Chapter Text
"I don't think you had anything to do with it," as always, Wei Wuxian speaks before he can think.
Jiang Cheng is frighteningly pale. His fingers are trembling and he looks seconds away from a qi deviation. He refuses to look Wei Wuxian in the eye. Somehow, all of this reminds Wei Wuxian of two decades ago; when Jiang Cheng was always stark-white and avoidant, when shijie was always quiet and mournful, and when Wei Wuxian was furious and silent.
But there was no Lan Sizhui in those days. He is stretched between them, head gently resting on Jiang Cheng's lap and feet laying on Wei Wuxian's. In this moment, his son reminds him of shijie who died stretched between them in Jiang Cheng's arms—just like this. By the sickly look on his face, Jiang Cheng agrees. But shijie's eyes had been unmoving to the bitter end and Sizhui's eyes are almost vibrating out of their sockets. So Wei Wuxian chooses to focus on his son clinging onto life in a way their elder sister never could.
"If I had moved faster," Jiang Cheng's voice is rough with disuse, and the dry skin on his lips cracks apart as he speaks.
"If you moved faster, it would have been his legs instead of his spiritual energy." Wei Wuxian cuts him off firmly.
"And maybe it would have been both of you dying," Jin Ling enters the fray sourly, his father's frown adorning his face. At his words, Jiang Cheng hisses.
"Nobody is dying, Jin Ling. Sizhui will be just fine."
Wei Wuxian thinks this is the first time Jiang Cheng has addressed his son by name. There’s no time to ponder on the what-ifs and could-have-beens when his son is in mortal danger, though. Jin Ling worries his lips with unspoken words of concern. Next to the young Jin sect leader is an unconscious Lan Jingyi, leaning against his shoulder. Jin Ling's eyes dart furiously between the two Lan juniors—both grievously hurt, both half-dead to the world. Only the Yunmeng-bred cultivators are conscious, Wei Wuxian realises with a pang.
He leans back with a sigh and studies his son's face. Lan Sizhui is adopted so he should not resemble either of his fathers. Somehow, he has the elegant slope of Lan Wangji's nose and a stubborn beauty mark located near his mouth, resembling Wei Wuxian's. When Lan Sizhui smiles, he looks like Wei Wuxian. When he frowns, he looks like Lan Wangji. And - for some startling reason - when he laughs, he sounds just like Jiang Cheng.
For all that he acts and looks (oh, Wei Wuxian remembers his heart breaking when he first returned and made eye contact with a 14-year-old reincarnate of his shidi, dressed in gold instead of purple, but this is not the time or place to reminisce in peace—) like Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling does not always resemble him. He has his mother's eyes and his father's temper. He smiles gently like his mother (these smiles are rarer than pure jade) and narrows his eyes as quickly as his father would. Sometimes he hums over his sect reports contemplatively, like how Qin Su would. When he laughs, he sounds like Jin Guangyao—but Wei Wuxian will die twice before he tells Jin Ling that.
Right now, there is no need to exercise such caution. Jin Ling looks like he has forsaken laughter eons ago.
"Jingyi's not waking up," he hisses, face rapidly reddening. Wei Wuxian is almost impressed by his sudden, sheer resemblance to a tomato.
"Well, you wouldn’t wake up either if you’d taken a nasty hit to the head," Jiang Cheng sounds fierce and reproaching but Wei Wuxian knows that fear is bleeding through his constant anger. Jin Ling must know too, for he hums contemplatively before rapidly moving. He stands up, golden robes glittering as they catch the sunlight, and ungracefully scoops Lan Jingyi into his arms.
"What the hell are you doing." Jiang Cheng deadpans. His hands twitch but he makes no move to rise. Instead, he adjusts his purple sleeve over Lan Sizhui who does not move at all.
"Getting help. See ya."
Jin Ling leaps onto his sword. Wei Wuxian swallows his yelps of fear as his nephew lands perfectly. The young boy smirks in triumph before speeding off into the distance. As this is happening, Lan Jingyi remains tranquil in his arms—a rare sight.
"I've never seen Jingyi so quiet before," he whispers to Jiang Cheng, who shoots him the dirtiest look known to man.
"Your son is dying."
"Aiyah, Jiang Cheng, don’t you ever listen to your elders? If my son was dying, I'd be the first to know. He’s fine. Shut up."
"YOU—"
Lan Sizhui disturbs their argument by shifting onto his side, unceremoniously kicking Wei Wuxian in the gut, and leaning against Jiang Cheng's sleeve like a kitten searching for its mother.
Jiang Cheng looks like New Year has come early. Wei Wuxian is prepared to die for a second time.
"Why does he kick so hard?!"
Jiang Cheng's lips tremble into a shaky smile. The colour is returning to his cheeks; he is now pink with triumph. Wei Wuxian huffs minutely.
"We haven't spoken since I—returned." he cuts himself off awkwardly, eyes rapidly darting everywhere and anywhere.
"We have not," Jiang Cheng replies, short and succinct as ever.
"We should talk."
"But we will not."
Wei Wuxian sighs. He knows that shijie is looking down at them, shaking her head in fond exasperation. He knows she is most likely thinking about how stubborn and avoidant they both are. He knows she is definitely worried about Sizhui, whose breathing has worsened since his vicious movement.
Lan Sizhui, his son, who lays against his angry uncle. Jiang Cheng, his brother, who is supporting his calm nephew.
"I'm always here for you." this time, he surprises himself too. Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow – as if to silently demand 'are you sure about that?' – but he does not speak. Sizhui moves one final time, clasping his hands across his chest. Disturbingly enough, he resembles a corpse. Of all people, Wei Wuxian should know.
Jiang Cheng's face does not whiten again. It remains tinged with pink and victory and joy — even when Sizhui's breathing stutters, even when Wei Wuxian almost passes out, and especially when Lan Wangji finally shows up to rescue them, with a gaudy, glittering, golden shadow.
"Hope Jingyi didn’t actually die. He's my most promising junior!" Wei Wuxian says to Lan Wangji, who somehow looks amused and upset at the same time. He patiently ignores the rest of the world around them – including Jin Ling's affronted "HEY!" – until Lan Wangji nods, almost imperceptibly, and takes their son to safety. To home.
The rescue party are a mixture of Lan, Jin, and Jiang disciples, led by Lan Wangji and Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian quietly watches the white-clad disciples methodically carry out their tasks as the golden disciples shimmer and argue. The purple-robed cultivators divide their time between laughing, arguing, and actually helping out.
He smiles. It's a nice feeling — to live in the moment. To enjoy what the world has given you, and will continue to present to you.
Wei Wuxian feels a tug on his sleeve. He does not turn to face his brother. He is the bravest person on the battlefield, but he will always be a coward when it comes to his loved ones.
And his brother knows. His brother knows him all too well.
"I always knew you would come back. All these years, I waited for you."
Jiang Cheng walks away and pretends that he is not crying. When a purple-clad young woman with laughing eyes will confront him over his wet eyelashes, he will stubbornly insist that dust settled into his eyes.
Wei Wuxian plasters a smile on his face, even though he cannot begin to describe the emotions welling up inside of him. He makes accidental eye contact with Jin Ling, who shoots him a look of strong concern. In that moment, Jin Ling's resemblance to his mother is overpowering.
He knows. Wei Wuxian knows that shijie is watching over them. Jiang Cheng knows that she is laughing at their emotional constipation.
He closes his eyes.
He wishes his sister was here. He prays his brother will remain by his side forever. He hopes his nephew will thrive. It is all he can do: wish, pray, and hope. It is all he has left to offer the world.
I’ve waited here for you. Everlong.