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This is not the first time Lan Sizhui stepped foot into the Burial Mounds.
But now, he returns with the recollected fragments of his forgotten past.
Standing on this bleak land, he can almost see the old settlement that once grew here.
A settlement of war victims who were forced to take refuge in this cursed domain.
A settlement that built houses from scratch and farmed radishes.
A settlement that eventually became home.
Wen Ning quietly follows as Lan Sizhui treks closer to the Demon Slaughtering cave.
Lan Sizhui isn't paying much attention to where he is going, his eyes stinging with tears that threaten to fall.
That area over there stood huts of the Aunties that liked to play with him.
Near that was a patch of radishes where Xian-gege buried him.
Xian-gege's lotus pond he painstakingly built.
Too soon yet too long, they enter the cave where Xian-gege slept.
Gone are all the mess of papers, tools, and gadgets that used to cover the cavern's floor.
If any still survived the first siege and subsequent looting, all must have been secured by Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-jun themselves. After the events in Guanyin Temple, Gusu Lan had sent disciples to clean up the mess of the second siege, spearheaded by the couple.
Lan Sizhui had already left for Qishan by then. His heart squeezes with regret.
Logically, he knows the state of their home would've looked the same if he was able to join during the clean-up.
Or more likely, it was worse.
Still, the cave’s yawning emptiness mirrored the gnawing void in Lan Sizhui that he is suddenly too aware of.
“A-Yuan, rest for a while.” Wen Ning softly says, guiding him to a flat rock jutting out from the wall. A water flask was pressed between his hands, and Lan Sizhui gave a crooked smile as thanks.
His eyes drifted towards the rough walls.
Beneath the streaks of dried blood, they were etched with scratches of stick figures when A-Yuan tried to add to Xian-gege's silly carvings.
In this mountain of the dead, they were able to carve out life
A life that managed to give him fun and happy memories.
A life that was so, so cruelly seized away from them.
No more Qing-jiejie to care for him when he's sick.
No more granny to sing him to sleep.
No more uncles that gave him goofy faces.
No more loud dinners with the family.
“A-Yuan,”
At Wen Ning’s gentle call, Lan Sizhui snapped his attention back to him.
Wen Ning gingerly cups his cheeks, a clumsy thumb wiping away the wetness beneath his eye.
Oh… He’s crying.
Wen Ning pulls him close into an embrace and it’s like a dam bursting at the surge of his grief.
“Ning-gege, Ning-gege,” Lan Sizhui sobbed, tightly gripping the back of Wen Ning’s robes—feeling as though he was a helpless three-year-old again. “Ning-gege, they're gone!”
Wen Ning curls tighter around him, as if trying to protect him from his anguish. His flat voice still drips with sorrow when he whispers, ”They're gone, A-Yuan.”
A-Yuan howled in pain.
Wen Ning clings to him just as desperately.
For the first time in so many years, they mourned.
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