What do you think?
Rate this book


ebook
First published August 3, 2020





“Didi,” Lan Xichen whispers, and it’s another shockwave. Wangji hasn’t been Lan Xichen’s didi since before he was Wangji. “A-Zhan,” his brother says, and Lan Wangji tries to focus on him, but it is difficult. His brother’s face ripples, blackness crowding at the sides of Lan Wangji’s vision. “Go back to sleep. Please—go back to sleep.”
It could be a plea, it could be an order. Lan Wangji can’t tell. Regardless, he obeys.


The child, cheeks still chubby with baby fat, presses two hands against the wall of Lan Wangji’s room and favors Lan Wangji with a very inquisitive, very familiar tilt of the head.
It is like a lightning bolt straight into Lan Wangji’s chest. Wen in body, Wei in motion, Lan Wangji is certain he has never hated, nor loved, any being so much as he feels towards the boy in his room.

Cautiously, he places his right arm around A-Yuan’s back, while his left hand continues to pet A-Yuan’s hair.
He finds himself humming.
He finds himself humming Wangxian.

It hurts to look at him, Lan Wangji thinks, this small embodiment of every one of Wei Ying’s hopes for the future, every one of his sacrifices. It hurts to look at him and it hurts to look away.

“Night, Gege,” A-Yuan whispers and then there is a warm pressure against his side, as if a tiny body has curled up carefully next to him and, for all intents and purposes, gone right to sleep.
During their separation, Lan Wangji had often caught himself staring at the sky, thinking that, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Wei Ying might also be looking at the same moon, the same stars.

Wei Ying, he thinks, and the tears come, as they always do when he is alone, with none to save face for but himself. I will keep him safe.

“Gege, I missed you,” A-Yuan declares, and rubs his face all over Lan Wangji’s pristine white robes. The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth softens. Children are sometimes unbearably sincere, he thinks, and pats A-Yuan’s head.

“What else does the ribbon mean?”
A-Yuan sticks his thumb in his mouth. “It’s not for touching.”
“Except?” Lan Wangji presses, pulling A-Yuan’s thumb away and wiping it with the corner of his robe. He is rewarded with a shy grin, like a sudden burst of sunlight.
“Except for Gege!” A-Yuan says, perhaps a tad more loudly than strictly necessary. He says, as if as afterthought, “and me.”

And it is there, under the spring sky, with the weight of Wei Ying’s son—his son—against him, plucking each note with careful reverence, that Lan Wangji realizes. He does not have the answers he wants. Not for Wei Ying. But for now, perhaps, he has the answers he needs.
