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Jiang Cheng is tired. So, so tired of being the second choice. Of being left behind. Of never being enough.
Wei Wuxian is alive and happy now, wrapped in the quiet devotion of Lan Wangji. Jin Ling no longer visits except for formal Sect Leader duties, his presence distant, clinical. And everyone else Jiang Cheng has ever loved is gone.
The weight of his Sect bears down on him, pressing into his bones, into the marrow itself. He carries the ghosts of the innocent lives he’s ruined, their whispers curling around his ears like centipedes skittering beneath his skin—sharp legs scraping, biting, burrowing deep. He moves through his work with practiced efficiency, his hands swift, precise, but at night—at night, the walls melt like wax, dripping down in grotesque, shifting shapes. His mother’s voice slithers through the cracks, coiling around him, squeezing.
He sees her face in the mirror, staring back at him with cold, unblinking judgment. He hears her voice when he speaks, feels her inside his skin, stretching and pulling. He was made in her image, carved from the worst parts of her. A hollow, empty thing stitched together with duty and resentment.
Every kind word he receives feels like a lie, a sick joke. They fear him. That’s all it is. The great ‘Sandu-Shengshou’—a mask held together by clenched teeth and fraying nerves. The truth writhes beneath his skin, burrows deep, maggots squirming in his ears, gnawing at his thoughts. His lungs stretch too tight, then—pop.
-=======================-
Jin Ling spends more and more time at the Cloud Recesses with Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng knows what’s coming. He knows it as intimately as his own reflection—an inevitability carved into the marrow of his bones.
He pretends not to. Pretends he doesn’t see the shift, doesn’t feel the distance growing. Instead, he clings to the moments he still has, savoring them like the last embers of a dying fire. Because soon, Jin Ling will leave him too. Just like everyone else.
-=======================-
Jin Ling doesn’t need him anymore. His sister’s face twists with scorn, spitting venomous words, yelling, snarling—and Jiang Cheng has never felt worse. Wei Wuxian stands at his side, watching the argument unfold.
Wei Wuxian steps in, attempting to cut through the tension thickening the air. “I’ll be there to watch him, Didi. He’ll be fine.” But it’s a feeble attempt at reassurance, and using that name only makes Jiang Cheng’s anger burn hotter.
“How could I trust you?” Jiang Cheng spits, barely containing the fury simmering beneath his skin. “After everything, do you really think I’d trust you with A-Ling’s life?”
Jin Ling’s face twists, his voice breaking as he shouts, “Why can’t you trust me? Why can’t you be more like Da-jiu?”
The room falls into a heavy silence. Jiang Cheng stiffens. Ice creeps through his veins, winding up his arms, settling in the hollow space in his chest where others might have a heart.
“Jiujiu, I—” Jin Ling starts, but the words falter.
Jiang Cheng looks past them, fixing his gaze on the pale walls of the main hall—seeing the same walls he once stared at as a child, awaiting punishment. He smooths his expression into something unreadable, forcing Jiang Cheng down and letting Sect Leader Jiang take his place.
“If that’s what you want, then fine.” His voice is clipped, distant. “Excuse me. I have duties to attend to.”
Without another glance, he turns sharply on his heel, leaving them behind—alone in the suffocating walls his mother had loved so much.
-=======================-
Sleep does not come easily. And when it does, it is a cruel thing, dragging him into nightmares that sink claws into his flesh. He wakes gasping, sweat-slicked and shaking, each dream worse than the last. It would be easier not to sleep at all. So he doesn’t. Not if he can help it.
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng begins training his head disciple with newfound seriousness, uncertain whether Wei Wuxian will take up the mantle of Sect Leader after him. Ensuring the Sect’s survival—its strength, its legacy—becomes his top priority.
His head disciple bears the name of their Sect’s founder, and the younger man lives up to it. Jiang Chi is reserved but strong-willed, not as powerful as Jiang Cheng, but steadily improving. Under his leadership, Yunmeng Jiang will thrive. Jiang Cheng knows this. He is holding them all back, shackling them to the past. But now, at last, he is ready to let go.
He tries to write letters to his loved ones. The list is short—only Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian.
To Jin Ling, he will leave Zidian, along with words of regret for everything the boy had to endure because of him. He writes of how proud he is, how his mother would be too. He offers prayers for the success of the Jin Sect and signs the letter with a steady hand.
Wei Wuxian’s letter is much harder to write. He could begin with an apology or an explanation, but either would make him look weak. The words refuse to come, twisting in his throat, heavy in his chest. He stares at the blank page, fingers tightening around the brush, but in the end, he folds the empty paper in half and slides both letters between the pages of the last book on the shelf in his study.
Out of sight. Out of reach.
For now.
-=======================-
-=======================-
It isn’t until the next Sect Leader meeting that Jiang Cheng finally sees Jin Ling again.
His nephew stands among his peers, laughter spilling from his lips as effortlessly as breath. He looks radiant—confident in his stance, sharp-eyed and quick-tongued, the way a Sect Leader should be. A wide, shit-eating grin stretches across his face, one that Jiang Cheng recognizes all too well. It’s the same reckless, untamed joy Wei Wuxian used to wear, the kind that once defined their youth, now reborn in Jin Ling.
Jiang Cheng watches from a distance, unseen in the crowded hall. He doesn’t call out. Doesn’t interrupt. Jin Ling is surrounded by friends, by people who love him, and for once, he looks truly happy. Unburdened.
Jiang Cheng could step forward. He could catch Jin Ling’s eye, remind him that he is still here, still watching, still waiting. But what good would that do? What could he offer that Jin Ling doesn’t already have?
So he stays back. He lets the moment pass. He doesn’t break the happiness exuding from Jin Ling—he won’t. He can’t.
Instead, he slips away before his nephew can notice he was ever there at all.
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng brought Jiang Chi with him, which earned him a few strange looks. He has never brought anyone to these meetings other than Jin Ling before—unlike some Sect Leaders who arrive with aides, disciples, or trusted advisors. The weight of that difference presses against him, but he ignores it.
During a lull in conversation, Jiang Cheng stands. The shift is immediate—all eyes turn to him, the quiet hum of the hall dimming to an expectant hush.
He has stood in this position countless times before, yet his body betrays him now. His shoulders begin to cave in, curling inward like an empty husk. His breath turns shallow, something rotten rising in his throat. It writhes, a thick, wriggling sensation—larvae crawling up, pressing against the back of his tongue, eager to spill out.
And then—Jin Ling.
Jin Ling, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. Not quite worried. Not yet. Just surprised.
Jiang Cheng swallows hard, forcing down the sickening feeling, willing his spine to straighten. He cannot falter. Not here. Not in front of all of them.
Not when he is about to let go.
-=======================-
As the room stills, Jiang Cheng forces the words out—sharp, deliberate, final. He is stepping down.
A ripple of shock moves through the hall. Murmurs rise like a gathering storm, but Jiang Cheng does not waver. His gaze sweeps across the room, catching Jin Ling’s expression shift from surprise to something unreadable.
He introduces Jiang Chi, his successor. His voice remains steady, but his hands—clenched behind his back—ache with how tightly he holds them.
Jin Ling stands suddenly. “Jiujiu, what—?” His voice is caught between disbelief and anger, barely masking the raw emotion beneath.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t look at him. If he does, he might not be able to go through with this.
The other Sect Leaders begin speaking at once—some questioning, some nodding in approval. Nie Huaisang tilts his fan, watching with his usual unreadable expression. Lan Xichen, ever composed, inclines his head as if he had long expected this.
But Jiang Cheng only listens to one voice.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling says again, softer now. “Why?”
Jiang Cheng exhales. There are many answers, but none he can say aloud. That he is tired. That the past still festers inside him, an unhealed wound. That he has already spent a lifetime holding the Sect together with bloodied hands.
Instead, he only says, “It’s time.”
Jin Ling looks as if he wants to argue, but the words never come. Instead, silence stretches between them—heavy, suffocating.
Jiang Cheng lets it.
-=======================-
-=======================-
When the meeting finally ends, Jiang Cheng feels a breath he hasn’t been able to take all afternoon. He can’t stand the prying eyes any longer, the quiet murmurings, the unspoken questions that hang in the air like thick fog.
He doesn't look back at the others as he leaves, but the sensation of eyes on him follows him all the way out of the hall. He knows they’ll whisper about him. He doesn’t care.
He walks quickly, ignoring the gentle breeze that tries to cool his brow, until he reaches the lotus pond. It’s quiet here, the air filled only with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant croak of a frog. The pond itself remains undisturbed, its surface smooth and undisturbed by any ripples.
This is where Jin Zixuan once stood, a place that had been made for his sister—a gift of beauty, of peace, now long overshadowed by grief.
Jiang Cheng kneels beside the stone, his fingers brushing over the cold, smooth surface of the gravestone that bears the names of both his sister and her husband. He sets the wine glass down in front of it, the delicate crystal gleaming under the dimming sun.
He pours a glass of Emperor Smile into it, his hand steady despite the weight in his chest. It feels like a small offering, but it’s the only one he has left to give. The wine sloshes, catching the fading light. For a moment, it almost feels like the whole world could stop and this small, simple act would be enough.
But it’s not enough. Not nearly.
Jiang Cheng sips directly from the jar, the cool liquid burning down his throat, and then his hands go to his robes. He fumbles briefly, searching through the folds for the incense he’d brought.
He finds it, the small bundle of sticks, and drives them into the earth with a grunt of effort. The thin, fragrant smoke curls upward as he lights them with a spark from Zidian, the violet light dancing against the darkening sky.
The incense is sweet, familiar. It’s a smell from another time—before the pain, before the weight of leadership had crushed him into this weary shell. The scent rises in the air, blending with the faint smell of the pond’s still water, and for a moment, it feels like he’s back there. Back when it was just him and Yanli, and they could laugh together.
But there’s no one left to laugh with him now.
The thought settles in his chest, cold and hollow, as he stares at the gravestone. His mother’s words are still there, in the quietest parts of his mind—this is the price of duty.
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng sits silently for a long moment, the steady hiss of the incense blending with the sounds of the evening. The lotus pond lies still before him, an undisturbed mirror that reflects only the fading light of the day. The wine glass remains untouched, its delicate stem catching the last rays of the sun.
He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing against the stone of the grave—where both Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s names are carved, cold and unyielding. The weight of them presses into him, heavier than any crown he’s ever worn.
"Yanli..." he murmurs, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves. "Have I done enough?"
He stares at the gravestone, but there’s no answer. Not even the breeze moves. The silence stretches between them like an impossibly wide chasm. His throat tightens, a familiar knot of guilt and grief rising within him.
“I’ve tried, Yanli. I’ve tried to protect them all. I’ve kept the Sect standing. But was it enough?”
His fingers tighten against the stone, the coolness of it grounding him, pulling him back from the storm of thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.
"I’ve let so much slip away. I’ve... failed in ways I can't even begin to explain," he continues, his voice rough now, as though every word is dragged from his chest. "I should have been better. Stronger. But all I’ve done is push people away."
He looks down at the glass of wine, the deep amber liquid rippling slightly as he inhales. The smell is bittersweet, like the memories of happier days—when they were all together, when laughter and light filled the halls of the Sect.
He takes another breath and straightens up, staring at the grave, his eyes hardening. “Was it all worth it, Yanli? My anger, my sacrifices—was it worth the price I’ve paid?”
A long silence follows, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for something that will never come.
He closes his eyes, letting the burning in his chest subside for just a moment. "I promised you... I promised I would keep everyone safe. But I can’t protect them forever. And now, I have to let go.”
His voice cracks, the words heavy on his tongue. He can almost feel her presence there, as if she’s standing beside him, just out of reach, offering her comfort and understanding.
“But have I done enough?” he whispers again, his voice barely a breath.
The last wisp of incense curls upward, twisting in the air before fading away, taking his doubts with it. The answer never comes, but maybe that's the point. Maybe there’s no definitive answer, no final moment of clarity. He’s done what he can. And perhaps, for the first time in years, that has to be enough.
Jiang Cheng stands, brushing the dirt from his robes. He takes one last look at the gravestone, and with a weary but steady voice, he mutters, "I’ll see you soon, Yanli."
The evening sky darkens, and as he turns to leave, the faintest trace of warmth lingers in the air—a fleeting whisper of what might have been.
-=======================-
-=======================-
The evening sky hangs heavy with the promise of rain, the air thick with an unspoken weight. Jiang Cheng is walking through the quiet halls of the Jin Sect, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. He’s been avoiding this moment for hours, but no matter how far he goes, no matter how many walls he builds around himself, the moment still hangs in the air, waiting to arrive.
And then he hears it. The unmistakable sound of familiar laughter. Wei Wuxian’s laughter.
It’s not the carefree, youthful sound from the past. It’s sharper, more refined now, tinged with something darker and heavier, but it’s still unmistakably his.
Jiang Cheng’s heart skips, and the world feels like it shifts around him. He stops in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. The echoes of their shared past come crashing back, the memories of long-lost youth, of moments spent laughing together, of everything they lost.
It takes everything in him to keep his composure as he steps forward, his footsteps deliberate, measured. He doesn’t want to see Wei Wuxian. Not now. Not after all this time. But he knows that this moment is inevitable.
As he rounds the corner, there he is—Wei Wuxian. Not the same wild, rebellious figure from their youth, but still Wei Wuxian , unmistakable even in his changed form.
For a heartbeat, they both stand there, caught in time.
Jiang Cheng’s chest tightens. His face is a mask of carefully controlled emotion, but his heart pounds like it’s trying to escape his ribcage. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, simply watches him, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a mixture of joy and something like sorrow.
Neither of them speaks at first. It’s as if the years between them are too vast, too heavy to bridge with simple words. And so, they stand there, in the silence, the past and present colliding.
Finally, Wei Wuxian breaks the silence, his voice almost too soft, as if he’s testing the waters. “Jiang Cheng...” His voice carries an edge to it, a weight of years spent apart. “Still angry?”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. He wants to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but instead, he stands frozen in place, staring at Wei Wuxian, the man who had once been his closest friend and now feels like a stranger.
“Does it matter?” Jiang Cheng’s voice is rough, too harsh, betraying his carefully maintained calm. His gaze drops to the ground for a moment, as if he can find the words there in the dust.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil. He steps forward slowly, his presence filling the space between them, impossible to ignore. “I suppose it does, Jiang Cheng. It always matters.” He pauses, searching Jiang Cheng’s face as if looking for something he’s not sure he’ll find. “I never wanted it to be like this.”
There’s no anger in Wei Wuxian’s words, just an aching kind of honesty that hits Jiang Cheng like a slap. The words I never wanted it to be like this tear through him, exposing the rawness that has been buried beneath layers of resentment and pride for so long. He wants to say something cutting, something to push Wei Wuxian away, but the words stick in his throat.
“Then why…” Jiang Cheng begins, but his voice falters. He can’t finish the question. Not after everything. Not after all they’ve been through.
Wei Wuxian steps closer, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t back away. Maybe he’s too tired to fight. “I don’t know, Jiang Cheng. I don’t know why things turned out the way they did. But I do know that I never meant to hurt you. Not once.”
Jiang Cheng looks away, the words sinking in like a weight, crushing the breath out of him. He wants to argue, wants to scream that they could have done it differently , but he can’t. He just can’t anymore. Instead, he simply nods, once, sharply.
“If that’s all you wanted to say,” Jiang Cheng says, his voice shaking with something he refuses to acknowledge, “then I’ll be on my way.” He turns, every part of him screaming to leave, to get away from the man who had once been his everything, the man who had caused him so much pain.
But then—Wei Wuxian’s hand catches his arm. It’s gentle, tentative, but it stops him.
"Jiang Cheng…" Wei Wuxian’s voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “Please… don’t leave just yet. Can we… can we talk?”
Jiang Cheng’s throat tightens. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to face this. He doesn’t want to face Wei Wuxian, not after everything that’s happened. But something in his chest—something weak, something that wants closure—compels him to turn around.
He meets Wei Wuxian’s gaze. It’s full of a quiet hope that makes Jiang Cheng’s chest ache. For a moment, just a brief, fleeting moment, he wonders if this is the beginning of something new, or if this is just another painful chapter in their long, tangled story.
Jiang Cheng looks away again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Wei Wuxian.”
Wei Wuxian nods, understanding. The weight of the years between them is palpable, but there’s a trace of something almost like peace in his eyes. “I don’t expect you to.”
Jiang Cheng’s thoughts drift briefly—he’s been carrying a sickening weight for so long now, something far heavier than just grief. His days feel numbered, fading like the dimming light. The sense that his time is running out is inescapable. He can feel it now, this emptiness creeping up on him, pressing against his chest like a slow suffocation. What does it matter to fix things now, when the end is already here? Does it even matter?
Jiang Cheng pulls his gaze back to Wei Wuxian. He’s tired. Too tired to keep carrying this weight alone. It would be easier to simply give up and let the world take him.
But even then, a small, bitter part of him still wants to fight. Even if his days are few, even if the end is certain and near, he has to face it all head-on. He has to face Wei Wuxian, too.
But he doesn’t say any of this. He doesn’t speak the words that would shatter them both.
Instead, he simply looks at Wei Wuxian and whispers again, “I’ll see you soon.”
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng floats through the next month, busy with preparations and checking the towns of his Sect to make sure everything is in order. He doesn’t want to worry about what will happen to his Sect when he’s gone. He visits every store owner, speaks with every craftsman, even lingers in the town square longer than usual, watching the daily life of his people unfold. He buys incense from a vendor who has been selling there since he was a child, listens to an elderly fisherman recount a story about his youth, watches a young boy practicing sword forms with too-wide swings but undeniable determination.
The Sect is flourishing. This beautiful village they built from the blood and ashes of their families has become something worth protecting, worth cherishing.
Everyone he passes greets him, bows their heads, and thanks him for all he’s done. Children call out “Sect Leader Jiang!” with excitement. A young woman gives him a lotus pastry as a gift, her smile so warm that he doesn’t have the heart to refuse it.
He isn’t sure what to do with all of it—the kindness, the reverence.
Jiang Cheng has spent so many years convincing himself that his worth is measured only in how well he upholds his responsibilities, in how much he can endure without breaking. But here, in the smiles of his people, in the hands that reach out to him without hesitation, he feels something unfamiliar creeping into his chest.
His fingers tighten around the small, wrapped pastry in his hands. The warmth spreads from his fingertips to his toes, curling somewhere deep inside him. A whisper of something foreign.
Jiang Cheng thinks—this must be what it feels like to be loved.
The realization stuns him.
It’s strange, dizzying, almost unbearable. Love was something he always had to chase, something he always lost, something that always seemed to belong to someone else. But here it is, surrounding him, a quiet and steady presence that had always been there, waiting for him to notice.
And for the first time, doubt sinks its roots into his resolve.
A small flower of hope grows in the cavity of his ribs, delicate but stubborn. He tries to ignore it, but it’s there, persistent.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng doesn’t look up when the door slides open. He doesn’t need to. The air shifts, familiar in a way that makes his teeth clench.
Wei Wuxian has always had a presence—bright and consuming, a force of nature that demands attention even when he isn’t trying. Jiang Cheng has spent years pretending it doesn’t affect him.
“Nice place,” Wei Wuxian says, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “Very… Sect Leader-y. Stiff. Almost soulless. But that’s just how you like things, isn’t it?”
Jiang Cheng hums, dipping his brush into ink with steady hands. “What do you want?”
Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue. “You know, for someone who just got a surprise visit from his beloved shixiong, you’re awfully grumpy.” He leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “Jin Ling asked me to check on you.”
Jiang Cheng freezes, just for a fraction of a second.
“He’s worried,” Wei Wuxian continues, pretending not to notice. “Said you’ve been acting weird lately, like you’re planning something. He’s too busy playing Sect Leader to come himself, so here I am.”
Jiang Cheng sets his brush down, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Jin Ling should focus on his own Sect.”
Wei Wuxian raises a brow. “So he’s right? You are planning something.”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leans back slightly in his chair, watching Wei Wuxian with an unreadable expression. “I’m ensuring Yunmeng Jiang’s future.”
Wei Wuxian frowns. “The Sect is doing fine, isn’t it? Your people love you, and Jin Ling—”
“Jin Ling isn’t next in line,” Jiang Cheng interrupts, voice calm and deliberate. “Jiang Chi is.”
Wei Wuxian’s frown deepens. “Your head disciple?”
Jiang Cheng nods. “He’s capable. He’ll lead well.”
Wei Wuxian tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re saying goodbye.”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t answer right away. He lifts his teacup, takes a slow sip. When he speaks again, his tone is measured, but there’s something firm beneath it—something final .
“If you want it, Yunmeng Jiang can be yours.”
Wei Wuxian blinks. “...What?”
“I’m offering you the Sect,” Jiang Cheng says plainly. “If you want it.”
Wei Wuxian stares at him like he’s just grown a second head. Then he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “ You want me to be Sect Leader? Me? The heretic? The traitor ? The one you spent over a decade hating?”
Jiang Cheng meets his gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, incredulous. “Why?”
Jiang Cheng’s fingers tighten around his teacup, but his voice remains steady. “Because if anyone can protect Yunmeng Jiang the way it deserves, it’s you.”
Wei Wuxian exhales sharply. “You’re serious.”
“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
Wei Wuxian drags a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “I don’t get you,” he mutters. “You hate me, but you’d still trust me with this?”
Jiang Cheng looks at him for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t hate you.”
Wei Wuxian stills.
Jiang Cheng lets the silence stretch, unafraid to sit in the weight of his own words. “I spent years telling myself I did,” he says finally. “It was easier that way.”
Wei Wuxian swallows. “And now?”
Jiang Cheng shrugs, looking away. “Now, it doesn’t matter.”
Wei Wuxian watches him carefully, searching his face for something. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more cautious. “Jiang Chi is a good choice. You just said so yourself. So why ask me ?”
Jiang Cheng takes another sip of tea before answering. “Because I want to give you the option.”
Wei Wuxian laughs, but there’s no real humor in it. “After everything? You think I’d just waltz back in here and take over like nothing ever happened?”
Jiang Cheng’s gaze flickers to him, something unreadable in his eyes. “Would you?”
Wei Wuxian opens his mouth—then closes it.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t let him respond. “I won’t force this on you. Jiang Chi will take over if you refuse. But I needed to ask.”
Silence stretches between them, thick with something unspoken.
Wei Wuxian lets out a slow breath. “You really don’t want to do this anymore, do you?”
Jiang Cheng exhales sharply through his nose, something like a bitter laugh escaping. “You of all people should understand what it’s like to be tired.”
Wei Wuxian watches him, expression unreadable.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t look away. “Yunmeng Jiang deserves a leader who isn’t just waiting for an excuse to leave.”
Wei Wuxian’s jaw clenches. “And you think I’d be better at this than you?”
“I think you care about this Sect more than you let on.” Jiang Cheng sets his teacup down, gaze sharp. “And I think that, despite everything, you’d still do whatever it takes to protect it.”
Wei Wuxian exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit.”
Jiang Cheng smirks faintly. “Not the response I was expecting.”
Wei Wuxian huffs a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t expecting this conversation, so I guess we’re both surprised.”
Jiang Cheng watches him carefully. “I don’t need an answer right now.”
Wei Wuxian sighs, rubbing at his temples. “Good. Because I’m gonna need time to process the fact that you, of all people, are offering me this.”
Jiang Cheng inclines his head. “Then take your time.”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, a small, exasperated smile tugging at his lips. “Jiang Cheng, you really are something else.”
Jiang Cheng snorts. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “You would.” He turns toward the door, but pauses before leaving. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I’ll think about it.”
Jiang Cheng nods. That’s all he needed to hear.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng stands at the edge of the training field, arms crossed as he watches Jiang Chi move through a sword form. The younger man’s strikes are clean, his movements fluid. He is talented—unyielding yet precise, carrying the strength of Yunmeng Jiang with every motion.
He’s almost ready.
Jiang Cheng steps forward. “Your grip is too stiff,” he says. “You’re forcing control where you should be letting the motion flow naturally.”
Jiang Chi stills, adjusting his stance before exhaling through his nose. “Understood, Sect Leader.” His tone is even, respectful. He corrects his grip and goes through the form again, more measured this time.
Jiang Cheng nods, but there’s something unreadable in Jiang Chi’s expression when he sheathes his sword.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Jiang Chi begins, hesitating for only a breath, “you’ve trained me well. I’ve learned everything I can under your guidance. But… I believe I’m ready.”
Jiang Cheng frowns. “You still have more to learn.”
Jiang Chi inclines his head. “There is always more to learn. But the Sect is thriving, and I am prepared to take on the responsibility whenever you decide to step down.” His voice is steady, careful. “I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about the future of Yunmeng Jiang.”
Something cold sinks into Jiang Cheng’s bones.
It’s not defiance. It’s not impatience. It’s a quiet assurance, the kind that leaves no room for argument.
He should be proud. Jiang Chi is everything a Sect Leader should be—strong, level-headed, capable. And he’s right. The Sect is thriving.
But if Jiang Chi is ready, then what is Jiang Cheng still doing here?
Jiang Chi bows deeply, waiting a moment longer before excusing himself. Jiang Cheng watches him walk away, his back straight, his steps steady.
Jiang Cheng lets out a slow breath.
His presence here… isn’t needed.
Not as a leader.
Not as a mentor.
Not as anything.
-=======================-
That night, Jiang Cheng sits at his desk, staring at the flickering candlelight until his vision swims. The air is thick with incense, the sickly sweet scent curling in his lungs. The weight in his chest grows heavier.
It has been too long since he last saw Jin Ling.
The realization claws at his stomach.
Jiang Cheng reaches for a blank slip of paper, gripping the brush tighter than necessary. His hand trembles slightly, though whether from exhaustion or something deeper, he isn’t sure.
He dips the brush into ink, hesitating. The words feel unfamiliar.
You haven’t visited in a while. When will you be free?
He stares at the message, debating whether to send it at all. He shouldn’t have to ask. Jin Ling should know.
But he ties the letter to a messenger bird anyway, watching as it disappears into the night.
-=======================-
Hours pass.
The candles burn low. The shadows on the walls move when he isn't looking at them directly. A whisper hums in the back of his mind—his mother’s voice, sharp as a knife.
"Useless."
Jiang Cheng presses his palm to his forehead.
He's so tired .
The knock at his door startles him. A servant, bowing low.
“A letter from Sect Leader Jin.”
He snatches it before the servant can finish bowing and waves them away.
Jiang Cheng unfurls the letter with tense fingers, his eyes scanning the neat, impersonal script.
I’m sorry, Jiujiu. Things have been busy at Koi Tower. I’ll visit soon.
Busy.
Jiang Cheng grips the letter tighter.
Of course Jin Ling is busy. He’s Sect Leader now. He has obligations, duties, an entire Sect relying on him.
His stomach twists.
He should be proud. He is proud.
But—
"Jiujiu, look!" Jin Ling, years younger, holding up a fish he'd caught with the brightest grin. "It’s the biggest one yet!"
"Jiujiu, you have to teach me that technique next time! Don’t hold back just because I’m younger!"
"Jiujiu, I’ll always have time for you."
The memories bleed into each other. The past tangles with the present, warping at the edges. His mother’s voice slips between the cracks.
"Even your nephew will leave you, just like everyone else."
Jiang Cheng forces a breath through clenched teeth.
Jin Ling doesn’t need him anymore.
Not to scold him.
Not to guide him.
Not even to check in on him.
The letter crumples in his fist.
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, fingers pressing into his temples. The whispers don’t stop.
"This is what you deserve."
"You were never meant to be happy."
"It would be easier if you just disappeared."
A laugh bubbles up his throat, but it doesn’t sound like his own.
For a fleeting moment, he thinks about sending another letter.
But what would be the point?
Jin Ling will visit when he has time.
Jiang Cheng should stop waiting.
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng doesn’t move for a long time.
The candle on his desk flickers, almost completely melted, the light stretching shadows across the walls of his study. The crumpled letter from Jin Ling lies discarded beside him, ink bleeding into the creases.
"I’ll visit soon."
How many times has Jin Ling said that?
And how many times has he not come ?
Jiang Cheng presses his fingers into his temples, but it does nothing to stop the buzzing in his skull. It’s loud, like insects burrowing beneath his skin, like static filling the empty spaces in his mind. He clenches his jaw, his teeth aching from the pressure.
He is being unreasonable.
Jin Ling is busy.
It’s normal. It’s expected. He’s a Sect Leader now, he has responsibilities, he—
But the words do nothing to soothe the burning in Jiang Cheng’s chest.
"He doesn’t need you anymore."
He clenches his fists so tightly that his nails dig into his palms.
It shouldn't hurt this much.
Jiang Cheng has always known this would happen.
It was only a matter of time before Jin Ling outgrew him, before he stepped fully into the light of his own path—one that didn’t have room for the man who raised him.
His throat feels tight.
It isn’t fair.
Jin Ling had been his last tether to this world, the last person he believed he still mattered to. But even that is slipping through his fingers now, no matter how tightly he tries to hold on.
Jiang Cheng breathes deeply, the air thick with incense and smoke. He lets it fill his lungs, lets it curl around his ribs like a vice. The warmth doesn’t reach him.
The study is silent, but in the quiet, the voices creep in.
"You are alone."
"No one is coming for you."
"You should have died back then, with the rest of them."
His mother’s voice slithers through the cracks in his thoughts, curling around his mind like a serpent.
"You were never meant to be Sect Leader."
"You were never meant to survive."
"You’ve failed them all."
His fingers twitch.
Jiang Cheng grips the edge of his desk, grounding himself in the solid weight of the wood beneath his palms. But the room tilts, warps, shifts—his vision blurs at the edges, and for a brief, shattering moment, the walls aren’t his own .
The scent of blood lingers in the air.
He hears the screams before he sees the fire.
Jiang Cheng is no longer in his study.
He is seventeen again, standing in the burning wreckage of Lotus Pier.
His mother’s voice rises above the crackling flames, sharp and merciless.
"You let this happen."
"You weren't strong enough."
"You were never strong enough."
The ghosts of the dead surround him, faces contorted in agony, their mouths open in silent screams. The flames lick at their skin, their eyes melting away into black pits—blaming, accusing, condemning.
"You failed us."
"You failed us."
"You failed us."
Jiang Cheng gasps, stumbling back, but there’s nowhere to run.
His hands are slick— red, red, red —and for a moment, he doesn’t know if it’s his own blood or someone else’s. He blinks, and the fire flickers. The walls shift back into place, the scent of ash vanishes, and he is back in his study.
His heart is pounding.
His fingers are still shaking.
He drags a hand down his face, forcing a laugh past his lips. It’s hoarse and bitter, more of a rasp than anything else.
He’s losing his mind.
He knows it.
He feels it, unraveling thread by thread.
Jiang Cheng exhales through his nose, steadying himself. He wipes his hands on his robes— there is no blood, there is no blood, there is no blood —and reaches for the wine on his desk.
The first sip burns.
The second sip numbs.
The third sip makes everything quiet.
Jiang Cheng tilts his head back and drinks straight from the jar.
Tomorrow, he will continue as he always has.
Tomorrow, he will wake up, train, work, lead.
Tomorrow, he will pretend he is fine.
But tonight, he lets the ghosts have him.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng paced the dimly lit room, his every movement sluggish and tired, weighed down by the oppressive heaviness of his own thoughts. His mind was a storm of conflicting desires, each one feeding into the emptiness that had grown inside of him. He’d spent days with this thought gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, and now he was at the breaking point.
The golden core. He couldn’t escape it—couldn’t escape Wei Wuxian’s core that had been inside of him for so long. He had always told himself that he’d protect it, keep it safe. But now it was a burden. A link to a past that was long gone, to a brother who would never return, to a life that had never been his own.
Should he die fighting like a true Jiang?
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The thought of death in combat was the way of his people, the way of warriors, the proud sons of Jiang. He could already see himself in battle, sword in hand, cutting down enemies as his blood soaked the earth beneath him. It was what he deserved, wasn’t it? To die in the thick of battle, to fall as a warrior should.
But that was a lie. Jiang Cheng was too tired to fight. Too tired to keep pretending he could hold it all together. His body had already betrayed him long ago, his spirit shattered by the loss of his family, the betrayal of those he loved, and the endless weight of expectations he could never meet. He could barely summon the will to take another breath, let alone raise his sword in battle.
No, that wasn’t the way. It was time to end it.
He thought of poison. A clean death. Something quiet, simple—no need for ceremony or glory. Just a slow slip into oblivion. A release from the pain that had gnawed at him for years. The thought was appealing in its simplicity. He wouldn’t even have to fight. No one would need to witness his final moments. Just a vial of poison, swallowed in solitude. And then… peace.
But then, there was Wei Wuxian’s core. He had to return it to him, had to make sure that the core was placed back into the right hands before he left this world. It couldn’t be seen as an accident. He couldn’t leave behind more wreckage than he already had.
Jiang Cheng turned toward his desk, where the scrolls Wen Qing had left behind lay scattered. The core removal techniques, the delicate and intricate process, were written out in painstaking detail. He had already studied them. He had already made the decision. He would give Wei Wuxian’s core back to him, no matter what it cost him.
But the question remained—how?
He needed help. He needed someone who could perform the procedure without asking questions. A rogue healer, someone who would remain silent in exchange for a small fortune. Someone who wouldn’t blink at the cost of such an operation. It would be messy, dangerous, and irrevocable. But it was the only way.
Jiang Cheng’s gaze hardened. There was no going back now.
He set his jaw, determination returning to his bones, despite the weariness in his chest. He left his quarters, making his way through the Sect, though the familiar paths seemed foreign to him now. He passed through the quiet halls, the air thick with the tension of decisions already made, before finding himself at a hidden alcove where the rogue healer had agreed to meet him.
The man was waiting, a wiry figure with eyes that gleamed in the dim light. Jiang Cheng could smell the faint scent of herbs and something else beneath it—something sharper, more dangerous. A man who lived by the darker arts, who had no loyalties except to the coin he was paid.
“I’m here,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice rough with the weight of his resolve. The healer didn’t speak, merely gestured to the small table where tools were laid out. The quiet that passed between them felt suffocating.
Jiang Cheng didn’t waste any time. He laid the scrolls out before the healer. “You’ll follow these instructions precisely. No mistakes.” His voice was steady, but his hands were trembling slightly as he handed over a small pouch of silver. The healer didn’t look at the money, merely nodded in acknowledgment.
“You understand what this is,” Jiang Cheng continued, his gaze never leaving the healer. “Once it’s done, you forget. You say nothing.”
The healer met his gaze with an unsettling calmness. “Of course. You’ll get what you came for.”
Jiang Cheng didn’t trust him, but he had no choice. He couldn’t do it himself. And he couldn’t risk failing. Not now, not with everything hanging in the balance.
They set the date. Two weeks. That’s all the time Jiang Cheng had left. His thoughts raced as the healer moved to gather his supplies, but Jiang Cheng stayed silent. He didn’t need to speak anymore. There was nothing left to say.
He turned and walked away, leaving the healer behind. The world felt even colder now, as if the air itself had thickened around him, pressing in. The time was coming, and with it, the certainty that this was the end.
-=======================-
-=======================-
The night is thick with mist, curling between the blackened trees like grasping fingers. The moon is smothered behind a veil of clouds, offering no light to guide him. Jiang Cheng doesn’t need it. He moves through the forest with the ease of someone who has walked this path countless times before, his grip on Sandu loose, his breath even.
The beast lurking here has already killed three travelers and wounded a group of passing cultivators. It is strong—twisted by resentment and thick with malice. A fight that should require at least two or three cultivators.
But Jiang Cheng came alone.
The first warning is the sudden shift in the air, the way the trees fall silent. Then—movement. A blur of black, the stench of decay. Claws swipe toward him, fast and ruthless.
He doesn’t move.
The claws rake across his side, slicing through his robes, tearing skin. Blood spills, soaking into the fabric, hot and thick. Pain flares, sharp—but fleeting. It doesn’t matter. Jiang Cheng grits his teeth, lifts his arm, and strikes.
Zidian crackles to life, lightning exploding through the darkness, illuminating the twisted form of the beast in brief, blinding flashes. It screeches but does not fall. Instead, it lunges again, jaws stretching unnaturally wide, rows of teeth glinting.
Jiang Cheng should dodge. He doesn’t.
The beast slams into him, knocking him off his feet. His back collides with the hard earth, ribs rattling from the impact. He exhales sharply, blood rising in his throat, but he doesn’t stop. He swings Sandu upward, catching the beast along its jaw, severing muscle and bone.
It shrieks, but Jiang Cheng barely hears it. His vision is narrowing, his body screaming at him to stop. But stopping is not an option.
Let it tear me apart.
The thought comes unbidden, quiet, insidious. His body moves on instinct, but his mind lingers. What does it matter if he walks away from this? What does it matter if he doesn’t?
He presses forward. His body is sluggish, his wounds bleeding freely now, but he fights as if none of it matters. Lightning arcs again, scorching flesh. The beast convulses. Its movements slow.
Jiang Cheng does not.
With a final strike, Zidian wraps around its throat, burning through sinew and bone. The beast collapses. It twitches once, then goes still.
Jiang Cheng sways on his feet. Blood drips steadily from his wounds, pooling at his feet. He should wrap them. He should take a healing pill. He does neither. Instead, he wipes Sandu clean, tucks it back into its sheath, and turns away.
His steps are uneven. His breath is shallow. He doesn’t care.
No one is waiting for him when he returns. No one will scold him for coming back in this state.
It’s fine.
It doesn’t matter.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng arrives at Lotus Pier as the sky begins to lighten at the edges, the ink-black night fading into the soft grays of dawn. He moves through the quiet walkways unnoticed, his footsteps heavy, his robes still damp with blood.
The wound at his side has stopped bleeding, but only because the fabric has stuck to it, sealing it shut in the most unceremonious way. He could get it treated. He could change into clean robes.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he walks past the main hall, past the barracks, past the rooms filled with people who rely on him—people who would be horrified if they saw him like this. He makes his way to the pier, where the water stretches out endlessly before him, rippling gently under the dawn light.
Jiang Cheng steps forward.
The wooden planks creak under his weight, familiar, grounding. But grounding doesn’t matter. Nothing does.
He shrugs off his outer robe, letting it fall in a crumpled heap at the edge of the pier. His boots follow. Then, without hesitation, he walks straight into the lake.
The cold hits him like a slap, seeping through his bloodstained layers, soaking into his wounds. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react at all. He just keeps walking until the water reaches his waist, then his chest. Then his shoulders.
Then he lets himself sink.
The water muffles everything—his thoughts, the pain, the exhaustion that has settled into his bones. The ache in his ribs dulls, the burning in his side fades, and for the first time in a long time, there is quiet. No voices calling his name, no duties demanding his attention. Just silence.
It would be so easy to stay here.
The thought slips into his mind as naturally as breathing.
Just a little longer.
The water presses against his skin, seeps into his wounds, makes him feel weightless. He tilts his head back, staring at the distorted sky above, blurred by the surface of the water. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that if he lets go—if he exhales, if he stops fighting—he will sink.
Would that really be so bad?
He closes his eyes.
A lotus petal brushes against his fingers, floating past on the gentle current.
Jiang Cheng exhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself upright.
He doesn’t know why.
Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s the tiny, fragile part of him that still clings to life despite everything. Maybe it’s just that sinking won’t bring him peace, and he already knows it.
With slow, deliberate movements, he makes his way back to shore, dragging himself out of the water and onto the pier. His limbs are heavy, his breath uneven. He doesn’t bother drying himself off or changing clothes. He just sits there, dripping onto the wooden planks, staring blankly at the water as the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon.
He doesn’t feel warm.
He isn’t sure if he ever will again.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng drags himself back inside before the sun fully rises, his wet robes leaving a faint trail along the wooden floors of his residence. The halls are quiet—no disciples up yet, no voices echoing through the corridors. The stillness feels like it should be comforting, but it only reminds him of how empty Lotus Pier truly is.
He doesn’t bother lighting a lamp when he steps into his room. The dim light of dawn filtering through the window is enough.
His body is slow to respond, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering chill of the lake, but he forces himself to move. He peels off his outer robes, then the inner layers, grimacing as the fabric pulls at the wound on his side, reopening it just enough for fresh blood to bead at the edges.
It doesn’t matter.
Jiang Cheng moves on autopilot, his hands retrieving a small wooden box from a drawer, fingers moving with a practiced efficiency that feels both familiar and distant. He’s done this a hundred times before—more, even. Wrapping wounds, stitching deep cuts when necessary, drinking bitter medicine to force his body to keep going.
He sits on the floor, cross-legged, a length of white bandage spread across his lap. His hands are steady as he cleans the gash at his side with a cloth soaked in antiseptic. The sting barely registers. He’s long past the point of reacting to pain.
Blood smears across his fingers, staining the bandages as he presses them over the wound, binding them tight. The pressure helps. Not with the pain, but with the feeling of falling apart. At least, like this, he can keep himself together—physically, if nothing else.
His gaze flickers to his hands as he ties the bandage off. The faint tremor in his fingers is barely noticeable, but he sees it. Feels it.
Jiang Cheng exhales through his nose and flexes his fingers before standing. He doesn’t bother changing into fresh robes. His body is too tired, his mind too numb. He just sinks onto the bed, damp hair clinging to his skin, the scent of lake water and blood filling his senses.
He stares at the ceiling, unblinking.
Sleep doesn’t come.
It never does.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng moves through the days in a haze. He does his duties, gives orders, listens when his presence is required—but none of it feels real. It’s as if he’s watching himself from a distance, his body moving, speaking, reacting, while something inside him remains utterly still.
He eats when he remembers to. Sleeps when his body gives out on him. The rest of the time, he pushes forward on sheer force of habit, unwilling to stop. Because stopping means thinking. And thinking…
No. He refuses.
Instead, he takes on more night hunts.
The moment darkness falls, Jiang Cheng is gone, slipping out into the wilds, Zidian crackling at his wrist, Sandu humming at his side. He doesn’t bring disciples. Doesn’t leave word of where he’s going. He picks the most dangerous leads, the ones others hesitate to take, and dives headfirst into battle with no concern for himself.
Every fight is a gamble.
He stops dodging as much. He lets blows land when he could have avoided them, lets claws and fangs scrape against his skin, as if daring the beasts to do worse. He fights with an almost eerie calm, each movement precise, his expression never changing no matter how deep the cuts run.
One night, he kills a massive, rotting beast that had been terrorizing a village, its limbs twisted at unnatural angles, its teeth stretching too wide in its decaying jaw. It nearly crushes him before he lands the final blow, but he doesn't flinch. The villagers cheer when he returns, bowing in gratitude, pressing gifts into his hands.
He can barely hear them. The words pass through him like wind through empty halls.
That night, his hands don’t stop shaking.
The next day, Jiang Cheng oversees the training of his disciples, his patience wearing thinner than usual. He watches them move, their forms sloppier than he’d like, their footwork unsteady. His lip curls. They’re too slow. Too weak.
“Again,” he orders coldly, arms crossed, Zidian glinting in the light. They barely hold back their exhaustion, but he doesn’t relent. If they aren’t strong enough, they’ll die. If they die, it’s his fault.
His vision wavers slightly, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his awareness. He hasn’t eaten all day, hasn’t truly rested in weeks. His body is slow to heal from the wounds he keeps ignoring, but it doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters.
The days blur together. More night hunts. More blood. More whispers in the dark corners of his mind. He stops looking in mirrors. He can’t stand what stares back at him.
One evening, as the sky darkens to deep violet, he finds himself at the lotus pond again. He doesn’t remember walking here. The water is still, reflecting the last streaks of sunlight, the scent of lotus flowers thick in the air.
He crouches at the edge of the pond, dipping his fingers into the cool water, watching the ripples spread outward. A soft breeze carries the familiar scent of home—of childhood, of memories buried too deep to touch without breaking.
Jiang Cheng exhales slowly.
He closes his eyes.
And not for the first time… he wonders if there’s anything left of him at all.
-=======================-
-=======================-
Jiang Cheng sat in the dimly lit room, his fingers digging into the worn edges of his robes. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the low hum of the rogue healer’s chant. He didn’t trust this healer, not fully, but it didn’t matter anymore. He had no choice. The decision had been made.
The rogue healer, an older man with graying hair and sharp, calculating eyes, stood across from him, preparing the ritual tools. His presence was unsettling in the silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.
“You’re certain?” the healer asked, his voice dry, not unkind, but distant, as if he had seen too many desperate souls like Jiang Cheng before. “This is no simple procedure. The core cannot simply be removed without consequences.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng answered, his voice hoarse but firm. His heart pounded in his chest, but there was no hesitation in his words. This was the only way. “Just do it.”
The healer nodded and gestured for him to lie down. Jiang Cheng obeyed without protest, moving onto the cold stone slab that had been prepared for this purpose. His body felt unnaturally heavy, as though the weight of his past, of everything he had lost, was pressing him down.
“Remember, once it’s removed, you will be left vulnerable,” the healer warned, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Without the core, your life force will be weakened. You won’t be the same.”
“I don’t care,” Jiang Cheng muttered, though a faint flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Does it matter? He was already half-dead inside, wasn’t he?
The healer’s fingers moved with precision, marking the necessary points on Jiang Cheng’s body, tracing lines of energy that would guide the extraction. The ritual had to be performed in silence, the chants and incantations weaving through the air like an invisible thread. Jiang Cheng felt the tension rising in his chest, the space between his ribs tightening, as though the core itself was reluctant to be removed. He could feel its presence inside him—like a dull ache, a heartbeat that no longer belonged to him.
Wei Wuxian… The thought entered his mind unbidden, but it was too late for regrets, too late for second chances. The bond that had once tied them together had frayed and snapped long ago, leaving nothing but ghosts behind. This was for Wei Wuxian, not for him. He had to do it, for the sake of everything he couldn’t fix.
The healer made the first incision, and Jiang Cheng’s body went rigid. The pain was immediate—sharp and raw—as the healer’s fingers delved into his chest. It was worse than anything he had ever felt, worse than the scars, the brokenness, the endless nights of aching loss. It was as if his very soul was being ripped apart, and yet, there was no choice but to endure.
The healer spoke again, this time his voice less a warning and more an observation. “Your core is… unusual. It’s not entirely of your own making, is it?”
Jiang Cheng’s breath hitched. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words around the pain. His entire chest seemed to seize up, as if his lungs were being squeezed from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe, to endure. His mind was a blur of fragments—memories of a time when things had been simpler, when he had a brother, a family. Now there was nothing but the sharp sting of emptiness.
The healer continued with his work, the pressure growing as the core was loosened from where it had settled deep within him. The golden core inside him pulsed, a faint light flickering beneath his skin, as though it fought to remain anchored in its place. The pain spiked again, more intense this time. It was a scream held tight in his throat, a scream that never made it past his lips.
With one final, excruciating movement, the healer pulled the core free. Jiang Cheng’s whole body shuddered in response. The room spun around him as his chest hollowed out, the space inside him suddenly devoid of that life-giving force. He gasped, unable to catch his breath, his limbs trembling with exhaustion and relief.
The healer held the golden core in his hands, the soft glow illuminating his worn features. For a moment, the silence in the room felt like a suffocating weight. Jiang Cheng couldn’t look at it, couldn’t bear to see it.
“I’ll take it to him,” Jiang Cheng murmured hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t sure if the words were meant for the healer or for himself. “He deserves it more than I ever did.”
The healer didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The act was complete. The bond between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian was severed now, permanently, and Jiang Cheng could feel the emptiness gnawing at him from the inside out.
But even as the darkness closed in around him, a part of him—deep, deep down—felt the faintest thread of relief. Wei Wuxian would have what was rightfully his. And Jiang Cheng…
Jiang Cheng could finally let go.
-=======================-
The room was unbearably still. Jiang Cheng could feel the weight of the golden core in the healer’s hands, though he hadn’t seen it for himself. The hollow emptiness in his chest seemed to spread, suffocating him in the quiet aftermath of the ritual. His mind was foggy, but he clung to one thought—Wei Wuxian. This was for him. This was his only purpose now.
The healer looked down at the golden core, the faint pulse of its light the only indication that it was still alive. Jiang Cheng couldn’t bring himself to look at it, could barely hold his focus. His entire body felt as if it was sinking, every breath harder to draw, as though the air itself had thickened with the gravity of what he had done.
“You’ll need rest,” the healer said quietly, his tone unexpectedly soft. “You’ll be weak. The core was a part of you—taking it out leaves a void. But... I’ve done what you asked.”
Jiang Cheng’s lips curled into a bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Weak? He didn’t care. What did it matter anymore?
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice rougher than he expected. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He could feel the pain now, deep in his bones, but he welcomed it. If it was all he had left, let it consume him. The agony was almost a relief after the weight of carrying something so heavy for so long.
The healer turned to place the golden core into a small, intricately carved container. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft clink of glass against wood. Jiang Cheng’s hands hung at his sides, trembling slightly, not from weakness but from something more… fundamental. His breath came in shallow gasps. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to remember the way Wei Wuxian had once filled his heart with warmth, or how much he had failed him.
“I’ll leave now,” the healer said, his voice steady, as if he understood what Jiang Cheng needed, or perhaps what he no longer wanted.
Jiang Cheng didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge the man’s presence as he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Jiang Cheng alone with his thoughts. Alone with the empty space in his chest. Alone with the endless, hollow ache that had never truly gone away.
His body wanted to collapse, to give in to the weakness, but something—something he couldn’t define—kept him standing. The golden core was gone, and Wei Wuxian would be whole again. His brother would be restored, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find peace.
But Jiang Cheng?
Jiang Cheng felt less than a shadow now. Less than a man. He had always been torn between duty and desire, between protecting his Sect and protecting the ones he loved. But now, with the golden core removed, the connection to everything he had once fought for felt so far away, as if he had severed the last tie to a life that no longer had meaning.
He staggered to his feet, his legs weak, the exhaustion making the world spin around him. He reached for the door, one hand gripping the frame as he tried to steady himself. He had to take it to Wei Wuxian. He had to. But his body resisted. It was as if his soul was already wandering away from this world, a ghost in its own life.
The walk to the door felt impossibly long. When he finally reached the entrance of the room, he froze. The thought of seeing Wei Wuxian—of handing over the core—suddenly filled him with an overwhelming emptiness. The familiar ache of longing twisted inside him, threatening to swallow him whole. He wanted to believe that Wei Wuxian would be whole, that their bond could be restored, that this act would matter. But deep down, he feared it would never be enough. The bridge between them had already crumbled too far.
Jiang Cheng closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to steady his unsteady heartbeat. He thought of Jin Ling, of everything he had done for his nephew. He thought of his Sect, his responsibility. His duty had never been to Wei Wuxian; it had always been to his people. But now… it was just him, a broken man with nothing left.
With a final, reluctant exhale, he turned, making his way through the halls of the hidden room. The weight of the golden core was gone, but the void it left in its place seemed deeper than ever. The pain, the sorrow—everything he had kept bottled up for so long was beginning to spill over.
This is for him, Jiang Cheng told himself again, but even as he thought the words, he couldn’t silence the nagging voice in his head that said it wasn’t. Not really.
The door creaked open, and he stepped into the night, his legs unsteady beneath him. The journey was long, but his steps felt slower than they ever had before.
-=======================-
-=======================-
The moonlight casts a cold, ethereal glow across the water, shimmering like silver threads across the surface of the lotus pond. Jiang Cheng steps slowly, almost reverently, down the familiar path leading to Lotus Pier for the final time. The weight of his decision presses on him, but tonight, it is not fear or regret that dominates his mind. It’s something else—something heavy, like a weighty silence hanging between the stars, something that feels like an end, and perhaps, in some way, a beginning.
The streets are quiet; the disciples are all asleep in their quarters, unaware of the turmoil in their Sect Leader’s heart. There is no one left to offer their respect or disturb his thoughts. The only sound is the soft rustle of the evening breeze, the faint chirp of crickets in the distance. The pier is just as he remembers it, the wooden boards creaking slightly under his feet as he walks toward the dock.
He sits at the edge, legs dangling over the side, staring at the water below. The memories flood him in waves. Mother, father... He recalls the devastation of that night, the crackling fire that had consumed the Sect, the feeling of helplessness as their bodies were lost to the flames. He had been too young to protect them, too inexperienced to keep them safe. His mother had always been harsh with him, cold and demanding, always expecting more than he could give. Her cruelty had shaped him, forced him to be strong, and he had carried that bitterness with him ever since. There had been no tenderness, no soothing words—just the constant pressure to be something he couldn’t become. She would never have been proud of him. And now, as he sits here, surrounded by the remnants of his life, the shame of it all weighs him down.
Jiang Cheng’s thoughts turn to Wei Wuxian, to their tangled past. His chest tightens at the memory of all the things they could never say to each other, the words unsaid, the love buried beneath anger and resentment. He had always wanted to protect Wei Wuxian, even when it seemed like he was destroying everything around them. Yet, in the end, it had always been Wei Wuxian who found the light, the warmth of family, the bonds he had longed for... and Jiang Cheng, the one who had once been his closest, remained frozen in his own pain.
And Jin Ling... His heart aches at the thought of his nephew. Jin Ling, who had always looked up to him, who had always come to him for guidance. He had tried to give him everything he needed, to show him strength, but Jiang Cheng knows, deep down, that Jin Ling will never need him the way he once did. Jin Ling is no longer the boy he used to be—he’s growing into a man, someone who will surpass Jiang Cheng, someone who will lead their Sect better than he ever could.
He exhales slowly, looking up at the night sky. The stars blink down at him like distant memories, reminders of everything he’s lost and everything he could never reach. The moon, bright and full, casts a soft light over the dock, and for a moment, Jiang Cheng lets himself drift into it, letting the cold of the night seep into his bones.
He shrugs off his outer robes, the purple fabric falling to the ground, and undoes the knot in his hair. His long, dark strands cascade down his back, just like his mother had styled it for him in his youth. The memory of her cruel hands twisting his hair into submission hits him like a wave. She had always been there, watching over him like a shadow, always dissatisfied with his every move. His hair—an extension of her harsh lessons. He folds his robes neatly, placing the hairpins his mother had loved so dearly on top of the pile, each one an echo of something he can never get back.
Jiang Cheng knows that his parents would be ashamed of him now. That he hasn’t been strong enough. That he has allowed everything to fall apart. I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t protect Wei Wuxian. I couldn’t protect Jin Ling... His thoughts spiral downward, a pit forming in his stomach. He can’t bear it anymore. The weight of everything—the memories, the failures, the responsibilities—feels too much to carry. He’s too tired.
His hands tremble as he uncorks the jar of wine he brought with him, pouring the red liquid into his mouth. It burns as it slides down his throat, staining the collar of his white under robes as it drips down his chest. He leans back, his long hair splayed out like a dark halo around him, his body feeling light for the first time in so long. He stares at the stars above him, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
He thinks of the times when he and Wei Wuxian would come here together, drinking away their pain and their past. The laughter they once shared, the easy camaraderie that had once been a balm to his wounded soul. But those days are long gone now. They are shadows fading in the distance, leaving him with nothing but the cold, lonely night.
With a wild, reckless grin, Jiang Cheng stands at the edge of the dock, the water reflecting the moon’s pale light below. It’s over. He takes one last, deep breath, the air thick in his lungs, and without a second thought, he leaps.
Jiang Cheng’s body goes rigid with the cold, but it’s no longer discomforting—just a dull, pervasive weight settling over him. The water moves around him like a living thing, cold and suffocating, and for a long moment, the only thing he can hear is the soft rush of liquid filling his ears. But still, he doesn’t fight.
The panic he expected doesn’t come; his body feels too tired, too beaten down to care. The ache in his chest is the last thing he’s left with, a weight so familiar he can’t remember life without it. He’s no longer fighting against the inevitability of it all.
I’m done fighting.
Jiang Cheng tilts his head back, his chest sinking deeper into the cold embrace of the water. He opens his mouth wide, letting the freezing liquid pour in. It fills his mouth, pushes down into his lungs, pressing against his heart.
It feels as though it is both drowning and freeing him at the same time.
The water fills every inch of him, colder than anything he’s ever known, pressing against the broken parts of him that refuse to heal. He feels it coating his insides, rushing in faster than he can breathe, choking the life out of him in the way he’s always wanted to die—by his own hand, on his own terms, free from any further pain. He welcomes it, lets it rush in like a wave, swallowing the last remnants of his thoughts. His body gives into the cold that is slowly claiming him, embracing the pull of the dark depths below.
I’m done, he thinks, even as his body begins to fight, even as his chest burns for air, even as instinct pushes him to the surface. But this time, there is no fight, no frantic scramble for breath. There is only the cold and the silence, and the weight of his life slowly slipping away.
He doesn’t struggle; his limbs go limp, like he’s too tired to care. His vision starts to fade, and the darkness that encroaches feels almost like a comfort. He’s already let go of so much. His failures. The disappointment. His regrets. The Sect. His family. His friends. His purpose. They’re all floating away, like the current pulling him under.
There is nothing left to hold on to.
His thoughts are fractured now, memories bleeding into each other. He sees his mother’s face, cruel and disappointed, and he remembers the way she never showed him love, the way she demanded more from him than he could ever give. She’s a shadow in his mind, her voice cold and cutting, like it always had been.
I’ll never be good enough for her. For anyone.
The thought cuts through the haze in his mind, but it doesn’t last long. It is quickly swallowed up by the overwhelming pull of the water, pressing deeper into his chest, squeezing out every last ounce of breath. The panic that should have been there—the fight for life—flickers in and out, but it’s weak, as if it doesn’t belong to him anymore.
Maybe I’ve never belonged to anyone.
His vision starts to blur, his body sinking deeper, drawn into the depths of the water as his limbs grow heavier and his mind slips further into oblivion. He can still see flashes of the faces he’s failed, the faces that haunt him. Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian. Their eyes, full of expectations and love he could never quite live up to. But even those memories are growing fainter, swallowed by the darkness, by the pull of the abyss.
He feels the water flooding his lungs, fills every inch of him. He could have fought it, struggled for air, tried to push himself up toward the surface. But the fight is gone from him. There’s no fight left. There’s no reason to breathe anymore.
His body shudders briefly, just a tremor of reflex before it goes still. The water moves around him, quiet now, like the world itself is letting him go.
I’ve failed them all, he thinks, a final fleeting thought, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came.
The cold begins to feel warm, like it’s all he’s ever known, like it’s holding him together, holding him down. There is no more struggle, no more pain. The ache in his chest fades, the last remnants of his broken heart sinking into the deep.
The last thing he feels is a sense of peace, the gentle weight of the water surrounding him.
And for the first time, Jiang Cheng feels nothing.
He is free.
His eyes flutter closed, the darkness in the water swallowing him whole, and he smiles softly. The water presses against him, and he sinks deeper into the depths, into the peace, into the silence.
He is no longer looking for redemption, no longer wondering if there’s anything left of him at all. The water claims him, and he lets go.
The water fills his chest, his mind, his soul, until there is nothing left but the quiet, the cold, and the peace that settles over him. And in the darkest depths of the ocean, Jiang Cheng finally surrenders, no longer seeking to breathe, to fight, to live.
In this moment, he is nothing. And for once, he’s okay with that.
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When one of the disciples who assisted Jiang Cheng with his duties notices his absence that morning, he hesitates for a moment, then knocks gently on his Sect Leader’s door. When there’s no response, he knocks again, harder this time, his worry creeping into the force of each strike.
"Sect Leader Jiang? Are you in there?" His voice trembles slightly as he presses his ear to the door, but there is no sound from inside. His heart begins to race. Jiang Cheng has always been punctual, even in his worst moments. For him to miss the morning rituals is... unnerving.
"Excuse me, Sect Leader Jiang. I’m coming in."
With no other choice, the disciple turns the door handle. It opens with a soft creak, and his eyes immediately scan the room for any sign of his Sect Leader. But the room is eerily quiet, empty—no signs of life.
His gaze lands on the desk, where a small, intricate wooden box sits in the center. It’s an unusual sight in Jiang Cheng’s otherwise orderly, utilitarian space. His first instinct is to leave, but something about the stillness, the unnerving silence, pulls him in. Against his better judgment, he steps inside, closing the door softly behind him.
The room feels colder than it should, as though it’s holding its breath. His gaze shifts to the desk, where only two folded pieces of paper rest beneath the box. The papers are neatly arranged, but the sight of them brings a strange sense of unease.
The disciple reaches for the nearest piece, his fingers trembling as he picks it up. Unfolding it carefully, he begins to read, each word growing heavier than the last. The air feels thick, oppressive. His mind races, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the paper.
And then, as the weight of the words sinks in, the disciple’s knees buckle beneath him. The paper slips from his hand, crumpling as it falls to the floor. He collapses to the ground, his breath shallow and ragged as his heart pounds in his chest.
The words are unmistakable.
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To Wei Wuxian,
I have no idea where to begin, or even if I should. It feels wrong to write this—wrong to give you anything after everything that's happened. But perhaps that’s exactly why I should.
I should have never let you leave, never let us fall apart. In the time we spent apart, I’ve only learned that I was more of a fool than I ever thought I could be. The days without you have been a quiet torment. I fought so hard against my own heart, against the guilt, the anger, and the pain. But in the end, it was the absence of you that broke me. It was knowing I would never see you again that made me question if I was even worthy of holding the title I’ve clung to all these years.
I’ve been too proud. Too stubborn. And now, perhaps, too tired to continue.
I should have been the one to stay by your side, to be your strength, but instead, I let my pride get in the way. I pushed you away, then blamed you when I couldn’t fix things. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that.
There were moments, fleeting ones, when I thought I could bring things back. That maybe, just maybe, we could go back to what we were. But those moments faded too quickly. The distance between us, the misunderstandings, the wounds we inflicted on each other—none of it could be erased. I’ve tried, Wei Wuxian. For years, I’ve tried.
But I see now that I cannot undo what’s been done. I’ve failed too many people. I’ve failed my Sect, my family, and most of all, you .
I wish I could tell you that I don’t regret everything, but I do. I regret that we never got the chance to make things right. That we never found the peace we both deserved.
And yet, as I sit here, writing these words, I can’t help but feel a sense of quiet relief. Because in some way, I’m giving you back what you lost. I know I never truly apologized for taking your golden core from you, and it haunts me. So, I’ve made sure to return it to you now, before I take the final step and leave this world behind. I hope, in some way, that it brings you peace. That you can rebuild yourself as you deserve to, without the chains I foolishly tied around you.
Maybe in another life, we would have been different. But I’m not sure there’s a place for me in this world anymore.
Take care of yourself, Wei Wuxian. If there’s one thing I ask of you, it’s that. Take care of Jin Ling.
And when you see him, tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I was trying. Tell him I loved him, in my own way.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever see you again, but I hope that wherever you are, you’re at peace. I never stopped caring for you, no matter how much I let my anger push me away.
Goodbye, Shixiong.
Love,
Jiang Cheng
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