Lan Sizhui startles awake, heart pounding deafeningly in the otherwise quiet room that is his. Cold sweat has drenched through his sleeping robe and the linens of his bed, and although he knows exactly where he is and that he is perfectly safe, terror still clings to him. Without realising it he has sat up in his bed, clutching the cover as he tries to catch the last few fragments of the dream. Screams, that is all he can properly remember. Piercing screams and towering shadows, and then silence. Whatever else was in the dream has already faded away into the night.

Trembling, he reaches for his socks and an outer robe, anything, whatever is closest, and leaves the bed.

He has not always had his own room, only for a few years now. Before that, he stayed with the other young disciples in the dorm rooms where they would sleep six boys to a room, and back then, the sounds of the other juniors sleeping could almost always chase away his fear. He would sit there on his bedding and listen to the sounds of even breathing and light snoring, someone's fart and another's sigh, and it would remind him that he was not alone and that dreams, no matter how horrible, are not real.

Only now, he knows that these dreams are.

He is almost at the Jingshi before he realises that that is where he is headed, and the realisation makes him stop in his tracks. It is late, certainly past midnight. No Lan disciple should be awake at this hour, and definitely not outside! Hanguang-Jun will be asleep, just like everyone else, and even if he is not, Sizhui is not a child anymore. He cannot bother Hanguang-Jun with something as insignificant as bad dreams.

Cheeks burning, he turns around to head back when a soft whistle cuts through the stillness that is Cloud Recesses at night.

"A-Yuan? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

A shadow leaps down from the roof of the Jingshi and lands softly on the ground. Even should he not have recognised the voice, the slight jingle of a Jiang clan clarity bell betrays his identity at once.

"Wei-qianbei!"

"Well, who else would it be? Keep your voice down, Lan Zhan is sleeping."

Wei Wuxian saunters closer, but although his words are those of a reproach, his voice is friendly.

"Come to think of it, you should be sleeping, too" he continues, his voice shifting into his usual teasing tone. "I'm pretty sure it's almost one already. What's a good Lan disciple such as yourself doing out at this time of night?"

"I…" Sizhui flounders and feel his cheeks flush, "I woke up. I had a nightmare."

It is too dark outside for him to be able to see Wei Wuxian's expression, and the light from the lantern outside the Jingshi does not reach all the way to where they stand, but he imagines he can hear the older man frown slightly.

"So why are you- oh, I see" Wei Wuxian says, his voice lighter as realisation dawns on him. "I bet you used to come to Lan Zhan whenever you had nightmares as a kid."

It is not a question, but Sizhui nods. There is no point in denying a truth, especially not when he has been caught red-handed, so to speak, but his skin prickles slightly at being called out. It is not as though he consciously decided to come here tonight, his feet just carried him here before his mind could catch up.

"Well, as I said, Lan Zhan is asleep, but come on in."

Without any other warning, Wei Wuxian grabs his arm and pulls him along.

"Wei-qianbei, I don't mean to intrude-" Sizhui protests weakly as he stumbles to follow, but Wei Wuxian tuts at him and opens the door.

"Nonsense" he says. "How can you intrude when I'm inviting you? Go sit down, I can hear your teeth chattering."

His teeth are certainly not chattering, but Sizhui still removes his shoes without any further protests. There are no words to describe how grateful he is about not having to leave; at being not only invited but actually bodily pulled inside, leaving him no choice but to stay. He could hardly refuse his senior, could he? His… whatever word it is he still has not found to describe the man who is currently fussing with a teapot and what looks distinctly like a heating talisman.

Except for Wei Wuxian, though, the Jingshi is quiet and looks almost exactly as it has done ever since Sizhui can remember. These rooms are reigned by order and peace: every item has its function and its place, and even Wei Wuxian's long-term residency here seems to be incapable of disrupting the steadfastness of Hanguang-Jun's private quarters.

"A-Yuan." Wei Wuxian's voice brings Sizhui out of his reminiscing study of the room, and when he turns to look at the older man, he is offered a cup of steaming tea. "I told you, it's alright. You can sit down."

"Thank you, Wei-qianbei" he says as he accepts the cup. The steam means that the tea is much too hot to drink, but the bitter, slightly smoky scent is familiar, the traditional Lan sect blend which he has had every day since he was a child, and the warmth of it makes him smile. He sits down by the table at what he considers to be his usual place, to the right of Hanguang-Jun's seat at its head. Wei Wuxian takes a seat opposite him and in the golden light of the candles in the room, his expression is gentle.

"Do you want to talk about them?" he asks frankly, although still in a low voice. "Your nightmares?"

Sizhui shakes his head in reply before Wei Wuxian has even finished asking the question. Nightmares are shameful, a sign that one's cultivation is weak, and not something to be spoken about.

"Thank you" he says, gaze lowered into his tea, "but I shouldn't."

"…you shouldn't?" Wei Wuxian echoes. "As in, it's not that you don't want to, but you don't think you should?"

Sizhui bites his lips, and then stops. A Lan does not bite their lips, and he is the head disciple. He wants to be a good one.

"I've always been told not to engage with them" he explains, cradling the warm cup between his hands.

"By whom?"

"Hanguang-Jun."

"Ha" Wei Wuxian laughs softly, and the sound makes Sizhui look up from the tea. "Figures he'd say that."

Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder, over to the other end of the Jingshi where behind a privacy screen Sizhui knows that Hanguang-Jun sleeps. Tenderness is written all over Wei Wuxian's face, clearly enough so for Sizhui to lower his gaze again, unsure whether he was supposed to see it.

"What did he tell you to do about your nightmares, then, A-Yuan?" Wei Wuxian asks. "When you came to him as a child?"

"To meditate" Sizhui answers truthfully. "To not engage with them but let them pass me by, like leaves floating by on a stream."

"Did it work?"

"Sometimes."

Wei Wuxian makes a 'hm' in acknowledgement, but does not speak at once. The Jingshi is quiet, but not in the eerie, empty way of his nightmare. There is life here, and warmth and comfort, and Sizhui is struck again by that sensation of utter reassurance. The feeling that no matter what happens, as long as this person is here, he will be safe. It is the same way he has always felt about Hanguang-Jun.

"There's not very much to say" he begins, almost apologetic. "I don't remember them. Once I wake up, whatever was in my dream is gone. All I can remember is darkness and people screaming, and how I'm cold and alone and afraid."

A shiver runs down his spine and spreads throughout his body in a shudder he cannot entirely suppress.

"I had them a lot when I was a child. I have been told that I'd wake up every night screaming, but after I came to stay here, the nightmares gradually stopped."

He glances around the room again, comforting in its familiarity. Whenever he woke up from another nightmare here, Hanguang-Jun would wake, too, and would stroke his back awkwardly until he stopped crying. He remembers sitting in Hanguang-Jun's lap, his face buried against the soft fabric of a sleeping robe, and that large hand on his back, moving up and down, up and down.

Wei Wuxian still does not speak, but his gaze is attentive and he nods at Sizhui to go on, so he does – a little surprised to find that the words are already there on his lips, ready to be spoken.

"They are memories, aren't they?" he asks. "From when I was living with you and Uncle Wen and my…" he hesitates at the word, but swallows and continues, "my family in Yiling."

Wei Wuxian nods, but thankfully shows no other reaction to Sizhui's stumbling words.

"Yes, probably" he agrees. "Or, that would be my guess, at least."

"From what Uncle Wen told me… and Hanguang-Jun, later… it must have been from just before Hanguang-Jun saved me, right? When my family was…"

There is no way he can finish that sentence. The words dry up before he has a chance to shape them, and he swallows them down.

"A-Yuan" Wei Wuxian says softly, "it's alright."

With those few words, it is as if something breaks within him. Something fine and brittle, that must have been cracked for a long time without him realising it. Hot tears spill down his cheeks and his hands shake so badly, he has to put the cup down on the table to keep the tea inside from spilling.

"But it's not!" he protests, rather more loudly than he had intended. "I had family! Parents, and cousins, and uncles, a-a-and a granny, and they are all dead and I don't even- I can't even remember them! My only memories of them are my worst nightmares!"

He sobs, blinking at the tears that keep on welling up in his eyes.

"I'm the last one" he whispers. "There's no one else left, and I can't remember."

As the words leave his lips, he feels the weight of them. Fifty-three lives, Uncle Wen told him when they built the cenotaph together, were saved by Wei Wuxian at Qiongqi Path. Fifty-three members of a small branch family of the Wen clan, who were hunted down and tortured and enslaved, simply because of the name of their clan. A name Sizhui no longer carries, despite being the very last one of those fifty-three still alive.

He cannot remember a single one of them.

He cannot even remember himself.

The tears sting and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to sob again but failing miserably. There is a soft swish of robes and Wei Wuxian sits down beside him and puts a hand on his back. Sizhui turns blindly towards the touch, hiding his face against the offered shoulder like a child. He is shaking and hiccupping and crying his heart out, clutching at the soft fabric, when a large hand strokes his back.

Sizhui freezes. He knows this hand, and this is not Wei Wuxian at all! It is Hanguang-Jun, clad in his sleeping robe and clearly just out of his bed but undeniably awake, and the last person Sizhui would ever want to appear like this in front of.

"Hanguang-Jun! I apologise!" he blurts, trying to bow and wipe the tears from his face and scramble from the embrace all at once. "For waking you up, and making noise, and behaving-"

"Sizhui." There is no reprimand in Hanguang-Jun's voice, no anger or disappointment, only calm. "No need to apologise."

Sizhui opens his mouth to protest, to say that there is, that he really must apologise for behaving so childish and loudly, but then there is another hand on his shoulder, and Wei Wuxian's gentle voice:

"A-Yuan, there's only me and Lan Zhan here. You can cry, however much you need."

They are sitting on either side of him, one in resplendent white, the other in ink-black, and although his chest and throat are raw with tears and hurt and fear, he has never felt so protected. Fresh tears well up in his eyes, but this time, they neither burn nor sting.

"I'm sorry" he sobs, hanging his head and shaking it as though that might stop the tears. "I'm sorry…"

"Sizhui" Hanguang-Jun calls quietly. "No need means no need."

He shakes his head over and over, but then that large, warm hand is there on his back again, stroking him awkwardly, up and down, up and down, and another hand, smaller, on his shoulder.

"None of what happened is your fault" Wei Wuxian says, and he sounds so much more serious than Sizhui has ever heard him. "None of it."

"You were a child" Hanguang-Jun fills in.

"It's not your fault what happened to your family, and it's not your responsibility" Wei Wuxian continues. "You can carry them in your heart, but don't let them be a burden of guilt on your conscience. They loved you, all of them. All they wanted was to see you grow up safely, and be happy. You have, haven't you?"

Sizhui nods, several times and hastily. Safely, yes, and happy, absolutely! Every day he has been grateful for his seniors, his friends, for the mountain paths and cold springs and the night hunts, but most of all for Hanguang-Jun. For being allowed to stay with him, to study with him and meditate with him and visit the rabbits and play the guqin together.

"Yeah" he croaks, still nodding and still crying, "I have. Definitely."

"Well, there you go" Wei Wuxian says, and Sizhui can hear the smile in his voice. "Don't feel guilty over what can't be helped. You'll always be a Wen, whether you remember your family or not, and you'll continue to make them proud every day."

"And me."

Those two words make Sizhui look up. Hanguang-Jun's voice is gentle, and his eyes are warm and brimming with unspoken emotions. Next to him, Sizhui can faintly hear Wei Wuxian sighing fondly under his breath.

"You make me proud" Hanguang-Jun clarifies. "Every day."

Sizhui swallows.

"But… pride is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses" he says faintly, repeating one of the over four thousand rules he made sure to learn by heart long before he knew how to read them all. Wei Wuxian snickers, but Hanguang-Jun holds his gaze.

"Every day" he repeats, enunciating each word, and it is as though the floor has shifted beneath him.

He makes Hanguang-Jun proud.

He knows that Hanguang-Jun thinks he is a good disciple, and not simply because he made Sizhui into head disciple two years back. He knows it because Hanguang-Jun continues to take the time to teach him not only sword techniques and form and cultivation, but also literature and music and art, and sometimes even praises him. But pride is something else. Not only forbidden, but… grand. Proprietary.

He is brought from this swirl of thoughts when Hanguang-Jun raises his hand and slowly wipes away the tears from Sizhui's cheeks with his thumb.

"You will always be of the Wen clan" Hanguang-Jun repeats Wei Wuxian's words. "But you will always be of the Lan clan, as well."

And then he moves his hand, and touches Sizhui's forehead ribbon. Adjusts it, just a little, but the gesture is so deliberate, it makes the world stop. Sizhui cannot remember the last time Hanguang-Jun touched his forehead ribbon, but it must be over ten years ago.

"You are my son" Hanguang-Jun continues, lowering his hand and speaking each word with clear emphasis. "My only child. I could not have wished for a better one."

Hanguang-Jun's voice is as warm and gentle as his fingertips were on Sizhui's cheek, and hearing his words, Sizhui cannot help the fresh tears rising. They fill his eyes and blur his vision, but they do not fall.

"I want to keep making you proud of me" he says, smiling through the tears. "But I want to make my Wen family proud as well, and I don't know how to do that. Remembering them feels like the least thing I can do to honour their memory, but I can't even do that."

He had thought that raising the cenotaph would be another key, just like Wen Ning's stories. Something to unlock his memories. But although carving the names into the stone did make him feel closer to the people it commemorates, he still only has fragments of memories of them. It is simply not enough.

"I just don't want my nightmares to be the only connection I have to them."

"Well, A-Yuan…" Wei Wuxian says slowly, "have you ever thought about studying medicine?"

"Medicine?" Sizhui shakes his head, and wipes at his eyes to dry away the last tears. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"The Dafan mountain branch of the Wen clan were famous for their doctors and healers" Wei Wuxian says, with something that is not quite a shrug. "Surely Wen Ning has told you about his sister?"

Sizhui nods eagerly. Wen Qing – the best, most brilliant doctor among all the clans, and Sizhui's cousin, who clothed and fed him and played with him.

"I just thought, maybe studying their medicine practices could be a way for you to connect to them. If you'd like, I'm sure Wen Ning can teach you the things she taught him."

"As will our Lan healers" Hanguang-Jun adds. "If you should wish."

Sizhui has never even considered studying medicine or healing. All his life, he has wanted to become a cultivator. Someone upright and just and capable, someone who protects others – just like Hanguang-Jun. That path was clear to him before he even knew what other options there might be, and he still wants to follow it. As for Wen Qing, he would much rather remember her face, or her voice, but perhaps her medicine is the closest he can come to her. And maybe studying medicine does not have to mean choosing a different path? Perhaps the two paths do not need to be diverged, but can run parallel to one another?

Then, maybe, he can be both? Lan and Wen.

"I will consider it" he says with another nod and a smile. "Thank you, Wei-qianbei, Hanguang-Jun, for your advice."

Hanguang-Jun gives him a barely perceptible nod, but Wei Wuxian grimaces.

"Aah, still with the formality!" he complains. "A-Yuan, I've known you since you were the size of a radish and Lan Zhan even raised you, how can you still be so formal with us?"

Sizhui feels his cheeks heat and glances at Hanguang-Jun beside him. Hanguang-Jun: the man who raised him; the man whose face Sizhui knows so well, he has never thought of it as expressionless. The man he used to call father; the man who is still, in his heart, his father. But this man is also his teacher, and the teacher of all his friends, and the most prominent cultivator of all the Lan sect, the Second Jade of Lan.

Hanguang-Jun catches his gaze, and inclines his head ever so slightly.

"Sizhui may call me in whatever way he prefers" he says softly. "I am still Sizhui's father."

The words soothe something within him that Sizhui had not realised was aching, and even Wei Wuxian seems to soften, or at least his voice is softer when he speaks again:

"Well, that goes for me as well, of course. You can address me however you like, A-Yuan. As long as you never address me as gongzhi. Or Yiling Laozu. Or-"

Sizhui laughs. Not so much at the list of exceptions to the 'however you like', although it is funny, but at the warmth in his chest and the very certain knowledge that whatever else he might be, at least he is not alone. Not when these two people – both his fathers, although perhaps in different ways – are here, on either side of him, supporting him.

"Thank you" he says again, smiling and wiping away the last of his tears. Or, at least, he tries to, but before he can reach a hand to his eyes, Wei Wuxian is pinching his cheek.

"So cute" he says emphatically, with a wide grin all over his face. "All grown up and still so cute, A-Yuan."

And just like that, some semblance of a memory returns to him. Wei Wuxian has done this before. Many times, not recently, but years and years ago, this affectionate squeeze. It is just a flash, nothing more, but he is certain that it truly is a memory.

"I should return to my room" he says once Wei Wuxian has let go of him. He looks at both of them, first Wei Wuxian, and then Hanguang-Jun. "I apologise for having disturbed you."

"No need" Hanguang-Jun says again.

"Definitely not" Wei Wuxian adds. "And why do you have to leave? I know Lan Zhan has kept the spare mattress; you could just sleep here."

Sizhui does not miss the look Hanguang-Jun sends Wei Wuxian, or, indeed, the faint flicker of embarrassment in his expression. This is something Hanguang-Jun would rather not have him know, but Sizhui's heart leaps at the realisation: Hanguang-Jun has kept his mattress. Despite all the many years Sizhui has stayed in the dorm rooms and his own room; despite Wei Wuxian moving in; despite all of that, Sizhui has a bed here. This is still his home.

"Sizhui."

Hanguang-Jun says no more than that, but Sizhui knows the meaning of his name being called like that. It is up to him to decide; he has only to speak his desire – to stay, or leave – and Hanguang-Jun will respect either choice.

"I will return to my room" he confirms.

"Then I will accompany you" Hanguang-Jun says and nods. Rising from the floor, he adds, as though in explanation: "It is late."

There is no point in protesting, so Sizhui inclines his head in thanks. He is about to rise too, when Wei Wuxian stops him.

"A-Yuan" he says. "I don't know if this will help with your nightmares, but I meant what I said. Your cousins and uncles and granny, they all loved you, and I know they would be proud of who you've grown into. Whether you begin to study medicine or continue your cultivation studies as before, they still will be. I didn't know them for a very long time, but I can tell you this for sure."

Sizhui's chest feels like it could burst from all the reassurances he has already been given tonight, but there is still room for these words and he tries to take them to heart.

"I think it will" he says. "Help, that is."

"Hm."

The small sound is not quite the clearing of a throat, but Sizhui knows it immediately. Sure enough, when he looks up, Hanguang-Jun has put on outer robes and is standing by the door, ready to escort him back to his room. Wordlessly, Sizhui stands up, belatedly realising that he has had none of the tea Wei Wuxian poured for him. He makes a move to reach for it, but Wei Wuxian waves him off and then stands as well before heading for the door.

No, not the door: Hanguang-Jun.

Even to Sizhui, who would climb all over Hanguang-Jun as a toddler and has literally cried in his lap, it is still a novel experience to see someone interact so casually with Hanguang-Jun. Wei Wuxian places a hand on Hanguang-Jun's arm, and leans in just a little, the way he has ever since they all brought him back to Cloud Recesses the first time. Not disrespectfully at all, but in a relaxed, comfortable way, and Hanguang-Jun always lets him – seems to welcome it, even.

"Don't wait" Hanguang-Jun says, and Sizhui can see the warmth in his eyes as he looks at Wei Wuxian.

"Don't be silly, Lan Zhan. Of course I'll wait." Wei Wuxian smiles widely, and leans in a little further to place a soft kiss on Hanguang-Jun's lips. "Just make sure A-Yuan gets back safely, alright? I don't want to see him punished for breaking curfew."

Sizhui lowers his gaze and puts on his shoes, trying not to smile at the unguarded look on Hanguang-Jun's face just now. With his shoes on and his face under control, he straightens his back and bows to Wei Wuxian, who immediately catches his arms and breaks the bow.

"Seriously, A-Yuan, none of that" he scolds kindly, shaking his head before shooing Sizhui out through the door. "Such a Lan."

Sizhui is sure he catches the glimmer of a smile on Hanguang-Jun's lips, and feels the mirror of the same smile on his own face.

Outside the Jingshi, Cloud Recesses is as dark, still and quiet as it ever is by night. There is no wind tonight, and almost no mist, but no moonlight either, and only the sparsely placed lanterns to guide their way. Hanguang-Jun moves silently over the white gravel path and Sizhui hurries to follow; he has already inconvenienced Hanguang-Jun enough tonight without dawdling now.

As they walk, he tries to imagine Wen Ning's face. What kind of expression will he make tomorrow, when Sizhui will ask him to tell stories about the Dafan Wen clan's medicine practices and Wen Qing? Stunned silence, probably, immediately followed by delighted, stuttering ramblings and vivid gestures – the way Wen Ning tells any story.

Thinking about Wen Ning causes him to think about Wei Wuxian. How easily he moved around the Jingshi, right at home, as if he had always lived there. His face, grinning and teasing one moment and earnest the next. Calling him A-Yuan, that sweet, familiar name that barely anyone else ever uses. Pouring him tea so hot it is undrinkable. Offering to bring out Sizhui's mattress, and let him stay the night. Wei Wuxian, who once called himself Sizhui's father, long before Hanguang-Jun ever did.

Hanguang-Jun.

Hanguang-Jun holding him and stroking his back as he cried. Reassuring him, both of his place in the sect and his place in Hanguang-Jun's life, his home. Hanguang-Jun telling him how proud he is. Every day.

His pride should not matter; Sizhui owes everything to him. Not only his room or his clothes or his sword; not merely his education or his golden core: he owes his name and his life to this man. It is the least Sizhui can do to repay him, to try his utmost and perform his duties to the absolute best of his abilities. But Hanguang-Jun's pride still makes his heart swell with quiet pleasure.

They walk in silence, as they almost always do. Even if the hour had not been this late, the words Sizhui longs to speak are not suited for the open outdoors. That is why he waits until they are back outside his room, mere steps away from the door.

"Hanguang-Jun?"

Hanguang-Jun stops, so Sizhui does too. His gaze seeks out Hanguang-Jun's, and he tries to read the older man's expression in the flickering light of a lantern.

"Can I speak a question from my heart?"

"Of course."

The permission is instant, given without hesitance or pause, but Sizhui finds he must consciously lower his shoulders and exhale before he can put the question into words.

"Why did you save me?"

For a moment, Hanguang-Jun looks stricken. Laid bare. His gaze seems lost in a distant memory, his hand clenches into a fist, and there is such devastating pain written on his face that Sizhui regrets his question at once.

"I apologise, I shouldn't-"

"Yes, you should" Hanguang-Jun says. "You have the right to know."

Part of him does not want to know, not if it makes Hanguang-Jun look like this. He does not need to know. He has lived here in Cloud Recesses for almost seventeen years without knowing, so there really is no need for him to have the reason explicitly stated now. He should have just stepped inside his room and never asked about something so evidently harrowing. But of course, there is also a part of him that wants to know, desperately. Who wants to hear the reason stated out loud, if only just to have it spoken. And he can see that Hanguang-Jun is trying to compose himself. His hand relaxes – by force of will, most likely – and his gaze returns from the faraway past and lands on Sizhui instead.

"I was looking for him" he says quietly, not quite able to mask the pain of each word. "I could not believe he was gone. Instead, I found you."

Sizhui knows this much. Crying, fevered, hidden in the stump of an old, hollowed out tree. Alone. He has been told that he clung to Hanguang-Jun for days, refusing to let go even in his sleep.

"I would have saved any child" Hanguang-Jun continues. "But I kept you with me, because of him. Because you were the only piece of him still left in this world that I could have."

Hanguang-Jun's eyes are brimming with immeasurable grief and his voice is filled with a depth of pain Sizhui recognises only too well, a loss Sizhui has known all his life. He has seen it in his father's face, heard it in his music, sometimes even in his voice as he called Sizhui's…

"My name. That is for him, too, isn't it?"

To recollect and long for. It is right there in his courtesy name, in the name Hanguang-Jun gave him: the memories and the longing and the sadness. It is more than nostalgia: it is mourning.

"Yes." Hanguang-Jun nods. "For him."

Sizhui remembers the look on Hanguang-Jun's face that day at Dafan mountain, as though some light had been lit inside him that Sizhui had never seen before. That light is still there, every time Hanguang-Jun looks at Wei Wuxian, awe and admiration and incredulity, and Sizhui almost hopes he never knows that kind of love, because he has seen the pain it can bring as well. Heard it, just now, in Hanguang-Jun's almost broken voice: You were the only piece of him still left in this world that I could have.

"But Sizhui" Hanguang-Jun says, and he sounds hesitant now, less sure of this than of his confession just before, and Sizhui's heart clenches with apprehension. "My pride in you, my… love for you, are not because of him. They are because of you. They are yours."

For a moment, Sizhui can only stare at the man in front of him. Then he takes the two steps necessary to close the distance between them and throws his arms around his father in a tight hug.

"I know they are" Sizhui says, speaking the words into his father's chest. "I've never doubted that."

Hanguang-Jun is stock-still for several long seconds and Sizhui almost releases his hold when he feels the two strong arms around his back, returning the embrace.

"Good."

Sizhui should probably let go at this point, but he does not. There is still one thing to say, one important thing to tell him, in return for all the comfort and reassurance he has given Sizhui tonight and every other night.

"I'm so glad he returned to you" he says. "That you got him back. You deserve to be happy too, bàba."

He almost thinks his father has frozen up, again, but it is a momentary stillness only. Then he feels Hanguang-Jun tighten their embrace.

"Thank you" he says, and after a moment of consideration: "A-Yuan."

Sizhui squeezes his eyes shut at the name, and hides his smile against Hanguang-Jun's shoulder for another moment. He knows that Hanguang-Jun would let him stay in this embrace for as long as he wants, perhaps all through the night if he needed it, but Sizhui is grown up and Hanguang-Jun has someone waiting for him.

"Good night, bàba" he says, and steps out of the embrace. "Thank you for seeing me back."

Hanguang-Jun gives a minute shake of his head.

"No need" he says, with the hint of a smile on his lips. "Good night, Sizhui."

And there is so much more than mourning in the name. Pride and love, but also faith, and fidelity; all the things Hanguang-Jun could not give Wei Wuxian for so many years, and gave Sizhui instead. All the things Hanguang-Jun still gives him.

Hanguang-Jun turns and begins his walk back to the Jingshi and Sizhui gazes after him until the white robes disappear in the dark. Only then does he step inside his own room, removes his shoes and his outer robes, and lies down in his bed. The room is empty and dark, but there is a warmth inside him now that any lingering nightmares will not be able to chase away, no matter how real they are. Although he is on his own, he can feel others there, close by. Countless cousins and uncles and a granny, proudly watching over him. Wen Ning, beaming with unbridled joy. And on either side of him, two parents, one in resplendent white and one in ink-black. He falls asleep with the memory of their hands on his back, safe in the knowledge that whatever name he carries, whatever path he chooses, as long as they are with him, he is never truly alone.