Lan Wangji

It is still a source of amazement to him that no time at all had passed in Cloud Recesses while they were traveling with Geralt and staying in Kaer Morhen. His brother had been quite startled at his return so soon, more so as they figured out the reason for their confusion.

Together, they had decided it would be more upsetting to A-Yuan for him to have changed his apparent path so swiftly, and thus Lan Wangji is now prepared to stay at the inn for an extended period, day and night. He cannot say that he is not glad, deep down, especially while Wei Ying is recovering - Wei Ying and Ciri both.

Things are better than he had dared hope, Lan Wangji thinks. Wei Ying is stronger, and does not tire as easily as he had before. Ciri is understandably quiet and withdrawn, but after some days of watchfulness Lan Wangji is no longer as afraid for her as he had been. He has taken to giving them space for their own company or each other's for some hours daily, to prevent the enforced idleness of healing from chafing more than necessary and to avoid any perception that he is watching closely enough to smother. It is difficult, but he thinks he has found a balance.

He himself uses that time to meditate or practice or study or any of a number of other things that will serve in preparation for what comes next. Whatever that will be.

Today, he is walking the paths along the lake shore, lost in his own thoughts.

He has much to do, much to consider, and at times like this he finds that it can be both useful and soothing to practice sword forms. In addition, he has been working on perfecting the Igni sign, and this will be an excellent opportunity to continue his practice.

As a result, Lan Wangji can be found near the lake at present, working with Bichen and with the occasional flicker of light from his hand.

It is good to be out in the world and traveling again. It had taken him longer than he had originally thought to arrange matters so that he could.

He has spent the last several weeks since his seclusion ended and since he originally discussed his intentions with Xichen reviewing petitions and pleas for help from various villages in Gusu, claiming a number for his attention which would bring him closer and closer to Yunmeng on a longer trip. He had also taken care to choose those which could be handled on a sojourn of a day, two at most, in order to get A-Yuan accustomed to the idea that he would leave... and that he would also come back.

(It has been more of an adjustment than he had anticipated for both of them, once his seclusion had ended. On the advice of little A-Yi's mother, he had secured a bed for A-Yuan in the Jingshi, but has not yet pressed the child to stay with him full time. It is just as well, he thinks; A-Yuan is excited about living with the other littlest ones still, and Lan Wangji has not needed to spend nights apart from Wei Ying.)

Now, he is several nights' travel away from Cloud Recesses. He had dealt with an angry ghost which had poisoned a village well earlier in the afternoon, and with the grateful villagers in the evening before retreating to his room upstairs at the local inn. Tomorrow will see him to the Yunmeng border, but tonight will see him at another inn entirely.

Lan Wangji opens the door - using the scrap of Wei Ying's ribbon as a focus, as always - and crosses the common room to request tea from Bar-guniang. He is surprised to be presented with not only the tea but also a plate of fruit-and-custard tarts, another of osmanthus cakes, and a single chocolate cupcake with a blue candle burning bright, along with a note that reads Happy birthday, Lan Wangji!

He bows deeply to Bar-guniang, thanking her for her thoughtfulness, and watches the candle burn for a little while before he blows it out.

He leaves Ciri's room, stunned and reeling, her words echoing over and over in his head.

You will lose him again.

The Shadow will fall upon the Twin Jades of Lan.

Harrowhark! This is the second death....

He goes first to the room they share, but Wei Ying is nowhere to be found.

When he reaches the inn's common room, he is pale as salt, but grimly determined.

He is ready when Xichen arrives, promptly at wǔ hour, having used the morning in meditation to steady himself, so that he will be better prepared to answer his questions, ready for whatever may be said.

Xichen does not ask.

Instead, he opens the way into Cold Pond Cave, meets Lan Wangji's eyes, and silently stands to the side to allow Gusu Lan's senior healer to enter. Once she does, there is no room left for them to talk. She fills the cave with scolding, chirping like an ancient, angry sparrow, ordering him to disrobe and let her look at his back, admonishing Xichen sharply for trying to undo all her previous good work, her hands gentle as she checks the fresh wounds and new bruises and old scars, all three.

"You are healing well," she proclaims, finally. "You should be fine in two days' time. Not that I would expect anything else, as strong as you are. Don't you dare let it go to your head, Hanguang-jun. If you pull another foolish stunt like this, whatever it was--"

He does not look at his brother, although he can feel Xichen watching them.

"-- I will make sure that you are only given the bitterest of herbs as medicine and might just strangle you with your bandages afterwards, do you understand me?" Her voice cracks, and he looks up at her, startled - and is struck speechless at seeing her tears. He nods, staring, and she swats him lightly on the shoulder before she rubs her sleeve across her face, drying her eyes.

"Ah, go on with you, I don't know why I even bother, no one listens to me, not one of you--"

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Lan-daifu. Thank you."

"You are welcome. And that goes for you as well, Lan-zongzhu--"

Her voice is even sharper when she turns to Xichen, but she does not berate him further. There is something about the look on his face--

Before he can figure it out, she bows to Xichen, and he bows in return, then gives Lan Wangji a long look before escorting her from the cave, without having said a single word.

---

He is not expecting it, when Xichen returns the next day, again at wǔ hour. This time he brings A-Yuan with him.

A-Yuan is fretful, clinging at first to Lan Wangji's leg and refusing to be dislodged. He strokes the child's hair and murmurs reassurance, glancing at Xichen for any sign of why he is so upset. His brother folds his arms and goes to stand by the wall of the cave, without answering.

He is finally able to coax A-Yuan to let go for a moment, but only when he says that it is so that he can pick him up instead. He braces A-Yuan on his hip and lets him clench his small hands in the front of his robes without discouraging him, and waits to find out what is wrong.

"A-yi said I couldn't come see you," he confesses, finally, in a tiny voice, still clinging to Lan Wangji like a barnacle. "Did I do something bad? Were you mad at me?"

He feels his heart crack as he holds A-Yuan more tightly. "No. You did not do anything wrong. I am not mad at you, A-Yuan."

"Then why?"

"I was being punished," he says. "For something I did."

He can feel Xichen's gaze sharpen, as A-Yuan's eyes go huge with surprise.

"You did something wrong?"

"I broke the rules," he says. He will not lie to this child. "Sometimes it is important to do what you believe is right, even if others say it is wrong. But when you do, sometimes there will be punishment. You will have to decide if it is worth it."

"Oh." A-Yuan is quiet, thinking about that, and while he does Lan Wangji looks up at his brother, holding his gaze with a steady, level look. Xichen looks back at him, still saying nothing, and their silent exchange of stares is broken when A-Yuan pulls at his robes again and Lan Wangji looks back down at him.

"I missed you," A-Yuan tells him, and throws his small arms around Lan Wangji in a hug as far as he can reach.

He pats A-Yuan's back, holding him close. "I missed you, too."

---

He is not surprised when Xichen arrives the next day as well. His brother's point has been clearly made, by now, and all that remains is to answer the question that lies between them.

This time Xichen is alone, and has brought tea to share. The two of them settle at Lan Yi's table and are quiet for some time. He watches steam curl from the cup into the cave's chill air.

"A-Zhan."

He looks up at Xichen. His brother's voice is soft with sorrow.

"Did it have something to do with Wei Wuxian?"

He does not try to evade. "Yes."

Xichen closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out very slowly. He waits, while his brother sorts through his thoughts.

"Could it not have waited?" he asks, next.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. "No."

He braces himself then, ready for Xichen to ask next where he went, what he did, all the things he cannot say, only to feel himself turn pale as salt when his brother instead asks, very quietly,

"Is he alive?"

He hears himself make a choked sound, raw with grief. Xichen swiftly leans forward, reaching across the table, and he feels his brother's hand close tightly around his.

"A-Zhan, I'm sorry. I thought -- there was a chance, and I knew if he was, that you would-- I'm so sorry."

He clutches Xichen's hand, trying to breathe, and shakes his head.

"No," he manages, at last. "That-- I-- no. He is dead, Xichen. He is still dead."

"I'm sorry," his brother says again, and Lan Wangji nods.

"I know."

He had been right. Thirty blows, on top of his scars, had been excruciating indeed, casting him very nearly back to the earliest days after his whipping. From the feel of what must be blood trickling down his back, Lan Wangji thinks that at least two wounds have broken open again, maybe more.

He ignores that, as there is nothing he can do about it, and uses his focus on the pain to hone his will and awareness so that he will neither fall nor fail.

(If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost, almost put aside his worry for Wei Ying, who must surely be wondering where he is by now. It will only get worse, he knows, and there is -- as yet -- nothing he can do about that.)

He kneels in the courtyard outside his uncle's pavilion, holding the discipline rods in outstretched hands, and concentrates on not letting them fall, ignoring the need for food or sleep.

Time passes.

* * * * * * * * *

The world has narrowed to encompass very few things. The feel of the rods in his hands, their weight and heft and smoothness. The enduring ache of the muscles in his arms and shoulders. The dull, numb pain of where his knees meet stone. The white-fire agony twisting through his back. The dizziness of exhaustion held at bay by will alone; the burning of his golden core within him as he exhausts his energy to somehow manage it all.

He has not slept. He has not moved. He has not let a single rod fall.

"Wangji."

At first he does not hear the voice coming from behind him.

"Hanguang-jun."

Ah. It is his brother. But why?

"You are to return to Cold Pond Cave. Your time here has ended. I will walk with you."

He blinks, surprised -- and catches himself before he sways. Gathering his remaining strength, he surges to his feet in a single movement and turns to face Xichen.

"I thank you and Xiansheng for your instruction, Lan-zongzhu," he says, formally, and makes himself ignore the look of hurt in his brother's eyes as he holds out the discipline rods to him. "You do not need to accompany me."

Xichen accepts them, and looks at Lan Wangji in silence for a moment. "I will visit you tomorrow," he says, finally. "At the usual time."

Lan Wangji nods to him, and sets off toward Cold Pond Cave.

* * * * * * * * *

It takes the last of his remaining strength to reach the cave without revealing his weakness to any of the disciples that he passes on the way.

He will need to rest, he realizes, before he tries to attempt the crossing later this evening, if he is not going to worry Wei Ying further.

Unfortunately for Lan Wangji, when he reaches to brace himself against the rock wall of the cave so that he can use it to support him as he makes his way deeper within, he finds that the wall has vanished and that he himself is falling sideways through the portal and into the inn.

He manages to catch himself heavily on a table by the door, and slides into a chair with more luck than either skill or grace.

Since placing his study tools in Wei Ying's grave as a burial gift, Lan Wangji has not been able to complete making the required copies of the Gusu Lan rules as part of his meditations in seclusion.

It is not a problem -- yet. However, it could become so, should his brother or worse, his uncle, ask for them.

He decides against asking Xichen for replacements, as explaining why would be far too difficult. Instead, he makes a trip to the inn earlier than he usually would, and requests Bar-guniang's assistance.

She provides him with everything he needs, and he settles at a table to try them out, starting with a fresh copy of the rules.

There are three thousand of them. It will take some time.

Lan Wangji carries the ritual items back with him from the inn to Cold Pond Cave in silence. He has the whole day to prepare, as it will not be safe for him to leave the cave until evening.

He takes the time first to restore the silver ring to Lan Yi’s lantern as it was before, and to kneel before her table and thank her spirit for the use of it. Given her connection to Baoshan Sanren, and Baoshen Sanren’s connection to Wei Ying through his mother, he also explains what he is planning, and why. He thinks she might remember the laughing young man who made her an earnest promise in this very cave; he thinks she might have wanted to know.

(He should not be the only one to mourn Wei Ying. But if he is, so be it.)

He takes the towel-wrapped bundle containing Wei Ying’s robes from his qiankun bag and lays it gently on the table. He takes far less care with the ocean-marked set of his own robes, pulling them from the bag and examining each layer critically. The sea has not ruined their quality, he finds, and is satisfied to see it.

Bichen flashes brightly in the dim light of the cave as he cuts his robes apart into the pieces he needs. He unwraps the towel and sets it aside, then carefully wraps Wei Ying’s robes first in the fine white silk cut from his inner robe, followed by a richly-embroidered covering taken from the outer two layers.

To further his meditations during seclusion, he has been provided with the tools of study: ink stick and stone, paper, and writing brush. He wraps them all in silk as well and places them beside Wei Ying’s robes. When his evening meal arrives, left just inside the mouth of the cave as usual, he makes sure it is covered and well-wrapped. He spends a moment wishing that he had thought to bring chili oil from the inn, or some other kind of spice that would make the bland food of Gusu Lan more palatable, more to Wei Ying’s taste, but there is no help for it now. Both grave-gift and burial feast, such as it is, will have to do.

It is not enough, but it is the best he has to offer.

He waits as long as he can, until well after dinner hour when all of the disciples should have returned to their residences, until twilight begins to deepen into true nightfall, before he takes everything he has collected and sets out in secret. The darkness does not matter. He knows exactly where he means to go.

He slips from the cave and follows the trail along the stream up the mountainside from the bathing pool, up toward the higher slopes. He pauses at the base of the waterfall, standing for a moment on the flat rock, lost in memory – and then again, on the height overlooking the rest of Cloud Recesses, where lanterns had once carried their vows into the sky above.

It is here that he leaves the trail for the mist-shrouded forest, climbing ever upward until he reaches the remote, peaceful place he discovered as a boy, long ago. Although it is dark now, he knows what it looks like during the day, with sun-dappled shadows stirred by soft breezes from the mountain peaks. He knows that it is sheltered in the lee of the slope from the worst of the winter snows, and that if one looks outward through the trees, the valley below shines like a jewel.

Lan Wangji moves slowly to the base of the largest tree, where he has spent more than one afternoon reading the poetry of Lan An, and kneels down among its roots. He draws Bichen and, working carefully by the light of his sword’s blade, carves Wei Wuxian into the trunk to serve in place of a tablet. He shifts back from the tree just enough to make the needed space, and begins to dig.

He lays Wei Ying’s robes in the new-made hole and places the scholar’s tools beside them before filling it back in with his bare hands. He sets the burial feast on the sides, arranges the sticks of incense, and lights them from the fire he starts in the metal bowl. As he kneels before Wei Ying’s grave to fold and burn joss paper for him, grief tears through him anew and tears begin to fall.

This is not what he had wanted, when he begged Wei Ying to come back to Gusu with him. Wei Ying will never stand beside him on these slopes again. His laughter will not ring from the hills nor bubble like the mountain streams throughout Cloud Recesses. His chatter will not fill the silence of the library pavilion, nor will he challenge elders and disciples alike with new ideas. He will not spend nights hunting beside Lan Wangji to defend the helpless from monsters and demons, will not stay awake until dawn creating new talismans and inventing impossible things, will not see A-Yuan grow from a boy into a man—

Lan Wangji bites back the sobs that threaten to choke him, and repeats the promise he has made to himself more than once during the last three years.

He will keep their vows for them both. He will seek out trouble in the world when his seclusion is done, going wherever there is need and doing everything he can to live by the virtues they both believed in. He will continue to raise and love A-Yuan as his son, as he already does, and will see to it that the spirit tools and talismans Wei Ying made are taught to others and made part of his legacy, so that the world will remember him as more than the Yiling Patriarch. He will do all of this and more, and he will regret none of it.

In the silence of night, lost in the drowning-deep well of his sorrow, he concentrates on feeding the fire, keeping the light alive and the flame dancing before him. It is hours later before the last of the paper finally burns out, and longer still before Lan Wangji finally rises to his feet in the darkness and retraces his steps, returning to Cold Pond Cave.