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Few believed the Jiang heir would succeed in reclaiming the throne taken away by the Wen dynasty. His fight seemed hopeless — and yet it ended in a crushing victory. The young emperor returns from Qishan, and his carts are laden with trophies: Wen Ruohan’s head. The treasures of the Fire Palace. A concubine.
The young emperor ascends to his father's throne, and the concubine sits on the steps, head resting on the armrest, hair cascading over the emperor’s lap. The emperor listens to his people and his fingers comb through the dark strands. The emperor holds meetings, gives orders, and acts as if he doesn’t notice a narrow hand sliding over his knee, attracting an outsider’s gaze like a lodestone. The slim figure at his feet stretches, his thin translucent robes that already bare his chest in an absolutely indecent manner, spread even further — there shines a Wen sun, blemishing the pale skin with a shameful brand. A quiet murmur sweeps through the hall. The royal brat must’ve lost his mind, succumbing to his lust like an animal — such are the thoughts of his officials, advisers, generals. To discuss state matters in the presence of... not an enemy, but an enemies’ plaything, one who clawed his way to the top by warming the Wen dogs’ beds. Woe to the Jiang ancestors; how disgraced they would feel if they saw what had become of the emperor!
Woe to those who dare to oppose him!
At dinners, the concubine’s seat is of high honour, to the right of his master. Apparently, it’s not enough for someone as depraved and hungry for attention as this poor excuse for a man. With the hunger sated and the wine drunk, the concubine climbs into the emperor’s lap, long legs bracketing his waist, hands sliding up to his shoulders.
One awkward move of an elbow, and the emperor’s cup falls from the table, shuttering into pieces. The dark liquor spills onto the floorboards, seeping into the polished wood.
Mo Xuanyu gasps, eyes wide with feigned fear.
"Oh. How clumsy am I. Probably shouldn’t have drunk too much," he giggles, hiding his face in the crook of a neck wrapped in purple silk.
Su Minshan sits far away, but he still can see the scene unfolding. His teeth grind in blind rage. That… useless fool, that scoundrel, stupid Wen whore! What’s worse, the emperor doesn’t even seem to mind his blatant disregard for propriety. All of this just because, they say, the concubine reminds him of…
They say the young emperor made a deal with a demon. They say that when the Wen army was flooding the capital in search of the Jiang heir and his sister — the only ones who escaped the palace massacre, betrayed by their allies, with no family and no home — that’s when he went to Yiling. The Burial Mounds there… nothing leaves the Burial Mounds alive, they say. There, he found a monster. There, he offered up his soul. The monster gave him an army of the dead and stood next to him, a swirling black shadow behind his shoulder, and since then, the prince's enemies have known no peace.
They say the monster is evil personified. Others argue, it was born human. The truth doesn’t really matter: whatever it was once, it is no longer, because nothing leaves the Burial Mounds alive.
They say that’s where the late emperor's ward died, the one who disappeared before the war.
Su Minshan runs, stumbling and gasping for air. The night is cold and crisp, too cold for summer. The night smells of ash and death, the darkness screaming and howling behind him. The screams are close by, then fade away, only to catch up moments later, toying with him in a cruel game of cat and mouse.
Su Minshan collapses on the wet ground, exhausted, and the spirits have no need to hold him in place because he doesn’t have the strength to stand up anymore.
Pale fingers grip his face, lifting his chin, forcing him to look into the red eyes of a monster.
“Not only are you insane,” drawls the Yiling Patriarch, “you’re also so stupid it’s actually impressive.”
His face is almost serene, with just the faintest hint of disgust. He uses the hem of his black robe to wipe his hand clean, swings a black bamboo flute in the other hand, and stands up, bringing the flute to his lips.
A single sharp note rips through the crisp air, and Su Minshan’s body erupts with unbearable, excruciating pain that goes on and on and on.
“You're late,” Jiang Cheng states, taking in the dark silhouette in the doorway.
Wei Wuxian shrugs.
“He didn’t deserve a quick death.“
His eyes are still red. Shadows pool around the tall figure, swirling in the folds of his dark robes, leaning into their master’s hands like cats seeking attention.
“I told you to deal with the traitor, not to rip him apart.”
Wei Wuxian tilts his head, lips curling into a lopsided grin.
"Isn’t it my way of dealing with traitors?"
"Wei Wuxian!"
"You didn’t expect me to just kill him, did you?" he snaps. The room is much colder now, shadows dancing in the candlelight. "Trust me, I let the bastard off too easy — you know I could have tortured him for weeks."
"Nothing worth torturing there. His attempt at poisoning was really lame.”
"Lame?” Wei Wuxian yells, and the next moment he’s standing right in front of him. Too close: Jiang Cheng feels his icy breath on his face, sees a slight tremor in his body. Wei Wuxian‘s eyes are completely red now, crimson flooding the whites, and his darkness is raging around them both. "How dare that—that wretched dog, that disgusting worm try to..."
He falls silent as he is suddenly pulled into an embrace. Everything stops. The cloud of darkness enveloping them stills, and here they stay, frozen in time, moments stretching into hours, weeks, years...
"Jia–Jiang Cheng?" Wei Wuxian stutters, staring at him with a lost look in his eyes, and his eyes are gray again.
"I am afraid," Jiang Cheng whispers — the only reason Wei Wuxian can hear it is that they‘re so close together now. "When you dive into it too much, I am afraid. Afraid that it will take you away from me."
Wei Wuxian lets out a shaky breath, standing still in the circle of his arms, as if he doesn’t dare to move.
"Jiang Cheng..." he starts again, then hesitates and looks away. He chews on his lower lip, then opens and closes his mouth a few times.
"When I was thrown onto the Burial Mounds," he finally says after a while, his voice dull. Jiang Cheng freezes. Never before had Wei Wuxian talked about what happened to him after his disappearance. "I knew I was dying. I didn’t want to, so I let the darkness in. I was the darkness, and then... I suppose I died anyway? I don’t know. I was floating, and I had no idea where I was or what I was. There was no pain, no worries — nothing."
"And then you brought me back," he continues, painfully tender, cradling Jiang Cheng's face in his cool hands. "I heard you calling, and I followed your voice, and I saw your face and remembered who I am. That’s why," he smiles, and this time his smile is sunshine, "that’s why nothing will ever happen to me, I promise. If I fall into the darkness again, I know you will bring me back. I know that. You only need to call, okay?"
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, leaning forward. It’s too much. For a few moments, they stay just like that, in the middle of the room, foreheads touching.
"I'd rather never have to do this," he grumbles, opening his eyes and pulling away, switching back into his normal self. "Next time, try to tame your bloodthirst a little."
Wei Wuxian doesn’t comment on how Jiang Cheng‘s so sure there will be a 'next time'.
"Or what?" he says in a totally different tone. "Will my master punish this lowly one?", he adds, batting his eyelashes.
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, barely resisting the urge to smack him.
"Dumbass."
"You dumbass," Wei Wuxian retorts, already trying to unwrap the wide belt on Jiang Cheng’s clothing. Jiang Cheng doesn’t resist — they both need it now, a break from the raw sincerity they’re not used to. "Don’t break the character."
"I still can’t believe they really fell for your horrible acting."
"Always best to hide in plain sight," Wei Wuxian smirks, swiftly freeing Jiang Cheng from his robes. "Now, shut up and punish your concubine."