Chapter Text
It seems that between one day and the next, Sizhui and Jin Ling become friends.
Mo Xuanyu doesn’t notice it at first, between being nose deep in a book about the history of cultivation and slipping out into Lanling to buy more supplies for the remainder of their trip. It’s only when he looks up from his notes on a cool sunny day, almost two and a half weeks into their stay, and sees Jin Ling wandering through the courtyard he’s sequestered himself in.
Normally Jin Ling is surrounded by cultivators and guards, people decades older than him who don’t quite know what to do with their new sect leader. Normally there’s a shadow of a scowl on his face, one that mirrors Jiang Wanyin. But there’s a smile on Jin Ling’s face as he walks, and he’s nodding up at Sizhui.
‘You two look like you’re having fun,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a smirk. ‘Don’t you have sect leader work to do? Or cultivation lessons?’
‘The instructors thought it might be a better idea for me to take a break from meditation class,’ Sizhui says sweetly, and it’s almost enough to distract Mo Xuanyu from the meaning of his words. ‘I saw that Jin-zongzhu had some free time and asked him to show me around Carp Tower.’
‘Sizhui,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a gasp, placing his notes down onto the table next to him. ‘Did you get kicked out of class?’
‘He was distracting the babies from meditation,’ Jin Ling snickers.
It’s the first time Mo Xuanyu has heard him laugh, the first time he’s heard something beyond the anger and the hurt and the confusion that has burnt away at him during the days they’d spent together.
Sizhui lets out his own laugh, in response, not at all offended by Jin Ling’s words.
Something like relief loosens the tight hold on Mo Xuanyu’s heart seeing them like that. Seeing them as boys, rather than the young men the world had forced them to become.
‘I have to say, Sizhui,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a shake of his head, ‘you don’t ever disappoint me, but I can’t imagine what will happen when Hanguang-jun finds out that his son can’t mediate.’
Jin Ling lets out another snort. ‘Anything will be better than That Idiot, so I don’t think Hanguang-jun would be at all mad about it.’
‘That Idiot?’
‘Hanguang-jun’s current apprentice,’ Jin Ling says, with all the disdain that the other Jin cultivators reserve for Mo Xuanyu and Wen Ning. ‘He’s the head disciple of Gusu Lan and he’s terrible at it. No sense of propriety, and he keeps snoring during discussion conferences, even though he sits next to the chief cultivator.’
Mo Xuanyu can’t help the snort of amusement. ‘And Lan Zhan allows that?’
‘He always punishes That Idiot by making him do handstands and copying out their rules, but it keeps happening.’ Jin Ling sounds affronted, angry. It’s all the vitriol that Mo Xuanyu had expected upon entering Lanling and yet directed at another boy in another sect. It’s like watching a two-year-old get angry about eating vegetables, and Mo Xuanyu loves it.
‘Perhaps you and I better keep an eye out for him when we get to Gusu,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a smirk. ‘If you want to join the Lan clan, you need to ensure that you’re being a proper Lan, unlike Jin Ling’s Idiot.’
‘He’s not my idiot!’
‘I think you’re right,’ Sizhui says, his own smile playing at the corner of his lips. ‘Even if Hanguang-jun is willing to give his apprentice some extra leeway, I should strive to follow all the Lan principles. I don’t have to be a cultivator to be a good Lan, after all.’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t know much about what it means to be a cultivator, or a Lan,’ Mo Xuanyu lies, ‘but perhaps Jin Ling can help you out? Just to ensure that you’re well ahead of His Idiot when we finally arrive at the Cloud Recess.’
Jin Ling lets out another strangled yell, but he doesn’t argue as he drags Sizhui back out of the courtyard. Mo Xuanyu can hear him explaining that despite what That Idiot does, there’s a lot of rules about attending a Discussion Conference. Sizhui nods his head in response, small but serious movements and Mo Xuanyu smiles before picking up his notes again.
He’s not the only pleased with the progression in Sizhui and Jin Ling’s friendship, he realises when he watches Jiang Wanyin a few nights later.
Jin Ling invited them to drink some wine together in one of the smaller, older pavilions. His favourite, he explained with a little bit of a smile, as it next to one of the larger ponds in Carp Tower.
Mo Xuanyu is led there by a young cultivator, who bows with shaking eyes and then power walks away without a look back over his shoulder. He stops at the entrance to the pavilion, breath caught in his throat, as he realises exactly what it is about this pavilion that Jin Ling loves.
It overlooks the pond, water glimmering in the late afternoon sun, and the water stretches out so far that Mo Xuanyu thinks for a moment that he isn’t in Lanling anymore. He pauses at the top of the stairs, eyes fixed on Jiang Wanyin watching the horizon from where he’s reclined in the corner. There’s something in the relaxed tilt of his shoulders that makes Mo Xuanyu relieved and heartbroken in equal parts.
Mo Xuanyu is the last to arrive. Wen Ning is sitting with his hands folded in his lap, the picture of perfect posture, poise and politeness. Jin Ling and Sizhui are sitting next to each other across from him, talking like two boys and laughing like two boys and not at all like the Sect Leader and the Amnesiac Heir that they were.
It brings a smile to Mo Xuanyu’s face and even though Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes, there’s something fond in the corner of his lips.
Mo Xuanyu settles down between him and Wen Ning, taking his own wine in hand.
‘There isn’t much time for him to be a child, is there?’ Mo Xuanyu asks, turning to Jiang Wanyin with something that is almost a smile.
‘There were no other children in Lotus Pier when he was growing up,’ Jiang Wanyin murmurs, ‘and the children in the Jin sect are taught to be proud of themselves, often at the detriment of others. He has friends, but none of them are Jin or Jiang.’
‘I don’t think Sizhui had anyone either, growing up the way he did,’ Mo Xuanyu admits. ‘He wasn’t quite on the streets, there were people who looked out for him as he grew, but it’s hard to make friends when you’re on your own like that. Surviving is more important.’
‘There are many boys his age at the Lan sect, he’ll be welcome there,’ Jiang Wanyin says with a hum. ‘I just hope that he doesn’t leave A-Ling behind.’
‘Ah,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a small laugh, ‘my Sizhui would never do such a thing. He’s better than you and I, better than nearly anyone I know except for A-Ning.’
‘You are too kind, Mo-gongzi,’ Wen Ning says.
He’s grown more silent the longer they stay in Lanling, not that Mo Xuanyu can blame them. And despite their almost daily meetings, he’s even more so in front of Jiang Wanyin.
Despite the peace that Wen Ning and the two sect leaders seemed to be stitching together, Mo Xuanyu wishes they could have left in him in the woods, like they had intended with their original plans, just so that he could have that little bit more peace of mind that what he must be experiencing now.
But still, it appears that even Jiang Wanyin is trying not to be hostile.
‘Wen Ning doesn’t dare talk back to me,’ Mo Xuanyu confides with Jiang Wanyin, ignoring the stiffness of his shoulders, ‘but Sizhui has complained about my cooking several times in the past few weeks. I’ve been living with Wen Ning for almost a year and he has never complained about it.’
‘You will find,’ Wen Ning says with a sip of the wine that he can barely taste, ‘that is because I cannot eat your food, Mo-gongzi.’
Jiang Wanyin chokes on his wine, and if Mo Xuanyu knew any better he would say that Wen Ning laughed at the sect leader.
‘My cooking is fantastic,’ Mo Xuanyu says, ‘perhaps the congee tends to be a bit burnt and the meat a bit too dry, but that’s nothing that some chilli can’t fix.’
‘There’s some chilli,’ Sizhui says, turning from where he and Jin Ling are discussing sword forms, ‘and there’s the amount of chilli you put in your food. No human can consume that amount of chilli oil and not burn off their own tastebuds.’
‘I take back every nice thing I have to say about Sizhui,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a sniff, turning back to Jiang Wanyin. ‘He’s actually horrible, completely unfilial. I shall be trading him for Jin Ling effective immediately.’
‘Does he try and slap you in the morning when you try and wake him up?’ Jiang Wanyin says.
‘Nope,’ Mo Xuanyu says, ‘he’s annoyingly well-mannered even in the morning.’
‘Deal,’ Jiang Wanyin says, toasting Mo Xuanyu. Mo Xuanyu tips his own cup at the sect leader, before taking another sip of his wine.
‘Jiujiu!’ Jin Ling shrieks in betrayal.
Jiang Wanyin looks at Mo Xuanyu, and there’s a beat before they burst into a loud laughter that echoes across the water. It feels perfect, and right, and Mo Xuanyu wishes desperately that the moment could last a lifetime. Even Wen Ning is smiling fondly where he sits.
It’s Sizhui who pours out more wine next, a slight tint to his cheeks, and Mo Xuanyu would feel guilty for giving wine to a Lan. But they’re laughing and they’re smiling, and it feels a lot like an almost peace to Mo Xuanyu.
Mo Xuanyu isn’t sure how many bottles they go through, although he knows that Wen Ning is keeping track and will confiscate the bottles if he thinks that the children (or Mo Xuanyu) have too much.
Jiang Wanyin is slower in the way he drinks, more contemplative.
‘You don’t cultivate, do you?’ Jiang Wanyin asks, after they’ve talked about the benefits of chilli oil in congee and why Jiang Wanyin is staying in Carp Tower despite being the Sect Leader in Yunmeng. It’s not an aggressive question, more out of curiosity than anything. ‘A-Ling mentioned that one of the reasons you were removed from Carp Tower was that you couldn’t cultivate a golden core. I know you don’t remember then but I’m sure you’re aware of the now.’
‘No, I don’t,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a shake of his head, ‘though not for lack of knowledge. I seem to have already read every book about cultivation in the Jin Library, but I have barely the foundations of a golden core.’
‘You’re welcome to come to Lotus Pier, when this is all over,’ Jiang Wanyin says, ‘perhaps you might have better luck learning how to cultivate from the Jiang then the Jin.’
Mo Xuanyu looks up and tries not to make it obvious just how surprised he is by the offer. But Jiang Wanyin must catch it, because his face turns a sort of angry puce colour and he looks out across the water again, refusing to make eye contact with Mo Xuanyu.
‘One thing I learnt from rebuilding my sect is that everyone cultivates differently, and there are methods that work for some and not others. It might well be that the reason you’re a terrible cultivator is that you aren’t suited to the type of cultivation that the Jin do.’
‘Jiang Wanyin,’ Mo Xuanyu says, with no small amount of drama and a delighted smile growing on his face, ‘I do think that you might like me.’
Something bright and bold flutters in Mo Xuanyu’s chest, something that settles into relief and hope. He doesn’t want to think too much about it, because he’s sure that he will cry if he does. He looks at how Jiang Wanyin has still turned away from him and wishes that he could leap forward and pull the grumpy sect leader into a hug.
‘Jin Ling isn’t the only one who is trying to be better,’ Jiang Wanyin says, and he sounds so awkward and stilted that it just makes Mo Xuanyu even happier. ‘The invitation is open to both of you. If you want to accept it.’
Wen Ning looks like he’s been winded, although the breath was knocked out of him almost twenty years prior and never returned. He can’t really bring himself to speak, just points to himself in something like shock and it earns him a grunt of agreement from Jiang Wanyin.
‘We’d appreciate that, thank you,’ Mo Xuanyu says. ‘I’m sure that Yunmeng is a better place to spend the winter than Gusu.’
Jiang Wanyin snorts, and it breaks the awkward-but-endearing Sect Leader persona into the quieter man. ‘Gusu is a nightmare during the winter, you can never get warm enough. There are actually rules that prevent you from making yourself comfortable in the snow.’
‘Do not dress excessively,’ Mo Xuanyu quotes immediately, ‘do not waste resources, embrace the entirety of the world. There are a lot of rules that would do that.’
Jiang Wanyin turns back to Mo Xuanyu, eyebrow raised in something like surprise. ‘I thought you said you don’t remember anything about who you used to be?’
‘I don’t remember much about myself,’ Mo Xuanyu corrects, ‘but there are some things that stick. I also know how to play the dizi, how to repair a hole in robes and that Emperor’s Smile is the best wine in the world, but it took me several weeks to recognise my own face in the mirror.’
The words aren’t bitter, more lighthearted than anything, but he suspects that it makes Jiang Wanyin uncomfortable from the way he doesn’t speak for a moment. He takes a sip of his wine, because ever after so many months he doesn’t know how to fill this kind of silence, before turning to look at the two boys.
‘Oh,’ he says with a bark of a laugh, ‘it looks like we’ve been drinking for longer than we realised.’
Sizhui and Jin Ling are slumped over their table, Jin Ling’s eyes half-closed as he traces characters onto the wood but Sizhui is properly asleep. It’s sweet, Mo Xuanyu thinks, although he knows that both boys are going to feel horrific in the morning.
‘Jin Ling’s a lightweight,’ Jiang Wanyin confides, ‘like his father. Jin Zixuan used to drink a jar and a half of wine, and it would be enough for him to lose most of his inhibitions. Unluckily for me, it usually meant he would start writing poetry about my sister’s sparkling eyes and her gentle hands.’ He lets out a shudder. ‘She could drink both of us under the table.’
‘I must have gotten my tolerance from my mother’s side of the family,’ Mo Xuanyu hums. ‘I’ve never really gotten emotional when I drink. I’ve never drunk too much though; Wen Ning won’t let me. He believes that everything should be done in moderation.’ It’s said with an affectionate pout, but there’s something more serious in Wen Ning’s eyes than usual when he looks to Jiang Wanyin for a moment.
‘Wei-gongzi used to drink too much,’ he says, sad and solemn and for the first time, and it hits Mo Xuanyu like a punch to the gut. Jiang Wanyin looks frozen where he sits, and his face echoes the same anger and pain that Mo Xuanyu had seen on Jin Ling in the library. ‘I’ve never been a fan of it, since then.’
Jiang Wanyin doesn’t say anything, but Mo Xuanyu doesn’t care because his hands are curling around the silk of his robes as he tries to settle the sudden rush of shame that pulls at him. He puts down his cup, and tries not to notice that he’s pushed it away from him.
‘Seems like Wei Wuxian did a lot of things that he shouldn’t have,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a bitter croak. He swallows it down, however, tilts his chin up and tries to find something, anything, to latch onto rather than the man who ruined both Wen Ning and Jiang Wanyin in equal measure. ‘Sizhui doesn’t drink much, though I’ve never known why.’
‘Gusu Lan rules,’ Jiang Wanyin seems grateful for the distraction, ‘there are five rules that specifically outline the drinking habits of the Lans and those who live with the Cloud Recess.’
‘Probably.’
The silence stretches on between them, something that isn’t quite uncomfortable but doesn’t sit right between the three of them. Mo Xuanyu likes sitting on the pavilion, with the sun that has well and truly set into the night and the small waterfalls to the side of them, and he’s about to stretch out when Sizhui gives out a little whimper.
It’s the same sound of a nightmare from the night in the caves, and Mo Xuanyu is quick to rise up onto his feet as Sizhui curls into himself. Jin Ling is perhaps too drowsy to notice, half-asleep where he’s sitting down, but Jiang Wanyin has sat up straight to attention.
‘Nightmares?’ he asks.
‘I think so,’ Mo Xuanyu says, ‘it’s happened a few times in our travels. He’s never talked about them, I don’t even know if he remembers them when he wakes up.’ Mo Xuanyu folds himself onto his knees next to Sizhui, hand hovering above the boy’s hair as he lets out another broken sound, not quite a groan but filled with desperation. ‘Sizhui, Sizhui can you wake up?’
Sizhui mustn’t hear him, and Mo Xuanyu looks up to where Wen Ning also is now standing, looking as lost as Mo Xuanyu feels. There’s a shudder and Mo Xuanyu can barely stifle the gasp at the tears that start to run down Sizhui’s cheeks. His face has twisted into something that could be fear and pain, and Mo Xuanyu wishes that he could banish whatever nightmare has marred his gentle face.
‘Gentle,’ Jiang Wanyin says, ‘he might not wake up but he might respond to a level of comfort.’
Mo Xuanyu is reminded of the fact that for all his bluster, Jiang Wanyin did raise Jin Ling. He doesn’t look surprised, doesn’t look scared. He would have learnt how to deal with nightmares on his own, he thinks distantly. But he follows the instructions, pulling the ribbon out of Sizhui’s hair and combing his fingers through it, untangling the knots and hoping desperately that it does something to help.
‘Gege,’ Sizhui whispers, hoarse and heartbroken. ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I’m here, I’m here,’ Mo Xuanyu whispers because he doesn’t know what else to do. His hands move in a single repetitive motion, over and over again as he tries to soothe the sobs and tears, wishing that he felt more useful in this moment.
‘Xian-gege, please don’t go.’ Sizhui’s voice rises and breaks in a sob and Mo Xuanyu pulls Sizhui’s head in his lap. He wants to shield the boy from Jiang Wanyin’s prying eyes, wants to hide him from the world so that the boy can be alone in his tears and grief.
‘I’m not going to leave you, my little radish,’ Mo Xuanyu finds himself saying, not even sure where the words came from.
He hears, distantly, the crack of a cup dropping to the table and turns to look over his shoulder. Jiang Wanyin’s hands are empty, his eyes wide as he looks at the boy in Mo Xuanyu’s arms. The sparks of Zidian flash, illuminating the way his lips are parted into almost a snarl. Wen Ning is quick to stand between them, arms out wide as a shield. Mo Xuanyu can’t see his face, but he knows from the way Jiang Wanyin’s expression morphs into something harsher that Wen Ning must truly look like a fierce corpse.
Sizhui whimpers again, and Mo Xuanyu turns back to him.
‘A-Ling,’ Jiang Wanyin says, words raspy and dry from behind Mo Xuanyu, ‘used to cry all the time. Sometimes I found that singing to him helped.’
He doesn’t sound aggressive; he sounds tired and fragile and a moment from breaking. Something in Mo Xuanyu screams to turn around, to talk to Jiang Wanyin. Something else, stronger, tells him to keep his eyes on Sizhui in his lap, and he can only nod in acknowledgement of what Jiang Wanyin says.
He starts to hum, a song he doesn’t remember, into the silence of the space between him. Slowly the creases in Sizhui’s brow smooths out, the small cries slowing and it looks like his nightmare had ended. But Mo Xuanyu doesn’t stop humming, the song low and quiet and he thinks enough to make his own heart settle as well.
Behind him Jiang Wanyin rises, but Mo Xuanyu doesn’t pay attention to him as he storms away.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ Mo Xuanyu asks, not bothering to hide the smile on his face. Jin Ling gives him a glare almost on par with that of his uncle’s as he shuffles through the room and drops down at one of the desks. ‘I distinctly remember telling you to drink water last night.’
‘You did no such thing,’ Jin Ling groans. ‘I hate you, and I hate Jiujiu. Wen Ning is the only person I can trust right now.’
Mo Xuanyu tries not to show his surprise at Jin Ling’s words. He hadn’t thought that Wen Ning had grown on the boy, but perhaps between their secretive meetings and the exposure to Sizhui, something had help unlock some of the negative feelings that sat between Jin Ling’s shoulders.
‘He brought you some hangover soup?’ Mo Xuanyu hadn’t been so lucky, but he also had woken up fairly fresh-faced that morning. Mainly because once he had tucked Sizhui into bed he had stumbled to the kitchens and asked one of the servants to make him enough tea that he felt like he was going to burst afterwards.
‘Said that it worked miracles, and it did.’
Mo Xuanyu lets out a short laugh. He knows that Jin Ling doesn’t drink much, that last night was a rare moment of him letting go around friends and family for what must have been the first time since he ascended to the position of Sect Leader. It’s almost sweet, almost endearing, to see the boy try and regain a sense of normalcy and decorum.
‘I’m surprised that you’ve even bothered to wake up, I thought that a Sect Leader could dictate the day as he wants!’
Jin Ling shakes his head. ‘My duty is to my sect first, I cannot push it aside for something as stupid as me not pacing myself the night before.’
There is weight to the words, but Mo Xuanyu cannot tell if it’s Jiang Wanyin who taught Jin Ling this, or if he learnt it from the mistakes of his other uncle and his grandfather before him. He is a boy who is fiercely proud of his sect, Mo Xuanyu thinks, even as he doesn’t quite know how to lead it.
‘Still, it’s very early, what are you even doing? Surely you can pass off some paperwork to one of your cultivators, someone you trust.’
‘That,’ Jin Ling says with a sigh, ‘involves having someone I trust. We’ve managed to eliminate anyone who fanatically followed Jin Guangyao, but I’ve yet to find someone that I trust enough to be my advisors and head disciple.’ There’s something more like a scowl on his face again, something angry and vulnerable.
Mo Xuanyu realises, perhaps for the first time, that Jin Ling must be trying to lead a sect splintered by loyalties and politics. He looks so small, and perhaps that is why Jiang Wanyin insists on staying by his side as they train up their cultivators.
‘There’s a lot you have to do yourself, isn’t there?’ Mo Xuanyu hums. ‘Run a sect, learn sect politics, advance your cultivation, please the elders.’
‘That stuff is easy,’ Jin Ling dismisses with a wave of his hand, ‘I’ve been raised to do it, and Jiujiu has been helping me for months. It’s this that I don’t trust the sect to help me with?’
‘This?’
Jin Ling holds up a portrait, of a stunningly ugly man with a large moustache and a glare that could burn you where you stand. ‘Unravelling the lies that Jin Guangyao told, clearing the names of those who had been set up by him. Making amends for people he’s murdered over the years.’
‘Jin Guangyao,’ Mo Xuanyu says carefully, ‘released bad drawings? And you have to fix it?’
‘Oh, no these aren’t bad drawings. But they are supported by terrible propaganda. He and my grandfather created an entire campaign to badmouth Wei Wuxian,’ Jin Ling says, and doesn’t notice the way Mo Xuanyu’s spine snaps to attention at the statement, ‘some of it might be true, but I’ve no doubt that it was exaggerated to a degree. We’re trying to find out what we can, by validating the stories told by the artists who sell these.’
‘That’s the Yiling Patriarch? You can’t seriously think that is an accurate rendering of the Yiling Patriarch,’ Mo Xuanyu hisses, standing up and walking over to where Jin Ling was flicking through the pages. ‘He was among the most popular of his generation when he was younger.’
‘Really?’ Jin Ling says, twisting his head to the side to appraise the image. ‘Jiujiu says that it is quite an accurate image of him.’
‘An accurate image?’ Mo Xuanyu splutters, tugging the pages out of his hand. ‘An accurate image?’
He doesn’t even realise he’s walking away, until Jin Ling bursts into laughter behind him.
Mo Xuanyu isn’t the most menacing of men at the best of times, but there be something about his glare as he hunts down Jiang Wanyin that makes the servants at Carp Tower pay attention to him without that secondary glance he’s so used to. There’s almost respect in the servant’s eyes as she leads him into the courtyard that Jiang Wanyin is nursing his hangover in. Mo Xuanyu strides in, ready to slap the portrait against Jiang Wanyin’s chest when he stumbles to a stop, eyes wide as he drinks in the courtyard.
Last night, the sight of the sun setting over the pond had been so beautiful that Mo Xuanyu would have been happy to sit there and watch as the day slipped away and long into the night. There’s something about this courtyard that tugs on his heart the same way.
It’s obvious that he’s in the middle of Carp Tower, for there are the same elaborate carvings on the side of the buildings, there are still the same polished pavers beneath his feet and the same golden lanterns placed around the edges of the buildings.
A pond sits in the centre of the courtyard, filled with lotuses, that looks so out of place and yet so perfect where it sits. It washes Mo Xuanyu away from Carp Tower, away from the unfamiliarity and the uncomfortable stares and brings him centred into something that feels like home.
Mo Xuanyu can hear the echoes of children’s laughter in his ears, can see the brightness of the sunlight reflecting off the lakes, can feel someone guiding his hand to gently harvest the lotus in front of him.
The drawing in his hand drops to the ground.
‘My brother-in-law built this,’ Jiang Wanyin says, drawing Mo Xuanyu back into the present. Jiang Wanyin is standing on the bridge that crosses the pond. He’s wearing a different set of robes to the ones that Mo Xuanyu has seen on him the past few weeks, streaks of light green weaving through the silk. Mo Xuanyu feels like perhaps it softens him, makes him less the sect leader of a powerful sect and just a man who looks tired at the edges. ‘It was an engagement present for my sister, he was never particularly good at words so he thought that taking action would be a better idea.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Mo Xuanyu says, tracing his hands across the bridge that cut through the small pond. ‘A little piece of home for your sister.’
‘And now for myself and A-Ling,’ Jiang Wanyin says with a nod.
Mo Xuanyu wonders how closely this represents Yunmeng, if it feels as right and as whole to Jiang Wanyin as it does to him. He wonders if, while standing in the middle of this bridge, Jiang Wanyin feels likes he is looking over across the waters of Lotus Pier rather than trapped within the walls of Carp Tower.
Mo Xuanyu lets out an exhale, one that is slow and steady as he soaks in the sight that’s almost a memory.
‘Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about?’ Jiang Wanyin asks, not quite polite but not dismissive as he stares down at Mo Xuanyu from the peak of the bridge. Mo Xuanyu has to look up at Jiang Wanyin, which doesn’t feel right at all, but he bends down to grab the painting of the Yiling Laozu.
‘No, no I didn’t,’ Mo Xuanyu says, all the anger drained from his limbs.
It doesn’t feel right to talk about the Yiling Laozu in this space.
‘Is that one of those portraits of Wei Wuxian?’ Jiang Wanyin steps down, reaching for the piece of paper clutched in Mo Xuanyu’s arms. ‘Hilarious, aren’t they?’
‘Jin Ling tells me that you say they’re accurate,’ Mo Xuanyu says. His voice is acidic, but no longer holding the righteous fury that had curled through him when he first saw the painting. There’s something about the lotuses, something about the water, that stops Mo Xuanyu’s anger where it stands. Mo Xuanyu thinks that it’s a memory of kindness, although he’s unsure who might have shown him that.
Jiang Wanyin laughs, looking at the snarled face on the paper in front of him. ‘Close to.’
‘Wei Wuxian would not have been that ugly,’ Mo Xuanyu protests.
‘How would you know?’ Jiang Wanyin asks, and his words aren’t unkind, but his eyes are sharp as he looks at Mo Xuanyu. ‘Afterall, he died when you were very young, and you would not have met him before his death. Even if you did remember your past.’
‘I just know,’ Mo Xuanyu says mulishly. ‘The same way I know that the Wens used to wear flames on their sleeves, and Nie Mingjue used to have a horrible moustache.’
‘You seem to know a lot of things,’ Jiang Wanyin says. It’s almost bitter, and Mo Xuanyu thinks that perhaps he recognises the irritation in Jiang Wanyin’s voice. ‘You certainly are a mystery, Mo Xuanyu.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a small laugh that feels fake on his tongue. He looks at the water, at the lotuses that spread across the water, before he turns back to look at Jiang Wanyin.
Jiang Wanyin looks at him, not as if he were taking in the high ponytail that Mo Xuanyu has twisted his hair into, or the golden robes that he has been forced to wear, but as if he could see the very depths of Mo Xuanyu’s soul, as if he could see deeper than an ordinary man.
It’s an intense and terrifying feeling, and only stubbornness keeps his eyes locked with Jiang Wanyin’s.
‘What do you know of Wei Wuxian?’ Jiang Wanyin asks.
‘I know that he ruined everybody who loved him, took them one by one and destroyed him in one way or another.’ Mo Xuanyu doesn’t look away from Jiang Wanyin, he watches the small, almost unnoticeable flinch by the corners of his lips. ‘I know that he taunted the Wen, and that was what led to the destruction of Lotus Pier and the death of his sect. And then when the war was over, he walked away from them and built his army of cultivators in the Burial Mounds. I know that he attacked all the sects he once called his allies, and killed his own sister,’ Mo Xuanyu says.
There’s something like quiet rage in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes.
For perhaps the first time since they arrived that Mo Xuanyu has seen the monster of Yunmeng, the cultivator so righteous that children trembled at the crack of lightning because it was rumoured to be his Zidian in the night. Behave, parents would say, because the Yiling Laozu might steal you from your beds. Behave, parents would say, or Sandu Shengshou might punish you for your wicked deeds.
‘Surely,’ Mo Xuanyu says, ‘you must hate him for what he has done.’
Jiang Wanyin laughs, a bitter bark of a sound that claps through the space like Zidian. ‘The thing about family, Mo Xuanyu, is you can hate them, but you will love them desperately all the same.’
From what Mo Xuanyu knows, he never loved Jin Guangyao like a brother, and he can’t find traces of a single positive familial relationship before he woke up. But there’s something about Jiang Wanyin’s words that settles into his heart, something that makes Mo Xuanyu immediately believe his words to be true.
‘He was the Yiling Laozu.’
‘He was my brother,’ Jiang Wanyin says with a grunt, as if he hadn’t built up a reputation over the years that revolved around his hatred of the Yiling Laozu and other demonic cultivators
Mo Xuanyu looks up. It doesn’t sound right, Jiang Wanyin calling Wei Wuxian his brother. It makes Mo Xuanyu feel like he’s standing on the edge of something, waiting for the world to be ripped away from beneath his feet.
‘Jin Ling was telling me all about his plan to uncover Jin Guangyao’s lies,’ Mo Xuanyu says instead, trying to tether himself, ‘starting with the Yiling Laozu.’
‘Jin Ling is trying to be a better person,’ Jiang Wanyin says, ‘and sometimes it’s important to learn from your juniors.’
‘He mentioned,’ Mo Xuanyu says with a sigh, ‘he says he wants to be more like his mother.’
‘And less like his uncles,’ Jiang Wanyin says with an exhale. ‘I’m not a nice person. Jin Guangyao was supposed to be the one that taught him how to be diplomatic and kind, he was always better at that than me. But it turns out that he was as bitter and as petty as I was. I feel sorry for Jin Ling, that the only figures he could look up to were us.’
‘I don’t think he minds,’ Mo Xuanyu says, and he knows that the compliment will likely anger Jiang Wanyin, but he can’t hold it back. ‘I think he’s proud to have you as an uncle, he puts a lot of faith in your word.’
‘That’s my sister, through and through,’ he says with a sigh, ‘he’s too much like her and yet not enough.’
‘He wants to do her proud.’
‘We both do,’ Jiang Wanyin says. ‘I might be too old, too ill-tempered, too late but I want to try for her, and for Jin Ling.’
‘Even with Wei Wuxian?’
‘Especially with Wei Wuxian,’ Jiang Wanyin says with an exhale. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he was not blameless. But Jie would have wanted me to forgive him, and the more I learn about what has transpired, the more I learn about the stories from other perspectives, the more I think that I might one day be able to.’
‘Even if he’s dead?’
It earns him something like a smirk, Jiang Wanyin pinning him in place with that same assessing glare, except there are ripples of amusement in the man’s eyes. Mo Xuanyu finds that he doesn’t know what to think. Jiang Wanyin lets out a grunt, but doesn’t speak for a moment as he turns back to look ahead of him.
Jiang Wanyin’s eyes are a dark glare, looking across the courtyard into the rest of Carp Tower.
‘It’s a nightmare here, you know,’ Jiang Wanyin says, ‘you’re better off for having left. And you’d do well to stay away once you’ve left.’
‘And yet you’re still here,’ Mo Xuanyu murmurs. ‘To help, I assume?’
‘He’s too young to be running a sect, but I’ll be damned if I let the elders take control again. They think that because he’s young he’s naïve, that he’ll be easy to control. I haven’t been back to Lotus Pier in weeks, because the moment I leave the vipers descend.’
‘You’re a good uncle,’ Mo Xuanyu says, and Jiang Wanyin looks furious at the compliment.
They decide to leave after almost two weeks lingering in Carp Tower.
After so many weeks on the road, the respite at Carp Tower had been as welcome as it could be. But the longer it went on and the more Mo Xuanyu was shuttled around the different pavilions, the more Mo Xuanyu feels like the robes are choking him and he wants to rush away. The only good thing about Carp Tower is his nephew, small and alone in the vast opulence and crowds.
It breaks his heart to have to know he will have to ask Jin Ling if they can move on towards Gusu.
He gets one of the disciples that doesn’t have as much distrust in her eyes to clear out the library, and he asks Sizhui to distract the elders with his sweet smile and endearing wholesomeness, not that the vultures that linger in Carp Tower are particularly weak to said kindness that is Vun Sizhui. Finally, he asks Wen Ning to stand at the entrance of the library.
The cultivators have finally, so it has seemed, realised that Wen Ning isn’t going to reign terror on them and most of them give him a wide enough berth that they will avoid any room that Wen Ning decides to set himself up in.
Mo Xuanyu doesn’t want the cultivators of Carp Tower to overhear his conversation with Jin Ling.
It means that Mo Xuanyu can smuggle Jin Ling into the library with a handful of cakes, in the middle of the day, and not have to worry about anyone interrupting them.
‘Mo-shushu?’ Jin Ling asks, voice soft and confused. ‘What’s going on?’
It hits Mo Xuanyu somewhere in the heart, and he almost has to catch himself on a desk as he processes the word. It’s not quite right, doesn’t sit quite correctly beneath his skin like he doesn’t deserve it, but it makes him ache with love for the boy in front of him.
‘I just want to talk to you,’ Mo Xuanyu says, dragging him around the shelves to find a corner that he can pretend is secluded and quiet and not surrounded by the glimmer and gold that overtakes even the solemnity of the library. ‘It’s nothing awful, I promise!’
He knows as soon as he says it that he shouldn’t have. Perhaps it’s because over the past few weeks he has gotten to know Jin Ling.
‘What have you done?’ Jin Ling barks.
Perhaps it’s because Jin Ling was raised by Jiang Wanyin and Mo Xuanyu is sure down to his bones how Jiang Wanyin would have reacted to such words.
‘I haven’t done anything,’ Mo Xuanyu says, holding three fingers up in a promise he’s never made before. ‘I just needed to talk to you, about how we need to go to Gusu soon.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Jin Ling says.
There’s a tension in Jin Ling’s shoulders, he looks as small as the first time Mo Xuanyu saw him sitting in Carp Tower. If Mo Xuanyu thought that Jin Ling would like it, he would have taken Jin Ling into a reassuring hug.
‘We are,’ Mo Xuanyu says.
‘Why do you even need to go to Gusu? Can’t you stay here?’ Jin Ling spits out. He’s turned away from Mo Xuanyu and his jaw is trembling. He looks sad, and lost and so much like a teenager stuck in a world that he can’t keep up with.
He looks, Mo Xuanyu thinks for the first time, so much like his father. It almost feels like an uncharitable thought, and Mo Xuanyu files the memory away for when he and Wen Ning are alone.
‘Has Sizhui told you? About his past?’
‘Just that he doesn’t have any memory of it,’ Jin Ling says, ‘that he’s like you.’
Mo Xuanyu wants to reach out, but he keeps his hands folded in his lap.
‘Sizhui was only about ten when he lost his memory,’ Mo Xuanyu explains, ‘and we have reason to believe that he might be Hanguang-jun’s missing son.’
‘You think he’s Lan Yuan?’ Jin Ling looks at Mo Xuanyu properly this time, there aren’t tears in his eyes but he still looks reluctant, still looks like he needs someone to hold his hand and never let him go.
‘You knew him?’ Mo Xuanyu breathes. It makes sense, each was the nephew of at least one sect leader, and two of those sect leaders had been sworn brothers when he went missing.
‘Only a little bit, he used to play with me when we were babies,’ Jin Ling explains, and Mo Xuanyu realises that this is the first time they’ve met someone who had actually known Lan Yuan in person. It doesn’t scare him as much as it should have. ‘But I know Hanguang-jun, and I know his old playmate from the Lan sect. You really think that it might be him?’
‘We have a lot of reason to believe so, yes.’
‘So, you’re taking him to Cloud Recess to reunite him with his family.’
Jin Ling’s voice is quiet. They are, Mo Xuanyu realises, both orphans. Mo Xuanyu never knew his family, and Jin Ling had lost his when he was too young to remember. Mo Xuanyu is well past the point of aching for parents, happy in the family that he built himself in Wen Ning and their neighbours back in their village.
But Jin Ling has lost so much, and Mo Xuanyu knows that he aches for the family that he can’t remember, that he clings to the family that he has.
‘That’s the plan, yes,’ Mo Xuanyu admits. ‘I think it would be good for him, surrounded by family and surrounded by cultivation that is more suited to him.’
Not even Jin Ling can deny that. He’s been centre stage to the way Sizhui fumbles through the cultivation classes, to the restless tap of his knee as he tries to meditate, to the grumbled scowl that’s pushed away with a polite smile.
The Lans are notorious for being some of the best cultivation teachers, and they will undoubtedly be able to work out what it is that has stalled Sizhui’s learning.
Jin Ling pauses for another moment. Mo Xuanyu knows that Sizhui is one of the few friends that Jin Ling has ever had, and he hates that he has to separate the two of them once they leave Sizhui in Gusu. He just hopes that the boys will stay friends as they grow into men.
‘Will you come back?’
Mo Xuanyu is speechless, for a moment.
‘Do you want me to come back?’
Jin Ling’s jaw trembles again. ‘I’d like it, if you could.’
‘Then I’ll come back,’ Mo Xuanyu finds himself promising before he even realises that he’s said it. ‘Whenever you need me in Carp Tower, I will come back and help you.’
It’s almost enough, he thinks, because something similar to relief works across Jin Ling’s face. But there’s still something in the back of his eyes that makes Mo Xuanyu’s chest ache.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’