Chapter Text
Jiang Cheng had once been forced to nurture a personality shaped like Wei Wuxian—gradually, this led to the emergence of an alternate persona. This second self was, in every way, a replica of Wei Wuxian—uncannily so—but ultimately, it was still him.
The two personalities supported one another, experiencing life in turns, treating each other as one and the same. For that reason, it was nearly impossible to suppress them. After all, who could truly restrain their own instincts?
Ever since Jiang Fengmian brought Wei Wuxian home when Jiang Cheng was five, that strange persona was deeply affected and voluntarily receded into dormancy.
Not long afterward, he was lost in a foreign world, taken in by Luo Binghe’s foster mother. As she instructed, the two boys treated each other as brothers—for the time being. But in truth, Jiang Cheng despised Luo Binghe deeply, simply because he resembled Wei Wuxian.
Luo Binghe found it bizarre. He had never wronged his little brother, so why did Jiang Cheng treat him like a sworn enemy?
Children are straightforward. If they hate something, they hate it—no need for pretense or preamble.
Jiang Cheng still remembered who he was. Sometimes, he would cry quietly from homesickness. One night, his sobbing woke Luo Binghe. He saw their gravely ill mother staying up all night to soothe him, and felt a wave of resentment.
Luo Binghe was a patient child, but this couldn’t go on forever. No matter how much their mother praised his maturity, he knew he would eventually have to "discipline" Jiang Cheng himself. One night, as their mother rocked Jiang Cheng to sleep with a lullaby interrupted by fits of coughing, she discreetly tucked away a blood-stained handkerchief and continued to sing.
Suddenly, Luo Binghe stormed in, pulled Jiang Cheng away, and—despite the other boy’s ear-piercing screams—insisted their mother rest.
That night, Jiang Cheng cried himself to exhaustion in Luo Binghe’s arms. It wasn’t that he was unreasonable—he simply hadn’t known a mother’s love for so long that once he had a taste, he couldn’t stop craving it.
To this day, it remained a mystery how Luo Binghe managed to fall asleep with Jiang Cheng bawling right next to his ear for nights on end.
But his drastic method worked. For a whole week, Jiang Cheng became unusually quiet and obedient, agreeing to sleep in the same bed. Only then did peace return to their tiny home of three.
Jiang Cheng followed their mother to work. Because of his difficult personality, he didn’t have many friends. Still, some aunts and uncles occasionally gave him small gifts. Their mother would bring those home and share them between the two boys, often asking, “Shall we give some to your big brother?”
The proud young master would lift his chin slightly and reply, “Let him have it. I don’t need much anyway.”
Luo Binghe concluded that this little brat must be the son of some noble family—so arrogant! But he could only shake his head in exasperation.
Over the years, Luo Binghe was grudgingly accepted by Jiang Cheng.
Truth be told, Jiang Cheng had an incredible ability to adapt. He could retaliate tenfold for any slight against him. How a child could hold grudges so meticulously remained an enigma.
Luo Binghe, who was often bullied, would usually just fight back and be done with it. But the day Jiang Cheng got bullied, Luo Binghe witnessed something entirely new. Jiang Cheng, smaller and weaker, was no match at first—but soon, he devised a way to get revenge.
If Luo Binghe hadn’t seen it with his own eyes—Jiang Cheng kicking that boy straight into the lake—he wouldn’t have believed how vengeful this kid could be.
The other boy’s parents never suspected Jiang Cheng. They thought he was just a timid child, incapable of such a clean, precise strike.
Full of scheming already, Luo Binghe sighed. “Well, my little brother mustn’t be wronged. If anything happens, I’ll help him settle the score.”
When Jiang Cheng was nine, an early snowfall blanketed the sky. He clutched his mother’s hand at home. Her grasp trembled, tightening painfully, until he broke into a cold sweat. Her warmth was fading fast.
As if time were running out, he gritted his teeth and let go, whispering, “Mom, I’ll go get big brother. I’ll bring him back... Please wait for me, just a bit longer.”
He stepped outside and was immediately assaulted by the freezing wind.
All he had on was a patched-up piece of cloth barely qualifying as clothing. With the snow swirling and his teeth chattering, he could hardly call out.
He used to love the snow. Why did it feel so terrifying now?
Was it because he’d once been like that velvet-cloaked boy—warm, well-dressed, and happy in the snow?
He stared blankly as the child was lifted into his father’s arms and carried away. It hit him: with different circumstances, people naturally viewed the world differently.
Jiang Cheng missed home.
But what even was home anymore? He wasn’t quite sure. He just knew it had to be better than this—at the very least, warm clothes wouldn’t be a luxury.
In a narrow alley, he saw a group of well-dressed boys beating up someone. The one kneeling on the ground was Luo Binghe, holding something protectively and refusing to move, even as he was beaten.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes burned red. He picked up a rock and hurled it at one of the boys. If he had been older, that hit would’ve dropped the target instantly—but with his small frame, it barely grazed the mark.
The boy screamed, touched the back of his neck, and saw blood in his palm. Instantly enraged, he roared, “You little bastard! I’ll beat you to death!”
Jiang Cheng instinctively stepped back, but before the boy could charge, he tripped and fell flat on his face.
Luo Binghe took the chance to hand Jiang Cheng a chipped porcelain bowl of porridge and told him to bring it home to their mother. He’d stay and buy time. Jiang Cheng dumbly took the bowl and walked off—only to run right back.
Most of the porridge had spilled. He carefully set the bowl aside and charged, pushing one of the boys with all his might.
Standing protectively in front of Luo Binghe, he shouted, “You’re not allowed to hit my brother!”
Luo Binghe was touched, then immediately panicked.
As expected, the leader sneered, “So you’re both strays from the same litter? All the more reason not to spare either of you. Boys, beat them both!”
By dusk, someone had reported the brawl, and constables arrived just in time to stop things from going too far. But due to the children's differing backgrounds, they simply told the noble boys to head home for dinner, completely ignoring the battered pair left in the snow.
Luo Binghe quietly watched the snow fall. Unlike earlier, he seemed drained, his half-lidded eyes accepting some invisible truth. Then, with a trace of stubbornness, he turned to ask his brother still lying in the snow, “Why didn’t you go home?”
Why didn’t you leave me behind? Didn’t you see that Mom needed you more?
Jiang Cheng finally broke down. His tears spilled freely. He tried to wipe them but was too sore, so he let them fall and muttered, “Father said, if we can't protect our family, how can we ever dream of protecting the people?”
He sobbed harder. “I want Mom... But she’s gone. How could I abandon you?”
“Brother, I want Mom…” He cried like a child, with no one to blame and no direction to vent.
Luo Binghe shifted to hug him, mimicking their mother’s lullabies. “Alright, cry all you want. We’ll go home when you’re ready.”
By the time they returned, it was pitch black. Their foster mother had already passed. Her body had grown stiff, just like the porridge that Luo Binghe had once kept warm with his own hands.
Jiang Cheng wept beside her bed. After a while, he seemed to remember something and fell silent, face red and choked up. Luo Binghe, who was packing their belongings, asked, “What is it?”
Jiang Cheng gripped the blanket tightly and whispered, “Father said real men don’t cry so easily.”
“You’re a man?” Luo Binghe scoffed. “You’re just a little brat.”
“Of course I am.”
“Then help me.” Luo Binghe paid him no more attention. He planned to leave by morning—everything needed to be packed tonight. Their humble home had little to begin with. Before long, only their mother’s cold body remained.
Together, they gently moved her aside, dismantled the bed to fashion a coffin. When they lifted the frame, two dusty bundles appeared. They looked at each other. Were these keepsakes?
But opening them revealed only personal belongings: one bundle held Luo Binghe’s basket, the other, a set of purple robes belonging to Jiang Cheng.
At dawn, Jiang Cheng sold his old clothes for a decent sum—enough to pay for their mother’s burial and their journey ahead. Luo Binghe carried the jade pendant. Jiang Cheng held the silver bell. As for the basket, it turned to ash along with their home.
Jiang Cheng thought he would wander the world with his only brother.
But then Luo Binghe asked, “Do you want to cultivate immortality?”