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1.
“Sect Leader Jiang?” comes the hesitant call of a disciple two seconds after a quick, rapid tap knock.
Jiang Cheng is sitting at his desk, glaring his newest plant into behaving before he snips off a stray leaf, then he gently sets the shears down, breathes, and allows his flash of irritation at being disturbed go. It’s late. He’s done with Sect Leader Work for the day. He’s just not in bed because he’s not a fucking Lan.
“Sect Leader Jiang?” comes the voice again, timid, but insistent.
Jiang Cheng sighs and rolls his eyes, grabbing Sandu from the table. They wouldn’t be disturbing him right now unless it were an emergency. Which means he has to deal with it. Stalking over to the door, he yanks it open, hand bearing Zidian clenched on the wood, and glares down at the disciple.
“What is it?”
The disciple is young...er. Old enough to be on night hunts alone, or leading one, and has been judging by the smear of dirt on his robes and the twigs in his hair.
“Forgive me, Sect Leader Jiang,” the disciple says, bowing with his hands and sword clasped in an awkward circle. He’s holding his sword in his left hand and his right is suspiciously swollen, the fingers purple and stiff. “We were passing by Yiling on our way back from the night hunt and…” the disciple trails off as he looks up, and Jiang Cheng realizes his fists are clenched and Zidian started sparking at the mention of Yiling.
He hasn’t had disciples stationed there for years. Decades. There hasn’t been need. It’s been quiet.
And any requests that come from the village are handled by disciples he knows can follow his orders. Ones who are old enough not to panic and disobey them.
“It’s the Burial Mounds,” the disciple says, “It’s-- It’s--”
Wei Wuxian.
“Where are the others?” Jiang Cheng asks, because as much as his mind is screaming at him for not making sure the new class knew not to go anywhere near the cursed place, he is still the sect leader and it is job to ensure they are well.
“With the healers,” the disciple says, mouth hanging open as his eyes dart across the docks and water and glowing lights. “They were injured when…”
Jiang Cheng asks, biting out the words, “When… what?”
“We heard reports that strange winds were coming out of it the past week,” the disciple says, and bows again, as if the respect now will make up for disobeying the first rule Jiang Cheng makes sure every disciple leaving Lotus Pier knows. A rule every disciple of the other sects know. You do not go to Burial Mounds without his permission. You only go if Sandu Shengshou tells you to.
Jiang Cheng is too busy hearing the blood rushing through his ears, knowing that something has happened in the Burial Mounds and he didn’t know about it, to shout at the disciple for disobeying orders.
“We went to investigate it when the Burial Mounds tried to- what I mean to say is we were flying over the forest and something pulled us in.”
Jiang Cheng is distantly aware that his door is broken and if he forces any more anger into his grip he will fling it across the walkway in front of him.
“I managed to stay on my sword.” The disciple is one of the stronger flyers. Strong enough to carry someone else and keep pace with a formation. “I managed to get us all out, but a few of us lost our swords in the process and many of us were injured fighting off the resentful spirits.”
Fighting.
They went inside.
But they escaped.
Tamping down on his anger, his fear, fear, fear. No. Breathe. Jiang Cheng focuses on the situation in front of him.
“I will handle it,” Jiang Cheng says, releasing his hand. The door falls to the floor, slowed by the paper screen. It’s a quiet clack for the size. “Get someone to fix that before I return.” He flicks Sandu into the air, ignoring the mess behind him.
He pauses after he steps onto his sword, and gives the disciple a glance. “Go see the healers. I don’t want any of my disciples dying because they neglected to get a broken hand tended to.”
The call of, “Yes, Sect Leader Jiang,” follows him as he leaves Lotus Pier behind. Even pushing himself and Sandu with all the strength of a golden core that has given him immortality, the trip to Yiling takes too long.
Long enough for all his worry to twist into anger. Long enough for all of that anger to warp back into anxiety.
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng growls out, passing over the pale lights of the village at the base of the mountain and over the forest beyond it. He doesn’t bother landing at the border of the Burial Mounds.
There’s nothing in here that can harm him. Zidian can strike anything here down. Prevent anything from pulling him from his sword, claiming him.
Wei Wuxian though.
The clearing is near the top and still. The entire place is still. Empty and desolate. There’s nothing but wreckage, broken and splintered wood and deep grooves scoured into the rocks like the very claws of the place had been clinging to something.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouts.
There isn’t any answer.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth, then shouts again, “Where the fuck are you? Get out here now!”
He whips out Zidian and a tree explodes. Then another and another and another.
The last time they spoke, “I’ll find another way. I don’t need your help.”
Words spoken in bitter anger, “Fine, see if I come back. See what I care about someone trying to suppress you.”
Another tree disappears under Jiang Cheng’s electric rage.
“Don’t ignore me!” He swallows down a sob, turning everything he feels into fire and fury. “This isn’t funny! Stop messing around!”
He’s breathing hard, and there are tears starting to burn his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. His shoulder is hurting, and there’s a click in the joint as he starts down the mountain path, destroying every tree along the way.
“Wei Wuxian!”
There is still no answer.
“Wei Wu-,” he says, his voice cracking into silence as Zidian meets air. Dawn is bright on the horizon, unobscured by a dark forest, unobscured by any undeath that should choke out anything but darkness and shadow from the Burial Mounds. Instead, it’s something else entirely choking the air and words from Jiang Cheng’s throat.
He falls, knees hitting the dust, arms limp by his side. “You can’t be gone.”
Wei Wuxian is supposed to be here. Suppose to be annoying. Supposed to be alive. (Wei Wuxian has been dead for three hundred years.)
“You were going to find a way free.” Jiang Cheng is crying. He knows this now. “You were going to do the impossible.”
His chest is sore, from screaming or from the emotion lodged in it, he’s not sure. He wants it to be the screaming, the yelling, the rage. He doesn’t want any of this to be true.
He doesn’t miss people. Not any more. Not after- not after living so long.
Besides, Wei Wuxian was already gone. Refusing to let anyone help. He left.
Rage is so much easier. At the familiar burn of it, Jiang Cheng grits his teeth, focuses on, Wei Wuxian left first , Wei Wuxian left him first, and pushes himself to his feet.
2.
Lan Xichen is doting on his nephew while the boy’s fathers assemble a rabbit hutch in the middle of a secluded meadow. They are breaking several rules, but when Wangji had shown up with the pair a week after bringing Wei Wuxian to Cloud Recesses, Xichen had simply shaken his head and indulged the new happiness his brother had found.
A-Yuan is doing his absolute best to remain still enough the white rabbit will come to him. Xichen is silently hoping it will. A-Yuan is in his lap, and a rabbit in A-Yuan’s means Xichen will be close enough to pet the timid creature.
Its fur looks so soft.
“Wangji,” Xichen says, and watches, disappointed, as the white rabbit rises to its hind legs, freezes, and then runs into the undergrowth.
“Bye bye, bunny,” says A-Yuan with a wave. At A-Yuan’s prompting, Xichen waves after the rabbit as well.
Glancing back up, Xichen finds Wangji staring at him. Right. He had asked for his attention. “Do the rabbits have names?”
“They are not pets, Brother,” Wangji says, but his ears tint pink. Wangji has named them.
Wei Wuxian simply falls to his back, legs folded and feet trapped beneath him as he clutches his sides in laughter. He devolves into breathless gasps at Wangji’s slightly petulant stare
“Daddy?” A-Yuan calls, distressed, and immediately launches himself from Xichen’s lap to run towards Wei Wuxian. While Wei Wuxian sits up, his bubbling joy redirecting to A-Yuan, Wangji’s face softens at the sight, at least before he turns back to Xichen.
Wangji has named the rabbits. Pets are not allowed in Cloud Recesses, so they are not pets. They will just be taken care of and loved like they are.
Xichen makes no attempt to hide his smile and is rewarded with a scathing glare from his brother. His attention is pulled away from Wei Wuxian reassuring A-Yuan by a disciple approaching the clearing.
“Zewu-Jun,” the disciple says, and then bows. She gives another bow to Wangji and Wei Wuxian before turning back to Xichen.
“Yes?”
“Sect Leader Lan has requested you.”
There is a discussion conference scheduled within the next week. In other sects, it is likely standard for the first disciple to speak with their sect leader before one. In this one, it is standard for Xichen to consult with Uncle. He has never consulted with Father. That is Uncle’s realm. His is to represent Gusu Lan and bear the heavy responsibility of sect leader without bearing the title.
“Thank you,” Xichen says, and can feel the weight of Wangji’s stare on him, but instead focuses on the disciple. “You may go.”
He is given another salute before the disciple leaves.
“Is this about me?” Wei Wuxian asks, hands clamped over A-Yuan’s ears who simply looks up at Wei Wuxian, annoyed but not enough to do anything about it. “If Lan Zhan is in trouble--”
Xichen shakes his head and Wei Wuxian falls silent instead of forcing Xichen to break a rule and interrupt the runaway fear. “Neither of you will be reprimanded for this, I will see to that,” Xichen says, and then glances at the edge of the clearing where the black rabbit is being brave and sneaking towards the basket by Wei Wuxian. “Father would not speak to me about this.”
Father has not spoken to him since A-Yuan was allowed to stay.
“Uncle will disapprove,” Wangji says, and resumes his work on the hutch, securing the roof of the place in what amounts to his third attempt due to an inexperience with tools that Wei Wuxian had spent too long laughing and teasing them over to properly teach either of them how to use. “I do not care.”
As much friction Wangji’s new disregard for Uncle’s regard has caused, Xichen can see the ease in his brother’s shoulders and the way he carries himself, smiles whenever his husband or son are near, and Xichen cannot bring himself to wish for Wangji to care again. Doing so had almost destroyed him.
Smiling, Xichen rises to his feet. “Thank you for letting me join you today, I enjoyed the break.”
“Anytime, Zewu-Jun.”
“You are always welcome to join us, Brother.”
“Bye Bye, Uncle Blue.”
Buoyed by the undeniable fact Wangji is settled into life in a way he hasn’t been since their mother died, Xichen goes to meet their father.
The house Qingheng-jun is secluded in looks the same as every other time Xichen has seen him. Seeing the windows still shuttered despite the unseasonal break into warmer weather chills whatever hope he had allowed himself.
But he still has duty, so he ascends the few steps to the bare porch and slides open the door.
“Sect Leader Lan.” Xichen bows and salutes as is proper, and then waits for his father to acknowledge him.
“Xichen. You have turned into a diplomatic young man.”
Xichen wants to tell his father that he is not so young. He is over thirty, even if his cultivation has slowed the years so that he doesn’t look it. He is older than Qingheng-Jun was when he became sect leader. Has more than half a lifetime on that version of his father.
If he were unkind, he would say he has more of a lifetime on this version of his father.
Qingheng-Jun has missed most of Xichen’s life, and shown that in his comment. But he was right about one thing. Xichen is diplomatic. So, Xichen nods his acceptance of the wayward compliment. “Thank you, Sect Leader.”
After another long moment of silence, Xichen prompts the conversation with, “You wished to speak with me?”
“Sit,” Qingheng-Jun says, and motions at the table in front of him. There is a pot of tea and a tray with several tea cups by his right elbow, and as Xichen walks over, his father takes one cup and sets it in the empty spot.
It is perhaps the only bit of hospitality Xichen has ever seen his father extend.
“Thank you, Sect Leader,” Xichen says, and takes the cup. He uses the moments of raising it to his mouth and drinking to still the urge to fidget and still his limbs, his fingers. His face is always trained into the calm smile expected of him, but right now, he can feel the plaster of it sitting heavy over him.
He covers the moment he closes his eyes and breathes deeply to settle himself by pretending to savor the aroma of the tea.
It is stale.
When he feels ready, Xichen places the cup back on the table, folds his hands, and opens his eyes.
“Thank you for handling Sect Leader Jiang’s letter.”
Xichen nods. “Of course.”
“I have reflected upon my actions these past weeks,” Qingheng-Jun says and sets his own tea aside. “It has become clear that I am still guided too much by my emotions to make decisions for the good of the clan and the sect at large.” The ribbon around his forehead is polished and shines, and the skin beneath it bears none of the wrinkles Uncle wears. Qingheng-Jun bows, dropping low. “As such, I have decided to renounce my title and position so that I may continue to spend my days in secluded meditation and contemplate moderation and restraint.”
Self-restraint does not mean complete denial. It does not mean removing parts of yourself until all that remains is a hollow shell of paper and rules. It is a lesson Xichen managed to discover on his own, and one Wangji is blessedly learning. But it is not one either Qingheng-Jun or Uncle seem to understand.
“I hand over the title of sect leader to you, Xichen.”
Uncle storms into the room, glaring the disciples at the door aside. “Absolutely not.” He is angry, displeased, furious in a way Xichen has rarely seen him. “You are not going to ruin your son’s life in this way.”
Xichen is taken aback. It is rare that Uncle comes to his defense. He is aware that Uncle cares for him, and Wangji both, but it has always been displayed by ensuring they were educated and disciplined, that they stayed far from their father’s faults.
“You cannot say you are the sect leader to make us abide by your decision, then say that same choice makes you unfit to be sect leader and renounce your title.”
“Uncle,” Xichen says, an uncomfortable itch settling beneath his skin, a need to smooth out the disagreement before him. “I am well-prepared to take on this responsibility.”
“And you will, when it will be fair to you,” Uncle says, then turns to Father. “Sect Leader Jiang has learned that Wei Wuxian is no longer in the Burial Mounds. You will represent Gusu Lan at the next conference in Yunmeng. You will not leave your son to clean up your mess.”
Xichen is speechless, and is caught off guard enough that when Uncle barks his name, he follows.
“Prepare yourself, Xichen. I do not have any faith in your father.”
Xichen bows. He will not get between brothers fighting. Instead he says, “I am prepared to stand by my decisions regarding Wangji and his family.”
Uncle gives him a long, considering stare, then nods, and with a flick of his sleeve heads to his office. “Very well, we will discuss what needs to be done.” It sounds like a dismissal, but the only thing Xichen hears is approval.
3.
The disciples Jiang Cheng orders to interview--interrogate-- the villagers of Yiling are ones he trusts to find out any information there is and to not fuck it up. They turn up a few reports of cultivators flying around it. Two of them are easy to dismiss. The first was when the squad of Jiang Sect Disciples passed through. The second was Jiang Cheng’s own trip where he found nothing but an empty mountain and his brother gone.
The others are harder. But when pressed, the villagers can agree about two things: a blue sword glare, and white robes fluttering in the moonlight.
Fucking Lans.
The letter he wants to send is something he would have when he was a fresh-faced youth. Where the fuck is my brother? Instead, he sends something that years as Jiang Sect Leader and chief cultivator have made into habit.
Sect Leader Lan,
(Sect Leader Lan hasn’t left seclusion for years. It’s his son and brother who handle sect matters.)
It has come to my attention that a Lan disciple entered the Burial Mounds and disturbed the spirits there. May I remind you Yiling and the Burial Mounds are the sole purview of Yunmeng Jiang. I expect this matter to be dealt with firmly.
Sect Leader Jiang.
He wants to threaten them. Wants to see the life fade from the eyes of whichever disciple destroyed his brother’s spirit.
Instead, he gets an annoyingly polite and noncommittal reply.
Sect Leader Jiang,
Thank you for your attention to this matter. Since it is a Lan disciple, the matter is being dealt with by the Lan Sect. If Sect Leader Jiang is still concerned, a full account can be given at the next discussion conference.
Zewu-Jun.
Being dealt with by the Lan Sect? The disciple is probably being congratulated. Jiang Cheng can already hear the self-righteous account of Lan Qiren: “Wei Wuxian was a resentful spirit and tainted the entirety of Yiling! His destruction is a benefit to the cultivation world! Our righteous disciple,” here Jiang Cheng supplies one of the few names of the Lan Sect’s Disciples he actually knows, and the cold indifferent stare of Lan Wangji pops into his head, one of Gusu Lan’s Twin Jades, “Hanguang-Jun is a--”
It’s probably too much for Lan Qiren to praise anyone, even his nephew. The man has never had anything positive to say in the past fifty years. Jiang Cheng’s mental imagining shifts accordingly. Lan Qiren, chest puffed out, declaring, “We should have done this earlier.”
The Lan Sect probably doesn’t even remember the last time they tried.
Jiang Cheng breathes through the initial burst of rage, but his fist still clench and the fragile paper splits along a fold. The sound of the paper tearing releases his control and he rips and crumples and tears until the letter is nothing more than fine flakes fluttering to the floor.
“Clean this up,” Jiang Cheng orders whoever is nearby, and then storms from the room.
He’s not really paying attention to where he is going, too busy being angry to think about anything. He stops when he reaches the penjing hall.
Nobody goes in there. Nobody is allowed in there, except a servant once a week who sweeps the floor and knows not to touch anything unless they want to lose their hand.
The landscapes, all of Lotus Pier and the surrounding Yunmeng rivers and lotus lakes, are displayed about the room. Jiang Cheng has tried to keep the place from changing, has stubbornly refused to tear buildings down and rebuild them differently, instead ordering disciples to replace them one board at a time. He has had to concede over the years, allowing additions as the needs of the sect expanded beyond the area that had existed before Lotus Pier burned and he ascended to sect leader with ash and blood.
Like the flow of time, the water was never something he could control and the changing of its paths and edges is something Jiang Cheng has mapped between the rocks and trees and woods of the miniature landscapes.
“You need a hobby ,” an elder had told him, back when he was still young enough to have people older than him. “Create something with your hands. ”
Jiang Cheng had rebuilt the Jiang Sect from the muddy waters with his own hands. So, he did it again and again and again .
But the one in the center of the room, tended to before any of the others, was the first, Lotus Pier as it was, as Jiang Cheng wanted to keep it. It is the one he goes to now, dropping to his knees so that he is eye level with the two small figures poised on the docks. The water in the tray is rippling from the thud, and it’s more alive than the diorama has been in years.
Once, in a fit of anger at Wei Wuxian for refusing to let anyone help him, Jiang Cheng had returned and replaced the black and red carving with dogs. He’d woken up that night, terrified even that small presence of canine would prevent Wei Wuxian from returning. He’d scrambled to clear the dogs from the docks, and replaced Wei Wuxian in the spot beside Jiang Cheng’s own miniature.
Now, he can feel the anger building again.
The Lan Sect has finally succeeded where they failed after the Sunshot Campaign; they’ve finally rid the world of Wei Wuxian.
And the disciple responsible for it won’t even be punished. Will probably be rewarded by those self-righteous monks.
Zidian is sparking across his fists and fingers, the coiling snake warming with it. “Why couldn’t you just let me fucking help you?” He wants to destroy the penjing in front of him; destroy the memory it is. “You were supposed to be safe.”
Jiang Cheng was supposed to keep his brother safe. He was supposed to keep anyone from trying to cleanse the Burial Mounds again.
Wei Wuxian ended up in the Burial Mounds because Jiang Cheng couldn’t protect him. And now, Wei Wuxian is gone because Jiang Cheng still isn’t enough to keep his family safe.
He’s still not enough for his family to stay with him. Not enough to make Wei Wuxian stay.
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng says, gritting his teeth, standing on his feet. “See if I care if you leave me again,” he spits at the red and white miniature of his brother, a brother who danced away from every chance to wear purple, who refused every time Jiang Cheng offered. “See if you find me crying. I won’t cry over you, asshole.” With that, he leaves, slamming the door and sending a disciple running the opposite direction.
He passes the days leading up to the discussion conference destroying too many practice swords and handing out punishments severe enough his mother would likely approve of him for once in his long life.
By the time the visiting sects arrive, Lotus Pier has been scrubbed clean three times over and Jiang Cheng’s anger has simmered into something he can contain.
He cannot execute anyone from another sect over this matter. Nobody alive knows Wei Wuxian was of the Jiang Sect. Nobody alive will care. They will simply see one sect leader upset that another sect has night hunted in their territory. They will see the Chief Cultivator abusing his power. The story of the Sunshot campaign has passed into history and Wen Ruohan is a cautionary tale to them, but Jiang Cheng refuses to become that.
Instead, he will do his damned best to remind everyone that he is Sandu Shengshou, the immortal leader of Yunmeng Jiang. He will make them feel every year that separates him from them, make them feel as young and inexperienced as he had been when he had first become Sect Leader Jiang. Make them feel as alone as he had been, alone without elders to advise him, alone without his sister or brother to support him.
That plan disappears entirely upon the arrival of the Lan Sect delegation.
They are prim and proper, perfect lines of white and blue, headbands at right angles to the ground. It is everything expected for Gusu Lan.
But at the front of the delegation is Sect Leader Lan, head held high, but with echoes of the years it has spent bent in penance.
“Qingheng-Jun,” Jiang Cheng sneers. He can feel his lips curl back into a snarl.
Sect Leader Lan salutes and bows, and Jiang Cheng catches sight of the rest of the group. Lan Qiren and Zewu-Jun are flanking the sect leader. One of them or the other has acted as the representative for Gusu Lan for enough decades neither of their presence is anything other than expected. Behind them though.
Behind them stands Hanguang-Jun, glare cold and impassive. For a moment, Jiang Cheng wants to make a comment about the illustrious Second Jade of Lan deigns to grace the conference with his presence, but is stopped with a lurching shock.
Standing beside Hanguang-Jun is a Lan disciple, dressed in the impeccable blue and white robes, but there is so much red slashed through it that it looks like he is dressed in the sky at sunset, the clouds a gradient from day to night. All of them stained with blood.
Wei Wuxian.
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, mouth open and eyes wide, tears springing to them. It’s not until Jiang Cheng locks eyes with him that he stumbles.
And then Hanguang-Jun grabs Wei Wuxian by the upper arm and whispers in that cold tone of his, “Wei Ying.”
Jiang Cheng sees nothing but purple and red.
He knows enough about the late Madam Lan to know the clan has no problem forcing captured spirits to marry their young masters. Not even the Lan Sect’s rules against gossip had stopped rumors from getting out.
And now. Now they have bound Wei Wuxian to them.
And they brought him here. They parade him like some trophy, like some tamed dog.
“How dare you show your face,” Jiang Cheng shouts, and lashes out with Zidian.
4.
Wei Wuxian spends the days leading up to the cultivation conference hosted by Yunmeng Jiang purposefully avoiding learning anything about how the world has changed. The one exception is the wall of rules. The Lan Sect has been busy in the few hundred years he wasn’t there to harass any of them, and he has even more rules to memorize and break.
“Well, that one is easy,” Wei Wuxian says as he reaches the end of the wall and the last, newest, rule. One about avoiding him.
“Lan Zhan,” he shouts, turning to find his zhiji, and is startled by his presence, right by Wei Wuxian’s side, right where he was when Wei Wuxian told him he could wander off to find something more interesting than a wall of rules.
“Wei Ying.”
“Did your uncle add that rule because of you?”
Lan Zhan’s ears turn pink. “Mn.”
Wei Wuxian smiles as a warm giggle bubbles up through him. Breaking rules with Lan Zhan is much more fun than doing so on his own.
It doesn’t stop the wave of recollection of his youth, of breaking rules to get attention, to make people look at him, and Jiang Cheng’s annoyed eye rolls, and then… Even if Jiang Cheng tried to stop him, he always got in trouble.
“Jiang Cheng should know better,” Uncle Jiang would say. “Jiang Cheng is going to be sect leader. If he can’t control you, how can he lead a sect?” Madam Yu would shout.
And then they’d both kneel, Wei Wuxian for breaking rules, Jiang Cheng for failing.
“You shouldn’t have brought me back here,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, glancing down at the pathway. He’s standing in the grass. He shouldn’t be. It’s against the rules. Lan Zhan will get in trouble for it.
“Wei Ying?”
“I should get dressed properly before dinner,” Wei Wuxian says, tugging his robes so they sit properly. They’re still black and red and nothing like the Lan Sect colors the disciples or clan members wear. Like the ones sitting unused in the Jingshi. “I’m breaking the rules wearing these.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, and then, “Wei Ying can wear what he wishes.”
Wei Ying gives him a smile, but feels it fade as soon as the effort behind it does. Of course Lan Zhan would say that, Lan Zhan had taken him to Caiyi Town to find new robes when he had complained of how boring the spare ones the healers had given him were. And when his old ones had been little more than dirt and worn threads.
Lan Zhan had also stood silently as his uncle reprimanded him for Wei Ying’s breach of the dress code.
“I want to get changed,” Wei Wuxian says, and then takes Lan Zhan’s hand and guides them both back to the Jingshi.
The robes weren’t made for him, but Wei Wuxian is multi-talented and throwing in a few seams and stitches to take in the shoulders and pleat a bit at the waist means they don’t quite fit him but work well enough. They’re still too short at the ankle and leave a gap of his wrist that he finds Lan Zhan glaring at for reasons Wei Wuxian knows aren’t related to rule breaking.
“Like what you see, Lan-er-gege?” Wei Wuxian tries to say, but lets the flirt fall flat as he catches Lan Zhan’s golden glare. It’s displeased this time.
Wei Wuxian tugs the sleeve down as much as he can to cover his wrists. Unfortunately, they’re wide sleeves and he can’t fix the length by wrapping cloth around his forearms.
There is a forehead ribbon resting on the shelf where the robes sit. It’s a plain white band without any metal embellishments or embroidered clouds. It is a reminder. He is part of the sect, but he is not part of the inner family. Married to Lan Zhan or not, he is not one of them in a way that lets him claim anything beyond the spare robes given to him.
Never clouds. Never purple.
“Let’s just go,” he says, leaving the white ribbon behind, heading for the door. “I don’t want to be late.”
“Wei Ying likes arriving fashionably late,” Lan Zhan says, quoting something Wei Wuxian had tossed out once early in his arrival, but follows obediently.
“Ah, not today, Lan Zhan, not today.”
The next morning, their laundry is delivered, and every single one of Lan Zhan’s robes has been stained pink by Wei Ying’s red under robes. His own Gusu Lan approved white remain untouched.
Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow into anger, and he sweeps out of the Jingshi before Wei Wuxian can apologize or find a way to fix it.
Lan Zhan returns less than an hour later, and despite already wearing clothes for the day, white robes that haven’t been ruined, he changes into the pink. Taking Wei Wuxian’s hand, Lan Zhan pulls him close and presses a kiss to his forehead where a ribbon would sit if he were a member of the clan.
“A-Yuan’s classes will be over after lunch,” Lan Zhan tells him, and then breaks away.
Wei Wuxian wants to follow, but holds back as Lan Zhan takes out a box and opens it, pulling out one of his forehead ribbons, a blue one with a silver plate across the front. It’s decorative. Made for when the usual white would clash with the blue of some of his formal robes.
Wei Wuxian wants it. Wants it like he wanted permission to wear purple.
Instead, Wei Wuxian quickly crosses the room and grabs the plain white band, securing it with a rough knot before he does something like reach for Lan Zhan’s and take something that isn’t his to have.
He knows his place. He won’t forget it. He won’t let Lan Zhan get hurt.
Lan Zhan comes back to him, runs a thumb over his forehead ribbon with a deeply displeased frown. “They should not have given you this.”
Oh. The pain that even Lan Zhan doesn’t want him to belong like this stabs into the emptiness left by his golden core. Wei Wuxian glances down, away. “Wear a forehead ribbon for self-regulation.” Then, he dances back, hiding the rest of his feelings on the matter behind a smiling mask and a joke. “I really need to wear it then, since I’m so undisciplined.”
Don’t take it back. Don’t take it back. Don’t make me give it back, Lan Zhan, please.
Lan Zhan’s hand tightens around the clouded ribbon in his fist. “I need to go to Caiyi Town. I will return before dinner.”
“I’ll be fine,” Wei Ying says, before Lan Zhan can do something like worry after him. “A-Yuan and I can keep busy. Five hours is nothing.” Compared to years, decades, centuries, what had been an eternity alone. “There’s so much more here than at the Burial Mounds.”
That is the wrong thing to say, because Lan Zhan’s face does the soft thing where it looks like he is about to cry.
“No, no no,” Wei Ying says, stepping forward, and capturing Lan Zhan’s face between his hands. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that.”
“Wei Ying--”
“You are going to go to Caiyi Town and run your errands,” Wei Wuxian says, firmly, “and I’m going to pick up A-Yuan after his classes and we’re going to eat lunch with the rabbits and spend all afternoon napping in the soft green grass.”
Lan Zhan looks at least halfway convinced Wei Wuxian won’t be dreadfully bored, so he finishes with a smile and, “And you’re going to bring me and A-Yuan spicy food that tastes amazing and spoil both of us rotten.”
He knows Lan Zhan is already planning on it. Lan Zhan has already asked which dishes to get. And that is the only reason he can even say it, because indulging Lan Zhan’s desires is easy and the only thing that stops the stab of guilt at taking taking taking .
Do not be greedy. Another rule on the wall. Wei Wuxian breaks too many by just existing.
“Whatever Wei Ying wants,” Lan Zhan says and turns his head just enough to kiss one of Wei Wuxian’s palms, then the other.
Face heating, Wei Wuxian pulls his hands back and forces a smile for Lan Zhan. “Ah, but I want too much. We can eat the food here. I shouldn’t eat more than three bowls anyway.”
“Do not break promises,” Lan Zhan says. “Be generous. Earn Friendship with kindness.” He pauses, and then raises an eyebrow. “Need I go on?”
Wei Wuxian sighs. “No. You said you would, so now there is no stopping you.”
Lan Zhan looks decidedly pleased as he gives a short, “Mn.”
Wei Wuxian passes the afternoon exactly as he told Lan Zhan he would, except for the addition of a new child. Lan Jingyi is apparently A-Yuan’s new friend and doesn’t have any friend of his own because according to the other children he is, “too loud.” He smiles and laughs and moves without needing a reason.
Wei Wuxian simply swings him up onto his other hip and marches both boys off to the rabbits.
A-Yuan and Jingyi exhaust themselves, playing without restraint in the rabbit clearing, scaring the rabbits away but not each other.
They are awake enough to eat the food Lan Zhan brings back from Caiyi Town, but quickly nod off as the evening draws on.
“Wait,” Wei Wuxian says as he picks up A-Yuan, and passes a glance over at Jingyi. “Where are his parents? I’m not going to get in trouble for kidnapping him am I?”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Jingyi is a clan ward.” A ward. Which means orphan. But still of Lan blood if the clouds on his forehead ribbon mean anything.
Wei Wuxian holds A-Yuan close to his chest, squeezes him for a moment, then lets him fall into the crook of his arms. Because Lan Zhan is his father in official clan records, A-Yuan can wear the clouded ribbon as well.
At least Wei Wuxian is recognized as A-yuan’s father, family enough to adjust it so it sits straight, to slip it off in the evening when A-Yuan falls asleep too tired from the day.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, quietly once Wei Wuxian has settled both boys into A-Yuan’s bed.
“Hmm?” he asks, and turns.
Lan Zhan is standing in the middle of the room. He is still dressed for the day, pink robes blushing under the candle light around them. There is a package in his hands, wrapped in brown paper to protect it.
There is something tender and too vulnerable about Lan Zhan’s soft regard, and Wei Wuxian is seized by the urge to shatter the moment, to shift them into a space he knows. But he doesn’t, because there is a reserved hesitance in the way Lan Zhan’s fingers tense around the package, the crinkle of the paper far too loud in the silence of the Jingshi.
Frozen, Lan Zhan doesn’t seem capable of speaking or stepping across the distance. So, Wei Wuxian does so.
When he starts to unwrap the present, reveals splashes of color and clouds, Lan Zhan finds words to speak and says, “Wei Ying may wear what he wants.”
Fingers trembling, Wei Wuxian pulls out the item on the top of the stack, which is a forehead ribbon, the metal plate positioned so that the Gusu Clan Clouds are staring up at him above a strip of white that slowly transitions into blue and then red and then black.
“Wei Ying may wear what he wants,” Lan Zhan repeats firmly as Wei Wuxian looks up at him, and he knows his own eyes are filling with tears because they’re burning and Lan Zhan’s golden eyes are blurring. Then he blinks and Lan Zhan is clear again. “May I?”
“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, confused, and then realizes Lan Zhan is picking up the ribbon, so he quickly grabs the rest of the package-- the present, and says, “oh god, yes, please.”
Lan Zhan slips off the old forehead ribbon, casting it aside with a derisive glare and snap of his wrist, and then ties the new one on.
The weight of it is strange, and Wei Wuxian is afraid to wear it beyond this moment. This had been one of Lan Zhan’s ribbons. This is why he had gone to Caiyi Town.
“Your Uncle won’t approve of this, will he?” Wei Wuxian hears himself asks.
Lan Zhan stills. It is as good as him admitting it verbally. Before Wei Wuxian can object, to refuse to be a wedge between Lan Zhan and his uncle, Lan Zhan says, “Uncle and Father want you to accompany them to the cultivation conference.” He is silent as he swallows.
The forehead ribbon, Lan Zhan’s old forehead ribbon, will mark him as not only a member of the Lan Sect, but blood of the main family.
And Lan Zhan wants him to wear it where the entire cultivation world will see.
It’s enough to make him cry.
“Lan Zhan…”
“Wei Ying may wear whatever he wants,” Lan Zhan says, and sets the package back in Wei Wuxian’s hands. “Whatever he wishes, I will get him.”
Wei Wuxian is almost afraid to unfold the fabric in his hand. He can already see that it is well made and expensive, that the colors are matched to the ribbon. That Lan Zhan has given him formal robes in the blue and white of Gusu Lan and Wei black and red.
“Lan Zhan.”
“If you do not wish to attend the conference, I will inform Father.”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No, I-I will go.” He takes a settling breath and feels some of the tears at Lan Zhan’s gift shift into the raw grief at the prospect of seeing Lotus Pier again. “I want to visit. Even if it’s just to know it’s still there.” Even if it’s just to see what Jiang Cheng managed to build because everyone he knew from then is gone. He’s not completely untethered, he has the lan ribbon holding him like a kite in the clouds to the earth. Yunmeng waters won’t sweep him away and drown him.
Lotus Pier burned. Wei Wuxian knows that. He watched it burn, but never got to see the remains get dredged up from the muddy waters. It’s been a ghost of ash in his mind, something he never expected to see again, which is why when the dark tiled roofs and pale wood of the docks come into view, when what Wei Wuxian sees is a Lotus Pier that has never been touched by flames, he feels the world tilt sideways.
Lan Zhan’s arm around his waist is the only thing that keeps him on the sword, keeps him from falling off, down, splashing into the deep blue and black waters below.
He knows what it feels like to hit dirt and rock and shadow from this height. He recalls briefly, water is just as hard if you’re flying, or falling, fast enough.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice comes, warm, steady and Wei Wuxian turns to hide his face in the fabric clouds of Lan Zhan’s robes.
There are enough purple clad cultivators milling about to keep all of Yunmeng free of actual ghosts, but Wei Wuxian finds himself haunted by the dead of Lotus Pier regardless.
He is unmoored, in time, tethered too deeply to the docks. He drifts, following the current of the blowing white robes in front of him.
And then he hears it.
A voice. Clear as the water. The hum of insects in the night.
Then, Sect Leader Lan bows just enough for Wei Wuxian to catch sight of Sect Leader Jiang, sitting in regal Jiang Purple upon the Lotus Throne.
“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, because that is all he can do. Because he has seen too many people he knew flitting across the phantom lights in his mind.
But Jiang Cheng has a scowl as he glares at everyone, which is so much like him and so unlike anything that a Sect Leader, much less the Chief Cultivator, should be that he has to be real, and all Wei Wuxian wants to do is cry.
That’s his brother.
And then Jiang Cheng looks at him, looks so angry, and Wei Wuxian feels his knees give way.
“How dare you show your face!” Jiang Cheng yells, rising to his feet as Zidian arcs through the air.
Wei Wuxian just watches the proof of his brother’s life, his continued existent spark with the colors of Lotus Pier, and thinks, “ Ah, Jiang Cheng’s still angry with me,” as he waits for the blow to land.
It doesn’t.
And as soon as Wei Wuxian realizes that, his eyes snap to the figure standing between him and Jiang Cheng.
Zewu-Jun is standing between him and his brother, Shuoyue sheathed but raised. “Sect Leader Jiang,” Zewu-Jun calls out, tone neutral, a warning, but polite.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother pausing, lashing out with Zidian again, and this time Wei Wuxian is paying attention, watching as the purple lighting comes down again but makes no move for him. Instead it is aimed at the man beside him, at Lan Zhan who still has a hand grasped around Wei Wuxian’s arm to hold him upright.
“Jiang Cheng, Stop it!”
He does, for a brief moment, before his glare swivels from Lan Zhan to Wei Wuxian. “You’re defending them now?” He is breathing hard, not from exertion, but the emotion that is purpling rage on his face. “You’re their prisoner and you’re defending them?”
“Wei Ying is not--”
“I’m not their prisoner, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian calls out, stepping in front of Lan Zhan who looks ready to murder Jiang Cheng. “I’m--” he stops speaking, unsure what he is, unsure if telling Jiang Cheng that Lan Zhan is his husband will help anything.
“They’re forcing you to wear their colors, you never even wore Jiang purple!”
“I wanted to,” Wei Wuxian cries back, before he registers what he is saying, before he remembers the people around them, before he thinks about Jiang Cheng’s reactions. But he is crying, and in the silence his words leave, he wipes the wide Lan sleeves over his cheeks and scrubs. Dropping them and his shoulders, he says, “I wanted to, Jiang Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng lets his hands fall back to his side, one reaching behind him as he stumbles backwards into his throne. “You were supposed to come back.”
Oh.
“I’m here now.”
But he’s not here to stay.
Jiang Cheng’s face looks ready to break.
“Perhaps we should break for the day and reconvene in the morning,” Zewu-Jun suggests, voice calm, but expression locked into careful concern as he glances between his brother and Wei Wuxian’s.
It’s enough to harden whatever had shattered inside Jiang Cheng and his eyes narrow, focusing on the elder Jade of Lan. “No,” he says, and his glare slides to Lan Zhan. “I want to hear what Hanguang-Jun has to say.”
It is a trap. It is a dare. Jiang Cheng is looking for a reason to fight.
Lan Zhan is staring calmly back. There is a determined set to his jaw. He is ready to fight the world for Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian sighs. Maybe in a lifetime where they were equals in age, Lan Zhan would stand equal with Jiang Cheng, would be able to win a fight. But as it is, even as an adult the disciplined, deadly, Hanguang-Jun stands no chance against the experience of an immortal. Juang Cheng has lifetimes beyond anyone else here.
And Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to see either of them hurt. Much less, to watch them fight.
Lan Zhan’s steady stare tells Wei Wuxian he doesn’t care about Jiang Cheng’s advantage, he will not back down. At Wei Wuxian’s touch though, Lan Zhan breaks eye contact, looks down to where Wei Wuxian has swapped their hands, his own on Lan Zhan’s arm to stop him from drawing his sword.
Lan Zhan nods, then turns back to Jiang Cheng and says, “Wei Ying is free to come or go as he pleases. He need not ask leave of me.”
Jiang Cheng’s sneer remains and he rolls his eyes. “How generous of you.”
Wei Wuxian cannot see Sect Leader Lan’s expression from his position, but Jiang Cheng can, and he lets out another derisive huff when he glances at him. Jiang Cheng’s lip twitches along with his fingers before his eyes slide back to Lan Zhan like a blade. “What do you have that’s keeping him there?”
Wei Wuxian wants to argue, to yell at Jiang Cheng to shut up and stop trying to hurt Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan speaks first, silencing the room. “Wei Ying may leave with his son whenever he wishes. He is not a prisoner.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen, speechless, and then narrow again in rage as his surprise sharpens into a pointed barb. “No, you don’t call them that, do you.”
“Jiang Cheng, stop this, please,” Wei Wuxian calls, and his speaking interrupts Lan Zhan’s lunge forward. Tears are pricking his eyes, and he fights them back. “Why do we have to fight? You’re Sect Leader now--”
“...and I’ll be your right hand. Just like my father was yours.”
“No thanks to you!” Jiang Cheng screams into the empty silence of the full hall. “You disappeared. I had to do everything on my own. Without you!”
“Incorrect.” Lan Zhan says, and his voice is so cold, so angry and furious. Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Zhan’s muscle tense beneath his white lace sleeves, his arms tremble. “You were only able to cultivate again because of Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian’s first instinct is to downplay his own importance, to prop up Jiang Cheng and everything he accomplished, the looming memory of Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian loud in his mind, and then he freezes.
Lan Zhan had specified Jiang Cheng’s cultivation. Nothing about his other accomplishments.
No.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan, and feels his voice crack with the wave of heartbreaking fear. “Don’t. Please.”
Lan Zhan glances down at him, and there’s a moment of hesitation, then Jiang Cheng spits out, “He left me. I became Sect Leader on my own .”
Lan Zhan’s gaze snaps up, flat and hard and sharp as Bichen. “You only have a golden core because of Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan states, voice trembling with so much emotion, fury, pain, that Wei Wuxian is certain everyone in the Sword Hall can hear it, “He gave you his.”
Jiang Cheng’s face does something complicated.
It is too much, and Wei Wuxian can feel the world pressing in, darkness turning his vision into blurring vignettes of Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jiang Cheng asks, his anger wrenched sideways, but even his voice is too distant for Wei Wuxian to be anything more than passingly aware of it.
And then he collapses.
“Wei Ying!”
5.
Wei Wuxian drops like the kites they shot as children, one arrow tearing through the paper, sticking into the wood and carrying the rising sun to the ground in the blink of an eye. Jiang Cheng’s anger disappears, shoved aside by the gaping chasm of fear as he races forward.
Lan Wangji is there first, arms catching Wei Wuxian before he can reach the floor. Lan Xichen pivots, kneeling beside their brothers.
Jiang Cheng is stopped by a solid wall made up of Qingheng-Jun and Lan Qiren. “Move,” he snarls, shoving them aside, only to be met by Lan Xichen and Shuoyue’s silver and white sheath.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen says, it’s a warning. He is not going to let Jiang Cheng past.
Like with Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng could easily win a fight again Lan Xichen. He is also aware of what starting one would do, that they are not alone in this hall.
But Wei Wuxian is lying limp in Lan Wangji’s arm.
“He is my brother.”
“And Wangji is mine,” Lan Xichen says, “I will not allow you to harm him.”
“I won’t fucking hurt him,” Jiang Cheng swears as he clenches his fists. Zidian is still active, so he puts a precious second into banishing that. “I am concerned about my brother.”
That is enough for Lan Xichen to step aside and allow Jiang Cheng to reach his brother. It takes a moment, two fingers pressed to the pulse points to determine that Wei Wuxian is both alive and missing his golden core.
Lan Wangji’s words echo in his head when the pulses of his own spiritual energy simply dissipate within Wei Wuxian’s system.
“You fucking self-sacrificing dramatic--,” Jiang Cheng swears, shoving whatever emotions are lodging between his heart and his core to the side. “Of course you have to show up like this and then faint before I can fight you like you deserve.” Of course Wei Wuxian shows up and leaves him to clean up the mess.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Wangji says, pulling Wei Wuxian close.
Wei Wuxian isn’t waking up. His face is slack, eyes closed, lips parted, limbs hanging limp.
Why isn’t he waking up?
“Take him to the healers,” Jiang Cheng orders, and Lan Wangji, to his great surprise, nods and then effortlessly lifts Wei Wuxian up and away from the floor and the hall and the crowd. “We’re done here,” Jiang Cheng says, turning to a random sect leader.
As he leaves, he hears someone, likely a Jin disciple says, “What just happened?” It’s followed quickly by, “Who was that?”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have time to be properly annoyed at his brother for causing that scene because Wei Wuxian isn’t okay.
When Jiang Cheng gets to the healer’s pavilion, Wei Wuxian is lying on the bed with a few Jiang Set healers looking him over. Lan Wangji is holding onto one of his hands, both of his collapsed around it and pressing the knuckles to his lips.
Jiang Cheng starts to summon the anger to yell, but it’s punched out of him as one of the healers shifts and he sees Wei Wuxian unobscured.
Wei Wuxian looks dead. He is so fucking pale, like all of the red in his robes is blood that has seeped from him. And lying flat, without Lan Wangji’s sleeves to hide it, Wei Wuxian’s bones are the only thing that gives shape to his body, like the three-hundred years in the Burial Mounds has turned him into a permanent corpse.
How long was he alive before the burial mounds claimed him?
“It does not appear there is anything wrong with him, he should wake up soon,” the healer says, directing his words to Lan Wangji.
Jiang Cheng feels a flash of green jealousy, but it is too weak to stick to anything. “Then why the fuck did he pass out?”
“Sect Leader Jiang,” the other healer says, turning to face him. Although her tone is polite, her expression is flat. “Perhaps this young man was unduly stressed?”
It’s meant as a comment on his own behavior, Jiang Cheng knows that. But the only thing he thinks, and so says in response is, “he’s older than me.”
“Even more reason to avoid Sect Leader Jiang’s temper then,” the other healer says, and exchanges a quick glance with the first. “He needs quiet and rest. There’s nothing else for us to do here.”
And then they both leave, but not before giving Jiang Cheng stern looks. They will be nearby and they will interrupt if he starts yelling. There are other patients in other rooms, and they won’t allow him to disturb any of them.
Jiang Cheng sits on the foot of the bed, moving Wei Wucxian’s feet out of the way, giving them a gentle shake like it’ll wake him. When Wei Wuxian doesn’t so much as wrinkle his nose, Jiang Cheng crosses his arms.
Lan Wangji remains where he is, hands holding one of Wei Wuxian’s and brushing a thumb across it. He gives Jiang Cheng a single glance before turning back to Wei Wuxian without a word.
They sit in silence, ears straining to catch Wei Wuxian’s slow breaths.
There are so many words Jiang Cheng wants to scream, both at his brother and at Lan Wangji, but he refuses to be the first to speak, and bites down on them.
Eventually, Lan Wangji speaks, tone heavy and accusing. He doesn’t look away from Wei Wuxian though. “You did not try to free him.”
“I tried,” Jiang Cheng blurts out, the words falling out in another burst of anger. “Of course I fucking tried to free him, but he wouldn’t fucking let me.”
That is at least enough to make Lan Wangji look up at him, expressionless face slightly less expressionless. There’s a hint of something that could be surprise.It is quickly covered by something Jiang Cheng quickly identifies as confusion, and then doubt. “You tried?”
He didn’t try. Lan Wangji has to know he didn’t. If he had tried, if he had held Wei Wuxian through the transformations, either he would have succeeded and Wei Wuxian would have been home at Lotus Pier where he belonged. Or, if Jiang Cheng had failed, he would’ve been trapped in the Burial Mounds too
“I wanted to,” Jiang Cheng says.
But Wei Wuxian hadn’t even let him try. Hadn’t wanted to risk Jiang Cheng being stuck too. “You’ve got a sect to lead. I can’t let you risk yourself for me. They need you.”
“I need you, too.”
Jiang Cheng gives Wei Wuxian a quick swat to the side of the leg with his foot. Wei Wuxian continues to sleep peacefully.
“You know how he gets. You can’t get him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
Lan Wangji is silent for a long moment, his head dipping once as if in a nod. Then, he says calmly, evenly, as if it is a fact, “Wei Ying loves you. He did not want to see you trapped.”
And yet, Wei Wuxian didn’t come back to him. Something sharp lodges itself in Jiang Chengs chest and he snaps back, “He let you.”
“I refused to leave.”
“Oh I bet he couldn’t stand that.”
Lan Wangji just nods and hums. Jiang Cheng assumes it’s meant to be a yes.
Of course it would be that easy to convince Wei Wuxian to let someone help. Just be more stubborn than him. Just be more selfless.
And suddenly, Jiang Cheng feels inadequate. He had given up so quickly. Wei Wuxian had told him no, and Jiang Cheng had left. Jiang Cheng had gotten angry, let Wei Wuxian drive a wedge between them to keep him from thinking clear enough to even try saving him.
Growling because he doesn’t know what else to do, Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth together. Then, he breathes out and tells Lan Wangji, “Don’t let him leave because he thinks it will be better for you.”
Lan Wangji turns to him and gives him a long, discerning stare, then nods. “Mn.”
What does that even fucking mean?
“You know what, I don’t care. If he wants to leave you, let him,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving Wei Wuxian’s legs. There’s no reaction. He leaves the bed, stands. “He always complained about Cloud Recesses being boring, and I can’t imagine he’s found anything entertaining this time,” Jiang Cheng tosses out, and leaves.
He doesn’t want to leave though. He wants Wei Wuxian to wake up. To wake up and hug him and make everything right again. Like he used to do.
Instead, Jiang Cheng stops on the other side of the doorway, unwilling to step back inside after leaving.
“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian’s voice calls after a few moments, “I had the strangest dream.”
There is a pause, likely Lan Wangji responding, then Wei Wuxian says, softly, voice quiet but somehow something Jiang Cheng can still hear. “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he says, and there’s a soft, broken, half-hearted laugh. “His temper isn’t any better, but don’t take what he said to heart. He’ll say anything if it means the other person hurts as much as him.”
Jiang Cheng wants to argue, wants to storm back inside, but stops himself. His temper is better. He has matured in the three hundred years since Wei Wuxian disappeared into the Burial Mounds. He got older.
He still pressed closer to the door, cracking it to see inside, thankful there is enough shadow to keep him obscured. Eavesdropping isn’t forbidden, but it feels shameful. Another burst of anger, this time at himself. Jiang Cheng is the Jiang Sect Leader, he can can do what he wants.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangj says, and Wei Wuxian stills. “Sect Leader Jiang was not wrong.”
Wei Wuxian blinks, and Jiang Cheng finds himself momentarily shocked. “I was? ” he thinks, then grinds his teeth together. “Of course I was.” It doesn’t matter that he’s not sure what Lan Wangji is talking about.
“Sect Leader Jiang had no way of knowing you were not being held against your will.” Lan Wangji’s head is bowed. And for once, Wei Wuxian is silent. Jiang Cheng is shocked. Lan Wangji eventually says, “Do you recall what I told you of my mother?”
“She was freed from a demonic garden by Sect Leader Lan,” Wei Wuxian says.
After killing several members of the sect. Madam Lan as a resentful spirit was nothing like Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to argue, then remembers he’s not talking to either of them and clicks it shut.
Lan Wangji continues, “The elders attempted to make it so the rest of the cultivation world thought she was too ill to leave the gentian huse.” They did a pretty good job of it too. Jiang Cheng only knew of her origin because he never stopped paying attention to reports of demonic cultivation, never forgave the Lan Slan, never took his eyes off a situation where the two occurred together. “In truth, she never loved my father, and would have left if she could have.”
For a moment, Jiang Cheng can feel the air chill, feel a heavy static rise. “So Sect Leader Lan...” Wei Wuxian says, his voice dangerously serious.
“Father locked her in the gentian house, and locked himself in his own,” Lan Wangji answers.
Sect Leader Lan had officially entered secluded meditation and Jiang Cheng had been met with Lan Qiren at the next discussion conference.
“Father only left seclusion when I returned with you because Uncle demanded it of him.”
“But,” Wei Wuxian says, “why would Jiang Cheng think that if the sect elders told everyone something else.”
“Sect Leader Jiang has always disliked the Lan Sect,” Lan Wangji says, vice low and even. There isn’t any judgement in it, which for once Jiang Cheng is susrpsed by. “Learning that he is your brother, I believe I understand why.”
“Shortly after the conclusion of the Sunshot Campaign, the Yiling Patriarch was deemed to be too dangerous a spirit to allow to exist unchecked,” Lan Wangji says, his voice even, distant, like he is reciting a lesson. He probably is. “The Lan Sect attempted to cleanse the Burial Mounds of the resentful energy that had gathered.”
“I don’t remember much of that time, but I think I remember the siege,” Wei Wuxian says. His voice is quiet, a whisper from the distance. “They tried to suppress me.”
Jiang Cheng wants to scream that the Lans had tried to destroy him. A moment later, when both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian turn to him, Jiang Cheng realizes he has. Huffing, Jiang Cheng smooths out his robe and strides into the room. “They tried to destroy you.”
“The group failed in their mission.”
“Obviously” Juang Cheng says, then turns to Wei Wuxian, “I wasn’t going to give them a second chance.”
Wei Wuxian is tearing up, smiling, and then he is throwing an arm over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. When did he even move? “You do care!”
“Get off,” Jiang Cheng says, and dumps Wei Wuxian into Lan Wangji’s waiting arms, which of course the perfect Lan catches him instead of letting him fall to the floor.
Wei Wuxian, still as dramatic as ever, pretends to be hurt. “Jiang Cheng, is that any way to treat your elders? You could have hurt me.”
“If I had maybe you'd be a little less shameless,” Jiang Cheng snarks back, and then pulls back. “Get up. We have a conference to get back to. I won’t have them thinking I killed one of their precious Twin Jades.”
“But you can let them think you killed me?”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, then rolls his eyes when Wei Wuxian sticks out his tongue. “Come on, I have something to show you.”
The early end of the day’s talks means there’s no meeting to actually return to, but showing their faces around the pier will accomplish the same thing.
“Oh?” Wei Wuxian says, and then Lan Wangji follows without any noise of his own.
Jiang Cheng leads them to the penjing hall. Wei Wuxian starts crying as Jiang Cheng says, “I wanted you to know it was still your home.” If you ever got free. If I wasn’t here when it happened.
“Oh, Jiang Cheng, I-”
“You better come back this time. And I better get an invite your wedding.”
Wei Wuxian’s grin immediately turns guilty and he rubs his nose. “Ah, Jiang Cheng.”
Of course they fucking did. “You’re already married.”
“It was not a public ceremony,” Lan Wangji says. Which explains why Jiang Cheng didn’t get notified as a sect leader that one of the young masters of the Lan Sect was marrying.
“You didn’t invite me to yours either!” Wei Wuxian attempts to argue.
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “That’s because I didn’t get married. I don’t have to if I don’t want to. I don’t need any heirs if I’m going to live forever.”
Wei Wuxian is laughing.
Wei Wuxian is distracting him from what he was trying to say.
“Come on,” Jiang Cheng groans and grabs Wei Wuxian’s wrist to drag him out of the room.
“Hey, hey, hey, wait, Jiang Cheng, where are we going?”
Wei Wuxian’s laughter and teasing stop as soon as he realizes the pathway they are on, his feet stilling abruptly enough Jiang Cheng is yanked backwards by it.
“Jiang Cheng, this is…”
“Your room, yeah,” Jiang Cheng says, and pushes forward, sliding open the doors to reveal a room that is just as disorganized as Wei Wuxian had left it.
Doing so had only taken a few of Jiang Cheng’s rages to smash things apart, to put them back together, to find anything of his brother’s and store it in the room. He ignores most of the clutter. Despite the chaos, he knows where every item is.
It doesn’t take long to locate the clarity bell Wei Wuxian had refused in the Burial Mounds, or the robes Jiang Cheng had commissioned in his first years as a sect leader, when he still had hope Wei Wuxian wanted to belong to the Jiang Sect.
“Here,” he says, shoving the black and red and purple robes into Wei Wuxian’s arms, “and don’t get mushy.”
Wei Wuxian gets mushy anyway.
Jiang Cheng scoffs and shoves the snotty crying Wei Wuxian away, but only after he is given a hug. Wei Wuxian is still quick though, and locks his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, forcing them both through the doorway and over the railing opposite it.
The waters of Lotus Pier are cold, which steals the breath from Jiang Cheng. When he surfaces, he’s spluttering, shaking water from his hair and hair from his eyes, and ready to shout at Wei Wuxian for pulling him into the lake in the middle of winter.
Wei Wuxian simply throws his head back and laughs.
Jiang Cheng breathes in, deeply, freely, for what feels like the first time in three hundred years.
He probably looks like a drowned rat, but it doesn't matter.
Wei Wuxian is home.