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The Cloud Recesses was silent in a way that was unusual, the tension thick and cloying. Lan Xichen forced himself to stand still, to quell the desperate desire to reach out and hug his younger brother. Lan Wangji currently knelt before him, his uncle, and the Lan Clan elders at the front of the ancestral hall. His brother had returned to the Cloud Recesses after fighting against his own sect’s seniors and spiriting the Yiling Patriarch off to, presumably, somewhere safe.
Though Lan Xichen was clan leader, he found his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Through dint of sheer will power, he spoke. “Does Lan Wangji, realize the severity of the dishonor he has brought upon the Gusu Lan Sect?”
His brother kept his eyes forward as he answered steadily, “This one is aware.”
“Then if Lan Wangji was aware, why did he protect him?” Lan Qiren interjected angrily, and Lan Xichen had to silently agree with their uncle.
Thirty-three seniors. Lan Wangji had managed to injure thirty-three of the Gusu Lan Sect’s best cultivators, all in the name of protecting Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji had also sustained injuries in the process, but all things considered, the relative lightness of his injuries in the face of such odds only further proved that he was very much worthy of the position of being the Lan Sect heir and first disciple.
Despite the fact that not a muscle twitched in Lan Wangji’s expression, Lan Xichen could tell that his younger brother was going to mulishly dig his metaphorical heels in, implacable in his resolve. “Wei Ying was injured and would have been killed had I not protected him.”
Lan Qiren snorted contemptuously. “His unorthodox method of cultivation should have killed him a long time ago.”
“Nonetheless, Wei Ying deserved protection,” Lan Wangji reiterated.
Lan Xichen was not blind to his brother’s affections, though he had hoped time and distance would dampen it. That Wei Wuxian had also fostered a rather infamous reputation during the Sunshot Campaign did not help. He had initially watched, with good humor, the way that Lan Wangji’s introduction to the then-Yunmeng Jiang first disciple had first been fraught with irritation that had then morphed into confusion, before ultimately transforming into muted fondness. That had been six years ago.
Now, however, Lan Xichen could not help but wonder if his brother’s current behavior had been—at least in part—his fault. If he had stepped in, had interfered with Lan Wangji’s budding regard for Wei Wuxian, could the fight that had injured so many of their sect members been avoided? His brother knelt stoically before him and the Lan Clan elders—almost all of whom they were related to by blood, however distant—patiently awaiting the verdict on what a suitable punishment would be for his transgression.
“Protection?” their uncle scoffed, “Wei Wuxian is not a member of the Gusu Lan Sect, and therefore we are under no obligation to protect him.”
“This one offered to personally protect him; did not offer him the protection of the Gusu Lan Sect,” Lan Wangji clarified.
Do not mix public and private interests, whispered the Lan Disciplines that had been ingrained in Lan Xichen’s soul the moment he had learned how to properly speak.
“Lan Wangji extended protection to the point of fighting against members of the sect?” he asked. Against shushu? against… me…? he wanted to add on, even though despite the fact that neither he nor their uncle not personally joined in the fight, Lan Qiren had hand-picked the senior disciples that had gone with him. Lan Xichen hoped against hope that his brother would… what, lie?
Do not lie.
“Yes,” Lan Wangji answered curtly.
Lan Xichen felt something inside his chest fracture at his brother’s answer. How he wanted to disband this gathering, to pardon his brother for his infraction. He wanted to hide Lan Wangji away, wanted to protect his brother from all harm—even if that harm came from his own clan. “Lan Wangji,” he said, and it took everything he had for his voice not to tremble from his anxiety and fear, “does Lan Wangji realize that he severely injured thirty-three seniors?”
Lan Wangji nodded once. “This one is aware.”
A steadying breath to brace himself, and Lan Xichen forced out the question he dreaded more than anything else. “Does Lan Wangji have any regret for injuring the senior sect members?”
“This one does not and accepts punishment.”
In any other situation, his brother’s resolve would have been commendable, praised, even. But in the here and now, Lan Xichen wished more than anything that Lan Wangji would be just that little bit less stubborn. Why? Lan Xichen wanted to ask. What is it about Wei Wuxian—aside from your affection for him—that makes you so utterly devoted to him? Lan Xichen knew his brother better than anyone else. What do you know that I don’t, that made you act the way you did? What am I missing?
Do not associate with evil.
Lan Xichen lost himself in troubled thought as the elders began to discuss Lan Wangji’s punishment, his brother all the while remaining where he knelt before them. He was sure the Lan elders would be lenient with his brother, because his reputation and behavior had been, for the most part, unblemished for his entire life, and this was his first truly serious transgression. Lan Xichen was confident that Lan Wangji’s status as first disciple and heir to the clan would provide him additional protection.
The mention of the discipline whip snapped Lan Xichen out of his ruminations, and he paled at the suggestion Lan Zhenghui had tossed out. “Would the venerable elder mind repeating that for this master?” he asked, positive he had heard incorrectly.
Lan Zhenghui huffed as he repeated, “One lash from the discipline whip, for every senior disciple injured.”
Horror flooded Lan Xichen’s entire being. “Guye,” he objected, “guye cannot possibly think that is a suitable punishment…”
“Actually,” Lan Youping countered, “it is entirely appropriate. Lan Wangji raised his sword against thirty-three senior Lan disciples and injured them severely enough that most were required to stay overnight in the medical hall.” The elders were nodding in agreement of the opinion that Lan Wangji needed a punishment equally as severe as what he had doled out to members of the sect, and Lan Xichen despaired as everyone except himself agreed that thirty-three lashes—one for each injured senior—was the suitable and correct punishment.
“Yilaolao,” Lan Xichen entreated, but the gaze she leveled at him was merciless.
“Zongzhu,” Lan Youping said, wielding Lan Xichen’s title like a blade as Lan Xichen flinched in response, “though both Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren have the final say in how Lan Wangji is to be punished, this one is sure zongzhu know what our opinion is.”
Lan Xichen bit back further protests as the twelve elders, his uncle included, agreed. Despite being clan leader, he had no sympathizers among them. Even if he objected further, his uncle’s decision had been made, and he, not Lan Xichen, had their blessing. Of the two opposing opinions, Lan Qiren’s held the weight of the elders’ approval. Lan Xichen closed his eyes in defeat.
Do not argue with your family, for it does not matter who wins.
“It has been decided. Thirty-three lashes from the discipline whip, one for each senior you injured,” Lan Qiren announced. Lan Xichen withheld the desire to cry, his expression pained, as Lan Zhenghu left to retrieve the discipline whip and Lan Wangji nodded in acceptance.
“Wangji…” he whispered, staring at his brother. Lan Wangji continued to gaze stonily, resolutely forward. Realizing that his brother was not going to defend himself, he turned to his uncle. “Shushu, please…!”
“He has accepted his punishment, zongzhu,” Lan Qiren stated, refusing to look Lan Xichen in the eyes, “as should you. As clan leader, you of all people should understand that the seriousness of his actions requires equally significant punishment.” The reprimand would have been much more effective had Lan Xichen not caught a hint of the turmoil Lan Wangji’s punishment had caused in the faintest hitch in his uncle’s voice.
He sighed. “This one understands the requirement for punishment, shushu, but… thirty-three? This punishment is going to kill him!” Lan Xichen protested.
Lan Qiren closed his eyes, and Lan Xichen abruptly saw how weary his uncle was. “Wangji is strong, and the punishment is fitting,” he murmured quietly, his voice full of regret. “One lash for every senior he injured.”
“Zongzhu.” Lan Xichen turned to find Lan Zhenghui approaching. The elder bowed his head and presented the weapon to him with both hands. The discipline whip was a beautifully crafted cultivation weapon made of plaited, white-dyed leather. Attached to the handle was a wrist loop on one end and a transition knot with decorative fringing, both colored a pale sky blue, and the fall consisted of three tails. Lan Xichen’s heart rate soared in terror at the sight of it.
“Surely,” he breathed as he forced the upwelling of tears in his eyes away, “Elder Zhenghui doesn’t intend for this one to discipline his own brother.”
Lan Zhenghui gazed steadily back at him. “An infraction of this magnitude must be addressed by the clan leader. No one else can do this.” He lifted the discipline whip closer and higher to Lan Xichen.
Lan Xichen swallowed thickly, and a quick glance around revealed all the elders watching him back, the expectation that he would abide by their decree clear in their eyes. With shaky hands, Lan Xichen reached out and accepted the discipline whip. The weapon hummed in his hands, the power running through it different but at the same time similar to that of Shuoyue and Liebing. He walked around Lan Wangji, positioning himself behind his brother before releasing the coiled braid from one hand. The thong snaked to the ground with a distinctive slap.
Few were the things that could make Lan Xichen cry. Grief from losing his parents was one; seeing his brother sick, injured, or in pain was another. That he was now expected to be the one inflicting physical harm on Lan Wangji was a nightmare of epic proportions, and he direly wished this was simply a bad nightmare.
Do not be of two minds.
Lan Xichen clenched the handle of the discipline whip tight enough for the leather to creak in protest. Lan Wangji, in anticipation of the strikes, had pulled his hair over one shoulder and bowed his head, leaving his back open and unprotected.
I can’t, he thought frantically, dropping his gaze in panicked denial, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!
“Zongzhu.” The verbal nudge from one of the elders—Lan Xichen did not bother to identify the speaker—was a reminder to him of his duty to his clan.
When he continued to hesitate, Lan Wangji murmured, “Zongzhu,” and Lan Xichen’s eyes snapped up to his brother. Lan Wangji continued to face forward, but his words were directed backwards at him. “This one accepts punishment.”
Lan Xichen sucked in a breath. Lan Wangji was informing him, in no uncertain terms, that he was required to fulfill his duties as clan leader. To disregard the fact that they were brothers.
Do maintain your own discipline.
Closing his eyes, Lan Xichen inhaled and exhaled, slowly, with shaky control. I’m sorry, Wangji, he apologized as a tear rolled down his cheek, I’m so sorry. Forgive me.
Opening his eyes, Clan Leader Lan gritted his teeth, raised his arm, and swung the whip forward.
Do not behave improperly.
---
Lan Xichen stood, frozen, long after an unconscious Lan Wangji had been carried off to the medical hall. The gathering of elders had already dispersed, and only Lan Qiren remained.
The thirty-three lashes had been nothing short of agonizing. The pristine white of the discipline whip’s thong and fall had quickly been coated in arterial red. The first crack of the whip against Lan Wangji’s back had not only torn his clothing, but it had also split open the skin and muscle of his back and the backs of his upper arms. Lan Wangji had flinched at the contact—the discipline whip had been designed to cause grievous pain—though no sound escaped him.
The second lash, angled so that it would not strike the first wound, painted another bloody stripe across his brother’s back. Then came the third, the fourth, the fifth. Lan Wangji bore them stoically save for a flinch with each strike.
After the sixth lash, Lan Xichen, with tears blurring his vision and silently crawling down his face, turned to the observing elders, silently beseeching them to lessen his brother’s punishment. Finding no quarter, he turned to his uncle. Though Lan Qiren’s face was expressionless, his eyes revealed the depth of his regret, his anger, and his disappointment. Lan Xichen caught his uncle’s gaze, and Lan Qiren closed his eyes and quietly commanded, “Continue.”
Lan Xichen wanted nothing more than to burn the whip in his hand, to turn it to ash so fine the slightest breeze would scatter it to the ends of the earth. He wanted to disobey the elders, wanted to express his fury and resentment at being forced to beat his own brother. He wanted to turn the discipline whip on them instead.
Do not disrespect the elders.
He felt betrayed.
Betrayed by the people that he had respected all his life, people who were of his own blood, people that he leaned on as clan leader for guidance and advice. Lan Xichen understood that Lan Wangji needed to be punished. He had broken multiple rules inscribed on the Wall of Discipline, there was no getting around that. But he refused to believe that his brother needed to be subjected to a punishment of this magnitude. The elders are wrong, he thought furiously as the seventh lash cracked across Lan Wangji’s back. They do not know Wangji like I do to understand that he had to truly believe he was in the right to so blatantly disregard the tenants that are the foundation of the Lan Clan and Sect.
Do shoulder the weight of morality.
Lan Xichen could think of no other reason why his brother would so readily accept punishment. The one time he had accepted punishment just as easily here as he had had been six years ago, when he had admitted to fighting without permission, criticizing other people, albeit internally, and venturing out at night—all of which had been instigated by none other than Wei Wuxian. That instance had ended with Wei Wuxian receiving one-hundred strikes of the discipline ruler, while Lan Wangji had received one-hundred fifty. Even back then, Lan Xichen could tell that his brother had been grudgingly captivated by the future Yiling Patriarch.
By the eighth lash, Lan Wangji’s back was solidly colored in crimson. The integrity of his clothing had been destroyed enough to leave him bare from the waist up, exposing his elongated, open wounds to the elements. There was no way for Lan Xichen to avoid overlapping the previous strikes, as the eight that he had given scored the entirety of his brother’s back.
Do not alter clothing without permission.
The ninth strike crossed over several of the previous ones, and for the first time, Lan Wangji released the smallest whimper of pain. The eleventh brought a hiss. The fourteenth pulled an unwilling cry of pain from Lan Wangji as he fell to all fours, unable to maintain his upright kneeling position. The eighteenth saw Lan Wangji fully collapse to the floor, the torn musculature in his back unable to support his weight. The twenty-second revealed the first peek of white bone buried within torn, crimson flesh. The twenty-eighth caused Lan Wangji to slide into unconsciousness.
The thirty-second brought Lan Xichen agonized relief that he only had one more strike left.
The thirty-third ended with the discipline whip slithering to a standstill on the floor, lacquered a glistening red and trailing more in its wake. Lan Xichen forced open the fingers of the numb hand holding the discipline whip with difficulty, so tightly had he held the handle. The weapon coiled to the ground with a muted thump.
Lan Wangji’s back was… To put it politely, his brother’s back bore more similarities to minced meat than human flesh; the tips of his vertebrae gleamed red-streaked ivory amongst a sea of vermilion in more than one location.
Do not create damages.
Lan Xichen felt sick to his stomach.
He had done this.
He had harmed Lan Wangji.
He had irreparably disfigured his brother.
Lan Xichen kept his eyes on Lan Wangji’s back, forced himself to look, to brand the guilt he felt into the marrow of his bones, and in that moment, Lan Xichen felt nothing but pure hatred for his clan.
The rules that every Lan abided by was meant to guide their members to be just and righteous, to be kind and merciful. Lan Xichen could not find any of that in the punishment that he had just doled out to his brother. What he had just done was despicable on a scale he had, until this point, never been able to fathom. With brisk efficiency, his brother had been carefully transported to the medical hall, the discipline whip whisked off for cleaning and storage. Lan Xichen remained, eyes glued to the blood that stained the floor, that thin layer of red more than enough to drown him in shame and self-loathing.
Do love and respect yourself.
“Xichen,” Lan Qiren said softly as he approached. His uncle gently clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Xichen was only doing his duty as sect leader.”
A tremor of fury and disgust rippled through Lan Xichen’s frame. “This one’s duty,” he spat scornfully through clenched teeth, “should never have to include nearly killing his own brother.”
Do uphold the value of justice.
Lan Qiren sighed. “Xichen, look at me.” Only after Lan Xichen met his gaze did his uncle speak. “I regret agreeing to Wangji’s punishment. I regret that you were overruled. But even you could see that the elders would not be swayed one way or another. I simply chose what I thought would resolve the situation quickly and leave everyone with some measure of dignity.”
“Dignity,” he scoffed acrimoniously, cutting his glare away from his uncle to some poor, unsuspecting moss growing on the edge of the floor planking. “I am the current sect leader, and yet I was overruled. Clearly, my opinion means little to the elders in the face of ensuring the rules are enforced.” Despite his bitter words, Lan Xichen understood what his uncle meant. Had Lan Xichen refused the punishment the elders had agreed upon, it would set the precedent that the clan leader—who was also the sect leader—was allowed authoritarian power within the clan, which had never been the case. The Lan Clan had, almost from the very beginning, had an advisory body to the clan leader. There had always been an even number of elders who advised the clan leader, and in the event of an even-split decision, the clan leader’s word was the tie breaker. However, if the overwhelming majority of the elders were in agreement, not even the clan leader could overturn their decision.
Do not forget the grace of the forefathers.
Before now, Lan Xichen had never had reason to doubt the wisdom of the elders. He, like other Lan clan leaders before him, had placed his faith in the wisdom of the elders, in their greater knowledge and experience. But now, that trust had shattered. Lan Xichen would continue to use them for guidance, but he would no longer believe that their decisions were the correct—righteous—ones. Perhaps it was a lesson he should have learned earlier, but he also felt it was a lesson he should have never had to learn in the first place.
Do not break faith.
“Xichen, listen to me,” Lan Qiren entreated as he squared himself before Lan Xichen by putting one hand on each shoulder. “I know you, Xichen. I knew that had I not intervened, you would have argued yourself hoarse over Wangji’s punishment, and I did not want to see you punished as well for defying the elders.” Lan Qiren dropped his grasp of Lan Xichen’s shoulders and glanced around cautiously. “Let’s go back to the Hanshi,” he suggested, “we can talk a bit more freely there.” Lan Xichen watched as his uncle reached out as if to grab him but froze in indecision of where the point of contact should be. His uncle had never been one to instigate touch, and it was very evident now, what with how awkwardness fairly radiated off his form.
Lan Xichen took pity on his uncle and forced his feet to retract the roots it had grown into the floor, and the two silently wove their way through the Cloud Recesses to the clan leader’s residence. Lan Qiren gently herded Lan Xichen inside and slid the door shut before getting him to sit at the low tea table used to entertain guests. “I’ll make tea,” the older man said, and retreated to the small in-house kitchenette before Lan Xichen could protest.
Do not sit when the elder is standing, for only once the elder sits down may you sit.
The Lan clan leader leaned his elbows on the table as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Despite his lack of sight, Lan Xichen could still clearly see the image of his brother, crumpled like a discarded doll on the floor, his back a lacerated mess of blood and flesh and bone. Remorse pressed down on him, weighted his shoulders and bowed his back.
Do not sit with a disgraceful pose.
Lan Qiren returned with a pot of peppermint tea and two teacups, which he poured as though he was the host and inhabitant of the Hanshi. “Xichen,” he murmured after they had both taken a moment to sip at their cups, the cool fragrance lightly suffusing the interior of the Hanshi. His face twisted in what Lan Xichen knew was discomfort at the looming conversation as he asked, “What is on your mind?”
Lan Xichen opened his mouth to voice his thoughts, but instead bit his tongue. Resentment bubbled in his throat, yet he was unable to speak them aloud.
“You may be candid,” his uncle assured, “the elders will not hear of this from me.”
Do not talk behind other people's backs.
“I hate them,” he whispered sibilantly, forcefully releasing his teacup lest he shatter it in his grip. “I hate the elders… for what I was forced to do. I didn’t want to hurt Wangji, I didn’t want to enforce the rules as a clan leader. Because I know my brother. Wangji wouldn’t have done what he did if he did not think his actions were morally correct, regardless of the punishment he knew he would incur. I…” He sucked in a shuddery breath as he felt his sinuses burn—a sensation he had not felt in years, if not decades. He willed the potential onset of tears away. “I wanted to turn the discipline whip on them instead,” he shamefacedly confessed, ducking his head so that he would not have to see his uncle’s expression of astonished disbelief.
Do not succumb to rage.
Lan Qiren released a shaky sigh of his own. “Xichen,” he murmured gently, tiredly, “This aged one dishonorably admits that at the first crack of the whip—at seeing my younger nephew’s skin splitting open and spilling blood at the unwilling hands of my older nephew—I wanted to kill them.”
Lan Xichen barely managed to refrain from gaping at his uncle in incredulity.
Do not take a life within the premises.
Lan Qiren stared dejectedly at his clasped hands, fingers tightening enough to turn the tips white. “I won’t judge you—I cannot judge you for your feelings. Not on this matter. Not when I, too, have broken the rules.”
And what could Lan Xichen say to that? That the three highest-ranked members of the Lan Clan had broken multiple rules, willingly and knowingly, if somewhat unintentionally, depending on the person. He was in no position to cast stones, and it made him wonder what his ancestors thought when they had first inscribed the rules into the Wall of Discipline. Were they meant to be followed to the letter, or had they been written with the purpose of following more in spirit? The very idea of contemplating such heresy made his head ache, so Lan Xichen set aside that train of thought for another time.
Do not disregard laws and rules.
“There is… a sort of irony to this situation,” he remarked with dark flippancy. “Do I need to set punishment on the both of us for breaking some of the rules?” He met his uncle’s eyes, and the two shared a moment of fleeting amusement. “I suppose copying the rules while doing handstands would be sufficient for the both of us.”
Lan Qiren snorted. “While I believe that is a fair punishment for the both of us, what sort of example would we be if the junior disciples saw us?”
Lan Xichen sipped his tea and felt marginally better about the strength of his resentment towards the elders. Forcing some of his usual placidity into his voice, he murmured, “Then I suppose our punishments would need to be done away from impressionable eyes. I will do mine tonight before bedtime.”
“I will do mine on my own time as well,” his uncle agreed, and so saying, the two finished their tea, swallowed their anger, and resumed their duties.
Later that night, Lan Xichen partook in a jar of Emperor’s Smile that he had smuggled in from Caiyi Town after dinner, and if he had a hangover the next day after one cup, he felt the terrible state he was in, along with his own self-imposed punishment for partaking in alcohol, was only a fraction of the punishment that he actually needed to be dealt.
Do not drink alcohol.
---
Lan Wangji was comatose for twenty-seven long days, during which he remained under the care of the medical hall staff. Lan Xichen visited every day, transferred as much qi as the healers would allow him, helped change the poultices and bandages if he happened to be around when it was necessary. The sight of his brother, so still and so pale, would flood him with guilt anew.
His brother looked terrible. His complexion, especially in the beginning, was ashen from blood loss, and despite being fed nutrient-rich broths, Lan Wangji’s face grew thinner as the days passed with his continued unconsciousness. Lan Xichen began to worry that his brother might not wake—the healers had informed him that patients who did not wake up after the four-week mark generally passed away in their slumber—and as the twenty-eight-day limit approached, Lan Xichen fell further and further into despair. Outwardly, he appeared as calm and collected as he always did, but internally he was in utmost turmoil.
Lan Xichen was visiting late one evening—well past the time to sleep, but his anxiety had overridden any tiredness from the hour, and so he had stolen into the medical hall, sneaking past the sleeping healers. The solitary candle that he had brought was set on the small table next to Lan Wangji’s bed, weakly illuminating his brother’s pale, lax face. Though his brother was covered in a light blanket, Lan Xichen knew that Lan Wangji was bare from the waist up, his exposed torso, shoulders, and upper arms wrapped in multiple layers of medication and gauze.
Do not work past haishi.
“Wangji,” he murmured in greeting as he sat on a stool he had picked up from a corner, and carefully reached out to grasp lightly curled, callused fingers. He rubbed his own fingers against his brother’s, seeking comfort in the warmth of them—a solid confirmation that Lan Wangji was alive, and wondered if he would lose this warmth, too, the way he had with their mother and father. Bowing his head, he pressed Lan Wangji’s fingers to his forehead in supplication, though he was careful to avoid contact with his headband.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, feeling the burn of tears building in his sinuses, “I’m so sorry.”
Please don’t leave me, he wanted to say, but the words voicing his deepest fear would not leave his throat. I’ve—we’ve—lost a-niang and a-die… I can’t lose you, too, Wangji.
Lan Xichen straightened and released Lan Wangji’s fingers, taking a long moment to study his brother’s facial features. His brother took after their mother in both looks and temperament, while he had taken more after their father. He studied Lan Wangji’s face and tried to imagine what it would be like to not ever see it again.
He could not.
Lan Xichen maintained his solitary vigil for a shi, the vise-like fear that gripped his heart temporarily loosened with every breath his brother took. The faintest groan snapped Lan Xichen from his woolgathering, and he waited with his heart in his throat as Lan Wangji’s face tensed in an expression of silent suffering before his eyes fluttered the barest crack open.
Breath hitching as hope blossomed in his chest, Lan Xichen lowered himself from the stool to kneel next to the bed, leaning down so that he was in his brother’s field of vision. “Wangji,” he breathed, his vision blurring with tears. He whispered fervently, “Thank heavens, thank earth, you’re awake!” Lan Xichen could have bawled right then and there in sheer relief, though he valiantly refrained from doing so.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes, jaw clenching, and Lan Xichen belatedly realized that since his brother was conscious once more, he could very clearly feel the effects of the whipping that had landed him in the medical hall in the first place. “I—Let me go wake up one of the healers!” he whispered with excited urgency as he walked as swiftly as he dared towards the healers’ rooms.
Do not run.
Lan Xichen woke up Lan Changye as quietly as he could, though he wanted nothing more than to throw the man over his shoulder and run him towards his brother. It was unsightly for the clan leader to have a healer draped over his shoulder like a sack of turnips—not to mention just overall extremely bad taste.
Even so, Lan Xichen’s eagerness all but dragged the healer to Lan Wangji’s bedside, and he was silently grateful that the man did not inquire as to the reason the Lan clan leader was in the medical hall at such an odd hour. Lan Xichen set about lighting more candles around the room to give Lan Changye more light, ears attentively listening to Lan Changye’s quiet questions and Lan Wangji’s equally quiet answers. Lan Changye quickly set Lan Xichen to grinding medicinal herbs for a fresh poultice while he levered Lan Wangji’s upper body off the bed with a wooden brace that had needed to be built for that specific purpose and began carefully unraveling the bandages.
He brought the freshly ground herbs to Lan Changye, and watched as the healer added enough water to make a paste before applying it to the base layer of Lan Wangji’s bandages, allowing the herbs’ medicinal properties to work while keeping the plant matter of the poultice free from his brother’s wounds. Lan Xichen helped where he was able, and in short order Lan Wangji was once again flat on his stomach with the light blanket once again covering him. Lan Changye swept off with the used pestle and mortar and soiled bandages after bidding the both of them goodbye.
“Wangji,” he murmured as he settled on the stool once more.
“Xiongzhang,” his brother answered softly, and Lan Xichen heaved a quiet but heartfelt sigh of relief. He had been terrified he would never hear that voice again.
The dam that had held Lan Xichen’s guilt broke. “Wangji,” he breathed, pleaded, “I didn’t want—I never wanted—"
His brother’s dark, tired eyes gazed steadily at him. “I know,” he said softly, cutting off Lan Xichen’s stumbling attempts to apologize. “I broke the rules and willingly submitted to my punishment. I forgive you, xiongzhang.”
Lan Xichen’s eyes watered. Lan Wangji, his brother, truly was too forgiving.
Do not exult in excess.
He wrestled his wayward emotions back under control and gave his brother a small but warm smile. “You are too kind.” Seeing how Lan Wangji was now struggling to stay awake, he reached out to carefully pat his head—the only place not covered by the blanket, as well as the only place he felt was safe enough to withstand touch without causing immense pain. “Rest, A-Zhan,” he said with gentle affection, speaking a name he had last used when they had both still been children. “Sleep and recover well.”
Lan Wangji gave him the faintest smile in reply and closed his eyes. Lan Xichen remained by his brother’s side until Lan Wangji’s breaths had evened and slowed into the rhythm of the unconscious, though now that familiar cadence brought him relief instead of worry.
His brother had awoken, and had begun the healing process—physically, at any rate. Mentally and emotionally, however, Lan Xichen was less sure. Even he had suffered the shaking of the foundations of his life, and he required still more time to recuperate. He could not go into seclusion despite his very fervent desire to do so—he was the Lan clan leader, and he had a duty to perform.
Lan Xichen stood, taking in the sight of his younger brother sleeping deeply. The poultices had done their job in both preventing infection and numbing the pain. In the coming days—months—possibly years—the both of them, along with their uncle, would feel the repercussions of the punishment that had been meted out to Lan Wangji. He expected awkward talks behind closed doors as their small family reconciled their morals against the Lan teachings. He expected to be there to help his brother through his rehabilitation, which he knew would be long and arduous. But he would be there for his brother, would be the steady rock that Lan Wangji could lean on.
Was it so difficult to ask that his small family remained healthy and whole?
Do not be greedy.
“Sleep well, A-Zhan,” he whispered. He blew out all the candles he had lit for Lan Changye and left the medical hall. Outside, the eastern horizon glowed a warm, rosy hue. Birds chirped in the surrounding forests, and the quiet solitude that he basked in was one he knew was fleeting. There were a multitude of issues to address once the world awoke, but Lan Xichen took this tiny moment in time to breathe.
His brother was on the mend. That was the most important thing in his life. Everything else—Wei Wuxian and the escaped Wen prisoners, untangling the reasons why Lan Wangji had acted the way he did, working on a reconciliation between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao—now Jin Guangyao—all of that could wait.
Lan Wangji was alive and still with him, and at the very heart of everything Lan Xichen was, that was all that truly mattered.
Do honor good people.
---
姑爺 / 姑爷 [gū yé] – husband of the sister of your paternal grandfather
叔叔 [shū shū] – younger brother of your father
姨姥姥 [yí lǎo lao] – sister of your maternal grandmother
宗主 [zōng zhǔ] – clan leader
爹 [diē] – archaic form for father; the 啊 [ā] before it is used to denote familiarity when used before a monosyllabic name
娘 [niáng] – archaic form for mother; the 啊 [ā] before it is used to denote familiarity when used before a monosyllabic name
兄長 / 兄长 [xiōng zhǎng] – respectful form of address for an elder brother or male friend
亥時 / 亥时 [hài shí] – traditional Chinese unit of time denoting two-hour intervals; this particular time is indicative of 9:00 PM
谢天谢地! / 谢天谢地! [xiè tiān xiè dì] – thank goodness or thank God; literally, thank heaven thank earth