Chapter Text
The purple lotus banners of Yunmeng did not fly over the lakes anymore. They hung like charred shrouds, stained with black soot and stiff with dried lake mud.
Jiang Cheng stood at the center of the main courtyard, the wind whipping his lilac inner robes against his legs. He was seventeen years old, and his bones felt like old, brittle iron. Zidian buzzed on his finger, a chaotic, erratic spark of purple lightning that mirrored the dangerous turbulence of his own golden core. His hands—usually so steady around the hilt of Sandu—were raw, the skin split and bleeding from a week spent carrying heavy cedar logs across the ruined docks.
"Sect Leader Jiang," a young disciple whispered, his voice trembling. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. "The timber merchants from Baling... they have raised their prices again. They say if we cannot pay in gold before the winter frost, they will take back the shipments."
"Tell them to burn their own wood and choke on the smoke," Jiang Cheng snapped, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, wild fey light. "Get out of my sight. Go guard the eastern perimeter."
The boy scrambled away, terrified.
Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples. A blinding migraine was clawing at the back of his skull. Lotus Pier was gone. The home of his childhood was a graveyard of ash, and he was a boy playing at being a king in a kingdom of ghosts. Wei Wuxian was gone—off chasing his own dark righteous paths—and Jiang Cheng was entirely, utterly alone.
A soft, rhythmic scuff of boots against the ruined stone boardwalk broke the silence.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes snapped open. In an instant, Sandu flew from its sheath, the brilliant blue glare of his spiritual energy flaring aggressively. "Who goes there?! Identify yourself or I will feed you to the lake ghouls!"
The intruder stopped ten paces away.
He was slightly shorter than Jiang Cheng, standing at an even, athletic one hundred and eighty centimeters. He wore practical, travel-worn robes of a faded teal, a simple leather rucksack slung over one shoulder. His long, dark brown hair was bound loosely with a simple leather cord, the strands catching the late afternoon sun and revealing soft, honey-colored highlights.
But it was his eyes that stopped Jiang Cheng in his tracks. They were amber—deep, warm, and entirely devoid of the fear, pity, or malice that Jiang Cheng had grown so accustomed to seeing from the rest of the world.
"Sect Leader Jiang," the man spoke, his voice smooth and remarkably calm, like water slipping over smooth stones. "Your sword-play is as fierce as ever. But your stance is leaking spiritual energy from the left shoulder. You're exhausted."
"Insolent!" Jiang Cheng snarled, stepping forward, the purple sparks of Zidian snapping at his wrist. "A rogue cultivator dares to lecture me in my own home? The Jiang Sect does not hire mercenaries, and we have no charity for beggars. Turn around and leave before I break your legs."
The rogue cultivator didn't flinch. He didn't even draw his own blade, Bùyí, which rested quietly in its simple scabbard on his back. Instead, a faint, incredibly patient smile touched his lips.
"You don't remember me, do you, Jiang Wanyin?" the man asked softly.
Jiang Cheng’s grip on Sandu tightened. "Why should I?"
"Three years ago. The Discussion Conferences at Qishan," the man said, taking a slow, unhurried step forward, his hands held openly at his sides to show he meant no harm. "The Jin disciples were mocking the Yunmeng archery style behind the training pavilions. You were furious. You were about to challenge three of them to a duel to the death. I stepped between you, pretended to be a clumsy servant, and spilled a tray of melon wine all over Jin Zixuan’s inner robes to cause a distraction."
A sharp, sudden memory pierced through Jiang Cheng's migraine. He remembered. He had been so angry back then, suffocating under the weight of his father's silent expectations, and a random, sun-bronzed rogue cultivator had ruined a political disaster with a well-timed stumble and a soft, teasing laugh.
"Lin... Lin Rong," Jiang Cheng breathed, the blue light of his sword dimming a fraction.
"At your service," Lin Rong replied, bowing with perfect, respectful form, though his amber eyes never lost their warm, steady focus. "I heard that Yunmeng was rebuilding. I had no contracts in the north, and my stomach prefers lotus seeds to mountain snow. I came to offer my hands."
"I told you, we have no gold!" Jiang Cheng spat, his defensive pride flaring up like a shield. "We are bankrupt, Lin Rong! The grand clans look at us like we are rotting meat! I cannot pay a rogue cultivator!"
Lin Rong let out a low, soft chuckle. He unslung his rucksack, dropping it onto the wooden planks with a heavy thud. Without waiting for permission, he rolled up the wide sleeves of his teal tunic, exposing strong, calloused forearms. He walked straight past the Sandu Shengshou, approaching a massive, half-collapsed structural beam that supported the main entrance of the hall.
"Who spoke of gold?" Lin Rong said calmly. He braced his shoulder against the heavy wood, his own neutral, steady spiritual energy flaring a calm, soft teal as he lifted the beam back into its proper alignment. "Feed me three meals a day, give me a dry patch of floor to sleep on, and we are square."
Jiang Cheng turned around, his mouth slightly open, completely utterly disarmed.
"By the way, Wanyin," Lin Rong added, looking over his shoulder with a warm, steady gaze that felt like the first real hearth fire Jiang Cheng had seen in months. "Your hands are bleeding. Go wash them. I'll handle the timber merchants from Baling."
Jiang Cheng stood in the ashes of his home, the wind howling around him, but for the first time in his life, someone had stepped in front of him to carry the weight. He slowly sheathed Sandu, his chest heaving, too exhausted to fight the sudden, terrifyingly beautiful sensation of safety.
"One night," Jiang Cheng muttered, turning his face away to hide the sudden sheen of tears in his eyes. "You can stay for one night."
Lin Rong smiled, his amber eyes shining. "Of course, Sect Leader Jiang."