The Tears of Thirteen Years

Chapter 7

Wangji felt his awareness rise through the darkness, rising with the air as if he meant to touch the clouds.

It meant leaving half dreams of memories, of laughter and the bright sun, of days spent admiring and coveting what could never be his. For the first time though, since the shattering truth of the Burial Mounds, Wangji felt...settled.

He was weary and hurting, burning with fever and hollow with the knowledge that Wei Ying was not here, but he no longer felt dead. As if his heart and all his will to live had been burned away by pain. They...half of the world had wanted Wei Ying dead. They had sought to murder him and commit against him so many terrible atrocities, all in the name of vengeance.

They failed. Wei Ying wasn't dead, he hadn't been murdered. He wasn't alive but there were so many states it seemed between alive and truly dead. At rest. He would come back. His devotion, hope and love unfurled in his chest, pushing away the heavy clouds of despair, letting him breathe in air that did not sting his eyes with painful tears. He had to fight, regain himself and his balance in this world, because one day Wei Ying would come back.

Lan Wangji woke to these thoughts, his body limp with exhaustion, his face pressed into the blanket. A position that was deeply undignified, but he was surprisingly comfortable, his back no longer as painful as it had been. someone was humming an old song.

Xichen. He could recognize his brother's gentle tone anywhere, the song now he was more awake, so clearly the notes often sung by their mother when they were children. It was soothing and sweet, touched with only a little sadness. Xichen would in rare moments hum or sing this song, to remember the woman that had defined how they loved and a mother they so desperately missed for years.

The humming stopped and he heard a faint rustle in the quiet of the room, the air neither cool nor warm simply...still. Sound echoing and magnified so easily, living up to its name Jingshi.

A sound...a soft murmur...his brother's voice as quiet as he had ever heard it, whispering to someone near the door. A woman's voice he could not recognize and then silence, broken by the sound of his brother's nearly inaudible steps.

Remaining motionless, he drifted aware in the periphery of his senses, his brother was moving around the room. There was the sound of water being wrung from material and the feel of a cold, wet cloth pressed against his neck and shoulders.

He protested in a mumble and frowned at his own lack of eloquence, struggling to open his eyes against the overwhelming tiredness.

"Shh Wangji. You will wake Yuan." That single sentence spoken in his brother's gently chiding tone, brought him to full awareness. If he was asleep, why was Yuan here?

A hand so familiar... a hand that had led him along the pathways of Gusu, guiding and supporting him through every trial and burden, was pressed to his arm suddenly. The warmth and reassurance in the gesture calmed his racing mind slightly. "I am here. Wangji?"

The victory of opening his eyes came with a surprising vision. A-Yuan wrapped in a white blanket was asleep on the other side of the bed, his tiny hand gripping the edge of the cloth tightly.

His gaze softened and his hand moved from beside his rib-cage to touch the tiny fist, tears blurring his vision as Yuan moved in his sleep and gripped his fingers. His faint frown disappearing as he held onto Wangji. This was Wei Ying's son. His son.

Again the knowledge that he was a father, struck his heart. It was a blessing and a gift. A child who would grow he knew, into a wonderful person both caring and kind. A little boy he loved as his own and loved too as a part of Wei Ying.