Chapter Text
The first time he opens his eyes, he is greeted by the colour white, and the chill of winter.
His breaths escape in tiny puffs of vapour, even as he pulled his coat more tightly around his thin frame. The cold wind bit and tore at him, but there was nothing that could be done while he was still outside.
Puffs of snow fall from the sky as he stumbled onward, pushing past bodies in the crowded streets. He would have rather been at home, cozy and wrapped up in layers, reading book after book. Instead of being allowed to dream, however, he had been sent out on some chore - he couldn’t even remember what it was - staggering through the snow to accomplish… something.
What was it again?
It couldn’t have been that important if he forgot, right?
Maybe there wasn’t a point in trying to remember. After all, forgotten things come back with time.
“It’s dangerous; be careful--!”
Something smashed into him from the side. For a moment, he was weightless, flying through the air - then the ground came rushing to meet him. He could barely feel the impact, even as his body came to a halt.
His surroundings were dark, and somehow, he couldn’t muster up the strength to move. Red was filling the area, and a metallic scent hung heavily in the air.
Was this it, then?
How… unfortunate.
The next time he opens his eyes, the colour blue is what greets him instead. A pair of lips press against his forehead, and his heart leaps at the tender touch.
“You have his eyes… it seems to run in the family, doesn’t it?” are the soft words he remembers hearing, the careful touch warming him up even through the blanket wrapped around his form, and the woman holds him close.
“Your father was a strong cultivator. He still is, despite the seclusion he has chosen to isolate himself in. I hope you take after him in that regard.”
This is… His mother, then?
He couldn’t see her clearly - his senses were weak and unclear, but he knew instinctively she was warm, and that was enough. He didn’t want to leave her side.
“Don’t cause trouble for your uncle, okay? Mother loves you, so please… stay safe.”
He didn’t have a choice in the matter.
How could he?
***
Lan Qiren does not particularly understand why he is here. As acting sect leader, he is busy -far too busy than he ought to be- and while he is aware that that woman is in labour, his brother really ought to know about his barely-existent goodwill towards his sister-in-law.
(And he uses that term reluctantly, because that is what she is, against his wishes.)
Still, he is already here, and it would be rude to just… leave.
Lan Qiren watches as his brother paces around outside the gentian hut, twitching at every aborted cry, and winces as his brother visibly refrains from breaking down the door. He hopes that the medic has not called him here to calm his brother down, because it is a lost cause- the man is practically twitching at every single sound that escapes the gentian hut, and Qiren considers himself most unfortunate that he has to actually wait here.
It takes a few hours before they are allowed in. Lan Qiren watches as the child, wrapped in warm blankets, reaches weakly for its mother. The medics look surprised, he notes absent-mindedly, but he does not think it strange. How was he to know what babies were like? The youngest disciples he’d ever been in contact with were children- old enough to walk and run, to talk and to learn.
“Sect leader,” one of the nursemaids whisper, and then his brother is being called outside the room for a private conversation. Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow, but it is not his place to interfere; perhaps he’d ask later, if he remembers.
In the meantime, he watches over the mother and son pair, watches the way his sister-in-law cradles the child close, pressing a gentle kiss to its forehead. The look on her face is soft, and for a moment, Lan Qiren wonders if she has ever shown his brother that same expression.
"He's so small," Qingheng-jun whispers, reentering the tiny hut. His footsteps were quiet, and there are only his- the nursemaids have left the room, Qiren notes absently. He watches as his brother trails a thin finger down a tiny pale cheek, barely touching the tender skin, almost as if he is afraid to wake the child. "But I suppose all babies are small, especially if they do not come alone."
His brother looks wistful, gold eyes gentle as he smoothes out the silk blanket embroidered with blue clouds, and Lan Qiren can only stare as the baby is placed in his arms by his brother, who offers him a smile.
Why was- what-
“Will you look after A-Huan for us, Qiren?” Qingheng-jun voices, and Lan Qiren balks.
“Brother, I- you know I am not good with children. Teaching the disciples alone is- Entrusting him to me- I cannot-”
They offer him worried smiles, his brother and his sister-in-law both, and truthfully, it is not as if Lan Qiren cannot see why he was chosen. Not only because he was closest by blood, but because the clan’s elders would only see the child -Lan Huan- as a tool, as the future sect leader, and not as the child he currently is.
The child he will be, for at least the next decade to come.
Such an upbringing is not something even Lan Qiren himself would condone, no matter how deeply he respects the clan.
"Brother," he attempts to deny, "I cannot possibly-"
He is interrupted by the tiniest of sighs, as his sister-in-law places a comforting hand in his brother’s own. Still, the expression on her face remains unchanged. She stares at the child -at her child- with no small amount of guilt and longing, and it is-
It is wrong, to rob a child of his parents.
Do not blame the child for the sins of the father.
“... You could raise him yourself, brother. No one would question your release from seclusion," Lan Qiren points out, only to receive a shake of the head.
“I cannot, Qiren, you know this,” his brother states gently. “This seclusion is my penance, my atonement to the clan for my crimes.”
His brother turns that soft, sad gaze on him, his eyes the colour of dull gold. “Qiren, please?”
“... fine,” he agrees, the force of his argument surprising even himself. “I give you my word; I’ll raise him as if he were my own.”
The relief on his brother’s face is painful to see, and he cannot bear to look. Not at that tiny spark of hope. So Lan Qiren looks down at the sleeping child in his arms, and prays to the gods above that he will survive this unscathed.
He doesn't know anything about childcare. The youngest disciples he's ever had to teach were at least eight years old.
Just what has he gotten himself into…?