for execution.

But then she had realized that Wei Wuxian came alone and rather than demand for surrender, she had begged for help.

Wen Qing felt that she was not worthy to help Wei Wuxian with anything relating to her personal health; not after she was the one to cut Wei Wuxian open and pry her core out of her body.

Yet......

Yet......

The healer in her begged her to help, to do so for some semblance of redemption.

So she examined Wei Wuxian.

And-

She was pregnant.

Wei Wuxian had been shocked and Wen Qing sympathized because as a healer, she was all too familiar with unplanned or worse, unwanted pregnancies.

(She can’t count the number of times she’s had to help maids who were victims to Wen Chao’s cruelty.)

She offered Wei Wuxian the contraceptive brew that could end this. End all of this before it was too late.

But everytime she checked, the bowl remained full.

And not once did Wei Wuxian reach for it.

Months later, Wen Qing detected two pulses in the womb.

Another few months passed and Wen Qing, with the help of popo and A-Ning, helped Wei Wuxian give birth to A-Yuan and A-Yi.

The moment Wen Qing saw the tender love radiating from Wei Wuxian’s eyes as she held the twins close, the utter devotion and wonder that shone through her eyes, Wen Qing knew that the woman had no regrets.

She even let Wen Qing hold them.

“You’re the reason they were safely brought into the world.” Wei Wuxian insisted. Stubborn despite the fatigue that came with labor.

Wen Qing should have refused. She was a Wen. Wens burned down Lotus Pier, Wens slaughtered innocents, Wens burned and devoured; Wen Qing was the reason why Wei Wuxian had to destroy herself with the demonic path in the first place-

How could Wei Wuxian still smile and laugh at her as though they were friends?

(And although Wen Qing had long learned to bury that little girl under layers of professionalism and self-preservation, she still cried alone because she ached for companionship beyond A-Ning; yearned for a friend or a sister to empathize with.)

As Wen Qing cradled her twin sons, a part of her felt that maybe, just maybe, she hasn’t truly failed her ancestor’s teachings after all.

But she was still a Wen.

And like all Wens, calamity dogged her every step.

Losing her relatives, A-Ning, A-Yuan and A-Yi all to those damn labor camps in one fell swoop shattered her. In all her years as a healer, as a surgeon, as Wen Ruohan’s personal physician; all those years spent in Nightless City walking on thin ice, living as an over glorified hostage with her family’s lives on the line-

None of that could have prepared her for this magnitude of failure.

She could have let the world burn and still those flames that licked would’ve barely stung compared to holding A-Ning’s cold lifeless corpse in the rain, a lure flag skewered through his stomach or having to see the welts, cuts and bruises inflicted on the young bodies of A-Yuan and A-Yi who were barely 3 years old.

(Wei Wuxian was truly a fool for thinking her sons would be safe with a Wen of all people.)

Even when shattered, she was still selfish.

Wei Wuxian had saved her relatives, her brother and her sons and somehow, somehow managed to give them the foundation to start a new life, a better life.

It was not an easy one, would never be easy. But it was a good one, a content one. Wen Qing felt humbly happy to be able to hold something as simple as tools to till soil rather than a scalpel for surgery.

It was enlightening and she wondered, had her uncle left Dafan Wen alone, would her life be like this?

Wei Wuxian gave them this chance, this chance to be simple honest farmers and Wen Qing was so grateful for it.

It was hard at times. Money was little, living conditions were far from luxurious and the nights were chilly. The sun barely shone here and resentful energy was infused within the very soils they till.

But-

She was here, alive. Her relatives and A-Ning were here too.

It was enough.

Wen Qing was not selfish but she was still a thief.

She stole Wei Wuxian’s future. Any chance at redeeming her name was gone like smoke the moment she chose to help Wen Qing rescue her family from Qiongqi Path.

She could have taken her sons and leave.

Instead, Wei Wuxian stayed.

And Wen Qing did nothing to chase her away.

The survivor in her knew they needed Wei Wuxian; needed her to keep the resentful energy at bay, needed her protection.

But the sister in her was screaming at her to send Wei Wuxian away; send her back to her own brother and sister and sect.

“’Ugu?”

Wen Qing blinked.

“U-gu.”

Two toddlers were toddling towards her, eyes wide and tiny hands outstretched.

“Aha! There’s my two little radishes!” Wei Wuxian said, jogging up to them.

A-Yuan and A-Yi squealed as she wrapped her arms around them and pulled them close, trapping them in her embrace.

“Aiya, my boys are so fast. Much too fast for you poor mother to catch up.” She cooed, nuzzling their hair.

A-Yuan squirmed before turning around, his eyes meeting Wen Qing’s.

Then he grinned and waved a hand at her.

“Gugu!” he declared.

Wen Qing blinked owlishly, realizing he was addressing her.

“Wen gugu!” A-Yi echoed.

Wei Wuxian tossed her head back and laughed.

“Oh? Isn’t she Wen-jie?” she teased.

A-Yuan shook his head. “Wen-gugu!” he proclaimed once more

“Gugu, gugu, gugu!” A-Yi chanted as he clapped his hands.

Wen Qing realized her blurry vision was due to tears, not sweat.

How can these boys look at her like that after all she’s done to their mother?

“Wen Qing!” Wei Wuxian grinned. “Didn’t you hear them call you?”

“GUGU GUGU GUGU!” A-Yi said louder.

“GUGU GUGU WEN-GUGU!” A-Yuan seemed to deem that as his cue to shout just as loudly.

She surreptitiously wiped away her tears and smoothed her skirts.

“Rather loud and clear.” She said.

She was a Wen.

She was an older sister.

She was a selfish thief.

But it seemed she was also an aunt now.

“Sssh, it’s okay A-Yi.” Wen Qing soothed as she cleaned his scraped knee.

A-Yi wailed, burying his face in his mother’s robes but remaining still enough for Wen Qing to patch him up.

A-Yuan was by his side, patting his back while his eyes watched her intently.

“Will it get infected?” Wei Wuxian asked anxiously.

For all that the woman made decisions without any consideration for her own self-preservation, she was undeniably a devoted mother. Furthermore, she knew all too well how an environment tainted with resentful energy can easily affect the body if it seeps into wounds of any form.

“It won’t.” Wen Qing replied then her tone softened in a rare moment of assurance rather than professionalism. “He’ll be fine.”

And he was fine. Barely two days later and A-Yi was once again running around the settlement, being a mini menace.

One day, when Wen Qing had to treat a bloody cut Aunty Seven got, A-Yuan and A-Yi watched with morbid fascination.

“You must stop the bleeding first.” Wen Qing found herself explaining. “Take a clean piece of cloth and press it against the wound, like this.”

Auntie Seven seemed rather bemused as Wen Qing carried on with her impromptu medical lesson. To the boys’ credit, they watched with rapt attention, seeming to understand a majority of her words.

Once done dressing the cut, Wen Qing sent Auntie Seven. Both boys took that as their cue to cling onto her legs.

“Gugu has work to do.” She chided.

“Play.” A-Yi pleaded.

“A-Yi, go play with your mama.” She coaxed.

“Gugu, play. No work, play.” A-Yuan pouted.

“Ai, you’re both as bad as your mother.” She sighed, pinching their cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Wei Wuxian said, swaggering inside.

“Mama!” the boys cheered, detaching from her legs to cling onto Wei Wuxian’s.

“Now why were you imps bothering Qing-gugu, mm?” she teased.

“They were no bother. In fact, they seemed interested in learning first aid.” Wen Qing said. “They’re certainly more tolerable company than you.”

“Wen Qing, so mean!” Wei Wuxian pouted. “Bullying me in front of my kids, spare my dignity a bit.”

“I will once you stop slacking off and help with the weeding.” Wen Qing snapped, grabbing her sleeve and yanking her along.

“Qing-jieeeeeeeeeeeeee.” Wei Wuxian whined. “My back hurts.”

“That’s a ‘you’ problem.” As if that’s even true.

“Hmph!”

Aside from being Wei Wuxian’s personal physician, she was also her personal babysitter. Oh, what a turn her life has taken.

Wen Qing watched as Wei Wuxian played a tune on Chenqing. Through the drifting notes carried by the wind, she allowed the tune of yearning to wash over her.

Wen Qing knew who A-Yuan and A-Yi’s father was. She didn’t have to be a healer to put the pieces together.

She’s wondered numerous times if she could use that to convince Wei Wuxian. Convince her to leave and instead pursue a life of her own. Surely the venerable Hanguang-jun would do what is honorable and take responsibility?

But she said nothing.

Wei Wuxian rarely talked about it. The few times she did was when she was thoroughly inebriated from Uncle Four’s wine.

Everytime Wen Qing hinted at the subject, Wei Wuxian would merely smile. A bittersweet smile of resignation despite the tenderness underlying it.

“I have already tainted him. I rather not stain him anymore.” Is all she said once.

Wei Wuxian did not want to talk about it.

So, Wen Qing did not.

It was-

It was not her place.

(After all, even the most skilled healers could do nothing to cure heartbreak.)

Wen Qing closed her eyes. She would’ve sighed if it weren’t for all the smoke.

She prayed to her forefathers and hoped they would forgive her transgression.

She prayed to the heavens, for if there is an afterlife or perhaps even the slimmest chance of reincarnation, she hoped she could be a simple farmer with A-Ning.

And selfishly, maybe in another life, she could be a better friend to Wei Wuxian as well.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng wondered if he was more Yu than Jiang.

After all, he was his mother’s son and his mother was a Yu, first and foremost. He had her pride, her anger, her resentment, her ferocity and ruthlessness. Perhaps that was why he had such a natural proficiency with Zidian.

One of the few fond memories he can look back on with his parents is one where he recalls sitting on the lotus throne, nestled on his father’s lap. He did not know why he did it or what his father had told him; all he knew was that it was a rare moment of affection between them.

Another was of his mother. He had been sitting in front of her vanity as a comb threaded through his hair, her fingers deftly braiding it.

So, on certain days, A-Yi and A-Yuan would snuggle on his lap as he sat on the lotus throne. He would braid their hair (Yunmeng braids suited them more than those crazy neat elaborate Lan updos) and allow them to play with Zidian.

Both boys were intensely curious about Zidian. Oftentimes, they would rattle questions about it and Jiang Cheng would answer to the best of his ability.

One day, Jingyi came up to him.

The boy was 10 now.

He was older.

“I want to try Zidian.”

And oh, he was even bolder!

“I’m curious.” Jingyi said as though it were a valid reason, as though he wasn’t a child asking to wield a deadly weapon capable of devastating blows.

“Zidian is not a toy. It could kill you.” Jiang Cheng said gravely.

“It won’t.” he said with such confidence that it hurt because Jiang Cheng has seen how confidence meant shit in the face of consequences.

(Just look at what happened to Wei Wuxian.)

“How do you know that?” Jiang Cheng asked, harsher than he intended.

“Because you love me. Look, I don’t mean that in a sappy way. It’s just that A-Yuan has mentioned to me on how weird but cool it was that spiritual weapons seem to have a mind of their own so that means they’re like, connected to the owner so they’re fueled by emotions? Something else about sentience and why some are only compatible with certain kin.” Jingyi said.

He.....actually had a good point. It has been debated a few times, about the sentience certain spiritual weapons have been known to display.

He twisted Zidian as he thought it over.

Zidian felt cold against his skin despite the thrum of energy.

“Please? I’ll do it with you here so if anything happens, you can take it off.” Jingyi persisted.

Jiang Cheng stared at Zidian.

Zidian was just like his mother.

Strong, sharp, reliable, swift, unyielding.

Like a-niang, it protected him and tormented him.

For a moment, he contemplated telling Jingyi the truth; tell the boy how the very ring he wishes to wield was worn by the same person who harmed his mother, was worn by the same person who loathed his mother’s worth; to tell the boy that this ring was passed onto him during a moment of calamity in Lotus Pier and lived through a period of bloodshed.

“Jiujiu?”

He closed his eyes sharply and inhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jiujiu?”

Right, kid was here. He can’t afford to break down, not in front of Jingyi of all people.

“Did you know that Zidian was used to hurt your mother?” he asked.

A-Yi faltered.

It was cruel of him, wasn’t it? To be so brutal with the kid. But he rather be brutal than deceptive.

“Do you know the Violet Spider?” he asked.

“She was your mother and the past wielder of Zidian.” A-Yi replied.

“She did not like your mother. She was harsh on her because she was better than me at everything; she was angry at her because she was good at everything; she was bitter at her because she was happy and free of responsibilities unlike all of us.” Jiang Cheng said, sitting down on the lotus throne.

Wordlessly, A-Yi sat by his feet, too big to fit on his lap anymore. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but feel bereft at the lack of a presence on his lap.

God, time flies doesn’t it?

“Why was she so.......so........” Jingyi struggled to find the word.

“Bitter? Jealous? I don’t know. For some people....sometimes the bitterness in their heart stays. It stays so badly that they can’t let it go because it’s become a part of them.”

Then he steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “Do you remember what you said to me when your father and I saw you again at the Burial Mounds?”

“I........” Jingyi looked away guiltily. “I said something to you. Something that definitely wasn’t nice.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “You called me a bad man.”

(He said it factually, an echo of the past that resonated in his ears but no longer quaked his core.)

Jingyi winced.

“And you’re right.”

Jingyi’s head snapped up to look at him, eyes wide.

“Jiujiu-”

He put his hand up.

He needed to get this off his chest.

(Because he will not be like his mother. He will not let it become a part of his heart.)

“A-Yi, let me finish.” He said softly.

The boy complied, mouth snapping shut.

“You’re right, I’m not a good man. I’m not like your mama or baba; I’m not selfless like them, not as brave as them. When the world was starting to vilify your mama, I did nothing. I didn’t egg the rumors on but I didn’t stop them either. Silence, my willful ignorance and lack of action was acquiescence. At the end of the day, I was still an accomplice to your mother’s death.”

He rubbed his thumb over Zidian.

“I inherited my father’s cowardice and my mother’s temperament. I think that was also why my mother resented Wei Wuxian; because she was everything none of us could be.”

“But you didn’t ask for it.” Jingyi said softly before his voice started to rise. “You’re not selfish. You had responsibilities and duties, stuff you didn’t ask for but had to do. That’s not being selfish. And-and you helped mama in the end. You gave her a proper burial a-and gave A-Yuan and I a home and you- we’re family, you love us and-”

“I did lots of mistakes. I did lots of things I regret and decisions I’m not proud of, even if they were necessary.

“I won’t lie to myself, I know what kind of person I am. I’m not as gentle as a-jie, nor am I as calm and steady as your baba. I know that for all that I love your mama, there were times when my jealously festered to resentment even though she never asked for it.” He said.

“..............................but you love us.” Jingyi whispered.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you love mama?” he asked.

“Yes.” Should’ve loved her more, should’ve done more to show her that.

“I stopped thinking of you as a bad man a long time ago.” Jingyi reassured.

“I’m not a good man either.” Jiang Cheng reminded.

“Baba and bobo said the world is not black and white.” He said.

Sometimes, Jiang Cheng forgets that the boy also has Lan blood running through his veins.

“Zidian hurt mama but jiujiu also used it for good. You can’t blame a weapon for its wielder.”

(Hadn’t a-jie said something similar before?)

Jiang Cheng chuckled before putting his nephew in a headlock and rubbing his fist into his hair.

“Oh, so now you choose to be such a wise little Lan.”

“Jiujiuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!” he whined.

Jiang Cheng released him and although A-Yi tried to look indignant, he was clearly fighting back a smile.

Then Jiang Cheng turned serious.

“You will listen to my instructions carefully.” He said as he took Zidian off.

Wide-eyed, A-Yi nodded.

“Do not try to do anything beyond activating and inactivating it, is that clear?” he ordered.

“Yes, jiujiu!” A-Yi replied.

Jiang Cheng slipped Zidian off his hand. Holding A-Yi’s smaller one, (small but already starting to become strong from sword drills and archery and handstands) he slipped Zidian on.

There was a purple glow, a slight spark as the weapon readjusted itself to fit the new wrist she was to adorn.

Jingyi stared at in astonishment, turning his wrist this way, fascinated by how easily the weapon had adjusted as though it were second nature.

“Can you feel it?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“It’s like you, jiujiu. Like a storm.” A-Yi said, thumb rubbing over the purple jewel adorning the ring.

“Focus. Focus on the lightning within the storm.” He instructed.

Jingyi’s brows furrowed, eyes dilating in concentration. As Zidian sparked, it reflected in his orbs, making them look like molten gold of his father.

And then-

Something happened.

Both watched as wisps of purple spiritual energy enveloped Jingyi’s hand, forming a half translucent coat that clung like a glove.

Jingyi turned his hand back and forth, inspecting the new second skin he’s attained. The energy crackled but it seemed rather condensed.

Jiang Cheng was dumbfounded. While Zidian does tend to glow and spark on his hand in both active and inactive forms, not once has its energy formulated like that.

Then again, considering the numerous theories surrounding spiritual weapons, it wasn’t improbable for it to alter in order to adapt to its new user; ranging from a different form of medium, the output and input of spiritual energy or even an alternative physical form altogether.

“Is this supposed to happen?” Jingyi asked.

“It doesn’t happen to me.” He admitted.

“Is this a bad thing or a good thing?” Jingyi asked.

“Calm down.” He said with the same tone he’d use on the training fields. “Concentrate.”

Jingyi’s arm trembled with the effort but eventually, Jiang Cheng saw the length of a whip dimly flicker into existence.

Seeing the perspiration dripping down his nephew’s face, he decided to draw the line.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He said.

“Wait! Just let me try one more time!” Jingyi pleaded.

“Now, A-Yi.” He replied firmly.

“................wait.” Jingyi reached out.

And Jiang Cheng being the idiot that he is stupidly sat there and let the kid poke him.

Big mistake.

“AH FUCK!” Jiang Cheng yelled as a jolt of pain shot through his body from the center of his body to the tips of his fingers.

“I’M SORRY!” Jingyi yelped, withdrawing his hand.

“What the fuck-?” Jiang Cheng rubbed the sore spot Jingyi had poked.

“I didn’t expect that.” Jingyi said, dumbfounded.

“Now will you give Zidian back?” he hissed.

His nephew handed it back to him, expression contrite.

“I’m sorry, jiujiu.” He said sincerely. “I was curious.”

“Just like your mama.” Jiang Cheng said before he could stop himself.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jingyi chirped.

“Don’t always take it that way.” He warned.

Jingyi blinked, not understanding.

Not the first time, Jiang Cheng wondered if he knew how badly his mother’s curiosity had backfired on her. She was always curious after all, it’s what made her so genius.

Always curious to create new talismans, always curious to try out new styles, always curious to find alternative solutions, always curious to go beyond the knowledge of orthodoxy.

And look at where that got her.

“Your mama was always curious. One day, she got too curious and it made her reckless. She got reckless and.......” he tightened his fist, Zidian pressing against his skin. “And it got her killed.”

“Could.....could I have killed you?” Jingyi whispered, horrified.

Jiang Cheng snorted. “It’ll take more than a little shock to get rid of me. You’re stuck with me for a long time still.” He said, ruffling his hair.

“I really don’t get it, jiujiu.” Jingyi said softly, so unlike the bold boy he usually is.

“What do you not get?” Jiang Cheng asked.

Jingyi shifted, fidgeting with his bell.

“Is curiosity bad if it only benefits you for a short while? Is it selfish to have those benefits anyways even if it’s brief?” he asked.

What a good question!

“........it depends.” Jiang Cheng replied honestly.

“Was mama’s curiosity like that?” he asked.

“Sometimes, yes.” He confessed. “Your mama, for all that she was selfless, had a horrible habit of never considering the repercussions the consequences of her choices would bring to those around her. When she was young, her choices were done out of curiosity but as she got older....they were made out of desperation.

“Perhaps she thought it wouldn’t matter because she didn’t matter to us.” That thought alone was stupider than any choice she could’ve made. “But she’s wrong. It did matter, she mattered.

“It’s why she took up demonic cultivation. You’ve learned about the Sunshot Campaign, haven’t you? About Wen Ruohan and the Yin Irons?”

Jingyi nodded.

“We needed her crafty tricks to win. We needed it to stand an actual chance against Wen Ruohan and......” he sighed. “We were all so focused on winning the war, not many of us actually thought about what would happen afterwards.

“Your mama and I never considered what would happen after there was no more Yin Irons for her demonic arts to fight against. The world saw it like this- there were two evils. The lesser has taken out the worse one, leaving only the lesser. Do we allow the lesser to fester or do we snuff it while it’s still low?”

(He was rather proud of that analogy to be honest.)

“The world snuffed it either way.” Jingyi muttered bitterly.

“Yes, it did. But it didn’t happen overnight. If you trace it all back, you eventually have to ask yourself, who’s fault is it, really?” he mused.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jingyi asked.

“No.” he replied bluntly. “It’s not. If it was, I would know by now.”

“You don’t know?” he asked, shocked.

“A-Yi, Wen Ruohan started the war because of his megalomaniac ass; Wang Lingjiao was the one who demanded for your mama’s hand to be chopped off; Wen Chao was the bastard who threw her into the Burial Mounds; Wen Zhuliu melted my core and made me useless, adding more burden onto her shoulders; the Jins tried to become the next Qishan Wen and Jin Guangshan is a tyrant that only picked up where Wen Ruohan left off.”

Jiang Cheng inhaled deeply and exhaled at a specific rhythm to calm himself. He wasn’t here to rant, he was here to explain.

“I wasn’t there for her because I was too weak, pressured by responsibilities I wasn’t prepared to accept so soon; your baba kept hesitating and kept his distance when he should’ve gone closer; your yima didn’t have enough influence to truly make a difference in the Jin; your bobo and shufu didn’t do much either and even your own mama isn’t faultless. Had she just stopped, had she just thought it over instead of selfishly choosing to take it all on her own like some damn martyr....” he shook his head.

“All of us are at fault some way or another A-Yi. It’d be easy, trust me when I say it would be very easy to heap all the blame onto one person but easiness isn’t solace. It’s not......”

After all, hadn’t Jiang Cheng spent most of his life doing that? Always storming his anger out on the closest person? Has that ever gotten him anywhere?

(The answer is: it hasn’t.)

“If mama had stopped demonic cultivation, would the world have stopped hating her?” Jingyi asked.

“Maybe. It would take time but maybe, just maybe, the world would’ve left her alone.” Jiang Cheng replied.

“.........thank you for telling me this, jiujiu.” Jingyi glomped him, burying his face into his purple robes.

“I won’t lie to you but the truth is a painful thing.” He warned.

“Lying is forbidden. Better the painful truth than fake comfort.” Jingyi said, voice muffled.

Such a Lan this boy could be!

“Sorry about Zidian again.” Jingyi apologized.

“Do you really want to learn how to use her?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Yes!” he replied eagerly.

“Then you better not be late tomorrow morning. I want to see you ready by 8 AM sharp. If you’re even a second late, you might as well go back to sleep, understand?” Jiang Cheng ordered.

“Yes, jiujiu!” Jingyi replied, eyes shining with determination.

“Then go tell your baba before you give him an aneurysm.” Though the thought of being able to show Wangji that his nephews clearly had more Jiang than Lan blood flowing through their veins did send some petty satisfaction to his uncle instincts.

“Thank you, jiujiu!” Jingyi squealed, giving him one last hug before scampering off.

“See that brat, Zidian? He might just be your next wielder.” Jiang Cheng whispered to the spiritual weapon.

Zidian sparked in response, its glow dim but not ominous.

‘We’ll see.’ She seemed to say.

He knelt in the ancestral hall, offering incense sticks and listening to the tinkle of clarity bells with the lap of water.

“It’s funny, almost ironically poetic.” He mused, staring at his mother’s tablet. “That Wei Wuxian’s son of all people would show an aptitude for Zidian, who would have thought?”

He wondered if his mother’s spirit was qi deviating; had qi deviated when he put Zidian on Jingyi’s hand.

“He stopped thinking of me as a bad man long ago. He’s petty but deep down, he’s a forgiving soul, isn’t he?” he asked Wei Wuxian. “’You can’t blame a weapon for its wielder,’ he had said. Sometimes I almost forget that boy’s a Lan as much as he is a Jiang and a Wei.

“But he’s also like me. Also spiteful, also angry at the world deep down. I think both of them are. But what can I do about it when I myself don’t use the healthiest ways to cope with my own anger?” he asked no one in particular.

Of course, no one answered him.

He looked at his father’s tablet.

“Did you ever feel angry? Did you ever have that in your heart, a-die?” he asked softly.

He knew so little about his father. His father always expressed so little. It made him wonder if he truly had too little or if he was desensitized from too much.

He prayed.

All he could do was pray with all his heart that somehow, some way, A-Yi and A-Yuan will find a better way to make peace with their anger.

“You are teaching A-Yi how to use Zidian.” Wangji noted soon enough.

“He has an aptitude for it. I’ve been thinking of commissioning his own spiritual whip.” Jiang Cheng said.

“A-Yuan is a bit envious.” Wangji shared.

“Zidian.....can be picky with her owners.” Jiang Cheng said.

And when he says picky, he also means deadly. One of the few ancient texts he managed to salvage from Lotus Pier’s library was one about Zidian. He even found a few notes that his mother had jotted down during her usage of Zidian.

If the owner was not worthy but insisted on wearing Zidian, the spiritual energy forcefully kept suppressed in the ring would eventually backfire on the user with deadly results ranging from severe burns to internal damage.

“And I don’t think he’ll need a whip when he already has his guqin.” Jiang Cheng pointed out.

“I wish I could teach him the dizi.” Wangji said wistfully.

Jiang Cheng stared into his tea, wishing it was something stronger.

After Cloud Recesses established the ‘no dizi’ rule, it seemed to be an unspoken rule in every sect that practices musical cultivation that no cultivator is allowed to even be near a merchant selling dizis.

The Moling Su Clan in particular was very staunch about this.

“A-Yuan and A-Yi still hold Chenqing when they have nightmares.” Wangji confided softly.

Jiang Cheng really wished he had something stronger than tea to drink.

“Sidao made A-Ling a lotus seed bracelet to match A-Yuan and A-Yi’s.” Jiang Cheng shared, trying to lighten the mood.

“She used the lotus seeds they harvested together?” Wangji asked.

“She did.” He nodded.

They fell into companionable silence.

Years ago, this silence would have made Jiang Cheng unsettled but now, he’s learned that it was simply how the flow of their dynamic worked. It was their form of normal.

The silence also gave them both a moment to gather their respective musings.

“Will the Lan Elders be alright with A-Yi having a spiritual whip?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“So long as he uses it responsibly.” Wangji rumbled.

Both of them decided to ignore the fact that regardless of what the Elder decide, Wangji will most likely say ‘fuck it’ and do it anyways.

(Well, maybe he  won’t actually say it since he’s a Lan and saying a curse word is the Lan equivalent of losing 5 years in your lifespan but still- it’s the thought that counts.)

“Thank you, Wanyin.” Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng merely grunted in reply.

The ring sat snugly on his finger, light blue metal gleamed and grey clouds glinted. The spiritual energy swirled around his palm and when he focused, it entwined into an azure blue whip; as fine as a guqin string that wisped and unraveled like clouds.

“Yanshi.” Jingyi named it. “I’ll call it Yanshi.”

Chapter Text

When A-Yuan was young, he always thought monsters wore gold.

When he was young, he always thought the color of black was safety and the color red was warm. Because those were mama’s colors and she was just like that.

Although it had been brief, he started to wonder if white was safe too, wondered if it was strong. After all, Rich-gege (now baba) certainly seemed strong.

He wondered if white was gentle. Because although he hadn’t smiled as much as mama, he was gentle and nice. He bought him and Yi-ge lots of toys and tasty food after all.

Purple was strong too. It was what jiujiu wore and he was also strong. It wasn’t as gentle as white but it wasn’t overbearing. Purple can also be mellow, like yima.

A-Yuan first grew up clothed in the muted colors of farmer’s robes before being introduced to purples with touches of turquoise and then whites with touches of blue.

But no matter what color his body wore, his hair always had a red ribbon in it.

Despite his biao di being Jin Ling, jin as in gold (like what the bad men wore), looking back, A-Yuan realized that whenever he was with his little cousin, the boy never wore gold. At most, he would wear a muted yellow but more often than not, it would be hidden under another layer of robes.

A-Yuan was always grateful for this detail, trivial as it may seem to others.

He always cherished the red of mama’s hair ribbon and the purple from the tassel of the Jiang clarity bell whenever he wore his white Gusu Lan robes. Sometimes the other disciples would look at him funny because of the extra accessories that stood out against the starkness of his uniform but A-Yuan didn’t care.

Those colors that stood out were proof that he was loved.

As A-Yuan grew up, like all things that aged, certain aspects faded overtime.

He was no longer terrified to the core whenever he saw gold. He no longer saw everyone who disliked his mama (which was a pretty huge number of people really) as a ‘bad’ person because the world wasn’t black and white as baba would say. He no longer felt uncomfortable when he was forbidden from saying Wen-gugu, Ning-shuhu or mama’s name because he can simply say it in his heart.

He no longer feared that he would lose his home because now he had two and both always welcomed him and A-Yi with open arms no matter how much of a ruckus they kick up or the number of rules they break. He no longer feared hunger because he always had plenty to eat. He no longer feared loneliness because he had family and friends and classmates.

These weren’t bad. Bobo had explained that they happened because he was ‘moving on’ and that was part of the process of growing up. Being able to move on was a healthy part of it.

But it wasn’t good either.

Because it meant that mama would fade too.

Sometimes he realized that he couldn’t remember small details. His mind’s eye can’t trace out the shape of mama’s eyes, he forgot if it was morning or afternoon when he shared a domestic moment of happiness with her, he can’t remember accurately if she liked radishes or potatoes more. Small pieces that chipped away, gradually widening the void in his memories to suck more in.

Upon realizing this, it was as though he was 2 years old again, small and vulnerable and lost as monsters in gold haunted him.

He confided this with A-Yi and in response, his brother had simply hugged him.

It wasn’t like his usual hugs, the ones where he would tackle him, glomping his body like a limpet. No, this one was slow, almost shaky despite the tight grip.

“I know, didi. I don’t wanna forget her either.” Yi-gege said.

Both of them badgered baba to recite his stories. Stories of him and mama when they were young and foolish and free. Like a starving man desperate for even the tiniest morsel of food, they took it all in.

They did not tell baba of their fear but inevitably, they did not have to.

Baba was a man of few words because he did not need them. He only needed action.

“I have almost forgotten my mother’s face.” Baba said.

A-Yuan and A-Yi knew about their nainai.

(They knew about the Gentian House. Baba may have used the same trick as mama, replacing the characters with rabbits and animals, but the twins have long since learned how to decipher it.)

“I remember she had my eyes and xiongzhang’s smile....at least, I remember shufu telling me that.” He mused.

“I don’t want to forget. It’s cruel to forget.” A-Yuan said.

“So long as you remember one thing, anything at all no matter how trivial, you will never truly forget.” Baba said in his gentle but firm voice.

“Baba, I wanna see mama’s picture. The one Sang-shushu gave.” A-Yi asked.

Baba showed them the portrait and they greedily drank in every detail once more.

A-Yuan wondered if the portrait also remembered mama accurately. Were mama’s eyes really that round or were they sharper? Was she that tall or did she only look tall in the portrait? Was her hair that long or was it shorter? Was it straighter or wavier?

He decided not to linger on those.

He will not forget mama.

He may not remember everything but he will never forget everything either.

They called baba Hanguang-jun, the Light Bearing Lord. They called him a war hero.

(Mama had been a war hero too but nobody called her that.)

Jiujiu also had a well-known title. Sandu Shengshou, the three poisons.

Whereas baba’s title struck awe like the illuminating but untouchable light, jiujiu’s lashed with strength and ferocity. People relied on the strength but feared the ferocity more than revered it.

A-Yi had declared that titles like these were stupid. Yeah, they sounded awesome and yes, perhaps it can carry some merit but other than that, they were shallow when mishandled.

A-Yuan agreed with his brother.

After all, Yiling Matriarch was a title too and it was one scorned by the cultivation world still. Yiling Matriarch was a title carried by a heroine, a genius, and it was a title the world hated.

As much as A-Yuan vowed to never disappoint baba; as much as he swore that one day, he too would grow up to be a man that the common folk and cultivators alike can look up to and rely upon; he also prayed that he would not be handed a title.

(For in the end, a title was a burden as heavy as the mountains but as fickle as glass.)

Then, there were labels.

Labels weren’t a stranger to A-Yuan either.

Hero, villain; monster, savior; blessing, curse, the list went on.

One of many labels that had stuck to him and A-Yi at times were bastard.

They had been 11 and A-Ling 8 when it slapped them in the face like mud.

A-Ling was being picked on by disciples their age so naturally, they stood in to help him (do not bully the weak). A-Yi hollered at them to stop while A-Yuan fussed over A-Ling, relieved that the dispute hadn’t escalated to physical violence.

The disciples had sneered at all three of them.

“You think you’re so righteous, huh? Hah! As if you’ll ever be like Hanguang-jun!” one of them scoffed.

“At least we’ll be better than you. Picking on someone younger, have you no shame?” Jingyi shot back.

“Rich coming from you. Lans are supposed to be restrained but it didn’t stop them from having you two.” Another chortled, causing the others to snicker.

A-Yi and A-Yuan stiffened. Sensing the falter of weakness, the leader (who was the oldest) of the group pushed on.

“You two act all high and mighty and righteous. If your parents really were that righteous, they wouldn’t have chosen to have two bastard children. Hanguang-jun only accepted you two out of obligation.” He said, a cruel smirk on his face.

“SHUT UP!” Jin Ling yelled, indignant on their behalf. “They’re not bastards, you asshole!” (He probably learned that word from jiujiu. Yima won’t be happy about that.)

“Hah! Of course, you’d be used to bastards in your family. Isn’t your shushu the son of a whore?” he sneered.

“Maybe those two are just like him.” Another snickered.

A-Ling almost threw himself at the nearest disciple, fists swinging and rage screaming. A-Yi barely managed to hold him back in time though the anger clouding his face made it clear that he too was tempted to hit someone.

“Your father may be a hero but your mother was a whore. Headband or not, you guys are bastards.” one of them spat at A-Yuan.

The label they threw at A-Yuan was water off an umbrella.

But the label they threw at mama-

It stained.

And-

The next thing he knew, the leader of the group had a bloody nose.

There was more shouting and screaming, so loud it made his ears ring. It made him feel too big and too small all at once and he wanted to just curl up and hide.

And then the adults came. Bobo in white and blue (safe), yima in gold and purple (strong), Lianfang-zun in gold and cream (wary).

A-Yuan didn’t hear what they said afterwards because he was too focused on trying not to cry.

(A-Yuan learned that labels are cruel. They are merciless because even when someone is gone, they still linger.)

A-Yuan, now courtesy name Lan Sizhui, is 12 years old when he first tries Inquiry by himself.

He was ahead of his peers in musical cultivation, already capable of playing the more advanced pieces. His qin language was gradually becoming more fluent with each lesson and he was confident that he firmly remembers the theory behind the technique and the basic syllables behind the language.

Sitting amongst the rabbits, he summoned his guqin and strummed the strings. He dared not hope too much but he could not help but be excited (and very nervous).

He played the opening notes to greet the spirits nearby. Hearing his call, some of them approached him.

Recounting his notes and sending a flow of spiritual energy, he started.

‘Mama, are you there?’

‘Mama, are you at peace?’

‘Mama.....mama......I miss you.’

There was no reply.

‘Mama, I love you.’

For the next few nights, he would sneak out to the rabbit meadow an incense stick’s before curfew to play Inquiry, hoping to recall even the tiniest ember of his mama’s glowing spirit.

One night, wordlessly, baba joined him.

Baba would play with him while A-Yi would watch quietly with the rabbits.

However, a month later, when A-Yuan was playing alone for baba was not around due to a night hunt, he was reunited with someone he also dearly missed.

‘A-Yuan? A-Yi? Wei-guniang’s radishes?’

A-Yuan’s eyes widened, his fingers stuttered.

“Popo?”

A-Yi, who had been cuddling a rabbit turned ramrod straight.

“Popo?” his twin breathed.

‘Popo, it’s us. We’re here.’ A-Yuan replied.

‘So big! You two rascals have grown so much!’ she cooed.

“Popo.....” A-Yi sniffled.

‘Silly boy, don’t cry.’

“Popo, we miss you.” Both of them said.

‘Ai, you two. Popo is at peace now, don’t worry.’

“Popo, is mama there with you?” A-Yuan asked hopefully.

‘She would be at peace, knowing her sons are healthy and happy.’

She left and A-Yuan bid her farewell, even though he so desperately wished she could stay.

(Looking back, A-Yuan realized too late that she hadn’t exactly answered their question.)

As Sizhui grew up, he learned many things.

Monsters didn’t always wear gold, they wore many colors in many shades.

Memories may fade but so long as their worth remains true to your heart, you will never forget fully.

Titles may carry weight to the listener but to the bearer, it is also burdens.

Labels are persistent to a fault for they will linger.

All four of these were not unlike embers of a flame. Although they do not consume, they remain, they glow, they sear, they burn.

Chapter Text

She stared at the liquid in the bowl. The brew was dark and bitter, the substance so still her own reflection stared back at her.

She just had to take one gulp. Just open her mouth, pour and swallow.

The thought of doing that nauseated her more than the actual brew itself.

A hand cradled her stomach. Underneath her own flesh and bone, there was something living growing inside it. Her, a harbinger of death, was growing something living with her own body.

She will not lead an easy life. She held no illusions that the world would not allow that to happen. She was unorthodox, she was a danger, she was a monster they kept under close watch. All of them so wary, so paranoid but none dared to put a leash on her lest she lashes out.

If she was already facing such hardships, will her children (two pulses. Wen Qing detected two, she was carrying twins) be forced to live a life of condemnation for being of her blood? Would it be cruel of her to bring two lives into such a world only to be treated horribly?

(Or would it be crueler to kill them before even giving them a chance to live in the first place?)

Would she make a good mother? Can she raise her children to be better than her? To not repeat her mistakes? Will they resent their mother for the prejudice the world will give them?

She thought of the father and wondered if her children will resent her for not giving them one. Will resent how she never even gave him a chance to be a father. Will they hate her for hiding their existence from him?

She continued to stare at the bowl, at her own reflection.

They say the eyes are windows to the soul.

So, she looked through them.

And-

She knew.

She wanted to be a mother.

(She wanted to hold onto this. To hold onto this miracle that she somehow managed to grasp with Lan Zhan.)

Wei Wuxian never thought it was humanly possible to feel this much love. It surged with every beat of her heart and sent warmth flowing through her veins, almost making her feel giddily dizzy.

She gazed tenderly at the two small bundles napping cozily against her bosom. Ten perfect tiny fingers, ten perfect stubby toes, soft fuzzes of black hair growing on their scalps, one with her eyes and the other with his father’s eyes, oh, they were perfect!

One of them yawned and she resisted the urge to squeal at the sheer adorableness lest she wakes them up.

(While both were the cutest babies in the world, they were definitely not very cute when they cried.)

“If they always sleep with you like that, they’ll never learn to sleep on their own.” Wen Qing chided quietly.

“I don’t want to put them down, A-Qing.” She smiled at her sadly. “I want to hold them as much as I still can, I want to hold them to know I love them. I want to be selfish.”

Wen Qing said nothing, merely shook her head minutely before leaving to no doubt brew more atrociously bitter medicines.

“Look at her, so cranky all the time. Good thing mama isn’t a sourpuss, mm?” she cooed.

A-Yi nuzzled against her while A-Yuan snored on.

She hummed softly, just enough for them to feel the rumble in her chest alongside her heartbeat.

Her sons truly looked so small swaddled in their blankets. She caressed their chubby cheeks with the back of her finger.

“Your father is a real fuddy-duddy, you know.” She whispered. “But he’s a good man.”

Yes, a good man. A paragon of righteousness. Hanguang-jun, Light Bearing Lord.

(But to her, he was still Lan Zhan, fuddy-duddy. Always Lan Zhan, Lan er-ge.)

A tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. As though sensing her turmoil, her sons squirmed fussily.

“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. Mama’s okay.” She hushed, rocking them. “He would be a good father to you both. Mama’s sorry for not giving him that chance. But you’ll grow up loved, okay? Mama will love you and maybe, if the world is kind enough, you’ll have a wonderful jiujiu and yima too. Wouldn’t that be nice, my little buns?”

Her sons may not grow up with everything. But Wei Wuxian vowed they would grow up knowing without a doubt that they were loved and cherished, that they were wanted, that to her, they were a miracle.

“Come on....you can do it. Almost there.......” she encouraged.

A-Yuan’s chubby face was scrunched up with determination as he focused on taking the next shaky step. Wei Wuxian held his tiny hands firmly, offering her support as he toddled forward.

“Aaaaaand, you did it!” she cheered as he crossed the finish line.

A-Yi babbled happily, clumsily clapping his hand together while A-Yuan squealed as she hugged him.

“A-Yuan, look at how happy your gege is. You’re finally catching up with him!” she cooed, nuzzling his face.

A-Yi cooed, making demanding grabby hands. Smiling, she also scooped him up.

“So heavy!” she mock-gasped, bouncing them in her hold. “My little buns are becoming big buns.”

“Ma.”

She froze.

A-Yi patted her cheek. “Mama.” He said.

“Oh......” she whispered. “C-could you say that again, A-Yi?”

“Mama!” A-Yi proclaimed.

“Ma. Ma. Ma.” A-Yuan babbled, nuzzling her hair. “Mama......”

Her vision blurred as tears dripped down her face.

Mama, they said. They called her mama.

She was a mother, their mother.

“Mama loves you two.” She sniffed, placing a kiss on their foreheads. “Mama loves you two so much.”

“Sssh, sssh, mama’s here, baobei. Mama’s here.” Wei Wuxian whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her sons’ hair.

A-Yuan and A-Yi sobbed, burying their faces deeper into her robes, clinging onto her like a lifeline. Every wail tore at her heart.

‘Failure failure failure failure, you bring nothing but trouble and cause calamity.’ The voice hissed with vitriol that seared at her rawest most vulnerable parts.

Stupid stupid stupid, she should’ve gone back to check on Wen Qing and Wen Ning. She should have set up a more regular correspondence.

Damn Jins, damn those bastards, those vile disgusting despicable lowlifes, curse them all, she should (could) kill every single one of them-

“Mama, MAMA!” A-Yi sobbed. “Hurts.”

“Qing-jie will make you feel better. She’ll make the owies go away, kay?” she reassured.

(Seeing their little bodies so battered reminded her of dirty alleyways and cold nights, scavenging for food in trash and running from the maws of dogs.)

“Mama......” A-Yuan whimpered.

“Mama’s here. Mama’s here.......” she stroked their hair. “Mama’s not going anywhere.”

Never again.

She won’t fail them.

As she watched Lan Zhan’s figure drift away, Wei Wuxian breathed in the smell of decay (that smelled like ‘home’ as twisted as that sounded) to ground herself.

This was for the better.

He was the Light Bearing Lord. She cannot ask him to taint that light for her when there are so many others desperately in need of it to guide them, protect them.

‘One day.’ She thought plaintively. ‘Maybe if the world is merciful enough, one day....someday........’

A week passed and like a butterfly coming and going, Lan Zhan was gone from the forefront of her mind as plans for a new talisman came to configuration.

“Mama, is Rich-gege your zhiji?” A-Yuan and A-Yi asked innocently.

Wei Wuxian almost dropped the talisman she was working on. Setting it down and shoving the ink away (the last thing she needed was unnecessary stains ruining the meticulous strokes), she turned towards her twins.

Much to her amusement, A-Yuan and A-Yi were also trying to balance a grass butterfly on their heads, the same ones Lan Zhan bought them.

(She tried not to think about him too much. Didn’t need to put herself through the ‘what-ifs’ that were pipe dreams.)

“Zhiji? Why would you ask?” She asked.

“Uncle Four said that’s what Rich-gege is to you.” A-Yi explained.

“Mama, is zhiji special?” A-Yuan asked.

“A zhiji is very special.” She nodded, twirling Chenqing.

“They’re someone who’s....like a best friend but something more. It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else. Someone who makes you a better person.”

Then she ruffled their hair. “Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself because they inspire you. A soulmate is someone you carry with you forever.” She wrapped her arms around them both and pulled them in close.

“It’s the one person who knew you and....accepted you....believed in you before anyone else or...when no one else would.” Did Lan Zhan still believe in her? Would he accept her if he knew the truth?

“And no matter what happens......” she smiled, eyes watery. “You’ll always love them. Nothing can ever change that.”

A-Yuan and A-Yi nodded, their eyes drooping. ‘Ah, must be their naptime.’ She realized.

She tucked them into bed, pushing the hair away from their foreheads to give them a peck on the forehead.

“Mama.” A-Yi yawned. “Do you love Rich-gege?”

She froze.

Love.....did she love him?

(She did.)

Could she love him?

........she couldn’t.

“He is very special to me.” She replied. “Sweet dreams, little radishes.”

“Rich-gege is strong mama. He’s a good zhiji.....” A-Yuan murmured before falling asleep at last.

‘Yes, he is.’ Wei Wuxian agreed.

‘Which is why he deserves someone better.’

Someone who can truly stand by his side as an equal. Someone who can uphold justice without relying on crafty tricks and demonic arts. Someone.....someone of better worth, with better merit and standing, who was more than the daughter of a servant who was lucky enough to be taken in by a cultivation sect.

Lan Zhan was strong. He would live a long life and eventually, he will move on. He does not need her burden upon him.

(But deep in her heart, she still longed for him to spare her a glance. Just one glance.)

Maybe, if fate was kind enough, she can be a better zhiji to him in another life.

“Mama, mama!” A-Yi wailed, utterly inconsolable.

Nightmares weren’t foreign to her sons. More often than not, they showed up on days when it rained. When it poured relentlessly like hail and lightning flashed in the dark skies.

“Sssh, mama is here A-Yi. Ah, why’s my little radish so sad?” she asked.

Recently, she managed to set up silencing talismans in all the makeshift shelters they’ve built up in the settlement. It gave privacy and tuned out the harsher sounds of nature.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to hide the flash of lightning or keep the chilly winds at bay.

“Do-don’t- bad men- gold bad men!” A-Yi whimpered.

“Oh baobei.” She kissed his head and hugged him close.

(Those guards could die a thousand times over and even then, it would be nowhere near enough to make up for all the anguish her sons had to face.)

“Mama is here. Mama will protect you from the gold bad men.” She vowed, dabbing away his tears and snot.

“Loud. Shout and rain and thunder.” He sniffled. “It’s bad.”

She hummed, carding her fingers through his hair. She rubbed her nose, trying to think of something that could comfort A-Yi before her eyes brightened.

(A burning fever. Heavy exhaustion weighing her eyes and aching her body. A song. A name uttered but unheard.)

“Then mama will sing you a special song.” She said.

“Song?” he asked.

She nodded. “Wanna know a secret?” she whispered seriously.

He inched closer, curious as a cat.

“The song can make the bad noises go away. If A-Yi can’t sleep, all he has to do is remember this song and he’ll find peace.” She departed.

His eyes widened in awe.

“Sing sing!” he whisper shouted.

She hummed a song while rocking him in her arms, the simple repetitive motion lulling his body to relax.

“Ma……..” he yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open. “What….song……”

She could only smile sadly.

She kissed him on the forehead, just as his eyes fluttered shut.

She didn’t tell him the name of that song.

Because she didn’t know it.

And it was one of her biggest regrets.

Death was not as daunting as poets often waxed them to be.

But she would be lying if she said it was peaceful.

Because she realized too late that she still didn’t know the name of that song.

Still, it was not a bad death. She died surrounded by the people she loved, her sons alive and a nameless song dearly treasured in her heart, even if it no longer beats.

And Lan Zhan-

Finally spared her a glance.

She wished she could’ve held his gaze just a little longer........