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After sending Wei-gongzi to soak in the cold spring with Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen sat calmly to wait in his little brother’s room. He attempted to distract himself with a book, but he was unable to focus on the words despite how hard he tried. In the end, he closed his eyes and meditated for a bit, determined to confront Wangji with a calm mind.
As expected, Wangji stormed into the room not long after, his clothes and his forehead ribbon in disarray. Lan Xichen opened his eyes and couldn’t help the concerned frown that settled on his brow at such an unseemly sight. Wangji’s hair was dripping wet and his white robes clung to his skin, like he’d thrown them on in a rush, just to get far away as possible from Wei Wuxian. While he was only returning from the cold spring, it was obvious his mind was in turmoil.
Lan Xichen regarded his baby brother with a calm look, but the one that Wangji returned him was all cutting ice. No one outside of the Lan Clan had permission to enter the cold spring, so even if Wei-gongzi hadn’t mentioned who let him in, Lan Wangji still would know it was Lan Xichen.
“Xiongzhang,” Wangji said. There was no noticeable inflection to his tone, nor was there any shift in his expression, but Lan Xichen, who’d seen Wangji grow, didn’t need any of those to be able to tell that he was having a fit. Which was good, because Wangji clearly wasn’t willing to communicate at the moment.
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, softly, nodding at the empty spot in front of him, at the other side of the only desk in the room. “Come show me your palms.”
His voice was firm, leaving no room for refusal. Lan Wangji, despite feeling disagreeable, would never dare disobey Lan Xichen. Not because Lan Xichen demanded obedience of him—it was only at times like this, when Wangji’s wellbeing was threatened in any way, that he could bring himself to do it—but because he simply found comfort in following rules and hierarchy. So, he walked to his xiongzhang and sat down with a forceful flourish of his damp robes.
It was Lan Xichen who had to grab his hands, though. He didn’t miss the way they twitched as he examined them, his frown deepening in displeasure at the state they were in. Wei-gongzi’s had been a deep pink, but Wangji’s were red, with a couple bruises here and there. Wangji had clearly given himself more lashes. The punishment had already been overly severe to begin with, but this was well beyond what was forgivable.
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen scolded, his gaze hardening. Wangji’s hands twitched, once more, but Lan Xichen tightened his hold on them before he could slip from his grip. “What could you and Wei-gongzi have done for you to decide that you deserved a punishment so harsh? Burn one of our sacred ancient books? Knock someone unconscious? You were at the cold spring just now. Why didn’t you get your wounds healed? You can’t expect me to allow you to perform your duties like this.”
Wangji pressed his lips stubbornly, refusing to speak. Lan Xichen lifted his eyes just to let Wangji know that his patience had already been tested as it was, and that it was not wise to keep pushing. After a while in silence, Lan Xichen placed his own palm on top of Wangji’s and started transferring some of his own spiritual power onto it. Wangji jerked back, his expression darkening.
“You can’t!” he hissed. “Xiongzhang. I am in charge of punishment in the Cloud Recesses.”
“And I’m in charge of you,” Lan Xichen stated, calmly, holding out his hand. “Give it back. For as long as Shufu is gone, it is my duty as your older brother to soothe you when you lose your temper. You’re not thinking straight. You’ll allow me to take away the worst of the pain and reflect in silence facing the wall before you go to bed.”
Wangji’s whole face turned pale, then pink, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was rarely made to reflect—or, more precisely, it was never needed. Whenever he stepped out of line, ever since he was only a toddler; he’d always acknowledge his mistakes after being explained why acting certain way wasn’t okay, and how it could result harmful for himself or other people. Lan Xichen had always found it alarming in a child so small. While it always made Shufu smile with pride, most times it made Lan Xichen’s heart ache.
Seeing him like this, fussing over something as unreasonable as not wanting his injuries healed, was reassuring to certain extent. But Lan Xichen couldn’t really bring himself to feel delight when Wangji’s defiance was currently being directed at him. He’d thought Wangji would come back from the cold spring at least a little bit calmer—what had Wei-gongzi done to get him this worked up?
For a second, Wangji’s slight scowl turned into something softer, something that made Lan Xichen’s stomach twist. Something confused, hurt. Wangji didn’t like being bad. It was obvious that he wasn’t purposely trying to give Lan Xichen an attitude. Lan Xichen putting him on timeout left him no choice but to acknowledge his behavior was unacceptable, but it also made him feel wronged.
“But why?” Wangji asked, in a smaller voice. He rested his hands on his knees, curled into loose fists, and hung his head to look at them. “Xiongzhang, Wei Ying has broken curfew too many times. The rules say he is to collect punishment. And I fought him and broke curfew. Fighting is prohibited in the Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying shouldn’t have been allowed to use the cold spring; the lesson won’t stick.”
His shoulders shook the slightest bit as he said Wei Wuxian’s name. Lan Xichen’s concerns only grew at that, not because he believed Wei Wuxian wasn’t good for Wangji, but because it was clearly Wei Wuxian himself who was making his didi feel so conflicted. He’d been hoping that Wei Wuxian’s presence would help him relax, but the opposite had happened. That could only mean one thing—Wei Wuxian was good for Lan Wangji, beyond only good. It was a shame that Lan Xichen’s didi was trying so hard to deny himself from enjoying his company.
“You need to change into warm clothes,” Lan Xichen said, leaning forward to place one of his hands on top of Wangji’s. His little brother’s skin was freezing cold. “Change, and then we can talk. I can help you reflect if you’re unwilling to face the wall. You’re not in trouble, Wangji, I just want you to understand why what you did today wasn’t okay.”
“Shufu put me in charge of punishment in the Cloud Recesses.” Lan Wangji insisted, as stubborn as a child who refused to take a nap. He clenched his fists, digging his blunt nails into his tender flesh. An ugly, unfamiliar feeling curled in Lan Xichen’s chest. He pressed his lips into a thin line, heat crawling up his neck.
“Yes, he did,” he said, bringing his hand up to tilt Wangji’s face, leaving him no option but to look into his eyes, “and Shufu has taken his ruler to plenty of bottoms for faults far worse than breaking curfew or starting a fight. Over a hundred strikes in the ancestral hall was entirely unacceptable. A responsibility as big as this requires a deep understanding of the severity of breaking each rule, so that the punishment will be fair. If you refuse to learn from this, I’ll have no option but to tell Shufu about it and have your duties revoked.”
“You wouldn’t,” Wangji said, the skin of his palms turning white under the bite of his nails. He seemed to have caught on the fact Lan Xichen’s eyes were fixed on them, and that what he was doing was making Lan Xichen angrier. “Shufu said Wei Ying must be corrected.”
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen forced himself to take a deep breath, relaxing his own hands. “There are different ways of correcting people, that’s all. Subjecting yourself to a punishment so severe just so you could punish Wei-gongzi the same way was counterproductive and unjust. You will listen to me, and tomorrow you’ll apologize to Wei-gongzi and Jiang-gongzi for being so harsh. You clearly like Wei-gongzi, and I don’t want this incident to strain the relationship between you two.”
It was the wrong thing to say. The thin thread holding Lan Xichen’s baby brother together snapped.
“I won’t let you heal my wounds!”
The bedrooms in the Cloud Recesses were so unused to shouting that Wangji’s voice lingered in the air for long, ringing in Lan Xichen’s ears. He stared at his little brother for a long minute, dumfounded and hurt. Even then, the pain of being yelled at by his didi couldn’t compare to that of seeing said didi flinch back at his own behavior, his whole face scrunching up. Lan Xichen’s gaze softened at this. Brushing off his own confusion, he reached out to stroke Lan Wangji’s cheek, but Lan Wangji pulled away with a jerk.
Lan Xichen was at loss.
He’d never faced anything like this before. He had no experience with naughty didis. For sure, he’d been dealing with naughty shidis for a while now, especially in Shufu’s absence, but didi was different. Lan Xichen’s shidis didn’t work themselves past exhaustion, nor did they beat themselves up at the smallest slip. Lan Wangji had never required discipline before—if anything, he’d always required less of it.
Lan Xichen had needed it when he was his age, though. He hadn’t been born with a steady heart like Wangji’s, his was much softer, one could even say weaker. He couldn’t steel it against pleading eyes or pouty lips. Nor could he against Mingjue-xiong’s small, smug smirk and his strong hands on his waist. More than once, he’d landed himself in trouble with Shufu for keeping quiet about his shidis’ mischief, or for being caught with Mingjue-xiong’s mouth on places where it had not business going during studying sessions. In retrospective, there was a reason Shufu had put Wangji in charge of punishment, and not him.
But Wangji was younger than him. It shouldn’t have been.
Realizing this made Lan Xichen feel indescribable sadness. Wangji really was too young. He should’ve never found himself in this position in the first place—Lan Xichen should’ve been there for him, providing a guiding hand in the same way Shufu always did for him. Shufu loved Wangji just as deeply, and he took as good care of him; but if Lan Xichen’s heart was soft for doe-eyed shidis and Mingjue-xiong, Shufu’s was soft for Wangji. In his eyes, Wangji was incapable of having temper tantrums.
But here he was, right in front of Lan Xichen, having a very obvious one, and not knowing what to do with himself. With Shufu’s high expectations, it was no wonder Wangji had felt compelled to have himself beaten a hundred and fifty times with the sandalwood ferule. This wasn’t the start of it, this was right in the middle of the longest, most exhausting temper tantrum Lan Wangji had ever experienced in his whole life.
Lan Xichen swallowed down the lump in his throat and, with it, the tears gathering behind his eyes. He stood and walked around the desk, then he sat in front of Lan Wangji. Wangji’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed as if he were running a fever. When Lan Xichen grabbed his wrists, they were trembling ever so slightly. He ran his thumbs over his didi’s knuckles, managing a shaky smile. He thought of Mingjue-xiong and A-Sang, clinging together, Nie Huaisang’s red face buried in Nie Mingjue’s chest.
“If you won’t listen to me, Wangji, nor will you reflect in silence,” Lan Xichen said, dipping his head to meet Lan Wangji’s upset eyes. “I’ll help you reflect the way Shufu would if he was here.”
It took a single tug to lie Wangji across his lap. Wangji followed without offering the smallest bit of resistance, bracing his hands on the wooden floor, his wet hair sliding over his shoulder and pooling underneath him.
He wasn’t calm—in fact, his whole body was stiff, and Lan Xichen could feel how tense his belly was against his thighs. Lan Wangji was no stranger to how Shufu preferred to help naughty disciples reflect. It was hard to miss it, when everyone could hear the wailing coming from the Lanshi after every class, and see very sorry little disciples come out of it bawling minutes later. He’d just never fit that definition before.
Lan Xichen moved his robes to the side and out of the way and felt a small pang of guilt at the sight of Wangji’s raised bottom. His trousers were wet, too, clinging to him like a second skin. It wasn’t like they’d provide a lot of protection anyway. Lan Xichen could leave them on for now, but they’d be coming down eventually, and that would only make the punishment last longer. He’d prefer to be done with it as soon as possible.
So, ignoring Wangji’s small startled gasp, he bared his pale skin with one swift move. Lan Wangji’s thighs were just as red and swollen as his palms—he’d clearly told his shixiongs to hit hard. Lan Xichen would have to talk to them, too. Just because Lan Wangji was the second young master of the clan it didn’t mean that they should follow his every word if it was unreasonable. His bottom remained untouched, but Lan Xichen really thought it was the only part of him that ought to be the softest shade of pink.
“You will let me heal your wounds after this. Feeling the sting of my palm whenever you sit for the next few days will be more than enough for you to reflect on your actions,” Lan Xichen said. “You’re smart, Wangji, being stubborn isn’t like you. But you’re my didi, and I understand that misbehaving from time to time is inevitable at your age. Gege is here to remind you that he’ll always be here to help you when you need guidance.”
Before Wangji had the chance to fuss at him using the words didi and gege, Lan Xichen brought his palm down, harshly, just below the curve of his bottom, right above one of the straight lines of a ferule. Wangji’s whole body jumped, but he remained silent, only curling his hands tighter as he struggled to take in the feeling of being struck with a palm for the first time in his whole life. Lan Xichen didn’t give him a lot of time to adjust before adding a matching swat to the right side.
As always, Wangji took his punishment with dignity. Or, at least, with as much of it as he could have left while draped over his brother’s lap, getting spanked like a naughty child. It really was unusual. Lan Xichen couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling in the bottom of his stomach as he dutifully administered the punishment, his concerns only growing bigger the redder Lan Wangji’s skin got, the more his own palm stung. He knew, from his shidis’ own words, as they bawled inconsolably in his lap, that he had a mean swing. It couldn’t be helped. He really did his best to be as gentle as possible, but it always took so little to make them writhe and cry as loud as their fussy little souls would allow them.
But Lan Wangji wouldn’t make a sound, even when his skin quickly turned the same shade of pink as the tips of his ears did when he blushed. Lan Xichen fretted. He’d been expecting—even hoping for—a fight. He’d thought Wangji deserved at the very least that much, to be allowed to feel safe enough to kick and yell for once in his life, to be reassured that he wouldn’t be reprimanded for it. But instead, all he got was silence, even when Lan Wangji’s own body started betraying him, twitching a little after every smack.
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen sighed, with a heavy heart, resting his hand on his little brother’s damp back. “Please don’t be like this. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. It doesn’t matter if you’re angry at me, it you only want to yell or call me unfair. It will do you no good to swallow it all down. You’ll make yourself sick.”
Even under Lan Qiren’s palm, especially under Lan Qiren’s palm, Lan Xichen had never been able to keep his composure for long. Seeing Shufu pat his lap or beckon him close with a finger in silence was always enough to make a couple tears roll down his cheeks. Not only because Shufu’s hand was heavy and ruthless, seasoned with years of spanking naughty little disciples; but also because with Lan Xichen he always exclusively used his palm. Any other disciple always got the ruler. When Shufu spanked Lan Xichen, he wasn’t only doing so as his elder and his teacher—he was doing it as his uncle. And he always made sure to remind Lan Xichen that.
“There’s no use in being overly harsh on yourself,” Lan Xichen said. “If you really won’t listen, I’ll have no option but to tell Shufu about this. He’ll know how to handle you. Despite what you think, he won’t be happy to hear that you did this to yourself. And he will be even less pleased with Wei-gongzi.”
He made a pause. He left unsaid, but he’ll be displeased with me the most, but he knew that his silence had already given it away. Feeling his throat closing, he decided that the smartest thing would be to give up. He wasn’t well equipped to deal with Wangji. Despite how hard he tried, he always failed. He could never provide proper comfort, much less discipline. Pushing it would only do more harm than good. Talking to Wei-gongzi would probably be a better idea.
He redressed Wangji with shaky hands, struggling to tug the damp, heavy fabric back to its place with the friction it had against equally damp skin. Wangji was upset by how it rubbed against his tender skin, and couldn’t help wiggling a bit. That, at least, made some warmth return to Lan Xichen’s heart. He held his little brother still with a hand on his waist, stroking his back gently. He helped him up calmly, gathering his wits so his disappointment towards himself wouldn’t be too evident.
“I’ll still take care of your legs and your hands. That’s unnegotiable. And you’ll be dismissed from your duties tomorrow except for your classes, until—oh. Oh, Wangji.”
When Lan Xichen pulled his didi into his arms, his own heart was jack-rabbiting in his chest. He had to take a full second to calm himself down first, taking one deep breath and exhaling softly so Wangji wouldn’t be able to tell that his own eyes were wet. He rubbed wide circles on Wangji’s back, knowing he wasn’t measuring his strength, knowing that he probably wasn’t succeeding at comforting his baby brother like he wished to, and it wasn’t until he’d composed himself that he pressed a kiss on Wangji’s temple.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” he whispered, softly, in the same way he did when A-Zhan was only a baby, whenever he fell or something slipped his chubby hands. But A-Zhan had rarely cried, back then. Lan Huan always held him before he had the chance. “It’s okay, Wangji. You’re alright. It’s over, you’re forgiven, you don’t have to be upset anymore.”
Lan Wangji’s hands curled into his robes, and though he didn’t make a sound, he pressed his face closer into Lan Xichen’s shoulder. The look of regret and shame in his eyes as soon as he’d been let up would forever haunt Lan Xichen. Despite his silence, Lan Wangji’s face had been just as messy and covered in tears as any other junior’s, his cheeks just as red, his expression just as distraught. Lan Xichen couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen him cry this hard before. He didn’t think he ever had.
“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said, exhaling shakily. “I was wrong. I’ll let you heal my wounds. I won’t transcribe the ancient books tomorrow. I’ll apologize to Wei Ying.”
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen hushed him sharply, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter right now. Just take a deep breath, you’re okay. I need you to calm down first. Why didn’t you tell me you were this upset? You really are going to make yourself sick. You need to change out of these clothes—just follow my breaths, okay? You can’t—you shouldn’t stay so silent when you’re crying. It’s not okay.”
Lan Wangji was silent after that, obedient as always, and little by little his breathing regularized. Lan Xichen took that chance to grab his chilled hands and warm them up with his own, sending a small current of spiritual power, healing as much as he could. He did the same with his thighs and his calves, too, and Wangji allowed him to work without a single protest. Though Lan Xichen felt the urge to heal the burn from the spanking too, he forbade himself from doing that. Going back on his word would only make Lan Wangji more upset.
“See? that’s better,” Lan Xichen said, after a while, once they’d both stopped shaking. He brushed Lan Wangji’s hair with his fingers, and none of them moved to break their embrace. “You just made a small mistake, that’s all, but you barely needed any guidance at all to learn from it.”
“Mn.” Wangji replied, softly. This was usually when the youngest juniors would nuzzle Lan Xichen’s neck, seeking more comfort and words of encouragement, but Wangji only stayed where he was. Though he was no longer crying, he still shivered a bit, clearly too physically and emotionally worn to use his core to keep himself warm anymore. Lan Xichen did it for him, placing the flat of his hand on his hand, over his heart.
“I won’t tell Shufu about this.”
“Xiongzhang,” Wangji had no business sounding so reproachful. “You must.”
Lan Xichen sighed, but he didn’t protest. There was no point in it. Instead, he helped Wangji to his feet, and he searched around the room for a fresh set of sleeping robes. He waited patiently for Wangji to change into them, and couldn’t help but flinch when he heard him sneeze behind the folding screen. His nose was red when he emerged from it—a mind in turmoil did not help the golden core fight off colds, after all. Lan Xichen did his best to conceal his concern, knowing Wangji would be ashamed enough as it was about his situation, and knowing that keeping him wearing damp clothes for so long was partly his fault.
“On a second thought,” Lan Xichen said, “You’ll also be dismissed from your classes tomorrow.”
“Wei Ying…”
“If Wei-gongzi is feeling under the weather too,” Lan Xichen interrupts him, softly, “I’ll have him stay in his room. It might do him well, it might keep him out of trouble until Shufu comes back. It’s better for him. As things are, Shufu will already want to use his ruler on his bottom, so Wei-gongzi should not be given more opportunities to—”
Lan Xichen stopped himself when he caught the look in Wangji’s eyes. After pondering for a bit, he said, carefully, “I’m sure I can talk him out of using the ruler. His hand should suffice. We don’t usually spank other sect’s disciples, after all, but the Jiang clan did provide their consent to discipline their juniors as we see fit.”
“The punishment should be fair,” Wangji said. “If mine shouldn’t have been worse,” he paused. It was as if he was struggling to accept it, still, “neither should Wei Ying’s.”
Despite Wangji’s stubbornness, Lan Xichen couldn’t help but look at him fondly. Though Wangji was getting too tall to get kissed on the forehead, Lan Xichen was still taller by a couple inches, and so he made good use of that privilege while he could. Wangji stood still, bowing his head the slightest bit, almost shyly.
“See,” Lan Xichen said. “You’ve already learned.”