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Chapter Text

"If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me. Threatening the life it belongs to, And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd"

Lan Qiren walked the corridors of Gusu Lan, his measured pace and impassive face reflecting the austere discipline of the Lan clan. The clan structure was a physical representation of his own life: rigorous, orderly, and seemingly immutable. Every corner, every stone, seemed to contribute to a sense of immutability that had now become an essential part of his existence. 

That day, however, her usual sense of control was put to the test in an unexpected way. As he was walking through a garden, his eyes fell on a scene that disturbed him deeply. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian sat together on a wall, laughing and joking. Lan Wangji, the nephew he had always regarded as the embodiment of discipline and impeccable behavior, was laughing with a lightness that seemed completely out of place in the strict context of the monastery. Wei Wuxian, with his contagious smile, was like a spring breeze on a cold, gray day.

Lan Qiren felt as if a whiplash had shaken him to the bone. Lan Wangji's smile, that moment of shared happiness, struck her heart with the force of a hammer, slamming into the walls of her emotional existence with a devastating impact. The vision of their happiness, so radically opposed to his life of rigor and discipline, hit him like a punch in the stomach, making him lose his breath.

It wasn't contempt he felt, but something much deeper and heartbreaking: an unimaginable anguish that seemed ready to overwhelm him completely. It was as if they were pushing him out to sea without a raft, abandoning him in waters so deep and dark that they seemed destined to swallow him whole. The tumultuous waves of that emotional sea were relentless, and any attempt to orient themselves seemed in vain. Lan Qiren was immersed in an abyss where there was no point of reference, no rock on the horizon, only an endless and disturbing void that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Much ado about nothing,” he murmured to himself in a voice that betrayed his attempt to mask his growing anguish. The words were spoken with a conscious effort to appear indifferent, but their meaning sounded empty and devoid of conviction. As he walked away at a hurried pace, his face remained impassive, but his heart beat loudly and irregularly. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer hitting his chest, and a feeling of tightness was crushing him.  

Lan Qiren couldn't understand why this scene troubled him so intensely. It was as if Lan Wangji's smile and Wei Wuxian's happiness had lifted a veil that concealed an unspeakable truth, revealing an abyss that he had tried to hide. The emotions he felt were alien and disturbing, an invisible and inescapable force that seemed ready to overwhelm all his barriers of discipline and control. It was as if a dark, invisible hand was approaching the white ribbon on his forehead, ready to violently tear it away, exposing him to a reality that he had always tried to avoid with every fiber of his being.

Lan Qiren desperately tried to ignore the emotional turmoil engulfing him, trying to maintain control with a determination that bordered on obsession. But any attempt to rationalize his feelings only seemed to amplify the chaos within. The conflict he was experiencing was a devastating internal war, a battle between the desire to preserve a discipline he had always held sacred and the growing recognition that his emotions, so shocking and unacceptable, could no longer be ignored.

The foundations of his existence, built on centuries of rigid self-discipline, seemed to falter under the assault of relentless torment. The sense of control, which for him had been the greatest expression of strength and authority, was becoming an oppressive prison, a prison that was crushing him more and more. The realization that what he had always considered his bastion of strength was now trapping him made him feel as if the walls of his inner fortress were inexorably collapsing, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in a vast, dark abyss of anguish and confusion.

Every effort to maintain control, every attempt to rationalize the emotional turmoil, seemed to fuel his desperation further. The storm he had unleashed within himself was like an implacable hurricane, which threatened to submerge him and drag him into a bottomless abyss. Lan Qiren felt as if he were fighting giant waves in an unknown and stormy sea, without any hope of salvation, forced to face a reality he had always doggedly avoided. 

The next day, Lan Qiren devoted himself to the clan's duties with an intensity and rigidity that bordered on frenzy. Every word he uttered, every gesture he made was filled with palpable tension. The disciples of the clan observed him with growing concern, their looks revealing their apprehension for a behavior that appeared increasingly incongruous. Nobody dared express their disappointment, fearing his explosive and unpredictable reactions.

Every little mistake, every slightest deviation from his expectations, triggered a disproportionate reaction in him, a fury that seemed disconnected from his usual composure. His anger lashed out at every imperfection, turning every transgression into a personal affront to his authority and rigid worldview.

After a particularly tense meeting with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, Lan Qiren took refuge in his room, closing the door with a violent snap, a gesture that betrayed his repressed anger. Lan Xichen's every smile, every sparkle of happiness in their eyes, seemed to be an added torture, an unwelcome reminder of the joy he felt he couldn't achieve.

Lan Qiren lay back on the bed, his face pale and streaked with frustration. His mind was a swirl of confusing and conflicting thoughts. It was as if everything around him was trying to make him feel inadequate, as if he had become a monster who handled every action with a cold and impetuous impetuousness. His existence seemed reduced to a narrow and unfair vision, where he saw only black and white, unable to perceive the nuances and complexities that were hidden beyond his nose.

But, in that flurry of anguish and condemnation, a part of him rebelled. It was as if an inner voice, a part of himself that he couldn't suppress, was screaming at him to stop judging himself in that cruel and self-defeating way. It reminded him that, after all, he was the pillar of discipline and rigidity of the Lan clan, and that it was inevitable that he would have to behave in a distant and controlled manner. That part of him struggled to reaffirm the idea that detachment was a necessity, not a weakness, and that it was his job to maintain order and discipline, even if it meant sacrificing some of his humanity. 

Chapter Text

"I was disappearing in plain sight"

Lan Qiren sat at his desk, his hands stiff as marble, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the worn edges of old clan documents, now saturated with the smell of ink and ancient parchment. The room, surrounded only by the faint light of a few candles, seemed to close in around him, as if the shadows were threatening to swallow him. The silence was absolute, suffocating, as if even the world had been holding its breath, waiting for something terrible.

His gaze, fixed and impenetrable, rested on the sacred texts in front of him, but his mind wandered away, lost in a dark sea of thoughts. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a war drum, while a wave of emotions he couldn't control swirled inside him like a stormy sea. Every breath felt heavy, as if the air was filled with something invisible, something overwhelming and impossible to ignore.

“Why?” he asked himself, but his internal voice found no answer. Every word, every teaching, every rule that he had blindly followed for decades now seemed like just a hollow echo in his mind, devoid of the comfort and security he had always found in them. The images of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, smiling, happy, stood out clearly in front of his closed eyes, as if they had been burned into his memory. Those smiles, so full of life, so contrasting with the rigidity that he had always tried to maintain, hurt him deeply, like a thousand needles that penetrated his heart.

"Why does it bother me so much?" he thought, while a cold and relentless grip gripped his stomach. It was not jealousy, it was not anger. It was something deeper, more primitive, like a wound that had never closed completely, a pain that he had always tried to ignore but which was now coming back to the surface, relentless. 

Lan Qiren forced himself to leaf through the Lan Clan's book of rules, his hands shaking as he desperately searched for a lifeline among those pages that had once been sacred to him.

"Love and respect yourself." The words leapt out at him like the blow of an axe, but their meaning seemed to slip away, leaving him empty and confused. Love yourself? Respect yourself? What was the point of all this, when every fiber of his being had been shaped to serve others, to serve the clan? Years of sacrifices, sacrifices, and for what? To now find ourselves staring at those words as if they were a cruel mockery, a deception woven by who knows what malignant force.  

His hands shook slightly as he continued to read. "Do not harbor doubts and jealousy." How many times had he repeated these words, with a firm and unwavering voice, in the young and hopeful eyes of the disciples? How many times had he used them to justify his actions, to stand as a beacon of righteousness in a chaotic world? Yet now those same words sounded to him like a  mockery.

How could he not have doubts when everything he had built seemed to be crumbling before his eyes? How could he not feel that painful pang, that cold bite of jealousy, when he saw happiness shining in the eyes of those he had always tried to guide? 

Then, the last rule, the one that struck him like a bolt from the blue, tearing apart every illusion he had built: "Do not associate with evil." It was the sacred and inviolable rule he had used as a shield against chaos and corruption. He remembered it with brutal clarity, just as he remembered the 300 lashes inflicted on  Wangji. His voice, firm and severe, resonated in his memories as he pronounced the sentence. The muffled sound of tearing flesh, the blood staining the sacred floor – they were images that tormented him, as if those scars were now his too. 

Lan Wangji had dealt with the punishment as only a Lan could, but that moment had been a direct blow to Lan Qiren's heart. His nephew’s words, “What is evil and what is good? What is black and what is white?” rang in his ears like a perpetual rebuke. He remembered with vivid clarity his own behavior, his impassive face as he sent Lan Wangji into the cold darkness of the cave without a single look of pity. He'd been a coward, he bitterly admitted.

He had been a coward who hid behind his rules like a white veil that wrapped him, protecting him from everyone and everything. But that veil was nothing more than a fragile illusion, a dangerous shelter that hid the truth: he was no better than anyone else. He had been a tormentor, an oppressor, only for fear of losing his grandchildren. And now, those nephews, once so small and shy, had let go of the folds of his robes and gone on their way, leaving him standing there motionless as the world took its course.

“You are a hypocrite,” whispered a voice within him, an ancient demon that seemed to crawl from the depths of the abyss of his soul. "You fell for me, remember?" That voice was an incessant murmur, a sentence that seemed to come from a past that could not be forgotten. Lan Qiren closed his eyes, but could not escape the memories. 

He remembered that person.

Lan Qiren found himself immersed in the chaos of his reflections, his mind tormented by images and memories that he was no longer able to suffocate. In that oppressive silence of his room, the voice of a person from the past echoed like a persistent shadow, an indelible whisper that continued to annoy every corner of his mind. It was the voice of someone who had left a profound imprint, something Lan Qiren had never really faced.

He remembered that voice clearly, a deep and seductive tone that had the power to captivate and subdue him. Every word he uttered had a weight, a resonance that penetrated his bones and wrapped around him like a vice. And the hands, those hands that had known how to be delicate and ferocious, that caressed and hit with the same ease. The lips, whose whispered or spoken words with authority seemed to instill a sort of malevolent elegance, had had a devastating effect on Lan Qiren, a dark charm that had dragged him into an abyss of guilt and shame. 

That sin had never found expiation, never a real amends. Lan Qiren had fallen in love with evil in a way he had never truly recognized, just as his nephew Lan Wangji had, though differently and with another quickness of detachment. Lan Wangji had managed to separate himself from that brief period of darkness in which he had thrown it, and had found peace in the arms of his husband. Lan Qiren, however, had never found an escape route, had never been able to free himself from that fleeting moment which, although it had made his existence more human, had had to be abandoned out of fear and necessity.

That person, and everything he represented, lived only in the whispers of the wind among the bamboo thickets. Every rustle in the leaves, every movement of the wind seemed to carry the voice of that dark past, a constant whisper that haunted him. Lan Qiren felt as if he were surrounded by an inexplicable fog, an invisible doom that he could not escape. The bamboo thickets, once a symbol of quiet and serenity, had become the silent witnesses of his sins, the custodians of a secret that could never be erased.

It was as if the voice, hands, and lips of that cursed past continued to make themselves heard, to remind him of every mistake and every compromise that he had tried to bury. The past manifested itself as an inescapable presence, never truly forgotten, and Lan Qiren was forced to confront his deepest sin, a sin that haunted the bamboo thickets like an eternal curse.

An implacable whisper that seemed to condemn him mercilessly. He was a traitor, a broken man who had failed his own ideals. And now, that invisible fracture in his heart, that crack that he had always tried to hide, was about to explode, tearing him apart from the inside. His discipline, his strength, were nothing more than fragile masks, which were breaking against the implacable reality of a past he could no longer ignore. 

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren was a man adrift, unable to find relief in the growing chaos of his emotions. Every time he encountered a peaceful face or a smile, he felt as if he were hit by an invisible fist, a blow that shattered him into pieces. His days were marked by outbursts of anger, as if his heart had started to burn out of control, and every little thing seemed to fuel that internal fire.

In class, his behavior had become an icy torment: every word he uttered was sharp, every gesture impassive. The disciples noticed the change and walked away, fearing that they would be the next targets of his fury. His instability was evident to everyone, but no one dared to speak, for fear of making the situation worse.

One incident in particular marked a breaking point. It was a quiet afternoon and the clan garden, usually a corner of serenity, was immersed in an almost eerie calm. Lan Qiren strolled along the paths, his step as heavy as the weight of his worries. It was then that he noticed a young disciple bent over a fallen flower, intently touching its petals delicately, with an expression of pure joy and contemplation on his face.

The scene, so innocent and serene, triggered something dark inside him. Without warning, Lan Qiren approached with purposeful steps, his face a mask of repressed fury. He shouted at his disciple, his voice a storm of contempt and pain. He snatched the flower from the young man's shaking hands and, with a violent gesture, threw it to the ground, trampling the petals with his shoe in a cruel display of contempt.

The disciple's eyes were wide with fright, but Lan Qiren didn't stop. He grabbed him by the arm with brutal force and dragged him towards the disciplinary room, ignoring his desperate attempts to resist. His anger seemed to have no limits, and he shouted at some disciples who were nearby to go and call Lan Xichen immediately, ordering him to present himself there without delay.

The brutal action and humiliation inflicted on the young disciple was not just an outburst of anger, but a reflection of how close Lan Qiren was to emotional collapse. The garden, once a symbol of beauty and tranquility, was now witness to a violence that seemed to manifest itself as an externalization of Lan Qiren's inner chaos. His mind, unable to find peace, continued to threaten him with chaos, and all attempts to maintain control were proving futile.

When Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, accompanied by their respective companions, crossed the threshold of the disciplinary room, they were greeted by a scene that seemed to have been torn from a nightmare. The young disciple, kneeling in the center of the room, was held forcefully by two other disciples, whose grip was severe and implacable. The boy's body trembled, not from the beatings that had not yet been inflicted, but from the terror that could be seen in his eyes and from the palpable tension of the situation. The young man's back twitched visibly, a clear sign of his state of agitation. 

Lan Qiren, his disciplinary staff gripped tightly in his hands, advanced and retreated like a caged beast. Every step was an expression of uncontrolled anger, and every cry of disapproval was an electric shock in the heart of the young disciple. “Discipline is everything!” he screamed, his voice booming like thunder. "Your conduct is a disgrace to our clan! You have tainted decorum with your stupidity!"

The tension was palpable and suffocating, and Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, next to him, exchanged worried looks. Lan Xichen stepped forward cautiously, his footsteps heavy as lead, filled with a sense of dread and responsibility. Lan Wangji, with his innate calm, had already pulled out his guqin, ready to intervene if necessary. But the situation was well past the breaking point.

Lan Qiren, sensing Lan Xichen's step, turned her head and stared at him with a cold expression. “You finally arrive, Lan Xichen!” His voice was sharp, a poisonous venom that filled the air. "You're always late! Always wasting time while I struggle to keep the clan going! You're a slacker, an incompetent!"

Lan Xichen, his face pale and his gaze full of anguish, took a step further, but the weight of the accusations oppressed him like a vice. Lan Wangji, next to him, was a bastion of silence, ready to spring if necessary.

Lan Qiren, blinded by his frustration, threw the disciplinary staff to the ground with a clatter that echoed in the room. His hands were shaking as he approached the kneeling disciple, whose face was now pale and terrified. His hands were trembling, and his face was lined with visceral anger. As he approached the disciple, he looked at him with disdain. "And you, foolish young man!" he screamed, his face contorted in a mask of anger and contempt. "Did you really think that your petty behavior could go unnoticed? You ruined everything with your stupid innocence!" 

The boy, his eyes filled with tears and fear, could do nothing but tremble and hope the storm would pass. Lan Qiren, meanwhile, couldn't stop. “You, Lan Xichen, and you, Lan Wangji!” he kept screaming, his voice full of resentment. "You are always too busy enjoying your comfort while I fought to maintain order! You are failures, incapable of facing the truth!"

Lan Xichen's face grew paler and paler, while Lan Wangji, with an unsettling calm, observed the scene without making a movement. Lan Qiren, caught up in his uncontrollable fury, approached Lan Xichen, grabbed his arm with unexpected strength. "You're the real one responsible!" he shouted, his voice trembling and broken with anger. "You're the one who allowed my effort to be in vain! You're all failures! You can't even maintain a modicum of order!"

But then, things changed. Lan Qiren's fury seemed to dissipate like fog in the sun, giving way to excruciating pain and unstoppable anguish. With a snap of awareness, he let go of Xichen's arm and stepped back, his gaze fixed on the ground as he walked away from the scene.

Looking at his nephews, Lan Qiren saw their palpable fear. The young men were huddled together, surrounded by their comrades, as if they could find protection in each other. The looks of terror on their faces were a stark reflection of the chaos he had unleashed. Her tears began to flow unstoppably, streaming down her face with immeasurable sadness.

His conscience, like a wave of shame, overwhelmed him completely. "Look what you've done, Qiren," an inner voice whispered, filled with remorse and desperation. "Look how terrified your grandchildren and your disciples are. They are afraid of you. You have become a monster, Qiren."

Lan Qiren's voice dropped to a broken whisper, wracked with pain and shame. "I'm the real culprit," he admitted, his voice cracking and shaking. "I dedicated my whole life to these damned rules, to maintaining the clan with terror and discipline, but I only destroyed everything! I failed as an uncle, as a leader, as a man!"

The tears fell incessantly, like a torrent that shows no sign of stopping. Lan Qiren's face, once so imperious and severe, was now lined with a myriad of shiny furrows, the signs of his unbridgeable anguish. His eyes, which had seen so much pain and imposed so much severity, were now defeated, filled with a sadness that he could no longer contain.

With a muffled groan, Lan Qiren collapsed to the ground. The movement was abrupt and uncontrollable, like a tree blown down by the wind, and the ground offered no comfort. His fall was accompanied by a loud thud, his heavy body hitting the floor with an impact that seemed to amplify his inner devastation.

Once on the ground, his body began to tremble violently. The sobs that shook him were deep and shocking, as if every breath was torn by an invisible wound. Each convulsion seemed to tear away a fragment of his spirit, his body swaying in a disordered rhythm that spoke of pain too great to contain.

Lan Qiren's hands balled into fists on the floor, nerves taut like violin strings, and his fingers writhed in a desperate attempt to grasp something, to hold onto at least a glimmer of control. The tears continued to flow, some accumulated in his now unkempt beard, others mixing with the sweat and trembling of his body. 

"I'm not better than anyone, I'm just a hypocrite," he sobbed through tears, the tone of his voice broken and fragmented by his spasmodic sobs. “But I am just a coward, a broken man!” Every word was a blow of pain, an attempt to express a shame that had no adequate words. The hard floor seemed to amplify every single movement, every tremor that coursed through his body. Lan Qiren, now bent in a humiliating and painful position, was wrapped in a grip of despair, unable to get up, unable to escape the demons that tormented him.  With his breathing labored and his mind in the grip of a storm of tumultuous emotions, Lan Qiren was now reduced to a broken figure, his heart and soul shattered. The crying and the pain had reduced him to a fragment of what he had been, and his shame finally forced him to flee the room. He stood up with a convulsive jump, without looking back, and rushed towards the door. His hasty rush left behind a room immersed in an embarrassed and confused silence, while disciples and family members remained paralyzed, unable to understand the depth of the collapse that had overwhelmed Lan Qiren. 

Lan Qiren ran as if the entire world was collapsing on him. His breathing became more and more labored, his heart hammered furiously in his chest, as if he wanted to break through his rib cage to free himself from the pain that suffocated him. He ran aimlessly, driven only by the desperate need to get away, to escape from what he had done and from what he had become. The darkness of the night surrounded him, making everything indistinct and threatening. The tree branches scratched his tunic, tearing it in several places, and the shadows seemed to reach out towards him, like hands ready to grab him.

Eventually, his legs gave out, unable to bear the weight of his desperation. He found himself in a clearing, kneeling on the cold, moist ground. His body, trembling and sweaty, was bent over as he tried to catch his breath. Every breath was a struggle, an attempt to escape the panic that was eating away at him from the inside. His heartbeat was going crazy, a drum beating in his head, confusing him and making him spin. 

As he desperately tried to regain control, the sound of footsteps among the leaves broke the silence. They were heavy and determined steps, and the crackling of trampled leaves grew closer and closer, enveloping him in a growing sense of anguish. Lan Qiren felt his blood run cold in his veins, a cold that penetrated his bones. For the first time in his life, he felt such pure, visceral terror, a paralyzing fear. The idea that he could die there, alone and abandoned in that dark, unknown clearing, gripped him like a claw.

Dark thoughts entered his mind: What if someone had kidnapped him? What if they had asked his sect for a ransom? Terror enveloped him, but what consumed him even more was the fear that his nephews might prefer him in a coffin rather than pay for a man they now considered a monster.

"A horrible, mean uncle... a useless teacher..." he muttered bitterly to himself, as the footsteps got closer and closer. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his breathing was becoming short and labored. Lan Qiren struggled to get up, determined to fight even as his strength was failing him and his qi was boiling in his veins. If he had to die there, he would do it fighting, with the last spark of dignity he had left.

Suddenly, a hand emerged from the leaves of a shrub. Lan Qiren, now consumed by desperation and terror, shouted in a hoarse and broken voice: "If you want to kill me, do it now!" His cry, full of anguish and defiance, broke in the silence of the night, like a distant echo.

The figure advanced slowly from the bushes, and Lan Qiren held his breath, preparing for the worst. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to fight for his life, but when he saw who was standing in front of him, all his defenses dissolved. He wasn't a killer, nor a kidnapper. It was a young woman, dressed in simple peasant clothing. Her hair, gathered in a ponytail, was held back by a pale pink ribbon, the ends of which fell softly over her shoulders. In his arms, he held a basket, but what caught Lan Qiren's attention were his eyes: large, wide, filled with innocence and fear, similar to those of a frightened deer.

That image, so simple and pure, hit Lan Qiren in the heart, like a fatal blow. All the strength he had left, the last spark of resistance, was gone in an instant. The world around him seemed to waver, and the ground beneath his feet became uncertain. With no energy left to fight back, he collapsed to the ground, his face pressed against the cold, damp earth. The darkness around him grew denser, enveloping him in a heavy and inescapable embrace, as his consciousness dissolved, leaving him at the mercy of nothingness. 

Chapter Text

Night had now fallen, enveloping the clearing in a blanket of darkness that seemed to almost swallow everything. The sky above was a mirror of distant stars, while the ground, damp and cold, seemed to absorb what little heat was left. The silence was interrupted only by the distant call of an owl and the gentle rustle of leaves moving in a light wind. Lan Qiren lay sprawled on the ground, his robe torn and stained with mud and leaves. His body was stiff and without strength, and his slow, labored breathing almost seemed to disappear into the silence of the night. His face, pale and lined, expressed a deep pain and a tiredness that seemed unbearable.

The young woman, who had witnessed the scene with increasing fear, approached with a hesitant step. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, overwhelmed by fear and worry. Although she didn't know the man, her sense of humanity didn't allow her to leave him there, alone and in difficulty. She bent down next to him, her hands shaking as she tried to gently shake him. “Sir…can you hear me?” Her voice, a faint whisper, trailed off into the darkness.

Lan Qiren didn't answer. His eyes were closed and his face, marked by fatigue and pain, betrayed no sign of awareness. The woman, realizing that she couldn't simply abandon him, decided to take action. With a superhuman effort, he managed to lift the man's body, placing an arm around his slender shoulders. The responsibility she felt was overwhelming, but the empathy and desire to help prevailed.

With slow, uncertain steps, he began to drag Lan Qiren towards the house. Every step felt like a feat, and his breathing was labored, but despite the fatigue and pain, he didn't stop. The small house, hidden among the hills, seemed far away and unreachable, but the thought of bringing the man to safety gave her the strength to continue.

The journey through the darkness was grueling. The young woman moved with determination, the man's weight and her own weakness making each movement a battle. The cold of the night and the humidity of the ground seemed to have no end, but the girl moved forward, driven by an inner strength that she didn't know she possessed, and by a compassion that guided her towards a goal. 

When he finally reached his home, the sky was still shrouded in darkness, but a faint glow on the horizon signaled the arrival of dawn. The girl pushed the door open with her foot, letting the semi-conscious man enter the modest home. He carefully laid him on a mattress placed on the floor, covering him with a warm blanket. Lan Qiren's face, relaxed and no longer a trace of the strength and authority that characterize him, was pale and marked by deep dark circles under his eyes.

The young woman crouches next to him, watching his breathing become more regular for a moment. She was exhausted, but the relief of knowing the man was safe comforted her.

The light of dawn penetrated timidly through the windows of the small house, casting a golden glow on the wooden walls and enveloping Lan Qiren's figure in a warm embrace of light. The first rays of the sun melted the cold of the night that had just passed, bringing a sense of calm and rebirth.

The young woman, who had been awake for hours, sat beside Lan Qiren's makeshift bed. He observed the sleeping man with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Who was this man, so burdened by despair? What had brought him to such a distressing state? With an attentive gaze, he noticed for the first time the signs of a life dedicated to discipline and sacrifice: the calloused hands, the deep wrinkles and the wear of a tunic which, although torn and dirty, spoke of a past of prestige and respect.

Lan Qiren began to move slowly, as if he were emerging from a tormented dream. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the wooden ceiling above him. For an instant, disorientation enveloped him. His confused mind tried to orient himself and understand where he was. The memory of the previous night returned forcefully, and terror gripped him again. He tried to get up quickly, but his body, still weak and suffering, did not respond to his commands.

"Please don't push yourself too hard," the young woman said in a gentle, reassuring voice. Her hand rested gently on Lan Qiren's arm, like a comforting touch. “You're safe here.”

Lan Qiren stopped, his breathing still labored and his strength seemingly abandoning him. His eyes, still clouded with confusion and tiredness, finally fell on her. The young woman, her face illuminated by a sweet and warm light, looked at him with an expression of sincere concern and kindness. The empathetic attitude and the sincere smile that framed her lips aroused in Lan Qiren a profound and long-unknown emotion: gratitude.

“Where…where am I?” he asked hoarsely, the tone marked by the dryness of his throat and his mind shrouded in a fog of confusion.

"You're at my house," the woman responded, with a smile that expressed a reassuring calm. "I found you in the clearing last night and brought you here. You seem… in distress."

Lan Qiren looked down, a look of embarrassment and shame coming across his face. The memory of how he had collapsed in the clearing, terrified and vulnerable, hit him forcefully. The weight of that moment crushed him, and his dignity seemed to vanish in those fragments of memory. But there was something in the way the woman looked at him, a sort of compassion without judgment, that helped him calm down and put his thoughts back in order.

"Thank you... for what you did," he managed to say finally, the words barely coming out. He wasn't used to showing himself so vulnerable, nor to receiving help from anyone, especially a stranger.

The young woman nodded in silence, her soft and sincere gaze remained fixed on him, as if she wanted to scrutinize and understand the soul of that mysterious man that destiny had brought before her.

After a moment of reflection, Mei rose and returned with a bowl of fresh water. She offered it to Lan Qiren with firm, steady hands, her expression warm and encouraging. "Drink," she said gently. "It will make you feel better."

Lan Qiren took the bowl with trembling hands, his fingers pale and sore. He drank slowly, taking small sips, feeling the cool water alleviate the dryness of his throat and calm, at least in part, the agitation that had accompanied him. Every sip seemed to bring a bit of relief, as if the water could soothe not only the body, but also the restless mind.

She remained silent after he drank, holding the bowl in his hands as if it were a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.

"What are your names?" Mei finally asked, breaking the silence that enveloped them with a sincere curiosity and a tone of kindness.

Lan Qiren paused. His name, respected and feared within his sect, seemed out of place in that simple and welcoming context. He felt the weight of that name like a burden that was difficult to abandon. But he knew there was no sense in hiding. "My name is Lan Qiren," he replied in a low voice, almost afraid of the reaction his name might evoke.

The young woman considered for a moment, then nodded. "I'm Mei," she said in a calm, friendly tone. There was no trace of recognition in his gaze, only genuine, selfless kindness.

That name, so simple and common, resonated in Lan Qiren as an echo of normality and humanity. For the first time in many years, he felt like an ordinary man, stripped of the weight of his title and his responsibilities. He was only Lan Qiren, a wounded and tired man, welcomed by a stranger who saw in him neither the rigid teacher nor the intransigent uncle, but simply a soul in difficulty, deserving of compassion and care.

The silence that filled the room was delicately interrupted by Mei's gentle movements. With the grace of someone used to living among the simplest things, she arranged the scattered objects, rearranging the room with an almost meditative attention. Every now and then, the sound of water flowing from a jug or the rustle of folded fabric filled the quiet air, creating a background of peaceful everyday life.

Lan Qiren, resting on the makeshift bed, watched all this in silence. His mind was still shrouded in a fog of confusion and disorientation, a remnant of the emotional and physical turmoil of last night. He sank back into the pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. An unexpected feeling of relief washed over him, as if he had briefly found refuge from the darkness that had haunted him.

As time passed, he began to feel the weight of his tiredness lessen, replaced by an almost unexpected sensation of lightness. It was as if Mei's simple presence, and the modest but welcoming atmosphere of the house, had begun to melt the cold that had wrapped his heart. In a corner of his soul, where pain and shame had reigned, a sense of peace was gaining ground.

“Do you feel better?” Mei asked, breaking the silence with a soft and calm voice. There was a note of genuine concern in his tone, but his presence remained discreet and respectful.

Lan Qiren slowly nodded, still unable to articulate complex thoughts. "Yes, thank you. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you," he replied in a soft voice, his gaze lowered as if the weight of his gratitude was too great to express in words. Her voice trembled slightly, and the sense of vulnerability she felt was palpable.

“There's no need to repay,” Mei said with a gentle smile, which lit up her face in a warm and sincere way as she continued to arrange some blankets. “Anybody would have done the same.”

Lan Qiren looked at Mei with a look of veiled incredulity. She deeply doubted those words. The world he knew was a place of rigor and discipline, often lacking the unconditional compassion that Mei seemed to embody. For him, Mei's kindness and welcome represented an exception to the rigid judgment he had always known.

And yet, that young woman, with her simplicity and warmth, seemed to belong to a completely different reality, a reality that Lan Qiren had never had the chance to know. Amidst her anguish and the weight of her past experiences, she was starting to sense the possibility of pure, selfless kindness, something deeply unexpected but surprisingly comforting. 

Lan Qiren, his mind still immersed in the fog of confusion, decided to ask a question that had been burning on his lips since the moment he woke up. "How come you were in the clearing so late?"

Mei stopped for a moment, as if that question had taken her by surprise. Then, resuming his work calmly, he replied naturally. "I was returning from my grandmother's house. She lives on the other side of the forest, and I visit her often. Last night, however, I lost track of time and found myself walking in the dark. When I saw you, I couldn't just move on."

Mei's words were simple and direct, but they deeply affected Lan Qiren. He couldn't imagine anyone, especially a young woman like her, risking their safety to help a stranger. There was a sincerity and purity in his words that seemed to come from a world unknown to him, a world he had long forgotten.

"You must be a very courageous person," Lan Qiren murmured, more to himself than to her.

Mei burst into a light, almost embarrassed laugh. “I'm not at all. In fact, I was scared to death. But there was something about your appearance, your desperation… that made me realize you needed help. I couldn't just ignore it.”

Lan Qiren remained silent, considering those words deeply. His life, rigidly pigeonholed into the rules and duties of the clan, had made him blind to everything that existed outside those boundaries. He had lost the ability to recognize goodness in others and to understand the importance of empathy. Mei, with her simple and genuine presence, was offering him an insight into a way of life that he had never even considered.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, bringing with it a brighter light, Lan Qiren felt a small spark of hope ignite in his heart. Maybe, far from the rigid impositions of his clan, there was still a part of himself that could be discovered and healed. A part that needed to heal, not just for its own sake, but for those it had hurt.

The thought scared him, but at the same time it attracted him, like a promise of redemption that he didn't know he wanted until that moment.

"You saved a life last night," he finally said, in a whisper.

Lan Qiren moved slowly, trying to move his aching, numb body. His arms trembled with fatigue as he attempted to stand, but his body, still weak from exhaustion, refused to cooperate. With a frustrated sigh, he tried to lean against the wall, but the pain shooting through his back made him lose his balance, causing him to fall heavily onto the futon.

Seeing his effort in vain, Mei quickly approached, her expression filled with worry. "Wait, let me help you," she said in a gentle voice, placing delicate hands on Lan Qiren's shoulders. With surprising strength for her small frame, she helped him sit up, carefully stabilizing him. Lan Qiren, embarrassed by his weakness, tried to hide the blush coloring his cheeks. "Thanks," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Mei smiled sweetly, giving a little nod. "You don't have to thank me," he answered casually. Then his eyes fell on Lan Qiren's tattered robe, and a look of slight concern crossed his face. "Your dress... is ruined. If you want, I can take it to the village seamstress. She is very good at mending certain embroideries and tears."

Lan Qiren looked at the robe, noticing for the first time the tears and stains marring its appearance. A small sense of unease passed through him, but he forced himself to smile weakly. "It's not necessary, really," he began to say, but Mei interrupted him.

“Don't worry, the village seamstress is very good,” he said, blushing slightly as he spoke. "He may not have the same quality silk, but he will do his best. He is very good at his work." As he spoke, his gaze dropped slightly, as if he were embarrassed by his offer.

Lan Qiren looked at the sincerity in his eyes and couldn't help but feel touched by that thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice softer, almost affectionate. "I really appreciate your help."

Mei nodded with a small smile, but before she could say anything else, the door opened, revealing a well-built man with a lively expression on his face. He wore simple but clean clothes, and his eyes were witty and curious. He approached the futon where Lan Qiren sat, wasting no time. "So, you found another 'stray cat' to save, Mei?" said the man with a hearty laugh, turning to Lan Qiren with a look that mixed irony and interest. Lan Qiren tensed for a moment, ready to respond to the provocation, but before he could open his mouth, Mei patted his arm. “Liang!” She scolded softly, crossing her arms. "If it were up to you, you would have left him there, dying in the clearing!" Liang laughed again, this time with a touch of fondness in his voice. "Maybe you're right," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders in a playful gesture. “But luckily, fate decided otherwise.”

Lan Qiren, initially confused by the interaction between the two, relaxed slightly, realizing that there was a long-standing connection between them. Liang bent down next to him, starting to check his pulse with practiced movements. "Now let's see how this qi is," Liang said, his tone shifting from playful to professional in an instant.

While Liang performed the check-up, Lan Qiren remained silent, letting the doctor do his work. The touch of Liang's fingers was light but sure, and Lan Qiren felt, against all odds, reassured. Liang sighed lightly, as if he had found exactly what he expected. “Your qi is in disarray,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact. “But it's nothing that can't be fixed with a little rest and proper treatment.” Liang looked him in the eye, and at that moment his expression became more serious. "You're lucky to have met Mei," he added, his tone now void of irony. "Not everyone would have offered help so promptly." Lan Qiren nodded, grateful for the help he received, but also acutely aware that his meeting with Mei and Liang was a stroke of luck he never imagined. He felt a wave of gratitude rise within him, and as he watched Mei look at him with concern, he realized that perhaps, for the first time in a long time, he could allow himself to accept help from others. 

Mei approached again, placing a light hand on Lan Qiren's shoulder. "Liang will stay here for a while to make sure you are okay, give you Qi infusion." he said gently. “And I’ll take your robe to the seamstress. I’ll be back soon.”

Lan Qiren watched her walk away, taking her ruined robe with her. When the door closed behind her, Lan Qiren found himself in that small room again, but this time with a different feeling: that of no longer being completely alone.

In the heart of the cozy cottage, the scent of fresh herbs and boiling herbal teas mixed with the warmth of the crackling fire. Liang moved deftly around the kitchen, a wooden ladle in hand as he stirred a concoction of herbs and roots simmering in a pot. Every now and then, he stopped to stir the mixture and check the fire under the pan, his eyes scanning the interior of the kitchen and focusing on Lan Qiren, leaning with his back against the cushions, visibly uncomfortable.

Lan Qiren watched the scene around him carefully. The walls were adorned with bunches of dried herbs, hung carefully from thin ropes. Every leaf and petal seemed to tell a story of care and dedication. Liang, in his simple but clean outfit, moved with precision, almost as if his body was a part of the preparation ritual.

Lan Qiren felt vulnerable under Liang's watchful gaze, as he moved through his tasks with natural grace. The tension between them was palpable, and Lan Qiren, in his unease, sought to break the oppressive silence.

"Liang," he began hesitantly, "can you... tell me something about Mei? And your relationship?" The question had barely left his lips, as if the simple act of asking was an additional burden to his already tumultuous state of mind. 

Liang, smirking amusedly, looked at him for a moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Oh Mei... and my lover," he replied in a tone that betrayed slight irony. Lan Qiren's face paled, his eyes wide in surprise. Liang's reaction was immediate: he burst into hearty laughter, the cheerful sound filling the room and contrasting sharply with the tense atmosphere that preceded it.

“I was kidding, man!” Liang exclaimed, trying to calm himself down as the laughter died down. “Mei is like a sister to me. I'm happily married to a man.” His voice had a sincere and reassuring tone, and Lan Qiren, seeing the genuineness in Liang's expression, relaxed slightly, although the blush in his cheeks had not yet completely faded.

Liang approached the fire and lifted the pot with a ladle, pouring the brew into a cup. "Don't worry, Mei and I have known each other for a long time," Liang continued, his tone now softer and more reassuring. “She's like a little sister, and there's nothing more than that.”

Lan Qiren watched the cup that was handed to him, the steam rising from the hot, fragrant brew. "Thank you," he murmured, accepting the cup with trembling hands. "I truly appreciate your help."

Liang nodded, his face lifting in an understanding smile. "Drink this," he said, gesturing to the cup gently. "It will help restore your qi and make you feel better. I recommend you rest and don't think too much about what happened." Lan Qiren nodded slightly, grateful but still confused by the circumstances that had brought him here. "I don't know how I can thank you for all of this," he said finally, his voice shaking with emotion.

Liang smiled, shaking his head. "There's no need to thank us. Here, helping others is a natural thing. But if you really want to do it, you can start by getting healthy." He paused, letting the words sink in. “And maybe next time you decide to take a walk in the woods, try not to get lost,” he added with a light joke, trying to ease the tension.

Lan Qiren, despite everything, managed to let a faint smile slip across his lips. Maybe, he thought, this was the first step toward a new understanding of himself and the world around him. But for now, all he could do was rest and allow her body and spirit to heal, one sip of brew at a time. 

Chapter Text

Time passed and, with the change of seasons, Lan Qiren also underwent profound transformations. Life in the village, simple and genuine, started to penetrate his defenses and reveal a new vision of the world. The old rigors and norms imposed by his previous life seemed to dissolve, while the freshness of a different reality enveloped him.

Every day, the village offered Lan Qiren a sight of beauty and simplicity. The inhabitants' laughter, even when marked by tiredness, filled the air with a contagious joy. Informal conversations and lighthearted banter, which he would previously have considered frivolous, now seemed like a lively melody that filled his existence with new colors and sounds.

The village children, initially shy and cautious towards him, now considered him part of their everyday life. They were constantly on the move, dragging him into their instantly invented games. They prodded him with curious questions and involved him in imaginative adventures, making him part of a world that was far from the rigid structures he was accustomed to. Every child's laugh, every smile shared, was like a ray of sunshine that warmed his heart and helped him discover the beauty of little things.

Lan Qiren observed this world with new eyes, as if he had spent his entire life looking through an opaque window, and now he had finally opened the door to a vivid, tangible reality. His inner rigidity, once implacable and imperturbable, began to give way when faced with the genuineness of the emotions and human bonds that the village offered him. Every moment of spontaneity and simplicity revealed to him a dimension of life he had never really known, making him feel part of something bigger and more authentic.

The serenity of the village and the growing affection of the inhabitants had begun to undermine the armor of rigidity that he had worn for years. Lan Qiren noticed that every laugh, every smile, and every little daily interaction was transforming him, leading him to discover a new meaning in his existence, made of connection and human warmth. It was as if his time in the village was giving him a second chance to experience and appreciate life in a way he never imagined possible. But it was Mei's presence that most captured his attention and heart.

Every time his eyes met Mei's, large and full of warmth, Lan Qiren felt an unexpected reaction within himself. Those eyes lit up with sincere sweetness every time Mei smiled at him or looked at him affectionately. It was as if Mei's kindness and brightness had the power to melt the barriers Lan Qiren had built around her heart.

The village elders had revealed that Mei, at the age of 26, had rejected all offers of marriage and courtship, maintaining an independence that Lan Qiren found admirable and intriguing. This independence, which Mei had chosen with determination, deeply affected him and made him reflect on his own life choices. 

One time, Mei had decided to teach him how to cook. Lan Qiren, despite his determination, had found himself in difficulty with the rice grains, which were scattered everywhere in the kitchen. He was flushed with shame, embarrassed by his clumsiness. Mei, with a playful smile, had solved the situation with disarming ease. She laughed heartily and removed the grains of rice from his face with an affectionate and natural gesture. At that moment, Lan Qiren felt his heart beating faster, as if he had been shaken by a wave of unexpected emotions.

He couldn't fully understand what had happened inside him, but there was something profoundly wrong, yet irresistible, in that sensation. Every time Mei smiled at him or touched him with that gentle gesture, Lan Qiren found himself reflecting on what he was feeling. He told himself that it was wrong, that he couldn't allow himself to feel like this, but he couldn't understand why. The feeling that enveloped him was so new and confusing, but also so powerful and compelling, that he couldn't help but wonder what it really meant.

Lan Qiren was starting to realize that his feelings for Mei were becoming more than simple admiration. It was as if Mei's warmth and kindness had awakened in him a desire for connection and affection that he had never known. Despite his internal conflict, he couldn't deny that whenever Mei was around, he felt a joy and peace that seemed to escape him from all the time spent in the rigidity and discipline of his past.

In that moment of reflection, Lan Qiren found herself caught between the desire to embrace these new feelings and the fear of breaking the barriers she had erected to protect her heart. Mei's simple, heartfelt presence had begun to write a new story in Lan Qiren's heart, one that pushed him to explore emotions he had buried for years under layers of rigidity and control.

One evening, as the twilight spread like a blanket of gold across the windows of Mei's house, Lan Qiren stood in front of a brass mirror in her room. The reflection before him was that of a man who had lived many lives in one, but who now felt as if he was about to embark on a completely new journey. With a mixture of resolve and uncertainty, he took a sharp blade and, with slightly trembling hands, began to cut the goatee that had been part of his identity for years.

"Damn, i looked that old?" he murmured to himself, as each tuft of beard fell to the ground like a memory of the past. "I'm not that old..." he kept repeating to himself, almost as if convincing himself that time hadn't really transformed him as he feared.

But as he looked at himself in the small mirror, now with his face uncovered, Lan Qiren noticed something that made him startle. His forehead, once adorned with the white ribbon symbolizing his authority and discipline, was now bare. The lack of that simple accessory seemed to be a greater void than he could have ever imagined. It was as if, along with the tape, a part of him had also gone, the part that had always maintained control, that had held his ordered and structured world together.

His heart started to beat faster, and a sense of panic enveloped him. Who was him now? The man in the mirror no longer looked the same, and with the loss of those familiar symbols, he felt as if he were losing himself too. A wave of confusion and uncertainty washed over him, making his hands tremble as the razor fell to the floor with a clatter.

Suddenly, a deep pain that had been buried under layers of discipline and control for years emerged like a flood. It wasn't just the physical change that troubled him, but the realization that everything he had known, everything he had believed in, was slipping away, leaving him alone with his fears and insecurities. He couldn't hold back a strangled sob, and the tears he'd held back for so long began to flow.

Mei, who was in the next room, heard the sound of the blade falling and muffled sobs from Lan Qiren's room. Worried, she dropped what she was doing and ran over to him. Opening the door, she found him sitting, with his face buried in his hands, shaken by tears that consumed him from the inside. Without hesitation, she approached him and wrapped him in a warm, protective embrace, holding him tightly against her.

"It's okay... it's okay..." Mei whispered, trying to convey comfort to him with her presence. Her heart broke as she saw the man who had always appeared so strong and resolute, now reduced to a pile of pain and confusion. "I am here, Qiren. You are not alone."

But Lan Qiren, unaccustomed to such intimacy and vulnerability, instinctively responded in his old way. He stiffened under Mei's touch, his body twitching as if to push her away. His mind, still trapped in old habits and fears, pushed him to reject the comfort he didn't know how to accept. Without thinking, he pulled back, pulling away from her with a sharp gesture. "Don't…don't touch me!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion and the shame of being seen in that moment of weakness. "I don't need your mercy!"

Mei paused, surprised and hurt by his words, but didn't move. Her eyes, always so soft and kind, looked at him with deep concern and tears. "It's not pity, Lan Qiren," she replied softly. "It's worry... it's affection. I know you're going through a hard time, but you don't have to go through it alone. You don't have to be strong all the time."

His words, so sincere and full of compassion, broke through Lan Qiren's defenses, but the fear and confusion were still too strong. Without saying anything else, he stood up suddenly, his heart still pounding, and walked away, leaving Mei behind him as he headed towards the outside of the house, seeking air and space to reorganize the thoughts that were suffocating him.

Mei stood there, heart heavy, watching the open door. He knew Lan Qiren was struggling with something big, something that required time and patience. With a sigh, he sat back, hoping that, in time, he would be able to see that he was not alone in this battle against his inner demons. 

Lan Qiren left Mei's house, his heart heavy and his mind in turmoil. The evening wind ruffled his hair as he headed towards the usual wooden bench, the one he often occupied to watch Mei as she arranged the garden. It was a quiet place, a refuge that offered him a moment of peace in the midst of the confusion that now inhabited his heart.

He sat down slowly, letting the cold wood of the bench absorb his weight and exhaustion. In front of him, Mei's garden stretched out like a little corner of paradise, with flowers and plants dancing lightly in the evening wind. The smell of lavender, sweet and soothing, wafted through the air, but instead of giving him comfort, it made him cry even harder. It was as if that familiar aroma had shattered the last barrier he had erected to hold back the pain.

Tears ran down his cheeks, with no way to stop them. He wondered if his nephews, the boys he had raised with so much love and rigor, would ever do for him what Mei had done that evening. Would they have comforted him? Would they be there for him, in such a moment of weakness? Or would they just see his suffering as a sign of weakness, a betrayal of all he had taught them? 

The thought of his nephews made him sob harder. Wangji and Xichen were his life, his pride, his responsibility. No it was the nephews he had watched grow up that he had hurt. But now, as he sat there, he wondered if they had ever thought about looking for him, if they had worried that he was missing, if they were looking for him. He wondered if they missed him as much as he missed them. The desire to see them again, to know that they were okay, was overwhelming, and yet, at the same time, he was afraid of returning to that world that seemed so far away and different from the one he was learning to know.

Every fiber of his being wanted to believe that his grandchildren had held in their hearts the same affection he felt for them. But the doubt, that terrible insecurity that had tormented him throughout his life, insinuated the thought that perhaps he had disappointed them, that his way of being had irremediably distanced them. Lan Qiren covered his face with his hands, trying to stifle his sobs, but the pain within him was too great, too deep.

"I miss you... I miss you so much," he murmured through tears, his heart breaking. He knew he couldn't go back in time, that he couldn't change the past, but in that moment all he wanted was a hug from those kids he loved and raised. He hoped, with all his being, that they were worried about him, that they hadn't forgotten him, that they missed him like he missed them. 

Lan Qiren knew, however, that before he could give himself that much desired embrace, before he could feel the warmth and affection of his grandchildren again, he would have to change. It wasn't enough to simply desire that bond; he needed to become a better man, an uncle who deserved that love and concern. His sobs grew quieter as the realization of what he had to do took root within him.

He knew the journey would be difficult. He had lived much of his life following strict rules, hiding his feelings behind a mask of discipline and authority. Now, however, he found himself faced with the need to break down those walls, to show vulnerability, and to open up to the affection that surrounded him. He had to prove to himself, and to those he loved, that he could be more than he had been up until that moment.

Watching the darkening sky above him, Lan Qiren wiped away his tears with his sleeve, trying to calm the trembling of his hands. The scent of lavender seemed to remind him that there was still beauty and hope, even amidst the pain. His mind went back to the smiles of the village children, to Mei's contagious laughter, and to the affection that, despite everything, he had begun to feel in that simple and peaceful place.

“I have to change,” he whispered to himself, his voice cracking but firm. "I need to be a man they can be proud of."

With this thought, Lan Qiren felt a new sense of determination grow within him. It wouldn't be easy, but he was ready to face that journey. Only then, perhaps, would he deserve the embrace he wanted so much.

And, perhaps, one day his grandchildren would see in him not only the stern and distant uncle they were used to knowing, but a man who had learned to love and be loved. A man who, in the end, had found his path towards redemption and serenity. 

Chapter Text

As the sun began to stream through the windows of the village, Lan Qiren awoke with a sense of determination pulsing in his heart. The sky was a clear blue, and the melodious singing of birds marked the beginning of a new day. Lan Qiren got up from bed, his body still slightly numb from sleep, but his mind frenetic with excitement and apprehension. Today, change was more than a simple intention: it had become a deep commitment, a desire to rewrite one's history. 

After donning simple, modest clothing, Lan Qiren walked to the mirror. The reflection he saw there was different from what he was accustomed to. The absence of the goatee, which he had hitherto worn as a hallmark of his former authority, was now evident. Even the white ribbon, symbol of his rigidity and discipline, was gone. This absence was not just an external change, but a tangible sign of how distant he was from the past he had embraced for so long.

Watching himself, Lan Qiren felt a tumult of emotions. The surface of her face, now devoid of those signs of severity, also seemed to reflect the internal turmoil she felt. He was a man who had dedicated his life to rules and punishments, but now he found himself facing an unknown and more personal truth. Change was inevitable, but the road to a new version of himself was still uncertain and frightening.

His gaze lingered on the lines of his face, which seemed to tell a story of struggle and transformation. Every little detail of her appearance was now a part of a bigger picture, a symbol of the inner journey she was embarking on. Lan Qiren felt vulnerable and yet deeply hopeful. The past was a veil slowly being torn away, and each day she seemed to bring him closer to a new reality, a less rigid and more human existence.

With a deep breath, Lan Qiren turned his back on the mirror, ready to face the day with a heart open to change. The new life she wished to build was just beginning, and although the path was still uncertain, her determination was unshakable. Today, like every day, she aimed to be better, to welcome change with grace and to continue to achieve the inner peace that she so desired. 

When Lan Qiren emerged from the cottage, the sun was already high in the sky and Mei's garden was shining in the morning light. The colorful flowers seemed to dance in the light wind, and the air was fresh, full of the scents of herbs and petals. 

Mei was bent over the flowers, concentrating on arranging the plants and removing the weeds with skilled and delicate hands. Every movement she made was harmonious and natural, as if she were in perfect harmony with the earth and the plants she tended.

Lan Qiren approached slowly, trying to hide the anxiety she felt inside behind her shy and sincere smile. "Good morning, Mei," she said, her voice warmer and more open than usual, her tone betraying her uncertainty. "Can I help you with anything today?" 

Mei looked up at him and greeted him with a bright smile that seemed to light up not only her face but the entire garden. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and her eyes sparkled with kindness and affection. "Good morning, Qiren. Of course, you could help me with the herbs. We need to pick some mint and rosemary leaves for tonight's brew."

Lan Qiren felt suddenly confused and uncertain. As Mei continued to work, her gaze couldn't tear herself away from the small details surrounding her: Mei's hands moving gracefully among the plants, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that swayed gently with every movement, her fresh scent and natural that seemed to merge with the air of the garden. 

Mei's every gesture, every smile, and every word seem to evoke a sense of calm and welcome that Lan Qiren found deeply disorienting.

The idea of helping her with the aromatic herbs seemed simple, but there was a tumult of emotions in her heart. The feeling of being so close to Mei, of sharing those everyday moments with her, made him feel vulnerable and at the mercy of feelings that he couldn't completely understand. As he bent down to pick the mint and rosemary leaves, the gesture seemed symbolic of a deeper change he was experiencing. The contact with the earth and the plants, as well as Mei's presence, seemed to represent a step towards something new and unknown, but incredibly fascinating. 

While working, Mei engaged him in light, loving conversations. She talked about his plans for the garden, the new plants he wanted to add, and stories of the village. Lan Qiren listened intently, enjoying Mei's companionship and warmth. He noticed every time that his eyes lit up when he looked at him, and he noticed how much he was fascinated by that smile that seemed to emanate a gentle light.

When the work in the garden was complete, Mei prepared a simple but delicious lunch. Lan Qiren helped him set up the table and serve the food. Mei's kitchen was a cozy and lively place, and the two sat at the table, exchanging small talk.

Over lunch, Lan Qiren noticed how skilled Mei was not only in gardening, but also in cooking. Her dishes were rich with flavor and love, and Lan Qiren felt a sense of belonging and gratitude. Every bite seemed loaded with meaning and every word exchanged with Mei seemed to help create something new inside him. As if a part of him was awakening from the torpor of a dream that had lasted years.

In the afternoon, Lan Qiren offered to help Mei prepare a special brew from the collected herbs. The kitchen filled with fresh, fragrant aromas, and Mei patiently explained how to prepare the infusion. Lan Qiren listened intently, trying to learn every detail. The simplicity of the task and Mei's company made him feel at home.

When the work was finished and the house was tidy, Mei proposed taking a walk around the village. Lan Qiren eagerly accepted. Walking together through the streets of the village allowed him to observe the daily life of the inhabitants and to feel part of something bigger. Mei showed him some hidden corners and told local stories, making each step a new discovery.

Evening approached softly, enveloping the village in a warm, golden light. Lan Qiren sat on a wooden bench in the garden, watching silently as Mei moved among the plants, carefully attending to the last activities of the day. The sky, awash in shades of orange and pink, seemed to reflect the warmth that had begun to rise within him.

The air was filled with the scent of lavender, a fragrance that Lan Qiren found strangely comforting. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the aroma envelop him completely. In that moment, a feeling of peace passed through him, as if he had finally found a corner of tranquility in the chaos of his existence. It was a new sensation, almost foreign, yet infinitely comforting.

The world around him seemed to have stopped. The worries, uncertainties and fears that had tormented him seemed distant, as if they had been temporarily put to rest. For the first time since arriving in the village, Lan Qiren felt free to simply be present, without having to carry the burden of his past or worry about the future.

He was strange, this sense of relief. As if for years he had held a weight on his chest, and now, finally, he could breathe. The relief was so intense it almost scared him. What did all this mean? Was this a sign that he was truly changing? That he was finding a new balance in this simple and sincere life?

He opened his eyes and looked at Mei, who was leaning delicately over a mint plant, carefully inspecting the leaves. The way she moved, the gentleness with which she treated each plant, gave him a serenity he had never known before. And as he watched her, Lan Qiren realized that the relief he felt was not just a matter of environment, but also of companionship.

Mei, with her kindness and warmth, had created a safe space for him, a place where he could be vulnerable, where he could let go. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Lan Qiren allowed himself to feel cared for, to be helped. 

The thought struck him with the force of revelation. In the past, he had always been the one who cared for others, enforced rules and offered protection. Now, however, he was the one who was protected, who was welcomed into an embrace that he had never sought, but which he now couldn't imagine losing.

This knowledge made him smile slightly, a smile that came from deep within his heart. He felt the desire to continue on this path, to find out who he could become, to be a better man not only for himself, but also for those around him. 

Mei approached with a cup of hot brew, the steam slowly rising into the evening sky. “This should help you relax after a long day,” she said, her tone soft and full of affection. The smile that accompanied those words was warm, a simple gesture but rich in meaning. Lan Qiren accepted the mug gratefully, feeling the warmth through the ceramic. She raised the cup to her lips and took a sip, savoring the delicate flavor of the tea. It was a familiar taste now, one of the many little pleasures she had come to appreciate in this place.

The silence between them was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that did not require words. Mei sat down next to him, her hands busy with the sewing work she always carried with her. Lan Qiren watched from the corner of her eye, fascinated by the serenity with which she approached each of her tasks. There was a natural grace in her every movement, an attention to detail that he had learned to recognize and respect.

As the daylight slowly died away, giving way to the first shadows of evening, they began to talk. There was no haste in their words; the conversation flowed naturally, as if it was a continuation of a thousand other conversations they'd had before. Mei told stories of her childhood, episodes of life in the village, and dreams she had for the future. Each story was a piece of the puzzle that was her life, and Lan Qiren listened carefully, absorbing every detail.

In turn, Lan Qiren found himself speaking with a freedom that she had never known. He started talking about his grandchildren, how much he missed them and the responsibilities that he had always felt like a second skin on him. He spoke of his fears, of the uncertainty that he had always felt in the face of changes, and of the fear that now gripped him: he could really allow himself to be happy here, with Mei, in this place far from the expectations of his past? 

Mei listened to him attentively, her large, deep eyes following him in every word. There was something extraordinary about the way she listened, as if everything he said was important to her. When he expressed his doubts, she Mei reassured him with simple but meaningful words. “There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, Qiren,” she told him at one point, her calm voice like a balm to his troubled soul. “You have given so much in your life. Now it's only fair that you get something in return.”

Those words hit Lan Qiren deeply. He wasn't used to this kind of comfort, to someone telling him that he deserved to be happy, that he deserved to be loved and accepted for who he was. He realized that his journey of change was not just about becoming a better man, but also about learning to accept that he was worthy of being happy, of finding a place in the world where he could finally feel at home. 

The evening became increasingly darker, but the warmth between them remained intact. When the conversation finally died down, giving way to a silent silence filled with understanding, Lan Qiren felt light, almost as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. He turned to look at Mei, finding in her eyes that same gentle light that had greeted him from the first day.

"Thank you, Mei," he finally said, his voice full of gratitude. There were no other words to express what he felt, but he knew that she understood. And, for once, he didn't feel compelled to explain more.

Mei smiled at him, placing a light hand on top of hers. “I'm glad you're here, Qiren,” she responded simply, and those words were all Lan Qiren needed to hear. 

When the night wraps the village in its blanket of stars, Lan Qiren and Mei went back into the house, leaving behind them the garden illuminated by the soft moonlight. The night air carried with it a fresh scent of flowers and earth, an aroma that seemed to calm Lan Qiren's tired soul. Each step towards the interior of the house was a step towards a new awareness, an acceptance of what had been and what could still be.

Lan Qiren felt different, as if the burden he had carried for so long had lightened, even just a little. The day spent with Mei, the simple moments shared, the laughter and conversations, had lit a spark of hope in him that he didn't think possible. It wasn't just the warmth he felt when he was near her, but also the sense that, perhaps, there was still room for him to grow, to change, and to find a new direction.

Sitting in the dim light of the candles, Lan Qiren realized that the journey he had undertaken was not just about external change, but above all internal change. Mei had become his beacon, a presence that constantly reminded him that the past, however important, did not have to define his future. For the first time in many years, Lan Qiren felt no fear of the unknown. On the contrary, there was a new determination in him, a willingness to face the future with an open heart and a mind ready to welcome what was to come.

As Mei settled in for the night, Lan Qiren watched her gratefully, feeling that, somehow, fate had brought him to that village for a reason. Perhaps he would never have imagined finding serenity and a new perspective in a place so far from his previous life, but now everything seemed possible.

With a final glance at the starry sky outside the window, Lan Qiren closed his eyes, finally feeling a sense of peace. He knew that his journey had only just begun, but for the first time, he wasn't afraid. He would face every challenge, every doubt, with the strength that he was rediscovering inside himself.

And as the night went on, his heart was filled with a new hope, a hope that had Mei's face and the scent of the flowers in their garden.

Chapter Text

The sun had just risen when Lan Qiren awoke, greeted by birdsong and the fresh smell of morning dew. The golden light filtered through the curtains of the small room, enveloping him in a feeling of calm that was not yet entirely familiar to him. Today, however, something inside him was stirring. The day ahead of him would not be easy: teaching the village children to read was a new challenge, a task that filled him with a strange mixture of enthusiasm and apprehension.

While he got ready, Lan Qiren paused for a moment in front of the mirror. The signs of aging were visible, but what caught his attention was the change in his gaze. There was a softness that he didn't recognize, a reflection of the feelings that were slowly creeping into his heart. Feelings that he didn't know how to interpret, especially when they concerned Mei. Every day he spent with her confused him more. Mei was kind, bright, and her presence seemed to warm the cold that Lan Qiren had carried within him for so long.

But could he really afford to have feelings for her? Was it fair? The age difference troubled him, as did his past filled with rigid rules and expectations that had shackled him for years. He wondered if it was right to have such deep affection for a woman so much younger, a woman who, with every kind gesture, reminded him that there was still good in him, something he had never been aware of. These thoughts accompanied him as he left the house, heading towards the small school in the village. 

Teaching had always been a part of Lan Qiren's life, but teaching the disciples of his sect was a very different task than the idea of teaching a group of village children. The prospect left him oddly nervous. He wasn't sure how to approach them, these little innocent souls who knew nothing of the strict rules he had always followed. 

Accustomed to instructing carefully chosen disciples, young people destined for great things, he now found himself faced with a group of children who looked at him curiously, with sticky hands and undisciplined minds.

When Lan Qiren arrived at the village's small school, the children greeted him with curiosity and enthusiasm. Their lively chatter and laughter were a lively contrast to the rigid, ordered world he was accustomed to. Lan Qiren felt a little lost at first, but realized that the children were more frightened by the novelty of having a foreign teacher than by the actual task of reading.  

“Good morning,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, attracting the attention of the little ones. They turned towards him, some with curious expressions, others with expectant smiles. “Today we are going to learn to read.”

His words sounded weird in his mouth. He was no longer in the role of imposing authority, but of an almost paternal figure, who had to convey knowledge in a delicate and affectionate way. A part of him was scared of the idea of not being up to par, of not being able to connect with these pure little hearts.

He began the lesson with simplicity, showing the children the letters on a wooden board and patiently explaining the sounds they represented. But he soon noticed that his usual discipline didn't work with them. The kids were restless, curious about everything around them. They often interrupted him with funny questions or got distracted by something seemingly trivial, like a butterfly fluttering by.

Lan Qiren, however, did not become angry. On the contrary, he felt a feeling of empathy growing inside him that he had never felt before. he saw the same curiosity in them that he once had, when he was a child full of questions about the world. And, perhaps for the first time in his life, she understood that learning did not have to be something rigid and severe, but also joyful and shared.

When one of the children managed to pronounce a word correctly, Lan Qiren's face lit up with a genuine smile, a natural reflection of that new tenderness that he was discovering within himself. "Very well!" she exclaimed, feeling a strange joy coursing through him. The children responded with cheers and laughter, and for a moment, Lan Qiren felt like he was part of something bigger, more human.

With another tentative smile, Lan Qiren then began to read a simple story to the children, trying to bring out his kindest, most welcoming voice. But she couldn't help her hands from trembling slightly as she held the book. Her first words were met with curious glances and a few confused whispers. She tried to show enthusiasm and involvement, but it was evident that her nervousness was reflected in her gestures and in her voice.

“And so, the little rabbit…” he began to read, but was interrupted by the light laughter of a little girl who commented on his attempt to pronounce the words in an overly dramatic way. Lan Qiren blushed, and realized how ridiculous it was to try to be a master and at the same time remain true to his own rigorous nature.

Despite his initial uncertainty, Lan Qiren quickly adapted. The children's laughter and enthusiasm were infectious. He started playing with words, animating the stories with different voices and theatrical gestures. The children, initially sceptical, became involved. The class was filled with laughter and cheerful voices, and Lan Qiren found that he was truly enjoying his time with them.

During class, he noticed Mei watching him from a distance, her gaze soft and full of pride. Every time their eyes met, Lan Qiren felt an irregular pulse in his chest, a mixture of confusion and warmth that he didn't know how to interpret. How could he feel so deeply for someone who looked so different from him? And yet, every time he thought about Mei, that warmth became harder and harder to ignore.

After class, the children ran away, some to their games, some to their parents, leaving Lan Qiren alone with his thoughts. Mei walked over with a smile, holding a small bouquet of flowers that she had just picked from the garden. “You did a wonderful job today,” she said, handing him the flowers. “The children adore you.”

Lan Qiren took the flowers, feeling his hands shaking slightly. He looked into Mei's eyes, trying to figure out what she really felt. His heart was a battleground, between the desire to let go and the fear of taking too big a step. “I don't know if I'm cut out for this,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

Mei smiled and placed a hand on hers, shaking it gently. “You are more than fit, Qiren. You have a kind heart, even if you don't know it."

Her words hit Lan Qiren like a gentle breeze, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. In that hand that held him, she found a security she had never known. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand that the change he so feared was, in fact, the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

When Lan Qiren returned home with Mei, the sun was already low on the horizon, and the sky had turned warm, golden hues. The evening was peaceful, and the cool late afternoon air carried with it the delicate scent of the lavender flowers that Mei had just picked.

Inside the little house, the atmosphere was welcoming. Lan Qiren sat down on a cushion by the fire, while Mei headed towards the kitchen to prepare something light for dinner. The smell of the aromatic herbs she had gathered during the day filled the room, creating a relaxing and familiar environment.

Lan Qiren let himself fall with a sigh of relief. He felt the weight of her worries and anxieties finally lighten, although she knew that the journey to understand her feelings and adapt to him new life was far from over. Watching the fire dance, he reflected on the day that had passed. The children, their laughter, and the ease of teaching them to read had made him see things in a new light. He was no longer just the rigid and authoritarian man he had once been; now there was a part of him that was waking up, a part that found joy in simplicity and human contact.

When Mei returned with a small bowl of hot soup and a few plates of fresh vegetables, Lan Qiren smiled at her, a smile that had grown more natural and less forced. “Thanks, Mei,” he said as she handed him the food. “Not only for dinner, but for everything you do.”

Mei sat down next to him, her face lit by a soft light emanating from the fire. “Stop thanking me, Qiren. It is a pleasure to help you and see you adapt to this new life. Every day, I also learn something new.”

As they ate, Lan Qiren looked at Mei with a look that tried to understand the complexity of her feelings. Every smile, every kind word seemed to amplify that feeling of confusion and warmth he felt in Mei's presence. It wasn't only gratitude; It was something deeper, but also frightening. Her past kept him tied to a self-image that now seemed in conflict with who he was becoming.

During dinner, Mei talked about little daily adventures, chatting with the villagers, and plans for the garden. Lan Qiren listened, fascinated by the passion and joy that Mei brought to each story. It was clear that her life in her village was a refuge of happiness and simplicity for her, and he felt grateful to be part of her, even if in an uncertain way.

When dinner was finished, Mei got up to wash the dishes and Lan Qiren offered to help her. Despite her attempts to help, Lan Qiren's awkward movements and little accidents that happened, like her splashing water out of the bowl, made them both laugh. Those moments of simplicity and spontaneity made him feel comfortable with him, as if he was finding a place to belong.

After dinner, Lan Qiren sat down on the wooden bench in the garden again. The night was calm and the stars began to shine in the sky. Mei joined him shortly after, bringing a blanket for both of them. She sat next to him, wrapped in the blanket, and Lan Qiren felt somehow comforted by her closeness.

“I wonder what the future holds,” Lan Qiren said, breaking the silence. His voice was thoughtful, but also filled with new hope. “I'm afraid of not being up to par, of not being able to find my place in all of this.”

Mei looked at him with an understanding and kind look. “The future is uncertain for all of us,” she answered calmly. “But if we approach each day with an open heart and a mind ready to learn, we will always find our way.”

Lan Qiren nodded slowly, thinking about her words. He was grateful for the wisdom and kindness Mei was providing him. He didn't have all the answers, and his fears weren't gone, but he felt that, day after day, he was making progress. He was learning to know himself better and to let go, accepting that he was no longer just a stern teacher, but also a person capable of empathy and kindness.

As the night wore on and the stars shone above them, Lan Qiren found his life changing in ways he had never imagined. And while the future was uncertain and scary, he felt that with Mei by his side, the road ahead would be a little less arduous and a little brighter.

Chapter Text

The morning appeared like the others, with the sun peeking through the leaves of the trees and the village slowly waking up. Lan Qiren, however, felt weird. The days spent with Mei had become a reassuring routine, but the energy of security and serenity he had begun to discover was now shrouded in a shadow of uncertainty. Maybe it was because he was beginning to recognize how much he had changed and how much more needed to change. Or maybe it was simply because he had begun to realize how much he cared about Mei.

After breakfast that morning, Lan Qiren immediately noticed that something was wrong. Mei moved through the house with the same grace as always, but there was a sadness in her eyes that she couldn't ignore. She wasn't smiling as usual, and even the way she tied her hair up in a ponytail seemed to lack its usual vibrancy. Lan Qiren watched her for a long time, trying to understand what was happening, but all he felt was a growing confusion and feeling of unease.  

“Mei, is everything okay?” he finally asked, in a voice that tried to sound caring, but was still stiff. He had never been a man accustomed to reading other people’s emotions. His life had been marked by rules, duties, and a rigid discipline that left no room for more tender or ambiguous feelings. However, the sight of Mei that morning, with that veil of sadness that seemed to envelop her, disturbed him deeply. He felt a restlessness that he couldn’t ignore, a sort of frustration that pushed him to want to do something, anything, to ease the burden that seemed to weigh on her. 

Mei answered with a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. Lan Qiren, usually so perceptive in his judgments, suddenly felt inadequate. His words, meant to be comforting, seemed lacking in subtlety, too harsh and insensitive for the moment.

His mind, used to solving concrete and tangible problems, struggled to comprehend what was happening. He was used to dealing with disciplinary matters, giving orders and making sure they were followed. But now, in the face of Mei's sadness, his authority seemed useless, even out of place. He tried to react as he would have done in the past, with firmness and detachment, but his words seemed empty to him, without the warmth that perhaps would have been necessary.

“If there's something that's bothering you, you have to deal with it. There's no point in dwelling on dark thoughts,” she said, her voice stiffer than she had intended. He had always believed that facing problems head on was the only possible path, but now he realized that perhaps it wasn't always that simple.

Mei looked at him for a moment, surprised by the harshness of his tone. She looked down and nodded slightly, but she said nothing. The silence that followed was heavy, and Lan Qiren felt even more insecure, almost as if he had failed in a way he couldn't fully understand.

Unable to stand there and do nothing, Lan Qiren tried to regain control of the situation as best he could. “Maybe… maybe a walk would do you some good. Fresh air and movement can help clear the mind,” he suggested, hoping the practical advice might be of some use.

But Mei shook her head, remaining where she was. “It's not necessary, Qiren. I'm just…tired, I guess,” she replied, her voice so calm it seemed distant. It was clear there was something more, something she didn't want or didn't know how to share with him.

Lan Qiren felt overwhelmed by the situation. Frustration was growing inside him, fueled by his own embarrassment and the awareness that he didn't know how to help. How could he console someone when he didn't even know where to start? He wished he could find the right words, to offer the comfort she was looking for, but all he could do was fall back into her old habits.

“You shouldn't let tiredness take over,” he said, once again trying to sound decisive. “It is important to keep a clear mind and face difficulties with strength.”

But his words, instead of reassuring, only seemed to accentuate the distance between them. Mei looked at him with an expression of slight resignation, as if she understood that he was not able to give her what she needed at that moment. She only smiled faintly, before walking away with an apology, leaving Lan Qiren alone with him growing sense of failure.

As he watched her go, a wave of conflicting feelings washed over him. He didn't know what to do, and his inability to understand made him feel helpless. How could he be so good at leading disciples and yet so incapable of helping someone he cared about? .  Left alone, Lan Qiren sat down heavily in a chair, his hands gripping the table as he tried to put his thoughts in order. Maybe he was doing it all wrong. Maybe his old ways were no longer enough in this new world he was discovering. He realized, with a mixture of anguish and resignation, that in order to truly help Mei, he would have to change even more. He would have to find a way to be kind, empathetic, even if he didn't know how.  

That realization hit him forcefully. Maybe it was time to stop being the man he had always known and try to become someone new, someone who could really make a difference in Mei's life. But how? This question continued to haunt him as he sat there, alone with his thoughts.

Despite the embarrassment and confusion, Lan Qiren decided that he couldn't let things continue like this. He had to find a way to show Mei that, even if he didn't fully understand her feelings, he was willing to do his best to be there for her. Even if it meant stepping completely out of he comfort zone. 

Lan Qiren tossed and turned in bed, unable to find peace. Despite the tiredness he felt in his bones, his thoughts continued to revolve around Mei's sadness. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind went back to that dull smile, to the eyes that seemed to be looking for something he couldn't find. What could he do to help her? His harsh and awkward words had only made the situation worse, he was sure of it.

Sighing, Lan Qiren rose from the bed and walked over to the window. The night was clear, the moon high in the sky illuminated the garden with a soft light. A memory came to mind: more than once, in the past months, Mei had brought him a flower, a simple gesture that had always dissolved the tension in his heart. It was an act of kindness that he had never truly understood until that moment. Now, however, those small gestures took on a new meaning. Mei had done it for him, and maybe that was what he had to do for her now. 

Lan Qiren knew he wasn't good with words, but a simple gesture like that...maybe he could do it. He put on a cloak over his night clothes, silently left the house and headed towards the garden. The night was cool, the air heavy with the scent of lavender and other herbs that Mei so carefully cultivated. Every step he took among the flowers brought him closer to a feeling of peace he couldn't describe.

He stopped in front of a white rose bush. They were splendid under the moonlight, and something in those white petals reminded him of the purity of Mei's smile, that smile that he hoped to see again soon. With unusually trembling hands, Lan Qiren bent down to pluck a rose. He felt strangely embarrassed as he did it, as if he was doing something that wasn't his, but at the same time he knew it was the right thing to do.

Gently clutching the rose between his fingers, Lan Qiren walked back towards the house. He paused for a moment in front of the door to Mei's room, his heart beating loudly in his chest. What would you think of this gesture? Could he have made her feel better, or would he have made her situation worse?

After a long moment of hesitation, he steeled himself and knocked lightly. There was no response, and for a moment she thought about turning back, but then the door opened softly, revealing Mei wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes were swollen, she probably hadn't slept either.

“Qiren?” Mei looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing here at this time?”

Lan Qiren cleared his throat, trying to maintain some composure despite his inner turmoil. She raised the hand holding the rose and handed it to him. “I… thought this might make you feel better,” she said, his voice gentler than he expected. “I don't know what's bothering you, but… I'm sorry if I wasn't much help today. I just wanted you to know that I'm there, even if I don't always manage to show it in the right way.”

Mei remained silent for a moment, looking at the rose with surprised and moved eyes. Then, a small smile, real and unforced, appeared on her lips. “Thank you, Qiren,” she whispered, delicately taking the flower from his hands. “This means so much to me.”

Lan Qiren felt a weight lift from his heart. It hadn't been a grand gesture, but seeing that little smile reappear on Mei's face made him feel like he'd done the right thing.

He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, with a slight bow, he murmured a simple "Goodnight, Mei" and turned to go back to her room. But before he could take a step, Mei grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Qiren, wait,” she said. “Stay here with me for a while.”

Lan Qiren turned to look at her, surprised, but the expression in her eyes was so sweet and sincere that he couldn't refuse. He nodded slowly, letting her guide him into the room. They sat together on the edge of the bed, the white rose between them, and the silence that enveloped them was comforting, no longer embarrassing.

For the first time, Lan Qiren felt truly connected to someone in a way that wasn't about his responsibilities or role, but simply the presence of another person, someone who, like him, was trying to find his own way. Maybe he still didn't know what he really felt for Mei, but at that moment it didn't matter. What mattered to him was that, for tonight at least, they were not alone. 

Lan Qiren remained next to Mei, sitting on the edge of the bed, the white rose resting between them. The room was enveloped in a calm that opposed the tumult of his thoughts, but for the first time, that quiet did not make him anxious. He felt the warmth of Mei's hand in his, and that intimate contact, although simple, made him feel strangely at ease with him.

He didn't know what to say, how to fill that silence that now didn't seem necessary to interrupt. Mei's presence, her calm breathing, was enough. Lan Qiren noticed how that feeling of tranquility was new to him, a peace that didn't come from discipline or control, but from simply being together.

Mei leaned gently against him shoulder, and he felt her body tense for a moment. He was used to physical contact only as a formal gesture, a handshake or a respectful bow, never something so intimate and personal. Yet, as time passed, he began to relax. Mei didn't seem to have any expectations, any demands. She was simply there, beside him, seeking comfort in his presence.

“Thank you for the flower, Qiren,” Mei said after a while, her voice a whisper that almost seemed to merge with the breath of the night. “You didn't have to, but... it means a lot to me. It was a difficult day, and this gesture... made me feel less alone."

Lan Qiren lowered him gaze, staring at the rose he had picked with such embarrassment and uncertainty. A small flower, such a simple gesture, but for some reason it had such a huge meaning. “I didn't know what to do,” he admitted with a slight tone of frustration, him usual self-control shattered by the sincerity Mei inspired in him. “I'm not good at this stuff…never have been. But I couldn't ignore your sorrow. I didn't know how to comfort you, so... I did what felt right." 

Mei smiled, a sweet smile brightening her tired eyes. “Sometimes, you don't need to say or do much. Just being there for the other person, like you did tonight, is enough. You've done more than you think, Qiren.”

Mei's words struck him deeply, making him reflect on how different this way of dealing with emotions was compared to what he knew. In the past, his role had always been to lead, to impart lessons and discipline. But here, with Mei, he was learning that there was another way of being present, one that required listening, observing, and letting go of vulnerability.

“I'm sorry I wasn't able to understand you right away,” he said in a tone of voice that, for him, seemed almost too intimate. “I'm not used to these… situations. But I want to learn.” 

Mei looked up at him, and in those large, warm eyes, Lan Qiren saw something that made his heart beat a little faster. It was a mixture of affection, gratitude, and perhaps something else that he still couldn't identify. “You don't have to be perfect, Qiren. Sometimes, you just need to be there, with an open heart, like you are doing now. That's all I ask."

Lan Qiren nodded slowly, allowing himself to accept those words. “I'll try to remember,” he said, more to himself than to her.

They sat together for a while, the silence surrounding them growing more and more comfortable. The night was advancing, and Lan Qiren was starting to feel tiredness returning. But this time, it wasn't the agitated insomnia that had plagued him before. Now, there was a serenity that enveloped him, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time.

"You should sleep, Mei," he said finally, trying to disguise his worried tone with the firmness of advice. “Tomorrow is another day, and you'll need all your energy.”

Mei nodded and, with a relaxed sigh, she moved away from him slightly, but she didn't let go of his hand. “You're right,” she muttered. “And you? Can you sleep tonight?”

Lan Qiren smiled slightly, a smile that was somewhere between resigned and comforted. “I think so. Thank you."

Mei looked at him for a long moment, then she stood on tiptoe and, with a delicate gesture, kissed her cheek. Lan Qiren stood still, surprised and slightly confused, but he didn't flinch. It was a gesture that left him speechless, but it warmed his heart in a way he couldn't explain.

“Goodnight, Qiren,” Mei said with a sweetness he didn't easily forget.

“Goodnight, Mei,” he replied, still feeling the warmth of that kiss on his skin.

He left the room with a calm that he had never felt before, returning to his room with a light heart and a feeling of warmth that accompanied him until he lay down on the bed again. That night, Lan Qiren closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, feeling that perhaps, for the first time in a long time, he was starting to understand what it truly meant to care about someone. 

Chapter Text

"The star choose lovers , save my soul. It hurts just the same"

The sun was high in the sky, radiating a heat that seemed to engulf the entire village. Lan Qiren and Liang had spent the whole morning searching for Mei. She used to let someone know before going out, but that morning she had disappeared without a trace. Lan Qiren felt a growing sense of unease, a feeling that he couldn't fully understand, but one that pushed him to move with ever greater urgency.

Liang walked alongside her, his usually relaxed face now marked with slight worry. "It's not like her to just disappear like that, especially without telling anyone," Liang said, shaking his head. Lan Qiren nodded, trying to control the growing turmoil in his stomach.

Finally, reaching the edge of the village, their eyes fell on a scene that made Lan Qiren's blood run cold. Mei was there, just out of the woods, her wrist held in a visibly painful grip by a man Lan Qiren didn't recognize. The man had a determined, almost angry expression on his face, and Mei looked more scared than Lan Qiren had ever seen her. 

Lan Qiren felt his world shrink until it was reduced to a single point: the figure of Mei, with her pale face and wide eyes, stuck in the grip of that unknown man. The sound of the wind in the trees, the chirping of the birds, and even Liang's labored breathing next to her became distant, muffled noises. All that existed, in that moment, was the visceral need to protect Mei, an impulse that was as old as he was, but which until now he had never fully recognized.

The sun was shining high, yet, for Lan Qiren, the world had suddenly grown darker. Every fiber of him was tense, ready for action. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, each beat a drum of anger resonating within him. There was a flame deep in his heart, a heat he had never experienced, that now burned with growing intensity.

Liang next to him had stopped speaking, sensing the tense and danger-filled atmosphere. Lan Qiren lunged forward with a speed that surprised even himself. His feet seemed to move by themselves, carrying him towards that scene that tore at his soul. Every step was heavy, as if he were running through a sea of slime, and yet he couldn't stop. He wasn't going to stop. 

The man, with his relentless grip on Mei's wrist, continued to speak, his voice full of anger and bitterness, words that Lan Qiren couldn't decipher, but which seemed to hit him in the chest like a hail of poisoned arrows. Yet, it was Mei's gaze that transfixed him more than anything else. Those eyes of hers, normally so alive and full of warmth, were now full of fear, pleading, as if they were calling to him for desperate help.

And then there was that moment, an instant when Mei's eyes met his, and something inside him broke. It wasn't just fear, it wasn't just anger: it was her knowledge that he would do anything to make that terror stop for her, to ensure that no one would ever hurt her again.

The distance closed in the blink of an eye. Lan Qiren found himself face to face with the man, his imposing form now looking like a mountain ready to collapse on him. The man looked at him with disdain, not entirely aware of the imminent danger. "Who the devil are you?" he spat, squeezing Mei's wrist even tighter.

Lan Qiren didn't answer right away. Him gaze remained fixed on the man's hand, on the violent grip that made Mei wince from her pain. His mind, usually so analytical and cold, was filled with only one certainty: she would not allow this to continue another second.

"Let go of his hand," he said, his voice low, filled with a cold fury that made even Liang tremble. Lan Qiren's tone brooked no reply, it was an ancient command, a part of him that reemerged from the days when his word was law.

The man snorted, without releasing his grip. "I'm not done with her," he growled, not realizing that he was causing a storm he couldn't control.

Lan Qiren felt the world erupt into movement. In the blink of an eye, his hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist with a strength that he himself no longer believed he possessed. The gesture was so precise, so well calculated, that the man didn't even have time to react before the pain struck him. With a sharp blow, Lan Qiren twisted the man's arm, forcing him to let go of Mei.

The man's muffled cry of pain echoed through the trees as his body involuntarily buckled, trying to escape Lan Qiren's relentless grip. But Lan Qiren didn't give in, his gaze becoming a sharp blade that penetrated the man's soul. It was as if, in that moment, all the pent-up strength of a life of discipline and control was exploding in that grip.

"I told you to leave her," he repeated, with a dangerous calm that revealed his resolve.

The man finally gave up. With a groan, he tried to break free, sliding backwards awkwardly as Lan Qiren released him, ready to strike again if necessary. The stranger stared at him for a moment, anger and contempt clear on his face, but also a growing fear. He knew he had been defeated, and with one last look full of hatred, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees with his wounded pride.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Mei sagged against Lan Qiren, as if all the strength that had supported her had suddenly been sucked out of her body. Her breathing was ragged, shaky, and her tears began to flow freely, streaking down her cheeks in a continuous, desperate stream. She could feel her heart beating furiously in her chest, as if she were struggling to free herself from a burden too great for her to bear alone. Her hands, weak but gripping tightly, tightened on Lan Qiren's robe, desperately seeking safety, an anchor to hold on to.

Lan Qiren, who until then had felt like a towering mountain, steadfast and immovable, now found himself faced with something he didn't know how to deal with. Mei's tears, those salty drops sliding down, hit him harder than any physical blow. he was prepared for this. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, an incessant drum that marked his embarrassment, his uncertainty. He wasn’t prepared for this, he never had been. His entire life had been built on rules, on immovable principles, and now he was faced with something that no rule could explain, that no principle could guide. And yet, in that moment, nothing in the world seemed more important to him.

The warmth of Mei’s body against his was a new, unexpected sensation. The contact, initially almost cold because of his own embarrassment, transformed into a warmth that began to radiate inside him, slowly melting the ice that had always kept his heart under lock and key. His hands, hesitant and awkward, moved towards her almost cautiously, as if he were handling something infinitely precious and fragile. When his arms finally surrounded her, it was as if the entire world stopped for a moment.

It was the first time he had hugged someone like that, with that intensity. The delicacy with which he held her against him contrasted with the power of the feeling that was pouring inside him. He felt every little tremble in Mei's body, every ragged breath she took, and every single thing made him feel even more connected to her. It wasn't just her protection that he felt about her, but a deep and irrepressible desire to give her security, to let her know that, as long as he was there, no one would ever hurt her again.

The delicacy with which he wrapped his arms around Mei, holding her to him with a tenderness he didn't believe he possessed, was in stark contrast to the fury he had felt just before her. He felt her body tremble against him, the heat of his skin against her dress, and with each passing moment, her heart melted more and more. That feeling of protection, that overwhelming desire to keep her safe from everything and everyone, wrapped him like a cloak. Every fiber of her being was focused on her, on her pain, on her need for comfort.

Mei hugged him even tighter, burying her face in his chest, as if she wanted to hide from the world, as if only there she could find refuge. Her tears soaked Lan Qiren's robes, but he didn't care. Actually, that contact made him feel more alive, more human than he had ever imagined. He held her with a sweetness that was almost unnatural for him, caressing her back with slow and reassuring gestures, as if he wanted to calm not only her pain, but also the storm that he felt growing inside himself.

At that moment, as if his heart had taken precedence over her mind, Lan Qiren lowered his head and, with a delicate and almost instinctive gesture, placed a light kiss on the top of Mei's head. It was a gesture full of meaning, of unsaid promises, of protection that went far beyond the physical. He felt his heart beating even faster, almost in sync with Mei's, and he realized that he had never felt something so intense, so profound. 

Liang, who had witnessed the scene, approached with the intention of saying something, but stopped suddenly. The smile that had emerged on his lips froze in an expression of respectful admiration. There was something incredibly powerful in that moment, something sacred that Liang knew not to interrupt. With a small, almost imperceptible smile, he walked away, letting Lan Qiren and Mei have their moment.

Lan Qiren said nothing. There were no words that could capture the depth of what he was feeling. The warmth of Mei against him, the sensation of her breath against his chest, the fragility he felt in her arms... all this made him understand how much he had changed, how much he now wanted to be the rock on which Mei could always count. In that moment, everything that had been, all his rigid beliefs, seemed distant and irrelevant. All that mattered was her, the woman he was trying to comfort and protect with every fiber of her being.

The shadows of the afternoon lengthened like the brushstrokes of a distracted artist, and the sun, tired, began to set behind the distant hills. However, for Lan Qiren and Mei, time seemed to have stopped. It was as if the entire universe had decided to freeze, to stop at that precise moment to give them the chance to experience a profound and incontestable truth.  It was as if nature itself had decided to beautify that fragment of time, making it eternal, just for them. The colors of the sunset, intense and golden, enveloped the landscape with an almost magical aura, as if every shade and every reflection had been meticulously chosen to enhance that unique moment. The usually brisk wind had calmed down to a light, enveloping breeze, while the trees, flowers and leaves seemed to bow in a gesture of silent admiration.  

The embrace they exchanged was not just a physical gesture; it was a silent statement, a silent agreement between two souls who had finally found their connection. Lan Qiren, her heart filled with a new emotion that she couldn't fully define, felt that nothing would ever be the same as before. Every beat of her heart, every breath she shared with Mei, seemed heightened, amplified by the magical moment they were experiencing.

Even though she didn't yet know what love was, Lan Qiren felt a deep and pure determination. She no longer wanted to let her go; she would never allow anyone to hurt her again. The idea to protect her, to keep her safe, had become a personal mission. It was as if every fiber of her being had been rearranged around this desire.

And in that moment, the entire world seemed to be reduced to that suspended instant, to that indissoluble bond that had been created between them. Nature itself seemed to want to prolong that moment, as if the sky had colored its colors with warmer tones and the wind had lowered its whisper so as not to interrupt the intensity of that embrace. Every tree and every leaf, every ray of sunshine that filtered through the branches, seemed to celebrate that silent and powerful connection.

Chapter Text

The sun was slowly rising, and the first rays of golden light filtered through the curtains, creating a warm and enveloping atmosphere in the room. Lan Qiren awoke with a heavy feeling on his chest, and upon opening her eyes, she discovered Mei sleeping next to him. Her body was draped over him like a warm blanket, her face resting against his chest, her arms wrapped around Lan Qiren's waist in an embrace that seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.

Mei's every breath was a delicate beat of peace, and Lan Qiren found himself immersed in a sea of conflicting emotions. The sweetness of her sleep, the warmth of her body, all contributed to a sense of completeness and vulnerability that Lan Qiren had never known. The morning light caressed the delicate features of Mei's face, creating an aura of ethereal beauty around her. Mei's messy hair, scattered like threads of gold around her face, shone softly, and Lan Qiren regarded each individual curl with a mixture of admiration and awe.

Lan Qiren's heart pounded in her chest, and the feeling of warmth and safety he felt as he held Mei in her arms was almost overwhelming. It was as if the outside world had disappeared, and only he and Mei remained in that fragment of suspended time. But with this warmth and comfort, a deep fear also grew, a fear he couldn't ignore. His love for Mei, so sincere and powerful, was accompanied by an ineluctable fear: the fear of not being up to this feeling, of not deserving such a pure and authentic love.

Each breath she took was a soft, insistent call, a reminder of the deep connection they had found together. The warmth of her body, her scent of flowers and lavender, all seemed to create a bubble of intimacy and serenity.

Tears began to flow down Lan Qiren's cheeks, warm and salty, as he observed every detail of Mei's face. Her calm breathing and the calmness of her expression contrasted dramatically with the emotional storm raging inside him. Her hand, trembling and damp, delicately caressed Mei's hair, an instinctive gesture of affection and seeking comfort.

With a tremor in his voice and a vulnerability he had never shown before, Lan Qiren whispered,“I hope… I hope you can hear it,” Lan Qiren whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I'm sorry... I'm so sorry my love.” Those simple words slipped from him lips without premeditation, as if it were a truth he couldn't retain. The weight of inadequacy, of the fear of not being up to the level of the feeling he felt, crushed him, and every single tear was a sign of this pain.

The sun was now fully emerging, bathing the room in warm, golden light. Lan Qiren, still wrapped in Mei's embrace, felt the weight of her emotions crushing him. Every beat of his heart seemed amplified, and the fear that assailed him was almost overwhelming. The pain of his inadequacy grew more and more acute, and every tear that fell was a reflection of her inability to face and understand the vast and powerful love he felt.

Without wanting to disturb Mei, Lan Qiren attempted to slowly get up, moving with the utmost delicacy. His hands trembled as he caressed Mei's face once more, as if he wanted to memorize every detail of her sleeping face. Every line, every curve was a reminder of her beauty and her fragility, and Lan Qiren felt a lump in his throat that grew with each passing second. His tears were now unstoppable and hot, and he couldn't stop the flow of pain and fear that filled him.

With one last sad look at Mei, Lan Qiren rose from the bed. Her movements were awkward and uncertain, and each step she took seemed to weigh more than normal. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and the cold of the house was a stark contrast to the emotional warmth she felt. The silence surrounding him was oppressive, and every corner of the room seemed to amplify his loneliness and his fear of her.

Slowly, Lan Qiren walked out of the house and towards the wooden bench in the garden, the place he had come to know as a temporary refuge. Him steps were heavy and uncertain, and the sun, now higher in the sky, illuminated her contours with a light that seemed almost intrusive. Sitting on the bench, Lan Qiren looked into the distance, feeling small and vulnerable.

There, in the distance, he saw Liang approaching. Liang's smile was friendly and encouraging, but Lan Qiren couldn't find comfort in that. The sight of Liang, who was approaching with a cheerful step, was the last straw that broke the camel of his emotions.

The tears began to fall abundantly and unchallenged again as Lan Qiren covered his face with his hands. The pain and anguish she was feeling was too much to contain, and him crying was a manifestation of all him fears and insecurities. When Liang arrived near him, he immediately noticed the intensity of the pain on Lan Qiren's face. Without saying a word, Liang sat down next to him and, with a gentle and protective gesture, wrapped him in a hug. It was a sincere embrace, made of understanding and human warmth, and for Lan Qiren, who until then had avoided any sign of vulnerability, it was a shocking experience. 

Liang's arms wrapped around him with a strength Lan Qiren never knew he wanted so desperately. It was a force that didn't just contain his trembling body, but that seemed to want to hold together the shattered pieces of his soul as well. The fabric of Liang's robe was soft under Lan Qiren's fingers, and in his embrace there was a sweetness that contrasted heartbreakingly with the pain that shook his chest.

His tears fell relentlessly, unstoppable, and the sobs that shook him seemed to come from a part of himself that he had always kept hidden. Every time he said "I'm sorry," his voice cracked, taking on a weight that seemed almost unbearable. “I'm sorry… I'm so sorry,” he repeated, the sound of his words mixing with the distant song of birds and the rustle of leaves blowing in the wind. “I don't know how… I don't know how to deal with this.”

In those moments, his mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts and magnified fears. He saw himself as a broken person, unable to give Mei what he deserved, frightened by the immensity of the feeling he felt and the fear that he might not be reciprocated. His heart, which until recently he had always kept under control, was now beating furiously, crushed by the weight of his inadequacies.

Each sob was both a release and a condemnation, a release of pent-up emotions and a terrible recognition of his weaknesses. Liang said nothing, but her grip tightened, a silent anchor that allowed Lan Qiren to sink into her pain without losing himself entirely. The feel of Liang's hands, solid and present on his back, was a reminder that, despite everything, he was not alone.

The freshness of the morning air and the warmth of the sun that began to filter through the trees seemed to want to envelop that scene in a bigger, almost cosmic embrace. Nature seemed to participate in his torment, but also in his slow, painful liberation. The world around them, so vast and indifferent, was reduced to that moment, that point of contact between two human beings, where Lan Qiren could finally, for the first time, be completely himself.

As the tears continued to fall, hotter, heavier, Lan Qiren whispered, almost without realizing it, “I'm sorry, my love.” The ease with which those words came out of his mouth struck him deeply, like a hidden truth finally revealing itself. And it was precisely this naturalness that made him cry even harder, as if the recognition of that feeling, so simple and pure, was too great for him to bear.

The pain of inadequacy was intertwined with the fear of being loved and not knowing how to love enough in return. “I don't deserve this,” he thought, the words trapped in his throat as Liang's body remained a fixed point in the storm of his emotions. “I'm not enough for her. I will never be enough."

But for the first time, instead of rejecting that pain, Lan Qiren welcomed it. And as he did so, something inside him began to melt. He was scared, yes, but there was also a part of him that found in that embrace, in those tears, a glimmer of hope. Liang, feeling his friend's final tremor, squeezed his shoulders one last time, as if to tell him that everything was fine, that he could finally let go of the weight he carried inside him.

At that moment, Lan Qiren realized that no matter how scared he was, he no longer wanted to escape. He could no longer escape. 

Lan Qiren felt as if every fiber of his being was crumbling under the weight of years of rigidity and harshness, not only towards himself, but towards those around him. His tears continued to flow unabated, bringing with them not only the pain of a feared love, but also deep remorse for all the ways he had failed in the past.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice broken and uncertain. "Not just for Mei... but for everything." His words came out of his mouth as if they had been held back for years, a flood of pent-up emotions finally finding an outlet. "I don't know how... I don't know how to apologize... to my grandchildren, to my disciples..." Each sentence was accompanied by a sob that shook him to the bone, revealing the depth of his pain and self-criticism of him.

Lan Qiren saw himself for what he had been: a man who, in his pursuit of perfection and discipline, had neglected the feelings and needs of those around him. He thought about Lan Wangji, about the burden he had placed on him without ever bothering to ease it. He thought about Lan Xichen, about the pressure he had put on him to be a leader without ever giving him the relief of simply being himself. He thought of all of his disciples, of those he had trained with a steady hand, never showing an ounce of understanding or kindness. 

Liang, who hadn't stopped holding him for a moment, felt the crescendo of his pain, his regret. He didn't say anything, because he knew that in that moment, more than words, Lan Qiren needed to know that he wasn't alone, that someone was holding him close as he faced the darkness inside himself. Liang's hands, steady and confident, kept him grounded in reality as his emotions overwhelmed him.

"Liang, I... I've been so blind, so harsh. I've hurt those who love me, I've ignored their needs... and now... I don't know how to fix it," Lan Qiren confessed, the words choked with sobs. "I don't know if I can fix it. I don't know how to apologize."

Liang held him tighter, almost as if wanting to make him feel through the contact that not all was lost, that there was still hope. "You don't have to do it all at once," Liang whispered, his voice low but steady. "What's important is that you've acknowledged your mistakes, that you're here, ready to change. Apologies will come, when you're ready. But for now, it's okay to just let go of all this weight." 

Lan Qiren clung to those words like an anchor. He cried with a ferocity he had never known, letting his body tremble as he expelled every ounce of pain, of remorse, of fear. And as he did so, Liang didn't let go of him even for an instant. He remained there, a friend, a support, a brother, holding him close until Lan Qiren had shed every tear.

The world around Lan Qiren seemed blurry, as if he were wrapped in a fog of emotions that isolated him from everything else. Only the warmth of Liang's embrace was real, tangible. Every fiber of his being shook with unstoppable tremors as the weight of his regrets crushed him, making it difficult to even breathe.

Deep in his heart, Lan Qiren felt lost, lost in a sea of guilt and inadequacy. All his life he had lived following rigid rules, imposing an iron discipline on himself, convinced that this was the right path. But now, in that moment of vulnerability, he realized how much that path had blinded him to the pain of others, to the needs of those he loved.

Every memory that came to mind was a dagger in his chest. His harsh words to Lan Wangji, his expectant silences towards Lan Xichen, the indifference with which he had treated his disciples. He had always believed that it was his duty to be an example of rectitude, a pillar of firmness, but now he understood that his intransigence had only left wounds, both in others and in himself.

The tears continued to flow down his cheeks, hot and incessant, as his sobs echoed in the air. Liang held him tightly, without saying anything, letting him vent. Lan Qiren felt fragile, like glass about to shatter, but in that embrace she found a modicum of stability, a comfort she didn't know she could receive.

"I'm sorry... for everything," Lan Qiren muttered, his voice cracking. "I made a mistake... I made people suffer... I never apologized, even when I should have." Every word was a blow to his heart, but he had to say them, he had to expel the pain that was consuming him.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix it," he continued, the desperation in his tone evident. “I don't know if I'll ever be enough… for Mei, for my grandchildren, for anyone.”

Fear gripped him, making each thought heavier, more difficult to bear. To love was to expose yourself, to risk being hurt, and Lan Qiren wasn't sure he could bear that weight. He had been strong, yes, but just in the wrong way. Now, faced with those new and unfamiliar emotions, he felt weak, unable to face the vastness of what he felt.

“Liang,” he whispered finally, almost unable to breathe. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to properly apologize... I don't know if I'll ever be able to do it without feeling so... wrong, so inadequate."

Liang wrapped her arms around him even tighter, as if she wanted to protect him from himself, from his fears. “Qiren,” he replied gently, “you're not wrong. You're human. And you're here, trying to make it right, and that's a huge first step. Nobody's perfect, and nobody expects you to be. What matters it's that you're trying, that you're willing to change, to make amends."

Those words cut through the chaos in Lan Qiren's mind, bringing with them a spark of hope. It was a soft light, but enough to make him feel a little less alone, a little less desperate. He knew that the road ahead of him would be long and difficult, but for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to think that he could face it, one step at a time.

They stayed like that, hugging each other, for what seemed like an eternity. And in that embrace, Lan Qiren began to find a glimmer of peace, a momentary respite from the turmoil inside. He was not yet ready to forgive himself, to believe that he could be loved without reservations, but in that moment, under the morning sun and with his friend holding him tight, he felt that perhaps, one day, he could get there .... Maybe, in time, he would learn to live with his imperfections, to apologize without fear, and to let love guide him instead of frighten him.

And as him tears slowly stopped, Lan Qiren closed him eyes, as he let himself be cradled in that embrace, he felt that that moment was the first step towards a new life, a life in which she would learn to let go, to love, and to seek the redemption he desired so much. 

Chapter Text

"Forgive us now for what we've done"
 

The days in the Gusu Lan Clan had grown longer and heavier. The atmosphere that was once characterized by order and serenity was now tinged with palpable anxiety. Lan Qiren's absence, which at first seemed only temporary, had extended far beyond anyone's imagination. Months had passed, and every day that she went by without any news, without a trace, only increased the anguish. The usually clear sky above them felt oppressive, as if it reflected the weight on everyone's hearts.

In the beginning, the disciples and clan leaders had remained calm. Lan Xichen, always balanced and calm, had reassured everyone that his uncle would be back soon. Lan Qiren was not a man to be underestimated: no matter how rigid and severe he was, he had always been able to get by. He wasn't an airheaded, vulnerable old man; he couldn't be in danger, that wasn't his style. The clan denied to itself that anything serious had happened. Lan Qiren was a master with a reputation for strength, and no one wanted to admit the possibility that that strength could falter. 

Denial became the dominant feeling, a silent shadow that crept into everyone's hearts. "He is not missing. He must be busy with some important business, perhaps something too delicate to share with us" the disciples murmured to each other, trying to stifle the growing sense of fear that crept into their minds. They repeated these words like a mantra, a lifeline to hold on to as the days passed without any sign of Lan Qiren. "He's not the type to get into trouble. He can't be."

Every day, the hope of seeing him return, with his usual stern air and abrupt tone, faded a little more. The disciples imagined seeing him crossing the corridors with a determined step, ready to rebuke anyone who dared worry about him needlessly. But the shadows of him were only ghosts of the past, reflections of what they wished was real. The silence became deeper, deafening.

As time passed, the anguish became unbearable. Even the youngest disciples, those who had always seen Lan Qiren as a distant and unapproachable figure, were beginning to wonder what had happened. Every whisper in the corridors of the Gusu Lan Clan brought with it a new wave of worry. The disciples' faces were pinched, their minds torn between the desire to remain optimistic and the growing certainty that something was wrong. 

In the midst of all this, Lan Xichen struggled to maintain his usual calm, but his composure was beginning to crack under the weight of the expectations and worries surrounding him. Every day, the disciples turned to him, seeking answers he could no longer provide, hoping for reassurance that even he could no longer provide. Their pleading gazes became increasingly difficult to sustain.

Lan Xichen, who had initially kept his head held high, his voice always steady, and his smile calm, now seemed consumed by anxiety. Every time a disciple asked him where Lan Qiren was, his heart ached, because he had no answers. The weight of his own worries, which he was trying desperately to keep hidden, was becoming unbearable. Every decision seemed full of responsibility, every move an attempt to keep the fragile balance of the clan upright.

But the pressure grew, and the days passed without a trace of Lan Qiren. Lan Wangji, his brother, seemed immersed in an icy calm, which however only increased Lan Xichen's frustration. Lan Wangji's silence, his apparent imperturbability, was like a mirror in which Lan Xichen saw his own anxiety reflected, amplified by the constant tension. And so, inevitably, their discussions became more and more frequent and heated.

Every little misunderstanding, every disagreement on the management of the clan, was transformed into a pretext to vent the discomfort they both felt. Lan Xichen, usually patient and understanding, began lashing out at Lan Wangji with cutting words. "Why don't you seem worried? Don't you understand how serious the situation is?" his voice vibrated with frustration, almost as if Lan Wangji's apparent calm was a betrayal.

Lan Wangji, true to character, remained calm, responding with a few measured words. “I'm doing everything I can,” he would say, but those words, so cold and controlled, only fueled his older brother's fire. Lan Xichen, his heart consumed by fear and pressure, could no longer see in that calm the strength he once admired; now it just seemed like indifference.

The tension grew like an overstretched rope, ready to snap. And when the disciples, those who had always feared Lan Qiren, began to express their discontent with the new replacement, the chaos became greater. Shen Jiuying, Lan Qiren's replacement, was revealed to be a man devoid of any empathy or wisdom. Her stiffness and his wounded pride only made the situation worse.

Shen Jiuying, Lan Qiren's one-time master, had always been an austere and ruthless figure. Where Lan Qiren had been stern but fair, Shen Jiuying embodied cold and calculated cruelty. His rigid and threatening posture, his muscles always tense, his gaze devoid of vitality, everything about him conveyed a feeling of discomfort. Yet he boasted incessantly about his role in forming Lan Qiren, as if every virtue of the late master was his own doing.  

The disciples, initially reluctant to speak, began complaining about his behavior.

The room was immersed in an apparent calm, the tea steaming in everyone's hands, the faces only superficially serene. It was a moment that should have been peaceful, a pause in Lan Qiren's frantic search, but the atmosphere was already tense. Lan Qiren's new replacement, Shen Jiuying, sat stiffly, his back straight and his hands still on the finely decorated ceramic glass, an oddity among the Gusu Lan Clan's sober and minimal objects. His presence exuded an aura of rigidity, almost ostentatious, as if every breath were a manifestation of his wounded pride.

Wei Wuxian, no longer able to hold back his curiosity, leaned forward slightly with a smile that didn't hide his excitement. “Master Shen,” he began in his bright, casual tone, “did you ever have to punish Lan Qiren for any infraction when he was young? He was supposed to be a model student, but even he must have made some false steps, right?” 

Wei Wuxian's lively and curious eyes shone with expectation, as if his question had been dictated more by the desire to make those present smile than by a real desire for an answer. Beside him, Lan Wangji stiffened imperceptibly, but enough that only a keen eye, like Wei Wuxian's, could notice. Lan Xichen, for his part, barely looked up from her cup, a thin crease of concern creasing his usual serene expression.

Shen Jiuying, sitting in front of them, narrowed his eyes, his face becoming a mask of contempt. The silence became thicker, almost suffocating, and his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand, as if he wanted to break it in his hands. The sound of his joints creaking as he gripped the glass filled the void.

In a low voice, almost a poisonous whisper, Shen Jiuying replied, "No, unfortunately not." The way those words left his lips, slowly, as if he were revealing a dark secret, made the entire room hold their breath. "Lan Qiren was always so diligent that he made me sick... That lucky bastard."

That word, "bastard," fell on them like a sudden blow. The whole room appeared to freeze. Lan Xichen, who rarely showed signs of emotion, stiffened, her face turning pale and her fingers trembling slightly against the rim of the cup. Lan Wangji, known for his imperturbable composure, made an effort to remain calm, but his gaze had narrowed into two dangerously cold slits. Wei Wuxian, usually talkative and smiling, remained still, his usual carefree smile freezing on his lips, almost incredulous that he had heard those words.

But Shen Jiuying was not finished yet. The look of contempt in his eyes intensified, and his voice took on a tone of bitter satisfaction as he continued, "I still haven't felt the pleasure of seeing him under the disciplinary whip." The words, full of resentment, resounded in the room like an ominous echo.

A chill engulfed those present, as if the very air had been sucked from the room. Lan Xichen looked down, trying to keep her composure, but every muscle in her body seemed to tense under the weight of those words. The contempt that Shen Jiuying felt for Lan Qiren was palpable, and the thought that anyone could take pleasure in such a cruel idea, especially towards a man as respected as Lan Qiren, made Lan Xichen shiver to the bone.

Lan Wangji, usually impassive, felt a wave of anger rising within him. Despite his training, his sense of justice and respect for his masters forced him to hold back his words. The fist hidden under his sleeve clenched, but his face remained impassive, except for his gaze, now sharp as a blade. The cruelty and rancor with which Shen Jiuying spoke of his uncle was almost unimaginable. Wangji knew that type of discipline, he had experienced it, but he would never have imagined someone who could desire it with such sadistic pleasure.

Wei Wuxian, usually always ready to respond with a smile or a sarcastic quip, was strangely silent. His face, usually relaxed and carefree, had hardened into a mask of serious concentration. His dark eyes stared at Shen Jiuying with an unusual intensity, as if he were weighing every word and gesture, trying to figure out just how far this man could go. 

Finally, it was Lan Xichen who broke the silence. His voice, usually soft and full of warmth, was now cold and sharp like a steel blade. “Master Shen,” he began, his tone gentle as always, but with an underlying stiffness that hinted at how close he was to the end of his patience. “His words are not appropriate.” He paused, looking at Shen Jiuying with steady eyes. “Lan Qiren has never been lucky. He lived a life of sacrifice and dedication to this clan, and never shied away from discipline."

Shen Jiuying's smile widened even more, and what appeared was a bitter, almost defiant grin. He didn't seem at all upset by Lan Xichen's words, on the contrary, he seemed pleased to have elicited a reaction. “Sacrifices, you say?” he muttered, tone still full of venom. "Perhaps. But it doesn't seem to me that he ever really suffered as he should have." 

That sentence was like a silent explosion. The weight of those words, full of rancor and venom, fell on those present like an unbearable boulder. For a moment, the entire pavilion seemed wrapped in an unreal silence, broken only by the almost imperceptible sound of the tea cups shaking slightly, as if even inanimate objects could sense the chill that had fallen on the room.

Lan Xichen, who had always embodied patience and calm, seemed to falter for a moment. His face, always composed and kind, contracted slightly, and the trembling of his fingers was barely visible as he tried to control the wave of indignation that he felt rising in his chest. It was not just a question of respect for their master, for the uncle who had sacrificed everything for the clan. Those words insinuated something deeper, a contempt for everything Lan Qiren represented: discipline, dedication, and that rigor that had kept them together for years.

Lan Wangji stood next to him as still as a statue, but the way her jaw tightened revealed her inner turmoil. His back was perfectly straight, but his eyes, cold as ice, stared at Shen Jiuying with such intensity that it seemed they could pierce him. Not a word passed his lips, but every fiber of his body conveyed contempt for what he had just heard. It wasn't like him to let go of such obvious emotions, but at that moment, the look he gave Shen Jiuying spoke more than a thousand words.

Wei Wuxian, usually talkative and ready to joke even in the most tense situations, found himself strangely silent. His face was devoid of that usual sly smile, and his eyes, usually bright with life and mischief, were now fixed on Master Shen with a hardness he rarely showed. He too felt the weight of that injustice, but what disturbed him most was the sadistic pleasure that shone through the man's words. How could anyone, especially a master, speak with such disdain of a person who had dedicated his life to the well-being of others? That poison hidden in Shen Jiuying's words disgusted him.

In Wei's mind, the silence that followed those words was like the emptiness before a storm. For an instant, it seemed as if any possibility of dialogue or understanding had been swept away, leaving only bitterness and hatred to fill the space between them.

Lan Xichen, trying to gain control of the situation, took a deep breath. He couldn't allow that insult to go unanswered, but he also had to remain calm for the good of the clan. “Master Shen,” he said, his voice firm, but filled with an underlying tension, “we have heard enough. His opinion on Lan Qiren is clearly personal, but we will not tolerate further disrespect. Our clan is about discipline, yes, but also about mutual respect. And respect for those who have sacrificed all for our community is non-negotiable.”

Shen Jiuying didn't immediately respond. For a moment, he seemed almost amused to see the reaction of those present, his gaze still full of contempt. Then, with a smile that never reached his eyes, he simply tilted his head slightly, as if Lan Xichen's words were a simple annoyance to be ignored.  

Lan Wangji leaned his torso forward, his white sleeves swaying slightly with the movement, but it was Wei Wuxian who intervened before he could say anything. “Lan Qiren has never needed to prove anything to anyone,” he said, his voice strangely calm, but with a tone that conveyed a subtle threat. “The fact that you have never been 'under the whip', as you say, is not a failing of you. It is a sign of her righteousness and her inner strength.”

The silence that followed was even heavier than before. Shen Jiuying stared at Wei Wuxian with a sharp gaze, but Wei Wuxian did not lower his gaze. On the contrary, he supported it, resolute and unperturbed.

That tension seemed about to explode, but at that moment, Lan Xichen stood up, her tall, imposing figure dominating the room. “The conversation is over,” he said with authority. “This meeting no longer serves any purpose. We thank you for your time, Master Shen.”

Nie Mingjue walked with purposeful steps into the clearing, the forest enveloping him in an eerie silence. The sky was a solid gray, and the dry leaves crunched under his feet as he walked. The clearing, which had once seemed a place of calm and serenity, had now become a labyrinth of anxiety and worry. Lan Qiren's disappearance had left a deep void, and Nie Mingjue's determination to find him had become his only beacon.

With scrutinizing eyes and a heavy heart, Nie Mingjue walked deeper into the clearing. Every rustle and noise in the woods seemed to amplify the sense of solitude and desolation that surrounded him. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and worries, and every minute that passed without a trace of Lan Qiren brought him closer to an abyss of fear and uncertainty.

Then, suddenly, his gaze was drawn to a small sliver of white among the dry leaves and moss. He bent down quickly and gently, his movements precise and careful. His tape was paper thin, but his presence was unmistakable. With shaking hands, she lifted it and examined it, feeling the coldness and texture of the fabric. The white ribbon, marked with small tears and blemishes, was a clear trace of Lan Qiren.

A wave of relief and anguish passed through Nie Mingjue as he stood up, his face twisted into a mask of determination. With the ribbon clutched in his hand, he began walking with more urgency towards the nearest village, knowing that each step brought him closer to the truth.

The village was a cluster of rustic houses, their wooden walls and thatched roofs silhouetted against the gray sky. He knocked on every door, his voice full of authority and desperation. Every time a door opened, he was met with looks of suspicion and fear. The inhabitants, with trembling hands and hesitant voices, offered only vague and nebulous answers. The search for him seemed hopeless, but Nie Mingjue was not deterred. The thought of Lan Qiren, lost and in danger, fueled his determination.

He finally arrived in front of a house that was more welcoming than the others, a small house with a flower garden, which seemed to exude a sense of warmth and tranquility. He knocked forcefully, his hand hitting the wood in a firm rhythm. The door opened slowly, and Mei, with an expression that she tried to be calm, found herself in front of him.

“Good evening,” Mei said, trying to maintain an apparent calm, but her eyes betrayed a growing anxiety. “Can I help you?”

Nie Mingjue felt as if she was facing a crucial test. Her gaze was intense, her voice low and full of urgency: “I'm looking for Lan Qiren. I found this tape, and I think it was here.”

Mei looked down, her facial features tense and pale. She tried to hide her growing distress, but she couldn't stop her breathing from becoming labored. “I… I don't know what you're talking about,” she replied, her voice shaking and uncertain.

Just then, the sound of cheerful, childish footsteps was heard from the courtyard. A child, his eyes shining with innocence and enthusiasm, ran towards the door. “Uncle Lan!” he shouted, his tone joyous and eager. “Shall we go play?”

The child's words were like an electric shock, breaking the palpable tension in the air. Nie Mingjue stood paralyzed, his heart pounding in his chest. The word “Uncle” was a shocking confirmation: Lan Qiren was there, somehow connected to that house. Nie Mingjue's breathing became heavier, and his revelation hit him like a punch in the stomach.

Mei, her eyes now full of panic and desperation, seemed to be struggling with an internal conflict. The tension in the house was palpable, every second that passed was filled with a sense of urgency and fear. Nie Mingjue, with his determination growing stronger, asked once again, his voice shaking with anxiety: “Please tell me where I can find Lan Qiren.”.  

Chapter Text

"I heard all you said and I took int to heart"

Lan Qiren felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he stepped through the gates of the Gusu Lan Clan. Mei walked beside him, a presence that until recently had reassured him, but which she now felt like an impossible burden to bear. Every step towards her house felt like a march towards judgment, not only of others, but also of his own heart. The Lan Clan, with its strict rules, could not accept what was happening inside him, that newborn feeling that he did not have the courage to admit even to himself.

Lan Qiren's return to the Gusu Lan Clan was greeted with a mix of relief and surprise. After months of absence, the clan was consumed with anguish, and his reappearance brought a sense of order to the chaos. The disciples and clansmen immediately gathered in the main courtyard, as Lan Qiren, accompanied by Mei, approached with slow but sure steps. Lan Qiren's heartbeat heavy in his chest, not from the weariness of the journey, but from the restlessness that was eating him from the inside. 

As soon as he entered, he was overwhelmed by the reactions of the disciples and clan members. The surprised and confused looks focused on him and, above all, on Mei. The atmosphere filled with tension, and it didn't take long before Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji arrived, worried and visibly relieved to see their uncle, the backbone of their family, finally returned. 

But the tension became palpable the moment Lan Qiren's replacement, Shen Jiuying, made his way through the crowd. His gaze was cold, sharp, full of that barely concealed contempt that Lan Qiren knew all too well. As soon as their eyes met, Lan Qiren felt a cold shiver run through him, a mixture of fear and disgust that made him feel vulnerable like he had never felt in his life. Shen Jiuying said nothing, but his faint smile , almost imperceptible, betrayed his pleasure in seeing Lan Qiren struggle against his weakness. It was a silent threat, a memory from the past that Lan Qiren had always tried to keep hidden. 

Then came the question he was dreading. Lan Xichen, his face kind but full of curiosity, approached him cautiously: “Uncle, who is this young lady accompanying you?”

Lan Qiren felt as if the entire world stopped at that moment. Mei, beside him, looked up at her hopefully, as if she was waiting for him to defend her, for her to explain their bond. But Lan Qiren couldn't speak. He felt Shen Jiuying's presence like an oppressive shadow, the memory of that contempt, that poisonous rivalry that had marked him for his entire life. He could not show himself weak, not in front of Shen, not in front of all those disciples who looked to him as an indestructible guide. 

He looked away from Mei, his heart heavy as a stone, and said the words he knew would break everything: "I don't know her." Her voice was hard, cold, as though she didn't even belong to him. "She's just a commoner. Take her away."

The blow of his words struck Mei like a whip. Her eyes, filled with hope until a moment before, filled with tears. The betrayal he felt was so deep that for a moment he couldn't even breathe. He had thought that Lan Qiren, despite her rigid character, was different. He had believed that, in those days spent together, a hole had been opened in her armor. But now those illusions were brutally shattered, leaving only pain.  

The disciples, hesitant and visibly confused, moved towards Mei with slow, almost reluctant movements, as if they perceived the gravity of the moment. Their gaze fell on Lan Qiren and her in turn, trying to understand what was really happening, but their discipline forced them to follow orders without question. When their hands rested delicately on Mei's arms, it was as if the whole world stopped for a moment.

Mei didn't react. The pain she felt inside was too deep, too overwhelming to even allow her to fight. Her heart seemed to be stuck in that moment, frozen in the moment Lan Qiren had uttered those cold words: " I don't know her ."

Every step she took towards the exit was torture. She felt the weight of her reality crushing her, while the outside world continued to move without stopping. Every movement, every look of the disciples who took her away was a reflection of Lan Qiren's unattainability, of his disinterest, of his rejection. Lan Qiren's words rang in her head, each "I don't know her" was a blow to her heart, a cry of rejection and disillusionment.

As they took her away, she kept turning, her tear-filled eyes begging for an answer, a sign, anything. A look, a gesture, a nod, any small confirmation that what she had experienced alongside him had not been an illusion. But Lan Qiren stood still. His face, usually marked by wisdom and severity, now seemed to be carved from ice. His cold gaze was turned forward, away from her, as if he were trying to detach himself from the moment, as if he were a mere observer of a distant scene and not the protagonist of her betrayal. 

Each step Mei took, each meter that separated her from him, was a wound that opened deeper in her heart. She felt that with every movement she was moving away not only from him, but also from everything she had hoped for, from the subtle bond she believed existed between them. 

Still, she couldn't stop looking back. Her face was streaked with tears, as her eyes continued to desperately search for that one thing that Lan Qiren couldn't, or maybe didn't want, to give her. When she finally understood that he would never turn back, that there would be no sign of regret, no words of comfort, she felt her heart finally break . 

Lan Qiren remained as still as a statue. Every muscle in his body was tense, held back by fear, by remorse, but also by an inability to be vulnerable. The weight of responsibility, duty and tradition crushed him, and whatever love he may have felt for Mei was now stifled by years of repression. The silence which followed was deafening. The disciples slowly disappeared, taking Mei with them, and in the courtyard of the Gusu Lan Clan only the echo of that heartbreaking, unspoken farewell remained. 

For Mei, that silence wasn't just a rejection. It was a sentence . It was as if everything, every little sliver of hope she had cultivated in her time with Lan Qiren, had been swept away in an instant. That silence, so cold and implacable, was the final blow that shattered her from the inside, a blow that no blade could have inflicted with more precision.

It was as if Lan Qiren had erected an impassable wall between them, a shield of indifference, and that gesture, that not turning around, had reduced her to nothing . Mei desperately searched for a reason, for a sign that the bond they had shared hadn't been a mistake. But she received nothing. 

Every step that took her away from him made her feel more and more empty. Her legs grew heavy, her eyes burned as she kept turning back, looking for something that would never come. Her tears streamed down her face, and the disciples leading her away barely dared to look at her. 

In Mei's heart, the pain became more and more unbearable, and when the distance between her and Lan Qiren became insurmountable, she knew there was no hope. It was over .

Lan Qiren remained motionless, his face impassive, but inside he was devastated. Every fiber of her being wanted to rush to her , to stop her , to tell her the truth . But the terror and disgust he had felt when he looked into the eyes of his old master, Shen Jiuying, had paralyzed him .

He was a prisoner of his own fear, caught between a sense of duty and a love he couldn't declare out loud. The scars of the past and the fear of disappointing, the fear of facing the truth that he had built around himself, kept him tied to an unsustainable inertia . His heart twisted in silent pain, and Mei's every movement, her every desperate gesture as she was pulled away, was a blow to her sense of preservation and discipline. 

His heart was shattered, each beat a searing pain as he watched Mei walk away. Every step she took away from him seemed to resonate like a heavy blow on her chest, a heartbreaking reminder of what she was losing. The silence that surrounded him was oppressiv e, as if the whole world had stopped existing, except for that moment of atrocious separation.

Mei's tears, visible even from a distance, were a reflection of the pain Lan Qiren felt inside herself. He felt a cold grip him , an emotion that blocked him, making him lose the ability to act. It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between him and his love, a wall made of fear and indecision. 

And so, as Mei was taken away, he remained motionless, alone and cold, like a man who had just lost the only thing that had made him feel alive . 

Lan Qiren turned slowly, trying to remain composed, but his body was trembling, and his expression was the mask of a sadness that he could no longer hide. Every moment that passed without doing anything was one more moment of torment, and the awareness that Mei was now irremediably distant from him consumed him. 

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji exchanged looks filled with concern and confusion. Even though they knew their uncle well and were used to his harshness, there was something deeply wrong with the way Lan Qiren had rejected Mei. The coldness and cruelty with which she had treated her seemed inconsistent with the master they had always respected. Their hearts were tormented by doubts and worries, but, out of respect and perhaps also out of fear of sparking further conflict, none of them dared to openly question Lan Qiren's actions. It was as if a veil of cold indifference had covered all traces of his humanity .

The scene was heartbreaking, yet no one dared to question Lan Qiren's decision publicly. The silent observation of the disciples and those present, their respectful silence, seemed to express a tight-lipped acceptance, an acknowledgment that Lan Qiren, though stern and uncompromising, was the master and authority in this situation. But shadows of doubt and confusion were taking root in their hearts, like a seed of restlessness that could not be ignored . 

From the corner of the garden, Shen Jiuying observed everything with a smile that hid nothing of his satisfaction. His face was filled with evil satisfaction, an expression that betrayed the cruel pleasure he felt in seeing Lan Qiren torn apart and forced to make such a painful choice. Shen Jiuying’s smile was a mixture of victory and contempt , a smile that seemed to say: “Finally, you have succumbed to your weakness. I forced you to become what you feared being: a puppet of your fears and insecurities .”

His venomous gaze rested on Lan Qiren with a palpable ferocity, almost wanting to poke him, wanting to crush him under the weight of his own inability to act . Shen Jiuying's every movement, every small gesture and every look, was filled with a contempt for his former student, a contempt that seemed to bubble from a wellspring of resentment and revenge accumulated over time. His cruel joy was evident, and it seemed that every second that passed might be the last that Lan Qiren could still be influenced by his façade of severity and coldness.

Shen Jiuying enjoyed the sight of Lan Qiren's inner torment, knowing that he had finally inflicted the pain he had always wanted. The sense of triumph he felt was almost tangible, a sort of personal revenge that manifested itself in his attitude and in his implacable gaze. He had succeeded in breaking something profoundly human in Lan Qiren , in demonstrating how fragile even the most rigorous individual could be, and this was a complete victory for him.

Seeing the ever composed Lan Qiren broken, forced to deny a woman who probably meant far more than he would ever admit, was the culmination of a personal victory for Shen Jiuying. He had spent years watching Lan Qiren receive honor and respect, cloaked in that moral perfection that he despised, unable to see its weakness. But now, finally, the moment had come. The cold rejection that Lan Qiren had shown Mei, the love that he didn't have the courage to defend, were tangible proof that even the strongest could collapse under the weight of their fears.

Every second that Lan Qiren remained impassive as Mei was carried away was a growing triumph for Shen. The pain in Lan Qiren's eyes, hidden behind a mask of indifference, was not lost on Shen Jiuying, who delighted in every nuance of that silent agony. He knew that that torment would never fully fade away, that it would devour Lan Qiren from the inside, day after day, in an invisible and continuous torture.

“Even you,” Shen Jiuying thought, “even you are not strong enough.” This awareness filled him with a dark joy, almost madness. It was as if, in managing to bring down Lan Qiren, he had inflicted a wound not only on his rival, but on everything he represented. That mask of rigor and discipline that Lan Qiren had worn all his life had cracked, revealing the insecure and frightened man hiding beneath him. 

And so, as Lan Qiren sank deeper into his loneliness and remorse, Shen Jiuying watched him, pleased, aware that he had inflicted a wound deeper than any blade. It wasn't just a win. It was the fall of a man he had believed to be inaccessible, the murder of an ideal. 

Shen Jiuying couldn't help the triumphant smile that spread across his face, a mask of pure cruelty that fed off of Lan Qiren's torment. He wasn't just satisfied – he was ecstatic. Every moment in which Lan Qiren stood still, paralyzed by a sense of duty, while Mei was dragged away, was a profound pleasure for Shen. It wasn't just a moment of revenge; it was the destruction of everything Lan Qiren represented, a well-aimed blow to the heart of the man he had always seen as unapproachable, immutable, impregnable.

There was a part of him that wanted to scream for everyone to look: "See? He's human too. He's weak too!" He wanted the world, and especially the disciples of Gusu Lan, to see their master collapse under the weight of his own morality. Shen Jiuying, who had harbored resentment for years, now enjoyed every moment of that defeat. Seeing Lan Qiren become a slave to his fear, to his sense of responsibility, to give up the only true thing he could have had in his entire life - love, even if hidden - was his greatest victory.

And that shiver of fear that he had glimpsed in his eyes? That spark of terror that Lan Qiren hadn't been able to hide when their gazes met? For Shen Jiuying, it was proof that the man he had once considered invincible had finally been reduced to nothing. Lan Qiren's coldness was no longer an impenetrable armor, but a transparent veil that barely hid the emptiness and despair that consumed him.

Deep in his heart, Shen knew that Lan Qiren would never be the same. He had destroyed something precious within him, something Lan Qiren himself had never wanted to admit he possessed. The love he felt for Mei, however weak, however hidden behind the rigor of her beliefs, had been crushed in a single moment of cowardice. That moment when he turned his back on Mei wasn't just a betrayal of her – it was a betrayal of himself.

And Shen Jiuying? He had won. He had demonstrated that, beneath that facade of rigor and discipline, Lan Qiren was just a man like everyone else: full of fears, doubts, incapable of living according to the same principles as him. The suffering he had inflicted was not visible to others, but Shen knew that every night Lan Qiren would relive that moment, feeling remorse creeping into his heart like a hungry beast.  

And so, as Mei was taken away, her eyes filled with tears and her heart broken, Shen Jiuying continued to revel in her triumph. Every step that took Mei away from Lan Qiren was like a drumbeat that marked the end of an era, the one in which Lan Qiren had been invincible. Now, it was nothing anymore.

When Mei arrived at the village, her body was visibly tired and her heart felt broken. Liang welcomed her with immediate concern, the smile that had always illuminated her face faded as soon as he saw Mei's destroyed expression. Without saying a word to her, he took her into his arms, trying to give her comfort, but her embrace couldn't stop the incessant flow of tears and sobs that tormented her.

“He abandoned me,” Mei sobbed, her voice broken by her pain. “He said that he didn't know me...as if I were a stranger...”

Liang's hands balled into fists as he listened to the harrowing tale. Every word Mei said seemed to hit Liang like a punch to the stomach. Anger rose inside him, like a raging river that threatened to overflow. He couldn't believe what he just heard. Lan Qiren, the man he had always respected and admired, had treated Mei with unimaginable cruelty . How could a man who had played such an important role in Mei's life turn his back on her in such a brutal way? 

The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, which now seemed insignificant next to the emotional turmoil that filled the space. Liang, his eyes filled with helpless fury, muttered in a trembling voice, “You didn’t deserve this. You don't deserve to be treated this way. He... he chose to be weak .” 

Liang's anger was palpable, an almost visible strength that manifested itself in his abrupt gestures and the tone of his voice. Every movement was filled with contained tension, a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to explode at any moment. His eyes, normally so calm and reassuring, were now incandescent, reflecting an intensity of indignation and fury that he rarely showed.

The fire in the hearth crackled faintly, its tongues of flame dancing in a monotonous, hypnotic rhythm. The contrast was stark: the heat and light of the fire seemed a cheeky irony compared to the freezing cold and excruciating pain that enveloped Liang and Mei. The physical heat of the fire felt like a cruel mockery compared to the emotional chill they were both experiencing. It was as if the fire itself mocked their suffering , offering a warm, welcoming light that could not penetrate the wall of pain that had erected itself around their hearts.

Lan Qiren, once seen as a beacon of strength and determination, now seemed to be a pale figure, a shadow of what he once could have been . His behavior, his decision to abandon Mei in that way, not only betrayed the trust of those who had followed and respected him, but showed a weakness that was unacceptable. This betrayal was not only an act of contempt towards Mei, but a profound insult to all those who had placed their hopes and beliefs in him. Lan Qiren had chosen to become a caricature of himself that he had once portrayed: a man who now seemed unable to maintain his dignity and integrity, giving in to fear and contempt .

The truth of his failure was like a poison permeating every aspect of the situation. The harm he was causing was immeasurable. Mei, who had been abandoned in a moment of vulnerability, carried the weight of a disappointment that could not be easily lifted. But it wasn't just her who was suffering; all those who had believed in Lan Qiren, all those who had seen him as a figure of guidance and strength, had been betrayed . His weakness now rang out as a bitter echo, amplified by Liang's pain and anger, and was reflected in the faces of those who had once admired and respected the master. 

His choice to abandon Mei, to renounce his humanity to adhere to a mask of rigor and discipline, had shattered the trust and respect he had accumulated over time. The light of what had been an example of strength and dedication had vanished, leaving behind only the emptiness of an unexpected and devastating weakness.

Lan Qiren's betrayal was not only an act of personal abandonment, but a wound inflicted upon all who had believed in him. This weakness created waves of damage that rippled far beyond Mei, touching all who saw him as a model of integrity and strength. The hurt was not just emotional; it had become a scar that threatened to leave an indelible imprint on every soul who had been fortunate or unfortunate enough to cross Lan Qiren's path.

Liang, with his anger and pain, tried to stem the devastation that Lan Qiren had unleashed, while Mei, immersed in a sea of tears and despair, found only a glimmer of comfort in his embrace. The knowledge that their pain was part of a larger wound, a wound that had torn faith and trust in a figure who had represented so much , made their suffering even more heartbreaking. The night stretched around them, filled with a darkness that seemed to reflect the gravity of the moment and the depth of their disappointment .

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren was a broken man. After his return to the Gusu Lan Clan, he had locked himself in his room, abandoning all contact with the outside world. The five days of isolation had been a descent into desperation, a continuous slide into an abyss of torment and flagellation. Every day, his existence was reduced to a series of lonely and anguishing rituals.

The wooden tub, once a haven of calm and relaxation, had become a prison of hot water and sadness. Each time he immersed himself, the water was not a balm for the soul, but rather seemed to amplify his pain. The soap bubbles floating on the surface reflected his turbulent thoughts, and each drop that fell seemed to carry with it a fragment of his inner torment. The hot water that enveloped him did not soothe his anguish; on the contrary, it made it more acute, as if every minute spent in the tub was a time that slipped away without being able to relieve the weight he felt on his chest. 

His attempts at meditation, once his path to inner peace, were now a battle against his own tormented mind. Every posture, every mantra, seemed to only lead him deeper into his anguish. The silence he tried to embrace was only a stage for the memories of Mei, which assailed him like raging waves. His thoughts returned incessantly to that day, to that moment when he had chosen to push her away. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, felt the pain of her disappointment and the cold of her abandonment.

Every memory of Mei was a blow to his already torn heart. The way her voice shook with pain, the look of confusion and sadness in her eyes when she was cast out, were like an unceasing torment that hurt him more deeply than any physical wound. Lan Qiren realized that it was not only the pain he felt because of his action, but the knowledge that he was living far from the person he had hoped to be, far from the principles he had tried to uphold. The tears he shed were not only an expression of his physical pain, but also a reflection of his awareness of how far he was from his own ideal image 

Every tear that rolled down his face was a sign of how he had failed to maintain the dignity and strength that he had demanded of himself. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, a weight that seemed to grow with each moment of reflection. His mind, once a place of control and calm, was now a storm of regret and guilt.

In that period of confinement, Lan Qiren was desperately looking for a corner of serenity, a small refuge where he could hide from his own emotions. But all attempts to find peace were in vain. His mind was a battleground, and every day that passed without resolution seemed to intensify his suffering. His isolation wasn't a cure, but an amplifier of his torment. The awareness of having disappointed those he loved and of having betrayed his own principles slowly consumed him, and every moment of loneliness was further torture.

By the fifth day, Lan Qiren's inner pain had become so overwhelming that he had to take a step towards the outside world. Every action, every word, felt like an unbearable burden, but he knew he had to try to reconnect with his grandchildren. The decision to organize a dinner was one of the greatest challenges for him. 

When he approached the servants and kitchen workers, every word seemed like a heavy burden. The request to prepare a dinner for him and his grandchildren was almost an obsession, a desperate need to do something right, to demonstrate that, despite everything, he still had a semblance of normality and affection to offer.

Every time he uttered a sentence, he felt as if he were dragging a boulder, with the awareness of how imperfect and full of regret, almost desperate, his attempt at recovery was.

Lan Qiren realized that despite him desire to get closer to his grandchildren and make amends for his mistakes, the relationship between them had remained cold and distant. He had never found a way to show them his sincere affection, and now his attempt to get closer seemed to be undermined by the same inability to express and demonstrate his love for him. Dinner was not just a meal, but a desperate attempt to reconnect, to rebuild that fragile bridge that he had always tried to build but which, due to shyness or rigidity, he had failed to completely establish.  

When he realized that he had almost said that there was one more person to invite to dinner, his heart leapt with terror. His mind immediately returned to Mei, to the woman he had chased away, to the pain he had inflicted. Her presence had been a constant weight in his thoughts, a torture he couldn't forget. The idea of mentioning her, of inviting her as if everything were the same as before, was unbearable. The knowledge of how far he was from what he had hoped to be - a just man, a loving uncle - hit him hard. 

The dinner he had planned was an act of vulnerability, an attempt to redeem himself and show his grandchildren that, despite everything, he was still capable of being a man of value and affection. But his heart was filled with anxiety and fear, because he knew that the path to forgiveness and understanding was as fraught with obstacles and as uncertain as the future itself. 

When the evening finally arrived, the contrast between the elegance of the grandchildren and the sobriety of Lan Qiren was palpable. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, with their more elegant robes, showed signs of youth and respect. The colors of their robes shone under the candlelight, the finely embroidered fabrics accentuated their presence, and their every movement was a display of grace and dignity. Their elegance seemed to fill the room with an almost festive brightness, in stark contrast to the dark and heavy atmosphere that had enveloped Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren, on the other hand, wore a simple robe, the dull colors and inconspicuous fabric reflecting his state of mind. Her choice of dress, devoid of any decoration or elegance, was a reflection of her inner condition. Her entire appearance exudes a pain and regret that couldn't seem to be expressed in words. The contrast between the sobriety of her dress and the liveliness of her nephews was a visual symbol of the emotional distance that separated them. 

When they sat down to eat, Lan Qiren attempted to break the silence with a speech. But her words seemed to run aground, as if they were blocked by her own uncertainty. He voice trembled, and every sentence she tried to pronounce came out garbled and fragmented. The words accumulated in his mind, but failed to take shape. He tried to express a thought, but each attempt seemed clumsier and more uncertain than the last. His gaze, which wandered insistently between the plates and the faces of his grandchildren, betrayed a profound anxiety.

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, visibly worried, exchanged alarmed glances while trying to maintain the conversation. Their words, pronounced with an obvious effort, seemed to fill the silence but failed to dissolve the tension that weighed on the dinner. Every attempt to speak seemed to disappear into the void, leaving an echo of unspoken words and repressed feelings. Their concern increased as they tried to understand their uncle's unusual behavior.

The silence became increasingly oppressive, an invisible wall that no one could overcome. Lan Qiren attempted to break him with broken sentences and forced lines, but every attempt to communicate seemed to fail miserably. His heart, heavy with regret and unspoken guilt, seemed to make any form of genuine connection impossible.  

As Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, now on the verge of getting up, approached the door, Lan Qiren rose from his seat. His movement was slow and full of palpable gravity. He walked over to Lan Xichen and, with a shaking hand, placed a hand on his shoulder. Lan Xichen turned and met his gaze, which was shiny with tears and full of an emotion that Lan Qiren couldn't fully express.

Lan Qiren's face was marked by deep pain, and his voice, almost stuttering, came out with brutal sincerity. "I'm sorry." he said, the words filled with unbridgeable regret and a vulnerability he had struggled to show. The silence that followed was dense and emotionally charged. Lan Qiren, finally confronted with the reality of his fragility and his mistakes, desperately tried to find human contact, to repair a bond that he had always struggled to maintain. But the weight of the grief and regret seemed almost unbearable, and the uncertainty about the future of their relationship was reflected in the faces of his grandchildren, who now faced a broken man. 

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji were completely caught off guard. The scene in front of them was far from everything they had imagined. They were used to Lan Qiren's stiffness, his austere demeanor, and her cold reserve. But what they had just experienced was something completely new: a man who was fragile, despondent, and who for the first time seemed to have no answers. 

When Lan Qiren, with a trembling hand and an expression of deep vulnerability, uttered his sincere “I’m sorry,” the effect on his nephews was immediate. Lan Xichen, who was about to leave, felt the weight of those words like a pang in his heart. Lan Qiren’s expression, marked by tears and pain, contrasted dramatically with the impassive and distant figure they had always known. His face, furrowed with lines of worry and regret, seemed to tell a story of internal struggles and personal torments that had remained hidden until that moment.

Lan Xichen turned slowly, his face pale and his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and pity. Lan Qiren’s hand on his shoulder was like a physical and emotional weight that seemed to sink into his own thoughts. He was not used to seeing his uncle in this state, and the contrast between the image of the penalty and the current scene was shocking. Lan Xichen opened his mouth, but no words came out. The emotion was too intense, the pain and confusion too great. 

Lan Wangji, next to Lan Xichen, watched with an impassive gaze, but his eyes betrayed a deep uneasiness. He had always been the more reserved of the two, but Lan Qiren's expression, his admission of weakness and regret, struck even him with an unexpected force. It was clear that Lan Qiren had never been so vulnerable before them, and this new side of him created a turmoil of confused, unexpressed emotions.

The silence that followed was oppressive and filled with palpable tension. Lan Qiren, with a heavy heart and pleading eyes, desperately searched for a sign of understanding and forgiveness. He had always struggled with the weight of his expectations and his mistakes, and now, in front of his grandchildren, he was forced to confront his weaknesses in a stark and inescapable way. His words, “I'm sorry,” were filled with a regret that seemed impossible to fully express. Every letter, every silence between words, seemed to amplify his pain. 

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, confused and unsure how to respond, exchanged glances filled with deep concern. They had never seen their uncle in this state, and they weren't sure how to handle the situation. It was clear that Lan Qiren was trying to make amends, to repair a bond that had been compromised by years of rigidity and distance. But the weight of his repentance was so great that it seemed almost to crush them all.

Lan Xichen, his heart torn between pity and the desire to rebuild, finally found the strength to speak. “Uncle… us,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don't know what to say…”

Lan Wangji nodded slowly, his face serious but not without understanding. “We don't know how to deal with this,” he added. “But we are willing to listen, to try to understand..” 

The words of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji were a flickering light amidst the darkness. The offer of understanding and the willingness to reconnect was a sign of hope, a chance to overcome pain and repair torn family ties. Lan Qiren, with tears threatening to fall once again, felt a glimmer of relief. He wasn't sure what would happen next, but knowing that his nephews were willing to give him a chance was a comfort amidst his inner storm. 

The silence that followed felt different now. He was filled with new hope and the possibility of rebuilding, a silence that, although still full of tension, promised the possibility of healing and a new beginning. 

Chapter Text

He decided to join his nephews and their companions – Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue – for a walk, hoping that the change of scenery might help him find some inner peace. As the young people conversed and exchanged laughter, Lan Qiren noticed the looks full of affection and understanding between the grandchildren and their companions. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian exchanged knowing glances and smiles, while Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue conversed with a serene complicity. Lan Qiren watched, heart heavy, feeling a mixture of longing and longing for connection. In that moment, the simple, authentic beauty he saw around him was something he'd always wanted, but it seemed so far from the rigidity he'd always imposed. The sight of those bonds and that affection was a bitter reminder of what he missed. 

Deep inside, Lan Qiren longed for Mei to be there with him. He imagined what it would be like to walk through the garden with her at his side, sharing those moments of joy and simplicity. The thought of Mei struck him with stinging pain and deep nostalgia. He would have liked her presence to be part of that perfect image, that she could laugh and talk with him and with his grandchildren, making that snapshot of happiness even more complete. But Mei wasn't there, and the emptiness she left was a constant reminder of her absence. 

Suddenly, the overwhelming sensation hit him like an unexpected, cold wave. It was as if an invisible hand, full of affection and regret, grabbed him with a strength as sweet as it was inexorable. Lan Qiren felt a tremor, a wave of heat and cold that intertwined within him, crushing him in a merciless embrace. His legs suddenly gave way, and his body, unable to support the weight of the pain, bent forward.

His eyes, which had tried to remain fixed in the present, closed as his face contorted into an expression of pure anguish. Without warning, he knelt on the lawn, his knees sunk into the soft grass that seemed to recede beneath him. His body trembled visibly, his muscles tense with emotional tension. His hands, usually firm and confident, were now tight around his face, as if trying to hold back a storm of feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

Every breath he took was labored, the air felt heavy and difficult to inhale. Grief and nostalgia washed over him like an unstoppable tide, a whirlwind of memories and regrets that robbed him of the ability to think clearly. The world around him gradually faded away, every color and sound dissolving into a blur, leaving him only with the crushing sense of loss he felt within himself.

It was as if, the moment he knelt, the full weight of memories and unexpressed emotions fell upon him, dragging him into an abyss of sadness and longing. Lan Qiren, bent in a position of vulnerability, felt every fiber of his being torn apart by pain. The thought of Mei, his beloved, was an oppressive presence, a ghost that seemed to envelop him in a grip of unbearable nostalgia. She longed for her to be there with him, for her to share that moment of vulnerability, of fragility that she was experiencing.

Lan Xichen, noticing his uncle's absence from the group, turned and saw Lan Qiren kneeling, his body bent and trembling, immersed in palpable desperation. Lan Xichen's heart broke as he saw the pain evident on Lan Qiren's face. Without hesitation, she approached with quick, determined steps, and enveloped him in a protective, loving embrace. The hug was a warm and safe refuge, a concrete manifestation of the affection Lan Xichen felt for his uncle.

Lan Xichen's embrace was enveloping and intense, like a blanket of warmth and comfort. She felt Lan Qiren's body tremble against her chest, and the weight of her tears fell on her shoulders. Lan Xichen held Lan Qiren with a gentle but firm strength, trying to convey to him all the protection and love she felt for him. It was as if Lan Qiren finally found a safe haven after years of internal storms. Every fiber of Lan Qiren's body seemed to find relief in that contact, and the last barrier he had erected around his heart dissolved in the warmth of the embrace.

Lan Qiren, with his head lowered and his face buried in his hands, was a picture of pain and despair. Each sob seemed to dig a deeper furrow into her heart, and the confession she was making to Lan Xichen was a release, but also an enormous burden. Lan Xichen, with the determination of someone who knows that consolation can make a difference, continued to envelop his uncle in a warm and reassuring hug.

Lan Xichen's arms were a refuge, a safe haven amidst the emotional storm that had overwhelmed Lan Qiren. Every sob and every tear that slipped from Lan Qiren's face seemed to find comfort in the strength and security of Lan Xichen's embrace. Lan Qiren's tears, which had begun to flow silently, now fell in torrents, wetting Lan Xichen's chest and shoulders. Every drop was a testament to the pain and unspoken love he had carried with him for so long.

Lan Xichen, with his face close to his uncle's, tried to instill as much warmth and compassion as possible. His words were whispers of comfort, an attempt to ease at least some of the weight of Lan Qiren's pain. “Uncle, you don't have to face this alone. We are here with you. I'm here with you. Every step you took, every choice you made, led you to us. You are not alone in this.”

Lan Xichen's warmth and presence were like balm to Lan Qiren's invisible wounds. Every hug, every word of comfort, helped piece together the fragments of Lan Qiren's broken heart. He felt the human warmth and support he had never dared hope for, yet now he was there, tangible and real.

Lan Qiren slowly looked up, his face still wet with tears. The sight of Lan Xichen, with his serious but kind face, and the expression of understanding and love he offered him, was an image of hope and healing. Lan Xichen continued to embrace him with a tenderness and strength that spoke of a deep and unbreakable bond.

In a small voice, Lan Qiren continued to speak, her tone now softer but still laced with emotion. “I had always dreamed of having Mei by my side, of being able to build a life together. But life decided differently. Now, I don't know how to continue, I don't know how to face this void.”

Lan Xichen, with one hand gently stroking his uncle's back, tried to infuse every word with as much comfort as possible. “We are here for you, uncle. No matter how difficult it is, we will face this journey together. Your strength, your love for Mei, is a part of you, and we are here to help you carry that burden.”

The atmosphere was filled with deep intimacy and sincere connection. Wei Wuxian, who had observed the scene with empathy and understanding, decided to intervene to lighten the atmosphere. He approached with a kind smile and a joking tone, trying to bring a moment of levity.

“You know, Lan Qiren,” Wei Wuxian said with a mischievous smile, “if you need to distract yourself, I can tell you one of my crazy stories. And I promise there will be no dragons around this time!”

Wei Wuxian's words, simple but full of affection, managed to make Lan Qiren smile, despite her tears. The laughter, initially weak and nervous, gradually became more sincere and liberating. Lan Qiren found himself laughing and crying at the same time, a mix of emotions that seemed to lighten the weight of he heart.

Evening had fallen and the sky was tinged with shades of gold and dark blue, while the shadows lengthened in the Lan clan's garden. Lan Qiren, with a slight flutter of nervousness in his heart, stood at the door of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's room. He knew that Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were also there next to them. She was aware that, since Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were united in marriage, the four used to meet in the evening to enjoy the emperor's smile together, although not every evening.

Lan Qiren remembered the times disciples had observed Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji enter with mysterious packages in the sleeves of their robes. And a few years later, he had heard similar rumors about Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue, walking in with packages in their hands as they looked around. At the time, he chose to ignore these details, not because he didn't care, but because he never wanted to interfere with the lives of his grandchildren and their partners. However, he now realized that the change in him hadn't just started recently, but had begun years ago. Maybe he had never admitted out loud how much he wanted to be part of that extended family. 

Lan Qiren held two packets of peanuts in his hands, one salty and one spicy. Nervousness made him hold on tight, but the intent was clear: he wanted to be part of something bigger, of the family that he had built for himself and that he now wanted to share with them.

He knew that the little ones, Lan Yuan and Lan Jingyi, were already in bed at that time. They were model disciples, even if Lan Jingyi was a little too loud and definitely took after Nie Mingjue. Lan Qiren was proud of his grandchildren and the work they had done with them; they had exceeded his expectations, achieving something greater than he himself had done.

With a deep breath, Lan Qiren knocked gently on the door. Inside, the voices suddenly faded and he heard the sound of ceramic being hidden, which brought a small smile to he lips. Lan Wangji was the first to open the door, being careful not to open it too far. When he saw his uncle with the small bags in his hands, Lan Wangji's gaze brightened, and he stepped aside, inviting him to enter.

“Uncle,” Lan Wangji murmured, his voice a mix of surprise and welcome. Lan Qiren, with a shy and nervous smile, made his way into the room. “I have come to listen to Wei Wuxian's stories… if I am welcome.” Lan Wangji's eyes filled with tears of joy, and the young master stepped aside with a solemn gesture. Lan Qiren entered the room and sat down, while Lan Wangji gently closed the door behind him.

Lan Qiren, once seated, looked at the group with an expression that tried to be relaxed, but which betrayed his emotion. “Don't be shy,” he said, trying to make the situation light-hearted. “Get out the alcohol.”

His nephews and Nie Mingjue were shocked, their eyes wide in surprise. Only Wei Wuxian, with his characteristic sense of humor, stepped forward with a mischievous smile. “Well, if the Grand Master asks, I will!” he said, nodding towards the bottle he was holding.

Lan Qiren, with a soft and reassuring tone, gently corrected Wei Wuxian. “Qiren. Please call me Qiren… we are family.”

The moment of intimacy and openness became even more intense when, just as Wei Wuxian attempted to serve the alcohol, the emperor's bottle he was holding in his hands slipped and broke. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, and an awkward silence fell over them.

Lan Qiren, with an uncertain smile, bent down to help clean up the fragments, his gesture simple but full of warmth. His concern over the situation was evident, but his gaze towards Wei Wuxian and the others was one of acceptance and understanding. The breaking of the bottle did nothing but add a touch of humanity to the evening, a demonstration that, despite his fears and insecurities, Lan Qiren was now part of the family he so desired.

When the little mix-up was sorted out and the alcohol was served again, the atmosphere in the room eased noticeably. Lan Qiren finally felt at ease, the initial nervousness and embarrassment had melted away. Laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Lan Qiren, with a light heart and a sincere smile on her lips, participated in an evening of stories and laughter with her grandchildren and their beloved companions, feeling part of that family that she had so longed to get closer to. 

Wei Wuxian, with his innate sense of humor, started telling funny stories, entertaining everyone with his exaggerations and adventures. Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue listened attentively, occasionally exchanging smug looks. Lan Wangji, sitting next to Wei Wuxian, rarely smiled, but his eyes shone with quiet happiness.

At a certain point, Lan Xichen, out of curiosity, asked Lan Qiren: “Uncle, what have you been doing during these months you were away?." 

Lan Qiren, with a bright smile and an expression of longing, took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Oh, those months were full of experiences and discoveries,” he began, him voice warm and reflective. “I was in the village, far away from everything I knew, but those days had a special meaning for me.”

He began to tell of his adventures in a melancholic and affectionate tone. “I tried to cook for Mei and the village kids. It wasn't at all easy! One time, I tried to make a soup and ended up turning it into some kind of spicy broth… which, to be honest, was more like a potion than a meal!” Lan Qiren's smile widened, and affectionate laughter broke out among those present, imagining the hilarious scene.

“And then,” he continued, “I taught the children of the village to read. It was a difficult task, but seeing their eyes light up as they learned was an indescribable joy. I learned to care for the flowers in Mei's garden, something I never thought I would do, but which gave me unexpected peace. Each flower, each plant, seemed to tell a story, and it made me feel closer to Mei.” 

When he spoke about Mei, the melancholy and pain were palpable in his tone. “Mei… she was a wonderful person. Her kindness and love of life were contagious. The garden she had tended was her refuge, and I… I tried to make it live as best I could while I was there. But it wasn't the same without her."

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, hearing Lan Qiren's words and seeing the melancholy and affectionate expression on him face, felt a pang in his heart. The emotions they felt were intense, and they once again felt small and vulnerable in front of their uncle. Tears threatened to well up in their eyes, and their affection and understanding for Lan Qiren deepened.

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji listened intently, and the intensity of their feelings was evident. As Lan Qiren spoke, they both felt themselves sucked into a vortex of emotions. Lan Qiren's stories were not just tales of past experiences, but a revelation of how much their uncle had fought and loved, even far from them. Tears began to form in Lan Xichen's eyes, and he struggled to contain them. Him heart was gripped by a grip of understanding and gratitude, feeling a deep connection with the uncle who until then had seemed distant. Lan Xichen felt like a child again, not only at the memory of Lan Qiren's past, but also at the humanity and vulnerability their uncle had shared.

Lan Wangji, sitting next to him, was no different. His eyes, usually impassive and calm, shone with unshed tears. The idea that Lan Qiren had lived and loved so deeply, far from them, affected him deeply. He felt a wave of emotion that made him feel small and needy again, like when he was a child and sought the comfort and approval of his uncle.

Their eyes met in the middle of the narration. They were no longer simple members of a detached family, but only souls who finally recognized their mutual love and sacrifice. It was as if an invisible barrier had finally broken, shortening the distance that had separated them for so long. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji looked into each other's eyes with a new understanding and affection, both recognizing how much Lan Qiren had wanted to get closer to them and how their perception of him had changed.

Lan Qiren, observing the faces of his grandchildren, saw the tears in their eyes and the reflection of a love that had finally manifested itself. He heart was filled with joy and satisfaction at seeing how much family ties had strengthened. He felt that him had finally reached a point of sincere connection with Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, and the distance that had separated them had closed significantly.

“Finally,” thought Lan Qiren, “I truly feel like a part of this family. Finally, we are closer than we ever have been. I am happy to be able to be here with you, to be able to share not only my experiences, but also my love and my desire to be a better uncle.”

The happiness and sense of accomplishment he felt were palpable, and the knowledge of being part of something so precious and intimate filled him with an unexpected joy. That evening, with all his emotions and revelations, marked a crucial moment in their family life, creating a stronger, deeper bond that would unite them forever.

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren walked through Caity Town, immersed in a serenity that finally seemed within reach after months of reflection and renewed commitment. The light wind caressed his face, and the freshness of the air seemed to have the power to erase some of the weight he had carried for a long time. Beside him, his young students, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, chatted happily. Their laughter and enthusiasm created a palpable contrast to Lan Qiren's serene calm, as if their lively spirit were a breeze soothing his inner torment.

As they strolled along one of the main streets, Lan Qiren spotted Liang in the distance. Liang was busy conversing with some residents, a well-known figure in the community. When Liang noticed Lan Qiren, his body visibly stiffened. His eyes, once filled with respect, darkened and his face became implacable. Without a greeting or a nod of recognition, Liang lowered his gaze and walked away with a determined step, a clear sign of contempt and envy.

Lan Qiren, visibly affected by the reaction, tried to approach with a forced smile and a gentle tone. “Liang,” he called, trying to get past the invisible wall between them. “I would like to talk to you. I understand if you are angry with me, but I really want to explain my position to you.” 

Liang slowly turned to face him, his eyes shining with a fury that seemed unstoppable. Her face, lined with lines of anger, betrayed no compassion. His mouth twisted in contempt as he advanced on Lan Qiren with a bold, menacing stride.

When Liang reached Lan Qiren, the scene became dramatic. With a violent and angry gesture, he grabbed Lan Qiren by the edges of his jacket, tearing it forcefully. The fabric of his jacket strained under the pressure, the sound of the buttons creaking almost deafening. Lan Qiren, surprised by the brutality of the gesture, trembled. His eyes widened in an expression of disbelief and fear.

Liang, his neck veins showing and his face flushed, was shaking Lan Qiren with uncontrolled fury. His hands, clenched with almost inhuman strength, shook him like a marionette. Each movement conveyed a rush of energy and hatred, which made Lan Qiren tremble to the bone. The light wind that previously caressed Lan Qiren now seemed to intensify the drama of the moment, sending a few dry leaves flying as passers-by stopped to observe, some with eyes full of worry, others with morbid curiosity.

Liang's words were a cry of contempt, a cascade of insults and accusations pouring down on Lan Qiren. “You're an asshole, Lan Qiren!” he screamed, he voice cracking with emotion. “Mei is a good person, and you treated her like garbage! There is nothing you can say to justify the pain you have caused her. I don't want to see you in the village anymore! Disappear and never be seen again!”

Liang turned slowly, lines of unstoppable anger streaking across his face. He gaze was sharp, and he eyes shone with an intensity that could burn. He approached Lan Qiren with palpable fury and, roughly grabbing him by the edges of his jacket, shook him violently. The strength of he gesture sent a rush of energy and hatred, making Lan Qiren tremble.

“You have no idea the damage you have done!” Liang yelled, his voice cracking with anger. "You ruined Mei's life! You pushed her away, you made her suffer, and for what? For your foolish pride and stubbornness!”

Liang's fury seemed to know no bounds. His eyes were filled with a fury that seemed to be unleashing like an unstoppable storm. Lan Qiren, paralyzed by violence and surprise, attempted to maintain control, but Liang's words struck like poisoned arrows, piercing his already guilt-ridden heart.

"I'm sorry," Lan Qiren managed to mutter, his voice broken and full of desperation. “I shouldn't have… I didn't understand…”

Liang, in explosive anger, pushed Lan Qiren against a nearby wall, his relentless strength seeming to reflect all the pain and frustration he felt over Mei's fate. The scene was a living tableau of conflict and disillusionment, with Liang shouting and gesticulating with destructive passion.

While Liang continued to rant, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, petrified and shocked, observed the scene. Lan Jingyi attempted to approach to intervene, but Lan Sizhui held him back with a firm hand, knowing that any attempt at mediation would be in vain.  Liang finally released Lan Qiren, his face still marked with unstoppable anger. 

When Liang finally let him go, he turned and walked away with a firm step, disappearing into the crowd. Lan Qiren stood there, trembling and pale-faced, while the weight of sorrow for what he had done to Mei seemed to crush him further. Liang's every word was a constant spur to his remorse, every gesture an open wound that didn't seem to have peace.

Lan Qiren stood still for a long moment after Liang pulled away, his body shaking with a series of involuntary tremors. His ruinous robe, now hanging messily, was a silent symbol of the anger he had just suffered. Passers-by continued to observe him with looks mixed with curiosity and concern, some of whom had not yet understood the full meaning of what had happened.

Lan Qiren tried to get to his feet, his face pale as a sheet and his breathing labored. His mind was a tumult of disordered thoughts as he tried to process the wave of emotions that had overwhelmed him. His heart was pounding, as if each beat was a hammering reminder of pain and failure. Every disapproving look he received seemed to dig deeper into his torment.

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi approached, their faces lined with deep concern. Lan Sizhui, with a look of sincere compassion, placed a hand on Lan Qiren's arm, as if he could convey some comfort through that gesture. “Master,” she said in a gentle but firm voice, “we must return. It's best for you to rest and recover. We can't do anything more here.” 

Lan Qiren nodded, his face still pale and tense. “Yes,” she replied with a trembling voice. “Let's go back.”

With slow, heavy steps, the three walked towards the residence. Lan Qiren, despite the relief of being away from Liang and his fury, felt the weight of the situation weighing on him like an oppressive pall. Each step was a reminder of the conflict and suffering he had faced, a painful reflection of the sorrow he felt for his behavior towards Mei. The serenity that he had hoped to find now seemed to fade, lost in the shadows of a painful and unresolved past.

The path to the residence was long and winding, and the atmosphere around them seemed to reflect Lan Qiren's inner restlessness. The bright colors of the village, which had once helped lift his spirits, now seemed muted, clouded by the heaviness of his thoughts. The sky, once bright, seemed heavy with menacing clouds, as if the world itself was participating in his torment.

Once they arrived at the residence, Lan Qiren retreated to the solitude of his rooms. His pale and tense face, a tangible sign of the torment that had hit him, was a reflection of the internal storm he was going through. He sat in a dark wooden chair, his movements slow and heavy, as if each step towards that refuge had been a journey across a sea of sorrow.

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, aware of the delicate moment, respectfully withdrew, leaving Lan Qiren the space and silence necessary to process the pain he was experiencing. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and the room became a sanctuary of solitude and reflection, the dim light filtering through the windows creating a play of shadows on the walls.

The silence in the room was filled with a palpable sadness, like a heavy veil that crushed every breath. Lan Qiren sat still, his body relaxed but his mind in turmoil. His thoughts were a vortex of memories and sensations, a storm that overwhelmed him and robbed him of any sense of peace. Every corner of the room seemed to contain the weight of her faults and his regrets.

Lan Qiren's thoughts wandered incessantly between Liang's fury and the pain he felt from Liang's past actions. Every time he closed his eyes, Mei's vision resurfaced, like a ghost tormenting him. Her image of her, a serene and sad face, presented itself before him, accentuating the weight of the sorrow and remorse that oppressed him. 

The memory of Mei was a constant prod, a reminder of the sweetness she had suffered because of her bad decisions. Lan Qiren remembered Mei's smile, now clouded by a sadness of his own making. Missing Mei was amplified by the knowledge that he had made her suffer like that, a pain that was reflected in every corner of his mind and her heart. The knowledge that her proud rigidity and choices had inflicted such profound pain on a person she had loved and respected was an open wound, one that she seemed to never heal.

The room, once a haven of serenity and reflection, was now a place of torment. Lan Qiren felt that every breath was a struggle against the weight of self-blame and regret. His heart was crushed by the knowledge that, no matter how much he tried to atone, the pain he had inflicted on Mei was an indelible scar in his past, a mark that marked him deeply and accompanied him in every moment of introspection. 

Mei's absence, so intense and palpable, was now a constant echo in Lan Qiren's mind. Every corner of his room seemed to be filled with oppressive darkness, and the thought of what he could do to ease Mei's pain tormented him incessantly. His rigidity and his pride had built a barrier that had prevented Mei from finding comfort, and now that same barrier seemed to envelop him in an inexorable grip.

Lan Qiren's face, now pale and lined, was streaked with tears that slipped silently down his cheeks, witnesses of the internal torment that was consuming him. Each tear was a manifestation of the weight of regret that weighed on him, a weight that seemed to be an eternal sentence. His heart was crushed by the knowledge that he had caused pain to someone who deserved nothing but kindness and love.

The images of Mei, her sweetness and her pain, continued in Lan Qiren's mind like an uninterrupted sequence of silent reproaches. The thought of how blind and deaf he had been to her suffering tore at him. His failure to recognize and respond to Mei's pain signals was an unforgivable foul that now crushed him. Every memory, every moment shared with Mei, was steeped in pain that was reflected like a boulder on his heart. 

Lan Qiren felt trapped in a sea of regrets, and the room that had once been his refuge was now a place of anguish and torment. Sadness and sorrow wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, relentless and oppressive. The loneliness of that moment, amplified by the knowledge of his inability to ease Mei's pain, was unbearable. The pain he felt was so profound that any attempt at reflection only seemed to intensify it.

In the midst of this storm of regret, one thought emerged as a faint hope. Perhaps, Lan Qiren thought, he could seek advice from his nephews. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen were married to their partners and had experienced experiences and hardships that he couldn't even imagine. Their relationships, so complex and deep, had certainly taught them a lot about how to deal with pain and romantic complications. If only he had had the courage to approach them and ask for help, perhaps he could have found guidance or a way to redeem himself.

Lan Qiren realized that his pride and rigidity had kept him from reaching out for support, but now, in that vulnerable moment, the hope of finding some wisdom and guidance from his grandchildren seemed like a ray of hope. light amid the darkness. However, even this thought couldn't lift him out of the deep sea of regret and sadness in which he was immersed. The pain and the awareness of his shortcomings were too intense, and the road to redemption still seemed far away and unattainable.  

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi wandered through the sect’s gardens, trying to find some peace after the episode. They strolled along the winding paths, the flowers and plants that lined the walkways providing an unsettling contrast to the tension they felt.

“I can’t believe what happened,” Lan Sizhui said, his voice heavy with concern. “Liang was furious. I didn’t think it would go that far.”

Lan Jingyi nodded, his face thoughtful. “It’s understandable. Lan Qiren hurt Mei, and his anger is justified. But don’t you think he overreacted? Lan Qiren has suffered enough, I think.”

Lan Sizhui looked at him with some uncertainty. “You’re right, but Liang’s suffering is real. I don’t think Lan Qiren has been able to explain himself properly. And even though he’s tried to redeem himself, it doesn’t seem to be enough to quell Liang’s anger.”  

The dialogue between the two disciples continued, but their conversation was involuntarily and completely overheard by Shen Jiuying, who approached them without being noticed. Hidden among the bushes and plants, Shen listened intently, every word amplified by his growing frustration.

As he listened to their exchange, a look of deep anger crossed Shen's face. He had believed he had found victory, that he had broken Lan Qiren and revealed his flawed humanity beneath his mask of rigidity and control. But now, he felt that he had not achieved the desired result. Lan Qiren, despite everything, had not been destroyed. His humanity, though partially damaged, remained intact, and this, to Shen, was a devastating failure.  

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and resentment. Shen Jiuying had hoped that the humiliation and pain would reveal a definitive weakness in Lan Qiren, but what he had gotten was only confirmation of the complexity and resilience of the man he hated. Yet another failure consumed him: his plan to undermine Lan Qiren's figure and tear away his mask of rigidity had proven in vain. Lan Qiren, despite everything, had maintained his humanity, and this was a direct blow to the heart of Shen, who had hoped for a decisive triumph.

As Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi walked away, back towards the residence, Shen slowly rose from his hiding place in the bushes. His footsteps were heavy and every movement seemed charged with a tumultuous, dark energy. His normally composed face was now contorted with furious, uncontrollable anger. The muscles in his body were tense, and his every step was a visible expression of his growing frustration. His heart beat with an almost physical force, as if he were fighting an invisible enemy. 

His hatred had become palpable, almost tangible, like a threatening cloud that clouded his judgment. Shen couldn't calm the fury that consumed him, and the feeling of having failed amplified his anguish. Every thought was an explosion of anger, and the knowledge that he had not broken Lan Qiren made him increasingly unstable. His plan, which he had hoped to achieve, had collapsed, and now, faced with imminent revenge, Shen felt like a wounded beast, ready to unleash his unbridled fury.

With a dark and determined expression, Shen Jiuying returned to his quarters, his steps heavy and his face marked by an anger that seemed to transform him into a furious creature. Every step was filled with growing menace, and the hatred he felt seemed etched into the tense lines of his face. The future was uncertain and his mental state was increasingly precarious, shrouded in darkness that pushed him towards an abyss of desperation and revenge.

Shen didn't just walk towards his room; rather he seemed to advance like a predator seeking his prey. The scene closed on him heading towards his refuge, his step heavy and determined, his mind wrapped in a growing fury that seemed to threaten to overwhelm him. His mental state was now a mixture of madness and revenge, and his form of hatred, so intense and visceral, brought him ever closer to a condition of complete instability. Shen didn't just walk towards his room; rather he seemed to advance like a predator seeking his prey.   His step heavy and determined, his mind wrapped in a growing fury that seemed to threaten to overwhelm him. His mental state was now a mixture of madness and revenge, and his form of hatred, so intense and visceral, brought him ever closer to a condition of complete instability.  

Shen Jiuying felt like a beast hungry for revenge, an insatiable predator who couldn't accept that he had lost to the human he had hated so much. Years of sacrifice, of frantic attempts to bend Lan Qiren to his will, had been dedicated to transforming this man into a perfection that sickened him, a perfect enemy that he could finally destroy. Yet now, only sand remained of that enemy: his fury had not succeeded in shattering Lan Qiren, but rather in confirming his resilience and humanity.

The beast inside Shen could not accept this defeat. The thought of losing this sick game, this game he had orchestrated so carefully for years, tormented him. He was not willing to acknowledge his defeat. Every step towards his room was an act of furious determination, as if he wanted to crush everything in his path under the weight of his anger. The defeat was not only unacceptable: it was a personal insult, a stain on the pride that Shen had so carefully built. 

The air in the room became thick and oppressive, charged with the destructive energy Shen released. With a guttural scream of rage, he grabbed the first object that came to hand, an elegant ceramic vase decorated with intricate carvings. He threw it against the wall with superhuman strength, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room, like a scream of pain and frustration.

He didn't stop there. Every corner of the room became the target of his fury. Shelves were overturned, books and scrolls scattered across the floor like fragments of a destroyed order. The furniture, once a symbol of apparent calm and impeccable order, was thrown against the walls with blind fury. Curtains were torn with trembling, angry hands, while fine fabrics were torn to shreds.

The floor was covered in debris and debris. Shen, breathing heavily and face contorted with rage, continued to destroy everything he found. His movements were frantic and disordered, each gesture a manifestation of his growing mental instability. His hands were stained with dirt and blood, the result of a violent confrontation with the objects he had smashed into pieces.

Chaos reigned in the room, a tangible depiction of his mind in turmoil. Shen's fury seemed to have no end, and every rupture, every destruction was a desperate attempt to free herself from the burden of his defeat. The awareness that Lan Qiren, that imperfect and resistant humanity, had not been broken as he hoped, pushed him further towards an abyss of no return.

Finally, exhausted by his outburst of rage, Shen collapsed to the ground amidst the remains of his mess. His body was fatigued, and his breathing, still ragged, blended with the sound of silence that followed the chaos. The room, now a battlefield of rubble and debris, was a cruel reflection of his growing instability and his inability to accept defeat.

Shen Jiuying remained there, sitting in the remnants of his delirium, he mind still trapped in a vortex of anger and desperation. His future was uncertain, but his fury continued to burn, fueling the fire of a vengeance that seemed increasingly impossible to achieve. 

Chapter Text

Shen Jiuying watched him from afar, like a predator studying its prey's every movement. His eyes narrowed as he followed Lan Qiren through the halls of the residence, his mind wrapped in a whirlwind of dark thoughts. Every gesture of the man he once venerated and hated now appeared to him as a challenge. The idea of revenge devoured him, rooted deep in his soul. Lan Qiren's every step seemed filled with a subtle provocation, an invitation to dare. But it wouldn't be quick or impulsive revenge; no, Shen was contemplating something much worse. 

From a safe distance, Shen watched him talk to his grandchildren. The afternoon sun reflected in their calm faces, and for a moment, Lan Qiren seemed almost human. He was gesturing, his face set in an expression of remorse that Shen found almost pathetic. His lips moved slowly as he spoke, but Shen couldn't hear the words. He looked at the scene like an outsider, a detached spectator contemplating the moves of a game already decided.

Shen moved in the shadows of the trees, without making any noise, his eyes fixed on Lan Qiren's every little gesture. His back was slightly hunched, the tension evident in the stiff muscles of his shoulders as he spoke to his grandchildren. Lan Wangji, his gaze imperturbable, stood a few steps away, his hands clasped in front of him in a gesture of solemn respect, but Shen sensed a certain stiffness, almost as if he were equally troubled. Lan Xichen, however, seemed more open, listening attentively to their uncle's words with the air of someone trying to fully understand the pain behind those broken sentences. 

Lan Qiren had never been so vulnerable. His face, usually impassive, now showed signs of profound suffering. There was an agitation in his movements, a subtle tremor in his hands that, perhaps, only Shen could detect. He was a man who was crumbling from the inside, the fragments of his rigid discipline now scattered at his feet, invisible but noticeable. Every time he lowered his gaze or hesitated, Shen felt himself seething with an increasingly dark and visceral hatred.

He was pathetic. Shen had once respected his inflexibility, that mask of perfection that seemed unbreakable. He had harbored a twisted admiration for this man who seemed incapable of being touched by human emotions or feelings. But now, the scene before him was proof of how illusory that perfection was. Lan Qiren, with his gaze lowered and his voice trembling, was asking for help, for advice on how to make amends. Shen knew he was talking about Mei, about that past that tormented him and had driven him to desperation. It was pathetic to see a man of his stature sink so low, humiliated in front of his grandchildren, unable to find his own path to redemption. 

Yet, what Shen felt was not satisfaction. There was a void, an echo of something unresolved. He had wanted to break Lan Qiren, take away the humanity that made him so annoyingly perfect. But all he had done was reveal that this man was, after all, just another human being. A man who suffered, who failed, who desperately tried to make up for his mistakes. And that was exactly what Shen couldn't accept. Years of hatred, years spent harboring a desire for revenge, had produced only this: a man perfect in his weak humanity. 

The beast inside Shen howled in rage, craving something more. It wasn't enough to see him like this. His revenge was not complete. The thought that Lan Qiren could find redemption, that he could be forgiven, was unbearable. Shen wanted something more, an expression of final defeat that went beyond the human. He had to destroy not only the man, but everything he represented. He had to strip him of his humanity, turning him into a reflection of what Shen had become: an empty figure, devoid of dignity and hope.

Shen wanted Lan Qiren to be a warped mirror of him, a distorted representation of all his frustrations and defeats. He wanted to see the man he had once revered and hated reduced to a caricature of himself, an image that reflected his own misery and his failure. Shen's revenge would not be limited to breaking Lan Qiren; he would have to transform him, make him a living monument of his revenge, a proof of how Shen had failed in his aim.

The beast within Shen continued to yearn, not just for revenge, but for a kind of dark catharsis that only a total defeat of Lan Qiren could provide. Each step he took toward his room was a step toward his new, disturbing strategy, a plan that would leave no room for redemption or hope. Lan Qiren would become the distorted reflection of him, and Shen would only find complete and devastating satisfaction in him when that reflection was the image of his own darkness.  

As Lan Qiren continued to speak, Shen Jiuying found himself immersed in a whirlwind of dark memories, a memory that seemed to emerge from the depths of his mind like a sinister revelation. The scene faded from the present to the past, showing a pivotal moment that Shen had tried to bury under layers of resentment and hatred.

It had been a long time, but the memory of his sister remained vivid in his mind. He saw her kneeling before him, her tears streaming down her face as she begged for mercy. Her eyes, puffy and red, were filled with desperation as he tried to apologize for having disgraced his family with her behavior. Shen showed no mercy. His gaze was cold, distant, implacable. He couldn't afford to show weakness, to give in to compassion.

Her sister had always loved Lan Qiren, a love that had remained secret but which, in the end, had contributed to destroying her. Lan Qiren, young and flawless as always, had rejected her with icy kindness, considering her unworthy of him. That refusal, which Shen had seen as a simple question of honor, had dug a deep wound in his soul, a wound that no explanation or compensation could heal. 

As the memory of his sister returned to Shen's mind, the scene was vivid and distressing. He found her in her room, her body lying inert on the floor, surrounded by an oppressive silence. The final gesture of desperation had been consummated in a disturbing solitude; her sister's face, usually so expressive and lively, was now a mask of immobile quiet.

When the servants found her body, a sense of shock and sadness had filled the air. But Shen, who arrived shortly after, had shown no sign of pain. On the contrary, a cold, inhuman laugh had escaped his lips, a laugh that almost seemed like an outburst of malicious satisfaction. There had been no room for tears or regret; to Shen, her sister's death had been a final manifestation of the failure and weakness she so despised. 

Shen's laugh was not a laugh of joy, but a cruel expression of contempt. He saw his sister's suicide not as a tragedy, but as evidence of his inability to deal with adversity. Her failure had been a confirmation of her weakness, and Shen, at that moment, had found sinister satisfaction in her defeat.

The image of her sister, a shadow of her past life, remained in his mind as a reminder of her belief that weakness deserved only contempt. There were no tears for her, only a cruel realization that, in the end, her failure was a reflection of the weakness that Shen hated with all his soul. 

Shen Jiuying watched with growing anger as Lan Qiren walked through the garden, deep in conversation with his grandchildren. The external perfection that Lan Qiren had maintained for years, that mask of calm and control that Shen had helped to shape with the same hand as him, now seemed like a thin veneer, ready to crumble. Lan Qiren's weakness, visible in his moments of vulnerability and his desperate search for redemption, was disgusting to Shen. It was a stain on a surface that should have been immaculate, an unacceptable sign of imperfection beneath the mask of perfection that had disgusted him so much. 

Years ago, when Lan Qiren had forbidden him to teach disciples, Shen had seen that act as a personal humiliation. Lan Qiren's decision had been a demonstration of contempt towards his method, judged not to live up to Gusu Lan's expectations. Since then, Shen's anger had only increased, fueled by the feeling of being rejected and mocked. His madness and hatred of him had become more and more intense, and him desire to break Lan Qiren, to reveal and mock his imperfection, had become an obsession. 

His eyes, which had focused on Lan Qiren, now rested on Lan Wangji, the second jewel of the Gusu Lan. Shen couldn't help but laugh bitterly as he remembered how he had influenced decisions regarding young Lan Wangji. During a meeting among the elders, he had whispered venomous words in Lan Qiren's ear, suggesting severe punishments for his nephew who, in his opinion, Lan Wangji did not conform to the high standards of the clan. He had watched with unhealthy satisfaction as Lan Qiren passed the sentence, knowing that his plan was taking effect. But it was never enough. Shen's hatred, his desire to see the complete destruction of Lan Qiren and everything he stood for, continued to grow, fueled by a sense of injustice and revenge that knew no end.

Lan Qiren's every move, every gesture, was now a confirmation of how weak and fallible he was under that mask of perfection. Shen could find no peace; his hatred and desire for revenge burned brightly, urging his mind to plot new ways to bring down his enemy. 

He didn't know why Lan Qiren had left the sect, he didn't know who this “Mei” everyone was whispering about was, but Shen Jiuying felt that the game was still in progress, and he was determined not to stop until he saw Lan Qiren destroyed under his feet. The idea of complete revenge, of a sick and senseless joy, gave him a perverse satisfaction. Lan Qiren was his lamb, and Shen was a hungry predator, ready to finish his hunt.

As Lan Qiren rose from his chair and began to prepare to leave the sect, Shen crouched in the bushes, his eyes fixed and greedy. Lan Qiren's face was a picture of calm and determination, but Shen read beyond the facade. He felt that there was a latent weakness, a crack in his perfection that was about to manifest itself, and this thought filled him with a restless and longing energy.

Lan Qiren walked with a determined step towards the exit, his bearing elegant and composed. His every movement was measured, as if he were facing an inevitable and sacred path. Shen followed him from afar, his mind in turmoil as he prepared his next move. His heart was pounding, fueled by excitement at the prospect of seeing Lan Qiren collapse, completely destroyed by his vengeance.

As Lan Qiren walked away from the sect's gates, Shen began to smile, a smile that slowly widened as his hatred and frustration transformed into distorted joy. It was an evil smile, filled with cruel satisfaction, as the thought of laughing at Lan Qiren's utter ruin pervaded him. His mind was a whirlwind of plans and revenge, and the vision of the man he hated walking away was only a prelude to something much bigger and more devastating.

Shen followed with almost maniacal precision, each step Lan Qiren took a step closer to his moment of triumph. The thought of Lan Qiren finally being exposed and destroyed was an ominous melody in Shen's mind. The sight of Lan Qiren walking away, unaware of the threat that was following him, fueled Shen's desire to carry out his plan. With every step Lan Qiren took into the unknown, Shen felt the moment of truth getting closer. His resolve to see Lan Qiren destroyed had never been so strong. His revenge was not just a question of personal satisfaction, but of completing a cruel plan that had become intertwined with his life. 

Slowly, Shen rose from his hiding place and continued to follow Lan Qiren, his steps silent and stealthy. His mind was haunted by the idea of carrying out his revenge, and as the sun sank towards the horizon, his smile grew wider and wider, reflecting his sick anticipation of what was to come. Lan Qiren was his lamb, and Shen was ready to close the circle of his revenge with a perverse and disturbing joy.

Shen knew that his revenge was not complete, and the desire to see Lan Qiren suffer, to see him broken completely, tormented him. There was still a void in his satisfaction, a disturbing question that needed to be answered. What would be enough to truly destroy Lan Qiren? What could he have done to reduce him to an empty shell, to demonstrate that his perfection was only a fragile and precarious facade? 

The thought of Lan Qiren, so fierce and determined, collapsing in front of him was a seductive sight. Shen felt a thrill of anticipation as he followed him, watching his every movement carefully. He wanted to discover the ultimate weak point, the one he could use to break it completely. 

The sunset dyed the sky red and gold, and Shen continued to move in the shadows, like a nocturnal creature ready to pounce on its prey. Every step Lan Qiren took was a step towards his own downfall, and Shen was determined to make it as painful and humiliating as possible. His mind had transformed into a machine of bloody thoughts and complex plans, and as Lan Qiren moved further and further away from the safety of his sect, Shen prepared to complete his sick plan. 

Shen's face was marred by a sinister smile as he continued to follow, his anger and hatred channeled into a relentless hunt. He wanted to see Lan Qiren broken and reduced to nothing, and with his mind filled with plans for revenge, Shen approached his goal with an iron determination. The perverse joy of seeing him suffer and his anticipation for the moment in which he would finally find his breaking point fueled he inexorable march towards the conclusion of his revenge. 

For once, Shen longed to taste the joy of his weakness. He wanted to see Lan Qiren fail, to feel the weight of him collapse as revenge for he own suffering. He wanted Lan Qiren to know humiliation and ruin as her sister had known her death. Every step Lan Qiren took brought him closer to that moment of triumph for Shen, and every movement he watched was a sign that his plan was about to come to fruition.

With an eerie calm, Shen approached his goal, his mind wavering between the desire to see Lan Qiren broken and the perverse joy of seeing him crumble under the weight of his own humanity. Lan Qiren, in his supposed perfection, was for Shen only a reflection of what he had always hated: a manifestation of a weakness hidden under a mask of perfection. And now, Shen was ready to destroy that reflection, to show that his revenge was not just a matter of justice, but a matter of pure sick pleasure.  

Shen Jiuying was aware of his nature, an awareness that wrapped around him like a second skin. She didn't worry about his condition, because for him it was an inescapable truth. The weak were useless in this merciless world, and their fate was to suffer. They were a burden, an impediment to progress and perfection. And those who failed to understand this, those who failed to dominate their weaknesses, were destined to be crushed by the strength of the strongest.

For Shen, becoming a demon was just a small price to pay for access to something greater, something that allowed him to dominate and judge without qualms. The virtuous, those who possessed true power and strength, deserved to be hailed as gods on earth. This was the natural order of things. Shen, with his indomitable determination and sharp mind, had risen to a higher level, where weakness was only an option for the defeated. 

In his world, power not only justified domination, it required it. And the weakest, like Lan Qiren, were simply obstacles to be eliminated to achieve sublime perfection, a glory that Shen felt destined to conquer. The pain he inflicted, the suffering he caused, was his way of removing imperfections from the world, of purifying it through his own vision of justice and vengeance.

Then, as Shen followed Lan Qiren into the twilight, a sense of inevitability filled his mind. Every step toward his enemy's downfall was a step toward his own personal ascension, toward the dominance and adoration he believed he rightly deserved. His sinister smile was not only a sign of his satisfaction, but also a sign of his belief that, in the end, only true demons like him could emerge victorious in this merciless and cruel world.  

Gusu Lan was regarded by Shen as sacred ground, a place of perfection and purity where traditions and virtue were jealously guarded. Its majesty and solemnity represented the height of discipline and beauty, a beacon of order in an otherwise chaotic world. Every stone and every corner of the residence reflected centuries of effort and sacrifice, and Lan Qiren, as caretaker, had the honor and duty to preserve that ideal. 

But now, in Shen's eyes, Lan Qiren did nothing but desecrate that sacred place. Ever since her birth, her being had stained Gusu Lan's innocence and purity with his mere existence. She had lived and worked in that place, yes, but with a personality and conduct that, in Shen's opinion, had never truly honored the traditions he professed. His role had been more of a usurper than a true caretaker, and his actions, his decisions, and now his pleas for forgiveness were signs of a degeneration that Shen could not accept.  

Lan Qiren was no longer the respectable custodian of a sacred tradition, but an intruder who was reduced to groveling for forgiveness. 

Chapter Text

"breathe, keep breathing" 

Mei was a woman who had built her own existence far from the invisible chains that society and her family had imposed on her. Born into a family of renowned cultivators, her lineage was known for their golden core and their mastery of martial arts and spiritual power. While other family members zealously dedicated themselves to the perfection of the sword and esoteric practices, Mei had chosen a different path, a path that seemed to escape traditional expectations.

Her passion was aimed at the study of herbs and medicine, an interest that she considered as a subtle and delicate art, far from the harsh search for power and prestige. But to her parents, Mei was simply a valuable commodity to be bargained for, whose value would only be realized through an advantageous marriage. Her choice to devote herself to medicine, therefore, was seen as an unacceptable deviation from family and social duties. 

When Mei was faced with the irrevocable choice between her education and the destiny her parents had planned for her, she had no hesitation. In an act of rebellion and determination, she stood up, her heart heavy but determined. She gathered her books on herbs and medicine, a few essential items and a few coins that she could afford, and with a last look at the house that she had known as her refuge and her prison, she walked away. She never looked back, abandoning the past and family expectations to follow a path that she would build with her own hands. 

For days Mei had walked, loneliness was her constant companion as she fled not only from the impositions of her family, but also from the oppressive weight of expectations she did not want to meet. Each step was an act of rebellion, a declaration of independence that distanced her from the invisible chains that had been imposed on her since her birth. The roads she walked were full of unknowns, but her determination shone in her eyes, making each difficulty a step closer to freedom.

Her fate had reserved an unexpected encounter for her. As she wandered through the woods, her path was abruptly interrupted by the impact of Liang's back, who was engrossed in gathering herbs. The impact was slight, but enough to make her stop. Liang was a man who, despite his apparent simplicity, exuded a reassuring calm and quiet kindness that was a comfort to her. There were no big words or declarations, just a knowing look and a hint of a smile. That simple, yet profound connection allowed her to see the village as a refuge, a place where she could put down roots and start a new life. As time passed, Mei abandoned the idea of becoming a doctor, a dream that, although it had been her passion, had proven to be too risky and open to the judgment of others.

She instead decided to dedicate herself to growing herbs, a practice that allowed her to work with her hands without being constantly under the critical eye of others. Her days were filled with meticulous care of plants, an activity that she found deeply satisfying and which offered her a form of inner serenity. 

Over the years, Mei helped the unfortunate people she met in the woods, offering them care and comfort. Although her help was sincere and loving, her heart remained detached. It was a way to protect herself from the risk of a deep emotional connection, from the fear of being abandoned again and finding herself suffering from broken bonds. When she received marriage proposals – and she received many – she rejected them politely and firmly. There was no room in her life for intimacy or dependence, and every proposal was treated as an opportunity to reaffirm her independence. 

His life, though simple and lonely, was a testament to his resilience and his desire to live by his own rules. Mei had become a woman of great inner strength, capable of facing life's challenges with dignity and determination. Her passion for herbs and caring for others was a way to stay true to herself, while her emotional detachment allowed her to maintain a precarious balance between solitude and human connection.  

Yet, something changed when she met him.

When she Mei saw him for the first time, it was as if a ray of sunshine had pierced the gray sky of his existence. Lan Qiren was an enigma who awakened memories of what she had loved in medicine: the profound knowledge, the methodical rigor, the calm confidence. She wasn't like the other men she had met; his presence exuded an innate wisdom and imperturbable tranquility, which hid behind an apparent rigidity and severity.

His austere appearance and controlled attitude hid a heart that Mei perceived as similar to his: marked by scars, internal battles and a profound loneliness. Lan Qiren was not only a man of prestige, but also a soul who carried the weight of his experiences and his choices, and this made him irresistibly fascinating in Mei's eyes.

For the first time, Mei found herself considering breaking down the barriers she had erected around herself. Her solitude, which she had served as a shield against disappointment and pain, seemed less necessary in Lan Qiren's presence. It was as if his energy and fortitude had the power to melt the frost that had frozen her heart for years.

Her reticence to form deep bonds, to allow herself to be enveloped by an emotion that could lead to suffering, wavered. Lan Qiren, with his thoughtful nature and undiminished dignity, was not a threat to her independence, but rather a promise of understanding and authentic connection. Mei found in him not just an interlocutor, but a potential companion in her search for meaning and belonging.

In her presence, the barriers she had built to protect herself seemed less necessary, and her resolve to remain distant began to waver. Lan Qiren, with his aura of calm and his wisdom, seemed to have the power to bring out a vulnerability in Mei that she had never dared to explore before. And so, with each encounter, with each conversation, the emotional distance she had maintained for so long shrank, replaced by a growing desire to know and be known.

Yet, despite this, Mei had never opened up completely. The fear of what might happen if she let her defenses fall kept her from completely abandoning herself. Her life had been built on relentless self-sufficiency, and the thought of being dependent on someone else troubled her deeply. However, every day she spent next to Lan Qiren made her waver, questioning the certainties on which she had based her existence. 

Mei began to contemplate the idea that perhaps there was a middle ground, a balance between her desire for independence and her growing need for connection. Perhaps it was possible to reconcile her solitary existence with the bond she felt was forming with Lan Qiren. However, she knew that Lan Qiren was deeply attached to his sect and her duties, and that her life was different from the one she had created for herself. The possibility of uniting two such divergent worlds seemed an almost insurmountable challenge.

Mei often wondered what would have happened if she had had the courage to confess her true feelings. She imagined freeing herself from her fear of her and abandoning herself to a vulnerability that seemed as risky as it was desirable. But every time, her fear blocked her, preventing her from taking the decisive step. Time continued to pass, and uncertainty grew. Despite everything, one thing was certain: her meeting with Lan Qiren had changed her world irrevocably.

Meanwhile, Lan Qiren was undergoing a visible transformation under Mei's watchful eyes. Her rigidity, once considered impregnable armor, was beginning to show cracks. Mei watched as his composure and relentless control softened in her presence, and the emotional barriers she had built up over the years seemed to melt, albeit slowly. Lan Qiren, who had always maintained a façade of imperturbability, was changing in ways no one could have predicted.

Their bond, though imperfect and filled with obstacles, was reshaping them both in unexpected and profound ways. Mei, with her calm presence and her empathy, was bringing out a vulnerability in Lan Qiren that he himself had buried under years of rigor and discipline. And Lan Qiren, as he opened up to her, was starting to question the certainties he had always had about his life and his role. In this exchange, they were both discovering new shades of themselves, and their connection was charting a path to a mutual transformation that seemed to defy expectations.

As the months passed, Lan Qiren had gradually opened up to Mei, revealing not only his vast knowledge of the world and the arts, but also the burdens and disappointments he carried with him. The mask of severity and discipline he had worn for years had slowly crumbled under the influence of her calm and reassuring presence. Every conversation with Mei revealed new facets of his personality: he was not just a man of rigid rules and austerity, but someone who desired, perhaps more than anything, a sense of freedom and authenticity similar to what Mei herself had sought throughout life.

Mei listened carefully, noticing how Lan Qiren's voice, often cold and distant around others, softened when he spoke to her. Every word seemed to reveal a fragment of her hidden soul, and Mei began to sense a fragility that touched her deeply. Lan Qiren was not only a stern and implacable master; he was a man who, like her, had sacrificed parts of himself to follow a path imposed by others.

As time passed, Mei felt more and more connected to him, even though she would never admit her feelings openly. Perhaps it was her very loneliness that drew them closer to Lan Qiren, or perhaps it was the mutual understanding they both sought: a peace that always seemed elusive, despite the very different worlds from which they came.

Mei was cleaning the kitchen, the movement of the brush and the running water were the only sounds that broke the silence of the afternoon. Her heart, still troubled by Lan Qiren's absence, had finally settled into a sort of solitary routine. However, that moment of tranquility was abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Mei froze, her breath hitching in her chest.

When she opened it, Lan Qiren's face loomed before her like a ghost from the past. Her words caught in her throat and her mind began to boil with pent-up emotions. She never thought she'd see him again so soon, and definitely not like this.

"Mei," Lan Qiren said, her tone gentle and pleading, but with a subtle hint of tension. "Can I come in? We need to talk."

Mei looked at him, her face stiff and her hands shaking. "No," he replied in a cold tone that wasn't even familiar to her. "You have no right to come in here. Not after all that's happened."

Lan Qiren took a step forward, but Mei countered with the door, blocking it firmly. "Mei, please listen to me," he begged, his gaze earnest and full of palpable sadness. "I need to explain to you what happened, to apologize. I can't... I can't let it end like this."

Mei's heart broke when she heard the pain in Lan Qiren's voice, but her anger was stronger. "And what did you plan to do now?" Her voice rose, vibrant with indignation and resentment. "Did you think you'd fix everything with words? Did you think you'd start over as if nothing had happened?"

Lan Qiren, visibly taken aback by Mei's vehemence, tried to remain calm. "No, it's not," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I can't change what happened, but please, just give me a moment to explain. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Mei shook her head, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "I don't want to hear your excuses," she said firmly, her tone becoming more heartbreaking. "You've done more harm than I ever imagined. There's nothing you can say to make up for what you've done."

Lan Qiren stopped, his face pale and marked with regret. The door remained half open, and Mei turned around, her heart swollen with a pain that she could no longer contain. The distance between them seemed like an unbridgeable abyss, and the sight of Lan Qiren outside, so close yet so distant, made her torment even more acute.

With one last sad look, Lan Qiren turned to leave, leaving Mei to close the door behind him. The sound of wood sliding through the hinges sounded like a final twist to an unresolved drama, and Mei was left alone, her loneliness amplified by the reopened wound.

But just as Lan Qiren was about to walk away, a light rustling sound, almost imperceptible, caught her attention. He whirled around, scanning the darkness of the alley next to Mei's house, but couldn't see anything specific. The noise, a furtive whisper that seemed to come from an invisible shadow, struck him as an unsettling presence.

Lan Qiren, confused and grief-stricken, could not decipher the meaning of that sound. His mind was too distraught to correctly interpret what he had perceived. With one last sad look back at the house, he slowly walked away, leaving behind not only Mei and her pain, but also the mystery of what, for a moment, had seemed to observe the scene from the shadows.

Inside the house, Mei was left alone, heartbroken and soul exhausted. 

It was late at night when three figures, wrapped in white robes like ghosts in the darkness, moved frantically among the shadows of the trees. Their whispers, which sounded like some kind of sinister fairy tale, were mixed with evil giggles. The light from their clothes was the only sign of life in the darkness, as they stealthily approached a house surrounded by a silent garden.

The older figure, his face partially hidden by a hood, approached the door cautiously. Her step was as light as it was determined, and her intent was clearly threatening. After knocking, the door slowly opened, revealing Mei, still sleepy and confused. Her wide eyes reflected a mix of surprise and fear.

Before Mei could ask for an explanation or react, the elderly figure made an imperious gesture towards the other two figures, who quickly approached. Without giving Mei time to react, they grabbed them forcefully. Mei tried desperately to scream, but her voice was trapped in an invisible vice: her lips were sealed, unable to make a sound. 

In moments, Mei was taken away, her body nearly dragged into the dark of night. On the floor, near the still open door, there remained only a pink ribbon, abandoned and sad, like a silent trace of her disappearance. The door, now ajar, was the only sign of what had happened, while the garden was once again immersed in the eerie silence of the night. 

Chapter Text

"So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night.Like it's the last night"

It was a dark and heavy night, with the sky darkened by menacing clouds that accumulated like an oppressive veil over the world. The main courtyard of the Gusu Lan Clan, usually peaceful and dignified, was now a stage of tension and anguish. The lanterns, hanging from the poles and lit by a flickering light, cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, creating an eerie and surreal atmosphere. The shadows seemed to almost come to life, as if they were dancing to the rhythm of the growing torment and fear.

Shen Jiuying, dressed in immaculate white that contrasted dramatically with the surrounding darkness, stood center stage like a relentless judge. His dress, although elegant, seemed to be a symbol of coldness and detachment, and his face was devoid of any emotion. When he opened his mouth, his voice was like a sharp knife, piercing and without compassion.

“I summon all here to judge Lan Qiren,” he exclaimed, his voice booming in the oppressive silence of the courtyard. “The time has come for him to pay for his mistakes and his arrogance. And he won't be the only one to suffer."

His words were filled with a cold threat, and every syllable seemed to be a sentence of condemnation. Shen turned slowly, his fierce gaze darting between those present, until it landed on Mei, tied up in the center of the courtyard. 

Mei, bound with thick ropes that pinned her hands above her head, was a picture of dignity and determination. Despite his precarious position and apparent vulnerability, his gaze remained steadfast and proud. Her lips were set in a firm line, and there was no trace of fear in her eyes, only a resolute resistance that conveyed her inner strength.

Shen Jiuying observed Mei with a look of mixed cruelty and curiosity. “See?” he continued, the tone of his voice dripping with contempt. “This is the result of rebellion, disobedience. This woman, who dared to ruin our order, now has to pay the price.”

Shen's words resonated like sentences, amplifying the sense of terror among those present. Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were tied up and held at the edge of the courtyard, their expressions a mixture of anger and helplessness. Their hands were shackled and their faces, usually dignified and resolute, were now marked with anguish and frustration. Every movement Shen made seemed to amplify their torment, making the scene even more intense. 

The tension in the yard was palpable, almost tangible. The Lan clan members gathered in a circle and watched with wide eyes, unable to look away from the dramatic scene that was unfolding. The air was thick with conflicting emotions: fear, anger, and a growing anxiety about the fate that was awaiting him.

Mei, with her body tense and her gaze fixed on Shen, prepared to receive the punishment, but her dignity remained intact. The flickering light of the lanterns reflected in his eyes, creating a jarring contrast between his calm and the impending brutality. Even as his body was immobilized and vulnerable, his spirit seemed indomitable, a flame of resistance in the oppressive darkness of the night.

The silence was interrupted only by the slight rustling of Shen's robes and the whisper of the wind stirring the shadows. Each passing second seemed to amplify the sense of terror and helplessness, as the courtyard prepared to become the stage for a merciless drama. 

The courtyard of the Gusu Lan Clan was immersed in an ominous night, shrouded in an almost palpable darkness that seemed to reflect the tension and looming terror. Shen Jiuying, wrapped in his pristine white, walked back and forth with an eerie calm. His every step was deliberate, his pace controlled, as if he was conducting a symphony of pain and fear. His face, lit by the flickering lanterns, was a picture of malicious satisfaction and impassive coldness.

"Lan Qiren," Shen's voice broke the oppressive silence, "today I offer you a choice." The words were as sharp as a knife, and their intensity seemed amplified by the echoes in the deserted courtyard. Shen stopped in front of Lan Qiren, his gaze piercing and implacable. “Either you suffer the 400 lashes, or Mei will receive the punishment. But know one thing: if you choose to protect her, you will lose all honor, your reputation, and your entire life will be stained with dishonor.”

The yard seemed to hold its breath. The eyes of the Lan clan members were fixed on Lan Qiren, while the family heads and disciples held their breaths, their faces pinched with anguish. Lan Qiren, with straight shoulders and a rigid face, had his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes, normally so stern and untamed, were now filled with heartbreaking conflict and unimaginable pain.

A funereal silence fell, heavy and oppressive, as if time itself had stood still. Lan Qiren, his lips slightly pursed and his eyes desperately searching for a way out, now faced an impossible choice. His heart was in turmoil, he fought between the desire to protect Mei and the fear of the devastating consequences.

But before he could answer, Mei's firm, resolute voice pierced the silence. “Don't do it, Qiren. The penalty is mine. I'll take care of it." Her voice, though full of determination, betrayed a subtle tremor, like a silk thread snapping under pressure.

Lan Qiren turned to Mei, his face a sea of desperation. “No,” he said in a cracked, shaking voice. “I can't let it happen.” His eyes were filled with a plea that was beyond words. His hands, normally so confident and firmly placed, trembled slightly, as if trying to hold on to an impossible hope.

But Mei shook her head decisively. “It's not your decision,” he insisted, his voice steady despite the paleness of his face. “If anyone has to suffer, that someone will be me.” Her eyes, glowing with iron determination, stared at Lan Qiren with an intensity that defied the darkness and pain that surrounded them.

Shen Jiuying, looking at the scene with a mischievous smile, was visibly pleased. His hands, which had hitherto stirred the threads of his cruelty with an icy detachment, now approached Mei, ready to carry out his will. Lan Qiren, on his knees and with a tear-stained face, was a picture of utter dejection.

When Mei was immobilized, her skin was tense and her eyes, although filled with a stainless determination, betrayed a subtle and real fear. Shen raised his whip, his face a mask of pure evil, and the blow swung through the air with a sinister swish.  

Lan Qiren, his face pale and torn, knelt before Mei, his trembling hands gripping her hips with desperate determination. Mei, with her body tied and her face pale, looked at him with eyes full of sadness mixed with indomitable determination.

When Shen Jiuying raised the whip, the air seemed to freeze, and the shadow of the executioner was cast menacingly over them. Lan Qiren, with tears streaming down his face, was unable to contain his pain and anguish. “Forgive me,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “I never should have left you alone.”

Mei, her face pale and lined with fatigue, looked at him with eyes full of sweetness mixed with determination. "It was never your fault," he said, his voice calm and steady, despite the tremor in his body. Then, with a fluid, emotionally charged movement, she leaned down and kissed him.  It was a kiss that seemed to want to express everything that words could not or had never found the courage to do. 

Mei's lips rested on Lan Qiren's with an almost ethereal delicacy, a contact that seemed to suspend time. The kiss was an act of love and resistance, a moment of purity and sacrifice that starkly contrasted with the brutality that was to come. Lan Qiren, with his eyes closed and his heart full of emotions, felt every beat of his heart synchronize with Mei's. It was as if that kiss was the last gasp of a love that was about to be crushed by pain and cruelty.

When the first whiplash hit Mei's back, Lan Qiren felt the pain as if it had been inflicted on himself. Mei's body jolted violently in his arms, and Lan Qiren felt a dagger-like blow to his heart. The sharp, dull sound of the whip crashing across Mei's skin seemed to fill the air with palpable desperation.

Mei's face twisted into a grimace of pain that Lan Qiren saw even with her eyes closed. Her hands gripped Lan Qiren with surprising strength, and he could feel the tremor of that pain through the contact. Every streak of blood that appeared on Mei's back seemed to tear at Lan Qiren's soul, and his pain was amplified by seeing the woman he loved suffer like that.

Lan Qiren tried to mask his anguish, but the tears that fell copiously from his cheeks betrayed his inner torment. His breathing was labored and ragged, every breath he took seemed weighed down by an immense burden of helplessness and regret. His mind was overwhelmed with confused and desperate thoughts as he tried to keep Mei in his arms, offering his body as a shield.

Lan Qiren's pain was unbearable. Each whiplash that hit Mei seemed magnified in her heart and mind. He felt the weight of each flogging as if it were his own flesh that was being torn. His hands trembled, unable to ease the pain he was inflicting on his love. The pain overwhelmed him, and his soul felt excruciating, completely consumed by Mei's torture.

Lan Qiren knelt deeper, body prostrate in a gesture of complete submission to Mei's pain. His hands caressed Mei's back desperately, trying to offer some kind of comfort as Lan Qiren's tears mixed with his beloved woman's blood and sweat. Every caress, every whisper was an attempt to communicate his anguish and his love, to offer her a faint hope in the midst of the devastation.

“I can't bear to see you suffer like this,” Lan Qiren murmured between sobs, “yet I can't do anything to stop it.” His voice was broken, filled with an aching helplessness that made every word an open wound.  

When Mei was hit by the whip again, her body trembled violently, shaken by a pain that seemed endless and penetrating. The first blow had already burned a red streak across his skin, and now the pain was amplified, an torment that seemed to envelop every fiber of his being. His back arched in a silent convulsion, his breathing ragged by the force of the blow. Her face was pale, and her eyes, despite the pain, were fixed on Lan Qiren, seeking in him an anchor in that sea of ​​agony.

Mei clung to Lan Qiren with surprising strength, as if his embrace was the only thing that allowed her to endure the hell she was subjected to. Each blow felt like a sharp blade of pain, yet she resisted, her body trembling but her spirit indomitable. Her skin, now marked and bruised, was a picture of pain and sacrifice, but her eyes were filled with an unwavering determination. 

Mei, her face streaked with tears, tried to keep a smile, even though her pain was evident. Her lips, trembling, formed an expression of eternal love as the pain grew more and more intense. The tired but sincere smile was an act of defiance against the pain itself, a declaration of a love that did not yield even in the face of torture.

When Lan Qiren whispered to her that she didn't deserve his love, Mei, despite the pain that was consuming her, replied in a weak but determined voice, “Because that's what you do... for those you love. It doesn't matter how painful it is." Her words were a light in the darkness, a testament to their unbreakable bond. Every blow he received was a sacrifice he made for Lan Qiren, a way to prove that his love was stronger than physical pain.

Time seemed to stretch for Mei, each second that passed was an eternity of torment and resistance. Each whipping was a prolonged agony, yet Mei faced the pain with a determination that seemed to defy the very nature of suffering. Her body, though bent under torture, was a symbol of strength and sacrifice, and her love for Lan Qiren was palpable in every breath and every look. The pain he felt was entirely shared with Lan Qiren, and each blow was a declaration of his dedication and undying love. 

As the Gusu Lan clan watched, the courtyard became a stage of sorrow and despair. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows on the walls, and the darkness seemed to grow deeper with each stroke of the whip that struck Mei. The clan members stood frozen, their gazes fixed and horrified at the harrowing scene unfolding before their eyes.

Each lash inflicted seemed to be an explosion of pain, and the counting of the blows continued, inexorable. Mei's body, now covered in red streaks and bruises, shook with every blow. The silence was broken only by the dull crack of the whip and the muffled murmurs of those present, while Lan Qiren, kneeling in front of Mei, tried to offer her his love and comfort.

The lash count finally reached 400, but Shen Jiuying, whose face showed growing disappointment, didn't look at all satisfied. His eyes, once fiery with anger, were now clouded with dark frustration. Despite the horrific display of pain and sacrifice, Shen did not find the satisfaction he had sought. 

Her eyes welling with tears, Mei looked up at Lan Qiren. His lips, now bruised and marked by pain, curved into a fragile smile, an expression of unconditional love that shone despite his injuries. Her voice, weakened and trembling, broke through the torment that oppressed her: "You deserve to be loved."

In that moment of ultimate sacrifice, Mei gathered her last remaining strength and bent towards Lan Qiren. Their lips met in a meaningful kiss. It was a kiss steeped in all the pain and love they had dreamed of and craved but had never had time to fully experience. It was a final gesture of connection, an act of love that transcended the moment and the pain around them. 

But as the kiss wore on, their awareness of their situation grew more acute. It was a love that, sadly, had come too late. Mei's words, whispered with a disarming sweetness, were like a final confession, an admission of how great their love was, but also how painful was the recognition that everything they had shared would not be enough to change the tragic outcome that day. 

With the fragility of the moment, Mei slowly pulled away from Lan Qiren, her body starting to give out. Her head bowed slightly, her strength abandoning her. Lan Qiren, with tears streaming down his face, continued to hold her close, his sobs growing more and more intense. It was a moment in which the sweetness of the kiss was contrasted by the cruelty of time that passed inexorably, a time that could not bring back the unsaid words and the unlived experiences. 

Lan Qiren held Mei in his arms with crushing desperation, his heart broken by the weight of her loss and the horror of what had been inflicted on the woman he loved. The pain of that moment seemed to envelop him like an implacable grip, and her embrace was a reflection of all his torment and anguish. His face was wet with tears, every single drop a manifestation of his inner torment and helplessness.

A heartbreaking scream, a cry of pain and helplessness, exploded from Lan Qiren's lips. It was a sound that seemed to reverberate through every corner of the courtyard, a wail that reflected his anguish and desperation. His crying was an act of pure torment, as his body folded over Mei's as if he could protect her even beyond death.

In the ensuing chaos, the other prisoners, finally finding strength and determination, managed to free themselves. The disciples, shocked and furious at the horror that had been inflicted on Mei and their family, gathered around Shen and his minions. Their circle grew ever closer, uniting their forces in a shared determination for justice and vengeance. The disciples' gazes were filled with fury and a burning desire for redemption as they advanced towards Shen, ready to fight to avenge Mei's pain and sacrifice. 

Lan Qiren, with Mei still in his arms, continued to cry, his tears mixing with the blood and pain of that moment. Every single drop of tears was an act of love and desperation, an expression of how deeply affected he was by loss and grief. The scene, bathed in a mixture of darkness and flickering light, seemed like a living tableau of love and sacrifice, with Lan Qiren and Mei at the center, a powerful representation of their dedication to each other.

Then, in the midst of the turmoil and despair, an imperceptible movement caught Lan Qiren's attention. Mei’s finger, trembling and pale, moved slightly. It was a weak gesture, but a meaningful one, a nod to life and hope amid the pain and devastation. Lan Qiren, his heart beating wildly, saw the movement and his crying grew louder, mixing with a ray of hope that began to make its way through the dark night. 

Chapter Text

The wind blew lightly through the corridors of the Gusu Lan sect, whispering through the leaves of the trees and caressing the jade walls of the pavilions. The sunset light painted the rooftops a warm orange, reflecting on the lotus ponds scattered throughout the gardens. Lan Qiren walked slowly along the stone path, his step calm and measured, but his gaze was alert. Beside him, Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen were equally silent, but the same look of concern flashed in their eyes.

The three men exchanged glances, but none dared to speak. There was something hovering in the air, a strange absence they couldn't ignore. It was a seemingly quiet evening, but they knew something wasn't right. Their respective partners and children had been missing for a little too long, and the feeling was growing that they were up to something. 

Lan Qiren stopped in front of a cherry blossom tree, watching the petals slowly fall to the ground, their movement delicate and almost hypnotic. In that moment of calm, memories of past years hit him like a light breeze, carrying with them the flavor of his choices and the transformation he had experienced. He was no longer the severe and rigid man who had once been enclosed in an armor of duties and rules. Mei had untied those chains with her patience and unconditional love.

Mei... just thinking about her, a small smile formed on his lips. She, with her infectious laugh and her indomitable spirit, had taught him to look beyond the rigid laws of the sect, beyond the apparent perfection of the life he had always known. Together, they had built a new family, a safe haven, where Lan Qiren was no longer just a master, a leader, or a man of duty, but a devoted husband and father. 

Their three children were living proof of their love. The eldest, Lan Tian, was a serious and thoughtful boy, with penetrating eyes and a calm attitude that were so reminiscent of Lan Qiren, but with a kindness that came from his mother. He could often be found immersed in books, sitting with a frown on his face and the look of someone who was trying to decipher the secrets of the world. It made Lan Qiren smile that the boy was already mature beyond his years.

Then there was their second child, Lan Wei, who, unlike his brother, was a little earthquake of energy. The boy had inherited Mei's playful personality and spent his time running around the residence, climbing trees and inventing new adventures. He was the sunshine of the house, the light that managed to make everyone smile even in the most difficult moments. 

Finally, their youngest child, Lan Meiyu, the princess of the house. With her large, inquisitive eyes, inherited from Mei, Meiyu had an aura of natural grace and sweetness that enchanted anyone who approached her. Since birth, he had a special bond with Lan Qiren, who considered it his weakness, although he would never openly admit it. She followed him like a shadow, always ready to ask her stories or seek comfort in his arms, and he, who had once been a man of inflexible rules, couldn't say no to her.

Being a father was an unexpected lesson for Lan Qiren. Never would he have imagined that he would find so much joy in teaching his children, not only the arts of combat or the doctrines of the sect, but also the value of love, compassion and family. Those precious moments, made up of evening laughter, innocent games and intimate conversations under the light of the lanterns, had become the fulcrum of his existence. 

Coming back to reality, Lan Qiren looked away from the tree and towards his adopted grandchildren, who had also chosen to embrace an older family. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, after much trial and suffering, had found balance in their life together. They had adopted a child, a young and curious soul who was growing up under the protective wing of two very different yet complementary figures. Even Lan Xichen, after recognizing his desire for a more complete life, had chosen to take care of a child, sharing that joy with the rest of the family.

Lan Qiren's thoughts were interrupted again when he noticed an even more concerned look come across Lan Wangji's face. “We haven't found them for too long,” the younger of the two brothers said, his tone calm but tense. 

Lan Xichen nodded, his gaze equally alarmed. "Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue… they hadn't been here for hours. And with Mei in that state…" his voice trailed off, the uncertainty of their silence stretching like a shadow.

Lan Qiren immediately knew what was happening. Known for their resourcefulness, Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue were definitely up to something a little unorthodox. And Mei, in her sixth month of pregnancy, certainly wasn't going to give up on keeping the situation under control, even if it meant joining the chaos.

"And wine, of course," Lan Qiren added to himself, knowing full well that the two men would certainly take advantage of the evening to teach the older ones "the true pleasures of life." He took a deep breath, knowing he would soon find them, probably with cups of wine in their hands, secretly having fun like kids. 

"No need to worry," he said finally, his tone calm but with a hint of irony. “Knowing them, they are probably teaching our children how not to behave.”

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji exchanged a tired but knowing smile. 

"We'll find them," Lan Qiren muttered, more out of habit than necessity. His heart beat faster than he wanted to admit, but it wasn't fear. It was… something else. An odd combination of trepidation and sweetness.

When they finally reached the most hidden pavilion, a muffled laughter broke the stillness of the evening. It was a familiar laugh, followed by more faint voices. The trio approached with caution, and the scene that unfolded before their eyes was as bizarre as it was endearing.

Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue sat in the center of the room, with small cups of wine in front of them. The older children crouched next to them, their eyes alight with curiosity and amusement, while Nie Mingjue, with his usual authoritative look, explained precisely how one should “drink with honor.” Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, chuckled, occasionally giving his friend a playful pat, as if everything was just a game.

Lan Qiren observed the scene for a few moments, uncertain whether to laugh or scold. It was a painting which, although unusual, exuded a disarming sweetness. Wei Wuxian laughed out loud as he tried in vain to hold back his laughter every time Nie Mingjue was pulled by the hair by Lan Qiren's baby, Lan Meiyu. The contrast between Nie Mingjue's imposing size and that lively little creature that moved with feline agility on his back was surreal.

Nie Mingjue, with his usual stern look, seemed to have thrown away any trace of authority for that moment. Every time Meiyu pulled his hair or tried to cling to his shoulders, he let out a deep grunt, but his eyes shone with a strange complicity, as if he found something profoundly satisfying in that scene. It was a side of him that Lan Qiren had rarely seen, but which struck him: the great warrior, the feared leader, was in reality a man capable of playing with a little girl as if he were a slightly unlucky older brother. 

Wei Wuxian's laughter filled the room, a crystal clear sound that seemed to infect everyone present. Lan Tian, Lan Qiren's eldest son, looked at the scene with a more serious look, but there was a spark of curiosity and amusement in his eyes, as if he didn't want to admit how fascinating he found this clandestine drinking lesson. Next to him, Lan Wei, the youngest child, was literally mesmerized by everything, his eyes wide open, as if he were witnessing the greatest spectacle of his life.

Wei Wuxian, noticing the presence of the three adults in the doorway, looked up and smiled with a look of completely deliberate guilt. “Ah, Lan Qiren!” he exclaimed with a falsely innocent tone. “We were just… educating young minds about the great traditions of wine culture!”

Nie Mingjue shook his head, trying to keep a serious face, but failed miserably. "With honor," he added solemnly, but the smile he tried to repress betrayed his jocular spirit.

Lan Qiren raised an eyebrow in mock severity. "And is teaching my children to drink part of these noble traditions?" he asked, crossing his arms. Despite the authoritarian tone, in his gaze there was a hint of understanding and a vague nostalgia for times gone by. He knew that his grandchildren and children were growing up in a complex world and that no matter how hard he tried to keep the rules, there would be times like this when they would find their own way to understand life. 

“Master Lan,” Wei Wuxian replied with an impish smile, “what is more important than honor?” Then he stole a glance at Lan Wangji, who stood off to the side, observing with his usual composed expression. “Don't you think, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji did not respond immediately. He looked at the scene, observing the little girl who, with her chubby little hands, was pulling Nie Mingjue's hair. There was a sweetness in his eyes that only those who knew him well could recognize. "Drink with honor," he repeated, without another word, but Wei Wuxian could sense the implicit approval in his words. 

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen had remained silent, a delicate smile curving his lips. He didn't seem particularly bothered by the scene either, perhaps remembering how in his youth he had shared similar moments of levity with Nie Mingjue. "There's no denying that honor also comes through joy," he finally said in a calm tone.

Lan Qiren sighed in resignation. Despite the chaos and apparent undiscipline of the scene, he couldn't help but feel relieved. It was these moments — so simple, so genuine — that reminded him how much his life had changed for the better. The laughing faces of his children, the smiles of his grandchildren, even Wei Wuxian's spirited rebellion and Nie Mingjue's quiet strength had become the foundation of what he now considered a true family.

Watching little Lan Meiyu climb higher and higher on Nie Mingjue's back, he slowly walked closer. "Meiyu," he called softly, him voice a mixture of tenderness and reproach. "Leave Uncle Mingjue alone, you're acting like a little monkey."

Meiyu, with her big, sparkling eyes, stopped and looked at her father with a guilty but mischievous smile. "But dad, Uncle Mingjue is strong! And he never gets angry!" she replied, gripping Nie Mingjue’s shoulders even tighter, who let out another grunt, trying not to laugh.

Lan Qiren shook his head, unable to hold back a smile. Mei, with her wisdom and playful spirit, had taught him that there was nothing wrong with loosening life's rigid discipline a little. And in that moment, looking at the scene in front of him, he realized that, in its own way, that too was a form of harmony: a balance between order and chaos, between rules and love. 

"All right," he said finally, nodding towards those present. “But next time, the honor lesson will be without wine… and without climbing.” 

Mei, who until that moment had remained on the sidelines, sitting on one of the cushions observing the scene with a serene smile, decided to intervene. She rose gracefully, her figure swathed in a pale silk dress that enhanced the glow of the sunset streaming through the windows. Her eyes, large and deep, shone with complicity as she approached the group with measured steps.

“I would say that honor goes far beyond drinking or climbing,” she said in a light but confident tone, walking up to Lan Qiren and placing a loving hand on his arm. “And even beyond the rigid rules of our dear sect.” she paused, looking at the amused faces of those present, then looked down at their little daughter, still swinging on Nie Mingjue's shoulders.

Meiyu, as if hearing the maternal authority in her mother's tone, finally got off Nie Mingjue's back and ran to hug Mei's legs. “But Mom, we were just playing!” he protested in a soft voice, but already resigned to the call. 

Mei smiled sweetly, stroking her daughter's hair with one hand. "I know you were playing, darling," she replied, leaning down slightly to look her in the eyes. "But even the game has its limits. And don't forget that your father is the rules master," she said, glancing playfully at Lan Qiren, who blushed slightly but maintained his usual composure.

Then, turning to Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian, Mei crossed her arms reproachfully but with a wicked smile. "And you two, you should know better than that," she said in a tone that was halfway between accomplice and a mother trying to maintain a modicum of discipline. "Teaching our kids to secretly drink while the other little ones are already in bed? Not exactly the best example." 

Wei Wuxian, caught in the act, tried to defend himself, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. "Mei, you can't blame me! It was all Mingjue's plan! I was just… contributing to the culture," he said, trying to sound innocent, but the suppressed laughter in his eyes betrayed the complicity.

Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, attempted to maintain a serious face, but failed miserably under Mei's penetrating gaze. "There's always a little culture in every drop of wine," he said finally, but immediately looked down, knowing he had no escape. 

Mei smiled, shaking his head. “Culture or not, we all know that a lesson in honor doesn't necessarily require wine,” she said, then added in a more affectionate tone, looking at Lan Qiren. "But then again, I think we've all learned that a little lightness sometimes doesn't hurt."

Lan Qiren, who had been observing the scene with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment until then, nodded slowly. "Maybe... it's true," he finally admitted, meeting Mei's eyes. “But next time, I would ask you not to teach our children to defy the rules so explicitly,” he said, in a tone that betrayed a residue of authority, but also a new understanding of the need for balance between discipline and freedom. 

Outside the quiet of the Gusu Lan sect, in an inn nearby, the scene was very different.

The inn table, worn and smooth from years of use, hosted two figures whose presence was almost the synthesis of a long journey. The face of one of the two people, hidden in his hands, was shaking from crying, a silent but deep cry, as if the weight of the world had all fallen away in that moment. His body, bent over the wooden table, seemed to want to curl up into a ball to escape the pain that had overwhelmed him.

The other figure, sitting across from her, bent with a delicacy that contrasted with his solid presence. His hands, callused and robust, caressed the arm of the grieving person with a slow and consolatory gesture. Her face, marked by experience and worry, expressed deep affection as she tried to ease the burden of her friend's pain.

"It's never easy, you know," his friend said, his voice low and filled with mature understanding. "But that's the way it has to be. It's just the end of a journey." 

The words, full of wisdom and sadness, attempted to offer comfort, but could not completely cover the sense of loss and closure that hung in the air. The friend stood back, his gaze turned towards the other, who appeared thoughtful, his face marked by fatigue and reflection. The weight of the moment seemed almost visible, shrouding both of them in a blanket of resignation.

"It's too fucking much. You should have done it differently," he said in a tone that, while brusque, carried with it an endearing frustration. "You couldn't just leave it like that, as if everything had already been decided. You had to open up a little more, show that there was more, you could add more!"

The friend, with a light expression of resignation, broke away for a moment, his face crossed by a shadow of disappointment and sadness. The voice, rough but with a hint of gentleness, was the manifestation of a desire to do things differently, to find another ending, one that might bring a more satisfying sense of closure.

The grieving person slowly looked up, his eyes wet and swollen with tears reflecting the pain and confusion of the moment. The answer came as a whisper, filled with an emotion that his friend had tried to hide under a layer of harshness.

"Then how would you have closed it?" he asked with a tone that mixed curiosity and resignation, while the crying became more and more silent, almost imperceptible. 

The friend, with a smile that betrayed a light of irony and affection, turned towards the waiter who approached with another bottle of wine. "Like that," he replied simply, his smile widening further. Then, with a decisive gesture, he turned to the waiter: "Hey, Shen Jiuying! Bring more wine! Come on, we must toast the end of the journey."

The waiter, a tired-looking man, went to get the bottle, his face lit up with a knowing smile. When he returned, the wine was served and the two friends raised their glasses, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the lanterns and the warmth of friendship.

"At the end of the journey," the friend said, his tone solemn but hopeful. “And to all that has been and to all that is to come.” The other figure, with a smile mixed with sadness and acceptance, raised his glass in agreement. "And to all the people who accompanied us along the way," he added, his tone full of gratitude. The glasses clinked, and the wine, flowing into the glasses, seemed to bring with it a sense of conclusion and rebirth.

The laughter and the stories began to flow as the two friends toasted the end of one chapter and the beginning of another, acknowledging the weight of the past but also celebrating the future and all it still had to offer.  The inn, with its atmosphere of closure and reflection, offered a quiet refuge for the two grieving figures and their friend. However, a remarkable detail was about to unfold outside these walls 

Under the starry sky, near a hidden corner of the inn's garden, there was a small silken cocoon attached to the branch of an ancient tree. This cocoon, which seemed of an almost ethereal delicacy, glimmered faintly in the moonlight. With a slight movement, the cocoon began to tremble, and then, with a delicate tear, it split open. From its darkness, emerged a butterfly with iridescent wings, which shone with all shades of blue and green. 

The butterfly, with its trembling wings and vibrant body, flew over the garden, tracing rainbows of light in the darkness. It was a vision of hope and a new start. 

Chapter Text

"I know that you're waiting for me like a dog, But have some patience for the part of me that's lost "

The day was calm, the Gusu sky stretched over the mountains like an immaculate fabric, caressed by a light breeze. Lan Qiren advanced with slow steps, the regular rhythm of his acarpas beating on the stone floors spelling out one thought after another. He didn't have a specific destination in mind, and perhaps it was precisely this that gave him a feeling of lightness. The sky above him stretched clear and vast, the blue broken only by the high mountain peaks that surrounded Gusu like silent guardians. A light breeze caressed his skin, carrying with it the fresh scent of pines and lotuses from the nearby gardens. Everything seemed suspended in a perfect balance, in an almost unreal quiet.

But inside him, the quiet was less perfect. The thought of his brother, Qingheng-jun, was like a constant shadow that hovered just beyond his daily thoughts, a presence that never fully dissipated. Every time Lan Qiren tried to push him away, the memory returned, stronger, more painful. Perhaps it was the resemblance to his nephew Lan Xichen that brought him back to mind, or perhaps it was the simple passage of time, slowly crumbling the barriers he had erected to keep that pain away.

Qingheng-jun had always been the older brother, the figure that Lan Qiren had admired and respected unreservedly. But that respect, that devotion, were also the source of his greatest regret. He had clung to Qingheng-jun's expectations all his life, allowing his very existence to be shaped by the weight of tradition and duty. And in that blind obedience, he had lost sight of what he truly wanted, sacrificing any hope of personal happiness. There had never been room for love, not in his life, not in the life that Qingheng-jun would have approved of.

Recent years have brought with them unexpected, yet necessary, changes. Marriage to Mei, a woman who respected him and who, somehow, had broken through his resolute emotional armor. With her, Lan Qiren had found a form of stability that he hadn't expected. It wasn't an overwhelming love like the one she had felt, briefly and desperately, for Wen Ruohan. Rather, it was a calm confidence, a quiet kindness that permeated their daily lives. With Mei, his life was like the sky above Gusu at that moment: serene, immaculate, free of disturbances.

And then there were his nephews. The relationship with Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji had transformed recently. The rift that had once divided them – that rift born from the rigor with which he had raised them and his rigid expectations – had finally healed. They had found a balance, a way to understand each other without the chains of the past. Lan Qiren, for the first time, felt at peace with the way he had raised them, knowing that despite his mistakes, he had done his best to prepare them for a world that he himself had found cruel. 

The last few years had also brought with them an unexpected gift, something Lan Qiren never imagined for himself: fatherhood. He'd never been the type to imagine a family of his own, and certainly not this late in life. Yet, with Mei, things had gone in a direction that he had not foreseen, but which he had welcomed with a mixture of amazement and gratitude. His children were a constant and sweet presence in his existence, and their innocence, their vitality, had transformed his life in ways he never thought possible. 

He watched them grow with a mixture of wonder and a sort of awe, as if every moment were a small miracle that could slip away from him at any moment. It was strange for him, a man who had spent his life setting himself up as a symbol of duty and discipline, to find himself playing the role of father. A belated father, yes, and perhaps for this reason more aware of his shortcomings. As he held them in his arms, he felt the weight of what he wanted to give to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, but had been unable to offer.

Their every smile reminded him of something he had lost. Each of their embraces brought to mind what he had not been able to give to his grandchildren, in those years in which the rigor of rules and traditions had suffocated every form of tenderness. Now, with his children, he was trying to do differently. He forced himself to be present, to indulge in that simplicity that had always been alien to him. He found himself laughing with them, letting go of the rigidities that had once been integral to his identity. Yet, even in the moments of greatest joy, there was a note of melancholy.

The children called him "father" with that sweetness that only innocence can instill in such a simple word. And every time they did, something in Lan Qiren's chest tightened, like a knot that could never fully untie. Because, in those young and weightless voices, he heard the echo of a past that he could not change. He thought about his grandchildren, about how he had raised them with a severity that now seemed excessive, even cruel. He had placed the same expectations on them that his brother Qingheng-jun had placed on him, and he had never questioned whether he was doing the right thing. He had never thought there was another way to be a father.

Then, there was Wen Ruohan.

Every laugh from his children, every moment of joy that he experienced with them, inevitably brought with it a memory of that man who he had loved and then rejected. He wondered, almost obsessively, what would have been different had he stayed with Wen Ruohan. If they had a life together, a life that had never been possible. He imagined himself sitting beside him, with those children running around, with a love he had never fully known.

He never spoke of him, not even to Mei. It was a pain too deep, too old, to be shared. But on the quietest nights, when the world around him was immersed in sleep, it was as if Wen Ruohan came back to haunt him, a ghost impossible to chase away. His children, in those moments, seemed almost distant, faded figures compared to the weight of regret that rested on his heart.

Lan Qiren often thought about what his brother, Qingheng-jun, would have said if he were still alive. If he could see that new side of him, the father he had learned to be. Qingheng-jun had always embodied duty, tradition and sacrifice. Lan Qiren had followed that path, worn those same shoes for decades, and now, only now, was he starting to realize what he had lost along the way.

He watched his sons play, their faces full of life, of the future. And he asked himself: was it too late to change? Was it too late to be the man he had never been, to be the father he perhaps always wanted to be? With them, he felt there was still time, that he could still give something different. But for everything else? For Wen Ruohan, for his nephews, for the past that chased him like a shadow?

Every caress he gave to his children, every kind word he whispered to them, was also a way to say goodbye to that past. Every loving gesture was a small step towards reconciliation with himself, with what he had done and with what he had lost. But the pain never completely went away, and maybe it never would go away.

As he turned toward the corridors that led to the garden, where his children were running and playing among the flowers, Lan Qiren paused for a moment, closing his eyes. “Wen Ruohan,” he thought, voicelessly, “if only things had been different.” And then, with a deep sigh, he turned back to his children, trying to keep the past where it belonged. 

It was late afternoon when Lan Qiren, walking without any real direction, found himself in front of the hall of ancestors. The sun, low on the horizon, cast long shadows on the stone floors, creating a play of light and shadow that danced on the walls, as if the house too had a life of its own. The air was filled with that solemn silence that always enveloped that place, full of a sacredness that knew how to be respected. He had passed by it many times, without ever stopping, without ever feeling the need to enter. But today it was different.

He stopped for a moment, his breath held, as if fate had wanted to lead him right there, at that precise moment. His heart beat faster, an echo of emotions crowding through his mind. Before him stood the carved wooden door, ancient and austere, marked by time but still strong in its grandeur. The reliefs of the carved motifs told stories of family and heritage, stories that he himself had helped to carry forward. But now, that door seemed to separate him from a world he had been trying to ignore.

He avoided eye contact with the door for a moment, hesitant, his heart suddenly heavy. It was a sacred place, reserved for the memory of those who had come before him, and its weight felt like an invisible burden. And among all those memories, there was one that called to him more loudly than all the others.

He took a step forward, and the first object his gaze met within the hall was the memorial tablet of his brother, Qingheng-jun, next to that of his sister-in-law. The tablets, carved with care and respect, had been placed there many years ago, but to Lan Qiren it seemed like yesterday. The memory of them was vivid, pungent, and he felt overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. He stood in front of them, unable to move, as if just looking at them was enough to bring back all that weight he thought he had buried deep in his soul.

His brother's face came back to him vividly. Qingheng-jun, with his austere presence, calm and always measured voice. The man who had represented to him the embodiment of duty, the symbol of personal sacrifice for the good of family and clan. He had admired and respected his brother, followed him like a shadow for most of his life, always trying to live up to his expectations. But there was also a hint of regret in that admiration. Qingheng-jun had sacrificed everything, even love, to respect the role that had been imposed on him. And Lan Qiren had done likewise.

He remained still, his hands behind his back, feeling his heart heavy like a boulder. The past, which he had tried so hard to leave behind, seemed to cling to him, unable to fade away completely. "Brother," he thought, without uttering a word, "I did what I had to do, just like you. I sacrificed my desires, my emotions, for duty. But at what cost?" 

The memory of Wen Ruohan flashed through him like lightning, sudden and painful. For years he had avoided thinking about it, to really confront what he had felt for that man. But at that moment, in front of his brother's tablet, thoughts crowded into his mind without control. What if he chose differently? What if he chose love over duty? It would be a different life, a life he would never know.

The tablets, silent and solemn, did not respond to his questions. Qingheng-jun had made his choices, and he, Lan Qiren, had followed in the same footsteps. But something was different now. Something Lan Qiren would never openly admit. His heart had changed, the burden of the past was no longer so absolute.

Lan Qiren's eyes remained fixed on the tablets, and for a long moment time seemed to stand still. There was no sound except the faint rustle of leaves dancing in the wind outside the room. The past and present were intertwined in that sacred place, and for the first time, Lan Qiren allowed himself to accept the truth. He was still close to Wen Ruohan. Perhaps he could never forget it completely. But at the same time, he knew that he had found another path, a path that, although imperfect, had given him a peace he had never known. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Brother,” he whispered to himself, as if Qingheng-jun could actually hear him in that sacred silence, “I tried to be like you. I followed your example, I lived with the burden of duty and expectations, convinced that was the right path. Now, with Mei, with my children... I see that life is different. I have found a form of peace that I didn't think was possible.

The words came out more painfully than he had anticipated. There was no one to answer, only the still silence of the ancestors' hall. "Would you have wanted me to continue sacrificing myself for the clan, to keep our values high at all costs?" The air almost seemed to stop around him, as if waiting. “But how much longer would I have to suffer, to live up to those values? And Wen Ruohan… should I have forgotten him completely? I never really allowed myself to, even though I tried. Should I have?”

The weight of those questions enveloped him, the awareness that he would never have answers left him at the mercy of doubts that perhaps only he could resolve. He slowly stroked his beard, an automatic gesture he made when he was thinking hard. “Would you be disappointed in me, brother?” His voice nearly broke as he said those words. It seemed to him that he was betraying something, perhaps the very foundations of his existence.

"I wanted to be like you," he continued, his gaze fixed on the tablets, "but I'm not sure I ever really succeeded. I don't know if I managed to become the man you wanted. I loved, but my love was imperfect . And now, I have chosen a different path. I have chosen to live."

Lan Qiren let out a deep, long sigh. In that instant he realized how much he had been a prisoner, not only of the clan's rules, but also of his own expectations. Qingheng-jun, his brother, would never ask him to sacrifice everything, or maybe he would, but now he understood that the real answer was no longer important. Qingheng-jun had made his own choices, he had lived by his own code, but Lan Qiren had to accept that his path was different.

"I don't know if you would forgive me," he murmured, "but I hope that one day I will be able to forgive myself. For what I did, for what I didn't do, for what I wish I had done." 

He still remained there, in silence, for a few minutes. Then, with a final glance at the memorial tablets, he turned. The cool afternoon air greeted him again as he exited the ancestral hall. The weight in his heart had become lighter, even though he knew that a part of him would always remain there, in that room, next to the memories of his brother and the past he had left behind.

The day had passed slowly for Lan Qiren, as if time itself had decided to slow down, making him a little dizzy, as if he were in a half-dream. He had eaten with his family, but the flavors of the foods mixed confusingly in his mind. His children's laughter and Mei's chatter seemed to come from another world, a distant place that his heart couldn't fully enter. His head was elsewhere, anchored in the memories of that afternoon, the hall of ancestors and the heaviness of the questions he had left unresolved.

In the evening, as dusk took over the house, Lan Qiren found himself sitting at his writing table. He was surrounded by scattered papers and pens, tools that would normally have inspired him. But that evening, as Mei changed their little one's diaper, he was distracted, absorbed by thoughts that refused to go away. His mind wandered, fixating on everything he had never said, on all the emotions he had never expressed.

Mei enjoyed teasing their little one, who giggled as she looked at him fondly, her face lit up with a smile. Lan Qiren watched her absently, enjoying the sweetness of the scene, but the joy seemed to slip away like sand through his fingers. “He's a little tyrant, isn't he?” Mei giggled, as the boy pulled his hair with all his little strength. Lan Qiren didn't answer, getting lost in his thoughts, in his internal conflict.

When he finally completed the letter he had been writing, a weight was lifted from his heart. He had written down everything he carried inside, but despite this, the serenity he was looking for still seemed distant. He stood up and walked over to Mei, leaning in to give her a light kiss on the cheek. She looked at him with a look that spoke volumes, a mixture of concern and affection: "What are you up to, Qiren?"

There were no words to speak; the silence spoke for them both. Mei got into bed with the children, and Lan Qiren could feel the deep connection between them, that familiar warmth enveloping him, and yet he felt a need to do something alone, at least for a moment. The idea of sharing it, of pulling Mei into that emotional chaos worried him.

As the youngest pulled his hair, he discovered a sweetness in the innocence of that gesture. Lan Qiren felt divided: on the one hand, the desire to close his eyes and abandon himself to that moment; on the other, the awareness that he had to face his past. He turned around and, with a loving sigh, shook his head. 

He found himself standing in front of the cold springs, the water flowing silently in contrast with the tumultuous thoughts in his mind. Holding the letter he had just finished reading aloud in his hand, Lan Qiren felt a mix of emotions envelop him. The written words had become an echo of his soul, and as he pronounced them, the low tone of his voice seemed to make its way through the darkness of the night.

He smiled into space, a nostalgic smile, as tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. It was a sadness that didn't weigh like a boulder, but that brought with it a feeling of liberation. He had finally expressed what he carried inside, and that truth, however painful, gave him a sort of lightness. Even though he felt the cold of the night creeping through his clothes, the shiver that ran through his skin wasn't annoying; rather, it awakened him, reminded him that he was alive.

As he continued to gaze at the reflection of the water, a presence behind him struck him. He felt a cloak being placed over his shoulders and, for a moment, he turned around in fear. Mei's eyes met his, filled with sweetness and understanding.

“You shouldn't get cold, husband!” she said with a fond smile, her tone soft as a song. “Who watches the little rascals while I go to visit Liang in the village?”

Lan Qiren felt himself enveloped in Mei's warm concern, and in that moment, the weight of the world seemed to lighten even further. His lips curved into a heartfelt smile, a gesture of gratitude and love. "I… I didn't want to disturb you," he replied, trying to hide the turmoil that still lingered in his heart.

"Disturb me? Never," Mei replied, walking over and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You know that I'm always close to you, in every moment. Even in your silences."

Her words struck him deeply, making him realize that he was not alone in that struggle. Mei was by his side, ready to support him, and that thought gave him new strength. He felt the heat of the cloak, a barrier against the cold and a symbol of the love that united them.

“Come on, come back inside, Qiren… We have the bed to ourselves tonight,” Mei said, her playful tone ringing in the cool night air. Lan Qiren clutched his cloak, an involuntary gesture that sought to retain warmth, but the letter he had held for so long slipped from his hands, gliding gently to the ground. He watched it fall and an amused frown formed on his face.

"And how did you manage to conquer him?" he asked, his tone now full of levity. She looked at him with a mischievous smile, almost challenging him. "Well, the little pests will have two more sweets tomorrow morning," he replied, lacing his fingers with Lan Qiren's. His eyes sparkled with warmth and complicity, as if they were sharing a precious secret. Lan Qiren couldn't help but feel fortunate: that moment, so simple yet so profound, filled his heart with an unexpected sweetness.

“I should find a way to win you over, too, then,” Lan Qiren said, a smile lighting up his face. Mei's response was a smile that filled his soul, and that bond that united them became stronger, an invisible thread that connected them to each other. 

The rain began to fall lightly, as if the sky itself wanted to join in their joy. The drops fell like small gems, glittering in the dim moonlight. Lan Qiren felt like a child again, the weight of his worries dissolving in the flutter of wings as Mei pulled him along, her laughter ringing out like a melody he never wanted to stop listening to.

"Come on, run!" Mei said, as the cold wind caressed their faces, creating a vivid contrast to the warmth of their hearts. Mei turned, giving a playful look, and in an instant, they were both running, their feet squashing puddles, sending up splashes of water that sparkled like shooting stars.

Every step they took together brought them closer, and in that moment, everything else faded away. Lan Qiren looked at Mei, her dark hair plastered to her face, her large, bright eyes reflecting the light of the moon and the emotion of the rain. It was as if the entire world had stopped, leaving just the two of them, immersed in a magic that transcended everything.

"We're like children," Lan Qiren said, laughing as a sudden gust of wind hit them. “Shouldn't we act like adults?”

“And who said we have to?” Mei replied, a smile that lit up the night, as she stopped to look at him, her heart pounding. “Every now and then, we just have to let go.”

Her words penetrated Lan Qiren's heart like a sweet melody. It was as if, for a moment, all the weight of his life had disappeared, and all that existed was that pure joy. The rain continued to fall, but he felt as if he were flying. He felt the freedom of that moment, as if they were dancing under a sky that cried with happiness.

Mei's laughter mixed with the sound of the rain, creating a harmony that resonated in the air. Lan Qiren stopped for a moment and, cupping Mei's face in his hands, bent down to kiss her. His lips joined hers in a sweet, heartfelt kiss, a gesture that captured the essence of that moment. The rain fell around them like a blessing, and with that gesture he felt as if time had stopped.

When they broke away, they both remained breathing in each other, their faces illuminated by a smile that spoke of affection and complicity. "I love you," Lan Qiren murmured, feeling the warmth fill him. “And I never want to stop having moments like this.”

"Then let us live together, today and always," Mei replied, as another drop of rain fell softly on her face. And so, they took each other's hands and, laughing, let themselves go, still running in the rain, surrounded by the beauty of that magical moment. Each step, each laugh, each drop of rain seemed to sing them a love song, a celebration of their life together. And in that magical moment, Lan Qiren realized that, even in storms, they would always find joy, they could always run together towards the unknown, embracing every moment as a promise of eternal love. 

He wasn't alone anymore, not anymore. And he finally understood it, a circle had closed. The scars of the past, which once seemed inextinguishable, now blended with the joys of the present, creating a tapestry of experiences that told the story of his life. Lan Qiren felt a sense of lightness, as if an invisible burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Mei's presence, the smiles of their children, the warm welcome of the family they had created together, all of this wrapped him in a reassuring embrace. He no longer had to hide her feelings, or live in the shadow of past fears. He had found the courage to be vulnerable, to open up and accept that love, in all its forms, was a precious gift.

At that moment, as he reflected on the letter he had just written, a new awareness took root within him. He was no longer a prisoner of his past; he was a renewed man, ready to live, love and forgive. Life was leading him towards a bright horizon, and the future no longer seemed so scary.

Smiling to himself, Lan Qiren realized that his family was not only a refuge, but a source of strength. Every day he spent with Mei and their children was a piece that was added to the mosaic of his life, one more reason to look ahead with hope.

And as he lost himself in thought, the gentle wind whispered softly to him, like a reminder that, despite past storms, the beauty of love and human connection would always guide him to new heights.

Yes, i'm finally free.