Work Text:
Wei Wuxian
These last few weeks in the Burial Mounds have been a bit too quiet, in Wei Wuxian's opinion.
With no Jin disciples trying to sneak up the mountain, no rogue cultivators stopping him in the Yiling markets to try to convince him to take them under his wing, and no hordes of resentful spirits trying to carry away any Wens that accidentally step outside of the wards, Wei Wuxian has, regrettably, way too much time on his hands. Something that he actively tries to avoid these days - because being idle means he’ll start thinking, and he’ll be of no use to anyone if he starts to dwell on things.
(Like how the faint scent of osmanthus wine that drifts over the east side of the markets reminds him of home, of drinking under that old redwood tree where he and Jiang Cheng would catch pheasants, of chilled autumn evenings spent out on the water, looking up at the stars and telling ridiculous made-up stories with his shidi beside him.)
The summer has long since faded into autumn, and while it has come time for the meager harvest of radishes they'd managed to plant, Wen Qing and the others have been hesitant to let him help out in the fields.
One almost life-threatening accident where he'd managed to overheat (of all things!) during an afternoon in the field, and suddenly he was too frail to do anything but look after A-Yuan from the sidelines. Ridiculous, in his opinion, but what Wen Qing says is law here, no matter what he thinks.
Since they refuse to let him help, he spends some of his time wandering the paths just outside of the wards, settling the souls of the unquiet dead who could be easily swayed into the afterlife. But after a week, he finds he's cleared nearly the entire lower section of the mountain - all that’s left are a few stubborn walking corpses that flee whenever he comes near them. If he keeps up at this rate, he'll be well on his way to clearing out the Burial Mounds in their entirety by the end of the year, and then there would be nothing to stop the rest of the Jianghu from charging up the mountain other than his still-in-progress wards.
Thus, he abandons this for a later time and tries to help with the harvest a second time, after promising Wen Qing he “definitely won’t overdo it this time.”
A promise that is quickly broken when he tries to lift one of the radish crates and he tears his stitches. In Wei Wuxian’s defense: he’s been actively trying to forget about said stitches - the ache of them has become familiar enough that he can just not think about certain things, if he wants to. Like how that specific wound hasn’t really healed much at all, even though it’s been months since he’d felt the sting of Sandu cutting through him, even though all of his other cuts and bruises and lashes from around that time have long since scarred over.
As he bleeds out all over their radishes, he can’t help but laugh a bit, his chest feeling oddly tight at the thought.
If he was here, Jiang Cheng would probably say he deserved this for all the trouble he’s caused him, wouldn’t he? Wei Wuxian can imagine it: the stubborn set of his shidi’s jaw, the bite of his voice, scolding him as he tries to staunch the bleeding, still. That’s always how it was between them, after all.
Wen Qing puts him on forced bed rest, after that. And to make sure he stays where he’s supposed to be, she tells A-Yuan that it’s his job to keep his Xian-gege in bed. Like most duties he's assigned, A-Yuan takes this very seriously. He refuses to even let Wei Wuxian hobble over to his work desk, sitting on his legs whenever he tries.
"Qing-jie said you have to rest," A-Yuan says, every time he tries to convince him that it would be fine if they just took a little stroll outside of the cave.
"What if Qing-jie is wrong?" Wei Wuxian counters, and he watches as A-Yuan's mouth turns down in a little frown.
"No." A-Yuan says, resolute in his task to keep Wei Wuxian in bed.
"What if we just went over to my desk for a little while?" He asks.
A-Yuan seems to consider the idea for a moment. He looks hesitant, but willing. Wei Wuxian decides to jump on this opportunity that has fallen into his lap after two days of being cooped up in his straw bed without anything to occupy him other than telling A-Yuan stories, which have admittedly become more and more wistful as time has gone on.
(A-Yuan has already asked him if they could visit Lotus Pier once - a question that he had avoided answering by trying to playfully jostle A-Yuan off of his lap, earning Wei Wuxian a glare that reminded him a little too much of a baby Jiang Cheng. Which, in the end, only serves to make him feel worse.)
"I could even teach you how to write a little bit." Wei Wuxian offers, and A-Yuan lights up, a smile stretching across his tiny face. He hops quickly off of Wei Wuxian's lap, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian congratulates himself on finding a way around his stubborn toddler bodyguard.
This lasts a total of five seconds, his pride dashed as a haphazard pile of talisman paper is dumped in his lap. He looks up just in time for A-Yuan to sit himself back down on his legs, a little pot of ink in one hand and a brush in the other.
“Xian-gege can teach me here,” A-Yuan says.
Wei Wuxian wants to laugh, really, because who taught this kid to be so insistent? But he's sure that'll only tear his stitches again. And then where will they be?
So instead, he takes the brush from A-Yuan and turns over one of his old half-finished talismans. They'll be better used for this anyway, he thinks.
Jiang Cheng
It's a brisk autumn morning in Yunmeng, the sky clear and bright. This late in the season, the air has settled comfortably into a temperate chill that clings only when the wind picks up over the water. On days like this, Wei Wuxian used to insist on rowing out into one of the lakes to search for any overlooked lotus seeds pods they might be able to pick, just so he could dry them out to snack on them later.
(“Even if they aren't ripe anymore, Jiang Cheng, that doesn't mean they're inedible. And since the harvest is over, they're practically begging me to take them! You’ll thank me later.”)
They would always paddle out into the lake together, and once the boat was filled with enough late bloom seed pods, Wei Wuxian would dive into the water and pull him in after, and they would spend the afternoon swimming, wrestling, trying to outmatch each other at every turn. In the end, no matter what they did, Wei Wuxian would always manage to pull ahead of him - he'd swim just a bit faster, hold his breath a little longer, always, always, just one step ahead - and he'd tease Jiang Cheng about it the whole way home, laughing even when the wind picked up, chilling them both with the late autumn cold.
Now, autumn has come again, and there's no one waiting for him on the docks, ready to row him out among the reeds.
Jiang Cheng watches the slow ebb and flow of the lake as a set of merchant boats glide in from the east, and tries not to think about the missive in his hand. Even though it's still sealed, it's much too light to be anything of note. Another update from the two disciples he has stationed in Yiling, almost certainly some variation of “there have been no significant changes”.
It's been six months since Jiang Cheng last laid eyes on Wei Wuxian, two months since A-Jie left for Jinlintai, and this is the first time Jiang Cheng has left his office in nearly a week.
His new head disciple, the one he’d reluctantly promoted to the position three months ago when it had really sunk in that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be coming back, had politely suggested that it might be good for him to take a walk around the piers every so often. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that he’s here, all he wants to do is head straight back inside.
New recruits are scattered all around the training grounds as he passes them, running through sword forms, clarity bells swaying in the afternoon wind. The older disciple leading them bows to him as he passes, and Jiang Cheng can’t help the bitter taste that fills his mouth at the sight of it. Liu Feng is a fine disciple who follows the Jiang teachings to the letter, and he doesn’t deserve the harsh words sitting on Jiang Cheng’s tongue - they’re meant for someone else, sometime else. Another lifetime, even.
He passes them with a nod, his displeasure still clear on his face, he’s sure, but not one of them dares to make a comment on it.
After he rounds the corner and spots another group laughing out on the lake, in that same boat he and Wei Wuxian would take out every autumn, he decides his walk has been long enough. Huffing, he reaches into his pocket, his fingertips brushing along long-frayed edges of old silk, and he heads directly back to his office.
Wei Wuxian
There's a soft breeze tickling over his face when he floats into consciousness. An odd thing, he considers, because he distinctly remembers complaining about the lack of air flow in his cave to Wen Qing at some point. Cold in the summer, even colder in the winter, and always, always, heavy with the scent of copper and dust, unmoving and stagnant. Even in the summer he can feel the bite of the chill in here, settling into his fingers and toes until he can't quite feel them all the way.
Right now, though, he feels warm.
He hasn't felt warm since...well. It would have been years now. His body never quite learned how to regulate itself after he'd lost his core.
He thinks about this for a long moment and then opens his eyes. Staring back at him is…a desk. Not his own desk, mind you. No, this desk is wooden and filled with neat stacks of very official looking papers and scrolls and all sorts of other things that Wei Wuxian definitely does not have in his blood cave.
“What?” He says aloud, because the last thing he remembers is A-Yuan proudly showing off the little mock talisman he’d drawn for him. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember falling asleep either.
He blinks, trying to make sense of his surroundings. His head feels heavy, a blunt ache nestled at the base of his skull as if he’s been sleeping in an awkward position for too long. His eyes scan the room, lingering on a few details he recognizes: the dark oak walls, distinct because they only make up the parts of Lotus Pier that hadn’t been burned when Wen Chao had taken their home from them, the Jiang lotus banners hanging along the walls, and…Sandu, sitting in the sword stand in the corner.
Clearly, something has gone wrong.
This is undeniably Jiang Cheng’s office, back in Lotus Pier.
Nervous, his gaze darts over the papers on the desk - letters from Jinlintai, official correspondence from the Nie sect, a roll of clean talisman paper, and…
Wei Wuxian stops for a moment, eyes locked in on a bright trail of red sticking out of a trinket box on the desk. He tugs at it, and the lid pops open, letting the thin strip of red ribbon unfurl into his hands. It feels odd, out-of-place in the relative neatness of the rest of the desk. And definitely…not something he thought Jiang Cheng would keep. The edges of it are fraying and just a bit sun-bleached. And in the middle, where the fabric pinches together - a telltale sign of a well-loved ribbon, where it’s been tied in the same way again and again - there’s a dark, crimson stain.
He recognizes it in an instant.
(The image of Jiang Cheng’s face silhouetted in the evening sunlight, his hands balled into tight fists. He’d backed Wei Wuxian up into one of the trees just out of earshot of Lan Wangji, back at their camp.
“I looked for you, I searched that mountain for weeks for any sign of you.” He’d said, but all Wei Wuxian remembered thinking about in that moment was the bright flush of Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, how alive he’d looked. None of the listlessness and grief that had made him carve out his own core and place it in Jiang Cheng’s hands, and he was glad for it.)
He hadn’t really thought about it, but he had lost the ribbon that had been in his hair the day Wen Chao threw him in the Burial Mounds. This couldn’t be the same one, right? Here in Jiang Cheng’s office, hidden away like a secret little treasure, even after they’d parted ways all those months ago? It couldn’t be the same one. Right? Right???
Wei Wuxian feels a laugh well in his chest, escaping past his lips before he can think better of it.
Even to his own ears, it sounds panicked.
A sound - a shuffling followed by an achingly familiar creak as a door to his right slides open, and a Jiang disciple Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize pokes his head into the room. He looks directly at Wei Wuxian, a concerned look on his face.
“Is everything alright, Zongzhu?” The disciple asks.
Wei Wuxian stares at the disciple, and the disciple makes clear, unbreaking eye-contact with him.
Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side, subtly checking behind himself to see if Jiang Cheng is looming over his shoulder, or standing in the corner?? But no - it’s just him. Only him. In Jiang Cheng’s office, sitting at his desk, after their very public, very bloody duel. Him, Wei Wuxian, the nefarious Yiling Laozu, enemy of the Jianghu, alone in a sect leader’s office with important documents laid out in front of him.
“I’m not here to kill Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, because these days people tend to think the worst of his intentions, and he wants to get that out of the way as fast as possible.
The disciple freezes, looking even more concerned than he had a few moments ago.
“I…was not thinking you were?”
Wei Wuxian breathes a sigh of relief and tries to hide his nerves behind a smile, “Good! Now, could you--”
He’s cut off mid-sentence by an odd, strangled noise, and when he focuses back on the Jiang disciple, Wei Wuxian finds the man’s cheeks have flushed a deep shade of red. He only manages to catch his eye for a moment before the disciple’s gaze darts down to his own feet, studying the floor as if it holds some sort of profound secret.
Wei Wuxian, confused by the sudden change in demeanor, leans forward slightly, trying to catch the young man’s eye again.
“Are you ok?” Wei Wuxian asks.
This only seems to fluster the man more, his blush spreading to his ears, “I…yes.” He says, and then he cups his hands, still refusing to meet Wei Wuxian’s eye, “If Zongzhu does not need anything, this disciple will take his leave.”
Before Wei Wuxian can respond, the disciple bows hastily and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him. Wei Wuxian frowns, feeling hopelessly confused.
And then the rest of the interaction catches up with him.
Wait, he thinks, did he just call me Zongzhu?
Jiang Cheng
Jiang Cheng has woken up in worse places than Wei Wuxian’s weird blood cave in the middle of the Burial Mounds. If you asked him to rank them, the worst would obviously be that closet Wen Chao had thrown him into after he'd crushed his core and whipped him bloody, but that’s beside the point. He'd probably put the blood cave somewhere in the fifth or sixth worst range, if only for the horrible metallic tang wafting from the blood pool and the dubiously bound fierce corpse glaring at him from that dark, shadowed corner over there.
The only thing is, Jiang Cheng doesn't exactly remember flying to Yiling or climbing up to Wei Wuxian’s depressing little settlement in the Burial Mounds. And he thinks he would recall travelling over 600 li in the span of a few minutes, considering it doesn’t even seem to be night yet. He also thinks he would remember bundling himself up in the blood cave and letting a toddler crawl into his lap.
As it stands, whatever nonsense has brought him here has Wei Wuxian’s name written all over it. Especially since the kid in his lap seems to be contenting himself with drawing all sorts of things on used talisman paper, and Jiang Cheng can clearly see the ash remnants of a burnt talisman among the pile.
“Hey kid,” Jiang Cheng says.
The boy looks up at him, a smear of ink on his cheek that reminds Jiang Cheng uncomfortably of Wei Wuxian when they were much, much younger.
“Do you know where your…Xian-gege…is?” Jiang Cheng asks, feeling out of sorts as he shifts awkwardly under the toddler’s weight. The cave feels colder than it should, he thinks. It’s still late autumn, and Yiling is close to Yunmeng in terms of climate - even on the mountain, the winter should be mild.
He feels another chill run through him, settling into his hands enough that it makes it almost painful to move them. It feels familiar, in a way he can’t quite place. Jiang Cheng looks at the kid again, taking in the details of his robes. Short sleeves, thin fabric. If the kid isn’t shivering, then why is he…?
Jiang Cheng attempts to stand, trying to shift the kid off his lap, but he’s so heavy that Jiang Cheng barely manages to make him budge before the kid wriggles out of his grasp and sits back down on his legs.
“Kid, come on. Let me up.”
“No,” the kid says, and he crosses his arms stubbornly, “Qing-jie said it was my responsibility to make sure Xian-gege stays in bed until he’s all better.”
Jiang Cheng's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly in frustration. And maybe, just maybe, his tone is a bit harsher than he intends, “Get. Off.”
As soon as the kid makes eye-contact with him, he freezes, his little eyes going impossibly wide.
“Xian-gege?” There’s a tremble in his voice, and maybe Jiang Cheng feels a bit bad about that. But in the end he accomplishes his goal: the kid scrambles off of him and rushes out of the cave, leaving behind a fluttering pile of talismans in his wake.
With the kid gone, Jiang Cheng finally manages to stand. He’s still impossibly cold, but his joints seem to warm up the more he moves. He just needs to get out of the blood cave, figure out where his idiot shixiong has wandered off to, and force him to explain what exactly he’s managed to do this time. And then…
And then, he’ll go home. And Wei Wuxian will stay here. Right.
Right.
The late evening sun casts a long beam of light into the entrance of the blood cave, and Jiang Cheng makes his way toward it, glad to feel the sun on his skin, warming him up just a little. He can feel wards stretching over the opening to the cave but thinks little of it as he steps through them. Wei Wuxian had always been cautious about sleeping out in the open like--
The rush of noise that hits him the moment he sets foot outside of the cave makes his knees give out from underneath him, sending him straight into the dirt.
Screaming, pleading, begging, howling, wailing - a sea of voices cascade around him, so loud that he can’t even think.
H̵̰͈̺̦̥̰̤̥͔͛͋͌̒́̃͊̔̋̇̚̕͘͝Ẹ̸̡̺̯̱̝̜̜͚̙̮͕̎̔̇͋̽̒̀̅͌͊̚͝L̶̢̧̫͚͍͈͂̄̓̐̍̍͊̑͝P̶̧͉͓̼̜̱̪̝̫̼̣̦̀̇̃̏̍̄̚͝ ̴̢̟̠̘̹̺̲̝͇̈M̸̧̡̱̳͖͖̭̮̖̜̦͖̜̩̽͌͜E̴͖̯̤͋̊̍̌̏͗̈ ̸̨͔͎̻̻̮̬̑́͛̓̈͐͂͒̊̔̀̀̕̚͜S̷̨̹̖̰̹̾͆͛̅͑͐̀̂́́͝Á̴̠̃͛̓̀̔̅̒̕͜͝V̵̢̛͖͙̟̓̂̔͊̂̐̔́̀̇̾̏͒͗́͜͝ͅĘ̷̢̡̺͎͔͇̲̼̞͍̈́̂͛̎͛͒͆̿̈́̄̃͜͠͝ ̸͎̜̤̼͈͖͍̮͌̓̂M̵̨̡̫͎̹̠͙̫̻̓̑̑̔͗̇̃̐̇̈́͌̔Ȩ̸̨͖͎̯̯̓̒͝ ̵̢͉̦̥͍̞̮͗P̴̛̦͖̜̞̲̪̀̾́̓̓́̍̄̋̌̍̒̾̽͝͝ͅĻ̸̲̲̇͊͋̆̃̇̉̑̐͂̂̾̇̐͘͘Ḙ̵̢̨̢̞͎͎͇͇̬̼̞̼̐̔͒̌̿͘A̸̯̮̼͈̅̀̅̊̐̈́ͅS̸̢̛̿͗͋̆́̉̇̀̂͛͛̅̀͊̚͝E̸̡̠̭̖̞̙͍̍̉́͒͒̓̇͑̈́̊̓̕ͅ ̷̢̥̤̲̜͔̮͎͈͕͎̭͙̰̩̉̒̽̿͗͐͜͝P̸̢̧̡͉͇̻̗͚̯̥̪̪̪̞̦̞̻̾̍̏̎̐́͐̆̊́͝L̸̨̛̩̝͓͌̽̓̂̓̊̅̍̀̐͂̂͠͝E̷̢̲͎̭̪̝͈̼͕̠̤̒̍͋͋̈́̒̓̂̾͘͠͝Ǎ̷̛̛̗͑͋̿̍̇̄̀̆͛̾Š̷̨͈̪̞͓͈̦̰̹͎͕̈́̀̑̾̒͌̅͊Ȩ̵̡̢̣͍͇͍͚̭̗͙̼̬̫͓̬̽̆̈́̒̍̌̉̿̀̄͂̏͝ ̸̨̧̘̼̬̰̱̣̲̳̹̽͘ͅ
̸̧̡̧̨̨̧̻͓̦̟̯͎̤̪̎̓̊͛̓͒̑͘̚
̷̢̝͇̘̘̰̙̞̥̱̌̅͝
C̵̰̟̫̥͝Ō̷͇̞̳̫̖͖̂̓͐̉̏́̋̈́̍̌̊̀̽M̴̨̢̛͎̗̫̰̞̣͔̝͕̯̼̊̀̊̊̌̽̚͝͠E̶̩̰̙̯̬̹̞͎̭̲̹͌̍͝͠ ̵̱͙̲̙̂D̵̨̥̦̥̆̈́Ǫ̸̻͚̹̪͓̜̝̭͊̏̊̐̈̽͊́̆̊W̵̗̦̦͊̋̌̂̈́̚͜N̵̡̨͍͖͍͖̙̖̼̙̩͉̹̬̬̣̔͂̆͗̋̆̒̍̓̃͘͠͠ ̵̹̘̦͐̊̉̎̍̌̎H̸͇̞̩̪͓͆͛̓̿̍̒̉̔͛͠E̵̛̛̞̎͛̈́̽̀́͗̓̈́͂̕͝R̴̺͚̘͒Ȩ̷͚̗̪͈͇̳͚̫͚̮͔͚̝̬̲́̈́͛͝ͅ ̷̡̛̜͙͎͚̜̠́̈̉͊̈́̃̄͒̓̅̔̀͊͋͘͠Ḑ̵̱̤̘͈̥̊̐̀͐͛̒̏͒̿́O̵̠̠͆͂͠Ẅ̴̡̡̰̘̻̲̹͚̳̱̺̺͍́͂̀͌͗̐͘͘̚͝N̷̨̛͎̬̰̥͒̊͋̐́͐͊̈́̒͘͘̚͝ ̸̣̗̺̩̮̖͙̼̲͓̽̔̉̏̋͋̀̂̋̌́̋̀̾͋͘͝H̸̛̭̱͕̊̃̂̽͋̈́̋̅̕̚͝E̴̛̮̟̗̓͑́͌̎͒̍͊̀̽R̸̛̺̣̙̻̊̃̔͒͐̂̈̅̂̈̓̎̆̓E̵̜̬͔͑͠ͅ ̶͍̼͖͍̖̦̼̆̆̾̒̾̊̕̚D̴̢̨̢̗̖̥͓͔̣̉͛̇͆̌͘̕͝ͅO̸̮͚̣̜̪̟̞͂̌̚̕͝Ẁ̸̢̢̛̙̮̖̠̤͔̘̳͇̈́̾̿̔͑͗͝͠͠ͅN̷͕̈́̉͐̆͛͐͐̈̍́̆̾̀̏͝͝ ̴̳̻̫͔̺̪͚̋̂̌̀̐̇̆͛̏́̑̎̕͝͝ͅḪ̸̢͔͙̣̩̤̠̟̥͈̝̱͙̓̒̐̃͝͝ͅĘ̷̟͉̤͉̣̮̖̹͈̠̮̹͒̌̐̋́̚ͅR̶͇̩͉̺͇̭̠̼̳̬͓͔͆̿Ȩ̶̣͎̥̥̲͎̳̬̰͐̒͊̓͗̽̀̇̔͂͛̌̋̉͘͘͜͜ ̸̨̢̨̬͕̗̰̞̬̙͖̟͉̺̾̃̕̚͜
̸̨͓̪̤̩̣̓̿̈́͑͌̀̍̈́̾̓͝͝
Y̷͓̤̼̼̺̗̗̘͕̩̳̞͐Ơ̷̦̩̝͈͓͚̜̤̼̬͉̙͖͈̊́̉̈́́̑̓͆͂̍̑̚͝ͅƯ̴̢̘̭̰̠̗̗̆́̾̍͑͛̅͛̒̏̔̆̀͌ ̶̢̛̺̰̝͈͔͔͈̫̍͗̄͑P̷̪̬̖̗̤͚͚̰͙̤̺̾́͊̿̆̋͑͘R̵̡̹̪̝̗̭̪̙̻̞͉̺̺͑͆̎̃͒͝ͅO̷͉̞̥̠̞̟̭̾̒ͅM̵͉͔͍͎̙͈͖̳̼͚̩̪̍̽̈́̽̍I̵̛̗̩̱̬̪͍͛͌̓S̶̯̍̈̐̈́̒̆͒̇̓̀̀̀̿͘͝É̶̡̧̦̞̗̥̫̪͚̄́͒̑̅̐͗͐̒͐̕Ḏ̵̨̭͖̮̫͉̲̗̹̩̹̪̺̣̦̅̃̏̋̓̓͗̓̏̂̐̔͌͛͑͑̚ ̸͙͇̙̓͗̅̂̑́͊͒̿̒̏̿̆͠Ỷ̶͔͖͉͚̹͈̣̜̓̕Ǒ̶͓̫̪̤͍̲̇̎̀́̆̀̒̔͗̃̚͘͠͝Ư̴̢͓͈͓̰̮̪̐̈́͛̋͋̉̅́͆̈́͐͒͘͘ ̷̢̡̢͖̬̞͚̻̼̘̖̔̈́͑̈́̌̓͋̕̕͜P̶̛͓̫̊̔̔͗̉̏̃R̸̨̢̧͇͎̜̫͇̭̝̘͉̆͆̃̊̉͊͒̇̐͆́̚ͅƠ̸̧̲͓̗̤͚̘̜̗̠̜͎͐̽̂̊̃̾̈́̓͆̿́̆̎̆M̷̳͓̻͍͔͎̜̲̱̤͇̲̩̼̝̬̅͜Ḯ̵͓͍̗̯͖͖̦͖̫̍̏͐͝S̴̛̟̫͇̞̬̼Ȩ̴̟̤̹̰̭̜̫̪̇̊͐̀̅̈́̂̂͒̔̒̀̌͑D̵̨̨̢̛͓͕͈͔̩̼̱̩̼̰̝͓̦̤́̒͗̐̉͝ ̴̡̙͙͎͔̮͎̠̦͗͑̎̍̉͘͝Y̸̰̱̘͕͑́̌̓͗̿̈́̿̉Ŏ̵̢̖̭̞͠Ư̵̰̙̘͈͔͎̗̎̑͊̕̚ ̵̟̎̒̅́̋̊̈́̆͛̋͊̓̀̚͠P̷̗͈̞̌͋͆̈́́̔̕R̷̛͖̬̅̂̿̐̊̄͐̏̀̇̆͘Ơ̸̫̲̾̎̿̋͠M̶̻͖͕̟͖͙̰͇͙̫̀̔͒̑͆̓ͅI̴̧̨̢̹̜̟͔͉̜̅̐͐͒͌S̴̡̛̺̓͊͒̂͒̅̊̿̈́͘͠͝É̶̢̲̮̩͔̳͓̗̗̮̣͛̄͐̃̈́̔̑̒͆́D̸̨̡̰͙̼͖͛͌͂̉̍̈̽̀̌̄͊͜͠͝ͅ
“WHAT THE FUCK??” Jiang Cheng can barely even hear his own voice and he feels like he’s screaming with his whole chest.
In the distance, he sees Wen Qing crest the hill leading down to the rest of the settlement, followed by that same wide-eyed little kid. He bristles, snapping his jaw shut. The look on Wen Qing’s face is enough to tell him that the only thing she can hear is him, not whatever is wailing around him.
The wards, he remembers, suddenly. And he makes an effort to drag himself the short distance back into the cave. As soon as he passes through the wards, the voices cut off, and Jiang Cheng feels like he can breathe again.
Before he can process what had just happened, Wen Qing catches up to him, glaring at him like he’s personally offended her.
“Am I going to have to tie you to that bed?” She snaps, “What is it about mandatory bed rest that you don’t understand?”
“The part where you have the authority to put me on bed rest,” He bites back. First that weird chill, then ear splitting screaming, and now…whatever this is. Exhaustion creeps into him, and all he can think about is leaving this nightmare of a mountain as quickly as possible.
His head is pounding and can barely feel his fingers now, so he takes a deep breath and purposefully circulates...
He stops dead, his eyes darting directly to meet Wen Qing’s.
He reaches for his core, for any wisp of spiritual energy in his veins, and comes up empty. Dry. Barren.
“Where is Wei Wuxian?” He asks, and whatever she was about to say, it seems to be lost the moment he speaks. In an instant, she’s crowding the kid behind her, like Jiang Cheng is some sort of demon that’s going to eat the kid’s soul.
He sees the worry on her face, pinching her brows together, and he knows she's never cared about him enough to be that concerned.
The kid pokes his head out from behind her legs, his voice warbling just like it had in the cave, "Xian-gege?" He repeats, looking right at him.
And for the first time since he'd woken up here, Jiang Cheng looks down at himself. At the cracked, tanned skin of Wei Wuxian's knuckles moving when he tells his hands to flex. At the robes that had felt a bit too open. At the hair falling down around his shoulders, the wrong color, the wrong length. He'd been so focused on getting out of here (before he could say something stupid, he thinks, like 'come home' or 'I miss you') that he hadn't even bothered to think about it.
It takes him a moment to work through this. The aching loss he feels in his lower dantian is so familiar that, for a moment, he thought he'd lost his own core a second time. But that isn't quite right.
The longer he holds Wen Qing’s gaze, the more certain he is that when he finds his body again, his core will still be there.
But Wei Wuxian’s?
He presses a hand to his stomach, where the scar he'd gotten from Baoshan-sanren sits on his own body, and through the thin fabric he thinks can feel it. That same thin line, cut deep in Wei Wuxian's gut, a mirror to his own.
This is also when he feels the distinct pull of stitches, right next to it, where Sandu had torn through him months ago.
Too many pieces piling up, too many loose threads coming undone. And too many aches in too many places, all bearing down on him at once.
Jiang Cheng laughs, and lets himself fall fully onto the dusty cave floor.
That idiot, he curses to himself, that absolute idiot.
Wei Wuxian
Making it out of Lotus Pier is more difficult than Wei Wuxian assumed it would be, now that he’s aware that he’s (somehow) in Jiang Cheng’s body.
He adjusts the collar of his robe, the material unfamiliarly stiff and formal compared to what he's used to wearing. Every step he takes feels scrutinized, the weight of Jiang Cheng’s reputation pressing down on him like a physical burden. Wei Wuxian is well aware of how quickly rumors spread among the piers; he's certain that his encounter with Jiang Cheng's head disciple has already been spun dozens of times, the details changing ever-so-slightly with each retelling.
By the time he finds Jiang Cheng and gets them both back in their correct bodies, what will Jiang Cheng be walking back into, exactly?
Older disciples that had been with them through the war stop to politely ask after his health, a few bolder ones even offer to take him to the healer’s office, and while the younger disciples steer clear of him, he can feel them watching his every move.
In the end, he makes it to the docks, breaks out in a near sprint when another elder disciple tries to stop him to ask how he’s feeling, and (more than a little shakily) takes off on Sandu in the direction of Yiling.
Several hours, and a few sharp detours to shake off any disciples that had tried to follow him later, Wei Wuxian is once again at the base of the Burial Mounds. The wards let him through without issue and he makes his way up the path toward the settlement. It is an intensely disquieting experience, walking this road and hearing nothing but the soft rustle of the wind blowing through dead leaves. Even the first time he'd come here, he thinks he could hear them - the mingled, cacophonous voices of the dead. Tuning them out had taken time, and now its almost the same as the waves had been in Lotus Pier: always present somewhere in the background, and quiet enough to be soothing under the right circumstances.
Halfway up the mountain, he can finally hear the bustle of people, and that settles him a bit. If he's right about what he thinks happened, Jiang Cheng will hopefully still be here. Stuck in Wei Wuxian's body, and probably confused and furious, but safe, here, in the Burial Mounds.
In his pocket, he's got that stained old ribbon twined around his fingers. He couldn't quite leave it behind after he'd found it. A small part of him is hopeful that it means something; that it had been kept alone in that little treasure box for a reason. He doesn't remember it being this frayed that last time he'd worn it, and as he works it through his fingers and feels it unravel just a tiny bit more, that hope blooms a little warmer in his chest.
The settlement is oddly quiet when he actually arrives. Only a few older women are sitting outside their little makeshift houses, and as soon as he approaches, they hobble inside. Wei Wuxian doesn’t blame them - the last time Jiang Cheng had been here he had stabbed him.
There is light coming from his cave, and when he gets close, A-Yuan pops his head out of the entrance. Wei Wuxian tries his best to give him a reassuring smile in Jiang Cheng’s body, but it only makes A-Yuan narrow his eyes.
“Are you Xian-gege?” He questions, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but laugh. It sounds odd coming from Jiang Cheng’s throat - the cadence wrong, even if he’s heard the real Jiang Cheng laugh hundreds of times before.
He ruffles A-Yuan’s hair as he enters the cave, watching as he visibly relaxes into it. With a pout, he latches himself onto his leg and buries his face in violet robes.
“You’ve had a rough day, huh?” Wei Wuxian says, smiling as he feels A-Yuan nod against him, hugging tighter.
“Then let’s get everything settled and I’ll tell you another story before you go to bed.” Wei Wuxian says, taking A-Yuan’s hand and leading him back into the cave, “I’ll even let you pick this time.”
He hears A-Yuan let out a little sniffle just as they round the corner into the room he’s called his own for the last six months.
“Even the one about those water ghouls you fought in your special lake?” A-Yuan asks.
Wei Wuxian finds himself staring at Jiang Cheng, who had fought those same water ghouls with him, all those years ago. Even in Wei Wuxian’s body, he’s so distinctly himself that it warms Wei Wuxian’s heart.
“Yeah, even that one.” He says, smiling when Jiang Cheng scowls at him. It’s an interesting look on his own face - he can see why that face struck such fear into the Wen armies now.
Wen Qing makes meaningful eye contact with him as she takes A-Yuan from him, telling him all he needs to know about just how much Jiang Cheng has figured out in these few short hours he’s been stuck in Wei Wuxian’s body.
There’s no point in fighting it now that the secret is out. And if Jiang Cheng wants to scream at him, he deserves the chance to do it to Wei Wuxian’s face instead of his own.
He makes the short trip over to his bed and picks through the ruined mess of talismans until he finds the right one. On the back, A-Yuan has drawn out a line of repeating characters. By the time they’d reached this part of Wei Wuxian’s stack, he must have still been practicing. Just as he’d thought, the ink on this one stains all the way through, making the cinnabar bleed into itself just enough to change the radicals into something else.
If it had been anyone else, the talisman would have burnt out without doing anything, Wei Wuxian is sure. After all, the two of them are the only people he knows who have ever housed the same core in both of their bodies. The talisman had just tried to reunite him with his, in the most roundabout way possible.
He holds up the talisman so Jiang Cheng can see it and turns toward his desk to copy out a proper version that will (hopefully!) switch them back.
“What sort of guardian are you, letting a toddler mess with your untested talismans?” Jiang Cheng says, with less bite than Wei Wuxian had expected.
“One who was held hostage by said toddler,” He replies, finishing off the talisman.
He looks at Jiang Cheng for a long moment before he lights it, a soft smile turning up his lips.
“Stop grinning like that in my body,” Jiang Cheng says, right as the talisman ignites.
Jiang Cheng
“I can’t believe you let me stab you when you didn’t have a golden core,” is the first thing Jiang Cheng says when Wei Wuxian opens his eyes.
Jiang Cheng had moved him back to the straw bed once he’d gotten his bearings and waited what seemed like a century for him to wake up.
Wei Wuxian blinks, catches his eye, and then laughs in that obnoxious way that always makes Jiang Cheng’s heart stutter in his chest.
“Maybe we could call it even then. You stabbed poor little old me, a civilian just trying to live his life secluded away in the mountains,” Wei Wuxian grins, “And I accidentally let a toddler swap our souls. I’d say that’s even!”
“Dumbass.” Jiang Cheng grits out, “That’s not even at all! I only stabbed you because I thought you’d heal in a few days! A week at most! It’s been six months and you’re still bleeding through your bandages.” Jiang Cheng reaches out, presses lightly over the spot on his left side where his stitches are. He lingers, longer than he should, and when he pulls back, there’s a look in Wei Wuxian’s eye he’s never seen before.
His shixiong huffs and leans forward, enough that Jiang Cheng can feel the warm puff of his breath ghosting over his face. “Well, if that’s not good enough, Jiang-zongzhu will just have to tell this Laozu how he can make things even.”
“Come home, then.” Jiang Cheng says.
Wei Wuxian’s face falls, his smile turning wistful. “Ah, Jiang Cheng. We already talked about this, didn’t we? I can’t just leave them all here, and you won’t--”
“Who says I won’t?” Jiang Cheng cuts in, watches with keen satisfaction as Wei Wuxian’s face scrunches up in confusion.
“Obviously Wen Qing will have to come with you to figure out how to solve whatever it is she did to us.” Jiang Cheng looks away, unable to make direct eye contact for this last part. He’d rehearsed this in his head dozens of times in the hours since Wen Qing had told him about the core transfer, but there is still a chance that Wei Wuxian will just…say no.
He clears his throat, closing his eyes for only a moment. “And I guess, if she comes, the rest can follow too. I’ll figure it out,” He says, and then he turns back, sees the soft light in Wei Wuxian’s eye, “We’ll figure it out.”
A hand finds his, and it’s colder than he’d like it to be. But that’ll be an easy fix back in Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng will buy him gloves and ply him with all of the warm, spicy soups he knows Wei Wuxian loves. If he would just…
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, “We will.”
Jiang Cheng’s breath stills in his lungs, his heart beating faster as a quiet, contained silence finds its home between them.
And then, Jiang Cheng says, “But I swear, you’re telling me everything about those weird screams?? That I heard while I was in your body. There’s no way that’s healthy.”
“Oh, that.” Wei Wuxian says.
Jiang Cheng stares at him. “Oh? That?” He says, incredulous, “Oh??? THAT???”
Wei Wuxian’s laugh fills the cave, and it’s enough that Jiang Cheng forgets about the blood pool in the corner, and the fierce corpse tucked away in the shadows. After all, all that he’s wanted for these last long months is finally settled right in his palm.
art by aftersector!