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The Jingshi was warm, talismans pinned to the inside of the doors and windows doing their job, the air sweetened with smoke from incense. Lan Xichen is seated near the doorway, his nephew settled comfortably in his lap where he can watch the snow fall. It is too early in the season for it to stick for long, but it is beautiful while it lasts.

"The largest one was called the king of the chickens, because, of all the hundreds in the flock, he was the strongest. And for this reason he was the leader of them all. He led the flock to new places for food. He could crow the loudest, and as he was the strongest, none dared oppose him in any way.

One day he said to the flock, "Let us go to the other side of the mountain near the wilderness to-day, and hunt rice, wheat, corn, and wild silkworms. There is not enough food here."

But the other chickens said, "We are afraid to go so far. There are foxes and eagles in the wilderness, and they will catch us.""

Lan Xichen's voice is calm and steady as he tells fables to his new nephew. He is entirely sure his uncle would prefer that he hand all child care duties to a subordinate. The argument about that had been sharp, and short, and here he was, waiting for his younger brother to awaken for a visit from his son.

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After the first time he vanished into the woods and appeared with at toddler, the healers were less than thrilled. How did he get up? How did he move? Sheer curmudgeonry, said one, and all the rest nodded. After that, he was kept in place by pins for weeks. No more running off. No more ripping himself open.

They come by and remove the needles from his skin when it's time to eat, or move, or see his brother and son. (That little bit of scandal is still a flurry, but everybody does agree little A-Yuan has his nose.) The pain will wake him before the noise does, for Lan Xichen's voice is steady and even, and A-Yuan does not speak loudly, either.

"A-Yuan?" It's the second hint he's awake, the first being that Lan Zhan is pushing himself up into a seated position, and that takes effort and time. But he can do it, that's the important thing. Just not for long. "Come to your father, let your bóbo rest his voice."

Of course, this means that there's going to be a vacant lap where there had been a toddler, and Lan Zhan has his son kneeling at his feet. He's learned very swiftly that his father can't hold him too long, if at all. Not yet. But someday, Lan Zhan promises: before you are too big, he will carry Lan Yuan again.

Lan Xichen rises smoothly, trailing his nephew to guard against falls and help steady his impossibly stubborn brother.

"Would you care for tea?" He asks, once he's reasonably sure that Lan Wangji isn't going to crumple onto his face with the effort of sitting up. "The healers left some." It is of course medicinal, but most things will be in Lan Wangji's life for the next...

Well. For quite a while.

"Yes, thank you," he says, smoothing one hand over A-Yuan's head, before he nudges him. "Help your bóbo with the tea, A-Yuan."

He focuses inward for a moment, coaxing energy to where it needs to be -- chasing numbness from his fingertips and legs, down to his feet. It's fine. He'll be fine. The pain is... endurable. Anything can be endured, for A-Yuan.

Lan Xichen carefully coaches a-Yuan through measuring out the tea mixture, trying to keep the amount of scattered leaves to a minimum. That, and settling the child again so he can pour hot water so the tea can steep helps distract the boy while Lan Wangji looks so horribly vacant.

"A-Yuan, tell your bàba what you have been doing this week while we wait for the tea." Lan Xichen suggests once he sees that Lan Wangji seems more present, sending the boy back to his father's side. This precipitates a gleeful recitation of the week's events - bunnies he has played with, characters he has learned, friends he has made. Lan Qiren might prefer that the boy be kept separate, both as a potential future heir and as a child of suspicious origin, but Lan Xichen is having none of it.

Besides, the boy a-Yuan had gravitated towards looked lonely, and there's been too many lonely Lan boys in Lan Xichen's estimation.

Lonely Lan boys grow up into sad Lan young men, in the experience of these two particular Lans. But, no -- Lan Xichen has his sworn brothers and...

Well. Lan Wangji has his son, and he will find his reason to go forward with that in mind. There will be no lovers, no marriages. Let him be halfway to a disgrace. He'll still be the strongest Cultivator the Sect has produced in recent memory, and that... well, that means more than one little bastard, now doesn't it.

"If you can be kind," Lan Zhan tells his son as he looks down on him with a smile that has the same kiss of warmth that the early morning dawn does, "you should be. Before you raise your hand in anger, extend it in compassion."

A-Yuan's smile is as sunny as it's ever been, basking in his father's love and attention. He looks like he wants to throw himself into a hug, but he's learned during his time at Cloud Recesses that his bàba can be so easily hurt, and other than his bóbo, such exuberance usually earns a frown rather than a smile. So small hands pat instead, unable to stay completely self contained.

"He has done very well in feeding your bunnies, Wangji." Lan Xichen offers.

"They are not my bunnies," Lan Zhan says, mild as melon wine. He looks down at A-Yuan, keeping his expression schooled into neutral soberness. "Pets are forbidden in Cloud Recesses. The rabbits are natural parts of the local wood. We just make sure they are well cared for, and let them live their natural lives."

(They're his bunnies, but he must repeat the party line for the child. There'll be a lot of that, as the boy gets older.)

Lan Xichen ducks his head to hide his smile, thoroughly enjoying watching this fatherly version of his little brother.

"A-Yuan, come help me pour the tea for your bàba." He cajoles, once a-Yuan has acknowledged that he will indeed help take good care of the forest bunnies. He herds the child through setting up the cup on its saucer, and then into kneeling with his little hands tucked in his lap while Lan Xichen pours the tea. The child watches the graceful pour with wide eyes, which, Lan Xichen won't lie, is rather gratifying. The tea smells... well. It's medicinal, no one would choose to drink it for pleasure, but it will help.

It will ease pain, speed healing, and dull his senses. The latter is the cost of the former, and so he will do his best to endure what little time awake and alert, with all senses keen while he can. He does not move from where he sits at the edge of his bed. Getting up to walk to the table and sit would be... difficult at best.

Instead, he watches from his seat with pride. Already, the boy's learning. Already, he sees and wants to be able to do. He will be a very good Lan.

The tea's aroma holds memories of living in hiding, recovering from the destruction of his home, untold weeks spent waiting to hear how the rest of his clan survived... or didn't. He suspects he won't like the memories created with its return to be any more palatable.

"Back to your bàba now." Lan Xichen coaches, gathering up Lan Wangji's cup and rising smoothly. A-Yuan attempts to mimic the motion, caught half-way up and overbalanced by Lan Xichen's hand.

"Is there anything you need, Wangji?" He asks, as he shepherds his nephew back to Lan Wangji's side, and back through the process of folding into a correct kneel again.

When A-Yuan settles again he's still trying to mimic Lan Xichen, because he's a duckling. He' comes instinctively to his father for love and warmth, but Lan Xichen -- healthy, straight backed, mobile -- is where he's learning to move from, how to do things with hands and feet.

Lan Zhan is a little sad, but it is the best he could do. The boy will live, grow strong, and he will count himself lucky if he can move with him some day, teach him to lift his sword and how to make it like an extension of his body.

Or, he may just be a scholarly cripple. A dirty secret of the Lan. 'Whatever happened to Hanguang-Jun?' 'His own sect whipped him so badly he cannot carry a sword. I hear he's a librarian now.'

A-Yuan's safety is worth every ounce of humiliation, if that is what it comes to.

"No, Lan-xiongzhang," he says, accepting his tea cup. He eats like a bird, the medicine they gave him from Milliways is hidden and he takes it in secret, and there is nothing to fix the grief. It simply is, and he accepts it.

For as long as Lan Wangji needs him, Lan Xichen will watch over Lan Yuan, ensuring the child flourishes here in his new home. But if he has any say in it at all, it will be Lan Wangji who manages most of the training - he will move heaven and earth to help get his brother back on his feet, and back properly in a-Yuan's life.

"You know you only need ask." He reminds his brother, settling at Lan Wangji's side. "A-Yuan, would you like to tell your bàba what you learned in your class today?" They are still working on proper brush handling, before they are taught their characters.

There is definitely no ink involved at this stage - the Lan white and blue can only take so much.

"There are brushes on the table," Lan Zhan says once the animated explanation from a toddler is given. "Why don't you show me what you learned?"

Because then he can help. He can guide little hands to proper posing, guide him through the movement arms. He can do that. He can have this. He can impart one thing to him right now, do his duty to the boy, as much as he is able.

Lan Xichen's worry only shows in his eyes - he does not want to lay that worry on a-Yuan, but he's watched his brother suffer. He does not want to add to that. While a-Yuan is busily deciding which brush to use, Lan Xichen frets with blankets and pillows so Lan Wangji can be supported, and have a-Yuan in his lap without undue strain.

He doesn't ask if Wangji is sure. He's learned quite a lot about his brother's level of resolution, lately.

Eventually, Lan Zhan's hand lays on his brother's arm. "I can bear it," he explains, "and I can bear him."

He has found he can bear up under much duress, lately. Luckily, he does not bleed (badly) when he seats himself at the table, and welcomes A-Yuan into his lap.

"Let us practice the characters for your name," he says, putting his larger hand lightly over A-Yuan's tiny one.

A-Yuan is eager to show his bàba what he has learned, cheerful in his explanation of what he is doing, unskilled fingers trying to find their correct placement. Lan Xichen rises to set up a second pot of tea, a soothing green tea for himself. He's trying to fade into the background a little, grant as much privacy as he can while still being present to help if it is needed.

Lan Zhan knows his brother is trying to be kind and good, and for that he is grateful. The rift is mending, though he fears there will always be a new crack in the foundation they've built their lives on. Lan Zhan as he was is no more, dead from the lash, and Lan Zhan doesn't quite recognize the person he's becoming.

But that person is a patient, gentle father, who wants to do right. It's frustrating, but he just has to remember his promise, and while the frustration doesn't abate, his ability to manage it increases. But you cannot expect a toddler to do what a child can, a child to do what a preteen can, a preteen to do what a youth can, and a youth to do what a man can. After all, he lost his youth to war, his love to madness, and his body to the lash. The man left...

He's not sure what he can do. But he knows this: he can love and teach his son (their son) to be a strong, skilled cultivator. He knows he can help him be the best he can be.

Then, we will see, Wei Ying; when there is no more Lan Qiren, no Lan Xichen, how will Lan Sizhui lead our Sect?

Right now, the boy is more in danger of whacking Lan Zhan across the face with the brush as he reaches up to show how perfect (or as near perfect as one can expect at the moment) his finger placement is. There's a faint snort of laughter that Lan Xichen rapidly smothers, though his expression is alight with laughter.

There is a hesitant tap at the door Lan Xichen rises to go see who dares - he's made it quite clear that that unless they're actually under attack again, this time is sacrosanct. And he's hearing a distinct lack of screaming.

Lan Zhan dodges back, keeping a grimace off his face. First, for the pain that shoots up his back, a new dot of blood appearing where another scab was disturbed. The second comes when the knock sounds.

A-Yuan looks up, distracted, but his father soothes him with one hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, there is nothing to be frightened of."

It's just someone at the door. That's all.

"Zewu-Jun." The young man on the other side of the door bows, perhaps more deeply than is truly called for. "Grandmaster has a matter that requires attention, and..."

Lan Xichen doesn't interrupt, but there's a sternness in his expression that sends the runner's words skittering away.

"I will attend to this matter once I am finished here." He assures the runner, his polite smile at odds with the winter chill in his tone. "You may tell Lan Qiren so, to put his mind at ease."

Lan Zhan does not even bother to give the disciple a look, not when he's guiding A-Yuan's attention back to the brush. There you are, don't mind them, they are not our problem.

"If Grandmaster Lan," he speaks before the man goes, "believes it to be truly urgent, he can come himself, and discuss it with both Lan-xiongzhang and his heir."

Rarely does he throw his weight about, but The Second Jade of Lan has reason to now. Remember, the future of the Sect is still in my hands, and now in my son's.

"Hanguang-Jun." The messenger squeaks - whether he is surprised that Lan Wangji has spoken, or by the implied threat, or if the man is just stunned that Lan Wangji is recovered enough to speak is up for debate. As it is, he drops into a set of hasty bows and makes himself scarse.

Lan Xichen draws the door closed again, and sets the fight he knows is coming to the future. He can worry about it then.

"Well." He takes a deep breath, and settles himself. "How is the demonstration going?"

Returning to a prim sort of calm... Lan Zhan clearly feels no guilt, and says, "Quite well. I thought perhaps, next time, some talisman paper that reacts to water and he can practice with me."

And it'll be a lot less dangerous than with ink.

(Say anything about Lan Qiren? Never. His point was made.)

Lan Xichen certainly isn't going to bring up their uncle - the man has had the good sense to steer clear of the Jingshi, which is just about the only good thing Lan Xichen has to say about the situation at the moment. He loves his uncle, he does... but any more force placed upon the balance he's had to strike between the love of his uncle and his clan against the love of his brother, and he's going to break.

And then all that will be left is razor-sharp edges too ready to cut.

"I will be sure to do so." He assures Wangji as he retakes his place at the table, pouring himself a cup of tea so he can better watch the young scholar at work.

"Thank you," Lan Zhan says, as he moves his hands with his son's, working with him to form character after character, adjusting his grip as needed, encouraging and praising when he gets it right -- never effusive, but more measured.

He'll happily do this for... well, until the tea starts to dull his senses and ease the pain. Eventually, his movements get sluggish, and less graceful, and then the lessons is over.

"You are learning so much," he murmurs to the boy. "I am very proud of you."

A-Yuan twists to cling to his father's side, knowing that soon he'll be taken away again. It's a heartbreaking sight, and Lan Xichen hates himself a little for his part in it - but he knows sitting silent watch over an insentient healing man is no place for a small boy who has only just recovered from his own severe illness. He will be happy enough, once Lan Xichen gets him settled again amongst his own little friends.

Besides, it is not for forever, or so Lan Xichen is determined to ensure. Some day he will leave on his own, to give father and son time to themselves.

"Let me help you back, Wangji." He offers, as he settles his teacup back in its place.

"I can walk," Lan Zhan says as he proves it to be true. He can manage ten feet to his bed, where he can sit and still be upright.

There, he smoothes hand over A-Yuan's hair, down to his cheek, and gives him one of the rare smiles that he seems to save up for just the boy. There's a bank of happy memories, building one by one, that he can draw upon to make sure he always has one for the boy -- even when the pain might otherwise render it a grimace.

"Now, go be good for your bóbo. No fussing. I will see you again soon," he reassures A-Yuan.

A-Yuan gives Lan Wangji a fierce little hug, before skittering back into Lan Xichen's waiting lap to settle an wait. A-Yuan has been through this enough to know this routine well - they will wait until his father is asleep, and leave the Jingshi for a few more days.

"Do you remember where we were?" Lan Xichen asks, waiting for a-Yuan's nod before continuing on with the fable the proud chicken. "The king of the chickens said, 'It is better that all the old hens and cowards stay at home.'"

"That was not nice." A-Yuan interrupts, frowning. "Baba said that you should be kind."

Lan Xichen nods, solemnly.

"It was not nice, he is not being a very good leader, is he?" He waits for a-Yuan's answering nod, and continues on with the story.

"The king's secretary said, 'I do not know fear. I will go with you.' Then they started away together. When they had gone a little distance, the secretary found a beetle, and just as he was going to swallow it, the king flew at him in great anger, saying, 'Beetles are for kings, not for common chickens. Why did you not give it to me?' So they fought together, and while they were fighting, the beetle ran away and hid under the grass where he could not be found.

And the secretary said, 'I will not fight for you, neither will I go to the wilderness with you.' And he went home again."

Lan Zhan lays there, still stuck with laying on his belly to keep his wounds from being reopened. But this is a good story, he thinks -- he can remember learning it, when he was small.

He drifts, eyes closing long before the story reaches his conclusion, and sinks into blessed, healing rest. The tea helps his body, but knowing A-Yuan is safe and happy is a balm for the soul.

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