Work Text:
This was the future that Jin Ling had been born into, the future he’d been painstakingly prepared for his entire life. He knew this, he reminded himself. Even so, he wasn’t any less nervous. Sleep had evaded him the entire night. By the time an attendant had come to rouse him at dawn, he’d already been awake for more than twenty-four hours.
His bath was scented with jasmine, and he tried to use the time to calm his nerves and steady his heart before the water grew tepid. Jin Ling then stood patiently as he was dressed in layers and layers of gauzy, elaborate fabrics. A bell with the nine-petal lotus delicately carved upon it was hung from his waist. His hair was meticulously brushed out, and a braid was done on either side before it was tied up and held in place with golden pins and combs. His face had a light layer of powder dusted over it, and the vermillion mark was made between his brows.
He almost didn’t recognize himself when a mirror was placed in front of him. After all, the person whose memory he associated with these clothes the most was—
Jin Ling bit the inside of his cheek, willing his expression to stay calm. He tried to avoid catching a glimpse of himself on passing surfaces after that. Even after so many years, the loss he’d suffered at Guanyin temple hadn’t left him. (He could never bring himself to truly hate Jin Guangyao, even if the rest of the cultivational world saw him as the scum of the earth.)
The visit to parents’ cenotaph was somber. He knelt and bowed until his head touched the cold ground beneath him. He hadn’t been a child for quite some time. Yet, in front of his parents’ effigy, their memory, he felt very small. His eyes stung. He squeezed them shut, a silent prayer forming on his lips.
Mom, dad, please continue to watch over me.
For that moment, there was nothing Jin Ling wanted more than to be held by his parents again. He stayed there, keeping his head down and his posture rigid, not rising until he’d been sure that he was able to compose himself.
Then, he flew to Lotus Pier to officially ask for his uncle’s support. It was only a formality; he would become Sect Leader regardless. Perhaps, if fate had not woven around him the way that it had, this would be an appointment that could have been delayed, something his father could have handed down to him. As it were, the Jin sect sorely needed a leader. Jin Ling desired the blessing anyway. It wasn’t just about the validation. He wanted to be someone his uncle could rely on.
In the past few years, it was Jiang Cheng who’d taken on the responsibility of making sure that Jin Ling was ready to take over. Part of Jin Ling expected his uncle to respond to his visit with a mix of praise and admonition. He’d grown softer around the edges over the years, but there had once been a time where he’d been harsh and stringent, his expression severe and his words biting. Jin Ling anticipated something along the lines of always strive to better yourself, and never grow complacent.
All Jiang Cheng said to him, though, was “I’m proud of you, A-Ling,” with a small smile in place of his usual frown. He placed a hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder, and Jin Ling felt tears threaten to spill out again. He thought that it would be a miracle if he could get through the day without crying.
The dinner ceremony that followed was a blur. The majority of his guests were Jin sect disciples, with a few notable exceptions. Jin Ling stood and gave a speech, although by now, he’d forgotten what he’d even said. He remembered paying tribute to his parents, thanking his uncles, and toasting to the hopeful prospects of Lanling Jin.
There was a mountain of gifts that presented to him, forming a pile even taller than Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji gave him various trinkets collected from their travels that they thought would prove useful: a charm that would only flutter if bad luck lurked by, a compass that supposedly would allow him to never stay lost, a mysterious jade box that Wei Wuxian had repeatedly told him to keep shut unless he was in the direst of circumstances. Jiang Cheng had narrowed his eyes disapprovingly at that.
His uncle had given him a custom-made bow, carved with swirling protective sigils, with a matching set of gold-tipped arrows that practically hummed with spiritual energy. Nie Huaisang brought him a hair ornament crafted into a peony, intricately painted. Jin Ling had found it rather dull until Huaisang had taken him aside and demonstrated the small dagger hidden inside of it. Sect Leader Nie really isn’t someone to underestimate, he’d thought wryly.
There was a common theme in what he received. Items to protect, to defend himself with. If Jin Ling were younger, he might have been insulted, thinking that he was being underestimated, that he was being looked down upon. Now, he truly felt for the first time how many people had poured their hopes and efforts on him, how much had to come together to culminate in this day. It was a heavy weight to bear, and one he didn’t know if he could live up to. He planned on carrying it resolutely nonetheless.
By the time Jin Ling had properly thanked his guests for their attendance and said his goodbyes, night had already fallen across Lanling. He let himself lean against the door, resting for a moment, before starting towards his private chambers in Koi Tower. A soft knock and the sound of footsteps stopped him.
“Congratulations, Sect Leader Jin.”
Jin Ling turned to see Lan Sizhui standing behind him. It had been a hectic, emotionally fraught day. For the entire time, they hadn’t been able to see each other, with Jin Ling being swarmed with places to be and guests to attend to, and Sizhui lost among the crowds of those who came to celebrate their new sect leader.
“Oh, thank god it’s you.” Jin Ling let out a breath, exhaustion suddenly catching up with him. His entire posture softened the way it only could around Sizhui.
“How are you feeling?” Sizhui asked.
“So tired.” Jin Ling’s arms came around Sizhui, and he settled easily into Sizhui’s warm embrace. Over the years, Lan Sizhui had become the person he went to for comfort. By this point, pulling him close was reflexive.
Sizhui bent down and effortlessly scooped Jin Ling up. “Allow me, then.”
“Lan Yuan!” Jin Ling let out a cry of surprise, voice echoing down the hall. He was laughing, color flushing his cheeks.
Before, they only had stolen moments in the dark during night hunts, slivers of time carved out from discussion conferences. Now, Jin Ling happily rested his head on Sizhui’s shoulder, letting himself be carried.
“I’ve only been Sect Leader for a day and I’m already exhausted,” Jin Ling sighed, flopping onto his back. “No wonder Uncle was so grumpy all of the time.”
“I’ll have a lot to learn from you,” Sizhui smiled.
Jin Ling wanted to puff out his chest with pride at the thought of being someone admirable and dependable for Sizhui. “I’m sure it will end up the other way around, somehow.” He grinned instead. “Future Sect Leader Lan.”
“I will do my best to support you, even before that title falls to me.” Lan Xichen had come out of seclusion a shadow of his former self. Lately, though, he seemed less wound up, his eyes the slightest shade brighter, his posture no longer so stiff with grief. Sizhui didn’t know the cause of Xichen’s newfound serenity, but he sincerely hoped for his well-being to continue.
“When are you expected back?” Jin Ling asked, pulling back just enough to look at Sizhui. He had spent a long time resenting the hand that he’d been dealt, the feeling that so much was out of his control, that he had no real memories of his parents, only stories passed down to him that he tried to convince himself were his own. He’d lost so much that grief had practically etched itself on the surface of his golden core, and yet, when he looked at Sizhui, his chest felt so full that he thought it would burst.
“I’m not needed until tomorrow morning,” Sizhui replied.
“Will you stay the night, then?”
Sizhui squeezed Jin Ling a little tighter and leaned down for a kiss. “Of course.”
Jin Ling kissed back with a pressing need. The Gusu Lan sect and the Lanling Jin sect had always been close. Jin Ling wondered if he was just falling into the footsteps of his predecessors with his single-minded attachment to Sizhui. Perhaps he was just desperately hanging onto the good in his life.
He hoped with his entirety that they’d be able to avoid the same tragic fate.
***
They’d both bathed and changed into pajamas. Sizhui had borrowed a pair of Jin Ling’s, not minding that the sleeves were now several inches too short. They lay on the bed facing each other. Jin Ling twirled Sizhui’s forehead ribbon absentmindedly, fingers tracing over the light blue stitching that swirled into cloud patterns.
“A-Ling,” Sizhui nudged him. “What’s on your mind?”
Jin Ling kissed him in reply. “I want it to always be you,” he murmured against Sizhui’s lips.
Sizhui looked thoughtful. After a moment’s contemplation, he untied his forehead ribbon, wrapping one end around his fingers and the other around Jin Ling’s hand.
“It’s not red, but,” Sizhui laughed a little. “A promise of my intent, if you’ll accept it.”
Jin Ling stared. We’re different people, he reminded himself. The what-ifs and the if-onlys didn’t matter. What mattered was the person in front of him, whom he loved, who loved him in return.
There was only ever one answer he wanted to give. “Yes,” he breathed, leaning in to press his forehead against Sizhui’s. He closed his eyes. “Of course.”
Many aspects of his life had been chosen for him, but he was adamant about choosing Sizhui. At the end of the day, Jin Ling had a warm hand and a steady heart waiting for him. By becoming sect leader, he’d fulfilled the last of the roles placed on him. His life was no longer about stepping into someone else’s shoes. From now on, Jin Ling would forge his own path.
Despite the weight of his new title, he felt light.