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Lan Xichen’s eyes are closed as he studies the silence. It’s the next best thing to meditation, something he used to do as easily as breathing but can’t seem to get quite right lately.
Growing up in the Cloud Recesses, there has never been a time in his life when the quiet wasn’t there. It’s the backdrop of every significant memory, early on, and the thing he came to look forward to later, when his duties took him outside of his home more and more often, out into the ruthlessly loud world. He was always able to handle it better than his brother, all that noise, but he, too, looked forward to the quiet upon his returns. Sought it out, perhaps even needed it to reinstate his equilibrium, find his center again.
He doesn’t quite know what to do with it now.
Seclusion is quiet. Silence is all there is, out here, but he has yet to find himself in it, or anything, really. Any kind of answer. Some reason for all of this, perhaps. Some sense to make of it.
The quiet is absolute here. It has claimed him, though not in the comforting way he’s used to, longs for now. This, too, has changed.
So, to keep up a semblance of normalcy, the next best thing will have to do. He spends his days studying the silence now, its brief interruptions, the sounds he can’t escape even here. The footsteps of a servant, twice a day, leaving food and clean laundry outside, taking what he put on the porch to be taken away. The hiss of the kettle, the soft splashing when he fills his cup. The birds chirping outside, leaves rustling in the wind, his own breathing.
That last one is the worst of all, sometimes. He gets stuck on it, tangled in it until he’s right back at the temple, his sword in his hands, A-Yao so close before him. The last time he saw him, or perhaps the first time he truly did. He still doesn’t know what he saw. Who. The pieces don’t fit together, but the sword is so heavy in his hand, A-Yao’s face so close to his, tears clinging to his lashes, his breath short and labored.
Lan Xichen’s own breath catches, stumbles with the memory. He pulls himself back deliberately, deep breath in, slow breath out. Listens again, purposely doesn’t remember.
His breathing. A tree’s branch brushing the side of the house. The click of his throat when he swallows. A flute.
Lan Xichen opens his eyes.
Sounds of Cloud Recesses’ everyday life usually don’t reach him here. The sect members and disciples are accustomed to silence too, they uphold it without thinking about it, and he’s far enough from the bustle that it’s easy to forget it exists at all.
The flute isn’t coming from somewhere far away, though. It’s close, jarringly so. Right outside, another person – not the quick shadows of light-footed, silent servants, easy enough to ignore. No, this person demands to be heard.
Lan Xichen sits frozen as the melody weaves around him, filling the quiet. It’s a nice song, calm and peaceful, though that is the last thing Lan Xichen feels himself, listening to it. His heart is beating entirely too fast, which he notes with some degree of curiosity. Dismay, too. The most horrifying battlefield couldn’t shake his equilibrium, but now a song is enough to tip him out of balance.
Well, not the song alone. The fact that someone is here, playing it.
There aren’t all that many options as to who could have decided to spontaneously serenade him, so Lan Xichen is fairly confident in the identity of the musician.
He rises to his feet eventually, when it becomes clear the music won’t stop after one song, but remains standing there for some time. The playing continues, but doesn’t come closer. It’s just there. Something to acknowledge or let pass.
Lan Xichen takes a few steps towards the door. His hand lingers there before he gives himself a push and slides it open.
The melody pauses at the sound, but carries on as if nothing happened a moment later.
Lan Xichen listens for a while, eyes fixed on the threshold. It’s a long moment before he can make himself cross it. Another step, then another, until he’s reached the end of the porch, the barrier between the house and the outside world.
He leans over the edge without stepping off, craning his head up. Sure enough, Wei Wuxian is sitting cross-legged on his roof, red ribbon fluttering in the breeze while he plays his dizi masterfully.
Lan Xichen waits until the tune comes to a natural end before he says, “Wei-gongzi.”
His voice is rough, the disuse evident. They’re the first words he has spoken in weeks.
Wei Wuxian lowers the dizi, smiling down at him.
“Zewu-jun.”
He gets to his feet and bows, though he remains on the roof. Lan Xichen is ashamed to admit that he’s grateful for it. There is a good amount of distance between them like this, which feels… safer somehow.
It also allows him a good look at him without being obvious about examining him so intently. Some time has passed since he last saw Wei Wuxian, and the changes in him are remarkable. Physically, he looks the same, though he’d bet the set of robes he’s wearing is new, something about the intricate details speaking of his brother’s tasteful hand.
But that’s not what makes him pause. It’s his posture, the way Wei Wuxian carries himself, a lightness about him that certainly wasn’t there the last time he saw him. His face is open and relaxed, his eyes clear and unburdened. There’s a distinct spring in his movements, like he’s walking on clouds.
There is also a dark bruise peeking out just above the neckline of his robes.
Ah, Lan Xichen thinks.
It was only a matter of time until he and Wangji figured it out. Though, to be fair, Wangji has had the matter of his feelings figured out for a long time. It was Wei Wuxian who took a little longer to catch up.
But catch up he did, evidently. Lan Xichen primly returns his gaze to his face. This is very good news for Wangji. He hopes he is as happy as he deserves to be.
He probably ought to say something, remark upon the obvious change of their relationship status.
“I see you’ve returned from your travels,” he says instead. “Have you lost your way? This is a rather secluded part of the Cloud Recesses.”
Wei Wuxian makes a vague noise, twirling his dizi. “Just mapping out the premises. Finding new spots to play in.” He clasps his hands behind his back, tilting his head. “How have you been?”
“I am currently in seclusion,” Lan Xichen responds, a non-answer he can very reasonably get away with. “I’m sure you are aware.”
He keeps his tone mild, softening the reproach. Though this is Wei Wuxian; he’s not sure if it registers at all.
“I’ve heard,” Wei Wuxian agrees. Not hard to guess where he’s getting his information from, though he doubts anyone in the cultivation world hasn’t heard about his retreat from society. His eyes are fixed on Lan Xichen, a thoughtful expression on his face that renders his gaze somewhat uncomfortable.
“Well, then. You understand why I cannot linger.”
“Of course, yeah.”
“It is nice to see you back. I trust Wangji is making sure you’re comfortable.”
Wei Wuxian’s cheeks color with a faint blush, a fascinating sight. His smile grows, unaware of the besotted picture he makes.
“Yeah, he’s… he is. I’m. Very comfortable.”
Lan Xichen nods, politely refraining from any further remarks.
“Enjoy your time together, then.”
He retreats back into the house, hearing Wei Wuxian calling out a goodbye just before he slides the door shut.
He lingers there for a moment, waiting to hear him leave. He doesn’t. Instead, just as he turns away, the music picks back up.
Lan Xichen lets out a slow breath. He could go back out and order him to leave.
He decides not to.
It’s not up to him if someone plays an instrument nearby. He wouldn’t have invited it, but now that the melody is already playing… well, let him play it. It has nothing to do with him.
His eyes fall on his xiao, one of the few non-essential items he took with him into seclusion. He left it on the table and has not touched it since. Claimed by the silence, like him.
He looks away and sits down again, assuming his former position.
On the rooftop, Wei Wuxian keeps playing for some time.
Lan Xichen can do nothing but listen.
*
He’s not entirely surprised when the flute sound returns.
A few days have passed. Lan Xichen has put the encounter out of his mind, trying to focus on meditation and reflection, admittedly doing a poor job of both. His eyes open as the first few notes reach him, carrying from above – a clear indicator who’s visiting, and where exactly he can find him, if he so wishes.
Lan Xichen listens for a while. He’s unsure whether he should go out, and eventually realizes that his indecision is a decision in itself.
Despite his lack of reaction, Wei Wuxian stays for some time, playing a dozen songs Lan Xichen knows and a couple more he isn’t familiar with. Eventually the music stops for good. Lan Xichen only hears the soft thud of Wei Wuxian’s landing because he listens closely for it. His steps fade away until there’s only silence. Strange, how it now seems louder than before.
Inevitably, he returns before long. Like a dog with a bone, though from what he gathers, he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. But Wei Wuxian loves rules – loves breaking them. Show him a house he isn’t meant to visit, someone he isn’t supposed to talk to, and he is guaranteed to stick around, trying to wiggle his way inside.
Lan Xichen decides not to indulge him.
He listens to the music, again, because there is nothing else he can do. Afterwards, he pays close attention to the renewed silence. Neither the sound nor the lack of it seem to lead anywhere, but then, that is an experience he has been forced to get used to over the past weeks.
Two days later, Wei Wuxian is back again. Lan Xichen woke up restless this morning, a feeling not uncommon when confined to the same space for a long time. Though part of him knows that he could leave this house and the feeling would remain, because the space isn’t the rooms he’s in, it’s his own mind tying itself into knots.
He’s familiar with it by now, but he hasn’t gotten much better at enduring it. He does, because he must. But today, when he hears steps up above and then a few moments later the first notes of a melody, there is something else for his mind to latch onto. Even if only for a little while. A poor escape, and one he’s not meant to indulge, but his options are limited and he needs to do something.
He slides the doors open, listens from the threshold for a while. It’s a cool day, the wind creeping into his robes and tousling his hair. It’s no weather to sit on rooftops and play music in, but Wei Wuxian has never been one to be deterred by poor conditions.
He takes a careful step outside, crossing the distance to the edge of the porch slowly. His arms wrap around himself as he leans against the pillar, closing his eyes while he listens. His cultivation is high enough that the cold doesn’t bother him, but his continuously shoddy meditation practice and lack of training does leave him more vulnerable than he’s used to.
The notes fade softly, a natural break at the end of a song.
“Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian calls out jovially, “fancy meeting you here.”
“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen greets him without opening his eyes. “You’ve returned.”
“What can I say? I like playing for an audience.”
He highly doubts that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the most attentive audience ready to shower him with praise and admiration right at home, but he doesn’t bother pointing that out. They both know he’s just talking for the sake of it, not to admit his true reasons for coming.
“Is your need for attention so overwhelming that even an unwilling audience is preferable to none?”
Shockingly rude, the words are out before he can think them through, a transgression he never would have allowed himself under different circumstances. And yet, he finds that he doesn’t feel like apologizing. When he opens his eyes to gauge Wei Wuxian’s reaction, he’s wearing the same easy-going smile that can usually be found on his face.
“You knew me when I was young, Zewu-jun,” he just says, twirling his dizi. “Surely you remember how I danced around Lan Zhan, doing anything to get his attention? I may have changed, but not that much.”
Lan Xichen, ignoring the pang in his chest at the mention of his brother, hums vaguely.
“You are aware that I am not currently taking visitors,” he then says.
“I know you’re technically not supposed to,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “But you’ve been holed up in here for a long time. It’s not good for you to spend all day, every day inside without seeing anyone.”
Lan Xichen tilts his head.
“Do you know the meaning of the word seclusion?”
Wei Wuxian waves his hand. “There’s enough hours in the day for you to be quiet and mindful without any company. My stopping by is hardly going to ruin all your progress with your reflections.”
Progress he has very much not made. Lan Xichen tries to keep his expression still; he does not want to invite any questions.
“Besides,” Wei Wuxian carries on, “I know seclusion doesn’t have to be, like, a fulltime arrangement.” He points his dizi at him. “You told me yourself!”
He gets to his feet and jumps off the roof in a motion so fluid, Lan Xichen barely has time to process before he finds himself face to face with him.
“I don’t recall saying any such thing,” he remarks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels at the unexpected proximity.
“Well, not in so many words. But when you told me about your parents, you said your father married your mother and went into seclusion. But you and Lan Zhan were still born afterwards. So your father can’t have spent his whole time in seclusion, otherwise you wouldn’t exist.”
He smirks triumphantly at this admittedly flawless line of argument.
“That is correct,” Lan Xichen admits. “Of course, spouses tend to be an exception in these situations. Different rules apply.”
“Eh,” Wei Wuxian makes, clearly no longer interested in defending his point now that he’s made it. Instead, he taps his dizi against his arm as he looks at him. “All I’m saying is, it’s clearly a good thing to interrupt your seclusion once in a while. It’d be a shame, after all, if you didn’t.”
“Didn’t interrupt it?”
“Didn’t exist.”
“Oh.”
Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to say to that, so he once again reverts to silence. Wei Wuxian’s eyes feel far too heavy on him, entirely too perceptive. Lan Xichen can’t imagine what he sees, but it can’t be good.
In the end he just smiles again, bringing some levity back into the strangely tense moment.
“I mean, can you imagine Lan Zhan without you? Not just now, but growing up?”
Lan Xichen furrows his brow at that. Wei Wuxian laughs.
“Exactly. Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?”
Indeed it doesn’t. Despite the fact that he knows Wangji to be capable, has enough faith in him to know that he would have found his way regardlessly, the protective side of him can’t bear the idea of his little brother, already prone to loneliness and isolation, without him by his side.
Though, looking at the man before him, maybe not so prone to it anymore.
When he smiles, it’s not entirely forced. “Wei-gongzi. Your kindness is appreciated, but the fact of my seclusion remains. I shall return to it now.”
He bows, receiving a somewhat reluctant bow in return, and retreats into the house. Wei Wuxian doesn’t linger this time, though the memory of his visit does. Lan Xichen feels it like a physical sensation, something tight in his chest, spreading into his stomach and leaving him vaguely ill.
It’d be a shame, if you didn’t exist.
What a thing to say. What a thing to believe.
What has always been outstanding about his existence was the value it had for other people. It’s a life lived in service of others, something he always strove for. Something he intended to keep up for the rest of his life. But how can he do good, be good, when he doesn’t even know what good looks like anymore? When he thought he did for years, only to find out he’d been entirely blind to the true nature of one of his closest friends, someone he-
Lan Xichen squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head like it’ll rid him of the thought.
How can he do good, when he can’t trust himself anymore? How can anyone trust him again?
And why should he ask them to?
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Never mind that he isn’t ready to face the world. The world is better off without him.
*
The next time Lan Xichen sees him, Wei Wuxian has brought a horde of rabbits to his doorstep.
“It was an accident,” he explains, holding his hands up when Lan Xichen slides the doors open and comes face to face with two dozen fluffy balls hopping around Wei Wuxian’s boots. “They wouldn’t stop following me after I fed them. But! They’re not people, so they don’t count as visitors. Also, they’re quiet company, so it’s probably okay.”
The fact that he most certainly isn’t doesn’t seem to play into it.
“I guess that’s why Lan Zhan likes them so much,” he carries on. “And because they’re cute.”
Lan Xichen, who is still blinking at the rabbits, looks up at that. It’s fascinating to see Wei Wuxian clinging to his obliviousness, even now.
“He likes these ones particularly because they’re connected to you, I believe.”
Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, but seems to find himself at a loss for words. His cheeks are rapidly growing ruddy, a sight as amusing as it is endearing.
Still, the blatant truth presenting itself to him can no longer be ignored. Wei Wuxian might not realize how obvious he is, but Lan Xichen has been putting this conversation off long enough.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” he says mildly.
Wei Wuxian blinks at him. One of the rabbits has succeeded at climbing up to his calf, and he looks down and picks it up like an afterthought, then stares at him while he assaults it with what Lan Xichen can only describe as tough love.
“You, ah- you’ve heard, then?”
“No need. I have eyes.”
“Oh. You… ahah, was it, was it that obvious?” He touches his neck subconsciously, giving the poor rabbit a respite, before noticing Lan Xichen’s gaze following the movement and immediately dropping his hand, looking alarmed. There are no visible love bites this time, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any at all. Though Lan Xichen would prefer to know as little about those as possible.
“I have known about Wangji’s feelings for you for some time, as I’m sure you’re aware. I… strongly suspected they were reciprocated. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together after you returned from your travels and displayed a certain… levity.”
“Ah.” Wei Wuxian seems both relieved and shy, an unusual look on him. “Yes, well. Thank you.” His smile turns mischievous, a much more familiar sight. “You know, this does make us family, in a way. And family gets special visitation privileges, right?”
Lan Xichen lifts his eyebrows. “Have you seen Wangji visiting me?”
“Well, he’s far too polite to show up without an explicit invitation. Doesn’t mean he isn’t technically allowed to.”
“Have you…” Lan Xichen hesitates, then makes up his mind. “Have you told him? That you’ve been coming here?”
“He knows.” Wei Wuxian lifts the rabbit to his face and rubs its nose against his. “He’s outwardly disapproving, of course, but suspiciously eager to listen to my reports every time we’ve talked.”
This does not come as a surprise, but still leaves a sinking sensation in his stomach. He shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t concern himself with the outside world, but then again he shouldn’t be standing here talking to his brother-in-law, and he shouldn’t be failing at meditation so much, and he should be getting somewhere with his reflections. He’s already doing such a poor job of this seclusion, what’s one more transgression?
Besides, he can’t not ask. “How… how is he?”
Wei Wuxian blows out a breath through his lips, snorting when the rabbit twitches in his hands. “Busy. Very busy.” He glances up at him. “Worried about you, too. But he’s good, overall. It’s… um, still new, him and me, so that’s- that’s been nice. For both of us, I think.”
This just about confirms what Lan Xichen suspected. He nods.
“Thank you. For telling me. And for giving him something to brighten his days amidst… all his duties.”
“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” Wei Wuxian looks down as another rabbit attempts the climb up his legs. “He’s gonna love this when I tell him. He’s entirely too soft on these rabbits, it’s his fault they’re so spoiled.”
“He isn’t very good at saying no to those he loves,” Lan Xichen agrees. He didn’t mean to infuse the statement with something beyond the surface level, even though he did think it, but the complicated expression crossing Wei Wuxian’s face tells him that he must have heard something in it.
“Yeah, I… I can see that now.” He clears his throat. “I’m not taking it for granted, all the things he’s done for me. Continues to do. Trust me. And I’m well aware of… what I’ve done to him in the past. You don’t need to worry, Zewu-jun. I’m done hurting him. I’d rather die than cause him pain again.”
There’s a lot hanging on that last word, a harrowed acknowledgment, an admission of guilt.
Lan Xichen has no need for more of that.
“I know,” he says, because he does. He smiles. “Tell him that I am happy for him. For you both. Will you do that for me?”
“Of course.”
He nods in gratitude. Turning to head back inside, he pauses. “Oh, one more thing. You’ve said it yourself, we are family now. There is no need to keep using my title, Wei-gongzi.”
Wei Wuxian blinks, then nods.
“Well, in that case, no more of this Wei-gongzi either.” He bows with a smile. “Wei Wuxian, at your service.”
Lan Xichen returns the bow.
“Goodbye then, Wei Wuxian.”
He steps back inside and slides the door shut.
It pleases him, hearing that this new relationship has brightened his brother’s days. He wonders how his uncle has taken it, Wei Wuxian being family now. It can’t have come as a surprise, but his uncle wouldn’t be his uncle if he didn’t still make his opinion on the matter known.
The thought is accompanied by a stab of guilt, effectively dissolving any traces of joy. Poor Wangji. Lan Xichen should have been there, by his side, to support him through this. He should have heard about it from his brother himself rather than drawing his own conclusions from these stolen visits.
A lot of things should have been different.
Still, at least there is some good that came out of all this.
He has never wanted anything else for Wangji, the happy ending he deserved with the one he loves. He has wanted it to be less complicated, less painful – yes, outright traumatic. But clearly, wanting never makes a difference when it comes to these things.
At least he did get his happy ending. He doesn’t know if it makes all the other parts that came before worth it, or makes up for them, but if he had to guess, Wangji probably believes so. And that, in the end, is all that matters, isn’t it?
Either way, Lan Xichen is happy for his brother. He really is.
He wishes that was all there is to it.
He always knew, of course, even before… the temple, and everything it unearthed, that this kind of happy ending wasn’t in the cards for himself. He never needed it to be. But before everything came apart, before the person he believed to be Jin Guangyao, his A-Yao, unraveled into something so unrecognizable, so incomprehensible to him… before all that, there were the two of them. And he was never under any illusion that it would lead anywhere, nor did he wish for it to – A-Yao had Qin Su, and for a while A-Song, an entirely different heartbreak now that he knows what he knows. He knew he loved his wife, and he knew how important his marriage was for his social standing.
Lan Xichen never wanted any of that to change. But he did love him too. He did want to be with him, rejoiced in his successes, warmed at his joy, felt sorrow at his pains, and yes, welcomed his touch in any way it was granted. All that was true, even if he never would have asked for more than was given.
And the worst part is that some part of himself still wanted it, after. Even when the mask came off, when everything was in shambles, some part of him still wanted to run away with him. Anything to just be with him, anything for a chance to find his A-Yao in the shattered pieces again.
Anything for some time together.
It’s all he ever got, and all he ever needed. Time together.
Strange, how all the time they got feels tainted now, and still like not enough. In his darkest moments, when the sleepless nights take their toll and there is nowhere to escape to, nothing to do but face himself, Lan Xichen imagines it. If he hadn’t- if A-Yao hadn’t died, but managed to escape. If he’d taken him with him. What it would have been like.
What they would have been like.
He is under no illusion that their journey would have been some sort of romantic vacation. But with the barriers broken down, with no more reasons to pretend… if what A-Yao said was true, that he never would have harmed him, then they could have been… might have been…
It hurts to even think the word. Lovers, is that what he wants? How banal. How laughable, in the face of everything.
And yet, Lan Xichen yearns. There is nothing he can do about it, no way to erase the feeling and pretend he has never felt it.
In the dark of night, far away from everyone he holds dear, he hungers.
That’s the truth of it. All this time, and he still doesn’t know what to do with that.
*
Wei Wuxian returns to play on his roof three times the following week.
Lan Xichen doesn’t open the door once.
*
There is a knock.
Lan Xichen’s eye twitches. He has been trying to meditate for the better part of two hours. He would be lying if he said he’d gotten anywhere with it, but he certainly won’t now.
He resolves to ignore Wei Wuxian’s presence. Wei Wuxian, however, is very good at not letting himself be ignored.
Lan Xichen’s usual patience is already stretched thin, in low supply these days as it is, and these repeated attempts to coax him out when he does not want to be coaxed have all but brought him to his limit.
There is another knock. Lan Xichen takes a slow, deliberate breath. Then he rises and heads to the door, which he slides open only to politely talk to Wei Wuxian about boundaries and then ask him to leave.
Before he can do anything of the sort, Wei Wuxian strides right past him into the house.
“Lan Xichen!” he greets him with a sunny smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while. I was beginning to wonder if you were still in here at all.”
Lan Xichen can only stare at him, rooted to the spot at his brazenness. Teasing and prodding is one thing, but this? The worst part isn’t even the blatant disregard of his seclusion. It’s that his presence inside the house feels like a violation on a very different level. Like a breach of the safe space he is still fighting every day to maintain.
No one has been in here except him since his seclusion started. It was his. It was safe.
Wei Wuxian either doesn’t notice whatever his face is surely betraying, or is simply determined not to acknowledge it. He looks around idly – Lan Xichen wonders what he sees, what the state of the room says about the state of him, something he hasn’t had to worry about in a while and is utterly unprepared to deal with now – and wrinkles his nose.
“Nice place. You could open a window, though. Bit stale in here, you know?”
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen makes himself say, forcing air into his lungs. His shoulders are drawn with tension, but he can’t seem to regain his usual posture. Years and years of having it drilled into him, and this throws him off balance. “You are out of line.”
To his credit, Wei Wuxian stops his pretenses at once. “I was worried,” he says plainly. “You seemed fine, last time, and then you just disappeared. I saw you leaving your meal trays outside a couple of times, and I know you Lans don’t take food waste lightly.”
Lan Xichen fails to find an appropriate response, or any response, really. He does not want to explain the crisis he has been having, and he wouldn’t know how if he did.
Wei Wuxian tilts his head. “Lan Zhan misses you, you know. He worries about you constantly, and these past few days have had him even more on edge.”
Lan Xichen closes his eyes. It is, of course, the worst thing Wei Wuxian could say to him, and he must know it.
But he’s not done. Of course, he’s never held back when he had something to say.
“I’ve been wondering. It’s not like you talk to anyone else in here, or get any news from the outside. So what changed since my last visit? Did something happen? But the only thing that could have happened was that visit itself.”
Without waiting for him to confirm or deny, he carries on.
“So I was thinking, because like I said, you seemed fine. Better, even, than before. What could it have been? Was it too many rabbits?” He flashes him a grin, then in the next breath delivers his blow, “Was it hearing about Lan Zhan and me?”
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says, pained.
“And I thought, that’s weird though, you didn’t seem unhappy about the news. On the contrary. I feel like we had a good talk about it. But then I realized that even so, that particular topic might not be one you’re too happy to think about right now.”
He shakes his head, not in response to what he said, just to get him to stop. But of course he doesn’t.
“And I don’t wanna say I get it, but I think I sort of do, now. And I get that it’s complicated, and that you must be having some very conflicting feelings about it all-“
“That’s enough!”
Lan Xichen falls silent, swallowing twice as he tries to gather his composure. Something ugly has risen inside him, something he isn’t yet sure he can control.
“Seclusion is meant for reflection,” he says when he feels like he can speak without shouting. “I am using it as intended.”
“It’s fine if you’re reflecting,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “It’s not if you’re punishing yourself.”
Another hot flash goes through him; something like anger, though not quite that. It makes him careless, makes him speak before he has thought it through.
“And why isn’t it? Don’t you, of all people, understand that certain actions cannot come to pass without being punished?” His eyes sting, his breath coming fast and sharp. “Yes, I loved him. Is that what you want me to say? I did, I loved him. Even at the end, I still loved him, and he died by my hand. You can’t imagine what that feels like.”
“Can’t I.”
Wei Wuxian’s voice is calm, measured. But there’s an underlying tone that makes Lan Xichen’s skin crawl, his own words only catching up with him in the wretched silence that follows.
Every cell in his body seems to contract with horror, the shame roiling in his gut threatening to drown him.
But he cannot let it. No matter what he feels, what state he’s in, he cannot let this stand.
“I spoke out of turn. I apologize.”
His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, as if from a long distance away.
“Save your apologies, Zewu-jun. I won’t hold it against you.”
Indeed, Wei Wuxian doesn’t look offended. He looks sober, and weary beyond his years, and suddenly deeply recognizable to Lan Xichen, who has known this about the man before him all along and is yet shocked to find evidence of his own pain on someone else, reflected back at him.
He touches his cheek impatiently. His fingers come away wet.
He’s still reeling from his outburst, his lack of decorum, the realization that while his pain is complex and personal, it is not unique. There are others who have felt it – still feel it – and somehow manage to deal with it.
Wei Wuxian allows a rare moment of silence, a respite to collect himself before he says, “It makes you do insane things, doesn’t it? The grief. The guilt.”
Lan Xichen swallows, bows his head in an approximation of a nod. He feels too raw for big movements, too tender to speak up and shatter the quiet engulfing him. Holding him together, constricted and tight and safe.
“How do you bear it?” he asks, no more than a whisper.
Wei Wuxian huffs, a smile on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You forget that I didn’t bear it. I died of it. But you're not dying, I won’t allow it. So you're going to have to take the long way round.”
He speaks lightly, as if to soften the blow.
Lan Xichen wants to laugh. He also wants to cry; the full-bodied, physical kind he was trained out of in childhood. Neither seems like an actual option; once again, the silence has claimed him.
It surprises him that Wei Wuxian is so good at enduring it, though it shouldn’t. He is, after all, in love with his brother. Something about it must appeal to him.
“What does that even look like?” Lan Xichen asks when he finally finds his voice again.
His shoulders lift. “You cling to the good things. Even if they don’t feel like enough, you cling to them until you remember that they are, or at least will be again. You need to remember that they’re still there. It’s no good, letting what’s not there anymore take up all the space.”
“The good things,” Lan Xichen echoes.
“You’ll remember them. If you let yourself.” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. “Stop shutting your brother out, first of all. It’s not fair to him, but it’s especially not fair to you. Depriving yourself of the company and support of your loved ones, who does that help?”
Lan Xichen looks down.
“You don’t need to let the world back in if that’s too much. No shame in that. But the longer you stay away from it all, the bigger it becomes in your head. The harder it gets to even contemplate returning.” He reaches out, his movements careful and measured, and touches his arm gently. “You can start small, but you’ve got to start.”
Lan Xichen closes his eyes, forcing a deep breath into his lungs. Then another. He lets the words settle between them, lets himself acknowledge that this simple, kind touch holds the power to unravel him entirely, though maybe not in a bad way. Terrifying, but not bad.
Wei Wuxian just waits, his hand lingering, the barest point of contact. It’s the only touch Lan Xichen has felt in months.
He takes one more breath, then opens his eyes. Wei Wuxian is looking at him, no longer prodding or needling, giving him the space he needs.
Lan Xichen exhales slowly, then nods, just once.
“Will you let Wangji know that I’d like to see him?”
*
His brother comes the next day. It’s both too soon and not soon enough, but at least Lan Xichen has had a chance to collect himself in the meantime.
Any apprehensions about seeing him instantly turn to worry when Lan Xichen lays eyes on him. In stark contrast to what Wei Wuxian looked like when he first saw him after they got together, Wangji is… bowed down, for lack of a better word. Not physically, but his spirit is burdened – Lan Xichen has spent the past few decades looking at his brother’s face, he can read his expression in his sleep.
Part of him despairs at the sight. He knew the load was heavy, he knew, but he thought… he hoped, at least, that the elation of the early days of his new relationship would last a little longer, balance out the bad parts a little more.
He had to wait so long for his happy ending. Lan Xichen, knowing full well that Wangji only picked up his responsibilities because he himself rejected them, can’t help but feel that he cheated him out of it.
But there are no traces of resentment on his brother’s face. Wangji’s eyes drink him in silently. He bows, a little belatedly, eyes returning to his face at once, as if he’s checking him over for any sign of harm.
“Xiongzhang. Thank you for the invitation.”
Lan Xichen tries to smile. “Ah. It has been rather overdue, has it not?”
Wangji refrains from commenting, only looks at him. Lan Xichen wants to add a little joke about how his zhiji certainly seems to think so, but it doesn’t get past his lips. It feels strange, like he’s a little out of kilter. Like he unlearned how to talk to his own brother.
The thought is terrifying.
Before he can start spiraling about it, Wangji breaks the silence to ask, “How are you?”
It’s precisely the opening he needed, allowing him to move past the strangeness and right back into the familiarity of his own worrying.
“Oh, Wangji. I was going to ask you that, but now I fear the answer. Sit, won’t you? I’ll make us some tea.”
Wangji nods and sits down while Lan Xichen bustles around the small kitchen area. It’s something to do, and he clings to it gratefully – making the tea, fretting over his brother. Taking care of him again, when he has failed to do so for so long.
It is only when Lan Xichen sits opposite him, both of them with a cup of tea too hot to drink yet, that they talk.
At his request, Wangji tells him about his work in the cultivation world, about what’s been happening inside the sect. He keeps it brief and concise, but doesn’t seem to omit any important developments for the sake of reassuring him.
When he has finished his report, he gives him a penetrating look before glancing down at his tea.
“You have not told me how you are.”
No, he hasn’t. He didn’t know what to tell him, and he still doesn’t now. He can’t tell him the whole truth without needlessly worrying him, but he can’t lie to him either and pretend all is well. Not that he’d believe him – as good as Lan Xichen is at seeing what’s behind Wangji’s restrained expression, his brother is just as good at seeing past his smile.
He sighs. “I am… doing my best to calm my spirit.”
Wangji just looks at him. They both know it’s barely an answer, but he doesn’t ask again, respecting his wish not to elaborate.
“And you?” Lan Xichen asks instead. “How have you been, with everything?”
“I am well enough. There is much to do, but not all of it is a hardship.”
“Well enough,” Lan Xichen repeats. He lets out a deep breath. “Wangji…”
“There is no need to worry.”
“Well, there isn’t much I can do about that.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have placed this burden on you.”
“You did not.”
“I knew it would fall on you if I stepped aside. It’s the same thing.”
“You needed this time away. Would you begrudge yourself time spent in a hospital, healing from a physical injury?”
He huffs. “I understand your point. That doesn’t mean I feel better about leaving everything to you. I should…”
“You should take the time you require, and not a moment less,” Wangji cuts in. It’s rare for him to interrupt.
Lan Xichen fiddles with his cup.
“Xiongzhang. Xichen-ge,” Wangji adds, making him look up. “Please do not end your seclusion prematurely out of a sense of obligation. There is no reason you should have to take on everything.”
“Yes, there is. So you don’t have to.”
“Then why can’t I, so you don’t have to?”
The corner of Lan Xichen mouth lifts, a sad impression of a smile. It’s nice that Wangji is trying to spare him, but there are facts that cannot be changed.
“I’m the sect leader. And I’m your older brother.”
Wangji, evidently, hasn’t gotten any less stubborn in his time away.
“I am also your brother. And I want you to be well. I am more than willing to make sacrifices for it. You are not the only one who is allowed to do that.”
Lan Xichen swallows, looks at his hands. It’s rare that he’s the one between the two of them to avert his eyes, but a lot of things seem to be upside down currently.
“All my life, you have been there to help me,” Wangji carries on, quietly, insistently. “Let me help you now, ge. For once in your life.”
That startles a huffed laugh out of Lan Xichen. He looks back up to regard his baby brother, allowing himself to soften at what he sees.
“You have grown into such a fine man, A-Zhan. I’m very proud of you. Mother would be too, if she could see you now.”
Wangji blinks, then bows his head. Lan Xichen watches him reach for his cup and finish his tea, then give them both a refill.
They have said enough of this for today, he decides. There is more to be discussed, happier things, and so he changes the subject and says, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you in person before. Congratulations on working things out with Wei Wuxian.”
Wangji’s lips curve up instinctively, but the expression fades quickly. He sets the teapot down quietly, then looks up without meeting his gaze, his hands curled in his lap.
“What is it?” Lan Xichen asks, frowning. Then it occurs to him what his demeanor looks like: a child awaiting reproach. “Did you worry about what I would think?” he teases him gently.
Wangji’s gaze flickers away, then meets his. He has never made a secret of his feelings, and Lan Xichen knows that nobody’s disapproval could ever make him turn his back on Wei Wuxian, but he supposes it’s not entirely surprising that a small part of him remains forever the young brother, yearning for his ge’s support.
“Wangji,” he chides. “I distinctly recall trying to push you two together, back when I first noticed he held your attention. I know it got… well, let’s say more complicated later on, but I cannot be anything but happy for you now. Both of you. You deserve this.” He pauses, adding wistfully, “I am only sorry that I missed it.”
Wangji looks down, his throat shifting.
“You are here now.”
Is that good enough? He doesn’t know. But he supposes it’ll have to be.
He smiles, tilting his chin up expectantly. “Well, then. Tell me what I’ve missed. Tell me everything.”
Wangji’s ears grow faintly red even as his face softens, tender with the kind of expression Lan Xichen has been hoping to see on him.
He drinks his tea, and tells him everything.
*
Wei Wuxian waits a couple of days before he next comes by.
Having expected his presence sooner, Lan Xichen is grateful for the respite. Wangji’s visit was good, with all the complexity that word can hold. But it still took a lot out of him. He has been ruminating ever since, his thoughts not always productive, but he’s at least getting used to that if nothing else in this seclusion.
He still feels somewhat fragile when the dizi sounds, though not enough to think he’s going to break. He moves slowly, deliberately, measured steps taking him to the entrance, his hand sliding the door open carefully.
He listens.
Wei Wuxian must have heard him, because he hops down from the roof when the melody dissipates, stepping onto the porch with a smile.
“Lan Xichen.”
“Hello again, Wei Wuxian.”
He observes him without attempting to hide that’s what he’s doing. Lan Xichen can only guess what a picture he makes, but he knew that when he decided to meet him. He waits for his verdict quietly.
“You look tired.”
“I suppose I must,” he agrees.
“You came out to meet me though, so I’m guessing that means you’re willing to talk. And if you want to share with the class whatever’s eating at you, I’m all ears.”
Lan Xichen smiles and bows his head. The polite thing would be to invite him in, if they really are going to talk, but he doesn’t find it in himself. It feels safer, out here, and this time Wei Wuxian doesn’t push to go inside. They are past that now. Truthfully, the idea of taking him up on the offer doesn’t even terrify him as much as it would have two weeks ago.
“I’m not sure I could put it into words,” he admits. “I’m struggling to make sense of my thoughts myself at the moment.”
Wei Wuxian hums. “It’s about Lan Zhan’s visit?”
“Yes and no. The visit itself… it was good to see him. But it did make me realize…”
“What his side of this arrangement looks like?” Wei Wuxian finishes when he fails to go on.
“Yes.” He lets out a deep breath, his shoulders bowed as he wraps his arms around his middle. “I just… I cannot put him through this forever. I need to come back eventually, and I’ve been trying to think about… how to do that.”
“And have you gotten anywhere?”
He smiles wryly. “Only to very dark places.”
He pulls his lip between his teeth, then meets Wei Wuxian’s gaze. “You told me to start small. I think that’s- very sensible. In fact, I don’t think any other way would work. But even that – even just imagining the smallest step, it makes me-“
He cuts off, swallowing roughly as he shakes his head. He looks away, to the bushes spreading out past his porch. The leaves are fluttering in the wind, catching his attention.
“I’ve been trying to come up with something. Anything that could work. Coming back in a small capacity. Remaining in part-time seclusion. But even the idea of attending any meetings – a single meeting – it’s… paralyzing.” He stops, shakes his head. “I cannot- I just cannot. I want to relieve my brother of his burdens, but when I think about leaving this house and returning to society, I just can’t. It’s not possible.”
It’s a ridiculous claim, but he feels it to be true at his very core. He appreciates that Wei Wuxian doesn’t challenge him on it.
“I hear your points about having to carry on, about the good things. But I… I don’t know if I can do it,” he admits.
The confession hangs in the air between them. Wei Wuxian lets out a deep breath, but doesn’t speak. Instead, he sees him turning away from the corner of his eye, crossing the porch to sit down on the edge of it.
Lan Xichen looks at his back for a moment, then moves to join him.
It’s only when he sits beside him, both of them looking out on the scenery, the dance of the leaves in the wind, that Wei Wuxian asks, “Do you want to?”
His eyes linger on the trees, and Lan Xichen’s gaze remains where it is too; a small mercy, not being looked at as he turns the question over in his head. Trying to find an answer that he can say out loud.
Eventually, his silence stretches too long.
Wei Wuxian makes an acknowledging sound, turning the dizi in his hand over and over.
“You know, when I said that it killed me? What I didn’t say is that I wanted it to. I wanted to die. I chose to. There was no way I was making it out of there alive, and I was glad for it.” He lift his shoulders, a small movement Lan Xichen catches from his periphery vision.
“I had lost… everyone. The Wens, all of them. A-Yuan, Wen Ning. Both my sisters, one after the other. And I was responsible for every single one of them.”
Loath as Lan Xichen is to interrupt, he can’t let that stand uncontested.
“I’m not sure it’s that simple anymore.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never figure it out. I don’t think it really matters, in the end. Emotionally? I killed them. To me, that is and always will be the truth.” Wei Wuxian turns his head to look at him. “I think you can probably relate to that.”
Lan Xichen closes his eyes, like it can protect him from the words. But they’re already inside him. All day, all night, every night they’re inside him. He is so familiar with them, and they still cut him open like a blade.
“It’s not the same, of course. I know that. I see how Jin Guangyao’s death is… complicated in ways my shijie’s or Wen Qing’s wasn’t. But the details don’t matter.” Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath. “Lan Xichen, I understand loving someone and having a hand in their death. I understand wanting to die because of it. Believe me. But.” He stops and swallows, looking out at the woods again. “But this is the important part, so listen. If I hadn’t come back, I never would have gotten to meet my nephew. Build a relationship with him. I never would have talked to my brother again. Found out that A-Yuan is alive, that Lan Zhan raised him. That he’s living such a good life now. I never would have known how much Lan Zhan loves me, or had a chance to tell him that I feel the same way. We never would have been together, shared a life like we can now.”
He pauses, if for Lan Xichen’s benefit or his own, he doesn’t know.
“I thought it was over. I wanted it to be over. But if it had been, or stayed that way, none of these things would have come to pass. I won’t try to weigh them and the bad things against one another, because that way lies madness, and it doesn’t change anything anyway. What matters is only that these things exist, now, after all that. Despite it. And they wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t been around to experience them.”
Lan Xichen’s breath stutters, growing ragged. He presses his trembling lips together, salty from the hot tracks running down his cheeks.
“It’s easy, really. It’s the hardest thing in the world, but it’s very simple. You want to die? Okay. You go on anyway. And eventually, you stop feeling that way. It won’t ever leave you completely, I won’t lie. It’ll come back, and some days you think it’ll crush you. But there are all the other days too. And you’ve got to stick around to see them.”
The idea is terrifying. So terrifying.
Having said what he meant to, Wei Wuxian falls silent, just sitting with him until he’s ready to speak again.
Lan Xichen’s voice is broken and small, like a child’s. “What if I don’t deserve it?”
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says. “That’s a whole thing unto itself, isn’t it? The idea of deserving to live. Many people who deserved to live died, and many who live should have died in their stead. But that’s just not how it works.” He shakes his head. “Who’s to say if we deserve it? Maybe we don’t. I certainly don’t, if we start thinking in those terms. Mo Xuanyu gave his life so I could have it. Deserving it never played into that. But we’re here, Lan Xichen. Whether or not we deserve it is meaningless, because it can’t change anything. All we can do is honor it.”
“By going on,” Lan Xichen says quietly.
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian agrees. His voice is soft, almost a sigh. His gaze returns to the scenery before them. “Exactly.”
*
Wangji returns the following day, like they agreed he would. Lan Xichen hoped to get himself under control until then, but something seems to have cracked within him, and the more he tries to force it back together, the worse it gets. He still feels fragile when he opens the door for his brother, who takes one look at him and parts his lips in a silent gasp.
Lan Xichen starts crying.
“Oh, goodness,” he tries to say, but it comes out as a sob, his chest heaving as he struggles to pull air into his lungs.
Wangji takes an urgent step forward.
“Xiongzhang.” He swallows. “Xichen-ge.”
Lan Xichen opens his mouth to apologize, to reassure him that he’s fine even though he’s quite clearly not, but the words stick in his throat. He can’t get them out.
Wangji stares at him, brows furrowed tightly. His hands come up, hesitantly at first, then surer as he reaches for him, holds him. Of course, Wangji has some experience with uncontrollable crying; he has raised a child. It’s exactly what Lan Xichen feels like now: a child. Small. Overcome. And the gentle steadiness of his brother’s touch only makes him cry harder.
There is nothing he can do but cling to him, and wait for it to pass.
It doesn’t, for a long while. Eventually Lan Xichen stops trying to fight it, realizing the futility of the endeavor, and instead surrenders to it. There is just him, crying, and his brother, holding him through it, enduring his robes soaking through, the great heaving sobs shaking Lan Xichen’s bowed body.
Wangji doesn’t say much, doesn’t ask. But he’s there, and he doesn’t let go of him once.
What an image they must make. They don’t do this. They’ve never done this. Even when they were young and their mother passed, or when Wangji was the one ridden with grief, nursing injuries both mental and physical. They have never done this.
But they’re doing it now. New things, the voice in his head reminds him. He had better stick around to see them.
It’s strange, and terrifying, but it also feels… stable. Enough so that Lan Xichen can let himself fall apart entirely, that the tears run freely until at last they run out and he is completely, utterly spent.
Wangji lets go of him then, but he doesn’t leave. He guides him to his bed instead, never mind that it’s barely evening. He stays to reheat the tea Lan Xichen prepared earlier, brings him a cup, pours one for himself. He sits with him, until Lan Xichen’s eyes fall closed with his exhaustion. He doesn’t speak the entire time.
For once, the silence doesn’t haunt him.
It feels safe instead. Healing.
*
When he blinks his eyes open, it’s light outside. Lan Xichen can tell right away that it’s the next day. He slept through the night, succumbing to a comatose sleep that didn’t release him until now.
The house is quiet. He’s alone. Wangji must have left hours ago, though he didn’t hear it. He certainly stayed until he fell asleep. Probably a while longer.
Lan Xichen lets his breath flow deeply as he looks at the ceiling, quietly taking stock of himself.
He’s drained still, emotionally rather than physically. But he’s lighter, too. Like the cracked thing inside him has come apart entirely, and the flood it held back poured out until it ran dry.
He takes a few more breaths, slow and steady. Then he rises to get started on the day.
He washes, dresses, prepares his morning tea. The soft splashing of water and the cluttering of the pot weave into the silence around him. He finds that he doesn’t mind the sound today. The sound, and the absence of it. It feels comfortable for the first time in a long while. The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly at the realization. He missed the feeling.
While his tea steeps, he opens the door and lets some air in. It’s quiet outside too, though in a different way than inside the house. There’s a backdrop, the trees moving in the wind, birds soaring in the sky calling out their distant song.
Lan Xichen steps over the threshold, not bothering with his boots, past the breakfast tray that was left outside. He will collect it in a minute, replenish his strength with a nourishing meal and the hot tea waiting for him inside. But first, he looks.
There’s green everywhere, rich hues of it, the leaves and the blades of grass contrasting with the pale footpaths. The textured, rough brown of the tree trunks. The gentle sway of the wind, keeping the scene ever in motion. It’s the same it has always looked, but the way Lan Xichen sees it is different.
A movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Beneath the bushes, a rabbit has emerged. Lan Xichen moves to the edge of the porch to get a closer look. It’s an adventurous specimen, hopping into the open fearlessly.
Without thinking about it too much, Lan Xichen steps off the porch. It is that, most likely, which allows him to do it, to carry on even when the realization catches up with him.
The rabbit notices him, but doesn’t run off. Instead, it comes closer, meeting him halfway. Crouching down, Lan Xichen lets it sniff his hand before he picks it up.
The immensity of this little life in his hands is staggering. Surprised by how deeply moved he feels, he cradles it to his chest, then sits down on the edge of the porch. The rabbit nestles into his lap, relaxing in its comfortable new spot.
They sit like this for some time. Lan Xichen’s bare feet rest on the grass, his toes flexing around the blades, glistening with morning dew. His hair, undone, moves with the breeze the same way the leaves do. The rabbit falls asleep in his lap, its breathing steady and precious.
It’s a gentle way of acclimatizing, just him and this fluffy, warm life burrowed against him. Sitting at what feels like the edge of the world, letting the morning shine upon them.
Like this, it doesn’t feel impossible to allow it back in.
*
There’s a writing desk in the corner that he’s never used.
Today, Lan Xichen takes a seat before it, spreading out the blank pages waiting to be filled.
He dips his brush into the ink. He looks at the paper for a moment longer. Then he starts writing.
His words lack refinement or poetic value, but he’s not writing them to be pretty, or to be read by anyone else. He’s writing them just to get them out.
He starts with what the remembers about the Jin Guangyao from before, all the good parts and the complicated ones, trying to capture the man he knew. Or thought he knew.
When those words run out, he picks up a new page. Here, he starts writing down the facts. The man that showed himself to him in the temple. All sides of him; the lying, the begging, the threats, the look of betrayal when Lan Xichen’s sword pierced him. The final push away.
He writes and writes. Then he stops, reads. Tries to find similarities, succeeds in some parts and fails in others. Tries to reconcile the truths of both records.
He writes more. He drifts, eventually, away from fact to a stream of consciousness, following the urge to externalize the chaos in his head, get it all out. He writes down his guilt, his doubts, his sorrow. He writes to A-Yao instead of about him, to the one he thought he knew, and to the real one. A letter, an explanation. A plea for absolution. A condemnation, once the anger manifests, drowned out before by the other roaring emotions inside him that he has always been more prone to. But he’s starting to remember now, sifting through everything. How angry he was, when he first found out. Gradually, he rediscovers the feeling. Doesn’t just allow it to be, but reclaims it. Makes it his own, until the writing stops being enough.
Some of the pages haven’t yet dried when he crumples them up, then rips them apart, tears them to shreds until even that no longer satisfies him. He needs to do more, the itch flaring up instead of subsiding. He grabs his brush again; it cracks in his grip. The unplanned act of destruction makes him pause, stare at the pieces in his hand.
A dark satisfaction rises in him.
He picks up his tea cup and hurls it at the wall.
The broken shards jump in all directions. Splashes of tea drip down the wall. His chest heaves as he stares at the scene.
He picks up the next best thing, the inkpot, and flings it at the mess. The little ink left inside proves to be plenty; the stains are everywhere, ruining the wall, the floorboards, his own robes, his hand.
Lan Xichen grabs the desk and topples it over. He moves to the shelf, swipes the pointless decorative items onto the floor with one jerk of his arm. He takes the empty dishes of his last meal, the tray it was brought on, smashes it all to pieces.
He’s shocked at himself, more shocked at how good it feels. To indulge in his anger, for the first time in his life. To relish it.
It’s a good thing that he’s far away from everything here, that no one can hear him wrecking this house to his heart’s content. His vision has turned blurry at some point, and when he wipes his eyes impatiently his sleeve comes away wet. He doesn’t pay the tears any more mind. They’re part of his anger, too. An easy way to release it.
When the urge to destroy lets up, seeping out of him along with his rage, Lan Xichen returns to himself slowly, taking in the havoc around him. His chest is heaving, and his eyes feel sore – as does his throat, probably from crying. Or maybe he was shouting, he doesn’t know.
The room is thoroughly destroyed. The mess, perhaps, unsalvageable. Surveying it, Lan Xichen feels calmer than he has in ages.
Strange, how peace can grow from destruction.
Another new experience. So far, they’ve certainly been enlightening.
He will clean up, of course. Later. For now, he grabs an empty page – empty save for a few ink splashes marring the white – and retrieves a new ink pot, a new brush. Then he starts writing once more, following where his pain leads him.
He apologizes to A-Yao. Not for his own mistakes, but on behalf of the world that inflicted injustice after injustice on him. He writes down what he would have wanted for him instead, the kind of life he wished for him to lead. The one he should have had.
A-Yao’s suffering is no excuse for his actions, but it is an explanation. Becoming the man he was in the end wasn’t inevitable, but maybe, at least in some ways, understandable. Lan Xichen writes that down, too. When he’s done, he lets the paper dry. He doesn’t rip it up.
As he rises to collect what he needs to clean, he takes a moment to parse how he feels. There is sadness in him, always, and it demands attention, filling the space his anger blew open. But there’s a new feeling growing in his chest too. He stops and examines it; it’s unfamiliar, but he understands it all the same.
It’s not closure, not yet, but something like the beginning of it.
*
Cleaning up takes until the next morning. The manual labor is… refreshing. Invigorating. What he broke can’t be put back together, and there are stains that no amount of scrubbing is ever going to make come out, but there’s a certain symmetry in that. It’s only right, the natural order of things. He does what he can, cleans the broken pieces and shards away, puts what didn’t break back in its place. Works on the stains that aren’t unsalvageable until they fade, and leaves the others be.
He also writes more, a lot more. He’s repeating himself, contradicting himself, leaving sentences abandoned when their ending eludes him. He writes, singular characters here and there at times, like a man possessed at others.
It helps.
The sky is already softening with evening light when he sits back, massaging his sore wrist. Eyes lingering on the view behind his window, he gathers the stack of pages he wrote and heads to the porch to sit outside.
There are no rabbits in sight as he settles on the edge, the pages in his lap. Maybe they’ll come later, searching for dinner. He’ll keep an eye out.
He looks down at the paper, his hands curling around it. His eyes trace the characters slowly, allowing himself room to process the words he put down. Reading what he wrote in the throes of his emotions helps too, another way of processing when there are no more words that need saying. There aren’t, right now. He’s sure there will be more later, but for the moment he feels… not exactly at peace, but like he has reached some kind of equilibrium again.
He’s been reading for a while when the sound of footsteps makes him look up. Wei Wuxian waves at him, strolling up the path with a smile.
“Lan Xichen! Good to see you.”
He hears the unsaid words loud and clear; out here, at the border of the world he has refused to let in these past few months. Even more so considering the state he was in the last time he or Wangji saw him.
“And you.”
He finds that he means it, and from Wei Wuxian’s smile, he can tell that he knows.
“Are you on your way somewhere?” Lan Xichen asks, fully aware of the answer.
“Ah, just came to say hello. See if you wanted some company.”
His eyes fall on the paper he’s holding, but don’t linger. He doesn’t ask.
Lan Xichen hums. He gathers the pages and puts them behind him, then pats the empty space beside him.
“Come sit with me a while, then.”
Wei Wuxian’s smile grows. He sits down with a flourish before he has even accepted the invitation.
*
There’s a melody stuck in Lan Xichen’s head. He can’t remember if it’s something Wei Wuxian has played on one of his visits, though he’s almost certain it must be. It’s the only source of music he’s had in here, and for all his enjoyment of playing, he has never been good at composing something of his own.
He finds himself humming the melody as he gets dressed that morning, and again later, all throughout the day. It’s been a while since what’s stuck in his head was music – it’s a pleasant change.
Lan Xichen’s xiao still lies where he put it, thankfully having survived his recent exercise in expressing his anger. He picks it up idly, rubbing his thumb along the familiar material.
The tactile memory sets in instantly. There was a reason Lan Xichen hasn’t touched it lately, has avoided even looking at it. There are memories attached to it that carry a different weight now. Music lessons long gone by, duets practiced and played to perfection, A-Yao’s deference, his dimpled smile at his praise.
But there are other memories too, washing over him as he recalls them, washing away the hurt bit by bit. The first time he held this xiao in his small hands, barely daring to touch it. The thrill of copying a melody correctly after hours and hours of practice. Playing for his mother, basking in her praise. Playing for Wangji, who listened in silent admiration, only just starting out with his guqin himself. Playing with Wangji, on countless occasions. Playing just for himself, for his enjoyment.
There was plenty of that too, with A-Yao. And yes, those memories do feel tainted now. But will they always have to? Is there a way he gets to keep them, and despite everything look back with fondness on them?
He can’t be sure of the answer, won’t know until it already happens, some day in the future. If it happens. But he finds that it’s alright, not knowing. That wondering, perhaps, is its own reward. A curiosity about the future. An implied promise to stick around and find out.
Lan Xichen lifts the xiao to his lips and plays a gentle note. Another follows, as if by itself. He falls back into it naturally, almost immediately. Like he’s been holding his breath for it. Like the xiao has been waiting, all this time.
His eyes sting a little, but he keeps on playing. Tries out the melody in his head, tweaks it until it sounds right. Beautiful.
The last note lingers in the silence when the tune ends. He sits with it for a moment, then wipes his eyes, huffing a little at himself.
He can still make beautiful things. It feels like a blessing to remember.
He looks at the xiao. What he wants most, now that he’s started, is to keep playing. There’s a part of him that he didn’t exactly forget about, but lost touch with after the temple, a part that’s reawakening now, returning to him slowly but surely.
He never realized how much he was missing it.
How good it’ll be, to play more. To play with Wangji again, like they used to. Lan Xichen finds himself looking forward to it with surprising vigor. He marvels at the sensation, something else he’d lost without realizing. But it’s coming back to him.
It’s all starting to come back.
The future is stretching out before him, no longer as daunting as it was these past months, though it still is, of course. He’s still unclear where exactly the road leads, or how it will look. But he can see a little ahead now, can see that there are things he looks forward to, that he wants to experience. New things.
Perhaps it’s time to walk out and meet them.
Not for the first time, the idea of reducing his seclusion crosses his mind. That, too, is still daunting. But he can take it slow, as slow as he needs. Take it day by day, the only way he can take it anyway.
Wangji will support him, help him figure out a plan. He doesn’t have to do this by himself – he just has to do it.
With the thought of his brother crossing his mind, Lan Xichen realizes how much he wants to see him. To talk it through with him, but also just to be with him. Spend time together. Next time the servants come by he’ll meet them outside and ask them to send for him, or if Wei Wuxian visits first, he’ll have him relay a message.
Or, a quiet voice in his head supplies, he could just go to Wangji himself.
He doesn’t, not that day, but he sits with the idea. With how it makes him feel. There is still a fragility to him that he can’t yet shake, probably won’t for a while, but fragile doesn’t mean he’ll break. It just means he needs to be careful. Considerate with himself.
He thinks he can do that, now.
He doesn’t meet the servants outside that night. Instead, he spends the evening meditating, writing down his thoughts, and playing himself tired on his xiao.
The next morning, he rises at five with the rest of the sect. He goes through his morning rituals, washes and dresses with an extra care that hasn’t been necessary in a while. Then he slides open the doors.
It rained overnight, and the grass looks wet and lush in the dawn. He can’t hear them, but he knows in some other part of the Cloud Recesses, the disciples are heading out for their morning classes. Their boots will grow moist as they walk, their hair tangle in the same cool breeze that bows the branches of the trees around him. As he observes the scene, the sun peeks out behind the clouds just briefly, the light almost painfully bright.
It’s a beautiful day.
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath. And he steps outside to meet it.