worth it all these years

Wei Quan is almost two years old when they start building the temple at the former Burial Mounds. 

The place is lush and green and dense with new growth. Their first task is to place a door there to Lotus Pier. The second is to move, at long last, the large purifier to the cave. The net sends threads through the interior of the place, sinking into the stone, permeating the mountain with only a nudge of guidance. 

The level of spiritual energy in the place is staggering. It flows from the purifier out into the surrounding area. The plants glow with it. The earth is lush and rich: the majority of the bones have let go of the last resentment holding them together and returned to dust and soil.

This place was once a celestial mountain. It is well on its way to becoming one again.

Wei Wuxian glitters with the energy that finds him, lets it twist out from him and reshape the ground, the cave, everything. It’s as easy as breathing to urge the green and growing things to move and shift and clear the space for the temple. He’s been thinking about the designs for years, but this place is so deeply imbued with spiritual energy that it is nearly sentient, and it feels as though the very earth and vines like his ideas about what this place should be.

Once the earth is clear, they stand aside for the workers to carry the materials needed up to the side of the cave front. Wei Ying directs, showing his designs to the head builder and periodically stepping in to help with placements.

Lan Zhan holds Wei Chenxi and Wei Qing holds Wei Quan while he works, that first day. 

“A-Niang, I ‘member,” A-Quan says to his mother, looking up at the mountain. 

“Mn,” Wei Qing says. He doesn’t do this often. Just every now and then he’ll see someone or something and look longer and harder than they would expect for someone so small. They don’t think he’ll ever clearly remember his other life. They don’t think he wants to. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan had a deep need to keep everything, to fix their world. Lan Sizhui just wanted rebirth in the better world they’ve already made. The mind of an infant is too fluid, changing too rapidly for much to stay, and they don’t think his old soul tried very hard. 

Unlike his fathers, he has no precocious golden core—he does have maybe a little more language than the average two-year-old—but every once in a while some hint of a memory surfaces. 

“No lotus?” he asks. 

“Not yet,” she says. She’s seen Wei Ying’s paintings of his memories of this place.

Wei Ying works through the morning. The kids get bored after a bit, and Wei Qing helps Lan Zhan take them for a walk through the area. 

The external wards are still up, though at this point they are to keep people out, rather than to keep resentful spirits in. The place is as free of resentful energy as any in the five realms, but it is so, so wild. They pick their way along a stream bed, until they find a cluster of old fruit trees that have survived despite centuries without tending. A late peach clings to a branch, and Lan Zhan lifts his son up to pluck it, then wipes the juice from the boy’s chin. 

Wei Quan does not look exactly like Lan Zhan’s old memory of A-Yuan at this age. He still has the blood of Dafan Wen, through Wei Qing, but there is much of Wei Ying in the boy, as well. Still, seeing his son here, safe, well-fed, without fear… He presses a kiss to his son’s sticky-sweet plush cheek, and smiles, eyes damp.

It is a few weeks later, and Wei Chenxi is almost five, when some well-meaning aunties start talking about when she’s married. And she frowns, but doesn’t talk back. 

Later, she asks her mother about it, and her mother laughs and laughs. A-Niang is not married, though she loves Xixi’s fathers very much and lives with them, and her fathers are married, to each other. “It’s complicated,” Wei Qing says. “People will expect you to marry a boy. I expect you to make your own choices for your own happiness. If you marry a boy, so be it. But it’s up to you.” 

It’s not long after that that she asks why her brother has a courtesy name and she doesn’t. The answer, “because that’s how it’s done,” is not satisfactory. 

The whole thing becomes a problem she wants to solve. She asks six grownups what makes her a girl, what makes girls different from boys, and none of the answers are the same. And none of them make sense. She’s surrounded by women and men who don’t seem to fit the things she’s being told.

But it has some real consequences. Her brother is just a baby, but he has a whole extra name. Her fathers are deeply respectful of her mother, and don’t boss her around, but as she spends time with other children, she sees people who behave very differently, and she doesn’t like it. 

When her grandfather (for Jiang Fengmian has been dubbed grandfather by most of the Jiang and Wei children her age) starts to teach her baby brother how to hold a bow, but has not yet even considered teaching her, things come to a head.

“I’ve decided,” Chenxi says at dinner with her parents, “that I need a courtesy name.” Her voice is steady and matter-of-fact: this is not a negotiation. 

Wei Ying is intrigued. “And what would you do with it, Xixi?”

“Have Grandfather teach me to shoot,” she says.

Wei Ying blinks. “I’ll teach you, if you want.”

“It’s not about the name,” Wei Qing murmurs to him. “Jiang Fengmian always teaches the boys.”

“Then I’ll be a boy,” Chenxi says. “Grandfather should teach me before he teaches a baby.” 

“Xixi, I would love to teach you,” Wei Ying says, feeling as if the conversation has taken a sudden turn down an unfamiliar path.

“I just want it to be fair,” Chenxi says. “Nainai wants me to learn to weave. And I don’t like how the thread feels. I like bowstrings better.”

That’s the start of it. Over the following months she gets progressively more irritated with the fact that she has to sit still for longer than her brother to get her hair done. His hair goes up in a simple high ponytail or topknot. Hers goes into two, with braids, and she keeps pulling the pigtails and braids out and putting it in topknots. Her baba says it’s more work to undo it and redo it, but he only says it once after she gives him a look like a thundercloud.

Her die laughs and laughs at Baba’s discomfort at her glare, because A-Die says it looks just like Baba’s glare.

Her brother’s clothing is simpler and easier than hers, with fewer layers. Hers are more like a miniature version of what her mother wears. The boys’ play clothing is less confining. She persuades A-Yuan to find her some of his old play clothes, and will change into that as soon as her mother’s back is turned. Her mother is too tired or busy to argue most of the time. (And Wei Qing doesn’t care that much about which clothes Xixi wears, mostly.)

Her fathers are preoccupied with the construction of the temple, and her mother gets sidetracked with a new batch of students, so she’s spending a lot of time at Koi Tower with her auntie. And it’s worse there. Her boy cousins let her toddler brother tag along but tell her to go bother Jin Ling, who is very concerned about propriety and doing things correctly as a girl. She steals one of Jin Xun’s outfits and tries to tag along anyway, but that gets her sent to Madam Jin.

It’s even more frustrating at Cloud Recesses with her uncles and aunt, because they divide the whole sect up by gender, and the women’s side is boring. Her cousins try to tell her that the men’s side is also boring, that that’s just the way Cloud Recesses is. But the third time someone tries to get her to learn embroidery, she manages to get away and escape through the gate back to Lotus Pier, then turns around and heads to the Burial Mounds to explain to Baba that under no circumstances will she be spending time at Cloud Recesses.

Baba listens to her very carefully, and thinks about what she says, and then, to her great surprise, says, “I didn’t want to spend my childhood there, either. Why don’t you help me here today?”

She spends most of that day up on his shoulders, as he supervises workers. In the middle of the afternoon someone rushes through the gate to tell her fathers that she is missing, after she’s been there for five hours.

“As you can see, she’s here,” Baba says, not impressed, with the abrupt tone he usually uses with the Lan. “Explain the delay in notification.”

The Lan disciple’s eyes go wide and he says, “They thought she was sulking in Cloud Recesses.”

She can’t see Baba’s face, but the noise he makes is not happy and his shoulders go stiffer. A-Die appears suddenly, and says, “The craftsmen can handle the rest of the day without us, Lan Zhan.” 

Wei Chenxi is used to her parents’ telepathy. They make an effort to talk out loud around her, but they still use it a lot when they’re not in the same place.

Minutes later they pick up A-Quan from Cloud Recesses and exactly one person tries to scold her but stops at the look in her fathers’ eyes.

Lan Xichen catches up with them before they reach the gate back. “I’m sorry,” he starts.

“She was with us for five hours before someone came to tell us she was missing,” Wei Wuxian says, shifting A-Quan to his hip as he speaks for them both. Lan Zhan has gone completely nonverbal, still carrying Xixi on his shoulders, one hand white-knuckled on his sword, the other clasping small ankles over his chest.

“The gate guard didn’t see her go through,” Lan Xichen says. “The creche Elder sent her to Xiuying, and didn’t follow through to make sure she’d gotten there. Xiuying had no idea.”

“It will not be a concern in the future,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice well-controlled, his smile polite, but barely. “You and your family are welcome to come visit any time.”

“I don’t understand,” Lan Xichen says. “She was with you, no harm came to her. You weren’t concerned enough to check in with us?”

“She had to get through two gates to get to us. We assumed that someone knew she’d left. The concern is how long it took for anyone to realize she was missing. I thought she was with your family. Lan Zhan has no desire for his child to be with the Elders, ever. We’d rather have her with us, or with someone at Lotus Pier, than with them.”

“I want to be with Baba and A-Die,” Chenxi says. “NanaNainai make me weave.”

Wei Ying can remember being that age, this time around. He occasionally helped with winding skeins, but never spent much time on textiles unless he wanted to. And often he did want to, in order to spend time with his mother. It was always his idea. He frowns. “We’ll talk with them, Xixi.”

Xichen’s brows knit. “I apologize for the lapse of our sect. I will endeavor to find out how she managed to get through the gate without being seen.”

“Bunnies helped me,” Xixi says cryptically.

They leave A-Quan with Yu Ziyuan (who dotes on all the younger children in a way which Wei Ying finds unsettling, even as soft as she’s been this whole lifetime) and find Wei Qing back at Lotus Pier, to sit down with Xixi.

They walk with her swinging between her fathers down to the market, and pick up her favorite dumplings and a sweet. The parents get dishes of noodles of varying levels of spice, and they walk down to the dock near their house to eat. Wei Qing established an “eat before serious conversation” rule early on. Lan Zhan still doesn’t like to talk over meals, so they’re all quiet together while they eat.

“Okay, Baobao,” Wei Qing finally says. “You’ve been cranky for days about things. Can you tell me more about it?”

“Mad for months,” Xixi says. “I don’t like being a girl. I want to be a boy.”

Wei Qing and Lan Zhan both look at Wei Ying, who rolls his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a girl, I just wanted babies.” He leans forward and chucks his eldest on the cheek.

“I never want babies,” Xixi says, pulling away. “There’s plenty of babies. Babies everywhere. I want to learn to shoot and use a sword and I want to have a courtesy name. I don’t like pigtails and I want clothes like Yuan-ge. I want to be a big brother.”

Wei Ying thinks that sisters are important, but he doesn’t say it. He’s seen too many sisters suffocate under the weight of their importance to their brothers.

Wei Qing’s mind is buzzing with half-formed feelings and memories.

Lan Zhan is the one who speaks, finally. “The Jiang motto is to attempt the impossible. I don’t see why it should matter to anyone else if Xixi is a girl or a boy.”

Wei Qing breaths in a sharp breath. “Not everyone will accept it.”

“Not everyone accepts our marriage, or your place in our lives,” Wei Ying says. “What’s one more thing to confuse them?”

She nods, considering. “I use a sword,” she says.

“But you’re not a gege,” Xixi says.

The adults are silent for a long moment as they discuss.

How would this even work? Wei Ying wonders to himself, knowing they will sense it.

Wei Qing sends, “I have found consistently that it works better to simply inform the people around me what is going to happen, rather than asking their opinion.”

“Agreed,” Lan Zhan sends. “If this will make Xixi happy, let Xixi tell us what is important, then present it to the world.”

“What do you want to do, exactly, Baobao?” Wei Ying asks aloud, after a few more rounds of silent conversation.

“I want to be A-Chen, and I want a courtesy name someday. Just what people would do for a boy.”

Lan Zhan flashes a sudden gratitude across the link that Xichen has been Xichen or Da-Ge or A-Huan but never really A-Chen to them. He says, “We will do this, A-Chen. We will explain it to our families. I cannot guarantee that they will understand or follow suit, but we will stand by you in this.”

“One thing,” Wei Ying asks. “How did bunnies help you with the gate?”

A-Chen grins, and says, “I put six ribbon bunnies in a basket, then opened the basket and let most of them out near the door, and then the bunnies were running away. The guard ran off to catch them, even though they wouldn’t have run if they hadn’t come at them too fast, and I went through the gate.”

Wei Qing sends, “This is your child, Wei Wuxian.”

“I have never been more proud,” Wei Ying sends back. 

“And at the other end?” Lan Zhan prompts.

A-Chen shrugs. “I pushed the last two bunnies through the gate and then ducked around from one to the other while the guards were catching them. ’Cuz of the bunnies’ ribbons.”

Wei Ying blinks at him, and then taps his nose. “You know this is going to be your job now, right?” 

Lan Zhan and Wei Qing stare at Wei Ying. 

“It is very important that we know where there are flaws in our protections,” Wei Ying says. “If our guards can be distracted by such little things in a way that a small child can be two gates away for five hours without anyone noticing, then they need more training.”

Lan Zhan considers this for a long moment, and then adds, “However, if you’re going to test the security of the gates or wards in the future, please let one of us know first, so that we can keep you safe. Please.”

A-Chen looks down at his feet, and mumbles something.

“Hm?” Wei Qing asks.

“I thought you would send me back,” A-Chen says more audibly.

“I would not,” Lan Zhan says. “I will not.”

“But what you’re doing is important,” A-Chen says.

Wei Ying smiles down at his older son. “Baobao, I’d burn the temple to the ground if it was a choice between you and it. Places, even temples, are never going to be more of a priority to us than you.”

“Don’t burn it, A-Die! Didi likes it there.”

“Die does not have to choose,” Lan Zhan says. “There are three of us. We will manage.”

“You’ll tell NanaNainai that I don’t have to weave?” A-Chen asks.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says with a nod.

“Will you make Grandfather teach me?” A-Chen asks.

“We will ask him,” Wei Ying says. “We cannot force a sect leader to do something he doesn’t want to do, but I would happily teach you, if he will not.”

Wei Qing says, “I think we will let you play with A-Ning for an evening, and have a conversation with your grandparents, okay, Baobao?”

A-Chen nods quickly, murmuring thanks. 

Wei Ning listens, nods seriously, looks down at A-Chen and says, “Want to start learning to shoot now, A-Chen?”

A-Chen weighs his options and then says, “Yes, please!” 

The grandparents are a mixed bag. Wei Shuang looks entertained and tolerant but keeps forgetting and saying Xixi. Tang Lijuan goes very quiet and worried but says A-Chen. Yu Ziyuan immediately goes into a “how is this going to affect my family” mode, but then Jiang Fengmian starts arguing about whether this is a bad omen and she does an about face and starts yelling at him in a way Wei Ying hasn’t seen since his first childhood. Jiang Fengmian grudgingly agrees to teach A-Chen how to shoot, sending sideways glances at his wife.

Wei Qing’s parents, Wei Jinjing and Wei Zemin, look at each other, have a conversation that mostly consists of eyebrow twitches, and then nod. Wei Jinjing says, “If A-Chen wants to learn healing, it won’t matter one way or the other. If he doesn’t, it’s not our issue. If it makes him more comfortable, we’ll call him what he likes. It’s not like we haven’t all changed our names once or twice.”

Wei Zemin smiles a soft smile and says, “There are two people in my family who did the same thing, and no one here has noticed.” 

That startles them, but they don’t ask who, and Wei Zemin doesn’t volunteer the information.

When they tell Jiang Cheng, he blinks, frowns, starts to open his mouth, catches a look from Wei Qing, and then shrugs. “Okay. A-Chen? Why not?”

A little later, they step through to Cloud Recesses, leaving A-Chen and A-Quan at Lotus Pier with Wei Qing’s parents. 

It has been years since all three of them were at Cloud Recesses at the same time, and Lan Wangji feels the strangeness of it settle over him as he sends a disciple to request a formal audience with his uncle and brother. This was his home for fifty years, but has not been his home for twenty-five years. There are faces familiar to him who barely know him at all, not that they really knew him in his last life, either. 

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren look up as they enter the Hanshi. Xichen’s expression is raw; Lan Qiren is frowning.

They bow, together, and Xichen says, “Wangji, I’m sorry about what happened. I want to assure you that it will never happen again.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “That is not why we are here.” He looks over at Wei Wuxian.

“We come to inform you of a change in our family,” Wei Wuxian says. “Our eldest child has informed us that he is a son, not a daughter, and would prefer to be called A-Chen until we can provide him with a courtesy name. We have agreed, and wanted to let you know so that you can have some time to adjust your expectations before you see him again.”

They blink at him. Lan Qiren takes a deep breath, and then says, “That would explain much.”

They all stare at him.

He stands. “Please tell Wei Chen that he is welcome here.”

Lan Xichen opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakes his head slightly. “You accept this?”

“What possible good could come of arguing with family?” Lan Qiren asks.

“Do you not accept it, brother?” Lan Wangji asks.

“It’s not that,” Lan Xichen says. “A-Yu has been complaining for a while about being a boy. That he might choose otherwise was not something I’d thought of as an option. We’ve been trying to give him latitude to explore things he would not normally be expected to learn, but…”

“But Cloud Recesses divides literally everything by gender,” Wei Qing says. “Apparently my father’s family has several people who have made such a choice.”

“It happens, sometimes,” says Lan Qiren. “It’s not frequent, and the common folk are very superstitious about it, but when it happens here, a disciple will often leave for a time and then return with a new name to the other side of the sect, and most people don’t realize what has happened. It’s been many years since it affected the inner circle, however.”

“Shouldn’t I have known about this already?” Lan Xichen asks. 

Lan Qiren shrugs. “It doesn’t come up very often. There’s a book, I’ll see if I can find it. I was taught that if a child insists, the luck is far worse if you deny them.”

The problem with Lanling isn’t Madam Jin, Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli, or even Jin Zixun. The problem at Lanling is the current cadre of young masters and their shidis, who are, Wei Wuxian reflects, still an arrogant bunch of pricks. Madam Jin suggests they wait a bit before expecting A-Chen to become just one of the boys there, so that she may work on setting expectations. Jin Zixuan has been swimming upstream with the disciples for years. He promises to work on it.

They decide that they’re not going to subject A-Chen to it until Zixuan has worked on it better.

They return home, heartened by the majority of responses, to find that A-Chen, A-Quan, and A-Ning are all curled up in a pile together with little A-Hui, A-Ning’s child, all asleep in the smaller bed. It is entirely too cute for words, especially the part where all of the children have matching topknots, and so does Wei Ning, only his has clearly been put into position by unskilled hands, as it is lopsided and half out. A-Quan looks very babyish asleep on his uncle’s chest with an arm flung over his cousin, and A-Chen is tucked under one of Wei Ning’s arms with a tiny, unstrung bow still clutched in one hand. 

Wei Ying is vibrating and overwhelmed by the picture it makes, and insists on staying up late to sketch them. Lan Zhan does not object; in fact, he is already planning on displaying it. Wei Qing thinks they’re being incredibly sentimental, and tells them so, silently, but they know she’s just as affected.

A-Lian shows up halfway through and waits, trying not to laugh, for them to finish with the drawing before very carefully extracting A-Hui from his father’s chest. Little A-Hui is still nursing often, for all he’s only days younger than A-Quan.   

After Wei Ying’s sister leaves with their nephew, the three of them leave Wei Ning and the children and retreat to the main bed, trying not to laugh. Wei Qing will go swipe A-Quan to nurse, later. He’s only nursing a few times a day, but it’s been a long one.

The temple is finished quickly, with a shrine to Wei Changze and a series of cryptically labeled plaques for those lost in another lifetime, but Wei Wuxian isn’t done with the projects he has in mind for the Burial Mounds. The siheyuan is designed for the climate of Yiling, the external structure similar to the buildings Wei Ying remembers as Wen Qing’s old home, but the wood is light, from Lotus Pier, and the woodworkers carve intricate, stylized forests into the panels between rooms. Not the ubiquitous lotus motif of Lotus Pier, not the geometrically precise work of the old supervisory office, but something new.

They carve new characters over the main gate. 仙林山, Xianlin Shan, for it truly has become a forest for immortals, a new celestial mountain. 

The cave is renewed, the heart of the mountain. The water runs clear and cold and breathtakingly pure, no taint, no crumbled monument, no residue of evil. The horrors of the past have been cleansed, released from suffering. 

The very stone of the walls is reshaping itself into a true holy place. 

It would be impossible for them to sleep here, inside, as the energy within the cave is too invigorating. Outside, the forest flourishes everywhere that hasn’t been cleared, but it’s rich in fruit and nut trees, berry bushes. Almost everything growing is edible, and it’s no accident. Wei Ying did not have to explain to his husband and to Wei Qing that he wanted to ensure that no one could ever go hungry in this place again.

Lan Zhan helps place the stones that border the lotus ponds. They all plant lotuses together when the ponds are ready. 

The siheyuan is nearly finished when Lan Yang tugs politely at the wards, almost a full year after they started building.

Wei Wuxian goes down toward the wardposts to find out who it is, and stops cold, well up the path, to see Lan Yang, Jiang Shun, Song Zichen, Xiao Xingchen, and the girl A-Qing, together, alive, and friendly. 

The cognitive dissonance is profound, but he schools his external reaction just as he feels Lan Zhan’s attention shift and he knows his husband is coming, now.

Lan Zhan puts his hand on his husband’s arm, and moves down the path to greet their visitors.

He walks through the gate ward, and bows deeply. “Song Zichen. Xiao Xingchen. Guniang. We are most honored. I am Lan Wangji.” Then he straightens and turns to Jiang Shun. “Didi.” Then to Lan Yang, he says, “Chengmei.” 

“You know of us?” Song Lan asks. 

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says. “I am delighted to see you well.”

“I see what you mean,” the girl says, looking back and forth between Lan Wangji and Jiang Shun. 

“Uncanny, right?” Jiang Shun says. 

“Would you expect immortals to be canny?” Lan Yang asks with a wry smile.

“My husband says I should invite you in,” Lan Wangji says, ignoring the younger disciples. “We’re still working, but you are welcome to join us.”

With a gesture, he releases the gate ward, walks through it, waits for them to pass and then reseals it.

By this point Wei Wuxian has gathered his wits and is striding down the path to meet them. 

“Xian-gege!” A-Shun says, words tumbling out. “A-Yang and I were night hunting with some others, and we met these three. I remembered your old stories, and I thought you might want to meet them! A-Yang really hit it off with them. I told them about the temple, and they wanted to see.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “Didi, you did well. We’ve been wondering about Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen for years. And A-Qing! It has been a long, long time for me.”

“You have the advantage of us,” Xiao Xingchen says mildly. “We’ve heard of you two, of course, but you seem to know us?”

“I told you,” Jiang Shun says. “They had another life.”

“Ah, Didi, don’t bring it up,” Wei Wuxian says, wincing. “We came back for a reason, and part of it was not to have that world’s sad stories come true. It’s of no importance if everyone is here together and well. You are well?” He looks from one to the other.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan glance at each other and then nod. 

“Ah, then come, come. The kitchen was the first thing we finished. I’ll get someone to make a meal. You will join us.”

They step over the threshold of the siheyuan’s wide front gate, and pass through several passageways, then through a muddy courtyard stacked with building supplies, to the most finished buildings. There, a reception hall is currently serving as a dining area. Lan Zhan stops on the way to talk to one of the workers, a Jiang-robed disciple, who nods and trots off to the kitchen. 

They gather at two low tables, and Jiang Shun pours the tea when it comes. Wei Wuxian hands Lan Yang a small pot of honey, and says, “To sweeten your tea, if you like.”

Lan Yang blinks at him, and then drizzles a modest amount of honey into his cup, wide-eyed.

Wei Wuxian looks over at A-Qing and says, “Tell me about your life, guniang. I know one story of it, but perhaps yours is better?” 

“Mine?” she asks. “I grew up with my family in Tanzhou. They sent me to the Ouyang sect to train as a cultivator. I just started travelling this year, and the best place to night hunt is Qishan, where I met Jiang-xiong and Lan-xiong. We ran into Song-daozhang and Xiao-daozhang when we’d been hunting for a few days, and they helped us with an unpleasant yao that had been causing problems for a while. It’s not that interesting, I guess. I’m just learning, still.”

Wei Wuxian gives her a wide smile. “I have learned in my many years that it is better to have a boring life. Congratulations.”

“She’s very quick,” Jiang Shun says. “Qing-mei saved my life when we met. She saved both of us.”

“Qing-mei?” Wei Wuxian says, raising his eyebrows.

“You called me A-Qing,” she says. “And you scold him for being familiar?”

Wei Wuxian gives a respectful nod. “My apologies, it is the only name you gave me in my other life. If you give me a more complete name, I will, of course, call you as you wish.”

She says primly, “I am Tan Qing (覃箐).”

“Tan-guniang,” Wei Wuxian says, with a bow.

And then she gives a merry smile. “Everyone calls me A-Qing if I like them. Except those two idiots. They call me Qing-mei.”

“You act like a little sister, you get called a little sister,” Jiang Shun mutters. He has one little sister. Tan Qing is not so different.

Lan Yang smiles and says, “I always wanted a little sister, but apparently there were not more where I came from, according to Baba.”

Wei Wuxian will never get over the idea of Lan Qiren as “Baba,” but Lan Yang is old enough now to look like Xue Yang, minus the evil, and that’s even more jarring.

“See, when he does it, it’s kinda sweet,” A-Qing says. “When that one does it,” she says, nodding at Jiang Shun, “it’s like an actual annoying older brother.”

“He’s had practice, and bad examples,” Lan Wangji says.

“Oh, like you’re not one of those examples?” Wei Wuxian says, in mock indignation. 

“I was thinking of Jiang Cheng,” Lan Wangji says primly. Then he turns to Lan Yang and says, “Indeed, there were definitely no more where you came from. We’re not entirely sure how you got there in the first place.”

“Wait, you know?” Lan Yang asks.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look at each other, and then Wei Wuxian asks carefully, “What have you been told?”

“Baba just said that I was found as an infant, that all of my known family were dead, and that I was very sick as a baby because of spiritual contamination. I don’t remember any of that.”

“You were too little to remember,” Wei Wuxian says. “When we found you, you were being kept alive by resentful energy, I’m not even quite sure how, and I’m an expert. You were tiny. And Lan Qiren took charge of you immediately. You call him Baba?”

“I wore him down. Well, A-Huan helped. It was Shifu until I turned four, and then I cried until he relented. A-Huan thought I was mad to try it, because no excessive displays of emotion, but he never raised a hand to me, and we made a deal. I could call him Baba, and in exchange, I agreed never to use tears to try to persuade him again. Then he gave me candy. I love him very much.”

Lan Wangji is much better at hiding reactions than Wei Wuxian. Still, Wei Wuxian manages to school his face, mostly, and covers the rest with, “My early experience with Lan Qiren did not involve candy.”

“Nor mine,” Lan Wangji says.

“I did know you had a sweet tooth in our last life,” Wei Wuxian confesses. “I suggested that he relax his position on sweets.”

Lan Yang’s eyes widen. “A couple of my friends said that I made Cloud Recesses sweeter.”

“Life is difficult enough without depriving oneself of small, harmless pleasures,” Lan Wangji says. “Uncle took very little persuading.”

Lan Yang bows to both of them. “My gratitude.”

Song Lan speaks up then and says, “Can you tell us about this place? When I was growing up it was the thing parents told stories about to scare their children into better behavior. But it feels blessed, now.”

This launches Wei Wuxian into a long and detailed explanation of the use of purifiers to convert resentment. Jiang Shun and Lan Yang go off after a bit with the children to pick fruit, leaving the other cultivators to listen.

Finally Xiao Xingchen says, “So will you live here, when it’s finished?”

“Perhaps, part time,” Wei Wuxian says. “We’re retired, so we try to keep our choices flexible.”

“We’ve been talking,” Song Lan says, “about the possibility of starting a new sect ourselves. But this place… What do you intend for it?”

“I want it to be a place of safety,” Wei Wuxian says. “Somewhere people can heal from spiritual damage.”

“It could be more than that,” A-Qing says. “Qishan… have you been there recently?”

“We don’t go into Qishan often,” Lan Wangji says. “Our lady, Wei Qing, keeps tabs on it and sends what help she can.”

“Taiyang Yunmie came through Qishan years ago and killed or removed the golden core from most of the cultivators,” Song Lan says. “In the war, many resentful spirits were created. There are few remaining who are capable of doing what is needed to resolve their issues or put them to rest. We do what we can, but it’s a bigger problem than three people can handle without support. You are close to the border here; this place could be a boon to cultivators working on bringing peace to the spirits of that land.”

Lan Wangji says, “We will take it to the council.”

Wei Wuxian nods. “At the very least, this is a good place to recover after night hunting. Any residual resentful energy will be removed very quickly, and golden cores tend to revitalize rapidly here. Are any of you wounded?”

Xiao Xingchen nods. “I broke my collarbone the last time we night hunted. It’s why we were willing to come here instead of continuing. I can walk, but fighting hurts.”

“See Wei Qing,” Lan Wangji says. “She is an outstanding healer.”

“Many thanks,” Xiao Xingchen says.

The five of them stay for a week as Wei Qing works on years worth of old injuries for Xiao Xingchen, much to his chagrin. When he tries to demur, on the grounds that some of the injuries are from his teens and he manages fine, she pinches his ear and says, “If I work on these now, here, we can completely or nearly completely heal everything. If I do not, eventually you will reinjure some of them, and they will be that much more resistant to healing correctly. Don’t make my job harder, later on.”

The others help with the finishing touches on the siheyuan. Jiang Shun works on carpentry with A-Qing and the workers, while Lan Yang helps Lan Zhan shelve new books in the new library, and Song Lan follows Wei Ying around asking questions about talismans and energy manipulation. 

Lan Xichen shows up four days in, carrying A-Yu. Trailing are his spouses and his daughter, and Lan Zhan takes one look at his brother before calling for Wei Ying and leading them to the cave.

Wei Ying meets them in the clearing outside the cave. Xichen looks as upset as they’ve seen him in this life. Xiuying looks irritated and Lan Yao looks resigned. 

“Come in,” Wei Ying says. “The cave will clear your head and calm you, and then we can get something to eat, and then we can talk. Yes?”

Xichen nods, and they trail into the cave, which shimmers with energy. 

Xichen takes a breath, and another, and then his eyes widen. “Oh, that is better,” he says softly. “How?”

Lan Zhan points at the purifier in the middle of the room. It glows softly.

“Is there still ambient resentful energy to purge?” Lan Yao asks.

“It keeps pulling the ambient energy in at the base,” Wei Ying says. “Because it is not resentful, it just concentrates a bit, but it does that a lot over time. What is left is easily used by our golden cores and spiritual tools. Any lingering resentment in the body tends to purify out quickly, so the more upset you are coming in, the faster it helps.”

A-Yu is already asleep on his father’s shoulder. Lan Zhan blinks. “I’ve never seen someone able to sleep in here.”

“He’s exhausted,” Xiuying says. “It’s been a day.”

“What happened, Ying-jie?” Wei Ying asks. 

She turns, looks at Xichen, and says, “Do you want to tell, A-Huan, or should I explain?”

“I… The children,” Xichen says. “They don’t need to hear it all.”

“Let’s go to the siheyuan and let them play with our children,” Lan Zhan says. “We can speak in the Guangshi.”

Wei Qing joins them in the reception room once the children are playing under the bemused eye of one of her aunties. 

The Guangshi (光室) is the largest room of the siheyuan, and has been built partially over one of the many streams coming down the mountain—with a spillway installed upstream to divert any excessive flow. Threads of metal gleam in the rocks against the farthest wall, and planters of soulgrass glimmer with spiritual energy. The roof has dormered windows, covered with glass, a rarity but one which Wei Ying was uniquely qualified to provide, allowing a flood of natural sunlight into the space. Most of the left half of the room is taken up by the stream, rocks, and a small pond. The space on the right is ample—a meeting place—and they gather on cushions around a low table, for tea.

Xichen still looks rattled when he finally speaks. “Father came out of seclusion.”

“Why was he in seclusion, again?” Wei Ying asks. “I thought he was out of it years ago.” 

Xichen huffs out a breath that is half chuckle and half exasperation. “He was, until I married.”

“Which you didn’t invite us to, I noticed,” Wei Qing says, more leading than annoyed. They’ve been curious for a while, all of them, but never found the right time to ask.

“It was… it was just us,” Xichen said, looking at Lan Yao. “When I wanted to marry A-Yao, I requested my father’s blessing. I didn’t get it. I asked for my uncle’s blessing, and did not get it. Xiuying was there, and a great comfort to both of us during that time, and she suggested that…”

“I told them that I cared deeply for them both, and that including me would give no one any reason to criticize on the grounds of potential heirs,” Xiuying says.

Lan Yao says, “I suggested that perhaps presenting it as already done would allow less room for people to think that their opinions mattered in the least.”

“I wanted Mother there, but there was no way I could ask her to come to Cloud Recesses,” Xichen says softly. “I would never… She understood.”

“We made our bows with Xiuying’s mother and my mother, and Shifu. He withdrew his objections as soon as Xiuying was involved,” Lan Yao says. “I’m fairly certain our mothers had something to say to him on the subject.”

“I’d have supported you,” Lan Zhan says. “I do support you.”

“I know, Didi, but there was so much… You would have… It’s okay. We were good together, and we’re better with Xiuying. So I presented it as a done deal to the sect, and Father went into seclusion, the elders grumbled but it’s not unheard of in our history.”

“We had a couple of babies,” Xiuying says, “which would have been fine, I think, but A-Ya is so strong, and A-Yu is so gentle, and it is already easy to see…”

“A-Yu has my dimples,” Lan Yao says.

“I love his dimples,” Xichen jumps in. “They’re perfect.”

“They’re perfect, but apparently it is a done thing for a Sect Leader to have a wife and a lover, but not, apparently a done thing for the lover to father a child with the wife,” Lan Yao says softly. “People put two and two together recently.”

“We were handling it, and handling it fine. Uncle was supportive of the idea of Lan Ya becoming heir as my firstborn. But someone went and complained to Qingheng-Jun,” Xichen says. “And you both are my spouses, A-Yao. You are married to each other as well. We were very careful in the wording of the ceremony.”

“But you were not very public,” Wei Qing says. 

“I shouldn’t have to be!” Xichen says, raising his voice and then looking embarrassed for having nearly shouted. He takes a long inhale and says, “It shouldn’t be any of their concern. Lan Ya is the daughter of my body. We were very careful, as I know you have been, to be clear. But Father started expressing… he had feelings about A-Yao’s…” He fell silent.

Lan Yao straightens, puts his hands together and says, “Qingheng-Jun stated very clearly that under no circumstances would the Lan clan be led by the child of a bastard of Jin Guangshan and a prostitute.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him, both horrified and worried, but Lan Yao still just looks resigned, not murderous.

“And Xichen then asked Qingheng-Jun how it was better to have it led by the child of a rapist,” Xiuying says.

Lan Zhan takes a sharp inward breath.

“That’s when Father declared that he was resuming the sect leadership. And stated that I’d never been his son, anyway.” Xichen whispers. “I… I could have fought him, but by that point…”

“We bundled up the children and the essentials and left,” Xiuying says. “Our mothers may be following us, if this does not resolve.”

“He hasn’t even looked at the children,” Xichen says. “None of them. Not yours, not mine, not once. I offered, when Lan Ya was born, but he declined. I don’t even think he knows yours exist.”

“Da-ge,” Wei Ying says softly. “Of course you are welcome here. Always. Or Lotus Pier. You can, of course, travel freely between them as we do. We will set aside quarters immediately.”

“We already have,” Lan Zhan says. “There are rooms for visiting sect leaders already. You can be our first. What did Uncle say?”

“I don’t… he didn’t…” Xichen falters.

“We just left,” Xiuying explains.

Wei Ying actually laughs at that. “Give it… Would you say three days, Lan Zhan? A week before Lan Qiren comes to beg you to come back.”

“Two,” Lan Zhan says, slowly. “Hours,” he adds after a moment.

“Only if the sect agrees to make me full Sect Leader, and to permanently remove our father from the role,” Lan Xichen says. “I’m not—I can’t do this again. I won’t put my family through it, I won’t put the sect through it. If my family cannot be accepted and welcomed, if my words are always conditional, if I can be demoted by an elder going to my father to complain… I have no wish to be part of a sect that is run that way. I sacrificed most of my childhood becoming the best Lan I could be because I knew I bore the responsibility of taking on the responsibility my fa… Qingheng-Jun refused to shoulder. I will no longer consider the man my father. I know that his uncle sired me, not that he was any better. So they can either pass the sect leadership to me on my terms when Lan Qiren gets fed up with doing his brother’s job again, or they can ask your firstborn son to do it, A-Zhan. If blood is truly so essential to them.”

At that, Lan Zhan’s face slides into a pleased smugness, slow and cold. “Perhaps A-Chen would be willing. Not that I would wish that on any of my children. If they’re so worried about blood parentage, A-Quan was sired by Wei Ying, not me, and given how unwilling Lan Sizhui was to be sect heir in his first life with us… We will not know easily who our next child’s blood parent is. We do not care to, as it is and should be irrelevant. But A-Chen will not be fathering any children the way their wooden heads would want.”

“They begged Sizhui to be heir,” Wei Ying says. “The last Wen child, and what they got was Jingyi.”

Xichen blinks at them, “Little Jingyi?”

“He was quite spirited in our world,” Lan Zhan says. “And a father by the time he was elevated to leadership.”

“I’m afraid A-Ya runs over him a little when they’re together. Most of the time they are not,” Xichen says. “He’s a cautious child. She is… not.”

“Our Jingyi yelled at me all the time when we first met,” Wei Ying says with a merry grin. “He was a teenager, and, to be fair, I was playing the fool on purpose. Then I saved his life and he stopped. Mostly.”

“You came here, brother, and not to our mothers’ house?” Lan Zhan asks, looking curiously at Xichen.

Xichen looks away, and then finally, back again. “I know why our mother left. I think, now, I grasp why you refused to stay. And I know what you’ve been doing for A-Chen. I want that for A-Yu.”

“Does A-Yu wish to be a girl the way A-Chen is a boy?” Wen Qing asks.

Lan Yao says, “Not really. He just doesn’t want to have to choose, and he refuses to. And that does not fit well with the Lan structure.”

“What are your rules here?” Xiuying asks. 

“This is a temple,” Wei Ying says, surprised. “I… it isn’t a sect. It’s just a place we made.”

“Ying-er, that’s how sects happen,” Wei Qing says, rolling her eyes. 

“We are teaching the children a blend of the rules we know and omitting the harmful ones,” Lan Zhan says. “If I were to enumerate them, there would be approximately two hundred. Most are about how to behave with one another. A few about personal hygiene. I expect we’ll get to about five hundred by the time they are adults. That should be enough.”

“I would love to see them,” Xichen says. “How many people are living here now?”

“I suspect that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen may stay,” Lan Zhan says. “If they stay, Tan Qing probably will, unless she decides to go with A-Shun or Lan Yang.”

Wei Ying says, “A-Shun is too fundamental at Lotus Pier, and betrothed, but Lan Yang might come. I know he… he was drawn to Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing, in his other life. Perhaps that can have a less awful outcome, here.”

“He’s a good man,” Xichen says. “You did well to bring him to Cloud Recesses.”

“I didn’t want to have to fix the damage he’d have done to the world if he’d been hurt the way he was,” Wei Ying said shortly. “I am very glad that it worked. I cannot pretend that we did it out of a specific concern for his well-being.”

Lan Yao’s eyes were sharp on him as he said, “As the beneficiary of such largess, I can tell you that your efforts are welcome, even if not motivated strictly out of kindness. I am sorry to impose… I know that you preferred that your rescues stay—”

“No, Yao-ge,” Wei Ying says, cutting him off. “We knew full well that bringing you to Cloud Recesses at that age, you would likely become family. You were zhiji to Xichen in our last life, we knew that. We know how deeply he cared for you. Xichen was always kind to me, even when I was the enemy to the entire world, he let Lan Zhan shelter me, he kept our secret. I don’t know that Lan Zhan and I would have found our way together without him. Our earliest contacts in my other life were always pleasant. I wanted… I wanted to give you that chance at happiness. I won’t deny that there were problems. But if they’d manifested in this life, you would not be sitting here, having this conversation. You have always been kind to us, to our children, to our brother, our sister. Shufu adores you.”

“The only thing we did,” Lan Zhan says, “is to give you the chance to have nothing to atone for. You have acquitted yourself well.”

Lan Yao looks at his hands, clutched in his robe, and says, “I have been tempted, once or twice. But I did not want to disappoint Xichen or Shufu.”

“Qingheng-Jun?” Wei Ying asks. “The Elder council? Su She?”

“Su She is a competent cultivator,” Xichen says. “I tell him so, often. He has been an able assistant and very loyal. I asked him to stay on there, at least long enough to smooth the transition to the new sect leader.”

“Another victory,” Lan Zhan says. “He was quite loyal to Yao-ge in our other life. But…” 

“It fills me with rage, how your father treats you two when he has always been the one in the wrong,” Lan Yao says. “I sit meditation every day to settle my emotions over the issue. I would not have wanted to stay with him in charge, either.”

“You’re not the only one,” Wei Qing says dryly. “I’ve only met him once or twice, and was not impressed.”

Wei Ying blinks. “You three have been handling the sect leadership for several years, right?”

“Xichen does most of the public-facing diplomacy,” Lan Yao says. “I’ve been doing the administration, with help from Su She. Xiuying has been working with the healers and the creche, primarily, though she is most gracious in her hosting, and is definitely in charge of the women’s side.”

“If our mothers follow us, the food will suffer,” Xiuying says. “If Su She leaves, it will all fall upon your father and your uncle.”

“What will you do if they ask you to return?” Lan Zhan asks.

“I won’t do it unless they grant me the authority to make the changes needed,” Xichen says. “I won’t have these fights over every decision my family makes. A-Ya is my primary heir. A-Yu will be allowed flexibility. My marriage, my husband, my wife, will be treated with respect. I will carve a new rule on the wall if I must but the next time someone attacks my husband with words like that they will find themselves facing my sword.”

“Not if my sword can get there first.” Lan Qiren stands in the doorway of the Guangshi. He looks harried, more rumpled than they can remember seeing him in this lifetime. He bows deeply, and says, “Lan-zongzhu. Your conditions will be met.”

“Shufu!” Lan Xichen rushes to his feet as the rest stand, and moves forward to catch his uncle before he can sink to his knees. “You need never kowtow to me.” He lifts his uncle’s elbows until Lan Qiren is standing upright again. 

“So quickly?” Lan Yao asks.

“That old fool is already back in seclusion,” Qiren said, looking disgusted. “I sent him there. Then your mothers, Su She, almost every other member of the sect under the age of forty, and a goodly number of the middle-aged members went to the Elders and explained that we follow Lan Xichen, Lan Yao, and Lan Xiuying, and that if they are leaving, we will follow, and they can run the sect as they see fit, without us.”

Wei Ying is grinning delightedly. Wei Qing looks impressed.

Lan Xiuying’s hands cover her mouth, and Lan Yao’s mouth is agape as Lan Xichen says, “Shushu, you would leave Cloud Recesses for me?” His voice is so quiet, he sounds fifteen years younger. A tear tracks down his cheek.

“I’ve put the last three decades of my life into making it a place you could thrive, A-Huan, I’m not going to let that man drive you out now.”

“You have always been a better father to us,” Lan Zhan says quietly from Xichen’s elbow. And that cracks something in Lan Qiren, who steps forward and wraps his arms around both of them. 

“Ah, A-Zhan, I wish I could have been a better parent to you.”

“You were,” Lan Zhan says softly. “You just don’t remember.”

“I know I wasn’t,” Qiren says.

“You were there. He never was. You cared deeply. He never cared at all. We have all made our mistakes. You have defended us and protected us both, in this lifetime. It was what we needed, and it was enough.” Lan Zhan hesitates, and then puts a hand up to his uncle’s shoulder, accepting the hug.

“You both deserved so much more,” Lan Qiren says. “All of you. But you will have the authority, Xichen. It should have been yours already.”

“The Elder council?” Lan Yao asks.

“It was decided that the only circumstance under which it can overrule the sect leader is if it is unanimous. And I am on the council. Meng Shi, Sisi, and Liu Yun are being added to it. Qingheng-jun is no longer on it. And he is no longer sect leader, even if you do not return.”

“Mother?” Lan Yao says. 

“Mn,” Qiren confirms. “All were accepted by unanimous consent. Several of the Elders are retiring from their active part in sect management. I, er, I believe that Sisi may have been the tipping point. Her efforts with the domestic disciples and especially the kitchens would be much missed.”

“You mean the food is better?” Wei Ying asks.

“You hadn’t noticed?” Xichen says, bemused.

“I always cook for Wei Ying when we are there,” Lan Zhan says. “It’s a habit I picked up long ago, and we are not there so often that it is troublesome.” 

“Ah, my mother and Sisi had a very persuasive argument for nourishing the soul as well as the body with food,” Lan Yao says. “Sisi always had a knack for improving what we had. She was able to do much without changing the basic rules.”

They stay for a meal, during which silence is not observed. The children are wired from the high emotional undercurrents, and here, in the place that Wei Wuxian built, the adults all relax with each other. Lan Qiren has so rarely been included in the meals these two families have shared at Lotus Pier that he keeps glancing in wonder from nephew to nephew as they smile at their partners and indulge their toddlers. The meals he’s seen at Cloud Recesses have been quiet, subdued—Wei Ying on his best behavior, Wangji complying with the rules to an exactitude that borders on hostile. 

But here, they are all relaxed. Lan Xiuying and Lan Yao sit on either side of Xichen, leaning into him, with small touches that none of them seem to notice. Wangji sits next to Wei Ying, who has Wei Qing on the other side, and their glances among each other are endlessly fond, all of them. It is not boisterous, but there is a hum of energy and affection that would draw so many looks at Cloud Recesses.

Lan Qiren rests his chopsticks on the edge of his bowl and says, “Ah, Xichen, I look forward to seeing the new shape you press us into.”

Then he picks up his chopsticks, and continues eating. 

Wei Ying’s whisper is not quiet in the sudden hush. “Did Uncle just speak during a meal?”

“We are not at Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan says. Then, “I, also, look forward to seeing what Da-ge brings to the Lan.”

The main siheyuan is finished a few weeks later, with further guest quarters planned, when Wei Wuxian alters the wards to allow easier passage. The temple itself and the cave are still warded to tokens, but there is no longer a need to trap anything in the Burial Mounds, nor to keep people out of the area. 

They’ve been coming and going through the doorway to Lotus Pier, but now they walk together as a family to Yiling for the first time in years. Wei Ying pauses at the new gateway, looks back at the lush, bright, thriving forest around them, the new stones of the path, and smiles before taking Wei Qing’s hand on one side and Lan Zhan’s on the other. Lan Zhan is holding A-Chen on his other arm, and Wei Qing has Wei Quan tied on her back, lest he get lost. (Wei Ying has explained how their first A-Yuan first met Lan Zhan, not so very much older than this.)

They are all wearing simple clothes of excellent fabrics, woven by Tang Lijuan from lotus silk, with subtle embroideries done by Cangse Sanren, more permanent protection than talismans would be. The colors are simple, too, light, shimmering cool grey for Lan Wangji, dark, slightly plummy grey for Wei Wuxian, and deep blue for Wei Qing. 

They all wear embroidered sashes, a pattern Wei Wuxian designed as a child, worn routinely by everyone he cares about—though most people have forgotten why, if they ever knew—the design incorporated into sect uniforms and undergarments at the four major sects and allied minor sects as part of the set of usual protective charms.

The children are in undyed linen, pale except for darker trousers. The most color is in the intricately stitched panel of the baby carrier Wei Qing wears, reds and yellows and greens and blues in characters, figures, flowers, and animals, protection after protection stitched painstakingly into the cloth by all of the grandmothers over the months of her second pregnancy. Wei Quan rides with his cheek pressed to her neck, fingers toying at the embroidered strap that runs over her shoulder, the bright panel spread over his back. The straps twist in front of her, then pass back under his feet to anchor the panel under his bottom. Her other hand carries a mostly empty basket, out of habit. She spends so much time collecting herbs and things her children hand her that the idea of going anywhere without a basket seems like tempting fate. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “What a pretty family we've made.”

“Mn,” says his husband. “A-Chen, what do you want to eat?”

He grins. “Buns, Baba!”

“Buns it is,” Wei Ying says, and they walk the path to town. 

There is an unfamiliar undercurrent in the town when they arrive. Wei Ying has heard whispers in all his lives, but they sound different here. Not hostile. Reverent? A little girl runs up and hands Lan Zhan a flower “for the Immortals’ young master.” 

A-Chen looks pleased at the “young master” and perplexed by the flower, and his Baba isn’t helping. He stares at it and his Die says, “Be gracious, A-Chen. Say thank you to the young lady.”

He says thank you reflexively, but then holds the flower out to Wei Ying. 

“Ah, baobei!” Wei Ying says, laughing. “For your mother’s hair, yes?”

They shift and A-Chen reaches over from his baba’s arms to stuff the stem into his mother’s bun as she leans forward. Wei Ying rescues it and slides it into place with a smile.

There are at least four food stalls within sight of the edge of the town, and they stop at the baozi stall for A-Chen’s buns, but the seller gives them twice as many as they ask for and won’t let them pay.  

The other stalls call out, offering them noodles and candy and fruit, and the teahouse is beckoning for them to come in, food and all. “Or we can bring out a table for your family, Holy Ones!” 

Wei Ying cracks at that. “Holy Ones? What is this nonsense?”

The waiter, who seems oddly familiar to them, possibly from their previous life, says, “Yiling used to be a difficult place, Holy Ones, until light bloomed in the darkness, what, ten years ago? It was your doing, was it not? We have not had a single yao attack since then, no ghosts either. The stream coming down from the mountain brought filth, before. Now it runs clear and blessed. It brings health, so travelers come and drink from it, near the wards. It is said to completely clear most low-level curses, toxins, and other minor ailments, and improve more serious ones. They all stay here. We’re expanding. That’s because of you. I remember when you came back from doing whatever it was you did that fixed the place. It cost you much, did it not?”

They blink at the waiter, and Wei Wuxian says, “It was the day we expanded our cores and knew we could ascend.”

“Yes! They call you Dianguang-Xian,” the waiter says to him, and then looks over at Lan Wangji and says, “They are calling you Baoguang-Xian because you carried him out.” 

“Which… which characters?” Wei Wuxian says, his voice faint, handing over a random talisman paper and a charcoal stick.

The waiter quickly sketches out 點光仙 and 抱光仙, the immortal who ignites the light and the immortal who carries the light in his arms, and Wei Ying tries not to laugh when Lan Zhan sends ”Better than Hanguang-Jun, and for better reasons,” with a dry, resigned mental tone.

“But when we talk about you together, we just say ‘Holy Ones,’” the waiter adds. 

“No title for our lady?” Wei Wuxian asks, when Wei Qing snorts.

“Zhen-Tiannu,” the waiter says.

“Needle Goddess. Yes, excellent,” Wei Ying says, delighted.

She already has three in her hands and an expression which, were he not privy to her amused mental tone, would be terrifying.

Lan Zhan gives them both a soft, bemused look and Wei Ying grins, plucking the needles from her fingers. “Don’t frighten the waitstaff, Qing-jie.”

She extends her hand and he drops the needles on her palm. She makes them disappear, and says, “A table outside would be lovely.”

He gives a hasty bow and a “Yes, Zhen-Tiannu,” and rushes off. 

“Are you sure?” Lan Zhan asks. “We could have more privacy inside.”

“Or they can corner us more easily,” Wei Ying mutters.

“Did you bring your fence talisman?” she asks Wei Ying.

He laughs, and pulls it out. 

“Let them place the table, then put it down and we can let the kids have a little room to wiggle,” she says.

The waiter and the owner carry out a table a moment later, and set it down in front of the inn window after the cart that was selling there has quickly rolled out of the way.  

Wei Ying bends down and pushes a trickle of power through the talisman, and then makes a gesture, and the area around their table is surrounded by a low fence of glowing light. Lan Wangji sets A-Chen down inside as Wei Ying helps pull A-Quan out of the top of the carrier, and then A-Chen is showing A-Quan how to touch the fence to see what it will do. One part of it makes a shower of little gold butterflies when touched. Another makes little blue sparks that tickle. Another section sends up little glowing vines that curl affectionately when petted.

A-Quan sits in the middle watching A-Chen create little light shows, gape-jawed, holding a bun he does not remember to eat until Wei Qing reminds both children that they were hungry. 

After a few minutes, the teahouse brings out tea and peanuts and a plate of fried savory dumplings, and they stare at the abundance, blinking, as they already have more food than they can eat. 

Wei Ying suddenly looks a little emotional, and Lan Zhan says, “They’re all safe now, and none of them are hungry.”

Wei Ying looks at Wei Qing, and their children, and nods. Then he looks a little farther, and says, “I don’t think the extra will be a problem.”

There are children creeping in closer, messy but cared for, the toddlers and young children of the sellers coming closer to see the lights, several of them dragging bemused looking parents behind them.

“Can I go in, Mama?” a three year old asks. 

She looks embarrassed until Wei Ying laughs and says, “Plop her in, we don’t bite. The fence won’t hurt them, it just saves us running when we’re eating.”

She nods, and lifts the little girl over the fence to set her down. 

“You can touch it, meimei,” A-Chen says with all the authority of an experienced big brother.

The child reaches out and brushes her finger against one of the panels, and then giggles when a glowing blue bunny hops out of it, sniffing inquisitively at her fingertips. 

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, his face soft with wonder.

Wei Ying blushes and shrugs. “I wanted to see if I could.”

Other children come forward, and there is much giggling. 

“Are you going to be here often?” one of the mothers asks.

“We’re always up on the mountain, but the way is open now,” Wei Ying says. “We accept visitors. There are often many children there.”

“Where do they come from?” a man asks, one of the vendors.

“From the great sects, mostly,” Lan Zhan answers. “Our children’s cousins from Cloud Recesses, Lotus Pier, and Koi Tower.”

“Aiya, that makes it sound so snobby,” Wei Ying says. “Once upon a time, I was a street child here, myself. We don’t stand on ceremony, we simply ask that the children who come behave kindly to one another. When the little ones are older, we might have a school there.”

“For cultivators?” the owner of the teahouse asks.

“I was a street child,” Wei Ying says. “And now I’m a cultivator. Not everyone can learn cultivation, but everyone can learn to read, and count.”

“The great sects would not object to you teaching commoners?” another woman asks. 

Wei Qing laughs. “The great sects are their siblings and parents. The Jiang sect encouraged the entire Wei clan to come settle there when Wei Wuxian’s father died, though half of them weren’t cultivators at all. The Lan clan helped, and the Jin clan helped pay for it. Qinghe owes Wei Wuxian a great deal, as do all the other major sects. I have not seen any of them tell Wei Wuxian ‘no’ in the decades I’ve known him.”

“Wei Ying asks only for reasonable things,” Lan Wangji says. 

Wei Qing snorts. “He asked you to carry him everywhere yesterday.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Lan Zhan sends back, while Wei Ying tries and fails to maintain his decorum. 

“Look, we’ll post a notice when we’re ready for students,” Wei Ying says when he’s managed to collect himself.

“We are already ready for medical visitors,” Wei Qing says, lifting her voice so that it carries. “I am a doctor, and we are well-equipped now to handle medical issues. This includes afflictions of the spirit. I know that the Burial Mounds hurt some of your families, and we may be able to mitigate or repair some of the damage. If you need assistance, please present yourself at the gate or send someone for me, Wei Qing. Those who currently provide medical treatment are also welcome.”

“How much will the school cost?” someone asks.

Wei Ying blinks. “Cost?”

“Surely you must need money to teach,” the teahouse owner says.

Wei Ying blinks. “Not really?”

A murmur goes up. “But how do you live?” 

“The major sects buy his inventions and my treatments for more money than any tuition could possibly be,” Wei Qing says. “We will have to teach our own children, it is no great hardship to teach more.”

“They pay for them?” Wei Ying asks under his breath. “Really?”

Lan Zhan sighs fondly and sends, “Yu-furen has been collecting your payments and has them set aside for you in our treasury. Shufu has been paying me an allowance since I was small, it has always been more than my needs, even with our family, and the excess goes into our treasury. Wei Qing has her own treasury. We could hire ten teachers and it would not deplete the funds faster than they’ve been building. The ongoing payments from the Nie sect alone would be adequate to our family’s needs if we grew nothing and sold nothing and bought all our food and paid servants. The material and labor costs for the temple have been borne by all the major sects together.”

“Did I ask them to do that?” Wei Ying wonders.

“Never,” Lan Zhan says softly. “They know what they owe you and pay according to their conscience. Nie-zongzhu knows you saved his life and the lives of most of his cultivators and his sons.”

Wei Qing continues, ignoring them. “We require that visitors come in peace. Our sanctuary houses two of the most powerful cultivators currently walking the mortal lands, and they will accept visitors, but not duels. If we cannot help with a cultivation problem, we will send to one of the major sects for help.”

“We haven’t had a yao in the area in years,” the waiter says.

“We don’t mind hearing about problems farther afield,” Wei Ying says. “There are often young cultivators available for low-level problems, and more experienced cultivators for more complex problems.”

“Are you to be another sect, then?” a man’s voice asks, deep and powerful. 

Wei Ying waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing so formal, but we can contact sects very quickly if assistance is needed. I have no interest in governing anything more than my own potatoes.”

Lan Zhan looks for the voice, and finds a figure in a dun hooded cloak standing at the edge of the crowd. “If you have concerns, you may contact us at Xianlin Shen.”

The figure nods, and says, “This evening, perhaps, if it would not be inconvenient?”

Lan Wangji gives a quick nod, startling Wei Ying. “You have your Chief Cultivator face on.”

Wei Qing gets a funny look on her face and sends to Wei Ying, “Ask for his name.” Her mental voice is colored with worry.

“Who should we be expecting,” Wei Wuxian calls out to the man.

“Zhao Zhuliu,” the man answers.

Lan Zhan quietly presses his hand against the sash at his own waist. Wei Ying nods, then says with a calm that surprises all of them, “We will look forward to it.”

The man bows, turns and goes into one of the buildings that line the streets. 

“Eat up,” Wei Qing says to the children. “I’d like to go home.”

Wei Ying glances at her, then at the fully laden table, and says, “Okay, who’s hungry?”

The market children move closer.

Wei Ying spends the entire afternoon checking sashes and writing extra talismans for those few who don’t already have sashes. His work is spread across a table in the Guangshi. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, once.

“Nope, not gonna, no, not going to talk about it,” comes Wei Ying’s mental response. 

“We could send Wei Qing and the children to Lotus Pier,” Lan Zhan says. 

“No,” she says, from across the room. “I trust your skills and mine. If it even appears that our sashes will be needed I will lay him flat before he can touch anyone.”

Wei Ying’s running mental mantra is a low thrum of “We do not punish people for the sins of the life we did not let them lead. We do not punish people for the sins of the life we did not let them lead. We…”

“I just want to know why he’s here,” Wei Qing says. “He looked like he was alone. Why here? Why now?”

She has only their mostly-hidden memories of the life she hasn’t had to lead to inform her about the man who took down her uncle and stopped a war from happening. Madam Yu had used Zhao Zhuliu like a well-aimed knife, completely quashing any chance of threat from Qishan for decades. She knows there are few cultivators in Qishan, that Taiyang Yunmie might still be interested to know that some Wen cultivators survived. But will he know she’s a Wen?

“You’re a Wei,” Wei Ying says suddenly. “Your family is my family, and the name was freely given. If I have to choose between him and you, I will pick you every time.”

“If he comes alone, I don’t think there will be trouble,” Lan Zhan says. “It’s when they show up with fighters in formation that I get concerned.”

It is neither, ultimately. Zhao Zhuliu appears at the gate with one retainer behind him, both in dun colored cloaks. The retainer has a box in his hands, polished, lacquered, tastefully inlaid but not gaudy. 

“Taiyang Yunmie,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Qing and Wei Ying are flanking him. The children are with an auntie up at the main building.

“Baoguang-Xian, Dianguang-Xian, Zhen-Tiannu,” Zhao Zhuliu says, bowing. “This is my son, Zhao Xu.” 

The hooded figure bows as much as the box will allow, and steps forward with it. “A gift, of sorts, and a request,” he says with a quiet, low voice, holding it out. 

Wei Ying steps forward and runs a hand over the box, then opens it. Inside is a curved dagger and a qiankun pouch. He looks up at Zhao Zhuliu with a raised eyebrow. “A wicked gift,” he says without ire. Resentment curls around the dagger, the blade flickering more than the light in the room.

“I heard you can purify things here. You purified this place, which was poisonous for so long,” Zhao Zhuliu says. 

Lan Wangji steps forward, closes the box, and takes it from Zhao Xu’s hands. “Follow me,” he says without ceremony. “Some of the resentment is clinging to your son.”

They walk up to the path, through the wards, into the central cave. What was simple has now been lined with flowering plants, many of them medicinal to please Wei Qing, with occasional fruit trees where the path bends. Everything grows lush in the rich soil, with the abundant spiritual energy encouraging it.

Lan Wangji uses the edge of his sleeve to pick the dagger up without touching it, dropping it gently onto the mesh next to the primary yin purifier. 

“From the bag, as well,” Wei Ying says. 

Lan Wangji upends the bag with little ceremony, as several books tumble out, and a blob of metal. Then he drops the open bag next to those things, and dark curls of smoke are pulled quickly down into the brightening purifier.

“Is that…” Wei Qing starts.

“Someone tried to refine more Stygian iron,” Wei Wuxian answers. “They did not succeed, but it could do with purification.”

“We will leave them here for a time,” Lan Wangji says. “We should not linger. The dagger will take some time.”

“You said my son…” Zhao Zhuliu starts.

“It was pulled away from him before we even opened the door completely,” Wei Wuxian says. “When his feet hit the metal on the step outside. Humans with circulating qi clear much more quickly than inanimate objects.”

The hooded man straightens. “I… I feel better. Lighter.” He pushes back his hood.

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to one side and taps his nose. “You seem familiar.”

“We knew him as Wen Xu,” Lan Wangji says to his husband, blandly. “We were told that he had died, that his core had been crushed. I think you only saw him well before the war, at discussion conferences.”

“Right, not as much of a prick as old Wen Chao, still kind of a prick when we knew him,” Wei Ying murmurs. 

Wei Qing watches, her hand tense. Her eyes flick to Zhao Xu, and narrow. “He still has a core.”

Zhao Xu glances over at Zhao Zhuliu, who says, “He renounced his father and his name and assisted me unfailingly as I rooted the poison out of Qishan.” Zhao Zhuliu looks at Wei Qing. “His only request was that I spare his brother’s life. I could not have taken out his first father so easily without him.”

“We saw Wen Chao when we conquered the Xuanwu,” Lan Wangji says. 

Wei Wuxian says to Zhao Xu, “He was coreless. And convinced you were dead.”

“My brother was not sufficiently flexible to be allowed to keep his power.” Zhao Xu looks away for a moment and then says, “I let him think me dead as I needed a clean break with the Wen name and he was unable to give it up.”

“He gave it up after we were done with him,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Did he live?” Zhao Xu asks.

“He does,” Lan Wangji says. “He is a servant now. I would not say he is happy, but he has a roof over his head and enough to eat, which is more than he had before he met us. I will not tell you where he is, but if you want him to know that you live, I can convey the message.”

Zhao Xu shakes his head. “It would not be… kind. Let him continue to think I am dead.” He looks up at Wei Qing. “Cousin, you live.”

“I am no cousin to you,” Wei Qing says. “I am a Wei.” Her eyes flick to Zhao Zhuliu.

At that Zhao Xu, smiles, but only wryly, with half his face. “Of course. My mistake. Nevertheless. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. It would have been a terrible shame if the medical skills of the great Wei clan were lost.” 

“My family thrives, and far better where they are than where they were,” Wei Qing says. “They have no ambition but to better their medical cultivation and learn new ways to make alcohol.”

“Lotus wine?” Zhao Zhuliu asks. “I am in deep debt to Lotus Pier.”

“Come,” Wei Wuxian says, cutting off further conversation about Lotus Pier. “I will have someone bring tea to us in the Guangshi and we can speak further.”

After they walk out, he turns, pushes a little more power through the ward, flicks the ward with a finger to test it, and then leads them to the siheyuan. 

“You are not afraid of me,” Zhao Zhuliu comments, when they kneel around the table in the Guangshi.

“Should I be?” Wei Wuxian asks as Lan Wangji pours tea.

“I mean you no harm,” Zhao Zhuliu says, “but most cultivators are, at the very least, wary of what I can do.”

“I am aware,” Wei Wuxian says. “How much do you know about us?”

“I am told that you are immortals, that you were precocious, possibly reincarnated with knowledge of your past lives. That when you were small children you were already stronger than many adults.”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji says. “Not entirely accurate.” A silent flicker of conversation passes between him and his family before he continues.

“We lived this time period in another life,” Lan Wangji says. “Another life in which you did not receive Madam Yu’s warning, and became Wen Ruohan’s loyal servant. You were Wen Zhuliu to us.”

“Who did I hurt?” Zhao Zhuliu asks, his voice tight.

“Madam Yu,” Wei Wuxian says. “Jiang-zongzhu. Jiang Wanyin. Countless others. You were Wen Chao’s bodyguard. I gave up my core to save my brother. He eventually killed you and Wen Chao with my help. Later I died, was called back, and eventually came back in time. We saw the truth during our journey backwards. I told all of this to Madam Yu, and she chose to give you the truth, rather than to kill you to prevent her own death.”

“And was I part of this?” Zhao Xu asks.

“You led the invasion force against Cloud Recesses, killed my father, broke my leg, and burned everything,” Lan Wangji says, his voice as neutral as if he were reciting a shopping list.

“Why are you not angrier?” Zhao Xu asks.

“It wasn’t you,” Wei Qing says. “It was who you became in the other timeline, as your father delved deeper into demonic cultivation. My… Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji do not judge people based on who they were, but on the choices they make in this lifetime. Even in that lifetime, Wei Wuxian was the most forgiving person I’ve ever met.”

“Did you travel with them, Zhen-Tiannu?” Zhao Zhuliu asks. “In time?”

“They showed up… at Dafan Mountain. When I was eight. My brother has more direct knowledge of it, but since becoming the mother of their children, Wei Wuxian has shown me much of the version of myself he knew then. He does not give himself enough credit for what he did for my family, but they… he saved us, over and over again.”

“Enough,” Wei Wuxian says, looking embarrassed. “You wanted to talk to us. I’m listening.”

“I wanted to know if your temple would be expanding into sect status,” Zhao Zhuliu says. “Whether you will be pushing west of here.”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian says. “Many sects use Qishan for training their students. We are well placed as a medical resource for people nighthunting there. We have no interest in politics, but much in education and the development of new techniques." 

Zhao Zhuliu looks at Zhao Xu and nods. Zhao Xu opens a qiankun pouch and pulls out a purifier. This is a simpler model than the lotus or stygian purifiers, less ornate, designed to work in a smaller area, a more recent design. 

“This is yours?” Zhao Zhuliu asks.

“It’s mine,” Wei Qing says. “My brother built it with Wei Wuxian for me, and I sent it into Qishan to quell a place where the resentful energy was getting out of hand. They should be left until they no longer glow, but can then be moved to another location.”

“It converts resentful energy to spiritual energy,” Wei Wuxian says. “Nothing more. It works in small areas, the size of a modest graveyard, or a field, with moderate levels of resentment.”

“That’s small?” Zhao Xu blurts out.

“The purifier in the cave cleaned the whole of the Burial Mounds over the course of several years, and handled a circle a li across at a time,” Lan Wangji says. “But it is made of stygian metal, so it has a stronger drawing function than the other purifiers my husband has made. It purified almost all of the resentful energy without human interference, including the most malign.”

“With no cultivators and too many dead, Qishan’s ordinary folk needed help,” Wei Qing says. “I sent what I could.”

“How much would I need to pay for more of these?” Zhao Zhuliu asks, picking up the purifier and turning it over in his hands. 

“You want to buy from us?” Wei Wuxian asks, sounding confused. Wei Qing gives him a mental nudge to shut up.

“What would you use them for?” she asks.

“When I killed Wen Ruohan, I was very thorough in ensuring that none who shared his goals or aspired to his position survived to resurrect the Qishan Wen. I do not regret doing so. I do not apologize for doing so. I suspect you know exactly how much of a scourge he and his ideas were. I know you must know what he was in the process of doing to me and those near him. But the sects exist for a reason, and there are not enough cultivators to keep things in check now that the Wen are gone.” Zhao Zhuliu looks across the room at the stream flowing down from the high rocks of the far wall and out next to the door. “Someone must take responsibility for Qishan and I cannot do it alone. Simply reducing the resentful energy would help significantly.”

“We can provide a list of materials you would need to supply,” Wei Qing says. “And I will need your assurance that if any of my family choose to return to their birthplace, that they will not be harassed or injured for doing so.”

Lan Wangji says, “We will be taking students here. You should send any likely children in Qishan to us, and support them during their education. They will be expected to return to Qishan and help with the problem once they are trained. Their safety from human interference should be assured.”

“The great sects pay you,” Zhao Zhuliu says. “I am not without resources.”

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan look at each other and then Wei Wuxian says, “You cannot bear the burden of Qishan alone, as you said. And we are, as much as anyone, responsible for triggering the civil war. It was done to prevent a much larger conflict, which would have wiped the entire human population from Qishan and most of the populations of Cloud Recesses and Lotus Pier. But it was, nevertheless, done, and if you are willing to ally with us to fix the problem, we will work with you to do so.”

“I still must ask… if you know what I can do, if you lived without a core once, why are you not afraid? I am accustomed to making cultivators very nervous.” His voice is more resigned than prideful about the statement.

Wei Wuxian smiles dryly, a tight-lipped, humorless thing. “I do remember what it was to be without a core. In my other life, my lady performed the transfer of my core into my brother, whose core you had crushed. One of the first things I designed as a child in this life was… protection. We are not vulnerable to your special skills. If you tried with me or any of my family, I am fairly certain the backlash would leave you coreless. The first protection I designed was tested and worked perfectly, but was not designed with a backlash. We have used layers of protection. Most of the cultivators I associate with have taken to incorporating the simpler blocking technique routinely, as it not only defends against… your skills, but against other intrusions of energy as well. Your special ability will find little purchase here. So no, I am not afraid, because I’m not vulnerable.”

“You never moved against me,” Zhao Zhuliu says. “Zi Zhizhu gave me what I needed to see what Wen Ruohan was doing.”

“If we could have stopped him from damaging you, we would have,” Wei Wuxian says. “Unfortunately we were really pushing what our bodies could handle going back as far as we did. Any younger… I don’t think we could have retained enough to make the changes we made. He’d already started manipulating your life when I was born, and I couldn’t go back any farther than that. We only know what he did because Lan Zhan went back a little farther and checked.”

“So you didn’t just go back in time…” Zhao Zhuliu leads.

“We studied each person we needed to affect,” Lan Wangji says. “We followed you from your death to our births, to understand why you supported Wen Ruohan. When we discovered his machinations, and how he misled you, we discussed whether we should try re-entering the timeline younger, but I don’t think it would have been as effective.”

“We picked the latest possible date we could and still avoid me becoming a homeless orphan in Yiling,” Wei Wuxian says. “As it was we both spent a day or two unconscious and it took a lot of ink to explain the situation because we barely had enough vocal control to speak well enough to be understood. Talking was hard, those first days. But you were one of our earliest priorities. You always struck me as someone with a fundamental moral core, and you never liked what they had you do. Madam Yu agreed.”

“It took me some time to track down the evidence she pointed me to,” Zhao Zhuliu says. “Once I found it, and understood what he’d been working towards, and how his cultivators were supporting him… It needed to end. You trusted me to end it?”

“We hedged our bets,” Wei Wuxian says.

“You saved some of the Wen,” Zhao Xu says.

“I owed my lady a debt from my past life,” Wei Wuxian says. “And her family was dear to me. In that life, I adopted a Wen child. He was one of the best people I’ve ever known, and deserved to grow up with his family.”

“But my brother… you encountered him, and you did not kill him.”

“He was pathetic and harmless and destroyed,” Wei Wuxian says. “We were about to be married, happy, powerful, and respected. Mercy cost us nothing. I had my revenge in my last life on the version of him who wronged me. I didn’t need another revenge on someone who hadn’t had a chance to hurt me and was no longer capable of it.”

“Please understand,” Lan Wangji inserts suddenly, leaning forward to look at Zhao Zhuliu. “You and Wen Chao destroyed my husband’s home, killed his adoptive parents. Then Wen Chao gloated over their corpses, and ultimately beat him and threw him from the air, coreless, into this place when it was seething with resentful energy powerful enough to kill most cultivators outright. He was missing for three months. When we found him again, he was… altered. And he hunted you and Wen Chao, hounded you, took him apart, and then let Jiang Wanyin finish both of you. The atrocities wrought upon his family and upon him set off a chain of events that ultimately killed him. Despite that, he tried to save the remnants of the Wen. But in this lifetime? He was the one who stopped my blade when we encountered Wen Chao. Never underestimate my husband’s capacity for forgiveness. He is a better man than I could ever be. If someone hurt him in this lifetime, I would not stay my sword.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying murmurs.

“If you commit to peace, we will help you,” Wei Qing says. “If you try to hurt my family, we will end you. All my branch of the family has ever wanted was to heal people and live in peace. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have given us that. We are Wei, now. Wen Ruohan destroyed Qishan Wen and himself with his ambitions. Qishan can survive without the Wen.”

“Zhen-Tiannu,” Zhao Zhuliu says. “You have my promise of peace, so long as none seek to harm me and mine.” Then he looked at Wei Wuxian. “Dianguang-Xian, Baoguang-Xian, thank you for the opportunity to right the wrongs of my life. I look forward to working with you.”

“Taiyang Yunmie, we will look forward to your cooperation,” Wei Wuxian says.

A trickle of locals starts after that, a few each day, coming up to look around, occasionally to ask for “Zhen-Tiannu” or to find out more about the classes that Wei Wuxian is frantically trying to plan.

“You did this to yourself,” Wei Qing says, laughing, when he complains over breakfast. 

“Hush,” he says.

But by the time he gets up from the table, his partners have settled him and he’s got a rough outline of how to handle incoming students of varying skill levels, and a sketch of his ideas for curriculum. 

“You should talk to Shufu,” Lan Zhan says, as he stands. “He might want to assist.”

Wei Ying blinks. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually really do want to get his advice.”

They go to Gusu together by door, leaving the children with Wei Ning and Wei Lian. 

Lan Qiren listens, considers for a long moment, hand stroking thoughtfully over his beard, and then says, “You don’t need my advice on how to make the curriculum, Wuxian, your instincts about teaching are the best I’ve ever seen. But I’d like to help, if needed, when we’re not hosting disciples.”

“What about the Lan students, year round?” Wei Ying asks.

“I have four capable teachers here who will handle them ably in my absence. Most of them model their teaching style closer to yours than mine. Our disciples have become stronger for it.” 

Wei Ying sits back on his heels, mouth open. Wei Qing ducks her head and smiles at his reaction.

“You have been alive, what, seven decades to my five?” Lan Qiren says. “You’ve cultivated to immortality. My greatest achievement in my life was to recognize the gifts you brought to us and accept them. Don’t be so surprised that I respect your skills and talents. I thought we sorted that out when you were a child. My own teaching style has shifted because of you, and I’m a better teacher because of it.”

“You made the Cloud Recesses a fundamental part of disciple education for four major sects and many of the smaller ones,” Wei Ying says. “Even in my first life.”

“I bored and frightened them into compliance and leaned on prestige to elevate enrollment,” Lan Qiren says. “You make them want to learn, and you teach them to think. I think your school will be an excellent learning opportunity for me, as well as your students. Besides, I'd like to see my grandchildren more, and I know Xichen is sending A-Yu to your school the minute it opens. Likely A-Ya as well. If I come to teach, I can bring them each day and return them home. I can see your children. This is not a hardship.”

“Doesn’t Da-ge need you?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Not anymore,” Lan Qiren looks almost smug about this. “His spouses and his assistants have the sect well in hand. I will pretend that this is due to my wise preparation of the young people, and not your foresight in sending us A-Yao’s organized mind and helping us tap into Minshan’s innate need for recognition.” 

Wei Ying leans over to Lan Zhan and asks in a stage whisper, “Should we tell him Su She is an accident?”

“You don’t remember everything you wrote down before you rejoined the living,” Lan Qiren says. “About Minshan, you clearly wrote, ‘Su She, courtesy Minshan, resents Lan Wangji for the recognition he receives, caves under pressure, slavish devotion to Jin Guangyao after Jin Guangyao praised him once. Turned to demonic cultivation in an attempt to gain power and recognition from his patron.’ I instructed Xichen therefore to recognize every positive behavior he saw from Minshan, and made sure not to compare him to anyone, and he has been an able cultivator ever since. We made him an inner disciple when he became Xichen’s assistant. I gave him extra work on ethics and the reasons for the Lan Sect Rules and told him that it was because he showed such promise. I also carefully trained him in withstanding temptation.”

Wei Qing puts down her tea cup and says, “Wei Ying couldn’t have pointed him out for most of this life. The only reason he remembers who he is at all is because Lan Zhan reminds him every time the name comes up.” This is only a little bit of an exaggeration.

“Nevertheless, the succinct but pointed guidance made it easy to correct our previous failings with him. Loyalty and skill are worthwhile, and you gave us the insight to bring out his better qualities. Without your words, I could easily have been careless. He could have slipped through our fingers. As it is, the sect has, through you, gained multiple valuable members, who with less care would have been villains. Should I not thank you for my son? For my son-in-law? For all those whose potential you recognized but my other self did not?”

It is not lost on Lan Zhan that his uncle considers Lan Yao a son-in-law, that he has spoken of visiting his grandchildren. He sips his tea, pondering that, and then says, “I understand that Da-ge has disowned Qingheng-Jun.”

“It was mutual,” Lan Qiren says.

“I long pondered the filial obligation due one who had never actually taken on the paternal role,” Lan Zhan says. “I have come to the conclusion that my filial duty is not owed to my mother’s rapist, but to the man who invested his time and energy into taking over his responsibilities.”

Wei Ying turns, stares at Lan Zhan for a long moment, and then turns back to Lan Qiren. “What my husband is not managing to communicate is that he has long considered you his father in every way that matters, and that he would like to call you so, but he doesn’t know if it would be welcome.”

Lan Qiren looks more shocked than any of them had imagined he was capable of being.

Flustered, he says, “I… You want… but…” and then finally, “Have you forgiven me, then?”

Lan Zhan blinks. “You have done nothing to be forgiven for.”

“In your other life…” Lan Qiren starts, and then stops, as Wei Ying smiles widely. 

A little of Wei Wuxian’s true age bleeds through as he speaks. “We’ve talked about this, Qiren. We do not punish people for the things they have not done in this life. We have everything we ever wanted. That could not have happened without your cooperation and support, from the very beginning. Once you understood, you did not make the same mistakes. You stood up for us, for our children, for Xichen’s family, for our strays and for every unconventional thing we’ve thrown at you. You rewrote the rules to make them more just. Lan Zhan wants to honor you.”

“Chengmei calls me Baba, still,” Lan Qiren says softly, looking into his empty teacup. “Xichen sometimes does as well, now. His children have always called me Yeye. I could not be there for you two as much as I could for them, but I have long loved both of you as much as if you’d been mine. You have both exceeded any hope any parent could have for their children.”

Then he looks up, looks at Lan Zhan directly and says, “A-Zhan, if you would like to call me Baba, I would be honored more than words can convey.”

Then he looks at Wei Ying. “A-Ying, you, as well, or Gonggong if you prefer to be more formal.” There is a twinkle in his eye.

Wei Ying blinks back tears and laughs. “As if I ever wanted to be more formal.”

Lan Zhan just whispers, “Baba,” and then for the first time in many decades, he reaches out and hugs Lan Qiren tightly, on purpose. 

“I’m surprised he picked the informal titles,” Wei Ying says aloud, later, after the children are in bed. The three adults are sitting in Guangshi, wavy stars visible, barely, through some of the skylights, candles on the table as they each work on their small projects, winding down for the evening.

“He knows my children call me Baba,” Lan Zhan says, as he copies pages for books for the library. “And Chengmei picked that for him, as well. I never used anything but Fuqin for Qingheng-Jun. He isn’t my formal father, he is the father of my heart, and has done more to earn the informality than my father ever did to earn his formality.”

“I can’t believe that actually made sense,” Wei Qing says, laughing. She is going through Wei Ying’s illustrations for the book they’ve been working on together, turning his flippant notes into more formal captions.  

“Xichen was always Xiongzhang in our other life,” Lan Zhan adds. “In this life, Da-ge. Always. It is much the same.”

Wei Ying puts a fond hand to his husband’s cheek, and says, “A-Zhan, you’ve come so far.”

Wei Qing, who has rarely seen Lan Zhan at his most formal in this life, cocks her head to one side. Wei Ying notices and sends her a cluster of memories.

“You have come far,” she murmurs. “What would you have done in your last life if I’d touched you?”

Lan Zhan blinks, then shrugs a little. 

“He’d have been very flustered if he liked you at all and extremely angry if he didn’t,” Wei Ying says, returning to a sketch of Lan Zhan which he is drawing instead of the medical sketches he’d planned on. “You wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.”

“I was wildly jealous of you in that life, when Wei Ying was living with you. It took me some time to realize that he saw you, then, as another sister. Our situation is… not comparable. In this life, since our first child, I have seen that your goals and mine are always in alignment, that your priorities match mine, and it would be absurd for me to object to physical contact after you bore my child, for him. Then, you were both the reason he was functionally in exile and the reason he was still alive at all, and I wish I’d done more to support him at the time. I think I may have managed to make up for it now.” Lan Zhan quirks a wry half-smile at her.

He has accompanied his words with a series of little mental images of how he’d seen Wei Ying and Wen Qing, back then. She takes a moment to process, and then says, “The only times in this life, which has been so peaceful, that I’ve had any desire to be touched and to touch, have been when I felt very safe, and very protected. I cannot imagine there was a risk of that, before.”

Wei Ying snorted. “No. I… the time we spent in exile was bittersweet. You were my family, all of you, but we never, ever felt safe. And you spent so much of your time protecting everyone, including me, that there wasn’t room for us to take care of you. You wouldn’t let us, not after…” He trails off, the memory surfacing, and squashes it down again before she can grasp it. “There was one time when you asked for my help, after I’d bullied you into helping us, and I gave you that help because it felt necessary. Like I couldn’t be who I was without being willing to help someone who had done so much for my family.” 

“You’ve never stopped,” she murmurs.

“Oh, I did for a while. I was dead,” he says, flippant. 

They stare at him. 

“I’m just saying that I couldn’t help anyone when I was dead. That’s all.”

Wei Qing looks at Lan Zhan and then shakes her head. “He’s always been like this, hasn’t he?”

“Mentioning his death like it was no big deal?” Lan Zhan asked. “From the moment he went off the cliff. He smiled while he fell. As if it was not the single worst thing I ever experienced.”

“Hey, I came back!” Wei Ying said, leaning over and butting his head against his husband’s arm. And he looked at Wei Qing and said, “When you, the other you, sacrificed yourself for me, you paralyzed me with needles and the last thing I saw was your smile and your tears. And you wouldn’t let me save you, and it was awful, and then I turned around and did the same thing to Lan Zhan, and it is my greatest achievement in this life that neither of us must sacrifice ourselves. Because it wasn’t worth it when you did it and it wasn’t worth it when I did it, and it’s much more meaningful to live for each other than to die for each other.”

“You were saving him,” she said.

“I thought he would fall. The cliff was crumbling, and all I could think was that I didn’t want to be the cause of his death, too. And then he saved our son, and lived long enough for me to return to him. And when I was dying again, he jumped with me.”

“I belong with my zhiyin,” Lan Zhan said. “I live, with no regret.”

“I’m just trying to grasp that Lan Qiren, who terrified me in our last life, treats me as a beloved son, and I don’t even mind,” Wei Ying says, worming his way under his husband’s arm until he is held close. Then he shakes his head. “Enough remembering. There’s a reason I don’t. He has always been kind to me in this life, and I will call him Baba and mean it.”

Lan Zhan gives a small nod and a pleased little smile. “You deserve all good things.”

“You have given them all to me,” Wei Ying says, as moonlight streams in through the high windows of the home they’ve built together. “I think I might be starting to believe that I could deserve them.”