Chapter Text
Lan Wangji brings the child straight to the Jingshi and growls at the door when anyone apart from his brother tries to enter.
It hurts to sit up and to stand and to walk, but still he takes what the healers bring and turns them away at the door.
A-Yuan would be identified as a Wen as soon as someone looked at him. Delicate scales dust over the curve of his soft cheeks and coat the palms of his hands. When Lan Wangji bathes him, still bleeding from his back, he will find more scales curving over his ribs and running down his spine. He wraps the child in his softest robes and awaits his brother.
He’s so thankful when Lan Xichen helps him coax the toddler away from death. Lan Xichen helps to wrap clean bandages around Lan Wangji’s back and hold his arm steady to eat. They haven’t spent as much time together since they were children. The secret of an innocent’s origins tightens the bonds of brotherhood which fell slack over the course of war and love and betrayal.
*
When A-Yuan recovers he can no longer remember his family. Lan Wangji lets himself be forced into bed by his brother and clutches the child close as he cries. His brother moves a bed into the Jingshi. A-Yuan starts the night there and Lan Wangji wakes from the brief respites of sleep to him asleep in the spaces of the bed Lan Wangji doesn’t occupy; trying to take up as little space as possible. Lan Wangji curls his tail and rolls the child against his side.
Two lonely boys take comfort in the warmth of the other.
They sleep away the rest of the year.
*
Lan Wangji can somewhat stand again, a year into his seclusion. A-Yuan still has nightmares and sleeps in his bed, but right now the boy is ecstatic. He bounces around the Jingshi, clutching a straw butterfly and humming excitedly. Lan Xichen has been trying to teach him some of the rules, but Lan Wangji hardly enforces them. He thinks it’ll kill him to see A-Yuan, Wei Ying’s son, completely silent and subdued as he was. He understands the soft, sad looks his mother would bestow on him now he is in her position.
A-Yuan bounces quicker, almost vibrating in place with the force of his emotion. It is snowing and Lan Wangji said they could go out into it if A-Yuan wore a warmer robe and stayed close to him. A-Yuan is half into the robe and seems to have forgotten about it. He smiles and quietly gets his attention before coaxing him over. Then he pulls the robe up over slim shoulders and deftly ties it tight. Then he stands to retrieve a little hooded cloak.
He is fastening it when his brother pushes the door open. He hardly announces his presence these days, doesn’t have to since no other would visit the Jingshi to do more than leave and retrieve trays. Lan Xichen takes in the sight of Lan Wangji pulling the fur hood over A-Yuan's head, looking fond and exasperate, before A-Yuan dashes across the Jingshi towards him.
“A-Yuan are you and Wangji going to play in the snow?” He picks him up before he is bowled over and brings him back towards the sleeping area as Lan Wangji pulls his boots on. They continue to converse as Lan Wangji gets ready for their little excursion out of the warmth of the Jingshi.
“A-Yuan.” He comes as beckoned and slots his hand into Lan Wangji’s. Instead of scale, Lan Wangji feels cloth. He looks down to see A-Yuan wearing a pair of little white gloves.
“Uncle Xichen said I should wear them to keep my hands warm.”
He meets Lan Xichen’s eyes and understanding passes between them. Then they take A-Yuan out into the Jingshi’s garden. Wind cuts into Lan Wangji’s cheeks, bringing tears to his eyes by how foreign the sensation has become. A-Yuan’s eyes widen with wonder and he just manages to stop himself was darting off. Lan Xichen takes A-Yuan’s other hand and pulls him forward.
Lan Wangji watches fondly from the wrap around porch as Lan Xichen and A-Yuan play in the snow. Maybe Wei Ying would have crafted snowballs and turned this into a dramatic war, jumping in and out of snow drifts and shoving sludge down the back of the nearest unsuspecting person with A-Yuan in tow to learn his mischief. But Lan Xichen leads A-Yuan into sticking his tongue out to catch snowflakes on it. A-Yuan laughs when the cold hits his tongue and it’s enough for Lan Wangji. Deep fondness fills him when A-Yuan catches snowflakes in his hands and runs over as fast as he can to tip them into his hands. Lan Wangji bends, refusing to show how it irritated the new scars and half healed scabs, and takes them graciously while caressing A-Yuan's chubby, flushed cheek. His white scales contrast charmingly. When A-Yuan runs back he watches the unique beauty in his hand melt and leave the world.
There’s something ironic there, but he doesn’t dwell on it.
*
Lan Wangji used to wear gloves. It’s where Lan Xichen got the idea. When they were younger, Lan Wangji would become distracted and distressed with different textures. He’d begged their uncle to help him. Lan Qiren commission him a pair of thin gloves and Lan Xichen filed down his claws with care whenever they got long. He suspects that where his unending patience game from, watching his little brother twitch with the sensation It was only allowed because Lan Wangji was able to learn faster afterwards. Of course, when he turned 10, it was deemed ‘unbecoming’ of a Lan sect heir and he was forced to let the gloves go.
But the elders might be swayed that Lan Wangji’s ‘biological’ son from a non-cultivator woman (for A-Yuan obviously didn’t have the cat features of born Lan cultivators) to have the same distresses.
They tell A-Yuan it’s to keep him warm, for his fingers do get cold quickly (must be the colder temperature his blood stays).
Two birds with one stone.
This means they can take A-Yuan around the Cloud Recesses, to the library and to the bunnies, with a slightly calmer heart. Thankfully, A-Yuan has fair skin so, unless he runs around, it’s hard to tell from a distance. They’ve begun discussing different ways for A-Yuan to take lessons with the other disciples when he gets older.
*
Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen teach A-Yuan sword forms in the garden. If they push the seven-year-old to perfect them it’s because he is Hanguang-Jun's son and not because they’re deathly afraid that he’ll need to protect himself at a moment’s notice. He’s getting older and bolder and is truly Wei Ying’s son.
The other week a young cousin snuck into the garden to try and catch a glimpse of Hanguang-Jun's elusive son. A-Yuan went out of meet him, excited to meet someone else. Lan Wangji had grabbed A-Yuan's arm to pull him behind him as he cried out, which just about tore his heart out, and then, once he’d shooed Lan Yi away, hurried them to Lan Xichen.
Lan Xichen found Lan Yi, curled in on himself behind a tree and valiantly holding back his tears at being scolded. He was told a tale about a hereditary skin disease from A-Yuan's mother and escorted to Lan Xichen’s home. Lan Wangji sat A-Yuan down and told him that A-Yuan needed to hide behind this tale to keep him safe and dusted rice powder along A-Yuan's cheekbones to dull the scales’ healthy shine. Then the children were introduced.
Lan Yi is quick to excite and after a tense introduction A-Yuan has a housecat’s tail wrapped around his wrist and is being taught games. Any tears are gone as the two boys laughed together.
They quickly became inseparable except for when Lan Yi went to class.
Not only was A-Yuan curious to be taught in a classroom setting, but he was enticed by the prospect of friends his own age. Lan Wangji’s seclusion was ending soon, meaning that he would have to reenter the sect and, also, would have to face his uncle and elders. His sect duties would keep him away from the Jingshi. Even though he, with a guilty heart, asked A-Yuan if he had been lonely for the past two and a half years, he knows the sweet “No A-Die.” would change even if A-Yuan didn’t want to admit it to him.
Still Lan Wangji holds his son close and keeps him in the Jingshi until they both enter society again.
He hopes A-Yuan won’t hate him for keeping him away.
*
Lan Yi is knelt in punishment in front of Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow slightly before gesturing for Lan Yi to stand. His knuckles are bruised, but thankfully he hasn’t broken his thumb. Smart.
“Fighting is against the rules,” Lan Yi begins, with the headstrong conviction of an 8-year-old, “But one should stand up against evil.”
“Li Bing is not evil.” Lan Yi’s cheeks puff out with frustration.
“He was being mean to A-Yuan! That’s evil!” And Lan Wangji feels slapped. A-Yuan, nor anybody else, had mentioned that his son is being bullied. Lan Wangji gestures Lan Yi to continue, who looks as enraged as Lan Wangji feels and tells about how Li Bing, an outer disciple in training, has been cruel to A-Yuan for his ‘skin disease’, and how he isn’t a cat (“Even though Li Bing isn’t a Lan Cat anyway! He’s just a stupid bird and he can’t even tell which type!”), and today about Lan Yuan’s missing mother. Apparently, A-Yuan just looked away, so Lan Yi punched him for making his best friend so sad.
Lan Wangji ends Lan Yi’s punishment early.
*
Hours later Lan Wangji brings the evening meal to the Jingshi. The tray has one more dish than it usually would have. A shockingly red congee. A-Yuan opens the door from the inside. He has cleaned his skin of the rice powder and is currently in the process of oiling his scales. A step that he and Lan Xichen introduced to not cause any damage with continual use of the powder.
When Lan Wangji places the tray down, they sit together on the same side of the table and he takes the oiled cloth from Lan Yuan before tipping his face and gently buffering the white scales.
“Do you wish to know about your-” and his pauses, considering, before ‘I gave birth to him’ cheerfully bounces around his brain,” Your A-Niang.” And A-Yuan's eyes open wide in quiet shock.
“But you never talk about her, A-Die.”
Lan Wangji places his hand on A-Yuan's head. His palm is wide and his fingers long and they dwarf this child of theirs.
“Come eat, then we will talk.”
A-Yuan settles to the other side while Lan Wangji places dishes on the low table. Then he places the red congee to the side. He sets a place set for the ghost.
They eat. Lan Wangji misses Wei Ying most during these silent meals. He knows Wei Ying would chatter on and sprawl and tease him and their son. Make them try his favourite dishes. He doesn’t exactly know what he will tell A-Yuan once they finish. The truth, for he does not lie, of course. But Wei Ying has been dead for years and it still hurts.
Lan Yuan sets his utensils down with a finality rarely seen in those so young. Then he stares into the spiced congee like he is trying to remember it. Lan Wangji eats his last mouthful, sets his bowl aside, and tugs the congee closer.
“Mother likes spicy food.” Lan Yuan says with a nod, his hair swaying in time. It isn’t a question, but a rather sound conclusion. Lan Wangji is proud of how smart their son is.
“Yes.” And he pushes the bowl so that it is in between them. They stare into the daunting meal until Lan Wangji takes the first bite.
One mustn’t be wasteful.
His lips and tongue tingle and burn, but his face doesn’t change as he swallows the first mouthful. A-Yuan takes his own spoonful. It isn’t quite Wei Ying’s spicy congee, which he has tasted a few odd times when they were closer during the war, but it is close enough that his heart aches with fondness and heartburn. He doesn’t know if the Wens let Wei Ying cook, but A-Yuan's cheeks glow red and tears fill the corners of his eyes. Lan Wangji holds back his sleeve and pours him another cup of tea while he chokes it down. A-Yuan drinks the tea gratefully and then the cup that is poured after.
“You do not have to eat it.” Lan Wangji says while A-Yuan gathers himself.
“I have eaten that before,” A-Yuan whispers. “I remember that, but not anything else.”
He looks downtrodden however Lan Wangji, despite hating that look on his son’s face, is thankful. He had been worried the taste may have brought back memories but there would have been too many awful ones. A-Yuan shakes his head and then the interrogation begins.
“What was her name?”
“A-Ying.” Lan Wangji had decided that earlier. There was only one Wei cultivator left and even now not that. It would be too dangerous for A-Yuan to have Wei Ying’s full name.
“What did she look like?” A-Yuan leans forward, eager. Lan Wangji takes another bite of congee and answers despite the rules.
“Beautiful,” A-Yuan smiles, recognising his softened state after years of living together, “Long curled hair that was tied with a red ribbon. A fox’s features. Two red ears and a tail. Grey eyes. Just like you.” A-Yuan touches under his own eyes in wonder and it’s a nice thought that they’d be the same despite the shades of difference. But melancholy sets in and he stares into the congee. He loved to stare into Wei Ying’s eyes when they were full of life, when they sparkled with mischief. A-Yuan clambers to the other side of the table and Lan Wangji wraps his tail around him to press him gently into his side.
“What was she like?”
“Mischievous. He’d break all the rules. I think he learnt them just so he could break them. He’d bury you in the ground like a turnip and tell you that you’d grow that way.”
“Like you did with the bunnies!”
“Mm. He tried his hardest to protect the weak. He was kind.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“He was. He was always laughing.” Until everything went wrong.
They sit in silence for a moment. Lan Wangji finishes the congee as A-Yuan leans against his side and pets his tail.
“Did you love her?” Lan Wangji wants to cry. Of all the questions to ask. He turns to look at A-Yuan, takes his face in his heads and kisses his forehead over the ribbon before lingering there. He’s never admitted this out loud, but he will for their son.
“Yes. Very much so.” Then he tilts his head to gently press their foreheads together. “And when I saw him with you, that very first time, I fell in love with him even more so.” Then he leans back.
“Did she love us?” No. Wei Ying never loved him, like he loved Wei Ying.
“He adored you. With everything he was.” He dodges the question.
“How-” And A-Yuan looks to the side as if he doesn’t want to the ask the question. Lan Wangji braces himself. He rubs the fur of Lan Wangji’s tail between his fingers before asking, in the smallest voice he has spoken in a while, “How did she die?”
“He died-” and he cuts off. How does he explain years of fear and hate and suspicion that culminated in 3 important deaths (give or take a few thousand) without giving anything away? He can’t. “He was sick.” A truth without going into which way was he was ‘sick’.
A-Yuan looks lost and Lan Wangji pulls him against his chest to hold him tight. A-Yuan holds onto one of his ears, gently and instinctively and just like he did in that restaurant that perfect day in Yiling, and Lan Wangji curls his tail around them both. He rocks them gently and whispers reassurances like secrets. “But I know that he would be with you and I know that he loved you. He was sick and he didn’t let anyone help him. He loved you A-Yuan.”
And A-Yuan begins to cry. Quietly, not at all like when he was a toddler. At least Lan Wangji knows what to do now, even with tears in his own eyes. He holds A-Yuan and lets him cry against his neck and purrs to sooth him.
He used to purr when A-Yuan had nightmares even after he cuddled up to Lan Wangji, to coax him back to sleep. A-Yuan wouldn’t remember these second nightmare in the morning.
It coaxes him to sleep in Lan Wangji’s arms.
Once he is resting, still with a crinkled frown between his eyebrows but his tears wiped away, does Lan Wangji let himself cry.