Chapter Text
Seclusion was… boring. Her month-long seclusion after having Wei Qingzhao had been in name only. She’d spent most of that time traveling from Yiling to Gusu, stopping much more than she’d liked to rest and rescue the common people from the Wen or various resentful beings. Not the kind of rest that was expected of a new mother, but it had been invigorating. Her body was still hers, despite the pain and changes it had gone through. She had broken many rules when she’d decided to leave Yiling and travel to Gusu on her own instead of hunkering down and sitting her month, but she would have rather taken a hundred strikes from the discipline rod than stay in Yiling a moment longer than she’d had to.
That was still true, to an extent.
Shufu had altered Gusu Lan’s records to say she’d had her seclusion, though she doubted anyone would look. The timing of Wei Qingzhao’s birth was already suspect, doubly so that there hadn’t been the type of wedding required of the Heir to Gusu Lan. Shufu, for all his grumbling, had seemed… sad, that she hadn’t had a proper wedding. She didn’t mind one way or another. She was still married to Wei Ying, whether the rest of the Clans wanted to believe her or not.
But after having Xiao-tu, seclusion was everything she’d feared it to be. Trite. Confined. Boring. She wasn’t one to complain about silence, or long stretches of solitude, but even with Wei Ying at her side the inability to do the things she enjoyed had slowly driven her to her breaking point.
It was meant to be a time of healing. Rest. Two things Wei Ying liked to tease she was laughably bad at. She appreciated it for the uninterrupted time with Wei Ying, A-Zhao, and Xiao-tu, but that was the extent of her good graces.
The first bath after her seclusion ended had been extraordinary.
And now her Xiao-Tu was a month old.
She wrapped her robes around herself, grateful for clean skin and hair. She was no stranger to filth. Night Hunts were rarely clean business, and the war had left worse than just sweat staining her skin. Still, cleanliness was a precept she clung to even in the worst of times. The world seemed a little less dark, when her hair was clean.
She tied it up into her standard guan, wrapping her forehead ribbon securely in place. Wei Ying had taken the children out to play so she could bathe, and the silence was… nice. Lonely, surely, and she missed the weight of Xiao-Tu in her arms like a limb, but loneliness was a familiar shadow.
The forehead ribbon settled her, though. It always did.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said as she let the ribbon trail down her back. She glanced up at him, softening when she caught sight of Xiao-Tu in his arms. Their youngest was a tiny thing. Lighter than her guqin. “Granny Wen told me to come get you. Fourth Uncle made breakfast, and he’s very excited about the recipe.”
Fourth Uncle had been experimenting with more than just wine, then. She nodded, taking Xiao-Tu from Wei Ying’s arms. Her son cooed happily as she settled him against her chest, reaching up to snag a loc of hair in his tiny fist.
“Go on,” Wei Ying said quietly, leaning in to press a kiss to her brow. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. They hadn’t done more than held each other in months, since the massacre at Nightless City, and she itched to hold him close. “I’ll clean up here.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, leaning up to catch his mouth with hers. He hummed into the kiss but pulled away all too soon. That was… fine. She wouldn’t push. Fingers brushed through her hair, tangling with her ribbon trailing down her back, and then he was gone. To clean up the bath she hadn’t been strong enough to lug outside and empty, apparently.
Stepping outside their cave was a breath of freedom she hadn’t seen in a month. She stopped, allowing herself to soak in the weak sunlight. It felt like she could breathe, finally, and Xiao-Tu seemed to enjoy it as well. The mud squished beneath her boots as she walked, face tilted towards the feeble sun.
She headed out to the dining area the Wen had set up in the largest cave. Familiar, and the smell of thick stew bubbling away on the hearth warmed the entire cave.
“Ah, Wei-furen,” Granny Wen called, hustling her over to a seat at the center table. Cushioned, which was embarrassing, but she appreciated it, nonetheless. She was still sore, even after a month of stillness. Wen Qing had said that was to be expected. She’d bled quite a lot, after all.
Still, she was the strongest cultivator of their generation. She should be better than letting something as simple as a birth keep her down.
The rest of the Wen were gathered around the other small tables scattered across the cave, and they all called out tempered greetings as she sat. She nodded to them, allowing Granny Wen to drape a blanket over her shoulders and fuss with how it fell. The warmth… wasn’t unappreciated.
“Congratulations,” Granny Wen said, holding her tight by the shoulders. Xiao-Tu fussed in her arms, and Granny Wen cooed softly, immediately taken by Xiao-Tu’s soft cheeks. “Let me take him, so you can eat.”
Lan Wangji passed him off, swallowing the sharp flare of anxiety that curdled in her belly. Granny Wen had raised more children than Lan Wangji had ever met. She’d raised Wen Qing and Wen Ning. She was raising A-Yuan. There was no need to worry.
The sweat prickling at the back of her neck didn’t know that.
“I won’t go far,” Granny Wen said softly, because she seemed to always know what Lan Wangji was thinking. At least when it came to her children. Even Wei Ying couldn’t read her that well, though she didn’t know if Granny Wen was actually reading her expressions, or if she’d just known so many new mothers that she could guess. “You need to regain your strength.”
A common refrain, over the past month.
Xiao-Tu settled in Granny Wen’s arms with a sharp huff. He never did like anyone but Lan Wangji holding him. Even Wei Ying was on thin ice, most of the time. It didn’t help that Wei Ying spent most of their seclusion keeping A-Zhao occupied, making him a strange face as Xiao-Tu spent most of the month in Lan Wangji’s arms.
He was a gentle baby, though. Prone to crying, but his fits never lasted long. A-Zhao had been loud, according to Shufu, after Lan Wangji had left to join the Sunshot Campaign. Had cried and cried when she didn’t get her way and had only settled when Shufu gave her his sole attention.
Maybe Xiao-Tu would learn to be loud, once he was older than a month.
Wen Ning settled a tray of food before her, smiling as much as he was able. She nodded back, reaching out to help him steady the platter. It was loaded with warming foods. A large bowl of stew with chunks of turnip and potato, a pot of tea that was likely just hot water, and thin slices of steamed vegetables that wouldn’t be at odds with the fair served at Cloud Recesses.
“Ah, here, let me serve you,” Granny Wen said, tucking Xiao-Tu into one arm and ladling a heaping spoonful of stew into a bowl with the other. Lan Wangji let her, even as her hands itched to help. “This is not the food a mǎnyuè jiǔ should have, but it’s the best we could do.”
“Granny, what are you talking about?” Wei Ying asked with a laugh, sweeping in to take the ladle from Granny Wen’s hand. He grinned cheekily, filling Lan Wangji’s bowl to the brim and grabbing another. “This is more than we could ask for.”
“A new mother should have better food than this,” Granny Wen said staunchly, even as she smiled at Wei Ying. She was sweet with him, just as she was sweet with Wen Ning, and the children. Wei Ying brough that out in people. Their kindness. “Things that are hearty, and soothing, and warming.”
“Mn,” Wei Ying said, nodding resolutely. He kept his face plain and relaxed, but Lan Wangji could see the way his grip tightened on the ladle. Anything she said would just make his tension worse, so she picked up her stew and took a sip. It was good. A little starchier than she was used to, but certainly better than most of the food they ate at the Burial Mounds. Maybe Fourth Uncle had spent the last month perfecting his stew recipe.
It was easy to let the conversation flow over her. She wouldn’t stifle their joy, their pleasant company, even if she refused to break the rules to participate. The chattering of the Wen grew steadily louder, most of them turning to try and catch a glimpse of Xiao-Tu every other sentence. A baby was always a source of joy, more so after the war.
Xiao-Tu, for his part, didn’t seem to notice the attention. He was busy staring wide eyed at Granny Wen, burbling as she cooed down at him. A line of drool spilled down his chin, and she wiped it away with the edge of his blanket. Babies were always so messy. She would be glad when he was old enough to clean himself, but she already missed the gentle weight of him in her arms.
“Lan Wangji!” Jiang Yanli called from the mouth of the cave. She turned, watching her sweep into the room with all the grace of a Sect Heir’s wife. Jin Ling babbled happily in her arms, tiny hands reaching up to grasp at the tight pin of her hair. A-Zhao and A-Yuan where tucked tight into her legs, following along closely as she dropped into the chair Wei Ying pulled out for her. “I’m so glad to see you’re doing well.”
Lan Wangji nodded, setting down her bowl carefully. A-Zhao squirmed her way into her lap, giggling excitedly as she leaned over to stare at Jin Ling. She was more obsessed with her cousin than she was her younger brother, but then again, Jin Ling didn’t take Lan Wangji and Wei Ying’s attention away from her. A-Zhao had never needed to learn how to share. Not until she came to the Burial Mounds.
“A-Ling!” A-Zhao said, reaching out to snag one of Jin Ling’s chubby hands. The baby burbled at her — a deep pout set into his face. He was such an expressive baby. A-Zhao giggled happily, leaning far enough into Jiang Yanli’s space that Lan Wangji wrapped an arm around her to stop her from slipping. “A-Ling, have you met the baby?”
“A-Ling is a baby!” A-Yuan called from Jiang Yanli’s other side. Wei Ying laughed, swooping him up into his arms and sitting close enough to Jiang Yanli to ladle soup into her bowl. A-Yuan settled easily into Wei Ying’s lap, frowning at A-Zhao. “How can A-Ling meet the baby when A-Ling is the baby?”
Jiang Yanli laughed softly, burying her smile into Jin Ling’s fluffy head. He’d grown quite a lot of hair in the month since Lan Wangji had last seen him. Gotten a lot bigger, too. He was nearly twice the size of A-Zian, and at four months old was big enough to understand a bit about what was going on around him.
“A-Yuan,” Wei Ying said patiently, bouncing the toddler on his knee. A-Yuan looked up at him, pout dissipating in the face of Wei Ying’s blinding smile. “Do you know why you couldn’t see A-Zhao, or your Xian-gege, or your Rich-jiejie for the last month?”
A-Yuan’s brow furrowed. “… no?”
Wei Ying’s smile brightened. “You couldn’t see us because Rich-jiejie had a baby, like Shijie had Jin Ling.”
A-Yuan turned to her with wide eyes. “Rich-jiejie had a baby?”
“That’s my didi!” A-Zhao cried, bouncing in Lan Wangji’s lap. She turned to look at Xiao-Tu in Granny Wen’s arms, making grabby hands for her little brother. At Lan Wangji’s nod, Granny Wen laughed, gently placing Xiao-Tu in A-Zhao’s arms. “Look at my didi!”
Xiao-Tu’s face screwed up in a pout as he was passed off, but it quickly faded when he took in A-Zhao and Lan Wangji. She wrapped her arms further around A-Zhao’s tummy, supporting her arms as she held Xiao-Tu. The tight binding around her stomach was the only thing keeping her upright in the rickety chair, her abdominals still loose and watery even after a month.
“Woah,” A-Yuan gasped, a mirror of when he first met Jin Ling. “A baby!”
Jin Ling let out a sharp cry, clearly unhappy with not being the center of attention. Xiao-Tu turned to the sound, eyes going wide as he took in his older cousin. He’d never seen another baby before. The look on his face almost made her want to laugh.
“Ah, A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli said with a laugh, stroking Jin Ling’s back softly. He settled with a grumble, wrapping his tiny fists around Jiang Yanli’s lapel. “Don’t you want to meet your biǎodì, huh?”
Jin Ling gurgled in protest, blinking up at his mother with wide eyes. Wei Ying watched them softly, still bouncing A-Yuan on his knee.
“Xiao-Tu doesn’t have his name yet,” A-Zhao said. “Maybe he’s waiting to learn Xiao-Tu’s name!”
“Oh, his name!” Granny Wen said, clapping her hands together. The rising din of the Wen around them quieted, and Lan Wangji was keenly aware of nearly two dozen eyes trained directly on her. “I almost forgot.”
Lan Wangji caught Wei Ying’s eye, and he grinned. He always understood her, even despite their differences. He stood with a flair, calling the attention to himself. She allowed herself to relax, now that Wei Ying had taken the floor.
“Alright, alright,” he said, turning to place A-Yuan on the seat he was just sitting in. He pulled Xiao-Tu into his arms, bouncing their baby lightly to get him to stop fussing. “Ah, ah, stop fussing, I’m trying to introduce you, here!”
“Oh, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli laughed lightly, smiling up at him. Her smile had never quite gone back to the bright gleam it had been before Jin Zixuan’s death, before the massacre at Lotus Pier, but it was close. It was happy. Wei Ying smiled down at her, then turned that blinding grin on Lan Wangji, who was always helpless in the face of his happiness.
He turned back to the crowd, stepping backwards to lean against her side. He was a warm weight. Grounding. She leaned into him further, holding A-Zhao close as Wei Ying finally got Xiao-Tu to settle.
“It is our pleasure to introduce you to our son, Wei Zian,” he said with a grin. He bowed, a little, showing A-Zian off to the gathered Wen. “The newest member of our family!”
“Ah, a boy!” Fourth Uncle laughed amidst the congratulations, clapping Wei Ying on the shoulder. Lan Wangji swallowed down a wince at the sheer joy in his voice. She’d managed to give Wei Ying a son, but — as the Elder’s liked to point out — it would have been better if their first child had been a boy. Easier, that way. She held A-Zhao closer, letting her snuggle into her lap. “Tell me, what characters did you use for his name?”
“The characters for son and tranquility,” Wei Ying said with a grin. They’d picked it out together, when she’d first learned of her pregnancy. A bit of hope, on both their parts, that A-Zian would know the peace he was named after. “His courtesy name will be Wei Xiaotong.”
“Oh, a courtesy name?” Fourth Uncle asked, glancing between them. Lan Wangji refused to allow herself to fidget. The courtesy name had been her idea. A-Zian was the heir of Gusu Lan, after her. He deserved a courtesy name, regardless of the fact that neither of them were gentry anymore.
“He’s the son of the Second Jade of Lan,” Wei Ying said brightly, plowing through Fourth Uncle’s hesitation. “Of course he should have a courtesy name.”
“Wei Xiaotong,” Fourth Uncle said, nodding seriously. “It suits him. He’ll be little A-Zian for a while yet, though.”
“He’ll always be my little A-Zian,” Wei Ying teased, pressing a kiss to A-Zian’s cheek. A-Zian giggled, reaching up to smack Wei Ying in the face. “Ah! Hey, what was that for, huh? I know I’m not your mama, but there’s no need for violence.”
“He’ll be a strong fighter, then,” Fourth Uncle said happily. He reached out, offering a finger to A-Zian, which he gladly took. “So strong! Takes after his father, huh?”
Wei Ying cackled, and Lan Wangji allowed herself to drift off into the raucous joy of the Wen. Breakfast went fast, after that. Wen Qing caught her eye several times over the bowl of stew, a pointed took to her eyes, which Lan Wangji pointedly ignored. They could talk later. There was no speaking at mealtimes.
“Let me take A-Zhao,” Jiang Yanli said as the meal winded to a close. The rest of the day would be one of rest, the celebratory mood to last for the next week, but Lan Wangji was tired already. A month of solitude, with only her family close to her, had made her tolerance for others… lower than usual. “I’ve been teaching A-Yuan his characters, and he’s been asking A-Zhao to join us.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji said, urging A-Zhao off her lap. A-Zhao went happily, clinging to A-Yuan as they spun around Jiang Yanli’s skirts, chattering.
“You should talk to him,” Jiang Yanli said gently, before sweeping out of the room. She was right. Unfortunately. The plan they’d made before A-Zian was born couldn’t be put off any longer. She didn’t want to put it off, even if leaving A-Zian so soon made her heart crack in her chest.
“I’ll take A-Zian to watch over the kids,” Granny Wen said, smiling down at her. Wei Ying was a few tables away, chatting with Fourth Uncle and one of the cousins. A-Zian was already in Granny Wen’s arms, having nodded off halfway through breakfast. “You take care.”
She nodded, standing. In an instant, Wei Ying was by her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. She huffed, allowing him to take some of her weight. They walked out of the cave slowly, Lan Wangji chewing on the words she didn’t know how to say.
“I need to speak with Lan Xichen,” she said, breaking the amicable quiet as they walked through the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying paused, glancing at her as he turned on his heel and headed towards the Demon Suppression Cave.
“To announce A-Zian’s birth?” he asked lightly. He knew that wasn’t the reason, and she refused to take the out. To lie, even of omission. She would need to announce A-Zian’s birth. Shufu would be overjoyed, for one. The Elders… less so, but technically A-Zian was the heir of Gusu Lan, as her firstborn son. Until Lan Xichen named an heir, at least.
“To request his aid,” she said. Wei Ying didn’t falter, didn’t react, but the shadows deepened in the weak midday light. It would not be a pleasant conversation then. Fine.
“What do we need his help for?” Wei Ying grumbled. He plucked Chenqing from his belt, twirling it around his fingers lazily. Anyone else would have taken it as a threat. Maybe that’s how he meant it. “We’ve been doing just fine on our own.”
She stifled a sigh. She’d had this fight time and time again with Wen Qing. They had no knowledge of what the Great Sects were doing, but the quiet disturbed her. Even Jiang Wanyin was reticent in his communication with Jiang Yanli. “We need help, Wei Ying. We cannot survive if the Great Sects siege the Burial Mounds.”
“I can hold them back,” Wei Ying said lazily, waving her off. She swallowed her rage at being dismissed. Like she was some concubine who didn’t know what she was talking about. Like she wasn’t a war hero in her own right. “Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t worry so much!”
“Wei Ying is not invincible,” she said, stepping in front of him as he made his way into the Demon Suppression Cave. He stared down at her, eyes piercing, shadows twirling behind him. “Wei Ying will falter, and then what?”
“I won’t falter,” he said quietly. Belatedly, he cocked his head, staring down at her like a great bird. With his loose robes and deep shadows, he certainly made a decent predator. It was too bad that she’d never been prey. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust Wei Ying,” she said immediately. “But Wei Ying is only human.”
A short, harsh laugh. Not the kind, gentle laughter he shared with the children and the Wen. Not the brash cackling of their childhood. But a laugh she was familiar with, nonetheless. She often did things to make him laugh at her, cruelty sparking through his eyes. “Only human, huh?”
She didn’t deign that with an answer.
“I was protecting the Wen,” he said quietly, like he was assuring himself. They hadn’t spoken of the massacre at Nightless City in the month since it happened. Wei Ying wouldn’t hear of it, and Lan Wangji didn’t know how to bring it up. “Protecting Shijie. Even if they come, I do not regret it. I will not regret it.”
“And Wei Ying should not,” she agreed, refusing to move from his path. There was no room for regret in their lives. Maybe that was why she had to leave. She knew, like a vision from the gods, that if she stayed, she would regret it until her dying day. “But they will come. We are defenseless here.”
“Ah, come on, Lan Zhan,” he complained, stepping around her. She matched him, step for step, not letting him dodge around the conversation. He was good at it, but she’d had a lot of practice weaseling answers from him since the war. “Lan Zhan.”
A warning.
“Wei Ying,” she shot back, as steadily as she could manage. He sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers. She was giving him a headache then. Unfortunate, but maybe the pain would clear his mind enough that he would listen. “I am going.”
He broke into another short, harsh laugh. “Of course you are. When have I ever been able to stop you from doing anything?”
Given that he’d never tried to stop her from doing anything, they both knew the answer to that.
“What do you want from me?” he snapped, finally dodging around her and disappearing into the cave. The candles had burned down to nothing, in the month he’d been away from his workshop. They’d have to replace them, so he didn’t strain his eyes. “Permission? Absolution? Since when did you need either of those things, Lan Zhan.”
“I am merely informing you,” she said, though it wasn’t the right thing to say. She never knew the right thing to say. She wanted to say, come with me. Talk to Lan Xichen yourself, let him see that there is no threat. She wanted to say, accept the help when it comes. Don’t let us all die because you can’t trust the Great Sects to do good. She wanted to say, trust me. Even if you can’t trust them, trust that I will take care of us. Of you.
She couldn’t make her mouth form the words.
Wei Ying settled on the edge of the Demon Suppression Pool, a compass spinning wildly in his hands. “Fine, then. You want to leave so bad? Get lost.”
“Wei Ying—”
“I said,” Wei Ying snapped, cutting her off. She closed her mouth, swallowing down the rage and the tears that threatened to flare. They wouldn’t help anything. Do not show excess emotion. “Get lost.”
After a moment, she nodded. He couldn’t see her with his back turned, but she couldn’t bring her throat to work. On shaking legs she headed for the door, hands numb. She couldn’t— if she left, he’d never forgive her.
If she stayed, he’d die.
It wasn’t a choice, really. She would do anything to keep him alive. To keep him safe. Even if it meant breaking every rule inscribed on Gusu’s wall. Even if it meant him hating her. She could deal with his hatred, his ire, his snapping anger. She would shoulder that burden for both of them.
Shoulder the weight of morality.
She paused at the door. Sunlight streamed across the fields, watery and washed out in the mid-winter chill. The Wen were working, harvesting winter vegetables and planting those that needed to settle in the frozen ground before spring.
“Wei Ying,” she started, turning back to him. He kept working, hunched over in the dark with shadows spilling around him like flowing robes. “I—”
But the words wouldn’t come. She’d told him she’d loved him before. At their wedding, and when he met Wei Qingzhao, and when he’d left her behind in the rain to save the Wen. Always sparse. Always quiet. But she meant every word.
She couldn’t say it now, though. It wasn’t any less true, but she couldn’t stomach saying it, and him not saying it back. She didn’t know what she would do, if she confessed, and he told her to get lost.
She turned back towards the Burial Mounds, heading out into the fields. She would need to say goodbye to the children, currently huddled with Jiang Yanli who was teaching them their characters. She would need to tell Wen Qing she was leaving. There was much to do, and even if Wei Ying didn’t appreciate it, she would do her duty. To him, and to their family.
There was nothing else she could do.
She snapped awake as the door opened. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe as a familiar resentment flooded the room. It wasn’t quite dusk, but certainly later in the afternoon than it had been. She’d been sleeping too much, though exhaustion still clung to her bones.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, hovering above them. She blinked awake, turning to look at him. The children hadn’t woken and were still curled around each other like cats. Wei Ying sat on the bed, careful to not touch any part of her. “You met them.”
“Mn,” she said, swallowing down the tears that rose. It didn’t help. They spilled out of her, wetting her cheeks and dripping onto the bedding. Wei Ying leaned forward, cupping her face to wipe the tears away.
“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said, voice choked and worn. He closed his eyes, leaning in to press his forehead to hers. She trembled out a breath, leaning into his hold. It was warm. Welcoming. Safe. Even the traces of Demonic energy on him was familiar. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she said. He shook his head, making to pull away. Some flare of panic made her reach out. Snag his sleeve and hold him close. If he left… if he left something would happen. She’d float away again, swept up by the burning current of pain lancing through her body. “Wei Ying.”
“… okay,” he said after a moment. Slowly, careful not to press up against her back, he curled around her. Around them. She’d usually been the one to hold him, after the war when they were sequestered away in their cold bedroom in the Burial Mounds. It had been a very long time since she’d been held. “Okay.”
She settled back into the bed. She had her children in her arms. Her husband behind her. She was alive, by some miracle. Some work of Demonic Cultivation that they’d have to figure out sooner rather than later. But for now, it was okay. She grabbed Wei Ying’s arm, wrapping it firmly around her waist. She would see him again in the morning.