Chapter Text
Lan Huan is born with a purple smudge over his heart.
It's a part of him as much as any other; something he knows he has, but doesn't pay any attention to. He has ten fingers, ten toes, and a smudge on his chest – and for years that's as much as he thinks of it.
A month after his fifth birthday, a sharp pain lances through him – immediately followed by a shivering warmth, dispersing equally as quickly.
At five, he already knows about The Rules, and Propriety; he has to wait until the evening, when he's changing for bed, to sneak a glimpse.
The smudge on his chest is gone, and in its place-
In its place is a delicate purple lotus, the faintest suggestion of water beneath – petals opened toward an invisible sun.
He's too young to know what it means, but he knows what he thinks, fingers carefully brushing along the edge of one intricate petal-
It's beautiful.
–
Jiang Cheng is born with a cloud over his heart.
It's white, fluffy, with edges that wisp into nothing – the kind of cloud seen on any given sunny day in Yunmeng.
With a Mark so common, it could mean anything – and Jiang Cheng grows up not paying it any particular attention. It's not like A-Jie's Mark; Jiang Cheng hasn't seen it, of course, but she's told him about it, the spray of golden peonies beneath a silken awning that quite clearly symbolises her betrothed – Lanling Jin's Young Master, Jin Zixuan.
Compared to that, Jiang Cheng's cloud is relatively meaningless. It fades into the background of his skin, just another mark to gloss over every time he changes his robes-
And then one day, it's different.
Jiang Cheng is five, changing into fresh inner robes for bed, when a glint of gold catches his attention – and his Mark isn't just a cloud anymore. There's a golden ball perched on top, sunk just a fraction into the middle of the cloud, a shimmer to it that shouldn't be possible to achieve on skin.
When he bursts into A-Jie's room, half dressed and hair wild, she smiles, wide and happy.
"It means your soulmate has formed their golden core," she explains, settling him on a cushion and picking up a comb.
"Has yours?" Jiang Cheng asks, fingers pressed against the new shape of his Mark.
"Not yet," A-Jie says, drawing the comb gently through the tangles of his hair. "Young Master Jin is still a little young. Your soulmate must be older – ten or eleven, perhaps even twelve."
Jiang Cheng is five, and A-Jie eight; twelve is far too far away to contemplate. "Is that bad?" he asks, because even at five he's aware of his responsibilities. A-Niang has made sure he knows his duty, even with a Mark: as the heir of Yunmeng Jiang, Jiang Cheng will marry according to A-Niang and the Elders' will – an appropriate bride on an auspicious date, soulmate or not.
It seems strange to Jiang Cheng that his soulmate is so much older than him, and maybe that means they won't be his future wife.
A-Jie always knows what to say, though. "Not at all," she says, setting down the comb, and starts to braid his hair for sleep. "I'm older than Young Master Jin, after all."
She's not that much older than him, not as much older as Jiang Cheng's soulmate, but Jiang Cheng is tired, and counting is hard; he flops down in her lap as she ties off the braid.
"Will they like me?" he asks, wriggling into a ball, and A-Jie tugs him into a hug, cradling him in her arms.
"A-Cheng is very loveable," she says, and kisses him on the forehead. "Of course they'll like you,"
–
Jiang Cheng is eight when he acquires a shixiong. Wei Wuxian is loud, and annoying, and he eats too fast and talks too much and Jiang Cheng's only (best) friends were taken away the day he arrived, and he hates him-
And then Wei Wuxian runs away, and Jiang Cheng didn't mean it, he was just so upset – he misses his dogs, and A-Die had been carrying Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Cheng can't even remember the last time A-Die picked him up-
Jiang Cheng tries to follow, to fix his mistake, and A-Jie comes after them both, and it's a whole mess – but after that Wei Wuxian is his new shadow, inseparable.
Wei Wuxian has a Mark, too – Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse as they're swimming in the lake. It's very colourful, unlike Jiang Cheng's plain cloud and golden ball: a flower, buds furled tight, with pointed leaves beneath. The leaves are a deep green; the buds a little paler, white shading into a deep blue.
"What flower is that?" he asks, treading water.
Wei Wuxian blinks back at him, shrugging. "A lotus?" he says.
Jiang Cheng squints at the Mark; it could be a lotus, if those are petals, and not buds – it's just that he's never seen a lotus that's blue before.
"What's yours?" Wei Wuxian asks, paddling closer, and then A-Jie is calling them from the pier and – "Race you!" Wei Wuxian yells, splashing water at Jiang Cheng – all is forgotten in the ensuing sprint to the pier.
(Wei Wuxian wins. Wei Wuxian wins most of the time.)
Later, though, Jiang Cheng is changing for bed, and he glances down at his Mark, and-
Jiang Cheng's Mark has been the same for years; he's gotten out of the habit of checking it every day like he used to after the golden ball appeared, eager to see anything that might lead him to his soulmate.
Tonight, though, he glances down and it's different.
At first, he thinks there's only one addition – a sun, rising up from behind the cloud. It's bathing the top of the cloud and the golden ball in soft light – so much so that Jiang Cheng almost misses the faint lines beneath. It's more a shadow than anything else – barely there at all. But beneath the lower edge of the cloud, there's another circle: the faintest suggestion of a moon.
Jiang Cheng traces the new lines, committing them to memory, and hurries to pull on his inner robe as he hears Wei Wuxian approaching their room.
He has to share so much already – his room, his things, his A-Die-
This, he wants to keep for himself.
–
Lan Huan is sixteen when his Mark finally changes.
He knows, now, that the Marks appear when one's soulmate is born; knows that his soulmate, therefore, is five years younger than him. So it makes sense that it hasn't changed at all, in the years since; Lan Huan might be sixteen, but his soulmate is only eleven – a child, still.
It makes sense; but Lan Huan is still somehow disappointed, every night when he checks his Mark, to see it yet the same. His soulmate would have been born with the Mark that represents Lan Huan – and Lan Huan would expect it to have changed by now, at the very least when he formed his golden core. Lan Huan knows he needs to be patient – his soulmate is still a child; Lan Huan, even, is still a child, for all the Elders are talking about the possibility of bestowing upon him a title.
And yet every night when he checks his Mark, and sees it still the same, Lan Huan feels-
He doesn't know what this feeling is. He lives; studies, and trains, and learns; practises the guqin and the xiao; paints, and does calligraphy; lives by The Rules that govern the sect into which he was born, the sect he has been raised to lead. There is no place for excess emotion; no place for uncertain feelings.
And yet-
Lan Huan knows Lans love only once; that for a Lan, the soulmate bond is of vital importance. His soulmate is yet a child, but Lan Huan already wants to know them; wants to skip ahead into the future where they are both of age, where they can press their palms against each other's Marks and-
He shakes his head to dispel his thoughts, begins to disrobe. Such notions are pointless to dwell upon; his soulmate is eleven, and Lan Huan cannot travel through time.
He slides his inner robe from his shoulders, glances down to check his Mark-
And there, stark against his skin-
There, finally, it's changed.
Lan Huan feels something warm bloom in his chest as he gazes down at his skin, at the new addition – there, nestled in the centre of delicate purple lotus petals that reach upward towards an invisible sky, is a shimmering golden ball.
Lan Huan's soulmate is a cultivator; Lan Huan's soulmate is eleven years old, and today they formed their golden core.
Lan Huan had formed his golden core at age ten, but as the heir to the Lan Sect, he was expected to be exceptional. Ten was younger than most; eleven still considered early, and twelve much more common – and yet the occasion of Lan Huan forming his golden core had passed with little fanfare.
Wherever his soulmate is, Lan Huan hopes they are receiving more praise for their achievements.
He presses a hand to the lotus flower; strokes along the petals and touches a careful finger to the golden ball, the representation of his soulmate's years of effort.
"Congratulations," Lan Huan murmurs to the empty room. His soulmate can't hear him, of course, but Lan Huan will tell them, one day, when they finally meet: that Lan Huan has always been thinking of them; wanting to support them.
"I'm so proud of you."
–
Jiang Cheng is twelve and nothing he does is ever enough.
His father barely acknowledges him; speaks only in disappointed tones, quiet admonishments about the ways in which Jiang Cheng is not living up to his expectations.
His mother, at least, sees him; but she also sees Wei Wuxian, and how effortlessly he clears any obstacle set before him. Jiang Cheng tries, he does; he formed his golden core last year, earlier than most, but it still wasn't good enough because Wei Wuxian had formed his two years prior.
Never mind that Jiang Cheng is a full year younger; he clearly hadn't been trying hard enough.
Jiang Cheng loves his mother, knows she cares for him in turn – it's automatic, to smile when he sees her. And yet-
Sometimes he wishes that she would see all of him, not just the ways in which he doesn't match up to Wei Wuxian's shadow. Jiang Cheng works for every scrap of recognition; trains with his practice sword later than all his shidi, studies his scrolls until his eyes burn – meditates every night before bed, cycling his spiritual energy through his meridians and cultivating the strength in his golden core.
But no matter what he does, no matter how hard he works, none of it seems to matter: he is inadequate to the eyes of his parents, in the face of Wei Wuxian's brilliance.
Even his Mark is static; it hasn't changed for years, not since the addition of the sun and the moon (and what a contradiction, that his soulmate is associated somehow with both day and night – Jiang Cheng isn't sure what that might represent, but it must be more interesting than whatever his poor soulmate has on their chest). Wei Wuxian's Mark has changed at least twice since then; maybe Jiang Cheng's Mark is broken – deficient, just like the rest of him.
Wei Wuxian isn't to blame for any of this, of course; he can't help who he is, can't help that things come to him as effortlessly as breathing. He's – important to Jiang Cheng in ways Jiang Cheng doesn't like to think about, and can't fully articulate. And he takes his fair share of scoldings, eyes downcast and face pained whenever A-Die and A-Niang start arguing over them. But Jiang Cheng can't help feeling-
Before Wei Wuxian had come, his father had been the same: distant, uncaring – not paying much attention to Jiang Cheng, successes and failures both. But at least then-
At least then, Jiang Cheng hadn't known what was missing.
They have separate rooms, now, so Jiang Cheng is alone as he undresses for bed. It's probably for the best; Wei Wuxian would just badger him into talking about it, and that wouldn't help – there's nothing he can do, nothing anyone can do. A-Die just doesn't like him-
He pauses mid-motion, inner robe halfway down his arms, thoughts not so much stumbling to a halt as abruptly silenced-
His Mark has changed.
There's – Jiang Cheng shakes his hands impatiently free of his inner robe, pressing his pectoral flat to try and see the whole image a little clearer. (He's put on some muscle since the last time he was regularly checking his Mark, and normally he's very proud of that fact but right now it's just in the way-)
It takes him a moment to figure out what he's looking at, craning his neck to look at his own chest, image upside down. It's-
His next breath comes out shaky, because it's a dragon.
Curled up on the cloud, the coils of its long body surround the golden ball like it's a pearl the dragon's protecting. Its tail hangs off the back of the cloud, dangling in front of the shadow of the moon. The scales almost defy description – their texture something Jiang Cheng has only seen in the ice that forms on the edges of the lakes and rivers on the coldest mornings in the depths of winter – shimmering white fading into a glistening pale blue, but somehow at the same time a colour that defies any description, a millions shades in one.
The dragon's head is lifted, nose tipped up to the sun and eyes closed; mane and whiskers rippled from the force of an invisible breeze – and there around the top of its head, circling its branching antlers-
Jiang Cheng squints, blinks again and again, pulling his skin taut, but he's not imagining it – there's a white ribbon tied around the dragon's antlers, trailing ends vanishing into its mane. It's barely there at all, a thin line of solid colour amidst the shimmering ice – easy to miss from a casual glance, which is probably for the best, because if anyone catches a glimpse-
The representation of Jiang Cheng's soulmate, indelibly etched on his skin, is wearing a white forehead ribbon, and Jiang Cheng might only be twelve, but he pays attention in his lessons – hasn't heard of any other sect that wears a ribbon.
He knows where his soulmate is, now.
But-
Jiang Cheng traces the lines of the dragon, sunning relaxed and comfortable, and he can't quite believe-
His soulmate, a duality of sun and moon; as ethereal as a cloud and as powerful and graceful as a dragon – he can't possibly match such a person.
Jiang Cheng tries so hard, every day; and yet he's never good enough, always second best – disliked even by his own father.
How could such a person be meant for him?
–
Lan Huan is eighteen, and already shouldering many of his absent father's responsibilities.
Uncle has been Sect Leader in all but name for as long as Lan Huan has been alive; and as Lan Huan approaches adulthood, has begun hanging over smaller and less critical tasks to Lan Huan's oversight.
Managing the correspondence is one such task; and today, Lan Huan holds in his hand a letter from Sect Leader Jin. He writes to Sect Leader Lan, but everyone knows that means Uncle; he writes about his son – now fifteen, and apparently a shining jewel for the Jin; he writes to ask when Master Lan might once again hold Gusu Lan's well respected lectures at the Cloud Recesses.
This is not a letter that Lan Huan can answer himself, and he sets it aside in the pile for Uncle to review; but he can't help thinking about the lectures, and how young masters and junior disciples from many sects are invited to participate-
Can't help thinking about how his soulmate is only thirteen – too young, yet, to attend.
He doesn't know from what sect they hail; his Mark had appeared first as a single lotus, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that his soulmate is from among the Yunmeng Jiang – lotuses grow in many places, after all. It's just as likely that the lotus represents something else entirely, something other than a sect affiliation, or a location.
But Lan Huan can still hope-
His soulmate formed their golden core at eleven; an impressive feat for any child, but it marks his soulmate as exceptional. Surely, among whatever sect they belong to, they would be one of the disciples selected to attend the lectures.
When Uncle meets him later, Lan Huan hands over the letters. He serves tea, and they discuss them; and then he takes a breath, and makes a case for Uncle delaying the lectures two years.
(His soulmate will be fifteen, then – still among the youngest of the invitees, if – when – they come – but old enough to attend.)
He argues that the young masters from the elite sects are spread across several ages; that Uncle himself made many lifelong friends from the lectures he attended as a student; that Lan Huan himself very much appreciates the friendship he struck with Nie Mingjue, during his attendance several years prior; that Wangji, then, will be of a good age to attend.
Uncle thinks it over, stroking his beard, and then nods, once.
"I will write to Sect Leader Jin," he says, and Lan Huan thanks him for his consideration, breathing steadily through the rush of feeling that The Rules say he must not show.
Later, in the chill of the hanshi, Lan Huan prepares for bed: takes down his hairpiece, combs his hair, disrobes – checks his Mark.
It's become a habit, since the first time it changed; he knows his soulmate is young, still, but Lan Huan wants to know everything about this person he's fated for – can't wait to meet them, two years thrumming in his blood. (Lan Huan can be patient – for his soulmate, he will be patient.)
Some days Lan Huan looks straight away; other days he forces himself to fold his robes neatly before allowing himself to check.
Today, euphoric after convincing Uncle to delay the lectures, he can't wait – lets his robes crumple to the floor and looks down-
And today, of all days, like a gift from the heavens – today, his Mark has changed.
The lotus is still there, of course, floating on the water, golden ball cradled at the centre of its petals – but today, there's a snake, too, a purple so dark it's practically black. The snake is curled through the lotus petals; tail dangling down, and head lifted up toward the sky, but turned sideways – one dark slit pupiled eye staring back at Lan Huan like it can see-
And the sky is visible, now, too – the space above the lotus filled with a subtle darkening that probably represents night, pinpricks of light twinkling across it that must be stars.
Lan Huan breathes out, traces along the scales with the tip of his finger. A snake – unlucky to some, a harbinger of ill will; but seeing it as part of his Mark, as part of the representation of his soulmate-
Lan Huan can only think of The Tale of the White Snake, of how it cultivated for over a thousand years and into human form, and then fell in love; how the snake represents good fortune, and longevity, and happiness.
He's smiling too wide; against The Rules normally, but his ribbon is off and Lan Huan can be unrestrained, here in the hanshi, just him and the representation of his soulmate.
He traces the snake again, presses his palm across the mark like he'll one day do to his soulmate, when they confirm their bond, breathes-
Two years.
Lan Huan has been waiting his whole life; has learned how to be patient.
He can wait two more years.
–
Jiang Cheng is fifteen.
Lan Huan is twenty-
-and the disciples from every invited sect are making their way towards the Cloud Recesses.
–
The Cloud Recesses are beautiful.
It's so different to Lotus Pier, to Yunmeng; the air is thin and crisp and the sky a pale blue dotted with soft clouds, and it's green, even within the main grounds: thickets of bamboo screening carefully raked paths between buildings, and the mountains rising high around them thickly forested with pines.
Jiang Cheng is sure that as winter approaches, he'll bitterly regret how cold it will get; but for now, on this beautiful spring day, he's going to enjoy it.
He can't even muster up the will to stay angry with Wei Wuxian; stumbling in late at night with tales of how he'd tried to smuggle in alcohol, how he'd met and duelled one of the Twin Jades of Lan – Jiang Cheng had kicked him awake this morning when he was still snoring at half past five, and not felt even a little bit sorry.
They can't afford to be late today, though-
Today they will present themselves to Grandmaster Lan.
Jiang Cheng is carrying gifts from Yunmeng Jiang, on behalf of his father and the sect; has personally cast his eye over every one of his shidi, to make sure they're presentable.
Which is to say-
"Do something about your hair," he hisses, and at his shoulder as always, Wei Wuxian quickly combs his fingers through his hair. How he's managed to get it tangled in the minutes, at most, between the dormitories and the hall, Jiang Cheng has no idea – but Wei Wuxian is just as exceptional at making Jiang Cheng's life difficult as he is at everything else.
Grandmaster Lan only holds these lectures every few years, and out of all the young masters from prominent sects, Jiang Cheng is the youngest; he'd been worried for a time that Gusu Lan might hold the lecture before he was of an age to attend. It had all worked out, though, and now that he's here, now that he's in the Cloud Recesses, surrounded by Lan disciples everywhere he looks-
It's only partially nervousness at representing his sect that has butterflies churning in his stomach – because Jiang Cheng's soulmate is almost certainly a Lan, and now that he's here-
He doesn't need to look at it to remember; has memorised the current shape of his Mark. The sun, the moon, the dragon made of ice; indications that his soulmate is someone of great power and nobility, with hidden depths of character. He keeps sneaking glances as they walk, watching the Lan disciples as they pass; they're here for nearly a year, he'll have plenty of time to meet and talk with them, but he can't seem to stop.
Finally, they're at the hall and Jiang Cheng has to concentrate; waits for their turn to enter and approach the Grandmaster, to bow and present his father's gifts.
And then they enter, and the Grandmaster is not alone; attended by senior disciples, of course, but next to him on the dais is Zewu-Jun, first young master and heir of Gusu Lan. Grandmaster Lan looks stern, but Zewu-Jun is smiling gently in welcome as Jiang Cheng lifts Sandu to bow, greets the Grandmaster in a steady voice.
Even in Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng has heard of the Twin Jades; raised by Grandmaster Lan to be exemplary disciples of Gusu Lan, talented in the six arts and first and second on the list of eligible young masters. Zewu-Jun certainly looks the part; he's beautiful, pale blue robes perfectly arranged, an elegant curve to the shape of his nose – and his smile is so real, so genuine, lighting up his whole face.
Zewu-Jun is of age, now, an adult; he won't be one of the students at this series of lectures. But as Jiang Cheng presents his father's gifts to the Grandmaster, he can't help but hope-
It's far too early to know which of the Lan disciples might be his soulmate – he doesn't know any of them at all, yet, let alone well enough to be able to recognise in them the reflection of his Mark. It could be any of them, and yet-
Zewu-Jun is older than him; the strongest cultivator in his generation, well-regarded, talented, gentle, kind-
It's too early by far, but maybe Zewu-Jun might still interact with the guest disciples long enough for Jiang Cheng to get to know him, too-
To see if Zewu-Jun has the soul of a dragon.
–
Lan Huan can barely contain his excitement.
He's been patient; Uncle delayed the lectures as promised, and now, finally, spring has come again to the Cloud Recesses-
And with it, guest disciples from across the cultivation world.
He dresses with care, checks his hairpiece in the mirror three times to make sure it's sitting right, ties on his forehead ribbon exactly straight; The Rules say he's not supposed to be vain, but today Lan Huan might meet his soulmate. Surely on such a day, he can be forgiven.
(And since he'd woken early, butterflies churning in his stomach, it's not like he's taken so much time as to be late; if he walks briskly, he'll even be a touch early for breakfast.)
He hadn't even had to argue with Uncle to be allowed to sit in with him in the hall; his opening statement – that the guest disciples include the prominent young masters of both the elite and minor sects, that it would be important for Lan Huan to meet them and know them as they would doubtless be working together in the future – had been accepted without contention.
Soon enough Lan Huan is seated on a cushion next to Uncle as young master after young master enters with their disciples to bow and present gifts.
There aren't quite as many as Lan Huan had expected: the Wen, of course, had refused to send their second young master, just as they had their first young master, when Lan Huan had attended; but many of the minor sects affiliated with Qishan had also declined Uncle's invitation.
The other elite sects are here, though; Lanling Jin with their proud young master, Qinghe Nie with Mingjue's brother Nie Huaisang, and-
The Yunmeng Jiang delegation is announced, and the disciples enter, and-
"Jiang Cheng courtesy Wanyin, of Yunmeng Jiang sect," the young master at the head of the delegation says, and raises his sword to make a formal bow. There's another young master at his shoulder, more disciples behind in neat rows, all bowing too, but Lan Huan can't take his eyes off the one who'd spoken: Jiang Wanyin, of Yunmeng Jiang.
Jiang Wanyin rises from his bow, lowering his sword, but not before Lan Huan catches a glimpse of a purple-scaled scabbard, snakes worked in silver down its length and coiled to form the cross guard. And Jiang Wanyin himself has a sharp beauty to him; nose finely arched, cheekbones and jawline well defined.
He has a serious cast to his features, even as he presents Uncle with gifts from Yunmeng Jiang, and Lan Huan finds himself wondering what he looks like when he smiles.
Lan Huan had taken all of the lectures with the guest disciples in his series of lectures, including the one covering the lineage and history of the elite sects specifically and cultivation clans in general – and as the presentation concludes and the Yunmeng Jiang delegation bow again and turn to depart, Lan Huan remembers-
Jiang Wanyin is one of the youngest young masters attending this year-
Jiang Wanyin is fifteen.
Lan Huan breathes, watches the last disciple in the delegation turn the corner, out of sight. He can't-
He doesn't know enough, yet, to know whether Jiang Wanyin might be his soulmate; his scabbard is decorated with snakes, yes, and the Yunmeng Jiang sect has as its symbol a lotus flower, yes – but that doesn't mean-
Lan Huan needs to know more – needs to get to know him, before he makes any assumptions.
But also-
Jiang Wanyin is fifteen, and Lan Huan is twenty – Lan Huan is an adult, and Jiang Wanyin still a child.
Even if Jiang Wanyin is his soulmate, and carries his Mark – it wouldn't be proper, for them to – for Lan Huan to-
No, Jiang Wanyin would need to be of age; only once they are both adults would things be truly equal between them.
The thought sits heavy in his chest, but it's true all the same-
Even if Jiang Wanyin is his soulmate, Lan Huan will still need to wait.
–
Uncle keeps Lan Huan busy, over the next several weeks; and then he departs to Qinghe for the discussion conference, and Lan Huan receives a report of water ghouls drowning residents of Caiyi Town – and Jiang Wanyin is in front of him asking if he and his disciple can come.
Wangji is glaring at him (or more specifically, Wangji is glaring at both him and the other disciple – Wei Wuxian, Yunmeng Jiang head disciple of his generation) but even so, Lan Huan can't bring himself to say no.
Jiang Wanyin makes excellent points, even – Yunmeng Jiang, owing to its position on the river, do deal with a lot of water ghouls, and both the disciples are strong swimmers. They can only be an asset to the investigation.
And then the water ghouls turn out to be a waterborne abyss, and Su She and Wei Wuxian nearly drown, and Lan Huan is far too busy and far too concerned about the implications to think more about personal feelings. They retreat back to Caiyi, where Lan Huan instructs the town leaders to keep everyone out of the lake until the waterborne abyss can be purged, and tries not to let too much of his concern show.
He handles the correspondence for the sect, has for years, and he recalls reading reports from Qishan Wen some time ago regarding the existence of a waterborne abyss – but nothing subsequently about them actually purging it.
And it would be difficult, but not impossible, for them to have-
"Zewu-Jun," he hears, and blinks out of his fruitless meditation; Jiang Wanyin is at the door, holding a tray of dishes.
"Please excuse my interruption," he says, carefully making a shallow bow. "You missed dinner."
"Ah," Lan Huan says. How embarrassing, to have been struggling so much with his meditation he'd lost track of time, like an undisciplined child. "I can only apologise for my discourtesy."
Jiang Wanyin shrugs off the slight. "There is no need for apologies," he says, and comes into the room to set down the tray on the low table. "Hanguang-Jun is watching over Wei Wuxian and your other disciple," he adds, "so I hope this is acceptable."
Lan Huan glances over the dishes on the tray, and feels something in his chest grow warm; Jiang Wanyin has made a selection of dishes with care for the preferences of Gusu Lan, plainer food with minimal spice.
"Thank you," Lan Huan says, but doesn't yet pick up his chopsticks; if he starts eating, he won't be able to speak. "It looks perfect."
Jiang Wanyin smiles a little, pleased, and Lan Huan-
"You did well, today, with the water ghouls," Lan Huan says, because as he'd expected, the two disciples from Yunmeng Jiang had indeed been an asset to the investigation. The waterborne abyss had been too powerful for all of them together to contain, but the water ghouls they'd encountered first had posed no challenge.
Jiang Wanyin's eyes widen, just for a moment, and then his smile tilts; not like he's displeased with the praise, but like – something else, something Lan Huan can't identify.
"Zewu-Jun is too kind," he says, and goes to make a bow.
"There's no need," Lan Huan says quickly; he's older, yes, but they are both heirs to elite sects, and he doesn't want Jiang Wanyin to afford him more deference than required by propriety. One day they will both be sect leaders, after all – equals in status and position.
Jiang Wanyin straightens, looking puzzled, and Lan Huan takes a breath, oddly nervous.
"It's not kindness to say something that is true," he starts, continues before Jiang Wanyin can interject: "and after all, are we not both heirs to our sects? Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan share borders; we are allies, now – and still, I hope, in the future when we are both sect leaders and equals."
He smiles, tries to make it encouraging. "Between us, perhaps, we could be more at ease."
Jiang Wanyin's brow furrows. "What are you suggesting?" he says, almost like he's waiting for a snare to close around him.
"Merely less formality," Lan Huan says. "You could call me Lan Xichen, and perhaps now and then we could take tea together. You're in Gusu for the year, after all – surely we could take some time to get to know one another?"
He's not sure he's phrasing it well, but Jiang Wanyin doesn't reject it outright, eyes going distant as he thinks it over. Finally, they sharpen – although the frown remains.
"Then you may call me Jiang Wanyin," he says, and Lan Huan feels almost dizzy with relief.
"Thank you, Jiang Wanyin," he says, and Jiang Wanyin nods stiffly.
"You should eat before it gets cold, Lan Xichen," he says. "I'll leave you to your meal."
"I appreciate your kindness," Lan Huan says, and Jiang Wanyin almost bows, catches himself at the last second, looks embarrassed; mutters I'll take my leave and sidles out the door.
Lan Huan breathes out, waits until his stomach stops churning before he lifts his chopsticks to start his meal.
He can barely taste the food, and his cheeks hurt from smiling too wide.
Jiang Wanyin said yes.
–
Jiang Wanyin doesn't see much of Zewu-Jun – of Lan Xichen – for weeks. After their return to the Cloud Recesses, and subsequent report to Grandmaster Lan upon his return from Qinghe of the presence of a waterborne abyss in Biling Lake, classes get shorter as the Grandmaster devotes more and more of his energies to containing the creature. And with the Grandmaster more occupied doing that, Lan Xichen takes on a steadily increasing amount of the sect responsibilities he will one day officially inherit.
Wei Wuxian, of course, makes more and more trouble with the increasing free time the guest disciples find themselves receiving, and then that arrogant peacock Jin Zixuan insults A-Jie, and then insults Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian punches him-
And then A-Die arrives to collect him, and Wei Wuxian is sent home-
And Jiang Cheng is alone.
Oh, his shidi are all still here – but it's not the same, not with them. Wei Wuxian holds a unique position in his life; raised with the family, lead disciple and shixiong – and yet subordinate for all that, to Jiang Cheng's position as sect heir.
One day, Jiang Cheng will inherit the sect, and Wei Wuxian will stand at his right hand.
And Wei Wuxian is annoying and frustrating and drives Jiang Cheng to shouting on a daily basis – but he's also the closest thing Jiang Cheng has to a brother and confidante, and without him Jiang Cheng can already feel himself withdrawing.
(And it doesn't help that A-Die had had barely a few words for him, when he came to collect Wei Wuxian; that Jiang Cheng knows without a doubt that if he had been the one that had punched Jin Zixuan, A-Die wouldn't have come at all.)
So he's wandering the grounds, alone, aimlessly thinking about nothing in particular, when he rounds a screen of bamboo-
And there, moving gracefully back and forth across the clearing, is Lan Xichen.
A draped outermost robe, discarded, hangs off a smaller stalk of bamboo; Lan Xichen lunges forward with an elegant swing of his sword, cuts out and spins to thrust back the other way, wide sleeves of his outer robe flaring as he pulls back into a guard – every motion perfect, precise.
He holds the position for a moment, two, and then relaxes, turning to Jiang Cheng.
(Lan Xichen is the strongest cultivator in their generation; Jiang Cheng is not surprised at all that he sensed his approach.)
"Jiang Wanyin," Lan Xichen says, sheathing his sword. "Did classes finish already?"
Jiang Cheng nods. "Grandmaster dismissed us early again," he says, and Lan Xichen's smile dims.
"Uncle works too hard," he says quietly, sighing.
There's silence for a moment, Jiang Cheng casting around for another topic of conversation – he can speak well on matters of courtesy, of sect business and treaty negotiations, but in a more casual setting (and without Wei Wuxian) he flounders – before Lan Xichen brightens up.
"Jiang Wanyin," he says, "would you like to spar?"
And that, Jiang Cheng can do; he can mostly hold his own against Wei Wuxian, now, even if the latter still eventually wins a significant majority of the time. He doesn't expect to do so well against Lan Xichen, of course; even with several additional years of training under his belt, Lan Xichen is the stronger cultivator. But sparring means less talking, a situation in which Jiang Cheng will definitely feel more at ease.
He joins Lan Xichen in the centre of the clearing, draws Sandu, and makes a guard; sidesteps a lunge from Lan Xichen and slashes back toward him.
"Your sword is beautiful," Lan Xichen says, spinning out of the way in a whirl of silk. He dodges Jiang Cheng's follow up strike, too, movements flowing like the mist that rolls down across the back hills, and just as hard to grasp. "What is it called?"
Jiang Cheng sucks in a quick breath, changing direction on the tips of his toes, and finally forces Lan Xichen into a block. "Sandu," he says across their clashing blades. Lan Xichen's sword is beautiful too; white and silver with a pale blue sword glare. "And you?"
"Shuoyue," Lan Xichen says, and disengages with an elegant flick of his wrist, Shuoyue flashing around in an arc, and it's Jiang Cheng's turn to dodge. It's a fitting name; white tassel shading into black like the moon each month, blade moving like quicksilver.
And Jiang Cheng-
Thinks Xichen, like the sun rising on his Mark; Shuoyue, like the shadow of the moon beneath-
-stumbles, and Lan Xichen turns Shuoyue just in time to pull his strike into just a light tap on the side with the flat of the blade.
"Jiang Wanyin? Are you well?"
"Yes, sorry," Jiang Cheng says, but his head is spinning – could his soulmate truly be Lan Xichen, the renowned First Jade of Lan, Zewu-Jun himself?
He steadies his feet, straightens up – Lan Xichen's gaze filled with nothing but concern, and-
It can't be true. And even if – Lan Xichen hasn't said anything, Lan Xichen hasn't – maybe they don't even match, maybe Jiang Cheng has a matchless Mark, maybe-
"Actually, I don't feel well," Jiang Cheng says, sheathing Sandu. "Please accept my apology for disturbing you."
Lan Xichen sheathes Shuoyue, starts to step forward. "Would you allow me-"
"I won't interrupt you further," Jiang Cheng says. "I can find my way back. I'll leave first."
He turns on his heel, manages to walk out of the clearing – and then he's back in his room at the dormitories (his own room, now that Wei Wuxian has gone) with no clear memory of how he got there, fingers clenched tight around Sandu's sheath.
It makes sense, seems more and more likely that his Mark represents Zewu-Jun; and really, who else among the Lan is that well regarded, elegant and graceful – a true gentleman and master of the six arts. Of course such a man has the soul of a dragon; of course it's him-
Jiang Cheng's knees feel weak, and he sits carefully on the bed before he collapses.
Lan Xichen hasn't given any indication that he considers Jiang Cheng someone special; hasn't given any indication that he thinks Jiang Cheng might be his soulmate. And Jiang Cheng doesn't know what would be worse – if Lan Xichen doesn't carry his Mark, if Lan Xichen has a different soulmate entirely – or if he did, and just didn't care.
It's not like Jiang Cheng is such a prize, after all; not the best at anything, consistently failing to meet expectations – not even his own father prefers him.
No, Lan Xichen is just being kind; trying to let Jiang Cheng down easy, temper his expectations before he can get his hopes up.
Jiang Cheng flops backwards onto the bed; the ceiling is swimming, and he closes his traitorous eyes before tears can spill out of them.
It doesn't matter; soulmates are a child's fancy, anyway. His parents are only one such example; they've never spoken of it directly, but he's heard the rumours, how both of them carry another's Mark – and look at A-Jie, whose soulmate doesn't want her.
No, Lan Xichen must have someone else for his soulmate, and Jiang Cheng will just-
He takes an unsteady breath, ignores the tears squeezing hot out of the corners of his eyes.
Lan Xichen has someone else's Mark, and Jiang Cheng will just have to get used to being alone.
–
All too soon the year is over, and Lan Huan is at the gate to farewell the departing guest disciples. Almost all of them passed; even Nie Huaisang, ever fearful of his brother's wrath, had managed to achieve an exam result of the appropriate and acceptable standard.
Jiang Wanyin had been among the highest achievers, and Lan Huan can't help but be proud of his accomplishments. He's no closer to confirming whether or not the young man is his soulmate; the Mark seems to fit so far, but Jiang Wanyin had only been able to find time to take tea with him on a handful of occasions, and they'd spoken mostly about the classes, about Lan Huan's work and the responsibilities of leading a sect. Nothing more personal, nothing that gave Lan Huan any indication that Jiang Wanyin might think-
It all seems to fit, but perhaps Jiang Wanyin has a more esoteric Mark; perhaps to him, it's less obvious.
Perhaps Lan Huan is entirely wrong about everything, but even in their short time together, he'd grown fond of the other young master; he still has hope.
In any case, Jiang Wanyin – now sixteen – is still considered a child; Lan Huan still has to wait.
At their last meeting, Lan Huan had, at least, gotten Jiang Wanyin to agree to write to him, if he had anything he might want advice with; assured him that he wouldn't find it an imposition, that he would welcome his correspondence.
He doesn't want to appear like he's pressuring him, but he hopes Jiang Wanyin will write.
A flash of purple and blue in his peripheral vision indicates the approach of the Yunmeng Jiang delegation, and he turns smoothly with a welcoming smile.
Here, in public, they retain their formalities: "Young Master Jiang," Lan Huan greets, and Jiang Wanyin bows.
"Zewu-Jun," he says. "On behalf of Yunmeng Jiang and Sect Leader Jiang, thank you for hosting these humble disciples." He bows again, all of his disciples bowing behind him like a wave against the shore.
"Gusu Lan was honoured to host the Yunmeng Jiang," Lan Huan says, and makes a shallow bow of his own. "We wish you safe travels on your journey home."
"Yunmeng Jiang thanks you," Jiang Wanyin says, and Lan Huan nods, and then Jiang Wanyin is walking past, through the gate, and Lan Huan feels-
It's silly, to feel loss at something he hasn't really had, and doesn't know for sure. But he feels it all the same; Jiang Wanyin has been living here for the best part of a year, and even though they hadn't been able to spend much time together in the end, Lan Huan has felt at ease knowing that he was here, under the same patch of sky.
Lan Huan takes a breath, watches him until he turns the corner in the path and vanishes out of sight. It's not forever; as Jiang Wanyin approaches adulthood, he's likely to start attending discussion conferences with his father, like Lan Huan already does most of the time, with Uncle.
And in the meantime, Jiang Wanyin has said he'll write, and Lan Huan will write back, and he'll have their correspondence to tide him over until then.
Lan Huan takes a breath, and turns to meet the next departing delegation, fixing his smile in place.
It is what it is for now, but it won't be forever.
He'll see Jiang Wanyin again.
–
Months later as he flees the Cloud Recesses, clinging to the back of a bolting horse as it twists and turns through the pine forest, throwing concealment charm after concealment charm behind him to try and lose the Wen he can hear are in pursuit, Lan Huan has reason to regret his confidence.
He's worried, desperately, for Uncle, for Wangji, for his sect; Wen Xu is ordering the disciples to burn their own homes, their own buildings – the Library Pavilion, the seat of learning and knowledge, the centre of their sect-
Some disciples, he knows, have already died. And what if Wangji-
It's the sort of worry that might normally be all consuming, but Lan Huan can't help but think-
Yunmeng is so much closer to Qishan than Gusu.
And if Qishan Wen is moving, if they've come all the way across Gusu to attack and burn the Cloud Recesses, to make of Gusu Lan a message of their might and power, of their claimed superiority-
It's stupid, selfish, but Lan Huan can't help but be worried for Jiang Wanyin, that perhaps at this very moment he's in as much danger as Lan Huan himself.
If the Wen pursuing him catch up, there's a real possibility that Lan Huan will die, today-
And he'll die never knowing whether Jiang Wanyin is his soulmate.
An arrow flies past his head and lodges in a tree as he gallops past, and he wrenches his thoughts into the here and now. If he ever wants to see Jiang Wanyin again, Lan Huan needs to move.
He clings to his mount with his thighs, pulls Liebing from his sleeve; draws on his spiritual energy and starts to play.
It's soft, at first, barely audible over the thundering of hooves and snapping of branches; and then he pours in his spiritual energy, and the Wen start shouting-
He'd learned the charm from Mingjue; a silly boast at the time, about who would win in an arm wrestle, and Mingjue had been drunk at the time. They'd matched against each other sober, though, and after he'd won Lan Huan had offered a retraction – but Mingjue had insisted, and Lan Huan had both learned the charm and then set it himself to music, later.
The charm is for disorientation, and concealment, and Lan Huan throws every spare ounce of spiritual energy he has into the music-
Mist rises from the ground as his horse thunders past – only wisps at first, but thickening fast. The Wen are still shouting, but Lan Huan clings to his horse, and plays, and gradually the shouts recede-
And then he can't hear them at all, nothing besides the pounding of his own heart and the noise of his steed.
He plays for another minute, just in case, and then spins Liebing away, taking up the reins once more.
He still has to move fast; has to put as much distance as possible between him and the Wen. He can't go for Caiyi; the Wen would have had to pass through there on their way to the Cloud Recesses. He angles his horse north east instead; he'll bypass Caiyi and head for one of the smaller towns, where he might be able to change his robes and conceal himself a little more thoroughly before he continues on.
Uncle had said he must survive; thrust the qiankun pouches into his hands and told him-
Lan Huan doesn't know for how long he needs to hide; weeks, at least, possibly months.
For his sect, for Wangji and Uncle – and, selfishly, for Jiang Wanyin-
Lan Huan must survive.
–
In the end, Jiang Cheng doesn't write Lan Xichen any letters. He'd been thinking about it, even ground ink and started a letter, once or twice – but every time thrown them, unfinished, into the fire.
He has many concerns – about the Wen, about them forbidding the sects to night hunt, about this "indoctrination" they've been summoned to – but putting brush to paper and writing them down seems somehow dangerous; that in doing so, somehow Qishan Wen will know.
He sets out for Qishan, Wei Wuxian at his shoulder and two rows of his shidi behind, with faint regret turning in his stomach. It's too late now, though – and sure enough they arrive in Qishan and have to give up their swords, are quartered in rooms more like prisons than dormitories.
There is no paper or ink for writing with, and no-one to carry the message besides.
Qishan Wen claim this is their response to the Gusu Lan lectures, a way to pass on their great knowledge and history; Jiang Cheng knows this is just a display of their superiority, and a way to keep the other elite sects in line, with their direct heirs and oldest of their young disciples hostages on their territory.
And then Hanguang-Jun shows up injured, with only a handful of Gusu Lan cultivators behind him, blood and ash smeared on all of their robes – and no sign at all of Lan Xichen.
Jiang Cheng can't speak directly to Hanguang-Jun, not with Wen Chao and his shadow, his guards, right there staring at him; it's not until days later, when they're being herded toward Dusk Creek Mountain, that he has an opportunity.
Hanguang-Jun is injured, moving slowly; Jiang Cheng slows down himself, eyes the nearby guard as he rides past, and then leans in.
"Your sect – the Grandmaster, Zewu-Jun – how do they fare?" he keeps his voice at a quiet murmur, but Hanguang-Jun hears him all the same.
"Uncle is well," he says, and cuts his gaze down to the ground. "Brother escaped. I do not know where."
Jiang Cheng swallows, tries not to think too hard about Lan Xichen, fleeing and alone, a refugee on the run from the Wen.
He opens his mouth to speak, to ask after Hanguang-Jun's injuries, and barely ducks in time as the lash of a whip swings through where his head had been.
"No talking!" the guard snaps, coiling his whip, and Jiang Cheng swallows down the flash of anger, exchanging a frustrated glance with Hanguang-Jun before hastening his steps to put some distance between them. He could dodge the whip all day, but Hanguang-Jun is injured. Better to separate, for him to draw their ire if necessary.
He's glad to hear Lan Xichen escaped the attack; but that puts him on the run, desperate and alone. And he's hardened his heart, about the soulmate who isn't his match; but can't help thinking-
Their arrival at the mountain interrupts his thoughts, and then they're in the cave, and the Xuanwu is there after all, and then they're trapped; and then Jiang Cheng is diving into the water without leaving a ripple, using every ounce of his skill to move cleanly through the water with minimal disruption, because if that thing realises he's here-
There's a passage, just as Hanguang-Jun thought there would be, and Jiang Cheng resurfaces; Wei Wuxian has a plan, and it might just work to get them all out of this death trap alive.
It all goes horribly wrong, of course, and Jiang Cheng has to abandon Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-Jun in the cave with the Xuanwu; takes his shidi and heads straight for Lotus Pier, using every scrap of his spiritual energy to practice inedia and keep his exhausted body moving. It's days to get there, and even more days to get back; Jiang Cheng waits only long enough to see his shidi safely in and collect a new cohort of disciples and supplies before setting back out again.
He's – it's – Wei Wuxian is annoying, and troublesome, but he's his; Jiang Cheng was so young when Wei Wuxian arrived that he barely remembers what his life used to be without him. And Hanguang-Jun is his soulmate's brother – his soulmate might not want him, but he won't let his soulmate's brother be killed, not when Jiang Cheng might be able to do something to prevent it.
The relief he feels when they break through the blocked up cave entrance and see the corpse of the Xuanwu, Hanguang-Jun and Wei Wuxian laid out by a weak fire – it's almost overwhelming. They survived, and Wei Wuxian might have a fever, and Hanguang-Jun further injured, but they're alive.
Jiang Cheng didn't fail them. They're alive.
–
Lan Huan is out the back of Meng Yao's small house, elbows deep in a bucket of water making another attempt at laundry, when it happens.
There's a stinging pain, suddenly, through his chest; it feels like someone's stabbed him, like if he looks down there should be cold steel sticking out of him.
He grabs for his robes even as he glances around for witnesses, hauling the layers apart-
His Mark has changed – is changing right before his eyes.
There's lightning shot through the night sky, jagged slashes that cut through the stars and strike the water, but much more alarming is the golden ball – the representation of his soulmate's golden core-
It's no longer golden. Nestled in the centre of the lotus petals, the ball is changing colour – already orange, now a red, darker and darker, and it hurts, pain cutting through him every time he breathes-
And then the ball shatters, right in front of him – bursts into sparkles of light that rain into the water, sink past the tail of the snake, and fade into nothing.
Gradually, the pain diminishes; finally it, too, fades.
Lan Huan doesn't know how long he stays, kneeling in the dust, staring at his Mark – long enough for the light to start to fade and shadows stretch across the dirt.
Jiang Wanyin – his golden core-
Lan Huan has heard of Wen Zhuliu, the Core-Melting Hand; Uncle had been concerned about his adoption into Qishan Wen – had been relieved, as he piled qiankun pouches into Lan Huan's hands, that he was not part of Wen Xu's attacking force at the Cloud Recesses.
But if the Wen attacked the Cloud Recesses, it stands to reason they would attack the other elite sects at will; they could well have struck against Lotus Pier, and Wen Zhuliu could well have been within their number.
And Jiang Wanyin-
Lan Huan resettles his robes with shaking hands, smooths out invisible folds. He still doesn't know for sure whether Jiang Wanyin is his soulmate – but if he is-
He swallows, clutching at the edges of the bucket, unseeing.
Jiang Wanyin is sharp, and intelligent – a strong cultivator in his own right, with a promising future. He doesn't deserve this – no-one does, of course, but Lan Huan hopes-
For the first time since he met Jiang Wanyin, for the first time since he suspected he might be his soulmate-
Lan Huan hopes he's wrong.
