Characters: Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren
Additional Tags: Semi-Public Sex, Public Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Anal Sex, Sex in the cold springs, Mutual Pining, Grief/Mourning, injury revery, Ethical Dilemmas, this story had two working titles: Emotional Edging andBoners for Justice, it takes a long time for them to bone but they get there, Risk Aware Consensual Patience, Edgeplay sort of, 22K words of sad horniness, Happy Ending, Just the tip but not the way you’re thinking
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The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.
20 k, No Rating (I’d give it a G, maybe a T for grief and recovery topics), wangxian
Summary: Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.
My comments: Ah, fuck, this story is gorgeousand it is KILLING me. Lan Wangji’s grief is so visceral and pervasive. POV A-Yuan and Lan Xichen show him silent, and trying, and brushing up against being suicidal if he gets pushed just a little bit (Xichen has to stop his uncle a couple of times, from pushing him too far). (POV jumps around for the whole story, even including Lan Jingyi near the end, and it’s very enlightening to see this tale from so many angles.)
Excerpt: “Is this your kid?” Sandu Shengshou says abruptly. “He looks like you.”
Lan Sizhui looks up. The question curls unpleasantly in his stomach. He’s never been asked, not outright, not like this. Everyone in Cloud Recesses knows who Lan Sizhui is, but equally they all know what Sizhui isn’t. When neither of them say anything, Sandu Shengshou laughs. “No,” he says. “I don’t suppose there’s any woman who would have caught your eye, Second Master Lan.”
Lan Sizhui frowns. He doesn’t understand what Sandu Shengshou means, not really, but it sounds bad, like an insult. “Hanguang Jun is my father,” he says, as firmly as his rabbit heart will allow.
Faintly, too soft to be heard over the sound of water, Lan Wangji exhales. His eyes are unfocused, unsteady, aimed somewhere in the middle distance. His expression doesn’t change, not more than it ever really does. Only the miniscule parting of his lips betray that he feels anything at all, much less that he is breathless and overwhelmed: so sad that he feels it as a mortal wound, so furious that he would probably choke if he tried to give voice to his contempt.
Lan Wangji has known for years that grief is a tree without roots, that it cannot be dug from the heart by any ordinary means. He lives with his sadness the way he lives with the scars on his back, without hope that either will fade until the seas run dry and the mountains crumble. He has put ten thousand li between himself and the things he can never have, never undo -
******
So this is how Lan Sizhui grows up, slowly becoming stronger and settled and more confident in himself, his peers, and his security with his father. And thus 13 years pass, until one day they meet Senior Mo, and his father brings him home… and smiles.
grief/mourning, injury recovery, recovery, hurt lan wangji, discipline whip, sick a-yuan, heartbreaking, happy ending, growing up, 13 years, healing, love, parenting, lan wangji is a good dad, lan xichen loves his family, protective lan wangji, lan sizhui’s intriguing cultivation, @hansbekhart
Lan disciples enter the Cloud Recesses when they are eleven.
They begin boisterous and curious as children are, full of faces and giggles behind Lan Qiren’s back. Lan Sizhui is delighted to be surrounded by so many his own age after a lifetime of adults. He leads them around the pavilions and shows them all the secret places he’s kept to himself. For a little while, it’s paradise.
“Niang made me these, aren’t they pretty?” one of the girls says as she shows off a pair of snow white shoes.
“My big sister can also make shoes!” a boy exclaims proudly as he crosses his arms.
“You’re all so lucky,” a boy named Lan Jingyi pouts, “Grandma sent me shoes too, but my family are all bad with their hands. My shoe has a hole, and this is the first time I’ve worn them!” He flashes a grin right after and points to his right foot.
The group breaks out in laughter.
Lan Sizhui laughs too. He stares at his perfect shoes from the seamstress and begins to feel the first bubbles of boiling anger. Niang, sister, grandma. He has none of these. No one threads a needle to sew fine knots for him.
How come Hanguang-jun never gave him these things that everyone else has? Supposedly he once had parents, but he begins to doubt it. He’s never seen a portrait or heard anyone confirm their existence. All he remembers is feeling left behind in the darkness.
A strange irrational story weaves itself in his head. Maybe he never had parents. Maybe Hanguang-jun had left him there and only returned upon feeling badly afterwards. This twisted story grows with Lan Wangji’s increased time away from the Cloud Recesses. In his absence, the anger festers and compounds.
It comes to a head when he leaves for an exorcism and returns many days after he promised. He misses the first time Sizhui flies on his sword. Worse, when he returns, he compliments the other boys on their sword forms but only nods at Sizhui. The serpent of the terrible story winds around his heart until the boy thinks he hates his mentor. There are these better disciples now, disciples who come from high standing, who are wanted. Where does that leave him? His eyes feel hot, and he does the unthinkable.
“You just want to leave me! You don’t care!” he screams an incoherent line of thought, “You lied when you said I have parents! I don’t! They don’t even have names.”
***
After dinner, Lan Wangji takes Sizhui’s hand and pulls him toward the Jingshi courtyard. The boy fiercely jerks his hand back. He’s expecting punishment. Unfazed, Lan Wangji takes it again in his firm grip and refuses to break contact with the ball of obstinate anger behind him.
When they arrive, they kneel before a pile of paper surrounded by stones. Lan Wangji lights the paper with a flint and hands Sizhui a stack of white paper money. “Burn these for your parents,” he instructs.
“I don’t have parents,” he shoots back before throwing the paper back to Lan Wangji.
“They would be hurt to hear you say that.”
Sizhui twists his face into a scowl and spits out, “I don’t need parents. I’m not five!” He receives a sharp look signalling him to stop, but he just continues his tirade, “I don’t need you either. You’re just going to leave me anyway. You have the other disciples and all these conferences. Parents are good for nothing.”
“Stop this. Parents are…” Lan Wangji contemplates telling the truth, but knows it is unwise. He thinks of his own mother and father, and what little he really knew of them. “Parents exist to be memories for their children.” Carefully gathering the scattered paper, he hands it back to Sizhui and adds, “I’m here. You can be angry, but I will still be here. We will make memories together for you.”
The boy huffs a breath but reluctantly takes the paper and throws pieces into the flames. He complains, “Old master Lan says burning paper is pointless. There is no afterlife.”
A moment of silence passes before Lan Wangji admits softly, “It is not for them.” He too mourns memories that do not exist.
Sizhui glares at Lan Wangji but finds it hard to stay angry with someone sitting next to him. Each page he tosses into the crackling fire burns up part of his rage. They sit in the courtyard long after the fire goes out. It’s far past the rule of curfew. There is mostly silence, but also random questions peppered in between.
When the moon rises, he can tell Lan Wangji is struggling to stay awake. They both know he’ll sit as long as Sizhui wants. In the darkness, during those long tired blinks, he tries to not smile.
