#it's the MDZS version of Man In the Iron Mask except without the musketeer plot

[robininthelabyrinth]

1/ So I was thinking what if Wen Ruohan turned out to be LSZ's biological father? It would be a very interesting concept since they are such polar opposites and it's not even impossible as all we know about his bio parents is that they are WQ's and WN's cousins and the 2 of them could've known the truth but decided to bury it forever since there's no point in burdening a child with his dead father's bloody legacy.

2/ Except somehow WR survives the sunshot campaign (I mean he's almost an immortal it's unbelievable JGY could end him so easily) and he gets the mother of all redemption arcs (because even a megalomaniac mass murder would have a reality check if his leadership led to the total annihilation of the biggest and most powerful sect in the cultivation world) and so he decides to atone for his crimes by secluding himself in a mountain and spending eternity meditating and reflecting on his mistakes

3/ Until one day he finds a badly injured LSZ and recognizes him so he nurses him back to health but refuses to tell him anything about himself and LSZ being a human ray of sunshine doesn't mind it and even feels sorry for this mysterious hermit so he keeps visiting him from time to time (always alone cuz WR tells him he doesn't like people) and WR grows very fond of him because he's such a sweetheart and starts teaching him some secret QishanWen techniques and doting on him...etc and LSZ keeps telling him stories about his parents and how great they are and how much he looks up to them and all the milestones of his life WR could never be a part of cuz he was a horrible father, sect leader, and human overall (ouch!)

4/ And they have this mentor/student relationship with LSZ never asking WR questions about his past for a couple years until WN figures the whole thing out and tells LSZ the truth (out of fear WR would hurt him or manipulate him for some evil plan) and so more drama/angst happens. Basically WR paying for his crimes by an eternity of regret and atonement cuz honestly death was too easy on him

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The old man on the mountain could never leave his cave – that was the first thing Lan Sizhui learned about him. He’d been a cultivator once, before someone tore out his dantian and crippled his meridians; far worse than merely lacking a golden core, even his former cultivation has left him – the withered, weakened state of his body is evidence enough of that, and if Lan Sizhui could see his face beneath the iron mask that always concealed it, he thought it would reflect the same.

He was very likely a prisoner.

Lan Sizhui didn’t care. The man was no threat to him – Lan Sizhui wasn’t so foolish as to think that merely lacking cultivation was sufficient to render a man not a threat, he knew very well that a tongue capable of dripping poison could do far worse than any skill at swordplay, but this man barely spoke to him. He’d helped Lan Sizhui once, after a night-hunt gone wrong: the injury hadn’t been that serious, but the man had wrapped it up quite seriously before trying to scare Lan Sizhui away, refusing all manner of reward. So naturally Lan Sizhui had returned later, trying to repay the man with food or drink or even just company, and in the end the man had begrudgingly allowed him to sit and talk.

Lan Sizhui liked talking. He wasn’t a chatterbox, like Lan Jingyi, but there was something freeing about telling someone a little about himself – nothing that could be used to harm someone. It was mostly mundane things, everyday things: how much he loved the two men who had raised him, how much they loved each other (too much, sometimes), how he was getting better at guqin, how his seasickness had yet to abate despite a great deal of practice and good-natured teasing by his peers.

Every once in a while, the man grunted out some word of advice – the one about suppressing seasickness had been exceptionally helpful, and some of the ones about cultivation were (after being carefully cleared with Wei Wuxian) surprisingly effective for all that they didn’t come from any source with which Lan Sizhui was familiar.

The man had refused to explain, shutting down like a rock not just that time but several times after.

After failing to make any dent through kindness or sincerity, Lan Sizhui took his poor big brother as a role model and opted to be mischievous and annoying; eventually, the man snapped, “If I had raised you as my son, you wouldn’t have been so insolent.”

Lan Sizhui laughed, happy to have gotten a reaction. “But you couldn’t have,” he pointed out. “You and I are no relation; I do not take you even as a teacher – we are merely strangers passing some time together.”

The man turned his head away.

After a moment, he said, voice hoarse, “What if we weren’t?”

Lan Sizhui blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been here,” the man said. “And I have never told you my name. For all you know, I could be your ancestor, related by blood. What would you say to that?”

“That would be hard,” Lan Sizhui said, smiling. “I’m not even a Lan by birth, in fact; I was adopted when I was young.”

“Regardless,” the man insisted. “The world is full of strange things. What would you say if I was more than a stranger to you?”

If Lan Sizhui had been younger, as impulsive as he’d been as a teenager, he might have answered rashly; he had been quite foolish back then. As much as he loved Wen Ning now, he had very nearly harmed Jin Ling beyond all telling by blithely accepting as family the one who had killed his father, who Jin Ling had no duty to ever forgive; it was a testament to Jin Ling’s resilience and innate goodness that he had.

“I would need to know more about you,” he said honestly. “I was born into a clan that was far from the best: there were cultivators there who were cruel, who were brutal, those who were even tyrannical, murderers and torturers and rapists; it is not too little to say that some of them were irredeemably evil. Those ones, I do not accept; those ones, I cast out, cut all ties with, and will never forgive. I will not sweep their graves, I will not honor their memories. I am filial only to the fathers that raised me and taught me righteousness, to my uncle who cares for me; even if were my own blood father returned from the dead, I would ask him to account for himself before I accepted him. After all, it’s only blood, and my surname has long not been shared with him…no, I wouldn’t feel bad at all. I have all the family I require.” He laughed and shook his head. “An interesting question, if hypothetical. Why do you raise it?”

The man was silent for a long moment. “No reason,” he finally said. “No reason at all.”