Jingyi is louder than either of Sizhui's alternate world parents.
"You what?! Why are you even worse than Ryo!"
Which has no explanation for Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian, but they glance to him, then to Sizhui, and allow that there's aspects they simply won't know, and those they will. Wei Wuxian speaks, holding Sizhui's shoulder, still in that particular stillness of serious regard.
"Learn those limits. Learn what you can press beyond. Take care with the process. From what we understand, the places you're pulled to for such short times aren't the kinds that provide room for thought when learning limitations."
There was no specific training to refer to, not for what this son who is not their son but is their son must face. Nor is there any doubt Lan Jingyi will do what he does for their son of this world, who doesn't shift to show a tail and horns, but was born to them, and in different colours.
Lan Wangji frowns a touch, inclines his head forward. "Make time yours." Study, train, and do what he must always do, but tempered here by something Sizhui wouldn't recognise in his own father: that acceptance, that blending, of Lan precepts and their flexibility through bending to the demand that the Jiang clan made of their sect: do what cannot be done.
no subject
"You what?! Why are you even worse than Ryo!"
Which has no explanation for Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian, but they glance to him, then to Sizhui, and allow that there's aspects they simply won't know, and those they will. Wei Wuxian speaks, holding Sizhui's shoulder, still in that particular stillness of serious regard.
"Learn those limits. Learn what you can press beyond. Take care with the process. From what we understand, the places you're pulled to for such short times aren't the kinds that provide room for thought when learning limitations."
There was no specific training to refer to, not for what this son who is not their son but is their son must face. Nor is there any doubt Lan Jingyi will do what he does for their son of this world, who doesn't shift to show a tail and horns, but was born to them, and in different colours.
Lan Wangji frowns a touch, inclines his head forward. "Make time yours." Study, train, and do what he must always do, but tempered here by something Sizhui wouldn't recognise in his own father: that acceptance, that blending, of Lan precepts and their flexibility through bending to the demand that the Jiang clan made of their sect: do what cannot be done.