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Lan Zhan is not cut out to be a father.
He knows this, has made his peace with it, doesn’t wince when the thought crosses his mind any more. After all, it is the truth, so why should he let it bother him? He is Hanguang Jun; well-respected but not necessarily well-liked, fair but rarely kind, beautiful but cold. Domesticity does not suit him. He thought it might, once, years ago, but the chance to confirm his theory slipped through his fingers. He does not let it bother him.
Lan Yuan’s first few years under his care are, as a result…somewhat trying.
Lan Zhan spends many a sleepless night, both in seclusion and out of it, some nights alone, sometimes with a snuffling Lan Yuan curled into his side, and wonders whether he made the right choice. He knows that whatever the answer is, what’s done is done, and he wants to cast off the child to someone else about as much as he wants to cut off his own sword arm. Still, the thought that Lan Yuan might have a happier life with someone warmer, someone more loving, gnaws at him like a plague. He knows what it had been like to grow up a Lan. It’s a lot of pressure for a pair of little shoulders to bear.
Still, Lan Yuan is the hardy sort, and he takes to sect life more easily than anyone could have expected. The boy cries sometimes, of course. He’s prone to nightmares and anxieties as any child might be in his situation, and before his confidence starts to grow, he clings to Lan Zhan’s robes as if his guardian will walk out of sight if he lets go. He learns, though, and while Lan Zhan may not be warm, he is patient, and Lan Yuan begins to grow into a quiet, polite child under his hand.
He may not be cut out to be a father, he often thinks, but Lan Yuan makes it easy for him to at least try.
Things all comes to a head at dinner one evening.
Lan Zhan forgets, sometimes, that Lan Yuan is just a child. The boy is the perfect little shadow, following in his footsteps quietly and obediently, asking the right questions and staying silent when it is most appropriate to do so. He is attentive in his lessons, focused while practicing his sword forms, and does not make a fuss when he is swept away from the other disciples to retire to the Jingshi for the evening. The elders say he is the perfect example of a young Lan shidi, peaceful and demure and perfectly malleable, a testament to Hanguang Jun’s patient care and mentorship.
He is also six years old.
It is terribly difficult, Lan Zhan thinks to himself as he sits on his heels and braces for the incoming storm, to be six years old. This, he remembers.
To give the boy some credit, Lan Yuan had tried incredibly hard to settle down once they had crossed the threshold of his uncle’s residence. It had been more than clear that he was overexcited, fidgety without an outlet for his energy after an afternoon of sitting quietly in his lessons, but Lan Zhan had presumed this would pass. It usually did. Lan Yuan wasn’t too boisterous a youth, and often calmed down by the time they sat down to eat, his demeanor placid and accommodating.
Today had been different. In hindsight, Lan Zhan could give four or five different reasons for the sudden turn of events, but of course, hindsight was everything, wasn’t it?
They had been at the table, the four of them - Shufu at the head, Xichen across from Lan Zhan, and Lan Yuan settled neatly to his side - the only sound the gentle clink of their chopsticks against the side of their bowls, when Lan Yuan had first taken an excited breath.
“Bofu, I forgot, did you know-”
“We must remain silent during meals, A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan had corrected him, not unkindly. Lan Yuan did not often forget this rule, but it was only natural that he might need a reminder every now and then. He was still young, after all.
It was out of character, then, that Lan Yuan had frowned and doubled down.
“But it’s important. Bofu, do you know that in-”
“A-Yuan.”
Lan Zhan’s voice had been firmer, that time, but if he’s honest with himself, he had been more confused than annoyed. Since when did he need to remind him twice?
Lan Yuan’s little face had darkened, but in fairness, he had held his tongue, stubbornly flipping a piece of gourd in his bowl with his chopsticks. Things hadn’t seemed too bad, at that point. Uncle’s face had still been serene, untroubled, and Xichen had shot his nephew an apologetic smile over the table. No, the mood had not been ruined yet, no harm done.
He had noticed things were going downhill when Lan Yuan had started to slouch.
“A-Yuan,” he had said quietly, gently laying a hand on the boy’s back to remind him to correct his posture. “Sit up straight. We do not slouch at the dinner table, it is impolite.”
Normal, once again. One cannot expect a child to remember thousands of rules at a time. Reminders were common, frequent, and encouraged, in the correct capacity.
What was distinctly not normal, however, was Lan Yuan reaching behind himself to push Lan Zhan’s arm away with his little hand, shooting him a petulant glare.
The silence had settled over them like a heavy winter robe, then.
Xichen, in his infinite grace, had been far kinder than the situation called for, his brow creasing in concern. “Perhaps you are tired, A-Yuan?” He had suggested politely, giving the boy an out that Lan Zhan had hoped with all his heart he would take. “If you are feeling unwell, by all means, you should rest.”
Lan Zhan had felt his Shufu’s eyes on them, watching. That had been enough. Too much, even.
“Perhaps we should retire for the evening,” he had said, offering his brother a grateful nod. “A-Yuan, finish your food, and then we will head back to the Jingshi.”
“Don’t want it.”
Three heads had whipped round to look at him immediately.
“...A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan had tried again, and in his defense, he had really tried. “I understand that you might not be feeling your best, but it is impolite to waste food. Please finish your meal, and we can return home as soon as you’re done.”
“I said I don’t want it.”
“Lan Yuan.”
“No. It’s bitter and I hate it.”
“Lan Yuan, you are being rude. Finish your dinner, please.”
“Why do I have to finish it if I don’t even like it?”
“It is against the sect rules to waste food, Lan Yuan, I have told you this many-”
“Well, maybe the rules are stupid!”
And this is where they are at, currently, Lan Yuan’s shrill retort hanging in the air. In all of his many years, Lan Zhan has never experienced a silence this unpleasant. He can feel, rather than see, Shufu’s eyebrow twitching, and a small, quiet part of him is ashamed. It had been an agonizing fight to keep Lan Yuan with him, to convince the elders to allow him to take the child into his care. Shufu had most certainly had his concerns. Now, it seemed like his uncle had been right - Lan Zhan knows nothing of taking care of a child, even less of being a father. He is failing Lan Yuan, just like he had failed-
He takes a deep breath, and another, and one more for good measure.
“Lan Yuan,” he says, frostily, back as straight as a post, piercing gaze fixed on the child in front of him. “This is not behavior befitting a Lan. Pull yourself together, and finish your meal.”
He knows the effect he has on children. Lan Zhan knows he is not a warm person, or particularly gentle, or even pleasant to be around, always. Perhaps this is why his younger shidi seem to fall in line quickly when he walks by, their sword forms tightening, their whispers cutting off mid-conversation. He does not mean to be frightening, but by this point, he cannot help it. Therefore, he expects one of two outcomes: for Lan Yuan to correct his behavior and fall in line, or for him to start sobbing and require removal from the dining room.
What he does not expect is for Lan Yuan to open his mouth and start shrieking like a demon.
It has been an awfully long time since the great Hanguang Jun has been caught off guard. His golden eyes go wide as he watches Lan Yuan with an almost fascinated horror, and he knows, in the back of his mind, that he is supposed to be doing something, rectifying the situation. Still, he watches. Xichen watches. Shufu watches, and Lan Zhan remembers they are in public, eating with their family, and not tucked away behind the comfort of the Jingshi’s walls. For the first time in a long time, panic bubbles in his gut, an awful cocktail of shame and desperation, and Lan Zhan is not proud of himself when he shouts.
“Lan Yuan, you will stop this nonsense and apologize, immediately!”
The shrieking stops.
Somehow, the silence is worse.
Lan Yuan grits his teeth and takes a shuddery breath in and rasps, “A-Die, you don’t get it, it’s all-”
“I do not want to hear it. Apologize, Lan Yuan. Now .”
Lan Zhan’s tone leaves absolutely no room for negotiation. To his credit, Lan Yuan does not try to push back. He gets to his feet, inclining his head somewhat.
“Sorry, Bofu, I was rude and I wont do-”
“Properly .”
Lan Yuan trembles, overtired and ashamed, but forces his posture into a more formal bow, and even through his anger, Lan Zhan aches with love for him.
“Sect Leader Lan, Grand Master Lan, please forgive this disciple for his display of impro- impropriety. It will not happen again.”
Lan Zhan does not wait for a response, rising to his feet swiftly and taking Lan Yuan’s hand to sweep him out of the room. He is interrupted, however, by Shufu clearing his throat, and Lan Zhan wants to sink to his knees in defeat. Do not prolong this, he wishes to beg him. Please just let this be done. Let peace take precedence over propriety, just this once, please .
“You coddle the boy, Wangji. Is it not more appropriate for him to address you as Hanguang Jun, as his peers do?”
The icy glare that Lan Zhan shoots his uncle is so heavy with contempt that it ends that discussion before it even begins. (It is inappropriate, Lan Zhan knows, and he should control himself better. He will copy out Restraint four times, when he retires for the evening. Maybe.)
His bushy eyebrows raising in what can only be shock, Shufu gives him an incomprehensible look, but nods his head to dismiss them nonetheless. As he turns to leave, Lan Zhan can see Xichen lift his arm, concealing a laugh behind his sleeve with years of practiced ease.
Traitor.
He walks them through the back hills of Cloud Recesses, the evening air cool in the autumn breeze. This will be the third autumn Lan Yuan has seen here, Lan Zhan thinks to himself, and tries not to concentrate on how the thought makes his chest hurt. His feet, as they often do when he has no distinct location in mind, take him to what Lan Yuan has started to call “Rabbit Hill.” It’s less of a hill than a grassy mound, really, but there are, indeed, rabbits here on a good day.
Lan Zhan finds a spot in the grass to settle down in, legs crossing into an easy seat, and watches the boy in front of him kick at the grass. His eyes are red rimmed, his lip raw from how he’s been worrying it between his teeth as they walk, and Lan Zhan once again remembers how difficult it is to be six.
“A-Yuan,” he calls gently, and he winces at how sharp his voice must have sounded, earlier. “Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind today?”
“No,” comes a short, stubborn response, and Lan Zhan feels a muscle in his jaw twitch, but he presses the fleeting annoyance down into cool nothingness.
“I understand that. Would you like to talk to Luobo instead?”
Lan Yuan pauses, thinking, clearly torn. It takes him a while to nod his head sullenly, but Lan Zhan knows this was always how this was going to go. Luobo is Lan Yuan’s favorite of the rabbits that congregate here, fat and docile, and can often be relied on to lift the boy’s spirits when she allows him to touch her soft white fur.
“Come, then. Sit with me, and we shall wait and see if she decides she would like to come to us.”
Again, Lan Yuan is hesitant, but the resistance seems to drain out of him once he clambers into Lan Zhan’s lap, arranging himself in a jumble of limbs to sit back against his chest. They don’t need words for this familiar routine, thank goodness. Lan Yuan knows that while he is here, waiting for the rabbits, he must be calm and quiet, lest he scare them away, and Lan Zhan knows that in the time it takes Luobo to turn up, hopeful for a treat, the boy will be more at peace with his thoughts.
It does take some time, this evening. The two of them sit in silence for a little while, breathing slow and even, before Lan Zhan picks up a quiet rustle in the foliage behind them, and sure enough, a round white head pokes through a few moments later. Lan Yuan is usually excitable by this point, squirming in his lap to try and coax the little creature closer to him, so it’s a testament to how tired he must be that he sits patiently, waiting.
“...Do you think rabbits have to follow rules?”
The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth lifts, just a fraction.
“Certainly. They would not live such peaceful lives, otherwise.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Mn. It is just speculation, I suppose, as they have not yet told me themselves, but even rabbits must have rules to follow.”
“Why?”
“To guide them. To see that they walk the right path in life.”
“And what if they don’t follow those rules?”
“To be human- that is, to be a rabbit, is to make mistakes, A-Yuan. It is important for a rabbit to do their best, but it is not a crime to make a mistake. One should not try to break the rules as a habit, but if mistakes are made, we can turn them into an opportunity to learn and grow from them.”
“We?”
“Sorry. The rabbits.”
“And a good rabbit should never break the rules?”
“A good rabbit should strive to do the right thing.”
“But A-Die, what if doing the right thing means you have to break the rules?”
Lan Zhan opens his mouth to reply, but finds himself winded for a moment, unable to speak. He is stronger, these days, less prone to fixating on the past, but sometimes, just like now, grief sneaks up on him like a thief in the night and steals the air from his lungs. He hears Lan Yuan’s words, watches this beautiful boy ask him an impossible question, and thinks of another beautiful boy, of his impossible questions, of his drive to do the right thing even if it killed him. Lan Zhan hears his heart beat a name that he still cannot say aloud, two proud syllables, and aches, bone deep, knowing he will never be whole again.
“...Is that wrong?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes, faraway for a moment, flicker back into focus, and his gaze falls on the child in his lap, watching him anxiously.
No, not ‘the child’. Lan Yuan. A-Yuan. His son. His greatest gift, and the last piece of Wei Ying he has left.
“Sometimes, you may encounter a difficult choice, A-Yuan, and you may be forced to decide what is the most important course of action to take: following the guidance of our sect’s rules, or doing the right thing. You will know when this occasion arises. It will not be an easy choice, and there may not be a right answer. Life is not so black and white as that.”
Lan Zhan takes a deep breath, releases it slowly, and takes his son’s little hands in his own.
“The only way you will know how to move forward is to listen to your heart. You must understand that there will be consequences to your actions, and you must meet these consequences head on and take responsibility for them. However… However, you may find that sometimes, the consequences of breaking a rule are worth the results. You are in charge of your own destiny. If that is a choice you feel you need to make, then I trust you to make it with confidence and integrity.”
Lan Yuan’s eyes are as wide as saucers, but it seems like he takes the information in his stride.
“...I understand, A-Di... Hanguang Jun,” he says, almost shyly, and Lan Zhan allows himself a little snort of amusement.
“Who on earth is Hanguang Jun?” Lan Zhan raises one delicate eyebrow. “I thought I was A-Die.”
It takes a second, but Lan Yuan giggles, shooting him a blinding grin (his tooth is loose, thinks Lan Zhan, it will come out soon, ah, how fast he is growing). He clearly has a retort ready, but is stopped in his tracks as Luobo, tired of being ignored, scrambles gracelessly up into the boy’s lap, sticking her velvety nose into his sleeves in search of something tasty. Lan Yuan shrieks again for the second time that evening, ticklish and delighted, and Lan Zhan holds him close, grief far from forgotten but more manageable in this moment, a low rumble instead of a roar.
“Quietly now. She has come to visit you of her own accord. You must show her the appropriate respect, no?”
Lan Yuan nods, his hands gentle as he begins to pat the rabbit in his lap, gliding his fingers along her silky ears just as he had been shown before, and Lan Zhan allows his posture to relax, his spine rounding slightly as he sits with his son among the rabbits.
Would Wei Ying be proud of them, he wonders?
Here in the quiet, even if only for a moment, Lan Zhan thinks that he would.
It’s enough.