Chapter Text
Lan Wangji was nudged awake with a finger between his ribs. He twitched, turning his head.
“Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji shifted to peer up at his husband. As he moved, he realized something wet had soaked through the sheets.
“My water broke,” Wei Wuxian told him.
Lan Wangji jolted upright. He tried to think. Their baby was… on its way. And they still didn’t quite know how dangerous it would be given that Wei Wuxian was a man.
“I’m in labor,” Wei Wuxian tried to translate. “I’m going to have a baby, your baby, today. Soon, I’m going to be screaming my head off.”
“Can you feel contractions?” Lan Wangji scrambled to his feet.
“Not yet,” Wei Wuxian admitted.
“Isn’t it early?”
“Who knows?” Wei Wuxian rested his hand on his protruding midsection, the one Lan Wangji liked to kiss and trace the purple stretch marks over, wondering whether his son or daughter would like him, if they would have Wei Wuxian’s smile, if they would be good at calligraphy or gardening, flute or guqin, swimming or swordfighting.
And now it was happening. Here. Now. A child. His child. Their child.
Please don’t die, Wei Ying. He was still terrified that this, all of this, all he ever wanted and never thought he could have—the husband he loved, a second child after Sizhui—would be torn away from him.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian grasped his shoulder. He turned to look at him. “Are you scared?”
Lan Wangji licked his lips. “I’m not the one who has to go through labor.”
Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose. “Lying is against so many rules, Lan Zhan.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Lan Wangji managed.
Wei Wuxian squeezed his husband’s arm. “I’m not going anywhere. Things happen, good and bad. You’d make it good, no matter how awful it was. I know that.”
Lan Wangji swallowed a lump in his throat. He nodded.
The first violet ribbons of light were dribbling across an unraveling night sky when Wei Wuxian grimaced.
“Contraction?” Lan Wangji asked.
“I’ve been feeling it on and off for an hour, but I wasn’t sure. That was—” Wei Wuxian sucked in his breath. “Not fun.”
Lan Wangji went to get the doctors. When dawn came, Sizhui came to sit with them. He reached out and took Lan Wangji’s hand. His son, comforting him. Lan Wangji had seldom been so proud, but he had no words.
He didn’t need them. Sizhui smiled.
Xiongzhang arrived too, worried at the sounds of Wei Wuxian moaning as he clearly realized Jin Guangyao would soon not be any better straits. “I’ll send word to Jiang Wanyin.”
Lan Qiren and Sisi, now his wife, came to help. Sisi had seen numerous births, and she was more personable than most of the doctors. Lan Qiren looked pale.
“Did my mother go through this alone?” Lan Wangji asked when midday came, the sun striking the earth and Wei Wuxian was in such agony he could hardly stand it. Sisi insisted on checking how far alone he was.
“There were doctors,” replied Lan Qiren.
“My father wasn’t there.” Did he dread seeing Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, his own sons? Was he afraid of them?
“He was not,” Lan Qiren said. “I was outside for most of it, except when I ferried word of progress to your father.”
Lan Wangji swallowed. The words pressed against him, threatening to break through, the words that he feared would confirm Lan Qiren’s worst fear: that his nephews resented him, when really they were mourning words left to rot inside him, words he needed to get out to hold his own child. “She went through this alone twice.”
Did she have a choice?
Did she want me?
She had to know I would be taken right away. Was that enough?
She went through so much alone.
“Three times,” said Lan Qiren.
Lan Wangji turned to Shufu.
“That was how she died,” said Lan Qiren. “The baby girl was stillborn. She came out feet first, according to the midwife”
Lan Wangji couldn’t breath. He felt as if his spine was about to break.
“A doctor came to tell me there was no hope. I came in. She thought I was your father,” said Lan Qiren. “Wangji. She was calling for him. She asked if the baby was okay. It is the only time I directly lied in my life.”
Lan Wangji’s mouth opened and closed. I—we—had a sister?
“She wanted your father. She told him—” Lan Qiren swallowed. “‘Thank you, and I’m sorry.’ And then she asked about Xichen and Wangji. I told her I would raise them. She tried to smile. She thought I was your father, or maybe she knew by that point, I don’t know. By the time your father arrived she wasn’t conscious. He held her hand.”
“Maybe not the story for right now,” snapped Sisi.
I had a sister.
She thanked him.
She asked after me.
Tears dribbled down his cheeks. And then Wei Wuxian let out a cry, and Lan Wangji flew to his side.
Not you.
You are going to live .
Jiang Wanyin arrived as the bloody streaks of sunset shred the day and blood had started streaking the sheets. Lan Sizhui looked pale as he left to see Jin Ling. Sisi said it wouldn’t be long now.
“The things your mother would say if she could see me now,” Wei Wuxian rasped when he saw his shidi, and Lan Wangji felt hope spark. He was joking. He would live. “Why’re you smiling, Lan Zhan? Do you think this makes me look hot, or—”
“You’re going to be all right,” Lan Wangji said, interlacing their fingers.
“If you’re basing that off the fact that he’s joking, I hate to break it to you, but his last words will be a a terrible joke,” Jiang Wanyin interjected.
Wei Wuxian made an obscene gesture before a scream burst from his throat. “Your shufu—has the worst timing—”
“You heard?” Lan Wangji asked.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t answer. He was screaming again.
“Your water broke,” Sisi said.
Lan Wangji peered down to see the sheets soaked.
“It already—did,” choked out Wei Wuxian. “Before I started having pain.”
Sisi glanced at Lan Qiren, who stayed because he seemed to realize Lan Wangji wanted him there, yet couldn’t bear to actually watch and so studied the window as if it were absolutely fascinating. “Could you be having two?”
Two? Lan Wangji blinked.
“Fuck!” Wei Wuxian threw his head back, veins bulging in his neck. “I can’t—go through this again—”
“You won’t have to,” Sisi said in amusement. “I can see the head. Push.”
Lan Wangji swooped in. He grasped Wei Wuxian’s back, helping him bear down. He wasn’t sure how many times Sisi said to push, only that it was too many, and Lan Wangji had no idea how Wei Wuxian hadn’t broken in half.
A shriller wail mingled with Wei Wuxian’s. Lan Wangji whirled. Wei Wuxian snapped his head up, sweat soaking his temples and gluing strands of hair to his face.
“A daughter!” Sisi told them before Wei Wuxian screamed again.
We are having two . Lan Qiren swooped in to take the baby, who was still crying. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted—not much longer, only a few pushes, and then Lan Qiren was shoving his daughter into his arms and Sisi was cursing and Lan Qiren didn’t even seem bothered, because his face was gray. Wei Wuxian was still in pain, and Sisi was saying something about the placenta, and Jiang Wanyin was leaning over a silent bundle, and then a third cry broke the air.
“Placenta’s out,” Sisi announced. Wei Wuxian leaned back, panting.
“A son,” Jiang Wanyin said, his eyes watering as he approached. “Little guy just had some stuff in his airways.”
Lan Wangji looked down at his daughter. Her face scrunched up, maroon, as she bawled. Dark hair plastered to the top of her head.
My daughter.
My son.
“A family of five,” rasped Wei Wuxian. “Two sons, and a daughter.” He took his son from Jiang Wanyin. Tears ran down his face as he held out his finger. The baby grasped it.
“She’s beautiful,” managed Lan Wangji. “Shufu, she looks like you.”
“Hmph!” Lan Qiren brushed at his eyes, scowling. Sisi met Lan Wangji’s eyes and nodded in agreement.
“A-Jie would be so proud,” managed Jiang Wanyin.
Wei Wuxian reached for his daughter. Though reluctant to set her down, Lan Wangji rested her on Wei Wuxian’s chest.
“I’ll get Zewu-Jun and Sizhui,” said Jiang Cheng. “Jin Ling, too.”
Lan Wangji cupped his son’s small head.
“He’s gonna be a handful,” Wei Wuxian said. “Sneaky, scaring us already. Our girl’s going to be your uncle’s favorite, I can already tell.”
Lan Wangji shook his head. “Pathetic.”
“Extremely pathetic,” agreed Wei Wuxian with a smile.
Whatever they turned out to be like, he didn’t care. He wanted to love them. He wanted them to love everyone, everything, splash in the cold springs like they weren’t supposed to, ride on his back during safe night hunts, listen to stories about redemption and second chances before falling asleep, stories told in his voice and Wei Ying’s.
It fit, without even getting into their parents’ or grandparents’ stories. An attack turned into a blessing.
Both of you came from redemption. Sizhui, too.
Lan Wangji leaned in to kiss his husband.
“Twins?” Jin Guangyao gaped at his husband.
“Don’t worry,” said Lan Xichen. “Now we finally know why his stomach has been so much larger than yours.”
Jin Guangyao shook his head. He still had to deal with the disapproving scowls of the doctors, the whispers of the servants. Cultivational society wasn’t exactly happy to welcome him. But at least Lan Xichen had given him leave to wander the Cloud Recesses at will, and he had been able to travel to Qinghe and Lotus Pier with Lan Xichen.
You trust me .
The rest of the world Lan Xichen was far less willing to trust just yet. But he believed the best of Jin Guangyao, and that was all Jin Guangyao needed.
He winced as the baby kicked inside of him. “Someday they will learn what happened to their brother.”
Rusong.
I can’t not acknowledge him.
Lan Xichen swallowed. He nodded.
Even if they hated him then, Lan Xichen would be there. And even if they hated him—
His hand rested on his stomach. I can’t imagine hating you.
Somehow he thought that would make Mother proud.
Nie Huaisang had shown him where he’d scattered Mother’s ashes, and then he helped gather the earth in that area. They built a cenotaph to her like the one Wen Ning had built for Wen Qing.
Sect Leader Yao had been released upon demand, but the cultivational world didn’t seem to know who to vilify, and Sect Leader Yao was cowed enough by Qin Cangye not to act. Qin Cangye refused to so much as look at Jin Guangyao, but he was enraged to learn Sect Leader Yao had played with children to get his revenge. He had insisted they were not pawns.
Qin Su was not a pawn.
I’m sorry.
Thank you for loving me, A-Su. You deserved so much better.
He hoped she was with Rusong, somewhere. And with Lan Xichen’s sister. Mother too. Both of their mothers.
Lan Xichen settled back against the bed, Jin Guangyao settling down between his hips and leaning back against his husband’s chest. Lan Xichen wrapped his arms around Jin Guangyao’s swollen stomach, one arm on top and one below.
“I’m scared,” Jin Guangyao admitted. “I know things went well with Wei Wuxian, but I—don’t want to die.” A selfish request. An honest one.
Lan Xichen pressed his lips into Jin Guangyao’s temple. “You won’t.”
“How can you still love me?” he whispered. “After all I’ve done. After everything I’ve—”
“Because I love you ,” Lan Xichen interrupted, massaging his belly, chasing the baby’s kicks and elbows. “You as a cultivator, you as a sect leader, you as a servant, you could be a whore and I’d love you. You keep trying. You’re clever and you care.” He chuckled.
They hadn’t forgotten Chen’s grudge. Sect Leader Jiang had instilled a process for evaluating cultivators who manned the lookout towers, sending only those with the most compassionate reputations. Jin Guangyao had designed a test of having the candidates wander a city and see how they treated those who fell into them, who made their time inconvenient. Huaisang had started mixing demonic and normal cultivation in his sect’s practices. Jiang Wanyin paid restitution to the families of those he had taken. It was nothing. It was all that could be done.
Justice wasn’t whittling away a sculpture. That only made the world smaller, left more people in crumpled chips on the ground. Justice was stitching what was torn. Never the same, always with a seam, but held all together again.
“You give me hope,” Lan Xichen said. “You could never be forgotten. You matter. That’s why it hurt so badly. And why I’m with you forever.”
I believe you.
Jin Guangyao fell asleep in Lan Xichen’s arms.
Lan He and Lan Huang were almost three weeks old before the prviously scattered contractions in Jin Guangyao’s womb decided to clobber him with a vengeance. Wei Wuxian was the one who found him doubled over, leaning against a tree and clutching his back as he moaned.
“The rabbits,” said Wei Wuxian, and Jin Guangyao looked down to see three bunnies sniffing the air near him. “They bit my ankles until I came over to you.”
Jin Guangyao let out a gasp. “I think—I’m in labor.”
“You don’t say.” Wei Wuxian shifted his daughter in his arms, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re about to get a cousin.” He held out his free arm. “Can you walk?”
“For now.” Jin Guangyao hobbled back to the Hanshi, where, as Wei Wuxian helped him lie down, Lan Xichen burst through the door, Huaisang on his heels.
Oh, of course. Huaisang would be visiting this day. Jin Guangyao gave a wobbly smile. “It’s time.”
Huaisang paled.
Lan Xichen hurried towards his husband. “Huaisang was just telling me some news.”
“Oh?” Jin Guangyao panted. He arched his back, trying to get comfortable. Forget it. It wasn’t going to happen.
“Jiang Wanyin and I are engaged,” said Nie Huaisang. “We will be holding a wedding celebration in one month’s time.”
“Da-Ge—didn’t kill him?” Jin Guangyao asked.
Huaisang’s face pinkened. “We’re going to split our time between Lotus Pier and Qinghe.”
“But I want to know how Da-Ge reacted,” Jin Guangyao managed. Lan Xichen shook his head.
“All I want is for him to be happy, and to be a good man,” said Nie Mingjue as he entered the room. “And to marry a person who will encourage him to be both. I think Jiang Wanyin satisfies this.”
The doctors were reluctant to treat him. It hurt, a lot. But Jin Guangyao refused to complain. He had no right. Sisi, at the very least, was happy to deliver him. “Your mother would kill me if I didn’t.” She pinched his nose as he gaped up at her.
Huaisang had already left the room, but Da-Ge stayed.
“Death shouldn’t witness the birth of—”
“It should,” Lan Xichen cut in. “You’re our da-ge, Mingjue-xiong.”
Wen Ning came as well. He had enough medical knowledge that he would be of use. As the afternoon dribbled by, his labor didn’t seem to be progressing. It seemed a steady slog. Sisi finally told him she was going to reach inside him.
“O-kay,” he managed.
Lan Qiren turned away. Da-Ge averted his eyes. It felt uncomfortable, but the pain shooting through him was such at Jin Guangyao couldn’t care. He writhed. Xichen wiped sweat off of his brow.
Sisi suddenly swore.
“Sisi!” reprimanded Lan Qiren.
“What?” demanded Jin Guangyao, trying to sit up and failing as a new contraction crashed into him. “Gah—”
“I feel a foot, not a head,” Sisi said, her hand still inside him, almost as if she was trying to push the child back up. “And I feel a cord.”
“What does that mean?” shouted Lan Xichen.
Jin Guangyao had seen the cord before, in the brothel. He knew what it meant. He shook his head. “N-no—”
“We need to get the child out, now,” said Sisi. “Or it will suffocate.”
“How?” demanded Da-Ge. “Can you pull—”
“No!” Wen Ning looked to Jin Guangyao. “I’ll get medicine.”
“There’s no time,” Jin Guangyao eked out. “Do it, just do it, cut it out of me!” He trusted that Wen Ning would know the acupoints to keep him from bleeding to death. His teeth chattered. Another contraction gripped him, and he screamed. “Stop!”
Of course. Of course his body would be trying to smother his own child.
“This can’t be—” Lan Xichen cried out.
“Cut it out ?” managed Lan Qiren.
“Your sword,” said Wen Ning.
“Xichen,” said Sisi. “Keep him calm. Chifeng-Zun, hold his legs down. Wen Ning, take his shoulders.”
“Hurry,” Jin Guangyao managed. He saw a glare fill the air as Lan Qiren unsheathed his sword. Bile surged up his throat with another contraction. He couldn’t see. Terror unlike anything he’d ever felt surged through him. He was crying out before the blade even touched him.
“Isn’t there any other way?” shouted Da-Ge.
“No,” said Sisi.
“Do it!” he screamed. If—if his baby died— not because of me, not because of me!
Lan Xichen’s face filled his vision. He grasped Jin Guangyao by his jaw, holding him. “Look at me, A-Yao. Look at me!” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “It’s going to be okay—trust me—” He pressed his forehead against Jin Guangyao’s.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. My body’s killing our baby. “ I’m—sorry—”
And then pain unlike another he had ever felt seared him. He could only hear his own screams as a maelstrom of agony sucked him down into it, churning inside him, outside him, kicking him, stripping him of anything but burning nerves.
He heard an infant cry in this distance.
Ah.
Thank you.
“Bleeding’s stopped,” Wen Ning said, still bent over Jin Guangyao’s unconscious form. Blood splattered the room. Da-Ge clutched his face as if that was the most horrific thing he had ever seen. Lan Qiren leaned back against the wall, dazed.
It was one of the most horrific things Lan Xichen had ever seen. But in his arms, he held a squalling, wriggling baby girl.
“He’ll be okay,” Wen Ning said. “Promise, Zewu-Jun.”
He could barely manage a nod. He rocked the infant in his arms. She had long lashes like A-Yao, a nose like his. Her fingers curled around the blanket he’d wrapped her in.
His daughter.
A-Yao’s daughter.
Child of two men, cursed into existence, the happiest moment of his life.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. He could scarcely believe she was real.
You weren’t a curse. Not ever.
Because you’re you.
Wangji and Wei Wuxian appeared soon after, babies in their arms. Jin Ling’s face turned the color of ash when he saw his uncle unconscious, the bed dyed crimson. Lan Qiren muttered an explanation of what happened.
“Xiongzhang.” Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed. And then he spotted the baby.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” whispered Lan Xichen.
“Not as pretty as my daughter, but close,” Wei Wuxian proclaimed. “Also, I just caught my nephew making out with my son, so there’s that, Zewu-Jun.”
He shook his head. Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui? A good match, he supposed.
His daughter fell asleep next to him, and Lan Xichen played Leibing. He played the same lullaby Jin Guangyao had been humming for months now, the lullaby from Meng Shi. He played it over and over again, remembering the first time he’d played for Jin Guangyao and how his eyes had lit up, like what Lan Xichen did was magical.
To Lan Qiren, it was never good enough. To his father, it was empty.
But to Jin Guangyao, he felt like he was beautiful in the most ordinary of deeds.
The rain pattered down from a thick, fuzzy night sky before he heard a new sound. “Er-Ge?”
The voice was weak, but there. Lan Xichen leaped to his feet, putting aside the instrument. He grasped the infant, carrying her over. Da-Ge stepped closer.
“You’re okay,” Lan Xichen breathed.
Jin Guangyao nodded. His eyes landed on the bundle. Terror filled them.
“She’s asleep,” said Nie Mingjue.
“Oh.” Jin Guangyao audibly exhaled. “She.” A small smile spread across his face. “ She .”
“We have a daughter,” said Lan Xichen. “She was born crying, Jin Guangyao. She should be all right.” He laid her on his husband’s chest.
Jin Guangyao blinked down at the child. She stirred, whimpering. His fingers stroked her scalp. His arm that ended in a severed wrist cupped her. Tears fell from his eyes.
Rusong.
And, you’re happy. Both happy and sad.
“Lan Yu,” said Jin Guangyao. He met Lan Xichen’s eyes, and Xichen knew he trusted him enough to think Xichen would allow him to choose the name.
Rain. “Lan Yu,” agreed Lan Xichen. Early to name the child? Perhaps. But he trusted.
You’ll be all right, A-Yu.
“Now you know what it feels like to be stitched up,” Nie Mingjue said.
Jin Guangyao blinked. And then a small laugh broke through his lips.
Nie Mingjue crouched next to him, studying the baby. “You love her.”
“I do,” Jin Guangyao said softly. “But I’m—love hasn’t stopped me from—doing terrible things to the people I love. I’m—I’ve always been afraid of the world, but I’m afraid of myself even more.”
“We’ll help you,” said Nie Mingjue. Lan Xichen smiled.
Jin Guangyao’s eyes widened.
“You help us,” said Nie Mingjue. “Little brother. And we’ll help you. You’ve seen the worst of me. Of Xichen. And we’ve seen the worst of you. And we—Xichen maybe has, or at least he believes it’s there, but I want to see the best of you.”
Jin Guangyao seemed to have difficulty speaking. “You—” He cleared his throat. “Da-Ge?”
“Da-Ge,” he affirmed.
You can call him that again.
“I have to stick around long enough so that my niece remembers me,” said Nie Mingjue, nodding towards the baby.
Memories weren’t the dead. Memories were all around them, living.
And we’ll make more of them.