Work Text:
The missive in his lap burned, his uncle’s hands spelling out impossibility.
“Did you read it?” Lan Wangji asked Wen Ying, who smiled apologetically in turn. He meant it too, which didn’t make it any better.
“I had to,” he said, justified, “for security measures.”
Yes, of course he had. And even without, Wen Ying probably already knew that Lan Xichen— that his brother— Lan Wangji’s fingers tore into the paper of the letter. Lan Wangji had always followed his brother’s lead, and tried to conduct himself in a matter he thought wouldn’t cause Lan Xichen any trouble when he knew himself to be difficult to be around for others. He’s never wanted his brother’s position, his burdens.
Xichen was injured. We don’t know if he’ll wake.
Lan Wangji was still his brother’s heir, would become acting sect leader when Lan Xichen was incapacitated under normal circumstances.
“My cousin is the best healer in our generation,” Wen Ying said as if Lan Wangji didn’t know himself, hadn’t seen the scar bisecting Wen Ying’s torso that was Nie Mingjue’s work as much as Wen Qing’s.
“My brother’s life,” Lan Wangji said, “my sect. Let me speak to them.”
Let them brand me a traitor, he thought, as long as you let them live.
“To what end?” Wen Ying asked. “Lan Wangji, what authority do you have over your sect anymore? Lan Zhan, I don’t mean to hurt you, but it has been four years.”
Four years of inaction, his sect nearly ran to the ground. Who was even left still? So many of their elders had been killed on the assault of the Cloud Recesses and they would’ve died on the battlefield before allowing their children to set foot on it. Lan Wangji, meanwhile, was healthy and had been one of their strongest fighters even before the war. While he hadn’t sparred for practice, he’d spent hours every day meditating and working on his cultivation.
There was no one to oppose him.
“I am my brother’s heir,” Lan Wangji said. “They will acknowledge me.”
I’ll make them, he didn’t promise, but Wen Ying’s expression turned soft anyway.
“Alright,” he replied. “I’ll talk to father, Lan-zongzhu.”
It was for the best. It was this or death and Lan Wangji wouldn’t allow his sect to die.
Wen Ying disappeared again and Lan Wangji began his preparations. He’d have to negotiate terms with his sect and Sect Leader Wen. He’d met Wen Ruohan less often than he thought he would upon his imprisonment, but every confrontation had hallowed him out a little. Wen Ruohan hadn’t even taken to the battlefield yet, leaving the campaign to his sons, son now, and generals. Meanwhile, all other sect leaders had been fighting for years now, his brother was on the deathbed because of it. Realistically, what chance did they truly have against Wen Ruohan?
Lan Wangji knew there was little negotiating he could engage in with Sect Leader Wen, the best he could hope for was the man feeling indulgent on behalf of the youth.
They’d submit to his demands and Lan Wangji would get to go home and teach the next generation how to play their songs and it would have to be enough.
Wen Ying stayed away for the next days until he burst into the chambers one evening just before Lan Wangji was to take his own meal.
“Take your guqin,” Wen Ying said. “Father said you are to play for us at dinner and make your case.”
Wen Ying didn’t leave as Lan Wangji disappeared behind the privacy screen to change into something more appropriate, a gift much too nice for a wartime prisoner. It was reminiscent of the robes Lan Wangji used to wear, but the red edges and sun motives among the clouds were hardly subtle. Once dressed, he took Aisi from its stand. He’d refused to name the guqin for months, wishing for his own, but by now, he’d given up hope that he’d ever see Wangji again. He’d learned to make this imprisonment something he could bear, so he’d reluctantly given in to his new instrument too.
Wen Ying was surprisingly silent as they walked to the great hall Wen Ruohan preferred for his lavish celebrations. Tonight, there were no other musicians or favored servants, just Wen Ruohan, Wen Ying, and Lan Wangji.
He showed his respects, as customary and expected and rose when Wen Ruohan gave him the leave for it.
“Play something from Gusu, Lan-er-gongzi.”
Lan Wangji followed the order, returning to melodies he’d played a thousand times before. His uncle was a firm believer that for an excellent foundation in musical cultivation, one had to have an excellent foundation in music. He’d seen to it that Lan Wangji and his brother had learned to play more than just their sect songs and how to compose music.
Aisi was an instrument meant for entertainment, not for battle, but even with its wooden body, Lan Wangji could attempt an attack.
He hadn’t played until his fingers bled since he was first given Aisi, but he’d do it now if that was what Wen Ruohan required of him. Chord Assassination wouldn’t ever be strong enough on this instrument to spill Wen Rohan’s blood.
“I believe that is enough,” Wen Ruohan said after a while. Lan Wangji finished the last notes of the song before retrieving his hands.
“A-Xian, what do you think?” Wen Ruohan asked.
Wen Ying straightened in his seat and fixed his posture. He’d only started doing that once he got more involved in the war. Before, he’d lounged and whined at his father, complaining about his discomfort.
“The Lan are a problem,” Wen Ying said bluntly. “Especially because their techniques can hold off multiple soldiers at once. They are, however, also becoming fewer in numbers. The Jiang are still putting up a commendable fight, given their sect leader is an untrained maiden, but ultimately their efforts are futile. Nie Mingjue will never capitulate, so the Sect must be razed to the ground. The Jin, I believe, can be argued with. Jin Guangshan is, if nothing else, concerned with keeping Koi Tower. If we take Gusu to the east, we secure the area between them and us, and Jin Guangshan will have to decide between risking war on his territory or declaring neutrality at a minimum. The fighting will be reduced to the northern border and we should win within the year.”
Wen Ruohan nodded and leaned back in his chair, nursing his wine. He didn’t look particularly bothered, as if the thought of victory didn’t excite him anymore, already seeing it as the only possibility.
“It seems you will finally have a use, Lan-er-gongzi. A-Xian likes to exaggerate when it comes to your capabilities, so I trust you will not lie to me: can you bring your clan to heel?”
Could he? It was not a question Lan Wangji could answer honestly, removed from the war for such a long time, but he’d do so or die trying. “I will, Wen-zongzhu.”
Wen Ruohan looked at Lan Wangji like he was a particularly curious treatise on cultivation, something to study and annotate if needed.
Then, unexpectantly, he laughed.
“Well said, Lan-er-gongzi. We will see if you can do as a-Xian promised. It’ll be a loss if no one is left to play the guqin for us. I expect all Lan cultivators to confine themselves to the Cloud Recesses by the end of spring at the very latest. I do not wish to engage with the Nie in winter.”
It took all of Lan Wangji’s willpower to keep his eyes on Wen Ruohan and not let them stray to Wen Ying. Had he talked his father into allowing this chance?
“A-Xian, you will accompany Lan-er-gongzi. You will leave tomorrow.”
Wen Ying bowed to his father. “I will not disappoint you.”
The rest of the dinner passed quietly until Wen Ruohan saw it fit to dismiss them. Wen Ying had said that he’d be allowed to make his case, and, foolishly, Lan Wangji had believed he’d be allowed to say anything at all. Still, whatever awaited his sect, it couldn’t be worse than its total annihilation.
“I’ve got a gift for you,” Wen Ying said. “Something to celebrate the occasion!”
He pulled Lan Wangji along to his rooms, dismissing the servants when they entered the chamber.
“Close your eyes,” Wen Ying ordered and Lan Wangji loathed that he didn’t hesitate to do as told.
He heard Wen Ying move around the room, opening and closing doors before returning to Lan Wangji’s side. “You can open them now.”
Wen Ying stood in front of him, his arms apart to hold up a robe. Unlike the one he was wearing now, this was far better made. The embroidery, suns and clouds staking claim, was so delicate that it must have taken months of needlework. This was no recent commission and not like anything Lan Wangji had ever born before, even for the grandest celebrations he’d ever attended.
“Do you like it?” Wen Ying asked with a smile. “You’ll need something befitting your rank, so I ordered it.”
Lan Wangji took the cloth from him and ran his fingers over the fragile material. This was not the kind of robe you’d wear every day.
“Thank you.”
The expectation on when to wear it couldn’t be any more explicit.