#lanuary 2024

[gentil-minou]

Lanuary 2024 Day 2 - Yiling Wei Sect Head Disciple

"Did you know? The Yiling Laozu hadonly one disciple in his lifetime. A boy only four years of age!"

Lan Sizhui's ears perked up despite the rules against eavesdropping. There wasn't much he could do about it while sitting in a crowded tavern. Gossip traveled on whispers like dust in the howling wind.

Surely it wasn't his fault these patrons' voices were so loud? The rules were never clear about this, but better to be safe than sorry. Sizhui turned his attention towards meditative recitation, the way Ba— Hanguang-jun had taught him. When Hanguang-jun returned from the room he'd entered to confer with the inn's proprietress, he would see Sizhui sitting pin-straight and proper, not a hair out of place.

But try as he might, the ruckus from that table was impossible to ignore.

"You're kidding!" one the sectless cultivators said as they slammed their drink down, amber liquid spilling onto the table. "The fearsome Yiling Laozu tried to teach demonic cultivation to a kid???"

His friend's lips curled in disgust. "Yes, it's true. People in this very town mention it all the time. That he dragged this poor kid everywhere with him! Why else if not to teach him how to terrorize everyone."

The third cultivator leaned in to whisper, "You don't suppose he…abducted the child do you?"

Sizhui's heart started racing. He'd heard many stories about the Yiling Laozu, everyone had, of course. Especially since Jingyi had just finished this last phase where he spoke nothing, reading nothing, saw nothing if it wasn't about the Yiling Laozu.

According to Jingyi's rants, though the Yiling Laozu was indeed fearsome and utilized forbidden techniques, they were never for nefarious gains. Jingyi's theories point to him being a recluse more than anything else, a drunkard alone on the hill.

That never sat well with Sizhui. He couldnt explain why, but the thought of a lonely man dwelling on a mountain of graves with nary a living soul nearby, made something like a pit open up in his stomach.

It was sad, he thought. It was sad.

The door to a room meant for staff opened and a man dressed in pristine white robes with an embroidered forehead ribbon stepped back into the room.

Sizhui instantly stood, bowing perfectly the way he'd been taught. "Hanguang-jun," he greeted, keeping his tone level and biting back the urge to smile like a fool at his caretaker's return.

The table of cultivators' silence rang loud as a hush fell over the room. Hanguang-jun nodded his reply to Sizhui and seemed to glide across the room, while they stared after him like gaping fish.

This time their whispers were an actual attempt at discretion. "He'd know right. He'd know if—if you know who really, you know, stole a child?"

"Shh!!! Don't you know? Next to Sandu Sengshu, the one who hates the Yiling Laozu most is…"

Their words trailed off as Hanguang-jun stopped in his path, though his solemn gaze remained rooted on the empty space in front of him.

Sizhui tried valiantly to keep the shock from his face. Hanguang-jun had long ago mastered the ability to ignore gossiping, letting it slide off his person as easily as dew dripped down from a bamboo leaf. Sizhui had never seen him so affected by words. Did Hanguang-jun really hate the Yiling Laozu that much?

But only a moment later, he stepped away and reached Sizhui's side as if nothing had happened at all.

Hanguang-jun gracefully folded his legs and took his seat across the table. Sizhui hurried to pour tea into a cup, taking care to hold back his sleeve the way he'd been taught.

Choosing to ignore what had just happened, he asked, "How was your meeting, Hanguang-jun?"

He waited patiently as Hanguang-jun blew steam away from his cup, cooling his tea before taking a measured sip. Falling back into old habits, Sizhui couldn't help but admire and take note of his demeanor. If he were really shameless, stars would bleed from his eyes.

Hanguang-jun nodded, pleased with his drink. "Productive. You have poured this tea well, Sizhui."

Sizhui beamed, heat rising to his cheeks at the praise.

"And the curse? Has it been resolved?" he asked instead of squealing like Jingyi when Hanguang-jun told him his writing was legible. But only just.

Hanguang-jun hummed. "Mn. The matter has been resolved. We will head back to the Cloud Recesses tomorrow once we've rested."

Sizhui relaxed back in his seat, allowing a moment of discomposure that hopefully Hanguang-jun would ignore.

Not bad for Sizhui's first proper outing as a junior Lan disciple. He was surprised when Hanguang-jun singled him out for a nighthunt, one on one. Jingyi hadn't stopped whining about it for days.

Sometimes Sizhui thought Hanguang-jun showed him too much special favor. But he smiled into his cup all the same.

The elderly innkeeper steps out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with food. Silver strands of hair slip from her ponytail, shining in the candlelight.

"There! I remembered all your favorites from last time you visited," she winked.

But each of the dishes she placed on the table were redder than the last. Red peppers and red chili oil, even the soup had a shiny spicy sheen on the top.

The innkeeper placed her hands on her hips as she stood up, proud.

Sizhui gaped at Hanguang-jun.

Hanguang-jun's ears flamed red as the dishes he stared down at. A shifty glance—shifty! A shifty Hanguang-jun! Jingyi would never believe this—at the proprietress waiting eagerly for him to try it. When it became clear she wouldn't leave until he took a bite, Hanguang-jun spooned a mouthful of the spicy soup.

Sizhui's jaw dropped to the floor.

In all his years living in Cloud Recesses, he'd never, ever seen Hanguang-jun eat something like this.

Pulling a small cloth from his sleeve, Hanguang-jun coughed daintily into it as he told the proprietress, "Thank you. It is delicious."

"I hope so! Soon as I saw you I knew what I had to serve you," the innkeeper babbled as the two Lans stared mournfully at food too painful to eat. Sizhui took a tentative morsel of a vegetable dish, wiping off as much of the red sauce as he could on the plate.

The innkeeper continued speaking like she hadnt noticed. "If only our Laozu was still with us, he'd have eaten it all! And the little boy that was with you! He ate so well! It's horrible what happened to them, such a terrible shame" She rested a hand against her cheek as she sighed.

For the second time that day, Hanguang-jun stiffened, his spoon held aloft.

'Laozu?' What Laozu?

They were in Yiling so it could only be one…

Sizhui stared wide-eyed at his senior, who at some point in his lifetime sat in this very tavern having a spicy meal with the fiendish Yiling Laozu.

The vegetable fell from his chopstick onto his lap.

A stream of whispers that made no attempt at being discrete erupted from the other table, these cultivators having no care for the Lan tenets.

"See! I told you! The Yiling Laozu stole a young boy to be his disciple!"

"You also said Hanguang-jun hated him! Why would they

have a meal if he hated him!"

"Maybe the Yiling Laozu brainwashed him too. Maybe he helped him kidnap the child? Maybe they're both in on it!"

"Then did Hanguang-jun betray him? He was the one who led the sects to Yiling Laozu's cave."

"He must have killed the boy too then. There's no way someone as righteous as Hanguang-jun would let a demonic child like that live—"

Chopsticks slammed onto the table, rattling the dishes as Hanguang-jun stood from his seat in a single, brusque movement.

His expression was the usual smooth, unreadable jade, so Sizhui almost assumed Hanguang-jun had stood so suddenly for some other reason, until he bowed to the proprietress and said, "My apologies for living so soon. We must return to the Cloud Recesses immediately. Thank you."

Apparently it was possible for Sizhui's jaw to circumnavigate the floor entirely, falling into the earth itself.

Lying. Hanguang-jun was lying!!!

"Come, Sizhui," he said, and without a backwards glance towards the gaping cultivators and with an exaggerated flourish of his sleeves, Hanguang-jun marched out of the tavern.

Sizhui hurriedly reached into his money pouch and placed in ingot on the table, bowing in farewell.

Forgetting to pay as well? If Sizhui didn't know any better, he'd think Hanguang-jun was possessed. Next he'd take his forehead ribbon off and strut around the inn without a care.

Sizhui hastened his steps to follow Hanguang-jun, head turning this way and that for a trace of his senior.

Finally, he spotted him standing before a market stall selling, of all things, children's toys. Wooden swords and hand-stitched dolls wearing colorful fabrics. Hanguang-jun was stroking a finger across a pair of artfully crafted grass butterflies.

Maybe he was possessed by a child after all?

"Would Gongzi like to purchase one? I weaved these two just this morning," the stallowner politely enquired.

Hanguang-jun shook his head in reply and, folding the hand that had touched the butterflies into a fist behind his back, walked off down the street.

Though Sizhui should be in a hurry to catch up to him, his feet stopped at the stall. Looking down at the pair of butterflies entwined in their stand, something in his heart ached.

"I'd like to buy these, please."

He found Hanguang-jun in a side street off the market, standing tall and proud and still as a statue. Unsure of what to say or even if he should, Sizhui took his by Hanguang-jun's side, content to simply be near as the sounds of the market faded into the background.

The grass butterflies were expertly crafted and Sizhui became mesmerized by the way the twined together as he twirled them again and again. He didn't notice Hanguang-jun was watching as well until he spoke.

"Yiling has grown since the last time I was here."

Hanguang-jun's voice held a softness that reminded Sizhui of the first time he took him to see the rabbits, all those years ago. He looked up, still twirling his butterflies, as Hanguang-jun watched with golden eyes a million miles away.

Sizhui bit his lips, wondering if he should say something. but before he can his senior plucked one of the butterflies from his hand. Fingers lined with guqin ridges spun the butterfly again and again.

"There was a similar stall back then that sold butterflies as well."

He pressed the grass butterfly against the one held in Sizhui's hands, almost like a kiss.

Sizhui's heart raced, suddenly desperate for an answer, "Did you really meet the Yiling Laozu back then? At that inn?"

A moment passed, and Sizhui thought Hanguang-jun wouldn't say anything.

Then, of all the things, Hanguang-jun smiled.

Faint, only the smallest lift at the corners, but a smile nonetheless.

He was smiling, so why did it look like he was about to cry?

"We did, yes," he replied.

"We?"

Hanguang-jun set him a mournful look.

Oh, right. The boy.

Before he could think better, Sizhui blurted, "So it's true then? The Yiling Laozu had a disciple? A little boy?"

Hanguang-jun gaze drifts off to the side. "Not quite. He was Wei Ying's, but not a disciple."

The Yiling Laozu's real name was Wei Wuxian, but he'd never heard anyone call him that. Not even Jingyi ever mentioned it.

Curiosity lit a spark in Sizhui's belly. Just what sort of relationship did Hanguang-jun have with the Yiling Laozu for him to call him so casually? For him to smile when he talked about him? For him to seem so sad?

But bravery is fickle, and Sizhui was abruptly afraid of the answer. In fact, a part of him almost wished he never asked anything.

The other part of him yearned to learn more about his most respected senior and the dead man he clung to.

How many times did Sizhui wake to the sound of guqin strings playing Inquiry? How many times did he hear the loud silence of their answer?

"The—the Yiling Laozu had a son?"

Hanguang-jun's gaze held a teasing sparkle when it settled on Sizhui. "He birthed him from his own body."

Sizhui pursed his lips with confusion. That did not make any sense, but Hanguang-jun began weaving a tale before he had a chance to think more of it.

"There was a little radish that followed him everywhere," he said, quiet and fond. "He spoke very fondly of the boy, but he would never allow any harm to him. Wei Ying cared for him."

"So that stuff about him making this kid his disciple���"

"Mn. Utterly false." A noise like a scoff escapes through Hanguang-jun nose, like even the very idea is ludicrous.

"Oh." For whatever reason, Sizhui's shoulders slumped in dejection. He supposed it would have been interesting, to meet someone trained and cared for by the Yiling Laozu himself. He wondered what kind of person they grew up to be.

He swallowed and glanced at Hanguang-jun through the corner of his eye. "Do you think he's still alive...that boy? That he's okay?"

Hanguang-jun shifted to face Sizhui head on. "Yes," he said, with a surety and conviction that dazzled. "I believe he is. He is doing well and thriving."

He took the butterflies back in hand. This time when he smiled down at them, it touched his eyes.

"Wei Ying would be proud," he told the butterflies. He turned that smile towards Sizhui and it was almost like looking at the sun.

He didn't quite understand why it felt like that warmth filled his insides too, why he felt it flowing through his veins. Why Hanguang-jun's words made him so happy.

He beamed back all the same.

As they mounted their swords to return home, Sizhui turned back for one final look at Yiling and the Burial Mounds behind it.

The sun was setting over the mountain, blues and pinks and purples splashed against a midnight sky, casting long shadows like it was waving back.

(twitter) (bluesky)

[museywrites]

Lanuary 2024

[gentil-minou]

Lanuary 2024 - Day 12, Sizhui's Birthday

The gentians in his mother's garden grow late into the season, as if her spirit still tends to them. A-Yuan's laughter flutters on wings toward where Lan Wangji sits on the wooden deck and watches.

"He's doing well, Wangji," Xichen says.

Lan Wangji nods, the corners of his eyes softening despite himself.

He is. A-Yuan has come a long way in the long months that have passed since…since…

His fingers clench tight and he hides them in his sleeves.

"Soon he'll be of age to join the little ones' class. He'll be a bit behind in core formation, but with diligent study and practice I am certain he will catch up in no time."

Xichen smiles, as if he has no memory of why A-Yuan is so behind his peers. Why he will be starting late.

Lan Wangji's back itches. The bandages stick uncomfortably to his skin. He'd split the stitches open again the other night. He hadn't even done anything this time. His scars just tear open and blood spills from them afresh, uninterested in healing and moving on.

Lan Wangji cannot blame them.

Xichen continues speaking, unaware as always. Lan Wangji knows his brother has other responsibilities and his concerns about the Nie sect leader's growing sickness have recently taken precedence. But sometimes he wonders what sort of world Brother resides in. It cannot be the same world Lan Wangji inhabits.

"He will need a courtesy name soon," he says as his gaze drifts to the ribbon A-Yuan is still getting used to.

He'd marveled over the cloud pattern when Lan Wangji first presented it to him, delighted in being able to match his gege.

Again, his thoughts stray to another caregiver with a different colored ribbon. He wonders, not for the first time, what A-Yuan would have said if Wei Ying gifted him a red ribbon.

A-Yuan has not mentioned his Xian-gege once since he'd arrived. The masters say his memory has been altered forever. How mournful a life never knowing Wei Ying would be. Or would it be a mercy? Lan Wangji still does not know.

His brother gently tugs him away from his thoughts. "Have you thought of a courtesy name yet? If he is to be your heir then—"

"He is already my heir."

Rule number 24. Do not interrupt. Let them add another scar to his back, if they so choose.

Xichen sighs. "Yes. As a Lan heir, normally his name would be chosen by the elders, but I suspect you would disagree."

"Mn." He will, when the time comes.

The boy already has a name, though Lan Wangji will not share it with Xichen or Uncle or anyone.

The only one who's heard it are ghosts lingering at night by his bedside, when Lan Wangji is weak and whispering that name alongside another.

No one else will know the name until it's time. And they will have no say in it. Bitterness swells rotten and tired on his tongue, poison in his teeth. After all, why should they?

The person who should have given A-Yuan his name is no longer here. Why would anyone else ever deserve that privilege?

Eventually, Xichen stops his patient waiting, shaking his head and pretending Lan Wangji can't see. They spend a few more moments watch A-Yuan chase after a bunny, giggling as he trips over his ribbon. The garden is awash in color as red and golden leaves fall to join their brethren in the small pond. Curious carp swim to the surface for a nibble, dashing away once satisfied.

"What about a birthday?" Xichen asks. "You have not yet given one. Will you choose the day you brought him back?"

The day Lan Wangji found A-Yuan and brought him back? The day he learned of Wei Ying's death? The day he spent hours and hours scouring a barren wasteland for a ghost, for a body? The day he found only bones and misery, and one small sickly boy breath so sallow he'd been afraid to take a step lest he hurt him?

No. Nothing on that dark, horrible day. If he could, Lan Wangji would wipe that date off the calendar forever.

But his brother is right. A-Yuan deserves a day to celebrate.

"Mn. I will think of one," he tells Xichen, then says nothing as he waits for his brother to leave. Sometimes Xichen refuses to budge. Other times, he leaves Lan Wangji in peace, and Lan Wangji can let himself feel the fury that spikes in his veins at the sight of him.

This time, Xichen leaves quickly, blessedly. But simmering fury does not flow through his veins. How can it, when A-Yuan's laughter is music that lifts his spirits and fills this quiet space with life it hasn't had in decades.

A breeze scatters leaves into a whirlwind, spinning around A-Yuan as he yelps and holds his prized ribbon to his head. A red leaf gets caught in his hair, nestling unnoticed near his small ponytail.

This time of year…soon it will be Wei Ying's birthday. It would be fitting for A-Yuan to share that date with his Xian-gege.

It could also become a curse.

Lan Wangji swallows down the rising shame at his cowardice. How can he claim that day for A-Yuan when he cannot even speak Wei Ying's name to him? How can he pretend he has any right to that day, to anything belonging to Wei Ying.

No. That day will stay Wei Ying's. It will remain as Lan Wangji's day to repent.

But then, what else? Lan Wangji had so little time with A-Yuan and the Wens, he wouldn't know where to start. Should he seek out a fortune teller for an auspicious date. Another person assigning them their fate?

The idea sours low in his stomach and he casts it away. Whatever else, he wants A-Yuan to live a life freer than his predecessors. He wants him to have more than they ever had.

But he still needs a birthday.

A memory whispers along a winter's wind, carrying a chill from long ago.

"Zhanzhan, come, come. Let's eat cake."

In his memories, his mother's voice sounds like wind chimes and glass. Beautiful, yet breakable. So fragile, and so precious, something to handle with care and polish as needed.

"Mama. We have not yet eaten dinner," he'd said, already following rules that sought to bind.

"Mhm, but that's okay, little one. We can keep it a secret. Come, come. I want to celebrate your birthday early this year."

"But why? Won't I see you next month to celebrate?"

In his memories, his mother's smile is sweet and sad, but stubbornly sticks to her face.

He cannot remember what the cake tasted like, time becoming a chasm he cannot cross. But he remembers his mother's joy as she ate, how she dabbed frosting on his nose, how she laughed at the face he made, how she kissed it off with tenderness.

He remembers how a month later, long after her body had turned to ash, he refused to eat the cake set out for his birthday for years to come.

Eventually, he grew to love the taste anew, finding his mother in every sweet. Sugary syrups and fluffy dough, the same as her laughing cheeks. Honey eyes and candied laughter. Powdery warmth that cradled his back when she'd press him to her heart.

Now, he's grateful they were able to share one last cake between them, the memory better than any treat.

"Gege, look at this pretty flower!" A-Yuan's voice wraps warm around his thoughts, a hug that gently lifts him from his memory.

Lan Wangji blinks down at the purple-blue gentian sitting in his lap as A-Yuan's strokes gentle fingers over soft petals.

"There's so many. Can we keep them? I want to put them in my bed."

Lan Wangji's hand drifts to the stem, hesitant to touch the petals lest he break them.

"No, little one. We cannot."

A-Yuan pouts and whines, "But whyyyy? I want to make them my friends…" His bottom lip sticks out and trembles dangerously. He doesn't often throw tantrums, too well-behaved to try. But Lan Wangji has held him through silent tears after nightmares. It is not any better.

He swallows, wishing again for Wei Ying's guidance. The boy would never shed a tear if he were here. His eyes drift towards the flower bed where the buds drift in the wind.

"The flowers," he start haltingly, "need to rest in their bed. The way A-Yuan must rest in his."

A-Yuan tilts his head, "Really?"

Lan Wangji nods, anxiously on the lookout for any tears gathering in the corner's of big brown eyes.

A-Yuan's faces scrunches up as he thinks. "They have to stay in the soil… so they can grow big and strong? And make lots of friends?"

Lan Wangji nods in a hurry, not sure what else to say. Where did A-Yuan learn this?

But the rain does not pass, and churns into a storm.

"Then—then," A-Yuan quietly sniffles as he stares at the flower in his hand. "Then, then then when I— when I picked—picked the flower, did I—did I take it away from, from, from…its family?"

His tears slip like morning dew, with not a sound like there's no one there to notice. Lan Wangji helplessly cradles A-Yuan's face and tries to wipe them away before the can fall.

"I, I, I," A-Yuan whispers, "I did a bad."

"No, no little one." Lan Wangji repeats desperately. "You did not." He casts his glance around as he tries to think of something to salvage this.

There. An empty tea cup. He rises swiftly and fills with with water from the pond. Then, he holds A-Yuan's hand and guides him back to the flower bed.

He thinks of what Wei Ying would say. The story he'd tell.

"Your flower went on a little trip," he says. He digs a small hole in the ground and with gentle, slow movements shows A-Yuan how to plant the stem back in the ground.

"It went on a trip to see its friend, and now it's back home." He gestures for A-Yuan to pour water over the soil. "And now, it's been fed and it will be with its family."

A-Yuan sniffles and stares at the patch of disturbed ground. "It's having dinner with its family now?"

"Mn."

"Is it loud? Are they laughing? Are they eating soup?"

"…Mn." Water is technically soup.

"…I don't like soup…"

"…Plants enjoy soup. Water soup."

A-Yuan accepts his answer with a nod before smashing his face in Lan Wangji's robes. Lan Wangji gently brushes back his hair and straightens his ribbon, letting A-Yuan have a moment as long as he needs.

Eventually, A-Yuan lifts his head and pulls back, wearing a sheepish look. Lan Wangji crouches down to eye level and waits.

"Sorry gege, A-Yuan will get you another present…sorry…."

Lan Wangji shakes his head as he wipes away the remaining tear tracks. "No need."

"Gege doesn't like presents?"

"No, I like presents," he says, thinking of rabbits and fruit and pink flowers. "But I do not need one."

"Not right now?"

"Mn. Not right now." He tickles A-Yuan and his giggles sing across the garden.

Sugary syrup and fluffy dough cheeks, honey eyes and candied laughter. Powdery warmth that settles in his heart as he cradles the boy to his chest.

Gentians that bloom late into the season, petal soft and vibrant against red and yellow trees. Alive well after they should be, as if cared for by spirits unseen.

Gifts that have no end, that do not fade with time. That stay soft and sweet in his memories.

"A-Yuan, would you like a birthday?"

A-Yuan hiccups around a giggle. "What's a birthday?"

Lan Wangji's lips twitch, just a tiny bit.

"A day where we will celebrate A-Yuan."

"Hmm," A-Yuan ponders as he taps his nose in an achingly familiar gesture. "Does gege have a birthday?"

Lan Wangji blinks mist from his eyes and nods.

"Then A-Yuan wants a birthday too!" His cheers echo against the walls until stopping instantly. "How does A-Yuan get a birthday?"

Lan Wangji lifts A-Yuan into his arms, holding him close. He steps along the garden path winding through his mother's flowers and over the bridge that looks out into the small pond.

For a long time, after his mother's death, nothing seemed to grow in this garden. For a long time, Lan Wangji took satisfaction in it. Nothing should grow here where death festers.

But despite his past wishes, death begets life, and one year the gentians bloomed as if they had every year, and the next year again and the next year again. Year after year, stubbornly clinging to life.

His mother, he thinks, was probably the same.

The day she died, he vowed he'd never celebrate another birthday. They'd remain quiet days for reflection. After all, he never learned his mother's birthday. The elders never saw it fit and mother had never mentioned it.

But Lan Wangji has grown tired of choices being made for him. Perhaps he should make more choices of his own.

Although he won't ever learn his mother's birthday, he can celebrate her life over the memory of her death. He can give new meaning to the day, give new meaning to all the days.

"Your birthday," he tells A-Yuan, who resettles after attempted to grab the carp from so high up. " will be several days before mine, on a very important day."

"Yay!" A-Yuan cheers. "How will we celebrate? Do we celebrate together? Will we get presents?"

"Mn. A-Yuan will have many presents." He will make sure of that.

"What about gege?"

"No need."

He doesn't need them, he thinks. The gifts he'd wish for are impossible to receive.

But there are gifts he has, right in his arms. Gift that life in memories, close to his heart, polished to a shine.

(threadfic here)

(A/N My headcanon is that Sizhui's birthday is the day Mama Lan passed, but because he can't properly mourn her, this way he can celebrate her life alongside this boy who was his gift from another loved lost one.)

[gentil-minou]

Lanuary Day 16 - Dadji (featuring new foster kid Mo Xuanyu)

(warning, this was meant to be a quick thought but spiraled so is rougher than normal sdjfhs)

Xuanyu keeps getting into fights in school, coming home all bruised up and angry, running straight to his room.

He's only been with them for a couple weeks, but it's not going well. He ran out of the last social worker's appointment, who only shook his head at Xuanyu's new foster parents.

"He always does that. Just barges out. This will be his fifth placement. Sorry, just…just try your best till we figure out what to do with him."

Lan Wangji resists the urge to bare his teeth at the social worker.

A social worker who treats their charge like a sack of flour meant passed from one person to the next. But of course it's wwx, who's has experienced something far too similar when he was a kid, who snaps at the social worker.

They resolve to keep Xuanyu as long as they can, and to ignore every one of the social worker's words.

But Xuanyu doesn't make it easy. He fights, he yells. When A-Yuan, they're adoptive 5-yo son, tries to play, Xuanyu rebuffs him. He's only 12 years old, but his words spit like fire and he seems to want to burn everything they touch.

At first, wwx steps up to the plate, determined. He'd gone through all this himself, of course he'd be most suitable for it. It was his idea to foster after all, so he's sure he can try.

But everything he does, every offer to go outside and kick rocks, every attempt to watch a movie, even just sitting outside the kid's door trying to show him he's there, nothing seems to work.

And wwx starts to wonder if the reason he passed from foster to foster was because of his own shitty behavior. If maybe he's not cut out for this. If broken things can only break, never fix.

It takes a toll on his health, and though he never gives up, lwj can see the bags beneath his eyes grow as his nightmares return.

lwj, admittedly, was the most apprehensive of this in the first place. he's not exactly the healthiest one of the bunch, so how could he possibly help.

And Xuanyu won't speak. He won't join them for meals or tell them anything about him. How can lwj help if he doesn't know what to do?

Then he comes home from work one day to find Xuanyu playing hooky alone at home, going through wwx's makeup.

He's got like a deer in headlights, terrified. His mouth open and shuts though all that escapes are shuddered breaths. A tattered photograph is clenched in his hands.

"I—I—…" Xuanyu stammers, but he bolts from the room before lwj can so much as blink.

lwj hears the front door slam and rattle its hinges.

Makeup lies strewn across the vanity. Bottles spilled and knocked over in Xuanyu's haste to escape. Liquid eyeliner trickles down the side, staining the carpet. Next to the stain is the crumpled photograph Xuanyu held in his hand.

lwj's intelligence has always rated above average, but it doesn't take a genius to recognize the resemblance between Xuanyu and the woman in the photo. His mother.

The social worker spoke of Xuanyu's mother with condescension, painting her as a woman perpetually under the influence raising a boy in the backseat of a used sedan as she made money in the worst way possible. That she'd died abandoning her son selfishly for the sake of one more high. His face sneered derisively as he'd spat those words out.

But the woman in the photograph lwj holds, though sickly and a little wane, is smiling with a baby in her arms. She's looking at the camera, dressed in rags while her chilld's clothes are brand new.

Her hands cradle the baby to her chest, and a light in her eyes reminds lwj of another mother, gone far too young, leaving behind a child even younger.

And he thinks, for a moment he thinks he might understand. Xuanyu a little more than he'd thought.

He waits for wwx to return with a-yuan from the daycare in case xuanyu comes back first before he heads out, not one, but two old photos tucked safely in his breastpocket.

It's an hour of slow driving through the neighborhood when he finds Xuanyu. Hidden in alleyway behind a convenience store nibbling a a honey bun, he rocks back and forth. He shivers in the cold, wearing one of the old shirts he'd brought with him from his previous placement instead of the new clothes they'd bought him. All of Xuanyu's clothes are old, older and barely fit.

lwj wonders what it's like to go from one home to the next, looked at with pity. Hearing someone slander a woman they never met, who you knew and loved and lost. How tainted gifts from them must be, spoiled by poisonous whispers.

He thinks, once again, maybe he might understand.

Xuanyu doesn't run away this time when lwj drapes a jacket over his shoulders and sits next to him, offering him a carton of milk freshly purchased. He does choke on a a bite of his honey bun and narrows his eyes at the milk like it's poison.

lwj opens the carton and waits.

xuanyu coughs again before he finally accepts. it's a while longer before he speaks. "I didn't steal it," he says, holding up his empty honey bun wrapper. "A lady gave me money when she walked by."

"Mn," lwj replies, mentally adding honey buns to the weekly shopping list.

Xuanyu draws his legs towards his chest and rests his forehead against his knees. He's not looking at anything when he says, "…Are you gonna kick me out?"

"No, we will not kick you out," lwj replies simply.

Xuanyu shrugs, but when he shoulders fall they seem a bit lighter.

"The last one did when they caught me. Said they wanted a boy not a pansy."

"They were out of line," lwj states, "wei ying enjoys wearing make up. he would be happy to teach. I am less proficient but a willing demonstrative subject."

A muffled laugh escapes from the huddled bundle next to him, followed by an intake of breath, like lwj wasn't supposed to hear that. xuanyu's shoulders stiffen again, the telltale sign of someone running away lwj knows well from all the times wwx would bolt if confronted by something he was not yet ready to face.

before xuanyu can move, lwj retrieved the photos from his pocket.

he makes sure to hand over the photo of his own mother carrying a small lwj.

xuanyu is silent as he looks at it. unlike xuanyu's resemblance to his mother, lwj hardly inherited any of his mother's features. he wonders if he can tell that the woman wearing a hospital gown in a yard surrounded by concrete walls that block the sky is lwj's mother.

"I was not permitted to see her very often," he says before xuanyu can ask. "I was told she was 'unfit for caregiving.' So I saw her once a month."

"Oh."

lwj hands him back the photo of xuanyu's mother. he'd tried to straighten it earlier, but some of the crinkles run deep. if permitted, he will make another copy on something stronger than printer paper.

"Yeah well. That guy told you what happened to my mom so…that's that."

"He told me, yes. But I would much rather prefer to hear what you have to say."

Xuanyu turns wide eyes at him. In the dim alley light coming from the street, they appear almost grey. They shake as they dart between lwj's, as if looking for a catch.

"You….really? You would?"

"Mn."

Xuanyu hands lwj back his photo, keeping his own in his. As he speaks, tears fall to rest on his mother's face. Refraction along the droplet makes her face shine.

"She liked doing make up with me, when her hands weren't shakey. She said I was prettier than her. That one day I'd grow up and be the prettiest person in the world." He takes in a deep, stuttering breath.

"But I always told her she was the prettiest. That in the future we'd walk down the street together and everyone would call us twins. But she never said anything, she just smiled.

"I think…I think she knew when it was going to happen. I think she tried. I dont, I don't believe what they said. I dont think she'd just leave me like that if she could. I don't—they keep telling me I'm supposed to hate her but I don't—I don't. I don't and I can't and I won't"

His heaves turn to sobs, and he drops his forehead back onto his knees. lwj wraps an arm around his shoulders, a warm and comforting hold.

"No one can tell you how to feel," lwj says, and he thinks for a second of a little boy kneeling at his door waiting to see a mother who would never again see him. "You simply do."

And xuanyu turns his head onto lwj's shoulder, and he cries and he cries until the sun sets and a pale white moon takes to the sky.

little by little, he begins to open up. wwx does his make up, and they go for a movie. a-yuan shows xuanyu his dolls and together they play. they find xuanyu a professional to talk to, and each day he smiles more and more. they pull him out of the school into another one, where bullying lgbtq is taken more seriously.

lwj buys him a brand new skirt for his first day and he shines.

one year later, with a small gathering of their little family, they sign the adoption papers and make it official

and in the hallway next to xuanyu's room, sits a brand new photo of him and his mother printed on glossy printer paper, right between the photos of lwj and wwx with their parents and a brand new photo of the four of them, beaming bright at the camera.

(threadfic here)

a/n - i do want to make a note because i work with social workers and foster kids with complex trauma history and their families, and i can say with experience that while the system is not perfect, many of the people involved are someone of the kindest most loving people in the world. while i'm sure social workers like the one portrayed here exist, but i can say that the ones i've had the pleasure to work with really are trying to give those who need it the best life they can. so yeah.

[gentil-minou]

Lanuary2024 D4 - Time Travel

A gege with kind eyes and a worried frown stood at the mouth of the alley. He seemed lost, looking around all fast. The way A-Ying looks when he's trying to run from dogs.

A-Ying likes to help, so he'll help the pretty kind-gege

"Gege! Are you lost?"

Kind-gege jolts with surprise like a bunny when A-Ying gets too close trying to hug them. His brown eyes are the color of syrup, and the open wide when the Kind-gege looks down at him.

"Hello?" he asks.

"Hi!" A-Ying chirps. "If you're lost, A-Ying can help you! A-Ying knows all the hiding places and shortcuts in town!"

Kind-gege's mouth opens wide. "A-Ying? You mean you're Wei-qianbe— you're name is Wei Ying?"

A-Ying tilts his head. "You know me?"

The gege nods but he looks sort of scared, which is silly since A-Ying just washed up in the river three days ago. He's not /that/ scary looking anymore.

Wait, but if this gege knows A-Ying's name…

He gasps. "Do you know A-Ying's Mama and Baba, then??? A-Ying's been waiting nice and patient like they said. Did you see them, did you see?"

For a second, Kind-gege gets all. A-Ying starts to worry he said something bad…but before he can apologize Kind-gege crouches down and gives him a look that makes A-Ying feel warm.

He shakes his head. "Not your parents, no…"

A-Ying frowns before he can stop it, but he quickly sets it back into the smile the nice stall owners like.

"But I know someone else," Kind-gege continues, "someone who told me all about you, A-Ying."

Kind-gege's voice reminds A-Ying of a pillow. Soft and comfy, the kind that makes him fall asleep fast.

"Wow~~~ Who! Gege, tell me tell me!"

Kind-gege gently shakes his head, and his mouth curls into a sneaky smile. "I can't. Gege has to keep it secret."

A-Ying pouts. "But whyyyyyy?" he whines, stamping his feet. He wants to know who knows A-Ying! He loves making friends.

But Kind-gege simply chuckles. His cheeks go puffy and his eyes turn into crescent moons. A-Ying giggles with him, unable to help it.

"Well thennn." He stretches out the word as he thinks. "You can make it up to A-Ying by letting me see your pretty ribbon?"

Kind-gege blinks. "My ribbon"

A-Ying nods. His gaze kept straying to it. Whiter than fresh mantou, silver and blue lines swirling over it like clouds of steam. A-Ying can't help it.

"It's pretty…" he says. He traces the swirling lines in the sand, preparing to smile even when Kind-gege says no.

Kind-gege mutters under his breath, "Well…I suppose technically we are…"

He takes A-Ying’s hand and guides it to his forehead. "Yes," he says. "A-Ying may touch it."

A-Ying squeals before carefully smoothing his finger over the silky ribbon, with swirls so fine he can barely feel the ridges.

"It's so soft. Wow…you must be super cool to wear such a pretty ribbon, gege."

Kind-gege beams at him.

"Say, A-Ying, I'm hungry. Would you like to come with me to get something to eat."

A-Ying's tummy grumbles at the thought. He nods in a hurry as he jumps up and down.

Kind-gege takes his hand and guides him out of the alley. His hands are warm like the rest of him, and he doesn't seem to care about the dirt on A-Ying.

"How do you feel about radish soup, A-Ying?"

The sneaky smile Kind-gege wears reminds A-Ying of his own.

(threadfic here)

[demoniqt]

😭 A-Yuan, poor baby A-Yuan. He's trying to remember...

Lanuary 2024 - Day 12, Sizhui's Birthday

The gentians in his mother's garden grow late into the season, as if her spirit still tends to them. A-Yuan's laughter flutters on wings toward where Lan Wangji sits on the wooden deck and watches.

"He's doing well, Wangji," Xichen says.

Lan Wangji nods, the corners of his eyes softening despite himself.

He is. A-Yuan has come a long way in the long months that have passed since…since…

His fingers clench tight and he hides them in his sleeves.

"Soon he'll be of age to join the little ones' class. He'll be a bit behind in core formation, but with diligent study and practice I am certain he will catch up in no time."

Xichen smiles, as if he has no memory of why A-Yuan is so behind his peers. Why he will be starting late.

Lan Wangji's back itches. The bandages stick uncomfortably to his skin. He'd split the stitches open again the other night. He hadn't even done anything this time. His scars just tear open and blood spills from them afresh, uninterested in healing and moving on.

Lan Wangji cannot blame them.

Xichen continues speaking, unaware as always. Lan Wangji knows his brother has other responsibilities and his concerns about the Nie sect leader's growing sickness have recently taken precedence. But sometimes he wonders what sort of world Brother resides in. It cannot be the same world Lan Wangji inhabits.

"He will need a courtesy name soon," he says as his gaze drifts to the ribbon A-Yuan is still getting used to.

He'd marveled over the cloud pattern when Lan Wangji first presented it to him, delighted in being able to match his gege.

Again, his thoughts stray to another caregiver with a different colored ribbon. He wonders, not for the first time, what A-Yuan would have said if Wei Ying gifted him a red ribbon.

A-Yuan has not mentioned his Xian-gege once since he'd arrived. The masters say his memory has been altered forever. How mournful a life never knowing Wei Ying would be. Or would it be a mercy? Lan Wangji still does not know.

His brother gently tugs him away from his thoughts. "Have you thought of a courtesy name yet? If he is to be your heir then—"

"He is already my heir."

Rule number 24. Do not interrupt. Let them add another scar to his back, if they so choose.

Xichen sighs. "Yes. As a Lan heir, normally his name would be chosen by the elders, but I suspect you would disagree."

"Mn." He will, when the time comes.

The boy already has a name, though Lan Wangji will not share it with Xichen or Uncle or anyone.

The only one who's heard it are ghosts lingering at night by his bedside, when Lan Wangji is weak and whispering that name alongside another.

No one else will know the name until it's time. And they will have no say in it. Bitterness swells rotten and tired on his tongue, poison in his teeth. After all, why should they?

The person who should have given A-Yuan his name is no longer here. Why would anyone else ever deserve that privilege?

Eventually, Xichen stops his patient waiting, shaking his head and pretending Lan Wangji can't see. They spend a few more moments watch A-Yuan chase after a bunny, giggling as he trips over his ribbon. The garden is awash in color as red and golden leaves fall to join their brethren in the small pond. Curious carp swim to the surface for a nibble, dashing away once satisfied.

"What about a birthday?" Xichen asks. "You have not yet given one. Will you choose the day you brought him back?"

The day Lan Wangji found A-Yuan and brought him back? The day he learned of Wei Ying's death? The day he spent hours and hours scouring a barren wasteland for a ghost, for a body? The day he found only bones and misery, and one small sickly boy breath so sallow he'd been afraid to take a step lest he hurt him?

No. Nothing on that dark, horrible day. If he could, Lan Wangji would wipe that date off the calendar forever.

But his brother is right. A-Yuan deserves a day to celebrate.

"Mn. I will think of one," he tells Xichen, then says nothing as he waits for his brother to leave. Sometimes Xichen refuses to budge. Other times, he leaves Lan Wangji in peace, and Lan Wangji can let himself feel the fury that spikes in his veins at the sight of him.

This time, Xichen leaves quickly, blessedly. But simmering fury does not flow through his veins. How can it, when A-Yuan's laughter is music that lifts his spirits and fills this quiet space with life it hasn't had in decades.

A breeze scatters leaves into a whirlwind, spinning around A-Yuan as he yelps and holds his prized ribbon to his head. A red leaf gets caught in his hair, nestling unnoticed near his small ponytail.

This time of year…soon it will be Wei Ying's birthday. It would be fitting for A-Yuan to share that date with his Xian-gege.

It could also become a curse.

Lan Wangji swallows down the rising shame at his cowardice. How can he claim that day for A-Yuan when he cannot even speak Wei Ying's name to him? How can he pretend he has any right to that day, to anything belonging to Wei Ying.

No. That day will stay Wei Ying's. It will remain as Lan Wangji's day to repent.

But then, what else? Lan Wangji had so little time with A-Yuan and the Wens, he wouldn't know where to start. Should he seek out a fortune teller for an auspicious date. Another person assigning them their fate?

The idea sours low in his stomach and he casts it away. Whatever else, he wants A-Yuan to live a life freer than his predecessors. He wants him to have more than they ever had.

But he still needs a birthday.

A memory whispers along a winter's wind, carrying a chill from long ago.

"Zhanzhan, come, come. Let's eat cake."

In his memories, his mother's voice sounds like wind chimes and glass. Beautiful, yet breakable. So fragile, and so precious, something to handle with care and polish as needed.

"Mama. We have not yet eaten dinner," he'd said, already following rules that sought to bind.

"Mhm, but that's okay, little one. We can keep it a secret. Come, come. I want to celebrate your birthday early this year."

"But why? Won't I see you next month to celebrate?"

In his memories, his mother's smile is sweet and sad, but stubbornly sticks to her face.

He cannot remember what the cake tasted like, time becoming a chasm he cannot cross. But he remembers his mother's joy as she ate, how she dabbed frosting on his nose, how she laughed at the face he made, how she kissed it off with tenderness.

He remembers how a month later, long after her body had turned to ash, he refused to eat the cake set out for his birthday for years to come.

Eventually, he grew to love the taste anew, finding his mother in every sweet. Sugary syrups and fluffy dough, the same as her laughing cheeks. Honey eyes and candied laughter. Powdery warmth that cradled his back when she'd press him to her heart.

Now, he's grateful they were able to share one last cake between them, the memory better than any treat.

"Gege, look at this pretty flower!" A-Yuan's voice wraps warm around his thoughts, a hug that gently lifts him from his memory.

Lan Wangji blinks down at the purple-blue gentian sitting in his lap as A-Yuan's strokes gentle fingers over soft petals.

"There's so many. Can we keep them? I want to put them in my bed."

Lan Wangji's hand drifts to the stem, hesitant to touch the petals lest he break them.

"No, little one. We cannot."

A-Yuan pouts and whines, "But whyyyy? I want to make them my friends…" His bottom lip sticks out and trembles dangerously. He doesn't often throw tantrums, too well-behaved to try. But Lan Wangji has held him through silent tears after nightmares. It is not any better.

He swallows, wishing again for Wei Ying's guidance. The boy would never shed a tear if he were here. His eyes drift towards the flower bed where the buds drift in the wind.

"The flowers," he start haltingly, "need to rest in their bed. The way A-Yuan must rest in his."

A-Yuan tilts his head, "Really?"

Lan Wangji nods, anxiously on the lookout for any tears gathering in the corner's of big brown eyes.

A-Yuan's faces scrunches up as he thinks. "They have to stay in the soil… so they can grow big and strong? And make lots of friends?"

Lan Wangji nods in a hurry, not sure what else to say. Where did A-Yuan learn this?

But the rain does not pass, and churns into a storm.

"Then—then," A-Yuan quietly sniffles as he stares at the flower in his hand. "Then, then then when I— when I picked—picked the flower, did I—did I take it away from, from, from…its family?"

His tears slip like morning dew, with not a sound like there's no one there to notice. Lan Wangji helplessly cradles A-Yuan's face and tries to wipe them away before the can fall.

"I, I, I," A-Yuan whispers, "I did a bad."

"No, no little one." Lan Wangji repeats desperately. "You did not." He casts his glance around as he tries to think of something to salvage this.

There. An empty tea cup. He rises swiftly and fills with with water from the pond. Then, he holds A-Yuan's hand and guides him back to the flower bed.

He thinks of what Wei Ying would say. The story he'd tell.

"Your flower went on a little trip," he says. He digs a small hole in the ground and with gentle, slow movements shows A-Yuan how to plant the stem back in the ground.

"It went on a trip to see its friend, and now it's back home." He gestures for A-Yuan to pour water over the soil. "And now, it's been fed and it will be with its family."

A-Yuan sniffles and stares at the patch of disturbed ground. "It's having dinner with its family now?"

"Mn."

"Is it loud? Are they laughing? Are they eating soup?"

"…Mn." Water is technically soup.

"…I don't like soup…"

"…Plants enjoy soup. Water soup."

A-Yuan accepts his answer with a nod before smashing his face in Lan Wangji's robes. Lan Wangji gently brushes back his hair and straightens his ribbon, letting A-Yuan have a moment as long as he needs.

Eventually, A-Yuan lifts his head and pulls back, wearing a sheepish look. Lan Wangji crouches down to eye level and waits.

"Sorry gege, A-Yuan will get you another present…sorry…."

Lan Wangji shakes his head as he wipes away the remaining tear tracks. "No need."

"Gege doesn't like presents?"

"No, I like presents," he says, thinking of rabbits and fruit and pink flowers. "But I do not need one."

"Not right now?"

"Mn. Not right now." He tickles A-Yuan and his giggles sing across the garden.

Sugary syrup and fluffy dough cheeks, honey eyes and candied laughter. Powdery warmth that settles in his heart as he cradles the boy to his chest.

Gentians that bloom late into the season, petal soft and vibrant against red and yellow trees. Alive well after they should be, as if cared for by spirits unseen.

Gifts that have no end, that do not fade with time. That stay soft and sweet in his memories.

"A-Yuan, would you like a birthday?"

A-Yuan hiccups around a giggle. "What's a birthday?"

Lan Wangji's lips twitch, just a tiny bit.

"A day where we will celebrate A-Yuan."

"Hmm," A-Yuan ponders as he taps his nose in an achingly familiar gesture. "Does gege have a birthday?"

Lan Wangji blinks mist from his eyes and nods.

"Then A-Yuan wants a birthday too!" His cheers echo against the walls until stopping instantly. "How does A-Yuan get a birthday?"

Lan Wangji lifts A-Yuan into his arms, holding him close. He steps along the garden path winding through his mother's flowers and over the bridge that looks out into the small pond.

For a long time, after his mother's death, nothing seemed to grow in this garden. For a long time, Lan Wangji took satisfaction in it. Nothing should grow here where death festers.

But despite his past wishes, death begets life, and one year the gentians bloomed as if they had every year, and the next year again and the next year again. Year after year, stubbornly clinging to life.

His mother, he thinks, was probably the same.

The day she died, he vowed he'd never celebrate another birthday. They'd remain quiet days for reflection. After all, he never learned his mother's birthday. The elders never saw it fit and mother had never mentioned it.

But Lan Wangji has grown tired of choices being made for him. Perhaps he should make more choices of his own.

Although he won't ever learn his mother's birthday, he can celebrate her life over the memory of her death. He can give new meaning to the day, give new meaning to all the days.

"Your birthday," he tells A-Yuan, who resettles after attempted to grab the carp from so high up. " will be several days before mine, on a very important day."

"Yay!" A-Yuan cheers. "How will we celebrate? Do we celebrate together? Will we get presents?"

"Mn. A-Yuan will have many presents." He will make sure of that.

"What about gege?"

"No need."

He doesn't need them, he thinks. The gifts he'd wish for are impossible to receive.

But there are gifts he has, right in his arms. Gift that life in memories, close to his heart, polished to a shine.

(threadfic here)

(A/N My headcanon is that Sizhui's birthday is the day Mama Lan passed, but because he can't properly mourn her, this way he can celebrate her life alongside this boy who was his gift from another loved lost one.)