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Jiang Cheng falls.
Nie Mingjue’s arm pierces through his heart, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Sandu slips from his grasp as his body follows suit, dropping to the ground in a heap of blood, blood that dripped down from his chest and coughed out from his mouth; a mouth that was always twisted into a snarl or a sneer and hurled out insults or curses towards people without a care in the world. A mouth that, in the distant past, would flash Wei Wuxian the most radiant smiles or burst into laughter at his foolishness.
Jiang Cheng falls.
It’s quiet and time halts as a mighty, powerful man falls. It is strangely unsettling and Wei Wuxian hears nothing but the thrum of his own heart beating frantically inside his chest as the world plummets at his feet.
In a fit of desperation and hysteria, Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing to his lips, playing a sorrowful melody that seals Nie Mingjue’s corpse from whence he came and rips Jin Guangyao’s body apart into pieces by the resentful spirits he summoned, pouring all of his rage and grief into retribution for causing his A-Cheng pain—an eye for an eye, a soul for a soul.
When the battle ends, silence envelops the entire clearing and it’s quiet. But then it isn’t silent anymore, because Jin Ling repeatedly starts screaming jiujiu from the top of his lungs, dropping to his knees and crawling to Jiang Cheng’s body, uncaring of the other people witnessing him fall apart in front of their eyes.
A horrible, anguished wailing sound escapes Jin Ling yet Wei Wuxian can’t even bring himself to move, paralyzed within the confines of his mind which engraved the memory of Jiang Cheng’s soundless collapse. The sight of a trembling Jin Ling, attempting to staunch the bleeding from Jiang Cheng’s chest, gathering the man in his arms, is enough to send Wei Wuxian into a dark spiral. The scene is all too reminiscent of the lives lost at his hands. Of Jin Zixuan. Of shijie.
Jiang Cheng….?
“Jiujiu, please.” Jin Ling keens, sobbing and shaking the unmoving figure underneath him and Wei Wuxian cannot look away. The weight of the scene feels too heavy for his mind to comprehend. There is a growing lump in his throat and coldness seeps under his fingertips and Wei Wuxian cannot speak. He feels wetness spreading across his cheeks and realizes it is tears ceaselessly pouring from his eyes.
Why must death continue to take, take, and take everything away from him? Was his sacrifice not enough? Was he cursed to lose all those he has ever loved to death? Why why why why why.
After a long struggle with himself, Wei Wuxian manages to get his body moving, and he stutters forward, gasping for air as he cries out, “A-Cheng.”
Wei Wuxian's heart stutters upon seeing the damage done to Jiang Cheng's body. It is much worse up close and he understands now why Jin Ling screamed the way he did. Jiang Cheng has blood all over his face and chest, and his once-perfect hair is disheveled. His lips have turned blue, and the blood's crimson is a stark contrast against his fair complexion and royal purple robes. Seeing him would be enough to make one forget that he is Yunmeng Jiang's ruthless, angry, and powerful sect leader. His often fiery eyes are lifeless and half-lidded as he lays there, looking much smaller, thinner, and frail. And yet, he almost looks peaceful as if the years of anguish, fury, and stress have faded from his countenance.
There is a weight pressing down on Wei Wuxian’s chest and he cannot breathe.
“A-Ling…” Jiang Cheng's hoarse whisper snaps Wei Wuxian out of his reverie. Hints of vulnerability and desperation are in his voice as he looks up directly into Jin Ling’s eyes. Wei Wuxian is frozen in time as he observes Jiang Cheng's dwindling stamina, weakening second by second. Still, in a last, almost miraculous, show of strength, Jiang Cheng's arm reaches up, even if it drops just as fast, “I’m sorry… I love you.”
“Jiujiu, don’t leave.” Jin Ling wails out in despair as he channels all of his qi into Jiang Cheng's body, his complexion becoming paler by the second. Wei Wuxian knows it's futile, even if he doesn't want to believe it himself. Because accepting it would make it real and Jiang Cheng's death cannot be genuine as embracing it would make it so. Wei Wuxian just came back to life and now Jiang Cheng is leaving. Is this his punishment for coming back to life? Must there always be an equivalent exchange for him to live? If that was the case, why was he resurrected when he has always been content with being dead?
Somehow, it feels like the gods above are laughing at him.
“Don’t leave me, jiujiu. Not here, not like this.” Jin Ling begs, choking on his spit, words becoming ineligible between his tears and sobs. Wei Wuxian kneels beside him, doing nothing but clutching Jiang Cheng's hand in his own, bloodied and scarred. What can he do? What can he do in the face of death?
“A-Xian.” Jiang Cheng breathes out, lips curled delicately. Wei Wuxian looks down and for the first time in years, he sees nothing but fondness and resignation in Jiang Cheng's eyes, none of the wrathful gaze nor the vile words directed at him for the past days they have been reunited with each other. It feels ironic. Everything about this is ironic.
“Take care.”
Zidian slips off Jiang Cheng's finger and slithers toward Jin Ling, whose pupils dilate in fear and horror as the ring sparks up on his finger, a dazzling purple. Jiang Cheng's hand weakens against Wei Wuxian's hold and his eyes close, Wei Wuxian can’t feel anything, and Jin Ling is screaming at the top of his lungs, shaking Jiang Cheng's body as if it would have some significance, pleading with the Gods to bring him back, bring his jiujiu back, don’t take him away, please please no no no.
Wei Wuxian remains motionless, unable to separate Jiang Cheng's hand from his own, even as it grows stiff and icy in his grasp. He is rooted to the spot, oblivious to the din of people behind them and the flash of white creeping into his peripheral vision. The world is quiet as Jin Ling sobs beside him; he can feel his vision becoming blurry again, but he can't tear his gaze away from Jiang Cheng's bloodstained body, from the red that overwhelms all of the colors enveloping him, the red of blood pouring out of his body endlessly. An ugly, horrible, vile color that killed Jiang Cheng, draining him of his spirit and life.
Jiang Cheng is dead.
And Wei Wuxian can do nothing but softly weep.
Grief and loss are things that Wei Wuxian has been entirely familiar with throughout his life. To him, it almost comes as second nature. His parents died at a young age, leaving him an unprotected orphan in the streets, fending off hungry stray dogs and merchants who chased him away from their stalls, treating him as someone lower than dirt until Jiang Fengmian took him in and raised him alongside his children.
After years had passed, the Lotus Pier massacre happened, taking the lives of Jiang Cheng's parents, friends, and fellow disciples—those he loved and saw as equal—and, as if that weren't tragic enough, the Wens took Jiang Cheng. In an instant, he lost his golden core to Wen Zhuliu.
And then, Jiang Yanli died. His shijie. His beautiful, kind, and sweet shijie who sacrificed herself to save him, him who didn’t deserve saving. She didn’t deserve to die. She shouldn’t have died for him. If it wasn’t for him, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have lost his sister, Jin Ling wouldn’t have become an orphan.
(Wei Wuxian had taken Jin Ling’s parents away from him before he even learned how to walk or speak. Now, Wei Wuxian had also taken Jiang Cheng away from him too. He doesn’t know if he can live with this, with all this blood on his hands. Why? Why? Why.)
Wei Wuxian has always carried around grief in his soul, it is a familiar acquaintance that keeps him company, enveloping his heart without letting go, one that he has tried to run from but catches him in a blurry memory or a traumatizing haze.
Jiang Cheng’s death is a horrific reminder that Wei Wuxian will never be free from the clutches of loss and tragedy, even in a life he considers his second chance for redemption. Jiang Cheng flies away from him before he can even make amends and ask for forgiveness and along with it is a part of Wei Wuxian’s heart, disappearing with the man whom he once called, in the distant past, his most important person.
Jin Ling envelops Jiang Cheng’s body with his own, throat burning with emotions as tears cloud his vision, “JIUJIU! JIUJIU! NO! PLEASE!”
“Jin Ling...” Wei Wuxian reaches out to touch Jin Ling’s shoulder, trembling in shock and pain.
Jin Ling shrugs him off harshly, collapsing, “Jiujiu… Wake up… Come on, we need to get home. You can break my legs as much as you want, please wake up… jiujiu!”
When Wei Wuxian steps out of Guanyin Temple, eyes swollen and robes ensanguined with sweat, blood, and dirt, he is made unwhole. He doesn't know if he will ever be himself again. He doesn’t know if he even wants to forget. He doesn’t know if he still recognizes himself. He doesn’t know if he wants to.
The sight of Jiang Cheng bleeding out on the floor and whose blood continued to pool under Jin Ling’s fingertips as he carried the man’s body out of the temple himself, clearly struggling but refusing to let anybody else help him is engraved in his mind forever. And he doesn’t want to forget.
The boy lashed out further when Lan Zhan tried to approach and Wei Wuxian knew he wouldn’t have any better luck with comforting Jin Ling. Not like he could have in his state, but witnessing Jin Ling lose the only family member has left and loves so deeply— makes him feel like he failed his shijie all over again.
A-Cheng… A-Ling… I’m sorry.
There is nothing but vast emptiness and cavities inside of Wei Wuxian, yet he only wants to remember. Inscribe it all inside him until there is nothing and no one else but Jiang Cheng. Against the unrelenting time that passes and all the grief that buries him in shame and guilt and agony, it is the least he can do.
Wei Wuxian sprints across the pier, his robes sticking to his body from the warm and humid summer air. He narrowly avoids a sword swinging on his left, laughing merrily and sporting a mischievous expression in his eyes.
Jiang Cheng was soundly dozing off in the grass fields, peaceful and undisturbed until Wei Wuxian decided it was the best idea to draw and doodle on his face with ink he snatched from their calligraphy class. Certain to say, the peace didn’t last for long when Jiang Cheng finally woke up and saw what his good shixiong had done to him.
“Hahaha, A-Cheng, don’t cry, you look good!” Wei Wuxian cackles until he trips, face-planting to the ground and earning a mouthful of grass and mud. He spits them out, squawking indignantly upon hearing Jiang Cheng’s snort behind him.
The latter rolls his eyes, not even helping Wei Wuxian up as he sits beside him, rubbing the paint off of his face with water from the lakes before laughing at his stupidity, “Hmph! Who’s the one crying now, A-Xian?”
Wei Wuxian groans before he freezes. From where he sits, brilliant gold beams down onto Jiang Cheng's skin, illuminating every single aspect of his features and the droplets of water in his jawline beautifully under the light of the setting orange sun. Wei Wuxian subconsciously leans in to take in everything that Jiang Cheng has to offer, their noses and skin almost brushing against each other.
Jiang Cheng's eyes are a sea of bluish-gray speckled with brilliant white stars-like constellations, reflecting at him with a gentle and open expression despite his earlier displeasure and anger. It’s beautiful. Jiang Cheng is beautiful.
Suddenly, the thought of dipping in to smell the fragrant scent coming from Jiang Cheng seems tempting, but before he could do so, Jiang Cheng leans away, forehead creased in confusion, “What are you looking at, dumbass?”
Without thinking, Wei Wuxian says, “Don't you know you look pretty right now, A-Cheng?” and witnesses Jiang Cheng's face turn an exquisite color of crimson, “Shut up! What the hell are you even saying?!”
Wei Wuxian blinks, blushing himself when the words he just said begin to register properly. He chuckles playfully, even though his heart is throbbing almost painfully against his chest, “I’m telling the truth, you do look pretty, shimei.”
“Cut it out, stop calling me that!” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. He stands up, dusting off his robes, “I’m leaving!”
“Aiya, I’m joking! Don’t cry, A-Cheng!”
You are no longer of Lotus Pier’s, no longer Jiang Wanyin’s sworn shixiong. You are not allowed here. Leave.
Those words ring in Wei Wuxian’s ears as he stands in front of the gates of Lotus Pier, forbidden from entering the place he once considered his home. He isn’t even given a chance to see his shidi nor his resting place one last time, Jiang Cheng’s second in command, no, the acting Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang now, glaring at him balefully. If he was his usual self, he would have refused and caused a scene, but looking into the eyes of a former child of Yunmeng Jiang—whom he had babysat and played with—now as a formidable cultivator that Jiang Cheng had raised and trained all on his own throws him for a loop.
Lotus Pier had just finished its seven days of burial rites and the public ceremony held encompassed visitors from all over the cultivation world, grand and spectacular as expected for a Sect Leader whose death had come as a surprise. Everything should be the same but nothing was familiar to Wei Wuxian at all— not the buildings that were rebuilt after the war, not the people who walked across the streets clearly in deep mourning of their Sect Leader, not even Lotus Pier itself.
The civilian merchant that secretly gave him and Jiang Cheng tanghulu, when they were children roaming around and bickering with each other, was no longer there, no Jiang Yanli who cooked them soup almost routinely every night, no more Jiang Cheng.
Nothing is left of Wei Wuxian’s past here to claim him back as their own anymore.
His heart feels as heavy as the hand of death.
Still, when the night comes and he finds himself prostrating at the nearest lake outside of Lotus Pier, hopelessly praying for nothing and everything, he hears footsteps behind him and a clarity bell jingling as it swayed alongside the owner’s movements.
Wei Wuxian turns around and sees Jin Ling staring right at him in his mourning robes, an unsettlingly blank expression on his face. There are remnants of tear tracks in his eyes and his entire stance is withdrawn and worn, a far cry from the Jin Ling that Wei Wuxian interacted with for the past few months. The glint of Zidian on his ring finger, alive and sparkling, hurts to see, more so when he knows the reason why.
“Wei Wuxian.” Jin Ling whispers, almost resignedly, “You truly have no shame showing your face in Lotus Pier after all that you have done, don’t you?”
Wei Wuxian flinches at the cruel bluntness. He doesn’t know if Jin Ling noticed or if he simply didn’t care because the teen continues, “I want to blame you for everything, I want to hate you, but why couldn’t I?”
“How could I hate you when my jiujiu couldn’t? When he loved you too much even if he acted otherwise? How could I hate you when you’re the only remaining family I have left? How could I hate you when I’m the reason jiujiu is gone?”
The words feel hollow and bitter coming from Jin Ling’s mouth but they slice through him like a knife all the same. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to respond, because he wants to deny everything but was it wrong? He doesn’t even know anymore.
“It’s not your fault, Jin Ling,” he replies, even if Jin Ling scoffs at his response, knowing that the last thing Jiang Cheng would want is for his nephew to blame him for his death.
(Because Wei Wuxian blames himself for it.)
Jin Ling sighs, straightening his back before taking something out of his pocket. A talisman. He throws it towards Wei Wuxian who catches it without hesitation, confusion marring his head at the sudden action.
“Most of the disciples in Lotus Pier will be asleep by now, this talisman will allow you to go in and prevent anyone from sensing your qi.” Jin Ling begins, magnanimously.
Wei Wuxian’s startles, eyes widening. It’s not that difficult to connect the dots and understand what he is insinuating and his assumptions are proven correct when Jin Ling adds, “Jiujiu’s remains are at the Ancestral Hall. If you want to bid him farewell, this is your only chance. I am not giving you another.”
“A-Ling…”
“Don’t you want to see jiujiu?” Jin Ling cuts him off, eyes narrowing in irritation, “No one in Lotus Pier will ever give you the time of day, much less offer you forgiveness, even if you prostrate yourself for weeks on end in front of the gates.”
Wei Wuxian stills, his hand grasping the talisman tightly. He knows that not everyone in Lotus Pier knows who he is, especially when he’s wearing a body that’s not his, but what had occurred with Jiang Cheng’s second-in-command probably did nothing but prove Jin Ling’s point— Jiang Cheng’s closest, most trusted people already knew who he was and he didn’t want to think about what that would entail for him.
“Let it be known that I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I am doing this for jiujiu. Once you have done all that you need to do in Lotus Pier, don’t ever come back again, don’t ever step foot in Yunmeng at all. Not even myself will be able to help you against the fury of jiujiu’s people when all of them find out who you are.”
Wei Wuxian can’t help the words that slip out his mouth without meaning to, “I was his shixiong too.”
“And you left!” Jin Ling’s voice is hoarse as he roars, fury crossing his face as he curls his hands into fists shakingly. “You left jiujiu! What did you do when he needed you the most? You defected for the Wens and then everything went to shit and jiujiu suffered and now he’s gone and there’s nothing in this world that will turn back time and bring him back, alive and not a fierce corpse.”
“Enough, Wei Wuxian.” Jin Ling says, he sounds weary.
“Go, before I change my mind.”
Wei Wuxian’s legs feel like lead as he urges them to move, fleeing from the area with the truth stuck in his throat, rooting itself into his heart.
I’m sorry, A-Ling, he’d wanted to say and scream and sob and yet he didn’t get to, choking on the tears he didn’t even notice had begun to slowly fall from his eyes as he walked towards the direction of Lotus Pier.
I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng, he’d wanted to say but the man he wanted to tell it to is now dead, his body turned into ashes, his greatest spiritual weapon passed onto Jin Ling, and his sword buried underneath the lakes, never to be held and used again.
Wei Wuxian activates the talisman without much thought, letting his feet lead him to where it all began and ended, finding traces of his past around the docks, and then he’s running, running, and running.
When the looming structure of the Ancestral Hall comes into sight, Wei Wuxian enters in a trance, lighting an incense and bowing deeply until his forehead is touching the carpet, knees bunched together with his hands settled by his side. He stays there, for a while, merely existing, trying to pretend that there weren’t sobs coming from his mouth that he tries to hide in his calloused hands.
A-Cheng. Where are you?”
Jiang Cheng. Come back. Come back.
Tears inevitably drop when he sees a new funeral tablet placed in the corner, inlaid with ornamental jade and inscribed with a lotus, the name in its inscription as clear as day.
江澄.
It’s like the sudden appearance of that tablet makes everything more real. In his head, he can hear Jiang Cheng’s laugh, haunting him in echoes, “Who’s the one crying now?”
Wei Wuxian finds himself lost in the ghost of his past, wandering around Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng is present everywhere, from the training rooms where they practice sword fighting and archery together to the kitchen where they compete to see who can consume the most spice in one sitting.
Everything haunts him, even the various decorations that were installed after he defected from Lotus Pier, the paintings and tapestries hanging on the wall, and the books that replaced the ones that burned during its fall years ago.
Everywhere he goes, he sees Jiang Cheng.
He refuses to leave, however, not even at the thought of being discovered by Yunmeng Jiang’s people and even though Jin Ling had only given him explicit permission to enter the Ancestral Hall.
A right turn takes him to the main family's private sleeping quarters, and he can't shake the uneasy, persistent aching in his chest. His room was once on Jiang Cheng's right, almost to the corner of the exit. He can still vaguely remember the door that once served as its entrance, and it makes him feel, almost as if there is something inside that is beckoning him to go to it immediately.
His hand lands on the doorknob, and twists it. What he sees causes his breath to hitch because—
Everything is exactly as it was when he was still sleeping in that room—spotless and filled with his belongings as if he had never left. The pile of scrolls he used to record his talismans and inventions, laid neatly on the small desk next to his bed. Approaching the closet with anxiety rushing through his veins, his eyes rapidly become misty as he sees his old robes neatly hung, ironed, like he had just worn them yesterday.
Wei Wuxian picks up the old, worn red hair ribbon tied in one of his robes, cinching it firmly as he staggers backward, collapsing onto his former bed. He's stopped in his tracks by a glittering sound, and he lets his hand stray beneath the bed till he falters and pulls out a clarity bell.
His old clarity bell.
It is a mere piece of metal that weighs less than a sword and yet the heaviness feels like a ton of bricks in his grasp.
Wei Wuxian thinks he might cry again, but there are no tears tantamount to the grief he is feeling, to the cries inside his mind that plead for anyone—anything—to take him in place and return Jiang Cheng.
Instead, he dives under the blanket, closes his eyes, and holds his breath, fantasizing that under the covers he feels Jiang Cheng's hand reaching for his, letting the memories of the past engulf him and drive him into oblivion.
Giggles resounded through the bedroom as a pair of boys ran in circles, playing with each other until the older boy tackled the smaller one to the bed and blew raspberries on his cheek before leaving a wet kiss, “A-Cheng! My cute didi!”
“A-Ying, that’s disgusting!” The younger boy complained, rubbing his cheek thoroughly before pouting.
“Xianxian is sorry, Xianxian is only three,” The older boy named A-Ying apologized half-heartedly while giving puppy eyes, “Where’s my goodnight kiss, Chengcheng?”
The younger boy hmphed, “You don’t deserve one! But fine, I’ll give it to you.”
Wei Ying grinned after receiving a gentle peck on his cheek as he noticed his didi blush. “I'm sleeping, don't disturb me, A-Ying!”
Despite his sulking behavior, A-Cheng clasped his palm, entwining it with his, “So you don't get nightmares about dogs! Now, go to sleep, too! Or else A-die will be mad at us if we wake up late.”
“My didi is so cute! I love you Chengcheng.”
“.... love you too, A-Ying.”
Wei Wuxian reluctantly departs from Lotus Pier, taking with him some old robes and photographs he discovered in the cabinet in his qiankun pouch—items he doubts anybody would notice had vanished, should they ever go through his belongings.
In the dead of night, he trudges despairingly slowly, hair pulled into a high ponytail in a familiar red ribbon and his clarity bell hidden underneath his robes twinkling slightly at his movements.
He doesn't know where his next destination would be but he is certain that he needs to be by himself– the same words he had told Lan Zhan when he left Cloud Recesses for Lotus Pier. Lan Zhan, I’m sorry but I can’t stay here. Lan Zhan, I need to be alone. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what he wants to do he wants to set fire to the world and let it burn he wants to find peace he wants to bring Jin Guangyao back from the dead just to rip his insides apart with his bare teeth, like a monster, like a god he misses Jiang Cheng he doesn’t miss the resentful voices and graveyard memories in his head and he is nothing but guilt and sorrow and guilt and sorrow.
He breathes, heavily, painfully, relentlessly, and sets off to the unknown.
Half a year passes, dreary and uneventful.
It should be a comfort, a reprieve from the torturous, mourning episodes that torment him of what happened, of who he had lost. And yet, it is unbearable. There is a constant itch gnawing in his bones begging to be let out from the crevices of his being and some days, he ponders the idea of allowing it to consume him whole again— to go back to his old ways of demonic cultivation because what is a world without his shidi?
Still, he never acts upon it.
And life goes on.
Wei Wuxian travels across the entire jianghu with Little Apple, never staying in one place for far too long, drops by Carp Tower to check in on Jing Ling from time to time, is frequently visited by Wen Ning who had taken it upon himself to look after Sizhui during night-hunts— his child, his Wen Yuan, the boy he wanted to introduce to Jiang Cheng as his son—. He develops his core, trains his—Mo Xuanyu’s— body to the strength and stamina it once had in his previous body, helps civilians out as a rogue cultivator.
Life goes on.
Somehow and some time along his journey, Wei Wuxian builds himself a home in an abandoned cabin he stumbled upon along the borders of Yiling and Yunmeng. He makes himself comfortable in the middle of nowhere surrounded only by the lakes and trees, farms crops for his sustenance.
It is peaceful but lonely. There is no one here but him, no one for him to play pranks with, to tease with, or to eat lunch with.
It can’t compare to the joyous, beautiful sunsets he experienced in Lotus Pier when he awoke nor the tiring but contented afternoons of training alongside his fellow disciples and showing off his skills, much to his shidi’s chagrin.
At the end of the day, he supposes it is better than the months he spent in Yiling Burial Mounds isolated, scared, and starving. This time, Wei Wuxian has the freedom to do whatever he wants without the confines of his past shackling him. Even better, no one else knows him as the Yiling Laozu, the Yunmeng traitor, the proponent of demonic cultivation in this life.
He can do anything and everything he was unable to before— except come back home , that is.
He pretends it doesn’t hurt when he sees Yunmeng Jiang disciples with their clarity bells and signature dark purple robes traveling in groups during the night-hunting season.
Jin Ling visits him one day.
“Wei Wuxian,” Jin Ling tips his head slightly, “You look well.”
Wei Wuxian nearly drops the bowl of soup he’s holding. The teenager stands directly in front of his cabin's porch, clad in yellow robes and with Suihua sheathed by his side. He looked healthy, better than the last time Wei Wuxian had seen him a few months ago when he surreptitiously checked in on the boy’s well-being.
“Jin Ling.” Wei Wuxian says lamely, at a loss for words at the boy’s sudden appearance.
Jin Ling’s clarity bell chimes as he approaches, and Wei Wuxian is suddenly all too aware of his gaze on his own, fastened to his waist. Jin Ling’s eyes tighten and Wei Wuxian almost fears the backlash, prepares himself to explain–
But, Jin Ling tears his gaze away, says nothing of it, wanders inside his cabin without any care in the world, and states blandly, “Hanguang-jun has been looking for you.”
Wei Wuxian slightly winces. He hasn’t exactly updated Lan Zhan on his whereabouts since he left a year ago despite his promises to do so; but who could blame him? His grief had been all too-encompassing and he wanted to be left alone for as long as it took him to move on.
And no matter how much he lied to himself that he was doing better now, some of him never returned since Jiang Cheng died. An empty husk functioning inside a body that is not even his, that’s all that is left of him.
There's a palpable tension in the air, weighted with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Wei Wuxian fidgets with the edge of his sleeve, struggling to find the right words to bridge the gap that had formed between them.
"I'll... I'll send him a letter," Wei Wuxian finally manages to speak, his voice quieter than he intended. He doesn’t ask Jin Ling how he found him, he doesn’t think he needs to. His gaze drifts to the window, where the shadows of the trees dance in the fading light of the day.
“I don’t really care why you haven’t told him where you are.” Jin Ling shrugs, “I’m only here to give you something and I’m leaving.”
“What is…” Wei Wuxian begins, but Jin Ling holds up a hand, cutting him off.
Anything Wei Wuxian wants to utter freezes in his throat when he sees Suibian. The intricate white blade gleams silver as if calling out to him. He takes Suibian from Jin Ling's outstretched hand, feeling the weight of it settle familiarly in his grip. It looks wrong, it feels wrong.
“Why are you giving this to me?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart pounding in his chest.
Jin Ling meets his gaze, resolutely, “Why not? It’s your sword, no one in Lotus Pier can use it. Why keep something that’s not useful to anyone else locked behind a cabinet?” Jin Ling snorts, “And you even took your clarity bell, what difference would this make?”
“A-Ling…” Wei Wuxian begins, swallowing the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know what suddenly overcomes him when the words “I’m sorry,” escapes his mouth.
It becomes clear that that wasn’t the response Jin Ling expected as he turns back to him, expression caught between shock and bewilderment, and regret suddenly washes over Wei Wuxian. He hadn't intended to catch Jin Ling off guard, hadn't meant to dredge up the past in a way that could reopen old wounds.
But there's a vulnerability in Jin Ling's gaze now, a rawness that mirrors Wei Wuxian's own. And in that moment, he knows that he can't take back the words he's spoken.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian repeats, his voice thick with emotions he can no longer hide behind a facade, behind a barrier. “I’m sorry for everything– it was all my fault.”
Jin Ling's shoulders relax a little, and his eyes, beyond the pain, anger, and sorrow, soften. He moves forward a little hesitantly, closing the distance between them.
When Jin Ling eventually departs, a significant weight on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders disappears, along with the wind, along the trail of footsteps Jin Ling leaves behind.
Jin Ling drops by again, once, twice, countless times.
It becomes a regular occurrence enough that Wei Wuxian no longer bats an eye when he’s faced with the teenager’s permanent scowling face, or a calm one, on rare occasions in front of his cabin. Wei Wuxian won’t lie when he says that the company is nice, even if he pretends that his heart doesn’t ache when the boy’s mannerisms remind him all too well of a certain tall, purple-robed man who could kill people with his glare.
He never tells this, however. Instead, he listens, listens, and listens– from Jin Ling’s ramblings about annoying Jin Elders to his night-hunt experiences with his friends (even though Jin Ling still firmly denies that he is friends with the Juniors), and normal, boring news of events happening in the jianghu.– He listens in a way that he had never been able to with Jiang Cheng, helps Jin Ling with his sword and archery, and thinks, in the deepest pit of his heart, that his shijie would be proud of him for making amends with her son.
“I got you some spices from Yunmeng, dajiu. I know you missed them.”
“D-dajiu?”
“Aren’t you?”
He finally visits Lan Zhan, too, once, in Gusu.
“Wei Ying will always be welcome to stay and live in Cloud Recesses.”
“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, but I can’t.”
“But Wei Ying will still visit, no disappearing.”
“Haha! Of course, Lan Zhan!”
Another year passes, this time, filled with memories, perhaps a little less somber and a little more happier.
But the world hates him, and all of his pain, grief, and sorrow are not enough, never enough.
He doesn’t know what overcame his senses that day, only that he woke up strangely empty and longing for something, someone, a persistent feeling in the back of his head— enough for him to find himself back in the mountain he brought Jiang Cheng to.
Autumn is almost ending when Wei Wuxian traipses upward, the brown leaves under his feet drifting away to where the gray sky and the cliff meet. The sun is dim, the earth is hollow, and so is he. The looming winter is more apparent than ever with the chilliness that eats at his skin and the thoughts that plague him with every step closer to the peak.
When he reaches the top, the sun has fully gone down and stars have begun to envelop the night sky. Steam comes from his mouth in bursts with every exhale he takes until he slows down, looking out over the sky full of stars. The only sound is the rustle of the wind through the trees, the only light the faint glow of the constellations above.
He reaches out, as if searching for something that's just beyond his grasp.
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian begins, voice carried away on the wind. “I miss you.”
The words hang in the air, disappearing into the heavens above. There is something strangely intimate with pouring all of his feelings out in the place where it all started, and Wei Wuxian finds that he can’t stop when the words begin to flood his lips.
“I want to see you again, A-Cheng. Even just in my dreams.” Wei Wuxian states, eyes staring directly into the stars that seem to twinkle brighter at his words. “Won’t you let me?”
Wei Wuxian’s breath wavers when a shooting star flies across the vast expanse of darkness and silence, flashing white.
“I’m here now, shidi.”
There is a heavy weight on his chest, right where his core is located, and Wei Wuxian’s hand presses on it, feeling the thrumming vibration become louder with every second. This is not Mo Xuanyu’s core, not the weak, frail one that he had been cultivating since he was brought back to life. It is his old one— and the sensation feels warm and yet peculiar.
“A-Ying! I swear I’ll chase away all the dogs for you!”
“I’ll always be by your side, A-Cheng, I promise! You’ll be my sect leader—”
“And you’ll be my second-in-command!”
Darkness consumes him as red explodes behind his eyelids. The world spins round and round, the sound of feral dogs barking and children laughing echoing in his ears. The smell of lotus root and pork soup wasps beneath his nose, the stinging pain of a whip collides with his back.
Wei Wuxian rises from his bed, panting and sweating. He attempts to walk forward—
But he falls into the void.
Again and again and again.
“If Gusu Lan has its Twin Jades, then we’ll be the Twin Prides of Yunmeng!
But you have to beat me in a fight first, A-Cheng! Hahaha!”
“Ugh, WEI WUXIAN! I’ll break your legs!”
The rotten smell of decaying corpses surrounding him in Burial Mounds, the resentful energy enveloping him like a cloud, the searing pain of the Wen brand engraved into his chest, the screams of the helpless Jiang members who fell to their death under the hands of the Wen, the cries of Jiang Cheng as he mourned his family— the Wens, Jiang Cheng, the Wens, Jiang Cheng, the Wens;
And suddenly he’s back there again, in that market, unaware of the Wen soldiers following after him, hands on their swords, prepared to draw it on him any second. He knows he’s at a severe disadvantage, but if he has to protect Jiang Cheng, he will—
“Hey, A-Cheng, let’s be brothers in the next life too, okay?”
No.
The truth reveals itself to him, lifting the blindfold off his eyes in one, painful sweep.
He sees Jiang Cheng in all his glory, pale and sick, but determination blazes through his eyes all the same. Wei Wuxian knows that look, has witnessed it for far longer than he could remember.
No.
He sees Jiang Cheng pick up an apple from the fruit stall behind him, clenching his fist around it, and with a deep inhale, throws it to the Wen soldiers.
No no no no.
He witnesses the recognition on the Wen soldiers' faces as Jiang Cheng insults them before fleeing. Wei Wuxian, the Wei Wuxian who didn’t know anything, is forgotten as they follow Jiang Cheng instead.
He witnesses them capture Jiang Cheng only seconds later, crushing his face to the ground with a Wen sword before hauling him away, uncaring of the bleeding injuries they have inflicted on the sect heir.
Wei Wuxian runs towards them, but something pulls him to the ground, and he falls, again. Again. Again.
Jiang Cheng’s screams. His dull, empty eyes, turned catatonic at the never-ending beatings. Wen Chao’s dissatisfaction at the lack of reaction to his torture. His order to melt Jiang Cheng’s core. The fear that entered his eyes for the very first time. The hands that pinned him down to the ground as Wen Chao grabbed his face maliciously, letting Zhuliu’s hand pierce through Jiang Cheng’s chest and take out his core. The screams. The tears. The nonstop agony. He looked so small, so young.
A-CHENG!
Wei Wuxian gasps, struggling to focus with the onslaught of memories—not his, none of them were his— barraging into his mind.
“A-Ying.” A familiar voice calls out.
Wei Wuxian’s head shoots up before he notices that his surroundings have changed. He’s in his old room, back in Lotus Pier, when things have not been ruined, have not been changed by death and destruction.
“A-Cheng…” Wei Wuxian says, disbelief coloring his tone. His eyes start welling up against his own accord as he stands there, staring at his didi like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He looks much, much younger, younger than when they had gone to Cloud Recesses for its lectures. But he’s the Jiang Cheng that Wei Wuxian knows all the same.
“What are you doing there in the corner looking weird? It’s late, you woke me up with your screaming.” Jiang Cheng complains, crossing his arms and pulling his face into a scowl, before he notices the distraught expression on Wei Wuxian’s face, “Wait, hey, are you okay? Why are you crying?”
“A-Cheng…” Wei Wuxian whimpers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened, “Did you do something? Is this a prank? You’re scaring me.”
Wei Wuxian scrambles to his knees, nearly tripping over himself to reach his shidi, hands clutching Jiang Cheng’s like a prayer, “A-Cheng. Stay with me. I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking abou—”
The world shifts again.
Jiang Cheng’s rage and grief at Nightless City. The mournful hatred directed toward Wei Wuxian before he plummeted into his death. Jin Ling at Dafan Mountain. Zidian wrapping itself around his—Mo Xuanyu’s— body. The Ancestral Hall. Guanyin Temple. Jiang Cheng’s lifeless eyes, the blood pouring from his body.
“A-Xian. Take care.”
Perhaps, in another life, we could have been lovers. I love you.
Wei Wuxian wakes up.
He stands up, stumbling and spewing his guts out onto the floor, unconcerned about the mess. His mind is in disarray, and resentful energy swirls around his body in the wreckage he leaves behind.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know.
“A-Cheng…”
“A-Cheng, how could you? HOW COULD YOU!” Wei Wuxian's screams reverberate off the walls of the empty room, filling the air with a sense of anguish and despair. His hands clench into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tries to shake off the remnants of the dream that still cling to him like a suffocating shroud.
A sharp glimmer from the corner of his bedroom catches his eye, and before he knows it, he's running Suibian down his arms–he wants, no, needs, to feel the hurt, pain, and everything else that will keep him grounded.
“A-Cheng… why would you sacrifice yourself for me…” Wei Wuxian rasps.
Jin Ling finds him like this, hands stained crimson from his firm hold on Suibian, blood constantly trickling down and destroying the hardwood planks, uncaring of the sharp metal that pierces his flesh and creates large wounds.
The metallic scent of blood fills the air, mingling with the acrid tang of resentful energy that seems to emanate from Wei Wuxian's very being.
“Dajiu!” Jin Ling cries out, rushing forward to his side. He's met with a chilling silence, broken only by the sound of Wei Wuxian's ragged breathing.
Wei Wuxian's eyes are distant, glazed over with pain and despair as he stares blankly ahead. His grip on Suibian is unyielding, as if he's clinging to it for dear life, as if it's the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
“Dajiu, what’s wrong? What happened?” Jin Ling asks, voice tinged with fear and worry. “Let go of the sword. Please, Wei Wuxian!”
But Wei Wuxian remains unresponsive, buried in his agony. Left with no other choice, Jin Ling reaches out to gently pull Suibian from Wei Wuxian's hold. He winces as he notices the deep gashes on Wei Wuxian's hands, the blood staining his flesh a bright burgundy.
The murmurs of “A-Cheng” that leave Wei Wuxian’s lips explain everything yet nothing at all to Jin Ling, who gathers him in his arms in an embrace, shoulders shaking. He doesn’t answer, he can’t answer. With the imminent numbness comes weightlessness, and his consciousness fades.
Wei Wuxian shuts his eyes.
Wei Ying opens his.
“Wei-xiong! Hurry up! I thought you wanted to see the new artifacts before it gets crowded!” Nie Huaisang's voice jolts Wei Ying out of his reverie, causing him to yelp as he hurries to the museum's entrance without falling flat on his face.
“What’s wrong with you, Wei-xiong? You’ve been daydreaming more lately, got a crush on someone?” Nie Huaisang teases, although his eyes are slightly tinted with concern. Wei Ying makes a face, “I don’t! If anything, other people have a crush on me, don’t you want to know how many girls have confessed to me just the past week alone?”
Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes and flips his middle finger, indicating that he is not amused–but Wei Ying is relieved that his friend became sidetracked so that he would not continue to badger him about his frequent daydreams–because if he was asked, he, too, did not know the answer.
He's been having strange visions recently–if you can call them that–with murky and foggy memories of someone he doesn't know and a sense of uneasiness that seems to infiltrate all of his senses. It feels like he should be remembering something, specifically, a certain someone, Wei Ying ponders, but he can’t put his finger on it.
Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian stay in a silent embrace for what feels like an eternity. But slowly, ever so slowly, Wei Wuxian's sobs begin to subside, his breathing evening out as he finds a measure of solace in Jin Ling's presence.
And it doesn’t make sense in any way, because with his vivid, photographic memory, he should not be forgetting a person so easily. Everything and everyone have always been accounted for in his head. Yet, he can’t explain why he wakes up with tears in his eyes after a night of sleeping nor the ache in his chest when he sees the color purple. He can’t explain why he shivers at the sight of dogs when he had never been attacked by one in his entire childhood nor the weird nostalgia that the scent of lotus root and pork soup brings him.
“You have always underestimated my jiujiu’s love for you,’ Jin Ling states, looking down at the tea served in front of him, frowning.
“Why would dogs still be banned from Lotus Pier to this day if he hated you?”
“Wei-xiong, we're here.” Nie Huaisang draws him back to reverie, away from his racing mind, and Wei Ying lifts his gaze to the banner draped in front of the showroom– Yunmeng in the Ancient Times, it reads.
“Let’s meet up later, okay? I wanna see the ancient fans in display and it’s on the other side of the second floor,” Nie Huaisang points in the opposite direction, “Call me, Wei-xiong!”
Wei Ying nods, grinning, “Don’t get lost, Huaisang! Or I’ll leave you alone here!”
“I’m getting married to Jingyi next spring, I hope you can be there, dajiu.”
“Of course, A-Ling.”
In another life, could that have been you and I, A-Cheng?
He enters inside, his chest squeezing uncomfortably as he sees hundreds of artifacts and artworks right in direct view of him. His anxiety seems to build exponentially as he approaches the largest painting in the room, hung in a protective casing in the center. Swords clashing, people's screams, and heavy and sinister flute music fill his ears.
“Even if you fall, you can’t pull the cloth away. You must not be curious. Remember, just say that you’re Wei WuXian”
“You’re not coming back to Lotus Pier?”
Wei Ying's eyes shake as he studies the painting of a man in purple, defiant with vicious eyes, and lightning strikes from his hand as he battles evil.
“If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you”
“There’s no need to protect me. Just let go.”
“Tell the world that I defected. From now on, no matter what Wei WuXian does, it’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect.”
“..Jiang Cheng…” Wei Ying whispers.
“What happened?! Didn’t you say you could control it?! Didn’t you say it’d be fine?!”
“… I don’t know either.”
“… I can’t control it, I just can’t control it…”
Wei Ying spins around, taking in the various weapons laid out on the table– swords, bows, a clarity bell made of the finest silver– a tattered, purple lotus tassel separated from its end.
[Name was Jiang Wanyin]
[Rebuilt the Lotus Pier from its massacre]
[Feared by many, respected by everyone]
[The greatest and strongest Sect Leader of his generation]
[Passed too soon, his heir took his place only thirteen years after his rule]
“Jiang Cheng….” Wei Ying cries, the name scalding on his tongue, like a prayer to a god.
“I’m sorry… A-Cheng.”
He drops to his knees, hand on his lips, uncaring about anyone walking in on him sobbing his heart out on the floor.
A violet handkerchief emerges in his peripheral vision, accompanied by the voice “Are you okay?”
Wei Wuxian freezes.
Brilliant stars of blue and gray stare into his eyes.
And the world stops.
(Wei Wuxian peacefully dies in his sleep, nearly a hundred years later, enveloped in the comfort of his nephew and his friends. He knows he would have never reached immortality, not with the frail golden core his body exhibits, but he prefers this, more than anything else. He has lived a lifetime full of pain, died for the first time, and lived long enough once more to experience healing. He reconciles with the remaining survivors of the Lotus Pier massacre, attends Jingyi’s wedding, becomes a mentor to young disciples, and lives. The grief never goes away, rather, he learns to live along with it and accept it.
The night before he passes, he gazes into the stars from the comfort of his home, now located in Yunmeng, once again, irises steadily watching the constellations above and hand caressing a childhood photo of the person he has loved always and forever,
A-Cheng, he thinks, gently, lovingly, longingly, I love you.
I'll see you soon.)