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It started with the ambitions of a megalomaniac, a cruel jealous man, and two youths who lost almost everything they had.
A twist of fate arrived in the form of an old document, its pages yellowed and tied together with a fraying length of cord – a document detailing a surgical procedure that was less than myth.
Wen Qing couldn’t know that in moving Wei Wuxian’s golden core to Jiang Cheng, she hadn’t only transplanted their power – she had transplanted their very fates. From that moment onward, their fates had unfolded in reverse. In that tale, the heavens watched as Wei Wuxian fell to demonic cultivation and Jiang Wanyin rebuilt his Sect alone.
But this is not that story.
A ghost stood dematerialised in a room empty except for a sleeping figure, his eyes scanning through the pages of a loosely bound sheaf of papers. Some of the contents he knew from experience, though the medical details were new to him. What he read made his brows knit together, a hand unconsciously reaching towards his chest, silent now of both a thudding heartbeat and the low thrum of a golden core. The stark absence of what had once been there only confirmed the terrible potential this procedure held.
The threads of fate were difficult to understand even for gods, let alone mortals. That didn’t mean that it was impossible for mortals to touch those threads, knowingly or by accident.
A voice from outside the inn broke through his concentration, pulling his attention from the reading material. “Ming-xiong, I’m done! Are you ready to go back?” The bright voice called airily on the streets, carrying up to the second floor window. “Ming-xiong, where did you go?”
He Xuan frowned in consideration at the documents in his hands. As much as he wanted to destroy the information, it would be too conspicuous for it to disappear, potentially attracting the type of attention he least wanted. Still… He glanced at the sleeping youth. If this procedure was to be conducted on another pair of individuals, no matter that the intentions were far different from Shi Wudu’s back then, both parties deserved to know. He let the bound papers fall to the ground, pushing a brush off the desk to accompany it to make it seem as if a sudden strong breeze had blown both items off. Jiang Wanyin woke up at the noise and as his eyes fell on those damning papers, He Xuan left unseen through the window to resume his Ming Yi persona.
The turning point came with a stack of papers picked up by the patient for whom the procedure would have been done in secret. It continued with a quiet disappearance in the afternoon, a surgery never conducted.
The tale changed from there.
The story of what might have been.
Ghastly rumours were abound on both sides of the war - ghosts roamed the forests, terrorising the Wens armies camping there. The Wen’s actions had disrupted the balance of the world – this was a war that had gone beyond human society, the troops whispered. They told of shattered bodies and soldiers found with their abdomen mangled; strips of skin burnt off in grotesque patterns, all laced with resentful energy. Ghastly, frightening. Unnatural.
In their fear, the Qishan Wen Sect soldiers prayed to General Ming Guang, the martial god of the North. It was common for cultivation sects who trained in the sword to pray to a martial god as their patron god. Wen Ruohan was known to have a private altar where he would give offerings when he was considering war strategies. The Qishan Wen had the money to maintain several large temples across the territories, and thus were among Pei Ming’s most affluent worshippers.
“I don’t know what they expect me to do…” Pei Ming grumbled to his two friends. “Gods can’t interfere directly in human wars.” As he spoke, he lifted two jars of vintage huangjiu onto the table, pouring generous servings of the wine into each cup. The martial god’s gaze sharpened as it slid towards Ling Wen and Shi Wudu, as did his facsimile of a smile. He had invited them over for drinks in his heavenly palace to discuss a related topic.
“The Jiang boy turning into a ghost is one thing, but more than that, it sure was a close shave with that genius doctor from the Wen Sect. A surgery to transfer a golden core from one mortal body to another – if successful, the medical expertise exhibited would likely have been enough to let that girl ascend as a god of medicine. With the inevitable attention on her, it would have been worrying if certain people started looking closer into exactly what the procedure entailed.” Despite his words, Pei Ming’s tone remained flippant, leaning his chin against his hand as he arched an eyebrow at Ling Wen. “But then again, with the Heavens’ number one civil god keeping a tight rein, the girl wouldn’t have gotten her chance to ascend anyway. After all, it’s not like ruthlessly suppressing an ascension hasn’t already been done once before.”
Ling Wen simply took another sip of wine, unruffled. “I’ve said this before, you really do enjoy the sound of your own voice too much, Lao Pei.”
Pei Ming barked out a short laugh, then continued as if not interrupted. “But, Jie-qin, I’m surprised that the old doctor you destroyed back then managed to slip past your eagle eyes to leave behind a legacy in the mortal realm. It has to have been there for, what, a four centuries now? Without any of us the wiser, waiting for the chance to slip into the hands of someone who had the knowledge and motivation to actually use it and bring it out to the open. Dangerous, that.”
Shi Wudu’s frown was thunderous as always, and deepened as Pei Ming talked. Glaring at his wine cup, he tipped back its contents and silently reached to pour another, the clear golden liquid sloshing a bit over the brim.
Pei Ming snorted, and grabbed for the jar himself in turn. “Then again, transferring golden cores… To mortals, that possibility is already an outlandish one. There is no way that they could even dream of what that procedure was originally created to achieve. The golden core, something that a cultivator spends years developing – it showcases their power, their potential… Their fate.” Pei Ming turned his cup around, admiring the gold trim. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, what could have happened if the transfer had been successful. Perhaps Wei Wuxian would have been the one thrown into the Burial Mounds, coming back out tainted and burning with hate. And Jiang Wanyin would have survived to lead the Jiang Sect, struggling to hold that burden alone. Would they have fared better or worse?”
Ling Wen downed the rest of her wine and set down her cup. “There is no use speculating on what-ifs. It did not happen, and therefore it is of no interest. The documents have been destroyed, and I have personally put work into tracing the rest of that late doctor’s belongings. There is nothing left.”
“As expected of Jie-qin.”
The civil god sniffed disdainfully and stood. “Now, if there is nothing else, I have other work to do.”
Pei Ming sent her off with his cup raised in a sardonic salute.
In a Jiangling border town, Jiang Yanli offered up incense at a Nan Yang Temple. Located in the Southeast, the Jiang Sect had traditionally prayed to General Nan Yang as their patron martial god. In these difficult times, she sought out this familiar practice for refuge.
She knelt there, with her head bowed, for a long moment.
“Nan Yang Zhenjun, please, watch over my brothers,” she prayed, speaking the words aloud in the empty temple. “Please, look over them, no matter whether they are near or far. Let A-Xian stay safe in this war. And…” her voice wavered for a moment, choking with tears. “Please… guide A-Cheng back to us. A-Xian still believes that he is out there, and… I want to believe that too.”
She couldn’t bear to lose more.
Standing dematerialised beside the altar, Feng Xin watched the girl with sombre eyes.
A voice pierced the quiet, reaching his ears only. “Do you feel like you failed?”
Feng Xin clenched his fists at the words, instantly bristling at the familiar voice. “What are you doing here,” he intoned flatly.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes as he stepped forward from the shadows. “What, now I need your permission to be places?” But he left the retort at that, his eyes slid towards Jiang Yanli as well. The sombre atmosphere didn’t lend itself to their usual sharp banter.
Feng Xin let out a sigh. “I thought that this era would be peaceful, that’s all,” he admitted, honesty coming through. “I had hoped that we were done with so much bloodshed.”
Mu Qing scoffed out a breath at the words but otherwise didn’t voice any words mocking Feng Xin for being idealistic, as he might have on a different occasion. Used to Mu Qing’s strange tempers, Feng Xin didn’t try to question the odd sombreness – the other god would make it known if he wanted to share more and there was no use asking if he didn’t. A silence fell between them, both watching the young woman praying for the safety of her last remaining family.
“In her last moments, their mother prayed to me to protect her children,” Mu Qing finally revealed.
The Meishan Yu Sect had their headquarters in the Southwest. Even with her marriage into the Jiang Sect, Yu Ziyuan had still preferred to make offerings to General Xuan Zhen using a small altar set up in her wing of the residential area.
There were gods who wouldn’t bother dealing with a prayer from a dead believer – it wasn’t like they could offer them any incense for merits any longer. But Mu Qing had always had a soft spot for mothers. In some ways, it almost felt like atonement for not doing enough for his own.
“Jiang Wanyin… He…” Feng Xin gave voice to the heavy truth hanging over them, which Jiang Yanli was still unaware of. The density of resentful energy in those godforsaken burial grounds was enough to corrupt any human to the core, no matter how strong a cultivator. As for someone with no golden core…
Ghost or human, no matter what he was now, Jiang Wanyin had already taken a step over the border of the living.
Facing them, Jiang Yanli’s smile was wan from sorrow but still held genuine warmth. “We welcome you to the Jiang Sect. What are your names?”
“Nan Feng.”
“Fu Yao.”
The two gods’ doppelgangers glared at each other behind Jiang Yanli’s back.
“Don’t get in my way,” Feng Xin hissed.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “My exact words to you.”
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji observed the unsettling scene laid before them. Lan Wangji frowned as he looked over the mangled strewn corpses. “Whether man or ghost, they have great enmity with the Wen.” As the two of them followed rumours of Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu’s direction, they had naturally heard of such happenings, but this was the first time they had come across the aftermath in their journey.
Wei Wuxian hummed in agreement to the judgement, crouching down to inspect the nearest body. “But well, at this point, I say that any enemy of my enemy is my friend. Human, ghost, god… I’ll take all the help we can get. More importantly, Lan Zhan, look at these wounds.”
“Mn. Whip marks.”
“Exactly. And not just whip marks. Some sort of burning as well. Almost like…” Wei Wuxian frowned, considering the lines, fingers tracing the air above them. His voice quietened with the next words. “…like lightning.”
His other hand unconsciously went to where Sandu was strapped to his waist next to Suibian. He swallowed tightly, not daring to hope. “Zidian?”
The rotting windowpanes of the dilapidated shack where they had taken temporary shelter rattled in a sudden gust of wind. In the corner of the room, Wen Chao shuddered violently with a terrible moan and cowered into a trembling ball.
Wen Zhuliu stood stoic but his hand was clenched tightly around his sword’s hilt, revealing a tenser state than initially presented.
Three months ago, Jiang Wanyin had been thrown into the Burial Mounds. Prideful as he was, he had bit his lip bloody to hold back a scream, soundless as he fell. Wen Chao had turned away with a yawn, having the tendency to underestimate people that hadn’t drawn his fickle interest, but the weight of Jiang Wanyin’s glare had stayed with Wen Zhuliu ever since.
And now their sins were coming back to haunt them.
A flash of lightning sizzled outside, blindingly bright. But there was no pouring of rain nor a thunderclap that followed it. And that silence was what haunted their nightmares these days. When there was no thunder, you couldn’t judge how near or far the lightning was. It could be across the mountain range or it could be right on your doorstep.
It had chased them for so long, making hours seem like days, and days like eons – until the merest glimpse of it send ice racing through their blood, because they needed to get up and leave, now, but there was nowhere to go.
The lightning flashed again. And with it came footsteps, mockingly slow and measured. Knowing that they no longer had the will nor the strength to run.
An entity haloed by purple lightning entered the room.
VENGEANGE.
HATRED.
REVENGE.
Jiang Cheng felt the thoughts like a pounding in his skull, like blood rising in his body, even though his heart no longer pumped in his chest.
His breath had caught as Wen Zhuliu shoved him roughly closer to the edge until he tipped off balance. The only thing keeping him from falling into the Burial Mound was the grip the older man had against the front of his robes. He bit down on his bottom lip to swallow back an involuntary scream. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Sometimes he wondered; if the Burial Mounds had dug up the soul known as Jiang Cheng and left a mass of memory-fuelled resentment in its place.
All he knew for sure was this. Those who had wronged them all had to die by his hand.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji arrived at the town that Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu had purportedly fled to. Wei Wuxian felt a sense of vindictive glee at the state of Wen Chao’s lodgings. The bastard couldn’t have envisioned such a state when he was parading around Lotus Pier as if he was worthy of owning it. “Lan Zhan, seems li-”
His words dried up in his throat at the sight of purple lightning glimpsed through a depilated window.
Wei Wuxian dashed forward, heedless of Lan Wangji’s attempted warning. An achingly familiar figure stood in the middle of the room, purple light casting grotesque shadows over Wen Chao’s pain-twisted features.
“Jiang Cheng!”
In a flash, Wei Wuxian had caught Jiang Cheng in a fierce hug. “Where have you been? Shijie is worried sick about you!”
It took the other the span of several pounding heartbeats to respond but finally Wei Wuxian felt a hand reach up to clench tightly around the fabric of his robes, as if using him as an anchor. “…Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng whispered, so quiet it almost wasn’t heard.
Lan Wangji arrived on the scene a split moment later. “Wei Ying. This being is radiating strong amounts of resentful energy.” Lan Wangji was tense all through his body, guqin held at the ready. “It may be a ghost wearing a disguise.”
“What do you mean, Lan Zhan? It’s my shidi, Jiang Cheng.” For all his attempted bravado, Wei Wuxian’s voice was desperate. He didn’t want to believe it. The shoulders that Wei Wuxian was holding onto felt as solid as any humans. He didn’t want to notice how he couldn’t feel any body heat through the robes. Didn’t want to realise how Jiang Cheng’s face was paler than he had ever seen it, white and bloodless. It was Zidian on his finger, and purple lightning that danced on his fingertips. But there was a strange energy there as well, entwined with the lightning. Resentful energy.
Cold hands took him by the shoulders to push him away as the other man stepped back. Jiang Cheng’s eyes were dark like onyxes shot with violet. That unsettling gaze slid over towards Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng scoffed, and the sound was simultaneously comfortingly familiar and chilling to the bone. “Why am I not surprised that you’re together? You haven’t changed at all, Lan Wangji. Always must be on the straight and narrow. I have to say, I take offense to the idea that I’m using a fake appearance.” Jiang Cheng spread his arms out with a dark flourish. “This is the real deal right here. So what if I’m using resentful energy? Did these bastards leave me much choice otherwise? They’re just reaping what they sowed.” He turned away from Lan Wangji, ignoring him easily. “Lan-er-gongzi, if you don’t have the stomach to watch, you’re more than welcome to see yourself out. Wei Wuxian, what about you?”
Wei Wuxian’s hands tightened to fists at his sides as he also turned to glare disdainfully at Wen Chao. “Do you really need to ask? Nothing can make me miss this.”
Yanli reached out to hold her brother’s face in her hands, eyes wet with relieved tears. “Thank the heavens you’re safe. Jiejie missed you.”
Jiang Cheng caught her hand between his, holding tight. “Jiejie…”
His face radiated no warmth under her palm, and the hands that encircled hers were cold like ice. Yanli couldn’t help the involuntary startled furrow of her brows at the strange sensation. Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng noticed it, immediately dropping her hand.
Yanli’s hand followed him but he stepped out of reach just before her fingers could touch. His eyes were cast to the ground.
“A-Cheng-”
“Jie, Wei Wuxian said he wanted to talk to me about something, I better go look for him.”
Yanli managed to catch his sleeve as he turned, bringing him to a pause. But any words she would have voiced lodged in her throat. In the years past, when they had still been children, she would have know how to comfort him. But they hadn’t been children since this cursed war started, especially her two brothers who had witnessed that terrible day when they lost everything.
A-Cheng’s face was turned away from her, loose hair shading his eyes. Yanli brushed the stray locks back and tucked them behind his ear to see him better. She brought a smile to her face, trying not to let her lips tremble. “Jiejie is just so happy to have you back.”
She saw his throat bob as he swallowed harshly. He still didn’t look up at her. “…Uhn.”
Yanli watched him walk away, knowing that something was irreversibly slipping away but not knowing how to save it.
“Jiang Cheng! Why won’t you attend the war meetings?” Wei Wuxian dogged him relentlessly.
Jiang Cheng waved him off. “It’s enough for you to represent the Jiang Sect. There’s no need for me to attend. Just update me on what needs to be done.”
Wei Wuxian frowned, the stubborn tilt of his mouth familiar from Jiang Cheng’s youth. (The youth that they had lost.) “Why should I represent the Sect? You are the--”
Jiang Cheng spun around, cutting the other off. “Wei Wuxian. Look at me. I have no golden core. I’m not even properly alive. Who in their right mind would have me lead a cultivation sect? You are the leader of the Jiang Sect now.” He turned away sharply. His next words were much quieter, almost not meant to be heard. “…It would have been what A-Die wanted, anyway.”
It took Wei Wuxian a heartbeat too long to recover his thoughts. There had been a worrying undercurrent of conviction in his shidi’s words.
“Jiang Cheng!” he yelled after the other, desperate to correct that line of thinking.
But Jiang Cheng was already gone.
The Sunshot Campaign ended with Meng Yao, later granted the name Jin Guangyao, cutting off Wen Ruohan’s head. But the end of the war didn’t mean that all was peaceful. In the mortal realms, cultivators frowned over the influx of dangerous spiritual incidents. In the ghost and heavenly realms, there was a clearer whisper of unease – Mount Tonglu was preparing to open again.
Nan Feng paced up and down the clearing. “Jiang Wanyin’s foremost motivation as a ghost is revenge against those who massacred his Sect. This hatred is extended to all members of the clan, not just the perpetrators. As long as even one member is alive, it will persist unless subverted.”
Fu Yao crossed his arms. “Not uncommon for a ghost. If it wasn’t in war, with his headcount, Jiang Wanyin would have at this point be considered a Wrath level ghost. That’s gnarly enough on its own, even without Mount Tonglu’s opening being known to affect ghosts in volatile ways.”
“His relationship to his sister and shixiong are his key attachments to the mortal realm, and also appears to be what keeps him sane. As long those two are around, he should not devolve. But if anything happens to them, or with them…”
“There’s no saying what could happen.”
It all started to unravel at the second flower banquet in Lanling after the war.
When the Jins sent out their invitations for another banquet, Jiang Cheng decided to avoid attending. A-Jie seemed genuinely pleased by Jin Zixuan’s awkward attempts to court her – the last thing Jiang Cheng wanted to do was to spoil something happy for her by causing a commotion with his presence.
Unfortunately, because of that, it was only later that he found out that Wei Wuxian had caused a whole mess.
Jiang Cheng pieced together the rumours later on. To start with, Wei Wuxian had been late for the banquet, and when he did show up, it was with a Wen in tow. He left as dramatically as he entered, after getting the location of Wen Ning from Jin Zixun. Following that, Wei Wuxian had apparently organised for the Wen remnants to take refuge in Yunmeng before storming back to Carp Tower to demand that if the Jins weren’t going to treat the war prisoners with humane decency, the Jiang would take over with monitoring the prisoner camps.
Every piece of information stung like betrayal, like knives cutting into Jiang Cheng’s skin. Like a discipline whip biting into his chest.
KILL.
Until there were none left.
None left to take away the last two precious people he had.
They would never hurt anything of his again.
Throughout the war, these motivations had consumed him. Every day, every moment, aside from brief reprieves when he spent time with his sister. Even now, the thoughts still crackled in his head, and they grew in volume with every step he took.
Almost in a trance, he headed in the direction where he had heard the Wens had set up their makeshift camp. Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth. At least Wei Wuxian hadn’t settled the Wen in Lotus Pier itself, in the heart of the ancestral home that very bloodline had destroyed. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if the other man had.
When he spotted the bedraggled figures in red, a heavy haze seemed to settle over his thoughts. It didn’t matter that they looked more ghost-like then he did, thin and faces drawn. All he could see was the red of their clothes, dirty and washed out though it was. Red like blood spilled across Lotus Pier’s floors. Red like the fire that had burned through the wood.
The noise in his head rose to a crescendo.
How dare they even think to sleep peacefully on the soil that they had bathed with his people’s blood.
They were Wens and so they had to die.
Zidian crackled around his hand.
“Jiang Cheng!”
At the yell, Jiang Cheng stopped, his eyes fixing coolly on the figure that obstructed his way. It was someone he had both expected and hoped not to see here. Wei Wuxian stood firm, staring down his brother.
“Get out of the way,” Jiang Cheng told the other through gritted teeth.
But of course Wei Wuxian’s stubbornness had to rear its head. “Only if you tell me what you were planning to do.”
Jiang Cheng’s teeth ground together, the tenseness of his jaw adding to the constant clamour of pain in his head. “Move,” he hissed at Wei Wuxian. Tendrils of resentful energy swirled around him, crackling with lightning.
His shixiong stared him down, visibly upset but resolute. “No.” He held out Suibian horizontally, as if using the unsheathed sword as a barrier. His own body stayed between Jiang Cheng and the last remaining members of the Wen clan, an obvious shield. “Jiang Cheng, don’t make me do this,” Wei Wuxian pleaded. “If you kill them here, defenceless and injured, it won’t be revenge. It would be a massacre. Jiang Cheng, this is not justice.”
“WAS WHAT THEY DID TO MY FAMILY, TO OUR WHOLE SECT, JUSTICE!?” Jiang Cheng roared.
The crowd shifted back nervously at his outburst. Jiang Cheng’s eyes unconsciously landed on the only figures who stood still, meeting Wen Qing’s wary gaze. The doctor was crouched next to a youth sitting on a bedroll, one arm cradled behind his head as she supported him to maintain the upright position. Jiang Cheng vaguely recognised him as her brother. When the youth coughed weakly, she broke eye contact with Jiang Cheng to feed him some water from a flask.
Wei Wuxian stepped right between them, blocking Jiang Cheng’s view again. The action only enraged Jiang Cheng more.
“WHY ARE YOU PROTECTING THEM!?” he roared.
The cries in Jiang Cheng’s head rose and fell in unstable waves, worse than a splitting headache. A swirling mass of resentful energy expanded like the collection of pitch black thunderclouds in a storm. Uncontrolled, Zidian’s lightning crackled and lashed out towards the gathered Wen remnants. In a flash, Wei Wuxian had Suibian unsheathed to parry the attack. Some of the lightning whipped past his guard, stinging his face and biting even through his arm guards. He bit down any sound of pain, checking to make sure the elderly villagers behind him were unharmed.
A sick feeling settled in Wei Wuxian’s stomach at wielding his weapon against his shidi, but he didn’t back down nor re-sheathe it. His heart hammering, he remembered the words of warning Lan Zhan had gave him.
‘Ghosts are made of strong emotions. No matter how rational a ghost acts, the way they process emotions are different. It’s raw, and intense beyond human reasoning. Without the intensity, they would have left the mortal realm to re-enter the cycle of rebirth long ago. Be careful. He is not the same brother you knew.
But it wasn’t just that, Wei Wuxian thought. Jiang Cheng was manic beyond anything that Wei Wuxian had seen before. It was like the fierce corpses that they had suppressed recently at the border of Yunmeng and Qishan, ferocious beyond anything they had seen before. Something was stirring up the realm of the dead.
“Jiang-gongzi!”
Wen Qing, in tattered red robes that had once symbolised her high rank but now only marked her as a prisoner, stepped forward with her chin held up and eyes resolute. She met Jiang Cheng’s bloodshot gaze for a moment before deliberately lowering her gaze in deference as she bowed. “If you must, I implore that you deliver your vengeance on me alone. I am the only one here who had any kind of prominence in Wen Ruohan’s court. The rest were far from the frontlines, had no part in the war. Take my head, and let them go.”
“Jiejie,” Wen Ning protested, struggling to get up but too weak to do anything.
“A-Ning, don’t move,” she told her brother sternly without turning.
Jiang Cheng’s hand, the one with Zidian, clenched into a fist. Wei Wuxian’s heart stuttered as he prepared himself to throw himself between Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing, no matter what Wen Qing had offered. He couldn’t let that happen.
“A-Cheng!”
Before any of them could take any action, the arrival of newcomers drew their attention. It was Yanli, accompanied by two of the newer Jiang disciples. Yanli ran towards her brother, arms outstretched.
“A-Cheng, please, don’t be angry,” she pleaded. She looked sad and worried, and Jiang Cheng had never wanted that for her. But couldn’t A-Jie see? They were Wen dogs, if left unchecked they would harm them, harm her.
…Why was Wei Wuxian protecting them? Why was A-Jie speaking up for them?
They had already taken away A-Die, A-Niang, their shidi, shimei, shibo, shigu, shishu; they would take them away too, the last two people he had left.
A twisted laugh bubbled up from his lips, swirling into a growing denseness of miasma. The Wen must had corrupted them. Taken away the last he had left in an even crueller way.
The cacophony in Jiang Cheng’s head screamed, rising into a crescendo. The voices merged and separated, foreign and familiar. Sometimes he heard the voices like his shidi and shimei’s terrified screams; like his mother’s rage and his father’s fury. But the worse was when he could hear a thread that sounded like A-Jie’s anguish, like Wei Wuxian’s despair. He clapped his hands to his ears, shoulders curling inwards, even though he knew that it wouldn’t help.
He didn’t realise until later that he was screaming outwardly too.
Terrified for her brother and instinctively wanting to comfort him, Yanli reached out to hold him. Her fingers met the heavy fog of resentful energy enveloping his hunched form, which stung with a sharp burning sensation. She flinched but was pressed forward.
But before she could touch, the dark mist contracted sharply and expanded even large in the span of a single heartbeat. Her hands grasped air as she was bodily thrown back by some invisible force. She let out a shocked cry, arms still outstretched in desperate need to reach her brother. Before her eyes, a swirling mass of resentful energy expanded like the collection of pitch black thunderclouds in a storm.
Strong unfamiliar hands caught her sharply by her shoulders as she tumbled back, stabilising her.
“Nan Feng!” the man who had caught her hollered above her head. In her disorientation, she recognised Fu Yao’s voice.
Slightly ahead of them, Feng Xin uttered a curse as he threw up a barrier, cutting Jiang Wanyin off from the rest of the people present.
Another shockwave slammed into the clearing, even stronger than the one before, unable to be fully contained even by Feng Xin’s barrier. He gritted his teeth and poured more power into it. As a Wrath-level ghost, the backlash caused by Jiang Wanyin’s loss of control was harmful to humans.
“Get back! Fast!”
Everyone who still had their wits about them scrambled to obey, except of course, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli.
Fu Yao caught both of them before they could lunge forward. “Are you idiots?” he yelled.
“Let go of me!” Wei Wuxian tried to throw off Fu Yao’s vice-like hold on his arm, but the cultivator was no match in strength to a god, even an undercover one. He struggled to rush ahead nevertheless despite the futility. “Jiang Cheng!”
On Fu Yao’s other side, Jiang Yanli was watching with huge distraught eyes, trying to find her brother’s form in the swirl of resentful energy. Fu Yao muttered a dark oath at her ashen complexion. Her body swayed even as her eyes never left her brother’s direction, kept upright only by his firm grip on his upper arm. She had gotten the full brunt of resentful energy when Jiang Wanyin lost control and it was raging havoc on her already-weak meridians. From one shaky breath to the next, she toppled over. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened in shock.
“Shijie!”
It was Wei Wuxian’s panicked cry that brought Jiang Cheng back to the present.
The first thing Jiang Cheng saw when he came back to his senses was Wei Wuxian rushing forward to catch his unconscious sister, holding her drooping head against his shoulder. Her face was pale and breathing ragged even from the distance. His gaze took in every detail with overwhelming sharpness, even as his head spun. Strange burns decorated her fingers, matching the cuts on Wei Wuxian’s face and the tears on his sleeves. With sudden terrible clarity, he realised that he had caused all of that.
Outside the barrier, Fu Yao spun towards the anxious group watching from afar. “You, you’re supposed to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he barked at the Wen who looked like she had the most sense around these parts. Wen Qing was already stepping forward, expression determined and professional.
“She needs spiritual energy transfer to help expel the resentful energy she absorbed,” he told her. Wen Qing nodded in understanding, quickly sweeping up her long sleeve to press able fingers against the inner side of Jiang Yanli’s wrist. Everyone watched with worried eyes until Yanli coughed weakly in Wei Wuxian’s arms, colour very slowly returning to her face.
Hands that healed, hands that did harm.
Jiang Cheng stared down at his own hands, sparking with dark energy.
How close had he been to harming everyone present here; how close had he been to hurting his last remaining family? Who was the real danger here – him or the Wen who could barely stand?
In the confusion, Jiang Cheng vanished.
Jiang Cheng watched the villagers from the shadows of the forest. His sister walked among the Wen remnants, distributing steaming mantou from a basket she held. She stopped to talk to a stooped old woman with an infant strapped to her back, smiling kindly. He soaked in the sight of her. Her complexion looked much better now, after Wen Qing’s treatment and careful monitoring.
He grimaced as another wave of pain rose in his head. It was only his sister’s presence that kept his bloodlust from spinning out of control once again. His fingernails bit into his palms hard enough that they would have bled if blood still flowed through his veins.
His sister looked up at that moment, as if following some kind of sixth sense only older siblings had, and he thinks their gazes met for a moment before he stumbled back.
He couldn’t stay here. Not the way he was, no knowing if he could lose control again without warning. Turning sharply, he ran away before his sister’s call of his name could convince him to stay.
Jiang Cheng spent the next few days in a daze. Caught in the spirals of his mind, he couldn’t be sure of how much time had actually passed, nor where he was – all he knew was that he had to be away from Yunmeng. He walked and walked and walked, no knowing where he was going.
When it started raining, he ducked under the nearest roof, crouching by the wall next to a closed doorway. He hugged his legs to his body. He felt cold and empty, the way he felt when his golden core had been melted away. Throughout the war, the siren call for vengeance had filled his being; but now he felt like he had been hollowed out again, the energy drained.
He barely registered the door opening beside him. When he did, he scrambled up with a mumbled apology on his lips, ready to leave.
At first glance, the man who had opened the door seemed to be of similar age to Jiang Cheng. But the depth of his calm eyes told a different story. Upon meeting his gaze, the white-clad man smiled kindly, head tilting a little. With the smile, he reminded Jiang Cheng of his sister, a little.
“Would you like to come in?”
The daozhang puttered around preparing tea. “I’m sorry I don’t have any good tea snacks. Would you like a mantou instead?”
Jiang Cheng shook his head. He had learnt in the Burial Mounds that he didn’t need to eat, not anymore. He didn’t want to impose, let alone on something unnecessary.
Humming, the other man set the teapot between them and poured out two steaming cups. “Some tea will warm you up,” he insisted.
“…Thank you.”
The man smiled widely, reminding Jiang Cheng of Yanli again. They sat in companionable silence, the only sound the pattering of raindrops on the thatched roof overhead.
“Forgive me for overstepping, but you look like something is bothering you… If it may help, I am would be happy to listen.”
Jiang Cheng swallowed heavily. Normally, he would have denied it, not wanting to say anything. But there was something about this person that made you feel like confiding in him. Jiang Cheng curled his fingers around his cup, feeling the heat radiating out through the simple porcelain. There was a tiny chip at the rim of the daozhang’s own cup – he had given Jiang Cheng the nicer one. The gesture warmed Jiang Cheng even more than the tea.
“I…” he started, words stuttering at first but he tried again. “…I caused my two most important people to get hurt. I had been too consumed by hatred to see what was in front of me, and they paid the price. I know they will forgive everything, because they are just that loving (so different from me). But I don’t know how to face them. More than anything… I’m afraid of hurting them again.” He closed his eyes tightly. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.
“…Regret isn’t something that we can just shake away.” After a quiet moment, the other man spoke in a voice heavy with understanding. Like he, too, had once felt the same way, or still did. “But we can live with it and do better.” When Jiang Cheng looked up, there was a wistful smile on the man’s face. “There is no treasure more valuable than having people who will love you even at your worst – knowing that they’re there, waiting for you to come back. And sometimes they’re there, even if we don’t know it; sometimes we may not even know their name.” The white-clad cultivator spoke the last part in a near-whisper. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure he had even been meant to hear.
The man shook himself out the reverie and gave a small self-conscious laugh. “Ah, forgive this old man for his ramblings.”
Jiang Cheng stared down at his tea for a long moment, watching a single tea stalk bob in the steaming water as he thought over the words. There was still a lot to process in regards to his own situation, but hearing someone else’s perspective had helped clear his mind a little. “No, that was helpful… Thank you.”
After parting ways with the white-clad daozhang, Jiang Cheng followed rumours to enter a populated area that rivalled Lotus Pier at the height of the summer solstice festival. Except, instead of the living, there were ghosts everywhere you looked in this bustling city.
Too caught up with gawking, he bumped into someone standing in front of a food cart, causing a few skewers to fall off the heaped tray held in his hands. “Ah--Sorry.”
The other turned to glare at him, expression initially displeased but morphing into faint surprise. “Jiang Wanyin?”
Jiang Cheng was sure that he had never met the other before, yet he somehow knew his name.
“May I enquire this gongzi’s name?” he asked cautiously. Face bloodless and borderline gaunt, with pointed ears standing out against inky black hair, the man was clearly a ghost. Piercing golden eyes considered him with an indecipherable countenance. Those eyes also felt very, very old, like the white-clad daozhang. A long silence fell between them, the other not seeming inclined to talk.
Before Jiang Cheng could speak to either press further or excuse himself awkward, a third person joined them.
“Jiang-gongzi.” A ghost, dressed plainly in black with a white mask, greeted him with a polite bow. Startled at the call of his name once again in this foreign place, Jiang Cheng hurriedly clasped his hands and bowed in return. The ghost’s gaze flicked over to the Jiang Cheng’s companion. “Lord Black Water,” he acknowledged as well, before addressing them both. “Our Chengzu invites you to an audience.”
Jiang Cheng gazed wordlessly at the gaping cavern of Mount Tonglu.
At Ghost City, he had learnt a lot about his condition from Crimson Rain and Black Water. For some reason, the two Devastation ghosts had taken an interest in him. They had told him about this strange kiln as well, the terrors and rewards had could be obtained from it. Upon departing Ghost City, he had followed the invisible pull towards this place, hoping that there would be answers at the end of the path.
Now he was here, standing at the precipice of a place that felt eerily similar to the Burial Mounds, and still didn’t know what to do. This time, there was no Wen Chao jeering cruelly, no Wen Zhuliu holding him over the edge; only the sound of roaring wind and a loud voice, calling his name.
Jiang Cheng had turned even before he realised the incongruence of it, so used to reacting to that familiar voice. A moment later, he spluttered in shock.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian yelled again, eyes wild as he sprinted towards him, figure bright and unmistakable. How the hell did Wei Wuxian, a human, manage to get so deep into Mount Tonglu? But then again, Wei Wuxian had always embodied the motto of ‘attempt the impossible’ to the fullest, Jiang Cheng thought with some old bitterness.
Two young men with faint divine auras arrived soon after, looking annoyed. He recognised the two Jiang disciples who had been present at his outburst. They must have come together, but Wei Wuxian had given them the slip by running ahead when he spotted Jiang Cheng. He didn’t have much time to spare guessing at their true identities, because Wei Wuxian was talking faster than river water after a storm.
“I finally found you; I’ve been searching for you all over the place, I think I’ve really covered all the provinces this time…
“Shijie thinks about you every day. She will never stop worrying about you if you don’t come home, you know…
Wei Wuxian’s babble finally started to settle down, his brother staring at him with pleading eyes. “Jiang Cheng, come home with me.”
“Wei Wuxian, I hurt both you and A-Jie.” Even though Jiang Cheng tried to rein it in, he could hear the fear and misery in his own voice at the thought.
But Wei Wuxian was already shaking his head. “Jiang Cheng, whatever happened there, we’ll find a way to get past it together. We’re waiting for you to come back to us – Shijie and I. Remember what Shijie said? The three of us need to stick together.”
When Jiang Cheng still stayed quiet, he continued persistently. “That peacock finally proposed, but you know Shijie won’t have the ceremony until you can make it. Remember, the two of us promised that we would organise Shijie’s wedding, make it the best ceremony ever. You won’t be so mean as to leave me to do it alone, would you?” Wei Wuxian wheedled, obviously trying to inject some humour to balance his desperation.
“The golden core surgery,” Jiang Cheng knew he was confusing Wei Wuxian with the sudden topic change, but he had to know. Ever since he got the full story from Black Water, he had a burning need to hear Wei Wuxian’s side. “What were the odds that Wen Qing gave you?”
“…50/50.”
Jiang Cheng bit back a curse. “Those odds, and you would have gone ahead with it? I can’t believe you.”
A stubborn set decorated Wei Wuxian’s mouth now, achingly familiar. “I would have taken the risk.”
“Why?” The simple question was more heartfelt than Jiang Cheng had intended.
Wei Wuxian met his gaze with serious eyes. “Because you’re my brother.”
Jiang Cheng looked sharply away. “I would never have wanted you to.”
“…I know.” Wei Wuxian sounded guilty as he said it but more than that, there was a deep sorrow flowing below the words. His next words were even quieter. “But after everything… I couldn’t lose you too.”
It was like Jiang Cheng was properly seeing Wei Wuxian for the first time in an eon. He saw a young man who had lost as much as he had. He, too, had lost his home; his loved ones and his place to belong. Yet his heart was big enough to accept the Wen remnants as well, simply because Wen Ning and Wen Qing had helped them.
“And if I told you, that the surgery wouldn’t have just transferred your golden core, it would have also swapped our fates?” Left you as this shell of a person, he didn’t say, but it was understood.
Wei Wuxian’s answer didn’t change. “I would have done it, even if I knew of such a thing.” And Jiang Cheng believed him.
He cast another glance at Mount Tonglu’s entrance.
Come, it beckoned in a seductive whisper. If you pass the trials, you will obtain power beyond your imagination. But what did he want power for? Crimson Rain wanted to protect his beloved from both the earth and the heavens; Black Water wanted the power to destroy a god.
What did Jiang Cheng want?
More than power, he wanted to be stay by his family’s side. From Crimson Rain and Black Water’s descriptions, it would take at least a decade to leave. A decade was such a long time in a mortal’s life. Was any power worth losing that time? With Wei Wuxian watching him hopefully, Jiang Cheng knew his answer.
At the cusp, Jiang Cheng turned his back to Mount Tonglu. There was nothing for him here.
His sister was a stunning vision in red and gold for her wedding. Neither Jiang Cheng nor Wei Wuxian were entirely convinced that Jin Zixuan was worthy of their sister (no one was truly worthy of their amazing sister) but she was transcendently happy and they could never wish to ruin that. So they kept their smiles for Yanli (only Wei Wuxian cried, Jiang Cheng would insist later) and only directed their most threatening glares at Jin Zixuan where she couldn’t see (however, from the fondly exasperated looks she sent them sometimes, she was probably onto them anyway).
Months later, they received news of their nephew’s birth and spared not a single moment making haste to Lanling.
Yanli looked tired but radiant.
“A-Cheng, A-Xian,” she called. “Come meet your nephew.”
Jin Ling was a tiny scrunched-up face in a swath of golden fabric. As he and Wei Wuxian leaned over to stare at the baby in fascination, a tiny fist escaped from the soft swaddling cloth to wave blindly in the air. Carefully, Jiang Cheng reached out to touch the small hand, and tiny digits curled instinctively around his finger.
“A-Ling, say Dashishu!” Wei Wuxian’s loud voice broke the moment.
Jiang Cheng jabbed Wei Wuxian’s side with his elbow when A-Ling’s nose wrinkled at the noise, hastily shushing him. “Idiot, as if he can talk so early. Anyway, he’ll learn to say Jiujiu before Dashishu.”
Wei Wuxian stuck his tongue out. “We’ll see. I’ll get him to practice every day!”
Yanli giggled at their banter. “I’m sure A-Ling will love both his Dashishu and his Jiujiu very much.” As she spoke, she spotted Jiang Cheng’s focused stare on the child. Her smile turned tender.
“A-Cheng, would you like to hold him?” she asked softly. “Come here, I will show you how to,” she insisted before he could deflect.
With some nervousness, Jiang Cheng followed his sister’s instructions, until Jin Ling was settled in his arms. Jiang Cheng cradled his nephew carefully, feeling the warm solid weight against his chest. He stared at the baby, unable to look away. Even Wei Wuxian was quiet in that moment, watching them.
For the first time since the fall of Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng was overwhelmed by an emotion that wasn’t rage. He had never imagined he could love anything or anyone as much as he loved his sister until this moment.
The tears that he thought had dried up slipped down his cheeks like a dam breaking, falling onto the purple lotus embroidered onto Jin Ling’s swaddling clothes. Jin Ling’s little hand reached upwards, as if wanting to brush the tears away. Jiang Cheng swallowed tightly.
Looking up, he saw his A-Jie and Wei Wuxian’s smiles, bright and intense with their love. He knew in that moment that they shared the same conviction – they would do everything to make sure Jin Ling would never have to go through the difficulties they had.
Jin Ling grew up with many uncles – but those he loved best were the two on his mother’s side.
Running through Lotus Pier ahead of his parents, clarity bell chiming along with his stubby steps, the boy’s face lit up when he spotted the two figures dressed in purple standing together by the pier. They turned at the sound of his pattering footsteps, smiling.
“Welcome home!”
Home, was where everyone who they loved could smile together.