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As with most things, it starts because of Ouyang Zizhen.
On one of the rare weeks Jin Ling is exempt from his duties as Sect Leader, he finds himself tumbling into an inn on the outskirts of Yunmeng after a successful night-hunt. He, along with the two top Lan disciples and aforementioned Ouyang Zizhen, had solved a haunting embarrassingly quickly, but decided it was a cause for celebration regardless.
If Jin Ling had called his friends to join him on what was essentially a one-person nighthunt just for the chance to see them again, well, that was his prerogative.
The four of them crowd around a low table in a cramped inn, bickering loudly. The inn is dim, candles bathing them in a golden glow and highlighting the quick flashes of their grinning teeth. Opposite Jin Ling, Ouyang Zizhen is writing something he refuses to share with the others; he brandishes his brush in discussion to exaggerate his points. To his right, Jingyi is practically inhaling their spread of food, using his time away from the Cloud Recesses to break as many Lan Sect rules he possibly can. On Jin Ling’s left, Lan Sizhui is as prim and elegant as ever, listening quietly while he eats.
Jin Ling thinks maybe this is the happiest he has been for quite some time.
Lan Sizhui is just lamenting the extended honeymoon of his fathers when Ouyang Zizhen sighs loudly and dramatically. When Ouyang Zizhen sighed in such a way, it was commonly assumed he had Something To Talk About, and everyone else should immediately be quiet and listen.
As expected, Ouyang Zizhen purses his lips, tapping his cheek with the butt of his brush. “Jin Ling, do you ever think that your uncle is kind of…” he trails off, deep in thought.
“Stressed?” Sizhui suggests.
“An asshole?” Jingyi snorts.
“Hey!” Jin Ling yells.
“Lonely!” Ouyang Zizhen cries. “I was going to say lonely !”
The four of them quieten down, something which doesn’t happen often.
“Huh,” Jin Ling says, because Ouyang Zizhen is kind of right. Even though Jin Ling had idolised the shit out of his uncle when he was younger, it was basically impossible to ignore the simple fact that his uncle had no friends.
Even worse, In the fifteen years Jin Ling has been alive, he can’t think of one person who has made his jiujiu smile. Sure, Jiang Cheng spoke to other sect leaders and officials and various staff, but he’d never seen his uncle seek someone out just to hang out with. He went on nighthunts alone, stayed alone during banquets, and rarely spoke in a tone below furious.
“It’s ‘cause he’s got a bad personality,” Lan Jingyi says matter-off-factly. “Even worse than Young Mistress Jin over here.”
Jin Ling jumps to his feet to fire back, but Lan Sizhui, ever the mediator, gets in first.
“Jingyi, did you not beg Teacher Qiren for a week off classes once we got word from Jin-xiong?” Sizhui asks calmly, to which Jingyi inclines his head in acknowledgement. “And anyway, Sect Leader Jiang probably has some friends or acquaintances we don’t know about. We’re not around all the time, there must be others he spends his time with!”
“I guess…” Jin Ling trails off, but it still feels wrong. It’s very rare he sees his uncle happy, but for most of his life he’d been carted between YunmengJiang and LanlingJin. Jiang Cheng must’ve had something to do, or at least someone to talk to, when Jin Ling wasn’t there.
“But!” He burst out in realisation. “Jiujiu has never dated anyone!”
This gets mixed reactions. Lan Jingyi, who had been stuffing a potsticker in his mouth, chokes violently, and Sizhui has to immediately rush to save him from his untimely death. Ouyang Zizhen gasps in shock, bringing his elegant hands to cover his mouth.
“That’s so sad….” Ouyang Zizhen whispers, eyes tearing up in a way that would be more heartfelt if Lan Jingyi wasn’t loudly hacking to his left. “Never? ”
Jin Ling takes a long, considering sip of tea. “Well, not never,” he rectifies. “He’s been on three dates his whole life, but they were so bad he got blacklisted by all the female cultivators.”
Lan Jingyi, no longer choking but still impressively red, thumps himself loudly on the chest. “All of them? ” he wheezes. “How do you fuck up so badly - no, Sizhui, we’re not in the Cloud Recesses, I can swear - how do you fuck up so badly that all of the female cultivators blacklist you?”
“Dunno, he never told me,” Jin Ling grouses defensively. Of course, there were many rumours about what Jiang Cheng had done to lose the favour of every female cultivator ; the most popular of those was that he had accused each one of being the late Wei Wuxian. At the end of the day, no one had ever quite worked it out, and Jiang Cheng had never told anyone.
“Maybe he just hasn’t wanted to find a partner?” Lan Sizhui says diplomatically. “A lot of the other sect leaders aren’t married.”
“Pfft, who?” Jingyi snorts, dangerously close to choking again. “Sect Leaders Yao and Ouyang are both married. Hanguang-Jun only went so long because he was in love with a dead dude, and now we have to listen to them-”
He’s cut off when Lan Sizhui leans forward and calmly hits him on the back of the head, causing him to almost smash his face on the table. “No talking while eating,” he says serenely.
“That still leaves Zewu-jun, Chief Cultivator Nie and Sandu Shengshou,” Ouyang Zizhen points out.
Jin Ling leans his elbows on his knees, thinking. Across from him, Ouyang Zizhen taps his brush against parchment. The door of the inn swings open, the sound of the busy streets outside filtering in. Beside him, Lan Sizhui sits calmly, tempering the loud energy of the other three boys. It’s comfortable, and something Jin Ling never thought he’d have. He wraps himself in the moment, tucks it away safely so he can remember it later, when he’s alone in Lanling with only Fairy as a reprieve from his bloodthirsty sect elders and the weight of running a sect he wasn’t ready to gain.
“Chief Cultivator Nie is kind of obvious, when you think about it,” he says eventually. “No one wanted to be associated with him while he was still a Head-Shaker. I’m sure he’ll find a cultivation partner now that he’s Chief Cultivator.”
The other three nod with various levels of understanding.
“But what about Zewu-jun?” Ouyang Zizhen questions. “He’s the number one ranked male cultivator, I don’t believe that he’s never found someone.”
“Nah, nah, nah,” Jingyi butts in. “It’s because of that, I bet. Zewu-jun is too good for anyone else.”
“Oh, that’s not….” Lan Sizhui starts; but then his eyes widen, and his hands fly to his mouth, as though he had spoken without thought.
Of course, Jin Ling and the others hone onto it like Fairy smelling blood. Lan Sizhui quails under the attention of the other three, shoulders rising to meet his ears and he tries to make himself smaller.
“A-Yuan,” Lan Jingyi pouts, “Do you know something about the great Zewu-jun? You know something and you haven’t told us? Your closest friends?”
It’s like watching a man up against a measuring serpent; Lan Sizhui doesn’t break eye contact, and looks, quite frankly, pretty terrified. Jin Ling doesn’t blame him; he and Ouyang Zizhen are also frequently the victims of Lan Jingyi’s annoying begging. Jingyi had learnt it from Wei Wuxian, who had told them all it was effective in either appealing to a person’s softer side, or annoying them until they gave in. It really was effective when Lan Jingyi used it; even the most stoic cultivator would comply just to make him quit pouting like a spoiled three-year-old.
Sure enough, Lan Sizhui loses the battle. “Fine,” he whines, fixing his already-perfect hair. His ears are bright red with embarrassment; Jingyi notices, and sends Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen a smug look.
“You can’t spread this,” Lan Sizhui sighs delicately. “I only suspected after some time, and Baba - Hanguang-Jun- confirmed it for me. It’s not that Zewu-jun never found someone he wished to make his cultivation partner, only that his beloved was married, and so he never confessed. Even if his beloved hadn’t married, I suspect Master Qiren would not have approved.”
“Beloved?” Ouyang Zhizhen echoes.
“Married….” Jin Ling thinks.
“Oh, you’re kidding.” Lan Jingyi cries. “Fucking Lans!”
Ouyang Zizhen sighs deeply, leaning his head on his hand. “Falling in love with a married maiden…. How tragic. Oh, poor Zewu-jun!”
Jin Ling suspects all of this talk about love is overwhelming his sensitive friend.
Lan Jingyi, on the other hand, looks like he’s just discovered he’s the long-lost son of Wen Ruohan. He’s groaning, muttering nonsense like “should’ve known” and “all those visits” in his hands. Beside Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui is completely silent, his blush having migrated to his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.
“Okay, what’s going on,” Jin Ling says bluntly. “Someone fucking explain before I cut your legs off.”
Lan Sizhui whispers “not a maiden” the same time Jingyi yells “It was Lianfang-fucking-zun, wasn’t it!”
The four of them go instantly quiet, completely frozen. Jingyi had spoken a little too loudly, and the table to their right was looking over curiously, probably surprised to see such a loud Lan disciple. Jin Ling brings his hand up to block his face from their sight.
Lan Sizhui eeps out a tiny ‘yes’.
“....huh,” Jin Ling says quietly. It makes sense - whenever Jin Ling had spent his winters at Lanling, Zewu-jun had visited frequently, even when not on official sect business. There were times when the two had seemed closer than shushu had been with Auntie Qin Su, but Jin Ling had figured it was because they were sworn brothers. He had never had any close friends to compare it to.
“So tragic,” Ouyang Zizhen whimpers, misty-eyed. Jin Ling passes him an embroidered handkerchief.
“Sizhui, I’m begging you,” Lan Jingyi groans, “Please refrain from falling in love. You’re so nice, I just know you’re going to fall for some murderer or demonic-cultivator or, gods, a fucking fierce corpse or some bullshit. I can’t deal with the drama now, so can you like, wait until we’re thirty or something?”
“I will try,” Lan Sizhui whispers, now bright pink.
Ouyang Zizhen sniffles wetly, blowing his nose into what had formerly been Jin Ling’s handkerchief. “Okay, that’s it!” he exclaims loudly, slamming his fist onto the table.
“...What’s it?” Jin Ling ventures, knowing whatever Ouyang Zizhen suggests won’t end well.
Ouyang Zizhen rises from the low table; now that all focus has shifted to him, he’ll preen in it until someone wrestles it away. He puffs his chest out, placing his hands on his hips and looking imperiously towards the inn roof.
“We’re not going to let your uncle be tragically alone all his life! We’re going to find Sandu Shengshou a Cultivation Partner!”
It’s not a bad idea.
Over the next day or so, the four of them start to hash out the details. Sect Leader Jiang is a stubborn, wrathful, and altogether very difficult man, and convincing him to do anything he didn’t want to will be near impossible. One major, glaring issue still remained-
“Who could we possibly set jiujiu up with? None of us know any female cultivators his age…”
The four of them are walking aimlessly in the direction of Lanling. With their nighthunt finished, they have no plausible excuse to spend more time idling in eachother’s presence, and instead have to make do with their journey back. Ouyang Zizhen would be shortly returning to the Cloud Recesses with the two Lans, having left his father there in the middle of some business trip; Jin Ling would return, alone, to Carp Tower, where the sect elders had gotten used to his solo endeavours but would reprimand him regardless.
Just ahead of them, Fairy frolics in the grass, happy to be out in nature instead of locked up in some stuffy palace. Jin Ling can’t help but agree.
“What about Zewu-jun?” Ouyang Zizhen suggests.
Jingyi, Sizhui and Jin Ling all have immediate reactions of abhorrence.
“No way!” Jingyi yells. “Zewu-jun is too nice, Sect Leader Jiang would rip him to shreds.”
Jin Ling growls in response, fully prepared to sic Fairy in his Uncle’s defense, but decides against forcing his dog back into labor.
Sizhui hums, long and sad. “Zewu-jun is strong, but he is…. Still in mourning.”
The four of them bow their heads in acknowledgement; the silence lingers.
Jin Ling knows this time, though, the others aren’t thinking about Zewu-jun; they’re thinking about him . Jingyi stoically avoids his gaze, while Sizhui and Zizhen send him painfully sympathetic looks, as though he’s a little glass doll they couldn’t protect. He has shed his tears by now, and come to peace, and does not need their heavy gazes. It’s not just them, but also the sect elders, the Lan disciples, everyone who sees him and thinks this poor kid, basically raised by a demon, an incestuous bastard, and now he’s dead and gone-
Jin Ling’s skin crawls, and it’s like someone has cast a hundred-holes curse upon him; like ants are swarming across his skin; itchy, ill-fitting, poor quality robes he just can’t shake off.
“Anyway,” he announces imperiously, fixing his gaze to the horizon, “my jiujiu isn’t a cutsleeve.”
Jingyi scoffs. “And how do you know that? Has he told you himself?”
“Well- I mean, he hasn’t, but-”
“Exactly!” Jingyi exclaims, pointing a single finger in Jin Ling’s face. “We can’t rule out anyone!”
Jin Ling feels Sizhui and Zizhen send each other a significant look behind his back; he knows later, they might take Jingyi aside and ask him to be more sensitive, because that’s what they think Jin Ling needs.
Jin Ling has never been more grateful for Lan Jingyi.
“That puts us right at the beginning, then,” Ouyang Zizhen pouts. “Jin Ling, you really don’t know if your uncle has any preferences?”
Before now, Jin Ling has never questioned his uncle’s personal life. Jiang Wanyin had always seemed, from the outside, like someone with a strong sense of drive and motivation. His life had always revolved around his sect and his cultivation; he strove for perfection for both, and pushed Jin Ling to do the same. Jin Ling had started nurturing his golden core young, started hunting the minute he was big enough to hold a bow, and it had all been because of his uncle’s support. It had always been his shushu who had helped him with his personal life, guiding him on making friends and gifting Fairy when that failed.
“No,” he says eventually. “Jiujiu never talks about any of that stuff.”
Jingyi clicks his tongue quite loudly. “That’s helpful. What are we meant to do? Throw as many random cultivators as possible at him? The only one who sees him enough to do that is Young Mistress Jin.”
“Jingyi!” Sizhui scolds, even though Jingyi is right. The task they’ve set for themselves is basically impossible; Jin Ling’s heart sinks, just a little.
Ouyang Zizhen freezes mid-walk, right in the middle of the road, and starts tapping his lip in exaggerated thought. From a short distance, it’s easier to see how he towers over the other three with his awkward beanstalk-height and lanky limbs. Despite that, his cheeks are still round with youth, pure face twisted into an expression which screams please, ask me what I’m thinking . It’s painfully similar to the pose Wei Wuxian makes during night-hunts, when he knows the answer to something but wants them to reach the right conclusion themselves.
“What are you thinking, Ouyang-xiong?” Lan Sizhui asks, ever-indulgent.
Ouyang Zizhen takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a monologue. Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi roll their eyes in tandem.
“Well, I was just thinking,” he starts, “Lan-xiong is right, none of us see Senior Jiang enough to possibly set him up with others. And then I thought, what if there was some kind of event where all of our clans would be together, and we could help Senior Jiang there? And Jin Ling, didn’t you mention YunmengJiang would be having a flower festival in a few month’s time? Isn’t it perfect? Think about it!” At that he swoons, his romantic side finally taking over. “All those flowers? And Senior Jiang finding love in Lotus Pier, the place where he was raised?”
Jin Ling can’t help but cringe at the idea of his terrifying uncle turning all sappy and love-struck at some gaudy flower festival. When he removes the pink-tinted Ouyang Zhizen vision, he realizes it’s not a bad idea.
“It gives us time to plan…” Sizhui trails off.
“And, with the festival, Old Man Qiren has no excuse to make us stay behind!” Jingyi finishes cheerfully.
Jin Ling sighs. “I guess we could try it.”
They settle on a general plan. In a few months time, when all four of them could be together, they could attempt the final stages of Operation Find Jiujiu A Cultivation Partner. In the meantime, they would scout for people of interest and even try their hand at matchmaking Jin Ling’s woefully unromantic uncle.
But the plan, like most things, is easier said than done. Jin Ling underestimates the amount of work he has for him in Lanling; rather than completing significant Sect Leader business, he finds himself spending most of his time trying to convince the elders to let him do his own job. He’s done more weaselling this month than he’s done his whole life, and it’s exhausting ; it feels like every other day that he finds out second-hand that some crusty old skeleton has passed some law or turned away cultivators “on his behalf”. The only time he has his jiujiu with him, they spend the whole time trying to uncover who amongst his staff had passed a law forbidding any trade with LaolingQin. By the time they’ve discovered and banished the right man, Jiang Cheng has to leave for Qinghe to aid a night hunt.
Suffice to say, Jin Ling finds himself with very little to report back on the Cultivation Partner front.
And then a week later, like a monsoon after a long drought, Wei Wuxian tumbles into Lanling.
Jin Ling is in the main meeting hall, doing Official Sect Leader Business, when he hears shouting outside. He puts his brush down and rises to investigate, but he’s only just gotten to his feet when he hears the deafening screeching of his dastardly uncle coming from the stairs.
“-no I’m perfectly fine thanks, just visiting my nephew - Jin Ling! Ling-er! A-Ling! Your favourite uncle is here!”
Just like that, Wei Wuxian bursts in, bright and bold and uninvited as he always is. He’s clearly made a stop at an inn beforehand, because he actually looks like he’s had a bath for once. He’s wearing threadbare black-and-red robes, but not the same ones Jin Ling had last seen him in; most notably, his hair is tied with a white embroidered ribbon, instead of the red he had worn in the past. He trips on the last step, flailing his way into the main hall, but saves himself at the last second. He beams at Jin Ling, eyes crinkling, as he pretends nothing had happened and brushes off his robes.
Once Jin Ling wrenches his eyes away from his ridiculous uncle, he sees the steadfast Hanguang-jun rising up the stairs behind him. In contrast to his husband, Hanguang-jun is in elegant white and powder blue. Where Wei Wuxian is in the bare minimum of layers, torn and muddied at the hemlines, Hanguang-jun wears layers of sheer garments which shift and shimmer in the midday sun, as pristine as the day he’d bought them. Jin Ling wonders, not for the first time, how Hanguang-jun and Lan Sizhui kept their robes so clean, even during night-hunts; he’d seen Lan Jingyi’s poor excuse for robes enough times to know it wasn’t an inherent Lan gift.
Once Hanguang-jun reaches the top of the stairs, both he and Wei Wuxian salute Jin Ling in tandem, and he greets them back.
“What brings you to Lanling?” Jin Ling says politely, because he’s the Sect Leader and there are still some elders in the room, watching like birds of prey.
Wei Wuxian, against all odds, beams even brighter. “We were passing through, and I decided I wanted to visit my favourite nephew!” he proclaims, striding forward to clap his hand heavily on Jin Ling’s shoulder. “We even brought presents!”
Sure enough, Lan Wangji is holding an excessively large box; Jin Ling is willing to bet that whatever is inside was bought with Hanguang-jun’s money. Jin Ling accepts it into his arms before passing it off to an attendant to open later. Just as he’s turning back to them, Wei Wuxian yelps out an “oh, wait!” and produces a much smaller box from his sleeves. It’s engraved simply, clearly bought from some smaller sect on his travels.
Giving in to his curiosity, Jin Ling slides the box open. Inside is a single, carved bell, the tassel hanging from it a bright and vibrant scarlet. When Jin Ling lifts it out to inspect the delicate craftsmanship, his uncle makes a small sound.
“Ah, I carved it,” Wei Wuxian says when Jin Ling meets his gaze. The elder glances away, fidgeting with his sleeves; his husband steps forward to press his hand against the small of his back. “It’s charmed - all protective, don’t worry.”
Jin Ling looks back down at the carefully crafted bell; swallowing has suddenly become incredibly difficult, like he has a lotus pod lodged in the back of his throat. Jin Ling quickly fastens it to his belt, right beside his YunmengJiang bell, before he loses the courage.
When his eyes are no longer burning dangerously, he lifts his gaze back up to Wei Wuxian. His uncle’s eyes are glassy, shoulders pulled right up to his ears, but a tiny smile plays on his lips.
Jin Ling clears his throat. “I hope you bought Lan Sizhui something as well. You wouldn’t want him to think you’re playing favourites.”
Wei Wuxian grins. “Don’t worry, we got A-Yuan way more than we got you!”
From behind Wei Wuxian, Hanguang-jun gives Jin Ling an approving nod. Jin Ling turns before his face can burn any brighter. “I’ll show you what’s new,” he says hoarsely.
He spends the next hour or so walking his uncles through the renovations he’s made to Carp Tower in the last couple months. As they walk, Wei Wuxian regales him with tales of the adventures they’d been on during their thinly-veiled honeymoon - a strange curse in YingchuanWang that filled the city square with frogs, a trio of ghosts they dealt with in TingshanHe, some interesting non-cultivators they’d met deep in the countryside of some unknown location, further than Jin Ling had ever been. Eventually, they settle in the garden near a relatively new Koi pond for tea.
“Lan Jingyi shaved Lan Qiren’s beard off?” Wei Wuxian cackles with unbridled glee, slapping the table. To his left, Hanguang-jun deftly shifts his husband’s teacup from the danger zone.
“He did!” Jin Ling crows. “And he won’t even tell us how he did it. Sizhui hadn’t even been gone a month!”
Wei Wuxian laughs even harder, tipping into Hanguang-jun and resting his head on his shoulder. The two have moved their chairs nauseatingly close, so close they’re pressed together head to foot, but Jin Ling has elected to categorise it as Newlywed Behaviour and ignore it completely.
“He’s just like me!” Wei Wuxian snorts when he’s caught his breath. “Lan Zhan, are we sure I didn’t give birth to him as well?”
“Mn,” Hanguang-jun responds, taking a long sip of tea.
Wei Wuxian sighs, long and slow. “Ah, you’re right. I think I could train him well, though. He’s wasted on the Lan sect.”
“He likes it more there,” Jin Ling says lightly. “Makes making trouble more satisfactory, he said.” Lan Jingyi had always been a bit of an anomaly, and as he grew older his behaviour grew more potent, like fine wine. He could break rules constantly, then turn around and rant for an hour on the excellence of the Lan sect; it was no wonder that he was one of the top disciples, despite his troublemaking.
“Smart but undisciplined, where have I heard that before?” Wei Wuxian hums, smiling crookedly. “I drove Lan Zhan crazy when I was a kid. Jiang Cheng, too.”
Jin Ling coughs, a little awkwardly. Well, here goes nothing. “Actually, Wei Wuxian, I wanted to talk to you about jiujiu.”
“Oh?” Wei Wuxian answers, finally lifting his head. “That sounds serious. Has my dumb brother got into trouble? Is he here right now?”
“No, no, nothing like that!” Jin Ling yelps. “Well, kind of- but nothing bad. Anyway, he’s still in Qinghe. I wanted to ask...”
He breaks off, circling the rim of his teacup with his index finger. Not for the first time, he wishes he had Lan Jingyi’s iron backbone, Ouyang Zizhen’s unswayed courage, Lan Sizhui’s quiet confidence. Any of them could ask so easily, and directly, without embarrassment. Somehow, even when Jin Ling wished to, the words stuck in his throat.
“Senior Wei, when you were younger, did jiujiu have anyone that he….. Liked?” he chokes out eventually.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen in surprise; he makes a considering hum, bringing his right hand to tap at his nose. “Well, he was acquainted with the Jiang disciples, but Nie-xiong and I were the only ones he liked enough to play around with. But I think…. That’s not what you mean, is it?”
Jin Ling shakes his head quickly, face burning.
“Ahh, in that case, I can tell you Jiang Cheng really, really….” Wei Wuxian leans in close, looking Jin Ling in the eye. Jin Ling gulps but sustains eye contact, tensing in anticipation.
“......didn’t like anyone!” Wei Wuxian laughs, right in Jin Ling’s face.
Jin Ling feels himself redden even more. “You!” he splutters, instinctively moving to smack at his uncle; Wei Wuxian laughs and leans back with all the fluidity of someone who regularly antagonises others to the point of violence.
“No, really, I don’t know, A-ling!” Wei Wuxian cackles, eyes scrunching into happy slits. “Jiang Cheng was always focused on cultivation! He didn’t talk about girls with me!”
Jin Ling sits back in a huff. Trust that he’d get no information out of Wei Wuxian; the man made elusiveness a game on the best of days.
“Seriously, no one?” he whines, crossing his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t even have a type? Everyone has a type!”
At that, Wei Wuxian sits fully upright. “Oh, I know this one!” he cries, raising his right hand high in the air. “Nie-xiong told me when I was in Qinghe! Jiang Cheng always had a list, but it got longer while I was dead.”
“A list? ” Jin Ling yelps.
“Yes, a list! Jiang Cheng has high standards! Let me see, they were….” Wei Wuxian trails off, beginning to list the traits using his fingers. “Naturally beautiful, graceful and obedient, hard-working and thrifty, coming from a respected family, cultivation level not too high, personality not too strong, not too talkative, voice not too loud… and a last one, but I don’t remember what.”
With every trait listed, Jin Ling feels more and more blood leave his face. His uncle had always strived for perfection, but surely this was too much!
“There’s no woman that could fit that description!” Jin ling moans, dropping his head into his hands. “Naturally beautiful, quiet, obedient…. That’s not realistic! His list is too long!”
“Insulting to women,” Hanguang-jun comments, taking an incredibly small and dainty sip from his tea. Jin Ling nods his head in vigorous agreement.
Jin Ling covers his eyes and whines in exaggerated pain. From the other side of the table, Wei Wuxian downs the remainder of his tea as if it’s liquor, before leaning heavily back onto his husband. Months of travelling together must have done them good; even more than before, they seem as if they’ve been created just to exist in the same space. Jin Ling has never seen two people more comfortable in each other’s presence. Under his thin veil of disgust, he’s happy for them.
“Why are you so interested, A-ling?” Wei Wuxian hums, eyes glinting. “Is there anyone you’re interested in? Do you want to ask your amazing uncle for dating advice?”
“I can and will call Fairy,” Jin Ling deadpans.
Wei Wuxian shuts up and drinks his tea.
The first opportunity comes a lot sooner than expected.
Sect Leader Ouyang has some undefinable problem with trade agreements; as such, Jin Ling finds himself traveling to BalingOuyang for a short-notice Cultivation Conference. This means he has to sit through a lengthy, horrifyingly boring meeting where he watches Chief Cultivator Nie outsmart a bunch of oblivious board members, once again.
Over the months, Jin Ling has realised he’s still woefully inexperienced in the leadership domain. He’s taken to sitting back and listening during Sect Leader Meetings, and as a result, has noticed a glaringly obvious pattern.
No matter who brings up a point of argument, no matter who tries to create legislation in their sect’s favour, Chief Cultivator Nie manages to twist every policy to benefit his own sect without fail. It was a strange combination of confusion tactics, playing dumb, and thinly-veiled threats.
The only person Chief Cultivator Nie can’t seem to out-talk is Jin Ling’s uncle, who, like Jin Ling, knows the true capacity of Nie Huaisang’s sneakiness. For the first month or so, Jiang Cheng had sat back and watched. After the month was over, Jiang Cheng jumped right back to his usual explosive behaviour, meeting Chief Cultivator Nie with blunt, to-the-point statements which undercut his effective confusion tactics. Jiang Cheng ultimately wound up winning each battle; the amused glint in the Chief Cultivator’s eyes, crinkled in a way that implied his concealed mouth was smiling, implied maybe he had been letting Jiang Cheng win all along.
Jin Ling doesn’t think he’ll be participating in conversations anytime soon.
When the meeting itself is over, Sect Leader Ouyang bids them enter the glamour hall for an impromptu banquet. Within minutes, Jin Ling finds himself being yanked behind a curtain by an unknown assailant, a hand clasped tightly over his mouth.
“Mmph!” he yelps, struggling in the bony arms of his captor.
“Relax, it’s me!” whispers the reedy voice of Ouyang Zizhen. He lets go, allowing Jin Ling to step back and dust himself off.
It’s only been a month since their last nighthunt, but somehow Ouyang Zizhen has grown even taller. By now, he has to be nearing Wei Wuxian’s height. Unfortunately, growing so fast has made him awkwardly lanky, like a newborn colt. His deep crimson robes, embroidered with delicate floral patterns at the edges, are a finger-length too short at his wrists and ankles. He smiles brightly at Jin Ling, cheeks still round with baby fat.
"How are you?” he whispers loudly, because Ouyang Zizhen has no inside voice. “Have you done much? Have you been to Gusu? How is Lan-xiong? Ah- nevermind, later, look-”
“What are you-” Jin Ling is cut off when Zizhen slaps a large hand over his mouth.
“Shhh!” Ouyang Zizhen hisses, almost unnecessarily. He forcibly turns Jin Ling around to peer around the curtain. With his growth, Zizhen has recently developed a higher-than-average strength rivalling that of the two Lan disciples; it made his and Sizhui’s habit of manhandling somewhat difficult to bear. Jin Ling stumbles on his feet, balance thrown off by his friend’s strength. Ouyan Zhizhen rights him by dropping both hands on his shoulders, effectively pinning him in place.
“Look at the woman next to father,” Zizhen whispers once Jin Ling is stable. “The one on the left, not the other one. Are you looking?”
“Yes, I’m looking!” Jin Ling snaps.
The woman to Sect Leader Ouyang’s left is elegant and fair, with an almost perfectly straight nose and inky black hair gathered simply atop her head. She seems to be about Jin Ling’s height, dressed in robes just complex enough to indicate a relatively high status. She stands with a posture straight enough to rival a Lan, sharp eyes surveying the room.
“That’s Advisor Zhao,” says Ouyang Zizhen. “She’s a few years younger than your uncle, hardworking, and handles finances. And she’s from a respectable background! Perfect, right!”
Jin Ling nods vigorously in agreement. She’s naturally pretty, good background, high status…
Jin Ling looks up at Ouyang Zizhen’s determined expression. “So what do we do?”
The plan itself is simple.
Jin Ling rejoins his jiujiu’s side for the remainder of the banquet. When everyone has finished eating and has stood to mingle, Jiang Cheng predictably stays in the same corner, this time with Jin Ling as company.
It takes almost an hour for it to work; then, finally, Advisor Zhao breaks away from her spot with the BalingOuyang officials and walks towards the entrance of the hall, which is conveniently where Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling are standing. Ouyang Zizhen then bounds out from his hiding place behind a curtain with a cry of “Jin-xiong!”, very deliberately bumping into Advisor Zhao. As planned, Advisor Zhao stumbles heavily, because being hit by a moving Ouyang Zizhen is like being trampled by an overzealous Fairy on a good day. She very predictably collapses onto Jiang Cheng, who catches her on reflex.
Ouyang Zizhen sends Jin Ling a thumbs up from behind her back, all while crying “Advisor Zhao, I’m so sorry!”
Jiang Cheng’s face, when Jin Ling peeks, is wide-eyed and horrified. He looks down at the woman in his arms. His face is growing red, but Jin Ling recognises it to be embarrassment.
Jiang Cheng drops Advisor Zhao.
Advisor Zhao is surprisingly gracious after being dropped to the floor. She catches herself before she falls completely, pulling herself up to her full height and righting her posture.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Advisor Zhao, are you alright?” Jin Ling asks timidly, in place of his taciturn uncle.
She smiles at them gently. “I’m quite alright, Sect Leader Jin. Don’t worry, Young Master Ouyang, it was an accident. Thank you for breaking my fall, Sect Leader Jiang.” The woman bows to the three of them; all of them scramble to return the gesture.
“It was no problem, Advisor Zhao,” Jiang Cheng finally responds. He’s fully gained his composure, which is worryingly fast in Jin Ling’s books. “Young Master Ouyang should be more disciplined.”
His voice is as stern as normal, but his gaze is elsewhere.
Advisor Zhao salutes a second time and bids them goodbye, leaving the hall as she had intended. Ouyang Zizhen looks like he wants to linger, but scurries off when his father calls, leaving Jin Ling alone with his uncle.
Jin Ling shifts awkwardly, not sure where to go now that their plan has so clearly failed. He clears his throat, glancing up at his uncle, who is still stock-still. When Jin Ling follows his gaze, he notices he’s looking at a group of the other sect leaders, including the Chief Cultivator.
“Advisor Zhao is…. Pretty… right, jiujiu?” he coughs in a vain attempt to abide by the aforementioned plan.
Jiang Cheng glances down at his nephew, befuddled. “Who?” he asks.
Jin Ling nearly chokes on his own tongue. “Nevermind,” he wheezes, scurrying away to rescue Ouyang Zizhen from his father.
For the rest of the banquet, he secludes himself with Zizhen, drafting an update letter for the Lans. For some time, he feels a persistent itch at the back of his neck. When he finally turns to look, he sees it’s Chief Cultivator Nie watching him from the other side of the hall. The other man has managed to pull Jiang Cheng into the group of Sect Leaders, though Jiang Cheng stands still somewhat removed.
Nie Huaisang smiles cryptically, tapping the side of his nose with his crimson folding fan. Jin Ling, utterly lost, can only look away, staunchly ignoring the uneasiness in his chest.
The second opportunity is even more coincidental than the first.
Jin Ling is visiting GusuLan on a completely necessary, not-at-all frivolous trip to ask Sect Leader Lan - who at present is Hanguang-jun - for advice on a land agreement. He’s travelling with a couple of Jin disciples, lead by Jin Chan, who wanted the opportunity to scout for night hunts. When they reach Gusu, the disciples break off for Caiyi Town, leaving Jin Ling to head into the Cloud Recesses alone.
The process of visiting the Cloud Recesses never gets less stressful, no matter how often Jin Ling does it. After their second night hunt, the two Lans had given Jin Ling his own Jade token. It now hangs at his belt, beside his Jiang and Wei bells. Walking past the barrier still fills him with nervous energy; every time, he worries the pendant won’t work, or it’ll set off some kind of alarm and prove he’s not meant to be there.
Even once he’s inside, he feels like an imposter. In his brilliant gold, he stands apart from all the disciples in their white training robes. Jin Ling almost feels their eyes boring into his back; he tries to walk with his head up, nose pointed to the sky. He hastens through the courtyard as quickly as possible, stopping at the Library Pavilion; in his last letter, Wei Wuxian had mentioned Hanguang-jun preferred to work there in the mornings, and so Jin Ling assumes that would be the best place to find him.
Jin Ling peers in carefully, and finds his assumption was correct; behind a low desk in the corner of the room, surrounded by mountains of official-looking papers, is Hanguang-jun. He’s in plain white robes with an embroidered azure blue outer robe, intimidatingly tall even while sitting. From the door, Jin Ling can feel the calm he radiates.
As if sensing his presence, Hanguang-jun raises his gaze and catches sight of Jin Ling. Jin Ling flounders before moving from his hiding spot and bowing stiffly. “Hanguang-jun,” he squeaks out, somehow managing to sound calm.
Hanguang-jun rises to salute him back. As he stands, his robes flow out with a flourish; the delicate embroidering reflects the light of the midmorning sun, shimmering silver. Jin Ling tries to recall if pride in appearance was ever a Lan Sect rule.
Hanguang-jun raises himself back to his full height, tucking one arm neatly behind his back. It’s almost weird for Jin Ling to see him without Wei Wuxian around, but not because Hanguang-jun seems different or lesser without his husband’s presence. He is just as elegant, just as confident, and just as intimidating as ever.
“You asked for my advice?” Hanguang-jun’s question kicks Jin Ling into action; he hurries into the Library Pavilion, fumbling as he tries to pull his documentation from his sleeves.
“U-um, yes!” He stutters out. He hands the now-crumpled papers to Lan Wangji, praying the other man can read his worryingly cramped handwriting. “As I said in my letter, um, there was some legislation I was writing, and I wanted to ask a second opinion before I pitched it to the Sect Elders.” As he speaks, Jin Ling’s confidence rises, until he sounds almost normal. “Not that I need their approval . I just wanted to… check.”
Hanguang-jun nods. He doesn’t ask Jin Ling why he’s come to the Cloud Recesses instead of seeking out help from his uncle, and he doesn’t bring up his obvious exterior motivations. He only reads the document long enough that it’s clear he’s genuinely trying to help and not just giving him a passive once-over. After the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, he hums.
“It is good,” he says simply. “It will help a lot of people. Good job.”
Jin Ling gapes; he stands there in shock for so long he misses Hanguang-jun’s attempt to pass the legislation form back.
“You- you think it’s good?” he asks weakly, trying to remember the last time someone had praised him on his leadership skills.
The last time he had asked jiujiu for advice, he’d gotten a spiel on the importance of having confidence in his own opinions: ‘You’ll never survive as a Sect Leader if you’re always asking for help’, Jiang Cheng had said as he flicked through the legislation. Back then, it had taken everything in Jin Ling not to mention that Nie Huaisang had done nothing but ask for help for years, and now he was Chief Cultivator.
“Mn,” Hanguang-jun responds. “Forward-thinking. It will benefit the working people, not only the Jin clan. You’ve done well.”
Jin Ling is completely and utterly floored. He barks out a ‘thank you’ as he rips the pages from Hanguang-jun’s hands, avoiding eye contact. His face is uncomfortably hot.
In comparison, Hanguang-jun is unphased. He shifts so both his hands are clasped behind his back, walking silently to the Library entrance.
“Jingyi and A-Yuan have finished class,” Lan Wangji states. He turns his head to pin Jin Ling with a stare. His face is as blank as ever, but the ever-so-slight tilt of his head gives it a knowing quality. I know that’s why you’re here, it says. What are you waiting for?
As if on cue, Jin Ling hears the unmistakably loud voice of Lan Jingyi projecting from the Lanshi. He strides to the entrance, standing beside Hanguang-jun and craning his neck to spot his two friends.
He catches sight of them walking in his direction, having only just left their lectures. The both of them have become quite tan from cultivating out in the sweltering sun so often, Sizhui especially. The deep caramel of their skin is a stark contrast to the white GusuLan robes. Jin Ling wonders if their forehead ribbons have left a tan line, and debates the outcomes of yanking at Jingyi’s just to see. Eventually, he concludes that Jingyi would be shameless enough to demand a marriage, and decides against it.
Lan Sizhui notices Jin Ling first; his eyes double-take, widening infinitesimally, before a beautiful smile blossoms onto his pure face. “Young Master Jin!” he calls cheerfully, as he always does when they first meet; he doesn’t shout, because that would be against Lan Sect rules, but it’s a near thing. Beside him, Lan Jingyi stops in the midst of a particularly impassioned rant and looks over in shock.
They both rush over immediately, snowy robes fluttering about their legs. Lan Sizhui comes to a halt, but Jin Ling barely has a second to flinch away before Lan Jingyi is lunging right at him. After a moment of painful tussling, Jingyi has an arm around Jin Ling’s neck, yanking him low enough to ruffle his hair; given that Jingyi is so short, it involves a lot of painful bending on Jin Ling’s part.
“Young Mistress Jin!” he says way too loudly for someone so close to Jin Ling’s ear, rubbing at Jin Ling’s hair with the same pressure and intensity as he would for Fairy. “You’ve finally decided to come visit the lowly peasants! I feel so honoured!”
Jin Ling struggles out of Jingyi’s chokehold; whatever training Hanguang-jun was giving to his junior disciples, it was working all too well to give them unparalleled arm strength.
“I had Sect Leader business with Hanguang-jun,” Jin Ling replies primly, smoothing his hair back. “I’d explain, but I wouldn’t want you to feel lost.”
Lan Jingyi jumps to respond, but Sizhui stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “We’re happy to see you, Jin-xiong,” he says. “It’s been so long!” his voice is calm as ever, but he speaks just quickly enough that his words bump into one another; he’s excited.
Lan Sizhui opens his arms wide, offering Jin Ling a hug. He doesn’t make a move towards Jin Ling, but waits for Jin Ling to come to him; he does , however, make painfully endearing grabby-hands. After a moment’s hesitation, Jin Ling steps into the hug, winding his arms around Sizhui’s waist. The tiny grabby hands are too precious to ignore. Jin Ling stays in Sizhui’s warm, comforting embrace as long as he possibly can, but he’s all too aware of Hanguang-jun, who’s still standing silently to the side; he pulls away after barely a minute, clearing his throat to hide his embarrassment.
“How was your meeting, oh great and glorious leader?” Jingyi snarks; he doesn’t mention Jin Ling’s embarrassment, because that would make him a hypocrite.
Hanguang-jun hums in response. “Went well,” he says, even though Jingyi was clearly referring to Jin Ling and would never do something as heinous as talk down to Hanguang-jun. “The Jin Sect is lucky to have Young Master Jin.”
Jin Ling chokes on his own spit and spends the next minute attempting not to devolve into another coughing fit.
“Ah, so your meeting is over?” Sizhui asks. “Will you leave for Lanling immediately?”
“I can spare some time!” Jin Ling wheezes.
At that, Lan Jingyi smiles. It’s not his regular, jovial smile; it’s the thin, devious smile he gets when he knows he’s gotten his way. His eyebrows raise just so, the edges of his mouth curling smugly. It’s the smile that says, I’m about to involve you in a very bad idea .
“You’re just in time,” Jingyi smiles. “Wei Wuxian should be here any minute.”
“Wei Wuxian?!” Jin Ling yelps.
As if he’s invoked the name of a demon, Wei Wuxian appears.
He’s dressed in his usual black-and-red robes, white ribbon in his hair, but with him he drags something very distinctly purple.
“Is that jiujiu ?” Jin Ling asks in disbelief, squinting as though his eyes were deceiving him.
Indeed, it is Sect Leader Jiang Wanyin. He’s very clearly being shepherded around by Wei Wuxian, despite being a head taller. Today, his robes are a rich royal purple, belted with a silver-embroidered sash and strapped with dark leather. His face is scrunched in annoyance, but not excessively; arguably, it’s a step above his default death-glare.
“Yes, that is Sect Leader Cranky,” Jingyi says, clapping his hands together. “And he’s a hair too early. Sizhui, go get Teacher Fu.”
Jingyi turns back to Jin Ling as Sizhui peels off towards the Lanshi, to grab whoever Teacher Fu is. In the courtyard, Wei Wuxian has stopped, talking animatedly to his younger adopted-brother. They’re standing so that Jiang Cheng is facing away from the Library Pavilion; Wei Wuxian notices Jin Ling and gives him an exaggerated wink, and motions his head to the left.
What? Jin Ling and Jingyi both mouth back.
Hanguang-jun clearly understands; he grabs them both by the necks of their robes and moves them out of the doorway, so they’re peeking around the open frame instead. Since Jingyi is shorter, he takes the spot closest, leaving Jin Ling to crane over top for a good view.
“We’ve had this planned for a bit,” Jingyi narrates. “There’s this new teacher, right, his name is Fu Xuhui, he was a disciple for ages but now he teaches sometimes when Hanguang-jun and Old Man Qiren are both busy. So Sizhui and I thought, “this guy is kind of perfect”, and-“
“Get to the point!” Jin Ling interrupts, still focused on his uncle.
Jingyi makes a face. “Bossy. Anyway, we got Senior Wei to lure your uncle here so we could try to set them up. This is where you say ‘oh, Young Master Lan, you’re so smart and talented! Thank you!’” he pauses expectantly.
“You’re not a Young Master,” Jin Ling responds distractedly.
Jingyi slaps him on the back hard enough that Jin Ling rebounds and smacks his elbow on the open doorway. “Rude,” he whines. “If this one works, you owe me.”
Out in the courtyard, Sizhui has collected a young man. He’s only just taller than Sizhui, so at least two heads shorter than Jiang Cheng, because the four of them had decided Jiang Wanyin seemed like the kind of man to prefer a shorter partner (‘inferiority complex’, Jingyi had said, and Jin Ling had slapped him). If Jin Ling had to guess, he’d say Fu Xuhui looked younger than his jiujiu, but not by much; he had a round face and a slighter build, the kind of a scholar who focused less time on training his body and more on his mind. Sizhui walked with him, the two discussing something Jin Ling couldn’t hear.
What Jin Ling could hear, now that Lan Jingyi had shut up, was the very loud voice of his Uncle Wei.
“...and I told him, if you wanted that, you should have bought me a wedding gift! Instead of apologising like a normal person, he hit me with his fan! Honestly, Jiang Cheng, what kind of person doesn’t buy an old friend a wedding gift- oh! Speaking of marriage!” Wei Wuxian gasps comically, pointing across the courtyard. “There’s my son, with a very handsome man!”
“Oh, god,” Jin Ling groans.
However shameless, it succeeds in getting Jiang Cheng to turn in the direction of Sizhui and Teacher Fu. Wei Wuxian impatiently pulls his brother closer to the others, dropping him only to hug Sizhui before he can salute them.
“Senior Wei, you’re back,” Lan Sizhui says; at least, this is what Jin Ling manages to interpret from the muffled noise Sizhui makes. When Wei Wuxian lets him go, he salutes to the both of them, Teacher Fu following suit.
It is at this point where Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling notice a glaring issue.
“What are they saying?” Jin Ling hisses. “I can only hear Wei Wuxian.”
Jingyi elbows him in the rib and still has the audacity to shush him when he lets out a pained groan.
Out on the courtyard, Wei Wuxian is very loudly asking questions about Teacher Fu. Teacher Fu is smiling, but with a trepidation that indicates he knows exactly what Wei Wuxian is like and knows sometimes humouring him is the best method of attack. Wei Wuxian punctuates every unintelligible answer with a “wow, that’s so cool!” and “did you hear that, Jiang Cheng?”
Jin Ling’s other uncle, however, looks like he’d rather be sipping tea with the Tortoise of Slaughter. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his expression has lowered to the ‘wrap this up soon or I’m bringing out Zidian’ scowl.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Jin Ling says dubiously.
Lan Jingyi elbows him again, swaying him backwards; Jin Ling slaps him hard on the back of the head.
“Trust the system!” Lan Jingyi hisses.
Despite his grumbling, Jin Ling has to begrudgingly admit that Jingyi’s plan isn’t a bad idea. Jiang Wanyin had a history of being easily baited by his adopted brother, and Wei Wuxian often rode the line between winding him up into action, or angering him until he stormed off.
At that moment, Wei Wuxian clearly decides to amp things up. He claps his hand on his brother’s shoulder so hard Jin Ling physically flinches from the sound; Jiang Cheng startles from where he’d been sending pleading looks at Lan Sizhui to end the conversation.
“Jiang Cheng, it sounds like you two have a lot in common!” Wei Wuxian proclaims. “Well, I’m going to go bond with my son, so you two should-”
Jin Ling watches as his uncle tenses, raising his hackles. Jin Ling catches the moment his uncle transitions into fight-or-flight mode; he is suddenly just as uncomfortable as he had been in the banquet and BalingOuyang. Jin Ling leans over Jingyi more, bracing his hands on the other boy’s back so he can get closer. Jingyi grumbles underneath him.
“Wei Wuxian, you asked me to come out here, I swear if you-”
At the same time, Teacher Fu seems to speak up; “It’s quite alright,” Jin Ling hears faintly, “I should get back to classes-”
“I insist! I think it-”
“-Wei Wuxian, I swear- ”
“Jesus, Jin Ling, how are you so heavy?” Lan Jingyi complains, bucking the upper half of his body to throw Jin Ling off; he succeeds only in throwing Jin Ling a little off-balance. Jin Ling slaps him again in return, this time on the shoulder.
“Shut up!” he hisses. “I can’t hear!”
Outside, Wei Wuxian has Sizhui by the wrist, very slowly edging away as he speaks. Inside, Jingyi elbows Jin Ling one final time, this time nailing him right in the stomach. All of the air whooshes from Jin Ling’s lungs, leaving him completely breathless. Instead of falling back, he vindictively collapses forward, right onto Lan Jingyi. As strong as Jingyi is, the full weight of a sixteen-year-old boy is too much for him to bear.
The two of them tumble over, spilling out of the Library Pavillion and into the courtyard with a loud thud. Jin Ling slams onto his hip, hitting his head on something soft which he hopes isn’t Lan Jingyi’s ass. When he stops rolling, he’s spread-eagled on the dirt, next to a similarly rumpled Jingyi. He lets out a pained groan, checking his internal organs for damage.
When he opens his eyes, he sees his uncles, Sizhui and Teacher Fu all staring at him and Jingyi in silence.
They all blink at one another.
“Oh, that’s my nephew,” Jiang Cheng says bluntly. “I’m going now. Jin Ling, come.”
He then promptly walks off.
Everything is silent.
Wei Wuxian then bursts into raucous laughter. “He just left!” he weeps. “I don’t even think he knows where he’s going! That was amazing!”
Jin Ling sighs heavily, dropping his head back onto the floor and squeezing his eyes shut. He overhears the soft voice of Lan Sizhui apologising to Teacher Fu; as the older man’s footsteps get fainter, Jin Ling pinches his forehead with two fingers.
“Oh, Young Master Lan, you’re so smart and talented!” he mocks. “Thank you!”
Lan Jingyi pulls himself up into a seated position, swatting at Jin Ling lightly. Now that Teacher Fu is gone, Sizhui hurries over, pulling Jingyi up by the arm before moving on to help Jin Ling. Jin Ling lets Sizhui grab him by the elbow, leaning his weight on the other boy as he stands.
“It’s because you’re here,” Jingyi huffs, dusting off his robes. “If you weren’t, it would’ve gone fine!”
“Children, children, calm down!” Wei Wuxian laughs. “This was all for fun, anyway! I spoke to him earlier, he told me he had no intention of getting a Cultivation partner!”
The three juniors all freeze where they stand; the Lans share anxious looks, while Jin Ling processes the thought in his brain.
“Jiujiu said that?” Jin Ling asks timidly.
Wei Wuxian hums thoughtfully, wrapping his arm around Jin Ling’s shoulder and steering him in a direction. “Well, I spent the whole day talking about Lan Zhan and I, and he said ‘If I ever end up as disgusting and married as you, I will go to Guanyin Temple and raise the fierce corpse of Nie Mingjue so he can tear me to shreds!’”
Jin Ling, too, would rather be turned into animal feed than become as shameless as Wei Wuxian. He relaxes with the thought that his uncle was, most likely, still open to finding a life partner.
“Wei Wuxian, I think that it’s more to do with you than with him,” he mutters.
Wei Wuxian tuts. “Now, now, A-Ling, don’t be rude! Besides,” he leans in conspiratorially, “didn’t Jiang Cheng tell you to follow him?”
Shit!
Jin Ling scrambles to run after his uncle. If all of Gusu could hear his loud cursing, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Despite the setbacks, they keep trying, but Sect Leader Jiang refuses to play ball. He ignores a doctor from Lanling, rebuffs a cultivator from Yunmeng, and even turns down a particularly talented playwright travelling from Hedong.
To say the festival comes with an impending sense of doom would be an understatement.
Jin Ling arrives a few days early to help with preparations. Every year, since Sect Leader Jiang had started running the festival in Jin Ling’s mother’s name, Jin Ling had come to spend time with his uncle. Over the years, there was less and less work for the Sect Leader to do, less things to oversee; nevertheless, it was an important time for both of them. Not mourning, but something different.
When Jin Ling meets Jiang Cheng at the pier, he notes his uncle seems more frazzled than usual. He stands rigidly on the soft wood, garbed in purple leather, Zidian glinting on his finger. He surveys Jin Ling’s entourage, as if expecting someone else to join him. Jin Ling tries to look like the distinguished Sect Leader he is, keeping his back as straight as possible. No one else steps out to join him.
“I trust your trip was smooth?” Jiang Cheng asks stiffly. It’s not really a question, rather than a formality; if the trip was bad, Jin Ling would’ve complained already. There’s a slight uptick to Jiang Cheng’s right eyebrow, which Jin Ling interprets as frustration.
“Fine, Uncle,” he says. He steps forward a little awkwardly, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes. Jiang Cheng shifts, and there’s a moment where Jin Ling thinks he might hug him; instead, he gets a firm couple pats on the shoulder.
“Come,” Jiang Cheng says, leaving towards the main palace.
Lotus Pier is thriving, as it always is when Jin Ling visits. In the peak of spring, lotus plants blossom all around the pier, growing in every crevice they could have possibly found solace in. The mid-morning sun beats heavily onto Jin Ling’s back; he’s sure he’ll develop a deep tan within the week. Everywhere, sticky little children stumble and hide among the stalls of vendors selling potstickers and sweets and fresh produce. Jin Ling whistles to Fairy and frees her from the metaphorical leash; overjoyed, she disappears down the bustling streets of Yunmeng to sniff some unsuspecting citizens.
Jin Ling has never understood how others could have thought Yunmeng to be scary; and yet, his jiujiu’s reputation had kept those from other sects from travelling to the spot for some time. In light of…. recent events, Yunmeng has become popular to travellers again. This could explain Jiang Cheng’s almost catastrophic-level of stress.
About the fourth time Jiang Cheng barks at a vendor parked too close to the entrance of the main palace, Jin Ling decides maybe it’s time to physically move him away.
“Jiujiu, I’m tired,” he complains. “The vendors can handle this themselves. I want tea.”
The vendors can, in fact, handle themselves. In truth, this is something Jiang Cheng does not particularly need to involve himself in the basics of setting up; he only really needs to sign off on general plans, oversee set-up and resolve any possible disputes. Jiang Cheng’s overinvolvement is testament to his perfectionism, and it’s driving Jin Ling crazy.
After a significant amount of whining, Jiang Cheng allows Jin Ling to drag him away. They make their way through Lotus Pier, to some of the more secluded courtyards. Jin Ling basks in the moment; air in Yunmeng has always seemed sweeter to him, thick and still like honey. The innermost courtyard teems with life, the small garden within its walls bursting with azaleas and chrysanthemums. YunmengJiang banners hang from the surrounding walls, royal purple illuminated in the mid-morning sun. Jin Ling soaks everything in, like a snake in the sun.
“I’m surprised you came alone,” Jiang Cheng starts conversationally. He’s examining a pond in the centre of the courtyard, from which lotus flowers are growing. The pond is just large enough to house several koi fish, which Jin Ling had named as a child - Sunshine, Starlight, and Bubbles. He had been maybe five or so when he named them. He suspects these are not the same fish.
“Alone?” Jin Ling asks. “But I brought an entourage?”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I don’t mean the other Sect juniors,” he huffs. “I meant one of those ridiculous boys you pretend not to like.”
Jin Ling chokes far before he can speak his next sentence. “I don’t like anyone!” he shouts, which is not what he meant to say at all. His face is as hot as his uncle’s terrible cooking.
In all truthfulness, Jin Ling doesn’t think he acts like he dislikes his three closest friends. For a second, he starts to worry he really does act that way; what if they think he hates them? What then? He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if they decided to leave him behind.
“That was quick,” Jiang Cheng snorts. “I take it they’re well?”
Jin Ling calms himself again; his jiujiu had only been teasing. If he stopped to think about it, he couldn’t remember the last time Jiang Cheng had teased him; something has made him more playful than before.
“They’re arriving later, with their Sects. I’m not sure when, but they promised the first day of the celebration.”
Jiang Cheng only grunts in response. For a while, he seems like he wants to talk; eventually, he says casually, “That’s good.”
Jin Ling waits for more, but it seems that’s all he’s willing to say.
It’s peaceful for a while; quiet, but for the light chirping of insects. Jin Ling lets the satisfaction of being back in Lotus Pier settle under his skin. He has always felt more grounded here than anywhere else. He allows himself to properly worry about his uncle; while before his matchmaking attempts had mostly been from curiosity, now he’s genuinely concerned. When Jin Ling isn’t here, who tries to calm Jiang Cheng down? Who listens to his worries? Who keeps him company?
“Jiujiu,” he finally starts. He speaks softly, as though he is taming a horse. “I have not been here long, but it seems there’s a lot of work here in Yunmeng. Do you think that perhaps you… might benefit from a partner?”
He feels the anger rise from his uncle immediately; indignation crackles in the air between them, though Jiang Cheng never moves to look at his nephew. “What is it that you’re suggesting, A-Ling?” Jiang Cheng says, voice frosty.
Jin Ling feels his own anger rise defensively, his shoulders tensing and brows tightening. He breathes through the simmering heat. Over time, he has learnt to pick his battles.
“I only mean to ask why you have no Cultivation Partner,” he pushes through gritted teeth, as calmly as possible. “Running a Sect, and all that time raising me - it could not have been easy alone.”
Jin Ling keeps a close eye on his jiujiu; the older man tenses, then visibly forces himself to relax. Jin Ling is on edge as he waits for the response. Though he has known his uncle long enough to predict his moods, sometimes it still feels like playing cards. He isn’t sure if he’s played a bad hand until his opponent plays theirs.
“A-Ling, I have never needed a Cultivation Partner, not to run this Sect and certainly not to raise you.” His uncle turns, and Jin Ling finally gets a glimpse at his complicated expression. “You need not concern yourself with my personal life. I am perfectly functional.”
In the face of his jiujiu’s pained expression, Jin Ling can’t help but argue. “Hanguang-jun was perfectly functional too, and look at him now! He’s married and happy, like a different person! I actually saw him smile!”
“Hanguang-jun pined for thirteen years over the most shameless man in the Cultivation world, A-Ling, and I have done no such thing,” Jiang Cheng fires back. “Do not think you can compare me to that brick of ice.”
“But-” Jin Ling starts.
“Drop it, A-Ling.” Jiang Cheng’s face is riddled with frustration. He takes a deep breath, rubbing at his temples with his fingers, and then lets it out noisily. When he is finished, he looks calmer than before, and not ready to whip Jin Ling with Zidian. This is good for Jin Ling, because time with both Jingyi and Zizhen has taught him to never let a subject drop, ever.
“You’ve really never liked someone enough to pine, like Hanguang-jun has?” Jin Ling asks, soft once again. “Never wanted a Cultivation partner?”
His jiujiu groans, slapping at his forehead so loudly it almost sounds painful. Under his breath, Jin Ling hears him utter some rather furious words, along the lines of can’t believe this and don’t know if he’s more like his mother or his fucking uncle. He looks to the sky and huffs out a breath.
“It’s not a question of liking-” he starts.
“So you do like someone!” Jin Ling crows ecstatically.
“-but that I have no space in my life and no need to find a Cultivation partner, A-Ling. You are in no position to meddle in the love life of an adult if you have not sorted out your own, nephew of mine.”
“My own love life??” Jin Ling squawks in befuddlement. He wants to beg his uncle to elaborate, but the man has already decided this is now the end of the conversation. He sweeps his way out of the courtyard, robes rippling in his wake. Jin Ling has no choice but to scramble after.
On the first day of the festival, Jin Ling wakes in his room in Lotus Pier to a servant tapping at his door politely. The room is Jin Ling’s, the one he’s stayed in since he was young. On the walls are age-old childish scribbles of ink on paper he’d brought with him from Lanling, from materials stolen from a visiting Chief Cultivator Nie. The chest holds spare clothes, including purple YunmengJiang robes he had worn as a child, far too small to fit him now.
Jin Ling rolls over, dangerously close to collapsing onto the floor. He rubs at his eyes, head still clouded with sleep. “What,” he yells bluntly, voice gruff.
“Sect Leader Jiang sent me,” says the servant, whose soft, lilting voice sounds incredibly familiar. “He said to tell Young Master Jin that the boys he pretends he doesn’t like have arrived.”
Jin Ling stumbles to his feet immediately, scrabbling for yesterday’s outer robe. Through the haze of sleep, he can hear Lan Jingyi’s ridiculous cackling outside his door. In his haste to get dressed, Jin Ling slams his knee into his dresser and collapses in pain.
“Jin-xiong, are you okay?” Sizhui calls from outside, concerned.
In response, Jin Ling stands and yanks the door wide. He’s dressed enough , with his outer robes and shoes on, but that’s all he’d had time for. It’s not his fault, anyway.
Outside the door, of course, are Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, as pristine and perfect as usual. Today, their robes are a step up from the regular Lan Disciple robes, embroidered with fine white clouds at the hems. Sizhui especially is wearing a red bell at his waist, matching Jin Ling’s own. The two of them glow far too brightly for the early morning.
“Why are you here so early!” He whines, rubbing at his sleep-filled eyes.
Lan Jingyi, of course, laughs at him.
“It’s just around nine, we left quite late,” Sizhui says kindly, surveying him.
“Senior Wei managed to make it!” Jingyi adds. “How does that make you feel, Young Mistress Jin?”
Jin Ling is willing to bet his uncle is off in Lotus Pier somewhere, complaining of exhaustion and trying to beg for free food. Besides, Lan Jingyi had had near-constant dark circles since Jin Ling had met him; clearly he, like Wei Wuxian, struggled with the Lan rules.
“Uncl- Senior Wei is here?” Jin Ling realises, waking up fully at once. He makes to walk past the two Lans, certain that somewhere on Yunmeng land, his two uncles were battling to the death. Sizhui stops him with his frankly unnecessarily strong grip. Jin Ling makes a confused noise, and wriggles just to be contrary.
“Look at your hair, Jin-xiong!” Sizhui tuts. “You can’t go out like that!”
With that, Sizhui manhandles him right back into his room and sits him down on the nearest flat object. Jin Ling lets himself be manoeuvred like cattle, still not wholly used to Lan Sizhui’s strange lack of boundaries. He’s not expecting Lan Sizhui to quickly find Jin Ling’s brush and literally start doing his hair .
Jin Ling yelps as Sizhui pulls at his scalp, expertly braiding an upper section of his hair. “What are you- Siz- I can do my own hair!” Jin Ling yelps, even as he does nothing to stop his friend.
Lan Jingyi, in the meantime, has gleefully started rummaging through his stuff. “Don’t bother,” he snorts. “When he gets like this, it’s best to just let him go for it.” He says this with all the wisdom of someone who has lived a long life dealing with Lan Sizhui’s aggressively caring behaviour.
Jin Ling settles down and lets Sizhui deftly style his hair. Sizhui’s fingers are quick and careful, soft despite the callouses he’s gained over years of training. They aren’t dry like Jin Ling’s own, because Lan Sizhui is irritatingly perfect in every way. Jin Ling has observed his friend for quite some time, but the closest thing to a flaw Sizhui had was that he was perhaps too kind, too caring, too good at looking after the ones he cared about. Jin Ling sighs and relaxes into his friend’s care, thinking about the events for the day ahead.
“Is Ouyang-xiong here yet?” He asks curiously. Logically, he knew if his childhood friend was here, he’d already be showing Lan Jingyi where all the good stuff was hidden.
From the direction of his keepsakes, Jingyi responds. “Nah, but he’ll probably get here soon. His dad lets him do whatever.”
Jin Ling hums in response. He’d rather wait until the four of them were together to discuss their next move, and Ouyang Zizhen really is most of the brains behind this operation.
There’s a loud clatter from Jingyi’s direction, followed by a loud “It’s fine!”
“What did you break!” Jin Ling yells immediately, turning to look. Sizhui immediately grabs his head and forces him to stay in place, focused on his masterpiece.
“I said it’s fine, nothing broke! Just a chip!” Jingyi yells back. He finally abandons his post, coming to join the other two. He stands perpendicular to Jin Ling, tapping at his nose as he scrutinises Lan Sizhui’s progress.
“Got enough braids there, Sizhui?” Lan Jingyi snarks.
From above, Jin Ling can hear a dull sound followed by a loud ow!.
“LanlingJin have different customs, Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui hums, brushing down Jin Ling’s bangs. “Besides, I think it looks quite good on Jin-xiong. All done!”
Finally having permission, Jin Ling stands, brushing down his robes. He immediately goes to feel his hair. He definitely feels fancier than usual, and he feels no knots, so he elects to assume Lan Sizhui has done a perfect job, as usual.
He clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says awkwardly. Sizhui beams.
Lan Jingyi slings his arms around both Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui’s shoulders, yanking them down to his level. “It’s getting too friendly in here,” he proclaims, “let’s go cause some trouble!”
The three of them set off towards the streets of Lotus Pier. The day is warm but not humid, all-around pleasant and picturesque. Cultivators and townspeople alike fill the streets with hubbub, the vibrant clashes of different clan robes like fields of flowers in the springtime. The festival itself is fairly casual, the only real structure coming from a banquet for the major sects held later in the week. For now, it was just an opportunity for the people of Yunmeng to let their hair down, so to speak, and show off to others.
A way to heal.
The three of them squeeze their way through the crowds, moving with no certain direction. The two Lans wander around with curious eyes, leaving Jin Ling to very proudly show off his Sect. For a heartstopping moment, they lose Lan Jingyi; he reappears twenty minutes later with food-laden arms, and has to calm Lan Sizhui out of a meltdown. They do not yet run into either of Jin Ling’s uncles, who he hopes are keeping far out of trouble. He would hate for the main course at the banquet to be Wei Wuxian on a bed of garden vegetables.
After a short time, they make their way to the pier itself. Jin Ling smirks as the other two marvel over the incandescent way the mid-morning sun glints off the expanse of the lake. It really is beautiful - the clear sky, the rippling lake, the lotus flowers swaying in the calm waters, glowing like Fae creations; untouchable.
It fills him with warmth, his pride over this Sect of his uncle’s; that this was once where his mother grew up, and that it could be so beautiful today, after so much devastation. Jin Ling has spent too many years of his life watching his jiujiu agonise, giving up his own pursuits to perfect his Sect, to make it something Jin Ling could treat as his own. He sees the way the rippling water reflects in his friends wide eyes, and he is whole.
It seems they’ve arrived at the pier at the most opportune time, for, after a moment, the peace is broken by the loud yelling of Ouyang Zizhen. Across the pier, the BalingOuyang representatives have arrived, dismounting from swords. The three of them watch as Ouyang Zizhen all but tumbles from his own, getting comically close to tipping himself into the surrounding lake. The three of them perk up, but none more than Lan Jingyi, who immediately shoves all his purchases onto Jin Ling and rushes the taller boy.
Sizhui laughs softly at his friend’s antics. Jin Ling considers dropping all his food to the floor, and settles on eating it instead. “Ouyang-xiong, you’re late!” he grouses.
“It’s good to see you, Sect Leader Jin!” Ouyang Zizhen calls back, making his way over with Jingyi still clinging to his side like a leech. It’s comical to see the two together, sometimes, given their wild difference in height; now that they’re standing together after a few months, Jin Ling can see that Lan Jingyi barely reaches Ouyang Zizhen’s shoulder.
“You missed us invading Young Mistress Jin’s room!” Jingyi crows. “You wouldn’t believe what he has in there!”
Ouyang Zizhen laughs warmly down at Jingyi, patting at his head. “I’ve been in there before, there’s not much I’m missing out on.”
Jingyi makes an offended face up at Zizhen, and then turns it onto Jin Ling. “You showed Zizhen before us?”
“I don’t even like you,” Jin Ling says, chewing his way through Jingyi’s lotus seed pods.
Jingyi gasps in mock outrage; Sizhui and Zizhen both laugh fondly. They’ve so quickly fallen back into their usual dynamic, despite not being together as a group for months. It’s comforting. Jin Ling feels emotions. He thinks he might like it.
“He means to say the two of us have been friends since we were younger,” Ouyang Zizhen says kindly. “And he cares about you and Lan-xiong so much, and he’s very happy to have his three favourite people in his favourite place so he can show off.”
“Shut up,” Jin Ling says, face warming. It’s very hard to sound sincere.
Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t respond, because Ouyang Zizhen isn’t paying attention. He’s making horrifically mushy eyes down at Lan Jingyi, like Lan Jingyi is a beautiful, elegant maiden, and not a gremlin sticking his tongue at Jin Ling like a three-year-old. Jingyi, of course, looks back up at his friend obliviously. Jin Ling is compelled to throw a pained, are-you-seeing-this-shit look at Sizhui.
They missed each other, Lan Sizhui mouths back. His eyes twinkle with mischief; Jin Ling would be scared if he was Lan Jingyi.
“So!” Jingyi says, finally disentangling himself from their taller, more sensitive friend. “Lots to see, lots to do. What was the first order of business today?”
“Find a quiet spot to catch up and plot our next move?” Lan Sizhui suggests, looking at Jin Ling. “Jin-xiong, can you think of anywhere?”
Jin Ling thinks. “Well, there’s a pavillion inside the main building, but there’s a lot of-”
He’s interrupted mid-sentence by a very loud, exuberant gasp.
“Look,” Ouyang Zizhen gasps out. He yanks them all in, so they’re standing almost in a four-person huddle. He punctuates every word with a slap at Jin Ling’s shoulder, as if he wasn’t already paying attention. “Look look look look look!”
“Would you quit hitting me!” Jin Ling snaps, shoving Ouyang Zizhen’s arm away and rubbing at his own. In response, Ouyang Zizhen grabs Jin Ling’s head and forcefully turns it in the direction he’d been pointing in. With no other option, Jin Ling looks.
There, on the end of the pier, is Jiang Cheng. He’s clearly gone to greet someone who’s just arrived, which is uncharacteristically polite of him. When Jin Ling shakes off Ouyang Zizhen’s hands to get a better angle, he recognises the other person immediately. Opposite his uncle, facing the juniors, is Chief Cultivator Nie Huaisang, dressed in luxurious green robes and coquettishly fluttering an even more expensive-looking fan. Jiang Cheng is helping the other man disembark from a small boat; the Chief Cultivator’s cultivation level is rumoured to be so low he can’t even manage flying on his sword. Jin Ling very intentionally does not look at how Jiang Cheng’s hand is supporting the other man’s waist, and how they’re way closer than they probably need to be.
“I don’t know what you want me to look at,” Jin Ling grumbles. “He’s just saying hi to the Chief Cultivator.”
He really is; even if the event is informal enough that most Sect Leaders only need to greet Sect Leader Jiang briefly, Chief Cultivator Nie is, of course, the Chief Cultivator; to not welcome him would be a grand offence.
Then the Chief Cultivator must say something particularly funny, because Jiang Cheng looks away from the other man and Jin Ling can finally see his profile.
His uncle is smiling.
It’s small, but it’s painfully obvious. It tilts the corner of his mouth and tugs at his eyes. He looks younger, somehow, and Jin Ling is confronted with the image of his jiujiu before he was sect leader, before all the pain and loss. His heart pangs in his chest.
“He’s smiling?” Jingyi gasps. “Are they friends? Young Mistress Jin, you said your jiujiu didn’t have friends!”
“I thought he didn’t!” Much less Chief Cultivator Nie Huaisang, who jiujiu had always bemoaned as an unmotivated Head-Shaker who squandered his potential. But this was before Guanyin Temple, and maybe things have changed.
Of course, it’s just at that moment when Chief Cultivator Nie catches Jin Ling’s gaze. He raises a single eyebrow, just for a split second. Jin Ling begs every known deity for mercy.
“Sect Leader Jin!” Nie Huaisang calls, waving a hand enthusiastically. “It is good to see you are well!”
Which, of course, makes Jiang Cheng turn to look at his nephew. Jin Ling refrains from hiding behind Jingyi, mostly because the other boy is shorter and would provide terrible cover. Of course, he can’t even move, as he’s sandwiched in between three much stronger boys.
All four of them panic and immediately fall into deep, cramped bows. “Chief Cultivator Nie,” Jin Ling says, because it seems like the right thing to do.
Chief Cultivator Nie takes that as permission to approach, picking his way over carefully. Jin Ling’s uncle follows at a carefully moderated distance, stern as ever.
Jin ling can feel himself suddenly prickle with uncertainty. Truthfully, Nie Huaisang is a man Jin Ling doesn’t quite know how to interact with. He’d had a decent amount of contact with him in youth, where Nie Huaisang had so frequently visited Carp Tower feigning helplessness. Time and knowledge has changed Jin Ling’s perspective of the nervous young man who had let him play around with his precious inks as a child. The Chief Cultivator he knows now is confident in a way others would read as improper. He covers his intentions with a fan and a smile, and monitors all his subordinates as though expecting betrayal at any moment.
Jin Ling knows snakes; he was raised by one.
He also knows they are not difficult to love in the slightest.
“Please, don’t be so formal!” Chief Cultivator Nie grins. “I am only here for leisure, no business. Lotus Pier is gorgeous as ever, Jiang-xiong, it has been ever so long since I was here.”
At that, Chief Cultivator Nie turns his gaze to Jin Ling’s jiujiu, who is still stoically staring at a point in the distance. Jingyi very unsubtly whispers, ‘Jiang-xiong?’
Jiang Cheng huffs. “It has been.”
Chief Cultivator Nie titters, fluttering his fan more rapidly. Up close, Jin Ling can finally see the pattern that decorates it. It’s more simple up close, elegant strokes of a brush coming together to form several lotus flowers.
“Jiang-xiong, A-Cheng, how rude of you!” he exclaims, snapping the fan shut to thwack him on the arm. “I suppose you really don’t care for this old friend of yours. What am I to do now?”
“If I show you around, will you stop complaining so much?” Jiang Cheng responds gruffly. It’s a level ten response, nearing I’ll-turn-your-bones-to-soup, but Jin Ling isn’t worried about the Chief Cultivator’s mortality because his jiujiu’s ears are glowing like rubies.
Chief Cultivator Nie beams in response; then, as if he enjoys putting others into shock, he loops arms with Uncle, using his other hand to hold Jiang Cheng’s in place. Jin Ling’s uncle’s neck is glowing, but he doesn’t move or try to throw him off.
Chief Cultivator Nie sends Jin Ling what could be considered a particularly smug smile. “We will see you young master’s later!” he declares. He then very promptly drags a very red jiujiu away.
Jin Ling watches them go, a swirl of royal purple and gunmetal grey. His gut churns uncomfortable, in a way it hadn’t before at the thought of finding his uncle love.
“What the fuck?” he says.
“What the fuck.” Lan Jingyi agrees.
Instead of going to the pavilion, the four of them make the executive decision to stalk Jin Ling’s uncle.
Stalking, however, is a generous term; it turns out to be incredibly difficult for four teenage boys to successfully follow two powerful, esteemed cultivators without looking suspicious. Initially, Lan Jingyi has the idea of buying straw hats to cover their faces, which turns out to be incredibly inconvenient; they stop him before he can use Lan Sizhui’s money to buy a set of incredibly ugly demon-masks.
The only consolation is that, somehow, Jin Ling’s jiujiu doesn’t notice them at all. He’s almost exclusively staring at Chief Cultivator Nie, in an incredibly obvious manner. Chief Cultivator Nie still has jiujiu by the arm, practically dragging him from stall to stall, and jiujiu is blushing and stumbling because he won’t stop staring .
“Jin Ling, is your uncle broken?” Lan Jingyi snorts. “It’s like he’s never had human contact before.”
Ouyang Zizhen shushes Jingyi loudly, slapping at his arm. “He’s in love , Jingyi! Look at them! He’s blushing just because the person he likes is holding his arm!” Zizhen, in true dramatic fashion, swoons heavily, plastering himself against Jingyi’s back.
Jin Ling rubs at his arms uncomfortably, looking away from the two older men. “Jiujiu probably doesn’t even like him,” he grumbles. “He’s probably just nervous because it’s the Chief Cultivator.”
Jingyi scoffs. “Are you kidding? Jin Ling, he’s glaring at anyone who tries to talk to the Chief Cultivator! He’s totally whipped!”
Jiang Cheng does seem to be surrounded by a completely black aura, like an imaginary wall no person is foolish enough to scale. Surrounding crowds give the two cultivators a wide berth, too intimidated by a wild-looking Sandu Shengshou. Chief Cultivator Nie appears too engrossed with an array of fans to notice.
“Jin-xiong, you said they’ve known each other since they were young, right?” Ouyang Zizhen gushes. “How long do you think he’s been in love with him for? Maybe years ?”
Across the way, Chief Cultivator Nie flicks open his fan and turns. When their eyes meet, Jin Ling realises there’s no way the Chief Cultivator hadn’t noticed them following. His eyes spark with amusement, but there’s something else there - something calculated and intelligent. It’s the same kind of look he makes in discussion conferences, when some other Sect Leader believes he can take advantage of him. It’s that same look he’d made a year ago, fan covering his mouth, hard eyes, just after Jin Ling’s shushu had-
“My jiujiu is not in love with the Chief Cultivator!” Jin Ling yells.
Jin Ling freezes, and brings his shaking hands to his face. He rubs at his eyes hard enough that he sees stars for a moment, shaking his head violently to shake out the images of Guanyin Temple.
When he opens his eyes, his friends are staring at him in shock. By some stroke of luck, he hadn’t spoken quite loud enough to reach his uncle, because when he looks he notices the two older men have disappeared. When he dares to make eye contact with his friends, he finds exactly what he didn’t want to see.
Ouyang Zizhen’s big eyes are muddled with confusion; Jingyi, underneath him, looks wholly shocked in a way he hasn’t been for a while. Lan Sizhui, though, is the worst - his open, pure face is clouded with worry, eyes large and glistening and mouth quivering the way it does when he knows something is wrong, and is already blaming himself for not being able to fix it.
Jin Ling can’t look at them any longer. He feels his stomach drop out, as though his body is trying to turn itself inside-out. It’s been a while since he’s genuinely yelled - not just banter, not just exaggerated irritation, but genuine yelling. He’s been doing so well , and now he’s gone and fucked it up. Jin Ling feels his skin prickle; his heart pounds in his chest, blood rushing into his ears.
“I’ll meet you guys later,” he chokes out, because suddenly he can’t be here anymore. He turns and speedwalks away, hugging his arms to his chest. If they call out after him, he doesn’t hear; the roaring in his ears is too loud.
For what feels like an age, Jin Ling pushes his way through the crowds, heart in his throat. Every time he brushes past another person, his skin burns at the touch; he can’t help but feel like people are staring. At long last, he stops moving, and realises he’s no longer in the busy streets of Yunmeng; he’s somehow made it to the lake again.
He stops, and finally lets himself breathe.
He all but collapses onto the hard ground. He had played here as a child, running along the banks of the lakes in golden, shimmering sunlight. Now, the soft rushing of the lake quiets his mind, and he thinks.
Jin Ling remembers, almost more than a year now, the look in Nie Huaisang’s eyes at the Guanyin Temple. He remembers seeing his shushu , who he had never known to be a cruel man until that day, drip deep scarlet over the gold of his robes. He remembers the anguish on the face of Lan Xichen, and he remembers how tight his jiujiu’s hands had been on Jin Ling’s arms, holding him back from throwing himself into the scene. His heart had been pounding, chest crushed like he was being squeezed by a Measuring Snake. But most of all, he remembers a split moment where he had caught sight of Nie Huaisang; the hardness of his eyes, behind terror and grief and uncertainty. His eyes had glinted with the satisfaction of a man finally getting his revenge.
Jin Ling had not been bothered by the Chief Cultivator since that day. He had briefly blamed him, in his mind, for the loss of his uncle, but his grief and resentment could never bring Jin Guangyao back. There were times where he watched the other man and felt uneasiness, but he had always thought it had been because he never quite trusted the man.
And then. Nie Huaisang, laughing so carefree, arms linked with someone who clearly cared for him. Jin Ling had looked and thought, that should be my shushu . It wasn’t fair that Nie Huaisang had lived and Jin Guangyao hadn’t. Why should Nie Huaisang be able to live happily, in a position he had taken from a dead man, when Jin Guangyao had never been truly happy - not in marriage, not in life, not ever. At that moment it didn’t matter that this man might make his uncle happy; it only mattered that he was happy , and nothing was fair.
Jin Ling rakes his hair through the ends of his ponytail, taking notice not to destroy Lan Sizhui’s beautiful work. He can only gather his knees up and bury his face in his legs. His body heaves with dry shudders; he feels as though he is shaking all over.
Just when his mind starts to slip away, a loud bark breaks through the serenity of the lakeside. Within minutes, a large, furry creature barrels into his side. A wet nose nuzzles against the side of his forehead, the coldness shocking his brain to the present again. Jin Ling raises a shaking hand to the coarse fur of the wiggling dog and fists it; it’s like finding purchase in a roaring river, and dragging himself out. He buries his face in Fairy’s fur, pressing himself into the dog’s side as hard as he can without hurting her.
When Jin Ling’s head finally clears, and his chest stops heaving, he finally re-tunes into his surroundings. Jin Ling hears footsteps approach, so quiet and tentative he could have missed them had he not been paying attention. The other person lower themselves to the ground beside him, joining in silence.
“Do you want to talk about it?” says the soft voice of Lan Sizhui, after a few minutes.
Jin Ling sniffles and hides his head further into Fairy’s fur.
From beside him, Jin Ling feels Lan Sizhui shift. He’s thinking of what to say, clearly. He gets like this, sometimes, where he becomes so caught up with saying the right thing he’ll take forever to perfect it. In the beginning, Jin Ling had thought Sizhui waited because of some sense of superiority, because he wanted others to stew in their mistakes; now, he realises it was truly because Sizhui cared about every word he said, and sometimes he just didn’t have words to say.
Eventually, Sizhui very carefully says, “This isn’t about Sect Leader Jiang.”
“...no,” Jin Ling replies reluctantly.
There’s another pause, which Jin Ling uses to compose himself a little more.
“Is it about Sect Leader Nie?” Sizhui asks eventually.
Jin Ling pulls his face away from Fairy and scrubs at his eyes. They’re dry, of course; he had cried enough in the months past, and had, for the most part, pulled himself together since. This time, he lets himself think about it - really think about it.
“Not really,” he says finally, and he isn’t lying.
It’s true, he thinks, that Nie Huaisang has done bad things. But Jin Ling thinks about when he’d gotten Wei Wuxian back, and when Wen Ning had saved him at the temple. Jin Ling can’t love these people, who have done bad and good things, and still condemn Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang, who had snuck Jin Ling sweets whenever he had visited Carp Tower, who had let him play around with parchment and brushes far too expensive for a five-year-old. Who filled a position now his uncle had once had, and clearly strove to help the people, and to do good things. Jin Ling can’t look at this man only and think, this man does not deserve happiness.
He takes a slow, calm breath.
“I think it’s just,” he pauses, looking for words. “It’s just, sometimes, I see him and I think, that should be my shushu. That was my shushu . But it’s not the Sect Leader’s fault that he’s - gone , it’s just. I guess I never processed it fully.”
Lan Sizhui hesitates a second too long. Jin Ling finally looks up to watch him. The older boy’s eyebrows are creased in the middle, right below the glinting silver piece on his headband. Jin Ling lets him take his time.
“It’s not because the Chief Cultivator is…. Close… with Sect Leader Jiang?” He asks, and means, will this be a problem? Do you need support?
“No,” Jin Ling answers truthfully. “No, I’m fine, it’s…. I don’t know him well, but if he makes jiujiu happy, I’ll be okay. And Sizhui…” he pauses, working up the courage, “Sizhui, I’m sorry for causing a scene. Thank you for coming after me.”
Lan Sizhui smiles softly back at him. He reaches around the slobbering Fairy to place a hand on Jin Ling’s knee; as perfect as Sizhui is, Jin Ling feels the telltale hardness of calluses. Even elegant, beautiful Sizhui is not immune to the wear and tear of daily life, it seems.
“You don’t have to apologise, A-ling,” he says kindly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You know you can talk to all of us, we’ll listen.”
“Even Jingyi?” Jin Ling jokes dryly.
Lan Sizhui huffs a small breath. “Jingyi will listen and answer like the Lan disciple he is, or Teacher Lan will find out who replaced all his lecture notes with rabbit feed last month.”
Jin Ling chokes on a laugh, doubling over; after a minute he’s bordering on near hysterical. It’s almost like the tension is forcing itself out of his body. When he’s done, he wheezes a few more breaths. His head still feels a bit numb, and the tightness in his chest is still there, but he feels lighter.
“Ugh, I feel gross now.” Jin Ling whines. “Why do I feel all gross?”
“Because you were vulnerable,” Sizhui smiles, punching at his arm softly - as softly as Lan Sizhui, the utter beast he is, can.
Jin Ling huffs, shaking out his hands. “I don’t like it. You say something too, so we’re even.”
Sizhui pauses, then turns to look Jin Ling directly in the eyes. “I was born Wen Yuan. I am the last living descendent of the Wen Clan. Wen Ning is my uncle.”
“Come again?”
The next day, the four of them set their new plan into motion.
Jin Ling spends that morning with his jiujiu. The two of them walk together in a mostly-comfortable silence through the bustling streets. Jin Ling sweats profusely in his best robes; it seemed each day got hotter and more unbearable. Jin Ling can see the summer had been harsh enough that his uncle’s freckles had returned; if he looked at his own reflection, Jin Ling thought they might have returned for him too.
When Jin Ling had asked to join him that morning, he had had to inform his uncle that no, he was not meeting Lan Sizhui until later, because Lan Sizhui was having quality family-time that also involved Lan Jingyi for some reason. The knowledge that Wei Wuxian was in Lotus Pier, showing his husband, son and protege the place he had grown up, had clearly shaken Jiang Cheng. The two of them were very pointedly not talking about it.
The more not-talking they do, the more Jin Ling feels anxiety building in his chest, and the harder it is for him to actually talk beyond offhand comments. His uncle, at least, seems distracted, tense in the same way he gets when on a nighthunt. His eyes glance off every table as if he’s searching for something.
Jin Ling does not ask.
After some time, Jiang Cheng finally stops; he approaches the stall with calculated disinterest. Jin Ling follows his gaze, trying to look equally as disinterested.
The table itself is covered with an array of accessories - combs, hair pins and whatnot. Jin Ling recognises the older woman behind it as a fairly prominent jeweller in Yunmeng; Jin Ling is certain he himself owns at least one hairpiece by her craftsmanship. Her air of calm belies her high status; even approached by the Sect Leader himself, she does not fawn, but holds strong. On her hip she balances a child, maybe her grandson; he’s a grubby little thing, in the way Jin Ling himself probably was, with big, glistening eyes that bore through Jin Ling’s very soul. Jin Ling gives him a respectful nod; the child nods back.
When Jin Ling shifts his attention back to his uncle, he sees him staring at a hairpin, entranced. It’s gaudier than anything Jiang Cheng himself would wear, all delicate gold filigree set with emerald. Jin Ling thinks it would go well with green.
“That looks like something Chief Cultivator Nie would like,” Jin Lings says boldly.
Jiang Cheng stares at Jin Ling. Jin Ling stares back.
Jiang Cheng buys the hairpin.
This is our first victory!, Jin Ling thinks.
Jiang Cheng stashes the gift in his robes, as though hiding it means he had never bought it in the first place. Jin Ling pushes past that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that tells him to protect his jiujiu, and focuses on the positives instead. His jiujiu is hopeless - worse than when Lan Jingyi had bought an expensive roll of poetry for Ouyang Zizhen and delayed giving it as a present for nearly two months. Love really seems more trouble than it’s worth; Jin Ling decides to never bother.
He parts with his uncle around midday, abandoning him to sect business while Jin Ling tries valiantly to convince his friends to take a dip in the lake with him. They waste the day in a haze of glittering water and pulsing mid-afternoon sun, until his Sect Leader responsibilities catch up with him again.
In the evening, Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling bid a brief goodbye to Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen, making their way back up to Lotus Pier. Somehow, Wei Wuxian has managed to harass his younger brother into holding a “Special Family Dinner” now that all five were in Lotus Pier together, despite the fact that not one of them held the same family name and they were all, for the most part, not even blood-related.
“God I wish I could be there,” Lan Jingyi sighs wistfully. “It’s going to be bloodshed ! Sizhui, are you sure you can’t pretend we’re engaged or something?”
“Who would want to be engaged to you,” Jin Ling says, sneering at the shorter boy.
Lan Jingyi makes a loud offended noise; Ouyang Zizhen, all simpering puppy-eyes, says, “I think anyone would be lucky to be engaged to Lan-xiong!”
Jin Ling groans.
“It won’t be that bad,” Lan Sizhui says nervously. “I mean, it can’t be worse than Xinglu.”
Lan Jingyi whistles condescendingly. “Famous last words.”
Dinner is…. Interesting.
Jin Ling had been expecting the affair to consist of:
- Wei Wuxian annoying the shit out of his adoptive ex-brother (ex-adoptive brother?) because he finally has the means to do so
- Jiang Wanyin eventually losing his shit and going at him with Zidian
- Hanguang-jun sitting and quietly eating until he has to step in
What actually happens is the opposite of Jin Ling’s expectations. It’s not the first time the five of them have been together, but it’s the first time the five of them are together and alone, with no buffer and no unifying goal.
It’s almost unbearably awkward.
Jin Ling’s jiujiu sits at the head of the table, stiff and uncomfortable but clearly trying; Wei Wuxian, to his right, is trying vainly to start conversation, but Jin Ling has never heard him be so careful with his words. Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui are trying their absolute best to fill in the gaps of silence. It’s starting to follow a pattern of awkward small-talk and painful silence.
“So, ah, did anyone have a look at the markets today?” Wei Wuxian says nervously, after another long period of hair-pulling silence. Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling both hold in a sigh of relief.
“Jingyi and I did,” Lan Sizhui says helpfully. “We got to see some of the gardens, too. Lotus Pier really is beautiful, Sect Leader Jiang.”
Jin Ling watches his jiujiu shift uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “I am glad you’re enjoying your visit. If you would like, you can stay for some time after the festival has ended.”
Jiang Cheng speaks through gritted teeth, but it’s obvious that this is an olive branch; Jin Ling and Sizhui exchange borderline ecstatic glances.
“We appreciate your hospitality,” Hanguang-jun says mildly, “even if it is slightly delayed.”
Wei Wuxian physically cringes; Jin Ling himself tries not to choke on his next sip of tea.
Jin Ling could never, in any universe, have expected that the real tension would come from Hanguang-jun’s sheer, unrestrained passive-aggressiveness. Since dinner had started, Lan Wangji has been slowly winding up jiujiu, all with a perfectly calm expression. The rest of them, Jin Ling included, were trying valiantly to keep a fight from breaking out.
Jiang Cheng takes a moment, squeezing his eyes closed. When he speaks again, it’s measured, but shaky with restrained rage. “I only hope Lotus Pier can become a place Young Master Lan feels welcome to visit, given that he is essentially my nephew.”
Jin Ling waits with bated breath; all gazes turn back to Hanguang-jun, who takes a sip of tea before placing the cup gently on the table.
“This does not count as making up for lost time,” he says bluntly.
Wei Wuxian looks like he’s going to cry.
Jiang Cheng slams his fist on the table. “Get off your fucking high horse, Hanguang-jun. Stop acting like you showed up when you were actually fucking invited .”
Lan Sizhui is wringing his hands anxiously, looking like he’s one grain of rice short of fully-blown panic. Jin Ling raises his own hands placatingly. “Uh, guys, maybe we should-”
“Do not compare your situation to mine, they are not the same,” Hanguang-jun says, ice-cold.
“Oh yeah?” Jiang Cheng spits, face contorted with rage. “What, so you think you’re allowed to-”
“Stop it!” Wei Wuxian slams both hands onto the table with force, making the crockery rattle. He’s half-standing, looking a little wild; his big eyes are shiny with emotion. Wei Wuxian takes a long, shuddering breath to compose himself. When he speaks again, his voice is shaky.
“I love you both,” he says, strained, “but I don’t need you to argue over me. All of that is in the past now - can’t we just have a nice family dinner? Just once?”
Jiang Cheng looks down, ashamed; even Lan Wangji has the courtesy to look chastised. Wei Wuxian breathes a heavy sigh and sits himself back down.
“Excellent! Good! Great!” he shouts, if a bit too loudly. “Jin Ling, tell us how your last night-hunt went!”
Everything calms down from there. Jiang Cheng and Hanguang-jun seem to put their differences aside, for Wei Wuxian’s sake; after a month of watching the two snipe at each other during Cultivation Conferences, Jin Ling is astounded at the change. They make it almost all the way through the meal without any more incidents, tension mostly melting away in favour of catching up as a unit.
Jin Ling files away the fight to share with Jingyi later. He assumes nothing else of importance would happen - and it damn well nearly doesn’t, until they’ve all finished eating.
Jiang Cheng is complaining about Sect Leader Yao when it happens. He gets fired up enough that he gesticulates wildly to emphasise his point; his right sleeve slips down his arm, showing off a delicate jade bracelet on his wrist. It glints, fairly obviously, in the candlelight.
Jin Ling feels his eyebrows raise high on his forehead; from Wei Wuxian’s surprised little “oh!”, he can ascertain that he’s not wrong in noticing it.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling says, trying to be completely serious, “Is that a new bracelet?”
His jiujiu freezes and immediately pulls his sleeve down to cover it. “What bracelet,” he says.
Opposite Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui covers his laugh with a cough. A smile starts to curl on Wei Wuxian’s face, as he hones in like a bloodhound.
“A-Cheng,” he says sweetly, “That’s a very nice bracelet! It looks a little familiar though, have I seen it before?”
Jiang Cheng flounders, face reddening. Jin Ling really hopes he didn’t inherit his jiujiu’s transparency, but thinks it might be in vain.
“I found it in a box,” Jiang Cheng lies terribly. “That’s probably why.”
Wei Wuxian taps his nose in thought, before snapping his fingers.
“Ah, I know why!” he declares. “It looks like Qinghe jade! Nie-xiong was always wearing jade pieces, remember? A-Cheng, did Nie-xiong give it to you?”
Jiang Cheng looks utterly trapped; the blush on his cheeks is so red it nearly overshadows his freckles. Jin Ling has never seen his jiujiu so flustered in his life; if Chief Cultivator Nie could make Jiang Cheng like this, Jin Ling resolves to try his hardest to get them together.
“Nie Huaisang is a complicated man,” Hanguang-jun says. “I wish you the best of luck.”
Jiang Cheng splutters. Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui high-five underneath the table.
If the jade bracelet wasn’t proof enough, things are confirmed the next morning.
It starts at the obligatory, but mildly useless, cultivation conference. Since Nie Huaisang had become Chief Cultivator, he’d imposed fairly regular Sect Leader meetings as check-ups and discussion boards, as a way to solve problems as they arose and prevent any major, world-changing events. Given that all the Sect Leaders that mattered were in Lotus Pier anyway, Chief Cultivator Nie called for a brief meeting to discuss any new happenings.
Today, this means that Jin Ling gets to see his jiujiu’s reaction up close when Chief Cultivator Nie shows up wearing the golden hairpin in his carefully-constructed braids.
“Good morning, all!” Nie Huaisang says as he sweeps into the Lotus Hall. All the Sect Leaders, Jin Ling included, stand to bow as he took his place at the head of the table. Jin Ling spots the hairpin when he rises - it’s nestled amongst Nie Huaisang’s elaborate braids, glittering gold amongst inky black. Now that the hairpiece was being worn, Jin Ling can see that the filigree curls in a lotus-like shape.
Jin Ling dares a glance at his jiujiu, only to see that he’s staring unabashedly. As they sit, Jiang Cheng accidentally slams his elbow against the table edge, cursing loudly. Chief Cultivator Nie flicks open his fan - the lotus one again - and turns his piercing gaze on Jiang Cheng. It’s almost like he’s staking a claim, Jin Ling thinks; a message to the other cultivators in the room. As if he feels Jin Ling’s staring, Nie Huaisang meets his gaze and winks.
“Alright, let’s get started!” he claps.
The whole meeting, his uncle is distracted to the point where he barely talks; whenever Jin Ling looks to see if he’s okay, he only sees his worryingly red face and slightly gaping mouth. Jin Ling can’t tell what it is about Chief Cultivator Nie that has rendered jiujiu into such a state of shock - the confidence? The hairpin? The coquettish flick of his fan? Nie Huaisang is small and elegant, sure, but he’s no incomparable beauty like the Twin Jades of Lan. He’s a mess of contradictions - soft, plain features, but glittering intelligence underneath.
Oh, well. As long as Jiang Cheng is happy.
When the meeting ends, most of the other Sect Leaders bolt from the room almost immediately. Jin Ling rises too, stretching his aching legs; he hopes they’re hurting because he’s growing taller, and not just because he’s been sitting for a while. His jiujiu finally manages to get a grip on himself, clearing his throat and straightening his robes.
“Ah, are you two leaving now?” Chief Cultivator Nie calls as he gathers his things. The smaller man shuffles closer, flicking his fan open with a single hand. Jin Ling’s uncle looks to the side.
Jin Ling half-bows to Nie Huaisang; it’s especially awkward given that the two are around the same height. “Chief Cultivator, I was headed to the pier to meet my- ah, my friends?”
Chief Cultivator Nie hums, fluttering his fan before his mouth. “Oh yes, the pier really is quite lovely. I don’t know my way around quite yet, I keep getting lost.” He pairs his statement with a wistful sigh, glancing up at Jin Ling’s jiujiu from behind the fan - which, ew.
Like before, Jin Ling thinks about what Nie Huaisang might see in his prickly jiujiu; he’s a high-level cultivator and Sect Leader, sure, but he’s had a somewhat off-putting temper for as long as Jin Ling has been alive. Admittedly, his jiujiu is handsome - all sharp cheekbones and angular edges, to compliment Nie Huaisang’s soft roundness. Jiang Cheng is tall, too, at least three heads taller than the other man. Nie Huaisang is looking at Jiang Cheng intensely, in a way that makes Jin Ling feel like he should be in a completely different building right now.
Jin Ling is suddenly struck by an excellent idea.
“My jiujiu can show you!” he blurts, one-handedly shoving his uncle in the Chief Cultivator’s direction. Jiang Cheng flails for a second before Nie Huaisang places a steadying hand on his hip - yuck - and sends a glare at Jin Ling. “He can take you around and make sure you don’t get lost! He’s got nothing else to do today anyway - right, jiujiu?”
Jiang Cheng sends Jin Ling a betrayed look - maybe I’ll feed you to the lake monster -level betrayal. He can’t do much with the Chief Cultivator looking up at him with sly, amused eyes.
“Oh, will you, A-Cheng?” Chief Cultivator Nie simpers. “You know what a slow learner I am. Some… practical assistance might help.”
Jiang Cheng sputters. Jin Ling wishes he were deaf.
“I’m going now!” he yelps, turning tail and racing to the pier. “Have fun bye!”
God, jiujiu, you better appreciate me for this, he thinks, already planning what he’s going to tell his friends.
When Jin Ling skids into the dining hall on the morning of the sixth day, Jiang Cheng is not glowing with all the happiness of a man who could potentially be getting engaged in the near future. Instead, he’s slumped in his seat, sadly twisting the jade bracelet on his wrist. An air of melancholy comes off in waves; the servants are giving him a wide berth.
Jin Ling slows down and approaches warily, as if he’s dealing with a wild dog. “Good morning, uncle,” he says.
Jiang Cheng grunts, not looking at him.
Jin Ling coughs. “Are you feeling alright?”
“What?” Jiang Cheng says distractedly, glancing up. “No, I’m fine.”
Jin Ling fidgets, debating the merits of further questioning. Whether something good or bad has happened is still unclear. He channels Ouyang Zizhen in his attempts to read his jiujiu’s mood. Maybe he’s melancholy because… he hasn’t seen Chief Cultivator Nie since yesterday, and he misses him? No, that’s stupid.
“Did something happen with Chief Cultivator Nie?” Jin Ling asks. It comes out way flatter than intended.
“Nothing has ever been happening with Chief Cultivator Nie,” Jiang Cheng says glumly.
Well, that’s definitely not good. In all of Jiang Cheng’s moping, there is not one ounce of anger, only a deeply rooted sadness. It wasn’t like his uncle to be so lifeless; something has gone wrong.
Jin Ling calls off any plans with his friends in favour of hanging around his uncle all day in an attempt to annoy him into productivity. No matter how many times he asks, Jiang Cheng won’t tell him what has happened; by evening, he’s locked himself in his office after talking to exactly no one all day.
“I just wish I knew what happened,” Jin Ling groans, collapsing onto the dirt beside his friends. “But my uncle never fucking says what’s bothering him!”
“Sound like anyone we know?” Jingyi snarks under his breath, and then yelps when two pairs of feet connect with his side.
Sizhui sighs softly. The four of them are congregated near Lotus Lake again, wallowing in their own pity.
“Anyone spot the Chief Cultivator?” Jingyi suggests. “Do we know how he’s doing?”
Ouyang Zizhen raises a hand into the air. “I did. He didn’t seem any different from before, I couldn’t tell if he was upset. But maybe, since the Chief Cultivator is so professional, he’s actually hurting inside?”
“Vetoed,” Jingyi says. “No one is that good at acting.”
Jin Ling groans and presses his hands into his eyes so hard that he sees spots.
“Maybe it has nothing to do with Chief Cultivator Nie?” Lan Sizhui says hopefully. “We could all be reading too far into this.”
“There’s no way,” Jin Ling sighs. “He was too specific, I’m telling you. I know my jiujiu.”
The four of them wallow in silence for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense. None of them say what they’re all thinking - we’re fucked .
“Maybe it’ll all blow over by tomorrow?” Zizhen suggests hopefully.
The next day, it’s worse.
Through the whole day, Jiang Cheng is reticent; he spends way more time brooding in gardens than any grown man should. Even when Wei Wuxian arrives to annoy him, Jiang Cheng stays quiet and withdrawn.
Jin Ling is terrified right down to his golden core. He can barely bring himself to meet his jiujiu’s blank stare. What the fuck? He thinks, how could this possibly happen?
It’s possibly worse, because Jin Ling has to sit through a mandatory Sect Leader meeting, yet again. He has to watch his jiujiu’s already-dejected expression drop even further when he sees Nie Huaisang’s hair is void of the hairpiece he had gifted him. His uncle does not speak the entire meeting, which draws the attention of multiple of the other Sect Leaders. He only sits, twisting the jade bracelet on his wrist and avoiding the gazes of others.
If Jin Ling was expecting his jiujiu to act some sort of way in heartbreak, it wasn’t quiet mourning; he would’ve expected loud bursts of anger. Instead, this was as though he’d had his own core dissolved before his eyes.
In contrast, it seems like there’s nothing wrong with Chief Cultivator Nie at all. He conducts the meeting with the same poise as ever, fan slicing through the air like a saber as he stares down his lessers. The only indication that something could be wrong is the lack of hairpin, but that could mean anything; seeing the bare clasp holding his hair together instead of the golden lotus has Jin Ling’s blood near-boiling.
When the meeting finishes, Jiang Cheng excuses himself quietly and sweeps from the room. Jin Ling half-rises to follow before catching sight of the Chief Cultivator. The older man is watching his uncle leave with a wistful look, fist clenched by his side.
“I swear to fucking-” Jin Ling snarls under his breath. He says a swift fuck you to common sense to the wind.
“Chief Cultivator Nie,” he calls. “With all due respect, what the fuck did you do to my jiujiu?”
Nie Huaisang’s gaze snaps to Jin Ling, eyes wide as if he’s shocked the room still has inhabitants. The grip on his fan tightens imperceptibly. Within seconds, he’s perfectly composed again, as if he had never been taken off guard in the first place.
“Sect Leader Jin,” Nie Huaisang says coolly, “I can’t say that I know what you mean. Is Sect Leader Jiang quite alright?”
“You tell me! He barely ate this morning, he’s walking around like jiangshi, and I’m not sure if you noticed but he’s wearing his shoes on the wrong feet!”
Nie Huaisang blinks, taken aback again. “I don’t know, I truly don’t know.”
Jin Ling pauses and forces himself to take a deep breath. Think of calming things, he thinks. Hanguang-jun’s guqing. Lan Sizhui. Sparring in the winter .
“Chief Cultivator Nie,” he says in the most even voice he can manage, “Do you mean to tell me you have not noticed that my jiujiu has been courting you?”
Nie Huaisang takes a deep, even breath himself, gunmetal grey eyes fluttering shut. Jin Ling prepares himself for what the other man is about to say; Nie Huaisang’s way with words is powerful, and he cannot afford to get swept up in semantics. For Jiujiu.
“Ling-er,” Nie Huaisang starts, “I understand where you must be coming from. You’ve been working so hard - you and your friends - to find a good match for your jiujiu. I know that, somehow, you decided perhaps I was the best match, and I’m sure you’ve had a lot of fun playing matchmaker, but there’s something he’s never told you. A-Cheng has always had the highest standards for women, but the most important standard had always been: ‘any future partner must treat Jin Ling nicely’.
Years ago, when he had first been blacklisted by all female cultivators, I asked your jiujiu why he’d done what he did. He told me, in no uncertain words, that it was to look after you. You were only young, barely two years old. The other Sect Leaders thought he was too unfit, too unstable, to raise you on his own, just as they thought of your shushu. He was determined to put his duty to you ahead of his own desires; that’s why he has never had a partner, Ling-er.”
Nie Huaisang sighs somewhat wistfully, fixing Jin Ling with a sympathetic look. “I know you’ve had your heart set on finding him love, but you have to understand Jiang Cheng would only settle for someone he felt was deserving enough to give his heart to.”
Jin Ling nods sagely. “So you didn’t know?”
“What?” Chief Cultivator Nie says, dumbfounded.
“You didn’t know he was courting you.”
“I never said that,” Nie Huaisang says hastily. “I said there’s no way your uncle-”
“-that my jiujiu threw a couple dates because he wanted to raise me, yeah. Chief Cultivator, with all due respect, that was like thirteen years ago . You’re just saying it now to guilt me into dropping it or something.”
Nie Huaisang freezes up long enough to seem like a still painting on one of his expensive fans.
“Don’t be shocked,” Jin Ling huffs. “I was raised by Jin Guangyao too.”
At that, Nie Huaisang colours. He flicks open his fan to cover his face, and Jin Ling catches sight of its design for the first time today. Painted on, with what must have been an unsteady hand, was a thunderstorm; the piece was done in dark ink, save for the clear white lightning.
Ugh. Gross.
“Ling-er,” Nie Huaisang says tiredly, “Sect Leader Jin. Please, you have to understand that your jiujiu was merely being nice and humouring your wishes.”
“My jiujiu is never nice, and would rather die than humour a suitor,” Jin Ling rolls his eyes heavily.
Nie Huaisang hesitates. “Well, yes, but-”
It hits Jin Ling then. “Oh. Oh no, tell me you’re not this dumb.” He groans, slapping his own forehead with his hand. “You think you, like, don’t deserve him, right? You don’t think you fit his dumb list of requirements or something? Are you honestly-”
“Sect Leader Jin ,” Nie Huaisang snaps. “May I remind you, once again, that I am the Chief Cultivator.”
Jin Ling heaves a huge, heavy sigh. He’s not sure why he was cursed to be surrounded by adults so clueless in their own love lives. Maybe it was something people never really grew out of.
Instead, he bows low enough that his upper body is parallel to the floor. “Chief Cultivator Nie, I would just like you to know that I think you’re very, very wrong. I hope you can come to understand that. I’ll be taking my leave now.”
He leaves a very flustered and confused Chief Cultivator alone in the conference room with his thoughts.
“And that’s everything he said?” Jingyi contemplates. “You’re not missing anything?”
“What, you think I’d leave something out intentionally?”
Jingyi shakes his head, humming out a low note. He turns to Sizhui, assembling flower crowns to the side. “What do you think?”
“It’s just so tragic, ” Ouyang Zizhen wails instead, clutching a mangled flower crown. “The miscommunication of it all- who knew the Chief Cultivator could be so sensitive? ”
Jin Ling snorts. “Where have you been the last sixteen years? Living in a cave?”
Lan Sizhui, finished with his masterpiece, leans over to place a crown of white pea flowers on Jingyi’s head.
“I think I have an idea,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Let me know if this sounds crazy.”
The next time the four of them congregate, it’s late afternoon and they’re huddled around a single open window like rabbits in the snow.
The window in question overlooks one of Yunmeng’s lotus gardens; in the warm evening light, the lotuses glow as if they were lit from below. There was something soft and serene and untouched about it; the perfect spot for someone to meet with a lover. Ouyang Zizhen had chosen the location.
“They’re both late,” the boy in question whispers anxiously. “Oh god, what if they don’t come?”
From where he’s squished between Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen, Jin Ling sighs heavily. “Jiujiu will definitely come, it’s not him you have to worry about,” he says, wringing his hands. “Jingyi, please tell me you didn’t ask Chief Cultivator Nie yourself?”
Jingyi elbows him with his bony chicken arm, nailing him right in the ribs. “I’m not dumb. I got Senior Wei to ask him.”
“He definitely still suspects something, though,” Sizhui says, biting his nails. Jin Ling does not add that Nie Huaisang would have been suspicious no matter who had asked him in the first place.
But somehow, against all judgement, Nie Huaisang is the one to arrive first. When Jingyi spots him approaching, the four of them drop to the ground until only their eyes and the tops of their heads are visible to anyone outside.
He almost glides into the garden, gait slow and unhurried, so different to how frantic he’d been those years as Sect Leader. His shoulders seem to slump in a way they never did when he was with others; he gazes sightlessly into some middle distance as he walks.
“He looks tired,’’ Zizhen whispers.
Nie Huaisang stops in the middle of the garden, gazing down into a small lotus pond. His hands are clasped tightly behind his back; in them, he loosely holds a closed fan. Jin Ling swears it’s purple.
Nie Huaisang isn’t alone long. Punctual as usual, Jin Ling’s uncle marches into the garden with the same ferocity as one would walk into battle. The four disciples can pinpoint the moment he notices Nie Huaisang, because he stops in his tracks, flinching as though he’s walked into a wall.
Jin Ling holds his breath. C’mon, jiujiu, he thinks. You’ve come this far. Don’t run away now.
There’s a solid minute where nothing happens. Jiang Cheng stays frozen, staring at the Chief Cultivator, who still gazes at the pond, deep in thought.
(In Jiang Cheng’s defense, the sight he was confronted with would have given any regular man a meltdown; clear skin glowing in the golden afternoon light, glossy braided hair tumbling over one shoulder, thick eyelashes casting a shadow over his round cheek.)
It goes on just long enough that there’s no way Nie Huaisang is unaware he has company. He turns; when he catches sight of Jiang Cheng, his eyes glimmer with amusement.
“Well, you don’t look like Wei-xiong,’’ he laughs. Against his better judgement, Jin Ling stifles a snort.
(There’s a brief moment where Nie Huaisang’s gaze darts to the four junior’s hiding place; as one, they drop beneath the sill and out of view. There’s not really a point; of course he already knows.)
Jiang Cheng shifts, visibly shaking himself out of his stupor. “Chief Cultivator,’’ he says gruffly.
“A-Cheng,’’ Nie Huaisang smiles, eyes crinkling. “I have to admit, I expected a different brother, but the replacement will do just fine.”
“Of course,” Jiang Cheng replies awkwardly. “Huaisang, I…”
There was a long silence, where Jiang Cheng stands stiffly and Nie Huaisang patiently waits for him to force his words out.
“This is painful,” Jingyi whispers loudly. “Jin Ling, your jiujiu sucks at being a human.”
Jin Ling elbows him hard enough that Jingyi has to muffle a pained swear.
Eventually, Sect Leader Jiang clears his throat, training his gaze on the ground as he speaks.
“I’m sorry, A-Sang, I really…” Jiang Cheng trails off. “My nephew, he really just wants to help. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, I know it’s an inconvenience to have sect juniors trailing you everywhere.”
“Of course not, I-” even without Nie Huaisang’s face in view, his distress is palpable. “A-Cheng, you think you’re inconveniencing me?”
There’s an extended period of silence, during which Jin Ling is vigorously slapped by both Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen. ‘It’s happening!’ Ouyang Zizhen mouths ecstatically.
“No, I…” Jin Ling’s jiujiu trails off. “It’s only that, I know you’re busy with your duties. It must be an inconvenience to put that on hold in order to cater to the whims of teenagers.”
“So far, A-Cheng, catering to the wishes of teenagers has only meant spending time with you.” Nie Huaisang audibly clears his throat. “Spending time with you could never be an inconvenience.”
There’s an audible gasp; Jin Ling is fully prepared to silence one of his friends before he realises it had come from his uncle.
Nie Huaisang steamrolls on. “Truly, it has been no inconvenience. I admit that perhaps I had been using your junior disciple’s… matchmaking efforts as an excuse to see you more often. But I understand that- that you complied to spare your nephew’s feelings, but I-”
“To spare my nephew’s feelings? Huaisang, when have I ever done something to spare someone’s feelings?”
Jin Ling watches as Nie Huaisang flicks open his fan to cover the smile breaking out on his face. He pumps his fist in victory.
“If not for that, then why, A-Cheng?” he asks, not unkindly. “I simply cannot think of another reason why you would want to spend so much time with me.”
Just like that, the tension is completely broken. Next to Jin Ling, Lan Jingyi physically can’t seem to hold his laughter in anymore, smothering his own face with both hands. In the middle of the garden, Jiang Cheng splutters and reddens rapidly, dropping his face in his hands.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you,” Jiang Cheng groans.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” hums Nie Huaisang.
Jin Ling watches as his jiujiu visibly steels himself, shaking his hands lightly as if hyping himself up. Nie Huaisang watches and waits, and Jin Ling thinks maybe that’s a good thing; maybe his uncle needed someone who could be patient, and Nie Huaisang was nothing if not patient.
They make an attractive set; Jiang Cheng, all impressive height and harsh lines, and small Nie Huaisang with his conniving mind and incredible talent. He thinks about how happy he is that his jiujiu is finally getting something he wants; he thinks about how he’ll murder both of them if they run off and elope and he never gets to be at the wedding.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Jiang Cheng says, and reaches for Nie Huaisang.
Lan Sizhui instinctively covers Jingyi and Jin Ling’s eyes, and Ouyang Zizhen covers Sizhui’s.
Oh, gross, he did not want to see that.
A solid thirty seconds pass, the four of them completely frozen. Jin Ling tries really hard to block out the sounds - god, the sounds .
“Are they still going ?” he whines. He can’t see whether or not anyone shakes their head, and really doesn’t want to look anyway.
“Um,” Zizhen says “Should we?”
Jingyi sighs. “Run.”
They scramble out, cackling all the way.
(Later, when they’re collapsed on the cool grass beside the lake, Jin Ling finally lets everything catch up to him. He’s curled with his friends like bunnies in a pile, surrounded by the cool evening air of his hometown, content in the moment.
“That was fun,” Ouyang Zizhen sighs, curling his fingers in Lan Jingyi’s hair. “Can we do Wen Ning next?”
They dissolve into tired, hysterical laughter. Somewhere, the Ghost General sneezes and doesn’t know why.)