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The demonic cultivator was a surprise.
With Lan Xichen recently emerging from seclusion everyone had agreed it was best to take an easy night hunt. Wei Ying, eager to have some good old fun with his estranged brother and husband without the imminent threat of death, was actually looking forward to it when they set out from Gusu that day to meet the rest of their party near the borders of Lanling Jin.
Of course, because nothing in his life has ever been easy and his luck has been shit from before his rebirth, the night hunt to exterminate a small nest of ghouls with five of the best cultivators in the world and their ducklings turned into a fight to the death to stop someone willing to carve out their own eyes from summoning two great gods destined to break the world at their knee.
He’d been playing Chenqing almost nonstop, his eyesight growing fuzzy from the lack of oxygen as he continued the song that kept the staggering collection of fierce corpses at bay while his brother-in-law took down as many as he could, his nephew and son did their best to break the array and his husband and brother worked to take down the cultivator.
But the array, which had been glowing faintly red since they arrived, turned white with power as the moon moved into alignment. The demonic cultivator cackled in joy. And the thought of war in his son’s lifetime makes his heart pound so he can do nothing but fall to his knees from the pure horror of it all.
The array glows pure white and spasms into black. He hears the screams of hell, as if the Burial Mounds had dragged itself from the edges of Yiling to Lanling Jin. The moon stills in the night sky, perfectly positioned over the array.
In a moment of madness, Wei Ying raises his hands to the sky, flute falling from his lips as if with enough will he could shoot down the moon itself.
Nothing.
Quiet. The array flutters one last time, demonic energy fracturing and fades. Two figures stand in the middle of the array, bathed in moonlight. The world holds its breath. One of the figures steps towards the moonlight, hair loose down its back with a few beads collected at the end of a single skinny braid down the left side of his face. Dressed in nothing but a thin white robe and a familiar ring on his left hand.
Slowly, his horror dies to confusion as he recognizes the face of the other who comes to stand besides the figure of his brother. Sharp cheekbones and a gently sloped nose. Expression so stern as if it were cut from stone.
There is a moment of silence. Even the demonic cultivator seems confused.
“La-”
“Great gods!” The demonic cultivator cries, prostrating himself at their feet while his real husband and brother continue to look on in silence, their swords hanging uselessly at their side. “I called you here with many thanks and offerings. Look now to the nonbelievers who sully your land. Rid us of those who abuse the golden arts for their whims and…”
A corpse limps closer with a guttural moan and only then does Wei Ying remember himself. Just as he raises his flute, the thing in the form of his brother walks out to the edge of the array and lifts his head to the moon.
He’s heard his brother sing before, of course. When they were younger and he’d had trouble sleeping he’d often requested a poem or lullaby, finding it easier to drift to sleep with the reminder of the other in the room. If it was really bad he’d climb into Jiang Cheng’s bed and listen, shivering from a nightmare, as the other sang into his shoulder.
Now he listens to his brother’s voice singing a Yunmeng Jiang lullaby, a story of poison and disease, something used to put babies to sleep, as the corpses around him drop like flies, the malevolent energy spinning helplessly in the air before flying to his brother’s open palm. It sits there, a tight ball of energy growing darker and darker until it is as if he held a bit of the night sky in his palm. Only once all the corpses have fallen still does the thing with his brother’s face stop singing.
He turns then to the demonic cultivator and hums, and it shouldn’t surprise Wei Ying if it can mimic his brother’s singing voice that it can replicate his speaking voice, “Well then. As you were saying.”
The demonic cultivator seems confused, turning left and right to his fallen soldiers and then back to the gods he has summoned. “I…”
“He was calling us gods,” the thing in his husband’s form says with a smile and while usually he can tell when his husband is smiling after years of study, this Lan Zhan is apparently unconcerned with hiding his emotions. It is just as soothing as it is jarring. He smiles and turns to the other. “How flattering.”
This fake brother snorts, spinning the ball of energy on his finger before tossing it to his friend who wrinkles his nose in distaste before pocketing it in his robes. “Finally someone who appreciates me as I ought to be,” the fake teases. And it is teasing, as recognizable as if fifteen-year-old Jiang Cheng had just stepped out of that array. “Who’s going to tell A’Ying that someone asked for gods and didn’t pick him.
Lan Wangji laughs--and whatever has decided to take his husband’s form is doing a poor job of replicating him so unlike the thing in his brother’s form--at that and turns to face the demonic cultivator. “Too true. My husband is going to be very disappointed, good sir. So best to tell us your purpose before he finds a way over here.”
The demonic cultivator looks completely lost for words now and his Jiang Cheng, the real Jiang Cheng, steps forward, making himself tall in the way only a Sect Leader can. “Who are you?”
The fake turns to assess him and then the group. “I am Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Wanyin. Leader of Yunmeng Jiang. You may call me Jiang Wanyin. And you?”
Jiang Cheng scowls, a deeply familiar look even if it’s just stopped being directed at him. “The same.”
Jiang Wanyin hums thoughtfully. “And this must be A’Zhan,” he says, pointing to his husband. “Xichen,” he bows his head lightly “And you…” and suddenly he is there, this Jiang Wanyin, staring at him with just a few inches to space before deftly plucking Chenqing from his slackened fingers. “A’Ying!”
The knot in his throat grows tighter. The last person to call him that was Shije.
“Though you’ve gone and stolen somebody else's body,” his head tilts as he observes Wei Ying. “Get bored?”
His husband makes a small enraged sound and Jiang Wanyin dodges with elegance befitting his brother as bichen cleaves down where he just squat. “So rude A’Zhan! I was only observing.”
“A’Cheng,” Lan Wangji calls from where he stood still at the center of the array. “Stop picking on them.”
Jiang Wanyin pouts. “If Wei Ying was here he’d help me.”
“Yes, but I am not Wei Ying. Come over here before you give that boy a reason to let loose his arrow.”
Wei Ying spies Jin Ling pull the bow tighter even as his hands shake. Whatever these things are, they've chosen their disguises well. Wei Ying would sooner raise Chenqing to himself than his brother or husband just as Jin Ling would rather spear himself than lose that arrow.
Jiang Wanyin obediently walks back to the array and sits. Lan Wangji unbuckles his belt and deftly lays his purple robes over Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders who only then seems to have realized his state of dress. “Oh! Thank you.”
Lan Wangji takes a seat next. His second layer of robes are black. Wei Ying finds this all very disorienting.
“So… we were talking about our purpose,” Lan Wangji prompts.
The demonic cultivator, seizing the chance, prostrates himself once again. “Oh god of death and god of betrayal, please do this one the honor of cleansing this world of these blasphemous cultivators.”
Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji stare in muted silence with wide eyes, their expressions painfully similar.
“You want us,” Jiang Wanyin leans forward and gestures to himself and his companion, “Us! To what? Walk into every sect left on earth and kill everyone?”
Lan Wangji makes an affronted noise. “And what's this about death and betrayal? I mean certainly I’ve killed people but it was a war and I don’t see Wen Chao’s head rolling around here.”
The demonic cultivator lifts his head slightly. “Ah… the one in mourning whites is meant to be the god of death.”
Jiang Wanyin looks down at his chest and then to his counterpart. “I was about to take a bath!”
Wei Ying can’t help it, he starts laughing.
“I have never betrayed anyone!” Lan Wangji roars, jumping to his feet. “How dare you!”
“Well…” Jiang Wanyin says, grinning as they look at each other. Wei Ying can’t stop his giggles. The absurdity of it. The relief. Apparently these things do not wish to wage war, not yet. “You did forget Wei Ying’s pastries this morning.”
Lan Wangji turns to glare at his companion. “I overslept! I missed one day. Seven years of marriage and you would think I can miss one day.”
Jiang Wanyin giggles and jumps to his feet, pulling the brocaded purple robes closer to his chest. “A promise is a promise, A’Zhan. One as righteous as yourself should know…”
Lan Wangji’s wraps a hand around his hilt.
Wei Ying suddenly finds the thing hanging off his shoulders as he ducks to hide behind him with impressive speed. “Wei Ying, save me. Your meanie husband is bullying me again.”
“Let go of him,” his Lan Zhan snarls.
Jiang Wanyin leans his head on Wei Ying’s shoulder and from the corner of his eye Wei Ying watches him stick his tongue out at his husband.
From the other side of the clearing, Jiang Cheng raises his head to the sky.
.
After some screaming and bickering and Jiang Cheng calling for order, they reach the watchtower easily enough.
Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji keep their silence all the way there. They’d accepted the cuffs easily enough, assuring them they understood it would make everyone feel better, while the demonic cultivator had screamed and cried for his gods to save him.
Jin Ling leads them.
As they near the doors, Wei Ying hears a distinct jingle and suddenly Jiang Wanyin is there in front of Jin Ling.
He has Chenqing in his hand faster than his brain can process the scene, a single note blown when Jiang Wanyin reaches out and pinches Jin Ling’s cheek. “I knew it! A'Ling, look at you. You’re so grown now!”
Jiang Cheng snarls and stomps forward, sword drawn and Zidian at the ready. “Get your hands off him.”
Jiang Wanyin turns to him with a smirk. “Come now. Are you saying if you were me you wouldn’t want to see what a fine young man our nephew has become. Look at him with his golden robes like a proper gentleman. Why the last I saw him, he was only this tall” He makes a gesture to his calf.
To no one’s surprise, Jin Ling seems to melt from the praise. “Ah… Ji-ahh” he turns to Jiang Cheng and takes a step back, closer to his uncle. “Let us discuss this inside, please.”
After all, everyone had agreed it better to wait once they are behind the safety of doors and a million talismans before provoking these two. They seem lively enough and in no hurry to do any harm but they do not know what has really come from the array.
Jiang Wanyin pouts but lets Lan Wangji (and clearly these cuffs had been useless) corral him through the doors with the rest of their party.
His A’Yuan stays close, staring at the god with his father’s face.
Jin Ling leads them to a table a hallway away from the guards room where he knows at least fifteen disciples were waiting to intervene in case their leader needed them. They all take a seat and two servants come forth with tea and pastries.
Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji sit next to each other. After a moment of debate, he takes a seat next to this fake brother and silently forces Lan Zhan to take a seat next to his counterpart. Jiang Cheng takes the seat next to him.
Once tea is served and everyone has a bite, Lan Zhan turns to his brother who has been silent this entire time.
“Let us speak plainly,” Lan Xichen says, setting the tone as heavy but peaceful. “How did you come here?”
Lan Wangji takes the reins as Jiang Wanyin takes another bite of the sweet cake. “I imagine you might know better than us. We were in Lotus Pier just a moment ago.”
Lan Xichen hums and opens his mouth to counter, to dig, when Lan Zhan suddenly asks, “You do not have a forehead ribbon.”
Only then Wei Ying realizes he’s right. So distracted by the purple robes and so used to the sight of it on his husband’s forehead that he does not consider it possible until he sees it.
“No,” Lan Wangji says, “I married into Yunmeng Jiang soon after the war.”
After the war… not after his death… Lan Zhan looks at him with searching eyes and Wei Ying offers him a smile.
“It was a horrible wedding,” Jiang Wanyin huffs. “Three bows in a courtyard and no feast.”
Lan Wangji rolls his eyes (and it is jarring not to have to work to read his husband’s expressions). “It was lovely. You and A-Li did wonderful work on Wei Ying’s robes.”
“Not well enough. There is no shame in reaffirming your vows-”
“Wei Ying and I have no desire to reaffirm our vows so early. And Yunmeng Jiang has no need to bankrupt itself just to throw Wei Ying and I a party.
Clearly this is a well rehearsed argument.
“Wei Ying deserves a lavish wedding,” Jiang Wanyin counters. He looks at Jiang Cheng. “Certainly you agreed.”
Jiang Cheng tenses, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I-”
“We eloped,” Wei Ying replies, “Lan Zhan and I were simply too in love to wait for anything formal.”
Lan Wangji frowns, “You did not want A’Cheng and A’Li present?”
Wei Ying's smile waivers and then falls as Jiang Cheng stands abruptly, hand on his hilt. “Stop saying her name.”
Jiang Wanyin frowns and stands. “And why should we not say my sister’s name?”
“I don’t know what you are,” Jiang Cheng snarls. “And I do not care. I will not allow you to use my sister in this farce.”
Lan Wangji stands and reaches for his sword as Jiang Cheng draws his but is stopped with a hand at his elbow as Jiang Wanyin speaks with all the power of a Sect Leader. “I understand you do not trust us. We do not trust you. But I assure you we speak the truth for what good it does. We are not gods, let alone gods of death and destruction. We are mortal cultivators from Yunmeng Jiang. We have been pulled from our lives and brought here. If we are truly to speak plainly, I will do so,”
He turns to Lan Xichen. “We wish to go home. You have an oath on my sister and brother and homeland, that we will not raise a hand against you or yours as long as no one attempts to harm us. We will stay out of the way if you wish, but would like to help with this endeavor. For whatever reason, this demonic cultivator failed. Count it a blessing, it is something familiar and not something worse.”
With that he sits down, pulling Lan Wangji back to his seat, and sheds the robes of Sect Leader as easily as he’d slipped them on and resumes eating his pastry.
Next to him, he feels Jiang Cheng grow more tense as he takes his own seat.
.
True to their word, Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji stay out of the way and do not resist them. Jin Ling confines them to one of the guest rooms and has a second bed brought in when they refuse to part. Guards from Jin Ling’s inner circle are called forth and stationed at their door and Wei Ying hovers close by because this Jiang Wanyin can do demonic cultivation with just his voice and he doesn’t trust that.
By that same token, he ends up spending a lot of time with Jiang Cheng.
“I hate this,” Wei Ying grumbles as he picks lotus seeds open. Besides him Jiang Cheng hums quietly. They’ve come a long way from the hatred and secrets that had stained their relationship when he first came back. Now he can even say they are comfortable in each other’s presence though it is nothing like what they had before. “The demonic cultivator still isn’t talking?”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “He insists he did it right but refuses to give us his sources. If we could get you to the array maybe we could learn something but…”
No one is comfortable with leaving them unguarded, even after Jiang Wanyin had handed Wei Ying the ball of compacted resentful energy that now sits within a jar with every talisman Wei Ying can think to use slapped on top. That sort of control…
“Why don’t you sing?” Jiang Cheng asks, shifting against the wall, even now their thought process mirrors the other. “You’ve never had a bad voice and it’s not like your flute playing is that good.”
Wei Ying sticks his tongue out at him and it’s a testament to how far they come that Jiang Cheng just rolls his eyes.
“No but seriously, why?”
Wei Ying frowns. “It needs a conduit. Like your sword. To cultivate without a tool is dangerous because it is too easy for one’s emotions or stray thoughts to break the control. And with resentful energy, it’s especially prone to lashing out at the cultivator. It’s why most of them go insane.”
Jiang Cheng frowns, “So what? This guy has got great what… emotional control?”
Wei Ying shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think he’s human.”
“Me neither. Jin Ling and his friends are leaning towards it, you know?” Jiang Cheng scoffs and grabs a few lotus seeds to chew on. “That they’re us from another world or something.”
Wei Ying laughs, “It’d be nice though.”
“What?”
“If it were true,” Wei Ying says, “If there really was a world where Lan Zhan and I got married after the war and…” And Shije lived. He doesn’t have to say it. Shouldn’t. Shije is still a sour subject between them.
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng sighs and closes his eyes. “It would be nice.”
.
And then one day while Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng sit resting against the wall, the door to their newest prisoner’s cell opens.
Jiang Wanyin spies them immediately and gives a jaunty wave that Wei Ying recognizes immediately as one he uses to piss off the elders but there’s a genuineness there that he rarely employs. As if Jiang Wanyin is actually happy to see them.
He doesn’t step out of the room, mindful of the array Wei Ying has drawn around the door. But if it’s actually keeping him inside, Wei Ying doesn’t know. They haven’t had to test it, yet.
He gestures for them to come closer and they do with weapons in their hands but not drawn.
Lan Zhan had suggested placing a silencing spell on Jiang Wangji in case he tried to sing again but then Lan Wangji had gone for his sword and Lan Xichen suggested they avoid such measures as a matter of trust. Even then, Wei Ying would have preferred it.
He doesn’t like the idea of Jiang Cheng, any Jiang Cheng, practicing demonic cultivation. It is not the embodiment of evil if done right and used sparingly. Wei Ying would be a hypocrite to say otherwise but it has a toll that normal cultivation does not and his death had been his price. He wonders how his world, if he is actually from another world, reacted to his singing. Was he praised? Protected by his place as Sect Leader? Did Jin Guangyao try to go after him just as he had gone after Wei Ying?
“I was wondering,” Jiang Wanyin says when they take their place on the other side of the array, not daring to get close. “If you’re people have made any progress concerning us getting home?”
“Unfortunately, we have not,” Jiang Cheng replies for the both of them. It is not a direct lie. They might have finally found the hideout of the demonic cultivator but it's not a guarantee. Lan Zhan and a cast of Lan, Jin, and Jiang disciples would be heading out to check the lead tomorrow morning. So it’s too early to tell if it’s progress, a technical lie if you will.
Jiang Wanyin scowls and crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. Within their window into their room they spy Lan Wangji sitting at the desk, sword resting against his knee. “Look I know you don’t trust us but we’ve been good haven’t we? No fuss. No threats. We haven’t tried to break out of here or bring the tower down or even sneak out of this room.” He glances pointedly at the array on the floor. “At this point, I think we’re entitled to some consideration. Let me go and check the array? Maybe I can learn something your people haven’t.”
“And how do we trust you won’t try and run the minute we let you out of this tower?” Wei Ying counters.
Jiang Wanyin smiles, “A’Zhan will stay here as collateral. I won’t leave him behind. I’ll even leave my sword if that’s not good enough for you.”
Jiang Cheng frowns, considering. “The sword and zidian and you agree to a silencing spell until we reach the array.”
Lan Wangji sits up at that but Jiang Wanyin holds out a hand, calling for peace. He thinks for a moment, staring at the floor. “I assume there is no wiggle room on these terms?”
“A’Cheng…”
“No,” Jiang Cheng says.
Jiang Wanyin nods. “A’Zhan, we need answers and we need to get home. If this is what makes everyone feel safe then fine. As long as I can get a guarantee that no one will be leading anyone to their execution.”
Wei Ying nods, “Of course, we…”
“I gave your Sect Leader Lan my word on family and sect that we would not cause trouble,” Jiang Wanyin continues as if he didn’t hear Wei Ying speak. “But, if I do not return in two days time unharmed, that word will be revoked and Lan Wangji will have every right and reason to do as he pleases.”
Wei Ying scowls and stares down at the array, well that answers that question.
“Is that a threat?” Jiang Cheng asks, taking a deliberate step forward but still towing the line of the array.
Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes. “It is insurance. I’m not a fool to let you bind me hand and foot without that.”
When neither Wei Ying nor Jiang Cheng speak, Jiang Wanyin nods to himself, “Please inform our nephew and Sect Leader Lan of our discussion. I await your answer. After all,” he smiles again and the tension leaves and Wei Ying is almost awed by the way Jiang Wanyin seems to slip between silly and serious. “Where else can we go?”
.
Lan Xichen is obviously unnerved when Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying report.
“Honestly, I’m surprised they’ve been this patient,” Lan Jingly pipes in as they once again sit around Jin Ling’s tea table. “If they’re really you two, I’d imagine they’ve worn a hole in the floor from all the pacing.”
Lan Zhan grumbles softly at that and tucks Wei Ying a little closer against his chest.
Jiang Cheng scowls.
Neither have a face thick enough to deny it.
“It would give you a chance to check out the array as well, Diajiu,” Jin Ling adds, looking strategically at the table. “Jiujiu can stay here and watch Lan Wangji and you could accompany us to the array.”
Wei Ying sighs and looks to the ceiling. “It’s risky. But at this point I’m also afraid that if we don’t give them something they will just do as they please.”
An uncomfortable hush settles over the room.
Lan Xichen clears his throat, “Then it’s decided.”
“Whether we like it or not,” Lan Jingly adds unhelpfully.
From across the room, Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying share an uncertain glance.