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Lan Sizhui has seen his father’s scars before. He has always wondered if the pain inflicted upon them goes beyond physical.
He has seen glimpses when he was a child and was given permission to live in the Silence Room –jingshi—with Hanguang Jun. A mere child he was but he did know what scars were and that they hurt. With a dim light, he sees crisscross of raised skin on his father’s back whenever he was putting on his thin sleeping robes. On night hunts in which they needed to book a place, Sizhui confirmed that they were indeed whip scars when he saw them again just before Hanguang Jun departed to his room after a soak in the hot spring at the back of the inn they were staying at.
None of his peers seem to have seen them, though, and there are times he wonders if his eyes were just playing tricks on him. Those scars are more than a dozen, and they were caused by a severe punishment. What could the esteemed Second Jade of the GusuLan Sect could have done to deserve them? How many were there? How did he survive?
Lan Sizhui regains his memories in pieces. The most important ones returned to him soonest. The man whose name is Wei Wuxian who took the Wen Clan with him and cared for them in Burial Mounds, the man who buried him beside the turnips and played with him. He remembers another man cloaked in cloud blue robes, whom he referred to as Rich-GeGe, who bought him toys, let him sit on his lap and carried him in his arms when an emergency caused them to run back to Burial Mounds.
He remembers the two who showed him what unconditional love was.
He still had gaps in his memories but he would never forget how Lan Wangji returned after years of seclusion to personally take him under his wing. Wen Yuan changed to Lan Yuan, who is graced with his courtesy name he treasures: Lan Shizui. Everyone always seemed envious that he got his name from Hanguang Jun but no one ever wondered where it came from.
No one ever noticed and asked why a sad expression came into Hanguang Jun’s face whenever he said Shizui’s name, why his expression shattered when Shizui returned from a trip in Caiyi town, with his uncle: Lan Xichen, with a ghost-faced mask and tried to scare his father with it, and why his father’s fingers linger on Shizui’s forehead ribbon whenever he finished tying it for him when he was young.
Lan Shizui – Lan Yuan adores his fathers, but he hopes that someday he’ll get the story behind the sad smiles on their faces when faced with memories brought by small objects: the lotus chain hanging from Chenqing, Master Wei’s sword Suibian, and seemingly insignificant places: the Wall of Rules, the Cold Springs, and the GusuLan Sect classroom.
He never dared to ask -- until he does.
He, Master Wei, Wen Ning and Zewu Jun were given the permission to accompany Hanguang Jun in a conference in Qinghe. Because of his duty as the Chief Cultivator, he was called for a short meeting in conference hall right after their dinner, leaving behind the others in the small dining area exclusively for them. Sizhui watches his father put on his outer layers, the light behind him illuminating the telltale signs of the scars beneath the clothes. The outermost and thickest robe comes into place, hiding the marks underneath. Hanguang Jun bows and heads out.
It takes him several moment before he realizes that his other father was calling his name. “—zhui!” He blinks and turns to face Master Wei, who has his brows furrowed in concern. “You okay, kid?”
His eyes linger on the closed door before landing on his uncle and A-die, which he endearingly calls Master Wei when it was just them. He bites his lip and clenches his fists on his robes, uncertain how to ask a question that has been lingering within him for years.
Zewu Jun takes pity on him and places a hand on his arm, a gentle smile on his lips – ever patient and understanding. “Is there something you want to ask?”
He startles, looking around if a talisman managed to speak out his thought. “How did you know?”
The man stands up, checks out the coast outside their dining area before re-closing the door and returning to his seat. “You have the same expression as Young Master Wei when he once asked me something of importance to him. It is no question you are their son. I see the resemblance.”
The compliments sends warmth in him, making him smile wide. The smile Master Wei throws at him encourages him to muster up the courage, “I do…have a question I want to ask.”
“What is it, A-Yuan?” His A-die murmurs.
“What are those whipping scars on Hanguang Jun’s back?” He asks in one breath, his eyes shutting in fear of retribution. Silence hangs in the air for several moments, and he opens his eyes when he hears his companions’ exhales. There they are again, the sad smiles he hates seeing. When Zewu Jun and Master Wei merely glance at each other, both hesitant how to answer, Lan Sizhui backs away and bows on the floor, “Please. I…” He trails off, his voice cracking. “Hanguang Jun raised me with love and tenderness. I consider him as one of my fathers, yet the stories all I’ve ever heard are A-die’s from Uncle Ning and the stories in the Library Pavilion. I want to share father’s pain too.”
A hand combs his hair. “Rise, Sizhui. We understand. We do believe you deserve to know.”
He raises his head and sits back on his seat, eager to finally know the truth. Wen Ning sits beside him, smiling at him, squeezing his hand.
His A-die inhales and then exhales, finding the right words. “It started sixteen years ago when disciples from different clans were called onto a lecture in Cloud Recesses…”
Lan Sizhui feels himself transported back to Cloud Recesses, as if he was spectator of the story Master Wei begins, his Uncle inserting details here and there. He witnesses the fight between his fathers, feels the tension between them when they clashed because of their different personalities, flinches when Grand Master Lan calls onto Master Wei’s paperman antics, laughs when he hears the story about the Library Pavilion, shakes his head at the story of a drunken escapade that led to their punishment, the wonders of falling into the Cold Pond Cave, and the story of the thing that started everything: Yin Iron.
A mission that led to destruction of several clans, a weapon that ripped families apart, a small thing that could fit in his hand but shook the whole cultivation world.
He hears bits of his A-die’s story before, of how he became the Yiling Patriarch, of why he doesn’t have a golden core, of why he defected from Yunmeng of Jiang Sect, and of what led to his death. Hearing each detail, the missing puzzles fitting into place take his breath away.
Tears are already falling down his face when Master Wei finishes his parts of the tale. Zewu Jun takes over for him, telling his tale as the older brother of Hanguang Jun who fought against hundreds to protect Yiling Patriarch in the Nightless City, of Lan Wangji who guarded the Demon-Subdue Palace even if he was surrounded just to ensure no one dared destroy the place, of the esteemed Second Jade of GusuLan Sect being brought back to Gusu after the war with a child in his arms begging Lan Xichen to take care of the kid in his stead until he had gone through his punishment.
Lan Sizhui is transported in front of the Wall of Rules his father knelt on before after he visited Master Wei and he in Burial Mounds. He is brought back and could almost feel like he was back to sixteen years ago, watching his father get whipped 30 and so times on the back as Grand Master Lan questioned him, Hanguang Jun answering back with honesty and ferocity of someone who found his purpose. With his robes stained red with his blood, Lan Wangji was sent into three year seclusion after he was imprisoned in Cold Pond Cave to repent his sins. Sizhui finds himself staring at his father whose sixteen years younger, kneeling in front of the legendary guqin, an open book of Lan Sect Rules in front of him, his expression stormy yet determined.
Then Lan Xichen moves to parts not even Master Wei has heard before: of how he tended to Wangji’s wounds behind their Uncle’s back because Hanguang Jun was clinging to life as his golden core did its best to stop his whip wounds’ bleeding, how Wangji ran a fever so high he was delirious, how he called for ‘Wei Ying’ and ‘Yuan’ in his sleep, how tears trailed down his cheeks when he woke up and found neither of them beside him, how he stood proud and straight after his seclusion even if his back barely healed to meet Lan Yuan and give him his courtesy name, how he bleeds when he played Inquiry in Burial Mounds searching for Wei Wuxian’s remains.
Sizhui finds himself sobbing when his A-die takes over again to tell of their tale sixteen years later when they have met again, of tales Sizhui witnessed most parts of.
Sizhui is holding onto his Uncle Ning as he weeps for the people who cared for him relentlessly, of the pain they didn’t deserve to feel, of the grief brought by the thought of either never returning to the other's side, and of the sadness of things that could have been.
He is full on wailing when they finish the tale, his heart aching for memories not his own. He tries to stop but the tears continue to trail down his face as he cries like a child for his A-die and Rich-GeGe.
Master Wei chuckles and opens his arms, “Come here,” He coaxes.
Without preamble, Sizhui runs into his A-die’s arms, hiding his face on his chest, the feeling of a hand running down his back familiar enough to make him weep even more. Few minutes later, the doors open with Hanguang Jun return, his face blank until his eyes sweep around and he sees Sizhui on Wei Wuxian’s arms, eyes swollen.
Discarding the papers in his arms onto the table, he kneels beside Sizhui and Wei Wuxian, running his fingers on the junior’s hair. “What happened?” His tone, fierce and poised for a fight if necessary.
Zewu Jun places a hand on his forearm, smiling gently. “He asked about your scars.”
“And found out the whole story,” Wen Ning murmurs, fidgeting.
Lan Wangji’s eyebrows fractionally furrow before relief floods into his expression. He sits on the floor beside them and continues running his fingers through Sizhui’s hair. “It’s in the past. They barely hurt.”
Sizhui doubts that, his eyes meeting his father’s. He is turning eighteen soon but when he’s in their presence he feels like he’s four again, surrounded by turnips and rabbits. He couldn’t find the words so he lets the tears fall again.
Hanguang Jun reaches over to wipe them away with his thumb, callused yet gentle. Even when he was hurting, he stayed strong for Sizhui. “You cry as much as Wei Ying,” He whispers with a smile. “It’s as if your hearts are so big, and you feel so much.”
Slowly, he raises his hand to keep his father’s hand on his cheek. When the latter doesn’t pull away, Sizhui leans into the touch. “Thank you,” He chokes out, looking from his father to his A-die, overwhelmingly happy to have them both back.
That is how he ends up hugging them both, keeping them close, afraid he might lose either of them again.
He falls asleep crying in their arms, warm and loved. Lan Wangji offers to carry Sizhui back to his room, Wei Wuxian trailing after them. They bid Lan Xichen and Wen Ning goodnight before departing. After depositing their son onto his bed, both halt when Sizhui’s hands tangle onto their robes.
“Father…A-die,” Sizhui murmurs, sighing on his slumber.
“Wanna sleep here tonight?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help asking, a fond expression overtaking his face.
Lan Wangji doesn’t need persuading, he walks out for a while and returns with their belongings and night garments.
The pair sleep seated on the floor beside the bed of Lan Sizhui, their A-Yuan, who the universe is kind enough to gift them with.
Lan Sizhui opens his eyes with the sound of a familiar tune. He blinks and slowly looks to his right, his heart bursting with happiness upon seeing his father behind a table plucking through his guqin, his fingers light as it moves through the strings like gentle waves. Beside him is his A-die, playing Chenqing with effortlessness, the sound like wind that gusts through open fields.
The two look over their shoulders when he stirs, and gesture for him to come over upon seeing him awake, so Sizhui crawls in between them, memorizing each note.
He has heard this tune several times before, wondering where it originated. As he watches his fathers play the song by memory and by heart, he figures that it was composed for them. It was their song, the tune they played when putting Yuan to sleep.
And now, he wakes up to it, his chest light.
The pain the past has brought could never be erased. But this is his present, and this will be his future – that’s what matters.