Chapter Text
Lan Qiren stands at the tops of the steps leading into Cloud Recesses, gazing into the far distance. Another long night of safeguarding the clan has come to a close. It looks to him that there will be no further visitors arriving for this evening. The wards have continued to hold, as they always have; while the disciples have long since retired to their quarters.
And so, the Lan elder decides to conclude his watch for the night.
But just as the man turns his back onto the pitch-black sky, he is quickly startled by the pitter-patter sounds of small, baby footsteps, and tired, hurried breaths of someone running up the stairs below.
He turns sharply, eyebrows drawing into a stern frown as he does so. Who dares disturb the peace of the Gusu Lan Clan at this hour?
…The answer arrives in the form of a small boy no older than five, his cheeks red with exertion, his little legs wobbling as he climbs the last of the never-ending stairs.
The child’s shoulder-length hair is messy, robes torn and soiled with soot, his knees scraped raw and bloody from too many falls. His small face is covered with dirt and sweat, but it is his eyes that steal Lan Qiren’s breath away: big and luminous, and shining with tears that threaten to overflow anytime now.
With a jolt, the man suddenly realises: he…he has seen those silver eyes before.
Upon being met with Lan Qiren’s—seemingly genial and comforting—presence, those wide silver eyes immediately fill with sheer relief. With a tiny breath catching in his throat, the boy almost collapses onto his knees before him, as though gratified to see that the long and arduous journey he’d undertaken had not been for naught.
Lan Qiren can only imagine how far the child had come, and how much he must have been through just to get here...
The young, frail and needy often turn up at their doorstep, in hopes of seeking aid from the well-esteemed clan. But Lan Qiren has a peculiar feeling that this time… he has come here for different reasons, entirely.
“A…Are you Lan-shushu?” the child gathers all of his courage to timidly ask, his small hands trembling non-stop from the cold. “A-niang said… A-niang said A-Ying should come here…”
Lan Qiren’s heart quickly skip a beat. That name…
He knows where he has heard it before.
(He can even pinpoint the exact moment his entire world shattered upon doing so.)
“Cangse?” he asks, without a second thought, softening his tone in reply. “Where is she?”
The boy’s lower lip trembles.
And then, as though the strength that had carried him up the mountain is finally giving out, he bursts into a fit of tears.
“A-niang said… if she never comes back…” he woefully sobs, rubbing his fists furiously at his eyes, “to find Lan-shushu in Gusu…”
Ah.
Lan Qiren steps forward immediately, crouching down before the child.
This boy, this precious little boy…is hers.
The resemblance is undeniable. The boy looks so much like her…with that beautiful sparkle in his eyes and a tenacious spirit that looked like it could never burn out.
“A-Ying,” he gently calls, placing both hands on the child’s shaking shoulders. “You are safe now. You’ve done well to come here.”
A-Ying sniffles hard, staring up at him through wet lashes. “Will…will A-niang be here soon?”
Lan Qiren’s hands tightens slightly on the boy’s shoulders.
Even now, he still holds hope for his mother…
He has no answer for him; and even if he does, he’s not sure it’ll be a positive one.
Rather uncharacteristically, he feels immediately compelled to pull the child into his arms. This must be…the only hug he has given, in over a decade. The last time he’d done so, it’d been to comfort a boy…as small as A-Ying, over a reason eerily similar to his as well—a mother’s death.
Grimly, Lan Qiren thinks, lowering his gaze with a kindness he thought he’d long lost to time: This time, I won’t make the same mistakes.
“You are safe,” he repeats firmly to the boy, squeezing him in his hold. “No one will hurt you now.”
Lan-shushu will protect you in your mother’s stead.
Under the starry, moonlit sky of Gusu, little A-Ying buries his face in Lan Qiren’s chest, and finally allows himself to wail.
.
.
.
Little A-Ying grows up to become the beloved, cherished apple of headmaster Lan Qiren’s eye.
With no one left in the world to cling to, little A-Ying holds onto the only man in this world that his mother has ever taught him to trust: Lan-shushu, the one with the goatee—which little A-Ying was warned never to burn off, no matter how badly he wanted to. (His a-niang did it once in the past, and rightfully suffered the consequences!)
In another universe, perhaps A-Ying might have grown up to be a much different person. In this one, his naturally rebellious streak and curiosity about the world out there was curbed by the violent trauma of having been abandoned on the streets at such a young age. The many nights of trudging through the crowded cities alone, without being offered a glance by anyone, and much less a small crumb of food—had taught him that there was nowhere else that was better than home.
And home was right next to Lan-shushu, his de facto baba.
Haunted in the way no five-year-old should be, little A-Ying was first taken in by the clan—as an overly quiet and well-behaved, skinny little thing. It took strict, around-the-clock care from his Lan-shushu for that spark in his eyes to finally return. And of course, when it did, Wei Ying’s natural charm and inquisitiveness nearly drove Lan Qiren to early retirement.
(Through the years, Lan Qiren doted on little A-Ying far more than he ever doted on his own nephews—this much, Xichen-ge could attest to. After all, A-Ying was the only one out of all of his kids that Lan Qiren willingly hugged to sleep every night. No one else got such special treatment! Only A-Ying and his cute big teary eyes!
And if A-Ying demanded for Lan Qiren to sing lullabies to him and coddle him back to sleep after a particularly arduous nightmare, then—that was exactly what his Lan-shushu would do!)
Still, there was no denying the boy’s brilliance.
He was Cangse’s, after all.
(And in a way, he was now Lan Qiren’s.)
(He was the only thing they’d ever come to share…)
Whatever the boy did, he excelled at. He was the product of his mother’s wit, and took after Lan Qiren in terms of discipline. Desperate for his Lan-shushu’s validation, Wei Ying became everything a Gusu Lan disciple should be—and more. With little effort, he rose to be at the top of his classes, and became head disciple at the tender age of fourteen. His forehead ribbon was always tied immaculately, his robes unwrinkled and spotless, and he walked around Cloud Recesses daily with a posture and gait so perfect it was almost fairy-like.
Even Lan Qiren, who believed praise encouraged arrogance, found himself muttering “very good” at least once a week—an occurrence that became legend amongst the juniors.
The great Lan Sect’s shining disciple was so perfect, his guard only ever really fell behind closed doors.
Because behind closed doors, Wei Ying returned to being his little A-Ying again.
Always cosying up to him like a needy child, begging to be spoilt.
“Baba!” he’d happily chirp, while serving his Lan-shushu a steaming hot bowl of soup for his afternoon meal.
Without even looking up from his scroll, Lan Qiren would sigh out in return, “I told you, that is improper.”
“But you are my baba,” Wei Ying would insist with a grin, with his beautiful twinkling eyes. Lan Qiren could never stay annoyed at him for too long. “Who else takes such good care of me, but baba?”
Lan Qiren would huff and adjust his sleeves, eyes still on the text in front of him. “This child…”
And yet, somehow, the soup Wei Ying brought him would always be drunk to the very last drop. And not long after that, Wei Ying’s head would always find its way into Lan Qiren’s lap for an afternoon nap.
To be perfectly honest, Lan Qiren never thought he’d ever get to be a father, in this life.
Wangji and Xichen, they had been raised under his care, but he still dealt them a firm hand and held them to a standard forged from duty, with the strict expectations of an uncle determined to be—what their father never could.
But as for A-Ying… ah, he was his mother’s child.
Loud and bright and impossible to contain. Lan Qiren couldn’t bear to quench the fire in him—the only thing left of his mother that he bore.
Lan Qiren thought Cangse’s dying wish might have been to never see that fire go out. As a result, he couldn’t bring himself to be too strict with the boy.
He wouldn’t ever scold him too harshly, and couldn’t bear to see him cry, even when propriety demanded it.
If Wei Ying threw a tantrum by the door to beg for his Lan-shushu to skip teaching a class or two today in favour of staying in to read him another book, Lan Qiren wouldn’t even see the need to discipline the poor, ill-fated boy. He’d give in. He’d read him every book he wanted in the world, and ask Lan Xichen to ferry in healthy candies for A-Ying to enjoy at the same time, to boot.
He treated Wei Ying more preciously than the finest pearl in the world, and loved that boy as though he was his own flesh and blood.
For even in her death, Cangse chose to entrust her boy to him.
And Lan Qiren couldn’t ever bear to let her down.
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.
.
It had been a rare clear afternoon in Caiyi Town when Gusu Lan Clan’s esteemed head disciple, Wei Ying, decided to descend Cloud Recesses to do his usual weekly rounds. He waved at the friendly popos tending to their stalls by the roadside, and didn’t decline their gifts of fresh fruit that had arrived just this morning, having always enjoyed a rare camaraderie with them from affording them protection from the occasional bandits and water ghouls that plagued this town. Happily skipping through the markets while nibbling on some coconut flesh, he ticked off today’s errands in his head—he’d need to buy fresh ink, get new thread for repairs, and finally, Lan-shushu’s favorite herbs.
Easy-peasy. He’d get this all done within half a shichen, and then spend the rest of his afternoon here—having fun!
His quick eyes spotted a familiar bottle tucked behind a few dusty jars at one stall, decided he could simply get Lan-shushu’s herbs first, and so halted in his skipping at once…only for him to get there, and have his fingers to reach for it, and collide with someone else’s.
“Hey! That’s mine!” Wei Ying unhappily exclaims, immediately looking up at the offending stranger.
…Oh?
Huh! Wei Ying’s never seen such a handsome man around these parts before. How peculiar.
He must be a wealthy young master just passing through this town, with the silken robes of rich black and blue that he dons. Carelessly draped and scandalously loose at the front, revealing a toned chest that clearly knew the benefits of daily sword practice and rigid handstands. His long, straight locks of hair were perfectly groomed and running neatly down his back, the raven-black contrasting with the piercing gold in his eyes. Coupled with a face like polished jade, a well-defined jaw, and an elegantly shaped nose, he looked like an otherworldly creature, towering over Wei Ying easily with that godly tall stature of his.
If Wei Ying weren’t so innately disciplined from the three thousand Gusu Lan rules that exist, he might even swoon!
The man only offers him a calm, surreptitious, almost-smile. “Not anymore,” comes his reply.
Wei Ying’s brows fly up. Handsome he may be, but these herbs are his to take!
“Excuse me? That’s Lan-shushu’s favorite! I came all the way down from Cloud Recesses just for this!”
The stranger’s hand stills at that very mention. His beautiful golden eyes lift to meet Wei Ying’s with surprise, as though attempting to put two and two together. “…Uncle?”
A beat passes, as the man studies the boy more intently now, taking in his unmistakably white mourning robes. Wei Ying stands before him, looking like the epitome of the innocence he’d long lost, his forehead adorned cutely with a long white ribbon, embroidered with the unmistakable sigil of the Gusu Lan cloud—the one that only direct descendants are allowed to wear proudly on their skin…
“I see,” he deduces at long last. “You are… a Gusu Lan?”
But try as he may, he cannot seem to recall having ever seen such a boy in their midst…
Was he really of their blood?
Wei Ying crosses his arms and huffs, “Duh! Do you not see what I’m wearing? Now give me the bottle, you herb thief! I called first dibs!”
The man’s lips only twitch further at the adorable sight, thoroughly enjoying the way the boy’s throwing him a tantrum. “Not unless you do me a favour.”
Wei Ying blinks, turning suspicious. “A favour?”
The man cocks his head to the side, a small smile teasing the corner of his lips. For some reason, it feels almost unnatural, like a wax statue learning to emote for the first time. “Drink with me.”
Wei Ying hesitates. He knows it’s forbidden for Gusu Lan disciples to drink. But it’s his favourite (not-so-secret) vice! That is exactly why he always insists on coming down the mountains alone. He uses it to sneak in some alone time to drink a bottle of Emperor’s Smile where no one can see him…!
Making a snap decision that he hope he won’t regret, Wei Ying mumbles out, “Fine, if you’re buying. You look like you can afford it!”
After all, Wei Ying as a Gusu Lan disciple only has so many coins to spare!
Still grinning, the stranger watches Wei Ying complete his purchase of the fine herbs before slowly leading him toward one of Caiyi’s finer winehouses (ha—it seems the man does indeed have taste, this particular one he’s chosen is even Wei Ying’s favourite!).
As they enter, he even slips a few extra silver coins into the madam’s palm, murmuring into her a few words that makes her eyes glint with interest before she ushers them toward a private booth deep within, hidden away from the prying gazes of others.
Wei Ying plops down onto the cushion opposite him and folds his arms. “Hmph! Spoiled young master knows how to be considerate, at least. You know I can’t be caught drinking in public.”
The man only smiles again, with the barest twitch of amusement.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “That’s the reason why.”
(It is not, of course.)
(He simply wanted Wei Ying’s attention focused only on him—and no one else’s.)
The madam returns with two jars of Emperor’s Smile and sets them down on the lacquered table. His mouth already watering on instinct, Wei Ying eagerly reaches for his jar and takes a hearty swig, downing the wine like a parched man on the verge of death in the desert. He then exhales with a satisfied sigh, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
Across the table, the handsome man chuckles softly. “I assume your Lan-shushu is not privy to this side of you.”
Wei Ying gives a half-hearted scowl and hugs the jar to his chest. “I am the apple of his eye, thank you very much. Even if he finds out, he’ll forgive me! He already has, once or twice. He knows I know my limits. I’m not a child.” After all, he has just turned eighteen!
The man smiles. “How very forgiving of him. Pardon me for asking, but… he can’t possibly be the Lan elder I’m thinking of, can he?”
Wei Ying squints at him. “Who are you thinking of?”
“Lan Qiren,” the man says simply.
Wei Ying’s head perks up, pride puffing in his chest at the mention. “Of course! He’s my one and only Lan-shushu. He raised me since I was five.”
A curious look sweeps through the man’s eyes. “Is that so? Fascinating. It seems we have encountered…very different sides of him.”
Wei Ying narrows his gaze at the stranger. “And what would a spoilt young master like you even know about my Lan-shushu? How would you even have met him in the first place?”
The man’s smile deepens. “Oh, I know him very well. You may not believe it, but I was even his favorite, once.”
Wei Ying snorts. “Impossible! Shushu’s only ever had one favorite, and that’s me!”
“Perhaps,” the man says, “but how old do you think I am?”
Wei Ying squints again. Now that he’s looking more closely at him, he’s noticing the faint hint of crow’s feet around the man’s eyes as he smiles—laugh lines that crease and are so telling of his age.
“I must be older than you by a good decade or two,” the man hums. “So, it is not too impossible that I could have grown up under your Lan-shushu’s care, too.”
Wei Ying hesitates.
Was this man from a side branch of the clan? A disciple? But no—Lan Qiren was strict about who he took under his wing. He only ever raised the direct descendants of the clan himself.
“Besides me,” Wei Ying answers slowly, brows furrowing, “there’s only Xichen-ge, who’s part of the direct family. He is also…”
Two decades older than him.
He trails off, the very same time his stomach drops at the revelation.
Wei Ying’s voice drops to a whisper. “You’re… around the same age as Xichen-ge.”
The man’s smile doesn’t fade; if anything, it softens.
“Ah,” he says, with melancholy in his voice. “Yes. A little younger, but only by a few years. How is xiongzhang? I have missed him terribly.”
There is only one person Wei Ying knows of who would ever have the right to call Lan Xichen “xiongzhang”…someone no one dared speak of anymore in the clan. A name that had been passed around all of the juniors like a cautionary tale…the clan’s best disciple turned traitor.
He’d been said to reject the clan’s hypocrisy, vowing to protect those the cultivation world cast aside instead…
Wei Ying’s breath lodges in his throat as it all finally sinks into him. “No…”
The man gently nods. “Yes.”
“Impossible!” Wei Ying snaps. “You were exiled! He—shushu never talks about—what really happened. But you’re supposed to be…”
“Gone?” the man supplies calmly. “Dead? Lost to a qi deviation? I have heard it all.”
Wei Ying’s fists clench around the wine jar. “You left the clan. You betrayed us. You harboured war criminals—”
“Is that what the elders told you?” the man coolly asks. “When I was really protecting the innocent? The great sects turned a blind eye to their plight, but I could not. I made my choice then…Just as your Lan-shushu made his.”
Wei Ying freezes, his heart thudding in his chest. He can’t…bring himself to look away from the man across the table. The man who, once upon a time, had been the great second young master of the Gusu Lan Clan. The man they once called…
“Hanguang-Jun,” Wei Ying whispers out, distraught.
The man glances away into the far distance. “In another life, perhaps, I still would be.”
“The Yiling Patriarch, then,” Wei Ying says.
“Somehow, I do not prefer that name as much.”
The man’s right. The grand title, Hanguang-Jun, befits his handsome face, so much better.
“So,” Hanguang-Jun murmurs, “you are the child Lan Qiren has raised in my absence. Perhaps that is for the best. According to you, he has mellowed plenty over the years.”
Wei Ying stiffens. “Don’t speak of him like that,” he says sharply. “Shushu is the only thing left of my childhood that I can remember.”
How innocent and pure. Hanguang-Jun drops his head to the side, his gaze turning thoughtful.
“What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t,” Wei Ying replies, guarded. But he eventually relents, anyway: “my name is Wei Ying.”
Recognition stirs in those troubled golden eyes. “A Wei?” He leans back slightly, considering. “Who was your mother?”
Wei Ying wavers.
“She was known to shushu in his youth as Cangse Sanren.”
Hanguang-Jun’s eyes light up, in an almost wistful fashion. “So you are hers,” he says softly, in a murmur that feels like it’s only meant for himself to hear. “Of course. He would always have been kinder to you than he could be to anyone else.”
Wei Ying frowns. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It’s not important,” the man says, brushing the topic aside. He scans the room, his eyes quickly locating the entrance below. “Well. It has been good knowing you, Wei Ying. I was only passing through this town, after all. Please,” he pushes the second jar of Emperor’s Smile across the table, just as he pulls himself to his feet. “Enjoy my share of Emperor’s Smile for me.”
Wei Ying’s hand hovers over the jar, but he doesn’t reach for it, suddenly looking reluctant. “Where are you going?”
“Back to Yiling,” comes his answer, readily. “I’m not wanted here.”
For some reason, that tired lonesome look on the man’s face tugs deeply at Wei Ying’s young, tender heart.
“That’s not true,” Wei Ying says quickly. “You’ve already made the journey all the way to Caiyi. Shouldn’t you… take the chance to also greet shushu? He might be happy to see you.”
Hanguang-Jun lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Happy? When I left, I denounced every rule the Lan clan stood for. I renounced my blood ties to my family. There is no home for me in Gusu Lan anymore.”
“Then,” Wei Ying seems insistent on taking him home with him, and kindly offers, “Maybe I can put in a good word for you?”
The man raises a brow. “You’d go to such lengths… for a stranger?”
“Well,” Wei Ying says in contemplation, tipping his head. “We’re not strangers anymore. We drank together, and…have shared honest stories with each other,” he appears to waver slightly, before ultimately making the bold declaration: “So, we’re officially friends now.”
“Are we?” Hanguang-Jun almost laughs, clearly amused. “Have I managed to buy your affections so easily?”
Lan Qiren clearly has sheltered the boy far too well!
(If Hanguang-Jun didn’t know any better, he might even think that the boy was finding every and any excuse in the book to prolong time together with him.)
“No,” Wei Ying responds, more serious now. “It’s just… I always thought the exiled Hanguang-Jun was a traitor, an enemy, for that’s what everyone says. But now that I’ve spoken to you…” he bites his lip. “I don’t think you are. I think you must’ve had your reasons. And I want to believe you did what you thought was the right thing at that moment.”
Hanguang-Jun stares at him for a long moment. The wry smile he wears steadily dissolves in the face of such pure earnestness. “A person like me doesn’t need your help.”
“I know,” Wei Ying says quietly. “But… on the walk back to the Cloud Recesses, if I continue to keep you company…will you tell me the truth about what really happened? About,” he inhales sharply, as though just now having a change of heart. “Whether those people you helped… were really innocent?”
The older man goes quiet, looking down at his untouched jar of Emperor’s Smile.
“Very well,” he says, brushing the dust from his sleeves. “But I must warn you, Wei Ying. The truth…might be not as kind to your beloved clan, as you might have hoped.”
Wei Ying nods anyway, prepared for such a thing.
“Grab Emperor’s Smile, and follow me,” the man says. “Just make sure to finish it before we reach the steps of Cloud Recesses. Shufu does love his patrols.”
Wei Ying would know. “He doesn’t stop until I return,” he says softly. Lan-shushu has always been like that, for as long as he’s known him.
He waits for the pitter-patter sound of Wei Ying’s tiny footsteps running up the steps, always, because it’s the only thing that gives him peace in this place.
.
.
.
Lan Qiren paces at the front steps of the Cloud Recesses, a thin sheen of sweat beading at his brow. Everytime his dear A-Ying leaves the safety and comfort of Cloud Recesses, he’s always fraught with worry. He can’t seem to help it; his anxiety getting even worse with every year A-Ying grows older, and becomes more susceptible to the cruelty of this world…
Wei Ying already spots his needless fretting from a distance, and can’t help but grin silently to himself as he raises an arm up in greeting.
“Shushu!”
The familiar voice ringing out from behind the trees finally brings him great relief, as Lan Qiren turns so fast to greet the boy he nearly trips on his own robes.
“A-Ying,” he gently calls, his stern face brightening in a way that is only privy to the boy. The sight of his most beloved disciple—no, his child, if he were to be so brutally honest with himself—safe and smiling at the bottom of the steps, fill him with such delight that he’s too happy to ignore the glimmering evidence of wine that Wei Ying neglected to wipe off from the corner of his lips.
“You’re back early this time,” Lan Qiren says, folding his hands behind his back in an austere pose as though he hadn’t just been pacing for his life just moments ago.
Wei Ying beams. “Yes, shushu! I even made a new friend today!”
As if on cue, the brush behind him rustles, and a figure steps out from the shadows of the trees lining the path.
Lan Qiren’s body reacts before his mind even does. The moment his eyes meet that pair of golden, unrepentant eyes—harrowing ones that have plagued his nightmares for years on end—his hand flies to his hip.
His trusty sword is drawn and gleaming in the air before Wei Ying even registers what was happening.
“A-Ying!” Lan Qiren barks at his favourite child. “Stay back!”
He thrusts the boy behind him with a force violent enough it made Wei Ying stumble, and quickly stands protectively between him and the intruder with his sword raised. “You are not to go near him! He is not someone you should ever become acquainted with!”
“Shushu?” Wei Ying blinks up at him, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “But he’s not a bad person, I promise—!”
“Silence! Stay behind shushu and do not even offer him a glance! He does not deserve such a privilege!”
Hanguang-Jun’s smile never even falters. He had long expected such a reaction.
“Well,” he drawls in greeting, with the lazy raise of his hand into the air. “Hello to you, too, Shufu.”
Lan Qiren’s grip on his sword tightens. “Take one more step toward my A-Ying,” he says through gritted teeth, “and I will finish what I should have done thirteen years ago.”
Hanguang-Jun snorts, and boldly takes that one step forward, anyway. “How touching, shufu, that you remember the exact number of years I have been gone. Tell me… does that day haunt you, too?”
“Shameless,” Lan Qiren spits, his hands wildly throbbing as he does so. “Preposterous!”
Hanguang-Jun shoots a pointed look toward Wei Ying, looking just the slightest bit smug, as if to say: I warned you.
Wei Ying merely pouts in reply.
“I must say, shufu,” the exiled nephew continues, “I am glad you have found yourself a new project. This one definitely seems to have turned out better than the last.”
The last being him, of course.
His comment proves to be too much for his shufu to take. Oddly enough, that was his last straw.
Lan Qiren nearly sputters blood in rage.
He turns on Wei Ying and angrily chides the boy, “I told you never to talk to strangers! And look what you’ve brought home!”
“But baba,” Wei Ying sulks. “He’s so nice! He even bought me two jars of Emperor’s Smile—” except Lan-shushu’s not supposed to know that. He stops himself too late, clapping a hand over his mouth in horror.
Oh no.
But Lan Qiren, instead of punishing him, turns his full wrath on the man before him. “You are corrupting my A-Ying, just as you corrupted yourself all those years ago!”
“Corrupting?” Hanguang-Jun says mockingly. “If memory serves, your little A-Ying all but begged me to walk him home like the proper gentleman you once taught me to be.”
Wei Ying…actually blushes at the suaveness of that.
Lan Qiren only sees white.
Snatching up Wei Ying’s hand as though forbidding him from further seeing his toxic boyfriend, he unhappily declares, “We are returning home now! You are not to speak to this man again!”
“But babaaa, wasn’t he your beloved nephew once—”
“You are never to speak of him again!” Lan Qiren thunders. “If you do, baba will be very mad!”
When Lan Qiren actually calls himself baba like that, and owns the term in front of others, you know he’s taking the weight of such a responsibility seriously, and means business.
Wei Ying glances over his shoulder as they stalk off in a hurry, feeling torn between wanting to live up to his shushu’s expectations of him…and the sweet flutter in his chest he feels whenever he looks at Hanguang-Jun.
Behind him, Hanguang-Jun continues to smile and wave goodbye at him, with that small, handsome nod of his head.
As if solemnly vowing to Wei Ying: I will be back for you in due time.
Warmth blossoms in the boy’s virgin heart, as he shyly averts his gaze.
But a second later, he shakes his head, as though to remind himself of what is at stake. No! His baba didn’t want him to ever meet Hanguang-Jun again, so he couldn’t…
Even if they had laughed together, wept together, and shared more joy on that single walk up the mountain than Wei Ying had known in his life. Wei Ying had learned more about the world from Hanguang-Jun’s numerous tales and recounts of his adventures wandering on the outside—than all of his years spent studying within the closed perimeters of Cloud Recesses.
Wei Ying so wanted to explore the world outside himself! Just like him! Just like Hanguang-Jun!
What a grand life it would be if he could…!
But Wei Ying didn’t ever want to make his baba sad again…
Ahhhh, whatever shall Wei Ying do?!?!?!?!
.
.
.
Just to be safe—because Heavens forbid his godforsaken nephew dares come sniffing around for his beloved A-Ying again—Lan Qiren grounds Wei Ying for an entire month.
Wei Ying nearly dies of boredom, trapped within the suffocating perimeters of Cloud Recesses. He passes the days copying texts under Xichen-ge’s watchful eye, chasing chickens with the only other Lan disciple his age (Lan Jingyi), and tries not to doze off while soaking himself in the cold springs every now and then.
He enjoys life in Cloud Recesses, yes, and he adores his one and only shushu. But his weekly Caiyi town outings have been the only thing keeping him sane from the mundanity of life and the rigidity of the three thousand odd rules of Cloud Recesses. He is sure his favorite popos down the streets must be missing him terribly so! And how many fresh harvests of fruit has he been robbed of by now, being cooped all the way up here?! What a tragedy!
To make matters worse, in addition to his usual chores and classes, Lan Qiren begins scheduling private lessons with him at the end of his days. Poor Wei Ying is made to undergo long, heavy lectures about the horrors of the great sect war, and the consequences of offering compassion so freely to those who are prisoners of war. Lan Qiren had clearly designed those lessons to deprogram whatever dangerous notions his nephew may have planted in his baobei A-Ying’s head, and all Wei Ying can do is nod solemnly and repeat the words back, pretending to agree with him; even if he’s not so sure about it, really.
Luckily, after a month of cosying up to Lan Qiren with sweet, honeyed words and all the affectionate antics Wei Ying can muster—as well as making a number of promises he most definitely will not keep—shushu finally relents to Wei Ying’s one request for respite: just a quick trip to Caiyi Town for starters, to run a small errand.
(In his place, Lan Jingyi has been running all of his old errands and bringing back the wrong herbs every single time. Bless that hopeless, clumsy klutz of a boy; Wei Ying wouldn’t have had a chance otherwise. Lan Qiren had all but given up on him.)
And so, Wei Ying wakes up early that one fine morning to prep himself for the big day ahead of him, humming endlessly to himself as he does so. He ties his forehead ribbon a little tighter, cinches his sash a little neater, dusts off his white robes, and does a cute little spin in front of the mirror. Perfect. No black-robed, handsome demonic cultivating weirdo is definitely going to distract him today!
…Or so he thinks…
Because halfway down the mountain path, as Wei Ying’s trudging on forward with his eyes closed, woven basket in hand, whilst savouring the delightful breeze in his hair…
He hears the sound of a soft creak, the cracking of twigs… and big footsteps looming behind him.
Wei Ying’s brow twitches. He opens his eyes, slowly turning, and, just as they’d haunted him in every one of his dreams ever since the day they’d first met—meets with dazzling molten gold.
Slitted slightly, filled with the slightest hints of puzzlement and longing.
Just as Wei Ying parts his lips in wonder, and his fragile heart pounds in his chest against his will, a strong arm wraps around his slender waist, and, rather presumptuously—pulls him right in.
…Almost causing Wei Ying to trip unfashionably into his embrace!
“Hey,” the stranger says in greeting, voice smooth as ever. “Has a whole month away from the world sapped your strength away entirely?”
Wei Ying immediately jolts back from his touch, recoiling on sheer instinct. He whips his head to the side, refusing to meet the man’s piercing gaze. “Go away! The last time I hung out with you, baba grounded me so badly that I—I never want to talk to you again!”
That earns him a long frown. Hanguang-Jun strokes his chin, feigning innocence. “I warned you not to bring me home.”
“I was just trying to do something nice for you and baba! Never again!”
Wei Ying huffs, his arms crossed tight across his chest. He’s a foot-stomp away from throwing a full-blown tantrum. Hanguang-Jun barely hides his grin.
“Perhaps it is time you learned a little something about stranger danger,” he clicks his tongue, putting on his best shufu impression. “And here I thought I was a sheltered child. But you—you’re practically shufu’s precious pearl. What do you even know of the world outside your white mountain palace?”
Wei Ying slaps his hands over his ears. “Lalalala! I can’t hear you!”
That makes Hanguang-Jun laugh, in that quiet manner of his. Smugly reaching behind his back, he produces a wondrous jar of Emperor’s Smile.
And Wei Ying is instantly called to attention, his big and bright doe eyes sparkling like stars.
The taller man dangles it just out of reach, watching as those small, grabby hands of the boy’s quickly reach for it.
“A gift,” Hanguang-Jun teases. “To welcome this sacred pearl of a boy back into the wickedness of this world.”
Wei Ying turns his nose up into the air, arms crossed again in defiance. “Are you giving it to me or not!”
Hanguang-Jun chuckles. “How did shufu ever raise such an innocent little gremlin?”
Wei Ying jumps with all of his might, stretching up on his toes until his hands finally close around the jar. Once it’s safely in his arms, he hugs it to his chest like it’s his long-lost lover, and rubs his pouty cheeks happily against its front. “My darling! I was deprived of you for a whole month! You have no idea how much I missed you!”
Hanguang-Jun swallows a smile, and teases, “We have met only once. Did you have to miss me that much?”
“I wasn’t talking to you!” Wei Ying shoots him a glare, clutching the jar protectively to himself. “And stop following me! Were you just out here waiting for me to appear everyday, or what?! If Lan-shushu catches me with you again, he’ll bury me alive! You can’t be seen within two feet of me anywhere in Gusu!”
Hanguang-Jun shrugs. “Then, it simply won’t be in Gusu.”
“Eh?” Wei Ying blinks up at him, puzzled.
But it’s already too late.
Hanguang-Jun slips an arm around his back in one smooth motion and pulls him up into a bridal-carry, marvelling for a split second at how light the boy really is. Gusu Lan cuisine with its bland porridges and vegetarian dishes must truly be starving him.
In his other hand, Bichen materialises as soon as he wills it to.
In the next moment, Hanguang-Jun hops them both onto his mighty sword, with Wei Ying clinging to him like a petrified kitten.
The boy is left with no choice but to shriek out, “The big bad evil demonic cultivator Hanguang-Jun is kidnapping meeeee! Waaaaa~!”
Hanguang-Jun urgently slaps a hand over his mouth. “Do you wish for shufu to come storming out? He would certainly be treated to quite the sight.”
Wei Ying glares hotly at him, his words coming out muffled as he tries to yell at Hanguang-Jun through his palm. “Yoummfff gonnammfff getmmfff memfff killedmmfff!”
Hanguang-Jun shakes his head, and clutches Wei Ying by the neck tightly. “There will be no blood spilled while I am with you. Not from shufu, and not from me. As long as you are in my arms, I will only ever keep you safe.”
Wei Ying hesitates then, momentarily caught off-guard by the sincerity he hears in his voice…
His heart races—just a little—as he takes a quiet moment to steady his breath.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Hanguang-Jun tells him, with an easy smile. “Do you not ride swords often?”
Feeling antagonised again, Wei Ying immediately scowls, and bites down on the heel of the man’s palm. Hard enough to draw blood!
Still, Hanguang-Jun doesn’t flinch. He only frowns gently and pulls Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth, understanding that the boy clearly doesn’t appreciate being silenced.
“Of course not!” Wei Ying huffs. “I’m Gusu Lan’s head disciple! I’ll have you know, I’m the best of them all!”
(Which was true. Lan Jingyi hadn’t even come close to sword-riding at their big age.)
Hanguang-Jun laughs softly. “You know, we aren’t so different, you and I.”
Wei Ying scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The older man lets slip, “When I was your age, I had a penchant for biting things too.”
Wei Ying snorts. “I’m nothing like you.”
“Well, yes, of course,” Hanguang-Jun muses. “I did not have anything as adorable to bite on back then. But whenever I saw a soft, defenseless little thing, such as a rabbit, I’d feel an… overwhelming urge to bite.”
Wei Ying squints. “…So?”
Hanguang-Jun follows up with a rather flippant, “I am merely beginning to feel that urge again… in your presence.”
Wei Ying’s face erupts into heat. The sheer audacity!
“Hey! I’m not some poor, helpless creature for you to play with!”
“No?” Hanguang-Jun leans in slightly, until his lips are but an inch away from the boy’s ear. “Then stop looking so delectable for me.”
Delectable?!! How was he acting as though Wei Ying was a harlot when he—he made sure to always wear robes that reached his lower calves!
Wei Ying reddens so angrily, he decides then and there that he’s never speaking to Hanguang-Jun again.
He crosses his arms once more, turns away with a loud hmph, and stubbornly gives the man the cold shoulder for the rest of the ride.
Hanguang-Jun, for his part, silently laughs the entire way.
The sword ride to Burial Mounds is mercifully short, at least compared to travelling on foot. They pass over town after town, even soaring high up above the beautiful Yunmeng Jiang sect—which Wei Ying hadn’t once visited in this lifetime, although he’d like to do so eventually, one of these days. (Lan-shushu, for some reason, has largely kept communication with the Jiang sect rather curt, and does not often bring them up to Wei Ying, despite the boy knowing his father once served the clan.)
On foot, the journey to Burial Mounds would have taken days. With bichen however, it feels like mere minutes. Wei Ying’s pretty sure Hanguang-Jun’s cultivation level is thrice his.
Pressed right against Hanguang-Jun’s chest, Wei Ying can’t help but notice just how powerful the man holding him must be. He feels pure, raw strength radiating through the man’s very skin; though Wei Ying isn’t entirely sure if it is from his high level of cultivation, or…stupid, infuriating muscle. It doesn’t help that Hanguang-Jun’s robes are always hanging so loose, and so indecently open at the chest… Heavens, why does he make it so easy for others to ogle at?!!
How is anyone supposed to resist staring at it?!! Wei Ying certainly hasn’t been taught well enough to avoid enjoying such a salivating sight when it’s being presented right to his face. Plus, it really doesn’t help that it feels as rock hard as it looks…
Wei Ying’s still all narrow limbs and scrawny wrists, nothing like the ridiculous physique Hanguang-Jun has going on. Will he ever be this built one day, Wei Ying muses… Probably not. This has got to be genetics. No matter how hard you train, there’s simply no way around it. Wei Ying can only gawk from afar, and leer at the older man in mock outrage and jealousy…!!!!!!
But all of that gets swept from his mind the moment they cross the final ridge and descend into the outskirts of the Burial Mounds.
They fly over gnarled, leafless trees, and then a vast expanse of sunken earth. Beyond the grotesque horrors of desolate woodland and barren soil, finally—they reach the edges of a village.
Eh?
An actual, functioning, thriving village? Wei Ying’s not so sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.
(Actually, he knows exactly what he’d expected. Lan-shushu had told him fearsome tales of undead zombies and an army of corpses crawling out from endless, unmarked tombs… Why was none of that present here? Why didn’t Burial Mounds live up to its exact name?!!)
Instead, healthy, rosy-cheeked humans bustle through the woods holding in their hands baskets of vegetables or bundles of firewood. Most of them are made up of the frail, the elderly, or women of all ages—with scarcely an able-bodied man to be found. And yet, the place hardly looks shabby. They have properly built houses, with sturdy shelters meant to last against the harsh weather in these parts, and do not look as though they lack for clothing or money. Most importantly, everyone has full bellies, and looks rather content and at peace.
As soon as bichen lands them both onto the ground, Hanguang-Jun tightens his grip from where he’s supporting Wei Ying on his back, and lowers him off the sword carefully, keeping one hand on him until the boy is steady on his own two feet. With the dutiful concern of a lover, he proceeds to quietly brush the dust from Wei Ying’s sleeves and collar, from what had accumulated during their flight together.
Immediately, Wei Ying’s swatting his hands away and adjusting his forehead ribbon in indignation.
“Don’t touch me! Unless you’re family or my soulmate, you don’t have the right.”
Hanguang-Jun suppresses a grin. He knows full well the significance of the forehead ribbon. Such sentimentalities are long lost on him, however.
Perhaps, Wei Ying wouldn’t be so opposed to it were he still the Hanguang-Jun of the old times?
“Of course,” he coolly says. But his fingers twitch with longing, as he glances at the forehead ribbon on the boy that…technically still remains off-limits to him.
“If you wanted to take me somewhere,” Wei Ying huffs, as he brushes the rest of the dirt off his robes, “you could’ve asked. Not kidnapped me by force!”
“Was it really kidnapping?” Hanguang-Jun questions in amusement. “Are you not the top disciple of the Gusu Lan Clan? Surely someone of your skill could have escaped, if you truly wanted to.”
Wei Ying spins on him, scandalised by such an outrageous accusation. “You—!”
But it was true. The truth was, anywhere would have been better than Cloud Recesses at that point. Wei Ying knew Hanguang-Jun was going to take him someplace far enough that it’d be worth the risk; and so simply wanted to take advantage to explore more of the world beyond Gusu.
Lan-shushu so rarely let him travel, otherwise. He hadn’t ever stepped out of Gusu his entire life!
Did Wei Ying resent Lan-shushu for any of it? No, of course not. He knew very well the dangers that lay beyond the clan, and was content enough exterminating the odd water ghoul in Caiyi Town…ish. Still, Lan-shushu never let him accompany him on his official visits to the other sects, and often kept him hidden away from prying eyes whenever esteemed cultivators came all the way to Cloud Recesses to pay their respects. Even Lan Jingyi wasn’t on the receiving end of such treatment! And that boy often acted like a fool in front of these other revered guests, when Wei Ying was so obviously the better—and more refined—choice in his stead!
Hanguang-Jun, really, was his only way out…
Seeing the look in Wei Ying’s eyes, Hanguang-Jun gives a small and knowing smile.
“I knew from the moment I first told you about the Burial Mounds, back when we first met, that you’d want to see it for yourself. So forget the tales and stories I spun back then. Isn’t it so much better to see with your own eyes?”
It really was.
Wei Ying can’t help but clutch the sides of his virgin-white robes as he steps forward to take in all of the sights, his eyes turning wide with wonder.
Occasionally, a Wen crosses their path while carrying vegetables or firewood in their arms. They bow their heads respectfully and murmur in greeting “Hanguang-Jun” as they pass them by, not out of fear, Wei Ying realises—but of sheer respect and admiration. And perhaps… even affection, for Hanguang-Jun, as their rightful champion and saviour.
Hanguang-Jun simply nods back without any ceremony, and waves them on gently.
Curious eyes fall on Wei Ying, but no stares linger long enough to pass any judgement. If anything, they only recognise someone in need of saving, just like them.
Wei Ying turns back to Hanguang-Jun, stunned by the revelation.
“Where are the zombies?” he blurts out. “Why isn’t everyone undead?”
Hanguang-Jun arches a brow. “Wei Ying, what exactly has shufu been putting in your head?”
“Not just shufu,” Wei Ying insists. “Xichen-ge, too! And all of the elders! It’s in all of the historical scrolls, and carved into our walls. ‘Hanguang-Jun, the big bad traitor who abandoned the clan for a life of necromancy!’”
“I never took my former clan for storytellers,” Hanguang-Jun answers dryly. “Though considering the actual horrors buried in the clan’s history, I suppose it’s easier to pen down fairy tales than face the truth.”
Wei Ying doesn’t ask what horrors he’s referring to. He’s not so sure he wants to know.
“I thought the air here was poisonous,” he wonders aloud instead. “And that no one could survive for long in this place…”
“Ludicrous,” Hanguang-Jun replies. “People have adapted and lived in harsher places since many civilisations ago. As long as there’s sun and there’s soil, us mortals will find a way.”
“But I thought the sun didn’t even reach here…!”
But just as Wei Ying utters those words, the grey, gloomy clouds above them begin to make way. A bright ray of golden sunlight suddenly cuts through the sky, shining down onto the wet and dark earth, until it was all sparkling beautifully, like glitter.
Hanguang-Jun lifts a hand to shield his eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging into the barest smile as he squints into the light.
“The sun reaches,” he flat-out states. “Where I say it reaches.”
—Wei Ying draws in a soft breath then, his sweet cherry red lips parting in awe.
For a moment, lit by the sun and his own shadow—Hanguang-Jun looked so devastatingly handsome.
Shimmering in its ethereal glow, like a surreal dream come to life.
Wei Yin hears the loud thumping of his heart racing in his ears, and thinks it’s so loud that Hanguang-Jun can probably hear it too.
No wonder everyone says to stay far, far away from the devilish and monstrous Hanguang-Jun who can take down thirty thousand soldiers at a time and wipe out three generations of your bloodline with a mere snap of his fingers.
For with just one single glance, that utterly terrifying and fearsome divine being of a man—has gone and stolen Wei Ying’s heart forever.
“Do you think,” Wei Ying asks, so quietly that Hanguang-Jun has to lean in to catch it, “the sun will reach where I’ve been hidden, too?”
Hanguang-Jun’s eyes do all the speaking this time: warm and bright, as the morning light.
“I’ll wrestle the sun itself,” he personally vows, “and drag its rays right to your feet, if I have to.”