Work Text:
There is really no point in doing paperwork in this state. A sum total of three hours of sleep in the last two days and an atrocious fucking headache have him staring uncomprehendingly into his reports. This is a terrible idea.
Jiang Cheng knew that when he felt his forehead burning during that meeting with Qin Zongzhu.
He knew it when he got into that (retrospectively unreasonable) screaming match with the Ayi who made the soup this afternoon and had to leave with his tail between his legs.
He knew it when he blanked out while talking to second shidi about the next day’s lesson plans for the young ones.
And he knows it now, shaky hands unintentionally crumpling up his meticulously stacked reports.
They're piling up so high that he probably won't be able to see the top of them come morning. The sect is starting to reach it's original size again, and with that come a mind numbing amount of mundane requests and responsibilities that Jiang Cheng wouldn't be able to take care of even if there were ten more hours in a day.
And then there's this headache- sharp, needle-like pain cutting through his focus every few minutes. Every time he hears a new sound, he feels faint. Even the low candle light has him wincing in pain. He feels like porcelain.
It's the dead of night. He knows he should be asleep. But he won’t try to go to bed because every time he so much as tries to close his eyes and fucking think, he feels a wave of sheer panic grip him like a vice. There’s so much to do and he’s just so damn tired.
He feels his eyes start to burn with tears and shakes it off. Not now.
The curriculum for the children that joined late. The trade negotiations with those buffoons. The crop yields, the new border disputes, new indigo-dyed robes for the initiates. He can’t think about all that or he’ll be ripped apart limb from limb and it might just kill him.
He gets back to torturing himself. Maybe if he suffers enough, he’ll end up passing out. Maybe then he won’t feel like complete dogshit for a while. Maybe then, he won't have to think of all the other things he's supposed to have gotten done two weeks ago.
As I explained in my last letter... he scribbles, wondering how best to communicate to Ouyang Zongzhu that he would rather rip his own tongue out than ever speak to the fucker again, Yunmeng Jiang has no cultivators to spare this next… coming month…
What did he just write? Did he blank out again? He looks back at his own writing and almost cries- his usually decent calligraphy is so shitty that it hurts to read.
As per my last… he tries again- wait, that’s condescending. Does it even matter? When do those disingenuous fuckers not find him condescending? Why the fuck is the candle flickering? It fucking hurts-
“Zongzhu?” a soft voice interrupts his train of thoughts. He closes his eyes so he can hear better, over the pounding in his head. He hums roughly so that they know he heard them.
“I- if this isn’t a good time…”
He’s just about ready to scream.
“What?” he half groans, half snarls into his hands, half tempted to shove his hands over his ears so he doesn’t have to hear anything. Gods above, everything hurts.
“JIUJIU,” comes a shrill voice. A deep, sharp pain stabs through the sides of his head and he flinches, wishing he had enough energy to jump out of the window. He can feel his teeth aching.
“Xiao Gongzhi, please…”
Please indeed. Please get that noise away.
“Both of you out,” he rasps, quietly, because he can’t bear another noise, “right now.”
“Jiujiu! Look, look!” A-Ling shrieks, clambering over to his desk, “Look what I made, look!”
Jiang Cheng groans, cowering under his own arms like a child. Fuck off fuck off fuck off fuck off
“Jiujiu, you’re not LOOKING-“
“I said, get out.”
“A-Ling, let’s go now-“
“Is Jiujiu angry-“
“GET OUT, ALL OF YOU."
There’s a beat of blissful, blissful silence as Jiang Cheng catches his breath, gritting his teeth. Just as he's coming down from the pain, the ringing in his ears beginning to fade, he hears fading sobs from down the hallway.
Shit.
Shit.
He almost tries to sit up, but the simple motion makes him feel like vomiting. He makes an aborted noise of pain, feeling every sharp thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Is that really his heartbeat? It’s going so damn fast.
He shuts his eyes, hard, until he’s seeing stars. His jaw is trembling, a lump building up in his throat.
He’s fucking losing it. He needs to sleep. He just screamed at A-Ling. He just threw a tantrum like a baby. He needs to sleep. He’s fucking losing it.
He hobbles towards the daybed and rests his head gingerly, still reeling from the pounding in his head. He doesn’t know if the hyperventilating is making it even worse, but he’s beginning to see white around the edges of his vision. It hurts to think.
He shouted at Jin Ling. He knows he is the furthest thing from an ideal parent, but he didn’t think he’d fuck up this fast. How did he fuck up this fast?
Stop thinking, he desperately thinks to himself. There’s white spots dancing around in his field of vision even though his eyes are closed.
He pulls a pillow over his head to block out the light and just lays there.
Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking.
Whether Jiang Cheng actually slept last night, he doesn’t know. Now that he’s awake, yesterday night feels more like a fever dream than anything else, the fuzzy memories floating around in his head vaguely.
It’s midday. He winces a little at the light, but sits up anyway. His skin feels too tight. His guan is balancing precariously on his head. His topknot feels too tight on his scalp. And he’s still fucking drowsy even though it’s midday.
He crawls up off the daybed, feeling like he’s been run over by an ox cart.
The events of last night are creeping up on him. The meeting with Qin Zongzhu. Second Shidi nagging him. A-Ling barging into his office at night.
Screaming at A-Ling.
The panic grows, piercing through his lungs and choking him.
He should go apologize. Oh, and he’d done it in front of the maid. He’d really gone mad. He should apologize to her as well. What will she think of him now? Who will she tell? They’ll ship A-Ling off to that gilded garden of snakes again and it’ll be his fault.
He stiffens at the thought, heart hammering. That’s not going to happen. He’ll say sorry. A-Ling won’t forgive him because why would he after that disgraceful behavior- but Jiang Cheng will beg anyway. If A-Ling has to leave, it won’t be for lack of trying on his part.
He rips his guan out and gathers his rough, tangled hair into a topknot again.
Now, to find Jin Ling.
The heat of the summer hits Jiang Cheng as he creeps out of his office. No one is around right now, most likely training or arranging for the coming Dragon Boat Festival. No one bothered to wake him up, the damn brats. Probably scared of getting a taste of Zidian. Still.
He tries to sift through the hazy mess that is his brain for where Jin Ling is sleeping this fortnight.
Cold fear suddenly grips Jiang Cheng. Jin Ling did change bedrooms, right? He’s supposed to move around to throw off potential assassins. He didn't check on Jin Ling last night like he usually does. Is that why everything's so quiet? Was he injured? Is he dead?
He feels a sick twist in his gut, exhaustion mixing with dread in his belly and threatening to tear him open. He throws open the bedroom door. No one's there, save for some torn up paper and dirty clothes. He feels the blood drain out of his face.
A-Ling's fine, he's fine. The servants forgot to clean out the room. Jiang Cheng is just going mad. Or maybe the brat ran off- no, no he didn't, that's not possible. It's not. A-Ling must have thrown a fit yesterday because of him. Why would the servants leave him alone? That's not- that's not-
He hears a high pitched wail.
"A-Ling?" he croaks out before barrelling towards the source of the noise without a second thought. The noise is getting louder- slurred cries and shrieks becoming clearer and clearer as he rushes into the playroom.
Jiang Cheng slams open the door, his heartbeat thundering. A startled Jin Ling looks up at him from his bed, broken toys clutched in his little fists. His eyes are red rimmed and he's dripping an abnormal amount of snot onto his golden robes. He gapes blankly at Jiang Cheng for a minute, forgetting to cry in favour of staring him down with those wide, brown eyes. Then he starts to yowl, beating at the bed as hard as he can. His maid enters the room, carrying some dumplings. She looks like she's on the brink of death, not even noticing Jiang Cheng's presence until he steps forward.
"Zongzhu," she flinches, looking up at him desperately, "I just left him for a second, I was getting him some- he wouldn't calm down-"
He waves her off, too tired to scold her. He reaches forward to scoop the boy into his arms, but A-Ling backs away, looking upset.
"Go away!" he wails, putting on his most frightening glare, "A-Ling won't play with Jiujiu anymore!"
Jiang Cheng would say something, if he could get his voice to work. Jin Ling looks like he didn't get enough sleep. He must have cried all night. He made his nephew cry all night.
"I- A-Ling, I-"
"No! Go away!" Jin Ling screams, throwing another toy at him.
"Gongzhi!" the maid hisses, looking even paler, "Zongzhu, forgive me, he's especially-"
"No, it's alright," he mumbles, bone deep exhaustion settling in his chest. He gets down to his knees unceremoniously in front of Jin Ling so that he’s at eye level with the boy. He takes away one of the broken toys- it has a sharp edge. He observes it, fidgets with it like he's a sulking child himself. He can't even look at Jin Ling.
He makes himself look up anyway, craning his head so at to make the boy look at him.
"Will you look at Jiujiu, A-Ling?" he tries, a lump in his throat. Jin Ling cranes his neck to look away. It's adorable. Normally, Jiang Cheng would have let himself smile exasperatedly. Right now, he's trying not to cry. His trembling hands twist into his outer robes.
“A-ling… Jiujiu is sorry," he says lamely.
Jin Ling finally glares down at Jiang Cheng with red rimmed eyes. Jiang Cheng feels his chest burst with a mixture of terror and sadness and hope.
“Jiujiu was mean. Go away,” he repeats, lower lip trembling.
“I know,” Jiang Cheng breathes, feeling himself shake, “Jiujiu won’t do it again, I promise.”
He makes to reach for his nephew, but stops himself before Jin Ling notices. Not now, not yet.
Jin Ling’s face scrunches up as he stares at his uncle
“A-Ling doesn’t like when Jiujiu’s scary,” he accuses, bottom lip trembling and tiny fists balled up at his sides.
Jiang Cheng feels his gut twist, likes he’s going to be sick.
“I-“
“Its rude to yell. Why’d you yell?” the boy demands, cautiously inching closer to Jiang Cheng.
“I… Jiujiu was tired,” he whispers, his face burning with shame, “A lot of people were… mean to Jiujiu yesterday. I was upset, okay? It won’t happen again. I swear it.”
He doesn’t dare look back at Jin Ling. What a juvenile fucking answer. Jiujiu was upset. Who would even bother with an excuse like that?
Hes going to want to go to Lanling now. To Jin Guangyao. To his perfect Shushu who doesn’t yell and bluster and fuck up over and over again. That’s fine. That is what is best.
“Someone was mean to Jiujiu?” A-Ling asks.
He looks up at the frowning boy. It looks almost comical, that grumpy scowl etched into such a sweet, young face. Jiang Cheng almost lets out a wet snort.
“Who was mean?” Jin Ling demands, reaching forward and slapping two snotty, sticky hands onto Jiang Cheng’s cheeks.
Jiang Cheng feels his lips curl into a shaky smile. This brat.
“Why? Will you beat them up for Jiujiu?”
“A-Ling will come next time. I’ll buh- break their legs,” he promises, pure sincerity dripping from every word.
Jiang Cheng feels himself shake with laughter. Or tears, he really doesn’t know. His chest is about to burst with an emotion he can’t quite place.
“Will you now?” he chokes out.
“Hmm,” the boy nods seriously, “But only if Jiujiu doesn’t yell. It’s rude. Jiujiu said so.”
“It is rude,” he says wetly.
Jin Ling gets even closer, chubby cheeks inches away as he stares Jiang Cheng down intently.
“Jiujiu is crying?”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Tears pool around them anyway, trailing down his cheeks. He wraps his arms around A-Ling desperately, biting his lower lip till it bleeds. Hes so fucking tired.
“D-Don’t cry. No crying,” he hears his nephew say, his sweet, fragile voice breaking, and oh, how Jiang Cheng hates himself for being the reason for those tears.
He holds on tighter, wishing he could bring himself to speak without sobbing. He rubs circles into Jin Ling’s back, letting silent tears run past his cheeks and onto his nephew’s robes, sobs bubbling up and dying in his throat.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasps silently, “Jiujiu’s so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Jin Ling sniffles into his chest, trying to embrace Jiang Cheng in his little arms and not even reaching his sides.
“S’ okay,” Jin Ling nods, wiping snot into Jiang Cheng’s already disheveled robes, “Jiujiu is sad. ‘Nd he won’t do it again.”
And suddenly, it’s all Jiang Cheng can do not to crumble to dust. This sweet, sweet boy, Jiang Cheng doesn’t deserve him, will never deserve him-
He bites backs a strangles sound, tipping his head away so that the rush of tears don’t spoil the boy’s robes.
“I won’t,” he breathes, “I won’t.”