Chapter Text
After two wars, Lan Xichen thinks he can speak authoritatively on the matter — the bulk of the work always comes after the war.
This argument between Lanling Jin and a coalition of smaller sects has raged on for hours now, late into the night. It’s far past Gusu Lan's traditional bedtime, and Lan Xichen can slowly feel exhaustion beginning to chip away at his patience.
"I would like to advocate again for the open dissemination of the Yiling Patriarch's notes," he says tiredly, for what feels like the fourth or fifth time. "Parts of his research have the potential to be used for good. Everyone should be able to benefit from them."
A minor sect leader shoots to his feet. If Lan Xichen remembers correctly, Sect Leader Yao is his name. Lan Xichen does not remember the name with much fondness.
“But what of the parts that could be used for harm?!” Sect Leader Yao cries, appalled. “The common people cannot be trusted with such evil techniques! Furthermore, there’s a high risk of things going wrong if they are practiced incorrectly. How can these notes just be so carelessly distributed?!”
“And that’s why Lanling Jin is best suited to safeguard these notes,” Jin Guangyao interjects, smiling. “We have a guest disciple who has the knowledge to interpret them, safely testing out the techniques so we can figure out which ones are safe for public use.”
Nie Mingjue, a hitherto quiet figure, finally lets out a cold laugh.
“You’re talking about Xue Yang,” he says.
Lan Xichen winces, sensing an oncoming argument.
“Da-ge—” he begins placatingly.
“Your entire Jin Sect is a pit of vipers,” Nie Mingjue spits, “and I wouldn’t trust you with a dagger, let alone an entire manual of dangerous cultivation techniques.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Tell me, when are you going to hand Xue Yang over for trial?”
Even though he does not address the question to anyone specifically, his eyes are pinned on Jin Guangyao. The other man drops his eyes, avoiding his gaze.
“My, my, Sect Leader Nie,” Jin Guangshan begins silkily. “Such venomous accusations. Won’t you give your sworn brother some face?”
Jin Guangyao stiffens at those words. After a moment, however, Nie Mingjue just scoffs, turning to the man sitting silently at his side.
“And you, Jiang Wanyin?” he questions sharply. “Do you have nothing to say?”
Everyone startles at that, turning to the young sect leader, having all but forgotten about his presence. He had been so quiet, so still, just staring vacantly at the table for the whole discussion. Even now, he does not even twitch, sitting still as stone.
“No,” he replies, monotone.
Nie Mingjue lets out a frustrated, disbelieving noise.
“You alone have veered the furthest from the demonic path,” he presses. “You alone have condemned it whole-heartedly, eliminated all that would misuse it. And now, you will not fight to safeguard these manuals from falling into the hands of unscrupulous others?”
When Jiang Wanyin still says nothing, Nie Mingjue leans in.
“Jiang Wanyin,” he hisses. “You have the strongest claim to his possessions. You will not fight?! He was your shixiong! He was your brother! You have the right!”
There’s a crackle.
The flickering purple of Jiang Cheng’s ring casts a conspicuous glow in the dim room, painting his still features in eerie shadow.
“He was no brother of mine,” Jiang Wanyin says without inflection. “I lay no claim.”
Nie Mingjue sits back in his chair, seemingly backing down.
“Calm yourself, Jiang Wanyin,” he mutters. “You want no part in this? Fine. I’m not going to argue with you.”
At those words, the crackle dies, and the room eases a little. This, however, is apparently enough for Jin Guangshan to resume his machinations without fear.
“And yet,” he drawls, leaning back in his seat, “the young Sect Leader Jiang continues to hoard the most valuable piece of the puzzle. Is the ghost flute Chenqing not in your possession? Do you not guard it zealously at your Lotus Pier?”
Jiang Wanyin does not speak, and after a moment, Jin Guangyao reaches out to grip discreetly at Jin Guangshan’s sleeve.
“Father,” he murmurs worriedly.
“Don’t call me that,” Jin Guangshan snarls, flicking Jin Guangyao’s touch off with a wave of his sleeve. He does not even look at Jin Guangyao, eyes fixed single-mindedly on the other sect leader. “Is it even in Lotus Pier, Jiang Wanyin, or have you hidden it elsewhere?"
Jiang Wanyin’s gaze, previously fixed unmovingly on the table, rises slowly to meet Jin Guangshan’s eyes. Lan Xichen can’t help but feel a strange sense of foreboding. The young man in front of him had once been so easy to cow, always wary of offending his elders, always keen not to draw anyone’s ire, but now, he meets Jin Guangshan’s gaze head-on, without any hint of an apology.
"You have evaded all attempts to inquire of its whereabouts, all attempts to hold you to accountability," Jin Guangshan continues. "Do you really think you are above questioning?! Do you really think we will allow you to hold Chenqing indefinitely, without explanation, without justification?!”
Outside, the trees rustle briefly, disturbed by a sudden breeze. The gust flutters at the edges of the papers on the desk, setting the candles on the table violently a-flicker. The dancing candlelight lights Jiang Wanyin's face from beneath, his eyes flashing dangerously in its glow, but still, Jin Guangshan doesn’t seem to notice.
“We will not have another person holding onto dark weapons without any means of accountability,” he concludes, bringing his fist firmly down on the table. “We will not have another Yiling Patriarch!"
Lan Xichen blinks, and when he next opens his eyes, the long discussion table has tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud, thunderous crash. The candles on the table fall to the ground, lighting the scattered maps and notes on fire. With that, the room is thrown into sudden darkness, shadows flickering and flashing dizzyingly against the walls as several others begin to stamp out the fire, shouting in alarm.
Jin Guangyao’s shrill voice cuts through the din like a knife.
“Jiang Wanyin!” he screams.
Lan Xichen looks up to see Jin Guangyao falling backwards, knocked away by a fierce sweep of Jiang Wanyin’s arm. With the other hand, Jiang Wanyin has reached across the toppled table, and is gripping Jin Guangshan by the collar, all but lifting him off his seat.
“You want accountability?!” he hisses. “You want justification?!”
“Jiang Wanyin, stop this!” Jin Guangyao shrieks. He grabs Jiang Wanyin’s elbow, pulling at him with his whole body, but still, Jiang Wanyin will not be moved.
“Then let me tell you!” Jiang Wanyin thunders. “Chenqing is on my person! It is on my person right now, as it has been since I gained possession of it, and as it will be until Wei Wuxian returns to claim it!”
“You’re mad!” Jin Guangshan shrieks. “Claim it?! How?! He’s dead! Dead!”
“How would you know?!” Jiang Wanyin bellows, shaking Jin Guangshan violently by the neck. “Did you see him die?! Did you find a body?! There was no body! No bones! Nothing to claim— nothing to bury!”
“Let go of him!” Jin Guangyao screams, still pulling desperately at Jiang Wanyin’s arm, even as Lan Xichen rushes around the smoldering wreck of the table.
“Jiang Wanyin!” Lan Xichen hollers, grabbing Jiang Wanyin’s other arm. “Control yourself!”
Nie Mingjue leaps across the table as well. But in Jiang Wanyin’s mad rage, not even the combined efforts of three prominent cultivators can restrain him.
“He’ll be back!” he spits in Jin Guangshan’s face. “And when he finally comes for me, when he finally comes for his accursed flute— I’ll kill him, and kill him, and kill him dead!”
This memory is what plays in Lan Xichen’s mind, over and over, while Jiang Wanyin bows his head, presenting a red letter in gold lettering.
“For our brothers’ happiness,” he says tonelessly, “please accept my proposal.”
After the whole train of disasters leading up to the confrontation at Yunping, the confession at Yunping, Wangji and Wei Wuxian had vanished for three whole months, returning with an announcement that had shaken the foundations of the Gusu Lan Sect— they had married in the in-between, and asked that their marriage be recorded in the family registry.
A fierce argument had ensued between them and the elders, one that had eventually resulted in an ultimatum.
"It is improper for the younger to marry before the older," the elders had declared. "You will have a proper wedding after Xichen is married. Then, and only then, will your spouse be recorded in the registry."
After so long as sect leader, after a decade and a half mired in year after year of politics, Lan Xichen sees it for the ruse it is. It's a smart ploy, one that will down two birds with one throw.
Ultimately, the elders had not believed the relationship would last. They had hoped to delay the wedding long enough for Wei Wuxian to grow bored and depart, whilst simultaneously pressuring Lan Xichen to leave his seclusion and get on with what he'd been delaying for years— finding a suitable wife.
Unfortunately, with Jiang Wanyin's proposal, that had backfired on them in the worst possible way.
Lan Xichen closes his eyes, concentrating on the scrape of wood over his scalp as his brother draws a comb slowly through his hair.
"The first comb—" he murmurs, "a marriage that will last from root to end."
He draws the comb all the way down to the very tips of Lan Xichen's hair, before starting again at the top.
"The second comb—" he continues, "a hundred years of bliss."
In a proper wedding, these lines would have been recited by a female elder, one married and preferably with children, perhaps grandchildren. Today, however, with the elders in uproar and refusing attendance, there had been no one else to conduct the ceremony.
Lan Xichen looks at his brother in the bronze mirror as he finishes the second comb, and begins the third. Wangji wears no expression as he draws the comb, once more, from base to tip, the motion slow and measured. The room around them, though draped in a festive red, is uncomfortably unfamiliar.
Lan Xichen quickly closes his eyes again.
"The fourth comb—" Wangji finishes, "a life lived to white-haired old age."
And with that, he stands, and goes to retrieve the glutinous rice balls that will complete the ceremony.
The entire wedding, Lan Xichen knows, is perfunctory at best, an afterthought at worst. He and Jiang Wanyin had hashed the details out in a single day, without input nor help from their elders.
The majority of the usual rituals will be left unperformed. There will be no bridal games— no festivities that will bring the cheer and good humour needed in any wedding. It would be inappropriate, they had agreed. As neither would be moving to the other’s residence, there would be no fetching of the bride. There will be no tea ceremony either— no ritual to signify the acceptance of a spouse by the family.
The Lan elders had refused to be present, and Jiang Wanyin had no elders to whom they could serve the tea.
Wangji returns moments later with a plate of glutinous rice balls.
"Xiongzhang," [1] he finally says. "Are you sure?"
There’s a crease between his brows now, his eyes confused, troubled, as he peers searchingly up into Lan Xichen's eyes.
Lan Xichen lowers his gaze.
Wordlessly, he consumes the first rice ball.
The proposal had initially been met with a fair amount of disbelief, but Jiang Wanyin had been quick to persuade Lan Xichen of its benefits.
The elders had followed their ultimatum with mounting attempts to drive Wei Wuxian from the Cloud Recesses— he had been deprived of his own rooms, and had taken permanent residence in the Jingshi as a result, and the wall of rules had quickly been lengthened with a variety of ordinances prohibiting interaction with him. Juniors who spoke to him, or who joined him on night hunts, were punished swiftly and summarily. It was heartbreaking for a soul so social to be deprived of that.
Aside from allowing their brothers to marry, aside from bringing an end to that needless cruelty, Jiang Wanyin had also argued that their marriage would bring stability to the cultivation world as a whole. In the past, he had argued, the cultivation world had been held in balance by the strong coalition of the four great sects. Gusu Lan, Lanling Jin, and Qinghe Nie were held closely together in brotherhood, while Yunmeng Jiang had been tied to Lanling Jin in marriage and in a shared heir.
That balance had been broken with the events of the past year.
Jin Guangyao was dead. Lanling Jin was in chaos, rife with infighting and continuous attempts to seize power from its rightful heir. With Lan Xichen in seclusion, tributaries of Qinghe Nie had also begun to challenge Nie Huaisang’s power, knowing that he was now without the protection of the late Chifeng-zun's sworn brothers. The scales of power had begun to tip.
"We can restore the coalition," Jiang Wanyin had said. "We can restore the balance of power."
Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan would be strengthened by the marriage, giving them the political leverage to tighten the young Jin Rulan's hold on his position. Together, they could help to stop the infighting, to bring stability back to Lanling Jin, and from there, they could continue on to assist Nie Huaisang in his troubles.
The benefits having been thusly laid out, Jiang Wanyin had gone on to present a list, detailing the items in the crates upon crates of gifts he had brought. Lan Xichen had taken it, reviewing it without too much attention. All the appropriate gifts for a betrothal had been present. After that, he had put the list down, and looked back up.
In that moment, he could feel only numbness.
"When shall the ceremony happen?" he had asked.
“In two weeks,” Jiang Wanyin had said.
They'd had to make arrangements very quickly after that. On that same day, they had ironed out the rest of the details. The wedding, they had agreed, would take place at Carp Tower. It was a neutral location, which was appropriate given that neither would be moving into the other’s residence. It would not be appropriate to marry in Lotus Pier or the Cloud Recesses, they had agreed. And as for the engagement rites…
"I’ll have betrothal gifts sent to Lotus Pier by the end of the week," Lan Xichen had promised, before hesitating. "Should I— also include a dowry?"
"Yes," Jiang Wanyin had said decisively. "Upon receiving your betrothal gift, Lotus Pier will also send a dowry."
The engagement had thus been sealed.
With slow, measured steps, Lan Xichen moves towards the banquet hall. There are only servants walking the halls now, head bowed, steps quick, their faces lowered and solemn. Some of them are dressed in Lanling gold, but others in Yunmeng purple or Gusu white. Some of the older servants in white, those with familiar faces, meet Lan Xichen’s gaze with troubled eyes, but he just smiles, dips his head, and continues.
As they finally stop before the great doors of the banquet hall, however, Wangji finally seems unable to hold his tongue.
“Are you sure, brother?" he whispers again, and Lan Xichen smiles.
“It is for the best," he insists.
A servant steps forward then, bowing briefly to the both of them, before grasping the brass rings of the double doors. The doors open slowly, in time with those facing them on the other side of the hall. In the opposite doorway, Jiang Wanyin looks up.
Their gazes meet across the room.
After a moment, Jiang Wanyin dips his head in greeting. His eyes are flat, devoid of life, and devoid of love.
Lan Xichen still remembers the first time, even before the peace negotiations had started, that he'd spoken to Jiang Wanyin as one sect leader to another.
Gusu Lan had been busy with war for years on end. While Lan Xichen had traveled from battlefield to battlefield during both wars, bringing aid and reinforcement where he could, Uncle had served as regent back home. With the end of the Siege of the Burial Mounds, however, they had finally reached a measure of peace, and with that, Lan Xichen's ascension could no longer be delayed.
The ceremonies had lasted three whole days. Three days of rituals, but also of celebration. On the third day, Lan Xichen had emerged from the ritual hall, dressed finally in the full regalia of his station. There, in the banquet hall, he had met Jiang Wanyin— young definitely, but already five years into his sect leadership.
Lan Xichen had cupped his hands, and he had bowed.
"Please guide me," he had murmured.
Jiang Wanyin had laughed then, he remembers. He had laughed, loudly and bitterly.
Then, he had turned, and walked away.
In the aftermath of two wars, Jiang Wanyin had been changed irrevocably. He had once been meek, but war and loss had sharpened him into a blade. Quiet throughout the bulk of the coming negotiations, his heavy presence was like the silent night, but in his outbursts, he raged like a storm with no direction, no end. His anger, his volatility, and his bursts of uncontrollable ire had torn the cultivation world asunder in the aftermath of their final siege.
Like thunder incarnate, conference rooms would grow heavy with his presence, darkened by the storm of his rage, and tense with the promise of lightning. Sometimes, the sound of a crackle, the final signs of a temper close to snapping, could be enough for minor sect leaders to immediately cease their demands, redirecting the entire course of a negotiation without him speaking a single word.
They all knew that when the storms hit, Jiang Wanyin was like a natural disaster — undirected, ruthless, and devastating, leaving only destruction in his wake. He had not shied away from physical violence, even in the negotiation hall. And so, while the leaders of the great sects had soon learnt to weather those storms, cliffs standing stoically firm before the gale, the threat of Jiang Wanyin’s ire had soon become enough to send those lower in station scrambling like ants.
It was in this way that the completely razed Yunmeng Jiang had emerged from the war, status as a great sect challenged by no one.
Firecrackers go off loudly as they walk slowly across the banquet hall towards each other. The room is draped in silken finery, awash in the sounds of celebratory music. A suona player plays a loud tune amidst the clash of cymbals, but the crowd remains oddly quiet.
In the middle, Uncle sits upon a dais, the only elder in attendance. The chair beside him is empty, and he looks slightly ill. He looks down upon them with thin lips as a herald announces the bows.
"The first bow to heavens and earth!" the herald cries, and Lan Xichen closes his eyes. It feels like his body moves without his command, like something has possessed him and is moving him through this farce of a ceremony.
"The second bow to the parents!"
He looks his uncle in the eye then, before he bends, pressing his forehead to the ground in front of him.
"The third bow— to each other!"
Finally, he and Jiang Wanyin rise, and turn to each other. Jiang Wanyin's eyes are lowered, not meeting Lan Xichen's gaze, and after a moment, Lan Xichen lowers his eyes as well. He bends, and presses his forehead to the ground.
And with that — it is done.
With it finally over, Uncle gets up immediately, striding off the dais and out of the room without another word. Lan Xichen gets to his feet as well, a lump rising inexplicably to his throat, and turns to face the audience. Amongst them are a number of Gusu Lan disciples, their young faces peering up at Lan Xichen with lost and bewildered eyes. The Yunmeng Jiang disciples, in comparison, stare straight ahead with straight-backed discipline, their stiff postures matching that of their sect leader's.
After a long moment, the young Jin Rulan stands.
"May the celebrations begin," he announces.
As firecrackers go off, the music starts up once more. Wei Wuxian emerges from the crowd, stopping in front of Jiang Wanyin. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly as he searches for words, before finally, he settles on a tremulous smile.
“You look beautiful, shidi," he whispers.
Somehow, it sounds like he’s about to cry.
“I never thought I’d get to see this," he continues shakily. "I never thought I'd get to be a part of this."
He bites his lip, and dips his head.
"Thank you," he murmurs, "for inviting me."
Jiang Wanyin just looks down at him, completely expressionless, until they are interrupted by a loud scoff. A man in Lanling gold has stepped forward out of the crowd, and is sneering openly at Wei Wuxian.
"Indeed," he says haughtily. "I do wonder why this person has been allowed to attend. For thirteen years, Sect Leader Jiang has made his opinions clear, but in the last year, it feels like the whole world has gone mad. Gusu Lan is sheltering a war criminal, and now, even Yunmeng Jiang has forgiven his crimes?"
Jiang Wanyin's brows draw together.
Suddenly, the celebratory atmosphere seems to grow heavy, seems to grow dark with his ire.
"Ah, Jiang Cheng!" Wei Wuxian cries, raising his hands placatingly. "Don't be angry! This is a joyous occasion!"
Lan Wangji steps forward.
"He who does not know propriety should not deign to speak," he says harshly. "What is your business provoking the grooms at their own wedding?"
"This is a wedding," Jin Rulan agrees sternly. "This is my uncle's wedding. This is not the right avenue to voice your discontent. Please restrain yourself."
"Gusu Lan has gone to the dogs," the Lanling Jin cultivator hisses, and sneers at Jin Rulan, before continuing more quietly— "And so has Lanling Jin."
"You—" Jin Rulan begins.
"You do not command me," the man declares, and spits on the ground between them. "You are not my sect leader."
Jin Rulan's bottom lip trembles, but he says nothing, seemingly unable to summon up any reproach.
A sharp crackle interrupts further conversation, and the air between them grows heavy with static. Sparks of purple hiss and snap as Jiang Wanyin steps off the dais. His expression remains stoic, but his eyes flash as Zidian uncoils slowly from his right hand, a sinuous whisper of steel across stone.
He takes another slow, deliberate step forward, and the Lanling Jin cultivator goes pale, quickly retreating a step.
“I will take my leave," he says shakily, and vanishes swiftly into the crowd.
Around them, the rest of the guests begin to murmur, watching Jiang Wanyin apprehensively. After a moment, Lan Xichen closes his eyes.
"Please put that away," he says tiredly. "There is no need for hostility on such an occasion."
Beside him, Jiang Cheng clenches his teeth. His jaw works, before he raises his fist. Zidian arcs through the air like a gash of lightning, striking the ground before him in a shower of sparks. The motion produces a clap like thunder.
The musicians stop.
Around them, the guests go quiet.
Jiang Wanyin looks slowly over all of them, unflinching under their wide, fearful gazes. He looks at each of the gathered Lanling Jin disciples in turn, eyes alight with warning, with threat, before finally— he tips his chin up, and recalls his weapon. Zidian slithers back up against his thigh, winding quietly around his finger. He folds his hands together, the fingers of his left hand caressing the steel band ponderously.
“We will retire to the wedding chamber,” he finally says, and turns away. “Enjoy the banquet.”
The old banquet table at Carp Tower, Lan Xichen remembers suddenly, had been a work of art — a long mahogany piece, inlaid with intricate mother-of-pearl branches, gold leaves, and flowers of ruby and sapphire. At the head of the table, where the Sect Leader had always sat, an ivory carp had been exquisitely etched into the table, jumping into crashing waves, with a dragon rising from the waters behind it.
Lan Xichen remembers that table vividly, just as he remembers the fateful day he’d walked past the banquet hall, only to find it broken cleanly into two. Rubies and sapphires had littered the ground where they had come detached from the once magnificent structure, and the ivory head of the great dragon had been split right down the middle. The broken halves of the table laid on their sides in the center of the room like miserable, beached whales.
He had stopped there in his tracks, eyes widening.
“What happened here?!” he’d blurted out, appalled at the brazen destruction of one of Carp Tower’s most public treasures.
Beside him, Jin Guangyao had slowed to a halt. His eyes had followed Lan Xichen’s gaze to the ruined table, and then, he had laughed.
“What else?” he’d asked simply. “Jiang Wanyin did.”
A scorch mark had sat squarely in the middle of the crack, split into two halves. Put together, however, they made the rough shape of a fist.
Chuckling dryly, Jin Guangyao had gestured politely for Lan Xichen to continue walking.
“As you know,” he had continued, “Lotus Pier has recently begun clamoring for joint custody of our A-Ling. Jiang Wanyin was here to discuss the terms of that custody.”
He had laughed again.
“Though perhaps discuss is not the right word,” he admitted. “He demanded an even split, with A-Ling spending half the year with us, and half the year with them. We all thought it was preposterous, of course. A-Ling is a Jin, and the future head of Lanling Jin at that! When I took it upon myself to propose more appropriate terms, however...”
He had shot Lan Xichen a meaningful look, and then he had raised his fist, bringing it down sharply down onto an imaginary surface.
Then, he had smiled.
“And that,” he had said, “was what happened.”
Afterwards, they had left the wing to stroll through one of Carp Tower's many stone gardens.
"Two days ago," Jin Guangyao had continued, "his matchmaking date with Maiden Yan ended in catastrophe. It was disastrous enough that he's been blacklisted by all of the cultivation world's matchmakers, every last one. They've refused to match him with any more women, mainly because in the aftermath of his last meeting, a large portion of their clients have declined to meet him, under any circumstance."
That had surprised Lan Xichen. It had seemed impossible, had seemed beyond belief that the matchmakers would reject a client of such status.
"What happened at the meeting with Maiden Yan?" he asked apprehensively.
"What else!" Jin Guangyao had cried, his frustration beginning to peak, even through his careful composure. "His legendary temper had gotten the better of him once again, of course. He flew into an inexplicable rage after Maiden Yan praised him for successfully vanquishing the Yiling Patriarch, and sent her running with a lash of his whip."
"Drawing his weapon on a woman?!" Lan Xichen had exclaimed. "That’s bad even by his standards!"
"He did not just draw his weapon," Jin Guangyao had clarified. "He lashed her. Thankfully, it missed and hit the ground between them instead. That whip has slain men in a single blow. I do not wish to think of what would have happened if it had actually struck her."
"That’s—" Lan Xichen had begun, at a complete loss. "That's wholly unacceptable. No wonder he's been blacklisted."
Jin Guangyao had barked out a laugh.
"He’s getting from bad to worse," he had declared. "If he does not reign himself in, we should all begin to fear for the future of the Jiang sect. With a temper like that, what woman would agree to marry him? Who could have the patience to love him?" He had shaken his head. "The Jiang bloodline will die with him if he doesn’t get his act together, and what a pity that would be."
"You never know," Lan Xichen had responded automatically, "perhaps he’ll eventually find someone to love— someone to calm and soothe him, to subdue his anger and bring him peace. There’s no person who’s truly unloveable, A-Yao."
Jin Guangyao had laughed.
"Oh, Er-ge!" he had cried. "You are the goodest man I know, but even you—?"
He had cut himself off with a sigh.
"Imagine being a woman," he had said. "Could you tolerate being married to a man like him? Could you love him, Er-ge? Could you?"
Lan Xichen had been silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” he had finally admitted. “But I would try. Everyone deserves to be loved, A-Yao. Everyone deserves someone who will look at them, past the flaws, and see the most beautiful parts of their soul. No one is unredeemable. No one."
Jin Guangyao had not said anything for a long, long while.
Then finally, he had turned his face up to Lan Xichen. There had been a smile on his face then, a smile Lan Xichen had not understood at the time. It had been the smile A-Yao had worn in his final moments, as he'd pushed Lan Xichen away, before he'd been snatched up by Nie Mingjue's fierce corpse, and summarily slaughtered.
“Every person who has done wrong,” he had whispered then, “would pray to be dear to a person like you.”
Finally, they draw to a halt outside of the wedding chamber. Jiang Wanyin turns to Lan Xichen at the door, as expressionless as he'd been over the rest of the night.
"Good night," he says, with a small nod.
Then, he turns, and continues walking.
"Where are you going?" Lan Xichen asks, surprised.
Jiang Wanyin stops, and then turns around, his expression puzzled.
"I have my own set of rooms here in Carp Tower," he says shortly. "I do not wish to infringe any further on your privacy. I will sleep there for the night."
He nods his head again.
"Again," he says. "I bid you a good night, and a good stay here in Lanling."
Without another word, he turns, and continues down the hallway. Lan Xichen watches as Jiang Wanyin disappears around the corner, before he turns towards the door, sighing quietly, and pushes it open.
Inside, the wedding chamber is awash in vibrant reds and golds. The matrimonial bed is draped in embroidered silk and on the bedcover, a tray of oranges and candy awaits. As he sits down on the bed, he notices a silk pouch beside the traditional sweets. Atop the pouch, there is a single lock of hair, along with a pair of gold scissors.
He throws his head back, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs. Truly, Jiang Wanyin has been thorough in his preparations.
He pulls the gold pin out of his hair, and lets it fall down around his shoulders. Then, he cuts a small lock of hair from the ends of his hair, picks up the lock of hair from the tray, and ties it securely with his own, before tucking it neatly into the silk pouch.
The duty of keeping the pouch, it seems, has fallen to him.
As he lifts the tray, and sets it on the table, he can't help but recall his words to his once-sworn brother. Who would have thought he would truly end up married to Jiang Wanyin? Who would have thought that the person who would eventually be in this position— would be Lan Xichen himself?
In that long-ago time, he had promised to try, had promised to love. But now, as he sheds the ceremonial layers of his wedding robe, he knows that the person who had once said those words, and the person that Lan Xichen has become now, are two very different people.
He has changed. He is no longer the immaculate, blameless Zewu-jun that Jin Guangyao had seen when he had looked at him back then. He is flawed and imperfect. He is human, and not even, he has come to realize, a particularly good one at that.
He sets the silk pouch down on the table, before sitting down on the bed. The traditional goodies lie uneaten on their tray, but there is no one to eat them with him, no one to partake in the post-wedding rituals with him.
He sighs, and pours himself a cup of tea.
There is a jar of ceremonial wine on the table.
It remains untouched.