Chapter Text
The Sunshot campaign was as mentally and physically fatiguing as it was satisfying. Whereas the siege of the Yilling Burial Mounds was like a knife embedded so deep into his lungs, sometimes Jiang Cheng wondered how he was still breathing.
But there was a period between the two events, in which it finally felt like the balance was restored and his family could be at peace.
Jiang Yanli, who was Jiang Cheng's main priority, was wed into the Jin sect. A sect that was stronger and would provide her the comforts she deserved as Jiang Cheng continued to rebuild their home. Then they were blessed with a child, one with smooth round cheeks and a little pout that would have undoubtedly grown into a smile with his sister's care.
His brother, on the other hand, felt a bit more volatile. There were more good days than bad though, so Jiang Cheng let the other boy have his moments. In hindsight, Jiang Cheng could follow with his mind, each rock that tumbled down his brother's proverbial stand at the cliff edge. The sounds reverberated so loud, he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t heard them at the time.
Regardless, even in these moments when things finally seemed to come together, there was an itch at the back of Jiang Cheng's mind. One that would call for his attention even in the rare moments he would meditate in a river of lotuses. That itch told him to be cautious, to be wary.
There was a constant thrum of tensions among the sects. It was most notable during the discussion conferences, where alliances would make themselves known as sect leaders would group to separate corners of the room, eyes flitting across the leaders of other sects. More often than not, Jiang Cheng could feel that gazes burn into his neck. He made sure to keep his back straight and head high. Jiang Cheng was getting used to the whispers, and dedicated himself harder to restoring his sect's glory.
But no matter, the whispers would grow louder and stronger. It trickled down within the ranks until even the junior disciples stood tall and glared fiercely at a storm they couldn’t begin to truly comprehend. The cultivators hungered for action and justice, their pride and ego exacerbated by their victory over the Wen sect, previously the strongest and fiercest, and they wanted more.
Their bloodlust finally roared when Wei Wuxian defected against the Jiang sect and built a little village with the Wen remnants. None of them cared that these Wens were mostly comprised of elderly and sick individuals. That wasn’t what they recorded in their historical scrolls or sung about on the streets. They want to right a wrong, balance the yin and yang of cultivation by destroying what shouldn't have been.
And honestly? Jiang Cheng didnt give a fuck. Not when news of Jin Zixuan’s death struck like a bolt of lightning, his hands wavering so strongly he couldn't hold a mere teacup for days. Not when he saw the shock of pain on his sister's face when she was slashed across the back only to crumple into a terrifying blankness as blood pooled down his robes, the heat of his sister draining with every drop of blood that warmed against his arms.
So he led the siege, and he won the siege. He didn’t know what to think as the man exited the mortal realm right before his eyes. It just felt so hollow to consider how each of his family members were not spared a painful death.
But finally, that itch was gone. His sister was dead and his brother was dead and now finally that thing that persisted at the back of his mind was gone. It didn’t seem fair, the lives of his two dearest family to be lost for him to finally feel at peace. Perhaps it was because he felt like he had nothing more to lose now.
Jiang Cheng would sit and contemplate that during the nights, as the day left no moments to spare. His mind would be strangely calm, and, if he explored deeper, alarmingly empty.
So it was a surprise, when a rap of knuckles was heard against the doors of his private quarters. His disciples know better than to disturb him so late in the night without reason.
Jiang Cheng dressed himself with Zidian in one hand and Sandu sheathed in the other, and slid open the door.
A pale faced boy stood before him, the purple in his robes accentuating the gray in his face. “Sect Leader, my apologies for the interruption. We- we had some unexpected guests arrive at Lotus Pier gates and thought it impertinent to bring to your attention at once.”
Luckily Jiang Chen was still dressed in his outer robes, otherwise this imposition so late in the night may not have been so easy to forgive.
“Who is it?” he snaps.
“Its Sect Leader Lan,” this sparks a note of urgency in Jiang Cheng’s mind, “as well as Hanguang-jun and, well, a small child.”
“Lead me to them.”
The boy, Jiang Yuyi, he now recognises, guides him through the Jiang private quarters and, unexpectedly, away from the guest pavilions where visitors are usually hosted.
Some of his questions are answered as he walks past the sect infirmary, which is bustling with disciples and healers running back and forth with towels, water and unidentifiable pastes.
Alarm bells are now ringing so sharply in his mind it felt like someone was holding it up right next to his ears. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Sect leader Jiang,” a sombre voice cuts through the bustling scene, the Jiang members continue in the tasks, mollified that someone else was willing to take the brunt of the Jiang leader's fierceness.
Jiang Cheng pivoted on his heel to face the other man, “Sect Leader Lan.”
“My apologies for the intrusion,” Lan Xichen clasps his hands and bends forward in a perfect bow, which Jiang Cheng returns immediately. Given the fact that the man shows no pain at the action, the crescendo of the bells in his mind largely mutes, “please understand that I would not dare with such an imposition, and so late at night, without good cause.”
Lan Xichen, as always, was a picture of poise in his blue and white robes, the usual crispness of which was softened into a golden hue against the lanterns. The white ribbon was still stark against the others hair, and lay neatly and flat against his brow. But this expected and peaceful demeanour was marred by the uncharacteristic brown staining the man's sleeves, as though he had been cradling an earthen pot covered in mud. There was also a lone strand of hair that had escaped the confines of his ribbon, and gently caressed the others eyes. That alone was enough for Jiang Cheng to release any pending frustrations at being disturbed at such an hour.
Spotting a spare disciple, Jiang Cheng barked orders to set up a table and tea at a nearby room.
He watched carefully as the other settled before him, and the bells in his ears finally stopped ringing when there was no indication of injuries on the man, and as he kneeled, he did not seem to favour any side over the other.
“What has happened, Sect Leader Lan? Has there been an incident in Gusu Lan?” as a fellow Sect Leader, usually he would be much more diplomatic regarding another sect's private matters. There is a certain level of courtesy and manner required when addressing such business, and Jiang Cheng warily was aware that this kinship didn’t quite exist to such an extent between the two men.
Lan Xichen curled his fingers around the tea cup as though for warmth, even though the temperature of Yunmeng must be a few layers warmer than Gusu. Then he looked up, and Jiang Cheng's eyes were filled with a solemn liquid gold that glinted under his lanterns.
“The elders are aware of Wangji's involvement in the siege at Burial Mounds.” At these words, Jiang Cheng worked to keep his face neutral, his eyes definitely glowering but at a temperature that’s become expected of him. “I do not know which matter is concerning them, whether they think Wanjis’ actions have put Gusu Lan in a precarious position in these unsettling times or if in their eyes, Wanji is now undeserving of the Lan name, but” here he paused, hesitant, wary, and golden.
There must have been something in his eyes that gave the other man the strength to continue, “they want to defect him from the Lan sect.”
In times like this, where cultivators craved to prove themselves and would enthusiastically rear their head against any public enemy, to defect would mean Lan Wangji would be condemned to face the wrath of all the other sects, it was almost a death sentence.
The patter of feet and soft murmur of words from those at the infirmary were the only sounds between the two for a few moments.
“That is ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng spat, “they could not possibly accept that you and your uncle would stand for this.”
Lan Xichen’s sorrowful smile wavered, “they are the sect elders.”
“You are the Sect Leader.”
“If this was a matter handled within the Lan sect, I could have defused the situation in time. But there have been rumours spread.”
Jiang Cheng’s fingers started to ache where they were curled around his robes, under the table and away from his visitor's eyes. “And? Pardon my frankness, but what am I supposed to do with this?”
“I was hoping,” he replies, his golden eyes looking distinctly sharp but tired,“if it would be possible to house Wanji in Yenmeng Jiang for a short period of time.”
“You are overstepping,” the words came out of Jiang Cheng’s mouth like a whip, sharp and furious. “You want me to hide away your brother, who may I remind you, tried to save the Yiling Patriarch from my siege, within my homes? You are asking me and my people to protect him from the other sects as they inevitably ask for his head too? This is too much. Yunmeng Jiang cannot and will not tolerate any demonic cultivators or supporters of demonic cultivators.”
He was resolute, final in a decision that has been woven into the depths of his core for weeks now.
The gold dims further and Jiang Cheng's robes scream for release.
“I understand. I understand what a big ask this is, but I cannot go anywhere else-“
Jiang Cheng scoffed, “what of your sworn brothers? Where the Nie sect is renowned for upholding justice, the Jins are known for great wealth and lands. Both are great candidates to house your brother.”
“It is precisely that the Nie sect has such a strong sense of justice that it would be difficult to entrust Wanjis’ care. The Jin sect are now the most powerful and must be wary of their actions, they will not risk any disputes with Gusu Lan or the wrath of other sects to openly support Wanji. In such times, going against the tide of the cultivation world will set them as the next Wen sect.”
Lan Xichen placed his cup onto the table, and here Jiang Cheng noticed the slight tremble that was previously hidden behind his robes. The gold and smile was back, but as expected from a man that wore his emotions on his sleeve, another tell was made known.
“Please, do not mistake me,” Lan Xichen adds at the others silence, “I trust Nie Mingjie and Jin Guangyao with my life. However, with the way the cultivation world is now, I cannot trust their sects with my brother.”
“And you can trust me?” Jiang Cheng asked, voice low. He did not know if he felt angered or incredulous.
“I do, the Jiang sect has upstanding morals against all demonic cultivators. No one will question it and with your support, no one will dare question Wanji. I simply need the rumours of the extent of his involvement to be laid to rest.”
“And if I say no?”
Lan Xichen took a breath, “then I will find another way, and ask you not to repeat any of these words.”
Jiang Cheng released his robes, “why is he in the healing room?”
Lan Xichen turned his gaze to the doors of the room, as though he would be able to see his brother through them, “oh, he was... disciplined prior to the announcement.”
Jiang Cheng scoffed, “so they whipped him and now are forcing him to leave his home? Isn’t there some rule on your wall about mercy?”
“There are many rules on our wall,” he replied in a soft sigh and eyes distant.
He took a breath, straightened his fingers to release tension and debated. “What if I say yes?”
It seemed his visitor did not expect that question, judging by the sudden attention Jiang Cheng received, eyes wide and blinking.
“You understand by keeping him, I too will be endangering my sect's relationship with Gusu Lan. A relationship that our sects have had for multiple generations before us. The elders will not forget this.”
“And neither will I,” rushes Lan Xichen, “Sect Leader- no Jiang Wanyin, I will remember this favour for the rest of my life. From sect leader to sect leader, from the brother of your childhood classmate, this would be a promise I will never forget.”
A debt owed then, that’s what Jiang Cheng gets from this. A debt owed from a man known to keep promises, from a sect leader of one of the four greatest sects, and with sworn brothers holding prominent positions in the other two.
“Very well, he will remain here for the time being.”
Lan Xichen smiles, big and relieved, eyes curved into crescent moons.
Jiang Cheng's hands relax.
*************************************************************************************
Jiang Cheng gathers his disciples and healers, and orders their silence. A measure he had agreed with Lan Xichen, to protect the occupants of the healer rooms, at least until some formal plan is in place. It’s good to see that his people understand the magnitude of this situation, as they look at him with determined and trusting eyes.
Jiang Cheng extends an invitation to Lan Xichen, allowing the man to stay with his brother in the rooms for a few more days at least. After all, who better than one of the greatest cultivators of their generation to lend Lan Wangji some spiritual energy to aid him in his path to recovery. Lan Xichen had stared so achingly at the sheets of fabric separating him from his brother, it was unavoidable.
Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng rushes to Lanling Jin the next morning, at the heels of a missive that had been sent by the other sect regarding his nephew.
His nephew. Jiang Cheng hadn’t forgotten the boy, the sweet little thing that was so often cradled in his sister's arms, the last remnants of his family, and it felt like his lungs were filled with a desperate breath of fresh air knowing he will be seeing him soon.
His attendance, per the missive, was no question. He ordered his highest trio of disciples to pack with haste and they followed him as he raced through the sky.
Jiang Xuliu, Fu Yiren and Jiang Xinbei stand behind him at a suitable distance as they are led through the Jin sect gates. Jiang Cheng barely takes note of the brilliant white and gold architecture, focusing on subduing the impatience that coursed through his veins.
“Sect Leader Jin,” he bows, hoping that it hides the angry curl of his mouth and the distasteful bile rushing to his tongue. The space where his sister and brother-in-law would usually receive him was empty, and with that, there was none of the steady warmth to welcome him.
“Sect Leader Jiang, welcome to Lanling Jin” Jin Guangshao sits almost lazily, dressed in white but adorned in flashing gold and jewels, propping up his head and the other splayed over his legs. There was no warmth in those words, or any intonation that would indicate he cared much at all for the company before him.
Jin Guangyao, a man barely familiar to Jiang Cheng, steps forward with a perfectly executed bow. Perhaps even an inch too low for someone of his official standing, “Sect Leader Jiang. If you could please follow me, this one would have the honour of escorting you to our nephew.”
And once again, Jiang Cheng is guided through a winding path with such an overabundance of wealth on clear display, certainly no expenses spared. It’s hard to see how Lanling Jin was affected by either of the wars given such an unsightly flash of gold in every corner.
The click of Jiang Cheng’s boots echoed sharply against the wide corridor walls.
Jin Guangyao attempted to strike some conversation, meaningless pleasantries that Jiang Cheng returned with the shortest sentences he could spare.
And then Jiang Cheng had Jin Ling in his arms.
The boy was small. He was round and soft and so small he fit easily within the nook of a single arm. His eyes were closed, but Jiang Cheng knew from memory that they were just like Jin Zixuans. He lightly traces a finger over the boy's beautifully rounded nose, a mirror copy of his sisters. But otherwise, he was so small and had so much more to grow before Jiang Cheng could place a resemblance to any other features.
It was only the watchful presence of Jin Guangyao that kept him from voicing the sob that threatened to leave the confines of his mouth, as Jin Ling curled a tiny fist around his finger.
Jin Guangyao approaches, and gently caresses the boy’s forehead. “It is unfortunate that a boy so young will not know either his mother or father.”
It felt like someone was rubbing salt on his wounds, and Jiang Cheng tastes that familiar sting of bile in his throat, “my sisters presence is woven into the very air of Yunmeng Jiang,” his voice was softened in consideration of the presence of the child, rather than the growl he wants it to be. His words sound almost vulnerable, “he will know them, because I will show him.”
The other man smiles at those words, something very pleasant and understanding, but Jiang Cheng can’t bring himself to believe it. How could he possibly understand Jiang Cheng, having known his sister for such a short period? It irks him.
“And Jin Zixuan was a beloved and valued Sect heir of Lanling Jin,” the other man says, “his presence will be felt here too.” Jiang Cheng was fairly certain Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixuan weren’t close, simply polite yet distant. The words felt hollow, anyone’s presence within these halls would easily drown in the overwhelming display of wealth.
Regardless, Jiang Cheng feels a wary bubble of hope at the fact that Jin Guangyao had not refuted his words. Whilst to him, Jin Ling was his last remaining family and a piece of his sister, the little boy was now the future Sect Heir for Lanling Jin. He had expected, but not resigned himself, to the fact that the Jins would hold a fierce custody over the boy. But with these words, it seemed like he may have been wrong.
“What does this mean?” he asks.
“Jin Rulan is the heir to Lanling Jin,” Jin Guangyao replies, as though Jiang Cheng need this reminder that's been reverberating painfully in his mind ever since it became the truth, “his tutelage must be with us, so that he can be exposed to our way of cultivation, learn our history and form connections with our people.” These are all things Jiang Chengs knows, Jin Guangyao seems to see the impatience in his expression and merely presents an apologetic short bow.
Jin Ling coos in Jiang Cheng's arms.
“However,” he continues, “Madame Jin has made it clear she would like Jin Rulan to have custody in Yunmeng Jiang too, in respect of his mother.”
Even as his heart soars at the words, and his gaze now refuses to leave the boy in his arms, he feels wary. “How does she propose the schedule?”
“It will be an alternative half year at Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin. We suggest summer and spring at Yunmeng, considering the flood risks in the other season. We would be open to negotiations if you disagree.” When Jiang Cheng moves to respond, Jin Guangyao holds up a hand, “there is one more thing I would like to inform you, this rotation is to begin from Jin Rulan's third year. We, the Jins, will be responsible for his upbringing for the first three years, as they are the most delicate and he would benefit from the consistency here.”
And that is exactly why Jiang Cheng never lets hope overtake his wariness. “You will keep him from me for three years?” the words come out cold with a promise of something dangerous should they be true.
Jin Guangyao looks slightly alarmed, “no, we will arrange visitations, of course, at your convenience. We only ask that you provide a day's notice to make the necessary arrangements.”
Jiang Cheng wants to argue. He wants to fight back and make his rage known, to let the other man feel the discontent that courses through his veins and burn him with its intensity. But he’s seen what unrestrained rage can do, and he doesn’t want to undo the good will Madame Jin has spared him.
“I understand,” Jiang Cheng says, he can feel his ears ring, threatening disbalance if he were to even try to move. Jin Guangyao nods with a smile, and leaves the room, finally giving Jiang Cheng the privacy he craved.
“You will be alright,” he whispers, a promise to Jin Ling and to his sister, “I will make sure of it.” With every fibre of his being and strength in his body.
But he can still feel his heart shatter as he makes his way through the halls once more, after the sun begins its descent into the horizon and Jiang Cheng can no longer stall his return to Lotus Pier. He can hear the phantom cries in his ears, and his arms feel achingly light and so very empty.