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Lan Zhan was under house arrest.
The jingshi is his again -- he is imprisoned there, his jade charm removed. The Elders believe he cannot escape the wards, and honestly, he doesn't care to. He doesn't need to. He knows at any time, he could leave. Anytime, he could ask. The Bar answered once, and the Bar will do so again. It will not leave A-Yuan fatherless. It knows too much is at stake.
He tends to his own wounds like the elders convene, puts all of his old clothing with it's bright blues and crisp, expensive whites into the brazier and pulls out his thin, mourning whites. He is dressed for a funeral. Potentially his own, he knows, but... if that is it, so be it. He has only one future he must secure now, and it is not his own.
Lan Zhan makes his last preparations. He takes his guqin and cuts its strings, a message to all that will see it. The cord is cut between him and Wei Wuxian, and this guqin that bore his same name will never sing again. Then he traces his most potent wards, infusing them with all the energy he can spare and still be functional. No one will find his cache of treasures, hidden beneath the jingshi floorboards. No one would bother to look, anyway. No one suspects Lan Zhan of sentimentality.
Then he waits. Lan Xichen will come to him when it is time. They will try to take his pride, may yet take his life, but there is only one thing that matters now: the child in need. So he waits, kneeling before the open doors of the jingshi in silence, while guards are posted at the gates to his courtyard.
The jingshi is his again -- he is imprisoned there, his jade charm removed. The Elders believe he cannot escape the wards, and honestly, he doesn't care to. He doesn't need to. He knows at any time, he could leave. Anytime, he could ask. The Bar answered once, and the Bar will do so again. It will not leave A-Yuan fatherless. It knows too much is at stake.
He tends to his own wounds like the elders convene, puts all of his old clothing with it's bright blues and crisp, expensive whites into the brazier and pulls out his thin, mourning whites. He is dressed for a funeral. Potentially his own, he knows, but... if that is it, so be it. He has only one future he must secure now, and it is not his own.
Lan Zhan makes his last preparations. He takes his guqin and cuts its strings, a message to all that will see it. The cord is cut between him and Wei Wuxian, and this guqin that bore his same name will never sing again. Then he traces his most potent wards, infusing them with all the energy he can spare and still be functional. No one will find his cache of treasures, hidden beneath the jingshi floorboards. No one would bother to look, anyway. No one suspects Lan Zhan of sentimentality.
Then he waits. Lan Xichen will come to him when it is time. They will try to take his pride, may yet take his life, but there is only one thing that matters now: the child in need. So he waits, kneeling before the open doors of the jingshi in silence, while guards are posted at the gates to his courtyard.
