含光君

It has been a strange handful of weeks, but Lan Wangji can accept strange far more easily than he could accept the pain that rippled inexorably outward from Shen Yuan's death, seeming to leave no one untouched. The parade of visitors was unusual, and thought-provoking, but not painful. Lan Wangji enjoyed meeting most of them. Even Galahad, whose empty politeness made him feel hollow in turn -- there was a quiet satisfaction in bringing him to the rabbits and watching his stunned expression at the simple joy of holding something small and vulnerable and trusting.

As for himself, the memories are so abstract as to be incomprehensible. There is something there, enough something to assure him that Aornis had no hand in this specific strangeness. But he can barely grasp at the details. He remembers embracing Magnus, but that signifies nothing out of the ordinary. He remembers sparring with Gideon; he remembers that he needs to ask Sagramore for fresh poetry. He remembers the loss of Wei Ying, newer and crueler than it typically is these days, but when he came back to himself the next morning, Wei Ying was there, his head tucked beneath Lan Wangji's chin and his ankle hooked around Lan Wangji's hip.

The least enjoyable of his encounters, at the least, provided him with something important. He has not removed the locket from his qiankun pouch. He wants to waste no time in bringing it to its intended recipient. He performs the first of his morning routines -- his meditation, his patrol, Wei Ying's breakfast -- and then goes to look for Magnus at the camp.

It is clear enough that, indeed, something truly is toying with the people of this mansion. Lan Wangji cannot begin to guess at its motive. His visit with his brother brought him melancholy happiness; his meeting with Queen Gertrude brought him quiet, wrenching joy; the disastrous encounter with Jiang Wanyin brought him cold fury sharper than Bichen's edge, and crumpled Wei Ying's typically-unassailable resolve. What is the purpose of any of that? Is Wei Ying not allowed his peace after years of tumult and even more years of death? Lan Wangji still cannot regret his choice to stay, but he finds himself burdened more heavily with thoughts on the nature of this tiny world.

The visitors, such as they were, have dispersed. Lan Wangji did not meet all of them, but he caught wind of most, he believes. He will write to Lan Xichen later, but with Jiang Wanyin mercifully gone, there is nothing left that can be solved with Bichen's qi or Wangji's strings. He stayed for several reasons, many of them living under this roof right now. Their pains, their losses, their grief -- all of it matters.

Expressing care does not come naturally to him. Learning to be gentle was the work of many years. His mother was kind in a way that must have masked hidden ferocity, and then she died. He never knew his father, although only a single wall, two at most, separated them most days. His uncle loves him, but to describe Lan Qiren as gentle would be laughable. Lan Xichen's temperament is a marvel with all of that considered. Lan Wangji is thinking of his brother, and of Wei Ying's shijie and her lotus root and pork rib soup, as he sets to work in the kitchen this afternoon. Most of the time, he does this particular task in a tucked-away kitchen, stocked with all of the implements and ingredients of his liking, but he knows that this one sees a much greater volume of traffic. His own temperament prevents him from intruding on those whose wellbeing drives his concern, but he can hope that luck will be on his side.¹

All that is to say, Lan Wangji is cooking. His sleeves are bound up with strips of blue silk and his hair, along with the ends of his forehead ribbon, is braided neatly, courtesy of a sleepy-eyed but quick-fingered Wei Ying. A pot of seaweed and egg drop soup simmers on one burner; the other, not yet alight, houses a sizeable pan that awaits slices of pork, chilies, and tea tree mushrooms. The mushrooms in question are soaking and Lan Wangji is occupied at present with neatly mincing several cloves of garlic.

¹Despite that he was betrayed by the promises of the burn book and that Jiang Wanyin's luck appeared only as poor as it usually is.

[ This post can be a bit time-flexible and will remain open for the foreseeable future! Lan Wangji cooks for Wei Wuxian almost every day anyway, he's just moving his base of operations and cooking in larger quantities right now, so stop by anytime. ]