#Gege wrinkles his nose like a rabbit

[lanwangjihouse]

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Six

There are so many babies you guys. I miss baby snuggles

In which children don’t sleep

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

---

Liquor doesn’t technically bring him peace—he supposes Yanli and Wen Qing were always right about that. But it certainly doesn’t upset him, and the buzz is helping him focus on the little doses of pleasantness in this tiny closet room. A storm outside always helps remind him of warmth inside, and while there is a leak in the corner that drips against the floor, the mattress is dry, the blankets are scratchy but warm, and there’s a calm yellow glow visible in the cracks in the floor, rise and fall of tipsy conversation from the late night crowd downstairs.

He doesn’t think he’ll sleep tonight, but he’s letting his mind wander when a huge crack of thunder jostles him out of his daydream. The rain intensifies, the drip in the corner shifting from a two-step to a hurried run of triplets. He almost misses the tiny knock on his door.

“W-Wei-qianbei?” a hesitant voice floats in from the hall. Wei Wuxian tucks away his empty bottles and sits up, wiping over his face and schooling it into a sober and attentive expression.

He cracks open the door to find little Lan Sizhui, ghostly in his white sleeping robes and chewing on the edge of his sleeve. He looks uncertain, eyes flitting from the open door to back down the hallway. He looks almost about to leave when lightning splits the air around them, followed by a mighty crash, and he closes his eyes and dives into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“Oh, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, laughing lightly into the facefull of bed-hair. “It’s okay. It’s just a storm.”

Sizhui mutters something inaudible into his neck but refuses to let go when Wei Wuxian tries to shift him away. He hauls the child up into his lap and settles back on the mattress, leaning against the wall and away from the insistent drip of the rain.

“What’s the matter, little one?”

Sizhui wipes at his red face with his sleeve, and Wei Wuxian leans in closer to hear.

“There’s so much water,” Sizhui cries. “What if the ghouls come back in the water?”

“They won’t. They can’t live in the rain, only in big bodies of water that stay in one place, like a lake. You see this drip in the corner here? Give me your hand.”

He gently pulls Sizhui over to the leaky corner, holding his hand into the path of the water. Sizhui flinches away, but Wei Wuxian insists, tucking his fingers into the stream

“You feel this? All the little drops? Even big rain is made of tiny drops that are far too small for a ghoul to live in.”

Sizhui’s brow furrows and he pulls his hand back and forth, in and out of the water. “What— what if you’re wrong?” he asks, looking up at Wei Wuxian with big round eyes.

“A-Yuan, I promise you are safe here. I will always protect you, and so will Hanguang Jun and Zewu Jun.”

“But what if—” Sizhui trails off, chewing on his lip and resting his forehead on Wei Wuxian’s collarbone. “What if something gets you? Or Baba?”

That answers that, Wei Wuxian things, stamping down on the curiosity. If Lan Wangji is your father, then who… But he’s not going to ask a four-year-old to recite his lineage.

“Even if the water ghouls came here, they’re no match for us!”

“But you… “ Sizhui looks down at his hands. “Hanguang Jun had to save you.”

Isn’t it just like children—so sweet, so kind, so accurate with the knives they don’t even know they’re holding.

“And he’s here. And if he needs help, there’s a whole class of seniors right downstairs. And if they need help, Wen Ning is here, and all your friends. And we’ll all take care of each other. Yes?”

Sizhui nods and leans in for another hug. Wei Wuxian is just settling in for a long term cuddle when another crack of thunder makes Sizhui bury his face in Wei Wuxian’s middle. Wei Wuxian is rubbing circles into his back when he hears another knock on the door.

“Come in,” he sing-songs, and Ouyang Zizhen pokes his head in. “Scared of the storm?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Of course not!” Zizhen’s eyes dart around the room before finding Sizhui’s huddled form. “I was— I was checking on A-Yuan. I thought he might be scared.”

Wei Wuxian grins and claps him on the shoulder. “Of course you did. Tell me, how many other disciples are up worried about A-Yuan?”

Zizhen chews on his lip. “Everyone?”

Wei Wuxian grins wider and tugs on Zizhen’s ear. “Well, we’d better go reassure them all.”

He bundles Sizhui into his arms and nods at Zizhen to lead the way. 

I may be useless in battle, he thinks, the sting of it fading with each step they take. But this I can do.

As expected, all the juniors are awake, some still lying top-to-toe and others bundled into blanket piles on the floor. When the door opens, nine little faces turn to him like a cluster of round, startled moons.

“Ah, disciples!” he says cheerily. “Your poor Wei-qianbei has a leak in his room. Will you allow this humble servant to join you in this nice dry room for the night?”

“Yay!” Lan Feifei shouts, popping up from the end of the farthest bed and immediately toppling over onto Lan Ting. Wei Wuxian wonders if spending so much time with the bunnies is teaching them more than he and Lan Wangji combined.

The children make room for him in the middle of the room, huddling in close around him on all sides.

“What, no one is tired? After that long walk down the mountain?”

Wen Ning wrinkles his nose, looking around at the younger kids like he’s responsible for their wakefulness. Thunder shakes the walls and the little ones cover their ears.

“It’s pretty loud, huh?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“It’s loud like the big wave was,” Lan Ting pipes up, worried little eyes shining in the lamplight like polished river stones.

“Ah, yes, that was scary, wasn’t it?”

Nods all around. The best thing about children, he thinks to himself, reaching out to work a tangle out of Su Meiling’s hair, is that they aren’t yet ashamed to be afraid. He smiles a little sadly to himself, thinking about Jiang Cheng. Remember when he used to come to his big brother, say he was scared?

“Do you know what I like to do when I’m scared?”

Lan Yixian gasps from over his shoulder. “Wei-qianbei, you get scared too?” She’s seven, she maybe hasn’t ever heard that from an adult before. Knowing the Lans, their stoic nobility, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Yes, Xian-Xian, I get scared just like you. And I’ll tell you a secret.” He lowers his voice, relishing in their held breath, leaning in. “Hanguang Jun gets scared, too.”

“No he doesn’t!” Su Ming declares.

“Sure he does. Ask him sometime.”

The gasp of horror that whooshes around the room threatens to put out the lamps. Wei Wuxian laughs in delight.

“Scarier than the storm, huh?”

“What do you do when you are scared, Wei-qianbei?” Lan Ting asks.

“I’ll tell you. Sometimes I feel scared, and when I feel scared it’s usually because I don’t feel very strong or powerful. After all, I am not a mighty cultivator like all of you!” It hurts slightly less to say it to children. The more he says it, the easier it goes down, like building up a tolerance to straight strong liquor.

“So what I like to do is think about all the things that keep me safe. Here, I’ll show you.” He sets Sizhui down beside him and holds his hands flat up on his knees, just like Uncle Jiang taught him when he was small and still had screaming nightmares. “Let’s see, to begin, I am glad for my strong legs that help me run and my strong arms that help me carry lazy disciples.” He raises one hand on an inhale and pushes his palm outward on the exhale. Focus on your breath, Uncle Jiang says in his head, kind and patient and dead. 

“I am glad for my strong lungs which help me yell for help when I need it.” He lifts and pushes his other hand, and a few of the children start to mimic him. “Good job, breathe nice and slow. I am glad for my talismans, which help keep me safe.”

“Will you teach us talismans?” Lan Bin asks, perking up like a rabbit smelling sweet grass. 

“If you are very good and very quiet. Here, Wen Ning, you try one.”

Wen Ning looks around, embarrassed, but seeing most of the children’s eyes closed he says, “I am glad for my jiejie who taught me medicine to help when I am sick.” The room breathes together.

“Yao Hualing?” Wei Wuxian prompts.

“I am— I don’t know. I am glad for my Mama who taught me how to punch really hard.”

“Very good. Zizhen?”

“I am glad for Wei-qianbei who takes care of us and feeds us.”

“Ah, sweet boy. Jingyi?”

“I am glad for being small so I can hide from a monster.”

A crack of thunder, but only a few jump.

“Very good everyone. Now we can all say at the same time, nice and quiet. You can say whatever you like, no one is listening.”

Wei Wuxian looks around at all of them, eyes closed and breath stirring loose locks of hair. He listens to the breathy chorus of gratitude: “My gege who protects…” “Hanguang Jun who…” “... because I am good at…” “...who taught me to…” “Wei-qianbei who cares for me…”

He is suddenly glad their eyes are closed, because his throat goes tight and tears start pricking the corners of his eyes. He raises his right hand on the proper inhale and wipes at his cheeks quickly. 

When he looks up again, the door is cracked and Lan Wangji is staring at him from the darkness of the hallway. His hair is down from its customary ornament, falling softly along his cheeks, his neck. Wei Wuxian sniffs and tries to school his expression into something professional without stopping the gentle inhale exhale. Lan Wangji is staring through to the back of his skull, it feels like, unblinking, before he looks around at the room of murmuring, meditating children. His lips part as if to say something—disciples should be sleeping! You are not to teach them anything! Meditation is practiced in silence!—when Lan Sizhui’s little voice carries over the room.

“I am glad for my Baba who loves me and teaches me to be strong and for my Wei-qianbei who loves me and teaches me to be clever.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth stays slightly open but his eyes snap to his son, watching his calm breath, his tiny wrists sticking out of his sleeves on every exhaled push. When he looks back to Wei Wuxian there is something broken open in his expression and Wei Wuxian almost wants to close his eyes against the shine of it. Almost.

He’s not sure what his face is doing, but something about it must be right because Lan Wangji holds his gaze for a long, long moment before nodding once and sliding the door closed. Wei Wuxian buries his face in his hands for a minute, shaking for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“Wei-qianbei?” Lan Ting says, louder than the rest. “I’m out of things to be glad for.”

“Me too!” comes another voice from somewhere.

“Very well. Good job everyone, I think we beat the storm. Now your humble Wei-qianbei is very sleepy, and it’s going to be morning soon. And then we need to climb all the way back up the mountain together. Let’s all try to sleep, can we?”

With a gentle rustles of cloth and a couple of sleepy hums, Wei Wuxian is surrounded by a circle of black-and-white mounds. He feels like he’s sitting on the top of Gusu Mountain, a few dark rocks peeking through the snow. But, like in a dream of winter, it’s warm, quiet, the only wind to be felt is as soft as breath.

Part Seven

[ellayuki]

12.01.20

The Untamed/MDZS  /  Lan Sizhui (& WangXian)

~

He sits by the stream, a snow-white bunny in his lap, listening to the soft sounds of nature in the early morning, and enjoying the few moments of peace and quiet he has before Jingyi and the others find him and his day has to start.

Uncle Qiren would probably scold him if he were to see him now, call him frivolous for spending time with the rabbits instead of doing something productive with his time, but honestly? Sizhui thinks he can be excused today. His birthday comes but once a year after all.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and laying down in the grass. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks. 

He doesn’t fall asleep.

But he does lose himself in his thoughts, still petting the bunny, still listening to the flowing water a few feet away.

He’s so deep in thought, he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps, nor does he hear the whispers and the giggling. 

Which is why he almost has a heart attack when something plops on his chest.

Several somethings. 

And not just on his chest.

He opens his eyes and sits up with a startled yelp.

All around him and all over him are what seems to be all the rabbits in the Cloud Recesses. He can’t help the giggle that escapes him. 

It matches the one coming from behind him.

When he looks, Senior Wei and Hanguang-Jun are there, smiles on both their faces.

“I’m having flashbacks,” he tells them, nose wrinkling. “I’d have thought that being an adult would mean I’d stop being buried in a pile of rabbits, or like a radish, but apparently not.”

Senior Wei snorts at that. “Yes, of course,” he says, “We’ll stop spoiling our son, right, Hanguang-Jun?” He turns to the man in question with a wink, and Sizhui is glad he’s able to hide his flushed cheeks from at least one of them. 

“Mn,” Hanguang-Jun says, still smiling fondly. “Wei Ying and I should stop spoiling our son.” (And when will Sizhui get used to either of them calling him that? Because right now it seems like never.) “We should. But we won’t.”

He bends down, scoops one of the balls of fluff surrounding them, and absurdly, ridiculously, puts it right on top of Sizhui’s head. His shocked expression probably matches Senior Wei’s, he thinks. 

“Happy birthday, Sizhui,” Hanguang-Jun says, hand resting on Sizhui’s shoulder. 

“Yes, happy birthday, A-Yuan,” says Senior Wei, and he looks like he might be tearing up, just a little.

Sizhui thinks he might be tearing up a little bit himself. 

He smiles up at them. “Thank you,” he says, breathlessly happy. “Hanguang-Jun, Senior Wei. Thank you.”

~

("You could call either of us 'dad', you know," Senior Wei says to him a little later, a mock frown on his face. "Ah, the days when I was 'Xian-Gege' to little A-Yuan. They're long since gone." It sounds almost wistful.

"I could," Sizhui says, cheeks burning red. "Someday, maybe," is all he can promise.

Going by both their faces, apparently, it's more than enough.)