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They spoke of him only in hushed whispers. ‘Sandu Shengshou,’ they called him. ‘Master of Three Poisons.’
The title wasn’t wrong--his touch could stop a man’s heart, his breath could boil the flesh, and his gaze could eat someone alive with acid from the inside out. He could also, at a whim and a touch, send lightning coursing through their veins. Could burn out their meridians.
He was a martial god of the highest caliber in heaven, second only to the Heavenly Emperor, ascended from the mortal realm on the twelfth anniversary of the Yiling Patriarch’s death. His deeds were well known; how he fought in the Sunshot Campaign, rebuilt his sect from nothing, raised his orphaned nephew. How he killed his brother, the Yiling Patriarch. His talents with the blade and his spiritual whip, Zidian, were told to young cultivators to encourage them to train.
All throughout the cultivation world, warriors would light incense at his shrines and pray for strength in battle, whilst in the darkness of night those of darker professions gave offerings and prayed for deadly poison. Cultivators flocked to Yunmengjiang to join Sandu Shengshou’s sect.
What they didn’t know, however, was that the moment Jiang Cheng’s feet had slammed into the brick roads of heaven he had felt it. That the core spinning steadily in his chest wasn’t his. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed earlier--how he hadn’t felt the glaring differences between the core in his chest and the one he had created himself, built up with blood and tears until Wen Zhuliu had torn it out with pristine clean hands.
The core that burned with a gentle warmth in his chest was so different from his, overwhelming in its power and sweeping through his veins like a hot summer breeze. It didn’t spark or sear along in a wash of lightning, didn’t leave the feel of static along his arms.
His feet had touched the bricks of heaven, having reached the highest attainment any cultivator could, and not a moment later he had hurtled himself back down to earth.
Jiang Cheng didn’t deserve heaven, didn’t deserve to be a god.
He didn’t deserve to reach heaven with a stolen core.
When he landed back on earth, it caused a minor earthquake. He hit the ground with a boom, landing hard on his back and sending a shockwave of earth blowing back away from him. The trees around him shook.
It took him three days to be able to stand, on legs as shaky as a newborn foals, and two more to stagger out of the forest. There was a village nearby--small, with no cultivators, the people making a living by growing mulberry trees and raising silkworms. By Jiang Cheng’s reckoning, he was deep in Qinghe Nie territory.
It was for the best, he decided. He wouldn’t be able to go back to YunmengJiang as Jiang-Zongzhu. It would hurt too much to return to Yunmeng as anyone other than Sect Leader, as well.
He had left heaven, had no sect to return to. He had no duties, and he…Truthfully, the feel of the core in his chest made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t seal his powers, though--he tried it once, and it sent him into a panic so bad he’d hyperventilated himself into blacking out.
So he stayed with the village. It was…nice. The people were a simple sort, not knowing any cultivators outside of legend, and it gave him a comfortable anonymity. They were kind enough to let him work off a room and three meals a day, tending to the mulberry trees and harvesting silk.
He didn’t stay long, though; there was a pull in his chest, an ache to drift and travel that hooked into his ribs and jerked. He left the little village after a month, carrying only a qiankun pouch with all his earthly belongings. Zidian was snug on his finger, Sandu was strapped to his belt. He wore robes that befit his station as Sandu Shengshou, dyed a deep indigo and embroidered with snakes and lotus flowers. Despite his best efforts, they would not stain nor tear. They were heavenly, he guessed--he had found them lying on the foot of his bed one morning, a single white cape jasmine resting atop.
Jiang Cheng drifted, after that. He felt…detached, untethered in a way he had never been before. He followed rumors of danger and monsters, drank wine of both good and poor quality, and complained about lack of spice in food. He followed the rumors, the fights, the pull in his chest.
His wanderings gave him a new name, a new title to add to the list. Youxia Jun.¹ He almost preferred it over Sandu Shengshou--better to be known as a hero, than as a master of the three poisons.
He didn’t let himself use the core in his chest. It wasn’t his to use. He fought with his sword, with his poisonous touch and gaze and breath. With a thought he could kill and torture and maim.
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him.
Eventually, he drifted to LanlingJin and rented a room at an inn in the quieter part of town. It was still ornate and expensive, but not quite as ostentatious as the rest of Lanling. He hadn’t planned to stay long, merely to try for a glimpse of his nephew (more like his son, but he would never say that, would never dishonor Yanli’s memory like that--) and upon seeing his good health, depart.
Of course, that wasn’t how it turned out. Jin Ling had somehow gotten wind of Youxia Jun being in town.
When Jiang Cheng returned to his room afterhandling a minor ghost on the outskirts of town--trust the Jin to not handle a call for help in their own damn city--his skin (not his robes, no those were pristine) caked in blood and dust, his nephew was seated at the table waiting for him.
Jin Ling met his gaze, and his eyes widened. Jiang Cheng had stared back, his voice that he so-rarely used anymore caught in his throat.
There was silence for a long, agonizing moment. Then--
“Jiujiu?”
Jin Ling’s eyes welled up with tears, and Jiang Cheng felt familiar panic rise up in his chest. He had raised Jin Ling, had dealt with his incessant crying but he still didn’t know how to handle it. Jin Ling repeated wetly, “Jiujiu?
Jiang Cheng took a deep breath and stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. He cleared his throat quietly, and said,
“Aiyah, brat, still with the tears?”
“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling wailed, and launched himself into Jiang Cheng’s arms. Unable to help himself, he clutched tightly to his nephew, burying his face into jojoba scented hair. Jin Ling was openly sobbing into his shoulder now, soaking through his robes, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t bring himself to care.
“A-Ling,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. Jin Ling didn’t let go of him, his small form shaking with the strength of his cries. “A-Ling, I’m here, I’m here now, I’m here…”
It took a long while for Jin Ling to stop crying, and once he did Jiang Cheng ignored all protests and deposited the boy onto his own bed. He promptly forced him to drain a cup of water and told him, firmly, “Go to sleep.”
Jin Ling protested, but he looked exhausted and awful. His face was pale, and more gaunt than Jiang Cheng remembered it being. His eyes were red and swollen, and his nose was red as well. Dried tears tracked down his cheeks, salt sticking to his skin.
Without saying a word Jiang Cheng gently wiped his nephews face off, pressing a thumb to either of his temples. Jin Ling watched him as if he would disappear. (Gods how he hated himself for leaving in the first place--)
“Sleep,” He whispered. “I will be here when you wake up.”
It took a while, but Jin Ling eventually drifted off to sleep, one of Jiang Cheng’s hands clutched in both of his. Jiang Cheng’s eyes stung, but he forced the tears back. Jin Ling had already cried enough for the both of them.
Jiang Cheng didn’t need to sleep, not anymore, and he didn’t need to eat. It was little trouble to sit next to Jin Ling and hold his hand for a few hours. He didn’t mind the ache in his joints from sitting in one position for so long.
Jin Ling woke up two hours later, wherein Jiang Cheng forced him to drink another cup of water. Then Jin Ling simply sat, still holding his uncles hand, staring down at the floor.
“Why did you go?” He whispered, at long last.
“I didn’t want to,” Jiang Cheng replied, just as quiet. He ran a thumb over the back of Jin Ling’s hand. “Heaven took me without asking.”
“Did it hurt?”
Jiang Cheng thought back. To the lightning, otherworldly and scorching, that had struck him again and again and again until finally it took him in its grasp and spirited him away. The mind numbing, soul bending agony of heavens might bearing down on him.
“No,” He said. Jin Ling looked like didn’t believe him, but he didn’t say anything.
“Why are you back? How long have you…?” Jin Ling said instead. Jiang Cheng frowned and asked for the date. Jin Ling told him, and he did some calculations in his head.
“Three months.” Jin Ling’s face twisted up like he was going to cry again. Jiang Cheng continued quickly before he could, saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t come see you earlier. There were…”
He trailed off, his free hand unconsciously moving to his abdomen. Over the core that spun and spun and spun, steady as the earth, in his chest. “Well, I found out some things and needed time.”
Jin Ling was silent, and Jiang Cheng took a moment to poke his head out of the room and call for a servant to bring some hot food. When he returned, Jin Ling had seated himself at the table once again and was heating tea.
Jiang Cheng sat across from him, accepting the cup his nephew slid to him gratefully. The tea was bitter, having sat for so long, but he drank it anyway.
“Are you going to leave again?” Jin Ling asked. Jiang Cheng shook his head.
“No. I won’t. Not for so long.” He took a sip. “I’ve been hunting. It’s…nice.”
“Well, good!” Jin Ling retorted, louder than he meant to by the way his face turned pink. “You better not disappear for so long again or I’ll--I’ll--”
“Break my legs?” Jiang Cheng said wryly, huffing a laugh when Jin Ling nodded furiously. “Alright, brat. I’m not going to leave you again.”
A servant knocked with a tray of steaming stew, which Jiang Cheng stood--his joints protested--to collect. He served Jin Ling without a word, silently placing a bowl in front of him. They ate, Jiang Cheng in silence whilst Jin Ling, hesitantly at first then with more confidence, told Jiang Cheng of the latest going-ons of the cultivation world.
He knew a lot, for a teenager more concerned with the going ons of his age group. HanguangJun had been spotted near Yiling, again. His shushu, Jin Guangyao, had introduced the idea of two more watchtowers in the far corners of what was once Wen land. Jin Guangyao had also kicked out his half brother, a man named Mo Xuanyu, for harassing other men. Or at least, that was what Jin Ling had heard.
Privately, Jiang Cheng thought that was bullshit. Jin Guangyao was predictable--forever insecure about his position, forever fighting the sneering and whispers of ‘bastard’ or ‘whore son,’--and Mo Xuanyu had more of a claim to the throne of Lanling Jin in peoples eyes. He might have been a bastard, but at least his mother hadn’t been a prostitute.
Frankly, Jiang Cheng was mostly surprised that Mo Xuanyu had only been banished and not killed.
The next day, Jiang Cheng accompanied Jin Ling back to Koi Tower. He wore a set of plain black robes, his hair pulled back into a tail, a mask tied over the lower half of his face. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him. He didn’t think he could bear…
Well. He didn’t think he could bear it.
As befit Jin Guangyao and the image he portrayed as a kindly, benevolent sect leader, he agreed to Jin Ling’s request to house ‘Youxia Jun’ for a time.
Jiang Cheng didn’t stick around Koi tower, much. He spent long weeks night hunting, both with Jin Ling and without. The boy was getting talented, growing into Suihua and his lanky limbs.
It was on one such night hunt when he felt the world, the structure and balance of nature, shift.
Ever since ascending, his senses were different. He could feel the earth, feel the structure of its energy beneath his feet and through the air. He could sense the shifting patterns of life and death, could taste the change of weather.
He was in the midst of cutting through a low level walking corpse when he felt it. It was huge, rolling through the balance like a tsunami made of rot and ozone. It hit him hard, hard enough and foul enough that he was forced to drop to one knee. Shortly after, a ruckus erupted in his head--the heavenly officials he had never spoken to clamoring, heavens barriers on the communication arrays torn away. They were back up in a moment, but not before he heard a name.
And Jiang Cheng knew, in his bones and marrow and heart of hearts, that his life and the world was irrevocably changed. Because what he’d felt had been something he had never felt before, the horrible jolt of someone giving up life and body to another, and because moments before the array had closed he had heard a god cry out,
“Wei Wuxian returns!”
***
Mo Manor was bleak and cold, practically saturated in icy resentment. The corpses in the courtyard didn’t help, but it was easy enough for Jiang Cheng to flit from corpse to corpse, killing with a touch. He wasn’t able to stop the arm posessing them, however. He could only watch as it disappeared into the wilderness. Something about it, though…He pushed the thought out of his head.
The fierce corpses crumbled to pieces, leaving only dust on the brick pathways. He watched them dissipate with expressionless eyes, his fingers twitching at his sides.
“Youxia Jun!” Jiang Cheng turned slightly to see two bedraggled Lan disciples. They bowed; one perfectly, the other slightly too low. They straightened up as one, and the perfect bower--Lan Sizhui, if he remembered correctly--said respectfully, “Thanking Youxia Jun for his assistance!”
Jiang Cheng snorted, and he said gruffly, “No thanks are needed. I merely did my duty.” He looked over the carnage of the courtyard, and--
He hid a jolt and grimace as the pull in his chest, the one that had driven him to wander, abruptly swivelled to attach itself to something, or someone.
Found you, he thought. He continued speaking to the Lan juniors, however, feeling the dark-but-comforting energy of the person linger, blatantly listening in.
“Where is your senior? I saw that you set off a flare.” He said. “I would speak with them.”
“HanguangJun should arrive soon, Youxia Jun,” Lan Sizhui replied. Jiang Cheng bit back a growl--of fucking course it was Lan Wangji who was on lookout for the pair--but merely nodded.
All at once, he felt the energy shadow behind him move. It moved swiftly out of the manor, into the woods, and without hesitation he turned to follow. He tossed over his shoulder,
“Tell HanguangJun about the arm.”
In a blink of the eye he was gone, vaulting over the roof of Mo Manor and darting into the dark forest beyond. Cold air rushed past his face, stinging his eyes and tugging at the mask tied over his nose and mouth. He leapt delicately, more delicately than he had ever been as a mortal, from tree branch to tree branch.
He scanned the ground below him as he moved, the tug in his chest growing ever stronger and more insistent, almost painful in its intensity until--
A donkey, braying in a net, and--
A man dressed in black, laughing loud and clear.
It was the work of a touch to dissolve the net holding the donkey, sending it galloping away into the underbrush. Wei Wuxian--for it was him, it was his brother by the gleam in his eye and the curve of his smile, the bells of his laugh--stared at him, his eyes wide.
Jiang Cheng met his gaze. He knew he looked different, even above the mask and the almost other-worldly heavenly robes. He was older, the lines of his face sharper, and his eyes shone violet with a hint of electricity. His shoulders were broader, his stance wider, his stance that of a warrior.
He knew he carried a different aura, a feeling of power. Of lightning and arsenic and rage and grief.
Wei Wuxian looked different, too. The body he resided in wasn’t his, clearly--his face was too round, too soft, hidden under a layer of red and white makeup. He was shorter, thinner, lacking the thick muscle he’d had in the past. His hair wasn’t true black anymore, either--it was a shade of deep brown, pulled back in a sloppy bun.
“Jiu--Youxia Jun? What are you doing?” Jin Ling’s voice broke the stand still. Jiang Cheng glanced at his nephew, who peered past him to land his gaze on Wei Wuxian.
“You!” Jin Ling cried. “What are you doing here!?”
That surprised Jiang Cheng. Jin Ling knew the body that Wei Wuxian was in? He raised an eyebrow at Jin Ling, who told him quietly, “It’s Mo Xuanyu. You met him before, at Lanling.”
He continued louder. “What are you doing with Youxia Jun!?”
“Heh, who?” Wei Wuxian stammered, and his voice was so high and young. “I’ve never met this person before in my--”
“We’ve met.” Jiang Cheng cut him off gruffly. “We’re…well acquainted.”
At his voice Wei Wuxian froze, and the only way Jiang Cheng could see he went pale was by how his neck and ears went white. The rest was hidden under that thick, hideous makeup.
Jiang Cheng chanced another look at Jin Ling. The boy saw whatever expression his face held and stiffened. “Go,” he told the boy. “I’ll be along soon.”
“But--!”
“Go, A-Ling.” He repeated firmly, and he heard Jin Ling depart, stomping angrily away. Back towards his fellow Jin disciples, who were searching through the rest of the spirit nets Jin Guangyao had ordered.
Wei Wuxian was stock still, trembling faintly as Jiang Cheng approached. He could hear the fast pace of his brother's heart, the way his blood pumped in his chest.
(Jiang Cheng wanted to cry, he was back, he was back, Jiang Cheng could return his core and--)
“...Jiang Cheng?”
He stopped. His shoulders stiffened, hands shaking. He hadn’t…
“No one has called me that in a long time.” He finally said, voice hoarse and weary. He couldn’t look at Wei Wuxian for fear he’d start crying. The mask on his face felt heavier than ever. Suffocating.
All at once, he was bone tired. His skin was granite over lead bones, the robes on his body dragging him down, down, down--
Jiang Cheng blinked and dug his fingernails into his palms. He took a deep breath, let it out. It would be okay now. Wei Wuxian was back and…It would be alright.
Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything, but his hand made an aborted move as if he was going to touch Jiang Cheng. He didn’t. The hand fell back to his side.
“What do they call you, then?” Jiang Cheng huffed a self deprecating laugh, a twisted smile more akin to a grimace pulling at his mouth.
“The Wandering Lord, Master of Three Poisons, Sect Leader Jiang, Jiang Wanyin.” He spat, the venom in his voice almost worse than the venom in his touch. “Executioner of the Yiling Patriarch.”
Wei Wuxian flinched.
There was silence.
“Why did you do it, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asked finally. He couldn’t look at his brother, and unbidden his hand rose to touch his abdomen. “Why did you…I never asked for it. I didn’t need it, not if it meant you were going to leave.
“I didn’t want your core.”
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian replied faintly. “So you know.”
“Well, I’ll admit I was blind and that it took twelve fucking years for me to notice,” Jiang Cheng hissed. “But, well. When you ascend it's a bit difficult to not find out that the core you thought was yours was your fool brothers’ all along.”
Jiang Cheng began to laugh then. “I really do have to thank you for everything, don’t I? I owe it all to you, Wei Wuxian.”
“Jiang Cheng, I--”
“Leave it.” He shook his head. “Let’s just go. Jin Ling is waiting.”
“Jin--?”
“Our nephew.” Jiang Cheng told him, already grabbing Wei Wuxian by the wrist in case he decided to run. (Always running, running from his duties, running from his sect, running from Jiang Cheng when all Jiang Cheng had ever wanted was to keep up--)
“How--how is--”
“He’s a fine boy,” Jiang Cheng said, letting pride seep into his voice as he dragged Wei Wuxian back out of the forest. “More like me than I’d like, and sometimes a fool like his father, but…He’s as kind as A-jie. Smart. Best damn archer I’ve ever known.”
Wei Wuxian sniffled, and that was the end of that.
***
Then that damn cursed statue attacked, and Wei Wuxian summoned the Ghost General, and HanguangJun had swept Wei Wuxian away before Jiang Cheng could take him with him and--
***
Jin Ling was gone, and he could feel poison more malicious than he’d ever felt before coursing through his veins ready to kill, could taste ozone on his tongue, and Zidian sparked on his finger and--
***
It was Jin Guangyao’s fault, the death of JinLing’s parents, Wei Wuxian had been the unknowing victim, and that power hungry bastard Jin Guangyao had killed his sworn brother Chifeng-zun and--
***
At the end of it all, Jiang Cheng sat on the steps of Guanyin Temple.
The sun set slowly over the city below, outlining the rooftops and streets. It was warm on his skin, though he barely noticed.
He heard more than saw Wei Wuxian take a seat next to him. He heard him wave off his infernal white shadow with a whispered, “I’ll be fine, Lan Zhan, I’ll be back soon.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart twisted. He didn’t say anything.
“Why do you wear that?” Wei Wuxian asked, at length. Jiang Cheng raised a brow, and his brother plucked at the mask on Jiang Cheng’s face.
Jiang Cheng shrugged.
“Come on, are you covering a scar? Is it really bad? If it is, I promise I wont judge!” And there was the teasing, prodding Wei Wuxian that Jiang Cheng was used to. Familiar annoyance flared up in his belly.
“No, there isn’t a scar,” He snapped.
“Take it off then!” Wei Wuxian tugged at the mask and Jiang Cheng shoved him off angrily with a loud ‘No!’. He meant to push him away lightly, just to get him off, but--the shove sent Wei Wuxian sprawling across the steps. He stared up at Jiang Cheng, wide eyed.
Jiang Cheng stared back, before he abruptly stood and stalked away.
“Wait! Jiang Cheng!” He heard Wei Wuxian scramble to his feet and hurry after him, his hand landing on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.
Jiang Cheng turned and knocked his hand off. “What do you want!?”
“Look, I won’t take it off, I promise, just--what happened to you, A-Cheng?” Wei Wuxian’s voice was soft. Too soft. Jiang Cheng wanted to throw up. Jiang Cheng wanted to cry.
“I ascended,” He said instead. Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed.
“Don’t joke--”
“I’m not.” Jiang Cheng said. They fell into silence again. It seemed that Jiang Cheng was surrounded by silence now. Had been for the past thirteen years, lacking the bubbling commentary of Wei Wuxian and the soft words of Jiang Yanli. He took a deep breath. “I ascended last year. On the anniversary of your death.”
“You didn’t stay?”
“No. How could I, when I got to heaven with stolen power?” Wei Wuxians face became sad then, so, so very pained that Jiang Cheng wanted to hit himself.
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said softly, carefully, “I gave you my core of my own free will. It is yours. Whatever you have achieved with it was by your own merit.”
And those words--those simple words from Wei Wuxian hit him in the chest like a fucking hammer blow. His knees gave out and he sat down hard.
Wei Wuxian continued, kneeling next to Jiang Cheng. His face was so, so soft. “You deserve everything you have achieved. They belong to you, and no one else. There is no one else who could have rebuilt lotus pier, no one else who could have raised Jin Ling into the man he is today. There is no one else, not even me, who could have ascended and become Youxia Jun.”
A low keening noise met Jiang Cheng’s ears, and belatedly, he realized it came from himself. Wei Wuxian’s hands were gentle, where they came to cup Jiang Cheng’s face and gently pull the mask from his face. It fluttered to the ground, forgotten.
“I am so, so proud of you, didi,” Wei Wuxian breathed, and Jiang Cheng broke.
The tears in his eyes finally spilled, and with a wet sob he tipped forward into Wei Wuxian’s chest. Slender, albeit strong arms, rose to encircle him, holding him tight as his frame was wracked with violent tears.
“Has anyone ever told you that, didi?” Wei Wuxian whispered, stroking through Jiang Cheng’s hair. “That they’re proud of you? If they have, I don’t think it was often. I wish I had told you more. That I was--am--proud of you.”
“Don’t leave again, gege” Jiang Ching murmured finally, voice choked and tight. “Don’t leave. Please.”
“I won’t. I won’t. Never again. I promise.”
On the ground, next to the forgotten mask, a white cape jasmine grew.
***
They spoke of him in hushed whispers, tales of Youxia Jun the Wandering Lord and his brother, the Yiling Laozu. They spoke of the Yiling Laozu’s madness, and Youxia Jun’s desperate attempt to save him ending in the Yiling Laozu’s death--by his own hand. They spoke of ascension with a core freely given, and of falling out of grief.
The Master of Three Poisons, they had once called him, worshipped by warriors and assassins alike. Sandu Shengshou the martial god.
“Jiang Cheng!”
He turned, his older brother beaming and waving. To Wei Wuxian’s right was Jin Ling, scowling at the hand Wei Wuxian had looped through his elbow though he knew Jin Ling wasn’t actually annoyed. To Wei Wuxian’s left was Hanguang Jun, who didn’t look much of anything, the damn statue. Next to Jin Ling was Lan Sizhui, smiling serenely as he watched Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling bicker.
“Jiang Cheng!”
He smiled.
His mask was gone, and his--his! It might not have been, at first, but he had worked and worked and built it up, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t his now--core hummed happily in his chest. His brother was alive, his nephew was grown, and he…
He wasn’t alone. Not anymore. He had his family with him, Lan Wangji and everything he meant included. He didn’t carry a title of pain and hate, or a title of being astray, nor a title of solitude through leadership. No.
Now, he was called by his name.