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"Where is Wei Wuxian?" Jiang Cheng clenched his hand, feeling Zidian tremble with his anger.
"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a man in the midst of a war, Second Young Master Lan? It's easier to find a dead one!" Jiang Cheng's words dripped with venom as he confronted Lan Wangji, who stood there impassively, seemingly unaffected.
"If Wei Wuxian were to appear, it would not go unnoticed, especially to someone as observant as you!" Jiang Cheng spat, leaving Lan Wangji frozen in his tracks. He had no patience for empty conversations with someone who seemed indifferent to it all.
Hadn't they searched? Hadn't the surviving disciples, who had fortuitously been out hunting that night, scoured Lotus Pier and risked their lives in search of answers? The Wens boasted about the corpses of Jiang Cheng's parents, the chief and his wife, but said nothing about Yunmeng, Jiang's first disciple.
In rare moments of respite, Jiang Cheng tossed and turned, plagued by thoughts of where his shixiong might have gone and trying to recollect when they had been separated.
They had climbed up to the roof and witnessed the invaders taking over, like vultures descending upon a fallen tiger. The images of his parents' mutilated bodies flashed before Jiang Cheng's eyes once again, and he forcefully pushed the memories away—no need to invite the surge of anger in the midst of battle. They slipped... yes, they had fallen off the roof like discarded sacks—how could they not have been seen at that moment?—and then they ran, their feet carrying them without feeling. Intuition whispered that Wei Wuxian lay buried somewhere, but all memory revealed was the darkness of a new moon.
Jiang Cheng plunged into battle. By the third enemy, he sensed the peculiarity, and by the fifth, it became evident to his comrades as well.
Jiang Cheng was invincible. Quite literally—attacks from his enemies fail to reach him. Swords glide and bounce off, spiritual assaults distort—no one can lay a hand on the young leader of the Jiang clan. Allies kept their distance, wary of getting caught in the crossfire; Jiang Cheng was unharmed in his ghostly armor.
A mix of annoyance and satisfaction filled Jiang Cheng's heart as he unsheathed his sword and charged into the heart of the fray.
"A-Cheng, please don't do that..."
His sister appeared even paler than before, whether from the mourning attire or fear, or perhaps a combination of both.
"Sister, do you see any scratch on me?"
"No, but..."
"What do you expect me to do?" Jiang Cheng's fingers cracked with tension. "I have the perfect opportunity for revenge, and you suggest I stand idly by." "Don't rush into battle, A-Cheng. You're all I have left." "Our parents cry out for vengeance. Our ancestral home is soaked in blood. How can I do nothing?" Jiang Cheng raised his hands to his face, turning his palms toward himself, examining his own skin with a mixture of wild satisfaction. "You know, sister, I believe it's their will—the will of all those who perished that night. They want me to avenge them, to protect me on this path."
Yanli fumbled with the cups of tea on the tray, her confusion evident.
"Is that even possible? I've never heard of such a thing."
"Whatever!" The young man emptied his cup of tea in one swift motion, as if swallowing a strong drink. "Whatever it may be, it empowers me in battle. I don't have much of a choice." Jiang Yanli gently placed her palm on his, but then froze. She stroked his fingers, her touch grazing Zidian, while her gaze seemed lost in introspection, as if desperately trying to recall something.
"You know, A-Cheng, I think you're right. It feels like... Like I've touched something familiar."
"Aren't I familiar to you?"
"That's not what I mean," she shook her head. "It's hard to explain."
"I'm going to bed. We'll go out again tomorrow."
***
Battle.
No news.
Scouting.
No one saw.
Ambush.
No one heard.
Breaking siege.
No one knows.
One year, two years, three.
Nothing.
***
The walls of the conquered Nevernight were aglow with the flickering tongues of victorious fires. After years of war and countless lives lost, it was finally over. Amidst the crowd, Jiang Cheng scanned for someone who shared his somber disposition amidst the cries and celebrations. His gaze fell upon the weary and mournful Lan Xichen—his mysterious informant had perished, taking Wen Ruohan with him to Diyu, and Nie Mingjue, the Head of the Nie sect, was channeling all remaining forces of the Healing Corps to keep himself tethered to this world. Approaching Lan Xichen was a pale figure—the composed and mature Lan Wangji—offering his brother a water.
He was precisely what Jiang Cheng needed.
The leader of the Jiang clan invited the Second Young Master Lan for a private conversation. It turned out that Lan Wangji had also been tirelessly searching for Wei Wuxian all these years. His search extended beyond the living, delving into the realm of the deceased, yet Wei Wuxian had eluded him. However, Lan Wangji had a hunch.
"I request the presence of the Jiang clan leader beside me during the performance of 'The Inquiry.'"
Countless threads had slipped through their grasp over the years, but let this one, as substantial as a spider's silk, lead them somewhere.
The two cultivators retreated to a quiet spot and faced each other. With a wave of Lan Wangji's hand, the guqin rose and obediently settled before him. His fingers rested upon the strings, executing bone-chilling movements, only to abruptly freeze. It was now a moment of either response or silence—a moment that had persisted for many months. Yearning for an answer, Lan Wangji attempted to play the strings again, but this time, they emitted no sound, only tremors—yet it was enough.
"Touch the body of the guqin, Jiang clan leader."
Filled with anticipation and a profound sense of unease, Jiang Cheng pressed his hand against the lacquered wood, avoiding the strings. Lan Wangji repeated his request, and this time the strings responded with unbearable clarity:
"We are here."
Lan Wangji translated the response, and the two cultivators were taken aback by the use of the plural. Once again, fingers plucked at the strings.
"I have called for Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying. Who else responds?"
"We are called Zidian."
Zidian, an inanimate object, how could it respond? Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow, staring at the ring in astonishment. Lan Wangji, however, was more concerned about the second component of "we."
"Zidian and Wei Wuxian are both present?"
"They are."
"Who answer me?"
"We answer you."
Never before had Jiang Cheng encountered the concept of a soul melding with a spiritual weapon. A cultivator's sword possessed a soul, which justified their superior status over spiritual weapons. In a sense, it was unfair—a formidable spiritual weapon could perform just as admirably as an ordinary sword, yet while a spiritual weapon remained optional for a cultivator, a sword was deemed essential. The notion of swords lacking souls was a contentious issue, but at this moment, Lan Wangji stood as the first cultivator to communicate with the soul of a spiritual weapon—a human soul fused with the core of a spiritual weapon—the soul of Wei Ying.
"Wei Ying."
"We are here."
It seemed that communication with both of them was necessary. Jiang Cheng already knew what question would come next, and he braced himself for the answer. Whom else should he seek revenge upon?
"How did you die?"
"The man was killed."
"How was he killed?"
"He was choked."
"Who killed him?"
The strings fell silent. Jiang Cheng felt a bewildering sensation as the Zidian on his finger oscillated between hot and cold, as if the flow of qi within had turned tumultuous.
"Wei Ying."
Silence.
"Zidian."
The strings quivered erratically, akin to a restless child attempting to grasp as many strings as possible. It was contact, but not an answer.
"They seem unwilling to respond to the question," Jiang Cheng muttered aloud. "What's so difficult about naming the killer?" - "He said 'choked...'"
A sudden recollection flashed across his mind. It was a clear, moonlit night in Nevernight City, yet Jiang Cheng could distinctly feel raindrops pelting his face, wet strands sticking to his forehead. Bending down to shield his eyes from the streaming water, he collided with glazed, gray eyes. Stunned, Jiang Cheng met the lifeless gaze of Wei Wuxian's face, devoid of all expression, staring into eternity. His fingers seemed to tighten around Shixiong's neck, and a hazy sidelong glance captured the hand that had been pushed aside—Wei Wuxian's attempt to either slap or touch his sworn brother's cheek.
The strings quivered briefly, their delicate vibrations filling the air.
"You remembered," Lan Wangji translated, his confusion evident. Jiang Cheng sprang to his feet, his comrade-in-arms looking at him with a desperate bewilderment - oh, curse him, curse him with every fiber of his being!
Initially, Jiang Cheng tried to maintain a low profile, but by his third breath, he abandoned all pretense. His legs propelled him forward, his heart tearing apart, and his stomach yearning to empty its contents. Jiang Cheng fervently prayed that the heavens would withhold their rain - he was certain that once the drops touched his clothes, memories of something that should have never transpired would flood his mind.
The heavens heard his plea, but pity was an unknown concept to them. In his reckless dash, Jiang Cheng's head became ensnared in a tree root, plunging him into a damp ravine. It was a place where only a chicken could drown, yet the moisture and the atmosphere worked in unison, transforming the surroundings before his eyes.
No longer was it the undergrowth near Nevernight City; instead, it morphed into a wild, swampy thicket near Lotus Pier. The mingled scents of burning, blood, blooming lilies, and irises invaded his senses, accompanied by intermittent wheezing that echoed in his ears. His hands clenched tightly, as if grasping for something, for someone. Fingers slid down Jiang Cheng's cheek, and the exhausted hand of the one he clung to desperately fell to the water-soaked ground. Once more, he beheld the lifeless face of the person he once considered his brother, understanding why the answer to Guqin's question remained elusive.
The echoes of his own screams reverberated in Jiang Cheng's ears, senseless demands and accusations shouted into the face of the one he choked, his grip tightening with escalating rage. Jiang Cheng felt himself falling backward, sinking into the mud.
"Wei Wuxian...?"
The lifeless body, locked in a fatal struggle, remained motionless.
"Wei Wuxian, enough of these jests! Rise!" Jiang Cheng violently shook the limp form, rain cascading onto Wei Wuxian's face, yet he did not so much as blink. No ordinary human could withstand the rain's assault on their open eyes for such a prolonged period.
The instinct to flee surged within Jiang Cheng, interwoven with a distant echo. His stomach quivered with unease: "Wens." He raced forward with the swiftness of a startled rabbit, pausing only to collapse into the shelter of bushes, seeking a few hours of restless sleep. No denizen of Meishan Yu would have believed that Young Master Jiang had traversed such a distance in haste, had he not appeared akin to a disheveled vagabond on the brink of peril. Was he not the one who had once fled from Mushi Cave, journeying back home over the span of a week?
In that moment, a question sprouted forth: "Where is Wei Wuxian?"
The memory obliterated all else. Between his escape from Lotus Pier and his arrival at Grandmother Yu's abode, only flickering glimpses of trees and an unending surge of animalistic terror remained imprinted in Jiang Cheng's consciousness.
***
"How did this happen?" asked Jiang Cheng, addressing Zidian during his meditation. The answer made his stomach clench with pain: "We were trying to protect Jiang Cheng". Of course, he hadn't forgotten his mother's last words, but jeez, no one, absolutely no one, could accuse Wei Ying of breaking his oath after the life of the one he had sworn to protect was taken.
"How do you find peace?"
Zidian did not understand the question and replied in a crackling voice:
"We want to protect Jiang Cheng."
Jiang Cheng forced himself to find the ravine he had seen in his dreams and in reality. It was naive to hope that the body surrounded by wild beasts would be at least in some state of preservation, but Jiang Cheng still found the skull and a few large bones among the flowers and decaying clothes, and with trembling hands, wrapped them in a white cloth. Zidian remained indifferent to the find.
"If I bury you as I should," the young man's throat tightened, and it took him a few moments to continue, "will you go on?"
The answer was murderously preternatural:
"We want to protect Jiang Cheng."
Jiang Cheng dug his fingers into the clay soil and howled, not allowing himself to scream - Lotus Pier is not that far away.
***
Yanli, the color barely returning to her face after her victory, glided back across the dock as a pale shadow. The polite mourning for the deceased head of Nie replaced the real mourning for his newly named brother. Yanli lit fresh incense in front of Wei Ying's memorial tablet in the hastily cleaned Ancestral Temple. Jiang Cheng stretched nervously in a corner, afraid to look away from his sister's pale face. Zidian gently warmed his finger, but such concern only made him feel worse.
"A-Cheng," Yanli said softly to her brother, mindlessly watching the curls of smoke. "I must have misunderstood or misheard, but how did this happen?"
Jiang Cheng literally froze, not knowing how to answer. Cold sweat ran down his back, and the moment he dared to open his mouth, the good sister helped him:
"Must be an arrow, huh? In the back. He was hit..."
"He had my back," Jiang Cheng supported her lie. "I didn't see him move, I ran without looking back..."
After all, Yanli is the only one he has left. What would his sister do if she found out the truth? Would she ever be able to hold his hand again, knowing that with those very hands...
The smoke from the incense rose to the ceiling of the room. Zidian did nothing in response to the lie.
***
Lan Wangji showed up, of course. Jiang Cheng had been waiting for his visit since the day he announced the discovery of the remains of the first disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang sect. At the welcome tea ceremony, Jiang Cheng couldn't help but feel the visitor's fierce gaze. Zidian reassured him again.
"Head of Jiang intends to perform some kind of ritual?" Lan Wanji took the tea without taking his eyes off Jiang Cheng's face.
"I don't intend to," Jiang Cheng took a sip of tea and felt Jidian's face warm lovingly. Under the condemning look in the eyes of the venerable Hanguang Jun, good riddance to him, Jiang Cheng continued: "I know of no way to separate the human soul from the core of the spiritual weapon."
Of course, his restless shixiong had to be the first in history even in postmortem.
"Even more so if the soul of the deceased does not want to do it."
Lan Wanji's face was still impassive, but Jiang Cheng, who was used to watching him on the battlefield, could see the doubt and desire to resist in his fellow soldier's eyes.
"This is my spiritual weapon," he scolded. "Wei Wuxian was a disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang sect, our first disciple. His soul was free to decide where to go and if he wanted to continue his work for the good of the sect..."
"He is not yours, not yours," the undertone of his words seeped out uncontrollably like spilled oil in a bag.
"Will Head of Jiang inform the adepts of the first disciple's unsurpassed loyalty?"
"Head of Jiang will do as he pleases," Jiang Cheng growled in a low voice, meeting Lan Wangji's gaze firmly. "The actions of outsiders will be regarded by the Head of Jiang as interference in the internal affairs of the Sect."
If Wei Ying wanted peace, he would have said so at the Inquiry.
If Wei Ying wanted freedom, he would have stayed away from the core of the spiritual weapons.
Jiang Cheng allowed his guest to remember his comrade in the Ancestral Temple. As he lit the incense, he made it clear to Lan Wangji that this was the first and last time. Zidian trembled with joy. Jiang Cheng felt nauseous.
***
Everyone knew that the head of Jiang was invulnerable. Maybe it was the posthumous wish of the deceased residents of Lotus Pier, maybe it was the protection of his parents, maybe it was the blessing of the heavenly beings who resented injustice... There are those who say that the soul of his deceased brother is protecting Jiang's head so that he will never even prick a finger. Few believed them - could a soul do such a thing? Everyone wondered if this invulnerability would be passed on to the heir. Only the sect's grim leader knew the answer for certain.
It had been that way for decades. The Yunmeng Jiang Sect prospered. When one of Jiang's greatest minds felt that his time in this world was coming to an end, he squeezed Zidian in his trembling palm and mentally said: "Wei Wuxian, you have fulfilled your oath. Go away." The ring seemed to be empty, the metal itself looked old and shabby, as if it had been hundreds of years old. No one would ever be able to wear it again - it would crumble to dust. His ghost armor was gone.
Jiang Cheng nodded his gray-haired head contentedly and closed his eyes, feeling the coldness of Diyu and the impending trial for his soul with his entire body.
Finally.