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Wen Qing lives. She didn’t intend for this to happen. She was prepared to die. Her head is held high when she faces them, but death never comes. At first, she is thrown in a cell...no, that’s not right. First, she is beaten and tormented, before her half lifeless body is shown to her prison.
Sprained ankle, ribs possibly broken, bruises littering the body, some may scar. Every breath hurts. Maybe they want to make her death especially slow and painful. After all, her name is one which burns the eyes of the cultivation world, makes them see nothing but red. No Wen is innocent, would be something they’d say.
And Wen Ning? She wonders if they— each breath she takes is agonising, closer to her last and so she wills her tears not to spill over. A-Ning is the knife, a weapon. If they didn’t kill him they would use him. Wen Qing doesn't know which one is worse.
There’s days, or perhaps hours that pass by. The air is stagnant, nothing but the gentle hum of the wind and her heavy breaths as company. Damp, dark walls become all she’s known, at least it’s all she feels like she knows. Eventually everything blurs together as one, unified black, nothingness. That’s when she closes her eyes.
—
Wen Qing lives, and this is most surprising to her. She wakes to the sound of a familiar voice and hands that aren’t harsh. These hands are softer, kinder than she’s used to but she flinches away regardless.
“Miss Wen, please wake up, there’s not much time…” The hands haul her up, and Wen Qing hears a small grunt. She’s stood up now and there’s a sharp pain in her ribs (definitely broken) but the stranger steadies her.
When she opens her eyes she finds they aren’t a stranger, at all. “Jiang YanLi,” her voice is low and scratchy from misuse, words hardly more than a mumble.
They make the painful run towards a chance at life Wen Qing isn’t supposed to have.
—
There’s the gentle rock of the boat, back and forth, and fresh, cold air. Wen Qing is alive, and escaping on a boat with Jiang YanLi. The night that surrounds them is like a cover, with a faint shine of stars to lead away. Jiang YanLi wears a dark cloak, focused on the monotonous motions of rowing. Her eyes are dark and determined, but soften as Wen Qing catches her attention.
“I...you saved me. Thank you, and...” She clears her throat, still hoarse, still sounding like a distant version of herself. “I’m sorry...for all the trouble, you didn’t— “
“It’s ok. And, Wen Ning...do you know if he’s…?”
“...I don’t. I don’t know where they’re keeping him, or what will happen,” she pauses, studies the dark circles looming under Jiang YanLi’s eyes. “Wei WuXian?”
Her eyes turn misty, and her grip on the oars tighten. Oh. Wen Qing’s eyes begin to water, tears trickling down. He’s gone. She stares up at the sky, wonders why in the end it was him. She doesn’t face Jiang YanLi.
“I should have...I should have been the one to— “
Jiang YanLi shakes her head, choking back a sob. “No, none of this should have happened.”
Wen Qing’s tired. Her body burns with an insistent pain but it doesn’t matter when the loss is what stings the most.
They grieve and cry under the cover of midnight, in a little boat drifting along the river bend, until eventually they float past lotus pods. Until their tears have run dry and their eyes are heavy. Again, there are those soft hands which guide her, laying her down gently and with care. Her head is cushioned on Jiang YanLi’s lap, and she thinks about moving, sitting up, but her head is heavy too.
Distantly, a voice says, “It’s OK, just rest.” So she does.
—
When she wakes up, she’s no longer drifting in midnight fog and there’s no subtle sway of a boat. Blankets cover her thinning frame and as she rubs the sleep away from her eyes, the dim light that filters through the window becomes clear. Her breath hitches and she scrambles out from under the warmth of the covers. Really, she shouldn’t be here— but where could I have gone? who would have saved me if not for her? There’s no one else left for her, she thinks bitterly. Stomach growling, head light and thoughts loud, Wen Qing can’t, doesn’t think she can do this anymore. The sheets are bunched up into her fists, which she grips tighter and tighter as silent sobs wrack her body.
“Miss— “ Jiang YanLi’s voice is soft and then surprised. Not a moment later there’s warmth. There’s a body pressed against her, hands wiping pathetic tears away. Wen Qing isn’t used to being weak. For all her life she needed to be strong and stern. She took care of A-Ning, became a doctor to care for many others too. She isn't weak.
Now, Jiang YanLi hugs her and says those words again. “It’s OK.”
Wen Qing knows it’s not, but she takes comfort in them, in what Jiang YanLi says to her. Still, she’s stiff and she holds back her wailing, tries not to shudder, to melt into the touch like she thinks she wants to.
“I know you may resent doing so but…” Jiang YanLi pulls back to look at her, though Wen Qing’s eyes are aimed away, down at the sheets bunched up between them. “Please, Wen Qing, let me take care of you, just until you’re in a better condition.”
She can’t stand to say anything, so she just nods.
Let me take care of you. That request continues to roll around in her mind, soft and earnest, a hint of hope and adamance. It’s not a question, and Wen Qing thinks perhaps Jiang YanLi wouldn’t have let her refuse. Let me. She said Let me.
Reluctantly, Wen Qing does.
—
Jiang YanLi begins to take care of her. On one particular day Wen Qing decides to ask a question.
“Sorry if I’m intruding but...did you…” she considers her words, glancing up to the ceiling as if expecting a suitable word to fall into her lap. “Did you love him? Jin ZiXuan, that is.” Wen Qing isn’t sure she’ll understand the nuance between her words— and it’s not an insult to Jiang YanLi’s intelligence, but another question entirely wrapped into this one, slight emphasis on the word “love”. Did she love him the way Wen Qing could see herself falling for Jiang YanLi? Could she love Wen Qing the way she may have loved him?
Jiang YanLi’s hands still on the washcloth she holds, and after the initial startle of Wen Qing’s question, she smiles. It’s wistful and sad, and Wen Qing aches for her.
“I did,” she says, and Wen Qing thinks that’s it but— “Not how they all wanted me to, but I did.”
Not how they all wanted me to. Wen Qing nods slowly, not expecting the question to be aimed back at her. When it is, she freezes.
“Have I ever loved someone?” She thinks I’m quite sure I could, but these are words she does not say. Instead she scoffs, quirks her lips up in a half smile. “No, most of all I care for my brother, and being a doctor, so I can’t say I have.”
Much like how Wen Qing did, Jiang YanLi nods, Their eyes meet for a moment, a short, lingering few seconds where time stops and it didn’t matter that they sat on opposite ends of the room. For however small the shared gaze between them is, it seems to speak volumes. In Jiang YanLi’s eyes she sees a type of understanding, a knowing. She sees hope.
Those words, once empty and half hearted replay in Wen Qing's mind as if they mean the world now. It's ok. It's ok. There’s some light in this life after all.