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Born into tradition, privilege, and duty, Lan Zhan, like his peers, is called by many names.
He goes by the name he was given at birth, by the name bestowed upon him when he came of age, by the epithet people started using for him and his brother when they go out into the world and answer their pleas.
Unlike his peers, however, he was bequeathed a title as heavy as jade when he was still but a wise head on young shoulders; naive and lost without knowing that he was, that he is.
Thus, he learned early on to wear a face made of a jade most precious whose shine casts light upon the world, righteous and noble as what humans ought to be. Shaped and polished high above somewhere deep in the clouds, he stands proud with the knowledge ingrained in him that the purpose of his life is different from most.
But jade breaks no matter how revered or indestructible it may be believed to be, shattering so much easier the higher the place it comes from when it is dropped, reduced to a brittle stone no different from delicate rice paper that tears apart upon the slightest touch.
At the Bloodbath of Nightless City, when he fails Wei Ying, letting him stand all alone against the world and watching him fall to his death, it is Lan Zhan who breaks amidst the futility of his own making, the mettle of jade shattering into tiny little pieces.
What lies underneath it, hidden by the pristine robes of the Lan of Gusu and the thick layers of the scarred and callused skin that he wears, is an illness worse than rotting blood and flesh, rooted deep into his core. Beneath iron-hard bones and muscles and behind an imposing, powerful figure overflowing with seemingly endless streams of gold is nothing but the weak, puny soul of a man who cannot stand by his own beliefs yet basks in the majestic glory he does not deserve.
Lan Zhan is not what humans ought to be, for Hanguang-jun is but a facade.