Chapter Text
Wei WuXian is ten when he is first brought to the forging house by Jiang FengMian.
The forging house, contrary to the title it has been granted, is nothing more than the humble mansion of a single man. Once the primary choice of residence for all master swordsmen of the Jiang Sect, the house had eventually fallen into a state of desolation following the declining numbers of the Jiang Sect Smiths Clan. However, whenever Wei WuXian stands on the balcony of the Jiang Sect Leader’s manor on the occasion, he thinks he can still spot life in the distant house.
“Are you excited, A-Xian?” Jiang FengMian’s query catches his attention.
The Sect Leader eyes him with a gaze that betrays his faint amusement, hand gentle on the back of Wei WuXian’s shoulders.
“You’re one step away from receiving your sword.”
Wei WuXian is ten, and that is years too early to be receiving a sword traditionally. Not even Jiang Cheng, for all the talent he has shown, has been bestowed that honour yet, and Wei WuXian suspects this might have something to do with Madam Yu’s less than discrete protests regarding him. Nevertheless, because Jiang FengMian looks most indulgent when Wei WuXian feigns innocence, Wei WuXian lifts his cheeks in a smile, hearty and bright.
“Of course I have! I even drew a few sketches of what I’d like!” Wei WuXian shoves his hands into his floppy sleeves, a cheeky grin curling his lips. “Should I show them to you, Uncle?”
Jiang FengMian closes his eyes, shaking his head fondly.
They arrive at the gates of an unimpressive mansion that had seemed bigger further away.
“A-Shan,” The wind carries Jiang FengMian’s voice through the opened doors. “I’m coming in.”
With one hand planted on the wood of the door, Jiang FengMian lightly glances at Wei WuXian and pushes.
The wooden door of the compound creaks as it gives way.
Wei WuXian shudders, nimbly angling himself behind his Uncle with a wary skim of the area.
The forging house, Jiang FengMian had shared with eyes glistening in nostalgia, used to be a place of great beauty. With cherry blossom trees in full bloom during spring, koi leaping out of their ponds in summer, and warm-hearted servants dishing out the best sweets in autumn, the forging house had been a place full of childhood memories for the Jiang Sect Leader. Even now, in the wake of one of the worst natural disasters that left Jiang’s Smith Clan in tatters, Wei WuXian thinks he can see a shadow of the old forging house in the well-tended garden and ponds.
But more than that…
“………”
… what catches Wei WuXian’s immediate attention is not the décor.
A young girl kneels at the side of the koi pond, round hardy pink eyes fixated, lips pulled into a pinched look of concentration as she glares down at its contents.
“Gotchu!” She shrieks, pouncing the surface of the pond with the ferocity of a tiger.
The splash catches Jiang FengMian’s startled attention, but he sees nothing when he looks up. Nevertheless, knowing the rumours surrounding the forging house, Jiang FengMian moves to tuck Wei WuXian further behind his back.
“Or maybe not?” The girl giggles, high and shrill to herself.
Looking up, pink ombres turn to them.
Wei WuXian takes much care in avoiding her curious gaze discretely, slowly shifting his gaze away as if seeing through her. Whilst he has never let a single spirit back at home find out about his sight, this one doesn’t seem the most ideal candidate for his first.
“Guests?” The pink haired girl cocks her head, blinking with round eyes.
“…Oh.” Something dawns upon her.
Lips curving up into the most playful smile Wei WuXian has ever seen from someone that’s not himself, the tiny spirit bursts out into a four-limbed sprint down the garden, bubbly voice tinkling like bells the whole time.
“Weakling Senbei*! Weakling Senbei! Your guests are here! Give me some o-dango* like you promised!” Her feet pound harsh and loud against the wooden boarding as she clambers up the platforms of the house.
Jiang FengMian tenses all the more at the steady stream of inexplicable sounds.
Wei WuXian bites down a hysterical laugh at how blatant this sword spirit is. Is she even trying?
She hasn’t even gotten down the whole hallway before a hand picks her up by the cuff of her dress.
“Hm-? Ichii—mfph!” The girl’s delighted cheer is silenced by a rice cracker the size of her head.
Munching happily on the snack, she hangs obediently from her caretaker’s arms even when he tucks her under his arm like a potato sack. Has she no pride, he wonders? Wei WuXian mercilessly squashes down the envy that bubbles up. That position does look kind of fun.
Following the arm of the girl’s caretaker, Wei WuXian’s breath hitches as he catches sight of him. The man remains peering down at the child, the remains of irritation marring his features.
He is a young man in his late teens. With a headful of strikingly bright orange locks glaring in the light, all attention would have been cast upon him regardless of his face. And what a huge pity it would have been. For one to dismiss the softness of those winning features in favour for the illusion of sharpness cast by his hair and intelligent gaze, that would have been overlooking the picture for its frame. Clear brown eyes bore out at the shifting grass for a margin of a second, lips pulled down into what seems to be a permanent scowl. The man adjusts his grip over the girl, heaving an open-mouthed sigh of exasperation. His dreary eyes appear soft in that moment as he peers down at her.
What a strange sight it makes, Wei WuXian muses, for a man decked out wholly in black versus the pink and scarlet butterflies littering the girl’s yukata. As a matter of fact, this spirit has got to be the blackest one he has ever seen.
No sooner had the thought come, brown eyes flicker to them.
Wei WuXian tenses, thinking the other has already noticed his sight. However, the man has already looked away by then.
“Oi, Jiang HuiShan!” He looks ready to kick down a door, except. This one’s far more considerate than the girl. “Come out here before I break your arms! And trust me, I will.”
The growl makes Wei WuXian doubt himself.
Is he really considerate now?
“The sounds have stopped.” Jiang FengMian observes. He glances down at Wei WuXian. “Stay close to me, A-Xian. Don’t stray away from my side. Remember the things I’ve told you about this place.” He nods to him, eyes searching the horizons for his cousin.
“A-Shan! Where are you? Didn’t you receive my letter of notice about visiting?” He lightly cups his mouth.
Oh, Wei WuXian remembers everything alright. From the numerous rumours about the last Master Swordsmith of the Jiang Sect down to the Seven Wonders of the forging house. He remembers every single last little detail. That is why, Wei WuXian is certain.
“I-I’m terribly sorry,” Another sword spirit floats out of a room. With droopy eyes and limpid locks hanging on either side of his face, his hunched back and thin shoulders do not do his image any favours. “Jiang-san left a note in the forging room saying he’s in the midst of preparing tea for his cousin. I-I couldn’t stop him.” He drops his head, gloomy-faced.
“Shit.” The black spirit curses at once, spinning around. “Get Unohana there at once—”
The three sword spirits fall silent.
They stare, bewildered, at the hand which has reached out to grab a bundle of tattered black ribbons. Even the little munchkin tucked under the black one has stopped dismantling the rice cracker in favour of swallowing audibly.
“Show us the way to your swordsmith.” Wei WuXian speaks up, catching the attention of his uncle.
“A-Xian?” Jiang FengMian furrows his brows, perplexed. He follows the direction of his gaze.
Wei WuXian cracks a smile, bright-eyed and hopeful.
“I want to be his disciple!”