Chapter Text
The storm began without warning. For the past few days, the only thing that had brought Jiang Cheng any comfort was the overcast sky, the mist drifting over the lotus ponds at Lotus Pier. Even a light rain lent the world such a sense of calm that he would feel the entirely natural urge to stoke the brazier in his room, burrow beneath the blankets, and not greet the day as the so-called Sandu Shengshou.
But no.
The gods had apparently decided it would be far more amusing to see him on his first outing in half a month, wrapped in every scrap of fur the sect possessed, flying off to a sect several million jin away.
The wind howled, leaving only dead silence in its wake, forcing the disciples to pull their cloaks tighter around themselves. Jiang Cheng saw little point in it: despite circulating spiritual energy through his meridians, the cold seemed to seep into every cell of his body.
He hadn’t slept in three days.
His bed felt like a mirage, appearing briefly between another training session with the disciples and another night buried in paperwork. He couldn’t remember what he had eaten for breakfast.
Had he eaten at all?
Only the gods knew.
A slight tremor in his hands, a twitch beneath his eye, the ever-present urge to collapse face-first onto the floor whenever he lifted his head — that entire bouquet of symptoms had been his constant companion from dawn until the moment his head finally touched the pillow.
A more sensible person would have assessed their condition and stayed home. But Jiang Cheng had never been that kind of person. And so here he was — in the middle of nowhere, running late to a conference of sect leaders, unable to see farther than arm’s length.
Nature itself seemed to be warning him to decline all obligations and retreat to the safety of his bed. But diplomacy — and the multitude of issues that could only be resolved with a stretched smile, a few flattering words, and hours of politely enduring advice from elder sect leaders — left him little choice.
If he were given a single piece of silver for every unsolicited piece of wisdom bestowed upon him — wisdom rivaled only by the insights of a three-year-old — he could, by the end of the day, buy out the entire Jin Clan of Lanling along with their cursed staircase.
Speaking of which—
“Damn the Jin clan and their million steps,” the younger disciples muttered. Jiang Cheng couldn’t blame them. Gods, it seemed that this old fox made the staircase even longer than last time.
And so, after nearly an hour of climbing those endless stairs…
The hum of men in gold and the laughter of young maids quickly filled the conference hall of Koi Tower. The empty stare into space and the ringing in his ears had become his faithful companions over the past few months.
Perhaps he should appoint new elders?
Jiang Cheng shook his head sharply, banishing the thought at once. His early days as sect leader had been anything but easy — far from it — but the absence of a gaggle of elderly men with “two Mondays left to live” had certainly made things simpler. Yes, in his darkest moments he lacked a sturdy shoulder to lean on.
But honestly — look at the elders of the Lan and Jin.
Their greatest achievement was lifting a brush to compose yet another philosophical treatise interesting only to themselves and to the unfortunate souls whose lives sorely lacked endless droning in their ears and constant arguments about everything that walked and breathed.
So no. Thank you
Forcing away memories of his early leadership, Jiang Cheng was alerted by a loud announcement from the servants: the arrival of the Lan sect leader and his entourage.
Monastic robes swept into the hall — at once modest and blinding in their snowy brocade, which from afar appeared to be simple white cloth, yet up close revealed intricate silk embroidery of mountain silhouettes, cranes, and the rivers of Gusu, stretching from collar to the ends of their forehead ribbons. Rumor had it that protective arrays were stitched into the patterns, and Jiang Cheng had little doubt that was true.
The months of war had spared no clan. Yet now, after so little time had passed, two orders stood proudly above the rest — the Gusu Lan Clan and the Jin Clan of Lanling. It was hard to say whether they competed in the size of their treasuries. Jiang Cheng doubted the ascetic Lans would stoop to something so vulgar — yet the fact remained: where the Jins gilded nearly the ground they walked upon, the Lans embodied quiet luxury, concealing their wealth beneath a carefully maintained mask of austerity.
But among the sea of white robes, only one drew his gaze — the North Star of the cultivation world, the most eligible bachelor, the object of desire for anyone blessed with functioning eyes — Lan Xichen.
The first time Jiang Cheng saw him, he became certain that Heaven must play favorites. How else could one explain such near-unreal symmetry — features sculpted with impossible precision, from the elegant bridge of his nose to the very tips of his fingers, which it ought to be considered a crime to hide beneath those flowing sleeves?
Good Lord.
What had he come to?
He needed a drink. Urgently.
And then, by some cosmic coincidence, as Jiang Cheng tore his gaze away from admiring the aforementioned sect leader’s every exquisite feature, he felt it — an unpleasant stare, heavy and sticky as tar. He knew better than to turn and meet the eyes of his so-called “admirer.” Being caught openly staring at another sect leader was not a crime, strictly speaking — but no one would pat him on the head for it either. At best, it would be judged as vulgarity of mind and unseemly desire in a body not yet fully tempered by time.
Speaking of vulgarity
Where in the world did Wei Wuxian vanish to ?