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Jiang Cheng hated diplomacy.
He was a simple man by nature. Steel, bolts of lightning—these things he could work with. These things he could forge to suit his purposes. He found their bluntness, their straightforward approach, comforting. Dependable to the last degree.
Words, on the other hand, were ambiguous at best. Their meaning lurked between the lines, leading him down a narrow path into a tortuous labyrinth built by meandering sentences. Waiting in the middle would be a trap, a swamp, a defeat that would drag not only him but also his entire sect into depths of humiliation.
This was exactly what the six men now waiting for him in the east pavilion were trying to do. Jiang Cheng dreaded the confrontation the way he dreaded putting his hand into a sack full of snakes, but he had no other choice. With three deaths involved, the matter was too important to merit anything less than his full cooperation.
It had started as a prank. The Dongbao Lie sect had been a neighbour as well as rival to the more prominent Yunmeng Jiang for many years. This had not changed after the fall of Lotus Pier and the subsequent birth of the new Jiang sect. Rivalries between disciples were rampant. Night hunts often developed into competitions, straying into the realm of clashes every now and then—until a month ago, when one of these little spats finally burgeoned into a full-blown fight, resulting in deaths on both sides.
Sighing, Jiang Cheng rose from his desk. He was attending to his appearance, adjusting the fall of his robes, straightening the folds, the string from which his bell hung, when he realised that he was no longer alone.
“They’re here,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning against the open door.
Jiang Cheng looked up, meeting his brother’s eyes. It never ceased to surprise him how silently Wei Wuxian could move nowadays—especially considering what he had lost, which range of skills forever barred to him now with that loss. He used to be the loudest person in the room, all noise and motion, tied together into a bundle of recklessness.
“I know.”
Wei Wuxian crossed his arms but remained in the doorway. There was a stray wind coming from outside, almost cool in the late afternoon. “Are you sure you don’t want to do it my way first?”
“What? Terrorise them into submission?”
“It’ll save time.”
It would, Jiang Cheng had no doubt. The truth was he wasn’t above playing dirty. Yunmeng Jiang, this new version, the one which had risen from the ashes and bones of hundreds dead, would not have survived, let alone regained anything approaching their old standing, if he had depended on honour and respectability alone. They needed cunning, tactics, timing—all those means that bordered on unscrupulous, even savage.
As the sect leader, however, it was important that he maintained at least a veneer of respectability. It was the pact they had made on the day they had set foot in Lotus Pier, once more theirs to call home. He would be the untouchable sect leader. His sister would be the benign face, smiles and silk hiding the steel underneath. As for the dirty works behind the scene, Wei Wuxian would take care of those.
Had there been no public uproar following this particular incident, Jiang Cheng would probably have let his brother handle it. Wei Wuxian’s methods might have been devious, but they were effective. An ominous-looking talisman. The whisper of a curse. A dramatic performance of crows and ambling corpses. Sometimes, even the mere whispers that the Yiling Patriarch had his eyes on this or that unfortunate soul would be enough to send them scurrying and begging for Jiang Cheng’s mercy. Any reputation, even the blackest ones, had its uses.
“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng finally admitted. “But they’re making so much fuss over this. I need to handle it myself.”
“They’ll try to rile you up.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“They come here in that number precisely with that purpose in mind,” Wei Wuxian pointed out. “Riling you up. Hoping your infamous temper will show itself. If you end up drawing your sword or unleashing Zidian, even better.”
Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Six people are not that many.”
“Six people only because they thought you’d be alone,”
This time, Jiang Cheng had to smirk. The idea had been his—to spread rumours of Wei Wuxian’s absence, to lure them into his turf, where he could set up the stage with all its necessary trappings. And came they did, willingly, brimming with feigned indignation, eager to score against the weakened Yunmeng Jiang and its new young leader.
“Let them think that,” he declared, walking toward the door, toward his brother. “We know better.”
Wei Wuxian watched his approach in silence, eyes dark and unblinking. Jiang Cheng couldn’t read him at all—his expression, his stance, all pictures of ambiguity—but somehow, it was fine. He couldn't exactly pinpoint when all the thorns riddling their relationship had smoothed over into some approximation of ‘fine’, but somewhere along the way, with the weight of Lotus Pier crushing their backs, the ashes of their childhood leaking between clasped fingers, they had.
A smile flashed across Wei Wuxian’s face, sudden, but not unexpected. He might have changed, forever marked by the countless ghosts that roamed Yiling, but there was something about his smiles that no number of ghosts could ever stomp out. It was that ability to light up an entire room, to survive the bleakest sufferings, to warm Jiang Cheng’s heart.
“Shijie is softening them up right now,” Wei Wuxian said, the set of his shoulders relaxing in Jiang Cheng’s proximity.
“The incense?”
“Burning away. It’ll take a while, though. When do you want me to come in?”
Jiang Cheng considered his answer. “Not until sundown at least.”
A frown creased Wei Wuxian’s brow. “That’s hours away.”
“You think I can’t handle them alone for a few hours?”
“I think you don’t have to do this kind of thing alone ever, is more my point.”
Jiang Cheng ignored the way his stomach knotted and warmed at those words. “Not until sundown,” he repeated firmly.
Wei Wuxian fell silent, still frowning. Jiang Cheng waited. Outsiders might consider it unusual, even unseemly, for him to want Wei Wuxian’s approval. He was the sect leader. He had made a decision. There was no reason why he would need another’s permission to carry it out. Except it was not how he and Wei Wuxian worked. There had always been two of them, growing together, fighting together, killing together. The Twin Prides of Yunmeng was always about two, never one.
“Fine, sundown, it is,” Wei Wuxian finally said with a sigh. He paused, head tilted slightly, the beginning of a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “And how do you want me, Jiang-zongzhu? Submissive? Irreverent? Seductive? Threatening?”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “I’m sure you can combine all those into one. Just teach them a lesson. Make them wish they never set foot on Lotus Pier.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, the sound sharp and clear in the space between them. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he purred, and his hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder was a steady, comforting presence. “Let’s go get them.”
–
The incense had been Jiang Yanli’s idea.
The delicate lotus fragrance was pleasant, soothing on the surface. Any sinister aspect lay concealed, dormant, until the second or third hour. Then restlessness would come, a slow trickle of something-not-quite-right under one’s skin. It would spread, still shapeless, ambiguous; it would sink, deeper and deeper, tiny claws clinging to each pulse of your consciousness; then it would tear, and rip, and rip, until one’s senses were left in tatters, easy preys to dark suggestions and those stuffs that made nightmares.
For Jiang Cheng, the scent was a relic of a long-lost childhood. His mother and her strictness. Her demand for greatness. Her disgust for mediocrity. Yu Ziyuan had been anything but mediocre. She might not have been a perfect mother, but she had been a thorough teacher. To make sure that her children were immune to this or that type of poison was only a small part of her regime. It was by no means the first unpleasantness Jiang Cheng had had to endure in the name of training—but to confront that torment, day in day out, until his body learned to master itself, was an experience a boy of twelve was unlikely to forget.
At this moment, Jiang Cheng felt nothing but gratitude for his mother’s thoroughness.
“Two deaths,” Sect Leader Lie Lingjie reiterated for probably the hundredth time. He was a tall, thin man, more well-known for his cunning instead of cultivation skills. Seated between his two brothers, both much bulkier in build, he appeared almost diminished in contrast, down to the way he carried himself. The persistent stoop in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched around his elaborate fan at intervals—everything only served to heighten the impression.
“It was a most regrettable incident,” Jiang Cheng said, also for the hundredth time. They were all seated on the floor, on cushions that had ceased to be comfortable after the first hour or so—Jiang Cheng alone facing the entrance, the other six arrayed in front of him. “And as I’ve explained before,” he continued, matter-of-fact, “I have made it clear to every Jiang sect disciple that no such repeat would be tolerated, no matter the circumstances.”
“But Jiang-zongzhu,” the other man pressed on, an apologetic smile hovering just above his mouth, “two deaths. Both very promising youngsters. Surely I don’t need to explain how heartbroken their parents are.”
Except you have, at least a dozen times. Jiang Cheng stifled the words just in time. He had no interest in bringing the fight to that front. He felt no inclination to share his own experience either, with his own very much dead disciple. The task of informing the family fell on his shoulders, and even with Jiang Yanli’s gentle support, his rage, his frustration at such a futile death, had taken a long time to calm. The funeral proved to be an even worse trial; a fifteen-year-old boy, lying in a coffin with his nameless sword tucked to his side, soon to be wed to flames, reborn to ashes.
And now there was this bastard Lie, strutting into his domain and thinking that he could tread on the weakened Yunmeng Jiang. As if this chance misfortune gave him an upper hand—allowed him to dictate terms. As if two lives lost were nothing but a bargaining chip.
“This is a debt of blood,” Lie Lingjie even had the audacity to add.
Jiang Cheng slowly raised his eyes. “Are you saying that I have to kill one of my disciples to make it even?”
Lie Lingjie flinched. Perhaps it was the look on Jiang Cheng’s face, or the tone of his voice. Perhaps it was Zidian’s glow, only too conspicuous now in the approaching dusk. “No, of course not,” he hastily said. “We’re all gentlemen and learned cultivators. Surely there is no need for such a drastic measure.”
“I’m obliged, Lie-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng murmured, barely able to keep the disgust out of his voice. “For your generosity.”
Lie Lingjie disclaimed with a nervous smile, beads of sweat starting to form above his lips. He was not the only one affected. His two brothers were frowning, shifting on their folded legs as their controls began to unravel. The three other members of Lie’s entourage, younger and not as advanced in cultivation, were noticeably worse. They were trembling and fidgeting, breaths coming uneven, lips bitten raw—looking as if they had ants crawling under their skin.
Slowly, Jiang Cheng felt anger loosen its grip on his temper. He watched their faces, pale, clammy, rife with discomfort, and basked in the satisfaction that came with it. It was the best thing about using this particular incense; the poison took root so slowly, so subtly, that no one noticed it even after it had spread.
“Still,” Lie Lingjie spoke again, licking his lips, “it hardly seems fair, does it?”
“What does?”
“One death instead of two.”
Only the fact that he was slowly gaining the upper hand stopped Jiang Cheng from giving in to his temper. “Then what do you propose to make it, as you say, 'fair'?”
There was no immediate answer. Jiang Cheng forced himself to wait. This, the real purpose of Lie Lingjie’s visit, was the one elusive point on which he and Wei Wuxian could not agree. Neither of them believed that humiliation was the sole objective.
At first, Jiang Cheng had thought that the next Discussion Conference in Lanling might be the reason. After the Sunshot Campaign, the balance of power in the cultivation world had changed. Instead of five major sects, only three remained, with Lanling Jin taking the lead. Both Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie maintained their places based on war merits, size, and respectability. Only Yunmeng Jiang had fallen so far down the chart—the loss of their good name in the massacre, their disciples numbering less than thirty even now—that there had been considerable surprise when Koi Tower had sent out invitations for the Conference and still given precedence to Yunmeng Jiang as one of four major sects.
The Lie’s, who had participated in the Campaign and boasted no few merits of their own, were understandably offended. Their number alone more than doubled the Jiang sect’s at present. Their influence, too, had grown to such an extent that one had to be both blind and deaf not to recognise the reversal in their positions. It would not be a far leap to suspect that the Lie sect might be using this one incident to pressure Yunmeng Jiang into giving up precedence.
Wei Wuxian had disagreed. Madam Jin still wants Shijie for the peacock princess, he had said last night, the two of them sitting at the pier, under a sea of blinking stars. The Jin sect will never risk offending you and everybody knows it, even those idiots from the Lie sect.
Jiang Cheng had to agree. He was wondering how he was going to drag the truth out of Lie Lingjie’s mouth when the man himself suddenly spoke, “Perhaps, Jiang-zongzhu, you will not mind if I speak more freely?”
It took Jiang Cheng less than a heartbeat to cover his surprise. “Please.”
Sect Leader Lie folded his fan and let it rest on his lap; his fingers, Jiang Cheng could not help but notice, were plagued by small tremors. “It pains me to be the one who brings this matter to your attention, but considering what our sect has lost…” He made a helpless shrug. “Perhaps it is as well that the duty has fallen to my lot, even if I must risk your displeasure. This is about what the witnesses told me.”
“What witnesses?”
“Other disciples who were present during the incident that night.”
Jiang Cheng frowned. “There was no one else present.”
Lie Lingjie quickly shook his head. “Oh, but there was, Jiang-zongzhu. Or, should I say, there were. Two more of our disciples were also present that night. It was fortunate that they managed to escape, though not unscathed, at least alive. Still, their injuries were grave enough that they only regained consciousness a few days ago. They told me what happened, how things could go so terribly wrong so quickly that we end up with this tragedy.”
It did not take being a genius for Jiang Cheng to realise that he had walked into a trap. “And what did these so-called witnesses say exactly?” he said through gritted teeth.
Lie Lingjie feigned a long, mournful sigh. “They were very shaken—and understandably so—but they told me enough. I wonder if you have noticed it yourself, Jiang-zongzhu, but the circumstances surrounding this tragedy are rather odd. Young men are prone to losing their patience, of course, but it has never made any sense to me that a friendly hunt could deteriorate to this extent.” He paused, shaking his head regretfully. “Until, of course, the witnesses threw some light on the matter.”
Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps you want to get to the point, Lie-zongzhu.”
“Of course.” Another smile appeared on Lie Lingjie’s face, an unpleasant one—and doubly unpleasant now that he was twitching and perspiring heavily, the incense taking its toll on his body. “According to their account, they were tracking a beast that emitted a strong resentful energy. There was some disagreement over the exact nature of this beast and how to deal with it. Tempers were running high. A fight was inevitable. Your disciple stood alone, and perhaps he felt so overwhelmed that he decided to use a certain technique that led to this tragedy. A technique he must have learned from a member of your sect.”
In a flash, Jiang Cheng understood what Lie Lingjie meant. What his real purpose was. Why he bothered going round and round despite the intense discomfort he must be enduring. All to spring this trap on him.
“You want Wei Wuxian.” The words had left his mouth before Jiang Cheng could stop himself.
Lie Lingjie laughed, the sound made even more horrible by the malicious triumph contorting his face. “Want him? You misunderstood me, Jiang-zongzhu. We of the Lie sect are perfectly content with our orthodox cultivation. There is no need for us to seek an alternative path, let alone one so dubious and immoral. You can rest assured that we absolutely have no wish to consort with his… ilk.”
“Then what do you want?” Jiang Cheng snapped. That he could still maintain any grip at all on his temper was a miracle.
“Surely you have heard the rumours?” Lie Lingjie flipped his fan open. “Or perhaps you haven’t. After all, you are a man of great honour. Someone like Jiang-zongzhu couldn’t possibly allow the reputation of his sect to be so tarnished if he had any knowledge of what the rest of the world was saying.”
Jiang Cheng curled his fingers into tight fists. “I don’t remember hearing you utter a single word against him during the Sunshot Campaign.”
Lie Lingjie waved his fan in a helpless gesture. “Circumstances and necessities. Surely you understand—the enemy of one’s enemy and all that. It does not mean that we, as leaders of great and respectable sects, can embrace such an evil path, or expose our disciples to so much corruption. Now that the Wen’s have been eliminated, clearly there is no reason to keep such a poisonous blade in our midst.”
There was nothing Jiang Cheng wanted more at that moment than to unsheathe Sandu and let his blade speak. Only the thought of his sect and family stayed his hand. “Wei Wuxian is not evil,” he said instead, voice shaking from too much emotion. “He is a good man, an honourable man, and I trust him with my life.”
Lie Lingjie quickly assumed a pained expression, as if he had been waiting precisely for those words. “Jiang-zongzhu, please don’t let anybody else hear you say these things. Less open-minded people could easily misconstrue your loyalty for feebleness. Signs that you have lost your way. Surely you don’t want the rest of the world to see you in such a light?”
“That almost sounds like a threat, Lie-zongzhu.”
“A friendly warning.” Lie Lingjie blinked, then blinked again three times, as if he was losing control over his face. Only his mouth kept pouring out lines, a succession of words that were steadily losing any impact they might have had as their speaker began to lose focus. “My sect has experienced the wickedness of this Demonic Cultivation. Raising corpses and controlling them. Truly abominable. We paid with two lives. Two deaths. Promising youngsters robbed of their bright future. It’s only a matter of time before your sect experience the same loss and grief.”
“Another threat.”
For the first time, anger showed its presence plainly in Lie Lingjie’s face. “Jiang-zongzhu, if you insist on deliberately misunderstanding my intent–”
The rest of his words never declared themselves as the doors suddenly flung open. Jiang Cheng raised his eyes. Everybody else started and turned, some with a cry. One of Lie Lingjie’s brothers had a hand on the hilt of his sword.
Wei Wuxian was standing at the doorway, hair wild, robes loose, the sky bleeding red and purple behind him. In his hand was a burning candle. His smile stretched a little wider as he took in all the people in the room—their gaping mouths, their bulging eyes, their stark, naked fear.
“Oh.” His eyes found Jiang Cheng, and his roguish grin turned playful. “You’re entertaining guests, I see.”
Jiang Cheng kept his face impassive and made no reply. There was a balance here, a delicate one, the line he had to navigate between familiarity and formality. Instead, he nodded to his left, a slight incline of his head. It would have gone unnoticed if there had been no captive audience, straining to catch the smallest word, the slightest movement in the coming dark.
Wei Wuxian’s compliance came swiftly. He stepped into the pavilion—and just like that, a ripple spread. The younger Lie disciples jumped, pressing themselves against the far wall, away from his path. Lie Lingjie and his brothers huddled closer together, as if to guard themselves against a sudden attack.
If Wei Wuxian noticed any of these, then he showed no sign of it. His pace was leisurely as he crossed the length of the room, toward Jiang Cheng. There was something obscene in the way he moved—languid, careless, as if nothing could touch him. It was a mask he wore particularly well. His steps were near soundless but for the rustles of his robes, sprinkled by gentle tinkles of a bell. Jiang Cheng watched him, heart suddenly in his throat. His eyes found the silver bell hanging from Wei Wuxian’s sash, next to Chenqing.
Graceless, almost abrupt, Wei Wuxian sat himself on the floor, to Jiang Cheng’s left, his back against the wall. The candle followed, a small trembling flame.
“Please continue.” Wei Wuxian waved a careless hand, a flutter of a sleeve. “Don’t mind my presence.”
Jiang Cheng shifted his attention to his guests. Slowly, they returned to their cushions, scraping for remnants of their scattered dignity. It was such a pathetic sight that he had to stifle the beginning of a smirk.
“Wei-gongzi.” Lie Lingjie cleared his throat, smiled, wearing the rags of his poise with all the shamelessness he could muster. “What a surprise. Rumours had it that you were away.”
“Isn’t it remarkable how misleading rumours can be?” Wei Wuxian replied, all barbed sweetness and innocence. “In fact, I just heard one myself. About me teaching our disciples something other than the Jiang sect skills. Utter nonsense, of course.”
“Of course,” Lie Lingjie murmured, looking as if he had been forced to swallow something unpleasant.
“So,” Wei Wuxian leaned in, chin on hand, “what were you talking about?”
As if on cue, Lie Lingjie began to embark on a series of nonsense. There was something to be said about an eloquent man who had lost all sense of direction. It was like looking at a monkey trying to stack stones, and instead of a wall, one had a crumbling tower. His repertoire consisted mostly of repetitions—three deaths, two against one, the nature of fairness, the evil of unorthodox cultivation—except delivered with less and less coherence as words poured out.
Jiang Cheng, his patience dwindling rapidly, was ill-equipped to deal with any of these. Thankfully, he was not alone. Wei Wuxian would stir whenever the tension was becoming too thick. His timing was precise, deliberate, and the slightest movement from him would draw every pair of eyes in his direction, taking the wind out of Sect Leader Lie’s arguments. Once or twice, he would shift closer to whisper nonsense in Jiang Cheng’s ear, loud enough for the entire room to hear every lascivious word. Then he would laugh at their guests’ disgusted expressions and let the collars of his robes dip a little more.
Jiang Cheng feigned indifference throughout. “And so?” he directed the question to Sect Leader Lie, as if there had been no indecencies whispered into his ears a moment ago. “What is your point again?”
Lie Lingjie’s eyes snapped back to him, wide, unfocused. He licked his lips, grasping at his fraying thoughts. “I… ah. Rumours, Jiang-zongzhu. Dark ones. Evil can breed under our very nose–”
“Again, your point?” Jiang Cheng interrupted him, even more brusquely.
He saw the moment Lie Lingjie’s control finally snapped. “Accidents can happen,” he snarled, every muscle in his face twitching. “Yunmeng Jiang has barely recovered from its ordeal. Were something to happen to its young new leader–”
Someone laughed. It was a soft, delicate sound, too soft to rise above a whisper, and yet it was a whisper that poured ice down one’s spine.
“Over my dead body,” the Yiling Patriarch said.
No one dared speak in return. The silence left in its wake was so absolute they would hear a pin drop. Outside, darkness had fallen. Now shadows lurked. Inside, framed by candlelight, Wei Wuxian was smiling, but the expression that sat on his face did not come from amusement. It was the child of its sharper, more dangerous sister, all teeth and sharp nails.
A bell tinkled. Jiang Cheng shifted his hands to his lap.
“You’ll discover that it’s best not to threaten us, Lie-zongzhu.” He watched as fear slowly curled its fingers around the other man’s throat. “We have seen hell.”
Lie Lingjie swallowed but stayed mum. Not one more word passed his mouth until Jiang Cheng concluded the meeting.
–
“That was fun,” Wei Wuxian said upon his return. He was lying on the floor, still shrouded in darkness. “We should do that again next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Jiang Cheng retorted. He had spent the last month making sure the rest of Jiang sect disciples understood what kind of punishment awaited any who dared involve themselves in a fight.
“But you’re so delightfully terrifying.”
“And you’re fucking shameless.”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “Sounds like a perfect combination. Look at how they ran for the hills.”
Jiang Cheng only snorted and sat down. Someone had removed the incense and opened every window. With the intruders gone, the night’s silence had regained its peaceful quality. He began to breathe more easily. At his side, Wei Wuxian was a steady, calming presence. Their breaths aligned, their heartbeats in tandem.
Some time later, his fingers found the bell that hung from Wei Wuxian’s waist.
“Where did you get this?”
“Shijie lent it to me.” Wei Wuxian’s voice was quiet, as if mindful of the silence. “She thought it would make a nice touch. Make sure they know where I stand and so on.”
Jiang Cheng only hummed in response, a noncommittal sound. The bell felt warm in his hand. He wondered if it was because this was Wei Wuxian; if even now, he couldn’t stop burning.
“Shouldn’t I have done that?”
“Done what?” Jiang Cheng said distractedly.
“Worn this. The bell.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I don’t know.” He could hear the frown in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “You’re silent. I mean, I wouldn’t have worn it if I had known. That you disapproved.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.” Jiang Cheng felt a scowl gathering on his brow. “I would’ve given you one if you had asked. If I had known.”
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian paused. “I see.”
Jiang Cheng looked at his brother, eyes narrowed. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“You never said anything.”
“You never asked.”
Wei Wuxian only shrugged. Jiang Cheng stared. Their heartbeats no longer aligned. Then it came to him; it was the possibility of him saying ‘no’ that had stopped Wei Wuxian from asking.
Somehow, it only served to fan his anger. “You really thought I would say no? Because you didn’t deserve it? Because of your arts?”
Wei Wuxian shifted, uneasy. “It’s not exactly conventional–”
“Fuck conventional.” Jiang Cheng turned and brought one of his hands down flat on the floor, hard, next to Wei Wuxian’s ear. His palm burned, but he only noticed Wei Wuxian’s flinch, and he had to ask since when, since when. Wei Wuxian had never been afraid to tell him what he thought, what he wanted. Used to. “Are you part of this clan or not?” he snapped.
“... yes?” His voice was tiny, hopeful. Jiang Cheng felt another surge of anger.
“Are you?”
“Yes.” It was firmer this time. Wei Wuxian’s gaze was steadier, and so was his touch, his fingers now resting around Jiang Cheng’s wrist. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather belong.”
“But?”
He paused, swallowed. “There’s no ‘but’.”
“Good,” Jiang Cheng retorted. “Because there’s no ‘but’.”
Wei Wuxian bit his lips. “But–”
“Wei Wuxian–”
“No, listen to me.” His grip tightened and Jiang Cheng found himself distracted by the warmth, the feel of Wei Wuxian’s fingers on him. “I heard what Lie Lingjie said. Yes, he was lying. I never taught anyone any Demonic Cultivation.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“And that’s my point.” Wei Wuxian’s gaze slid away. His fingers loosened. He looked resigned, almost sad. “People will be saying it anyway. The truth doesn’t matter because they will always suspect this kind of cultivation. Which means anyone who has bad intentions can use it, this, me, against you, just like that.”
“So?”
“So… I’m a liability. To you. To our sect.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jiang Cheng snapped.
“It’s not,” Wei Wuxian snapped back, fire leaping to his eyes. “If anyone can just accuse you of harbouring a demonic cultivator, what will stop them from saying that the Jiang sect has lost its way?”
“They won’t dare.”
“Or has been corrupted? Has–”
“Shut up.”
“–fallen to the evil path? Because I’m telling you, they will say all these things and worse.”
“Then let them,” Jiang Cheng spat. He loomed above his brother, suddenly, absolutely certain where they stood, what every tiny fluttering thing between them meant. “I don’t give a damn. Because you know what? We survived. My parents’ death. The loss of Lotus Pier. Wen Chao and his fucking henchman. The entire Wen sect. We fell. We got up. We rebuilt everything from the start. You, me, and A-Jie. We survived. So if Lie Lingjie or anybody else thought that he could come between us,” Jiang Cheng paused, a contemptuous laugh trembling on his lips, “let them fucking try.”
Wei Wuxian stared at him, wide-eyed, hope and disbelief chasing each other across his face. Jiang Cheng thought of kissing him, kissing all those spaces between flickering shadows, under his eyes, above his lips. He straightened up instead. He was breathing hard. Under his ribs, his heart was a pounding mess.
“Then I want it from you,” Wei Wuxian said, so quietly that Jiang Cheng almost missed the words.
He swallowed. “It?”
“The bell. A bell. Any bell.”
“You already have one.”
“No.” Wei Wuxian sat up and undid the string from his waist. The bell glistened in candlelight, its tinkle the only sound that filled the room. “I want it from you. Take it, and give it back to me.”
Jiang Cheng scoffed, curling his hands at his sides to hide how hard they were shaking. “You’re ridiculous. We don’t need that kind of ceremony.”
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “You don’t understand. Uncle Jiang gave the first bell to me. I lost it—so this one, I want it from you.” He paused. His eyes were clear. What was left of his doubt earlier had gone. “You’re my sect leader. The only one I’m going to follow to the end of the world and beyond. If I’m going to have a new bell, then it’ll be from you. Only from you.”
One day, somewhere in the future, Jiang Cheng would look back and understand how they had arrived here, at this moment. Now, he could only flounder, staring at his brother, mouth dry and yet heart too full. “Wei Wuxian,” he declared, hoarse, “you are an idiot.”
“Only an idiot will want to follow you,” Wei Wuxian pointed out, a flash of that familiar grin, “so I guess it’s a good thing?”
Jiang Cheng snorted. His hands no longer trembled when he finally took the bell from Wei Wuxian. There it lay, in the valley of his palm, a small meaningless trinket and yet so much more. Jiang Cheng remembered when he had received his from his father; when he had given one to his disciple, the first to replace a long line of ghosts long burned to ash—and his spiritual energy rose, gliding and twisting around the bell, sinking into every crevice, into the very core of the metal. He repeated the process until there could be no doubt left as to whose energy it belonged.
Wei Wuxian was silent throughout, eyes fixed on him. He neither moved nor spoke when Jiang Cheng tied the string to his waist. Jiang Cheng touched the bell when he was done, a brush of his fingers. It tinkled, silvery clear, and there was a kind of finality to it that echoed in Jiang Cheng’s ears and settled deep in his soul. Things changed and things stayed the same. Wei Wuxian’s presence in his life was a matter of course. He had never once questioned it, or doubted it, or even thought that anything else was possible; but now, looking at Wei Wuxian as he touched the bell, on his face a soft expression that made Jiang Cheng’s breath catch, he knew that this was a promise that they both needed.
When Wei Wuxian finally spoke, his voice was low, almost amused. “You know that you’re practically announcing to the world that I belong to you, right?”
Jiang Cheng looked him in the eye. “Isn’t that what you want?”
Wei Wuxian smirked. “Maybe.”
That was when Jiang Cheng finally did the one thing he had wanted to do since Wei Wuxian had walked into the room.
He kissed him.
End