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Jiang Cheng sighs and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm as he puts aside yet another prayer from his followers.
Sure, he could get the minor officials under his temple to sort through the prayers first, but as the Heavenly Emperor, both the martial god of the South and the patron god of rain, there are simply too many prayers to answer. Ones asking for protection, or for fertile land, or even for fortune—that’s not even in his domain of control—leaving him with a headache that is steadily building from his hours of nonstop work.
He briefly considers asking the civil gods for help, but they are overworked as it is, so he quickly dismisses the thought. There is no sense in burdening them with trivial tasks he can accomplish on his own.
Soft footsteps echo in his palace, breaking the silence in which Jiang Cheng had been working. They come to a stop outside the side chamber where Jiang Cheng is currently, and a quiet knock sounds at the door.
There are few heavenly officials who would wait for permission before entering his workspace, and there is only one who carries himself with such graceful gentleness.
Taking a deep breath, Jiang Cheng braces himself for a scolding, and calls out, “Come in.”
The patron god of music enters the room, closing the door carefully behind him as he balances a tray of tea with his other hand. Lan Xichen is a vision in his pristine blue and white robes, warm amber eyes laced with worry as he moves across the room. He sets the tray down on Jiang Cheng’s desk delicately to avoid spilling on the mountain of paperwork around it.
“You stayed up overnight again,” Lan Xichen says disapprovingly.
“I don’t need sleep,” Jiang Cheng retorts, the way he has done thousands of times before, accepting the offered tea.
“It does not hurt to take a break, occasionally,” Lan Xichen replies just as routinely, pressing slender fingers to his temple and massaging it lightly.
Jiang Cheng sighs and closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. “What if there’s an urgent prayer to be answered?” But a smile is playing at the corner of his lips, Lan Xichen’s hands doing wonders to improve his mood.
Lan Xichen glances at the stacks of paper before pulling Jiang Cheng to his feet. “Then your minor officials will alert you, I am certain of their competence. Come take a walk with me, Wanyin.”
“They’re just going to slack off when I’m not around, Xichen,” Jiang Cheng protests half-heartedly, but he lets Lan Xichen lead him out of his palace.
The Heavenly Capital is just waking up, scarcely anyone on the streets save for a few diligent minor officials. Spring has arrived just as it had in the mortal realm, reflected richly in the heavenly realm. The two of them hold hands as they walk along the main path, framed by cherry trees on either side that are just beginning to blossom shyly.
“It will be a good harvest year,” Jiang Cheng comments. The state of the heavens is loosely intertwined with that of the mortal realm through the order of the natural world, so in years of natural disasters or wars, the landscape in Heaven would be affected accordingly.
Lan Xichen squeezes his hand, knowing how worried he had been after a particularly dry winter. “It is all because of you, my love.”
Jiang Cheng smiles in amusement at the endearment and, in a rare show of indulgence, allows Lan Xichen to lift their joined hands so that he may press a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s knuckles.
Their walk takes them to a palace that is far too elaborate for a typical civil god, but Nie Huaisang, patron of the arts, has never been typical.
He is currently lounging on the steps of his palace, watching heavenly officials pass by, lazily waving a paper fan in his hand. Jiang Cheng swears he has a new fan every time, each more beautiful than the last, though none of them are spiritual tools. Today, a black kite spans the front of the fan majestically, so that the opening and closing of the fan would make it seem as if the bird is fluttering its wings.
Nie Huaisang’s eyes light up when he sees the two of them approach.
“Jiang-xiong! Xichen-ge!” he greets them excitedly, folding his fan and rising from his seat.
“Hello, Huaisang,” Xichen returns the greeting warmly.
“You sure have a lot of time on your hands, to be sitting around people-watching,” Jiang Cheng chides. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Nie Huaisang waves away his words lightly. “Ah, you know, it’s springtime. Everyone is busy working in the fields, no one has time for the arts. I just let the kids handle it, not like you…”
His words trail off when he notices Jiang Cheng’s expression, and he narrows his eyes. “You stayed up all night again, didn’t you?”
Before Jiang Cheng can respond to defend himself, Lan Xichen nods solemnly. That traitor.
Nie Huaisang huffs, hooking an arm through the crook of his elbow. “Aiyo, Jiang-xiong, take a break!”
“Huaisang!” Jiang Cheng hisses, in an attempt to salvage what’s left of his dignity. Seriously, he must be too lax with his court for not one, but two heavenly officials to think they can manhandle him as they see fit.
Lan Xichen smiles at their antics, before bowing slightly. “Then I’ll leave Wanyin in your hands, Huaisang.”
Nie Huaisang makes a noise of affirmation.
“Wait,” Jiang Cheng calls, just as Lan Xichen is about to leave. Knowing exactly where he will go, Jiang Cheng says, “Meng Yao overworks more than I do. Tell him to take a break, my orders.”
Lan Xichen laughs at his hypocrisy, muffling the sound delicately with his sleeve, before promising to do so and taking his leave.
With that, Nie Huaisang drags Jiang Cheng into his palace, where a shadow puppet play is currently showing in the main hall. Each puppet is animated to speak and move on its own, so captivating that Jiang Cheng is drawn into the story of a hero despite the hazy silhouettes. During the play, Nie Huaisang sidles up to him, so Jiang Cheng puts an arm around his shoulder to hold him close.
When the play finishes, Nie Huaisang shudders, using the opportunity to cuddle closer. “I could never be as brave as that,” he says. “Seriously, I respect you martial gods so much. It’s such a risky path…even someone like Da-ge can get hurt, ah…”
Jiang Cheng frowns. Nie Mingjue had gone up North to hunt an ancient, monstrous bear spirit, but he hadn’t known that the martial god had returned to the capital, much less that he had been injured.
As if he is reading his mind, Nie Huaisang looks up at him. “Da-ge is fine,” he says quickly, to reassure Jiang Cheng. “But, ah, I suppose you’ll want to check anyways…”
Jiang Cheng agrees before standing up, pressing a kiss to Nie Huaisang’s forehead in apology as he does. Nie Huaisang shakes his head and waves him off with an “It’s fine, it’s fine, just go!”
He heads straight to the palace of the healer goddess. As expected, Nie Mingjue and Wen Qing are bickering fiercely as she tends to his wounds.
They both snap to attention at his entry. “Your Majesty,” they greet in unison.
Jiang Cheng sighs. These two are always so formal with him, no matter what he tells them.
“How is your injury?” he asks.
“Just a small scratch, nothing to worry about,” Nie Mingjue answers, despite the fact that he is currently topless with layers of bandages wrapped around his abdomen.
Jiang Cheng says nothing, simply raising an eyebrow at Wen Qing.
She scowls at Nie Mingjue before bowing to Jiang Cheng. “Most of his injuries are surface wounds, but he suffered a deep bite in his side. The fangs of the bear spirit are poisonous, and though it is not fatal, the poison will still greatly hinder his cultivation for some time. I am currently looking for an antidote.”
“Stay in the capital until you are healed, Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng says, feeling a sort of cold anger settle over him, the way he does whenever one of his loved ones is hurt. No one is allowed to lay a finger on what is his, and he would personally tear the bear spirit into a thousand pieces if Nie Mingjue hadn’t disposed of it already.
“I’m fine,” Nie Mingjue insists. “A small wound will not—”
Jiang Cheng fixes him with a hard stare, cutting him off. “You are not to leave the Heavenly Capital until you have recovered, Chifeng-zun. Have I made myself clear?”
Nie Mingjue ducks his head, the great general suddenly rendered meek. “Yes, Wanyin,” he says.
Jiang Cheng nods at Wen Qing. “Thank you for looking after him, Wen Qing.”
She acknowledges his gratitude with another bow before returning to examine Nie Mingjue’s wounds, so Jiang Cheng takes that as his cue to leave.
Jiang Cheng takes the road back to his temple, contemplating the likelihood of martial gods getting injured on missions and wondering whether he should make any adjustments to how the missions are assigned.
As if summoned by his musings, he meets another returning martial god, though this one is considerably less injured than the one he left behind. Lan Wangji stands before him with a blank, impassive face, but his typically cold eyes melt into liquid gold when he sees Jiang Cheng.
“You’re late,” Jiang Cheng says accusingly. “Disposing of the serpent in the Eastern Sea should not have taken you this long.”
Lan Wangji ducks his head in apology. “I made a detour,” he admits.
“How is he?” Jiang Cheng asks, softening slightly. He doesn’t need to elaborate; there is only one person Lan Wangji would need to go out of his way to visit, only one that requires him to make such a trip.
“Wei Ying is well.” Lan Wangji has always been of few words.
A man of few words, so he speaks through actions. Stepping forward, Lan Wangji boldly cups Jiang Cheng’s face and presses their lips together, heedless of the fact that they are standing on an open street. No one would dare comment about the Emperor’s public displays of affection, anyhow.
Lan Wangji kisses him deeply, thoroughly, conveying unsaid words through his touch. I missed you too, Jiang Wanyin. Not just him.
I know, Jiang Cheng replies as he kisses back with equal fervour. When they part, both their cheeks are slightly flushed, Jiang Cheng’s lower lip throbbing at having been bitten.
There is a dark look in his eyes when they separate, but it is still early in the day.
“I have work to finish, but I’ll see you tonight,” Jiang Cheng promises.
Lan Wangji nods, taking a deep breath to settle himself, stealing one last kiss before he leaves.
Jiang Cheng steps back into his palace, already dreading the piles of work he has waiting for him, when he sees a familiar flash of red and black out of the corner of his eyes.
“Jiang Cheng, I missed you!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, crushing him in a hug.
Jiang Cheng pushes him off when he starts trying to pepper kisses all over his face, which causes Wei Wuxian to pout and hang off his shoulders all the way back to his study.
“Don’t you have an underworld to run? Why are you here?” Why here, instead of the Light-bearing Palace? he doesn’t ask.
“Song-daozhang and Xiao-daozhang returned, so I left it in their care for the time being. Can’t a man miss his shidi?” Wei Wuxian says, brushing paper from the desk haphazardly so he can sit on its surface. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even bother telling him off. “Besides, Lan Zhan came to visit the other day! Not like you…ah, I know you have a Heavenly Capital to run, but still, don’t you miss me? You must, right? Such a handsome man like me…”
I do miss you, he doesn’t say. Instead, he rolls his eyes and sighs sufferingly, like showing affection physically pains him. Still, he reaches out to hold one of Wei Wuxian’s hands, intertwining their fingers together.
The playfulness in his shixiong’s eyes fade to something softer. His other hand comes up to play with Jiang Cheng’s hair. “Ah, you’re overworking again, aren’t you.”
Jiang Cheng sighs again. “There’s trouble in Yunmeng, a case involving a Wrath level ghost and a missing soul. Such a case so soon after the new year, too…it’s quite inauspicious.”
Missing souls occur when someone who is fated to die escapes due to supernatural intervention or unnatural tricks, so that they no longer belong to either the world of the living or the world of the dead. This makes them much harder to find than regular souls, and, more importantly, results in a ton of paperwork.
Wei Wuxian hums sympathetically as if on cue. “Missing souls are such a headache. They cause so much extra paperwork in the underworld.”
Jiang Cheng laughs. “As if you fill them out personally.”
“Hey! Overseeing an entire realm is hard work!” Wei Wuxian protests.
“And yet you’re here,” Jiang Cheng retorts drily.
He stares up at Wei Wuxian, and slowly, an idea forms in his head.
“Nope,” Wei Wuxian says as soon as he sees the look in Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “Jiang Cheng, I love you, I really do, but you’re on your own here.”
“You are shirking your duties anyways, and it has been a while since we’ve undertaken a mission together,” Jiang Cheng says, needling him.
“Jiang Cheng, you know how I feel about missing souls.”
But he can hear the waver of indecision in Wei Wuxian’s voice, so rather than using his authority as Heavenly Emperor, Jiang Cheng employs a different tactic.
“You know, Lan Wangji just returned to the capital today. Wouldn’t it be nice to welcome him together?” Jiang Cheng says, dropping his voice low.
Wei Wuxian has withdrawn his hands from Jiang Cheng, clenching them tightly in his lap. Still, he shakes his head. Alright then.
Jiang Cheng leans forward, resting his head on Wei Wuxian, peering up at him through his dark lashes. “Gege, please…”
At the address, Wei Wuxian groans and covers his face with both hands. “You’re being unfair, Jiang Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng grins, sitting back up. “That’s a yes, then.”
Wei Wuxian lowers his hands and shakes his head in exasperation. He pets Jiang Cheng’s hair, softly smiling. “You know I could never say no to you. None of us can.”
Jiang Cheng knows.