1. Always

He was in so much pain that he did not remember much of the journey, other than shadowy images of dead trees, dust, and bones.

He remembered glazed eyes and fevered skin, the child clinging to life despite all odds.

He remembered waking up again in the Cloud Recesses, on his stomach, his back roaring with pain again as his brother clutched his hand.

He remembered watching Wei Ying fall.

---

For a while, awareness came and went. Deep within his mind he understood that time was passing, that he was in the infirmary recovering from his punishment, and that great tragedies had occurred (...Wei Ying...). But he didn’t experience much of anything between the extremes of agony and oblivion. He existed as an exposed nerve in the present moment and nothing more.

One morning, though, as crisp sunlight flooded his room and the overpowering bitter scent of medicine gave way to soothing incense, he heard soft murmuring sounds which somehow unlocked his conscious mind. He remembered that he was Lan Zhan, a living and breathing person even if he felt entirely broken. He remembered that he was at the Cloud Recesses, recovering from severe punishment. He remembered—

“A-Yuan!” He barely heard himself, his voice so wrecked and unused.

“Shhh. Didi, we’re right here.”

He turned his head on his pillow to look at...knees. His brother’s knees, to be sure, but that was about all he could see. A hand fell on his upper arm and it gave him the strength, the bravery, he needed to risk the burning agony of pulling skin tight in order to tilt his head up.

A-Yuan, dressed in the pure white and blue of the Lan sect, was snoring on Lan Huan’s chest.

“He does not drool as much as you used to,” his brother said dryly, raising his eyebrows.

“I did not,” Lan Zhan croaked.

“Mn,” his brother hummed, clearly laughing at him with his eyes. “I’m sorry we woke you. I was reading him ‘The Irritable Goose and the Laughing Rabbit.’ Remarkable that you still had that old copy hidden by your bed, but then I did threaten to burn it after the one-thousandth time I had to read it to you.” His brother could feign innocence as well as Nie Huaisang, sometimes, even if no one believed it.

Lan Zhan glared at him, then he tried to reach out to the boy. “A-Yuan—”

“He’s doing well. Still overly tired but eating and sleeping. As you can see.”

He kept his hand outstretched, his fingers spasming from the strain.

“Wangi, stop moving.” Lan Huan picked A-Yuan up and laid him down on the bed, curled up in the crook of Lan Zhan’s arm and his tiny head resting near enough to his that he could hear him breathing.

“He does sleeps better next to you.” His brother smiled down at them, although it was brittle with the many things he was not saying.

Lan Zhan hummed in agreement or acceptance, he wasn’t sure which, then let the pain take him under again.

---

When he was very young, too young to read The Rules, he would sneak away from his babysitters and go find the rabbits that lived wild on the far back of the mountain. The rabbits were pretty and they jumped around like no one else he knew and they seemed happy all the time. He wanted to be a rabbit, so he chased them.

When he finally caught one, it bit him. He threw it away as hard as he could but it landed easily on its feet and dashed into the undergrowth. Frowning, he sucked on his injured finger as he ran to find his brother.

“A-Zhan, did you hurt the rabbit?” His brother scolded him as he wrapped up the wound.

“It bit me,” he said, because the rabbit was clearly at fault.

“Hm.” His brother picked him up (just barely, as they were not too many years apart) and carried him back to the field where the rabbits were. He was sat down in the middle of a group of them and wondered that they did not run away this time. He looked up at his brother, who understood what he was asking, as he always did.

“If you chase them, you will scare them. They think you are a predator trying to eat them. If you catch one then it will be so very frightened that it will attack you.”

Humbled and ashamed for scaring the pretty rabbits, he stared at his injured finger. “I wanted to pet it.”

“You can pet it, but you have to be calm. You have to wait for it to come to you. The best things are worth waiting for, and we Lans are very patient! Do you want to be patient with me?”

He nodded, so they sat there for a very (very!) long time until a rabbit hopped over to him. His brother gently picked it up and when it didn’t bite, he passed it over.

“Soft!” He exclaimed as he held the tiny rabbit in his arm.

“Mn. Hold it like this.” His brother adjusted the rabbit and showed him how to rock it a little. “They are like, ah, little babies. You must be gentle and patient and soft with them; give them affection without expecting anything in return but their company.”

He never forgot those lessons.

---

He was spending more time awake than asleep, which was progress. At least, his brother thought so.

Lan Zhan himself felt nothing but a vast well of misery and emptiness (like a graveyard).

Most days were terrible with the pain of his slowly healing wounds, an unbearable agony matched only by his grief. He would lay there, immobile, fisting the wet pillow under his head that was catching his tears until his brother came with soothing medicinal tea to knock him out.

Then he would wake up and look around at his room, his home, and wonder what (who) he was waiting for.

Nothing.

There was nothing left for him, not really, not in any way he could believe anymore. His punishment for going against the elders of his own sect was, for many, seen as the resolution of the problem. For him, though, it was only collateral damage to how his whole world (Wei Ying) had fallen (away) apart.

What were The Rules worth, if this was the world they created?

So he slept, and cried, and waited to be healed enough to leave.

Of course he did not tell Lan Huan this, or anyone. His uncle might even claim he was still, somehow, under the spell of the Yiling Patriarch and lock him up.

He was not going to become his mother, even if they tried to force him.

Out there, somewhere, was a soul who needed him (Wei Ying needs him). He would become a rogue cultivator and play “Inquiry” and sleep in the mud, where he belonged, until his own end arrived and he became nothing more to anyone than a restless, resentful ghost...

His thoughts were broken by a loud wail.

“Shhh, please, please be quiet,” Lan Huan was repeating over and over as he walked into the jingshi, his voice edged with an uncharacteristic note of panic. “Please,” he whispered.

“Ge?” Lan Zhan said, although the word was more of a wheeze.

“I’m sorry, Wangji, but I can’t— it is a multi-sect conclave, and all the juniors are assigned official duties. I can’t...I have no place to put him!” His brother looked as immaculate as always but there was a wildness to his eyes that suggested he had been dealing with this for a while. A-Yuan was in his arms, clinging to his outer robes with white-knuckled fury as he howled and cried, tears streaming down his messy, snot-covered face. He was yelling “No! No! No!” over and over again.

“He won’t let me put him down!” Lan Huan hissed. He glanced behind him with a haunted expression that was out of place on his usually placid features. “He can’t be left alone, he cries—”

“Give,” Lan Zhan said, pulling his arm to the side and crooking it to make space for the boy.

Lan Huan came over to the bed and gracefully fell to his knees. “See A-Yuan? See? Here he is. Right here.” He turned so A-Yuan’s face was looking down at Lan Zhan, who craned his neck up to meet his eyes.

A-Yuan stopped crying for a moment and blinked through his tears. “A-Die?”

Lan Huan gasped. “No, no, A-Yuan! Uncle! He’s—”

“A-Die,” Lan Zhan said with as much force as he could. “I am A-Die. Your father. Come here.”

A-Yuan crawled out of Lan Huan’s embrace to fall into the space Lan Zhan made for him, where he usually slept, hiccuping as he tucked his wet face into Lan Zhan’s neck. It felt right. It felt like the last gift he could give to those he failed (Wei Ying) was to care for this (his) child as his own. He adjusted his arm so it wrapped fully around him, hand resting on his tiny shoulders. He grit his teeth to ward off the pain that came with moving then focused on his brother again.

Lan Huan looked devastated. “Xiao-Zhan, no! You are too young, it is too much responsibility—”

“Xiong-zhang, will you help?” Lan Zhan asked, cutting him off.

Lan Huan’s jaw clenched, his eyes a study in grief. It was a long silence that sat between them before he replied. “You are in seclusion until you fully heal, and perhaps even after.”

“He will live with me. As my son.” He lowered his head and took a deep breath before trying to talk again. “Will you help me?”

Lan Huan bowed his head. “I have failed you often, but if you choose this path, then I will help you. He—” He stopped, and coughed before composing himself again. “He will be my nephew. He will...he will not live as we did. Whatever Uncle says, whatever the elders do, I give you my word on this.”

That was all the promise Lan Zhan needed from his brother and sect leader. A-Yuan would not be kept from him, allowed only brief and limited visits. Instead his son would live with him and be raised by him and be loved by him in all the ways his other family could not.

Beside him, A-Yuan had fallen asleep, exhausted by his crying fit. Lan Zhan leaned his head against him and breathed in the scent of child and grass and soap. “Thank you, Xiong-zhang.”

Lan Huan placed a gentle hand on the back of his head, as if in blessing. “Anything that encourages you to stay, Didi.”

Ah, of course his brother had suspected his plans. Lan Zhan closed his eyes as Lan Huan quietly left them to rest.

This was a better choice, anyway.

---

“Stop! Running!”

Lan Zhan had not heard his brother lose his composure in years and years, and it was almost funny at his age to listen to the way those (familiar) words were shouted softly through clenched teeth. If he were running it would have stopped him cold in his tracks.

It did not stop A-Yuan.

Nothing did.

The boy skidded into his bedroom and plopped down on his knees right in front of Lan Zhan, peering at him face-to-face. Being restricted to bed rest on his stomach limited Lan Zhan’s world view significantly, so A-Yuan approached this problem pragmatically by putting himself front-and-center at all times. Lan Zhan felt that was very smart of him and it made him proud.

A-Yuan reached out with his tiny hands and put them on Lan Zhan’s cheeks. “A-Die?”

“A-Yuan! What! Did I say! About running!” Lan Huan, looking nothing like the calm, poised sect leader everyone admired, stood in the doorway with his robes askew and a lock of hair hanging free.

Lan Zhan blinked at him.

“Not a single word. Not one.” He flipped the hair out of his face with force. “He’s your problem now, Hanguang-Jun.” His brother took a deep breath, turned around, and walked out.

“I saw rabbits, A-Die!”

Ah. Well, thought Lan Zhan, that explained a lot.

---

A-Yuan had been lectured into stark terror about not touching his A-Die’s back or shoulders, but the child was very tactile (like Wei Ying) and would cry and cry until Lan Huan would very carefully put him down on the bed to curl up for a nap, his little head tucked next into Lan Zhan’s neck.

But on bad days he asked his brother to find a way to keep A-Yuan out, not wanting to scare the child further or upset him with how visibly he was hurting.

“A-Die!” A-Yuan ran a few steps into the room, stopped, then resumed his path at an almost proper pace. Even through the pain, Lan Zhan was proud of how quickly his son was learning The Rules. Except for the fact that A-Yuan was breaking them by being there when he had been told to stay out, but he was taking his fatherly wins where he could.

“A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Are you hurting today?” A-Yuan studied him.

“Yes.”

“You are crying,” A-Yuan said after another moment’s study.

“Yes.”

“Because you hurt?”

“...Yes.”

“I’ll kiss it better!”

Lan Zhan had a moment of undignified terror at the thought of A-Yuan clambering on the bed to try and kiss his back, but instead he leaned over and smacked a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you. It is better now,” Lan Zhan managed to eke out the words in the face of the happy expectation A-Yuan had for him.

Satisfied, A-Yuan grabbed one of his hands and sat down next to the bed, chattering on about his day and his playtime and his food and his clothes and pretty much everything that had crossed his path since he woke up. He was agreeable and cheerful by nature so Lan Zhan held his hand, closed his eyes, and let his son’s love wash over him.

When Lan Huan whirled into the room, obviously panicked at having lost A-Yuan, the boy was sound asleep, one hand still clutching his father’s, and his other tangled with a strand of Lan Zhan’s head ribbon. Lan Zhan shook his head at his brother, who understood to leave them be.

The pain was still awful and there was still so much (someone) he grieved for, but his heart was lighter with A-Yuan next to him.

---

There were rumors, of course there were. Some were more...more creative than others. As far as he was concerned, though, it mattered little if his son was a found changeling or his illegitimate offspring. A-Yuan was his son, and that was that.

“No!” His uncle slapped a hand down on the desk in front of him. “This is not a Lan!” He pointed at A-Yuan, who was cowering under Lan Zhan’s protective arm.

“Control yourself,” Lan Zhan said, his mouth tight with rage.

Lan Qiren startled at that, so unused to being talked back to, especially by his youngest nephew. He looked over at Lan Huan, who as sect leader ostensibly had the final word, but Lan Zhan knew that even both of them together would not be able to stand up to the Lan Sect council's combined weight of judgment if Lan Qiren did not support them — him — in this matter.

“Lan Xichen, surely you don’t support your brother in this?” His uncle spread his hands.

Lan Huan tilted his head thoughtfully. “I think you are risking something much greater than your pride in not accepting this,” he said. He looked over at Lan Zhan, who nodded, because of course his brother knew exactly what would happen. “I see that I am right. So, uncle, please understand that if Lan Wangji leaves the Cloud Recesses, I will abdicate my role as sect leader and go with him.”

“What?”

“A-Yuan is my son. I am his father. If you do not accept us, then I will end my seclusion and we will leave.” Lan Zhan tugged A-Yaun so he plopped down between his knees. The boy looked up at him, still worried, but then smiled. Lan Zhan was often told his face was fierce and foreboding, but A-Yuan always smiled when he looked up at him. (Like someone else used to do.) His back was still a burning agony and his uncle was being obnoxious, but his son’s happiness, he thought, was all that mattered.

He resumed staring at his uncle, stronger now with his brother's unquestioning and unconditional support so plainly stated.

“Fine! We will enter his name in the records and allow him a family head ribbon. But he will be raised as a Lan, according to our rules. I don’t care if his father was Wei Wuxian himself! That child will behave !”

Lan Huan flinched at the mention of Wei Ying, but Lan Zhan was used to that kind of crass hyperbole around his...his friend. Instead he simply nodded, slowly got to his feet, took Lan Yuan's hand in his and limped out.

---

Lan Zhan had once thought it reasonable to expect that children should know how to feed themselves. He had been so very, very wrong.

“How?” He asked no one in particular (Wei Ying’s spirit).

Lan Yuan looked up at him in all his six year old glory, smeared with bean paste. Sweet bean paste. Lan Zhan wondered if his child had been forever ruined. Had he failed as a parent because his son developed a sweet tooth? His teeth would all rot and fall out. He would be lazy and sleep all day in a sugar coma.

Xiong-zhang was right about everything, he despaired, even as he stood stoically looking down at his little sugar demon.

“It is so good, A-Die!”

“I am sorry, Hanguang-Jun.” The woman who ran the bakery bowed. “He grabbed a bun before I could stop him.”

And a thief?! This was the worst, the absolute worst, and he would forever endure the torment of knowing he raised a criminal. A sugar addicted criminal! He asked forgiveness of no one in particular (Wei Ying’s spirit) as he paid for the bun that only halfway made it into Lan Yuan's mouth.

“I, ah, I won’t mention this to anyone, Hanguang-Jun. He’s just a boy.” The woman smiled beatifically down at A-Yuan and patted his head. “He takes after you!” She added.

People said that a lot, he discovered when he was not in seclusion anymore. It baffled him no end. For one thing, A-Yuan was six. For another, he was sweet-faced and friendly and adorable, all the things that Lan Zhan was absolutely not and never had been. Worse, his brother found it hilarious and kept laughing at him.

“But we are nothing alike,” Lan Zhan pointed out very reasonably and not at all whining about it.

Lan Huan finally controlled his laughter and poured them more tea. “That is not the point, Wangji. They are—”

“Lying.”

“Being polite,” Lan Huan corrected. “They know you are his father and are trying to be kind. To help you feel proud of him.”

“I am proud of him,” Lan Zhan said, confused. “Except when he steals,” he added, as that was the important part of the conversation.

Lan Huan sighed while drinking tea, something only he could do with any grace. “I think your reputation works against you, here, my dear brother. People see you as fierce and stern, a powerful cultivator who tolerates absolutely no frivolity or, ah, impropriety.” He coughed, like Lan Zhan was supposed to know what he meant by that. “So they want to make sure that you know your son is good, and you should be proud of him, and not be too hard on him.”

“He stole. He stole food.”

“True. And he has been punished for it, and he knows it was wrong. Don’t you, A-Yuan?” He looked over to where Lan Yuan was currently doing a wobbly handstand against the wall, sniffling in despair at his punishment.

“Yes, Uncle! I do! I’m sorry!” He sniffled some more. “I am sorry, A-Die! I will never ever ever steal again!”

Lan Zhan slowly breathed out through his nose. “Come here.”

There was a loud crash to the floor and Lan Huan visibly winced, but then Lan Zhan had his arms full of a very sad and regretful boy sobbing on his robes.

Being a parent was hard.

---

Some nights, sleep was not to be had. Grief and phantom pain from his old whipping scars woke him up from nightmares that he carefully chose not to remember. Sometimes he would take his guqin and leave the jingshi to go play Inquiry in the gardens, where it would not wake Lan Yuan up.

The boy was almost old enough to join other disciples in the student dormitories, but Lan Zhan was holding back on sending him there. He had let go of so much (someone) already, he did not have it in him yet to give any of his son away.

As he passed his room — a small addition that he and his brother had built themselves for the purpose, once A-Yuan was able to sleep alone without screaming — he heard...he heard…

He stopped, his breath stuttering.

How often? He wondered, tearing his heart apart at the question. How often had he missed A-Yuan humming this tune, awake and alone at night? He could never escape the belief that his failures as a parent were legion, and it was moments like that one which filled him with despair.

He pried open the door, sliding it back. The humming stopped.

“A-Die?” Lan Yuan whispered.

“What is wrong?” He asked, coming into the room and pulling up the blankets to tuck A-Yuan securely in his bed.

“I had a nightmare,” the boy said, sounding guilty.

“It happens,” Lan Zhan allowed. He was awake because of nightmares too, after all. He brushed A-Yuan’s messy hair out of his face. No matter how tightly Lan Zhan or Lan Huan braided it before bed, it always seemed to come loose.

“Did I wake you up?” A-Yuan tried, perhaps thinking he was in trouble.

“I was awake.” Lan Zhan sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped his hands together. “You were singing?”

“I’m sorry.” He twisted his small (so small, so delicate, so vulnerable) hands in the covers.

“Hm. You are not in trouble.”

“Oh.”

“Do you remember the song?”

“Uh huh! You used to sing it to me when I was scared, it always made me feel safe.”

Lan Zhan’s heart shattered. He had never played or sang that song since...since before, and his brother did not know it either.

A-Yuan had not learned the song from him.

Only one other person could have ever sung ‘WangXian’ to A-Yuan.

He put his hand on A-Yuan’s chest. “Sleep. I will stay.”

The boy’s face lit up with a sweet, soft smile. “Thank you, A-Die. I will fall asleep very quickly!” He closed his eyes with purpose and took several deep breaths, and soon enough, he had drifted off into slumber.

Lan Zhan did not play his guqin that night.

---

Lan Yuan was crying.

He was sitting in the music hall by himself, sitting next to one of the smaller practice guqins the younger disciples used, and crying.

Lan Zhan had come looking for him as he had missed a class...or rather, young Lan Jingyi had come to him nearly frantic with worry because Lan Yuan had missed a class. At nine years old, Lan Yuan was already a model student who would never miss a class without a good reason. He still sometimes came down with a peculiar illness that was marked by chills and nausea, which their healer said was due to leftover energy from his difficult childhood but Lan Zhan knew was leftover resentment haunting him from the Burial Mounds, buried deep along his original memories. That it still resurfaced, despite all the times he and his brother played “Purity” for him, terrified Lan Zhan. This fear was what motivated Lan Zhan to go looking for him, half expecting to find the boy passed out and feverish on the floor somewhere.

Instead, he found his son crying over a guqin. His heart broke at the sight, and an ugly stirring of rage swept through him. His son should never be that unhappy! He knew it was an irrational thought but it was hard to put it aside.

“A-Yuan,” he said softly, walking slowly into the room.

The boy startled so hard he nearly fell over, then looked up at Lan Zhan in wide-eyed horror.

“A-Die! ...I mean, I mean, Hanguang-Jun.” He wiped his face and stared down at the instrument.

Lan Zhan sat down across from him and waited.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine!” He wiped his face again.

“You missed class, and caused Lan Jangyi to worry.”

“Oh.”

Lan Zhan looked around the room, trying to process the situation. He wished his brother was there, as he usually had a better read on A-Yuan’s emotions. “Did someone hurt you?” He ventured, since it was a yes-or-no question and theoretically would be safe to ask.

A-Yuan looked away shamefully.

“Lan Yuan —”

“I’m terrible at this!” He pointed at the guqin.

Lan Zhan frowned. “It is a difficult instrument.” That should be enough, he thought. He was affirming his son’s concerns and validating his feelings, just as Xiong-zhang told him to do. Feeling very confident in his parenting abilities, he thought they might still have time to get dinner together.

Instead, A-Yuan started crying harder and covered his face with his hands.

Trying not to panic, Lan Zhan grabbed at the first words that came to mind. “A-Yuan, you have to practice for many years to become good at playing.”

“But I’m your son!” The words were gasped and broken.

Lan Zhan sat with that for a moment, trying to puzzle out why it mattered, but before he could reply A-Yuan was heaving a sob again. “But I’m not really your son. Not really. Of course I can’t play this stupid thing!”

Rage flowed through him again. “Who said such a thing to you?”

“No one! But everyone knows it. I just appeared one day! Like...like a mushroom!” He curled into himself. “I’m not a Lan. I’m not your son. I’m nobody!” He reached up and ripped the ribbon off his head, crumbling it in his fist.

Lan Zhan’s heart was breaking, causing him the most vicious pain he had felt since…since…in years. When he was young he would have lashed out or simply run away.

He had become a father, though, and knew that he couldn’t make this about himself. He got up and sat next to his son, pulling him close to his chest and gently taking the ribbon out of his hands.

“You are somebody: My son. Always.” He pet his hair until A-Yuan had calmed down. “I could not play well at your age,” he said, because it was fair that his son know that. Of course, all he did at that age when he wasn’t studying was practice, which he was sure had something to do with his eventual progression.

“You...you couldn’t?” Lan Yuan pulled away and rubbed his eyes, tried to wrap some dignity around himself.

“I was not good.” He grimaced internally remembering just how not good he was, back then. Lan Xichen was the one with natural talent for instruments; Lan Wangji had to fight for every scrap of mastery over music he could claim. Anything looks effortless if you have spent years making your fingertips bleed to succeed at it, he thought. He did not say it, though, because he did not want to give A-Yuan ideas. The boy was very open to suggestion, provided it came from his father or uncle, and Lan Zhan did not want his son’s fingers bleeding. Ever.

Instead, he pushed and shifted A-Yuan around to face the instrument again. He settled behind him and tied the ribbon back around A-Yuan’s head while he sniffled and rubbed his nose with his sleeve.

Then he took A-Yuan’s hands and held them over the strings. “Let us practice together,” he said.

---

Lan Yuan’s biological parents were cultivators, that much was clear from the start given that his golden core was already formed in such a way only parents could do. But children were a mess of emotions and potential, so it was hard to know how strong their golden core was until they were older and could cultivate it purposefully. The age at which a child’s potential was revealed varied within families but even then was unpredictable. Usually it was a steady dawning of power, which was the case with the Twin Jades. They solidified their power slowly over the years of their respective childhoods until they were nearly unassailable fortresses of spiritual strength by the time they were teenagers. It was hard to gauge their progress but impossible to miss.

At eleven years old, Lan Yuan was showing no signs of development whatsoever, despite extensive training.

Lan Qiren made a production out of that fact, but only once in public. Lan Wangji’s fury was always cold, which he was told made it doubly terrifying to witness, but it felt white-hot to him and all he remembered of that particular incident was that it was the first time in his life his uncle looked up at him in genuine fear.

Lan Qiren only voiced his concerns privately to Lan Xichen, after that.

As far as Lan Zhan was concerned, though, he did not care if Lan Yuan's golden core ever blossomed. It was immaterial to his love for him, which was boundless and unconditional.

Unfortunately, as with the guqin, Lan Yuan felt the burden of being the son of Hanguang-Jun, and it hurt him to think he was not measuring up to the family’s standards. In compensation, he became an even brighter star student, driving himself to exhaustion studying and practicing forms. It worried Lan Zhan endlessly, despite his brother telling him very pointedly that he was being a hypocrite given his own childhood, but he did not care. Lan Yuan shouldn’t be holding such burdens, it was not fair.

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Zhan snapped at him.

“A-Die?” Lan Yuan asked meekly, falling back on habit in the face of his father’s displeasure.

“Your fingers.”

Lan Yuan held them up, looking at the bandages on the tips with pride. “Oh. Yes! I was practicing my guqin.”

Lan Zhan grabbed his hands and stared at the bandages, driving his own spiritual power into the wounds to heal them in the way Lan Yuan, with his reduced power, could not.

“A-Die?” This time the word was soft and scared. “A-Die, you are crying.”

Lan Zhan gently squeezed A-Yuan’s hands before letting them go. “Do not injure yourself for pride.”

“Is...is that a Rule?” His son peered up at him in confusion.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan nodded then strode away to have a discussion with his brother sect leader about adding a new rule.

---

“Of course we won’t send him away, Wangji. Why are you asking me this? I have made it clear to uncle that Lan Yuan stays with you. As sect leader I have made it clear that both of you belong here. What is—”

“He is being made fun of.”

“Is he? That is against The Rules, and he should report it.”

“Ge,” Lan Zhan sighed with as much exasperation as he could muster.

Lan Huan stopped walking and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course I know that children can be cruel. And yes I know that uncle keeps trying to make an unnecessary point about your son that is directly related to that same issue. I am aware, Wangji.” He spread his hands. “We try to stop bullying when we see it, but teachers cannot be everywhere. I am afraid that Lan Yuan is trying to bear this burden on his own out of a sense of familial pride, but as long as his core remains locked there will be talk.”

“Cultivators talk too much,” Lan Zhan said, looking away.

“On that point, we agree. In fact, I think we agree on everything, here. Specifically, that this is unfair to your son. So no, I will not condone him being sent to a minor sect for his training. He belongs here, with us.” He raised a finger, as if stopping Lan Zhan from talking despite the fact that Lan Zhan had no intention of doing so. “But! You will have to bear your own burden, which is that this matter will keep coming up for discussion, both with his peers and with the Lan Council.”

“Unfair.”

“I know. I know,” Lan Huan said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, brother.”

---

At twelve years old, all Lan disciples were given their courtesy name as part of their official acceptance into the sect and allowed to on their first night hunt. This was usually a time of excitement as it represented a major step forward in their progress as cultivators and established them on the track for moving onto more complex studies in their teenage years, especially depending on the nature of their spiritual powers.

Naturally, some hated it — ones that were more inclined to be healers or alchemists, for instance, usually did it as a matter of form and then never went on a hunt again unless they had to. Such exceptions were rare but expected.

And then there was Lan Sizhui.

“Please don’t make me go, A-Die! Please!”

Lan Zhan’s son was prostrated so far down on the floor he was practically flat, his arms straight out in front of him, his forehead visibly and likely painfully pressed against the wood.

Lan Zhan was speechless, which was a different form of ‘not talking’ than his usual unwillingness to engage in unnecessary words. This was him not having a clue what to say, because he was so caught off guard by this request — no, this desperate plea — that he had no idea what to do. He had simply asked if A-Yuan wanted to go that week or the next on a night hunt, now that he was of age to do so, when the boy had jumped up from the table where they had been enjoying a cup of after-dinner tea and promptly splattered himself on the floor like a squashed bug.

Next to him, Lan Huan blinked a few times then looked over very judgmentally at Lan Zhan, which he did not deserve at all, before putting down his tea, getting up and walking out of the room. Lan Zhan had never honestly considered xiong-zhang a coward until then, but facts were facts.

He put down his own tea and allowed himself a moment to settle his emotions and recover from his initial surprise. After taking a deep breath, during which time Lan Sizhui had not moved a muscle, he spoke. “Explain.”

“My golden core is weak and undeveloped! I will be an embarrassment to our clan!” He was practically yelling at the floor.

This again. He took another deep breath. “You do not have to go.”

“I’m begging you, A-Die! Please don’t— huh, what?” He peeked up at him.

“It is tradition, not law.”

“You...you don’t care?”

“I care that you are confident in your skills and happy here at the Cloud Recesses with your family.” He gestured at the abandoned tea. “Too often I have seen good people hurt by the expectations of others. Come sit, and we will talk about this matter.”

Lan Sizhui crawled over to his mat and picked up his tea cautiously. “You really aren’t mad?”

“I am mad. Not at you. At those who make you feel inferior.” He sipped his tea, mentally sorting out the other disciples into groups: likely guilty, maybe innocent, absolutely innocent (that last group had the sole occupant of Lan Jingyi, unfortunately).

“A-Die, please don’t murder my friends,” A-Yuan said seriously, although he was smiling at the cup in his hands.

“Hm.”

“I just...Lan Sangze went last month and they faced down ten fierce corpses! Even Senior Pei got hurt! What if...what if we meet something dangerous? What am I going to do? Hide behind you?”

That was absolutely fine with Senior Cultivator Lan Wangji, but he remembered being young and proud and wanting to prove himself. It had felt so important at the time. In fact his primary problem at the moment was that he honestly could not imagine not wanting to go on the hunt, so he had no idea how to advise Young Disciple Lan Sizhui in this matter.

( Wei Ying would know what to say. He would probably grab A-Yuan right then and haul him off for an impromptu hunt, just to— )

“A-Yuan.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to go on a hunt?”

There was a very long silence between them while A-Yuan fought with himself about the answer, but then he nodded once. It was clear from the disappointed expression on his face that he did, indeed, want to go on a hunt, just like all the other children his age. He just also did not want to embarass himself — or his clan — doing so. This was something Lan Zhan could understand.

“Get your sword.”

“Uh?” Lan Sizhui stared at him.

“We are going now. You and I. No one else.”

“Now? Right now?”

“Mn.” He got up and gathered his own things while Lan Sizhui scrambled for his room.

---

They stood on the edge of a vast and dark jungle. It took them hours flying on Bichen to get there, and in the depth of night even Lan Zhan considered it ominous.

He had chosen this location based on reports that had come in about it a few weeks ago, which suggested a very powerful demon or similar problem plaguing the local population of farmers and traders, with people disappearing into the depths of the jungle without a trace. The only reason it had not been placed as a higher priority was due to its distant, rural, and sparsely populated location.

There were less dangerous hunts to go on, but a voice in his head (Wei Ying’s voice) told him that Lan Sizhui would not appreciate being coddled. Even if he ended up needing protection, he would not want to start the hunt with the idea that his father considered him weak.

Lan Sizhui’s sword was suitable for his age and size, a blank slate of a weapon with minimal spiritual energy that he could use until he matured enough to bond with a more powerful one. He could not ride it or call to it, even if his own powers had fully blossomed, since it just wasn’t that powerful in its own right, but it would cut through ghouls and fierce corpses as well as any sharp object.

Lan Zhan was torn by his desire to allow Lan Sizhui prove himself, if only to himself, and his need to keep him safe. He uncharitably hoped that they would come across some nasty water sprites or something like that first, a lower-strength creature that Lan Sizhui would handily defeat and then they could be on their way.

Upon reflection, he marveled that he still, even at that point in his life, could feel so optimistic about anything.

“Run!” He shouted to Lan Sizhui as the vines made a grab for his son. He sliced neatly through them, but there were thousands of them. Thousands of moving, deadly vines possessed with resentful energy which should not have even been possible, since living plant matter was not a known host of resentful energy.

That was a question for another time. He was too busy battling the massive attack to do anything but fight for his life. He did not even register where A-Yuan had gone. Far away, was his only hope. The cut pieces were mercifully inert but the whole complex of vines seemed to be endless, possibly going for miles. Even Hanguang-Jun, in all his glory, knew better than to expect to escape the onslaught unscathed. Or possibly even alive. He had brought his guqin along and left it close enough to call to him but he didn’t have time. He was too busy slashing at everything around him, almost without any strategy whatsoever. He spun and leapt and jumped to escape the vines, swinging Bichen as widely and as powerfully as he could. Without getting to the heart of it — ironically, in that case, meaning very literally the root of the problem — he could be doing this for days.

He wouldn’t last that long.

There was a time he would not have minded being torn apart, a time when he had considered, long ago when his back had just barely healed up, becoming a rogue cultivator and leaving A-Yuan in his brother’s care. He knew he would have travelled the land fighting monsters and ghouls and corpses until he eventually, inevitably, lost a fight like the one he was in right then.

But there was a boy who needed him (like Wei Ying). A boy who reached out without hesitation, demanding Lan Zhan’s affection and attention (like Wei Ying). A boy who did not understand the crimes of the past and bore no responsibility for the faults of his elders. A boy who did not need status or riches, but who did need a parent. A boy who needed to be loved and protected — a boy who needed Lan Zhan to be his father. His son who needed him.

...who still needed him, if only so he could run fast and get out of this disaster alive.

He fought harder.

“A-Die!” A-Yuan yelled and Lan Zhan’s blood ran cold. His son was there and not running away.

The moment of distraction cost him. A thick vine grabbed his ankle and whipped him around, slamming him into a tree. More vines grabbed on, strangling his arms and legs no matter how he thrashed.

“A-Yuan! Run! ”

“A-DIE!”

He thought the last thing he would ever hear before his head was ripped off of his body would be his terrified son screaming for him, but instead…

...instead, there was a stunning, profound sound like whole mountain ranges being made to sing. First a long note (the vines stilled) followed by a stream of notes as pure as a clear spring (the vines loosened). Then light appeared around him, soft and low but rising like the dawn, rays of red and orange streaming through the jungle foliage, pulsing in time with the music. The vines shrieked and tried pulling away but they were caught in the brilliance of the light as it grew and became bright white to match the purity of the notes being played.

The vines spasmed then burned to ash and fell apart.

Lan Zhan was thusly dropped like a stone but somersaulted to get his feet under himself before landing. Around him it was as bright as midday, even as deep under the jungle canopy as they were, and the vines’ shrieks were fading into low moans before dissipating completely.

Lan Zhan spun around to find the source and discovered Lan Sizhui there, sitting on the ground, as bright as a star, playing his father’s guqin. It was too big for him but he was stretched out over it, playing deftly with his tongue poking out of his mouth the way it always did when he was concentrating. His strikes against the strings sent waves of pure energy deep into the jungle, traveling to all the dark corners where only light could get in.

Looking around him, Lan Zhan realized that the tune, whatever it was, had felled the vine-beast. All the vines were gone, turned to ash. There was a mist of resentful energy still floating around but it too was slowly being evaporated along with the ashes.

He stood still, holding Bichen ready just in case, but part of him knew that his brilliant, beautiful, powerful son had conquered the vine-beast completely. As the last of the song played out, Lan Sizhui took in a deep breath and looked up at his father with wide eyes, his expression somewhere between terror and pride.

“A-Die?”

Lan Zhan jumped over and pulled Lan Sizhui into a tight hug. He then held him at arms’ length.

“I’m fine! I’m not hurt at all! See?” Lan Sizhui raised his arms, his grin spread wide across his precious, precious face.

But Lan Zhan was not checking for that. He looked with his own spiritual power into the heart of Lan Sizhui, the boy who had barely enough power to wield a nearly-impotent sword, whose golden core had scarcely fluttered even under the inspection of the most powerful cultivators of the era.

He was radiant. His golden core was bright like the fire of red-hot coals and his energy flowed with the inexorable power of molten lava. It shone with the luminescence of a sun.

He pulled back in surprise.

“Are you hurt?” Lan Sizhui asked, patting at his arms and chest (even then, so many years later, shy of touching his father’s back).

He shook his head, then took Lan Sizhui’s chin in his hand, looking him in the eye. “Feel.”

Used to his father’s cryptic lessons, he paused to consider the instruction. When he felt his core, really felt it how massive and powerful it was, he laughed. “A-Die! My golden core! I did it!” He bounced up and down, his excitement betraying his youth. “I’m a Lan! I’m not a mushroom! I’m a Lan!”

“You are a Lan,” he confirmed, his hands on his son’s shoulders, letting his own power lovingly brush up against the vibrant and resplendent source of his son’s red-tinged golden core. “Always.”

(Always, Wei Ying. I promise.)