Chapter Text
Their second life is a fickle one. This time, Jiang Cheng is born a woman. She is not the privileged daughter of the sect leader, but instead, a child to a lowly whore. She grows up in the brothel, her lips painted with rosy blush and eyes encased with red liner. No vitriol spews from her mouth this time— only complaints carefully swallowed down the length of her throat. They die there, a miserable painful death. Jiang Cheng silences them before they can ruin her, turning her wild and unruly. Blood stains her fingertips, blackening them with its vicious grip.
Her life begins and ends with a death. She was six when she first saw a girl get beaten in front of her— the woman’s son crying and cradling the dead body in a hysterical fit. Over the years, there were more girls— more corpses— all of which eventually piled in a rotting heap, tainting Jiang Cheng’s conscience.
But the first murder tugs at her heartstrings like no other. The girl had been a mother, her son was around Jiang Cheng’s age. When the boy saw his mother’s fallen figure, he had let out the most agonizing wail as he knelt by his mother’s cooling body, his little hands clutching uselessly at her wound.
There was no breath left in her by then— not even a final fluttering of her eyelids.
Jiang Cheng’s mother later told her that the girl’s name was Meng Shi. A pretty whore with a thirst for knowledge and a penchant for trouble. She liked those fairytales— those love-addled fantasies. She liked men too— that foolish girl.
Isn’t it ironic? Jiang Cheng thought so. A harlot and a hero. That wasn’t the kind of love they wrote about in the storybooks.
Fate doesn’t pity the sinners. Theirs was a life of hedonism, tales of solitude and isolation that always ended with beauties dead and new ones to take their place.
Since the time she could talk, Jiang Cheng had been swept away to join the rotation of girls attending to their guests each night. Her first time was a mix of tears and teeth and blood, hastily finished business that left Jiang Cheng staring dully at the soft curtains above her. They were still bathed in light. Not even the candle had been blown before he had descended upon her, gorging on her body with ravenous desire. She had simply thrown her head back and moaned, just as she had been taught, silently praying that he would stop soon.
“Please,” she had begged, tears trailing down her cheeks as she clutched desperately at the bedsheets. She ran her hands down her body, scratching red lines across her skin. Fingers desperate to wipe away the mess painted across her torso.
It’s so dirty— she’s so dirty.
“Gods,” the man she was attending to whispered, stilling her as his eyes lit up with wonder. He mistakes her reluctance for pleasure. “Gods, you’re such a slut. Just a child and begging for cock already. They trained you well, didn’t they?”
Jiang Cheng responds with more tears— hot and heavy as they slide down her cheeks.
It hurts—
Please stop—
All he does is pound her harder, his flesh sliding against hers in a morbid symphony.
This nameless stranger takes her virginity in the most brutal, dehumanizing way. Leaving her young body aching and tainted with bruises from where his swollen fingers left their painful indents.
Jiang Cheng closes her eyes. Did the fairytales ever write about this?
The next morning, she stands in front of the mirror, her body decorated with a litter of dark splotches and red marks. She has a knife in her hand, its sharp blade coated with scarlet.
Jiang Cheng stares at her reflection. Soft lips, wide hips, perky tits.
She’s a pretty little thing, she thinks as she hoists the knife up.
She brings it down, carving it deep into her arm, on the underside of it where no one can see.
Blood drips down her skin and Jiang Cheng watches it all numbly. Crimson coats her hand, sliding down the edges of her fingers and staining the floor below.
She smiles.
She can’t see his marks anymore.
***
It was hard at first. The girls all hated her. She was some upstart who dared think of herself on par with themselves. A new face, a new body, a new threat.
One of them tried to kill her once. Rou’er had found herself a rich patron with deep pockets and an addiction to beautiful women. She had convinced the man to smuggle her a bottle of rat poison, the summer Jiang Cheng turned fourteen.
Jiang Cheng will never forget the look on Rou’er’s face as she handed her the gift: a carefully bound bottle of expensive wine.
“Drink child,” Rou’er had said, “It will set you free.”
It did not, in fact, set Jiang Cheng free.
Her mother had grabbed the wine before Jiang Cheng even managed to touch her lips to the rim. Downing it in one go, her mother glared at Jiang Cheng, silently making a shooing motion, universal for get lost .
“Leave, you slut,” her mother had commanded, pointing one insistent finger at the door. “Go fix your makeup. It looks hideous on you.”
The girls all hated her. Mother included.
When Mother died from the poisoned wine, Jiang Cheng had felt a sharp surge of elation, tugging at her heartstrings. Her mother bled so beautifully across the wooden tiles below, looked so small and weak and pathetic. Was she always this pale and sickly?
Mother’s blood trickled down her painted lips. Her hands clenched and unclenched, eyes blinking furiously and mouth sealed shut— as if that would keep her spirit from escaping the shackles of her body.
Jiang Cheng watched her, head tilted in wonder. An old madness rears its ugly head, and she can't help but stumble forward, a grin curving her lips as she stomps down on her mother’s hands, crushing them under her foot. Her mother's horrified eyes find hers, and Jiang Cheng scrambles back, a sickened look on her face as she glances down at her own feet in astonishment. She doesn't know whether to be proud or disgusted with herself.
Her mother's dead body was on the floor in front of her, the corpse of a woman who had birthed her, raised her, and died for her. A skeleton whose shadow seemed larger than life, and whose vice like grip, Jiang Cheng could never quite escape.
Slap—
“Useless slut! You can’t do anything right!” Mother thundered, towering over a cowering Jiang Cheng.
Slap—
"You cunt! How dare you bewitch him, you fucking bitch! Give that hairpin to me! You don't deserve it!"
"Mother please! Please I was wrong! Plea—"
Slap—
"I didn't mean it!" Jiang Cheng gasps, panting for breath. Her lungs strain from the sudden pressure on her chest, where her mother's boot crushes down on her. She gasps again, face turning shades of purple and blue as her body struggles for oxygen. "Mother!" she screams, "Mother it hurts—"
Almost like a switch had been turned in her head, the pain suddenly abates, and her Mother kneels before her, sweeping Jiang Cheng up in a close embrace. "Shh," Mother murmurs, petting her gently. "A-Cheng, you know that Mother loves you best, right?" she whispers, holding Jiang Cheng tight and cradling her against her bosom. "So be a good girl, won't you? Don't be mad at me anymore, you know that Mother would never hurt you."
Jiang Cheng nods her head, terrified at what would happen if she didn't. She knows that Mother's grace never lasts.
Slap—
"You vicious shrew! I should've strangled up when you were born!"
Slap—
"How dare you call me your mother! I don't have a harpy like you for a daughter!"
Slap!
It hurts—
Jiang Cheng wants her to stop. She'll be good—
She didn't mean to—
"I'm sor—"
”I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng whispers, shaking her head furiously. “I’m sorry for stepping on you.”
”I didn’t mean it,” she murmurs, under her breath. “Please don’t hit me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
Bang — the door slams open, startling Jiang Cheng from her thoughts. She turns around to see the madam, surrounded by a slew of guards, with fury etched into the harsh lines of her face. The woman wails when she sees Mother's body, frothing at the mouth, with poisoned wine still dangling from her fingers. Her eyes flash with rage and she turns to Jiang Cheng, mouth twisted in a snarl. "Tell me slut," she cries, walking forward and yanking Jiang Cheng's hair back. "Did you fucking do this?"
Jiang Cheng shakes her head frantically, tears streaming down her face as her scalp burns from the pain. "It was her!" she screams, pointing a betrayed finger at Rou'er, "It was her who killed my mother!"
“N-No,” Rou’er whispers, terrified. “No, it wasn’t me!” she whispers furiously, hands coming up to shield herself. “It wasn’t—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. One minute, Rou’er stands there, a victorious expression carved into the arrogant lines of her face. The next, she has crumpled on the ground, subject to the kicks that rain down on her from above.
“You fucking bitch!” the woman kicking her screams. “How dare you cost me a whore!”
“It wasn’t me!” Rou’er pleads again, eyes wide and unfocused. She has a nasty wound on her side, bloodied from the sharp heel of the woman’s boot. “It wasn’t me madam! It wasn’t!”
“Fucking cunt!” their owner screams. “Drag her away!”
Jiang Cheng watches them, eyes vacant and face blank. She stares numbly as Rou’er cries and begs to no avail. Good, she thinks viciously, let her beg.
There was nothing special about begging. They all do it. Jiang Cheng begs strangers she doesn't know. She begs and cries— but they— they never listened to her before. So why should Rou’er be any different?
Jiang Cheng savors Rou’er's cries, craves her screams like an addict. It means that it’s not just her.
None of them have happy endings.
Jiang Cheng closes her eyes and imagines the blood that pools around Rou’er’s cooling body. Sees it soak her robes, drench her skin, dying her deep crimson. There was no amount of scrubbing that could ever wash it off.
Rou’er died a few days after. The official reason was a sudden flu. Something mild that quickly worsened into a cough, before deteriorating into a cold, and finally a high fever that stole her away in the quiet hours before dawn.
Jiang Cheng knew better.
The knife that slid across the vixen’s throat was a sharp one.
***
After her mother and Rou’er’s death, things accelerated for Jiang Cheng. She was young and pretty, two qualities that pushed her into the limelight. Soon she was learning how to ooze seduction. Batting her eyelashes and worrying her lips between her teeth before she offered strangers a place in her bed.
The madam always told her she was a pretty little girl, perfect for charming her way into a man’s pants.
Her world colored from the endless bruises on her back, the grubby hands digging deep into her skin. The terrible filth stained her legs and trickled from her lips. Sin clung to the curves of her hips, dips of her thighs— the throes of mechanical pleasure that bordered pain— of which she lost herself.
The men hit her sometimes too. Berating her and pulling her hair for enticing them, forcing them to betray their wives like the temptress she was taught to be.
“Fucking harpy,” one of them grunted, raising a meaty fist and slamming into the soft part of Jiang Cheng’s hip as he took her from behind. “Such a fucking slut.”
Jiang Cheng had muffled her scream, so sure that by the time morning came and the man had left, she would be reduced to a puddle of bruises and tears. Nothing at all like the stories Meng Shi had read.
She and Rou’er were one and the same. Theirs is not a love story. Theirs is no happily ever after.
***
There was a man — one man, and one man alone — that makes Jiang Cheng dare hope. She knows not his name, nor his title — simply that he is an esteemed guest who must be served with the utmost care. He sports a mane of shaggy black hair, slick and oiled, with a healthy sheen to it. His eyes were bright silver, his hands long and nimble, with callouses lining the junction of his thumb and index finger.
He is a stranger, a customer — he is a man.
He is Jiang Chengs.
He calls for her in the glittering throes of passion, surrounded by women aplenty, all draped over his lap and fawning at his chest. He has a wicked smirk on his face, tilting his neck back and allowing one of the girls to latch onto the pale length of his throat.
“Well aren’t you a pretty one?” he drawls, dragging an appreciative gaze up and down her body.
Jiang Cheng bows her head, casting her eyes down shyly, faint blush adorning her cheeks. It had been a while since she served a boy her age. The man before her is the last of a dying breed– full of life and vigor, all youthful grin and devilish smirk.
“I think I’ll have her tonight,” the man decides, pushing away the girl still attached to his throat. He waves a dismissive hand at the others. “Take the rest away,” he orders, "I don't want to see them."
He reeks of power — so much of it, it enthralls Jiang Cheng.
Here is a boy yet 18, still a child and her age. Yet he effortlessly commands the attention of everyone in the room, silver eyes scanning them like piercing needles. They bury into Jiang Cheng’s flesh, peeling back the layers of mask and skin that have blurred together in perfect harmony. She feels cut open — completely raw.
She feels invisible.
It’s almost like he doesn’t even see her, attention flitting between her and the other girls as if he can’t decide which whore he likes best.
It’s humiliating.
It’s intoxicating.
They fuck that night. He thrusts himself between her legs, prying her thighs apart and gripping them tightly for better leverage. She is thrown across the bed, hair flattened against her cheeks as she’s pushed head first into the pillows— the man’s firm hand on her back, pushing her deeper into the nest of her bedsheets.
He takes her like a rabid animal— hard and fast and painful.
That night, Jiang Cheng comes four times.
And by the time dawn breaks across the horizon, she’s left broken and alone in her room, the knife twisting a little deeper in her chest as she reminisces over last night's activities.
The bed sheets are all rumpled from where the man left, hastily tripping over himself in a mad dash to the door. He does not bother with goodbyes, only leaving as fast as he can, as if a moment more and she would dirty the ground below his feet. Like she’d cling to him, stretching her greedy hands toward him, trapping him in her deadly embrace.
Jiang Cheng supposes it is only natural. He had fucked her for hours on end last night, bringing her to the brink of pleasure and pushing her head first off the edge. She had seen heaven behind her tightly shut lids— gone through paradise, reached nirvana.
She had burned in hell.
He worshiped her body like it was an altar, tracing kisses all over her skin, carding fingers through her hair. Gentle touch brushing over her breasts, pressing into her chest.
He bruised and bloodied and broke her. He came with another’s name on his lips, sounding so lovesick and foolish and tender, it made Jiang Cheng sick. Shidi—
She swallows the bitterness that lies heavy on her tongue, forces herself to push away the sharp possessiveness that sinks its ugly claws into the soft underbelly of her heart. What right does she have to lay claim on him? Is a pretty face and enticing youth all a man needs to win her heart? She is his whore, he her master, and the name he came to, his very world.
But still—
Jiang Cheng had hoped she was different. She doesn't know what she thought— he came to a brothel after all. She met him when he was surrounded by whores, wrapped in pleasure, and lustful for sex.
It's his youth, she decides. It's his youth that tugs at her so.
He wasn't gentle. But he wasn't cruel either. He didn't hit her. But she still felt dirty. Fair enough, she supposes. He is a good man.
She hopes, whoever that man is, Jiang Cheng wishes him happiness.
He is in love. Though even love is subject to worldly pleasure. But the man remains loyal to a fault. The next day, there is no trace of him— it’s as if he’s vanished. She doesn't see him the next day, or the day after.
Perhaps, Jiang Cheng muses to herself, he confessed to that shidi of his already.
She wants to ask him, but he's gone. She doesn't think they'll ever meet again.
She is wrong.
They meet again thirteen years later. She gives a name— shixiong. She gets a name— shidi.
Thirteen years later, Jiang Cheng remembers.
Thirteen years later, Wei Wuxian comes back.