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Rain was not a nuisance, nor was it a spectacle. It simply was.
That was all Lan Qiren had to say on the matter of the weather. It was raining so he got out his umbrella and went about his day. Other than that, it had absolutely no impact on his schedule.
Until he passed by the inner courtyard.
He paused, mulling over what he thought his mind had seen. Wondering if he was wrong, Qiren took two slow steps backwards and stared into the courtyard.
No.
He’d been right.
That was in fact Wangji’s ward sitting on a bench in the center of the garden, his head tipped back, his his hands resting on his knees, fingers curled to touch his thumbs in a meditative stance. Rain drenched him, soaking into the light fabric of his robes, weighing down his long hair.
Qiren blinked.
Didn’t the boy understand he was delicate? Did he have no sense of self-preservation? No regard for what Wangji had sacrificed for him? Was he so willing to throw it all away?
He humphed.
Disregard for one’s heath was against the GusuLan Sect Rules, and as Qiren lifted his umbrella and marched into the courtyard, he made a mental note to write up an order for a punishment. Copying the Sect Rules while doing a handstand ought to do the trick (after he changed into something dry of course).
Sizhui didn’t respond to his approach until he stood directly beside him, shifting his umbrella so that it covered both of them. The youth relaxed his hands, a curious expression on his face, waiting to be told who his new companion was. He still stared straight ahead, his eyes blank.
“Lan Yuan.”
Recognizing his voice, Sizhui smiled. “Grandmaster.”
“It is raining.”
“Yes, teacher, it is.”
“You are going to catch a chill,” he stated.
Sizhui tilted his head, turning toward Qiren as though looking at him. He’d gotten quite good at pretending he could see, if Qiren didn’t know him so well he might not notice how his eyes didn’t focus, just vaguely stared at his chest.
“Its warmer than the Cold Pond.”
“One does typically enter the Cold Pond fully clothed.”
Sizhui’s lips pulled back into a lopsided smile. He was far more… expressive than most of his peers. It was hard to say if that was due to his blindness (perhaps he didn’t know how expressive he was) or due to Wangji spoiling him.
It could be either.
It was dear either way.
“I like the rain,” said Sizhui quietly. He tilted his head, turning so that his ear was tilted toward the grandmaster, making the conversation easier to focus on.
“It is weather,” stated Qiren.
“Its a sensation.”
“… a sensation?”
“Hm.” The soft noise was so much like Wangji that Qiren huffed. Sizhui was typically far more expressive, always knowing what to say and how to say it, but at times he was prone to… melancholy. At those times, he tended to resort to his caregiver’s monosyllabic method of communication.
Deciding that Sizhui needed additional supervision Qiren folded his umbrella and sat beside him on the bench. It would be prudent, he decided, to work out how far into his own mind Sizhui had fallen. Sizhui was, after all, the Head Disciple, a title that came with responsibilities. If he was going to be unable to perform those duties, it was best that Qiren intervene.
Perhaps, if he joined the boy in experiencing this sensation, he would better understand his mind.