Chapter Text
When he first saw Jiang Cheng again, everything had frozen. The furious screams of Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian’s teasing- all of it- had halted in a moment. That voice, dripping venom and rage had assailed his ears, unable to be ignored like a crushing rush of rain or a blistering strike of lightning.
Wei Wuxian looked into the eyes of his once-shidi, and knew he needed to leave. It didn’t help that Jiang Cheng told Jin Ling (god, had he told off Jin Ling of all people for the lack of a mother?) to feed ‘heretics’ to dogs. Whatever that meant.
Of course, trying to value this second life as much as possible, he ran as far away from the furious Jiang-Zongzhu as he could. However, when he saw those Lan juniors and Jin Ling struggling to fight the Goddess Statue, he could not leave them to die. He had already seen too many people die.
Once the fight was won, he supposed he could slip off once more, and find something productive to do with his time- but nothing was ever so simple for him.
Of course he summoned Wen Ning. It seemed like everyone from his past was all too eager to meet him again. While he enjoyed the sentiment, Wen Ning was not in his right mind, and appearing before a hostile crowd who wanted him dead was not the best thing to happen.
Currently he was glued to the ground in agony. Wei Wuxian unfortunately inhaled some dirt as he face planted into the ground, and along with the intense burning on his back, his lungs were on fire as well. The smell of lightening and smoke was thick in the air, and stung his eyes.
Wei Wuxian had been struck with Zidian, and Jiang Cheng expected his soul to be expelled from this new body. Jiang Cheng was wrong, and he would make that known.
“Ow,” Wei Wuxian groaned, rubbing his back as he stiffly sat up. His bones ached sharply in protest. Mo Xuanyu’s body was already weak and under strain- being struck with Zidian did not help in that respect. “Just because you’re a Zongzhu doesn’t mean you can whip people like me all you want!” He curled in his shoulders and let tears well in his eyes. He wanted to play up the pitiful part of the Mo Xuanyu-charade.
The faint crackling of flames licked his ears, and the bickering among the Jiang and Lan disciples grew in volume. Wei Wuxian almost felt his heart clench with warmth as the little Lans told off Jiang Cheng in his name. That certainly broke some of those three thousand rules.
Rising to his feet, Wei Wuxian’s eyes met Lan Wangji’s. His wrist was still barking at him, skin already bearing the bruises from Lan Wangji’s punishing grip, and those golden eyes were still looking at him with an emotion he did not understand. Wei Wuxian could have laughed. Lan Zhan of all people, was speaking in his defense!
“His methods are unorthodox, but his intentions are benevolent.” Lan Wangji, in his funeral garb and all, was like a beam of moonlight. After all these years, the impossible had happened; Lan Wangji had become even more beautiful than he was in their youth.
Jiang Cheng grit his teeth. “Lan Er-gongzi, why bother protect the likes of him?”
Lan Wangji didn’t even deign a response to Jiang Cheng, only keeping himself held high amidst Jiang Cheng’s demands.
But Jiang Cheng would not back down. Wei Wuxian didn’t want to stick around and see what he intended to do.
Taking off through the forest lining Mount Dafan, Wei Wuxian ran as fast as Mo Xuanyu’s skinny legs would take him. The spotted donkey was nowhere to be seen- not that they’d be of any use. Like a hare fleeing a hungry wolf, all he could do was run. Leaves crunched under foot and his ankles creaked as he rounded the side of the mountain.
He couldn’t run the way he used to, but he could at least try. He always did attempt the impossible-
Yet just as he’d succeeded with upholding the motto in the past, he’d also failed. Right now, he failed once again.
Running blindly through the rugged landscape, he had no idea where he was going. As he began to see stars in his eyes, punctuated by gasps more fitting to a dying horse than a young man like Mo Xuanyu, he stumbled over a stray root. Tumbling down a mountain path, he came face to face with someone’s fine leather shoes.
His lungs working overtime and his head spinning, he didn’t bother craning up his neck until that shoe came hurdling into his head with a sickening crunch.
Then he was drowning.
~
Wei Wuxian couldn’t describe what death felt like. But he could keenly describe what it felt like to die. Throughout his life he felt the slow rot of death work its cruel hands through him and steal away everything he cared about until the very moment rigor mortis set in.
He’d had brushes with death as a youth; the moment he realized his Mama and A-Die weren’t coming back, followed by the ravages of hunger hollowing out his body until he had nothing but his own sparse tears to taste. When he fought side by side with the great Lan Wangji to subdue the Xuanwu, and as he watched Lotus Pier burn.
But the first time he ever felt the cold hands of death play at killing him, was in a field with his brother. Being yelled at in the rain, not knowing what crime he had committed, and feeling the hands around his neck squeeze tighter and tighter. Like an hour glass, he felt his life slip away. He recalled how the damp grass felt against his fingers, slimy and cold, as he let them rest by his sides. When it truly mattered, he didn’t fight death. He was dying, and he couldn’t do anything.
His life, siphoning out between ice cold fingers, flashed before his eyes. What had he done with it?
His shidi let go. But just behind him, was the warning echo of his fate.
How many more times would he cheat death?
~
Wei Wuxian came back to the living with his head throbbing violently. As he opened his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure behind them, he took his environment into account.
His ears drank up the sound of water lapping against wooden slats, and the creak of ancient floorboards as someone traversed them. The unmistakable scent of lotus wafted throughout the compound and into his nose. The feeling of damp air brushing his face as he laid across rough wood was as familiar to Wei Wuxian as the feeling of the sun on his back.
Ah, he thought, he was back. Though truly, he could never go back to Lotus Pier completely- the one of his childhood- that had burst into a dying star so many years ago, taking away the sweetness of innocence with it.
Though Wei Wuxian had “helped” Jiang Cheng rebuild the Lotus Pier after the Sunshot Campaign, he paid more attention to Lotus Wine than the floor plans.
This “new” Lotus Pier was completely foreign to him.
This chamber, dark and lit with sparse braziers, must have been new too. The Lotus Pier of his youth favored bright, open spaces with plenty of natural light.
The man towering over him, casting a stark shadow over his battered body, was not. A cruel look poisoned all aspects of Jiang Cheng’s features- eyes burning with unfathomable hatred, hands fisted at his side, and mouth twisted into a scowl- Wei Wuxian lamented the loss of his shidi. Though he had physically grown up, solid and strong, it seemed as if he’d never left that day when Jiang Yanli died.
Wei Wuxian’s heart felt too big in his chest as it rattled against his ribs. Shaking, he tried to get onto his knees at least, but Jiang Cheng’s foot came into contact with the tender flesh of Mo Xuanyu’s stomach.
Clutching his convulsing stomach, he tried not to vomit. Not that there would be anything but acrid bile to throw up. Wei Wuxian tried to be thankful that his head wasn’t struck this time.
“Jiang-Zongzhu,” he wheezed, “I said it before- you’re not my type…”
Those eyes lit up the way his wicked whip did, flashing with bolts of fury. Wei Wuxian flinched away as he raised his ring-adorned hand.
“Cut it out,” Jiang Cheng spat, hand poised to reprimand Wei Wuxian for any movement, “I know it’s you.” His brows were drawn together, and his thin lips were pressed against each other tightly.
Still on the ground, feeling splinters of wood slip into his skin, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. He truly did not know what he could do to get out of this situation. He felt powerless; a feeling he had become accustomed to, but never more comfortable with. That was not the type of person Wei Wuxian was.
“Didn’t you hear those juniors,” he questioned, sure to put plenty of snark in his tone, “your whip didn’t work. I’m not him.”
The brazier’s light cast shadows across Jiang Cheng’s face, carving it into a frightening thing. “Don’t presume to tell me how my own weapon works, Wei Wuxian. Though, I’m sure you think you know better. You always did.” From his spot on the floor, Wei Wuxian cringed.
“Secondly, that Lan Wangji tried to defend you from Zidian.” Disdain filled those stormy eyes, “obviously there was something to hide.” The sarcasm in his tone was acidic and sour tasting; nothing like their childhood camaraderie.
Though Wei Wuxian had been able to take refuge behind the wall of Lan Wangji’s shoulders for a few rounds of banter with the Jiang, it was obviously because Lan Wangji wouldn’t let Jiang Cheng harm a seemingly innocent person. Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes.
“Do you truly go around whipping anyone and everyone that presents themself as a heretic?”
The jaw, which had sharpened from their youth, set, and thin brows knit together. “What sort of clan leader would I be if I let deviants like you traipse around?” He cocked his head to the side. “In any case, it’s efficient. If I had only put my sword through you sooner, the world would be a far better place.”
Wei Wuxian did not reply that Jiang Cheng, at one point, had shoved Sandu through his entrails in the past.
Wei Wuxian let a mirthless laugh slip. “Does Jiang-Zongzhu want to make the world a better place?” It was a low blow, but true. It was the difference between the two of them. Wei Wuxian could never watch any sort of injustice occur, while Jiang Cheng would let anything slip by as long as he wasn’t involved.
A few swift steps and Jiang Cheng was able to bring his hand across Wei Wuxian’s cheek with the full force of a cultivator.
Cursing, Wei Wuxian watched the dim lighting turn completely dark as blood filled his mouth.
“Don’t act like you have any sort of moral high ground, Yiling Laozu!” Jiang Cheng snarled viscerally, forcing a shudder through the other. The ache and sting of the slap was nothing compared to the thought of the past. His memories were too tender. Wei Wuxian hadn’t had the time or luxury to remember or sort through his thoughts on them; and he almost wanted to keep it that way.
Wei Wuxian felt any and all words on his tongue dry up. He did not know how to respond, just sitting listlessly on the floor listening to the swaying current hidden under the floorboards.
Jiang Cheng huffed out a cruel laugh as he called for his disciples. “Nothing to say? That’s new.”
No longer able to hold up the charade, Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” What could he say? A simple “sorry” would never bridge the ravine cut between them. He had just come back, but he was already ready to leave again.
Young and efficient disciples dragged him out of the room by his collar, and Wei Wuxian closed his eyes.
~
If Wei Wuxian thought he would be able to endure anything other than the judging glare of his former-shidi, he was proven thoroughly incorrect.
He was brought to a place his knees knew better than his mind: the ancestral hall. The disciples forced him to kneel before the memorial plates of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan. The choking scent of incense wafted throughout the room, and Wei Wuxian shivered as his eyes snagged on her memorial plate. Shijie’s.
Quick to catch any chink in Wei Wuxian’s armor, Jiang Cheng stormed behind Wei Wuxian and grasped his matted ponytail in hand, yanking his head to an unnatural angle. “So shameless,” the clan leader snarked, forcing Wei Wuxian’s eyes to meet Jiang Yanli’s tablet.
“Face it,” Jiang Cheng snarled, “face what you did!”
As he looked at the tablet, it felt as if Wei Wuxian could see Jiang Yanli’s face. The one with the forgiving smile, drenched in blood, the one telling him it would be okay in her final moments; and he felt tears of gratitude and regret surge in his eyes. Lukewarm and stinging, he felt them slide down his face, marring the spotless floor. She had saved his life, and it was proved meaningless in the end. At least he’d been able to destroy the seal, leave something good at the end.
Wei Wuxian would never forget about the sacrifice Jiang Yanli made for him; he wasn’t worth it- not at that moment- and he felt a thundering pang of remorse when he remembered what he said to Jin Ling.
The hand yanking at his scalp forced him out of his thoughts, and Wei Wuxian grunted at the feeling.
“You’re crying,” Jiang Cheng laughed, as if the tears running down Wuxian’s face were uncalled for; comedic. “You killed her, you killed them all, but you’re the one crying?!” His voice grew loud like thunder, reverberating through the room despite the poor acoustics of silk and wood.
Wei Wuxian’s neck began to cramp up, and his back was making odd snapping noises from his abhorrent posture. He was trembling, and as he tried to craft a response, Jiang Cheng began to laugh.
It was a mockery of those days bygone. When the two would sit on the pier, watch the boats, and joke until the sky grew into an endless sea of darkness.
The laughter was the dissonant twinge of an incorrectly plucked guqin, oscillating between piercing high tones and warning low. These years, which had been nothing but the blink of an eye for Wei Wuxian, had shattered Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian’s heart shuddered. These years have broken his shidi.
“If you want to cry so bad, I’ll give you something to cry about.”
~
For all that Wei Wuxian had been whipped in the past, he had never been confined to a whipping post. Usually, Yu Ziyuan had Yinzhu and Jianghu hold him still, or he just grit his teeth and take it. When the Madame called for his punishment, he never fought it. It was the same as fighting a surging tide; one can only endure.
This was different. His arms suspended, wrists attached to either side of the post, anxiety began to seep into his innards like a blade. It was a stress position, intended to intimidate even the most metal-minded opponents of the Jiang before any torture actually started.
The one executing this punishment happened to be different as well. Zidian sparkled as Jiang Cheng unfurled the whip, hand holding the weapon with the utmost confidence. His disciples lined the room, standing stiffly, as this was just an everyday occurrence. That was what scared him.
Wei Wuxian heard every footstep as Jiang Cheng made his way behind him. “Perhaps your blood can satisfy some of their grievances,” his former shidi remarked, poised to strike.
Though he couldn’t see the other, Wei Wuxian knew the look on his face. It would be the look that Yu Ziyuan always had. That darkness and unquenchable taste for reparation. Now, he could remember.
As if everything had halted in time, the memories of his youth ravaged him in a way the whip never could. He remembered now, remembered keenly when Yu Ziyuan would snap at him, call him street rabble, threaten to send him back where he came from. This was just like it. The unavoidable fear of punishment, deserved or undeserved. Feeling obsolete and worthless.
His heart began to pound, to race.
He didn’t want to be here.
He wanted to be anywhere but here.
Why was his heart beating so fast? His chest felt so tight, something must have burst, surely. His breathing was rapid, but he couldn’t register it, when all he could think about was the phantom sting of a whip that would soon make a new home on Mo Xuanyu’s back. Even in this new life, he could not escape it.
He thrashed in the restraints, ropes pulling taut, chafing his wrists bloody as he fought. He fought for some form of escape.
From somewhere in the room, there was a nasty chuckle. He couldn’t register, he didn’t want to register it.
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” the man in purple scoffed, “all you’ll do is dislocate that fool’s shoulders.”
And again, he was reminded of weakness. Stripped to his waist, once the whip made contact with the skin of Mo Xuanyu’s back, it split like paper.
With one stroke, Wei Wuxian felt everything stop, the electric current unforgiving in its majesty. He smelt the blood before he even saw it, the iron rain smattering the floor in an offering of forgiveness for his crime, whatever it was. Most of the time, Wei Wuxian felt as if his only crime was being born into such a rigid world.
“Do you think that hurts,” Jiang Cheng raged, voice booming beside him, but he could barely register it beyond the blood pumping in his ears, “what about all the people you killed?”
“What about Jin Zixuan? When your dog impaled him? Did that hurt?!”
Another stroke. He could not resist the cry that was torn from his lips as the whip lashed over his bruised ribs. The whip crushed the breath from his lungs and Wei Wuxian felt blood dribble from between his lips. He spat out, staining the floorboards he could no longer see. It did hurt, it did.
“Huh?” His tormentor became even more enraged, swinging down his whip again. “Answer me! I deserve an answer!”
Again, and again, and again, that whip stripped apart his skin, burning the flesh and creating a mat of mauled skin on Mo Xuanyu’s previously unmarried back.
Wei Wuxian could no longer answer his old friend, now captor, with anything but animal sounds of agony as it went on and on. The tongue in his mouth couldn’t work; it was too heavy, too twisted.
The sound of his own flesh being ripped was foreign to his ears. At some point the pain became so unbearable that he blacked out.
“And to think, you once acted like you were invincible. Look at you now,” a belittling voice spat. Couldn’t he see that this body was far less hardy than his old one was?
Would he die again?
It wouldn’t be the first time. A cruel twist of fate, to let him come back, perhaps so that he could die properly this time. Truly at the hands of his shidi.
Wei Wuxian never imagined that hatred could run so deep. That hatred could be such a cruel poison, allowing someone to live, but only in service to their cruel mistress.
He closed his eyes amidst the violence, the way he had so many times before, and accepted this fate, if it would truly be his end.