Moonlit Hearts

Chapter 30 - In the Light of Forgiveness

Returning to his body was agony. Every muscle throbbed, his limbs leaden, the world around him a distant murmur of voices. Wangji did not open his eyes. Pain pulsed through him in waves, his senses dulled, yet one voice cut through the haze like a blade—Sizhui's.

"I won't say you don't deserve him, because that would hurt Dad more than you! But I am so angry at you!"

The anguish in his son's voice struck deeper than any wound. Who was he speaking to with such raw emotion? Wangji strained to listen, waiting for the response.

Jingyi's voice followed, softer but laced with quiet insistence. "We should hear his side of the story, Sizhui. He did save us, after all. Don't you think?"

Relief stirred weakly in Wangji's chest. They were safe. Someone had come to help. The battle had drained him more than he had anticipated—forcing his way back, breaking through Odin's imposed isolation, had cost him dearly. That someone had intervened, ensuring Sizhui and Jingyi's safety, eased a fraction of the weight pressing on him.

His awareness sharpened gradually, the fog in his mind receding. Footsteps neared. A familiar warmth brushed his shoulder—a touch gentle, grounding. Wangji forced his eyes open, the dim light a muted sting. Sizhui hovered over him, his face tight with worry, frustration flickering beneath. Jingyi stood at his side, his usual levity dimmed by concern.

Sizhui's hands ghosted over Wangji's meridians, carefully assessing the damage. "Dad?" His voice, though still edged with lingering anger, had softened. "How do you feel?"

Wangji attempted to speak, but his throat was parched, the words lost before they could form. Instead, he gave the faintest nod. His gaze drifted past his son, searching.

At the edge of the room, Wei Ying stood frozen, his posture hesitant, his eyes unreadable—a tempest of emotions Wangji could not yet name. It had been so long. Too long. The sight of him sent a tremor through Wangji's heart, a longing so fierce it almost stole his breath. The years, the pain, the silence—all of it fell away in an instant. He wanted to reach out, to close the distance, to pull him close and never let go again.

Wei Ying took a step forward. "Lan Zhan... I—"

"Why didn't you come sooner?" Sizhui's voice, taut with restrained emotion, cut through the moment. "Do you know what he's been through? What we've been through?" His breath hitched, anger and hurt bleeding into each syllable. "You ran away, Baba. You left us. You hurt him so badly..."

Wangji squeezed his son's hand, offering comfort even as exhaustion dragged at him. Sizhui's pain was palpable, a wound that had festered too long.

Wei Ying flinched, guilt flickering across his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice hoarse. "I... there are things you don't understand, things I couldn't explain. Leaving... it wasn't easy. It tore me apart, too. But I thought—"

"You thought leaving us was protecting us? From what?" Sizhui's voice trembled. "Do you know how many nights I heard him call for you? How many times he tried to be strong for me, when he was breaking inside?"

Wei Ying looked stricken, his breath shallow, his expression raw. "I never wanted to hurt either of you. I thought by staying away, I could keep you safe from the danger I carried. I thought it was the only way."

The silence that followed was heavy, stretching too long.

Jingyi, ever perceptive, placed a hand on Sizhui's shoulder. "We all need to talk, but right now, Hanguang-jun needs rest. And maybe... he and Wei Wuxian need a moment alone."

Sizhui hesitated, torn, but Wangji's gentle nod was enough. With reluctance, he allowed Jingyi to steer him toward the door. The room emptied, leaving only the two of them—Wangji and Wei Ying, the space between them thick with words unsaid, wounds unhealed.