In the soft glow of a quiet autumn, a family’s love shines against the inevitability of loss. Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, and their young son, a-Yuan, create a life of laughter and resilience, woven with the tender companionship of their closest friends. But as Wei Wuxian’s strength begins to fade, those who love him find themselves bound by promises and memories, determined to honor his legacy.
With each Thursday flower and every shared memory, Lan Zhan discovers that some bonds cannot be broken, even by death.
The sky was a soft, hazy blue, with sunlight filtering gently through the trees, dappling the forest floor with shades of amber and gold. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of fallen leaves and the murmur of laughter from a nearby group. In the center of it all were Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian, and a-Yuan, painting a portrait of warmth that felt both fragile and timeless.
Lan Zhan stood a few steps away, casually dressed in a sweater and jeans, his skateboard loosely tucked under his arm. His gaze was fixed on Wei Wuxian, who was cradling a-Yuan with the kind of affection that radiated from his every gesture. Wei Wuxian lifted the child playfully, swinging him in circles until a-Yuan’s laughter bubbled over, bright and pure. Lan Zhan’s lips turned up in a rare, gentle smile, his gaze soft, as if he were memorizing every detail of this moment.
Watching them from a slight distance, Nie Huaisang sat on a soft blanket spread over the fallen leaves, his usually bright, mischievous eyes tinged with a hint of sadness. He held a thermos of tea, his fingers lightly wrapped around the warm metal as if seeking comfort. Beside him sat Lan Huan, who was quietly observing the scene, his calm presence steady and grounding. Jiang Yanli was on his other side, her expression filled with quiet joy as she watched her younger brother with a fondness only an older sister could carry. Wen Ning sat a bit apart, hands folded in his lap, his posture relaxed, his gaze attentive as always.
Nie Huaisang let out a long, quiet breath, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over their small group. "Do you ever look at them," he began softly, his voice just loud enough for the others to hear, "and wonder if there’s more going on than we see?"
Lan Huan glanced over at Nie, sensing the seriousness beneath his friend’s words. He followed Nie’s gaze to his brother, standing so still as he watched Wei Wuxian and a-Yuan. "They’ve endured so much," Lan Huan said quietly. "But yes… sometimes I wonder."
Nie Huaisang’s lips quirked into a faint, almost pained smile. His eyes softened as he looked at Wei Wuxian, who, despite the joy radiating from his laughter, looked a little more worn, a little more fragile than usual. “They’re happy,” Nie continued, his tone light, yet his words layered with meaning. "But happiness, I think… can be a fragile thing."
Jiang Yanli turned to him, her gentle expression shifting, concern knitting her brow. “What do you mean, Huaisang?”
Nie shifted, setting the thermos down beside him. He glanced at Lan Huan, then at Jiang Yanli and Wen Ning, gathering his thoughts as he searched for the right words. His voice, usually so full of humor and lightness, had a new, unfamiliar weight. "Wei Wuxian… he told me something," he began, his gaze once more drifting to his friend in the distance. "He’s been unwell."
A soft, shared silence fell over the group as they processed the meaning behind his words. Lan Huan’s expression darkened, a quiet sorrow clouding his composed face. Jiang Yanli’s hand instinctively went to her mouth, her eyes widening, though she quickly composed herself, folding her hands tightly in her lap as if steadying herself for whatever would come next. Even Wen Ning’s gentle, open expression shifted slightly, his gaze growing more intense, as though bracing himself for more.
Nie Huaisang swallowed, his usual playful demeanor nowhere to be found. His voice was soft, tender, with a depth of love and sadness that was rarely seen. "It’s not just a cold or something he can rest his way out of. It’s… something that can’t be fixed."
Lan Huan closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the words in his quiet way, as if by not speaking, he could somehow lessen the impact. Jiang Yanli’s face softened into an expression of maternal sorrow, her mind already calculating ways to help, to make things easier for her brother and his family.
Nie Huaisang watched each of them, feeling a pang of relief in their reactions—they would be there, they would help. And Wei Wuxian, despite all his playful deflections, had always known they would.
"He didn’t tell me everything," Nie continued, now in an almost reverent tone. "But he…he asked me for something. Wei Wuxian asked me if I could look after Lan Zhan and a-Yuan. He’s afraid. Afraid of what will happen to them… to Lan Zhan, in particular."
Jiang Yanli’s brow furrowed deeper, and she whispered, “Lan Zhan? He’s always been the steady one, hasn’t he? The one who grounds Wei Wuxian.”
Nie Huaisang nodded slowly, his gaze drifting down to the blanket beneath him. “That’s what it seems like,” he said. "But there’s more to it than that. Wei Wuxian…he hinted at things, things Lan Zhan has kept hidden. He hinted that Lan Zhan struggles with things, things none of us really understand. Schizophrenia… it’s something he’s been carrying alone for a long time."
A stunned silence followed, as Lan Huan looked up sharply, his usual calm momentarily shaken. His mind drifted back to small moments in their childhood, hints he’d dismissed, not understanding the depth of what his brother was going through. Now, the weight of it all settled over him.
Jiang Yanli let out a soft, steadying breath, and then her expression softened, resolute. “Then we’ll be there for them. All of us,” she said quietly, her voice like a promise. "Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, a-Yuan… they’re family. Whatever happens, they won’t be alone."
Lan Huan nodded, his composure returning as he turned to Nie Huaisang, his gaze filled with a quiet gratitude and resolve. “Thank you, Huaisang. For telling us.”
Nie Huaisang nodded, but his eyes betrayed a quiet sorrow. He looked at Wen Ning, who had been listening intently, his expression calm but reflective. Wen Ning, sensing the importance of the words that had been left unspoken, offered a quiet nod of understanding. In his way, he knew what it meant to be there for someone without being asked, without expecting recognition.
"I promised him," Nie Huaisang said softly. "I promised Wei Wuxian that we would make sure Lan Zhan and a-Yuan are cared for, no matter what."
Lan Huan’s gaze softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between him and Huaisang. He reached out, resting a hand over his, a gesture of support and reassurance. Nie, for once, didn’t brush it off. He only looked at Lan Huan with gratitude, feeling the strength of their unspoken bond.
Across the clearing, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian shared a laugh as a-Yuan squealed in delight, completely oblivious to the quiet promises being made on their behalf. Watching them, Jiang Yanli felt a pang of sadness, a deep, instinctual need to protect her brother and his family. She turned to Nie Huaisang, her eyes warm but determined. “Whatever happens,” she said softly, “we won’t let them face it alone.”
In that moment, as the autumn sunlight cast a gentle glow over them, they each felt the weight of the silent promise they’d made. Wei Wuxian’s illness would be a test of strength for them all, but together, they would face it, a family bound not just by blood but by choice and unbreakable loyalty.
The memory surfaced suddenly, unbidden, as Wei Wuxian lay awake beside Lan Zhan in the quiet darkness of their room. He remembered those first difficult days, when love and struggle seemed inseparable, tangled together in a way that defined the beginning of their life together.
It had been a late summer evening, warm and heavy, the air filled with the scent of jasmine and the murmur of distant city sounds. Lan Zhan had been pacing the room, his face expressionless but his eyes distant, as if listening to something that Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear. Wei Wuxian sat on the edge of the bed, watching him with quiet concern, his usual lightheartedness subdued.
Lan Zhan’s footsteps had a rhythm to them, a precise, almost rigid cadence that hinted at an inner turmoil he kept hidden from everyone. Wei Wuxian had sensed it, of course; he could feel the tension thrumming in the room, the way Lan Zhan’s shoulders were hunched slightly, his jaw clenched tight.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian’s voice was soft, hesitant. He had never seen his partner like this before, and a faint unease prickled at him, though he pushed it aside.
For a moment, it seemed as though Lan Zhan hadn’t heard him. He kept pacing, his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands clenched into fists. But then he stopped, his head turning just enough to look at Wei Wuxian. His eyes were wide, searching, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
“They’re watching,” Lan Zhan said, his voice barely a whisper, as though he feared the very air around them might hear. His gaze darted to the window, scanning the shadows, his entire body tense, alert. “They… they know.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, taken aback. He had never heard Lan Zhan speak like this, so full of fear and something darker—something unnameable. He felt a shiver run through him, but he pushed it down, forcing himself to stay calm.
“Lan Zhan,” he said softly, stepping forward. “Who’s watching? There’s no one there. It’s just us.”
But Lan Zhan’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze still fixed on the window, his breathing shallow and quick. It was as though he couldn’t hear Wei Wuxian at all, as though he were trapped somewhere deep inside himself, unreachable.
Wei Wuxian’s heart ached, a painful twist of fear and helplessness. He took another step forward, reaching out, his hand hovering just above Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice as gentle as he could make it.
But in that moment, Lan Zhan’s calm shattered. He turned sharply, his eyes wild, his expression twisted with a desperation that took Wei Wuxian by surprise. “They’ll take you away,” Lan Zhan murmured, his voice trembling, raw with fear. “I can’t let them… I can’t let them take you.”
Wei Wuxian barely had a chance to react before Lan Zhan’s hands gripped his arms, the touch firm, almost too tight. There was a wildness in Lan Zhan’s eyes, a deep-seated terror that Wei Wuxian had never seen before.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian said softly, fighting the instinct to pull away. He could feel Lan Zhan’s fingers digging into his arms, his grip almost painful, but he forced himself to stay calm, to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze with a gentleness that he hoped would reach him.
“It’s just us,” he murmured, his voice steady. “No one’s taking me away. I’m here with you. Just breathe, okay?”
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Lan Zhan’s grip began to loosen. His expression softened, the wildness fading, though his gaze remained wary, cautious. Wei Wuxian felt his own heart begin to slow, relief settling over him as Lan Zhan’s breathing evened out.
They stood there in silence, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Wei Wuxian reached up, gently placing his hand over Lan Zhan’s, a silent promise that he would stay, that he would not leave, no matter how dark the night might get.
But the peace was short-lived.
In the days that followed, the episodes became more frequent. Some days, Lan Zhan would become distant, lost in thought, his gaze unfocused. Other days, he was tense and irritable, his temper flaring at the slightest thing, his emotions raw and unpredictable. Wei Wuxian took it all in stride, never once wavering, though the weight of it sometimes left him feeling like he was drowning.
One night, as they sat together in their small living room, the strain became too much. Lan Zhan had been quiet all evening, his expression unreadable, his eyes distant. Wei Wuxian had tried to talk, to coax a smile or a laugh from him, but his efforts had fallen flat.
Finally, he turned to Lan Zhan, his voice gentle but firm. “Lan Zhan… I think you need help. Real help.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze snapped to him, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “I don’t need help,” he replied, his tone sharp, defensive. “I’m fine.”
Wei Wuxian shook his head, a sadness settling over him. “You’re not,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. But I can’t watch you suffer like this. I… I love you, Lan Zhan. I want to be with you, but I need you to be here with me, too.”
There was a long silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. For a moment, Wei Wuxian feared that Lan Zhan would reject his words, that he would push him away. But then, slowly, Lan Zhan’s expression softened, the hard edges of his gaze fading as he looked at Wei Wuxian with something close to vulnerability.
“What if… what if they take you away?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though voicing his fear might make it real.
Wei Wuxian took his hand, his grip steady and sure. “No one’s taking me anywhere,” he said, his voice a quiet promise. “I’m here. And if you get help, if we do this together… I’ll stay with you. Every step of the way.”
Lan Zhan’s shoulders slumped, the tension draining from his body as he nodded, a hesitant, fragile acceptance. For the first time, Wei Wuxian saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his eyes, a promise of a future that wasn’t defined by fear and isolation.
The next day, Wei Wuxian made the appointment. He sat beside Lan Zhan in the waiting room, their hands intertwined, a silent reassurance that they were in this together. It was the beginning of a new chapter for them, a step toward a life that was grounded not in fear, but in love and trust.
Back in the present, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the memory settle over him like a heavy blanket. He felt Lan Zhan’s hand brush against his, a familiar, comforting touch that reminded him of everything they had fought for, everything they had built together. The days of struggle seemed distant now, softened by the years, but he knew that, no matter what, he would never forget those early days. They were the foundation of their love, the proof that they could face anything together.
Beside him, Lan Zhan stirred, his voice a soft murmur. “Wei Ying… are you awake?”
Wei Wuxian smiled, squeezing his hand. “Always, Lan Zhan,” he replied, his voice filled with warmth. And in that moment, he knew that, no matter how dark the coming days might be, he would hold onto this—this love, this memory—for as long as he could.
The room was still, almost unnaturally quiet, with the faint hum of fluorescent lights casting a cold glow over the pale green walls. Wei Wuxian sat beside Lan Zhan in the waiting room, their hands intertwined. He could feel the slight tremor in Lan Zhan’s hand, a barely perceptible tremble that betrayed the tension beneath his calm exterior.
It had taken weeks to get here, weeks of gentle conversations, of late-night talks filled with hesitant admissions and quiet reassurances. But they were here, together, and that fact alone made Wei Wuxian’s heart swell with a fierce, protective love.
Lan Zhan’s gaze was fixed on the floor, his expression stoic but distant, his shoulders tense. He looked as if he were bracing himself for something unseen, something intangible yet terrifying.
“We’ll be okay, you know,” Wei Wuxian murmured softly, leaning close so that only Lan Zhan could hear. “You and me, together. No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze flickered, his jaw tightening slightly, but he didn’t speak. Wei Wuxian squeezed his hand, grounding him in the present, in the quiet intimacy they shared. He didn’t push or prod; he simply waited, letting his presence speak for him, a silent promise that Lan Zhan wasn’t alone.
When the door to the psychiatrist’s office finally opened, Lan Zhan stood up slowly, his movements careful, deliberate. He glanced down at Wei Wuxian, his gaze flickering with something like uncertainty.
“Do you… do you want to come in?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched, a surge of emotion swelling within him. He nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. “Of course. I’m with you every step of the way, remember?”
They stepped into the doctor’s office together, and Wei Wuxian could feel the weight of Lan Zhan’s anxiety settle over him like a heavy shadow. The doctor—a kind-looking woman with soft eyes and a patient smile—greeted them and gestured for them to sit. Wei Wuxian chose a seat beside Lan Zhan, his hand still holding his, grounding him with a quiet, unwavering support.
The doctor began with simple questions, her voice calm and gentle. Lan Zhan’s responses were short, clipped, his gaze fixed somewhere just past her shoulder, as though he were afraid to look her in the eye. Wei Wuxian watched him, his heart aching with a quiet, fierce love, a longing to shoulder the burden for him, to ease the weight he carried.
After a few minutes, the doctor asked a question that brought a visible tension to Lan Zhan’s frame.
“Lan Zhan, can you tell me about the voices?” she asked, her tone compassionate, unassuming.
For a moment, Lan Zhan said nothing. His gaze dropped, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, his breath shallow. Wei Wuxian could feel the silent struggle, the internal battle between fear and trust, vulnerability and pride. He reached over, gently placing his hand over Lan Zhan’s, a reminder that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“They… they come and go,” Lan Zhan said finally, his voice barely a whisper. “Sometimes they’re quiet, just whispers. Other times… they’re louder. It’s hard to… it’s hard to ignore them.”
The doctor nodded, her expression warm and understanding. She took notes, pausing occasionally to glance up, her gaze never judgmental, only compassionate. “That’s very brave of you, Lan Zhan,” she said softly. “And I promise, with time and treatment, we can find ways to help make it easier. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Lan Zhan’s shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, but enough for Wei Wuxian to notice. He gave Lan Zhan’s hand a reassuring squeeze, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. He knew this was only the beginning, the first step in a long journey. But it was a step forward, a step toward something better, and that was enough.
The doctor continued the session, discussing different treatment options, medications, and techniques that might help. Wei Wuxian listened intently, his hand never leaving Lan Zhan’s. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, but with Lan Zhan by his side, he knew they could face it together.
By the time they left the office, Lan Zhan’s expression had softened, his gaze a little clearer, the tension in his shoulders less pronounced. They walked in silence for a while, the weight of the session settling over them both. When they reached the sidewalk, Wei Wuxian stopped, turning to face Lan Zhan.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes warm. “For letting me be there with you.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze dropped, his lips pressing into a thin line. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Wei Wuxian’s face, his touch soft, almost reverent.
“You are… my anchor,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Wei Wuxian felt a warmth spread through him, a quiet, powerful feeling that seemed to settle deep within his chest. He reached up, covering Lan Zhan’s hand with his, his smile gentle. “And you are mine, Lan Zhan. We’re in this together, okay?”
Lan Zhan nodded, a faint smile flickering across his lips. It was a small thing, barely there, but Wei Wuxian held onto it, knowing that even the smallest steps mattered. They walked home in silence, side by side, their hands still intertwined, the promise of a future built on trust and resilience lingering between them.
The world had felt lighter, warmer even, on the day they brought a-Yuan home. Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian had both been unusually quiet as they made their way back, the little boy nestled between them in the back seat of the car. It was as though neither of them dared to disturb the fragile, precious moment that had settled over them, a happiness so pure it felt almost delicate.
Wei Wuxian turned, watching a-Yuan as he slept, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of his jacket. His heart swelled with a tenderness that felt brand new, different from anything he had ever experienced before. He glanced over at Lan Zhan, catching the soft, unguarded expression on his partner’s face, a look of pure adoration that was reserved only for moments like this, rare and precious.
When they arrived home, Lan Zhan carefully lifted a-Yuan from the car, holding him close as they made their way inside. Wei Wuxian watched, his heart full, as Lan Zhan carried the boy with a gentleness that belied his usual reserved demeanor. It was a new side of him, a side that had blossomed since they decided to adopt a-Yuan, and Wei Wuxian found himself falling in love with Lan Zhan all over again.
As they stepped inside, a-Yuan began to stir, his sleepy eyes fluttering open. He looked up at Lan Zhan with wide, curious eyes, a tiny smile forming on his lips as he realized where he was.
"Welcome home, little one," Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice soft, reverent. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from a-Yuan’s forehead, feeling a quiet, powerful sense of contentment settle over him.
Lan Zhan carried a-Yuan over to the living room, sitting down on the couch with the boy still cradled in his arms. Wei Wuxian joined them, settling beside Lan Zhan, his hand resting lightly on a-Yuan’s back. They sat there in silence for a while, letting the moment sink in, feeling the quiet, shared happiness that filled the room.
A-Yuan’s tiny fingers reached up, brushing against Lan Zhan’s face with an innocent curiosity that made Wei Wuxian smile. Lan Zhan’s expression softened, his gaze warm as he looked down at the child in his arms. There was a stillness, a quiet peace in his eyes that Wei Wuxian hadn’t seen before, and he knew in that moment that this was what they had been waiting for, what they had been building toward.
“He’s so small,” Lan Zhan murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Wei Wuxian chuckled softly, his hand coming up to gently pat a-Yuan’s back. “All the more reason to protect him, don’t you think?”
Lan Zhan nodded, his expression serious, as if he were taking in the full weight of Wei Wuxian’s words. “We’ll keep him safe,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving a-Yuan’s face. “No matter what.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart ached, a beautiful, gentle ache that came from knowing he was sharing this life, this responsibility, with Lan Zhan. He knew that Lan Zhan meant every word, that he would protect a-Yuan with the same devotion and love he had shown Wei Wuxian through every dark, difficult moment they’d faced together.
They spent the rest of the day with a-Yuan, showing him around the house, helping him settle into his new room. Wei Wuxian had spent weeks preparing it, decorating it with little toys and colorful drawings on the walls, filling it with warmth and light. A-Yuan’s eyes lit up as he took in his new surroundings, his innocent joy infectious, filling the house with a kind of laughter that Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan hadn’t known they’d been missing.
Later that evening, as the sun began to set, they gathered in the living room once more. A-Yuan had fallen asleep again, curled up between them on the couch, his small hand resting against Lan Zhan’s chest, his breaths soft and steady.
Wei Wuxian leaned his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. “We did it, Lan Zhan. We’re a family.”
Lan Zhan’s hand moved to cover Wei Wuxian’s, his grip warm, grounding. He didn’t need to say anything; the quiet joy in his eyes was answer enough. For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the day settling over them, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For this. For everything.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze softened, his hand tightening around Wei Wuxian’s. “It was always meant to be this way,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur. “You, me… and now, a-Yuan.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him, a quiet, powerful feeling that settled deep within his chest. He closed his eyes, letting himself savor the moment, letting himself believe, just for a little while, that this happiness could last forever.
In that moment, everything felt perfect.
Back in the present, Wei Wuxian blinked, returning to the park where they had gathered for the picnic. The memory of that day felt so real, so vivid, that he could almost feel a-Yuan’s tiny hand resting in his own, feel the warmth of Lan Zhan’s presence beside him.
Across the clearing, he watched Lan Zhan with a-Yuan, his heart swelling with a fierce, protective love that felt just as strong as it had on that first day they brought him home. He knew, deep down, that this was what he had fought for, what he would continue to fight for, no matter how difficult the days ahead might become.
A faint breeze rustled the leaves around him, carrying with it the quiet sounds of laughter, the soft murmur of voices. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, letting himself drift in the memory, letting it fill him with the strength he knew he would need.
The first sign had been so subtle that Wei Wuxian almost dismissed it entirely. It was a mild headache, nothing more than a dull ache that he attributed to a long day or perhaps too much wine the night before. He laughed it off, brushing away Lan Zhan’s gentle concern with a playful grin and a reassuring wave of his hand.
But the headaches returned, growing in intensity over the following weeks. Soon, it wasn’t just the pain—he began to notice a creeping exhaustion that lingered even after a full night’s sleep. It was a weariness that seeped into his bones, dulling the edges of his laughter, dimming the light in his eyes. Sometimes, he’d find himself standing in the middle of a room, forgetting why he’d gone there in the first place. Other times, he’d stumble slightly, his vision blurring for a few seconds before clearing again.
One morning, as they sat together at the breakfast table, Lan Zhan noticed Wei Wuxian’s hand shaking as he poured himself a cup of tea. The tremor was slight, barely there, but it didn’t escape Lan Zhan’s watchful gaze.
“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan’s voice was soft, careful. “Are you all right?”
Wei Wuxian forced a smile, waving a dismissive hand. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know me, never one to get enough sleep.”
But the concern in Lan Zhan’s eyes didn’t fade, and in that moment, Wei Wuxian felt a strange, creeping fear settle over him—a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. He forced himself to keep smiling, to keep pretending, if only to spare Lan Zhan from sharing the worry that had begun to gnaw at him.
After weeks of pushing through, Wei Wuxian finally went to the doctor, alone, not wanting to trouble Lan Zhan. He sat through a battery of tests, his usual cheer and charm tempered by a quiet anxiety that simmered beneath the surface. The doctor’s face grew serious as she looked over his test results, and Wei Wuxian’s heart sank even before she spoke.
“It’s a tumor, propably a glioblastoma,” she said, her voice gentle, her eyes filled with sympathy. “It’s… advanced, inoperable.”
The words felt distant, as though they belonged to someone else, someone in a different life. Wei Wuxian forced himself to listen, to nod, to ask the right questions, but his mind was spinning, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
“How long?” he asked finally, his voice steady, as if he were discussing something mundane, inconsequential.
The doctor hesitated, her expression softening. “Months, perhaps a year,” she replied gently. “We can discuss treatment options, things that may help manage the symptoms, but…”
But there was no cure. The words hung in the air, unspoken, filling the room with a heavy silence.
Wei Wuxian nodded, his face calm, accepting. He thanked the doctor, offering her a small, reassuring smile before he left. It wasn’t until he stepped outside, into the quiet, sunlit street, that the weight of it all hit him. He found himself standing there, unmoving, the world spinning around him as he tried to process what he had just learned.
Wei Wuxian decided not to hide it. He couldn’t; not from Lan Zhan, not from the man who had been by his side through every hardship, every quiet moment of struggle. That night, as they lay together in bed, he turned to Lan Zhan, his voice soft, steady, as he told him everything.
Lan Zhan listened in silence, his face expressionless, his gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian’s, holding him with an intensity that felt like a lifeline. When Wei Wuxian finished, there was a long pause, the silence thick, unbreakable.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmured finally, his voice trembling with a raw, fragile hope, “there must be something… another treatment, another doctor. We can try… we can find a way.”
Wei Wuxian reached out, his fingers brushing gently against Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Lan Zhan,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, unshakeable resolve, “we both know the truth. This isn’t something we can fight.”
Lan Zhan’s hands clenched, his jaw tightening, his gaze filled with a desperation that Wei Wuxian had only seen once before. It was the same look he had seen when he’d first convinced Lan Zhan to seek help, when they had faced his fears together, when they had built a life out of love and resilience.
“We can,” Lan Zhan insisted, his voice a fierce whisper. “We’ve faced everything together, Wei Ying. We can… I can’t…”
But Wei Wuxian shook his head, his smile gentle, filled with a sorrow that was softened only by his love for Lan Zhan. “This isn’t a fight, Lan Zhan. It’s just… the way things are. But I promise, we’ll make the most of every moment. We’ll make it count.”
Lan Zhan’s face crumpled, the strength draining from him as he lowered his head, his shoulders shaking with a grief he couldn’t hold back. Wei Wuxian pulled him close, his arms wrapped tightly around him, his hand running soothingly through his hair. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, letting the silence fill the spaces between them, letting their love hold them together.
Wei Wuxian faced his illness with the same determination he had shown in everything else. He was open with Lan Zhan, with a-Yuan, allowing himself to rest when he needed to, letting Lan Zhan care for him, even as he began to prepare for what lay ahead.
He spent quiet afternoons with Jiang Yanli, her presence a steady comfort, the bond they shared growing even deeper. She seemed to know, without being told, that Wei Wuxian was preparing her to take on a new role, to help care for Lan Zhan and a-Yuan when he could no longer do so.
Nie Huaisang became his confidant, his partner in planning, a quiet source of strength that he could rely on without fear of burdening Lan Zhan. They met in secret, discussing practical matters, arrangements, all the things Wei Wuxian wanted to have in place for his family’s future. Huaisang listened, his usually bright, playful eyes somber, as though he were absorbing every word, every unspoken wish.
And then there was Wen Ning. In the quietest moments, when the weight of it all threatened to overwhelm him, Wei Wuxian would sit with Wen Ning, sharing his deepest fears, his hopes for a-Yuan and Lan Zhan. Wen Ning listened without judgment, his calm, steady presence a balm to Wei Wuxian’s spirit. He didn’t need to say anything; he simply stayed, letting his silence speak for him, letting his presence remind Wei Wuxian that he was not alone.
One evening, as they sat together in Wei Wuxian’s garden, he turned to Wen Ning, his gaze contemplative, a faint sadness lingering in his eyes.
“Wen Ning,” he murmured, his voice soft, “I need you to promise me something.”
Wen Ning looked at him, his expression calm, accepting. “Anything, Wei-gongzi.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, a faint, wistful smile. “After I’m gone… Lan Zhan will need someone. Someone who understands, someone who can be there for him. I don’t want him to be alone.”
Wen Ning’s gaze softened, his nod barely perceptible, but it was enough. “I’ll be there,” he replied, his voice a quiet promise. “For him, for a-Yuan. You don’t need to worry.”
Wei Wuxian reached over, clasping Wen Ning’s hand with a quiet gratitude that needed no words. In that moment, he knew he could let go, that he could face whatever lay ahead, knowing his family would be cared for, knowing that the love he had poured into his life would live on in the people he trusted.
The days seemed to slip by faster, each one a little shorter than the last, each one carrying a weight that was both unbearable and precious. Wei Wuxian found himself clinging to the smallest details—the way sunlight filtered through the curtains in the early morning, the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice as he murmured softly to a-Yuan, the warmth of a hand held tightly in his own.
Every moment felt fragile, sacred, and he embraced each one with a quiet, fierce determination.
One morning, as the first rays of dawn crept into the room, Wei Wuxian stirred, his gaze drifting to the sleeping figures beside him. Lan Zhan lay close, his arm draped protectively over him, his face relaxed in sleep. A-Yuan was nestled between them, his tiny hand clutching Wei Wuxian’s shirt, his expression peaceful, innocent.
Wei Wuxian watched them, his heart swelling with a love so deep it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Lan Zhan’s face, savoring the feel of his warmth, the familiarity of his presence. In that moment, everything felt perfect, whole, and he allowed himself to linger in the illusion, just for a little while longer.
A-Yuan stirred, his eyes blinking open as he looked up at Wei Wuxian with a sleepy smile. “Baba,” he murmured, his voice soft, still heavy with sleep.
Wei Wuxian smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Good morning, little radish,” he whispered, his voice filled with warmth. A-Yuan giggled, his laughter soft, infectious, filling the room with a sweetness that settled over them like a warm blanket.
Lan Zhan’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze meeting Wei Wuxian’s, a flicker of sadness in his expression that he quickly masked with a small, gentle smile. He reached out, his hand covering Wei Wuxian’s, their fingers entwined in a quiet, unspoken promise.
For a while, they lay together in silence, savoring the warmth, the closeness, the feeling of being a family. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, committing every detail to memory, every sound, every touch, every fleeting moment that he knew would stay with him for however long he had left.
Later that afternoon, they took a-Yuan out to the garden, a small space that had become their sanctuary, filled with flowers and greenery that Wei Wuxian had tended to over the years. It was a bright, sunny day, the sky clear, the air crisp and cool, the perfect autumn afternoon.
Wei Wuxian watched as Lan Zhan lifted a-Yuan up, spinning him in the air, their laughter mingling in the breeze. His heart ached with a bittersweet joy, a love so fierce it almost hurt, knowing that these moments were numbered.
As they sat together on the grass, Wei Wuxian leaned against Lan Zhan, letting the warmth of his presence seep into him, grounding him. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of earth and flowers, feeling the sun on his face, letting the beauty of the moment fill him.
A-Yuan toddled over, his hands filled with small, colorful flowers he had picked. “For Baba and Daddy,” he announced proudly, holding out the flowers with a beaming smile.
Wei Wuxian took them, his eyes misting over as he reached out to pull A-Yuan close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you, a-Yuan,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “They’re beautiful.”
Lan Zhan reached over, taking one of the flowers and tucking it behind Wei Wuxian’s ear, his gaze warm, tender, filled with a love that spoke more than words ever could. Wei Wuxian felt his heart swell, a quiet, peaceful feeling settling over him, as though he were floating, weightless, untethered.
In that moment, he felt whole.
That night, as they lay in bed, the quiet darkness enveloping them, Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Zhan, his gaze soft, contemplative. “Lan Zhan,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “Promise me… that you’ll keep living. Even after…”
Lan Zhan’s face crumpled, his hand tightening around Wei Wuxian’s. “I… I don’t want to,” he replied, his voice a fragile whisper, as though speaking the words might break him.
Wei Wuxian reached up, cupping his face, his thumb brushing gently across Lan Zhan’s cheek. “I know,” he murmured, his gaze filled with understanding, with a sorrow that was softened by love. “But a-Yuan needs you. And… I need to know that you’ll be there for him. That you’ll keep living, that you’ll keep going, even when it feels impossible.”
Lan Zhan nodded, his gaze clouded with pain, but he held Wei Wuxian’s gaze, a quiet acceptance settling over him. “For a-Yuan,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “And for you.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, a small, bittersweet smile. “Thank you,” he whispered, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Lan Zhan’s forehead. “You’ve given me everything, Lan Zhan. A family, a home, a love that I never thought I’d have. I want you to carry that with you, always.”
They lay together in silence, their hands entwined, their hearts beating in tandem, holding onto each other in the quiet darkness, letting their love speak for them.
The next day, Wen Ning came by, his quiet presence a steady comfort that both Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian welcomed. They sat together in the living room, sipping tea, the silence between them calm, filled with an understanding that needed no words.
Wen Ning looked at Wei Wuxian, his gaze soft, his expression filled with a quiet sadness that he couldn’t quite hide. “Wei-gongzi,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I… I just wanted to say… thank you. For everything.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, his hand reaching out to clasp Wen Ning’s, his grip firm, reassuring. “No, Wen Ning,” he replied, his voice gentle, full of warmth. “Thank you. For being here, for always being here. You’ve been… more than a friend. You’ve been family.”
Wen Ning nodded, his eyes misting over as he looked at Wei Wuxian, his expression filled with a quiet, unspoken promise. “I’ll take care of them,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “For you. For a-Yuan, for Lan Zhan. You have my word.”
Wei Wuxian’s smile softened, a faint, wistful look in his eyes. “I know you will,” he replied, his voice barely more than a breath. “And that’s why I can let go.”
They sat together in silence, letting the moment settle over them, letting the weight of unspoken promises fill the space between them, a bond that would endure beyond the boundaries of life and death.
In the last days, Wei Wuxian’s strength began to fade. Lan Zhan stayed by his side, caring for him with a quiet, unshakeable devotion, holding his hand, whispering words of love and comfort. Wei Wuxian felt himself slipping, felt the world growing softer, fainter, but he held onto each moment, held onto the feeling of Lan Zhan’s hand in his, grounding him, keeping him close.
As he drifted, he heard Lan Zhan’s voice, felt the warmth of a final kiss, a quiet, trembling whisper of his name, and he let himself go, his heart full, his soul at peace, knowing he was loved, knowing his family was safe.
The house felt unbearably quiet. Every corner, every object seemed to carry traces of Wei Wuxian’s laughter, his warmth, the joy that had filled their home. But now, without him, the air was heavy with silence, a silence that pressed down on Lan Zhan with a weight he could barely bear.
A-Yuan clung to him, sensing the absence but too young to fully understand. He would reach for Wei Wuxian’s chair, his small hand touching the empty seat as he looked up at Lan Zhan with wide, questioning eyes. Lan Zhan would gather him close, holding him tightly, his heart breaking each time, though he hid the tears that filled his eyes.
In the first days after Wei Wuxian’s passing, Lan Zhan withdrew into himself, the pain raw, all-consuming. He moved through the house in silence, caring for a-Yuan with a quiet, mechanical efficiency, his face expressionless, his eyes distant. His grief was a silent, unspoken thing, something he couldn’t put into words, couldn’t share, as though voicing it might break him completely.
He found himself drifting into memories, into the days they had spent together, the laughter, the warmth, the love that had defined their life. At night, he lay awake, reaching out instinctively for Wei Wuxian, only to be met with an empty space beside him. The realization struck him each time like a blow, sharp and unrelenting, a reminder of the emptiness that now filled his life.
Wen Ning was the first to notice the change, the subtle slipping of Lan Zhan’s control, the way he became quieter, more withdrawn. Wen Ning visited daily, a constant, gentle presence in the background, never intrusive, never demanding, only there, his silent companionship a lifeline for Lan Zhan even when he couldn’t see it.
Jiang Yanli and Lan Huan began visiting regularly as well, their presence bringing a quiet, familiar comfort to the house. Jiang Yanli brought food, her hands busy with small, caring gestures, her gentle words a balm to Lan Zhan’s wounded spirit. She spent hours with a-Yuan, cradling him, telling him stories, her love for him a steady, comforting warmth.
Lan Huan took on the role of silent support, standing by his brother without ever pressing him, offering a calm, stable presence that allowed Lan Zhan to grieve without feeling as though he had to hold everything together. He would sit beside Lan Zhan, his hand resting on his shoulder, a quiet, grounding touch that reminded him he was not alone, even in the darkest hours.
Nie Huaisang visited too, though less often, his usual brightness tempered by a respectful quietness. He would share stories of Wei Wuxian, little moments, funny anecdotes, memories that brought a faint smile to Lan Zhan’s face even in the midst of his sorrow. Nie Huaisang understood the importance of memory, of keeping Wei Wuxian’s spirit alive, and he made sure that Lan Zhan knew that he was not grieving alone.
But it was Wen Ning who became Lan Zhan’s true anchor in those first difficult weeks. He moved through the house quietly, helping with small tasks, looking after a-Yuan when Lan Zhan’s grief became too heavy, taking care of things without needing to be asked.
One evening, Wen Ning found Lan Zhan standing in the living room, staring at a framed photograph of Wei Wuxian with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His face was pale, his hands clenched at his sides, as though he were trying to reach out, to touch something that was no longer there.
Wen Ning approached quietly, his presence calm, grounding. He stood beside Lan Zhan, saying nothing, simply offering his silent support. After a long moment, Lan Zhan’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief too heavy to bear alone. He sank into a nearby chair, his head in his hands, his breaths shallow, as though the very act of breathing was an effort.
Wen Ning sat beside him, his hand resting gently on Lan Zhan’s back, a quiet, steadying presence. “It’s all right to feel this way,” he murmured softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Wei-gongzi wouldn’t want you to suffer alone.”
Lan Zhan didn’t respond, but the tension in his frame lessened, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Wen Ning’s words settled over him, a quiet reminder that he was not alone, that he didn’t have to carry this burden in silence. And for the first time since Wei Wuxian’s passing, Lan Zhan allowed himself to lean on someone else, to accept the comfort that Wen Ning offered, the quiet companionship that filled the emptiness with something warm, something real.
As the weeks passed, Wen Ning began sharing small memories of Wei Wuxian with a-Yuan, simple stories that filled their evenings with warmth and laughter. He would tell a-Yuan about Wei Wuxian’s kindness, his laughter, his love for both of them, weaving a tapestry of memories that kept Wei Wuxian’s spirit alive in their hearts.
One evening, as they sat together on the floor, Wen Ning shared a story about a time when Wei Wuxian had spent hours trying to bake a cake for Lan Zhan’s birthday, only to end up with a lopsided, burnt mess that he proudly presented as a “culinary masterpiece.” A-Yuan giggled, his eyes lighting up as he imagined his father, his laughter filling the room with a joy that softened the sadness that lingered in the air.
Lan Zhan listened quietly, his gaze distant, but Wen Ning could see the faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips, a small, fragile smile that hinted at the healing that was slowly, quietly beginning to take place.
One night, after A-Yuan had fallen asleep, Wen Ning found Lan Zhan sitting alone in the garden, his gaze fixed on the stars above. He approached quietly, his footsteps soft, and took a seat beside Lan Zhan, the two of them sitting in silence, the cool night air filling the spaces between them.
After a long pause, Wen Ning spoke, his voice soft, hesitant. “Wei-gongzi… he asked me to look after you,” he murmured, his gaze focused on the ground. “To be here, for you and for a-Yuan. I… I promised him I would.”
Lan Zhan turned to him, his gaze softened, a faint glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. He nodded, a quiet acceptance that needed no words, and Wen Ning felt a weight lift from his shoulders, the burden of his promise becoming something he could carry with a quiet, unshakeable devotion.
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan whispered, his voice filled with a raw, vulnerable gratitude that Wen Ning had rarely heard from him. “For… for being here. For him. For us.”
Wen Ning nodded, his hand resting gently on Lan Zhan’s, a silent promise that he would stay, that he would carry Wei Wuxian’s memory forward, that he would be the quiet, steadfast presence that Lan Zhan and a-Yuan needed.
In that moment, under the quiet starlit sky, their unspoken bond deepened, a connection forged in shared loss, in love, in the quiet strength that would carry them forward.
The first Thursday after Wei Wuxian’s passing, Lan Zhan found himself awake before dawn, the house filled with a silence that seemed almost unbearable. The emptiness pressed down on him, weighing on his chest. Unable to stay still, he rose quietly, dressing and slipping out the door, leaving a-Yuan still asleep in his bed and Wen Ning watching over him.
He didn’t know where he was going at first, his feet carrying him down familiar streets as the morning light began to stretch over the horizon. Eventually, he found himself at the flower market, where the vendors were just beginning to set up, arranging blooms still glistening with morning dew.
Drawn to a small stand filled with simple, elegant flowers, Lan Zhan paused. He reached out, selecting a single red carnation—delicate yet enduring, its color vibrant even in the dim morning light. In its simplicity, it held a quiet strength, much like the love he still felt for Wei Wuxian.
When he returned home, he placed the flower in a small vase beside a framed photograph in their living room. The photo captured a moment of warmth and laughter: Wei Wuxian’s smile, radiant and joyful; Lan Zhan’s calm, watchful expression; and little a-Yuan held close between them, giggling at something unseen. Setting the flower beside the picture, Lan Zhan felt a sense of peace, as though, even in Wei Wuxian’s absence, this ritual would keep his memory alive within their home.
Thus, this small act became a Thursday ritual, a quiet promise renewed each week, helping Lan Zhan find the strength to carry on.
Wen Ning noticed the new ritual almost immediately. On that first Thursday, he quietly observed Lan Zhan placing the single flower beside the photograph, sensing the significance of the gesture. The following Thursday, he rose early as well, joining Lan Zhan without a word, simply matching his steps as they walked to the market together.
Their walks became part of the ritual, each Thursday morning carrying an air of quiet reverence. They never spoke much during these trips, but Wen Ning’s presence was steady, grounding, a silent offering of support. Lan Zhan came to depend on these mornings, finding comfort in the shared silence and the understanding Wen Ning offered without expectation.
One Thursday morning, as they walked back from the market, Lan Zhan finally broke the silence. “Thank you, Wen Ning,” he murmured, his voice low, yet filled with a quiet gratitude. Wen Ning looked at him, his expression calm, and simply nodded, acknowledging the depth of Lan Zhan’s words without needing to speak.
They continued home, the bond between them strengthened by these small, silent gestures—a partnership of mutual respect, bound by shared memories and an unspoken promise to carry Wei Wuxian’s memory forward.
As a-Yuan grew older, he, too, began to notice the flowers that appeared every Thursday. One morning, he looked up at Lan Zhan with wide, curious eyes. “Baba, why do we get flowers every Thursday?” he asked, his voice innocent, filled with a child’s gentle curiosity.
Lan Zhan knelt down beside him, his gaze softening as he chose his words carefully. “We get flowers to remember someone very special,” he replied, his voice steady, though a faint sadness lingered beneath the warmth. “Your other father, Wei Ying. This was something he would have loved.”
A-Yuan nodded, absorbing the words, his small hand reaching for Lan Zhan’s. “Can I help pick the flower, too?”
Lan Zhan’s heart swelled, his gaze filled with love and pride. “Yes,” he said softly, “I would like that very much.”
From that day on, a-Yuan joined them on their Thursday trips to the market, his laughter and bright energy adding a new layer to the ritual. He would carefully select a flower each week, his choice often guided by a child’s instinct, and Lan Zhan would watch, his heart aching with both love and loss. Together, they would place the flower beside Wei Wuxian’s photograph, a simple, beautiful tradition that connected past, present, and future.
Through the years, Wen Ning remained a constant presence, his quiet loyalty grounding both Lan Zhan and a-Yuan as they moved forward. He never tried to replace Wei Wuxian, never sought to fill a role he knew could only belong to Wei Ying, but he became an anchor for their family—a gentle, unwavering presence that helped Lan Zhan and a-Yuan keep Wei Ying's memory alive.
On difficult days, Wen Ning would share stories of Wei Wuxian, small moments that brought laughter to their quiet home. He would remind Lan Zhan of the happy, chaotic days they had shared with him, easing the weight of grief with gentle memories that softened the sorrow without taking it away. In time, Lan Zhan came to rely on these stories, finding comfort in the way Wen Ning kept Wei Ying's spirit close, not just for him but for a-Yuan as well.
Their relationship deepened, an unspoken partnership that held no expectations, only the quiet promise that they would walk this path together, honoring Wei Wuxian’s memory with love and devotion.
Years later, the living room had become a sanctuary of memories, a space filled with warmth and the soft echoes of laughter. The small vase beside Wei Wuxian’s photograph held the flower chosen that morning by a now-older a-Yuan, who had grown to understand the significance of the ritual, honoring his other father in the way he knew best.
The room was filled with tokens of their life—a-Yuan’s drawings on the walls, books and toys scattered on the floor, small details that showed how life had continued, changed, and flourished despite the loss. The photograph of Wei Wuxian remained at the center, a constant reminder of the love and light he had brought into their lives.
On that particular Thursday, Lan Zhan sat on the couch, watching as a-Yuan and Wen Ning arranged the flowers, his heart filled with a quiet, enduring peace. There was sorrow still, a faint ache that would never quite leave, but there was also love—love that had grown, transformed, and deepened over the years.
Wen Ning caught Lan Zhan’s gaze, a silent exchange passing between them. They didn’t need words; the understanding between them was clear, unspoken, an unbreakable bond forged in memory and devotion.
Lan Zhan closed his eyes, feeling a gentle warmth settle over him, as though Wei Wuxian were there, a quiet presence watching over them, woven into every corner of the home they had built. The love he felt had not faded with time; it had only grown, spreading like roots, grounding him, anchoring him in a life that honored both the past and the present.
In that quiet moment, with his family around him, Lan Zhan knew that he had kept his promise—that Wei Wuxian’s memory lived on, not just in the flowers they placed each Thursday but in the love they shared, the life they had created together.
The story ended here, in the warmth of a living room filled with laughter, love, and remembrance, a place where Wei Wuxian’s spirit would forever reside, woven into the very fabric of their lives.
When writing this story, I wanted to capture a journey of love, grief, and remembrance. I chose not to dwell too deeply on the medical aspects of Wei Wuxian’s illness—like specific treatments and diagnoses—because I wanted the focus to be on the beauty and strength of the relationships that carry him through. Having experienced the loss of a loved one myself, I know that the reality of death is rarely poetic, and there is often nothing beautiful in the physical process. But what endures—the love, the shared moments, and the way we choose to remember—holds a unique beauty of its own.
I chose to let Wei Wuxian spend his last days at home, surrounded by family and love, rather than in a hospital, to reflect his choice to live fully with those he loved until the end. This story is a tribute to the strength of the human heart and the ways we carry on the memories of those we have lost.
Inspired by Xiao Zhan’s cover of the song “The Moon Represents My Heart” (月亮代表我的心), I wanted this story to be framed by the feeling that love endures beyond life, a light in the quiet spaces of the heart. I hope this story brings warmth to those who read it and reminds them that love, once given, can linger forever.
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