Lan Xichen asked only one question when Wangji returned to the Cloud Recesses with a boy in his arms, whip wounds reopened and dripping blood onto floor of the Jingshi.
“Lan Yuan.” And that was all he needed to say.
Xichen took a look at A-Yuan’s clothes, saw white lined with burning red, and left. When he returned, he brought with him medicine, a set of small white robes for Lan Yuan to change into – and a small white ribbon.
His brother’s hold on the child had tightened when he had landed and seen Xichen waiting for him, just slightly enough that even Xichen might not have noticed. For a moment, the weight that had been sitting in his chest since Wanji’s punishment had seemed to grow impossibly heavier. If this was what Wangji needed– and Xichen would hardly turn down a sick child, the boy clearly had a fever–and since when had there been children in the Burial Grounds– what had they done–
Xichen took a breath. Let it out. In again, sandalwood curling into his lungs as he helped Wangji heal the child. And out, throat closing when he saw how Wangji always kept himself between Lan Yuan and Lan Xichen.
It wasn’t difficult to ensure that Lan Yuan had a place in the Cloud Recesses. The elders were still recovering, and Uncle was busy soothing any feathers that remained ruffled after Wangji’s punishment. No one saw Wangji leave for the Burial Grounds and return with a child. No one saw those robes but Xichen, and those were long gone. He had made sure to watch until it was all ashes, edges burning up with real flames. A-Yuan remained in the Jingshi, recovering side by side with Wangji, and no one intruded there except for Xichen until a whole two months after the child’s arrival.
Uncle stepped into the room, saw A-Yuan asleep in Wangji’s arms, opened his mouth, saw the look on Xichen’s face and closed his mouth. Xichen burned in defiant shame.
Uncle asked the same question as Xichen had, and Xichen closed his eyes, hoping fervently he hadn’t used the same tone as his Uncle when he’d first seen A-Yuan.
Words seem to have failed his brother in answering the question this time, so he answered instead.
“My nephew.” And, as Uncle took a look at Wangji’s expression, that was all he needed to say.
Four years now, and Wangji sat in a field with A-Yuan, the boy sitting in perfect poise but vibrating slightly as a bunny hopped closer. Xichen walked closer, and hid his hurt with a gentle smile that A-Yuan returned, as Wangji immediately scooped his son into his arms. A-Yuan was almost seven now, and the elders, long resigned to his presence, had begun murmuring about starting his lessons. It would be unseemly for Hanguang-jun’s son to develop a core late, they whispered into Xichen’s ears, the boy needs to leave his father’s side someday.
Xichen would have preferred his Uncle taking the responsibility of having this conversation with Wangji. After all, he had been their best teacher, and if it was about lessons for little A-Yuan, it would be more appropriate for a mentor than the Sect Leader to begin the discussion. A quiet thought whispered in Xichen’s mind that he wanted Uncle to speak to Wangji about this instead of him because Wangji always kept A-Yuan in his sight when Xichen visited, and Xichen couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of the singed bridge between them crumbling completely if he was the one who told Wangji he needed to hand over his child.
Xichen breathed and quieted his thoughts. He had to do this. Wangji didn’t let Uncle anywhere near A-Yuan, so they’d hardly be able to have the conversation in the first place. He had to do this.
Wangji refused at first. He insisted that he would personally teach A-Yuan. When Xichen spoke about the need of children to form friendships, he looked pointedly at Xichen.
“Wangji, I mean friends of his own age. This isn’t something you can do for him.”
Wangji stubbornly held his silence, and Xichen reached his limit.
He scooped up A-Yuan who had been sitting quietly between them, working on his writing, and started walking out the door. A-Yuan gasped slightly in shock before settling into his arms, looking back for his father immediately, even as he rested his chin on his uncle’s shoulder. As he heard Wangji spring to his feet and hurry after him, Xichen begged any god that might be listening that he wouldn’t hear Bichen unsheathing, because from the way Wangji’s breath caught when he picked up the boy, Xichen thought there was a very real chance they might come to blows.
And Xichen loved his brother, and he understood why Wangji watched him like a hawk when he spoke to or held his nephew, understood why Wangji refused to let A-Yuan out of his sight, because he’d felt that same instinct when he’d returned home after the burning of the Cloud Recesses, and seen Wangji waiting, injured and grieving and stronger than he’d ever been – but somehow smaller too, almost as small as the boy waiting in front of a door that would never open again. Xichen understood. He did. But it couldn’t continue.
Wangji caught up and stepped in front of him, reaching for A-Yuan. Xichen held tight and met his eyes.
“What do you think I will do, Wangji? Take him outside and leave him in an alley in town?” Xichen asked, heart in his throat. For the first time, he couldn’t foretell what his brother would answer. A-Yuan blinked at him, like Xichen had made a joke and he didn’t quite understand the punchline.
Wangji looked away, and no. They had to resolve this now. Xichen stepped to the side and caught his eyes again.
“Brother. Answer me. What do you think I will do to my nephew? What do you think I will allow to be done to my nephew?”
Wangji didn’t answer but shame swept through his eyes and Xichen waited. A breeze sighed through the magnolia tree nearby. A-Yuan squirmed in his hold, but stayed quiet, sensing the tense air.
His brother eventually, reluctantly, replied. He managed to whisper out “Wen” before his voice failed him again.
“Yes, he was. He is. But he’s also Lan now, and the young Lan disciples will start their training soon. What else?”
“Uncle-” And Xichen had been raised better than to interrupt someone speaking, especially his brother who struggled with words to begin with, but he’d had enough.
“Uncle will teach A-Yuan as he would any other disciple or he will answer to the Sect Leader. What else.”
And Xichen sighed, because here was the crux of the matter. They had taken Wei Wuxian from Wangji, or more accurately, dragged Wangji away from Wei Wuxian, and so they might take A-Yuan too. For existing when the world wanted to wipe out all traces that they had ever been hurt by the Wens, and for being someone Wei Wuxian had spit in the face of the cultivational world for. They gloated now of their power, but what was their power if they couldn’t destroy the memory of their fear and humiliation at Wei Wuxian’s hands?
But Xichen had tried, in his own way, to show Wangji his regret and shame for his part in Wangji’s loss. He had snuck A-Yuan candy when Uncle was looking away, had helped the child learn to read music sheets when Wangji’s explanations failed, had listened intently to his quiet but excited voice when he gushed about his father’s rabbits, had honored Wangji’s unspoken insistence that Xichen remain in sight if he picked up A-Yuan. At first, for Wangji’s sake, then for A-Yuan’s, because, really, the boy was so, so easy to love. Xichen had hoped his affection would speak for itself, and Wangji would see that he’d suffer nearly as much as his brother if anything were to happen to his nephew. It seemed he’d failed.
So he caught Wangji’s eyes again, held them for a long moment, allowing his love for his family to shine through clearly, trusting that Wangji could see it, before he put A-Yuan back into his brother’s arms and asked him one question. One.
And a few weeks later, when Xichen saw Lan Yuan sitting in class, trying to protect his scroll from Jingyi’s wildly waving brush, he smiled, because that was all he had needed to say.
figuring out how to say “he” without it getting confusing about which person I was talking about was ridiculously difficult. enjoy the run on sentences 😂
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