Work Text:
ACT I.
your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in
scene i.
The first time Jiang Cheng lets Wei Ying knot him, they are still bloody from killing Wens. The tent is filled with the harsh sounds of their breaths, a rut Wei Ying could not avoid burning through his veins. The healers they had consulted had warned him against using suppressants so they had chosen to wait it out for the next three days. Jie is far away at Wei Ying’s insistence, nearly snarling at her to leave when she protested. Immediately, Jiang Cheng knew this rut would not be like the others, Wei Ying acting crueler than ever before.
He was only supposed to keep watch. He was not supposed to be lured into the tent by the sickened smell of saffron and roasted almonds, his brother’s scent yet somehow far from it. Jiang Cheng was not supposed to be attacked the moment he worriedly peeked into the tent, dragged inside with an iron grip on his wrist. He lands on a pile of ravaged clothes, all of them scavenged pieces of Jiang Cheng’s wardrobe. Wei Ying shuts the door to the tent half-way, the sliver of light casting his profile in gaunt shadows. His brother crawls over him, eyes shaded in darkness.
Jiang Cheng is afraid of his brother for the first time in his life.
Wei Ying tugs at Jiang Cheng’s clothing and he is so stunned he lets him remove his hanfu. Wei Ying’s torso is bared to him, the mark from the Wen branding iron over his heart and scars littering his hauntingly pale skin. Dried blood splattered across his body. None of it his own. It is only Wei Ying’s pants that remain, tented and darkened at the front.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng jolts back to attention when Wei Ying has him down to his pants as well. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying’s hands stop at the hem of his pants, voice a lulling drawl. He peers up at Jiang Cheng through his eyelashes, red flickering through them, “Won’t you help gege out?”
Jiang Cheng stares at him in horror. “You would call yourself gege and still want to do—this?”
Wei Ying blinks, ducking his head when his eyes refuse to turn back to their familiar silver-gray. “Not by blood, I’m not,” Wei Ying points out quietly, fingers trembling against Jiang Cheng’s pants. As if blood matters in family.
“So you mean it in all but blood?” Jiang Cheng asks. Wei Ying places his hand heavily against his lower abdomen, fingers hot against his skin, warmth bleeding through the cloth of his pants and to his groin. He breathes shallowly, watching his shixiong carefully. Never in his life has anyone touched him so intimately.
“Not by blood,” Wei Ying repeats, fingers twitching. The tips of three of them slip under the waistband of his pants, nails scraping against the sensitive skin. Jiang Cheng shivers violently, stomach caving in at the sensation. Wei Ying’s eyes light up with excitement, the same kind when he has figured out a particularly challenging talisman, like he is watching something beautiful be uncovered right in front of his eyes.
The nails scratch again, lightly. Jiang Cheng arches his back, turning his face away. Why hasn’t he shoved Wei Ying away? Why hasn’t he slapped his brother and run out of the tent without looking back?
“A-Cheng,” Wei Ying murmurs his name thickly, a prayer in his voice. His hand untucks from Jiang Cheng’s waistband, shaking as he glides it up Jiang Cheng’s body and traces the divots and slopes of his muscles. “A-Cheng, I can’t wait any longer.”
Jiang Cheng offers no reply, instead closing his eyes and picturing Wei Ying’s untied hair whipping in the wind, Chenqing to his lips, crimson in his eyes, and death in his hands.
Wei Ying pinches a nipple hard enough to startle a moan from Jiang Cheng before tugging down both of their pants. Jiang Cheng stares up at the ceiling, goosebumps from the chill and nerves. When there is no movement for a long while he looks down his body to find Wei Ying hunched over himself and trembling, hands fisted on the ground on either side of Jiang Cheng.
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng calls. Wei Ying snaps his gaze up, red dancing through his eyes in bright flames, ready to burn anyone within reach. They stare at each other, frozen, a moment hanging in time before everything is irreversibly altered. Wei Ying lunges.
His lips seal around Jiang Cheng’s neck, just to the left of his scent gland where a mating mark should never lay. He suckles at the skin, nudging his nose into Jiang Cheng’s scent gland until he feels himself leaking, lotus root and cinnamon clouding the heated air.
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying groans, one hand curling around his shidi’s narrow waist and the other dipping between his thighs. His fingers collect wetness on the tips and he rubs it in circles, sinking one impatient finger inside.
“A-ah,” Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows furrow at the pressure against his walls, having never done much more than two fingers and a thumb on his clit. Wei Ying is hurried, quickly sinking a second finger in. His eyes are starting to bleed blue as well, the color of alphas. Jiang Cheng can feel himself responding, legs spreading wider on their own accord.
His brother crooks his fingers up in search of his sweet spot, a feral grin blooming on his lips when Jiang Cheng cries out abruptly. He scissors the two fingers, testing a third that enters Jiang Cheng with little resistance. Wei Ying nibbles at his neck, probably adorning it in swathes of crimson red that will be impossible to explain away. Open-mouthed kisses are pressed along the vulnerable line of his throat, low growls building in Wei Ying’s chest the closer he gets to the brunt of his rut without being inside of Jiang Cheng.
Digging his crooked fingers in hard, Wei Ying swallows Jiang Cheng’s high moan with his mouth. It shatters a boundary they never clearly defined, more than anything else could have, even Wei Ying being deep inside of Jiang Cheng. The younger stills beneath him for a pause before meeting him with the same intensity, biting Wei Ying’s bottom lip hard enough to bleed then drawing him in for a deeper kiss.
Wei Ying can not take it any longer. He rips his fingers from Jiang Cheng’s cunt and guides his cock with slippery wet fingers to his brother’s entrance, pressing the head into the warm, tight heat. Jiang Cheng mewls, eyes closed and cheeks red, wrapping his legs around Wei Ying’s waist. He pushes in, savoring the mind-numbing pleasure of being inside of Jiang Cheng. There is a moment where it takes Wei Ying pulling his hips back a little and thrusting hard for his cock to bottom out fully, that has Jiang Cheng arching with a broken noise.
“Oh.” He utters, breathless, staring up at Wei Ying with wide eyes. Oh, his brother really broke his hymen. Wei Ying looks down at him, eyes clouded and flashing between red and blue. He is confused by the groundless expression on his little brother’s face, so he looks down and on the way out there is a dotting of red on his cock. The moment the information processes in his mind he snaps his hips back in hard enough Jiang Cheng nearly screams.
“Tell me,” Wei Ying is suddenly wild and animalistic, eyes darting to look at his brother’s face. “Tell me what I did to you, didi, say it.”
Jiang Cheng writhes, body jolting on the pile of clothes, cocooned in cinnamon, saffron, almond, lotus. Wei Ying is fucking him into the ground, Jiang Cheng throws one arm over his head to brace himself, the other hand clawing into the dirt at his side to keep himself from skidding.
“Tell me, A-Cheng,” Wei Ying snaps, teeth inches from his throat. Jiang Cheng stutters out through choked sounds of pleasure, “You—you took my virginity. You stole it.”
“Because it’s mine,” Wei Ying snarls, molding his body to Jiang Cheng’s and bringing him onto his cock hard with two hands on his hips. His breath skates across Jiang Cheng’s neck, pressing him into the ground with his own body. Holding him down and taking. And Jiang Cheng gives so beautifully, pathetic whines spilling from his lips and his pussy clenches over and over around Wei Ying’s length, already sore given that it is his first time.
It drives Wei Ying insane knowing that he has taken this from his brother. His first time, his virginity. It’s his. Jiang Cheng is his. It is only right.
“Mine,” Wei Ying rasps into Jiang Cheng’s ear, baring his teeth in a smile when his brother shakes in his arms. “Didi, gege is going to take such good care of you,” he croons, eyes shining violet now that the blue and red have settled into one.
“A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng gasps, not entirely present. His body is being handled like a rag doll, like a sleeve for Wei Ying to warm his cock in. “Please, A-Xian,” he lifts a shaky hand to settle on his clit, hoping to make himself come faster, but Wei Ying rips his hand off and captures both wrists in one hand, pushing them above his head.
“Don’t you ever dare touch yourself again, didi,” Wei Ying warns him dangerously, sharp white teeth glinting with a smile, “That’s mine. You don’t get to touch what’s mine without permission.”
With his body bared and no way to hide, Jiang Cheng sobs as Wei Ying picks up speed. His brother’s cock is thick, and he is not nearly wet enough for it to be frictionless. It hurts. It feels so good. Jiang Cheng wails, convulsing with a scream when Wei Ying slams into some spot in him hard enough his vision whites out and he comes.
“Didi,” Wei Ying groans, hips stuttering at how tight Jiang Cheng clamps down with his orgasm. Jiang Cheng is breathless at the possessiveness in Wei Ying’s shining eyes. He looks dangerous, animalistic and territorial like the alphas his mother warned him about.
But A-Niang is dead. Wei Ying is not. Jiang Cheng pulls his brother closer and tilts his head to display more of his neck. He gets a pleased growl for his troubles. A painful nip on the juncture of his neck. Wei Ying comes inside of him with a hoarse shout, chest rumbling in contentment now that he has knotted an omega; knotted his didi.
Jiang Cheng scrabbles against the ground trying to get away from the ballooning pressure against his walls as Wei Ying’s knot swells up, ripping his virgin cunt open for him. His insides feel like they are being molded to his brother’s knot. Like he is being shaped for his brother and no one else.
“Hurts,” he coughs, tears leaking. Wei Ying lays down on top of him fully, pressing him firmly into the pile of clothes. He kisses away the tears on Jiang Cheng’s face and puts two fingers to his brother’s clit, rubbing in small precise circles to distract him from the pain.
It helps, has him bucking up into the solid weight above him. The sensation is borderline too much however, so soon after coming, but his begging for Wei Ying to stop and give him a moment goes ignored.
Jiang Cheng shakes. Hips trembling under Wei Ying’s fingers from the merciless pleasure. “Ah, no, no, A-Xian please I’ll come.” Wei Ying redoubles his efforts, rubbing his fingers faster until Jiang Cheng’s vision goes blotchy with dark spots.
“Yes, that’s it. Come for me, didi,” Wei Ying murmurs, biting another bruise into his clavicle. Jiang Cheng is helpless to do anything but obey the alpha. He finishes with a hoarse scream, shaking so badly Wei Ying strains with the effort to keep him plastered to the ground.
“Please, A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng sobs, flinching away from Wei Ying’s clever fingers when he tries to continue. Wei Ying sighs, put-upon, withdrawing his hand from between their bodies. His hazy violet eyes pin Jiang Cheng down with their cocky air, sucking shamelessly on the two fingers that he just used to make Jiang Cheng come.
Wei Ying groans softly, pushing up to his knees, driving his knot in deeper and letting Jiang Cheng’s wrists go. “You taste so good, didi.”
“A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng whines when his brother rolls his hips intentionally, tugging at his walls and folds. Such mortifying noises and Wei Ying easily plucks them out of him like notes on his dizi.
The blue in Wei Ying’s eyes fades, lucid for a moment before the real tidal wave of rut crashes down over him. “We were always going to end up here,” Wei Ying says suddenly, stroking Jiang Cheng’s cheek with his cleaner hand. There is something cold and broken in his gaze. Burial Mounds shattered something human in him and Jiang Cheng is terrified for his brother, has been since the older came back a haunted man.
“End up where?” He asks breathlessly, still reeling from his consecutive orgasms at Wei Ying’s hands. He is not sure he even stopped coming, in all honesty, because Wei Ying keeps rocking his hips lazily no matter how tightly Jiang Cheng clenches his thighs, and his knot grazes against Jiang Cheng’s sweet spot, sending borderline painful shocks of pleasure through his entire body.
“Here,” Wei Ying growls lowly, running his hands across Jiang Cheng’s chest, then scraping his nail over his nipples, scent gland, lower lip. “Like this. You on my knot. Under me.”
Jiang Cheng burns. In fury and thrill. In shame because he can not find it in himself to berate Wei Ying for his words. Jiang Cheng is not some spineless omega to spread his legs for an alpha and accept that his place is beneath. He is a sect leader, a warrior, feared by his enemies and allies alike.
But not by his own men. And especially not by Wei Ying if the alpha thinks he can get away with saying such things.
“Wei Wuxian, know your place,” His words are sharp but his body is lax, betraying his anger.
Wei Ying leans close, red gaze bleeding a dark, fiery crimson, black wisps crawling from his skin. His eyes are vicious and almost deranged, a ragged smirk wrenching his lips wide. It is not a pretty look. There is a crazed air about his brother, borne from the months he spent consumed with resentful energy. But his wild appearance stills Jiang Cheng’s lungs and it is not out of fear.
Wei Ying surges over him, a black shadow speckled with red weighing him down with fear in his veins and excitement in his nerves. His hair, black as a raven, is free of the ever-familiar red ribbon, jagged layers of it framing his face and spilling over to tickle Jiang Cheng’s cheek. The alpha halts when they are centimeters apart, before slowly dipping his nose to trail it along Jiang Cheng’s jaw and up to his temple. His cool breath against it makes Jiang Cheng twitch, otherwise frozen with nerves, unsure of his brother’s movements.
He shivers, full-bodied, when Wei Ying presses his parted lips to the same spot, feeling the small huff of laughter against his skin. “My place?” Wei Ying repeats in a high, lilting voice, like Chenqing’s haunting notes, reaching deep into Jiang Cheng and sending his heart pounding. His lips brush against Jiang Cheng’s temple with the shape of the words.
“And where is that,” Wei Ying asks, this time the sound coming from somewhere deep inside his chest, dark and rasping, “A-Cheng?”
Jiang Cheng’s eyelashes flutter, flustered by the overpowering presence of the alpha above him, having already tilted his head to the side to avoid eye contact.
“Look at me, didi,” Wei Ying orders, the edge of a snarl in his voice.
Jiang Cheng blinks his eyes open and fixes them somewhere to the left of Wei Ying’s.
“Look,” Wei Ying barks, grabbing Jiang Cheng by the chin, thumb digging between his lips crudely. He pulls his hips back and rocks in hard, a soft pleased noise when Jiang Cheng yelps and chokes on a sob, not letting him forget the knot tearing him open. He would be surprised if there is no blood.
Jiang Cheng looks, meets the blue gaze, only the barest hints of red peeking through where Wei Ying hadn’t fully willed back the energy flowing through him.
“What do you see?” Wei Ying asks. Jiang Cheng searches his face, a face he has known for more than a decade now. He sees the lines of laughter and mischief, the wrinkles of pain and sorrow, the confidence of an alpha, the open wounds of a broken man. He sees it and he lets it all in, regardless of if it will destroy him, destroy them both. Jiang Cheng is selfish, that does not change today.
“Wei Ying,” Jiang Cheng whispers, reaching a tentative hand up to cup his brother’s cheek. Wei Ying tips his face into his palm but his eyes bore uncannily into Jiang Cheng.
“What else?” Wei Ying asks, eyes bright and feverish.
“My shixiong.”
“What else?” Wei Ying growls impatiently.
“Alpha,” Jiang Cheng whines softly, instinctively reacting to the other’s mood.
“Yes,” Wei Ying hisses in delight, eyes glinting as the toxic violet coils back in once again, “Alpha. So tell me, omega, where exactly,” he cocks his head tauntingly, tone dripping with patronization, “Is my place—”
Wei Ying draws himself back to his full height, stroking his hands down the inside of Jiang Cheng’s thighs, self-satisfied gaze fixed on where they join together, “But right here?”
Jiang Cheng does not respond. Would not know what to say anyways. He is choked by Wei Ying’s provoking words, enraged but tired enough he settles for glaring instead. One rut and Wei Ying is unraveling at the seams, saying things he would not have dared to before.
“A-Xian,” he manages past his heavy tongue, tugging at a strand of Wei Ying’s hair. “You’re scaring me.”
“Shh,” His brother soothes, pressing hungry kisses along his sternum. “Never be afraid of me, didi, I’d die before I hurt you.”
“You’ve changed,” Jiang Cheng divulges, concern apparent in his tone. “This demonic cultivation, it is changing you for the worse.”
Wei Ying appears unconcerned, blinking his violet eyes up at him placidly before sucking a hickey into his breast hard enough that it purples. A hand disappears between their bodies to guide Wei Ying’s cock out of him, white streaks trickling out with it.
“Move, let me leave,” Jiang Cheng requests, sitting up on his arms and pushing at Wei Ying’s chest, the warm flesh under his hand strong and unforgiving.
“Tell me you do not want this, didi,” Wei Ying demands. Jiang Cheng falters, the heat between his thighs throbbing but not just in pain.
“Well?” Wei Ying inquires, head tilted, fingers trailing all over Jiang Cheng.
“I can’t,” he hangs his head, eyes closed in embarrassment.
“I can’t, who?”
“A-Xian.”
Wei Ying makes a disapproving noise, and Jiang Cheng opens his eyes to see him shaking his head theatrically. “That’s not what you call me, didi. Say it again.”
“I can’t, g–gege,” he stumbles over the honorific when a finger runs between his folds and over his clit, feather-light.
“Good, A-Cheng. Now, will you let gege spend his rut between your legs? Inside of you?”
“A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng sighs, laying on his back once more. He feels out of his depth, torn between running from the tent and never looking back, and opening his arms to let Wei Ying have him any way he pleases. Both of these routes only because he loves Wei Ying but he knows one would be better for them in the long run.
Unfortunately, it does not seem like Wei Ying cares for the long term because he is quick to take Jiang Cheng’s silence as approval, fisting his cock in hand and positioning it at Jiang Cheng’s hole. He slides in easier this time around, having already stretched Jiang Cheng open with his knot.
“You’ve been different,” Jiang Cheng gasps once again, eyebrows furrowing at the brutal pounding he is being given, Wei Ying having taken no time at all to set a fast pace, “The demonic cultivation is affecting you.”
“Well,” Wei Ying starts in indifferent amusement, more focused on the way his length disappears into Jiang Cheng, eyes vivid violet, “Then, you won’t mind if I fuck it all out in your pussy, will you?”
At those vulgar words, Jiang Cheng has nothing to say. The full brunt of the rut rushes through Wei Ying a little while later and after that Jiang Cheng can do nothing but dig his nails into his brother’s back and hold on.
It feels like Wei Ying fucks him for an eternity. It must be a couple of days at the least, only a few precious hours of rest in between endless rounds of mercilessly being taken. By the second day, Jiang Cheng had cried himself dry, hole so sore that it pained him to even touch. A small heat had taken over him as well in response to Wei Ying’s rut pheromones so that he would be able to better handle it, but it was still no match for the pure desire coursing through Wei Ying.
When Jiang Cheng had passed out on his stomach in the middle of their animalistic fucking, he had woken up after god knows how long to find that his brother was still plunging his cock into him, nosing at the back of his neck. Something in him had thrummed with lust at the thought of Wei Ying using his slack, unconscious body.
Sometimes, when Jiang Cheng’s pained, feeble cries were too much even for Wei Ying, when the overstimulation was no longer tolerable even by Jiang Cheng’s apparently masochistic standards, Wei Ying would pull out and fuck into his clenched thighs, black wisps curling from his skin, the violet of his eyes slowly fading into a cold icy blue. Perhaps Wei Ying was onto something. Perhaps laying with Jiang Cheng has siphoned off the worst of the malevolent energy buried in him. Dual cultivation but with a twist.
In between rounds Wei Ying had fed him, Jiang Cheng remembers faintly. Now, laying on his soiled pile of clothes and caked in fluids that are not just his own, body achingly sore in places he has never felt, Jiang Cheng watches as Wei Ying tugs on his innerwear. Their clothes from that first day, what feels an eon ago, are spared, thankfully. Jiang Cheng would pull his own on, but he does not think he can move a muscle.
Gods know that Wei Ying can only move from the adrenaline pumping through him, post-rut and fired up to protect and defend now that the claiming part is done.
“I will be back,” Wei Ying says, oddly subdued in contrast to the past few days. His eyes are a clear blue, no traces of red to be found. Jiang Cheng breathes a sigh of relief.
Wei Ying returns rather quickly, carrying two rabbits by the feet. He builds a fire in front of the tent and Jiang Cheng stares at it with unfocused eyes. They are lucky that nothing happened while both of them were preoccupied. Jiang sect men were positioned in a large circumference around this clearing but even still.
When he crawls weakly out of the tent, after wiping himself half-heartedly and slipping into his pants, he is offered one of the rabbits on a stick. With a grimace, Jiang Cheng takes it. Normally Wei Ying would quip something here, maybe about his precious Lan Wangji and his affinity for rabbits that Jiang Cheng has learned through listening to Wei Ying babble non-stop about said man. But Wei Ying says nothing. They eat in silence, the first time in years.
Despite wiping with a cloth to clean up, there is still cum trickling out of Jiang Cheng and he breathes deeply through his nose to will down his blush. Given how many times Wei Ying knotted him and pumped him full of cum he would almost be surprised if he was not already pregnant. It is only because of the strain of this war that Jiang Cheng knows his body is in no condition to carry. He is barely able to sustain himself some days.
He tosses the stick aside when he is done eating, unnerved by his brother’s silent stare.
“What,” he snaps with a gravelly throat, as if he had been screaming for hours. Which he had.
Wei Ying shakes his head, ducking his gaze.
“Whatever, I need to clean myself. Properly.”
“Ah, of course, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying blinks, lifting his head up, “There is a river nearby. Come wi—” He pauses once he has stood up, looking down at Jiang Cheng curiously, “Can you walk?”
“No fucking clue,” he sighs, gritting his teeth as he pushes up onto his feet. For a moment he thinks he is fine but the second he tries to step forward, Jiang Cheng nearly crumples to the ground. Wei Ying catches him, a hand around his waist, huffing and shooting him a nervous glance before scooping him up into his arms, bridal style.
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng hisses in humiliation, blushing.
“Ah, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying teases, nowhere near as carefree as before, but a lost twinkle in his eyes, “After what we just did, this is what makes you shy?”
He carries Jiang Cheng over to a neatly hidden bend of the river that is surrounded by a thick growth of grass. It does not really hide them from view if someone were actively looking but it allows them a modicum of privacy from any supposed visitors.
They strip their clothes with their backs turned to each other. When Jiang Cheng wades in with Wei Ying’s help, wobbling and aching, the water is cool and flowing gently. He sinks in until it reaches his waist, shivering and soothed by the chill.
Wei Ying splashes close to him, putting himself between Jiang Cheng and the mass of the river so that he is stuck in the curve of the river, tall grass surrounding him on three sides and Wei Ying at his front.
Jiang Cheng arches his eyebrow, a little annoyed with Wei Ying’s behavior. “You are not my alpha.” Predictably, he is ignored. Wei Ying washes himself off, ducking under and coming up soaked, rivulets of water trickling down his torso. Jiang Cheng has to bite his lip and look away, grateful that the water is tamping down his scent. It is unfair how handsome his brother is.
It takes a couple of minutes for him to deem his skin clean enough, only contemplating briefly before he dunks his head into the water. The day time is hot, his hair will dry quickly and with what he had been doing for the past couple of days Jiang Cheng is scared to know the state of it otherwise.
He pushes the wet locks off his face, running his hand through his hair a couple of times to keep it there. There is one last matter he must take care of and it is to do with the situation between his legs. Peeking to see if Wei Ying is watching him—he is not, rather fighting with his own hair—Jiang Cheng brings his hand down between his thighs and curls two fingers into his hole in order to scrape all the cum out. Some of it is dried, some of it has not. His features twist in distaste at the sensation.
He had not noticed his eyes fell shut until they opened in surprise at the strong grip around his wrist. Wei Ying is looking at his hand underwater, eyes unreadable. He glances up, clear blue gaze meeting Jiang Cheng’s. He can not tell what his own eyes are. Whether they are his own blue-gray or the gold customary of omegas. He never really liked the color, preferring the electric blue of his brother and father or the earthy green of his mother and sister. Anything but what he had.
“Let me,” Wei Ying says and Jiang Cheng stares at him blankly until his wrist is tugged to the surface, Wei Ying interlocking their fingers. Remains firm when Jiang Cheng tries to rip his hand away. “What do you think you are doing, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng scowls up at his brother.
“Let me,” Wei Ying repeats, a touch of impatience in his voice. It sends nervous chills through Jiang Cheng’s body. Wei Ying has changed. The demonic cultivation has changed his temperament and Jiang Cheng worries how much more it will deteriorate.
He steps back, putting space between them, even with their hands clasped. “Let you what?”
Wei Ying works his mouth, searching for the right word. Jiang Cheng knows whatever comes out of his mouth is going to be bullshit. “Help,” he settles on finally, “Let me help.”
Jiang Cheng breathes out gruffly in frustration, trying uselessly once again to untangle their fingers. “Wei Wuxian,” he says, voice harsh, “Don’t you think we’ve messed this up enough already? Why are you trying to ruin it further.”
“Messed what up?” Wei Ying frowns, wading closer. Jiang Cheng steps back once more. Wei Ying’s eyes flash bright red briefly before it dissipates easily. “Us.” Jiang Cheng says brusquely, tensing up when Wei Ying keeps approaching him, cornering him against the bank of the river.
“Ah, Jiang Cheng, you’re too negative. We seem pretty alright to me, I mean we smell just fine so I don’t understand your concern.” He is not wrong. Their scents are pleasant, radiating a satisfaction that comes from instincts being sated. Wei Ying’s is particularly thick, even past the water, nearly suffocating in its pride and the possessive thrill of claiming an omega in all but a bite. It is still a sickened saffron and almond that is Wei Ying but at the same time not Wei Ying.
But that is a diversion. Both of them are well aware that their scents mean nothing. Jiang Cheng just spent an entire rut with his brother. His brother had fucked him during his rut. Had taken his virginity, knotted him, filled him to the brim with his seed. They are only lucky that Jiang Cheng will not end up pregnant. They do not have the resources nor the time to carry through with a regular termination and Jiang Cheng is terrified to do one with spiritual energy. As it is, he thinks his mind might shatter if he has to lose another family member.
“Stop fooling around,” he snaps, fed up with Wei Ying’s nonchalance. As if there is any reason for such blitheness.
Wei Ying’s expression hardens from its smooth, lazy smile. Red bleeds in but nothing to the extent that it would have before his rut. Huh. Maybe dual cultivation did work for clearing out resentful energy.
“What do you want me to say, Jiang Cheng.”
“I don’t need you to say anything, just, fucking stop fooling around. Stop treating it so lightly,” he throws his free hand up in the air, more exasperated than usual, “We had sex, Wei Wuxian. You knotted me. You treated me like an omega. And yet you called me didi. There is nothing normal about any of that.”
“So,” Wei Ying rolls his eyes, reminiscent of Jiang Cheng’s signature move, a lock of his hair falling over his shoulder when he shakes his head dismissively. “Who cares what is or isn’t normal. You’re mine, didi, what does it matter.”
Jiang Cheng stills in stunned silence. “I am not—” he blinks rapidly in astonishment, “What has gotten into you? I am not yours.”
“Are you still on that?” Wei Ying murmurs distractedly. He stretches his hand out, fingertips brushing distractingly against Jiang Cheng’s hipbone. Jiang Cheng’s lower back hits the softly sloped dirt of the river bank, “What do you think you are doing?” He repeats, grabbing Wei Ying by the wrist.
“Helping,” Wei Ying says. As if Jiang Cheng is an idiot.
“You can’t reach properly, right?” Wei Ying asks calmly. Jiang Cheng scowls at him. He can not reach far enough with his fingers to get all the cum out, but he will be damned if he admits that.
“Let me,” Wei Ying bids again and he pushes past Jiang Cheng’s grip, surging into his space, digits slipping to the apex of Jiang Cheng’s thighs. Jiang Cheng does not stop him again but he does make a protesting noise that Wei Ying shushes.
Wei Ying sinks three fingers into his hole, easily, curving them to scrape out the disgusting amount of cum still stuffed in him. Jiang Cheng arches when he digs his fingers in unnecessarily harshly, dragging it over the swell of his sweet spot. “Bastard,” he gasps, clenching down, nails digging into the river bank behind him and Wei Ying’s left bicep, holding him back.
“Ah, Jiang Cheng, you insult me when all I am trying to do is help?” Wei Ying’s expression is mischievous but there is a tinge of something dark and, almost—angry. It is tucked into the dimple of his smile and the shadow of his eyes but it makes Jiang Cheng’s heart pound hard in his chest and he loosens his hold on Wei Ying’s bicep, letting his brother in close.
“Good, didi,” Wei Ying praises in a stranger’s voice and Jiang Cheng lets his brother handle him however he wants, frozen like a doll. Soon enough the cum has been whisked away by the water and Wei Ying’s searching fingers no longer have an excuse, but the tickle of pleasure from being fingered is a livewire under Jiang Cheng’s skin.
He does not tell his brother to stop but he hopes the other will. There is something wrong with Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng is worried by it.
“Look at you, didi,” Wei Ying croons, his other hand hot and heavy on his hip, holding him against the river bank, “Perfect omega.” Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth at the mention of his secondary gender. “Stop calling me that.” Wei Ying frowns at him. “But that is what you are.”
“I am more than just an omega,” Jiang Cheng says in frustration, hips stuttering once when Wei Ying’s fingers press in deep and curve to drag along his walls. The alpha does not respond, intently studying his face as he scissors Jiang Cheng, learning his body.
“Wei Wuxian, we should stop,” Jiang Cheng says once. Wei Ying does not bother to.
“Wei Wuxian,” he tries again, desperate to come but not like this, not with his brother taking from him like this, “You should stop.”
“Tell me to stop.” Wei Ying pressures, “Tell me, A-Cheng.”
He can not. The words are stuck. It hurts to swallow them down but there is a lump in his throat when he tries to spit them out. Jiang Cheng makes a strangled noise instead, hands scrambling against the river bank behind him. Wei Ying smiles at his silence and heaves him up the wet earth, urging him to lay back on the grass so that his hips are hanging off and leaving room for Wei Ying to step between.
The fingers inside of him are still circling, still rubbing into his walls. Wei Ying puts his other hand over Jiang Cheng’s groin, holding him down like that. “There you go,” he says sweetly, fitting three then four fingers in easily. Jiang Cheng covers his face in shame.
“There you go,” Wei Ying repeats in a croon, slipping his fingers out to guide his cock into Jiang Cheng, pulling him close with two hands on his hips. Cranes his body over Jiang Cheng to cover him possessively from sight even with the lack of people nearby. Clearly ruled by instinct. Worry pools in Jiang Cheng’s throat. Wei Ying has never been the alpha to let his control over his instincts slip.
But then again, Wei Ying has never been the alpha to call him didi, then take his virginity and knot him.
So Jiang Cheng lays back and lets the alpha do as he likes, not resisting, but not… allowing either. Not really. Jiang Cheng does not know what to feel about it. Does not think much more than ‘That feels good’ and ‘Wei Ying, please—’. Just moans and writhes and comes on his brother’s cock, the knot, smaller and quicker, locking into him, but nothing like the first time. He is too loose for that now. Isn’t that funny. In a matter of days he went from tight as a virgin to looser than a whore, because even whores do not let themselves be knotted so easily.
“There you go,” Wei Ying repeats for a third time. Then he does something that makes Jiang Cheng’s blood turn to ice. His hand creeps over Jiang Cheng’s stomach, right over the small swell that Yu yisheng told him once, when he was fourteen and sore from his first heat, was caused by his womb. Creeps up and rubs circles on the skin like Jiang Cheng has seen alphas do to their pregnant omegas as a sign of comfort and claim.
But Jiang Cheng is neither pregnant nor Wei Ying’s. And there is no comfort to be had from Wei Ying’s bruising grip on his hip nor the possessive way he curls over Jiang Cheng and spreads his scent on his stomach.
Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath and regrets it because he smells himself in the air, yes, but he smells the way Wei Ying’s scent smothers his and drowns it out in his saffron and almonds. Smells the way Wei Ying has laid claim to him, in all but bite, like he had promised he would never do.
scene ii.
It is like knotting him once was all the permission Wei Ying needed to do it again. And again and again and again. He is pushed into an alleyway of a bloodstained, abandoned village after their latest victory over the Wens. There is no one near them as of now but Jiang Cheng would not write off the possibility of one of his men stumbling upon them in search of their sect leader.
He says, “Wei Ying, not here.”
Wei Ying says, “That is not what your body is telling me,” then pulls Jiang Cheng’s pants down and undoes the front of zhiju to fish his cock out. Two tendrils of resentful energy move Jiang Cheng’s legs for him to fully get rid of the pants, before coaxing one of his legs to wrap around Wei Ying’s waist. His body is pinned to the wall of an old building, hands pinned to the side with Wei Ying’s fingers threading through his own.
When Wei Ying enters him easily, unworriedly, there is nothing much Jiang Cheng can say. He just lets Wei Ying press them chest to chest as he rocks into Jiang Cheng, the middle portion of Jiang Cheng’s double slitted skirt covering where they join from sight.
Wei Ying fucks him like it is his right to, fucks him like he is a paid whore, fucks him like he owns him. It is intimate, upright with Wei Ying’s breath ghosting across his cheek, bodies flush together, hands woven and interlocked firmly no matter how much Jiang Cheng tugs. They do not kiss. Jiang Cheng does not come, his emotions too mixed to reach a peak. Wei Ying does, though, groans under his breath and spills hot and sticky into Jiang Cheng, knot swelling tight against his walls.
There is nothing else to it, Wei Ying will do what he wants and Jiang Cheng has no spine to stop him.
scene iii.
Jiang Cheng has bruises on his body that have nothing to do with the war. Wei Ying presses them into his body every time he fucks Jiang Cheng, eyes flaring blue when he catches sight of them. A sick sense of claim from the marks on Jiang Cheng’s body. Jiang Cheng is his, in Wei Ying’s mind.
Somehow it does not seem to apply the other way around, because his shixiong has no problem in leaving Jiang Cheng all alone to play savior to the Wens. So Jiang Cheng is left picking up the dust his sect has become, toiling away to rebuild it to its former glory with not a single shoulder to lean on.
“A-Cheng,” Jie presses a kiss to his forehead as Jin Zixuan waits in the boat, “Remind him he has a family to come back to.”
“I will,” Jiang Cheng says, cold down to his toes. “A-Jie, please be careful. No traveling from here on out until A-Ling is born, mm?”
Jie smiles fondly, brushing his bangs to the side, “You need not worry about me, didi,” Jiang Cheng hides his flinch at the term, long ruined for him by Wei Ying, “A-Xuan already reminds me daily to take it slow.”
“Good,” Jiang Cheng says a little petulantly, shooting his brother-in-law a poisonous glare that he ducks under the weight of, “He better. But he hovers too much. So protective. I am your didi, what am I going to do?”
“Aiya, A-Cheng, do not be so harsh on him,” Jie giggles, swatting him on the arm gently, “When you have a child of your own, your mate will do the same and I will remind you of what you said today.”
Jiang Cheng pictures Wei Ying growling possessively at Jin Zixuan and Jie, hand on Jiang Cheng’s swollen belly and nipping at a jagged mate mark on Jiang Cheng’s neck. He blinks at Jie, “I do not want a mate.”
“Whatever you say.” Jie looks at him knowingly, cupping his cheek to press a kiss to the other side before she allows Jiang Cheng to guide her down to the boat her husband and mate is waiting impatiently for her in.
“Take care of her,” Jiang Cheng tells Jin Zixuan warningly, internally pleased when his brother-in-law averts his eyes to the side in deference.
“With my life,” Jin Zixuan replies. Jie rolls her eyes in amusement, “Goodbye, A-Cheng. I will see you soon, yes?”
“In four months,” Jiang Cheng confirms. “I want to be there when Ling-er is born.”
“Alright,” Jie smiles, “Four months. Do not forget to write.”
“I won’t,” Jiang Cheng steps back as the boat pushes off the dock, “I love you, A-Jie.”
“I love you, didi. Tell him the same for me,” Jie calls out, leaning her head on her mate’s shoulder as her form becomes smaller and smaller across the open water.
Jiang Cheng watches the boat until he can no longer see it before turning to head for the front gates, having already told his head disciple of his absence for the rest of today.
It does not take him long to arrive at Burial Mounds, picking his way slowly up the steps to give himself time to think. But the only thought his mind allows him is of Wei Ying still there with him in Yunmeng and Jiang Cheng heavy with his child. It throws him off so much that he does not notice he has reached the top of Burial Mounds until a weight clings to his leg.
Dazedly he reaches down to pick Wen Yuan up, Wei Ying’s saffron and almonds overpowering compared to the mild unpresented scent of a toddler. In all ways but blood his son.
“Ah, Jiang Cheng,” A familiarly rich voice tickles his ear, a strong presence at his back, “What a nice surprise.” Wei Ying leans over his shoulder to pet Wen Yuan’s hair. Jiang Cheng’s chest aches at the image they could be mistaken for, a family. Holding Wei Ying’s son in his arms, Wei Ying’s possessive scent curling around him, tense with the knowledge that the moment Wen Yuan toddles away he will be bent over the nearest surface and stuffed full.
Jiang Cheng hates it just as much as he thinks he would be fine settling for this for the rest of his life. An alpha that scares him just as much as he irritates him, a son that is not his own and that he could never hope to call his own, a family that his shixiong left him for.
He could do it, Jiang Cheng thinks, because he loves Wei Ying and even his mother knew it would be his ruin.
“Not that I do not appreciate the visit, but are you here for a particular reason?” Wei Ying murmurs into his ear, lips brushing against the lobe. Jiang Cheng stiffens his back so he does not shiver, letting Wen Yuan cling to his neck. Wei Ying’s hand rests lightly on his hip.
Nothing about them speaks brotherly, so Jiang Cheng does not understand what Wei Ying obsession with it is.
“A-Jie is pregnant. Six months,” Jiang Cheng says quietly, “She told me to tell you that you have a family to return to. And that she loves you.”
“Pretty,” Wen Yuan coos, curious fingers fidgeting with Jiang Cheng’s new headpiece.
Wei Ying laughs, ruffling his already messy hair. “Exactly right, A-Yuan. This is pretty gege.”
Jiang Cheng scowls. At least he is not poor gege like Wei Ying.
“Pretty gege?” Wen Yuan repeats in confusion before shaking his head and pouting, “No, pretty niang.”
Jiang Cheng nearly drops the child right there and then. Wei Ying is frozen behind him for a split second before laughing brightly, ducking in close to press a kiss to Wen Yuan’s temple. “I think I like your nickname better.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart might break with the weight of his emotions. “Why am I—why niang?”
“Gold!” Wen Yuan chirps after frowning thoughtfully while he parsed through Jiang Cheng’s words. He pats under Jiang Cheng’s eyes, “Gold!”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen. He had not noticed that his eyes were gold at the moment. Gold means his omega is at the forefront. Jiang Cheng’s gut drops.
“Sound logic,” Wei Ying nods sagely, slinging his arm around Jiang Cheng’s waist, hand resting casually over his stomach. Jiang Cheng is torn between fleeing and never coming back or turning belly up and begging Wei Ying to fill him with a child so at least one of them belongs to the other undeniably.
“Hey, A-Yuan. Go find Ning-ge, yeah? I’m sure he wants your help with something.”
There is nothing a fierce corpse can reasonably need from a three year old but Wen Yuan lights up at the thought of being useful and squirms until Jiang Cheng sets him on his feet, running off cheerfully.
“Shijie is pregnant?” Wei Ying asks, leading Jiang Cheng to the Demon-Slaughtering Cave, “Is she okay?”
“Yes. She is six months along. There is very little chance for the pregnancy to fail at this point.”
“So clinical, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says in amusement. Jiang Cheng is only acting this way because he is still in shock at himself.
“What else did shijie say again?”
“You have a family to return to. I love you,” Jiang Cheng replies in an oddly subdued manner for him and Wei Ying raises an inquiring eyebrow. Jiang Cheng just meets his gaze evenly, if a little blankly.
“What about you?” Wei Ying asks when nothing is said, “You agree with shijie?”
“Does it matter?” Jiang Cheng says, “You will not return anyway.”
“You are my family,” Wei Ying says softly. Jiang Cheng’s heart soars, that naive little thing.
“But so are these people. And they need me more.” Jiang Cheng is fairly certain having his core burned out was less painful.
I need you, Jiang Cheng wants to scream. I need you, why don’t you need me? He wants to beg. He was raised better than that. He is not sure if he is better than that, though. Mostly, Jiang Cheng just wonders why his brother’s gaze is more unfamiliar and wrong than the barren husk of Lotus Pier.
“Whatever.”
“Didi,” Wei Ying simpers, backing him up against a stone cropping with cloth piled on top. Jiang Cheng eyes him warily, knowing what is next even if his body seems to want to protest. “Don’t be hurt, didi, I will always love you the most.”
“Who says I am hurt,” Jiang Cheng snaps, breath catching when Wei Ying hefts him up onto the stone.
“No one needs to say it,” Wei Ying demures, “I know you.”
He does not. If Wei Ying did he would never have put his knot inside of Jiang Cheng even though Jiang Cheng has never once said no. He would never have ruined Jiang Cheng like this because Jiang Cheng has never once said yes.
But Wei Ying does not know him anymore, so he pulls Jiang Cheng’s pants down and presses him down on his back and pries his legs apart and pushes into him.
It has never been as animalistic as the few days of Wei Ying’s rut and post-rut but the possessiveness and the greed remains. Jiang Cheng covers his mouth with his forearm, biting down into his wrist guard because he does not need the Wens and Wen Yuan to hear him screaming for his brother’s cock.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Wei Ying whispers reverently, nosing lazily against Jiang Cheng’s neck. “I could spend the rest of my days between your thighs.”
“Don’t be crass,” Jiang Cheng snaps. Wei Ying’s fingers dig into his side and his inner thigh, painting bruises that Jiang Cheng will feel for days because he will not heal them even though he should, even though they are not trophies.
Wei Ying rumbles deep in his chest, snapping at his neck. “Just the truth.” Jiang Cheng jerks with each thrust like a ragdoll. It feels good to be fucked. Sometimes Wei Ying rubs his thumb in circles over Jiang Cheng’s clit and that always makes him come hard, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Most times Jiang Cheng comes, if he even comes, in a wash of pleasure, a lapping against his nerves that is easily overridden by the sting of overstimulation when Wei Ying keeps fucking him, keeps using his body.
It feels good to be fucked—initially. But then it quickly becomes the mindless satisfaction of pleasing an alpha that leaves him feeling dirty and used after.
“Gods, if I could keep you,” Wei Ying growls when Jiang Cheng squeezes tight around his cock and climaxes with a stifled whimper.
He thrusts into Jiang Cheng a couple more times before pulling out and painting his folds white. Jiang Cheng lays limply on the stone, dazed eyes staring up at the ceiling. His brother pulls his pants up and ties his robes shut, pressing a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s stomach and neck before darting out of the Demon-Slaughtering Cave with a, “Got an idea! Be right back!”
Jiang Cheng hopes he takes his sweet time and never comes back. Eventually he pulls himself out of the obscure headspace he falls into each time they sleep together. Pieces his mind back into place and rips one of the sheets underneath him to wipe the cum off. Balls it up and tosses it in the fire in the corner, watching it flare bright and consume that piece of Jiang Cheng’s history like fire did for so much of it.
He is smoothing out the wrinkles in his slitted skirt when Wen Qing enters, dressed in plain clothes and holding a slew of needles in her slim fingers. Jiang Cheng follows her approach tiredly.
Wen Qing looks uncomfortable, for once. Jiang Cheng has never seen the alpha uncomfortable even in the face of danger, but here she is with guilt and pity in her eyes.
“You should not let him treat you like that,” she says. Ah, so she knows.
Jiang Cheng feels the soreness between his legs sitting down like this. It is not as bad as it could be, Wei Ying didn’t knot him today, but with no prep it still aches.
“I should not let him do many things,” Jiang Cheng says, voice mild to hide the irrational rage he feels in her or any of the other Wens’ presence. These are the people that stole Wei Ying from him, however unfair and untrue that is.
“That may be true,” Wen Qing says diplomatically, avoiding Jiang Cheng’s rough edges, “But this is truly not something you should let him get away with. You do not deserve this, Sect Leader Jiang.”
Jiang Cheng laughs brittly. He feels empty without Wei Ying’s knot. It does not hurt enough between his thighs.
“If I could,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, and is that not the crux of it? If he could tell him no, if he could resist him, if he could walk away, if he could stop loving a broken alpha, if Jiang Cheng could, “Would I be here?”
scene iv.
Jie invites Wei Ying to Jin Ling’s first month celebration. Jiang Cheng shows up, two weeks after delivering the invitation and the day of the celebration, at Yiling to make sure Wei Ying keeps his promise to come.
It is early enough that the Wens are all barely awake and ready to make breakfast. They point him to the other side of Burial Mounds when he asks where Wei Ying is. None of them look especially pleased to see him there, except for Wen Yuan, and to an extent Wen Qing and Wen Ning. That is fine, Jiang Cheng is not especially pleased to see any of them except for Wen Yuan. Wen Qing gives him a sharp, discouraging look and Wen Ning shuffles around awkwardly, still mostly terrified of him.
Wei Ying is in a smaller cave tying his hair back with a red ribbon as he scribbles notes on some array. Jiang Cheng does not catch the title fully but he sees ‘summoning’ and decides he does not want to know any more if only for plausible deniability.
“Oh! Didi,” Wei Ying smiles at him, slow and knowing, “It is good to see you.”
“I am not here for that,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. Wei Ying gives him an indulgently amused look, like one would a stubborn child. He does not believe Jiang Cheng.
“Wei Wuxian, you better be on your best behavior today,” Jiang Cheng warns him. His brother shakes his head, “Always nagging. I will be the picture of courtesy, you just watch.”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng scowls, poking around the cave, “You would not know courtesy if it slapped you upside the face.”
“Right, because you are the pinnacle of courtesy,” Wei Ying rolls his eyes, setting his brush down and putting the paper to the side for it to dry.
“Better than you,” Jiang Cheng snaps.
“You can not stand the Wens here and it is painfully obvious,” Wei Ying smirks, “Courtesy my ass, you can barely mask your feelings.”
Jiang Cheng thinks he is doing pretty well if Wei Ying has not realized how much he hates himself every time he steps foot in this gods forsaken place.
“Is didi jealous?” Wei Ying hums, rising from his seat.
“No,” Jiang Cheng replies abruptly, stepping away. Curses himself when he realizes he has put Wei Ying between him and the entrance by looking around.
“I think you are,” Wei Ying clicks his tongue. He crowds against Jiang Cheng, hands settling on the curves of his waist. “I think you are fucking jealous.”
“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng sneers, shoving him back by the chest, “Get lost. We are not doing this today.”
“Oh, but we are,” Wei Ying leers, backing him up to trip him over another cloth covered stone slab. Jiang Cheng holds him off with two hands to his shoulders but Wei Ying smiles impishly as if it is all part of his game. It might be.
“Are you really going to tell me no, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying presses. Jiang Cheng knows his scent is smothered but he is curious if Wei Ying is able to read something from it. If he does read something from it every time they sleep together but simply does not care. Wei Ying’s is toned down, not stamped out like Jiang Cheng’s but socially polite enough that it will not matter at Jin Ling’s celebration.
“Wei Wuxian, we really should not be—we need to stop doing this. I can not keep doing this.”
“Can not,” Wei Ying echoes, blinking innocently. His eyes are stained blue. “Then why are you spreading your legs?”
Jiang Cheng starts, snapping them shut. Or tries to but Wei Ying is already between them.
“You’re just asking for it,” Wei Ying gloats, fingers creeping under his skirt. Jiang Cheng shudders. Not today, not today when he has to spend the rest of it watching what he can never have, a family he is not allowed, a kid that can never be, a mate who does not want him like that.
“Wei Wuxian, take your hands—”
“Shush, didi,” Wei Ying covers his mouth with his hand, tugging apart the string holding his pants up and pushing the material down to Jiang Cheng’s shoes. His eyes glow violet and he lets Jiang Cheng go just to hold him down with tendrils of resentful energy.
Jiang Cheng’s shoes get slipped off and his pants are thrown to the side. Jiang Cheng kicks him in the thigh, “Bastard! Release me!”
“Do you think,” Wei Ying starts, “That I do not know why you are so fussy today.”
Jiang Cheng’s insides go feverishly cold but outwardly he glares heatedly at his brother. “Fuck off! Let me go or I will kill you, Wei Wuxian!”
“You’ve been so worked up ever since shijie became pregnant.” Wei Ying continues heedless of his threats, “Mad at me for everything but eager for me to fuck you. You purr every time I knot.”
“You think I do not know,” Wei Ying taunts, teeth showing, “That you are desperate to be swollen with my child.”
Jiang Cheng falls silent abruptly. There is no point in denying it, Wei Ying already knows he is right.
“So, A-Cheng, are you really going to tell me no?” Wei Ying asks with zero intention of listening for an answer, flipping Jiang Cheng’s slitted skirt up over his belt and thumbing at his folds. Jiang Cheng lurches, eyes stinging.
“Please…” Jiang Cheng says weakly. The don’t is caught in his throat, hard to swallow around but harder to get out. Wei Ying lights up in delight, sinking two testing fingers into his mildly wet cunt.
He pulls the digits out and wipes the slick on the cloth Jiang Cheng is lying on, quickly undoing his own zhiju and pulling down the pants. The half undressed nature of every single one of their excursions but the first makes it all feel like a dirty secret and Jiang Cheng broils with shame. Wei Ying can not even do him the decency of untying his belt and opening up the zhiju, just bends him over and flips up his skirt like he is a whore.
“Please,” he says when Wei Ying bottoms out. The alpha has his fingers splayed over Jiang Cheng’s groin, spreading his scent along there. His thumb brushes against Jiang Cheng’s clit, not firm enough to do anything but drive him insane. No, don’t.
“You look so handsome today,” Wei Ying praises in a tight voice, hands stroking the dark blue and white outfit, “So perfect, didi, you are gorgeous.”
Jiang Cheng preens unwillingly, walls fluttering as the compliment zings through him. Wei Ying huffs in mirth, pounding into him languidly, acting as if he has all the time in the world.
“Wei Wuxian, please—please,” Jiang Cheng chokes on his words. He can not make himself say don’t even though every corner of his mind is begging.
“Gege. Say gege, A-Cheng.”
“Gege,” Jiang Cheng parrots before blushing. He gave in mindlessly, like an omega that can not even think for himself. What a fucking embarrassment he is. His mother must be rolling in her grave. His father—
“Perfect,” Wei Ying sighs, dragging him closer by the hips and tossing his legs over the alpha’s shoulders, “Ah, this is nice. Fuck, didi, I can feel myself so deep inside of you. Can you feel me?”
Jiang Cheng’s legs shake on Wei Ying’s shoulder with how far his dick reaches inside of him, brushing up against that spot and burying into him like he will never leave. It would be surprising if Jiang Cheng’s insides have not fitted to the shape of his brother’s cock, have not rearranged and readjusted themselves to make room for him just like he did, does, always will.
“Shh,” Wei Ying strokes his temple when Jiang Cheng lets out a broken whimper and rubs at his folds to ease the overwhelming ache of pleasure and too much, “It is okay, A-Cheng, gege will finish soon. Gege will give you a baby soon.”
Jiang Cheng moans, back arching. To be read so easily is humiliating enough but the way Wei Ying is playing him like a dizi is more so. He wants a baby desperately. He wants Wei Ying desperately. But he can not have him or the child and it is breaking Jiang Cheng’s stupid fucking heart every single time they sleep together because he never says no.
Can it even be considered sleeping together? Jiang Cheng thinks sleeping together usually implies a bit more two-sided-ness to the whole endeavor, it is really just Wei Ying fucking Jiang Cheng until he is satisfied and does that not just sweeten the heartbreak?
Jiang Cheng quickens his fingers, circling his clit with two, hoping he comes before Wei Ying decides he is done. Wei Ying grips his wrist harshly when he notices, “Stop touching what is mine, Jiang Cheng.” He does not bother protesting, hand falling to the wayside. The beginnings of a knot start catching along his walls and Jiang Cheng clamps down on it, trying to keep it inside of him, trying to keep it from leaving.
Wei Ying’s lips twitch but he obligingly gyrates his hips so his knot does not slip out, working it in effortlessly. His hole might not be loose but it is definitely stretched from countless knots over countless months.
“Xian-ge,” Jiang Cheng breathes, undulating his hips down so the thick girth grinds straight into his bundle of nerves, a brutally intense orgasm washing over his nerves. He can not move a muscle, locked up tight and arching painfully. Wei Ying rocks him through it, knot expanding to its fullest and pressing up against his spot. “Ngh—fuck.”
“Good boy,” Wei Ying murmurs in a rich tone, heady and lust-drunk eyes, “Didi deserves a baby for coming so well for me, mmh?”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng gives in, “I do. I want your baby. I want to carry your child.”
“Shit,” Wei Ying hisses, violet-eyed, and his cock twitches, finally spilling into Jiang Cheng, “Shit you can’t just say that.”
“Please,” Jiang Cheng begs the ceiling, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes, the first time he has cried since Wei Ying took his virginity and split him open on his first knot. “Please. Please, I want—I want.”
“I know what you want.” Wei Ying soothes.
No, you don’t, Jiang Cheng screams in his head. Out loud he emits a stifled sob, covering his mouth with his hand to hide the sound.
“I’m almost done,” Wei Ying tells him, spreading his folds to stare at where he is buried inside of Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng stares straight up silently, ignoring the cool rush of tears.
When he pulls out, Jiang Cheng barely notices. It is only when the cum starts trickling out and Wei Ying’s hand lands heavy on his stomach that Jiang Cheng snaps back to the present. Wei Ying paws at his clothed stomach with a possessive sheen to his eyes, probably annoyed at the barrier.
Jiang Cheng shrugs him off, using a balled up piece of cloth to wipe away his seed, numb and fraying.
Wei Ying stands in front of him, turned to the side as he readjusts his clothes and ties his zhiju back together. He gives Jiang Cheng a side-ways look, a slightly cocky smile on his lips, “Do not forget to take your tincture.”
It is by the grace of the gods that Jiang Cheng keeps himself from crying. His brother promises to give him a child and the moment he orgasms he reminds Jiang Cheng to get rid of it before it becomes a problem—a connection. Jiang Cheng scowls instead, “As if I would forget. I am not having anyone’s fucking kid.”
“That is not the tune you were singing,” Wei Ying smirks, pulling his hair back into a loose ponytail.
Jiang Cheng glares down at his shoes, shoving them on, “I do not actually want a child.” He is a motherfucking liar.
Wei Ying shakes his head lightly, not fully believing him but not one of utter disbelief. “If you say so.”
“I need to leave,” Jiang Cheng says curtly, already pushing past Wei Ying to collect Sandu. He wraps his hand around it, comforted by its familiar weight.
“You know,” Wei Ying divulges with his back turned to the entrance, and his tone catches Jiang Cheng’s attention even if he continues on his way out, “I would mate you if I could. Without a single hesitation. But—”
Jiang Cheng does not stick around to hear the rest.
(—I’m worried about what will happen to you when I… if I die.)
scene v.
Jiang Cheng does not take the tincture. He steps out of Burial Mounds and realizes the sun is starting to peek out with vibrancy. He needs to head to Lanling now, he had told Jie he would be there early. His head disciple knew to leave without him if he took too long at Yiling, so Jiang Cheng resolves to purchase the ingredients for the tincture at Lanling and make it himself.
And he really did plan to make it but then Jie and Jin Guangyao had needled him into helping them finish setting up and ushering guests in, and then he had stayed with Jie because Wei Ying had not arrived yet, and then Wei Ying had killed Jin Zixuan, A-Jie’s mate, and suddenly the tincture was the last thing on Jiang Cheng’s mind.
So it is four weeks later that Jiang Cheng bolts up from his bed, heart pounding frantically, having suddenly remembered that he did not, in fact, ever take the tincture.
His heart stutters. Jiang Cheng forcefully sucks in long, deep breaths, trying to level his breathing. There is no point in losing his shit over this, Jiang Cheng decides with a level of maturity he does not really possess. It is, in all honesty, an excuse. He wants this child and he is keeping it if he is pregnant, but for his dignity’s sake Jiang Cheng pretends as if it were a debate.
It never will be. Jiang Cheng will always want Wei Ying’s baby.
scene vi.
“Take care of these corpses. Make sure no one passes through. He is mine,” Jiang Cheng orders his men who rush to do as they are told, forming a half-circle around Wei Ying and the hordes of fierce corpses surrounding him. Jiang Cheng rips his way through to Wei Ying, easily in fact and he suspects that his brother is letting him approach, even in his half-mad state.
“Ah, Jiang Cheng.” Wei Ying smiles, and it is so achingly familiar, so comforting that he has to bite back a cry. “So you have come to kill me.”
Jiang Cheng forces his heart to be unfeeling, numbing himself. “Wei Wuxian. You can not be allowed to run loose like this.”
“You are afraid. And you are angry,” Wei Ying observes. “I helped the sects during the Sunshot Campaign and now look how I am being treated. Besides, killing innocent farmers? You are just as bad as me, Jiang Cheng.”
“Do you remember,” Jiang Cheng starts lowly, stepping closer to his brother without acknowledging his statement, “The first time you knotted me?”
“Clearly,” Wei Ying leers a little, eyes a crazed violet. Resentful energy clings to him, shrouding him in darkness.
“You told me something. You said never be afraid of me, didi, I would die before I hurt you. Do you remember that?”
Wei Ying falters and the red seeps out of his eyes for a split second before he reigns the resentful energy back to him through the broken Stygian Tiger Amulet to keep the corpses fighting.
“I did, didn’t I?”
Jiang Cheng steps forward, once, twice, until he is close enough he would not have to reach out far to touch.
“You hurt me, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says gravely, willing back any tears but unable to do anything about the thickness of his voice.
Wei Ying sinks to his knees and shakes his head. “I am sorry, Jiang Cheng.”
“I do not need your sorry.”
“No. Just my life, right?” Wei Ying asks rhetorically, peering up at Jiang Cheng. “I will bet you are glad to kill me.”
Jiang Cheng remains silent.
Wei Ying huffs out a maniacal laugh, tipping his head back to the sky and sighing exaggeratedly.
“At least you were mine, for a little while, before I died.” He sighs happily. Jiang Cheng can tell his brother is not quite of sound mind. He clenches his jaw.
“I have never been yours,” he spits. Even still Wei Ying treats him like a possession. The Wei Ying he remembers from their better days would have never. It is an insult to the memory of the man Jiang Cheng knew. In a way, Wei Ying died that very first rut they spent together, turned into this alpha that breathes in possession and control.
“You have always been mine,” Wei Ying counters through a crooked grin, tendrils of energy creeping for Jiang Cheng. He is surprised no fierce corpse has touched him. That must be Wei Ying’s doing. The sounds of battle ring loudly through the mounds.
He is also mildly surprised no one has breached through the throng of corpses surrounding them, though his fellow sect leaders had for once graciously given into his demands of being the one to kill the Yiling Laozu.
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and breathes in deep. He is being distracted. “Wei Wuxian. Will you fight me or yield?”
“I will yield. But only if you do it on your knees.”
That would put them on equal standing, both of them kneeling in the dirt. Lowering Jiang Cheng as sect leader to dirty himself and putting himself at the same level as his brother. He grits his teeth. “Fine.”
He bends to one knee, then the other, binding Wei Ying tight with Zidian. The Tiger Amulet is clutched in the alpha’s hand, broken in half. There is a fluttering in his stomach and Jiang Cheng can not quite hide his gasp. His baby. They are moving. The midwives had told him it would happen soon but for the first time to occur in the presence of the child’s father, the first and last time their child will meet him. Jiang Cheng nearly wants to laugh. Subconsciously, helplessly, Jiang Cheng puts a hand to his stomach.
“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying arches his eyebrow, inquisitive, gleaming eyes focused on him, nothing like a man moments from death should look like. He leans forward a little, scenting the air. Having grown so accustomed to his scent, Jiang Cheng is certain that Wei Ying will be able to discern his condition even with his scent dampened.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says quietly, and once again the resentful energy pouring from the Tiger Amulet fluctuates.
“Huh,” he stares at the faint bump in Jiang Cheng’s robes that no one would notice if they did not know to look for it.
He looks up at Jiang Cheng, whistling a few notes that shifts something in the energy spiraling around them. Jiang Cheng unsheathes Sandu. “You will keep it,” Wei Ying says, less like a question and more of a demand. Jiang Cheng bristles. “Think of it as a parting gift,” Wei Ying laughs, a hollow noise that scrapes against his ears, “I know how much you wanted it. A part of me inside of you, Jiang Cheng, isn’t that fitting?”
“Bastard,” Jiang Cheng growls at how callously Wei Ying speaks of their child.
“One last proof that you were mine,” Wei Ying smirks.
Jiang Cheng tightens Zidian until he wheezes for air.
“Will you miss me, didi?” Wei Ying chokes out.
Jiang Cheng says, coldly, “Never in a thousand years.”
His brother smiles wide at him as Jiang Cheng plunges Sandu through his stomach and twists.
“You will miss me, A-Cheng.” Wei Ying tells him softly, confidently, the red flickering away and then the blue melting off, finally leaving behind his tender gray eyes, watching Jiang Cheng adoringly.
ACT II.
my twisted knife, my sleepless night, my winless fight
scene i.
He has Wen Yuan cradled to him when Lan Wangji arrives at Burial Mounds. After so many days he did not expect anyone to be here, the Jiang sect having taken total control over the lands after Jin Guangyao had finished with his nonsense.
“You,” Lan Wangji says coldly. Jiang Cheng is not wearing enough layers today to hide the swell of his stomach given that he thought it would only be Jiang sect members up here.
He rolls his eyes at the alpha and says scathingly, “You are not permitted to be here.”
“Give the boy,” Lan Wangji demands, disregarding his words. There is an edge of nerves in his voice. “You think I am going to kill the child?” Jiang Cheng scoffs in disbelief.
“Killed Wens.”
“He is a child. Three years. I am not that much of a monster, Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng sneers poisonously, glaring the alpha down. “Besides I could not kill him even if I wanted to.”
“Why.”
Jiang Cheng remains silent for a moment, tucking his nose into Wen Yuan’s neck. “He smells like Wei Wuxian.” Being pregnant with Wei Wuxian’s child and craving the alpha’s presence now that he is dead means that he can not bear to be rid of one of the last remnants of him, even if it comes in the form of a Wen child. Besides, he has a soft spot for the boy.
“You killed Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji trembles on the spot. Probably the only reason he does not try to murder Jiang Cheng where he stands is because he is holding Wen Yuan.
“I did.” Jiang Cheng bares his teeth. “And I would do it again.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes darken.
“You will not hurt me,” Jiang Cheng laughs mirthlessly.
“Will not hold him forever,” Lan Wangji counters, eyes slowly shining a bright blue. He is losing control. Even the peerless second master of Lan is felled by emotion, by Wei Wuxian.
“Oh,” Jiang Cheng shakes his head mockingly, “Not because of him.” He shifts the sleeping boy higher up so his clothed stomach is bared, not above a little emotional blackmail and torture.
“Because of this,” he spares a hand over his stomach for a moment before bringing it back to hold Wen Yuan properly, “Because of Wei Wuxian’s child.”
Lan Wangji freezes. His features contort, staring unwaveringly at the slight curve of the robes.
“Wei…Ying’s?” He draws it out, eyes snapping up to assess the truth of it from Jiang Cheng’s face. As if Jiang Cheng is the liar between the three of them.
“Wei Wuxian’s,” Jiang Cheng confirms bitterly. “And do not worry, I told him right before I killed him,” he says cruelly, enjoying the way Lan Wangji flinches minutely.
“Hurts, does it not. Loving him and knowing he put a child in me. I do not think even you are selfless enough for that to not sting.”
Jiang Cheng is well aware he is being needlessly vicious but he feels sick with vengeance. Wants to rip Lan Wangji’s heart out and his fantasy of Wei Wuxian apart.
“If it made Wei Ying happy,” Lan Wangji chokes out ungracefully, looking like he would rather pull his teeth. Jiang Cheng smirks at him without emotion, just an empty quirk of his mouth.
“And that is all that matters, isn’t it? Wei Wuxian’s happiness.” It is too honest and it shows because Lan Wangji’s features flicker with visible curiosity before he covers it up with his usual blank mask.
“Take the child,” Jiang Cheng says abruptly. Lan Wangji stares at him. He wavers on the spot and Jiang Cheng suddenly notices that his face is a sickly shade of gray. He ignores it. Cloud Recesses’ business is not his concern.
“Make him a Lan. Raise him as yours. Tell him—tell him Wei Wuxian was his father, tell him Wei Wuxian was a good father. Selfless, kind, loving.” He offers Wen Yuan to Lan Wangji who steps forward with a hidden stagger, back held unnaturally straight.
“Why,” Lan Wangji asks quietly, taking Wen Yuan from him with the gentlest expression Jiang Cheng has ever seen on him.
Jiang Cheng ruthlessly squashes the instincts that scream at him to take the boy back, to hide him away, to protect this piece of their alpha. He already has one reminder growing inside of him, he will not ruin another.
“Because I can not,” Jiang Cheng says finally after mulling over what he has to say. His hand creeps unwittingly to his stomach and Lan Wangji’s eyes track the movement. “Because the man who fathered this one,” he strokes his thumb over the swell, fighting to remain composed, “Was not Wei Wuxian. It was a twisted, broken alpha in the body of Wei Wuxian.”
He turns to the side on his heel, readying to leave. “As far as I am concerned, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian only had one child and that is his son Wen Yuan.” He waves a hand in the air, “The Yiling Laozu on the other hand…” he trails off. They both understand the point.
“When you are ready, Lan-er-gongzi,” As he walks away he looks over his shoulder at the heartbroken alpha cradling Wen Yuan carefully in his hands, “Come find me.”
scene ii.
Jiang Cheng gives birth to their daughter alone in Wei Wuxian’s old room, curled in a nest of the alpha’s clothes he retrieved from Burial Mounds. No one but Wei Wuxian’s ghost hears his cries once the noise-canceling talismans are on the walls. Old lady Yu was visiting her only surviving grandchild that day and the less people present the better, so Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and delivers their child after six tedious hours.
He names her Jiang Min and hopes Wei Wuxian’s spirit will leave him the fuck alone now that his precious Lan Wangji has been honored. Min as in jade-like stone. If that is not good enough then Wei Wuxian can go fuck a sword.
With saint-like patience he did not know he was capable of, Jiang Cheng raises two squalling infants, managing to hide his daughter’s existence from the world by use of copious scent blockers and sect loyalty, and wheedling his way into being granted permission over most of Jin Ling’s time until he is thirteen by flaunting his omega status and praying it does not backfire.
Despite the urge to sit down and cry as well when the two infants are inconsolably wailing, Jiang Cheng is proud of how little help he requests of old lady Yu and his Spiders. These two are his, blood or not, nephew or not—he raised them. There is a gaping hole in his instincts where Wei Wuxian and Wen Yuan are supposed to fit in, but one is dead and the other lost to the Gusu Lan clan.
Then, three years after Wei Wuxian’s death, Lan Wangji turns up on the steps of Lotus Pier, a six year old asleep in his arms.
Jiang Cheng invites him into his office, after settling Wen Yuan—or rather Lan Yuan—in Wei Wuxian’s old room with the other two sleeping toddlers.
“Wise choice,” he says, lighting a couple of candles along the perimeter of his office, “Arriving at night. The children will not disturb us.”
Lan Wangji says nothing, ramrod stiff in his seat in front of Jiang Cheng’s desk.
Jiang Cheng sighs, “Why did you come, Lan Wangji?”
“Sect Leader Jiang said.”
“Forgive my language,” Jiang Cheng says unfeelingly, “But you fucking hate me. I am sure you would rather stab yourself with Bichen than follow what I say. So, once again, I ask why you chose to come.”
“…Killed Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with audible anger.
Jiang Cheng nods once, seating himself, “I ran a sword through his stomach.”
“You are proud of it,” Lan Wangji notes.
“I am not,” Jiang Cheng denies this calmly. There is no point in giving into anger. It is one thing he learned raising two stubborn toddlers. “I am not proud—it was vengeance, maybe. Retribution. Wei Wuxian knew well what was coming for him. But it was mercy, too.”
“Mercy,” Lan Wangji repeats with disdain.
“If you saw him in those final months you know he was not himself. You can not deny that.”
“Could have helped him. Could have tried.”
Jiang Cheng sucks in a tired breath. “Even if miraculously the Jin sect let me have him, I would not have been able to help him. Wei Wuxian, he was entirely different—how do you think I bore his child, Lan-er-gongzi? Do you suppose I prayed to the gods and magically was with child?”
Lan Wangji looks like even considering it hurts him. “Slept with… Wei Ying.”
“Did you know I never said yes,” Jiang Cheng blurts out suddenly before he can talk himself out of it or swallow his nerve. Lan Wangji stares at him blankly before his face pales dramatically all at once. Jiang Cheng averts his eyes, unable to continue and see if there is any pity or pain in his gaze.
“I do not know what you are thinking but it was not—forced,” Jiang Cheng speaks quickly, worried the other alpha will come to the worst assumption. He traces the grain of his desk absently with his finger, looking anywhere but at Lan Wangji, “It was not that. I didn’t not want it at any time, I just—wished I did not want it. It was not—Wei Wuxian did not force me. He asked me to tell him no. I never did. But the alpha I knew, the one I grew up with, would have needed a yes, and.”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, resting a palm over them, “And that is when I knew he was gone. That is why I was even able to raise my sword against him.”
Lan Wangji makes a choked noise, unusual for the second jade of Lan, which makes Jiang Cheng jerk up in alarm. To his utter shock the alpha’s waterlines are rimmed with red, gold eyes watching Jiang Cheng sorrowfully.
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji says in a heavy, regretful voice.
Jiang Cheng holds his hand up, “Do not. I do not care what you think happened. I said it was not that, I meant it. This is not about condemning Wei Wuxian, this is just my explanation.”
“Even having to explain that it was not r—”
“Stop!” Jiang Cheng barks, slamming his hand down on the desk. His eyes flash. Lan Wangji’s mouth clicks shut and he stares at Jiang Cheng in distress. It is the most emotion he has seen on the man’s face other than that day, three years ago, in Burial Mounds. “I do not want to hear it. It is not so simple. I am thankful that you are not afraid to see the wrong in what he has done but even I barely understand what happened, how can I properly explain it to you?”
He huffs, roughly pushing back his bangs. “This is all besides the point. You now know why I did what I did. What do you plan to do with this information?”
“Jin Ling and your child…”
“Jiang Min,” Jiang Cheng offers.
“They are well?”
“Yes. Jin Ling is under my custody for the most part until he is thirteen. Jiang Min—not many know of her existence outside of this sect and no one outside of Yunmeng. I, well, I have no explanation for her.”
“She looks like you.” Lan Wangji’s eyes linger at his nose and lips.
“Her eyes are gray. Wei Wuxian’s gray. Some who remember him have already started to suspect,” Jiang Cheng smiles wryly, “A mated omega could adopt a child off the streets and people will find similarities between parent and child all the livelong day, but an unmated omega could bear a child and suddenly everything but the omega’s traits are visible.”
“If they find out Jiang Min is Wei Ying’s child?” Lan Wangji questions, clearly wanting to know the worst case scenario. Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth at the thought of it, “I lose custody over Jin Ling, the reputation of Yunmeng Jiang goes down the drain, and my child is the target of a hundred different sects.”
Lan Wangji nods slowly. He is silent for a long while and Jiang Cheng gets the sense he is contemplating something. He remains quiet, staring off into the distance while he waits. The worst case scenario is also the most likely scenario, and Jiang Cheng had not even addressed everything that could happen.
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji speaks finally, with deep gravity, “Will you marry me?”
Jiang Cheng gapes at him. Will he do what now? Where the fuck had that come from?
“Have you lost your mind?” He asks in bewilderment.
Lan Wangji shakes his head, “You have said yourself. Best choice.”
“I definitely did not say a thing about marrying you.”
“A mated omega could adopt a child and people will find similarities between parent and child.” Lan Wangji paraphrases his words back to him, “You said it yourself.”
“What does that—oh.” Jiang Cheng blinks. Fuck, that might actually work. “You want to, what, claim Jiang Min as your own? As in adoption or conception?”
“Conception,” Lan Wangji says placidly, completely unbothered by the fact that he is volunteering to tie himself to Jiang Cheng for the rest of his fucking life and then some.
“Why? Why the hell would you do that?”
“Wei Ying made mistakes,” Lan Wangji says rather easily, surprising Jiang Cheng, “I love him,” he admits even more readily, “And I will help his loved ones to honor him.”
“Not because it is the right thing to do?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“Might be right,” Lan Wangji accepts, “But my intention is to help Wei Ying fix his mistakes.”
“I am a mistake?” Jiang Cheng asks dryly, unsure if he should take offense or not.
“His behavior towards you is,” Lan Wangji says seriously, “And the position he left you in.”
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng shakes his head to re-focus on the proposition, “You want to marry me so that I will be a kept omega and no one will look too closely at A-Min, among other things.” Lan Wangji nods when he looks to him for confirmation. “Are you really willing to sully your reputation by claiming that you had a child out of wedlock?”
Lan Wangji meets his gaze mildly.
“Why did I even fucking ask, you would probably have married Wei Wuxian if he wanted. Wedlock is the least of your worries.”
“Not a kept omega,” is the only objection Lan Wangji has to the entire thing, “Jiang Wanyin is still sect leader.”
“No shit, or I would murder you.”
“Your answer,” Lan Wangji prods.
“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng rubs his forehead in disbelief. The plan might actually be insane enough to work and something truly must be wrong Jiang Cheng because he says, “Fuck it. Yes, I will marry you.”
“No actual mating, though,” he adds belatedly. “If someone really wants to know, the mark is on my inner thigh, your Lan dignity will just have to bear it.”
“Of course,” Lan Wangji sounds a little offended, as if expecting mating is such a far off thing when they are getting married.
scene iii.
Deciding to get married for the sake of Yunmeng Jiang and his daughter is all good and great, but informing the cultivation world is still an obstacle to overcome. Quite a large one.
It makes Jiang Cheng wonder.
“Lying is against your sect’s rules. Would this not weigh heavily on your conscience given how elaborate a lie it will be?”
Lan Wangji gives him a look that wordlessly informs him that he has asked a stupid question. Jiang Cheng sniffs defensively, “Sorry for caring.”
“Thank you for caring,” Lan Wangji replies sincerely, which just makes Jiang Cheng feel childish and, gods, he hates this alpha. “However if not lying puts an innocent at risk then I am not sure I care about sect rules. After all, I will be of Yunmeng Jiang too.”
This alpha is weird, Jiang Cheng decides.
“Fine, whatever,” is all he says out loud.
Lan Wangji nods and, well, that concludes that discussion.
scene iv.
Married life, Jiang Cheng discovers, is not that different from regular life. Then again most people marry the one they love not… whatever Lan Wangji is to him. They argue quite a lot. Verbally instead of with their eyes, now that Lan Wangji has dropped his pretense of courtesy. The cultivation world takes this with a generous handful of salt, marking it off to bickering spouses and playfulness. Jiang Cheng is in no hurry to rid them of this notion, though the blindness of the general public when it comes to a married couple is truly something to see.
For all that Lan Wangji volunteered his help and Jiang Cheng accepted, there is very little love lost between them.
Jiang Cheng did, after all, kill the man he loves—broken alpha or not.
“You are getting on my nerves,” Jiang Cheng snaps at him, slamming his brush down because Lan Wangji’s brooding is loud even in its silence. “I killed him. Get over it. There was no saving him, you know this, and I refuse to let you guilt me about it.”
“Besides,” Jiang Cheng waves his hands around, “It’s Wei Wuxian. He will probably come back through some infernal machination. So either quit your fucking sulking or get out of my office. I have work to do.”
Lan Wangji blinks at him in surprise. “Not upset about that. Have not been in a while. Is that what you think?”
Jiang Cheng stares at him, a little taken-aback. “Then—? Wait really? So why are you always sulking?”
“Because you rejected all fifteen of my courting attempts in the last three weeks.”
“I did not re—wait. Your what?” Jiang Cheng’s jaw is on the floor.
“Courting attempts,” Lan Wangji repeats placidly as if that is just perfectly normal of him to say and not utterly flipping Jiang Cheng’s worldview.
Jiang Cheng takes it all back. Married life is nothing like normal life. Married life is driving him insane. He opens and closes his mouth at least ten times without saying anything. Finally he settles on, “What the fuck?”
Lan Wangji just raises an eyebrow like he is being the weird one.
“Why would you court—we are married first of all! And didn’t you hate me just three months ago?”
“I never hated you,” Lan Wangji corrects him sharply, gold eyes pinning him in place, blue flickering around the edges which is very unusual for his Lan, steel-grip control over his alpha, “Angry at your actions and envious of the attention Wei Ying gave to you, perhaps. Never hate.”
Jiang Cheng makes a disbelieving noise, “It is not as though you particularly liked me either.”
“Because I did not know you,” Lan Wangji says succinctly as if that is the one and only answer to the question of why on earth Lan Wangji would ever dislike Jiang Wanyin. He can easily come up with three, right off the bat.
“And now you do?” Jiang Cheng says skeptically, sliding away his documents because he is not getting any work done today with this bombshell. “And that makes you want to court me?”
Lan Wangji just kind of looks at him serenely for a while. Jiang Cheng has this thought, out of nowhere, but heartfeltly, that Lan Wangji is the kind of person to see the good in anyone if he wanted to. That he looked Wei Wuxian right in the eyes after he murdered hundreds and saw the good in him anyway, that he is looking Jiang Cheng in the eyes after he murdered the love of his life and is seeing the good in him anyway.
“You are not unlovable despite what you think,” Lan Wangji says eventually, gaze falling to the book in his lap. “Neither are you a replacement.”
Jiang Cheng slaps his desk with both hands as he rises. The stationery rattles threateningly at him in response. “Yeah, I think we are done for today.” There is only so much of being blindsided he will allow for in one day, and this additional scrutiny of his various insecurities hits the limit.
Lan Wangji wears that knowing expression of his that routinely propels Jiang Cheng to fantasize about punching him in his objectively handsome face. “Alright.”
“You are in charge of entertaining the children for today,” Jiang Cheng informs him pettily from the doorway, with a mental note to tell Yuyu she has been relieved of babysitting duties. It delights Jiang Cheng in the truly despicable, rotten, evil core of him when Lan Wangji’s features twist in pain and dismay.
One three year old, four year old, and six year old does not make for a fun time and Jiang Cheng is quite happy to punish Lan Wangji with the burden of caring for all three of them. He did after all choose to marry Jiang Cheng, so the fault lies solely with him.
Before Jiang Cheng leaves he taps his fingers against the doorway and reluctantly says, “We do need to do something about A-Min’s puckish behavior. I think Wei Wuxian is corrupting her from the grave.”
Lan Wangji simply looks even more pained, if that is at all possible. Jiang Cheng smirks at him and leaves.
scene v.
Married life might be sending Jiang Cheng to an early grave, but their sex life is adding years to his life-span. It balances out.
Lan Wangji never did get around to courting him, mostly because Jiang Cheng refused to deal with the absurdity of being courted after being married. However, they are only humans in the prime of their lives, and sex is an itch they can not ignore. Well, Lan Wangji might not be human with the way he fucks. He might be a monster. Jiang Cheng needs a literal recovery period after they are done.
The initial few times were… fine. They had not slotted together as effortlessly as Jiang Cheng’s patience would like. Some of that was on him—in a manner of speaking.
Like the first time they had fallen into bed together and Jiang Cheng had spread his legs for Lan Wangji. Had let him in so easily and gotten his breath punched out of him with every thrust. His cock is ridiculously big, so of course Jiang Cheng had come ridiculously quickly.
And then Lan Wangji had stopped and Jiang Cheng had been confused by the lack of pain-pleasure from overstimulation. He had asked, why did you stop? And Lan Wangji had said, in confusion, because you were not comfortable.
And Jiang Cheng had looked at him. Had said, quietly, oh.
Lan Wangji had taken one look at his surprised expression and had ripped himself away with a stricken noise, eyes flashing bright blue.
Needless to say, Lan Wangji had been summarily turned off by that implication and it had taken him another month to touch Jiang Cheng again.
But after working past Jiang Cheng’s disastrous concept of sex, they have managed to find a dynamic that works well for them. Apparently Lan Wangji likes being tied up and ridden. If he is feeling especially indulgent, he will even let Jiang Cheng use Wei Wuxian’s ribbons. And that is because Wei Wuxian is a topic Lan Wangji likes to side-step. He will employ every bit of his masterful deflection techniques to not talk about it. With anyone. Not even Jiang Cheng. It is kind of a problem.
“I think we are playing the wrong roles,” Jiang Cheng says after he has failed to have a discussion with Lan Wangji about Wei Wuxian for probably the hundredth time. “I think I should be the one who refuses to talk about him.”
“It is hard to reconcile him in my head,” Lan Wangji admits, looking sad and melancholic. It makes Jiang Cheng feel like a bad person for bringing the topic up, which is such bullshit and honestly his life at this point.
“You’re telling me,” Jiang Cheng laughs bitterly, “I grew up with him.”
“Ask me later,” Lan Wangji tells him, “In a few years.”
Jiang Cheng wants to say something about how that is too long, that he does not have that time, except he understands. He has had four years or so to reconcile the Yiling Laozu with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji has not even had one.
“You are allowed to miss him,” Jiang Cheng tells him awkwardly. They might work cohesively in bed now but they are still emotionally inept in all the ways that matter.
Lan Wangji nods to acknowledge he heard him. His eyes are still trained on the floor, features carefully blank.
It is a specific kind of blankness, though. Jiang Cheng is both vindicated and horrified by the knowledge he has now acquired about the various minutiae of Lan Wangji’s facial profile. He could write a manual. ‘The preliminary guide to understanding Hanguang-Jun; An expression-based study discerning the emotional output of a rock. Authored by Sandu Shengshou.’
Maybe he will write it. Just to see Lan Wangji’s face.
This one is the troubled kind of blankness—the one that means Lan Wangji is upset but unwilling to concern Jiang Cheng with his emotions. He sighs, turning back to the letter from Sect Leader Yao he was reading. Sect Leader Yao’s missives are soul-destroyingly boring and so unsubtly sown with backhanded compliments that Jiang Cheng would rather have a heart to heart conversation with Lan Wangji about Wei Wuxian than try to read and reply to them. Which is what he was attempting to do, but his dear husband is being uncooperative.
“Will do it,” Lan Wangji says after a while.
Jiang Cheng blinks up at him. The paragraph Sect Leader Yao had written to try and needle Yunmeng Jiang into a new trade agreement is so backwards and long-winded that he has developed a headache trying to untangle it.
“Will do that.” Lan Wangji drops his gaze down pointedly to the letter.
“I can do it,” Jiang Cheng says reflexively. He is not sure why it is a reflex.
“Know you can,” Lan Wangji agrees, “Jiang Wanyin is very capable. Still, will do it.”
There’s that fucking thing he does. Sometimes Jiang Cheng will say something, thinking it is innocuous and warrants no further thought, but then Lan Wangji will look at him. With those damn eyes of his, silent and grave. And will reply just like that—just like know you can or trust you or will not leave.
And it makes Jiang Cheng want to fling himself off the piers and scream. He thought he had had a handle on his insecurities. What a fucking joke.
“You want to… deal with Sect Leader Yao’s missive?” Jiang Cheng asks because he is not sure if he is hearing this right.
Lan Wangji makes a face. Jiang Cheng exaggerates, of course. In reality all he does is thin his lips minutely but on Lan Wangji that is essentially a ‘face.’
“Done much today, will do this.”
Jiang Cheng looks down at the paper in front of him. “This is how a marriage is supposed to work, right? Sharing the burden and what not.”
“Believe so,” Lan Wangji says after a moment’s pause. A moment’s hesitation.
“Oh,” Jiang Cheng remembers abruptly, “Your parents were not—”
Lan Wangji looks at him evenly.
‘—happy together either.’
“Right,” Jiang Cheng says. Proceeds to internally freak out at the realization that exactly zero of the people in this room have had a healthy parental figure in their life and that exactly all of the people in this room are responsible for raising not one, not two, but three young and impressionable children.
“We really should not be allowed to raise children,” Jiang Cheng shares this thought.
Lan Wangji considers this for a moment. “No one else should either.”
Which—Qingheng-Jun, Madam Lan, Yu Ziyuan, Jiang Fengmian, Jin Guangshan, Madam Jin, former Sect Leader Nie—yeah.
“No wonder we are all so fucked up,” Jiang Cheng marvels, pitying the rest of his generation. The ones that are alive at least. Fuck it, he decides, he will in fact take the rest of the day off.
“You can take care of this,” he tells Lan Wangji, “I will deal with the kids.”
Lan Wangji looks at the missive Jiang Cheng barely got a quarter way through. He looks outside at the low sun. He sighs.
scene vi.
Jiang Cheng fears that if this discussion conference goes on any longer his husband might slap Sect Leader Yao across the face. Never did he think such a thought would cross his mind. How the times have changed.
“Why are you more worked up than me?” Jiang Cheng asks out of the corner of his mouth. He is shot a glance that reads, why are you not more worked up? Lan Wangji sits so stiffly next to him, he might actually shatter into pieces.
“Welcome to the real world,” Jiang Cheng mutters, though maybe not quietly enough because Lan Xichen’s gaze darts to him momentarily, the faintest thread of amusement in it.
Someone with more than two brain cells—Jin Guangyao, then—had made the wise decision to seat the Lan and Jiang sects next to each other. Lan Wangji sits at Jiang Cheng’s right, sharing the table, and is therefore placed between him and Lan Xichen, like a reminder of the firm tie between them. Political strength had not been Jiang Cheng’s goal when accepting Lan Wangji’s offer, but he cannot deny that there is a relief in having a tie to another great sect that exists on the same level of the Venerated Triad.
Not that he necessarily wanted in on their three-way—current two-way, may Nie Mingjue rest in peace—but it put him at a disadvantage being separated from the still standing three great sects while he was, is, rebuilding his own. Marrying the brother of Gusu Lan’s sect leader, however, is a social tie around the same level as a brotherhood between Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, and, fuck it, Jiang Cheng will take it. Lan Wangji has to be useful for something.
“Pathetic squabbling,” Lan Wangji says under his breath with great distaste, because he is in fact one of those people who snidely comments upon discussion conferences when there is a semi-willing ear to hear it.
Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw so he does not crack a smile, or worse, laugh.
Sect Leader Yao is currently provoking another sect leader—Wang Zhuolin if Jiang Cheng remembers correctly—in an argument about fucking marriage pacts. As if this is the time and place to complain about how your fourth daughter had a child out wedlock with a rogue cultivator and recently married him instead of my fifth son even though we had reached an agreement when they were barely two years old that—
“Sect Leader Yao, I do deeply apologize for the broken contract,” Sect Leader Wang rises to his feet and bows at the waist, “But by the time I found out what my unfaithful daughter had done it was too late. It seems she had taken her cues from the man she looked up to greatly… Sect Leader Jiang.”
Oh, fuck this man. What an incredibly desperate and obvious bid to shrug Sect Leader Yao off his back, but of fucking course Sect Leader Yao takes it happily. Even if the connection between Sect Leader Wang’s fourth daughter and Jiang Cheng makes quite literally no sense.
“Sect Leader Jiang?” Sect Leader Yao echoes in barely contained delight. He has made it his job to comment upon Jiang Cheng’s decisions every chance he gets, even when Jiang Cheng goes out of his way to ignore and avoid him.
He tenses when Sect Leader Yao rounds on him. Lan Wangji’s fingers creak around a cup of tea. Jiang Cheng brushes his knuckles against the back of his hand as he calmly picks up his own cup of liquor to take a sip. Lan Wangji woodenly releases the cracking cup from his grasp and sets that hand in his lap where it hopefully will not cause an incident.
“Sect Leader Jiang, it is an honor that we meet once again,” Sect Leader Yao says, in the tone one takes with a child. Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow and sets his cup down with a short click.
“Likewise, Sect Leader Yao. It is an honor you noticed me, caught up as you were with your important discussion on the marriage pact of your fifth son at a Jinlintai conference.”
Nie Huaisang snaps his fan up to hide a snort. On the face of it, there is nothing wrong with what Jiang Cheng said, but sarcasm is truly an incredible thing. Because really—who the fuck talks about their fifth son’s marriage at a discussion conference with all the great and minor sects invited? No one but an arrogant fool who thinks their petty inconveniences are significant to the rest of them.
Sect Leader Yao’s face turns red. But Jiang Cheng has to give it to him, he recovers quickly.
“Surely it must be somewhat noteworthy, Sect Leader Jiang, now that we have found that such unscrupulous behavior has in some regard been influenced by your decisions.”
Jiang Cheng breathes out the flash of anger. “Surely Sect Leader Yao is not insinuating that my mating or that my marriage, to which all involved and necessary parties agreed heartily on, was unscrupulous or dishonest?”
“Of course not, Sect Leader Jiang,” Sect Leader Yao backtracks quickly, “I—”
“Of course Sect Leader Yao would not insinuate such a thing,” he cuts off smoothly, pretending not to hear his continuation, “Given that in doing so would suggest that my sect heir is a bastard and my husband is an honorless swine. Which I do not think Sect Leader Yao would intend to say since my husband is Lan-er-gongzi, and to question his morals would be to question Gusu Lan’s virtue itself.”
When Jiang Cheng cuts his gaze to the side for a split second, both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji look impressed and amused in equal measures. Nie Huaisang shoots him a sneaky thumbs up from the corner. Jin Guangyao’s smile looks strained and his eyebrows keep twitching. Though if Jiang Cheng were hosting a discussion conference, he too would be barely clinging onto his cool.
“Now, now, Sect Leader Jiang, there is no need to take it that far,” Sect Leader Yao says hurriedly with an unnecessarily loud laugh to cover his nerves, “I would dare not imply such a thing about the peerless Lan-er-gongzi. Gusu Lan’s strict proclivity towards maintaining just and virtuous conduct is known through the land. It would be slander of great magnitude to imply that Lan-er-gongzi would carry himself with anything less than integrity and honor.”
Lan Wangji rests his hand warningly on his knee as Jiang Cheng fights to keep his face from creasing in humor. If only they knew the things their ‘peerless Lan-er-gongzi’ got up to behind a closed door; not very honorable at all.
“I was simply… concerned,” Is this man still talking? “It is said that Lan-er-gongzi has another child, a son, by the respectable courtesy name of Lan Sizhui. Is this true, Hanguang-Jun?”
Lan Wangji fingers tighten on his knee but he replies calmly, “He is my son.”
“Then, Sect Leader Jiang, tell me, does this not concern you?” Sect Leader Yao asks him with a nauseatingly false look of sympathy on his face, “Your faithful husband with a son of his own. Does it perhaps not remind you of a similar situation your parents once found themselves in? I am only saying this out of concern for you, Sect Leader Jiang, we all know what pain that devil, Wei Wuxian, caused for you and your family throughout your years as a young boy.”
Lan Wangji’s grip on his knee is bruising. Jiang Cheng lets the words ring out in the hall in silence, lets them fade as the other sect leaders shift and glance at each other in concern and agreement. He would love to say he is used to hearing Wei Wuxian’s name fall so scornfully from the tongues of other sects but he is not. He never gets used to it.
When the silence becomes too loud, Jiang Cheng cracks it. “Lan Sizhui is my son. Is there anything else about my family that concerns you, Sect Leader Yao?”
And that. That shatters the silence. Voices start climbing in volume as shocked conversations are had with each other, sect leaders parsing through the ramifications of this new revelation. Lan Sizhui is seven years old.
“Sect Leader Jiang!” There is absolutely no reason to sound that shocked but Sect Leader Yao is nothing if not a theatrical fool, “If Lan Sizhui is truly your son then that would mean that he was born out of wedlock, during the Sunshot Campaign. I do not remember ever seeing Sect Leader Jiang with child during those troubled times.”
“Oh!” Nie Huaisang says with a startled sound of realization, immediately catching the hall’s attention, “Was this—did this occur during those months that Hanguang-Jun helped you search for Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu, Sect Leader Jiang?”
Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at Nie Huaisang. He might not be Wei Wuxian, but he is sharp enough to know that Nie Huaisang is purposefully giving him a way out, putting on some sort of act. No one can be as stupid as Nie Huaisang pretends to be and still run a sect as well as he does.
“Yes,” he says eventually, taking the excuse, “This occurred during the months Lan-er-gongzi was generous enough to aid me.”
He keeps it vague purposefully, keeps it to ‘this’, because no one can pry into the details without seeming inappropriately nosey. Jin Guangyao is watching him shrewdly. Jiang Cheng does not exactly trust the man even if he makes Jin Ling happy.
“This is truly shocking to hear,” Sect Leader Yao shakes his head in disappointment, “I must say I did not expect such behavior from you, Sect Leader Jiang. I have always regarded you and Hanguang-Jun in the highest esteem—”
“I am humbly honored, then, Sect Leader Yao,” Jiang Cheng declares loudly, “By the faith you have placed in my character. Will you lend me some of your grace in forgiving this fault of mine, for I believe you are generous enough to sympathize with our situation.” He turns and splays his hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder with some attempt to look chagrined, “I hope you can understand how the Sunshot Campaign and the years after it were too tenuous to hold a marriage. As soon as our positions and the stability of our sects allowed, we rectified our misstep and wed, so please do lend us some of your exalted clemency.”
“Right,” Sect Leader Yao blinks at the play to his supposedly forgiving character, “Well.” He can not exactly look unforgiving now that Jiang Cheng has spoken highly of him.
“For I do not believe you would dismiss the Lan sect heir for simply being born during a time of valiant effort and hardship.”
“Y-yes,” Sect Leader Yao stutters and by the stunned look across the room, that thought had not occurred to them. Eyes dart between Lan Wangji’s impassive face and Lan Xichen’s ever genial smile.
The current Lan sect leader does not have a child so the heir should be Hanguang-Jun. However, given Hanguang-Jun’s marriage to Jiang Cheng that would pose a conflict of interest. But Hanguang-Jun’s child could remain in consideration for the title of future sect leader, especially considering his Lan surname and current part-time education in the Lan sect.
“Is this true, Sect Leader Lan?” The leader of the Baling Ouyang sect asks.
Lan Xichen looks his way with that annoyingly kind smile of his. “It is. Lan Sizhui is the current sect heir of the Gusu Lan sect, Sect Leader Ouyang. The formal announcement was intended to occur at the discussion conference Gusu Lan will be hosting in three months time, though Sect Leader Yao has unwittingly sped up the timeline.”
“My sincerest apologies, Sect Leader Lan,” Sect Leader Yao says, a little pale. Probably having realized that he has managed to insult two sect heirs and by proxy their sects in one conversation. Finally, he takes a seat.
“Hey,” Jiang Cheng whispers to Lan Wangji as the murmuring takes its time dying down, “If you are going to slap Sect Leader Yao, wait until you are alone with him. I already had Wei Wuxian to cause me inter-sect incidents, I do not need you to do it, too.”
The look his husband levels him with is everything short of loving.
“At least pretend that you like me,” Jiang Cheng smirks.
Lan Wangji looks away. “Handled it well,” he says, a tinge of pride in his voice.
“Is this real?” Jiang Cheng murmurs, ignoring Lan Wangji’s unamused glare, “Has Lan-er-gongzi just complimented this undeserving sect leader?”
“Do not count on it,” Lan Wangji says in a clipped tone, annoyed and embarrassed, “You act like Wei Ying.”
“Take that back,” Jiang Cheng demands, “How dare you compare me to that—that idiot.”
Lan Wangji stares straight ahead smugly. Lan Xichen keeps glancing his way in confusion. He must not be used to seeing a range of emotions on his didi’s face but Jiang Cheng prides himself on eliciting the worst of emotions out of Lan Wangji. There is something refreshing about knowing how petty and human Hanguang-Jun can be.
“Fellow sect leaders,” Jin Guangyao attempts to recapture their frayed attention, “My fellow sect leaders, I have an idea to propose. I call them lookout towers.”
Jiang Cheng feels his interest peak. Finally, something worth talking about.
scene vii.
“Explain to me what you think you are doing,” Jiang Cheng says in a stiff voice. Now that it is approaching two years since they married, Jiang Cheng has developed the side effect of being able to read quite a bit of Lan Wangji’s thoughts off of his face. Not that he chooses to share a significant amount of them out loud, anyway, but.
“You are a child,” Jiang Cheng tells him.
Lan Wangji hides the tea pot within his sleeve.
Jiang Cheng presses the side of his fist against his mouth, at a pure loss for words at this behavior. It takes him an entire minute to string together a sentence that is not simply incredulous spluttering.
“I need that tincture.” He points at Lan Wangji’s sleeve.
Lan Wangji hugs his arm against his chest and uses his free arm to shield the sleeve from view with his other sleeve.
Jiang Cheng gapes at him.
“You—that is—what—oh, just give me the fucking tea!” He splutters anyway.
“No,” Lan Wangji says.
“No?” Jiang Cheng echoes. “Are you pouting?”
“…No,” Lan Wangji mutters.
“Are you five?” Jiang Cheng asks scathingly.
(‘No! Xian-xian is just three!’)
Lan Wangji glares at him, but it lacks heat. “Child,” he says simply. Though Jiang Cheng can now write a more comprehensive manual, a simplified dictionary perhaps, on the language of Hanguang-Jun, he has not, however, become a mind reader.
“Words, Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng sighs in exasperation, “We’ve talked about this. I need words.”
“Do not take the tea,” Lan Wangji says, not quite embarrassed but definitely conscious of what he is asking for.
Jiang Cheng stares at him until he himself gets self-conscious of the silence. “You want me to bear your child.”
Lan Wangji looks a little disgruntled at the phrasing but he nods.
“Are you fucking with me?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“No,” Lan Wangji blinks.
“Of course not, you are too good for that,” Jiang Cheng concedes, “Which means you have finally gone mad.”
Lan Wangji is definitely pouting.
“Does your brother know you pout? Is that how you get him to do what you want?”
“Jiang Wanyin is deflecting,” Lan Wangji notes.
“Oh, fuck you,” Jiang Cheng growls, “Let me have this. You just asked to knock me up.”
Lan Wangji gets noticeably stiller, which is about the same as asking a rock to get stonier, but somehow it happens.
“Please tell me you are not asking for—” he has no better way to phrase it, “Sex reasons.”
Lan Wangji stays silent.
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng takes a calming breath, “How about not just for sex reasons.”
“Jiang Wanyin is a good parent,” Lan Wangji says immediately, “Enjoy seeing it.”
“And you are not doing this for the pregnant sex?” Jiang Cheng checks.
Lan Wangji falls silent again.
Jiang Cheng holds his hand out, “Give me the tea.”
With a sullen look, Lan Wangji removes the pot from within his sleeves, holding it out. And right as he reaches out to transfer it to Jiang Cheng’s open hand, he just—drops it. Jiang Cheng watches mutely as the pot clatters on the ground and the tincture spills across the floor in a dramatic flood of herbal smelling liquid.
“My apologies,” Lan Wangji says in what has to be the most remorseless tone of voice Jiang Cheng has ever heard in his life.
“You are two,” Jiang Cheng says through his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose, “The children are more mature than you. Wei Wuxian is more mature than you.”
“Can ask Da-Jie to make another pot,” Lan Wangji offers.
“I know what you are doing,” Jiang Cheng warns him, “And I despise you.”
Lan Wangji waits patiently for his answer.
“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng says.
“Mn.”
“I hate you,” Jiang Cheng adds.
“Mn.”
“Being pregnant fucking sucks, okay?”
“Mn. Am aware,” Lan Wangji throws in a couple of words to change it up.
Jiang Cheng makes an incoherent noise of rage.
“Shall I ask?” Lan Wangji ventures.
“You are dealing with Sect Leader Yao until this baby is born,” Jiang Cheng threatens.
“That is fine,” Lan Wangji says.
Jiang Cheng throws his hands up and storms away. Stupid fucking alpha with his stupid handsome face and his stupid big dick. Jiang Cheng is totally doing this for the pregnant sex too.
scene viii
“Why are you having baby?” Jiang Min asks.
Because your Baba is a horny bastard, is probably not going to go over well.
“Because the gods decided it was time,” Jiang Cheng tells her. That was the same bullshit Qin Su had fed Jin Ling and Jiang Min when they had asked about Jin Rusong.
Lan Wangji’s lips twitch in amusement. Jiang Cheng fixes him with a poisonous glare. The bastard does not have to deal with uncomfortable questions because all of the kids have decided Jiang Cheng is the reigning authority on things that children should not hear.
Lan Yuan does not look too satisfied with that answer, probably because at eight his bullshit detector is a little more refined than Jiang Min or Jin Ling’s.
“But A-Niang, why do the gods decide the time?”
It has been a year and a half since Lan Yuan started calling him that and it still throws Jiang Cheng off at times. Pretty niang, he can hear it so clearly. That is what Lan Yuan had called him back in Burial Mounds when Wei Wuxian was still around to father his son.
But Lan Yuan had decided Jiang Cheng was A-Niang at some point and neither he nor Lan Wangji had bothered to change his mind. “Why don’t you ascend to immortality and ask the gods that yourself, hm?” Jiang Cheng pokes him in the stomach.
Lan Yuan sighs. He definitely gets that from Lan Wangji.
“Do not sigh at me,” Jiang Cheng says in amusement, poking his stomach a couple more times until Lan Yuan shirks away with a small giggle. It is like Lan Xichen in a child’s body. Jiang Cheng tells Lan Wangji this all the time and by the marked lack of response, Jiang Cheng assumes Lan Wangji agrees.
“When baby comes, can I play with the baby?” Jin Ling asks critically, inspecting the bump in Jiang Cheng’s robes.
“Sure, once the baby is old enough,” Jiang Cheng says.
“How I know baby is old enough?” Jiang Min demands.
“I do not know,” Jiang Cheng lies, because he is not getting into age and time and patience with these two of all people at the moment, “We will see once the baby is born.”
“A-Niang,” Jiang Min complains.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling pouts.
“Can not help you,” Jiang Cheng shrugs unsympathetically, “Ask Hanguang-Jun.”
“Jiufu doesn’t make sense,” Jin Ling stomps his tiny foot angrily.
“I can not help you,” Jiang Cheng repeats.
Jiang Min launches herself at Lan Wangji with an annoyed cry. “Niang’s—Niang’s being mean!”
“I see,” Lan Wangji says, stroking her hair back, “What shall I do?”
Lan Yuan tugs on Jiang Cheng’s robes while Jin Ling and Jiang Min are distracted by Lan Wangji’s solemn consolation. “Can you tell me later? I want to play with the baby,” he whispers. Jiang Cheng darts a quick glance at the other two, and nods at Lan Yuan with a small secretive smile. He breaks out into a thrilled grin, quickly slathering on an innocent face when Jin Ling glances their way.
Jiang Cheng stands frozen for a moment, remembering another eight year old whose smile lit up their face like the sun itself was shining. Hopefully this one at his legs does not break his heart.
scene ix.
“Your dick is never coming near me again!” Jiang Cheng shouts, “Do you hear me, Lan Wangji?! Never!”
There is a faint, “Mn,” from outside the door. Lan Wangji had been banished to wait there when Zidian had started zapping him, feeding off of Jiang Cheng’s irritation with him. That damn alpha makes some giant fucking babies apparently because Jiang Cheng does not remember it hurting this much when he was giving birth to Jiang Min.
“If you so much as get hard again, I’ll cut it off!” Jiang Cheng threatens. The healer-in-training looks scandalized at his words but Yu yisheng just snorts and tells him to breathe.
There are a couple seconds of hesitation before Lan Wangji says, “Mn,” again.
“Almost there, Sect Leader Jiang,” Yu yisheng informs him crisply, “I can see the shoulders.”
“Yeah, great,” Jiang Cheng snarls through a contraction, “‘cause I can fucking feel them.”
The poor girl who is helping Yu yisheng looks aghast at the tone he has taken but he can not bring himself to muster enough sympathy right now to soften up. If she ever has to push out a damn baby, she will understand.
“A couple more pushes,” Yu yisheng pays his biting tone no mind. She has one hand underneath the baby’s head to support it, the other curled around the right shoulder that has made its appearance, “A few more and I think the child will slide free.”
“It better,” Jiang Cheng says ungraciously, but honestly nine months inside of his body with no charge, free food, and excellent conditions is the epitome of graciousness. The girl, Yu Lifen he thinks, looks ready to faint at his attitude. Yu yisheng had brought her along from Meishan Yu on a trip a week ago. Welcome to Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng thinks a little hysterically.
“Breathe, Sect Leader Jiang,” Yu Lifen urges shakily when Jiang Cheng’s neck goes red from strain. He barely keeps from snapping at her by the skin of his teeth. How the fuck is he supposed to breathe when a child the size of a cantaloupe is trying to force its way out of his body? He would breathe if he was not in, oh, you know, mind-numbing pain.
“Left shoulder is out,” Yu yisheng calls, “This is it, Jiang Cheng, you are almost there.”
Yu Lifen looks freshly scarred by Yu yisheng’s casual use of his given name. But this is the same woman who helped his mother give birth to him so it is not like Jiang Cheng is going to say anything.
It happens in seconds like it did with Jiang Min. One moment Jiang Cheng can feel his child still inside and then the next they have slipped out into Yu yisheng’s waiting arms, ready to be cleaned. His whole body untenses at the sound of his child’s piercing cries. He falls limp against the bed in relief and exhaustion, barely flinching through the afterbirth. Lan Wangji must be losing grip on his control because Jiang Cheng can smell his woodsy jasmine scent from outside despite the dampening effect of the tea Lans drink.
“Let him in,” Jiang Cheng croaks, and Yu Lifen throws a clean cloth over the lower half of his body before rising to unseal the door.
“A daughter,” Yu yisheng pronounces, passing his child over now that she has clipped the cord and cleaned her. Jiang Cheng takes her eagerly, splaying her across his chest for skin-to-skin contact as he studies her wrinkled face. Babies are ugly. He discovered as much with Jin Ling, then Jiang Min, and now this little one. Lan Yuan was spared since Jiang Cheng only met him after he was old enough to be cute.
They are ugly, they are useless, and they have a vise-grip on Jiang Cheng’s heart.
“Come meet your daughter,” Jiang Cheng says when he senses Lan Wangji’s presence, not taking his eyes off of her.
“Name her,” he orders, glancing up at Lan Wangji’s silence to find a spellbound expression on his face.
“Jiang Cheng liked Qing.” Lan Wangji sinks down on the edge of the bed, captivated by the small bundle in his arms.
“I did,” Jiang Cheng allows, thinking of her. What an alpha she had been. He swallows around the sourness of regret. “Here,” he dumps her into Lan Wangji’s arms before either of them can overthink it. He has never seen the alpha look so fragile, even if the newborn in his arms is the actually fragile one.
“A-Qing,” Lan Wangji says tenderly, shifting to rest her in one arm fully so he can stroke the back of one knuckle down the length of her chest. She starts burbling, tiny upset noises spilling from her mouth. Lan Wangji hesitates before running the inside of his wrist lightly over her skin. It settles her enough so the noises subside, but an angry crease remains between her brows.
“Shall I call for the children?” Yu yisheng asks, working around Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng to clean up the room.
“Please do,” Jiang Cheng replies, wincing when he tries to rise up.
“Let me,” Lan Wangji says immediately, passing Jiang Qing back to him and using that Lan arm strength of his to reposition Jiang Cheng so he is propped against a pile of pillows.
It is not until he hears the patter of feet approaching the room does Jiang Cheng look up from watching Jiang Qing doze peacefully against his chest. He pulls shut the robe Yu Lifen helped him into right as his kids burst in through the door.
“Quietly, meimei,” Lan Yuan is warning Jiang Min. Jin Ling is gravely silent as he creeps towards the bed, trying his best to peer at what Jiang Cheng is cradling.
“Jiujiu, is that the baby?” Jin Ling asks him, staring up at him with wide eyes.
“This is the baby, Ling-er,” Jiang Cheng agrees and Jin Ling climbs onto the bed next to Lan Wangji to take a look. “Say hi to A-Qing.”
“My biao mei?” Jin Ling asks but does not wait for a response, smiling down at her, “Nice to meet you, A-Qing! I’m your biao ge. Let’s be friends.”
Lan Wangji makes a soft sound of amusement, accommodating the feet Jiang Min plants all over him as she climbs onto the bed.
“I want to be friends with A-Qing, too!” She says self-importantly. Lan Wangji meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes. Definitely Wei Wuxian’s daughter.
“There is no limit on how many friends you can have, meimei,” Lan Yuan assures her.
Jiang Min nods imperiously. “Good. I want to be friends with A-Qing and Lien and Pingping and Taitai—”
“I think we get the point, A-Min,” Jiang Cheng cuts in with a short laugh.
Jiang Min huffs, “I’m just saying!”
“Can I hold A-Qing, A-Diē?” Lan Yuan widens his eyes pleadingly at Lan Wangji.
“Sit first,” Lan Wangji instructs.
“What about me?” Jiang Min asks excitedly.
“No,” Lan Wangji says unceremoniously and Jiang Cheng snorts quietly at the offended look on her face. “Too young,” Lan Wangji adds when Jiang Min’s bottom lip starts trembling in a precursor to crocodile tears.
Lan Yuan sits on the bed next to Lan Wangji, holding his arms out eagerly. Lan Wangji folds his arms into the proper posture to hold a newborn before taking Jiang Qing from Jiang Cheng and carefully handing her to Lan Yuan. Jiang Min and Jin Ling crowd him on either side, cooing down at the mewling baby.
“She’s ugly,” Jin Ling decides.
Lan Wangji gets a complicated look on his face. Jiang Cheng starts laughing and then cuts himself off with a groan when everything below his ribs protests the action.
“Truly that peacock’s son,” Jiang Cheng mutters, smiling when Lan Wangji’s lips twitch in amusement.
“So when can I play with A-Qing,” Jiang Min looks at them expectantly. Jin Ling joins the stare down, big eyes already gleaming with anticipation.
Jiang Cheng remembers that conversation about patience and waiting they never did have with Jiang Min and Jin Ling and drops his head onto the pillows. “I don’t know,” he sighs, “In a while.”
He swears he hears Lan Wangji snort, the fucking bastard.
scene x.
“Where is Diē?” Jiang Cheng demands of Lan Yuan.
Lan Yuan shrinks into himself, gaze darting around nervously. None of the disciples meet his eye.
“A-Diē… made me promise not to tell you,” Lan Yuan says with a wince, “And I can not break promises.”
“Either you break that promise or I will break both of your legs,” Jiang Cheng warns him, and he crackles Zidian demonstratively. Lan Yuan does not so much as flinch. Instead he puffs up resolutely and declares, “I am a Lan. I can not break promises.”
Jiang Cheng opens his mouth and shuts it twice. Well, he is not wrong. “You little brat,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, “You’re a Lan when it suits you, huh? Fine, I’ll find A-Ling. If he knows, he’ll tell me.”
By the paling of Lan Yuan’s face, Jin Ling does indeed know. Jiang Cheng whirls around to go find that other brat.
“Jin Ling!” He calls loudly, “Jin Ling, where is Jiufu?!”
Jin Ling’s voice echoes from somewhere down the corridors. “Jiufu?! He’s at the inn you don’t like!”
“That bastard,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath, stalking off to go find his cowardly husband.
“Er-ge! That’s mean!” Jiang Min cries seconds later, “Baba said not to tell A-Niang!”
“I don’t listen to Jiufu!” Jin Ling tells her haughtily, “Jiujiu’s more important!”
At least Jin Ling still knows his priorities.
Jiang Cheng may or may not spend the entire ride on Sandu cursing his husband. He touches down in front of the inn he does not like—really the inn he and Wei Wuxian used to frequent as kids for the chicken, a memory too painful to visit now. Shen Nianzu, the inn keeper, smiles knowingly as he enters, tilting his head to the back of the inn where Lan Wangji sits tensely at a table.
“I will take a room upstairs,” Jiang Cheng tells Shen Nianzu, pulling out a pouch of silver but he is waved off.
“Nonsense, Sect Leader Jiang, it would be my honor to host you. Take the third room on the left, it should be open.”
Jiang Cheng thanks him and stops in front of Lan Wangji’s table. “Up,” he says icily and Lan Wangji slowly rises from the table. “Follow me,” he turns on his heel, taking the stairs to find that, yes, the third room on the left is open.
Lan Wangji enters the room hesitantly, like he is afraid of being tortured the moment the door closes. Jiang Cheng slams the door shut after him and fishes out a few pieces of paper to write sealing and noise-canceling talismans on.
“Now,” he says dangerously, rounding on Lan Wangji who beats a hasty retreat further into the room, “Tell me, Zhangfu, do I look like a brood mare to you?”
“Jiang Cheng, that is—” Lan Wangji attempts.
“Do you know what pregnancy has done to my body?!” Jiang Cheng snarls, hand going to the belt around his waist. Lan Wangji’s gaze drops to it as Jiang Cheng undoes his robes to bare his torso.
“Look at all these stretch marks,” Jiang Cheng snaps, brushing his fingers over the vibrant white streaks littering his abdomen like lightning bolts, “My milk just stopped coming in. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to fight while full? Does it look fun to you to be stuck with a stomach bigger than a melon for months on end? A-Qing is but seven months old! I am a sect leader, not some kept omega.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes are dark and tracing over the stretch marks on his stomach.
“Are you even listening to me?” Jiang Cheng asks incredulously, pulling his inner robe back together.
Lan Wangji snaps his eyes up to meet his. He looks at Jiang Cheng helplessly.
“You are not listening to me, are you.”
His husband valiantly does his best to appear attentive. But when Jiang Cheng approaches him, when he stalks right up to him, his hand goes straight to his abdomen.
“You dog,” Jiang Cheng sneers, allowing his eager touch to delve beneath the fabric, “Insatiable bastard.”
His breath catches in his throat when Lan Wangji cups a breast in one large hand, thumb swiping over the sensitive nipple.
“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says, but he does not look very repentant, “It was not my intention to leave you with child again.”
“Do you think I believe that?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“It is the truth,” Lan Wangji says defensively.
Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “Look at me,” he says, “Tell me you truly did not intend to knock me up.”
Lan Wangji hesitates. “I admit I cannot be regretful of what has happened.”
“Bastard,” Jiang Cheng says.
Lan Wangji attempts to rearrange his features into something more apologetic. He is not very successful. Jiang Cheng sighs through his nose. There is not much he can do at this point. He gets a hand around the back of Lan Wangji’s neck, pulling his head down to his chest.
“Make yourself useful, then,” Jiang Cheng orders him.
His robe slides off his shoulders, baring his torso again. Lan Wangji’s eyes flare blue.
“Gladly,” he murmurs.
scene xi.
Lanling Jin is as customarily opulent as it always is. Even Jin Guangyao’s modest taste as compared to the late Jin Guangshan has Jinlintai gleaming like a second sun under the late afternoon sky. Jiang Cheng has to fight down an eyeroll at the gold plating on the pillars throughout the guest hall.
“My sincerest apologies, Sect Leader Jiang,” Jin Guangyao says as he sweeps into the hall and bows, trailed by two servants. Qin Su and Jin Rusong are missing. “It was terribly impolite of me to keep Sect Leader Jiang waiting for so long especially since he is expecting and traveling with an infant.”
“It is fine,” Jiang Cheng dismisses gruffly with a shallower bow due to Jiang Qing in his arms, unwilling to let Jin Guangyao sweep him away in his battle of niceties. If Jiang Cheng returns one inch of his politeness, Jin Guangyao will continue to humble himself further and further until not a single word leaving either of their mouths is anything more than a wasted breath.
It is odd behavior, as if Jin Guangyao is flaunting his lack of self-respect and Jiang Cheng does not understand how so many people do not see it.
To Jin Guangyao’s credit though, Jiang Cheng’s bluntness does not faze him for long, as ever, and he nods once in acceptance before briefly gesturing with both hands at the open doorway.
“Shall we have lunch in the dining hall? I asked the cooks to prepare A-Ling’s favorites.”
Jin Ling lights up, leaving Jiang Cheng to run to Jin Guangyao’s side and tug at his sleeve. “Shushu, are they making tangyuan?”
“Tonight, yes,” Jin Guangyao says, patting Jin Ling’s head and resting his palm there, “And tomorrow and the day after since it is Dongzhi.” Jin Ling cheers loudly, beaming at thought of three days of tangyuan.
“Will Rusong and Jin furen not be joining us?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“Ah,” Jin Guangyao says, raising his eyes up only halfway, “A-Song is quite sick and my dear wife is tending to him at bed side. I apologize, but I will be your only company at lunch today Sect Leader Jiang.”
“I see,” Jiang Cheng says shortly, “Then I hope Rusong returns to good health speedily and without difficulty. Let me know if there is anything I can do to assist, Sect Leader Jin.”
This is not the first time Jin Rusong has been sick, not by far. Jiang Cheng will admit to being concerned for the young child, not even four years of age and visibly frail every time that Jiang Cheng has seen him. Any illness would take a toll on such a child and Jin Rusong has fallen sick multiple times this year alone.
“Can I see Ru-di when he’s better, Shushu?” Jin Ling asks, already used to the protocol. He is not allowed near Jin Rusong when his cousin is sick lest he fall sick himself.
“I suspect I could not stop you, A-Ling,” Jin Guangyao smiles, a genuine one for once. Jiang Cheng comes to a stop behind Jin Ling, ready to be led to the dining hall so he can take a seat and take the weight off his hips. Jiang Qing and his rounded stomach are together starting to feel like a stone tied to his waist.
“Sect Leader Jiang, please follow me,” Jin Guangyao looks up and undoubtedly catches the haggard expression Jiang Cheng is not trying very hard to hide, “And perhaps, if Sect Leader Jiang’s arms could use the break, I could hold Jiang Qing?”
He asks this last part very neutrally, as if he expects a refusal. His eyes are curious and hold the sort of careful eagerness that suggests Jiang Cheng’s answer means a lot more to Jin Guangyao than he is willing to admit. Of course, observing all this does nothing for Jiang Cheng if he has no idea what Jin Guangyao is looking for and besides his arms could use the break, so he says a cursory, “If Sect Leader Jin would not mind,” before promptly dumping Jiang Qing in his arms.
Jiang Qing has no problem with strangers as long as Jiang Cheng is within eyesight so she only fusses for a tense moment before grabbing the tassels of the string tying Jin Guangyao’s hat. It is Jin Guangyao who looks taken aback and uncertain, holding Jiang Qing with a hesitation that does not befit him.
“Sect Leader Jiang, I must say I am honored by your trust,” Jin Guangyao says, a startlingly honest if confusing statement.
“What?” Jiang Cheng frowns, “I know you know how to hold a child. There is no need to overstate the situation.”
“But that you would let me—” Jin Guangyao cuts himself off, pressing his lips together. The words seem to have slipped out without permission.
Jiang Cheng looks at him like he has hit his head a little too hard. “Why would I not?”
Jin Guangyao seems to pause at this, contemplating. “I see,” he says after a moment, and then swiftly changes tracks, “Follow me Sect Leader Jiang.”
He takes them to a different dining hall than the one Jiang Cheng is familiar with, smaller and more private. Something a family would use, rather than one meant to entertain guests. He speaks shortly with the two servants trailing them, low enough Jiang Cheng does not attempt to listen in. Jiang Qing has taken to gnawing on the tassels which Jin Guangyao only acknowledges with a glance and a small smile.
“Please,” Jin Guangyao says once he is done speaking to the servants, “Take a seat. The dishes should be out soon. Any particular food we should watch out for, Sect Leader Jiang?”
“None,” Jiang Cheng says but Jin Guangyao already knows this, asking probably to reconfirm, “But some ginger tea would be much appreciated.”
Jin Guangyao glances over at one of the servants and nods, and she bows at both of them before leaving, presumably to fetch the ginger tea Jiang Cheng requested.
“Your daughter, Sect Leader Jiang,” Jin Guangyao says as if suddenly remembering, approaching Jiang Cheng, “I am sure you would like her back.”
“Not especially,” Jiang Cheng says dryly, the ache in his back finally starting to fade, “If you could keep her until the food arrives, I would be much obliged.”
Jin Guangyao stops in his tracks and blinks a couple of times, glancing down at Jiang Qing. She burbles around the tassel, drool coating the thin strings. She lifts her large eyes to stare glassily at Jin Guangyao.
“Of course,” he says after a moment, reanimating. He passes around Jiang Cheng to take a seat at the head of the table, “I would love nothing more. A-Qing is a wonderfully behaved child.”
“An angel compared to this other one,” Jiang Cheng agrees, meeting Jin Ling’s affronted gaze.
“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling whines, “I behave!”
“Oh, you do?” Jiang Cheng asks, “You will have to show me next time.”
Jin Ling pouts and Jin Guangyao hides his laugh behind a sleeve, his eyes glittering over top. Jiang Cheng allows his lips to curve into a small, amused smile.
“Jiujiuu,” Jin Ling drags the word out, “You’re being mean!”
“I am being honest,” Jiang Cheng says, “It is a virtue.”
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling says, and if it were not for the fact that he is only seven years old and therefore has no reason to have access to emotions like weariness, Jiang Cheng would say he sounds like a haggard parent, “You’re never honest.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Jin Ling wisely plays the innocent act.
“That is what I thought,” Jiang Cheng says, “It is not as though you were talking back to your elders, right?”
“Right,” Jin Ling says quickly, “Right.”
Jin Guangyao is watching them with a smile Jiang Cheng doubts he even realizes is there. “But A-Ling tries to be on his best behavior, doesn’t he?”
“I do,” Jin Ling agrees, taking the escape his shushu is giving him. Jiang Cheng shakes his head. He is glad Jin Guangyao goes out of his way to treat Jin Ling so well when he has no real duty to his nephew given how strained and awkward his relationship with Jin Zixuan was and how willingly Jiang Cheng took on Jin Ling’s care. But for all of Jiang Cheng’s reservations about the man, he appreciates the sincere affection he has for Jin Ling even if that often boils over into spoiling Jin Ling and consequently painting Jiang Cheng out to be the strict one.
Jin Ling is giving him a haughty look, one that reads ‘See, even Shushu’s on my side.’ Jiang Cheng scoffs to himself. Jin Ling practically preens under Jin Guangyao overindulgence. It must be that peacock’s influence, Jie would never behave like this.
“Brat,” Jiang Cheng says, “We will see what Jiufu has to say about your behavior when you go back. I won’t forget about this,” he warns.
Jin Ling pales. Lan Wangji has a surprisingly flexible tolerance for mischief and poor behavior, but he also has a pristine memory that he wields well when reprimanding any of the children for their transgressions. Jin Ling has definitely had his fair share of turns being at the end of Lan Wangji’s particular brand of scolding and he knows well what Lan Wangji would have to say about his general capacity to behave.
“Not Jiufu,” Jin Ling panics, “Jiujiu, anyone but Jiufu, please.”
“Jiufu is of the Gusu Lan clan,” Jiang Cheng says, “He does not lie. He is the perfect person to ask.”
“But Jiufu…” Jin Ling trails off, sensing a losing battle.
“But Jiufu what? But Jiufu knows exactly how you act when you are not trying to sweet talk your shushu?” Jiang Cheng poses. Jin Ling crosses his arms in a huff and raises his nose up at Jiang Cheng. “Brat,” Jiang Cheng repeats, fondly this time.
Jiang Qing makes a startled noise out of the blue before letting out a stream of upset babbles. Jin Guangyao stiffens in alarm, his free hand coming up to pat comfortingly at her back while he searches her for the source of agitation. Though she continues to fuss, Jin Guangyao finds no visible reason for her agitation and instead coos questioningly at her, glancing briefly at Jiang Cheng in a silent plea for help.
“She probably startled herself while playing with the tassel,” Jiang Cheng takes mercy on him, “No need to fret. If she is truly upset,” Jiang Cheng blows out a breath, “She will let you know.”
Jin Guangyao grimaces sympathetically, understanding exactly what Jiang Cheng means even if from what he observed Jin Rusong was a quieter infant than any of Jiang Cheng’s children. Definitely much quieter than Jin Ling, despite being blood-related.
In fact Jiang Cheng misses the child at the table, with his sweet innocence and the adoration he has for Jin Ling, deserved or not.
He hopes Rusong betters by the time Dongzhi rolls around in two days as he knows Jin Ling will be lonely without his younger cousin to dote on. Over the years, he and Jin Guangyao have settled into an unspoken agreement to trade off having Jin Ling for festivals and this year Jin Guangyao has claim to the Dongzhi festival, hence why Jiang Cheng has traveled to drop Jin Ling off at the Lanling Jin sect.
The original plan had been that Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling would travel with a small retinue, but Jiang Qing had screamed her head off within five minutes of Jiang Cheng’s departure according to the panicked disciple who had been sent to chase them down. When Jiang Cheng had returned he had been met with a rather hassled looking Lan Wangji, shaken by the non-stop wailing and irritated that his presence had failed to console his daughter even a little. And so Jiang Cheng had to pack up her things and bring her along.
The same servant from before enters the room with a tray laden with a steaming pot and cups, the aroma of ginger and lemon trailing after her. Jiang Cheng sighs in content, accepting the cup she pours for him with heartfelt gratitude. Despite the heat of the tea, it settles his stomach and quells the ever present uneasiness at the back of his throat. The nausea has been worse this time around than his other pregnancies, like an itch he can not seem to get rid of. He only hopes that in the coming months the nausea fades like it did previously.
“I assume Sect Leader Jiang shall be staying for the night,” Jin Guangyao asks casually, for him at least.
“To recuperate from the travel,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “Not quite as easy to recharge in this state.”
Jin Guangyao’s gaze drops briefly to his stomach and he nods sympathetically. “I can only imagine,” he says and Jiang Cheng braces himself in case he tries one of those favor currying comments about how strong Jiang Cheng is or how inspirational he is to be doing all this as an omega and a sect leader. But maybe Jin Guangyao has decided the mood is not right or he has decided Jiang Cheng is not stupid or maybe Jiang Cheng is just being very obvious, but no such comment comes. And Jiang Cheng is fine with the comment left behind, because the only thing Jin Guangyao can do is imagine.
The dinner is pleasant and Jin Guangyao is for once refreshingly genuine. Jiang Qing only stays in Jiang Cheng’s lap long enough to be fed a meal of rice and steamed vegetables before returning to Jin Guangyao’s lap.
Once the dishes are cleared away, Jin Guangyao turns to Jin Ling, a secret smile on his lips. “I have a gift for you, A-Ling,” he says. Jin Ling lights up, straightening impatiently in his seat as he waits for his shushu to disclose the gift.
Jiang Cheng waits and watches silently. Jin Guangyao leads them out to a courtyard where a servant is waiting with a crate in his arms. Jiang Cheng falls back with Jiang Qing in his arms as Jin Ling bounds up to the servant in excitement, shooting Jin Guangyao a hundred questions all the while.
“I heard that someone is a dog lover,” Jin Guangyao says airily, smiling when Jin Ling’s jaw drops and he whirls on the crate with glee.
“Puppy!” He screams happily when the crate is set on the ground. He dives in with both hands to gather the puppy into his arms. He cradles it gently, grinning ear to ear and spouting a thousand thanks to Jin Guangyao.
Jiang Cheng’s stomach turns. He meets Jin Ling’s searching gaze with an allowing smile. He will not rain on Jin Ling’s parade but—
(He was seven too when he gave away Jasmine, Princess, and Love.)
“But Shushu,” Jin Ling says slowly, his smile fading, “Dogs are not allowed in Lotus Pier.”
“Dogs are allowed in Jinlintai, however,” Jin Guangyao responds.
Jiang Cheng’s stomach turns again. Putting aside Jin Guangyao’s obvious bid to bribe Jin Ling into spending more time at Jinlintai, Jiang Cheng can not even bring himself to consider keeping Jin Ling away from the puppy. He would not be able to live with himself if he marred the joy on Jin Ling’s face. And yet Lotus Pier does not allow dogs.
It is in times like these that Jiang Cheng thinks he will never understand his father.
“Jiujiu…?” Jin Ling questions.
Lotus Pier does not allow dogs because Jiang Cheng has devoted these past six years to waiting for Wei Wuxian and he knows that will not change, but he will be damned if he neglects those alive for those dead and long gone.
“Lotus Pier does not allow dogs,” Jiang Cheng agrees and Jin Ling’s face falls, “But I suppose an exception can be made.”
Jin Guangyao blinks and clears his throat but does not otherwise react. Still Jiang Cheng can tell he is peeved by Jiang Cheng’s out of character flexibility. But if there is one thing his family has taught him, that his husband has taught him, it is that he still has a family and he will not take it for granted this time.
Jin Ling sets the puppy down in the crate and runs to wrap his arms around Jiang Cheng’s legs in a tight hug. “Thank you, Jiujiu,” he whispers, choking up from all the intense emotions his little heart is feeling, “Thank you so much.”
Jiang Cheng crouches down and sets Jiang Qing on her feet, supporting her with a hand while pulling Jin Ling into a proper hug. He pats his head, ruffling his hair, and drags his wrist over his scent glands to scent him. “You do not have to thank me,” Jiang Cheng says, a little gruff, “I am your jiujiu, it is my job to keep you happy and safe. And if that dog will make you happy, then you can have the dog, A-Ling.”
Jin Ling nods, pulling away to wipe his eyes. “What should I name the puppy, Jiujiu?”
“Your dog, you name it. Is it a girl or boy?”
Jin Ling turns to Jin Guangyao expectantly. “The puppy is a girl,” Jin Guangyao answers, “She is special, too, because she is a spiritual dog. Which means as you both grow closer and older, the two of you will be connected in a way a regular dog can not replicate.”
“I can take her night-hunting?” Jin Ling asks excitedly.
“Of course. She will become the perfect guide,” Jin Guangyao smiles, “You will have to train her first, of course.”
“I’ll name her Fairy!” Jin Ling decides.
Jin Guangyao’s smile freezes. Jiang Cheng snorts quietly. It seems that Jin Ling has inherited his naming skills. “A lovely name,” Jin Guangyao manages eventually, strained. Jiang Cheng takes a decidedly immature amount of pleasure in Jin Guangyao’s distaste for the name. He might be willing to overlook the gentle bribery but he sure as hell is not above enjoying Jin Guangyao’s torment.
Besides, Jin Guangyao needs a reality check if he thinks Jin Ling would be so easily swayed by material possessions when Lotus Pier is the home that raised him and shaped the fundamental parts of him. Jiang Cheng takes some fucking offense to the fact that Jin Guangyao thinks Jin Ling’s loyalty could be bought by a dog. As if a dog would replace the love and affection of a caretaker or the nurturing young children need. Jiang Cheng would know.
He is Jin Ling’s jiujiu and that is not something easily replaced.
scene xii.
“A-Niang?” Jiang Min calls.
“In here,” Jiang Cheng says lightly, looking over his shoulder to watch as Jiang Min and Lan Yuan find him in the ancestral hall. Jiang Rong is asleep in his arms.
They bow at the entrance before stepping carefully inside. Lan Yuan kneels beside him on a mat, holding his arms out to ask for Jiang Rong. Jiang Cheng passes him over gratefully. His arms were getting sore but his youngest refuses to sleep unless he is in someone’s arms.
“A-Niang, what are you doing?” Jiang Min asks curiously. Jiang Cheng never enters the ancestral hall unless absolutely necessary.
“Paying respects to the dead,” Jiang Cheng answers, “To my A-Niang, A-Diē, and A-Jie.”
Jiang Min nods and refocuses on the names carved into wood before her.
“My shixiong, too,” Jiang Cheng adds, subdued.
“Shixiong?” Lan Yuan repeats curiously.
“Is he important?” Jiang Min asks.
Lan Yuan makes an aggrieved noise. “Meimei. Of course he is important to A-Niang.”
“Well why?” She demands.
“He was someone I loved,” Jiang Cheng replies before Lan Yuan can scold her for the insensitive question.
That gives them both pause. Jiang Cheng looks down at his hands. Both of Wei Wuxian’s children sit as his side. Both of their children—his and Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Wangji’s—sit at his side. But they only know two of their parents. Wei Wuxian is nothing to them. Even the Yiling Laozu is just a ghost story. And it hurts because Lan Yuan smiles with his father’s brilliance and Jiang Min laughs with her father’s carelessness.
Lan Yuan pipes up eventually, “Like—like the way you love A-Diē?”
Jiang Cheng hesitates, glancing at him.
“…Yes. Like that.”
The way he is supposed to love Lan Wangji, more like. The way his children think he does. Jiang Cheng can admit that there is a great amount of care—love, even—in his heart for Lan Wangji but it is no comparison yet to the way he loved Wei Wuxian. The way he still loves him.
“A-Niang,” Jiang Min whispers, softly and worriedly, shuffling closer, “Don’t be sad, A-Niang.”
Jiang Cheng feels a smile flicker over his lips. “I’m okay, baobei.”
Jiang Min wraps her arms around his waist wordlessly, hugging him tightly. Lan Yuan passes his brother back to Jiang Cheng before enveloping him in a hug too. Their faces are buried in his robes and against his neck.
“I will be fine,” Jiang Cheng assures them, shushing Jiang Rong when he fusses in his sleep, “I have you two, A-Ling, didi, meimei, and my lao gong. I’m okay.”
“Can you tell me about your shixiong later, Mama?” Jiang Min asks, peering up at him with her puppy eyes at full force. Jiang Cheng can not help but see Wei Wuxian for a flash.
“One day,” Jiang Cheng concedes, “One day I will tell you all about him. What he means to me and to my lao gong and to us.”
“So he is important to A-Diē too,” Lan Yuan guesses.
“Very,” Jiang Cheng laughs wryly, “He is very important to A-Diē.”
“Like you,” Jiang Min says.
“Like me,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “We were all important to each other.”
“I wish I could meet your shixiong,” Lan Yuan says unhappily, frowning in disappointment.
“He was talented and smart and the best disciple Yunmeng Jiang had to offer,” Jiang Cheng tells him.
Jiang Min narrows her eyes. “Better than you?”
Jiang Cheng’s breath sticks in his throat. “Better than me,” he says after a moment.
“I don’t think so,” Lan Yuan says off-handedly, still leaning on Jiang Cheng, “A-Niang is the sect leader.”
“That’s true,” Jiang Min concedes after a moment, “A-Niang and—and Shijiu are both the best.”
Shijiu. Jiang Cheng’s chest constricts. Wei Wuxian’s biological daughter calling him shijiu is a new kind of hell previously undiscovered.
“But, what happened to Shijiu?” Jiang Min’s curiosity remains unchecked.
Lan Yuan makes another aggrieved sound in the back of his throat, “You can’t just ask someone that.”
“A-Niang,” Jiang Min ignores her brother and tugs at his sleeve, “What happened?”
What happened? What did happen?
He took my virginity in the middle of a war. He was reckless. He was odd and twisted and terrible. He found out about you and then I sank my sword through his stomach. He told me he loved me right before he pulled Sandu out of his stomach and attempted to destroy the other half of the Stygian Tiger Amulet. His machinations backfired on him and his corpses tried to tear him to pieces. I think he died from the sword through his stomach, though. I think it was mercy. I think that I am glad it was mercy but I think that I am also glad it was my sword that killed him.
“He tried to do what he thought was right even though the world was against him, and he paid the price,” Jiang Cheng summarizes simply. Quite a few things about the situation are not meant for the ears of children.
“Was he right?” Lan Yuan asks. Jiang Cheng can tell he is trying his best to tamp down on his curiosity, but it leaks through in the way his eyes are wide with fascination.
“There is no correct answer,” Jiang Cheng sighs, “Shìfēi zài jǐ, huǐyù yóu rén, déshī shìshí. That is what he used to say—right and wrong is decided by oneself, praise and condemnation depend on others, gains and losses are insignificant.”
“But do you think he was right,” Lan Yuan presses.
Jiang Cheng parts his mouth, staring sightlessly at the stream of water pouring onto the intricately carved bottom piece of the ancestral display. The candles flicker in seeming unison.
“…I hope so,” Jiang Cheng settles on eventually, in a wavering voice, “I hope he was right so he did not die in vain.”
Jiang Min rises onto her feet to hug Jiang Cheng carefully around the neck, patting and stroking the back of his head softly in an imitation of what he and Lan Wangji do to console her whenever she cries. Jiang Cheng smiles fondly, one arm coming up to cradle her back.
“Mama,” Jiang Min says in a clumsy whisper, pulling back to look him in the face, “It’s okay, I’m right here.” She wipes at his cheeks to dry off the nonexistent tears and holds his face steady with her palms to press a kiss to his forehead. Jiang Cheng can not help but laugh, though he does it quietly and inconspicuously to avoid offending his daughter.
“I want to do that, too,” Lan Yuan says, abruptly competitive. He tugs on Jiang Cheng’s arm, mindful that he is still cradling Jiang Rong, to try and turn him. Jiang Min lets Jiang Cheng go easily enough for once. Lan Yuan holds Jiang Cheng’s face with both palms and kisses his forehead. “Don’t be sad, A-Niang,” he says earnestly, “I’m right here.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart swells with emotions and he blinks away the sting in his eyes. He tugs Lan Yuan and Jiang Min down one after the other to scent them, nuzzling against their cheeks, still soft from baby fat. “What would I do without you,” Jiang Cheng murmurs thickly, chest aching.
“Should we get Baba?” Jiang Min asks Lan Yuan behind a cupped hand. Maybe too much emotion leaked into his scent and voice. Jiang Cheng bites back a smile. “I do not need Baba,” he says.
“I think we should get Baba,” Lan Yuan whispers back. Jiang Min takes off at a run, only stopping to bow hastily at the doorway when she remembers herself.
“Baba will come and fix it, A-Niang,” Lan Yuan says with big, worried eyes, “Please don’t be sad.”
“I am really not,” Jiang Cheng tries to insist but then his son is already gone. He sighs, looking down at Jiang Rong. “You are the only one who still listens to me in this sect, you know? A-Qing is already a rebellious spirit, and she is not even two. It must be Wei Wuxian. He must be corrupting her from the grave.”
Jiang Cheng shifts on his knees and winces, back twinging. “Aiya, my back is all messed up because of you, A-Rong,” Jiang Cheng groans, tucking Jiang Rong higher against his chest to press a hand to his spine, “Who did I piss off to have such big babies, hm? Even high cultivation can not defeat the pains of childbirth, it seems.”
He hears the whisper of his husband’s footsteps. A large hand presses to the small of his back, weight settling against his side.
“I am fine,” Jiang Cheng is quick to preface, “It was the memories.”
“Will be the judge of that,” Lan Wangji says calmly, mild amusement threading through his words. He glances at Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng tilts his head up, only a little, to meet his gaze challengingly.
Lan Wangji drops his gaze down to Jiang Rong. “How is our son doing?” He changes the subject.
Something sparks low in Jiang Cheng’s stomach at that. At ‘our son.’ The same something that curls in his stomach every time he says ‘Zhangfu’ and hears ‘Qizi’ from Lan Wangji. The reminder of having this—his husband, his children, his sect, a family—is a thrill every time.
“As spoiled as can be,” Jiang Cheng replies, smiling fondly at their son.
“Only we are to blame,” Lan Wangji says with a measure of resignation, but he does not sound too upset about it.
“A-Min called him shijiu,” Jiang Cheng lets slip.
Lan Wangji is silent as he processes this, breath stuck in his throat. “I see,” he says eventually on a gust of air. His tone is knowing.
“The daughter that is half him is calling him shijiu. The son he raised for three years does not even remember him,” Jiang Cheng says in despair, “Forget about the rest of the children.”
“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Wangji says consolingly. But Jiang Cheng will not have it.
“It is not fair,” he says bitterly, lips trembling. Lan Wangji takes Jiang Rong from him and he fists his robes in his hands. “That bastard. How could he leave me? Or you, for that matter, how could he do this to you?”
“Your concern is not so selfless,” Lan Wangji identifies accurately.
“It is not,” Jiang Cheng concedes. He laughs hollowly. “I am selfishly mad that he left me. I would give the rest of the Jianghu up in a heartbeat if it meant he chose to stay with me.”
“He loved you,” Lan Wangji states.
Jiang Cheng laughs again, head hanging. Through his bangs, he glances up at Lan Wangji. “Oh, I know,” Jiang Cheng says with fatalistic humor, “Wei Wuxian was not the only one. Niang, Diē, and Jie did too. But who did they all choose at the end of the day? Not me.”
Lan Wangji sighs, brushing Jiang Rong’s hair from his forehead. With pointed neutrality, he says, “Self-pity is unbecoming.”
“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng tosses back, “It is true. Who has ever chosen me?”
Lan Wangji looks at him. “I did.”
Jiang Cheng snorts, then chuckles dryly. “I do not think this marriage counts when you did it on Wei Wuxian’s behalf. Besides, if he returns?”
“Hm,” Lan Wangji considers it seriously. “Choose both?” He suggests.
“You can not—” Jiang Cheng cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, “I am tired of being second choice. Even I have my pride.”
“Do we not have times when we cannot give our heart what it wants?” Lan Wangji asks cryptically, “Nonetheless, that does not apply to me. I did not settle for you nor will I ever. You are who I want to wake up next to every morning and sleep next to every night. There is nothing more sincere that I can offer.”
“…I think that is the most I have ever heard you say at once,” Jiang Cheng says. He is at a loss for a proper response, blindsided by Lan Wangji’s declaration. Still, “Are you trying to tell me you do not want that with Wei Wuxian?”
Lan Wangji blinks. “Can I not have it with both of you?”
“Then what is this about not being able to choose what your heart wants?”
“To say that Wei Ying wanted to choose you but could not,” Lan Wangji answers easily.
“Perhaps you have gone mad,” Jiang Cheng says.
“One day I will make you believe me,” Lan Wangji says, looking at the names of the Jiang sect ancestors. Jiang Rong starts to fuss, a small bubbling cry spilling from his lips.
“Believe what?” Jiang Cheng asks flippantly.
“That you are wanted,” Lan Wangji says, sharp and unamused. He settles Jiang Rong into Jiang Cheng’s arms, “Perhaps then Jiang Cheng will realize how self-involved he is.”
“You’re an asshole,” Jiang Cheng sneers.
“You are afraid of the truth,” Lan Wangji retorts, his voice having gone thin from irritation.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng accepts, “You know what, yes, I am. I am afraid of the fucking truth because I would rather be angry than sad. Do you think you are the only one who can pick apart all my flaws?”
“And what truth do you speak of?” Lan Wangji asks.
Jiang Cheng rubs his wrist down the center of Jiang Rong’s torso, purposefully spreading his soothing pheromones to mask any of the conflict clouding their scents.
“The truth that I could not have him. The truth that he did not want me until he was twisted and even then he did not want me enough to choose me. The truth that I would have given him everything if he asked for it but he wanted nothing from me.”
“It is not about what you would have given or that you were not enough,” Lan Wangji shakes his head, admonishing, “How could he have taken any more from you when it was ruining you as it already was?”
“Right, because toying with me was less ruinous than doing me the dignity of mating,” Jiang Cheng says acidically.
“And when the Jianghu revolted? Or, perhaps, when Wei Ying died as your mate?” Lan Wangji poses.
Jiang Cheng has no response to that. He is not sure how he would have dealt with such an outcome. “So you think it is a surety that he would have died, even as my mate?”
Lan Wangji casts him a dry, withering glance, “I believe he was treated unfairly by the Jianghu, but I am neither naive nor obtuse.”
“Well, thank the gods for that,” Jiang Cheng mutters.
“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Wangji says in a heavy breath. He is tired of Jiang Cheng’s attitude, that much is obvious.
“Alright,” Jiang Cheng relents, “I know.”
“We can tell them,” Lan Wangji says, hailing back to the start of their conversation, “Teach the children about him.”
“What would you have us teach them? Besides singing his praises, of course.”
“Do not test my patience.”
“I will do whatever the fuck I want,” Jiang Cheng mutters icily, “It is not like I am wrong.”
“You are,” Lan Wangji bites back. His voice is wound up tightly and his posture is rigid. “You are. I do not deserve this. Your issues are not mine, do not make them mine.”
Jiang Rong starts sniffling, quickly working himself up to a cry. When Jiang Cheng remains frozen and unresponsive, Lan Wangji retrieves their son from Jiang Cheng’s arms with a clipped, “Let him go.”
He rocks Jiang Rong, rising to his feet with fluid grace. He heads towards the doors of the ancestral hall, stopping at the threshold. He looks back over his shoulder, gaze lowered to the floor. “Who are you mad at? Do you even know?”
scene xiii.
“Sect Leader Jiang! Sect Leader Jiang!”
The door slides open with barely restrained force.
“Speak,” Jiang Cheng orders. The brush in his hand remains paused mid-air as he waits for his disciple to continue. Lan Wangji does not look up from his book but Jiang Cheng knows that he is listening.
“Sect Leader Jiang, some of the disciples who returned from Tanzhou are saying that there are rumors of the Yiling Laozu residing there.”
“Rumors are rumors,” Jiang Cheng dismisses.
“Da-shixiong said that he felt resentful energy from the Shì Huā Nǚ’s garden.”
Rumors are rumors, but resentful energy is definitely something more. “Enough to be concerned?” Jiang Cheng questions, though maybe he did not phrase that properly. Resentful energy from Shì Huā Nǚ’s garden is always a matter for concern, but depending on the level of resentful energy, it may not be Jiang Cheng’s concern. His disciples are more than capable.
“Da-shixiong thinks it is demonic cultivation,” Mei Longwei says solemnly.
Fuck. Jiang Cheng sets his brush down with a neat click.
“Okay,” he says after a moment’s deliberation, “Tell Liu Chenglei and Yang Meilin to be ready within the next shi. Ask Liu Chenglei to pick three other disciples he thinks can best deal with resentful energy. We will leave as soon as everyone is ready.”
“Yes, Sect Leader Jiang!” Mei Longwei closes the door carefully and then Jiang Cheng hears him book it down the hall despite the no running rule he is sure he has reminded his disciples of time and time again.
“Will come,” Lan Wangji says once the footsteps have faded.
“Why?” Jiang Cheng asks flatly.
Lan Wangji hesitates, a red flag itself. “Cleansing can help.”
Jiang Cheng scoffs. “And that is the only reason you want to come? How naive do you think I am?”
“The first step of dealing with resentful energy is liberate,” Lan Wangji says pointedly, “Not eliminate.”
“As long as resentful energy is dealt with, what complaint is there.”
Lan Wangji looks down at his book, closing the pages primly. He straightens a couple of invisible wrinkles in his robes. “You sound like Wei Ying.”
Jiang Cheng clenches his teeth, jaw aching at the pressure. Four years have taught him how to ignore Lan Wangji when he needs to.
“Come if you want, but do not get in my way.” His tone is cold and he sees Lan Wangji’s eyebrows furrow faintly. “I am your sect leader, I hope you have not forgotten that.”
“I have not,” Lan Wangji says, “I would not.”
Jiang Cheng eyes him skeptically but he nods, gesturing with his chin for Lan Wangji to follow him out. “Get ready.”
The Shì Huā Nǚ’s garden is deserted when they arrive. And as Mei Longwei reported, there is resentful energy leaking from the garden.
“Demonic cultivation,” Jiang Cheng confirms, catching Lan Wangji’s terse, agreeing nod from the corner of his eye. “The presence is still strong, the cultivator must still be around.”
“A male alpha,” Liu Chenglei, his head disciple, adds.
“How certain are you?” Jiang Cheng checks.
“I would bet my sword on it.”
Which means a lot coming from a cultivator. “Alright,” Jiang Cheng accepts, “We keep an eye out for a male alpha. For now, I want some of you to check if the area is cleared of civilians and the rest to secure the garden. Hanguang-Jun and I will take care of the cultivator.”
“Sect Leader Jiang, it is dang—” a couple of his disciples start to protest, but they cut themselves off at his sharp look.
“Do not worry about me,” Jiang Cheng says, “This is not just a buildup of resentful energy, this is strong demonic cultivation. I want you all to learn from this experience but do not intervene.”
The doors to the garden are unlocked but no one would dare to enter anyway. Not since Wen Chao burned the Shì Huā Nǚ’s garden and she returned to it corrupted by the yin iron. Yunmeng Jiang had been called to take care of the Shì Huā Nǚ a year and a half after the siege at Burial Mounds and Jiang Cheng still remembers her low, moaning wails as he had wrapped Zidian around her neck and pulled. The spirit had been thankful as the last of her form faded, the thorned vines she had trapped Jiang Cheng in withering away within seconds.
The scent of dead bodies hits Jiang Cheng the moment he steps through the first archway within the compound. His foot skates back as he rears in surprise. Lan Wangji’s hand settles on his waist, light and reassuring. It only takes him a moment to adjust to the nauseating scent—war teaches you many, many things.
“It is coming from the room beyond,” Jiang Cheng says under his breath, getting an answering nod from Lan Wangji.
He lets Zidian uncoil as he takes the lead, feeling the icy warmth of it travel through his arm as it hums. Sandu is tense at his side and he notices Lan Wangji’s fingers circling around Bichen’s sheath, ready to draw him at a moment’s notice.
He keeps his breathing shallow, not interested in inhaling lungfuls of the rotting smell. He does not think anything is alive in here but guǐ are not alive anyway and those could be around any corner with the state of this place.
“There should not be bodies,” Jiang Cheng says to Lan Wangji, “No one enters here. Not since the Shì Huā Nǚ passed on.”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji eyes the next archway warily. Jiang Cheng holds his breath as he ducks through with Zidian at the ready, but he is left grimacing when all he finds is the source of the stench.
“Female omegas,” Jiang Cheng notes, “Five of them.”
Lan Wangji skims over the pile of them with his lips pressed tight. Three of them are unclothed and two are only covered in thin, torn robes, similar to sleepwear.
“Now we have the motive,” Jiang Cheng says in disgust, “Rape.” He shudders in his skin, glad that his disciples are not here to see this or him.
“The disappearance of five women would have reached Yunmeng Jiang by now. Unless… they are from a brothel, which is likely,” Jiang Cheng surmises. “The ones closer to Lotus Pier we have managed to establish enough trust that they would come to us for missing persons, but brothels this far out still have not—they are still hesitant.”
Lan Wangji looks at him in interest. “Started this when?”
“Two years after you went into seclusion,” Jiang Cheng supplies rather than using Wei Wuxian’s death as a marker like he typically would. The minute flinch Lan Wangji does every time he brings it up makes him disproportionately guilty. Jiang Cheng thinks that learning to read Lan Wangji’s body language is as much a curse as it is a gift, because his husband feels so damn much so precisely it makes him second-hand exhausted. Why the fuck do people think he channels all the extraneous emotions into anger? It is an easier, more efficient use of his energy.
“We need to give them a proper burial after the cultivator is taken care of.”
Jiang Cheng allows himself a moment of weakness, averting his eyes from the ghastly sight with a shuddering breath. Lan Wangji touches the small of his back, the side of his wrist, a small gesture of support. This could have been him in different circumstances. He thinks about Wen Chao, Wen Zhuliu, and what more Wang Lingjiao promised to have done to him come morning, the worst of which he only escaped because Wei Wuxian snuck him out that very night.
“Are you satisfied now?” Jiang Cheng asks cooly once his skin has settled back into place, turning to his husband, “Look,” he gestures at their surroundings, at the defiled bodies, “This is his legacy. This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it?”
Lan Wangji stiffens and his eyes flare an angry blue. “Jia—Sect Leader Jiang,” he says lowly, sticking to his title as he does during formal affairs, “Do not. Wei Ying would nev—”
“Wei Wuxian might not have,” Jiang Cheng talks over him loudly, “But those who follow after the path he created would. They have and they will continue to do so. We call these things consequences, Lan Wangji, I know you are not very familiar with them.”
Okay, that was rude of him. He has seen the scars on Lan Wangji’s back that exist despite Lan Xichen’s efforts to protect him. He knows Lan Wangji knelt outside the Gentian House for days on end, learning the concept of death. He remembers his broken leg at Qishan Wen, the stiff pain on his face as he could only wait as his sect continued to burn, up in the mountains.
Lan Wangji had frozen when he had started speaking. Now, he slowly closes his mouth, swallowing up the rest of his sentence. He glances at the dead bodies once more before turning his back on Jiang Cheng and walking into the next room. Jiang Cheng tries to ignore the guilt but it takes him a couple of minutes to shake it off and follow after him.
Because he is not wrong either, is the thing. Lan Wangji might have faced consequences before, of his or others’ doing, but it is as if he does not understand that all actions have consequences. As if he is relearning that concept every time it happens, lost in blind idealism. As if Wei Wuxian’s choices and the things now being done in his name with his tools are independent of each other.
They are not. Wei Wuxian knew what demonic cultivation did to a person and he knew what people would do with this kind of power. Still, he continued with developing it and Jiang Cheng can only hope that all the good his spirit-attraction flag and compass of three winds do will balance out the evil done with the rest of his inventions.
“Clothes,” Lan Wangji says, examining the room. Jiang Cheng looks in the direction he points and sure enough there are clothes piled on a broken dresser. In fact this room looks inhabited, odd trinkets and items strewn around to signify that the cultivator they are looking for has made himself a temporary home here.
Lan Wangji would not have pointed him to the clothes unless there was something to see so Jiang Cheng draws closer.
“Fine embroidery,” he hears low in his ear as Lan Wangji shifts around him to gesture at one particular robe peeking from a pile of black and reds. He uses Bichen to gently lift the garments out of the way and Jiang Cheng can see the delicate gold work, the pale yellow of high quality silk.
“How much do you want to bet we will find a white peony embroidered on it?” Jiang Cheng asks dryly.
“Do not bet on sure things,” Lan Wangji replies placidly, letting the robe be covered up again.
“So a Lanling Jin defector then,” Jiang Cheng theorizes, “I do not think someone still allowed within a sect would resort to demonic cultivation,” and then he freezes because he knows what that sounds like. “He asked me to expel him, I would not—I did not want to.”
“I believe you,” Lan Wangji says and leaves it at that.
Jiang Cheng stands blankly for a while longer before turning sharply away from the dresser and Lan Wangji. “I have a letter for Lianfang-Zun to write.”
“Mn.”
“You—” Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and clenches his fist, “I will not apologize for what I said.”
Lan Wangji watches him silently.
He sighs in resignation. “But I do apologize for the way I said it.”
Lan Wangji studies him before nodding. “Accepted.”
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng says quietly, “Come, let us go back. We need to remove any trace of our presence so he returns here without hesitation.”
Outside Jiang Cheng orders his disciples to visit every brothel in the vicinity and covertly check if they have had girls go missing.
“In the meanwhile, we will remain in the inn there,” Jiang Cheng gestures at one on the opposite side of the street, a few buildings down, “Keeping an eye on the garden to see if anyone returns.”
He would do the investigative work himself if it were not that he refuses to allow his disciples to deal with the cultivator. The goal is to strike with the element of surprise, catching the cultivator without a fight, but if it comes to one, Jiang Cheng wants to be there. The resentful energy cultivated was strong enough, and for those with little to no experience, the novelty of fighting resentful energy is enough to throw them off completely. Besides Zidian is meant for battles like these and she has been hungering since she got a taste of the energy in the air.
The inn is nearly empty when they enter, which is to be expected since not many visit this area of town long enough to require the use of an inn. Not since Wen Chao swept through. Jiang Cheng meets the inn keeper’s eye and sets silver on a table as he passes, heading for the stairs. He turns at the top, looking for the room at the front of the inn that has a window with a view of the compound.
“A perfect view,” Jiang Cheng muses, when the doors on the window swing wide open and he has a clear scope of the entrance to the Shì Huā Nǚ’s garden.
“Food,” Lan Wangji reminds him, still standing at the entrance of the room. The sun is past its highest point and Jiang Cheng has not eaten since morning.
“Anything is fine,” he tells him over his shoulder.
His husband disappears back downstairs. Jiang Cheng rests on the edge of the window, careful to balance only a small degree of his weight on it. The streets are barren, the odd civilian passing by with a measured quickness to their gait. Even those lacking spiritual energy can sense the malice in the air and it shows.
Watching the streets must have put him in some odd trance-like state, because Jiang Cheng starts when Lan Wangji raps his knuckles on the door frame to call his attention as he enters. There is a tray of steaming food in his hand which means Jiang Cheng was out of it for a lot longer than he thought if fresh food was made in that time.
A bowl of congee for Lan Wangji, of course, and a tofu dish for Jiang Cheng. It is bright red and Jiang Cheng can smell the chili oil and peppercorn from a distance. He smiles to himself as he imagines his stony husband asking the cook to add more spice.
“Eat well,” Jiang Cheng says as he gathers his chopsticks from the tray, setting the jar of water to the side to avoid any spills.
Lan Wangji nods and places two small bowls of rice and chili in front of him, taking his congee for himself. The tray is set to the side and the only sound left is the clinking of the cutlery as they eat quickly in comfortable silence.
When Lan Wangji is nearly done with his food, Jiang Cheng cuts a small piece of tofu with his chopsticks and offers it up to him. Lan Wangji watches a drop of chili oil roll off of it and accepts it hesitantly into his mouth. Jiang Cheng thinks this is the sweetest thing his husband has done for him—for a couple of months now he has been attempting to increase his spice tolerance by allowing Jiang Cheng to feed him small pieces of his meals.
His ears have turned red at the spice but Lan Wangji just nods at Jiang Cheng to cut him another piece. Jiang Cheng holds up the rest of the tofu chunk and his husband takes it into his mouth with visible apprehension. He lasts a minute before he lets out a single, thin cough and Jiang Cheng reaches for a cup to pour him some water.
“You are getting better,” Jiang Cheng says, “It was not as bad this time, no?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head as he takes a long sip. “It was not,” he agrees after clearing his throat.
“Be grateful it is me accustoming you to spice, you would have fallen over if you tried even a grain of his food.”
“…Mn,” Lan Wangji says. Jiang Cheng finishes the last of his rice and sets his chopsticks down. He returns to the window and signals to the disciple standing guard near the entrance of the garden that he is free to leave now. He hears the quiet bustle behind him as Lan Wangji collects their dishes and takes them downstairs.
They wait for two shi before there is movement at the gates. There is a flash of blue light and a man dressed in black robes appears with a tied-up young woman in his arms. She lays limp in his hold, probably passed out.
“Transportation talisman,” Jiang Cheng notes in surprise. Likely he had learned the talisman as a former Jin sect member. Transportation talismans utilize a large portion of one’s spiritual energy, though if one also carries out demonic cultivation, it may not be as draining.
“He is kidnapping the women like this,” Jiang Cheng realizes, “So there is no witness of him bringing them back.” He ducks out the window when the man enters the compound, Sandu guiding him through the air and Lan Wangji following him closely. They land soundlessly at the front. Jiang Cheng cracks the door open only as much as they need to slip inside, slowly to keep it silent.
Zidian uncoils, tense, waiting eagerly to strike. They can hear the man moving around in the rooms beyond, crooning vile things Jiang Cheng refuses to process to the unconscious woman in his arms.
He nods at Lan Wangji and they creep forward, taking care to stick to the walls and out of view of the doorways. The man has set the woman on the floor, splaying her out on top of a single blanket in the middle of the room. Her hands are up by her head, submissively, and her legs are spread apart. He stands by her feet, arousal thickening his scent.
Jiang Cheng gives himself a moment to take note of anything he should watch out for before he moves, spotting the wooden dizi tucked in the belt around the man’s waist.
“Just one more,” The man mumbles to himself, staring hungrily at the omega below him, “And then to Laoling.”
Zidian strikes out faster than Jiang Cheng can blink even though he commanded her. His anger, cold and seething, in turn made her sharper, deadlier. She winds around his throat like a noose, pulling so tight within seconds that the man immediately starts wheezing, hands flying up to his neck. It is useless.
Lan Wangji is quick to add binding talismans over top and shoots Jiang Cheng a warning look when the man’s face starts staining a concerning shade of purple. Right. Questions.
He throws formality out of the window, tugging the man onto his knees and loosening Zidian enough for him to speak. He barks, “What sect are you from?”
In response he gets hacking and choking from the strangulation. It is not that Jiang Cheng really needs an answer; it is almost certain he was a Lanling Jin cultivator and even if not, this is Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng is well within his rights to carry out a sentence for this man, former sect notwithstanding.
“Why turn to demonic cultivation?” Jiang Cheng asks next, eyes narrowing when this time the man chooses not to answer. Zidian sparks once, loudly, and it elicits a scream. Men like this have low pain tolerance, Jiang Cheng has long since learned that.
“Speak or I will kill you slowly,” he warns, patience hanging on a fraying thread.
“Why not?” The cultivator sneers, coughing from the effort of speaking, “It worked for the Yiling Laozu, did it not?”
“The Yiling Laozu was nowhere near despicable enough to rape someone.”
The man laughs uproariously, hoarse and cracking and condescending, utterly unpleasant to hear. “The Yiling Laozu has been dead for enough years, surely the time to save face has passed. He chose those Wen dogs over your family, he killed your sister and her husband, no one would be surprised to hear the rest of the truth.”
Jiang Cheng remains silent and still even as Lan Wangji bristles in rage at his side. He runs through a checklist in his mind, once, twice, three times, and when he finds that everything necessary has been ticked off, he grips Zidian tighter and pulls.
The sound of the man’s neck snapping lasts only a split second but it seems to ring in his ear, bouncing off the walls. Zidian slithers back around his hand and wrist, buzzing with the leftover energy running through his veins. The man begins to topple over and Bichen pierces through his clothes to drag his body away from the unconscious woman.
“Do you understand now?” Jiang Cheng asks the silent room. Bichen returns to his sheath and Lan Wangji settles his hand over top of the hilt. “This is his legacy.”
Lan Wangji turns to him. “Now is not—”
“This is his legacy,” Jiang Cheng says stiffly, “Whether you like it or not, this is what people think of when they hear the name Yiling Laozu. The servant boy who bit the hand that fed him. The deviant that killed thousands out of rage. The father of my children, the husband I was supposed to have, the only person I have ever loved and this is what he left me. This is what he left us, Lan Wangji. His ruins.”
The room returns to silence after he spits the last word out. His husband approaches the unconscious woman, kneeling by her side. He begins to feed her spiritual energy in order to wake her.
“And I suppose you want me to clean up after him,” Jiang Cheng adds. As always, Jiang Cheng must clean up after him.
“It is hard to believe your scorn,” Lan Wangji says without even looking his way, “When Wei Ying’s reputation hurts you personally.”
“Of course it does!” Jiang Cheng snaps, “That is the point! You think I would expend so much energy and time and—and care over someone who means nothing to me? He meant the world to me and now the only thing left of him is a wicked story parents scare their children with!”
“And your anger solves what?” Lan Wangji asks flatly. He pauses in feeding the woman spiritual energy, tilting his head to the side and peering at him through his peripheral vision. “What do you fix with your scorn, Sect Leader Jiang?”
“…Nothing,” Jiang Cheng replies after a long moment. His hands hang limp by his side. The woman starts shifting, signifying some level of consciousness. “But what else do I have left to give?”
Nothing.
The woman wakes up, disoriented and frenzied with panic. Lan Wangji steps back so Jiang Cheng can take his place, the omega pheromones he pumps out purposefully doing more to calm the woman than anything else. He escorts her out, taking care to shield her from the sight of the dead bodies even if there is nothing he can do about the scent.
“Sect Leader Jiang, thank you,” she says and Jiang Cheng glances at her in surprise, tilting his head. He had not expected to be recognized.
“You visited us,” she says, pulling the dachang Jiang Cheng had stripped off of Lan Wangji tighter around herself, “Five months back, here in Tanzhou. Our head lady refused your promise of help. Does Sect Leader Jiang remember me? This one is called Taitai.”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says abruptly, turning away from the disciple he was instructing to face her fully, “I do. You asked that I try again in six months time, and said you would try your best to convince your head lady in the mean time.”
“Sect Leader Jiang remembers this lowly one very well,” Taitai melts in relief and it pains Jiang Cheng how happy she looks at simple courtesy, “This one is hon—”
“Please do not,” Jiang Cheng cuts her off, grabbing her forearms before she can bow, “Please do not thank me for treating you with basic dignity.”
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Taitai begins, conflicted, before she concedes to Jiang Cheng’s insistence, “If Sect Leader Jiang would forgive me for this, but I must ask if Sect Leader Jiang would grant me a favor.”
“Of course,” Jiang Cheng replies immediately, gentling his grip and letting Taitai cradle his hands between her own as it seems to comfort her, “There is nothing to forgive, please ask me anything.”
“My dear sisters,” Taitai says sadly, glancing at the compound where their bodies lay, “I require assistance in burying them.”
“I had already presumed that we would assist whomever claimed kinship in burying them, there is no favor to be granted here,” Jiang Cheng assures her.
Taitai tears up, a few spilling over her cheeks silently but she only nods at Jiang Cheng, lips pressed into a thin, trembling line.
“If you or your fellow ladies ever require assistance, Yunmeng Jiang is open to you. Do not wait for someone to give you permission to save yourself, please come to me. No civilian is turned away from Lotus Pier and should you see any Yunmeng Jiang cultivator, know that they will not turn you away either.”
Taitai nods shakily. “Madam Shen refused us from saying a word about the disappearances. She said it would look badly on us, driving away customers if they thought something evil was at play.”
“She was wrong,” Jiang Cheng says gently, “And she put your lives at risk.”
Taitai sobs once and it wracks her body violently. Jiang Cheng holds her carefully as her knees give out, sinking down with her onto the road.
“I am sorry,” Jiang Cheng murmurs regretfully, “I should have returned sooner.”
Taitai shakes her head, wiping fruitlessly at her eyes. “Madam Shen would not have given Sect Leader Jiang the time of day,” she hiccups, “She did not care when A-Ming and Susu disappeared and they were her favorites.”
Jiang Cheng fights to keep the anger out of his scent knowing it will not help the situation.
Taitai sucks in a deep breath. “Sect Leader Jiang,” Her voice trembles concerningly, “May I ask you for a proper favor?”
“What is it?”
“I have not had my cycle for nearly a month, and I believe I am with child. But I do not have the capability to take care of this child once it is born. I have heard Yunmeng Jiang takes in orphans and abandoned children. Would Sect Leader Jiang take mine in?”
“I would,” Jiang Cheng promises her, “But I do not think that is your only option.”
“What does Sect Leader Jiang mean?” She asks.
“Come,” Jiang Cheng rises and holds his arm out for her to use as she stumbles to her feet after him, “Hanguang-Jun must be done purifying the resentful energy from your friends, let us bury them honorably as they deserve. We will discuss your options after.”
scene xiv.
He holds Jin Ling close, patting his back gently. Jin Ling had tired himself out from crying, his small face ruddy with tears. Jiang Cheng’s heart aches for him, bundling his little body in his lap as he rocks them side to side. Jiang Min watches with a solemn expression, resting her head on her father’s knee. Lan Yuan wipes his eyes discreetly.
“Take them out,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Wangji. He receives a nod before his husband ushers Jiang Min off of his lap and beckons Lan Yuan to follow them out of the room.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling croaks softly after the door slide shuts and silence rings for a moment.
“Yes, A-Ling?” Jiang Cheng looks down at him. Jin Ling attempts to blink his eyes open but they loose the fight to gravity and fall shut.
“Do you think Ru-di is happy? Wherever he is?”
“I am sure he will be guided directly to the wheel of reincarnation,” Jiang Cheng says.
“And he’s happy, right?” Jin Ling asks.
“Of course he is. Wherever he ends up, his life will be painless and fortunate. He was such a good child, the gods can not decide any differently,” Jiang Cheng says.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling sobs weakly, his face scrunching up, “I want Ru-di back.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng whispers, stroking his head and pressing his nose to Jin Ling’s neck, “I am sorry, A-Ling.” If there was one thing Jiang Cheng wanted to spare Jin Ling from, it was the pain of losing someone you knew, especially so young, “I am sorry.”
“I want to play with him,” Jin Ling cries, “I didn’t get to show him Fairy’s trick! He wanted to see Fairy’s trick and I told him next time but I can’t show him anymore, Jiujiu. I want Ru-di back!”
Jiang Cheng’s heart breaks at the regret in his voice. Regret is a poison that can never be drained, sitting like a sword in the heart. It is a ghost that haunts you for decades, nipping at your heels when you dare to forget it. It is a physical weight in your lungs that suffocates you at night.
“You can show him,” Jiang Cheng says, “You can still show him, he will be watching you even now, A-Ling.”
“You think so?” Jin Ling sniffles.
“You are his favorite gege, he will definitely watch you.”
“The trick isn’t that cool,” Jin Ling says, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “I just taught Fairy how to turn in a circle. She’s still a puppy.”
“I am sure Rusong will think it is cool,” Jiang Cheng says, “You know how much he likes Fairy.”
“Liked,” Jin Ling says.
Jiang Cheng pauses. “What?”
“It’s liked, not likes. He is not here anymore, so you have to say liked, Jiujiu.”
(It is Wei Wuxian hated dogs, not hates dogs.)
“…Right,” Jiang Cheng says numbly, “Of course.”
Jin Ling falls silent, his ear pressed to Jiang Cheng’s chest, right over his heart. He wonders if Jin Ling can even hear his heartbeat or if it is the idea of it that is comforting him. Lan Wangji returns after a while, resting a comforting hand on Jin Ling’s back when he raises his head to check. He sits next to Jiang Cheng, their legs overlapping, keeping his hand on Jin Ling’s back. When Jin Ling reaches out for him, he gladly accepts him, scenting him thoroughly with soothing touches.
“Jiufu,” Jin Ling murmurs, tugging at Lan Wangji’s dachang, “Jiufu, is it true that the Yiling Laozu killed my parents?”
Jiang Cheng stiffens. Instantly, he knows why Jin Ling asked Lan Wangji that question and not him. Lan Wangji can not lie.
“Why do you ask?” Lan Wangji questions carefully.
“I know,” Jin Ling says quietly, “I heard them gossip about it. That Jin clan has a lot of misfor—um, misfor…”
“Misfortune,” Jiang Cheng provides absently.
“Misfortune,” Jin Ling says with a small nod, “And… and the jiejie said that first I lost my parents to the Yiling Laozu, then Zufu to greed and Zumu to grief, and now Ru-di to revenge. She said I was ‘That poor Jin orphan.’”
Eight years of swearing everyone around Jin Ling to silence about the cause of his parents’ death, because Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao had agreed to wait until he was older to explain the intricacies of it, has gone down the drain because some girl wanted to gossip about the tragedies surrounding Jin Ling. As if it was a sad tale in a book and not Jin Ling’s reality.
“Did the Yiling Laozu kill my parents, Jiufu?” Jin Ling asks again, peering up at Lan Wangji with a seriousness to his eyes that does not befit a child.
Jiang Cheng thoughts are going haywire and he realizes only after Lan Wangji speaks that he did not know what his answer would be. “…He played a part in it. Unintentionally.”
Jin Ling frowns. “He did not mean to kill them?”
“No,” Lan Wangji says in a heavy voice, “I do not believe so.”
“Okay,” Jin Ling accepts, “So he didn’t hate my parents?”
“He did not,” Jiang Cheng answers instead, “Whatever else he did, I promise you he cared for your parents.”
“Then why did the Yiling Laozu—why did he kill them? Why did he help?” Jin Ling huffs in confusion, tears welling up in his eyes, “What did my parents do?”
“I do not know, A-Ling. I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng says solemnly, brushing away a tear from Jin Ling’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, “Your parents didn’t do anything, they were innocent.”
“Then why?!” Jin Ling cries out in frustration, anger and grief suffusing his face a distraught shade of red, “If Niang and Diē and Zumu and Ru-di were innocent, then why did they have to die?! That’s not fair, why did they leave me all alone?!” Jin Ling sobs, burying his face in Lan Wangji’s chest. He cries and cries and cries, and Jiang Cheng hastily wipes his own cheeks when his tears spill over.
“I’m sorry, baobei,” he whispers into Jin Ling’s hair, pressing his lips to the crown of his head, “Jiujiu is very, very sorry. I am here, A-Ling, I will never leave you. Nothing could ever make me leave your side.”
“You can’t promise that,” Jin Ling hiccups, rubbing his face into Lan Wangji’s shoulder, his eyes swollen and irritated, “What if you die?”
“Not even that,” Jiang Cheng swears, fervor in his voice, “Even death can not keep me from your side. I promise.”
Jin Ling unlatches from Lan Wangji to hug Jiang Cheng briefly around the waist. “Thank you for staying with me,” he mumbles, using his sleeve to wipe his nose, “Jiujiu, Jiufu. Please don’t leave me.”
“Never,” Lan Wangji cups Jin Ling’s round cheek tenderly, wiping a tear track from his flushed face, “We are family. Whenever you need me, I will be here.”
Jin Ling opens his mouth a couple of times before he seems to give up on words and hugs Lan Wangji tightly. “Love you,” he says in a tiny voice, shy but sincere, peeking up at Lan Wangji before quickly ducking away in embarrassment.
Lan Wangji appears equal parts stunned and touched, as he always does when the children show him any affection, but he holds Jin Ling tightly in his arms and replies in kind. “I love you too, Ling-er.”
“I want you to stay with me,” Jin Ling rests the side of his face on Lan Wangji’s chest, “Jiufu, please always stay with me.”
“Always,” Lan Wangji cups the back of Jin Ling’s head protectively, briefly meeting Jiang Cheng’s gaze, “I will always stay.”
scene xv.
“Is it true?”
Jiang Cheng looks up in surprise, his fingers stilling in peeling a lotus seed. “What?” Lan Yuan is the one who had asked the question, but Jin Ling and Jiang Min stand at his side, regarding Jiang Cheng with strange expressions.
“Is it true that your shixiong was the Yiling Laozu?” Lan Yuan asks in a quiet voice, his eyes big and unsure. He looks like he is desperately wishing for Jiang Cheng to deny it.
“Who told you that?” Jiang Cheng asks in alarm, straightening up.
“Xiao-shushu,” Jin Ling answers in a flat tone, “He said you are touchy about the Yiling Laozu because he was your beloved shixiong.”
Of course it was Jin Guangyao. Jiang Cheng should not be surprised.
“That shixiong you told us about, the one you love,” Lan Yuan says, “He was the Yiling Laozu, wasn’t he? That is why he died. That is why the world was against him. Because he cultivated on the evil path and murdered hundreds of innocents.”
Jiang Cheng thinks his heart will give out at this rate, with the amount of terrible surprises being sprung on him. All the secrets of their family he was waiting to break slowly are being exposed without warning. He deflates with a tired sigh. “Yes, he was the Yiling Laozu.”
Jiang Min makes an angered noise in her throat, “Niang, how can you love him after what he did to Er-ge’s parents?”
Jiang Cheng sets the seed in his hands down, the faintest tremble in his hands. “It is not that simple,” he says, his voice coming out hoarsely. He clears his throat, “It is never that simple when it comes to these kind of things.”
“But he murdered—” Lan Yuan begins to protest.
“My jie was his shijie, you know?” Jiang Cheng says, “Your niang was his favorite person in the entire world, Jin Ling.”
“He killed her,” Jin Ling says.
“He played a part in it,” Jiang Cheng corrects, “She was the most important person in my life. If it were so black and white, if he really murdered her, do you think I could still love him?”
“But he still has blame in it,” Lan Yuan says.
“Yes, but—” Jiang Cheng cuts himself off with a heaving breath, massaging his forehead. “Sit down. I might as well tell you an extent of what happened.”
The three of them sit down around the table, the same sort of pavilion table Jiang Cheng used to have family dinners at when he was still a boy. Or at least when his father could be bothered to spend time with him and his mother was not utterly incensed at the thought of Wei Wuxian sitting at the same table.
He offers them the bowl of peeled lotus seeds he and Lan Wangji had been painstakingly working through. His husband had left, though, to console Jiang Qing and Jiang Rong after a frazzled disciple had come running like a guǐ was on her heels due to the two of them throwing a tantrum.
Jiang Min and Lan Yuan take a seed, unable to withstand the lure of lotus seeds, but Jin Ling crosses his arms and turns his nose up at them. Jiang Cheng swears it is that Jin blood corrupting him because no proper Jiang turns down lotus seeds.
“Before he was the Yiling Laozu, he was my shixiong,” Jiang Cheng begins, picking back up his peeling work so he has something to occupy his hands with, “The very same shixiong I told you stories about. He was our da-shixiong, the head disciple to my sect heir. When we were younger, we promised to remain together as sect leader and right-hand man, just as my father and his father had done before us.”
“But I thought you loved him?” Lan Yuan tilts his head in confusion, “Why did you not want to marry him?”
“For that, love should go both ways,” Jiang Cheng says simply and leaves it at that, “Everyone adored him, back then. A-Diē, Jie, all the shidis and shimeis. He had that way about him, he drew people in.”
Jiang Cheng looks down at his hands, at the callouses that have formed over three decades. “He always did what he thought was right. Even when others thought he was wrong or mistaken, he would hold on to his morals. ‘Shìfēi zài jǐ, huǐyù yóu rén, déshī shìshí’ he would say.”
Right and wrong is decided by oneself, praise and condemnation depend on others, gains and losses are insignificant.
“And then the Sunshot Campaign happened,” Jiang Cheng presses his lips together grimly, “And he… changed. No longer was he the same alpha I grew up with. The demonic cultivation changed his temperament and made him into someone I barely recognized at times. But when the Sunshot Campaign ended, he decided it was his duty to protect a small healer branch of the Qishan Wen clan who had stayed neutral during the war.”
“Were they innocent?” Jin Ling asks.
“There are no innocents in a war aside from children,” Jiang Cheng says frankly, “Even Jiufu and I are not innocent.”
Jin Ling jerks back at the unexpectedly honest answer, blinking at Jiang Cheng in surprise. “Jiujiu…?”
“It is war, Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng reminds him gently, “Everyone has blood on their hands. It is how you survive.”
“Niang, if the Yiling Laozu was killed, what happened to the Wens he protected?” Jiang Min frowns and tilts her head.
“Slaughtered,” Jiang Cheng shakes his head, “Every last one of them.”
“But you said they were neutral…” Lan Yuan looks visibly upset at the thought.
“They were nothing more than farmers. The elderly, the widowed, the crippled,” Jiang Cheng recounts, turning over a lotus pod in his hand, “But we live in a world of politics. Just the sin of having the surname Wen earned you a death sentence. Add to that the frighteningly powerful Yiling Laozu protecting the remnants of the Wen clan while using demonic cultivation, and the Jianghu was itching to kill him and those Wens. So they did.”
When Jiang Cheng does not continue, lost in thought, Jin Ling prompts, “Well? Did you help them?”
“There was a siege on the Burial Mounds, which is where he lived with the Wens for two years. I led the siege and…” Jiang Cheng works his jaw and hesitates over his words, staring out at the water, “I killed him.”
Jiang Min and Jin Ling gasp. Lan Yuan freezes. “What about the Wens?” He asks, “Did you do anything to them?”
“Yunmeng Jiang had no business with them,” Jiang Cheng says diplomatically, “Other sects might be a different matter, but Yunmeng Jiang did not harm a single one of those Wens. We focused on the Yiling Laozu and his fierce corpses.”
“Niang,” Lan Yuan leans forward, shoving the bowl of lotus seeds away, “You are not telling us something.”
Jiang Cheng is unsurprised that Lan Yuan picked up on that. He is perceptive, has been since a young age. He gets it from Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng privately thinks. Lan Xichen had spent three years raising Lan Yuan in all the ways Lan Wangji could not, too disabled by his injuries to care for a toddler entirely by himself. Even to this day, the two of them share a special bond which is why Jiang Cheng had agreed to the condition of his supposed first-born son becoming the Lan heir all those years ago. He knows Lan Xichen treasures him.
However that perceptiveness can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Neither Jin Ling nor Jiang Min will let it go now that Lan Yuan has disclosed that Jiang Cheng is hiding something and Lan Yuan might be persuaded into dropping that line of questioning, but he will try and figure out what Jiang Cheng is hiding himself through other means.
“There were two Wen siblings my shixiong had befriended before the war, during our time studying at Cloud Recesses. They were part of the healer branch of Wens he tried to protect after the war. Their names were Wen Ning and Wen Qing. During the war, when Lotus Pier was massacred, they helped us. Me, Jie, and Wei—and him. They hid us from the Wen soldiers searching to kill us.”
“So they were good people,” Lan Yuan brightens, smiling hopefully
Jiang Cheng exhales. “Does it make you a good person if you do not look the other way when an entire sect is being cut down?”
Lan Yuan recoils, his face falling, and Jiang Cheng looks away. Jiang Min frowns at him and Jin Ling pats Lan Yuan comfortingly on the shoulder. They are just children, Jiang Cheng reminds himself, their world is still in shades of black and white. “They were… good,” Jiang Cheng says finally, “They tried their best. I am thankful.”
“Then why did you not help your shixiong protect them?” Lan Yuan looks upset, a little betrayed that Jiang Cheng would not defend the Wens that kept him safe. Jiang Cheng chest aches looking at him, regret and guilt welling up like quick sand.
What would it have been like for Lan Yuan if those Wens were still alive? He would still be Wen Yuan for one, and Wei Wuxian would still be raising him, and his grandmother would still be spoiling him, and Wen Qing and Wen Ning would still be doting on him, and his rightful family would still be alive to cherish him. And Jiang Cheng.
And Jiang Cheng would still be watching from the outside, craving something he was in no position to want. And Jiang Cheng would not have his son, his eldest, the first tiny hand to grab a hold of his heart.
He remembers—clearly, as if it was just yesterday—the crippling panic lodged in his throat as he tore through the Burial Mounds during the siege, searching for Wen Yuan. But he was nowhere to be found and his grandmother had caught his frantic gaze across the battlefield and shaken her head sadly, right before being struck down by a Jin disciple in front of his eyes.
Jiang Cheng had stood there frozen, watching as she bled out on the barren dirt, images of Jie overlapping in his mind. He had thought of Jin Ling and orphans and the innocence of children shattered by war and men with too much ambition. He had thought of Wen Yuan and how he had never failed to greet Jiang Cheng with the pure-hearted joy only children can muster.
Another piece of his dwindling heart had shattered right there on the blood-soaked ground and Jiang Cheng had turned on his heel and marched off to find Wei Wuxian to put an end to this meaningless suffering once and for all.
He had cried over Wen Yuan’s feverish body after finding him in a hollowed-out tree that night after the siege had ended and the other sects had left behind the ruins for the Yunmeng Jiang sect to dig through. He had taken him home for the healers to nurse back to health and for the following week, had kept Wen Yuan at his side, irrationally afraid he would go missing if he looked away even for a moment. And then he had given Wen Yuan up to Lan Wangji once he had returned to the Burial Mounds, the guilt of taking him in after standing by as the Wens were slaughtered having eaten at him for the entire week.
His hands might have been tied due to politics but nothing could erase the fact that his feet were soaked to the ankles in the blood of those killed in Burial Mounds.
‘Does it make you a good person if you do not look the other way when an entire sect is being cut down?’ he had asked his son. Perhaps it does, but all Jiang Cheng knows is that there is blood on him he can never wash away. He had put his sect, his people, over those Wens and it is a burden of knowledge he will always have to bear, no matter if his actions were justified or not.
Jiang Cheng could not have helped Wei Wuxian protect those Wens, not if he wanted Yunmeng Jiang to remain unscathed.
“Whatever little of Yunmeng Jiang I had managed to rebuild would have been toppled if I sided with the Wens and the Yiling Laozu,” Jiang Cheng does not expect Lan Yuan and the other two to understand, “I was the sect leader, the good of Yunmeng Jiang was my priority.”
“Niang,” Lan Yuan says and he sounds disappointed. He is still at the age where children think heroes are real and the world can be broken down into good and bad.
“I know,” Jiang Cheng fiddles with Zidian around his finger, twisting the ring side to side.
“They didn’t deserve it,” Jiang Min says quietly, “Those Wens didn’t deserve it.”
“They did not,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “Neither did Yunmeng Jiang. But I could only help one of them.”
That seems to make more sense to them because Lan Yuan’s expression lightens up and he nods thoughtfully. “Okay. I get it, I think.”
“The Yiling Laozu still got my parents killed,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms. Which is a step up from saying Wei Wuxian flat out killed them himself, so Jiang Cheng will take it.
“He is also dead,” Jiang Cheng replies, “I killed him. He tried to do what he believed was right but the Jianghu stood against him and your parents were caught in between. Think of him how you want to, A-Ling, I understand, but that is what happened.”
Jin Ling turns his head, glaring mulishly into the distance.
“A-Ling, it is okay,” Jiang Cheng says, “If you hate him or if you do not, it is okay. No one can tell you what to feel.”
“I want to be angry at somebody, so I’m going to be angry at him,” Jin Ling declares, his scowl deepening defensively.
“That’s fine,” Lan Yuan says, “They were your parents after all.”
“The demonic cultivation is what changed him,” Jiang Cheng says, “It is why Yunmeng Jiang does not tolerate demonic cultivators. It is dangerous to oneself and disrespectful to the dead. Do not cultivate resentful energy, ever. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Jiujiu.”
“Yes, A-Niang.”
“We wouldn’t dare,” Lan Yuan adds. Jin Ling nods and rises from his seat, reaching across the table to grab a handful of lotus seeds as he does so. “Well, I’m done here,” he announces, turning on his heel and striding off. Lan Yuan watches him go and then bends and whispers something in Jiang Min’s ear. Afterwards, he hops up from his seat and hurries after Jin Ling, shooting Jiang Cheng a quick smile and a, ‘Thank you for your time, A-Niang.’
“Da-ge said you were hiding something else,” Jiang Min says innocently, swinging her feet. Jiang Cheng pats the seat next to him, urging Jiang Min to come closer. She does, reaching out to pluck a lotus seed to shove into her mouth. She offers one to Jiang Cheng, raising it up expectantly. He leans down to take it into his mouth, murmuring a thank you that has her smiling.
“Are you hiding something else, A-Niang?”
Jiang Cheng looks down at his daughter. She is so much like Wei Wuxian, especially in that unflappable attitude they both have. She looks back at him patiently, her legs still swinging casually. Jiang Cheng reaches out and stills them with a foot.
“What if Niang told you that he will tell you another time,” Jiang Cheng proposes, smoothing down a stray hair poking out of one of her buns. Jiang Min hums, tapping her chin in a mimicry of how the cooks will pretend to ponder over accepting her dish requests. Jiang Cheng bites back a smile, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up.
“Okay,” she decides, “You promise to tell me later, A-Niang?”
“I promise,” Jiang Cheng assures her.
“Then tell me later,” Jiang Min chirps. She slides off the chair, “I wanna go play with Lien and Pingping and Taitai.”
“Okay, go,” Jiang Cheng permits, “Do not stay in the sun too long. If you go swimming, one of the shixiongs or shijies needs to be watching you.”
“I knoooow, Niang,” Jiang Min complains, hurrying away, “Bye bye! I want Yimu’s pork rib and lotus root soup tonight!”
“You’re not getting it!” Jiang Cheng calls after her, “Nice try, though!”
She sticks her tongue out at him and disappears around the bend. Have kids they said.
scene xvi.
Ten years. An entire decade since the siege on Burial Mounds. Jiang Cheng wakes up with tear tracks dried on his face, a nightmare shaking him awake.
Lan Wangji tugs him close, wrapping an arm around his waist. They stay like that for a while until Jiang Cheng reaches back and tugs at Lan Wangji’s robe. His husband gets the message. He fucks Jiang Cheng slowly, pushing him through one climax then another. Their morning continues at a lazy tempo as they take their time showering and dressing for the day.
Jiang Cheng sits down to do his husband’s hair, something he indulges in on slow days. Absent-mindedly, he adds two Jiang braids running up the side of Lan Wangji’s head and into his bun. His husband does not say anything and Jiang Cheng only realizes when he reaches for the guan.
“Oh—I—” Jiang Cheng blinks, lowering the guan. Clearly, he is fucking out of it. “I can take them out.”
“Not necessary,” Lan Wangji says kindly, “I am a Jiang.”
“Well. Yes. That is true.” Jiang Cheng relents, “Okay. I will—I’ll secure your guan now.”
Lan Wangji hums, tilting his head back. Jiang Cheng rises onto his knees to see better, securing it in place carefully. Lan Wangji passes him his forehead ribbon and Jiang Cheng takes it with a measure of reverence. He understands what it means for Lan Wangji to let him touch his forehead ribbon beyond the privilege of marriage and even after five years, it sends a flutter through his stomach.
Kneeling in front of him, he situates it over Lan Wangji’s forehead and checks to make sure it is centered before tying it at the back of his head. Lan Wangji is peering up at him with warm eyes, his hand resting on the small of Jiang Cheng’s back.
Jiang Cheng is not sure who leans in first, but their lips slide together in tentative brushes until Jiang Cheng sinks into his husband. Lan Wangji kisses him deliberately, testing and prodding. They have only kissed twice before in their seven years of marriage and Jiang Cheng is not sure why they are adding a tally today of all days.
He pulls away from the kiss and buries his face in Lan Wangji’s neck, breathing in his calming scent. In the mornings, before Lan Wangji takes his tea, is when his scent is strongest, and Jiang Cheng loves it.
“I think I should tell A-Min about her father today,” Jiang Cheng murmurs. Lan Wangji shifts, his head tilting towards Jiang Cheng. “What brought this on?”
“It has been ten years,” Jiang Cheng says, “I should just tell her.”
Lan Wangji makes an amused sound. “Alright. Do you want me to be there?”
“No, I will…” Jiang Cheng sighs, “I will tell her myself. You keep our younger ones distracted.”
“Will do,” Lan Wangji says, rubbing Jiang Cheng’s back.
“Will you do my hair?” Jiang Cheng asks, handing Lan Wangji the comb he had received as one of those failed courting attempts all those years ago. “Do it the way Lans typically wear it,” Jiang Cheng requests.
Lan Wangji untangles his hair painlessly with a patience Jiang Cheng does not even have for his own hair. He had forgotten to put his hair in braids last night before he slept and he is paying for it now. Lan Wangji pulls his hair up into the simple but regal knot that Lans traditionally wear, neat and tidy so that the forehead ribbon can be tied easily. Jiang Cheng looks a little more formal with the hair style even if his guan is not as intricate as it could be.
He squeezes Lan Wangji’s arm in thanks, settling at their desk to sift through the paperwork he did not get through last night before passing out. Lan Wangji stills his hand. Jiang Cheng looks up in confusion, cocking a single eyebrow.
“Forget it for today,” Lan Wangji says. He turns his hand and loosely laces their fingers together.
Jiang Cheng hesitates, glancing at a letter from Baling Ouyang wondering if Yunmeng Jiang planned to take care of the guǐ in Chongyang even though it was firmly out of Yunmeng Jiang territory. As the candles had burned low last night, Jiang Cheng had found it harder and harder to find a polite way to tell Sect Leader Ouyang, ‘Obviously fucking not.’
“It can wait,” Lan Wangji squeezes his fingers to reclaim his attention, “Today, be with the children.”
At the mention of their children, Jiang Cheng caves easily, “Alright.” He brushes the letters and forms into a neat stack, setting it to the side.
“After breakfast, I was planning on telling her then. So that she could take the rest of the day to process.”
Lan Wangji nods, rising. “Good plan.”
Jiang Min, Lan Yuan, and Jiang Qing are already seated for breakfast when they arrive. Jiang Rong is still too young to stay still during meals so Jiang Cheng lets either Taitai or anyone willing to take on the challenge tackle the task of getting him fed most mornings, while he takes lunch and Lan Wangji takes dinner.
Breakfast is, as expected, a quiet affair; Lan Yuan is too much like Lan Wangji to talk during meals and Jiang Min and Jiang Qing still are not fully present at this time of the day to chatter. Jin Ling is the usual candidate for a noisy breakfast but he is in Lanling at the moment.
“A-Min,” Jiang Cheng calls as breakfast comes to a close, “I have something to tell you. Come with me.”
Jiang Min perks up, blinking her big eyes at him before nodding excitedly. “Is it a present?” She guesses hopefully.
Jiang Cheng smiles and gestures for her to follow after him without addressing the question. “It is not a present,” Jiang Min pouts when Jiang Cheng takes her towards the private pier near their sleeping quarters, “Niang, what is it?”
“Do you remember when Da-ge said that I was hiding something?”
“Are you telling me now?” Jiang Min asks.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng nods, “I am telling you now.”
They take a seat at the end of the pier, Jiang Cheng with his legs crossed and Jiang Min with her legs dangling.
“Da-ge is spying on us,” Jiang Min sing-songs, tucking some hair behind her ear when the breeze ruffles it. Jiang Cheng snorts softly, “I know. He can listen if he wants to.”
There is some shuffling behind them but neither he nor Jiang Min turn back to look. Lan Yuan has probably taken a seat somewhere on the pier, listening in on their conversation. It is not like it would make a difference. The moment Jiang Cheng is done here, Jiang Min will go running to tell all of her siblings and Jin Ling.
“So what is the secret, A-Niang?” Jiang Min looks up at him curiously.
“During the Sunshot Campaign, my shixiong was interested in me.”
“Was he in love with you?”
Jiang Cheng tilts his head and makes a noise of disagreement, “Not love. He was just interested in me. Physically.”
“Did he think you were beautiful? Niang, you are very beautiful,” Jiang Min tells him seriously, “Your shixiong has good taste in omegas.”
Jiang Cheng can not help the shocked, ‘A-Min!’, that bursts out of him, stunned at her bold statement. “Do not speak nonsense,” he says sharply, more than a little off-foot, “You are way too young to be making such comments.”
Jiang Min rolls her eyes. Jiang Cheng ignores it, clearing his throat. “I do not know what he thought,” Jiang Cheng relents, “But he made his interest apparent and I reciprocated.”
“So you did have a relationship,” Jiang Min accuses, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Not a good one,” Jiang Cheng sighs, “He was not himself. It was like a stranger lived in his body.”
“You killed him,” Jiang Min remembers, “I guess it couldn’t have been a good one.”
Jiang Cheng flinches. Well, that was one way to come to that conclusion. Nevertheless, he continues, something he can only call trepidation sitting like dirt in his mouth. “Before he died,” Jiang Cheng says slowly, gazing down at his daughter, “We created something together.”
Jiang Min scrunches her nose and furrows her eyebrows. “What?” She demands impatiently.
“You,” Jiang Cheng says.
Jiang Min stares at him with a blank expression for a moment. Jiang Cheng can see his answer process and the realization dawn on her, all of it scrawled out on her face. “Me?” She repeats incredulously, “What do you mean me?”
“You, A-Min,” Jiang Cheng says carefully, softly, almost apologetically, “I mean we created you.”
“A-Niang, I don’t—” Jiang Min looks at him in appalment, “Niang, I don’t get it, what are you—what are you saying?”
“You know,” Jiang Cheng looks at her with regret, “Baobei, you know.”
“Niang,” Jiang Min sounds breathless, her eyes wide and pleading, “Niang, you’re lying.” Jiang Cheng bites down on his tongue. “Niang, please, you don’t get it! If you’re not lying, then—then.”
Jiang Cheng watches her mournfully. She struggles with the words, her mouth and nose screwed up as if in pain, “Then that means your shixiong—the Yiling Laozu…”
“Is your father.”
Jiang Min bursts into tears.
Jiang Cheng reaches out to hold her, to comfort her, but she leans away from his touch. Jiang Cheng’s heart breaks. “I understand if you are mad at me,” Jiang Cheng says, the shards of his heart piercing his tender insides.
“I’m not,” Jiang Min hiccups, wiping ineffectively at her cheeks, “I’m not mad at you, Niang. I just want Baba.”
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng says quietly. Jiang Min takes it as permission, scrambling to her feet and bolting down the pier to find Lan Wangji. She does not look back and Jiang Cheng stares sightlessly at his lap. He can hear the subtle rustle of Lan Yuan’s robes as he stands up, the creak of wood and the muted steps of his feet as he walks closer. He feels rather than sees Lan Yuan come to a standstill just behind his shoulder.
It is silent for long enough that Jiang Cheng sinks into the brittle peace of the mid-morning quietude. The water is still below the pier. Lan Yuan remains a statue at his back, a subtle tension radiating from him. Jiang Cheng waits and waits for the question that he is turning over on his tongue, but nothing could have prepared him for it.
“I am not your son, am I?”
Jiang Cheng snaps his head up, hurt flashing across his features before he can hide it, the suddenness of the question taking him by surprise.
“Yes, you are,” Jiang Cheng blinks away the sting in his eyes and nose, shaking his head, “Of course you are. What made you think any different?”
“I am not your son by blood,” Lan Yuan says shakily, his eyes red, “Right?”
Jiang Cheng stares at him wordlessly. He will not lie to him, that would be disrespectful, but fear creeps up his spine and his heartbeat picks up. Jiang Cheng selects his words carefully. “Do you have to be?”
“A-Niang,” Lan Yuan pleads and Jiang Cheng inhales sharply, blinking hard, “Please. Just tell me.”
Jiang Cheng looks to the lake of lotus flowers Yunmeng Jiang is known for. He remembers the lotus flowers Wei Wuxian grew in Burial Mounds and how they were Wen Yuan’s favorite. He would greet Jiang Cheng sometimes with peeled lotus seeds in hand, refusing to part from his side until Jiang Cheng ate every one of them.
He remembers Wei Wuxian telling him that neither of Wen Yuan’s parents ever even had the chance to hold him, his mother not surviving childbirth and his father killed in the war before his son was born. He wonders what Wen Yuan’s birth parents would think of him, whether their spirits loathe him or not. Has he given their son a proper enough life for them to approve of him? Do they know that he is kept awake at night wondering just how terrible of a person he must be to thank the hands of fate for sending Lan Yuan to him despite the people lost on the way?
“You are not,” Jiang Cheng confirms. Lan Yuan takes a rattled breath, stumbling back two steps. Jiang Cheng turns away, his back to his son as he inconspicuously wipes away the tear that slides down his cheek.
“…Was I an orphan?” Lan Yuan whispers, his voice cracking.
Jiang Cheng nods immediately. “Yes. Before the Yiling Laozu even rose. Before the war even ended. I did not take you away and I did not know your parents. I… I found you,” Jiang Cheng says and it is the truth but it feels like a fucking lie, guilt wracking him.
He hears the sound of Lan Yuan’s robes rustle as he sinks to the floor of the pier.
“You were so ill and malnourished and I was worried you would not make it,” Jiang Cheng recalls thickly, clearing his throat, “I kept you by my side for an entire week, no further than an arm’s length away, but I could not actually keep you. Not then. So I gave you to A-Diē and he and Bofu raised you while A-Diē was in seclusion. Then both of you came back, and I am telling you, A-Yuan, I had never felt so complete until you came back to me.”
“Niang,” Lan Yuan chokes out, his voice strangled with tears, “Who am I?”
“You are my son,” Jiang Cheng states, because it is an unarguable fact. He turns around to look at Lan Yuan, taking in the watery eyes and the tear tracks running over his flushed face. “I love you and I have loved you since I first saw you. To me, you will always be my son, A-Yuan, even if you dislike me, hate me, or do not want me. That will never change.”
“But I am not your son! You’re lying!” Lan Yuan cries, shoving away the hand Jiang Cheng reaches out towards him. His features crease and he lets out a sob, hastily dragging his sleeve over his face to clean it.
“Yes, you are. Do not say that. Yes, you are, A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng says despairingly, “Who else would you be but my son? You are my eldest, my cherished first child.”
“I am not your blood,” Lan Yuan spits, his expression tortured, “I am not your child. You did not give birth to me.”
“Jin Ling is not your blood. Do you not love him? Is he not your biao di? A-Min, A-Qing, A-Rong, too. Do you not love them? Are they not your siblings?”
Lan Yuan freezes uneasily, his fingers clenching on his knees. “I do… but—”
“But what? Blood has nothing to do with family or love, A-Yuan. Have I ever made you feel as though you were not my son?”
Lan Yuan grimaces, looking aside. Two tears drip from his chin. “No.”
“Then? Hate me for keeping it a secret, I will understand, but do not doubt your place in my life. You are my son and you will always be my son.”
Lan Yuan says nothing, a conflicted furrow appearing between his eyebrows. Jiang Cheng asks, his heart in his throat, his chest painfully tight, “Do you wish I was not your mother, A-Yuan?”
“No!” His son shouts, panicked, “No! Niang, that is not what I—no, I want you to be my mother.”
“I am.”
“My real mother.”
“I am,” Jiang Cheng insists, “I am your real mother. No one can change that. As long as you want me to be your Niang, I will be.”
Lan Yuan sobs and hangs his head, his hands fisted atop his knees. “Let me hold you,” Jiang Cheng begs, reaching out with both hands, “Baobei, let me hold you.”
Lan Yuan falls forward into his arms, burying his face in Jiang Cheng’s stomach. He cries, his entire body shaking with the force of it. Jiang Cheng rubs his cheek on his own shoulder to wipe away his tears, stroking Lan Yuan’s head the way he has liked since he was a baby. Lan Yuan cries and cries and cries and Jiang Cheng holds him.
“My son,” he murmurs reverentially, readjusting Lan Yuan so his neck will not ache, letting him lay his head on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder with his body turned sideways in Jiang Cheng’s lap, “You are my pride and joy. Everyday I thank the gods for blessing me with such a wonderful son. Everyday I am proud to be your niang.”
“Promise?” Lan Yuan asks weakly.
“I promise you a thousand time over. Even if you were not born to me, the gods planned it so that I would find you because they knew I would give anything to have you as my son.”
“But, A-Niang, who am I?” Lan Yuan blinks at him drowsily, “Who was I? Where did you find me?”
“Do you want to know?” Jiang Cheng asks, peering down at him. He brushes away the hair that the tears have stuck to Lan Yuan’s temples. “I will tell you if you want to know.”
Lan Yuan shakes his head after a moment of contemplation. “I am your son, right? You promise I am your son?” He checks once more. Jiang Cheng’s eyes soften and his lips quirk upward sadly, “Without a doubt.”
“Then another day. Tell me another day. Today, I only want to be your son.”
scene xvii.
Jiang Cheng can hear his disciples whispering to themselves as they watch him lounge on the pier. They are a small group of omegas, out enjoying the pleasant spring afternoon after a few days of gray skies and dull rain. He hears a voice rise up with passion, catches the ‘Sect Leader Jiang’, ‘babies’, and ‘one more’.
“It is impolite to gossip about someone behind their back,” he says in amusement, glancing over his shoulder. The disciples wear guilty looks except for one of them sitting in the midst of their cluster.
“Did you have something you wanted to say to me?” Jiang Cheng asks, shifting around to face them. The omegas look young, maybe nineteen or twenty at most. He softens his expression when they peer nervously at each other. The girl in the center with the bold look on her face pipes up.
“We were wondering if Sect Leader Jiang was planning to have any more babies,” she says quite frankly. Jiang Cheng blinks at her in shock, mouth parting soundlessly.
The omegas surrounding her are silent for a heart beat before they jump into motion, alternating between apologizing to Jiang Cheng for the nosiness of their friend and scolding their friend for said nosiness.
When Jiang Cheng finally gets a hold of himself, he waves a hand to dismiss their apologies. “It is alright, I would like to think my disciples know they can ask me anything even if I may not answer.”
The girl—Liu Ning, he recognizes her—levels a smug look at her fellow omegas, before turning bright eyes on Jiang Cheng. “Sect Leader Jiang makes such cute babies and we really miss playing with A-Rong and A-Qing when they were younger.”
“Who is we?” Someone mutters.
Jiang Cheng cracks a smile and shakes his head. “What am I, your personal baby maker?”
“Sect Leader Jiang, please,” Liu Ning puts her hands together in a pleading gesture.
“I already have five children if you count Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng says dryly, “I will be more than healthy competition for Jin Guangshan’s legacy at this rate.”
“Sect Leader Jiang mustn’t compare that dog of an alpha to the fruits of his loving marriage with Hanguang-Jun,” Liu Ning frowns disapprovingly and it is a very interesting experience being scolded by a teenage omega about his lack of respect for what is, or at least initially was, his scam of a marriage. Lan Wangji only fathered two out of the five children tied to Jiang Cheng’s name and, gods, if that does not say something about their whole arrangement.
“Jin Guangshan aside, I hope there comes a day where you carry a child so that you may finally understand what it is you are asking of me,” Jiang Cheng says in amusement.
“With all due respect, I do not think that will ever be in my future,” Liu Ning replies, though she does do Jiang Cheng the courtesy of looking apologetic.
“Of course,” Jiang Cheng snorts, “As I thought.”
“Oh, but, Sect Leader Jiang pleease,” Liu Ning whines. Another omega leans into Liu Ning’s side and adds with a sheepish expression, “Sect Leader Jiang really does make cute babies.”
“Is that really a compliment?” Jiang Cheng sighs, “Should I be touched? Will that make you feel better?”
“Not really, but another Jiang baby would!” This time it comes from the back of the group and Jiang Cheng does not catch which one piped up.
“I should break all your legs,” Jiang Cheng threatens, pointing a stern finger at them, “Asking such demanding things from your sect leader. I have things to do other than bearing children.”
“I am sure Hanguang-Jun would like to have another baby,” Someone says.
“Hanguang-Jun knows better than to voice that to me or he will be coincidentally short of a limb or two,” Jiang Cheng retorts mildly, “You think I wanted to have A-Qing and A-Rong only a year apart?”
“I think it is sweet,” A disciple gushes with stars in her eyes, “It just shows how much Hanguang-Jun loves you.”
Well, sure… Jiang Cheng supposes that is one way to phrase it. Lust and love are two sides of the same coin, that is how that saying goes, right?
“My jie says she wants to have a marriage like Sect Leader Jiang and Hanguang-Jun.” The disciple speaking is one of the eight male omegas in the sect besides Jiang Cheng. He feels a certain sense of camaraderie and sympathy when he sees any of them linger around the edges of a group of their fellow omegas. He remembers that distinct feeling of being not quite the same, only compounded by the fact that he was sect heir.
“That is a compliment I feel better about accepting,” Jiang Cheng says wryly. There is a certain humor in knowing what he knows and what the rest of the world does not.
“How many babies did Sect Leader Jiang want?” The boy—Yang Renshu—asks curiously.
“None,” Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly, “I had no desire to have children anytime soon when I was still in my youth studying at Cloud Recesses, and during the Sunshot Campaign that desire only retreated further. Of course, life does not ever care for your wishes.”
“Oh,” Yang Renshu smiles sheepishly, “I see.”
Jiang Cheng snorts, rolling his eyes.
“Would Sect Leader Jiang change anything if he could go back?” Liu Ning wonders, “As in, traveling back in time.”
Jiang Cheng considers the question. “No,” he says slowly, “I do not know which actions would affect the existence of my children and they are too important for me to risk by trying to better the past.”
“That’s so sweet,” A different disciple coos.
“Any decent parent should say as much,” Jiang Cheng dismisses, “It is not something to fawn over.”
“Decent parents are much harder to find than Sect Leader Jiang thinks,” she says.
Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow and laughs through his nose. “I know,” he replies, “But it still remains that any decent parent would think as such and it deserves no praise.”
“Sect Leader Jiang is a great parent,” Liu Ning says sincerely, “It brings me honest joy to watch Sect Leader Jiang with his kids.”
“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng accepts in a subdued tone, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he meets her eyes.
“So,” The girl besides Liu Ning, Huang Jiaying, starts, leaning into Liu Ning’s side with a twinkle in her eyes, “Is that a no for another baby, Sect Leader Jiang?”
Jiang Cheng scoffs incredulously at her cheek, trying to hide his amusement. “Of course that is a no, I have things to do.”
“And one of those things could be Hanguang-Jun,” Someone quips with a lot of fucking nerve. They all freeze at the sheer daring of that statement before Zidian crackles once dangerously. The lot of them jump to their feet in panic and book it down the pier, disappearing in the direction of the main courtyard.
Jiang Cheng stares after them for a long while before shaking his head. He chuckles to himself, drawing his leg up to his chest and hooking an arm over his knee. He is glad, honestly, that his disciples are unafraid of having fun with him, even if they do not have any filters.
“Not on the pier, A-Rong, come back! Aiya, Qiqi, bring A-Rong back.”
Jiang Cheng lifts his head up from his knee. Yu Xinrui is watching Jiang Qing lead her younger brother onto the pier. A hefty metal tray laden with bowls and a teapot rests in her arms.
“Rui-jie, it is okay,” Jiang Cheng lifts his hand up to catch her attention. Her shoulders slump in relief when she spots him. Yu Xinrui—or Da-jie as Lan Wangji calls her—is a distant cousin from Meishan Yu who had shown up on the front steps of Lotus Pier three months after Jie had died. She is only four years his senior, but Jiang Cheng is afraid to know how he would have managed running Lotus Pier without her shoulder to lean on.
“A-Qing, bring didi to me,” Jiang Cheng beckons his daughter to him. She keeps a firm grasp of Jiang Rong’s hand and stays in pace with his shorter strides. Jiang Cheng lowers his leg and pats his lap and she flings herself into the space, pulling Jiang Rong down on top of her with a possessive grip.
It might be how close together they were born but she seems to think that Jiang Cheng gave birth to Jiang Rong so that he could be her personal friend, always keeping him by her whenever she can. Jiang Rong really does not seem to mind being carted around like a portable playmate so Jiang Cheng has decided to leave it alone for the time being.
“Where are jie and Er-ge, A-Qing?”
Jiang Qing points in the direction of the main courtyard. “There. Jiejie is—Jiejie and Er-ge is training.”
“Are training,” Jiang Cheng corrects, “And I told you not to bring didi onto the piers until he has learned how to swim.”
“But I, but I, I went with didi and I watched didi,” she peers up at him, pointing at herself.
“If didi falls in the water, you can’t save him,” Jiang Cheng says. Jiang Qing purses her lips, staring down at her hands. He has upset her with that statement. Jiang Rong twists and turns, kneeling on Jiang Cheng’s leg. He pats Jiang Cheng’s chest and says, “I know swimming.”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head, “That is not enough.” Jiang Rong tilts his head like a puppy in confusion. Jiang Qing tugs at his sleeve. “How long until didi can go?” She waits for his answer with wide eyes.
“One more year,” Jiang Cheng replies, “When didi is as old as you.”
“Didi turn, didi turn…” Jiang Qing counts her age on her fingers and looks at Jiang Rong, “Didi needs to turn five.”
Jiang Rong shows her four fingers happily. “A-Rong four!”
“Almost four,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “A-Rong turns four in a month.”
His sister pipes in, “And Qiqi turned five yesterday!”
Jiang Cheng laughs, squeezing her cheek. “Not yesterday, Qiqi turned five two months ago.”
“Yeah,” Jiang Qing nods agreeably, “Qiqi turned five two months ago. Niang. Niang I want, I want Baba.”
“You want Baba?” Jiang Cheng echoes.
“Me too,” Jiang Rong bounces in his lap, wrapping his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck, “Baba, Baba, Baba.”
“I want Baba too,” Jiang Cheng sighs, “Tell him to come home.”
“But Baba’s not here,” Jiang Qing says with such innocent confusion, frowning at him. Jiang Cheng smiles to himself and nods very seriously. “You’re right, he is not here. How can A-Qing tell him to come home?”
“A-Qing can’t!” She throws her hands up in the air, “Niang, where’s Baba?”
“He went to see Bofu.”
Jiang Rong perks up. “I want Bofu!”
“You want a lot of people, don’t you?” He tickles Jiang Rong until he is shrieking with laughter and dodges the stray limbs aimed for his face. Jiang Qing joins, attacking his neck until her hand gets stuck between Jiang Rong’s head and shoulder when he locks up.
“I want Bofu!” Jiang Rong whines. Lan Xichen is his second favorite person behind Jiang Qing.
“Bofu, Bofu, Bofu, Bofu,” Jiang Qing takes up his cry as a chant, clapping her hands.
“Bofu and Baba will arrive tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng sighs, “Can’t you make do with me?”
“A-Niang,” Jiang Qing frowns up at him, “You’re not fun.”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes. Have kids, they said. It is rewarding, they said.
“Okay, then, if I am not fun, why don’t you make do with Taitai and Yu ayi?”
“Taitai!” Jiang Qing brightens up.
Despite being more than six months along with her second pregnancy, Taitai has an endless supply of energy to entertain the children with that Jiang Cheng can only fervently appreciate. He is just not built for the high energy consumption five children—two of which are under the age of six—come with.
“Taitai flies kites!” Jiang Qing throws her hands up in the air, “I wanna fly kite with Taitai!”
“Only if you listen to everything Taitai says and you do not complain,” Jiang Cheng warns her, “If Taitai tells me that you were being bad, no flying kites for three weeks.”
“I will be good,” Jiang Qing says quickly, horror on her small face at the thought of being banned from flying kites. There will of course be other disciples along with Taitai to ensure her safety since the kite flying is on the cliffs, but Jiang Cheng wants her to learn how to be obedient when it matters and not just to her parents.
“Will you?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“I will!” Jiang Qing insists with an adorably offended expression.
“I know, Qiqi is good for Niang.” Jiang Qing is remarkably well behaved most of the time, practically an angel like her eldest brother compared to the terrors Jin Ling and Jiang Min can be.
“Niang,” she says, patting Jiang Cheng’s face. He hums. “Niang, love you.”
“Ah,” Jiang Cheng says, touched, cupping the back of her head, “Me too. Niang loves you and A-Rong very, very much.”
He and Lan Wangji are not ones for such verbal declarations, or at least not so casually, but Lan Yuan is and the rest of the children have picked it up from him much to Jiang Cheng’s relief. He is glad the emotional incompetence of his generation is not being passed down to the next even though Jin Ling seems to be trying hard to keep the trend going.
“Niang, I am leaving now,” Jiang Qing says importantly. She pushes off of Jiang Cheng’s lap and holds her hand out for her younger brother. He takes it happily, letting Jiang Qing pull him to his feet.
Jiang Cheng watches them in amusement. “And where are you going?”
“I’m going to ask Taitai to fly kites with me.”
“Please listen to her, do not give Taitai any trouble.”
“Niang, I know!”
“I know you know,” Jiang Cheng says, “I am just repeating it.”
Jiang Qing twists her mouth up into an unimpressed shape but all she says is, “Okay,” tugging Jiang Rong along as she plods back up the pier. Jiang Cheng watches them go—Jiang Rong looking over his shoulder to frantically wave goodbye halfway up the pier—until they disappear from sight.
He never planned to have children so early or especially this many. Not in any rational capacity, not when he had his head on right. But he has not an ounce of regret. He would not give his children up for anything or for anyone, not even the dead.
scene xviii.
Jiang Cheng is on his stomach and his vision is dark, which is unusual. Wangji likes to see his face when they are having sex. Something about the way Jiang Cheng looks when he is in the midst of coming.
“So good, A-Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng blinks. He did not really hear the words, rather he just knew that they were said. The way he just knows that there are lips up against his ear and a cock pounding into him. He can not feel the fullness of it but he does feel a strong, nebulous curl of pleasure in his gut, steadily radiating through his body.
He thinks he should come. Like right now. He really wants to. It is too much and not enough. A hand slips down his stomach, between his thighs. Two fingers start circling his clit but he can not feel the sensation, only the concentrated pleasure that comes from it.
And yet, he still finds himself stubbornly stuck on the wrong side of the edge, so turned on, so desperate, but nowhere close to an orgasm.
“A-Cheng,” The words appear in his mind again, “Do you want another baby, A-Cheng? Do you want Alpha to give you another baby?”
Wangji does not speak like that. The hand between his legs is gone. Jiang Cheng squirms helplessly at the rush of arousal from the bold words. The sheets rustle against his back.
“Should I put another one inside? I did not get to see the last one grow, A-Cheng. Unfair, no?”
His heart skips a beat even as he keeps writhing and whining, clawing to keep hold of all the pleasure. He is being edged right now, and he wants to cry from frustration.
“Please,” Jiang Cheng begs, even though he has not opened his mouth, “Give me another one. I’ll carry Alpha’s baby.”
“Alpha?”
“Gege,” Jiang Cheng corrects himself, once again without opening his mouth, “Xian-ge’s.”
“A-Cheng did such a good job of raising Ge’s baby the first time, didn’t he?” Wei Wuxian is not moving inside of him anymore but it does nothing to curb the knot tightening in Jiang Cheng’s gut. His breath hitches at the praise, clenching down around nothing.
“My perfect omega,” Wei Wuxian is at his neck, at his scent gland free of a mating mark, “You make such a pretty niang. Shouldn’t Ge keep you pregnant all the time?”
Jiang Cheng thinks he comes. Or at least his arousal spikes so sharply he jerks against the bedsheets and shudders awake. He stares at the ceiling with a splotchy vision, chest rising and falling visibly with heavy breaths. He is throbbing between his legs from a false climax, something very close to it but not quite. A wet dream. His husband’s scent hits him, tense with impatience and need.
“Wangji,” he calls, stuck half-way in dreamland where shixiongs are still alive and everything is simpler. He hears his husband rise, likely from behind the study desk. His footsteps are quick and solid from his eagerness, though he takes a seat on the edge of the bed patiently.
“Please,” Jiang Cheng whimpers, parting his sleep robes shamelessly to bare his lower body. “Please,” he repeats, fingers sliding between his folds and finding it hot and wet—soaking, really.
“What do you want?” Lan Wangji asks. He always does. A muscle in his jaw ticks from his restraint. His fingers are clenched in the sheets and his knuckles are white.
“I want to come,” Jiang Cheng says plaintively, “I need to come.”
Lan Wangji leans in, stroking aside the hair clinging to his sweat damp forehead. “Me or my fingers?”
“I love your cock,” Jiang Cheng sighs just to see the way Lan Wangji’s ears turn red, “But I want your fingers.”
He gets them immediately. Two long fingers stroke at his empty hole. Lan Wangji’s hands are much bigger than Jiang Cheng’s. Bigger than even Wei Wuxian’s. Two of his own fingers would fit inside easily but Lan Wangji’s have him wincing through the stretch.
But Lan Wangji pulls them out just as soon as he puts them in. His fingers are soaked and he spreads that wetness all over Jiang Cheng’s folds, circling his clit with firm pressure. Jiang Cheng’s back arches off the bed, hand latching onto Lan Wangji’s forearm as he moves to settle at his side. One arm braced below him on the bed, Lan Wangji tucks his nose into Jiang Cheng’s neck and alternates between fucking Jiang Cheng with his fingers and rubbing his clit.
“What had Jiang Cheng worked up this morning?” He asks.
Clumsily, he tries, “Xian-ge, Ge was…” but that is not right. That is not correct.
Jiang Cheng has not thought of Wei Wuxian as ge, or even shixiong really, for a long while, not since he presented and learned what it meant to be an alpha, beta, and omega. Xian-ge was Wei Wuxian’s thing since he took his virginity, Wei Wuxian’s nasty little kink. Jiang Cheng had personally been keen on alpha and mate since he noticed how broad Wei Wuxian’s shoulders were getting, how his arms flexed while practicing sword forms, how his lips curled with the cocky line of his smirk when he was right.
Or when he noticed the heat of his cock against the side of Jiang Cheng’s thigh when he would sneak into Jiang Cheng’s room in nothing but a thin sleeping robe, even if they were too old for any of it to be appropriate, and Jiang Cheng would inevitably wake up in the morning with Wei Wuxian wrapped around him like an octopus.
“Alpha was—he was,” Jiang Cheng reaches down, fingers brushing up against his husband’s, “He was in me, in here. I was on my stomach. He wanted another baby.”
“Did you give it to him? Did you let him take it?” Lan Wangji wonders, the line of tension in his voice pulled taut.
The question is a little nonsensical, but Jiang Cheng is certain he would let Wei Wuxian take anything so he just nods.
“Greedy,” Lan Wangji says darkly, pulling away until their eyes connect, “Thinking of someone other than your husband.”
Jiang Cheng jerks when Lan Wangji crooks his fingers up hard against his walls, dragging it over that spot. “Lao gong, please.” It is not a term he uses in public often for fear of the public indecency that will follow. But behind closed doors he likes how it drives him wild.
Lan Wangji slides himself back between Jiang Cheng’s legs, finding the perfect position to curl his fingers up. “Desperate,” Lan Wangji clicks his tongue in disapproval and Jiang Cheng burns, “Does any alpha please you?”
“Just you,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, hands searching for purchase in the sheets, “Just you, lao gong.”
Lan Wangji groans nearly inaudible, eyes flickering a vivid shade of blue. “Do not lie,” he says shortly, “It is insulting.”
Jiang Cheng blinks up at him in confusion. “I am not,” he shakes his head, trying not to get too lost in the pleasure, “It is just you.”
“And yet you bore the Yiling Laozu a child,” Lan Wangji says in a disparaging tone. Jiang Cheng’s mouth falls open in shock. He does not think he has ever heard Lan Wangji call Wei Wuxian by that title. He stares at him blankly, unable to deny the truth.
“Did you not?” Lan Wangji asks.
Jiang Cheng marvels at the shame the question inflicts on him. “I did.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes darken, “If you were willing to bear a child for the Yiling Laozu, how many other alphas must you be willing to allow between your legs?”
This is definitely something different. Jiang Cheng did not know he had this in himself. Fuck, he did not know Lan Wangji had this in him. What is this anyway? Yiling Laozu play? Slut-shaming of the Yiling Laozu variety?
“None,” Jiang Cheng denies, body rolling when Lan Wangji drags his fingers hard and slow, “Just you and—and the Yiling Laozu. Just you two.”
“What will you do to make it up to me?” Lan Wangji wonders. His eyes are more pupil than gold and the thin circles of his iris flicker blue erratically. His grip on his control, on all his famous Lan self-restraint, is slipping.
Jiang Cheng lets out a noise of complaint when he slips his fingers out of his cunt, but quickly shuts up when Lan Wangji sticks those same fingers in Jiang Cheng’s mouth. He tastes like, well. Like slick. Like sex and sweat. He starts cleaning Lan Wangji’s fingers with his tongue but he interrupts himself with a cry when a mouth presses up against his cunt.
His husband does not do this often because Jiang Cheng gets too sensitive this way for a second round. Truthfully neither of them do this—oral sex—often. Not when Jiang Cheng much prefers having Lan Wangji inside of him and Lan Wangji much prefers being inside of him.
But it is a treat when Lan Wangji chooses to eat him out. They have done this enough times for Lan Wangji to know that Jiang Cheng likes his tongue stiff and flat over his clit, that he likes when he sucks and flicks the tip of his tongue.
It feels like an electric shock that way. Like Zidian’s lightning is sparking under every inch of his skin. So good in fact that it borders pain, a white-hot pleasure behind his eyelids. Jiang Cheng grabs Lan Wangji’s hair with both hands, fingers sinking into its silky mass. His legs are held apart by Lan Wangji’s forearms though he strains against the hold.
“I’m—” Jiang Cheng scrambles, his feet sliding aimlessly on the bed, “Close. Please, please, please.”
It takes him less than a minute to tip over. Lan Wangji grabs him by the waist to hold him steady and his thighs take the opportunity to squeeze either side of Lan Wangji’s head, locking him against his cunt. His husband works him through it gently, his mouth idling when Jiang Cheng’s legs relax though he does not move to pull away.
“Beautiful,” Lan Wangji murmurs, his breath tickling swollen flesh and Jiang Cheng twitches. He peers down the plane of his body at Lan Wangji, meeting his dark, satisfied eyes. His face is flushed and wet from slick.
“What was that?” Jiang Cheng asks, letting his legs fall to the side. Lan Wangji rises to his knees, reaching to wipe his face with the back of his hand before he thinks twice about the wiseness of that decision and instead climbs off the bed to find a cloth.
“I am not sure what you mean,” Lan Wangji counters, patting his face dry and offering a second cloth to Jiang Cheng.
“The Yiling Laozu thing,” Jiang Cheng says impatiently, cleaning his thighs, “You’ve never called him that before. Not like this, at least.”
“…A momentary loss of control,” Lan Wangji settles on tactfully. Jiang Cheng stares at him in slow blooming realization, “Are you jealous?”
“Nonsense.”
“I am well aware you are possessive, but do not tell me you are actually jealous I had a dream about him, Lan Wangji.” Jiang Cheng nearly laughs at the ridiculousness. For one, Wei Wuxian is dead.
“Jiang Cheng was enjoying that dream quite thoroughly,” Lan Wangji says darkly, taking a seat behind the desk again.
“It was a sex dream, it is not like I can control it!” Jiang Cheng throws his hands up, “What, was I supposed to despise it?”
Lan Wangji shoots him a flinty look. “Does Jiang Cheng dream about me?” Jiang Cheng stares at him, silent in his incredulity.
“Well?” Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow imperiously.
“I do,” Jiang Cheng says, tying shut his sleep robes, “But I hope I never have one again.”
His husband takes no heed of his disdain, his smug scent permeating the air freely as he returns to whatever music piece or painting he was working on.
“Competing against a dead man,” Jiang Cheng says, scathing, “How honorable of you, Hanguang-Jun.”
“Having indecent dreams about a dead man,” Lan Wangji retorts without looking up, “How honorable of you, Sandu Shengshou.”
Jiang Cheng resists the urge to make a rude gesture at him since Lan Wangji will not even see it. “Like you have not either.”
Lan Wangji pauses in his painting—a lake of lotus flowers—and looks up contemplatively at him. Jiang Cheng furrows his eyebrows in question, unsure what part of his reply requires that much thought to answer.
“No,” Lan Wangji decides eventually, “I have not.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen in surprise. He has been woken up at the crack of dawn before because Lan Wangji’s dreams have left him hot and bothered, not that he has minded. But, “You’re telling me not a single dream starred Wei Wuxian? The love of your tragic life?”
Lan Wangji looks unimpressed at the descriptor. His life isn’t tragic, Jiang Cheng just finds childish humor in calling Wei Wuxian as such.
“They only show me what has already happened,” Lan Wangji says.
Which means. “Your sex dreams have all been about me,” Jiang Cheng realizes.
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says dryly, “My dreams have all been about you.”
“Oh,” Jiang Cheng says. When he says it like that, it sounds different. Lan Wangji seems to realize the weight of what he said because he ducks his head, returning his focus back to his painting, a faintly embarrassed air around him.
“Right, well,” Jiang Cheng brushes invisible dust off of his sleep robes, straightening the collar pointlessly, “Pleasure doing business with you this morning,” before ducking into the adjacent room to ready himself for the day, definitely not running away.
scene xix.
There are no prior words exchanged, when the day arrives. Lan Yuan simply finds Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji in the office room and settles in front of Jiang Cheng’s desk.
“Tell me,” he says, adjusting his robes and clearing his throat to prepare himself.
His birthday had passed two weeks ago, fifteen years of age now. Jiang Cheng can only feel nostalgic looking at him, remembering him as the endlessly cheerful baby he used to be. He had grown up too fast. He knows Lan Wangji thinks the same when he catches his husband observing Lan Yuan from a distance, a pensive look on his face.
“You are my son,” Jiang Cheng reminds him, “No matter what.”
“I know,” Lan Yuan says easily, smiling. It had taken him and Jiang Min a couple of weeks to come around to the information Jiang Cheng had revealed. Lan Yuan had stuck to Jiang Cheng’s side like a limpet during that time, subconsciously searching for validation and proof that Jiang Cheng viewed him as his son and nothing else.
Jiang Min had gone the opposite direction, avoiding Jiang Cheng entirely and spending every waking moment with Lan Wangji. She had asked every disciple who had been alive to know the Yiling Laozu if they thought she was anything like Lan Wangji. As if to prove to herself that Lan Wangji was still her father.
It had taken Jin Ling telling her, ‘Biao mei, stop worrying so much. So you have more than one father, what’s the big deal?’ for her anxiety to fade. She had come to their room at night to quietly apologize to Jiang Cheng for avoiding him for the last three weeks, shiny tears pooled in her eyes. Jiang Cheng had just shushed her and tucked her in with him and Lan Wangji to sleep.
“Niang?” Lan Yuan prods, when Jiang Cheng does not move or speak, “It will be okay, Niang, please just tell me.”
Jiang Cheng swallows down the abruptly rising panic, like a tidal wave through his mind, and says, “You were born a Wen.”
Lan Yuan stares at him. Emotions flash across his face, too fast to read, before he blinks and says, “Okay,” in a carefully neutral voice. “Is there more to this?” He follows up.
But Jiang Cheng is too tangled up in his thoughts to tell that story, which his husband notices.
“You are the nephew of Wen Ning and Wen Qing,” Lan Wangji says and Lan Yuan whips his head towards him, focused intensely on his words, “You are from the healer branch that Wei Ying tried to protect.”
Lan Yuan falters, his expression displaying his shock.
“Wei Ying raised you like his son in the time that you lived with him in Burial Mounds. I met you multiple times while you still lived there.”
“You were the first person I looked for during the siege,” Jiang Cheng says, finding his voice, “Someone had hidden you in a tree before the siege and I found you after, feverish and sick.”
“I am a Wen,” Lan Yuan says hollowly. His lips are parted and he shakes his head once with a disbelieving laugh.
“And a Jiang, and a Lan,” Jiang Cheng says.
Lan Yuan closes his mouth and gives a jerky nod, “And a Jiang, and a Lan.” He looks at Jiang Cheng, “Niang, did you know me from before? Did you visit me in Burial Mounds?”
“Countless times,” Jiang Cheng says, “You would call me pretty niang and gift me the hard-earned lotus seeds my shixiong grew. You do not understand how badly I wished you were mine, even back then.”
“Sometimes…” Lan Yuan hesitates, “Sometimes I remember a dizi.”
“Chenqing,” Jiang Cheng replies automatically, “The dizi he used to wield resentful energy. You would use it as a teething toy.”
Lan Yuan looks torn between embarrassment and awe. “You did know me,” he realizes, “And Wei Wuxian really did raise me.”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says softly.
“But then that means,” Lan Yuan glances away in frustration, in sadness, “My birth family… they are all dead.”
Jiang Cheng grimaces, looking off to the side as old guilt rears its head. “I did not know them well, but…” he starts tentatively, and Lan Yuan perks up in hope, “I could tell you what I do remember?”
“Will you tell me about Wei Wuxian as well?” Lan Yuan asks, “What he was like when he was raising me. You too, A-Diē.”
“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, “Anything you want to know.”
“What your Diē said,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “We will tell you whatever you want to know.”
“And also, one day,” Lan Yuan glances between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji carefully, “Could I see the Burial Mounds?”
“Yes,” they say at the same time and Lan Yuan’s lips twitch. “Though preferably in a few years,” Lan Wangji adds, “As the resentful energy is still strong.”
“I understand,” Lan Yuan says. He really is such a good child. “Niang, were you scared of telling me because my birth fam—”
“Yes.”
He averts his gaze in embarrassment, or maybe shame, when Lan Yuan raises both his eyebrows at his haste. Haltingly, Jiang Cheng says, “I wonder… often… what it would have been like if they were still alive to raise you. Would you have been happier? Would you have been more loved?”
What will my penance be for raising you when I did nothing to save your family?
“But you love me,” Lan Yuan says, reaching his hand out across the table, “And you have given me a good life. Niang, you raised me well.”
“You do not understand,” Jiang Cheng says solemnly, staring at Lan Yuan’s open palm, “I only cared for your birth family inasmuch as they were important to you and my shixiong.”
Lan Yuan pauses to consider this, looking to Lan Wangji in question. “Their fate was undeserved, but I was incapacitated during the time of the siege,” Lan Wangji answers the silent, ‘What about you?’
“Your Diē cared for them purely because he is too honorable to turn his cheek to injustice,” Jiang Cheng says, and the implications are apparent, a healthy dose of self-recrimination and resignation in his statement.
“Would you…” Lan Yuan searches for the right words, “If you could have, would you have saved my family?”
Jiang Cheng wavers, looking between Lan Yuan’s earnest expression and his expectant palm. “…Yes,” he admits, “For you and for… Wei Wuxian.”
Lan Yuan’s eyes flash in surprise at the use of Wei Wuxian’s name, something Jiang Cheng has avoided like the plague in the company of anyone other than his husband. “Then I think that is enough,” Lan Yuan smiles at him gently, as if coaxing a spooked animal, “Niang, I understand better now, what you were trying to tell me before. Being a hero… it is easier said than done. You are the sect leader and your priority is of course the Yunmeng Jiang sect, but you love us enough to try and put our family first.”
“I do not deserve you,” Jiang Cheng whispers, letting Lan Yuan take his hand and squeeze it, “What did I do to deserve such an exceptional son?”
“You raised me,” Lan Yuan tilts his head and smiles at Jiang Cheng in amusement, “You and Diē and Bofu and our family, you all raised me. If you call me exceptional, then you are the reason I am so.”
“You think so?” Jiang Cheng means it rhetorically, but Lan Yuan nods confidently, tipping his head at Lan Wangji.
“I am sure A-Diē will agree with me.”
“He will agree with anything that opposes me,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, “That means nothing.”
“A-Diē does not lie,” Lan Yuan points out, “I think that says more about you, A-Niang.”
“Is this how you treat your elders, brat,” Jiang Cheng scolds without any bite, “All you kids have no respect for your elders these days.”
“Niang, I love you,” Lan Yuan says, reading through his deflection and correctly identifying his worries, “And I am not upset with you. I am upset at the injustice of what happened and that I will never know them. And I wish you could have saved them, but I understand that your hands were tied.”
But they are still bloody, Jiang Cheng thinks to himself, back then, I looked the other way as your family died and I killed the only parent you had. These blood stains will never wash off.
ACT III.
no other sadness in the world would do
scene i.
“Do not,” Lan Wangji warns him.
“It is his first time,” Jiang Cheng argues, “Let him have some help.”
“It is a nuisance,” Lan Wangji states, “And unnecessary. We will be there. Sizhui did not need the nets either.”
Jiang Cheng eyes Lan Wangji warningly. “Do not make me state the obvious.”
“Jin Ling is far more efficient than you give him credit for.”
“I am well aware of that, but A-Yuan is Lan Xichen in a smaller body, it is not the same.”
“Sizhui is far more mature than others his age,” Lan Wangji agrees, “But the nets are still a nuisance.”
Jiang Cheng frowns. “I just want him to do well. It is his first time, it will haunt him if he does not succeed.”
“Jiang Cheng.”
“One hundred nets.”
Lan Wangji gives him a disapproving look, mouth thin and flat. “Thirty,” he says.
“Ninety,” Jiang Cheng compromises.
“Thirty.”
“Eighty,” Jiang Cheng holds a hand up when Lan Wangji looks like he wants to protest, “That is my final offer.”
His husband frowns.
“He is the heir to the Lanling Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng explains, “This is not like A-Yuan, neither of us are from the Lanling Jin clan. We can only help so much.”
Lan Wangji nods. “I see.”
“You are terrible at politics,” Jiang Cheng says, and where he would have once been irritated, he can only be fond now.
“You care for a reputation borne out of fear instead of respect,” Lan Wangji replies, “Jiang Cheng is not any better.”
“Because I like to be taken seriously!” Jiang Cheng huffs, “Forgive me.”
“And I assume your delight when cultivators are wary of you is part of this?”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng mutters. Lan Wangji smiles, squeezing his knee.
“Jin Ling will be fine,” he says, “Have faith.”
“He has too much of that peacock in him,” Jiang Cheng sighs, looking out over the lake. A lotus bobs beneath his hanging foot. “I hope A-Jie tempers some of that when he gets older.”
“He is an upright young man,” Lan Wangji assures him and Jiang Cheng smiles in amusement, turning to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “He is a terror,” Jiang Cheng deadpans, “Especially to you.”
“We have an understanding,” Lan Wangji says serenely, the wind ruffling his hair, playing with the ends. Jiang Cheng studies him for a moment more before looking away. “Sure,” he snorts.
“Jiujiu!”
“Speak of the devil,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath and Lan Wangji’s lips curl. He glances over his shoulder, and when he can not see the telltale yellow of Jin Ling’s robes he cups a hand to his mouth. “Over here, A-Ling!”
“Where?!”
“North side!”
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling starts his complaints right from the beginning of the pier, “I do not think you should come. You didn’t go for Yuan-ge,” Jin Ling sits behind them, between them, kneeing both of them in the back as he crosses his legs, “I mean Jiufu did but Yuan-ge’s the heir for the Gusu Lan clan so that is fine, but I am from the Lanling Jin clan, so it would be—weird? Suspicious? Something like that. It would be bad if you were seen around me all the time at my debut hunt.”
Jiang Cheng looks at Lan Wangji pointedly. After ten years he knows Lan Wangji can read the, ‘Even a fourteen year old is better at politics than you’ in his eyes. Lan Wangji ignores him with that same ten years of experience.
“How about we compromise and I will be there to back you up,” Jiang Cheng offers to Jin Ling.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling groans, “You are never just back up.”
“This time I will be,” Jiang Cheng says in offense, “You think I do not understand how important this hunt is for you?”
“If you are too involved it will look like the Yunmeng Jiang clan is trying to have control over three great sects, Jiujiu, and after this hunt, the Jin sect will be looking to me—”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng cuts him off.
Jin Guangyao is not dying anytime soon, but without a child or the prospect of one in the near future, the Jin sect will be digging their claws deeper into Jin Ling as the sole heir to the throne. It has been unsaid but it is expected that the Yunmeng Jiang sect will loosen their hold on Jin Ling with this hunt, as it marks Jin Ling’s capability as a cultivator for the Jin sect not the Jiang.
Jiang Cheng knows the impending loss will feel like a missing limb. First with Sizhui transitioning to a permanent residence at Gusu and now Jin Ling with the Jin sect. His two oldest are leaving and Jiang Cheng is desperately grateful that the younger ones are all Jiang by name and that he gets to keep them close.
Lan Wangji sets a palm on his knee, squeezing once before reaching for his hand. Jiang Cheng clutches at it gratefully, letting Lan Wangji pull their linked hands into his lap. He turns with it, sitting with one leg folded between him and Lan Wangji and the other hanging off the pier. Jin Ling watches the side of his face carefully but Jiang Cheng has perfected his mask after dealing with five ravenously curious and extraordinarily nosy children.
“Jiujiu?” Jin Ling asks carefully. “Do you still really plan on coming with me? I honestly think it would be better if you let—”
“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji cuts him off, turning his head slightly to peer at him from the corner of his eye. Jiang Cheng must be grinding the bones in his hand together with the force of his grip.
“I just—Jiufu, you know Jiujiu is bad at remaining still.”
“The Lanling Jin sect can think what they want,” Lan Wangji says, “Is he not your family? Did he not raise you?”
“He did,” Jin Ling softens, eyes darting back to Jiang Cheng in concern, “Only, I do not want the Jin sect or minor sects to give you guys any trouble.”
“Let them,” Lan Wangji says simply.
Jin Ling’s eyes widen before he beams and flings his arms around Lan Wangji from the back, clinging tight for a moment, then letting him go just as quickly. Jiang Cheng smiles at the stunned, pleased look on his husband’s face. Jin Ling is stingy with his affection, though he is more open about it than Jiang Cheng suspects he would be if he had not grown up with four children around his age, and that combined with Lan Wangji’s taciturn nature means they rarely touch, let alone show affection.
But Lan Wangji is like a stubborn cat, soaking up every bit of attention and affection the children will give him while refusing to ever ask for it. Dumbass, Jiang Cheng thinks fondly. The two of them are both incredibly shy though they show it in different ways.
“We are family, A-Ling,” Lan Wangji says softly, looking down at his lap, thumb running over Jiang Cheng’s knuckles, “A surname, the color of your robes, it does not change that. Your jiujiu has been waiting to see your first hunt since you were born.”
Jiang Cheng blinks and straightens up. “Lan Wangji,” he hisses, embarrassed.
“There is no one alive who loves you as much as he does,” Lan Wangji continues heedlessly, “Do not push him away.”
“I think this is the most I have heard you speak, Jiufu,” Jin Ling says faintly, slowly rounding on Jiang Cheng. For his part, Jiang Cheng glares a hole in the side of his husband’s face.
“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling says.
Jiang Cheng sighs and distangles his hand from Lan Wangji to open his arms up. Sometimes actions say all the words needed. Jin Ling throws himself at him, tucking his head under Jiang Cheng’s chin and curling up on his lap even though he is getting too big for all this.
Lan Wangji watches them warmly, patting Jin Ling’s leg.
“What if I keep flares on me,” Jin Ling suggests, shifting around to make himself more comfortable.
“And you promise to use them?” Jiang Cheng asks dryly.
“Yes! If I can’t deal with it myself, I will call for help.”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes in resignation. Jin Ling is stubborn, he will only use it if it is truly dangerous. But he knows that he has to let Jin Ling start taking his own path without hovering at his shoulder.
“Fine.”
Jin Ling cheers, raising a fist in the air in victory. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and shares a look with Lan Wangji.
scene ii.
Jiang Cheng was under no illusions that Jin Ling would actually use the flares or ask for help if he needed it, so he is not exactly surprised to walk in on Jin Ling face-down in the dirt with a masked stranger crouched next to him.
“I am his jiujiu,” Jiang Cheng announces himself, having caught the stranger’s final, exasperated question, “Any last words?” Sandu is a familiar weight in his left hand, and Zidian is winded and ready around his right.
The masked stranger stiffens at the sound of his voice. Jiang Cheng assumes he has realized who he is dealing with, watching as the man rises woodenly to his feet.
“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling calls, sounding relieved as Jiang Cheng approached, “Jiujiu!”
The man tenses further if possible, creeping away from Jin Ling as if he could leave unnoticed.
“You, stop there,” Jiang Cheng orders the man and he freezes over like a block of ice. Jiang Cheng keeps the brusqueness he is known for even as he glances down at Jin Ling, “And what are you doing on the ground? Get up.”
Jin Ling tries, but he seems to be struggling against an invisible weight, which leads Jiang Cheng to notice the paperman attached to his back. It is like his vision bleeds red, but instead of anger, it is deep-seated sorrow at the reminder of Wei Wuxian. He calls the paperman into his palm, crushing the talisman and the ghost attached to it with a burst of spiritual energy. He knows he must look mad now, and he thinks he might be, because how fucking dare this cultivator use one of Wei Wuxian’s tricks and tempt him with the delusional hope that he has returned.
Even after thirteen years, Jiang Cheng still has not learned. Thirteen years, a husband, and five children later, he still has not moved on. Even Lan Wangji is better off than him, which is humiliating because if Lan Wangji, who is as quietly dramatic as they come, has quit playing the tragic widow day in and day out, then what the hell is Jiang Cheng doing?
“I’ll break your legs!” Jin Ling yells at the rogue cultivator. His face suffuses a splotchy red, and his scent is murky from bitter rage. He is rattled, Jiang Cheng can tell, his hand trembling once as he raises Suihua. Jiang Cheng’s expression sharpens, wondering what the rogue cultivator could have said to upset Jin Ling to this extent. He has a guess, from the vise-grip Jin Ling has on Suihua’s hilt.
“Break his legs? Have I not told you,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, eyeing the cultivator’s back, the dark clothes and red hair ribbon, “Anyone who uses the Yiling Laozu’s tricks should be fed to your dog.”
Jin Ling, well aware that Jiang Cheng’s opinion of the Yiling Laozu changes with the moon and how much sleep he has had the night before, takes his words for what they really are. Permission to retaliate as he sees fit. If Jiang Cheng’s hunch is right, and he has no doubt it is, the cultivator had made some comment regarding Jin Zixuan and Jie at which point he does not care to stop Jin Ling.
Jin Ling lunges forward, Suihua aimed at the cultivator’s shoulder blade, but a bright blue glare deflects his blade. Jiang Cheng fights down an eye roll. The cultivator scrambles to hide behind a nearby tree and Jin Ling stumbles back to Jiang Cheng’s side, off-balance because of the difference in strength between swords.
His husband approaches them with his typical jade-like grace, an entourage of young Lan disciples following behind, including Sizhui and his friend Lan Jingyi. Bichen slides back into his scabbard with a click.
“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng acknowledges somewhat sarcastically, turning his body to face him. The six disciples behind Lan Wangji greet him in unison.
“Now tell me, what could bring Hanguang-Jun to this humble forest?” Jiang Cheng wonders, stepping forward. When you said you would not intervene with Jin Ling and I, goes unsaid but not unheard even if Lan Wangji does not lift his gaze higher than the skirt of Jiang Cheng’s robes.
“Sect Leader Jiang, Hanguang-Jun is permitted to be here just as anyone else,” Lan Jingyi pipes up, blunt as ever. His tone, however, is carefully polite, as it has been ever since he saw Jiang Cheng wield Zidian on a joint night hunt that had taken a drastic turn. Jiang Cheng finds it amusing that Lan Wangji has managed to garner himself such a dedicated defense squad.
“I am sure he is,” Jiang Cheng says, “But that does not answer my question.”
The other Lan disciples exchange looks, probably confused by Jiang Cheng’s antagonistic attitude but Sizhui glances at Lan Wangji before speaking for him.
“Jin-gongzi,” he says, the corners of his eyes tightening in momentary discomfort at the formal title, “The night-hunt is supposed to be a fair competition, but with so many of your nets set up around the forest, people are afraid to move forward in fear of getting caught in them.”
Jin Ling tucks his hands behind his back and saunters up to stand beside Jiang Cheng, a cocky tilt to his chin. Maybe Lan Wangji was right. Maybe Jiang Cheng did spoil him. Still, affection swells behind Jiang Cheng’s breastbone at the sight of his nephew and son, older now but forever his children.
“What should I do if these cultivators keep stumbling into the traps, should they not be smart enough to avoid them? If it bothers them so much, let them wait until I finish catching my prey,” Jin Ling says.
Jiang Cheng catches the subtle tightening of Lan Wangji’s jaw. When Jin Ling goes to speak again, he finds his lips sealed. It is a predicament he has been in before, Lan Wangji’s favorite way of forcing Jin Ling to reflect on whatever careless words he has thrown. But at the current moment, Jiang Cheng can not appreciate the sight of the silencing spell.
“Hanguang-Jun,” he says icily, whirling on his husband, “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Poor Sizhui looks rather nervous at their tension. “Release the spell on my nephew, it is not your place to discipline him,” Jiang Cheng says pointedly, Zidian sparking in warning. Discipline in the comfort of their home is one thing, but here they are the heir of the Jin sect and the younger brother of Gusu Lan’s sect leader.
Lan Wangji meets his gaze evenly. From the tightness of the corner of his eyes, Jiang Cheng can tell he is pissed. Which is fine because Jiang Cheng is starting to get pissed too.
“Lan Wangji,” he says lowly, taking a threatening step forward, “Release. The spell. On my nephew.”
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Sizhui begins in a placating tone, bowing at him. It is a disconcerting sight and sound, hearing his son act so formally towards him even if he understands the need, since Sizhui belongs to Gusu Lan now. “Please, there is no need to be upset. As long as Jin-gongzi does not try to forcibly break the spell, it will release on its own.”
In thirty minutes, Jiang Cheng thinks incredulously. Who the hell has time to wait around that long. But it is not like he is going to get mad at his son for his husband’s actions so he turns his glare on Lan Wangji. He takes another step forward and Zidian sparks violently, pushing all the Lans except Lan Wangji and Sizhui to take a step back.
Before he can start to speak again, a disciple of his rushes up to him, hesitating when he senses the tense atmosphere between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji.
“Talk,” Jiang Cheng orders, eyeing Lan Wangji poisonously.
Yang Renshu begins to speak, shooting Lan Wangji side glances, “A short while ago we witnessed a… blue sword destroy the nets you had us set up.”
“How many?” He asks gruffly.
Yang Renshu looks to the side as he carefully says, “Sect Leader Jiang… that is… it destroyed all of them.”
Three-hundred nets. Three -fucking- hundred nets. Jiang Cheng is going to murder his husband. He is going to be a self-made widow at the young age of thirty-five and a single mother of five children.
“Three hundred nets,” Jiang Cheng bites out through his teeth and the Lan disciples pale, glancing at their beloved Hanguang-Jun in worry, “Excellent work from the Gusu Lan clan.”
His fist raises, Zidian beginning to glow. He and Lan Wangji both look at it. Alas, Jiang Cheng knows it would look bad to start a fight with his husband in the middle of Jin Ling’s debut hunt, so he forcibly tucks his right hand behind his back, taking a deep, bracing breath.
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Hanguang-Jun thinks he can discipline another sect’s heir,” Jiang Cheng glances at Jin Ling, “Let him.” He turns to Yang Renshu, dismissing him wordlessly with a nod of his head. Jin Ling still has not moved. Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow at him, “Why are you just standing there? The prey won’t come fall on your sword. And do not even think about coming to me if you fail to catch the creature.”
With all the bragging Jin Ling did and the adamant rejection of any of Jiang Cheng’s help or advise beside the spirit-binding nets, Jiang Cheng refuses to go easy on him. Jin Ling sets his jaw mulishly but drops both him and Lan Wangji polite bows before trudging off with Jin disciples trailing him.
“Sect Leader Jiang, the Gusu Lan sect will replace the spirit-binding nets that were destroyed,” Sizhui says peaceably. Jiang Cheng looks right in Lan Wangji’s eyes as he sneers, “No need,” so there is no mistaking who he is talking to. With a flick of his robes, he stalks off in the opposite direction of his husband, following the path Jin Ling took.
As he ventures down the path, his mind drifts back to that rogue cultivator with the black robes and red hair ribbon. That red… Wei Wuxian always preferred that shade of red.
scene iii.
Jiang Cheng is still too pissed at the sight of his husband for them to do any conflict resolution at the road-side stand they are waiting at. He knows Lan Wangji feels the same. They sit at different tables in excruciatingly awkward silence if the increasingly uncomfortable looks on his men’s faces are anything to go by, waiting for Jin Ling or one of the Lan disciples to send news or light a flare.
No flare comes, to no surprise, and neither does any news. No, what reaches them first is the faint whispers of some truly awful dizi playing. Jiang Cheng’s fingers pause in tapping against the table. Chenqing is stored in his office, tucked away in the dark but in pristine condition. He has not told anyone he has it, not even Lan Wangji. The awful dizi playing switches out to something resembling a proper tune and Lan Wangji turns his head towards the sound, his eyes widening.
“Wangxian,” he utters so quietly, Jiang Cheng strains to hear it. He rushes out of the stand, moving with a certain haste Jiang Cheng has only witnessed a handful of times before. Jiang Cheng frowns as he watches him ascend Bichen and considers leaving him to it, knowing that if it was truly important, Lan Wangji would send a messenger to retrieve him.
But the tone with which he had said ‘Wangxian’, the hope there, tugs at Jiang Cheng, urging him to follow. He rises, setting down the necessary silver on the table, and calling for his men to fall in line. The quickness of his flying speed can only be explained as curiosity. They set down near the clearing, having followed the terrible dizi playing until it cut off. It is not hard to find where Lan Wangji landed with the noise of the other cultivators present in the clearing.
He strides in, spotting Jin Ling looking a lot more roughed up than before. “A-Ling!” He calls, drawing his nephew’s attention. Sizhui is in the midst of the Lan disciples and looks as pristine as ever, so Jiang Cheng leaves him be for the time being.
“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling lights up before glancing guiltily away, which definitely means he did something stupid and reckless.
Jiang Cheng stops in front of a cluster of cultivators from varying clans. If anyone will give him the honest picture of what occurred here, it will be them. They bow to him. Jin Ling does not move from his spot off to the side.
“What happened to the signal flares? I thought you knew how to use them?” Jiang Cheng asks his nephew dryly, “Just get over here, A-Ling, do not act brave.”
“You are the one who said not to come to you if I failed,” Jin Ling retorts, but he trudges over to Jiang Cheng’s side.
“Oh, now you choose to listen,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, “The nerve of you kids these days. Talking back and picking whatever words suit you best.” He scans over the crowd of Lan disciples, looking at that Jingyi kid for a few long seconds. Jingyi at least has the decency to look sheepish.
“S-Sect Leader Jiang,” One of the cultivators addresses him.
“What on earth happened here,” Jiang Cheng asks, “What has all of you this roughed up?”
“Sect Leader Jiang… it was Wen Ning,” The cultivator says.
“Wen Ning?” He repeats, “That is impossible. He died thirteen years ago.”
“It is!” Another cultivator insists, “I could not have seen it wrong. It is Wen Ning.”
“He is nothing but ashes,” Jiang Cheng says in disbelief.
The second cultivator stabs a finger to the side, “He summoned Wen Ning, Sect Leader Jiang, I know what I saw!”
And of course, when Jiang Cheng looks to the side, he sees his husband standing there with a vise-grip on the wrist of the rogue cultivator from earlier, a bamboo dizi on the ground at their feet. The same black robes, red hair ribbon, and gaudy mask. Jiang Cheng’s stomach flips.
He lashes out with Zidian without warning, but his husband, with years of experience of reading him under his belt, has already summoned Wangji to counter the strike. The collision force shakes the ground and everyone else takes a step back. Lan Wangji positions himself in front of the rogue cultivator.
“Get out of my way!” Jiang Cheng snarls, “If it is really—”
“Must it harm?” Lan Wangji asks. He dispels Wangji. If you must, his eyes are saying, but is there need for harm? Can you live with yourself if you harm?
“Get out of my way,” Jiang Cheng repeats himself, this time calmer, and Lan Wangji reluctantly does, which is when Wei Wuxian—it has to be Wei Wuxian—makes a run for it.
Jiang Cheng sweeps out Zidian to catch him around the ankle, tripping him so he falls with a thud to the ground. Lan Wangji’s features pinch but he seems to realize that this is the best he can expect from Jiang Cheng because he makes no move to silently rebuke him.
Wei Wuxian groans on the ground, shoving himself up to his feet while grabbing at parts of his body, even those that took no damage, to complain of the pain. “What, you think you can beat people up because you are from a rich and powerful clan?”
Jiang Cheng stares at him, stunned, before switching his gaze to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji looks as certain as he did before but relief begins to trickle into his features. If Zidian strikes someone who seized a body then the soul and body would immediately separate. If it had been Wei Wuxian’s soul inside of a body he stole, then Jiang Cheng, despite his complicated feelings regarding him, was not willing to let him get away with such an act, even if it meant losing him again. Lan Wangji, it seems, was willing to yield to his wishes.
Since the soul did not separate though, it leaves Jiang Cheng with three obvious options. One that this is not Wei Wuxian, two that Wei Wuxian had somehow miraculously returned with both body and soul, or three that Wei Wuxian had been voluntarily given the body.
Lan Wangji looks too confident for this to not be Wei Wuxian, however. He had called that off-tune piece from before Wangxian, recognizing it near instantly. Jiang Cheng has never heard of any such piece and his husband plays for him on a regular basis, which means that the likelihood of a rogue cultivator knowing Wangxian was very low.
Clearly this was a song Lan Wangji had shared with perhaps only Wei Wuxian before. And, gods above, it was named Wangxian, an obvious combination of Lan Wangji’s and Wei Wuxian’s courtesy names.
Leaving that aside, there is something about the way that the masked cultivator carries himself that screams so strongly of Wei Wuxian to Jiang Cheng even if he is trying to act differently. And who else would be able to call the Ghost General but the Yiling Laozu, his creator and master?
“So you’ve come back, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says, letting Zidian return to ring form.
“And now you are accusing me of some wrongdoing with no proof or reason,” Wei Wuxian huffs, “You great sects are truly something else.”
“Take off your mask, then,” Jiang Cheng counters, taking a step forward.
“No way,” Wei Wuxian taunts, “You’ll be shocked to death if I do.”
Jiang Cheng meets Lan Wangji’s eyes. It is him, both of them can agree on this. But whether to take him to Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses is the question.
“Sect Leader Jiang, Zidian can recognize a soul that has possessed another body,” Jingyi emerges from the crowd of disciples, “Wei Wuxian’s soul and body were both lost, so he has no way to return other than to possess a body. If Zidian did not recognize him, then it must not be Wei Wuxian.”
“How do you know he really died?” Jiang Cheng tosses out offhandedly. He means it sarcastically, a tug on Wei Wuxian’s ability to do the impossible, but Jingyi pipes up in confusion, “Sect Leader Jiang, they say you killed him with your own blade.”
Jiang Cheng snaps his head Jingyi’s way, his expression tightening. Sizhui shuffles uncomfortably at Jingyi’s side, grimacing apologetically at Jiang Cheng.
“Did I? In that case,” Jiang Cheng says, looking over at Wei Wuxian, “Tell me. Who are you?”
Wei Wuxian does not get the chance to answer, swaying on his feet before passing out. Lan Wangji spins to catch him before he hits the ground.
“Take him to Cloud Recesses.” Jiang Cheng strides forward, bending at the waist to lift the mask from Wei Wuxian’s face. His nose and eyes come briefly into view but that is all they need. He sets the mask back in place. Lan Wangji looks up at him. Jiang Cheng does not know what he is searching for because he himself does not know what he is feeling. “You can question him there.”
“Will follow?” Lan Wangji asks quietly, so only they can hear.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng answers, “Once I sort out everything here, I will follow. Slap that idiot for me if he wakes up.”
“Will not,” Lan Wangji says. He rises, carrying Wei Wuxian bridal style. “Do not carry him in your arms,” Jiang Cheng snaps in irritation, “You are my husband, how disgraceful it is to me for others to see you like this.” Lan Wangji stares at him, unimpressed.
“Mo-qianbei mentioned a donkey he used as a stead,” One of the Lan disciple offers, “Little Apple I think he called it.”
“Mo-qianbei?” Jiang Cheng frowns.
“Sect Leader Jiang, this person is Mo Xuanyu from the Jin sect,” Jingyi says, “We met him when we dealt with the sword ghost possessing the Mo family.”
Jiang Cheng pauses. He has heard of Mo Xuanyu. The illegitimate son of Jin Guangshan who was thrown from the Jin sect for allegedly harassing Jin Guangyao and subsequently suffered a nervous breakdown, who now lives disgraced at the Mo village where he is ill-treated. He is not sure how Mo Xuanyu could have acquired the tools necessary to summon Wei Wuxian, but if he had been able to, Jiang Cheng could see how Mo Xuanyu would be willing to sacrifice himself, if only to escape the Mo family.
“Even so, we will need to question him about the reappearance of the Ghost General,” Jiang Cheng says, playing along with the idea that it is not Wei Wuxian, “One of you Lans, find that donkey of his,” Jiang Cheng orders, “Throw him on there and take him back to Cloud Recesses for Hanguang-Jun to deal with.”
“My disciples,” Lan Wangji reminds him.
“Discipline my nephew and I will order around your disciples,” Jiang Cheng flicks him a snide look, “Should have thought twice about it.”
“Besides, as sect leader, Jiujiu outranks you, Jiufu, especially since you married into Yunmeng Jiang,” Jin Ling says, cutting into their conversation. Jiang Cheng allows himself a smug smile at Lan Wangji’s irritated expression, making his way towards the cultivators from different clans. He thanks them for their help and talks to them briefly before sending them on their way with one of his Jiang disciples guiding them to an inn to pay for a round of refreshments and food. Never let it be said that Yunmeng Jiang is anything less than gracious.
“Sect Leader Jiang!” Jiang Cheng looks over his shoulder to find a Lan struggling to drag a stubborn donkey from the trees surrounding the clearing. “It was waiting just off to the side here for Mo-qianbei,” The Lan grunts, two more running to help him drag the donkey out into the open.
“What a loyal stead,” Jiang Cheng snorts. “Put him on there, Lan Wangji.”
Lan Wangji sets him down gently, tying Wei Wuxian’s wrists around the neck of the donkey with rope to keep him from falling off.
“I will see you shortly,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Wangji, “Make sure he does not run in the meanwhile. Sizhui, Jin Ling,” he calls his son and nephew, beckoning them close.
“Jin Ling, will you return to the Lanling Jin sect?” He asks.
“Not yet,” Jin Ling crosses his arms, looking displeased, “I have not done anything worthwhile here. I will find something else to hunt. I have heard rumors of man-eating castles near Xingle ridge, I plan to check it out.”
“Xingle ridge… that is in Qinghe Nie territory,” Sizhui pinpoints.
“Sect Leader Nie will not deny me passage within Nie territory,” Jin Ling says, “I will be fine.”
“That is not my point,” Sizhui says, worry on his face, “The creatures in Qinghe tend to be more ferocious. Will you be okay by yourself?”
Jin Ling stomps his foot, “Sizhui, you worry too much!” Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow pointedly. “…Sizhui-ge,” Jin Ling grumbles, correcting himself, “Whatever. You still worry too much. You and Jiujiu both!”
“Forgive me for caring,” Jiang Cheng says dryly.
“You two need to be more like Jiufu. He has confidence in me.”
“Jiufu worries about you the same amount as us, but his worries are regarding different aspects of you,” Jiang Cheng says. Jin Ling pouts, “I do not like any of you very much!”
“That is okay, we do not care,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, “Now, if you are going to be tracking these stone castles, I will be sending Yang Meilin with you. If you run away from her or give her a hard time, I will break your fucking legs. Got it?”
“Got it,” Jin Ling mumbles reluctantly. Jiang Cheng has no doubt that he will pull something. “Go on, then,” Jiang Cheng says, “Organize and regroup with your Jin disciples. You are the sect heir.”
“You don’t need to remind me, I am not five,” Jin Ling complains, stomping off. Jiang Cheng turns to his son, thankful at least one of his older children still listens to him without complaint.
“A-Yuan, are you okay?” Jiang Cheng asks, checking him over for injuries now that they are closer, “Are you hurt?”
“I am okay, mu—”
“Aiya,” Jiang Cheng tuts, “What have I told you. A-Niang is perfectly fine. You are still a Jiang, do not emulate those Lans too much, okay?”
“Okay, A-Niang,” Sizhui beams, “But I am not hurt at all, Mo-qianbei saved us from the stone statue.”
“Stone statue?”
“Right,” Sizhui purses his lips, “You missed that part. Shall I tell you once you come to Cloud Recesses?”
“Yes, fine,” Jiang Cheng glances up to see that the retinue of Lans are waiting for Sizhui, “Be sure to leave no detail out.”
“A-Niang,” Sizhui says, his tone prodding. Jiang Cheng nods encouragingly. “Is that… is that really Mo-qianbei?”
Jiang Cheng remains silent for a moment. “Even if it is not, there is so much he missed and things he might not remember. Do not get your hopes up and keep this to yourself, A-Yuan.”
“Of course, I would not tell anyone else,” Sizhui shakes his head quickly, “But I understand. We will have to be careful.”
Jiang Cheng smooths a hand over Sizhui’s head, patting him affectionately. “You’re a good boy, A-Yuan. I really could not have asked for a better first child.”
Sizhui preens at the praise and ducks his head shyly.
“A-Diē and your shidis are waiting for you,” Jiang Cheng says, his hand dropping to his side, “Do not keep them waiting.”
“Come quickly!” Sizhui says as he goes to join the retinue of Lans, “I have a lot to tell you!”
scene iv.
“Do you think he remembers everything?”
Lan Wangji stills the strings of his guqin in the middle of playing Wangxian. “Unsure,” he says, looking up at Jiang Cheng.
“His memory was already shitty enough before dying, what is to say it is nothing but a tattered fabric after returning to life? What if he has forgotten—” Jiang Cheng cuts himself off, turning his head aside. He does not even want to say it.
Instead he studies the Jingshi like he has never seen it before. Wei Wuxian sleeps on the bed, his gaudy mask set aside. Jiang Cheng had arrived at the Jingshi after spending a good hour listening to his son recount his adventures since the Mo village and playing with the bunnies Lan Wangji has been illegally breeding.
He had laughed his ass off the first time Lan Wangji had shown him the rabbits, remembering them from his time as a student at Cloud Recesses. He has never met someone so hopelessly in love and willing to change themselves completely just for that love.
“What if he has forgotten what the two of you had and the child he sired,” Lan Wangji finishes for him, “That is what you wanted to say, yes?”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says, “I wonder what I will do if he has forgotten what he did to me.”
Lan Wangji plucks contemplatively at his guqin. “You will tell him. Let him take responsibility for his actions.”
Jiang Cheng jerks in surprise. “If he does not remember, why put it on his shoulders?”
“He still did it,” Lan Wangji points out, “It is a weight you carry to this day. I cannot help you carry it, but he can.”
“What is it that he did to me, anyway,” Jiang Cheng laughs humorlessly, “When I cannot even name it?”
“He hurt you,” Lan Wangji says calmly.
Jiang Cheng freezes.
“You love him and he took advantage of that.”
Jiang Cheng shakes his head.
“There does not need to be some greater reason,” Lan Wangji says, “You do not need to justify what hurts you.”
Jiang Cheng reaches his hand out and his husband appears at his side. Jiang Cheng rests his forehead on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, his fingers twisting into his dachang. His throat is tight and his chest is heavy.
“I do not want him to have hurt me,” Jiang Cheng admits, “I do not want to live with that knowledge.”
Lan Wangji lets out a slow breath through his nose. He brushes Jiang Cheng’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear. “I am sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“That I can not fix this.”
“For thirteen years even I have not been able to,” Jiang Cheng points out, “There is probably only one person who can.” The answer requires no verbalization.
Eventually, Lan Wangji leaves his side to return to playing the guqin. A quiet meditative tune meant to soothe troubled minds and hopefully awaken Wei Wuxian sooner rather than later.
After an indeterminate amount of time punctuated only by Lan Wangji’s melodic playing that has Jiang Cheng in a trance-like state, Wei Wuxian’s breathing starts to quicken in his sleep. He shifts restlessly, rustling the bedsheets, his eyebrows furrowing in some sort of emotional distress. Then abruptly he stills and Jiang Cheng spies the shine of a tear trickling down his temple. His eyes move rapidly beneath his eyelids and that is how Jiang Cheng knows he is awake.
Lan Wangji does not stop playing. Jiang Cheng watches his elegant fingers move over the strings flawlessly, suddenly unable to look at Wei Wuxian. Unable to confront him now that he is awake.
It is because he is not looking that he does not notice until Lan Wangji falters in shock and nearly slams his hands on the strings to still them. He flinches in surprise, glancing up and following his husband’s gaze to Wei Wuxian. His heart skips a beat in the worst way to see Wei Wuxian prostrated in front of him on the floor. His voice fails him and in that silence, Wei Wuxian speaks in a trembling voice. “Jiang Chen—no, Sect Leader Jiang. T–This worthless servant sincerely apologizes for his disgusting behavior towards Sect Leader Jiang. This lowly one is deeply ashamed of the vile and dishonest way he treated Sect Leader Jiang and this lowly one understands if Sect Leader Jiang wishes to mete out punishment for—”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng utters quietly, but his words silence the room as if he had shouted them.
Wei Wuxian remains in his prostrated position, something not even the servants at Yunmeng Jiang lower themselves to. Only criminals have ever supplicated themselves like this in front of Jiang Cheng, pleading for their lives. “Get up,” he orders. Wei Wuxian twitches as if he is considering whether to follow the order or not.
But the sight of Wei Wuxian like this, prone in front of Jiang Cheng like a criminal, like a villain, is shattering something inside of him that he did not know was still left to break. “Get up!” He shouts, “Get up, get up, get up!”
Wei Wuxian scrambles to his feet in fright, stumbling back into the bed. His eyes are wide and his face is pale. Jiang Cheng grabs an ink brush from Lan Wangji’s desk and hurls it at Wei Wuxian. He barely manages to dodge it and it clatters against the window frame. “Fuck you!” Jiang Cheng shouts, grabbing another brush before Lan Wangji can stop him. This one nails Wei Wuxian in the solar plexus, though it does very little damage. “How dare you, Wei Wuxian? What the hell do you take me for? Who asked you to supplicate and beg?”
Wei Wuxian is silent. His mouth moves but he says nothing, hands held out as if he was going to attempt to calm Jiang Cheng down.
“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Wangji says. He sets a hand on his shoulder, a grounding weight. Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and stares at the floor, breathing in and out until the mess of emotions welling inside of his chest stops choking his heart.
“Do not do that again,” he says roughly, not raising his eyes higher than Wei Wuxian’s feet, “Do not lay yourself at my feet like that ever again.”
“But I—I hurt you,” Wei Wuxian’s voice breaks on the last two words. If Jiang Cheng remembers his vocal tells correctly, and he does, then Wei Wuxian should be on the verge of tears now, his eyes ringed a vivid red.
“I have dealt with worse,” Jiang Cheng raises his chin loftily, his gaze following belatedly, “Do not think so highly of yourself.” And it is true. It was not how Wei Wuxian treated him that hurt the most, it was losing him to the slow poison of demonic cultivation. It was living thirteen years without him. (Without Jie and Niang and Diē and even that peacock.)
“But I did, didn’t I?” Wei Wuxian asks weakly, sinking to the floor. Jiang Cheng hesitates, nods. Wei Wuxian buries his face in his hands, drawing his legs tight to his chest to hide behind. His shoulders shake. Lan Wangji stands, rounding the table to extend a hand towards Jiang Cheng. He takes it, letting his husband guide him the few steps it takes to Wei Wuxian.
There Lan Wangji sits in front of Wei Wuxian and does not ask Jiang Cheng to do the same, knowing he prefers to pace to dispel his nervous energy.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says gently, touching his knee. Wei Wuxian scrubs at his face before drawing his hands away, smeared tear tracks painting his cheeks as he stares miserably at Lan Wangji. “Do you know what I did, Lan Zhan?” He asks.
Lan Wangji tips his chin, “Jiang Cheng told me enough.”
“Then how can you stand to look at me?” Wei Wuxian cries out, “I–I defiled him! I put my filthy hands on him and forced him!”
“I am not some fucking helpless maiden, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng snaps, stilling mid-step, his fingers itching for something else to throw, “You could not have forced me if your life depended on it.”
“But did you want it?” Wei Wuxian cranes his neck up, his anguish displayed clearly on his face, “Did you want me, Jiang Cheng?”
“Yes, goddamn you!” Jiang Cheng shouts and Wei Wuxian recoils, his head hitting the wooden frame of the bed. Lan Wangji reaches out in worry, but the pain seems to not register with Wei Wuxian. “Yes, I fucking wanted it! I fucking wanted it, and I hated every second of wanting it, and I hated you for making me want it, and I hated myself every time you made me want it, but I wanted it every. Single. Time.”
“Why?” Wei Wuxian whispers, stunned, bewildered.
“Because I want you,” Jiang Cheng says, “And I have wanted you since I can remember. Which is why I despise you, Wei Wuxian, for leaving me time and time again. For sleeping with me but giving me nothing else. For toying with me. For coming back from the Burial Mounds a veritable stranger. For no longer being the alpha I grew up with. For hurting me and leaving me no choice but to kill you.”
“I—but—Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian flounders, a few more tears slipping down his drawn face, pale and horrified, “What we did—what I did was not right.”
Jiang Cheng deflates, pressing his fingers to his temple to hold back a headache. “No. It was not. I never said yes.”
Wei Wuxian makes a nauseous noise, like a gag, and hunches over himself, one hand slapped over his mouth. Lan Wangji closes his eyes and lowers his head, his lips thinning.
“I never said no, either,” Jiang Cheng continues, “But before you strayed down the path of demonic cultivation, you would have needed that yes. You changed. That cultivation changed you and I was… terrified.”
“Of me,” Wei Wuxian says.
“For you,” Jiang Cheng corrects, “Do you really think that the worst thing that has ever happened to me was sleeping with you?”
“I…” Wei Wuxian shakes his head slowly, glancing at Lan Wangji before he looks up at Jiang Cheng again, “I can not see how it was not—”
“For someone who boasts about being a genius you are remarkably stupid,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. Wei Wuxian shuts his mouth with a click, looking vaguely affronted. Lan Wangji’s lips twitch and he peers at Jiang Cheng over his shoulder.
“Do you not understand? You did not hurt me because you fucked me, Wei Wuxian,” he spits out that word mockingly, “You hurt me because you abandoned me. You changed. You picked those Wens over me. You acted callously and you spoke carelessly. You left me in perhaps every single way you could have, and I have spent thirteen years trying to fill that hole.”
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says softly, apologetically, “I could not have stayed.”
“Yes, you could have. Yes, you fucking could have, you just chose not to. Do not lie to me.”
“Alright, fine,” Wei Wuxian snaps, “We owed those Wens and they deserved better, forgive me for doing what I thought was right.”
“Owed them what?” Jiang Cheng throws his hands up, “What could the barren husk of Yunmeng Jiang possibly have owed those Wens?”
“Our lives,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, “Wen Ning snuck you out after you went back for your parents’ bodies,” Jiang Cheng’s expression tightens and he crosses his arms, “And Wen Qing hid us while you recovered.”
“Right,” Jiang Cheng grinds out, “So we owed them for not being entirely complacent to the mass slaughter of the Yunmeng Jiang sect. How heroic they were.”
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian gapes at him in shock, blinking rapidly as he says, “What do you gain from disrespecting—”
“No, fine! Shut up!” Jiang Cheng interrupts, “That was too far, forget it. But you can not possibly expect me to believe that was all it took for you to turn your back on Yunmeng Jiang so easily. At least spare me this much pride.”
“I did not turn my back on Yunmeng Jiang.”
“You will not get far arguing this point with me,” Jiang Cheng warns him stonily, unmoved by Wei Wuxian’s hurt expression, “Was there or was there not another reason?”
He only asked because he did not believe there to be. He asked so that he could make a point on how easily Wei Wuxian left. “There was not,” Wei Wuxian answers as expected, but the thing is he is lying. Whatever façade he usually uses to hide from Jiang Cheng’s eyes is missing pieces, probably scrambled from their collective emotional outburst.
“There is,” Jiang Cheng realizes, “There is another reason. What did you do, Wei Wuxian?”
“There is not,” Wei Wuxian says calmly, and his façade has reassembled but it is too late. Jiang Cheng had already spotted the lie.
“He is lying,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Wangji, throwing his hands up as he stalks back and forth in front of him, “Even now, he chooses to lie. After everything he has done, he chooses to lie. Do you not think I deserve the truth now at least, Lan Wangji?”
His husband meets his gaze mildly. I know what you are doing, using me like this, his eyes say, but he allows Jiang Cheng his spectacle. “Zhǐ bāo bù zhù huǒ,” he replies, looking at Wei Wuxian. The truth will out. Jiang Cheng thinks of road-side stalls and pouring rain and the flash of swords.
Wei Wuxian remains silent, his features tight and nervous. His eyes shy away from both of theirs and he retracts into himself. Jiang Cheng thinks if he were a kinder person he would stop pushing but, alas, he is still his mother’s son.
“What is it, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng presses, “What did you hide from me?”
A nauseous feeling builds in the pit of his stomach. A sinking feeling in his chest that anchors his feet to the ground, waiting and watching breathlessly for the answer. He is tempted to tell Wei Wuxian to stop, to run out of the Jingshi and live in whatever bliss his ignorance will provide him.
But then, “I can not tell you,” Wei Wuxian finally settles on, shaking his head, “Anything else, but this I can not tell you.”
Jiang Cheng throws a comb at his face.
Lan Wangji catches it with a glare, holding the exquisitely made piece carefully. “This is a gift.”
“Yeah, your gift to me,” Jiang Cheng huffs, “I will break it on his thick skull if I want to.” Wei Wuxian had not even bothered to flinch. He stares at the comb wide-eyed instead, taking in the intricate carvings and the Yunmeng Jiang motifs and the undoubtedly hefty price Lan Wangji paid for it.
“Are the two of you… courting?” He asks, looking from the comb to Lan Wangji to Jiang Cheng. He sounds stunned. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji exchange glances. Jiang Cheng clears his throat, “No, we are not courting.” Wei Wuxian raises both eyebrows in blatant disbelief, pointing a finger at the comb as if to say, ‘I am not stupid.’
“We are married,” Jiang Cheng deadpans.
Wei Wuxian chokes violently on his inhale and pounds at his chest, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. “M-married?” He croaks. Coughing and clearing his throat, he repeats shrilly, “Married? The two of you? Married?!”
“Yes!” Jiang Cheng barks, “Married! No thanks to you! Are you deaf? Did you not hear me the first time?”
“No thanks to me?” Wei Wuxian cries, “What do I have to do with this? I was dead!”
“And it was your son and daughter you left behind for me to raise by myself!” Jiang Cheng retorts heatedly. The impact of his words do not register until Wei Wuxian blanches and his expression crumbles. Equal parts scared and hopeful, he asks, “You are talking about my—my A-Yuan, right? And…” Wei Wuxian trails off, his eyebrows furrowing together in thought. Jiang Cheng is not surprised he has not remembered yet.
He sees the moment the memory returns because Wei Wuxian pales further, somehow, and his lips tremble. “Jiang Cheng,” he whispers, wondrous and remorseful and conflicted, “You were—that time during the siege, you really were pregnant?”
“You know damn well I was,” Jiang Cheng replies, scornful and prickly. He crosses his arms over his chest, stilling in place now that it is clear Wei Wuxian will not divulge what it is he hid from Jiang Cheng.
“But then—but then what does this have to do with your marriage?” Wei Wuxian asks.
Jiang Cheng looks at Lan Wangji intently. “Please,” he says, “Let me throw the comb at him.”
“Do not bully the weak,” Lan Wangji recites, tucking the comb into his sleeve. Wei Wuxian lets out an offended yelp and starts blathering about how slander is also against Lan sect rules.
“Do you honestly think the world would have been gracious to your children?” Jiang Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian immediately cuts off his little diversion attempt and Lan Wangji returns his attention to Jiang Cheng. “The Wen son you adopted and the daughter fathered by the Yiling Laozu. Can you honestly think that the Jianghu would not have hunted them down?”
It is funny because Jiang Cheng has never seen Wei Wuxian as speechless as this one conversation has reckoned him.
“You put me in a difficult position. I had to give up your son—my son—to Lan Wangji not knowing if I would ever see him again. I had to spend three years terrified the Jianghu would find out that I had a three year old daughter and come looking why,” Jiang Cheng blinks to clear the sting in his eyes, tearing his unfocused gaze away from the window.
He clears his throat, looking at his husband with gratitude. “Lan Wangji asked me to marry him, when he visited me three years after you died, so that I would have a story to tell for Jiang Min. As far as the Jianghu is concerned, Wei Wuxian, A-Yuan and A-Min are Lan Wangji’s children. And you know what, you put yourself in that position.”
Wei Wuxian is silent. His throat bobs when he swallows thickly. His eyes have been red-rimmed and glassy since this conversation began but Jiang Cheng watches as he blinks and a tear slips over. He wipes it away hastily, drying his hand on his robes.
Jiang Cheng is pathetically in love with this man. Thirteen goddamn years and his heart trips all over itself at the sight of this alpha. Thirteen goddamn years and he wants to sink to his knees and wipe his pain away.
Thirteen goddamn years.
And Jiang Cheng would do it all over again.
Does he never learn?
“Your brother wanted to speak to me,” Jiang Cheng mutters, speaking to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji nods, glancing between him and Wei Wuxian. It might be a cop out or it might be strategic retreat, either way Jiang Cheng is done. Lan Wangji can take over from here because Jiang Cheng does not care what he tells Wei Wuxian about them, he has said his piece.
scene v.
Lan Xichen is currently Jiang Cheng’s favorite person. He has always been a cornerstone of peace and maturity in their otherwise loud and hectic family, and he appreciates the serenity and how seen he feels in Lan Xichen’s company.
“Would you like to tell me about it?” Lan Xichen asks as he refills his cup with jasmine tea, the soothing scent permeating through the Hanshi.
Jiang Cheng picks at his small bowl of roasted nuts and seeds, contemplating a chestnut.
“Wei Wuxian is alive again,” he says eventually, popping the chestnut into his mouth after. Lan Xichen processes that blunt announcement politely, taking a graceful sip of his tea.
“I see,” he says. He sets the cup down without a sound, folding his hand back into his lap. Sometimes, Jiang Cheng wonders if he is even human, with how flawlessly he interacts with the world. “How are you feeling, Dimei?”
“Please,” Jiang Cheng scrunches his nose up, “Just Wanyin. You know this.”
Lan Xichen’s eyes scrunch in amusement. “Alright. How are you feeling, Wanyin?”
“Like shit,” he answers bluntly. Lan Xichen’s lips twitch into a brief smile which is practically a laugh for a Lan. “His memory is much better than I thought it would be,” Jiang Cheng elaborates, “And he is remorseful.”
Lan Xichen knows the bare bones of what happened between them, back then—just enough to go along with Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji’s fake love story—but it provides enough context for him to understand. “That is a good thing, then,” he says.
“I hate it,” Jiang Cheng says. He might be being difficult. Lan Xichen blinks slowly.
“May I know why?”
Because that makes it real, Jiang Cheng wants to say, but he knows he sounds like a crazy person. Lan Xichen reads it off his expression anyway, perceptive as always.
“Wanyin,” he says softly, “It has always been the truth, whether or not Wei-gongzi was alive to remember it.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng says, “I do know that. But… I wish I could erase it from our history.”
“A sentiment I am sure is shared,” Lan Xichen replies.
“If we both agree to forget it, then it will not exist,” Jiang Cheng says. Lan Xichen shakes his head in disapproval. “If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, did it make a sound?” Jiang Cheng asks, shrugging, with little strength behind his words.
But Lan Xichen picks up the metaphor and goes along with it. “If a tree falls in a forest, and even if no one is around to hear it, it still leaves a mark,” he counters, looking at him meaningfully.
Jiang Cheng has no defense. He drops his gaze, bringing his cup of tea up to his mouth to blow on, busying himself. Lan Xichen takes pity on him, switching to a kinder topic. “How is Jin Ling?”
“He is fine,” Jiang Cheng waves his hand, “A little beaten up from the statue but he went off to Qinghe Nie to find man-eating castles.”
“…Man-eating castles,” Lan Xichen repeats slowly.
“I know as much as you do,” Jiang Cheng says, “But I sent Yang Meilin with him, so he should be fine as long as he does not act like a fu—like an idiot.”
Lan Xichen looks amused at his attempt at censorship. “Does he know about Wei Wuxian?”
“No,” Jiang Cheng sets his cup down, “At most he suspects it, but he is not one to care about suppositions.”
“And the others?”
“A-Yuan knows… I have not explicitly confirmed it, but,” Jiang Cheng gestures vaguely at the air, “He knows. The ones at home do not. I am not sure what I would even tell them or how they would take it. A-Min specifically, since the other two are too young for it to have weight.”
“She came around to the truth of her parentage eventually,” Lan Xichen speaks gently, an assuaging tone to his voice, “I am sure her reaction will not be as bad as you fear.”
“It does not matter what I fear, she will have to know eventually.”
“That is another way to look at it,” Lan Xichen smiles.
“I am taking things as they come,” Jiang Cheng says, idly fiddling with Zidian, “There is no point in worrying about the future when Wei Wuxian is around. It is not like anything will go to plan.”
“A good attitude to have,” Lan Xichen says dryly. He takes a sip of his tea before changing tracks completely. “Wangji returned with a sword ghost from the Mo manor. He believes it was tainted by the Stygian Tiger Amulet.”
“I heard,” Jiang Cheng says, “A-Yuan told me in great detail.”
“Shufu is currently trying to investigate its identity in the Mingshi.”
“I would like to see it,” Jiang Cheng requests and Lan Xichen nods, “I will not be able to accompany you there as a few elders have requested my presence regarding the coming Lanling Jin conference. Will I be seeing you at the conference this year?”
“Unfortunately,” Jiang Cheng confirms. Lan Xichen smiles sympathetically and leans back slightly, wordless permission to leave.
“Was the tea any better this time?” Lan Xichen asks as he readies to leave, a question he asks every time they sit down to have a cup together in Cloud Recesses.
“As if,” Jiang Cheng scoffs lightheartedly, “Try adding cardamom or ginger next time,” he says, something he also says every time, a script at this point, “Then we will talk.” Lan Xichen will not add cardamom or ginger next time and Jiang Cheng will find it bland and boring as always, and they will do this same song and dance, but it is comforting in its own way, the routine.
“Until next time, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen tips his chin in a gentle goodbye and Jiang Cheng gives him a short bow at the entrance to the Hanshi, “Until next time.”
Jiang Cheng is fairly certain he remembers where the Mingshi is from his more in-depth tour of Cloud Recesses after his marriage to Lan Wangji. Or at least, he remembers the general direction though he might resort to asking someone for the specifics.
When he turns around a bend, a disciple, on the younger side and typically the ones delegated to messenger tasks, nearly barrels into him, careening down the path so fast she is toeing the line of flat out running. Jiang Cheng supports her with a hand on the upper arm when her feet fail to steady beneath her.
“What is wrong?” He asks with the severity of a sect leader and the disciple must respond to it instinctively because she begins explaining.
“The sword ghost has become too difficult to contain. Master Lan was harmed while investigating it.”
“Take me there,” Jiang Cheng demands. The disciple seems to finally realize that Jiang Cheng is not her sect leader and jerks her head back in surprise. “Sect Leader Jiang, my apologies but I need to find Sect Leader Lan—”
“He is busy with the sect elders, take me there before something worse happens. Resentful energy is more my forte, besides. Better yet, did someone call for Hanguang-Jun?”
“Yes, another disciple went to notify Hanguang-Jun already. But Sect Leader Jiang, I really do need to—”
“If there is any fallout, I will personally deal with it. Take me to the Mingshi.”
The disciple wavers on the spot before spinning on her heel and rushing back the way she came, Jiang Cheng hot on her heels. His memory of the Mingshi’s location was rather accurate, just a left at the last turn where he thought it was a right, and they run smack into two male disciples being followed by Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. His husband’s hair is wet and Wei Wuxian’s mask is missing, a faint furrow between his eyebrows that suggests he is troubled by something.
Jiang Cheng has not seen Wei Wuxian since he left the Jingshi yesterday, choosing to use his accommodations in the Gentian House that were established after their marriage, only to be revoked if Lan Xichen ever takes on a wife. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen avoid the Gentian House as if it were a matter of life and death which is why Jiang Cheng prefers those accommodations. It is where he will get the most privacy within the Cloud Recesses, even from Gusu Lan’s sect leader and his own husband.
“What?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“Cold Springs,” Lan Wangji answers.
That is all Jiang Cheng needs to understand the unsettled atmosphere between the two of them, and Lan Wangji’s wet hair. Wei Wuxian must have seen the discipline whip scars. Wei Wuxian eyes them both strangely, something complicated in his gaze. Before he can voice it or Jiang Cheng can decipher his gaze, the doors to the Mingshi swing open and two bodies are violently thrown to the ground. The disciples rush forward to help them stand. “Jingyi! Sizhui!” One of them cries.
Jiang Cheng’s gut lurches at the spot of blood at the corner of Sizhui’s mouth.
“Are you okay?” The female disciple asks. Jiang Cheng starts forward, tilting Sizhui’s face up to check the wound. “It is superficial,” Sizhui says, slightly muffled. Jiang Cheng grabs his wrist, feeding him spiritual energy to quicken the healing.
“What happened?” Lan Wangji asks, stepping up beside Jiang Cheng. He drops Sizhui’s wrist and glances at Jingyi, giving him a questioning look. Jingyi shakes his head to signal that he is fine other than being a little roughed up.
“The spirit suddenly became agitated when Master Lan was associating with it. We were not able to control it at all,” Sizhui says anxiously, darting a look at the unmasked Wei Wuxian. With the Stygian Tiger Amulet’s influence, they are unable to control it, is the subtext.
“Let us try to deal with it. The two of you stay out here,” Jiang Cheng says. He looks over at Wei Wuxian. “Are you coming?”
Wei Wuxian startles, having been staring at him and Sizhui with an obvious question on his face that Jiang Cheng ignores. Wei Wuxian clears his throat when Jiang Cheng stares at him motionlessly, wordlessly writing a spell to open the doors. They shudder open and Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian slip inside before they slam shut from the strength of the resentful energy clouding the room.
Lan Qiren is unconscious, a frightened disciple holding him in his lap. Lan Wangji rushes to his shufu’s side, while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian focus on the sword in front of them. The resentful energy is so strong, telling black wisps of energy leak off it.
After checking that Lan Qiren is not in any further danger from internal injuries, Lan Wangji settles behind an abandoned guqin and begins playing Cleansing. Jiang Cheng side eyes Wei Wuxian. “What are you waiting for?”
Wei Wuxian shoots Lan Wangji a wide-eyed, pleading look that goes unanswered. He glances at Jiang Cheng reluctantly. “What do you want me to do?”
Jiang Cheng lets out a sarcastic laugh, speaking so only the two of them hear his words. “What could I possibly want the Yiling Laozu to do?” He drops his gaze to the bamboo dizi tucked into Wei Wuxian’s belt, the same way Chenqing used to be.
Wei Wuxian pulls it out in halting motions, bringing it to his lips with a small spin. “Surely the Yiling Laozu can restrain the sword ghost contaminated by his own creation.” Jiang Cheng knows he is being antagonistic, but the irritated glint in Wei Wuxian’s eyes when he looks at Jiang Cheng darkly is thrilling.
He starts playing, a haunting tune Jiang Cheng’s memory seemed to have stored in pristine condition even after all these years, but when Lan Qiren stirs, he goes off-tune. He plays a truly awful rendition of Wangxian that Lan Wangji grimaces in pain over. Jiang Cheng flinches at the grating sound, so offensive Lan Qiren regains his consciousness enough to command that the fluting stop before passing out once again.
It does not take long once Wei Wuxian joins for enough resentful energy to be expelled that the sword stops rattling from the strength and clatters to the ground, subdued for now.
Wei Wuxian reaches for the handle and seizes up the moment he touches it, shaking violently with a frantic look in his out of focus eyes. Jiang Cheng would see that look sometimes in Burial Mounds when the resentful energy abruptly overwhelmed him and the spirits screamed in his head. He uncoils Zidian, wrapping her around the sword and yanking it out of Wei Wuxian’s grip.
“Are you fucking stupid?” He hisses, grabbing Wei Wuxian’s upper arm and giving him a punishing shake. “Why would you reach for a sword clearly seething with resentful energy when you are in this abysmal state?”
Wei Wuxian stumbles from the shake, unsteady on his feet as he blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head. Lan Wangji appears at his side, holding him up. He cuts Jiang Cheng a chiding look. “According to you I should be able to handle my own creation,” Wei Wuxian says, avoiding his gaze, “Being the Yiling Laozu and whatnot.”
Jiang Cheng presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Lan Wangji sighs, releasing Wei Wuxian when he shrugs his hand off. He leaves them to return to Lan Qiren’s side. Jiang Cheng stares at the side of Wei Wuxian’s face, Zidian sparking intermittently as the resentful energy clashes with her.
“You’re right,” Jiang Cheng says, shortening Zidian’s length until the sword hangs inches from his hand and holding it out to Wei Wuxian, “Take it. Hold it. Let us see how well you can fight it.”
Wei Wuxian stays silent, his eyes trained on the floor. His hand twitches, fingers curling in.
The doors swing open. Jingyi and Sizhui stand in the doorway in worry, scanning over the room. Behind Jingyi and Sizhui, three healers have arrived. Jiang Cheng lowers his hand and Wei Wuxian tucks his dizi into his belt.
They settle Lan Qiren in the Jingshi where Lan Wangji can keep an eye on him. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian wait outside, the former closer on the porch and the latter farther away, resting on a bridge connecting to the Jingshi.
It is silent. Whatever bravado Wei Wuxian has in front of the younger disciples shatters alone in Jiang Cheng’s purview. A crowd of young Lans spill out of the Jingshi, talking quietly with each other with barely contained excitement. Jiang Cheng catches ‘Yiling Laozu’ and ‘returned’ and knows immediately what they are busy discussing. Sizhui stills on the steps and the rest of his peers continue on without him, until the last disciple has shut the doors to the Jingshi and disappeared down the path as well.
Sizhui stares at the closed doors, a troubled look on his face. Jiang Cheng watches Wei Wuxian watch him.
“Are you okay?” Wei Wuxian breaks the silence and Sizhui startles, peering quickly at Jiang Cheng almost as if asking for permission, before pivoting towards the bridge.
Wei Wuxian rises from it and makes his way onto the porch. “What is wrong?” He asks after Sizhui greets him with a bow. He makes it a point not to look at Jiang Cheng.
“I feel a little guilty,” Sizhui says.
Wei Wuxian tilts his head curiously. “Why?”
“The sword ghost was set on Mo manor for us.”
Wei Wuxian crosses his arms at the assertion. “How do you know?”
“When we were in Mo manor the spirit-attraction flags we drew only worked within five li, so if the sword ghost had already been within the flags’ radius then Mo manor should have been drenched in blood. However, it was only there after we arrived which means it was deliberately put there by someone with an ulterior motive.”
Wei Wuxian nods and taps his dizi against the inside of his arm, “It looks like you have studied hard.”
Sizhui turns away and looks out the porch with a downcast expression, “But if that is the case, does that not make us responsible for what happened in Mo manor? And even for what happened today? The sword ghost made Master Lan fall into a coma.”
Wei Wuxian’s entire body heaves with his sigh and he drops his arms, taking two slow steps towards Sizhui. He pats Sizhui’s shoulder twice, “You are not responsible for this. The person who released the sword ghost is.” Wei Wuxian glances at Jiang Cheng and says with a note of weariness that catches Sizhui’s attention, “There are a lot of things in this world which are beyond our control.”
Sizhui furrows his eyebrows, and a hundred questions flit across his face but what he asks is this. “Mo-qianbei, why are you wearing the mask again?”
“No reason,” Wei Wuxian says wryly, “Just afraid of being seen by old friends.”
scene vi.
“I did not tell him about A-Qing and A-Rong yet,” Lan Wangji says. Jiang Cheng hopes his expression expresses the full extent of disinterest, “I do not care if you do. Tell him whatever you want.”
Lan Wangji grabs his chin and turns his face so their eyes connect. “I will not tell him unless you are comfortable with it.” Jiang Cheng gapes at the bold gesture and flushes what he is sure is an unbecoming shade of red.
“Yes, fine!” He splutters, waving his hand, “I am fine with it. I did not lie when I said you could tell him whatever you want. What I care to know is what the two of you plan to do about this sword ghost.”
“We will be heading northwest,” Lan Wangji says, “It is likely that Xue Yang is involved in this.”
“He must have the support of a sect as well,” Jiang Cheng replies, “You said he thinks the Stygian Tiger Amulet has been reforged? Unless Xue Yang is on par with the Yiling Laozu, he would have needed support to do so.”
Lan Wangji stares at him. “Say his name,” he orders.
Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Why should I?”
“You can pretend as long as you want, but you will have to open your eyes eventually,” Lan Wangji says, “Refusing to say Wei Ying’s name does not make him any less real.”
“Nándé hútu.” Where ignorance is bliss, it is a folly to be wise.
“You have no interest in letting bygones be bygones or overlooking his transgressions,” Lan Wangji counters, “Do not corrupt the meaning of nándé hútu. Say his name and face reality.”
“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Wei Wuxian. Your precious Wei Ying. Satisfied?”
“Very,” Lan Wangji says dryly. He glances over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and shifts to pass around him. Jiang Cheng is unsurprised when he sees Wei Wuxian approaching them after turning around. He can smell him now, can smell his familiar scent of saffron and roasted almonds. Whatever dissociation between soul and body that needed to be corrected has fixed itself.
“I will be going,” Jiang Cheng says, “If you can, try to keep me in the loop.”
“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says, his head ducked, and there remains an awkward space at the end of his words where a name or title should go. The lack of it is loud. Jiang Cheng does not help Wei Wuxian out of his floundering by throwing him a lifeline, he just continues on after tension has sunk into every inch of Wei Wuxian’s frame.
“Do not cause trouble, Wei Wuxian,” he says, touching Zidian with the tips of his fingers, his pointed gaze boring holes into the top of Wei Wuxian’s head, “Your actions reflect on Lan Wangji as he stands by you and thus they reflect on me.”
Wei Wuxian nods and meekly lifts his head up, but Jiang Cheng is not done, “And I am so sick of cleaning up the fall out of your choices.” He has the perfect view to watch Wei Wuxian’s face shutter and how he instinctively flinches. His chest pangs. Lan Wangji frowns at him.
“Are we done here?” Jiang Cheng asks both of them and receives two uneasy nods. “Good. I am returning to Yunmeng, address anything you need of me to Lotus Pier.”
He leaves them there, his stomach turning nauseously at the acrid bite to Wei Wuxian’s slowly returning scent.
scene vii.
Jiang Cheng stands silently at the top of the steps and watches as Wei Wuxian tosses his mask aside and confirms his identity. He stands silently when Jin Ling disappears from his side and Lan Xichen casts a searching glance in his direction. He stands silently even when Jin Guangyao, Su She, and the gathered cultivators turn pitying eyes on him when his husband publicly chooses to stay by Wei Wuxian’s side.
He stands there and never takes a step forward, though he does flinch in surprise at the ruthlessness with which Jin Ling stabs Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji rests his hand over Jin Ling’s grip on Suihua and pulls it clean out of Wei Wuxian’s gut, catching Wei Wuxian when his knees buckle and he nearly falls. Jin Ling casts Lan Wangji a fearful look, expecting a punishment, but Lan Wangji only shakes his head sadly and carries Wei Wuxian away.
Jin Ling lifts his gaze up to Jiang Cheng, where he stands unmoving at the top of the steps, and his watery eyes plead for some sort of answer, for some sort of sign as to whether he was in the right or wrong. But Jiang Cheng does not know. He does not know whether he loves or hates the sight of Wei Wuxian. He does not know if he can bear to stand by him. It is why he did not move a muscle either way.
Suihua trembles in Jin Ling’s grip until it drops to the ground with a clatter and Jin Ling ducks his head to hide his terrified tears.
Only then does Jiang Cheng move, taking the steps two at a time to appear at Jin Ling’s side. This he will always be certain of. His love for his nephew and his children are an unchangeable constant that will never waver or weaken.
“He killed them,” Jin Ling mutters miserably, wiping at the tears streaking his cheeks. Jiang Cheng stands in front of him, using his body to block everyone else’s view of Jin Ling. “He killed them, so I should hate him.”
“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng says, “Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Jin Ling says harshly, bending down to retrieve Suihua. The blade continues to drip blood onto the ground, “The Wei Wuxian I know and the Wei Wuxian I have been told about seem like two different people.”
“Even the Wei Wuxian I told you about?”
“…No,” Jin Ling relents, “He is exactly like how you described him. So I do not understand how the person I met in Yi City can be the Yiling Laozu, the one who was responsible for the deaths of my parents.”
“It is and isn’t him,” Jiang Cheng says and Jin Ling grunts in irritation, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “You have to understand, he was not of sound mind back then. I could see it, the way the demonic cultivation was clouding his head and skewing his judgment.”
“But he still did it!” Jin Ling yells, throwing his hand up in the air.
Smiling bitterly, Jiang Cheng lowers his eyes, thinking of a lot more than bloody battlefields and the cold chill of his jie’s body, “Yes, he still did it.”
scene viii.
When he spots his nephew and son in the group of young disciples leaving the Demon-Slaughtering Cave, all the fear in his body drains out of him and he deflates in relief. While on his way up the Burial Mounds he had run into a startlingly large crowd of cultivators from other sects, and all their morbid postulations of what might have happened to the juniors had set him on edge. “Jin Ling, Sizhui, come here,” Jiang Cheng beckons.
Wei Wuxian stares at him as Jin Ling and Sizhui reluctantly make their way to Jiang Cheng’s side. His eyes are hard and his jaw is tight. He is annoyed, hurt, and annoyed that he is hurt.
A woman steps out of the crowd, wearing an expression of betrayal. “Hanguang-Jun, I do not understand what is wrong with you. You have not been yourself. In the past, you could not stand the Yiling Laozu and now you stand by his side. What vile technique has he used to bewitch you?”
When Lan Wangji does not afford her a reply, she adds disapprovingly, “And if he has, then you are not worthy of your name.”
Jiang Cheng bites the inside of his cheek to keep from tearing the woman a new one, but is unable to keep the glare out of his eyes when he regards her. She senses it, paling when she catches sight of him and stepping back into the crowd. The utter nerve of her to insult his husband in front of him.
“You are all here again,” Wei Wuxian notes, crossing his arms and tapping his dizi against his bicep. His eyes are frigid.
“If the Yiling Laozu had not dug up corpses and captured those younger disciples as soon as he returned, so blatantly might I add, then I do not think we would have had to gather so soon at your…” Su She gives the dilapidated Burial Mounds a sarcastic look, “Den.”
Wei Wuxian takes this in quietly and to Jiang Cheng’s surprise, turns to him with a pinched look, something fragile in the lines of his face. He opens his mouth, pauses, then says, “Did you also come to lay siege to Burial Mounds? Do you believe that I kidnapped these disciples and raised the fierce corpses?”
“What are you talking about?” Jiang Cheng asks coldly, looking down his nose at him, “What siege? Do you have no shame? My son and nephew have been missing and you think I came here for you?”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. He takes a step back and surveys the crowd, realizing that Jiang Cheng and his disciples stand separately from the other sects. His eyes land on Sizhui and he mouths, ‘A-Yuan’, to himself. So Lan Wangji really has not confirmed anything for him.
Wei Wuxian turns back to the crowd. “Why do you all stand there? Shouldn’t you thank me for saving those juniors disciples?” He crosses his arms when murmurs erupt between the cultivators, “Besides, isn’t the group you gathered this time too shabby? And two important people are missing,” he tilts his head scrutinizingly, “May I ask why Zewu-Jun and Lianfang-Zun are absent?”
Jiang Cheng ignores Su She’s reply and whoever else joins the conversation, turning his attention to Jin Ling and Sizhui and checking them over for injuries. “We are fine,” Jin Ling complains, tugging his arm out of Jiang Cheng’s grip, “Just tired and ready to leave. Why did all these cultivators come?”
“A second siege,” Jiang Cheng answers.
“For what?” Jin Ling scoffs, “Wei Wuxian is in no state to do anything.”
“You underestimate his capabilities,” Jiang Cheng says, “But you are right that he will not do anything.”
“Does he know… who I am?” Sizhui asks, glancing away from Wei Wuxian to check with him.
“A-Diē or I never confirmed it explicitly, but he is observant. I am certain he figured it out.”
“Why not just tell him,” Sizhui says in exasperation.
“Do not look at me,” Jiang Cheng nods over at Lan Wangji, “That was Diē’s job. They had plenty of time to talk on their trip.”
“Trip,” Jin Ling snorts, “They are trying to find the perpetrator behind the reconstruction of the Stygian Tiger Amulet and you call it a trip, Jiujiu.”
“They are my husband and my former shixiong, so I will call it whatever the hell I want.”
All three of them snap to attention when the crowd starts chanting for Wei Wuxian’s death, thrusting their swords in the air. Jiang Cheng looks around in disbelief, amazed at how little all these cultivators who pride themselves on their wit and strength could think for themselves. Like livestock following each other off a cliff, without a second thought.
“The debt of three thousand lives can not be accounted for even if you died a million times!” Someone shoves their way to the front to cry.
Wei Wuxian faces the cultivator that spoke up, asking sharply. “Three thousand? That night at Nightless City there may have been three thousand cultivators from various sects, but their sect leaders and other accomplished cultivators were also there. With their presence, how could I have killed all three thousand people? Either you think too highly of me or you think too poorly of them.”
“Wei Wuxian, we are not here to have a discussion. Blood debts can not be bargained.”
“I am not bargaining on this either, but I will not accept charges being added casually because of some second-hand words. I will not admit to what I did not do,” Wei Wuxian says harshly.
“What do you mean ‘what you did not do,’” the cultivator points his sword at him, “What is there that you have not done?”
“I can tell you now that I was not the one to kill Chifeng-Zun nor did I force Jin furen’s suicide by external means. And those corpses you encountered on your way up here have not been manipulated by me.”
“I have only heard that the Yiling Laozu is arrogant,” Su She cuts in, “But I did not know you were so modest. I can not think of another man in this world other than you who could manipulate as many fierce corpses that could faze us like this.”
Of course you can not, Jiang Cheng thinks snidely, side-eyeing him, you would need more than two brain cells to rub together to do that.
“Actually, it is rather easy,” Wei Wuxian tilts his head with a mocking smirk and Jiang Cheng feels a jolt in his stomach, “Anyone with the Stygian Tiger Amulet can do it.”
“Is the Stygian Tiger Amulet not yours?” Su She asks, scowling.
Wei Wuxian laughs, throwing his head back. “I thought so too. So then the question becomes, who else is fond of it? As fond as they were of Wen Ning, it seems,” Wei Wuxian turns to the side to nod at Wen Ning’s approaching figure, “Because I can clearly recall certain sects that were terrified of the Ghost General and swore that they would kill him. And yet he was secretly hidden away for thirteen years. Who was it again that declared to the world that Wen Ning had been executed and his cremains were scattered?”
Jiang Cheng shifts his attention away from the scene when the noise of fierce corpses approaching reaches his ears. Some of the crowd turns to the surrounding forest, momentarily forgetting Wei Wuxian.
“Stop confusing right and wrong,” Su She snarls in irritation, tensing his fingers over the strings of his guqin. But his anger is not carried on by the others.
“Be careful,” Lan Qiren warns the throng of cultivators, “Another wave of corpses is coming.”
Jin Ling tries to make his way to the front but Jiang Cheng presses Sandu against his chest to hold him back. “Do not even think about it,” he snaps, “You will drive me insane from worrying one day.”
He cuts through the crowd, cultivators easily parting for him and his disciples. He can feel the weight of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s eyes on the back of his head, but he keeps his gaze focused on the perimeter of the forest.
A fierce corpse leaps from above the trees, and Jiang Cheng reacts instinctively, whirling out to strike it with Zidian. Zidian and the corpse collide with a sharp sound and the corpse is thrown back, but Jiang Cheng notes that it does not receive as much damage as he thought it would. He frowns, his eyebrows drawing in, and glances down at Zidian.
His spiritual energy circulation is unharmed but his reserve of spiritual power is much less than it should be. He does not have time to think, however, when there are fierce corpses streaming out from the trees. He swings Zidian again but she only lands a weak strike and recoils into ring form, sparking feebly. He feels the overexertion of spiritual energy from the attack reverberate through him and can only stand stunned as another fierce corpse lunges for him.
A dizi flies out and catches the corpse firmly in the chest, sending it flying into a boulder. Wei Wuxian catches the dizi on its return arch, swiveling to block the sword of another corpse aiming for Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng chokes on blood as he stares uncomprehendingly at Zidian’s lifeless form, bending over to spit it out of his mouth. Wei Wuxian rounds on him just as the blood dribbles down his chin and Jiang Cheng watches his eyes widen in horror.
“What is happening? I lost my spiritual power!” Someone cries out. A chorus of agreements rouses up around the Burial Mounds.
“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng curses, wiping the blood from his chin, “Me too. We are trapped.”
Wei Wuxian hovers in front of him with an aura of urgency even though he does not try to reach out and touch Jiang Cheng.
“Everyone!” Jiang Cheng looks up to see Sizhui standing at the entrance of the Demon-Slaughtering Cave, pointing inside, “Come this way! There is an array on the ground inside. If we mend it, it should hold the corpses back for a while.”
There is a push back against that plan that is mostly led by Su She before Nie Huaisang throws in a useful two cents for once and rushes towards the cave. Jiang Cheng stares at the mouth of the cave, standing unmoving until his disciples usher him forward. He would almost rather take his chances with the fierce corpses behind him than step foot inside that godforsaken cave with its sore memories.
Once everyone is inside the cave, Lan Qiren slices his hand open with his sword and dispels the blood over the array with spiritual energy to mend it, the lines of the array glowing a bright blueish white.
While the cultivators all turn warily towards Wei Wuxian, swords drawn, Jiang Cheng takes the chance to look around the cave. That slab of stone over there, that was where Wei Wuxian would fuck him quick and dirty. And on the other side, over there, used to be a cot that he would pin Jiang Cheng to when he wanted to knot him. And here by the steps is where he would sit down to play with Wen Yuan, entertaining him until Wei Wuxian returned from whatever project had him distracted at the moment and ushered his son out so he could bend Jiang Cheng over some surface and whisper a thousand little fantasies into his ear that he had no intentions of fulfilling.
He tunes back in just in time to hear Sizhui tell Wei Wuxian, “It could not have been a poison in the first place. I have never heard of any poison that dissipates one’s spiritual power. If it existed, it would be highly sought after and news of it would already have spread.”
“He is right,” Sect Leader Yao says in the back, “Where is the yisheng? Yisheng? Yisheng, come here. Take a look at me. Is the dissipation of spiritual power permanent or temporary?”
“Your golden cores are safe,” The yisheng says after a moment, withdrawing his hand from Sect Leader Yao’s wrist, “It is a temporary thing.”
“Temporary?” Jiang Cheng repeats, “How long is that?”
“Four hours, to my estimate,” The yisheng replies.
“Four hours?”
Nie Huaisang pipes up in the rumble of unsettled murmuring. “How will a newly mended magic-circle defend us for four hours?” The doors rattle demonstratively. He turns to Wei Wuxian and asks tentatively, “Wei… Wei-xiong, what should we do now?”
The small smile on Wei Wuxian’s face from their panic slowly fades when he looks around and realizes all eyes are on him. “Ah, but, I already told you not to look at me.” He pats his thighs and rises to his feet. Despite his words, he plods down the stairs and crosses his arms thoughtfully. “Let us see. There are only two groups of people who still have their spiritual power. Lan Zhan and I are one. The young men here who were taken several days ago are the other.”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes shut at the familiar drawl to his voice. It means that Wei Wuxian will take an age to get the point, turning the cave into the stage for his show and dragging it out so he can have fun watching the way everyone dances to his tune, whether they want to or not.
He lets his attention wander, only catching bits and pieces of the conversation. Jin Ling speaking up for the first time has him turning his head to watch him. “Impossible,” Jin Ling is saying loftily, his arms crossed, “The fog is denser at the top of the mountain but we still have spiritual power after two days spent trapped up here.”
Wei Wuxian smiles proudly to himself, nodding in agreement. Nie Huaisang ducks his head, having suggested that the fog might be responsible for their loss of spiritual power.
Jiang Cheng shakes his head and closes his eyes, testing the extent of his golden core’s recovery while he waits for the conversation to come to a useful conclusion. Absently, he hears Sizhui inform a disciple of the Moling Su sect that their sect leader has been quieted by the silencing spell followed by the sound of his husband’s deeper voice asking Wei Wuxian to continue. He really tries not to roll his eyes, but it is not a successful endeavor, and his internal concentration breaks.
Eventually, Jingyi cuts through the steady cadence of Wei Wuxian and Sizhui’s voices. He speaks loudly about the origins of the Moling Su sect, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice nor lower his volume even after Sizhui urges him to. Su She physically breaks the silencing spell, spewing out a mouthful of blood as a consequence, and attempts to defend himself, but when Wei Wuxian stiffens in realization at the mention of the Moling Su sect’s faulty eradication melody, Jiang Cheng realizes where this is going.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had filled him in between the Lanling Jin conference and that mess of a day in Jin Guangyao’s treasure room about Wei Wuxian’s empathy link with Nie Mingjue’s severed head and the memories found in there. He knows about the Collection of Turmoil and how they were used to slowly force Nie Mingjue into a fatal qi deviation.
“Which means,” Wei Wuxian is in the middle of explaining, his hands tucked behind his back, “Even if the Moling Su sect played a passage wrongly in their battle music, the Gusu Lan sect would not pay it any mind. You would only think that they learned it poorly and confused the music score rather than trying to figure out if they did it accidentally or on purpose.”
Wei Wuxian addresses Su She over his shoulder, “Am I right?” He turns a little more and says, “Ah, ah, Sect Leader Su, what are you doing?” Su She’s fingers have tensed on his guqin. “Do not forget that you have lost your spiritual powers. Will it work if you try to threaten me?”
“What are you trying to insinuate by talking about me for so long?” Su She grits out, forcefully relaxing his fingers over the strings of his guqin.
“Did I explain it so implicitly that you think I am insinuating?” Wei Wuxian smirks and lazily spins towards him, “Fine, let me make it clearer. While the rest of you here were dealing with the corpses, Sect Leader Su climbed the mountain with you and pretended to play the Eradication melody to drive the corpses away as well. But the fact is that he changed a part of the battle music into another melody which deprives people of spiritual power temporarily. So while you all were fighting for your lives, he was stabbing you in the back.”
“You are speaking slander,” Su She barks, glaring stiffly at Wei Wuxian.
But in his bones Jiang Cheng can feel that Wei Wuxian has reached the correct conclusion. If from nothing else, then from Su She’s defensive body language and the way his eyes dart around, searching for an escape. It fits into the larger picture, besides. Jin Guangyao had supported the establishment of the Moling Su sect and Su She has played at his loyal follower ever since despite being a sect leader as well. It would make sense that he would do Jin Guangyao’s dirty work.
“Even if such a book exists, during my time as a disciple at Gusu Lan I was never allowed to enter the Jinshushi,” Su She attempts as an alibi after Wei Wuxian mentions the Collection of Turmoil.
Wei Wuxian cocks his head in amusement and asks, “Who said you have to get in there yourself? As long as the man behind you could get in without limitation it will do. I suppose your alteration of the battle music was also taught by him too, correct?”
Though Su She attempts to clear himself of suspicion in the following back and forth with Wei Wuxian, he loses any ground he gained when he tries in vain to keep the sheet of music out of Lan Qiren’s hand. Lan Wangji unsheathes Bichen swiftly when he reaches for the papers and Su She reacts by using his sword to counter.
Ah, so the fucker still has spiritual energy then.
Su She avoids Wei Wuxian’s question about his remaining spiritual power, instead glancing down at the array and spitting blood over the markings to destroy it. He uses a transportation talisman before Lan Wangji can disarm him, disappearing in a flash of blue.
“Do not bother,” Wei Wuxian says when Lan Wangji goes to cut his hand to mend the array, “It will not hold.” He looks at Lan Wangji urgently, “He is the Ghostface man.”
“He has the Stygian Tiger Amulet,” Lan Wangji says.
“Wei Wuxian!” Someone yells from the crowd, “Why would Su She have the Stygian Tiger Amulet?”
Wei Wuxian turns with a tight look on his face, explaining what he and Lan Wangji had discovered at Yi City while the doors behind him rattle threateningly. Forget about the fucking amulet, Jiang Cheng wants to yell at them, and worry about the god damn ocean of corpses about to break into the cave.
The fierce corpses that spill past Wen Ning’s one-man defense beat him to the punch. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, being the only two with spiritual power, quickly jump into the fray. To Jiang Cheng’s immense grief, Sizhui rushes after them before Jiang Cheng can even get a word out to the contrary. When Jin Ling unsheathes his sword, looking eager to follow his cousin, Jiang Cheng presses Zidian to his chest.
“At least take this with you.”
Jin Ling looks at Zidian with wide eyes, then at Jiang Cheng, “Jiujiu.”
“Do not lose Zidian,” Jiang Cheng says.
Jin Ling grimaces, torn between irritation and concern, before he pushes past Jiang Cheng’s arm to run after Sizhui. The rest of the junior disciples seem to take it as their cue to follow, and Jiang Cheng growls under his breath, chasing after them. Like hell he is going to sit here and twiddle his thumbs while his children fight the fierce corpses.
Sandu weighs like a boulder in his hand but he manages to disembowel a few fierce corpses before Wen Ning grabs the ones closest to him and tears them to pieces. He turns to Jiang Cheng with hesitant eyes, “Sect Leader Jiang…”
“Pick someone else to protect,” Jiang Cheng snaps, “I should be the least of your concerns.”
He might be struggling, but he is the sect leader of Yunmeng Jiang for a reason. He is more than capable enough to keep himself alive against these fierce corpses, with or without spiritual energy. The same can not be said about the rest of the cultivators gathered. Wen Ning nods reluctantly, taking off to stop another cultivator from being beheaded by a fierce corpse lunging at their back.
Jiang Cheng feels as though his arms will fall right out of their sockets by the time there are a handful of fierce corpses left and his husband cuts them down gracefully. The Demon-Slaughtering Cave flows with rivers of blood and mountains of corpses. It would be a more nauseating sight if Jiang Cheng could feel something other than the pounding of his heartbeat in every inch of his body.
He searches for Jin Ling and Sizhui, finding them a few feet away from Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji at the mouth of the cave, covered in more blood and gore than Jiang Cheng is comfortable with seeing on them.
With heavy legs, he stalks up to them. “Did you get hurt?” He grinds out between his teeth. Jin Ling and Sizhui exchange glances. Sizhui shakes his head. Jin Ling says, “No, Jiujiu.”
“You didn’t? Then maybe I should show you what it means to get hurt so you learn your goddamn lesson! Who the hell do the both of you think you are, jumping into the battle like that!”
“A-Niang,” Sizhui says coaxingly, “We are okay. Neither of us are hurt. We are safe.”
Jiang Cheng blows out a long breath and staggers over to the staircase to take a seat. He used up energy he did not even have to fight those fierce corpses without spiritual power while wielding Sandu, so he will sit on these stairs without any shame, fuck what any sect thinks.
“The two of you will give me a heart attack one day,” Jiang Cheng mutters, “Taking after your fathers.”
Sizhui glances at Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling glances at Suihua. Lan Wangji kneels at Lan Qiren’s side, speaking to the Lan disciples who appear relieved to see him taking charge. Being on the opposite side of their beloved Hanguang-Jun must have been tough for them.
“Quiet,” Wei Wuxian calls, his voice serious and stern, and everyone falls silent, even the ones whispering harshly behind his back.
At first, Jiang Cheng can only hear the sound of their breathing, but then his ears pick up on the noise of dry leaves crunching. As if they are being stepped on. Then slowly, it fades into the steady sound of marching, a wave who knows how large making its way towards them.
“More… fierce corpses?” Someone asks, voicing all of their thoughts. Through the open doors of the cave, the throng of fierce corpses becomes clearer as it draws nearer.
“No way,” someone else says, “We’re dead.”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, feeling a chill down his back. He will fight, but at some point even his determination will cave to his body’s physical limit and he will fall. And there is no way only Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and the juniors will be able to defeat all of those corpses while protecting the rest of them.
Jiang Cheng pushes himself to his feet, readying himself to fight Jin Ling over giving Zidian to him, but Wei Wuxian cuts in. Jiang Cheng watches, incredulously, as he draws a spirit attraction flag on his inner robes and his husband stands by and allows him to do so. When the flag is done, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji run in the direction of the Blood Pool and Wen Ning stops trying to single-handedly hold back the wave of corpses.
Sizhui, because of course it is Sizhui, immediately tries to help the three of them, pleading with Wen Ning to let him go when Wei Wuxian asks him to throw Sizhui and the other juniors out. Jiang Cheng sees the moment when a spark of recognition flickers in Wen Ning’s eyes. He freezes and Sizhui rips from his grip, dashing towards the Blood Pool where the corpses single-mindedly swarm Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.
Jin Ling also attempts to struggle past Wen Ning, but Jiang Cheng steps in front of him.
“Jiujiu, I—”
“Do not call me Jiujiu if you are just going to ignore my words,” Jiang Cheng says icily, “Just stay here, Jin Ling.”
He turns on his heel and tries to spy Sizhui in the crowd, his only goal being to protect his son’s back in this horde. As he cuts his way through the corpses, he feels Jin Ling’s presence behind him. Somehow, he has the energy to roll his eyes, entirely unsurprised at his order going ignored. For better or worse, Jin Ling is as stubborn as his father, sticking to his decisions no matter what.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a fierce corpse climb a pile of corpses near Wei Wuxian. He turns, a shout of warning on his tongue, but it dies in his throat when the fierce corpse lunges and is torn in two in midair. Where it stood is another fierce corpse, the two pieces of its body in the new one’s rotting hands.
“What the fuck,” Jin Ling mutters, and Jiang Cheng is so distracted by the sight before him, that he does not even scold him for his language.
The new fierce corpse is blood red, dripping as if it had crawled out of the Blood Pool. Jiang Cheng feels faint as he looks at it, his eyes slowly falling to the pool. The surface of it ripples lightly.
Shouts of confusion rise up around the cave and the fierce corpses controlled by the amulet all still, their attention turned to the new corpse, but Jiang Cheng cannot take his transfixed gaze off of the pool. A hand breaks through the surface and the entire Blood Pool starts to churn as if someone had turned it to a boil, more and more limbs shooting out. The first hand that broke through grabs the side of the pool, pulling its body out.
“Where are these corpses coming from?” Jin Ling cries, stumbling back a few steps, “I thought all the corpses on Burial Mounds were destroyed.”
“Some were not,” Sect Leader Ouyang answers, standing guard in front of his son. He wears an expression of discomfort as he glances at Wen Ning, then Wei Wuxian, then Jiang Cheng.
“Which ones were not?” Lan Jingyi presses, squeezing his way to Sizhui’s side.
“Those… those Wens…” Sect Leader Ouyang coughs out.
Sizhui spins around to catch Jiang Cheng’s gaze with wide eyes. Jiang Cheng feels very, very faint. His lips part, forming meaningless shapes as his words all desert him.
Sizhui takes a step towards him, “A-Niang, then they are…”
‘Yours,’ Jiang Cheng mouths, ‘They are your family.’
“You are my family,” Sizhui says firmly, taking another step, and Jin Ling glances at both of them in confusion, “But, yes…”
They are too.
Behind Sizhui a blood corpse pulls itself to its feet, short and bent at the waist. It slowly drags its feet towards Sizhui, freezing and growling defensively when the Lan disciples draw in around him. Sizhui glances over his shoulder and waves them aside, “I think—I think it is alright. Do not attack them.”
As the blood corpse restarts its path to Sizhui, the finer details of it filter into view and Jiang Cheng’s heart crawls up into his throat. ‘Granny Wen,’ Wei Wuxian would call her, laughing as she teased and scolded him in equal measure. ‘Granny Wen,’ Wen Ning and Wen Qing would call her, sitting at her feet and resting their tired heads on her lap. ‘Granny Wen,’ Wen Yuan would call her, giggling when she pinched his cheeks and picked him up to take him along during her chores.
Sizhui’s eyebrows furrow in faint recognition, his gaze darting down to her hand that slowly reaches out to him. He visibly steadies himself, reaching out to her as well. Before their hands can touch, his grandmother abruptly pulls away and sways rockily on her feet. Her eyes slide to the side and land on Jiang Cheng and he swears they pierce his very soul.
He swallows dryly, feeling inadequate in every way.
Do you resent me for calling him my son, Jiang Cheng wants to ask, do you approve of the person I have raised him to be? Do you wish I had never entered his life or have I done right by you in raising your grandson?
And; do you think this blood will ever wash off my hands? Do you know what hell I will be dragged down to when I die?
Before he can say or do anything, Granny Wen turns and flings herself at the Stygian Tiger corpses, and the Blood Pool corpses, which have risen up one-by-one, follow suit. Jiang Cheng watches speechlessly as the two hordes of corpses fight each other, rending limbs with terrifying ease. The Blood Pool corpses kill with surprising brutality, flesh and blood spraying wherever they are.
Sizhui retreats to his side, clutching his wrist as he takes in the sight without a word until the fighting ceases. Wei Wuxian stands stock-still in the midst of the felled corpses, blood soaking his white robes. Lan Wangji and Wen Ning appear at his side, the latter quietly asking him if he is okay. Wei Wuxian nods shakily. The Blood Pool corpses slowly gather around the three of them and the remaining cultivators inside of the cave close in eagerly, nosy about what will happen now.
Except for Granny Wen. She stays where she is, letting the cultivators brush past her. She swivels around, setting her sights on Sizhui and Jiang Cheng, who were the only two to stay back.
“Who is she?” Sizhui glances at Jiang Cheng, “You know who she is, don’t you?”
“Your grandmother,” Jiang Cheng utters, a deep shame rooting him in place as she lumbers towards them, her bent stature a distinctive sight Jiang Cheng would never be able to forget, “You called her Granny Wen.”
“Granny Wen,” Sizhui repeats, looking back at her as she stops in front of him. This time Granny Wen reaches up to his face, stopping shy of touching his cheek. Her distorted features twitch into the shadow of a smile. Jiang Cheng’s heart stops when she shifts her gaze to him.
He ducks his head, bowing deeply, his stomach flipping nauseously. “A-Niang,” Sizhui breathes uneasily at the depth of his bow, one hand clutching his upper arm in a painful grip. He does not try to pull him up, but he plasters himself to Jiang Cheng’s side. Granny Wen makes a low, throaty noise, curious and considering.
Jiang Cheng straightens up bit by bit, keeping his chin tilted down deferentially. Granny Wen’s gaze weighs a thousand tons on his soul, scouring every inch of him, picking apart his sins one by one.
“I am sorry,” Jiang Cheng speaks quietly, “That I could not do more for your family. Forgive me for failing your grandson.”
“Niang,” Sizhui says sharply, jostling him by the arm, “You have not failed me.”
“You are Lan Yuan,” Jiang Cheng says, “I am speaking of Wen Yuan. Of the person you would have been if you were allowed to grow up with your birth family.” He holds Granny Wen’s gaze, “I hope I have raised someone you can be proud of.”
Granny Wen studies him, scrutinizing every inch of him. She nods after a long while, the stiff muscles of her body turning the motion into a jerky bob of her head. There is little expression on her face, and Jiang Cheng does not expect her to able to produce the finer ones anyway, but there is an approving air to the nod. Not as though she approves of him, but as though she approves of what he has done for Sizhui.
Jiang Cheng needs nothing more. He does not seek anything for himself, nor does he truly care. He only wants confirmation that he has done his son justice.
Then, out of nowhere, Granny Wen goes stiff like a puppet with its strings pulled taut and collapses to the floor. Jiang Cheng jerks forward in shock. In front of them, he sees the rest of the Wen corpses in similar states.
“Granny!” Sizhui falls to his knees at her side, his hands fluttering anxiously around her prone body. Her skin begins to crack apart like clay and Jiang Cheng lowers himself by his son’s side, collecting his hovering hands and pulling him into a side hug.
“I can—”
“You can not do anything,” Jiang Cheng says. The pieces of Granny Wen’s body become smaller and smaller, turning into crimson dust.
“I can at least collect her—”
“Without gloves you will be poisoned,” Jiang Cheng cautions him and Sizhui slumps in defeat, tearing up.
“She is proud of you. She said as much,” Jiang Cheng says. Sizhui turns in Jiang Cheng’s hold, burying his face against his neck. He seeks out Jiang Cheng’s scent gland, his fingers clutching tight at his robes.
“She did not say a word. She can not speak,” Sizhui picks at the semantics, his voice muffled.
“A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng strokes his hair gently, “She is proud of you and she loves you. I have no doubt that the only reason they fought for us was because of you, Wen Ning, and Wei Wuxian. You are their family.”
“Do you think we can gather her ashes?” Sizhui asks quietly. Wen Ning kneels down on the other side of Granny Wen’s remains and Jiang Cheng looks up to catch his gaze.
Wen Ning starts speaking nervously, “S–Sect Leader Jiang, w–who—”
“Your grandmother,” Jiang Cheng answers and Wen Ning studies the ashes sadly, reaching out to pick up bones. Sizhui peeks out from his neck to watch him, looking desperate to help. Jiang Cheng reaches for the spare qiankun bag tucked into the front of his robes, holding it out for Wen Ning to take.
“Sect L–Leader Jiang, I could not dare to dirty the bag—”
“Are you going to hold her bones in your hands for the rest of your life?” Jiang Cheng demands, “Take it.” When Wen Ning takes it reluctantly, already eyeing the ashes and the bag contemplatively, Jiang Cheng adds, “And keep it. Do not dare even think about paying me back.”
“But, Sect Leader…” Wen Ning trails off at Jiang Cheng’s sharp look, nodding his head timidly.
“Honestly,” Jiang Cheng mutters, returning his attention to Sizhui. “Once Wen Ning has collected all that he can, we can give them a proper burial.”
“Where? Here?” Sizhui sweeps his eyes over their surroundings, undoubtedly taking in the dilapidated state of the Demon-Slaughtering Cave that reflects Burial Mounds in general.
Wen Ning looks up curiously. He glances between Jiang Cheng and Sizhui with a million questions brimming in his eyes but he asks none of them. Jiang Cheng takes a bracing breath and then catches Wen Ning’s guileless gaze. “He is A-Yuan.”
Wen Ning’s expression remains smooth and blank for a few seconds before his eyes widen and his mouth parts, fumbling with the things in his hands when his clumsy hands loosen in surprise at his suspicion being confirmed.
“Our… A-Yuan?” Wen Ning leans forward to inspect Sizhui’s features carefully. At a whisper, mindful of the cultivators around them, he asks, “Sect Leader Jiang, do you—do you mean Wen Yuan?”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says, “After the siege, I found him.”
“And Sect Leader Jiang saved him,” Wen Ning appraises him thoughtfully, “Took him in and raised him as your own son.”
“It is not surprising,” Jiang Cheng retorts, tilting his chin up defensively, “You know very well that it is not surprising.”
Jiang Cheng can see the memories replaying in Wen Ning’s mind. All the times Jiang Cheng would tend to a child that was not his own with uncharacteristic care when he so clearly detested the rest of the Wens living in Burial Mounds. “Yes,” Wen Ning eventually agrees, “He is Wei-gongzi’s son. It is not surprising that Sect Leader Jiang raised him.”
Something about the way Wen Ning phrased it makes Jiang Cheng feel more pathetic than the situation calls for, so he answers Sizhui’s forgotten question instead. “You can bury them wherever you and Wen Ning want. After we return home, the two of you can talk, first of all, and discuss where you want to bury them.”
“Sect Leader Jiang, will you allow me inside of Lotus Pier?” Wen Ning looks at him evenly.
Jiang Cheng pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Yes,” he decides, “But only to recover,” he glances at his son before adding, “For rest, we will provide you lodging nearby.” The implicit this is for Sizhui does not go unheard by either of them, though it seems to slip over Sizhui’s head.
“Sizhui!” In the midst of the cultivators, Jingyi has his hands cupped to his mouth, looking around frantically. Lan Wangji is at his shufu’s side while Wei Wuxian awkwardly hovers behind him, trying his best to look innocent even with his robes soaked in blood, his own and otherwise.
“I am right here!” Sizhui responds.
“Where?” Jingyi spins around in confusion as his voice echoes in the cave. Sizhui pushes himself to his feet, grabbing his sword and navigating his way to Jingyi’s side. Jingyi melts in relief when Sizhui appears in front of him, pulling him in for a quick hug before inspecting him for injuries. Jin Ling shoulders his way through the masses to Sizhui’s side with poorly concealed worry, and Jiang Cheng can practically hear his gruff tone that fools no one in his mind.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Wen Ning calls. Jiang Cheng diverts his gaze to him in question, raising an eyebrow. Wen Ning is carefully filling the bag with his grandmother’s crimson ashes. He does not look up at Jiang Cheng, speaking at the ground when he says, “You’ve raised him well. Thank you.”
“I did not do it for you,” Jiang Cheng says honestly.
“I know,” Wen Ning glances up, “Even still. It is obvious you love him like your own, so thank you.”
“Sizhui is my own,” Jiang Cheng says crossly, a small seed of offense stirring in his stomach, “I have loved him, cared for him, and raised him. He is my son. I advise you to speak carefully.”
“I apologize,” Wen Ning says softly, studying him with an unreadable look, “I did not intend to insinuate otherwise.”
“Right,” Jiang Cheng says, clipped, averting his gaze. He can feel the weight of Wen Ning’s unrelenting stare. “What?” He barks, discomfited and shifting minutely on his knees. He wants to raise himself to his feet but it feels exceedingly rude, even for him, to tower over Wen Ning while he talks to him, never mind that he is in the midst of picking up the remnants of his grandmother.
“…I am glad it was you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Wen Ning answers eventually, and it sounds a lot like forgiveness, “I am glad it was you who raised A-Yuan. I think—I think my jie would agree.”
“Do not say that,” Jiang Cheng refuses immediately, “Why would you—what about it strikes you as something to be glad for? I raised him because the rest of you were dead.”
“And if you did not raise him, the rest of us would still be dead,” Wen Ning says evenly, drawing the strings shut on the qiankun bag. Jiang Cheng finds himself struck silent. Wen Ning peers at him, “Whether you raised him or not, we would still be dead. Which is why I am glad you did. It is clear to me that he has been given another family that loves him. That is all I can ask for, Sect Leader Jiang.”
“Give me a few months,” Jiang Cheng requests finally, after drawn-out silence between them, “Let me come around to the idea that you are…”
“Alive,” Wen Ning fills in.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng agrees, choking his personal feelings regarding Wen Ning down, “Alive. I can do it for Sizhui. In the meantime, you are free to interact with him as you wish, just not within the borders of Lotus Pier.”
“Except for today?” Wen Ning checks.
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes tiredly. “Yes. Except for today.”
scene iv.
“Where the hell is he?” Jiang Cheng grits out, stalking around his own home like a lost child while his husband calmly tails him. He notices Yu Xinrui at a distance, coming from the direction of the private quarters.
“Rui-jie, do you know where that good for nothing bastard is?” Jiang Cheng asks as he approaches her. Yu Xinrui eyes him skeptically, probably debating whether it is a good idea to hand that information over to Jiang Cheng given the mood he is in.
“Loitering outside the ancestral hall, last I saw him,” Yu Xinrui says.
“Loitering where?” Jiang Cheng snarls, “He must have a death wish.”
“Probably,” Yu Xinrui agrees in full seriousness, patting his shoulder as she passes him by. The quip takes the wind out of Jiang Cheng’s sails and his shoulders slump. He looks back at Lan Wangji.
“You… stay here. Or do what you want. I want to speak to him alone.”
“Do not injure him,” Lan Wangji says and then as if Jiang Cheng did not understand, he adds, “Physically, to be specific. Mo Xuanyu’s body is weak. Your words are sharp, but there is no helping that.”
“Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng says.
“My point precisely,” Lan Wangji says, then turns around and leaves. Jiang Cheng mouths curses at his back.
Wei Wuxian is in the ancestral hall when he finds him. Jiang Cheng has had nightmares and daydreams that began this exact way. He is prostrated in front of the shénzhǔ pái of Jiang Cheng’s parents and ancestors. This Jiang Cheng has never imagined, not even on his worst nights. A litany of prayers spill past Wei Wuxian’s lips, desperate pleads for mercy and forgiveness and redemption.
He very well could write a speech with the eloquence of his words as he begs, really, there is no other word for it, in front of Jiang Cheng’s dead family. But what can the dead do for the living?
“What do you gain from their forgiveness?” Jiang Cheng asks, stepping over the threshold.
Wei Wuxian does not startle, does not tense, but he does fall silent. He holds his position, prone on his stomach with his hands clasped above his head, for a taut moment before pulling himself to his knees, his head lowered.
Jiang Cheng picks up a mat and sets it down next to Wei Wuxian, kneeling on top of it.
“Did you see your daughter?” He asks next, reaching forward to light an incense stick. There are two already burning, fresh ones that Wei Wuxian must have lit. Wei Wuxian nods.
“Her name is Jiang Min,” Jiang Cheng sets the incense stick in the holder and picks up Wei Wuxian’s hand. The touch finally elicits a flinch, though Wei Wuxian keeps himself otherwise still and pliant. Jiang Cheng traces the character into the palm of Wei Wuxian’s hand, countless years of doing this same thing making certain that Wei Wuxian will understand his strokes.
“Jiang Min,” Jiang Cheng says, “You liked that name.”
Back when they were twelve and thirteen years old respectively, they had played house for perhaps the last time. They had argued over the name of their made-up daughter and Wei Wuxian had been adamant on Jiang Min. Min as in sharp, quick, agile, smart. His reasoning had been that his child would of course be just as keen as her father, so it would be a fitting name.
Then they had grown up and been sent off to Cloud Recesses and Wei Wuxian had met Lan Wangji and he had said, ‘If I ever have a daughter, I really would want her to be named Min.’ He had picked up a brush and written the character out on the corner of the paper. Min not as in sharp, quick, agile, smart. Min as in jade-like stone.
Jiang Cheng had tucked that comment away in his mind and stored it for years later when he would lay alone in Wei Wuxian’s abandoned room with their newborn daughter wailing in his arms. Jiang Min, he would call her.
“I do not understand,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice hoarse from overuse. It has been a long day and Wei Wuxian spent a good portion of it talking. “Why did you wait for me? How can you love me when you also hate me?”
“I do not hate you, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng denies, “I hate what you did to me. I hate what I feel for you. In fact, I might as well hate everything except for you.”
“You should,” Wei Wuxian says, “You should hate me. I do not understand why you do not.”
“My life would be easier,” Jiang Cheng agrees, shifting on his heels.
“Will you tell me one thing?” Wei Wuxian asks, “One thing is all I ask, but please, be truthful.”
Jiang Cheng nods. “Go ahead.”
“Did I ever force you?”
“No.” Jiang Cheng sighs through his nose. “I was reluctant but I was never unwilling. I was heartbroken and hurt, but I was never violated. I do not know if even saying all this will alleviate your guilt any, Wei Wuxian, but I almost wish you would forget the sex. It was what the sex meant that left lasting scars.”
“And what were those?” Wei Wuxian finally meets his gaze, “What did it mean?”
“It meant that I was losing you slowly. That you wanted me only when you were at your most twisted. You were slipping out of my hands but you refused to take your claws out of me. How could you ask to keep me when I could not keep you? How is that fair, Wei Wuxian?”
“You are wrong,” Wei Wuxian says. He shakes his head and repeats, “No, that is—you are wrong.”
“About what?” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Speak clearly.”
“I have wanted you since I was ten years old,” Wei Wuxian enunciates very clearly.
“Nonsense. You can barely call—”
“I,” Wei Wuxian cuts him off by raising his voice, leaning forward and resting his hand on Jiang Cheng’s thigh, “Have wanted you. Since I was ten years old.”
Jiang Cheng twitches in agitation and Wei Wuxian hushes him when a noise of protest slips past his defenses. “You can not contest this,” Wei Wuxian says, speaking slowly and precisely, “You can not deny this. Jiang Cheng, you can do nothing but accept this as the truth that it is.”
“You,” Jiang Cheng spits, “You… is this a game?”
“A game,” Wei Wuxian laughs hollowly, “When have your feelings ever been a game to me?”
“Always! Whenever you felt like it! Why do you not understand that that is exactly what I have been trying to say?”
“Do you know why your mother hated me so personally?”
“Other than the multiple known reasons?” Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow, “I have a feeling you are about to tell me.”
“Because I was in love with you,” Wei Wuxian states, “I was in love with you and your mother loathed it.”
Jiang Cheng knows well when Wei Wuxian is trying to deceive him. He knows when Wei Wuxian is wearing a façade so that Jiang Cheng can not tell if he is lying or telling the truth. He knows when Wei Wuxian has dropped his defenses so Jiang Cheng can see through his lies and pinpoint his truths. So it means that Jiang Cheng knows that Wei Wuxian is not lying.
Wei Wuxian is baring himself so that Jiang Cheng has no choice but to believe him.
“Then what?”
Wei Wuxian blinks, not expecting such a flat tone.
“Then what,” Jiang Cheng repeats, “You love me. Okay. You want me. Great. And? What should I do with that information? Tell me, Wei Wuxian, if you know all, if I can not contest the truth, then what should I do? What should I have done? Hm? When you wanted me with a possessiveness that frightened even Wen Qing and Wen Ning but you put those Wens over me every time. When you fucked me and fucked me and fucked me, but you refused to love me, refused to let me in or let me go.”
Wei Wuxian looks at him miserably, shaking his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and telltale shiny but his hands do not tremble and he does not remove his palm from Jiang Cheng’s thigh.
“Why are you speechless?” Jiang Cheng laughs incredulously, “Why remain silent when it is only you who can speak the full truth now?”
“I do not know what you should have done,” Wei Wuxian says weakly, looking down at Jiang Cheng’s lap and his hand there, “I am sorry.”
“What do you know?” Jiang Cheng spits bitterly, “When it is important, you know nothing, Wei Wuxian, because that requires a spine and the truth, but you lack the former and hoard the latter.”
His words ring in the silence, left to hang. Jiang Cheng shifts his resentful gaze to the steadily burning lamps, focusing on the stream of water pouring from the top fixture. He cools his temper by blocking out his whirling thoughts, letting the water lull him into a meditative state.
His concentration shatters when Wei Wuxian’s fingers curl against his thigh and he parts his lips with a soft inhale. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, readying himself for his response.
“I love you. I know that. I want you. I know that, too.” Wei Wuxian waits until Jiang Cheng turns to look at him. “If you are willing to look past everything else that I have done, then is that not the most important part?”
“But how can I trust you? You have no idea how badly I want to, but how do I? You have to give me something, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng pleads, “It has been thirteen years. I can not cling to something as futile as hope when I have responsibilities greater than those of my heart.”
“In this life, I have nothing else to live for other than you, your husband, and your children,” Wei Wuxian confesses, searching for Jiang Cheng’s hand blindly, “If I do not have you or Lan Zhan, I have nothing. I am a dead man walking.” He bends and presses his forehead to the back of Jiang Cheng’s hand in supplication. “Jiang Cheng, I am yours to do what you want with.”
“Do you promise?”
Wei Wuxian presses his lips to Jiang Cheng’s knuckles, not quite a kiss, and raises his head. “Would you believe my promise?”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian nods sadly, having expected such an answer. “I promise.”
Jiang Cheng takes him by the wrist and pulls him to his feet. Wei Wuxian stumbles with a surprised noise, letting Jiang Cheng drag him out of the ancestral hall and down winding hallways. Jiang Cheng wonders if he recognizes the path, if he recognizes all the rooms and halls that Jiang Cheng had rebuilt in a perfect copy of the Lotus Pier from their childhood. He had already left and set up shop in Burial Mounds by the time Jiang Cheng finished rebuilding.
If Wei Wuxian recognizes the way he does not mention it, quietly following along even as the force of Jiang Cheng’s grip grinds the bones in his wrist together.
He only shows some autonomy when they reach Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji’s room, digging his heels in at the doorway. “Are you certain about this?”
“Do you want this?” Jiang Cheng counters, dropping his arm.
“I always want you,” Wei Wuxian says with raw honesty, keeping to the vulnerable tone their interaction has held thus far. This is the most honest conversation they have had, no subtext or deflection. “I will take anything you give me,” Wei Wuxian continues, “But I do not want to take what you are not ready to give. Not again.”
“I have waited for thirteen years,” Jiang Cheng says, “I refuse to wait a moment more. So come here and give me what I want.”
“Gladly,” Wei Wuxian says thickly, shutting the door behind himself. Jiang Cheng sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Wei Wuxian to approach, which he does, sinking to his knees in front of Jiang Cheng.
“Tell me what you want,” Wei Wuxian requests, curling his fingers around Jiang Cheng’s ankle, stroking the sensitive skin there.
“You, in me. I do not care how,” Jiang Cheng says.
“Then, you be on top,” Wei Wuxian proposes, “You take control.”
Wei Wuxian wants Jiang Cheng to ride him. He has ridden Lan Wangji before, but it is not his favorite position of theirs. Still, the proposition interests him greatly. Being on top of Wei Wuxian sounds… good. Yes. He likes the idea.
“On the bed,” Jiang Cheng commands and they move efficiently after that.
Jiang Cheng has to blow out a slow breath when he sinks down. It has been weeks since the last time he and Lan Wangji have done anything. Wei Wuxian is not as thick as Lan Wangji, which Jiang Cheng already knew and is perfectly fine with given that Lan Wangji at times borders the line of being too big, but he still reaches deep inside of Jiang Cheng.
It is unnerving how readily their bodies fit together even in this novel position. Like puzzle pieces sliding together. Jiang Cheng wonders if his body had permanently shaped itself to Wei Wuxian all those years ago and had never changed itself back since. He sits astride Wei Wuxian’s hips and marvels at the sensation of being filled perfectly. Not too much, not too little. Comfortable. Whole. As if Wei Wuxian was always meant to be inside of him, as if they were pulled apart and made incomplete.
As they rock together, Jiang Cheng finds his eyes drawn to Wei Wuxian’s lips again and again helplessly. He wants to kiss him. He wants so badly to kiss him, he might as well be sixteen and horny and in love all over again.
The only thing that holds him back is the recollection that Wei Wuxian is still hiding something from him. Perhaps not integral to his emotions, but definitely integral to the explanation for his actions after the Sunshot Campaign. And if these thirteen years could not lessen his love even the slightest, then they at least taught him some dignity.
So Jiang Cheng will not kiss a liar.
“I am close,” Wei Wuxian whispers and he does nothing to hide the way he stares at Jiang Cheng’s mouth. “Inside,” Jiang Cheng orders, and when Wei Wuxian is visibly unsure he says, “I want it. I want it, consequences and all. It will not be the first child of yours that I have, anyway.”
Wei Wuxian cradles his hips and whispers gently, “I will stay. Even if no one wants me but you, I will stay. You do not need to give me a reason.”
It is alarming, how easy he is to still read when Wei Wuxian is thirteen years in the past and Jiang Cheng has spent thirteen years growing without him. Fundamentally, it seems, he has not changed. Or at least not when it comes to Wei Wuxian. The core of him must still call to the core of Wei Wuxian. He wonders if even thirty, fifty, a hundred years apart would change that.
“Still,” Jiang Cheng breathes, gasping slightly from exertion, “For old time’s sake. Come inside.”
Wei Wuxian’s expression twists at the mention of the past, but he nods and laces their fingers together, his eyes staying glued to Jiang Cheng’s face until they helplessly flutter shut from the waves of pleasure his climax brings. Jiang Cheng studies his handsome face, the scrunch of his eyes and his parted lips and the red flush that has bloomed along the perimeters of his face. His forehead glistens with sweat and he moans shakily, trying and failing to open his eyes when Jiang Cheng continues, searching for his own release.
“Use me,” Wei Wuxian says raggedly. Jiang Cheng drops his hands to place his palms on Wei Wuxian’s chest for better leverage, and Wei Wuxian brings his hands up to Jiang Cheng’s hips, squeezing appreciatively. “Use me, I am yours.”
“Do you promise?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“Yes. On my life. On Lan Zhan’s life,” he rectifies because they both know how little his own life matters to him.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Jiang Cheng. I always will,” Wei Wuxian says. He touches Jiang Cheng’s cheek, “Won’t you come for me, xingan?”
When Wei Wuxian asks so sweetly, how can Jiang Cheng not?
It wracks his body for a small eternity and Wei Wuxian guides him down onto the bed, turning them onto their sides and holding him close. Jiang Cheng’s eyes are closed but he can feel the weight of Wei Wuxian’s gaze searching his face. He reaches out blindly, patting until he touches Wei Wuxian’s ear and then creeping behind to pluck his ribbon loose, taking it for himself.
“Happy?” Wei Wuxian chuckles, catching his wrist and kissing the base of his palm.
“Not yet,” Jiang Cheng says, “Tie it around my wrist.”
Wei Wuxian does. He kisses the thin skin on the underside of Jiang Cheng’s wrist when he is done.
“You belong to me now,” Jiang Cheng says, “You can not leave. I will hunt you down and lock you up if you do.”
“Because that is sane,” Wei Wuxian comments.
“You do not get to talk to me about sane,” Jiang Cheng retorts, his eyes snapping open heatedly, “You of all people can not talk.”
“Alright,” Wei Wuxian grins, amused but fragile, “Fair. I will not say anything. Whatever makes you happy.”
“It damn well is whatever makes me happy. You have nearly two decades worth of unhappiness to make up to me.”
“I better get started on that then,” Wei Wuxian says mildly, rolling them over so Jiang Cheng lands on his back. His knot has shrunk enough to slip out and he crawls down Jiang Cheng’s body.
“You have never used your mouth on me before,” Jiang Cheng notes.
“That is a tragedy I must fix,” Wei Wuxian says, his hands sliding up Jiang Cheng’s thighs. Then his mouth buries itself between Jiang Cheng’s legs and they do not get anymore talking done.
When they are done and clean and sat together on the side of a pier, they sit in silence, occasionally exchanging words about anything except for the baggage they carry. Eventually, Wei Wuxian leaves to talk to Sizhui who is keeping Wen Ning company not too far from them. Two ke passes and Jiang Cheng is not surprised when he hears Wen Ning lumber down the pier.
He is surprised when Wen Ning stops near him. His presence itches under his skin but Jiang Cheng bears it for his son and the blood on his hands. He glances up with a neutral expression, raising an eyebrow in question. Wen Ning stands awkwardly, Suibian in his hand as he has been since Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian has not shown any proclivity towards taking him back or using him.
“Sect Leader Jiang…” Wen Ning trails off, a faintly conflicted expression twisting his rigid features, “Do you plan to try again with Wei-gongzi?”
“I think we both know that I never really had anything meaningful with Wei Wuxian back then to say that I am trying again.”
“I see,” Wen Ning says softly, “But Sect Leader Jiang does intend to have something with him?”
“That is the plan,” Jiang Cheng says dryly, “But nothing with Wei Wuxian ever goes to plan.”
Jiang Cheng can see the internal struggle on Wen Ning’s face as he debates with himself and it peaks his curiosity. He has no clue what Wen Ning is conflicted about to begin with, and, secondly, why it would ever involve him. Eventually, the conflict morphs to determination and a small measure of guilt. Wen Ning unceremoniously thrusts Suibian’s hilt into his face.
“What? Do you want me to take it?” Jiang Cheng asks. When Wen Ning does not move or make a sound to confirm or deny, Jiang Cheng reaches up in confusion and grabs Suibian’s hilt. He pulls, expecting Wen Ning to release his grip, but instead Suibian clicks as he slides out of the sheath Wen Ning is holding tightly.
Jiang Cheng stares blankly at the uncovered blade. He shoves him back in and lets go of Suibian like he had been burned. Wen Ning reaches down and tugs at the hilt. Suibian holds fast, refusing to be unsheathed.
“Explain,” Jiang Cheng says quietly, “And explain quickly.”
Wen Ning nervously backs up a couple of steps. He swallows, glancing down at Suibian. “There was no Baoshan Sanren,” he says, “My sister transplanted Wei-gongzi’s golden core into you. And without his golden core… the demonic cultivation affected him deeply.”
“So everything that happened, everything that he put me through,” Jiang Cheng says hollowly, “Was because he lied to my face.”
“I am sorry, Sect Leader Jiang,” Wen Ning looks down remorsefully.
“I suspect you likely had very little to do with that… that decision,” Jiang Cheng speaks carefully, Zidian sparking dangerously on his finger, “But I suggest you leave my sight immediately or I will not be held responsible for what I might do. And I would hate to upset A-Yuan.”
Wen Ning gives him a clumsy, pitying bow and sets Suibian down on the wood panels. He flees, the chains around his wrists and ankles rattling like a warning cry.
Jiang Cheng climbs to his feet and takes three steps forward, bending down to pick up Suibian. He pulls the blade out once more and feels him thrum under his touch. Suibian sits in his hand with a comfort only Sandu has ever given him. Jiang Cheng is… mad.
He is, to be quite frank, so fucking furious he could kill someone right now. When he looks down at Suibian once more he thinks the sword is rattling at first. It takes him a moment to realize that he is the one shaking from rage.
What a loyal sword Suibian is, refusing to unseal for anyone but his master. A pity his master has never known how to return that loyalty.
Jiang Cheng will be honest, he has no idea what he intends to do once he finds Wei Wuxian, despite how he scours Lotus Pier for him. He spots him near the entrance, speaking with Sizhui and Lan Wangji. By the redness of Sizhui’s eyes and Wei Wuxian’s bittersweet smile, they must have finally talked about their past. But Jiang Cheng can not even feel it in himself to be happy for his son, his vision tinged with red as he storms up to Wei Wuxian and slams Suibian into his chest hard enough to send him crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.
Lan Wangji’s eyes widen and Sizhui cries out in alarm, surprised at Jiang Cheng’s force.
“You,” Jiang Cheng snarls, “Are dead to me.”
Wei Wuxian coughs and rubs his sternum gingerly. He pushes himself up on a forearm, confusion swimming in his eyes until he sees Suibian in Jiang Cheng’s grip. His face pales.
“A-Niang,” Sizhui says frantically, tugging on his arm, “A-Niang, what happened? What are you doing?”
“You,” Jiang Cheng chokes on the word, gritting it out. He brushes Sizhui’s hand off. His livid gaze pins Wei Wuxian to the ground but his sight is blurring, “Wei Wuxian, when will you stop? Haven’t you done enough? What more do I have left of me for you to destroy?”
He holds his arms out on either side as if presenting himself. “Does it make you proud?” He asks with a mirthless smile and Wei Wuxian flinches, “You have taken my honor, my dignity, my innocence, and even my choice.”
Wei Wuxian rises to a sitting position, holding himself up with a shaky arm at his side. Without thinking twice, Jiang Cheng kicks him square in the chest and knocks him back to the ground. The back of Wei Wuxian’s head hits stone with a thud and he groans, rolling weakly onto his side and reaching for the struck area.
“A-Niang!” Sizhui cries in horror and then his husband is dragging Jiang Cheng away from Wei Wuxian’s prone form as Sizhui rushes to his side. Suibian clatters to the ground when Jiang Cheng struggles. Lan Wangji has a vise grip on each upper arm to not only hold him back but keep him from using Zidian. When Jiang Cheng resists, he uses his strength to fold Jiang Cheng’s arms in and pins his wrists against his stomach in a mockery of a hug.
“You liar,” Jiang Cheng spits, letting loose a deranged laugh when Wei Wuxian cringes into himself, “What do you want from me? Answer me!” He shouts when he is met with silence, “Do you want my body? Is that it? Shall I warm your bed at your beck and call, only there for you to use, never mind what I want.”
“Please, A-Niang, no more,” Sizhui is tearing up, cradling Wei Wuxian’s head carefully as he feeds him spiritual energy. He looks at Jiang Cheng pleadingly, but Jiang Cheng can not see him. He only has eyes for Wei Wuxian.
“You… You make me wish I was dead,” Jiang Cheng trembles in his husband’s hold, his voice quieter now but wavering. Wei Wuxian twists away from Sizhui to hide his face, his shoulders jerking. “You ruin every good thing I have and you force upon me things I do not want. And you lie. But I want you, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng’s voice cracks and two tears slide down his face. He slumps in Lan Wangji’s arms. “So what does that make me. How pathetic does that make me.”
Silent tears trickle down his cheeks. Jiang Cheng shakes his head in exhaustion, in defeat. His knees give out and Lan Wangji lowers them to the ground. “Why do I want you when you have hurt me? Why do I have to feel sorry for the choices you have made for me? You knew I would never have accepted your golden core so why did you trick me when I trusted you?”
“Please,” Jiang Cheng begs wetly and a low, tortured sound scrapes from Wei Wuxian’s throat, “I am tired. I do not want to pay for your decisions anymore. At least allow me whatever self-respect I have left. If you are hiding anything else, just tell me now.”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head frantically then recoils with a groan, holding it dizzily. “I am—I am not.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jiang Cheng hisses.
“I am not, I am not I swear, I just—I did not know how to tell you. You would not have accepted it but I wanted you alive and whole and—and I am sorry,” Wei Wuxian deflates, staring at the ground with tears dripping from his chin, “I am sorry. I can not take it back. I can not change it. I am sorry.”
“Your sorry is of no use to me,” Jiang Cheng says thinly, “I do not need it. Just leave. I have no desire to see your face at the moment.”
After a long moment, Wei Wuxian nods, gingerly picking himself up off the ground. Sizhui holds his hands out in case he falls, grabbing his elbow when Wei Wuxian stumbles on his feet.
“Wangji,” Jiang Cheng whispers, the way he does when they are alone in their room during the deepest hours of the night with only the stars as witness, “Go with him. I doubt he is capable of…”
Anything, at the moment, really. His eyes are hazy, Jiang Cheng can see it even from here. They are a bit too wide and a bit too unfocused.
“Are you okay?” Lan Wangji checks.
“No,” he says truthfully, “And there is nothing you can do about it. But you can look after him.”
Lan Wangji looks unwilling. “I need to know you are okay first,” he says firmly.
“I am fine. If you are done suffocating me, then leave.”
Lan Wangji blinks and his arms loosen around Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian is staggering towards the entrance, Sizhui worriedly dogging every step. “I am only worried—”
“Just go,” Jiang Cheng hisses harshly, shoving at Lan Wangji’s chest, “You are of no use to me.”
“A-Cheng,” His husband cups his cheek tenderly. Jiang Cheng’s breath hitches at both the intimate touch, rare, and the affectionate nickname, rarer still. “A-Cheng,” Lan Wangji says, sounding sad, a pure, aching kind of sad, “You have an unmatched ability to hurt the ones you love with your words.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart stops. Pain is visible in Lan Wangji’s eyes as he pulls away regretfully, dropping his gaze to the ground. Jiang Cheng’s mouth turns sour, nausea slamming into him. He watches his husband walk away with a defeated air and feels guilt well up.
Sizhui falls to his knees in front of him and grabs his shoulders, “A-Niang, what is going on? What happened? What did Wei…” He stumbles over how to address Wei Wuxian and settles on qianbei for the time being, “What did Wei-qianbei do? Why did you treat him like that?”
“He lied to me,” Jiang Cheng says blankly, watching Lan Wangji guide Wei Wuxian out of Lotus Pier, “All those years I wondered how it spun so out of control and why I could not recognize him anymore, and it was because he lied to me.”
All the things that keep him up at night, that haunt him when he lays there by Lan Wangji’s side, and it is because Wei Wuxian lied.
“But at least you know now,” Sizhui says desperately, “I do not think Wei-qianbei is hiding anything else. Everything is out in the open.”
Not everything. Not a rainy day and road-side stalls and the flash of swords. “Yes,” Jiang Cheng says anyway, “It is. But sometimes the truth cannot fix what is broken.”
“A-Niang, why would you let him go? You love him.”
“What has loving him ever done for me,” Jiang Cheng sighs tiredly, but he cups Sizhui’s crumpled face and thumbs away the tears on his cheeks, “Do not cry, baobei, Niang’s okay. Niang will be fine. He has you, he will always be fine.”
“But he is my baba,” Sizhui sniffles, hurriedly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, “I do not want to lose him when I just found him.”
“Ah,” Jiang Cheng says faintly. Motherly love, or whatever it is they call it, swells in his heart, “Okay. You will not, baobei, Niang will make sure you do not lose him.” He would give Sizhui the world if he asked, he can easily give him Wei Wuxian.
“Do you think he wants me?” Sizhui asks insecurely.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng would murder Wei Wuxian if he did not, anyway, so he has no choice, “You are his son and he loves you. He wants you.”
“He wants you, too,” Sizhui says, “Do you not want him? Is that not enough?”
And is that not the question. “I do not know,” Jiang Cheng says, even though he thinks he does, even though that is at least half a lie, “I do not know, A-Yuan.”
scene v.
The inside of Guanyin temple is in shambles behind them, dust from its collapse clogging the air. Lan Xichen sits on the steps of Guanyin temple with a hollowed-out expression and Nie Huaisang sits next to him with a face that lacks an appropriate amount of guilt or grief. Wei Wuxian is off to the side, surrounded by the junior disciples who badger him with incessant questions about his night at the temple. He twirls Chenqing between his fingers, an old, familiar habit.
Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath.
“I am in love with you,” he says.
Lan Wangji’s eyes widen minutely and he blinks once. After a moment, he nods. “I know. Me too.”
“You knew?” Jiang Cheng asks in surprise. He had not even acknowledged it to himself until the day before.
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, slowly, “For a while.” He definitely thinks Jiang Cheng is stupid.
“But—how did you know?” Jiang Cheng does not think he is obvious. He buries affection in aggression and irritation, and he is self-aware enough to realize how it looks to others.
“I am your husband,” Lan Wangji says, “Of course you love me.”
Jiang Cheng blinks in response. “You do remember that this started out as a scam?”
“And yet I became your husband,” Lan Wangji tucks a hand behind his back, regarding Jiang Cheng fondly.
“…Oh,” Jiang Cheng realizes, reaching out without conscious thought. Lan Wangji takes his hand. “We are married, aren’t we?” Lan Wangji tilts his head a little, the same patient glint remaining in his eyes. Jiang Cheng is well aware that he sounded ridiculous right then, as if they have not been married for the last ten years.
Yet it is not the same. There is them formally entering an arrangement with neither of their hearts on the line and then there is them married. A married couple. “You are my husband,” Jiang Cheng says, “And I am your wife. I always will be.”
“And I will be your husband until you no longer want me,” Lan Wangji promises, interlacing their fingers and squeezing once before pulling his hand away to brush Jiang Cheng’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear.
“I love you,” Jiang Cheng says breathlessly, in awe at what they have become. Lan Wangji smiles at him, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb over his cheek affectionately. To think that in the midst of all the grief and rage in his heart, something as sincere and devote as their love bloomed. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“Do not thank me,” Lan Wangji says, “You gave me a family. We made this family together.”
“You gave me a family, too. I do not know—” Jiang Cheng’s voice fades off as he tries to imagine these past ten years without Lan Wangji, without his husband. Nothing good, undoubtedly, “I do not know what I would have done without you.”
“You never have to find out,” Lan Wangji says firmly, “I will not leave you.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng says, and he does. He does. “I believe you.”
Lan Wangji nods approvingly and leans forward to brush his lips against Jiang Cheng’s forehead, a featherlight kiss. A Yunmeng Jiang disciple squeals in the background, catching the act, and in unison the whole crowd of them turn to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji.
“Need something?” Jiang Cheng asks coolly.
His Yunmeng Jiang disciples turn away quickly, wise to his moods, but the Lan disciples keep staring. So much for Gusu Lan manners.
“Lose the looks before I break your legs,” he crackles Zidian demonstratively and that finally cautions them.
Wei Wuxian does not turn away. He stares straight at Jiang Cheng, his back resting against a pillar, one leg, bent at the knee, propped up on the stone pavilion, and the other set on the ground. Jiang Cheng’s expression shutters, his features smoothing out into a neutral mask.
“Wei Wuxian,” he calls, spinning on his heel to head further away from the temple. He hears the ruffle of Wei Wuxian’s robes as he rises from the pavilion to follow Jiang Cheng. He stops out on the road, far enough away to not be overheard even if their voices raise.
Wei Wuxian is watching, dark, dark eyes flickering between blue and gray. His instincts are out of control. “Your eyes are gold,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng startles, touching the underside of his eye, “Are you sure?” To Wei Wuxian’s credit he does not sound exasperated when he confirms, “Yes, they are gold.”
Jiang Cheng has no idea what to say in response so he ignores it, gazing at the scenery around them. It is all trees and grass and bushes, nothing worth the attention he allots to it.
“You called me?” Wei Wuxian prompts. He will not stop staring at Jiang Cheng.
“That day, when you went out to get medicine for Jie, I followed after you,” Jiang Cheng starts, brusque and even-toned. Wei Wuxian jerks in surprise, leaning back to regard him carefully.
“What are you saying,” Wei Wuxian sounds tense, eyeing Jiang Cheng with a wary look.
“You were hardly inconspicuous buying food at that road-side stall, and there were Wen soldiers patrolling. They planned to take you in, I could not let that happen. You were already so weak from my mother’s whipping.”
“You were the distraction,” Wei Wuxian realizes, his face drained of blood, “You were the one they chased after.”
Jiang Cheng nods. Now when he tells his son that there are no more secrets between them, he is not lying.
“Does this not make you a hypocrite?” Wei Wuxian asks half-heartedly, “You gave yourself up for me, too.”
“What we did are not remotely the same,” Jiang Cheng says and Wei Wuxian gives a small shrug in agreement, still pale and shaken though he tries to hide it, “And even if I were a hypocrite, I deserve it.” Wei Wuxian shrugs again, less agreeing and more yielding.
“What now?” He questions.
Jiang Cheng tilts his head and glances at him, uncomprehending. “What do you mean?”
“You told me this for a reason,” Wei Wuxian comments astutely, “What is it?”
“I… I am not sure what to do with you,” Jiang Cheng admits.
“You can do whatever you want with me,” Wei Wuxian says easily. He tucks Chenqing into his belt and taps the end of it, “Did you keep her all these years?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“She is in perfect condition,” Wei Wuxian says, running his thumb over the polished wood, “You took care of her.”
Wei Wuxian is speaking about the dizi and about a lot more things than the dizi. “Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps. He flushes, feeling caught out, and Wei Wuxian cracks a small, knowing, almost mean smile, though he smartly aims it at the ground, “Shidi—”
“Do not,” Jiang Cheng growls, “After all this, do not try to reduce me to your shidi.”
“You can still be my shidi and something more,” Wei Wuxian says. He does not sound invested in his own words.
“After everything we have gone through and that you have done to me, do not call me your shidi.”
“What should I call you, then?” Wei Wuxian watches him calmly, a casualness to his behavior as if the outcome of their talk will have little effect on him. Jiang Cheng can tell that it is a front because Wei Wuxian is entirely still. No fidgeting, no idiosyncrasies. He is nervous.
“Sect Leader Jiang is fine,” Jiang Cheng says, “Or, consider this, my name.”
Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes and laughs shortly, “You have not changed at all.”
A hot lash of anger whips through Jiang Cheng and he clenches his teeth against whatever poisonous remark bubbled up in his mouth. “You have too much,” he retorts. Wei Wuxian looks away, crossing his arms loosely.
“What do you want from me, Jiang Cheng?” He does not sound defensive or exhausted, simply curious. Two nights ago, Jiang Cheng had told his son, ‘I do not know,’ in response to a similar question. Then, he had at least been telling a half-truth.
“I have no inclination to see your face ever again,” Jiang Cheng says and he receives a pained nod, resigned acceptance, “But I am sick of living without you,” Wei Wuxian’s head snaps up, hope blooming, “So you are coming home with me to Lotus Pier while I decide what to do with you.”
That is a lie. Jiang Cheng has already decided. Wei Wuxian cannot be trusted to make decisions anymore, so he will make this one for the both of them—Wei Wuxian is not allowed to leave him ever again. Jiang Cheng will tell him about the decision one day. For now, he has his children to see.
EPILOGUE.
i am ash from your fire
Sizhui presents as an alpha. A year later, to no one’s surprise, Jin Ling does too. The year after that Jiang Min presents as a beta and his youngest, Jiang Rong, turns nine years old. Jiang Cheng has a small breakdown over the realization that his children are growing up. His husband politely laughs at him.
Wei Ying sits with him in a grassy field in absolute silence for one entire shi on Sizhui’s twentieth birthday. When Jiang Cheng had turned twenty years old he had already been sect leader for nearly three years. Two years later he had delivered Jiang Min, given up Wen Yuan, and begged for Jin Ling. Three children had been the only remnants of his past.
“You gave them good lives,” Wei Ying tells him as he rises to his feet.
“I know,” Jiang Cheng says. He takes the hand Wei Ying’s extends to him, using it as support as he climbs to his feet. Seven months pregnant means his center of balance is completely off.
They know the father. Conception had clearly occurred sometime in July and Lan Zhan had been in Gusu Lan in June and July to help Sizhui take over the sect responsibilities that Lan Qiren had been handling mainly out of familiarity at that point. His husband had called it training for when Sizhui eventually succeeds Lan Xichen as sect leader, since the man seems to be content never taking a wife.
When Jiang Cheng places their newborn son in Wei Ying’s arms once it is just the two of them alone in the delivery room, Wei Ying cries harder than Jiang Cheng has ever seen him. He sobs over Jiang Zheng’s dozing form, carefully setting him down beside Jiang Cheng on the bed before folding onto his knees and holding his head as he breaks down into jagged pieces.
His tears come from somewhere deep inside, a raw wound that had never quite healed until this moment, only wrapped in cloth and shoved out of mind.
“What character did you use for his name, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying asks half a shi later, when Lan Zhan is there too. Wei Ying has not set Jiang Zheng down since he took him back into his arms. Jiang Cheng is slightly afraid he will never hold his own son again unless it is to feed him, and maybe not even then. Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hand after he has adjusted Jiang Zheng into one arm and traces the character into his palm. Zheng as in whole, complete. Zheng as in to repair.
Wei Ying studies his son’s small, round face. “I used to dream of this moment,” he glances up at them, his eyes red and sore and his voice nasally from crying. “In all sorts of combinations and permutations, but at the core of it, they were the same. Me and you, a family.” Wei Ying strokes Jiang Zheng’s cheek gently, speaking to both of them.
“I wanted a family with you because it could only mean one thing. I loved you and you loved me. And that, really, is all I want,” Wei Ying smiles at their son, “Your love.”