Chapter Text
His entire life, Wei Wuxian had tryed to become someone. Someone who is loved, someone who is cared for, someone people would miss.
He had tried to be more than what people expected, more than what they wanted to see in him.
But his life had always been a performance, a series of acts— a mask designed to hide the cracks beneath the surface.
Since the very beginning, the world had high expactations for someone like Wei Wuxian.
After all, he was the boy who climbed from the mud to the clouds. The prodigy of Yunmeng Jiang. The unbreakable force of laughter and mischief, the one who never hesitated to accomplish what others believed to be impossible, never wavered in moments of distress, never showed weakness in battles where others would fall.
They knew of the boy who laughed too loudly, who played pranks on his sect siblings, who charmed his way through life with a silver tongue and an easy smile. They knew the genius with a bright mind, who wielded his sword with an ease as if he was carried by the wind.
They thought they knew him.
But oh how wrong they were.
How little they know.
That behind the mask of laughter and joy, was a broken little boy—longing for something people believed he was too arrogant and self-centered to even wish for.
Truly, a performance well done. An act everyone believed.
But even the greatest actor will tire in their play, their mask, out worn and used until it cracked, the truth they hid beneath the façade will be bare for everyone to see.
Wei Wuxian, for as far as he has let people believe, was not unbreakable.
.
..
...
....
At first he believed it was just exhaustion. But after hours of sleep and proper rest, he soon came to realize that It wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that could be cured over night.
Every moring, he woke up with a body that felt too heavy to move. He was too tired to even care for what would happen were he to stay in bed the entire day. And every time he forced himself out of his bed because he knew that he wasn't the only one bearing the consequences of his laziness.
It felt like a task he was forced to do, and every day it became harder to fulfill it.
The mornings dragged on endlessly, the air thick with something he couldn’t explain. His body, once so nimble and quick, felt like it was made of lead. His eyes felt heavy, his mind clouded, his soul empty, his body numb.
It didn't get better. It never got better.
He had to wake up.
He had to train.
He had to study.
He had to smile.
The food he ate tasted like ash. He barely even registered the meals that passed his lips anymore. Each bite felt more like a chore, a task to check off rather than something to enjoy, something he wished to do on his own accounts. Sometimes, his throat closed up at the very thought of eating.
'What was the point?' But he forced it down anyway, because eating, like smiling, was what was expected of him. Wether the food he swallowed remained in his stomach was another topic.
Conversations, once so easy to hold, started to become more suffocating. Every word that passed his lips felt hollow and empty of emotions. The small talk that once filled the air between his sect siblings and him, now felt like a check up he needed to do to appease their worries.
He could see the expressions on their faces, genuine concern, polite smiles, but all he could do was give them a laugh, a grin. Something to hide behind. He couldn’t bear to look at them for too long. He hated it, to feel their hesitant and unsure eyes on him, to feel how they see more and more of what he forces to conceal. And so he slowy started to avoide such things completly. He felt too seen.
He didn’t feel alive in the way they expected him to be.
The whispers were always there, hidden in the corners of his mind, always lingering, waiting for the right moment to creep into his thoughts. They started as soft murmurs, easily dismissed.
"He’s just a servant’s son."
"He doesn’t belong here."
"Why does the sect even tolerate him?"
It used to be so easy to block them out. To laugh them off, pretending they didn’t bother him. But now… now they were louder, clearer, persistent like the ticking of a clock, reaching him where he used to believe he was untouchable. Each time someone in the sect spoke to him, smiled at him, or complimented him, he heard the whispered contradictions.
“Does he think we don’t know? Does he think we can’t see what he really is?”
Wei Wuxian used to be able to shake them off. He used to stand tall against them, pretending they were nothing more than passing winds. But with every passing day, the whispers grew stronger, louder.
The pressure became more unbearable. It felt like the weight of a thousand expectations crushing and suffocating him.
It was all so subtle, so insidious that no one could see it. Not Jiang Cheng. Not even Shijie.
And he started thinking, more and more just to fill the emptiness in his chamber—the place he felt the most safe to hide, until even they reached a shadowed turn and it felt like he was caught insinde the spider web.
The dark fog obscured his vision and made everything feel… distant.
He wasn’t sure when or how it begun, but somewhere along the way, even his mind turned against him.
He was expected to be the perfect ward, the perfect head disciple, the perfect prodegy, the perfect Shixiong.
But no one had ever really asked what he needed.
Once again, his eyes grew heavy as he sat in the big room that felt too small. It had once been a haven, the place where he could retreat and be free from the labour of expectations and performences. But tonight, it felt like a prison. The candlelight flickered in front of him, casting shadows against the walls. He reached out, staring at his hands, pale and trembling.
'Is this really all there is to me?'
He could still remember, how he didn't feel the urge to resurface from the below the water surface, how he wondered what it would feel like to slowly run out of air and having a body to heavy to reach for the air it needed. He wanted to know, in that moment, what would happen where he to stay inside the waters, longer then it was humanly possible.
But he decided against it.
His shidi's and shimei's were waiting for him, expecting him to reapear from the waters. He didn't want them to witness the sight of a corps when they were still so young. It wasn't fair.
So he resisted the urge to drown. He started to tell himself that perhaps it was just a phase, that he was tired, that it will become better soon. That he will get better soon.
How naive he was.
He had spent so long pretending to be everything they wanted, to meet their expectations, but who was he? Who was Wei Wuxian when he wasn’t acting? What was left of him beneath the mask of laughter and charm?
Nothing.
The blood that ran through his veins felt cold now, sluggish. It felt like it didn’t even belong to him anymore.
The words began to seep into his mind again, like a slow poison, each one curling deeper into the crevices of his thoughts, wrapping itself around his consciousness. They were sharper now. They didn’t just sting, they scorched.
"You will only bring shame to the sect."
"A disgrace to the Jiang name."
"You’re nothing but a servant’s son. No matter how much you try, you’ll never be more than that."
They were like daggers, slicing through him with every thought, every moment. No matter how many times he buried them, they always rose again, more fierce, more insistent.
Wei Wuxian knew they were true. He knew who he was and what he was worth. So why do they hurt when he hears them? Why now, after all this time?
He had been fooling himself all along, hadn’t he? The laughter, the smiles, the carefree attitude, the mischief, it had all been a mask. Because people expected him to be like this. And beneath it, there was nothing but emptiness, a void that nothing could fill. Nothing but a child begging to be seen, begging to be loved, begging for someone—anyone—to tell him he was worth something.
But no one ever did.
He foolishly waited for something to happen.
But nothing.
Until tonight
He didn’t know how or when it happened, but something in him broke.
The knife was there, gleaming on his desk, forgotten and unnoticed until now. He had used it countless times before, the excuse it were for talismans and simple tasks. He knew he shouldn't feel the way he felt, everytime the metal opened his skin.
Tonight, it seemed like the only thing that could possibly make sense.
The only thing that felt real, like something he could control, to compensate for what he couldn't heal underneath, he will heal on the surface.
The room was silent, except for the sound of his own breathing, shallow and strained. His hand trembled as he reached out, the cool blade of the knife sending a shiver up his spine.
His vision blurred as he stared at the blade, and he felt his chest tighten, suffocating. The blood that filled his veins seemed to slow, to thicken. He could hear his heartbeat, but it sounded distant, like it was coming from someone else.
Slowly, he pointed the knife at his yet untouched skin.
With a shaky breath, he pressed the blade to his wrist. Dangerously close to his arteries.
Yet, it wasn’t pain that he felt. It was deeper. Something that had been building inside him for so long.
A method, an urge, that he used to make him feel something out of the numbness that was eating him alive.
Now, all he felt was-
Relief.
The first cut was shallow, hesitant, as if his body was unsure. The second was deeper. The third even deeper. Blood trickled down his arm, warm and thick, pooling beneath him. He watched it, entranced. The redness was beautiful in its simplicity, in its clarity.
He continued with one cut deeper and wider than the last.
It was strange. He felt no pain, no agony. It was as though everything had gone numb. His thoughts slowed, like he was sinking into a quiet, peaceful place where nothing could reach him.
And he continued.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Wasn’t this what he wanted?
No more expectations. No more performance. Just peace.
Would it really be so bad?
He continued without realising it.
Jiang Cheng would be angry, maybe even devastated. Shijie would cry, but she would heal. Eventually, the sect would move on. The world would keep turning.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
But he shouldn't go. Even if he was useles, surely he was needed to do for something. He shouldn't be so selfish. But-
The silence. The stillness. No more whispers, no more expectations, no more pretending.
Just peace.
The world would keep going.
The world didn’t need him.
He was just… tired.
His vision blurred, his eyelids growing too heavy to keep open. His heartbeat thudded slowly in his chest, sluggish, fading. He looked down and saw the state he left his body in.
'Oh'
He was bleeding...
More then he expected. More then he planed. More then he should.
On the other hand, was this really so surprising?
Yet, he did not care. In fact, he found it quite soothing.
So he didn't resist, didn't fight, didn't try.
His body felt light, drifting, like a leaf caught in the wind.
For the first time in a long time, his mind felt... clear.
Even as he colapsed on the floor, he didn't feel a thing. The red liquid, seeping out of the wounds that he inflicted on himself, embracing him like a warm hug, spreading on the floor.
His eyes grew heavy, his breath hitched—he held it, just for his heart to beat slower, his vision blured, while his body felt lighter.
But then, just as the blackness began to claim him, something was there.
A sound. A voice. A rush of footsteps. A scream.
It was distant, yet sounded desperate.
Who every that person was shook his body as if it would wake him up. He could feel the tears of the person falling on his cheek.
But it was too late.
Finally, the darkness fully embraced him and the last thing that flitted through his mind was the strange sense of peace that settled over him. The relief. The weightlessness.
And then, everything around him became to dust.
Jiang Wanyin had always known that Wei Wuxian was reckless.
To him he was '-an idiot. A loud, troublesome, insufferable idiot.'
An idiot who never thought before acting. Who took risks without hesitation, smiled through punishments like they were jokes, and brushed off criticisms like they didn’t matter.
Jiang Wanyin had never worried about him before.
Because there was no point.
Wei Wuxian always got back up. Always.
He had always been the center of attention. The one who laughed the loudest, talked the most, and stirred up trouble wherever he went just to make other people laugh. No matter how many times Jiang Wanyin told him to be careful, to stop getting involved in things that weren’t his problem, to stop pulling their name through the munds, Wei Wuxian never listened.
He was the kind of person people saw as some surce of hope to reach out for. His warm eyes and bright smile making such an image all the more inviting.
Over his dead body would Jiang Wanyin ever admit, that he, too, found himself reaching for that light.
When his mother lashed him with her words, he smiled. That smug asshole, always trying to look strong.
When he was forced to kneel for hours as punishment in their ancester halls, he made jokes with their shidi's and shimei's, who were brave enough to even come near him and risking to awaken mother's wrath, just to appease them from their worries.
When others whispered about him—about his background, about how he didn’t belong—he laughed.
It was annoying.
It was infuriating.
Jiang Wanyin never understood how could someone be so careless. So damn stupid.
And here they call him a geniuse when he is just as hole as a nut.
Yet lately…
Something felt diffrent.
At first, Jiang Wanyin hadn’t noticed.
He was too busy taking care of his own training, his responsibilities, his endless struggle to meet his parent’s expectations.
So when Wei Wuxian started to become less loud and obnoxious, he had welcomed it.
'Finally, peace.'
Finally, a break from Wei Wuxian’s his Shixiong's endless talking, his exaggerated storytelling, his irritating laughter and boisterous attitude.
It is what he had told himself at first. Trying to fool himself that he found the unusual silence refreshing.
That was until his A-Jie came to him one day.
"A-Cheng," she had said softly one evening, as they sat together in the main hall, "Have you noticed how A-Xian has been acting lately?"
Jiang Wanyin had scoffed at her concern. “He’s fine. Probably just tired from training.”
A-Jie had given him a look, the kind that made him feel like a clueless child.
"No, A-Cheng. It is more then that. I know it."
She wasn’t wrong. Of course she wasn't wrong, she was always the first to notice when something was off about her brothers.
Like always he dismissed it at first. Wei Wuxian can have rough days just like everyone else. He was yelled at by mother, again, got himself into trouble, spent too much time climbing rooftops when he should’ve been sleeping, drowning whatever his mind trubled him with alcohole.
And the next morning he was just as resilient and bouncy like the person everyone knew him.
So no one thought much of it at first. Surely it wasn't that unusual for someone like Wei Wuxian to get tired.
He, like everyone else, thought that he will be back to normale with the passing days.
That the moments of his disturbing silence will become less over time.
A few days passed.
Then a few more.
And nothing changed.
He couldn't ignore it anymore.
Wei Wuxian had become distant.
He was still there—still smiling, still talking—but his laughter wasn’t the same. His jokes felt forced, his enthusiasm hollow. It wasn't by much, but still he noticed.
Wei Wuxian stopped dragging Jiang Wanyin to meals. He ate less, barely speaking when he did. His laughter felt off—too sharp, too forced. He started hanging out less with their sect siblings after training. Hiding in his room and not comming out for hours.
What Jiang Wanyin thought to become less, started to occure more consistenly.
And today…
Today had been the worst of all.
During training, Wei Wuxian had been absent.
Not physically—he was there, standing with the disciples, sword in hand. But his mind was elsewhere, lost in something that made his gaze distant, unfocused.
Jiang Wanyin had watched him, frowning, waiting for him to snap out of it. But he never did.
And that’s when he really started to worry.
It was an unwelcome feeling, something Jiang Wanyin didn’t want to acknowledge. He had always played the role of the one who scolded, the one who yanked Wei Wuxian back when he stepped out of line.
But worry?
That was A-Jie’s job. Not his.
Still, Jiang Wanyin couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at his chest.
And now—standing outside Wei Wuxian’s door, about to head to his own room—he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
He hesitated.
Then, with an irritated sigh, he turned on his heel.
'I’ll just check.'
He’d go ask Wei Wuxian what was wrong, smacking him for making A-Jie worry, and be done with it, sleeping in peace.
But suddenly—
Thud.
Jiang Wanyin froze.
A loud noise from inside the room.
His stomach twisted, his heart picking up speed.
"Wei Wuxian?" He knocked, his voice sharper than before. "What was that?"
No response…
Something was wrong.
He knocked harder. "Hey! Answer me!"
Still nothing…
Dread started to form in his stomach.
His focuse and senses all pointed at whatever is behind that door.
The silence stretched. No noises appeared from the other side of the wall.
And then—
A smell reached his nose that, for a second, he thought his heart stoped.
Blood.
It hit him all at once.
Thick.
Metallic.
Wrong.
Jiang Wanyin’s mind barely had time to register the horror before his body moved.
Bang!
He kicked the door open and the reek of what it tried to hide only now more recognizable.
But once his view registered in his brain, he could feel his breath—his very heart—halt.
There he was, his oh so annoying, loud, carefree, idiotic brother, Wei Wuxian, lying on the floor.
He barely realized his own breath picking up.
His heart started beating again, louder and louder until it reached his ear.
Following a noise that stretched on both his ears, muting every noise that used to surround him.
He witnessed as the blood seeped out of every corner and wound he was able to see.
With every second he stood there, completely frozen, the pool of blood–of his brothers blood, spreads further and further over the floor under him.
Blood.
So much blood.
His robes were soaked in red, deep cuts running along his arms, legs, chest, everywhere. A knife lay beside him, its blade stained.
For a second he forgot why he was here.
He knew there was a reason why he stood here, in this room, in his brother's chambers.
He knew there was something he should do, but for some reason he didn't know what.
Why was he so frozen on his place?
Why couldn't he move?
But then, like he was suddenly drenched in cold water, like a switch in his brain, did he remember what was going on.
Suddenly, ice-cold fear embraced his entire soul and he could hear someone scream, but it felt distant. He then felt his own throat in pain. Was it him who screamed?
He could feel the adrenaline moving his body before his brain could.
But the moment het took the first step inside the room, his legs began to shake, his vision blure and bile rising in his throat. But he forced it down.
Despreat to reach his brother's body he took another step, then another.
But as his vision became more clear—what made Jiang Cheng freeze once again, was the expression on Wei Wuxian’s face.
A smile.
Not the usual grin, not his typical mischievous smirk.
It was soft. Gentle. Peaceful.
Something inside Jiang Cheng snapped.
His vision clear. His chest ached. His mind racing with the beat of his heart.
"Wei Wuxian!"
His voice was raw, desperate. Quick, faster then he had ever believed himself to be capable of, did he run to his brother silent form. Once he reached him he fell to his knees and with hands shaking cold he grabed at his brother’s shoulders, shaking him.
"What the fuck did you do?!"
He called for his name. Tried to shake him awake.
Over and over.
Jiang Wanyin bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. trying to force himself not to panick, to stay calm, to not waste time and do what he was thought to do.
He called his name again "Wei Wuxian! Wei Ying!".
But there was no response.
Wei Wuxian’s head lolled slightly, his breathing shallow. His skin was cold. his hair clung to his face with his own blood holding it there.
His brother looked in every way like a corps.
Jiang Cheng swallowed, pressing shaking fingers against his pulse.
Faint.
Weak.
Too weak. But still there.
He would not lose him.
He refused.
A choked sound escaped his throat—half a gasp, half a sob.
'Why? Why would he—?'
"You bastard." His voice cracked. "Why the fuck would you do this?!"
He barely registered the servants gathered at the doorway, staring in horror.
"What the hell are you all standing there for?! CALL THE HEALERS TO PREPARE FOR AN EMERGENCY OPERATION!"
That was the call, not only to the servants, but for Jiang Wanying as well to wake up and take actions until it's too late.
They ran, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t focus on them.
His hands were covered in blood.
His brothers blood.
Something inside him—something deep, old, unspoken—broke.
But he refused to let it happen.
Not now.
Not yet.
Not ever.
He positioned his brother onto his arms, gagging at how light he was.
'Why is he so light?!'
Jiang Wanyin doesn't know how much time had passed. What passed in seconds felt to him like hours long fight with his body and mind. Now feeling as if time moved faster.
"You idiot," he snarled as he stood up, with his brother limp in his arms, he run to the healing quarters.
"If you die, I swear to the gods—" His voice wavered. "–I will never forgive you for this, do you hear me!"
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer.
Didn’t so much as twitch.
Jiang Wanying had never been more terrified in his life.
He felt something wet on his face—he didn’t know if it was sweat or tears. Maybe both.
The Healers’ Quarters.
By the time he reached the infirmary, the healers were already waiting. But standing among them—Jiang Yanli. His A-jie.
She must have been nearby when the commotion started. But when she saw them—saw A-Xian—her face drained of all color.
For a moment, she was completely still.
She turned, her face pale, eyes blown wide in horror.
For a second, he could see she didn’t breathe.
Then—
"A-Xian!"
Her voice was shattered and in distress. Crying in dispair.
Jiang Wanyin hated it.
She rushed forward towards them, her hands shaking as she reached for their brother's bloodied cheek.
“A-Xian, A-Xian, please no—” More tears streamed down her face, her voice desperate.
The healers grabbed at him, trying to take Wei Wuxian away.
He didn't let go.
'No. He will die. If I let go he will die. They will kill him'
Jiang Wanyin refused to let go.
He can't let go. If he let's go his brother won't comback. They will make him leave.
"No!" His grip tightened. "I—he—I need to—" He wanted to fight them off, to kick them, to pierce Sandu through their guts.
He can't have anyone near him.
But in the back of his mind he knew that they are the only ones who could safe him.
Time seemed to slow.
Jiang Wanyin found himself panicking. He needed to let go, to let them help. But if he let's go now, Wei Wuxian won't come back.
He wanted to laugh histericaly.
"A-Cheng."
A-Jie’s voice. Soft. Pleading.
Yet it was enough to ground him.
"Please. Let them help him."
His breath hitched.
Slowly—reluctantly—he let go and the healers didn't waste a second longer, afraid their young master to rethink his choice, for them to take his brother from his arms.
He staggered back, his arms empty.
And once again he felt the need to be there, to watch, to be near and make sure-
The healers pushed forward, working quickly, and Jiang Wanyin felt himself being pulled back.
He fought against them.
"Let me go—LET ME GO!"
He was pushed out the room.
Then—
"What happened?!"
Jiang Wanyin turned.
A familiar, sharp voice rang through the air.
Jiang Cheng turned, and there stood his father and mother.
His father looked as if someone had struck him. His usually composed expression was gone, replaced by pure, open horror.
And his mother… Jiang Wanyin had never seen that expression on her before.
Her face was ashen, her eyes wide, her fingers clenched so tightly around her sword that her knuckles turned white.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
They just stared.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
They just stared.
At the blood.
At Wei Wuxian– his brother, his best friend, his righthand man– the child they raised.
The boy they took in.
The boy who used to be full of joy, always smiling, always laughing, always happy. The boy who lived through the days without a care in the world. The boy that shone brighter than the sun itself. The boy who had always been larger than life.
Now lying there, on the brink of death.
And Jiang Wanyin, who had spent his entire life trying to surpass Wei Wuxian–tried to hate him for that, tried to pretend that he didn’t care, now stood there, shaking.
Heart pounding.
Hands stained.
Fear.
Hurt.
Anger.
He was angry.
He was angry at Wei Wuxian for doing this. He was angry at the world for what it did to his brother.
But he was mostly angry at himself, for ignoring the singns wwhen they were right infront of him, for even daring to finding comfort in his strange behavior, if it was only briefly, when in truth his brother was probably planing his own death. For not being there.
Because now, he was standing here. Wishing his brother would throw jokes like he always did, wishing to her his laughter again, to pull pranks at each other again, drink and eating melons together while talking shit about everyone, to have a dual again. And right now, he could care less if his brother would win against him, he could care less if loosing every fight between them, as long as he was alive, still with him.
And he realized—too late, far too late—that he had never been more afraid to lose him.
He hated himself for trying to deny it for so long.
That he didn't want—couldn't—lose him.
Because to him he was family, he was—is his older brother. Blood be damned for those who care.
'You idiot!' he thought. 'Who gave you the idea that you get to decide when it's over. Just because it's your damn life doesn't mean I don't have a say in this'.
And so they waited.
Long suffering hours streatching into eternity and a silence no one was able to fill.