The years were trickling onward and Lan Zhan found himself adrift. His son was now living among the junior disciples, Lan Zhan could carry his sword once more, and Gusu seemed less welcoming than ever.
The rift between himself and his clan seemed unbridgeable. It was a span so wide and so deep that any effort would simply lead to the last of their relationship teetering on the edge and falling into the abyss of resentment that seethed below. He loved his brother, that was true, but his blanket disdain for the generations before him was well known. There were whispers that Hanguang-Jun had learned nothing from the discipline whip, but that was untrue. He'd learned many lessons, the chief of which was the question everything he had been taught, and question everyone who had taught him. It made for difficult living.
Soon, he began to earn a reputation. Not only was he Hanguang-Jun, Light Bearing Lord, but he was also soon called 'He Who Goes Where the Chaos Is.' His willingness to plunge into dangerous situations, to help whoever needed helping regardless of means spread like wildfire. He had no more time for Cultivation Conferences, he had no more time for Sect policies. He would keep his promise for both himself and Wei Ying: to protect the weak and live without regret.
The latter half of that vow was the hardest to keep. Regret crept up on him like a thief in the night, slipping in the window under the cover of darkness and robbing him of his breath at night. His dreams were wore outside Cloud Recesses, plaguing him whenever he came too close to a place anchored to a memory with Wei Ying as a central part of it.
Then he found himself in Qishan. With the Wen gone, a few brave villagers from Qinghe had pushed into the region, taking over abandoned farmland, only to find they had to call for Cultivators to help cleanse the rage and ghosts from the land. If there was any call that he should have avoided -- it was this one. Big the daring settlers expanding from Qinghe. They should not have been so brazen to test the lands of Qishan.
One of the villages had been a outpost for the Wen Sect, and resentment and despair had built. The Wen had long ago abandoned the practice of sealing their disciples against becoming restless ghosts, and so there were plenty of them to eliminate. The other two steps were simply not working, and so Lan Zhan entered into battle with their enemies a second time. Sometimes he wondered if the ghosts that were purged by his spiritual power was falling to him for a second time. He did not, as a rule, remember the faces of the Wen that he slew in battle. They did not linger in his thoughts, laughing in the background of his mind as Wei Ying did.
The nightmares were intense in Qishan. There were many Wei Ying memories, some of them terrible, that vied to dominate his nights, and he frequently awoke, tormented by memories he could not deny. Wei Ying howled in his mind, demanding -- something. Mocking, angry, lost.
Then he found the brand. It was among the wreckage of the Sect outpost, still in excellent condition after all these years. He took it from the ravaged outpost, and took it away with him in a wild, impulsive moment. He went back to the closest village. There he purchased wine, and vanished into the night.
He could have made it to a larger city or even a town, but he had no desire. He found another abandoned village and took over one building for his over night shelter, stoked a fire in the hearth, and then unpacked both his wine and the brand.
Lan Zhan took his first sip of wine and let the heat course through him. It burned down his throat, warmed his belly in a way that fire didn't. Then it spread to his limbs until he felt them go languid and loose. Would this help him conquer nightmares? Wei Ying seemed merry whenever he drank. How did he feel when the liquor set him to burning from the inside out?
Wei Ying's experiences eluded him. Lan Zhan had lived such a sheltered life, free of most of the pain that his beloved had endured, the joys that he had embraced. So he sat there, sipping his wine and staring into the fire, wondering what spicy food tasted like, what made Emperor's Smile the lord of all wines, what about radishes were just so bad.
A some point, sips turned into long drinks, and long drinks led to fumbling hands, pulling his clothing askew as the heat that sometimes took him when dreams took strange, intimate dreams that were doubly tormenting for knowing that Wei Ying had never returned those feelings, never knew the way that Lan Zhan wanted to put his hands on him.
As he ran his hand over his own chest, he thought of Wei Ying's scar, marring perfect skin. The Wen brand all but fell out of his Qiankun sleeve after that, and found it's way into the fire as some half-formed idea began to take hold. The brand was something else that Wei Ying had felt that Lan Zhan had no understanding of. But this was something concrete, something he could take and recreate. This is a thing he could take action on.
When it was hot enough, he did not hesitate. He took one glance at the blazing Wen sun, glowing bright after it's time in the fire, and took it by its handle. Never meant to be used on one' self, the situation was awkward -- he measured, moved, measured again, trying not to burn his hands in the process, till the heat of the brand was making him sweat.
Frustrated, Lan Zhan plunged ahead before he could lose his nerve, and the loose-limbed warmth that had kept him was suddenly eclipsed by the flames of the Wen Sun burning into his breast. He did not scream - the sound he made was an an animal sound of pain, low and and anguished, and those blazing seconds of burning were some of the longest of his life. They were beaten only by the horrible seconds of watching Wei Ying plunge backward into the ring smoke from the lava vents that surrounded the Nightless City. He had lived years in those terrible moments, leaning over the stone with one hand extended. The burn was nothing compared to those terrible seconds.
When he came too hours later, he ached from drink and injury. He was only vaguely aware of why he might hurt, memory fuzzy after so much wine and getting so easily drunk. The fire had gone cold, he was half dressed, and there was a new scar to go with the rest. He carefully coaxed his core into action, letting energy seep to the wounds, speeding their healing. But he did not heal them completely. He let the brand rest there, and made his way from Qishan come morning.
The next time he he was plagued with nightmares and woke, he touched the burning sun in the dark. Then he reached for his guqin.
The ebony Wangji, the guqin that bore his name, had been restrung only once it came time to teach Lan Sizhui. Lan Zhan could barely sit up for hours at a time, regaining his movement in inches when he had painstakiningly restrung the instrument and attuned himself to it again. His long-fingered hands had suffered no damage from the whip, so they were as nimble as ever. He knew the notes of Inquiry by heart, and summoned the spirits to him with ease. Each chord sounded out -- Do you know of Wei Ying?
The spirits answered in the negative.
Bear me a message; should Wei Ying cross your path in the next world, tell him I did my best to understand how he must've felt, to carry joy and pain in equal measure. It will not be enough, but I tried.
The spirits answered in an affirmative.
Lan Zhan had to be satisfied. He would return to Cloud Recesses, speak of nothing which transpired over the last few weeks, and do his best to keep going. A-Yuan needed him to never stop striving for the next day, and the day after that. He was his reason to live, that son of Wei Ying's, the blessing that had been left for him to rear and care for.
Maybe he could better understand why Wei Ying was Wei Ying, if he took care if people with the same fervor that his beloved did. But he could not do it at the cost of his own life and health. Too many people depended on him. He had to go where the chaos was, Wei Ying in his heart and a reminder seared into his flesh, and fight for them both.
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