Chapter Text
It starts like this: they still die, just in a different place.
It starts like this: in another town, with a different monster, in a region far closer to Qishan than Yunmeng, Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren draw their last breaths. The inn that was harboring little Wei Ying soon learns that no more money is coming to keep him, and the four-year-old is pushed out onto the unforgiving streets of Qishan.
It starts like this: one of Wen Ruohan’s advisors stands beside the throne.
“There are reports of attacks by vengeful spirits at the eastern border,” he said, reading from a list in his hands. “Some of our branch families have felt the effects.”
“Not critical,” Wen Ruohan grunted. “Not yet. I don’t have the resources to protect every failed cultivator who still calls themselves Wen. If they cannot fight the spirits on their own, they can come petition for help in person.”
“Very well.” The advisor made a few notes on his papers. “I will pass on the message to the other disciples.”
“Is that all?” Wen Ruohan asked, lounging on the arm of his throne. “I have other matters to see to.”
“There is one more thing, Wen-zongzhu.” The advisor cleared his throat. “The accomplished rogue cultivator Cangse Sanren along with her husband were found dead in our territory a few days ago.”
Wen Ruohan raised an eyebrow in interest. “The disciple of Baoshan Sanren?”
The advisor nodded. “The same.”
“What killed her?”
He shrugged, shuffling through papers. “Nothing but a simple night hunt accident, as far as our scouts can gather. But zongzhu, that isn’t the interesting part.”
“What is, then?”
The advisor looked up at him. “The two had a son. A young boy. From what we can tell, he did not perish with them.”
Wen Ruohan leaned forward, frowning in curiosity. “He’s alive? Where?”
“Where? Right outside of Nevernight, zongzhu.”
The Wen sect leader sat back in his throne, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Find him,” he said after a moment’s pause. “And bring him here. I would like to see if he can be made useful.”
The advisor nodded. “Yes, Wen-zongzhu. Thank you.” He bowed formally, and turned to exit the throne room.
It took nearly a year to find him. Wei Ying was good at hiding, when he wanted to be.
In the end the deed was done by a junior disciple passing through the area by the name Wen Shi. The locals of a town just outside of Nevernight were complaining of increased thievery and an especially rowdy street population, and after grumbling about it a great deal, the junior disciple had agreed to investigate. What he found was a group of street urchins far too smart and well-trained for their age. There were dozens of them, and they all knew each other by name, and they all worked together on snatching food and finding places to sleep. It was baffling.
“Who is helping you?” Wen Shi demanded of a young urchin who had attempted to swipe his purse. She made a mad dash for the next street, and the disciple angrily reached for the back of her frayed collar. “Tell me who is helping you survive, child, or I swear I’ll throw you in a cell!”
Failing to squirm out of his iron grip, the girl started to cry. “It’s Wei Ying, sir!” she cried, going limp. “He’s our age, but we all listen to him and he helps us get food! He knows all the best places! Now please just let me go!”
“Tell me where I can find him,” Wen Shi growled.
Still weeping, the girl raised a shaky finger to the next street.
Disgusted, the disciple released her, and she scampered away as quick as a gazelle. He followed her directions, and found himself traveling down a street so narrow it was more like an alley. He passed several desperate vendors, a few whispered conversants who scattered when they saw him, and nearly a dozen street children.
There was a huddle of them in the very back of the alley, all gathered around one boy. The group all held different items of food and clothing, handing them back and forth. “Ming, trade three of the radishes you found for Rong’s shoes,” the boy at the center of the circle was whispering. “Rong already has good shoes so he doesn’t need them anyway, but he’ll need more food to get through this week. And-” the bedraggled boy who was speaking suddenly cut off, eyes snapping toward the approaching Wen disciple. “Run!” he squeaked, shoving his companions towards doors and archways. “Run, now! Find hiding places!”
“Wei Ying,” Wen Shi said, stepping in front of the boy’s path. His face went white.
“Please let me pass, sir-”
“That’s you, isn’t it?” he sneered. “The rebel who’s been leading this…little band of street kids. Who’s been causing so much trouble for the town.”
“People here have more than enough to eat, gongzi,” the boy said stubbornly, backing up several steps. “We just take what we need to survive.”
“So bold, and at such a young age.” Wen Shi laid a hand on his sword, and the boy’s eyes bulged. “How old could you even be? Four?”
“I’m seven!” Wei Ying flinched as his back touched a wall- the alley’s dead end. He didn’t take his eyes from the sword. “Please! Just let me go! What do you want with me anyway?”
He sighed. “Someone very important wants to meet with you, for some reason I can’t fathom. You’re going to come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Wei Ying protested. “Just leave me alone!”
“Your mother was Cangse Sanren, wasn’t she?” Wen Shi looked at him expectantly, and Wei Ying's eyes got even wider.
“How did you know that?” he whispered.
There had been an order from Wen Ruohan for months to find the lost child of the rogue cultivators, unbeknownst to little Wei Ying. This junior disciple remembered, though. And he was very excited to gain the reward the sect elders had promised.
“You’re going to come with me, boy,” Wen Shi insisted. “Or I’m going to wrangle up all of your little street friends and lock them up. Do you want that?”
Wei Ying shook his head.
“Good. Come with me.”
The boy hesitated, curling his small fingers into fists. “They say the Wens are bad people,” he said softly.
Wen Shi’s eyes narrowed. “Who?” he asked sharply.
Wei Ying shrugged. “People.”
Wen Shi crossed his arms. “They’re wrong,” he said firmly. “Trust me. Now will you come with me?”
Wei Ying took a deep breath in, and followed the disciple out of the alley.
***
They arrived in Nevernight the next day, after hours of complaining and questioning from Wei Ying. As soon as he could, Wen Shi left him with the attendants in the palace, who cleaned him up and did his hair and put him in some respectable robes. At the first opportunity, he was led to the throne room to stand before Wen Ruohan.
The Wen sect leader leaned on the arm of his throne, inspecting the young boy who stood a few feet away. “You are a hard child to find,” he said.
“I didn’t know you were looking for me,” Wei Ying said defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe that makes you bad at finding.”
The advisors and scribes lining the walls glanced up in fear, but Wen Ruohan only chuckled. “Perhaps,” he said simply.
Child and sect leader watched each other silently. Eventually Wen Ruohan stood from his throne, stepping up to the boy.
“What is your name, son of Cangse Sanren?” he asked curiously.
“Wei Ying,” said Wei Ying.
“Your parents were very skilled cultivators, Wei Ying,” said Wen Ruohan, clasping his hands in front of him. “Do you miss them very much?”
Wei Ying looked up at him with wary eyes. “What does that matter?” he asked cautiously.
Wen Ruohan laughed. “I suppose it doesn’t.” He smiled down at the boy. “I am told that you have a remarkably strong golden core for a child your age. Did your parents teach you that?”
A small smile inched its way up Wei Ying’s face, finally cracking his defensive demeanor. “They taught me lots of things,” he said proudly.
“Then tell me, Wei Ying,” Wen Ruohan said, kneeling down so that he was eye level with the boy. “Would you like to learn even more? There is much that we could teach you here.”
“Why would you want me?” he asked skeptically. “I’m just an orphan.”
Wen Ruohan smiled. “Because I think you’re special. And I’m very good at finding special people.”
Wei Ying stared at him. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly.
Wen Ruohan did not explain to him that Baoshan Sanren was possibly the most powerful person in the whole world. He did not explain to him that his mother had been one of the most accomplished rogue cultivators in three generations. He did not explain to him that the golden core the disciples had sensed in Wei Ying was many times the size of anyone else his age they had even seen. He did not explain the political power it would give the sect to take on the son of a student of an Immortal. He did not explain.
What he said was, “You can become one of my disciples, Wei Ying. You can become a Wen. Or you can go back to the streets where you came from.”
Wei Ying looked at him for a long, long moment. Then he said, “Okay, Wen-zongzhu.”
It starts like this: Wei Ying does not wear purple. Instead, he wears the red of Qishan.