{√}Reconciliation ||WangXian||

The evening sun cast its golden rays across the city, softening the sharp edges of glass and steel into something almost gentle. A warm breeze, carrying the faint sweetness of late-blooming flowers, wove through the streets and stirred the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the wealthiest districts. It was the kind of weather designed to soothe—a climate that cradled the weary and invited them to breathe a little deeper, a little slower.

But for Wei TzuYu, the beauty of the evening went entirely unnoticed.

Her heels clicked an uneven rhythm against the polished marble floor of her mother’s lounge as she strode through the entrance, her handbag slipping precariously from her grip alongside her phone. Her car keys dangled from her fingers, threatening to fall with every agitated step. She was not, by nature, a clumsy person. But the fury coiling in her chest had stolen her usual grace, leaving behind only the raw, jagged edges of a woman who had just been told she was not good enough.

Not because of anything she had done. Not because of her character, her accomplishments, or her love. But because of a separation she had no hand in—a rift between two people who should have been the foundation of her world, yet had become the architects of its fractures.

The memory of Meng Yao’s father sitting behind his imposing desk, his expression politely cruel, played on a loop in her mind.

“You come from a broken home, Miss Wei. Our traditions do not permit such alliances. A child of divorce cannot enter this family. I trust you understand.”

She had understood, perfectly. She understood that she had been dismissed, discarded, and disgraced—all because her parents could not find their way back to each other.

The separation had been a shadow over her entire life. She and her twin brother, A-Yuan, had endured it from the very beginning: the whispered mockery at school, the pitying glances from teachers, the sharp laughter of classmates who used their parents’ estrangement as a weapon. Children were cruel in the way only children could be, and they had wielded the words broken home like a blade meant to draw blood.

What made it worse was the silence that followed. Their parents—two of the most powerful, wealthy figures in the country—offered nothing but hollow excuses when pressed for the truth.

“We don’t love each other anymore.”

“We were never meant to be.”

“Not every marriage is a fairy tale.”

Lame. Unconvincing. Infuriating.

If they no longer loved each other, TzuYu had asked herself countless times, then why were they both still single? Neither of them had so much as glanced at another person in all the years since their separation. No dates. No rumors. Not even a whispered scandal about a one-night stand. They were workaholics, yes—but even workaholics had needs, unless their hearts were already spoken for.

The answer was obvious to her, as obvious as the sun setting outside the window: they still loved each other. But pride and ego had built a fortress between them, and neither was willing to lay down their arms.

TzuYu had had enough.

She reached her mother’s office door and, without pausing, slammed her palm against it and shoved it open. The door crashed against the wall with a thunderous crack, and the figure inside—a man in his late forties with delicate features and a perpetual air of mischief that had dulled over the years—leapt from his chair with a yelp.

“Holy Buddha!”

Wei Wuxian clutched his chest, his heart pounding so violently he could feel it in his throat. His other hand knocked over a cup of cold tea, the liquid spreading across the scattered papers on his desk, but he paid it no mind. His eyes were wide, fixed on the young woman who stood in the doorway with fire in her gaze.

“What the hell, TzuYu?” he demanded, his voice rising with a mixture of shock and indignation. “What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? Barging in like this—have your manners completely evaporated? I could have had a heart attack! Do you have any idea what you just—”

“Are you finished?”

Her voice cut through his tirade like a blade. She stood with her arms crossed, her handbag dangling from one wrist, her phone clutched in her fingers like a lifeline. Her eyes—his eyes, the same shape, the same shade of grey—glared at him with an intensity that made him falter.

“Are you done ranting?” she continued, her tone cold and sharp. “Good. Because now it’s my turn.”

She stepped further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her with a heavy thud.

“When are you going to start acting like a mother?” she demanded. “No—scratch that. When are you going to start being a wife to your husband?”

The words landed like a physical blow. Wei Wuxian blinked, his earlier fury deflating into confusion. He sank back against his desk, bracing his hands on the edge, and stared at his daughter as though seeing her for the first time.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with genuine bewilderment. “Be specific.”

TzuYu let out a bitter laugh, the sound brittle and sharp. “Fine. I’ll be specific.” She took a step closer, her voice rising with each word. “When will you and Father stop ruining my life? Our lives? Me and A-Yuan—we have suffered because of you. Because of your pride. Because of your stubbornness. And for what?”

Her voice cracked, and to her horror, she felt the sting of tears pressing at the backs of her eyes. She fought them, but they came anyway, spilling down her cheeks as she continued.

“Do you know what happened to me today?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Meng Yao’s father told me—to my face—that I could not marry his son. Because I come from a broken home. Because my parents couldn’t keep their marriage together. Because of you.”

Wei Wuxian’s expression shifted, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps, or regret—passing through his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Is that what this is about?” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “Forget him, then. Move on with your life. There are plenty of young men who would be lucky to have you. Meng Yao is clearly not ready for marriage if he lets his father dictate his choices. You don’t need a man who’s still controlled by his parents. You need a real man, not a—”

“Don’t.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped him cold. TzuYu’s hands were trembling now, her entire body vibrating with a fury she could no longer contain.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her voice rising. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me to forget the man I love. The man who has loved me since high school. The man who accepted me despite knowing I come from a broken family. The man who never once mocked me or judged me for something that was never my fault.”

She laughed again, the sound hollow and wet with tears.

“You want me to be like you, Mother? Reckless with love? Careless with marriage? You couldn’t even keep your own home together. You let a maid take your place in Father’s house. And now you expect me to throw away the only person who has ever made me feel whole?”

Wei Wuxian’s face went pale, then flushed with anger.

“How dare you—”

“I dare because I am tired!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. “I am tired of being ashamed! I am tired of explaining to people why my parents don’t live together! I am tired of being treated like I am less than everyone else because the two of you are too proud to fix what you broke!”

Slap.

The sound was sharp, brutal, and absolute.

TzuYu’s head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her cheek as the sting radiated through her skin. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Even the breeze outside seemed to hold its breath.

Wei Wuxian stood before her, his hand still raised, his chest heaving. His palm stung, but it was nothing compared to the cold knot of horror forming in his stomach as he watched his daughter’s face crumple.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” he said, but his voice had lost its edge. It trembled now, betraying the regret already clawing at him. “I carried you and your brother for nine months. I endured labor that nearly killed me. You will not—”

“I hate you.”

Her voice was barely audible, but the words struck harder than any slap.

“I hate you,” she repeated, louder now, her hand still pressed to her reddening cheek. “I hate you and Father. I hate what you’ve done to us. I hate that you’ve made us suffer for your mistakes. And I will never, ever forgive you if you don’t fix this.”

Wei Wuxian reached for her, his hand outstretched, his expression crumbling. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Get away from me!”

She stumbled backward, her eyes wild with hurt and fury. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. I’ve heard enough. I’ve had enough.”

She turned and fled, her footsteps pounding against the floor, the door slamming shut behind her with a finality that left Wei Wuxian standing alone in the sudden silence.

He stood there for a long moment, his hand still raised, his heart aching in ways he had long since forgotten. Then, slowly, he lowered himself onto the couch near the window, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him.

Outside, the evening light continued its slow descent, indifferent to the chaos within. The breeze still swayed the flowers, still carried its sweetness through the air. But Wei Wuxian saw none of it.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to push back the flood of memories that threatened to drown him.

When will they realize that I cannot go back to him?

The thought was bitter, familiar, and utterly exhausted. He had asked himself that question a thousand times over the years, and he had never found an answer that satisfied.

He leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling as the weight of twenty-three years pressed down on him.

Twenty-three years since he had walked away from Lan Wangji. Twenty-three years since he had looked into the eyes of the man he loved and seen something irrevocably broken. Twenty-three years since he had chosen silence over truth, believing—foolishly, desperately—that leaving was the only way to protect the person he loved most.

He had tried to tell Wangji, once. Before the marriage, before the children, before everything fell apart. He had tried to explain the ugliness of his past—the things that had been done to him, the things he had been forced to become. But Wangji had not wanted to hear it. He had been too eager, too certain that their love could eclipse anything. And when the truth had finally emerged, not from Wei Wuxian’s lips but from the cruel mouth of someone who wanted to hurt them both, the betrayal had been absolute.

Wangji had looked at him as though he were a stranger. As though the man he had married, the man he had promised to love for eternity, had never existed. What had been left was only disgust.

“You lied to me.”

Wangji’s voice echoed in his memory, cold and unforgiving.

“You deceived me. You took advantage of my love, and now—”

He had never finished that sentence. He hadn’t needed to. The look in his eyes had said everything.

Wei Wuxian had left that night, carrying nothing but the clothes on his back and the children sleeping in their nursery, unaware that their world was about to shatter. He had taken TzuYu with him because Wangji had refused to let him take both, and he had been too broken to fight.

Now, twenty-three years later, they existed in a strange, suspended state. Married, but not together. Bound by law, but separated by walls of pride and pain. They had never signed the divorce papers. Wei Wuxian suspected they never would.

Because despite everything, despite the anger and the hurt and the years of silence, they were still in love.

It was the cruelest irony. The one thing that should have brought them together was the very thing that kept them apart. Their stubbornness, their pride, their unwillingness to be the first to bend—it had become a fortress, and neither of them knew how to tear it down.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Why can’t they just give up?” he whispered to the empty room. “Why can’t they understand that some things can’t be fixed?”

But even as he said it, he knew the question was not for his children. It was for himself.

---

The drive to her father’s mansion was a blur of streetlights and tears. TzuYu’s hands gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white, her vision swimming with every sob that tore through her chest. She had not bothered to wipe her face; the tears fell freely, staining her blouse, dripping onto her lap, and she did not care.

She needed A-Yuan.

Her twin was the only person in the world who truly understood. They had been separated by their parents’ arrangement—TzuYu with their mother, A-Yuan with their father—but that had never diminished the bond between them. They had navigated the cruel halls of school together, had weathered the whispers and the mockery side by side. When one fell, the other was there to pull them back up. When one wept, the other held them until the storm passed.

She pulled into the long, tree-lined driveway of her father’s estate, the familiar sight of the ancient wisteria trees doing nothing to soothe her fractured heart. She parked haphazardly near the main entrance, her tires screeching against the gravel, and barely remembered to take her keys before stumbling out of the car.

A-Yuan was exactly where she expected him to be: lounging on the terrace overlooking the koi pond, his phone in his hands, his posture the picture of idle ease. He was the image of their father—tall, broad-shouldered, with the same stoic set to his jaw and the same golden eyes that had once made their mother weak in the knees. But when he looked up and saw his sister’s face, all that composure shattered.

“Yu?”

He was on his feet in an instant, his phone forgotten on the stone bench. He crossed the distance between them in three long strides, his hands coming up to frame her face, his eyes scanning her tear-streaked cheeks, the red mark blooming on her skin.

“What happened?” His voice was low, urgent, the calm before a storm. “Who did this? Who hurt you?”

She shook her head, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “It’s nothing. I just—where’s Father?”

A-Yuan’s jaw tightened. He could see she was not ready to talk, and though it pained him, he did not push. “Inside. With Uncle Xichen. They’re discussing some business deal.” He paused, his thumb brushing gently against the mark on her cheek. “Yu, please. Tell me who did this.”

She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked toward the mansion. “It doesn’t matter. I need to see Father.”

A-Yuan watched her go, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and fury. He had never seen his sister like this—so raw, so broken. Something had happened. Something bad. And he had a sinking feeling that the source of her pain was closer to home than either of them wanted to admit.

He followed her inside, his long legs eating up the distance as she strode through the grand foyer and toward the study where their father conducted his private meetings.

---

The study was a room of impeccable taste, all dark wood and soft lighting, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that held volumes older than anyone in the family. Lan Wangji stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the fading light, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. Across from him, seated in one of the high-backed leather chairs, was Lan Xichen—his brother, his confidant, the one person who had never stopped believing that Wangji’s marriage could be saved.

“The merger is sound,” Xichen was saying, his voice calm and measured. “But I still think you’re moving too quickly. There’s no need to rush into a partnership with a company we haven’t fully vetted.”

“I have vetted them,” Wangji replied, his tone brooking no argument. “Their financials are solid. Their reputation is—”

The door burst open.

Wangji’s head snapped toward the entrance, his expression hardening as his daughter stormed into the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks stained with tears, and her entire frame vibrated with a barely contained fury that matched the fire in her gaze.

“Are you out of your mind?”

His voice was a low, dangerous growl. He set the whiskey glass down with a sharp click and turned fully to face her, his arms folding across his chest.

“I can see that your mother has failed to raise you properly,” he continued, his tone scathing. “You lack even the most basic manners. Bursting into a room without knocking. Confronting your father in front of a guest.” His eyes narrowed. “I should never have entrusted your upbringing to him. What an irresponsible—”

“Father.”

The word was sharp, cutting through his tirade like a blade. TzuYu stepped forward, her hands clenched at her sides, her gaze unwavering despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“When will you bring Mother back?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and volatile. Wangji’s expression did not change, but something flickered in his eyes—something that might have been surprise, or anger, or pain. He masked it quickly.

“That is not a matter for discussion.”

“I am making it a matter for discussion,” TzuYu shot back. “When will you swallow your pride—your stupid, pathetic pride—and bring back the man who gave you two children? Do you even care what your separation has done to us? To me?”

Her voice cracked, and she pressed her fists against her thighs to stop them from trembling.

“Do you know what your separation cost me today?” she demanded. “My engagement. My future. The man I love. All of it—gone. Because of you. Because of your stubbornness. Because you and Mother would rather live in your own misery than admit that you still love each other.”

Wangji’s face remained impassive, but his jaw tightened. He looked away from her, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the window, as though the sprawling gardens outside were more deserving of his attention than the daughter standing before him.

“You are emotional,” he said flatly. “You do not know what you are saying.”

“I know exactly what I am saying!” TzuYu’s voice rose, her composure finally shattering. “I am saying that I am tired! I am tired of being ashamed of my own family! I am tired of being rejected and mocked and pitied because my parents cannot act like adults! And I am tired of pretending that it doesn’t hurt!”

She was sobbing now, the tears coming freely, her shoulders shaking with the force of her grief. Behind her, A-Yuan stepped into the room, his presence a silent support, though his own expression was hard as he glared at his father.

Lan Xichen rose from his chair, his expression soft with sympathy. He crossed the room and gently guided TzuYu to a nearby settee, pressing a handkerchief into her hands.

“Tell me what happened,” he said quietly. “Start from the beginning.”

TzuYu clutched the handkerchief like a lifeline, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought to compose herself. When she spoke, her voice was small, broken.

“Meng Yao’s father,” she began, “he said… he said he could not accept me. Because our family is broken. Because my parents are separated. Their traditions forbid it—someone from a broken home marrying into the royal family.” She let out a bitter, wet laugh. “He looked at me as though I were contaminated. As though I had done something wrong, when all I ever did was be born to the two of you.”

She looked up at Xichen, her eyes pleading. “Uncle, why? Why are they doing this to us? All our lives, people have mocked us. Children at school, teachers, even strangers on the street. They look at us and see the children of a failed marriage. They treat us like we are less. And now—now it has cost me everything.”

She turned back to her father, her expression hardening once more despite the tears streaming down her face.

“I hope you’re happy,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “I hope Mother is happy. I hope your pride and your stubbornness are worth it. Worth my happiness. Worth A-Yuan’s. Worth everything you have stolen from us.”

She rose from the settee, her legs unsteady but her resolve firm. “Come on, A-Yuan. Let’s go outside. I cannot stand to be in this house a moment longer.”

A-Yuan moved to her side immediately, his arm coming around her shoulders, his gaze lingering on his father for a long, silent moment. There was no love in that look. Only disappointment.

They left together, the door closing behind them with a soft click that somehow felt louder than any slam.

For a long moment, the room was silent. Xichen stood by the settee, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression troubled. Wangji remained by the window, his back to the room, his shoulders rigid.

“Wangji,” Xichen said at last, his voice gentle but firm. “You need to listen to them. Your children are hurting. Your husband—”

“Do not speak of him.”

The words were ice. Wangji turned, and the look in his eyes was enough to make Xichen pause. It was not anger, not entirely. It was something deeper, something that had festered for twenty-three years and showed no signs of healing.

“Do you know what he did?” Wangji asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what that man took from me? What he cost me? I cannot bring him back. I will never bring him back. Not after twenty-three years. Not after a hundred.”

He began to pace, his usual composure cracking at the edges. His hands moved restlessly, a rare display of agitation from a man who had built his life on control.

“He lied to me,” Wangji continued, his voice rising. “He deceived me from the very beginning. He let me marry him, let me love him, let me build a life with him—all while hiding the truth. And when I found out…” He stopped, his hands clenching into fists. “When I found out, it was too late. The damage was done.”

He swept a stack of papers from his desk, sending them scattering across the floor in a cascade of white. The gesture was so unlike him that Xichen could only watch, his heart aching for his brother.

“Fuck,” Wangji breathed, the curse slipping out like a crack in a dam. He pressed his palms against the edge of his desk, his head bowed, his breathing uneven. “Did they know? Did my children understand what their mother did to me? I cannot bring that lying bastard back. I have not done it in twenty-three years, and I will never do it. He ceased to be my husband the moment I learned the truth about his disgusting past. Never. Never will I bring that dirty man into this house.”

He straightened, his composure slowly returning, but the fire in his eyes remained. He looked at Xichen, and for a moment, the mask slipped enough to reveal the wounded man beneath—the man who had loved Wei Wuxian with every fiber of his being, only to feel that love turn to ash in his mouth.

Xichen held his gaze, unflinching.

“It has been twenty-three years, Wangji,” he said quietly. “Twenty-three years of anger. Twenty-three years of separation. Twenty-three years of watching your children suffer. When will it be enough? When will you let go of the past and bring your husband home?”

Wangji’s jaw tightened.

“Forgive and forget,” Xichen continued, his voice soft but insistent. “Do not let your grudges keep you from having a complete family. You need your husband, Wangji. Not the man you think he was. Not the man you fear he is. But the man he is now. The father of your children. The man who has waited for you for twenty-three years.”

For a long moment, Wangji said nothing. His gaze dropped to the scattered papers on the floor, his reflection staring back at him from the polished wood of his desk. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, but it was sharp as a blade.

“I do not need that disgusting loser,” he said, the words dripping with venom. “I do not want him anywhere near me. I do not care how long it has been. I will never bring that pathetic whore into my house.”

He lifted his head, and his eyes met Xichen’s—hard, unyielding, a fortress with no doors.

“Never.”

Xichen looked at him, speechless, the weight of Wangji’s words settling between them like a stone dropped into still water.

Outside, the evening light faded into twilight, and somewhere in the garden, two children who should never have been forced to become their parents’ keepers sat in silence, wondering how to save a family that seemed determined to destroy itself.