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The curse strikes Wei Wuxian square in the chest, an invisible force slamming into him with the weight of a mountain. He staggers but grits his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright. The youngest Jiang-disciple cowers behind him, eyes wide with fear and Wei Wuxian rushes forward. He can’t let any of them get hurt.
The ghost howls, long skeletal fingers stretching toward its next victim.
The little group scatters, swords rising further, faces twisting in fear and anger at the fierce onslaught. They are so young, Wei Wuxian thinks. Old enough to go onto a night hunt on their own, he supposes, but still not experienced enough to manage this level of vengeful ghost without help. Good thing he’d run into them before things could escalate.
Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing to his lips and plays. The haunting melody reverberates through the air, forcing the specter back.
Despite their obvious hesitation at the sight of the black smoking flute, the disciples react quickly to their newfound advantage. They charge forward together, surrounding the spirit and striking at it from all sides. With a final, piercing wail, it dissolves into nothingness.
A strange heaviness coils in Wei Wuxian’s limps, as though his bones have turned to lead. His breath comes shorter, his vision blurs at the edges. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He can feel something crawling through his veins - an icy, foreign presence seeping into his body, twisting around his organs and weighing down his chest like iron shackles.
A curse that survives the elimination of its spirit, then. Great.
His knees buckle as sweat gathers at his temples, despite the chill spreading under his skin. He refuses to fall. Not when his brother’s disciples are still watching him, still relying on him.
His instincts scream at him to hide the weakness, to act normal.
“W- Wei-gongzi, are you alright?”, one of the kids asks hesitantly. He can’t remember any of their names.
“Yes, yes, of course! What, do you think such a merge spectre could harm me?” Wei Wuxian forces a grin, waving a hand dismissively, but even that movement feels sluggish.
The effort of pretending drains him even further. His vision swims, faces blending together, colors blurring at the edges. His fingers twitch, struggling to maintain their grip on Chenqing.
Then the strength just - leaves him.
The world tilts. His legs give out beneath him. Someone yelps. Hands reach out, catching him before he can hit the ground fully.
Lan Zhan’s gonna worry again.... , he thinks dimly, regret curling in his chest. He can already imagine his husband’s furrowed brows, that rare, panicked look in Lan Zhan’s eyes.
And then another thought cuts through, sharp and wry - Jiang Cheng’s gonna be pissed!
:::
Some water ghouls in a shallow pond. That’s what this mission should have been - an easy night hunt for a few junior disciples in need of some practical training.
Apparently not.
Somehow they’ve managed to run into Wei Wuxian along the way and the trouble always triples whenever this moron is involved.
“What did you do, idiot!”
Of course, Wei Wuxian doesn’t answer. He can’t. Jiang Cheng’s fool of a brother has managed to get himself knocked out - again.
This time, if the hurried report Jiang Cheng received was correct, it was because he had thrown himself in front of Jiang Cheng’s own disciples like a human shield. Typical. Infuriatingly, frustratingly typical.
And now Jiang Cheng has to haul his idiot brother inside Lotus Pier - feverish, unconscious and cursed.
Wei Wuxian had never known what was good for him. Not even death, a miracle resurrection and marrying the esteemed Hanguang-Jun changed that, Jiang Cheng thinks furiously. He was a fool to assume that that white-clad toad could keep his moron brother under control any more than any one else ever could.
Jiang Cheng grits his teeth as he tightens his grip around the limp figure slung over his shoulder, half-dragging, half-carrying him over the threshold into the medical quarters.
He can hear the frantic rustling of the medics and disciples scrambling to clear a space, but it all feels distant - secondary to the dull roar of anger (and something dangerously close to worry) building in his chest.
With a rough shove, he deposits Wei Wuxian onto the waiting cot, scowling at the way Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch as if grasping for something unseen. His breathing is shallow, his forehead slick with cold sweat. His skin is far too pale, an unnatural pallor creeping along his arms where dark veins pulse beneath the surface, spreading like ink in water.
The healers rush forward, murmuring to each other as they begin their work, hands glowing faintly with spiritual energy as they try to dispel whatever wretched thing has latched onto Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Cheng takes a step back, crossing his arms. He should leave - there is work to be done, disciples to discipline, letters to write - but he stays rooted to the spot, glaring at Wei Wuxian as if sheer force of will can shake him awake.
“What kind of curse?” he snaps at one of the disciples standing nearby - the same one who helped him drag Wei Wuxian into the medical wing. Shen Zhonghui had been one of the more older disciples sent on the hunt.
Shen Zhonghui flinches and eyes him fearfully, as if expecting a scolding. “Ah ... it wasn’t clear, zhongzu,” he stammers. “The specter talked about getting someone sick? I think? Maybe? It could be some kind of illness.” He hesitates briefly, glancing at Wei Wuxian’s unconscious form at the center of the frantic activity in the room. “It was meant for one of the younger juniors, but Wei-gongzi - he pushed them aside and took the full force of it.”
Jiang Cheng lets out a sharp breath through his nose, something dark and bitter curling in his chest. Wei Wuxian, always so quick to throw himself into danger. Always so willing to shoulder burdens that aren’t his.
Jiang Cheng lowers his hand to his lower dantian, feeling the steady swirl of his golden core - the one that isn’t even his.
The warmth of it pulses beneath his fingertips, a constant reminder of what was given, what was taken, and what can never be undone.
He had managed to keep his distance from Wei Wuxian for the past year, successfully avoiding any direct contact and shoving aside the emotions that threatened to resurface every time he thought of his resurrected brother.
It had been easier that way - easier to stay angry than to confront the tangle of grief, resentment and guilt that coiled in his chest like a suffocating knot.
But avoidance didn’t mean ignorance. He knew everything Wei Wuxian had been up to - including his indecent wedding to the chief cultivator (eloping? Really?!) and the regular visits to Lanling. Something Jin Ling never spoke of to him, yet Jiang Cheng knew about it nonetheless.
It was a strange thing to be both relieved and resentful at once - relieved that Jin Ling had another family member to lean on, resentful that Wei Wuxian had come back only to slip so easily into his nephews life, while Jiang Cheng still couldn’t bring himself to follow Jin Lings example.
No matter how much anger still simmers beneath the surface, no matter how deeply the wounds ran, Wei Wuxian was his brother. That was something Jiang Cheng would no longer deny. Not anymore.
Thinking about him, though - really thinking about him - always sent Jiang Cheng spiraling into that same suffocating knot of emotions.
And so, as he always had, he shoved it all away.
Anger was easier. Distance was easier.
But Wei Wuxian had never been one to let him take the easy path.
In typical Wei Wuxian fashion, his brother had forced his hand. Forced him into a decision before he was ready.
Not that there had ever really been a choice. Jiang Cheng always knew what he would do - that despite everything, he could never walk away completely.
But that doesn’t mean he’s ready. Maybe he never will be.
And yet, standing aside while his healers are fighting for Wei Wuxians life, Jiang Cheng decides that he just has to be ready now.
As he had always needed to tackle his life - without being ready at all.
:::
Wei Wuxian tosses and turns, sweat soaking his robes and the covers. His breath comes in ragged gasps, fevered murmurs fill the dimly lit room.
Jiang Cheng sits stiffly in the chair beside the bed, arms crossed, jaw clenched, his entire body thrumming with exhaustion and desperation.
He should leave. He wants to leave. But instead, he stays, watching as Wei Wuxian curls in on himself, his fingers twitching weakly as though reaching for something that isn’t there.
“Shijie ... “ Wei Wuxian moans, voice raw, his face twisted in agony.
Jiang Cheng exhales sharply through his nose, fingers tightening against his arms.
The word claws under his skin, stirring something he’s safely tucked away long ago, something he refuses to touch ever again if he can help it.
He keeps his gaze fixed on the flickering candle beside the bed, while Wei Wuxian calls out for their dead sister.
Then the name changes.
“Lan Zhan .... please ... “ Wei Wuxians voice is barely more than a breath, but it’s enough to make Jiang Cheng’s teeth grind together.
Of course. Of course he would call for him.
Jiang Cheng drags a hand down his face, his shoulders tense, a deep ache of frustration settling into his bones.
Wei Wuxian has been like this all night - shivering, mumbling, crying out for people who can’t answer him. But never to him.
The weight of it, the sheer helplessness of it, grates against every last one of Jiang Cheng’s nerves.
“Tch.” He scowls at the lump of blankets shifting restlessly on the bed. “Are you done yet?”
Wei Wuxian - predictably, frustratingly - doesn’t answer.
:::
“Jiang Cheng, listen, I’m fine.”
After a night full of Wei Wuxian with fever dreams and crying after his Shijie and this damn husband of his, Jiang Cheng is absolutely over this night, his nerves and his brother.
At least the idiot is conscious again. Although, that might become a problem in itself rather quickly now. Because Wei Wuxian is obviously still delusional.
“You just threw up three times, you’re not fine!”
“I’m fine! I think I’m done now.”
“You’re done now? Awesome! Then everything is fine”, Jiang Cheng deadpans and crosses his arms. “I’ll just clean up this mess you made in the bucket, again, and then you can get up and walk back home. You certainly don’t look like death warmed up and your husband isn’t going to murder me.”
Wei Wuxian, still obviously groggy and weak, manages to nod along with his words up until he catches the sarcastic sneer Jiang Cheng directs at him. He blinks. Then squawks indignantly, tries to push himself upright and fails miserably.
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes at his antics. “Do you have the slightest idea how devastatingly worried that man is going to be when he gets here in a few hours?”
Wei Wuxian freezes. “You send for him?!”
Jiang Cheng gives him a look, somewhere between disbelief and irritation.
“Of course I’ve send for him. What, did you think I would just keep you here, unconscious and delirious, and not tell him? How much do you underestimate my survival instincts?”
“Jiang Cheeeng”, Wei Ying whines and flops further back into his pillows.
“Oh, shut up”, Jiang Cheng snaps. “Like I had a choice. Do you have any idea what Lan Wangji would do if he found out I had his precious husband here, sick to his deathbed - “
He pauses and grimaces. “Actually, I don’t even know if I can joke about that anymore, thanks to you, you absolute idiot.” He shakes his head. “Point is, I don’t have a death wish.”
Wei Wuxian groans louder, dragging his hands over his face. “He’s just going to worry too much and be all dramatic and then look at me with his betrayed bunny eyes and I don’t know how to handle thaaaat.”
Jiang Cheng snorts. “Sounds like a `you´ problem. I don’t care. I will open him the door and then I’m out. Thanks for being married so I’m not responsible for you anymore.”
“That’s so cold, ChengCheng! You love me. Don’t think I don’t know who sat at my bed the entire night.”
Wei Ying’s shit eating grin would be more impressive if not sitting in a face still white as a sheet.
“You wouldn’t know, cause you were either unconscious and hallucinating the whole time”, Jiang Cheng growls. “And don’t think I will ever forgive you that you mistook me for that damn Lan Wangji a few times.”
That got to Wei Ying and his face heats up. “Uh oh ... what did I do?”
“I will never talk about this again. Go to sleep. I will send this husband of yours to your room the second he arrives. You’re his problem now.”
:::
Lan Wangji is on his way back to Wei Ying’s quarters in Lotus Pier, a tray with various dishes balanced carefully in his hands.
The blazing worry and horror that had driven him to fly towards Lotus Pier two hours faster than normally possible have faded, replaced by the constant, quiet concern he always feels when Wei Ying is absent from his side.
This time, it should have been nothing more than a simple night hunt involving Water Ghouls. A journey of one or, at most, two days.
Considering Wei Ying’s extensive experience with such creatures, there should have been no reason for worry. But, of course, his husband had managed to get into trouble anyway.
After four days of silence, the messenger butterfly he received from Sect Leader Jiang was almost a relief - it at least provided some notice of his missing love.
That relief was short-lived.
Wei Ying had managed to catch a raging fever and was hardly conscious. That was all Lan Wangji had needed to read in the note.
He hadn’t even paused to notify his brother before taking off, stopping only to give a brief notice to the guards at the gate.
By the time he arrived at Lotus Pier at first light the next morning, Wei Ying was already awake.
Jiang Wanyin had met him at the entrance gate, scowling as always, before jerking his head toward the correct direction.
“He’s not fine”, the man muttered, his lips twisting into an even deeper expression of displeasure than usual. “He’ll tell you he’s fine, but he’s always been an idiot about it, so you should know better.”
Lan Wangji does indeed know better.
And knowing the relationship between the brothers, he also knew that Wei Ying had already endured quite the scolding. So he refrained from adding his own worried words - for now.
Instead, after settling down at Wei Ying’s bedside and greeting his wayward husband softly, he had offered to collect food, an offer that was welcomed by a tired but recovering Wei Ying.
Now, as he approaches the door to Wei Ying’s quarters, just as he’s about to enter, a familiar voice filters through the wooden panels, causing him to halt in his tracks.
“I know you’re still upset with me about that thing we don’t like to talk about, but ...”
Lan Wangji’s grip on the door tightens slightly. The thing they don’t like to talk about .... He knows exactly what Wei Ying is referring to. It must be the golden core transfer - the subject they had only just stopped fighting about.
A flicker of unease runs through him. If Jiang Wanyin reacts the way he usually does, this could easily spiral into yet another fight. Lan Wangji would hate for that to happen, especially when tensions between them have only recently begun to settle.
He isn’t particularly fond about the other Sect Leader - and he never will be, not ever - but he knows how much Jiang Wanyin means to Wei Ying. And Lan Wangji wants his husband to be as happy as possible.
For a brief moment, he considers stepping inside and interrupting before the conversation can escalate. But ... entering now would mean admitting he had been listening.
Eavesdropping is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.
He hesitates, hovering uncertainly at the door, caught between duty and concern, between restraint and the pull of his heart.
Before he can decide, Jiang Cheng’s response ends his dilemma. It isn’t so much the words that make him pause, but the tone in which they are spoken. Lan Wangji hardly knew the Sect Leader without his angry growl or exasperated hissing. Now he sounds - fond?
“That thing we don’t like to talk about was five years ago, idiot. Oddly enough, there are other reasons why I’m upset with you right now.”
Lan Wangji hears Wei Ying sigh.
“Fine. I won’t let myself get sick or cursed again. Is that enough? What else should I promise?”
“That’s not what I mean!” Ah. There is the exasperated hissing again. “Anyone can get cursed, dumbass. And you protected my disciples, so I’m grateful. Even though it was dumb. The problem is, that you tried to tell me that you were fine even while pucking your guts out!”
“Ah, but -“
“No!” A sharp sound follows - likely a foot being stomped on the ground. “From now on, the word `fine´ is crossed out of your vocabulary. I’ll tell everyone. You are not to use it again or I will strangle you!”
The angry growl is back, too. Lan Wangji is oddly relieved. For a second he had feared that Sect Leader Jiang might be able of expressing more than two emotions.
“And don’t think just because I can’t stand that husband of yours, I won’t drag him into this. Everytime you as so much as get a scratch, he looks like he’s dying himself and that’s truly pathetic. He is the Chief Cultivator! We can’t have the cultivation world disgraced because our Chief Cultivator die of a broken heart! Pathetic.”
Lan Wangji huffs, oddly amused.
The delighted laugh of his husband echoes his own amusement. “That’s bullshit, Jiang Cheng! My Lan Zhan is grace itself! He cannot disgrace himself. It’s impossible.”
With the emotions apparently settling again, Lan Wangji decides that this might be the right moment to insert himself into the conversation.
He pushes the door open.
Wei Ying is sitting upright in bed, his back leaning against the headboard, the sheets carefully tucked around his lower body. Jiang Wanyin is seated on the edge, still in the process of tucking.
He jumps up the moment Wangji sets foot in the room, face already twisted into a scowl again. Lan Wangji isn’t fooled. He saw the small, genuine smile.
“Wei Ying.” He walks up to the bed, setting the tray on the bed side table. “How are you?”
Wei Ying beams at him. “Lan Zhan! I´m fi -“ He cuts himself off, glancing quickly at his brother. Lan Wangji does not smirk. “Ehh .... I’m feeling okay. Better than yesterday!”
“Hm.” That might be the first time Lan Wangji agrees with Sect Leader Jiang about something without complaint. He is pleased with this new Rule. “Good. Eat.”
While Wei Ying happily digs into his food, Lan Wangji looks up at Jiang Wanyin and acknowledges his efforts with a firm nod.
Surprise flashes briefly across Jiang Wanyin’s features before the scowl is firmly set back into place. He huffs. “Whatever. After eating he needs to sleep again. Healers advice.”
With that he turns around and - ignoring Wei Ying’s muffled complaints around a full mouth - storms out of the room, leaving Lan Wangji alone to deal with his menace of a husband on his own again.