Chapter Text
He was only thirty-two, yet the weariness in his bones belonged to a man twice his age. Ever since losing his golden core, his anger had become exhausting as it flared hot and bright, only to leave him drained. In front of his children, he had long since learned to swallow it. His wife tolerated no outbursts around them, and even he could not bring himself to argue with that. The only indulgence left to him was the privacy of his study. Here he could give voice to his frustration, yet, with no one to hear it, the anger felt pointless. It echoed off empty walls and died just as quickly as it had risen. The letter from Yiling, the reason for his mounting anger, ended crumpled in his fist, its neat brush strokes warping beneath the pressure of his grip. It carried news of a wedding. Lan Wangji married the man the common people had begun calling the Shengzhe Laozu… the Blessed Patriarch.
“More like the Cursed Patriarch” he said in an angry huff.
Rumours of the Patriarch's return had reached Yunmeng a few weeks earlier. Since then, Jiang Wanyin had felt the last threads tying him to sanity begin to fray as reports from his disciples, sent there to investigate, arrived one after another.
‘A figure wreathed in golden light stood before the altar, carrying Chenqing and Suibian.’
‘I saw him in the market a few days later with Hanguang-jun. It was him, Sect Leader. I would stake my life on it.’
Each report said the same thing in different words. Each one drove the thorn a little deeper.
Jiang Wanyin had taken a boat to the most secluded stretch of marsh beyond Lotus Pier, where even the lotus grew sparse and no disciples wandered. There, with only reeds and murky water to bear witness, he shouted until his voice gave out. He cursed heaven, cursed fate, cursed every deity who had seen fit to return that man to the world. And still, when the echoes died, nothing had changed. Wei Wuxian was still alive.
Anxious sect leaders started to arrive to Lotus Pier seeking advice and reassurance. For the first week, Jiang Cheng received them himself. After that, however, he passed them over to his right-hand man, fearing that if he listened to one more panicked plea, he might lose his temper, kill someone, and spark another cultivation war.
Then a letter arrived from the Chief Cultivator, informing him that he would be traveling to Yiling to investigate the matter personally. Not long afterward, another letter from the man arrived , bearing altogether different news: Wei Wuxian was engaged to Hanguang-jun.
Jiang Cheng laughed aloud when he read it. It was almost impossible to imagine that block of ice agreeing to an engagement, let alone putting up with the relentless pestering of that insufferable man. The thought alone was enough to keep him amused for the rest of the day.
But it was happening, as more letters arrived each day, some containing useful information while most carried infuriating gossip that did nothing but sour his mood. What, exactly, did they expect him to do? He was a coreless sect leader, condemned to a lifetime behind a desk with paperwork as his domain now, while those who still possessed golden cores handled the night hunts, trained the disciples, and dealt with the dangers beyond Lotus Pier's borders.
His gaze drifted against his will, to the wooden box resting in the corner. Inside lay Zidian, waiting for a Jiang to wield it once more. All he could do was look at it from time to time, never daring to touch it. What had been the point of helping him get a new golden core, only to take it away again? Sometimes, he thought it would have been kinder if Wei Wuxian had left him broken from the start.
The regrets he had once harboured over saving Wei Wuxian's life that day, when he had recklessly believed he could outrun the Wen soldiers he'd lured away, felt hollow now. At the time he thought of them as even, after Wei Wuxian sent him to the Immortal’s Mountain and returned with a stronger golden core. And Jiang Cheng had believed things would finally be different. That together, they would build something greater than even their ancestors had left behind. Instead, the bastard ruined everything when he chose the enemy over his own people, leaving Jiang Cheng to face the fury of the cultivation world alone while struggling to hold together what remained of Lotus Pier.
Jin Zixuan's death had been the spark that set everything ablaze. That single act had sealed Wei Wuxian's fate. Jiang Cheng had never cared much for the peacock's death itself, but he cared deeply about the suffering it brought his sister. Yanli's grief had been unbearable to watch. Her death, however, had been the true point of no return. After that, there was nothing Wei Wuxian could have said or done that would have earned Jiang Cheng's forgiveness, or his orphaned nephew's.
He had watched Wen Qing burn without pity. In his mind, it was because of her and the remnants of the Wen Clan that Wei Wuxian had abandoned his sect, his family, and everything they had once planed to built together. Nor did he regret leading the siege on the Burial Mounds to destroy the man he believed had ruined everything he held dear. Even Wei Wuxian's gruesome death stirred little remorse in him. The nightmares that followed, he dismissed as nothing more than the lingering burden of a responsibility that had never truly been his to bear. Or so he had forced himself to believe.
Then the curse came, stripped Jiang Cheng of his golden core and robbed most of his disciples of theirs as well. The Jin Clan's confession, the revealing schemes within schemes and plots buried beneath years of lies, did little to diminish his anger toward Wei Wuxian. If anything, it only hardened it. To Jiang Cheng, none of it changed the one choice that mattered. Wei Wuxian should have listened to him from the beginning. He should have left the Wen remnants to the fate the cultivation world had chosen for them. Instead, he had insisted on playing the hero, placing the enemy above his own sect, his own family, and the loyalties he had once sworn to uphold.
As Jiang Cheng grew weaker, his resentment only deepened. Bitterness settled into his bones until it became as familiar as breathing. By then, he had been ready to die. More than that, he had been ready to descend into Dayu itself and grind whatever remained of Wei Wuxian's soul beneath his heel.
Elder Gong would not allow it. The old man had been one of the few Jiang elders whose authority remained unquestioned. He had also been the only elder to oppose Jiang Cheng when he resolved to lead the siege of the Burial Mounds. Ironically, he was among the few cultivators whose golden core survived the curse. With no one else capable of holding the sect together, Elder Gong stepped in before Jiang Cheng could throw away what little remained of his life.
So, he arranged a marriage between Jiang Cheng and his own niece. She was calm, stubborn, and possessed a respectable golden core. She rarely argued with him outright and it took Jiang Cheng far longer than it should have to realize that she wasn't yielding to him at all. She simply treated him the way one might indulge a child in the middle of a tantrum, waiting patiently for him to exhaust himself before continuing as if nothing had happened. Naturally, that only made his temper worse. His outbursts became more frequent around her, until one day she looked him in the eye and said in a calm voice,
"You may rage at me if you must, but I will not have you behaving this way in front of our children."
He opened his mouth to argue, only to be silenced by the slight arch of her brow. She didn't have to say a word. Her expression alone spoke plainly enough: Your shouting has no effect on me. By all means, continue throwing your tantrum because life failed to unfold exactly as you wanted. Jiang Cheng snapped his mouth shut. After that, he stopped arguing with her. Whenever he felt his temper beginning to rise, he simply avoided her instead. The same could not be said for her great-uncle, who was also his father's second cousin, though everyone simply called the old man "Elder Gong."
He served as Jiang Cheng's right hand, overseeing the sect's cultivation affairs. He had also been Wei Wuxian's most steadfast supporter, opposing the siege of the Burial Mounds until the very end. He left Lotus Pier soon after to live with his daughter, refusing to watch what the sect had become. Only after the curse devastated it did he return. The old man never once said, You got exactly what you deserved. He didn't need to. One look was enough. The words hung between them all the same.
He hated and respected the old man in equal measure, as he hated and respected his wife, though she never seemed particularly troubled by either. But he was proud of his sons, and terrified for them in ways he would never admit aloud. They were the only two bright lights in a life that had grown steadily dimmer and he did his best to be a good father. Whatever else he had failed at, he refused to fail them. He was quietly grateful that neither boy had inherited his temper.
His eldest resembled Yanli so closely that, at times, Jiang Cheng found it painful to look at him. The same gentle eyes, the same quiet patience, the same instinct to put others before himself. His youngest was his mother's son through and through: her sharp features, her stubborn will, and the kind of confidence that made people step aside without ever raising his voice. These blessings were what Jiang Cheng forced himself to dwell on whenever everything else threatened to drag him under.
Should he have cared that Wei Wuxian was back? No. Yet he did.
Should he go see him, if only to rage at him for everything that had happened? No. Yet he wanted to.
He had long since accepted that there were parts of himself that simply weren't right. He had once pitied Nie Mingjue for losing his sanity to qi deviation. In the end, perhaps he should have pitied himself instead.
He barely made it through a quarter of the stack of letters on his desk and was already feeling completely overwhelmed.
With a weary sigh, Jiang Cheng pushed himself to his feet and stepped out onto the wooden deck. The warm night air wrapped around him, heavy with humidity and fragrant with blooming lotus flowers. Summer in Yunmeng was unbearable for northerners. He loved it. Without a second thought, he stripped off his outer robes and dove into the lake. The cool water swallowed him whole. He kept swimming downward, deeper and deeper, until the pressure built in his chest and his lungs burned with the need for air. Only then did he turn back toward the surface. He had always loved pushing himself to his limits, testing how much he could endure before his body finally protested and suspected he would still be doing it when he was an old man. That was when he spotted Elder Gong standing at the edge of the deck.
The old man's back was as straight as ever and despite having crossed his sixtieth year not long ago, he still carried himself like a cultivator half his age. His customary scowl was firmly in place. This could not be good. He thought as he changed course and swam back toward the shore.
By the time he climbed onto the deck, Elder Gong had already turned his back and gone inside, granting him the privacy to dry himself and dress. He always appreciated the courtesies the old man had always observed, no matter how furious he happened to be, but it did nothing to ease the knot forming in his stomach. If Elder Gong had come to find him at this hour, then whatever had brought him here could not be good.
He was already standing before Jiang Cheng's desk when he entered. Jiang Cheng returned the old man's bow before taking his seat. Only then did he sit as well. Though he had served as Jiang Cheng's right hand for years and was old enough to have known two generations of Jiangs, he had never once failed to observe the etiquette due to the sect leader. He never presumed, never overstepped, and never forgot his place. That, more than anything else, was why Jiang Cheng respected him.
The old man had two sons of his own, both Jiangs through their mothers and fathers' bloodlines. Had he wished to challenge Jiang Cheng's authority after the purge of the curse, he could have. There had been opportunities enough. He never did.
When Elder Gong had insisted on marrying Jiang Cheng to his niece, he had initially taken it for an indirect bid for influence over the sect. He had been wrong. Only much later did he realize the old man had chosen the one woman stubborn enough to stand before Jiang Cheng's temper without yielding to it. She neither feared his anger nor encouraged it. She simply refused to let it rule their lives. Somewhere along the years, without ever noticing when it had happened, Jiang Cheng had come to care for her in ways he had once thought himself incapable of.
Timing each breath as though preparing for meditation instead of a conversation, Jiang Cheng waited for Elder Gong to speak. The old man did not. For several long moments, he simply watched him. Then, without a word, he reached into his sleeve and handed Jiang Cheng a letter. He unfolded it and the longer he read, the darker his expression became. By the time he reached the end, he wished he had never opened it.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, glaring across the desk.
"A warning," Elder Gong replied.
Jiang Cheng nearly laughed.
"A warning?" he repeated, his voice sharpening. "This is treason."
"It is a warning."
"I will not allow this kind of behaviour to go unpunished."
"And what will you do?" the elder asked, as calm as ever.
The question only fuelled Jiang Cheng's anger.
"Make an example of them."
"And punish those who have done nothing beyond thinking of leaving?" Elder Gong asked. "You would only hasten their departure."
Jiang Cheng hated that the old man had not raised his voice once. He hated even more that he might be right.
Ever since the curse and the revelations that followed it, there had been disciples within the Jiang Sect who quietly resented him. Especially those who had once admired Wei Wuxian but marched against him because their sect leader had commanded it, only to learn later that the man they had condemned had been protecting innocents all along. The truth left a bitter taste: they lost their cultivation because they had followed a bitter, vengeful leader into a war against an innocent man. Those who had lived through the siege passed that resentment to the younger generation, and, over the years, Jiang Cheng found himself leading disciples who no longer looked at him with admiration. Some barely looked at him at all.
Fortunately, he had long since withdrawn from the sect's cultivation affairs. Training the disciples, organizing night hunts, and overseeing their education all fell to Elder Gong. The old man was respected, fair, and well liked by young and old alike. He was also the only thing standing between Jiang Cheng and a sect that might have turned against him entirely.
The letter should not have surprised him so much, especially with Wei Wuxian’s return. And yet it did. Seven disciples defecting at once was unheard of, particularly for the Jiang Sect, which prided itself on the freedom it granted its members. Or rather, on the illusion of it. Elder Gong was right. Punishing those who wished to leave would only deepen the resentment already festering beneath the surface.
Jiang Cheng ground his teeth and closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts into order. It hurt more than he cared to admit, but he should have expected this. Just because things had been quiet for so long did not mean he had been forgiven.
He was not planning to die in this position anyway. Once his eldest was ready, he would pass the sect to him and retire somewhere private… somewhere no one would look for him. A place where he could live out whatever remained of his life in peace and silence, alone, as it had always been easiest.
“You already have a solution,” Jiang Cheng guessed, watching the elder closely. He already knew he would not like it. He could feel it.
“Invite Wei Wuxian to the conference in the fall.”
He did not like it. Jiang Cheng rose at once and began pacing the room like a caged beast.
“What good will that do?” he demanded, though he knew the question was foolish the moment it left his mouth. Elder Gong looked at him as though asking, Do I need to spell it out for you?
“It would show the others that you are willing to acknowledge your mistakes,” the old man said evenly. “And that you are willing to seek forgiveness.”
The air seemed to leave Jiang Cheng’s lungs in a sharp, furious exhale, too restrained to be a shout, but no less explosive.
“Never,” he hissed, forcing himself to keep his voice under control.
Elder Gong only nodded slowly, as though he had expected that answer all along. Then he rose, squared his shoulders, and faced him.
“Think about it,” he said.
Think about it. What was he supposed to think about? How could he allow that man to step into Lotus Pier again without losing control? No. He would not risk it. Jiang Cheng shook his head in denial, but the elder had already turned to leave, after a slight bow.
“How can you ask this of me after all he did?” Jiang Cheng snapped, his voice rising. “After everything his actions brought upon us: the Wen, my sister , the curse… are these not enough reason?”
The elder stopped, then he slowly turned. Jiang Cheng almost took an instinctive step back at the coldness in his eyes.
“His actions…” Elder Gong repeated in a deceptively calm tone. “And what of your actions?”
Jiang Cheng bristled at the implication, opening his mouth to retort, but the other man did not allow him the chance.
“Or better said, what of your inaction?” the elder continued. “What did I tell you after Wei Wuxian defected?”
He paused, waiting for an answer Jiang Cheng refused to give. The words were not something he wanted to repeat. Not now. Not ever. “I told you to return to him and make peace,” Elder Gong said at last. “That you were playing the Jin Sect’s game, one designed to sever you from your strongest ally. You refused to listen.”
Yes, he remembered that. And the fact that the old man had been proven right by Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao’s confessions was something Jiang Cheng was still not ready to admit.
“I told you not to dishonour your sister’s sacrifice and turn against the man she died protecting. You did not listen then either,” Elder Gong continued. “Every time you chose pride and anger, you lost.” He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. “No, Sect Leader. Your actions brought all of this upon us. Not his.”
“What about the Wen?” Jiang Cheng shouted, clinging to the last justification he had left.
This time, Elder Gong took a step toward him, gaze turned icy in a way that made Jiang Cheng instinctively falter.
“How long are you going to cling to that delusion?” the old man said. “I have said it before, and I will say it again: your parents bore the responsibility for the fall of Lotus Pier. There were signs… plenty of time to prepare. They did nothing. They paid the price, and so did everyone under their rule. It was not the mischief of a reckless teenager that started that war.”
Yes, he had heard it all before. Elder Gong had never shied away from pointing out the flaws in his reasoning or explaining what should have been done differently. After the Purge, his counsel had been invaluable to the sect, even if it did little for Jiang Cheng himself. The old man had never concerned himself with his feelings. Whenever Jiang Cheng's pride or resentment got in the way, he would only remind him, with infuriating calm, that a sect leader's duty lay with his people, not with his own desires.
After Jiang Cheng ordered the first shrine to Wei Wuxian in Yiling torn down, the other sect leaders praised him, called his actions righteous. When Lan Xichen came to Lotus Pier and requested Chenqing so it could be enshrined in the new temple, Jiang Cheng had scoffed at the absurd superstition, but still handed the flute over. Some bitter, childish part of him had hoped it would amount to nothing, that no one would come, that the temple would stand empty and Wei Wuxian would simply be forgotten.
Instead, the mountain answered with silence. That silence vexed him more than open condemnation ever could.
"The Burial Mounds made him a monster," he had said with open disdain. "The rubble will make him a god."
The words had proven more prophetic than he ever intended. Elder Gong had merely looked at him and replied,
"The rubble are the ones who feed us, clothe us, and place roofs over our heads. Wei Wuxian died trying to protect them. If they choose to raise him to godhood, then they have earned that right." Those words were meant to scold and he felt it at that time, because he never spoke of Wei Wuxian to him afterwards.
Elder Gong studied him for a long moment before continuing with his usual calm.
“You are a good sect leader, just as your father was a good sect leader.”
But not a great one, Jiang Cheng thought bitterly. As though he had read his mind, the old man continued.
“Let go of your jealousy. Let go of your envy. Master your anger, and you may yet become a great one.” He turned his gaze toward the dark lake beyond the window. “Your father was a kind man, but he was also naïve. He believed that if left alone, matters would settle themselves. He had loyal advisors, yet he failed to stand beside them when they needed him most.”
Wei Changze, Jiang Cheng thought at once.
Elder Gong looked back at him.
“Your mother was a formidable cultivator, but she let pride govern her judgment. She clung to imagined slights and nurtured a needless hatred for a woman who might have become her greatest ally, simply because she believed her own place was threatened.” He paused, then slowly shook his head. “Do not repeat their mistakes.”
With that, the elder bowed and quietly took his leave.
Jiang Cheng remained where he was, his anger simmering hotter with every passing breath. Never before had Elder Gong spoken so plainly about his parents. Never before had he voiced such open disappointment. He needed air. No, another swim. Without another thought, he stripped off his outer robes once more and dove into the lake. This time, he swam toward the secluded pavilion his mother had always favoured. Here, at least, he allowed himself to rage. He shouted until his voice grew hoarse, heedless of whether anyone in Lotus Pier heard him. The pavilion was secluded, not isolated. If the servants or the night patrols caught fragments of his anger drifting across the lake, so be it. His gaze landed on the tea set resting on the low table. His mother's favourite. It had remained there all these years. Sometimes he even used it, as though preserving the ritual might preserve something of her. A fresh wave of fury surged through him.
With one violent sweep of his arm, the porcelain crashed to the floor, shattering into a hundred white fragments.
"You made me what I am!" he shouted into the empty pavilion. "Why set expectation you yourself could not meet? Why?" The last word echoed across the water before fading into the warm summer night. His knees gave out beneath him as he sank onto the floor, breathing hard, surrounded by broken porcelain. His wife had been right. He did throw tantrums. The realization would have been laughable if it had not hurt so much. He stared at the shattered tea set, wondering whether he had destroyed the last thing of his mother's that had remained. Another victim of his temper.
A hollow laugh escaped him as his thoughts finally began to settle.
Elder Gong wanted him to invite Wei Wuxian to Lotus Pier?
Very well.
He would.
A-Ling would be there as well. It would do Wei Wuxian some good to face the nephew he orphaned. A little guilt would not kill the newly made god… if anything, it was long overdue. Jiang Cheng drew a long, steadying breath and rose to his feet. His anger had not disappeared. It had simply changed shape. If Wei Wuxian was coming to Lotus Pier, then Jiang Cheng would be a proper host. Every courtesy would be observed. Every tradition upheld. His former shixiong would receive all the respect owed to an honoured guest. And his comfort, Jiang Cheng smiled without warmth, would be his highest priority.
He began planning the visit with the same meticulous care he gave every sect leader, already imagining the polite smiles, the flawless etiquette, and the thousand little ways Lotus Pier could remind Wei Wuxian of everything he had once called home and everything he had chosen to leave behind.