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“It isn’t my fault this time!” Wei Wuxian said, hands out in supplication as if worried Jiang Cheng would attack him with Zidian.
Jiang Cheng would not. For one thing, as much as the admission felt like pulling teeth, he knew Wei Wuxian was telling the truth. Even with the face of Mo Xuanyu, Jiang Cheng knew Wei Wuxian better than most, and Wei Wuxian would only lie if he didn’t see a better option. This was not that kind of situation. There was also Hanguang-jun, sitting perfectly straight beside him, his expression carefully, pointedly neutral as he gazed at Jiang Cheng across the table, and his presence guaranteed honesty if not cooperation.
They met in a wine shop in Caiyi Town, in a private room where they wouldn’t be bothered. The owner had brought them wine herself, including extra bottles after Hanguang-jun had passed her another pouch of coins. If Jiang Cheng had more leverage, this was certainly not where they would’ve met. If he’d had the choice, he wasn’t sure they’d have met at all, but Jin Ling had taken that option out of his hands.
“I am aware,” Jiang Cheng said, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together, “of whose fault it is.”
For a few moments they were all silent, thinking about how Jin Ling at eighteen was still so young, and so foolish.
“Well, I’m not sure what you want me to do,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand, posture terrible. He was wearing the white and icy blue robes of GusuLan, but the ribbon in his hair was a dark red. It tumbled over his shoulder like blood. “I tried talking to him about it, but he dragged A-Yuan off on a night hunt. The second time I tried to ask, he volunteered to copy Virtue. I don’t think anyone’s volunteered to do that since Hanguang-jun was a kid.” He hummed, tapping his fingers on the table. “He didn’t even say why he wanted to stay with us, just that he was going to.”
“Hm,” Lan Wangji said, his gaze sliding away from Jiang Cheng to Wei Wuxian. Something softened in his face, enough that even Jiang Cheng caught the shift. They exchanged a look, and Wei Wuxian huffed out an annoyed breath.
“I know what you think,” Wei Wuxian said, reaching over to pat Lan Wangji’s knee. “It’s possible.”
Jiang Cheng felt his eyebrow twitch. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of asking what was possible. Instead, took a small sip of his spicy mulled wine.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head side to side, as if debating something with himself, before finally turning back to Jiang Cheng. “Are the engagement rumors true?”
Jiang Cheng choked on his wine, smacking his chest with a fist. “What?” he managed, in between coughing up his lungs. Shameless as ever, Wei Wuxian laughed at his suffering.
“This may shock you, but Gusu disciples love to gossip when they think no one can hear.” He paused, pulling a face. “Well, and some of them are just idiots like that Jingyi. Anyway, I overheard them mentioning that they heard the Lanling Sect Leader was going to be getting engaged soon. Pretty interesting gossip, eh?”
“Yeah, interesting,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, already drafting letters in his mind. If talk had spread enough that it reached the ears of Lan disciples, none of the people carefully inquiring after LanlingJin’s young sect leader were the kind of families Jin Ling needed to tie himself to. “If they have the time to gossip, GusuLan has lowered their standards.”
Wei Wuxian flashed a smile, fast and wide, so similar to the grins Jiang Cheng had once been accustomed to seeing right before one or both of them made a poor decision. Jiang Cheng remembered waiting for Wei Wuxian in the forests outside the Cloud Recesses, waiting for that smile to let them know he’d escaped once again. It was strange to see that Wei Wuxian superimposed over this one: his body was smaller; his meridians no longer torn to shreds by the ghouls that haunted Yiling; the white of his clothes, no longer pitch black. That version of Wei Wuxian would never have turned to Lan Wangji with such a gentle look, as he was doing now. Though, Jiang Cheng thought, more memories bubbling to the surface, he always was obsessed.
“Wait for me outside?” Wei Wuxian said, his voice as warm as his expression, and Lan Wangji only briefly hesitated before nodding his acquiescence. As he stood and turned to leave, he pressed two fingers against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder; Jiang Cheng looked away, glaring at a spot on the wooden floor, and didn’t look back over until he heard the screen door slide shut.
From beyond the screens came the distant rumble of conversation, the wine shop’s other patrons filling the silence for them. Wei Wuxian’s smile had somewhat faded, but there was a confidence to his posture that hadn’t been there the last time they’d been alone, in front of his parents’ shrine. Jiang Cheng felt the tangle of his emotions tighten in his chest as he remembered that night. It was a complex knot he couldn’t begin to unravel in a single afternoon of discussing Jin Ling’s future over wine.
“So, what, you think he’s…” Jiang Cheng paused as he tried to grasp the right phrase. ‘Upset’ wasn’t quite right; ‘sulking’ was perhaps a better fit, though he’d rather not admit he’d spoiled his nephew to that degree.
Wei Wuxian shrugged, then downed the rest of his wine and poured a new glass before replying. “Like I said, he hasn’t told me anything specifically. And it’s not as if I can just go to Lanling and ask around.” He tilted his head to the side and tapped his chin. “Maybe someone questioned his position and he didn’t want to get you involved. Proving his abilities in the Cloud Recesses isn’t a bad idea, even if he’s a bit older than we were when we studied there.”
“Sending him was… discussed. But the risks were deemed too high,” Jiang Cheng said, talking around the issue of who he’d discussed it with. At the time, the thought of sending Jin Ling out on night hunts without his supervision—or without the supervision of copious LanlingJin and YunmengJiang guards—had been unbearable. Not that it had mattered, in the end. Jin Ling had been thrown into danger anyway. He hadn’t wanted that for Jin Ling; Jin Ling deserved better than what he—they—had been given.
“I know you just want what’s best for him,” Wei Wuxian said, his tone indulgent like he was talking to a favored student. There was something frighteningly mature in his expression, before he ruined it with the curl of a mischievous grin. “Maybe Uncle should worry about himself first?”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snapped, scowling, but Wei Wuxian just laughed, unintimidated. “And what does Hanguang-jun think?”
“Lan Zhan is biased.” His smile went crooked and fond, and Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes before he could restrain himself. “He sees a bit of himself in Jin Ling, I think.” Jiang Cheng raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and Wei Wuxian huffed out a sigh in the face of his disbelief. “Jin Ling is—very close to A-Yuan. Very fond of him.”
Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, scowling harder.
“Don’t give me that look! I didn’t suggest it!” Wei Wuxian laughed again, holding up his arms like he was trying to defend from a physical attack. Jiang Cheng jerked back, the current Wei Wuxian overlaid with memories of Yiling, with even earlier memories of play fighting on the docks of Lotus Pier. For years, Jiang Cheng had not allowed himself to remember those days: Wei Wuxian’s screeching cackle of laughter, his shijie’s exasperated sigh, even as a smile threatened to break through. His mother’s hand tightly gripping his shoulder, her unspoken order to be better, be stronger, be proud.
As he always had, Wei Wuxian read Jiang Cheng with ease. His expression sobered immediately, eyebrows tilting up in the middle as he stared down at his empty cup. “Anyway, there’s no proof of that. It may be as I said, and he was upset at the thought of an arranged marriage so soon.”
And it certainly was possible: the expectations that hovered over Jin Ling were no doubt terrifying. The weight of an entire sect, even one so disgraced, was a heavy burden. Jiang Cheng should know. Maybe they were rushing him; maybe he needed more time to be a child, to grow up. To find his place in the world on his own. Or maybe Lan Wangji was seeing something Jiang Cheng could not.
“Do you really think he and Sizhui—” Jiang Cheng asked, unable to put it into words. He wouldn't be mad, exactly, if such a thing were true. But he was realistic. Even if the expectations could be put off, the marriage inquiries declined until Jin Ling was older, he didn’t think marriage was something that could be ignored forever. The elders of LanlingJin would never allow it. Unlike Lan Wangji, Jin Ling was the sect leader. Even Lan Xichen had entertained marriage offers, though none were deemed worthy. Jiang Cheng wondered what would happen if Zewu-jun stayed in seclusion. The fate of GusuLan might still alter course, out of necessity.
“It’s hard to say,” Wei Wuxian said, twirling a piece of his hair around his finger. “They’re very close. They obviously care about each other. I think they’re good influences on each other.”
Jiang Cheng grimaced. Such a statement forced him to be honest with Wei Wuxian and also with himself. “Jin Ling being a good influence on anyone seems… unlikely.”
Wei Wuxian smiled indulgently. “A-Yuan forgets how young he is sometimes,” he said. “It’s good for him to remember.”
Ah. Of course. Growing up as a Lan, only to find out his distant childhood memories were true, the last remaining Wen alive—another child forced to grow up too soon. There were so many of them, these orphans carrying such heavy weights. Two generations forced to grow up too soon, forced to make decisions no one should have to make in a lifetime. The Sunshot Campaign had left a trail of destruction beyond just the annihilation of the Wens. What would the cultivation world look like in another twenty years, another fifty? Jiang Cheng couldn’t imagine it. A world where the new generation didn’t feel that loss was unfathomable.
They sat together in silence as Wei Wuxian downed more wine and Jiang Cheng cautiously sipped his. It was strange to spend time with Wei Wuxian and not fight, to not feel that old anger welling up in his stomach. Complete forgiveness might be beyond him—his anger was woven too deep beneath his skin—but maybe things with Wei Wuxian could be civil. Maybe they could be allies. Maybe this was proof that, in twenty or maybe fifty years, they could be healed, too.
“Why don’t I try arranging a dinner?” Wei Wuxian asked, an infuriatingly understanding look on his face. Since when did he get so mature? What a joke. “Not a big formal one, just you and Jin Ling and A-Yuan and me. I’ll tell Lan Zhan to butt out.”
Jiang Cheng sighed. “Hanguang-jun is allowed to attend dinners in his own home. It’s fine. That sounds… fine.”
“No need to be so excited,” Wei Wuxian teased. “Well, then. Look for a message. I have to build up to it, or Jin Ling will run away again.”
The last bit of wine swirled at the bottom of his cup, and Jiang Cheng stared at it for a moment before tipping it back, smooth and warm. Then he stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of his robes.
“I’ll go then,” he said, pausing for a moment. There was still so much left unsaid. “Be well, Wei Wuxian.”
“You, too.” Wei Wuxian’s smile went lopsided, and he held his cup in the air as a farewell.
Jiang Cheng slid the screen shut behind him as he left. Outside, around the corner of the hallway, Lan Wangji stood waiting with his hands folded in his sleeves, a placid expression on his face.
“Something to say, Hanguang-jun?” Jiang Cheng asked, trying to keep his tone neutral rather than accusatory. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.
“Simply that I hope you care for your nephew,” Lan Wangji said, “whatever it is he may need.”
Leave it Lan Wangji to sound moralizing and condescending when Jiang Cheng had already told himself he wouldn’t rise to the bait. No doubt the venerable Huangang-jun had many opinions on Jiang Cheng’s capabilities. Jiang Cheng had no interest in hearing any of them. “I don’t need your advice.”
“No,” Lan Wangji agreed, with the slightest incline of his head. “I am offering it anyway.”
Then he turned, walking quietly back down the hallway. Jiang Cheng heard the screen door slide open and Wei Wuxian call his name, happy and warm and loving. How strange, to find someone you loved that much. How strange, to have that support. What would that be like, he wondered, to have someone always by your side?
In the front room of the wine shop, patrons talked happily and loudly, munching on snacks and the fine drink Caiyi Town had to offer. Friends, family, business partners; so many people with connections, with lives, with the closeness to others Jiang Cheng had not felt in years. He left the wine shop behind, swallowing against the sour taste in his throat, and then left Caiyi Town behind as well with his head still held high. With each step, he forced himself to leave his worries behind, leave them in the dirt along with the imprints of his shoes. He had no time to linger on thoughts like this. Surrounded by the countryside, away from the bustling crowds, Jiang Cheng withdrew his sword and began his flight home.
YunmengJiang, at least, would always need him.