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He still hadn’t managed to get thrown out.
Yet.
He was still working on it, of course - the Yiling Patriarch doesn’t give up easily! - but for the time being he was still very much trapped in the Cloud Recesses.
Apparently being a deranged homosexual wasn’t enough to get him thrown out, so he started causing trouble in other ways.
Making noise only got the silence charm cast on him. Using Lil’ Apple to make noise got his beloved donkey banished to the back hill (barely even a punishment when he watched Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi lead the donkey off, cooing at it and promising apples).
Complaining about the food, weirdly enough, got Lan Wangji to find actual spices that had apparently been languishing in the back of the GusuLan kitchen for generations. They were stale, but not unusable.
He finally got an actual reaction when he tore apart the Jingshi, moving furniture and scrambling all of Wangji’s possessions. He didn’t get kicked out, unfortunately, but the subtle shift of Wangji’s face was different than before: he was truly upset.
Alright.
Time for a take two.
When Wangji went off to meet with his uncle to talk about the demon hand, Wei Wuxian set to work. He shifted all the small items - books, candles, cups, etc - inside the Jingshi by exactly one inch.
Most of the furniture was too big to be easily moved (he could have… but why put in the effort?) so he settled for putting the dining table in Wangji’s bedroom.
Outside, he kicked rocks out of the perfectly manicured flowerbeds, leaving them scattered across the stone path that led to the Jingshi.
For no particular reason, he put the tea kettle in the garden.
Then he sat down in the empty spot where the table had been and waited.
It wasn’t long until he got what he wanted. Outside the Jingshi there was the unmistakable sound of someone falling; the clatter of stones and a soft gasp.
He expected Lan Wangji to be angry that he’d ruined his perfect garden. He hadn’t expected him to fall.
Oh well, it worked!
Wei Wuxian raced to the door, throwing himself outside with a loud laugh. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!” he howled, slapping his knee. “Shouldn’t you watch where you’re going?!”
But it wasn’t Wangji on the ground.
It was Lan Sizhui.
The youth pushed himself up weakly, pushing the back of his hand to his eyes and wincing. “Master Mo?”
Guilt curled in Wei Wuxian’s stomach.
The head disciple of GusuLan had been nothing but kind to him, even if the boy was a bit odd he certainly hadn’t wanted to injure him.
“I- I don’t know what I fell on,” the boy said, feeling around himself. “Will you help me up?”
“Eh- what?”
“I’m blind, Master Mo.” His face was so sweet, so earnest. “I’ve tripped on something, but I don’t know what.”
“Ah haha,” he muttered nervously, pressing his knuckles to his teeth. “Blind?” Why had he made the joke Lan Zhan needing to watch where he was going?
Sizhui only nodded. “Yes, Master Mo. Would you help me up, please?”
He couldn’t say no to that, now could he? Guilt churning in his stomach, Wei Wuxian hurried to the youth’s side, quickly kicking the stones back to where they belonged.
Sizhui took his hand willingly, pulling himself to his feet and clinging to Wei Wuxian’s arm for balance. “The scrolls I was carrying, Master Mo, can you find them?”
“Oh. Oh, yes, of course,” he rambled, looking around their feet and wondering exactly how many there had been.
As if understanding his thoughts, Sizhui said, “There were three. One with a green case and two in red.”
He moved quickly to gather up the scrolls, piling them neatly in Sizhui’s outstretched hands.
“Here,” he said slowly, not entirely certain how a blind man knew which color the scroll cases were.
“The colors match the tokens,” Sizhui explained, tapping a finger on the end of a tube where a rose had been carved.
“I see,” he said, grabbing for Sizhui’s arm and carefully pulling him up the path. There weren’t more stones, but he wasn’t about to take any more risks.
He wanted to get kicked out, not murdered.
“Hanguang Jun keeps the path swept, but I still should have been more careful. You won’t tell him, will you?”
“Ah-“
“I won’t tell him either,” promised Sizhui, patting Wei Wuxian’s arm reassuringly. He paused, looking thoughtful, then added, “I know you want to leave Master Mo, but you shouldn’t make him so angry.”
“Ahhhh ha ha.” He waved his hand, as though he wasn’t aware of exactly how dangerous Wangji could be.
Sizhui stepped onto the porch of the Jingshi easily, clearly familiar with its height. “Hanguang Jun enjoys your company, you know.” With that, he opened the door and let himself inside.
It seemed Sizhui didn’t need help navigating the Jingshi. He easily stepped around the divider in the main room, then deposited the scrolls on the bookshelf without a pause.
“The table is moved,” he said, stopping in the center of the room.
So maybe there was a reason for Lan Wangji’s obsession with keeping everything in its place.
He’d thought it was Wangji’s own straight-laced personality that caused him to be so paranoid about the furniture, he hadn’t imagined it was because his student was blind. Moving the furniture suddenly was less of a funny prank and more of a real danger.
Quickly he dragged the table back where it belonged and shoved Sizhui to kneel beside it. Startled, he turned his head toward Wei Wuxian and said, “I was going to offer to make tea for Master Mo.”
“The teapot is in the garden,” he muttered, glancing around the room and trying to remember what else he’d moved.
Sizhui giggled.
There was nothing for it, he had no idea where everything had come from. Rather than dwelling on that, he hurried outside, fetched the teapot, and carried it to the hearth. Sizhui lit the fire with a talisman.
“The tea leaves should be in the second cabinet,” said Sizhui said. “The third shelf from the bottom, two hands width from the left.”
His instructions were, of course, perfect (well, not counting the one inch to the side Wei Wuxian had moved it).
Soon there was a steaming pot of tea between them, which Sizhui carefully poured (after he touched the cups to ensure he knew where they were).
He sipped his tea, then sat it down. “I had a fever.”
“Huh?”
Sizhui smiled again. “You were wondering about my eyes,” he said.
“Ah- well, hmm. Maybe a bit,” he laughed, waving his hand as though it wasn’t a big deal at all.
It really wasn’t.
But he was curious!
That wasn’t a crime.
“My parents died during the Siege of the Burial grounds,” the boy explained, setting the teapot aside and tilting his head. “By the time Hanguang Jun found me I was very sick. They saved my life, but not my eyes.”
It was a good thing he was blind. Otherwise, he would have seen the horrified look that crossed Wei Wuxian’s face.
My fault, he thought miserably, turning his head to look at the window, no longer able to bear looking at Sizhui’s kind face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Sizhui laughed. “Its not so bad!” he promised, reaching across the table to pat Wei Wuxian’s arm. “My hands are barely bruised.” As if to prove it, he turned his palms up to show the scrapes from his fall.
Wei Wuxian could only nod slowly, still unable to look at the boy. It wasn’t the fall he’d been apologizing for, although he did owe a lot of apologies for that as well.
For everything he’d done to the boy, he ought to get on his knees and grovel.
“You know,” he said, desperate to change the subject away from his wrongdoings. “I’ve never met a blind cultivator.”
“There have been some,” said Sizhui. “Although they were blinded as adults.”
Wei Wuxian smiled at him, leaning across the table to tap his nose. “You’re very talented.”
Sizhui’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Young Master Mo.”
He seemed genuinely surprised by the compliment, which brought a frown to Wei Wuxian’s face.
What exactly was he, anyway?
Some sort of fucked up charity case?
As far as he knew, Sizhui didn’t seem to be anyone important (at least not by birth). He made it sound as if Wangji had found him and taken him in.
Wangji.
A man who didn’t know what to do with a crying child.
A man who had once almost believed Wei Wuxian when he’d claimed that he had personally birthed a child.
A man who had looked absolutely terrified to be asked to hold a child.
That was not a man who had managed to conceive a child of his own, of that Wei Wuxian was absolutely certain.
According to Jingyi, Sizhui was the head disciple, which ought to speak for the boy’s abilities. It ought to put him in a place of respect.
Wei Wuxian had been a head disciple once. It was a position he’d earned, of course, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been held over his head.
And given what he had personally experienced of GusuLan’s… discipline, he wasn’t certain what they would do with a disabled child. They expected perfection, and Sizhui… he didn’t exactly fit the mold.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably, wondering what Lan Qiren had done the first time Sizhui was late because he’d gotten lost, or his robes weren’t perfect because he couldn’t see them.
“Master Mo?” Sizhui asked, tilting his head. Looking back at him, Wei Wuxian found himself remembering that Sizhui wore a cloud patterned headband. It marked him as being a member of the inner clan, which answered exactly zero of his questions.
Was he Lan Wangji’s cousin?
But Sizhui was still waiting for an answer. With a soft snort, pretending to be uninterested, Wei Wuxian grumbled, “I can’t see Old Man Lan being of any help.”
The youth hid a smile. “Master Qiren taught me to read and write.”
“What?”
There was a lot of information in that sentence.
- The blind child was of the opinion he could read. Wei Wuxian needed to dig a bit deeper and learn what he defined as ‘reading’
- Qiren was… not inhumane? Or maybe Sizhui was too afraid of him to say otherwise. (It had to be that).
Further questioning was needed.
Sizhui poured himself more tea. “I use a special ink that is very thick. It dries raised from the parchment, so I can feel it.”
“Old Man Lan taught you that?”
Sizhui reached for Wei Wuxian’s cup. When it was slid across the table for him to feel, he filled it carefully. “Sect Leader Nie introduced the ink to GusuLan,” he explained. “Zewu-Jun adapted it for my use.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, struggling to picture the frankly terrifying Nie Sect Leader bringing a fancy ink to a blind child. “Nie Mingjue?”
Sizhui tilted his head. “Nie Mingjue died many years ago, Master Mo. Nie Huiasang is the Sect Leader.”
Okay, as soon as he got out of Gusu his next stop was Qinghe because Nie fucking Huiasang as Sect Leader was too funny to pass up. Horrible that his brother died, and he had Wei Wuxian’s deepest sympathy, but still objectively hilarious.
Remembering his confused companion, Wei Wuxian forced a laugh and tittered, “I forgot.” He tapped his head. “My memory is truly terrible.”
“Mine too!” said Sizhui, far too cheerful for the topic at hand.
Wei Wuxian studied him. The boy was far too quick to latch on to his persona as a poor, abused man.
Was he trying to bond over shared trauma? Had he been abused too?
He was reasonably certain Wangji wasn’t capable of child cruelty, but Qiren… He really didn’t like the thought of Qiren being allowed near such a kind hearted child. Sizhui hadn’t even spat on him for using Demonic Cultivation!
“I can remember things now,” explained Sizhui. “But I cannot remember anything before Hanguang Jun found me.”
“Uh huh,” he said nervously, wondering what would happen if he took Sizhui with him to visit Huaisang in Qinghe (not that he could talk to Huaisang, of course, but he could laugh from a distance). He might have to take Jingyi too, because even though he’d only known them for a short time he knew they were inseparable.
Then he caught himself, realizing he was actively plotting to kidnap two members of the GusuLan sect when he was supposed to be plotting his escape and disappearance.
“Did you have anyone, Master Mo?”
He lifted his head. Sizhui was looking at him (or rather, his face was turned in Wei Wuxian’s direction and he was doing a damn good job of pretending he could see)
“Anyone like Hanguang Jun,” Sizhui added. “If that isn’t too forward.”
He found himself smiling, thinking of Wangji singing to him in the cave as fever raged through his body. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I had someone.”
He couldn’t leave just yet.
He needed to keep an eye on Sizhui.
And to investigate the hand.
It was NOT because of Lan Wangji.
Not at all.