Chapter Text
“Oh, look, look jiejie, look at that one! Isn’t he handsome? Should we call him over?”
“Don’t be silly meimei. He looks like one of those cultivators, coming down from the heavens. He must be the one who took care of the haunting in the forest nearby. He’s definitely out of my league, never mind yours.”
“How harsh! Hey, hey, gongzi! Wait no, it’s daozhang right? Do you want to share some stories with us daozhang? You look like you’ve seen the world!”
“… Oh, hello. Hm, I’m afraid I’m not very good at telling stories, hahaha.”
“Eh that’s alright! Drink some tea, keep us company for a while and we’ll tell you some! Jiejie and I know a lot of great stories, don’t we?”
“I’m truly sorry about her daozhang.”
“Oh no, thank you for the invitation. I’ve recently come back from a rather isolated place, so I’ll gladly hear news of the world if you have any.”
“If that’s the case, have you already heard about the changes in the Wen sect? Even us common people heard about it, it shook the world that much. It’s about that Wei Wuxian boy, who recently –“
“Wait jiejie! I know what you’re going to say but you can’t tell the story out of order! You have to start at the beginning to make it a good one!”
“Meimei… Isn’t that old news by now? Surely the daozhang wants something a little more up to date?”
“You’re no good at this, really, we need the context! Context I tell you! Let me tell the story, you’d just ruin all the fun: it all started a few years ago when Wei Wuxian, who was a great disciple from the Jiang Sect, defected!!”
Lan Qiren is not worried about Wei Wuxian.
So what if, following that dreadful incident with the Waterborne Abyss, the boy has been behaving a little strangely?
Most disciples would have asked for at least a few days of rest, after such a harrowing experience: to not only face an Abyss, but to fall into it, no matter how briefly? In fact, it is exactly what Su Minshan did, and though Lan Qiren knows his nephew assigned a punishment for being too reckless and almost losing his sword, no one begrudged Su Minshan his rest. Anyone from their sect would have done the same, save perhaps Lan Qiren’s own nephews who are in a league of their own.
That Wei Wuxian didn’t ask for any leisure time, that he, instead, went back to his training and studies with a sharpened focus is only commendable, in Lan Qiren’s humble opinion. When he came back from the Sect Conference and was told of the incident, he was surprised to learn that Wei Wuxian had been so engrossed in his learning that no rules had been broken at all!
He is doubtful, of course, that Wei Wuxian will manage to keep at it for long. He has been able to judge the boy’s character, and though one could call him brilliant, he is also quite arrogant and too sure of his own genius. No doubt he is already growing bored with what little project he has started, and soon he will start again to terrorize Lan Qiren’s class and distract his peers. He is, in that way, very much like his mother.
Thus the days pass, and Lan Qiren quickly finds himself busy with his other duties and lays the matter to rest.
The incident that happens a few days later, when during sparring practice Wei Wuxian uses a blow that is much too hard for anything but a real fight, is not quite enough to raise his concern either.
Accidents happen, and the boy is upset enough after almost hurting one of his shidi; At least he didn’t hurt his Sect Heir. Lan Qiren lectures him for a while, about knowing one’s own strength and not using techniques meant to aim or kill during spars and punishes him accordingly.
He doesn’t mention that, in his youth, a disciple as young as Wei Wuxian even knowing those techniques would have been unheard of. Lan Qiren knows why this generation of disciples has been taught differently. The sun shines ever so bright after all, and casts long shadows even in the Cloud Recesses.
In the next spar he participates in, Wei Wuxian is more careful; so careful in fact, that he loses spectacularly. Lan Qiren isn’t here this time, having left to teach another class, but he hears about it from the sword instructor because Wei Wuxian ended up wounded. Nothing threatening of course, barely more than a scratch easily fixed with his powerful Golden Core. According to Lan Qiren’s colleague, Wei Wuxian froze when Jin Zixuan lunged at him, and was almost skewered for his trouble. When he hears the story, Lan Qiren sighs in disapproval. Too much in one direction, then in the other. Typical of youths like Wei Wuxian, who tend to do whatever they like and never listen to their instructors, thinking they already know better. He feels a little sorry for Madam Yu, who had to deal with such a troublesome student. She is an unpleasant woman to be around, but teaching that boy must have been a hassle.
That is to say, Lan Qiren is very much not worried. He knows teenagers like Wei Wuxian — like Cangse Sanren — and he knows that the boy is probably only quiet and fidgety because he is thinking up a prank. Lan Qiren prepares himself accordingly, ready to administer punishment.
Except Wei Wuxian disappears.
One morning, he does not come to class. When asked, the other disciples shuffle awkwardly and say he has missed breakfast as well, but that isn’t an uncommon occurrence — apparently, both the meals and the time at which they are served disagree with him and given the choice, Wei Wuxian prefers to sleep in. Lan Qiren huffs at this. While it isn’t explicitly forbidden to miss a meal, it is not a healthy habit nor the sign of a disciplined mind. Sleeping in, on the other hand, is definitely forbidden. This just means that when they find him, Wei Wuxian will have to face more punishment, on top of the one Lan Qiren is already preparing for daring not to come to class. Lan Qiren is not surprised, nor disappointed: at this point, he expected nothing else. He is still not worried either — the boy is probably hiding somewhere, laughing as they scramble to try and find him.
Then Wei Wuxian does not show up at lunch either.
Or at the afternoon classes, or dinner.
In fact, according to Jiang Wanyin, it seems he isn’t in the Cloud Recesses at all — at the very least, he hasn’t been sleeping in his assigned rooms. But that doesn’t make sense, Jiang Wanyin argues, because all his things are still here, including his Jiang bell and the Jade token given to guest disciples. If he left, then surely Wei Wuxian would have taken both, the first for identification and the second so he could come back in. And yet they are still here.
Lan Qiren breathes in, then out, after being told. At this point, there are only a few possibilities. The first one, the one that he would prefer: that it is indeed a prank, if an incredibly ill-thought one. But as more time passes, as the boy fails to be found for a second day, then a third, he has to admit it: he has lost the Yunmeng Jiang head disciple, who is nowhere to be found.
Now the real question is: did he leave voluntarily, or was he taken?
On the morning of the third day, when there are still no news, Lan Qiren resigns himself to the shame of having one of his students disappear, swallows down the worry he can no longer pretend doesn’t exist, organizes a search party and writes an urgent missive to Jiang Fengmian.
There are political ramifications to this. It is not as bad as it could be, as one Elder remarks when Lan Qiren conveys the news. Wei Wuxian is a promising cultivator and a good head disciple, but he is also an orphan and the son of a servant; imagine if the missing boy was one of the Sect Heirs! It’s the truth, if a terribly pragmatic one. The Lan Sect will suffer less, given Wei Wuxian’s lack of status. Even if Jiang Fengmian cherishes him, even with the rumors of the boy being his bastard son… Unless they find proof that there was a malicious third party involved in his disappearance, the conclusion of their investigation will probably simply be that Wei Wuxian… left on his own, and that conclusion will bring shame on him, and not on the Lan.
Still.
Even if Wei Wuxian left voluntarily, for his own reasons, Lan Qiren can’t help but feel shame, and a terrible sense of failure. He has not hidden how poorly he thought of the boy after all, and though it is important that Wei Wuxian learn the truth of his place in their world, perhaps some of the criticism could have been worded it better…?
No. No, that can’t be. The boy laughed at him even when Lan Qiren issued the harshest punishment after all. And in the end, Lan Qiren only wanted his students, even the most difficult ones, to learn. If, indeed, Wei Wuxian left — and though the Jiang heir might wish otherwise, it is the most likely option as there was no breach in their wards — then it simply showed he was not cut out for the life of a cultivator. A shame, yes, but better that the boy learned sooner than later. Talent, after all, doesn’t account for everything when one doesn’t know their own place.
Lan Qiren didn’t make a mistake. He can’t have.
Lan Qiren ends his meditation with a sigh when it becomes clear it is going nowhere. It will take at least a day for the missive to reach Jiang Fengmian, and another one before his fellow Sect Leader either replies or — the most likely scenario, given his fondness for the boy — comes himself to the Cloud Recesses to assess the situation in person and, if necessary, assign blame. Lan Qiren grimaces. As gentle and friendly as Jiang Fengmian is, this will likely not be pleasant.
In the meantime, Lan Qiren will have to organize a meeting, one with both his nephews, Jiang Wanying and Nie Huaisang. Xichen, as the sect heir, will have much to learn from this delicate situation and Wangji, as the head disciplinarian and the one to have made the last few nightly rounds might have some insight. Jiang Wanyin needs to be present as well, both because he is the heir and thus needs to be kept in the loop until his father arrives and because he was the last one to have an actual conversation with Wei Wuxian, and finally Nie Huaisang was apparently the last one to see Wei Wuxian, though it sounds as if it was from afar and Lan Qiren predicts an unreliable boy like him will not be of much help.
And before that meeting, he needs to compile all their findings, see if anyone else saw something that could be of importance… And find some ideas to strengthen their wards. He has been complaining for years now that the guest disciples shouldn’t be able to leave so easily, even if they must use their token to get back in later. This is simply the proof that he was right and now he will have to argue with the Elders about what to do with that knowledge.
Heavens, he can already feel the headache coming.
“What do you mean you think he left on his own volition?!”
Lan Wangji stops himself from sighing. On the best of days, Jiang Wanyin is… Raucous. This is not the best of days, which means the volume of his speech has gotten progressively louder until it can only be qualified as ‘screaming at the top of his lungs’. For Lan Wangji, who has been suffering from migraines since the day of the incident with the Waterborne Abyss, this meeting is torture.
Still, even if his presence wasn’t necessary, he would not want to miss it. Not when it concerns Wei Ying.
Wei Ying who disappeared. Wei Ying who left. Wei Ying who, the last time they saw each other, looked at him with something in his eyes Lan Wangji couldn’t read — a little like yearning, a lot like regret. Wei Ying, who pressed two rabbits in his hands, with an embarrassed laugh and a murmur: ‘Aiyah, Lan Zhan, I really hoped we could be friends.’
Wei Ying, who looked so startled, when Lan Wangji reached back, all his anger and confusion somehow shoved to the back of his mind when faced with a Wei Ying without his usual cheer. Took hold of his wrists, then his hands, overtaken with the unnamable need to keep him close, letting the rabbits jump down to explore his rooms.
Wei Ying, who blushed, just a little, eyes wide and finally devoid of this strange uncharacteristic regret. Who gasped ‘How forward Lan Zhan, the rabbits are the ones you’re supposed to hold, not me!’ with a breathless laugh and then gently freed himself from Lan Wangji’s grip — tight, almost bruising.
Lan Wangji forces himself to focus on the conversation and buries the need to rub his temples to numb his headache.
“I understand your frustration, Jiang-gongzi,” Lan Xichen gently says as he puts a hand on the seething teenager's shoulders, “but yelling will not help us.“
“And it shows little respect for your elders,” Lan Qiren adds with his usual stern expression, though his tone is perhaps kinder than it could be.
Nie Huaisang chuckles awkwardly while Jiang Wanyin closes his eyes to center himself. When he speaks again, his tone is quieter, though the fury has not left his voice:
“Apologies Laoshi, but you must understand that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t just leave with no word. He just wouldn’t. Something is wrong.”
“I understand your worries, Jiang Wanyin, but there is no proof of any forced entry, or anything that would suggest he left under duress. Perhaps this was simply an impulsive decision on his part.”
“With all due respect, Laoshi, you don’t know Wei Wuxian. He’s not—” Jiang Wanyin swallows with visible difficulty, as if the words physically hurt him to say, “he’s not impulsive, even if he seems that way sometimes.”
On this at least, Lan Wangji agrees with Jiang Wanyin. While his uncle is wise, he is also prone to bias and has clearly written off Wei Ying as the kind of teenager who would throw a temper tantrum for one reason or another. He is worried but more because his reputation is at stake as the teacher in charge of Wei Ying when he disappeared than because he genuinely believes Wei Ying to be in danger, especially when their recent search shows nothing that would suggest the involvement of a third party.
“I agree with Jiang-gongzi,” he says, when his uncle looks dubious at Jiang Wanyin’s claims, “It may seem to others that Wei Ying does not think before he acts but I would argue that it is simply that his mind is quicker than most. He always knows what consequences there will be to his actions — he simply usually chooses to avoid them if he can and to bear them if he must.”
A short silence follows his words. Jiang Wanyin looks shocked, either because Lan Wangji agreed with him, or simply at hearing Lan Wangji speak so much. Nie Huaisang is still hiding his face behind his fan, and looks like he would rather be anywhere else. Lan Xichen is smiling, but Lan Wangji detects a hint of surprise, in the slight furrow of his brow. Perhaps because, although he has certainly been pushing for Lan Wangji to interact with his peers more and has intuited his brother’s interest in Wei Ying, it never seemed to work – and of course, no one in his family would have expected him to essentially tell his uncle he thought he was wrong. At least not so obviously and not in front of outsiders.
Lan Wangji doesn’t understand what he feels for Wei Ying. Frustration, anger, confusion… Fascination, yearning and now concern and a strange, gaping void inside him, an inexplicable feeling of loss. As if, if he doesn’t manage to find him now, Wei Ying will disappear forever and leave him behind. He still struggles with words and would rather stay silent if he can, but though he doesn’t know why, his soul is urging him to help look for Wei Ying. If he must openly contradict his uncle to do it, he will.
In any case, it would be the right thing to do even if the one subjected to such bias was someone else.
“If you say so, Wangji,” his uncle huffs, once over his surprise. “Still, if he chose to leave, then it is not the responsibility of the Lan Sect to bring him back,” Jiang Wanyin puffs up in outrage, but Lan Qiren raises a hand to stop him before he can interrupt again. “However, the Jiang Sect is our ally, and it would be a shame on our ancestors if we forsake you while you look for your head disciple. The Lan Sect will of course help however we can in the search. I shall discuss this with your father, either when he arrives or when I receive his reply.”
Jiang Wanying settles down somewhat, though a strange shadow takes over his face when Lan Qiren mentions his father. He looks as if he wants to speak again, but Lan Qiren starts talking again before he can; Lan Wangji reflects that it can’t be considered ‘interrupting’ if you prevent them from speaking in the first place.
“In the meantime, we should endeavor to learn what Wei Wuxian’s behavior was like when he left. Jiang Wanyin, your testimony if you please.”
Jiang Wanyin deflates like a popped balloon, and for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, hesitates. Nie Huaisang bows his head, looking rather like a student trying to avoid being picked by the teacher to answer a question.
“Jiang-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says with a gentle voice, “you were, to our knowledge, the last to properly speak to Wei Wuxian. Would you tell us what you talked about?”
“It was just a normal conversation,” Jiang Wanyin assures, though his tone is brusque and he frowns harder. “He was — He was a little weird I guess. He was coming back from, I don’t know, bothering him I guess,” he nods toward Lan Wangji, “and started talking nonsense about rabbits and how he wondered what meaning your ribbon had and how offended you’d be if he used it as a ribbon for the — for your rabbits. Since he’s not usually allowed to… Touch them or something.”
Lan Wangji tries not to wonder how Wei Ying learned that the Lan ribbons are not to be touched. Everyone knows, of course, that they are a symbol of the sect and that no disciple will go without it, especially if they are a member of the clan but their true meaning and the fact that they are not supposed to be touched by anyone other than family and spouse is ignored by most — mostly because few knows how to truly read the seal script in which the Lan rules are written.
Given Jiang Wanyin’s obvious bafflement, Lan Wangji doesn’t think it’s something he learned at Yunmeng Jiang, and Wei Ying complained several times about having to copy a boring book written in such a difficult language over the course of his punishment. Maybe another Lan disciple taught him… Lan Wangji redirects his attention on Jiang Wanyin’s explanation, to avoid thinking about this particular question any further:
“I was — I was angry, because he kept disappearing and bothering Lan-er-gongzi even though we all know he hates him so I snapped at him. I — I just…”
Jiang Wanyin’s voice tapers off, as if he doesn’t dare continue. His face is red as he looks down with a mulish frown like he is awaiting judgment and Lan Wangji has a sudden, terrible, ominous feeling. Jiang Wanyin looks guilty.
“Jiang-gongzi,” Lan Xichen starts, but before he can say anything more, Jiang Wanyin explodes.
“Look, I didn’t know he’d take it so badly! He never did before, always laughed it off like he didn’t take me seriously! He always brings shame to the sect and now he leaves just because I told him off a little harsher than usual? Fine, you want to know? I didn’t know it was for the rabbits at first, he just told me he was wondering about that stupid ribbon. So I told him that if he wanted something to hang himself with, there was no need to bother Lan-gongzi even more, I’d gladly give him my belt! I didn’t think he’d be this sensitive this time! I always say stuff like that, he knows it and he never minded before — he didn’t even say anything, just explained that it was for the rabbits, not him! And he just — He just…”
He stops, breathing hard and fast. For a moment, it almost seems as if he won’t say what, exactly, Wei Ying did, after being told such a terrible thing. Lan Xichen looks speechless, his mouth hanging open. Lan Wangji crosses his arms behind his back, to hide how tight his fists are. He wonders if his face is as impassive as ever, or if the fury he feels is showing for once. It takes a special kind of entitlement, he thinks, to come shouting accusations of incompetence, of a rushed investigation because his uncle and brother couldn’t find proof of a third party, when Jiang Wanyin has told such a thing to his own shixiong. If he truly always says similar things, is it any wonder that Wei Ying ended up having enough?
Between the two of them, who truly brought shame to their sect?
“He just what, Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Qiren asks. His face is drawn, likely because he too has arrived at a similar conclusion.
“He looked at me — he…” Jiang Wanyin stutters, all of his sudden rage gone. “He looked at me like he always looks at my mother.”
None of them know what to say to that. It tells a lot and yet nothing at all. Lan Wangji remembers the few scars on Wei Wuxian’s back he caught sight of when they met in the Cold Springs. There were not that many, but still more than what would be expected from a cultivator as talented as Wei Ying. At the time, too busy being frustrated by his teasing, Lan Wangji hadn’t thought to ask. Later, he’d thought perhaps they were scars earned from his time before the Jiang. Maybe some of them even were.
It is not that physical punishment is unexpected: many sects employ it, depending on how heavy the transgression is. Lan Wangji himself doesn’t think they are as effective as other punishments could be, and has many times preferred punishing younger disciples with copying the rules rather than take the responsibility of beating them with the paddle. Why teach fear, when you could make them understand where they went wrong? Still, sometimes, copying rules has no effect and either Elders or Masters insist on using physical means.
‘If the pain doesn’t teach them, then maybe the humiliation will’ he heard one Elder say, once. For the worst offenses, the more vindictive will even argue to use the discipline whip, famed for its lasting effects, although it is such a harsh punishment that Lan Wangji has not seen its use in his lifetime.
The Violet Spider is well-known for her cultivation progress, and just as much for her temper. It makes a twisted kind of sense, he supposes. The Jianghu is not kind to softer women. As the wife of the Sect leader, she might be expected to teach their disciples and, if necessary, to punish them. Still, given how shaken Jiang Wanyin is, what he means when he talks about ‘the way Wei Ying looks at Madam Yu’ implies something more than simple discipline is going on.
Even amongst the disciples of Cloud Recesses, where gossip is forbidden, there are wild rumors about the unhappy marriage of the Jiang clans and the possible reasons behind it.
Lan Wangji doesn't listen to rumors and has never met the Madam himself, but in Jiang Wanyin’s voice and painted clearly on his face, there is disappointment, anger and more importantly: guilt.
What look does Wei Wuxian usually give her, that to be the subject of it shocked Jiang Wanyin so much? Lan Wangji tries to imagine Wei Ying fearful, and fails. He laughed off all of the punishments given to him in Cloud Recesses, barely even started to take them seriously when Lan Wangji submitted to the beating himself. Maybe he hides it behind his smiles, but Lan Wangji can’t remember a single time he saw him truly afraid, aside from that one night when Jin Zixuan’s dog escaped from its shelter in town and came running into the Cloud Recesses; he’d been loud about his terror then, climbing into a tree and refusing to leave it until he was certain the dog was gone, uncaring if that meant he would be found and punished yet again for breaking curfew. If not fear, then what? Anger? Disdain?
Resignation, maybe. The resignation of knowing someone has hurt you, that they will gladly do so again, and that there is nothing you can do about it.
Somehow, Lan Wangji finds this idea worse.
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Qiren eventually sighs, “have you read the Wall of Rules when you came into Cloud Recesses?”
Jiang Wanyin flushes, then shakes his head.
“One of the rules states that one must be careful with their words. Do you understand what it means and where you erred in saying something like this to your shixiong?”
“… Yes Laoshi,” Jiang Wanyin says. His face is still a little mulish, but he looks contrite enough.
“Because you were in the Cloud Recesses when you broke the rules, I will assign you a punishment: you will copy five times the rules of Conduct. However, this mostly seems to be an internal sect matter and so I shall talk to your father about it. He will decide as your sect leader what to do further on.”
At this news, Jiang Wanying looks truly crestfallen but doesn’t protest, only hangs his head low and avoids the gaze of everyone in the room. Lan Wangji wonders if he feels ashamed for his words, or because his father will know about them.
“If you want to, you can go gongzi,” Lan Xichen says with a compassionate look, “I’m sure Huaisang will have told you any relevant information already.”
Jiang Wanyin snorts and even Lan Qiren looks a little skeptical. Nie Huaisang is, in kind words, not someone who appreciates conflicts. To be faced alone with Jiang Wanyin’s temper would probably have scared him off before he managed to stutter more than a few words, let alone say anything of importance.
“No, no, it’s fine I’ll stay.”
"Fine," Lan Qiren says, resigned. "Let's move on then, shall we? Nie Huaisang, you were the last one to truly see Wei Wuxian before he left, do you have something to add?"
Nie Huaisang squeaks at the unexpected attention and shrinks into himself. He reminds Lan Wangji of one of the rabbits Wei Wuxian gave him, curling into a ball to make itself smaller when it can't flee. Though of course, neither of the rabbits are as afraid of their own shadow as Nie Huaisang appears to be.
“I — yes! I mean, I do, I did...” Nie Huaisang swallows, his eyes darting all over the room, “I saw him yes. It was uh pretty late. Not that I was going to break curfew or anything, I was just uh, coming back to my room. Obviously. Anyway I saw him from a distance. I thought about calling out to him but he… He looked a little… Weird.”
“Weird? Weird how?” Lan Qiren asks, very obviously choosing to let the comment about ‘not breaking curfew’ pass for the moment, if his resigned expression is any indication.
“It’s just. It’s silly but… I rarely see Wei-xiong… Not smiling, you know? Of course sometimes he’s serious! But he always has… An inner light to him? Or something. But that night, even from far away I could see… He looked…” Nie Huaisang pauses, nervously taking another breath and hiding a bit more behind his fan, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I really don’t — he looked sad I suppose? I was, uh, I was nearby when he and Jiang-xiong had their argument so I thought he was just going to Caiyi Town to cheer himself up. I didn’t think he’d just… Leave, I swear I didn’t!”
“Of course Huaisang,” Lan Xichen assures with a comforting hand on Nie Huaisang’s shaking shoulder. “No one here would think you’d guess something as unexpected as Wei Wuxian leaving.”
Lan Wangji nods, even as Jiang Wanyin snorts derisively again and Lan Qiren lets out another sigh.
“You are sure he went into the direction of Caiyi Town first?” Lan Wangji eventually asks. It would make sense to stop there, for supplies if nothing else but he wants to make sure. Wei Wuxian has always been unpredictable.
“I don’t know… Probably? I’m sorry, I don’t know, I really don’t know…” Nie Huaisang shakes his head, looking increasingly distressed.
“But there wasn’t anyone with him?” Jiang Wanyin asks, “he really was alone? Not even going to meet someone?”
“No, no I — I didn’t see anyone at all.” Nie Huiasang whimpers.
It’s clear he has nothing more to say about the situation so they move on. There’s not much else to say — they will have to wait for Jiang Fengmian’s response before deciding on a course of action. Lan Wangji bites back a sigh of his own. His headache is still there, pounding behind his temples. The meeting has lasted half a shichen at most, yet it feels much longer and like they have learned nothing that would truly help them find Wei Ying.
Worse, Lan Wangji can feel that both his brother and uncle are losing interest in the situation: they will want to salvage it, for political matters if nothing else but neither of them have a personal interest in finding Wei Wuxian and making sure he is safe. Lan Xichen will keep at it if Lan Wangji asks him of course and might even petition his uncle so he can be included but… It would mean admitting how worried Lan Wangji is, would mean giving words to these feelings inside him. Would mean making this real.
“Let us end here today,” Lan Qiren finally says, looking just as tired as Lan Wangji feels, “Jiang Wanyin, Xichen, I’ll let you know what Jiang Fengmian has to say and we’ll speak further on this matter then.”
It stings, that he is so easily dismissed from the matter. It makes sense — he has never shown much interest in outer politics outside of what is usually expected of him, and technically this is now an external matter. His uncle has also been keen to keep him and Wei Ying apart since the month they spent together during Wei Ying’s initial punishment. But for the first time in a long while, Lan Wangji wishes his uncle thought to ask before simply deciding for him.
He bows, then leaves the room with the others, deciding on a whim he might go to the back hills where the rabbits now dwell. He closes his eyes and lets his feet guide him on the familiar path. Before he realizes it, he has taken a detour and finds himself in front of the Gentian House.
Light slowly fades around him, as the day comes to an end and the sun disappears behind the mountain. In the growing shade, the flowers droop a little. Lan Wangji wonders if they are saddened by the disappearance of their source of light — if he is like them, missing his own personal sun.
The flowers are well taken care of, but he still kneels to check on them, carefully looking at their leaves and the texture of the dirt around their roots. Even if he no longer waits in front of the Gentian House for someone who cannot open the door anymore, he comes by regularly enough that the disciple in charge of the garden has been teaching him how to take care of the gentians. It was, in insight, probably an order from his uncle as a way to justify his coming by so he no longer looked disobedient, but Lan Wangji is still grateful. The gentians were one of the few things his mother loved in her prison. Making sure they are healthy feels like the last thread connecting them. It also, most of the time, helps sooth him and brings him clarity, something which he desperately needs right now.
“Wangji.”
Lan Wangji raises his gaze from the flowers, settling it on his brother’s figure.
“Xiongzhang,” he greets.
“You left so quickly I became worried. Are you alright?”
Truthfully, Lan Wangji doesn’t know. His headache is abating, the cool outside air and the quiet finally allowing him to relax. But emotionally he is… confused.
Despite their well-earned reputation as a clan of monks, famed for their restraint, theirs is a clan of romantics at its core. But is what he feels love? How could it be, when he barely knows Wei Ying, and when what he does know is on the opposite end to what he usually enjoys? A troublemaker, loud and carefree, with little to no consideration to the rules?
(a boy strong enough to be his equal, righteous, smart, beautiful and —)
(free)
Now that they have confirmed that Wei Ying left on his own volition, what right does Lan Wangji have, to insist on bringing him back? He might have been a disciple of the Jiang but they do not own him. If Wei Wuxian has decided to leave, even if the way he did is strange and secretive… Lan Wangji should respect his decision and otherwise let Yunmeng Jiang handle it, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, a pang goes through his chest and the pain in his head intensifies enough that he almost winces.
This confirms it, then. Something is wrong.
This headache. This terrible, terrifying certainty that something will go wrong if he leaves him alone, that something will happen to Wei Ying.
This isn’t the work of a curse — he doesn’t think it’s arrogance to believe he knows his own mind and body enough to have, if not noticed a potential curse mark, at least felt its work on him. If not him, then Lan Xichen or the dozen of healers who examined him after the Waterborne Abyss incident certainly would have.
Something else then.
“Wangji?” Lan Xichen comes to stand next to him, hand carefully hovering near his shoulders, as if unsure if his touch will be welcomed. “You look tired.”
He must, for it is rare to see his brother so obviously hesitate to offer comfort. He should tell Lan Xichen. He should tell him of his headaches and of this ominous feeling.
“Mn” he finally admits. Carefully, he allows his brother’s hand to touch his robe.
“I can see that you’re worried,” his brother says, gently patting his back. “About Wei Wuxian, right? Do you want me to ask uncle to let you help with our search? I’m sure he would let you. He’s more worried than he lets on.”
“There is more,” Lan Wangji says. “I have been feeling… out of sorts ever since the Waterborne Abyss. I have had constant headaches and there is… This feeling.”
The words to describe it escape him.
“Headaches? Oh Wangji, you should have gone to the doctors, not hidden your pain. What if the Abyss got to you?”
“It was manageable.” Lan Wangji objects, unsure how to express that he is certain it has nothing to do with the Abyss. It feels as though his soul is trying to tell him something, as if it knows something his mind doesn’t.
“I know you were checked over after the incident but if you still feel ill, then something might have escaped their notice. It was careless of you,” Lan Xichen scolds. “Come now, I’ll accompany you. Maybe this is just the stress of the last few days catching up to you but there’s no harm in making sure.”
Lan Wangji nods. His brother will not relent now that he is concerned and it’s not like there is anything else he can do — running after Wei Wuxian when he doesn’t know where he went? As tempting as the thought is, it would be reckless. No, the only thing he can do now is let the doctors examine him, try to determine what is wrong with him and wait.
As they leave behind the Gentian House, Lan Wangji takes one last look at it. Luckily, he is very good at waiting.
The afternoon after the meeting, nearly a week after Wei Wuxian has disappeared, Nie Huaisang sits in his room to carefully paint his new fan. It’s a reward from himself after diligently working on his saber moves for a whole shichen! Or well, almost a whole shichen. Possibly closer to half a shichen.
Still, the most important thing is that he practiced, and now he deserves to rest. As a bonus, he can reflect on what he said during the meeting… and what he didn't.
It’s not that Nie Huaisang likes lying. He really doesn’t actually — it’s so stressful! Especially when he’s lying to so many terrifying people at once! Jiang Wanyin, Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji? A little more pressure, and Nie Huaisang is sure he really would have started crying.
Lying is useful of course, but also such a chore, with so much work to be good at it and if there’s one thing Nie Huaisang hates, it’s working. He knows what people think about him, and mostly doesn’t care. Let them call him a coward, a useless fool who will bring his sect to ruins. Even his own brother does — Nie Huaisang loves him to death of course, but Nie Mingjue has the unfortunate flaw of having a very narrow view of what counts as right and wrong.
So he’s not a particular fan of lying but he will if he has to. And he thinks, as he puts the finish line on the fan, that he had to, this time. It’s a niggling feeling, something he can’t quite put his finger on.
He hums, examining his work with a critical eye. His fans always seem harder to paint after saber practice.
“A little sloppy, but I guess you’ll do,” he decides, putting the fan back on the desk to dry out.
The truth is, Nie Huaisang didn’t mean to see Wei Wuxian leaving. He didn’t predict him doing it either— he likes Wei-xiong but he also doesn’t know him that well after all. So that was the truth. But that Wei Wuxian was sad, and that Nie Huaisang didn’t know where he was going so he’d just thought he’d go to Caiyi? Well… That wasn’t quite true.
Wei Wuxian didn’t look sad. He’d looked dangerous. Determined, too. Like a man on a mission, ready to do whatever it took to succeed. Nie Huaisang isn’t about to stop the best cultivator in their year group — aside, perhaps, from Lan Wangji although they’re apparently evenly matched and isn’t that interesting? — from doing whatever he wants. Although… he is a little curious about what it is, he admits.
Wei Wuxian also looked tired, the same look he had after speaking to… Pretty much anyone ever since the Waterborne Abyss incident. It was never for long, never more than a flash in his eyes, a little twist of his smile but it was there.
And when he left, their eyes met and for a single, terrifying second, Nie Huaisang could swear they’d flashed red. Almost as if Nie Huaisang registered as an enemy instead of, well. His harmless self.
It must have been a trick of the light, because he barely blinked and that look was gone. Wei Wuxian smiled, waved and jumped over the wall, in the opposite direction of Caiyi Town.
Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what happened exactly during the Waterborne Abyss incident. He’s glad he wasn’t there. Water ghouls are terrifying enough, nevermind a Waterborne Abyss. Too much work to deal with.
In any case, he may not have been there, but he heard of a lot of things: the Lan may have a rule about gossiping, but between the outer disciples who rarely respect it and the clan members who aren’t perfect and can’t help it when such an interesting tale happens, only the the Twin Jades are always rigorous enough to always apply it. Of course, the guest disciples like himself have never cared that much for the rules in the first place.
Wei Wuxian himself never really talked about the incident. He talked around it, certainly, so fast and skilfully that Nie Huaisang only noticed after they’d changed subjects twice.
The point is, at some point while they were flying, Wei Wuxian… lost his balance and fell.
To fall in the heart of an Abyss and to survive… It’s not exactly unheard of, but close. It made sense, at first, that Wei Wuxian would become a little withdrawn, even if no one except Huaisang noticed it. It must have been a harrowing experience! Except it wasn’t just that — it was the tension whenever they were sparring and that was unexpected. It’s not hard to see Wei Wuxian loves fighting with his sword, loves his Suibian more than almost anything else. He is good at it, and incredibly disciplined during spars.
So for him to go wild and almost injure his own shidi? Then to lose a duel because he froze? Against Jin Zixuan of all people?
Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what went wrong, but something clearly did.
And then this argument with Jiang Cheng happens…
Maybe he should have predicted that Wei Wuxian would leave after all. Nie Huaisang doesn’t pretend to understand the dynamics between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian. Sometimes they’re clearly friends, teasing and laughing and play-fighting. But sometimes… There’s a tension, a bite in the words Jiang Cheng likes to throw around. It’s always a little uncomfortable, to be having fun and to hear Jiang Cheng snap at his shixiong for no reason. Wei Wuxian usually laughs it off, casually defusing the situation with a joke or two, like he’s used to it.
Jiang Cheng was right, in what he told Lan Qiren, even if he didn’t seem to see the significance of it. He does say things like that all the time. Is he always joking? Nie Huaisang can’t be sure but he doesn’t think so. If someone were to ask him, he… wouldn’t say his opinion aloud because he likes having his head connected to his body, but he’d certainly think that while they were raised together, Wei Wuxian wasn’t raised as a brother but as a companion, a servant, a bodyguard… And maybe a whipping boy, just a little. It wouldn’t be that strange honestly, if not for those muddle dynamics — sects don’t do it often, but it’s a common thing amongst the more wealthy families outside the Jianghu. It’s a pretty dreadful practice in his opinion and the fact that Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian get along most of the time doesn’t make their situation any less uncomfortable whenever the tension boils over.
So yes. Nie Huaisang lied. He lied because he likes his Wei-xiong. Wei Wuxian is fun to be around, smart, strong, and gifted in cultivation. He could be anything. If he wants to leave, to strike out on his own rather than stay and be subjected to constant berating and, if Jiang Cheng’s words are to be believed, to worse? He should be free to.
Nie Huaisang doesn’t like working — at least not his brother’s definition of working. He especially hates saber practice. How it makes him feel. It makes him irritated and prone to snapping for no good reason. Even the little of it he did today is enough to have him make sloppy art again! He doesn’t know why, if his brother is right and it’s just because he’s too lazy for it, or so bad it frustrates him, but clearly work doesn’t agree with him. Painting, writing poetry, all of those are just as hard to do well yet they make him sweat a lot less and he feels good about his efforts afterwards.
But aside from his art, one thing he does like is gossip. And a lot of it is about the infamous Violet Spider. She’s known as a terrifying woman, with sharp glares and sharper words, never letting her husband say more than a few sentences. Her clan forced the marriage despite the groom’s well-known reluctance and it resulted in quite the unhappy union.
Jiang Fengmian himself is known to be a gentle man who prefers diplomacy rather than confrontation: between the two of them, it’s pretty clear who always has the last words. The Violet Spider also spends most of her days out in night hunts, with either servants who came from Meishu with her or with her sworn sister Madam Jin, showing little to no interest in the actual running of the sect she married into. Against all expectations, she doesn’t train the disciples, doesn’t manage the household, and doesn’t care to know the political and commercial alliances aside from the marriage arrangement between her daughter and Jin Zixuan. Yet all of the Jiang disciples agree that she finds great delight in punishing Wei Wuxian for the slightest offense, although at this point they are all so used to it they don’t find it strange anymore.
No wonder Jiang Cheng is always shouting and snapping and biting. It never wins him any friends but if it’s how he was raised, well… It does explain a lot.
And if the Violet Spider is as jealous and violent as the rumors make her out to be, then it explains just as much about Wei Wuxian.
Nie Huaisang is contemplating starting a new fan or reading his latest spring book when someone knocks on the door. He opens his mouth to welcome them in but before the words are out, Jiang Cheng enters, looking… Well, like someone who has spent most of his last few days angry and doesn’t know what to do with himself now that there’s no one to target.
Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang don’t have much in common. If anything, Jiang Cheng is closer to Nie Mingjue in temperament and prefers spending his time training rather than talking about the arts. His interest in spring books quickly waned once the novelty wore off and though he always drank with enthusiasm the alcohol Wei Wuxian supplied them, he was also quick to complain it would lend them in trouble. They are, if anything, friends by circumstances.
Still, he looks lost now that he doesn’t have Wei Wuxian around. He has taken to wearing the bell left behind, as if its owner would soon come back to ask for it.
Nie Huaisang isn’t cruel enough to kick people who are already down, so he asks, his voice as light as he can make it:
“Can I help you Jiang-xiong?”
Jiang Cheng startles, almost as if he didn’t expect Nie Huaisang to actually speak to him.
“I… My father sent word. He’ll be here soon,” he mutters. “I… I didn’t want to…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, too uncomfortable with the idea of being vulnerable. On that, Nie Huaisang can sympathize. He’s heard a few things about how strained Jiang Fengmian’s relationship is with his son, which only added fuel to the rumors that maybe Wei Wuxian really was a bastard son. To get to the Cloud Recesses so soon, Jiang Fengmian must have left in a hurry.
“I don’t have any Emperor’s Smile left, but want to write our reports together?” he suggests, even though the very idea of studying gives him hives.
“I’m not letting you copy mine,” Jiang Cheng immediately sneers, “I’m not — I’m not Wei Wuxian. You’ll just have to work for once.”
Nie Huaisang bristles at his tone, though he keeps his friendly smile firmly fixed on his face. Jiang Cheng is having a hard time, he figures, so he can be the bigger person and let this go even though Jiang Cheng is the one who chose to come here in the first place.
After stumbling on his wayward shixiong’s name, Jiang Cheng looks down to his waist, where Wei Wuxian’s bell hangs along with his own. Eventually, he joins Nie Huaisang and together, they get out their study supplies, occasionally exchanging commiserating looks. Lan Qiren truly is cruel, to cancel classes once again as he concentrates on his role of Acting Sect Leader, giving them the hope they might be able to laze around only to ruin it all by assigning book reports. Really! They’ve clearly been traumatized by Wei Wuxian’s departure and deserve to rest for as long as possible!
Nie Huaisang tries, he really does, but the book is extremely dry, living up to the Lan Sect’s reputation of being ‘fuddy-duddy’ as Wei Wuxian used to say. It’s an endless list of different monsters and the different ways righteous cultivators have dealt with them, the do’s and the don’t. It’s clear, concise, and really, really boring! Nie Huaisang isn’t made to study all of this! He likes poetry, theater, and romance!
“Aaaaaaah,” he moans as pitifully as he can, “why must we deal with this dreadful work? Anything would be more interesting than this! That old man is really too mean! Is this because the last time he left us alone the Waterborne Abyss incident happened? I wasn’t even here for that!”
“Honestly, you really are an idiot. I pity your older brother,” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, his tone derisive as always, “no wonder he’s always threatening to break your legs. Your book isn’t even that hard — Mine is twice as long! Lan Qiren clearly gave you something meant for younger disciples with the faintest hope you’d manage to get something other than a Ding. You really bring shame to your sect.”
He tsks and then goes back to his reading, uncaring of Nie Huaisang’s gaping face. Up until now, whenever Jiang Cheng was feeling particularly snappy, he’d simply yell at Wei Wuxian — either because Wei Wuxian had really broken another rule, or because between his own shixiong with whom he had been raised with, and scions of other sects who could easily take offense at his behavior, Wei Wuxian was the better target. A few times, Nie Huaisang found himself wondering if Wei Wuxian drew attention to his own antics on purpose to distract from his Sect Heir’s political flaws.
Jiang Cheng isn’t exactly wrong. Nie Huaisang has the sneaking suspicion that he’s supposed to already know the book he’s been assigned, given that it only covers the basics. He’s also made sure that everyone knows how much he hates being made to come back to the Cloud Recesses, and how much he hates any kind of work. He has a reputation for being the weakest young master of his generation. Nie Huaisang has, he can admit it, made himself an easy target for teasing.
And yet.
Nie Huaisang tenses up again, trying to concentrate on his book and finding any motivation, if there was any in the first place, gone. His guts clench and twist with shame and anger. Him complaining in good fun is one thing. To have his own words thrown back so cruelly is quite another. Did Jiang Cheng come here in the hope of being distracted, or because Nie Huaisang isn’t enough of a threat that he feels comfortable using him as a new target now that his old one is gone?
“Did you come back from your punishment?” Nie Huaisang asks, both to change the subject and because maybe, just maybe Jiang Cheng will understand where he went wrong with his earlier remark.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng answers, “It was so boring. I don’t understand why they make us copy those rules when most of us non-Lan can’t even read them. What a waste of time. No wonder —“
Abruptly he cuts himself off, frowning again. Nie Huaisang sighs. For someone who kept snapping at Wei Wuxian for bringing shame to their sect, Jiang Cheng really has no qualms about doing the same thing, speaking so badly of their hosts in front of another Sect Heir, right after insulting him to boot. He never seems to take the time to consider the impact of his words. If Nie Huaisang was a petty kind of person, he’d go tattle to Lan Xichen, or even better, to Lan Qiren, in the hopes of getting him punished again.
“Did Lan Wangji watch over your punishment like he did Wei-xiong’s?” he asks, pointedly saying Wei Wuxian’s name because avoiding it will not make anything better and who knows! Maybe saying it will refresh Jiang Cheng’s memory as to why he was punished?
“Why would he? The only reason he watched over him was because he knew Wei Wuxian would cause trouble if left on his own! Last I heard, he’s back in secluded cultivation or something.”
“Really? Huh. I hope he’s alright.”
“Hmpf,” Jiang Cheng sneers, “I guess now that the troublemaker is gone, he doesn’t need to pretend he wants to spend time with the rest of us. How arrogant.”
Nie Huaisang stares at the table, trying to find the words to answer that. Lan Wangji is aloof, yes and absolutely terrifying, but he also doesn’t deserve to be bad-mouthed like that when he can’t even defend himself. Clearly that punishment was a waste of time, since even now, Jiang Cheng won’t stop insulting every single person around him.
Nie Huaisang hates confrontation almost as much as he hates work. All that stress is terrible for his well-being. He’d rather flee than fight, if he can help it. But one doesn’t grow up with Nie Mingjue as a big brother without knowing when to fight back; otherwise he’d never have managed to even see a single painting brush in his entire life.
“Maybe Lan Wangji doesn’t want to spend time with you because you keep insulting everyone around you, have you thought about that?” he says, voice deliberately light and eyes on his paper.
“What did you just —“ Jiang Cheng barks but Nie Huaisang has no intention of letting him speak this time.
“I mean, I may be an idiot but I remember why you were punished. Do you? Or did you waste everyone’s time trying to teach you something about your behavior?”
“I told you I couldn’t read the rules!” Jiang Cheng’s voice goes high and loud as he slams his hand on the table, shaking with rage.
“Oh please, as if you didn’t realize why you were punished. As if Lan Qiren didn’t tell you yesterday the exact rule you broke. As if that first day of lectures, you didn’t complain all the time that you were the only one to pay attention aside from Lan Wangji when Lan Qiren started listing all the rules. If you truly didn’t know you were in the wrong, why did you look so ashamed yesterday when you confessed what you told Wei-xiong?”
“I — I —“
“If you’re so scared of becoming like your mother, like it seems you are, then why don’t you stop for a moment and actually reconsider your actions instead of just going through the motions of punishment and going back to exactly the same behavior?”
“Listen you little —“
“No Jiang Wanyin,” and this time Jiang Cheng does stop, because Nie Huaisang’s voice is deadly cold, “for once in your life, you are going to listen. You are extremely lucky that everyone around you seems determined to coddle you and your temper but honestly, I no longer have the patience. Wei-xiong is my friend and from my point of view, he left because of you. So you better take a good look at yourself, Jiang Wanyin because if you don’t, one day you’ll just end up bitter and alone and it’ll be no one’s fault but your own.
“He never said anything!” Jiang Cheng cries out, “how was I supposed to know?”
“This again? Tell me, when was the last time you spared a single kind word for him, instead of berating him all the time no matter what he did? What is he to you? Your shixiong? Your friend?”
“He — he’s… He’s my…”
“Can’t say the word? Are you still really surprised he left? I’ll tell you: you act like he’s your servant and a poorly-treated one at that.”
Jiang Cheng finally stops protesting. He looks stricken instead, guilty and ashamed all at once. His face is red and his hands shake. His head hangs low, avoiding Nie Huaisang’s accusing stare. Nie Huaisang’s hands shake too. He wonders when he’ll get punched in the face. If he were to be honest, he doesn’t think Jiang Cheng realizes how badly he treats Wei Wuxian all the time. It looks like a habit, rather than a conscious choice. It still doesn’t make it right.
If Nie Huaisang felt charitable, he’d point out that this behavior probably stems from Jiang Cheng’s parents — his mother, at the very least.
Nie Huaisang stopped feeling charitable a few insults ago.
Before he can say anything else, someone gently knocks on the door frame. Jiang Cheng immediately tenses up, giving Nie Huaisang a sneaking suspicion as to who is there.
Sure enough, when he goes to open the door, Jiang Fengmian is waiting, his usual gentle smile a little strained. He even looks tired, despite his cultivation prowess. He must have taken the news quite badly, Nie Huaisang surmises.
“Jiang-zongzhu, hello. What can I do for you?” he asks, bowing respectfully.
“Hello. Would you happen to know where my son is? He wasn’t in his room when I arrived and the few people I asked said you two were close.”
Behind him, Jiang Cheng is suspiciously silent. He obviously dreads his conversation with his father but it’s not like he can avoid it, even if Nie Huaisang lies for him. Jiang Fengmian probably heard their voices after all, and to be honest, Nie Huaisang isn’t feeling nice enough to even try. So he doesn’t.
“Jiang Cheng? He’s here, please come in.”
Jiang Fengmian does, thanking him with a nod and steps in. Jiang Cheng gets up to greet his father, although he doesn’t manage to say more than a mumbled hello.
“A-Cheng…” Jiang Fengman says, then awkwardly stops. He clearly doesn’t know what to say. Nie Huaisang winces at the idea of witnessing these two interact. Even if he’s a little curious, it’ll be way too painful.
“Do you… Do you want me to leave you alone?” he coughs, ignoring Jiang Cheng’s betrayed look with the ease of someone used to doing the same to his own brother. It figures that even now, Jiang Cheng is entitled enough to want more from Nie Huaisang.
“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind…” Jiang Fengmian answers with a polite smile.
Usually, Nie Huaisang would mind because it’s still his room after all and they could easily find another place to go. He’s too eager to get out of this terrible father-son reunion though, so he just nods and quickly takes the opportunity to get out before Jiang Cheng can protest or ask him to stay — if he even would, given the tongue lashing Nie Huaisang just gave him.
As soon as he’s outside, he allows himself a very long sigh. He walks a few steps, then stops. He doesn’t regret his words, only that they probably went in one ear then out of the other. It’s probably mean of him to think that but he’s still too angry to change his mind. With his behavior, Jiang Cheng didn’t earn the right to have the benefit of the doubt. Nie Huaisang forces his breathing to calm. He hates being so angry. He closes his eyes, rests his weight against the wall, drags his hand over his face and waits until his stomach untwists and his eyes stop stinging.
He really hates feeling like this. He hopes it never happens again.
Once his breathing has calmed along with the rest of his feelings, he turns his head to stare at the room he just left, his curiosity resurfacing. He’s close enough that he can hear muffled voices, but not much more.
He supposes he could… come a little closer, wait near the door. It’s still his room after all, he’s allowed to stay near it! If it means he gets to hear the discussion well… He’s curious, sue him! Alas, good gossip doesn’t always fall into his lap. Sometimes he has to do dreadful things, like any kind of physical effort, or eavesdropping on a Sect Leader and his son while they have a conversation about internal sect matters.
“… This could get a little tricky,” he murmurs, wishing he’d thought to take his fan to hide his curious expression. He hopes no one passes by — it would be awkward to have to explain why he’s waiting in front of his own bedroom.
Especially if he’s caught listening in.
Even if the door is thin, making out the words they’re saying is harder than it seems, Nie Huaisang quickly discovers. Their voices are muffled by the walls on top of Jiang Fengmian’s naturally quiet manners. Nie Huaisang would expect Jiang Cheng at least to be easier to hear, but he sounds much more subdued than usual. He’s probably being lectured. Nie Huaisang considers the indignity and the risks of planting his ear against the wall. He doesn’t dare try it on the door, in case they see his shadow but surely the wall should be fine?
He leans in a little further, catching bits and pieces of their conversation, as Jiang Cheng’s voice picks up in volume:
“… always defending him! Would you even have come if I was the one who disappeared?”
“Jiang Cheng… things you shouldn’t say, even if you are angry… don’t understand… our Jiang Sect…” Jiang Fengmian says.
“Yes… sorry,” Jiang Cheng answers and this time he sounds ashamed.
“… not saying this to… best interests… apologize once we find him… I know things are difficult…”
“Father!”
Nie Huaisang winces. He can’t be sure of course, but it seems to him as if what these two need is an honest conversation or two… or a hundred. Difficult relationships don’t heal that easily after all, especially when one is prone to yelling without listening to the other. He tries to imagine them having a conversation with Jiang Cheng’s mother in the same room and winces harder.
“Huaisang?”
Nie Huaisang jumps, startled, and turns to see Lan Xichen standing there. He looks bemused.
“Ah…” he says, unsure how to even begin to justify his shameless eavesdropping. “I’m… Waiting for them to come out? So I can get my room back? And work on my reports?”
“Are you asking or telling me?” Lan Xichen replies, amused. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that eavesdropping is forbidden. You’ve been punished enough to remember by now, haven’t you?”
“Hahaha,” he laughs, rubbing his sweaty neck with his hand, “of course Xichen-ge! I haven’t heard anything, I don’t know anything!"
"Hm, I'm sure you don't," Lan Xichen agrees, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Are Jiang-zongzhu and his son here then? I was looking for them."
“Huh? Yes they are, but… Haven’t you and your uncle already talked to Jiang-zongzhu? Is there any news?”
“No formal agreement has been reached yet,” Lan Xichen says. “I wasn’t there for their meeting, as I was visiting Wangji in the infirmary.”
“The infirmary? Is he sick?” Nie Huaisang asks, latching onto this new piece of information.
“Are you asking because you’re worried, or because this is new gossip?” Lan Xichen asks, though he doesn’t look offended. “The doctors think it’s simple stress but they’ve asked to keep him in for a few days as a precaution and he hasn’t been happy about it. He’s… Worried.”
“Worried?”
“About Wei-gongzi of course,” he chuckles, though there’s little humor in his voice.
“Wait really?” Nie Huaisang can’t help raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Everyone thought he hated him.”
“Ah no, not at all,” Lan Xichen’s smile dims. “I know my brother is difficult to read but believe me when I say I’ve never seen him so curious about someone else. I’d hoped they could foster some kind of friendship, that eventually Wangji would come out of his shell but…”
He sighs, looking troubled. Seeing him like this, Nie Huaisang is reminded that Lan Xichen isn’t that much older than him, even if he always seems more mature. He swallows, unsure how to offer comfort. Spending time with Lan Wangji sounds absolutely terrifying, given how intimidating the other boy can be but if it might help…
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Nie Huaisang asks. “I don’t know… uh Wangji-xiong very well but… I could always bring him the latest gossip? I mean, not gossip, of course I don’t mean it like that, I know that the rules forbid it, haha, but maybe it’ll cheer him up if he knows how the investigation is going…?”
“Thank you Huaisang,” Lan Xichen replies, getting some of his cheer back. “It’s kind of you to offer. I’m trying to convince uncle to let him help but I’m sure he’d be happy to have some company to distract him in the meantime.”
Happy? To see him? That sounds extremely unlikely to Nie Huaisang, but he’s well aware big brothers tend to have a blind spot when it comes to their siblings — it’s something he loves taking advantage of after all — so he agrees to spend some time with Lan Wangji. Lan Xichen seems relieved, which is the least he can be, given Nie Huaisang’s selfless sacrifice.
“Well, I suppose I should see if Jiang-zongzhu doesn’t mind being interrupted,” Lan Xichen sighs, then straightens up. “If they do, I’ll just suggest they relocate to Jiang-gongzi’s room instead. We wouldn’t want you to be unable to complete your work and disappoint your brother.”
“Hahaha… Thank you Xichen-ge, there’s really no need to trouble yourself!”
“It’s no trouble.” Lan Xichen happily answers, and Nie Huaisang can’t help but moan sadly.
“… You’re really cruel Xichen-ge…” he mumbles.
“I have no idea what you mean Huaisang. How has your saber practice been going by the way?”
“Xichen-ge!”
Lan Xichen laughs and is about to knock when they hear voices coming from the corridor. They’re loud as they laugh, and a bit obnoxious; Nie Huaisang quickly recognizes the Jin disciples and grimaces.
“— can’t ask him what his ideal type is, not like that!”
“Why can’t I? I know he has a fiancée, but what’s wrong with looking? He’s not married yet! And we all know that this Jiang Yanli is a bit…”
Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen. This feels like a bad conversation for the Jiang family to hear. Jin Zixuan hasn’t said a word yet, but as the group approaches, Nie Huaisang can see his mulish expression, the faint moue of distaste. Romance is always a popular topic amongst people their age, especially since Nie Huaisang has made it a habit to distribute his favorite spring books around. He hopes that’s not what sparked this particular conversation.
The disciples haven’t seen Lan Xichen, who has frozen in the process of opening the door. Nie Huaisang isn’t sure how to interpret his face.
“Don’t insult a man’s fiancée in front of him, that’s —”
“I don’t care,” Jin Zixuan interrupts, “say whatever you want. It’s true anyway. She’s plain looking and boring. She spends all her time cooking for servants and the likes, probably to make herself look better. She has such poor cultivation, she can’t even hold a sword. If it wasn’t for her and our mothers’ schemings, I never would have chosen someone like her to be my bride.”
“How harsh!”
Jin Zixuan snorts while the rest of his entourage laugh brashly. Nie Huaisang winces, side-eying Lan Xichen. Why do so many of his peers seem to gleefully bad-mouth others out in the open, where everyone could hear them? They’re being loud enough that he doesn’t doubt both Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Cheng have.
The door slams open.
The Jin disciples jump, stopping in their tracks and finally realizing they aren’t alone. When he sees Jiang Fengmian, face devoid of his usual smile, Jin Zixuan’s face turns an interesting shade of gray.
“It seems,” Jiang Fengmian says, his voice as mild as ever yet somehow implacable, “that I will need to speak to your father before going home, Jin Zixuan.”
Yiling is a boring town. For all that it stands so close to the Burial Mounds, and that no sect has truly ever made the effort to claim it is their territory, not much happens. There are the regular night hunts with the usual ghosts and corpses to liberate or subdue, but in the end, it is simply a small poor town, and the true threats are kept at bay by the suppressing arrays that allow nothing and no one to get out of the Burial Mounds.
Truly, Yiling is a boring town.
There should be no real reason for Wen Qing to have been stationed here.
Of course, she supposes there is the fact that the Wen sect is the one who once managed to suppress the Mounds, an achievement her cousin always brags about. It would make sense that they would want to make sure the arrays stay powered on, even if Yiling isn't anywhere near their territory. It’s probably the official explanation even.
Truthfully, it's a good way for her uncle to test the limits of his political power; he has been taking over more and more territory, places that belonged to the minor sects already. Yiling, even if it lacks a sect office of its own, is in Yunmeng, the territory of a major sect. And despite his reputation as a gentle, soft spoken man, Jiang Fengmian is a sect leader and as such, a good politician. He would know how to read the creation of a Wen office in Yiling — as an insult. There lies the test.
Major Sect or not, would Yunmeng Jiang dare to protest?
Wen Qing already knows the answer. She has been stationed here for a month already and no one has come forward to dispute the claim. The Jiang are bowing to the might of the Wen, like all the other sects. They will do so until it is too late and they have a blade on their neck.
Wen Qing understands. After all, she is the same. To protect her family, her little brother, she too is willing to bend under her uncle's might. That's why she's here, in an office where nothing happens, far away from everything. It's an indulgence and a threat packed in one.
Here she can focus on her research, and will be far away from any conflict that might arise.
Here she cannot protect her brother if he is called back to Qishan, or worse, to the front lines when the war will inevitably begin.
She wonders, sometimes, which one her uncle expected her to understand, the kindness or the threat.
She is the favored one of all his family, in part thanks to his close relationship with his cousin, her father, but also simply because they are of similar temperament and she learned quickly how to curry favor with him.
She remembers meeting him as a child. Holding her mother’s hand and thinking what a scary man he was, up until he laughed and told her to call him uncle. To be loved by Wen Ruohan is dangerous. Her uncle is many things to those he loves: generous, demanding. He rewards well when you meet his expectations and is just as quick to distribute punishments when you fail. He is fair to those he holds close. Merciful, even. Spoiling, to his second son, from whom he expects nothing anymore.
But if there's one thing Wen Ruohan doesn’t have, it's kindness.
Wen Qing knew, when she voiced her disapproval of his plans, that retribution would come.
It’s part of the game they play, like a strange elaborate match of Xiangqi. Except where before, the price was simply the intellectual challenge, and an eventual reward like a new book or a bow for her brother, now their lives are the ones that hang in the balance. She used to love that game. She learned its rules as a child, on her uncle's lap, would stare at him with wide, awed eyes and he would chuckle warmly as he taught her how to move the pieces, pleased to have a little cousin so keen to learn.
Even now, she has a board in this office far away from Qishan. It was the first present her uncle gave her — the reward for beating him for the first time.
She doesn't play anymore. It’s a thing of decoration, gathering dust in her office. She takes it out sometimes, when she feels particularly uneasy. Sets up the board so it looks like the last game she played against her uncle, a game she forfeited when she saw no other outcomes but a spectacular loss.
Tonight is one of those nights, and so after forgoing her usual tea and serving herself a cup of wine instead, Wen Qing takes out the board. Meticulously, she dusts off each of the 32 pieces and wipes the board until they are as spotless as they were when she first got them. She starts with the Red side, the one her uncle prefers. First the general, then the advisers, the elephants, then she moves on to the horses, the chariot and the cannons and finally the soldiers.
It is slow work — Wen Ruohan would not give her a simple board with the usual flat pieces; instead they are intricate jade carvings, and she has to be careful when she handles them. She sips her wine as she works, allowing the tension in her spine to fade, if only for a moment. Only once she is satisfied, does she then place them on the points where they were when she admitted her final defeat. She doesn’t fool herself into thinking she will be able to find a sudden way to win; this ritual is purely a way to remind herself that there is no way to go against her uncle, no matter how much she might want to sometimes.
She is placing the last soldier, when she hears a knock and her brother’s hesitant voice:
“Jiejie, are you still up?”
"Yes," she answers, then adds because her brother is incredibly well-mannered, "Come on in, a-Ning."
He opens the doors, looking as he always does: shy, unsure. She frowns. Actually no, he looks meeker than usual, like the time he tried to raise a kitten on his own by hiding it in his bed of all places. She’d found him out within hours, drawn by the poor thing’s loud yowls as it drowned under the covers.
Behind him is an unknown cultivator, with his face hidden by a hood.
"What is this a-Ning?!" The alcohol has softened the lilt of her voice, but her tone is still harsh enough to make Wen Ning flinch and for the stranger to raise his hands in a gesture of appeasement.
“Sorry for the intrusion, Wen-daifu, but I needed to talk to you urgently,”
The man has a pleasant voice, and a polite demeanor. He also clearly knows who she is, which isn’t exactly strange — she has been known to accompany Wen Ruohan to conferences before after all — but there is something in his tone, some kind of desperation she can’t understand.
“Couldn’t this wait until the morning? I’m sure my brother could have shown you accommodations for the night,” she snaps back.
She feels strange, uneasy. She can’t even see this stranger’s face and yet — yet… She must have had too much wine.
“Jiejie,” Wen Ning pipes up, “Maybe you should l-listen to him.”
“And why is that?” Wen Ning flinches again, but then he squares his shoulders. An unusual fire burns in his eyes. She’d be glad that he finally is using his spine, even against her, except she would rather he doesn’t put them in more danger by befriending a strange rogue cultivator. Even out there in Yiling, surrounded by their own sect members, they are not amongst friends.
“He came out of the Burial Mounds, jiejie,” Wen Ning finally says, and that brings her thoughts to a halt.
That’s impossible.
For one, the disciples under her authority should have seen something and told her about it — no one goes into the Burial Mounds, at least not voluntarily. Even if her men are primarily doctors and not soldiers, they should have still noticed something.
But the most important part is, of course, that no one comes out of the Burial Mounds. Even if one were to survive in there and be able to break all the ghost walls that are sure to confuse even the strongest cultivators, the suppressing arrays are also supposed to warn her if something were to come out — including if that something is human. The arrays are strong and she checked them herself when they set up the office. It doesn’t make sense— and that’s not her being arrogant. She knows her own strengths, and even if the arrays spread around the Mounds are bigger than most, they are still, at their core, easy to understand and incredibly hard to break. Unless that man has managed to alter the arrays…
"Well don't stay on the doorstep, come on in then", she can only say.
As the man takes off his hood and sets his cloak down, Wen Qing takes the time to observe him further, to try and understand what this strange foreboding feeling is.
He's not quite a man, is the first thing she notices, but a boy the same age as her brother or barely older. He is pale the way people get when they're tired and haven't been under the sun in too long, but he doesn't look ill, which is unexpected for someone coming out of the Burial Mounds. She closes the door behind Wen Ning, and tries not to break it in her too tight grip.
"Speak," she tells him as he walks around the room, looking curious and at ease.
"Ah Wen Qing, I'm glad to see you haven't changed," he chuckles and she bristles.
"We're not so familiar that I'd allow you to use my birth name. Tell me who you are and what you want before I have you thrown out."
Wen Ning calls out her name softly but she raises a hand before he can speak. She doesn't know what the stranger told her brother to convince him so thoroughly and truth be told, she doesn't want to know. It's not the first time people have tried, again and again, to use Wen Ning to get to her.
The stranger meets her eyes steadily, with a little smile that looks... fond. As if he is meeting a friend and is glad to see them in good health. The feeling echoes inside her, and she doesn't understand why. She doesn't know this boy and has no reason to feel happy to see him.
"Wen-daifu then,” he nods. “Truthfully, I only came to Yiling for the Burial Mounds but I'm happy that you're here. I have... information for you. I want to help."
"I'll believe that when you tell us your name and what that information is," Wen Qing answers. He looks sincere enough, but she’s learned that it means little when people are good enough liars.
"Of course, my bad!" He laughs, "This one's name is Wei Wuxian. I have knowledge from the future and I need your help to change it.”
She blinks.
Perhaps the Burial Mounds damaged his mind and she should be treating him like a patient rather than an unwelcome guest then.
And yet, despite his earlier laugh, and his general easy demeanor, there’s a tension in his shoulders and at the corner of his smile. His eyes stay focused on her, waiting for a reaction. A laugh, or an accusation of lying, if she had to guess.
Wen Qing looks at her brother, who seems just as lost as her. He might have brought the boy in, but apparently that was more his generosity talking than a true knowledge of what was going on. Just like the kitten. She turns back to Wei Wuxian — and she has heard that name in passing, in the last few weeks. He is the missing head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, the lost ward (or, in the mouths of the less charitable, the lost bastard) of Jiang Fengmian. Although recently, as the days stretched into weeks, the rumors have stopped being about his disappearance and have started talking about a defection. A street kid, son of a servant, who couldn’t take the pressure of his duty and returned to his roots.
Wen Qing stares at him critically, mulling over his words in her mind, wondering what his game is. He probably didn’t give her a fake name, for there is no glory attached to it but he isn’t wearing the colors of the Jiang either. Instead, he favors black and gray, and the simpler robes of a rogue cultivator.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t look like a Jiang anymore but he doesn’t look like a servant’s son who fled the pressure of his role either. He looks proud, with his sword at his hip, along with a black flute, like a true cultivator rather than a fledgling disciple.
“You’re not joking,” she finally says, to break the silence.
“Alas, I am not,” he laughs again, his eyes finally wandering the room instead of staring; they settle on the Xiangqi board, forgotten on the desk on one side of the room, “I wish I was, although it would make a poor prank. Too easily disprovable. Wen-daifu, won’t you listen to me? If I’m lying, then you’ll be able to verify it quickly enough. If I’m not… Would you take the risk?”
This is madness, Wen Qing thinks, but he’s right. If he’s lying — and he has to be, or maybe his mind has broken from the Burial Mounds’ assault — then she’ll see through it easily. Most probably she will, and then she will have either a patient or a prisoner on her hands. Her fingers brush against the needles hidden in her sleeve.
“Fine then,” she sighs, “I’ll entertain this for now. Tell me your story, Wei Wuxian.”
On the side, she sees her brother sigh, his relief obvious. Did he think she would throw Wei Wuxian out? She should. It’s a terrible risk she is taking, with war on the horizon and their standing with Wen Ruohan already so shaky. Even if Wei Wuxian has defected, he probably remains loyal, if only a little, to the Jiang Sect. Still, her oath as a healer means she can’t just let him go when he spouts such grand tales.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he appears thoughtful, his gaze still on the Xiangqi board. When he finally starts, she regrets her decision to listen, though not for the reasons she expected.
There are things he knows that he shouldn't. Not even the kind that a good spy could learn — and where would a fifteen years old boy even manage to meet such a spy? No, what Wei Wuxian speaks about are the doubts that Wen Qing has never told anyone save her brother, during some moments of weakness. She trusts her brother and knows him to be friendless, sad as it is. He can't have told Wei Wuxian, not when they didn't know each other before tonight. Some of what he speaks of, she has told no one at all.
Wei Wuxian keeps going, telling the story of a war that everyone knows is coming, of the Sun — her sect, her clan, her family — being shot down until no one remains. Not her, not her brother, not her cousins, not anyone. Whether they participated in the war or not, whether blood stained their hands or not, whether they were young, old, cultivator, civilian, whether they surrendered or not.
Wei Wuxian, his face grim and his voice solemn, tells her of the end of the Wen Clan and with it, the end of the Sect.
"Why would you fight for us?" Wen Qing asks, because it quickly becomes obvious he sided with them, that it killed him too and that is, in part, why he's here now.
"I owed you a debt, and Wen Ning was — is — my friend," he answers, flashing a smile to her brother, "and honestly? The war was over by then. I couldn’t just stand by."
He says it so earnestly, makes it sound so easy. Wen Qing doesn't think she has ever met someone like him. Her gut tells her she can trust him. She doesn’t know if it’s because of what he just told her, the knowledge that in another world they had been what — allies? Friends? Poor sods stuck in a terrible situation together?
She died for him, he’d said. For the hopes that he would save what was left of her family, yes, but also for him.
Her gut says she can trust him.
But she hasn’t gotten so far in life by simply trusting her instincts. Those are all well and good, until you meet someone you feel you can trust and find yourself stabbed in the back.
“Do you believe me?” Wei Wuxian asks, as if it is as simple as that.
“I certainly believe you believe what you’re saying,” she says, “and there are details that you couldn’t have known without some tricks… But you’ve just come from the Burial Mounds. Even if your story is true, you said last time it took you three months to get out, and by your own admission, you weren’t in the best of shape after. Now, it takes you less than a third of that time and you come out fine? You have to understand why I’m cautious.”
He scoffs and gets up, seemingly unable to keep still any longer.
“Last time, I had no idea what I was doing, on top of coming back from a hell of a week,” he says, pacing around the room, avoiding her gaze. “Hell of a month even.”
Wen Qing raises a brow at his words. He gave as few details as he could get away with. Some, he had to — the Golden Core transfer mainly, and anything that could be used to gain her trust and make her believe him. Wei Wuxian is a good orator, good enough to divert and avoid the topics he doesn’t want to talk about. She knows that, even with this account, there are things he won’t have told her. Important things they can’t truly afford to miss.
“Is there any way to prove your story? Something I could see with my own eyes?” she asks, instead of pressing.
It would confirm whether this is real or a delusion, she doesn’t say, but by the look Wei Wuxian gives her, he knows her well enough to guess.
“I guess…” he sighs, stopping his back-and-forth pacing to stand in front of the Xiangqi board, “I suppose I could find a way to just… Show you…”
He starts rambling, explaining about his ideas, and usually Wen Qing would be listening intently. Instead, her gaze is caught by his hands, moving around the different pieces, playing them. At first, she thinks they’re random, a simple way to get rid of too much energy in his body but she quickly realizes she’s wrong: he’s playing, testing out several strategies even as he’s making up a new way to show her his memories. Every time he loses — every time her side loses — he puts the pieces back the way she puts them and starts again. It seems almost absent-minded, yet every attempt lets him stall a little longer, making the victory of Wen Ruohan’s side a little harder.
It’s not much. Wen Ruohan isn’t here to fight back, which means Wei Wuxian can only guess what a second player would do when faced with his strategies.
It’s still more than what Wen Qing was able to do, since she forfeited that game.
She looks back to his face, and wonders. Even if this boy isn’t telling the truth, even if his tale of this dark future is an illusion… The quick wits Wei Wuxian is demonstrating here, it could be enough to turn the tide. It’s enough to make her want to take back her forfeit, to do more than just accept the defeat.
Maybe the blade isn’t quite touching her neck yet.
“— and then if I tweak this radical here, I think I could make it so that our minds could fuse into one overpowered genius so that we could defeat Wen Ruohan by intimidating him with our big brain and you’re definitely not listening to me anymore, are you?”
Wen Qing snaps her eyes back up to Wei Wuxian’s smiling face, feeling for some reason like a junior caught daydreaming during a lecture, then glances at Wen Ning who looks like he’s hiding a smile.
“… Is it safe?” She asks, rather than acknowledge her distraction, or the reason for it.
“As safe as mixing two experimental techniques can be,” he shrugs, “To be frank, nothing is ever without risks. Even flying on a sword means accepting that sometimes you’ll fall. I’ll minimize the risks as much as I can in the little time we have, which means that if nothing goes wrong, we shouldn’t have a problem.”
“And – and if something does go wrong?” Wen Ning asks, his voice quivering a little.
“Then me joking about my and Wen-daifu’s brains joining in a single mind might not be a simple joke after all. Just pray it doesn’t happen.”
“You just know how to find the right words to reassure me, don’t you?” Wen Qing chuckles, finding herself amused for some reason. “Just repeat the basics so I know you won’t blow my office up.”
“I know for a fact that between the two of us, the one prone to have an experiment explode is you but fine,” he huffs a complaint that Wen Qing somehow knows to be a lie, the cheeky little brat, and quickly moves on before she can call him out on it. "There's a technique that allows you to read the memories of a ghost using their resentful energy, Empathy. Two obvious problems if we want to use it with our current situation: I’m not dead which means I don’t produce my own resentful energy and our two bodies make for two barriers instead of one, especially with our Golden Cores, who are used to serve as barriers against resentment and won’t take kindly to what they'll see as an invasion. Luckily I have a solution for both of those things! You can use another of my techniques, the Paper Metamorphosis, which will temporarily separate your soul from your body —"
“I-isn’t that dangerous?” Wen Ning interrupts.
“It can be,” Wei Wuxian admits. “If something damages the paperman then the same damage will be reflected on your soul, which is why we’ll be counting on you Wen Ning to keep watch. If something happens, you’ll interrupt the spell with a signal you and Wen Qing will have agreed on beforehand. I would do it, but I’ll have to be unconscious to direct the flow of resentful energy I’ll be drawing from the Burial Mounds — the solution to the other problem I mentioned.”
Wen Ning doesn’t look reassured with so much responsibility thrust upon his shoulders, but he doesn’t protest further. It’s strange, Wen Qing muses, the trust Wei Wuxian is putting in her brother. There isn’t any hesitation or doubt in his voice: he knows that Wen Ning will do it, and will do it well. It lends credit to his story. Of course, the most skeptical part of her suggests it could still be a ploy to earn their trust, though that part gets smaller as time passes: Wei Wuxian shines like the sun every time he smiles or laughs and she finds herself liking him despite her initial intention to stay wary.
“Wait,” she says, thinking back to Wei Wuxian’s quick explanation. “I did not just hear you say you will be using the Burial Mounds’ resentment to do your ritual,”
“I have to!” Wei Wuxian protests, “To work, Empathy has to use the resentful energy of the dead. Since dying seems counterproductive and we have a massive source nearby that I happen to know how to channel, why not make use of it?”
“How heretical,” she answers, her voice as dry as she can make it.
“Please, as if you’ll let that stop you.”
He’s right, is the worst part. ’Heretical’ is an argument she dislikes on principle — a lot of the current techniques were once considered heretical after all, like the famous Chord Assassination Technique of the Lan. There are times of course where heretical truly does mean ‘dangerous’ or ‘unethical’ but she has found that usually, the people using that particular word are simply elders who don’t like to see their own achievements overturned by what they see as a too ambitious youth.
Still, to use the Burial Mounds, whom no one has managed to tame…
“How dangerous is it for you?” she asks.
“Let’s say the Mounds and I have reached an understanding,” he answers vaguely. “I did live there for a while and it recognized my… soul I suppose? The dead have a good memory apparently.”
She itches to ask more, to see what exactly he means by that. Can he communicate with the Burial Mounds? Is it sentient enough for that? If it is, does it use words, pictures or something else entirely?
“How will you make sure what I see are your own memories instead of those of the Mounds’ dead?” she asks instead.
“Oh that’s easy! While channeling, I’ll just select what you’ll see, like a real ghost would if we were using the ritual the normal way.”
She doubts it is actually that easy — it sounds like he will be viewing both his own memories and everything the Burial Mounds might throw his way. She worries for his mind — and that catches her off guard, that she worries for him. But she also wants to trust him, both because of this strange sense of rightness that comes from being next to him and simply because Wei Wuxian is naturally likable. Part of it means accepting he knows his own limits.
“Fine,” she finally says, “let’s do this. What kind of signal should we use?”
“Anything goes, so long as it’s something familiar to you — even Wen Ning calling your name could work.”
“Then we’ll go with that,” she nods and Wen Ning nods back.
She takes out some ink and paper, draws the paperman according to Wei Wuxian’s instructions, carefully cuts it out then channels her qi into it.
Here goes nothing.
Wen Ning watches over his sister’s body and Wei Wuxian for what feels like an eternity. Neither move, except for a twitch or two; Wei-gongzi assured him that it was normal and that it would be obvious if something truly went wrong. Wen Ning believes him.
It’s so strange, this trust that he feels for a boy his age, that he just met. At first, Wen Ning thought something was wrong with him, that he had been bewitched by this self-assured stranger coming out of the place infamous for being hell on earth and who had greeted him like they were friends. So Wen Ning had gone to his sister, bringing the stranger with him, thinking that Wen Qing would help, would know what to do like she always did.
Yet here he is now, lighting incense and waiting. Trusting. He thinks, perhaps, that Wen Qing felt it too, the bond between them, and that’s why she accepted to perform an experimental ritual just to confirm a story that should have been too strange to be believable.
It lasts barely a shichen. Wen Ning knows because the entire time, his eyes keep going back on the candle, watching it slowly burn down, in between the tasks he assigns himself to keep busy and looking after his sister’s sleeping body.
It feels too long and yet too short: does it truly take so little time, to see the war that upends their whole lives and what comes after the destruction of their clan up until their own deaths and Wei Wuxian’s sacrifice?
Finally, the paperman moves, shivers and goes back to Wen Qing’s body. His sister moans, something small and distressed and Wen Ning hurries to her side, barely avoiding hitting the corner of the table in his rush.
“Jiejie, are you okay?” He asks, “do you need something? Can I do a-anything?”
“A-Ning…” her voice breaks when she answers.
She sits up without his help and puts her hands on her face. For a terrifying moment, Wen Ning thinks his strong, unbreakable sister will start crying. Thankfully she doesn’t. Instead she screams in her palms, then lets out a string of curses that would have made even a well-seasoned sailor blush.
“Those miserable traitorous bastards! Those lying scumbags! Fuck I hope their cocks rot and fall off! How dare they — how fucking dare they! I should poison their tea so they shit their pants and their precious faces melt!"
Wen Ning has never heard his sister so mad, has never seen her so close to hitting something, or someone. Wen Qing might have a sharp voice, but underneath all the steel, she is a doctor, someone who wants to help others; something in those visions made her so angry, so hateful that killing intent is leaking all around them.
“Jiejie,” he starts but she interrupts him with a raised hand.
“Hush a-Ning, hush. I’m fine, I’m — I just… How could they? The little rats, I wish I could squeeze the life out of them all!”
Her face and eyes are red. She is crying now, Wen Ning realizes, angry tears that she furiously wipes with the back of her hand. He takes it into his, trying to offer some meager comfort and she squeezes it hard enough that it hurts. Then she gets up and, dragging Wen Ning with her, walks toward Wei Wuxian who is still in the process of waking up, groaning all the while about wishing to sleep a little longer.
Wei Wuxian barely has the time to open his eyes and sit up when Wen Qing launches herself at him for a hug. Wen Ning can’t help but widen his eyes at the sight. His sister isn’t a hugger — no one in their family is. Wei Wuxian makes a surprised sound but when he notices Wen Qing’s expression, a tender look takes over his face and he wraps his arms around her. Then he looks at Wen Ning and with a teasing smile, drags him into the hug as well.
For a while, none of them talk, though Wen Qing hiccups a few times as she tries to restrain her sobs. Wen Ning feels her shaking against him.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice soft, “I wish I had better things to show you.”
“Shut up,” Wen Qing answers and despite how rough her voice sounds, her tone is as sharp as ever, “I needed to see it, you know that. I wouldn’t have believed you otherwise. Now I know and we can prepare. I’ll kill them if they try anything, I swear I will. I’ll become the new Wen Ruohan if I need to but if they dare touch you or a-Ning, I’ll kill them with my own hands.”
“Jiejie,” Wen Ning whispers, feels his sister’s grip on him tightens, “you can’t…”
“Screw my oath. I’ll keep it as long as I need, but if I have to break it to protect you, I gladly will.”
"Aiyah, Wen Qing, so protective! What an amazing jiejie you are!" Wei Wuxian laughs.
"And that applies to you too, Wei Wuxian! If they dare use you like they did back in that wretched timeline, I'll show them just why most medicines are said to be poisons in the wrong doses."
Wei Wuxian is laughing still. Wen Ning feels his hold on them tighten.
“Thank you Wen Qing,” he whispers, “but there’s really no need for that.”
"No more 'thank you' Wei Wuxian," Wen Qing answers, her voice still rough but her grip steadier, "it gives me hives."
"Ha! Fine, I promise, if only for your precious skin! Funny, I think I said the same thing to Lan Zhan once! They do say great minds think alike! Maybe we really did fuse our brains together in the end!"
"You say that like it's a joke but listen because I'll only say it once: you're a great man Wei Wuxian and to be similar to you is a compliment I'll happily accept."
For the first time in the evening, Wen Ning sees Wei Wuxian truly speechless. His mouth hangs open in an unattractive sight and his cheeks even redden a little in embarrassment.
“Wen Qing,” he whines, “how unfair of you to say that right after you made me promise not to thank you anymore. Don’t compliment me, my head will get too big. You don’t want that, do you?”
“That’s why I said I would only say it once,” Wen Qing answers as she breaks away from the group hug with a small smile on her face; seeing it is enough to let Wen Ning finally relax. “But someone needs to say you did good after all those lies those vermin spat. I — my future self never told you, probably because she thought it was obvious and maybe it was, but you didn’t fail Wei Wuxian. You gave us exactly what we wanted, what we needed: time. Time and the opportunity to have an honorable death, rather than a humiliating one.”
“… You’re right, of course. You always are,” Wei Wuxian says, his smile turning gentle, “I still wish there was another possible outcome, a better one and I have my regrets but… We did our best.”
Silence settles around them; Wen Ning breaks before it can become too oppressive:
“A better outcome… I-Isn’t that exactly the opportunity we have now?”
Wei Wuxian is the first to laugh and it comes easy, as if what must have been bitterness was nothing but a mirage. A cloud hiding the sun for a time yielding when faced with its brilliance. It suits him, Wen Ning thinks, this image of a sun. Once they are done making sure everyone is safe, that this terrible future will not come to pass, they should make sure he wears their emblem. He can think of no one else who fits it better.
“You’re right, Wen Ning, so let's get to work!”
“Yes,” Wen Qing nods, “first let’s take a look at the timeline we need to work with.”
“Wait,” Wei Wuxian says, looking at Wen Ning, “before we do anything: Wen Ning, do you want to see the memories too?”
Wen Ning hesitates, looks towards his sister who only shakes her head: this is his decision and his alone, her gaze says. He knows, of course, the gist of what she saw, of what Wei Wuxian lived. He heard the story. Seeing it would be nice, yes, but…
“Not today,” he decides. “We should, we should have at least one person who hasn’t watched them, who has…”
“A somewhat fresh perspective, huh?” Wei Wuxian muses. Neither he nor Wen Qing look upset by his decision, simply accepting.
“A way to cover all our bases,” Wen Qing nods.
They move back to the desk, Wen Ning taking the job of grinding ink and fetching a pot of fresh tea while Wen Qing writes what they need in neat little bullet points lists and Wei Wuxian writes on three different sheets at once, somehow managing to keep track of all his thought processes. When giving him his cup, Wen Ning catches sight of a few talismans that remind him of the Spirit-Repelling talisman — though they look modified, with more lines than he remembers them having — as well as different caricatures of his cousin. Thinking of his likely fate, Wen Ning shudders.
"Alright," Wen Qing says a few minutes later, "I've compiled a rough timeline of the events to come and it seems the turning point is the upcoming conference in a few months. We could maybe stretch it to the indoctrination camp but…"
"Your sect has already started moving," Wei Wuxian says. "The absorption of the minor sects, the Waterborne Abyss in Gusu and even this office… The supposed humiliation Wen Ruohan felt after all his disciples were beaten in the archery competition was a good excuse but he clearly has already decided he’ll go to war one way or another. The more we wait, the more time he’ll have to prepare and the worse the resentment against the Wen Sect will be. We can’t risk that."
"Yes,” Wen Qing nods, crossing a line with her brush, then circling another, “which gives us a few months. That’s very little time to prepare. For now, apart from my men, most of the troops are gathered at Nightless City, to prepare for the conference. But like you said, even if we manage to avoid the humiliation by letting the Wen Sect win something, my uncle will simply find another reason to burn down Cloud Recesses.”
“Are we sure he’ll go for Cloud Recesses?” Wen Ning asks. “W-what if he chooses a different target this time?”
They ponder on it for a moment, before Wei Wuxian shakes his head:
“It’ll be Cloud Recesses. Yunmeng is closer and of a good strategic value, but Cloud Recesses is about the symbol. Destroying the library takes away a big part of our culture, and a place people have fond memories of, which will be a big blow to the morale of the rest of the Jianghu. It’s high up on a mountain, which means it’s hard to take even for an army of cultivators, and makes it a good show of strength and a great intimidation tactic: ‘even hidden in your clouds, you’re not safe, my army can come and burn your home’. Plus, taking Gusu down means isolating Yunmeng, the next logical target. They’ll be surrounded and an easy prey, even with strong fighters like the Violet Spider.”
“And the Lan Sect might have a well-defended home,” Wen Qing adds thoughtfully, “but politically, they’re currently the weakest of the Five Great Sects, with their leader in seclusion. Lan Qiren is a good leader, but he’s also been careful not to take away too much power from the rightful heir, so he’s not establishing himself too much on the political scene. Meanwhile, Jiang Fengmian is a well-known diplomat, even with the distasteful rumors about his marriage, with strong ties to the minors sects surrounding his territory and Jin Guangshan is a coward, but a smart one who has made sure to lick the boots of our uncle to avoid being destroyed. Nie Mingjue is young, yes, but he’s also already an enemy of the Wen and has been preparing to go to war for a long while… They’ve even already gotten into some skirmishes.”
“Bringing us back to our first point: we have to move before the archery competition, before Wen Ruohan acts and before Nie Mingjue can rally the other sects for the Sunshot Campaign. Wen Ruohan is arrogant — the fact he couldn’t bear defeat in a simple contest is proof enough — he won’t be expecting resistance when no one has ever dared tell him no before.”
“We’ll have the element of surprise then,” Wen Qing nods.
“But…” Wen Ning hesitates. “How will you… How will you kill him?”
He doesn’t mean to doubt Wei Wuxian — even without having seen the memories, he knows how powerful the boy before him is. Yet when it comes to Wen Ruohan… His sect leader has always seemed larger than life, the greatest cultivator of his generation, the only one since the legendary Baoshan Sanren to even come close to immortality. With the Sunshot Campaign, killing him took an army and a betrayal. What will it cost them to go against him now?
“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian smiles, warm and reassuring, patting his shoulder, “I have a plan. By the way, Wen Qing, apart from Wen Ruohan and his sons, are there any other people I should kill in priority?”
“Wen Zhuliu will fight until death to protect the sect leader, to honor the debt he owes him — but you knew that. I could give you a list of names, but what help would that be to you?” Wen Qing snorts, “you won’t know what they look like.”
"Well I'll have to deal with the other potential heirs who come before you one way or another..."
"I'm sorry, are you saying you want to make me the new sect leader?"
They start debating what to do once Wen Ruohan is dead and who exactly to put in charge. Wen Qing is of the strong opinion that anyone but her is the better option while Wei Wuxian doesn't think they can trust someone else. Thankfully, neither suggests Wen Ning, who takes the opportunity to go brew more tea rather than take the risk of being drawn into the argument and forced to take a side.
If someone were to ask him, he would say it's too bad Wei Wuxian isn't in the running. Wei Wuxian is an excellent leader, Wen Ning can see it already. He is charismatic, with a good eye for politics and great strategic insight. More importantly, he is righteous and cares for more for others than for his own glory. If he were a Wen, Wen Ning would be honored to call him sect leader. Alas, their actions are treasonous enough — their more moderate sect members might understand their coup if they frame it as a way to save the sect from a tyrannical sect leader, but if the seat of leader leaves the Wen Clan, then they would risk alienating all of the sect, something which they can’t afford when the rest of the major sects will be waiting for any weakness to exploit.
Still, Wen Ning can’t help dreaming a little. It would, he admits guiltily to himself, feel good to spite the people of this other timeline, who thought Wei Wuxian was making his own sect in the Burial Mounds and used this exact rumor to monger fear. To do exactly as they feared; better yet, to allow Wei Wuxian to lead the sect they hate so much… He would like to see it, even if it is petty of him, even if they are no longer quite the same people who killed him and his family.
When he comes back with the new pot of tea, Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian have stopped debating and are instead back to writing down notes in silence. Rather, near silence, as Wen Ning discovers when he comes closer. Wei Wuxian is humming a slow and soft tune under his breaths.
“What a pretty song…” Wen Ning says and Wei Wuxian beams at him.
“It really is, isn’t it? I wish I could remember where I heard it… It sounds so good—”
“It’s the song Lan Wangji sang to you when you were both stuck in that cave and you were delirious with fever.” Wen Qing interrupts. Wei Wuxian gapes at her.
“Wait really? Lan Zhan sang me a song? I think I remember asking him to but… To think he actually did… Aiyah, I feel bad now, to think I forgot about it all!”
“You were barely conscious – even in the memories, it was faint. It’s a wonder you remember it well enough to sing it correctly." Wen Qing retorts with a raised brow.
“It’s only a song, it isn’t that hard! Aiyah, were people right to always complain I have a terrible memory?” Wei Wuxian slaps his thighs as he laughs.
Wen Qing rolls her eyes, “You don’t. I’m guessing part of that rumor came from you constantly ‘forgetting’ your sword? As for the rest… Forgiving grievances would become a lot easier if people would stop remembering every little offense against them. It’s a good philosophy to have, if a little frustrating sometimes. More people should follow it and only remember what is important.”
“Are you saying Jin Zixuan’s bully of a cousin wasn’t important?” Wei Wuxian says, laughing even harder before he stops with a dramatic gasp and a teasing light in his eyes. “Wait, what was his name again?”
“Jin Zixun wishes he was important and I wish I had your talent to forget pompous idiots like him.” She rolls her eyes again, annoyed once more, “honestly, what a little vermin. Once we’re done with my uncle, please tell me we’ll put him in his place.”
“Aren’t we trying to avoid a w-war?,” Wen Ning intervenes before his sister decides being like Wen Ruohan isn’t actually that bad and starts planning to take over the entire Jianghu. “And you just said we needed to forgive and forget…”
“Tsk. You’re right. Always ruining my fun a-Ning,” she sighs, with an over-dramatic pout.
It startles him. It has been a long time since he has seen his sister relax, especially in front of others. Part of it is probably the memories she has seen. Her new familiarity with Wei Wuxian is a stark contrast to how she treated him when she met him. But there’s something else too, a tension in her shoulders that has disappeared, like she can finally share the weight she has been carrying alone for so long.
To see her like this, no longer sitting straight but allowing herself to slouch a little, a soft smile and less lines on her face, Wen Ning feels relieved. His sister might have complained a few times about how Wen Ning has no friends, but he knows she has been lonely too. Her position in their sect meant that most people who approached her did so with hidden intentions. To see her now so obviously content, despite the grim future they are trying to avoid and the sacrifices they will have to make to do so, fills Wen Ning with joy.
“Let’s get back to it,” Wen Qing sighs and straightens. “As much as I hate the idea of leading the sect myself, you’re right that we don’t have many other options. I know a few Elders from my branch of the clan that I’m sure we can trust but they’re either doctors like me who don’t cultivate at all–”
“Like Wen-popo,” Wei Wuxian nods.
“I’ll tell you now because I’m pretty sure you never knew — or if you did, you forgot: her name is Wen Yunxian. I don’t think the Elders will appreciate you calling her Wen-popo without being invited to. Anyway, yes, either they’re like Popo, or they’re traditional cultivators but have no political standing or talent and to give the sect to them would throw us into so much internal conflicts we’d probably self-destruct, no Sunshot Campaign necessary. I might only be a doctor as well and somewhat distantly related but being the ‘favored niece’ should silence most of my worst critics. So fine, I’ll do it. It’ll at the very least give me the freedom to give you an appropriate rank.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen.
“Wait. Wait, wait, what? What rank?”
“What, you think I’ll let you make me sect leader and run off into the sunset?” Wen Qing’s smile takes on a threatening edge, “oh no, you will have to play politics at least as much as me. After all, as a simple doctor, I don’t know what I would do without someone by my side to tell me how to deal with our cultivation matters.”
“Wait, wait, wait, is that a marriage proposal? Because I’m very flattered Wen Qing but I just don’t see you that – ow!” Wei Wuxian yelps when Wen Qing, offended by the suggestion, reaches out to whack him lightly on the head.
“That’s not what I’m suggesting, idiot! I was saying I’d adopt you into the clan! Add you to the family register!”
Wei Wuxian’s protests die out. Once more, he is speechless, though this time, there is a strange vulnerability to his shocked expression.
“What — you, you will?” He whispers, his voice small.
“Of course,” Wen Qing nods, then takes his hand into hers, squeezing it tightly, “if that’s alright with you. I… I’m sure you don’t want to take the name Wen and I would never make you do that. But Wei Wuxian, a-Xian, even if I didn’t need your help to wrangle this terrible political situation, I’d make the offer. You’ve done so much for us. You died for us. And now that you have another chance, you’re here, still trying to help. You’re family and it’s past time we make that official.”
Wen Ning nods at his sister’s words. He has nothing to add, never comfortable with long speeches so he takes Wei Wuxian’s other hand in his, intent to make sure his friend understands how much he approves of this plan.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes redden. His expression— Wen Ning is not proficient with words, and can’t find one appropriate to describe it. Yearning is the closest one. The desperate want to, finally, truly belong, with no place for doubts, no one to reject it.
“… Thank you,” he whispers.
Maybe Wen Qing understands how much those words needed to be said, because she doesn’t complain about them this time. The moment stretches, as they all keep holding each other’s hands, yet another proof of their affection.
Family indeed.
Wen Qing, never one to like being emotionally vulnerable for long, is the first to clear her throat and steps back.
“Enough mushy feelings now, I think I’ve cried enough for today. We still have work to do. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you tried to avoid a-Ning’s question: what is your plan to deal with Wen Ruohan? Last time, you had an army with you. Even if I knew where to find one, we wouldn't have the time.”
“Don’t forget Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian smiles, his teeth appearing just a little too sharp under the light of the candle. “I am a one-army man. People were quick to attribute most of my successes to the Tiger Tally but —”
“— you only used it twice,” Wen Qing finishes for him, face grim. “At Nightless City for the final battle of the war and after… After our death. Even without it you were enough to turn the tide of the war. But you still need fierce corpses.”
“It’s pretty simple: we need an army and a trap. The first one, we can get here, in the Burial Mounds. I’ll send them to Qishan with the order to stay discreet, so they don’t alert Nightless City too soon.”
“How will you make sure they keep obeying your orders if you’re not there to direct them?” Wen Qing asks, skeptical.
“Well…” Wei Wuxian hesitates, “I do have an idea for another talisman, one which gives you some authority on the dead. Not much, but just enough that you can make sure they don’t start any trouble on the way, and that they keep going in the right direction.”
“If I leave, you can be sure this will be reported immediately to my uncle,” Wen Qing immediately objects, shaking her head. “Especially if I leave to go to Qishan.”
“I wasn’t thinking about you doing it actually…” Wei Wuxian smiles, a little awkward, then turns toward Wen Ning who feels a foreboding feeling. “How do you feel about becoming a true Ghost General this time around, as ridiculous as that name is?”
‘Pretty worried’, he doesn’t say. To lead an army of the dead in Wei Wuxian’s place? Can he truly do it? He still has a hard time making himself obey with his fifteen or so men, and they all have a similar temperament to him. He trusts Wei Wuxian, down to his bones for no reason he can fathom but — is the reverse really true? Can Wei Wuxian trust him with such an important duty?
He looks at his sister who stays silent, once again refusing to decide for him.
“How w-would that work?” he asks instead of voicing his doubts. Wei Wuxian shrugs in answer:
“I’ll give you a token, one imbued with both some resentful energy from the Mounds, and my own spiritual energy. Essentially, in the eyes of the dead, you’ll be disguising yourself as… Well, me. It’s an idea I had back when we were stuck in the Burial Mounds. So long as I was stuck there, I could command the dead as much as I wanted but I couldn’t really ask them to obey anyone else who didn’t cultivate the ghostly path. This talisman isn’t as perfected as I’d like it to be — you won’t be able to give them any orders beyond ‘march’, ‘stop’, ‘hide’ and the likes, but for our purpose, it should be enough. Just guide them to Qishan and I’ll join you there. Then hide in a nearby village until I call for you.”
Wen Ning relaxes at the explanation: it’s still more responsibility than he ever expected to have, but at the same time, it’s less than he feared. He will still have to guide the army, to make sure they aren’t seen but —
But Wei Wuxian thinks he can do it.
“— can find another solution if you really don’t want to,” Wei Wuxian is saying, probably trying to reassure him and Wen Ning shakes his head, a small smile on his lips, gratefulness surging through him.
“No wait, I – I’ll do it.”
“Oh good, because I was lying, I don’t know what we would have done if you’d refused,” Wei Wuxian laughs, patting him lightly on the arm.
Wen Qing sighs loudly at his antics, “What about me? I can’t leave but is there anything you want me to do?”
“Ah… Would you mind sending a letter for me? Discreetly of course and I won’t say anything incriminating but I just — I don’t want Shijie to worry too much.”
“Alright, we’ll figure something out. So a-Ning is to be your general and I’m making sure your sister doesn’t lose too much sleep over you. What about you, what will you do in the meantime?”
“Me?” Wei Wuxian smiles, wide and terrifying. “Well I’ll be finding my trap of course.”
“And where are you going to find it?”
“Ever heard of Muxi Mountain?”
“Jiang-guniang there is… Someone here to see you.”
Jiang Yanli turns toward the cultivator with a smile, putting down the knife she was using to cut meat. Her father has left several days ago now, and she hopes that when he comes back, they might share a meal together. She doesn’t know why he left so quickly, with no escort and barely even taking the time to leave the leadership of the sect to one of his advisers. Her mother complained about it, bitter as she always is. She kept ranting until Jiang Yanli distracted her with talk of her upcoming marriage.
Jiang Yanli doesn’t know why her father left, but given how pale he was, it must have been bad and urgent news. When he comes back, he might need some cheering up and so she has been dutifully cooking every day since then, for his return. Even now, despite already having a full pot of hot soup, she keeps preparing more, to distract her mind. It’s popular enough with the younger disciples that it won't be a waste.
“Someone for me? Who?” she asks the cultivator once she is done washing the cooking utensils.
“A street urchin,” his face twists into a slight sneer at the words. “I told him he had no business talking to the young lady of the Jiang Sect but he won’t leave, insists he has to give you something. I’m sorry for bothering you but the disciple guarding the gates told me to ask you about it.”
“I can always spare some time,” she agrees and he bows.
When she leaves the room, she catches his eyes following her. He’s from an older generation, not part of the cute little ones Wei Wuxian is in charge of. Though he is older than her, she is the eldest daughter of the Jiang Clan and he should owe her respect. She isn’t surprised to find none in his gaze.
Jiang Yanli knows what is said about her. That she is weak, in strength and in character. That she is her father's daughter, as if it is a flaw. That she inherited nothing of her mother's character, as if it is a failing.
Jiang Yanli agrees. She is weak. But what the rest of the world doesn't care to know is that it is a choice. She has chosen to be weak, after seeing the pain on people's faces when dealing with the Violet Spider's brand of strength. It might be unfilial of hers, but she is proud to be nothing like her mother. Proud to be weak.
A-Xian would disagree, she idly thinks. He would call her strong. He would say that just because her weapon of choice is kindness and a smile, that it doesn't mean she is weak. He would say that choosing to fight with words doesn't make her any less of a warrior. He actually did say it, several times even, when the rumors of her weakness and plainness became too much and she hadn’t yet learned to hide her hurt from him, lest he goes fight the world for her honor.
And he is right, she acknowledges, she does fight. Jiang Yanli has spent every day of her life fighting. Against her mother's words and her father's tired silence. Against the expectations thrown upon her both as a woman and as a daughter of the Violet Spider.
She fights because she asks questions, rather than staying silent and only learning the care of the household, even if she isn’t allowed to know much. She fights, because she gives out gifts to the street children even though even the Jiang Sect, once so proud of their freedom, has long stopped mingling with the common people. She fights because she cooks for Wei Wuxian and peels seeds for him like he truly is part of a family, rather than the servant her mother insists he is. She fights because even if she could, she would never take up the sword or the whip, and would rather use her hands to nurture than to hurt.
She has bended, several times. Accepted that she would bear witness to more violence than she could hope to stop. But she has never broken. In that way, at least, she is her mother's daughter.
The disciple at the door is one of her a-Xian’s shidi; When he sees her, his plump face lights up in a wide smile and he waves. Next to him must be the child. He is small and dirty, with clothes so worn they have several holes and he only wears one shoe. His face is streaked with dirt and though he stays near the gates, he is just far enough that if he needs to, he will be able to avoid a slap and run away. He looks wary, scared. She has to stop walking, for a moment. He reminds her of Wei Wuxian, when he first came to them, when he was still a-Ying.
When she finally gets close enough to see the boy’s eyes, she almost expects them to be silver.
They aren’t; for some reason, she feels like she can breathe again.
“Hello there,” she says, as gently as she can, but he flinches away as soon as she raises her hand to beckon him closer.
Despite her mother’s disapproval, Jiang Yanli has interacted with the common people, as much as she could. She spoke with the giggling maidens and the curious children who came to watch the disciples’ training, gave away snacks when she had some. But those were the respectable ones, not the orphans and the beggars. Her mother would never allow her to sully her reputation as a young lady by letting her be around what she would see as street trash.
She isn’t sure how to proceed, doesn’t know how to make the child comfortable enough that he would trust her and tell her what he came to see her for. She breathes in, pushes back her feeling of inadequacy. Wei Wuxian would tell her to be herself, she thinks.
“I’ve heard you wanted to talk to me?”
He stares at her, hard and suspicious. He looks cute, as thin and grumpy as he is.
“You Miss Jiang?”
“I am indeed,” she nods, trying to restrain her smile when he frowns at her even harder, as if to guess if she is lying.
“Got a letter for you… But first you must prove it! Prove you’re really Miss Jiang!” he orders, shaking his finger like a warning.
Behind her, she hears the disciple hide his laugh by coughing and she feels her own smile widen.
“I’m not sure how I can do that,” she admits.
“Well! Uh! You can — the man said you made the best soup in the entire world! So you can prove it that way!”
Her breath catches in her throat.
It could be a coincidence of course. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng have both bragged about her soup all over town and beyond. And they are both safe, studying in Cloud Recesses. There isn’t any reason to be worried.
“I—” she starts, her voice breaking a little. “I’m flattered. Do you know the man who told you that?
“I dunno. He was one of you lot, with a sword and all that, except he wore white and red. Not a local either."
White and red – a foreboding feeling invades her, makes her throat tighten and her smile tense. Why would a Wen cultivator be here? How would he know about her soup of all things?
"If I bring you a bowl, would you give me the letter? And tell me more about this man?"
"Sure," he shrugs. He’s obviously trying to look as stone-faced as possible, but his shining eyes at the mention of food betray him.
"Alright then," she says before turning toward the door guard."Excuse me, would you mind going to the kitchen? There should be some soup left. You can share it with our friend here."
"Of course guniang!" The disciple nods with enthusiasm until he realizes it would mean leaving his post. "Um..."
"Don't worry, I'll keep guard until you come back and if anything happens, I'll make sure to scream very loudly."
She winks at him and he laughs, breaking into a jog toward the kitchens.
She waits as patiently as she can, entertaining the boy with silly games and stories she once used on Wei Wuxian and her brother when they were all younger. Worry eats at her chest but it's a familiar sensation, one she's used to hide. The boy doesn't give a name, too wary of her even now, but by the time the disciple comes back with a tray balancing three steaming bowls of soup, he has laughed a few times and gotten close enough that she can ruffle his hair. It feels like a victory.
Despite his relative ease with her, the child clams up as soon as the disciple approaches, so Jiang Yanli suggests they walk a little further to eat, to his obvious relief. The soup is hot enough to scald her mouth yet the child doesn't seem to realize. He gulps it down as fast as he can, swallowing even the biggest meat morsels without chewing.
"Hey... it's alright," she puts her hand on his wrist, "no one will take it away from you."
Wei Wuxian had the same problem when Jiang Fengmian brought him. He was so used to lack food, to see it snatched right before his eyes that no one could convince him to slow down. Finally, the boy stops, only to cough and heave, his bowl still halfway full. He doesn’t thank her but his grip on the bowl, so tight his fingers turn white, tells her that he liked it.
“So, is it as good as you expected?”
“Yeah… it was nice I guess…”
He doesn’t question if she’s truly the one who cooked it — as wary as he is, he’s still a child, too naive to imagine being duped. Instead he holds out the letter, a little crumpled but otherwise untouched. Jiang Yanli tucks it into her sleeve. She asks her questions and the boy answers as much as he can: he didn’t see much of the man’s face, hidden as it was by a brown cloak, but he did catch sight of his eyes once. They weren’t silver. The man wore white and red clothing under the cloak, all well-made — it was how the child noticed him in the first place. The man had a sword, though he never used it. In exchange for delivering the letter, the boy was given sweets, all bought from the local merchants. The man also spoke well, with an accent the child didn’t recognize.
“He was… Nice, I guess,” the boy concludes, shrugging. “Nicer than most.”
“I see… Thank you. If you ever see him again, would you mind coming to tell me? I’d like to thank him for the letter myself,” she pauses.
Weighs her choices.
Makes her decision.
“In fact, if you come see me when my mother isn’t home, I’ll try to make you another bowl of soup. It’ll be our secret.”
His face breaks into an adorable smile, with a tooth gap and dimples and he nods. He doesn’t ask who her mother is. Everyone in town already knows the Violet Spider.
“Thanks jiejie! You better keep your promise!”
Without a warning he comes up to her and hugs her leg before sprinting away. Jiang Yanli can’t help but laugh at his cheek. Someone behind her laughs as well, making her jump.
Her father is back.
He looks haggard and a little broken; the news can’t be good. It’s the first time she’s seen her father come home with no smile on his face at all.
“Father,” she says. “Welcome back. Have you eaten?”
“A-Li, you truly are… Always so gentle.”
She doesn’t know what to say to that. He must have watched her talk with the boy. Has he seen the letter? He says nothing more, only musters a ghost of his usual smile and gently, carefully, as if he is afraid she might break or disappear, puts his hand on her shoulder. Jiang Fengmian has a reputation as a gentle man. He always has a kind word, always knows what to say.
He also has always been distant, even to his own children. Jiang Yanli doesn’t blame him, yet this gesture, so simple in appearance, makes her breath hitch. She wants to ask, but before she can speak someone else does:
“So, you’re finally back? Where have you run off too?”
Jiang Yanli flinches without quite meaning to. Her father must feel it, because he squeezes her shoulder once before letting go to face his fuming wife.
“My lady—“
“And you A-Li!” Madam Yu interrupts, walking closer to pinch Jiang Yanli’s cheeks. “What are you doing here, gallivanting, don’t you have anything better to do? Have you looked at the state of your robes? Did you go roll yourself in filth?”
With her cheeks pinched, Jiang Yanli can’t look away from her mother’s red face to check exactly how dirty she has gotten. Playing with the little boy must have left dust and dirt on her. Her mother’s nails hurt but she bears it, waits until her ire turns back on her father. It always does.
“My lady, A-Li was surely just checking on her shidi at the door. You can’t —“
“I can’t? What can’t I do? Am I not the lady of the house? Or are you calling me by that name to soften me up in the hopes I’ll forget you just left your responsibilities behind?”
“My lady, I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly but I received an urgent letter that required me to,” Jiang Fengmian sighs. “I would have talked to you about it, but you were away on a night hunt at the time and —“
“Oh so it’s my fault now, huh? Why don’t you come out and say it?”
“That’s not what I —“
“Fine it’s my fault as always! What was that urgent business anyway? It better have been worth the loss of face you gave us!”
“My lady…”
Jiang Yanli flinches again as the argument gains in volume and intensity. They are still near the doors, bringing the attention of every disciples training in the courtyard as well as the people outside the sect proper. Yunmeng inhabitants, from the merchants to the beggars, are all used to the shouting matches between the Jiang sect leader and his wife, although calling them matches is a bit of a misnomer. It’s not like Jiang Fengmian ever manages to win one.
As she stands there, forgotten in the background, she knows that this argument, like all the others, will feed the rumors even more. Her cheeks burn, not from the forgotten pain of her mother’s nails, but because of the shame the curious looks bring her. A sharp bitterness fills her mouth: for all her talk about the reputation of the sect, her mother doesn’t seem to mind making their family matters into a public spectacle. As soon as the thought crosses her mind she hunches on herself, even more ashamed. How unfilial of her. Instead of complaining, she should distract her parents, make sure they go back inside so they can talk in private. She should do something, not just watch helplessly.
Wei Wuxian’s name startles her out of her thoughts.
“Why should I care that the brat decided to leave?” Madam Yu sneers, her voice taking on the shrill quality it always does when it comes to Wei Wuxian. “Good riddance! He finally learned his place!”
“My lady, he could be in danger —“
“So? Why should I care? So he crawled back to the dirt hole he came from, I say it’s his funeral! He always brought trouble with him anyway! Always ungrateful, lazy and arrogant to boot! Thinking he’s above a-Cheng! Did you even remember to check on your son? Or did you just go to see where your bastard had disappeared to?”
“My lady!”
“What? Can’t I tell the truth? Everyone knows about your cute little love for Cangse Sanren!”
They go on and on, finally moving away from the doors and back into the main building, as Jiang Fengmian tries to flee and Madam Yu chases after him. Jiang Yanli follows them, quiet as a mouse.
The letter in her sleeve burns her wrist, while her heart is frozen in ice. Her a-Xian disappeared? He left, with no warning or reason? She can’t believe that. Yet the words the child said come back to her mind: ‘the best soup in the world’. If the letter comes from Wei Wuxian, it would make sense that he used her soup as a way to identify her… But why leave at all? Was he that unhappy in the Cloud Recesses? Why not come home then? Or did something else happen, something her father isn’t aware of?
Her parents are no longer yelling about Wei Wuxian, or even Jiang Cheng. Instead they are arguing about her now:
“What do you mean you want to cancel A-Li’s engagement?! You can’t, I won’t let you!”
“It’s already done my lady. I couldn’t let the insults go —“
“Hah, what did Jin Zixuan even say? What does it matter! This engagement has been years in the making, he’ll know better soon enough!”
“He insulted her beauty, her intelligence, her honor! He did so in public, showing how little he respects her! I don’t want to trap our daughter —“
“Oh, like you’re trapped, you mean? As if you care! He would have learned better, if he knew what was good for him! Did you even think to ask what A-Li’s thoughts were before you went and talked with Jin Guangshan? Of course you didn’t, you never do! Selfish as always!”
“Enough!“
“Shut up shut up shut up! What ‘enough’! Don’t you try and tell me ‘enough’ Jiang Fengmian!”
Jiang Yanli stops following them after that. They keep going, circling around back to Wei Wuxian’s leaving — her mother bitterly mentioning that even as he left, he brought shame by fleeing like a coward instead of properly returning all that the sect gave him, all the debts he owed them — then to Jiang Cheng’s temper and his careless words, to Jiang Fengmian’s lack of responsibility as a father, to Madam Yu’s terrible temper. On and on it goes, the blame getting thrown back and forth between them.
She feels so tired, all of a sudden. She wants to scream but can’t find her voice.
She goes to her room instead, kneels at her writing desk and slowly, quietly unfolds the letter. She takes some time to admire the beautiful calligraphy her a-Xian seldom uses and commits every stroke to memory, tracing them slowly with her finger. Wei Wuxian used to complain that his mind was too quick for proper calligraphy, that he’d only learn it to make her proud and would happily go back to his usual chicken scratch once that was done and over with. She answered that as long as he enjoyed himself, it was fine if he wrote properly or not, that the important thing was that he knew how to properly write for important occasions.
‘How will you write a heartfelt letter’, she said, ‘if no one but you can read it?’
She remembers that he looked at her strangely and asked her who he would ever write a letter to.
‘All the people I love are here, Shijie!’ He answered and didn’t look convinced when she told him that perhaps one day he would want to woo a maiden with a pretty poem…
So she reminded him that once she married Jin Zixuan, she would leave the Jiang Sect and that she would like letters from him, to know how he was doing. He’d promised her then, to always send her the prettiest letters he could write because, in his words, she deserved the best.
She is not married yet, no longer even has a betrothed… But now that Wei Wuxian is the one who has left instead, he still remembered that silly promise. He has disappeared and still took the time to write her something and to make it as beautiful as he could.
Shijie,
I’m okay I promise.
I had to leave. There are things to be done, people I had to help and... I needed to.
Thank you and I'm sorry.
If you’ll allow me, you will always be my Shijie and I will always be your Xianxian.
With a shaking hand, she burns it and gathers the ashes to hide them in a potted flower that only she takes care of.
Wei Wuxian is strong where she is weak. He has taken to protecting her, even from his own worries. That he says so plainly that he needed to leave, that the strokes became uneven, like the hand writing them was shaking... It means something, though Jiang Yanli can only begin to guess what.
She wishes he came back, if only to say goodbye. She wishes she could hug him and soothe his pain. Selfishly, she wishes he would soothe hers. He always has known what to say. With him gone and Jiang Cheng still in the Cloud Recesses, she has never felt so alone.
Jiang Yanli lets out a shuddering breath, and opens the window to hide the smell of burning paper.
Wei Wuxian needed to leave, she sternly reminds herself. As sad as it makes her, she will respect his wishes. She can only hope to see him again soon, so she can reassure him that of course, he will stay her Xianxian and she will always be his Shijie.
Her mind goes back to the news that her engagement will soon be broken. She isn’t sure how to feel about that. Her mother is angry of course but Jiang Yanli… isn’t. She has known for a while that Jin Zixuan didn’t like her, that he found her plain and boring. She has tried, ever since they were children, to talk and get to know him but he never reciprocated her efforts.
He is handsome of course and, she knows from observing him from afar, someone with a good heart when he doesn’t let his arrogance drive him. He is a good cultivator, smart and well-read if a bit awkward around others.
She liked him. She can admit that.
She liked the idea of being married to him, having a life with someone kind, building something out of a betrothal neither of them asked for. She was ready to make the most of her circumstances.
It was fine if he rejected her efforts — they would have the time to get to know each other once they were married after all. But it seems he was more resentful than she realized, that his opinion of her was so low he didn’t mind insulting her openly.
She tries to be angry — at Jin Zixuan, for the insults, at her mother, for dismissing them as unimportant, at her father, for never asking her opinion — but she only feels tired. Tired and sad, with tears pricking her eyes and her throat tightening around a silent sob.
‘Don’t cry Shijie’ she can hear in her mind and she feels her lips stretch into a smile at the thought.
Wei Wuxian isn’t here, but even absent, he gives her strength. This isn’t the time to cry for a boy who won’t appreciate her for who she is. Her prospects aren’t ruined no matter what her mother says. She will find someone better.
She steels her resolve and goes back to the kitchen. She may not be able to feed her a-Xian, but maybe her father will appreciate some soup. There’s still more than enough for him anyway. The yelling has finally subsided, at least for today and he will probably avoid the dining hall until her mother leaves on another night hunt.
As she carefully prepares the tray, her feelings settling down, she takes the time to organize her thoughts.
Red and white with a sword can only mean a Wen cultivator. The closest town with a Wen presence is Yiling, but Jiang Yanli knows she won't be able to go there without an escort, even if she finds a good enough excuse to give her mother. The letter was so short, nothing to tell her if Wei Wuxian truly went to Yiling, although she remembers he spent some time there as a child. Maybe if a second letter comes, she will learn more but for now she can’t take the risk. Not without being sure.
However, in a few months, after the disciples come back from their studies, there should be a sect conference in Qishan. If she can go, it will be an excellent opportunity to see if she can find any answers: even if the messenger himself doesn’t come, she might be able to learn who he is.
Yes, she has to go to that sect conference.
If her mother asks for a reason, she’ll mention wanting to cheer for Jin Zixuan during the different contests, that maybe there is a way to get back into his good graces, to accept the apology his own mother is sure to force him to say. If she times it right and asks when her mother is in a good mood, then she should be able to secure her permission, if only so the marriage Madam Yu has been planning since before her daughter’s birth will take place.
In the meanwhile, she will cook as many snacks that are easily preserved as she can, and hopes for a second letter and the chance to answer it. If it never comes, she’ll simply give the snacks away.
Her father is in his office, still tired. He has paperwork on his desk, but his brush is dry and his gaze lost somewhere far away.
“Father? Can I come in?”
“A-Li!” he jumps when he notices her, before smiling. “Of course, come in…”
“I brought you some food, are you hungry?”
“Ah… Thank you a-Li.”
He makes some space on his desk for the tray, but doesn’t touch it, only looking at it with an emotion in his eyes that Jiang Yanli doesn’t recognize.
“A-Li… About your betrothal, I’m sorry,” he finally says, still looking at the bowl of soup.
“It’s alright father… I — I know you did what you thought was best.”
“You truly are such a gentle girl… And so strong too,” he sighs. “If you truly want to marry the Jin boy, and if he makes amends for his words, I will accept to reenter the marriage negotiations. I don’t want to trap you in an unhappy marriage a-Li, but I didn’t mean to disregard your feelings either.”
Trap her, he says. ‘Like him in his own marriage’, her mother’s voice echoes in the silent room, loud even in her absence. Jiang Yanli nods, finding it easier to smile. Maybe Jin Zixuan will not want to properly apologize, maybe his pride will only let him bury any idea of a marriage between them but… To know that for once she has a choice…
“Thank you father,” she whispers gratefully and he nods back with a smile of his own.
“It’s nothing… Thank you for the meal a-Li. Did you want anything else?”
Officially, it’s his prerogative to let her come to a sect conference or not, even though if Madam Yu disagrees, there’s usually little choice but to listen to her.
“I had a favor to ask father —“
“Zongzhu! Zongzhu!! There’s urgent news!”
They both jump as a disciple barges in, yelling at the top of his lungs. Jiang Fengmian rises, a look of alarm on his face. Jiang Yanli feels herself tense up. What now?
“It’s Wen Ruohan, zongzhu!” the disciple coughs, catching his breath. “He’s – he’s dead!”
Wen Ruohan is in his throne room, when the news comes.
He is preparing for the upcoming conference, patiently waiting for when the new generation of disciples come back from their studies at Cloud Recesses. A disgrace, that the Lan did not see fit to invite his sons, not that Wen Ruohan would have let them join. He would have seen no reason to: the teachings of his own sect are far superior.
Now there’s an idea to keep for a later time: to have the other sects, including the so-called Great Sects, learn the Wen precepts instead of their own, to make them finally kneel to their betters.
It is truly amusing, to see how far they will let him go before finally their frustration and pride force them to act. How low they will sink on their own. So far, no protests have been officially issued, despite his spies telling him there is plenty of dissatisfaction when he is not in earshot. The minor sects he has swallowed in his own, the matter of the Waterborne Abyss that his men have sent into the Lan territory, the Yiling Supervisory Office in Yunmeng Jiang and soon, the upcoming conference.
He isn’t sure yet, what humiliation he will inflict on the sects. Perhaps he will sit Wen Xu with the sect leaders, and fashion himself a throne to show them their true place: beneath him. No, even better: Wen Xu might decide to participate in the hunt, so Wen Chao shall be with the sect leaders. His youngest son has shown himself to be useless at everything except offending anyone he talks to; this task will be perfect for him.
“Father!”
Wen Ruohan raises a brow, and the Elders he has been working with all shuffle or chuckle nervously when the son he was just thinking about barges into the room, quickly followed by his personal guard.
“Father quick! It’s an emergency!” he shouts, throwing himself at the foot of the dais.
“Chao-er,” Wen Ruohan says and the room immediately goes silent. “Are you in such a hurry that you forgot your manners?”
Wen Chao, his face already white and sweaty, pales even further.
“S-sorry father! Greetings to the Sect Leader and honored Elders! It’s an emergency father!”
“I heard. What is going on then, that you must interrupt my meeting?”
There is an army at their doors, his second son tells him, knees shaking and face ashen. An impossible army, of fierce corpses and resentful ghosts. They are led by a man in black with red eyes. A demon, Wen Chao stammers, a demon come to destroy them. The Burial Mounds in the flesh, come for vengeance for suppressing its resentment for too long.
Unlike his son, Wen Ruohan is not a man easy to scare. He has come so close to immortality, grown his golden core so much he can taste its power in the air, the first in many generations — since Baoshan Sanren herself, some might say. He is the leader of the most powerful Sect in the world and since he has taken the mantle, has made sure that the rest of the Jianghu knows it. Some of his men have taken to calling him an incarnation of the Sun and because worship serves his plans well, he allows it.
When his son begs for guidance on what to do, he simply gets up from his throne, robes billowing around him.
“It seems we have unexpected guests. It would be remiss of us not to greet them.” He tells his guards.
“Yes, Zongzhu!”
“Wen Zhuliu,” He says next, “you will come with me.”
His son has no energy left to protest, still kneeling on the floor and shaking like a leaf. A servant will come to collect him soon enough, so Wen Ruohan has no qualms leaving him there. The throne room is far enough from the entry of the palace, and protected by many guards. Wen Chao will be fine.
The courtyard is a flurry of movement, his disciples running around to give at least an illusion of organization. Wen Ruohan has trained them to be better than that, but he supposes no one would have expected the dead of Qishan to come knocking at their door. He feels slightly curious — his sect didn’t become the best in the Jianghu by staying idle. Even if some of his disciples recently chased out a Waterborne Abyss rather than taking the time to cleanse it, there shouldn’t be enough restless dead to make an army, at least not near Nightless City.
‘The dead of the Burial Mounds,’ Wen Chao said?
How strange.
Once his men are positioned, ready to let loose arrows and talismans, he descends the stairs, his sword loosely held in his hand.
“Open the doors,” he orders, a confident smile on his face. “Let us greet our guests.”
The doors of Nightless City creak open and let this so-called army in.
Wen Chao is a boy with a… productive imagination. When he came in, stuttering about an army, Wen Ruohan let himself have some doubts. Surely the boy, clearly terrified out of his mind, was exaggerating. Now that he stands before it, he understands that army truly is the right word. The dead amass near the gates, waiting to be let in, some little more than skeletons. A few are incomplete, dragging themselves by the arms. Ghosts appear and disappear from sight, sometimes humanoid enough, usually just as monstrous as the corpses. It is an impressive sight, he can admit.
What strikes him as off is that no one saw this army coming until it was at their doors; which implies intelligence, foresight, preparation. Even now, they wait, moaning and groaning and howling their resentment, but standing still.
Someone is leading this army, organizing it so it can siege Nightless City.
How insolent. How entertaining.
Wen Ruohan waits in front of his men, the gracious king that he is. He waits for the man in black, this daring leader to show himself and challenge him — for it is obviously what this army is here for.
It is no man who walks in, followed by his gastly soldiers. It is no more than a boy, a sword strapped to his hip and another in his hand, reeking resentful energy. A black flute with a red tassel hangs from his belt. This boy walks with a limp, slight but noticeable. His face is red with an angry wound, barely missing his left eye. In his other hand, there is the head of a beast. Every step he takes, black blood drips onto the ground. Despite the army at his back and the weapons in his hand, he has a pleasant expression and an easy smile on his lips.
Wen Ruohan knows this boy, though they have never met.
Wei Wuxian, the head disciple of the Jiang Sect, the fourth ranked in the list of top cultivators in his generation despite his lack of lineage, who has been missing from the Cloud Recesses lectures for a little more than a month now.
Cangse Sanren’s only son.
Wen Ruohan’s nephew.
His smile widens. Has Jiang Fengmian finally found the courage to tell the boy of his heritage? Has Wei Wuxian decided that, rather than living as the son of a servant, he would try his hand at leading the greatest of the Sects?
“Greetings, Wen-zongzhu,” the boy bows.
Polite, even in the middle of an invasion? Wen Ruohan is almost impressed. The latest rumors have painted him as an arrogant boy who left his studies because he couldn’t take the pressure true young masters have to live with. ‘This is what you get, when you let servants learn with their masters!’ one of his spy wrote about the matter, clearly unaware that this particular letter would be of interest to his sect leader.
Wen Ruohan knew, even then, that those rumors couldn’t be trusted. Neither the Lan nor the Jiang know what to do with talent when it doesn’t come from their main clan. Ants, all of them.
It’s no surprise to have the confirmation that they are as stupid and wasteful as he expected.
It is a bit disappointing that even as he bows, Wei Wuxian stays alert, ready to take on any blows. As good with words as Wen Ruohan is — a must, for any competent leader and he is far more than simply competent — it doesn’t look like Wei Wuxian will be open to negotiation. A shame that he will have to kill his own nephew but that was already an eventuality he had already prepared for. It will simply happen sooner than he thought.
At least Wei Wuxian will have the honor of dying by his hand.
“Hello Wei Wuxian.”
The boy blinks, startled. He recovers quickly, though the hand holding the resentful sword shakes a little. Nerves? Surprise? Or is his control on the resentment linked to his emotions, and taking him off guard will make him slip up? Something to keep in mind, in any case.
“This one is honored that Wen-zongzhu knows his name.”
Interesting. Is the boy still ignorant of their relationship? Why, then, is he attacking? He stands alone, with an unorthodox method of cultivation. Oh, Wen Ruohan isn’t judging, but last he knew, the boy was deeply attached to his affiliation to the Jiang. Yet here he is, wearing simple robes like a common rogue cultivator. At least, dressed like this, he looks like his mother, though she favored white.
“Of course I do,” he says, keeping his posture relaxed. “It would be remiss of me to not know my own nephew’s name.”
One of his disciples gasps in the background, audible even amidst the moans of the dead. Wen Ruohan casts a look toward his men, who all straighten up. They know that once this business is done with, a punishment will be in order. He trained them to be better than that after all.
Wei Wuxian takes advantage of the short distraction to regain control of his own expression.
“Haha,” he laughs, betraying his nervousness, “I didn’t know Wen-zongzhu liked to joke.”
“Ah, but I am not joking,” Wen Ruohan corrects, pleased that he can use the information to keep Wei Wuxian off-footed. “Did your Sect leader not tell you? Jiang Fengmian was always a coward, bowing down to his wife even as she eats away all the authority he is supposed to have.”
The boy doesn’t answer, which is certainly impressive. Given his young age, Wen Ruohan would have expected a provocation like that to be enough to make him attack. Oh, he looks angry, with his clenched teeth and his fist tight around the black sword, but his feet don’t move. Wen Ruohan could almost compliment him.
“Insulting those who aren’t here to defend themselves is beneath you, Wen-zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says, a sharp grin back on his face.
Wen Ruohan is about to answer when there is a sudden shout from behind him:
“You! How dare you speak to my father this way!”
Wen Chao has come out, emboldened by his father’s presence and the hundred of disciples between him and the dead. Even with his newfound courage, he doesn’t dare go further than down the first few steps of the stairs leading to the sun palace. Wen Ruohan sighs. He will have to give out quite a few punishments. His son should be safe where he is standing, but it’s still an unnecessary risk. Wen Chao should know better.
Wen Zhuliu shifts behind him, prompting Wen Ruohan to bring his attention back to Wei Wuxian and — oh.
How interesting.
There is hate on the boy’s face. His smile is still there but it has taken a threatening edge, something wide and hungry, fueled by the resentment surrounding him. His eyes turn a burning red, his stare locked on Wen Chao. Three ghost maidens leave the mass of the dead army to come closer, their own face distorted by a long tongue and sharp teeth, but a quick glance from Wei Wuxian is enough to make them retreat again, still hissing in Wen Chao’s direction.
So this is why he has an army at his gates, hm? Wen Ruohan doesn’t know when or where they met, but such hate and rage is difficult to fake. Clearly, Wen Chao has done something to earn the ire of Wei Wuxian and has then neglected telling his father. Unsurprising.
Wen Ruohan hums, considering. His youngest son is, frankly, a disappointment. Usually, he wouldn’t consider sacrificing his own blood to appease an adversary but — Wei Wuxian is his nephew after all. And to have this much power at his fingertips… It is tempting to offer Wen Chao’s head for Wei Wuxian’s loyalty.
Wei Wuxian’s gaze finally comes back toward Wen Ruohan and, as if he knows the turn Wen Ruohan’s thoughts have taken, his grin becomes almost wry.
“My apologies, Wen-zongzhu. I don’t mean to make you feel neglected.”
“No apologies needed,” he answers, “has my youngest son done something to offend you?”
“Not yet,” is the answer Wei Wuxian gives, cryptic. “But you were telling me of our blood relation and I confess I find myself curious. I’d like to hear the story before I kill you.”
Another gasp from his disciples and a few shouts from Wen Chao. Wen Ruohan clicks his tongue and with a sharp gesture, sends Wen Zhuliu to Wen Chao so he will stop being a nuisance. As soon as Wen Zhuliu moves, Wei Wuxian’s eyes are on him, tracking him carefully.
This, too, is interesting. Few outside his sect know exactly how dangerous Wen Zhuliu is. They hear his nickname and draw their own conclusion, but Wen Zhuliu being a simple guard, a servant, means that he is almost always underestimated. No cultivators dare to imagine exactly what it means, to be called the Core-Melting Hand, unless they have been witnesses to his terrible technique.Yet Wei Wuxian, who has no reason to know the truth, has decided that between Wen Ruohan and Wen Zhuliu, the latter is the bigger threat, at least for now.
Wei Wuxian proves to be truly full of surprises.
Wen Ruohan narrows his eyes. He will have to order some cleaning done once his nephew has been dealt with. For him to know so much, there must be a few rats squirreling about, revealing secrets they shouldn’t. Maybe Wen Chao boasted too much when he met Wei Wuxian and made himself the target of his hatred.
“You certainly are sure of yourself,” he says. “Arrogance doesn’t suit you, nephew.”
“What about you then, Jiufu?” Wei Wuxian retorts, his grin wide and the familial name thrown like a challenge. “Isn’t it arrogant of you, to keep talking when you could just slay me where I stand?”
“Take care, nephew, not to take advantage of my goodwill,” Wen Ruohan warns. “You have an army of ghosts and corpses at your command, but if I strike you down, they will be easy to deal with.”
Wei Wuxian’s only answer is to widen his smile. His dead groan and shuffle but do not attack. Fine then, Wen Ruohan would be disappointed if the boy didn’t have at least a few tricks up his sleeve. He’ll discover them all, before their conversation is over. How hard could it be? Wei Wuxian may be a cultivation prodigy, but ultimately, he is only a fifteen year old boy.
“You asked for the story,” he says.
Wen Ruohan has little qualms about killing Wei Wuxian; they may be family in blood, but he is prepared for greater sacrifices to reach his ultimate goal. Still, he supposes his nephew deserves to die knowing the truth and it costs little for Wen Ruohan to tell it.
“So I did,” Wei Wuxian nods, and in a dramatic fashion, plants his black sword in the ground, in the middle of the red sun engraved on one of the stone slabs so he can rest his arm on the handle. When Wen Ruohan purses his lips in disapproval, his only reaction is to smile a cocky smirk. “I’m all ears, Jiufu.”
Next to the sword, Wei Wuxian lets the head of the best fall, still oozing its black blood. An impressive kill certainly, though Wen Ruohan wonders what aim the boy had in dragging the head to Qishan. Perhaps it is another source of resentment, to feed his hungry ghosts?
"It is a simple story. After me, my parents had another child, a daughter. Some of their political enemies thought it smart to kidnap her, though I never learned if it was for ransom or blackmail. My parents sent search parties of course, and scoured the entirety of Qishan to find her again but soon after, a terrible storm devastated the region, erasing the kidnappers’ traces and making the search difficult. When months passed without any news, my parents had to admit defeat and declared her dead.
I learned much later from your mother’s mouth, who heard it from her grandmaster, that the bandits hired to guard her were all swept in the storm, when a nearby river burst its banks. The few that survived fled without caring that their charge had been left behind. She was found almost dead amidst the ruins of their camp by Baoshan Sanren, who thought her an unlucky orphan and took her back to her mountain.”
Wei Wuxian ponders for a moment, leaning his weight on the sword. Black blood slowly pools at his feet, tainting the ground. Wen Ruohan eyes it in distaste.
“That’s a terrible story Zongzhu, and I’m sorry your parents had to go through such a tragedy. But how did you recognize my mother, if even Baoshan Sanren didn’t?”
“A good question. For my first month celebration, I was given an anklet of gold and jade. It didn’t bear the symbol of our sect, but it was still commissioned especially for me. When my sister had her own celebration, my mother asked for another anklet, identical to the first, then paid the artisan to make sure no other would be made hereafter.
When your mother descended from the mountain, she first went to the Lan, as it was the time for the new generation of heirs to go study there. It was there that she met your father though they didn't start courting until later. She enjoyed her stay there a great deal even if she didn't appreciate their more restrictive rules," Wei Wuxian snorts, "and decided to take the time to go study at every Great Sect who would allow her, as a way to exchange knowledge with them. Because she was a student of Baoshan Sanren, most accepted, including ours. It was during her time here that I recognized the anklet and asked her where she had found it. She told me that it was with her when Baoshan Sanren found her, the only legacy of her birth family.
I told her the truth there and then, showed her my own anklet and offered to bring her back into the Wen Clan. But your mother was rather attached to her freedom. The life of a young noble lady didn't appeal to her; I suspect part of it was that she had already decided your father was the man she intended to marry and knew they would already face difficulties without adding to their difference in status. She refused my offer and when the time came, left Qishan to go to the next sect she intended to visit."
"And you just... let her?" Wei Wuxian asks, arching a disbelieving eyebrow.
"I must seem quite cruel in your eyes, nephew, for you to doubt me. The truth is, I was quite jealous of her freedom at the time, and wouldn't dream of clipping her wings when she didn't desire it. For all we didn't know each other well, we were family. Birds belong in the sky, not in golden cages. That is something Jiang Fengmian never learned,” Wei Wuxian twitches at the name of his guardian and Wen Ruohan’s smile deepens. He found a sensitive subject it seems. “Though Cangse didn't take the Wen surname, we kept in contact through letters. Alas, we lost touch by the time she eloped — your mother didn’t want to tarnish my name by keeping in contact when she had just made such a scandal. When I finally learned of her death, I was told you and your father had died with her. Jiang Fengmian is the only one who refused to believe it and kept searching until he found you."
Wen Ruohan remembers calling him a fool, for refusing to see the obvious. Yet in the end Jiang Fengmian had been right, had found Wei Wuxian starving on the streets and instead of bringing him to his surviving family, had decided to keep him as a mere servant. Wen Ruohan has suffered few defeats as bitter as this one. Making the same mistake as his parents before him and leaving one of his own to be saved by another, to be raised by another… Even the reminded brings a frown to his face.
Wei Wuxian looks thoughtful, as if debating whether to believe Wen Ruohan or not. So distrustful, for a boy barely more than fifteen. He must have been taught to be wary of the Wen. He is right to be, of course, but Wen Ruohan finds it regrettable.
“Did Jiang-shushu… Did he know? Was he aware?”
Ah, a perfect opportunity. Wei Wuxian doesn’t quite stutter his question, but doubt fills his voice all the same. The black sword buzzes under his weight, another hint that its control is linked to Wei Wuxian’s emotional state. Wen Ruohan restrains a pleased smile. It will be even easier than he thought, to bring his daring nephew to his knees.
“He was. I don’t know exactly when your mother told him, but when I approached him after learning of your survival, he already knew of our relationship.” His mouth twists unhappily, “yet he said that, since neither you nor your mother had been added to the family register, he could not give you to me, that he owed your mother a life debt and that gave him the greater claim on you.”
Wei Wuxian frowns when he mentions the life debt:
“He… owed my mother?”
“Ah yes,” Wen Ruohan nods, pleased to see more doubt appear. Maybe winning him over isn’t such a lost cause if he plays this right, “He didn’t tell you much, did he? Your mother once saved him, your father and Lan Qiren during a night hunt. Your mother delighted in telling the story, especially the part where she shaved Lan Qiren’s beard in retaliation. He was, I believe, the one who put them in danger in the first place, although it didn’t help that Jiang Fengmian preferred trusting another young master rather than his own servant when Wei Changze, sensible young man that he was, warned them they were getting in over their heads. Cangse and him eloped soon after.”
“You’re saying that my mother didn’t trust the Jiang sect, and Jiang-shushu in particular, with my father’s safety. That it’s why they left,” Wei Wuxian notes with narrowed eyes.
Wen Ruohan doesn’t let his satisfied smile show, letting his nephew come to his own conclusion. It is a slight bending of the truth — not enough to truly be called a lie, but just enough to allow the seeds of doubts already planted to grow. Truthfully, although she was quite cross for a time, he doesn’t think either Cangse Sanren or Wei Changze left the Jiang Sect with grievances against it. Cangse Sanren always insisted on forgetting the bad and remembering the good. Even if she had held a grudge, she never would have wanted it to influence their son’s opinion. No, the reason she and her husband left the Jiang is quite simple: the call of the road was simply too strong to ignore.
“Would you tell me about my mother, Jiufu?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Did she truly hold a grudge for so long that she parted on bad terms with Jiang-shushu?”
He looks torn between innocent curiosity and the sad resignation children get when they learn that adults will lie.
“Your mother wasn’t a resentful woman,” Wen Ruohan answers, “but she could be quite protective. She would have wanted you to be safe. Am I wrong to say you would have been safer, had you grown with me?”
Wei Wuxian flinches, his eyes closed as if in pain. When he opens them again, he looks determined and Wen Ruohan knows their peaceful talk has almost come to an end.
“Do you think so? What do you think my mother would say, when you are planning to drown the world in blood for your own ego?”
His disciples, who have until now stayed silent, start whispering. Whether they are angry with Wei Wuxian’s claims or think being in a crowd will hide them from their sect leader’s wrath and allow them to speak their minds, Wen Ruohan doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly care. How dare they?
“Silence!” He snaps, before turning back to Wei Wuxian. ”I thought I told you to watch your words, nephew. No one likes a loose tongue.”
“I’m afraid quite a few maidens would disagree with you, uncle,” Wei Wuxian answers. Despite his cheeky answer, he no longer wears his smile.
“Such insolence will cost you. I’m sure a little trip under my Sun Palace will help you understand the value of silence.”
Wei Wuxian laughs, drawing his sword in a single, fluid movement. There is nothing happy about that laugh — if Wen Ruohan were a weaker man, it would give him shivers. Instead, it makes him angry.
“You talk, and talk, and talk. I used to say the Jin were the peacocks but honestly, you’re not much better. You didn’t even notice, did you Wen-zongzhu?”
Wei Wuxian laughs again, harder, harsher, louder. He dances away before Wen Ruohan can cut his leg off with his sword, not even bothering to try and parry — he must be aware of their difference in strength. He falls silent yet his laugh remains, like an echo, except no. Wei Wuxian isn’t the one laughing — his army is. Hundreds of ghosts cackling and advancing, ready to tear down on the order of their masters. The cranes of skeletons snapping their jaws at the feet of his cultivators.
Wen Ruohan snarls before he can help it, ready to shut this little whelp up. He feels angry, enraged and that can’t be, he is a master of his emotions, he —
“You didn’t, you really didn’t,” Wei Wuxian says, looking a little surprised, “That’s hilarious, dear Jiufu! Was my acting that good? You kept talking of my mother, trying to make me doubt the few lessons she gave me! My mother was a good woman who taught me to let go of my grudges, to always try to do the right thing and you know what? No matter how much she liked you, no matter that you were her family, if she’d lived to see you try to take over the Jianghu, killing and torturing and pillaging she would have stopped you. Since she’s dead, I’ll do it in her stead.”
He whistles and finally, the resentment that Wen Ruohan has just noticed, that has been pooling under his feet, spread by the corrupted blood of a dead beast and the sword in the ground, surge. Is that what makes him so angry, what makes the ghosts yowl their joy and the corpses roar, fiercer than ever?
On the walls, talismans he doesn’t recognize glow red.
The gates slam shut.
How did he not notice this? Were that sword, that head and its dripping blood… traps? A distraction, to hide the resentment slowly spreading? A conduit? What else has he missed?
“What have you done?!” he screams, slashing upward to destroy a female ghost too close, concentrating his own qi at the same time, to fight the interference of the resentment.
He hears his son howling — no, his sons, both of them, they are crying and begging for him, for anyone. When did Wen Xu get here? How did he miss so much? Wen Ruohan turns around to call for Wen Zhuliu, but there is too much chaos around. Disciples run toward the walls and the doors, clawing at them when they find them locked tight. Some have abandoned entirely the idea of a fight, kneeling on the ground and begging for mercy like the cowards they are. Once he is done with this, he will make sure to execute any survivors.
The black smoke of resentment has invaded the entire courtyard and keeps spreading. Even if he were to jump high enough to escape it, he wouldn’t be able to see anything else. The melodious sound of a dizi resonates amidst the noise of the battle.
In the sky, crows fly around. They sound hungry.
In the middle of the turmoil, red eyes and sharp teeth smirk at him in victory. Wen Ruohan takes a step, a single step, killing a corpse, then another and another as the ghosts screech in his ear and try to tear his eyes off. Around him, he only hears the dead and the desperate rambles of the few survivors amongst his men.
The dizi stops.
“Did you know, Wen-zongzhu, I once told a story to my teacher. I told him, if an executioner is dead and has turned into a resentful ghost and he can’t be liberated, let’s dig up all his victims and use their resentment against him! He threw me out of class at the time, but don’t you think this idea has merit?”
His eyes flashing redder and redder as the fury of the dead intensifies around him, Wei Wuxian’s smile looks sinister. In his hands, he twirls the black dizi, his sword now back in its sheath.
“You asked what I did. The answer is easy: I knew Nightless City, like all sects ground would have little resentful energy. Since I needed as much as possible, I brought your victims back, Wen Ruohan, and I allowed them their vengeance. Those from the Burial Mounds, imprisoned by your own family. Those sacrificed to the Xuanwu of Slaughter who for four hundred years waited in the belly of the monster. And finally the Xuanwu itself, hunted by your clan until it had to hide and starve once again. All of them, full of wrath because they were denied their rest. Today, you are the executioner, Wen-zongzhu, though you aren’t quite dead yet. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to properly purify the city once you’re gone so it doesn’t become another Burial Mounds.”
“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Ruohan snarls, flinging back the last corpse and running toward his nephew, “do you think that slaying me will make them grateful? Do you think Jiang Fengmian will change and finally treat you like a son instead of the servant he’s raised you to be? Do you believe his wife will stop whipping you every chance she gets? You’re no longer wearing the purple of Yunmeng Jiang but it seems you’re still hopeful they’ll take you in the family! How blind of you! I will gut you where you stand and when I raze Lotus Pier to the ground, I’ll use your body as a banner!”
Wei Wuxian avoids his strike again, and tucks his flute back to get his sword out. His expression is grim.
“You’re mistaken,” he says, sending a talisman that burns green in Wen Ruohan’s face, “I know full well what they want me to be. As much as I hate it, you’re not completely wrong. The Jiang Sect and I — it’s time we part way. I paid back my debts already, this has nothing to do with them. It’s simply the right thing to do.”
Wei Wuxian pauses, before adding with a smirk:
“Even if it seems impossible.”
Wen Ruohan could laugh at this ridiculous answer if he wasn’t so angry. Finally, finally, he manages to land a hit when Wei Wuxian stumbles — stupid of him, to come to a fight already injured. Wei Wuxian is thrown back from the force of it until his back hits the wall, coughing blood as he falls on the ground. Despite the new hole in his side, he gets back up, stubborn like his mother used to be. The wound on his face starts bleeding again.
Wen Ruohan is about to attack him again when he feels movement behind him and whirls around; Wen Chao’s lifeless eyes meet his. He doesn’t stop, beheading his second son in a single strike. The corpse staggers, disoriented without its head which has fallen down and rolled away. It’s enough time for Wei Wuxian to have wiped the blood from his face, though some lingers near his lips.
Useless to the end.
“How ruthless, Wen-zongzhu! Not even a moment of hesitation! Your own son!” the boy mocks, avoiding sword strikes again in a graceful dance, hitting back quick as lightning.
“Aren’t you the same?” Wen Ruohan fires back. “You use heretic cultivation and my own son against me. You let me talk until your trap was ready. Even now, you avoid me rather than meet my sword head on. Deceit and tricks, what a poor righteous cultivator you make!”
“Wen-zongzhu is wise, surely he knows the famous quote? Nothing in war is too deceitful.”
Their fight goes on. Wei Wuxian is as talented as the reports on him said, Wen Ruohan has to admit. Even with the wound on his leg and the fresh one on his side, his steps are nimble, his gestures graceful and his hits fast. Most of all, he is unpredictable, using the Jiang sword style but incorporating a little of the Lan, and even some of the Wen in it. Such imitations would usually be met with scorn but Wei Wuxian is good enough that Wen Ruohan can only be grudgingly impressed. He is weaker of course, because of his youth and inexperience, but whenever it seems like Wen Ruohan will finally manage to overpower him, he always has something new to shield himself with, another talisman to throw, an unexpected sidestep, a whistle to call ghosts and fierce corpses as a distraction.
To a man like Wen Ruohan, most of the dead are little more than nuisances. But even insects, when in sufficient numbers, will pose a threat. His golden core should ensure he does not get tired easily, even with the suffocating resentment around him, yet he finds himself needing to catch his breath. There is too much smoke, too much confusion.
In the end, Wen Ruohan falls because of his own pride. He did not stop against Wen Chao, because sentimentality has never been his weakness. Vision is poor around him, so when Wen Zhuliu tries to slam against him, his hand stretched in a familiar gesture, it takes him a second too long to realize that Wen Zhuliu is but another corpse, that there is no way for Wei Wuxian to use the Melting Hand no matter how precise his control is.
He has worked so hard, for so long, on his Golden Core. It is his pride and joy, even more than for most cultivators. To take the risk to lose it is not something he is willing to do.
He sidesteps to avoid the blow, right where Wei Wuxian’s sword is waiting.
It goes through his chest easily. It’s a fine blade, thinner than most but no less deadly. Wen Ruohan doesn’t need to be Wen Qing to know it has touched his heart. He tries to lift his sword, tries to lend a blow even as blood drips from his mouth.
Wei Wuxian steps back, twists his sword then takes it away so the only thing Wen Ruohan can do is cough and fall to his knees.
“This can’t… be… the end…” he whispers. He doesn’t believe it. Refuses to. It can’t, he has worked too hard for this to be his end. His sect, his clan… His immortality. “No… I was… so close…”
“You would have fallen eventually,” Wei Wuxian answers, his voice strangely kind. “The only difference is that you would have taken with you your entire sect; Now I’ll make sure Wen Qing and her own are well taken care of, that the Wen sect doesn’t suffer unfairly for your crimes.”
“You… You will? How filial of… of you…” He tries to smirk, filled with disdain, but can only manage a pained grimace. “Should I be… grateful?”
“It’s up to you,” Wei Wuxian shrugs, “I thought I might as well give you some reassurances, make sure you don’t have any regrets. I would truly be a terrible nephew if I didn’t, wouldn’t I?”
Oh, but he does have regrets. He only has them left now, as he clutches his wound and grits his teeth. This morning, he was a God walking amongst men. Now he is dying on his knees. The blood tastes bitter in his mouth. It tastes like failure, like shame. Like loss.
“I guess it was too much to hope your own death would put things into perspective,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “Enjoy the courts of hell. I have a feeling you’ll spend a while there.”
Any traces of anger has left his voice and from what Wen Ruohan’s blurred vision allows him to see, the sinister energy has faded from his youthful face. Wen Ruohan wants to spit in his face. Such a hero Wei Wuxian is, so good he manages to find even the time to chat with his own enemy on his last breath. Anyone else would have laughed and beheaded him, taking pleasure in the humiliation of a mangled corpse.
Wei Wuxian really is too much like his mother.
In a last bout of strength, he raises a bloodied hand and clasps it on Wei Wuxian’s arm, the only thing he can reach.
“Fine then…” he groans. “You won. You… You will make sure… The Wen sect doesn’t… End forgotten. You will… Lead it… Into greatness. Or I… will come… Haunt you. Nephew!”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, his expression turning alarmed, but Wen Ruohan can no longer feel satisfaction, nor anything else. His grip loosens. He is dead.
Rumors quickly go wild. Peasants and nobles alike, cultivators or common men, everyone hears of the death of Wen Ruohan. The Wen Sect closes its doors to all outsiders and refuses even the messengers of the other Great Sects, come to offer their condolences. The minor sects of the Qishan territories and beyond are turned away too, although to them, an additional message is told: this is the dawn of a new era. The new Wen Sect Leader will hear your concerns if you have any.
The name of this new leader is not given. The common people care less about that part, as for them one cultivator is more or less the same as another one. So long as their taxes are used wisely and they can live without troubles, names matter little. To the other sects, the matter is of more interest: they speculate behind doors about who will take the mantle, since Wen Ruohan’s mysterious cause of death also took his two sons and, the whispers say, over a hundred of disciples, including all the closest heirs.
The only one left is Wen Qing. Most cultivators, like Jin Guangshan, scoff at the idea of a woman leading anything, much less a Sect as great as the Wen. Surely it would be better if one of the surviving Elders took over as acting sect leader until a suitable male heir was found? The Lan, who have already had a woman as a leader aren’t as disapproving, ‘especially,’ Lan Qiren says matter-of-factly, ‘if Wen Qing is cut from a different cloth from her predecessor’. In the Unclean Realm, Nie Mingjue scoffs. Woman or Elder, a Wen is still a Wen.
And in Yunmeng, neither Jiang Fengmian nor his wife give any opinion on the subject, too busy with their own troubles.
“And so the leader of one of the Great Sects died just like that! Even today, no one knows for sure how!”
“Meimei…”
“What? We've all heard the rumors and I'm sure the daozhang will want to know! Apparently he was preparing for war and doing all kind of sick experiments... Some say all the ghosts from the Burial Mounds walked from Yiling to Qishan to exact their revenge! I heard from my gege, who was told by a traveling merchant who went to Nightless City, right after Wen Ruohan's death that there was a whole courtyard sealed away because of all the evil energy left behind! Maybe he died because he committed so much evil the gods themselves struck him down, along with his own sons!"
"Meimei... weren't you telling the story of Wei Wuxian?
"Right, haha. I forgot! Hum, where was I –”
"Wait, meimei, before that... Daozhang, it's getting quite late. Do you perhaps want some dinner?
"Ah, I'm ashamed to say I don't have much money on me..."
"Eh, it's fine! Jiejie here is loaded hahaha!"
"If you don't mind a somewhat simple meal, I can treat you with something from the inn.”
“I couldn’t –”
“Think of it as a thank you for keeping us company, and for protecting us.”
"... A simple meal would be great then. Thank you very much. I appreciate it."
"Oooh then wait for us daozhang! We'll go ask for the innkeeper to prepare your dinner and then I'll keep telling the story! Do you want wine? Good stories always must go with wine! Come on jiejie –"
"Meimei… Maybe let our poor daozhang enjoy his meal in peace. You can tell the rest of the story tomorrow. It’s almost time for us to go to work anyway."
“What? No! I can’t wait that long, the suspense would kill me!”
“... But don’t you already know the ending?”
“Alright, the suspense would kill him then! That’s even more cruel, after he was so good to us! And doesn’t he have to leave soon?”
“Why not ask him?”
“... Fiiiine. So daozhang? Story now or tomorrow?”
“... I don’t mind waiting until tomorrow. I imagine it will build some anticipation.”
“Oooh, you’re right daozhang, how smart of you! Then we’ll see you tomorrow morning! Don’t you dare leave without hearing the rest of the story daozhang otherwise I’ll become a demon just so I can hunt you down!”
“Haha, I won’t, I promise.”
“Okay, you promised! Night!”
“Goodnight daozhang.”