Work Text:
Later, Lan Sizhui wonder why Wei Wuxian had really decided to go with them on this night hunt. It hadn’t sounded particularly interesting or high-risk when Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi had gotten the assignment. The initial request for a Lan Sect investigator hadn’t included any descriptions of deaths or injuries, just a muddled report that “there are too many children.”
Jingyi had said, “pretty sure there’s a tea for that, don’t know what they need us for” — thankfully after Lan Qiren had left the room. But it had still made Sizhui blush and shove at him.
The point was: the night hunt had been assigned to Sizhui and Jingyi alone, but Ouyang Zizhen happened to be visiting the Cloud Recesses, which he did regularly ever since he’d managed to convince his father that he was there to spy on the Lan Sect (the three of them always had fun inventing fake secrets for Zizhen to relay in his letters home).
Less common was a visit from Jin Ling — Sect Leader Jin now — but apparently one of Jin Ling’s advisors had heard from one of Sect Leader Ouyang’s advisors that the Lan Sect had created a mysterious new musical cultivation technique that they were deliberately hiding from the other sects, and Jin Ling had regally declared that he would get to the bottom of this mystery, before sweeping off to the Cloud Recesses to yell at Jingyi, Sizhui, and Zizhen in person.
Apparently “Baling is so boring, A-Ling” was not a good enough reason to fabricate a political crisis.
“Power really has corrupted you,” Jingyi had told Jin Ling with a pitying shake of his head.
So when Sizhui and Jingyi had gotten this night hunt assignment, Ouyang Zizhen had immediately volunteered to join them to escape the storm clouds of Jin Ling’s temper, and then Jin Ling had insisted on coming along to ensure they didn’t accidentally spark another inter-sect incident on the road, and somehow, when the four of them had gathered at the gates of Cloud Recesses at daybreak to start on their journey, Wei Wuxian had bounced up to them and said “mind if I join you boys? I’ve been experimenting with this cool new musical cultivation technique that I’ve been dying to try out,” and Jin Ling had thrown up his hands in despair.
Then Wei Wuxian had winked at Sizhui, who started to wonder if Ouyang Zizhen’s machinations had been quite as subtle as the three of them had believed.
Whatever his real reasons for joining them, Senior Wei was always fun to have on night hunts. He could tell stories for hours, or whistle songs to pass the time, and he always let them ask as many questions as they wanted.
So when the five of them started theorizing about what the strange phrase “too many children” could mean, and Ouyang Zizhen interrupted their speculation to ask: “Senior Wei, what were you like as a kid?” Sizhui knew that Wei Wuxian would be happy to answer.
Wei Wuxian grinned, clearly about to launch into some wild story that sounded completely implausible, but which would inevitably turn out to be true.
(Sizhui had once asked Hanguang-jun about one of Wei Wuxian’s stories. Hanguang-jun had told him gravely that if Wei Wuxian had said it, it must be correct. Sizhui had stared at his father incredulously. At that very moment, across the room, Wei Wuxian was insisting to a hunted-looking Lan Jingyi that “chili oil had healing properties” while he threatened him with a dangerously red-looking dumpling.
Hanguang-jun had turned to contemplate Wei Wuxian, turned back to Sizhui, and blinked slowly at him with no further comment.
So Sizhui had asked Lan Xichen, who’d laughed and confirmed that yes, Wei Wuxian had once fallen into the Cold Pond Cave. Sizhui had never had the courage to doubt one of Wei Wuxian’s stories again.)
“He was annoying,” Jin Ling said with a huff, recalling Sizhui to the conversation at hand. “That’s what my Jiujiu says”
“I was pretty annoying,” Wei Wuxian replied fairly. “I caused a lot of trouble for my family. I was certainly never as well-behaved as one of you perfect Lan disciples.” Wei Wuxian tapped Sizhui on the nose playfully as he said it.
Sizhui felt himself go pink — as he always did whenever Senior Wei teased him like this. He never seemed to get used to it.
He’d always envied Jingyi and Zizhen whenever they started complaining about their parents or their many sisters. They each used the same tone: a sort of long-suffering, huffy whine, like nobody on the planet could possibly understand just what sort of familial nonsense they were forced to put up with.
And Sizhui didn’t understand. He’d never had to put up with anything.
Not because he was spoiled (even if Hanguang-jun had allowed it, Lan Qiren never would have), but because there had never been anybody in his life who ever tried to impose on him like that; tried to get into his space just for the pure pleasure of seeing him knocked off course.
Hanguang-jun had loved him, and he was far more physically affectionate with Sizhui than anyone outside their family would ever expect. But he would certainly never bother Sizhui on purpose. Not like Senior Wei, who seemed to make it his mission to pop Sizhui’s personal bubble as often as he could, the more obnoxiously the better.
Suddenly, a rustling in the underbrush interrupted Sizhui’s thoughts.
“Sizhui, look out!” Jingyi cried.
The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion.
Sizhui lifted his head, but before he could see what had caught Jingyi’s attention, a heavy force barreled into him. The world went sideways, and then he was hitting the ground at a painful angle.
Dazed, Sizhui took stock of himself. All his limbs seemed to be intact, and nothing hurt too much — except his pride. What had just happened?
“Sizhui, are you—”
““Da-jiu!” Sizhui heard Jin Ling cry, and he bolted upright — too quickly for his still-woozy head. Jin Ling wouldn’t have called Wei Wuxian “da-jiu” unless it was serious. Gritting his teeth, Sizhui shoved through the pain pulsing at the back of his head to look around.
Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen were grimly fending off some creature with their swords, but it swooped away through the forest trees before Sizhui could get a good look at it. Jin Ling was stumbling towards them with wide eyes.
But where was Wei Wuxian?
Senior Wei had been right next to him when they were attacked; Sizhui should have been able to see him instantly. Instead, in the place where Senior Wei would have been, there was only a crumpled pile of familiar black and scarlet robes, and sitting in the middle was…a toddler?
Was Sizhui concussed?
Sizhui shook his head and looked again. The child did not magically transform back into Senior Wei. Instead, he blinked silently up at Sizhui with large, solemn grey eyes.
“Senior…Wei?” Sizhui tried. The child stuck his thumb in his mouth but did not otherwise reply.
“Da-jiu!” Jin Ling shouted, suddenly much closer than he’d been a moment before. The child startled and spun around, flinching into a curved little ball and covering his face with his arms. Jin Ling stumbled to a halt, wide-eyed.
“I didn’t…”
Thankfully, at that moment, Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen arrived, sheathing their swords and looking curiously at the child that had suddenly appeared in their midst.
“Hello!” Ouyang Zizhen said cheerfully as he dropped into a crouch in front of the child, like babies popping into existence on night hunts was a daily occurrence for him. “Don’t mind A-Ling, he doesn’t know how to use his inside voice.”
“We’re literally outside right now,” Jin Ling whined, but quietly.
“I’m Ouyang Zizhen, what’s your name?” Ouyang Zizhen kept his posture friendly and nonthreatening. Slowly, the child peeked one eye out from beneath his arms.
“A-Ying,” he whispered.
“Oh shit,” said Jingyi.
“Language,” Jin Ling interjected primly. “There is a child in our midst.”
Jingyi opened his mouth, probably with a scathing retort like “there was already a child, A-Ling” that would make Jin Ling try to punch him. Sizhui jumped in before the situation could devolve any further.
“How old are you, A-Ying?” he asked gently.
Sizhui didn’t have a lot of experience with children — and his own childhood did not give him a particularly good sense of how they normally behaved — but Wei Wuxian’s reactions felt odd, even putting aside the oddness of this whole situation.
Wei Wuxian — or A-Ying, since it was impossible to think of this reticent child, who froze like a rabbit at the slightest noise, as their Senior Wei — shrugged.
“I was six,” he mumbled. “I remember.”
Sizhui had no idea what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. From the looks of dawning horror on the other boys’ faces, he could tell they felt the same.
“He’s not crying. Or reacting at all, really,” Jingyi said to Sizhui in a low undertone as he gave A-Ying a worried glance. Sizhui nodded back; they were clearly thinking along the exact same lines.
A-Ying certainly seemed to be wary of them, but aside from that first, panicked flinch when he was surprised by Jin Ling, he didn’t seem particularly alarmed or even interested in the fact that he’d been — in his mind — plucked from wherever he’d been and deposited in a forest clearing filled with sword-carrying strangers. Instead, he was regarding the four of them with a kind of dull acceptance. Like he was powerless to change anything that might happen to him, so there was no point in worrying about it.
Sizhui took a moment to peer at A-Ying with a more critical eye, now that the shock of his sudden appearance was starting to wear off. He was very small. Even Sizhui, with his limited experience with children, was pretty sure six-year-olds were supposed to be larger. A-Ying wasn’t wearing any clothes that could give Sizhui clues about his previous life — instead, he’d pulled Senior Wei’s robes around himself protectively — but his hair was unkempt and Sizhui could see various scrapes and bruises running up his arms where Senior Wei’s robes didn’t quite cover them.
Everyone knew the story of Wei Wuxian’s childhood. It had become a central plot point in the lore about the Yiling Patriarch. Everyone knew how his parents had been killed on a night hunt, and how Wei Wuxian had been found by Jiang Fengmian and raised practically as his own son.
The tales always made it sound like such a seamless transition: from his parents to the Jiang Sect. Until this very moment, Sizhui had never thought to question that word: “found.” Doesn’t being found imply that you were once lost?
Where had Senior Wei been lost, and for how long?
Sizhui was starting to realize there were a lot of questions he’d never asked when it came to their ever-cheerful, always-teasing, hyper-competent Senior Wei. But he did have a pretty good idea of where they could go for answers.
Once again, Jingyi seemed to read his mind, because he groaned and smacked his hand against his own face.
“Hanguang-jun! Oh, he is going to kill us!”
***
A-Ying reacted with alarming compliance to being scooped up onto Jingyi’s sword and essentially kidnapped back to the Cloud Recesses. He put his little arms around Jingyi’s neck with an unthinking trust that made Sizhui’s heart ache. If he rode behind Jingyi the whole way home, just to make sure A-Ying stayed safe on the journey back, that was his own business. It wasn’t like he thought Jingyi would drop him or anything, but it wasn’t like he’d thought Senior Wei would ever transform into a six-year-old either, and that had already happened once today.
When they arrived back at the Cloud Recesses, the four of them dithered momentarily about whether to go to the Hanshi or the Jingshi first — was it better to start with Hanguang-jun and get his reaction out of the way, or enlist Zewu-jun’s help in managing him (“or just toss the kid at him and run,” Jin Ling had mumbled).
Ultimately, their decision was made for them when a passing disciple informed them that Hanguang-jun was currently in a meeting with Sect Leader Lan in the Hanshi.
The moment they walked through the door, Hanguang-jun’s eyes shot to the child who was still clinging to Jingyi’s shoulders. His eyes widened and he swayed slightly in his seat.
It was clear to Sizhui that Hanguang-jun knew exactly who this child was. Sizhui had no idea how he knew, but he was certain of it nonetheless.
“A-Ying,” Hanguang-jun called, erasing any doubt. He reached toward Jingyi.
A-Ying flinched back, burrowing deeper into Jingyi’s arms. Something inexpressibly sad flashed over Hanguang-jun’s face, but an instant later, whatever emotion he’d felt had been wiped away. All that remained was gentleness — the same cautious kindness that Hanguang-jun used with their rabbits, and that Sizhui belatedly recognized from his own childhood.
His memories of anything before the Cloud Recesses had always been so hazy that Sizhui often remembered his own childhood as rather idyllic: warm summers filled with rabbits and cozy winters filled with the serene sound of the guqin.
It was easy to forget the pain and loneliness of his first years in Gusu, when he’d arrived feverish and confused, and clung to Hanguang-jun with a desperation that he didn’t understand at the time, only knew that he had to stay close, or else —
He wondered suddenly who Hanguang-jun was remembering in this moment: his husband or his son.
“It’s alright,” Hanguang-jun said, in the low tone that had always lulled Sizhui back to sleep when he woke up with nightmares as a child. “A-Ying, you are safe here.”
A-Ying’s bright eyes peered anxiously at Hanguang-jun from behind Jingyi’s sleeve.
Even six-year-olds shouldn’t be so thin, Sizhui thought. Right?
Admittedly, he didn’t have the best gauge, having always been a small child himself. Is this what he’d looked like, in the Burial Mounds? Like his bones were as thin and brittle as dry noodles? Surely not.
“Gege?” A-Ying said uncertainly, like he was confirming that this was the correct word for who Hanguang-jun was.
“Yes.”
Slowly, Hanguang-jun reached out his arms. Equally slowly, Jingyi transferred A-Ying over to him. The entire room held their breath as A-Ying considered his new guardian, and then collectively exhaled when he settled obligingly on Hanguang-jun’s lap.
In one of the first mannerisms Sizhui had seen from him that felt recognizably like Wei Wuxian, A-Ying immediately began fiddling with the jinbu on Hanguang-jun’s belt, playing with the tassel and examining the jade ornaments curiously.
Over A-Ying’s head, some rapid argument passed between Hanguang-jun and Zewu-jun, in that silent language the two brothers had shared for as long as Sizhui had known them.
It had gotten Jingyi into trouble more times than he could count in their childhood. Just when he thought he’d gotten away with a trick or scheme, Zewu-jun and Hanguang-jun would glance at each other and immediately know everything. Jingyi had insisted for years that the Twin Jades of Lan could read minds. He’d had gone through a period in his early teen years when he couldn’t be in the same room with either of them without going bright red and fleeing at the first available opportunity.
Now, whatever they were discussing caused Hanguang-jun to clench his jaw, clearly deeply unhappy with whatever had been decided.
“Wangji, there’s nobody I would trust more with this task. I know he’d feel the same,” Lan Xichen said aloud, with a significant nod at A-Ying.
Hanguang-jun’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t disagree. Instead, he nodded and with one last complicated glance at A-Ying — who’d been watching the silent duel between the brothers with wide eyes, like he’d understood more of it than a child his age should — Hanguang-jun placed A-Ying gently on the ground and swept from the Hanshi.
“Hold on—” Jin Ling started, but shut up instantly at the mild look that Lan Xichen now turned on the four of them.
“I have sent Hanguang-jun to investigate the source of this curse. Which means that A-Ying will need to be cared for until he returns.”
“Hold on,” Jin Ling repeated, less like he was genuinely trying to interrupt Lan Xichen, and more like a man who’d just seen a large boulder thundering toward him and was realizing he had nowhere to run.
And then something completely unexpected happened.
From the floor of the Hanshi came a tiny but unmistakable giggle.
Everyone startled and stared down at A-Ying, who was looking up at Jin Ling while hiding his laughter behind his hands.
“Gege is red,” A-Ying explained, still muffled.
Jin Ling’s mouth popped open, and Sizhui shared a glance with Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen — all mutually prepared to leap into action if Jin Ling started bullying a traumatized child. But instead, all of Jin Ling’s bones seemed to turn to sand all at once, and he sank down to the floor in front of A-Ying.
“How are you still somehow my most annoying uncle,” he grumbled at A-Ying, but there was no heat in it, and it only served to make A-Ying giggle harder.
“I’m not an uncle, gege, I’m a boy!”
“I trust you four to care for A-Ying in Hanguang-jun’s absence,” Zewu-jun said with a twinkle in his eyes that made Sizhui narrow his own. “And as I just told Hanguang-jun: I know Wei Wuxian would agree.”
“That’s not fair; how can we argue with that,” Ouyang Zizhen mumbled to himself dismally.
“Mm,” Lan Xichen agreed cheerfully. “I don’t suppose you can.”
***
Luckily for the four of them, A-Ying was extremely easy to care for. It should have made Sizhui feel relieved, but instead, it only made him sadder.
As he watched A-Ying stare in disbelief at the simple lunch they’d prepared for him, Sizhui found himself longing for Wei Wuxian’s endless complaints about the seasoning of the meals in the Cloud Recesses. When Jingyi had nudged a jar of chili oil toward A-Ying, A-Ying had regarded it like it held some sort of trap. He’d dragged his bowl deeper into the curve of his arms, clearly prepared to defend it against any attackers.
Jingyi’s face had fallen, and the four boys had proceeded to watch A-Ying eat his lunch in awkward silence, abiding by the rules against talking while eating by default, rather than purposefully.
Wei Wuxian would have known exactly what to say in this situation. Sizhui had never seen him last through an entire Lan meal without saying something. He probably would have had them all helpless with gales of laughter before he’d taken a second bite of rice.
Sizhui didn’t blame A-Ying for not being Wei Wuxian — he was an innocent child, and such a sweet one that Sizhui could see Ouyang Zizhen constantly holding himself back from sweeping A-Ying into a violent hug while pinching his cheeks.
He just…missed Wei Wuxian, that was all. He just wanted everything to go back to normal.
Luckily, after a few hours, Hanguang-jun returned to the Cloud Recesses. He’d successfully tracked down the spirit who’d cursed Wei Wuxian, and had discovered a guqin melody that would turn Wei Wuxian back.
The moment the last note of the song rang out, A-Ying vanished, to be replaced with…
“Senior Wei!” The four boys yelled at once, but only Sizhui darted forward to body-slam Wei Wuxian into a desperate hug.
“What’s all this?” Senior Wei laughed, even as he caught Sizhui securely around the shoulders and soothed him into a gentler hug. “Are you boys alright? I know it must not have been much fun to watch over a kid for so long, but surely I wasn’t that bad, right?”
“You remember?” Jingyi demanded from where he was hovering over Sizhui’s shoulder, scanning Wei Wuxian for injuries while pretending he wasn’t.
“I do,” Wei Wuxian confirmed, something strange flashing over his face before it was gone again, and he continued more cheerfully: “And I don’t remember much from that time in my life, so it’s quite an odd feeling for these memories to be so clear now. I wonder how the curse integrates—”
“You were so small,” Sizhui blurted out, and then hid his embarrassed flush in Senior Wei’s robes. Because of course Senior Wei had been small, he’d been six years old. “How could anyone have — wanted to hurt a child that small? You were so—”
Sizhui felt strange: wobbly and almost detached from the words he was saying, like he was watching himself from a distance, helpless to stop himself from starting to cry into Senior Wei’s shoulder.
Distantly, he registered another presence behind him; a hand resting warm on his back.
“Please inform Zewu-jun that Wei Ying is recovered,” Hanguang-jun’s voice came from the end of a long tunnel, and then there was a vague rustling like several people had just hurried from the room. At some point, Sizhui knew he’d have to face his friends again and explain…whatever the hell was happening to him right now, but in this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.
“Oh A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian sighed as he tucked Sizhui’s face deeper into his shoulder and stroked the back of his head. Sizhui breathed in the scent of him. It should be unfamiliar — they’d gotten close during the months that Senior Wei had spent in the Cloud Recesses, but not this close — but something about it caused his brain to tumble upside-down, and suddenly he was crying in earnest. Great, shuddering sobs that had already started to soak into Senior Wei’s collar.
“I don’t know why—” Sizhui’s chest heaved. “I wasn’t even the one— it was you who was—”
“Children like A-Ying should be protected,” came Hanguang-jun’s quiet murmur at Sizhui’s back. “Children like A-Yuan too. Neither of you were kept as safe as you deserved to be.”
Sizhui slumped backwards against Hanguang-jun’s chest. His father held him up — just like he always had.
“I don’t even remember much from that time,” Sizhui replied tearfully. “And what I do remember is — so happy. Xian-ge, why is this happening to me?”
“Take it from someone who doesn’t remember much of his past,” Wei Wuxian said wryly. Sizhui could hear the smile in his voice, as well as something darker that vibrated just under the surface sound. “It doesn’t just disappear, A-Yuan. And then one day, you’re going about your business on a routine night-hunt, and suddenly you’re dropped back in it, with no explanation. But this time was so different from before. You want to know why?”
Sizhui leaned back so he could see Wei Wuxian’s expression. His smile was so warm and affectionate that it gave Sizhui the courage he needed to ask:
“Why?”
Wei Wuxian’s smile widened. He pulled back from Sizhui just far enough tap Sizhui playfully on the nose — just as he had on the night-hunt, right before everything had gone so wrong.
“Because you were there, silly. You took care of me. You kept me safe.”
Just like we kept you safe, Sizhui heard the words he didn’t say. Just like we always will.