This is because, as you discover after obtaining a set of the Lan Rules for him to learn the characters for more complicated, abstract concepts from, Yan Hui has opinions.
Specifically, opinions on the way the Lan Sect teaches. Opinions that make you incredibly glad that you didn't send him off with Lan Xichen, because if you had, you would probably be dealing with the successor to all the letters your father must have gotten about Wei Wuxian.
"They're garbage," Yan Hui says, after three days working on the rules. You think he's somewhere in the fifties. "They don't teach to think, they teach..."
And then he goes silent in the visibly frustrated way he gets when the words he needs aren't words he knows.
"To listen and do, not think," he says. "Like soldiers, waiting to be told what to think."
"Obedience," you say, filing in the gap and hoping you got his intended meaning right. You do a lot of that; you like to think you've gotten good at it. "They teach obedience." You pause. "Why is that bad?"
"If a son only knows obedience to his father, what happens when his father dies?" Yan Hui says. "Who will he listen if he never listened to himself?"
You suck in a breath. No one has told Yan Hui the story of the Jiang Sect's recovery, of the slaughter by the Wens, as far as you know. But the question is so on the nose, takes sight at you like an arrow to the heart.
(Wei Wuxian was disobedient at times, as it suited him. He could certainly listen to himself. You wouldn't consider it a virtue.)
(But you can't deny that you wish you had known more, about how to make decisions for yourself, when your parents died. That you envied him, having a compass inside himself to show him what to do, after the dust had settled and the need to avenge your family was sated.)
You snap, "You must be lucky, being able to live outside the rules."
And to your surprise, Yan Hui snaps back, "The lucky one is the one who never has to." And he closes the book of carefully written rules and leaves your office, stomping his way across the floor.
The two of you don't speak for the rest of the day, much to the distress of Jin Ling, who makes sad faces at you both through dinner and whines when you put him to bed. He's gotten too damn used to Yan Hui singing him to sleep in words no one else can speak.
no subject
Specifically, opinions on the way the Lan Sect teaches. Opinions that make you incredibly glad that you didn't send him off with Lan Xichen, because if you had, you would probably be dealing with the successor to all the letters your father must have gotten about Wei Wuxian.
"They're garbage," Yan Hui says, after three days working on the rules. You think he's somewhere in the fifties. "They don't teach to think, they teach..."
And then he goes silent in the visibly frustrated way he gets when the words he needs aren't words he knows.
"To listen and do, not think," he says. "Like soldiers, waiting to be told what to think."
"Obedience," you say, filing in the gap and hoping you got his intended meaning right. You do a lot of that; you like to think you've gotten good at it. "They teach obedience." You pause. "Why is that bad?"
"If a son only knows obedience to his father, what happens when his father dies?" Yan Hui says. "Who will he listen if he never listened to himself?"
You suck in a breath. No one has told Yan Hui the story of the Jiang Sect's recovery, of the slaughter by the Wens, as far as you know. But the question is so on the nose, takes sight at you like an arrow to the heart.
(Wei Wuxian was disobedient at times, as it suited him. He could certainly listen to himself. You wouldn't consider it a virtue.)
(But you can't deny that you wish you had known more, about how to make decisions for yourself, when your parents died. That you envied him, having a compass inside himself to show him what to do, after the dust had settled and the need to avenge your family was sated.)
You snap, "You must be lucky, being able to live outside the rules."
And to your surprise, Yan Hui snaps back, "The lucky one is the one who never has to." And he closes the book of carefully written rules and leaves your office, stomping his way across the floor.
The two of you don't speak for the rest of the day, much to the distress of Jin Ling, who makes sad faces at you both through dinner and whines when you put him to bed. He's gotten too damn used to Yan Hui singing him to sleep in words no one else can speak.