Chapter Text
A crafty rabbit has three burrows.
(Or - a sly individual has more than one plan to fall back on.)
Lán Qǐrén spends his days after the Second Siege of Burial Mounds and the Guānyīn Temple incident much as he had before. He teaches, and has taken up the mantle of acting Sect Leader once more, as Lán Huàn remains in seclusion and Lán Zhàn has continued to follow the chaos. It is easy, if he does not think on it directly, to forget that the embodiment of chaos now travels at his side. To forget that his nephews, the children that he raised, had followed in their father’s steps despite the precautions he’d taken and the lessons he tried to instill within them. It is only late in the evenings, when he is taking tea in the quiet of the Yǎshì and the cushions on the other side of the table remain empty, that he cannot will himself to forget.
Lacking company, he returns to his correspondence and sect ledgers. He’s spent weeks preparing for this year’s Cultivation Conference after having offered to host as it would have fallen under Lánlíng Jīn’s purview this year. Jiāng Chéng had bristled, of course, as he insisted if not Lánlíng Jīn, then Yúnmèng Jiāng should carry the burden. Niè Zhì had hemmed and hawed when the matter was brought to his attention, before showing shrewd insight that Lán Qǐrén had previously thought him incapable of. ‘Surely, Sect Leader Jiāng will be busy as conservator to Lánlíng until young Jīn Líng came of age, and similarly, I will be adjusting to my new role as Chief Cultivator,’ Niè Zhì had said. ‘It seems most appropriate that the Lán sect, with stalwart Lán-xiānsheng at the forefront, take the honor of hosting.’
While accurate, this was not the reason Lán Qǐrén had sought the responsibility. They were children, all of them. Niè Zhì, Jiāng Chéng, two leaders of two great sects, had both once been adolescents learning at his feet. He’d watched them grow into the men that they were today, with his Ā-Huàn and Ā-Zhàn.
And then there is Jīn Líng, the first of the next generation to take on the mantle that is his birthright, at far too young of an age. He is to join the lectures later this year, and Lán Qǐrén has offered Jīn Líng additional lessons during his time here so that he may observe how Lán Qǐrén runs things. He will surely have seen such things from his uncles, but Lánlíng Jīn will require delicate handling, and it cannot hurt to see different styles of leadership.
They were all his children, after a fashion. And he must do what he can, to keep them on an upright path, as he always has done. Perhaps he will have better luck with this younger generation, with Jīn Líng and Lán Yuàn and even the Ōuyáng boy. So long as he can keep them free of the Yílíng Lǎozǔ’s corrupting influence, which at present, appears to be a losing battle.
───※ ·❆· ※───
The Cultivation Conference was looming, sects from all over the land converging upon Gūsū. Even smaller sects, that generally would not make such a journey, had come. There is too much at stake, too much to discuss, and many opportunities in the world left behind after Jīn Guāngyáo’s fall. Cloud Recesses is full to bursting, even the cottages in the back hill were required to house the expected delegations. Only one remained empty, in its sea of gentians. He had never been fond of Sun Lingxin, but her home had become a memorial, of sorts, for her children. Lán Qǐrén would not violate what little peace they had with their mother’s last remaining presence within Cloud Recesses.
He is pretending not to see Lán Tāo sprinting in starts and stops towards the gates, when he hears it. The braying of that damnable donkey, and the laughter that somehow seems to echo over the entire mountain. It is therefore not a surprise, when Wèi Wúxiàn and Lán Zhàn come into view. Unaware of their return, he wonders how to hide the Yílíng Lǎozǔ from the visiting sects, only to sigh in dismay when he sees robes of many different colors scattered throughout his vision. Gossip may be forbidden, but there is no hope that it will not be known within half a shíchen. Lán Qǐrén watches in dismay as more disciples scurry their way towards them, just the right side of speed to not be considered running, and decides to be willfully ignorant. Of course, they miss their Hánguāng-jūn. Of course, they would flock to him after he has been away. He turns, and sets off at a brisk pace so that he will not have to hear young voices chitter and squeak, calling out for Senior Wèi and dismantling his visage of being unaware.
It is only when he has fully relaxed in the xuěshì, after a long session of meditation, that he is willing to apply mental attention to the political hoops he will have to jump through. Dismissing Wèi Wúxiàn is not an option, if he wishes to keep Lán Zhàn in their lives at all. But there are many in the Cultivation World that will not take kindly to his presence here.
A sharp, polite knock sounds at his door, and he thinks it is perhaps Ā-Yuàn, but when he calls for them to enter, it is Wèi Wúxiàn that scampers into the room, with his nephew a few paces behind. They both fold into perfect salutes, murmuring their greetings. For the first time in many months, both of the cushions on the other side of his table are put to use.
“Wàngjī, Young Master Wèi. This elder greets you.”
“Mn,” Lán Zhàn supplies, but he knows it means hello.
“Ah, ah! Lán-xiānsheng! Gōng gong! Don’t worry, I’ll keep myself scarce!” He says, voice echoing in the room, words spouting from his mouth so fast it takes effort to understand him, especially when Lán Qǐrén’s mind catches on the familiar address. Gōng gong . Preposterous.
“Ah, I’m afraid your presence will be required, Wèi Wúxiàn. You must accompany your husband.” He scowls as he says it, viscerally unhappy with the truth of it. The man merely titters and rubs at his neck.
“Oh, sure. Of course, of course. Well, I promise to be on my best behavior then!” He says with a brilliant grin. It gives him flashbacks to his time here as a student, and he knows that the smile and simpering promise means nothing. He starts to dig through his sleeves, and Lán Qǐrén has to stop himself from narrowing his eyes. His nephew is looking on, a soft, indulgent twist to his mouth. Wèi Wúxiàn’s tongue presses through his lips as he searches, and then he lets out a soft whoop when he fishes out a canister that he sets triumphantly in the center of the table.
He tries not to flinch, when he realizes that he must accept a gift given to him. Reaching for it with ill-disguised hesitance, he only relaxes when Lán Zhàn speaks.
“It is tea, Shūfù.” He gives them a strained smile and grasps the canister, opening the lid to smell the leaves. It is a fine, delicate blend, and he’s surprised to find that he’s quite pleased.
“This one thanks you,” He murmurs with a bow of his head.
“We just wanted to give you the tea, before we forgot!” Wèi Wúxiàn chuckles, as if it is not shameful to be so forgetful. The young man goes to stand, but is stopped when Lán Zhàn grips his sleeve.
“Wèi Yīng.”
“Oh! Right, right!” He squawks, rifling through his other sleeve before giving the room a sheepish look as his nephew produces a package from his pouch. “Here I was, talking about not forgetting things, and I forgot!” His fingers are quick as he unwraps the small object carefully. This, he places on the outer edge of the table. It is plastered with talismans, and Lán Qǐrén would have no idea what it could be were it not for the ears sticking straight up through the paper. It is a small, carved rabbit. But it seeps resentful energy, even through the talismans. “Niè Huáisāng gave this to us while we were in Qīnghé! It’s cursed, but we can’t figure out what it does. He recommended that we bring it to you, so you can put it in your fancy storehouse of dangerous objects.”
He is tempted, for a moment, to ask why he would not have the item tested first. But there are many things he could say about Wèi Wúxiàn. As questionable as his cultivation is, he is undoubtedly one of the most talented cultivators when it comes to talismans, curses, and resentful energy. And, presumably, his own nephew had also been involved in their original examination. He’d never say it out loud, but truly, if Wèi Wúxiàn was unable to discover what a cursed item did, it was not likely that anyone else would be able to do so.
“Very well. Leave it here, and I will sign it into the registrar tomorrow.” His nephew’s husband beams at him, and he stands to walk them out. He feels on edge, as if his dissatisfaction is rolling off of him in waves despite his best attempts at being civil. But as they leave, Lán Zhàn gives him a soft smile over his shoulder, and he supposes that means that he was successful in treating Wèi Wúxiàn with courtesy.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Of all their precepts, ‘Do not work after nine,’ was violated with alarming regularity. But there was no recourse, especially now, with the Conference to begin tomorrow. He’s blinking blearily at his paperwork as he drinks his cold tea, but his attention is drawn to the small statuette Wèi Wúxiàn had brought him for safekeeping.
It is… Troubling, that they cannot identify what type of curse this object might carry. He wonders, briefly, if perhaps the curse has already been enacted but not yet noticed. He squints at it in suspicion. It’s rather cute, under all of the talisman paper plastered around it only its ears and little face are visible. From what he can see, it is a beautiful rendering of a white rabbit.
It is possible that Lán Zhàn’s weakness for the creatures is no longer a sect secret, and that someone was hoping to catch him with a trap. He hopes, that for all of his other misguided decisions of late, he’s been careful enough not to get himself cursed. Lán Qǐrén has to remind himself that his nephew is the jewel of his generation, despite who his husband is and the choices he made, he is an exceptional cultivator. It is unlikely that he would find himself cursed and unaware.
His own curiosity wins out, and he peels the talisman paper from the statuette before performing his own careful tests. It is nearing the end of hàishí by the time he is finished. As expected, he found no answers. But he now feels comfortable, signing it over to storage, knowing that even he could not discern what the purpose of the curse is. He reapplies Wèi Wúxiàn’s talismans instead of making his own, telling himself that he’s following the precept to not be wasteful and refusing to admit, even in the sanctity of his own mind, that they are superior. After performing his nightly ablutions, he collapses into bed, simply laying in a sprawl for a few, blissful moments, before rolling over and going to sleep like a proper Lán and assigning himself some labor as punishment.
───※ ·❆· ※───
He wakes, promptly at mǎoshí, but he feels disoriented, the room spinning as his mind tries to make sense of the world. His eyes snap shut, and he patiently waits for the feeling to dissipate. When he next opens his eyes, he is no longer quite so discombobulated, but he is ever more confused. Instead of the absolute darkness of early morning that he expects, he finds that he can see the room quite well. Too well, in fact, as he can see every corner of the xuěshì from his bed. Something that should be impossible.
He realizes then that he is… Quite small, in comparison. He feels a sense of foreboding horror and slowly looks down to find small, white paws, even as a large, floppy ear falls to obscure his vision.
Two facts become immediately, abundantly clear. He has been cursed. And he is a rabbit.