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Madame Jin looked tired, in a way that spoke of many late nights and dealing with the upper echelon of cultivator society. Understandable, considering the fallout of the late Jin-zhongzhu’s untimely demise, and the rumours surrounding it. But here, sitting in his a-niang’s favourite pavilion (and now his, after he had spent hours repairing it), she simply looked…old. Exhausted.
“Jiang-zhongzhu is most generous for allowing this one to visit on such short notice.” Madame Jin demurred over a cup of the lotus leaf tea, inhaling the fragrance, before letting out a slow sigh. Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
“Jin-furen works hard; the shijie of my a-niang is always welcome at Lotus Pier.” Madame Jin huffed, eyeing him over the rim of her cup.
“I do seem to recall you detested it when I visited your mother when you were younger.”
Jiang Cheng thought back to those visits, when his mother’s tongue was a bit sharper, echoed by Madame Jin’s criticisms on everything, ranging from manners to dress to the company he kept and the endless bad mouthing of his shixiong, and decided that discretion might be better.
“Times change.” He stated. He was more than happy to argue with the other Sect Leaders at any given time, considering how stupid some of them were, but this was Jin-furen, his niang’s oldest friend, her shijie. He wouldn’t be winning any arguments at all.
“This is true. We have both lost much over the past years. One might say too much.”
There was a loaded statement, one he didn’t feel like responding to at all. He sipped his tea. Ah, fuck, he’d burnt it slightly again. Madame Jin noticed his slight grimace, and put down her cup.
“Your servants should be fired for burning the tea.” Jiang Cheng met her gaze squarely.
“I can’t fire myself, Jin-furen. The fault in the tea is my own.”
“Ah.” Madame Jin rolled her eyes. “I’d forgotten about this quirk of the Jiang. You prepare your own food, and serve guests tea that you made yourself. The work of servants is not fit for a Sect Leader.”
This time, Jiang Cheng bit back a sharp retort. Hours and hours of doing hard labour while rebuilding his sect, taking orders from craftsmen old enough to be his grandmother, learning from the servants how to prepare basic food when they didn’t have enough people to cook, his shijie teaching him to brew tea and detect poisons in it because all the servants trained in that had been…
“Yunmeng Jiang has never been afraid of hard work.” Unlike those prissy useless cultivators in Jin tower, who didn’t even know how to fucking find food while on a night hunt. God, the last time his disciples had teamed up with the Jin, they had immediately come back and vowed not to do it again. Apparently, one of the Jin senior disciples had screamed when Chen Long gutted a fish in front of them.
“Yunmeng Jiang has always been more content to get their hands dirty than rely on politics.”
Fucking hell, Madame Jin really wasn’t pulling her punches. If that wasn’t a direct stab to the last conference, where Jiang Cheng had gone to kill things after a very frustrating day of people not doing anything useful, then he’d swallow Zidian while it was still lit. Did he solve the yao problem that the Su Sect had been bitching about? Yes. Did it shut them up? Regrettably, no. It had dragged on the conference for another day while they debated about whether he should be thanked or censured. In the end, Jiang Cheng had rolled his eyes and left with a parting shot of “next time I’ll let you suffer”. Not his finest moment.
“Lanling Jin has always relied too much on politics to get things done.” There. He could learn. Jiang Mei could go kiss a restless bride in Nightless City.
Madame Jin scoffed, and sipped at her tea again, and oh, that had struck a nerve. Shit.
“It’s politics that allowed me this visit.” Madame Jin admitted, and fucking hell, Jiang Cheng really had put his foot in his mouth this time. Her husband had died, the mourning period had only just passed (the socially acceptable one anyway) and now Jin Guangyao and Qin Su were transitioning into stewardship until Jin Ling came of age, because Lanling Jin would not accept a woman in charge. Undeterred by his silence, Madame Jin continued.
“Now that I no longer hold a formal position in the Sect, I am expected to…”
“Yímā.” Jiang Cheng interrupted, forgoing propriety, and leaning over the table, placing the hand the held Zidian over her own callused one. “No matter your status in the Jin Sect, you are still Jin Ling’s nainai, and a-niang’s sworn sister. You are welcome in Lotus Pier regardless.” Madame Jin blinked, eyeing Zidian, before patting his hand, the way she used to when he was little and he’d offer her lotus seed cakes and she’d wipe his sticky hands and smile at him. She smiled at him now, but it was less the indulgent grin she gave him and more a tired tilt of her lips.
“A-Cheng, ah, A-Cheng, son of my sister’s heart. You are too much like my Ziyuan, sometimes it hurts.”
“Yímā, I…”
“Hush, A-Cheng. Ziyuan would be proud of the man you grew up to be, regardless of her personal feelings regarding the whole…Jiang Fengmian issue. You have brought prosperity to Lotus Pier, have rebuilt the Jiang Sect with your own hands. Even that is an achievement that your niang would have found no fault in.” She sighed, eyes moving away from his face to look out across the lake. The sun was setting, the golden hour long past but the sky painted in pinks and the oranges of the jǐn lǐ*.
“I…”
“Sometimes I look at you and I see her instead.” Jin-furen uttered quietly. “Sometimes when I hear the crack of Zidian I turn around and expect to see her wielding it. When you call out the forms, it’s in her cadences, on her timing. When you are irritated, it’s the same clipped syllables. You are of Meishan Yu just as much as you are of Yunmeng Jiang; something your father forgot often.”
“Yímā…”
“Yet you are Jiang. Born from the water, and from water you will return.” Jin-furen took a sip of her tea, and closed her eyes.
“I am old, A-Cheng. I have seen so much happen in my lifetime; the rise of a tyrant, a war to defeat him, the sacrifice of a martyr, the scapegoat framed. I have lived through my husband’s infidelity and indecision, only to see him rise as a dictator with a shadow puppeteer pulling the strings while smiling. I have watched as my own pride slowly destroyed my family, buried my only son and his wife, and my shimei. Perhaps, now, that my husband has finally died, I can find peace.”
Jiang Cheng sat there, words caught in his throat. In front of them, the sun dipped below the lake, and the lanterns along the pavilion ignited themselves. Madame Jin drained her cup, and stood. Jiang Cheng scrambled to his feet less gracefully, one leg long gone numb, and bowed. Hands caught at his arms, and raised him up, Madame Jin raising her eyebrows.
“You are Sect Leader Jiang Wanyin, Sandu Shengshou of the Yunmeng Jiang. You are Jiang Cheng, of Meishan Yu. You bow to no one.”
“Yes, Yímā.” Jiang Cheng managed to get out. Madame Jin sighed, and patted his cheek once more.
“I will take my leave. I am expected back in the Jinlintai to assist Qin Su in the transition. Jin Ling will no doubt be harassing his servants in the morning.”
“I meant what I said, Yímā.” Jiang Cheng met her eyes, and squared his shoulders. “You will always be welcome in Lotus Pier.” Madame Jin bowed.
“This one thanks Sect Leader Jiang for the tea, and for the offer. Till we meet again.”
Jiang Cheng watched her walk off towards the pier, one of his Spiders melting out of the shadows to escort her out of Lotus Pier proper. Behind him, the moon rose over the lake, and the tea still steamed in the pot.
It had sounded suspiciously like a final goodbye.
.
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One week later
“Jiang-zhongzhu, a missive from Lanling.” Jiang Xinyu, his latest…ward, paused in the doorway, waiting permission to enter. Jiang Cheng raised his gaze from his latest scathing missive to He Sect regarding a restless bride that had halfway decimated a trade caravan headed towards Lotus Pier, and sighed.
“Is it urgent?”
“Jiang-shixiong…” Jiang Xinyu hesitated, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he did so. Jiang Cheng sat up straight at that, giving his ward his full attention. “It’s direct from Jin-furen…I mean, Lady Qin Su. She said…she said that you’d want to know.”
Jin-furen? Qin Su was Jin-furen? A sinking feeling started deep in his gut, soaking into his golden core.
“Jin-furen, she…”
“The late Jin-furen…passed in her sleep.” Jiang Xinyu began, frown twisting his face. “That’s the official story. But Qin Su, the new Jin-furen…bade Lian-shixiong with the missive and a small box that the late Jin-furen had entrusted her, and dismissed him from his post with Jin Ling…I mean Jin Rulan. He said…” Jiang Cheng held up a hand and gestured for the missive to be put on his desk.
“Where is Lian Bai?”
“Resting, Jiang-zhongzhu. He flew non-stop from Lanling. Jin Rulan told him to leave immediately, as soon as the news broke. He also said…”
“My nephew said what, Jiang Xinyu.” Jiang Xinyu swallowed and clenched his fists, face going through several different emotions before settling on neutrality.
“He said that Lian-shixiong need not return, Jiang-zhongzhu. That was a direct quote.”
Jiang Cheng leaned back, narrowing his eyes. It was most unlike his A-Ling to send away anyone from Lotus Pier, especially one of the guards that had been with him since childhood, one of his closest friends. The one point of reliability in that stupid golden tower, except for his nainai, but if Jin-furen was dead; murdered most likely, then…
“Clever A-Ling.” He muttered. “You also realized what would happen to anyone who didn’t listen to Jin Guangyao.”
He had heard rumours, from one of his Spiders, that Jin Guangyao was beginning to clean house; several sleeper agents had disappeared (including one of Jin Ling’s tutors, which was concerning), and there had been a sudden exodus of staff over the span of one week last season.
“Jiang-zhongzhu?”
“Tell Lian Bai to rest, I’ll speak with him in the morning. Do not tell anyone not Jiang of your message.” Jiang Cheng ordered. Jiang Xinyu nodded, before pausing.
“Lian-shixiong…might need some time, zhonghu.” He started, hesitant. “He is…distressed.”
Yes, Jiang Cheng could see how that would go. Lian Bai, who joined after the war ended as a junior disciple (an orphan, one of the many, many children who flocked to the Pier), whom Jin Lin gladly clung to as a child, suddenly told to leave without a good reason.
“I will speak with him in the morning.” Jiang Cheng nodded. “Then he will have two weeks to rest. No duties, only morning practise.”
“Yes, Jiang-zhongzhu.” Jiang Xinyu bowed, and turned to leave, no doubt to inform his shixiong of his meeting.
“Jiang Xinyu.” Jiang Cheng called, and Jiang Xinyu paused in the doorway, tilting his head.
“Jiang-zhongzhu?” Jiang Cheng swallowed, a lump sitting in his throat.
“Thank you. For telling me personally.” Jiang Xinyu flushed and gave a jerky bow, the tips of his ears turning read.
“It’s no problem…Wanyin-gege.” Jiang Xinyu turned bright red, and spun around, face smacking into the doorframe so hard that he all but bounced off, before he wrenched the door open and fled into the cool night, purple robes snapping about his heels. Jiang Cheng blinked, hand frozen over the small box that had been placed on his desk and cheeks getting hotter.
Wanyin-gege.
The term of endearment bounced around his head, the familiarity of it all making his heart race and his head spin. He hadn’t heard any familial terms, hadn’t been addressed by any (A-Ling didn’t count, he’d all but raised the brat as his own), not even a ‘Jiang-xiong’ from Nie Huiasang last time they spoke or his most senior disciples, but that phrase….
He shook his head, pushing it aside to deal with later. Much later. In his quarters, so he doesn’t look like an idiot walking back to them. His lips twitched into a smile, replaying Jiang Xinyu slamming into the doorframe, before he turned his attention to the small box sitting in front of him. He remembered seeing it once before, had it belonged to his mother? Perhaps part of a matching set, he recalled one of his (many) cousins mentioning that it was given to those of Meishan Yu when they married out. But, of course he couldn’t know for sure. Since he wasn’t married, or from Meishan Yu. The crescent moons along the side were cast in silver, inlaid with tourmaline and surrounded by clouds made form white jade. The Sect Leader who’d had to rebuild from the ground up, from selling his jiejie’s jewellery and renegotiating trade deals every year priced the box at one storehouse (full of rice) and half the disciple quarters, minus the bedding.
Shaking his head, dispelling the thoughts, he opened the box and picked up the letter inside, eyeing the gold bracelet inside as he unfolded it.
.
Jiang Wanyin,
‘This is the sister to Zidian, Ziyu. May you find a better wielder for her than I was. Maybe a wife or daughter of yours; reconsider going back to the matchmaker.’
Jiang Cheng exhaled shakily, eyes itching and sore already. Zidian, on his hand, sparked a few times in response to his growing distress, and he took several deep breaths. The last time he’d had an…emotional episode, he’d burnt several important letters. The frustration of having to rewrite them all had encouraged him not to do it again.
‘I am proud, and Ziyuan would be proud too, of the man you have become. Please, take care of the only living reminder of my son and your jiejie, make sure he cleans his sword properly. Don’t let Jin Guangyao trick you into giving up that trade route leading to Caiyi town either. Don’t trust him with anything. Not even your nephew.
Stay strong.
Gui Chunhua
Jin-furen.’
Ah. Ah fuck.
Taking a deep breath, feeling Zidian spark and fizzle, he placed the letter on his desk, moving the rest of the paperwork to the side, least it catch fire. Now that he looked at it, he did recognize the bracelet; it had been a staple of Jin-furen’s wardrobe for as long as he’d known her. There was also a vague memory of him chewing on it as a toddler and his niang being horrified while Yímā laughed and Jin Zixuan demanded attention, but he wasn’t sure if that was a dream or an actual memory. Gently, he removed it from the box, turning it over in his fingers. It was simple in design, yet elegant; a slender gold circle with a dragon’s head swallowing a pearl, the tail of the dragon wrapped around the bracelet itself. The dragon’s eyes seemed to stare at him, judging him, and he swallowed, throat unusually tight.
“I hope you meet a-niang, Yímā.” He murmured, pressing the bracelet between his hands and bowing his head. “I hope you terrorize a-die.” Unfilial? Probably. But Yímā deserved it, after being married to Jin Guangshan for so long. Would the Jin let him pay his respects, or should he erect a small name tablet for her here, in her birthname? It didn’t matter, in the end. Everyone would leave.
Gently, he placed the bracelet back into the box, and covered it with the letter. Standing, he walked over to the wall relief carved in the image of a water dragon holding a pearl. Pressing on the pearl and using some qi to cycle through the locking mechanisms, a small section of floor popped up. Levering up the board, he placed the box next to the dizi that sat there, the dark wood polished and shiny and covered in teeth marks near the end. Letting his gaze linger a while more, he took a deep breath, hoping the tightness in his chest would ease.
It didn’t.
He replaced the floor board and stood on it, hearing it click back into place. His chest was still tight. Forcing himself to step away from the cache, he walked back to his desk to pick up his sword, and stepped outside, the glare of the sun reflecting off the water and directly into his eyes. That’s why they were watering. No other reason.
No other reason at all.
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The day had started out wonderfully. He’d finished all his work the day prior, as well as some extra, small annoying things (correspondence from He, Yao and Su Sects complaining about something), so he actually got to sleep. No nightmares for once, so he woke up, refreshed and ready to go! Morning practise was perfect; everyone was focused and enjoying themselves, and he allowed himself from quick banter with his senior disciples while duelling four of them. Dealt with some trade issues that were easily sorted, then decided to spend his, surprisingly ample amount of spare time sparring with the Spiders.
Then, of course, the good feeling ended.
“JIANG-ZHONGZHU!!”
The shout came from the front gates, and Jiang Cheng stopped mid-swing, Zidian retracting back into the ring before he could land a hit on his training partner, Jiang Mei. His sister’s old Spider immediately spun towards the shout, sword ready.
“That was Xu-shidi.” She stated, eyes narrowed. Jiang Cheng frowned.
“He wasn’t on gate duty today.”
“Western shores, zhongzhu. Him and Lei-shimei.” Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw, and set off at a run towards the gates, Jiang Mei hot on his heels. The wards pinged once, twice, thrice; the warning system for injured cultivators, and distantly, he could hear Xu-shidi’s clarity bell ringing, echoing across the lake and through the walkways, as he and Jiang Mei burst onto the Pier, swords at the ready. The wards screeched off the newcomers, white robes stained with red and more than a few forehead ribbons askew. Gusu Lan disciples.
He looked closer, noting the elaborate embroidery on the tallest one, then at the smaller ones….oh shit. Junior disciples. Lan junior disciples, which meant…
The tallest figure lifted his head, and Jiang Cheng was equal parts relieved that it wasn’t Lan Wangji and shocked that it was Lan Xichen who looked like he’d been pounded by the laundrywomen.
“Lan-zhongzhu.” Jiang Cheng offered a nod of his head, looking at the unusually ruffled and beaten Lan Xichen, eyes narrow as the large bloodstain he could spot spreading on the side, marring the pristine robes.
“You look like shit.” It was his house, he’d say what he liked. Also, he’d gotten drunk while younger in the presence of both Lan-zhongzhu and Chifeng-zun, during the war. They’d heard him say a lot worse. There was one Lan disciple, however, who clearly had not heard any swearing before, judging by his stunned gasp. There was a rule about that, right? Rule 355 or something.
“As concise as ever, Sandu Shengshou. Juniors, this is Jiang-zhongzhu, Jiang Wanyin.” Jiang Cheng inclined his head to the small horde of Lan juniors, eyes raking over the injuries and blood covered robes. Bad night hunt then, and if Lan Xichen struggled, then these kids hadn’t stood a chance.
“Oh! Like the poem!” Jiang Cheng blinked, staring down at the exuberant Lan junior. Lan Xichen merely closed his eyes, still smiling serenely. There was blood on his cheek. Jiang Cheng wondered if he knew that.
“Lan Jingyi. One mustn’t assume…”
“I wake from a hazy nap in autumn, enshrouded by the fragrant aroma of tea leaves; at dusk I saunter and recite poetry, the pine branches swaying in time" (茶香秋梦后，松韵晚吟时).”* Lan Jingyi recited, beaming. Lan Xichen sighed. Jiang Cheng stared, gaze swinging around to focus on the junior.
Only his jiejie had told him that poem, when he was still upset about his courtesy name, when he had been embarrassed in front of all his peers in training, his shixiong and shijie, his father not caring about the name he bestowed upon his own son. She had told him the first one, how his a-niang had chosen his name, born as he was at the end of the harvest season, and look! His courtesy name matched his birth name! He had thought the same, until he’d seen his father write the characters in the family registry and all hopes of recovering from the naming ceremony were drowned in the currents around the pier.
“Lan Jingyi, please apologize to Jiang-zhongzhu…”
“It is fine, Lan-zhongzhu.” Jiang Cheng interrupted, still reeling. “It has been a long time since I have heard the favourite poem of my jiejie, let alone recited so masterfully.”
Ah fuck, he missed jiejie so much. She would have been better at this. Judging by the vaguely stricken look on Lan Xichen’s face, he also just remembered that Jiang Cheng was one of the few survivors of the Lotus Pier Massacre.
“Lan Jingyi.” Jiang Cheng turned to face the junior, who looked slightly nervous. “How long have you been walking?”
“Jiang-zhongzu?” Lan Jingyi blinked and turned to look at the one next to him. “Sizhui? I…I don’t know.” Concussion as well as the injured arm.
The one next to him stepped forward so that he was in line with Lan-zhongzhu, a position only reserved normally for direct family. A regular disciple would have stayed one step behind.
“This one is Lan Yuan, courtesy Lan Sizhui. We finished the night hunt three days ago, with complications on our path returning to Cloud Recesses. Lotus Pier was the closest Sect with sufficient medical aid. We…” Jang Cheng held up a hand, halting the flow of words and narrowing his eyes. Something about this boy looked familiar, like Jiang Cheng had known him before. But Lans were notorious for keeping their younger disciples out of sight until they came down from the mountains, so…
“You are welcome in Lotus Pier.” Lan Xichen went alarmingly pale and swayed on his feet as the wards stopped pressing on him. Jiang Cheng cursed, and stepped forward, looping an arm around Lan-zhongzhu’s waist and taking some of his weight.
“Don’t faint on me now, Lan-zhongzhu.” He muttered. “Nie Huaisang would never let you live it down.” There was a muffled snort, disguised by Lan-zhongzhu bringing his hand up to his mouth.
“Lan Mingyi wouldn’t let me live it down, he always tells Wangji and Uncle what I’ve been doing.” Jiang Cheng didn’t bother hiding his snort, leaning slightly away from Lan Xichen to yell at his nearest disciples.
“Jiang Hua! Tan Yu! Direct the injured Lan juniors to the infirmary!” Two of his female disciples, one of them his jiejie’s old shimei, race from their positions at the end of the dock, Tan Yu already hustling the concussed Lan Jingyi and the one who was carrying his brother ahead of the others. Jiang Cheng caught Jiang Hua’s sleeve as she went past.
“Where’s Jiang Xinyu?”
“The eastern pavilion, shixiong…ah, zhongzhu. I believe he just finished his classes for today.”
“Ask Lian Bai to fetch him for me, and to meet me in my office. Lian Bai should be around the healers at this time.”
“Yes, zhongzhu.”
“Jiang Xinyu is your new ward, yes?” Lan Xichen tried to start a conversation as they made their way to the healers, but the tightness in his voice and the way he leaned more of his weight on Jiang Cheng indicated that he wasn’t up for small talk. Good. Jiang Cheng hated the fucking stuff.
“Save your energy for not passing out, Lan-zhongzhu.” He retorted, catching the eye of…fuck, the new kid, the one from north of Meishan who couldn’t wield their whips properly. Lai…Lei…
“Lin Cheng!”
“Yes, Jiang-zhongzhu?”
“Ask Lin He and Meng Xin to cover the dock shift until next shift, I’ll swap their next one.”
“Yes, Jiang-zhongzhu!”
“You haven’t adopted that one yet?” Lan-zhongzhu slurred a little, and Jiang Cheng snorted.
“He’s Meishan stock, we’re already related. Save your breath.” Jiang Mei stepped up to his other side, hand on her sword.
“Xu-shidi and Lei-shimei have returned to the western shores, I will send Tan Yu after them to assist in a sweep.”
“Send Chen Long and Chen Zhihao with her to check the wards as well.” He ordered. “Who was stationed on the Pier today?”
“Its market day, zhongzhu.” Jiang Mei raised her eyebrows at him. “Every off duty disciple is there.” Oh yes, it was too.
“Send a green alert. No one is recalled yet, but if that nest is still active, I’ll want volunteers to burn it. I’ll update it after I’ve talked to the Lan juniors.”
With complications. What a fucking understatement. If they’d come from the western shore, they’d undoubtedly run into a nest of the spider yao that had decided to haunt the forest, that Jiang Cheng had been putting off dealing with because most of his Sect hated spiders for some reason. He supposed that they’d have to deal with it now. He turned to face the remaining disciples, the ones who weren’t injured, and narrowed his eyes at them. The outspoken one, Lan Sizhui, and two others. He gestured at them, sweeping his arm towards the set of walkways that led to his offices.
“Come. I will take your account of what happened.”
.
.
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“Jiang-zhongzhu.” Jianf Xinyu poked his head around the door, flinching back when he spotted three of the Lan disciples standing in the office. The three Lan’s stared at him, then flicked their eyes back to Jiang Cheng, who tried not to sigh. Jiang Xinyu needed to learn how to knock, sometimes, but it didn’t matter. The Lan juniors had only confirmed what he had already suspected; the nests had spread Northeast, and covered most of the paths. He’d have to lead a team, and send relief to the neighbouring villages before winter set in. Fuck, how many people had died already? Was that why there hadn’t been any news from that region for a while? Lan-zhongzhu had taken the brunt of it, but all the juniors had no doubt been traumatized by the whole experience. On top of coming back from dealing with another nighthunt as well, Jiang Cheng was annoyed that he hadn’t set up regular patrols.
“Jiang-shidi, come in.” Be professional, be professional. He hoped that Xinyu had picked up on his silent message to not attempt any new terms of address in front of their guests. He also hoped that none of the little Lan’s recognized him; there was a reason Jiang Xinyu hadn’t attended any cultivation conferences with him before. Jiang Xinyu entered and bowed, eyes staying fixed on the floor.
“Zhongzhu? How may this one be of assistance?” Oooh, Jiang Mei had gotten her claws into him, he had never been this polite in front of strangers before.
“Report.”
“The Chen brothers have secured the wards on the western shore, Tan-shijie and Lei-shimei will remain on patrol. Xu-shidi returned with the Chen brothers, as per his rotation.”
Jiang Cheng nodded, eyeing Jiang Xinyu thoughtfully. On one hand, a good test of deception. On the other, Jiang Xinyu was a shit liar.
“Thank you, Jiang-shidi. Please show the Lan disciples to the guest quarters, I will contact Gusu Lan in the morning. Lan Sizhui.”
“Yes, Jiang-zhongzhu?” The more he stared into those eyes, the more he recognized them. Fragments of another life, another time filled with endless possibilities. He pushed those thoughts away.
“Please draft a letter to your shūgōng, it will go out with my own missive, least Lan Qiren thinks I’ve kidnapped his junior disciples.”
“I…uh…he’s not…uh” Lan Sizhui stuttered, attempting a denial, and Jiang Cheng levelled him with a look, the one he used when Jin Ling was being particularly obtuse. Lan Sizhui stopped, and sighed.
“Yes, Jiang-zhongzhu.”
“Dismissed.” He ended the meeting curtly, reaching for the top set of missives and bringing it up to his face, discretely eyeing the disciples as they ordered themselves to leave. Xinyu, to his credit, merely bowed in his direction as a disciple would, and gestured to the door.
“If the Lan disciples would be content following this one, this one will show you to the guest quarters. Your injured sect members will stay in the infirmary tonight.”
So polite, such diction! Jiang Mei really had taught him well, there was barely a trace of the classic Yunmeng dialect in there. Although, there was a subtle twist to some of the tones that reeked of Jiang Hua. He was mildly pleased that his cousins were being so welcoming. The last person they went out of their way to help was…
.
“Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng! Why are you in such a hurry?”
.
He gritted his teeth, watching the flutter of white and purple that signified the juniors had left, and he sighed, letting his head thunk down onto the desk. If he cried all over the missive from Sect Leader Yao, would anyone notice? No one helped him with all the correspondence anyway, so maybe it was….ugh. Nope. The thoughts were already in his head, he no longer had plausible deniability.
.
Lan Yuan. Lan Sizhui.
.
Who the hell did Lan Wangji think he was fooling? That child was no Lan, despite being adorned in their colours and bearing their ribbon.
Not with her chin, her eyes. Eyes he had once dreamed about, as a young man, barely out of boyhood. Eyes he had once dreamed about waking next to, having them blink awake and meeting his gaze.
Eyes that had been warm with amusement when he first presented the comb, as she stated that ‘your jiejie is a little more my type, if the suit is for her I’ll gladly accept’.
Eyes that had stared at him coldly as he tried to offer her the world, unsure of how to do it. Eyes that had condemned him for his inaction, for not helping his shixiong. Eyes that still haunted his dreams, his nightmares, scorning him for offering what little protection he had (it wasn’t enough. Enough for her, but not for what little remained of her clan).
‘Lan’ Yuan also looked too similar to his cousin to pass as anything but a Wen. Jiang Cheng had respected Wen Qiongling, been grateful for all that he’d done for the Jiang Sect (for him, personally, as well, when he had retrieved the bodies of his parents), and wished that he’d done more for the shy archer. Lan Sizhui favoured him around the jawline, in the cheekbones and that smile (it had made his heart stutter, the only time he’d seen it. It must have been shock), in his kind manner and the hint of broad shoulders. Those Lan handstands certainly would help in that aspect. He wondered if Lan Sizhui was as good at archery as Wen Qionglin, if those prissy stuck-up Lans bothered to teach good form. He hadn’t seen many Lan archers since the war, in fact only Yunmeng Jiang really bothered to properly train anyone in archery, with the exception of Meishan Yu (who trained their disciples in everything, then allowed them to specialize when they became seniors).
No wonder Lan Sizhui was kept up in the clouds. Anyone who’d interacted with the Wen siblings at any point would have recognized him (maybe he’d stared too much at them during the Gusu lectures all those years ago). Nie Huiasang definitely knew, he wouldn’t put it past the sly fox. Did Jin Guangyao? Fuck, did Lan Xichen even know? Nie Mingjue? Did Lan Wangji lie to everyone and pretend that he’d gotten a woman pregnant out of wedlock? Fucking hell, had Lan Wangji disobeyed the principles of his Sect and lie to everyone he’d ever met when introducing his son? Grudgingly, Jiang Cheng conceded that maybe Lan Wangji wasn’t the stick in the mud he’d considered him to be for years. Even if he was a massive bitch about literally everything else.
Ah fuck, he needed to get out of his office, before he started destroying things. Fuck, if Nie MIngjue had found out, would he have killed Lan Sizhui against the wishes of the Lan Sect, leading to a three way war between the sworn brothers as they entered a blood feud and Yunmeng Jiang was again caught in the middle of having to pick a side and…
Jiang Cheng pushed back his chair and stood, hands braced on the desk. The wards weren’t pinging, the wards were secure, nothing had breached them but there were Wens in Lotus Pier, there was a Wen in Lotus Pier and she wanted blood, she wanted compensation and she’d been invited in and…
He walked out the door, heading towards the Pier. The wood was solid under his feet, it stood strong, there were talismans to prevent it from rotting but not from burning, Lotus Pier was on fire and he was choking on smoke, there was so much red the Wens were in Lotus Pier and they wanted blood split and…
The lake was calm.
(“Jiang-zhongzhu? Zhongzhu, can you hear me?” “Someone get Jiang Mei or Jiang Hua. Fuck, get Elder Tan if she’s awake. He’s not present.”)
The lake was calm. The lake was still. The lake was reflecting the sunset. See the pinks, the oranges. Hear the birdsong? Hear the screams, the screams of the disciples as they were slaughtered while you were on a boat, you should have stayed, you should have died with them the lake is on fire, Lotus Per is burning, its red. Its…
The lake is calm. The breeze is gentle. The sunset is pretty, soothing.
The sun is setting, the sun is going underneath the lake, its setting no we shot it down, we shot down the kite and the Wens took offense, there is a Wen in Lotus Pier and she wants blood and she spilt it she spilt it in droves and she had a monster on a leash and the lake is red red red with blood of his family his shijie’s and shidi’s and they are lost and the lake is red and the sun is falling where is his jiejie where is gege they promised to stay and stay and the sun is falling they shot it.
There is a Wen in Lotus Pier.
He was invited in.
(Jiang Wanyin, listen to me, Jiang Wanyin you are in Lotus Pier, and you are safe.)
There is a Wen in Lotus Pier and she wants…
No.
.
.
There is a Lan in Lotus Pier, he was invited in. He is Lan. He is Wen. He is Wei. Wen Yuan. The son of his gege’s heart. His stupid, arrogant, big-hearted short-sighted gege who had never managed to plan ahead well. Wei Yuan. Lan Yuan. Lan Sizhui.
“Jiang-zhongzhu. Jiang-zhongzhu.”
“Hua-shijie.” He inhaled sharply, aware that he was on the very edge of the Pier, the wood was solid under his feet. There were talismans against rot, there were talismans against fire and sword. The wards were secure. There was a Wen…there was a Lan. A Lan disciple in Lotus Pier. Jiang Hua stood behind him (out of sword reach, out of reach of Zidian), hands limp by her sides.
“Cheng-shidi.” She replied, voice soft. There wasn’t any pity in her remaining eye, only a sad sort of understanding. How many nights had she watched over him, over Jin Ling, whil he dragged his Sect out of the mud? “Cheng-shidi, can you tell me whats wrong?”
He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs seize, then another. One more. Hold. Exhale.
“Hua-shijie.” There is a Wen in Lotus Pier. He was invited in. He is a child. He was the child that Jiang Cheng searched for in the Burial Mounds after everyone had left, after Nie Mingjue had let him go. No. There is a Wei in Lotus Pier. A Lan in Lotus Pier. There are no Wens.
“Hua-shijie, I’m…” Not okay. Tired. Hallucinating. His golden core is still there, still thrumming. His heart still beats.
“I’m okay.” He managed to get out, throat tight. Lotus Pier was whole, he’d built it back up with his own hands.
“Jiang Wanyin…”
“Jiang Hua.” He interrupted, taking in her loose posture. “I’m not going to throw myself into the lake.” This time went unsaid. Jiang Hua nodded, eyes roving over his face as if to gauge his sincerity. He swallowed, and took another deep breath, feeling his heartbeat settle into something less closer to battle speed.
“Jiang-zhongzhu, I take my leave. Please refrain from scaring the disciples on night watch.” Don’t have a qi deviation when I’m not here to manage it. Ah, his cousins, his sister’s shijie. So caring. So blunt. He was suddenly very, very tired. Sighing, he turned out to look across the lake, stars starting to peek out from behind clouds. Ah, it was a nice night. The breeze was gentle and cool, and the lake was still.
He breathed in.
Hold…
Out.
Behind him, Jiang Hua’s footsteps receded, and he could hear noise from the night market drift across the walkways. Then, he was blessed with quiet as his senses focused on the lake in front of him. Fireflies. Small ripples. The sound of hurried footsteps behind him, coming to an abrupt stop when they spotted him. Judging how they managed to hit every squeaky board, it was an outsider. Lan.
(There is a Wen…no, he is Lan).
.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Lan Sizhui?” Oh god, let it be Lan Sizhui and not the dour little one. Mingyi? Mingyu?
“My apologies Jiang-zhongzhu, I’ll go back and…” Oh, the little Lan was crying. Shit. Fuck. What was he supposed to do?
“Lan-zhongzhu will recover in no time, you have nothing to fear.” Nailed it.
“It’s not…that’s not….” Ah fuck wrong thing.
Jiang Cheng turned and looked, truly looked at this Lan disciple that had sent him into a panic. He looked like Wen Qionglin (there is a Wen…there is a Wen….), all soft eyes and broad shoulders and humility.
“Lan Sizhui.” Oh fuck, that came out harsh. Pretend it’s Jin Ling, channel jiejie. “Why aren’t you in bed?” His tone had gentled, like when he taught the youngest disciples how to swim because it was tradition that Jiang-zhongzhu taught the youngest disciples how to swim (he’d taught gege, had taught Wei…).
“I…this one means no offense Jiang-zhongzhu, this one apologizes…”
“Lan Yuan.” Jiang Cheng only hoped that no one heard him speaking so casually to this boy. “You are not bothering me. Tell me what wrong.” Lan Sizhui stared at him, and god those eyes felt like they pierced straight through his soul.
“There is a rule in Cloud Recesses, about letting go of family. Do not become too attached. We were told it is because sometimes life can be fleeting, and we should celebrate a life lived instead of mourn a life lost.”
Oh fucking yao on a stolen sword, what the actual fuck.
“I see.” Yeah, Jiang Cheng remembered that rule. He’d laughed about it with his shidi’s afterwards because who couldn’t get attached to those you’d trained beside, fought beside (died beside).
“Today…today, bobo came very close to dying and there was so much blood, we weren’t sure that we’d reach Lotus Pier in time and…”
“Lan Sizhui.” Jiang Cheng interrupted, stepping forward to lay his hands on the Lan’s shoulders. “You are allowed to be worried for a family member. The wounds looked bad, but this was your first night hunt?”
“Yes, Jiang-zhongzhu. Our first one away from Cloud Recesses.” Ah, very little disciples. He remembered those days.
“Your bobo will be fine. Focus on the fact that he did live, and not that he could have died. If anything, that should be the interpretation of Rule six-hundred and seventy nine, or whatever it was.”
“Six hundred and seventy six.” Lan Sizhui corrected, although he had stopped crying. Jiang Cheng scoffed and straightened up, removing his hands and taking a step back.
“You have so many rules, it’s hard to keep track of them all. Allow this Sect Leader to offer you some life advice, young Sizhui.” Jiang Cheng looked out across the lakes of Lotus Pier, the blooms pale ghosts in the gathering gloom. “Hold your family close, hold them tight, and no matter what….”
A tear slipped down his face, and he closed his eyes, grief a familiar friend at this stage.
“…don’t let go.”
What if he had managed to save Wen Qing and her clan? What if he’d listened to his gege, listened to his jiejie about some things, tried harder to mend things, stood up for Wei Wuxian… His chest hurt. His throat was tight.
“May this one be an imposition, Sect Leader Jiang?” He was a polite little Lan, but then they all were.
“You may.”
There were arms around his waist, then. He stiffened, Zidian sparking, and the arms gripped tighter and…oh.
Lan Sizhui was giving him a hug.
Jiang Cheng couldn’t remember the last time somebody gave him a hug voluntarily, aside from Jin Ling. Was it before Wei Wuxian died? Just after he’d lost his parents? Had it been jiejie?
There was a damp spot forming on his robes, and he brought a hand up to Lan Sizhui’s head, the other rubbing small circles in the pre-teen’s back.
“What are you crying for, little Lan? Hm?” He ignored the prickling in his own eyes. Lan Sizhui pulled away, and scrubbed at his face.
“We’re not supposed to have outbursts, I apologize. It’s just….I…you…you sounded so sad and upset, Jiang-zhongzhu. And bobo said that if someone is sad you should hug them to make them feel better.”
‘Bobo’ must mean Sect Leader Lan. Jiang Cheng tried to image the kind but aloof First Jade trying to hug someone in the middle of a discussion conference because they were upset, and his lips twitched.
“Sect Leader Lan told you to hug strangers?” Lan Sizhui stammered out an apology and an explanation all wrapped into one, and Jiang Cheng huffed, cutting him off and sparing the boy further embarrassment, reaching forward to ruffle his hair absentmindedly, forgetting for a moment that it wasn’t Jin Ling. Kids these days made him feel old.
“It matters not, xiao-Lan. I thank you or it anyway. Come, Lan-zhongzhu might be missing his zhízi, and it would be bad hospitality to let a guest stay out in the cold.” Lan Sizhui, as if suddenly realizing he was cold, shivered from the cool wind blowing off the lake. The thin robes he’d clearly been sleeping in did nothing to protect him, so Jiang Cheng gently pushed him in the direction of the guest rooms where they were staying.
“Jiang Hua.” Ever faithful, Jiang Hua melted out from where she’d been hiding behind a pillar and fell into step with Lan Sizhui, tugging him in the correct direction when he veered off to the side.
.
Jiang Cheng watched him go, pale robes ghostly in the moonlight.
“In another life, I would have called you zhízi.” He murmured to himself, to the night sky, to the rushing river, to the still lakes.
He was tired.
Spinning on his heel, he strode back to his quarters, an idea taking form in his head.
.
.
Three weeks later, a parcel arrived in Cloud Recesses, addressed to Lan Yuan.
Inside was a nine-petalled lotus bell, chiming gently, and a short note.
.
‘Lan Sizhui. You are welcome at Lotus Pier.’
.
There was no signature.
There didn’t need to be.
.
.