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They had lit paper lanterns back when Wei Ying had visited the Cloud Recesses for the first time. They had been almost children then, too naive of the cruelty of the world and the ravages of war— it was something that life had made sure to correct with strict and painful lessons, etching those horrors into their very souls.
Now, Lan Wangji is only left with memories that ache like a wound that will never close properly. Back then, Wei Ying's smile was brilliant and his eyes were alight with life. To this day, his words still resound in Lan Wangji’s mind in a never-ending echo.
I, Wei Wuxian, wish that I can always stand with justice and live with no regrets.
Lan Wangji closes his eyes, the image of Wei Wuxian falling off the cliff haunts him both asleep and awake. Those once brilliant eyes had become reddened by tears and grief, the carefree days of old forever lost as Wei Wuxian accepted his destiny and delivered himself to death’s door.
It pains Lan Wangji to know that Wei Ying was not able to obtain this wish, just like so many other dreams that were stolen from him.
Lan Wangji closes his eyes and focuses on the pain traveling down his back; the wounds from the discipline whip will take months, if not years to heal, but this at least occupies his mind from dwelling on things he can only regret now.
He inhales and exhales slowly, entering a meditative state. He feels his spiritual energy flow through meridian like gentle water soothing his wounds.
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After Wei Ying dies, Lan Wangji still lights a paper lantern every year. Lan Wangji performs this act with reverence as his brush carefully draws a few strokes on the thin, expensive paper. He does his best to paint two rabbits on the lantern and, as it rises towards the sky, he wishes for Wei Wuxian's peace. Lan Wangji knows it is too late for happiness, but he prays that wherever Wei Wuxian is, he isn't suffering anymore.
The first two years, Lan Wangji lights his lantern alone. He is still convalescent from his wounds and his back twinges while he kneels to draw. The movement of his arm pulls at the taught skin of his back, but he bears it quietly, adding his pain as a further offering. He won’t burn paper money for Wei Ying, the man had never sought any kind of riches in his life, but Lan Wangji will wish with all his heart for Wei Ying’s peace.
After the ceremony ends and he makes his wish, Lan Wangji turns his steps back towards the Jingshi. He bows his head in respect yet avoids the masters’ impassive glances as he walks by and doesn’t dwell on the way the other disciples look at him with sadness— like he’s a lost cause, a broken idol that has fallen from the highest highs.
Lan Wangji does not refute it. He knows he is.
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The third year, he brings Lan Sizhui. The boy is now old enough to participate in the festivities and Lan Wangji has finished his penitence in the eyes of the sect — he’s officially out of seclusion. The previous somber tone of the occasion shifts slightly; instead of quiet reverence while they prepare the lantern, Sizhui keeps giggling as he dips his hand into the ink, leaving a mess of colorful handprints on the paper. The process is lively and messy but Lan Wangji doubts Wei Ying would have cared. On the contrary, he would probably have preferred it this way.
The Cloud Recesses is always so stiff. So many rules. Don’t ruin my son, Lan Zhan!
“Baba, will my wish really come true?” A-Yuan asks with big, hopeful eyes, and Lan Wangji gently caresses the top of his dark brown hair. Lan Wangji kneels and takes a clean piece of cloth to wipe away the remnants of ink from the kid’s hands. He can feel multiple eyes on him. He has heard some of the many rumors circulating regarding Lan Sizhui’s parentage. It’s ironic, really, to know the sect’s strict rules seem to be waived away for trivial matters. Years ago, he would have formulated an appropriate punishment but now he can’t bring himself to care.
“If you really mean it and your heart is pure, it will.” Lan Wangji replies in a slightly softer tone of voice that is reserved only for his son. A small hand closes in Lan Wangji’s and both of them stand up to gaze as the lanterns float away. Sizhui marvels over them and oohs and ahhs in gentle whispers in an attempt to follow the sect rules. They watch their lantern until it is lost in the purple, pink and blue pastels of the horizon.
"I want Baba to be happy," A-Yuan mumbles and hugs his father’s leg the same way he had done the first time they had met in Yiling. The moment is bittersweet, just like the barely-there smile that appears on Lan Wangji’s lips.
He doesn't have the heart to tell his son that the notion of true happiness might be too far from his reach now.
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The year after, Lan Wangji brings Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, who have been practically attached at the hip since they met on the first day of their group lessons. The two kids share a lantern and chuckle as they paint clouds, music notes, and bunnies on it. It is a colorful and sticky affair and when both of the kids end up with paint on their faces, Lan Wangji gently but sternly instructs them to clean up after themselves. While the boys aren’t looking, his gaze softens ever so slightly at their happiness.
There is still a feeling of void and sadness in Lan Wangji’s chest. He isn’t sure it will ever go away but seeing Lan Sizhui giggling gives him hope. Lan Wangji feels proud and at peace knowing he can at least do this; he can keep Sizhui safe and happy for Wei Ying.
Are you watching over him, Wei Ying?
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A decade passes and the pain doesn’t disappear but it dulls like an old ache— it is something he will probably carry for the rest of his days. Maybe this is the price of love, and Lan Wangji doesn't regret it.
Lan Wangji vows to fulfill Wei Ying’s wish and stand with justice. He travels far and wide, from Gusu to Qinghe to Qishan, following the chaos wherever it presents itself and offering his help wherever it is needed. He tries his best not to rekindle a flame of hope every time he hears the whispers that the Yiling Patriarch is back and continues with his mission. He saves lives, he brings peace to erratic souls looking for eternal rest, and he longs for all the things that never were.
Lan Wangji watches Sizhui grow and there are times he can see little glimpses of Wei Ying in him. Lan Wangji wonders if the brief time Sizhui and Wei Ying spent together could have been enough to leave such a deep impression on the child. Those moments are like mirages that play with Lan Wangji’s memories, the way there is a flash of mischievousness in Sizhui’s usual kind expression when he smirks, or how his son’s features become calm and solemn in concentration when he decides to take up the dizi as his second instrument.
As time passes, Lan Wangji doesn’t have any doubts left.
That is the kind of person Wei Ying was... is , he comes into your life with the force of a typhoon, turns it upside down, and leaves a deep mark in his wake. Wei Ying is unstoppable and unforgettable and Lan Wangji wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Lan Wangji can say he is thankful for it. Thankful for meeting him. Thankful for Sizhui to remember him in his own way. Thankful for loving him.
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Another handful of years pass by and the sad quietness vanishes like an old nightmare. The pain of Wei Ying’s death is still jarring enough that he remembers it, but with every new day of blinding happiness, the edge of fear softens and Lan Wangji's heart begins to feel lighter, more open, and finally whole again.
“Lan Zhan, is that really a bunny?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyes sparkling with life and mirth as he judges Lan Wangji’s artwork. The shape on the paper is crooked and vaguely resembles a rabbit.
“Hm, Wei Ying was always a better artist,” Lan Wangji replies, his smile is nothing more than a small upturn at the corner of his lips but it lights up his entire face.
“One for you, one for me, and one for A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian says as he expertly fixes the crooked rabbit and draws two more bunnies on the lantern, “even though it might have to be four soon enough,” Wei Wuxian adds knowingly while looking at Sizhui and Jingyi working on their own lantern.
“Mhm,” Lan Wangji responds looking at the pair of teenagers proudly and approvingly.
“What are you going to wish for?” Wei Wuxian asks, tilting his head and sticking his tongue out as he focuses on the artwork. Lan Wangji pauses a moment to observe him, golden eyes taking in the features that are still new to him. This face is different, the color of his eyes and the roundness of his cheeks are new, but the smile is the same, and it makes Lan Wangji’s heart beat hard in his chest — the old pain Lan Wangji used to carry is now long gone.
“I have all I want right here,” Lan Wangji responds as the tips of his ears turn pink and the corners of his lips barely curl into a shy smile.
All of Lan Wangji’s wishes had come true after all.