Your mockery is infantile

 Translucent ties that gently bind

Xichen does not realize that it was the Zhong Qiu Jie until his dinner was served with mooncakes and a generic Cloud recesses Lantern accompanied it.

His days have been lost in a fugue, even as he has diligent visitors in the form of Wangji and his uncle. They have a schedule of visiting him and they do not interrupt it, wary of offending his sensibilities.

Shufu is so terribly fond of following decorum.

He thinks Wangji might have made an exception for today and visited regardless of the rules of seclusion or persisted outside his door with the guqin, regardless of whether Xichen deserved it. But Wangji is not here.

Wangji had left to chase after Young Master Wei around Qixi, and he is not yet back. He had told Xichen that he expected to be gone for a couple of months before he left.

It was strange seeing the reluctance and the care in his brother’s stance and words. Had Xichen been like this when Wangji was grieving in his three-year seclusion?

Perhaps he was careful with his words but Xichen’s loyalties and priorities had been molded as a young child. He regretted the pain he had caused his brother, but he never questioned his own actions in regards to Wei Wuxian. He did not question them when he watched the whipped and mangled back of his brother.

His role as a sect leader, his role as a guiding light for orthodoxy, in the sunshot campaign, his reputation, sect’s reputation, all preceded this. So did his own attachments with his sworn brothers, at least sometimes. Xichen was not even prepared to scrutinize Shufu’s entanglement in all this.

Another one to befall the curse of Lans…It was an unkind thought, and unbecoming on the sect leader of a clan that prided on its righteousness. It was unbecoming and crueler on an elder brother.

Wangji did not see him on Zhong Qiu Jie years after the death of Wei Wuxian. Xichen suspects he only started later for Sizhui’s sake. His nephew had somehow constituted a truce between them.

Xichen had never held any qualms about the fact that Wangji harbored resentment even within the truce.

He was overtly filial, overtly the most dutiful sect member, overtly polite. Over years, they even extended the truce for some affection. There were hitches but they were brothers. They could work around the things they did not say to each other.

But every time Xichen looked at the plain white robes, the anguish in the eyes, every time he heard the tunes of inquiry; he flinched from the force of the rage Wangji has unleashed at him years ago on a Qixi.

 It had happened something like this. At the end of his seclusion, Wangji had gone to find something of Wei Wuxian.

Xichen was not sure what Wangji found, or rather what he did not find. All Xichen knew was Wangji had returned unannounced on Qixi, and Xichen might not have found out his presence at all if he had not turned up at Jingshi to fetch something of A Yuan.

He had smelled burning flesh before anything else, and as he barged in, he saw his brother mad with grief, drowned in jars worth of emperor’s smile, a smoldering Branding Iron with the symbol of Qishan Wen lying aside on the floor, and its burns bleeding and burning an angry red on his brother’s chest.

“Wangji what did you do?” Xichen remembers whispering as he sunk down on his knees to … what had he meant to do?

Wangji had let out everything he had held back in the few hours until dawn.

“You killed him. You killed my Zhiji, you killed my Wei Ying, you killed the father of my son. And I did nothing to stop you.”

Those words still rang clear in Xichen’s head, in his nightmares. There were other things Wangji said, clear reminders of Xichen’s failure at righteousness, at being an older brother, at being impartial and just, at the unfairness of orthodoxy, how everyone including Wangji was complicit in systematically killing the brightness of his Wei Ying.

Before that, Xichen had held out hopes for his wayward brother regaining senses because Wangji was prudent, not whimsical like the tales told about Lans…

Until then, he could indulge the feelings, he could comfort him through the grief.

One day, the grief of first love would ebb. One day, Wangji would come back to his real family. He might even be able to look at his youth and recognize that some part of it was folly, it was…

Well, that night ceremoniously made any doubts wash away permanently.

Xichen, in his own limited view, had dismissed so much.

He had healed his brother that night, cleaned up the alcohol, burned incense to ward off the stench of burnt flesh; all with tears falling down his cheeks.

Something about that entire night, something about how his brother had beseeched and condemned him that night; it had been so private, so intimate, so deep-seated that Xichen never breathed a word about it to anybody.

He could only imagine what Wangji’s pouring contempt in his anguished eyes if he ever guessed the breach.

How far can a man fall down that he is afraid to meet the eyes of his loved ones?

Xichen did not confide in anyone though he had wanted to. He had wanted to fly in the next few days to Lanling, tell A Yao everything, and have him soothe his frayed nerves and heart about how Wangji was being unfair.

But he had not. It was as Wangji said. Wangji had never chosen Wei Ying over familial duty until the very end, and it was to save a life.

Xichen had frequently chosen other things over family. Wangji’s opinion of it was not even implicit as his brother outlined each of the frivolous reasons where he chose to actively neglect…

Granted, it was intoxication that made his brother talk, but the words were not lies.

He could give Wangji this at least. He could give him the right to resent him and not go complaining about it…

Of course, after A Yao, after Wei Wuxian’s innocence, after finding out about the needless slaughter of his nephew’s birth family; Xichen wondered how much leeway Wangji had given him.

His brother was never as open about his disapproval ever again, not with words. He showed his disagreement by being everything Xichen was not, doing things that Xichen had deemed unrealistic or undoable.

Wangji had always lived by the rules, always lived by the spirit of them; no matter what Xichen or elders had thought. His adherence to them was almost meditative, flippant, and uncaring about other’s perceptions and opinions.

Xichen had always deemed it naïve for the world.

And now, look at both of them. It was Wangji’s beliefs, Wangji’s love, Wangji’s quest for righteousness that held true.

And what was Xichen left with?

He had let down family, for a long list of reasons. Did he even deserve this acknowledgment of a day reserved for families?

His food had gone cold. The mooncakes looked like stones. The lantern was almost extinguished. Xichen still sat frozen, trapped in his memories.

It was quiet. It pierced Xichen, unsettled him. Contemplation was the purpose of seclusion but Xichen had always found too much quiet stifling.

He heard some noises, and they got louder and clearer until he distinguished a burst of bubbling laughter, a more gentle teasing noise he was familiar with and three sets of footsteps that were…

The bubbling laughter had told him that it was Young Master Wei.

Of course, when the door was almost thrown open without a knock or permission; Xichen’s remaining doubt washed away.

“Aah, aah, Zewu Jun, you must blame all the disturbances on me. These two are just following my lead,” Comes as an explanation as the owner of the voice attempts to get his shoes off at the entrance.

His erratic dance does not hide Wangji or Sizhui who do the same task much more smoothly. Sizhui had sun-kissed skin from his travels. He must have run into Wangji and Young Master Wei on his way back, for the three of them to come together.

His brother wears a neutral expression, but he has a light in his eyes as he gazes at his zhiji. Sizhui is smiling but his concerned eyes are flicking from his old guardian to Xichen.

“Ah, good good. You still have not dinner. We almost thought we were late. I have not been near Lotus Pier in quite some time so it took me forever to trace back the auntie’s cake shop, but I promise it’s worth it. Best mooncakes you will ever taste. But my search had us quite late, even though A Yuan and Lan Zhan flew us here as rapidly as they could with me hanging on them….”

It is then that Xichen notes the baskets in Sizhui and his brother’s hands.

Xichen is so shocked that he does not complain or express outrage at such a gross insult and interruption to his seclusion.

As he watches them settle, because a lack of protest is as good as permission, he wonders if he is actually even offended.

Wei Wuxian twitches his nose at the cold food that Xichen neglected, mutters “grass,” under his breath, and hands over the tray to Sizhui.

Xichen is so dazed that he misses a great many things that are now happening in his vicinity. When he gains himself back, the table is set for four and food is appearing everywhere rather rapidly.

None of it is from the kitchens of Cloud Recesses.

Xichen spots and Lotus seed cakes, and lotus root soup with something, and noodles and a basket of freshly harvested fruits. He spies some variations of duck, but that is for Wei Wuxian to consume and is set far off near his tray. He finds himself handed a bowl which he grabs instinctively where Wei Wuxian is piling peeled Lotus seeds, and Sizhui is piling walnut kernels.

Wangji is serving them up. He piles Wei Wuxian’s plate with more chili oil and adds something that Sizhui gestures at. It is all done so nonchalantly like no one is noticing Xichen’s confusion or hysteria.

“Is that the peanut curry from Caiyi you were telling me about A Yuan?” Wei Wuxian gives it a critical eye, even as he gives peeling lotus seeds a rest, and starts picking out more food packets to serve in his plate.

Sizhui nods and goes about explaining the process of boiling or blanching or something. Wei Wuxian nods and asks questions as he keeps pulling out food.

Something Taro, something tofu with plums, another curry with goji berries, and really good peppers.

Wangji throws Xichen a cautionary look at the last one but otherwise comments on nothing else. 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian claps his hands in satisfaction when Wangji hands him another basket.

“You forgot the mooncakes, Xian Gege,” Sizhui supplies easily. Xichen is serenaded with descriptions of at least a dozen varieties of mooncakes, as they are portioned and served to everyone.

They eat. Xichen eats too, eats more than he usually eats in a week these days. It is hard not to with the company, with the care, and cajoling from Wei Wuxian.

There is a running commentary on the food and the backstories of all the vendors that the food has been collected from. Sizhui pipes in a few times, ignoring the rule about silence during meals. Wangji never chides them. Xichen does not either.

 Wangji hmms and Mnns. His eyes are light and dripping in affection. He even breaks the silence to mutter ridiculous to outlandish stories. His eyes even go softer when young master Wei inevitably leans or drapes himself all over his side.

They do not comment on Xichen’s reticence. Wei Wuxian does manage to extract out words from him, because he has designated himself as the one who is keeping an eye on Xichen’s plate, and keeps piling on food.

It must be the politeness bred in him that Xichen automatically thanks him at a serving in the middle of the meal, perhaps when the shock has settled a bit.

Wei Wuxian just genially smiles back and ducks and scratches his head, and then comes back with his unabashed gusto to make Xichen try even more food.

They release lanterns later. Xichen is convinced to leave the walls of his home behind and walk on the foyer, then climb down the stairs and grace the patch of lush grass in front of his door that he has sometimes stared at in his self-imposed exile. Xichen has broken his silence a few times since the practiced gratitude in the middle of the supper.

“Xian Gege tried to teach me and Baba how to paint lanterns, said you would like it,” Sizhui supplies when they are herding the lanterns together. The lanterns have squiggles and patterns and amateur shapes on them. His brother and nephew have never been inclined towards the arts, despite their excellent penmanship. It’s indulgent and saccharine.

Xichen feels fuller than he did a shichen ago.

It is past haishi. It is much later than when the lanterns are usually released, but the moon is bright. There is a gentle fall breeze. 

And he is surrounded by family.

As one of the last lanterns becomes small enough to nearly vanish in the starry dots set against the inky sky, Wangji comes and stands next to him.

Wuxian (he has been convinced to let go of formality some time in between the meal) is chasing after Sizhui and threatening to bury him in a pit, after loudly proclaiming about the betrayals of little radishes. Sizhui, bless the child, is actually chortling, teasing, and ducking as he runs away from the waving hands.

“Wei Ying convinced me that you would not like being alone on an important day,” Wangji says in his soft tenor. It is an apology, an acknowledgment of the interruption, an explanation all rolled in one. Wangji has been talented in brevity ever since he was a child.

“I am grateful. He has good instincts. You did well by listening to him.” Xichen says, tilting his head a little towards his younger brother. They both know it is not just about tonight.