Chapter Text
Jiang Fengmian wondered which would’ve been worse, a burning or a massacre.
Not that it mattered. Not that it’ll ever matter.
Left and right, his disciples were dead or dying; the few who remained upright already had one foot on the Naihe bridge or were a few horrifying few steps away. Left and right, a sword flashed and a body fell; he didn’t need to see to know it was probably one clad in Yunmeng purple. Left and right, he was surrounded by a maelstrom of blood, destruction and despair.
Cloud Recesses was burned. Lotus Pier is being massacred. That’s the hand they were dealt with.
Lotus Pier was dying and Fengmian was at the heart of it all, the brittle bones forced to watch as its corpse was bled dry and left to be feasted by the rot and maggots that followed.
(.............why was he so surprised?)
(Hasn’t Lotus Pier already been dying for years now under his leadership?)
When Fengmian lived, Yunmeng was a place of prosperity, a place of freedom and benevolence.
When Fengmian died, it was a place of jealous, prideful cowards too haughty to accept defeat.
Pride- god, Fengmian hated it. Hated it with a viciousness that shocked himself. Hated how easily honor can be twisted into a concept that’s become the downfall of so many.
And indeed, it was pride that caused the ruin of Lotus Pier.
The pride of the Violet Spider.
The pride of his ‘wife’, his supposed equal.
Now, Fengmian was well aware of his flaws. He was too passive, prioritising a peaceful status quo over confrontational change; he was isolationist, veering away from being entangled in the conflict of others. He never broke but it's a hollow victory when it's clear how much he's bent and contorted and stayed that way.
But he wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t resentful. He never clung to grudges, never chose actions or words out of spite. He had none of the flaws Yu Ziyuan had.
But oh, as he died in the invaded remnants of his own home, outnumbered, wounded, belittled and insulted; as he died beside the woman he was bound to by marriage his whole life, the one who oh so courageously fought to the bitter end, he felt something even sharper than the sword that killed him surge.
It was as though every drop of blood in his body was replaced with magma, the teeth in his gums now bitter pills, his very bones morphing into blades begging to be unleashed within the confined sheath that was his very being.
Now, Fengmian was a man of conscience. He knew how wretched it must be for a dead husband to resent his wife as they died side by side.
But Fengmian knew better.
Ziyuan, for all that she raged about being unloved by those around her, never loved him.
She never loved anyone, much less respected them. Any decency that could be spared from the marrow of her bones was towards one entity- power.
And without that entity, she had nothing. It was the threat towards that- the threat of the Wens towards her power finally registering, that pushed her to kill herself.
It wasn’t that she’d rather die than live without her husband or family.
She’d rather die than live without power, without pride, without authority.
He remembers asking her during a brief respite through the battle what had brought about this violent outcome. After all, although Cloud Recesses’s library was burned and their sect leader killed, none of its disciples were subjugated to the bloody end that his were.
He had to simultaneously maintain situational awareness of his surroundings and navigate around senseless words spat with spite and even more senseless blame vitriolically spat towards A-Ying. Ultimately, he understood what had happened.
The Violet Spider’s ego had been insulted.
She said that the Wens thought them too weak, a non-threat, a mere sidestep to take in the path of glory, and that had angered her.
.
.
.
.
.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
That’s what it’s always been about anyways, wasn’t it? The poor mistress of Lotus Pier’s insulted ego.
If Fengmian hadn’t been preoccupied with the Wens, his last thread of patience would’ve snapped and he would’ve slapped the idiotic woman who stood beside him in his home, the home she had led towards its demise.
God damn it all!
God damn him for enabling all this!
God damn his pathetic spineless self.
If Cangse was waiting for him at the Naihe bridge to personally send him to Diyu as retribution, he wouldn’t resist at all. Hell, he'd give her his sword on a silver platter to get the bare minimum done and then some.
Yu Ziyuan thought herself great as the wife of a sect leader. As the woman with the highest position in one of the Great Sects, no less, she was untouchable. She believed her status gave her the right to nothing less than reverence and fear among the masses. Someone who was, primarily, above everyone else.
Insulting her sect was insulting her power (never mind the sheer hypocrisy behind such a principle, considering her title remained as Yu-furen). And since power was the only entity she had ever given any importance to, she had been outraged to say the least.
So, she had decided that sacrificing children half her age (some only a quarter of her age) was justified to soothe any hurt her ego had endured.
That it was justified to send them into battle just to spite the Wens and show them how Yunmeng Jiang can also be a so-called threat.
What good is a threat that dies?!
Fengmian had been rightfully justifiably angry. But he never had the right to feel hurt did he? Considering how he was always so very inconsiderate towards his own wife’s ‘offended feelings’.
Still, at the time, he was also rational enough to know a battlefield was the last place of uncontrolled emotions. So, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on the action.
He then made two of the biggest mistakes of his life.
The first was the overestimation of his own abilities.
(How hypocritical of him. He scorned his wife for her pride but even he wasn’t immune to it, was he?)
(But wasn’t he also only human?)
The second was his misplaced trust in the fighting skills of his wife.
She was the vicious Violet Spider was she not? She was undefeated, unstoppable, skills honed through all the night hunts she frequented over the duties of a mistress having to run the household of a great sect.
Then how did Wen Zhuliu kill her so easily? Break her sword arm and melt her powerful golden core in an instant? What was it that truly caused her demise in the end? The Wens or her arrogance?
(It was both.)
But was he not also gifted? Strong? Did he not work hard to hone his skill as the standards of a sect leader demanded them to be? Was he not hardened and strengthened by what life had taught him?
Clearly, he wasn’t.
He was never enough, why would now be any different?
Hell, even his own death wasn’t enough to satiate the Wen’s bloodlust. As his adult body fell, so too did smaller ones that shouldn’t have.
He had taken a sword meant for Ziyuan, actually. Had shielded her from it while she was busy being frightened and overwhelmed by opponents who well and truly didn’t give a damn about her rank and status. The strong Violet Spider now reduced to a mere insect.
He had still naively thought that it would be enough to finally make her accept reality, to finally surrender and spare the lives she could, pride be damned!
It still. Wasn’t. Enough.
Nothing was enough, naturally.
He died.
And somehow, his spirit lingered.
He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse. Regardless, he managed to hide his presence and finally did what he should’ve done years ago- he left his wife, he went far far away from her presence and could finally just be.
And in that moment, the outrage, the grief, the regret, the disappointment, all of it as high and fresh as the mountain of his disciples’ corpses which the Wens desecrated, all of it coalesced into a deafening beast of a crescendo that threatened to rip him to shreds.
So, he howled. He screamed. He cursed. He sobbed. He raged and raged, a chaotic storming sea that was nothing like the serene lotus lakes his clan embodied.
Pathetic.
He was so fucking pathetic.
But even a pathetic man had a conscience, a drive.
Fengmian was used to letting go of things. He could let go of his closest friend and first love, he could let go of his pride, his self-pitying, his grudges and spite.
It was even harder to do so this time but he managed. Composing himself, he returned to observe the ones that remained.
He observed his children.
............could he consider A-Ying to be a child of his?
Who was he kidding, of course he couldn’t! He never formally adopted the boy, well aware of his wife’s ire.
He never cared for the boy as he should.
He claimed he was providing for him out of the friendship he shared with his father, yet, not once did he ever tell him about his parents. The only time A-Ying was ever spared any context about his parents was in the form of rumors and disparaging comments.
He never-
He never did anything to stop the abuse, for fear that any act of defiance on his part would only push Ziyuan to do worse, to cross an irreversible line-
Does that make him a coward? What else would you call someone who did nothing out of fear?
He failed the boy.
At the very least, his loyalty with Changze had been built on the grounds of friendship.
But A-Ying’s? His was built on debt.
A debt that Ziyuan fed until it became a heavy glutton that sat on top of A-Ying’s shoulders every day.
Fengmian could tell that the love A-Ying had for A-Li and A-Cheng was sincere. For all his teasing disposition, the boy was nothing but utterly sincere in his love for others. But it wasn’t mutual.
And as the war raged on; as the war ended and they were left to pick up the pieces, Fengmian reflected.
During said reflection, he was metaphorically slapped many times by the hands of many harsh revelations that were no less true.
A-Cheng viewed A-Ying the same way he once viewed his beloved puppies. Beasts to remain by his side, for him to care for out of obligation and perhaps to be loved and pampered, should he choose to, depending on his mood.
To him, A-Ying was someone he owned.
The love he spared to A-Ying was conditional.
The love he had for A-Ying was toxic.
He saw it in the way A-Cheng strangled him. No amount of grief would’ve excused the fact that he almost killed the boy whom he should’ve loved like a brother- the boy who did love him as a brother even as he was being strangled to death by his hands.
He saw it in the way A-Cheng all too easily accepted his mother’s words as law- that A-Ying was solely to blame for the loss of his home and family, never mind that he had personally witnessed his mother’s lackluster diplomatic skills as she prioritized her pride over pragmatism; never mind that the Wens would’ve inevitably targeted them anyway.
And oh, how that last part stung. For Fengmian was just as culpable for the destruction of his home. He should’ve taken more proactive precautions. He should’ve strengthened the wards, arrange for guard patrols, prepared evacuation plans.
But he hadn’t.
He too had naively thought as a great sect, he would be granted immunity despite Qinghe Nie and Gusu Lan testifying otherwise. And even then, he assumed the old wards would stand against the onslaught.
Stupid. How could he not consider the most obvious approach the Wens would’ve used- the human factor. How could he not have considered that they would simply waltz in and count on his wife’s temper to blow things up?
Fengmian’s incompetence was just as guilty as Ziyuan’s arrogance.
Still, he forced himself to watch. Any pain or regret he derived from this was well-deserved and much-needed.
A-Ying sacrificed his golden core. He did it with no hesitation for his brother, out of love, out of loyalty, out of debt; despite the lashes on his back and the bruises encircling his throat.
The brutality of his screams were like nails through his skull. Though Fengmian was a spirit that did not need sustenance, he sobbed until he felt like hurling his intestines.
(‘I’m sorry’, he choked out towards Cangse and Changze. ‘I’m sorry,’ he chanted over and over.)
(He heard no response.)
(The silence was no less damning.)
But there was hope, right? After all, he saw how A-Cheng had distracted those Wen soldiers to save A-Ying, so there had to be hope, right?
Fengmian had desperately hoped that without his mother’s influence, without her venomous being constantly undermining them, that his children would grow, that A-Cheng would learn to grow through the mire and blossom like a lotus.
He had hoped that without Ziyuan around to pit the two boys against each other, without her ire to dictate their relationship, that A-Cheng would learn to restrain his jealousy and work in tandem with the genius child of his former friend.
He didn’t.
He became worse.
He became no better than his mother.
He became the embodiment of everything their clan wasn’t.
And A-Li, oh his precious daughter, A-Li.
He had failed her too, hadn’t he?
He had viewed her to be like a flower. Pure and innocent as a lotus, but at her core, even more fragile than cracked porcelain. He had sheltered her, smothered her, unwittingly agreed and worse, believed Ziyuan’s disappointment in her mediocracy because of her weak cultivation. Viewed her as hopeless for anything more than what they've set for.
Fengmian should’ve done more, he should’ve done better. He’s not blaming A-Li for wanting to be a caretaker. No, in that regard, she succeeded where her parents failed (much to his shame). He doesn’t look down on her peaceful mild nature because really, that nature's existence in itself is a miracle considering the dysfunctionality of their family.
A-Li lacked arrogance but also lacked ambition.
Fengmian should’ve capitalized on that better.
He’s not saying he wanted to mold his daughter to be a fighter. He’s not saying he wanted to push her to grasp more power. No, he should’ve encouraged her to be firmer with others, to believe that she can do more to protect and soothe the hurts of others with actions other than cooking.
He should’ve pushed for her to not just be sentimental but also practical.
It was heartwarming to see her desire to be helpful. But sadly, helpful was not useful. Though Fengmian wanted to smack Zixuan for treating her so harshly, he was forced to admit that Yanli delivering him soup could have easily backfired on her.
After all, they were at war. Provisions had to be rationed and poisoning was a possibility. Someone could’ve easily stepped in during the whole soup confrontation and accuse A-Li of either stealing/wasting supplies or stirring discourse.
Still, he felt proud of A-Li when she stood up to defend Wei Wuxian against Jin Zixun. He thought maybe, just maybe, the losses brought upon by the war was the push his daughter needed to give her courage. That she would behave with honor, not mere courtesy.
His hopes were once again dashed.
Jiang Yanli married into Lanling Jin. Before her wedding, she travelled all the way to Yiling to show A-Ying her wedding dress and feed him soup, give him honor of choosing a courtesy name for her son.
It was heartwarming.
It was also disappointing.
As touching as this gesture was, it was ultimately useless in the face of bigger problems. Was his daughter that ignorant? Was she not aware that her former martial brother was living on a literal mountain of corpses with the elderly, women and children? Was she naïve to the fact that their resources were scarce and that they were starving???
Instead of soup, could she not have given him a qiankun pouch filled with supplies? Money? As the young madam of the Jin sect, surely, she could afford to spare that much.
But she didn’t.
Fengmian buried his face into his hands and bemoaned.
He knew his daughter wasn’t being malicious but damn it, she was still too oblivious. All she wanted was to live her fairy tale life, raising her son and having a loving husband, she wanted to be what her mother wasn’t- a doting parent who loved her family unconditionally.
(And.......Fengmian couldn’t blame her for wanting that, could he?)
But then his daughter had foolishly rushed in during the Battle of Nightless City. She sacrificed herself for A-Ying, in an act of love.
In their ploy to get their hands on the Stygian Tiger Seal, the Lanling Jin had also gotten rid of their mediocre Madam Jin. With both parents gone, his grandson was left to fend for himself in a pit of vipers.
And A-Cheng-
A-Cheng insulted that sacrifice in the worst way possible.
The hatred he bore towards Wei Wuxian made Ziyuan’s look small in comparison.
Fengmian watched with blank eyes as his son (why must this monster wear the face of his child) dragged another supposed demonic cultivator back to Lotus Pier. Tortured screams echoing within confines long used to such a symphony.
He gazed at the rebuilt architecture boasting luxury rivalling that of Lanling Jin’s. Open space that once welcomed children and merchants now replaced with towering walls.
Civilians now skittish whenever close to Lotus Pier. Civilians with resigned gazes when gossip about a yao or resentful spirit nearby reached their ear, knowing inaction would persist unless death occurred. Civilians who’d rather place their faith in gods that might not hear them than its own great sect.
Children who once laughed, played and trained alongside Yunmeng Jiang disciples were barred from them by their wary parents. Junior disciples once thriving shirtless in lakes and hopping from rooftops now dictated by seniors no better than thugs and a sect leader that never spared them an ounce of positive reinforcement.
A-Cheng thought he was rebuilding Yunmeng Jiang to glory on the ashes of defeat.
Fengmian knew he was spitting on his ancestor’s lifework. Frankly, he’s surprised Jiang Chi’s spirit hasn’t reemerged to scream at him yet.
He sat down on the mountaintop in Yiling, the same mountain that bore witness to A-Ying’s greatest (and most painful) sacrifice. The ground that was soaked with his blood.
He thought about the injustice encapsulating A-Ying’s (too short, gods, he died so young) life. How it continued to step on him even in death.
He thought about how he himself played a role in said injustice. How A-Ying deserved better than him and what he had offered him.
He thought about his shortcomings, failures and regrets.
He pondered how things could be different- reflected on how it could’ve been better.
He-
He wanted change.
No.
He needed to change.
As he stood up, the fire blazing in his eyes would’ve put the sun the Wens preached to shame.
No more.
ENOUGH.
He walked towards the Burial Mounds, a man on a mission.
Perhaps the first step to change was to finally implement the motto of his sect.
To attempt the impossible.
“You dare set foot here?”
The resentful energy dragged against his skin like cat claws. Not deep enough to make him bleed, but no less stinging and painful.
“I had nowhere else to go.”
“Lies.”
“I wouldn’t dare lie to you.” He said solemnly.
And he wasn't. Because the Lotus Pier in the present, the opulent imitation it's been rebuild into is a mockery. It wasn't his home, it was a physical nightmare.
“You killed him.” The Burial Mounds spat. Though it spoke singularly with the combined voices of thousands of tormented souls, Fengmian was acutely aware that its tone was that of a grieving parent who unjustly had their child ripped from them.
(And didn’t that sting? A mountain of death and resentment showing more care and consideration towards A-Ying than most people have spare him his entire life?)
“He did not hate you. He could never hate. But many often mistake his forgiving nature for stupidity. He taught us many things. Love, sacrifice, grief, sadness; but long before he came, we knew better than anyone what was pain. We knew what was abuse. We knew what was injustice, regrets, greed and envy.
“We know a coward and a failure when we see one.”
The final sentence hardened and sharpened into a spear that penetrated Fengmian’s spiritual being to its core. He gasped, falling to his knees, his lungs seemingly filling with fire. His heart screamed as it was haunted by an ancient darkness that shouldn't ever exist.
“Why should we give you our help? Our master, our child, already gave you, that bitch and her wretched offspring more than enough! What more will you take?!”
It was as though every strand of hair was replaced with needles digging into his scalp. Though his teeth felt like stones in bloody soil and his fingernails like shards of glass, he clenched his fists, gritted his teeth and straightened himself.
Attempt the impossible.
“I want to help him.”
It paused, clearly taken aback by his response.
Fengmian kowtowed properly.
“I failed him. I failed him and worse, I hurt him. I was never the hand that wielded Zidian but I wasn’t the hand that offered to help tend to his wounds. I never spoke a disparaging word towards him but I kept silent whenever anyone spat poison at him. I either never did enough or did nothing at all.”
He shakily inhaled and this time, his lungs did not burn. The Burial Mounds was silent, it was listening, it was giving him a chance.
(Even death can be more forgiving than some humans.)
“I know and I’m sorry. I know apologizing won’t bring him back or undo what I’ve done. But I will apologize and I’m going to keep doing it because I know I’m going to be the only one who will. Even if he forgives me, even if by some miracle the rest of you forgive me, I will still do it. I’m sick of not ever being or doing enough.
“I want change. More importantly, I want to change. I want to make things right, if not better. But I need your help for that. So, I beg you with nothing but my desperation and sincerity to help me.”
The mounds was silent and Fengmian held his breath. Though his heart did not beat, the thrum of the darkness surrounding him were like drums in his ears.
“What if we still choose not to aid you? What if we cannot provide the aid you seek in the first place?”
“Then I’ll find another way.” He said, steel lining his voice. “Even if it takes me lifetimes, even if I have to be reincarnated into the body of a beggar, even if I have to wander till my spiritual essence fades, I’ll find another way.”
“Attempt the impossible.” Though it had no body, Fengmian got the impression it was tilting its head at his surprised expression. “That is your motto, is it not?”
He nodded.
“............we will help you, on one condition.”
Fengmian’s eyes widened and he dared not breathe. Hope meekly peeked its battered head in his core.
“What is it?” he asked. 不入虎穴，焉得虎子.
“You must kill that harlot.”
Fengmian’s head snapped so fast, he half-expected himself to still get whiplash.
“You want me to kill Yu Ziyuan.” He repeated, just to be sure.
“Yes. You do not have to torture her.” it added in a tone meant to reassure him. “So long as she is dead by your hand, the terms are fulfilled.”
“Why her? Why not one of the Jins? Why not Wen Ruohan himself?” he asked.
“Wen Ruohan matters little to us. And the peonies will get their comeuppance.” It said with the certainty of a hunter that’s cornered its prey (Fengmian shuddered, feeling very much like prey). “But she will not. She did not.”
“She died.” He reminded it.
“Her death was too merciful.” It growled. “Or would you rather your spawn pay the price?”
Fengmian paled and it chuckled.
“What a sad soul she is.” It mused and oh heavens no, not- “Only just clinging, unlike you. Somewhat brave, if naïve. Our master cared for his shijie so very much.”
“If you know that then you know hurting her will hurt him.” He said, desperately trying to reason with it-
“There is NOTHING left to be hurt!” it howled, a tempest of acid burning Fengmian. “He is gone! Gone, gone, GONE. His very soul was ripped apart by those dogs and not even a body remains to be turned into ashes!
“His soul was already damaged. If it were not for his spirit’s tenacity and the strength of his core, that woman’s whip would’ve shattered it years ago!”
Fengmian clutched at his chest, horrified beyond belief.
Good god, his wife could’ve killed a child?!
“You FOOL!” it smacked him with the force of a hammer. “After everything she’s done, you still defend her?! After the sacrifices our master has made, you yourself are unwilling to commit to just one in return?! And you come to us, speaking of sincerity and desperation?!”
His head was stuffed with cotton and his ears were ringing. His eyes were like pools of acid burning his skull and his skin stretched tauter than a bowstring against bones that felt too sharp.
But he did not submit.
Attempt the impossible.
“You only want me to kill Yu Ziyuan?” he managed to grit out.
The pressure in his skull was relieved and the tension in his skin and bones relaxed.
“Yes.”
“Only her, by my hand?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a deadline to when I must accomplish this?” if the stories are anything to go by, you must always confirm any and all details when making a deal with such an entity.
“No.”
Fengmian did not love Yu Ziyuan.
But he was a man of conscience.
He had respected her.
Yet............
That respect was never mutual, was it?
And how can he even call himself a man of conscience after seeing all the harm she’s done? In this world full of too many horrible people like her....wouldn’t he be doing it a favor by getting rid of one?
Fengmian closed his eyes and resolved himself.
All things considered, the Burial Mounds was being generous with its terms. This is a small price to pay.
“I accept your condition.” He agreed, steadying his tone.
It ‘nodded’.
“And I have two of my own.” He added.
It ‘tilted’ its ‘head’ once more.
“Leave my daughter’s soul alone.” He said firmly.
“I will.” It promised.
“And one more thing. In the worst case where I fail my task, please protect A-Ying.” He added softly.
It scoffed. “We don’t need you to tell us that.”
Fengmian smiled. Funny, isn’t it? For the first time since his own death, he found himself smiling at death itself, in a way.
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Do not thank us. Just do not fail us.” It snapped. “Remember our deal, Jiang Fengmian.”
“I swear in this life and the next that I won’t.” he vowed.
“Are you ready?”
This time, Fengmian did not hesitate to nod.
No more hesitation.
“Then we will see you on the other side.”
It felt as though water enveloped him, his skin turning to mud while his bones dissipated like air. He expected the sensation to be painful, not unlike flimsy paper being shredded. Instead, it was as though clay chunks were molded and pried off, tossed into a water to turn to mud at its depths.
(Not as painful but still very strange. He wasn't complaining though.)
Fengmian closed his eyes.
Attempt the impossible.