Mehen doesn’t answer. Keeps his gaze on the moon above them, glowing in the star-filled sky.
“There’s a strange phenomenon back at the Northern lands, you see,” Valer murmurs, seemingly uncaring that Mehen is yet to say something. “So strange, it disturbed the knights at first. I thought it was a sudden monster invasion, yet turns out, flowers have bloomed in snowy soil.
“Flowers,” Valer smiles, “that, by laws of nature, shouldn’t bloom in such a harsh, freezing environment. Can you guess what they are, honey?”
Only then does Mehen look at him, about to snarl something about calling him such disgusting names, yet his words cut short when Valer hands him those flowers.
“Mehen. Do you remember?”
Stunned, Mehen can only blankly take the flowers from Valer’s hand, the familiar scent filling his nose. Taking him back to that early evening, when the skies so resembled Valer’s eyes it took his breath away—
“My sister once told me of the magic embedded deep in the flowers, and of their language,” Valer’s eyes are on Mehen, drinking in every emotion on his retainer’s face. “I didn’t believe her at first; only indulged her as best I can, yet unable to fully absorb them at all.
“And yet, when I saw those flowers blooming by the snowy cliffs,” Valer’s voice drops even lower, no louder than a breath, “nothing else came to my mind, except you. Of that twilight, when we snuck away in the fields…”
Mehen feels cool fingers lace through his trembling ones, warming all parts of him that he never realized were left cold for so long. Remembers, too vividly, of a young boy’s wide smile as he led them through the vast fields close to the mountains, calling his name.
Of a young boy’s eyes as mesmerizing as the twilight skies before him, nightfall blending in with the setting sun. Of endless lavender fields, sweet smelling in the early evening air.
Those eyes are looking through him now, wide and clear, and Mehen, for the life of him, cannot find it in himself to look away.
“Mehen,” Valer calls him softly. Mehen’s heart betrays his master—and Mehen’s sure, very, very sure, that Valer, the bastard, can feel it.
“Do you know what this flower means?”
Mehen knows—he’d read about it, he’d once heard it in passing when he dropped by the apothecary. Was once asked by Arel herself, not so long ago, when a basket of them was sent her way.
“Purity,” Mehen answers, his heart thumping. “Protection. Royalty. And…”
The cool fingers tighten around his, Valer’s face slowly rising close to Mehen’s.
Mehen should push that face away. Throw curses, threaten Valer’s life even if they end up as empty words. Release his fingers from Valer’s sure grip, create a distance between them as master and retainer.
Yet. And yet.
“And what, Mehen?” Valer’s voice is not tinged with teasing, without folly. His eyes are amethyst flames, burning away what remains of Mehen’s common sense. “Tell me.”
Later, Mehen will reason out with himself that Valer had cast him some stupid spell that muddled his mind and melted his better senses away. Later, Mehen will convince himself that he got too caught up in the moment, that he was taken off-guard for him to make sense of things.
All that will come later.
Right now, all Mehen can see is Valer’s eyes, eyes that caught him from the very moment he held out his hand to him. Brighter than the morning star, with his hair like a halo in the summer sunlight.
“Devotion,” Mehen whispers. “Eternal affections that transcend lifetimes.”
And—
Something so warm, so soft brushes against Mehen’s lips, a petal-like touch too fleeting to catch. It is over before Mehen can even make sense of it, before his mind can catch up with his heart.
“My dearest Mehen,” Valer murmurs, so close to his lips Mehen thinks he can taste it, still, “take care of it until I come back, all right?”
Olive-green eyes, dazed with confusion and many other emotions Mehen dares not name, meet bright violet ones. “Where…?”
When Mehen’s better senses return, Valer is nowhere to be seen. The only proofs that he was ever there was the barely finished, now cold tea, the scent of metal, snow, and blood lingering in the air.
The fresh lavenders on Mehen’s hands, the warmth on Mehen’s lips, the uneven thumps of Mehen’s heart.
turning is a finely crafted story. kuyu makes sure to ground every single one of their characters to the world that they live in, the world the story happens in.
today (as always) i am gonna talk about kishiar, but more specifically kishiar and his relationship to mortality, recontextualizing the things he did in the first game and all. super special humongous gigantic thanks to @kouraissant for helping me with this and bearing with my nonstop kishiar and mortality thoughts!
a lot of the things i'll be talking about also involves a degree of personal experiences and maybe a healthy dash of self-projection. as a disclaimer, you don't have to agree with me on anything and everything, but i'd rather some of the more personal parts to not be responded to rudely or unkindly. i will not tolerate that, sorry.
usual kishiar & mortality tw: canonical suicide attempt discussion, canonical self-harm, canonical death. be wary of spoilers.
1TL = first game/pre-regression/first timeline
2TL = second game/post-regression/second timeline
kishiar is a really fascinating character and his relationship with mortality moreso. a lot of the things that kishiar does, in my opinion, is very much colored by his circumstances growing up, specifically being born with the knowledge that second, third, etc. imperial children tend to be die young as if having 'major defects' be it physical or mental (ch 109) and ended up having no power, remaining unmarried and bowing their heads their whole lives (ch 14).
that is to say, all his life, he surely knows he can die quickly and easily, almost anytime. it's true that for everyone, death does come suddenly, but in kishiar la orr's life, death is like a childhood friend you don't like but are forced to get along with. again, this colors his whole life. this is the kind of circumstances that forces you to mature really quickly, to learn to be expressive and speak your thoughts like it's your last day, but to also learn to hold your tongue and bow down your head because you're a prince and your words still have consequences beyond normal children's would. you're forced to accept that this is the kind of life you will live and the kind of death you'll be documented as. by all accounts, i think that the current kishiar is really good at managing social situations however tricky they are, the fact that he's a rizzmaster, part of all those also comes from being used to having to process things quickly because you don't have the time to even live, being used to having to be expressive because god knows when your last day will be.
given all that as a background information, let's reexamine the conditions of 1TL.
i'd like to first point out that in 1TL, the very health and life expectancy that he used to not have pre-awakening was already given to kishiar during the awakening. i'm not too privy yet with the circumstances during the two years since the fall of the red stone to the cavalry recruitment in early canon, unfortunately, but i'll assume it was also time spent preparing and not just in silence, maybe even preparing for the cavalry to be created or searching for a cure for keilusa as well (though this is just personal theory). even so, two years really isn't that much time? soon after his awakening and tasting good health and better life expectancy the first time in his life, 1TL red stone retrieval mission happened, which forced kishiar to withdraw the divine sword without him meaning to and regained him the same vessel issues he's always experienced his whole life, basically bringing him back to square one after giving him the one thing he's always wanted his whole life. it's like the universe telling him: "look at everything you could have once had. endless possibilities. none of them are yours. not anymore."
to me, after at least 600+ chapters of reading, kishiar's character's basis is his loved ones. almost all of his actions can be traced back to him doing it in alignment with the position he has (being a prince and a duke) and out of the love he has for nathan, keilusa, and other people in his life. to be brought back to square one, struggling once again with the same old vessel issues, except worse this time, because many of the past imperial children didn't even make it to age thirty (ch 109) while he was already 29 and he almost died once already because of this very same thing.
expanding on his past experience with vessel issues and his response to it, from chapter 602 and chapter 160, likely kishiar's condition was so bad he might as well be almost dead before the timely awakening happened and immediately was followed by his second gender manifestation. he probably thought it was for real his death happening, not a surprise. he cleared off everyone and attempted suicide by touching the divine sword. that he cleared off everyone can also be argued as a selfless action, wanting to keep the smallest person possible to witness his impending doom, in order to save his loved ones from the heartache of seeing him suffer, try to kill himself and/or die.
it can also however be seen as selfish. after all, who is it that loves you and wants you to kill yourself?
this is where we will have to reiterate some points: kishiar is someone who's good at processing and expressing emotions. he's also good at knowing how to hold back and when to hold back from expressing said emotions. he's also someone who is logical and reasonable. and i also want to introduce some new points, that is: the universal fact that a lot of mental strain and generally bad mental health often cause irrationality in people, even someone who's perceived as reasonable or someone who's good at emotions. spiralling is called spiralling for a reason.
from the point of view of reason, leaving your cavalry commander mantle to the hyper-competent guy you happen to love to death, watching him get inaugurated, constantly visiting him, and of course, the pethuamet fight (which yuder 2TL classified as kishiar self-harming) are all illogical. kishiar's 1TL actions cannot be called reasonable or logical because they aren't. they are irrational the same way you and i get irrational when we're in extreme emotional duress. can anyone really claim to be logical when the threat of death looms so closely you can't even see it clearly anymore?
let's talk about some more things, like how the commander uniform he personally tailored for yuder (ch 625) is seen as yuder as unnecessary. logistically speaking, it really is unnecessary, it's not like yuder needed a new uniform when he can just wear kishiar's old ones and it'd probably just need some adjusting to fit better? but then it is explicitly stated by 2TL kishiar as 'hoping the person will wear them and think about the person who made it.' (ch 626)
also on the same conversation, 2TL kishiar stated that the strongest fear he has ever felt was during the late emperor's funeral, the feeling of being powerless, how frightening it was to look at the reality in front of him while he could only imagine what would happen to him, keilusa and the country in the future (ch 625). and in chapter further back, he also stated that in the tactical game, in the event that his special piece is almost caught by the enemy before he can use it, he would 'take the initiative and put it out as a bait in front of the enemy' (ch 105).
it paints a picture of this: it's not that he wants to do all these things, it's that who knows how to deal with death and the mental strain that comes with it when there are no actionable steps you can take, nothing under your control? he has a history of harming himself too, as i said, with the suicide attempt. in kishiar's case, the self-harm and the manifestation/post-awakening incident when he tried to kill himself, everything feels a bit more like struggling to feel a semblance of control in a world that is out of his control, when even his body feels out of his control all his life.
really, all of the things that can be deemed illogical, like ruining his relationships with everyone just so they feel less pain when he dies or like selfishly leaving yuder a legacy to care for or constantly visiting yuder even after his retirement, it stems from the selfish and very human desires of wanting to keep the loved ones near while he has time, trying to wrestle for a semblance of control, trying to leave anything useful at all that is within his capacity to give towards his loved ones for when after he's gone, grappling with all of the complicated emotions and love and care he has that he can't even act on. it's made even more complicated when you remember that kishiar isn't even suicidal originally. he's like this because of the circumstances thrusted upon his hands, he's only driven to that point because maybe he too doesn't want to die a dogshit death.
the upside is just because it's illogical doesn't mean it's treated callously or looked down upon. 1TL kishiar's actions are written beautifully by kuyu and never in a negative light. yuder himself has gripes about 1TL kishiar, but never outright insulted or downplayed his influences. if anything, the way yuder thinks of 1TL kishiar's actions, especially after knowing the imperial family's vessel issues, is very sympathetic (ch 293). in the words of our friend baby potat aloo,
like: look at this man trying to wrangle with his own tragic fate as best as he can while people he cares about most and people who care about him are unfortunately subjected to the pain of passively spectating his self-destructive ways of trying to gain some semblance of control (thinking of nathan and uuder) and/or secretive plans that seem like the 'best' choice in his opinion. nonetheless it's still about love.
that has been a long discussion over kishiar and mortality, kishiar and his loved ones as the basis of his motivation for every action. but let's not forget to talk about yuder, the one he has an almost-electric connection, deep and soulful, to. in a way, chapter 291's kishiar dialogue line "i feel like i can live now" can be seen as something he says out of love for yuder, because yuder is one of his loved ones, one of the ones he treasures the most. but also you can see it as another control thing. he's there out of his own accord, he came there through the window without being seen out of his own choice and yuder always 'tolerated' the situation, never reporting it. we can argue these are games and rendezvous they both consented to.
next, let's discuss: this is what he said in chapter 46, right before his death:
"...I wonder where it all went wrong. Thinking about it, it seems like it was when we retrieved the Red Stone."
"..."
"Yes... That's right. It must have been then that everything started going wrong. But even knowing that, I couldn't stop it. Because I had no other choice."
it rings so much of hopelessness, of someone who can't do anything but imagine a universe where the only thing he wanted in life was ripped away from him the moment it was bestowed. and then immediately dismissing it because it doesn't matter when it's already happened and the only thing he can do now is, just like the dukes before him, bow down his head and await for his death.
in later chapters, we also come to know that he cleared off the entire building and it was nearing his birthday when the assassination took place. we can also argue that this is euthanasia or assisted suicide, the executioner and helper is the one kishiar loves the most, who doesn't even really want to kill him. rather than a dogshit death he didn't choose, 1TL kishiar arranged it so that he dies in yuder's hands, knowing that it'd change his relationship with someone he loved so much, to die like a euthanised dog, spared the pain of unattainable hopes. in a way, it's a curse on yuder's memories, good or bad, of him, in a way, it's an act of making yourself an open wound. this too isn't rational, similarly to the way he leaves a personalized clothing for yuder's inauguration and new status as the cavalry commander or the way he gave him a name, this is a way of leaving behind a legacy, a desperate act of wanting to be remembered by his loved ones.
so, what's the point of all of this? nothing, i'm just a kishiar shooter. but also, everything. because the miscommunication in 1TL isn't one that can be so easily solved by speaking up. it's something that's integral to the story plotline, caused by the story circumstances, it's a testament too to how good kuyu's writing is and the complexity of kishiar as a character. it is, unfortunately, not as simple as just say you love him before you die. that is my conclusion.
some more unrelated, but perhaps also fun points:
i truly think, like a true self sabotage, kishiar's actions as an attempt to feel some semblance of control only works against him, making him feel more powerless and out of control
also this is for sure why he's so invested in healing keilusa
to another degree, cavalry in 2TL becomes his purpose and one of the major factors of his identity (the way it was to yuder 1TL, which is a discussion for another time), so in 1TL, stepping down could arguably also be seen as a loss of both authority/power and responsibility, leading to an even more 'out of control' feeling, even if he was indeed the one to step down out of his own accord, like no one forced him
1TL yuder was looked down on as a male omega leader, not man nor woman, commonborn cavalry commander who slept his way up. a lot of the things he did, even down to his fighting style, was also, to a certain point, a way of fighting for power, to look powerful and gain authority and be feared, if not respected. at the same time, kishiar didn't die instantly. he committed a lot of actions (as said earlier) that felt more like a grappling with control, which is just another form of power/authority. in a way, you can see these two foiling each other at the moment, struggling with power over how ppl perceive you (yuder) vs struggling with power over how you perceive yourself (kishiar). which is also funny because turning is also a story about power to me, what-with the catalyst to all of canon's plot being the red stone, which granted power to the people living in turning's canon universe
i'll never understand why some people have a problem with trigger warnings. if the content being warned for doesn't bother you then you can just use it as a recommendation. literally where is the problem. everyone wins.
Okay but cultivation babies sizhui and jingyi together must be chaos incarnate. rip cultivation gentry, you will never be the same
When Nie Mingjue returns to the Cloud Recesses after a hunt in the mountains with Zonghui, he finds the lamps on the Hanshi’s porch still lit and burning brightly. The sliding doors are open to let in the night wind, a sure sign that Xichen must have been waiting up for him despite the late hour, so Nie Mingjue leaves his heavy boots on the steps and hurries in to his husband.
“Beloved,” he calls softly, looking around darkened office for any sign of Lan Huan. “I am home. Where are you?”
“In here,” comes the reply. “You will have to come in to me, Mingjue-xiong. I fear I cannot move from my chair just yet.”
Laughing, Nie Mingjue backs out of the study and makes his way to the bedroom. Xichen is sitting in his favorite armchair with Jingyi in his arms and A-Yuan asleep in the crib nearby; but though Lan Yuan has been freshly bathed, Jingyi’s feet are black with dirt, and his flyaway hair is still full of grass and fine yellow dust from the garden.
“Did A-Yi try to crawl out of the bathtub when you weren’t looking?” Nie Mingjue asks, kissing Lan Xichen on the forehead. “He’s as dirty as a grub.”
“A dear, dirty grub! I know we never got so dirty when we were children,” his husband laughs. “I was going to put him in the bath with Yuanyuan after dinner, but he wouldn’t take his shoes off—and after I put A-Yuan to bed and went back to fetch A-Yi from the nursery, he crawled into my arms and fell asleep. I couldn’t bear to wake him, he looked so peaceful.”
“We could give him a sponge bath. Shall I go fetch a pail?”
“Not yet. I want to hold him a little while longer,” Xichen murmurs, pressing his lips to the baby’s soft cheek. “Before he wakes up and tries to start running about the house again.”
“Then I’ll bathe A-Yi’s feet while you hold him. He’s rubbing dust all over your robes, A-Huan.”
Xichen gives him a grateful nod and cradles their son a little closer. His eyes are closed, as if out of fear that the child in his arms was too precious to be true; and when he opens them, he lets out a small, wounded cry and buries his face in Jingyi’s hair.
“A-Huan?” Nie Mingjue frowns, slipping back into the bedroom with clean towels and a bucket of water. “What’s wrong?”
Lan Huan turns to him with quivering lips and tears sparkling in his eyelashes. “Nothing,” he sniffles. “I am well. Nothing is the matter, sweetheart.”
So Nie Mingjue wets a pair of towels and washes Jingyi’s feet, rinsing away the mud from his tiny toes before using a fresh cloth for his hands; and after the child as clean as they can get him without rousing him from sleep, Xichen heaves himself out of his chair and climbs onto the bed, though not without first giving A-Yuan a kiss goodnight and retrieving his dropped butterfly doll.
“Sleep well, my nephew!” he whispers. “Your uncles are here, and we will watch over you until Wangji and A-Xian return.”
And with that, he settles down under the blankets at Nie Mingjue’s side, and turns so that Mingjue can drape an arm under his waist.
“You are tired,” Nie Mingjue observes, stroking Lan Xichen’s pale brow. “What did you and the little ones do today, A-Huan?”
Xichen snorts and squeezes A-Yi around his little belly. “The better question is what we did not do. A-Yuan ran all over the Cloud Recesses, and A-Yi followed him, and I spent the day running after them both. And then A-Yuan wanted to make sweet baozi after we returned home, and Jingyi tried to climb into the bowl of bean paste while I was filling them—and all of that was before sunset.”
Nie Mingjue leans over to sniff the baby’s hair. “Ah,” he says, trying not to laugh. “So that’s why he smells like sugar. I thought he must have found the sweets your uncle hides in the Lanshi.”
“Oh, no. A-Yuan did that.”
And then the two of them laugh together, holding hands under the quilts while Jingyi tries to make himself more comfortable on Xichen’s chest. Nie Mingjue’s breath stutters at the dear picture they make, his beloved and child close and at ease like a pair of graven figures carved out of the same piece of stone; and surrendering to impulse, he leans down to kiss A-Yi’s button nose, and then his husband’s wind-chapped lips.
I will bring him salve in the morning, he thinks idly, smoothing them over with a gentle finger. Salve and sweet lotus cakes from Wangji’s kitchen, and tea that aids in healing. The little ones have worn him out, so tomorrow, he must rest.
“Tomorrow, Wangji will be back home,” Xichen mumbles, lifting his face from his pillow, “and I will not have to mind both of our babies at the same time. I love them dearly, but my heart can only take so much fear. A-Yuan tried to unsheathe Shuoyue when my back was turned, and at that moment, I was more afraid than I’ve ever been on the battlefield! Good heavens!”
Nie Mingjue draws his husband’s head down onto his shoulder and smiles.
“You need higher shelves, my darling. I’ll go down to the carpenter’s guild tomorrow and commission some, and then we can keep our weapons there without worrying about the children.”
Another kiss, and then two more. “Now sleep,” he urges, with a cavernous yawn that echoes itself a moment later on Xichen‘s face. “We have much to do, and you need your rest.”
So they sleep, hand in hand and side by side, and dream of tiny, mud-splattered disciples toddling down the neat stone paths of the Cloud Recesses. A-Yuan is in the lead, no longer toddling, for he looks much older than the three-year-old Yuan’er asleep in the bed next to Xichen’s; but the child waddling at Jingyi’s heels is so small that she can hardly walk, and her tiny ears look just like Nie Mingjue’s.
“Perhaps not yet,” the Xichen in his dreams says, hopelessly fond as he leans into Mingjue’s embrace; but his eyes are damp, shining in the watery sunlight, and Nie Mingjue loves him so desperately that he thinks he might break from the force of it.
But someday, he suggests, and the answering promise is yes—yes—yes.
Cultivation baby A-Yuan... Please let LQR talk to WWX. Infuriating as WWX might be, LQR should definitely be able to drag the truth out of him!
"No. No, this is madness," Lan Qiren groans. "What you ask is impossible. It cannot be done."
“I don’t see why not,” Wei Wuxian says obstinately. “You take A-Yuan back to the Cloud Recesses, never let anyone know he was my son, and have Lan Zhan bring him up as a ward. I will remain here and look after the Wens. What’s impossible about it?”
Lan Qiren pinches the bridge of his nose and wishes he could pinch Wei Wuxian’s ears instead. He blames himself for this dismal state of affairs; he was too harsh towards Wei Wuxian when they first met, and so the child had not thought to ask his marital family for help when he found Wen Ning slain at Qiongqi Dao. Jiang Wanyin could not be relied upon—for foolish though a marriage alliance with the Lanling Jin might be, Jiang Yanli was still in love with Jin Zixuan, and he had very little sway in his clan despite being the trueborn heir to it—but Lan Xichen has already announced his plans to bring the Wens back to Gusu, and returned all the gold Jin Guangyao sent to aid in the Cloud Recesses’ reconstruction. Nie Mingjue inspected the other camps, tallying up the dead and wounded there before denouncing Jin Guangshan before the whole jianghu; and the survivors are already recovering in Qinghe, with some already well enough to testify against the prison guards.
In short, Wei Wuxian is in no danger, and it is Lan Qiren’s fault that he ever believed otherwise.
“Your Wens will be safe. Xichen set four houses aside for them in the Cloud Recesses, and the Jin clan has been made aware that neither we nor the Nie will treat with them any further,” Lan Qiren argues. “You have my word, Wei Ying. Now go send word to Wen Qing, and have the Wens prepare to leave by the end of this week. Wangji and I will provide their food and medicines until they are ready to go.”
Wei Wuxian flinches. “You won’t send them back to Lanling? Truly?”
“Yes, truly!” roars Lan Qiren. “Look at you, you’re skin and bone! Even if you had come here with a gang of Wen Ruohan’s lieutenants, I would never let the mother of my nephew’s child languish on a hill of the dead alone—much less my own great-nephew! Has Wangji not cared for you well enough, that you would think so poorly of us? Shall I have words with him on the matter?”
“En. Shufu should,” says Wangji, lowering his head. “Wei Ying, this one has failed you.”
“Lan Zhan, what-no, of course you haven’t!” Wei Wuxian rushes to Wangji’s side and leaps into his arms, careless of the large black bundle on his back. “You haven’t. If I had known that you and Zewu-jun would value me this much, well—then I would never have come here.”
Lan Qiren sniffs at him. “Good. Now spend tonight with us at the inn, and every day hence until the Wens can be moved.”
“I will,” Wei Wuxian says, wringing his hands. “Now that I’m sure it’s safe, I will. But Lan Zhan, there’s something you and laoshi should know about first.”
Wangji tilts his head to the side and kisses Wei Wuxian’s nose. “What is it?”
In answer, Wei Wuxian reaches for the shapeless bundle on his back and unravels it, revealing the tousled black head of a child.
“Look at A-Yuan,” he says quietly, “and then you’ll understand.”
So they look, and at first, Lan Qiren can’t imagine what Wei Wuxian might mean. A-Yuan is still well-fed and healthy, despite the month he spent living here in the Burial Mounds before Wangji could finally track his family down, but...
But A-Yuan is bigger than he used to be. Considerably bigger, given the fact that children grow slowly after passing their first birthdays, and Wei Wuxian has only been gone for five weeks, if that. His little nails have grown long, too, and thicker than his father’s; and the pupils of his dark round eyes have contracted down to pinpricks, though the sunlight is weak for early autumn.
And the two teeth that emerged during his short absence are pointed, though both are in the wrong place to be eyeteeth.
“Wei Ying?” Wangji pleads. “Trust me, dearheart. I will not leave you, no matter what the matter is.”
That is how Lan Qiren discovers that his great-nephew was born of the resentment filling the Burial Mounds, for Wei Wuxian lost his jindan to the Wens before being thrown in to die. But Wei Wuxian lived, and A-Yuan did not yet have a body, so he used resentful energy to survive and emerged fully-formed three months after his conception, instead of nine.
“I don’t know what Yuan’er will grow up to be,” Wei Wuxian says at last, “or what he would have been, even before this last month in the Burial Mounds. Everyone thought he owed his reflexes to having exceptional parents, but that-that’s not the case, Lan Zhan. If A-Yuan goes back to the Cloud Recesses, and someone notices how different he is, then...”
“Then we will hide it. No matter what he is, or what he grows to be, he is ours, and he is precious,” vows Wangji. “You need never speak of his origins, save to say that he is your child and mine.”
Wei Wuxian gives him a sad, lost look, and pulls the child a little closer to his chest.
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped,” he sighs. “A-Yuan is a Lan, and he should grow up with his family. If the world should turn against home someday, so be it. We can run off into the wild again, if we must, and find somewhere to live in peace. But until then, sweetheart, we’ll stay with you.”
He transfers the baby into Wangji’s lap, brushing his lips over his fluffy hair before rising to his feet; and then he bows to Lan Qiren and points towards the dark path leading back into the Burial Mounds.
“Stay here, Lan Zhan. Laoshi and I will go talk to the Wens, and then I’ll be back with you by dusk.”
Lan Qiren clears his throat.
“Very well,” he says gruffly. “Let’s go, then. And Wei Ying, let there be no more of this. We are your family, and we will stand by you in all things. You are ours.”
And with that, he storms off into the mist, and waits for Wei Wuxian to follow.
I think the most anticlimactic end to this whole mess before it even starts would be LQR accidentally finding out that A-Yuan was made from mostly resentful energy and he's like, "Well what else did we expect when WC threw you into the BM when you were pregnant? Get over here boy, I'm not going to drown you!" But alas. I know you, Stilton, and you're not going to make it that easy for anyone.
"Wei Wuxian," Wen Qing says to Wei Wuxian one day, a fortnight after their arrival in the Burial Mounds. "Come back to my quarters with me. We must speak."
Wei Wuxian looks up from his dirty stone table and squints at her. "Can't you just talk to me here?" he asks. "I don't think Wen Ning can hear either of us just yet, if you're worried about him listening in."
"It has nothing to do with A-Ning. I don’t want anyone to overhear us, and Popo and the uncles are right outside,” his friend scolds. "Put that knife away, and follow me."
So Wei Wuxian drops his tools and trots after Wen Qing with A-Yuan on his shoulders, wondering if she had some news about the outside world to relay to him; but when they reach the little cave she claimed for herself, all she does is take A-Yuan from his perch and hold him up at arm’s length for Wei Wuxian to look at.
“A-Yuan?” he wonders, puzzled. “Did you bring me here to look at Yuan-bao, Wen Qing?”
“Yes. You haven’t noticed, but he—he was born to you here in the Burial Mounds, wasn’t he?”
Wei Wuxian grimaces. He has never spoken of that to anyone, even Lan Zhan, and he would rather have told his zhiji the truth about his three-month exile before mentioning it to Wen Qing; but now that Wen Qing seems to have guessed, there is little use in denying it.
“He was born less than a hundred yards from where we stand, actually,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “Under that crooked old plum tree by the stream. I stopped to take a drink of water and fainted with my legs in the brook, and when I woke, I found A-Yuan lying underneath me.”
“Then he was born of the resentment in this place,” Wen Qing whispers. “It makes sense, then. Wei Wuxian, how in heaven’s name could you have missed something like this?”
“Missed...what, exactly?”
She looks at him with despairing eyes and gestures down at the baby. Wei Wuxian looks at his son, and finds nothing amiss; A-Yuan is healthy and properly fed, and dressed in warm clothes despite their sudden change in circumstances, so what could he have done to upset Wen Qing so?
“Yuan’er is growing too fast," she explains. "Children grow slowly during the second year, and A-Yuan is barely a year old. He knows over fifty words, I’ve counted, and he’s more than an inch taller than he was when we got here. You told me he took his first steps a few weeks before you rescued us, and he ran away from Popo last night when she tried to give him a bath.
“This place is affecting his body, and it may tamper with the development of his mind. If A-Yuan remains here, there will be no hiding what he is, or even where he came from."
Wei Wuxian swallows past the lump in his throat; for young though he is, and unexpected as his son’s arrival might have been, even the thought of parting from A-Yuan is too painful for him to bear.
"Then I'll write to Lan Zhan," he says hoarsely. "He'll make the journey alone if I ask him to, and he won't tell anyone where we are, so I can meet him down in Yiling and send Yuanyuan back to Gusu with him."
Wen Qing frowns. "But what about you?"
"I'll stay here," he shrugs, pressing his trembling lips together as A-Yuan reaches up to touch his cheek. "I need to take care of you and your family, and I promised you that I would bring Wen Ning back. When he's a little better, I can sneak off to Gusu and look at Yuan-bao now and then."
And Lan Zhan, he thinks, though their engagement was probably rendered void the moment Lanling received word of the deaths at Qiongqi Dao. Wei Wuxian will never feel remorse for those men, for even A-Yuan cried out in triumph when the overseers who killed Wen Ning were left bathing in pools of their own blood and brains—but Wei Wuxian will be known as a murderer from now unto the world's ending, and his child and intended will both be better off without him.
Lan Zhan will protect Yuan'er, no matter what, and so will Lan-laoshi and Zewu-jun; but he doubts their protection would ever be extended to the Wens. Wei Wuxian will have to be enough for Wen Qing and Wen Ning, as Lan Zhan will surely be for their son, and someday the world will be safe enough for him and A-Yuan to meet again.
Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian writes that evening, with an aching hand that protests the birth of every new word on the page. Use the blood-talisman in the envelope to meet me next week; it will carry you straight to my doorstep, and give you clearance to pass the wards.
Bring no one with you, not even your brother. I am only summoning you to fetch A-Yuan.
i know they’re currently at war but can we see lxc and jc competing to be spiritual baby a-yuan’s favourite uncle?
“Zewu-jun, seventeen; Jiang-zongzhu, twelve,” Li Shuai whispers in Nie Huaisang’s ear. “I don’t think Jiang-zongzhu’s going to beat him by the time you leave, Nie-ge.”
Nie Huaisang pulls out his fan and wafts a few strands of hair away from her neck. He would have dealt with his own sweaty neck first, but Li-guniang is a lady, and Nie Huaisang knows what chivalry demands of an upright young master, even if his low cultivation prevents him from being gallant as often as he would like.
“I don’t know about that,” he muses, stroking his chin in a reflexive imitation of Lan Qiren. “We’ve only been here three days, and Xichen-ge wants to stay for another two weeks.”
“You mean Hanguang-jun wants to stay,” Maiden Li reminds him. “Now be quiet, or they’ll hear us.”
The two of them are hiding in Lotus Pier’s expansive rose gardens, cultivated by Li-guniang and Jiang Yanli after the end of the Sunshot Campaign. The rose trees have grown up quickly, nourished by the abundant lingli in the earth, which means that the place is perfect for spying: namely, on Zewu-jun and Jiang Cheng, who set up their lunch table a few yards away. A-Yuan is with them, because Hanguang-jun and Wei-xiong had things to do in town, and the two uncles have been fighting over A-Yuan’s favor since they left--although it doesn’t seem to be much of a contest.
“A-Yuan,” Nie Huaisang hears his brother-in-law coo, followed by the tell-tale jingling of A-Yuan’s little hands playing with Xichen-ge’s ornaments. “Do you like bofu’s necklace? You can have it when you’re a little older.”
“Isn’t that the necklace Chifeng-zun commissioned for your betrothal?” Jiang-xiong asks. “You can’t just give it to A-Yuan.”
“My husband will understand,” Xichen-ge says tranquilly. “If I ask, Mingjue-xiong will make me another.”
“Spoiled,” Li Shuai mutters under her breath. “Tian ah, he’s more bewitching than a huli jing.”
“He is,” Nie Huaisang agrees. Married life suits Lan Xichen beautifully, and da-ge refuses to let his new husband leave their chambers without covering him in jewelry: earrings, necklaces, delicate bracelets, sparkling chains affixed to his hairpins, and even a silver and white-jade ring which was said to have belonged to the Nie sect founder’s wife.
The trinkets have been Xichen-ge’s greatest weapon in the battle for A-Yuan’s affections, since babies love playing with shiny things, and Jiang-xiong doesn’t wear any jewelry but his father’s old guan. In Nie Huaisang’s opinion, Jiang-xiong could easily do better with Yuanyuan if he borrowed a few of Jiang-guniang’s old zanzi, but Jiang Cheng insists that resorting to such tactics would be playing dirty: he is the uncle that A-Yuan sees every day, he says, so Zewu-jun’s use of pretty baubles to win the child over will mean less than nothing in the long run.
“Yuan’er,” Jiang Cheng says again, a little closer to Huaisang’s hiding place this time. “Come here so jiujiu can give you some lotus milk pudding.”
A-Yuan nods and squeals in delight, clapping his little pink hands together before rolling off Lan Xichen’s lap. “A-Yuan pudding!”
“There!” Jiang-xiong exclaims, dragging A-Yuan into his arms before Xichen-ge can try to pick him up again. “Good child, Yuanyuan! Jiujiu will put extra sugar in your pudding, just the way you like it.”
“Sugar will rot his teeth,” Lan Xichen objects. “At his age, he should not be eating anything sweeter than plain fruit.”
“He barely has any teeth, Zewu-jun. And anyway, Pan-daifu says lotus curd is medicinal. It’s good for him.”
Xichen-ge laughs and bows his head in defeat. “En, very well. I would not lightly contradict another healer, especially one with so many years’ worth of experience. Good afternoon, Jiang-zongzhu!”
With that, the two part ways, leaving Nie Huaisang and Li Shuai to extract themselves from Jiang Yanli’s favorite thornless rosebush. Nie Huaisang got his robes caught in a knot of roots, so Yu Zhenhong has to be called in to render assistance; and after that, their little band of schemers retreats to Huaisang’s guest pavilion to discuss the events of the day.
“That brings us to seventeen for Zewu-jun and thirteen for Jiang-zongzhu,” Li Shuai says triumphantly, while Yu Zhenhong pours her a cup of lotus tea. “We might catch up to him yet, Brother Nie.”
“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” Nie Huaisang retorts. “After all, it’ll be difficult for Jiang-xiong to pull ahead after Wei-xiong and Yuanyuan move to Gusu.”
Li Shuai drops her cup of tea.
“What?” she screeches, driving a flock of blue-crested herons out of the water at their feet. “Seriously? Da-shixiong’s agreed?”
“According to my sources, yes,” Nie Huaisang drawls, retreating behind his fan. “You see, Nie Zonghui went out to buy himself a new summer cloak last night, and he heard Wei-xiong and Wangji-xiong talking on the roof near the training court when he came back. Wangji-xiong was confessing his feelings, and Wei-xiong accepted them and promised that he and A-Yuan would move to the Cloud Recesses by Yuanyuan’s second birthday.”
“In the middle of the night? When none of us were around to hear?” Li-guniang says indignantly. “How can da-shixiong call me his favorite shimei, when he treats me like this?”
Yu Zhenhong laughs. “He’ll have to announce the engagement sometime, A-Shuai. And since we already know, we can start preparing da-shixiong’s wedding gifts early.”
“With what money?” Li Shuai demands, springing up to her feet. “Oh, I hope shixiong plans his wedding before Jiang-shijie’s! Jin Zixuan’s been sniffing around lately, and we won’t be able to afford a fine wedding for Wei-shixiong if Shijie gets married first.”
“Jiang-guniang is older,” Nie Huaisang reminds her. “She should be married first.”
“Well, yes, but Jin Guangshan should cover her expenses. It’s not as if he’s good for anything else.”
Li Shuai and Yu Zhenhong trade significant looks over Nie Huaisang’s head, too obviously thinking of Jin Guangshan’s latest message asking Wei Wuxian to surrender the Yinhufu to Lanling. He doesn’t know that Wangji-xiong is Yuanyuan’s father, or that Gusu Lan holds stronger ties to Yunmeng than Lanling has to anywhere else; but he clearly believes that he should be sitting on the throne Wen Ruohan left behind, and Gusu’s new marriage alliance to Qinghe will only have accelerated his plans to obtain it.
“Da-shixiong will be safer in Gusu, too,” Yu Zhenhong murmurs. “We cannot claim full sway over our own private affairs while Jiang-shijie hopes to marry Jin Zixuan. And it will happen sometime, so Wei Wuxian must leave Yunmeng Jiang as soon as possible.”
Nie Huaisang nods. After Wei-xiong marries Lan Wangji, matters concerning Wei Wuxian will be the Lan sect’s business: and through Da-ge’s marriage to Lan Xichen, the business of the Nie sect as well. But for now, making demands of Wei-xiong will do nothing but inconvenience Yunmeng Jiang, and compromise the youngest, weakest zongzhu among the four great clans.
“Brother Nie,” Yu Zhenhong says gravely. “Now that da-shixiong and Hanguang-jun have sorted out their feelings, the wedding preparations must be handled with the utmost speed and discretion. Not one word of this should reach the Jinlintai.”
“That I can do,” Huaisang promises. “We’ll give no more than a month’s notice before the wedding, and Nie Zonghui and I will handle all the tradesmen’s orders. Now, scram! I can see Jiang-guniang coming this way.”
So they scatter, sprinting in different directions before Jiang Yanli can turn the corner and catch them. Li Shuai activates an air-beneath-water talisman and jumps into the lake, while Yu Zhenhong darts down a side passage leading back to the kitchens; and Nie Huaisang takes a transportation talisman to Lan Xichen’s guest quarters, where he finds his brother-in-law eating loquats on a luohan bed with one of Huaisang’s myna birds.
“Well?” Xichen-gege asks, with a sly glint of mischief in his eye. “Do we have a plan, Huaisang?”
Nie Huaisang opens his fan and covers half of his face with it.
ok so MY guess is that Wangxian dual cultivated hard enough to end up with a radish in the xuanwu cave, but I wanna read the conversation where these two idiots are forced to acknowledge it. I feel like at minimum the Lans would immediately start asking questions. Bonus points if WWX accidentally lets it slip that they might have accidentally-on-purpose gotten SLIGHTLY engaged in a separate, prior, gay cave incident involving Lan Yi
"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says one night, about a week into Lan Zhan's first month in Yunmeng, "there's something you should know about A-Yuan."
The two of them are sitting on the roof together, partly for tradition's sake and partly out of convenience. They met on the roof of the guardhouse at the Cloud Recesses, and settled their quarrel about Wei Wuxian’s guidao on the roof of Nie Mingjue’s guest chambers—and now, at Lotus Pier, the pavilions and bridges of the living compound are occupied even in the dead of night, leaving the roof as the only safe place for lovers to meet and trade secrets.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan can hardly be called lovers, despite being a pair of sworn zhiji and parents to the same child. But Wei Wuxian loves Lan Zhan dearly all the same; and so, here they are, perched on the roof over Jiang-shushu’s study like a pair of trysting sweethearts.
“What is it?” Lan Zhan replies, placing his pale hand over the dark one in Wei Wuxian’s lap. “Are you and Yuan-bao well?”
“En, we are. But Lan Zhan, about your offer of marriage, I—”
Lan Zhan closes his eyes and squeezes Wei Wuxian’s hand a little tighter.
“I will not repeat it. It would distress you, and I would not bring you grief for any price,” he says quietly. “I understand that you do not love me, though you care for me deeply, and so...let us put my foolishness to rest, and move on. You have your due rights as A-Yuan’s muqin and a member of my clan, which is what I truly wanted for you both.”
Wei Wuxian knew that Lan Zhan proposed to him out of duty and nothing more, but the ache of hearing him say so is no less keen for it. He takes the blow like a man, refusing to betray himself with a flinch or the trembling of white lips left unkissed by the father of his child. Now, he has no need to tell Lan Zhan about his feelings; his beloved does not return them, and revealing the truth of his heart would likely win him a second offer of marriage, one Wei Wuxian would never have the strength to refuse.
He would wed Lan Zhan if he asked again, wed him and dwell with him until the end of his days, because it would be torment to be parted from him and death to imagine Lan Zhan with another. Once he tried to think of someone else surpassing him in Lan Zhan’s affections, some high-spirited maiden or gentle xianjun who would love A-Yuan and honor Wei Wuxian as the father that bore him, and found himself wishing himself married that very instant, so he could be content in the knowledge that Lan Zhan would never...
“I love you,” he says aloud, so softly that he scarcely hears himself above the rustling of the wind. “I love you as Zhu Yingtai loved Liang Shanbo, as the Lady Bai She loved her Xu Xian. When we were still in Qishan, I heard Lan-xiansheng say it was a miracle that you were well enough to dual cultivate with me after fighting the Xuanwu, let alone that I had the strength to receive you and bear a child, and so—well!
“It was more than your strength, my Lan Zhan, and more than mine, too. I love you more than life, qian xin, and so we have our A-Yuan. And that’s why I can’t marry you, because I would demand much more of my husband than he would be willing to give.”
Lan Zhan’s tongue darts out to wet his mouth. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, like pale pieces of cracked-glaze jewelry made to show the red enamel below, and all Wei Wuxian can see in them is his own wavering reflection.
“And have you asked your husband what he is willing to give?” Lan Zhan says fiercely, dragging Wei Wuxian into his arms and squeezing him until he gasps for breath. “Or did you break his heart by refusing him, when that heart was yours to take or discard the moment your eyes met his!”
Wei Wuxian stares at him in disbelief. “But you never spoke,” he pleads, fighting the urge to lie back in Lan Zhan’s sturdy arms and melt like iced fruit left out in the sun. “If I asked you to come back to Yunmeng with me once, I must have asked a thousand times—and each time you refused me!”
“Refused out of fear,” Lan Zhan counters. “I could not—” and here his ears flush redder than roses, burning hot against Wei Wuxian’s skin— “Nie Huaisang told me that things were different here, that the cultivators of Yunmeng Jiang were free with their affections, and I was afraid that being spoiled further with your friendship would force me to betray my love.”
He pulls Wei Wuxian closer, shamefaced, and presses his cold nose into the curve between Wei Wuxian’s neck and shoulder.
“And I could not bear the thought of you having a mingding zhiren other than myself,” he whispers. “I was sure that one such as you would be dearly loved—for how could you not be? From the way you defended Mianmian and your shijie, and the way you spoke of the beauties you knew in Yunmeng, I was sure you had made some good guniang a queen among women by loving her before you ever met me!”
“And so you rejected me whenever I tried to approach you?” Wei Wuxian protests. “Then what else was I to think, save that-that--”
And then Wei Wuxian can say nothing more, because his heart’s treasure is kissing him.
Marry me, Lan Zhan begs between kisses, even as Wei Wuxian calls his name and weeps at the finger’s breadth of space keeping them apart. Let me be yours and be for me only, my love!
And Wei Wuxian yields to him, body and soul, willing as a peach blossom torn by the wind as he cries out—
Now I desperately need to see a scene where Lan Qiren has that conversation with NMJ in spiritual baby a-yuan bc PLEASE THE WAY I CHORTLED! LWJ JUST DROPS A BOMB AND LEAVES *MIC DROP*
If Lan Qiren had ever been asked to guess what his nephews' future marriages would be like, he would have said that Lan Xichen would marry first.
Xichen was always brighter and more sociable than Wangji, attracting admirers left and right throughout his youth, and Lan Qiren often wondered why no young lady with a similar character ever caught his eye. His nephew was kind, pleasing to the eye, downright reverent of every woman that crossed his path—he had once protected a maiden from Wen Xu, though the man was five years A-Huan’s senior, while A-Huan was not yet of age—but no sweetheart appeared, and Lan Qiren had nearly given up hope by the time Nie Mingjue entered the scene.
In restrospect, it was obvious why Xichen had chosen him. The two boys grew up together, spending alternate summers at each other’s homes until Nie Mingjue succeeded his father; and at some point, Nie Mingjue fell deeply in love with Xichen and became so ill-adept at hiding it that the whole jianghu knew about his feelings by the time he was twenty.
Be that as it may, I would rather they not know of his sleeping arrangements, Lan Qiren thinks, as he knocks on the door to Nie Mingjue’s quarters. They are both men, but even so...
The door opens. “Lan-laoshi,” Nie Mingjue blinks, clearly surprised by the sight of him. “What news? Is all well with the recovery efforts?”
“As well as such things can be, as far as I know,” sighs Lan Qiren. “Will you let me in, Nie-zongzhu? I must speak with you.”
Nie-zongzhu lets him pass and offers to send an attendant for tea and breakfast, but Lan Qiren has no desire to draw this conversation out any longer than he must.
“You have been sharing my nephew’s bed throughout the war,” he says bluntly. “For obvious reasons, that fact concerns me. What do you intend to do about it?”
Nie Mingjue frowns at him. “Lan Huan and I have always shared our living quarters. I sleep in the Hanshi during my visits to the Cloud Recesses, and A-Huan has a bed of his own in my chambers. The whole of the Bujingshi knows it.”
“The Bujingshi is loyal to you. Your people would never speak of your doings to outsiders,” Lan Qiren points out. “But there are no less than a hundred clans present here in Qishan. If you were simply brothers in arms, no one would think twice, but when paired with the knowledge of your affections for him...”
Nie Mingjue does not blush. He meets Lan Qiren’s eyes calmly, with no hint of shame: but Lan Qiren must still ask if he and Xichen behaved honorably behind closed doors, if only to set his old heart at rest.
“Our sect precepts forbid congress outside of marriage. Has Xichen broken that law in your presence?”
Nie-zongzhu shakes his head, and Lan Qiren exhales in relief before finding his way to a chair. “Very well. Since nothing has happened, then-”
"Then I will marry him.”
“You will--what? Why?”
“Truth is nothing in the face of rumor,” Nie Mingjue says hoarsely. “If there are rumors about us, then I would settle them by making it plain where Xichen and I stand in one another’s hearts. But I spent this last year not knowing whether each time I bid him goodbye would be the last, not knowing if the both of us would live to see the end of the war--laoshi, I have taken more separation from him than I can bear. So I will ask him to be my husband, and dwell with him until the end of my days.”
Lan Qiren lifts his eyebrows. “Then what of your duties? One of you must marry out, or you must live apart.”
“It will still be more than what we have had. If Lan Huan wishes to come to me after we are wed, then wanting will be enough reason to make the journey. He need not invent crowd night-hunts and banquets to make excuses for meeting like I did when we were children.”
Lan Qiren digests this revelation in silence, marveling at the fact that his fretting had been wasted upon Wangji. His elder nephew has apparently been courting in secret all this time, and courting unknowingly until not so very long ago.
“You two have my blessing,” he says. “When should the wedding take place?”
“As soon as Xichen wants it. After he and I speak, I will ask him to choose a date.”
And with that, the matter is settled. Lan Xichen is as good as betrothed, since Lan Qiren came to visit Nie-zongzhu with his permission, and Nie-zongzhu’s honor is no longer in question; so Lan Qiren finishes his tea and goes back to Wangji’s guest house, where he finds Wei Wuxian waiting in the front room with A-Yuan in his arms.
“Where is Wangji?” Lan Qiren asks, when Wei Ying rises to greet him. “You have only just recovered. Why is he not with you?”
“All of the able-bodied cultivators in residence have been asked to go to the healing wards,” Wei Wuxian explains, holding a babbling A-Yuan up at arm’s length so Lan Qiren can kiss the baby’s soft cheek. “The wounded need to be moved by the end of the week, and their cores are flagging from overuse. They need to heal faster, so Xichen-ge prescribed them all mass lingli transfusions. He’s been tending the patients in the medical pavilion since dawn.”
“And you are still unwell, so you stayed behind with Yuan’er.”
Wei Wuxian nods, looking strangely relieved that Lan Qiren came to the correct conclusion on his own; or perhaps he feared being upbraided about his dark cultivation yet again, for practicing the guidao would likely have rendered him useless as a healer even if he were well. “There’s no use for me down there. I don’t have enough spiritual energy to give them, and Shijie is working as a nurse, so there was no one I could leave Yuanyuan with.”
“You should remain here until Wangji returns,” Lan Qiren advises him. “I can assist you if you need anything, and if you grow tired, I will look after A-Yuan.”
“Then this one will retire to bed,” Wei Wuxian says, with a soft laugh that A-Yuan immediately tries to imitate. He copies the yawn that follows, too, stretching his tiny pink mouth so wide that Lan Qiren can count the new teeth coming through his gums; and then the child falls asleep on his A-Niang’s shoulder, hiding his face behind Wei Wuxian’s hair as he drifts off to sleep.
Wei Wuxian slips through the door to Wangji’s room, taking the baby with him; and Lan Qiren slumps down onto the luohan bed near the stove before taking out his little pocket calendar.
“Wangji’s wedding must take place by this autumn, at the very latest,” he mutters to himself. “Xiongzhang, I can bear no more of this! Your sons are no better with matters of the heart than you!”
Thank you for the LWJ, now I'm just curious, how will LQR react, and with the same type of relatives that heaped upon LWJ the advice for a happy marriage.... That support and want LWJ to get married! And so there's more buns in CR! Especially best radish bun A-Yuan!
The first time Lan Qiren meets Lan Yuan, he discovers what the poets meant by having something take one's breath away.
It wasn't because of A-Yuan: or at least, not entirely. Lan Qiren set off for Qishan the moment he heard of Wen Ruohan's death, for the letter reporting their victory came with the news of Wangji's son, born to Wei Wuxian during the first weeks of the war; and then Chifeng-zun led Lan Qiren to the Nightless City’s main summer palace, where Wangji was living with Wei Wuxian and their child, A-Yuan.
In Lan Qiren’s eyes, the day he met A-Yuan was the day his little A-Zhan became a father, and he withdrew to his own quarters and wept with joy the minute he could excuse himself.
“When will the wedding be?” he asks later that week, while Xichen and the rest of the Lan delegation prepare for their return to Gusu. “Wei Ying must marry into our family, of course, but I suppose it will be some time before Jiang-zongzhu can spare him. If it hastens their union, Wangji might as well go directly to Lotus Pier and live there until Jiang-zongzhu signs the betrothal papers.”
His nephews exchange somber glances, conducting a silent conversation with their eyes instead of talking to their uncle. For his part, Lan Qiren is unsurprised. Wangji is in charge of A-Yuan tonight, because Wei Ying left the city to reclaim the corpses from the battlefield towards Hejian; so perhaps A-Zhan does not think it meet to discuss the marriage out of his beloved’s hearing?
If so, the sentiment is an admirable one. Wangji seems to be a more steadfast fujun at the tender age of twenty than most men half a century older.
But then Lan Xichen speaks, placing a hand on Wangji’s shoulder, and dashes Lan Qiren’s hopes so quickly that he nearly goes into shock.
“There will be no wedding, Shufu,” he says quietly. “At least not yet. Wangji has not successfully won Wei-gongzi’s hand in marriage.”
Wangji glares at him. “There is no need to say it gently, Brother. I have not failed to win his hand. I asked, and I was rejected.”
Lan Qiren feels his blood run cold. If Wei Wuxian has refused to accept Wangji as his husband, might he not deny Wangji the chance to be known as A-Yuan’s father?
“Then what about the child?” he ventures, watching A-Yuan crawl across the rug with one of Wei Wuxian’s red ribbons tied around his middle. “A-Yuan is a Lan. He and his muqin belong at the Cloud Recesses, with you. Wangji, is Wei Wuxian dissatisfied with you?”
“Nothing is to change with A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “Wei Ying and I will part ways next week. I shall return to Gusu with you and Brother, and Wei Ying will go back to Yunmeng with A-Yuan.”
And then, almost under his breath, he says,
“I do not know if A-Yuan’s family name will be Lan. He will live where Wei Ying is, and be educated where Wei Ying is, and he will know me as his father, but—but father only in the sense that I had a hand in his creation, not as his mother’s mingding zhiren. Wei Ying does not want me.”
Wei Ying does not want me.
Lan Qiren sits back, stupefied. “Surely not,” he says, stupefied. “You two have a child, a child he must raise alone if you two do not wed. What reason could he possibly have for refusing you?”
“Ah, Shufu,” Xichen interrupts. “For now, let it be. I have tried to reassure Wangji many times, but both you and he have forgotten that Wei Wuxian is still young. He will not be twenty until this coming autumn, and he already has a child to care for. Wei-gongzi loves A-Yuan deeply, and he is unused to being a father; so in time, when he realizes that accepting Wangji’s suit is the best thing for A-Yuan, he will surely say yes.”
“You are blind,” Lan Qiren snaps, making his nephew draw back in surprise. “Wangji could coax Wei-gongzi into marriage now if he insisted the union would be good for A-Yuan. But your brother is in love with that little fool, and he will not settle for a marriage undertaken out of duty. Am I correct, Wangji?”
Wangji nods. “If our marriage will not bring joy to Wei Ying, then I do not want it,” he says firmly. “I will be A-Yuan’s father, and honor my zhiji that way.”
Honor, indeed! Lan Qiren can almost see his nephew’s heart falling to pieces inside him!
“Don’t give up hope,” he urges. “It may very well be as Xichen said: Wei Ying is young. He is barely more than a child himself, war or no war, and now he has a little one of his own. What man could act sensibly in a predicament like his?”
“Wei Ying is very sensible. He knows his own mind.”
“Yes, but he has been through a great ordeal,” Lan Qiren points out. “He cultivates the guidao now, doesn’t he?”
“He cultivates the guidao for A-Yuan!” Wangji says fiercely, rising from his chair and snatching a confused A-Yuan out of the little cloak den Xichen built for him that morning. “Shufu, think! I gave myself to Wei Ying in that cave, when both of us were wounded nearly unto death—”
“Lan Wangji!”
“He didn’t really,” Lan Xichen coughs, turning his face away to hide his grin. “Zhanzhan, if you keep speaking of it that way, people will misunderstand.”
“—and three months later he had a child, while he was left defenseless and alone in Yiling!” Wangji continues, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “A-Yuan would never have lived if Wei Ying had not given him all his lingli, so what choice did my beloved have, save to protect himself and our child by cultivating the ghost path? A-Yuan owes his life to everything Wei Ying is, and has done, and the wickedness you would condemn him for is the reason I have my husband and son safe at my side today!”
“I was not going to condemn him,” Lan Qiren says placidly. “I wanted to remind you that he needs time to heal. Now that the war is over, he can return to the honorable path and see his home rebuilt, and then you can ask for his hand again. Properly, this time.”
“I have told you,” Wangji returns, aggrieved, “that Wei Ying does not love me. Am I to press him into marriage anyway? If that is what you meant, I refuse.”
“Save me from the stubbornness of children in love! Lan Wangji, you utter fool—the two of you could never have achieved dual cultivation unless Wei Wuxian loved you with all his heart!” he roars. “Your son is the proof of his feelings, nephew. He loves you so dearly that there is living evidence of it! Didn’t A-Huan explain it to you?”
Lan Xichen opens his mouth. “I-”
But before he can speak, Wangji tucks A-Yuan under his arm and storms towards the door. He pauses on the threshold for a moment, stroking A-Yuan’s chubby little face; and then he turns back to his uncle, and shocks him half to death by saying,
“If you want to see us happily married, look to Xiongzhang first. I would have been forced to duel Nie-zongzhu for his honor a hundred times over if we were not at war.”
And with that, he disappears into his bedroom, leaving Lan Qiren to lament his uselessness as a teacher while Xichen makes a valiant effort to smother himself in his robes.
“A-Huan,” Lan Qiren says, resigned. “Is this true?”
Xichen does not answer, but his burning face is answer enough, so Lan Qiren puts his head in his hands and tries not to scream.
His eldest nephew is engaged the next morning, after Lan Qiren has a long, stern conference with Chifeng-zun; and as for Wangji, Lan Qiren has a tiny, dimpled accomplice to help the match along.
All good things come to those who wait, he whispers, when Wei Wuxian leaves Wangji behind with nothing but a promise to see him next month in Yunmeng.
Hold fast, Wangji. Your heart's desire is worth waiting for.
spiritual baby yuan needs snuggles? All the snuggles? nmj is good at baby snugges (not surprising). Jiang cheng is a bit :( because he's usually a literal baby-magnet but a-yuan is a bit ??? about him. lxc is playing music and a-yuan is !!!!
"A-Cheng!" A-Jie calls out, when Jiang Cheng catches her in the hallway outside the kitchens. "Can you watch A-Yuan for a while? He was napping when the scouting party left, so A-Xian didn't take him along."
Jiang Cheng nods. "Where is he?"
"In A-Xian's room," his sister replies. "Yuanyuan's not due for a feeding until two hours from now, but if he gets hungry before then—"
“Feed him strained congee boiled with broth and thinned out with milk,” Jiang Cheng recites obediently. “As thin as I can make it.”
Yanli pats his cheek and slips past him into the kitchen, and Jiang Cheng turns around and marches upstairs to his brother’s room, where he finds A-Yuan surrounded by a wall of round pillows in the middle of the bed. The baby is awake, blinking in confusion as he tries to look around for his father; and one of Wei Wuxian’s ghosts is sitting near his head, stroking his fine baby hair with inch-long nails that send a quiver of fear up Jiang Cheng’s spine.
She melts into thin air when he crosses the threshold, vanishing to wherever she goes when Wei Wuxian has no need of her, and Jiang Cheng waits to make sure the ghost is gone before hurrying over to A-Yuan.
“You don’t need a diaper change,” he frowns, lifting the baby onto his lap. “Is Wei Wuxian keeping track of how often he changes you? I don’t think it’s often enough.”
A-Yuan squeals and launches himself toward the blue frog on Sandu’s hilt. He seems healthy, from what Jiang Cheng remembers about the babies he and Wei Wuxian used to play with when they were little, but there’s no denying that A-Yuan is different from other children. He rarely cries, and the one healer who was allowed to look him over noted that he was either very small for his age, or reaching his milestones several weeks ahead of time.
Wei Wuxian told the old doctor that he found the baby in Yiling, not far from the cursed Burial Mounds, and asked if exposure to resentful energy could have sped up the baby’s development; but the healer threw him out of her office, horrified, and said that the child’s beginnings were no excuse for Wei Wuxian to use his guidao in A-Yuan’s presence.
A-Yuan hasn’t seen a single healer since, not even after the battles Wei Wuxian keep bringing him to, and Yanli has given up pleading with their brother to leave the child behind when he rides to war.
“I guess he knows what he’s doing,” Jiang Cheng mutters, holding a finger out to A-Yuan. A-Yuan grabs at it, trying to bring it to his mouth to chew on; but then, without warning, the baby freezes against Jiang Cheng’s stomach and bursts into piercing wails.
“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng says frantically, picking his nephew up properly. “Are you hungry? Do you miss your A-Die?”
A-Yuan flails in his arms, howling like a wounded animal, and he refuses to drink the milk Wei Wuxian left out for him. He spits the cloth nipple out of his mouth and screams into Jiang Cheng’s neck, kicking his feet and writhing as if something was hurting him, so Jiang Cheng lays him face down on his knee and pats the middle of his back.
“This is colic, right?” he asks the empty room, hoping that Wei Wuxian’s ghost nursemaid is still within earshot. “There can’t be anything else wrong with him. A-Yuan, tell shushu where it hurts!”
But A-Yuan, being less than two months old, does nothing but shriek at the top of his lungs. Jiang Cheng offers him the bottle again, but A-Yuan rejects it and draws his fat legs up to his chest, sniffling harder than ever while the tears run down onto his blankets.
“I’m taking you to Jie,” Jiang Cheng decides. But someone knocks on the door before he can open it; and when he calls out for the intruder to come in, it turns out to be Sect Leader Nie.
“I heard him all the way from the second floor,” Chifeng-zun tells him, with his brows pinched together in concern. “Is he sick?”
“I don’t know. I was going to bring him to a healer, since Wei Wuxian’s away, so—”
Instead of standing aside so that Jiang Cheng can pass, Chifeng-zun only holds out his arms. “Give the little one here.”
Jiang Cheng does, wondering if Chifeng-zun had remembered something helpful from Nie Huaisang’s early childhood; but to his astonishment, A-Yuan goes quiet the moment Nie Mingjue picks him up.
“When a child cries like that, it’s often because something in their environment is troubling them,” Nie-zongzhu explains. “Huaisang used to cry himself sick when our father brought his saber around him. Are you carrying any spiritual weapons?”
“Only Sandu and my mother’s Zidian.”
Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes at Zidian. “I’ve seen him trying to put your Sandu’s sword tassel in his mouth before. Can you hold the ring near his face, Jiang-zongzhu?”
Jiang Cheng lifts his hand and holds it a hairsbreadth away from A-Yuan’s cheek. To his horror, the baby’s little limbs lock with terror, as if he was afraid Jiang Cheng might use Zidian on him: and then A-Yuan starts to cry again, beating his small fists on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to escape.
A second later, the door bangs open again, admitting a panicked Lan Wangji this time. “What is wrong with my—with A-Yuan?” he demands, striding over to take the baby from Nie Mingjue’s arms. “Have you two been frightening him?”
“We just found out that he’s afraid of Zidian,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, stuffing the ring into his pocket before snatching A-Yuan back. “I don’t understand why, though. I’ve never used it in front of him.”
Lan Wangji blinks.
“You would not have needed to use it in front of him,” he murmurs, holding out his arms again. “Give him to me? Please?”
Jiang Cheng squints at him. “He’s fine now, Hanguang-jun. Why do you want to hold him? He’ll probably just spit up on your robes, if you try.”
“Please, Jiang-zongzhu.”
So Jiang Cheng hands the baby over, and tries not to let his displeasure show on his face when A-Yuan snuggles against the front of Hanguang-jun’s lace overgown and falls asleep in two seconds flat.
“He will feel after Xiongzhang plays the qin for him,” Lan Wangji announces. “Do not worry, Jiang-zongzhu. I will return A-Yuan when he eats and finishes his nap.”
And with that, he glides out the door, taking Jiang Cheng’s nephew away without a backwards glance.
“Ah,” Nie Mingjue says awkwardly, after Hanguang-jun departs. “Wei-gongzi hasn’t told you where A-Yuan came from, did he?”
Nie-zongzhu leaves before Jiang Cheng can question him further, but when Wei Wuxian comes back to the Unclean Realm after sunset, Jiang Cheng corners him in the infirmary with A-Jie and demands to know the truth.
The three of them skip dinner that night, because Jiang Cheng is too overwhelmed by the knowledge that A-Yuan is Wei Wuxian’s own blood son with Lan Wangji to show his face in public, and A-Jie is too overcome with joy to leave the baby’s side. She sees it as a blessing, though she weeps all through the supper they share together when she realizes why A-Yuan is so afraid of Zidian, and how much Wei Wuxian must have suffered before the baby was born.
For his part, Jiang Cheng’s feelings are mixed, especially when Lan Wangji stops by just after hai shi and insists on kissing A-Yuan goodnight before Wei Wuxian puts him to bed.
His shixiong is going to marry Lan Wangji, or perhaps leave Yunmeng to raise his son at Hanguang-jun’s side, and there is nothing Jiang Cheng can do about it.
OMG Stilton, now I'm thirsty for a peek of Lan Wangji reaction when he knows he has a son!
“May I hold him?” is the first thing Lan Wangji asks, after he and Wei Ying are left alone together with A-Yuan.
A-Yuan, his son. His son with Wei Ying, a child conceived from mutual devotion and nurtured by Lan Wangji’s beloved until he was ready to enter the world.
He never even dreamed such a child could exist, and now the proof of his love for Wei Ying is here, sleepily drinking a bottle of milk in Wei Ying’s arms, and Lan Wangji adores them both so deeply that it feels as if he could die from it.
“Sure, if you like. I don’t see why not,” Wei Ying answers, with a feeble shadow of his old smile playing across his face. “He’s not as delicate as he looks, you know. Little babies are supposed to be too weak to hold their heads up, but Yuanyuan...”
“Mn. He is strong,” Lan Wangji says. “Like his A-Niang.”
Wei Ying laughs, a true laugh this time, and transfers A-Yuan into Lan Wangji’s lap. The baby makes a soft sound of complaint, wriggling in his little nest of blankets; and then he looks up, and meets Lan Wangji’s eyes.
Lan Wangji bursts into tears.
“Hello, A-Yuan,” he croaks, wonderstruck by the soft baby scent clinging to his son’s fluffy hair. “Sweetheart, hello. I’m your father.”
“Lan Zhan, he knows you,” Wei Ying gasps, when A-Yuan pushes his bottle away and snuggles into Lan Wangji’s side. “He didn’t even take to Jiang Cheng this well, and Jiang Cheng...”
But whatever quality Jiang Wanyin might have that makes him attractive to babies, Lan Wangji is his father. He delights in the knowledge like a child, examining every tiny finger and toe before asking Wei Ying to tell him all about the baby’s habits, and what he likes and dislikes, and everything Wei Ying has already planned for their son’s future.
“May I be a part of it?” Lan Wangji says humbly. He would have knelt and begged his beloved to accept him, as either his partner or A-Yuan’s father or both; but he would disturb his son if he moves now, so all Lan Wangji can do is ask, and pray that his own change of heart has not come too late.
Wei Ying has been cold to him ever since they were reunited, most likely because Lan Wangji was so often cold to him at the Cloud Recesses, or because he left Wei Ying at Mount Muxi without a word of comfort. But now they have a child, a newborn baby that needs them both, and Lan Wangji must care for his mingding zhiren and their son. He needs to, as he needs water to drink and air to breathe—they are his, both of them, and he cannot bear to leave them now that he knows the truth.
“Please,” he entreats, reaching out to hold Wei Ying’s hand. “I will do anything you wish, be anything you wish, only—only permit me to stand by you, and help you raise our little one. Please.”
Wei Ying stares at him, his beautiful mouth falling open in surprise.
“Why?” he wonders, patting A-Yuan’s small kicking feet. “You’re young, and you’ll probably want to get married someday. Won’t your wife mind not being the mother to your first child, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji frowns. “Wife? I will never wed any woman. I will never so much as look at a woman, if that is what you meant. But A-Yuan is here, and you are here, and...”
He looks up at Wei Ying, overwhelmed, and nearly succumbs to the impulse to cling to his zhiyin and cry.
“I want us to be a family. A whole family,” he whispers at last. “Wei Ying, we are at war, and so much—there is no certainty that either of us will live through it. But we have a son, and he is the most precious thing I have ever beheld. And you are dearer to me than I know how to say, just yet. I could spend the rest of my life at your side, aiding you in all things and helping you bring up A-Yuan, and die without a single regret as long as you both were well. Please.”
Please accept me, he wants to say. Wei Ying, please love me as I love you.
Has he lost Wei Ying already? Did Wei Ying love him once, perhaps, and decide that he would be better off loving someone else?
“Am I too late?” Lan Wangji says numbly. “If I have displeased you, then I...Wei Ying, I will do anything to atone for it, anything at all—!”
“No! No, nothing of the sort,” wheezes Wei Ying. “You, ah. You sounded as if you wanted to be more than A-Yuan’s father, you know, and it surprised me! You’re too serious, Lan Zhan. Of course you can be his father, if you want to.”
“I do want to,” Lan Wangji persists. “But I want to be more to you than that.”
All he receives for his pains is another uncomprehending stare. “I want you,” he clarifies. “I wish to be wedded to you properly, and claim A-Yuan as my son by you before the entire jianghu.”
“You want to marry me because of A-Yuan? Aiyah, Lan Zhan, isn’t that going a little too far?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head.
“Not only because of him,” he confesses. “In truth, I...I would kneel to you now and ask for your hand even without A-Yuan, Wei Ying—”
Suddenly, A-Yuan bursts into tears. He works his tiny fists into Lan Wangji’s robes, wailing so loudly that he brings Xichen and Chifeng-zun running back into the room; and when Wei Ying leaves to calm the baby down and give him a bath, Lan Wangji knows enough to realize that his proposal has been rejected.
But he is certain that it was not due to any lack of feeling on Wei Ying’s part, or fear that he might try to part Wei Ying from A-Yuan.
Wei Ying is hiding something from him, something that might reasonably prevent their marriage, and Lan Wangji has no idea what it could be.
ok but i need to know how everyone works out the truth in the wangxian cultivation baby au
"It's an easy thing to determine," Lan Xichen says at last, after Wei Wuxian excuses himself and tries to leave the meeting chamber with A-Yuan. "Wei-gongzi, no matter the result, neither I nor my sect would ever try to take the child from you. Most clans have private methods of detecting blood resonance in cases of disputed parentage, and if you wish to keep it a secret, nothing the test reveals will leave this room."
"Except for Lan Zhan?"
"Except for Wangji," Zewu-jun nods. "Unless the spell shows that A-Yuan and I are not blood relatives, in which case you need not tell him anything."
"Wait," Wei Wuxian blurts out, clinging to A-Yuan for dear life. "Can you perform the blood resonance spell twice?"
Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow at him.
"Why?"
"Once with you, as you suggested," he clarifies, "and once with me."
Lan-zongzhu frowns, probably wondering why Wei Wuxian would need a blood resonance spell for a child he bore himself; but Lan Xichen told him that cultivated children were dependent on their parents’ golden cores, and Wei Wuxian lost his three months before A-Yuan was born. Furthermore, Lan Xichen mentioned that such babies are almost indistinguishable from born children, different only in the ease with which they developed jindans later in life—and A-Yuan could go for days without sleeping or eating, even after he and Wei Wuxian left the Burial Mounds, and he can eat any kind of food made soft enough for him to swallow.
For all Wei Wuxian knows, his son might be a benevolent demon who crawled out of the Luanzang Gang to keep him company, and not a human infant at all.
“Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian begs, pressing his cheek to the baby’s fuzzy head. “Please.”
Zewu-jun nods and unclips the jade tassel from his belt. “I’ll do yours first. Twist a strand of your hair around one of A-Yuan’s, and give them both to me.”
Wei Wuxian gathers the hairs as bidden, coiling his thick strand of hair around A-Yuan’s little soft one, and watches as Zewu-jun lays them flat across the surface of his yaopei. The pendant flashes silver, and then red; and when Zewu-jun lifts it away, both of the strands of hair have turned white.
“The hairs of close relatives change color upon exposure to the clan yaopei. White signifies the blood bond between a mother and child, or a pair of siblings,” Lan Xichen explains, plucking a fine hair from his temple. “Forgive me, Wei-gongzi, but the spell requires fresh hairs each time. I need another one from A-Yuan.”
So Wei Wuxian cuts another strand of hair, and closes his eyes while Zewu-jun performs the test again.
When he looks back at the pendant, the two strands of hair wound around it have changed from black to a clear, pearlescent gray.
Wei Wuxian feels his blood run cold.
“Do you mind if I send for him now?” Zewu-jun says gently. “He will not ask for custody of the child, I swear it. A-Yuan is yours, regardless of whose blood runs in his veins, and that will never change.”
He nods, hardly daring to breathe while Zewu-jun activates a message talisman and sends it off to the Bujingshi’s training courtyard.
Ten minutes later, Nie Mingjue leads Lan Zhan into the little strategy room and tilts his head at the flailing bundle clutched in Wei Wuxian’s arms.
“Congratulations,” he says, before Wei Wuxian can take Lan Zhan aside and explain everything to him in private.
“A-Huan was right, Wangji. Wei-gongzi’s child is your son.”
I am freaking screaming omg. Its either LQR or LXC and both of them are gonna be so horrified. A baby! In the burial mounds!
Lan Xichen arrives at the Unclean Realm nearly four months after the burning of the Cloud Recesses, and finds the stronghold in the midst of preparing for war.
From what he heard on his way through the villages between Runan and Qinghe, Mingjue-xiong’s forces have already met Wen Xu in battle and defeated him; and when he passes under the stone gate around the Bujingshi, the first thing that greets him is a drying head staked in the main courtyard, with its hair still bound with the gold and red jade commonly worn by high-ranking nobles in the Nightless City.
Oddly enough, Lan Xichen feels no pity at the sight of it. Wen Xu laid waste to the Cloud Recesses and killed the women and children from nine of the ten minor clans accompanying Xichen now, and whatever end Mingjue-xiong devised for him, it could not be any harsher than the ones Wen Xu dealt out himself.
“Xichen!” someone calls, loud and breathless and impossibly close, and then—after so long that it feels like a lifetime of separation—Nie Mingjue takes his hand, leading Lan Xichen down a convenient hallway before pushing him back against the cold stone of the wall.
“Mingjue-xiong?” he whispers, lifting his hands to Mingjue’s shoulders. “Are you well, my friend? Do you need me to play Cleansing for you?”
“Cleansing, he says, when I have had nothing but spies’ messages to know if you were alive or dead since the Cloud Recesses burned,” Mingjue mutters, pressing his nose to Lan Xichen’s brow and breathing in deeply, as if he could draw the proof of his zhiyin’s life into his own body and guard it there, instead of watching his heart walk about outside him in the midst of wartime. “Four months, Lan Huan. If I had to hear news of your passing thus, without ever seeing you again—it would have been the death of me.”
“I am here now,” Xichen soothes him. “I am by your side, and I will not leave you until duty compels me to go. But before we go to your chambers, I have three hundred men from the minor clans around Qishan waiting on your doorstep, and they will need food and rest by tonight. Do you have room for them?”
Nie Mingjue frowns. “I’ll have to ask Huaisang. We have more than enough supplies, but the sleeping space will be tight.”
“That won’t be any trouble. All they need is room to lay their bedrolls, and none of them wish to be parted from each other just now.”
Mingjue nods, stepping a little closer; and then, before Lan Xichen can ask him what the matter is, he finds himself sandwiched between the wall and his friend’s broad chest, with no room to move either forward or backward or sidewise.
“What are you doing?” he ventures, a few minutes later. “Are you ill, A-Jue?”
“If someone were to attack you, right now,” Nie Mingjue says raggedly, “they would have to run me through first. Either that, or raze the whole Bujingshi to the ground before harming a hair on your head.”
Lan Xichen feels himself go weak in the knees. It has been a long trip, he thinks, even for a cultivator as strong as he is, and some rest—preferably a long, sound sleep in Mingjue-xiong’s bed, with Mingjue himself close at hand to keep any nightmares away—if he could only rest for a little while, perhaps then the two of them could—
“A-Jue,” he says, wrapping his arms around Mingjue’s neck. “Mingjue-xiong, I...”
“Am I interrupting something?” a cheerful voice calls, before Xichen can make up his mind about what he was about to do. “I’m sorry, Nie-zongzhu. I thought this wing was empty.”
Mingjue laughs and shields Lan Xichen’s face from the intruder. “No. But what in heaven’s name are you doing down here? Is that little one giving you trouble again?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Wei-gongzi!” Lan Xichen cries, springing out of Nie Mingjue’s arms. “You’re here! Have you seen Wangji?”
Wei Wuxian nods. “I have. He and A-Cheng met up with me in Yiling, and we’ve been riding out to battle together ever since.”
He turns his attention to Mingjue-xiong, explaining something about a Wen camp quartered a few leagues away from Lake Qiandao, but Lan Xichen is no longer listening. Wei Wuxian entered the corridor with a bundle of cloth in his arms, and Xichen assumed he was carrying spare robes, or laundry; but then the grubby bundle moves, and reveals a tiny, curious face that Lan Xichen saw nearly every day during his early childhood.
“Wangji?” he croaks. “Young Master Wei, that child...he looks exactly like my didi. Whose is he?”
Wei Wuxian blanches, staring down at the baby in open shock, and Lan Xichen doesn’t need to look at Mingjue-xiong to know that he must have sropped breathing.
“He isn’t one of my clan,” he says hastily. “Our children are all accounted for, both dead and living. I was only remarking on the resemblance.”
Young Master Wei shakes his head.
“It doesn’t make any sense for him to look like Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says at last, looking anxiously up at Lan Xichen as if he feared that someone might try to take the child away from him.
“He can’t look like Lan Zhan, Zewu-jun. He’s mine.”
so, how does lwj find out/react to to finding out that wwx has a wangxian cultivation baby. and that wwx is taking a-yuan around on his murder spree?
When Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin finally reunite with Wei Ying, they find him resting in the Yiling courier station with the corpse of a child playing at his feet.
Wen Chao’s corpse has been torn into pieces, strewn around the room like so much rubbish, and Wen Zhuliu’s cooling body is hanging from the rafters; but Lan Wangji is most frightened by the sight of his beloved, lounging on a luohan bed with his eyes closed and half his flesh shrunken away into nothing.
He would have run to Wei Ying’s side the moment he crossed the threshold, or called out to him, like Jiang Wanyin did. But then Lan Wangji looks at the ghost child, and the dismembered hand lying at its side with the imprints of a tiny set of teeth in its palm—and realizes that the ghoul is crouching over a living baby, a snuffling red bundle with fat cheeks and round eyes that look a little like Wei Ying’s.
“Wei Ying!” he cries, as his zhiji’s eyes drift slowly open. “That ghoul—Wei Ying, I dare not move, the child—”
“Oh,” Wei Ying murmurs, sounding so lost and far away that even Jiang-zongzhu stops in his tracks, bewildered. “Gui Gui, you’re frightening Lan Zhan. Are you still hungry, baobei?”
Lan Wangji freezes, horrified into silence, and watches as he takes the baby from the ghoul’s arms and pats the creature on the head. A second later, the ghost child is gone, dispelled by two soft notes from the dizi tucked into Wei Ying’s belt, and only Wei Ying and the living child remain: quiet and pale as a pair of corpses themselves, and uncannily similar in their lack of unease with the dead.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji pleads. “Wei Ying, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Wei Ying retorts, with a gentle smile that feels like a slap in the face. “Aiyah, Lan Zhan, you look so serious. Two wicked souls have come to a pair of wicked ends, and now I am going to sleep. Do you and Jiang Cheng have a camp nearby?”
“Stop talking like that,” Jiang Cheng orders. “We do have a camp nearby, and I have your sword, so...so put that weird flute away, and come back with us.”
Wei Ying takes Suibian, sliding it into his qiankun bag without a second glance, and shifts the baby up onto his chest. “All right,” he says. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Jiang Cheng nods, and shakes a few drops of blood off his shoes before giving Wen Chao’s body a vicious kick. “Yes, let’s. Whose baby is that, by the way?”
“Mine,” shrugs Wei Ying. “He’s my son.”
For a moment, Lan Wangji feels as if the world had fallen out from under him.
“What?” he croaks, looking between the baby’s face and Wei Ying’s. “How could you have a child this young? You were in Gusu until the autumn, so who—”
His beloved only shrugs again.
“He’s my son,” he repeats, carefully avoiding Lan Wangji’s eyes. “I didn’t dishonor some girl at the Cloud Recesses, if that’s what you’re worried about. I gave birth to him.”
