It has been a very, very strange year, Xue Xiurong thinks as she slowly climbs the stairs up the mountain she vowed never to return to. The demonic arm; lies and treachery and corpse desecration; greed and pettiness and misplaced pride, for starters. She can’t say she misses any of it, but she also can’t claim it hasn’t been…interesting.
She mostly spent her time watching A-Ying who is just as brilliant and capable as A-Zhan described him but who is also drowning in grief and guilt—although not for long if Xiurong has a say. She plans to have a say. Repeatedly. And if nothing else, she’s going to channel her sworn sister and mother Wei Ying until he lets out everything he’s been carrying inside him since the streets of Yiling.
Obviously, she doesn’t know everything; both her boys (and they are hers now, she’s promised to the stars to take care of them both) treat her like a delicate maiden, which is both unnecessary and sweet, but she’ll allow it for now. They were adorable when they fussed over her while telling her about Yi City and about the second siege of the Burial Mounds.
At least they hadn’t tried to keep A-Ning from her. That would’ve been stupid—as if she was going to turn away A-Yuan’s only remaining blood relative!
Men, she thinks, and allows her mouth to tilt into an amused smile.
Her musing and mental eye-rolling have kept her distracted from what she’s doing, but when the white columns appear from around the bend in the stairs, she falters momentarily.
”Mother?” A-Zhan asks in a low voice, reaching out to hover a hand at her elbow.
She turns her head slightly to glance at him over her shoulder. ”It’s alright, A-Zhan. I’m fine.”
”Just remember that you don’t have to be,” A-Ying reminds her from her other side, and the pure gall of that statement makes her snort.
”Nainai, would you want us to enter first?” A-Yuan asks.
Xiurong swallows and squares her shoulders. The gates look the same even though she knows they were burned in the Wen invasion: unblemished, white, sturdy yet delicate. Two cultivators in white robes stand in front of the gates, impassive yet alert.
”No need,” she says, keeping her eyes on the space in the exact middle point between the gate columns. ”You are my family, and I am the head of this family. I will enter first.” She takes a deep breath and, holding her head high, walks into the Cloud Recesses.
It feels like nothing at all, and yet she feels like it’s crushing her under an immense weight. For a split moment, she fears her knees are going to give out, but then A-Ying slips his arm through hers and A-Zhan takes a step closer so that he brushes against her other side, and suddenly she can breathe again.
She never imagined coming back.
She vowed she’d rather fall on her sword than return.
And yet, here she is.
”These stairs are just ridiculous,” A-Ying mutters under his breath. ”So tiny steps! So many! So white! And for what?”
A-Yuan’s fond sigh accompanies A-Zhan’s gentle, ”Wei Ying,” and the cadence of that exchange eases more weight off Xiurong’s shoulders, and she loves all her boys for it.
It also helps that she knows it won’t be for good. She’s a visitor and she’s leaving in a couple of shichen to stay in Caiyi town with A-Yuan while A-Ying and A-Zhan stay in. She isn’t happy about the decision but she’ll allow it—after all, they’re her for a marriage ceremony.
She isn’t privy to everything that happened between A-Zhan, A-Huan, and their uncle, but she now knows that the horribly extensive whipping wasn’t Qiren’s decision (if it had been, she would’ve never allowed her family through that gate, ceremonies be damned). Both he and A-Huan had fought against it and, apparently, A-Huan had been locked in his rooms to keep him from interfering, and Qiren had been restrained after three lashes. She knows A-Zhan exchanged letters with them during the past year, slowly mending their relationship. It will never be what it was, but A-Zhan is trying for A-Huan. (Apparently, the no gossiping rule doesn’t work very well, considering the starry-eyed looks A-Ying reported from a gaggle of Lan juniors that were present in Yi City.)
She’s even less privy to what A-Ying has talked about with his brother and nephew. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t allow them to meet again—she isn’t fond of Sect Leader Jiang’s explosive temperament. That boy inherited all his mother’s worst traits and none of his father’s good traits, and the result isn’t something Xiurong wants to have close relations with.
Sadly, it’s not up to her.
At least the nephew is decent. Not as good as A-Yuan, obviously, but decent. She can live with that.
As they emerge from beneath the trees and into the open yard, Lan Qiren is waiting for them. He looks older and more frail than she remembers, but his eyes are as sharp as ever.
”Madam Xue,” he says and bows deeply. ”I’m honored to meet you again.” He sounds sincere and relieved.
”Lan Qiren,” Xiurong says with a tight smile. ”It’s been a while.” She doesn’t bow.
He inclines his head, and then his eyes dart to A-Zhan, A-Ying, and A-Yuan. ”Xichen has been delayed in Moling but he’ll join us later.” He pauses for a moment before adding. ”I would like to offer refreshments in my office.”
”Refreshments would be appreciated,” Xiurong says, even though she isn’t sure she’ll be able to swallow anything the Lan offer her.
She can feel eyes on her every step of the short way to Qiren’s office, and when the door closes behind them, she flinches.
A mere moment later, A-Yuan slides the door open again. ”Pardon me, Teacher Lan, but Nainai prefers open spaces,” he says pleasantly.
”Of course,” Qiren says. ”My apologies.”
She almost feels amused when he makes sure to ask her what tea she would prefer and proceeds to prepare it in front of them, going as far as tasting it before offering to pour. Almost. But she remembers the desolate years, the dizziness after eating, and the utter feeling of violation and betrayal that followed.
So, she watches and waits until tea is poured and Wangji has tasted it before taking a sip.
It’s very good tea.
Naturally, her boys have been married for months already. Xiurong’s own opinions about marriage might be what they are but it was important for A-Ying and A-Zhan, so she sat side by side with A-Ning and accepted the tea and watched them bow to the heavens, and them, and each other.
She isn’t sure how A-Huan strong-armed the Lan elders to allow a ceremony within the Cloud Recesses but luckily, she doesn’t need to know. Besides, none of them will be present; this ceremony is for A-Huan, Qiren, and a select handful of juniors—that is, the only Lan A-Zhan is willing to have anything to do with.
It makes her heart ache to watch how eager A-Huan is to accommodate everything A-Zhan asks, desperate to share this moment with him. And despite the ocean-deep contempt A-Zhan has for his former home, he still cares about his brother. Or perhaps it is because of that contempt: A-Zhan can be incredibly petty when he chooses to be, and flaunting the reformed Yiling Patriarch in front of the elders who condemned him is something he might just choose to do.
Oh, she loves her boys so.
The setting sun paints the steps red and orange as she slowly makes her way down. The mountain looms behind her but it doesn’t feel as threatening as it did before—perhaps because she’s heading down, not up.
”I’m glad to see you alive and well,” Qiren says as he escorts her and A-Yuan out. ”I wondered back then—” he stops, shakes his head. ”I wish I did more.”
”You were barely an adult,” Xiurong says. It has taken her a long time to understand and forgive—Qiren was significantly younger than the man who called himself her husband; a second son, a scholar never meant to lead the sect, let alone stand against his brother.
Qiren presses his lips together in a tight line and glances reflectively up. ”Wei Wuxian was barely an adult,” he starts and then sighs.
”A-Ying made his questionable choices during war,” Xiurong says dryly. ”You can’t hold him as a shining example. Sorry, A-Yuan,” she says, raising her voice a bit.
In front of them, A-Yuan tilts his head slightly and huffs. ”I’m aware of Baba’s character, Nainai, but thanks.”
”Nevertheless,” Qiren insists. ”What we did was cruel and unnecessary and for that, I apologize.”
She stops and turns to give him a long look. ”While it is too little and too late, I appreciate the sentiment,” she says slowly. ”And I forgive you. Not the Lan,” she adds, holding up a hand. ”You. However, forgiveness doesn’t mean that I forget. Or that A-Zhan forgets. Or A-Ying. Or A-Yuan.”
He closes his eyes and inclines his head. ”I understand. Thank you.”
They turn and continue their slow descent.
”Do you think…” Qiren starts hesitantly. ”Do you think Wei Wuxian would allow me to tell him about his mother?”
”I think he’d love that,” Xiurong says.
She doesn’t say that making peace with Wei Wuxian will be the only way to make peace with A-Zhan but Qiren probably already knows that.
”Good,” Qiren says.
A-Ning is waiting for them at the gates, raising his hand when he sees them and to Qiren’s credit, he only stiffens slightly at the sight of the infamous fierce corpse.
”Wen Qionglin,” he says with a nod.
”T-teacher Lan,” A-Ning replies and bows deeper than necessary.
Xiurong is about to leave when Qiren’s voice stops her.
”Madam Xue,” he says. ”I truly am glad to see you.”
”Mn,” she says. ”We’ll see tomorrow.”
And with that, she leaves him standing at the gate and walks to where A-Yuan and A-Ning are waiting for her.
Three days, she thinks. Three days, and then we can go home.
She hopes that this time, when she leaves Gusu, it will feel like closure instead of an escape.