Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
In the burial mounds, Wen Yuan was like four right? TW: Drug abuse / torture / men
---
Lan Sizhui snuggled into his father's arms. The warm embrace was all he needed to survive, it was essential for the nine-year-old boy. It sustained him like food, warmed his heart like a hot beverage, and was the cure to any woes agonising or mild.
His father's hugs were perfect.
But they were not his Xian-gege's. They were not the arms so full of love and reassurances and promise.
They were not Dada's.
And they never would be.
Because his Dada was dead.
Lan Sizhui's eyes watered, sitting on his Father's lap gathered with family and friends within a sphere of polished oak and stained glass windows; despite the rainbows cast from glass like a spill of oil, despite the burning sun and the blooming Lotus pond just outside, Lan Sizhui was miserable.
He missed his Xian-gege, it had been half a decade since his Aunty Qing came running out of his Xian-gege's cave crying her eyes out inconsolable. Five years since he'd managed to sneak a glance at what was inside.
To this day he wished he hadn't.
Blank eyes, once so full of warmth and love and life, gazed unfocused into the distance. Something about it was horrifying. As was the river of crimson blood drifting off in all directions... and the three knives plunged deep into Wei Ying's chest.
Wen Qing was screaming, clutching the body to her chest and wailing a symphony of begs and apologies as Granny Wen tried desperately to calm her down and Wen Qionglin clamped his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth.
That image of mourning never left his head, he saw it in flashes every time he blinked and stared down the blank eyes every night until he fell asleep.
Lan Sizhui sighed, shaking his head in a pitiful attempt at ridding himself of the haunting memories as he turned his head to listen into the conversation held within a tomb, within the Burial Mounds, over what once was a grave. Sometimes, the realisation that his Xian-gege's decomposing body rests just a few feet beneath his boots makes him shiver.
"A-Ling is going to begin combat training soon." Yanli smiled as her son nodded excitedly, battling with his father using wooden toy swords.
