Chapter Text
Writing letters proves to be significantly harder than Jiang Cheng imagined it would be. In his mind, he has the excuse that there are mechanics he needs to figure out - should he be vague about his feelings so there's nothing incriminating if there are prying eyes, or should he figure out a way to write to Lan Xichen anonymously? Despite this consideration, though, deep down he knows his difficulties are mostly because articulating his thoughts and feelings, verbally or on paper, has never been something he's good at. Action he can do, but saying what he feels means examining how he feels, and that, honestly, is terrifying. He knows how much affection he feels for Lan Xichen in an abstract way, because he knows how warmth settles in his chest when he thinks of him, and that his mind drifts to him when he falls asleep, but when he tries to say these things they either come out sounding dramatic and contrived or similar to his weak confession in Cloud Recesses. 'I really like you a lot too.' Pathetic. It's a good thing he doesn't have to do any formal courting or he'd be done for. Convincing someone with words, especially someone like Lan Xichen, would be impossible for Jiang Cheng.
Still, he tries - he's started a few letters filled with varying degrees of affection and awkward distance. 'It was nice to see you, Sect Leader Lan.' 'I think fondly of the time we spent together, Zewu-Jun.' 'My mind often strays to you, Xichen.' All somehow too much and yet still lacking, marred by his attempt to express the strength of his feelings with weak words. Of course, he can't help but worry about how pathetically smitten he might sound as well, further complicating his efforts. Each time he tries to write a letter, Jiang Cheng has to stop and write 'I miss you' over and over again on a piece of paper to try to banish the words from his mind so he doesn't embarrassingly let slip that two weeks apart already has him feeling some shade of lonely. It's stupid to feel this way, he knows, and stupid that his heart begins to race when he even thinks too much on Lan Xichen, but what is he supposed to do about it? Maybe he'll calm down when he finally writes to him. If he can ever manage it.
He at least has enough sense to only work on these letters after he's managed all the sect business for the day, meaning he can be productive enough that no one should realize his seemingly never-ending distress in the evenings. One such evening, while he sits at his desk, writing 'I miss you' a few more times just for good measure, a sect member arrives, causing Jiang Cheng to quickly cover the scrap paper he'd been mindlessly scrawling on. Clearly taking note of the heightened sense of agitation in Jiang Cheng, the sect member doesn't stay long - he greets him and gives him a letter before excusing himself. The letter is on simple, rough paper, of average if not slightly poor quality, but there's a lingering scent of incense on it, despite however long it took to arrive. He opens it and lays it flat on his desk, looking over the precise but simple handwriting. Inside there's also a small slip of much higher quality paper adorned with a flowing, practiced script - 'Sect Leader Jiang - I found this letter and thought it might be of interest to you.' Lan Xichen's handwriting, surely. And he supposes this means they'll be writing covertly to one another. It seems silly, but it makes him feel oddly giddy, a secret that's just his and Lan Xichen's. Setting this paper aside he focuses on the actual letter, impressed by the other sect leader's ability to disguise his handwriting enough that it looks like it was probably written by someone else.
'I miss you,' it begins without any sort of greeting, and Jiang Cheng immediately feels heat rise in his cheeks, enough that he has to sit back and stop looking at the letter for a moment. He feels like a child, flustered by such a simple statement, but that doesn't mean the sensation is entirely unwelcome. He feels electrified, almost optimistic, and more importantly, just as he'd felt in Cloud Recesses, understood. Pulling in a breath, Jiang Cheng begins again.
'I miss you. It's rained a few times since I've seen you, and every time my thoughts are drawn immediately to you. I know some find rain to be depressing or, at the very least, inconvenient, but I've always found it lifts my spirits, so it's nice to now be associated with you as well. My duties haven't been negatively affected by my wandering mind, but I hope you take some pride in knowing that they almost have been whenever I catch the scent of rain in the air, or hear the first drops striking the ground. You are truly remarkable in how quickly you have taken over so many of my thoughts, but I find it difficult to mind all that much. They are a fine comfort, after all, in your absence, though nothing can compare to you in the flesh. I hope we can see each other again soon. I've heard of plans for a night hunt in your vicinity in the coming month - maybe I can make an argument that I need to attend. Until then, I wait for your response, as patiently as someone as afflicted as I am can.'
The letter isn't long and is indirect and not a big, sweeping romantic pronouncement, but even so, Jiang Cheng finds himself reading it over a few times before he sits back once more, face hot and chest aflutter. No one has ever written him a love letter before, and he's fairly certain this qualifies as one. A love letter. To him. Lan Xichen misses him and thinks of him. Lan Xichen could have lazily written 'It was good to see you, hope we can do it again soon,' and he knows, mortifyingly, that he'd probably feel exactly as he does now. But the other sect leader hadn't just written that. He'd written this short, vague, heartfelt, maybe devastatingly romantic note that says he can't stop thinking of him.
Suddenly, it feels overwhelming, more than kissing or caressing him had, because of course anything could just be physical. This isn't a declaration of love, but it is a declaration of affection past camaraderie. Lan Xichen, he suddenly thinks, has made a mistake granting him this, and the thought brings on a wave of sadness instead of his usual irritation. Will he realize his mistake, suddenly, a week from now? A month? Is that not giving Lan Xichen enough credit? With distance from the other sect leader this all seems a little more unrealistic. Is he even allowed to want this? Is it too selfish? There are too many things in his brain and nowhere for them to go - he's confidant-less, has been since the loss of his siblings. Does Lan Xichen talk to Lan Wangji about this? Or, heaven forbid, Jin Guangyao? He must have someone, with how kind and open and approachable he is. What a disadvantage Jiang Cheng is at.
Putting away the slip of paper and letter in a nearby drawer, Jiang Cheng gets to his feet and, almost in a daze, wanders to the kitchens, hoping to distract himself even though he's not hungry. He goes through the motions of making his sister's pork rib and lotus root soup automatically - gather ingredients, wash, peel, slice, combine - before he settles at a small table while the soup simmers. He's made quite a bit and realizes, too late, that he doesn't have anyone to share it with besides Jin Ling. If only Wei Wuxian were here, he could share his excess portions and, inevitably, his predicament and his feelings. His brother would have advice, colored with teasing but genuine. The feeling in his chest is sharp and constricts his breathing.
Infuriatingly, Jiang Cheng feels like he wants to cry; being reminded that he has very few people in his life is depressing, to say the least, but there's something else to the stinging in his eyes. He should feel better that, maybe, he's about to add another person to that very short list of those close to him, but instead that knowledge feels oddly crushing. Resisting the urge to just lie his head down on the table and fully succumb to his low mood, he stares at the steam rising steadily from the covered pot. He shouldn't be doing this with Lan Xichen because they're both sect leaders, and because, if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't think he deserves this, especially from someone like the other man. It all seems like a huge misunderstanding, that this has fallen in his lap, like it was meant for someone else, like Jin Guangyao or Nie Mingjue. He's not good enough. This thought settles in the pit of his stomach, and then he really wants to cry. Jiang Cheng has wanted to come out on top, to get what he wants, his entire life, and now that it's staring him in the face he's afraid to take it. It must be a mistake, so he's going to get hurt, or he's going to ruin it so quickly it'll be embarrassing.
Every single indiscretion or embarrassing moment with Lan Xichen comes to mind - making faces at rabbits and telling him to shut up after Nie Mingjue had died and using chopsticks to remove his ribbon and all the stupid times he had stupidly kissed him and then stupidly fled like a child. Surely those should be marks against him, but Lan Xichen misses him and had kissed him of his own free will two weeks ago. Jiang Cheng's toes curl in embarrassment, and he thinks maybe he should just not write back, put an end to this ridiculous idea before it gets any further. He can't write this letter, anyways. That's a sign, isn't it?
With no one to talk him out of this thinking, he just waits the hour it takes to cook, twisted up inside. It's not exactly relief that he feels when the soup is done, but he does feel better with something to occupy him again. Jiang Cheng packs up the soup and carries it back to his rooms, figuring he'll eventually find Jin Ling to feed him. Regardless, he can't just leave his sister's soup sitting in a kitchen.
On arriving he pulls out the letter again and toys with the edges of it as he sits down, staring at its contents but not really taking it in. There's a knock on his door, and this time he's feeling despondent enough that he tells them to enter without hiding the letter.
It's Jin Ling, looking about as sullen as Jiang Cheng feels. The teenager comes in and drops himself across from his uncle, sighing.
"...what's that?"
And before Jiang Cheng has a chance to do much of anything, Jin Ling pulls the letter from his hands, and Jiang Cheng feels his entire body go cold. Even without identifying information, surely his nephew will know. Jin Ling looks it over, and then looks up at him.
"Did you just find this? Do you know who it's to?"
Jiang Cheng snatches it from his hands, chill giving way to a heat that sits on the back of his neck, an uncomfortable pressure.
"Who's to say it's not for me?" It's a petulant response, especially to say to a teenager. The look Jin Ling gives him is embarrassing - like he's questioning how anyone could send a letter like this to his uncle. Jiang Cheng is right in believing he doesn't deserve this, then. Even Jin Ling can't believe it. But then, his nephew's expression shifts.
"...is it for you?" Jin Ling's eyes have gone wide, and while disbelief still sits there on the edges of his expression, there's almost something hopeful there as well. Jiang Cheng is frozen.
"No, it's just some intercepted communication between disciples. They clearly don't want to be found out," Jiang Cheng says after a long while, watching Jin Ling's face fall.
"You shouldn't read other people's letters."
"And you shouldn't grab letters right out of people's hands. What do you want, A-Ling?"
Being reminded of his reason for visiting is apparently enough to send Jin Ling back into his mood again, and he folds his arms on the table and rests his head on them. Jiang Cheng wants to kick him out so he can be miserable in peace, but he needs to be the adult here, so he just waits for his nephew to speak again.
"My first real night hunt is soon."
"I'm aware."
"What if I don't do well?"
Jiang Cheng feels himself soften, the fear of inadequacy in Jin Ling so painfully familiar and especially acute right now. The fear of failure. The fear of not being enough. His fingers go back to toying with the edge of the letter in his hands.
"You will. I'll make sure of it, so you don't have anything to worry about."
Jin Ling lifts his head a little, searching Jiang Cheng's face for truth.
"You really will?"
"When have I ever let you down?"
After a moment, Jin Ling nods, his eyes drifting to the covered box containing the soup at his uncle's elbow. Honestly, Jiang Cheng had forgotten about it the moment the letter had been pulled from his hands.
"It's pork rib and lotus root soup - I made it for you. You'll feel better once you eat," Jiang Cheng says after a moment, opening the box and serving his nephew without waiting for a response. He's the adult and he knows what's best, after all. Jin Ling doesn't put up a fight, anyway, happy to eat in quiet contemplation along with his uncle. Though he's made this a hundred times, it still draws up melancholic comfort in Jiang Cheng, effectively distracting him from the letter. Near the end of the meal, however, Jin Ling shifts, looking up at Jiang Cheng with his brows pulled tightly together.
"Do you think anyone will ever write letters like that to me?" he suddenly asks.
Jiang Cheng frowns, stalling in his answer by eating a piece of lotus root. He doesn't want to think about this.
"I'm sure they will," he ultimately says, and he knows it's completely unconvincing, but how can he answer in the affirmative when he can't even believe that someone would write one to him? Jin Ling grunts, not unexpectedly finding his tone wanting, but apparently not bothered enough to argue about it.
"And that letter's really not for you?"
"Who'd write me a letter like this?"
"You're not the worst. Someone might."
Jiang Cheng scoffs quietly, a strange feeling coming over him. A dull longing for intimacy, and a desire to tell Jin Ling with more confidence that surely, someone will send him a letter like this at some point in his life. He's a good boy. Harsh, but so is Jiang Cheng, and this letter is his, even if he's not willing to admit it to his nephew.
Jin Ling is studying him, and Jiang Cheng suddenly wonders when he grew up so much. They finish eating in silence, his nephew letting out a quiet sigh once he's done, quickly beginning to rise. "I'm going to go," Jin Ling says, though he pauses before he departs, weighing whether or not he should say something.
"...thank you, Uncle."
Jiang Cheng just waves him off. Once his nephew has gone he pulls out his small stack of aborted letters, leafing through them, still frowning. He does desperately hope someone someday writes Jin Ling a letter like the one he'd received, not like the one he's tried to write a dozen times over. Jin Ling deserves it. Jiang Cheng tries to convince himself that he does, too, but the only concession he can give himself is that, at the very least, Lan Xichen deserves it. That's enough to get him to try. He pulls out a fresh piece of paper and wets his brush before starting a new letter.
'I miss you.'