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Chapter Text

Lan Qiren knows how he is viewed by others: the unrelenting, unbending, rigorous follower of all four thousand Gusu Lan rules and a strict teacher who expected nothing less than excellence from his students.

His reputation is…not inaccurate, Lan Qiren admits begrudgingly to himself. Over the years, he has steadily become increasingly rigid in his teachings and harsher in his punishments.

And it is not an entirely undeserved reputation, even if it is a bit unfair.

As a young teacher, Lan Qiren had believed firmly that the rules were a guide to moral behaviour. Now, even as the list of rules grows, he still believes that.

Rule number 3928: exercise good sense.

The additional rules, added in the years since Wei Wuxian had fallen, were intended to discourage another Wei Wuxian from emerging. They were intended to prevent another promising young cultivator from being lost to the heretical path.

Instead, it only further alienated a nephew who was already lost to him and solidified his reputation as a no-nonsense instructor who despised any challenges to the rules.

It is not the reputation he imagined for himself, nor is it the life he thought he would live when he and his brother were young.

Left with two nephews to raise by a brother who had more or less abandoned his own children, Lan Qiren had thought it best to adhere closely to the rules. After all, wasn’t it deviance from the rules that landed them all in their predicament over thirty years earlier? An absent father and dominating husband, an unwilling bride and reluctant mother, two young children who were barely more than strangers to their own parents, and a woefully unprepared younger brother left to hold what remained of his family and his sect together.

As the second son, it was never his duty to learn the ins and outs of political maneuverings. He was a strong cultivator but he was always a scholar before he was a fighter; a teacher before a warrior.

So even if his reputation for his resolute belief in Gusu Lan’s rules is not undeserved, it is still a rather unfair assessment.

Despite popular opinion, Lan Qiren knows that rules can be bent.

Lan Qiren does not like Wei Wuxian and would much rather Wei Wuxian never set foot in Gusu again. But, Wei Wuxian would take Wangji with him and Lan Qiren has learned his lesson.

He has learned the consequences of separating his family members from their chosen ones, and has learned the consequences of separating Wangji from Wei Wuxian.

Lan Qiren knows all too well the lengths Lan Wangji would go to for Wei Wuxian, and it terrifies him.

Does Wei Wuxian know that Wangji would hand him the world on a platter if he asked? That Wangji would burn the world to the ground, choke everyone in the fumes and resentful energy if it would make Wei Wuxian smile? Lan Qiren is absolutely terrified of the amount of power Wei Wuxian has over Wangji.

More than anyone, Lan Qiren knows how unhealthy his family’s love is. Never ending, unwavering, and single-minded devotion is not healthy — and despite what Lan Jingyi seems to believe about romance, it is not the hallmark of a flourishing relationship.

Which is why it surprises Lan Qiren so much when Wangji returns to Cloud Recesses alone.

Lan Wangji is a week late, having missed Lan Xichen’s quiet entry into seclusion and the subsequent scrambling of Lan Qiren and the Sect Elders to deal with the sudden disappearance of both their Jades. There is a sudden, unprecedented shift of political power and no one is sure what to do. None of them were privy to the conversations that happened in the Guanyin Temple and do not understand why The Headshaker suddenly has the answers, nor why Sandu Shengshou suddenly does not.

(Gusu Lan are not the only ones struggling. At least they are not Lanling Jin.)

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren nods as Wangji kneels before him.

Seeing Wangji on his knees before him in the Yashi is an unwelcome sight for the memories it evokes.

Lan Qiren has only ever seen Lan Wangji on his knees in this room twice before. The first was when he asked for access to the Forbidden Section of the library, just before Wei Wuxian took off with the Wens for the Burial Mounds. The second had Wangji barely upright, fresh blood streaming down his back from the discipline whip wounds he had reopened and pleading for A-Yuan’s life.

(And Lan Qiren has never stopped wondering how differently things might have turned out if he had granted Wangji unlimited access to the Forbidden Section.)

This time is different. Lan Wangji holds himself with the same conviction he had in the past — the same stubborn faith in his choices — but it is now backed up by a new, quiet confidence that Lan Qiren has never seen before.

Wangji looks at him, clearly expecting Lan Qiren to be angry: for standing at Wei Wuxian’s side in the Burial Mounds, for causing a minor uproar in Lotus Pier with Wei Wuxian, or for taking off with Wei Wuxian from the Guanyin Temple instead of returning to Cloud Recesses.

(There is also the entire Carp Tower incident. It is too late to scold Wangji for his reckless behaviour at Carp Tower now but Lan Qiren never got the chance to properly chastise Wangji for his discourteous actions.)

There are a great many things Lan Qiren could be angry at Wangji for but to both of their surprises, he isn’t. There is no anger, only tired resignation.

“Wangji.” Lan Qiren sits across from Wangji, a pot of tea on the low table between them. Puffs of steam steadily escape from the thin sprout.

“Shufu.” Wangji makes eye contact with Lan Qiren, brazen and resolute.

“You have returned alone,” Lan Qiren says, pouring them both a cup of tea. He knows that he is bordering on using frivolous words by stating something so obvious but is it frivolous when it is necessary for Lan Qiren to steel his own nerves for this conversation? Wangji has always been difficult to speak to, even before he fell for Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying wishes to travel,” Wangji responds, keeping his expression intentionally blank. It is the expression Wangji has when he is purposefully masking his thoughts.

“You did not join him.” By now, Lan Qiren knows better than to hope that Wangji will stay. He has no delusions about his place in Wangji’s heart. He knows that Lan Sizhui’s presence was the single thread still binding Wangji to Cloud Recesses and their sect at the height of Wangji’s grief.

But Lan Sizhui has grown up now, is travelling on his own with the Ghost General, and Lan Qiren knows better than to hope Wangji would do anything other than to follow Wei Wuxian to the ends of the earth.

“No,” Wangji stalls by sipping his own tea. It is not an easy conversation for either of them. “There are things Wei Ying must do alone, first.”

Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow at that. “First?”

Wangji nods once but otherwise does not respond. Lan Qiren does not push.

They sit in silence, sipping their tea and waiting for the other to speak first.

As it has always been, Lan Qiren is the first to break the silence. Wangji, after all, has only ever lost a battle of wills to one person. “Xichen is in seclusion,” he says, stroking his beard.

“Xiongzhang will be alright.” Holding his long sleeve to the side, Wangji sets his teacup back on the table.

“You speak with much certainty,” Lan Qiren says blandly, voicing his observation. He is only slightly unnerved by Wangji’s unwavering tone, that Wangji can so easily believe that Xichen will be alright despite such a blow.

Slowly blinking at Lan Qiren, Wangji speaks with a wisdom that can only be obtained through experience. “Loss of a cherished one is difficult. Loss of trust in oneself can be unmanageable.” Pausing briefly, Wangji looks down at his half empty teacup before fixing his gaze back on Lan Qiren. “Xichen supported me when I needed him most and wanted him least. I will do the same for him.”

Lan Qiren tucks his fists into his sleeves so Wangji cannot see how his hands quaver. “You remain out of a duty to Xichen?”

Wangji is too disciplined to sigh aloud but Lan Qiren can feel Wangji’s displeasure at his words. “There are changes I wish to see, ideas I wish to implement,” Wangji says after a long pause. He pours himself more tea even though his cup is not empty and sets the pot back down more slowly than is necessary. “My loyalty to Xichen is not so frail so as to exist solely on a transactional basis. Nor is my duty to my sect.”

Observing Wangji as he sits with the flawless posture he had been taught to maintain as a child, Lan Qiren can’t help but wonder how he failed his nephews so thoroughly. He only ever wanted to teach them how to avoid regrets like their father’s, and he full-heartedly believed the way to do so was by following the spirit of the rules to the letter. After all, was it not deviation from the rules that led Qingheng-jun to his lonely, secluded fate?

And yet. Two nephews, gone down two different paths after following the same rules, yet both enduring the kind of heartache that Lan Qiren never wanted them to experience.

But despite everything, they are still family. Lan Qiren knows that Wangji worries, that Wangji cares for them. It is just that Wangji’s affections have always been distant, even to those closest to him — especially in contrast to how Wangji wears his love for Wei Wuxian on his sleeves.

“Will you rejoin your sect?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Lan Qiren regrets his wording.

He is not surprised when Wangji’s eyes narrow, flashing with offence. “There is no need to rejoin what one has never left. I did not turn my back on my sect. My sect turned their backs on me.”

“You do not regret standing for Wei Wuxian?” Lan Qiren asks, even though he knows what Wangji will say. He wishes he could take a sip of tea, if only to recollect his thoughts, but his hands are still shaking and there is no need for Wangji to see an aging man’s weakness. “You do not regret standing against the accepted path?”

“My only regret is that I did not stand with Wei Ying sooner.” Unlike Lan Qiren, Wangji’s hands are still steady as he once again picks up his cup. He holds up his arm, covering his face as he drinks. “Shufu, the accepted path is accepted only because it is easy. The righteous path is difficult. We are taught to take the straight path. What is not taught is that the straight path is often crooked.”

There is a stirring of fury that instinctively bubbles in Lan Qiren whenever the Gusu Lan rules are challenged, even though he knows in his heart that Wangji is correct. He coughs. “Harmony is the value,” Lan Qiren recites, giving Wangji a hard look. “Do not forget the grace of the forefathers. One must always apply the lessons of the past to the present.”

“I have never forgotten the grace of the forefathers,” Wangji says with certainty, staring coldly at Lan Qiren. “It is only my understanding of their grace that has changed.”

Lan Qiren pushes further, pushing Wangji’s buttons. “So you will be loyal and filial to Xichen? To Gusu? When you stand at Wei Wuxian’s side, who will you keep at the forefront of your thoughts?”

“Can it be called loyalty when it is only filial?“ Wangji pushes back, the corner of his lip pulled downward in a small frown. “Do I care for Xiongzhang because he is Xiongzhang, or do I care for Xiongzhang because it would be unfilial to act otherwise?”

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren chides mildly. “You know that filial piety is filial because one cares. Man is a brother first, a filial subject second.”

“As that is that case, should Xichen not be supported as a brother first, and judged as an unfilial subject second?”

Lan Qiren bristles, knowing that Wangji is making a targeted comment on Lan Qiren’s own failure to care for Qingheng-jun as a brother.

But Lan Qiren also begins to understand why Wangji is so adamant that Xichen will be alright. Where Wangji and Xichen have always supported one another through their mistakes and their struggles, Lan Qiren turned his back on his brother in his greatest moment of need.

Rather than answering, Lan Qiren sighs. “How long will you remain in Cloud Recesses?” He asks instead because he has no satisfactory answers for Wangji.

“Until Wei Ying returns.”

It does not escape Lan Qiren’s notice, how Wangji’s voice softens when he says Wei Wuxian’s name.

“And then? You will leave us without notice on the whims of Wei Wuxian?” Lan Qiren tries not to sound too bitter, but his mouth is dry and he is terrified of what Wangji will do if Wei Wuxian does not return.

All Wangji says is, “Wei Ying is not unreasonable.” Wangji then folds his hands on his lap, a polite gesture and a clear indication that he is done with this conversation.

As Wangji exits the Yashi, Lan Qiren realizes the air of contentment that now surrounds Wangji has replaced the sorrow that Wangji has carried for sixteen years. The overwhelming grief that Wangji shouldered for all those years became such a part of him that no one recognized Wangji’s heartache until it was suddenly gone. Even though Wei Wuxian is far away now, his life is inexplicably tied to Wangji’s.

Seeing Wangji as he is now without the weight of mourning, Lan Qiren finds that he cannot begrudge his nephew for finding his own happiness — even if that happiness comes in the form of Wei Wuxian.

For several months, there is no word of Wei Wuxian’s whereabouts.

In Wei Wuxian’s absence, Wangji ascends to the position of Chief Cultivator, Lan Sizhui returns to Cloud Recesses after his own travels with the Ghost General, and Lan Xichen remains secluded in the Hanshi.

Seasons change, the days growing shorter as the late summer harvests begin to bear fruit. Lan Qiren watches Wangji closely. It is not because he does not trust Wangji — despite his unconventional approaches to organizing night hunts and some of his bolder proposals, Wangji is doing quite well in his new role — but because he worries about Wangji.

Two, three, four, five months pass. The summer harvests are brought in and stored, the brisk winter chill settles in Gusu, snowflakes dust the roofs in Cloud Recesses, Xichen loses an entire season to seclusion, and Wei Wuxian is still nowhere to be seen.

Yet, to Lan Qiren’s surprise, Wangji goes through his days just fine. He carries out his new duties, drafting new proposals, going through the endless mountains of papers left behind by Jin Guangyao, opening new trade routes, and assigning night hunts. Despite everything that has happened, life in Cloud Recesses remains largely the same. Quiet and serene, life is monotonous and there are no unexpected surprises: just the way Lan Qiren likes it.

However, there is one change.

Every few days, a letter arrives at the gates of Cloud Recesses delivered by a messenger from Caiyi.

The letters he carries are the only indicator of Wei Wuxian’s continued existence.

Everyone in Cloud Recesses knows when a letter from Wei Wuxian arrives from the quiet satisfaction written across Wangji’s face. On those days, there is an air of lightness around Wangji and all of Cloud Recesses feels a little brighter. No one quite knows how to describe the sensation but everyone very much feels it.

“You have received a letter from Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says as he sits down for tea across Wangji.

Today, they are in the Jingshi. On Wangji’s writing desk across the room, Lan Qiren can see the opened letter sitting there. It is the only letter visible, but Lan Qiren knows his nephew well enough to know that Wangji has kept every letter stored somewhere safe.

Wangji nods as he pours them both tea but says nothing.

“It has been five months,” Lan Qiren says pointedly, watching Wangji’s steady hands tilt the teapot. “No one knows his whereabouts.”

At that, Lan Wangji halts his pouring to give his shufu a dry expression.

Lan Qiren doesn’t need to name Wei Wuxian for Wangji to know who he is talking about.

“You know his whereabouts,” Lan Qiren corrects himself as Wangji finishes pouring their tea. “Yet you have not gone to find him.”

Calmly sipping his tea, Wangji looks down. “Wei Ying will return,” he says with a note of finality in his voice, a certainty that Lan Qiren has rarely heard from Wangji.

“You speak with much confidence,” Lan Qiren says. It is not scolding, even though he is reciting arrogance is forbidden in his mind. His hands are steady today, so he picks up his cup to savour the aroma of the tea before taking a long sip.

“I have confidence in Wei Ying.”

“You have not seen Wei Wuxian for nearly half a year yet your faith in him does not waver.” A hint of concern slips into his voice. It is true that Lan Qiren is concerned — he has always been concerned. Certainly, Wangji has more than proven the lengths he will go to in order to stand at Wei Wuxian’s side. “You have not invited him to return to you?”

Shaking his head, Wangji’s response is simple. “There is no need. I trust Wei Ying.”

Having expected Wangji to treat Wei Wuxian the way Qingheng-jun had treated his wife, Lan Qiren is genuinely surprised by Wangji’s openness and says as such.

“Be trustworthy, and others will believe you,” Wangji recites without hesitation, as if he expected Lan Qiren’s mild bewilderment. He takes a sip of his tea.

“And you believe him to be trustworthy.” It is a statement, and Lan Qiren says it as such. With steady hands, he sets his cup back on the table.

Sighing, Wangji mimics Lan Qiren’s action and sets his cup back down as well. He neatly rests his arms on his lap. “Wei Ying has always been trustworthy, even when I did not trust him. He will return when he is ready and when that time comes, I will accept him.”

“And will you require that I accept him too? That all Cloud Recesses bends to your whims?” Lan Qiren pushes because he already knows that Wangji would do exactly that. He would go against the wishes of his own clan elders, of his own family, if it meant he would have Wei Wuxian at his side.

He did so the first time, when there had been no hope for them, and he would do so again in a heartbeat.

Like his father before him, Lan Wangji would throw away his morals and loyalties for a taste of Wei Wuxian.

When Wangji shakes his head, Lan Qiren scrambles to mask his surprise behind a cough.

“I would like your blessing, Shufu,” Wangji says, looking directly at his shufu so the intention behind his words cannot be misinterpreted — to force Lan Qiren to see the depth of his love for Wei Wuxian. “I would like you, and my Sect Elders, to support my intentions with Wei Ying. I would like your blessings, but I do not need them.”

At that moment, Lan Qiren realizes that he spent all these years raising Xichen and Wangji with the fear that they would turn into their father. With all that time spent worrying about them following in their father’s path, Lan Qiren forgot to look at his nephews for who they are. His fear of history repeating Qingheng-jun’s selfishness led him to overlook the very different men his nephews grew into.

“Without our blessings, you would not be able to remain in Cloud Recesses.” Observing Wangji’s face, Lan Qiren is unsurprised when he does not see any fracturing in Wangji’s resolve. After all, Wangji has long since proven his devotion to Wei Wuxian surpasses his loyalty to his sect.

A breeze drifts in from the open window behind Wangji. It is very light, only ruffling a couple strands of hair.

“It is a consequence I am willing to accept.”

And Lan Qiren has no doubts that Wangji has thought his choices through, that Wangji is more than willing to give up his home — along with everything he has — if it means he can be with Wei Wuxian.

But, even after the truth about the extent of Jin Guangyao and Su She’s meddling was revealed — even after witnessing Wei Wuxian use himself as a spirit lure flag to defend a group of cultivators who openly despised him to his face — Lan Qiren still does not believe that Wei Wuxian is worthy of Wangji’s devotion.

Wei Wuxian has never been worthy of Wangji’s affections.

Sighing deeply, Lan Qiren can feel Wangji’s piercing gaze studying him closely, waiting for his reaction. “You are still too much like your father. Soft-hearted. Too permissive.”

Pausing, Lan Qiren refills his teacup and takes a long, slow sip.

Wangji watches him, jaw clenching in impatience as he is forced to wait for his shufu to finish his drink before continuing.

“I cannot stop you if it is what you have set your mind on,” Lan Qiren says, thinking of sixteen years earlier when Wangji risked everything and received his discipline whip lashes without hesitation — without regret.

With an inscrutable expression, Lan Wangji nods. Approval is not a blessing, but there is now the mutual understanding that Lan Qiren will not interfere in his relationship.

It is not the warm acceptance that Wangji might have received from Xichen, but it is the most approval Lan Qiren is willing to give, and they have both come to terms with that.

The first time Wei Wuxian sets foot in Cloud Recesses after the Guanyin Temple, Lan Qiren does not actually see him.

Lan Qiren is only informed after the fact, when Wangji is giving his weekly updates.

“Three days ago, Sect Leader Nie arrived to discuss the matter of yaoguai interfering with shipments along the river,” Wangji says, diving straight into his report.

“Nie Huaisang is finally acting like a proper sect leader,” Lan Qiren grouches. He notices how Wangji’s expression tightens, how his eyes cloud over with some indiscernible expression that Lan Qiren does not like.

Hesitating, Lan Qiren can see that there is more that Wangji is deliberating on whether or not to tell him.

“Do not be of two minds,” Lan Qiren recites from the rules, somewhat impatient from Wangji’s turmoil.

Looking Lan Qiren in the eye, Lan Wangji says without hesitation that, “Wei Ying was here.”

Lan Qiren feels a shiver crawl down his spine as he outwardly appears unmoved. It is more than a little unsettling to learn that Wei Wuxian could be right under his nose and Lan Qiren could never notice.

The tea that sits on the table between them is steaming, kept hot by a talisman modified by Wei Wuxian during his first life. The talisman is strong enough to keep tea heated at just the right temperature for entire days at a time.

He would never admit it out loud, but it is possibly Lan Qiren’s favourite talisman.

Observing the carefully drawn lines on the talisman paper, Lan Qiren strokes his beard. “I see Wei Wuxian has been granted permission to gallivant into Cloud Recesses on a whim, so long as it suits him.”

“Wei Ying has a jade token,” Wangji says simply, tonelessly, pretending to brush lint off his robes. He faces Lan Qiren as he speaks, but it does not feel like he is seeing his uncle.

Hearing the words should not surprise Lan Qiren as much as it does.

In their youth, Wangji had always been drawn to Wei Wuxian, even when neither of them understood what they felt. In his grief, Wangji mourned more than Lan Qiren ever thought possible.

Do not grieve in excess, Lan Qiren had wanted to say when it was the twelfth year of Wei Wuxian’s passing and Wangji continued to wear his mourning robes. It was all too easy for Wangji to hide his mourning behind the immaculate white of Gusu Lan and Lan Qiren wanted nothing more than to terminate this fruitless devotion to a heretical cultivator.

And yet, could Wangji rightfully be accused of grieving in excess when his grief only reflected the depth of his feelings?

With Wei Wuxian’s resurrection, Lan Qiren does not know what to do: only that Wangji and Wei Ying cannot be separated again.

“I see.” Behind the door, they can hear the muffled murmurs of passing disciples. Neither mind the noise. “I am surprised his presence did not give rise to unfounded commotion.”

“Wei Ying is tactful when he chooses to be,” Wangji says, his sharp features softening to reveal a tender mask that Lan Qiren has not seen since Lan Sizhui was only Lan Yuan.

A shiver runs down Lan Qiren’s back at the idea of Wei Wuxian blending into Cloud Recesses like any other visitor, quiet and subtle enough to go unnoticed.

“And he could not choose to be so earlier?” Twenty years earlier, Lan Qiren wants to say. Tactful enough to reject the heretical path.

“Wei Ying does not regret his past, Shufu” Wangji says pointedly, the brief tenderness gone as quickly as it came.

But you regret yours. Lan Qiren can see how Wangji’s regrets rest on his shoulders, a sixteen year old burden that not even Wei Wuxian’s impossible return can lift.

Does Wei Wuxian know how much he holds you back?

But Lan Qiren knows better than to say that. “He does not stay at your side,” he says instead, keeping his voice in the practiced impassivity that most members of Gusu Lan have mastered. It is in part because he is very relieved and Wangji would be hurt if he knew of this relief, but even more because Lan Qiren is deeply surprised and he does not want to be questioned for this surprise.

It was difficult enough to imagine Wangji allowing Wei Wuxian to part ways the first time, but a second separation? Their family has been cursed with all-consuming love since the beginning. Yet here is Wangji, allowing his love to walk away from him again and again.

To his surprise, the corner of Wangji’s lip quirks upwards at the reminder. “There are things Wei Ying still must do,” Wangji says, echoing himself from the past.

“This is ridiculous,” Lan Qiren grumbles, shedding a layer of formality. They are not speaking as uncle and nephew yet, but they are no longer just a Chief Cultivator and a Sect Elder. “Does Wei Wuxian intend to run off without Gusu Lan’s blessing? Does Wei Wuxian think that he can simply run off with the Chief Cultivator, elope with the Second Jade of Lan, without Gusu Lan’s blessing?”

“Shufu?” Wangji’s eyes widen, his surprise blatant. Bichen rests against the table, its white sheath a stark contrast to the dark zitan wood table, but Wangji’s fists are clenched as white as Bichen.

“Is that not something Wei Wuxian must also do?” Lan Qiren asks, giving Wangji a hard look. He can barely believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, yet he genuinely means each and every word. “Receive blessings from the family, from the sect, of his intended?”

For a long moment, Wangji is quiet. His stoic mask has cracked and Lan Qiren can read each thought racing through Wangji’s mind reflected in his eyes.

It is the most vulnerable Wangji has been before him in a long time.

Each second is a different expression. To anyone else, Wangji’s expressions might as well be the same face but Lan Qiren can see the startled surprise, the unadulterated elation, the panicked overanalysis, the wary acceptance, the tender love, and — finally — the cautious hope, as each expression flickers across Wangji’s face.

“Shufu,” Wangji finally says, his deceptively steady voice is tinged with a nearly hysterical desperation that gives away his internal agitation. “Do not say one thing and mean another,” he recites from their Sect Rules.

“Indeed. Do not say one thing and mean another,” Lan Qiren repeats. He might actually suffer a qi deviation if he tried to say it in so many words, but Lan Qiren is functionally giving his blessing to Wei Wuxian.

The significance has not escaped Wangji.

“Shufu,” Wangji says, voice strained. “Thank you.”

And despite all his trepidation towards Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren decides it is worth it when, for the first time in nearly twenty years, Lan Qiren sees Wangji smile at him again.

When Wei Wuxian returns to Cloud Recesses for the second time, another seven months have passed and he is already married to Wangji.

As Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian cross paths with Lan Qiren on their way to the Jingshi, still in their untailored wedding reds, Lan Qiren’s eyes are glued to the white ribbon tied neatly around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

Lan Qiren is tired.

Lan Qiren knows better than to preach tradition to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Qiren knows better than to question Wangji’s choices when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

Meeting Wei Wuxian’s wide-eyed gaze, Lan Qiren simply nods once.

And Lan Qiren keeps walking.

Chapter Text

The first couple months of Wangji’s marriage are unexpectedly quiet.

Wei Wuxian’s presence is as intrusive as ever.

Lan Qiren can feel Wei Wuxian’s presence everywhere.

He does not hear nor does he see Wei Wuxian, but he can feel Wei Wuxian in how Wangji’s mood is perpetually lighter, he can see it in the bags of huajiao and tianjin peppers that have made their home in the cupboards of Cloud Recesses’ kitchens, he can hear it in the thin melodies of a dizi that drift into his ears at irregular intervals throughout the day (and sometimes at night), and he can smell it in the fragrant floral aroma that permeates through Wangji’s office from the fresh flowers Wei Wuxian leaves on Wangji’s desk.

But it is quiet.

There is none of the rowdiness of Wei Wuxian’s youth interrupting the quiet tranquility that Gusu Lan is so famous for.

And now, as he sits across from Wei Wuxian and Wangji in his personal residence, he can taste Wei Wuxian’s presence.

He tastes it in the longjing tea that Wei Wuxian has steeped to perfection and poured without a stray drop, and he tastes it in the over-salted congee that can only have been made by Wei Wuxian. After all, no disciple in Cloud Recesses could make such a heavily salted dish. Not even Lan Jingyi, even on his worst days, has added anywhere near this much salt. It is not inedible, but Lan Qiren finds himself reaching for more tea after every bite to wash down the meal.

Like a filial nephew-in-law and dutiful spouse, Wei Wuxian keeps Lan Qiren’s cup full at every moment. His own meal is interrupted in order to continually refill Lan Qiren’s cup, to re-steep the tea, to boil more water, but Wei Wuxian shows no indication of complaint.

In compliance with Gusu Lan’s rules, Wei Wuxian does not speak at all.

For the entire meal, Lan Qiren can see how Wei Wuxian is vibrating in his seat and carefully observing Lan Qiren’s face between maintaining the tea, refilling Lan Qiren’s cup, and eating his own dinner as he tries to decipher Lan Qiren’s expressions.

Setting down his chopsticks beside his emptied bowl, Lan Qiren throws back one last cup of tea before he decides the meal is over and finally breaks the regulated mealtime silence.

As Wei Wuxian scrambles to refill the newly drained cup, Lan Qiren speaks. “There is too much salt in the congee,” Lan Qiren says honestly, bluntly.

To his surprise, instead of the defensiveness or the indignation Lan Qiren expected from Wei Wuxian from his rather uninspiring assessment, Wei Wuxian beams.

Turning to Wangji, Wei Wuxian leans into Wangji’s side.

Wangji’s rigid posture does not change, nor does he speak, but his arm does move to wind around Wei Wuxian’s waist. Lan Qiren sees how Wangji’s hand rests on Wei Wuxian’s hip, how Wangji pulls Wei Wuxian in closer.

Shameless, Lan Qiren wants to say but he bites his tongue. He knows what Wangji is doing, pushing against Lan Qiren’s hardened boundaries of propriety. Wangji is making a point about the extents he would go to for Wei Wuxian, the rules he would break again for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Qiren receives the message loud and clear.

Neither speak. But, from Wangji’s tender smiles and Wei Wuxian’s hand moving to rest on Wangji’s knee, Lan Qiren can tell that they are clearly having a conversation.

Lan Qiren coughs pointedly, reminding them of his presence.

“Shufu finished his meal,” Wangji says, the softness in his eyes dissipating instantly as he looks away from Wei Wuxian. It hurts Lan Qiren, to see Wangji putting his walls back up before Lan Qiren’s own eyes.

It is a stark reminder of how Lan Wangji has chosen a very different path, one that is unprecedented and truly his own. It is a path that Lan Qiren tried so hard to pull him away from, only to push Wangji further down that very path.

“Do not be wasteful,” Lan Qiren recites, all too eager to hide behind the safety of the rules instead of addressing his fractured relationship with his nephew.

Wangji’s eyes narrow but before Lan Qiren can regret his words, Wei Wuxian interjects. “But it was edible?” Wei Wuxian says, unoffended, as he shamelessly rests his head on Wangji’s shoulder.

“It was passable.”

Despite the lukewarm reception, Wangji says, “Wei Ying cooked today,” with an undertone of pride. Lan Qiren thinks it is rather unwarranted — even the most troubled junior disciple in Cloud Recesses can make a superior bowl of congee — but he holds his tongue.

“Wei Ying should exercise more restraint with the salt next time,” Lan Qiren says, not quite looking at Wei Wuxian as he fixates on a patch of wall between Wei Wuxian and Wangji’s heads. He knows exactly what he is saying, knows that he has set the stage for a next time.

If Wei Wuxian notices the snub, he gives no indication of it. “Wei Ying will endeavour to please Lan-lao xiansheng in the future,” Wei Wuxian says with downcast eyes. It is aggressively polite yet any sincerity is undercut by how Wei Wuxian leans into Wangji, as if he needs Wangji to protect him from the consequences of his own poor choices.

Wangji, however, definitely notices the snub. His eyes harden at the subtle insult to Wei Wuxian’s cooking. Even though Wangji does not say anything in defense of his husband’s culinary prowess (and lack thereof), Lan Qiren can see Wangji’s jaw clench in displeasure at the underhanded comment.

“Do not say one thing and mean another,” Wangji says coldly, his grip on Wei Wuxian’s waist tightening.

“Indeed,” Lan Qiren agrees, stroking his beard. He meets Wangji’s gaze. “Do not say one thing and mean another.”

Just because Wei Wuxian has Lan Qiren’s blessing does not mean Wei Wuxian has Lan Qiren’s approval.

They all know that it is only the sheer fact that Lan Qiren values Wangji’s presence more than he despises Wei Wuxian’s presence that Wei Wuxian is permitted to be in Cloud Recesses.

Despite having become the new permanent residence of Wei Wuxian, Cloud Recesses continues to remain a quiet place.

Which is why Lan Qiren is so surprised when his afternoon meditation is unceremoniously interrupted by heated yelling. It is loud enough that he can hear it clearly through the closed doors of his office.

“You think having some gaudy yellow butterflies means you can speak down to us!?”

Instinctively, he wants to blame Wei Wuxian even though the voice is too low to belong to Wei Wuxian.

In his seat, Lan Qiren sits for a minute, waiting for the yelling to either peeter out on its own or for another senior cultivator to put an end to the racket.

“You think you can walk around all righteous just because Hanguang-jun is the Chief Cultivator?”

“Hey! Isn’t it shameful that Lanling Jin had two of the worst Chief Cultivators within the span of a generation? Lanling really is arrogant.”

“At least our Sect Leader isn’t a cutsleeve!”

“Your Sect Leader is useless! Everyone knows Sandu Shengshou is the person really in charge of Lanling Jin.”

“Yeah, Lanling is going to become a part of Yunmeng Jiang soon. Just wait and see!”

When the yelling fails to cease and the insults steadily become more and more offensive, Lan Qiren sighs deeply as he rises from the ground. His face is marked by a deep furrow between his brows and he makes no attempts to hide his displeasure as he exits his office.

Walking a few short steps to a small courtyard, Lan Qiren approaches the crowd of rowdy junior disciples.

“Yelling is forbidden in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren says, barely raising his voice. He does not have to — his aura precedes him.

All the disciples freeze immediately once they see him.

Observing the half dozen or so young cultivators standing before him, guiltily looking down at their shoes, Lan Qiren suppresses a sigh.

Only two of the junior disciples are from Gusu Lan. The others are guest disciples, marked by their vermillion dots and gold belts as members of Lanling Jin.

Wangji will have to send a notice to Carp Tower, informing them of the transgressions committed by their disciples.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” the junior disciples echo each other, avoiding Lan Qiren’s gaze in shame while their cheeks are still flushed with anger and adrenaline. They scramble to greet Lan Qiren properly even though it is already too late to pretend that they have not been fighting.

Not only has Lan Qiren already heard the yelling and the affronts to one another’s Sect Leaders, he has also arrived just in time to see the raised fist of one of the Jin disciples. It had been poised to strike one of the Lan disciples — Lan Zhengrong, Lan Qiren recognizes — until their momentum was interrupted by Lan Qiren’s timely appearance.

“Harmony is the value.” Lan Qiren fixes the two Lan disciples with a piercing look as he speaks, knowing that they have long since internalized the rule and should know better. Turning to the Jin disciples, Lan Qiren adds, “Violence is forbidden,” knowing that Lanling Jin’s disciples do not have the best track record of remembering or respecting the rules of other Sects. It is best to take a direct approach when addressing Lanling Jin’s cultivators.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” Lan Zhengrong repeats, bowing again. “This disciple apologizes for his careless words. I accept any punishment Lan-lao xiansheng deems suitable for this disciple’s transgressions.”

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” the other Lan disciple, Lan Junlong echoes. “This disciple is also sorry for acting impulsively. But…” Lan Junlong drifts off.

“Be clear in your speech,” Lan Qiren prompts, knowing that he has not overseen either of these two disciples for punishment before. There must have been a serious offense committed by the Jin disciples for such otherwise principled disciples to speak so rashly, to react with such passion.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” Lan Zhengrong says, rising from his bow. His eyes flicker upwards to meet Lan Qiren’s gaze. “If I may be so bold, I would like to explain myself. I understand and accept my punishment for violating the rules, but the words spoken by Jin-gongzi could not be allowed to stand.”

“An affront to Gusu Lan!” Lan Junlong adds. “Mo Xuanyu was expelled from Carp Tower for less than what Jin Bingyu just said! Even if one does not like Wei-qianbei, the spouse of the Chief Cultivator still deserves respect!”

At the mention of Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren immediately feels vindicated. Of course Wei Wuxian was involved in this.

“What has Wei Wuxian done now?” Lan Qiren asked in the tired, resigned voice of someone having to deal with a fussy toddler who simply cannot be placated.

“Nothing, Lan-lao xiansheng! Wei-qianbei is with the senior disciples. They have gone night hunting near the Qinghe border and will be returning two nights from now.” Lan Zhengrong pauses, bows again, then adds. “Sizhui-xiong and Jingyi-xiong will return two nights from now. Wei-qianbei said he and Hanguang-jun may take an extended trip to visit Sect Leader Nie.”

“If Wei Wuxian is not here, then why are you fighting?” Lan Qiren feels a migraine coming on.

“Because Wei Wuxian is a war criminal and doesn’t deserve to live! He must have bewitched Hanguang-jun with his resentful energy. How else could such an upstanding cultivator be willing to tie himself down to such worthless filth? Only the son of a servant in his first life, and a bastard in his second,” the Jin disciple — Jin Bingyu — spits out, fists balled up at his sides and his face an unflattering shade of red.

And Lan Qiren almost wishes what Jin Bingyu said were true, that Wangji’s love was just a convoluted scheme by Wei Wuxian to ruin the Gusu Lan Sect. But no, he knows Wangji. He raised Wangji.

Even if their relationship is tenuous now — even if their relationship was never close the way Lan Qiren is (was?) to Lan Xichen — Lan Qiren is the one who watched Wangji grow up from a youthful boy first learning about romantic attraction to a grown man deeply devoted to his beloved husband. He has spent the last twenty years watching Wangji’s love for Wei Wuxian scorch and flicker and reignite over the years, yet it never burnt out. He watched Wangji’s innocent crush blossom into an all-consuming passion all too fast.

Watching Wangji fall in love felt much like the way Lan Qiren watched his brother do the same over a generation earlier: it was absolutely terrifying, to see what could only end in disaster unfold before your eyes, and then to be able to do nothing when Wangji (when his own brother) incinerated themselves for a love that was barely reciprocated.

Lan Qiren watched Wangji fall headfirst in love with Wei Wuxian when they were tender youths at fifteen, watched Wangji long for, pine for, and worry for Wei Wuxian in the three months Wei Wuxian was gone. He watched Wangji’s desperation as Wei Wuxian steadily fell further and further away from the straight path until they finally found themselves on opposite sides on that rooftop in the Nightless City, blade against flute, steel against bamboo, Bichen against Chenqing, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian firmly in opposition against one another.

But then, he saw Wangji turn his blade on the other cultivators nearly indiscriminately. Anyone who dared go after Wei Wuxian found themselves facing the wrong end of Bichen.

The betrayal came without warning yet, in retrospect, Lan Qiren knows he had years of warnings. That Wangji could so quickly turn his blade to defend Wei Wuxian is not surprising once he realized that Wangji’s blade was never pointed at Wei Wuxian in the first place.

So no, Jin Bingyu is most definitely wrong.

Wei Wuxian has never needed any underhanded tricks when it came to Lan Wangji’s affections.

Despite the stories that have circulated to the ears of the subsequent generations, despite the stories that have spread further than Lan Qiren can even imagine, no one who was at the Nightless City who saw Wei Wuxian throw himself over the ledge — no one who heard Wangji’s anguished cries or saw the sheer despair across his face after Wei Wuxian’s body was lost to his own resentful energy, torn apart before he could even reach the jagged rocks at the bottom — none of these people could ever believe that Wei Wuxian’s relationship with Lan Wangji was one-sided.

But Lan Qiren cannot say any of that. What he says instead is, “Do not insult others.”

“Isn’t Gusu Lan supposed to be a respectable Sect?” Jin Bingyu continues, misinterpreting Lan Qiren’s curt answer as an invitation to continue deriding Wei Wuxian. His words become harsher and his expression becomes meaner as he realizes Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong will not say anything to rebuke him in the presence of a high ranking Sect Elder. “How can we respect a Sect who claims to be righteous while they harbour the least righteous of them all. The only righteousness Gusu Lan can lay claim to is self-righteousness.”

“That is enough.” Lan Qiren speaks flatly, narrowing his eyes. With a raised finger, he turns to Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong. “Report to the disciple overlooking punishments in Lan Sizhui’s absence and relay this incident to him. I will leave your punishment in his hands.”

Although they are clearly incensed by Jin Bingyu’s words, neither Lan Zhengrong nor Lan Junlong say any more. Stiffly, they bow and quickly leave the courtyard for their impending punishment.

Gossip is forbidden, but Lan Qiren knows more than anyone that it is the spirit of the law that is valued over the letter of it.

And, as Jin Bingyu is clearly in the wrong, Lan Qiren is not going to let more people than strictly necessary witness him speak in defense of Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren begins, his jaw tight, “is a heretical cultivator who believes himself to be above the laws of the universe. However,” he is quick to add when he sees all the Jin disciples’ faces brighten up prematurely, “We do not judge others for what they can not be blamed for. Neither the birthright of Wei Wuxian nor Mo Xuanyu is to be denigrated. I cannot speak for Mo Xuanyu but for all that I personally disliked Cangse Sanren, I respected her for her cultivation. Wei Wuxian is a complex man with simple motives. Gusu Lan would not welcome him if Wei Wuxian presented a viable threat to the stability of the cultivation world. And he does not.”

Pausing, Lan Qiren gives Jin Bingyu a hard look.

Jin Bingyu’s brow is furrowed in anger, but he has enough sense to remain silent.

Likewise, Lan Qiren allows his gazes to drift, fixing each of the remaining Jin disciples with a hard look as well. He does not speak, knowing that silence can be just as sharp as speech when utilised well.

Wangji has surpassed Lan Qiren’s affinity for weaponizing silence long ago, but Lan Qiren is still effective enough at quiet displeasure.

When the Jin disciples begin fidgeting in discomfort, Lan Qiren speaks again. “Regarding the veracity of their relationship, all I will say is that Hanguang-jun’s relationship is genuine. It is not my role to preach about the morality of a relationship I am not privy to, just as it is not your role to speculate and spread falsehoods about a relationship you have only experienced through the words of others.”

Indicating that he is done preaching, Lan Qiren turns his back on the stunned Jin disciples.

“You will report to the Chief Cultivator when he returns.” Lan Qiren pauses again, feeling the energy of the Jin disciples behind him slowly shift from shame and anger from Lan Qiren’s preaching into alarm at the anticipation of having to explain their words and actions to Lan Wangji. Finally, the energy settles on resigned dread because it is well known just how little patience Lan Wangji has for those to speak ill of his husband.

Lan Qiren continues, “You will personally explain your words against Wei Wuxian to the Chief Cultivator. As your words are a direct denigration of his marital union and of his spouse, your punishment will be at his discretion. For your actions against Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong, you will copy the Gusu Lan disciplines ten times each. Jin Bingyu will be assigned fifteen for the intention to incite violence. Report to the head disciple after breakfast, tomorrow.”

Leaving the Jin disciples to come to terms with their punishment, Lan Qiren briskly steps out of the courtyard and takes a few short steps back to his office.

Once he is safely in the privacy of his office, Lan Qiren can no longer suppress the sigh that escapes him. He will have to write to Carp Tower regarding this incident, knowing that Wangji’s diplomatic judgement can not be trusted in regards to Wei Wuxian.

As expected, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi return to Cloud Recesses after two nights. It is the early afternoon when they return. Sizhui returns with a little straw toy folded into the shape of a butterfly. Lan Qiren just barely catches a glimpse of the toy, a frivolous reminder of his childhood, before it is tucked into Sizhui’s sleeve.

Jingyi returns with a massive basket of loquats.

“Lan Sizhui,” Lan Qiren nods as they approach him. “Lan Jingyi,” he says in a harder tone, eying the basket in his hands with some amount of disapproval.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” Sizhui and Jingyi chorus as they bow. Jingyi bows while holding the basket. It swings back and forth slightly as he moves.

“Lan Jingyi. What is the meaning of this?”

“This? You mean the fruit?” Jingyi says, innocently. If it were any other disciple, Lan Qiren would be infuriated by the impudence.

But, it is Jingyi and Lan Qiren knows Jingyi. He has known Jingyi since birth, the son of a distant cousin.

(“Qiren-xiong, what did I do?” Lan Qiren’s distant cousin had asked one evening about seventeen years ago, desperate and exhausted from chasing around an unruly Jingyi for several weeks.

At the moment, Jingyi was nestled in Lan Qiren’s arms, a chubby toddler who was voracious for attention and blessed with a strong set of lungs to ensure that attention would never drift away. He is quiet now, only after Lan Qiren and Jingyi’s mother have spent an entire evening slowly tiring him out with Wangji’s rabbits.

Wangji had still been bedridden — Lan Qiren forced the image of Wangji’s broken and bloodied body out of his mind. Now was not the time for him to wallow in his own guilt for his own misdeeds. Not now, when there was someone whom Lan Qiren has not wronged pleading for his help.

“How can my son be a Lan?” Lan Qiren’s cousin wailed desperately. “He must be one, for I gave birth to him myself, but how can a Lan be so loud?”

“You are tired, A-Mei,” Lan Qiren had said softly, trying to comfort her. In his arms, Jingyi shifted. He was tired enough to be quiet, but not quite tired enough to be asleep. As Lan Qiren bounced Jingyi up and down, Jingyi’s chubby toddler fingers reached up to grab onto Lan Qiren’s beard.

“Hu!” Jingyi babbled cheerfully, but he made no other commotion.

It spoke to how exhausted his A-Mei was that she did not even have the energy to be horrified at how her son was boldly tugging on Lan Qiren’s beard.

Lan Qiren would not have been surprised if A-Mei had not even noticed.

He remembered how difficult it had been to raise Xichen and Wangji alone. It had been difficult, even when Xichen and Wangji had been such well behaved youths in their childhood. They had been quiet babies, pleasant toddlers, and obedient children.

A-Mei’s husband was not dead, but he was currently on a diplomatic trip to Qinghe. He had been selected to be part of the party following Xichen to the Unclean Realm because someone had to deal with the aftermath of the Nightless City, to smooth over Wangji’s transgressions.

And their son was, by far, the fussiest baby Lan Qiren had ever seen in Cloud Recesses.

“A-Mei, quietness does not make a Lan.” Lan Qiren soothed, moving his eyebrows at Jingyi so he would be entertained enough to remain quiet.

A-Mei had let out a frustrated noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Yet no one has ever had a Lan baby who was so noisy. What Lan babies have you met that aren’t quiet!? Your Xichen and Wangji were model Lan offspring.”

Were, Lan Qiren mulled over, because Wangji was no longer the model Lan disciple now, was he? How could he be, bedridden from a punishment doled out by his sect, punished for turning his blade against straight-laced cultivators in defense of a heretical cultivator.

“Silence is not written into our family disciplines, only righteousness,” Lan Qiren said, hoping that A-Mei could not hear his own turmoil seeping in his words. But A-Mei was hunched over, nearly sprawled over the table in exhaustion, and was only half listening to Lan Qiren’s words.

“Is righteousness supposed to be so loud?”

As if Jingyi had been waiting for his moment to shine, he chose that exact moment to open his mouth — wide enough that Lan Qiren could see all the little teeth in his mouth — and released an ear-piercing screech directly into Lan Qiren’s ear.

A-Mei gave Lan Qiren a helpless look and tightened her lips.

“Do not despair, A-Mei,” Lan Qiren said with a strained smile, his ears still ringing with Jingyi’s screech. “Your son is only loud because the world is loud and there is much he wants to explore. He is a curious child. This is how he will learn the meaning of righteousness for himself.”)

Lan Qiren knows Jingyi does not mean to be rude, that he never means to be rude. It is simply who Jingyi is, to be righteous in the most unexpected manner.

“It is a very large amount of fruit for one cultivator,” Lan Qiren says with a raised eyebrow, pretending he is not amused. “Your loquats are not suitable for eating, yet. They are a bit green near the stems.”

“It’s for Wei-qianbei,” Jingyi says casually, as if going out of his way to purchase a gift for Wei Wuxian is a normal and acceptable occurrence. “There were some unexpected complications with a wolf spirit but we handled it.”

“Complications?” Lan Qiren repeats, giving Jingyi a chastising look for being careless with his words.

“Wei-qianbei was feeling out of it so Sizhui and I decided to leave him a small gift,” Lan Jingyi says, almost defensively, switching the basket to his other hand. Now it swings between Jingyi and Sizhui, Sizhui’s legs partially blocking the basket. It doesn’t escape Lan Qiren’s notice, how the basket of loquats is partially hidden by their robes. “They’ll ripen by the time Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun get back.”

Lan Qiren fails to see why Wei Wuxian’s bad mood is Lan Jingyi’s problem.

“Lan Jingyi and I wished to surprise Hanguang-jun and Wei-qianbei with a homecoming gift,” Lan Sizhui adds diplomatically.

Sizhui is the diplomat Lan Qiren had always hoped Wangji would grow into.

But alas.

“I presume Wangji and Wei Wuxian have extended their nighthunt to visit the Unclean Realm?”

Sizhui nods. “Hanguang-jun says they have business to do with Sect Leader Nie. They will return two nights from now.”

Sighing, Lan Qiren steps back. Sizhui and Jingyi both bow, Sizhui with his posture as crisp as ever while Jingyi’s arms are shaking from the quivering basket in his hands, before turning away to return to their rooms.

As Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi walk away, Lan Qiren watches as the basket of loquats gently swings between them.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Wangji and Wei Wuxian do not return after two nights.

They return after three nights.

Lan Qiren is not surprised when he is summoned by Lan Wangji, the morning after his return.

“You defended Wei Ying,” Wangji says as he watches Lan Qiren seat himself at the table, foregoing a respectful greeting. It is rude, and Lan Qiren bristles at Wangji’s bluntness, yet he can not find it within himself to scold Wangji over such a petty remark when he already knows it will do nothing.

“False accusations are false accusations,” Lan Qiren says as he narrows his eyes anyway. Even if his scoldings mean nothing to Wangji, he can still convey his displeasure. “They cannot be permitted to continue.”

“You do not like Wei Ying,” Wangji says pointedly, holding himself as still as jade.

Lan Qiren allows his gaze to drift behind Wangji’s ear, out the window. It is the late morning and no doubt Wangji has already been briefed on the incident between Lan Zhengrong, Lan Junlong, and the disciples from Lanling Jin. “Wei Wuxian is a menace and a poor example to the youth.”

“Yet you stood for him,” Wangji keeps pushing. “You defended him to the disciples of Lanling Jin.”

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes. He can tell what Wangji is prying for, can guess the words Wangji wants to hear him say. But he cannot say them. He is genuine in his dislike for Wei Wuxian and he only defends Wei Wuxian insofar as it is necessary to present Gusu Lan as a united front behind Wei Wuxian.

An image of unity that is apparently more accurate than Lan Qiren could have guessed, based on how quickly Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong jumped to defend him.

Lan Qiren says as much. “I stand for Wei Wuxian as much as I stand for all cultivators of Gusu Lan. I do not care for falsehoods, nor will I stand for violence in my home.”

“What of the Jin disciples?” Wangji asks, only a minisculely raised eyebrow giving away his curiosity.

“I have postponed their punishment for your return. As Wei Wuxian is the husband of the Chief Cultivator,” Lan Qiren pauses, leaving Wangji’s title hanging in the space between them for emphasis. It is a subtle reminder that Wangji is not just Wei Wuxian’s spouse, to remind Wangji that he has duties to others beyond Wei Wuxian. “I decided it would be most prudent to leave the resultant punishment in the hands of the Chief Cultivator. I trust that the Chief Cultivator will be able to make an indiscriminate decision, Wangji,” Lan Qiren says pointedly.

At the time, in his haste to avoid having to speak well of Wei Wuxian, it had seemed adequate to delegate the punishment to Wangji. Now, with a couple nights of sleepless pondering behind him, Lan Qiren wonders if allowing Wangji’s very biased self to be making such a decision was the correct choice of action.

After all, Wangji has always made poor choices when Wei Wuxian was involved.

Lan Qiren knows Wangji’s reputation. He is proud of Wangji’s reputation as a protector of the less fortunate, for his propensity to be wherever the chaos is, even if he disapproves of Wangji’s cold demeanor. Perhaps the Jin cultivators have been punished enough already with the anticipation of having to face Wangji for their callous words towards his husband.

Then, Lan Qiren remembers the ugly look on Jin Bingyu’s face as his lips curled back in disgust, how Jin Bingyu’s closed fist was poised to hit Lan Zhengrong, and suddenly Lan Qiren feels punishment at Wangji’s hands is more than deserved.

“What of the Lan disciples?” Wangji adds, fingers neatly folded together on his lap. Despite his outward poise, he can’t hide the snide undertone of his distaste for the Jins from Lan Qiren. “Which of our disciples were involved in the altercation?”

“Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong have been assigned two copies of the Book of Righteousness each. Their punishment has already been completed, overseen by Lan Sizhui.” There is no tea between them today and Lan Qiren wishes he could have a nice, long sip of steaming longjing tea to cleanse his throat.

Wangji nods, unbothered by the rare absence of tea. “Excellent. I would like to speak to Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong as well.”

“Does Wangji find their punishment to be inadequate?”

“On the contrary, Shufu.” Wangji’s voice is laced with a petty satisfaction, the corners of his gold eyes relaxed in contentment. “I would like to commend them for their ability to see Wei Ying for who he is, beyond what others say of him.”

Lan Qiren’s shoulders stiffen. He can already feel the knots tightening in his back. “The rumours are not entirely false,” he says slowly, clearly, ensuring the Wangji cannot avoid facing the reality that Wei Wuxian is a heretical cultivator. No matter where the blame falls, it cannot be denied that Wei Wuxian had already fallen off the straight, righteous path long before Jin Guangyao could have set his schemes in motion.

It was Wei Wuxian who made Jin Guangyao’s path easy, with his crooked cultivation and his readiness to dissolve each of his relationships, one by one, until none were left.

None, save Wangji.

“You do not understand Wei Ying’s choices,” Wangji says, delicate features hardening into a glare.

“Must I understand Wei Wuxian choices when the consequences speak for themselves? The chaos, the disorder, the bodies that Wei Wuxian left us with?”

Almost imperceptibly, Wangji’s shoulders twitch ever so slightly, as if Wangji’s body is aware that his body is just one of countless bodies left behind in the aftermath of Wei Wuxian’s actions. “Choices are not made in isolation.”

And Lan Qiren knows this. He knows this so, so well. He knew this when his own brother made the decision to tie himself to a murderer for life, irrational love overcoming the sound reasoning that their elders spent so many tireless hours drilling into them as children. He knew this each time he saw Wangji alone as a child, lonely in his solitude yet unable to make friends. He knew this when Wangji’s feelings for Wei Wuxian could still be considered puppy love. He knew this when Xichen informed him of the incident in the Cold Pond Cave, when Wangji willingly offered his forehead ribbon to Wei Wuxian for protection before Lan Yi. He knew this when he forbade Wangji from entering the Forbidden Section in the Library Pavillion and he knew this when he punished Wangji after he returned from Yiling the first time.

He knew this as he was watching the discipline whip cut into the soft flesh of Wangji’s back. One, two, three, deep lines marring the previously flawless skin.

(That is not entirely true. Cultivators are covered in scars. It is the nature of their lives. Lan Qiren knows Wangji had a scar on his back before. It was faint, a thin line running across his left shoulder blade from an unfortunate training incident two years before Wei Wuxian first arrived in Cloud Recesses for his studies. But in his memory, in his dreams and in his nightmares, Wangji’s back is always smooth. Perfectly pure, clear, and untouched skin until the first lash of the disciple hits—

...thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.

Thirty-three lashes.

Thirty-three scars, criss-crossing and painting Wangji’s back in colours that no one deserved to bear.

They are a physical manifestation of Wangji’s devotion, written across his back for Wei Wuxian to read.)

Knowing Wangji will never be convinced of anything beyond Wei Wuxian’s unconditional goodness, Lan Qiren coughs, and changes the topic. “I have written to Carp Tower and Lotus Pier to inform Jin Rulan and Jiang Wanyin of the situation.”

“Jiang Wanyin?” Wangji’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Jin Rulan is young and inexperienced,” Lan Qiren says, remembering an impudent child loudly wailing on the docks while hugging his father’s sword after the incident in the Burial Mounds. “It would be prudent for a seasoned Sect Leader to guide him through the ins and outs of intersect relations. Lanling Jin’s young cultivators would benefit from the rigorous Yunmeng training.”

Wangji’s frown deepens, his mouth pressing into a thin line of displeasure. “Sect Leader Jin should be afforded the opportunity to grow into his role without the shadow of Jiang Wanyin looming over him.”

“Sect Leader Jin is a child.”

“Xiongzhang was not much older when he became Sect Leader.” Wangji swallows. His long fingers clench along the hem of his sleeves as he adds, “Children grow up.”

For a moment, Lan Qiren does nothing but glare at Wangji, unused to being spoken back to so bluntly.

Before Wei Wuxian’s return, Wangji had rarely been in Cloud Recesses, choosing to spend his time on nighthunts around the Jianghu, and Lan Xichen has never been a forceful dissenter. Xichen always favoured the traditional Gusu Lan teachings of quiet contemplation and thoughtful observation over direct action.

And yet.

When the door to Wangji’s office slides open, interrupting their conversation, Lan Qiren is at first relieved that he does not have to counter Wangji’s admittedly excellent point. His relief is short lived as a familiarly unfamiliar figure steps back into the room.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian chirps as he bounces into Wangji’s office, haphazardly holding a tray of tea and shamelessly interrupting Wangji’s meeting. “Lan-lao xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian bows after he loudly sets the tray down, an afterthought more than anything else.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says Wei Wuxian’s name in a scolding tone.

Unchastened, Wei Wuxian turns back to Wangji and cheerfully makes his excuses. “Sorry, Lan Zhan! I know I’m late, but there was an incident with one of the little Lans and you know how weak I am to those cute little cheeks.”

Lan Qiren certainly does not know how Wei Wuxian is with those little Lans, but he does know that Wei Wuxian is most definitely a bad influence on the youth. Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong are evidence enough of that.

Saying nothing, Wangji simply reaches for Wei Wuxian’s hand. Before Lan Qiren’s very own eyes, Wangji places a soft kiss in the palm of Wei Wuxian’s hand and closes Wei Wuxian’s fingers, as if he is holding onto Wangji’s kiss.

With a rare smile, Wangji says, “Be good.” There is no scolding to his voice, not even the slightest hint of a reprimand. Wangji’s voice is sweet and drenched with love and Lan Qiren can not stand it.

Thankfully, before Lan Qiren has to feign a Qi deviation to save himself from Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s sappiness, Wei Wuxian takes a step back.

Holding his closed fist against his chest, Wei Wuxian teasingly says, “Not here, Lan Zhan! And you say I’m the shameless one.” A light blush dusts his cheeks and Wei Wuxian’s eyes shine bright with genuine happiness.

Turning to Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian bows — still holding his hand in a fist around Wangji’s kiss, Lan Qiren notes — before flouncing out the room.

Wei Wuxian shuts the door behind him just a little too loudly.

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren adds, before Wangji can dismiss himself to follow after Wei Wuxian. “Our conversation has not yet ended.”

In a sense, the conversation has ended. They have discussed the incident with the Jin disciples, the repercussions have been dealt with. They have discussed the punishments and how to proceed.

But, defending Wei Wuxian is not the good reason Lan Qiren expected upstanding students like Lan Zhengrong and Lan Junlong to get into a confrontation over. And something must be done about that.

Reaching for a teacup, Lan Qiren prepares a cup of tea for himself and for Wangji. He moves the cups into place slowly, delaying the words he needs to say.

Taking a long, drawn out sip of tea, Lan Qiren carefully schools his outward expression but scowls internally. Another excellent cup of tea, brewed by none other than Wei Wuxian.

“Shufu,” Wangji says, holding his own cup. “Respect the time of others.”

Respect the time that you will spend spoiling Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren thinks rather bitterly. He knows he is being petty and has enough sense to not voice those thoughts. Instead, he says, “Wei Wuxian is a poor influence on the youth.”

“Wei Ying is an excellent instructor,” Wangji glares across the table, entire body tensing. Just as Lan Qiren expected, Wangji immediately jumps to Wei Wuxian’s defense.

“He is misleading the youth.”

As Lan Qiren takes another long drag from his teacup, from the corner of his eye he spies Wangji setting his own cup down before he shatters the porcelain with his hands.

“He provides the junior disciples with much needed practical experience,” Wangji counters through gritted teeth. “The junior disciples find nighthunts led by Wei Ying to be the most educational, and the most enjoyable.”

But Lan Qiren simply shakes his head. “The youth have been corrupted by Wei Wuxian’s influence. They are not old enough to understand the dangers of Wei Wuxian’s frivolous attitude.”

“I trust him,” Wangji says quietly. It is almost vulnerable and Lan Qiren wishes so, so much that he could have faith in Wangji’s judgement. “Wei Ying has already agreed to take over Teacher Gu’s lessons when the next batch of guest disciples arrive.”

Inside his chest, Lan Qiren’s heart shudders in dismay. “Why?” He asks, unable to disguise the slight tremor in his voice.

“Gu-laoshi has submitted his request for time off in the next year. I see no reason to deny Gu-laoshi his well-earned time for solitary meditation or travels when Wei Ying is both willing and capable of teaching introductory talismans.”

Stroking his beard, Lan Qiren can see how Wangji has come to this conclusion. For all his faults, there are few cultivators who can surpass Wei Wuxian’s skill with talismans. But through his rose tinted glasses, Wangji does not see the dangers in allowing Wei Wuxian to spread his immoral ways to the youth.

But Lan Qiren’s gaze is clear and he will not see a third consecutive generation of turmoil in Gusu Lan.

“Absolutely not.” Squaring his jaw, Lan Qiren tucks his sleeve to the side. “We will not lose another generation of young, upstanding Lan disciples with clear consciences to the shallow whims of Wei Wuxian.”

“Shufu!” Wangji says, his tone curt. He looks more shocked than he has any right to be given the ridiculousness of his plan.

“Your duty to your spouse should not interfere with your duty to your sect,” Lan Qiren continues, refilling his teacup so he does not have to watch the fury slowly unfold on Wangji’s face. And because Wei Wuxian really does brew excellent tea, even if his general existence still leaves much to be desired. “Wei Wuxian will teach the junior disciples to disregard the rules completely. He does not have the temperament, nor the attitude, of a diligent educator.”

“And what would Shufu know of Wei Ying’s attitude when he does not know Wei Ying?” Wangji asks sharply. His fists are under the table, out of Lan Qiren’s sight, but Lan Qiren can imagine how they must be clenched into tight fists from how tense Wangji’s shoulders are.

“What more is there to learn of a demonic cultivator? The heretical path is final. There is no coming back from heresy and the desecration of the dead is not so easily undone.”

“Wei Ying is not a wild animal to be tamed. He is simply Wei Ying.”

“Simply Wei Ying,” Lan Qiren spits back, “is an immoral adherent of the heretical path.”

“You do not know Wei Ying.” Wangji’s words infuriate Lan Qiren because he can tell there is much more that Wangji is not telling him. It is as though Wangji expects his uncle to cede to his will, even without giving Lan Qiren any explanation.

“And you do not explain anything, simply expecting your elders to bend to your whims. It is disrespectful, Wangji, to disregard the words of your elders.”

Discarding all the manners he has learned throughout his life, Wangji stands. Glaring down at Lan Qiren who is calmly drinking his tea, Wangji says in a low tone, “It is not my story to tell.”

In a cloud of fury, Wangji stands and sweeps across the room. As Wangji stops to open the door, Lan Qiren lowers his teacup.

Facing the plain wall, his back to Wangji, Lan Qiren says, “To preserve the sanctity of Cloud Recesses, we will have to add a rule forbidding interaction with Wei Wuxian when he is clearly exerting undue influence over our youth and unteaching their hard earned control. I will bring the proposal to the Clan Elders in the morning.”

For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji slams the doors behind him when he leaves.

Chapter Text

To Lan Qiren’s surprise, Cloud Recesses does not change very much after interacting with Wei Wuxian is forbidden.

It is still quiet, disciples and cultivators still walk along the paths at brisk paces, the youth still attend their classes and training sessions.

Much like when Wei Wuxian first arrived, after eloping with Wangji, Cloud Recesses does not bend to Wei Wuxian’s every whim.

When Lan Qiren thinks about it too hard, it is still deeply unsettling how Wei Wuxian’s presence has permeated into Cloud Recesses without notice. There is no fanfare; it simply is.

In the absence of Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren does notice that the junior disciples have become more subdued. There are fewer field trips to night hunt outside of Cloud Recesses’ protective wards and Lan Qiren knows that the junior disciples are disappointed. But it is for the greater good, to learn to adhere to the spirit of the rules rather than indulge in the momentary pleasure of bringing down a yao.

Very little has actually changed — there are still too many spices in the kitchen pantries, melodies from a dizi can still be heard at irregular intervals and ungodly hours, and there are still flowers on Wangji’s desk. But, there is comfort in knowing that Wei Wuxian is no longer able to actively corrupt the youth.

The youth sans Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, both of whom Lan Qiren knows are still in regular contact with Wei Wuxian. But, as long as their assigned duties are completed, Lan Qiren allows their little transgressions to occur.

As Lan Qiren forces himself to remember when his blood boils after seeing Lan Sizhui at Wei Wuxian’s side, the purpose of the rule banning interaction with Wei Wuxian is only to prevent the junior disciples from falling prey to Wei Wuxian’s immoral rampages against the rules. For Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, Lan Qiren has absolute faith in the strength of their moral fortitude.

Even Jingyi is a pillar of Gusu’s righteousness, even if those outside the clan are often confused by Jingyi’s loud personality and brash tongue.

Yet, it is why he enjoys Lan Jingyi’s presence. In small doses. Lan Jingyi is a moral character, albeit prone to sporadic outbursts, but he is a good example of how one can bend the rules to be one’s most righteous self.

Sitting in the ancestral chamber, Lan Qiren quietly ruminates on the changes that have occured since enacting the rule against Wei Wuxian. Ink, a brush, and a stack of paper rest on the desk before him as he meditatively copies the rules from memory.

It is therapeutic, to reground oneself in the safety of the rules.

As his brush smoothly drags along the paper, leaving behind elegant black lines, Lan Qiren realizes just how much progress he had made in repairing his relationship with Wangji.

Progress that instantly evaporated the moment Lan Qiren turned against Wei Wuxian.

It isn’t until their biweekly meetings came to an abrupt halt that Lan Qiren realizes just how much his relationship with Wangji had improved. Their meetings were only to discuss that week’s events yet it was the most he had spoken to Wangji in years.

After his whipping, throughout his seclusion, and in the first year after leaving seclusion, Wangji had refused to see his uncle and Lan Qiren had respected that. Even if Wangji had not outright refused, Lan Qiren is not sure if he would have been able to face Wangji. The rules were supposed to protect Wangji from falling down this path.

The rules are supposed to protect others, so why did they keep failing to protect his own family?

It wasn't until the second year after leaving seclusion, a full five years after Wei Wuxian’s death, that Lan Wangji spoke to Lan Qiren again.

Dressed in mourning whites, Wangji had simply announced his intention to go on an extended nighthunt. There were ghosts and monsters haunting small border villages that, beyond the generosity of passing rogue cultivators, remained otherwise ignored. Without waiting for Lan Qiren’s approval, Wangji simply left.

Their relationship for the next eleven years played out that way. If not for Sizhui, Lan Qiren still questions whether Wangji would have bothered to return at all.

The scarce words they exchanged over the years did little to reconcile their shattered relationship in Wei Wuxian’s absence. Still, the passage of time allowed them to pick up some of the pieces. Slowly, and piece by piece. Sometimes the shards would cut them before they could be pieced back together. It took over a decade of this careful maneuvering for enough pieces to slowly come together and form something resembling a relationship again.

And then they were at the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian returned to life, uncle and nephew once again on opposing sides. Lan Qiren remembers Wangji’s hurt and disappointment when he turned away from him, again.

Then suddenly Xichen was in seclusion, Wangji was the Chief Cultivator, and Lan Qiren was speaking to Wangji again. Even if only as an advisor, even if they never addressed the Burial Mounds or the Nightless City, even if they continued to disagree, it had been the most words they had exchanged in over sixteen years.

Until Lan Qiren’s adamancy over banning interaction with Wei Wuxian reversed all of this progress.

Sixteen years of progress, all lost over Wei Wuxian. Again.

As his thoughts pick up, Lan Qiren’s well-practiced brush strokes become harsher. They are still meticulous, but his tumultuous thoughts are clearly reflected in the thickness of the ink and in the brusqueness of his dots.

It is fine, Lan Qiren silently repeats to himself like a mantra. His brush scrapes against the paper. It is fine.

Drawing his brush up in a final stroke, Lan Qiren surveys the pages of his copied rules with satisfaction.

At the end of the four thousand rules, in flawless calligraphy, reads do not interact with Wei Wuxian.

As weeks blend into a full month since his last sighting of Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren grows increasingly concerned. Past experience has taught him that not hearing from Wei Wuxian is more dangerous than hearing from Wei Wuxian.

Wangji has still not spoken with him, choosing to take advice from other sect elders, knowing that this refutation of Lan Qiren’s wisdom is what cuts him deepest.

There are only so many paths one can take in Cloud Recesses so it is not a surprise when Lan Qiren’s path crosses with Wangji’s path. It happens often enough that Lan Qiren now knows to brace himself for the cold indifference with which Wangji glares at him.

It hurts, to watch the child you raise grow into an adult who no longer acknowledges you.

As he walks past the Hanshi, Lan Qiren glances at the locked doors and closed windows with regret. Poor, poor Xichen, who only ever did as he was taught. Xichen, who followed the teachings perfectly, only to be betrayed by his sworn brother.

Deep in thought over Xichen’s misfortune, Lan Qiren continues walking down the path.

As he passes the kitchens, he nearly bumps into someone moving before him.

It is Wei Wuxian, carrying two bowls of congee on a tray. One bowl is clear, the other a frightening shade of red. Two pairs of chopsticks rest between the two bowls, as does a smaller third bowl of dried goji berries.

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian bows shallowly, carefully balancing the tray in his hands.

Lan Qiren studies how the dark fabric of Wei Wuxian’s robes flutters as he moves, unimpressed by the continued refusal to adhere to Gusu’s dress code. All the same, Lan Qiren is not surprised that Wei Wuxian would turn down robes charmed with protective incantations against resentful spirits.

“The Jingshi is that way, as is Wangji’s office.” Pointing in the direction of the respective buildings, a different direction than where Wei Wuxian is going, Lan Qiren shakes his head disapprovingly at Wei Wuxian. Surely by now, after several months of marriage, Wei Wuxian would know where to find Wangji.

Wei Wuxian’s hesitation is more than enough to tick off Lan Qiren’s suspicions.

“You are not going to Wangji.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Lan Qiren deepens his glare.

This time, Wei Wuxian does not hesitate when he says, “No. Lan Zhan is busy, sorting out a territorial dispute between the remnants of Moling Su and Changan Hu.”

Before Lan Qiren can question him any further, Wei Wuxian quickly bows again and scurries away rather guiltily. Biting back the urge to raise his voice at Wei Wuxian’s rapidly retreating back, Lan Qiren turns his ire to the disciples on kitchen duty instead.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” the disciples chorus as Lan Qiren stops in the middle of the room to survey the scene before him.

Being a scion of the main family, Lan Qiren has rarely ever needed to be in charge of his own meals. Every Gusu Lan disciple, regardless of birth, is expected to know how their food is made and Lan Qiren is no exception. He knows the labour that goes into each of his meals. But in his adult life, Lan Qiren has scarcely entered the kitchens beyond routine surveillance.

It has been a long time since he has seen the kitchen in use.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” one of the disciples chirps, drawing Lan Qiren’s attention back to him. The disciples have all paused their work to gather around him. “Do you wish to request a specific dish?”

Lan Qiren shakes his head and frowns. “Why did I see Wei Wuxian leave here with a meal for two?”

His suspicions are confirmed when the disciples shuffle uncomfortably, guiltily glancing at one another.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” another disciple says, stepping forward. He bows quickly before he continues, “Wei-qianbei often takes his lunch with Zewu-jun.”

“You have been allowing Wei Wuxian to interrupt Lan Xichen’s peaceful contemplation?” Lan Qiren crosses his arms as his frown deepens. “Interacting with Wei Wuxian is forbidden.”

“No!” the first disciple says quickly, “Lan-lao xiansheng misunderstands. Zewu-jun informs us when he invites Wei-qianbei for lunch. We simply set out a tray for Wei-qianbei to pick up. No one speaks to him directly.”

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Qiren glares harder.

“Wang Yueshu isn’t lying!” Someone else bows, holding a neatly folded square of paper out towards Lan Qiren.

Skimming the page, the letters are clearly written in Xichen’s steady hand. Wei Wuxian will deliver my midday meal. Please prepare a portion for him.

“Very well,” Lan Qiren says gruffly, tucking the note into his sleeve. “Inform those who will be on kitchen duty tomorrow to prepare two proper dishes for Lan Xichen’s midday meal. I will deliver it at wu shi.”

Ignoring the hushed bewilderment, Lan Qiren leaves the kitchen.

Despite the fiasco in the Guanyin Temple, despite his one misjudgement of Jin Guangyao, Lan Qiren still has faith in Lan Xichen’s choices. At his core, Xichen is a moral cultivator. Lan Qiren trusts Lan Xichen but what Lan Qiren does not trust is Wei Wuxian’s intentions.

His mind is racing, trying to make sense of what answers he is hoping Lan Xichen will give him tomorrow.

Lan Qiren is of the opinion that seclusion means seclusion. That is: a seclusion should be absolute.

It was certainly that way for his sister-in-law, whom Lan Qiren saw barely a handful of times before her death.

He does not regret never getting to know her, only that he does not remember the face that took his brother away from him. There are no portraits of her, nothing in her likeness. In a couple more generations, there will be no one left who will remember the shame she brought upon Gusu Lan.

Only a couple hairpins of hers remain, a wedding gift bestowed upon her by Qingheng-jun that have never been worn.

They are split between Wangji and Xichen now, the remnants of her feeble legacy.

Lan Qiren does not know what Xichen did with his hairpin, but he has seen Wangji’s pin in Wei Wuxian’s hair on occasion.

He never got to know his sister-in-law beyond knowing she was a murderess who ruined his brother. The last time he saw her was during her wedding.

Even if Wangji and Xichen were permitted to visit her once a month, Lan Qiren refused her the dignity of any other interaction.

Seclusion should be absolute.

But his brother was different.

Lan Qiren knows that it is deeply hypocritical of him to have visited his brother almost regularly, seeking him for advice on leading a sect or giving him updates on Wangji and Xichen’s progress. But, even if Qingheng-jun had forsaken his filial duty to his brother and his sons, Lan Qiren’s reciprocal filial duty to his brother remained.

During Wangji’s seclusion, Lan Qiren had visited him less than a handful of times.

He knew he would not be welcome, being the one who oversaw the discipline lash slashing into Wangji’s skin, permanently marring his back in criss-crossed lines that would serve as a reminder of his love and devotion to Wei Wuxian — a reminder for them both of the lengths Wangji would go to for Wei Wuxian.

Wangji does not know of these visits, these visits that only took place in the first days after the whipping, when Wangji was still unconscious or too delirious with fever to remember Lan Qiren’s presence.

But Xichen is not Wangji.

Lan Qiren failed Xichen in the same way he failed Wangji, the same way he failed his brother, even the same way he failed his sister-in-law. Lan Qiren knows this, has known this for a long time, but he does not know what to do with that knowledge.

It has always been easier to ignore certain truths in favour of hiding behind the rules.

But it has been nearly a year since Xichen entered seclusion and Lan Qiren has not seen his own nephew since the Guanyin Temple.

Jin Guangyao’s blood had been everywhere, still warm as it dripped down Shuoyue’s cool blade and splattered across Xichen’s once spotless robes. It had been a shock, seeing the cool blue of Gusu Lan’s stained black with fresh blood.

Now, Lan Qiren stands before the Hanshi. In his hands he carries a tray. Lunch for two, just as he had requested the day before.

It is a modest meal: two bowls of congee (once again prepared by Wei Wuxian if those in the kitchen are to be trusted), dusted with a generous sprinkling of black sesame seeds. A small bowl of pickled mustard sits between the two bowls of congee. Wei Wuxian still has not quite mastered congee making. The salt levels are inconsistent, but they are acceptable often enough that it would be inexcusable for Lan Qiren to go out of his way to chide him.

“Xichen,” Lan Qiren says through the heavy door, discomfort settling in.

There is no response, but Lan Qiren can feel Xichen’s energy on the other side of the door. Xichen is not moving, but he is sitting in the main room.

For a moment, Lan Qiren is taken back forty years into the past, when Qingheng-jun shut himself away after his wedding, leaving Lan Qiren to stand at his closed door, waiting for a response that never came. Every visit was one Lan Qiren had to fight for, even after Xichen and Wangji’s births.

But Xichen is not his father.

“Please enter,” Xichen says, only slightly delayed, his voice muffled by the door.

Lan Qiren is welcomed by the sight of Lan Xichen sitting on the meditation mat, legs crossed before him. He is thinner than he was months earlier, his chin curving at a sharper angle than in the past. With his cultivation as high as it is, these visible changes to Xichen’s body speak to how deep his grief runs.

“Shufu,” Xichen says in surprise, eyes wide. His lips are pursed, as if he has more to say, but he remains silent.

“Xichen.” For a moment, Lan Qiren stands by the door, unsure what to do next. This is not like his brother, who was once a boy Lan Qiren had grown up with and looked up to, until suddenly he was in seclusion and an example of the consequences when one deviates from the rules. Nor is this like Wangji, who Lan Qiren raised by himself and watched grow into a model cultivator — until suddenly their relationship became an insurmountable wall of mutually unforgivable choices.

This is Xichen, a boy who knew and lived the family disciplines better than any disciple Lan Qiren has ever taught — better than even Wangji. Lan Xichen was a stellar example, unmarred and unwavering, the purest embodiment of the Gusu Lan disciplines.

And yet.

Even now, Lan Qiren still doesn’t know how to reconcile that knowledge. How can it be that Lan Xichen’s devotion to the rules has become the cause of his own downfall? How can rules that are supposed to be the very guide to morality backfire against such a moral cultivator?

Xichen, who is good and filial. Xichen, whose mastery of thoughtful inaction led Gusu Lan to so many years of peace and prosperity. Lan Xichen, who did everything right — until it all became wrong.

“Shufu,” Xichen interrupts Lan Qiren’s thoughts. Seeing the tray in Lan Qiren’s hands, Lan Xichen stands and gestures towards a side room. “If it is already wu shi, then let us sit at the table.”

They relocate, stepping into the smaller side room and taking their seats across from one another at the low table.

Setting the modest meal down, Lan Qiren places Xichen’s bowl before he takes his own.

With a raised eyebrow, Xichen looks across at Lan Qiren, surprised at such treatment. Having his bowl placed before him like a child — it has been a long time since anyone has treated Sect Leader Lan with such informality.

“You do not visit people in seclusion often,” Xichen says, deft hands taking a piece of pickled mustard with his chopsticks. Without looking, he drops the mustard plant in his congee.

“Wei Wuxian breaks the rules enough.” Lan Qiren picks up his bowl, scooping a mouthful of congee, plain.

An adequate salt level, Lan Qiren thinks begrudgingly.

With their meal begun, both settle into the easy silence that dictates all meals in Cloud Recesses. Almost all meals, Lan Qiren amends, knowing that Wei Wuxian’s silence during their shared meal months earlier could not possibly be how he and Wangji normally take their meals.

“Xiao Wei is good company,” Xichen says mildly, only responding to Lan Qiren’s words after they have set their empty bowls and chopsticks down.

Choosing to ignore how easily the term of familiarity slips from Xichen’s lips, Lan Qiren grumbles, “I do not know what Wei Wuxian does with his days. Who knows what crooked shenanigans he gets up to without supervision.”

Xichen hums thoughtfully, gently placing his empty bowl back onto the tray. “Xiao Wei is fine. He knows how to keep himself busy.”

“He disrupts your seclusion. Meditation and quiet contemplation are the antithesis of Wei Wuxian’s being.”

“That is true. But I do not believe that is an incorrect way to be.”

“Disobedient, is what it is,” Lan Qiren huffs.

Pulling out a tea set, Xichen goes through the motions of preparing tea as he speaks. “Xiao Wei is no more disobedient than Lan Jingyi. I have come to enjoy Xiao Wei’s presence. It is rather soothing.”

“And your seclusion?”

“Total seclusion does not suit me,” Xichen confesses, unashamed. “I am at my best when I have others to support.”

As he watches Xichen drop the tea leaves into the pot, Lan Qiren nods his assent. It is the truth — unlike Wangji, Xichen has always been a social being. Like his father before him, Xichen is still the Sect Leader in title even as he remains in seclusion. While the responsibilities of a sect leader have shifted to Wangji’s shoulders, it was always meant to be temporary. Unlike his father, Xichen had entered his self-imposed seclusion with the intention to rejoin sect affairs after taking an adequate time to recoup himself.

Plus, it is not as though anyone can punish the Sect Leader for entertaining visitors in his seclusion.

That is why it hurt all the more when Qingheng-jun refused each of Lan Qiren’s attempts to reach out.

“It is forbidden to interact with Wei Wuxian.” Lan Qiren lays his cards on the table to gauge where Xichen stands.

Nodding, Xichen folds his hands on his lap as he waits for the tea to steep. “I am aware. Both Wangji and Xiao Wei are displeased with this turn of events.”

Lan Qiren does not ask which one of the two told him. Both, neither, it does not matter.

“It is necessary to prevent the corruption of the youth.”

“I do not believe Wei Wuxian is the corrupting influence you see him to be, Shufu.”

Glancing around the Hanshi, Lan Qiren notes how it is one of few places remaining in Cloud Recesses that does not bear evidence of Wei Wuxian’s presence.

“Wei Wuxian led Lan Zhengrong to raise his fist against another,” Lan Qiren says, thinking Xichen would now understand. “Had I not interfered, Lan Zhengrong would have struck a visiting disciple.”

Instead of the tacit understanding Lan Qiren had expected, Xichen shakes his head. His hair looks naked, bound in a simple topknot without any of the elaborate headpieces befitting of a sect leader. “Shufu, did you know Xiao Wei spoke to Lan Zhengrong regarding that incident?”

Biting back a sarcastic retort — what, to congratulate him? — Lan Qiren strokes his beard. “Whatever for?” he asks, trying to sound neutral.

Unfortunately, Xichen is just as perceptive as Lan Qiren taught him to be. His overly pleasant smile tells Lan Qiren that he has been seen through. “Would you believe me,” Xichen says slowly, with calculating words, “if I told you Wei Wuxian scolded Lan Zhengrong for defending him?”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Qiren snaps. “Wei Wuxian was expelled for that very behaviour.”

Deciding that the tea has steeped long enough, Xichen reaches for the pot. “The circumstances are different.”

Choosing to remain silent, Lan Qiren watches as Xichen pours their tea. He watches, and he thinks.

It is true that the circumstances are different. Both Lan Zhengrong and a younger Wei Wuxian had someone to protect. Certainly, defending the then Jiang-guniang was a more justifiable reason than defending Wei Wuxian.

Except Jin Zixuan had been a sect heir and Jin Bingyu is a distant cousin of no political importance. Lan Qiren is not blind to the little privileges enjoyed by the gentry, but Lan Qiren is startled to realize that despite Wei Wuxian’s entitled upbringing and prowess, he — and other cultivators of his class — never saw Wei Wuxian as one of them.

Placing a full cup of tea before Lan Qiren, Xichen smiles and begins to tell a different story.

“Xiao Wei and I share our midday meal nearly everyday,” Xichen says, swirling the tea in his cup. “He is working on a song.”

Saying nothing, Lan Qiren waves his hand over his cup. He watches as the steam wafts aside.

When Lan Qiren does not offer any interjections, Lan Xichen continues. “Xiao Wei is quite remarkable,” he says, smiling. “He has mastered Empathy.”

Choking on his surprise, Lan Qiren hides a cough behind his fist. If he had been taking a sip of his tea, Lan Qiren would have spewed his tea everywhere. Thankfully, he only needed a short moment to clear his throat. “Empathy? Is he unaware of the dangers of such a practice? Does Wei Wuxian not understand why cultivators do not use it more often!?”

“Wei Wuxian is too smart to be unaware of the dangers,” Xichen says mildly. “He is just too selfless to allow the dangers to deter him.”

“Selfless,” Lan Qiren spits.

“It is thanks to Wei Wuxian’s selfless use of empathy that we have the truth.” Xichen pauses. Lan Qiren can see Xichen’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows before continuing. “The truth regarding my sworn brothers, of what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue,” Xichen adds, as if he needed to clarify which truth he was referring to.

Xichen chokes on Jin Guangyao’s name a little bit and Lan Qiren chooses to ignore the misstep.

Suspicious, Lan Qiren asks, “And you trusted his word?” It is one thing for Wangji to throw caution to the wind for Wei Wuxian. It is another for Xichen to do the same.

“Not immediately,” Xichen says, softly. Without hesitation. “I had my suspicions at first. But it was all the truth. I did not want to hear it when the truth came from Wei Wuxian but I listened out of respect for Wangji. But when the truth came from A-Yao....there was no more denying it.”

Lan Qiren chooses to ignore how Xichen slips back into his affectionate address for Jin Guangyao.

“One instance of honesty does not make Wei Wuxian a trustworthy man.” Looking down at his freshly poured cup of tea, Lan Qiren decides he has waited long enough for the liquid to cool.

“No,” Xichen says, after taking a long sip from his cup. “It does not. But I have faith in Xiao Wei’s trustworthiness. At his core, he wishes to help others.”

“Indiscriminate slaughtering of one’s enemies does nothing to help others.”

“Shufu.” Xichen gives his uncle a hard look.

Sighing, Lan Qiren backs down. Xichen is correct; he is being unfair to Wei Wuxian. Even though the legacy of the Yiling Patriarch remains, his deeds are in the past now. That Cloud Recesses has not been overrun with fierce corpses is more than enough indication of how the current Wei Wuxian is not what Lan Qiren had expected.

Remembering the cup in his hand, Lan Qiren takes a long sip, draining the cup.

Placing the cup back down, Lan Qiren frowns at the innocuous porcelain. Xichen’s tea is steeped perfectly, at just the right temperature, with just the right tea. He is too practiced to prepare poor tea. But it hits differently from Wei Wuxian’s tea and Lan Qiren does not understand why.

Instantly, Xichen refills the cup. “I bring up Empathy for a reason.”

He pauses, waiting for Lan Qiren’s nod before continuing.

“Very few cultivators can use Empathy,” Xichen shifts his weight. Until Xichen allows his shoulders to drop ever so slightly, Lan Qiren is ashamed to realize he did not notice how tense Xichen had been. “Even those who do use Empathy do so exceedingly sparingly. Most cultivators do not wish to take on the risk of Empathy and so its study remains lacking.”

Lan Qiren nods again. It is the truth. He knows Wangji and Xichen are capable of it. But neither have needed to apply it in an uncontrolled circumstance. Likewise, Lan Qiren has only ever used it once himself, and coming out of it was such an unpleasant experience that he never wished to go through it again.

“If one is not careful, one’s mind and soul will be lost,” Lan Qiren says, clenching his fists. He has his suspicions as to where Xichen is going with this talk of Empathy and Lan Qiren does not think he will like it. “There are reasons for tradition.”

“That is true,” Xichen agrees easily, but he still continues. “But it cannot be denied that Empathy is an incredibly useful tool.”

Fixing Xichen with a pointed look, Lan Qiren quotes from the rules, “Be direct with your words.”

“The problem with Empathy faced by cultivators is not the act of performing Empathy itself. It is difficult, but no more advanced than a proficient performance of Lan Yi’s Chord Assassination Technique, or Evocation. The difficulty of Empathy is not the deterrent. Rather, the issue is the effect Empathy has on the cultivator using it. Even if their soul is not lost and the mind not driven to insanity, the process of leaving Empathy is deeply traumatic for the user. As that is the case, lessening the effects of Empathy on the practitioner will help neutralize the dangers and thereby decrease the chances of Empathy leading to bodily possession or insanity.”

Slowly taking another sip of his tea, Lan Qiren reflects on Xichen’s words. Empathy is a terrible spell, but Lan Qiren cannot deny its uses. “That is an apt observation,” he says after a long pause.

“Indeed, although I cannot take credit for that,” Xichen smiles. It is a smile that Xichen used to give Wangji as children, after Wangji mastered a particularly difficult sword progression or learned a new song on the guqin. It has been a long time since Lan Qiren has seen that smile on Xichen. “The ideas all come from Wei Wuxian.”

“What does Wei Wuxian know of Empathy?” Lan Qiren askes, genuinely curious. In his experience, and in the documented history of Empathy, only those with the strongest moral fortitude are willing to take the risk to perform Empathy.

“In a short span of time, Wei Wuxian successfully performed Empathy twice. The first was to ascertain the actions of Xue Yang against Xiao Xingchen. Courtesy of his late mother, Sect Leader Jin carries a Yunmeng Jiang clarity bell. With it, he was able to return Xiao Wei’s spirit to his body.”

“And the second?”

Xichen’s smile falters. Masking his hesitation, Xichen reaches over to refill both their cups, even though his own tea has barely been touched. Sitting patiently, Lan Qiren sees through Xichen immediately but says nothing.

“In Carp Tower’s Fragrance Hall,” Xichen says quietly, after he has set the pot back on the table, “before Xiao Wei was exposed, he used a paperman to follow Jin Guangyao in his chambers. Jin Guangyao…” Xichen’s voice drifts off.

“Jin Guangyao’s secrets have already been exposed to the world,” Lan Qiren points out gently.

Drawing his lips into a thin line, Xichen nods. Neatly smoothing miniscule folds in his sleeve, he continues. “Dage’s head was kept in that chamber,” Xichen says, avoiding Lan Qiren’s gaze. “Xiao Wei found it and, through his paperman form, performed Empathy. Xiao Wei himself was with Wangji, in Wangji’s rooms. Wangji kept Xiao Wei’s spirit tethered to the world, to his body.”

Exhaling sharply, Lan Qiren drops his hands, palms down, on the table. Xichen startles slightly at the sound but Lan Qiren pushes on, “Are you certain? To perform Empathy directly is already... but through a conduit? Could it…you are certain?”

Xichen holds up a hand, shaking his head. “Shufu,” he says, raises his head to face Lan Qiren directly. “Wangji was there. And even if Wangji were not there to confirm… I trust Xiao Wei’s intentions. I did not at the time, and that was my mistake. But I do now.”

“You are certain that Wei Wuxian was not simply grasping at straws? That he had no ulterior motives with Empathy? The things he saw... much of it must have been unsavoury.” With what he knows now of Chifeng-zun’s death, of how Jin Guangyao misused Gusu Lan techniques in order to drive Nie Mingjue to a premature qi deviation, it is not difficult for Lan Qiren to imagine just what kinds of objectionable scenes Wei Wuxian was privy to.

“Shufu,” Xichen’s frown deepens. “It is a steep risk to take when he had no way of knowing what information he would be able to ascertain. One does not simply resort to Empathy to confirm a petty scheme. You know the moral fortitude required to undertake Empathy.”

“And Wei Wuxian wants to make it easier?” Lan Qiren’s thoughts are a swimming mess of contradictory images of Wei Wuxian that he does not know what to do with.

“Not easier,” Xichen corrects, shifting his legs. “Only less dangerous.”

“And how does Wei Wuxian intend to accomplish that? By corrupting the subject with resentful energy?” Lan Qiren’s tone is nearly sarcastic. He huffs, throwing back his full cup of tea.

“Shufu,” disapproval seeps into Xichen’s voice as he moves to refill Lan Qiren’s cup. “Do not make assumptions about others.”

He has too much control over his body to roll his eyes, no matter how much Lan Qiren despairs over Xichen’s confidence in Wei Wuxian. But Xichen is correct. The rules prohibit making presumptions about others and Lan Qiren is being unfair. “Then explain, please.”

“Xiao Wei and I practice similar forms of musical cultivation,” Xichen says, taking a step back from the question of Wei Wuxian’s character. “Wangji encouraged Xiao Wei to seek me out. I believe it was out of concern for us both, but Wangji is correct. It is a matter that I am very interested in and believe would be a great boon to Gusu’s teachings.”

“A xiao is not a dizi. Wangji is a proficient musical cultivator. Can Wei Wuxian not ask his own husband?”

“Wangji primarily uses music to create bridges to the dead. I use music to affect the living. As the goal is to stabilize practitioners of Empathy, Xiao Wei’s theory is that music infused with spiritual energy can be used to ground the spirit in their body. Specifically, Xiao Wei wishes to model a new form of musical cultivation on the Yunmeng Jiang clarity bell.”

“Why the clarity bell?” Lan Qiren asks, his innate intellectual curiosity overtaking his dislike for Wei Wuxian.

“With no disrespect to Sect Leader Jin, he is still very young. His cultivation is far behind Wangji’s, yet Wangji still struggled with the grounding. My theory, in that regard, is that it is the strength of Wangji’s bond with Xiao Wei that brought him back. Certainly, there is the added difficulty of performing Empathy through a conduit. However, the difficulty of Empathy itself would have been in the hands of Xiao Wei. The problem of keeping his spirit grounded remains the same, regardless of the circumstances Empathy is performed under. In that sense, it is the spiritual power of the clarity bell that kept Xiao Wei grounded and not Sect Leader Jin’s level of cultivation.”

“The art of infusing a clarity bell is a Yunmeng Jiang secret.”

Xichen nods, peacefully sipping his tea. “Xiao Wei was raised in Yunmeng Jiang. He knows the secrets behind the clarity bells. Before his death,” Xichen continues smoothly, as if the slaughter in the Nightless City is a distant memory. In some ways it is, but it is still recent enough in Lan Qiren’s mind that he flinches.

Or rather, it is not the battle itself that is recent but the aftermath of the battle. Wangji and the discipline whip....the less time spent ruminating on it the better, yet Lan Qiren’s mind never fails to drift back to that image of Wangji kneeling silently as blood streams down his back.

“If you remember, Shufu, Jin Zixuan and the younger Madam Jin had invited Wei Wuxian to Jin Rulan’s one month celebration,” Xichen continues, never directly addressing Lan Qiren’s momentary distraction. Without prompting, he backtracks the conversation in a silent acknowledgement of private turmoils Lan Qiren has never voiced and Lan Qiren appreciates it deeply.

Nodding, Lan Qiren moves to refill Xichen’s tea in a wordless demonstration of his gratitude.

Smiling as he watches the tea stream into his cup, Xichen resumes his story while carefully dancing around the consequences of the event. “Wei Wuxian had prepared a gift for Jin Rulan. A clarity bell infused with powerful protective enchantments that Xiao Wei had handcrafted himself.”

“Where is the bell now?” Jiang Wanyin and Jin Rulan’s hatred of Wei Wuxian is widespread, even if their relationship is more complicated now. Lan Qiren does not care to insert himself in the affairs of others, but it is unlikely that the clarity bell he sees Jin Rulan wear on his waist is the same bell crafted by the same man he spent much of his life blaming for the deaths of his parents.

Tapping his fingers on his knees, Xichen says, “Destroyed by Jin Zixun.”

And Lan Qiren chooses to abruptly stop this line of questioning. There are questions that he does not need, nor want, the answers to. Instead, he turns to another, more pressing problem. “It will cause further tension with Jiang Wanyin if Wei Wuxian were allowed to move forward with this in the name of Gusu Lan,” Lan Qiren says, remembering the chaos of the last time Jiang Wanyin visited Cloud Recesses. So, no, Lan Qiren would rather avoid drawing Jiang Wanyin’s ire.

“The musical cultivation is only inspired by the effects of the clarity bell. The practical application of the process of composition is unrelated.”

“Is that not still a risk?”

“If this line of experimentation is successful, which I believe it will be, Xiao Wei will speak to Sect Leader Jiang. Rest assured, Shufu. If Jiang Wanyin chooses to storm Cloud Recesses again, it will not be over Xiao Wei’s project. Regardless of his personal feelings over the matter, Sect Leader Jiang is not a fool. He will see how we all stand to benefit from such a tool.”

“Research expends resources. You believe this is valuable research to pursue?”

Xichen closes his eyes. “There are many things Jin Guangyao did over many years that may have turned out differently if Empathy was a more widely accepted skill.”

Xichen’s bluntness shocks Lan QIren into silence.

Stewing in silence, Xichen stands, taking the empty water pot with him.

“Excuse me, Shufu,” he says as he steps behind a folding screen. “I will prepare more water.”

With the sounds of Xichen refilling the pot in the background, Lan Qiren takes this moment to stand as well, stretching out his legs. He can feel his spiritual energy thrumming through his veins as Lan Qiren steps back into the main room, observing the little changes Xichen has made since he began his seclusion.

Unsurprisingly, there have been small changes made since the last time Lan Qiren was in the Hanshi. Liebing rests on its stand, properly tuned and maintained. Shuoyue is out of sight, somewhere. Lan Qiren chooses not to ruminate on the lack of Shuoyue — he remembers the expression on Xichen’s face at the Guanyin Temple, the haunted emptiness of his eyes. Lan Qiren does not begrudge Xichen for his grief.

He gives Xichen affordances now that he never gave Wangji in the past, and that is something Lan Qiren suspects he will continue to regret for many years down the road.

Unlike the Jingshi, the Hanshi still follows Gusu Lan’s regulations on the lack of frivolous toys and trinkets. Before Wei Wuxian, the Jingshi and the Hanshi were much the same in this regard. Now, the Jingshi has a shelf dedicated to various trinkets and assorted items Wei Wuxian finds in his travels, or little things Wangji sees in shops and on official trips that remind him of Wei Wuxian.

The shelf is nearly out of space, boasting some items like a book of pressed flowers, a stack of all the letters Wei Wuxian and Wangji sent each in the year that they were apart, loose sketches of Wangji that are presumably painted by Wei Wuxian all bound together with a red ribbon, and lumpy pottery. These are the items that Lan Qiren understands. But, the shelf proudly displays even more things that Lan Qiren does not understand like pinecones, a handful of dried grass neatly bound with a thin cord, assorted pebbles that appear to come from different riverbeds, and little radish sculptures carved from wood.

There was a time when the Jingshi was just as decluttered as the Hanshi is now, but the Jingshi has been this way ever since Wei Wuxian returned. Wangji is unbothered, even welcomes the mess, and Lan Qiren will not say anything against it, not when he knows how much joy these little things bring to his nephew. It is obvious, when Wangji gazes over at the shelf of mismatched items and smiles that soft smile that Lan Qiren only ever sees directed at Wei Wuxian.

Browsing Xichen’s plain walls and shelves loaded with practical items, it reminds Lan Qiren of his own home. It is comforting, knowing that there exists a place where Wei Wuxian can go and not leave his marks behind. Especially a place where Wei Wuxian seems to be quite often, spending a fair amount of time inviting himself into Xichen’s space.

Until, as Lan Qiren looks further, he realizes that Wei Wuxian has left his mark.

It is not obvious, but Lan Qiren does find evidence of Wei Wuxian’s presence in the Hanshi resting on Xichen’s desk. Right before his eyes, in the middle of the room, half tucked inside a scroll, is a sheet of paper.

Knowing that it cannot belong to Xichen, who has always copied important phrases from scrolls by hand, it is not difficult to recognize the single sheet of paper as Wei Wuxian’s handiwork.

In brisk steps, Lan Qiren crosses the short distance between him and Xichen’s desk, ignoring how his footsteps loudly thump against the wooden floorboard in his haste.

“What is this?” Lan Qiren demands, unrolling the scroll as Xichen’s head peeks out from behind the wall separating the two rooms.

Seeing this sheet of paper only confirms for Lan Qiren what he already knew: that, like Wangji, Xichen has been protecting Wei Wuxian. Unlike with Wangji, Lan Qiren does not understand why Xichen is so invested nor how long it has been going on.

It is so deeply infuriating, how Wei Wuxian enters others’ lives so easily yet has no awareness of just how deeply he affects those around him.

“I have prepared more tea,” Xichen says, ignoring the question. Instead, he calmly seats himself at the table again as if Lan Qiren is not about to be driven insane by the saturation of Wei Wuxian’s presence everywhere.

So Lan Qiren brings the scroll, with the incriminating sheet of paper, to the table where Xichen has already poured them both freshly steeped tea.

“What is this, Xichen?” he asks harshly, holding up Wei Wuxian’s notes. The writing is a trainwreck, as if Wei Wuxian could not be bothered to pick up the brush between strokes. Lan Qiren furrows his brow — Wei Wuxian is perfectly capable of proper calligraphy. He has read enough of Wei Wuxian’s essays from his time as a student to know that Wei Wuxian has excellent calligraphy that can rival any member of the gentry. “Is this the development of some new crooked script for demonic cultivators?”

But Xichen blows lightly on his tea, nonplussed by the illegible script in Lan Qiren’s hand.

“Shufu need not worry,” Xichen says with a humoured lilt to his voice, “Xiao Wei simply gets very absorbed in his thoughts when he is working. His writing is only to be as fast as possible. His ideas will be transcribed later, once there is something more cohesive.”

Spluttering, Lan Qiren throws his near scalding tea down his throat.

(Lan Qiren doesn’t know what is worse: that the tea burned his tongue, or that Xichen’s tea is still not as good as Wei Wuxian’s tea.)

“If it is any reassurance, Xiao Wei is making good progress on stabilizing Empathy. His intentions are genuine.”

“Why do you protect him?” Lan Qiren says, brushing aside Xichen’s empty platitudes. Because the issue is not only that Xichen defends Wei Wuxian so rigorously, it is that Lan Qiren does not understand why. “What do you know about Wei Wuxian that makes his actions forgivable?”

But Xichen only shakes his head. “It is not my secret to tell.”

“Do not form a clique and exclude others,” Lan Qiren says, pushing for more. Could it be that Wei Wuxian corrupted both his nephews?

“Shufu,” Xichen says seriously, facing Lan Qiren directly. His hands, both resting on the table, are clenched into fists. “Wei Wuxian has had others spread his secrets without his consent in the past. I was never intended to know and it is an unfortunate coincidence that I found out.”

“What kind of secret does Wei Wuxian guard so closely when it has the ability to convince even the most moral cultivators of his apparent righteousness? Righteousness that, might I add, is inherently antithetical to the nature of demonic cultivation.”

“Shufu!” It is not a shout. Xichen does not shout. But, Xichen is evidently agitated, as evidenced by his tightly clenched fists, his pressed lips, and the ever-deepening furrow in his brow. “Shufu,” he says again, slightly more restrained, “you speak based on the assumption that Xiao Wei chose his path of cultivation for personal gain.”

“Is that not what he did? You cannot deny his arrogance in his studies, nor can you deny his boastful nature when speaking to others. One cannot deny that Wei Wuxian’s arrogance led to many unnecessary and unwise provocations. It is natural that such arrogance would lead to crooked methods.”

In a low voice, Xichen says slowly, clearly enunciating every last word, “It can not be denied that Xiao Wei has made many immoral choices. However, Shufu, you are assuming that Wei Wuxian had a choice behind each of his actions.”

“And why wouldn’t he have a choice?” Lan Qiren says, feeling his heartbeat slowly picking up speed in his chest. “So long as a cultivator has their golden core, there is always a choice.”

When Xichen says nothing, Lan Qiren rises to his feet. “Lan Xichen! Do not be of two minds. What are you not telling me about Wei Wuxian?”

For a long moment, neither of them speak. Lan Qiren is breathing heavily, waiting for Xichen to answer.

Seconds pass slowly, like observing the sap on a tree, as Xichen lowers his head and avoids his uncle’s gaze.

Finally, Xichen looks up. Shaking his head, he does not answer the question.

“It is best if we end this discussion here. As our forefathers have taught us, do not argue with your family, for it does not matter who wins,” Xichen says as he shakes his head, raising his eyes to meet Lan Qiren’s. “Wei Wuxian’s secrets are an inconsequential personal matter and they are not mine to share. Please do not ask me to break his faith.”

Sitting back down, almost ashamed of his outburst, Lan Qiren nods. “Very well. I will drop the matter out of respect for you.”

Salvaging what remains of their afternoon, Xichen shares his personal project on expanding the Songs of Clarity to better target nightmares.

It is not a surprise to Lan Qiren that Xichen has nightmares. Not after the events of the Guanyin Temple, after Jin Guangyao’s betrayal, or seeing the desecrated corpse of Nie Mingjue. Although Xichen never mentions that the Songs of Clarity are for him, nor does he directly admit to having nightmares, Lan Qiren knows how to read between the lines.

How unfortunate, Lan Qiren thinks, that Lan Xichen has only himself to rely on.

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren does not disturb Lan Xichen’s seclusion again.

Over the next few months, Wei Wuxian continues to make himself scarce and Lan Qiren continues to tell himself that everything is fine, even though interaction with Wei Wuxian is still banned and Wangji is still quietly furious.

Despite that, Cloud Recesses continues its day-to-day operations, just as they always have.

Until Lan Qiren stumbles upon Wei Wuxian in the library pavilion and suddenly he is floored.

It is not the mere act of Wei Wuxian in the library that is so shocking. From Lan Qiren’s past observations of Wei Wuxian as a guest disciple, and from what Wangji and Xichen have said about Wei Wuxian both now and in the past, Wei Wuxian has a voracious appetite for knowledge when it so suits him.

What is shocking is how unobtrusive Wei Wuxian’s presence is. Tucked in the far corner, secluded from most wandering eyes, Wei Wuxian’s shoulders are hunched over a scroll. To the side, his hand is moving rapidly across the page, furiously making notes.

What is especially jarring is how Wei Wuxian effortlessly melds into the space, how his very presence has been toned down.

Where it not for his dark robes and the blood red ribbon in his hair, Lan Qiren might have gone about his way, browsing the library, thinking the figure studying in the corner was just another Gusu cultivator.

Against his better judgement, Lan Qiren allows his curiosity to guide him towards the corner.

Hearing footsteps approaching him, Wei Wuxian looks up, lips curved upwards in a surprised smile. “Lan—” Wei Wuxian cuts himself off, his smile fading as he registers who it is that has approached him. “Lan-lao xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian lowers his head in respectful deference. “You’re not Lan Zhan.”

Standing over Wei Wuxian’s seated figure, Lan Qiren harrumphs, “Wangji has duties beyond waiting on you hand and foot.”

Smiling a bright smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, Wei Wuxian sets his brush down and asks, “Does Lan-lao xiansheng need me for anything?”

Instead of answering, Lan Qiren finds himself distracted by Wei Wuxian’s scrawled notes. Gesturing at the open scroll, Lan Qiren asks, “What are you plotting?”

Glancing down at where the scroll is unravelled to a section on tracking spells, Lan Qiren leans in to take a closer look.

Tapping his fingers against the desk, Wei Wuxian laughs humourlessly, unsuccessfully trying to lighten the mood. “It’s just a thing I’m working on.”

“Demonic cultivation is banned in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren says, although technically it isn’t. Leaving the righteous path is forbidden, as are the many actions associated with taking the heretical path, but practicing demonic cultivation in and of itself is not forbidden because it has always been assumed to be a given.

Based on the look Wei Wuxian is giving him, he also knows that it isn’t technically a rule. But he says nothing. Instead, Wei Wuxian begins to roll up the scroll.

Holding up a hand, Lan Qiren stops him. “What are you doing?”

“Going to read some scrolls where no one will interact with me,” Wei Wuxian says, frustration seeping into his voice. It is the first indication that Wei Wuxian is displeased with the rules.

“Why are you reading up on tracking spells?” Lan Qiren narrows his eyes, forcing Wei Wuxian to release the scroll with the sheer force of his gaze.

Sighing, Wei Wuxian’s already poor posture collapses. His posture is truly abysmal but Lan Qiren holds his tongue, deciding that hearing what Wei Wuxian is plotting is more important than telling Wei Wuxian off for his inability to sit respectably.

“Back before everything happened,” Wei Wuxian doesn’t meet Lan Qiren’s gaze as he picks his brush back up. “Well.” He stops abruptly, releasing a humourless chuckle, before continuing. “To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of my first life. I have been cursed with a bad memory. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Wei Wuxian.” Lan Qiren warns, seeing through Wei Wuxian’s delaying tactics.

“So demanding,” Wei Wuxian huffs, childishly puffing out his cheeks. Raising his head to face Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian says, “I was thinking about Qiongqi Path.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, waiting for Lan Qiren to snap at him. When the expected outburst does not come, he continues. “Jin Zixun was only there because he thought I cast the hundred holes curse on him.”

It takes Lan Qiren a moment to remember who Jin Zixun is — the arrogant Jin cousin who died shortly after the Nightless City from an unknown and sudden illness.

“Jin Guangyao could only frame me because there is no mechanism to effectively trace the curse. Jin Zixun was never going to listen to anything I said, so it didn’t matter whether or not he could prove I cast the curse — as long as I was dead.”

As Wei Wuxian speaks, Lan Qiren remembers Xichen’s recounting of the events from Carp Tower. Of the panic when Jin Zixuan was late, of the whispers when Wei Wuxian did not arrive, of Wangji’s impatiently concerned pacing, and then the collective eruption of fury when Jin Zixuan’s corpse was brought back.

“So,” Wei Wuxian continues, “I was thinking about ways to trace curses. Tracing spells don’t work on the hundred holes curse because they can only trace what leaves a trail. It is fine for curses rooted in spiritual or resentful energy, but the hundred holes curse works from the absence of energy.”

“Only low-level cultivators are susceptible to the hundred holes curse,” Lan Qiren nods in agreement.

Wei Wuxian nods and begins to twirl the brush in his hand. The bristles are still dark with ink and Lan Qiren internally winces, thinking of the mess if Wei Wuxian dropped the brush.

“You can’t trace energy that isn’t there. But,” Wei Wuxian twirls the brush the same way he twirls Chenqing when he is thinking, “tracking spells are for hunting, not night hunting. Tracking spells don’t rely on energy. When average people buy tracking talismans for pheasant hunting, there is no energy to be traced.”

“So you wish to repurpose mundane tracking talismans to track a high-level spiritual curse.”

Wei Wuxian meets Lan Qiren’s gaze. “A lot of things would be different if Jin Zixuan had lived.”

And that is the truth, Lan Qiren silently agrees, thinking about how much Wei Wuxian has changed from being the young upstart who was very vocal about his dislike for Jin Zixuan to the almost thoughtful young man sitting before him.

“It is not easy to invent new spells,” Lan Qiren says, eyebrow twitching as he watches a drop of ink run from the bristles. The ink slides down the shaft of the brush, staining Wei Wuxian’s fingers.

“I’ve done it before,” Wei Wuxian says casually. It is different from his boastfulness in his youth, when he would have preened over his achievements unendingly. This Wei Wuxian simply states it as a fact, that he has invented talismans before, and Lan Qiren finds it surprisingly easy to accept his tone when Lan Qiren knows this is true.

His favourite tea heating talisman is proof of Wei Wuxian’s grasp over talismanic theory.

And Lan Qiren remembers a butterfly talisman Wangji once used to entertain a younger Jingyi, a bonding talisman that connected Wangji to Lan Yuan in crowded markets, a little paper turtle infused with spiritual cognition that could stick to any surface, and he connects the dots.

“A lot of petty arguments could be solved with a talisman that can track curses back to the caster,” Wei Wuxian adds.

Impressed, Lan Qiren slowly nods his assent as his mind churns with contradictory knowledge. You don’t know him, Xichen’s voice rings in his mind. Wei Ying is good, Wangji’s voice chimes in. And with everything he just heard, Lan Qiren wonders if he has misjudged Wei Wuxian’s heart.

From the start, he has seen Wei Wuxian as a trouble making, immoral cultivator unable to see past his own arrogance. For so long he has blamed Wei Wuxian for his demonic cultivation and for ruining Wangji that he had forgotten that Wei Wuxian is also a scholar and a very capable human being — when he wants to be.

These days, Lan Qiren does not often leave Cloud Recesses, and certainly not for low stakes events such as weddings.

But this time, Xichen had suggested that Lan Qiren join the Gusu Lan retinue with Wangji because, “Shufu, the Changyang Tang Sect has always been a steadfast ally of Gusu Lan from the founding of their sect. It will be good to remind Sect Leader Tang that despite recent events, Gusu Lan will remain their ally and honour them with our presence.”

And Xichen, to whom Lan Qiren taught everything he knows about diplomacy and inter-sect politics, is correct which unfortunately leaves Lan Qiren with no choice but to agree that it is a good point.

Even as he packed his bags, Lan Qiren had been dreading the trip. Despite the fact that Wei Wuxian had found new ways to entertain himself and had won over Xichen, Wangji was still angry with Lan Qiren over the new rule.

Wangji was still seeking advice from other sect elders and from Wei Wuxian, stubbornly continuing to give Lan Qiren the cold shoulder.

With the current state of his relationship with Wangji in shambles, Lan Qiren was not looking forward to taking a week-long trip with Wangji. He dreaded it even more when, annoyingly, Wei Wuxian had decided on tagging along.

At the time, Lan Qiren had been ready to lash out. Surely, bringing Wei Wuxian was simply a diplomatic incident waiting to happen?

But Lan Qiren had held his tongue then, knowing that his advice was unwanted.

And now, watching Wei Wuxian cheerfully flounce around the banquet hall with Wangji on his arm, Lan Qiren is glad he held his tongue. Be careful with your words indeed, Lan Qiren thinks, allowing himself to sink back into the comfort of knowing the rules are behind him. It is only mildly infuriating that it is to the benefit of Wei Wuxian.

Wangji has never been social. Lan Qiren remembers Wangji’s reluctance before every cultivation conference in his youth. He still remembers the lengths Xichen would have to go in order to placate Wangji after another cultivator inevitably offended Wangji. He remembers how after Wei Wuxian’s death, Wangji made himself as scarce as possible during inter-sect events.

Watching Wangji try to be social now is even more painful than it was before. The difference is that now, Wangji no longer has the excuse of being a shy youth.

Now, Wangji is the Chief Cultivator. He is supposed to be the top negotiator in the cultivation world.

Lan Qiren wants to beat himself with a stick, if only so he does not have to watch Wangji’s enthusiasm for coldly staring at every cultivator who so much as glances in his general direction until they turn away, ashamed.

Wangji is a nightmare.

On the other hand, shattering all of Lan Qiren’s expectations, Wei Wuxian is the diplomat Lan Qiren wishes Wangji could be.

Wei Wuxian is warm and approachable, smiling easily at everyone who greets them. Although Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have a tendency to command any room they are both in, Wei Wuxian is careful to ensure they do not overshadow the bride and groom.

A young child who wanders away from his nursemaid finds his way into the banquet hall, wailing loudly for his mother. To everyone’s surprise, Wei Wuxian does not hesitate to detach himself from Wangji. Bending down before the child, Wei Wuxian patiently asks the child for his name. Within seconds, the child is smiling and gurgling happily and Wei Wuxian returns to Wangji’s side with the boy in his arms.

Most importantly: with Wei Wuxian on Wangji’s arm, everyone is distracted from Wangji’s rudeness by Wei Wuxian’s endless energy.

And Lan Qiren is yet again horrified by the realization that he may have misjudged Wei Wuxian.

Certainly Wei Wuxian, in his first life, could not have been capable of this type of easy communication. Lan Qiren remembers a high-strung Wei Wuxian who was happier to resolve conflicts with his fists than with his words, a youth who was happier to provoke further conflict than he was to find resolutions.

But now, as he watches Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji glide around the room, looking for the lost child’s nursemaid, Lan Qiren faces the realization that Wangji may be correct: he does not know Wei Wuxian.

Unamused, Lan Qiren sips his tea, only to be disappointed by the over-steeped tea that is several degrees too cool. The heating talisman was applied too late or was badly made. It is incomparable to the pots of tea brewed by Wei Wuxian.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” a voice comes from Lan Qiren’s side. It is the bride’s father, the Sect Leader of Laoshan Gong. “I must apologize for not congratulating Gusu Lan.”

“What for? It is Gusu Lan who should be congratulating you on an excellent marriage. I have faith your daughter will be very happy in Changyang.“ Setting down his terrible tea, Lan Qiren rises so he can properly exchange bows with Sect Leader Gong.

Sect Leader Gong bows deeper than is necessary. “My daughter does not say much, but I dare hope that it is a love match for them. Sect Leader Yang's son has gone beyond what would be expected for a sect heir, courting the second youngest daughter of a sect as small as mine,” Sect Leader Gong smiles.

“That would be must fortunate, indeed,” Lan Qiren says, slipping easily back into the polite sect leader role he had carried for so long. Officially, he had never been Gusu Lan’s sect leader. Not with his brother still alive or Xichen old enough to pick up the mantle when Qingheng-jun died. But for much of his brother’s tenure, and for several years throughout Xichen’s tenure, Lan Qiren had functionally been the sect leader. “If you would allow me to be so bold, I dare say that I have not seen a couple as well suited to each other as your daughter and Sect Leader Tang’s son since the union of Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli.”

“Ah, but you are forgetting the most loving union of them all!” Sect Leader Gong laughs jovially. Although Lan Qiren suspects that he is being laughed at, Sect Leader Gong’s laughter does not cause him unease in the way Sect Leader Yao or Sect Leader Ouyang’s laughter does.

“Am I?” Lan Qiren questions, hoping that Sect Leader Gong is not referring to who Lan Qiren thinks he is.

His hopes are dashed when Sect Leader Gong responds, “The union between the esteemed Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian, of course!”

“Wangji is fortunate to have a spouse who makes such excellent tea,” Lan Qiren says. It is the thinnest of praises, but it is at least honest. Lan Qiren has never been so thankful for his own reputation as one who is sparse with praise.

“Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian are very fortunate,” Sect Leader Gong continues, unaware of how Lan Qiren’s expression grows strained. Lowering his voice, Sect Leader Gong continues, “I must admit I had my reservations at first when I heard that Gusu Lan was going to take in the Yiling Patriarch. No one could have imagined that Hanguang-jun himself could devote himself so fully to a demonic cultivator!”

When Sect Leader Gong raises his arms, prepared to bow, Lan Qiren quickly stops him. “Please, please. There are no apologies necessary. No one could have expected Wei Wuxian to find his place in Cloud Recesses, in Gusu Lan, so well.”

And it is the truth, even if Lan Qiren sometimes still wishes it were not the case. Wei Wuxian had been settling in before the new rule was implemented, and Wei Wuxian has now carved himself a new space in Cloud Recesses around the rule. It would be easier if Wei Wuxian still detested Cloud Recesses the way he had as a guest disciple, but then Wangji would leave too. Despite their endlessly rocky relationship, Lan Qiren still wants Wangji to remain nearby.

“It is reassuring to hear that even the esteemed master himself had misjudged Wei Wuxian,” Sect Leader Gong admits to Lan Qiren’s discomfort. “But it is only evidence that Hanguang-jun is truly above us average cultivators. I do hope Gusu Lan accepts my sincerest apologies for not sending my congratulations earlier. I allowed my own reservations regarding Wei Wuxian’s temperament to cloud my better judgement.”

“Sect Leader Gong should not blame himself,” Lan Qiren says carefully. Sect Leader Gong’s words echo in his mind, the idea that he had misjudged Wei Wuxian is an unwanted reminder of Lan Qiren’s own inner turmoils. But, Lan Qiren forces himself to not ruminate on them. “Wei Wuxian has many layers.” He cannot lie, but he cannot deride a member of Gusu Lan — especially not his own nephew’s cultivation partner — to another sect leader.

“That is most certainly the truth. Wei Wuxian is a very complicated man,” Sect Leader Gong says thoughtfully. “But his heart is genuine. His intentions are clear and moral.”

Swallowing, Lan Qiren’s eyes briefly widen in shock before he tucks his surprise behind a meticulous neutral expression. “I am glad Sect Leader Gong believes so,” Lan Qiren says passively.

“I know so,” Sect Leader Gong says with such conviction that Lan Qiren’s carefully crafted mask of neutrality slips momentarily. Lowering his voice, Sect Leader Gong leans in and says, “Wei Wuxian asked me not to share this story but you are family, so I am sure he will not mind.”

For the third time, Sect Leader Gong inadvertently surprises Lan Qiren because Wei Wuxian is his family. It is a fact that Lan Qiren has chosen to cope with by simply never thinking about how Wei Wuxian, Cangse Sanren’s son, is now technically his nephew. His nephew, and a permanent member of Gusu Lan.

“Are you keeping secrets for Wei Wuxian?”

“Only by Wei-xiansheng’s request,” Sect Leader Gong explains. “You see, he had been passing by Laoshan when our lake was inhabited by a water ghoul. Laoshan is small and relies on just one lake for our water and our lake is nothing like Yunmeng’s waterways. It does what we need it to do, but we have few options when our water is contaminated. Most fortunately, Wei-xiansheng had been on his way through Laoshan on a rather onerous donkey when he heard word of the water ghoul. We in Laoshan are deep enough in the mountains that we have little experience with water spirits. It is most fortunate that Wei-xiansheng had arrived when he did.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lan Qiren questions, “The first time?” He does not remember a request that would have taken Wei Wuxian into Laoshan Gong’s territory.

“Yes, that had been before his union with Hanguang-jun. Regrettably, Laoshan Gong had not been the most respectful of Wei Wuxian at the time. Despite the great favour he had done for us all, and for no payment, we did not allow him a night of rest in our territory before sending him on his way.”

Sect Leader Gong avoids Lan Qiren’s gaze, looking genuinely distraught at his actions in the past. Lan Qiren thinks his distress is unnecessary. His choices were rather justified at the time — no sect leader is under the obligation to be polite to a heretical cultivator.

“You met Wei Wuxian again?” Lan Qiren prompts Sect Leader Gong to continue his stories of Wei Wuxian so Lan Qiren will not have to wring his brain for sweet, neutral words to defend Wei Wuxian with.

“A few months ago Wei-gongzi returned to Laoshan again. He was with a pair of young Gusu Lan disciples. I must confess, this was the most ashamed I have ever been — Wei Wuxian returned all the way to Laoshan to check on the status of our lake! He even brought the Lan disciples in case we would not accept him into our homes a second time. It was downright shameful! Wei Wuxian and the two disciples travelled all this way just to inspect our lake and to teach us how to check for signs of waterborne infestations!”

Masking his disbelief, Lan Qiren repeated, “Waterborne infestations?”

Sect Leader Gong nodded. “Yes, Lan-lao xiansheng knows that Laoshan Gong is a young sect and we are still developing our own forms of cultivation. Thanks to Wei-gongzi, he has taught us how to vanquish water spirits early on, before they develop into more dangerous ghouls. His teachings will surely become a foundational part of Laoshan Gong’s cultivation practices! Of course, we welcomed him warmly. I spoke to Wei-gongzi separately as I did not wish for him to believe our change in attitude was solely due to his new union with Hanguang-jun. Wei-gongzi was more understanding than I could have ever hoped. He said it was all in the past and to send for him if we ever found ourselves with a water spirit we could not deal with. I offered to share his good deed amongst my connections, limited as they are, but Wei-gongzi requested I keep the story of his aid within my Sect. Truly, Wei-gongzi has a good, moral core. He is a partner befitting Hanguang-jun. And they honour my daughter’s wedding with their presence!”

Although he knew nothing about this little excursion, it was easy for Lan Qiren to come to the conclusion that the Gusu Lan disciples Wei Wuxian had taken with him were Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi. “So you are keeping secrets for Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said, matter-of-factly.

“I am not the only sect leader holding secrets,” Sect Leader Gong is quick to add. “I hope Lan-xiansheng will not misunderstand my keeping Wei Wuxian’s secret as an attempt to undermine Gusu Lan or to contribute to the denigration of Wei Wuxian’s name.” This time, Sect Leader Gong moves fast enough that Lan Qiren is unable to intercept his bow.

“Please rise, there is no need. Gusu Lan does not take offense to your silence,” Lan Qiren says quickly, his mind swarming with this new information. The Wei Wuxian described by Sect Leader Gong was a thoughtful cultivator using his talents to help those in need for nothing in return, neither monetary compensation nor a good word. It is an image of Wei Wuxian that clashes with Lan Qiren’s image of Wei Wuxian as the amoral heretical cultivator who loudly boasts of the smallest achievements.

“I thank Lan-lao xiansheng for his understanding and benevolence,” Sect Leader Gong lowers his head in deference. “Truly, Hanguang-jun and Wei-gongzi are such a handsome pair. The cultivation world can learn much from their devotion to each other, and to those in need.”

“I thank Sect Leader Gong for his kind and generous words,” Lan Qiren says, mind still wrapping around the secrets Wei Wuxian had requested Sect Leader Gong to keep. Thinking back further, Lan Qiren remembers the secret that Xichen is keeping for Wei Wuxian and it is still dawning on him just how little he knows about Wei Wuxian.

Gesturing towards the centre of the banquet hall, Sect Leader Gong grins. “Their devotion to one another is legendary. There is no doubt that their love will become a legend as celebrated as Chang-e and Houyi!”

Following Sect Leader Gong’s hands, Lan Qiren’s eyes land on Wei Wuxian and Wangji. It takes a moment for him to register the pair as both their backs are facing Lan Qiren and Wei Wuxian has pulled out his finest white, Gusu Lan-issued robes for the occasion. It is the finery suitable for a sect heir’s spouse and while Lan Qiren knows Wei Wuxian owns such robes and that he does wear the robes for important events, Lan Qiren has never seen Wei Wuxian in these robes that clearly mark him as a member of Gusu Lan.

It is the jade hairpin in Wei Wuxian’s topknot that identifies the couple to Lan Qiren. The hairpin is one that belonged to his sister-in-law, Wangji and Xichen’s mother, and it is the first time Lan Qiren has seen it used.

It is jarring.

Even more jarring is how surprisingly well-behaved Wei Wuxian continues to be.

With the lost child returned to his nursemaid, they are talking to another sect leader now. It is a sect leader whose colours Lan Qiren is unacquainted with and he cannot make out his facial features from this distance. Wei Wuxian is standing perfectly, back straight and movements measured. Unlike his behaviour in Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian’s actions are deliberate and restrained, proving that he is perfectly capable of acting respectably.

On the other hand...seeing Wangji, Lan Qiren wishes they were in the privacy of Cloud Recesses and he could throw a book at Wangji for his brazen behaviour. Like his husband, Wangji’s posture is perfect.

Unlike his husband, Wangji’s hand is boldly resting on Wei Wuxian’s waist. His hand rests on the curve of Wei Wuxian’s hip, low enough to be severely pushing the boundaries of propriety and Lan Qiren wants nothing more than to bury his face in his hands and weep.

In what world is Wei Wuxian better behaved than Wangji!?

Objectively, Lan Qiren can appreciate how good Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji look together. Together, they effortlessly project an image of a powerful, united sect. Their power radiates throughout the hall, yet it is not overwhelming nor threatening.

Privately, Lan Qiren wishes Sect Leader Gong were not here so he could slip away to his rooms and wallow in his despair.

Must you act this way, Wangji? In public, no less?

Yet Wei Wuxian more than makes up for all of Wangji’s shortcomings as he smiles at everyone, engages cultivator after cultivator in polite conversation, and shares little tidbits of mundane fishing advice with stray children.

Wei Wuxian covers for Wangji’s failings perfectly and as he watches the pair charm everyone they come across, it is hard for Lan Qiren to resent someone who understands his nephew so completely, who complements Wangji so perfectly.

As the celebration dies down, they return to Gusu and Lan Qiren does his utmost best to ignore Sect Leader Gong’s words. Yet, the more he tries to forget, the more Sect Leader Gong’s words remain at the forefront of his mind.

A good, moral core, Sect Leader Gong had said. A partner befitting Hanguang-jun.

Sect Leader Gong is only the leader of a minor sect, fairly recently established, but Wei Wuxian has brought Gusu Lan an ally. A very important ally, as Laoshan is located at the junction between Baling Ouyang and Pingyang Yao and now neither Sect Leader can advance in their power grabs towards Laoshan with the fear of retaliation from Gusu Lan.

Because Wei Wuxian, someone who became so twisted in his own arrogance so as to exploit the spirits of the dead, has also become Gusu’s primary diplomat.

Yet Lan Qiren really does not understand how Sect Leader Gong, how anyone, can forget what Wei Wuxian is so easily.

One does not simply return from being a demonic cultivator. Rebirth does not cleanse one’s hands of deeds from a past life. And Wei Wuxian certainly does not deserve this rebirth when the spirits he murdered have lost their chance to reincarnation.

Resentful energy is harvested from human souls. Wei Wuxian’s hands are drenched in the blood of the living and his soul is darkened from the resentment of the deceased.

Moral?

Lan Qiren does not understand.

As the weeks pass, Lan Qiren sees neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji, even though he knows both remain in Cloud Recesses. He sees it in how the spice bags, now promoted to spice jars, navigate the kitchens and in how Sizhui and Jingyi routinely bring fresh fruits to the Jingshi.

Lan Qiren spends this time ruminating over his thoughts, trying to understand how Wei Wuxian can be moral. How a demonic cultivator, robbing countless suffering spirits of their chance to be reborn into a kinder world, can be moral. The concept of morality and demonic cultivation is inherently at odds. So just as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are avoiding Lan Qiren, so too does Lan Qiren avoid the pair.

Until, in some ridiculous turn of fate, Lan Qiren finds himself in need of Wei Wuxian’s services.

“I have a request,” he says bluntly as he approaches Wei Wuxian outside the Jingshi.

“Lan-xiansheng?” In his arms, Wei Wuxian balances a sizable stack of books.

It is a week after the last discussion conference and Lan Qiren realizes that Gusu Lan’s healing texts are sorely in need of revisions. In particular, their texts on anaesthetics would be greatly improved with the knowledge shared by other healers at the discussion conference.

Knowledge that Lan Qiren did not have the forethought to copy down.

Xichen is still in partial seclusion, even as he and Wangji make plans for him to slowly return to his sect leader duties. But progress does not happen overnight, and Xichen had been absent from the last conference.

On the other hand, Wangji had attended the conference. But, with the rules still banning interaction with Wei Wuxian, Wangji is still not on speaking terms with Lan Qiren.

Which left only one other person.

“Lan-lao xiansheng?” Wei Wuxian repeats when Lan Qiren does not make a move. “Your request?”

Wei Wuxian’s arms are shaking, as if his arms are struggling under the weight of the books, but it is a ridiculous notion. A cultivator as strong as Wei Wuxian, with a golden core as strong as his, could not possibly struggle to carry a few measly books.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren nods, shoving thoughts of Wei Wuxian’s arms from his mind. “Do you recall the knowledge Lanling’s healer graciously imparted at the last conference?”

“Lan-xiansheng, you know my memory is bad,” Wei Wuxian says offhandedly. His tone is casual, yet his clenched jaw gives away his discomfort. “Let me check my notes.”

As Lan Qiren follows Wei Wuxian inside the Jingshi, his eyes drift towards the shelf of ridiculous little trinkets that serve no particular use, yet its contents multiply to no end. Since the last time he was in the Jingshi, several months earlier, the little collection has expanded.

“It is important to pace oneself,” Lan Qiren says cryptically, wincing as Wei Wuxian sets the stacks of books down harder than necessary.

Wei Wuxian makes a confused sound, tilting his head in confusion as he brushes off his arms.

“The shelf,” Lan Qiren says, tilting his head towards the shelf in question. “Do not be wasteful. Unnecessary purchases are often an unnecessary display of wealth.”

Wei Wuxian bristles, eyes darkening momentarily. “Forgive this one’s impudence,” he says, loudly plopping himself on the ground. Gesturing at the shelf, Wei Wuxian says in a bored tone, “I was not aware river pebbles were of such value.”

The pebbles in question sit there innocently, resting on a loosely bound stack of paper.

Lan Qiren coughs. He chooses not to address Wei Wuxian’s comments as he seats himself at the table.

“Organize work properly,” Lan Qiren continues to recite from the rules as he looks down at Wei Wuxian’s messy workstation. Unlike Wangji’s office, where the papers are immaculate and everything is lined up in an orderly fashion, Wei Wuxian’s desk looks as though a demonic cultivator had gone on a rampage through the Jingshi. (Which, Lan Qiren chuckles to himself, is exactly what happened.) Books are scattered everywhere, piled both on and around the space where Wei Wuxian has thrown himself on the ground. On the desk, books are open and stacked on top of one another, other books used to mark pages rather than a bookmark. There are at least three splotches of ink where Wei Wuxian’s carelessness has stained the wood and his brush is lying on a sheet of paper, marring the page, rather than resting properly on the brush rest.

Like Wei Wuxian himself, his workstation is a whirlwind of unorganized ideas carelessly thrown around into the nearest convenient space.

Lan Qiren has never felt so out of place in Cloud Recesses before.

To Lan Qiren’s surprise, Wei Wuxian cites another rule back at him. “Learning comes first,” Wei Wuxian says with a wry smile, hands flipping through pages upon pages of notes.

“With an organized workplace, the less time spent searching for one’s work results in more time to learn.” Lan Qiren carefully tucks his sleeve away from the table, worried that he will inadvertently find another puddle of forgotten ink.

“With an organized workplace,” Wei Wuxian interrupts himself by accidentally jabbing his elbow into a stack of books. He instantly discards his papers so that he can steady the books before they topple over. “With an organized workplace, everything I need will be too far away. I’ll forget my ideas by the time I find the right place to put it.”

With less ideas, you would not be a demonic cultivator, Lan Qiren thinks.

Glancing over at the pages Wei Wuxian brushed aside in his search, Lan Qiren feels an unexpected sense of nostalgia as he observes page after page of neat, orderly characters, the strokes painted with the same wide curves as they had been twenty years earlier. What he sees in those notes is disorderly: there are comments on good food in Caiyi, half-formed theories on advancing the spirit lure flags, lines of poetry, and even doodles of Wangji and rabbits in the margins of some pages. But the characters themselves betray nothing of the chaotic ideas they convey.

Careless yet poised, Jiang Fengmian had once described Wei Wuxian’s writing.

“Aha!” Wei Wuxian suddenly yells, far too loud for Cloud Recesses. He ignores Lan Qiren’s glare. Shoving a fistful of crumpled papers towards Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian grins. “I found them!”

Holding his sleeve above the table, Lan Qiren crinkles his nose as he reaches over to take the papers. It only takes a brief glance over the top page for Lan Qiren’s brow to furrow deeply.

“What is this writing?” Lan Qiren snaps his head up, who looks smug enough. “I asked for notes on plant-based healing techniques. Not,” the pages crinkle as he shakes them, “this garbage.”

The notes Wei Wuxian has passed him are not in neat columns, like the poetry Lan Qiren saw him discard earlier. Nor are the notes written in clear, precise strokes like the ideas Lan Qiren also saw.

These pages are covered in scrawled black ink, as if Wei Wuxian had given his brush to a fierce corpse and funnelled resentful energy into the corpse to write these pages for him. The strokes blend into one another, as if Wei Wuxian could not be bothered to lift his brush and the writing is everywhere, crammed into wherever space could be found. It is just like the writing Wei Wuxian had left behind in the Hanshi, if not worse.

Looking a little too smug for this to be an accident, Wei Wuxian says, “Lan-lao xiansheng requested I share my notes from the discussion conference. These are my notes.” His lips are not curled into a smirk, but his eyes are amused enough to set Lan Qiren off.

“Is everything a joke to you?” Lan Qiren scoffs, throwing the pages onto the table, no longer concerned about surprise ink splotches.

To Lan Qiren’s surprise, Wei Wuxian’s relaxed posture and gleeful expression sobers quickly upon seeing his pages brutally thrown down.

“Lan-lao xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, a slight quiver to his voice. “Not everyone speaks like Lan Zhan, slowly and efficiently. Lan Zhan is a scribe’s dream, but many people say many things very quickly during these conferences. There is never enough time to sort out everyone’s grievances during these things, you know,” Wei Wuxian ends on a weak joke.

Lan Qiren’s irritation is snuffed out immediately as he thinks back to the way Sect Leader Yao speaks as though the loudest speaker with the most grandiose language is the most correct. He thinks about Jiang Wanyin, how his already rapid speeches are so often interrupted by his own anger, or how Nie Huaisang muffles his words behind a fan when it so pleases him.

Like all sects, Gusu Lan has trained scribes. Like all sect heirs, Lan Qiren is not a scribe.

From childhood, Lan Qiren has been trained to copy down histories, instructional textbooks, and poetry. His training is that of a member of the gentry, where time is abundant and the visual appearance takes precedence over the function. After all, one cannot be a respected cultivator without mastery over each of the four arts.

Occasionally, Wangji brings Wei Wuxian to meetings in lieu of scribe, firm in his belief that Wei Wuxian is more than capable of fulfilling the tasks of a scribe. It is a thinly veiled excuse to bring his husband with him but it is also a task that, until now, Wei Wuxian has proven himself capable of, submitting neatly organized pages for storage in the library.

“I haven’t finished copying the pages yet,” Wei Wuxian says as explanation, leaning back on his heels. “Lan-lao xiansheng is welcome to return when the pages are copied to his liking.”

Wei Wuxian says more but his words float over Lan Qiren’s mind as he glances down at the pages he rudely threw on the table.

Gently leafing through the sheets, Wei Wuxian’s writing becomes more atrocious with each consecutive page but it is not illegible if Lan Qiren relies on stroke order.

“There is very little on mafeisan,” Lan Qiren looks up from the page, fixing Wei Wuxian with an expectant look.

“Baling Ouyang’s healer didn’t have anything to say on mafeisan that Gusu doesn’t already know. Gusu’s library houses the most extensive collection of writings on Huo Tuo.”

“Ouyang-daifu shared his theories on mafeisan cultivation. Is that not valuable knowledge?”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian waves off the point, as if mafeisan is not a highly sought-after herb with legendary aesthetic qualities. “If it was accurate. But Ouyang-daifu is wrong.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren snarls at his arrogance, at how easily he brushes aside the expertise of an elder and trained doctor. The audacity.

“Mafeisan grows best in humid forests, undisturbed. I should know,” Wei Wuxian looks up at Lan Qiren with a tired, bitter smile. “Wen Qing needed so much of it.”

Lan Qiren is stunned into silence at the mention of Wen Qing.

Wen Qing, a former student whom Lan Qiren has not thought about since before the Nightless City. For all that Lan Qiren thinks about Wen Ning and how Wen Ning’s very existence is a horrific violation of nature, Lan Qiren does not think about Wen Qing at all.

A long silence settles between them. Wei Wuxian looks bored, unbothered, flipping through a different stack of paper. It is as though Lan Qiren’s reaction was expected.

“How can it be? There are entire sects that do not believe in the existence of mafeisan. The Records of the Three Kingdoms is sparse in its retellings, as is the Book of the Later Han.” Mind racing, Lan Qiren taps his fingers along his thighs. “It would not have been possible for Wen Ruohan to keep the existence of such a legendary plant secret.”

Wei Wuxian pauses. “Wen Qing grew her own.”

“Qishan Wen kept such a secret from us?”

Shaking his head, Wei Wuxian sets his papers back down and fixes his attention on Lan Qiren. “It wasn’t Qishan Wen’s secret. It was Wen Qing’s secret. Wen Qing’s secret, that she also kept from Wen Ruohan.” Sitting up straighter, Wei Wuxian continues. “I might still remember the grove where she kept her mafeisan. Wen Ning definitely knows. If Lan-lao xiansheng wants, we can go see if there’s anything left but mafeisan really is not the best herb. The effectiveness of mafeisan is undercut by how long the fermentation process takes. And the ground leaves can only be stored for a couple weeks in a chilled environment. Mafeisan is only a viable choice if you have a steady stream of fresh mafeisan to constantly replenish what spoils.”

“You challenge the teachings of the ancients?” Lan Qiren’s eyebrow twitches.

“I am not challenging the teachings of the ancients,” Wei Wuxian says, even though he is very much challenging the ancients. “I am following the teachings of a skilled physician.”

“It is disrespectful to speak ill of one’s elders.”

“But one must exercise good judgement,” Wei Wuxian counters, citing another of the rules engraved onto the Wall of Discipline. “My judgement says to trust what I can see, and what I have seen is that the benefits of mafeisan do not outweigh the problems that arise.”

And it is not that Lan Qiren doesn’t know that the Wall of Discipline has rules that contradict one another. There are reasons why the rules are grouped the way they are, where the one hundred core tenets are valued above all else. It is something that Lan Qiren has always valued and emphasized in his teachings.

Still, it hurts that Wei Wuxian is the one saying these words because he is correct. The elders are a guide, not the law.

“Qingdian has a broader range of uses,” Wei Wuxian continues even though Lan Qiren has given no indication that he wants to hear more. “Even if acquisition and fermentation weren’t an issue, mafeisan is too strong and must be used sparingly. It immediately places the user in a deep sleep but it only lasts for two shichen.”

“And you believe qingdian is superior?” Lan Qiren asks, absentmindedly straightening the papers on Wei Wuxian’s desk.

Nodding, Wei Wuxian continues. “Cultivators rely too much on spiritual healing and so the possibilities of plant-based medicine haven't been explored very much. Cultivators want mafeisan because it’s the only one that is of use and familiar to them. But, for the common folk, qingdian is far more popular. Qingdian is more mild and can be brewed into tea. Its effects can last, and will last long term.”

The words coming from Wei Wuxian’s mouth make sense and fall in line with what Lan Qiren knows. Yet, they are coming from Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren’s decades-long distrust of Wei Wuxian is not so easily brushed aside.

“What you claim does not go against any core teachings,” Lan Qiren says slowly, carefully thinking through his words. As he thinks, his finger flit over the desk, straightening out the brush that Wei Wuxian has likely forgotten about. “However, you are no physician. Please explain why I should trust your words over Ouyang-daifu.”

“Lan-lao xiansheng is correct, I am not a physician.” Wei Wuxian shifts his posture so his weight rests on his legs properly. “But these are not my words. I am only reciting what I learned from a physician more skilled than Ouyang-daifu.”

“Wen Qing?” The corners of Lan Qiren’s mouth tighten. “You claim that Wen Qing, a doctor who never outgrew her youth, to be a more skilled doctor over Ouyang-daifu’s decades of practice?

“She was the best,” Wei Wuxian says matter of factly, leaving no room for debate. “Most physicians rely too much on balancing spiritual energy. Wen Qing used folk medicine to compliment spiritual healing. If the core is compromised, what use is spiritual healing when there is no core to ground the energy?”

“Spiritual energy can be used to reduce pain regardless of core strength.”

“One physician has limited spiritual energy.” Wei Wuxian crosses his arms. It is not an aggressive action, nor is it intended to be rude. But, it is a jarringly informal action that Lan Qiren has rarely been on the receiving end of. Belatedly, Lan Qiren remembers that the Jingshi is not just Wangji’s home, but that he is also intruding upon Wei Wuxian’s private space. “But one physician never has just one patient. Spiritual energy is finite and requires time to replenish.”

Thinking back to the height of the Sunshot Campaign, when spiritual energy was used on battlegrounds and not in healers’ tents, Wei Wuxian’s words ring all too true.

“What you are saying is that qingdian can be brewed into a tea for use over a period of time,” Lan Qiren says, nodding slowly as he ruminates on Wei Wuxian’s words.

“It numbs bone aches and joint pains. Mixed with qiye, it rebalances your meridians and strengthens the five viscera. Drink no more than two cups a day.”

“Wen Qing has shared a great deal of her knowledge with you,” Lan Qiren comments, stroking his beard.

“She had to,” Wei Wuxian shrugs but offers no explanations as to why.

Sensing that Wei Wuxian is closing himself off from further discussion, Lan Qiren does not question him any further. Xichen’s words ring in his mind, that Wei Wuxian’s secret that is not mine to tell.

Instead, Lan Qiren redirects their conversation.

“Your knowledge regarding medicinal herbs is adequate,” Lan Qiren says instead, an indirect acknowledgment of Wei Wuxian’s knowledge.

In return, Wei Wuxian dips his head.

When they both stand, Lan Qiren’s gaze is immediately drawn to the flash of white silk tied around Wei Wuxian’s waist.

Taking a closer look, Lan Qiren recognizes Wei Wuxian’s white belt as Wangji’s. As a recognized spouse, no matter how Lan Qiren may feel about Wei Wuxian personally, Wei Wuxian has his own white belts. But, Wangji is a main line descendant and his lineage is reflected in his clothing, both in his forehead ribbon and in the lining of his robes. Certain embroidery patterns are limited to the main family, and Lan Qiren recognizes the belt as Wangji’s.

It is inappropriate, when Wei Wuxian is only a member of Gusu Lan by marriage and not by blood, but Lan Qiren decides not to comment.

Looking around the Jingshi again, it is quite the image. Like all buildings in the Cloud Recesses, the Jingshi is carefully tailored to maximize fengshui yet the unpredictable disaster that is Wei Wuxian’s workspace does not disrupt the fengshui at all.

Careless yet poised indeed, Lan Qiren thinks as he excuses himself from the Jingshi.

Chapter Text

There are many events that have happened in Lan Qiren’s life that he does not understand.

One of them is his current predicament: sitting vigil at Wei Wuxian’s bedside with a damp cloth, a basin of water, an empty bowl that once held medicinal broth, and a cup of hot water. On the windowsill is a vase of orchids, left behind by Wangji before his departure.

As Wei Wuxian hacks up a series of particularly nasty coughs, Lan Qiren winces. He has seen his fair share of illness in Cloud Recesses’ children, but never has he seen a fully grown cultivator succumb to such a mundane, seasonal illness. How is a cultivator as powerful as Wei Wuxian still susceptible to colds?

Yet, it is a predicament that Lan Qiren has only himself to blame because he is the only one left to care for Wei Wuxian.

It is the spring, plum blossoms raining down from every direction. Caiyi Town is bustling with wedding vendors and matchmakers’ cries. Cloud Recesses is painted in a layer of pink and green, trees sprouting new leaves and flowers blooming in every corner.

In the spring, Gusu is a lover’s paradise.

But in the spring, the rivers flood. And so Wangji is in Changan, responding to a request for aid from a string of villages along the river, while his husband is at home, languishing in misery.

The rule forbidding interaction with Wei Wuxian remains on the wall of discipline, leaving a select few people with the privilege of tending to his illness. Sizhui and Jingyi are nighthunting in Lanling, paying a visit to Sect Leader Jin. Xichen is still in seclusion, even as he continues to slowly take his Sect Leader duties back from Wangji.

Which leaves only Lan Qiren himself to observe Wei Wuxian’s illness.

In all honesty, it is not a severe illness. The healer has confirmed that it is merely wind-cold symptoms, brought on by Wei Wuxian’s own carelessness when he went to bed with wet hair, and exacerbated by the springtime pollen.

But for the sake of Wangji’s happiness and sanity, Lan Qiren has learned to err on the side of caution when it comes to Wei Wuxian. Over Wei Wuxian’s protests, he generously volunteered to keep watch over Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly, Lan Qiren remembers how annoying Wei Wuxian can be when he never stops talking.

“Lan-lao xiansheng, what did you think of Nie Huaisang’s new fan? I think the swallows were very tasteful.”

“Lan-lao xiansheng, what’s your favourite fruit?”

“Lan-lao xiansheng, aren’t Lan Zhan’s rabbits cute?”

“Lan-lao xiansheng, which Xihu peak do you think produces the best longjing tea?”

With Wei Wuxian’s inane questions ringing in his head, it does not take long before Lan Qiren snaps.

“Do not speak for no reason,” Lan Qiren says mildly as he can muster, though his own words are undercut as he speaks through gritted teeth.

“But I have a reason!” Wei Wuxian chirps in an uncanny tone reminiscent of his days as a troublemaking guest disciple. “I’m bored!”

Wei Wuxian’s voice is a little nasally, a little husky from his clogged airways.

“Recovery is hastened with rest.” Lan Qiren wishes he could just push another bowl of ginger tea into Wei Wuxian’s hands. At least he would then have a few seconds of silence for the duration of time it would take Wei Wuxian to drink the bowl. Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian has already consumed enough ginger tea for the next three shichen.

And then he would whine about the aftertaste, so perhaps not.

“Why do you care?” Wei Wuxian asks with genuine curiosity. “The healer said there’s nothing to worry about and you don’t even like me.”

“You are ill.”

“Barely,” Wei Wuxian laughs but it turns into a string of hacking coughs.

Lan Qiren fixes him a disbelieving look as he passes Wei Wuxian a cup of warm water.

“It sounds worse than it is,” Wei Wuxian tries to insist after gulping down the entire cup. “The doctor said it’s fine.”

“Lan-daifu said it will be fine if you rest and do not engage in strenuous activity,” Lan Qiren takes the empty cup back. “Incessant speaking is not resting.”

“But it isn’t strenuous activity,” Wei Wuxian rolls onto his stomach, burrowing his face into his pillow. “Besides, wouldn’t Lan-lao xiansheng be happy if I died?”

Wei Wuxian says this so casually, as if it is merely a passing point but Lan Qiren’s head snaps up immediately. “How can you say that?”

“Does Lan-lao xiansheng disagree?” Wei Wuxian shrugs, arms reaching up to wrap around his pillow. It is a most improper sleeping position, just as death is an inauspicious topic of conversation.

“Do you know what Wangji went through for you? Everything he gave up for you?” Lan Qiren’s voice is harsh, his words curt. He avoids the question.

Wei Wuxian melts into his blankets even more, squirming under the weight of Lan Qiren’s judgement.

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says quietly after a stilted pause. “I hold people back. I know that loving Lan Zhan is selfish of me. Wouldn’t you be happier if I was still dead?”

And Lan Qiren freezes. Because yes. Yes, he would be so much happier if Wangji’s heart had not settled on Wei Wuxian, if he did not have to learn to accept having a heretical cultivator in his midst and if he did not have to grit his teeth and wrack his mind to speak well of Wei Wuxian to cultivators from other sects. Lan Qiren’s life would be much improved if he did not spend nearly every waking moment worried about Wei Wuxian’s bad influence affecting the youth.

But Lan Qiren froze for a moment too long because he is brought out of his thoughts by Wei Wuxian’s quiet voice.

“I thought so.”

His voice is thin but not even his clogged sinuses can mask the dejection in his voice. Dejected, but also resigned.

It is this resignation that pulls at Lan Qiren’s heartstrings because this is the self-awareness that Lan Qiren has always wished Wei Wuxian would develop. But now that Wei Wuxian has it, it is a hollow victory.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, still hiding his face in the pillow. “Most people would be.”

A silence crashes upon them, drawing longer and longer as Wei Wuxian keeps his face buried and Lan Qiren offers nothing in consolation.

To be comforting is not in his nature — it does not come naturally to him the way it does for Xichen — but Lan Qiren knows how to be comforting. Decades earlier, Lan Qiren had to comfort a weeping Wangji as best he could over the passing of his mother. Later, he comforted his cousin over baby Jingyi’s colic.

But those circumstances were brought upon them by the actions of others, by circumstances that were not theirs to control. Wei Wuxian’s circumstances are the consequences of his own actions, his own choices, and while Lan Qiren’s heart hurts for Wei Wuxian in the moment, there is nothing he can do.

It is a failure in Gusu Lan’s rules, Lan Qiren realizes, that so much emphasis was placed on preventative measures and none on the consequences of violating nature. It was assumed that the rules would prevent cultivators from taking the heretical path. So, what to do with a cultivator who is coming back from the heretical path? Perhaps it is commendable, to accept the consequences of one’s arrogance, but then what? Wei Wuxian has faced some consequences, but Wangji has shielded him from others, and Lan Qiren wishes the forefathers had the foresight to create guidelines for a repentant heretical cultivator.

At least then he could act, safe in the knowledge that he was acting on the guidance of his ancestors.

Would Lan-lao xiansheng be happy if I died?

No.

No. Because Wei Wuxian has inserted himself into the fabric of Cloud Recesses, has won over everyone whom Lan Qiren cares about. He does not like Wei Wuxian. He certainly does not care for Wei Wuxian. But how can he rejoice over Wangji’s hurt a second time?

He tells Wei Wuxian as such. “Wangji would not be happy if your life ceased to be,” Lan Qiren admits. The words come out more easily than he thought they would, a truth that is overdue.

Because that is what they are: the truth.

Finally, Wei Wuxian turns over, revealing his face. His nose is red from his constant wiping and his eyes are watery from the coughs and sneezes. Wei Wuxian sniffles periodically, a cold symptom Lan-daifu had warned about, but there does not seem to be any risk for tears. Wei Wuxian only looks tired.

“I do not know what Wangji has shared with you,” Lan Qiren chooses his words carefully. He barely knew Wangji when Wei Wuxian was not in the world, went several months at a time without seeing Wangji during that period, and it is not his business if Wangji is keeping secrets from his husband. “But,” he continues, busying his hands by pouring more hot water into Wei Wuxian’s cup, “I can not say that he was happy in the years you were gone.”

Wei Wuxian nods mutely, unsurprised. He pushes himself up into a seated position so he can look at Lan Qiren at the same level. From somewhere deep inside his heart, Lan Qiren feels the slightest urge to push Wei Wuxian back down and rest properly, laying down in a suitable position. Lan Qiren shoves that urge aside.

Handing the full cup of water to Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren adds, “If it is your selfishness that keeps you tethered to Wangji, then continue to be selfish.”

To Lan Qiren’s surprise, Wei Wuxian blinks at him over the steaming cup, shocked. He says nothing, opting to blow on the cup and slowly take miniscule sips from the top.

His eyes remain fixed on Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren regrets handing the cup to Wei Wuxian when he did.

“Do not stare at others,” Lan Qiren says, more harshly than intended, resorting back to the rules in his discomfort.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze drops momentarily before it flickers right back up.

“You care about Lan Zhan’s happiness,” Wei Wuxian says with an insultingly shocked tone.

“He is family,” Lan Qiren snaps. “Filial loyalty is the highest relationship.” He says this, knowing the hypocrisy when both his brother and Wangji have valued romantic love over filial loyalty. He knows he is a hypocrite as well, when he chose to side with the clan elders against his brother.

Wei Wuxian sips his water. “You turned your back on Lan Zhan in the Burial Mounds,” he says. It is a flat statement of fact, not an accusation yet Lan Qiren recoils slightly from Wei Wuxian’s words.

“I did,” Lan Qiren says in a detached tone because he can not deny what he did.

“You ignored him at the Guanyin Temple,” Wei Wuxian says after taking another sip.

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian throws his head back, pouring the rest of the water down his throat, before continuing. “You hurt him,” he says. His voice is still quiet. This has been an unexpectedly quiet discussion, but now Wei Wuxian’s words are cutting. On behalf of Wangji, Wei Wuxian is offended.

“I did,” Lan Qiren allows his own gaze to drop because he knows what he did. He knows that he pushed Wangji away first with his refusal to support Wangji’s budding friendship with Wei Wuxian, and that he kept Wangji away with his continued objection to Wei Wuxian’s very being.

“But you care for him.”

“I do.”

“Hmm.” Wei Wuxian sets the empty cup on the bedside table himself. He pulls the blankets up so they are wrapped around his shoulders even as he remains upright and says, “That’s not right.”

Lan Qiren bristles.

“Do you believe that filial love is painless? That family is unable to hurt each other more deeply than lovers?“ Lan Qiren says, holding back a scoff. The notion that familial care is not attached to pain is ridiculous — Lan Qiren was certainly hurt deeply enough by his own brother’s betrayal to still feel betrayed long after Qingheng-jun’s death. But Lan Qiren, suspects that Wei Wuxian is making a different observation.

“I would never want to hurt Lan Zhan if I thought I didn’t have to,” Wei Wuxian thinks aloud. “If Lan-lao xiansheng cares so deeply for Lan Zhan, you must have thought whipping Lan Zhan was the better of two terrible options.”

Lan Qiren flinches at the reminder. “Wangji told you?“ He asks before he remembers that Wangji and Wei Wuxian share a marital bed. It is a fact that he actively wishes to never think about, but it is only natural for Wei Wuxian to have seen the deep scars that criss-cross across Wangji’s back.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “He didn’t. Not how he got the scars. That was Zewu-jun’s doing.”

“Xichen?” Lan Qiren asks, eyes widening at the thought of Xichen exposing Wangji’s secrets before remembering the close address Xichen had for Wei Wuxian. Xiao Wei.

But Wei Wuxian surprises him. “After Carp Tower,” Wei Wuxian breaks off into a long string of coughs and Lan Qiren hastens to pour him another cup of warm water.

Lan Qiren frowns, mind scrambling to remember the order of events, trying to remember at what point after the spectacle at Carp Tower Wei Wuxian would have spoken to Xichen.

Taking the proffered cup, Wei Wuxian continues. “Xichen-ge,” the casual address slips from his lips easily, “hid Lan Zhan and I in Cloud Recesses. There was one evening, Lan Zhan went to Caiyi and Zewu-jun spoke to me.”

Wei Wuxian brings the cup of water to his lips, giving Lan Qiren a small respite to shuffle through his thoughts.

Months earlier, Lan Qiren remembers thinking how horrifying it would be, for Wei Wuxian to slip into Cloud Recesses so easily and blend in. Now, knowing that it was a reality, Lan Qiren finds that he is not nearly as disturbed as he expected himself to be. Wei Wuxian has called Cloud Recesses his home for nearly a year now, after all, and Lan Qiren has taken the time to slowly come to terms with Wei Wuxian’s presence in his home.

“You hurt Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian continues, once again ignoring how Lan Qiren flinches, “because the other option would have killed Lan Zhan.”

Lan Qiren allows his well-crafted mask of indifference to drop and he gapes, openly. He knows there are those in the sect who have their suspicions, but this is the first time anyone has directly identified Lan Qiren’s reasons for whipping Wangji.

“Ah, Lan-lao xiansheng, don’t look so surprised! I’m insulted,” Wei Wuxian pouts, shuffling around under the blanket. “I did my fair share of copying the Gusu Lan rules. Some of it had to stick.”

Lan Qiren shakes his head because no, Wei Wuxian has misinterpreted him. “You know?” he asks, wondering if this is just another thing that Xichen has decided to share with Wei Wuxian. They have a silent agreement to never speak of the whipping, but Lan Qiren knows Xichen has his own suspicions.

“I guessed,” Wei Wuxian says seriously, finally giving up and throwing off his blanket. He sits up instead, ending his squirming. “It’s spring. It’s warm enough,” Wei Wuxian brushes off Lan Qiren when Lan Qiren automatically moves to drape the blanket back over Wei Wuxian’s body. “I’ll overheat and die if I spend another second under that blanket.”

Frowning, Lan Qiren reluctantly lowers his hand. With a meticulous eye, he watches Wei Wuxian’s body for any sign of discomfort. It would be most unfortunate for Wangji to return home to a Wei Wuxian who is even more sick because of Lan Qiren’s carelessness.

“I know Gusu Lan’s rules and the punishments,” Wei Wuxian continues, pulling his legs up so he is hugging them against his chest. “I endured more than my fair share of them. Really, Lan-lao xiansheng is too harsh. Such a waste of paper!”

“Allocating resources to ingraining a strong moral compass in others is not wasteful,” Lan Qiren can’t help but defend himself.

Wei Wuxian hums vaguely, neither agreeing or disagreeing. “I know the punishment for treason. That’s what Lan Zhan did. I was there, too. Half out of my mind with grief and resentful energy, sure,” Wei Wuxian chuckles darkly, without humour, “but I was there. I saw Lan Zhan draw his sword. I let Lan Zhan draw his sword.”

Lan Qiren clenches his fists. “He injured several of our own cultivators. They are men Wangji has known all his life.”

“The punishment for treason against Gusu Lan isn’t execution,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, tapping his fingers against his calves. His actions are far too cavalier for the severity of the topic at hand, but Lan Qiren is beginning to suspect that Wei Wuxian’s downplaying harsh discussions is a coping mechanism rather than any real malice. “But it would have been for Lan Zhan.”

“Killing is forbidden in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren pushes, testing Wei Wuxian. Execution is a common punishment for treason. It is standard practice for traitors to be executed by the Sects they turn against.

To his credit, Wei Wuxian does not take the bait. He does not point out the obvious caveat, that there is no rule prohibiting a Gusu Lan cultivator from taking another’s life outside Cloud Recesses. Instead, he calmly nods his head. “Gusu Lan banished Su She for his betrayal. You would have banished Lan Zhan for the same.”

“Banishment is not execution.”

“No,” Wei Wuxian agrees, “but what is the difference, if Lan Zhan would have died anyway? Without family, without anything to live for, isolated, and so deep in his grief, Lan Zhan would have found his end in a nighthunt he never intended to walk out of.”

Lan Qiren eyes widen, unfairly shocked at Wei Wuxian’s insight. But, as Lan Qiren chastises himself, Wei Wuxian has always been too clever for his own good, and he knew it.

“But thirty-three lashes from the disciple whip was fine. It’s not a death sentence,” Wei Wuxian muses aloud. His nose is twisted in distaste at the image, but his voice is steady. “Lan-lao xiansheng made the gamble that Lan Zhan’s core was strong enough for him to recover from the discipline whip.”

“Gambling is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

“He’s your family,” Wei Wuxian says, as if that explains everything. And… it does. Lan Qiren hates the way Wei Wuxian sees through him when Wei Wuxian is, as Lan Qiren is slowly beginning to realize, largely still a mystery. “Thirty-three lashes from the discipline whip would have killed anyone else, but you decided thirty-three lashes was an acceptable risk in order to keep Lan Zhan in the sect.”

“Gusu Lan teaches the spirit of the rules.” Lan Qiren busies his hands by dipping a cloth in the water basin — water that has been kept warm by Wei Wuxian’s talisman. “Not the letter.”

At the time, nearly twenty years earlier, the Sect Elders were in favour of exile but they were also the same elders who had watched Wangji grow from a chubby-cheeked infant into a dignified cultivator. They had done their parts in raising Wangji and were amenable to an alternative punishment.

After the Nightless City, when Wangji returned to Cloud Recesses with a feverish child and a stubborn desperation to keep that child alive, Lan Qiren saw his choices for what they were: he was already going to lose his nephew — their relationship was long past saving — but he could preserve Wangji’s life. And, if that came at the cost of what little remained of Wangji’s faith in him, then so be it.

Even without knowing anything about the child, Lan Qiren realized that Wangji’s life was contingent on the child’s survival. And so, A-Yuan became Lan Yuan, Wangji was given time to recover and reflect on his grief in solitude, and Lan Qiren allowed Wangji to blame him instead of his sect.

Better resentment than nothing.

“I didn’t ask it of him,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, sniffling. His head is lowered, leaving Lan Qiren to wonder whether he is sniffling from tears or from his cold. Lan Qiren passes Wei Wuxian the newly dampened cloth. “To stand at my side,” Wei Wuxian adds, as if his words needed to be clearer.

“I know,” Lan Qiren says gravely. It was never confirmed in so many words, but Lan Qiren does know. He knows because he knows how his family is when it comes to protecting their loved ones. He knows how his brother had been, throwing away everything in a thoughtless attempt to protect a woman whose feelings towards him were ambivalent at best. “Love is given. It is not requested.”

Wiping his face, Wei Wuxian continues. “I tried to push him away.”

This, Lan Qiren did not know. To mask his surprise, he turns away to pour Wei Wuxian another cup of water.

“This really is too much water,” Wei Wuxian complains, but he takes the cup anyway. In exchange, he drops the soiled cloth in Lan Qiren’s outstretched hand. “Is Lan-lao xiansheng trying to drown me?”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Qiren snaps as he wrings out the cloth over the basin. There is no heat behind his words.

There is silence as Wei Wuxian chugs down another cup of water.

“Drinking too quickly leads to imbalanced energy,” Lan Qiren frowns as Wei Wuxian places his newly drained cup on the side table. “You do not deserve Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian winces, but his words surprise Lan Qiren. “I know,” Wei Wuxian says, looking down at his knees. They are still curled up against his chest. “Why else do you think I tried to push him away? Lan Zhan is perfect. Who wouldn’t want to marry him?”

Ignoring Wei Wuxian’s last few words, Lan Qiren, clears his throat uncomfortably. “You make Wangji weak.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian looks up, emotions swirling in his grey eyes. “I know that Lan Zhan is better without me. Lan-lao xiansheng, I know this. What else do you want from me?”

Gone, I want you gone, is what comes to mind first. But to Lan Qiren’s resignation, he thinks this out of habit, rather than any genuine desire to banish Wei Wuxian. He is not even surprised, knowing that Wei Wuxian’s ability to make Wangji happy is unparalleled.

(As is his ability to brew the perfect longjing tea.)

Lan Qiren does not answer Wei Wuxian’s question. He doesn’t have an answer, not one that would satisfy either of them. Instead, Lan Qiren throws his own question back to Wei Wuxian. “You intend to stay in Gusu?

“Gusu Lan raised him,” Wei Wuxian says thoughtfully. “Cloud Recesses is his home. I know Lan Zhan would drop everything to follow me to the ends of the world. There is no question about that. Lan Zhan would sacrifice his home, his family, and more — for me.”

Lan Qiren shudders. It is a cold, hard truth that Lan Qiren has long since come to terms with. He has been prepared to begrudgingly welcome Wei Wuxian into Cloud Recesses since the Guanyin Temple. But that does not make it any less difficult to hear — especially coming from Wei Wuxian. Especially because it is a clear acknowledgement that Wei Wuxian knows how much power he has over Wangji, that he knows how selfish Wangji has to be to love someone as selfishly selfless as Wei Wuxian.

“But he doesn’t have to,” Wei Wuxian continues, his posture almost acceptable. The casual nature of his crossed arms, and his general appearance in his under robes in bed does undermine the straightness of his back but Lan Qiren chooses to overlook those transgressions.

“You would not force Wangji to entertain your wanderlust?” Lan Qiren says with a raised eyebrow. It is easy for Wei Wuxian to make such claims when he has only just returned from an extended period of travels.

Lan Qiren still remembers Cangse Sanren, how she could never settle down in one place for long, and he still sees much of her spirited nature in Wei Wuxian. It is a liveliness that not even death has managed to extinguish.

But to Lan Qiren’s surprise, Wei Wuxian merely shrugs. A gentle smile curves his lips. “I am happy as long as Lan Zhan is with me. It is not a sacrifice for me to settle down in Cloud Recesses, but it would be a sacrifice for Lan Zhan to leave. I know Lan Zhan would do it for me, and that is why I will never ask him to do so.”

With Wei Wuxian’s words, a heaviness that has been weighing on Lan Qiren’s back dissipates. It is a weight that has been with him since before Wangji returned to Cloud Recesses alone, before he knew of Wei Wuxian’s return from the dead, before Wangji snuck away to the Burial Mounds, and even before the Sunshot Campaign, before the Yin Iron. It is a fear that Lan Qiren has carried with him since Wangji gave his heart to Wei Wuxian, when they were still students: a fear that Wei Wuxian was too careless to have possession of something as precious as Wangji’s devotion.

But with Wei Wuxian’s words, that weight is gone, now that Wei Wuxian has all but confessed to the depths of his own feelings for Wangji.

Perhaps Lan Qiren still does not like Wei Wuxian, and he barely approves of Wei Wuxian, and he certainly cannot support the morals of someone whose cultivation desecrates the dead, but he can find comfort in how Wangji’s loyalty to Wei Wuxian is returned.

As Wei Wuxian breaks off into a string of coughs, Lan Qiren reaches forward to awkwardly rub Wei Wuxian’s back. Being a person for whom gestures of comfort do not come easily to, Lan Qiren feels a deep seated discomfort in this action. Still, he pushes forward, thinking that it is the least he can do for Wei Wuxian in exchange for safeguarding Wangji’s heart.

There is a weight that has been on his back ever since Wangji and Wei Wuxian were students and Lan Qiren owes Wei Wuxian that much for finally assuaging some of his fears.

“Rest,” Lan Qiren orders, mostly out of concern for Wei Wuxian. They have been speaking for a long time and Wei Wuxian really should be resting in accordance with the doctor’s advice. There is a little part of him that is trying to escape his conversation, having reached the end of his patience for socializing.

“Lan-shushu,” Wei Wuxian says, after lying back down and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

Startled, Lan Qiren looks up. Narrowing his eyes, he studies Wei Wuxian for a moment, searching for signs of mockery but he finds nothing but sincerity.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian grins brightly. “I just wanted to see your reaction, Lan-shushu.”

Scoffing, Lan Qiren pushes his chair away from the bed and stands.

“Ridiculous,” Lan Qiren says on his way out of the Jingshi to the healers’ headquarters, where he is going to pick up more ginger tea for Wei Wuxian to drink when he wakes up in the evening.

Outside, a warm breeze carries stray petals from a nearby plum tree, painting the Jingshi in a layer of soft pink and purple blossoms.

That night, Lan Qiren requests a cot be set up in the Jingshi so he can monitor Wei Wuxian’s condition.

Logically, Lan Qiren knows that he is being ridiculous — even overbearing. Yet, there is a small part of his mind that is terrified that Wei Wuxian’s cold will worsen overnight.

Now that it is long past hai shi, Lan Qiren regrets his choices when Wei Wuxian’s bouts of coughing interrupt his attempts to sleep.

Wei Wuxian’s sleep is uninterrupted by his own ruckus and Lan Qiren does not know whether or not this is a blessing.

It has been many years since Lan Qiren has had to watch over someone’s illness overnight — he has not had to do this since Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui were still children.

Unable to sleep, Lan Qiren decides to meditate instead. It does not take long for his meditation to be interrupted by Wei Wuxian’s coughs.

After a particularly concerning series of sniffles, Lan Qiren returns to the chair at Wei Wuxian’s side. With a cloth, he carefully wipes the mucus and sweat from Wei Wuxian’s sleeping face. His expression is not peaceful. Wei Wuxian’s brows are furrowed, his jaw is tightly clenched, and lines are drawn across his forehead. His breaths are heavier than they should be and, despite himself, Lan Qiren worries.

Moments after Lan Qiren pulls away, suddenly Wei Wuxian’s body jolts. Without warning, Lan Qiren is nearly caught by a flailing limb.

A pained groan escapes Wei Wuxian’s lips. Lan Qiren can’t tell if those groans are supposed to be words, but the sounds are concerning enough that the distinction does not matter.

Concerned, Lan Qiren reaches for Wei Wuxian’s wrist. He holds on tightly. Not enough to cause hurt, but tight enough that Wei Wuxian cannot escape. Trying to ease Wei Wuxian’s restless sleep and worsening wind-cold symptoms, Lan Qiren decides to give Wei Wuxian some of his own spiritual energy.

Infusing Wei Wuxian with his own spiritual energy, Lan Qiren finds that Wei Wuxian’s meridians are… empty.

Probing deeper, he still finds nothing, frowning as his spiritual energy simply dissipates.

Allowing his energy to trail across Wei Wuxian’s core, Lan Qiren suddenly drops Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

There is no core.

For a moment, Lan Qiren simply stares at his finger and Wei Wuxian’s wrist where it rests innocuously on the bed. His eyes dart between the two, trying to make connections to an answer that isn’t there.

Through this ruckus, Wei Wuxian doesn’t not wake up. In his sleep he still whimpers, hurting from some imagined terror that Lan Qiren can do nothing to ease.

Why is there no golden core?

Sitting back, Lan Qiren is suddenly hit by a tsunami of thoughts.

You do not know Wei Ying, Wangji had said. It is not my secret to tell, Xichen had said. Lan Qiren connects the dots: this must be the secret both Wangji and Xichen were hiding from him. And they were right to do so, Lan Qiren thinks. Have courtesy and integrity, Wangji and Xichen both embodied, even when Lan Qiren made unjust assumption after assumption about Wei Wuxian.

Now, standing over Wei Wuxian’s bed having uncovered his deepest secret, Lan Qiren is forced to reckon that once again, he is in the wrong when it comes to Wei Wuxian. He does not know Wei Wuxian at all, and has misjudged Wei Wuxian in ways that he still does not fully comprehend — and will likely never comprehend.

As Wei Wuxian’s groans begin to meld into words, Lan Qiren listens carefully, trying to understand them.

“...don’t want… sorry…” Lan Qiren is finally able to make out. There are more sounds that Lan Qiren is unable to identify, but he is already horrified by what he has heard. Not by the content, which Lan Qiren can barely make out, but by the agonizing tone of Wei Wuxian’s voice that cuts through Lan Qiren’s core.

Standing over Wei Wuxian’s sleeping body now, Lan Qiren realizes that he may have misjudged Wei Wuxian from the start.

Listening to the snuffled cries leaving Wei Wuxian’s mouth, Lan Qiren understands Xichen’s words in a new light. Xichen’s project on the songs of clarity was not for himself, but for Wei Wuxian.

“....I’m sorry… forgive me...”

At a loss, Lan Qiren pulls out his own guqin and begins one of the songs of clarity as Wei Wuxian’s pained cries echo through the Jingshi.

It is not much, but the soft guqin sounds soothe Wei Wuxian’s nightmares into something almost peaceful.

Lan Qiren does not stop playing until morning.

Chapter Text

It does not take long for Wei Wuxian to suppress his cold and he bounces back into himself easily. By the time Wangji returns, Wei Wuxian has already recovered. Lan Qiren’s life continues as usual. He returns to his day to day routine of quiet meditation, tea with the elders, reading, and teaching. Wangji’s cold shoulder to Lan Qiren continues, Wei Wuxian and Xichen continue their secret lunch meetings, and Jingyi and Sizhui are seen around Cloud Recesses less after they gain their certification to go on unsupervised nighthunts. If he didn’t know his spiritual power to be as high as it is, Lan Qiren might have summed up that night in the Jingshi as a fever dream.

Quietly, without raising a fuss, Lan Qiren removes the rule forbidding interaction with Wei Wuxian from the Wall of Discipline soon after Wangji returns from Changan.

And life goes on as normal. It takes no time for Wangji to reinstate Wei Wuxian as an instructor, just as quietly as Lan Qiren had removed the rule. No one questions the changes, easily welcoming Wei Wuxian back into the fold of Cloud Recesses’ daily activities.

Watching these non-changes unfolding before him, Lan Qiren is struck with a sense of uncertainty. It is the kind of uncertainty that plagues one for days, into weeks, months, years, and even decades until it is resolved.

It is the kind of uncertainty Lan Qiren has felt before, when his brother abandoned him for a worthless and undeserved love.

Back then Lan Qiren had found his comfort in the Wall of Discipline, and in its many rules. How else could he fathom what his brother had done? Qingheng-jun was supposed to be the most moral cultivator, the most upstanding human being. Lan Qiren knew that as an unshakable truth — until his brother ran off to perform the most immoral actions. To turn his back on everything he learned so easily, it must have been the consequence of not following the teachings. So Lan Qiren found comfort in the rules, drilling them into Xichen and Wangji, teaching them how to be their most moral, most righteous selves.

Until Wei Wuxian came by, eschewing all the rules that Gusu Lan had carefully refined over the centuries. And it was infuriating, how Wei Wuxian and his arrogance simply brushed off the rules as if the laws of nature itself did not apply to him. It was infuriating, but it was fine because Wei Wuxian met his end, ripped apart by his own heretical cultivation and half-insane from his resentful energy.

It is no longer fine.

Now that Wei Wuxian is somehow both a heretical cultivator and a moral person, Lan Qiren’s absolute faith in the rules has been shaken. The rules are supposed to guide morality, yet Wei Wuxian’s deep and genuine devotion to Wangji can’t be anything but moral. His actions, his violation of the laws of nature, are the most fundamental refutation of Gusu Lan’s family rules yet Wei Wuxian is not a fundamentally immoral person. Wei Wuxian has shattered every expectation, every standard, and Lan Qiren despises the uncertainty that he is left with.

All Lan Qiren can do is take solace in how Wei Wuxian has retained his talent for being deeply annoying.

To clear his thoughts, Lan Qiren pays a visit to the Ancestral Chamber.

Even though it is supposed to be a place of punishment and penalization, Lan Qiren enjoys spending long periods of time there. He sits at a desk in the corner. Its intended use is for Gusu Lan disciples to copy the rules as punishment but Lan Qiren enjoys the quiet stillness of the chamber.

It is soothing, to be surrounded by the spirits of his family.

And it is meditative, to seat himself at a desk with parchment and ink as he copies the rules from memory.

With the Ancestral Chamber being the sacred space it is, never before has anyone interrupted his time there.

Never, until the doors burst open and Wei Wuxian breezes into the room in a flurry of red and black robes.

“Lan Zhan is still upset with you,” Wei Wuxian says tactlessly as he seats himself in front of Lan Qiren’s desk without an invitation.

“I am aware,” Lan Qiren huffs at Wei Wuxian’s impertinence, deeply annoyed at the interruption and wholly offended at Wei Wuxian’s seeming lack of respect for the peace he has ungraciously disturbed. Still, rather than shooing Wei Wuxian out of the Ancestral Chamber, he carefully sets his brush down so that it will not drip ink everywhere.

He may not want Wei Wuxian in the Ancestral Chamber, but Wei Wuxian is now a member of Gusu Lan — and has been for over a year. With Lan Qiren’s blessing.

So he has no grounds on which to kick Wei Wuxian out, even if there is nothing he wants more than to ruminate on his thoughts — and his regrets — in solitude.

“What happened to your golden core?” Lan Qiren asks bluntly, not giving Wei Wuxian the chance to talk. He knows Wangji still holds a grudge and Lan Qiren is not interested in further ruminating on his own mistakes that led to the current circumstances.

Wei Wuxian freezes. His face flickers through several emotions, from shock, to defensiveness, to betrayal, before finally settling on defeat. “I might as well tell you,” Wei Wuxian mutters, not meeting Lan Qiren’s eyes. “Jiang Cheng was the only one who really was never supposed to find out, and he already knows.”

Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow. “What does your golden core have to do with Sect Leader Jiang?”

This time, Wei Wuxian doesn’t hesitate as he meets Lan Qiren’s eyes.

“I gave it to him.”

Wei Wuxian says these words without emotion, like they are a stale fact that is true but one that he wishes to distance himself from. He says these words like they are not a huge, massive deal, as if a golden core transplant is supposed to be possible and commonplace.

As if Wei Wuxian is reading the string of Lan Qiren’s thoughts, he adds “Jiang-shushu taught me to attempt the impossible,” he says as if that is an explanation. “So I did.”

Closing his eyes, Lan Qiren wishes he could stop knowing Wei Wuxian. To unknow Wei Wuxian would simplify his life immensely. But in his heart, Lan Qiren knows he wants no such thing. To genuinely know another is a privilege and knowing Wei Wuxian is no exception.

Thinking back to that night when they were all huddled in Lotus Pier, Lan Qiren remembers how Jiang Wanyin ran around like a madman, thrusting Suibian at anyone and everyone he came across. Like everyone else, Lan Qiren had attributed it to fury and fear of Wei Wuxian’s power at the time.

With this new information, the knowledge that Jiang Wanyin’s core is not his own, Lan Qiren begins to see that evening in a new light. Something, Lan Qiren assumes, must have transpired between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin that night. This something, Lan Qiren thinks, is something he does not need to know.

Finally, Lan Qiren slowly opens his eyes. He knows that Wei Wuxian, much like Wangji, has the capacity to out-stubborn him in a game of wills. “The point still stands,” Lan Qiren strokes his beard with shaky hands. “It should not be possible.”

“Anything is possible if you want it enough.” Wei Wuxian is still too calm, speaking of his golden core the way another person might speak of his dinner.

“Spiritual energy dissipates in the absence of a host. The energy is too unstable without a core.” Lan Qiren thinks back to how his spiritual energy could do very little for Wei Wuxian without a tether.

Wei Wuxian fidgets with the fold of his outer robes, the first indication of his discomfort. “With a skilled doctor and a motivated researcher, it can be made possible,” he says, his expressions carefully smoothed over so as not to expose too much. Only his eyes betray him, overflowing with emotion.

“No physician would do such a thing,” Lan Qiren protests weakly. It is not that he does not believe Wei Wuxian. It is just simply that he struggles to wrap his mind around the idea: not only is a golden core transplant possible, there would be someone selfless enough to willingly undergo such a procedure. He rests his shaking hands on the desk, relieved that he had the foresight to set his brush down earlier.

“Correct. No physician would,” Wei Wuxian murmurs in agreement. “Unless,” he continues, crinkling the folds of his robes in his fists, “that doctor was in your debt.”

Suspecting that he already knows the answers, especially given Wei Wuxian’s relationship with the Wen Remnants, Lan Qiren still has to ask, “Wen Qing?”

“The greatest doctor of our generation,” Wei Wuxian says with an empty smile, infuriatingly blasé. “Fifty-fifty chances aren’t bad.”

“It was experimental,” Lan Qiren says, his horror growing and growing unendingly. His mind connects more dots, suddenly understanding where Wei Wuxian’s knowledge of non-spiritual medicinal herbs comes from, of anaesthetic herbs especially. “It is uncompassionate and inhumane to subject a patient to such treatment.”

“And I begged her to do it.”

“Why would you do that?” Lan Qiren asks, no longer trying to hide how his hands shake. He remembers Wei Wuxian as a guest disciple, ranking fourth in the list of eligible masters and loudly boasting about his talents in his youthful arrogance. That Wei Wuxian is a far cry from the Wei Wuxian sitting before him today, coreless and selfless. Both Wei Wuxians are difficult to reconcile with a third Wei Wuxian, begging a Wen doctor to remove his golden core. “A golden core is a cultivator’s pride. There is no cultivation without a golden core.”

With a sad smile, Wei Wuxian’s explanation is simple. “It was what I owed.”

Simple, but cutting. Lan Qiren presses his hand against his chest, shuddering, having felt the quiet conviction behind Wei Wuxian’s words.

“To perform the impossible?” Lan Qiren shudders, wondering how deeply ingrained the Yunmeng Jiang motto was in Wei Wuxian for him to ceaselessly achieve the impossible, over and over again.

Yet Lan Qiren is not surprised when Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “To protect Jiang Cheng with my life.”

And it crashes upon Lan Qiren that no, Wei Wuxian never really had a choice. Not when that was the duty he had been charged with, by the family who took him in. A debt he never felt like he could repay.

Wei Wuxian is still smiling that sad, empty smile when he says, “The cultivation world never really wanted me anyway.”

“The purpose of the medical profession—” Lan Qiren is cut off by Wei Wuxian.

“Wen Qing helped without material gain, at huge risk to herself. She didn’t kill me and she saved Jiang Cheng’s life. She didn’t do it for fame,” Wei Wuxian easily counters each of the standards of medical ethics.

“Surely there is a standard against tampering with a cultivator’s golden core.” As he says this, Lan Qiren knows there are none, having already racked his mind for the tenets of medical ethics.

“Wen Qing did nothing wrong.” Wei Wuxian releases his robes, dropping his hands on the table. His movements are not hard, but Lan Qiren still startles at the resultant thump. “And everything she did for me came at a huge cost to herself.”

Looking down at the rules he had been in the middle of copying, Lan Qiren allows the silence to settle betten him. Love and respect yourself, Lan Qiren reads the last lines he wrote, the characters boldly screaming up at him.

“It is important to love and respect oneself,” Lan Qiren says, lowering his shaking hands onto his lap.

Wei Wuxian remains silent but his gaze also drops to the text.

“You chose to mutilate your body further by going down the heretical path. You know what resentful energy does to bodies with strong golden cores, how even spiritual energy cannot purge a body of resentful energy if that energy is used regularly. Your body, without a core, never had a chance. What would Cangse Sanren say if she knew how much her son mutilated the body she gifted him?“ It is a low blow, to bring up a mother Wei Wuxian barely remembers. Lan Qiren regrets his wording when Wei Wuxian curls into himself further, but not enough to take the words back.

The words may be harsh, but so is being a demonic cultivator. The choice to go down the heretical path is not one to be made lightly.

“The absence of a golden core does not make demonic cultivation an acceptable choice,” Lan Qiren says in what he hopes is a less accusatory tone, after Wei Wuxian does not respond.

Again, Wei Wuxian remains silent, picking at the threads of his dark robes. Just as Lan Qiren is about to say something else to prompt a response, Wei Wuxian speaks. “It wasn’t a choice,” he says quietly, without looking up from his knees.

“There is always a choice,” Lan Qiren counters, confused. “One chooses whether or not to resort to resentful energy.”

“No.” Wei Wuxian says this with a frightening amount of conviction, chilling Lan Qiren. He is not scared of Wei Wuxian, not when he is surrounded by his ancestors in his own home and Chenqing is nowhere to be seen. He is not scared, but Lan Qiren is deeply unsettled by the dark undertone Wei Wuxian’s voice has taken.

“No?” It is one of the rare occasions where Lan Qiren’s practiced self-restraint and self-control is pushed to a breaking point.

“No.” Wei Wuxian says again, raising his head to face Lan Qiren. His silver eyes are dark and anguished, reliving unwanted memories that not even his terrible memory could fully erase. “If it was my choice, I would have found a battle to die in. Just another war casualty, to be tallied with the rest, and no one would be the wiser.”

Here, Lan Qiren bites his tongue. Just barely, because how could Wei Wuxian simply carelessly throw away his life, as if life had no value? As if life were not itself a divine gift to be cherished? But he forces himself to hold his tongue, knowing that Wei Wuxian will retreat into himself at the slightest interruption.

“Wen Chao couldn’t even let me die properly,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. His shoulders shake, exposing the difficulty of his words. “He threw me in the Burial Mounds, thinking my soul would be ripped apart by the resentful energy. Jokes on him,” Wei Wuxian chuckles darkly, causing Lan Qiren to shudder. “I couldn’t do that to Shijie or Jiang Cheng — die without them knowing. Resentful energy kept me alive long enough so I could repay Wen Chao for what he did to Lotus Pier, to all our disciples, to Madam Yu, and to Jiang-shushu. Everything after the Sunshot Campaign is on me, but learning how to cultivate resentful energy? That was never my choice.”

A tenseness has settled in the chamber and Lan Qiren is scared to even breathe too loudly, terrified that he will uncover yet more of Wei Wuxian’s secrets. Wei Wuxian is staring through him, eyes still dark and unseeing as he relives his experience. With a heavy heart, Lan Qiren watches Wei Wuxian struggle to come back to himself, unsure of what he could say or do to bring Wei Wuxian back into the comfort of the present.

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders tremble dangerously and Lan Qiren wants to do something that will bring Wei Wuxian some comfort. But he is not Wangji, who is so attuned to Wei Wuxian’s every need, nor is he Xichen, who has always easily offered comfort to those seeking it. Lan Qiren simply sits there, watching Wei Wuxian wage his battle against his own demons.

Outside the Ancestral Chamber, a band of junior disciples pass by, giggling over a story someone told about Wangji’s rabbits.

Alarmed at the sound, Wei Wuxian’s head flashes towards the entrance before his mind registers the source of the voices. This movement breaks the tense stalemate that had settled between them, allowing their minds to return to the present. Wei Wuxian blinks slowly, clearing the images from his sight.

“What I came here to say,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, making Lan Qiren look back up at him, as if he had not said anything about Wen Chao and the Burial Mounds — as if the resultant episode had not happened at all, “is that Lan Zhan is still upset with you.”

“I am still aware,” Lan Qiren glares, echoing his words from earlier. There is no heat in his glare, he simply glares out of habit. He allows Wei Wuxian to guide the conversation into lighter topics even as his stomach is still churning, stuck on imagining how difficult — how soul-crushing — Wei Wuxian’s experience alone in the Burial Mounds must have been. His chest burns, trying to reconcile the series of impossible choices that Wei Wuxian had been forced to make.

“But!” Wei Wuxian interrupts quickly before Lan Qiren can redirect the conversation again, waving his arms to keep Lan Qiren’s attention. “Lan Zhan wants to talk to you.”

Interest piqued, Lan Qiren’s gaze softens. “What does Wangji wish to speak about?”

Pausing, Wei Wuxian’s eyes bounce around from left to right, looking vaguely guilty. “I didn’t ask,” Wei Wuxian admits, pursing his lips. “If Madam Yu taught me anything, it is that it’s not my place to interfere in others’ families.”

Wei Wuxian’s words only raise more questions, but Lan Qiren decides to pursue none of them. Instead, he says, “Your husband’s family is also your family.”

The surprised but pleased smile that Wei Wuxian gives his heart some much needed warmth, especially the rollercoaster of emotion it had just gone through.

“Lan Zhan will be in his office all day tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says, still smiling, as he picks himself off the ground. His arms are still shaking and his steps are laboured, but Lan Qiren does not comment, trusting Wei Wuxian to find Wangji and trusting Wangji to take care of his husband. After bowing, Wei Wuxian moves to leave the Ancestral Chamber, leaving Lan Qiren to his lines.

Just before Wei Wuxian steps outside, Lan Qiren calls out, “Wei Wuxian.” He waits for Wei Wuxian to turn around before he continues. Meeting Wei Wuxian’s questioning gaze, Lan Qiren says, “Your methods are unforgivable, just as they have always been.”

Lan Qiren’s heart twinges when Wei Wuxian looks at him with crushed resignation. Tired, and even a little hurt, but resigned. Visibly deflating, Wei Wuxian’s shoulders hunch over and his gaze drops.

“But,” Lan Qiren adds quickly, softer, as if he can’t decide whether or not he wants Wei Wuxian to hear his words. “I understand,” he says, bringing a small smile back to Wei Wuxian’s lips.

As he says this, his long sleeve drags over the brush that he so meticulously set down earlier. With the momentum from his sleeve, the brush rolls over Lan Qiren’s elegant calligraphy, smearing a dark, thick line of ink and ruining the scroll.

Lan Qiren pays it no mind.

For the first time in many months, Lan Qiren steps into Wangji’s office.

Just as he always has, Wangji is sitting at his desk and reading through a stack of paperwork. A couple orchid stalks sit in a vase on the corner of the desk, brightening the room with its vibrant purple petals.

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren says, taking his seat at the desk opposite Wangji.

“Shufu.” Wangji stares at the document before him, finishing reading the page first before he faces Lan Qiren.

Neither of them speak.

Through the windows, streaks of sunlight brighten the room, dusting everything in a soft warmth.

The silence between them stretches on, both unwilling to make the first move. The only sound is the brush of Wangji’s long sleeve scraping against the wooden surface as he moves his arm. Beside him, a tea set rests on a tea stand, undoubtedly prepared by Wei Wuxian.

Just as Lan Qiren is about to cave, Wangji speaks. “You have spoken to Wei Ying,” he says in a practiced disinterested tone.

Realizing that Wangji has waited him out of purpose, letting the silence stew between them to unsettle him, Lan Qiren frowns disapprovingly.

“I have.”

“You have removed the rule forbidding interaction with Wei Ying from the Wall of Discipline.”

“I have.”

“Do you regret your mistreatment of Wei Ying?”

At this, Lan Qiren stiffens because he cannot say that he regrets his actions. Knowing what he now knows about the factors that pushed Wei Wuxian into his choies, it is true that he was unfair to him. Yet, with the knowledge he had at hand previously, his concerns over Wel Wuxian’s decision to follow the heretical path, to desecrate the dead, to arrogantly take on the entire cultivation world — his concerns were not unfounded. When he could not be sure of Wei Wuxian’s morality, of his righteousness, it was not wrong for Lan Qiren to judge Wei Wuxian with suspicion.

Even if his concerns were largely unfounded, and even if Wangji and Xichen were not wrong to defend Wei Wuxian’s secrets, Lan Qiren’s caution is not unjustified.

Instead of answering, Lan Qiren counters with his own question.

“When did you know?” Lan Qiren clasps his hands together, resting them on the table.

Wangji pauses, as if he is unsure whether or not to answer. Hurt and offense bubble in Lan Qiren’s chest at Wangji’s hesitation, at Wangji’s distrust, but he ignores the feelings.

Finally, after several long seconds of private deliberation, Wangji answers. “Lotus Pier.”

Lan Qiren’s brows rise. “After the Burial Mounds?”

Wangji nods once and reaches for his tea.

Lan Qiren watches the movement with more than a little bit of jealousy. It has been several months since he has been given the opportunity to enjoy tea brewed by Wei Wuxian.

“You were unsure of his innocence at the Nightless City.” He blinks slowly, the bits and pieces of Wangji’s relationship sliding into place. It dawns on Lan Qiren that he will never fully grasp the depths of Wangji’s love.

But all Wangji says, as he refills his teacup, is, “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.”

“And what does that mean?” Lan Qiren eyes the teacup.

Wangji takes another long, drawn out sip of tea before he answers. “It means that Wei Ying is Wei Ying,” Wangji repeats, his gaze drifting towards the pair of orchids. “Wei Ying is reckless, but Wei Ying does not act without due cause. His reasons are not always clear, nor are his methods the most orthodox, but the intent is pure.”

“Back then, how could you know?” Because Lan Qiren is correct. Back then, Wei Wuxian was a hot-blooded, arrogant youth who spewed blasphemous theories because he could. Back then, Wei Wuxian was a menace who challenged orthodoxy because he knew of his own talents and was all too happy to show them off.

Now, Wangji swallows. In a break from his carefully cultivated and unreadable poise, Wangji seems...not ashamed, because Wangji has proven himself to be shameless time and time again when it comes to Wei Wuxian. So, not ashamed, but something humbled, as though Wangji knows his actions were indefensible and will not do either of them the disservice of pretending they can be defended.

Looking directly at Lan Qiren, not hiding anything, Wangji says, “I did not know.” His voice is clear and steady.

Having known this from the start, Lan Qiren sighs in resignation.

“You stood by Wei Wuxian even when you could not be sure of his intentions? Of his goodness?”

“I believed in Wei Ying. Not always enough, and often too late, but I believed in Wei Ying,” Wangji says emphatically. His eyes flash briefly in anger before he remembers himself. “I will not pretend that my choices are justifiable, nor will I do Wei Ying the disservice of pretending that his past is not clouded with immoral judgements. Wei Ying has also made choices that are unexplainable and cannot be justified. There are thousands of souls that will never see rebirth as a consequence of Wei Ying’s cultivation. Although the circumstances are sympathetic, these are choices that Wei Ying has made for himself. I support him as my spouse, as the one who knows me best, and I accept his shortcomings as easily as I accept his strengths.”

It is easily the most Lan Qiren has ever heard Wangji say in one sitting and it is not a surprise that it is to support Wei Wuxian. Lan Qiren almost smiles as he strokes his beard approvingly. “You have grown into a fine cultivator, Wangji.”

Wangji blinks. “Shufu?”

“You know what you stand for,” Lan Qiren says. He offers no other explanation as he allows his eyes to wander.

In the months since Lan Qiren’s last visit, Wangji has done some redecorating of his office.

Paintings have been plastered on the walls. They are innocuous depictions of flowers, of nature, even a few scenes Lan Qiren can identify as from within Cloud Recesses’ peaks. There is even a painting of Wangji’s rabbits, all gathered in the Back Mountain. These are images that are deeply private, yet wholly inconsequential to those who do not know. Lan Qiren recognizes Wei Wuxian’s brushwork — he has spent his fair share of time lamenting Wei Wuxian’s penchant for leaving doodles in the margins of his essays as a student. Wei Wuxian’s art has changed, from one life to the next, but Lan Qiren still recognizes the haphazard strokes Wei Wuxian leaves on the page. Lines that should not work, yet somehow meld together into beautiful images.

They are little, frivolous things with no practical purpose and stand out from the general preference in Cloud Recesses for simplicity. But, like Wei Wuxian’s presence in the Jingshi, they do not interfere with the fengshui of the room, nor are they eyesores. And, as Lan Qiren is loath to admit, it is almost endearing how Wangji allows his devotion to Wei Wuxian subtly permeate into every aspect of his life. Shameless, certainly, and cloyingly sentimental, but Lan Qiren does not have it in him to begrudge Wangji for finally finding his happiness.

A ruffling sound pulls Lan Qiren’s attention back to Wangji, who is moving the document he had been reading to the side.

Looking back up at his uncle, Wangji asks, “Why did Shufu change his opinion on Wei Ying?”

“Is it so unfair to protect the youth from bad influences when I could not be sure of Wei Wuxian’s morals?” Lan Qiren holds up a hand when it looks like Wangji is about to argue. “I am no longer saying Wei Wuxian is a poor influence. Adjustments to the Wall of Discipline are not made lightly.”

“Neither are additions,” Wangji says drily.

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren says, lightly chastising, “there is no one still in the living world who knows Wei Wuxian as well as you and no one who can understand Wei Wuxian the way you do. It is unfair to expect others to see Wei Wuxian the way you do when there is no one who knows Wei Wuxian as you do.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wangji says in a vaguely accusatory tone, “You still do not approve.”

Lan Qiren simply shakes his head. “I do not approve of Wei Wuxian’s cultivation. I will never approve the needless slaughter of resentful souls and you cannot ask that of me. Suffering in life should be treated with care, not exploited for personal power. It is why suppression and elimination are only acceptable once liberation has failed. The cultivator cannot be separated from one’s cultivation. But,” Lan Qiren pauses, reaching out to move Wangji’s orchid vase a couple centimetres into the sun. “Approval is not needed for acceptance of one’s family.”

“Shufu?” Wangji blinks at Lan Qiren, eyes shining with hope.

“Achieving the impossible is a lonely path.” Lan Qiren unclasps his hands, allowing himself to show Wangji a more vulnerable side. “Unpredictability begets instability.”

Wangji nods. “There are few who are willing to stand by a partner who will outshine them in every way.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Lan Qiren allows himself to audibly snort. “You are allowing yourself to fall victim to Wei Wuxian’s arrogance.”

“Outward arrogance does not negate inner purity,” Lan Wangji’s lip curls up in what is almost a wry smile.

With that, silence settles between them once again. It is not tense, nor manipulative. It is silence in the way that Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji have always preferred to work in the stillness of quiet. It is like a suspended reality, where it is only them and their thoughts.

One of the orchid leaves quiver, shaking the entire stalk. The other stands sturdy, unmoved by the temporary disturbance.

It is Wangji who breaks the silence when he asks, “Would Shufu like some tea?”

And Lan Qiren does not quite smile — he is too jaded to perform such frivolous acts of comfort. But he gives Wangji a soft look, one he has not given since Wangji was still a child.

“Please.”

In the serendipitous silence of Wangji’s office, they enjoy the longjing tea that Wei Wuxian steeped to perfection.

“Lan-shushu!” Wei Wuxian chirps, greeting Lan Qiren from his seat at the head of the Lanshi.

The students have only just filed out of the class when Lan Qiren enters. The desk at the front of the room, reserved for the teacher, is surrounded by used talismans. There is a small stack of unused talismans on the desk and a small mountain of used, crumpled talismans on the ground. It is the messiest aftermath and most wasteful class Lan Qiren has ever seen.

“You have had a productive class,” Lan Qiren comments drily, stopping before he reaches the mess.

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian flutters around, searching for stray talismans, notes, and brushes left behind by his students. He does not find much — Gusu Lan’s children are taught to treat their belongings with respect from a young age. Only a single brush has been left behind. “No one will be raising a fierce corpse army anytime soon.”

A little cross-eyed turtle plush rests on Wei Wuxian’s desk, allegedly to inspire the youth to work hard. The Xuanwu of Slaughter is dead, but the Azure Dragon of Bloodlust remains.

In the weeks since Lan Qiren spoke to Wangji, they have settled into a new rhythm.

Cloud Recesses remains unchanged, the day to day activities being carried out just as they always have. Lan Qiren still has his morning tea with the sect elders, Jingyi and Sizhui still go on nighthunts, Wangji is the still Chief Cultivator and acting Sect Leader, and the jars of spices in the kitchens are regularly replenished.

Lan Qiren’s weekly meetings with Wangji have resumed, and Wangji has returned to seeking out his uncle for advice. Wei Wuxian still has his lunches with Xichen and they continue to make progress on both fronts: Wei Wuxian on his musical tethering of Empathy and Xichen on his expansion of the Songs of Clarity.

It is a new routine that they have settled into and Lan Qiren is loath for it to change.

“I should hope not,” Lan Qiren huffs. Wei Wuxian knows Lan Qiren still disapproves of his cultivation, Lan Qiren knows that Wei Wuxian will continue to use demonic cultivation until he can develop a new substitute for a golden core, and they have both learned to accept the others’ choices.

Bent over, Wei Wuxian picks up his used talismans into a box. “Does Lan-shushu need something?”

“I just spoke to Wangji,” Lan Qiren clasps his hands together behind him. “He intends to spend several months of the next year outside of Gusu.”

Without looking up, Wei Wuxian nods. He is surprisingly efficient, at cleaning up his used talismans. “We’ve talked about it. Lan Zhan is good at paperwork, but he’s a warrior before he is a diplomat.”

“Wangji has duties here. They cannot be dropped simply because he has caught a taste of the wandering bug. Even warriors must learn to put down their swords.”

Dropping the last of the crumpled talismans in the box, Wei Wuxian sets the box on the table.

“Lan Zhan isn’t going to stay Chief Cultivator forever,” Wei Wuxian says. His tone is mild, but the words cause Lan Qiren to see red.

Gritting his teeth, Lan Qiren snaps, “Wangji has a responsibility to his Sect. He cannot drop them on a whim.”

Shaking his head, Wei Wuxian remains on the ground as he calmly placates Lan Qiren. “Not a whim. Xichen-ge has been slowly coming out of seclusion and taking on more and more of Lan Zhan’s roles. Most of the paperwork is done by Xichen-ge now,” Wei Wuxian pauses to blow a stray tuft of hair out of his face. “Lan Zhan only does the face to face meeting part now. You know, the one part of the job that Lan Zhan definitely should not be doing.” Wei Wuxian remains on the ground, surveying the Lanshi for any stray items he missed.

“Wangji has been doing a fine job in his position,” Lan Qiren says stiffly, clenching his hands into fists.

Pausing his search, Wei Wuxian looks up at Lan Qiren with an unreadable look. “Last week, I had to mediate a discussion between Sect Leader Yao and Lan Zhan because Lan Zhan said, and I quote, ‘one should not be boastful of one’s inadequacies’. Perhaps Lan-shushu disagrees, but I consider driving another Sect Leader towards a qi deviation to be a weakness in a Chief Cultivator.“ Wei Wuxian says this in a peaceful, placating tone. It is mockingly diplomatic.

Lan Qiren’s flushes. “One instance of conflict does not define Wangji’s tenure. He is exceedingly well read and exceptionally productive at carrying out reforms.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Yeah, sure, you don’t need to convince me that Lan Zhan is the best. But everyone hates him.”

“Wangji is a highly respected cultivator,” Lan Qiren’s voice hardens as he begins pacing.

But Wei Wuxian is unbothered as he moves across the room to pick up a stray scroll forgotten by one of his students. “Sure, but being respected isn’t the same as being liked.” Turning to face Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian gestures at himself. “People begrudgingly respected me during the Sunshot Campaign but no one liked me. Lan Zhan could barely even stand me.”

Lan Qiren would beg to differ — Lan Wangji was still madly in love with Wei Wuxian throughout the Sunshot Campaign, but that is not what they are here to discuss.

Sighing in resignation, Lan Qiren straightens the folds in his sleeves. “And where will you go, once you no longer have responsibilities in Cloud Recesses?”

“Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian answers automatically. It is clear that this is something that he and Wangji have discussed for a long time, a longer term plan than Lan Qiren had given them credit for. “Jiang Cheng and I haven’t really spoken since the Guanyin Temple. Of course I’ve seen him at conferences, but there are things that should be said away from the prying ears of others. There are explanations that I owe him, stories he needs to get off his chest, and some things we both need to say.”

And Lan Qiren nods, understanding. He still does not fully understand the depth of the tangled threads connecting Wei Wuxian to Jiang Wanyin, nor does he ever want to know. But he does understand the remnants of a duty Wei Wuxian still has to Yunmeng Jiang, and he can imagine how the bond between martial brothers as close as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin had once been is difficult to bury.

“Will you stop by Laoshan?” Lan Qiren asks, remembering a conversation he had with Sect Leader Gong over Wei Wuxian’s good deeds. “Sect Leader Gong spoke well of you.”

“Perhaps,” Wei Wuxian muses. “It can’t hurt to check up on Laoshan’s lake.”

Lan Qiren takes this chance to ask a question that he has been wondering about for the better part of a year. “Why did you ask Sect Leader Gong to keep your role in clearing Laoshan’s lake of vengeful water spirits quiet?”

“Laoshan is too close to Pingyang. If Sect Leader Yao heard of my presence so close to his territory, he would accuse Lan Zhan of using me to encroach on his territory. Knowing how Sect Leader Ouyang is, this would also lead to conflict with Baling. Some deeds are best kept quiet,” Wei Wuxian says thoughtfully, clear that he had considered the ramifications of his actions on Wangji’s position.

Humming in approval, Lan Qiren clasps his hands behind his back. Perhaps he is not the spouse Lan Qiren would have chosen for Wangji, but Lan Qiren cannot deny just how well Wei Wuxian compliments Wangji’s shortcomings — especially Wangji’s diplomatic shortsightedness.

“Don’t worry, Lan-shushu,” Wei Wuxian adds, seeing through to the root of Lan Qiren’s concerns. “We’ll be sticking around the jianghu, nothing too far. It’s only for a few months. We won’t be abandoning Gusu. I still have cute little baby Lans to teach and Lan Zhan still has Sect Leaders to terrorize. He doesn’t need to be Chief Cultivator to be a menace.”

“You will return?” Lan Qiren asks, clamping down on the anxiety bumbling within him. It is still one of his deepest fears, that Wei Wuxian will leave Cloud Recesses and take Wangji with him.

“I think I’ve spent enough time wandering, without a home,” Wei Wuxian drops the scroll on the table. He claps the dust off his hands as he straightens his back. “The Jingshi is a nice place to settle down.”

Lan Qiren hums, uncrossing his arms. He tucks his hands into his sleeves, watching the easy way Wei Wuxian moves around the room. He has not been teaching long, but Wei Wuxian has taken to it the way a duck takes to water: chaotically and messily, but without incident — like he was born to do it.

“We won’t be leaving immediately,” Wei Wuxian continues. “Like Lan Zhan said, it’ll be at least a few months from now. We still have duties and there are loose threads we need to tie up. I am going to see my little Lan ducklings to the end of the season and Xichen-ge still needs a bit more time before he’s ready to leave seclusion.”

“As long as you give the elders due warning,” Lan Qiren huffs, resigned to the knowledge that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have never listened to the words of others when it came to their mutual desires. He says this, masking his own private fear that they will leave without warning, that Lan Qiren will wake up one day and Wangji will be gone.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian nods gravely, giving the topic at hand due gravity for once. Of course, he is Wei Wuxian. Like Wangji has often said, Wei Wuxian can be astute when he wants to be and so once again he sees through Lan Qiren’s words. “And of course we’ll let you and Xichen-ge know as well! We’ll bring everyone back souvenirs!”

“Do not be enthralled by frivolous goods,” Lan Qiren says gruffly even though he is privately wallowing in relief.

“It’s not frivolous if it’s improving your home decor,” Wei Wuxian counters, eyes twinkling. “An alternative interpretation to the rules is not a refutation of the rules.”

With Wei Wuxian’s laughter ringing through the Lanshi, Lan Qiren makes his exit.

It is the tail end of spring. The flowers have begun to wilt as the buds begin to change form into little fruits but the air is still filled with the cloyingly sweet scent of pollen as Lan Qiren steps out from the Lanshi.

Knowing that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji will be announcing their departure any day now, Lan Qiren awaits each day on edge. As promised, Xichen returns to his role as Sect Leader slowly and the transition is smooth. Certainly, Lan Qiren is elated, seeing Xichen move on from his hurts and return to the world.

These days, Lan Qiren has taken to observing Wangji’s and Wei Wuxian’s interactions, wondering how they will support each other when they are no longer in Cloud Recesses. Now that he has made his peace with them both, Lan Qiren finds himself spending his days worrying about the pair. It is an unfounded worry, Lan Qiren knows. They travel together often, on short local nighthunts and to conferences, and have always returned home without harm. Wangji still makes Wei Wuxian’s meals everyday without fail, and Wei Wuxian repays the sentiment with perfect pots of tea and slightly less perfect bowls of congee.

Still, as Lan Qiren watches their interactions, he observes that Wei Wuxian is far leaner than Wangji. Wei Wuxian’s waist looks like it would snap if Wangji is too careless, dwarfed by Wangji’s long fingers.

He also sees how Wei Wuxian is always running around Cloud Recesses, how there is always something that requires his attention, and how Wei Wuxian never turns down a disciple who asks for help. No matter how frivolous the question, Wei Wuxian throws all of himself into finding an answer.

It is this concern that leads Lan Qiren to interrupt Wei Wuxian’s class.

Saying nothing, he enters the Lanshi with a plate of sliced oranges in hand. In an effort to avoid disturbing the disciples, Lan Qiren walks around the perimeter of the room. It is not entirely successful as Lan Qiren can feel the eyes of some disciple following him, but no one is about to question his presence.

To Wei Wuxian’s credit he does not stumble over his lecture at all, even as his eyes confusedly follow Lan Qiren’s movements.

Without a word, Lan Qiren quietly leaves the fruit on Wei Wuxian’s desk and leaves, trusting Wei Wuxian will understand the action for what it is.

Acceptance.