Work Text:
It took Lan Sizhui only a moment to register that his surroundings had changed drastically, that he was no longer where he had been just a second before, on a night hunt with Jingyi and Uncle Ning.
It took him several more moments to register where he was instead, to place the impossible scene in front of him.
("Attempt the impossible!" Senior Wei's voice echoed in his thoughts incongruously, but as much as Sizhui had incorporated Senior Wei's Jiang sword moves into his own style, he had never made any claims to the Jiang Sect.)
Sizhui had only ever seen Qishan in ruin, battle ravaged, picked over, and deserted for more than a decade. He'd traveled there with Uncle Ning after the events at Guanyin Temple.
The bustling marketplace in front of him was not the Qishan he knew. He would be hard pressed to identify it as Qishan at all if it weren’t for the white and red clad cultivators that he could see intermingled with the civilians, a sight that had been absent from the world for some fifteen years.
"A-a dream," he said aloud as he leaned against the wall of the alley he was inexplicably standing in, hysteria restrained solely by more than thirteen years of faithfully applying the Lan disciplines. "This— this— this must be a dream."
This dream was too detailed to be natural, and he himself too present within it, but Sizhui knew for certain that at least one artifact existed that could create such a vivid and elaborate fantasy of a time and place that no longer existed in the cultivation world.
(Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun had once mentioned their discovery of an artifact in the Lan archives that facilitated dreams so realistic that you could even touch your surroundings, that pulled images from your most cherished fantasies. Sizhui had bravely ignored the wink Senior Wei had thrown at Hanguang-jun at that comment and excused himself at the earliest polite opportunity.)
Sizhui was also painfully aware that he'd dreamed of these surroundings before, in as much detail as he could manage, his imagination filling in the gaps of Uncle Ning's stories and what had been left of the Nightless City after thirteen years. So it would make sense that this is what an artifact might draw upon to create a dream for him.
That seemed far more likely than the possibility that he had been somehow transported to another time, somewhere back before all of the people going about their lives in front of him had died, by the blade or by Senior Wei's flute or in a Jin camp after the war. The power alone that would be needed to pluck him out of the natural forward flow of time was staggering to contemplate, and he shied away from thinking of it.
There was no way he was truly standing in an alleyway, watching the Qishan Wen go about their business in the market, haggling over prices and indulging children with sweets and bickering with their companions.
"Just a dream…" he said a third time. But he didn't know how to wake up. He didn't know if Jingyi was here too, somewhere, or if he was in a dream of his own, or if he was awake with Uncle Ning and worrying over Sizhui's sleeping body.
He didn't think it was possible for Uncle Ning to dream, awake or asleep, so if Jingyi was dreaming too, then Uncle Ning was almost certainly waiting alone with two unconscious juniors, trying to wake them...
"You're dreaming of an alleyway in Qishan, Young Master Lan?" a voice cut through Sizhui's increasingly frenzied musings.
Startled, Sizhui instinctively sought out the source of the comment.
(Before this, he hadn't quite considered whether anyone else in the dream could see him, too focused on how he had gotten there and what had become of his companions and decidedly not thinking about traveling in time. He would have gotten to it eventually, and he was partially concealed in the shadows, but it was suddenly evident that perhaps this question should have been higher on his list of priorities.)
The voice belonged to a young man in Wen robes, perhaps a decade older than Sizhui. Of course, if the man was a cultivator, that estimate could be wildly inaccurate; a strong cultivator who appeared to be in his late twenties might easily be two times that age in truth. The man had striking features, softened by a kind expression and by the bangs that framed his face as he watched Sizhui.
Sizhui might be willing to bend the Gusu Lan rules in the service of a good cause, but at his core, he had been raised to internalize and be guided by them, and there was nothing keeping him from being polite to his senior here, even if only in a dream.
"With respect, Senior Wen, I must be dreaming it," he said. "Just a few moments ago I was somewhere else entirely."
"That is certainly true," the man agreed. "I was across the street when I saw you appear out of thin air in the alley. I am not aware of any talisman or artifact that would send a person from one place to another, especially so quietly. Of course, my expertise lies in medicine, not talismans, and I can't speak to any treasures that the Lan sect might possess."
"No," Sizhui mused. "I've never heard of anything that could do that either, although I'm only a junior disciple. I know Senior Wei is a master with talismans as well, so it may be possible, but the amount of energy such a thing would require would be very great indeed."
(And, at any rate, the possibilities of a talisman that transported one's self across land and one that transported one's self across both land and time were two different matters completely.)
"If you are here for Indoctrination you've come to the wrong part of Qishan, Young Master Lan," the man continued. "And if you're not here for Indoctrination, I can't say I recommend walking through the Nightless City dressed like that." He nodded significantly at Sizhui's white Lan uniform and forehead ribbon. "I'd suspect espionage from anyone else in your situation, but to attempt to spy on Qishan while your dress so clearly marks you a Lan would be incredibly foolish... It'd get you killed before you found out anything worth knowing. This is not a good time to be a Lan in Qishan."
"Indoctrination?" Sizhui questioned. He had been taught the events of the Sunshot Campaign and the attacks that had preceded it, of course. If that was the Indoctrination that the man was referring to, then this was the Qishan of Sizhui's parents' generation. Certainly, that made the most sense for Sizhui to be dreaming of.
"I'm not here for Indoctrination. I didn't come here on purpose at all. I was just on a night hunt, and then I was here. But I can't be here, not really, so this must be a dream."
"Hmm," the man said, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. "Well you certainly can't stay in this alleyway. How about you come with me to my room, and we can continue this conversation away from any wandering eyes or ears. If I can see you, anyone else might as well, and not all of us Wen are fond of asking questions first."
Sizhui considered this. He still didn't know when or how he was going to wake up. The man had been a polite conversationalist thus far, although neither of them had properly introduced themselves. More than that, Sizhui could see now that he had positioned himself in the mouth of the alley in such a way that Sizhui would be largely hidden from view.
Under normal circumstances, Sizhui might be cautious of an unknown cultivator of another clan offering to lead him to private rooms. But this was a dream, so it was unlikely that normal dangers existed as such. And this man, as much as he was from a clan that had attacked the Lan just recently at the time of the Indoctrination, was not from a foreign clan, not to Sizhui. The only other member of the Wen clan that Sizhui had spoken to before was Uncle Ning—they were the only two left after the war and its aftermath.
Even if this was only a dream, Sizhui felt a strong pull to get to know this man, this family member who was no longer among the living. If only until he woke up, Uncle Ning's stories had come alive, and Sizhui was reluctant to let any of it slip out of his grasp.
"I'll go with you," Sizhui declared.
The man smiled kindly. "You have no reason to trust me, I know. I assure you that I have no ill intentions towards you. I had no part in the burning of Cloud Recesses; I'm a doctor, not a soldier."
A doctor? The man had mentioned medicine before, Sizhui realized. He had barely noticed at the time, but now…
"Are you Dafan Wen, then?" Sizhui asked with barely restrained eagerness.
The man seemed surprised for a moment before agreeing. "I am of the Dafan Wen branch, yes. Do you know us by reputation, or are you acquainted with one of my cousins?"
"I know Un— Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin," Sizhui answered honestly.
"One of A-Ning's friends?" The man questioned, looking intently at Sizhui. "Well, any of A-Ning's friends are friends of mine," he said with a smile.
Sizhui smiled back at him.
"Now," the man continued. "I can sneak you in as quietly as possible, but I can't keep you from being seen at all, so you can't look like a Lan for the time being."
Sizhui's hand instinctively reached up to touch his forehead ribbon. At first glance, his white robes could mark him as some kind of daoist, like Xiao Xingchen had been. His forehead ribbon, however, with its embroidered clouds, clearly marked him as a main family Lan. He had never gone out in public without it since Hanguang-jun had brought him back to Cloud Recesses, and he was rarely without it, even in private. This, of course, was why its presence was exactly the detail that would give him away in an instant as a Lan; members of the clan would be reluctant to put it away, even in the face of an emergency.
"I know that ribbon must be very important to you," the man said, kindly but firmly. "I promise I'll make the journey as quick as I can so that you can safely wear it again when we arrive."
This was only a dream, Sizhui reminded himself. And even if it wasn't, if he was really in Qishan during the Indoctrination, the rules allowed for some exceptions to be made under dire circumstances. Reluctantly, Sizhui reached behind his head and pulled the knot loose. As his forehead ribbon fell down across his face, he felt exposed, and he knew his face was flushed as he hurriedly lifted up his sleeve and re-tied the ribbon around his wrist where it wouldn't be seen.
When that was done, he let out a long, steadying breath and looked back up at the Wen doctor. "Will I do?" he asked.
"You'll do just fine if no one looks too closely," the man replied. "And I don't intend to let them look. Are you ready to go?"
"Mn!" Sizhui nodded decisively. He wanted to get out of this alleyway and see how far the dream went. He wanted to ask the man about himself and his family.
(He wanted to tie his ribbon back where it belonged so that he could stop fighting the urge to touch his bare forehead.)
---
The man kept his word as they made their way through the streets of Qishan; they moved quietly and efficiently, avoiding attention as much as possible without trying so hard to avoid attention that they stood out as suspicious. The man walked with all the confidence of someone who knew he had the right to be where he was, and Sizhui did his best to copy him, loosening his shoulders slightly from the perfect posture that had been drilled into him since childhood upon pain of handstands and lines.
Soon enough, Sizhui realized that he had begun to recognize their path beyond just the fact that they were in the Nightless City. The closer they got to their destination, Sizhui realized that they were headed for Uncle Ning and Aunt Qing's quarters.
Less than a year ago, and thirteen years on, Sizhui had walked these same roads with Uncle Ning. They were overgrown then with weeds, some of the buildings partially burned or crumbling from disrepair. It had been eerily quiet as well, the only sounds his uncle's voice and a few birds chirping in the distance. Looking around him now, seeing the city and its people alive, Sizhui was awestruck. He could see landmarks around him that Uncle Ning had spoken of in their later absence. At one point, his companion had to grab his arm lightly to keep him from gawking at everything and everyone around him.
When they finally made it to Uncle Ning's door, the man first knocked, and then, after waiting a moment, opened the door and pulled Sizhui inside.
The last time Sizhui had been in this room, he and Uncle Ning had been looking for something, anything, of Aunt Qing's for her cenotaph. Her body was long burned, and her ashes had been scattered by Jin Guangshan, so all that might have remained of her in the world was the few items she had left behind at the end of the war, before the Jin camps.
The two of them had found precious little that hadn't been picked over for trophies or loot or otherwise been ruined by the passage of time.
(Their best find had been one of a pair of earrings that had fallen behind a piece of furniture. It was small in size and of little monetary value, which is likely why the intrepid looters had missed it, but Uncle Ning had recognized it as one that his sister had liked to wear, a gift from their mother. He had stared at it for a while, his face stuck in the expression that meant he would be crying if he was still physically capable of it.)
Aunt Qing had brought her needles with her when she had left Qishan, so those would not have been found there. Nevertheless, Uncle Ning had been able to identify her belongings from what was left, and they had paid honor to her as they settled the spirits of their family that had been without anyone to care for them for over a decade.
They had looked for any of Uncle Ning's belongings as well, although the findings had been similarly sparse. Looking around him now, he could see how the ghost of the room and personal effects he had seen before translated into the actively lived in space of a young man that they had once been.
Furthermore, he realized, Sizhui and the Wen doctor who had brought him here were no longer alone.
Wen Ning was Sizhui's age, or a little younger. Tragically, he seemed barely younger than he was (would be?) when he died, but the difference in appearance was vast. Where Uncle Ning, the Ghost General, had sickly gray skin, inhuman and marked by unnaturally darkened veins, the young Wen Ning was flushed with life, pink and healthy. His pristine red and white robes stood in stark contrast to the well-worn dark robes he favored in Sizhui's time. Even his hair was completely different, which caught Sizhui off guard more than it should have, considering that no traditional cultivators kept their hair fully down the way Uncle Ning habitually did. This Wen Ning had his hair pulled up away from his face in a ponytail not unlike Sizhui's own, with two long bangs on either side of his face and a stubborn curl in the middle.
He looked so very, very young and so painfully alive.
"Ah— hello," Wen Ning stammered.
"Hello," Sizhui said back, nearly choking on the word.
"Right," the doctor said. "I have been remiss with introductions." Leaning closer to Wen Ning, he nodded towards Sizhui. "Young Master Lan, you already know A-Ning. A-Ning, this young master says he is a friend of yours. Perhaps you met at the Archery Conference last year?"
Wen Ning bowed to Sizhui. "I'm sorry, Young Master Lan, but I don't remember meeting you."
Sizhui returned the bow and rushed to assure Uncle Ning. "Please don't apologize! We didn't meet at the discussion conference, and there is no reason you would recognize me. I do know you, nonetheless."
"Is this part of how you appeared out of thin air?" Doctor Wen asked. "Of why you are convinced that this is a dream?"
Startled, having not heard any of this before, Wen Ning shot a look at his cousin.
"It is a dream," Sizhui said. "It must be. If it isn't a dream, then I've traveled back to another time as well as to another place, which is difficult to even fathom."
Wen Ning's eyes widened significantly, but Doctor Wen kept a straight face.
"So— so you mean that you've met me, but I haven't met you?" Wen Ning asked.
Sizhui smiled. "I met you when I was young, Uncle Ning. And then we met again when I was older, just this past year. I was on a night hunt with you when I started dreaming."
"Why would a Lan call A-Ning ‘Uncle’ and dream of Qishan?" Doctor Wen asked patiently.
"I am an adopted child," Sizhui confessed, speaking quickly. "My name is Lan Yuan, courtesy Sizhui, but I was born Wen Yuan. For most of my life, all I have known was the Lan clan. I was adopted into the main clan as a fevered child with no one to care for him.
"All of my family is gone except for Uncle Ning, and he was locked away for thirteen years and presumed dead. During those same thirteen years, I had no memory of being a Wen due to my fever, and it was not safe for me to be told. I have only remembered just this year, and I have done my best ever since to behave with filial piety both to the Lan Sect that raised me and to the Wen Sect that gave me life."
He paused to catch his breath, having barely stopped for air in the proceeding sentences.
"Uncle Ning and I came to Qishan to bury the ashes of our people, and I stood in this room. I walked the same streets you and I walked to come here. Why wouldn't I dream of them the way I've never seen them?"
Sizhui looked back up at the Wens as he finished, a determined glint in his eyes.
"Well then, it's an honor to meet you, Lan Sizhui," Doctor Wen said as he bowed. "My name is Wen Fengshan."
Wen Fengshan.
Sizhui's breath caught in his throat.
Wen Fengshan.
Of course this was Wen Fengshan. Of course this impossible dream had brought Wen Fengshan directly to him, when it was more likely that he would have been noticed by literally anyone but a young doctor who didn't live or work in Nightless City.
Uncle Ning had said that Sizhui looked like one of his distant relatives, had later shared stories of his cousin Wen Fengshan, Wen Yuan's father, while the two of them traveled together.
Looking at the man in front of him, Sizhui could see it, could see traits from his own face reflected across from him. His nose, his ears, his brow set in a different face.
(He wondered if, somehow, this was what his birth father had truly looked like, rather than something pulled out of the deepest corners of his imagination.)
Belatedly, Sizhui bowed in return.
"I—" he started before stopping short. "Doctor Wen—"
When he had gotten his memories back, outside of the Guanyin Temple, he had been able to slip away and immediately confirm what he already knew with Uncle Ning. And then he had chased down Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei for a second reunion within less than an hour. When he had caught up with them, he had nearly immediately blurted out a critique of Senior Wei's culinary abilities.
He had had no trouble approaching either of them, but he had already gotten to know both of them since Mo Manor and later the Burial Mounds and Lotus Pier. He remembered both of them taking care of him when he was a young child, which had explained the first conversation he had held with Uncle Ning on the boat, back when he had thought of Uncle Ning as "the Ghost General" instinctively.
Compared to the Yiling Patriarch and the Ghost General, a young Wen doctor with a gleam in his eye that spoke of good humor shouldn't be terribly intimidating. But what, what, what was the natural way to tell a man you had no memory of that you were, would be, his son in the future? A son who had been adopted into another clan, who had been given their name? Who had kept it when he had learned of the name he was born to? Even if this was only a dream?
"I'm your son," he blurted out.
"I thought so."
Wait… what?
"You— you thought so?" Sizhui asked, baffled.
Uncle Ning looked just as baffled, which made Sizhui feel somewhat better. "Fengshan?"
"I did, yes," Wen Fengshan laughed. "I don't think this is a dream, really— I am fairly certain I'm real. But I also saw you appear out of nothing, and the reason that you're so convinced this is a dream is because you believe you are from the future. Nothing I've seen today has proven you wrong yet. I am a man without a son; I see no problem with acquiring one until you disappear again or we find a way to send you home, however long that takes.
"Besides," he added, "you look like my wife."
"Uncle Ning said I looked like you," Sizhui contributed, grinning involuntarily.
"Hmm, not about the eyes," Wen Fengshan declared. "You have your mother's eyes."
"You can stay here with me while you're in Qishan, if you wish, Young Master Lan," Uncle Ning chimed in. "But I don't think it would be safe for you to wear your Lan uniform, even in here." He winced, looking around like he expected someone to jump out from behind the bed or dresser to catch them misbehaving.
"Wen-gongzi and Wen-er-gongzi mostly leave A-jie and I alone, but when they do show up, they don't often bother knocking."
"You can call me Sizhui, if you like, Un— Wen Qionglin."
Uncle Ning waved his hands frantically. "You can call me Uncle if you like; I don't mind. Do I usually call you Sizhui?"
"You call me A-Yuan, Uncle Ning. And I would be grateful to stay, if it won't inconvenience you or… or A-Die?
Wen Fengshan shook his head. "I have lodging elsewhere. A-Ning, do you have spare robes he can borrow?"
"Of course!" Uncle Ning jumped up to dig through his belongings.
Sizhui felt that same mixture of happiness and frustration that had settled in his gut at Guanyin Temple. "You— you want me to wear Wen robes? Is that allowed?"
"You are a Wen by birth, are you not? I will not ask you to break your 3000 rules if I can avoid it, but right now it would be safest if you set your Lan robes aside for the time being."
"Here they are, A-Yuan." Uncle Ning held up a full set of robes, white like Sizhui's own but with crimson flames decorating the edges, and a sharply stylized red hair crown.
Pushing aside his hesitation, Sizhui took the robes from Uncle Ning and offered his thanks.
Uncle Ning and Wen Fengshan, A-Die, excused themselves from the room in order to let him change in private. Methodically, he removed his Lan uniform one piece at a time, stowing them away in the qiankun bag he had used to pack for his night hunt. He set his forehead ribbon on the bed instead. Standing there in his inner robes, this felt like a big step to take.
He took a deep, settling breath and released it. Then he went to work redressing himself as a Wen. The last item he put on was his forehead ribbon, tying it back around his wrist under his sleeve where it had stayed since he had removed it earlier in the dream.
He let Uncle Ning and A-Die back into the room, aware of their eyes on him.
"Wow," Uncle Ning said.
"It suits you," A-Die said. "But so did the Lan robes. I think that just means you're an exemplary youth and that the robes have no choice but to flatter you."
Sizhui couldn't help it. He launched himself across the room to hug his father.
Pulling back after a few moments, Sizhui wiped at his eyes and blinked back tears.
On the fifth or sixth blink, Sizhui opened his eyes to a forest rather than a room in Nightless City. He could hear his name being called. He was sitting down, could feel the bark of a particularly ancient tree behind him. A fog that he hadn’t consciously noticed before cleared from his thoughts.
"Sizhui! Sizhui?"
"A-Yuan!"
"Don't touch the tree," Sizhui warned as he scrambled to his feet. He vaguely remembered now feeling compelled to place his hand on the trunk just before the dream had begun. He had never heard of a tree that could influence dreams, not even one as old as this, but he wasn't going to count out the possibility.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sizhui saw Uncle Ning and Jingyi run up and stumble to a stop a couple of feet away from him.
"A-Yuan," Uncle Ning said slowly. "What are you wearing?"
Sizhui blinked, confused, before looking down and freezing. Wen robes. He was wearing Wen robes.
"I thought it was a dream," he said.
No dream would leave clothing in the physical world when it ended. Which meant that it wasn't a dream was it?
(Why hadn’t he given the possibility more than the most cursory consideration? A Lan might test the most likely theory first, but they were nothing if not thorough.)
"I was in Qishan,” he recalled, “And I met Uncle Ning and… and my birth father, and Uncle Ning gave me a set of robes to borrow. I was so convinced it was a dream, I barely even considered that I'd traveled in time somehow. I said so many things, about the fate of the Wen Sect and who I was and why I was a Lan… I think I must have been influenced somehow to think that way."
Both juniors turned to look at Wen Ning, who shook his head "I believe you, A-Yuan, but I don't remember any of that," he said. “This is more than the three of us are equipped to handle. We should tell Master Wei and Hanguang-jun."
"That sounds terrifying," Jingyi commented in a voice that suggested he was rather entertained because he was not the one who'd had to deal with it. Or perhaps, if one was generous, he was only relieved to see Sizhui safe. "Do you have a change of clothes?"
Sizhui nodded, indicating the qiankun pouch.
Later, after he had changed back into his normal Lan uniform, he tried to offer Uncle Ning his robes back. His uncle gently refused.
"They belonged to you, Uncle Ning. I should return them to you."
"I can't wear them, A-Yuan," Uncle Ning sighed. "I'm a fierce corpse, my existence is controversial enough without adding a reminder of my clan on top of it. Besides." He smiled. "I did manage to grow a little during the war. It's better that you keep them."
And that was that.
---
Their return to Cloud Recesses was marked by the usual punishment of copying lines while in a handstand. Sizhui didn’t mind it; he wouldn’t disobey the Lan elders over frivolous issues, but spending time with Uncle Ning was well worth the punishment.
Senior Wei was located and informed of the incident. Once he had fussed over Sizhui and Jingyi enough to be reassured of their good health, he had run off to find Hanguang-jun and to hopefully figure out the source of the strange event before anyone else was subjected to it.
Hanguang-jun made an appearance long enough to do his own fussing, mostly in the form of depositing two rabbits on Sizhui's lap, before setting off with Senior Wei and leaving Sizhui to his thoughts.
Sizhui sat down at the low table in the room and looked at the Wen uniform in his hands. He folded the robes neatly, the way he always folded his own uniforms, and set them down gently on the table. He pulled out the hair crown he had been given as well and placed it next to the uniform. Their red color stood out against the backdrop of Cloud Recesses, but no more than Senior Wei's robes and hair ribbon, and he belonged here despite Master Lan's best efforts.
As Hanguang-jun's bunnies explored the room, happy that he was home, Sizhui ran his hand across the fabric, smoothing out non existent wrinkles as he contemplated. Living as a child of two sets of parents, of two clans, was a life with few clear cut examples for how he should behave.
"Be a filial child."
"Do not forget the grace of the forefathers."
"Be loyal and filial."
"Be of one mind."
"Do not argue with your family, for it doesn't matter who wins."
Sizhui has followed these rules since they were taught to him, but remembering his previous life as Wen Yuan made that much more complicated. He had known he was not a born Lan, of course, but it was one thing to know he owed filial piety to another family and a different thing altogether to know that he was only one of two survivors of that family. The only one left if you didn't count the Ghost General, although Sizhui himself didn't make that exception. Did he owe filial piety first to his birth family or the family that had raised him, to the name that he carried?
Unless he gave up the name Lan and took up the name Wen again, the Wen clan would end with him; it was unlikely Uncle Ning would adopt a child, no matter how good he would be with one. Or maybe one of Sizhui's own descendants would reclaim the name in future generations.
Even if Sizhui was to reclaim his birth name, it would bring many challenges with it; the name Wen was hated as much now by parts of the cultivation world as it had been during the war and after. This in and of itself was no reason to forsake his birth family but neither was it something Sizhui could afford to be ignorant of, especially before he himself was confident of the direction he should take.
For now, he would continue as he was. He would live by the Lan rules and respect the elders of his Sect. He would wear his forehead ribbon and his white uniform as he had since Hanguang-jun had brought him to the sect as a small child.
(His A-Die—if the Wen Fengshan he had met truly was his father—had encouraged Sizhui to follow the Lan rules, even as he had pressed Sizhui to wear Wen robes for his own safety. He had joked that the Lan and Wen robes suited Sizhui equally— Sizhui dared to think that Wen Fengshan wouldn’t have begrudged him wearing white and blue rather than white and red.)
But he would honor his Wen ancestors as well. (Getting to know Uncle Ning and helping to put the ashes of the Wen clan to rest was a decision that had taken no time at all to make. If he was a Wen, it was his responsibility. There was no one else to do it anymore. And he and Uncle Ning were family.) He would mix Wen sword styles into his Lan style along with Senior Wei's Jiang style. He would night hunt with Uncle Ning and listen to his stories.
Maybe, one day in the future, he would set aside the Lan name in favor of Wen and don white and red. Maybe, one day, he would succeed Zewu-Jun as the next Sect Leader Lan. Sizhui had no way of knowing where the future would take him. What he did know was that Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei and Uncle Ning would support him wherever he went and whoever he became. Jingyi would tease him loudly, Ouyang Zizhen would wax poetic, and Jin Ling would make comments that seemed as harsh as they were truly caring.
Sizhui smiled to himself at those comforting thoughts. Now that Jingyi knew, it was only a matter of time before Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling knew as well. Not that Jingyi was incapable of keeping a secret, but the bond that continued to grow between them all on their joint night hunts meant that Sizhui trusted that they wouldn't react poorly to the revelation of his parentage. They all trusted Uncle Ning to watch their backs after all, even Jin Ling.
(Sizhui thought that Sect Leader Jiang suspected his identity, even if he had never been directly told. He had never spoken of it or treated Sizhui any differently than Jin Ling's other friends when Sect Leader Jiang followed them on night hunts, and Sizhui appreciated it.)
Unfolding his legs from under him and getting up from the table, Sizhui set the hair crown on top of the Wen uniform and picked both of them up. He walked across the room and put them away, tucked under more familiar white and blue but still there, kept safe and private until the next time they would be pulled out.
And they would be pulled out someday, one way or the other. Sizhui was sure of it.