Archive of Our Own

It was the soft, and regretful voice of his brother that relayed the news to him. Lifting his head slowly, he looked at the dim guilt in his brother’s face. And he knew his body filling up with dread.

A few words and his entire world crumbled.

‘The Yiling Patriarch was dead.’ That was what they told him.

‘His Wei Ying was gone.’ Is what he heard.

He had been lying on his bed. On his stomach, for months, the wounds on his back still sore and open, but every bit worth it if it meant that he was safe - that he had protected him well.

That had been enough to keep him away from harm. At that time, he had hoped that would be enough.

‘There was a siege,’ they told him ‘led by the Yunmeng Jiangs, the Lanling Jins, and the Qinghe Nies. and the smaller clans who lost so many people at the hands of the terrible Yiling Patriarch.’

The monster that caused so many deaths got what he deserved, they’ll say.

The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, who introduced chaos into the world got what he deserved, they’ll say.

The young man with a smile as bright as sunshine, and heart purer than jade; who jumped at the chance to help and protect was long gone they’ll say, replaced by a bloodthirsty demon, and got what he deserved.

The Wei Ying, who always strived to achieve the impossible had this coming they’ll say.

They had led an attack on his Wei Ying.

A man who was always the first to hold out a hand, either in help or friendship. The man who always would look for the silver lining on the darkest of the clouds, and replace that with gold. A man who only ever wanted to help the weak, and uphold justice.

He was good, always.

No one understood Wei Ying. They always saw his darkness; so quick to hate.

People were so distracted by his loudness, that they never noticed his silence. They only saw his laughter, but never the frown between his eyes. They only seek his company for leisure, but never for discourse.

Wei Ying has always spoken, but no one has ever really listened. Even his jokes held keys to his secrets.

Lan Wangji had tried.

He should’ve tried sooner. He should’ve tried harder.

Every word out of Wei Ying’s mouth, he remembered it all – the jokes, the flirting, the accusations, the frustrations.

Wangji had tried, and one day he heard. He had heard Wei Ying. Since then, he had always heard him. His noise, his silence, his laughter, his anger, his tears, his happiness, his fears, his confusion, his doubts, and his frustrations. Wanji had heard it all.

It always drew his attention. How could anyone ignore Wei Wuxian; let him rant on and on without once listening?

And now. There was nothing more to be heard.

Nothing and no one stopped him as he dragged himself onto Bichen and rushed to the Burial Mounds. Not his pain. Not his brother. Not his uncle. Nor the 3000 rules on the walls.

They knew he would go. They had long accepted he would leave.

The journey was painful. His soul ached. He was shaking, but he held on to Bichen with all his might. He had to see for himself. He had to see him for himself to believe. He needed to see. What came after he didn’t know.

For the first time, Hanguang-jun was anything but graceful when he landed at the battleground.

There was nothing but scars all around him. The place he had visited was so full of life. The place Wei Ying had introduced to him was lying in shambles, half-burnt, half burning. All ruined.

A place which had been Wei Ying’s home. The place which had seen his blood, sweat, and tears. A place he had built and filled with peace and laughter – that once bore the marks of happiness and hours of hard work. A place filled with hope. A place where people had heard Wei Ying’s heart and stood by him.

A place where Wei Ying didn’t have to hold back.

The place where Wei Ying died.

He fell onto his knees, the wounds from three years ago open; stinging and hurting like never before. They were bleeding like never before. He was bleeding.

He knew his brother was right behind him. A hand stretched out, touching his shoulder, trying to offer comfort, but no amount of comfort could calm the anguish.

Everything was hurting.

Everything was burning.

He saw everything burning. The huts, the trees, the memories of the laughter and smiles, the feeling of belonging- all ashes. All of that was replaced by the big crater in the middle, sweeping away everything to the periphery.

They say he tried to destroy the seal. That his own powers backfired. That in the end, he killed himself.

They say Jiang Cheng tried to pull him out of the blast. They say Wei Ying pushed him away. They say Jiang Cheng led the attack. They say Jiang Cheng led the attack that killed his Wei Ying.

They say they can’t find the body.

They can’t find Wei Ying.

Lan Zhan hopes they never will. Lan Zhan hopes no one ever will find Wei Ying. Wei Ying deserves to rest. He deserves peace.

But more than that, he deserved to live.

He willingly let himself fall into the abyss of what-ifs and regrets. Scene after scene passing his mind; of things he could’ve done differently. Of standing by Wei Ying. Of keeping him next to him.

A simple dream, two travelers, a guqin and a flute, black and white, traveling, living, laughing, and loving. A simple life of love and kindness. That’s all he wanted. That’s all he dreamed. That’s all he dared to hope. All that now shattered and burnt, and it’s bitter ashes choking him.

A muffled groan left his mouth as his eyes stung. The last of his restraint slipping away. There was something in his chest. Something heavy. It was squeezing his heart. It was clawing into his sides so hard he couldn’t breathe. His whole body was numb. There was pain, and then there wasn’t. Something was begging for release, but he didn’t know how to let it out.

He has always kept it all in. He had lost before, and he lost again. He took everything life had given him, and he kept it. Lived with it. Learned from it.

But he couldn’t contain it anymore.

He felt, for the first time, a rage so deep, so raw, that he saw only red.

Red.

He pushed himself up, ignoring his own physical self’s protest.

Red. It should all be red.

He stumbled forward, not knowing his destination, but needing. His legs took to him to the nearest tree. His hands punched through it. The air filled with a loud and panicked ‘Wangji!’, but he didn’t turn; didn’t stop. The pain grounded him. But he needed more.

Red. He needed red. He needed more red.

His hand pulled up to attack again, his eyes needed more red.

But a low silent whimper cut through his mania. He froze, his arms still poised to punch. Looking, for the first time at what he was punching.

A tendril of dread passed through his veins. The dread that grew into a hope.

‘Wei Ying! Is it you?’

The whimpers were weak. It was very weak.

As the haze came down, he saw the child, curled into himself. Shivering. Weak. Whimpering for help.

‘Xi…an……ge….ge…’

He stood frozen, hand still poised to punch. His mind confused. There was a child in the tree.

It was that child. The child he met on the streets of Yiling. The child that he had come to adore in the few hours that he had known him, who laughter reminded him of Wei Ying, whose temperament matched his own. A child, who could have been theirs to raise…a dream.

Wen Yuan. Wei Ying’s A-yuan. Wei Ying’s A-yuan was still here.

A surge of hope propelled him as he took the child into his arms. His small, unconscious, body trembling with fever. His weak state scared him.

‘A-Zhan…is that?’ his brother asked, carefully approaching him. Instinctively, he held the child closer, turning his body away. He saw the flash of hurt cross his brother’s face, and he called out him again ‘A-Zhan…I’m sorry’. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty or to forgive. It wasn’t his to give.

This child was all that was left. The only remnant of the Wens; of Wei Ying’s sacrifice.

‘Wangji, he won’t survive.’ His brother whispered, this voice thick with remorse.

Fear gripped him at the thought of losing the child. No, he would not allow it. He would allow one more like to be taken from him.

One more life wasted. Killed. Murdered. All in the name of righteousness. No…Will not let it happen. Cannot let it happen.

‘He was among them. A baby, the old and the injured; Ordinary people brother! They were what lived here! They were what he wanted to protect!’ Lan Xichen gasped. A shocking realization taking over his features as he looks around. It shouldn’t be new information to Lan Xichen, Sect leader of GusuLan, but it seemed like it was the first time it had really sunk in. ‘This is what everyone wanted to destroy.’ He added, in a lower voice, feeling a pinch of satisfaction at his brother’s pained face.

The journey back home was silent. One brother held the other up, while the other held onto the frail body in his arms; bleeding.

A-yuan became Lan Yuan. No one dared oppose the Twin Jades. Everyone knew who this new Lan was, but everyone knew how thin The Second Jade’s patience had become. No one protested. No one dared to protest.

Even as Lan Yuan’s little body battled for life, uncle scoffed and walked away, muttering under his breath. Lan Wangji didn’t care.

He stayed by the boy’s side, his guqin on the table a little distance away from the bed the child was resting on. He played for days.

Playing for the child. Playing for himself. And playing for Wei Ying.

‘Wei Ying where are you? Are you listening to me play?’

His brother stopped by every day, to ensure both were well. His gestures spoke of guilt, even if they were rooted in his own feelings of failing as a brother. Wangji didn’t correct him. He was not well.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than to hear the notes of his flute join in with those of his guqin, one more time; to hear that laughter float all the way into the Jinshi and ruin his sleep and infiltrate his dreams. To hear the notes of the flute, the same that struck fear in everyone else, but made him feel like he had the world in his hands.

He wished for the meaningless talks, the grins, and the laughs and the giggles. He wished for the anger, the frowns, the arguments, and the fights.

He wished for one more chance. To hold on, and to confess.

To never let go.

He had only regrets.

When he was five, during their monthly visits to his mother, his elder brother hadn’t able to come; Uncle had given him a task. Lan Zhan had hidden the candy mother had entrusted him to pass to Xichen in his sleeve. That night, Wangji held the soft cloth the candy was wrapped in his hand, and marveled at the intricate thread work he knew was his mother’s craft. His brother’s wilted face at hearing nothing from his mother haunted him for a month. He swore never again to be greedy.

He had learned to never do things he had regretted. To not claim things that do to belong to him. to not take away from others.

But with Wei Ying, he wanted to be greedy.

He regrets not dragging him to Gusu. He regrets.

And under the curtain of the night, Wangji, for the first time, understands his father’s decisions. Of taking away and hiding. Of keeping someone close, and safe. But against Wei Ying, Wangji would’ve lost. Against his freedom, Wangji’s resolves melted. For his happiness, Wangji would’ve melted his shackles. Wei Ying wasn’t the same without his vitality, something that Wangji’s home would’ve drained out of.

No. Lan Wangji regretted not following Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan wanted to follow Wei Ying to the end of the earth; to where ever Wei Ying wanted to go. Lan Zhan regrets.

I can still follow.

Lan Yuan groans softly, startling Wangji out of his thoughts.

The little child.

A little child.

His. His. Theirs.

So he continues playing. A numb ache in heart replaces his errant thoughts.

He continues to play, asking, learning, enquiring, but not finding what he is looking for.

The night morphs into a day. Days morph into weeks. Weeks turn to months. And soon it’s been 3 years since then.

But he still plays every night at hai shi. For him, always asking. Always seeking.

A-yuan doesn’t remember, much from before, a small mercy for the child. But A-yuan still pauses at the sound of a flute. His little mind not grasping what his heart is seeking. Wangji sees it but doesn’t explain. He cannot explain.

One day Lan Yuan will become Lan Shizui, it was decided. In the 3 years, his bubbly giggles had melted the frost around Cloud Recesses with every step. His resilience and diligence impressed the elders. His naughty pranks and innocent smiles warmed Lan Xicheng’s heart. His curiosity and dedication earned him Uncle’s praise.

His existence earned him Lan Wangji’s love. His existence grounded him.

Seasons ago little Yuan would climb into his bed at night, eyes wet, and curl up against him seeking comfort. Sometimes he would seek him out in the early mornings, eyes red and sleep-deprived, seeking comfort. Sometimes he would sleep peacefully in his own bed, in a room adjacent to Wangji’s. His nightmares less frequent than before, his mannerisms less cautious than before. He had grown into a Lan, calm and Disciplined on the outside, but remained Wei Ying on the inside, vibrant. Life moves on as he watches time leave its marks.

But Wangji still plays. For him, always asking. Always seeking.

His questions are still plenty. His rage barely contained. His pain just beneath the surface. His eyes finally seeing more than what they were taught to see.

The colors dull, even as life returns to its usual ritual. Yet, that constant itch to look for Wei Ying never dims.

But everything has changed. Since Wei Ying left. Life went on, and everything’s different.

Since they first met, Wangji has always sought his warmth. It started as a reluctant curiosity, which blossomed into genuine admiration, and somewhere along the way, Lan Wangji had fallen in love.

Wei Ying had been easy to love. He gave so much love to others and saved so little for himself. His words are always ready to compliment others, never himself. Wei Ying’s first instinct was always to give, never to take. So Wangji gave it to him. But he was incompetent. He was never good at expressing emotions. And he didn’t understand how to respond to Wei Wuxian’s fire, he never pushed too hard. He was too scared to be burnt.

It has been many seasons since he lost that fire, now he was willing to jump into the flames. One chance is all he wishes for. So Wangji still asks. He asks of Wei Ying. He asks for Wei Ying.

It’s been three years since Wei Ying’s death. And life goes on. But none of his questions have been answered. His inquiry has never been so silent.

They call him Hanguang-jun. They call him the man who is there where chaos is. It is true. He takes pride in that name. He likes helping the weak, he likes ridding the world of unjust chaos.

He is the man where chaos is. Now it reminds him of Wei Ying, and he unconsciously looks for the man amidst all the chaos of fighting, his heart always hurting when he doesn't find those expressive grey eyes and wide toothy grin text to him. But he still goes looking for chaos. He wants to be where Wei Ying is.

In the years he had known him, seen him, felt him, Wei Ying was nothing but pure chaos. Bringing with him a hail storm of life where ever he goes. For miles, people would know that Wei Wuxian from Yunmeng Jiang was near-by.

The so-called high-class cultivators scoffed at his unorthodox methods. But the ordinary people reveled at his approachability.

Lan Wangji was pulled in by his ideals. He was like a moth to the flame. He was the light, but Wei Ying was his flame.

But they call him Hanguang-jun. They call him the man who is there where chaos is. He has a secret he will never confess. Wei Ying is chaos. He is always where Wei Ying is.

He is still looking for Wei Ying. So he is still looking for chaos.

Three years after his death, Wei Ying remains his flame. He is a moth, still searching. Still asking.

Where was everyone?’

‘Why was A-yuan inside a tree?’

‘Wei Ying where are you?’

‘Are you happy? Are you in peace?’

Sometimes, Wangji took A-yuan out for walks around the town. He carried the child in his arms as he flew down the mountain.

He held his awe, his excitement, his smiles, his curiosity, his meaningless rants, and his giggles close to his heart.

Somewhere along the way, he had made it his goal to give this child everything he couldn’t have. The child had grown very important to him.

The child was his anchor.

It’s the 3rd winter since Wei Ying’s passing. A-Yuan’s laughter echoes across Cloud Recesses. It’s past curfew, but no one comes to silence the child.

He asks questions. His curious mind too much for Wangji to handle.

He cries in his sleep. Asking for people Wangji doesn’t know.

He cries in his sleep, asking for the Wens.

He cries in his sleep asking for his Xian-gege.

And Wangji can only hold him tight through it.

He lets A-yuan trail behind him, holding onto his sleeve as he tends to his daily chores. And he carries his tired little body back to the Jinshi at the end of the day, tucking him in and laying down next to him, getting ready to face the next day together. A-yuan loves his bunnies, so Wangji often takes him to see them every morning. Allows him to feed them, ad pet them. he stacks every bunny hopping around them on the child, relishing in his giddy laughter. He allows him to roll around the mud chasing them. Allows him the childhood he never had, and praying that it would be enough. He didn't know how to care for others, that was always his brother and Wei Ying. He knows the Lan elders disapprove of his parenting, but Brother smiles as he watches A-yuan play. His warm smile welcoming them into the Hanshi, and listens to A-yuan to talk animatedly about his adventures with the bunnies, and that is all that matters.

The elders also disapproved of Wei Ying, even before they even met him. He doesn't think their approval counts for anything anymore.

When he first introduces A-yuan to the other Lan juniors, he is apprehensive. A tinge of hesitance in his mind, and he almost pulls the child away. A faraway memory reminds him of his disdain for the Lan rules, the boring lifestyle, and strictness. Wei Ying wouldn’t have wanted A-Yuan to grow up without friends. But this is all Lan Zhan can give the child.

The hesitation is replaced with frustration. At not being able to give more, to be more for A-Yuan.

The frustration, that adds to the existing frustrations. The pile is high. Wangji silently wonders when the dam will break.

But then, like a gush of wind, a child runs towards them grabbing A-yuan’s hand and pulling him forward, all but ignoring Lan Wangji as the adult caretakers watch in horror. They move to admonish the child, but he shakes his head stopping them. He watches fondly, aware of the shocked faces looking him, as the child talks, words spilling over each other. Loud. Carefree. Happy.

A weight lifts off his shoulders. A-yuan will have good friends.

As he leaves, someone calls out the child, scolding him for his misconduct. ‘It does not befit a Lan. Behave better in front of Hanguang-jun’ she says. The child, Lan Jingyi gasps and slaps a hand on his mouth, and immediately turns to grin widely at the wide-eyed A-yuan. The exchange warms Wangji’s heart. A-yuan will have good friends. Wei Ying would be pleased. He can imagine the laughter, and the thinly veiled comment about the Lan temperament, and wonder for this unique Lan child. Lan Wangji wonders the same. He knows the importance of friends. He knows the importance of friends vastly different from oneself. He knows they teach to look at the world differently. He wants A-yuan to see more than what he’s been taught.

That night, Little Yuan climbs into his bed in the middle of the night, lying on his chest. His sniffles sounding very loud in the silence of the Jinshi.

‘Xi…an…ge…ge…don’t go…’

In three years, a lot has changed. Except for the two in Gusu, offering and taking comfort. Both missing the same person.

In the three years since Wei Ying left. Wangji has been watching, learning, and observing. He learns that the world isn’t black and white, it’s made of shades of grey. In three years he realizes that there is no absolute right and wrong. Just as there is no absolute good and bad. It is all a balance. Like Yin and Yang. It all co-exists. What is right for now, will be wrong for later. What is good here, will be bad there. What is right for one, will be wrong for another. In three years, Wangji learns to only follow what he thinks is right, and suffer the consequences. No never have regrets. To never leave the gap for ‘what ifs’.

Never again does he want to regret not taking a stand.

The three years pass, agonizingly slowly, yet at the same time surprisingly fast.

The first time he sees Jiang Wanyin after Wei Ying’s death is at a conference at Koi tower. He looks tired. He looks alone.

Gone is the trace of youthful arrogance and aimless anger.

The man sitting at the head of Yunmeng Jiang is a mesh of bitter rage.

Their eyes meet and Wangji watches the man stiffen, an accusation ready to fall out of his mouth.

He was told to lead the attack against his brother, and he didn’t refuse. He watched his brother jump into the flames to save the Wens. He caused the fire that killed his brother.

Wangji thinks that punishment enough.

He turns away.

Wangji goes night hunting regularly. Never staying away for too long. Never leaving A-yuan alone for too long.

Sometimes he went alone, on other times with his brother. Sometimes he went with some sect juniors.

But always something was always missing.

Sometimes, as he walked along the night alone, he would talk to himself. Filling in the gaps in his thoughts, and replying to himself. In moments like the voice that always replied to him, was Wei Ying’s.

On one of the trips back, Wangji sees that jar of liquor. He’s seen it a hundred times before. He’s seen it since he was old enough to accompany his uncle and his brother to Caiyi city. But until he saw it in Wei Ying’s hands, he never paid it never held any importance in his mind.

Emperors smile.

Alcohol was forbidden in Cloud Recesses.

And that night, Hanguang-jun brought alcohol into Cloud Recesses. He hid the jar under the floorboards in Jinshi. That night was the beginning of many nights to follow. One jar became five. And it will remain so for years to come.

Wangji plays his guqin every day. Still asking the same questions.

A-yuan watches him play the guqin. Wondering why his gege looks sad. His little body moves to sit on his lap and lean onto his chest. Looking at his gege play with the strings, the sound mesmerizing him. The song morphs into a familiar tune. Like a lullaby, it calms him.

Every corner of Cloud Recesses echoes with the song played on the Zither. Every Lan, every disciple knows that their Hanguang-jun’s pain is still boiling under the surface. Barely contained.

It’s there. He’s at the tipping point.

A-yuan sleeps, cradled against his chest, and he continues playing the inquiry.

The silence taunts him.

It’s been three years. And there is still no answer.

The silence haunts his nights. The silence haunts his days.

His dreams are filled with laughter. His dreams are filled with sunshine. A simple story of two men, and a child.

His dreams make him more desperate for answers. He knows his Wei Ying is around. He knows there is something he missed. He knows it deep inside that Wei Ying is alive.

So for three years, he has been looking. He searching.

The rage and the confusion boil up.

The steady weight of A-yuan sleeping against his chest, his mind drifts to more peaceful times. Where lonely nights in the Jinshi were spent with the mission to unravel the coil in his chest – to make sense of his erratic heartbeats, and the funny churning of his guts. Of the nights when he was a normal teenager, trying to figure out his feelings, for a boy as loud as a hurricane.

The notes of the Zither shifts to something more melancholic. A familiar tune that brings tears to Lan Xichens eyes.

A song of longing echoes into the night.

That night he snaps. His hand bleeding from playing the guqin for hours without a break.

‘It’s been three years, why is Lan Zhan so agitated?’

‘Why is gege sad?’

It’s too silent.

In the three years, his mind had more questions than answers. He asked and asked. But there was only ever silence.

Where was everyone else?’

‘Why was A-yuan left behind?’

‘Wei Ying where are you?’

Its been three years since Wei Ying’s been gone. And the rage boils over.

Hot tears sting his eyes, and he slaps a hand on the guqin to stop the song. The child in his arms startles but doesn’t awake. A-yuan sleeps peacefully as his father carries him to the bed, and places him on it with a gentleness that exhausts the last of his restraint.

His arms finally free, he opens the floorboard, eyeing the jars.

That night, five becomes four.

His cries are loud and clear, echoing across Cloud Recesses. His brother rushes to him. His uncle follows. The whole sect watches as their esteemed Hanguang-jun, the second jade of GusuLan, finally breaks down. They watch as he runs around, looking for a flute. They watch in horrified silence as he brands himself.

They feel relieved.

‘Let him get it out.’ They think. ‘He’s been holding in his grief for so long.’ They think.

No one confronts him. No one stops him. No one shames him.

But A-yuan’s soft cries bring his drunken search to an end. Wangji crawls to the child, his chest burning with the Wen brand. The child in turn reaches out to him. Immediately burrowing his face into his neck.

‘Zhan gege don’t be sad, A-Yuan is here.’ The child cries himself to sleep. And if some Zhan-gege’s are replaced by Xian-gege’s no one else if there to hear it.

Lan Xichen watches as both his children cling onto each other, finding comfort in the other, and in turn comforting the other. His Wangji has always kept his emotions in check, never straying from the Lan teachings. His failure as an elder brother stares him in the face every day.

Wangji stays close to A-yuan for the days following that event. He was ashamed of his behavior, at losing himself in his emotions. The brand on his chest a constant reminder of everything he has lost, and everything he must aspire to be.

No one mentions the incident. One good Lan Zhan finds of the 3000 rules of his home.

Uncle doesn’t punish him. ‘He’s suffered enough’ he had said to his brother, ‘He has punished himself enough.’

But he knows they know, and he vows to be better. For his family, for A-yuan and for Wei Ying. What he doesn’t know is that they all are relived, when he steps out of the Jingshi, ready.

He spends his time in cloud recesses, teaching, learning, and searching.

He sits by and watches the children play. A-yuan’s friend, Lan Jingyi is a mini storm. Lan Zhan watches as the two new play-mates create havoc for their caretaker. He lets himself smile.

He watches for a while more before getting up to leave. He has resumed all sect duties, which include attending meetings. He dusts off his outer robes and looks to the sky, silently relaying a secret; a promise.

'I’ll keep asking Wei Ying, I will keep looking.'

‘Wei Ying…I’ll find you.’

Miles away, a youth dressed in black robes, with a red ribbon pulling his hair into a half pony walks down a crowded street, spinning a thin stick in his hand as he looks through all the stalls. Eyes brightening as he spots the one stall he was searching for.

‘Jiejie!’ he calls out to the store owner, earning him a wide grin and a loud welcome. An hour later, he is walking back, his hands heavy with his purchase. He how wears lighter blue colored robes, carefully picked to avoid recognition, with his hair tied up in a high ponytail with the appropriate ornaments the stall jiejie suggested. The red ribbon tucked away within his sleeves.

He hummed a melody, he didn’t know where he had heard.

His carefree strut came to a halt as his eyes focused on a child, barely 4, clinging onto his father's legs, and asking to be carried. In his mind, he sees a similar image, from a time long ago. A man in pure white, a child wrapped around his legs.

‘A-yuan.’ The man whispered. Pain very apparent in the voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

He smiles at the scene and walks ahead. Pushing the memory further and further into his mind. Locking it in the chest with a list of things he regrets.

He smiles and he walks on. Humming the strange songs that calm him at times like these, always.

'Wei Ying...where are you?'

.

'Wei Ying, are you happy? Are you at peace?'

.

'Wei Ying, I'll come to find you.'

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'Wei Ying...where are you?'

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Qishan