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Chapter Text

“You have everything you need?” Wei Changze asked for the fifteenth time (Xiao Jingfei had been counting).

“Yes dear,” she replied, also for the fifteenth time. It didn’t bother her, even though he usually limited himself to five or six repetitions of the question whenever she went on a night hunt. Yiling felt different from other places they’d been together. The proximity to the Burial Mounds had put them all on edge.

The town hadn’t requested her services, exactly. In fact, everyone within its borders had seemed resigned to the presence of whatever it was out there glutting itself on the intestines of passers-by. The only reason she even knew about it was because she’d stumbled upon one of the vivisected corpses on the road. Fortunately A-Ying had nodded off on the back of their donkey before they’d found the victim, narrowly avoiding the ensuing trauma.

They’d arrived in town and taken a room at the best inn, which likely would’ve been the worst in any reputable area; the mattresses were little more than thin straw covered with coarse and mouse-worried fabric. The owners were hard people who made it very clear that payment was due up front and if they couldn’t produce the money required for the night’s stay then they were welcome to sleep on the ground two streets over.

Living this close to the Burial Mounds made people angry and desperate, either because of the exposure to the resentful energy she felt choking the air or because they had no means of leaving and had come to hate a life they had no power to change.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Changze said instead of asking after her gear for the sixteenth time. He wrapped long arms around her and breathed against the crown of her head. “I don’t like this place. Feng-ge never sent his cultivators here. He said the potential losses weren’t worth the trouble.”

Xiao Jingfei bit back the kneejerk response; A-Chang didn’t need her badmouthing Jiang Fengmian on top of all his other anxieties, even though the residents of Yiling would probably be less resigned to their messy deaths had the sect leader of YunmengJiang actually done his job.

“Don’t be,” she said, tugging a loose lock of his hair. From the way his shoulders relaxed, he probably smiled into her hair. “I’m going to say goodnight to A-Ying and then head out.”

“All right. I’ll stop worrying.”

“Liar.”

He kissed her head and released her. A-Ying had hidden under a small mountain of blankets, having fetched up every bit of loose cloth from the room. She hadn’t anticipated giving birth to a baby bird, yet here they were. His snoring was very loud and very fake and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter when she sat down on the side of the bed.

“I’m here to say goodnight, baobei. I’ve got to go.”

“No you don’t,” he said reflexively, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“Oh no? What does the venerable A-Ying think I should do instead?”

“Stay. I’m only three. You can’t leave me.”

“A-Ying was definitely five years old last time I checked.” She hugged up the entire nest of boy and blankets and squeezed tight, earning herself a squawked protest and wiggly bundle in her arms. His eyes finally popped open as he flailed an arm out from his soft prison.

“Maaaaa,” he whined.

“What’s this? My A-Ying cannot possibly be three if he’s fighting a hug! When A-Ying was three years old I thought my arms might fall off because of how often he wanted to be held.”

A-Ying went immediately limp. A-Chang chuckled behind them. Xiao Jingfei settled the blankets back on the bed and ducked down into them, bringing herself face-to-face with her son. He pouted at her, which was nearly enough to shake her resolve. A-Ying had a very convincing pout, which she attributed exclusively to her menace of a spouse. The only thing her pout had ever gotten her was a swat over the head from her shifu.

“What if you went tomorrow,” he said.

She tapped her chin. “What if I did? Would A-Ying be more inclined to let me go then?”

“I would! I promise I won’t pout or cry or anything if you go tomorrow.”

“Is this like the promise you made Baba that you would certainly eat your vegetables at dinner if we let you have sweets after lunch?”

The pout intensified only for a moment before his eyes lit up. “I’ll eat them all right now if you stay.”

Xiao Jingfei admitted it was terribly tempting. Despite the awful mattress, if Wei Changze crawled in behind her the three of them together would make it warm and perfect.

But it would put the people of Yiling at risk. The beast attacked in unpredictable patterns; if she did not go tonight, who knew when it would show itself again. It might be years before they had another chance at it.

“I’m sorry, A-Ying.”

His lips pinched angrily together and he rolled away from her. “Go, then!”

“Can I have a kiss goodbye?”

“No!”

Her lips twitched into a fond, sad little smile and she leaned in to kiss the back of his head before extracting herself from the blankets. Wei Changze, now seated next to the bed, caught her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles as she straightened out her robes.

“Be safe,” he said.

“Don’t worry.”

“I will.”

“I know.” She leaned in and kissed him as well, though this one managed to reach his lips instead of tangled hair. She took care to make it deep and a little dirty; a promise to return. “I’ll see you in the morning, hopefully. If I’m not back by then, make sure you call me up a bath. I’ll probably be completely disgusting.”

“You speak as though I’m incapable of noticing patterns.”

“I speak as though my husband is a cheeky thing who deserves to have his bottom swatted.”

He laughed and looked down at where he’d been worrying at the hem of his sleeve. She took one last chance to kiss the top of his head and made her way to the door.

“Madam,” the proprietress called once she descended the stairs. “There is a letter for your husband.”

“Oh?” Certainly from Jiang Fengmian; Wei Changze hadn’t been welcomed back to Lotus Pier since their marriage, but he and Jiang Fengmian kept up a robust correspondence. More than likely, this was yet one more letter among dozens subtly insulting both her and Yu Ziyuan. Wei Changze was too sweet-natured and never read between the lines close enough to notice. Or, if he did, he refused to see them as more than a gentle tease. “I’ll take it, then.”

The woman passed it into her hand. “There’s a man outside waiting for a reply.”

“Outside?” Xiao Jingfei frowned.

“He wasn’t willing to order more than a cup of tea. I keep my tables free for those who pay for them.”

Xiao Jingfei sighed. Better to deal with this now than keep the poor messenger waiting. She unrolled the letter to read the contents.

Her stomach dropped to her feet. She read and re-read the same words over and over again, not quite able to parse them into anything that made sense.

“Please show the messenger inside. We’ll pay for his meal.”

The woman held out her palm expectantly. Once Xiao Jingfei had pressed a tael into it, she sent one of her boys out to bring the poor man inside. Xiao Jingfei didn’t recognize the bedraggled Jiang cultivator who trudged his way back in, but that may have been because all her attention zeroed in on the white sash tied around his waist.

“Cangse Sanren,” he bowed in greeting. He seemed to struggle to straighten again.

“Please sit, gongzi. I’ll go and tell Wei Changze.”

The man nodded and half-dropped into the nearest available seat, shoulders slumping with the weight of grief.

Her own steps felt heavier on the way back upstairs.

In defiance of their bedtime routine—and a sign of how worried A-Chang truly was, given he was generally the far stricter parent—A-Ying was up out of bed and playing with a few small wooden toys while A-Chang watched with an indulgent eye.

When A-Ying spotted her he dove back into bed with the loudest, most egregious snore ever. Wei Changze looked up and smiled; while she hoped it wasn’t the last time she’d see the full joy on his face, she suspected it wouldn’t return for a long time.

“What did you forget?” he asked.

She wanted to tease him over it like things were normal. A-Chang, stop casting such terrible aspersions on my character and also please pass me my water gourd.

When she didn’t, he frowned. “Xiao-Fei?”

“Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were killed in a night hunting incident,” she said. Wei Changze’s face lost all colour, eyes widening in slow built horror as he fully grasped her words. “The YunmengJiang head disciple has written to beg us return to Lotus Pier.”

“No,” Wei Changze shook his head violently. “That can’t. No.”

“A-Chang—”

“Feng-ge hates night hunting,” Wei Changze insisted. “Hates it. He hasn’t gone on a night hunt since I was a child. He wouldn’t… he…”

If Wei Changze had been a cultivator, Xiao Jingfei would be worried about qi deviation. She crossed the room to him and wrapped her arms around him. A-Chang was a full head and shoulders taller than her, but he shrunk in on himself at her touch.

“There’s been a mistake,” A-Chang whispered. She hugged him tighter. “Xiao-Fei, what do I do?”

“Sit,” she said. She led him to the bed and eased him down onto it. “Breathe deeply. A-Ying.” Her son hopped up from where he’d been pretending not to listen. “Come and hug Baba. I’m going to go tell the messenger we’ll head to Lotus Pier.”

“Your night hunt,” Wei Changze said dully.

“I’ll send word to Pingyang. Let Yao Bang pull his weight for once in his life.” She knelt before Wei Changze and cupped his cheek in her palm. “We’ll do what we can.” If her memory served her correctly, Jiang Fengmian’s children were only four and nine, respectively. Babies, really. She hoped whoever had told them had been kind.

Extracting a nod from him, Xiao Jingfei scooped A-Ying up in her arms and deposited him in Wei Changze’s lap for cuddles.

The Jiang cultivator waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, presumably having run out of tea and food and thus been summarily chased out of his seat.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“This one is Jiang Tiezhen,” he responded.

“Will you stay the night?”

He shook his head. “Lotus Pier is in chaos. I should return. What answer am I to bring?”

“We will be there as soon as possible. Who is acting in Jiang-zongzhu’s place?”

“Jiang-zongzhu’s sister has come from Qishan. She is the one who asked us to find you.”

Presumably, then, Yu Ziyuan’s two maids had shared her fate. Xiao Jingfei couldn’t think of anyone who would dare try to wrest power from them. “It’s three day’s journey with my husband and son. Please ask your head disciple to keep order until we arrive.”

“As you say. Thank you.” He bowed again and disappeared out the door.

Not to disparage the place of A-Chang’s childhood, but Xiao Jingfei had hoped to live the rest of her life without visiting Lotus Pier again. That had been the plan. Wei Changze hadn’t said as much upon their leave-taking; he’d joined her, pale and unhappy, at the docks and allowed her to usher him onto the waiting boat. Whatever upset him, he never mentioned it and she’d been too relieved to be leaving Yunmeng to force the point.

Now she wondered; had Wei Changze managed to make peace with Jiang Fengmian before his death? Oh, they wrote regularly, but A-Chang often laughingly complained about how his ‘Feng-ge’ never wrote about anything important. He often asked after gossip about Lotus Pier as they passed through towns, looking for any news of his former home and the people in it. Given YunmengJiang was one of the great sects, abundant gossip was always available but barely sated Wei Changze’s craving for real intelligence.

They sold their donkey in the Yiling market and used the funds to buy passage on a barge headed downriver. A-Ying ran back and forth from side to side, sticking his fingers in the water and leaning so far over the side Xiao Jingfei worried he’d fall in and they’d have to fish him out. She’d throw A-Ying in the river herself to satisfy his curiosity if they hadn’t already packed away all his clean clothes. A-Ying swam like a dolphin. Wei Changze had insisted on teaching him practically before he’d learned to walk; having been himself raised next to water, her husband considered swimming a basic life skill.

Then again, drenching their offspring might finally make A-Chang smile. He mustered up his best effort for A-Ying whenever their son drew close, but the expression never reached his eyes. At night, when only a single oarsman remained awake to guide them along the river, he sat staring off the bow of the ship into the dark water.

Xiao Jingfei wrapped her heaviest outer robe around A-Ying and slipped up to the bow of the boat to join him. She silently pressed up against his side and waited.

“I always believed he’d be waiting for me,” Wei Changze told the night. He shuddered in the darkness, the dim light of the boat’s single lantern barely lighting his face enough for her to see the tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

How terrible was she, that she couldn’t muster up a single decent word of comfort for her grieving husband? Furious with herself, Xiao Jingfei slipped her arm around his waist and held him in silence. She wasn’t celebrating Jiang Fengmian’s death, or Yu Ziyuan’s, but anything remotely kind she said in their favour would ring false and Wei Changze would know immediately.

“I’ll listen if you want to talk about him. Them,” she corrected. Yu Ziyuan had arrived in Lotus Pier when Wei Changze had only been twelve, and remained part of his life for years before Xiao Jingfei spirited him away.

“Not yet,” Wei Changze said, though gratitude soaked his tone, a complement to his grief. He lifted his own arm to tug her closer. “But thank you.”

They made landing at the Lotus Pier docks just as the sun began dipping towards the horizon on the third day of their journey, as she’d promised. Two individuals arrived to greet them at the gates.

Jiang Fanmeng, like her older brother, was known to be kind and accommodating to the point of complacency. She had married out of Lotus Pier at a very young age to the third brother of Wen Ruohan—the last of the old Wen-zongzhu’s sons remaining, save Wen Ruohan himself. Wen Wutian enjoyed a reputation of cold arrogance; given the curl of his lip, it did not seem exaggerated upon first impression.

They greeted Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze very differently: Jiang Fanmeng with a warm smile and shallow bow, Wen Wutian with a bare bob on the head.

“You are both good for coming,” Jiang Fanmang said.

She gestured for them to follow her, already acting like the lady of the house. As they entered the hall, Wei Changze glanced upwards towards the longest of the support beams criss-crossing the ceiling. Xiao Jingfei followed his gaze, expecting something to similarly grab her attention, but nothing remarkable stood out to her.

A young girl waited for them in the receiving hall, an even younger boy kneeling at her side. They’d both been fitted with white sashes. While the girl’s red eyes betrayed recent tears, the boy just looked confused, picking at the sash every so often in dismay.

“Auntie, Uncle,” she said quietly when they entered. She cast a curious look at Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze, though her face gentled when she spotted A-Ying hiding behind his father’s legs. “You have guests?”

“These are your guests, as lady of the house,” Wen Wutian corrected her. “Perhaps you’d remember to be polite enough to offer them tea?”

The girl blushed and hurriedly stood. “I’ll go and fetch some at once.”

“You will not,” Wen Wutian snapped. “You will tell the servants to bring it. A proper lady does not ‘fetch’ anything.”

“Husband,” Jiang Fanmang chided. “It’s fine, A-Li. Go and tell the servants to bring refreshments.”

The girl—Jiang Yanli, Xiao Jingfei realized, though it probably should have been obvious—nodded hurriedly and dashed back out the door.

“Ziyuan was right about that one,” Wen Wutian continued.

“My brother’s wife was hard in her opinions about everyone,” Jiang Fanmang said. Xiao Jingfei couldn’t tell if it was an agreement or an argument. She did, however, notice when the woman’s eyes slid towards A-Chang.

The four of them sat around a nearby table, the young boy—Jiang Cheng—awkwardly perched a few feet away. A-Ying, already quivering with the desire to get up and move, kept sneaking glances at him across the way.

“Are you Wei Ying?” Jiang Fanmang asked. A-Ying snapped back to attention and nodded. “My brother spoke of you often and hoped you would visit Lotus Pier one day.” She cut a guilty look towards Wei Changze briefly before her expression faded to one of grief. “This is my nephew, Jiang Cheng.”

“Hello.” A-Ying looked ready to launch himself across the table and tackle the other child, and Xiao Jingfei laid a hand on his arm to keep him in place. She loved her son’s effusiveness, but she somehow doubted it would be well received.

Jiang Yanli returned, two servants behind her laden down with trays of tea and a selection of light snacks. “Auntie, Uncle.”

Jiang Fanmeng waved Jiang Yanli into the space beside her. Without prompting or invitation, Jiang Cheng shuffled forward and leaned into his sister’s side. She seemed steadier with him pushed up against her and grabbed his hand tight in her own,

“Right,” Wen Wutian said. “Now we’ve had tea brought, A-Li, take the children out.”

“Yes, Uncle.” She stood, still holding Jiang Cheng’s hand, and looked towards A-Ying. “Is it all right to take…?”

“I’m Wei Ying!” A-Ying piped up. “And yes, I’m coming.” A-Ying suddenly seemed to remember to look at Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze for permission. “Mama?” Xiao Jingfei nodded and smoothed back his hair, once again loose from its clasp even though Wei Changze had tried to reorder it shortly before their arrival.

“Go ahead,” Xiao Jingfei agreed. If Jiang Fanmeng and Wen Wutian were already trying to get rid of the children, doubtless there was about to be a conversation not suited for small ears.

A-Ying grinned and hopped up, obviously hoping no one noticed him grabbing a handful of dried melons and shoving them into his sleeve. Xiao Jingfei caught his eye and twitched her eyebrow. As no one else actually had noticed, however, she generously decided to allow him to get away with it, though she made sure to mouth the word ‘share.’ A-Ying nodded and darted over to Jiang Yanli’s side.

The three children left the room, followed by one of the servants.

“As you can see, this young generation of YunmengJiang is weak and untried,” Wen Wutian said as soon as they were alone.

Jiang Fanmeng looked at Wei Changze expectantly. When he started to reach for the teapot to serve them, Xiao Jingfei coughed a small noise in the back of her throat and he froze for only a moment before returning his hands to his lap. Beneath the table and out of sight of their companions, he fisted his fingers in his robes.

“Oh, of course. My apologies.” Jiang Fanmeng poured the tea herself though, Xiao Jingfei noticed, she filled A-Chang’s cup last. “Husband,” she prompted once finished.

“My brother has been pursuing some personal matters recently,” Wen Wutian began, looking irritated. Then again that may have just been his face. “While I assume these are being done to the benefit of Wen Sect, it also means he has been fairly disinterested in overseeing matters as Xiandu.”

Wei Changze hummed, reading something in the words which completely escaped Xiao Jingfei. She hated politics, had always hated politics, especially when they ended up interrupting her life.

“News of Fengmian’s death has not traveled far, as of yet,” Jiang Fanmeng continued when Wen Wutian seemed disinclined to continue, his piece at an end. “But it won’t be long. And with Ruohan occupied, he will likely not step in when it comes to minor squabbles, even when it involves the great sects.”

“A-Cheng and A-Li are both too young to assume control. Without a leader, YunmengJiang is vulnerable,” A-Chang continued. Jiang Fanmeng nodded. “And he will not interfere if someone decides to conquer it.”

“There, see? Even the servant can see it,” Wen Wutian sniffed.

“Refer to my husband so dismissively again and you and I will have a problem,” Xiao Jingfei informed him crisply.

Wen Wutian scoffed. “Take a fish from the ocean and stick it in a river, it’s still a fish.”

“You—!”

“Please,” Jiang Fanmeng said before Xiao Jingfei could lunge across the table. She resentfully settled, though she hoped Wen Wutian knew how close he’d come to having his features molded closer to his skull. “Jin-zongzhu will almost certainly proclaim it his right to step in and assume control, given his son’s engagement to A-Li. If he chooses to be polite about it, he’ll claim it’s a temporary measure which he will then never rescind. Unless strong leadership is quickly established, I fear YunmengJiang will fall.”

Xiao Jingfei almost said, ‘then let it fall.’ Weak trees were vulnerable to the wind. Her master had always told her that if a thing was destined to break, then delaying the inevitable was futile at best and cruel at worst.

Then again, she thought, if such thinking were applied to people, her shidi would not have survived his first winter and by the time she’d left the mountain A-Xing had finally begun to thrive.

“You want us to support you in this endeavour?” she guessed.

“We’re certainly not staying here,” Wen Wutian sniffed.

Because living in a volcanic desert was obviously preferable, Xiao Jingfei thought. Or maybe it was because YunmengJiang had fewer disciples accustomed to bootlicking.

“That’s not why they called us,” A-Chang said. He frowned across the table at Jiang Fanmeng, who was suddenly very interested in the state of her fingernails. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea?”

“My brother thought very highly of you,” Jiang Fanmeng said. Xiao Jingfei’s jaw clenched but she refused to refute the words in front of A-Chang. Privately, though, she’d always believed people who thought highly of others didn’t treat them the way Jiang Fengmian always used Wei Changze; a servant in public and with just enough affection in private to secure unwavering loyalty.

“What?” Xiao Jingfei asked.

A-Chang, brow creased in utter disbelief, finally clarified, “They want us to step in and take over YunmengJiang.”

“What?” she repeated.

Jiang Yanli stood awkwardly outside the receiving hall, trying to decide what to do with Wei Ying and A-Cheng. No one had told her to move other than take them outside and allow the adults to speak.

Her mother would have chastised her for it. “A-Li! Why are you standing there in such a stupid manner? Find some occupation for yourself and those boys before someone reports back to Jin-gongzi about what a lazy woman he’s going to marry.”

But A-Niang no longer lived to yell at her.

She’d never thought she’d miss it so intensely.

“Jiejie,” A-Cheng whispered, “Who is that boy?”

“I already said, I’m Wei Ying!”

“But… who are you?” A-Cheng insisted.

Wei Ying’s brow furrowed in thought, as though it were a good question. “I’m a rogue cultivator,” he finally declared.

A-Cheng frowned. “You’re too little.”

“You’re littler than me, but I bet you’re a great cultivator anyway.”

A-Cheng, who hadn’t even mastered the meditations required to begin building his golden core, quickly nodded. “Yeah.”

Jiang Yanli smiled through her worries. It had always been hard for her and A-Cheng to find friends; A-Niang refused to allow them to play with most of the children in and around Lotus Pier, claiming they’d ruin themselves for better company. Maybe, now that this Wei Ying was here, her aunt and uncle would consider him an acceptable playmate.

Or, maybe, they’d send him away as they likely would his parents.

There had been rumours circulating around Lotus Pier, after all. ‘That Wei Changze, he left without so much as a glance backwards,’ from some of the elders. Most of the disciples had nothing to say in the open spaces, but she’d overheard her Aunt Jiang and Uncle Wen when they’d arrived.

“I hate this place,” Uncle Wen had said. Jiang Yanli wished to be brave enough to defend her home, but Uncle Wen never had a kind word for anyone, and she feared crying in front of him. With everything happening around her, she felt as though she’d been crying all the time anyway.

Her Aunt Jiang wiped her tears away each time and told her to be more discreet in her grief. A lady should only cry in public as a means to an end. She didn’t know what that meant, either.

“Well, unless my husband has a very clever idea as to what should be done, I feel he and I must prepare to do so until A-Cheng comes of age.”

“Ah, yes, as in addition to raising whatever children you might finally bear me, I’ll also be expected to raise your niece and nephew. One who has as much potential as a wet dishrag—” He meant her, Jiang Yanli knew. Her mother had always despaired about her poor cultivation, “—and the other expected to supplant whatever influence I do amass.” He hummed. “Which is another concern. You realize that my remaining here will inevitably be seen as an attempt by my brother to assume more power. It puts QishanWen at risk.”

“QishanWen is already putting itself at risk, considering—”

“Enough!”

Jiang Yanli flinched; she hated when people yelled.

“We do not speak of such things,” Uncle Wen reminded her, his voice very nearly a growl. “But yes. ‘Considering.’ This threatens to draw unwelcome attention to our sect.”

“Then we need someone here who is neither ambitious enough to want to maintain power, nor too incompetent to allow our nephew to grow up weak. A person others will not see as a threat but capable enough to manage the daily affairs.”

“Say what you will, wife. There is no need to preface your suggestion in such a way.”

“Da-ge’s former manservant.”

“Out of the question!” Jiang Yanli flinched again, back from the door at which she’d been listening for fear of Uncle Wen storming out and finding her listening in. “I would rather this place fall to LanlingJin than allow a servant to become its master.”

“Then it will,” Aunt Jiang concluded. This brought Uncle Wen up short. “It will take less than a month of A-Cheng, a four year old boy, acting as zongzhu for Jin Guangshan to sweep in here and declare it a vassal sect. And he will use this place to accumulate power enough to challenge your brother and eventually this entire world will come to war between LanlingJin and QishanWen. And despite the ‘considering,’” she said the word with bite, “I’m not confident that QishanWen will win, given your brother’s inclination of constantly causing offense to QingheNie and GusuLan being governed by a man who refuses to leave his house.”

Silence followed her words. Jiang Yanli barely dared to breathe. Aunt Jiang had always been kind to her. She carried herself with the poise and grace of Jiang Yanli’s father, and had an identically gentle smile. She’d never spoken with such force in Jiang Yanli’s presence and she suspected her aunt would be horrified to know she’d been overheard.

“No one will accept a servant as a sect leader,” Uncle Wen said, though his tone had become less hateful.

“Do you think I want this? Had he not had the proper rites, my father would return from the dead as an angry spirit to see YunmengJiang so diminished. But my brother is dead and this is now the only recourse left if we want this sect to exist at all.”

“Sects rise and fall. There’s no reason this one should be any different.”

Damning silence. And then, “If you have ever held me in any sort of regard, as your wife and mother of your future children, you will put aside your pride and act in the best interests of YunmengJiang.”

And then these two people—Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren—had arrived this morning.

“You look sad, jiejie,” Wei Ying said, pulling Jiang Yanli away from her thoughts. He fished around in his sleeve and produced a piece of dried melon. “Here.”

“I want one,” A-Cheng whined.

Wei Ying smiled and offered him another piece. A-Cheng sat down to happily munch on it, Wei Ying dropping down beside him.

Once dinner was ended, and the children tucked safely away in bed, Wei Changze found his wife with a bottle of strong wine sitting at the end of Lotus Pier’s longest dock, looking over the water. It reminded him of their first meeting, when he’d found her in a much similar position with a noticeably smaller bottle of wine, supposedly chased from her bed by insomnia, though she’d admitted later sleeplessness hadn’t been the case. She hadn’t changed much in the meantime; she’d begun tying her hair up and back instead of letting it flow loose around her shoulders, and with his help her clothes were much better mended rather than awkwardly stitched together. But the same, angry expression pinched her lips.

“Xiao-Fei,” he called to avoid surprising her. Those raised on Baoshan Sanren’s mountain did not take well to being caught unawares.

She turned and offered up an inviting smile which did exactly nothing to mask her discontent. “A-Chang.”

He settled down beside her at the end of the dock. Her body pressed a warm line into his side. When she tried to pass over the wine, he shook his head, but took it anyway and set it on his far side. She huffed, but did not fight him for it.

“I know you hate it here,” he said.

“I don’t hate it here,” she said, “I hate it here. Men like Wen Wutian will look at you and all they’ll see is Jiang Fengmian’s former servant. They won’t see you. Not like I do.”

“No one has ever seen me the way you do,” Wei Changze agreed quietly.

“Yet you want me to stay here and be pleasant with all the people who treat you that way?”

“No. I don’t want to keep you anywhere you don’t wish to be. But if not us, who else? Jin Guangshan?” He took her hands. “Jiang Fanmeng and Wen Wutian have arranged it believing I will think there is no other choice. But there is a superior one.” He met and held her gaze.

Her eyes widened with realization. “You can’t be serious. Me?”

“I am. And I’m sorry to ask it of you. But if YunmengJiang is to remain standing, it must be you.”

“Why not you?”

“Xiao-Fei, you know why not,” he said, gentle as he could manage. “You are the respected disciple of an immortal master. Someone the other sect leaders may resent, but not a person they’ll dare disrespect. I am nothing more than the bastard son of the old Lady Jiang’s handmaiden. Worse, there has always been speculation that her husband was my father. Should I try to take any official position, it will be seen as confirmation of the fact and dishonour the memories of both the former Jiang-zongzhu and Fengmian.”

Whether such a thing were true, it hardly mattered; people would believe it regardless and his mother had died long before she could tell him the truth of the matter. He’d come into Fengmian’s service younger than Jiang Yanli was now, aching for kindness in a world which had treated both him and his mother terribly. Fengmian had shown him that kindness and before Xiao-Fei had danced into his life he’d thought he’d happily live the rest of it in the sect leader’s service.

Given the chance to honour Fengmian’s memory while remaining with Xiao Jingfei was the one visible star on an otherwise overcast night sky.

“If I agree to this, I refuse to treat you the way he did. You’re not my servant.”

He smiled. “I suppose it might be possible to hide such an unfortunate spouse.”

“You—! A-Chang.” Her agony made his eyes shadow over with regret. “Do not speak of my husband that way.”

He held up a placating hand, “I’m sorry. It was an ill joke.”

“It’s never a joke when you speak of yourself in such a way, though you always try to laugh it off.” She picked up his hand and played with the small scar beneath his thumb. “I notice.” Of course she noticed; as he’d said, no one had ever seen him as clearly as she did. “It’s one of those things I hope A-Ying does not take from us.”

He chuckled. “Like your stubbornness, perhaps?”

“Oh no, husband. If we’re to stay in Lotus Pier, he’ll need it.”

Presuming he’d been forgiven, he reached for her and tugged her closer, not quite into his lap but only because he probably feared unbalancing them and tipping them both into the river. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Then we’ll stay?”

“I suppose so.” Had she been truly set against it, he would have followed her right back onto the barge which had ferried them here. He would never have complained, nor resented her for it. But he would have spent the rest of his life regretting leaving Lotus Pier behind.

"Xiao-Fei, you know we’ll not only be responsible for the sect, but for Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng as well."

"Hm? Oh, obviously." She frowned. "Is that a problem? You missed A-Li so much when we left."

"Not for me. But. You have stated your preference for one child alone."

"Yes, as you have stated your preference for closer to a dozen. And had you been the one to carry them, I would have happily given them to you." Wei Changze's face flushed and she smirked at him knowingly. “I’m more worried the head disciple might still hate me.”

“Perhaps. But I thought you enjoyed contentious relationships. Isn’t that what the primary attraction is with your friend in Gusu?”

She snorted out a very unladylike cackle. “Oh, I cannot wait to hear all about his reaction to this.”

Chapter Text

When Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze announced that she’d be the one stepping in as acting sect leader, neither Jiang Fanmeng nor Wen Wutian seemed pleased at their decision, though they at least appreciated the thought behind it. Perhaps they’d hoped to manipulate A-Chang from Qishan. Whatever their plans, neither could produce an argument against it, and thus Xiao Jingfei gritted her teeth and formally offered her agreement.

With martial training suspended in deference to the mourning period, the disciples were sent to meditate and work on furthering the development of their golden cores, which at least gave her an opportunity to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do now.

The exception, of course, being the Head Disciple, who Jiang Fanmeng summoned to see them the morning after their arrival. Yu Gongxin, despite years of living in Yunmeng, still favoured the severe style of MeishanYu, in slate blue and grey with her wrists tightly bound to her elbow. The white sash sitting at her waist had been neatly tied with careful hands in a sincere symbol of grief instead of some of the hastily-donned cloth Xiao Jingfei had spotted on a few of the servants and lesser disciples as they scuttled about the place.

She snapped into a smart bow before Jiang Fanmeng and Wen Wutian, only glancing towards where Xiao Jingfei sat with Wei Changze.

“Gong-jie,” he greeted once he rose. A broad, if wan, grin stretched across his face when he saw her. Wei Changze had spoken of her highly long after they’d left Lotus Pier.

Instead of a warm reception, she cut him a brief sideways glance. “Wei-gongzi.”

A-Chang’s smile remained plastered across his face, but bled out of his eyes.

“Cangse Sanren will be assuming leadership of YunmengJiang until A-Cheng comes of age,” Jiang Fanmang told her. Xiao Jingfei watched carefully as Yu Gongxin jaw clenched, though her expression remained aggressively, determinedly neutral. “They will require your support.”

“YunmengJiang will always command my loyalty,” Yu Gongxin stated. Sharp, foxlike features hardened slightly despite the assertion. “If it pleases Cangse Sanren, I will review our training regimen once the appropriate time has passed.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have everything well in hand,” Xiao Jingfei offered, hoping some measure of acknowledgement of the woman’s efforts would go at least a little way in smoothing out what already felt like troubled waters.

Instead of appeasing her, Yu Gongxin’s eyes hardened. Xiao Jingfei wondered what she’d said to cause offense; she wasn’t adverse to pissing someone off, but generally she preferred to be intentional about it. Maybe a decent spar would put them on the same page. Whenever Xiao Jingfei had a conflict with someone on the mountain, beating one another silly tended to help.

“Let me acquaint you with current sect matters,” Jiang Fanmeng said. She called for one of the servants to bring a frankly horrifying number of records.

Xiao Jingfei stared at the piled up scrolls. Surely it wasn’t too late to change their minds about this? There had to be someone better suited to this. They could even abscond with the Jiang siblings.

Thankfully, before they’d gotten too invested in the first matter—something about spice shares?—the doors to the hall snapped open. A-Ying and Jiang Cheng spilled inside, followed by a harried-looking Jiang Yanli. She froze in place when every adult eye on the room turned on her. She hastily dipped into a bow, blushing and obviously embarrassed. A-Ying and Jiang Cheng barely noticed, apparently too busy with trying to push what looked like boogers into one another’s hair. Xiao Jingfei did not laugh. Even a little. And if she had, she only did so because it was very funny.

Others did not share her amusement. “Yanli!” Wen Wutian snapped. “If you cannot control your charges, at least do us the favour of keeping them out of sight.”

Xiao Jingfei prepared to snap at him when Wei Changze subtly grabbed the back of her robe. With a single tug, he let her know that she needed to remain silent. Probably because telling the second master of QishanWen to stop being a prick would somehow undermine the dignity her new position of authority.

“I’m sorry, uncle,” Jiang Yanli said. Finally noticing the tense atmosphere, the boys broke apart. Jiang Cheng ran to his sister while A-Ying froze, looking back and forth between the Jiang siblings and his parents.

“Here,” Xiao Jingfei said, standing. “A-Ying has not had the benefit of a formal education. Perhaps you two might help us determine what we can do to help him catch up.”

Xiao Jingfei hid a smile when Jiang Cheng swung a jealous eye on A-Ying. According to all she’d heard from A-Chang, the tutors assigned to the young masters of YunmengJiang had been commissioned in Jiang Fengmian’s father’s childhood and continued enjoying enviable tenure.

“Our acting sect leader should be here,” Yu Gongxin said.

Obviously she hadn’t been briefed on the fact that while Xiao Jingfei would be nominally in charge, Wei Changze was the one who actually knew what he was doing.

“Your acting sect leader is going to go and have a conversation with Jiang-zongzhu and his sister. Excuse me.”

Instead of directly seeking out the tutors, a cantankerous group of elders who seemed happiest when installed in the largest teahouse in the village outside the sect seat, she allowed Jiang Yanli to settle them in a pavilion near the river. There, the kids sat down to put together what seemed to be a relatively impressive curriculum aimed at rounding out his knowledge (mostly practical) with their own sterling education. Both of them seemed in desperate need of a little mussing up. Especially Jiang Cheng. While Jiang Yanli came across as sweet-natured, Xiao Jingfei already detected more than a little of Yu Ziyuan’s formidable temper in Jiang Cheng. How unfortunate Zidian had been lost along with its owner; he would have truly done it justice.

While the children worked, Xiao Jingfei grabbed pen and paper to dash off a letter of her own.

To the Second Young Master of GusuLan,

I write this letter in advance of official correspondence to inform you that I have taken the role of acting sect leader of YunmengJiang. Doubtless, though you have not officially assumed this role for GusuLan, you will be able to provide me with countless insights and endless wisdom as to how I may best manage. I may write to you quite often in hopes of both seeking such valuable advice, and bolstering what may be lagging spirits as the reality of the situation settles in.

Your eternal friend,

xjf

She summoned one of the servants. “Who is in charge of notifying the other sects of the situation and the untimely deaths of the late Jiang-zongzhu and his wife?” The servant rattled off a name she didn’t recognize. She handed over her letter. “Please ensure this is included in the correspondence to GusuLan.”

“Madam.”

She was going to come to hate that term of address very quickly. No because she didn’t care to be called Madam Wei, but because of the tremor in the voices of those who long associated it with Yu Ziyuan instead.

After the servant disappeared around the corner, she noticed the absence of sound. Turning, she found Jiang Yanli sitting with a scroll in front of her, untouched as ink dripped off the end of her brush.

“Um?” She looked towards A-Ying, pressed up against her left side. Her son looked back bewildered and pleading. “Did you need help with writing?”

“Thank you, but no.” Jiang Yanli set down her brush and tucked her hands into her sleeves. “I was only thinking of how my mother would have organized such a thing.”

Xiao Jingfei slid around the table. She didn’t want to hug Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng until she knew them better, but it felt enormously important to be close to both of them.

“This must be so very hard for you,” she whispered. Jiang Yanli nodded. Next to her, Jiang Cheng slumped against his sister’s side. “If either of you want to talk, I will listen.”

A-Ying attached himself to Jiang Cheng’s other side like a barnacle. She wished more than anything for Wei Changze to appear and wrap them all up in his perfectly tight embrace.

Jiang Yanli silently brushed a tear from her cheek. “A-Cheng and I are strong.”

“You are,” Xiao Jingfei agreed. “Very strong. Like your mother. And your father,” she added after a moment. She didn’t want to saddle these children with her baggage; if she needed to praise Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan for the rest of her life to comfort their children, she would. “You will grow and make both of them very proud.”

Jiang Yanli took in a shaky breath. While she went to pick up her brush, however, her hand shook so badly she knocked over the ink.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. She stood to clean it up.

“A-Li,” Xiao Jingfei said. Jiang Yanli stilled. “It’s all right. We can clean it up later. Why don’t you come and sit down with us for now.” Xiao Jingfei cast her gaze out across the river. “Tell me all you can about Lotus Pier. It is going to be our home for now.”

“For now?” Jiang Cheng repeated, pinching out the word through pursed lips.

“As long as you need us,” Xiao Jingfei corrected. “Until you’re so sick of us that you drive us out.” She hoped none of the children noticed how hollow the words sounded to her. Being sent away the first time had broken Wei Changze’s heart.

A week later, once the tablets for Jiang Cheng’s parents were properly erected in the ancestral hall, Auntie Jiang and Uncle Wen took their leave of Lotus Pier. Auntie Jiang continued to wear her white sash, the plain fabric catching in the wind as Uncle Wen helped her step up onto his sword. He didn’t wear white anymore. He seemed happy to be leaving.

Jing Cheng wouldn’t be happy to be leaving. He’d spent most of the previous night awake and terrified at the idea that his uncle might insist on bringing him along to Qishan.

“My brother is much occupied with QishanWen and his role as Chief Cultivator. We will not have much opportunity to visit again,” he said. He levelled a piercing glare at Jiang Cheng and A-Jie. “I expect things will be well taken care of in our absence.”

“Give our best to His Excellency,” Uncle Wei replied. Jiang Cheng liked Uncle Wei more than he liked Uncle Wen, even if Fifth Shixiong did say he used to be a servant.

They left without another glance backwards.

Auntie Xiao and Uncle Wei made their way towards the receiving hall to do whatever it was grown ups did—mostly complain about Sect Leader Yao, from what Jiang Cheng could see—leaving Jiang Cheng, A-Jie, and Wei Ying with Jiang Tiezhen.

As soon as they were out of sight, Jiang Cheng asked, “Do you like dogs?” With everything strange and terrible, with A-Niang and A-Die both gone and everyone looking at them like they didn’t know what to do, having someone around who was on his side felt important. Besides A-Jie, obviously.

Wei Ying frowned in thought. “I don’t know,” he said, “Are they nice?”

“My dog is the nicest,” Jiang Cheng declared. He stalked off in the direction of his room, Jiejie close behind them, promising Jiang Tiezhen she could keep an eye on them.

A-Niang hadn’t allowed him to keep Jasmine in his room, saying again and again he wasn’t old enough to take care of her. But when Da-Shijie had come to tell him that his parents weren’t coming home, she’d brought Jasmine with her and let his puppy stay with him overnight. He hadn’t known that a night so wonderful could also be so terrible. Once Uncle Wen arrived, he’d been awful about it and ordered her back to the kennel. Now that he was gone, though, Jiang Cheng would make sure she stayed with him forever.

Jasmine jumped up as soon as they entered the kennel. Wei Ying cringed back when she barked. Jiang Cheng felt insulted enough for both of them.

“I’m not sure I like dogs,” he whispered. Jasmine yapped, excited to have company, but Wei Ying hid behind A-Jie like she was about to attack him. Jasmine would never attack anyone, not even scared little boys, because she was a good girl.

“She’s very nice, Wei-gongzi,” A-Jie assured him.

Wei Ying frowned. “That’s weird. You shouldn’t call me that.” He frowned. “It makes me sound old. I’m only five.”

“I’m four,” Jiang Cheng said. If Wei Ying didn’t like dogs… What if they made him get rid of Jasmine?! “And I’ve had Jasmine since I was a baby and I’d rather have her around than you.”

Wei Ying looked like he was going to cry. “My Mama once fought a monster who looked like a dog. It attacked me and my Baba.”

“My mother fought a thousand monsters,” Jiang Cheng declared. “Yours isn’t special. And I don’t care what they say, she’s not ever going to be my mother!”

Jasmine barked, distressed by the yelling, and Wei Ying whined and pressed up against A-Jie’s back and it wasn’t fair that he got to have a mother and a father and A-Jie.

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to say, so instead of saying anything he screamed helplessly and ran out the door.

With the sect still in mourning and the disciples forbidden from training, the main courtyard was empty. No one saw him running across the training fields and out into the forest on the west side of the sect seat. He didn’t want to be here anymore if everything was going to keep changing!

If he’d been bigger, he would have found a tree to climb and hide. Instead, he ducked down into a patch of tall grass, squeezing as low as he could into the rain-wet mud, confident no one would come to find him. Why would they? Everyone else seemed to be leaving him alone! He’d stay here and become a mud demon and haunt anyone who came close.

A few minutes later, once the cold mud began soaking his robes, he mildly regretted not finding somewhere dry to become a demon.

“A-Cheng!” a voice called in the distance. A-Jie, probably. He expected, by the time she reached him, he would have claws and fangs. That wasn’t good; he didn’t want her to become his first victim.

He curled down lower into the squishy mud. It clumped up into his robes.

“A-Cheng!” That wasn’t A-Jie. He figured it was probably Wei Ying. He hoped the other boy reached him first; he’d happily eat anyone who didn’t like dogs.

“You look that way,” Wei Ying said to A-Jie, like he was old enough or strong enough to order her around. “I’ll go check that grass.”

Good. Jiang Cheng would eat him.

Wei Ying passed by him three times, walking back and forth, before he came close enough for Jiang Cheng to roar and knock him over. Wei Ying went down with a yelp and Jiang Cheng jumped on him.They smack at each other uselessly before Jiang Cheng managed to clamp his teeth down on Wei Ying’s arm.

“You bit me!” Wei Ying screamed. He bucked upwards and knocked Jiang Cheng off, rolling them both over and sitting on his legs.

“Get off!” Jiang Cheng screamed, uselessly kicking as hard as he could even though he had no leverage.

“Listen,” Wei Ying said. He rolled off Jiang Cheng and sat down beside him, right in the mud. “I decided I’m going to be your brother.”

“I don’t want a brother,” Jiang Cheng muttered, like he hadn’t begged and pleaded with A-Niang so often she’d eventually yelled at him to stop bringing it up. That was different. That would’ve been a younger brother and he’d have been the gege. He pushed himself up and uselessly ran his hands down his sleeves, which only served to displace the mud instead of actually cleaning it off. “You’ll never be a good gege because you don’t like dogs.”

“Well, I want one, and you’re here, so you’re it,” A-Ying stated simply.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“YES!”

And then Wei Ying tackled him back into the mud. He slid across the ground, mud caking into his hair, and no matter how much he slapped Wei Ying, he couldn’t get free.

“Get off!”

“Call me Ying-ge!”

“I will if you get off!”

Wei Ying pulled up and away, allowing Jiang Cheng to once again haul himself out of the mud. His mother would have been so angry with him. The thought made Jiang Cheng’s lower lips quiver, though he refused to cry in front of his new brother.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

“‘I hate you Ying-ge,’” Wei Ying coaxed.

Jiang Cheng repeated, with a sob, “I hate you, Ying-ge.”

Wei Ying nodded in satisfaction, which distracted him long enough for Jiang Cheng to charge forward and push him into the puddle behind him. Wei Ying sank down butt-first, but instead of being angry he broke into gales of laughter.

“You’re already a great didi,” he said. He stood up and hugged Jiang Cheng tight. “You don’t have to cry. I promise I’ll be a good brother. Even if I don’t like dogs.”

Jiang Cheng scowled to hide how much he liked the older boy’s arms around him. No one except A-Jie had hugged him since A-Niang and A-Die went away, and even before then hugs had been hard to come by. “Fine,” he said, leaning heavily into Wei Ying’s arms. “I guess you’re okay.” Wei Ying grinned. “Ying-ge.”

“Come on, let’s go get dried off and find a snack. I bet there’s lots of good stuff back home.” He began recounting a list of snacks he’d had during their travels. All Jiang Cheng ever had were the things prepared either in Lotus Pier or the surrounding markets; it didn’t seem fair Wei Ying had gotten to try so many new things.

“We have the best snacks,” Jiang Cheng finally declared. Wei Ying lit up.

They met A-Jie on the way back, looking worried and pale until she spotted them. She smiled, so relieved that Jiang Cheng felt bad for worrying her.

“I told Ying-ge we’d make snacks,” he admitted after A-Jie hugged him tight.

“Yes. I’ll… I’ll see what we have in the kitchen, A-Cheng. A-Ying. Please. Let’s go home.”

Jiang Cheng stuck close to his sister’s side, Wei Ying hanging off her other arm. They chatted like nothing had changed. Maybe nothing had. Or, probably the only thing that had changed was Jiang Cheng’s heart getting bigger.

They’d only gotten halfway back before Wei Ying paused. “I don’t like your dog, but. I know you like her. I’ll stay with my parents and you can keep your dog, okay?”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “Okay.” And then, “I’ll put her away whenever we play together.” He hadn’t had regular playmates, really. A-Niang told him it was beneath him to associate with anyone beneath him. Which didn’t make sense, since he was very short.

A-Jie made a small noise in the back of her throat, like she was crying. They both looked at her, alarmed, but she only smiled at them.

“I’m glad to have two younger brothers now,” she said. Jiang Cheng frowned, but only until Wei Ying crowed in delight and grabbed him up in a tight hug.

Having a brother wasn’t terrible, he guessed.

At least not if he got to keep his dog.

(And since Wei Ying was his brother now, Jiang Cheng had to make sure he stayed and didn’t go away like everyone else.)

As they reached the side gates Jiang Tiezhen found them, panicking like they’d been lost instead of just out for a walk. His hair had come loose from its clasp, flying wild around his head.

“Gongzi, guniang, Wei-gongzi. Thank goodness. The entire house is in uproar.” He bowed to them.

“Why is everyone worried? I go for explores all the time and my parents don’t worry,” Wei Ying asked.

A-Die would have called Jiang Teizhen’s expression ‘politely dubious,’ whatever that meant.

They arrived just before dinner was due to be served in the main hall, and Da-Shijie met them at the gate. Yu Gongxin, as always, looked Displeased.

“Well, young masters,” she said, “You have certainly caused a disturbance.”

Jiang Cheng kicked his feet guiltily, until Ying-ge looped his arm around his shoulder. “We were playing,” he said, as though Jiang Cheng hadn’t run off in a temper tantrum his mother would have called unbefitting of the station of Jiang-zongzhu.

“Well, go and clean yourselves up. Jiang Tiezhen,” the disciple snapped to attention, “Make sure to keep an eye on them this time.”

Jiang Tiezhen nodded and bowed. “I will Da-Shijie, thank you for the honour of your trust.” And then, turning to Jiang Cheng, A-Jie, and Ying-ge, “Please follow me to prepare for dinner.”

Ying-ge talked the whole time until they’d all been cleaned up and dressed. A-Jie helped Jiang Cheng order himself, and by the time the three of them all looked like the young mistress and masters of YunmengJiang, Jiang Tiezhen seemed almost ready to cry.

At dinner, Ying-ge ran over to his parents and plopped down beside them, waving Jiang Cheng and A-Jie over to join him. Jiang Cheng noted with some relief that no one was sitting at his father’s place at the head of the room. Reluctantly, he and A-Jie walked over and took their places across from Auntie Xiao and Uncle Wei.

“I hear the three of you had an adventure,” Auntie Xiao said with a smile.

“Just an explore,” Wei Ying said.

“I seem to recall you getting into very serious trouble last time you went on an explore on your own without telling us,” Uncle Wei said.

“I wasn’t on my own!” Wei Ying protested. “I was with Cheng-di and Jiejie.”

Uncle Wei blinked, but seemed to forget whatever else he was going to say.

Jiang Cheng looked at Ying-ge, who grinned his way. Beside him, Auntie Xiao ruffled his hair and smiled in Jiang Cheng’s direction.

Apparently deciding they weren’t in trouble, Wei Ying stuffed a piece of pork into his mouth, cheeks puffing out around this. “Try this, Didi!” He picked up the biggest piece on his plate and shoved it towards Jiang Cheng’s face.

“Gently, A-Ying,” Uncle Wei said, even as Jiang Cheng opened his mouth.

The pork was pretty good.

Once the first mourning period was over, allowing the sect to recommence internal matters, Yu Gongxin set the disciples to work. A chorus of 'again,' and on rare occasions 'good' regularly reached her from the training field. Muted, which Xiao Jingfei imagined to be out of respect for the deceased, but present in ways that reminded her of her first visit to Lotus Pier.

With some reluctance—Xiao Jingfei had planned to train A-Ying herself, but after dubbing the other boy his didi, he refused to be parted from Jiang Cheng—she placed her son in with the youngest group of future disciples. While he and Jiang Cheng were the youngest, and she worried over their ability to properly absorb the material, it wasn't a fight she wanted to have. At worst, they'd be bored and get into some little mischief. In the best case, they'd retain something to carry with them once they properly began learning.

They spent their evenings together. She and Wei Changze took turns cooking, Jiang Yanli patiently standing at their elbows and watching attentively. In a painful, delightful turn of events, she had a similar spice tolerance to Wei Changze and A-Ying. Xiao Jingfei understood it, and she and Jiang Cheng suffered through many painful nights of experimentation as her son and husband kept escalating and Jiang Yanli kept indulging them.

The kids were enjoying themselves, at least. Jiang Yanli and A-Ying far more than Jiang Cheng, who stubbornly ate whatever was put in front of him and angrily cried his way through it every time.

(Eventually, they found a happy middle ground. The day Xiao Jingfei and A-Cheng honestly pronounced their noodles 'delicious' without tearing up had been a celebration indeed.)

Most of the sect learned to avoid dinnertime with them. A few brave disciples here and there dared to join in, perhaps looking to curry favour with the new acting sect leader. If they managed more than a few mouthfuls, Xiao Jingfei generally took mercy and let them have what they wanted.

Presumably, as she typically avoided their family save for brief, bitten out progress reports, it brought Yu Gongxin to their table one evening. Throughout the meal, she kept her eyes on her plate save for one or two moments she took time to respond to questions from the children. She ignored Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze entirely save for the absolute minimum required niceties.

Every interaction with her had been the same. Xiao Jingfei wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to make the other woman hate her, but she had little doubt that Yu Gongxin did. And as for Wei Changze, well… if she ever acknowledged his existence, perhaps Xiao Jingfei might be able to get a better read on her. For all Yu Gongxin’s attitude towards Xiao Jingfei bordered on hostile, if polite, she ignored Wei Changze with the same single-minded determination she brought to her duties as head disciple.

"You cooked this?" Yu Gongxin finally asked Jiang Yanli. The girl nodded. "Very good."

Jiang Yanli smiled, a small and private thing. Smiling had become easier for her in the past few weeks. Wei Changze had found the easiest way to help her with her grief was to give her small, easy tasks that helped him with the daily running of the sect. Not only did she earnestly seem to enjoy them, but excelled. Whatever role she took in the future of YunmengJiang, they would be better for it.

"I have come to ask my acting sect leader's permission to go on a series of hunts nearby," Yu Gongxin said. "Alone."

"Why alone, Da-Shijie?" Jiang Cheng asked.

Yu Gongxin's eyes softened for a single moment when she looked towards Jiang Cheng. "It is a challenge I have set for myself," she replied evenly. "To strengthen YunmengJiang."

“Perhaps I could join you?” Xiao Jingfei offered. Whatever kindness had been in Yu Gongxin’s eyes abruptly disappeared. “Offer what support I can.”

“Thank you, but I do not need a demonstration of your skills at this time.” Yu Gongxin stood abruptly. “May I have your permission?”

Xiao Jingfei pressed her lips together and glanced at Wei Changze. He nodded, hiding the gesture behind his sleeve; he’d gotten quite good at indicating ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to her silent questions over the years already, and the last month had turned it into an art form.

“You may.”

Yu Gongxin bowed and exited the hall.

After putting the children to bed that evening, Xiao Jingfei sat to write another in the long series of letters she’d been sending to Gusu. After years of unreliability in the way of receiving mail from her most faithful correspondent, indulging herself by constantly pestering him felt like a luxury she was eager to take for granted.

Gege,

How did I manage to get you to like me? As I recall, you hated me for quite a long time before finally resigning yourself to being stuck with me, but there must have been something that convinced you I was worth more than a ‘harumph’ and a book tossed at my head. Do tell me if it’s just because you finally decided you’d had enough of trying to improve your aim, which is something you still may feel ashamed or embarrassed by since you probably still don’t take the time to practice. Though if you ever decide to sharpen your archery skills, come to Yunmeng. Bring those adorable nephews of yours. Getting some exposure to A-Ying and my two new charges will be good for them… now that Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng have had some time, they’re beginning to truly blossom.

xjf

Yu Gonxgin returned from the first of her solo trips before his reply arrived. She seemed irritated, more so than usual, and threw herself back into her responsibilities.

“Maybe I offended her in another life,” Xiao Jingfei murmured, watching Yu Gongxin correct a disciple’s stance with an aggressive smack to his elbow.

Don’t bother blaming past lives for causing offense, you have plenty of wherewithal to do it in this one, Lan Qiren would have said.

Wei Changze merely kissed the side of her head. “Yu Gongxin has always kept her own company.” Still, his gaze seemed troubled as well.

Lan Qiren’s reply finally came.

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang,

You cannot expect the entire world to fall in love with you. While, I grant you, you do have an easy way with people, your impertinence often borders on insufferable and it is not unreasonable to find those who do not care for it. I caution you against trying to press the point in case you turn mild distaste to true enmity.

I would need to seek permission from my brother to arrange such a visit. While it is not impossible to obtain, by any means, it may take some time. The elders have expressed their dislike at the idea of an outsider assuming control of YunmengJiang, and may advise against it. Still, if possible, a visit might be to everyone’s benefit. Heavens know your kindle would likely benefit from the good example which would surely be set by my nephews.

Sincerely,

LQR.

Neither Yu Gongxin’s second, nor even her third or fourth, foray out on her own seemed to ease whatever disgruntlement she brought with her when she left.

She was out on her fourth venture when word came from Cloud Recesses written in a hand other than Lan Qiren’s, nearly three months into their term as interim leaders.

“Qingheng-jun is dead,” Xiao Jingfei read aloud, feeling faint.

Wei Changze looked up from where he and Jiang Yanli had settled in for a game of weiqi. “What? How?”

“It doesn’t say.” She continued reading, “‘With Lan Xichen not yet old enough to assume the full dignities and responsibilities of leadership, his uncle will officially step into the role for the time being.’” She shook her head. “Gege’s been doing the job these past twelve years at least. Nice of them to finally acknowledge it.”

Wei Changze hummed in the back of his throat. His dangerous hum. His ‘I know something that you’re not going to like’ hum.

“What?” she asked warily.

“I think you’ll find your friend may struggle with this,” he said. Lost in thought, he gestured blindly towards the weiqi board. While Jiang Yanli tried to follow the movements, as though she’d get some insight into his strategy, Xiao Jingfei knew he wasn’t truly seeing anything in front of him as much as the shape of something far away. “Yes, he’s been assisting with the day to day, but ultimately the decisions have been left to Qingheng-jun. Now that he’ll be shouldering the role in truth, he’ll have the clan elders to contend with if he steps a toe out of line.”

“Gege’s never put a toe out of line in his life,” Xiao Jingfei said with a small laugh.

Wei Changze raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly confident he’s been roundly told to end his association with you once or twice.”

“I don’t count. He knows I’d make him suffer much worse than handstands and lines if he tried to rid himself of me.”

“So you’ve mentioned. I hope to meet him one day and determine for myself if his goatee is as tempting a target as you’ve made it out to be.”

A small din rose from the main gates. Trading confused looks, Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze rose to investigate, Jiang Yanli fast on their heels. Maybe yet another sect leader had died; two in one year already felt improbable, but the number three was deeply auspicious, one way or another.

Instead, Yu Gongxin stood proudly before the gates, the closest thing Xiao Jingfei had ever seen to a smile lighting up her face. Most of their senior disciples had gathered to greet her, a far cry from her other homecomings where she shuffled back to her room without a word to anyone. When she saw them approach, the pleasure dimmed from her expression, but only until she spotted Jiang Yanli.

She stepped away from the bouncing mob of disciples surrounding her.

“Acting Sect Leader,” she said with a bow.

The greeting quickly proved perfunctory as she knelt down before Jiang Yanli. She held out her hands, offering Jiang Yanli the contents: Zidian.

“Jiang-guniang. I have searched the place where your parents died many times in hopes of returning this to you and Jiang Wanyin. To honour your parents and their memory. I beg you take it from me now.”

Jiang Yanli’s hands shook as she reached out to take it.

“Thank you, Da-Shijie,” she whispered. “I will keep it safe for A-Cheng.”

Yu Gongxin stood and nodded. Then she turned her gaze to the rest of the disciples. “All of you should be drilling. Back to it.”

They snapped to obey, streaming away from the courtyard to retreat to whatever duties they’d forgone to witness the moment. With a last bow, she followed them, leaving Jiang Yanli staring at the spiritual tool in her hands.

“I need to go and tell A-Cheng,” she said. She smiled at Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze pensively and disappeared off in search of the boys, probably up to their necks in mud by now. A-Ying had shared with Jiang Cheng his spectacular talent for being able to find the muckiest puddles.

“Maybe this will bring all of them a bit more peace,” Wei Changze murmured. Xiao Jingfei did not care for how his face had paled.

“Let’s hope,” Xiao Jingfei said. She took his hand. “Come. I’ll partner you in weiqi while you decide how to officially respond to the news about Qingheng-jun and I’ll scandalize you with all the things I plan to write to Qiren.”

“You can’t scandalize me, we’ve been married too long.” He chuckled weakly. “And you hate weiqi.”

“Yes, but I love you. And you’ll beat me so quickly I won’t have a chance to remember how much I dislike it.”

“Funny, I thought my habit of beating you quickly was the reason you disliked it.”

Xiao Jingfei laughed and nudged his side. “At least pretend to think about your moves before you make them. I love that line you get between your eyebrows when you’re deep in thought.”

“If my wife commands it, this servant will happily oblige.” Xiao Jingfei paused and eyed him sidelong. “This husband will oblige,” he corrected.

“Mn. Maybe you’ll let me win then, too?”

“Not a chance.”

Chapter Text

It took Lan Qiren a moment to truly understand what he was reading.

It took him another moment to process the information in a way that made anything resembling sense.

He called in the disciple who had delivered his weekly correspondence.

“While I appreciate levity to a certain degree, such juvenile humour is beneath the dignity of GusuLan.”

The disciple blinked owlishly. “Excuse me?”

Lan Qiren unfolded the missive and offered it for inspection. “As a forgery, quite good on the creation but not convincing at all in terms of credibility of content.”

“Ah, Lan-er-gongzi, this came directly from Lotus Pier.”

Lan Qiren blinked slowly. “Then perhaps we might convey the same message to whatever disciples there have decided to make such a tasteless joke.” The boy’s lips pressed together and an urgent discomfort settled in Lan Qiren’s gut. “This is… not a joke? Cangse Sanren has assumed responsibility for Lotus Pier?” He frowned. “Who delivered it?”

“A Jiang disciple arrived in mourning and offered to wait for the reply of, ahem…” He paused and shifted uncomfortably. The growing unease intensified. “‘Gege.’”

Long practice at maintaining a cool demeanour when exposed to men such as Jin Guangshan and Lan Zhurun saved the disciple from what would have otherwise been an impressively explosive response. As such, Lan Qiren merely pursed his lips and nodded.

“In that case, please show the disciple every courtesy as I compose my reply.” And compose myself before I dive headlong into what will surely be a qi deviation for the ages.

The disciple bowed and left him staring at the announcement in disbelief.

He felt his reply, once written, would bring her no end of amusement:

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang

It should come as no surprise to you that upon receipt of the letter, I immediately thought it an ill-conceived prank. As I recall, in past conversations you have claimed that you would rather throw yourself bodily from this mountain than submit to any authority besides that of your master or dictates of your own conscience. Given such an attitude, I cannot now conceive of the utter temerity for you to have accepted this position.

Despite having stood as an acting sect leader now for nearly twelve years, the wealth of advice I can provide will, I am sure, fall on deaf ears given you have never once in your life been receptive to reasonable counsel. Any letters I send will obviously be mocked, should they be read at all, and sending them will obviously be as useless as attempting to cleanse the Burial Mounds with a four-stringed guqin.

Start by gathering the sect elders and make it clear that you will listen to their advice but will make decisions independent of their suggestions. Otherwise you will find yourself quickly set on your back foot to what will escalate into demands.

I hope you know what you're doing.

LQR.

What he hesitate to admit to her, his dearest friend, was the truth of the matter: being neither sect leader nor acting sect leader, his contributions were tantamount to a body occupying the place of Lan-zongzhu with none of the dignities or trappings of actual influence.

The current council of elders did not care for him. Qingheng-jun had been the one raised with the expectations of becoming a sect leader. He had played the role beautifully, with the political acumen of a natural genius, up to the moment he’d entered voluntary seclusion. Lan Qiren saw things from a much more practical point of view.

While Qingheng-jun technically remained sect leader, the elders frequently called upon Lan Qiren to sit in on their discussions and provide what they called ‘a younger man’s perspective’—to wit, he found, he had the opportunity to offer his opinion to the twelve men who made decisions for the entire sect without input from the disciples who the changes would impact. HIs suggestions were usually hemmed and hawed over and ultimately ignored. Had his brother officially stepped down when he’d entered into seclusion, Lan Qiren might have had the opportunity to affect meaningful change.

Hopefully, Xiao Jingfei would find the political waters of YunmengJiang easier to navigate.

Her reply came with gratifying speed.

Gege,

He would never be able to show any of her letters to the elders.

How kind of you to think of your poor, suffering friend and send such good advice. Truly, the reputation you have gained as the wise and venerable second young master of GusuLan is not as baseless as I long feared.

The cheek of this woman. He immediately regretted his decision to involve himself in her affairs. She knew he hated whatever reputation existed for him outside the classroom and assuming an elevated position seemed to have done nothing to curb her habit as an inveterate tease.

The elders against whom I wielded your excellent advice were quite irritated. I defy even you to not have laughed at the indignation. A-Chang certainly found it amusing, and let me know he'd be very happy to make your acquaintance indeed. He has so frequently heard me speak of you he likely already knows all your terrible habits and how they perfectly complement all of mine.

He would not lie to himself about how news of their union had hit him as a blow. Before his brother's unfortunate marriage had proved to him the devastation wrought by imprisoning a formerly free spirit, he had thought… well. It hardly mattered any longer. She was happily married, and Lan Qiren had two boys above whom he would place everything including his own health and happiness. If they had missed opportunities for more than friendship in this life, they may very well have the chance of it in the next.

By all means, please keep sending me excellent advice. I may even heed it once in a while. If you had any to spare regarding negotiating the silver trade, for example, I might be inclined to read it.

Your devoted friend,

xjf

---

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang,

As GusuLan is one of the preeminent silver patrons among the sects, I encourage you to remind the merchants in your purview that your control of the river may make ongoing trade very challenging should you decide to be less accommodating of the waters.

I know that those of us in Cloud Recesses will go above and beyond to avoid any interruption to our supply. Perhaps remind the merchant in question that should access to high quality silver be compromised, their most prolific client would be eager for matters to be quickly settled.

LQR.

Lan Qiren had always enjoyed teaching far more than the duties often foisted upon him in his brother’s absence. Sitting through yet one more lengthy discussion regarding the current ratio of rice to greens in the midday meal, he idly set his thoughts to upcoming curriculum changes for the guest lectures; this year, he thought, there might be some value in requesting the services of senior disciples from the other sects to demonstrate advanced sword forms and highlight the differences between training methods. It would certainly serve to engage those who joined them from QingheNie more than yet another lecture.

The sound of running outside drew the collective attention of everyone in the room. The elder sitting closest to the door, Lan Zhurun, visibly had admonishment perched on his lips for whoever might come inside.

The disciple dropped into a bow when he entered, but before he could say anything, Lan Zhurun ordered him back outside and to return at a more measured pace.

“But—” the poor boy began.

“‘Conduct yourself with grace, dignity, and piety to avoid a poor reflection on the sect as a whole,’” Lan Zhurun recited. A kind person may have called him ‘officious’ as he sat back on his heels with a self-congratulatory air hanging about him like a cloud of flies.

The disciple’s mouth thinned into an anxious line. He looked pleadingly towards Lan Qiren, and, agitated, tried to press on, “I have—”

“You have nothing to say which may not be delayed until you return with proper comportment.”

The disciple stepped back out the door, closed it, and waited an wholly unnecessary amount of time before reopening it. Hopefully he had not walked all the way down the nearby path and back.

He bowed. “Honoured elders, Lan-er-gongzi. I have come to report that Qingheng-jun is dead.”

Despite their earlier insistence, the elders flew into a frenzy of shocked screaming in response. Lan Qiren found himself falling backwards out of his proper kneel, landing hard on his backside and staring at the messenger in disbelief.

“Has anyone told the boys?” he asked, the question lost in the hubbub around him.

The answer was ‘no.’

Too young to be of any matter in official affairs, no one had even thought about the boys. Lan Qiren felt torn between indignance on their behalf and relief that he could be the one to deliver the news.

There was also one other person who deserved to know. Perhaps selfishly, he decided to tell them all at once.

After collecting A-Zhan from the creche which saw to the younger children during the days, Lan Qiren stopped by to pick up A-Huan from his classes early, relieved to discover that the sect's rules around gossip had not permitted word to spread regarding the death of his brother as of yet.

Illness had caused Li Linxia to decline the last monthly visit from her sons, her voice choked with regret. She'd answered her door when Lan Qiren came to drop them off, pale and shaking, with tears in her eyes as she admitted she was not strong enough to receive them. While Lan Qiren had petitioned the elders to allow her visit to be moved, in this—as in all things pertaining to the running of the sect—he was denied, and his brother had not responded to his requests on the matter either.

In wake of his brother's death, in defiance of the usually scheduled times, he brought the boys to her door.

When she answered, he scanned her features for any lingering sign of illness. While still pale, he attributed that to a life spent indoors, and she looked more confused than anything else.

"Mama!" A-Zhan pulled away from Lan Qiren and rushed into her arms. She dropped down to the floor to embrace him.

"My goodness," she cried, hugging him tightly. "I must have lost track of the days. I was not expecting you for another fortnight."

A-Huan joined them and she gathered him up into her embrace as well.

"There has been no failure on your part," Lan Qiren offered gently. She blinked at him in confusion. He bowed. "Will you permit this brother-in-law to step inside?"

She frowned, but nodded, and stood back to allow him access to her house. He had been inside but rarely, the occasional visit to ensure her continued well-being and the contents were still suited to welcome the boys. Otherwise, their conversations, conducted around naptime and independent study, took place outside. As her only permitted visitor, Lan Qiren had both the responsibility and privilege of providing her with the sole voice of adult company, save for whatever assignations she and Qingheng-jun managed to arrange. He had been adamantly against associating with her at first; in twelve years, however, it had become less of a chore and more a matter of honest enjoyment. One he kept the elders from discovering for fear of someone less invested being assigned the task of bringing his nephews to and from her home.

Qingheng-jun had picked out inadequate living quarters for his wife, as far as Lan Qiren was concerned. While a bachelor might have comfortably lived inside, with only a single bed and small sitting room, she took pride in her skills as a mother and would have flourished in a larger space to accommodate her time with the boys. It felt petty, a way for his brother to express his discontent with his decision to remove them both to separate seclusion. For a long time Lan Qiren thought it an insult to the elders; a way of saying 'if you will force the point, then neither my wife nor I shall live in accommodations suited to our stations as sect leader and sect leader's spouse.' It took him far too long to realize that Qingheng-jun just did not care about his wife's general comfort.

Li Linxia stood with A-Zhan in her arms and kept a hand wrapped around A-Huan's wrist as she led them to her small receiving table. He followed at a sedate pace.

"May I offer you tea?" she asked.

"I thank you, no," he replied. He steadied himself. "I have come to deliver news: Qingheng-jun is dead."

A-Huan gasped. Li Linxia's eyes widened.

A-Zhan twisted around to look at his mother. "Muqin, do you have any snacks?"

Regardless of what the elders would say—and they would say something, likely at considerable length—he permitted the boys to stay overnight with their mother. As she put them to bed, he removed himself to her porch to look out over the Cloud Recesses. Nothing looked as though it had undergone a change, but the very air moved around him in a wholly different manner than the day before.

Li Linxia came out to join him with a tray laden down with a fine jar of wine and delicate cups. He blinked at it in surprise.

“How?”

“There’s a booming underground trade of liquor in the Cloud Recesses, didi,” she said.

“Well, yes. But how did you...?”

“Let’s say I have friends who are invested in my comfort here.” She tucked back her sleeve and poured wine for them both, easing one across the tray to him.

“Absolutely not,” he said, probably far too quickly from the sideways glance and raised eyebrow it earned him. “Pray tell these ‘friends’ to take care not to get caught. One of the outer disciples was found to have similar contraband in his dorm room and suffered thirty strikes of the discipline rod.”

“I’ll pass along the message.” She lifted her cup and hid a long sip behind the flowing drape of her sleeve. Once fortified, she finally asked, “How did it happen?”

“It seems Lan-zongzhu found himself fundamentally unsuited to prolonged seclusion,” Lan Qiren replied, his voice breaking on the last word. He’d loved his brother and looked up to him. Yes, he’d made mistakes which personally cost Lan Qiren more than he ever would have otherwise paid, but one did not hold such things against the dead.

“My condolences,” she whispered. She tilted out another cup and drank that one as daintily and politely as possible when in a state of obvious upset. “Thank you for giving me this time with the boys. I’ll make sure they’re up and ready to go tomorrow before the elders come for me.”

“Come for you?” Lan Qiren repeated.

“Qingheng-jun is dead,” Li Linxia said, as though Lan Qiren might have forgotten the fact. “There is now nothing standing in the way of my execution.” Her lips twitched, unsure whether to smile or frown.

“The sect leader is dead,” Lan Qiren agreed. “According to our precepts, at least a year must pass before any such punishments are carried out. And,” he coughed gruffly, “While you are no longer the wife of a sect leader, you are in fact the mother of one. A much kinder one than I’m sure the elders will appreciate when it comes to matters of discipline. And in the meantime, the acting sect leader has always laboured under the impression that the rightful place of a parent is with their children.”

Cautious hope transformed her face. “Oh?” He nodded quickly and hoped, likely futilely, she would leave it there. “Well, then I suppose the three of us will, by necessity of such impressions, be staying with you.”

His lips pinched together hard and he turned to face away from her, glaring at the nearby treeline and struggling to restrain himself at the words. He focused on the feeling of his ribbon’s crest pressed against his forehead. He hated unnecessary expression of emotion and refused to allow her to see him crying like a child over a simple statement of fact.

“The hanshi has remained empty since the death of my mother,” he said. “It will take a little over a month for it to be put to rights and made inhabitable for a… group of four.”

“A family of four.”

He issued a sound not unlike a growl to cover what threatened to come out as a small whine while struggling to keep his face betraying him. Lan Qiren had done nothing to earn her kindness. He had been unable to do much to help keep her in the comfort she long deserved. Every one of his attempts had been confounded, leaving him to be satisfied with the terrible task of walking his nephews to her door once a month and then retrieving them a mere two days later. A-Zhan struggled with it more obviously than A-Huan, but both of them had cried over it more than once, leaving Lan Qiren feeling like the large looming antagonist of their lives, regardless of his actions every other day of the month.

“As you say,” he finally ground out. Under no circumstances could Li Linxia ever be permitted to meet with Xiao Jingfei; between the two of them, they would certainly drive him to qi deviation and thence an early grave.

“Go get some sleep,” she said. “If you insist upon this, you will have a fight on your hands and you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

A fight indeed. One that lasted a full month during which he neglected to bring the boys back to the small cottage he had shared with them these past twelve years and quietly made arrangements for the hanshi to be ameliorated.

“One should take care to remember that the influence of wicked women will have a corrupting influence on the youth,” Lan Zhurun sneered when Lan Qiren dared press the point. “Have you not been subject to such observations firsthand?”

“Having never associated with wicked women myself, I cannot say I have,” Lan Qiren said. “I am happy to continue this conversation as long as you like. I will be victorious. Or, as acting sect leader, I can make it an order if you’d prefer to save face.”

Shock rippled across Lan Zhurun’s face, quickly followed by anger.

Whichever method finally convinced the elders, eventually Lan Qiren and his family moved into the hanshi.

Just in time as well: two days later, A-Huan caught a late-autumn fever and ended up bed bound for almost a week.

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang,

In a turn of events I’m sure you will find to be equally shocking as I, I have decided to reach out and ask your advice on a matter. Recently it has been brought to the attention of the elders that a number of disciples have been involved in sneaking alcohol into Cloud Recesses. While I did not know the extent of the proceedings, I was not completely unaware of the matter either. I have been contemplating the severity of the ordered punishments and whether they suit the crime and whether I am feeling lenient as I should in good conscience submit myself as an abetter in this matter.

Given I’m sure we are both aware of what your first stance will be, please do me the service of sending along your second.

LQR.

 

To the Acting Sect Leader of GusuLan

Lan Qiren,

I hope you will forgive the presumption of intimacy I press upon you without invitation. Xiao-Fei has often told me how valuable she finds your friendship, and I hope you might be amenable to this unworthy substitution providing some advice in her absence, as she has taken the YunmengJiang disciples on a lengthy nighthunt.

I encourage you to consider other offenses which merit the punishment the elders have suited to this one. If they are of comparable nature and severity, there is dangerously little recourse you can take. However if the punishment they’ve decided upon is not fitted to the crime, perhaps a reminder that harshly disciplining comparatively small matters may lead to escalating severity of larger ones, which I understand may go against several of your rules related to equity of treatment.

I look forward to your reply, should you find it convenient to write.

Wei Changze

 

Wei Changze,

Rest assured I do not find your offer of assistance at all presumptuous. In offering such insight, you have only proved yourself wiser than I might have anticipated from a man who willingly married Xiao Jingfei.

Having reviewed the matter, I have reminded the elders that the last person to be punished this severely had intentionally injured another disciple during a spar and unless we are willing to compare the two crimes then we are unjustified in meting out such discipline.

You will need to pardon the brevity of his letter, as my eldest nephew has again taken ill, a recurrence of a fever he suffered only last month.

LQR.

 

Gege,

Who gave you leave to flirt with my husband? Complimenting him in such a way! And to think you have so often accused me of shamelessness!

Since I know you'll probably worry over it, the nighthunt went as well as could be expected. Did you know that guai born of dead yaks somehow smell less offensive than their living counterparts? Doubtless you'll find this amusing as I do, though I wish I was there to watch your cheeks seize in an attempt to stop yourself from smiling.

I hear A-Huan is sick again. I’ve enclosed some tea that our resident doctor swears by for such things.

Yours,

xjf

"May this nephew ask a question, uncle?" A-Huan asked, voice still reedy from this newest bout of weakness.

"Mn," Lan Qiren placed the most recent of Xiao Jingfei's ridiculous correspondence aside to devote the entirety of his attention to his nephew. "Ask."

"There’s no one you write to more than Acting Sect Leader Jiang, yet you often express frustration and irritation over her.” Lan Qiren nodded, though he feared the shape of which his nephew’s line of questioning had begun to take. “But you continue to reply to her letters, though you have deglegated—

“Delegated,” Lan Qiren corrected gently.

“Delegated any letters to Jin-zongzhu to other disciples.” Lan Qiren withheld a sneer. Jin Guangshan had tried to forge a brotherhood through off-coloured jokes made at his wife’s expense and Lan Qiren had less than zero desire to pursue further correspondence. “Since you dislike her so much, can’t you do the same?”

A-Huan was, unfortunately, likely too young to appreciate the irony of Lan Qiren declaring Xiao Jingfei to be the bane of Lan Qiren’s existence. Invariably sincere, A-Huan would likewise struggle to appreciate how the appearance of dislike could mask tenderness and vast affection.

“Since she was young and attended the guest lectures,” Lan Qiren began, stroking his goatee, “Acting Sect Leader Jiang has found it very, very amusing to infuriate me.”

A-Huan’s eyes widened. “She makes you mad on purpose because she thinks it’s funny?!”

“Yes.” A-Huan looked gratifyingly outraged on his behalf. “And thus, even when I am not truly angry, I pretend to be.”

A-Huan blinked and puzzled this through. “...Because you like to make her laugh?”

To put it mildly. “Mn.” He withheld a small smile of his own. “And the greater my anger, the harder she laughs. But, A-Huan, it is important to remember that this is only because we know one another very well. If she truly upset me, she would not stop until she had made reparations.” In fact, the last time he’d been sincerely angry at her, she’d spent the better part of a fortnight grovelling for his forgiveness. If her original actions hadn’t led to her being injured in the first place, he would have taken pity on her immediately.

“May I write a letter to Acting Sect Leader Jiang, Shufu?”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“It seems to me that if she’s good enough to be your friend, perhaps she can instruct this lowly sect leader as well.”

The thought of Xiao Jingfei exerting any sort of influence on the younger generation in general, and his nephews in particular, made him shudder. How absolutely preposterous. Absolutely out of the question. “If you do, I’m sure she would be happy to write to you in return. She has a son A-Zhan’s age, and I know you once met with the Jiang scions, of whom she is now guardian. Perhaps we might arrange to visit Lotus Pier.”

A-Huan smiled and nodded. “Or do you think I should write a letter to Jiang Yanli to give my best wishes instead?”

Lan Qiren withheld a mighty cringe and instead fetched another scroll and brush. Doubtless he would never hear the end of this from Xiao Jingfei. He could already hear her in his mind: ‘Ah, gege, you’re already teaching your nephew to flirt so shamelessly! How will the young ladies of his generation survive?!' But it behooved A-Huan, as heir to GusuLan, to seek out connections with his peers.

Shortly after he’d put brush to ink, Lan Zhurun arrived to deliver the news of the day. For the most part, the daily administration of running a cultivation sect was routinely predictable save for the rare exciting recommended change to the menu.

“One last matter for zongzhu’s attention,” Lan Zhurun finished after what felt like an age and a half. “Two disciples were found to have removed three layers of outer robes during a sparring match. We have agreed that such conduct is unbefitting of GusuLan and therefore should be punished with ten blows of the discipline rods, respectively. Please grant us your approval.”

Before Lan Qiren could venture his opinion, A-Huan looked up from his letter and asked, “Was the sparring match improperly warded and conducted?”

“No.”

“Was someone hurt, then?” A-Huan—no, Lan Xichen—asked with a small frown.

“Only the dignity of GusuLan.”

Lan Xichen’s brow drew. “But GusuLan is not a person.”

Lan Zhurun quickly hid an icy glare behind a condescending smile. “Zongzhu is wise.” Lan Qiren wondered if saying such a thing to a child brought him physical discomfort. “Your uncle will advise you as to the best course of action.”

Lan Xichen looked to Lan Qiren.

“Of course, should any of zongzhu’s decisions result in incidental harm to Cloud Recesses or the disciples of GusuLan, this uncle will counsel him accordingly,” Lan Qiren said. He made sure to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes. “However, as sect leader, decisions are under his purview.”

“Within the boundaries of the council of elders,” Lan Zhurun agreed through gritted teeth.

“According to discipline one-thousand and twenty-five, the Sect Leader’s decisions are only to be overruled in the presence of a conflict of interest,” Lan Qiren reminded him. “Or am I misremembering?”

“You are… not,” Lan Zhurun ground out.

“In that case, I order the disciples involved to copy out all disciplines related to proper conduct,” Lan Xichen said. Lan Qiren coughed quietly and Lan Xichen added, “Five times.” Lan Qiren nodded in satisfaction. “Having them struck with the discipline rod when their only offense was to remove part of their robes seems unfair. Please convey my decision to the elders.”

“Very well.” Lan Zhurun stood. “Lan Qiren, please walk with me.”

Lan Qiren patted Lan Xichen’s shoulder and followed Lan Zhurun out the door. Once they’d closed it behind them to stop the chilly air, Lan Zhurun turned an equally cold glare Lan Qiren’s way.

“Temper him,” Lan Zhurun ordered. “GusuLan cannot be led by someone with a soft heart.”

Unexpectedly, Lan Qiren’s thoughts flew towards Yunmeng and the sect leader even younger than A-Huan of whom Xiao Jingfei had the responsibility of shepherding toward adulthood. Of the young man in Nie who would eventually assume leadership from honourable Nie Nuibai. And then to Qishan and Lanling, who had both seen their fair share of hard-hearted men leading the sects therein.

If three of the Great Sects raised good men, perhaps this budding next generation might value idealism over ambition.

“Soft, no,” Lan Qiren agreed. “But having a heart is no shameful thing.”

Lan Zhurun’s lips pursed. “Would your honoured late brother agree?”

“If he does not, I will answer to him in our next lives, should we be brothers once again.” Lan Qiren bowed. “Thank you for your concern. I’m sure it was well-meant.”

Honestly sure of no such thing but willing to bend the disciplines in favour of ending the conversation, Lan Qiren kept half an eye on Lan Zhurun as he walked away.

When he re-entered the room, Lan Xichen had receded back and left A-Huan smiling over his letter to Jiang Yanli. “I shall ask her about the rivers of Yunmeng,” he decided aloud. “They are very different from ours, aren’t they?”

“Mn. Ours are glacier-fed and very cold all year round. You would find the waters of Yunmeng very warm in comparison. If you decide to write to her, you might ask about their management of the river. This is an ongoing project for them, and an area where careful planning is required.”

“Thank you, Shufu.” A-Huan diligently returned to his writing.

In the end, A-Huan’s letter was short, but well-written considering his age. He only asked Lan Qiren’s help over one or two characters and their brush strokes, but otherwise managed very well.

Chapter Text

Wei Changze found himself reliving a thousand memories of his childhood every day after his return to Lotus Pier. Some of the faces had changed, though not many in the years since he’d left, but the hallways were the exact same. Down this corridor were the rooms kept by the late Jiang-zongzhu, a hard man who tried to be soft; and his wife, a soft woman who tried to be hard. His feet took him again and again to Jiang Fengmian’s quarters, where he stood staring at a door which would never again open and waiting for a voice which would never again call him to enter. He’d spent his childhood running to and fro, performing errands and carrying messages to all corners of Lotus Pier until he’d learned enough of statesmanship and administration to be of real use to his Feng-ge. He’d woken early every morning to fetch Fengmian’s breakfast and prepare the news for the day; helped him dress; made sure he was ready to face whatever business might come to the attention of Jiang-zongzhu.

He hadn’t been happy until Xiao-Fei whisked him away, but he’d had purpose and he’d been content. At the time, for much of his life, he’d believed it to be the same thing.

More than one night he found himself sleepless in the rooms he shared with Xiao-Fei and A-Ying. Warring inclinations, perhaps; he’d always been a natural night owl, but during his life at Lotus Pier he’d forced himself up out of bed before dawn every morning to see to Fengmian’s needs. Returning to Lotus Pier made him feel as though he should be rising early, but habit kept him awake long into the night.

Tonight he stared at the roof of their room long after his family had fallen asleep.

Unable to rest, he rose from their bed, pressing a kiss to Xiao Jingfei’s forehead and tucking the blankets up around her. A-Ying snored from his bed nearby, already loud enough to nearly shake the walls. He smiled indulgently before tucking him in as well and wandering out of their rooms to pace the corridors.

Inevitably his feet carried him to the entrance to the servant’s quarters. He did not stray inside, afraid to disrupt the rest of those slumbering within. It was enough to look at the doors to remember the last time he’d been tucked inside his own comfortably small room near the back.

Wei Changze never had the opportunity to wear finery prior to his wedding. While Feng-ge made sure he dressed far better than most of the servants of Lotus Pier, his clothing was still simple as befitted his station. His wedding clothes, layers of red and gold, were the finest he’d ever worn—a gift from Yu Ziyuan. He tugged at his sash to recentre it again and again, unaccountably nervous. He’d never worn red before and kept bizarrely worrying that it wasn’t his colour, no matter how lucky.

Their marriage would differ from the many to which he’d accompanied Feng-ge over the years; neither of them had families for whom tea would be poured, though Xaio-Fei insisted that once they were wed she’d drag him back to her former home on the mountain where his wrists would surely become sore from pouring many cups on her master’s altar at the base of it. And there certainly wasn’t going to be the glorious ceremonial elements he’d witnessed when Feng-ge married Ziyuan, or even when Jiang Fanmeng had married Wen Wutian.

Still, his breath caught every time he thought about being formally married to Xiao-Fei, no matter how simple the ceremony.

“Gege is so pretty!” A-Li cried beside him. He smiled down at her. While the other servants of Lotus Pier seemed happy for him, no one matched A-Li’s enthusiastic delight.

(He tried not to be disappointed that Feng-ge certainly didn’t.)

“Thank you, meimei,” he said. He leaned down and bussed her cheek, a liberty he never took unless they were behind closed doors.

His door slid open. When Jiang Fengmian stepped inside, Wei Changze grinned ear to ear.

“Feng-ge,” he held out his arms. “What do you think?”

Jiang Fengmian looked him over, but offered no smile. He looked Wei Changze over carefully, each moment of silence dimming Wei Changze’s smile until, finally, he nodded.

“You look very good, Changze.” He looked at A-Li. “Your tutors are looking for you.”

The little girl’s face twisted in dismay, but she nodded and patted Wei Changze’s hand before leaving them alone. Wei Changze took a step after her—usually he accompanied her to lessons, though she obviously knew the way herself and was far too biddable a child for any mischief along the way—but Jiang Fengmian held up a hand before he could follow.

“I want to speak to you,” he said, voice heavy with unspoken emotion.

Wei Changze nodded. “Of course, Feng-ge. Let me get you tea.”

Jiang Fengmian nodded and sat at the nearby table. Wei Changze took a moment to properly order and brew the tea the way Jiang Fengmian preferred it; a bit on the weaker side than Wei Changze himself enjoyed, but being permitted the luxury of his own teapot was more than compensation for such a trivial thing.

He settled the service in front of Jiang Fengmian, careful to avoid rumpling his robes as he sat across from him.

“I cannot count the number of times you’ve served me tea,” Jiang Fengmian began. He took a sip and sighed in contentment. “A thousand small moments of excellence.”

“Thank you, Feng-ge,” Wei Changze said, some of his worries beginning to bleed away.

“Do you remember the very first time?” he continued. Wei Changze shook his head. “I’m not surprised. You were very young. Five, I think. My mother had finally convinced my father into allowing you into my service, and you were so nervous that you tripped and spilled tea all the way down your robes. Aiya, didi. You broke my heart, you were so devastated. I swore I never wanted to see you cry again.”

Wei Changze nodded. “You have always been good to me, Feng-ge.”

“Then will you trust this older brother once more?”

“Always,” Wei Changze promised. He’d always trusted Jiang Fengmian’s judgement; if the older man had something to say, then Wei Changze would listen.

“I want you to really consider if this marriage is what you want. And what must I do to keep you.”

Wei Changze frowned. “I don’t understand, Feng-ge.” He shook his head. “You told me we had your permission. That you were happy for me.”

“I would never deny you permission to do something that made you truly happy,” Jiang Fengmian said. “Only, I urge you to consider whether this will, in the long run. Aiyah, women like Cangse Sanren are wild. They flit through life without thought to permanence. I thought she’d tire of a simple servant by now, especially given she’s already spurned the second young master of GusuLan.”

“They’re just friends,” Wei Changze protested. Easier to focus on the facts he understood, rather than the devastating ones laid out before him in his Jiang Fengmian’s calm, knowing manner.

“Regardless, do you think a woman such as Cangse Sanren, so accustomed to her freedom and a life lived without burdens, will remain happy with a man who cannot care for himself?”

“Feng-ge, I’ve always been able to see to my own needs.” And yours, he added silently before banishing the unworthy thought from his mind. Ensuring Jiang Fengmian’s comfort had been his role and he’d always taken great pride in his success.

“As a servant,” Jiang Fengmian nodded. “I could ask for no better. But she will not need someone to cook for her, or serve her tea, or order her accounts. Your talents in household management are unfailingly competent. But you will not live in a household. She will drag you into the wilderness and away from the comfortable life you live. I do not wish for you to be unhappy.”

“She makes me happy,” Wei Changze protested.

“But do you really think you can make her so?” Jiang Fengmian pressed with a kind, sad sort of smile. “I know you Chang-di. Your strengths. Your ability to overcome any challenge. But those challenges have been those born of a soft life, and I would not see you face ones you cannot overcome. Don’t let me see you laid low by a decision made hastily in your youth. You have many years ahead of you where your wisdom may grow.”

He gestured to the table, and Wei Changze looked down. Jiang Fengmian’s tea was empty. He filled it up, viciously aware of how his hands were shaking. He managed to avoid spilling it and tucked his hands into his sleeves once he’d set the pot down on the table, picking at the fine embroidery on the inside of his sleeve.

“If you marry her, you’ll be chaining her to a life she does not care for. And she will come to resent you.”

“Xiao-Fei loves me,” Wei Changze insisted.

“Perhaps she does now, but such a fickle woman…” Jiang Fengmian wagged a finger, as he’d done when Wei Changze had been a child and had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. Wei Changze could almost feel the ensuing rod on his back. Servants cannot help themselves, Fengmian said kindly afterwards. You must learn this lesson before a harsher master than I comes to teach it to you. “It will not last.”

Wei Changze wondered if the smallest bit of his heart could regrow in a chest where the crushed remains of his old one rotted.

“Stay in Lotus Pier, where you understand the world.” Jiang Fengmian chuckled. “Almost better than I! What would I do without my Chang-di looking after affairs, hm?” He finally looked at Wei Changze’s face. Whatever he saw there turned his general amiability to quiet concern. “If you must be with her, let me take her as a concubine. You’ll see her regularly enough, and when she grows tired of you she’ll not have to be saddled with an unwanted marriage. And perhaps then I will have someone else to draw Ziyuan’s ire.” He chuckled, though his gaze remained keen.

Wei Changze felt his face twist in agony. “Feng-ge. I know you only have my well-being in mind,” he whispered. “But even if I cannot make her happy, I do not believe you would either.”

Jiang Fengmian’s smile faded for only a moment before he shook his head sadly. “Ah, my Chang-di is proving himself wise. No, perhaps I could not. So then we should tell Cangse Sanren to return to the freedom of the road. Away from Lotus Pier. And leave all these unwelcome entanglements behind her.”

Wei Changze closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. For a moment, his back ached; servants cannot take what they want, he’d been told. But Xiao Jingfei did not make him feel like a servant. Whenever she looked his way, Wei Changze felt such a feeling of freedom that birds might have felt envious of him. For that alone, he’d love her. Everything else merely carved that affection in mountainous immutability.

“If she tells me I am unwelcome in her life, then I will let her go. I’ll remain in Lotus Pier, and serve you the rest of my days.” He steeled his nerves; he’d never denied Jiang Fengmian anything. “But if she wishes to marry me, there is no power in this world that will stop me.”

Jiang Fengmian pursed his lips and shook his head. “I should have raised you as a cultivator as my mother suggested. Then, perhaps, you might feel sufficient loyalty to the sect which raised you.”

Wei Changze bent his head, shame flooding through him. He listened to Jiang Fengmian stand and cross the room. Though he looked up to say goodbye, he froze when Jiang Fengmian opened the door to reveal Yu Ziyuan standing on the other side. The two of them stared at one another in frigid silence before she turned and walked away. Jiang Fengmian followed at a slower pace, strolling behind her without a single care in the world.

Wei Changze didn’t know how long he sat there dumbly, only that between one moment and the next the sun seemed to have set outside. He dropped his face into his hands and breathed in the smell of the river, his one constant companion all twenty years of his life.

“A-Chang?”

He barely dared look up at the sound of Xiao Jingfei’s voice. There was a shuffle and a brief crash, startling him out of his numbness, when she came falling in through his window.

“You weren’t at dinner,” she said with a smile. She sat down next to him and fished a small package of dumplings out of one sleeve and a pot of his favourite chili oil out of the other. She placed the offerings down in front of him before swinging around to sit at his side. “Are you nervous?”

He dared not answer. He barely dared breathe.

“Me too,” she admitted with barely a beat in between her question and impatience for an answer.

“Why?” he asked slowly.

“‘Why?’” Xiao Jingfei laughed. “Why is anyone nervous the night before their wedding? What if I accidentally bite you when we kiss? What if I trip and everyone takes it as a bad sign? What if I end up killing Jiang-zongzhu before the ceremony, forcing us to flee before we’re properly married and we end up living a life as impoverished fugitives until I bully gege into sending me his pocket money?”

Wei Changze coughed out a laugh.

“There you are,” Xiao Jingfei said, grinning ear to ear.

She brushed her knuckles down his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed her palm, the quickest touch of lips before Jiang Fengmian’s warnings came back to him. With so much of his heart scraped away, there was barely enough to break. “Are you afraid I’ll become a burden to you?”

Xiao Jingfei scoffed. “A burden? What are you talking about, who said…” She trailed off. Whatever her thoughts, they flickered in and out of her eyes within a heartbeat. She took a few short breaths, the sound deafening in the silence of the room. “A-Chang.” Very carefully, Xiao Jingfei cupped his other cheek, cradling her face between her palms. He wanted to lean into the touch, but terror paralyzed him and kept him from moving. “Please.”

Wei Changze finally dared to meet her eyes.

“That morning,” Xiao Jingfei said, “It wasn’t insomnia.” Wei Changze frowned in confusion. She smiled and rolled her eyes, both in self-deprecation. “The morning you found me on the pier, remember? Our first actual conversation?”

“I remember,” he agreed.

She’d been staying at Lotus Pier for over a week by then, welcomed in as an honoured guest. He’d watched her out of the corner of his eye every time she threw her head back and laughed. Given how fond she was of laughing, it happened quite a bit. Xiao Jingfei, he discovered, was an early riser. Nearly as early as him, though his habit was born of necessity despite his natural inclinations.

Even so, it was unusual for anyone to be up before him. Only the kitchen staff kept earlier hours than he did; he’d been long accustomed to the walkways being deserted save for the night sentries. He’d been shocked to see her, looking out over the river with mist curling up from the water, a small jar of wine in her hand. More shocked when she turned to him and addressed him as an equal.

“I wasn’t there because I had insomnia and stayed up late,” she said. “I made sure to wake up as early as possible for two days in a row before I finally got out of bed early enough to catch you before you started your morning duties.

“I wanted the chance to tease you,” she continued. “To see you laugh the way I did the day I arrived in Lotus Pier.” He frowned, trying to recall the memory. “Oh, not at me. I’d just reached the gates and while the disciple was off fetching up Jiang-zongzhu I spotted you holding a laundry basket. A-Li was inside, and you were swinging it around. She was laughing her head off and you. Your laugh…” She cupped his cheeks and rose onto her knees. “Your laugh reminded me of a sunrise. And I wanted to hear it again. A-Chang, I want to hear it every single day.”

He pressed forward and kissed her. A liberty he’d not allowed himself before now, his passion for her existing in single stolen moments when he’d barely even permitted himself the brush of lips across the back of her hand. Feeling her lips, tasting the sweet remnants of wine on her breath, banished every doubt Feng-ge had inadvertently sown.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, Wei Changze. I want to be your wife. Marry me.”

“Yes,” he said, leaning his forehead against her. “Xiao-Fei. Yes.”

They left the morning after their wedding. He’d loved and bled for this place from burst calluses on his hands almost since the day he’d been born, but after years living away it felt nearly alien to him.

His steps inevitably brought him back to the rooms Jiang Fengmian had taken after becoming sect leader. Not those of his father, but an equally distinguished suite he’d remained in for all the years Wei Changze had served him when he’d ascended to zongzhu. Instead of taking one of the suites nearby, Wei Changze and Xiao Jingfei had opted for rooms closer to the river, smaller but airier and away from the ghosts he associated with the larger rooms.

He halted in place when he saw Jiang Yanli crouched down in front of her father’s door, crying silently into her hands. He’d been afraid to seek her out in private before now; perhaps fearing that the little girl he’d loved had come to hate him for abandoning her. In this, he proved himself a coward.

“A-Li?”

She gasped and twisted like a surprised kitten, dashing at her cheeks with the sleeves of her sleeping robes. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Wei.” She jumped to her feet and bowed carefully, tears hitting the floor when her face turned downwards.

An echo of her sadness clawed at his heart. “I’m sorry for startling you.” She tensed and waited for him to say something. A command? He suddenly wanted to cry himself; she was nine and burdened by grief. He did not want her to fear him. She never had, before.

He hesitantly moved to sit down beside her. “I do not think you remember me.”

Jiang Yanli’s shoulders tensed further. “I’m sorry.”

“No, please. Don’t apologize. You were quite young when I left.”

She finally looked up to study his face. When she’d been born, he’d thought she favoured her mother; her nose, and the shape of her mouth. She’d grown much more into Fengmian’s image, though he suspected part of it was due to the gentleness in her eyes. Yu Ziyuan had many admirable qualities, but ‘gentle’ had never been among them.

“Do you know, after you were born your mother refused to give you to Yinzhu and Jinzhu?”

Still obviously nervous, but eager to hear about her parents, Jiang Yanli crept forward. She sat down to Wei Changze’s left, close enough to touch but too far to do so accidentally.

“Why?” she asked.

“You surely knew them better than you now know me,” Wei Changze said gently. She nodded. “They were raised to be warriors at her side, not nursemaids. In the middle of the night, had it been up to them, they would have put a sword in your hand and tried to tire you out on the training grounds.”

Jiang Yanli giggled weakly. “They did do that, sometimes. I just stopped trying to crawl in with A-Niang.”

Of course they had. Wei Changze did not betray how the thought pained him. “Instead they called on me.” The exhaustion of those nights felt far and away; A-Ying had been a superbly sweet baby, easily calmed. A-Li, in those early days of her infancy, had made it clear she had the blood of MeishanYu in her veins.

“I’m sorry I cannot remember,” A-Li whispered. She shook her head. “All I can think of is A-Niang and A-Die, and that they’re not here anymore.” She grabbed her legs and buried her face against her knees, huge sobs wracking her narrow shoulders.

Wei Changze placed a hand on her back, wishing he could do more. He did not want to drag her into a hug, as he might have with A-Ying, given she did not remember those long nights where he walked her as an infant up and down the pier in a pitiful attempt to bring her comfort. And he hated to think how his departure might have devastated her.

Once her tears slowed to small gasps of sorrow, he offered his hand. “Come. I think I know something which might bring you comfort.”

Despite her tear-stained face, Jiang Yanli looked politely sceptical—he was impressed at the subtlety of it, considering her age—and took his hand and followed him through achingly familiar corridors to the kitchens.

Now, as in his youth, an enormous pot of stock remained at a constant simmering above the main hearth. He settled A-Li safely away from the fire and spooned some out into a sizable pot.

“When you were very little,” he began, adding a few aromatics before setting it down low near the coals. He retrieved a few additional ingredients from the nearby cupboards, then continued, “You would get very afraid whenever storms rolled in from the river. You would come and jump into my bed.” He paused, knife hovering over the lotus root. “You called me ‘gege.’ No one ever called me that before.”

Jiang Yanli watched him carefully as he chopped the lotus root and then added it and a few choice pieces of rib into the pot.

“And I’d bring you to the kitchen and make you this soup. Your grandmother taught me the recipe. Late in life, your grandfather suffered very terribly from a qi imbalance. This was one of few things that settled him, but as she aged herself the arthritis in her hands prevented her from making it.”

(“Well,” the old Jiang-zonghu would say, “It’s not as good as my wife’s, but decent enough, I suppose.” He never asked Wei Changze to join him. The first time he made the dish for Jiang Fengmian and was invited to sit down, Wei Changze felt something in his heart which had been aching since the death of his mother lurch and settle.)

Jiang Yanli breathed in. “It smells familiar.”

Wei Changze conjured up a smile. “I understand our memories are very particular when it comes to smells. They can bring up things long forgotten. For example, I will always associate the smell of orchids with your mother, since it’s the scent of the perfume she wore when she first stepped off the boat to meet your father.”

Doubtless one of he old kitchen aunties would have taught her, if he’d never returned. They might have even managed to instruct her better. But the satisfaction of showing her the familiar recipe settled something inside him Wei Changze had missed for many years.

A small smile crept across Jiang Yanli’s face before disappearing. “No one talks about my mother anymore,” she said.

“It can be hard for people in mourning to speak of the dead,” Wei Changze replied. He spooned out a generous bowl of soup and set it down in front of her. “If you wish to, you will always find an open ear in me.”

Jiang Yanli drew in a shaky breath and covered it with a first spoonful of soup. She blinked and then ate another. And another. He didn’t know if she noticed the tears spilling down her cheeks as she ate or merely chose to ignore them.

“It’s good,” she finally declared.

“An amateur attempt at best,” Wei Changze said. “But a truly talented hand would easily transform it to something wonderful.”

“Will you teach me how to make it?” she paused and then added, “Wei-ge?”

The breath caught in Wei Changze’s chest and for a moment he struggled to gasp in past it. When he finally did, he nodded. “Yes, A-Li. I will.”

She stood and went to refill her bowl, then filled a second for him. They sat across from one another, shared small and fragile smiles, and ate their soup.

It probably took him far longer than it should have to notice the challenges A-Li had with her cultivation. While she always seemed hesitant to pick up her sword, Wei Changze—wrongfully—ascribed it to her natural softness instead of any failing on the part of her core.

He should have noticed. After nearly a lifetime of serving a sect leader and seeing countless disciples enter YunmengJiang and either thrive or die on the vine, he knew what to look for when it came to challenges brought about by lack of hard work; A-Li, more than anyone of her age, appreciated the value of hard work.

A-Li’s sword, Qiulian, was a slim, elegant weapon designed by the best swordsmith in Meishan. The perfect tool for a distinguished young woman, it should have suited her more reserved style, but fought her every step of the way.

Content to allow Yu Gongxin and the other instructors have leeway with the younger disciples, Wei Changze didn’t interfere until several months after they’d returned, when he came across A-Li struggling with the most basic of the forms. Ones that, at her age, should have been simple. He watched as she seamlessly shifted through the physicality but fell short of channelling her spiritual energy. He felt a frisson of her spiritual power rising and falling apart at the last moment, unable to find its way through her meridians into her sword. She staggered, face losing all colour save for the high flush on her cheeks.

“A-Li,” he called. She halted and looked up. His heart swelled with the sight of her smile, exhausted though it appeared. He reached her side before she collapsed entirely.

“That was very good,” he said. She blushed but looked at her feet instead of jumping to agree as A-Ying might have. “Were your parents working with you on this?”

“A-Niang tried, Wei-gege, but I don’t have much talent.” Her smile became forced. “But I’m engaged to Jin Zixuan, so I don’t need any talent.”

Sometimes, Wei Changze thought, he despaired of the sect he’d left behind. Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan had tried their best, he knew, but with so much demanding their attention it must have been easy to overlook some of the minutiae of the day-to-day, an umbrella under which their children seemed to have fallen.

“You are very talented,” he promised her. She smiled, but wasn’t the sort of girl who easily hid whatever she was thinking; her doubt sat heavy on her brow. “Have the healers here ever examined your meridians?”

“No. A-Niang always said there was no physical condition that force of will couldn’t overcome.” A-Li’s gaze dropped. “She told me to focus on working hard instead of making excuses to be lazy.”

His heart ached for her. “I can see you followed that advice.” He offered his hand, “But I think you’ve worked hard enough for today. Why don’t you come help me make some dinner for Auntie Xiao and the boys?”

She tucked her sword away and followed after him. Not quite resigned, he didn’t think; relieved, perhaps, but guilty for feeling that way.

A-Li was quiet all through dinner, inspiring escalating attempts by the boys to cheer her up. It ended with Jiang Cheng’s dinner dropped into A-Ying’s lap, but at least she finally laughed.

Xiao Jingfei sought him out once the children were in bed. “You were quiet tonight,” she murmured. She tucked herself up behind him where he sat at the table in their room, staring uselessly at the tea service he’d laid out. She hooked her sharp little chin over his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Just a thought,” he said. He turned his face to brush his lips across her cheek. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the library yet, but I don’t recall it having many volumes on medical cultivation.” And he doubted Jiang Fengmian or Yu Ziyuan would have added to it during his absence. Yu Ziyuan had been a woman of action and Jiang Fengmian a man of charm; neither of them invested too much in the written word.

“Who are you worried about? One of the children?”

“A-Li. She should be much further ahead than she is. I worry there’s something else going on.”

Xiao-Fei squeezed him tight. “I could write to Wen-daifu. She’s probably forgiven me for giving her daughter all that candy.”

“As I recall, A-Qing vomited pink for two days.” He cupped her hands where they rested against his stomach. “The healers here would resent us calling on an outside opinion unless they requested it. I’ll need to try something subtler.” He kissed her again. “Leave it with me.”

She nodded and pushed his hair away from the back of his neck to drag her lips against the top of his spine. “My husband is brilliant. He’ll figure it out.”

Lotus Pier’s head healer had been around long enough to have instructed Wei Changze’s mother in her delivery. While that gave him a broad knowledge and experience, Zhang Quanmin also occurred to Wei Changze as being deeply jaded. When Wei Changze sought him out, he regarded him with the same look as he had when Wei Changze had been six and tried to help him roll bandages with small, clumsy hands. Kind, indulgent, and already resigned to correcting any number of mistakes.

When Wei Changze brought up his suspicions, he sighed.

“Madam Yu seemed convinced her daughter was naturally prone to sensibility over diligence and would not entertain suggestions to the contrary.”

“Do you agree with this assessment?”

“Having not been permitted to examine the little girl, I trusted her mother’s judgment.” He smiled, a crooked thing that deepened the other deep creases lining his face. “I would be happy to do so now.”

“Thank you.”

The diagnosis when it came was frustratingly vague. An ill-defined disorder in her meridians, but not one with which Zhang-daifu had any experience.

A-Li looked shocked when he pronounced it. “Until we have found the problem, Jiang-guniang, I recommend against practicing with your sword.”

“But, A-Niang said I shouldn’t be lazy.”

Wei Changze took her hand. “It is not lazy to follow a doctor’s orders. In some ways, you may find it harder than anything you’ve ever done.”

Still uncertain, she regarded them both as though she’d been set up for some elaborate practical joke. “If I don’t cultivate, what will I do instead?”

“Help me,” Wei Changze offered immediately. “Learn the management of a sect. It will also be important for you to know.”

She smiled sweetly and nodded.

As he hadn’t been given leave to seek out Wen-daifu, Wei Changze turned his hopes in a different direction.

To the Acting Sect Leader of GusuLan,

Lan Qiren,

If not impertinent, I was wondering if I might beg your insight on a somewhat delicate matter. One of our disciples has been struggling with her cultivation, which I believe may be tied into a meridian disorder. I am hopeful there may be some resources in your library which might assist with identifying the problem.

Should there be such resources at your disposal, you would find YunmengJiang, and myself personally, the grateful recipients of your assistance.

Wei Changze

The reply arrived with gratifying expediency.

Wei Changze,

I am pleased to say that we have a substantial number of volumes outlining the potential causes for such problems. Included in this correspondence is a volume I feel might especially align with your needs, but please do not hesitate to let me know if it is insufficiently helpful.

LQR.

Zhang Quanmin opened the slim volume Lan Qiren had sent along. While his expression started out as doubtful, it shifted into cautiously interested within a page or two.

“Interesting,” he said after a cursory examination, “This was written by a Li cultivator. I wasn’t aware they had inscribed their teachings.”

“Do you think it will be helpful?” Wei Changze asked.

“Perhaps. Allow me a few weeks of studying and I’ll see if any of it applies to Jiang-guniang.”

The time passed quickly. A-Li proved herself very adept at sums and the logistical nightmares of managing a sect of diverse personalities split into groups: one who assumed their clan motto did not extend to interpersonal relationships, and disciples who took those in the former group as merely presenting more of a challenge. Years removed from the best gossip, Wei Changze relied on A-Li to help mitigate the worst of the conflicts.

“You can’t send those two on a patrol together,” she said. She blushed. “He’ll come back pregnant again.”

She had a very keen mind. Wei Changze was going to have to introduce her to more advanced weiqi strategies for their next game.

Eventually, Zhang-daifu called them back for his final assessment.

“For most cultivators, their meridians have a dual stream,” he began, “One meant to carry energy to the golden core, and one meant to convey it away. From what I have discovered, Jiang-guniang has only a single spiritual artery which will impact her ability to fully form and utilize her golden core.”

A-Li shuddered beside him, only stilling when Wei Changze placed a hand atop hers.

“So I can’t cultivate with a sword?”

“No, my dear. It will bring about more fainting spells and possible detriments to your health. Your strengths will need to lie in other directions,” he said kindly. “If Jiang-guniang is interested, there are many fine medical cultivators who do not follow the sword path.”

“Then could I learn from you?”

Zhang Quanmin shook his head. “My style would not suit, I don’t think. Too biased by my own experience. But do not fear. YunmengJiang is a draw for talent. Someone will present themselves to you in due course.”

Despite what must have been disappointing news, A-Li practically floated out of the room next to him.

“Wei-gege, can we make soup when we’re happy, too?”

“A-Li, that is the best time to make soup.”

Chapter Text

“I am the greatest warrior of all time!”

Yu Gongxin paused at the sound of a smack, a cry, and then a hastily-muffled sob. “I’m sorry, didi! Shh, don’t cry. I’ll give you my best toy horse if you don’t tell my mom!”

Trying not to sigh--and thinking very wistfully of being elsewhere--Yu Gongxin changed her path to the third courtyard, usually empty at this time of day and thus prime real estate for two young boys with a mind to mischief.

Unsurprisingly, Wei Ying had gotten his hands on one of their training swords. She was going to have to find a fitting punishment for the disciple in charge of their care. While Wei Ying had proved himself capable of surprising cunning for a child, he was still just a child and should have not gotten the better of a fully trained cultivator assigned to their asset inventory.

Jiang Cheng was sitting on the ground, holding his arm and trying not to cry.

“I’m not crying!” he screamed, a statement undermined by the sob that followed. “It didn’t even hurt!”

“Good!” Wei Ying smiled, apparently oblivious to what amounted to a pretty pathetic attempt at deception. “Then should we try again?”

With a glare, Jiang Cheng stood up and grabbed a second training sword. The two of them dropped into a reasonable, if highly exaggerated, impression of the first stance.

Yu Gongxin stepped forward. “Who taught you both to hold a sword?”

The boys screamed in surprise and leapt at one another, swords hitting the ground as they hugged each other tight. Yu Gongxin rolled her eyes.

Wei Ying relaxed immediately upon recognizing her. “Da-shijie!” he greeted with a cheerful smile. Then, presumably remembering that being caught with a misappropriated practice weapon would probably result in some form of discipline, the smile fell away from his face with all the speed of a kite shot out of the sky. “Ummm… no one?” That much was obvious. Seeing her expression settle into something she imagined was deeply unimpressed, he hurried to continue, “Mama says I have to wait until I’m older, but if I already know how to use a sword, she’ll probably change her mind.”

What uncharacteristically good judgment on the part of their acting sect leader. Yu Gongxin would have to keep in mind that Cangse Sanren was capable of it, given this was the first example she’d observed firsthand.

“And you think this is proof?” she asked.

She realized her mistake at once when a gleam came to Wei Ying’s eyes, gone quick enough she’d have thought she imagined it before he followed with, “If it’s not, then you’ll have to teach us!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not arming a child of seven, practice swords or otherwise.” She pursed her lips. “You’ve already convinced Jiang Tiezhen to teach you archery. Be content with that.” Her shidi was a much softer touch.

Wei Ying’s eyes narrowed; she should have known him to be the type of child to which ‘no’ was merely the opening of negotiations. That would have to be addressed to make sure it didn’t carry into more tender adult dalliances.

“But--”

“There is nothing you will say to convince me of this,” she warned.

“--It will make my mother angry.”

Yu Gongxin frowned. “That should not matter.”

“But I bet it does,” Wei Ying sing-songed.

This was unfortunate; if she had inadvertently made her dislike of the acting sect leader obvious enough for Wei Ying to pick up on it, she chanced undermining both of them to the other disciples. She needed to be more circumspect moving forward.

“You first need to focus on the creation and building of your golden cores,” she stated. Wei Ying’s face lit up and Jiang Cheng nodded enthusiastically. “An hour of meditation every day, at least. If you do this for a month, we will begin your sword instruction.”

There. Surely no children with the amount of energy Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng had would deign to sit still for a full hour every day.

Or so she thought.

Jiang Cheng did not manage past a few days, but Wei Ying eagerly sought her out once the month was over. Ziyuan wouldn’t have stood for her son being overshadowed. Chastisement for both of them sat on the tip of her tongue, but she bit the words back. Ziyuan was gone, and for all she did not personally care for Cangse Sanren, the woman was a decent mother who could be relied upon to help the children reach their potential.

“Do you think I should wait until Cheng-di is ready?” Wei Ying asked. Another thing Ziyuan would not have stood for: such familiarity between a child of lesser breeding and her own son.

“If you wait for others to keep pace, you may end up hobbling yourself,” she said. The teacher she and Ziyuan had shared for most of their childhood had said the same every day of their lives, pointedly when Ziyuan’s sisters failed to keep up with them. Still, remembering how such words had caused a rift between the Yu sisters, she continued, “If you excel, you may find it easier to assist A-Cheng’s own learning.”

Jaw squaring in a stubborn look she would eventually come to associate with trouble, Wei Ying nodded and followed her instructions to settle him into the first position.

She found Wei Ying consoling Jiang Cheng the following day, promising to help him improve. And he did. Every day. Even once he attracted the attention of other young disciples, all of whom were ahead of him in terms of formal learning, but behind him in natural talent.

Yu Gongxin watched him dart back and forth between disciples ranging from aged seven to seventeen from around a corner, unwilling to interrupt the impromptu lesson. He seemed to have a relatively good handle on it.

“Shijie, you need to relax your shoulders,” Wei Ying said. The older girl sighed but forced herself into a more relaxed pose.

Jiang Tiezhen sat next to Jiang Cheng. Of the younger generation, she’d found herself frequently considering him to be promising if uninspiring. Someone who would be the first to volunteer for a job, and do it well, but require the entire thing to be precisely laid out for him. Yu Gongxin suspected he’d chosen to attend to provide some measure of supervision rather than requiring anything remedial on his part.

He spotted her over Wei Ying’s head, smiled, and shrugged.

“Shixiong! Pay attention!” Wei Ying barked. Yu Gongxin refused to laugh; the boy had done an admirable job impersonating her.

“Sorry, laoshi,” Jiang Tiezhen laughed.

Yu Gongxin watched for only a few more moments, before nodding to herself and backing away into the shadows.

As it turned out, despite Lan Qiren’s excellent advice, the elders of YunmengJiang weren’t interested in backbiting politics. Most of them hailed from the generation before Jiang Fengmian; old men who’d either given up on cultivating to immortality to enjoy more earthly pursuits or had never managed to develop a golden core strong enough to even try. They spent most of their time sacked out in the pavilion closest to the kitchen or in the tea house in town, trading wine and good spirits--not always of the metaphorical variety. Xiao Jingfei found them utterly delightful and hilarious by turns, if not also somewhat frustrating due to their inability to offer the sort of advice she could have used.

(Thankfully, letters between the Acting Sect Leader of YumengJiang the Lan-zongzhu’s primary counsel tended to be delivered with a sense of urgency she’d never enjoyed as a rogue cultivator; she enjoyed responses which made it back from Gusu within a day or two instead of the months she’d waited before.)

And thus, two days after the Jiang period of mourning ended and new business could finally be reintroduced, Xiao Jingfei was unable to get a reasonable word of guidance from them when she received a letter from Jin Guangshan announcing his imminent arrival.

‘Imminent’ in this case, meant the following day, barely enough time for them to organize the frills required to receive another sect leader. A-Chang ran about in an almost frantic state, organizing food and accommodations, A-Li dogging his heels and soaking up his every word like soil drawing in rain after months of drought.

“Just do whatever he says,” one of the older men laughed, already drunk only two hours past sunrise. “LanlingJin is our primary trading partner. As long as we take care not to offend them, there should be no issue.”

“Give him some face,” said another. “All you need to do is appeal to his vanity and do whatever he says.”

One of the kitchen aunties, an older woman who had known AWei Changze since he’d been Jiang Cheng’s age, offered a quiet word through pursed lips, “Be wary of leaving him alone with any of the disciples.”

That disturbed Xiao Jingfei more than anything else.

At dinner that evening, Jiang Yanli turned to Xiao Jingfei and asked, “Am I still engaged to Jin Zixuan?”

The boys exchanged looks of pure revulsion.

Xiao Jingfei turned a questioning and slightly panicked look towards Wei Changze. Her husband, spirit of mercy that he was, provided her with the necessary context. “Madam Yu and Madam Jin made the arrangement before A-Li was born. It may be a subject of conversation when he arrives.”

“Ah. Um. Do you wish to be?” Xiao Jingfei asked.

A-Li’s eyes widened. “I have a choice?”

“If anyone tries to marry you and you don’t like them, we’ll beat them up, Jiejie,” A-Ying declared through a mouth stuffed with fish. A-Cheng nodded in violent agreement. It probably should have seemed far more alarming than sweet, but ‘alarming’ had never been Xiao Jingfei’s first reaction when it came from violence.

Still, as sect leader, she supposed she had to nip that in the bud. “You two represent YunmengJiang now and in the future. You must not rely upon violence as a first resort.” She squirmed a bit in her seat in pleasure at Wei Changze’s smile of approval. “And don’t talk with your mouth full, A-Ying.”

She regretted her words within an hour of Jin Guangshan’s arrival. Not because it wasn’t an important lesson, but because she hated being a hypocrite and she really, really wanted to pull out her sword and chase Jin Guangshan right off the pier and into the river.

Xiao Jingfei never had the opportunity of meeting Jin Guangshan in the flesh before; he’d attended the guest lectures at Cloud Recesses long before her own tenure, and that had been the only time in her life she’d been exposed to any of the sect heirs or leaders outside of her visits to Lotus Pier during her courtship of Wei Changze.

His reputation as a rich old pervert proved false: he was not all that old.

They received him in the main hall, her disciples led by Yu Gongxin lining one side of the hall while the gold-draped Jin cultivators crowded the other. Though she’d only required Yu Gongxin pick out a handful of her best and brightest, it looked as though Jin Guangshan had brought along half the population of Koi Tower.

Wei Changze stood at the foot of the small seat she’d claimed for herself upon refusing to take the Lotus Throne which rightfully belonged to Jiang Cheng. A-Li and the boys waiting at attention beside him. Jin Guangshan came in at a swagger and made a show of examining the room before turning to her. He did not bow. Fine. She would not either, no matter the purpose of his visit.

“I found myself deeply saddened by the loss of Jiang Fengmian. Such a man. Such a dear friend. Truly one of the greatest sect leaders in the history of YunmengJiang.” Xiao Jingfei wondered if he truly believed the words or merely offered them pro forma. “Ah, but how cruel of heaven to decree his fall. And now to think that someone of your…” He seemed to search for the word, though doubtless he had one in mind already, “Background is now responsible for the sect he lifted to greatness. The fortunes of YunmengJiang bob to and fro in dangerous waters.”

Ugh. No wonder Lan Qiren hated dealing with this man. She wished she’d had the time to write to him before Jin Guangshan’s arrival.

He shook his head and wagged a finger. “You must make sure to come to me for assistance, meimei, when this place proves too great for your capabilities. You will find a true friend in your Jin-gege.”

Had he done the same with Lan Qiren? Shown up to Cloud Recesses and slung an arm around his shoulder and called him ‘didi’? Surely she would have learned about it; either through one of Lan Qiren’s letters or from the air of palpable outrage she surely would have noticed all the way out in Yunmeng.

“Fortunately, I already have the advantage of good counsel. But I thank Jin-zongzhu for his offer.”

He glanced at the line of purple-robed disciples. “An inexperienced swimmer will cling to any small piece of driftwood in choppy waters. But perhaps you might appreciate the superiority if choosing a well-hewn ship.”

“I suppose it depends on the captain,” Xiao Jingfei said with a pleasant smile she felt quite sure never reached her eyes.

He clucked out a laugh, but his gaze sharpened. “Indeed, indeed.” He cast a glance over Wei Changze and the children; only recently out of white, A-Li and A-Cheng both bowed to him, hastily followed by A-Ying when Wei Changze subtly prodded him. “Your loss grieves me. Surely there was no finer man than Jiang Fengmian.”

Xiao Jingfei bit her tongue.

“Thank you, Jin-zongzhu,” A-Li whispered.

“Hm? Speak up, girl.”

“I thanked Jin-zongzhu,” A-Li repeated, shifting closer to Wei Changze.

“I’ll burn some incense for them before I leave.” He returned his attention to Xiao Jingfei and raised an arm in invitation, as though she were the guest in Lotus Pier. “Shall we speak in private?”

“If you wish.” She stood and nodded to the line of Jiang disciples, “Return to your duties.”

They all filtered out, the Jin cultivators preceding her own disciples. Wei Changze, the last out of the room, caught Xiao Jingfei’s eyes for only a moment before closing the door behind him, an encouraging smile on his lips. Bolstered by the confidence, she straightened her shoulders. This was her first audience with another sect leader, but she’d listened to her husband enough to know the importance of playing such things carefully.

Alone, Jin Guangshan slapped his knee. “Come here, then.”

“I beg your pardon?” A wash of cold swept through Xiao Jingfei’s gut.

“I want a look at you. I want to see what charms you used on Wen Ruohan to permit this absurdity.” He sniffed. “Bad enough when Fengmian named a woman as head disciple. Having one sit in his place? Preposterous.”

The head disciple in question would probably had drawn her sword and, frankly, Xiao Jingfei’s hand strayed dangerously close to her own. “Jin-zongzhu—”

He smirked. “I told you to call me ‘gege.’”

“There is one man in the world who I will call by that address and it is not you.” She squared her shoulders.

All pretense of civility at an end, Jin Guangshan took a step towards her. “I will tell you how this is to be. LanlingJin is the foremost trading partner of YunmengJiang. Should I choose to alter the agreements in place, this place and everyone in it will suffer. Furthermore, I can choose to end the engagement between the little Jiang girl and my son at any time, which I’m sure you understand will weaken this place further. I’m not sure it will survive such a blow so soon after the death of the proper sect leader. Now,” he snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor in front of him, “Come here.” His smile turned oily and victorious. “I want to see what my continued benevolence is paying for.”

Xiao Jingfei took two measured breaths through her nose. She’d never had so much power but, in the same moment, never felt so powerless. How many women had he manipulated into such a disgusting position?

“How dare you think I would disrespect the sect I lead by allowing you to mistreat me. Yes, YunmengJiang would suffer the loss of its principle trading partner, but we would recover.” She continued, her voice almost a growl, “I come over there, it will be with my sword drawn and you will not enjoy the experience.”

His eyes narrowed, considering and calculating all at once. Then he smiled expansively. “Very well.”

He turned on his heel and marched to the doors, throwing them open to reveal a line of Jin disciples standing on the other side, deliberately placed between the door and the cultivators of YunmengJiang. On the far side, Wei Changze stood wild-eyed and outraged, bracketed by two of their senior disciples. He did not calm upon seeing Jin Guangshan stepping out the door.

“It is unfortunate that the disciples of YunmengJiang have been set so low as to be saddled with a sect leader determined to see Lotus Pier come to ruin,” Jin Guangshan announced. He cast a sly look over his shoulder at her and Xiao Jingfei once again considered drawing her sword. “You! You are the head disciple, aren’t you?” He pointed towards the tallest man in the crowd.

“No, zongzhu.” Yu Gongxin stepped forward. “I am.”

“And will you then suffer to see the end of YunmengJiang from incompetent hands?” He straightened. “This once great sect lacks true leadership. Stand with me to see the pretender removed and LanlingJin will make sure to see Lotus Pier restored to its proper power and dignity.”

Xiao Jingfei wondered if her family would be permitted to collect their things before Yu Gongxin drove them out. Her heart ached for A-Ying, who would be devastated to be parted from A-Cheng and A-Li.

Yu Gongxin did not look at her. Instead, she kept all her attention on Jin Guangshan. “If you will not treat Cangse Sanren with the respect due to the acting sect leader of YunmengJiang, then you will be shown out.” Her head disciple remained impassive and still as always, and Xiao Jingfei tried not to betray her surprise.

“Pfft, women. As though either of you can aspire to the titles you’ve tried to claim for yourselves.” He cast his gaze around the courtyard. “Men of Yunmeng, remember your rightful places!”

“Our rightful place is standing with YunmengJiang,” Jiang Tiezhen called.

Jin Guangshan turned, surveying the crowd. Finally, his eyes landed on A-Cheng. “You, boy. Do you think your parents would want your sect to fall to ruin?”

A-Cheng grabbed hold of Wei Changze’s hand and held on tight.

On his other side, A-Li took a deep breath. “They would not. And they would tell us to stand with our sect leader.”

Quickly running out of options, Jin Guangshan looked at the cultivators he’d brought with them, a quick headcount, as though weighing the odds. The wealthiest of the great sects, LanlingJin easily boasted double their power in strength of numbers, but he’d brought few men along with him, and YunmengJiang was more than a match in terms of ferocity.

“Jin-zongzhu may need the reminder that the Chief Cultivator has endorsed the leadership of Cangse Sanren. Surely he would take any attack on her leadership as a personal insult to his judgement,” Yu Gongxin said.

Jin Guangshan’s smile grew cruel. “I think you’ll find the Chief Cultivator has other things demanding his attention. But,” he waved a hand, “I did not come here to argue with women and children. I have made my offer of assistance and it has been insultingly rebuffed. I withdraw Lanling from all trade agreements with Lotus Pier. And it goes without saying that I would never marry my only son and heir to a woman raised by such disrespectful role models.”

He led his cultivators out the gate. Xiao Jingfei finally stepped down from the dais and passed into the courtyard to watch him and his cadre depart.

Once they had disappeared over the horizon on their swords instead of deigning to wait for a boat, Xiao Jingfei steadied herself and cast her gaze over Lotus Pier. It seemed all the Jiang disciples had emerged from the woodwork, though she’d sent no word for them to gather.

Xiao Jingfei had never been a maker of speeches. Not like Jin Guangshan, who commanded language like a weapon. Then again, he easily had twenty years more experience. She ached to play with her hair and wished she’d never started wearing it up.

“Jin-zongzhu thinks what elevates YunmengJiang to greatness is the patronage of LanlingJin,” she finally said, proud to have kept her voice from shaking.

“Jin-zongzhu believes this because he thinks riches is what makes a sect great,” Yu Gongxin agreed. Another surprise. “Is it?”

“No, Zongzhu! No, Da-Shijie!” the gathered cultivators called back.

“Then we must show him he is wrong,” Xiao Jingfei concluded.

Wei Changze shook himself out of his temper. “Jiang Pingyi, Jiang Jialing, send word to Qinghe that we are in search of a new primary trade partner and make sure to mention the quality of silk; the First Madam Nie has a known love for beautiful things.” The two disciples snapped to attention. “Jiang Danshu, go out to PingyangYao and let them know we are offering first refusal as our primary reseller of Lotus Fire peppers. Make sure to speak to their head administrator instead of Yao-zongzhu, it will give him plausible deniability if Jin-zongzhu approaches him about it. Jiang Fu…”

And on it went. Dozens of quickfire orders all centered around trade, the whipcrack of his memory and knowledge of Lotus Pier spilling out with the ease of flame across tinder.

Xiao Jingfei stepped back to allow her husband leave to salvage the mess she’d made of his childhood home, tucking in around her when she retreated to a small alcove, out of the way yet still visible in case anyone called for her.

It took her longer than it should have to realize the children had followed her. Jiang Yanli stood twisting her hands together, a nervous habit she’d acquired long before Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze had returned to Lotus Pier.

“When I’m grown, I’m going to fight bullies like Jin Guangshan,” A-Ying declared.

Jiang Cheng nodded wildly, “Me too, me too, gege! We’ll fight them all together! Just like Da-Shijie taught us!”

“She what?” Xiao Jingfei asked.

Jiang Cheng and A-Ying turned towards her with wide-eyed panic.

“Nothing,” A-Ying stammered, far too quickly. “Come on, A-Cheng.”

He grabbed Jiang Cheng’s arm and hauled him off.

Jiang Yanli smiled after them. Xiao Jingfei had ruined A-Li’s hopes, she realized. Jin Guangshan was a disgusting, horrible man, but A-Li would have wanted for nothing in marrying into LanlingJin. And she’d confounded Yu Ziyuan’s plans; the other woman would undoubtedly tear a strip off Xiao Jingfei if they ever met in the next life.

“I’m sorry, A-Li,” she said uselessly.

“He insulted YunmengJiang and made you unhappy, Auntie Xiao,” Jiang Yanli said quietly. “How could I have become part of his family?” She darted forward and hugged Xiao Jingfei tightly.

Breathless, Xiao Jingfei watched as she took off after the boys.

“Feng-ge always told me Jin Guangshan was an honourable man,” Wei Changze whispered into the night. He curled his body around hers, an odd reverse of their usual arrangement where she was the one spooned up against him. He ran gentle fingers through her hair. “He could not have known this part of his character.”

Wolves do not hunt tigers, Xiao Jingfei thought, unwilling to voice the thought and sour the peace of the moment.

She turned her head and kissed Wei Changze’s cheek. “I don’t begrudge you for a lack of omniscience, A-Chang. He’s the sort of man who would have dismissed you because of your birth as easily as he dismissed me because of my gender. There’s nothing either of us could have done to stop him from being disgusting.” She sighed. “I hate this. When you’re night hunting, you know what the monsters look like.

“I won’t let YunmengJiang suffer because of this,” she promised after a moment. “I’ll keep trying to do my best as acting sect leader.”

“I know,” A-Chang agreed. She felt his lips tilt into a smile. “Is there anything I can do?”

She twisted in his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Would you mind just holding me tonight?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Anything you need.”

“I want to talk to you,” Xiao Jingfei said. The morning had come far too slowly following a sleepless night, and Xiao Jingfei had left her room early enough it practically still counted as night, the barest grey predawn light filtering through the night’s last drape of black.

Yu Gongxin barely looked up from her task of running a whetstone along the length of her blade. “Why.” The single, clipped word did not invite her continue; if anything, it invited her to kindly fuck off and die.

“Yesterday. What was that?” she demanded anyway.

“What?”

“With Jin Guangshan. I would have thought you’d have been thrilled to be rid of me. You hate me.”

Yu Gongxin very slowly placed the whetstone at her side and stood. “And what,” she said, voice low and foreboding, “Does that have to do with my duty?”

She kept Xiao Jingfei’s gaze pinned by her own as she sheathed her sword. Xiao Jingfei’s heart tripped over itself in her chest, a quick one-two strike against her ribcage.

“Perhaps our Acting Sect Leader is under the impression that one can easily step away from one’s responsibilities and forget the obligations they owe to their sect?”

Xiao Jingfei’s lip curled. “I’m going to do you the very great favour of assuming that is not directed at my husband.”

“Cangse Sanren will, of course, do as she pleases.”

“Okay,,” Xiao Jingfei shook her head. “I think it’s about time we had this out.” She drew her sword.

Yu Gongxin looked at it impassively. “Is this a spar or formal discipline?”

“I wouldn’t discipline my Head Disciple with a sword,” Xiao Jingfei snapped.

“Very well.” Yu Gongxin unsheathed her own weapon again. Instead of falling into now-familiar Jiang forms, she moved her feet and positioned her blade across the front of her body in perfect preparation for launching the vicious attacks of MeishanYu. “Do you intend to talk the entire time?”

“No.”

Without further prompting, Xiao Jingfei darted forward, frustration coiling violently through her and finally given the chance to strike. Her master taught sword forms perfected over hundreds of years of patient practice, a mishmash of footwork gleaned from various backgrounds and sects. It left her and all her students with unpredictable patterns of attack.

Yu Gongxin blinked, the only show of surprise, before shifting into a more defensive approach. Xiao Jingfei felt like a bug under glass, examined and assessed, each movement of her body carefully analyzed and picked apart by the other woman’s careful eye.

After a few minutes of trading glancing blows, her left leg slid forward and Yu Gongxin hooked her foot behind Xiao Jingfei’s knee. With a violent wrench, she pulled her off balance and struck down with the flat of her blade. Xiao Jingfei managed to dodge and avoid what would have been a killing blow in a true fight, stumbling backwards to regain her balance.

Yu Gongxin did not allow her a second of respite, following with a quick, viperous movement. Xiao Jingfei blocked a quick succession of blows, suddenly backfooted in a way she had not been since the last time she’d sparred with her da-shixiong and her master before him. Yu Gongxin’s sword seemed to slither through the air, as impossible to predict as Xiao Jingfei’s own style.

Once she’d realized there was no sense in trying to plan for the attacks, she amended her own defense accordingly. The next time Yu Gongxin struck, Xiao Jingfei twisted her arm, caught the other woman’s arm in the space between her sword and chest, and struck a blow to her sternum.

Yu Gongxin nodded in acceptance and withdrew to allow them both a moment to breathe before attacking again.

By the time they’d finished, Xiao Jingfei was drenched in sweat and her heavy arms felt prepared to divorce her body in protest of ill treatment. They’d been relatively evenly matched; she had no doubt as to why the woman had been named head disciple. In this, Jiang Fengmian had proven to have remarkably good judgement.

Yu Gongxin allowed her to retreat a final time and then bowed. “I have wondered about the sword forms taught on the Celestial Mountain. Thank you for this demonstration.” At least she looked as dishevelled as Xiao Jingfei felt.

“Careful,” Xiao Jingfei gasped, “That was almost civil.”

“Hm.”

Yu Gongxin retrieved a water jug from the side of the training grounds and offered it to Xiao Jingfei. She greedily sucked back a neat quarter of it before passing it back to Yu Gongxin.

Xiao Jingfei dropped onto one of the nearby steps. “Now that we’re both too exhausted to hit one another, should we talk?”

Yu Gongxin’s lips pressed together unhappily. “As my sect leader wishes.” She took a seat nearby, perched as though prepared to run. Not nervous, Xiao Jingfei didn’t think. If the other woman ever had a tell to betray a hint of anxiety, she’d ruthlessly taken pains to hide it. “It is not required of any disciple to like their sect leader.”

Xiao Jingfei nodded. “I’m not asking you to like me. Or A-Chang. But if you don’t, I want to know why.”

“It bothers you not to be universally liked?”

“No. Fuck, if it did I’d never get any sleep. But if I’ve done something to offend, I’d like the chance to make amends.”

The air around Yu Gongxin chilled. “There is no way to do such a thing any longer.”

“Ah. So my offense is not against you, it’s against Jiang Fengmian.”

“I don’t care about Jiang Fengmian,” Yu Gongxin hissed, the first real show of emotion Xiao Jingfei thought she’d ever actually seen from the other woman. “As a sect leader he was fine.” She breathed out violently through her nose and stood. “I did not come here to serve him.”

Several things slotted immediately into place. “Oh.” She picked at a splinter in the step next to her, desperate to have something to do with her hands. “I never thought you…” She waved her hand and hoped it conveyed whatever it was Yu Gongxin felt for the late Madam Yu.

“Things worsened after he left,” Yu Gongxin said. “She became harder. I don’t know why.”

Xiao Jingfei’s face twisted. Yu Ziyuan had seemed pleased to see the back of them. The day after their wedding, she’d ordered A-Chang to leave Lotus Pier. It hadn’t made much sense to Xiao Jingfei at the time, but she’d been too happy to escape Lotus Pier to question it.

“And what’s more: he left chaos in his wake. Wei Changze had been responsible for a great many administrative things for which he trained no replacement. It took months for the sect to return to a semblance of equilibrium. And for all this damage wrought, you were still entrusted with the leadership of YunmengJiang until Jiang-gongzi comes of age?” She shook her head. “Cruelty and incompetence should not be so rewarded.”

Xiao Jingfei nearly drew her sword again but fought down the urge. Patience, stupid girl, or your temper is bound to burn your life’s fields to ash, her master had said. If she ordered Yu Gongxin gone, or attacked her in a fit of temper outside a proper spar, YunmengJiang would be substantially weakened. And, she supposed, she understood the other woman’s hatred a bit better now. For her and A-Chang, leaving Lotus Pier had meant escaping to freedom. She hadn’t given a single thought to what happened to those who remained.

“If such existed, A-Chang was not the cause.” She took a steadying breath. “He is good. Patient and kind. And far better at this than I ever could be.”

“Well. You haven’t managed to bring YunmengJiang to total ruin yet,” Yu Gongxin admitted, albeit reluctantly. “I appreciated how you dealt with Jin-gongzhu. Despite his posturing, we may end up stronger now that we do not rely on LanlingJin. And I have heard little of his son, but if he takes after his father, A-Li would not have been happy.”

“Perhaps we could do one another a favour.” Yu Gongxin glared at her with deep suspicion, almost catlike in the narrow-eyed mistrust. “You could perhaps judge me and A-Chang by present and future actions, instead of those of our past. And in return I’ll continue turning a blind eye to the training you’re doing with A-Ying and A-Cheng.”

Yu Gongxin scoffed, though the sound came close enough to a laugh for Xiao Jingfei to count it a win. “The favour you’re supposedly doing me seems to primarily benefit you.”

“Did you have something different in mind?” Xiao Jingfei smiled playfully. “A favourite meal I could insist on having the kitchens make once a week? A particular perfume from Meishan?”

“You could stop attempting to befriend me,” Yu Gongxin replied evenly. The smile fell from Xiao Jingfei’s face. Yu Gongxin turned to face her again, arms crossed over her chest. “If it is enough, I will treat you with civility and respect due to an honoured leader. But I do not wish to be friends with someone who brought pain to a person I—” She stopped.

“All right,” Xiao Jingfei said as gently as she could. “I suppose my ego can deal with at least one person in the world turning down my friendship, despite its many benefits.”

Yu Gongxin rolled her eyes. “You may find the experience formative.”

Xiao Jingfei stood and bowed deep, showing the same respect she would an equal.

While she didn’t quite limp back to the room she shared with A-Chang, it was slow going. Her body ached, though in a gratifying way, and she half-tumbled onto the bed once she finally managed to haul herself though the door.

“Qiren is going to love this,” she murmured to herself. She’d have to write to him, and soon.

She did not have the chance to write the letter the following day, dealing with the upset Jin Guangshan’s visit had brought about. Or the day after, which she spent fending off Sect Leader Yao, who arrived unexpectedly and tried to offer up his own son as a marriageable prospect, despite the fact he was twenty years A-Li’s elder.

When she finally did manage to sit down and write it, she found her smile tilting towards bittersweet. ‘Dear Gege,’ she wrote as neatly as possible, ‘You have finally been validated: there is indeed a person alive who’s managed to resist my charms. You’ll have to teach me your tricks to make sure it never happens again.’

Despite wanting to pour out her heart about the odious sect leader of LanlingJin, she decided it would wait until the next letter; why dwell on the awful things in the world when she might make Lan Qiren laugh? Instead, she added a few choice pieces of news she knew would amuse him, and closed it with, ‘For all this, though, I am glad that you never sent me away. I’m not sure I could bear to live in a world where Lan-er-gege was not my truest, dearest friend.’

The response she received took several days longer to arrive than their usual correspondence. Impatient to open it, she sped through her afternoon meetings and probably agreed to ordering far too much purple silk from the local merchants, but at least A-Li would be pleased.

The letter, when she read it, was not what she was expecting, and send sudden, gripping fear shooting down her spine:

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang,

We return this correspondence unopened as there is no longer such a person in our sect.

We also want to announce the appointment of our new Sect Leader, Lan Qingduo, a worthy and acceptable successor to his cousin, Qingheng-jun. Lan-zongzhu has expressed an interest in meeting you at the upcoming Discussion Conference in Qishan.

Best regards,

Lan Zhurun.

Chapter Text

With Li Linxia removed from seclusion and now firmly settled into the hanshi, A-Zhan only visited the creche with the other younger disciples a few times a week. While previously he’d been installed there nearly every day, now his mother preferred to keep him close, making up for years of separation; she likely would have done the same with A-Huan had the demands of his studies not taken priority. Yet again the elders made it clear their dissatisfaction with the arrangement which Lan Qiren politely but firmly rebuffed. Li Linxia was a credit to motherhood.

“She’s a murderer,” one of the elders snapped when he said as much during their now-weekly bellyaching on the matter.

“We will be pursuing justice for the dead once the year of mourning is completed,” said another.

“You may try,” Lan Qiren said. “But I think you’ll find the sect leader is unwilling to have his mother condemned to death.”

“Then it is your responsibility to ensure he understands that justice is to be served.”

“She was imprisoned for nearly thirteen years,” Lan Qiren reminded him.

“Imprisoned,” Lan Zhurun scoffed. “Quite the prison, with all the luxuries and trappings of a woman of worth.”

“Without free access to her husband and sons,” Lan Qiren said. “Or regular company.”

“Work on him,” Lan Zhurun said, dismissing the words with a slight curl to his lip. “It is your duty.”

“It is my duty to ensure that my nephew is raised to the highest moral standards,” Lan Qiren agreed.

Perhaps sensing the trap in his words but without recourse to demand such morals align with the expectations of the elder lest he imply that they themselves did not meet such standards, Lan Zhurun snapped his fan shut and abruptly changed the subject.

The question of Li Linxia’s crimes had been subjected to intense speculation since their perpetration. Having been… absent during the incident, all Lan Qiren had heard was secondhand accounts and speculation; the only witnesses to the entire affair were Qingheng-jun and Li Linxia herself. Neither of them, to his knowledge, had ever provided an exact account. He had not pressed her on it, first out of resentment regarding her presence and the interruption she’d caused to his life, and later from kindness in not wanting to drum up what he felt sure were unpleasant memories.

Perhaps, given the good chance of the elders continuing to press their point, it was time to change that.

He left the discussion a single beat after it became polite to withdraw and made his way back to the hanshi. A-Zhan was spending one of his rare days at the creche, leaving Li Linxia alone for the afternoon.

Despite being allowed, if not welcome, to move freely about Cloud Recesses, Li Linxia generally still relied on Lan Qiren and her sons for regular company. Which made the presence of two other disciples in their home somewhat of a surprise. Both of the women, fairly fresh in their careers, stood and bowed to him when he entered, an embarrassed flush to their cheeks.

“Acting Sect Leader,” they said in unison, both a greeting and a farewell as they bid a hasty retreat from the hanshi nearly the moment he’d stepped in the door.

“Didi.” Li Linxia smiled, nonplussed by the abrupt exit of their company. “You’re home early.”

He walked further inside, casting his gaze about the room in search of anything amiss. Their home appeared unaltered, the presence of two additional teacups on the table in the middle of the room the only proof he hadn’t just imagined the surprisingly brief exchange.

“I did not realize you were acquainted with Lan Tingshi and her sister,” Lan Qiren offered neutrally.

“They came to me by way of one of the healers,” Li Linxia replied, a carefully neutral note in her voice.

Either she wanted him to press or feared he would; given he could not easily tell which, he decided not to say anything at all and instead wait for her to decide if he was permitted such an confidence.

Lan Qiren cleaned the tea service--the pot and delicate cups painted by his mother and therefore not something with which he trusted the servants--and returned to the main room once he’d set them to dry. Li Linxia had returned to her place at the table, hands folded delicately in her lap as she watched him, giving absolutely nothing away.

While Lan Qiren would happily sit in silence for the remainder of the day, it suddenly felt petty to force her to be the one to speak first. “I had the pleasure of instructing them both in foundational lessons. They are both promising cultivators. It is unfortunate that they…” Lan Qiren trailed off and coughed uneasily.

“That they are capable of bearing children,” Li Linxia finished.

“The disciplines are quite clear on the matter. While anyone may cultivate the sword path, once pregnant their primary responsibility must from thereon be the well-being of the child and any future issue.” His lips pressed together in irritation. “And even when those children come of age, they are rarely encouraged to return to their cultivation.”

Li Linxia considered him carefully. “You don’t agree?”

“I have known women who manage to balance both motherhood and their chosen path without faltering in either,” he said. “While I understand the intention behind the disciplines as written, I think lenience or even revision would only strengthen the sect.”

“You’ll find that’s not an attitude many share,” Li Linxia said mildly.

“Well, my mother hailed from MeishanYu,” Lan Qiren reminded her. She would have refused to abide by such restrictions had she been anything less than the sect leader’s wife. Even then it had been a point of contention between them until their deaths.

“Yes, I’ve always thought it explained your temper.”

Given any response he might offer would break at least one of the disciplines, he deigned not to bother. “Well, I’m glad they sought you out. Are you hoping to take up the sword again yourself, then?”

“Perhaps, but that is not why they came here.” He hummed noncommittally. “They are both recently married and are looking for a guarantee they can continue on the sword path.”

“Then I hope a passionate celibacy will suit their husbands.”

“Not quite a reasonable expectation for anyone, man or woman, who is not already inclined in that direction.” She pinned him with a meaningful look.

“You needn’t look at me in such a way. And you may be my sister, but I can think of nothing more mortifying than continuing such a conversation wherein I am the subject of speculation.” His inclinations ran in a single direction and no other, and such a road had been forever closed to him.

Li Linxia chuckled but took mercy. “GusuLan forbids both the prescription and consumption of such teas which assist against conception.”

“We are not Yunmeng, where such things are common, or Lanling, where such things are expected.”

“Then they must rely on other means.” Li Linxia came to stand beside him. “Which I have volunteered to show them.”

“How?”

“Many things may be accomplished when one combines a strong golden core and a thorough knowledge of anatomy.”

“Having such control over one’s body is impressive,” Lan Qiren allowed at length, fighting back his initial impressions which painted the entire affair as unorthodox and therefore not to be practiced. He did not understand it; it did not inherently follow, however, that it was necessarily wicked.

“Not the first word that is generally trotted out when I own to it,” Li Linxia said, a wealth of meaning hidden in each word.

“So those disciples…?”

“Wish to continue their cultivation and, in order to do so in GusuLan, must take precautions not to become pregnant. The techniques I teach, when properly applied, provide protection against accidental conception.”

“And this does not harm the body?”

“Not if properly practiced. There have been instances where desperate persons take dangerous measures. This is what I, as those before me who have learned this path, hope to avoid.”

“Then I have no quarrel with it.”

“Would the elders?”

He sighed. “Undoubtedly. I had no idea when my brother was still acting in capacity as sect leader, he had to deal with quite so much infighting.”

“Didi,” Li Linxia said gently, “It may be that he did not deal with it because he did not care enough to stand against them. Or, in certain matters, he perhaps agreed with them.”

“Mn. It seems increasingly likely. The only time I have ever seen him go against their wishes was when it came to your marriage.”

“Ah, yes. Our marriage was contentious indeed. Which is, I imagine, the reason you’ve come to speak with me when the boys are absent. I assume the elders have raised the subject of my execution.”

“It would help if I knew the circumstances to more effectively advocate on your behalf. To the best of their knowledge, you murdered my brother’s teacher indiscriminately.”

“I assure you, it was very deliberate.” She poured them both tea. “And follows very naturally from our other conversation. You are taking news of this technique far better than he did.”

Lan Qiren nodded thoughtfully and ran a hand down the short length of his beard. “The Lan elders would certainly consider your teachings countermand the disciplines around family and a woman’s duty therein.”

“Yes. A point he violently attempted to reinforce.”

“Self-defense, then.”

“I’m not as righteous as you are, Didi. I could have simply bested him and escaped but there was the matter of the disciples of GusuLan I had been assisting, who would have suffered had he been allowed to live.”

Lan Qiren took some slow breaths and, when that failed to bring him clarity, he pressed his knuckles to the sharp lines of engraved jade upon his sword’s scabbard. The pain flickered quickly and muted almost immediately thanks to this golden core, but the small shock to his senses helped him focus his flying and scattered thoughts.

“And then my brother…?”

“Believed my control of my body extended to the children I might bear and strictly demanded sons. I bartered what I had for my life.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not them. A-Huan and A-Zhan. For all I never loved their father, I love them so fiercely it sometimes shocks me there is room in my heart for anything else. And I’ve found ways to make myself comfortable. Once I gave birth to A-Huan, I spoke with the attending doctor and she and I came to an agreement. For years she’s found ways to send those who might make use of the skills I can teach them to me without being found out. And it’s given me a younger brother.” She smiled at him. “Though one who frequently forgets who is the senior between us.”

Touched, but unwilling to show it, Lan QIren huffed and straightened his shoulders. “I do not forget. I merely do not feel all that youthful.”

Ah, gege, were you born an old man? Laugh a bit. It’s good for your health.

Then again. Reciprocate kindness. “I have cause to regret many of the things my brother has done, but not his marrying you.” He coughed and looked away and, under his breath, finished, “Jiejie.”

There. He’d had all he could bear of sincerity for the day.

That evening, once the boys had gone to bed, he sat down to pen a letter.

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang,

Given the considerable amount of wisdom I have imparted upon you which you have likely ignored despite its value, I must now request your assistance.

It has come to my attention that a certain person in Cloud Recesses has been providing methods of reproductive control to a number of disciples at their request. While we currently have no rules against such things, I fear it is only a matter of time before the elders discover this practice and find a way to bring about a definitive cease, which will undoubtedly cause more harm than good. Were you in my shoes, how would you word an edict that would pass the inspection of the elders unaware of it's true intention but can be easily referenced to reinforce the point should it come up? I cannot think of wording which might impart the spirit of the matter without directly referencing the cause which, I know, would never be permitted by the elders.

Yours,

LQR

The reply arrived with gratifying speed.

Gege,

Put this on your wall: 'People's bodies are their own fucking business, piss off.'

xjf

(But then, beneath it)

"The physical and emotional autonomy of a disciple's body is to be valued above all things, for such respect will strengthen the whole."

You are doing a good thing and I admire you for it.

Wei Changze

The elders nodded and happily agreed with his proposed addition to the wall, doubtless reading something into it he did not intend. Regardless of their interpretation, it served its purpose, and the intermittent stream of women entering and exiting the hanshi at Li Linxia’s invitation not only continued but increased in number, now properly armed with precedent to excuse whatever knowledge they happened to take with them.

It happened that the youngest daughter of one of the prominent families happened to be the first one to be questioned on her association. Given that very few young people learned to lie before their turn at the guest lectures, she readily explained everything. Quite audacious, too, as her right to do so was protected by the very disciplines which might have otherwise seen her punished.

“You condone this… unorthodoxy?” Lan Suoyun demanded of him. The seething committee of elders glowered at him.

“I have no knowledge of any unorthodox cultivation,” Lan Qiren replied evenly. “Is discipline two thousand six hundred and twenty-two not clear in its endorsement of personal agency?”

Jaws around the room clenched tight enough that the sound of teeth grinding became audible in the ensuing silence.

“Did you know of this prior to submitting the recommendation for the new inscription upon the wall?” another elder demanded.

“Know of what?” Lan Qiren asked. “Madam Lan is within her rights to receive company, now that she is permitted to leave seclusion. What she happens to impart to that company is no business of mine.”

Momentarily without recourse, the matter fell to the wayside, obviously still disgruntled.

A day later, A-Huan’s illness recurred.

“Qiren,” Li Linxia sought him out halfway through the night, shaking him out of an ill slumber. “Qiren, it’s A-Huan.”

He snapped awake and rose from bed immediately. “The same?”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “I need you to be the one to go to the healers for his medicine.”

Qiren nodded and hastily pulled on an outer robe. The winter air sliced through both his clothes and his lungs, momentarily robbing the very air from him until he could focus a bit of his spiritual energy on advanced temperature regulation.

The healer’s assistant quickly roused the master. He appreciated why Li Linxia refused to seek him out; the man was of his grandfather’s generation and had nothing but disdain for cultivators who did not come from a distinguished pedigree. Despite this, he took his position seriously; Lan Qiren had never known him to dismiss a patient no matter how irritating he found them to be.

“Lan-zongzhu again? Or is it the younger?” the man asked.

“A-Huan,” Lan Qiren confirmed.

“Hmm. I still have some of the same blend from last time. Hold a moment.” He found the particular jar quite quickly and weighed out a small measure. “You remember the directions?” Lan Qiren nodded. “Come see me in the morning if he’s still sick.”

“I will, thank you.”

The trek back to the hanshi buffered his face with wind and tears nearly froze his eyelashes shut by the time he stepped back through the door.

“Here,” he said, shoving the pouch towards Li Linxia. Gruff, but it would take him a moment to knock the snow from his shoulders and refused to dally.

She shook her head. “It must be you.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Please.”

He wasted a moment studying her face, looking for some clue as to her reticence. Nothing immediately stood out beyond thin-lipped determination. Mystified, he nodded but quickly shoved off his winter cloak and left his boots to dethaw at the door. She had not even boiled water, leaving him to use the tepid leftovers from their shared dinner.

“Have a sip of it,” she said.

Unwilling to keep questioning her, he did swift enough that some of it slopped down his chin. She then took another sip from the same jar, maintaining eye contact all the while.

Once the water had almost come to boiling, he mixed the medicine and waited only until it was cool enough not to scald A-Huan’s mouth before moving swiftly to his nephew’s room.

A-Huan twisted and shook in the bed, lost in the throes of his fever. Lan Qiren knelt at his bedside and gathered a spoon up.

Before he could lift it to A-Huan’s lips, Li Linxia grabbed his wrist.

“What now?” he demanded, patience at an end.

Li Linxia produced a long silver needle from her sleeve. He stared at it a long moment before the last cottony confusion of sleep fell away and horror filled him.

“No.”

She slid it into the medicine and they watched together as the silver turned to black.

“No,” he repeated uselessly, his voice cracking as he spoke.

They sat in devastated silence. Words, friends Lan Qiren had always relied upon to lend him strength through the hardest moments of his life, fled him entirely. If A-Huan had not gasped in pain, it might have lasted forever.

Li Linxia took the bowl out of his hand and carried it with her out of the room. He very briefly heard the door to the hanshi open and close. When she returned, it was with a cloth wetted with half-melted snow which she dabbed across A-Huan’s forehead.

“Some of your ginger tea,” she commanded quietly.

Numb through, Lan Qiren stood and went to use what remained of the water. Water she had swallowed in front of him while he made medicine she had bid him fetch and prepare. As though she needed to take such measures to convince him that she wasn’t the one responsible for this even before she uncovered the poison.

When the horror eventually fled, he suspected that he would feel such shocking rage as to bring down the entire mountain. At the moment he wasn’t sure he felt anything at all past crushing despondence.

He returned with the tea. Li Linxia did not check it; her faith in him was unfairly unshakable, it seemed, considering she did not believe he felt the same.

It helped along with the cool cloth and A-Huan slowly settled into a more peaceful rest.

“When did you know?” Lan Qiren whispered.

“I began to suspect the last time,” Li Linxia said, her voice similarly low. “And have only now confirmed it.” She cast a sidelong look his way.

“Did you believe I--”

“No,” she said, shaking her head almost violently. “Qiren, never. You are the only one in this world who I believe loves our boys as much as I do.”

It felt like a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

More than anything he wished to have Li Linxia tell him what to do, but he could not. He refused to put this decision on her shoulders when he already knew the one to make.

“Allow me to meditate upon this,” he said.

With a knowing gaze, she nodded and returned her attention to A-Huan.

The precedent for such a thing existed. Even Lan An, after the formation of GusuLan, had written of parents who had treated their children unfairly. Lan An had manufactured a mild illness, thinking that seeing their child sick would impress upon them the importance of upholding the virtues, only numbered in the hundreds at the time. Lan Qiren never thought it had been done to punish them or manipulate them into obedience, but apparently his reading of the text had not been with the aim of finding a means of control.

Something, he’d come to recognize in the past few months, completely in character for those who should have spent their time renewing and nurturing the strength of GusuLan instead of posturing and celebrating their own importance.

In the end, there was but one decision.

When Lan Qiren returned to Cloud Recesses on the heels of his brother’s marriage and the scandalously short time between it and the discovery of her pregnancy, Qingheng-jun summoned Lan Qiren to attend him in his seclusion.

“You will have to be in charge of the child, once he is weaned from his mother,” Qingheng-jun had stated.

“Even for this, you will not end your seclusion?” Lan Qiren demanded. “You are the sect leader. While the elders might not care for your new bride, surely they will be swayed if you insist upon it.”

“What the elders may or may not be swayed by is immaterial. I will lose face if I suddenly reverse this decision, and as you have very kindly reminded me, I am Lan-zongzhu. I will hold myself to the standards demanded by the dignity of my position.”

Then why did you marry her? Lan Qiren wanted to demand. Why sire her child if only to abandon her to solitude and relinquish your claim of fatherhood?

“I will raise whatever nephews and nieces which come from your union,” Lan Qiren said instead. It appealed to a certain softness in him he rarely had cause to nurture.

“Nephews, I am sure. Very good. Perhaps it is for the best that you play the father and I the penitent.”

“If I am to raise your children, I will not ‘play’ at fatherhood. They will learn to honour and respect you as they should, but I have never accepted a task I was unwilling to perform at half-measure.”

To this day, he had lived into the words as best he could. He loved his nephews and raised them with the hope they would eventually become righteous men. And, while he never claimed the title of ‘father’ for himself out of filial obligation to his brother, he did look upon them as sons. And, as they were his sons in all things save blood, the thought of A-Huan being willfully harmed to satisfy the elder’s preconceptions of strength enraged him.

But he was not a man given to indulging his rage.

Instead, the following morning he dressed in his best formal robes and placed a guan in his hair befitting the acting sect leader and third heir presumptive of GusuLan.

Li Linxia met him at the hanshi door, wan and pale from a long night spent at A-Huan’s bedside. “Didi--” she began.

He held up a hand to forestall any comments. “Our family is my priority.”

“I know. Please, protect yourself.” She held out his sword.

For his family, would he draw live steel on the elders? Such a thing would mean his death one way or another; the elders would surely call for his execution for such treason. As sect leader, A-Huan could intervene and somehow commute the sentence to the discipline whip, which would kill him regardless given he lacked the strength to survive it, but with the elders already poisoning his nephew in punishment for defying their will how could he ask A-Huan to do such a thing?

He took Baiyue in hand. For the protection of his family, death would be a pittance.

“Jiejie,” he said slowly, “Should it be required that I use this, and I do not survive the aftermath, there is a person I need you to seek out on my behalf. She will give her life to protect you and the boys.”

“Thank you, Didi,” Li Linxia whispered. “I believe I know of whom you speak.” She coughed out a sad laugh. “It would be hard for me to have missed it.” She pressed her hand to Lan Qiren’s forearm. “I refuse to accept you will come to harm, but I have been very wrong about a great many things. Is there a message you wish for me to give her?”

There were a great many things he should have said to Xiao Jingfei over the years. More now that he refused to say aloud. He would not burden her with his feelings and give her cause for pain. In the end, their friendship had been worth more to him than any intimacy he might have imagined.

“Tell her not to grieve in excess, nor make a spectacle of her mourning,” he said, “And that even in this I doubt she will heed my good advice.”

Li Linxia nodded and stepped aside to let Lan Qiren pass out of the hanshi and into the snow.

During the cold months, when heating individuals homes became too onerous a task even for the most devoted servants, the elders gathered in one of the more elegant of Cloud Recesses’ halls, settling in to spite the cold with pretentious conversation and review of the library contents.

None of them appeared surprised when Lan Qiren entered the room. He bowed, stiff-backed and uncomfortable in ways he had not been since he’d been a child entering their presence, and knelt before them. This council of elders, made up of the same group of men who had once advised his father, numbered eight. Had Qingheng-jun lived, they would have turned all their unyielding attention on him and left Lan Huan to Lan Qiren’s keeping. With his brother’s death they likely come to recognize the importance of exerting their will before his character had been set and A-Huan was still young enough to be worked on.

“Venerated elders,” he said, “You doubtless understand why I have come before you.”

Unsurprisingly Lan Zhurun, by silent agreement, elected to speak for them. “I assume you have come to appreciate that the mawkish sentimentality you engender in Lan Xichen has no place in the leadership of GusuLan and have come to apologize for your lapse in judgement.”

Were that they lived in Qinghe, where such words could be addressed by drawing swords. This battlefield felt much more treacherous; better suited to Koi Tower. “You have willfully poisoned the sect leader of GusuLan. I am not here to admit culpability for it.”

“We have merely made it clear that decisions are not without consequences,” Lan Zhurun stated. “It is unfortunate for Lan-zongzhu that you took so long to understand the lesson. Presumably, now, you will adjust yourself accordingly.”

Lan Qiren breathed in and out through his nose five times. “You have perverted one of the teachings of Lan An for your own ends.”

“Nonsense. Lan An knew, as we do, that raising weak children yields weak adults. Qingheng-jun, and your father before him, understood the importance of strength. Especially now when there is already upset in the world thanks to the untimely passing of Jiang-zongzhu.”

“The lesson Lan An wanted to import was to cherish one’s children,” Lan Qiren insisted.

“If this is your understanding, perhaps we should not be surprised that Lan Xichen is already proving too soft,” another elder sniffed.

He took several more long breaths and spoke with an even voice: “I will not allow him to come to further harm.”

“Then we look forward to your acquiescence as we guide him along a righteous path.”

“You may look forward to naming another sect leader before I force my nephew into a box into which he does not naturally fit.”

Silence met the declaration. Lan Zhurun caught Lan Qiren’s eyes, his own slightly narrowed as he considered whether or not Lan Qiren had made such a statement in haste. He could look as long as he liked; in this, Lan Qiren would not be moved.

“This is not the threat you seem to think it is,” Lan Zhurun chuckled at length. The simmering tension from the other elders dissolved into amusement barely hidden behind raised sleeves. “Is your cousin, my own nephew Lan Qingduo, still living? He is currently heir only behind yourself and has proven to unfailingly uphold our virtues.”

Lan Qingduo was an amoral rodent who required the virtues to guide his actions as he lacked natural conscience. To wit: the perfect leader by the measure of the men before him.

“Then on behalf of my nephew I humbly request you name him zongzhu, and allow us to withdraw.” Xiao Jingfei would be proud of him. She often insisted on escalating any challenges laid before her. In this, however, Lan Qiren offered no bluff. Let them make of his statement what they would, for he meant every word.

“Obviously you will need to cede from the sect if such is your wish,” Lan Zhurun said, all amusement banished from his face. “As we cannot allow divided loyalties to fester into rebellion.”

If they insisted upon naming Lan Qingduo as sect leader, they would be facing rebellion eventually regardless of whether Lan Qiren and his family remained in Cloud Recesses. The elders already harshly enforced the disciplines and doubtless they would become even more high-handed if no mitigating influence remained.

“Li Linxia lived as a rogue cultivator prior to marrying into the sect. I’m sure her wisdom in such matters will benefit us.”

“We will require her original sentence to be upheld.”

“Discipline two thousand one-hundred and forty-eight states that when a sentence has been mitigated by a sect leader, no future leader may contravene the decision. Lan Xichen was zongzhu when she pardoned her. Unless she commits a similar crime, there is no recourse for you to take.” Without admitting to your hypocrisy, he finished silently.

Lan Zhurun’s face began to flush with anger. “Is this the future you want for Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji? To be exiled and disdained by all proper society?”

“At least I will not have to worry about checking their food for poison,” Lan Qiren said.

Lan Zhurun scowled. “Very well. If this is the path you insist upon, remove yourself from Cloud Recesses within a quarter hour.”

It provided barely enough time for them to pack the meagrest contents of their home, but at least they’d have time enough to gather the necessities. He doubted the elders would permit him to remove any money from the sect treasury. Hopefully his family would have enough precious things to sell and keep them alive and well through the winter.

He bowed again and removed himself from the elders’ sight. He spent the walk back to the hanshi pretending not to notice the disciples shadowing his steps.

GusuLan, he thought, would be a much different place under such leadership. Hopefully the Cloud Recesses, the home he loved, would not suffer for the lack of kinder hands.

He returned home to find Li Linxia already directing the boys in packing their things. She turned, gaze betraying no small amount of relief when he walked through the door.

“Didi,” she whispered, “You are not harmed?”

“In body, no,” he said. “But we are no longer members of GusuLan.”

A-Huan paused from carefully tucking a few well-loved books into a qiankun pouch. “I am no longer Lan-zongzhu?” He still looked pale and shaky; they would need to be careful of his health as he recovered from his recent fever.

Lan Qiren moved to his nephew and knelt down before him. “I am sorry for not consulting you, A-Huan,” he said. “But I hope you will one day forgive me.”

A-Huan frowned. Instead of demanding Lan Qiren account for this abrupt change of circumstances, however, he reached out and hugged Lan Qiren instead. Lan Qiren’s eyes squeezed shut as he brought his arms up around his nephew. He did not deserve forgiveness for setting his nephews so low; one day, they would realize the birthright of which he’d robbed them, and at such a time he would offer himself up to them for whatever recompense they saw fit to demand. As long as they were alive and healthy at the time, he’d be happy to submit.

“Mama told us to pack,” A-Zhan said. “She said you might be in danger, and we might need to rescue you.” He did, in fact, look rather put out to be denied the opportunity to play hero.

“Your mother is very good,” Lan Qiren said, catching Li Linxia’s eyes as he said it. “And we do need to pack. We have only a short time before we are to leave Cloud Recesses forever.”

Both boys returned to their task. Lan Qiren turned to collect his own possessions. Several important items, he noted, had already been tucked away. Shouyue and Liebing, his own guqin, and the child-sized instrument upon which A-Zhan had been learning. If nothing else, his nephews would not suffer for want of instruction in musical cultivation or how to protect themselves.

Within the prescribed time, they had managed to gather the most important items from their home, as well as such things that would make their travels more comfortable.

The two disciples, favoured by Lan Zhurun, did not knock when they opened the door, bringing with them a wash of cold air.

“May we have time to give our regards at the ancestral hall?” Lan Qiren asked.

“You are to quit Cloud Recesses immediately,” the senior of the two stated. “Perhaps you should have considered your filial duty over physical comfort.”

“Then we will depart,” Lan Qiren said, glad they had already bundled themselves up against the winter cold. Doubtless they would otherwise be cast out in simple robes alone.

He led his family to the gates, bracketing the boys between himself and Li Linxia. He kept his sword loosely gripped in his other hand; he believed his sect too righteous for treachery, but could not say the same of the elders who now fully commanded it.

Had Qingheng-jun lived but a few more years, until the current group of them retired to individual meditate seclusion and were replaced by younger, less austere blood, things might have been very different. He spared a moment to mourn for a future he would never see.

Lan Zhurun awaited them at the gates, bundled in furs against the cold.

“You children should consider if your unworthy uncle has your best interests at heart,” he said, a final plea. “Outside the gates of Cloud Recesses, you will enjoy nothing but perdition and privation.”

“We will be with our family,” A-Huan said. “What other riches do we need?”

A-Zhan silently scowled at the man. With quick movements, he untied his forehead ribbon and let it flutter to the ground. He took Lan Qiren’s hand and stared at them imperiously, willing them to say something about it. Lan Qiren’s heart swelled with such love and pride as only his nephews were capable of conjuring. He left his own forehead ribbon in place; whatever his place in the world, it meant more to him than merely a symbol of allegiance.

They walked out of Cloud Recesses, destined not to return. A little ways past the treeline, with the gates finally out of sight, A-Huan staggered. Lan Qiren scooped him into his arms to carry the rest of the way to Caiyi.

“I’ll need a sword,” Li Linxia said. Lan Qiren nodded; her own had been destroyed the day before her marriage, ‘symbolic of her devotion to her husband and future motherhood.’

“There are artisans in Caiyi Town who will forge one,” he offered.

She dipped her chin and smiled with a hint of woe. “Too accustomed to the Lan styles, I’m afraid. We’ll have to go further afield. For A-Zhan as well.” They’d requisition a new sheath for Shouyue as well, if A-Huan requested it.

“I want a purple sword,” A-Zhan stated.

“Whatever you please,” Lan Qiren agreed.

From Lan Qiren’s arms, A-Huan wheezed, “That sounds lovely, didi.” He tilted his head back. “Will I be allowed to use Shouyue?”

“Yes, A-Huan. No one will take your sword.”

They made it to Caiyi shortly before nightfall, and installed themselves in one of the smaller inns. Li Linxia, apparently, was well-versed in frugality and immediately took charge of their meagre finances.

“What next, then?” Lan Qiren asked once the boys were sleeping. With a good meal and decent rest, colour had already returned to A-Huan’s face. Lan Qiren took a selfish moment to despite the sect he’d left behind.

“The world is ours,” Li Linxia said. Her smile shifted to a sly smirk. “Lotus Pier, perhaps?”

With everything he'd known ripped from him, he suddenly ached for the familiarity of Xiao Jingfei's laugh and her easy way of bullying him out of a temper. She’d no doubt welcome them, despite the political implications of hosting the former Lan-zongzhu and his family. Perhaps Yunmeng might become their home as well.

"I'll make arrangements."

He made his way to the docks the following morning. Even despite the bustle of normal winter trade, the area felt busier than he recalled them being outside of festival months. He made his way to one of the merchants he knew did reliable trade in Yunmeng.

"Good timing, young master," the man said, "With all the to-do out of Yunmeng, everyone is going to try their luck at better trade."

"This one is unfamiliar with the situation," Lan Qiren admitted, sudden worry for his friend overtaking all other thoughts.

"YunmengJiang has broken with LanlingJin. Word is out they're welcoming new trading partners. Every merchant from here to Baling is probably on their way."

Lan Qiren's heart sank to his feet. If true, and he could easily imagine why knowing both Jin Guangshan's character and Xiao Jingfei's, then having her risk breaking ties with any of the other great sects could not be allowed. And taking in the exiled former Lan Sect Leader would surely be cause for GusuLan to withdraw from their own robust trade obligations.

No matter how he wanted for her company, he refused to place her at risk for it.

"Would you be willing to deliver a letter instead?"

"Certainly, young master, if you are quick. I plan to leave within the hour."

Lan Qiren nodded and returned to the inn.

Li Linxia understood immediately once he conveyed the details. Truthfully, she likely understood more than he intended her to.

He finished the letter well in time as his sister went to make arrangements for passage elsewhere. It hardly mattered where, now.

To the Acting Sect Leader of YunmengJiang

Xiao Jingfei,

For the protection and well-being of my family, we have ceded from GusuLan.

I know you feel you have been forced into ill-fitting robes in your place as acting sect leader, but I know you well enough to believe you can wear them with dignity. I am sorry I will no longer be able to provide advice for you to ignore. Your husband has proved to have excellent sense, and I hope you will remember this in coming days, when friends may prove few and you may want counsel offered without worry of obligation.

My family and I will be removing ourselves to a life of relative obscurity. I know you will agree that for the good of YunmengJiang, and the charges under your care, that coming in search of us would not be to your advantage. Trust that our paths are meant to converge again, and that when they do you will find me, as ever, your stalwart friend.

Yours ever,

LQR.

Chapter Text

Thirteen Years Later

The missive from Yiling came in ahead of the day’s other correspondence, and the disciple brought it to Yu Gongxin immediately. It seemed to be a straightforward call for aid, save for the urgency behind the request; Yiling, with its proximity to the Burial Mounds, tended to be more phlegmatic when it came to disturbances in the area. Any call for immediate assistance tended to mean bodies had already piled up.

She made her way to the pavilion overlooking the river where Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze preferred to deal with their administrative tasks. Jiang Yanli had joined them, ostensibly to work on her embroidery, though more often than not Wei Changze would engage her regarding sect matters and allow her to express an opinion. It was a fine way of teaching her the skills she might one day need to lead a sect or be the spouse of a person who did. Jiang Cheng sat next to Cangse Sanren, eagerly trading correspondence back and forth and debating the best course of action before they both ultimately ceded to Wei Changze’s wisdom.

“Good morning.” She bowed. “How is the news of the day?”

“Jiang Fanmang is pregnant,” Wei Changze said. He looked at Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng. “How should we react to such news?”

“We should send a gift to celebrate the coming birth of our new cousin,” Jiang Yanli said with a gracious smile.

“And add the child to the family register once born. Until A-Jie, Wei Wuxian and I have our own children, they will also be our heir,” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Changze nodded, a proud smile flitting across his face before he carefully hid it away. It did not hurt Yu Gongxin to admit that, in matters of parenting, he had done very well.

“What did you need, Gongxin?” Cangse Sanren blinked owlishly up from what looked like exhaustingly thorough correspondence written in Sect Leader Ouyang’s blocky script.

“We’ve had a call for aid from Yiling. With your permission, I’ll make my way there to investigate the matter.”

“Yiling?” Cangse Sanren repeated with a frown.

“Yes. Nothing to indicate anything more dangerous than our usual fare, but I believe the location merits quick response.”

“Perhaps not alone, then.”

Yu Gongxin frowned. “You doubt my ability?”

“Obviously not,” Cangse Saren said, “But for this leader’s peace of mind, please bring A-Ying with you. While I appreciate you’ve been grooming him as your successor, I’m not sure he’s ready to assume the position of head disciple, no matter what he claims to the contrary.” Which he did. At length. Usually right up until Yu Gongxin made him run laps around the pier.

“I was younger than he is now when I accompanied Madam Yu to Yunmeng and stepped into the role, and he’s far more naturally gifted than I.”

“Don’t say so within his hearing, it will go right to his head,” Wei Changze chuckled.

Good thing for everyone the boy was inherently good natured; she hated to think of what someone cruel would do with his impressive talents.

Yu Gongxin sighed. “As my acting sect leader wishes.”

“I believe he’s at archery at the moment,” Wei Changze offered. “Safe travels.”

She bowed again and went in search of her pupil.

Since young, when he’d taken lead on assisting Jiang Cheng develop his golden core, Wei Wuxian had involved himself with the younger disciples’ training. They gravitated to him; his engaging manner, his skills, his willingness to help. She’d been piling responsibilities on him for years. He led most of the archery classes and frequently assisted her with skills demonstrations when it came to the Jiang sword forms. Jiang Cheng, while a valuable asset who involved himself as often as possible, had more than enough on his shoulders preparing to assume the role of Jiang-zongzhu.

Six disciples lined the archery field, trying their utmost to outdo Wei Wuxian’s impressive kite-flying skills. He managed to dodge six arrows, all fired in quick succession, barking corrections to the disciples all the while, a broad grin on his face.

“Wei Wuxian!” she called.

The momentary distraction meant one of the disciples came within a hairsbreadth of hitting his kite. Given it came closer than any others, the rest of the disciples crowded the shooter with screams of congratulations.

While they celebrated, Wei Wuxian landed the kite, gathered the string, and made his way over to her. To her lasting amusement, Wei Wuxian had taken to emulating her more Yu-inspired style of dress, sleeves bound tight to his forearms with bracers and predominantly dark-coloured robes. While he still sported amethyst lining in deference to his allegiance to YunmengJiang, there was no denying the influence to his style.

Ziyuan would have hated it. The thought did not sting as it once had.

“Da-Shijie! Come to try your luck?”

“Night hunt. Bring your bow,” she replied. Wei Wuxian scrambled to obey, sword already in hand.

(“But why Suibian?” Cangse Sanren had asked when they’d presented him with his sword. Cangse Saren had agreed to allow Yu Gongxin to organize the creation of her son’s blade out of respect for the mentorship role Yu Gongxin took in his life, the demands on her own time notwithstanding. Yu Gongxin had nearly refused, but the soft spot in her heart for him felt too tender to refuse.

“I asked him how he wanted to name it, and reminded him to be respectful, and of the grave responsibility of the matter,” Yu Gongxin replied. “He waved his hand and told me to name it whatever I pleased.”

“And you took this literally?” the acting sect leader asked, obviously deeply sceptical.

Without a hint of a smile, Yu Gongxin replied, “Well, it did strike me as very funny.”

In a rare moment of kinship, they looked at one another and laughed.)

Wei Wuxian handed over the kite to another disciple and followed her to the gates, chatting the entire way as though he were still a child instead of a grown man. Not ready to assume the role of Head Disciple? Perhaps. But Yu Gongxin knew very well that should she die on this night hunt there was no one else in Lotus Pier more capable.

They both flew well and arrived in Yiling well before sunset to go in search of the local administrator.

“Esteemed cultivators, welcome.” The town magistrate bowed three times in quick succession. “I am relieved you’ve answered my call. A group of rogue cultivators sought out the beast earlier today, but have not returned. I fear for their wellbeing.”

“Then we’ll go at once,” Yu Gongxin said. “A-Xian.”

They continued on towards the Burial Mounds. The original letter had described the upset as occurring in the forests at the base of the largest mountain, on one of the only paths around the place which didn’t take travelers twenty li out of their way.

“If we encounter the rogue cultivators, try not to fawn too much,” Yu Gongxin warned him. “And don’t boast of your mother.”

“Mama doesn’t need me to boast for her,” Wei Wuxian replied. “Everyone already knows how awesome she is.”

Yu Gongxin tried and failed not to roll her eyes. Wei Wuxian caught it and squawked in feigned outrage, nearly falling off his sword when he began waving his arms at her.

“A-Xian, if you fall into the Burial Mounds, you’ll need to crawl out of there on your own. I won’t go in after you.”

“Yes you will.”

Horrible child. Of course she would. How unfortunate he knew it and she couldn’t threaten him with tossing him bodily down there herself.

They slowed and eased out of the air as they reached the base of the path. The air chilled around them, a sharp drop in temperature that sent a shiver crawling up her spine.

“Mama said she was supposed to hunt a beast in Yiling once, but had to let it escape when she came to Lotus Pier instead. Do you think it’s the same one?”

“If it is, then it may be more dangerous than we suspected.” She, too, had heard the tales of the beast frequently hunted and never defeated; it was said to be able to destroy a cultivator’s golden core. Such stories kept most low level cultivators at bay. “Be careful,” she said. “Rely on your bow and remain well back.”

Wei Wuxian paled, but instead of hanging back and proving he had something resembling good sense, he stepped closer to her and kept pace as she made her way past the treeline.

“Do you hear anything?” he asked after a few long minutes of picking their way across cracked and broken earth.

“Nothing,” she confirmed. The silence was nearly deafening; she could almost imagine the sound of her blood moving through her veins. “Living beings do not thrive in the Burial Mounds, and therefore nothing natural lives here.”

Wei Wuxian shivered.

And then a scream shattered the silence. Not human, she did not think. Yu Gongxin readied her sword at the sound of something tearing through the trees to their left, pushing Wei Wuxian back behind her.

“Prepare your bow,” she ordered, trusting him to follow her command as she kept her eyes trained on the trees. The foliage was dense and near impassible. They would not see what was coming towards them until it was nearly on top of them.

What stumbled through the brush was not the beast she expected, but a woman. One of the rogue cultivators, perhaps? The woman stumbled as she broke free, and Yu Gongxin managed to catch her in her free arm.

“It’s coming,” the woman said, a heartbeat before the beast crashed out of the woods behind her. It had a vaguely feline look about it, though resentment twisted its bones into a gory carapace around its back.

With a twang of his bowstring, Wei Wuxian buried three arrows in its head. The creature stumbled, and Yu Gongxin rolled herself and the other woman out of the way as its claws scrabbled in the dirt where they’d been only a breath before.

The woman wrapped her hand around the hilt of Yu Gongxin’s sword and slashed upwards with it, slitting the beast’s throat. Brackish black blood spilled across the ground, and the creature heaved once more before stilling forever.

“There are more,” she gasped. She twisted Yu Gongxin’s sword around and held it back. “My family and I stumbled across a whole nest of them.”

“Lead the way,” Yu Gongxin said. “A-Xian, stay behind us.”

For the record Wei Wuxian was definitely keeping to boast about to Jiang Cheng when they got home, he was not afraid of some mutated cat beast.

(If it had been a dog beast, it would have been a different story, which did not merit consideration. The only dog he’d ever managed to spend more than five seconds around in his life had been Jasmine and even then it had been more out of consideration for Jiang Cheng than any real appreciation of her company.)

The trees seemed to grab for them as they walked by, and Wei Wuxian had to hold his bow close to his chest to keep the branches from ripping it out of his hands. If something attacked them right now, he’d have to rely on Suibian to fight, and he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to unsheathe it.

They passed another one of the beasts, a sword sticking out between two of the plates covering its ribcage. The stranger yanked the blade free as they walked by and swept the gore away with a simple burst of spiritual power.

“How many are you?” Yu Gongxin asked.

“Four. My brother and sons. We were separated in the chaos when they came out of their den in the clearing up ahead.”

“Lead on.”

The branches dragged at their robes, grasping thick foliage making their way nearly impassable. Any trail the woman had left in her passing had been swallowed up in the precious few moments after she’d found them. They had to fight for every hardwon step until finally breaking through into the clearing.

There was no sign of any others. Quiet dread shivered through Yu Gonxin’s veins.

“What do you know of them?” Yu Gongxin asked.

“Not much,” the woman replied. “They prey on the leftovers of another spirit in these woods. A ghost whose touch destroys a golden core.”

Wei Wuxian knew exactly what his mentor was going to say before she said it. Yu Gongxin spun on her heel. “Stay,” she ordered.

“Da-Shijie!” Wei Wuxian protested.

“I mean it, or this will be the last night hunt you go on.”

She took off after the woman, leaving Wei Wuxian to sulk in the clearing, surrounded by trees and nothing.

Or at least that’s what he thought, until he heard the telltale sound of something large and quadrupedal charging through the trees to the south, opposite to where Yu Gongxin had disappeared. He backed up, stringing his bow with two arrows and preparing to fire in the direction of whatever it was coming at him.

Which was when another man descended from the sky and landed right on him.

Wei Wuxian oofed out a hard breath when his back hit the ground.

He was elegant in the way Jiang Yanli managed to be, the sort of quiet dignity that made lesser beings envious of her poise. But Wei Wuxian had never looked at his shijie and seen anything except a sister. The person currently lying on top of him did not automatically invoke what he considered ‘brotherly feelings.’

“Hi!” he said with a grin.

The other man blinked at him past the bangs falling in front of his face, then snapped his head up as one of the creatures finally broke free of the trees and charged right towards them. He leapt up, but instead of drawing a sword, he strung a line across two nearby trees and used it to play a series of quick notes imbued with spiritual power. The resulting wave of sound sent the beast crashing backwards, impaled on the shattered and petrified stump of a fallen tree.

Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet, tucking up next to him and firing six arrows in quick succession when the next one came charging towards them. The arrows stuck into its eyes and the area around them a moment before the next soundwave; Wei Wuxian would be interested to know whether the arrowheads in its brain or the broken back killed it.

He barely waited for the corpse to hit the ground before turning around. “I’m Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian.”

“Lan Zhan,” the other cultivator replied absently. “Wangji.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying repeated, earning himself a sharp look. “Thank you for the help.”

Lan Zhan moved to examine the corpses, brow drawn and tense. He peered into the trees. “My family is still unaccounted for.”

“Your… mom? I think? Went off with my Da-Shijie.”

“Then we need to locate my brother and uncle.” Lan Zhan frowned, the smallest downturn of his mouth. “I think these may have once been family pets,” he said, “Corrupted by the Burial Mounds. But this wasn’t what we were hunting.”

“What were you hunting?”

A screech answered Wei Wuxian’s question before Lan Zhan could. They both turned, watching as a ghostly figure shifted through the trees in their direction. The vegetation bent out of its way, leaving it a clear path straight to them. If it had been human, a century or more must have passed since its death, rendering it mostly translucent. Though vaguely human-shaped, the only visible feature remaining was a bright red mouth, cracked lips stretched across rotted black teeth.

Wei Wuxian drew his bow and released two arrows. They sailed right through the vaporous spirit; it continued onwards, hands outstretched and red mouth twisted in a desperate silent scream. Wei Wuxian dropped his bow and pulled Suibian, Lan Zhan drawing his own blade almost in unison.

“You dodge left,” Wei Wuxian said, “I’ll go right and under.”

Lan Zhan nodded silently, tensed and ready, as the ghost drew closer to them. Being this long in the Burial Mounds, it barely resembled anything which might have once been human, white skin stretched tight over a cracked open rotting skull, black arroyos of long-rotted blood cracked deep into what had once been skin.

“Don’t let it touch you,” Wei Wuxian said, “It could destroy your golden core.”

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened on his sword.

Before either of them could attack, the ghost spun around just in time to avoid the slash of a glowing white blade.

“A-Zhan,” a hard voice barked. Lan Zhan snapped to attention in the way of every person responding to a trusted voice of authority; this had to be his uncle. “Suppression.”

With easy, practiced movements Lan Zhan sank to the ground and pulled an aged but well cared for guqin from his qiankun pouch. The chords he played were starkly different then the single notes he’d played before, but no less imbued with power. The older man struck at the ghost again, and while his blow sailed through the same way Wei Wuxian’s arrows had, it seemed to somehow lessen the thing’s presence.

Wei Wuxian shot forward, Suibian in hand. He cut through the ghost as well, a long strike up its back.

“Get back,” Lan Zhan’s uncle ordered.

“I can help!”

“Help by staying close to A-Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian tried to withdraw, only for the spirit to spin and strike at him with ragged claws. Lan Zhan’s uncle tore to the side and knocked Wei Wuxian back out of the way with a hard sweep of his arm. Wei Wuxian hit the ground, eyes widening in horror as the ghost drove its fist into the older man’s abdomen.

“Shufu!” Lan Zhan screamed.

Wei Wuxian jumped up and struck at the ghost again and again, Suibian cutting through it with long, twisting slices of steel. It grew smaller with each strike, shrinking away until it had almost completely disappeared.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan called. The music abruptly changed, harsher and more demanding, whittling down whatever was left of the ghost vanquished and fading into harmless mist.

Lan Zhan pushed the guqin off his lap and darted to his uncle’s side. “Shufu,” he whispered. There seemed to be no obvious injury, but blood slid from between the older man’s lips.

Wei Wuxian grabbed his wrist and began pouring in spiritual energy. ‘Shufu’s’ golden core absorbed it greedily, at first, but after only a moment it seemed to sputter and reject everything Wei Wuxian offered and the man choked in pain.

“Stop,” Lan Zhan said, grabbing Wei Wuxian’s wrist and pulling it back. “He needs a proper healer.”

“We can take him to Lotus Pier. Our healers will be able to help.”

Lan Zhan nodded. “My mother and brother—”

Wei Wuxian reached into his robe and pulled out a signal flare. He shot it into the air, not the smallest sliver of doubt that Yu Gongxin would come for him.

“You are YunmengJiang?” Lan Zhan asked as the flare lit up the sky with a purple lotus. Wei Wuxian nodded. “Lotus Pier is close. I’ll carry him. You lead the way.”

“All right.” Wei Wuxian mounted his sword, waiting to make sure Lan Zhan had his uncle properly balanced in his arms before they both took flight.

Yu Gongxin found them before they’d managed to do more than break the treeline. The woman beside her, elegant and pale now he could see her in proper light, flew next to another man obviously related to Lan Zhan, considering the similarities between their features.

“He’s hurt,” Lan Zhan bit out. “Wei-gongzi has offered the services of the healers in Lotus Pier.”

“Let’s go, then,” his mother said, wasting no more time. She oriented herself in the right direction without either Wei Wuxian or Yu Gongxin offering up the way.

“A-Xian, you’re fast. Go ahead and tell the healers to prepare to receive our guest.”

Wei Wuxian nodded and took off in advance of the group, pushing himself more than he had outside of anything save the occasional stupid, show-off race with Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan’s uncle had been hurt saving him, and like hell Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to do his best to make sure he survived it.

When the call came up that A-Ying had returned, alone, more than a full day earlier than expected, Xiao Jingfei’s gut twisted unpleasantly with foreboding. She grabbed her sword from its resting place against her chair and took off towards the western gates, cursing herself for inviting misfortune by even mentioning A-Ying assuming the role of head disciple. She’d go into the Burial Mounds herself to retrieve Yu Gongxin if she needed to; she just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

A-Ying pushed through the crowd of sentries, yelling for the healers. He stopped when Xiao Jingfei came to a halt in front of him, grabbing his arms.

“Are you hurt?!” she demanded, scanning him from head to toe. No visible injuries, at least.

When she started to roll up his sleeve, A-Ying shook his head and pull his arm back. “No, Ma, I’m fine—”

“Yu Gongxin?”

“No, a cultivator we found. He was injured helping me. They’re bringing him now.” He threw his arm in a wide gesticulation over his shoulder, towards where three figures on sword were approaching from the distance.

For some reason she couldn’t name, Xiao Jingfei’s gut twisted even further. “Go tell Zhang-daifu everything. Each detail. Do not exaggerate.”

A-Ying nodded and took off towards the healing halls at a sprint.

Xiao Jingfei waited pensively; there would be no point flying out to meet them when they moved quickly enough to drown out all offered words on the wind. It left her standing at the gates, pensive and froze, watching their approach.

She wasn’t sure how she knew—the shape of him, perhaps, or the same instincts which saved her over and over again when she was out hunting—but somehow she knew who it was before they reached the gates.

The boy—a man, nearly, close enough in age to A-Ying that it had to be Lan Zhan—dropped down before her, all of her fears confirmed when she saw Lan Qiren clutched in his arms. She dragged in a breath and parcelled away her emotions.

“This way,” she said quickly, unable to look at him beyond a cursory glance of his pallid face and blue lips. They hurried after her.

The healer did not bother with greetings, merely gestured to the nearest bed.

“Remove yourselves,” he ordered once Lan Qiren had been stretched out.

“No,” Lan Huan—it had to be him, though she’d never thought of him as a fully grown man when she still possessed letters describing him as a child—argued.

All of them startlingly like Xiao Jingfei had imagined countless times; older, more careworn. Yet still welcome sight after more than a decade of waiting. All she wanted was to stay with Lan Qiren, but his family deserved more than casual dismissal.

Lan Zhan’s face set in hard obstinance which resembled Lan Qiren’s own, his hand twitching towards his sword. Xiao Jingfei appreciated the sentiment, but before either of them decided to take it upon themselves to wage war upon YunmengJiang for the sake of a man receiving care, she raised her hands.

“Let us help him.”

Lan Zhan still seemed ready to draw his sword when his mother clamped a hand down on his arm. He turned pleading eyes on her, which she met with stoic calm. With pinched lips, he nodded.

“You are Cangse Sanren,” Li Linxia said. Xiao Jingfei nodded. “My brother spoke of you often. There is no one else to whom he would entrust our care.”

“I promise I will not rest until he wakes,” Xiao Jingfei insisted.

“And you think we will?” Lan Zhan demanded.

“Please, trust me,” Xiao Jingfei said, not quite pleading. “I swear upon my life that your uncle does.”

Lan Zhan and Lan Huan continued to look sceptical, but it did not matter. Their mother nodded solemnly and they both stepped back as she waved a hand in concession.

“Come on, Lan Zhan,” A-Ying said, stepping up to the younger brother, already comfortable in his space.

Lan Zhan glared at him, but nevertheless followed Wei Ying into the corridor.

Alone, save for the healer, Xiao Jingfei looked her selfish fill at Lan Qiren. Twenty years since she’d seen him in person, but his cultivation had been high enough to make him still appear as a young man. She drank him in, one selfish moment after another, categorizing each wrinkle and spot, the length of his beard. She wanted to violently grab his cheeks between her palms and squeeze until he felt real against her skin.

“Do everything you can,” Xiao Jingfei said breathlessly, barely recognizing her own voice.

Zhang-daifu nodded before turning his full attention back to Lan Qiren. Accepting it as a dismissal, she went to find Lan Qiren’s family.

When she exited the room, they were all waiting for her. Li Linxia, a woman Lan Qiren had described at length without managing to at all convey her pristine beauty, met her eyes. She bowed, Lan Zhan and Lan Huan quickly following suit.

Xiao Jingfei returned the courtesy, A-Ying and Yu Gongxin bowing right alongside her. “Welcome to Lotus Pier.” A-Ying looked at her curiously; probably her voice truly did sound affected to more than just her own ears.

“Cangse Sanren,” Li Linxia said immediately, eyes knowing. “My brother has often spoken of you.” From the slightly tilted confusion plastered across her sons’ faces, either he’d done so in private or Li Linxia exaggerated. Xiao Jingfei couldn’t help hoping it was the former. Li Linxia studied her face. Xiao Jingfei wondered what she hoped to find.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Li Linxia finally settled on.

Xiao Jingfei looked at Lan Huan and Lan Zhan—Xichen and Wangji, now, she supposed that they’d grown into their courtesy names much like how she’d blinked and found A-Ying had somehow become ‘Wuxian.’ They mostly resembled their mother, though she detected just enough of Qiren in them to betray the family resemblance. All of them wore simple clothes, much like the ones she’d worn as a rogue cultivator; darker colours to hide stains, but well cared for. Though Lan Qiren still kept his ribbon centred on his forehead, neither of his nephews had kept theirs.

Lan Wangji stood stiffly behind his brother and mother, hand tucked into his lower back. Had he been scowling, Xiao Jingfei might’ve thought herself two decades younger, walking through the gates of Cloud Recesses and spotting Lan Qiren for the first time. She wanted to muss up his hair. Her heart ached in her chest.

“I’ve wanted you to visit Lotus Pier for a very long time,” she finally said.

Lan Xichen nodded. He had a face for smiling, though his expression remained grim. “I wrote to Jiang Yanli once.”

There was so much she wanted to say, but with Lan Qiren injured and the three of them looking so terribly tired, she decided to let it lie for the moment.

“A-Ying, please take them to find something to eat. I’ll wait for the doctor.”

Li Linxia took her measure with a careful eye before, with a solemn nod, she nodded and gestured for her sons to follow him.

A-Ying rallied his spirits. “Come on, Lan Zhan. I’ll ask my Jiejie to make soup for you. It’s the best thing you’ll ever taste in your whole life. Oh, and your brother and mother will like it too!”

Yu Gongxin, a silent presence hovering near the end of the corridor, turned her attention to Xiao Jingfei’s way once they’d gone.

“Will this be a problem for the sect?” she asked.

Xiao Jingfei shook her head. “If anything, them being here will be to our benefit.” So long as Xiao Jingfei convinced them to stay. She had to convince them to stay.

“Very well.”

Once Yu Gongxin took her leave, Xiao Jingfei stood alone outside the healing rooms, twisting her hands together. There were a million things clamouring for her attention; not a single one as important as waiting for news of Lan Qiren.

When Zhang-daifu emerged, he looked unsurprised to see her.

“If he lives through the night, he will recover,” he said without niceties or preamble. She’d always appreciated his brusque manner, now more than ever. She didn’t think she would have been able to bear any preamble. “I’ve seen much worse damage in my time. There’s a young man out of Qishan, I think, who has an imbalance in his own core which… Ah. But this is not of interest to you, I see.”

“Pardon my impatience,” she said, foot tapping as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “Is he awake?”

“I have induced sleep to give him the best chance of recovery,” Zhang-daifu replied.

“Can anything to be done in the meantime?”

“No. He must use his own spiritual energy to restore the damage, otherwise his meridians may buckle under the strain. Whether he recovers will be up to him and his will.” He nodded his head. “I’ll return to check on him in the morning.”

“Please make sure word is brought to his family. Let them know I’ll keep an eye on him overnight while they take their rest.”

Xiao Jingfei thanked him, but barely waited until he passed her by before slipping into Lan Qiren’s room. She watched his chest rise and fall from the door, numb only as long as it took for her to realize the hammering of her heart was actually fury. She closed her eyes and turned her head, jaw clenched. She’d only felt this sort of white hot anger a few times in her life: when she’d discovered A-Chang had been beaten for shaming his master by stepping out with her without permission; when A-Ying had managed to get his hands on some careless disciple’s sword and tried to fly by himself for the first time and nearly broken his neck. Moments she never wanted to relive again.

She knelt down beside Lan Qiren’s bed, snaking her hand into the sheets to take his. His skin was unnaturally cold. Even on the mountain in Gusu, he’d always felt warm to her. Her first instinct was to flood his meridians with spiritual power and hope some of it would stick, and only the doctor’s words warned her off it.

“Gege, if you don’t pull through this, I will find you in our next lives and I will make you regret leaving me in this one,” Xiao Jingfei whispered.

Lan Qiren did not respond. She clenched her free hand into a fist tight enough that her nails almost cut her skin.

“Don’t you dare do this to me,” she whispered.

Stupid girl. Do you think everything in the world is about you? In her mind, Lan Qiren’s voice mixed up with her master’s, both of them chiding her for her selfishness. Then let her be selfish; she’d rather ruin her reputation and be known as the most selfish woman to have ever existed than live in a world without him in it.

She felt traitorous tears well up in her eyes, angry and helpless, as she clutched tighter at his hand in hers.

“Xiao-Fei.”

A-Chang stepped into the room. She dashed the few stray tears from her cheek and shifted over to give him room to sit beside her.

“It’s after midnight,” he whispered. She’d barely noticed the nearby brazier running low, or that the sky outside had tilted past dusk. “A-Li and I have installed his sister and her children in the family rooms and we’ll take care of the business of the day tomorrow if you’d like to stay with him.”

“Thank you,” she said. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. “He would yell at me for neglecting my duty, I’m sure.”

“From everything I know of him, that might help him feel better.” She choked on a laugh. A-Chang leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Try to rest.”

“I love you.”

He smiled and kissed her again. “And I you.”

She watched her husband until he shut the door behind him and then returned her attention back to Lan Qiren. Leaning over, she pressed her forehead to his blanket-covered arm. She stayed awake as long as she could, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, the soothing rhythm of his breathing finally lulled her into sleep.

Lan Qiren woke slowly to icy cold suffusing his very bones, despite what felt like a heavy blanket laid atop him. He blinked up at an unfamiliar ceiling. The inn they’d taken in Yiling before commencing the hunt had sagging rafters, black in some places with mold encouraged by the cool and humid air. No such sign of distress existed here; the lumber appeared clean and polished, well-kept beyond anything he might have expected in Yiling.

At the healer’s, perhaps?

When the ghost had struck him, it felt as though flaming pitch had been poured into his veins, and he feared the lasting damage. He focused his thoughts inwards, not quite meditating so much as reaching for his golden core. It burned away inside him, somehow lessened than it had been. Not quite diminished, but as though a shroud had been placed atop it to dim some of its power. If Li Linxia and the boys had brought him to a healer, hopefully they would be able to help identify a means of returning him to his usual strength.

Lan Qiren shifted his gaze around the rest of the room, startled to discover the bowed head of a woman sleeping on the side of her bed.

Lan Qiren wondered how long he must have been unconscious not to recognize the decoration in Li Linxia's hair, before he realized she never wore it in such a style. His sister unfailingly kept her hair up and pulled back in a single broad bun clasped in place with twin dian A-Zhan and A-Huan had gifted her. Unless he had slept long enough for her to change her preference to a more whimsically braided style decorated with chiming pins.

That being said, he did know a woman who might have enjoyed such a style, though he had not seen her in far, far too long. Despite the ache in his lungs, he breathed in deep through his nose, and caught the distant scent of lotuses and river water. Well. Yiling was not so far from Lotus Pier, after all. And he probably should not have been surprised that she’d somehow managed to find a way to yet again interfere in his business.

His breath out might have brought with it a whispered name. Xiao Jingfei jumped like a startled cat, eyes wide when she met his gaze.

“You—!” her eyes flashed. “Gege, I am so angry with you.”

Not mad enough, it seemed, to stop her from dropping her whole weight down on him in a fierce embrace. It knocked what little breath he had left out of him, leaving him wheezing instead of understandably remonstrating her for such undignified behaviour. Surely that was why.

She pulled back after far too long and yet far too quickly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. She looped an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up before he had a chance to answer. “Let me get you some water.”

Presumably he would, at some point, be permitted to speak. Until then, he allowed himself a moment of peace as she held a cup to his lips and coaxed tiny sips of water into his mouth.

As she did, she provided running commentary, answering all the questions he could not yet ask and knowing him well enough to discern what they might be. “Your sister and nephews are fine, and were uninjured during your night hunt. You’ve been unconscious for two days. Our healers have assessed the damage to your core, and do not believe it to be permanent, though my youngest disciple at the moment could probably best you in a fight. That being said, you might get lucky, Pu-er is easily distracted.”

The impudence. He refused to smile. “I assume,” he whispered once his throat felt less like a droughty riverbed, “That the young man who decided to assist us in our nighthunt is one of yours?”

“You could say that,” she said with a highly unattractive smile in her eyes.

“And he is unharmed?”

“Completely.” She eased him back, propping him up against the wall at his back to allow him to sit on his own. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to find his balance, but she did not pull away until he waved her off. “You saved my son, gege.”

“Ridiculous. The youth I saved was almost a man. A-Ying is still a small child.”

“Mn, much like your own nephews, then. I was shocked your A-Huan is even older than you were when we met.” She smiled down at him. “I missed you. It’s been far too long.”

“Hm. Well. It would not have been my preference either.”

She looked like a young girl again, for a moment, eyes shining and her smile tilted at the corner as she sought out his approval. He nearly expected her to produce a razor and lunge for his beard.

The momentary fear for his chin passed, but the warmth in her eyes remained.

“It’s good you’re here, gege,” she finally said. “I’m going to go and find your sister and nephews to put their minds at ease, and the healer to come and see you so you can hear for yourself that you’ll live long enough for me to find a sufficient punishment for worrying me.”

“Be sure not to strain the limits of your imagination,” he muttered. “And leave my facial hair out of it.”

“I’d never compromise the majesty of it,” she laughed. Before leaving to fetch the doctor, she pressed another cup of water into his hands and pulled his blanket up.

Feeling unaccountably warm, despite the gaping chill in his core, Lan Qiren felt as though he’d surfaced after years spent underwater.

Chapter Text

On her way to the healer's quarters a few days after their arrival, Li Linxia passed by the YunmengJiang training fields. It was, admittedly, more indirect than the usual path she took, but also a point of interest for her personally. When she passed by, she found A-Huan and A-Zhan watching the proceedings. Or, rather, her eldest was watching the proceedings. A-Zhan made a good show of it, but she knew him well enough to notice his eyes circled again and again to the young master helping the juniormost contingent of disciples move through their sword forms.

"A-Niang," they both greeted once they noticed her.

"You were too young to have entered such training before we left Cloud Recesses A-Zhan," she said, eyes still on the field of Jiang disciples.

Like her son, she found her attention fixing on a specific individual. Unlike her son, it was not the colourful young man commanding everyone’s attention. While evident to her, though Yu Gongxin was certainly capable, she was quickly being outstripped by Young Master Wei.

"I hope you do not begrudge it."

"Mn, I do not," A-Zhan said, finally ripping his attention from Wei Wuxian. "You and Shufu have been very adequate instructors."

Li Linxia chuckled. "A kind way of saying you outpaced both of us before you were twelve. At least your brother has given you some form of challenge. Though I wonder," she continued with a smile, "If there isn't someone here you may find to be your equal."

"If there is, I have not observed as much," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching with the lie.

"Well, here's an opportunity to find out," A-Huan said. Li Linxia followed his line of sight to where Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin had finally taken note of their spectators. Wei Wuxian waved wildly, much to Jiang Wanyin's obvious irritation, the upcoming sect leader rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh heavy enough to nearly shake the ground beneath their feet.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian rushed to them. With a silent traded glance, Li Linxia and A-Huan both took a step back. "Lan Zhan, are you here to train?"

"No."

"Then you came just to watch me?"

A-Zhan stiffened. "Shameless." Did Wei Wuxian notice A-Zhan’s ears reddening? Would he even know what it meant?

"Wei Wuxian, stop bringing shame upon YunmegnJiang!" Jiang Wanyin called.

Finally taking notice, Yu Gongxin looked their way. "Either fight him or get back to work!"

"What do you say, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian wiggled his eyebrows.

Her beloved second son, her precious boy, had been overly exuberant for a time after they’d left Cloud Recesses, before his natural inclination towards stoicism overtook what she believed to be a kneejerk reaction to being removed from his home. It had been many years since he’d acted rashly or without proper contemplation of his actions.

All that carefully contained self-control all vanished in a moment when A-Zhan drew his sword.

Their moves both contrasted and complemented one another as they flew back and forth across the training field, the other disciples jumping to get out of their way before they gave up on the ground all together and took to the nearby rooftops. She’d long given up trying to keep up with her family’s excellent sword work; her sons outpaced her before fully entering their teenage years and she’d never had enough talent to stand against her brother. A-Huan and Qiren had both given Wangji a challenge until only a few years ago. Now none of them stood much chance of keeping up with him.

Wei Wuxian, with dancing steps and an easy smile, not only kept up but held his own with confidence. A-Huan sidled up next to her to get a better view, an unfettered smile on his face.

“It’s good to see A-Zhan making friends,” he said.

Li Linxia fixed him with a reproving eye. “A-Huan.”

Her eldest blinked slow and unconcerned as a cat. A-Zhan and Wei Wuxian flew down off the roof, twisting around, their blades sliding against one another in a screech of metal. Their hilts locked, bringing the two of them into close proximity, their faces a mere handspan apart. Wei Wuxian’s chest heaved with the force of his breath, grinning ear to ear. A-Zhan held himself so stiffly she could tell he was struggling not to do the same, breathing through his nose and refusing to show any sign of strain.

“Well done,” Yu Gongxin shouted. “Now all of you resume the third stance.”

The disciples obeyed without question, though not without sending admiring looks towards A-Zhan and Wei Wuxian.

It had been a good fight.

“Don’t tease your brother too much,” Li Linxia warned A-Huan.

“Of course not, A-Niang.”

A-Zhan rejoined them, still refusing to do more than pant through his nostrils. Li Linxia squeezed his bicep and kissed his cheek, then continued towards the healing rooms.

She’d only stepped into the hall when the door to Qiren’s room opened and Xiao Jingfei stepped out, laughing at something the room’s lone occupant had said. Li Linxia hid a small smile; she’d often found Qiren’s sense of humour understated, it gladdened her heart to know there was someone who appreciated it.

Xiao Jingfei closed the door behind her and turned, eyes lighting up when she recognized Li Linxia at the end of the hall. “Ah, Madam Li.” Xiao Jingfei had landed on that term of address early on in their stay and Li Linxia hadn’t corrected her. It felt quite a bit better than ‘Madam Lan’ ever had. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. I’ve just come from the training field. Your son is very spirited.”

Xiao Jingfei’s grin widened. “He is, isn’t he? I’m sure once he’s up and about, gege will accuse me of abetting an incorrigible nature, but his heart is in the right place. But your sons! Such proper young masters, you’d think they’d actually have lived their whole lives in Cloud Recesses.”

“I consider that to be natural temperaments, though my didi undoubtedly had a formative influence.”

“Yes, your second son reminds me quite a bit of gege when he was younger, though certainly quieter in his disapproval of the world.”

Such an interesting woman, Li Linxia thought. On the surface it made very little sense for her to be close friends with Qiren; they were drastically different when looked at with a casual eye. There must have been quite a bit more to her to keep Qiren’s attention. He’d never been one to indulge fools.

“We should take tea,” she said.

Xiao Jingfei nodded eagerly. “Lovely. Come find me this afternoon in the west pavilion.”

They bowed to one another and Xiao Jingfei took off down the hall in a sweep of white and lavender skirts.

On his eighth full day of consciousness, Lan Qiren woke with a start to the sound of someone climbing through the window. It invoked such a staggering sense of déjà vu as to send him back in time nearly twenty years and leave him temporarily stunned. Surely Xiao Jingfei was above such things now? Every other time she’d visited she’d had the wherewithal to come through the door.

Such things, he supposed a moment later while watching Wei Ying catch his foot the windowsill and topple to the ground in a gangly tangle of limbs, were apparently hereditary.

“Uncle Lan!” the boy said, popping up. Hereditary traits, he thought with a sigh, also extended to poor manners and impertinent familiarity. He wished he could feel any modicum of surprise, and resentfully cursed himself for only feeling fond.

“You must be Wei Ying,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Huh? Oh, yes.” The boy crowded his bed, plopping down at Lan Qiren’s feet. “We’ve met, sort of. You saved my life.” He straightened at the waist and finally remembered to bow, the effect severely diminished considering he didn’t bother to stand. “I came to thank you. Baba has told me that we’re going to have a formal meeting about it to recognize it in front of the whole sect—” An impressively politically savvy move, actually, if Lan Qiren intended to remain in Lotus Pier. An official show of gratitude would stand up to any other tongue wagging or scrutiny from the other sects, and excuse their ongoing presence in Yunmeng—“But that will wait until you’re recovered, and I wanted to make sure to thank you now.”

The torrent of words at a standstill, Lan Qiren nodded. “I accept your gratitude, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Ying’s nose wrinkled, but even if he chose to be informal, Lan Qiren certainly did not need to be. Let him earn familiarity, as his mother before him. That way Lan Qiren could save some face before this miscreant youth—

Oblivious to his rankling, Wei YIng reached into his sleeve and pulled out a rolled up scroll, which he handed over with more care than Lan Qiren suspected came naturally to him. “I painted you this.”

Lan Qiren unrolled it, his heart skipping a beat at the lovely depiction of Li Linxia, A-Zhan and A-Huan, all standing at the end of one of Lotus Pier’s docks, looking out over the river. He’d captured them all very well.

“You have a remarkable talent,” Lan Qiren allowed.

Wei Ying grinned with unreserved pride. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Lan Qiren suddenly recalled Xiao Jingfei’s birth announcement, sent to a select few from where she’d gone into recovery under the care of the doctors of Dafan Mountain. ‘Gege,’ she’d written, ‘I am delivered safely of a son, Wei Ying. I can already tell he’s excited to meet you—he won’t stop talking about his Uncle Lan! You’re in for a world of trouble!’

Meeting Wei Ying had been a long time delayed; Li Linxia had birthed A-Zhan earlier in the same year, and Lan Qiren had suddenly gone from being the full time guardian of a young child to a full time guardian of a young child and infant. And while he would have welcomed Xiao Jingfei and her family to visit Gusu, the elders undoubtedly would have found a way to make their stay miserable. He’d had to make due with letters describing his progress as he grew older, occasionally punishing himself in moments of self-indulgent nonsense imagining himself with them.

Ah, this boy—man now, he supposed—reminded Lan Qiren of his mother.

“A-Ying—” Wei Ying brightened, “—Thank you. It is well done, and something I shall treasure.”

Pleased as a kitten with a leaf, Wei Ying shimmied merrily in place. Then he paused and tapped the side of his nose in a way that immediately put Lan Qiren on his guard, given his mother’s propensity for doing the same when conceiving of some great mischief.

“Uncle, can you tell me, what does Lan Zhan like best?”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why.”

“I want him to be happy here! But whenever I suggest anything, he calls me ridiculous and walks away. It’s very unfair.”

Hereditary traits ran both ways, it seemed. How terrible. Would a weakened golden core mitigate or contribute to a qi deviation?

Based on experiences with Wei Ying's mother, from whom Wei Ying seemed to have lamentably taken a number of traits, Lan Qiren would have no peace until he’d produced such intelligence. Or worse, Wei Ying might go to seek out A-Huan to ask the same question. When possible, Lan Qiren tried to smooth over his elder nephew’s love of teasing A-Zhan, a habit acquired from Li Linxia but occasionally taken to extremes. A-Huan claimed it to be an older brother’s prerogative, having yet to appreciate acceptable boundaries. Such a thing would surely come along with the wisdom of years, but until then Lan Qiren felt peace was the priority.

As for Li Linxia, she had managed to avoid the pitfall of parental fixation on her sons’ marriage prospects, but the inclination might merely be lying in wait and preparing to strike.

Given that no convenient interruption came along to save him from the utter agony of this turn of conversation and no way to escape the very determined look that Wei Ying had doubtlessly learned at his mother’s knee, Lan Qiren was forced to admit, “He has a marked fondness for small, cute things.”

“Small cute things,” Wei Ying repeated. "Thank you, Uncle Lan! I promise to put this to good use only."

Lan Qiren audibly snorted, which seemed to delight Wei Ying.

“I’d better get to training before Da-Shijie comes looking for me and makes me run laps.” Instead of taking the door like a well-adjusted member of society, he climbed back out the window. And then, sticking his head back inside, “Bunnies?”

“What?”

“Lan Zhan, do you think he’d like bunnies?”

Before Lan Qiren could reply, an angry call of ‘Wei Wuxian!’ sounded in the distance. Wei Ying’s eyes widened and he dropped down away from the window.

With a shake of his head, Lan Qiren returned his attention to the drawing. Despite himself, his lips curled in a small smile which, like the painting, he tucked away to admire later.

To hear tell, while A-Ying and Lan Wangji continued to delight one another on the sparring grounds—in much the same way as Xiao Jingfei seemed to remember Nie Nuibai and his second wife had done, though she wasn’t going to be the one to point it out before Qiren was a bit further along in his recovery—all it had served was for Jiang Cheng to begin fuming over how much time the two of them had suddenly decided to spend together.

She forced herself not to worry over it; Jiang Cheng had always been much more Yu Ziyuan’s child than his father’s. And while Yu Ziyuan could be violently possessive, she’d only ever extended that inclination to her personal power rather than people. She saw it in Jiang Cheng in his need to keep pace with A-Ying. She and Wei Changze had done their best to provide a mediating influence and helped him celebrate his own strengths rather than fixate on his failings, but the inclination, she feared, would always be there.

Having Lan Wangji in Lotus Pier only seemed to fuel an already banked bonfire. The boys had been at odds over A-Ying’s attention since he walked through the gates, both vying for their attention, though Lan Wangji at a noticeably lower volume.

With Lan Qiren resting peacefully, and the doctors shooing her out with orders to get some sunshine and fresh air, Xiao Jingfei had staked out a place with Li Linxia in one of the grand pavilions, looking out at where the children had decided to play on the docks. The former Madam Lan accepted a cup of tea; while she winced over the heavily spiced blend, she finished her cup without complaint. At the end of the pier, with Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen admiring one another’s calligraphy, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji seemed to have entered a fierce staring competition, A-Ying bouncing back and forth between them trying to make peace (or incite them… had it been Xiao Jingfei herself, it might have gone either way.)

“The boys have both been long deprived equals,” Xiao Jingfei said. “Yu Gongxin and I are the closest they have to quality sparring partners, but I’m unfortunately usually too busy to oblige, and Yu Gongxin has the entire rest of the training to attend to, save for what she’s already delegated to A-Ying.”

“Mine are much the same. I feel our time here will be good for them,” Li Linxia said, watching them all closely.

Jiang Cheng’s gesticulations became wilder, and Lan Wangji’s features cooler. A-Ying, apparently abandoning the attempt to appease them both, retreated to Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen, presumably in search of reinforcements.

His momentary absence proved all the excuse the other two required. Lan Wangji gracefully stretched and, to all appearances, accidentally knocked Jiang Cheng into the river.

Li Linxia began to stand, but Xiao Jingfei placed a hand on her knee to keep her in place. Her intervention wouldn’t have done much good; for all A-Ying seemed to quite like Lan Wangji, he reserved the privilege of abusing his younger brother strictly for himself. He charged forward and knocked Lan Wangji off the pier right after Jiang Cheng.

“You—!” Lan Xichen grabbed for A-Ying. In his efforts to duck away, A-Ying jumped backwards, tripped over his own feet, and toppled into the river as well.

Lan Xichen stood officiously at the edge of the pier, staring down at the three bobbing boys in utter bewilderment.

“None of this seems neces—”

Necessary or not, his assessment of the situation was cut short when his chest heaved forward and he splashed into the river as well. Having completed her task of shoving him in, Jiang Yanli straightened her sleeves and pinned all four of them with a look Xiao Jingfei knew she’d borrowed right from Wei Changze.

“There. Now you are equal and we can all be friends.”

A-Ying grinned, utterly delighted. “Yes, Jiejie!” He scaled the nearest mooring pole and hopped back onto the dock, Jiang Cheng close behind him, years of hauling themselves out of the river in soaked robes making it a pittance. A-Ying dropped to his belly and held out a hand. “Come on, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji examined the hand suspiciously, but allowed A-Ying to help haul him out of the water. He stumbled as he placed a foot on the docks, and the two of them tumbled to the ground together. They stared at each other. Xiao Jingfei decided that Li Linxia would have to be the one to tell Qiren; she wanted to be a far enough distance away to really appreciate his face when he heard about this.

Jiang Yanli knelt down and looked at Lan Xichen. “Here,” she offered her own hand.

Lan Xichen studied it for a moment, gently placed his hand in hers, and then yanked her into the water.

Xiao Jingfei stiffened in her seat. If Jiang Yanli was offended by this, there would be true war between them. Instead, when she surfaced with a smile, A-Ying rolled away from Lan Wangji, laughing hard enough Xiao Jingfei worried he might actually throw up. Lan Wangji, divining the same, rubbed A-Ying’s back and tried to hush him. Jiang Cheng howled in outrage at the insult to his sister, practically calling for Lan Xichen’s head right up until the moment he lowered himself to pull her out and Jiang Yanli pulled him right back into the river between them.

There were certain things Xiao Jingfei would not have stood for in her youth that she found hilarious as a mother. Such, she supposed, was the way of the world. Xiao Jingfei felt actual regret that Yu Ziyuan wasn’t around to be properly outraged. The entire area for a hundred li would have felt her anger. Xiao Jingfei hoped that, had she moved on to her next life, she felt the echo of it, and it ruined her day.

“I’d say this is going swimmingly,” Li Linxia said with a perfectly straight face, sipping her tea.

Xiao Jingfei snorted in amusement. “Let me fill up your cup, jiejie. From the look in A-Ying’s eyes, he’s about to go on the offensive.”

Lan Qiren had very few opportunities in his life to feel bored.

As a child, he had brought intense focus to his studies. Not having enjoyed the gift of genius like his brother, he found himself needing to study harder to compensate, spending hours upon hours making sure he could keep up. It left him with a reputation of stodgy pedantry he’d never cared enough to confront.

Now, though, with his indefinable recovery period, he felt unable to escape the truth of the matter: he was bored, and boredom did not suit him.

When not being visited by his family or Xiao Jingfei, who took their duties as his sole companions very seriously, meditation took up a significant portion of his day; he believed in the value and worthiness of focusing his mind to support his cultivation and help heal the damage done to his golden core. But as the days stretched onwards, meditation felt less like a valuable exercise and more a necessary escape from the confines of the dual prison of four walls and physical infirmity.

At the end of his patience, one morning when his usual visitors were unavailable to keep him company, he waited only until the healer had checked his pulse and checked his meridians before asking, “Is this patient allowed a simple walk?”

“Hmm. Not far, I’m afraid. Your health is still in question.”

“Is there a venue you would recommend?”

“The southern pavillion.” Lan Qiren’s lips pressed together. Such a place would offer only momentary distraction; he was not a painter or poet, and he had been forbidden from using a guqin or xiao. While the scenery was undoubtedly beautiful, there would be little else for him to enjoy. “Or the library.”

His heart leapt in anticipation. The library at Lotus Pier certainly held nothing on that of Cloud Recesses, but even if he had to content himself with no more than four volumes of the most boring content it would be preferable to any alternative.

The healer sent two assistants to help him stumble his way through the short path between infirmary and library. Winded even from that meagre distance, he almost collapsed into the seat closest to the door.

“Thank you,” he gasped, hand at his chest. His lungs ached as though he’d run the entire distance between Gusu and Lanling on foot. “Where is the librarian?”

The first of the assistants blinked. “Lotus Pier maintains no librarian, gongzi.”

Lan Qiren glanced across the chaos of loose scrolls, books, and papers haphazardly tossed onto disordered shelves. “Ah.” He waved a hand. “Is there anything you would recommend?”

The young lady flushed and darted her eyes towards a small stack of books hastily shoved into the bottom of a far shelf. “No, gongzi.”

Lan Qiren’s ears heated. Similar ‘no gongzi’ volumes had been stripped from the Cloud Recesses library long ago. He coughed the thought away.

“Anything, then.”

‘Anything, then’ volumes were randomly chosen from a nearby shelf and ended up being reports on the height of the river over the course of five or six years. While certainly important, given the sect’s reliance on the river, they did not make for engaging reading.

Alone, Lan Qiren braced himself on his table and pushed himself to his feet. His head spun with the effort. Three or four steps would bring him to the wall. From there another seven or eight to the nearest shelf which, hopefully, enjoyed contents consisting of more than hydrography.

He made it to the bookshelf. Two steps thereafter, black flooded into his vision and he collapsed.

“Lan-gongzi,” was the next thing he heard, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Lan-gongzi. Qiren. Please.”

Opening his eyes felt stupendously unnecessary. Whoever had decided upon ‘consciousness’ as the default state of humanity had grossly exaggerated its worth.

Still, he supposed it would be unkind to keep whoever had come to fret over him in suspense. He opened his eyes. It took a moment for him to reconcile the blur before him into anything resembling features, but once they coalesced into something understandable he found a younger man hovering over him. It took him a moment to reconcile his features; tall, with sharp cheeks and a generous mouth, and a chin Lan Qiren had seen on Wei Wuxian. This, then, had to be Wei Changze.

The man heaved a sigh of relief. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately,” he said, embarrassed when his voice came out as little more than a croak.

Wei Changze slipped an arm behind his back and helped him to sit up. His head ached terribly. With efficiency that suggested familiarity, he had Lan Qiren up and into a more comfortable seat on the other side of the library. His movements were smooth enough Lan Qiren barely noticed himself being managed.

“I am not an invalid,” he grumped.

“No,” Wei Changze agreed, “You are an injured man who maintains all the dignity and strength of his prime.”

Lan Qiren frowned. While the words weren’t outwardly mocking, there was a gentle tease in the upturn of Wei Changze’s mouth. Rather than mention it, he allowed Wei Changze to arrange him in such a way that took the pressure off all his sore spots.

“Thank you,” he managed to gasp out. Despite the comfort, his spine still pressed up against his lungs and restricted his breathing. Wei Changze noticed and quickly pressed his hand against Lan Qiren’s lower back, pushing it in such a way it removed the pressure, then tucked a pillow between him and the back of his chair.

He felt helpless to do anything save repeat, “Thank you,” and finally relax.

“May I fetch you some tea?” Wei Changze asked. “Our doctor has a brew which promotes muscle relaxation you may find helpful.” Wei Changze stood. “And would Lan-gongzi like a book to distract himself in the meantime?” He cast a glance at the report Lan Qiren had struggled with earlier. “Perhaps one with less esoteric content?”

“Only if it’s no trouble,” Lan Qiren replied.

“Not at all. This servant is pleased to oblige.” He seemed distracted when he spoke the words, and they fell from his lips without thought. Lan Qiren found himself transported back to his youth, when his father had been sect leader and had enjoyed all the privileges of his position. Cloud Recesses had strict rules around the equitable treatment of servants; he wondered if YunmengJiang employed the same.

Before We Changze stepped away, Lan Qiren impulsively reached out and grabbed his wrist. The other man started at the contact.

“You are not my servant,” Lan Qiren stated. “Please. You are…” They had exchanged letters, true, but nothing intimate enough to call him a friend, either. Not yet. Lan Qiren had precious few friends in his lifetime, and felt strangely hesitant to slot Wei Changze into such a role, though he quailed to think of why. “An honoured equal,” he finally decided.

This seemed to throw Wei Changze. The other man blinked in surprise before his cheeks turned a delightful rosy red and he ducked his head. How did Xiao Jingefi manage to perform her duties as regent when exposed to such artless charm? It settled something ugly in Lan Qiren’s middle dantian.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Lan-gongzi.”

“Certainly, you are in a position to call this humble rogue cultivator by name,” Lan Qiren insisted. He did not know why it felt so imperative for them to address one another as equals, only that he would not suffer to live in a world in which they did not.

“Thank you, Qiren.” Wei Changze smiled. A small thing, barely an uptick of his lips, but one which nevertheless made him beautiful. “But my offer stands. Is there a different book I can fetch you?”

“This ‘library’ is in dire need of curation,” Lan Qiren stated.

“Yes. Unfortunately, there always seem to be any number of concerns which tend to take precedence.”

Unfathomably irritated, Lan Qiren nonetheless accepted a volume of poetry Wei Changze seemed to produce from a random shelf and tried to focus his attention upon it as Wei Changze made his way out the door. He did not care to admit he failed.

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen rounded a corner, stopping short at the sight of Jiang Yanli seated in one of the pavilions overlooking the lake, considering the placement of stones on a weiqi board in front of her.

“Jiang-guniang.”

Jiang Yanli looked up with a small smile.

“Lan-gongzi.” She rose and bowed, then inclined her head towards the game. “You have found me as I consider a problem.”

“Oh?” He chanced his own look at the board. The pieces had been carefully arranged, though still a fair few moves away from any sort of endgame. “I have not seen this arrangement before,” he admitted.

“It’s one of my mentor’s devices.” Jiang Yanli sat back down at the board, and graciously waved him into the seat across from her. “But I’ve yet to find a solution.” She swept the majority of the white pieces into a cup. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to play a true game instead.”

“I would be delighted.” Lan Xichen sat down across from her, and scooped up the bowl of black pieces. She waved him off when he offered them up. “I should warn you, my regular partners over the past years have been my uncle and my brother, who both excel at the game.”

Jiang Yanli hummed and smiled. She folded her sleeve back as she placed a stone, allowing him a glimpse of a fine, pale-skinned wrist.

A shockingly short time later, Lan Xichen stared at the board, trying to figure out how he’d been so thoroughly defeated in such a short amount of time.

“Perhaps I should have been the one to warn Lan-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli said with a sweet smile, “That my regular partner over the past years is Wei Changze, who I don’t believe has lost a game since his childhood.”

She stood and bowed. “Thank you for the game.” She turned and left him to stare first at the board and, once she’d turned away, after her retreating back. Both invoked a welling sense of wonder.

He sat in their rooms later that evening, the problem Jiang Yanli had been considering arranged before him, the board recreated from memory. The subtle genius of the issue struck him each time he thought he’d found a solution; no matter how he considered it, his solution always seemed to put him on the backfoot. He wondered if it was a matter of ‘solving’ the issue, or merely performing damage control once he’d figured out the move which would cost him the least.

Normally, he’d expect A-Zhan to join him, but his brother had been quite taken with the young masters of YunmengJiang—one in particular, anyway—and had only been returning to their room the last possible moment before A-Niang went in search of him.

A-Niang herself had either been spending her time with Yu Gongxin or Cangse Sanren or at Shufu’s side. He understood the appeal of good company; it was not chance which had found him wandering in Jiang Yanli’s direction that morning.

He glared at the problem and then collected the rocks and board both and whisked them off in search of his uncle.

Fortunately hale enough to spend longer and longer periods out of bed, he found Lan Qiren in the library, a heavy blanket draped around his shoulders despite the warm evening air, face and hands animated in the way Lan Xichen only ever saw when he was trying to impart a lesson to him and A-Zhan, or amidst other men in tea houses across the country in search of in intellectual equal.

The search for equality seemed to have led him to Wei Changze.

“Shufu,” Lan Xichen bowed upon entering the library, “Uncle Wei.”

It still didn’t feel natural to address the other man in such a way, but the small smile on Wei Changze’s face grew wider at the familiarity. Neither man seemed put out at being interrupted.

“A-Huan,” Shufu greeted. “You managed to save your Uncle Wei the embarrassment of being roundly proven wrong.”

“Is that what he’s done?” Wei Changze said with a warm chuckle. “How fortunate for me, given I’ve apparently underestimated my argument entirely.”

Shufu’s upper lip twitched the way it did whenever he fought back a smile.

“Perhaps it’s good I’ve found you both.” Lan Xichen sat and began setting up the board between the three of them. Shufu’s eyes narrowed as he placed the stones, already obviously piecing together the problem as it evolved.

Wei Changze’s smile only grew.

“I see you’ve spoken with A-Li,” Wei Changze said once he’d finished with the board.

Lan Xichen nodded. “I’ve never been so thoroughly beaten at weiqi. I understand she has your tutelage to thank for it.”

Lan Qiren’s gaze sharpened in quiet interest. “You did not mention you played.”

“It was not something I often indulged in when I lived in Lotus Pier, and rarely had a chance to play on the road since Xiao-Fei doesn’t understand the appeal. Since then, I’ve been lucky to have A-Li take interest in the game.”

“She’s been unable to find a way out of this,” Lan Xichen said. “And while I’m sure Jiang-guniang has spent many hours more on it than I, I admit that I’ve not been able to see a way out of it, either.”

“Do you really wish for the solution?” Wei Changze asked kindly. Lan Xichen had the impression that if he said yes, Wei Changze would not begrudge him the answer nor judge him for requesting it.

Lan Xichen sighed. On the one hand, it rankled that someone had to feed him the answer to the problem. On the other, it would doubtless impress Jiang Yanli.

As long as she didn’t discover he’d cheated, anyway.

“I suppose not.”

Wei Changze nodded in approval. “I’ll give you the same hint I gave her.” Lan Xichen nodded for him to continue. "No single player, to the best of my knowledge, has been able to solve it.”

Lan Xichen frowned at the board, nodded, and left them to ponder the matter.

Lan Qiren watched his nephew go before returning his attention to the board.

"It's a very good lesson for young people to learn," he said.

Wei Changze nodded. And then, with a sweep of his arm, knocked the pieces askew to collect them all with practiced ease, separating the white and black stones into their respective bowls.

"You had little opportunity to play?" Lan Qiren repeated.

Wei Changze's lip twitched up at the corner. "It is not well-received for a servant to prove more talented at such things than his masters."

Lan Qiren considered this, stroking his beard. He then picked up the white pieces and gestured for Wei Changze to take the black.

"A-Huan and A-Zhan are excellent opponents, but it has been quite some time since I partnered a true proficient."

Wei Changze's smile returned. “Then I hope I am up to the task.”

“Mn.”

Thus began a new daily routine. In the mornings he would sit with Xiao Jingfei, Li Linxia, or his nephews until lunch, when they’d then help him back to the library to wait for Wei Changze to finish his daily responsibilities—a long line of administrative tasks he demonstrated to Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Yanli, and a small number of competent disciples. The other man would then join Lan Qiren for a game of weiqi. As he waited, Lan Qiren dutifully took over the care and maintenance of the library itself, organizing the contents into something superior to ‘river matters’ and ‘not river matters.’ (It felt petty to say that anything would have been superior, but there it was.)

After he’d received the announcement of her marriage, Lan Qiren had often wondered about the man to capture Xiao Jingfei’s heart, given he’d been incapable of doing so himself. He imagined her ideal partner to share her lively spirit and desire for freedom. The letters they’d exchanged for the all-too-short time prior to Lan Qiren ceding from GusuLan had shown Wei Changze to have a sharp mind. And, at length, Lan Qiren found himself admitting that he looked quite handsome; he favoured a darker teal in complement to Jiang Yanli’s lighter preference for turquoise, though he admitted one afternoon across the gameboard that he’d never been truly accustomed to finery.

“Oh, no. For well more than twenty years I wore servant’s robes. And then after Xiao-Fei and I took to the road, we usually preferred simpler attire, strong and easily mended. I fear this sort of finery has never sat well on me.”

It looked very well on him, Lan Qiren did not say. Could not say. He instead placed his piece with such revolting lack of strategy that Wei Changze looked at him in alarm. He coughed and waved his hand, hoping that the other man would give him some measure of face instead of calling him out on his distraction.

Fortunately, Xiao Jingfei had also managed to marry a genuinely kind person.

Perhaps that was why…

He recovered his senses enough to play his next piece properly. It didn’t help… Wei Changze destroyed his entire defense three moves later.

"The boys are going to be leading a handful of disciples on a night hunt, by which I mean A-Ying is looking for a way to show off for Lan Wangji," Xiao-Fei told Wei Changze over lunch.

They'd locked themselves into their own room to share the meal and catch up on a few less urgent pieces of sect business. And, should being behind a locked door with his wife with instructions to not be disturbed before dinner yield a pleasanter pastime once the work was done, such a thing would surely be born out of convenience.

"Judging from the way Wanyin has been frowning about the place, doubtless he likes the idea of a decent night hunt as well." Still showing off, but in a different way. More than likely Wanyin would look for the opportunity to trot out every anecdote and inside joke he and A-Ying had shared in their lifetime to remind Lan Wangji who had won A-Ying's loyalty first.

Or, terribly, he'd swing fully the other way and ignore A-Ying entirely between moments of insulting him, hoping to get the other's attention firmly back to himself. Had they been younger, Wei Changze would have pulled them both aside before the night hunt for a brief conversation about familial love and respect. They were both too old for such things these days; young people eventually needed to triumph or fail on their own. Hopefully he and Xiao-Fei had made a home comfortable enough that neither of the two potential outcomes would feel devastating.

"I think it's time for him to take Zidian," Xiao-Fei continued.

Wei Changze's hands did not shake as he finished writing the final line of missive. He placed his brush down. "Ah."

The matter of Zidian had waited long enough, he supposed. Probably too long. They'd first discussed presenting it to Wanyin at numerous points throughout his childhood: when he'd formed his golden core, his ninth birthday and almost every birthday thereafter. Once or twice he'd entertained the thought of waiting until Wanyin's ascension. But giving him a chance to familiarize himself with the spiritual tool was more important than Wei Changze’ reservations. His fears.

Wanyin wouldn't require much in terms of training; once he had the hang of communicating his desires, Zidian would obey. And Xiao-Fei was right. It was time.

"I'll tell A-Li." She had kept it in trust for her brother all these long years. He stood.

"Are you…?"

"Fine," Wei Changze said. He offered what probably seemed to be an unconvincing smile. It certainly felt that way on his face. "I'm fine."

Before she could dispute the words, Wei Changze slipped out of the room.

Wei Changze had never had cause to fear Zidian the first years of Jiang Fengmiang's marriage to Yu Ziyuan. She was a hard woman and a demanding taskmaster, but she did not use her spiritual tool to punish minor transgressions. She did not care for Wei Changze, which she made obvious by reassigning many of his duties to her own staff and leaving him with only the personal care of Jiang Fengmian and the most menial chores, but by that point in his life he believed he'd made himself indispensable to his master and though she begrudged him the fact there wasn't much she could do to correct it without driving the household into disarray.

After A-Li's birth, she’d softened to him in her own way. He loved children, and his Feng-ge's first daughter was the most wonderful infant he'd ever known. They came to an unsteady truce. She’d even smiled when she’d gifted him the wedding robes.

Little wonder she felt so betrayed when she'd overheard Jiang Fengmiang's words the day before Wei Changze’s wedding.

He barely remembered his wedding, though seemed to recall his cheeks aching from his constant smiling. Feng-ge regretfully declined to stand in for his parents, choosing instead to honour their memory with his absence, and Xiao-Fei had no family of her own to attend. The day nevertheless struck him as perfect. And later that night, when he pulled the veil away from her and saw her beaming radiantly back at him, he understood why she’d always compared his smile to a sunrise.

The morning following his wedding, no longer dressed in red, Yu Ziyuan summoned Wei Changze to her rooms. He couldn’t disobey; as a servant of YunmengJiang, no matter how personally significant the day ahead of him, he still served at the pleasure of the sect leader and his wife.

Yu Ziyuan stood with her maids in her receiving room, a regal tilt to her chin as she welcomed Wei Changze inside with a nod. He bowed to her and knelt on the floor before her.

“I thank Madam Yu for all the honours and gifts she has bestowed upon this undeserving servant,” he said, heart still full of joy.

Yu Ziyuan allowed the ensuing silence to stretch to the point of discomfort before she finally spoke. “My husband often tells me he would be at a loss without you. I suppose it is time to put such a thing to the test,” she said. “I have something for you.” She nodded to Jinzhu, who produced a qiankun pouch she shoved into Wei Changze’s hands. He opened it and stared at the contents; a heavy portion of silver taels. Enough for a simple man to live on for many years. “You’ll wonder why it is not in a red envelope. It is because it is not in recognition of your marriage.”

Wei Changze looked up at her. “I don’t understand.”

“You are going to take this, and your wife, and leave Lotus Pier for no less than five years,” she said, her gaze froze in icy rage. “Long enough for me to ensure that I have secured the future of YunmengJiang by providing my husband with a true heir. Then, should you choose to return, you may have him.”

It took him a long moment to realize the ‘him’ in question to be Jiang Fengmian. “I promise I’ve only ever looked at Jiang Fengmian as a brother.”

“Your promises are irrelevant. Do you think he’ll ever turn his eyes back to me while you and that woman are here? It doesn’t matter which of you he longs for. Both of you need to be gone.”

“I don’t…” He took a steadying breath, though it barely registered over the sudden shock. Lotus Pier was the only home he’d ever known. And yes, Xiao Jingfei had planned to take him travelling, but their plan had always been to return for regular visits. “Don’t force me to stay away. Please.”

“Five years,” she repeated unflinchingly.

“Ziyuan,” Wei Changze said, reaching for her. His fingertips barely brushed her arm before she snapped it back.

“Do not dare touch me,” she snarled.

Zidian uncoiled from her arm and wrapped around his neck, the sizzle of its touch robbed him of his breath as his heart began hammering wildly with fear. It wound tight, squeezing out any hope of breath.

“You’re a servant. And while my husband may have forgotten it, I assure you he is the only one.” For a single moment, he thought he saw raw anguish flash through her eyes, twisting her face in grief. “If you ever place a hand upon me again Zidian will hang you from the rafters in the main hall.”

Zidian slid off his neck, not tearing skin as it did, but the threat of it obvious as it tightened before she recalled it to her hand.

“Get out.”

He rose on shaky legs, feeling as though he limped the entire way out of the hall. Xiao-Fei stood on the training fields outside, chatting amiably with one of the disciples. She looked up when he emerged and grinned ear to ear, delight brightening her features. It only lasted until her gaze flitted across his face. Her smile disappeared and she half-nodded to the disciple before making her way over to him.

“A-Chang?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, she wrapped her arms around him, right in the open for anyone to see. And while his own limbs felt completely weighed down, he managed to raise them up around her in a weak embrace.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe.

He slipped towards the ground. Xiao-Fei gasped and caught him, strong enough to keep him from crashing to the walkways despite being a head and a half shorter than he was. She lowered him slowly, a bracing arm around his chest to keep him from toppling over.

“A-Chang breathe!”

He couldn’t. His chest refused to twitch in the slightest breath. His vision began to black out. He felt her fingers dancing against his back, comforting or so he thought, until her palm slammed into the space between his shoulder blades. Spiritual power the likes of which he’d never felt before poured into him, not seeking out a golden core he did not have, but forcing his muscles to complete relaxation. His body’s natural functions took over and dragged a long breath into his lungs as he slumped bonelessly. He couldn’t move. But at least knowing why felt less terrifying.

She lifted him up and carried him back to their room. Since they were now married, she’d moved him into the suite Jiang Fengmian had allotted to her, instead of the servant’s quarters he’d occupied nearly his entire life. The bed beneath him felt softer than any he’d ever slept in before; so soft, he’d never believed he could fall asleep in it.

“You’re all right,” Xiao-Fei promised. “It’s temporary.” She stroked his temple, a gentle sweep of her fingers that did more to relax him than whatever she’d done to induce the pervasive muscle relaxation. She wrapped her hands around his and bent over to press a long kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry. It was all I could think of.”

She sat with him until the effects wore off. Even after he’d regained control of his limbs, he felt wrung out and exhausted.

“We need to leave,” he said, once his jaw began working properly.

“Mn,” she hummed in agreement. “Overmorrow, you said.”

“Tonight.” She straightened and frowned down at him. “And we can’t come back.”

“Not that I mind,” she said with a wry twist to her lips. “But I thought you wanted to return at least once a season.”

“I did,” he choked out in a sob. “Xiao-Fei, I did.”

She grabbed him up in a fierce embrace, holding him tightly as he wept into her neck, soaking the shoulder of her robes until the pearl white material turned nearly translucent. When his tears finally eased away, she pulled back and ran her fingers tenderly beneath his eyes, supporting his jaw in her palms.

“Our home is together, A-Chang. No matter where we are.” She kissed his forehead, his nose, his chin, then his lips.

He held her tightly, as long as he dared, until he pulled away with the heavy knowledge that they had much to pack.

They had left Lotus Pier with the sunset, clamouring aboard the last boat out with all their worldly possessions, which amounted to depressingly little so far as his own contributions went. He thought he saw Jiang Fengmian watching them go, but kept his eyes on the ground, unable to bear it if the man he’d long considered his brother had been there but didn’t bother coming out to properly see them off.

It had been a small miracle she had not seared the flesh from his neck. His skin remained hot and red, tender to the touch, for a week before it began to heal.

And now Wanyin would wield Zidian.

It felt like a betrayal to think it, but Wei Changze considered Wanyin to be another son. He was such a good man. Intemperate, occasionally, and impulsive when it came to matters of the heart, but loyal and true.

He hoped Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were proud of him. Wei Changze certainly was.

It would be unbearable if Wei Changze was no longer able to look at him because of his own irrational fear.

If he spoke to Xiao-Fei about this, she'd understand. Sympathize. Put off giving him Zidian until Wanyin’s ascension, the day they'd already decided to leave Lotus Pier. But it wouldn't be fair to dither when he might otherwise have months of experience wielding the tool that would, ultimately, become a symbol of his position and reminder to everyone that he belonged on the Lotus Throne.

While he longed to submit to the simplicity of it, Wei Changze refused to be unfair.

His feet, more willing to dally than his resolve, took him to the familiar comfort of the library, knowing he'd find Lan Qiren within. In the face of irrationality, an objective viewpoint would do him good.

Considering his short time period and limited, though improving, stamina, Lan Qiren had done excellent work in the library. It finally had a semblance of order beyond the anecdotal, and he'd put in requests to the local merchants to find or commission copies of a number of volumes he deemed indispensable. Stacks of unsorted volumes sat next to his table as he painstakingly reviewed the contents of each one before directing his new assistant, appropriated from the kitchen staff as far as Wei Changze knew, to the appropriate shelf.

Wei Changze took the seat across from him, but didn't interrupt until Lan Qiren finished reading the scroll in his hands.

"Come to concede your point about the symbolism behind the mountain in the poem we discussed yesterday?" Lan Qiren asked once he’d set it aside for cataloguing.

"Absolutely not," Wei Changze replied, a familiar warmth curling through him. "I only concede to matters when there is merit in the argument."

"You—!" Lan Qiren’s expression remained amused. "Once I finally have the appropriate resources available I'll show you exactly how flawed your position is."

"Then I look forward to their arrival. In the meantime, I was hoping you might indulge me in discussing a different matter."

Perhaps something in his tone suggested the gravitas of the request. Lan Qiren's eyes lost all humour and he gestured for his assistant to leave.

"A thought exercise, if you'll indulge me." It felt safer than unburdening himself openly. A cloak to protect himself, a mask to hide behind. "It is nearly time for Wanyin to become the new master of Zidian."

Lan Qiren's brow rose. "It was assumed by the other sect leaders that the tool was lost at the death of Madam Yu."

"Our Head Disciple took pains to retrieve it, but we did not advertise the fact. We thought it would become a subject of attempted theft in order to manipulate Wanyin in the future." Lan Qiren nodded. "There are members of this household who… struggle with their memories of Zidian when wielded by Madam Yu. And I worry how it will effect them to see it on Wanyin's wrist."

Lan Qiren sat back to consider the words, the same dear line forming between his brows that Xiao-Fei doubtless would have poked with a laugh, while Wei Changze merely wished to smooth out with the pad of his thumb. She might have dared. He did not.

"Lotus Pier is a sprawling seat. Must the party or parties in question need to come into close company with Jiang Wanyin?"

Wei Changze took a shaky breath. "There is no way for them to avoid it. Nor would they truly wish to."

Understanding eased the line. "Ah." Wei Changze wanted to bow his head. Had he been stronger, like Xiao-Fei or Lan Qiren, perhaps he'd simply be able to swallow the pain of his memories and move on.

"The circumstances of how… a person—" Wei Changze defied anyone to ever claim Lan Qiren was unkind. He was not always nice, but he was never unkind, "—came to fear this tool. Were they severe?"

Wei Changze narrowly managed to avoid reaching for his neck. "Not as severe as one might have expected to cause such upset."

"There is no bare minimum requirement for the acquisition of trauma. I ask to see if it is the tool itself or some action taken with it that is the subject of concern."

"The tool itself. Potentially combined with the main receiving hall."

"Mn. And the circumstances themselves?"

"A person touched Madam Yu without permission. Her response."

"Ah. Then, is it the tool itself that is the problem?"

Wei Changze frowned. "I— what else would it be?"

"Do you feel Jiang Wanyin would act in the same manner, in the same circumstances?"

Wei Changze scoffed. "Absolutely not." Or, at least, he hoped he’d raised Wanyin to be more moderate.

"Then, perhaps, is a person's concern truly with Zidian, or over memories of Zidian as employed by its former master?"

Wei Changze frowned down at his hands. “An excellent question.” One of which he daren’t guess the answer. “Such things might be tested, I suppose.”

"It will not be as simple as keeping such things in mind. The first time a person sees it upon Jiang Wanyin, they might feel anxiety or panic. In fact, it may always be that way, but it bears remembering that Jiang Wanyin has been raised by excellent people to be a righteous man. Keeping such things in mind, deliberate focusing of such thoughts when confronted with the sight of Zidian, may ease the strain of it.

"Without a master to command it, the tool itself is nothing but spiritually forged metal. It is the master with which the fear lies."

Wei Changze sat in silence for a long time, running the words over and over in his head.

“I didn’t want to fear her,” he admitted. Lan Qiren listened with gentle eyes. “Others did. They called her the Violet Spider long before she arrived in Yunmeng. More than anything, I wanted her to make Fengmian happy. I think, after A-Li was born, they were for a while.” Wei Changze bowed his head. “Fengmian never mentioned her in the letters he sent me after we left. He barely mentioned A-Li or Wanyin, after he was born.” Xiao-Fei called it a petty cruelty, but Wei Changze refused to believe it. He mustn’t have made it clear how much news of them would have meant to him.

(He needed, needed, to keep holding onto his generous belief in Jiang Fengmian’s good character, or else he felt he’d fly apart entirely.)

“You wanted to think the best of her and were hurt when such a thing proved misplaced,” Lan Qiren offered. Wei Changze nodded. “It may surprise you to know that I am very familiar with the feeling.”

“Even disregarding how much of your time I’ve monopolized with this, I’d be happy to offer an ear whenever you wish,” Wei Changze said.

Lan Qiren’s mouth twitched; not a smile, but close to one. “I will take you up on it. I’m sure my sister is quite tired of hearing my complaints about her late husband.”

“You’ll find me a willing partner anytime.”

It didn’t strike him until much later, as he and Xiao-Fei stood in front of Wanyin to present Zidian and his words of pride did not falter, that he perhaps had meant the words more than he’d originally anticipated.

Chapter Text

With Qiren finally able to walk under his own power, albeit slowly with deference to his injuries, Li Linxia no longer bound herself quite so closely to the healer's rooms. Instead, she found herself keeping company with Xiao Jingfei, enjoying leisurely strolls through Lotus Pier, and watching her sons blossom in the presence of their peers. They'd always been remarkably talented, but there had only ever been so much she and Qiren could teach them, lessons they soon outstripped thanks to their natural talents. Having Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin around challenged them in ways that made her swell with pride.

(Though, when she gave it some thought later, she realized that Jiang-guniang had begun spending an interesting amount of time with A-Huan as well.)

The honour of her own attention, dubious as it might be, belonged to Yu Gongxin, though the other woman probably did not notice. Li Linxia often sat near one of the lotus ponds adjacent to the training grounds, delicately inscribing notes about her knowledge of medical cultivation—additions to the woefully understocked library—and keeping a half-eye on the YunmengJiang Head Disciple.

She had known many Yu cultivators; a clan predominantly ruled by matriarchal influences tended to welcome those trained in her cultivation style, heavily relying on them to see to the particular needs of those born with uteruses. The last time she'd seen one of her martial sisters had been when they'd both tended to the Yu sect leader after postpartum complications. Not knowing if any of them lived—even in the years she'd traveled with Qiren and the boys there had been no word or sign of their passing—she needed to ensure their techniques survived. Perhaps she'd pass it onto the Wen of Dafan.

The snap of Yu Gongxin's voice drew her attention away from the book. The woman corrected one of the disciples and ran them through the same motions again. Still dissatisfied, she shook her head.

"Wei Wuxian, Jiang Wanyin, come and demonstrate."

The two snapped to obey, falling easily into their first forms. They slid through the motions beautifully, though slowly, a graceful demonstration of strike and parry. Less interested in the motions of their swords, the shidi in question avidly stared at their feet. Once they'd finished, he tried again.

"Better," Yu Gongxin said. "Nearly there. Wuxian, Wanyin, again."

Things went slightly differently this time, probably because A-Zhan walked by the training yard, deep in conversation with A-Huan. Wei Wuxian lost focus only for a moment, but even one moment was long enough for a warrior talented as Jiang Wanyin to take the opening. He lunged, fit his sword against Wei Wuxian's slightly unbalanced arms, and used the momentum to throw him to the ground.

They both looked shocked by the development, staring at one another boggle-eyed.

Yu Gongxin knowingly glanced towards A-Zhan who, while he'd certainly noticed, had kept his eyes firmly on A-Huan. Possibly to spare Wei Wuxian his embarrassment. Possibly to deny Jiang Wanyin his victory. Probably both at once. Her son tended to be as petty as he was passionate, though his manners hid such things reasonably well.

"Wei Wuxian, up. Do it again." Yu Gongxin cut a glance towards Li Linxia's boys. "Learn to deal with distractions."

One of the younger disciples, probably no more than twelve, laughed. "Yeah, shixiong, learn to deal with distractions."

Instead of taking offense, Wei Wuxian laughed and went through the form with Jiang Wanyin once more, this time executing it perfectly. All the while keeping his gaze fixed on A-Zhan. As far as proving anything went, she thought it both effective and in complete absence of the point.

He pouted when A-Zhan did not turn to watch. He needn't have; Li Linxia felt confident he had her son's full attention.

Li Linxia completed her work before the session ended and she stood to whisk it off to the healing pavillion. Zhang-daifu had already expressed interest in reading it through, though he admitted such techniques were wasted on him.

She found him in the main room with Jiang Yanli, reviewing a log of supplies. While they both smiled when she entered, Jiang Yanli's outshone his like the moon compared to the sky's smallest star. The Young Mistress Jiang, while occasionally indulging in the sort of mischief mastered by Wei Wuxian which suggested he’d come by it by way of observation, spent most of her time tucked in with Wei Changze or, surprisingly, the head healer. While Li Linxia found Zhang-daifu pleasant enough, when compared to more engaging company his wasn't the first she sought out.

"Ah, thank you," Zhang Quanmin said when Li Linxia offered the manuscript for his review. He glanced at the pages and sadly shook his head. "Beyond my understanding, unfortunately." He passed it to Jiang Yanli. "Here. You, I'm sure, will find it much more interesting."

"Do you have an interest in medical cultivation, Jiang-guniang?" Li Linxia asked.

"Very much so," she replied. Jiang Yanli studied the book for a moment before tilting her head, a quizzical line forming between her eyebrows. "This writing is very familiar."

"Yes. You two are connected more closely than you think," Zhang-daifu informed them. He nodded respectfully to Li Linxia. "If I am not mistaken, Madam Li wrote the volume that assisted me in identifying your meridian disorder."

Jiang Yanli's mouth opened into a small 'o' of surprise. "Then I am deeply in your debt." She bowed in respect, a gesture Li Linxia accepted with a small smile. "I have read through that book many times. Your knowledge of medical cultivation is extraordinary, Madam Li."

"It is merely knowledge passed down from many masters to many students." Her smile faded to wistful. "My sons have both elected to follow the sword path, however, and I have taken no students since well before they were born. If there were anyone in YunmengJiang your sect might spare and you believe might be interested, I would be pleased to accept them."

Jiang Yanli's eyes lit up. "Zhang-daifu has always suggested medical cultivation as a path I might explore."

Li Linxia waved to her to sit, and the younger woman alighted down at her side. Li Linxia then held out her hand and Jiang Yanli eagerly offered her own. The gentle presence of Jiang Yanli’s spiritual power reminded her of drinking warm tea to soothe a sore throat, accepting the gentle curiosity of her own without demand or expectation.

"I see," Li Linxia said after a moment. "Your golden core has formed well, considering you've had no outlet appropriate for strengthening it." She withdrew her hand and smiled. "It would serve you very well should you take up medical cultivation. The way energy is directed is much different than the sword path, and would put less strain on your core."

"I would like that very much," Jiang Yanli said eagerly. Her smile twisted into something smaller and bittersweet. "My mother would not have approved, but I find that imagining the best of people, even when it might not be true to them, makes for a happier world."

"Such thoughts would have carried me through a very difficult time in my life," Li Linxia said. "Thank you. I'll cherish such wisdom." She settled her hands gracefully in her lap. "If you wish to learn, I am happy to teach you. There are meditation exercises to begin with that will help you map out the muscles, bones, veins and organs of your body. My method of cultivation requires a thorough understanding of all of it."

Zhang Quanmin smiled at them both and left them to begin their work together.

“Is that child up on roofs again?” Mama demanded below the roof upon which Wei Wuxian was proving her point. “Does he get it from you?”

“No,” Baba chuckled. “Could you imagine the beating I would have received if I tried to shirk my duties by hiding?”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth dropped open, almost giving himself away by squawking in his own defense. He wasn’t shirking. He’d already finished his duties for the day! He just wasn’t particularly interested in having Da-Shijie track him down and foist yet more upon him. Especially since he may have, accidentally, taught some of the junior disciples a very troublesome talisman which attracted a goodly number of crickets. Which would be very helpful when trying to muster up fishing bait, but proved less helpful during training.

Besides, he thought as he turned his head and spotted Lan Zhan hopping up to join him, he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed spending time on rooftops.

Wisely, they both waited until Mama and Baba were out of earshot before speaking.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, a whole lot of judgement and amusement in his voice, “Yu Gongxin is looking for you.”

“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian rubbed his nose and then laughed. “You aren’t going to tell her I’m here are you, Lan Zhan? And interrupt this nice moment?”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow quirked upwards, but he didn’t jump away to go tattle to Yu Gongxin, so Wei Wuxian assumed he was in the clear. Such loyalty!

Lan Zhan’s silence felt lovely; like balm on a bruise hidden beneath the skin, the sudden absence of ache a lungful relief. Like when they’d crossed swords and Wei Wuxian had someone to spar with him who’d matched him blow-for-blow. He’d long bested almost everyone else in Lotus Pier; Jiang Cheng still gave him a run for his money, and Da-Shijie could fight him to a standstill, but with both of them it still felt like a fight. With Lan Zhan… ah. With Lan Zhan, it had been something more.

The breeze blew a few loose strands of Lan Zhan’s hair over his shoulder. Wei Wuxian found himself hard-pressed to look away.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you must have lots of stories from living on the road, right? What’s your favourite?”

Lan Zhan’s brow creased. “My brother is a better storyteller.”

“Well, if I wanted his stories, I’d go and find him,” Wei Wuxian said. He shuffled awkwardly across the space between them until he’d squeezed up against Lan Zhan’s side. “His favourite might be completely different. And it would tell me all about him. But I want to know yours.”

Lan Zhan’s lips pressed together. “Shufu teaching me to play the qin. My first nighthunt with xiongzhang—we helped a family unable to pay the sect responsible for the territory. Every day I was able to spend with my mother once we left Cloud Recesses.” He peered at Wei Wuxian, as though daring him to defy the value of the clipped words.

“See, Lan Zhan, that tells me everything I need to know about you.” Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched up in question. “You value your family, and music, and helping others.” Lan Zhan’s mouth dropped open, just a little. Enough for Wei Wuxian to get a glimpse of his tongue. “What else can you tell me? What’s your favourite food?”

“I have no strong preferences,” Lan Zhan said.

“Then you haven’t tried anything you’ve really liked.” Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet. “Come on. First, I’m going to have my jiejie make you some of her soup. And then we’re going to go and visit all the best places in the town. We’ll find you something you love.”

Lan Zhan fixed him with an intense look Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite decipher. Then he stood and offered Wei Wuxian his hand.

With a grin, Wei Wuxian grabbed it and pulled him along the rooftops towards town.

“Lu Fen has requested we visit him,” Auntie Xiao said, looking over the day’s correspondence. Jiang Cheng hummed in sympathy; the latest in a long line of prominent lotus growers, Lu Fen considered himself due the respect they might show a fellow sect leader. ‘Request,’ in this case, was more than likely Auntie Xiao being kind about a straight up demand.

His father, from what he heard, might have gone out of his way to visit some of the non-sect tenants in the area, but Jiang Cheng remembered enough about his mother to know she would have railed against the disrespect. It felt disrespectful, too, expecting the sect leaders to go to him. Jiang Cheng felt his face twisting in consternation.

Uncle Wei placed a hand on his bicep. “Wanyin?”

“I don’t know why we’d go to see him,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Were he merely one of many farmers in the area, he would not make such demands,” Uncle Wei said. “But he consistently produces more than any five of his peers and allows us free access to his waterways.”

“You and A-Ying have frequently been caught stealing his lotus seeds, as I recall,” Auntie Xiao laughed.

“He always chases us off,” Jiang Cheng sniffed. Though, he admitted privately, not usually until they’d eaten their fill.

Uncle Wei continued, “He is an eighth-generation farmer. And while, yes, his manner can be officious, he rarely comes to us with unreasonable requests. If he is asking for our presence there must be something he feels needs to be addressed.” He squeezed Jiang Cheng’s arm. “In such cases, it pays to be accommodating.”

It still didn’t sit right with Jiang Cheng as he turned the words over and over in his mind. Sometimes he wondered if Uncle Wei and Auntie Xiao had ever really considered themselves the true leaders of Lotus Pier, for all they’d been doing it most of his life. In their hearts, he knew, they still considered themselves vagrants. When he officially stepped in as sect leader—less than a year away, now—he’d make sure that people came to him instead, no matter how many lotuses they grew in a year.

“You know,” Auntie Xiao began in a sly tone. Jiang Cheng’s shoulders stiffened; whenever Wei Wuxian sounded like that, trouble inevitably followed. “We could do a short tour of all the lotus farms in the area since we’re going to see Lu Fen anyway. While we’re gone, you could handle affairs, I’m sure.”

“Really?” He coughed away the childish, hopeful tone in his voice. “I will represent YunmengJiang to the best of my ability.”

“We know, Wanyin,” Uncle Wei assured him, warming him through.

“Though it does mean you’ll have to spend less time glaring at A-Ying and Lan Wangji,” Auntie Xiao continued, because Wei Wuxian got all his terribleness from her.

“If they don’t want me to glare, they should stop being so shameless,” he muttered.

“Ah, yes, there’s nothing quite so shameless as refusing to make eye contact,” Auntie Xiao laughed. Jiang Cheng glowered. She obviously hadn’t been around either of them enough to notice how they looked at one another all the time. Frankly, the fact they hadn’t caught one another in the act was such a statistical impossibility he couldn’t believe it wasn’t somehow deliberate on their part.

They left the following morning, shortly after breakfast. With A-Jie deep in her studies with Li Linxia, the disciples at training, and Wei Wuxian off doing who the fuck knew what with Lan Wangji—likely annoying him in an attempt to get some sort of acknowledgement, his brother was so fucking transparent it hurt secondhand—Jiang Cheng found himself alone in the main receiving hall.

Sitting in the lotus throne felt… odd. Auntie Xiao had a seat for herself placed at the bottom of the dais, a clear indicator that she acted in the capacity of sect leader but refused to officially take the position on a permanent basis. When Jiang Cheng had occasionally sat in on her meetings, she made him sit in the formal seat of zongzhu, leaving him to stare at the back of her head and focus on her words, often an echo of Uncle Wei or provided by him in advance. Once Jiang Cheng ascended, he’d miss having someone tell him the exact right things to say. He just knew he’d end up getting pissed off and make endless mistakes, no matter what Uncle Wei taught him.

That’s what he feared, anyway.

Late that afternoon, fifth shimei came harrying into the receiving hall declaring a representative from GusuLan had arrived to speak with him.

“Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go and grab your Wei-shixiong. And tell the servants to prepare tea and light snacks.”

She nodded and took off again with a swish of lavender fabric.

Wei Wuxian skidded into the receiving room quick enough that he’d probably been malingering somewhere nearby instead of doing something useful.

(Jiang Cheng had never been more grateful.)

“I’ve told Lan Zhan to go hide with Xichen-ge, Uncle Lan and Auntie Li,” Wei Wuxian said immediately. Probably for the best. "Do you think they deliberately came while Mama’s away?"

Jiang Cheng frowned. "If it were LanlingJin, maybe. But GusuLan?” He shook his head. “It must be a coincidence.”

Maybe, if they were very lucky, they were here for something completely different.

(Jiang Cheng hated relying on luck for anything.)

The head of the company, Lan Junze, seemed gratifyingly surprised to see Jiang Cheng when he entered the main hall. Either he was a decent actor—which would be a surprising rarity coming from a sect which forbade lying—or legitimately hadn’t known Auntie Xiao was away from Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian stood statue-still at his side, unbending and hard-eyed in the way that Jiang Cheng only saw from Auntie Xiao when she was angry. This, more than anything, filled him with quiet dread: he relied on Wei Wuxian and A-Jie to anchor him. He didn’t like to think of what he’d be without them, or what would happen if Wei Wuxian ended up being sincerely angry.

(Probably war.)

Lan Jinze picked daintily at the offered snacks and offered Lan-zongzhu’s sincerest wishes for the health and well-being of YunmengJiang. All performative niceties and irritating posturing that Jiang Cheng hated and rarely had any time for, though Uncle Wei made it clear how important it was to at least maintain the appearance of interest.

It took a ridiculously long time for them to come to the point.

"Lan-zongzhu is a generous and gracious leader and aches for the loss of his cousins, Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, removed from GusuLan against their will in their childhood. He would like to see them properly restored to Cloud Recesses and to the birthright cruelly denied them."

Jiang Cheng barely managed to hold back a scoff of disbelief. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen had been in Lotus Pier for three months already and neither of them had expressed a moment's regret about spending the majority of their lives as rogue cultivators.

"If it’s a matter of birthright, I assume Lan-zongzhu has plans to cede his position to Lan Xichen?"

"Well, no. Lan-zongzhu does plan to acknowledge them as family, but there's no chance of either of them being formally acknowledged as heirs."

Jiang Cheng frowned. Why demand them back? What purpose would it serve?

Think it through, Uncle Wei would counsel. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji were both remarkably strong cultivators. Easily matches for Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, respectively the second and third young masters of their generation, according to whoever had made the stupid fucking list, after only the second young master of QingheNie. And Uncle Wei had him trace back the genealogy of all the leadership of the great sects; both of them could trace their lineage all the way back to Lan An. Even if they weren't reinstalled in the succession, having 'misplaced' them had to be fucking embarrassing.

Strong cultivators of good pedigree. Probably both bound to be propped up as recovered assets, like rediscovering a lost cultivation technique. Intended to be quickly married off to equally competent women to ensure the future strength of GusuLan.

Like hell. Even if Lan Qiren hadn’t saved Wei Wuxian, if Li Linxia had not finally offered a way for Jiang Yanli to prove to the world how utterly and shockingly strong she was even without a sword in her hand, “The people you are asking after are guests of YunmengJiang, and I will not disgrace them or my sect by allowing them to be removed without their consent.”

“Then I fear it is also my duty to inform you that one of these ‘guests’ is an escaped fugitive who was sentenced to death over twenty years prior. If you will not oblige us in removing our lost sons, perhaps you will yield to us the person in question. It would be a shame for us to inconvenience the Xiandu with a matter which is clearly weighed in our favour.”

Zidian sparked on his hand; not obvious enough to draw notice, but a spark that sent a jolt running up his arm. As though it wanted to chastise him; as though his mother remained present enough to do the same. Yu Ziyuan would never have stood for that sort of insult and veiled threat in her own home. She’d already have Zidian at the ready and eager to respond. His father… who knew how he’d reply. Auntie Xiao never spoke of him and Uncle Wei only ever painted him in the most generous possible manner. For all Jiang Cheng knew, he’d do all the Lans wanted with a smile in order to keep the peace.

But then, he had someone else who’d been guiding his way, hadn’t he?

When strength of arms cannot be the solution, rely on cunning. What does the other person value? What would they miss? He practically heard Uncle Wei in his ear.

Jiang Cheng studied Lan Junze; the fine quality of his robes, the ornate guan seated in his hair. GusuLan, for all they weren't as ostentatious as LanlingJin, had an image to uphold.

He smirked.

"You’re right. We should not bother His Excellency with such things.” Wei Wuxian stiffened beside him, but relaxed again almost immediately. His brother trusted him. “Such affairs, like those revolving around trade agreements, are far below his attention.”

Lan Junze’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.”

“And speaking of trade agreements, I think you’ll find the merchants who supply both silk and silver to GusuLan require our waterways in order to move their goods. You’d find them very hesitant to damage that relationship.” He leaned forward with a glare. “Let me make it clear: any move made against people who currently reside within Lotus Pier will result in the trading partners who supply both your silk and your silver being suddenly unwilling to do business with GusuLan.”

Momentary, gutted silence followed from their guests. "GusuLan has other trading partners," Lan Junze finally said weakly.

Jiang Cheng looked pointedly at the ornament in his hair. "Of course you do. And with the volume of silk and silver you require to maintain your dignity I'm sure other suppliers of ‘lesser’ quality would be thrilled to supplant the reliable ones your sect has heretofore depended upon."

"…” Lan Junze’s hand twitched up in the direction of his head before he snapped it back down to his side. “I see." Lan Junze stood and bowed. "Your consideration does you credit, Jiang-zonzhu.” The title hung heavily on him; he hadn't been prepared for it. His hand tightened, skin tingling where Zidian sparked again on his skin. It didn't feel much like a threat, though. More like an acknowledgment. “Thank you for your time. I shall inform Lan-zongzhu that his cousins are very well looked after in Lotus Pier, and that crimes of twenty years are better forgotten."

“Do that,” Jiang Cheng said, fighting to keep the triumph from his voice.

Once Lan Junze had left the hall, Wei Wuxian sagged against the lotus throne, flopping around bonelessly the way he'd used to drape himself against Jiang Cheng when they'd been kids.

"Cheng-di, that was incredible," he heaved out, bursting into laughter. “The look on his face when you brought up inferior silver!”

“One of the elders told me, once, when Lan Xichen and his family left Cloud Recesses, that GusuLan had lost a piece of pure jade.” He smirked. “Silver weighs more than jade does.”

Wei Wuxian clapped his shoulder. “Well done, didi. I’ll go let Lan Zhan know.”

As his brother made his way from the hall, Jiang Cheng allowed himself to slump into the lotus throne.

Then he jumped up and went to follow. Undoubtedly whatever was about to happen between Lan Wangji and his brother was going to be horrifically awkward, and frankly he needed the ammunition.

A-Niang had always worried that GusuLan would try to seek them out. She’d never so much as whispered such a thing aloud to Lan Xichen, nor A-Zhan, but he saw it sometimes in the strain around her mouth when they heard that Lan cultivators might be in the same area. She’d doled out her memories over the years in small parcels for him and A-Zhan to think upon, but never spoke a word against the clan which had, for all intents and purposes, imprisoned her for a significant part of her adult life.

His own memories of Cloud Recesses existed more in a series of sharply defined moments; smells, sounds, conversations. A loose collection from a life which felt as though it belonged to someone else. His own impressions of a story someone told him.

Once Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze returned from their outing, upon hearing about the visitors Jiang Wanyin had addressed in their absence, Cangse Sanren had seemed both proud of her ward’s handling of it and prepared to declare total war upon GusuLan.

“Xiao-Fei,” Wei Changze said, a nickname he’d recently extended to calling her in front of Lan Xichen’s family as well as their own, “The matter has been resolved for the time being. Wanyin did an excellent job—” Jiang Wanyin’s chest puffed out even as he fought back a smile, “—and we have no reason to suspect they’ll pursue the matter further.”

“You are lucky Lan Junze was the one to attend you,” Shufu said. “There are others who would have resisted the appeal to their vanity.”

“I’m sure Wanyin would have been equally competent in sussing out their own weak points,” Wei Changze said. “We will come up with a plan in case GusuLan decides to press the point. In the meantime, I hope you can all rest here a bit easier.”

And it did feel easier, Lan Xichen thought as he wandered the compound. While he’d loved their life lived mostly on the road over the past years, having the certainty of a warm bed, excellent food, and good company was a luxury he hadn’t thought to miss until he’d been presented with it once more. Hopefully now that their concerns about being hunted down had been laid to rest, Shufu and A-Niang might find some measure of peace here.

Home had been his family and the road. Now he wondered if they might have the chance to change the definition somewhat. Expand it. He thought, idly, that Shufu already seemed as though he’d come home, and it had nothing to do with Lotus Pier.

Then again, he thought as he made his way to where Jiang Yanli waited for him, hadn’t it begun to feel the same for him? He’d inadvertently interrupted her lessons with his mother a few times, once walking in when Jiang Yanli made some breakthrough in her understanding of A-Niang’s cultivation style. He’d never known anyone to smile so radiantly.

“Xichen,” she greeted with a small smile.

“Yanli.” He sat down across from her. Unlike Wangji, stubbornly holding onto the robes they’d brought with them, Lan Xichen had accepted somewhat fancier fare when Jiang Yanli had offered them. They were not Jiang crested, in deference to his position as a visitor to the sect, but he couldn’t help but feel the flowing rich jade green cloth nonetheless suited him very well.

“I’ve given some thought to my mentor’s problem, if you’d care to hear me out.”

“By all means.” It came as no little relief to know that he was not alone in his distraction over the arrangement. No matter how he looked at it, he had yet to find a resolution.

Between them, it only took a few moments to set up the arrangement. Yanli launched into her explanation right away. And while it had its merits, “You forgot about the black piece here.”

Her lips pursed. “Drat.”

“But it’s an excellent foundation. Perhaps…”

They went back and forth, playing and removing pieces over and over again, debating placement and strategy. Her insight and style of play were substantially different from the structured approach he’d learned at his uncle’s knee. She seemed to be looking at a different board all together.

And yet, between them, they somehow managed to cobble together the most outlandish solution to any weiqi problem he’d ever seen.

“Is this…?” she began, looking at the white pieces dominating the board. They’d changed from playing black to white on their third time discussing the game.

“It is,” he said. “We…” He breathed out a quiet laugh. “Uncle Wei said that no single player had ever figured it out.”

“He told me it was a hint. I didn’t realize he’d meant it literally.” She grinned, free and joyful. “Should we go and tell him?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “Let’s sit a while first. And, though we’ve defeated the problem, I hope it doesn’t bring an end to our games?”

“That would be a sad conclusion, when I enjoy them so much.”

Lan Xichen gestured to the board. “Then shall we play again?”

“By all means.”

Chapter Text

“I understand your attachment,” Wei Changze said one evening while styling Xiao Jingfei’s hair. She might’ve been a vain creature, and took pains to make sure her hair was generally looked after, but he promised her he loved the feeling of it between his fingers and she’d be hard-pressed to refuse him anything he truly enjoyed.

“Hm? To What?” Xiao Jingfei asked, fixing the fall of her sash. She’d never quite outgrown the habit of trying it in the manner of her master, though the style was probably well over a century out of date. Hopefully it would come around back to being fashionable again in her lifetime; it seemed a shame to change the habit now.

“To Qiren.”

Her hands paused and she looked to Wei Changze, who’d nervously started fiddling with the cuff of his robe. She remembered the habit from when they’d first met, when he’d been too wary to meet her eyes. Young and sweet, she’d thought back then. Less young now, but still sweet.

“I’m glad,” she said.

He regarded her with a beseeching gaze she couldn’t quite figure out before his lips twitched into a quizzical smile and he offered her his arm.

Dinner had always been lively; with the addition of Lan Qiren and his family it became even moreso. Not because they were spritely conversationalists—during dinner, at least, though she wasn’t surprised Lan Qiren had carried that particular habit over from long years in Cloud Recesses. Li Linxia and Lan Xichen were lively enough, but Lan Wangji followed the example of his uncle, listening attentively but only engaging when directly addressed.

She missed what had been said the moment the boys all burst into laughter. A-Ying nearly choked on a piece of pork, forcing A-Cheng to pound away on his back to dislodge it. A small sound drew her attention, perhaps because of the contrast to the rambunctious laughter, and she turned her head at the same time to catch a rare glimpse of Lan Wangji huffing out a short chuckle.

A-Ying froze, gaze latched onto Lan Wangji, all laughter fled as his eyes widened. The moment came to an end when A-Cheng hit him again and finally managed to force the food free of his windpipe. Xiao Jingfei turned to Wei Changze and shared a sympathetic glance. She knew all too well the powerful temptation to make a good Lan boy laugh. She cherished every time she managed to make Lan Qiren’s eyes crinkle at the corner, or the way his jaw flexed when he fought back a smile. Poor child, if he loved Lan Wangji half as well as she did Qiren…

All conscious thought ground to a halt.

Because she.

Well, well of course she…

Suddenly, the gobsmacked look on her son’s face didn’t seem as amusing.

Xiao Jingfei, having already earned the title of Cangse Sanren, had been older than she appeared but without the experience to back it when she first arrived in Cloud Recesses. She’d been off the mountain for a precious few, lonely months and the sum of them added up to a lonely life she now disdained. When she’d heard about the gathering of guest disciples, she found herself desperate for company who understood her instead of looking at her with awe or fear as did the people she helped.

She applied to GusuLan for an invitation and waited in the same town for an interminable, unbearable two weeks, the soles of her feet itching every moment, before she received an invitation in response.

Cloud Recesses was a beautiful place built atop a beautiful mountain, but she’d left one of those already. Their library was decent—especially the forbidden section, though they frankly needed someone to point out the flaws in their security—but the classes were rudimentary enough to leave her bored.

Cloud Recesses had a distinct appeal however: Second Young Master Lan. Ridiculous, officious, snobbish, cloistered… a perfect storm of traits which should have produced an unbearable human being. She’d even mistaken him for one, at first, right up until the moment he’d thrown a book at her head.

“There’s no shame in being wrong,” she’d said blithely, though she barely remembered what had started their argument. “Only in failing to admit it.”

She’d managed to dodge the suddenly volitant pages which he’d held in his hands. Together they turned to stare at the abused volume lying on the ground, both shocked by his actions.

“Does GusuLan often seek to prove points using such means?” she finally asked, her entire body shaking with the stranglehold she had on her muscles to stop herself from bleating out a truly obnoxious laugh.

“‘Be circumspect in determining when application of force is necessary,’” he quoted, eyes wide.

She couldn’t help it; she lost control of herself, laughing so hard she thought her sides would rip open. Tears streamed down her face, her hair jerking free of its clip and tumbling around her head and shoulders. When she looked up, eyes still watering, she saw his jaw straining with the attempt to keep his own amusement at bay.

From that moment on, she decided to make it her life’s work—or, at least, the work of her time in Gusu—to make him truly laugh.

It didn’t happen, then. Lan Qiren had been far too steeped in GusuLan edicts, quick to quote them and quicker to apply them, to succumb. But his scolding gradually became less severe and more gentle and he stopped glaring whenever she called him ‘gege.’

At the end of the lectures, when most of the other disciples had already gone, she lingered until he was free to walk her to the mountain path.

“Come travel with me,” she said once they reached the gates. Lan Qiren frowned, though the expression teetered more towards thoughtful than annoyed. “It will be fun. I’ll finally find a way to make you laugh.”

“I’m quite confident that laughter is not a natural response to irritation,” he sniffed. Yet his eyebrow twitched up. “I suppose I might justify it to the elders by claiming it would be a means to advancing my cultivation through practical application.”

Xiao Jingfei grinned.

They spent a year on the road together, exploring the towns on the very edges of sect-controlled lands and aiding those who often went ignored or overlooked by cultivators. She brought him to the very foot of her master’s mountain where they burned incense and bowed in respect to the immortal who would not descend.

“You’d like this one, shifu,” Xiao Jingfei said with a laugh, leaving two jugs of fine wine behind which she knew would be gone by the next morning, collected by one of her martial siblings. “He’s not as boring as he seems.”

He snorted, a sound he insisted he’d never made before meeting her, but bowed in respect over the offerings.

She ambushed him with sweets and taught him the trick her shixiong had shown her for burning off alcohol after one particularly memorable evening where he’d wandered drunk around town and tried to get her to marry him at the local temple. He refused to discuss it the next morning and she didn’t press the point past asking what he remembered and teasing him when he admitted to nothing at all. Had he asked in earnest, she decided she’d take him. Happily. But he never brought it up again and she’d been having too much fun to risk their friendship with careless words.

The end to their adventures came with a letter which caught up to them on the borders of Tingshan.

“My brother has married,” Lan Qiren said, his brow furrowing as he read over the contents. “To… this cannot be true.” He read it over again before acceding to the silent demands of her grasping fingers and handing it over. The salacious tale read more like the outline of a fable than anything she’d’ve suspected of the venerated Qingheng-jun: a murder, an elopement, seclusion, pregnancy…

And a call for Lan Qiren to return and assume the responsibilities his brother had defied in retreating to a lonely cabin near the back of the mountain.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice astoundingly loud in the dark. He looked up at her with a terribly conflicted gaze. “This… this is fun, isn’t it?” She heard the choked quality of her voice well enough and swallowed it down. “Traveling with me? Being with me?”

“Yes. It has been fun.” Her heart squeezed tight in her breast at the words. Everything in his tone confirmed her fear that he’d already decided to go. “But my sect needs me. How can I conscionably walk away when I owe them so much?”

Xiao Jingfei breathed through her nose, sniffling through it but fearing that a breath drawn through her mouth would come as a sob. Lan Qiren was her best friend. He’d made the lonely road she walked bearable and wonderful. But what right did she have to demand he stay with her?

Still, “I haven’t made you laugh yet,” she whispered.

“You could…” He paused. It stretched far too long, but before her patience ran out he continued, “Write to me. You should write to me. As often as you like. I know my letters will not always find you with a timely response, but I will cherish everything you care to send me.”

She grabbed the lifeline, refusing to feel pathetic about it. “Gege, yes. I’ll write to you until you grow completely sick of me. ‘That Xiao Jingfei,’ you’ll say, ‘How can she write so much about so little?’”

“No surprise to be had when you speak the same way,” he replied wetly.

“Rude,” she laughed.

By silent agreement, neither of them mentioned the other was crying.

Xiao Jingfei walked with him back to Cloud Recesses. Flying would have been quicker, but they decided to draw the journey out as long as possible. She traveled with him all the way to the gates, a bevy of Lan disciples rushing out to meet him before he’d even crossed the threshold, chirping ‘Lan-er-gongzi’ as though Lan An himself had returned to Cloud Recesses. For a moment, a single breath, she considered grabbing his hand and pulling him away from them. Viciously fighting to keep him at her side. Her hand tightened on her sword, ready to slide it free of its sheath and set imagination into action. He looked back at her only for a moment before being swallowed in a rush of white.

She relaxed her arm and walked back down the mountain, leaving most of her heart in Cloud Recesses.

Xiao Jingfei spent several more years on her own after that, wandering, until her feet finally brought her to Lotus Pier and she spied a beautiful young man with a laundry basket in his arms, a small girl tucked inside and giggling as he swung it to and fro.

Xiao Jingfei returned to their bedroom after dinner that evening too overwhelmed to properly single out individual feelings. Instead of bothering to try, she mercilessly pushed them all down. The result was rather like hiding an elephant behind a flimsy screen and pretending she was capable of focusing her attention elsewhere.

Wei Changze walked alongside her, obviously aware something was going on but unwilling to press her until they were behind closed doors.

While she tried to take calm, measured breaths the entire way back to their suite, the press of her chest made it hard to get more than a single spoonful of air in with every breath, which lamentably resulted in her heaving in such a deep breath the moment the door shut behind them that she immediately launched herself into a coughing fit.

“Xiao-Fei?” A-Chang stroked her back, the warm press of his palm helping ease away some of the tension at least. She turned and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly between her own as she first kissed his fingers and threaded them tightly with her own. She needed to hold onto him; he’d been her anchor for such a long time that if she became unmoored she didn’t know how she’d manage to weather the storm.

“I love you,” she promised. “I love you more now than I did the day we married, and I will love you even more each moment we spend together.”

“I love you too,” he said, though his brow had drawn in concern. It wasn’t that Xiao Jingfei wasn’t a naturally demonstrative person, only that she'd always preferred to show her love through actions instead of words. Questions pursed his lips, she saw them lurking in the tight, worried corners of his mouth.

“Qiren…” she started, then stopped.

Apparently, it was enough of a sentence for Wei Changze to piece the rest together. “Ah.” He adjusted their hands so he cradled hers instead, easing the tense grip of her fingers and stroking his thumb across the taut skin pulled across her knuckles. “I understand.”

How did he understand? She hardly understood and they were her feelings! She barely managed to parse out terror and longing and bittersweet joy from among the many strands of a tapestry she had no idea she’d been weaving. She’d always enjoyed Lan Qiren’s company. But if she’d loved him before now, it hadn’t been the sort of swelling, damning adoration now threatening to overwhelm her.

“Xiao-Fei,” A-Chang repeated. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and tilted her face up until she finally submitted herself to the potential devastation of meeting his eyes. Neither condemnation nor anger hardened his gaze, as she feared. Instead, “I understand.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “You do?” He nodded. Time seemed to slide by, slow as cold honey, as she turned the words over and over again in her mind. “I’m glad,” she finally said, her stomach swooping oddly.

They were suited to one another in many ways; she’d always wanted them to meet and befriend one another. Xiao Jingfei and Lan Qiren would debate until blue in the face, but he’d always been too objective for her. She more often than not became far too emotional and inevitably stormed off in a snit. A-Chang kept a much leveller head, a fitting partner for a man who thrived on academic, abstract thinking.

“Are you?” he looked at her, achingly vulnerable. The way he did when he wanted to ask for something but worried it would be a step too far; the final weight to break the bough they’d settled on together.

She crossed to him and took his hands, cupping them in her own palms. He’d worried the cuff of his sleeve until it started to fray; this had been on his mind a while. She smoothed her thumbs across his knuckles, dragging her thumb across each lovely bump.

“You are allowed to want things,” she promised. “You are allowed to want this. You are so good, and so worthy of love.”

Her hands jerked against his, but when he tried to pull away she held on tight. Not trapping him, but holding him secure. He relaxed by inches, leaning forward to rest against her. “I thought if I were to ever love a man, it would be Feng-ge,” he said against the crown of her head. “I was wrong. He was always and will always be my brother. But looking at Lan Qiren reminds me of the first time I realized I loved you.”

“That never happened to me,” Xiao Jingfei said. “There wasn’t any single moment when I looked at you and felt something had changed. I just knew, like stepping outside on a cool morning and realizing spring has finally arrived.” He kissed her forehead, smiling against her skin. “Gege is like summer, then. Like not even noticing when the days have started lasting longer and you’re able to spend more time in the sunshine.”

“And you say you’re not romantic.”

“I’m not,” she protested with a laugh. “You’re the one who’s going to have to seduce him, A-Chang. This whole thing makes me want to go shave his goatee and then hide in a bottle of wine.”

“I hope A-Ying takes after me,” he moaned through a playful smile. His arm tightened on her. “Do you want to tell him?”

“I’ll have to. And soon. Otherwise I’m going to start acting ridiculous and he’ll figure it out on his own anyway. Or decide I’ve been possessed and try to perform an exorcism.”

“That would set a precedent around romance I’d prefer the children not emulate.”

She jabbed hard fingers into his side, right into his one ticklish spot. Wei Changze laughed and twisted away from her, grabbing her hand and tugging it away. He twisted her around and pulled her close against his chest. She relaxed into his embrace,

He smiled. “I don’t think it will be unwelcome. Perhaps from me, but you…”

She pressed her head to his shoulder. “How do you know?”

“Because if he loves you half as much as I do, he’ll tear down the universe for you.”

“Stop.” She jabbed his ribs with her fingers, but only for a moment before he caught her fingers in his broad hand and kissed them. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Perhaps.” His tone suggested otherwise.

“If he doesn’t love you, he will. I know it. No one to whom you open your heart can resist.”

A-Chang blushed beautifully. Unable to help herself, she slipped up onto her tiptoes and bit his chin. He caught her lips with his own when she tried to step back, those wonderful broad hands which perfectly held her stretching out across her back as she braced herself against his chest.

“You were much easier to topple into bed,” Xiao-Fei muttered, biting Wei Changze’s collarbone. He gasped and his back arched outside his control. “All I had to do was marry you.”

“He’ll—ahh!—he’ll come around or he won’t. He’ll come to us as a lover or he’ll remain a dear friend.” Her hand snaked its way into the folds of his robes, cupping his cock and drawing a whine from his lips. “We’ll love him or—”

“No ‘or,’” Xiao-Fei said. “Shockingly, I’ve come to realize I’ve loved that horrible man since I was young. Just like you. There’s never been an ‘or’ for me.”

Wei Changze managed to regain his senses and cupped her cheek in a broad palm. His eyes were blown wide and wonderful, his hair askew around his face. “There’s never been an ‘or’ for me either.” He kissed her nose. “I like him. More than I’ve liked anyone except for you.”

“Good.” She pushed his robes back away from his shoulders and shimmied down his body to push his pants down his legs. “May I?”

His response was a rather undignified squeak. She grinned and bit the juncture of his hip and inner thigh, pulling a groan from his lips.

“Gege?”

Lan Qiren looked up from his usual table at the library. Xiao Jingfei lingered in the doorway, a broad smile plastered across her face. One which usually spelled trouble.

“Yes?” he asked with narrowed eyes. He suspected that whatever mischief she’d come to perpetrate had to do with why his usual companion had been absent this afternoon.

“We were hoping you might join us in the main hall,” she said.

“Who is ‘we’ precisely?” Lan Qiren asked. He suspected he knew what was coming, but it hurt no one to be mindful.

“Our family,” she said casually. “May I?” She gestured vaguely in the direction of his hair and he nodded. She slipped into place behind him and began fussing with it, strong fingers pulling it up and back. At some point she materialized a guan from somewhere in her sleeve and carefully wove it into the style.

“I hope whatever you’ve put in my hair isn’t overly ostentatious,” he murmured, not willing to admit to either her or himself how much he enjoyed the pampering.

“We’re not GusuLan,” she assured him with a laugh. She slipped a pin through it to set everything in place. “A-Chang and I happened to have this one available.”

Given he had no current access to a mirror, he forced himself to trust her taste—or, at least, Wei Changze's—and allowed her to help him rise. Movement had slowly come easier these past few weeks. He made the walk to the main hall, Xiao Jingfei not quite hovering at his side in deference for his need of dignity, but close enough to be of assistance if the strength failed him.

It almost did once they walked through the doors. He barely noticed the Jiang disciples lining the hall. Family she’d said. Singular. It warmed him through when he saw Li Linxia, A-Zhan, and A-Huan standing alongside A-Ying, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Changze. Jiang Wanyin stood at the head of the room in a formal set of robes, wearing them with surprising ease for one so young. Xiao Jingfei walked with Lan Qiren towards the front of the room before leaving him to go stand beside her ward.

“On behalf of YunmengJiang, we acknowledge the service Lan Qiren has performed for our sect, coming to personal injury to protect one of our disciples and ensure he came home safely,” Jiang Wanyin said, his voice clear and carrying to every corner of the hall. “In thanks for his efforts, YunmengJiang officially offers him, his family, and any future issue a place in Lotus Pier in perpetuity without obligation.”

Lan Qiren did not allow his eyes to widen through willpower alone. Such an offer without demanding his fealty was extraordinary. Not only that, but Jiang Wanyin announcing it meant no one could question it once Xiao Jingfei stepped down from her position. It also, he noted, went quite a long way in acknowledging the brotherhood between Jiang Wanyin and A-Ying; while they might be grateful to him for saving a disciple, this was the sort of measure offered to those who had done great service to the sect leader’s immediate family.

He bowed, easing down to his knees albeit with more effort than he would have preferred. “I thank YunmengJiang for this honour,” he said. “On behalf of myself and my family.”

In the end, A-Ying had been correct: he preferred the smaller thank you and personalized gift he’d received at the beginning of his coalescence, but he appreciated the protection this gave his family. Should they choose to forswear their life on the road, they now had somewhere to call home.

Lan Qiren suspected that many, if not all of them, would find their way back here time and time again, assuming they ever left at all.

“We’ll celebrate your return to health and our gratitude with a banquet this evening,” Jiang Wanyin declared. “As our honoured guests, Lan Qiren and his family will eat with myself and the acting sect leader.”

“Extra wine for the meal!” A-Ying cried from the sidelines.

A bright cheer went up through the Jiang disciples.

Once the ceremony ended, Li Linxia made her way to Lan Qiren’s side, a bracing presence to pace him back to his room.

“That’s quite the statement, Didi,” Li Linxia said once they left the hall.

“Hm?”

Her smile turned playful. “Ah, you haven’t seen it.” She accompanied him through his door and held up his mirror.

The piece Xiao Jingfei had put in his hair was indeed a statement; or, rather, a claim. The piece itself was a simple clasp, albeit decorated with amethyst, but the pins holding in place were shaped in the suggestion of a vast mountain range, spilling into a river, like the unravelling of a ribbon. Undoubtedly, whoever looked at it would assume he held close ties to YungmengJiang. And anyone who cared to look closer would see the echo of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain hidden within the shape of it.

“Ah.”

“Didi,” Li Linxia said, in a tone which put Lan Qiren immediately on his guard, accustomed as he was of it heralding something profoundly uncomfortable. “About your Xiao Jingfei…”

“She’s not ‘my’ Xiao Jingfei. She is Wei Changze’s Xiao Jingfei, if she is anyone’s except her own master, which I caution you to assume.”

“Hmm.”

“Do not,” he said in his most forbidding tone. Li Linxia merely smiled. "She is married," he reminded her through a clenched jaw, the ornament heavy atop his head.

Lan Qiren had never honestly believed that Xiao Jingfei might love him. There were days he doubted very much she even respected him, though he’d long come to appreciate this was a lack of understanding on his part rather than a failing on hers. Had she truly disrespected him, she would have been far more polite and far less kind. And she never, ever would have referred to him as ‘gege.’ Though in their early days he found the familiarity grating and irreverent, now the idea of her referring to him as ‘Lan-er-gongzi’ made him vaguely nauseated .

"So she is," Li Linxia nodded. For some reason, the words did not feel like a concession. "Speaking of Wei Changze—"

"Which we were not."

"—He takes quite a personal interest in the management of the kitchen. I understand from A-Huan that he and A-Li came to ask after some of your favourites to add to the menu this evening."

Lan Qiren felt his ears heating. He hoped more than expected that Li Linxia would not notice. At least she was too well mannered to comment upon it, unlike certain other members of his acquaintance (one of whom was currently the topic of conversation). Had his core been in any fit state to fly, he would have mounted his sword and escaped this conversation immediately.

"A-Li was very distressed to hear A-Huan say you did not indulge in the petty matters of food preference." He nodded and felt he was safe in taking a sip. "I, of course, took it upon myself to let them know one or two dishes you quite enjoy. Just in case you're wondering why they’re being served."

"I suppose I can then expect them to stare at me throughout the entire meal to verify your words."

"Frankly, Didi, I don't think they need the excuse."

Lan Qiren watched Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze over dinner that evening, trying his utmost to be discreet. Wei Changze might have marked the attention, he thought, but Xiao Jingfei had gone well over twenty years without managing to notice him watching her and he held out no expectations of her doing so now. Much to his surprise, whenever he cast his attention their way, one of them was always looking back at him. Wei Changze with his wide eyes and small, private smiles. Xiao Jingfei with effusive, unseemly grins. Between the two of them, however, ran a common thread of nervous energy. He would not have noticed it in Wei Changze if he hadn’t known Xiao Jingfei well enough to detect it in her and then follow its echo into her husband’s gaze.

It made for an odd atmosphere, as though the three of them existed in a single sphere of shared air with the rest of the room’s occupants removed from their notice. He was vaguely aware of Li Linxia speaking to A-Zhan and A-Ying to his left, and Jiang Yanli spooning food onto A-Huan and Jiang Cheng’s plates. If they spoke, he remained insensible of it. He barely noticed when A-Ying and A-Zhan finished their food and escaped out the door with barely a moment’s pause to excuse themselves.

A moment later, he blinked and suddenly the three of them were alone. Or it only seemed that way; at some point his own empty plate had been cleared.

“Xiao-Fei,” Wei Changze said. Xiao Jingfei snapped her attention to him and Wei Changze offered an encouraging smile. In a shocking moment of impropriety, he kissed her cheek and stood. “Qiren. Please be gentle with one another.”

With that somewhat portentous request hanging in the air, he bowed and left them alone.

Xiao Jingfei began fidgeting. In class, when under the strict eye of their instructors, she hadn’t quailed. Even when digging her heels in to argue a point from the perspective of a person raised outside the cultivation world at large, she rarely betrayed any hint of anxiety. Once, a hulking Jin cultivator who couldn’t stand being outclassed had struck her across the face during what should have been a friendly spar and even when the healers said she’d come close to losing her eye she hadn’t seemed phased.

He'd yelled at her about the flippancy, only to have her scoff at him. “I have another one, gege.”

(Much later, he’d come to understand her better. Had she not smiled through it, she would have responded in kind, but not spared the other student’s eye. Her smile hid a nasty temper and barely contained violent desire for requital. Instead of allowing her the opportunity to act on it, Lan Qiren took it upon himself to deliver a swift beating and ensuing expulsion. Had he loved her then? Perhaps not until she snuck into his room with a bag of dried melon and a sincere thank you that evening. If not then, then not long afterwards.)

She was not smiling now. She picked at her cuticles and looked nervously at the door until, with a nod to herself, she rose and tossed up a silencing talisman.

“Gege,” she said. Then stopped. “Qiren.”

He hadn’t realized his shoulders had tensed, braced for whatever was coming, until his back began to ache. He forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath and released the tension. If nothing else, Xiao Jingfei was his friend. And while she was not always a gentle person by nature, she’d listen to Wei Changze’s appeal; he knew enough to the two of them to trust that much.

Perhaps the lack of eye contact emboldened her. “I’m in love with you.”

He slowly opened his eyes again. “I beg you not to be cruel.”

“I’m not. Well. Not about this.” She stepped around her table and came to kneel across from him. “But I’ll stop, if you don’t want me to tell you. I’ll never speak of it again. I don’t ever want to make you unhappy.”

Lan Qiren took a moment to look his selfish fill, the way he’d denied himself for years.

The way he looked at her…

There was no way he had always looked at her like that. Xiao Jingfei would have noticed the low-banked interest and obvious desire. She wasn’t always the most observant person, but she knew Lan Qiren better than anyone else in the world. Which meant he’d hidden it from her.

“How long?” she demanded, indignant. Angry. It had always been easier for her to feel anger instead of hurt. She reigned it back as best she could; he didn’t owe her anything. Not his love. Not his truth or honesty. She’d just somehow convinced herself that she deserved it.

“You can’t expect me to quantify it.”

“Cloud Recesses, then? When we were kids?” The hurt finally slipped into the space the anger carved out of her. Irrational, maybe, but when had she ever been rational? “You never said,” she whispered.

Lan Qiren shook his head. “You had already left a mountain—a home—because you could not bear to be confined there any longer. How could I ask for you to sacrifice your freedom when you’d only just found it?”

“Shouldn’t I have had a say in that?” Xiao Jingfei demanded.

“Perhaps. But you would sacrifice anything for the people you love.” He cast a meaningful look around the room, towards the sect seat of which she had command. “And you cannot expect those who love you to do anything less. Even though I loved you—still love you—I would rather you be free and happy than married to me and miserable, suffering under rules that only grow harsher with every passing year.”

“And you would have spent all your life in love with me but content with only my friendship?”

Lan Qiren’s eyes flashed, and in a moment of absurdity she wondered if she should duck; he probably still had a surprisingly good throwing arm. "Your friendship is not some burden I carry in the hopes of laying it down when you one day look upon me and see more!” he yelled. The volume shocked her to silence long enough for him to gather himself. “It is a foundation upon which I have come to rely for I trust it will bear many loads and will not falter."

“Gege…” Xiao Jingfei hesitantly reached out and took his hands. He stared at their clasped fingers in wonder. “Your friendship has meant more to me than I can ever possibly say. And it always will.” She took a steadying breath. “Stay my friend. Please. No matter what. But we can be this too.”

She kissed his hands, a bare brush of lips across his knuckles which nonetheless sent shivers racing down his spine.

“I love you,” he said, as bald and honest as she’d ever heard him.

Xiao Jingfei looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, though her shock soon faded to giddy delight. She darted in to kiss him again, this time daring to press her mouth against his. The brief touch seemed to hit him like lightning striking a tree in the middle of a bare field and, thus shocked, their proximity meant she felt it when his limbs froze.

She decided not to take it personally. She waited until he finally relaxed, melting against her, and softening his lips in order for her to kiss him properly.

“I love you too, gege,” she said again, for the joy of being able to say it. She smiled, wide and overwhelmed. And then, because she could barely endure such sentimentality without wanting to hit something, “Ugh, this is terrible. I want to push you into the river.”

“Please don’t,” Lan Qiren sighed, already looking resigned to soaked robes.

“I won’t. A-Chang agreed to marry me even though I pushed him in. I can’t expect such good fortune to strike twice.” Xiao Jingfei felt helpless to do anything save laugh and kiss him again. “Let’s go talk to him. He’s been more nervous about this conversation than I’ve been.”

“Presumably because the two of you are so well-suited for one another that neither of you are aware of your own worth.”

“Oh, I’m aware of mine, gege. It’s A-Chang that needs reminding.”

As it happened, Wei Changze had not gone far. He stood near the edge of the dock nearest the hall, lit by the braziers lining the walkways. He looked up as they drew closer, eyes slightly glazed over with a distracted air which sharpened with their every step. His gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them, consideringly, his brow furrowing as he searched for something. Lan Qiren knew not what.

"Xiao-Fei—"

"Of course," she said. She leaned in to kiss Lan Qiren's cheek. "I'll go see what the children are doing."

"You know, with all of them mostly grown, you should probably refer to them with a more dignified address," Lan Qiren said.

"And as soon as A-Ying stops spending all his time on rooftops, I shall." She passed by Wei Changze, who took a very deliberate step away from the edge of the dock. She chuckled and poked his side, an attack he effortlessly caught in order to kiss her fingertips. Lan Qiren had borne witness to many such casual acts of intimacy during his time in Lotus Pier and this, as with all the others, warmed him through.

They did her the courtesy of waiting until she'd disappeared around a corner, glancing at one another and looking away time and time again. Once they both safely decided she'd made it out of earshot, Lan Qiren braced himself to speak. Having taken the risk of allowing himself to be flayed open once already this evening and been so terribly rewarded, he prepared himself to do so again.

"We needn't enter any arrangement which leads to your discomfort," Wei Changze said first with terrible sincerity, as though the words were wrenched from him. "You may find you harbour love for Xiao-Fei alone and I would not begrudge it."

"I know you would not." If anything, he feared Wei Changze would attempt to graciously step aside regardless of any threat to his own happiness. "But that is not what I want.”

“Then what?” Wei Changze asked.

“You,” Lan Qiren said, feeling brave now that he’d tasted Xiao Jingfei’s lips against his own. He’d waited for such a thing for most of his life. The newness of wanting Wei Changze made it no less meaningful. “Do you think many people have had the time or patience to debate me? To sit with me hour after hour and listen to what I've been told is little more than officious condescension and a love of my own voice? None. None but you."

"Fools, all of them," Wei Changze said, momentarily outraged on his behalf.

Lan Qiren chose to ignore the gratified shiver creeping up his spine. "Constitutionally I find myself disinterested in most people. Whether romantically or intellectually. You, Wei Changze, have always held my interest. My... attraction. As impossible as it seems to me to have found a second person to whom I feel desire. A-Chang—" Wei Changze met his eyes, hopeful and devastated all in the same moment, "—My love once given is unshakable as the mountain upon which I was born. And I do love you. I do. With the same entirety as I do Xiao Jingfei."

Staggered, Wei Changze swayed into him. He kissed Lan Qiren the same way Xiao Jingfei had, a sweet brush of lips which barely glanced across his mouth. Despite the brevity of the touch, it conveyed a sense of intent which Lan Qiren felt he could barely countenance without falling apart all together.

When he drew back, he cupped Lan Qiren's face and tipped his head back to look into his eyes. "I have always known that a man worthy of Xiao-Fei's love is a man more than worthy of my own." His mouth twitched at the corner. "Perhaps in this you will not debate me."

"Never," Lan Qiren promised.

Wei Changze lowered his face to kiss him again.

They waited on the edge of the pier for Xiao Jingfei to return, much like Wei Changze had waited for them. Inevitably they heard her approach before they saw her; she stopped on her way to them to greet one of the sentries and ask after the evening's business.

Lan Qiren huffed, not quite a laugh, but not far from one either. She'd always promised she'd find a way to make him laugh, after all, but he refused to do so when she was not present to enjoy her victory. "Perhaps, we should move away from the edge of the dock to avoid any incidental submersion. It would be in everyone's best interest."

A-Chang coughed out a laugh and surprisingly bashful grin. "She told you?"

"She did, yes. Alas for my good sense: I love both of you enough to forebear however many bodies of water in which you deign to submerge me.”

A-Chang's expression resolved into a sweet smile.

When she turned the corner, she stopped short. Her eyes narrowed in battle-quick assessment, blinking for only a moment before her face lit up like a full moon peeking through a canopy of clouds on an otherwise black night.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren confirmed, “Should you be willing to take me.”

Xiao Jingfei launched herself at Wei Changze, who effortlessly caught with a casual show of strength. She laughed and bit his neck, hard enough that he hissed out a breath but did not drop her, as Lan Qiren might’ve in response. "Say it."

"We are in a public place," Wei Changze chastised without heat.

"Only nominally. I sent the guards off to check the other side of the pier." She batted playfully at his chest.

Wei Changze chuckled. “I’ll drop you, just watch me.”

“No you won’t,” Xiao Jingfei said with obnoxious confidence. Wei Changze tilted an eyebrow at her. “Very well, you might. Please don’t. But you should say it. He'll love it. He's the type."

“The type?” Lan Qiren finally sighed, playing along for fear of her drawing such theatrics out far longer than necessary. He could not believe he loved this woman so intensely.

“It's just, I was rather hoping you might be the one to take me,” Wei Changze admitted.

Heat exploded in Lan Qiren’s ears, to Xiao Jingfei’s enormous amusement. She laughed and twisted, almost falling out of Wei Changze’s arms to grab the front of Lan Qiren’s robes and pull him closer. She pressed their mouths together, messy and thorough until he felt his ears might actually catch on fire. She finally took pity on him and pulled away, but only because her smile overcame her ability to kiss.

"I'm so happy," she said, barely able to contain the merest amount of her mirth.

Drawn into their warmth, Lan Qiren relaxed against them, at ease in a way he'd never felt before in his lifetime.

"I've long thought writings on love were ontologically incomplete." Lan Qiren’s upper lip twitched. “I am relieved to discover myself correct in this matter.”

“Like you’d ever admit to being wrong a day in your life,” Xiao Jingfei laughed.

“Drop her,” Lan Qiren ordered dryly.

Wei Changze laughed, but instead of following the very reasonable direction, he leaned in to kiss Lan Qiren once more.

Chapter Text

It seemed that mere days after the healers declared Shufu to be hale enough for night hunting, Cangse Sanren was organizing a ‘training exercise.’ While for all intents and purposes aimed at taking the bulk of the YunmengJiang cultivators out on a grand night hunt, Lan Xichen suspected she had ulterior motives. First to make sure that Shufu’s return to health was appropriately celebrated, and second to observe for herself the full extent of his recovery.

“One of us should stay behind to keep A-Niang company,” Lan Xichen said idly across tea one morning. Their mother had been occupied in the mornings in long discussions with Yu Gongxin, —their unexpected friendship a balm to both of them, or so he presumed—or with Jiang Yanli.

“Mn,” Wangji nodded. He took a delicate sip from his own cup to hide his obvious interest. Well, obvious to Lan Xichen, anyway. While doubtless certain others of their shared acquaintance would find his various silences confusing to interpret, Lan Xichen had never had such a challenge.

“If you would prefer to go, I’m sure there will be other opportunities for me to attend such events in the future.” Now they’d all but stated their intent to stay in Lotus Pier, he noted to himself. He found it very telling that Shufu had not once stepped foot in the suite of rooms which had been put aside for their family. With a mischievous smile he added, “I’m sure Wei-gongzi will appreciate your company.”

Wangji put down his cup just a bit too quickly. “Wei Ying is shameless and lacks decorum.”

“I see.” Lan Xichen made a show of considering it. “I suppose I could be the one to join the party, in that case. I find his company quite lively.”

Wangji’s eyes creased at the corners, and his mouth turned down slightly. Lan Xichen suddenly found himself mired in the feeling of being in some danger. “Jiang-guniang would doubtless be happier if you remained behind.”

“Ah,” he replied faintly.

They considered one another in heavy silence, both weighing the odds as to their success should they continue pushing their respective points.

“Have fun,” Lan Xichen finally said.

Wangji nodded brusquely and finished his tea.

The following morning, Lan Xichen joined his mother, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Changze to see the large group of disciples depart. His uncle looked better than he had in weeks, especially with the new guan gathering back his hair and dressed in robes lined with violet. Wangji would have to begin considering his own wardrobe soon, he imagined.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian waved frantically when Wangji stepped forward to join them. “Come with me and A-Cheng!”

Wangji refused to acknowledge the offer, instead choosing to fall in beside Shufu. Wei Wuxian barely noticed, simply dragging Jiang Cheng over to join them.

Shufu glanced at Cangse Saren with a pained expression, to which she offered little more than a playful smile.

Herding dozens of cultivators out the gates took less effort than Lan Xichen might have expected, but then he’d be wary of drawing down Yu Gongxin’s ire himself.

“It already seems quiet,” Jiang Yanli murmured at his side.

“It won’t stay that way for long,” Wei Changze said, gesturing to the skies to the northwest, where clouds swirled and gathered in preparations for what Lan Xichen guessed would be an incredible storm. Fortunately, their uncle’s party headed south, well away from the roiling front.

“I’ll organize preparations,” Jiang Yanli said grimly. In his experience, such storms on the road could be catastrophic for those unable to find appropriate shelter. This close to the river, he gathered, things weren’t much better.

Wei Changze nodded. “Thank you. I’ll head to town to make sure they’re warned.” He turned and bowed to Lan Xichen and his mother. “We’ll see you both this evening, if you’d like to join us at dinner and afterwards. A quiet party, though one made the better for your company.”

The storm, a cracking thunderbanger which seemed to shake the very foundation of Lotus Pier, descended shortly after dinner. The four of them retreated to one of the smaller sitting rooms protected on the lee side of the main hall.

Lan Xichen took a seat with xiao in hand, though the ripping wind drowned out many of his notes. He tried to sit close enough to observe the weiqi board set up between Jiang Yanli and Wei Changze. His mother had settled to the side with a book of poetry, occasionally looking over herself though she herself rarely played.

A boom of thunder rattled the walls and he started, his xiao nearly slipping from his fingers. The sound temporarily deafened them all, the shaking crash knocking open the shutters on the far side of the room. A gust of violent wind swept through the room, knocking Jiang Yanli’s bowl of black stones to the ground.

Wei Changze and Lan Xichen jumped to secure the window. They hadn’t managed to wrestle it back into place before they both heard the sound of shouting, barely audible over the storm.

“I’ll check,” Lan Xichen said. He collected Shuoyue from next to his xiao and braced himself before stepping out the door and into the pelting sheets of rain.

“Lan-gongzi!” one of the sentries shouted. A bulky figure followed close behind him. It took a moment for Lan Xichen to reconcile the shapeless mass with a man, heavily cloaked in sodden robes, carrying a woman. “Lan-gongzi, Li-daifu is called for!”

Before Lan Xichen could turn, his mother appeared in the doorway. “Who is it?”

The small party reached the door, finally fighting their way out of the worst of the rain. A woman, drawn and pale and barely protected from the storm in the folds of the man’s robes, shivered in the stranger’s arms.

“Uncle Wen?” Jiang Yanli gasped behind Lan Xichen.

“Please,” Wen Wutian said, “I’ll do anything.”

A-Niang nodded and gestured for them to quickly follow her towards the healer’s quarters. If words were spoken between them, Lan Xichen wasn’t able to catch them over the wind. Instead, he stuck close to Jiang Yanli’s side while she trailed closely behind them.

In the healing rooms, his mother gestured for Wen Wutian to place his wife, Jiang Fanmeng, on a free bed. This close, Lan Xichen could finally tell the difference between the red of her robes and the darker stain spread across her lower abdomen stretching down between her legs.

“Please, my cousins from Dafan Mountain say you are the person who might help,” Wen Wutian said immediately. He grabbed Jiang Fanmeng’s hand.

“When did the bleeding start?” A-Niang asked. She quickly tied back her sleeves and took Jiang Fanmeng’s free wrist in her hand.

“Earlier this morning, though she complained of feeling unwell yesterday,” Wen Wutian said. “Please, anything,” he repeated with an air of desperation.

“A-Li, help me,” A-Niang said, punching out a rapid-fire list of herbs, too quick for Lan Xichen to follow. “Wen-gongzi, you need to wait outside.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Lan Xichen only heard his mother speak with such authority in extremity. Conditioned to obey the tone, even when not directed his way, Lan Xichen snapped to attention. “A-Huan, go with him.” She met his eyes for only a moment, but her meaning was clear: he was not to let Wen Wutian back into the room before she gave the word.

“Please, gongzi,” Lan Xichen said, turning to Wen Wutian, “We will only be in the way.”

Wen Wutian reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and led out the door. While Lan Xichen had assisted his mother several times in the past during their travels in similar circumstances, he suspected she felt he would be better utilized as a guard on the door. A suspicion proved true a moment later, when Lan Xichen felt rather than saw a sealing talisman lock it from within. Wen Wutian looked as though he wanted to break it down; Lan Xichen calmly held Shuoyue up between them. Despite the ferocity of the ensuing glare, Wen Wutian made no move to attack.

This covered section of hallway muted most of the chaos outside.

“I don’t know what she’s planning to do,” the older man spat out, anger obvious in each jerky movement as he stalked up and down the corridor. “I should be in there.”

“What would it help?” Lan Xichen asked. “Are you a trained doctor?”

Wen Wutian sneered but did not reply. He continued storming the hall in silence, even when Lan Xichen settled down in front of the door in quiet repose, prepared to meditate through what he suspected would be a long evening.

Wei Changze arrived a short time later with a tray laden down with light food, easily stomached. Wen Wutian stared at it for a long moment, but did not take anything.

“It must have been an arduous flight,” Wei Changze said. “I’ve asked the servants to find you some dry clothes.”

“Wonderful, I must meet this misfortune in the ignominy of purple,” Wen Wutian snapped. Lan Xichen frowned at the insult, though Wei Changze seemed unbothered.

“Did you come from Dafan?”

“No. Qishan.” Wen Wutian’s lip curled. “My brother has taken all the best doctors into his service, but refuses to allow them to assist anyone else.” He turned and looked almost prepared to strike the nearby wall, only resisting at the last moment. Instead he slumped against it in a moment of weakness quickly overcome when he straightened again almost immediately. “If she dies, I will kill him.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened, but Wei Changze looked nonplussed by the declaration. Perhaps because he, too, had a wife he would die trying to avenge should anything happen to her.

A cry rose from the room before being quickly muted with the aid of another talisman.

“Move,” Wen Wutian demanded.

“No,” Lan Xichen replied calmly.

The older man's face twisted further. "I could make you."

"You may try," Lan Xichen agreed, "But there are lives inside that room who I would die to defend."

“Wutian, please,” Wei Changze said at his shoulder, “You brought Fanmeng to us knowing it was the place she could best be helped. Allow them the space they need to do so.”

Face twisted in rage and grief, Wen Wutian pulled away.

Hours seemed to pass. The storm passed into the distance, and the sounds of the residents of Lotus Pier busying themselves with the ensuing clean up reached them; Wei Changze was obliged to leave them in order to assist with the organization of the efforts. More than once, someone came to replace the tray of food with fresh offerings, all ignored.

Eventually, Wen Wutian sat down across from Lan Xichen, staring right through him at the door behind him, willing it to open. His hair and robes dried, sitting wild upon him. Once or twice, Lan Xichen wondered about offering to help put him to rights, but shied away from it at the last moment.

Night faded to morning. Breakfast was brought and once again ignored. Had Wen Wutian not remained tense and prepared to move at a second’s notice, Lan Xichen might have knocked on the door to offer some to his mother and Jiang Yanli.

The sun crept across the sky, almost to midday, when the silencing talisman finally broke from within, and the shrill, warbling cry of an infant faintly filtered through the door.

Wen Wutian was on his feet immediately. Lan Xichen spared a moment to be grateful when the door opened a moment later; this time, he felt sure, he would not have been able to stop the other man from breaking it down.

Wen Wutian stumbled past Lan Xichen and into the room, hitting the floor next to Jiang Fanmeng’s bed as though his knees had lost all integrity. Lan Xichen watched as her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him weakly. He grabbed her hand and pressed a desperate kiss to the inside of her wrist.

Jiang Yanli stepped up behind him, a swaddled bundle in her arms. She appeared disheveled, sweaty, and exhausted, and was without question the most ethereally beautiful person Lan Xichen had ever looked upon. He froze in place, the stunning sight of her making him nearly insensible. For some reason, his gaze chose to settle on the loose strands of hair plastered against her forehead.

“Uncle Wen,” Jiang Yanli said. “I am honoured to present you with your daughter.”

Wen Wutian turned a look of disbelief her way. “They both lived,” he gasped out.

“They all three of them did,” A-Niang agreed, drawing attention her way, where she held another baby in her arms. “This is your son.”

Wen Wutian began to shake his head back and forth. For a moment, Lan Xichen worried he might be qi deviating, but he eventually breathed his way through it.

“Would you like to hold them?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“No,” Wen Wutian replied, his voice still a bit shaky. “No.” He dropped Jiang Fanmeng’s wrist and stood. As though suddenly aware of his appearance, he tried smoothing back his hair and pulled uselessly at hopelessly wrinkled robes. “You are comfortable, wife?”

Jiang Fanmeng smiled weakly, the expression surprisingly indulgent. “I am.”

“Then I will go to our usual suite and reorder myself.” He paused on the way to the door and, as though an afterthought, turned and stiffly bowed to A-Niang and Jiang Yanli. “Thank you.”

He left, flicking his robes out behind.

Jiang Yanli seemed unsurprised by his abrupt departure, and invited Lan Xichen over with a small smile. The infant, ridiculously tiny, had a vivid red bruise stretching across her forehead, Lan Xichen looked at Jiang Yanli for permission and, when she nodded, he brushed his thumb across it.

“She was facing the wrong way, and her brother was breach. It will heal,” his mother said. “As will their mother, thought it may be a long road to recovery.” Jiang Fanmeng had slipped back to sleep. “I must send for a wetnurse. A-Li, you should go and get some rest. I’m sure A-Huan would be happy to walk you back to your room.”

“My honour,” Lan Xichen agreed, practically before his mother had finished speaking.

Jiang Yanli gently laid the baby down and took Lan Xichen’s arm when he offered it. They’d barely left the birthing room when she half-stumbled and Lan Xichen had to swoop in to ensure she did not fall.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a weak laugh, bracing herself against the wall as she tried to straighten. “It was a long night.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” Lan Xichen said. “Allow me to assist.”

She nodded, though evidently mistook his meaning as she gasped when he leaned over and picked her up.

“Xichen,” she whispered, meeting his gaze and searching his eyes. For what, he did not know, but evidently she found it as she relaxed into his embrace.

“Rest.”

She was asleep before he reached her rooms. He eased her into bed and pulled her blankets up over her. He took a selfish moment to study the peace of her features, then backed away and went to see what he might do to help with the reordering of Lotus Pier. While it had been a long night for him as well, he felt shockingly energized.

“Where is Cangse Sanren?” Wen Wutian demanded.

“On a training excursion with our top disciples,” Wei Changze replied. He looked up from the records he’d been reviewing totalling the damage. Several of the outer buildings would need significant repair. “I expect her back this evening, or tomorrow at the latest.” As always, he recoiled at the thought she might not return.

“Hmph. I suppose I am then obliged to wait.”

“Apparently,” Wei Changze replied. He returned attention to his reports for only a moment. “May I ask after the health of Wen-Furen?”

“Recovering,” Wen Wutian snapped. He paused, lips pursing in an annoyed moue and bit out, “Thank you.”

“And your accommodations are comfortable?”

Wei Wutian huffed out a breath, but settled in to sit across from Wei Changze. “I do not care to be here, but I suppose if I must, the rooms are acceptable.” His brow furrowed. “And I suppose we shall remain for the present.”

“You are welcome for the entirety of Jiang Fanmeng’s recovery and beyond.” Jiang Fanmeng had low cultivation, and with such a traumatic experience in childbirth, he personally found it likely that they would be hosting her in Lotus Pier for quite some time.

“That is not the extent of it,” Wen Wutian said. His hands clenched into fists on his knees. “Before I left Qishan, I made it clear to my brother that should my wife die, he would follow.” Wei Changze blanched. Such a thing to say, even in the heat of the moment, would not easily be forgiven even by a man much more even-tempered than Wen Ruohan. “Doubtless, had we not come here, our lives would both be forfeit. It is not my intention to risk my wife or children coming to harm.”

“Then what are you planning to do?” Wei Changze asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

“I will wage war upon my brother.” Wen Wutian’s eyes grew steely. “Long have I believed his words about the superiority of QishanWen. But that he would allow my wife and children to die to prove his point—to route weakness from our sect—cannot be forgiven.”

How selfless of him to decide to move against his brother now Wen Ruohan's decisions brought him personal inconvenience. Wei Changze bit back the uncharitable thought.

“And what then, do you wish from us?” Wei Changze shocked himself with how calm his voice sounded.

“I want your wife to use her ‘extensive political acumen—’” Probably best Xiao-Fei was not present, given she’d likely have lunged across the table in response to the heavy-handed sarcasm, “—to convince Nie Nuibai, Lan Qingduo, and all of the minor sects who follow her lead, to stay out of my affairs.”

Wei Changze frowned, but nodded. “I understand.”

“Really?” Wen Wutian leaned forward. “Why don’t you enlighten me as to your understanding. I’m in need of entertainment.”

Wei Changze set his papers aside. After more than a decade of marriage to the acting sect leader of YunmengJiang, he refused to be cowed by a mere scowl. “Should any of the other Great Clans involve themselves, one of two things will happen: all of us will be obliterated by your brother’s not inconsiderable power; or we win and you will find yourself indebted to the rest of us, assuming no one steps in to paint you as complicit in whatever crimes he has committed you’ll use to justify unseating him.” The Jin would remain well out of it due to self-interest, likely more interested in currying favour with the victor than involving themselves directly in the outcome.

Wen Wutian stared at him. “The pet has learned some tricks.”

“You know, as well as I do, that had there been any less disparity in our stations, I would be the one commanding YunmengJiang,” Wen Changze said without ego.

“How unfortunate for all of us that your father never decided to claim you.”

Wei Changze met Wen Wutian’s eyes without blinking. “Whoever he was.” Wen Wutian leaned back, either conceding the point or choosing not to press it. “We will do what we can to ensure this remains an internal matter for QishanWen. In return for future considerations.”

“More mercenary than I would have thought, from a member of the family.”

“Had you ever treated me as a member of this family, we would be having a different conversation.”

Wen Wutian managed to conjure up an amused smile. When he stood and bowed, however, it was with more respect than he’d ever shown before.

“We will also make sure that news has spread that Jiang Fanmeng died in childbirth, delivered of a stillborn,” Wei Changze offered. Wen Wutian’s eyes narrowed. “In the meantime, we’ll ensure she is comfortable here. Once the matter of Qishan has been decided, she will either be able to reclaim her place as your wife, or be free to remove herself from the reach of your brother’s vengeance.”

Wen Wutian breathed out through his nose, a long line of air, before he nodded. “I think I finally begin to understand why my wife believed it in the best interests of the sect to recall you here as regents.” He stood and bowed, this time with the respect he showed any equal.

Wei Changze watched him go. Once he’d quit the room, Wei Changze summoned one of the major administrators.

“Excellent news,” he said, deadpan, “The late-late Jiang-furen’s cousin has been discovered. She will be installed in the family quarters, in the rooms next to Li Linxia and her sons. Please make arrangements for a wet nurse to be made available at her convenience.”

“Sir.”

Wen Wutian left the following morning. Wei Changze and Jiang Yanli stood at the pier to watch his departure.

“What will this mean?” she asked quietly.

“If your uncle is successful, it will mean a new leader in QishanWen.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then I suspect, in the long term, it will mean war.”

They saw the storm well in advance of it finally finding them.

YunmengJiang disciples were well acquainted and well-equipped for sudden shifts in the weather. They made it to the safety of a lee side of a thick copse of trees and set up their tents before the wind really had a chance to pick up. The tents were all inscribed with wards and talismans to protect them from the worst of the elements, so when the storm finally descended Wei Wuxian heard only the barest whistle of the wind.

He hated it.

The three shidis he’d tucked in with snoozed blissfully unaware of his restlessness. Usually he fell asleep quickly and stayed that way until someone physically dragged him out of bed in the morning. Tonight felt different. Maybe the storm. Maybe the knowledge that Lan Zhan had set up his own tent across the campsite and had to face the storm alone. His tent had looked way worse off than those they’d brought along from Lotus Pier; it made sense for it to be more weathered, considering his long years spent as a rogue cultivator, but Wei Ying didn’t like to think about him left vulnerable to the elements.

After an hour of useless tossing and turning, Wei Wuxian gave up and crawled out of his bedroll. He tucked it around his shoulders, giving him some protection from the storm, and slipped out into the night.

The protections on the tent had camouflaged the intensity of the downpour and fierce, whipping wind. It nearly took him off his feet as he crossed the short distance between his tent and Lan Zhan’s. Both the bedroll and his sleeping robes were soaked through within moments, rain sliding down his face into his eyes. He squinted his way through, passing by the tent his mother shared with Lan Qiren and nearly tripping over a blown-over stack of firewood before reaching Lan Zhan’s tent.

He couldn’t knock, so he stumbled inside and hoped Lan Zhan would forgive him.

And, okay, the fact that Lan Zhan had lived so long on the road should’ve been enough to assuage his fears; the inside of his tent was nicer than the one Wei Wuxian had just vacated. The inside was enchanted almost like a qiankun pouch: wide, spacious and dry (except for the puddle now gathering at his feet). One half of the room, occupied by a sleeping roll and a handful of unremarkable baubles, had obviously been previously occupied by Lan Xichen.

The other…

Lan Zhan stared at him from where he’d sat up in his own sleeping roll, blinking as though trying to reconcile whatever wet-rat vibe Wei Wuxian had going on instead of his usual suavity.

“Heh.” He mustered up a weak smile. “Just… wanted to make sure you were okay.” Okay? He was better off than most of Wei Wuxian’s shidis! They could have easily fit two-thirds of the hunting party in the tent with room to spare.

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan said.

“You are,” Wei Wuxian agreed. Lan Zhan lifted a delicate eyebrow. Wei Wuxian narrowly avoiding smacking himself. “Uh. I guess I’ll head back, then.”

“Is that your sleeping roll?”

“Haha, yeah. Guess I’ll be cuddling up with Fourth Shidi tonight.”

Lan Zhan’s lips pursed. Maybe he wasn’t a fan of Fourth Shidi? The kid was annoying as hell sometimes, and occasionally decided to hang off Wei Wuxian like a monkey from a tree, but at fourteen Wei Wuxian had been much, much worse according to, well, everyone Jiang Cheng.

“Stay here,” Lan Zhan commanded. And he had no doubt it was a command. Wei Wuxian blushed and shrugged off the rain-heavy bedroll, which hit the ground with an audible wet plop. Lan Zhan’s eyes widened and his ears blazed red, which was the point that Wei Wuxian realized his sleeping robes had also been completely soaked through to the point of translucency .

Maybe, if he just walked out into the rain, he’d drown and save himself these indignities.

Lan Zhan slipped out of his bedroom and rummaged through a nearby pack, coming up with a soft-looking set of clean white undergarments.

“Here,” he said. “Change.”

“Thank you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, voice curiously breathless. Lan Zhan looked at him a moment before turning around to give him privacy. His ears were still red. Wei Wuxian wanted to touch them and see if the skin would be hot, but his face wasn’t thick enough to bear it if Lan Zhan turned around again.

He stripped quickly and pulled the robes on, skin still cold with damp. A few moments focusing and he’d be able to warm himself back up, but he suddenly found it completely impossible to do so.

Lan Zhan turned back around and gave him a quick once-over.

“Come. You’re cold.” He gestured to his bedroll.

Flushed through, Wei Wuxian nodded and allowed Lan Zhan to gently manoeuvre him into place. After a moment or two of figuring themselves out—whose arm went where, how to accommodate one another—it ended with Lan Zhan’s one arm tucked beneath Wei Wuxian’s neck, following the line of his shoulder, and the other curled around his waist to hold him tightly. Lan Zhan’s body burned like a sun where he tucked himself up behind Wei Wuxian, his breath gentle on the back of his neck. Warmth spread out through him, his muscles relaxing bit by bit from the tension the cold had wracked up through his body.

A voice, a stupid voice, whispered that Lan Zhan was just doing this because he was a good friend. But Wei Wuxian had watched his parents for years; their easy affection and the sly glances they traded between each other (though he tried to ignore the latter for the sake of his own sanity.) He knew what real love looked like.

And, most importantly: Lan Zhan hadn’t, even once, suggested Wei Wuxian sleep in Lan Xichen’s spare bedroll.

This felt like something. Possibly something wonderful. He wanted to explore it, eventually, but for the moment in Lan Zhan’s arms he was content to drift quietly into slumber.

Chapter Text

As long as Wei Wuxian could remember, his father had been a late sleeper. There had been the occasional times during his youth—though his memory barely stretched back past their arrival at Lotus Pier—when he’d been obligated to get out of bed before sunrise, but those were few and far apart.

Once or twice, he’d heard his parents discussing it.

“You will sleep as late as you want,” Mama would say. “I will tie you to this bed if I need to.”

“I would be of more use to you if I got up earlier.”

“I don’t want you to be of use. I want you to be happy. And fortunately for me, you can be both if you don’t force yourself out of bed before you’re ready.”

All this to say: Wei Wuxian came by his love of a good lie-in naturally.

(That his mother tended to get out of bed either with or before the sun notwithstanding.)

So when he was rudely awoken by a hard shove to his shoulder, he grumbled and rolled over and tossed a muttered obscenity over his shoulder. His shidi, or whoever was trying to get him up before he was ready, could go and fu—

“Wei Wuxian.”

His eyes snapped open and he rolled out of bed, hitting the floor hard. He groaned and looked blearily up at Yu Gongxin.

“Sorry, Da-Shijie,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. He’d landed shoulder first, but his head had followed pretty promptly behind.

“Up,” she said, her mouth tight. He nodded and scrambled to his feet. “Dress. I will see you in the training yard promptly.”

He stumbled his way through dressing, the leftover adrenaline from his abrupt awakening carrying him through the usual routine and out the door. The sun barely cast a grey sheen in the distance, the meagrest hint of sunlight beginning to force back the night.

Yu Gongxin stood in the middle of the training grounds, sword in hand. Wei Wuxian frowned when he spotted his mother waiting on the sidelines, watching with a stony expression. When he caught her eye, she shook her head and gestured towards Yu Gongxin with her chin.

They bowed to one another.

“We’re going to fight,” Yu Gongxin told him, a curious gravity in her voice.

“All right.” Wei Wuxian frowned. “This doesn’t sound like a casual spar.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. She settled onto her back leg and rested her sword over her chest in the starting position of the MeishanYu sword style. Wei Wuxian’s mind raced; he’d seen her fight in the style before, but rarely. When training YunmengJiang disciples, she strictly relied upon the YunmengJiang style.

Moreover, she wasn’t holding a training sword. Her blade, Menghu, still reflected the light from the braziers lit around the yard; she hadn’t warded it against bringing harm. Whatever the purpose of this bout, it was to be fought with live steel.

He drew Suibian.

In silent agreement, they attacked.

Fighting with live steel added a new level of danger. Especially once he realized that Yu Gongxin was not pulling her blows. He stayed on the defensive for the first few minutes to figure out the flow of the fight. She wasn’t aiming to hurt him—at least, he hoped not—instead relying on his reflexes to keep him from being skewered on the end of her blade. He dipped and dodged, weaving around her sword until he had the rhythm of it figured out. He started anticipating her movements as he felt out her style, and adjusted his own movements in anticipation of hers.

Then he turned it into a true dance.

He’d never fought Yu Gongxin in earnest. They’d sparred in front of the younger disciples to demonstrate sword forms, and she’d essentially been beating his ass since he’d been five years old and far too demanding of her attention. This was the first opportunity he had to really show off his skills. And, he suspected, they wanted him to do exactly that. This was some sort of test, and he was going to pass.

Shockingly, he quickly found them evenly matched. He swung around, trusting that—as he had—she’d be able to move out of the way of his blow; gratified when she did. From there, they wove around one another, narrowly avoiding one another’s strikes while trying to deliver his own. The complicated weave went on and on, neither of them giving nor gaining ground so much as using the training grounds as their personal game board, every corner hosting them as they flew around one another.

He barely noticed at first, but eventually he felt the burn in his muscles; arms, legs, everything from his neck down, really. He nearly tripped his way into being bisected and had to throw himself to the side to avoid it. He slid along the ground, a small burst of spiritual energy propelling him out of her way and giving him a chance to catch his breath. When he rose, he barely had time to swing Suibian into the way of her sword and keep it from hitting him.

Wei Wuxian dodged around her and, with a punch of hope, hooked his elbow around her arm and slid Suibian up to her neck.

She stopped, her chest heaving with the exertion. He swallowed a few deep lungfuls of air himself before stepping back.

“Good, A-Xian,” she said, turning his way. They bowed to one another. “Very good.”

She turned to his mother, which was when Wei Wuxian realized she’d been joined by Jiang Cheng and, judging from the position of the sun in the sky, it had been well over an hour.

“The decision is yours,” Yu Gongxian said.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Hey, what decision?”

Jiang Cheng looked marginally less constipated than usual. More than winning the spar, Wei Wuxian’s shoulder sagged in relief when he saw it. With his little brother’s ascension to sect leader looming on the horizon, he’d been more and more irritable lately.

“It won’t cause too much upset?” Jiang Cheng asked Mama.

“Your ceremony will be in the fall. His can be with the solstice next week. A few months apart to give everyone a chance to get used to it.”

“Get used to what?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Use your head, A-Xian,” Yu Gongxin muttered. “Why else would we be doing this?”

It still took him a moment before Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened and he swung on her. “Da-Shijie, no. Why?!”

The entire fight threw itself back into sharp relief: the earnestness of her blows, relying on his own skills to keep him from being cut down, the use of live steel instead of training blades. Not just about testing his skills, but seeing if they were up to the task of assuming the role of Head Disciple.

He knew his parents planned to leave once Jiang Cheng took on the mantle of sect leader; it made sense to him. That had always been the plan, to give Jiang Cheng a chance to establish himself and make sure the world knew the sect had only ever been held in trust awaiting Jiang Cheng to come of age.

But that was no reason for Yu Gongxin to leave as well!

“You’re ready,” Yu Gongxin said calmly. She looked at Mama and Jiang Cheng, who both nodded in an eerily similar manner.

Wei Wuxian wanted to storm over to him and shake him, but his legs seemed to forget how to work properly. He wobbled, half-expecting Yu Gongxin to catch him. Instead, she let him right himself. She’d never done that before.

“But…” He looked helplessly at his mother, hoping to find a source of common sense. While her eyes were wet, it wasn’t with anger or good humour at this ridiculous joke; he thought it might be with pride. “Why does Da-Shijie have to go?”

“I don’t,” Yu Gongxin said evenly. He turned her way. “But I want to.” A wash of cold swept through his veins. Whatever she read on his face, she sighed and shook her head. “Not because of you, A-Xian. Or your family. I wish to travel back to Meishan and the sect leader has graciously agreed to let me go.”

“And you can’t just go and come back?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“I can. I may. But regardless if I do, the position is yours.”

“If you don’t want it then just say so,” Jiang Cheng choked out. “I don’t even care if you don’t! But no one else should have it, Ying-ge.”

The endearment brought Wei Wuxian up short; for years, he’d been Wei Wuxian everywhere except in private as they both tried to make people take them seriously. Jiang Cheng, way more invested in the endeavor than he was, hadn’t slipped once in years.

Wei Wuxian stared at him, feeling his face twist up in confusion over whether he wanted to hit his brother, cry on him, hug him, or some combination thereof.

He took a lurching step forward, wincing when his legs immediately complained. Jiang Cheng hopped over the railing, jogging forward to help him.

“Good?” he asked.

They caught one another’s eyes. Wei Wuxian’s thoughts threatened to spiral again, but Jiang Cheng anchored him in place with a squeeze to his bicep.

“Good,” Wei Wuxian agreed.

“Go help your brother to a bath, A-Cheng,” Yu Gongxin said. They turned equally shocked expressions her way. According to some elders, she’d rather cut out her tongue than call them brothers and every time she spoke to the two of them only seemed to confirm it.

Jiang Cheng nodded and pulled Wei Wuxian off the field.

Back in his room, Jiang Cheng mercifully dropped Wei Wuxian onto his bed and called for the servants to fetch in a bath. He heated the already warm water even further with his own spiritual energy, slapped a warming talisman on it, and didn’t laugh at Wei Wuxian as he tried to fall in face first.

Once they’d managed to get him into the bath—a wonderful place where Wei Wuxian now planned to live—Jiang Cheng sat down next to the tub.

“What would you have done if I said ‘no?’” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Beaten your ass,” Jiang Cheng muttered at his hands, clenched in his lap. Cried, Wei Wuxian corrected silently. “I don’t know. Asked Yu Gongxin to stay, probably. Or done it myself.”

No one else should have it, he’d said, then called him brother.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian said, “Of course I said yes.” He tried to raise his hand to poke Jiang Cheng’s head, but they still seemed to have the consistency of lakeweed. Jiang Cheng’s shoulders seemed to relax. “We’re brothers, you said it. You can’t revoke your words, it would be entirely too dishonourable for the noble Jiang-zongzhu. You’d never be able to show your face around Uncle Wen, he’d sneer you right out of the room. As zongzhu, it will be entirely up to you to demonstrate the pride and dignity of YunmengJ—”

Jiang Cheng dunked him down into the water.

Once the boys were out of view, Yu Gongxin’s legs collapsed beneath her. Cangse Sanren flew to her side to help her stand, though she’d already started pushing herself up with the aid of her sword.

“Do you need a healer?” she asked, doing Yu Gongxin the favour of whispering the word and permitting her the dignity of pretending not to hear if she so chose.

“No.”

Her acting sect leader nodded and helped her limp to her room. Yu Gognxin felt every one of her years pressing down on her; she’d largely stopped cultivating her golden core after Ziyuan had died in what, in retrospect, may have been an overreaction to her grief. Even so, she prided herself on her strength and skills, and Wei Wuxian had proven her better. He’d call her his equal, no doubt, but the boy had always been too ready with a kind word. She knew very well that if he hadn’t been occupied with his enjoyment of the bout that he might have ended it far earlier.

Cangse Sanren eased her down.

“I’ll send someone to help you,” she said. She hesitated before continuing, “Thank you for all you’ve done for him.”

Cangse Sanren bowed and escaped before she followed what was likely a natural inclination towards overfamiliarity. It had taken them many years, but Yu Gongxin felt a small swell of fondness.

And then Li Linxia walked in a few moments later and Yu Gongxin took back every kind thought she’d ever had of the devil woman running their sect.

“I see what she meant now when she told me you were indisposed.” Li Linxia sat down beside her and withdrew a small pot from her sleeve. When she opened it, the potent punch of medicinal-smelling salve assaulted Yu Gongxin’s nostrils.

Li Linxia slowly unwrapped Yu Gongxin’s bracers, Yu Gongxin frozen in place as she watched clever fingers unthread the knots holding them in place. Once she’d undone the lacing and set them aside, Li Linxia dabbed some on her fingers and reached up Yu Gongxin’s sleeve to massage it into her shoulder. The press of her skin felt horribly overfamiliar. Yu Gongxin needed to push her away. Her arms, though, still refused to obey her. She tried not to be overly thankful of the fact.

“I am going to Meishan,” Yu Gongxin said when Li Linxia withdrew her hands and shifted to begin massaging her other arm.

“Ah. My commitments to my new student will keep me here.” The words came out kindly and soft, as though Li Linxia were the one planning to leave and had to be the one offering reassurance. “Though, perhaps, once she has spent a few years in study a trip to Meishan might be appropriate to give her the chance to truly practice her skill.”

“I hope that, wherever our paths will cross, I may meet you with a lily.”

Li Linxia’s hands stilled on her arms. “Some would consider such a thing a courting gift.”

“Yes.”

Li Linxia’s gaze seemed to grow distant, though it only lasted a moment. She removed her hands from Yu Gongxin’s sleeves and turned them towards her legs. With aching tenderness, she removed Yu Gongxin’s stockings and then slowly slid her hands up her calf.

Yu Gongxin’s breath caught in her throat. “Linxia.”

Li Linxia looked up at her for only a moment before rising onto her knees to press her mouth to Yu Gongxin’s. The movement drew her fingers higher up Yu Gongxin’s leg until they came to settle on the inside of her upper thigh.

“I’ll accept,” Li Linxia said. Yu Gongxin took in a shaky breath, not only because of the feeling of her hot skin pressed up against her. “When do you go?”

“In the morning.”

Li Linxia drew back and reapplied herself again to the massage, digging into some of the knots Yu Gongxin had acquired while sitting. Her hands, instead of the easy rub from earlier, were purposeful and borderline painful as she located and soothed away any lingering aches.

As though she were trying to make sure Yu Gongxin suffered no restriction of movement.

Her breath stuttered at the thought and Li Linxia smiled up at her knowingly before continuing to tease out a spot of tension.

“News from Qishan,” Xiao Jingfei said. She passed the missive over to Jiang Wanyin instead of Wei Changze, a fact Lan Qiren noted with some interest when her hand automatically started across the table towards her husband before directly changing direction.

Jiang Wanyin scanned it quickly before passing it onto Jiang Yanli.

“Our guest will be pleased to hear he’s all right, at least,” she said. “What do you think he means here about ‘unorthodox cultivation’?”

Xiao Jingfei’s brow drew in concern, meeting Lan Qiren’s eyes over the table before shifting her gaze to Wei Changze. Wei Changze inclined his head, subtly enough Lan Qiren doubted any of the younger adults noticed, and offered up the next piece of correspondence for consideration.

Later that night, the three of them carefully arranged in a bed truly only meant for two, Xiao Jingfei lay awake in his arms staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t want to leave them vulnerable,” she whispered. “Cheng-er is going to have enough challenges in front of him. People trying to win favour or comparing him to his parents. Enemies I’ve made ingratiating themselves back into YunmengJiang business. All of that as well as a war brewing in Qishan?” She rolled over and sat up, tucking her knees up to her chest and resting her chin upon them. “I don’t want our children to know war.”

“We never did,” Lan Qiren agreed. “My parents used to speak of the war which catapulted LanlingJin to prominence.”

“That would have been three generations back,” Wei Changze said, sleepily tracing his fingers up Xiao Jingfei’s spine.

“My master said war drove her up the mountain and nothing short of catastrophe would ever bring her down again.” Xiao Jingfei rubbed her eyes. “They don’t have a mountain. They have Lotus Pier, and the disciples. But we’ve already decided we can’t stay once Cheng-er steps into the role.”

“The plan has always been for us to prepare him as best we can and then leave,” Wei Changze said, likely for Lan Qiren’s benefit. He nodded in understanding; he would not have left Xichen had they remained in Cloud Recesses, but the circumstances were wildly different.

“What have your plans been regarding leaving?” Lan Qiren asked.

“Until this last year, all our plans involved finding you,” Xiao Jingfei said, tilting her head to look at him. He blushed.

“We could go to Qishan.”

“‘We,’” Wei Changze repeated in a voice of wonder.

“The boys are grown and my sister is establishing herself very well here. They’ve no need of me moping about waiting for the two of you to return. Yes, we. We might consider whether Wen Wutian is any better than his brother. And, if upon agreeing that he has even the remotest redeeming qualities, we support him. Put the entire matter to rest before it escalates out of Qishan. Or, worse, Wen Ruohan wins and we find ourselves dealing with whatever comes next.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve visited Qinghe,” Xiao Jingfei said. “We could stop by the Unclean Realm, give Nie-ge a nudge and make sure he’s still managing. Use it as an excuse for traveling that way.”

“And then swing by Qishan and prevent a war.” Wei Changze smiled, a small tug at the corner of his mouth Lan Qiren realized with relish that he was allowed to kiss. He leaned over and did so, enjoying the way the smile grew wider under his lips.

Xiao Jingfei cast her gaze over her shoulder and grinned down at both of them. “I think we can manage to make some mischief in Qishan.” She lay back down between them. “We’ll leave after the ceremony.

“Leaving at this point will be a great blow for you personally, Qiren,” Wei Changze said. Lan Qiren braced himself. “Given you won’t be able to bear first hand witness to the ongoing hilarity of our son courting your nephew.”

“Perhaps, should we wrap this up within a year, we might return to find them somewhat further ahead. Though only,” he said with twitching lips, “If he takes after you as opposed to his mother. Otherwise, I’m afraid A-Zhan may be waiting a very long time.”

With his transition to sect leader so close, Wei Wuxian knew to look for Jiang Cheng one of three places: with Auntie Xiao and Uncle Wei reviewing sect business, with A-Jie getting pampered after a long day, or in ‘their pavillion’–the one the three of them most frequented since their childhood, where disciples actually hesitated to disturb them and Wei Wuxian had come up with the idea for hefeng wine.

He found him in the lattermost, painstakingly practicing the formatting required to enter Wei Wuxian and his parents into the family record.

Once, when Wei Wuxian had been about eight years old, one of the Jiang elders had sat down with him and Jiang Cheng to tell them they weren’t really brothers.

“You need to understand, young master, that this insistence will send the wrong message: that Wei-gongzi is written into the family record and has a formal place in Lotus Pier.”

Wei Wuxian remembered twisting his hands in his sleeve, picking at one of the seams which had already started to fray from his worrying. He hadn’t meant to get Jiang Cheng in trouble, he’d just really wanted a little brother.

“Maybe I’ll put him in the family record then!” Jiang Cheng had snapped. Wei Wuxian turned to him, eyes wide. “And Uncle Wei! And Auntie Xiao!”

“Young master—”

“I’m going to be zongzhu, and that means I get to decide what’s best. And what’s best for Lotus Pier is for Ying-ge and his parents to be part of my family forever.”

And that was that.

It might not be his first official act as sect leader—at least, Wei Wuxian was sure he’d find other things that demanded his attention at first—but it warmed him through to think that he remembered his promise and planned to get around to it eventually.

A-Jie smiled when he walked in; she had something that looked like poetry in front of her, though written in a hand he didn’t recognize but bore suspicious similarities to Lan Zhan’s.

“Hey.” He dropped down next to Jiang Cheng. “You used the wrong character in Baba’s name.”

“Fuck off, I did not.” Jiang Cheng nevertheless whipped his brush away from the paper to double check and then glowered at Wei Wuxian. “Asshole.”

“Boys,” Jiang Yanli chided gently. She tucked the scroll into her sleeve. “Let’s be respectful, hm?”

“Yes, A-Jie,” they chorused.

Wei Wuxian shifted around to rest his head against her knee. These were moments he liked best, when the three of them had time apart from the hustle and bustle of the everyday outside. They’d gotten rarer as they’d grown older, and were virtually impossible now that he’d taken over the position of Head Disciple, which made this one seem all the more special.

“Xianxian?” A-Jie began running her fingers through his hair and he sighed in contentment. “Something on your mind?”

“No,” he automatically denied. And then, “Well.” He sturdied himself. “I think I like a person.”

He’d considered asking his parents, but that felt way too mortifying. He’d already had to sit through a mortifying discussion with his father about ‘certain feelings’ shortly after his voice broke, and his mother was far too prone to teasing. She’d get around to the point eventually, but the feelings inside him felt fragile and uncertain. Not that they’d bend or break under the pressure of good-natured ribbing, but he wanted to protect them all the same.

“Ugh, must you do this now?” Jiang Cheng demanded.

“’A person,’” A-Jie repeated with a small smile, content to ignore Jiang Cheng’s performative gagging.

“A person!” Wei Wuxian insisted, fooling exactly no one in the same way his parents weren’t fooling anyone about their feelings for Uncle Lan.

(By mutual agreement, he and his siblings were Not Talking About It.)

“Well, ‘a person’ probably deserves your honesty,” A-Jie said. He rolled over and covered his face with his hands. “And is almost certainly going to appreciate it.”

He peeked through his fingers, scanning her face. “A-Jie,” he said, very seriously, “Do you know something I don’t?”

“If I do, it was told to me in confidence.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you… ‘like’ a person too?”

A-Jie’s smile curled slightly larger on the right side. “I do. But it’s very different with Xichen-ge and I. We know what to expect from one another. Our love may exist chastely and will not falter. I will eventually need to take a husband in order to advance the interests of YunmengJiang—” Wei Wuxian sat up at attention, Jiang Cheng frowned, but she lifted a hand to forestall any protests, “—And I will love him truly, but Xichen will remain a dauntless presence in my heart. We are both content with this.”

“But you should marry someone you love,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“I’m sure I will grow to love whomever I marry, as I know my brothers will never support a union with someone unworthy. And no matter who that is, Xichen will always be my dedicated, dear love.”

“Well, so long as you’re both happy,” Jiang Cheng sniffed.

“If he’s ever rude to you, we’ll…” A-Jie pinned Wei Wuxian with a stern look. Or, at least, a mildly displeased one which seemed stern for her. He and Jiang Cheng traded a glance. “…Have a very polite chat with him.”

She nodded. “I expect nothing less from my brothers.”

Wei Wuxian dropped his head down to the floor and sat with them in comfortable silence.

Wei Wuxian wandered out of the pavilion later on, long after Jiang Cheng and A-Jie had returned to their respective duties. He let his feet carry him along the docks, looking out at the water. He knew the freedom love offered. Wanted it for his own. With Lan Zhan. He only needed to find a way to make it clear. A-Jie said his person deserved his honesty.

And Lan Zhan had held him so sweetly on their night hunt.

“Wei Ying.”

He stumbled, nearly taking a header off the dock. Graceless in ways he hadn’t been since his first growth spurt, he managed to remember how joints worked and looked over the side of the dock. He’d been too distracted while wandering; he’d almost walked right by Lan Zhan, lounging in a boat and looking up at the sunset.

“Lan Zhan!”

He jumped down, careful to land with his weight equally distributed to avoid knocking them both into the water. Lan Zhan sat up, a smooth slide upwards that brought his face terribly close to Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian very carefully did not fall backwards right off the boat, and didn’t care to examine how close he came to doing so.

Lan Zhan still favoured the simple clothing he’d worn on the road, though Wei Wuxian knew A-Jie had offered him, and his entire family, their choice of wardrobe from the Jiang tailors. His father had mentioned such dress was common among rogue cultivators, who either couldn’t afford fancy robes or the upkeep to keep them looking presentable. Either way, it made Wei Wuxian feel unaccountably sad… not because they didn’t look good on him—Lan Zhan, probably, would look good in anything—but because in some ways it made him think that Lan Zhan still planned to leave.

“You’re watching the sunset?” he asked. Lan Zhan nodded and leaned back into his place, apparently at ease now that he’d neatly terrorized Wei Wuxian’s poor heart. “We have the most beautiful sunsets in Yunmeng, don’t we?”

Lan Zhan tilted his head to peer at him. “Mn. Beautiful.”

Wei Wuxian coughed and settled himself to look up at the sky. His angle wasn’t quite as good on the other end of the boat. When he craned his neck back he got a glimpse of orange, and dappled purple clouds, but not the way they reflected off the water.

“I…” He bit his lower lip. A-Jie said Lan Zhan deserved his honesty, but what if his honesty was too much? “Are you happy in Lotus Pier, Lan Zhan?”

Instead of an immediate answer, Lan Zhan took a moment to really consider the question. “Yes,” he finally said.

“Well, good!” Wei Wuxian waited for more, but he offered no elaboration. Unaccountably nervous, he launched into a recitation of Lotus Pier’s virtues. Keenly aware he’d started rambling, he helplessly fought against the inertia of words until he finally stuttered to a halt with an awkward laugh.

(Thank goodness Jiang Cheng wasn’t here… his brother would never let him hear the end of it.)

“Those are all good things,” Lan Zhan agreed with a small nod. “But not why I like it here.”

“Ha,” Wei Wuxian breathed out, not quite the laugh he intended. He rubbed his nose in thought, trying to hide his nerves. “Then why?”

Lan Zhan fixed him with a pointed look. And Wie Wuxian would have had to be a much stupider person to misunderstand it, but all the same, he wanted to be sure. “Is it…” He bit his lower lip. Lan Zhan’s hand twitched in his lap.

“It’s you, Wei Ying,” he finally said.

Who raised this young master to be so unbearably sincere? Wei Wuxian wanted to hide from the careful, unyielding trap of his gaze and found himself completely powerless to do it.

“It’s you for me too, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian replied. There. Wouldn’t A-Jie be proud of him? Except once he’d spoken, he found himself unable to stop. “I want to spend every day with you. Night hunt with you. Show you all the best places in Lotus Pier you haven’t seen yet. I want…” Blood rushed into his cheeks even as Lan Zhan’s ears began burning red. “Lan Zhan,” he finished weakly.

Feeling as though he should fling himself over the side of the boat and dunk his head into the water, Wei Wuxian instead craned his neck back, wallowing in the shocked silence, barely long enough for his spine to begin complaining, when strong hands grabbed him and hauled him backwards. Wei Ying yelped, once again nearly avoiding flailing wildly and sending them into the lake, but settled again almost immediately when Lan Zhan settled him against his chest.

“In Cloud Recesses, the disciplines are introduced in childhood in steps in order to avoid overwhelming young minds. By five, you are expected to know the first fifty. The month after we left Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan said, “I broke every rule I’d learned. I ran everywhere. I did not speak below a scream. At meals, my mother would ask me if I was still hungry and I would lie in order to receive an extra bowl of rice, eating well past the point of having become ill. The disciplines did guide my behaviour, but in the opposite direction of their intent.”

“Baby Lan Zhan, the terrible rebel,” Wei Wuxian laughed.

“Mn. I do not recall my exact reasoning, but I think I believed that if I misbehaved so terribly, they would not force me to go back to the place where my mother had often been denied me and made my Shufu deeply unhappy.”

We Wuxian quieted. It no longer seemed as funny.

“While my uncle grew frustrated, it did not take long for my mother to recognize my motivations. Every time I broke one of the disciplines, she brought me someplace quiet, put her arms around me and held me close, then told me that no matter how I behaved, she would always love me. It took another month before I settled. Sometimes, when I feel the urge to misbehave, I come somewhere quiet to recentre myself.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. The little moored boat on this far end of the pier was a very quiet spot. “Then, are you feeling the urge to misbehave now?”

Lan Zhan ran his hand up Wei Wuxian’s side. Shivers followed the trail of his fingers. “Yes.” His mouth went completely dry. Lan Zhan shifted his other hand beneath Wei Wuxian’s jaw and tilted it up. “Wei Ying?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian repeated. “Please.”

Lan Zhan dipped his head forward. His lips, slightly chapped, brushed against Wei Wuxian’s all too briefly before pressing forward again with more insistence. Wei Wuxian relaxed back against him, bonelessly happy, opening his mouth for Lan Zhan to explore.

“Stay,” he whispered when Lan Zhan finally withdrew.

“As long as you do,” Lan Zhan replied before kissing him again and again and again.

A week before the ceremony to officially instate him as Jiang-zongzhu, Jiang Cheng felt a black mood creeping in.

Whenever his temper started threatening to get the better of him—which, fuck you Wei Wuxian, was not his default setting—he knew of two very different strategies for dealing with it. The first, gentler way, was to seek out Uncle Wei. Wei Changze sat with him, and listened very carefully to everything Jiang Cheng said, offered an embrace which he did not require to be accepted in order to provide further comfort, then quietly talked him through how he was feeling. For the most part, he saved Wei Changze’s method for the very worst of his moods, when fury gripped his heart tight enough that he thought he’d die of it.

A much more reliable method for dealing with his shitty moods was to go to Auntie Xiao. Auntie Xiao’s way of dealing with it was to direct him to the training grounds and knock him about until he was too exhausted to care about anything rather than how much his body hurt. Auntie Xiao got it. Probably because of everyone in their family, her temper resembled his the closest. All the rest of them were either even-tempered (Uncle Wei, A-Jie) or too inclined to let negativity slough off like melting snow in a hot sun (Wei Wuxian). Auntie Xiao had years more experience controlling her temper, but he caught glimpses of it now and then. It made her easier to talk to when Jiang Cheng knew she sometimes felt the same way.

Wei Wuxian had gotten pretty good at employing the same strategy, honestly. And more and more, as they grew older, Jiang Cheng relied on him to step in.

For this turn of temper, however, given that Wei Wuxian was, if not the cause of it than at least the focal point around which it centred, Auntie Xiao needed to be the one to help.

She saw something in his face when he stepped into her receiving room. She nodded, grabbed up her sword, and abandoned whatever correspondence she’d been dealing with behind to follow Jiang Cheng out the door.

When she came to a standstill across from him he had a moment of intense vertigo; it never stopped surprising him that Auntie Xiao hadn’t grown as he did, even though it made no sense to think she would have. When he’d been a kid, she’d been larger than life—a booming presence who swept into Lotus Pier like a summertime storm. Now she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye.

“Would Cheng-er prefer to go until I yield, or he does?” Auntie Xiao asked.

Another thing which surprised him: he and Wei Wuxian now both possessed skills enough to win against her in a spar. Auntie Xiao was a formidable cultivator and a powerful warrior, but she’d stopped being able to effortlessly beat them sometime around Jiang Cheng’s fourteenth year. She never resented their talents, or seemed embarrassed by it.

(“My boys are two of the top ranked young masters in the world,” she’d merely grinned. Jiang Cheng ducked his head and refused to think too hard on why being referred to as one of her children pleased him so much despite it being horribly unfilial. “Why would I begrudge them all their hard work?”)

“Me,” he decided.

She nodded and ran her fingers along the length of her blade, activating a talisman to render it dull for their bout. Once he’d done the same, they took starting positions.

Jiang Cheng lunged first. It went quickly, mostly because Jiang Cheng had spent the majority of his life learning how to dodge all the dirty tricks she’d passed on to Wei Wuxian. He beat her three times in quick succession before she managed a hard blow under his arm which would have gone straight through into his heart had they not warded their blades.

“Yield?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

She nodded and they started again.

After six more bouts, ending with seven to him and three to her, Jiang Cheng slumped over to the nearest lotus pond and dropped down next to it. Xiao Jingfei joined him there a moment later, looking equally ruffled. She managed to sit with far more grace, though he figured she was doing it to set an example for him. He’d castigate himself for lack of decorum once his limbs regained full range of movement.

“Better?” she asked. He nodded. “Want to talk about it?”

He gave the question a moment of thought. “You’re leaving.”

“We need to. While there are many, many, many people who have been waiting for you to ascend to sect leader, there are more who will still try to direct everything my way because they’re either too lazy to change or think I can do it better than you can.” She scoffed. “Like I could.” His lips twitched, though he wasn’t sure if it was a smile or a frown. “You’ve been preparing for this since you were four years old, you’ll be fine. And Uncle Wei and I will come back. I promise. At least twice a year, if not more.”

“What if Ying-ge goes with you?” he asked quietly.

She blinked at him. “That would be very inconvenient for us, given we hadn’t planned to buy another tent, and there’s no room for him in the one we have. Not to mention him agreeing to take on the office of Head Disciple.” She smiled and patted the side of his head. “Ah, Cheng-er, is that what you’ve been worried about? You know your gege wouldn’t leave your side unless he absolutely had no other choice. I can’t even begin to imagine the circumstances that would force him away from Lotus Pier.”

“Maybe, before Lan Wangji. But now I don’t know.”

“Ah, yes, the dangerous precedent already set for men in the Wei family to be dazzled by talented rogue cultivators and take off into the wilderness.” He rolled his eyes and Auntie Xiao laughed. He hadn’t always felt this easy with her. He’d spent most of his childhood thinking she’d shown up to replace his mother, and while he had precious few memories of Yu Ziyuan, he did often hear an echo in her voice whenever someone else raised theirs. “But, Cheng-er, remember that we came back.”

“I don’t want him to have to come back. I don’t want him to leave at all!”

“We can’t control people’s hearts. But his will always be tied to Lotus Pier.” She patted the side of his head. “As will ours.”

Not quite appeased, but at the very least too sore to fixate on more than the surface meaning of her words, Jiang Cheng lay on the ground long after she smacked a quick kiss on his forehead and left him to turn her words over and over again in his mind.

A dangerous precedent… talented rogue cultivators… maybe the solution wasn’t in convincing Wei Wuxian not to go, but giving him yet one more reason to stay.

The tailors did an excellent job, and two mornings later—the day before the ceremony acknowledging him as Jiang-zongzhu—Jiang Cheng knocked on Lan Wangji’s door. He’d arranged for Wei Wuxian to take over archery lessons for the junior disciples to make sure he had something to do. And, to the best of his knowledge, Lan Wangji usually spent his mornings in personal reflection or what-the-fuck-ever he did when Wei Wuxian wasn’t around.

Lan Wangji answered the door with a puzzled look, downplayed as it was.

“I want you to officially join YunmengJiang,” Jiang Cheng stated without preamble. Lan Wangji’s face remained mostly neutral, though the slight tilt to his eyebrows suggested some form of surprise. If Jiang Cheng ever tried to emulate that level of stoicism, the family would think he was possessed. “You’re a talented cultivator, and we’d be proud to have you.”

Lan Wangji’s lips parted, a quick breath sliding out between them. His shoulders even relaxed a bit. Maybe Jiang Cheng hadn’t been the only one who’d been freaking the fuck out over whether Wei Wuxian would want to stay in Lotus Pier or go.

“My former ties to GusuLan may make such things inconvenient.”

“Who gives a shit? They say a goddamn thing and they can answer to me and Zidian.” He coughed. If he really wanted to seal the deal, he’d remind Lan Wangji that if he and Wei Wuxian ever wanted to get married than the whole thing would be a lot easier if they were both already members of the sect, but given he’d rather gouge his fucking eyes out than admit his brother was mature enough to do something like contemplate marriage, Lan Wangji would have to put that together by himself.

From the sudden soft look in his eyes, it seemed like he’d managed. Horrifying.

“We cannot overshadow your ascension,” Lan Wangji said.

“No. But here. Wear these. They speak for themselves.”

Jiang Cheng shoved the bundle of clothes into his arms. He’d tried to make concessions to Lan Wangji’s preferred style over the trappings of a traditional Jiang cultivator. Lan Wangji didn’t seem to have a particular love of purple, but whatever: A-Jie managed to make gauzy light fabrics with draped sleeves and turquoise accents work without looking out of place.

Lan Wangji bowed over them. “Thank you,” he paused, “Zongzhu.” Neither of them shuddered, which Jiang Cheng decided was definitely progress.

“No take backs. If you really want it, then you’re committed forever.” They both probably knew he wasn’t talking about his place in the sect.

“I do not enter into such things idly,” Lan Wangji said.

“Well. Good.”

He wondered if warning Lan Wangji off hurting Wei Wuxian counted as acknowledging this thing between them existed. Probably.

He’d let A-Jie do it.

The morning of his ceremony, Uncle Wei came to Jiang Cheng’s door first thing; earlier than he’d ever known the man to rise. He laid out Jiang Cheng’s heavy and painfully formal robes and helped him dress, even ordering his hair and expertly affixing the elaborate guan in place. According to the brass mirror, Jiang Cheng actually looked like the sect leader he was supposed to become.

“Wanyin,” Wei Changze said quietly as he put the finishing touches on place and offered up Sandu, “There’s something I need you to remember, always.”

“What is it?”

“Your family, including Auntie Xiao and I, will always be here when you need us. And we will come when you call, no matter where we are. When we walk away from Lotus Pier, we are not walking away from you.” He turned Jiang Cheng around and studied him from head to toe. “Your parents would be proud of you.”

“Really?”

Wei Changze’s smile turned sad. “They would have told you every single day.”

Somehow, with everything he’d heard of his parents in quickly hushed whispers or while shamelessly eavesdropping on conversations he wasn’t supposed to overhear, he knew Uncle Wei was lying. But he didn’t want to call him on it; he suspected the lie was more for Wei Changze than for himself.

He selfishly grabbed Wei Changze in a tight hug. After all, for all his mother and father had passed long ago, he’d never found himself denied parental love.

Jiang Cheng expected Wei Wuxian to spend most of the ceremony alternating between staring at Lan Wangji and snapping his attention back to Jiang Cheng, given that was pretty typical of him since Lan Wangji and his family had arrived at Lotus Pier. Shockingly, his brother’s gaze barely strayed. As Head Disciple, he stood at attention next to A-Jie, both of them carefully outfitted in finery honouring their place in his family. Jiang Cheng was pretty sure he saw both of them crying at one point, though neither of them stopped smiling for a single moment as he finally took his place as Jiang-zongzhu.

At the banquet later that night, Auntie Xiao pulled him quickly aside. “We’re going to sneak out this evening, but I wanted to make sure you and your brother and sister weren’t taken by surprise.” She tweaked a loose strand of his hair. “You have everything you need.” It wasn’t a question. He turned and looked back at where Wei Wuxian was (shamelessly and embarrassingly!) draped over Lan Wangji as he said something to A-Jie, seated on his other side. She threw her head back and laughed, Lan Xichen favouring her with a warm look.

“I do,” he agreed, smiling down at his feet.

She didn’t hug him—too many people around who would see it as undignified—but she pulled his hair one last time and then slipped out a side door. Wei Changze and Lan Qiren waited for her outside, both of them taking a last moment to bow before all the three of them disappeared together into the night.

“Cheng-di?”

He turned and found Wei Wuxian had slid into place behind him.

“I should make you call me zongzhu, now,” Jiang Cheng sniffed, crossing his arms.

“Hey, watch it,” Wei Wuxian said with a strict furrow to his brow, completely undermined by his pout. “You’re not too dignified for me to push you over and rub mud into your hair again.”

“You—!”

“A-Cheng, A-Xian.” They both paused when A-Jie came to join them. “It’s such a happy day, let’s not fight.” She linked her arms with theirs.

“Who's fighting?” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I’m just making sure my Head Disciple isn’t being too familiar.”

Wei Wuxian nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “Mn. Your Head Disciple will never overstep. Your big brother, on the other hand…”

“Well,” Jiang Cheng sniffed, hopefully hiding the spread of warmth he felt at the words. “I suppose my big brother can take a few liberties. As long as they don’t bring shame to our sect.” He looked meaningfully over his shoulder at Lan Wangji, who was watching them from his place across the hall.

“Ah, Chengcheng, don’t worry. I’m going to trick him into marrying me so all the liberties we take will be perfectly legitimate.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt. “Well, make sure you don’t trick him until your parents come back, or I’m going to be the one who has to hear about it.”

A-Jie hid a laugh behind her sleeve. “Perhaps, now that you’re Head Disciple and he’ll be joining the sect, the two of you could go night hunting together and you could demonstrate our way of doing things.”

Jiang Cheng almost protested before the realization that sending them off alone into the woods to express their feelings for one another, or whatever, would be far less painful than having to witness them doing so while they were in Lotus Pier. Especially since he wouldn’t risk accidentally walking in on them doing anything mortifying.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng’s first official piece of business as sect leader, which he'd hoped would carry enough weight to establish him as a voice of authority, came by way of a letter from Qinghe.

There had been countless requests and demands, obviously, but as Xiao Jingfei had warned most of them were appeals to decisions she'd already made in hopes he'd be stupid enough not to understand that such things would put YungmengJiang on its back foot. He sent most of those back to the originators suggesting that if they wished to revisit such agreements, his aunt would be returning to Lotus Pier for the winter in the capacity of trusted advisor and they could restate their case to her. Funnily, few of them seemed interested in following up. Those that did he made a mental note of.

No, the first real piece of business brought to his attention was about A-Jie, leaving him desperately thankful that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were off leading a handful of disciples in a night hunt so they didn't offend their guest by losing all sense of propriety in front of him.

"A marriage proposal?" Jiang Cheng repeated.

The Nie disciple, a tall man with twin sabres strapped to his back, bowed. "To our Second Young Master. Nie-gongzi and Nie-er-gongzi are waiting for my reply. If you are willing to discuss it, they would be happy to come and pay their respects in person.”

Jiang Cheng glanced towards his sister. To all outward appearances, she looked perfectly calm. Yet her eyes were fixed on Lan Xichen, wearing newly minted YunmengJiang sect robes. An entire conversation passed through the air between them, relying on nothing more than the weight of air between them.

“My sister—”

A-Jie turned her attention back Jiang Cheng’s way. The silent exchange of words now included him and he knew exactly what she wanted him to do through the merest twitch of her eyebrow.

“We’ll hear the proposal,” Jiang Cheng said. A-Jie inclined her head. “Please, gongzi, first take some tea and rest.”

“Thank you.”

A-Jie waved to one of the servants, who brought him from the hall.

Looking at A-Jie and Lan Xichen, having yet one more of those silent chats, he knew he’d missed something. Possibly something drastic.

“A-Jie, you don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want. No one is going to force you. As sect heir of YunmengJiang, you’re within your rights to refuse anyone.” He didn’t glare at Lan Xichen. Uncle Wei would be so proud of him. “Or accept them.”

“It’s a wise move politically,” she said. “We can at least hear them out.”

‘Wise’ she said. As though his sister didn’t deserve to marry someone who would make her incandescently happy—the way Lan Xichen seemed to make her—instead of someone who merely made for good politics.

The Nie brothers sent a reply the following day, promising to arrive within the fortnight.

Officially, it would be his first time receiving company as a clan head. Therefore, as soon as Wei Wuxian returned from his night hunt (and finished his ensuing tantrum over what A-Jie insisted was merely savvy politics, subdued by her insistence that if she found no insult in the offer than he couldn’t either) they all five of them put their heads together and managed to organize the most elaborate welcome Lotus Pier had seen in years. Auntie Xiao had received hundreds of distinguished guests in her time as acting sect leader. He didn’t remember a single one being welcomed with such fanfare.

“If she’s unhappy with it,” Jiang Cheng said, late at night before the two brothers arrived. “We’ll figure it out. He’s only the second son of Nie-zongzhu. Nothing is written in stone.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding like he actually believed it. They both knew the truth: if A-Jie decided to marry him, whether happily or not, they’d support her.

(Or figure out a way to drown Nie-er-gongzi in the river and make it look like an accident.)

“Strange, though,” Wei Wuxian continued. “I think my parents were headed towards Qinghe. I wonder if they heard anything about this?”

“They would’ve sent word,” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Wuxian still looked unconvinced.

The brothers arrived well before nightfall the following day. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure whether to find it flattering or worrisome that they’d made such haste.

Striding into the hall, a gentleman a few years older than Lan Xichen came to a halt before Jiang Cheng, waving a fan in front of him. He didn’t look like much, honestly. Despite the Nie sect’s reputation for martial dominance, he was slim of build, and carried a fan instead of a sword. And while he smiled fatuously, his eyes betrayed a wicked intelligence Jiang Cheng found unsettling.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he said with a courtly bow. “I am Nie Huaisang. I’d like to introduce my didi, Nie Mingjue.”

The man behind him, taller, broader and looking every inch the impressive Nie cultivator Jiang Cheng had expected his elder brother to be, bowed with his hands crossed over the hilt of his sabre.

Jiang Cheng cast a look at A-Jie and Lan Xichen and immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw the slight flush high in her cheeks and the red tips of Lan Xichen’s ears, both of them staring at her would-be suitor with slightly widened eyes. From his place next to them, Wei Wuxian was silently nudging Lan Wangji’s side with his elbow, already looking incandescently delighted over what Jiang Cheng could only call an absolutely horrifying turn of events.

Maybe, if he planned things very carefully, he might still be able to catch up with Uncle Wei, Auntie Xiao, and Lan Qiren.