Chapter Text
It begins, as most things seem to these days, with a quiet conversation during a discussion conference.
As far as conferences go, this one has turned out to be a rather lively affair. The Wens are no longer a power-hungry thorn in the jianghu's side, and the reign of the Yiling Laozu has come to a definitive close. With no common enemy, countless minor sects have begun bolstering their forces and vying for a more well-established position. The result? Topics of discussion that took little more than a single incense time to cover pre-Sunshot Campaign now stretch on for up to several shichen until any satisfactory conclusion can be agreed on.
Though Xichen's ascension to Sect Leader had been a sudden, violent ordeal, it is an undeniable fact that with such an affinity for the minutiae of inter-sect politics, the First Jade of Gusu has taken to the position with both poise and grace. It is not, therefore, a particularly difficult task for him to hold his tongue while his peers clamor around him, but even he has to admit that this time, he is finding it difficult to reign in his temper — when Su Minshan lurches to his feet to insist that the Moling Su Sect are perfectly capable of overseeing the maintenance of one of Qishan's most profitable coal mines, Xichen very nearly rolls his eyes.
The nerve of some people, indeed.
It's a relief, then, that an unscheduled recess is called shortly after Sect Leader Yao storms out of the Pageantry Hall late in the afternoon of the second day. The opportunity to get a little air and settle his restless mind is a most welcome balm to Xichen's frayed nerves, and he has always enjoyed a pleasant stroll around the majesty of the sprawling gardens of Jinlintai. Today, he allows himself to wander where he pleases, rather than taking a familiar route. Perhaps he will be so lucky as to chance on something he has not seen before.
As it happens, he does.
Jiang Wanyin sits alone by a small pond, gazing quietly into the water. While Xichen has not been to this particular part of the gardens before, a hazy memory comes to mind of a conversation from years ago; a vague recollection of A-Yao's good-natured laughter as he described his brother's struggle to nurture lotus seedlings for his future bride.
This must have been Jin Zixuan's garden, once, and then for but a fleeting moment, the late Jiang Yanli's. Suddenly, Jiang Wanyin's presence here makes much more sense. Xichen allows himself a moment to glance at the surface of the water — though Jin Zixuan is no longer with them, perhaps the fruits of his labor outlive him yet — but it's a rather sorry sight. Though round, waxy lotus leaves blanket the surface of the small pool, only one flower still blooms among them, a sharp shock of white among the green.
Jiang Wanyin lets out a quiet sigh, and though he sits with his feet planted, back perfectly straight, Xichen can't help but feel that he seems impossibly tired.
Lan Xichen has somewhat of a soft spot for the other man. While they are not overly familiar these days — duty has a way of leaving one with little time for such luxuries — Xichen often hears news of Sect Leader Jiang on the wind, gossip passed this way and that. He may not know how Jiang Wanyin prefers to take his tea, or any of his interests outside of sect politics, but if the whispers are to believed, Xichen knows he's a damned good sect leader, despite the burdens the war has left him to shoulder.
Since Mingjue's passing and Wangji's unfortunate seclusion, Xichen has often found himself feeling alone in the world. Even A-Yao, as well-meaning as he is, cannot afford his sworn brother much of his time outside of conferences now that he has a wife and son to consider. Despite his own melancholy, however, Lan Xichen knows that there is a stark difference between feeling alone and truly being alone — and aside from his infant nephew, who else does Jiang Wanyin have left?
Perhaps, Xichen muses, a new alliance in the wake of the war might be of benefit to the both of them.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” he announces himself softly, footsteps quiet as he makes his presence known. It’s a testament to Jiang Wanyin’s composure that he does not startle at Xichen's sudden arrival.
"Zewu-Jun," the other man greets him simply, tone gruff but not unkind as he offers Xichen a polite nod. "Taking in the air?"
"Something like that." His gaze calm as he watches the summer breeze stir the leaves around them, Xichen offers him the beginnings of a smile as he adds, "To tell you the truth, if I had stayed in there a moment longer, I fear I would have gone quite mad."
His candor earns him a huff of amusement. "You're telling me," Jiang Wanyin replies curtly, but the stiff set of his shoulders seems to relax, if only a little.
Xichen does not force further conversation, and the other man seems to appreciate it. Their amicable silence does not last long, however; after a little while, Jiang Wanyin raises one hand to his temple with a pained wince.
"Is everything alright?" Xichen finds himself asking before he can think better of it, but Jiang Wanyin does not seem to take offense, simply dismissing Xichen's concern with a wave of his hand.
"Don't mind me. A headache, nothing more. I've fared far worse."
Xichen's polite smile turns almost sly. "Why, Sect Leader Jiang," he says airily, "I understand Sect Leader Yao's arguments might not be the most stimulating conversation, but surely you’ve not yet been driven to drink in excess in order to make it through his tirade?”
That gets him an honest-to-god chuckle. Xichen privately delights in the sound; it's one he hasn't heard for many years. "Not yet," Jiang Wanyin sighs, "though at this rate, I doubt it'll be long. No, it's just a tension headache. My own fault for being so heavy-handed when I was putting up my hair this morning."
While they are hard to spot across a crowded conference hall, Jiang Wanyin now sits close enough that Xichen is able to see the intricate braids in his hair that he must be referring to. They snake upwards from his temples, some thick and some thin, crossing over each other and spiraling out towards to the base of his guan in a myriad of intricate patterns. Had Jiang Wanyin worn his hair like this in his youth? Perhaps not — Xichen's sure that if he had seen such artistry before, he would have taken note. The new look makes him appear older, more shrewd, like Jiang Fengmian had been before him.
Xichen is struck with the quiet realization that Jiang Wanyin has grown into a fine young man.
"I cannot imagine the time such a task must take," he says politely, tucking that thought away for later. "Do correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall that braiding one's hair is somewhat of a sect tradition for the Jiangs, is it not?"
"Quite so. You've very well-informed." Jiang Wanyin turns to face him properly now, quietly impressed. "You’ll be hard-pressed to find a Jiang disciple that doesn’t wear braids in their hair. It's a little archaic, perhaps, but we’re proud to wear them nonetheless.”
“The preservation of one’s culture is a worthwhile endeavor, whatever that should look like. I think it's wonderful that the new generation wish to continue upholding the old traditions.”
The stern look on Jiang Wanyin's face softens just a fraction, and Xichen wonders if anyone else has been lucky enough to see this expression on the other man recently.
It’s a good look.
"I'd be interested to hear about the history of the Jiang braids when we have the luxury of a little more time," Xichen continues, eager to keep chipping away at the walls the other man has thrown up around himself. "I admit, a few of your disciples have graciously offered to explain their significance when we've run into each other during night hunts here and there, but you know what life is like these days. Something always finds a way to pull you back to your duties at the most inopportune of moments."
Though his small smile does not falter, a muscle ticks just underneath Jiang Wanyin's eye. "Oh, they have, have they?" He says, frighteningly measured, and Xichen can't help but wonder if he has said something terribly wrong without meaning to.
"Indeed. I only regret that I have not yet been able to take them up on such a kind offer," the Lan Sect Leader tries smoothly, hoping he might yet be able to save those poor disciples from whatever trouble he has unknowingly landed them in. Admittedly, it's somewhat out of the ordinary for disciples to strike up a conversation with another sect's leader, but the Jiangs have always been a particularly plucky bunch, even back during Fengmian's reign — Xichen honestly hadn't thought anything of it at the time. “A most well-mannered group of young men and women they were, though, Sect Leader Jiang. Truly a credit to their sect.”
It takes a long few moments, but Jiang Wanyin finally concedes with a sharp nod, though Xichen still finds himself having difficulty reading his expression. How odd this feels! Though he has years of experience translating Mingjue's monosyllabic grunts and recognizing the minute changes of each of Wangji's stoic micro-expressions, there’s something lingering in the other man’s countenance that he cannot quite put his finger on. Jiang Wanyin still seems quietly displeased, and for the life of him, Xichen cannot fathom why.
Those poor disciples. Xichen does not envy them for the earful they will no doubt be receiving once the conference wraps up.
In a sudden flurry of movement, Jiang Wanyin rises to his feet, chin raised in what appears to be a challenge. "If Zewu-Jun is interested in learning about the traditions of Yunmeng Jiang," he says, gaze sharp and steady, "he need only ever ask. I would simply hope that I am not so unapproachable that he is unable to question me directly."
Xichen blinks, for once completely speechless. Jiang Wanyin offers him little time to gather his thoughts.
“We may not have much time to spare before we must return to our duties,” the other man continues, “but it should be just enough that I might even offer you a short demonstration, seeing that you wear no braids in your own hair today.”
Heavens above. Surely, Jiang Wanyin cannot be suggesting…?
“Sect Leader Jiang," Xichen finally manages once his thoughts catch up with him. "As approachable as I assure you that you are, I couldn't possibly ask that of you. I’m sure you have far more important things to do.”
Truth be told, having Jiang Wanyin braid his hair is not an entirely unwelcome idea. It’s…intimate, yes, to have one's hair handled by another, but it’s not unheard of, and Xichen is quite legitimately interested in what appears to be a rather historical tradition for the Jiangs. However, this is the fearsome Sandu Shengshou, scourge of the Burial Mounds, a man who rebuilt his sect upon the ashes of his ancestors. Surely he cannot mean to waste his time on a passing whim like this?
“It’s no trouble,” Jiang Wanyin replies. If anything, Xichen’s hesitance seems to amuse him. “Consider this your first lesson in Jiang tradition; braiding the hair of one's allies is a rather common occurrence.”
Allies?
Xichen forces himself to take a moment, collecting his thoughts so that he might properly assess the situation at hand. Had he not approached Jiang Wanyin this afternoon with his own notions of an alliance between them in the back of his mind? Though the other man might have a rather unique way of broaching the subject, Xichen has to admit that he would be remiss to turn down Jiang Wanyin's offer if it is alliance that he is truly after.
Perhaps it is not simply out of desire to make an ally of Gusu Lan that Jiang Wanyin reaches out, though — not completely, at least. Lan Xichen is no fool. He knows his own sect's standing, knows how much Yunmeng Jiang could stand to benefit from a formal alliance between them. And yet, when he takes the time to really look at the other sect leader, to consider the offer that he had so quickly dismissed as a mere flight of fancy, Xichen does not see a shrewd leader trying to ensure the security of his sect — he just sees a man, bruised by a war he did not start but was forced to finish, seeking connection in the loneliness of the wide jianghu.
Perhaps the two of them are more alike than Xichen had previously thought.
His thoughtful silence must be mistaken for disapproval. Jiang Wanyin’s small smile finally drops, and he lowers his gaze. “Forgive me. I overstep,” he says quietly, and the uncertainty Xichen sees flicker across his face, however briefly, is like an arrow to the heart. “Please, pay me no mind. I don't mean to inconvenience you, Zewu-jun, I simply thought—”
With a flick of his flowing sleeves behind him, Xichen does not allow him to finish, taking two quick steps forward to plant himself down firmly on the stone bench Jiang Wanyin had risen from just moments ago.
"Not at all, Sect Leader Jiang," he says with what he hopes is a rather winning smile over his shoulder, and is rewarded with a surprised look from the other man. "After all, how many people can say they're lucky enough to be offered a demonstration of Jiang tradition from the sect leader himself? I would have to be a fool indeed to let this opportunity pass me by."
The cautious tilt of Jiang Wanyin's small smile is proof enough for Xichen to know that he has made the right choice.
And that is how he finds himself sitting still as a stone under Jiang Wanyin's careful hands, his guan a heavy weight on his lap as the warm summer breeze stirs the hem of his robes at his feet. Jiang Wanyin stands calmly behind him, fingers carding through Xichen’s hair with practiced ease as he works. Occasionally, he will offer a quiet fact about the knot he weaves, or the significance of the number of strands that lie in a braid, and to his credit, Xichen tries his best to take all of the information in. He is beginning to find it difficult, however, to keep a clear head.
How could he possibly have expected Jiang Wanyin’s touch to be so gentle? He has heard so many terrible tales about what these hands have done, and far-fetched as they might be, there is always some truth to rumors, no smoke without fire. For the sweep of his fingers to be so feather-light on Xichen's head, barely even tugging at his hair as he twists it this way and that, is nothing short of astounding. Not once do Jiang Wanyin's hands even come close to brushing the Lan forehead ribbon — though he seems proud to share his own sect's culture, he is careful not to disrespect Xichen's in the process, a thought that takes quiet root in the Lan Sect Leader's chest and warms him from the inside out.
Xichen is not used to being handled with such care. Despite himself, he drifts.
Though it feels like they spend pleasant hours in the peace of the lotus pond, no more than half an incense time passes before Jiang Wanyin makes a quiet noise of triumph at his back. With a considerable amount of effort, Xichen drags his tranquil spirit back up to the surface to turn around and look at him.
It’s not a mistake — not quite — but it takes him a few moments do to anything more than gaze upwards in wonder. In contrast to Xichen’s own hair, now woven intricately with delicate braids around his crown that accentuate the curtain of hair down his back, Sect Leader Jiang’s hair is uncharacteristically loose. Where his own braids had been tied not moments before, dark strands simply curl gently about his face, rippling here and there with little waves.
Was Jiang Wanyin's hair always this long? Had it always curled just so? Xichen isn’t certain. What he knows for sure, though, is that right now, he could not describe the other man as anything less than beautiful.
No… No, that’s not quite right. It’s certainly not wrong that he looks beautiful like this, but it’s not as if Jiang Wanyin isn’t a fine-looking man when his hair is tied up in its usual style. What truly catches Xichen off-guard is how soft he looks, as if he has just risen from sleep in his own chambers, far from the gardens of Jinlintai and the waning sunlight of the afternoon.
It is not Jiang Wanyin's beauty that surprises Xichen, but the sheer possessiveness that overtakes him at the thought of seeing this side of the other man. He wants to hold this moment tight, hoard it within the deepest reaches of himself so that no one else might ever be able to intrude on such a lovely memory.
…Such thoughts are terribly unbecoming. He will have to meditate on this tonight, once he returns to his guest chambers.
Jiang Wanyin clears his throat awkwardly, the sound ringing out over the still waters of the pond as if he had struck a bell. It takes a moment more for him to speak, his gaze warm as he looks the other man up and down — appraising his work, Xichen is sure.
“All done," he finally says, the corner of his mouth pinched upwards in a wry smile. "I’m not used to working around a forehead ribbon so it's far from perfect, but it will do for now, I’m sure. The only ribbons I had to hand were Jiang purple, though, so I might advise taking this down before you head back inside.”
Xichen reaches up to trace his fingertips over a braid that hangs down by his temple, marveling at its intricacy. Through the ink-black strands of his own hair, he can see flashes of rich purple silk. Jiang Wanyin does not seem the type to carry spare ribbons in his sleeves — surely he had not undone his own braids simply to use his own ties in another man's hair? It's a ridiculous notion, of course, and yet the thought stirs something in Xichen, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight.
“Excellent advice, I'm sure, and yet I can't help but feel that it would be an awful waste,” Xichen muses, and if his tone is a touch too pleased to be considered politely detached in the usual Lan fashion, he does not bother to correct himself. “I will do so if you wish, Sect Leader Jiang, but must I ruin your hard work quite so soon? It seems a shame not to at least wear them for the rest of the evening.”
Jiang Wanyin shoots him a smirk, boldly reaching out to give the braid Xichen is holding a little tug. “Far be it for me to tell the venerable Zewu-jun how to wear his own hair, but you may turn a few heads if you return to the conference wearing these. It’s about as clear a display of alliance as waving a flag and shouting at the top of your lungs.”
“Then how auspicious it is that you have so graciously provided me with a rather more subtle way to announce that Yunmeng Jiang has the support of Gusu Lan,” Xichen answers smoothly, allowing himself the rarity of a genuine smile. “Not that such an announcement need require any subtlety, of course, but I’ve never particularly enjoyed shouting.”
A myriad of expressions flash across Jiang Wanyin’s face in quick succession, and for a moment, Xichen cannot help but think of the boy he had once been, fresh-faced and tearing around the Cloud Recesses in the wake of Wei Wuxian's chaos. As the other man smothers his pleased grin into a more reserved expression, though, Xichen is reminded — not for the first time today — that Jiang Wanyin is no longer a boy, but his equal, a fellow sect leader worth his respect.
Perhaps, someday, a friend.
“Do as you will," Jiang Wanyin says almost curtly, but his eyes are bright as he looks over at Xichen. "Like I said before — far be it from me to tell you how to wear your hair.” He tries to drop into a low bow, but Xichen stops him with little more than a gentle touch to his wrist.
“Come, there’s no need for that. Now, how about we make our way back inside? I'm quite certain Sect Leader Yao has had enough time to cool off by this point, don't you think?"
Whether or not Sect Leader Yao will finally manage to control his temper remains yet to be seen, but as the two of them return to the Pageantry Hall, the conference at least seems to be picking up once more, the other sect leaders and their disciples in the process of returning to their various seats.
Jiang Wanyin had been right about one thing. For such a relatively subtle change to Xichen’s appearance, he does indeed find himself the subject of attention from the other cultivators present. However, though the meaning of the streaks of purple ribbon through his hair is nearly impossible to misinterpret, it does not cause anything so uncouth as uproar. At most, it warrants the raise of a few eyebrows, a knowing smile from A-Yao, and an aghast look from Su Minshan, but Xichen’s quiet announcement of alliance doesn’t actually seem to cause that much of a stir.
That is — it does not seem to cause much of a stir with the general delegation.
The Jiang disciples, on the other hand, may as well be gaping at him with open mouths for all the subtlety of their astonishment. Xichen takes note of at least three shocked glances cast his way, and at one point even spots one of them lean over to their martial brother to whisper something behind their hand, wide eyes locked onto him from across the room. He wouldn’t expect such behavior from even the youngest of the Lan disciples; then again, it has been quite some time since any major sect has so publicly backed Yunmeng Jiang. Perhaps for them, this is cause for celebration enough to forget themselves.
While discipline outside of his own sect is hardly any of his business, Xichen would not put it past Jiang Wanyin to scold his disciples for such a display, to turn and bark at them to mind their manners in such a public forum. How curious it is, then, that the other man does nothing of the sort. In fact, he seems strangely subdued for the rest of the evening. He simply sits in his seat, back straight and hair curling prettily about his cheeks as he debates trade routes and tariffs with barely a roll of his eyes, and when Sect Leader Yao cuts him off in the middle of a sentence, he does not even seem to care.
The Yunmeng Jiang sect leader does not meet his gaze for the rest of the evening, and yet Xichen could swear that, for some reason that he cannot quite put his finger on, Jiang Wanyin's tiny, ever-present smirk looks almost smug.