Work Text:
The battlefield was a blur of chaos, shouts, and clashing swords, the air heavy with the stench of blood and death. The clamor of war had long since dulled the ears of every cultivator, save for the rare moments when one’s heartbeat surged louder than the cries of battle.
Jiang Cheng’s heartbeat pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t just from the exertion of fighting. There was something wrong. His body felt sluggish, every swing of Sandu slightly delayed, every step not as sharp as it should have been. His meridians twisted inside him, refusing to settle in the way they had before. Since Boashan Sanren restored his core, Jiang Cheng had been experiencing these episodes more frequently. It was as though his own body fought against the very power that should have been its salvation.
Still, he fought on, refusing to let weakness show. A leader, the head of the Jiang Sect, had no room for failure.
Not now. Not ever.
But the Wens pressed in from all sides, and with his meridians in turmoil, Jiang Cheng began to falter. He deflected one blade, then another, but a third came down on him hard, his arms trembling under the weight of it. A sharp pain flared in his side as something cold and unforgiving sliced through his flesh. The world spun briefly, and he stumbled.
Fighting from a distance, Wei Wuxian saw his brother's faltering form, his heart clenched with horror. The distance between them was too great. Caught in the heat of his own battle using demonic cultivation, he knew that without his cultivation, there was no way to reach Jiang Cheng in time. A wave of panic surged through him, sharp and chilling, like ice tearing through his veins.
Jiang Cheng raised Sandu again, though his movements were sluggish, the pain in his body a screaming reminder of his failure. He prepared himself for the next strike, knowing in the back of his mind it might be the last he’d survive.
Then, like the sudden arrival of a storm, Lan Xichen descended.
With a flash of his pristine robes and the brilliance of Shuoyue, the First Jade of Gusu Lan sliced through the enemy that threatened to overwhelm Jiang Cheng. There was a deadly grace in his movements, each strike precise, controlled, devastating. The leader of the Gusu Lan Sect had always been a paragon of serenity and peace, but here, in the thick of battle, his presence was something else— formidable, unyielding, and radiating the kind of authority that could crush armies.
He turned, dark eyes sharp as he assessed Jiang Cheng, taking in the blood staining his purple robes. He didn’t ask if Jiang Cheng was alright— Lan Xichen wasn’t naive. He could see the strain on Jiang Cheng’s face, the way his movements were just a fraction too slow, the pain he tried and failed to conceal. Without a word, Lan Xichen turned and stepped forward, back now to Jiang Cheng, and raised Shuoyue in a protective arc.
The Wens surrounding them rushed at them again, and Lan Xichen became a whirlwind. His sword was both shield and spear, each strike as much defense as it was offense. He held the line, unwavering, as if the weight of Jiang Cheng’s life rested solely in his hands— and perhaps it did.
Jiang Cheng tried to stand taller, but the pain flared again. His knees threatened to buckle. “Sect Leader Lan—”
“You're bleeding,” Lan Xichen said, his voice calm but firm. There was no room for pride here. No time for Jiang Cheng’s stubbornness.
Another wave of Wen cultivators rushed forward, and again, Lan Xichen met them with a force that seemed almost unstoppable. The years of war and loss had hardened him, refined him into something more than the calm peacemaker he once was. There was steel in him now, and he wielded it with terrifying grace.
In the distance, Wei Wuxian watched, his heart in his throat. Lan Xichen’s presence was a beacon of calm amidst the chaos, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at him. He knew why Jiang Cheng was struggling. Jiang Cheng’s body needed time to adapt to his core, and the strain always seemed to surface at the most crucial moments. But he was the only one who knew. The secret he had buried for the sake of his brother’s pride now felt like a weight on his shoulders, heavier than ever.
Jiang Cheng staggered back, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “I can fight.”
“Then fight,” Lan Xichen said, his tone never wavering from its steady, controlled calm. “But you won’t fight alone.”
For a moment, something inside Jiang Cheng flared— an old wound, his sense of failure, of inadequacy. It burned in his chest, bitter and angry. Why did he always need saving? He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t helpless. He couldn’t afford to be, not as the youngest leader of a recently massacred sect.
But Lan Xichen… Lan Xichen didn’t fight like someone who thought Jiang Cheng was weak. He didn’t fight with pity or condescension. He fought with the kind of trust that said we will win together. There was a power in it, in the way Lan Xichen stood beside him, as if they were equals despite the blood soaking Jiang Cheng’s side.
They moved together, and for what felt like the first time in this battle, Jiang Cheng found his footing again even if only for a moment. He fought, Sandu clashing against the enemy’s weapons as Lan Xichen stood unwavering by his side.
But the injury he sustained caught up with him, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Lan Xichen shifted again, this time closer, covering Jiang Cheng’s back as more enemies charged toward them.
“You need to retreat,” Lan Xichen murmured, the words barely a breath, but there was no mistaking the command in them.
Jiang Cheng grit his teeth. “I can not retreat.”
Lan Xichen glanced at him, his expression softening just the slightest bit. “There is no shame in preserving your strength to fight another day.”
Jiang Cheng wanted to argue but his body betrayed him as he swayed on his feet. He cursed under his breath, furious at himself, furious at his failing body, but Lan Xichen was already making the decision for him. He swiftly stepped in front of Jiang Cheng, forming a barrier between him and the Wens.
And this time, Jiang Cheng didn’t fight it.
As Jiang Cheng's blood stained the ground beneath them, unable to do much other than to let himself be protected, he watched Lan Xichen as he fought, not letting a single Wen so much as even look at Jiang Cheng.
In the distance, Wei Wuxian watched. In the way Lan Xichen moved without hesitation to protect Jiang Cheng, he felt something unexpected: hope.
Perhaps, Jiang Cheng didn’t just need saving from the battlefield. Perhaps what he needed was someone like Lan Xichen who saw his worth even in his moments of weakness, someone who would stand beside him not out of pity, but simply because Jiang Cheng deserved it.
And perhaps, for the first time, Jiang Cheng could allow himself to be saved.