sin⁷

kishiar is a really fascinating character and his relationship with mortality moreso. a lot of the things that kishiar does, in my opinion, is very much colored by his circumstances growing up, specifically being born with the knowledge that second, third, etc. imperial children tend to be die young as if having 'major defects' be it physical or mental (ch 109) and ended up having no power, remaining unmarried and bowing their heads their whole lives (ch 14).

that is to say, all his life, he surely knows he can die quickly and easily, almost anytime. it's true that for everyone, death does come suddenly, but in kishiar la orr's life, death is like a childhood friend you don't like but are forced to get along with. again, this colors his whole life. this is the kind of circumstances that forces you to mature really quickly, to learn to be expressive and speak your thoughts like it's your last day, but to also learn to hold your tongue and bow down your head because you're a prince and your words still have consequences beyond normal children's would. you're forced to accept that this is the kind of life you will live and the kind of death you'll be documented as. by all accounts, i think that the current kishiar is really good at managing social situations however tricky they are, the fact that he's a rizzmaster, part of all those also comes from being used to having to process things quickly because you don't have the time to even live, being used to having to be expressive because god knows when your last day will be.

given all that as a background information, let's reexamine the conditions of 1TL.

i'd like to first point out that in 1TL, the very health and life expectancy that he used to not have pre-awakening was already given to kishiar during the awakening. i'm not too privy yet with the circumstances during the two years since the fall of the red stone to the cavalry recruitment in early canon, unfortunately, but i'll assume it was also time spent preparing and not just in silence, maybe even preparing for the cavalry to be created or searching for a cure for keilusa as well (though this is just personal theory). even so, two years really isn't that much time? soon after his awakening and tasting good health and better life expectancy the first time in his life, 1TL red stone retrieval mission happened, which forced kishiar to withdraw the divine sword without him meaning to and regained him the same vessel issues he's always experienced his whole life, basically bringing him back to square one after giving him the one thing he's always wanted his whole life. it's like the universe telling him: "look at everything you could have once had. endless possibilities. none of them are yours. not anymore."

to me, after at least 600+ chapters of reading, kishiar's character's basis is his loved ones. almost all of his actions can be traced back to him doing it in alignment with the position he has (being a prince and a duke) and out of the love he has for nathan, keilusa, and other people in his life. to be brought back to square one, struggling once again with the same old vessel issues, except worse this time, because many of the past imperial children didn't even make it to age thirty (ch 109) while he was already 29 and he almost died once already because of this very same thing.

expanding on his past experience with vessel issues and his response to it, from chapter 602 and chapter 160, likely kishiar's condition was so bad he might as well be almost dead before the timely awakening happened and immediately was followed by his second gender manifestation. he probably thought it was for real his death happening, not a surprise. he cleared off everyone and attempted suicide by touching the divine sword. that he cleared off everyone can also be argued as a selfless action, wanting to keep the smallest person possible to witness his impending doom, in order to save his loved ones from the heartache of seeing him suffer, try to kill himself and/or die.

it can also however be seen as selfish. after all, who is it that loves you and wants you to kill yourself?

this is where we will have to reiterate some points: kishiar is someone who's good at processing and expressing emotions. he's also good at knowing how to hold back and when to hold back from expressing said emotions. he's also someone who is logical and reasonable. and i also want to introduce some new points, that is: the universal fact that a lot of mental strain and generally bad mental health often cause irrationality in people, even someone who's perceived as reasonable or someone who's good at emotions. spiralling is called spiralling for a reason.

from the point of view of reason, leaving your cavalry commander mantle to the hyper-competent guy you happen to love to death, watching him get inaugurated, constantly visiting him, and of course, the pethuamet fight (which yuder 2TL classified as kishiar self-harming) are all illogical. kishiar's 1TL actions cannot be called reasonable or logical because they aren't. they are irrational the same way you and i get irrational when we're in extreme emotional duress. can anyone really claim to be logical when the threat of death looms so closely you can't even see it clearly anymore?

let's talk about some more things, like how the commander uniform he personally tailored for yuder (ch 625) is seen as yuder as unnecessary. logistically speaking, it really is unnecessary, it's not like yuder needed a new uniform when he can just wear kishiar's old ones and it'd probably just need some adjusting to fit better? but then it is explicitly stated by 2TL kishiar as 'hoping the person will wear them and think about the person who made it.' (ch 626)

also on the same conversation, 2TL kishiar stated that the strongest fear he has ever felt was during the late emperor's funeral, the feeling of being powerless, how frightening it was to look at the reality in front of him while he could only imagine what would happen to him, keilusa and the country in the future (ch 625). and in chapter further back, he also stated that in the tactical game, in the event that his special piece is almost caught by the enemy before he can use it, he would 'take the initiative and put it out as a bait in front of the enemy' (ch 105).

it paints a picture of this: it's not that he wants to do all these things, it's that who knows how to deal with death and the mental strain that comes with it when there are no actionable steps you can take, nothing under your control? he has a history of harming himself too, as i said, with the suicide attempt. in kishiar's case, the self-harm and the manifestation/post-awakening incident when he tried to kill himself, everything feels a bit more like struggling to feel a semblance of control in a world that is out of his control, when even his body feels out of his control all his life.

really, all of the things that can be deemed illogical, like ruining his relationships with everyone just so they feel less pain when he dies or like selfishly leaving yuder a legacy to care for or constantly visiting yuder even after his retirement, it stems from the selfish and very human desires of wanting to keep the loved ones near while he has time, trying to wrestle for a semblance of control, trying to leave anything useful at all that is within his capacity to give towards his loved ones for when after he's gone, grappling with all of the complicated emotions and love and care he has that he can't even act on. it's made even more complicated when you remember that kishiar isn't even suicidal originally. he's like this because of the circumstances thrusted upon his hands, he's only driven to that point because maybe he too doesn't want to die a dogshit death.

the upside is just because it's illogical doesn't mean it's treated callously or looked down upon. 1TL kishiar's actions are written beautifully by kuyu and never in a negative light. yuder himself has gripes about 1TL kishiar, but never outright insulted or downplayed his influences. if anything, the way yuder thinks of 1TL kishiar's actions, especially after knowing the imperial family's vessel issues, is very sympathetic (ch 293). in the words of our friend baby potat aloo,

like: look at this man trying to wrangle with his own tragic fate as best as he can while people he cares about most and people who care about him are unfortunately subjected to the pain of passively spectating his self-destructive ways of trying to gain some semblance of control (thinking of nathan and uuder) and/or secretive plans that seem like the 'best' choice in his opinion. nonetheless it's still about love.

that has been a long discussion over kishiar and mortality, kishiar and his loved ones as the basis of his motivation for every action. but let's not forget to talk about yuder, the one he has an almost-electric connection, deep and soulful, to. in a way, chapter 291's kishiar dialogue line "i feel like i can live now" can be seen as something he says out of love for yuder, because yuder is one of his loved ones, one of the ones he treasures the most. but also you can see it as another control thing. he's there out of his own accord, he came there through the window without being seen out of his own choice and yuder always 'tolerated' the situation, never reporting it. we can argue these are games and rendezvous they both consented to.

next, let's discuss: this is what he said in chapter 46, right before his death:

"...I wonder where it all went wrong. Thinking about it, it seems like it was when we retrieved the Red Stone." "..." "Yes... That's right. It must have been then that everything started going wrong. But even knowing that, I couldn't stop it. Because I had no other choice."

it rings so much of hopelessness, of someone who can't do anything but imagine a universe where the only thing he wanted in life was ripped away from him the moment it was bestowed. and then immediately dismissing it because it doesn't matter when it's already happened and the only thing he can do now is, just like the dukes before him, bow down his head and await for his death.

in later chapters, we also come to know that he cleared off the entire building and it was nearing his birthday when the assassination took place. we can also argue that this is euthanasia or assisted suicide, the executioner and helper is the one kishiar loves the most, who doesn't even really want to kill him. rather than a dogshit death he didn't choose, 1TL kishiar arranged it so that he dies in yuder's hands, knowing that it'd change his relationship with someone he loved so much, to die like a euthanised dog, spared the pain of unattainable hopes. in a way, it's a curse on yuder's memories, good or bad, of him, in a way, it's an act of making yourself an open wound. this too isn't rational, similarly to the way he leaves a personalized clothing for yuder's inauguration and new status as the cavalry commander or the way he gave him a name, this is a way of leaving behind a legacy, a desperate act of wanting to be remembered by his loved ones.

so, what's the point of all of this? nothing, i'm just a kishiar shooter. but also, everything. because the miscommunication in 1TL isn't one that can be so easily solved by speaking up. it's something that's integral to the story plotline, caused by the story circumstances, it's a testament too to how good kuyu's writing is and the complexity of kishiar as a character. it is, unfortunately, not as simple as just say you love him before you die. that is my conclusion.

some more unrelated, but perhaps also fun points:

i truly think, like a true self sabotage, kishiar's actions as an attempt to feel some semblance of control only works against him, making him feel more powerless and out of control

also this is for sure why he's so invested in healing keilusa

to another degree, cavalry in 2TL becomes his purpose and one of the major factors of his identity (the way it was to yuder 1TL, which is a discussion for another time), so in 1TL, stepping down could arguably also be seen as a loss of both authority/power and responsibility, leading to an even more 'out of control' feeling, even if he was indeed the one to step down out of his own accord, like no one forced him

1TL yuder was looked down on as a male omega leader, not man nor woman, commonborn cavalry commander who slept his way up. a lot of the things he did, even down to his fighting style, was also, to a certain point, a way of fighting for power, to look powerful and gain authority and be feared, if not respected. at the same time, kishiar didn't die instantly. he committed a lot of actions (as said earlier) that felt more like a grappling with control, which is just another form of power/authority. in a way, you can see these two foiling each other at the moment, struggling with power over how ppl perceive you (yuder) vs struggling with power over how you perceive yourself (kishiar). which is also funny because turning is also a story about power to me, what-with the catalyst to all of canon's plot being the red stone, which granted power to the people living in turning's canon universe

“A-Huan?” Nie Mingjue frowns, slipping back into the bedroom with clean towels and a bucket of water. “What’s wrong?”

Lan Huan turns to him with quivering lips and tears sparkling in his eyelashes. “Nothing,” he sniffles. “I am well. Nothing is the matter, sweetheart.”

So Nie Mingjue wets a pair of towels and washes Jingyi’s feet, rinsing away the mud from his tiny toes before using a fresh cloth for his hands; and after the child as clean as they can get him without rousing him from sleep, Xichen heaves himself out of his chair and climbs onto the bed, though not without first giving A-Yuan a kiss goodnight and retrieving his dropped butterfly doll.

“Sleep well, my nephew!” he whispers. “Your uncles are here, and we will watch over you until Wangji and A-Xian return.”

And with that, he settles down under the blankets at Nie Mingjue’s side, and turns so that Mingjue can drape an arm under his waist.

“You are tired,” Nie Mingjue observes, stroking Lan Xichen’s pale brow. “What did you and the little ones do today, A-Huan?”

Xichen snorts and squeezes A-Yi around his little belly. “The better question is what we did not do. A-Yuan ran all over the Cloud Recesses, and A-Yi followed him, and I spent the day running after them both. And then A-Yuan wanted to make sweet baozi after we returned home, and Jingyi tried to climb into the bowl of bean paste while I was filling them—and all of that was before sunset.”

Nie Mingjue leans over to sniff the baby’s hair. “Ah,” he says, trying not to laugh. “So that’s why he smells like sugar. I thought he must have found the sweets your uncle hides in the Lanshi.”

“Oh, no. A-Yuan did that.”

And then the two of them laugh together, holding hands under the quilts while Jingyi tries to make himself more comfortable on Xichen’s chest. Nie Mingjue’s breath stutters at the dear picture they make, his beloved and child close and at ease like a pair of graven figures carved out of the same piece of stone; and surrendering to impulse, he leans down to kiss A-Yi’s button nose, and then his husband’s wind-chapped lips.

I will bring him salve in the morning, he thinks idly, smoothing them over with a gentle finger. Salve and sweet lotus cakes from Wangji’s kitchen, and tea that aids in healing. The little ones have worn him out, so tomorrow, he must rest.

“Tomorrow, Wangji will be back home,” Xichen mumbles, lifting his face from his pillow, “and I will not have to mind both of our babies at the same time. I love them dearly, but my heart can only take so much fear. A-Yuan tried to unsheathe Shuoyue when my back was turned, and at that moment, I was more afraid than I’ve ever been on the battlefield! Good heavens!”

Nie Mingjue draws his husband’s head down onto his shoulder and smiles.

“You need higher shelves, my darling. I’ll go down to the carpenter’s guild tomorrow and commission some, and then we can keep our weapons there without worrying about the children.”

Another kiss, and then two more. “Now sleep,” he urges, with a cavernous yawn that echoes itself a moment later on Xichen‘s face. “We have much to do, and you need your rest.”

So they sleep, hand in hand and side by side, and dream of tiny, mud-splattered disciples toddling down the neat stone paths of the Cloud Recesses. A-Yuan is in the lead, no longer toddling, for he looks much older than the three-year-old Yuan’er asleep in the bed next to Xichen’s; but the child waddling at Jingyi’s heels is so small that she can hardly walk, and her tiny ears look just like Nie Mingjue’s.

“Perhaps not yet,” the Xichen in his dreams says, hopelessly fond as he leans into Mingjue’s embrace; but his eyes are damp, shining in the watery sunlight, and Nie Mingjue loves him so desperately that he thinks he might break from the force of it.

“Yes, truly!” roars Lan Qiren. “Look at you, you’re skin and bone! Even if you had come here with a gang of Wen Ruohan’s lieutenants, I would never let the mother of my nephew’s child languish on a hill of the dead alone—much less my own great-nephew! Has Wangji not cared for you well enough, that you would think so poorly of us? Shall I have words with him on the matter?”

“En. Shufu should,” says Wangji, lowering his head. “Wei Ying, this one has failed you.”

“Lan Zhan, what-no, of course you haven’t!” Wei Wuxian rushes to Wangji’s side and leaps into his arms, careless of the large black bundle on his back. “You haven’t. If I had known that you and Zewu-jun would value me this much, well—then I would never have come here.”

Lan Qiren sniffs at him. “Good. Now spend tonight with us at the inn, and every day hence until the Wens can be moved.”

“I will,” Wei Wuxian says, wringing his hands. “Now that I’m sure it’s safe, I will. But Lan Zhan, there’s something you and laoshi should know about first.”

Wangji tilts his head to the side and kisses Wei Wuxian’s nose. “What is it?”

In answer, Wei Wuxian reaches for the shapeless bundle on his back and unravels it, revealing the tousled black head of a child.

“Look at A-Yuan,” he says quietly, “and then you’ll understand.”

So they look, and at first, Lan Qiren can’t imagine what Wei Wuxian might mean. A-Yuan is still well-fed and healthy, despite the month he spent living here in the Burial Mounds before Wangji could finally track his family down, but...

But A-Yuan is bigger than he used to be. Considerably bigger, given the fact that children grow slowly after passing their first birthdays, and Wei Wuxian has only been gone for five weeks, if that. His little nails have grown long, too, and thicker than his father’s; and the pupils of his dark round eyes have contracted down to pinpricks, though the sunlight is weak for early autumn.

And the two teeth that emerged during his short absence are pointed, though both are in the wrong place to be eyeteeth.

“Wei Ying?” Wangji pleads. “Trust me, dearheart. I will not leave you, no matter what the matter is.”

That is how Lan Qiren discovers that his great-nephew was born of the resentment filling the Burial Mounds, for Wei Wuxian lost his jindan to the Wens before being thrown in to die. But Wei Wuxian lived, and A-Yuan did not yet have a body, so he used resentful energy to survive and emerged fully-formed three months after his conception, instead of nine.

“I don’t know what Yuan’er will grow up to be,” Wei Wuxian says at last, “or what he would have been, even before this last month in the Burial Mounds. Everyone thought he owed his reflexes to having exceptional parents, but that-that’s not the case, Lan Zhan. If A-Yuan goes back to the Cloud Recesses, and someone notices how different he is, then...”

“Then we will hide it. No matter what he is, or what he grows to be, he is ours, and he is precious,” vows Wangji. “You need never speak of his origins, save to say that he is your child and mine.”

Wei Wuxian gives him a sad, lost look, and pulls the child a little closer to his chest.

“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped,” he sighs. “A-Yuan is a Lan, and he should grow up with his family. If the world should turn against home someday, so be it. We can run off into the wild again, if we must, and find somewhere to live in peace. But until then, sweetheart, we’ll stay with you.”

He transfers the baby into Wangji’s lap, brushing his lips over his fluffy hair before rising to his feet; and then he bows to Lan Qiren and points towards the dark path leading back into the Burial Mounds.

“Stay here, Lan Zhan. Laoshi and I will go talk to the Wens, and then I’ll be back with you by dusk.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat.

“Very well,” he says gruffly. “Let’s go, then. And Wei Ying, let there be no more of this. We are your family, and we will stand by you in all things. You are ours.”

“He is,” Nie Huaisang agrees. Married life suits Lan Xichen beautifully, and da-ge refuses to let his new husband leave their chambers without covering him in jewelry: earrings, necklaces, delicate bracelets, sparkling chains affixed to his hairpins, and even a silver and white-jade ring which was said to have belonged to the Nie sect founder’s wife.

The trinkets have been Xichen-ge’s greatest weapon in the battle for A-Yuan’s affections, since babies love playing with shiny things, and Jiang-xiong doesn’t wear any jewelry but his father’s old guan. In Nie Huaisang’s opinion, Jiang-xiong could easily do better with Yuanyuan if he borrowed a few of Jiang-guniang’s old zanzi, but Jiang Cheng insists that resorting to such tactics would be playing dirty: he is the uncle that A-Yuan sees every day, he says, so Zewu-jun’s use of pretty baubles to win the child over will mean less than nothing in the long run.

“Yuan’er,” Jiang Cheng says again, a little closer to Huaisang’s hiding place this time. “Come here so jiujiu can give you some lotus milk pudding.”

A-Yuan nods and squeals in delight, clapping his little pink hands together before rolling off Lan Xichen’s lap. “A-Yuan pudding!”

“There!” Jiang-xiong exclaims, dragging A-Yuan into his arms before Xichen-ge can try to pick him up again. “Good child, Yuanyuan! Jiujiu will put extra sugar in your pudding, just the way you like it.”

“Sugar will rot his teeth,” Lan Xichen objects. “At his age, he should not be eating anything sweeter than plain fruit.”

“He barely has any teeth, Zewu-jun. And anyway, Pan-daifu says lotus curd is medicinal. It’s good for him.”

Xichen-ge laughs and bows his head in defeat. “En, very well. I would not lightly contradict another healer, especially one with so many years’ worth of experience. Good afternoon, Jiang-zongzhu!”

With that, the two part ways, leaving Nie Huaisang and Li Shuai to extract themselves from Jiang Yanli’s favorite thornless rosebush. Nie Huaisang got his robes caught in a knot of roots, so Yu Zhenhong has to be called in to render assistance; and after that, their little band of schemers retreats to Huaisang’s guest pavilion to discuss the events of the day.

“That brings us to seventeen for Zewu-jun and thirteen for Jiang-zongzhu,” Li Shuai says triumphantly, while Yu Zhenhong pours her a cup of lotus tea. “We might catch up to him yet, Brother Nie.”

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” Nie Huaisang retorts. “After all, it’ll be difficult for Jiang-xiong to pull ahead after Wei-xiong and Yuanyuan move to Gusu.”

Li Shuai drops her cup of tea.

“What?” she screeches, driving a flock of blue-crested herons out of the water at their feet. “Seriously? Da-shixiong’s agreed?”

“According to my sources, yes,” Nie Huaisang drawls, retreating behind his fan. “You see, Nie Zonghui went out to buy himself a new summer cloak last night, and he heard Wei-xiong and Wangji-xiong talking on the roof near the training court when he came back. Wangji-xiong was confessing his feelings, and Wei-xiong accepted them and promised that he and A-Yuan would move to the Cloud Recesses by Yuanyuan’s second birthday.”

“In the middle of the night? When none of us were around to hear?” Li-guniang says indignantly. “How can da-shixiong call me his favorite shimei, when he treats me like this?”

Yu Zhenhong laughs. “He’ll have to announce the engagement sometime, A-Shuai. And since we already know, we can start preparing da-shixiong’s wedding gifts early.”

“With what money?” Li Shuai demands, springing up to her feet. “Oh, I hope shixiong plans his wedding before Jiang-shijie’s! Jin Zixuan’s been sniffing around lately, and we won’t be able to afford a fine wedding for Wei-shixiong if Shijie gets married first.”

“Jiang-guniang is older,” Nie Huaisang reminds her. “She should be married first.”

“Well, yes, but Jin Guangshan should cover her expenses. It’s not as if he’s good for anything else.”

Li Shuai and Yu Zhenhong trade significant looks over Nie Huaisang’s head, too obviously thinking of Jin Guangshan’s latest message asking Wei Wuxian to surrender the Yinhufu to Lanling. He doesn’t know that Wangji-xiong is Yuanyuan’s father, or that Gusu Lan holds stronger ties to Yunmeng than Lanling has to anywhere else; but he clearly believes that he should be sitting on the throne Wen Ruohan left behind, and Gusu’s new marriage alliance to Qinghe will only have accelerated his plans to obtain it.

“Da-shixiong will be safer in Gusu, too,” Yu Zhenhong murmurs. “We cannot claim full sway over our own private affairs while Jiang-shijie hopes to marry Jin Zixuan. And it will happen sometime, so Wei Wuxian must leave Yunmeng Jiang as soon as possible.”

Nie Huaisang nods. After Wei-xiong marries Lan Wangji, matters concerning Wei Wuxian will be the Lan sect’s business: and through Da-ge’s marriage to Lan Xichen, the business of the Nie sect as well. But for now, making demands of Wei-xiong will do nothing but inconvenience Yunmeng Jiang, and compromise the youngest, weakest zongzhu among the four great clans.

“Brother Nie,” Yu Zhenhong says gravely. “Now that da-shixiong and Hanguang-jun have sorted out their feelings, the wedding preparations must be handled with the utmost speed and discretion. Not one word of this should reach the Jinlintai.”

“That I can do,” Huaisang promises. “We’ll give no more than a month’s notice before the wedding, and Nie Zonghui and I will handle all the tradesmen’s orders. Now, scram! I can see Jiang-guniang coming this way.”

So they scatter, sprinting in different directions before Jiang Yanli can turn the corner and catch them. Li Shuai activates an air-beneath-water talisman and jumps into the lake, while Yu Zhenhong darts down a side passage leading back to the kitchens; and Nie Huaisang takes a transportation talisman to Lan Xichen’s guest quarters, where he finds his brother-in-law eating loquats on a luohan bed with one of Huaisang’s myna birds.

“Well?” Xichen-gege asks, with a sly glint of mischief in his eye. “Do we have a plan, Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang opens his fan and covers half of his face with it.

He would wed Lan Zhan if he asked again, wed him and dwell with him until the end of his days, because it would be torment to be parted from him and death to imagine Lan Zhan with another. Once he tried to think of someone else surpassing him in Lan Zhan’s affections, some high-spirited maiden or gentle xianjun who would love A-Yuan and honor Wei Wuxian as the father that bore him, and found himself wishing himself married that very instant, so he could be content in the knowledge that Lan Zhan would never...

“I love you,” he says aloud, so softly that he scarcely hears himself above the rustling of the wind. “I love you as Zhu Yingtai loved Liang Shanbo, as the Lady Bai She loved her Xu Xian. When we were still in Qishan, I heard Lan-xiansheng say it was a miracle that you were well enough to dual cultivate with me after fighting the Xuanwu, let alone that I had the strength to receive you and bear a child, and so—well!

“It was more than your strength, my Lan Zhan, and more than mine, too. I love you more than life, qian xin, and so we have our A-Yuan. And that’s why I can’t marry you, because I would demand much more of my husband than he would be willing to give.”

Lan Zhan’s tongue darts out to wet his mouth. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, like pale pieces of cracked-glaze jewelry made to show the red enamel below, and all Wei Wuxian can see in them is his own wavering reflection.

“And have you asked your husband what he is willing to give?” Lan Zhan says fiercely, dragging Wei Wuxian into his arms and squeezing him until he gasps for breath. “Or did you break his heart by refusing him, when that heart was yours to take or discard the moment your eyes met his!”

Wei Wuxian stares at him in disbelief. “But you never spoke,” he pleads, fighting the urge to lie back in Lan Zhan’s sturdy arms and melt like iced fruit left out in the sun. “If I asked you to come back to Yunmeng with me once, I must have asked a thousand times—and each time you refused me!”

“Refused out of fear,” Lan Zhan counters. “I could not—” and here his ears flush redder than roses, burning hot against Wei Wuxian’s skin— “Nie Huaisang told me that things were different here, that the cultivators of Yunmeng Jiang were free with their affections, and I was afraid that being spoiled further with your friendship would force me to betray my love.”

He pulls Wei Wuxian closer, shamefaced, and presses his cold nose into the curve between Wei Wuxian’s neck and shoulder.

“And I could not bear the thought of you having a mingding zhiren other than myself,” he whispers. “I was sure that one such as you would be dearly loved—for how could you not be? From the way you defended Mianmian and your shijie, and the way you spoke of the beauties you knew in Yunmeng, I was sure you had made some good guniang a queen among women by loving her before you ever met me!”

“And so you rejected me whenever I tried to approach you?” Wei Wuxian protests. “Then what else was I to think, save that-that--”

And then Wei Wuxian can say nothing more, because his heart’s treasure is kissing him.

Marry me, Lan Zhan begs between kisses, even as Wei Wuxian calls his name and weeps at the finger’s breadth of space keeping them apart. Let me be yours and be for me only, my love!

And Wei Wuxian yields to him, body and soul, willing as a peach blossom torn by the wind as he cries out—

Nie-zongzhu lets him pass and offers to send an attendant for tea and breakfast, but Lan Qiren has no desire to draw this conversation out any longer than he must.

“You have been sharing my nephew’s bed throughout the war,” he says bluntly. “For obvious reasons, that fact concerns me. What do you intend to do about it?”

Nie Mingjue frowns at him. “Lan Huan and I have always shared our living quarters. I sleep in the Hanshi during my visits to the Cloud Recesses, and A-Huan has a bed of his own in my chambers. The whole of the Bujingshi knows it.”

“The Bujingshi is loyal to you. Your people would never speak of your doings to outsiders,” Lan Qiren points out. “But there are no less than a hundred clans present here in Qishan. If you were simply brothers in arms, no one would think twice, but when paired with the knowledge of your affections for him...”

Nie Mingjue does not blush. He meets Lan Qiren’s eyes calmly, with no hint of shame: but Lan Qiren must still ask if he and Xichen behaved honorably behind closed doors, if only to set his old heart at rest.

“Our sect precepts forbid congress outside of marriage. Has Xichen broken that law in your presence?”

Nie-zongzhu shakes his head, and Lan Qiren exhales in relief before finding his way to a chair. “Very well. Since nothing has happened, then-”

"Then I will marry him.”

“You will--what? Why?”

“Truth is nothing in the face of rumor,” Nie Mingjue says hoarsely. “If there are rumors about us, then I would settle them by making it plain where Xichen and I stand in one another’s hearts. But I spent this last year not knowing whether each time I bid him goodbye would be the last, not knowing if the both of us would live to see the end of the war--laoshi, I have taken more separation from him than I can bear. So I will ask him to be my husband, and dwell with him until the end of my days.”

Lan Qiren lifts his eyebrows. “Then what of your duties? One of you must marry out, or you must live apart.”

“It will still be more than what we have had. If Lan Huan wishes to come to me after we are wed, then wanting will be enough reason to make the journey. He need not invent crowd night-hunts and banquets to make excuses for meeting  like I did when we were children.”

Lan Qiren digests this revelation in silence, marveling at the fact that his fretting had been wasted upon Wangji. His elder nephew has apparently been courting in secret all this time, and courting unknowingly until not so very long ago.

“You two have my blessing,” he says. “When should the wedding take place?”

“As soon as Xichen wants it. After he and I speak, I will ask him to choose a date.”

And with that, the matter is settled. Lan Xichen is as good as betrothed, since Lan Qiren came to visit Nie-zongzhu with his permission, and Nie-zongzhu’s honor is no longer in question; so Lan Qiren finishes his tea and goes back to Wangji’s guest house, where he finds Wei Wuxian waiting in the front room with A-Yuan in his arms.

“Where is Wangji?” Lan Qiren asks, when Wei Ying rises to greet him. “You have only just recovered. Why is he not with you?”

“All of the able-bodied cultivators in residence have been asked to go to the healing wards,” Wei Wuxian explains, holding a babbling A-Yuan up at arm’s length so Lan Qiren can kiss the baby’s soft cheek. “The wounded need to be moved by the end of the week, and their cores are flagging from overuse. They need to heal faster, so Xichen-ge prescribed them all mass lingli transfusions. He’s been tending the patients in the medical pavilion since dawn.”

“And you are still unwell, so you stayed behind with Yuan’er.”

Wei Wuxian nods, looking strangely relieved that Lan Qiren came to the correct conclusion on his own; or perhaps he feared being upbraided about his dark cultivation yet again, for practicing the guidao would likely have rendered him useless as a healer even if he were well. “There’s no use for me down there. I don’t have enough spiritual energy to give them, and Shijie is working as a nurse, so there was no one I could leave Yuanyuan with.”

“You should remain here until Wangji returns,” Lan Qiren advises him. “I can assist you if you need anything, and if you grow tired, I will look after A-Yuan.”

“Then this one will retire to bed,” Wei Wuxian says, with a soft laugh that A-Yuan immediately tries to imitate. He copies the yawn that follows, too, stretching his tiny pink mouth so wide that Lan Qiren can count the new teeth coming through his gums; and then the child falls asleep on his A-Niang’s shoulder, hiding his face behind Wei Wuxian’s hair as he drifts off to sleep.

Wei Wuxian slips through the door to Wangji’s room, taking the baby with him; and Lan Qiren slumps down onto the luohan bed near the stove before taking out his little pocket calendar.

Wei Ying does not want me.

Lan Qiren sits back, stupefied. “Surely not,” he says, stupefied. “You two have a child, a child he must raise alone if you two do not wed. What reason could he possibly have for refusing you?”

“Ah, Shufu,” Xichen interrupts. “For now, let it be. I have tried to reassure Wangji many times, but both you and he have forgotten that Wei Wuxian is still young. He will not be twenty until this coming autumn, and he already has a child to care for. Wei-gongzi loves A-Yuan deeply, and he is unused to being a father; so in time, when he realizes that accepting Wangji’s suit is the best thing for A-Yuan, he will surely say yes.”

“You are blind,” Lan Qiren snaps, making his nephew draw back in surprise. “Wangji could coax Wei-gongzi into marriage now if he insisted the union would be good for A-Yuan. But your brother is in love with that little fool, and he will not settle for a marriage undertaken out of duty. Am I correct, Wangji?”

Wangji nods. “If our marriage will not bring joy to Wei Ying, then I do not want it,” he says firmly. “I will be A-Yuan’s father, and honor my zhiji that way.”

Honor, indeed! Lan Qiren can almost see his nephew’s heart falling to pieces inside him!

“Don’t give up hope,” he urges. “It may very well be as Xichen said: Wei Ying is young. He is barely more than a child himself, war or no war, and now he has a little one of his own. What man could act sensibly in a predicament like his?”

“Wei Ying is very sensible. He knows his own mind.”

“Yes, but he has been through a great ordeal,” Lan Qiren points out. “He cultivates the guidao now, doesn’t he?”

“He cultivates the guidao for A-Yuan!” Wangji says fiercely, rising from his chair and snatching a confused A-Yuan out of the little cloak den Xichen built for him that morning. “Shufu, think! I gave myself to Wei Ying in that cave, when both of us were wounded nearly unto death—”

“Lan Wangji!”

“He didn’t really,” Lan Xichen coughs, turning his face away to hide his grin. “Zhanzhan, if you keep speaking of it that way, people will misunderstand.”

“—and three months later he had a child, while he was left defenseless and alone in Yiling!” Wangji continues, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “A-Yuan would never have lived if Wei Ying had not given him all his lingli, so what choice did my beloved have, save to protect himself and our child by cultivating the ghost path? A-Yuan owes his life to everything Wei Ying is, and has done, and the wickedness you would condemn him for is the reason I have my husband and son safe at my side today!”

“I was not going to condemn him,” Lan Qiren says placidly. “I wanted to remind you that he needs time to heal. Now that the war is over, he can return to the honorable path and see his home rebuilt, and then you can ask for his hand again. Properly, this time.”

“I have told you,” Wangji returns, aggrieved, “that Wei Ying does not love me. Am I to press him into marriage anyway? If that is what you meant, I refuse.”

“Save me from the stubbornness of children in love! Lan Wangji, you utter fool—the two of you could never have achieved dual cultivation unless Wei Wuxian loved you with all his heart!” he roars. “Your son is the proof of his feelings, nephew. He loves you so dearly that there is living evidence of it! Didn’t A-Huan explain it to you?”

Lan Xichen opens his mouth. “I-”

But before he can speak, Wangji tucks A-Yuan under his arm and storms towards the door. He pauses on the threshold for a moment, stroking A-Yuan’s chubby little face; and then he turns back to his uncle, and shocks him half to death by saying,

“If you want to see us happily married, look to Xiongzhang first. I would have been forced to duel Nie-zongzhu for his honor a hundred times over if we were not at war.”

And with that, he disappears into his bedroom, leaving Lan Qiren to lament his uselessness as a teacher while Xichen makes a valiant effort to smother himself in his robes.

“A-Huan,” Lan Qiren says, resigned. “Is this true?”

Xichen does not answer, but his burning face is answer enough, so Lan Qiren puts his head in his hands and tries not to scream.

His eldest nephew is engaged the next morning, after Lan Qiren has a long, stern conference with Chifeng-zun; and as for Wangji, Lan Qiren has a tiny, dimpled accomplice to help the match along.

All good things come to those who wait, he whispers, when Wei Wuxian leaves Wangji behind with nothing but a promise to see him next month in Yunmeng.

“I guess he knows what he’s doing,” Jiang Cheng mutters, holding a finger out to A-Yuan. A-Yuan grabs at it, trying to bring it to his mouth to chew on; but then, without warning, the baby freezes against Jiang Cheng’s stomach and bursts into piercing wails.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng says frantically, picking his nephew up properly. “Are you hungry? Do you miss your A-Die?”

A-Yuan flails in his arms, howling like a wounded animal, and he refuses to drink the milk Wei Wuxian left out for him. He spits the cloth nipple out of his mouth and screams into Jiang Cheng’s neck, kicking his feet and writhing as if something was hurting him, so Jiang Cheng lays him face down on his knee and pats the middle of his back.

“This is colic, right?” he asks the empty room, hoping that Wei Wuxian’s ghost nursemaid is still within earshot. “There can’t be anything else wrong with him. A-Yuan, tell shushu where it hurts!”

But A-Yuan, being less than two months old, does nothing but shriek at the top of his lungs. Jiang Cheng offers him the bottle again, but A-Yuan rejects it and draws his fat legs up to his chest, sniffling harder than ever while the tears run down onto his blankets.

“I’m taking you to Jie,” Jiang Cheng decides. But someone knocks on the door before he can open it; and when he calls out for the intruder to come in, it turns out to be Sect Leader Nie.

“I heard him all the way from the second floor,” Chifeng-zun tells him, with his brows pinched together in concern. “Is he sick?”

“I don’t know. I was going to bring him to a healer, since Wei Wuxian’s away, so—”

Instead of standing aside so that Jiang Cheng can pass, Chifeng-zun only holds out his arms. “Give the little one here.”

Jiang Cheng does, wondering if Chifeng-zun had remembered something helpful from Nie Huaisang’s early childhood; but to his astonishment, A-Yuan goes quiet the moment Nie Mingjue picks him up.

“When a child cries like that, it’s often because something in their environment is troubling them,” Nie-zongzhu explains. “Huaisang used to cry himself sick when our father brought his saber around him. Are you carrying any spiritual weapons?”

“Only Sandu and my mother’s Zidian.”

Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes at Zidian. “I’ve seen him trying to put your Sandu’s sword tassel in his mouth before. Can you hold the ring near his face, Jiang-zongzhu?”

Jiang Cheng lifts his hand and holds it a hairsbreadth away from A-Yuan’s cheek. To his horror, the baby’s little limbs lock with terror, as if he was afraid Jiang Cheng might use Zidian on him: and then A-Yuan starts to cry again, beating his small fists on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to escape.

A second later, the door bangs open again, admitting a panicked Lan Wangji this time. “What is wrong with my—with A-Yuan?” he demands, striding over to take the baby from Nie Mingjue’s arms. “Have you two been frightening him?”

“We just found out that he’s afraid of Zidian,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, stuffing the ring into his pocket before snatching A-Yuan back. “I don’t understand why, though. I’ve never used it in front of him.”

Lan Wangji blinks.

“You would not have needed to use it in front of him,” he murmurs, holding out his arms again. “Give him to me? Please?”

Jiang Cheng squints at him. “He’s fine now, Hanguang-jun. Why do you want to hold him? He’ll probably just spit up on your robes, if you try.”

“Please, Jiang-zongzhu.”

So Jiang Cheng hands the baby over, and tries not to let his displeasure show on his face when A-Yuan snuggles against the front of Hanguang-jun’s lace overgown and falls asleep in two seconds flat.

“He will feel after Xiongzhang plays the qin for him,” Lan Wangji announces. “Do not worry, Jiang-zongzhu. I will return A-Yuan when he eats and finishes his nap.”

And with that, he glides out the door, taking Jiang Cheng’s nephew away without a backwards glance.

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue says awkwardly, after Hanguang-jun departs. “Wei-gongzi hasn’t told you where A-Yuan came from, did he?”

Nie-zongzhu leaves before Jiang Cheng can question him further, but when Wei Wuxian comes back to the Unclean Realm after sunset, Jiang Cheng corners him in the infirmary with A-Jie and demands to know the truth.

The three of them skip dinner that night, because Jiang Cheng is too overwhelmed by the knowledge that A-Yuan is Wei Wuxian’s own blood son with Lan Wangji to show his face in public, and A-Jie is too overcome with joy to leave the baby’s side. She sees it as a blessing, though she weeps all through the supper they share together when she realizes why A-Yuan is so afraid of Zidian, and how much Wei Wuxian must have suffered before the baby was born.

For his part, Jiang Cheng’s feelings are mixed, especially when Lan Wangji stops by just after hai shi and insists on kissing A-Yuan goodnight before Wei Wuxian puts him to bed.

“Lan Zhan, he knows you,” Wei Ying gasps, when A-Yuan pushes his bottle away and snuggles into Lan Wangji’s side. “He didn’t even take to Jiang Cheng this well, and Jiang Cheng...”

But whatever quality Jiang Wanyin might have that makes him attractive to babies, Lan Wangji is his father. He delights in the knowledge like a child, examining every tiny finger and toe before asking Wei Ying to tell him all about the baby’s habits, and what he likes and dislikes, and everything Wei Ying has already planned for their son’s future.

“May I be a part of it?” Lan Wangji says humbly. He would have knelt and begged his beloved to accept him, as either his partner or A-Yuan’s father or both; but he would disturb his son if he moves now, so all Lan Wangji can do is ask, and pray that his own change of heart has not come too late.

Wei Ying has been cold to him ever since they were reunited, most likely because Lan Wangji was so often cold to him at the Cloud Recesses, or because he left Wei Ying at Mount Muxi without a word of comfort. But now they have a child, a newborn baby that needs them both, and Lan Wangji must care for his mingding zhiren and their son. He needs to, as he needs water to drink and air to breathe—they are his, both of them, and he cannot bear to leave them now that he knows the truth.

“Please,” he entreats, reaching out to hold Wei Ying’s hand. “I will do anything you wish, be anything you wish, only—only permit me to stand by you, and help you raise our little one. Please.”

Wei Ying stares at him, his beautiful mouth falling open in surprise.

“Why?” he wonders, patting A-Yuan’s small kicking feet. “You’re young, and you’ll probably want to get married someday. Won’t your wife mind not being the mother to your first child, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji frowns. “Wife? I will never wed any woman. I will never so much as look at a woman, if that is what you meant. But A-Yuan is here, and you are here, and...”

He looks up at Wei Ying, overwhelmed, and nearly succumbs to the impulse to cling to his zhiyin and cry.

“I want us to be a family. A whole family,” he whispers at last. “Wei Ying, we are at war, and so much—there is no certainty that either of us will live through it. But we have a son, and he is the most precious thing I have ever beheld. And you are dearer to me than I know how to say, just yet. I could spend the rest of my life at your side, aiding you in all things and helping you bring up A-Yuan, and die without a single regret as long as you both were well. Please.”

Please accept me, he wants to say. Wei Ying, please love me as I love you.

Has he lost Wei Ying already? Did Wei Ying love him once, perhaps, and decide that he would be better off loving someone else?

“Am I too late?” Lan Wangji says numbly. “If I have displeased you, then I...Wei Ying, I will do anything to atone for it, anything at all—!”

“No! No, nothing of the sort,” wheezes Wei Ying. “You, ah. You sounded as if you wanted to be more than A-Yuan’s father, you know, and it surprised me! You’re too serious, Lan Zhan. Of course you can be his father, if you want to.”

“I do want to,” Lan Wangji persists. “But I want to be more to you than that.”

All he receives for his pains is another uncomprehending stare. “I want you,” he clarifies. “I wish to be wedded to you properly, and claim A-Yuan as my son by you before the entire jianghu.”

“You want to marry me because of A-Yuan? Aiyah, Lan Zhan, isn’t that going a little too far?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“Not only because of him,” he confesses. “In truth, I...I would kneel to you now and ask for your hand even without A-Yuan, Wei Ying—”

Suddenly, A-Yuan bursts into tears. He works his tiny fists into Lan Wangji’s robes, wailing so loudly that he brings Xichen and Chifeng-zun running back into the room; and when Wei Ying leaves to calm the baby down and give him a bath, Lan Wangji knows enough to realize that his proposal has been rejected.

But he is certain that it was not due to any lack of feeling on Wei Ying’s part, or fear that he might try to part Wei Ying from A-Yuan.

“Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian begs, pressing his cheek to the baby’s fuzzy head. “Please.”

Zewu-jun nods and unclips the jade tassel from his belt. “I’ll do yours first. Twist a strand of your hair around one of A-Yuan’s, and give them both to me.”

Wei Wuxian gathers the hairs as bidden, coiling his thick strand of hair around A-Yuan’s little soft one, and watches as Zewu-jun lays them flat across the surface of his yaopei. The pendant flashes silver, and then red; and when Zewu-jun lifts it away, both of the strands of hair have turned white.

“The hairs of close relatives change color upon exposure to the clan yaopei. White signifies the blood bond between a mother and child, or a pair of siblings,” Lan Xichen explains, plucking a fine hair from his temple. “Forgive me, Wei-gongzi, but the spell requires fresh hairs each time. I need another one from A-Yuan.”

So Wei Wuxian cuts another strand of hair, and closes his eyes while Zewu-jun performs the test again.

When he looks back at the pendant, the two strands of hair wound around it have changed from black to a clear, pearlescent gray.

Wei Wuxian feels his blood run cold.

“Do you mind if I send for him now?” Zewu-jun says gently. “He will not ask for custody of the child, I swear it. A-Yuan is yours, regardless of whose blood runs in his veins, and that will never change.”

He nods, hardly daring to breathe while Zewu-jun activates a message talisman and sends it off to the Bujingshi’s training courtyard.

Ten minutes later, Nie Mingjue leads Lan Zhan into the little strategy room and tilts his head at the flailing bundle clutched in Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“Congratulations,” he says, before Wei Wuxian can take Lan Zhan aside and explain everything to him in private.

Lan Xichen feels himself go weak in the knees. It has been a long trip, he thinks, even for a cultivator as strong as he is, and some rest—preferably a long, sound sleep in Mingjue-xiong’s bed, with Mingjue himself close at hand to keep any nightmares away—if he could only rest for a little while, perhaps then the two of them could—

“A-Jue,” he says, wrapping his arms around Mingjue’s neck. “Mingjue-xiong, I...”

“Am I interrupting something?” a cheerful voice calls, before Xichen can make up his mind about what he was about to do. “I’m sorry, Nie-zongzhu. I thought this wing was empty.”

Mingjue laughs and shields Lan Xichen’s face from the intruder. “No. But what in heaven’s name are you doing down here? Is that little one giving you trouble again?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Wei-gongzi!” Lan Xichen cries, springing out of Nie Mingjue’s arms. “You’re here! Have you seen Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian nods. “I have. He and A-Cheng met up with me in Yiling, and we’ve been riding out to battle together ever since.”

He turns his attention to Mingjue-xiong, explaining something about a Wen camp quartered a few leagues away from Lake Qiandao, but Lan Xichen is no longer listening. Wei Wuxian entered the corridor with a bundle of cloth in his arms, and Xichen assumed he was carrying spare robes, or laundry; but then the grubby bundle moves, and reveals a tiny, curious face that Lan Xichen saw nearly every day during his early childhood.

“Wangji?” he croaks. “Young Master Wei, that child...he looks exactly like my didi. Whose is he?”

Wei Wuxian blanches, staring down at the baby in open shock, and Lan Xichen doesn’t need to look at Mingjue-xiong to know that he must have sropped breathing.

“He isn’t one of my clan,” he says hastily. “Our children are all accounted for, both dead and living. I was only remarking on the resemblance.”

Young Master Wei shakes his head.

“It doesn’t make any sense for him to look like Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says at last, looking anxiously up at Lan Xichen as if he feared that someone might try to take the child away from him.