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Lan Wangji’s fingers picked out “Cleansing” automatically. He could probably stop playing now— Sizhui was sleeping peacefully— but doing so would require him to focus more seriously on what would come next.
Sizhui hadn’t meant to, that was obvious, and Lan Wangji’s mind kept replaying the terrible moment when Sizhui had turned to look at him, beaming because he’d managed to stop the fierce corpses on his own, and then the way his face had collapsed at whatever he’d seen on Lan Wangji’s face.
“I’m sorry!” he’d cried, looking frightened in a way Lan Wangji hadn’t seen for years, and never directed at him.
“I’m not angry,” Lan Wangji had said immediately. “You’re not in trouble.”
He wasn’t angry. He was terrified.
They were in trouble.
Sizhui obviously hadn’t meant to use resentful energy to control the corpse. He hadn’t even had a good idea of what he was doing— he was only 11, after all, it was forgivable to be confused about what type of energy you were using. Especially if you had spent a significant amount of time surrounded by resentful energy.
Sizhui didn’t remember Wei Wuxian. He would not have used resentful energy on purpose. It was probably— it was definitely— something he had seen Wei Ying do, and absorbed subconsciously, and it was in no way something he had purposefully done.
Lan Wangji would not, in any event, ever punish Sizhui for anything he did to save himself or save others.
Lan Wangji let his fingers rest, and moved slightly, so that he could take Sizhui’s wrist and check his meridians. They seemed fine, and clear, and the resentful energy was long gone.
It was closer to eleven than nine, but Lan Wangji was still wide awake. He could barely get his heart to stop racing, let alone sleep.
Asleep, Sizhui looked very much like the little boy who used to crawl into Lan Wangji’s bed after a nightmare he couldn’t describe. Lan Wangji got scolded every time he allowed it, since he was supposed to move as little as possible, but A-Yuan’s pain was more important than his, always, always. What did Lan Wangji’s back matter if A-Yuan was crying in fear?
He could train Sizhui not to use it. It would be easy; partly because Sizhui learned everything easily, and partly because Sizhui had obviously been frightened by his reaction. It may not even be necessary to train him to make sure it didn’t happen again.
But Lan Wangji could not settle his own mind. His first impulse, still nearly overwhelming in its strength, was to take Sizhui and run. They could hide somewhere, anywhere, as long as the great clans didn’t find them. If the GusuLan elders found out that Sizhui had used resentful energy to control corpses… handstands and rule-copying would not satisfy them.
Lan Wangji’s fists clenched and his back sent phantom aches to remind him. No one was going to hit his son.
Uncle had come around on Sizhui, very much so, once he’d seen how clever he was, how good at following the rules and how smart in his lessons. Being prideful was forbidden, of course, but the satisfaction in Lan Qiren’s eyes as Sizhui consistently performed well was unmissable. “He will be a truly excellent cultivator,” he had overheard Uncle say, even to members of other clans. This was close to boasting but Uncle always presented it in a matter-of-fact way to get around the rule.
(Everyone knew how to get around the rules, except Lan Wangji. He either followed them or smashed through them.)
Once A-Yuan proved he was a model Lan student, Uncle had stopped asking where he came from. (Lan Wangji’s answer to that had only ever been “He is mine.” It wasn’t a lie.) Uncle obviously suspected, as Xichen knew, that the child had some connection to Wei Wuxian, but he seemed to have decided he’d rather not know. He might have suspected Sizhui was a Wen by birth, but for all that he was strict, Uncle was still a teacher. He would not blame a three year old for the sins of his distant relatives.
He had, for a while, clearly feared A-Yuan was Wei Wuxian’s son by birth, and watched him closely… but of course A-Yuan bore no physical resemblance to Wei Wuxian, and certainly didn’t run around causing chaos. If there was a gesture or two, or a facial expression, that seemed borrowed from his Xian-gege, only Lan Wangji would notice them, and he kept them close to his heart.
Until now.
Lan Wangji, for years now, had relaxed his fears about A-Yuan’s origins being discovered. Once he was well enough to fight, he was secure that no one would be able to take A-Yuan away from him. It was a relief, after years of holding still, lying in place, with only his devastated heart to keep him company all day, worrying that this would be the night that A-Yuan would not come back. For all that Lan Wangji trusted his brother, Xichen did have to leave on sect business often.
(Xichen’s face when Wangji had returned from the Burial Mounds with A-Yuan, the crushing relief on it— and it was fair, because truthfully, Wangji wasn’t sure he’d return to Gusu. Dying in the Burial Mounds had seemed like a better option, so that one day maybe the dust of his bones would mingle with the dust from Wei Ying’s. And then he’d found A-Yuan, and living wasn’t optional anymore; indeed, returning to Cloud Recesses wasn’t optional, because they were both too ill for anything else.
“Is this a child? Where is he from?” Xichen had asked, voice shaking more than Wangji had ever heard before.
“He is mine,” Lan Wangji had said, blood dripping from his mouth.
Xichen had taken a long look at him, and nodded. Never questioned again. Told A-Yuan to call him uncle, and looked after him when Lan Wangji could not.
Lan Wangji trusted Xichen, but he was the only one he did trust.)
Lan Wangji did not know if Uncle would stand up for Sizhui if he got caught using resentful energy, even accidentally. He would certainly punish Sizhui, either way. The other GusuLan elders… Lan Wangji did not trust them at all.
And the other clans…
Would the Jin try to arrest him, for being a Wen? Would Jiang Wanyin come for him, for being a resentful cultivator? (He could come if he wanted to die. Lan Wangji wouldn’t hesitate. Not for A-Yuan.)
Lan Wangji took a deep breath, tried to clear his mind of his spiraling, frantic thoughts, like a bird trapped inside a room.
Sizhui would learn not to use resentful energy. He’d do his best to avoid it, Lan Wangji needn’t tell him that, only guide him to make sure he didn’t use it.
(Not unless he needed to. Not unless there was no other choice.)
They didn’t need to run, not now. But it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. They would go back to the Cloud Recesses, and neither of them would breathe a word about what had happened. And Lan Wangji would pack two qiankun pouches full of supplies, to be kept on them at all times. Just in case.