Work Text:
There are three things Lan Yuan knows:
- There are exactly 3789 rules in Cloud Recesses, 113 of which Jingyi has broken, precisely 13 of which Lan Qiren is aware of, and 2 that he must never, ever find out about.
- Everyone knows about the warren of bunnies in the back mountain but no one ever admits that they know; the standard response when someone mentions them is a polite smile and a blank stare (“You must be mistaken.”).
- Hanguang-Jun is infinitely, utterly and heart-breakingly sad.
When he is a child and Hanguang-Jun is newly emerged from seclusion, number three is a difficult concept for Lan Yuan to understand.
He brings Hanguang-Jun things he thinks he will like, things that might make him smile: flowers from the forest, crushed in his tiny little six-year-old fists, the petals slightly bent out of shape; a picture of a bunny he draws on parchment he gets from Zewu-Jun, careful to use his very best brush strokes and the good-but-not-expensive (because ostentatious shows of wealth are not allowed in Cloud Recesses) ink; big, heavy books from the library, the biggest and heaviest he can find, the kind that make his arms ache when he carries them, because they look the most impressive and are therefore the best.
Hanguang-Jun puts the flowers in a little glass jar by a window in the Jingshi. He presses the picture carefully between pages of one of his books and keeps it safe. He stacks the books carefully in a pile next to his desk and reads through them, one-by-one, giving each text his full attention.
But he is still sad.
One time, Lan Yuan attempts to smuggle a bunny in from the forest but it wriggles and jumps out of his arms and Lan Yuan spends the rest of the day trying to catch it again and ends up with leaves in his hair and a smudge of mud on his sleeve, which is utterly mortifying, and so he hides under his blanket in bed that night in shame, hoping that Hanguang-Jun won’t notice.
(In the morning, there is a new set of pristine white robes waiting for him beside his bed and no more leaves in his hair, as if someone watched over him when he slept and pulled each one out carefully, achingly patient, one-by-one.)
After breakfast, when Lan Yuan is sat pulling on his boots on the steps outside, ready for a day of classes, Hanguang-Jun says, “Bunnies are meant to be free.”
Lan Yuan nudges at the step below with the toe of one boot, avoiding looking at Hanguang-Jun when he says, “I just wanted to catch one.” He does not add for you because he worries that will make Hanguang-Jun even more sad because he will be disappointed in him.
There is a rustle of robes, then Hanguang-Jun is kneeling down on one knee to look Lan Yuan in the eye. His expression is especially serious and very sad when he says, “They will come to you when they are ready.”
- - -
It takes almost a full year, but eventually Lan Yuan realises that Hanguang-Jun does not care for material objects at all, something it takes him a while to understand (why would people not want things of their own? Lan Yuan has so little to call his own that everything he does own is precious: his forehead ribbon, given to him by Hanguang-Jun himself; his very best silver hairpiece, only for really important occasions; a polished black stone he found by the cold water spring one day, which, when he turns it just so in the sun, seems to shine ruby-red).
In the winter after Hanguang-Jun comes out of seclusion, snow falls. Hanguang-Jun plays his guqin softly in the Jingshi, following no cultivation melody but simply playing something beautiful, and does not seem annoyed when Lan Yuan hums along.
Lan Yuan loves snow when it first falls, its crisp whiteness and how soft it looks. He loves to kick it with his boots, sending up clouds of shiny-white crystals, and pack it into little bunny-shaped snowballs between his hands. He makes lopsided snowmen with forehead ribbons made from snowdrop petals - a big one for Hanguang-Jun and a little one for him - and gives them sticks for arms (with an extra sturdy-looking branch for Bichen stuck to Hanguang-Jun’s side).
When Lan Yuan inevitably gets cold and his fingertips feel like they’re about to fall off, Hanguang-Jun lets him climb into his lap on the porch and shows him how to pour tea correctly into little porcelain cups with pretty flower designs without robe sleeves getting in the way.
The following year, Lan Yuan sits opposite Hanguang-Jun on the porch, holds his wrists just so and pours tea carefully and with great concentration, not once allowing his sleeves to get in the way or for a drop to overspill. When he looks up at Hanguang-Jun, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest with nerves, he sees Hanguang-Jun smile and he thinks that some things are better than snow.
Lan Yuan gives up on finding things to make Hanguang-Jun happy then, because some important things cannot be held, only felt.
Instead, Lan Yuan does things that he thinks will make Hanguang-Jun happy, like not talking at meal times and making sure not to walk too fast (his friend, Jingyi, struggles with this rule especially, because he is so determined to do things, all the time, immediately). He makes sure to be fair and trustworthy, generous and loyal, he does not speak ill of others or laugh for no reason.
He can tell, even at his young age, that Hanguang-Jun is quietly proud of him in these moments, when the other children are struggling to sit still for meditation or they stumble over their their robes as they walk. They may be better at him at both reading and writing but no one can doubt Lan Yuan's perseverance and tenacity.
Hanguang-Jun is the most proud of him when Lan Yuan learns a new skill, when he performs something exactly as the textbooks dictate, showing his capabilities through quiet confidence — but never arrogance, for arrogance is not allowed at Cloud Recesses.
Hanguang-Jun doesn’t smile in these moments but there is a warmth to him and so Lan Yuan works hard to make him proud. Hanguang-Jun is still not exactly happy, but he is not sad either, and that is enough, for now.
- - -
Aside from Bichen, Hanguang-Jun does not own anything that could be called his and not something of the sect’s. He does not seem bothered by this: he is content with simplicity and a sparse living.
This is why Lan Yuan is startled, one day, to discover the flower.
He is searching the Jingshi for a book on mischievous spirits which he knows he has seen Hanguang-Jun reading recently. Hanguang-Jun often keeps books by his table in the study, neatly stacked so that they do not disturb the orderliness of the Jingshi itself.
The books in the pile always have a theme of some kind. Currently they are all ancient texts on Inquiry, exploring ways of modifying the notes to talk to spirits. One is about summoning mischievous spirits in particular, but it is not the one Lan Sizhui is looking for.
The book on the top of the pile is slightly askew. Lan Yuan is nudging it carefully back into position when his thumb brushes against something soft, softer than parchment. Frowning, he turns the book a little more to see the elegant curl of what looks like… silk?
Lan Yuan glances around nervously to check that Hanguang-Jun has not appeared behind him, silently watching him and judging, and then flips open the front cover of the book, turning over the first few pages until he finds what’s sticking out.
It is a flower.
Hanguang-Jun is using a flower as a bookmark.
Lan Yuan is so startled he just stares at it for a few minutes.
The flower has been preserved exceptionally well, its vibrant colour standing out amidst the white and pale hues of the Jingshi. A pink peony. He runs the tip of his finger over the delicate veins, hardly daring to breathe. What a beautiful flower.
Carefully and with some reluctance, Lan Yuan closes the book again with the flower between its pages and finishes angling the book so that the pile is once more neat and orderly. Then he steps back, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together absently. He can smell the faint aroma of the flower.
A shiver runs down his spine, as if a spirit is watching him. Lan Yuan turns but of course there’s no one in the room with him. He glances back at the book, the faint curl of a petal just peeking out between the pages, and wonders where the flower came from.
He has never seen flowers like that before growing in Cloud Recesses.
- - -
The years pass and Lan Yuan grows up, changing with the seasons.
The roundness of his cheeks starts to disappear, he can no longer rely on a bright childish smile to make Hanguang-Jun thaw when he is being especially stern. For a while it feels as if Lan Yuan skins his knees every time they are at sword practice, uncoordinated and all elbows. He struggles to find his balance on his sword when flying, his sense of gravity all over the place, but he perseveres (and Hanguang-Jun is patient and guiding with a hand, gentle, on his side) and one day Lan Qiren himself nods and says that he is adequate. (Adequate!)
When Lan Yuan is worried one year he will not get any taller like his friends, Hanguang-Jun buries him in a pile of bunnies in the forest, telling him that it will help him to grow.
(Lan Yuan never does learn how to catch one, but if he is very quiet and extremely gentle, they let him pet them between the ears and snuffle their bunny noses into the folds of his robes.)
He takes the name Lan Sizhui, meaning longing, and he wonders if maybe it is longing that he sees so often in Hanguang-Jun’s expression, because he is older now and he has realised that there is more than one way to be sad. The sadness Hanguang-Jun carries is nothing at all like the sadness on Jingyi’s face after he is told that he cannot have another bowl of rice at dinner or that their morning readings have been doubled because they are doing so well. It is not like the sadness on Ouyang Zizhen’s face when he visits and dislocates his shoulder during a training exercise, big fat tears rolling down his face as one of the older disciples snaps it back into place. And it is definitely nothing at all like the sadness Sizhui sees in Jin Ling’s eyes, when someone mentions his parents — though his sadness is often masked by anger and contempt.
When he turns ten, he moves out of the Jingshi and into the dorms with the other disciples, where he discovers the singular joy of having his friends and peers around him at all times, and realises that perhaps he was longing for something himself.
Sizhui attends lectures and classes during the day and spends his evenings in quiet meditation. He catches up to his peers in reading and writing, making up for his lost years. He focuses his attention on his studies, stretching his mind as he begins to learn new cultivation techniques, and life goes on.
- - -
“He’s terrifying,” Jingyi says, one bitterly cold day when Lan Sizhui can feel the frost in the air on the back of his teeth.
The disciples are in training, practising long stretches of meditation to replenish their golden cores, preparing for when they will be able to practice inedia. This requires patience and control and the ability to stay silent for long stretches of time. Sizhui is particularly adept at this. Jingyi… is not.
At the front of the room, Hanguang-Jun sits in perfect statuesque stillness. His face is calm and serene like the surface of the cold water pond at dawn.
Sizhui does not want to talk because talking is prohibited during meditation. However, he also does not want Jingyi to think that he is ignoring him. The problem is, he also does not want to nod to acknowledge he has heard Jingyi, because his friend might then think that he agrees.
Lan Sizhui knows that the other disciples find Hanguang-Jun intimidating - he, too, finds Hanguang-Jun intimidating - but he is not scary. He is strict and firm, yes, but he is also just and moral and good.
If there was any word, Sizhui thinks, to describe Hanguang-Jun, it would be sad — because he is still, despite Sizhui’s best efforts, his hard work and his achievements, longing for something.
Sizhui peeks an eye open to look up at Hanguang-Jun at the front of the room. As he does, Hanguang-Jun makes a slight movement of his head, barely a whisper of wind through the trees, but it feels as if he is looking straight at them, even though his eyes are closed. Jingyi makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and instantly falls silent, his slouching posture racketing suddenly upright.
Sizhui quickly shuts his eye and focuses, very determinedly, on not thinking anything at all.
- - -
“He knew the Yiling Patriarch,” one of the other disciples says, in hushed tones, a few nights later.
They are meant to sleep at 9 o’clock exactly. In practice, this is what the disciples do every night, in that they retire to their beds and all of the lights go out. For the first few moments everyone is careful to even out their breathing, the silence of evening falling heavily over them like a blanket, and then someone - usually Jingyi - will whisper something in the dark and the conversations will start.
Sizhui doesn’t often join in with these conversations, though he stays awake through them, interested in his fellow disciples and their views on things. At night time they are honest with each other and open about their worries and fears, what they have struggled with during the day and how much their muscles ache from their training. It is the only time when the Wall of Discipline does not loom over them, dictating their every thought, word and action.
They have been studying the history of the Sunshot campaign in their history classes, the horrible war which killed so many people, the very war where Hanguang-Jun distinguished himself as one of - if not the - most capable of his generation and Sizhui was left without a family.
“The Yiling Patriarch even studied here, at Cloud Recesses,” another voice says in the quiet and this is met with the appropriate muffled gasps and even a dramatic, “No!”
“I heard Hanguang-Jun hated him on sight,” someone whispers, “he knew instantly that the Yiling Patriarch was a terrible delinquent who was up to no good.”
“I heard they duelled late one night - after nine - when the Yiling Patriarch tried to sneak into Cloud Recesses!” This hushed exclamation is delivered slightly too-loud and is met with sharp shushing noises, followed by a deathly silence as they all wait to see if any of the elders heard and will come in to discipline them all.
As they wait in fraught silence, Sizhui tries to reconcile his knowledge of Hanguang-Jun now with these suggested ideas of him then, and finds that he cannot possibly even begin to imagine Hanguang-Jun as a teenager who hated people and duelled them under the midnight sky. Hanguang-Jun is one of the fairest people that Sizhui knows; he does nothing for his own personal gain and always seeks to stay impartial and do what is right.
Besides, rule #45 is do not fight without permission and rule #841 is do not go out at night and Hanguang-Jun never, ever breaks the sect rules.
(Except for when it comes to the bunnies, but technically they don’t exist, so.)
When no one comes to chastise them for breaking the rules, the tension eases and someone is brave enough to whisper fervently, “The Yiling Patriarch wouldn’t have stood a chance against Hanguang-Jun.” The conversation then turns to what they will do, if they find themselves facing a demonic cultivator without the esteemed Hanguang-Jun to protect them.
Sizhui listens to the ideas of the others and stares up at the ceiling, wondering what Hanguang-Jun really was like, when he was at Cloud Recesses as a teenager like them, and how things really had been between him and the Yiling Patriarch. Try as he might, Sizhui cannot imagine Hanguang-Jun hating someone on sight, even someone as despicable as the Yiling Patriarch, and runs his hand over a strange ache in his chest, a phantom pain without cause.
It must have been hard for a man as noble as Hanguang-Jun to see a fellow cultivator of his own generation turn to such dark means. Perhaps that is why he is so sad? Hanguang-Jun is a celebrated war hero: he survived both the Sunshot Campaign and the Bloodbath at Nightless City, not to mention the Siege on the Burial Mounds. He must have lost so many close friends, perhaps even the person who gave him the pink peony.
It must be difficult, Sizhui thinks, to find happiness after all that.
- - -
“Lan Sizhui.” Zewu-Jun greets him with a soft smile one warm afternoon when the mists are light and the dew sparkles where it is caught on the pink buds on the magnolia tree outside the library pavilion.
Sizhui is thirteen and has recently received the pale blue and white robes that distinguish him as one of the older disciples. He feels very grown up and strives to walk slowly and precisely just like the teen disciples do, giving the impression he is responsible and ready to become a cultivator.
In comparison to his brother, Zewu-Jun really does seem genuinely happy. Like Hanguang-Jun, he is a pinnacle of Lan virtue and purity: he is perfectly calm and collected, does not run through Cloud Recesses or laugh without reason, but there is just something warm about him, something softer around the edges and less intimidating.
He seems especially happy when he is with his close friend Lianfang-Zun, consulting on great matters. Sizhui thinks that one day, he should like to have a sworn brother as reliable and steadfast as Lianfang-Zun.
Sizhui brings his arms around and bows in perfect form. When he straightens, Zewu-Jun inclines his head.
“How are your studies progressing?”
Zewu-Jun always shows genuine interest in Sizhui’s progress as a disciple, making time to ask how he is doing whenever he returns to Cloud Recesses from important business with the other clans or night hunts in various regions. Sometimes he even takes tea with his brother and Sizhui, and these are some of the most precious memories from Sizhui’s childhood.
Sizhui brings his arms behind his back and tells Zewu-Jun about what he has learned about cultivation, striving to be as succinct and factual as possible, not a single word wasted, a trait much valued by Lan Quiren.
Zewu-Jun listens politely and then, when Sizhui has finished, asks, “And are you enjoying them?”
Sizhui pauses and finds himself at a loss for words — a terrible position to find oneself in around Zewu-Jun of all people.
“I…” He does not often think about what he enjoys. He certainly finds their history lessons interesting and is proud of his growing skills as a cultivator. He has started to learn the guqin and that stirs something in him sometimes, notes which resonate deep in his soul. He doesn’t mind sword-flying but he really doesn’t like going on boats, getting seasick the moment he leaves shore. Recently, he has enjoyed learning about healing medicine: he has something of a knack for that. Whilst the other disciples struggle to learn the technical names of the different plants and how they might be used, something in Lan Yuan just seems to know. When he crushes leaves and mixes salves, he thinks he hears a female voice, sometimes, on the wind.
Sizhui believes their teachers at Cloud Recesses to be exceptionally talented and that he is privileged to be able to study here. He knows he is extremely lucky to have someone like Hanguang-Jun looking out for him. He is glad to have his friend Jingyi always by his side.
He does not enjoy everything, but he is certainly happy to have the life he has been given.
“I do,” Sizhui says finally, then adds a little hesitantly, looking at the ground, “Sometimes.”
There is a soft breathy sound, almost like Zewu-Jun laughs. Sizhui is mortified that he spoke so brazenly and feels the tips of his ears turning pink as he continues to stare at the ground.
“You should seek out those moments of joy,” Zewu-Jun tells him, “Appreciate them. For you do not know when they will no longer be here.”
There is a melancholy undercurrent to his tone Sizhui is not used to. When he dares to look up at Zewu-Jun, Zewu-Jun is not looking at him but across the walkway to the library pavillion. From where they are standing, they are able to see past the magnolia tree and through the window. Hanguang-Jun is just inside, his posture perfect, attention totally captured by whatever it is that he is studying. He, like his brother, is so beautiful it almost looks as if he is carved from jade.
Realising that Zewu-Jun is talking about his brother indirectly, something leaps in Sizhui’s chest. He wants to shout, you have noticed it too? but of course he would never dare (shouting is forbidden in Cloud Recesses).
He takes a breath to find the strength to ask why Hanguang-Jun is so sad, but when he looks back at Zewu-Jun, he smiles and nods at him as if their conversation is over, then walks past Sizhui to wherever he was initially heading.
Wait! Lan Sizhui does not shout after him, where are you going?
If Zewu-Jun knows that his brother is sad, why doesn’t he do anything about it?
- - -
One of the things Sizhui enjoys most about his time at Cloud Recesses is his meetings with Hanguang-Jun, which happen twice a week where possible and three times if Sizhui is really lucky. However, because he is determined to be the best disciple he can be, he is careful not to seem too happy — rule #2609.
He misses living in the Jingshi sometimes and occasionally sneaks in when Hanguang-Jun is out on a night hunt, closing his eyes and remembering that feeling of home, when Hanguang-Jun brought him here for the first time, but those secret visits are not the same as being there with Hanguang-Jun himself.
Sizhui's visits always begin with a meal, which they eat in silence, and then Hanguang-Jun asks him about his studies. He listens carefully to Sizhui as he recalls what he has learned but says little more than, “Mn.” Sometimes Sizhui thinks he must be infinitely boring to listen to, talking about things that Hanguang-Jun already knows, but he never complains. Then they talk about other things — his friends, his peers, what he has spent his free time doing.
Sometimes they have tea out on the porch. Sizhui has gotten very good now at pouring tea and feels a small amount of pride whenever Hanguang-Jun’s lips curve into that small, pleased smile.
Other times they study together, quietly focused on their own texts, speaking only when Sizhui wishes to clarify a point he has just read or Hanguang-Jun asks him to summarise the chapter he has just finished.
Often they play music together, late into the evening. Sizhui has been learning the guqin for some years now and whilst he is nowhere near Hanguang-Jun’s level, he is getting better? he thinks? Hanguang-Jun teaches him how to play the most important pieces required for cultivation, never losing his patience when Sizhui stumbles or interprets something incorrectly. Hanguang-Jun is the most precise when it comes to Inquiry, as if he has spent several years playing the notes over and over, to the point where he no longer has to think about them.
(One day when the blossoms are blushed-pink and blooming outside the Orchid Room, Hanguang-Jun tells him that his proficiency at playing is “Fine” in a room filled with his peers, and Sizhui’s heart soars.)
And then: there are the times when it creeps up on Sizhui too, that aching sadness that Hanguang-Jun carries around with him. Sizhui doesn’t know what brings it out, what tips him into the melancholy feeling of absence, as if he has misplaced something but cannot remember what, and when it arrives, the world seems a little bit cold.
When he was little, he would spend these moments sitting on Hanguang-Jun’s lap, curled into his chest, as Hanguang-Jun ran a gentle hand through his hair. Now he is fifteen, Sizhui sits in meditation next to Hanguang-Jun, but against the rules of perfect form, they sit with their knees just gently pressing, a reminder that they are not alone.
Every time he visits the Jingshi, Sizhui notes the pink peony, carefully pressed between pages in whatever book Hanguang-Jun is reading, fading slightly with each passing summer but still beautiful.
- - -
One of the hardest things at Cloud Recesses is treating everyone equal, regardless of how they act and what they say. Sizhui learns a lot over the years about patience, how to steady his breathing and not snap a reply. He starts to appreciate why Hanguang-Jun always has such a blank and stoic expression.
Most of the Lan disciples are reasonable, honest and just. Sizhui rarely feels frustration with them. But then of course there are cultivators from other sects, those who do not grow up with the Wall of Discipline and under Lan Qiren's watchful eye, and that is when there are difficulties.
Jin Ling is… difficult.
Sizhui reminds himself to be patient and understanding and that rule #19 says love all beings but sometimes it is just really hard.
Jin Ling has always been arrogant but Sizhui has forgiven him this many times, for Jin Ling has a lot of expectations placed upon his shoulders and is only trying his best. He is also adequate at sword-flying, has a passable sword form and is actually not that bad at archery. His love for his spiritual dog, Fairy, is quite commendable, as is the way he has clearly spent a long time training and forming a bond with him.
(Also, Fairy is very cute.)
What Sizhui struggles with is when Jingyi and Jin Ling argue.
Jingyi was the first of his peers to acknowledge Sizhui, the first disciple to invite him to one of their games as a child, back when he had only just come to Cloud Recesses and was still living with Hanguang-Jun in the Jingshi. The other disciples had shunned him at first, not sure what to make of this boy with no parents and no clan name. But Jingyi had been the first to offer the hand of friendship, stubborn and determined, against the side-eyes and whispers of everyone else.
Sizhui knows of Lan Qiren’s despair when it comes to Jingyi, how he struggles to follow even the basic of the sect rules, how he is loud and brash and often acts before thinking, but Sizhui is steadfast in his friendship; Lan Jingyi is his most valued friend.
Jingyi also, most importantly, lives out the Lan sect’s motto of be righteous firmly and… righteously. More so than any other disciple that Sizhui knows.
Unfortunately, this often brings him into conflict with Jin Ling, who also thinks that he himself is righteous and thus cannot possibly understand when someone else disagrees with his righteousness. Or his decisions. Or opinions. Or — anything, really.
They are out by the back mountain, officially searching for inner peace but ostensibly wasting time until dinner, and Sizhui has no idea what the two are even arguing about any more, it has gone on for so long. Any moment now one of the sect elders is going to hear them and Sizhui really doesn’t want to have to do more handstands whilst writing out rules.
He’s tired from spending several hours earlier in the day writing a long and complex essay on the differences between water ghouls and water spirits and so when he says, “Bunnies,” as the solution, he actually has no idea why.
Both Jin Ling and Jingyi look at him, startled into temporarily not bickering, and it’s so peaceful and lovely that Sizhui decides that bunnies simply are the solution and heads off into the forest to see them.
When Jin Ling and Jingyi catch up to him, Sizhui is sitting under a tree with a rabbit in his lap, gently stroking it between the ears. Jingyi beams and kneels down to coax one of the other bunnies to come into his hands as Jin Ling looks at first confused, then affronted, then haughty, like bunnies are beneath him - and Sizhui thinks he’s going to have to have stern words with him about how liking bunnies is no different to liking a dog named Fairy - when one of the bunnies innocently hops up to Jin Ling and takes a curious nibble of the toe of his boot.
Jin Ling’s face is a picture.
Sizhui cannot help it: he laughs.
Jin Ling looks up at him, incredulous and then — stunned. He looks much less intimidating like his scary uncle and far younger, with his eyes wide and mouth dropped open.
When Jingyi drops himself down next to Sizhui on the grass, having finally caught a bunny, Jin Ling seems to come to his senses and says, “I didn’t know you could laugh,” quietly, as if to himself.
Cautiously, Jin Ling picks up the rabbit nibbling on his boot by the scruff of its neck, bringing it up to his face so he can look it in the eye. It dangles there pathetically, legs flopping, and twitches its nose at Jin Ling who... doesn’t quite smile, but he doesn’t frown either.
Then, with great reluctance and a put-upon sigh he does not really mean, Jin Ling sits down opposite Jingyi and Sizhui, puts the bunny on his lap and grumpily begins to stroke it. Sizhui smiles down at his own bunny.
The three disciples slip into a calm contentedness, the air between them no longer tight with tension, and Sizhui wonders if this is what Zewu-Jun meant when he said he should seek out the good moments, appreciate and enjoy them — for he does not know when they will be gone.
When Hanguang-Jun finds them all a few hours later, carrying a bunny of his own curled up on one arm, he looks momentarily startled and then his expression settles into something more impassive. The slightly-pink tips of his ears are the only indication that he is embarrassed at being caught cuddling a bunny of his own.
As the other boys jump up quickly to brush their robes down and bow in greeting, Sizhui lifts his bunny up to rub noses with it first (it is important to say goodbye properly) before putting it down on the ground. There is a strange look in Hanguang-Jun’s eyes as he watches him get to his feet, one Sizhui hasn’t seen before, fond and almost… nostalgic? Like he’s remembering another time, another place, another person, perhaps a moment he did not appreciate.
Sizhui blinks and it is gone.
- - -
One night, two weeks before he turns sixteen, feeling bold and brave and lulled into openness by the peace of the early evening, spread honey-gold and burnt orange above them, he asks, “Hanguang-Jun, have you ever been in love?”
Love has been the hot topic of the disciples’ evening conversations for the last week, ever since one of the younger boys came across a text about Lan An in the library which said ("Can you believe it?”) that after his wife died, he left the sect and cultivation altogether, confining himself to the temple where he mourned her for the rest of his life.
As female and male cultivators are kept strictly separate at Cloud Recesses, Sizhui does not have much experience with girls his own age and finds that the idea of talking to one rather terrifies him.
Hanguang-Jun, who is rarely caught off-guard and who never hesitates to answer Sizhui’s questions, no matter how mundane or childishly curious, is caught off-guard and hesitates.
Sizhui’s cheeks burn with colour and quickly bows his head in apology, but before he can take back his words and promise to go and do one hundred handstands in penance, Hanguang-Jun says, “There are many types of love.”
When he dares glance up at him again, Hanguang-Jun is watching the sunset, the splash of red, like blood, unfurled across the horizon like a ribbon.
Sizhui wonders over his words for a long time.
- -
“Do you think it is a broken heart?” Jingyi asks.
They are meditating outside the Chamber of Ancients late one afternoon in the fading evening sun. The idea is to remain alert and focused even as their bodies react to the darkening sky and yawns try to sneak their way up their throats.
Sizhui keeps his eyes closed and does not reply. He has long-since learned that Jingyi does not expect him to reply in these situations and is merely clearing his mind of all thoughts by asking them out-loud. This technique, of course, usually puts Jingyi in conflict with the other disciples, who end up taking Jingyi's thoughts into their minds as they clear their own and thus find themselves irritable and unable to properly meditate, but Sizhui does not mind — after so many years, he knows most of Jingyi’s thoughts anyway.
However, this is a new one and so it catches Sizhui’s attention. He thinks Jingyi has been spending a bit too much time with Ouyang Zizhen recently, who is known to be a bit of a romantic. Sizhui frowns slightly as he thinks about the idea of Hanguang-Jun being in love and tries to imagine him having his heart broken by some rogue cultivator.
It is difficult to imagine.
But then... the peony.
Sizhui’s eyelids flicker as he almost opens them and then forces himself to keep them closed. Surely not. It is just a flower; there is no way that Hanguang-Jun has kept something so fragile for so many years because he was - is? - in love. No one is in love with someone for so long without anything in return. It is just a beautiful flower that he found once and uses as a bookmark, preserving it against all odds and never letting it fully die.
There is a brief period of silence and then: “We should find him someone to love,” Jingyi declares, determined and righteous as ever.
It is a fine idea, Sizhui thinks, one that may even make Hanguang-Jun happy, but who could they possibly find who would be deserving of Hanguang-Jun? He is peerless. There cannot possibly be someone in the world great enough to match him.
They would know, if there were.
- - -
When he is sixteen, Sizhui and the other disciples go on a night hunt to Mo village.
There they meet a strange man knows too much and acts the fool.
- - -
Below Dafan mountain, the same man plays a flute made from a bamboo shoot. The song is familiar, stirring something in Sizhui’s memory, like dust blowing up from the floor in an abandoned cave. Something about the melody is reminiscent of his childhood. He turns his head.
He is not the only one who has recognised it.
Hanguang-Jun stands next to the man with his hand on his arm, an expression on his face a little like shock, but nothing shocks Hanguang-Jun, he is as immovable as stone.
Still: he looks at this man and looks and looks and looks.
The song disappears, the last few notes trailing off into the wind. Sizhui furrows his brow as his recognition of the tune goes with them, dispersing into nothing, a memory faded.
The man looks back.
- - -
They return to Cloud Recesses.
Sizhui visits the Jingshi to consult with Hanguang-Jun about the events at Dafan mountain and — hesitates.
It is an odd feeling, unusual, like something has shifted just-so in the world.
Why does it feel as if he is intruding? When they returned from Dafan mountain the man from the village - Mo Xuanyu - came with them and Hanguang-Jun, Hanguang-Jun, rather than taking him to the guest quarters, announced that he would be taking Mo-gongzi to the Jingshi with him.
No one other than Sizhui has ever stayed in the Jingshi with Hanguang-Jun.
Sizhui’s footsteps feel heavy as he ascends the steps. Something makes him pause on the porch and, rather than knock on the door, he walks along the side of the Jingshi instead, to the window where he can just see through into the main room.
He sees Hanguang-Jun first, sat straight-backed, his guqin out on the low table in front of him. His hands are resting on the strings as if just stilling them, capturing the last of the notes. Next to him sits the strange man, holding the bamboo flute he’d had at Dafan mountain in his hands. He lowers the bamboo flute from his mouth.
Hanguang-Jun and Mo-gongzi are looking nowhere but at each other. They could be in their own little world.
Sizhui’s heart skips a beat.
Hanguang-Jun is smiling; he is happy.
- - -
Once, Sizhui asked Hanguang-Jun if he had ever been in love.
Hanguang-Jun told him that there were many types of love.
Sizhui thinks of the love between brothers, of the way Zewu-Jun looks at Hanguang-Jun with fondness, the special smile he has when he is around him, and the way the two brothers show, without saying anything, that they will always be there for each other.
He thinks of a love of music, and the music Hanguang-Jun plays, late at night, when he thinks Sizhui isn’t listening, a melody so heartbreaking and beautiful it causes something to clench in Sizhui’s chest, just left of centre, whenever he hears it.
He thinks of a lifetime of love, his childhood growing up in Cloud Recesses. The other disciples. Jingyi. Even Jin Ling in his own way. Friends who have become his family, closer than blood.
And —
Sizhui thinks of the love he himself has for Hanguang-Jun, who has looked after him throughout the years, who found him in the darkness and named him, who is firm with him but never harsh, who praises him when he does well and understands when he makes mistakes, who just wishes the best for him and never asks for anything more. Hanguang-Jun, a cultivator who cares not for glory and recognition but only to make the world a better place.
As Sizhui watches Hanguang-Jun with Wei Wuxian - who, it turns out, Mo-qianbei actually is, the Yiling Patriarch - and sees the way he is always by his side and literally takes on the whole world to defend him, he thinks of what he heard all those years ago, about Hanguang-Jun breaking the rules of Cloud Recesses and duelling a boy under the stars.
Sizhui thinks of how Hanguang-Jun must have loved Wei-qianbei, all this time; how Hanguang-Jun watched him die and then lived so many long, lonely years without him; thinks of the pink peony and the perfection of his Inquiry and the song he always played on Wangji, late at night.
And —
Lan Sizhui thinks, this is the kind of love they write stories about.