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Chapter Text

When Jiang Cheng blinks open his booger-crusted eyes, the first thing that registers is the ugly scars that crisscross his arms. They are long and jagged lines that etch a heinous picture onto his skin, painting lines of blood across his now sticky and uncomfortable robes. One long gash is carved along the junction between his arm and shoulder, slicing right across the lean muscle of his left bicep. Jiang Cheng hisses through his teeth. 

There isn’t much he remembers. Only jagged fragments of voices and screams, all blending together in morbid symphony. He only knows the yawning cliff behind him and the image of his dead sister staring hauntingly at the empty nothingness underneath him. 

He thinks there had been yelling. Lots of ragged cries sounded up in the crowded plains beneath him. “Jiang Cheng!” they had screamed, with varying degrees of intensity, but all dripping with that same hateful disgust. “Jiang Wanyin! Give us the Stygian Tally!”

Jokes on them. He was trying to do just that. It just so happened to accidentally backfire. Unfortunately. As with most things in his life. 

It wasn't like he was trying to die. The original plan was to destroy the seal and flee back to Yiling.

The original plan turned out to be total bullshit.

He ended up deviating so far off track, that he never even got the chance to righten himself in the proper direction. Since, coincidentally, Jiang Cheng was trying to multitask dying and having his heart broken.

He's not a good multitasker. That's probably why he died. 

Jiang Cheng thinks something happened between his sister’s death and his own inevitable one. Probably some more yelling on everyone else’s part, and some crying on his. He swears that when he tipped his sinful self off that cliff there had been some interference. Someone caught him. He doesn’t remember who– because of course, even after death his memory evades him. But he thinks he saw the slightest flutter of red in the corners of his vision. Blood, he thinks, because he cannot handle the alternative. 

His final moments stand as a haunting tribute to the many promises Jiang Cheng has hoarded and seen wither to dust. He has amassed quite the collection over the years. A memorial of placating promises and empty words, Jiang Cheng would rather forget. 

He knows his mother would be so disappointed to find out that her son was still hung up over some minor grievance committed years ago by a servant. 

The grievance in question being his death. The servant being Wei Wuxian. The minor part being that Wei Wuxian killed him. 

Oh. 

Oh wait.

Yeah, that’s right. He’s dead. Or supposed to be at least. 

He knew there was something off about his current situation. Just a tiny, little, minuscule hitch to the plan.

Isn’t he dead? He’s pretty sure people don’t just survive getting stabbed.

For a moment he contemplates the impossible possibility that he has somehow survived the siege. Maybe through stroke of luck or by the grace of his ancestors. 

Not very likely though. Primarily since Jiang Cheng and “luck” simply cannot coexist, but also because his ancestors were probably rolling around in their graves, cursing the demonic cultivator that he turned out to be. 

As far as Jiang Cheng’s mother was concerned, her son was nothing short of a disappointment.

At least there was one thing he could do right.

It also doesn’t help that Jiang Cheng can’t seem to remember the last time that Wei Wuxian missed dead center on his target, prodigy of their generation that his shixiong was.

If memory serves, dead center was his heart, and target was Jiang Cheng. 

So it’s not very likely he survived Burial Mounds. 

Which really begs the question. 

Why is he still alive? He's quite positive the heavy smell of iron and metal isn't coming from his imagination. 

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. Sweeping a tired gaze across the room, he scans it for clues. The ground beneath him is stained dark with what appears to be a large, intricately drawn array. It is, of course, painted with blood– because fate would find nothing funnier than bringing Jiang Cheng back to life, only to have him drown in a puddle of his own blood. (It technically isn’t his blood, but he’s the one who has to suffer the nausea, goddammit).

He supposes being cut open is a very good explanation for having the scars. 

One mystery solved, only countless more to go. It hasn’t even been a full ten minutes since the universe pulled out its middle finger and shoved it straight up Jiang Cheng’s ass. He thinks it’s only reasonable that he, of all people, get fucked over on his second try. Whoever dictates the pathetic direction of his life must’ve gotten a good kick out of that. What irony– the one time someone remembers Jiang Cheng, he’d have his heart set on being forgotten.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. He fights the urge to cry. Shakily getting up on trembling legs, black dots cloud his vision the second he stands, blurring out the world around him in an empty white. He hates white almost as much as he hates red.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, baring his teeth to combat the sudden spike of pain on his arm. He checks the wound again, carefully scanning the area for further injury. It looks relatively clean, with no signs of infection just yet. Hissing a sigh, Jiang Cheng scouts the area for clean water and a cloth, anything to serve as a makeshift bandage. He finds nothing. The place is empty save for a couple scrolls of parchment hastily pushed into the corner. Jiang Cheng reaches for the paper, fingers staining the pages red with blood. He suppresses a frustrated growl at the blood wetting his hands and instead scans his eyes across the scroll, barely making out the smudged lines of the characters lining it. Soul Swapping Ritual the title reads, with the last half of the word ritual torn at the edges. Underneath that, there’s a large paragraph, largely illegible, and whatever parts can be salvaged, Jiang Cheng doesn’t waste his time figuring it out. He skips to the clearest lines, skimming through well-painted images detailing the ritual before zeroing in on a picture of a mauled arm, eerily similar to his own. The summoner’s final wish is etched onto the body of the summoned. Should the summoned not complete the wish, the body will disintegrate and the original soul, lost.

Jiang Cheng groans. Whatever son-of-a-bitch that had summoned him clearly had a bad case of low self-esteem coupled with the tendency to self-destruct. Quite literally, considering how the individual in question was now, most decidedly, dead. Not that Jiang Cheng could say anything, since, well, he decided to launch himself off a cliff. Same concept, different execution.

He closes his eyes. Deep breaths. 

Now he was starting to sound like that stuffy Lan. 

Huffing a laugh, Jiang Cheng shakily reads through the rest of the parchment and lets his sight linger on the four words at the very bottom. Written in shaky handwriting, it had obviously been a later addition to the text. 

The snake wears gold, it reads, barely legible because of how wobbly the strokes were. Ink is splattered across the page, and Jiang Cheng sucks in a horrified breath when he realizes that the dark rusty color he had mistaken for black, was in fact, a deep red. Yes, the total nut job he had reincarnated in had written those words out in blood. 

He chokes out an incredulous laugh. There might just be someone crazier than him after all.

He squeezes his eyes shut, the deep slashes on his arm coming to mind. That absolute fucker. Whoever had summoned Jiang Cheng had wanted him to see the remnants of the ritual; displaying the consequences of betraying the dead before carving lines out onto their body and exchanging their very soul. For what, Jiang Cheng was not sure yet. But he’d bet a pretty penny that it had something to do with snakes and gold. And what were snakes and gold if not a metaphor for Jin Guangshan and his army of vipers?

“Fuck this,” Jiang Cheng grunts, looking down to glower at his left arm, currently drenched in dried blood and decorated with an ugly gash. He never thought a day would come when he would go to Lanling. Voluntarily. Like some masochist. He’s not sure this counts as willingly per se, but close enough because the other option was to just die and Jiang Cheng didn’t enjoy that experience the first time round. 

There’s a first time for everything, he supposes. 

Liar. This isn’t the only time he’s wanted to go to Koi Tower. 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to think about the warning bells in his brain that sound off whenever he lies. The truth haunts him like the terribly, terribly cruel demon that it was. A blasted creature that shadowed his every step, unrelenting in its advance. On the rare occasions where he gets too philosophical, lost in his own mind, he starts to dwell on the better times, warmer moments in his life where he thinks happiness was well within his grasp. It’s a painful trip down memory lane and makes waking up from that delusion much harder than it needs to be. 

Thinking is a difficult task, Jiang Cheng has come to realize. 

He squares his shoulders, shuffling over to the front of the dingy old room, peeking out the dirty glass window. He thinks he’s in a stable somewhere because there’s a donkey tethered right outside and not a soul for miles in sight. Heaving a sigh, Jiang Cheng drags his sore body to the mass of black wood that made for a makeshift door and pushes heavily against it. As always with the obstacles in his life, the shit doesn’t budge. 

He rams it again, this time angling his body sideways and shoving his good arm forward. The impact is jarring and pain cripples his legs. For a moment, Jiang Cheng feels the whooshing of wind around him, cradling him in an all too familiar embrace. 

The door squeaks ajar with a creaking groan and Jiang Cheng– having just about dislocated his shoulder trying to open it– goes crashing forward. The euphoria that comes with free falling lasts but a moment before the ground tilts on its axis and Jiang Cheng comes face to face with green shrubbery. 

Coincidence. He hates green too. 

He tumbles down, rolling a little before cursing when he lands heavily on the grass. With his breath knocked out of him, Jiang Cheng takes a minute to stare accusing at the blue sky above.

You know, he’s really starting to hate the rainbow.

Closing his eyes, Jiang Cheng tries to orient himself. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the sun is yellow. He has five fingers, five toes, and one miserable, blackened heart. 

He lied, his heart is red. 

Jiang Cheng’s body feels like lead and it takes some effort before he stands upright again, on his two feet that are, thankfully, not maimed. If that bastard had cut gashes on their legs too, Jiang Cheng would’ve castrated them.

Instead, he takes his time to slowly survey the area around him, eyes lighting up when he sees a large well a little ways off from where he had started his rolling descent. The well is made up of a small contingent of stones, all dirty and weathered with age. There’s moss forming in between the crevices and the well itself comes with a stained block of wood tied by a rope to a flimsy bucket. Buy a well, get a bucket free, Jiang Cheng supposes. At least it comes with a rope. He could always swap the bucket out for his neck. 

He’s joking. Of course he is, he doesn’t like the thought of dying twice. It takes too much effort. 

He doesn’t want to die at the hand of his killer a second time. 

Ambling over, Jiang Cheng peeks to see the inside of the well in relatively good shape. “At least there’s water,” Jiang Cheng mutters, sending a grateful prayer to the gods when the bucket he reels contains a small amount of clear, clean liquid. Taking the water, Jiang Cheng slowly cleans his wounds, ripping off strands of fabric from his robes before rubbing them in the water to get rid of stains. He takes the ripped cloth and bandages the gashes on his arm, tightening them before he stands. 

Satisfied with the dull ache, a sharp contrast from the stinging pain just moments ago, Jiang Cheng makes his way to his only mode of transportation. He gives the donkey an appraising look. 

“You’ll do,” he mutters, reaching around and hoisting himself up with difficulty. This body is weaker than his old one. It feels fragile and foreign– like a soft breeze could tip him over. He twists his body, hands reaching to rid the donkey of the ropes, binding it in place. His new fingers fumble uselessly before finally untying the obscene number of knots the rope had been coiled into. 

Jiang Cheng pats the donkey and spurs it forward, cursing when the stupid thing continues on in a leisurely gait. “Come on, you ass. Hurry to civilization so I can ask someone about Lanling Jin,” Jiang Cheng cries. 

His pleas are met with only the slow clopping of hooves against the dirt path. As expected. He’s talking to an ass.

***

When he sees the statue of the spurned goddess, Jiang Cheng feels a sort of bone-deep terror that he hasn’t experienced since he watched his sister die in front of him. Goddess indeed, she lives up to her name as she terrorizes the juniors, her arms striking with a kind of clean precision that shouldn’t be possible for someone her size. Armed with hundreds of tons of solid rock, the statue is ruthless in its advance. Her fists swipe around hungrily, fingers crushing whatever victims she catches into a fine dust.

Jiang Cheng watches in horror as living people are turned into powdery bones. He feels sick just looking at her and his mouth opens in a wordless scream when he spies a flash of gold robes, a little too close for comfort. 

That child, golden and radiant, looks so much like his sister that it makes him physically ill. He can barely even remember the contours of Jiang Yanli’s face, and here this pipsqueak is, carrying the features of the woman Jiang Cheng’s been missing nonstop for the entire week he has been alive. It’s truly appalling, how unfair the universe is. 

“Watch out,” Jiang Cheng hears himself scream anyway, his mouth betraying him like the damned thing it was. Fuck his conscience, he doesn’t want to save this kid, goddammit! It doesn’t– it shouldn’t – matter to him what happens to the spawn of Lanling Jin. He knows any child growing up under the tutelage of Jin Guangshan wouldn’t hesitate to strike him dead where he stands. 

It’s not just Jin Guangshan. Yunmeng boys would be out for his blood just as well. 

Jiang Cheng’s lips twist into a bitter smile. He’s had a lifetime to come to terms with it, but still, Yunmeng remains a sore subject. It’s been that way since the burnings, and even now it hangs over him like a heavy cloud of smoke, lurking in the dark recesses of his mind. 

He tries not to dwell on it too much. So between his intrusive thoughts and the ongoing battle– Jiang Cheng chooses to focus his attention back on the field. Even a stone goddess is better than this sharp-nosedive into dark, uncertain territory. 

Surveying the situation, Jiang Cheng finds himself once again drawn to the Jin boy. He can’t help himself, the child looks so much like a carbon copy of Jiang Yanli, it’s almost as if his sister has risen from the dead. 

The kid’s busy aiming his third arrow, pulling back the bowstring before knocking down a solid bullseye dead center on the statue’s forehead. The hit joins two others, already lodged deep within the rock. 

He’s dancing away, that little Jin– smoothly avoiding the goddess’s advancements his way. Hands already reaching behind him, he starts notching another arrow, back straight and form impeccable, an arrogant expression on his face that Jiang Cheng finds oddly familiar. 

For a moment, the Jin looks so painfully like Jin Zixuan that it makes Jiang Cheng throw up a little in his mouth. It’s been a long time since he last saw that peacock and he’s managed to partially erase those features from his memory. A refresher was not welcome. 

Jiang Cheng groans, just about ready to look away when something catches his eye. A glare of metal on the boy’s waist commands Jiang Cheng’s attention and he sucks in a sharp breath when he realizes what it is. 

A clarity bell. That Jin is wearing a Jiang bell. 

It hits Jiang Cheng like a stack of bricks, the fog suddenly clearing from his mind like it would’ve much earlier if he wasn’t tired and deprived of much-needed sleep. 

A clarity bell, a Jiang Yanli look-alike, a rendition of the peacock. An idiotic little whippersnapper on the verge of getting himself killed by a stone statue.

Jiang Cheng pales. 

Oh yes. His nephew definitely inherited some of Wei Wuxian’s genes. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, sending a quick prayer to the heavens. For all the rashness Jin Rulan displays (certainly all his father’s bad genes at work here), there has to be some of his mother’s self-perseveration in the mix too, right? 

Not much of it, was there? Otherwise, she wouldn’t have died. 

Jiang Cheng groans. “Move out the way, kid!” He screams at Jin Rulan, “Don’t you have an uncle? Let him fucking handle it!” 

As expected, he’s ignored. Jin Rulan tosses an indignant glare his way, pompous features curling in distaste before he twists back into action, bow readied and arrow notched. The brat seems to be invigorated– as if Jiang Cheng’s words were motivation and not the blatant warning that it was. Stupid Jins. Stupid nephew. Stupid Wei Wuxian. 

Figures A-Jie’s son would be just as foolish selfless as she was. 

Jiang Cheng takes matters into his own hands.

He launches himself at a disciple in purple robes, dragging the boy away from the battle and patting him down for a flare. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t find one, he lifts his head up, glowering. 

“Where the fuck are your flares,” he grits out, flipping open collars and tearing apart layers of robes. The poor disciple looks like he’s ready to faint, probably because Jiang Cheng just ducked down to flip back the hem of his robes and take a peek underneath. (You know, in case Yunmeng still liked strapping flares to their body).

Jiang Cheng finds nothing, of course. So he stands up and levels the kid with the most serious look he can. “Where are your flares?” He asks, gesturing wildly toward the stone goddess, “you can’t fucking beat that shit on your own.” 

The kid looks lightheaded. “S-Sewn to m-my robes,” he whispers, shakily pulling one from his sleeve. Fuck, of all places– Jiang Cheng just had to skip over the most obvious one. 

He grabs the flare, fumbling with it for a bit before lighting it skyward, watching anxiously as the purple explodes into a lotus-shaped cloud.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters again, turning around and going back to staring at his nephew. “If that fucking brat dies because he didn’t listen to me, I’m going to break both his legs.” 

“WATCH OUT!” He hollers again, as Jin Rulan narrowly scrambles out of the way of an incoming punch. A second slower and he would’ve been beaten into cement. There was a rockslide happening above his head, after all. “Use your fucking sword! That bow’s not doing shit close distance!” 

Jiang Cheng pants, frustration and hopelessness warring with each other in his head. His fucking core is so weak. No way he stands a chance even picking up a sword, much less wielding one. He’d be lucky he doesn’t trip and fall over himself in his haste to join the battle. Besides singing to summon the dead, there’s nothing else he can do to help. 

He takes a shaky inhale, the thought of singing setting off a slew of warning bells in his head. Not only because Jiang Cheng has an innate fear of his own voice, but because he isn’t sure he can even control the onslaught of resentment that comes with his demonic cultivation. 

He used to think that his voice could control the spirits. That notion was quickly dispelled when he was torn apart by the very resentment he cultivated. 

Jiang Cheng lets out a frustrated groan. Where the fuck was Wei Wuxian when you needed him? 

“Hey–” he starts, turning toward the disciple beside him. Thank god he was still standing because Jiang Cheng had honestly forgotten about him for a moment there. “You can fight right?” He asks, doing a quick survey of the boy from head to toe. 

Was that kid peeing himself? 

“I-I- d-don’t–” 

“Ok good,” Jiang Cheng interrupts, placing a hand on the small of the boy’s back. “You see that brat in gold? Protect him, k? Or I’ll break your legs too,” he says, pushing his arm forward, damn near tripping himself in the process. Jiang Cheng tilts, his face teasing the dirt below him. His scrawny body balances precariously for a moment before he rightens himself, wiping a bead of sweat dripping down his brow. His arm feels like it took a dive into the nine levels of hell and Jiang Cheng’s pretty sure he pulled a tendon in there somewhere. 

No matter. The deed is done. 

The kid stumbles onto the battlefield. 

“Remember, protect the gold,” Jiang Cheng calls after him. “Keep that kiddo safe until that useless, lazy, bum, We–”

“I SAW A FLARE!” someone interrupts him– voice annoyingly bright and cheery, so achingly familiar that Jiang Cheng can’t even help the dopey, stupid smile that suddenly splits his face. He looks on fondly as that bumbling fool takes quick note of the situation before promptly stomping his way over and grabbing Jin Rulan’s shoulder. He drags their nephew away, making a quick motion for Yunmeng Jiang to retreat. A fuzzy feeling blooms inside Jiang Cheng. 

Was this how A-Jie felt when she watched him and Wei Wuxian bond? 

“A-Ling I know I said you needed to work on your game but I didn’t mean for you to practice it on a rock!”

The fuzzy feeling dissipates. 

***

For someone who's supposed to be midway into his thirties, Wei Wuxian looks like he’s barely aged at all. He looks as good as ever: strong, lean build and timeless smile. Still the same cheerful voice and blinding grin that makes Jiang Cheng sick with envy. 

Polished sword and purple robes clinging to the hard planes of his figure, Wei Wuxian commands the attention of everyone around him. His disciples look at him like he’s a god descended from the heavens, the look of reverence and devotion on their faces leaving behind a terribly familiar aftertaste. 

“Missed me?” the bastard calls out, a cocky grin on his face that looks far too confident for his own good. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look out of place next to piercing eyes and a chiseled jaw, only serving to add appeal to Wei Wuxian’s already rugged beauty. 

Jiang Cheng fights to urge to answer him. Decades of habit have him parting his lips, a retort cocked at the ready. ‘You wish,’ he wants to shout back, rolling his eyes. He can already imagine his expression. A slight scowl will start blooming across his face, twisting his features into an ugly grimace that’s so hateful it comes out looking– fond. 

He lied. He did miss Wei Wuxian. 

Jiang Cheng swallows it down though. Because he isn’t interested in dying a second time. 

They are not the same as decades prior, not nearly as close and sure of themselves as they were in the spring of their youth. Jagged cracks of time have forced them apart, erasing whatever confidence they once had in themselves and each other. The Wei Wuxian of his childhood would run up and hug Jiang Cheng, scooting close even when met with half-hearted efforts to push him away. The Wei Wuxian of the present would slice Jiang Cheng open with a sword, no hesitation. Might even laugh as Jiang Cheng’s innards spilled onto the bloodied ground below. 

And Jiang Cheng isn’t ready to croak yet. Not really because he’s averse to the idea of dying, but more so because he’s against having to die in such a gruesome manner. A manner where he plummeted off a cliff and physically combusted because of resentment. 

A manner where he died by Wei Wuxian’s hand. 

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. He lets the voices wash over him, soothing him with their low hum. 

One voice in particular grates at him. 

“Rest assured kiddos, the ladies don’t stand a chance against me,” an obnoxious voice declares, dripping with arrogance. 

Neither do the men, Jiang Cheng thinks, with no small degree of bitterness. Doesn’t matter, does it? Wei Wuxian doesn’t look at either. 

He turns and sees Wei Wuxian shooting a saucy wink at his disciples, face sobering for a moment before he grabs his sword and darts off, a wicked grin on his face as he charges into the fray.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. Still as dramatic as ever, but the action is so Wei Wuxian of him that Jiang Cheng can’t help but soften. Not that he’ll ever admit it, but Jiang Cheng thinks he’s come to enjoy tolerate Wei Wuxian’s antics. Though, he’d rather die than feed that bastard’s ego. (Not that it needed feeding, it was already grossly obese as it stood).

But for all the smack Wei Wuxian talks, the fact remains that he’s a prodigy of his generation. Watching him fight is breathtaking. Wei Wuxian’s sword flashes as he busies himself with the stone goddess, Suibian glaring as it easily slices solid rock. With fluid, graceful strokes, Wei Wuxian’s attacks are merciless, courtesy of fighting a war. Like an extension of his body, he threads his sword between the gaps of stone, methodically chipping away at the rock. He dances around with the same easy elegance from his youth, feet sweeping silent arcs in the dirt. 

Look at him. So graceful now that he’s not busy cutting Jiang Cheng in half. 

A soft thump in the grass behind them announces the arrival of new guests, and before long, a loud cheer sounds up from the disciples around him. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, dreading and anticipating this moment in equal measure. He steels himself, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable trip down memory lane. 

When he blinks away the fog, the flashing purple of Yunmeng Jiang is joined by glimpses of blue, white, green, and yellow– moving so fast the myriad of colors blur into a dirty brown. 

Jiang Cheng sucks in a sharp breath. If watching Wei Wuxian fight had him awestruck, then watching all five of them at once left him at a total loss for words. 

Five figures moving so fast the eye could barely track them, swords clanging as they parry and thrust. 

Lan Xichen whips Liebing out like a bullet, the soft, insistent melody purging the resentment surrounding it. His feet dart around attempts by the goddess to grab him, fingers dancing down the length of the xiao. His robes flow majestically behind him, blue and white fluttering softly in the wind. Those godlike features are set in a mask of concentration, soft lips pressed into a thin line. The goddess kicks up a cloud of dust, sweeping Lan Xichen into it. Liebing’s tune pauses as Lan Xichen forgoes his flute for a sword, changing tactics as he gives up trying to blow an instrument in the middle of a dust storm. Instead, he pulls out Shuoyue, beads of sweat starting to drip down his brow. 

God Jiang Cheng wants to lick him. 

Beside Lan Xichen, a figure moves in a blur of deep green, so dark it bordered gray. Nie Mingjue’s Baxia slices through the air, swings heavy but effortlessly demolishing the rough cuts of stone. His muscles flex as he slashes forward, inching closer to the heart of the rock goddess. The statue’s fist catches on the hem of his sleeves, fingers curling before ripping the material in half. Nie Mingjue dances out of the way, robes torn and buff shoulders now exposed, heaving from exertion and adrenaline. His face twists into a snarl, his mouth curled and teeth bared, looking every bit the battle-hardened warrior that he was. 

Ah. Jiang Cheng is very familiar with that look. 

To Nie Mingjue’s right, a flash of gold weaves its way between the legs of the statue, narrowly swerving out of the way whenever a foot came whizzing past. Jin Guangyao wields Hensheng with vicious accuracy, leaving long gashes along the foot and leg area of the goddess. He doesn’t swing the sword deep enough to cut away chunks of rock, instead opting for shallower wounds all across the statue. His arms were starting to tremble from the effort and even from his current vantage point, a few meters away, Jiang Cheng has a clear view of the lean muscles on Jin Guangyao’s back. 

Jiang Cheng regrets ever thinking Jin Guangyao was little. Clearly, he is anything but. 

On Jin Guangyao’s right, standing between him and Wei Wuxian is the righteous Lan Wangji himself. For all that he is the bane of Jiang Cheng’s existence, even Jiang Cheng must admit that Lan Wangji makes for a stunning picture, cold face and icy glare completely focused on the strands of his guqin. He plucks at them with elegant grace, long fingers pulling the strings in a complex dance too quick for Jiang Cheng to follow. The statue cringes at the music, its arm sweeping out in Lan Wangji’s direction. Its fingers brush the ends of Lan Wangji’s ribbon, skimming the top of his head. Lan Wangji reacts fast, a chord already laced in his hand before he cleanly slices off three stone fingers. Any slower, and his brains would’ve been crushed into pulp. 

Serves him fucking right, Jiang Cheng thinks, gnawing his bottom lip worriedly. He watches the men fight in tandem, windswept hair and light footwork rendering a scene straight out of a fairytale. Jiang Cheng remembers he used to hear stories of water nymphs from the roadside vendors of Lotus Pier. He dismissed the story then, only makes sense for it to come back and bite him in the ass now.

He rolls his eyes, turning away to glance over at his nephew. Jin Rulan’s robes are torn and ripped at the edges but he appears to be otherwise unharmed. A reverent look crosses his nephew’s face as the boy stares at the ongoing battle, utterly entranced by the clash of blades. 

Jiang Cheng snorts. Least the kid has taste.

A breeze whips past him and Jiang Cheng startles for a moment before it registers that there should definitely be no wind in this kind of humid heat. He turns, catching sight of a solid fist, hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. Breakneck speed indeed because if Jiang Cheng hadn’t had years of discipline carefully ingrained in him, he would’ve been subject to a very painful death.

Twisting out of the way, he whips his head around in shock. The statue locks eyes with him, its face curled in a snarl and arm still extended. For a minute, everything stops. Everyone turns to look at Jiang Cheng: whose eyeballs have damn near bulged out of their socket in disbelief, and the statue: whose countenance grows chillier by the minute.

Holy fuck, Jiang Cheng thinks, laughing hysterically at his luck. He’s being targeted by a fucking rock sculpture. This can only be a cosmic joke. Because go ahead and kill the perfectly harmless bystander when your existence is actively being threatened by five other hunks of meat.

Truly. His sister was right when she said Jiang Cheng was one in a million.

As if on cue, the statue launches itself at him. Fists swinging and legs taking on a sudden burst of speed, almost as if it were suddenly rejuvenated. All three hundred tons of solid rock charge at him, fingers outstretched.

And Jiang Cheng, the mighty Sandu Shengshou, terrorizer of his generation that he is, hightails his ass out of there.

His feet scrape against the dirt as he pushes himself forward, chancing a glance back before bolting faster, eyes glued to the ground in front of him. The memory of the statue’s face, distorted into an ugly scowl, burns into his memory.

The goddess’s mouth parts in rage. “You!” it bellows, voice scratchy and rough. Likely because, it was, you know, a talking rock.

Jiang Cheng can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. 

A guttural scream sounds behind him, the thumping of footsteps heavy against the dirt road.

The statue lets out a terrifying screech, creaking and groaning as the rock scrapes against itself in agonizing harmony.

“YOU IMPUDENT HUMAN! How dare you steal my heart,” it howls, fury palpable in its voice, “YOU REEK OF IT! I can smell the darkness clinging to you!”

Jiang Cheng decides to cry.

He fucking hates running in this new body. Every breath he takes spikes pain in his ribcage, physically dragging across his lungs. It hurts even worse than being ripped apart by resentment.

Jiang Cheng curses under his breath. A soft hum escapes him, the first notes of a melody dragging across his tongue. He keeps his voice low when he sings, barely audible over the sound of his own panting.

The statue stops, head cocked. It stills, body perfectly silent before letting out a loud wail. Resentment bleeds out from inside it, the smooth contours of the rock cracking as Jiang Cheng weaves a low, haunting song. The melody is fast, faint, whispered at a furious pace as he commands strands of resentful energy.

Jiang Cheng’s voice wavers a little as a familiar wave sweeps him under, the tide washing over him and submerging him in the water. Darkness drags at him, skeletal fingers drowning him in its murky depths. Jiang Cheng feels his control slipping, the age-old panic clogging his throat. He can’t breathe. The resentment floods his senses, suffocating him.

The song stops.

Jiang Cheng turns around.

Behind him, the disciples are murmuring amongst themselves, pointing a confused finger at the pile of collapsed rubble that was once the stone statue. They ignore Jiang Cheng, not sparing him a second glance as they titter nervously. He watches as they exchange theories– ‘maybe the resentment tore it apart,’ ‘or maybe it ran out of energy,’ ‘oh, I bet it got scared because of our sect leader!’ ‘It might have escaped somewhere else.’

Waving their hands animatedly, the juniors argue over plausible explanations.

Jiang Cheng breathes a sigh of relief, the drowning feeling from earlier lifting from his chest. He pulled this off without getting suspected, he thinks giddily. For once, luck was on his side.

Looking up, Jiang Cheng searches for his nephew, expecting to see the boy well-tended to by his peers.

Instead, he’s met with the most unwelcome sight. Across from him, five pairs of eyes stare unblinkingly back. Five different sets of eyes, intent on burning a hole through his head.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw clenches, Lan Xichen’s smile brightens, Nie Mingjue’s shoulder stiffens, Jin Guangyao’s face softens, and Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow.

Jiang Cheng snorts bitterly to himself, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside him. Now they look at him?

***

In the end, only three of them approach, the rest standing a safe distance away. Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue turn their backs to him, each busying themselves with their respective sects. Their faces are set in a contrite look, bodies tense and resolutely not looking Jiang Cheng’s way.

He expected it, of course. But it still hurts regardless. He supposes that this, at least, is preferable to being killed.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. He’s been doing that a lot recently but it’s just easier to surrender and take the darkness for what it was: a quick reprieve from the inevitable interrogation that would soon ensue because Jiang Cheng is too much of a bitch to accept reality. Never courageous enough, never good enough, never enough. Deep breaths, he tells himself, willing away the last vestiges of the resentment crawling up his throat. He can still taste the ashy feeling of it on his tongue. 

Jiang Cheng opens his eyes. “Lan-er Gongzi, Zewu Jun, Jin Gongzi,” he whispers, nodding at each man in turn. “An honor.”

Lan Wangji’s hand comes down hard on his wrist, grip bruising. He looks at Jiang Cheng for a minute, face ice cold and motionless, golden eyes blazing with something unknown. He must see something on Jiang Cheng’s face because the next second, Lan Wangji is dragging him away, fingers so tight, Jiang Cheng has to paw at them before they cut off circulation to his arm. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, incredulously. “This is highly inappropriate behavior for the esteemed second jade,” he cries, looking back desperately for help. “I demand that you release me,” he declares hotly, a begging look on his face as he glances over his shoulder. Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao only arch a brow at him, content to follow closely from behind. The message is clear: Jiang Cheng is on his own. 

The fucking traitors.

“Wait,” he squawks, trying to pull away from Lan Wangji. The fucker only glares at him for a second before adding pressure and yanking Jiang Cheng forward. Jiang Cheng stumbles, the arm not clamped in Lan Wangji’s hand windmilling to righten himself. He hisses when the movement pulls at the wound on his shoulder. Of course, just his luck. Stuck with Lan Wangji and injured. He must’ve been a menace in his previous life if his karma was this fucking bad.

Lan Wangji stops abruptly. “You are injured,” he intones, eyes narrowing at Jiang Cheng’s wound.

Jiang Cheng bites back his retort. No shit I’m injured, Sherlock. Did you think that this was an elaborate joke? Me and you both then buddy. Jiang Cheng snaps his mouth shut to stop the scowl. Unlike some rather unsavory individuals, he has self-control. 

Behind them, Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao catch up, both of their faces furrowing in worry when they see the blood bleeding through Jiang Cheng’s already stained robes.

“What happened?” Lan Xichen asks, a rare frown on his face. “Why are you hurt?” 

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, twisting out of Lan Wangji’s hold and covering his shoulder with his now freed hand. “I tripped,” he deadpans. 

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Wangji says from beside him, grabbing ahold of Jiang Cheng’s hand once more and pulling him forward, albeit gentler this time round. 

“Woah there,” Jiang Cheng cries, shaking his head frantically in protest. “I thought we were past the caveman tendencies,” he says, looking pointedly at the bruises already starting to bloom on his wrist. “Good to know you still don’t have a shred of human decency,” he mutters, grumbling under his breath. He turns his nose up when he sees Lan Wangji level him with an unimpressed look. He’ll admit to nothing.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen remarks from Jiang Cheng’s left. When the hell did he get so close? “Restrain yourself. You are hurting him.” 

Lan Wangji huffs out a breath, looking very much put upon. He does, however, loosen his grip a little so Jiang Cheng counts that as a win. 

He shoots a winning smile at Lan Xichen, blushing when his impromptu savior returns the gesture with a bright grin of his own. Fuck, Jiang Cheng needs to get ahold of himself. He subtly tries to tug at the collar of his robes, remarking offhandedly about the heat.

He ignores the knowing looks all three men shoot him. 

Fucking traitors. The lot of them.

They come to stop at a small, private clearing in the woods a little ways off from the initial dirt road and Jiang Cheng walks right into asshat number one, head bumping into a ramrod back. Lan Wangji reaches an arm out to steady him, his hands gently rubbing away at the bump on Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Are you alright?” asshat number two asks him, reaching long, nimble fingers toward Jiang Cheng’s wound, gently transferring spiritual energy until the ugly gash fades away into a healed scar.

“Peachy,” Jiang Cheng replies, rolling his eyes at Lan Xichen. 

“Let me see,” he says, twisting Jiang Cheng’s arm so he can assess the surrounding area for damage. He frowns when his hands brush the scarred tissue, presumably left by this body’s previous owner. 

“You’ll need ointment for that,” Lan Xichen muses, reaching down to rummage his Qiankun pouch for remedies. “I’ll see if I have some with me.”

Jiang Cheng tries to tug his arm away. “No need,” he protests, yanking his arm back. “I’m fine.”

“Are not,” Lan Wangji counters, taking Jiang Cheng’s hand again. He pries Jiang Cheng’s clenched fist open, straightening his arm for him and looking expectantly in Lan Xichen’s direction.

Jiang Cheng makes a noise of protest. “Let go of me,” he huffs, “I told you I’m fine.” 

Lan Wangji frowns at him. “Be still,” he commands, ignoring him. “Brother will help.”

Jiang Cheng splutters. “Are you always like this?” he asks, nostrils flaring. It’s the third time today he’s been manhandled– 3000 rules of restraint be damned. For all of Gusu Lan’s supposed strictness, Lan-er Gongzi doesn’t seem to be taking any of it to heart. Clearly, something went awry during his development phase. 

“Always like what?” Jin Guangyao asks, a most decidedly amused expression on his face. “You mean mother-henning like no tomorrow? Don’t worry, Er-ge does this to everyone,” he answers, coming up to place a soft hand on Jiang Cheng’s forehead. 

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitches violently. 

“Or at least,” Jin Guangyao quickly amends, sensing the danger. “Hanguang Jun is only like this to you.” 

Ah, so Lan Wangji has upgraded. To Hanguang Jun, no less–

“But you know how Er-ge is,” Jin Guangyao continues, laughing nervously when Jiang Cheng’s smile sweetens. “He’s polite to everyone but this is the first time I’ve seen him such a nervous wreck.” 

“San-di,” Lan Xichen nudges, eyes pleading for Jin Guangyao to stop. “You flatter me.” 

Jiang Cheng turns to face him. “No, no, Zewu Jun, Jin Gongzi is correct. Don’t sell yourself short, how could the honorable Zewu Jun be anything less?”

Lan Xichen titters anxiously, waving away Jiang Cheng’s words. “Truly,” he insists, “You flatter me too much.” 

“I wouldn’t dare. Surely the righteous Zewu Jun is deserving of all the praise he gets.” 

Lan Xichen fidgets, shifting his weight as he gives a nervous chuckle. “I wouldn’t dare,” he echoes, holding his hands up placatingly. 

“Wanyin,” a voice calls to his right and Jiang Cheng spins around, locking eyes with a thoroughly entertained Jin Guangyao. “Stop this, Er-ge looks like he’s ready to cry,” he scolds, stifling a laugh. 

Wan–

Wanyin– 

Jiang Cheng feels faint. “Who are you talking about,” he asks, feigning surprise, “Who is Wanyin?” 

Jin Guangyao frowns at him. 

“You are Wanyin,” a deep voice declares from behind him, and Jiang Cheng whips his head back to see Lan Wangji– no, he’s Hanguang Jun now– with his brows furrowed and a rare display of emotion on his ice-cold face. 

Jiang Cheng shakes his head, “Sorry, ‘fraid you got the wrong person,” he says, taking a step back. “I’m no Wanyin.” 

“Really?” Jin Guangyao challenges, “Then who are you? What’s your name?” 

Jiang Cheng swallows nervously. “I- uh,” he starts, wracking his brain for an answer. Apparently, sacrifice rituals don’t give back memories from the previous owner. Shocker. It’s not like this thing’s been tried and tested before.

“I d-don’t,” Jiang Cheng stutters, frantically trying to remember. Now his brain refuses to work? “I d-don’t… really know?” he finishes, voice tapering off in question. 

The silence is deafening. 

Jiang Cheng scrambles to do damage control. “I m-mean like I don’t remember. I got injured, remember? I think I lost all my memories too because I don’t remember anything. Name, family, life– all that’s nada. It’s like I’m a clean slate.”

“But you remember Hanguang Jun, Er-ge, and I?” Jin Guangyao supplies, arching a fine brow at him. “You don’t remember your name but you know ours?” 

Jiang Cheng glares at him. 

The silence is answer enough. 

***

Mo Xuanyu, as Jiang Cheng comes to know the owner of this body, is a bastard. Specifically, Jin Guangshan’s bastard. Not surprising considering how the man will fuck just about anything that moves, but quite inconvenient considering Jiang Cheng has the hots for his other bastard, who just so happens to be Mo Xuanyu’s half-brother. 

Not that Jin Guangshan would give a damn, seeing as he’s currently buried six feet underground and very much dead. 

Jiang Cheng has had a couple revelations now since he first awakened in this new body, the most prominent of which is the fact that he’s alive again. It’s pretty hard to beat reincarnation through blood sacrifice but Jiang Cheng thinks hearing of Jin Guangshan’s death and the mantle being passed to Jin Guangyao (of all people, the kid Jin Guangshan hated the most? Honestly the old coot would be turning in his grave) – comes pretty fucking close. 

He always knew Jin Guangyao was a nifty fellow. Ten silvers say that Jin Guangshan’s death wasn’t actually the accident it was made out to be. Not a chance in hell that lecherous tramp would die in the middle of a good fucking. Jin Guangshan would escape from the reaper himself if it meant getting off to girls half his age. No way he actually croaked at the pinnacle of sex. 

Jiang Cheng has no doubts this was an elaborate scheme completely orchestrated by Jin Guangyao and company. (He’s not pointing fingers but Lan Xichen looked a little too smug breaking the news).

As such, he shoots the newly crowned chief cultivator a firm, approving smile. “Good job,” he says, nodding proudly in Jin Guangyao’s direction. “Should’ve put a hit on him ages ago.” 

Jin Guangyao arches a fine brow. “Can I take that as a threat? Bold of you to voice support in favor of the illustrious sect leader Jin’s death in front of his only living son. This is a crime equivalent to treason,” he supplies, a faintly amused look on his face. “I could have you arrested right now.” 

Jiang Cheng snorts. “It’s even more bold of you to assume that you’re his only living son. Not a chance in hell there’s not another mini Jin running around somewhere carrying that old coot’s disastrous genes.” 

He pauses, mulling over his words. “I mean, not you of course, or your nephew– not that he’s Jin Guangshan’s son, but well, Mo Xuanyu exists doesn’t he–” 

“A-Cheng,” Jin Guangyao cuts him off, a slow smile starting to spread across his face. And– oh shit – Jiang Cheng is so fucking screwed. He forgot Jin Guangyao had dimples. “I’m glad you think I don’t have, as you put it, ‘the old coot’s disastrous genes.’”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome,” Jiang Cheng nods absentmindedly– Did Jin Guangyao’s dimples have dimples? Why were there so many dimples? One was already distracting enough, never mind two. 

“A-Cheng,” Jin Guangyao says again, eyes twinkling. 

“Yes?” Jiang Cheng asks, titling his head in question before abruptly freezing in place. A-Cheng? 

Did he just–

“Jiang Wanyin,” a deep voice intones. Short and flat– unmistakably Lan Wangji.

Fuck.

Jiang Cheng sinks to his knees, pawing at the dirt beneath him. He wants to dig a hole, crawl into it, and never come back out. 

A firm hand stills his movements, and Jiang Cheng lifts his head to see Lan Wangji looking back at him. The older man’s lips are curled into a small smile, icy countenance softening around the edges as he gently takes Jiang Cheng into his arms. 

“Wanyin,” he whispers into Mo Xuanyu’s hair. “You came back.” 

Is–

Is Lan Wangji hugging him? 

Jiang Cheng thinks he’s going to faint. 

Since when–

Didn’t they hate each other? He knows they fucked but he thought– 

"Come to Gusu with me," Lan Wangji says, pulling back to cup Jiang Cheng's face in his hands. "Will explain to Shufu."

Floundering, Jiang Cheng splutters as his face alternates between shades of red and purple. He can’t decide between breaking out into hysterical laughter and kissing the smugness right off Lan Wangji. He wants to slap Lan Wangji’s mouth. With his own. 

Before he can choose (which if he’s being honest, he’d definitely go with the latter) – he's being swept up in another embrace, lathered with the smell of gentians. 

“Wangji's right,” another voice joins in, this one softer, much less annoying. “You can come with us to Cloud Recesses. We can say that you're a new recruit,” Lan Xichen murmurs, sinking down beside them and wrapping his arms around the two, the usually calm look on his face replaced by something absolutely predatory.

Jin Guangyao frowns. "Wait a minute," he protests, "What about Lanling? Why can't A-Cheng come with me to Lanling?" 

Lan Wangji glares at him. 

"Now, now San-di," Lan Xichen placates. "We both know Gusu is much safer than Koi Tower. No gossip allowed, remember?"

Jin Guangyao snorts. "No gossip?" he drawls, arching a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

Lan Xichen has the decency to look away, chastised. He scratches his head sheepishly. "There's not that many wagging tongues. Shufu has cracked down on the rules recently." 

Jin Guangyao scoffs. "Well I'm sure I can explain A-Cheng's presence just fine. No one will be suspicious."

Lan Wangji's glare intensifies. "No," he says, petulantly grabbing Jiang Cheng's hand. "Wanyin will come to Gusu." 

Lan Xichen nods. "Yeah," he tacks on. "A-Cheng is safer with us." 

Jin Guangyao's nostrils flare. "Lanling is a perfectly fin-"

He cuts off, yelping. 

"What the hell?" He curses, spinning around to scowl at Lan Wangji's retreating arm. "Did you just push me?" 

Lan Wangji wisely does not respond. 

Jiang Cheng lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head in denial. He feels lightheaded, on the verge of fainting. His arm hurts again. Maybe he needs to find a healer. Or an exorcist. Probably the exorcist because Lan Wangji, he’s certain, has definitely been possessed. 

Jiang Cheng puts a hand on the older man’s forehead, checking his temperature. He makes sure to skirt clear of the ribbon though, because well– married to Lan Wangji? His mother would be cheering in her grave. 

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng mutters, absentmindedly, “your temperature feels normal.” 

Lan Wangji shoots him a flat look.

He’s not feverish? What–

No fucking way. 

Lan-er Gongzi–

Gusu’s very own–

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Who let Lan Wangji get drunk? Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.” 

***

“A-Cheng!” Wei Wuxian chirps, slinging a bony elbow around his neck, the full weight of his body collapsing and practically hanging off of Jiang Cheng’s back, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. For someone attempting murder, Jiang Cheng thinks his shixiong’s being rather nonchalant about the whole thing and he says as much, rolling his eyes at the betrayed look on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“A-Cheng!” he shrieks, throwing himself at Jiang Cheng. “A-Cheng, you love me!” Wei Wuxian protests, grubby fingers latching onto every inch of barred skin he can reach. 

Jiang Cheng knees him in the gut in answer. 

That sets Wei Wuxian off, and the fucker launches himself into a full-blown attack with an outraged squawk. “Cheng Cheng!” he whines, locking his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck and pulling back. “Cheng Cheng, that hurt you know!” 

Jiang Cheng gasps for breath. “Good,” he mutters, pawing at the chokehold Wei Wuxian has on him. “That’s the idea.” 

Wei Wuxian pouts, arms tightening for a brief moment before he relaxes, allowing Jiang Cheng to escape from his hold. Escape he does, because the next second, Jiang Cheng has their positions reversed, flipped over until his legs are locked tight and he’s straddling Wei Wuxian.  

They’re both panting, Jiang Cheng with a scowl on his face that he tries desperately to make intimidating. He fails miserably and all that gets him is a loud, obnoxious laugh from his disgrace of a brother. 

“Ah, Cheng Cheng,” Wei Wuxian snickers, his hands coming up to rest on Jiang Cheng’s waist. “So bold of you to do this out in the open, eh?” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “What would Madam Yu say if she saw you now?” 

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hisses, making to move away. “I’ll leave if you don’t like this.” 

Wei Wuxian lets out a bereft cry. “No,” he wails, hands digging into Jiang Cheng’s side. “Don’t leave, Cheng Cheng! What will this shixiong do without his favorite shimei?” 

“Whose your shimei!” Jiang Cheng exclaims hotly, looking away as his cheeks color a pretty pink. “You’re the shimei here!” 

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Yes yes,” he murmurs, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Then what will this shimei do without his big, strong, brother here to warm him up?” 

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes and glowers pointedly.

Wei Wuxian chuckles and pinches his reddened cheeks in answer. 

“Alright, alright,” Wei Wuxian concedes, “I suppose I’ll just have to freeze to death then,” he says, bottom lip poking out in a pout. “My Cheng Cheng is so cruel to me!” 

Jiang Cheng pokes him square in the chest. “Shut up,” he mutters, rolling his eyes before sitting up, “We can’t let people see us, you know that.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile dims. He huffs out a sigh but lifts himself until he’s upright again, standing before Jiang Cheng as he extends a hand toward the ground. “Alright, you nag,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose, “We’ll get up then.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs and takes the hand, leaning forward until he has his feet planted firmly under him. He gets up, dusting the dirt from his robes. “Come on, you oaf,” he says, ushering Wei Wuxian along. “We’re going to be late for dinner.” 

Wei Wuxian brightens. “Yes,” he crows, latching onto Jiang Cheng’s hand, “Let’s go so I can fatten you up! My Cheng Cheng’s a growing boy!” 

“Whose your Cheng Cheng!” Jiang Cheng scowls, flustering. “Shut up and move,” he scolds, twisting Wei Wuxian’s ear.

He ignores his shixiong’s yowl and marches forward, face beet red and expression thunderous.

He wants to throttle Wei Wuxian.

He settles for kissing the smirk off his lips instead.

Wei Wuxian’s smile widens and the look on his face when Jiang Cheng finally pulls away is so unbearably fond– it makes Jiang Cheng sick with glee.

He blushes, grabbing onto Wei Wuxian’s hand and hurriedly averting his gaze so his shixiong can’t see the pink dusting Jiang Cheng’s cheeks as he waltzes into the sunset with their hands firmly entwined, his knuckles white from exertion.

“Shixiong,” Jiang Cheng asks out of the blue, voice suddenly very small. He’s struck by a sudden bout of terror, fear curling in his stomach. He can’t–

He can’t lose Wei Wuxian.

“You’ll stay by my side forever, right?” He asks, “You won’t get tired of me?”

Wei Wuxian softens. His eyes color bright silver, like stars. He cups Jiang Cheng’s face in his hands, tenderly grazing his thumb across rose-colored cheeks.“A-Cheng,” he whispers, stopping and pulling Jiang Cheng into a tight hug. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re a moody grump that’ll probably become a toddling old man someday,” he murmurs, flicking Jiang Cheng’s nose. “Shixiong will always love you, you little stupid. Till the end of time. You can’t get rid of me if you tried.”

***

Wei Wuxian lied– 

Wei Wuxian kills him. 

Wei Wuxian watches Jiang Cheng plummet–

He watches Jiang Cheng die–

He–

Wei Wuxian promised him. 

Wei Wuxian promised him that they would always be together. 

So why is Shijie dead and Jiang Cheng free-falling? 

Why is A-Jie lying in a pool of blood?

Why doesn’t she–

Why isn’t she waking up?

Why is Jiang Cheng’s body so heavy? 

His tongue feels like lead– 

Why can’t he feel his arms– 

Why is–

Why is Wei Wuxian crying?

Why does he look so horrified?

It’s his sword– 

It’s his blade–

It’s him–

It’s Suibian that’s piercing a hole through his body. 

It’s Wei Wuxian–

It’s Wei Wuxian that kills Jiang Cheng. 

So why– 

Why is Wei Wuxian screaming?

What gives him the right–

What gives him the right to break Jiang Cheng’s heart and cry like it was his body soaring off the edge?

Who– 

Who does he think he is?

He's just Wei Wuxian–

Just a liar–

Just a killer–

He’s just–

He’s just the man that Jiang Cheng loves.

***

Nie Mingjue looks at him like Jiang Cheng’s the bane of his existence. Which, to be fair, he kind of is. But it’s the contemptuous way the older man’s tips twist into an ugly grimace that makes Jiang Cheng tremble with relief. He feels disoriented being surrounded by the five men who, just a decade prior, had hated him with such fervor. 

Now Lan Wangji was hugging him and holding Jiang Cheng like he was something precious to be protected. 

How laughable. You don’t kill precious things. 

“Mo Gongzi,” Nie Mingjue drawls, the words sounding sour on his tongue. “Why exactly are you here.” He asks, gesturing vaguely at the four-walled gray towers of Qinghe towering behind him. There’s an air of vexation surrounding him, likely thanks to a full days discussion conference. 

Jiang Cheng pities him. It was the first day of a new congress, and no doubt all the obnoxious little fools were tripping over themselves in a bid to curry favor. 

Nie Mingjue has all of Jiang Cheng’s temper and none of his class. It was a miracle that the older man didn’t spiral into a qi deviation right then and there, on the steps of his stone dais. 

Though, to be fair, Jiang Cheng thought Sect Leader Yao was quite annoying as well. Really committed to testing the limits of his patience.

Nie Mingjue arches a brow at him, apparently expecting an answer. 

Jiang Cheng frowns. Why shouldn’t he be here? He had already secured himself a spot on the guest list in the old-fashioned, boring, conventional– strictly in adherence to the rules– kind of way, a newly recruited disciple of the Lan sect that he was. It was a hard-won battle, and Jiang Cheng commends himself for holding his ground. Lan Wangji was a worthy opponent. He did not make it easy on Jiang Cheng. 

“Well?” Nie Mingjue demands, still waiting for his response. “Are you going to answer me or not?” 

Jiang Cheng startles. He looks up, freezing when he sees the dark expression on Nie Mingjue’s face. The fiasco at Dafan Mountain remains at the forefront of their minds, thickening the tension between them. A shiver races up Jiang Cheng’s spine.

“Why can’t I be here?” he asks, scowling. “The gates of Qinghe are open.” 

Nie Mingjue scoffs. He fixes Jiang Cheng with a disgusted look– like he couldn’t be bothered to even dignify that question with a response. It makes Jiang Cheng shrink inside himself, reflexively shying away from the thunderous glare on Nie Mingjue’s face. Clearly not the move because the next minute, said look darkens, turning downright hostile. 

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. Good. He needed the reminder. 

He is nothing.

“Yeah, but why are you here? I thought Jin Guangshan’s bastard would have something better to do than come to the Unclean Realm.” Nie Mingjue snorts, voice dripping with repulsion– like the mere act of speaking to Jiang Cheng was something unimaginably filthy.

Jiang Cheng stiffens. “Then where should I be?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Mingjue shoots back, a sarcastic, bitter smile curving at his lips. “Six feet under perhaps?”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. He stifles the sob.

It should’ve come as no surprise. Nie Mingjue’s hatred was to be expected. It is no doubt justified, even anticipated, by the bodies of his disciples Jiang Cheng has slain, and if nothing else– then surely by Nie Huaisang’s corpse.

Nie Mingjue has every right to detest him. Jiang Cheng, too, loathes himself.

Monster.

Monster.

Monster.

He really needs to stop getting his hopes up for nothing. 

“Perhaps,” he acquiesces with a nod, steeling himself. “But six feet is not deep enough.”

***

Jiang Cheng is screaming again. His voice is nearly gone now, after hours of singing for the dead, he can only croak out the last remnants of his throat. It bleeds raw, choking him in his own blood. 

He can’t breathe. He’s suffocating–

“A-Sang!” Jiang Cheng cries, voice rising in a crescendo before he doubles over, hacking up blood. “A-Sang, move!”

The resentful energy bubbles hysterically in his gut, making him sick to his stomach. He can barely keep the frayed edges of his mind sane anymore. It takes every effort to see straight. The thirst for blood roars in his veins, dulling his senses. It paints a story of violence and death, clouded by the malice of his demons.

He can’t breathe–

It hurts–

Jiang Cheng can’t control it– 

“A-Sang!” he screams, throat ripped open. “A-Sang, stay away from me!” 

The resentful energy builds up. Jiang Cheng feels like he’s drowning. It stifles the air from his lungs, reaches greedy fingers to squeeze around his neck. He can’t–

The shackles of demonic cultivation strangle him– he can’t control it.  

He’s–

Jiang Cheng realizes with a sudden startingly clarity– he’s going to die. He’s going to die here in Burial Mounds, alone and hated, from the very songs he chanted to life. 

“A-Sang!” he howls, heart wrenching when he sees the familiar green robes touching the corners of his vision. Nie Huaisang looks so, so small from here. He looks so fragile, and breakable, and–

Closer. 

Nie Huaisang is getting closer. 

“A-Sang!” Jiang Cheng bellows, fear constricting his airways. No, no, no– 

He can’t–

He can’t lose Nie Huaisang too. 

“A-Sang, leave!” he shouts, swinging his hands madly. “Leave!” 

Nie Huaisang doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t– Jiang Cheng has known that fucker for the better half of his life and when has Huaisang ever– ever– listened to directions?

He’s getting closer. Jiang Cheng can make out the patterns of his robes now. Pretty little birds and flowers decorate the hems.

He opens his mouth to scream again–

His voice cracks–

He can’t–

He can’t do this–

He can’t control it–

Blood trickles from his lips–

And the resentment–

It finally spills over. 

***

The next time Jiang Cheng meets Nie Mingjue, they are cooped up and held under swordpoint. He doesn’t even remember how they got here, other than a couple loud fights and darkness. He was doing as any other good samaritan would and strolling around the gardens of Koi Tower. Lan Xichen was visiting his sworn brother under the guise of a sect meeting so Jiang Cheng quickly made his excuses and left. He had simply been minding his own business when he was alerted by a loud scream. The first mistake was deviating from this whole “minding his own business” thing and actually turning to check on the screamer. You know, in case, they were dying or something. Which they were. 

None of Jiang Cheng’s business though so he really should’ve just walked away instead of confronting Jin Guangyao as he was concluding another one of his shady experiments. He doesn’t even remember what he’d seen besides a couple pools of blood and a dismembered arm. As to who the limb belonged to, Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure. But it was probably someone important because the next second, he had totally blacked out and awoke with a bruise on his neck where someone had hit him.

Jiang Cheng isn’t sure. The memories are still a bit fuzzy. 

One thing that does stick with him though is how panicked Jin Guangyao had looked. Jiang Cheng’s never seen that snake lose his composure before. He’s always armed with a slick smile, placating explanations, and fake cheer. Jin Guangyao has a response for everything. When he has ever looked so lost? It makes Jiang Cheng almost proud of himself for eliciting this big of a reaction.

He can’t voice it, of course. He knows his audience well. It wouldn’t do for him to piss off a room full of sect leaders (most of whom already hate his ass). He has some discretion, at least. 

Jiang Cheng keeps quiet, tilting his head towards the current source of commotion.

“What do you want?” Nie Mingjue growls, sneering up at Jin Guangyao from his place on the floor. He tries to flex his wrists, but they are bound by spiritual ropes and his efforts wind up futile. “Explain yourself! What is the meaning of this,” he demands, shaking his restraints. “Release us at once.”

Wei Wuxian makes a noncommittal noise of agreement. “Yeah Your Excellency,” he nods, raising his hands and jiggling the shackles wrapped around them. “Now would be a great time to explain why you decided to kidnap all the major sect leaders and cut off our qi. I’m sure it’ll help speed up the trial for your execution.” 

“Sect Leader Jiang,” a venomous voice hisses. And Jiang Cheng looks up to see a stern-faced man dressed in white robes, shockingly similar to Gusu Lan. “It would serve you well to watch your mouth when you are at the mercy of His Excellency.” 

Lan Wangji scoffs. “One should not threaten others,” he quotes, turning to look at the white-robed man like even talking to him was beneath his dignity. “You have disgraced Gusu with your actions.” 

The man’s temple throbs with a vein just waiting to burst. “Lan Wangji,” he snarls, dragging the name out distastefully. “I left your stupid Lan sect a long time ago, don’t try and quote rules to me. I fucking hate people like you. You think you’re so high and mighty, huh?”

Lan Wangji sniffs. 

It is so obnoxiously petty that the man’s face burns bright red. He splutters for a moment, repeatedly pointing a furious finger at Lan Wangji. “You–” 

“Su She,” Jin Guangyao interrupts, lips thinning. “That’s enough.” 

The man in white– Su She– immediately stops, looking crestfallen. “Yes, Your Excellency,” he mutters, put out. 

Jin Guangyao barely spares him a glance as he continues to hustle around the room, flitting from person to person as he checks their wrists for hints of energy. There is none to find. He has sealed them all away. Even Lan Xichen, who vouched for him, sits helplessly on the cold stone floor of Guanyin Simiao.

When he’s finally satisfied that everyone’s just as powerless as he wants them to be, Jin Guangyao dusts his hands and stands. He chances a quick glance at Jiang Cheng and whatever he sees has his lips trembling. “A-Cheng,” he starts, walking over. “A-Cheng, I swear I don’t mean it,” he says, crouching down on the floor next to him.

Jiang Cheng looks at him incredulously. “Don’t mean it?” he echoes, in disbelief. “What do you mean? You don’t mean to kidnap people?”

Jin Guangyao winces. “It’s not like that,” he protests, “I don’t mean to hurt them. Or at least, I don’t mean to hurt you. I just need all of you incapacitated– not dead, I swear.”

Jiang Cheng blinks. “So you kidnap us and seal our spiritual energy?” 

“It’s just temporary,” Jin Guangyao placates him. “I’ll return it to you once I’m finished.” 

“There’s not much of mine to return,” he responds, shrugging, “return it to someone who can actually use it.” 

Jin Guangyao frowns. “A-Cheng–”

“Stop calling me that.” 

Jiang Cheng cuts him off, scowling. “I might have loose ass morals but that doesn’t mean I’ll let a fucking degenerate call me nicknames.”  

Wei Wuxian hoots. “Your Excellency just can’t catch a break, huh? Even your little whore doesn’t want you.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji admonishes, a disapproving frown on his face. “Wanyin is not a–” here he pauses, scrunching his nose at the language, “– whore.” 

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “Then what is he?” he challenges, “A fucking murderer?” 

“Wei Ying!”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. He feels pressure build-up at the edges of his vision, forming tiny drops of moisture that cling precariously to his lashes. They are on the verge of falling, clumping together in dewy droplets. His throat is suddenly very tight.

He’s drowning again, the roar of resentful energy buzzing underneath his skin. It feels like ants burrowing deep under his flesh. He can’t control it. It clogs his airways, punches the breath from his lungs. He can’t– 

Not from Wei Wuxian–

He’s hyperventilating again, face alternating shades of red and purple from the lack of oxygen. The words brand against his skin like hot metal– murderer, whore – is that how Wei Wuxian sees him? 

He can’t–

“Shixiong will always love you, you little stupid.” 

Jiang Cheng's face stretches into a crazed smile. It cracks and splinters at the edges, morphing into a manic grin. He’s half-mad, depravity dragging him back into its ugly embrace. He feels delirious– he can’t breathe. The hysteria that bubbled in his throat finally spills over. It hurts– it hurts. 

Jiang Cheng throws his head back and laughs. 

Pathological liars always lie.

***

A chilly silence descends upon the room after Jiang Cheng throws his sick fit. Wei Wuxian still doesn’t look at him but everyone else shoots occasional, concerned glances his way. They’re all probably wondering if Jiang Cheng’s finally lost it. He too– thinks he’s gone crazy. 

Insanity wraps around him like a cloak. The remnants of the resentful energy from earlier still clings uncomfortably to his skin, making him sick to his stomach. His gut churns. He feels so dirty. 

Jiang Cheng resolves to stare numbly at the smooth wall in front of him, eyes glazed over and face blank. Whore – murderer – 

Isn’t he exactly that?

Lan Wangji’s hands glide over his skin, fingers dragging behind burning trails of molten lava. His touch is branding against Jiang Cheng’s waist, palms searing hot splayed across his stomach. Jiang Cheng bucks his hips up, searching for friction. He mewls, grinding against Lan Wangji. A soft gasp spills past his lips when he feels the hard bulge that surges down to meet him. “Please,” he begs, desperately. For what– he does not know. 

Lan Wangji’s eyes soften. He leans down to brush a strand of hair from Jiang Cheng’s face– so fondly, tenderly– like Jiang Cheng was something precious. “Shh,” he whispers, latching onto the sensitive spot behind Jiang Cheng’s ear. “Tell me what you need.” 

“You–” Jiang Cheng pants, head lolling to the side. He can’t think straight anymore. “I need–”

“Shh,” Lan Wangji whispers again, this time pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. It’s so disgustingly sweet, Jiang Cheng feels tears well in his eyes. 

“Shh,” Lan Wangji says again, fingers dipping between the swell of his thighs. “I know. I’ll take care of Wanyin.”

***

Wei Wuxian finds him much later, eyes burning red with jealousy. He slams Jiang Cheng against the wall, positioning himself between his legs. “Did you have a good time?” he asks, sardonically. “Was Lan Zhan a good fuck for you?” 

Jiang Cheng whimpers. He throws his head back, exposing the curve of his neck. “A-Xian,” he gasps when Wei Wuxian wastes no time diving right in. “Please,” he whispers, wrecked. 

Wei Wuxian lifts his head. His lips are swollen red. “What do you need sweetheart?” he asks, nipping Jiang Cheng’s ear. “Use your words.”

Jiang Cheng moans. “A-Xian,” he says, insistently, tugging at Wei Wuxian’s hair. “A-Xian, stop teasing me.” 

Wei Wuxian hums. “Sweetheart, you just came to me with another man’s cum running down your thighs. Did you want me to fuck Lan Zhan right out of you?” 

Jiang Cheng groans, arousal curling low in his stomach. He feels dirty, disgusting– like something that crawled straight out of hell. Wei Wuxian talks like pure sin, and Jiang Cheng delights in it. 

He surges upward, nails digging long tracks down Wei Wuxian’s back, marking him, claiming him– branding this man as his. He revels in this depravity, meets Wei Wuxian’s pervertedness with his own wicked vices. Tilts his neck and bares his throat. 

He waits for Wei Wuxian to slit the knife across. 

He isn’t disappointed.

Wei Wuxian smirks. “Fucking slut,” he spits, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s legs and forcing them open. “So fucking wet and open for me, huh?”

Jiang Cheng moans, utterly debauched by the filth coming from his Shixiong’s mouth. “Please,” he whimpers wantonly, in a lust-addled haze. 

Wei Wuxian curses. “God, you’re so tight,” he hisses, shoving a finger in and crooking it upward. 

Jiang Cheng screams. He thrashes his head, lips parted and eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Please,” he begs again, drool dripping down his face. 

Wei Wuxian pulls his fingers out, shoving them deep into Jiang Cheng’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, shifting closer. He sheathes himself inside in one smooth motion, muffling Jiang Cheng’s wail with his hands. 

There’s no preparation, no direction, and no discipline. It’s hedonism at its finest. Jiang Cheng’s body is thrown against the wall, the slow drag of Wei Wuxian against him burning from the inside out. The stretch is almost too painful to bear. His natural slick isn’t enough to accommodate Wei Wuxian’s wide girth. It hurts–

It hurts so much. 

Wei Wuxian is not gentle with him. He uses Jiang Cheng like he’s a toy, makes him feel like the whores that serve at brothels. Jiang Cheng feels cut open, tears scraping his cheeks raw. Despite the warmth of Wei Wuxian’s body pressing against his, he has never felt colder in his life. It’s sex– not intimacy. A good fuck– not love. 

Jiang Cheng shivers and holds Wei Wuxian tighter. “I love you,” he whispers, burying his face in the older man’s hair. “I love you.” 

Wei Wuxian pauses, a low growl flying from his lips before he pistons his hips faster, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s waist and using it as leverage. His fingers leave behind dark indents of bruises, marks of shame that dot Jiang Cheng’s skin. 

When he finally comes, Jiang Cheng sags against him, carding a soft hand through his hair and murmuring reassurances in his ear. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

He ignores how Wei Wuxian never responds. 

***

It’s Nie Huaisang. Jin Guangyao dredges up a corpse and it’s Nie Huaisang. He’s half rotting, sporting peeled skin and decayed flesh. The Nie sect’s green robes cling to his body in tatters, strings of cotton dangling off. He’s holding a fan, a pretty little thing with stalks of bamboo depicted across. It’s clutched closely to his chest, cocooned in Nie Huaisang’s protective embrace. It’s so classic of him– such a Nie Huaisang thing to do, that for a moment, Jiang Cheng forgets how to breathe.

A-Sang is here–

He’s alive. 

He’s a fierce corpse. 

The world blurs. All he sees is Nie Huaisang charging forward, limbs awkward and uncoordinated. He’s wobbling everywhere, somehow managing to steer clear of Nie Mingjue, giving both Jiang Cheng and his brother a wide berth. 

Jin Guangyao sucks in a sharp breath, his hands already reaching for Hensheng. Lan Wangji leaps forward, spiritual energy returned, and whips Bichen out to counter. Jin Guangyao barely reacts in time. He jumps to the side, narrowly avoiding getting skewered.

Nie Mingjue shouts something intelligible before he jumps into action, swinging Baxia with a furious glare on his face. He keeps screaming something about ‘how dare Jin Guangyao touch his little brother–” but Jiang Cheng is too preoccupied staring at Nie Huaisang to listen. 

His best friend– the soulmate Jiang Cheng killed– is still alive. Maybe not alive, but he’s here. He lives on. 

“A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng whispers, shell-shocked. He stumbles a little, suddenly feeling faint. 

A harsh hand lands on his shoulder, dragging him back as chaos erupts around them. Wei Wuxian’s scowling face comes into view and Jiang Cheng can’t stop the soft gasp that leaves him then. He reaches out to smooth the furrow of Wei Wuxian’s brow before he can stop himself. 

“Leave,” his shixiong hisses, slapping his hand away. “You’re a big fat burden to everyone if you stay.” 

Jiang Cheng recoils. He shrugs out of the older man’s hold, turning stubbornly away from him. Incorrigible– that’s what Wei Wuxian is. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know why he even bothered getting his hopes up. He has never not been spurned. Wei Wuxian has a knack for ripping his heart into shreds. 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he shoots back, “Much less your advice.” 

“Oh give me a break,” Wei Wuxian scoffs. “You always say that before doing exactly what someone else wants. Your desperate need for validation can’t handle making decisions on your own.”

Jiang Cheng stiffens. Wei Wuxian’s words have hit a little too close to home. 

“Shut up,” he growls, suddenly furious. Who the hell gave Wei Wuxian the right to speak to him this way? “You don’t get to say shit. Even if I were to listen to someone else, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you.”

“Don’t be fucking unreasonable,” Wei Wuxian breathes, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “Just leave. You’re safer outside.” 

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Wouldn’t you prefer it if I were dead? It’ll save you the hassle.” 

Wei Wuxian flinches like he’d been slapped and Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity to shake off his hold, rushing to break the seal on his meridians. 

He feels the powerful, golden energy flooding into his veins, temporarily chasing away the resentment. The hands strangling his breath loosen, his core quieting all the nagging voices that flitter through his head.

He breathes, deep and clear. 

Jin Guangyao screams. 

Jiang Cheng turns to see Lan Wangji successfully loop off one of his hands, pushing him in the direction of Nie Huaisang’s fierce corpse. Said corpse wastes no time jumping right in, grabbing one of Jin Guangyao’s arms, and tugging. The limb comes off in with a sharp crack. 

A loud wail echoes across the temple, and Jiang Cheng spins to see Su She’s eyes blown wide in horror. He reaches forward, trying to get to Jin Guangyao. His efforts are futile– Lan Xichen’s Shuoyue is merciless, and he cuts it down, leaving behind a long gash across Su She’s forearm.

The screaming intensifies. 

“Let’s go!” Wei Wuxian bellows, right beside his ear. His face is darkening rapidly as he tugs at an unmoving Jiang Cheng. “You’re going to get hurt if you stay here!” 

Jiang Cheng laughs derisively. “Wouldn’t that suit you just fine?” 

Wei Wuxian hisses. “Now’s not the time to get smart with me,” he warns, “we need to fucking go.” 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t move. He’s locked eyes with Bichen. It’s moving away, repositioning itself behind Jin Guangyao. Flashing bright white, it emerges from the shadows like death. The sword sweeps forward, hurtling out from the back, getting closer toward Jin Guangyao’s injured form. 

Lan Wangji is going for the kill. 

Jiang Cheng’s legs betray him. He’s running before he even notices it, rushing forward in a maddening attempt to stay Lan Wangji’s hand. He’s finally lost it, he thinks, hysterically. He’s racing to rescue a snake. Even Jiang Cheng can’t believe himself. 

Why’s he so scared–

It doesn’t matter, does it? Everything they had was a lie anyways. It’s not like Jin Guangyao would help him had their roles been reversed. Jin Guangyao hadn’t helped. 

But–

But he had warned him. He had ran to burial mounds the week before they stormed it and told Jiang Cheng of the attack in hushed whispers and fugitive glances. He was willing to risk his father’s disapproval– even wrath– for Jiang Cheng. He didn’t–

He didn’t want Jiang Cheng to die. 

And Jiang Cheng finds that he doesn’t want Jin Guangyao to die either. 

***

There’s a sickening sound of squelching flesh that echoes around the walls of the temple, amplified by the sudden silence that blankets the room. Bichen’s blade is coated with the warm splatter of blood, from its spot, lodged in Jiang Cheng’s gut. It drips red onto the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, staining them a dark crimson shade. 

The silence is deafening. 

But Jiang Cheng makes no move to break it. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth, the thought of speaking suddenly daunting and oddly exhausting. Moving his body takes such effort. He can barely feel anything apart from the numbness and pleasant buzzing under his skin. 

Eyelids drooping, Jiang Cheng careens forward, knees hitting the ground with a muted thud.

He thinks he hears screaming. 

“A-Cheng!” Jin Guangyao bellows, sinking to the ground and cradling Jiang Cheng’s rapidly paling figure in his arms. “Why the fuck did you do that?” 

And oh– oh, he’s cursing. Jiang Cheng winces. “Are you mad?” he whispers, and his tongue feels so heavy. He didn’t know he had such a fat tongue. 

Jin Guangyao scowls at him, tears flooding down his cheeks. “Of course, I’m fucking mad,” he cries, face twisting with an ugly sob. “You took a sword for me, you goddamn idiot.” 

Jiang Cheng grimaces. “Yeah,” he says, nodding off. “So maybe don’t cuss me out?” he coughs, laughing weakly. He feels lightheaded and woozy.

A quick glance around the room confirms what he already knows. Lan Wangji is frozen, completely still, looking utterly devastated. Silent tears trail down his cheeks and he falls to his knees in front of Jiang Cheng. He reaches out, softly cradling Mo Xuanyu’s face. “Wanyin,” he breathes, shakily. “Wanyin is so stupid,” he croaks, voice taking on a distressing note. 

Jiang Cheng smiles at him and reaches up to flick him on his forehead. His arms are like lead–

“Shh,” he murmurs, “Don’t start blaming me now, silly. It’s neither of our faults.” 

“A-Cheng,” Lan Xichen sobs, hitting the ground beside him. “It’ll be ok, I promise,” he says, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s hand and transferring spiritual energy. It flits around his meridians uselessly, warming him up briefly before fading away.

Lan Xichen keeps the flow up, his eyes becoming more and more panicked the longer the transfer doesn’t work. “A-Cheng,” he whimpers, frantic. His shoulders are shaking from the weight of his cries.

Jiang Cheng brushes a hand across his cheek. “It’s fine, Xichen,” he says, gently removing Lan Xichen’s fingers from his wrist. “It’s not working.” 

“No–” Lan Xichen chokes, shaking his head stubbornly and taking Jiang Cheng’s hand again. “No, it’ll work,” he repeats, “It has to.” 

Nie Mingjue appears behind him, an odd look of desperation on his face. He’s trembling, Jiang Cheng realizes. His hands are quivering. 

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Is it cold in here?” 

Nie Mingjue scowls at him, wobbling unsteadily on his feet as he slowly kneels on the floor beside Lan Xichen. He’s crying this time. “I told you to be six feet under, I didn’t think you would actually listen,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Since when have you ever listened to me?” 

Jiang Cheng chuckles, tapering off as his throat constricts with blood. He forces himself to turn over, coughing up blood before sagging back down, utterly spent. “I’m listening now?” he offers, “Better late than never right?”

Nie Mingjue snorts. It comes out short and flat, too full of grief to have the effect he was going for. “Fuck you,” he whispers, wiping away the tears that blur his vision. “Fuck you, Jiang Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng laughs this time. “You already did,” he replies, attempting a saucy wink, “Pretty well too, or did you forget?” 

Nie Mingjue shakes his head. “Never,” he murmurs, solemnly. 

Jiang Cheng smiles. He nods his head, relieved. The pain is duller now, less defined and hazier around the edges. He can’t pinpoint where it begins and he ends, it’s consumed him now, fusing with what remnants of his soul he has left. 

He welcomes it, lets it flood him and leech the life from his body. It doesn’t hurt anymore. That more than anything alarms him. 

Jiang Cheng’s eyes fly open, his mouth gasping for air. He can’t think clearly anymore, everything is blurry now, nothing makes sense. The wound on his abdomen throbs. Not from pain, from something different altogether.

Jiang Cheng looks on numbly. He doesn’t remember why he opened his eyes again. He thinks he was alarmed by something, but he’s not sure what. There’s nothing threatening here. 

He starts to drift off, something wet leaking from the corners of his mouth. He thinks it’s drool, but it’s red– definitely not the color of saliva. Was that what had scared him? It’s just crimson spit. Nothing crazy. 

Jiang Cheng groans when he feels someone shaking him, tugging his shoulders insistently and rousing him from his slumber. He cracks an eye open in annoyance. What do you want? He wants to cry, his voice laced with irritation. What’s so important you have to bother me now? 

But his tongue lies heavy in his mouth. He can’t move his lips anymore. 

A face starts to come into view, and Jiang Cheng feels his breath stop at the eyes that greet him. Silver eyes, like bright fucking stars– Wei Wuxian. 

Why is–

Why is Wei Wuxian crying again?

He looks so scared, so terrified. He keeps trying to touch Jiang Cheng’s drool. He keeps–

He keeps trying to shove it back into Jiang Cheng’s mouth.

Why–

Jiang Cheng reaches a hand up and his arm trembles from the weight of his efforts. He ignores it, letting his fingers climb until they rest upon a rosy cheek. He thumbs away a stray tear that falls from Wei Wuxian’s eyes, but more replace it. Jiang Cheng frowns. He doesn’t like it when Wei Wuxian cries.

Why is he crying?

Jiang Cheng forces his lips to part. 

“I love you,” he whispers again, blood dribbling down his chin. He attempts to smile, and winces immediately, knowing it must look horrendous with his face drenched in red and tears still tracking down his face.

There is no farewell nor pleas for understanding. There is no resentment clouding his vision. Wei Wuxian is not his executioner and Suibian is no ax. There are no more expectations this time round. 

In his mind’s eye, Jiang Cheng sees six boys huddled around a small campfire, cut and bruised and broken–

And smiling so very bright. He can almost fool himself into thinking it looks fond. 

His mother's voice echoes in his head.

“Nothing in this world lasts forever.” 

“Even love?” 

“Especially love.” 

“I love you,” Jiang Cheng suddenly confesses again, chest suddenly constricting with the weight of words he never got to say. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

Maybe if he says it long enough– 

It will last this time round. 

It doesn’t, but Jiang Cheng finds himself smiling regardless. The end doesn’t scare him anymore. Being alone isn’t as daunting as before. It doesn’t hurt as it did thirteen years ago.

A lifetime is a long time. Somehow, Wei Wuxian has been there for every bloodied step. His names have changed over the years– Jiang Cheng called him gege back in the spring of their youth, a big grin on his face and stupidity chained to his tongue. When they were older and Lotus Pier fell, Jiang Cheng cried for A-Xian as Wen Zhuliu ripped out his core and he began to dredge up corpses from their graves. Much, much later, when Suibian had embedded into the rocky cliffs beside him, Jiang Cheng howled a broken shixiong, before dying bitterly.

Now he lies wounded, blood soaking his robes a deep crimson. “Wei Wuixan,” he coughs, hating how formal they were, dancing around each other like a bed of hot coals. “I really did love you.” 

There’s no happily ever after. Because life was never a fairy tale. Theirs was pain and malice, grief and envy, all umbrellaed under young love. Blurring the lines of intimacy until it toed between lust and loathing. Wei Wuxian was his own personal drug. Jiang Cheng gorged on him until he couldn’t anymore, greedily taking everything Wei Wuxian gave until his body betrayed him. 

His is an ugly, bitter tale of a villainous man. He is not sure, even in his dying moments, if he has ever loved someone as much as he loves Wei Wuxian. He knows he is loved– by Gusu’s Twin Jades, Qinghe’s leader, Lanling’s bastard– but he is unsure, so utterly unsure when it comes to his shixiong. Jiang Cheng feels foolish. He’s young and stupid again. 

Wei Wuxian has always been a mystery to him. Jiang Cheng is so insecure, so uncertain that his feelings are reciprocated– even now, at the ripe age of thirty– he feels like a child again. 

He smiles. There was only ever one ending to his story. Love was a fleeting notion that Jiang Cheng always thought would burn out eventually. He doesn’t know whether he should be disappointed or grateful that he’s been proven wrong. He is loved. Lan Xichen loves him. He transfers energy to him with a single-minded focus like the world could erupt around him and he would still prioritize flooding Jiang Cheng with qi that fizzles out just as quickly as it came. Jiang Cheng thinks that counts. If not love– then at least, Lan Xichen is fond of him. 

Lan Wangji loves him. He looks like the sun toppled from its palace in the sky. Bichen lies forgotten and the cold expression has twisted right off his face. He replaces it with desperation instead. He loves him. Jiang Cheng doesn’t think he’s seen Lan Wangji show this much emotion in his life. 

Jin Guangyao loves him. His composure is completely lost. Blood flows from the wound on his arm, but he ignores it, tears streaming down his face as he looks at Jiang Cheng like the rug's been ripped out from right under him. Even Nie Huaisang stops what he’s doing. He has his rotting head tilted to the side as if wondering why everything has come to a standstill.

Jiang Cheng feels jubilant. He’s even confident that Nie Mingjue loves him. Why else would the elder man be sobbing into Lan Xichen’s shoulder? 

But he–

He wants Wei Wuxian–

Does Wei Wuixan love him too?

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to ask. And then promptly closes it. He’s not sure he even wants to know. “I love you,” he says instead, one last time. To who– he is uncertain. 

He blinks. Wei Wuxian’s face hovers at the edges of his vision. His mouth is parted as if to speak but Jiang Cheng can’t hear anything past the roaring of his ears. He repeats some of the characters to himself.

Wei Wuxian’s lips quirk into a smile. And Jiang Cheng matches it with one of his own when he realizes what the silent words spilling past Wei Wuxian’s lips are. 

“Promise me you’ll find me first. Next time, slap some sense into me early on.”

Jiang Cheng grins. “You know I’ll take you up on that.”

“You better.”

Jiang Cheng laughs. “I will.”

“Good,” Wei Wuxian whispers, salty tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’ll wait for you then.”

“You’ll love me next time?” Jiang Cheng asks, barely able to get the words off his tongue. He feels so tired–

Wei Wuxian’s eyes soften. “I don’t need next time,” he declares, most assured. He sounds so sure of himself. Conviction is set in the hard planes of his face. He doesn’t waver when a soft gasp escapes Jiang Cheng, or when he looks at Wei Wuxian like he’s gone crazy. Finality in his tone, unerring confidence lining his voice– Wei Wuixan is still the same, all these years later. As cocky and arrogant as he’s always been. 

And Jiang Cheng–

Jiang Cheng is only human. Only a man in love. 

He cracks a smile.

“Me neither.”