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“Have you heard? Yiling Laozu is dead.”
“Xiong-zhang, Wei Ying… is he…”
“I’m sorry, Wangji. Yili—Wei-gongzi is dead.”
The only light in Lan Wangji’s world has dimmed. He knows it’s futile to hope. He knows it’s futile to dream.
He knows it’s futile to even dare think his Wei Ying will come back. He also knows he’s not delusional. He knows he’s not just grasping at false hope. He knows Wei Ying is somewhere out there with that signature sun-like smile of his, waiting for Lan Wangji to find him.
“No.”
“Wangji…”
“Please leave,” Lan Wangji cuts off his brother curtly, but Lan Xichen knows better than to leave his brother to his own devices and doesn't move.
“Wangji, you need to rest. Your back—”
“I am fine.”
Lan Wangji is not fine. He feels…nothing. He feels emptiness, like every single ounce of his life has been sucked away.
When Lan Xichen broke the news of Wei Wuxian’s death, Lan Wangji’s world died with him. With thirty-three whip lashes on his back, he made his way to Yiling and painfully climbed his way up to Luanzang Gang. No; thinking back, the pain on his back was nothing compared to how his heart ached at that time. He stepped foot into Demon-Slumbering Cave, memories of him as a guest being served plain water flooding back to his head.
He could vividly picture where Wei Wuxian would be, tinkering with talismans and designing arrays of various shapes, crafting seals and drawing diagrams. Wei Wuxian was a genius in his own right and nobody could say otherwise. He must have left something—anything at all. Lan Wangji found himself looking through the whole cave. His legs finally gave in when he reached a hidden corner of the cave. He fell to the ground, hands covering his face. Rarely audible sobs reverberated throughout the empty and desolate cave. His tears had started to flow uncontrollably. He tried to stop them, but to no avail.
Lan Wangji sat in his Jingshi, with a boy lying on his lap.
“Wangji, you are aware that you have taken up a huge responsibility, aren't you? Shufu will not be easy to convince.” Lan Wangji is more than aware of this but he doesn’t say anything. He looks up at Lan Xichen, expression saying more than any words could. “...I hope you do know that whatever decision you make, I will stand by you through it all.”
“Thank you, Xiong-zhang.”
“The child needs rest, Wangji. And so do you,” Lan Xichen advised; Lan Wangji knew that he was referring to his back injuries.
“Mn.”
“Good night, Wangji.”
Lan Wangji bowed his head to his brother as he turned and exited the Jingshi, leaving him and the child on his lap. He picked up A-Yuan, who was sound asleep, and laid him on his bed. He pulled the blanket over the child. The child roused slightly at the movement.
“I will make sure you will be well taken care of. Sweet dreams, A-Yuan.”
“Good night, Rich Gege,” the sleepy child mumbled.
After Lan Wangji made sure that A-Yuan was well tucked in, he walked over to his study area and opened a secret compartment underneath the Jingshi floor. In it were things that he kept—things that he held close to his heart: three jars of Tianzi Xiao, a sketch of himself reading his Buddhist scriptures in the Library Pavilion, messily scribbled GusuLan rules on crumpled parchments, a red ribbon and a notebook.
He opened a jar of Tianzi Xiao and smelled the contents before putting it back into the compartment.
Of course he was aware of said responsibility. He knew it would not be easy to convince Lan Qiren to accept this child, this Wen child, into the sect as Lan Wangji’s son. But...this was Wei Ying’s final memory. He had to treasure it. Lan Wangji had seen that his brother was also in pain, which made him feel much worse. The last thing that Lan Wangji wanted to do was inflict pain on anyone else. He knew that his suffering was making those around him suffer as well. He knew how much it hurt, how much it tore one’s life apart. How much it killed one’s soul.
He had been with the child for a fortnight and he’s already missed A-Yuan. Come the next day, Lan Wangji would seclude himself in the Cold Spring to repent for the so-called "sins" of his and for the "mistakes" he had made. He'd never regretted a single thing he'd done. The only thing he has ever regretted was not trusting Wei Wuxian, not standing by his side, not protecting him. Not loving him.
Dear Wei Ying, are you well today?
Sixteen years have passed, nights and days going by as quickly as they come.
Lan Wangji's heart starts to beat once more.
Lan Wangji's eyes see colors once more.
Colors of life, colors of love.
They all start to bloom again.
He has come home.
He has finally come home.
Lan Wangji was never wrong to hope.
“Lan Zhan!”
“I am here.”
