Words I've Been Singing

by sugasimp1212

Summary:

Jin Ling can’t remember the last time he got a decent night’s sleep, but it doesn't come as a surprise when he falls face-first onto his bed and his mind begins to race instead of shutting down. It’s been a wild, emotionally charged day–week–and for the first time in a long while, his brain is able to sort through and analyze things with no distractions. He almost wishes it wasn’t, because in the span of just minutes, Jin Ling comes to three undeniable, gut-wrenching conclusions:

1. Someone out there is trying to kill him

2. He's not even sure he cares–this past year has turned him into someone he doesn't recognize when he looks in the mirror

3. And, along the way, he has somehow fallen devastatingly, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with Lan Sizhui

…fuck.

Chapter 1: Numb (Linkin Park)

Notes:

General notes for the story:

1. I have been working on this fic (on/off) for literally a year T _ T and am still nowhere close to being done, but I keep wanting to change things and going back to edit which takes ages, so I'm going to try to edit one more time then post all of what I already have (roughly seven chapters) to force myself to move on with the fic lol

2. istg I just skimmed the entire mdzs series looking to help w any character or misc worldbuilding info but I haven't actually read the books in a year or two and I forget stuff so sorry if I write something that goes directly against canon💀

Uhhh actually that was it for now ig lol

Jin Ling has always been spectacular at rolling with the punches life throws at him, contrary to popular belief that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Granted more so out of necessity than anything, but still.

His strategy is simple: he tells himself everything’s fine, maybe gives himself permission to scream and punch a wall or two depending on the circumstances, and moves on. It’s proved largely successful for the last fifteen years of his life anyway, which is good enough for him, and most always works.

Today it does not. If anything, it forces him to realize just how wrong things are, if he can’t even handle his jiujiu anymore.

Perhaps it’s the increasingly frequent nights he spends staring up at his ceiling as his thoughts race, or the dull but persistent headache that won’t go away no matter how many herbal remedies he tries, or his less than ideal standing within his own council which prompted this whole meeting in the first place; whatever the reason, when his jiujiu insults him one time too many, Jin Ling snaps.

“–because all you ever do is whine, whine, whine–honestly Jin Ling, it’s a wonder you’ve made it this far–”

Jin Ling bites his inner cheek, his hands twitching at his side and eyes darting around the hall, silently lamenting the fact that there is no opening for him to cut in. He shouldn’t be surprised, this is how their meetings go more often than not.

Following months of lengthy exchange, his uncle had finally agreed to come out to Lanling, much to Jin Ling’s relief, giving him the opportunity to explain his rather pressing, delicate matter in person–and yes, he’s aware in doing so he’s only solidifying his status as a temperamental little mistress, given what a big stink he made about his jiujiu coming practically every week when he first became sect leader. These days, he’s too tired to care.

So, he resolves to apologize, admit he was wrong, needs help desperately–if you can believe that! Whatever it takes to fix the mess he’s created for himself, because the truth is, he is desperate, and his jiujiu is his last resort.

Thing is, he never gets the chance.

His uncle has always been a bit…prickly, but he is nothing short of pissed the moment he sets foot at Golden Carp Tower, snapping at servants, knocking things over, Zidian crackling all the while. Jin Ling’s spent the entire weekend memorizing all the points he’ll hit on, all the things he’ll say to his uncle. He falls into a deep bow when the other man approaches, only to be entirely waved off as the Jiang sect leader begins ranting about his awful journey was, between crappy weather, low-quality inns, and an absurdly high amount of angry spiritual creature run-ins–worst of all though, running into Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-jun. Jin Ling’s heart sinks.

He hardly gets a word in the rest of the day, and his feeble attempts to ease into sect-related matters the following day prove fruitless. His uncle finds any and everything to critique, never really listening. By the third day, even Jin Ling’s relatively saintly patience regarding his uncle has dried up, leaving him wanting to shrivel up into a little ball on the floor and scream.

“–always frowning like you’re so much better than everyone else, no wonder your relations with the neighboring clans are suffering–Jin Ling stand up straight–have you even spoken with the Qin, Yao, and Wang clan heads recently? Honestly Jin Ling, I thought you were better than this, it’s like watching a child taking up cultivation for the first time, completely useless–”

Jin Ling grinds his teeth, fists clenched, nails cutting into his palm. His uncle’s voice is still going–useless, childish, disgraceful–a knife twisting deeper with every word.

It’s funny really, no matter how many years pass, how carefully he crafts his armor, every criticism always manages to cut him to the bone.

But he tries to calm himself, just like he always does. Tell himself everything’s fine and this is just how his jiujiu is so there’s no use getting worked up over it, that it isn’t worth picking a fight with the other sect leader–

Stop. Breathe. Think. Speak carefully.

His mouth opens anyway, against his will.

“Yeah, well at least my own sect doesn’t fucking hate me.”

Everything goes still. His jiujiu comes to an abrupt halt, face frozen, flowing mauve robes swishing to a stop at his feet as well. The handful of servants he spotted earlier pause as well, abandoning their dusting and polishing in favor of tiptoeing out of Golden Carp Tower. But Jin Ling?

His brows are pinched, his lips curled back in that stupid automatic sneer, as he stands all too proudly at his side. He tosses his head indifferently, his long ponytail swinging past his shoulder, and crosses his arms tightly. His inner thoughts are an entirely different story.

While his body seems to function with a mind of its own, Jin Ling, internally, chokes on his words in disbelief, and dies a little inside as soon as they’re out in the open.

No no no–that isn’t at all what I meant to say–I only wanted to defend myself against all of Jiujiu’s accusations! Gods, what have I done–

“Excuse me?” The only word that can be used to describe his uncle’s voice is dangerous. Jin Ling doesn’t have to look at the other’s hand to know that sparks are beginning to fly wildly off of Zidian.

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully. All he has to do is shut up and bow, apologize, anything to fix this and shut it down before it gets anymore out of hand than it already has–

Today though, Jin Ling’s mouth really does have a mind of its own.

“You heard me,” he says, voice rising, turning to face his jiujiu head on and coming face to face with glowering amethyst eyes. “People actually like me. They don’t just flinch when I walk in the room and pretend to respect me because I wave some big sparkly ring around–”

The slap comes hard and fast. It’s the kind that sends his head swinging and will leave a mark to cover the following day. Jin Ling swallows thickly and resists the urge to cradle his cheek, where a handprint-shaped bruise is undoubtedly rapidly forming.

Gods what am I doing–this is all wrong–I’m wrong, I’m in the wrong, why won’t I just–why can’t I–I don’t want this!, I don’t–I didn’t–

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully.

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully.

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully.

Stop, breathe, think, speak–

“You arrogant little piece ofshit–what the hell do you think gives you the right to talk to me like that?” His uncle snarls, snatching Jin Ling’s collar and pulling him up roughly, forcing him to look him dead on. He can just make out his own figure reflected back in pools of bright purple, sporting a look so furious, he can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s seen it in his life.

It should be enough. Gods have mercy, why isn’t it enough???

Ignoring all thoughts of rationality, Jin Ling straightens and daringly locks the other’s wrist in a steely grip, staring unabashedly into his eyes. “I’m a sect leader now, aren’t I? What the hell gives you the right to talk to me like that!?” He challenges boldly. He doesn’t have the energy to pick up on the fact that the other sect leader’s arm is beginning to shake, let alone process it.

“Don’t you start with me! Just because you’re a sect leader now, something that you haven’t worked for a day in your life, handed to you on a silver platter because of your late parents–”

“Don’t you dare talk about my parents!” Jin Ling cries indignantly, chest heaving, suddenly shoving his jiujiu away. As he stumbles away his face contorts in a series of wild, nasty expressions. He reaches up to clutch his head, so angry he can hardly think.

His jiujiu won’t let it go and follows after Jin Ling, face fixed in a terrifying glare. “I’ll talk about them as much as I damn well please–I’m the one who knew them, not you! Your mother, god rest her soul, would be ashamed if she could see you now–”

Jin Ling can’t breathe. He sees red. Any last hope he’d had of saving the situation evaporates, as he doesn’t think anything can quell the burning, seething rage that now pools within him, invoking his mother like that–

–he needs to–

–he has to–

–he has to hit back–

“Well maybe she would still be here if you were actually a halfway decent brother and didn’t abandon Wei Wuxian when he had to take up the demonic path because he gave his golden core to you!”

Deafening silence follows. Jin Ling fights to get air in his lungs, his fingers hover around Suihua clasped at his side, eager to draw it and do something with all this–suffocating–rage–built up in his body, just begging for release. He’s only vaguely aware of the words leaving his mouth at this point between all the pain all over his body, especially his headache which has exploded into an acute, pounding migraine.

“You…you don’t have a goddamned idea what happened–how fucking dare you talk about things like that–”

Jin Ling swallows mouthfuls of air and leans against a pillar for support. He wants it to stop, he wants it all to stop, he wants–he wants–

“–you–…you don’t know shit about anything, you–”

“At least I’m not some sour old man who ruins everything.”

Now there is laughter–cruel and sharp and mirthless. His jiujiu’s laughter–who else laughs like that?–invades his ears, he realizes dimly that the other man approaches him, grabbing his collar once more and caging him against the pillar with the other.

I can’t think. My head–gods it hurts–Jiujiu won’t let me be, won’t let me go, won’t let me–

Yunmeng’s sect leader leans in until he’s right in front of Jin Ling’s face, his lips inches from his ear, and says each word slowly and clearly, holding his nephew’s eyes the entire time.

“How rich coming from you of all people. Jin Ling, who doesn’t know how to run a meeting, or read a budget. You forget ceremonial words, fly into tantrums more easily than a toddler, and can scarcely decide what to wear let alone how to allocate your sect’s resources. You think Lanling Jin is thriving under your brilliant leadership? You think your people don’t talk behind your back about what a stuck-up, spoiled brat you are? They laugh about you. They call you weak. They say Lanling Jin is collapsing under a boy who thinks playing dress-up makes him a leader. And maybe they’re right. You’re an insufferable, incompetent, spineless little prince without the faintest idea what it means to really lead. You think it’s about robes and rings and glory? A true sect leader has the confidence and wisdom to make the hard calls and always keeps a cool head. They take accountability for their mistakes and look out for their people no matter what, even if it means laying down their life–all concepts that you wouldn’t know a thing about, because you’re so goddamned selfish, arrogant, and prideful!”

Jin Ling’s ears ring, tears prick his eyes, his throat stings, his body aches. He has something of a moment of clarity, which only makes it all the worse as he pulls his shoulders back and raises his head, and says the worst thing he has ever said in his life.

“You’re just a bitter, washed-up relic from a dead sect. No wonder everyone leaves you.” His voice breaks as he delivers the final blow. “I hate you. I wish you weren’t my uncle.”

For the briefest of moments, Jin Ling catches a glimpse of intense hurt flash through his jiujiu’s wild violet eyes–and fuck–

There aren’t sufficient words to describe the pure, unadulterated horror he feels at what he’s said. But then the look in the other’s eyes is gone, replaced with a blazing indignation that even Jin Ling’s never seen before.

Jin Ling’s heart hammers rapidly against his ribcage, gazing silently at his uncle who eventually takes a step back, and then another, not a word leaving his mouth. His glare, if that word could even be used to describe the sheer fury in his eyes, gradually subsides to something that almost resembles apathy.

“JIUJIU I’M SORRY–”

His throat closes up, pride killing the words on his lips.

His uncle fully turns and leaves, walking almost calmly out of Golden Carp Tower. Jin Ling stays frozen, feet nailed to the ground, body shaking. He gasps for breath, eyes burning, head pounding.

Wait–

Those aren’t the words–

I didn’t mean to–

I didn’t want–

…

Wei-qianbei was…right. Learning to say sorry is perhaps the most important life lesson. One he’s still yet to learn.

He wants to run after his jiujiu, shout it from the top of his lungs, fall to the floor and beg forgiveness until he’s blue in the face, anything to erase that devastating look of utter betrayal, wrath, and now terrifying indifference, all directed at Jin Ling.

But instead he watches, silent and stricken, as the only family he has left takes off on Sandu far away towards Yunmeng, a dwindling figure in the sky.

After some time has passed–a minute or an hour, he couldn’t say–Jin Ling starts truly panicking, wondering what the actual fuck he’s just done. He comes out of his trance and sprints after the other sect leader, fruitlessly calling, “Jiujiu, JIUJIU WAIT, COME BACK!” His voice cracks pitifully, like that of a small child.

It’s too late though. His uncle is a speck in the sky at that point. Jin Ling is still unable to pry Suihua from his own grip to take off on it, quite at odds with himself. Instead, he slumps against the nearest pillar and digs his nails into his scalp, screwing his eyes shut and trying to get his erratic breathing under control.

The sun is just beginning to set, casting a beautiful golden haze over the front courtyard and shining brilliantly on his own aureate robes. Jin Ling wants to tear them off, crumple up and smash the Sparks Amidst Snow symbol, stomp on them for good measure. The peony burns molten hot against his chest, same as the vermillion mark on his forehead.

Love. Honor. Happiness. Wisdom. What a goddamned joke.

As a sea of conflict churns within Jin Ling his anger rises again, neither noble nor righteous, just blazingly impassioned and untamed.

How fucking dare Jiujiu say those things to me??? Insufferable, incompetent, spoiled brat?! Who does Jiujiu think he is?! Is he not the man who raised me?!?! If anything, it’s his fault I am the way I am!

Insufferable–I am not insufferable, I have–

–I have–

–there are plenty of people who…

I’m not insufferable!

Incompetent?! I am not! I’ve solved–…

Since I took over, I’ve worked on–countless–issues–and worked tirelessly to…resolve them…

Spoiled–just because I grew up in, and am currently the leader of the largest, wealthiest sect in China, I–…

…my people don’t…they don’t hate me, my administration, they don’t…they just–…

Growing more irate by the minute, and beyond words and reason, Jin Ling storms off to the training grounds, Suihua tight in his grasp and flashing in the fading light. He has a good mind to take some several hundred swings at the practice dummies, and then even more shots at the archery targets that lie at the edge of the clearing.

He’s wrong! He had no right to say those things!

Jin Ling draws Suihua and attacks the first mannequin he spots.

I’ve been busting my ass since Xiao-shushu died, trying to make everyone proud, to do right by my sect–

Jin Ling’s blows rapidly begin to resemble those of the brute Nie sabers, as opposed to the showy, graceful style unique to Lanling Jin. It doesn’t take long before the first mannequin is a mangled corpse of faux limbs lying on the floor.

I’ve given everything, everything I have trying to make it work, trying to fix everyone's mistakes, to fix it all, to make everyone happy, to–

A trail of no longer serviceable dummies trails after Jin Ling as he makes his way through them one by one, piece by piece.

Fuck Jiujiu for saying those things, fuck Xiao-shushu for lying and betraying everyone after all those years, fuck Wei-qianbei for letting his cultivation get out of control and killing my parents, fuck me for being such a massive–fucking–goddamned–failure–

Jin Ling pauses in his assault on one of the poor mannequins he had come upon. Suihua and his bow and arrows lay discarded at his feet, and instead he stares down at bloodied knuckles.

Fuck, fuck, fuck–

Jin Ling collapses in the dark, arms wrapped around his knees, shoulders shaking. He reaches for the clarity bell that rings softly and hangs at his waist, slowly turning it over in his hand and feeling the divots that his uncle had helped him carve all those years ago.

He lets out a huge sniffle and wipes a long train of snot coming out of his nose and then laughs almost hysterically, his voice cracked and dry. Some sect leader.

Jin Ling allows gravity to take hold of him until he finds himself lying fully on the grass, staring up at the night sky. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the infinite void of darkness, lit up by the stars and moon shining in all their glory. Cold, clear, and impossibly far away.

A frown pulls at the corner of Jin Ling’s lips as he raises a hand to trace patterns in the sky, searching for something–anything familiar. They soon begin to blur as tears resurface in his eyes.

But there–Tianshu, the ever-constant Pivot Star. Part of the Purple Forbidden Enclosure, the Emperor's seat in the heavens.

Jin Ling studies the star intently, circling it with his still raised hand. He wonders what it might be like to ascend, to leave all his earthly duties behind, to be at peace till the end of time among all the other celestial bodies. No difficult–or traitorous–uncles, no insufferable council meetings, no expectations at all, and thus no failures either. Just, watching the world go by, without a care…

Jin Ling lets his eyes drift over to the other stars and constellations. The heavenly dragon, celestial palace. There are still so many he doesn’t know, doesn’t remember.

Sizhui would probably know all of them of course; he’s smart, well-read, good at virtually everything, and probably into poetic crap like that.

Jin Ling pauses and narrows his eyes, wondering why thoughts of the Lan disciple had surfaced at a time such as this, before shaking his head and running a hand through his messy bangs, far too tired to properly analyze the matter.

Eventually he lets his arm fall and closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He shifts his hand to his throat and feels for the small stone that lies just under his robes, tracing its imprint as he thinks about the vast, boundless sky, everything, everyone it sees, touches. He wonders if his jiujiu is looking up at the same stars this very second. More than likely not though; the man spends most all his free time working, and has never been the stargazing type.

Oh, Jiujiu.

Upon reflection, Jin Ling isn’t so angry because his uncle was insulting him. He’s angry because he was right. And honestly, his anger has mostly faded by this point, and now he just feels depressed. On some level he’d known this the whole time, even while they were fighting, but he didn’t want to admit it, admit to himself that…

That…

Jin Ling lets out a sharp breath and forces himself to say the words, even in his head.

Failure. Jin Ling is a huge, massive fucking failure, always been but now more than ever, and his uncle clearly knows it. Worst of all, today he said things…things he can hardly think, could never repeat, that he didn’t mean in the slightest. All of his rage has been, appropriately, redirected to himself since.

Bitter, washed-up relic from a dead sect, gods what the actual fuck is wrong with him??? His jiujiu had lost everything, his parents, his sister, his brother, his home, his people. He’d dedicated his entire life to his sect, to service–how could’ve Jin Ling possibly said those things?? Telling him that everyone hated him, that he hated him, that he wished–

–and he’d left without so much as a threat to break Jin Ling’s legs. This is unchartered territory. Jin Ling has truly royally fucked up. He needs to apologize, deeply…he just–doesn’t even know where to begin…

Lying there quietly, with thoroughly damp cheeks, Jin Ling becomes increasingly aware of the tax fighting the mannequins had taken on his body, his head still pounding from his fight with his jiujiu earlier, and his stomach empty.

Belatedly, he wonders if anybody is going to come get him, come help him, make him go to dinner. He knows the answer in his gut. It’s not one he wants to think of presently, just one more dash of salt in his many wounds. He sorely wishes Fairy were here.

Fairy! Heavens almighty was today a shitty day to send Fairy to the groomer’s–seriously she goes once every couple months, and it falls today of all days?? Granted it wasn’t exactly planned, having her fall in that huge pile of mud and taking her to the other side of the city so late in the day, leaving her overnight.

Sect rules be damned, he’ll wash her himself next time–he’s the sect leader for gods’ sake! Anything to spare being away from her, because he knows she would’ve made today at least slightly more bearable.

After some time spent reminiscing about his beloved dog, Jin Ling forces himself up off the rough pavement and begins trudging to his quarters, nobody stopping him on the way, though he must look like hell. It’s for the best, he certainly doesn’t want to bother or burden or embarrass himself further. And he’s fine. He’s fine.

Jin Ling is not proud of what he does when he gets back to his room. He’s done it a few times before, sometimes because of fights with his uncle, sometimes because he screws yet another thing up, sometimes because just gets so angry at himself, even if he can’t pinpoint the specific reason why. In the grand scheme of things, it probably doesn’t even do anything, except make things worse. But Jin Ling would be lying if he said it didn’t give him some sort of satisfaction, like some kind of sick, self-served punishment.

There’s a small dagger that sits in the back of his desk, a gift from his xiao-shushu. Jin Ling doesn’t really care for knives and far prefers Suihua, or his bow and arrows, but he can understand why a certain someone had appreciated its size and stealth. Regardless, he’s found a purpose for it.

Jin Ling snatches it from the drawer, his grip shaky, and stumbles over to his bed, disrobing in the process. He stares hollowly at his bare arms, stomach, legs, and absentmindedly traces the faint scars left over from last time. They’re thin and white, and will likely continue healing until there’s nothing left at all. Part of him hopes so, anyway. The other part wants to be left with the reminder.

He stares at the blade in his hand for a moment, hesitating. This is the time Fairy would start whining and nudging him to stop. But Fairy won’t stop him today.

Jin Ling drags his dagger in familiar strokes, albeit deeper than usual, over his otherwise unmarred skin. This time he selects his wrists and forearms, his thighs and chest. He brings a towel to his mouth in an attempt to muffle his cries of pain, watching as tiny dashes of scarlet break out across his skin and slowly turn into little rivulets, flowing down his body.

For Jiujiu, he thinks. For all the people I’ve failed. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I’m not enough.

When he’s had enough, he pours water over the blade to clean it and half-heartedly wipes the mess his carved-up skin has become. He tells himself he’s fine, everything is fine, as he collapses on top of his bed.

He stares up at the ceiling, watching the shadows slowly stretch across the room. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel, because all there is is pain. He had hoped he would fall asleep quickly, but before he knows it his breath is hitching, and then another, until tears are falling one after the other, faster than he can wipe them away.

The room is dead silent. There’s no Fairy at his side, no aunt or uncle just down the hall, certainly no parents, and now perhaps not even a distant uncle in Yunmeng on his side. Jin Ling is alone, a fact that burns searing hot in his mind. He curls into his side and tries to remember what it felt like to not be alone.

Notes:

Any comments especially feedback are much appreciated, I want to get better as a writer and honestly something I'm rly struggling with is JL's characterization since I'm putting him thru a bunch of angsty stuff that he doesn't deal with in canon so the balancing has been rough and not the most successful😓

Chapter 2: Good Girl (The Go-Gos)

Jin Ling doesn’t want to get out of bed. His body aches in at least ten different places from all his fighting the day before, his skin stings where he marked it with his blade, and his mind is a hurricane of fragmented thoughts. He hurt his jiujiu bad, he has no one to turn to, he’s a sorry excuse of a sect leader who can’t make any good decisions. The list just goes on, really.

There are no attendants that come for him; his xiao-shushu had often come to see him in the morning, helped him dress when he was younger, eliminating the need for personal servants that were frequently switched out anyway. Now there’s just a void where he used to be, and that…that still isn’t something Jin Ling is ready to think about. The only thing that forces him up, and at the very last possible minute, is that he has a council meeting in less than half an incense stick’s time.

Realizing he waited too long again, Jin Ling springs up and flies around his room in a flurry, attempting to get all his robes on correctly, his hair up in a tolerably neat fashion, and fasten his necklace behind his head–and cover up his ugly handprint bruise from the day before. He scrambles to grab his papers for the meeting, eyes skimming over the room in the process to make sure he isn’t forgetting anything else important. They land on the pale satin qiankun pouch that sits innocently at his bedside table.

Fuck–I forgot to put it away from a few days ago, fuck–

After tucking the bag safely in a hidden fold of his bed, one last glance at the sundial outside reveals he has maybe five minutes before he’s late. And it will take around five minutes to even get to the conference room…

…approximately five minutes later, Jin Ling is sprinting through the halls of Golden Carp Tower, internally grimacing at all the servants and other members of the court he passes. He can practically hear his two uncles’ voices in his head, reprimanding him for presenting such an unkempt, disorganized picture to his own clan. Another strike for his ledger, though at this point who’s counting?

Jin Ling stops just short of the meeting room to catch his breath. He’s gasping for air and a little lightheaded, honestly feeling like he might faint. Just the sight of the looming sandalwood doors makes him want to fall to the ground and clutch his head and sob–and gods how pathetic is that, it’s only eight in the morning–but he can’t. He won’t. He takes several deep breaths and tugs at the chain around his neck before squaring his shoulders and going inside.

The thing about council meetings. Jin Ling didn’t go to them before his xiao-shushu died, most of the elders citing that he was too young and naïve and such, which, now he realizes was just translation for fuck you we don’t want some stuck up dumbass kid here. Does he understand, on some level? Yes. Does that make instantly having become sect leader with no knowledge of how to run the council any easier? No. It’s been a steep learning curve.

“Good morning everyone,” Jin Ling starts cautiously, inclining his head forward respectfully when everyone rises for him. A farce. He forces himself not to grimace. He avoids looking anywhere remotely near the vicinity of one face in particular.

Most people here are cold to him, casually indifferent, or wear a deceptively amiable façade. He isn’t sure which of the three he likes least. Perhaps the latter, because at least with the former he knows where he stands. Jin Ling takes care to ensure that his eyes don’t twitch during the chorus of “Good morning Sect Leader Jins.”

Taking his place at the head of the menacingly large conference table, Jin Ling spreads his feeble notes out before him, reigning in his shaking hands. His chest is tight, he doesn’t–fuck he doesn’t want to be here–not with him, ever since–

–NO–

–fuck he can’t think about it, he will not, not now, in a meeting. He resists the urge to gulp nervously, to stare down at his papers the entire time and avoid eye contact with everyone altogether, tempting as it is.

“Today is going to be an ordinary council meeting…all the council heads will provide an update on how their sector is doing, anything of import, and then that will be all.”

Though they all wear the Sparks Amidst Snow emblem on their robes, Jin Ling may as well have a giant red X painted on his chest instead.

Ge-xiansheng-his–biggest op–

His…his strongest critic–looks up at him, unimpressed, head tilted up challengingly from a few chairs down. Jin Ling quickly looks away before he can get lost in head. He-jiangjun shares a similar expression at his side.

Jin Ling scans the other council heads, looking for…maybe just one person who perhaps doesn’t hate him, no matter how justified. Jin-san-gongzi and Yi-xiansheng, both close to him, wear soft smiles of faux kindness that makes his skin crawl. Zhao-xiansheng, who looks irritated to be up so early, and Qiu-yisheng, who maintains his signature rigid, stern expression he’s likely worn all his life, are probably the best he’s going to get.

Jin Ling wants to rake his nails against the elaborately crafted mahogany table, or slam his head against it until he gives himself a concussion and doesn’t have to be here anymore. But, he keeps his face composed and continues, “Unless anyone has any pressing matters, then we’ll start going around the table in the usual order…”

They start with state affairs, then sect security, cultural affairs, and so on. By this point, everyone delivers the same spiel, that they’ve been closely monitoring their sections, everything is fine, of course they’ll let him know immediately if anything changes. Nobody has anything that needs approval today, same as the last council meeting and the one before that, so they finish relatively quickly. Jin Ling wants to scream.

“–and my subordinates have all assured me that everything is well, in all the districts. We will continue to keep an eye on citizens, to work with the security and law enforcement sector, and of course to make sure that the people are happy. That is all from my sector.” The state council head, Yi-xiansheng, says, responding to something the military head said. He finishes with an easy, practiced smile, vaguely reminiscent of Jin Ling’s xiao-shushu.

“Excellent work as always, Yi-xiansheng!” Guan-xiansheng praises. Despite being more familially connected than anyone in Lanling, with the exception of Jin Ling himself, the man always seems eager to prove something. Jin Ling used to scoff at him, but, well. Who is he to judge anymore? At least he can do his job.

His gaze drifts over to Jie-laoshi, the education head, still twisting his jade ring around his finger an incense stick’s time after he spoke, probably bored to tears. Jin-shenpanzhang isn’t faring much better by his side, a glazed look softening his ordinarily steely eyes.

“Yes, wonderful, great meeting,” Zhao-xiansheng mutters, barely looking up from his papers, eager to adjourn. Jin Ling stares at him in his stupid gaudy robes for a few moments and nearly opens his mouth, prepared to roast the lazy, disrespectful young man to high heaven, before remembering himself.

Having gone all the way around the room, the meeting is indeed virtually over. Beside Jin Ling the head of internal affairs, Jin-san-gongzi, the closest position to a deputy given their control over the Lanling Jin court as well as a distant relative, politely clears his throat and looks at Jin Ling imploringly. Jin Ling’s nails curl into his hands on the table.

As desperately as he too wants to leave the room for a multitude of reasons, he’s contributed exactly nothing the entire two hours. This isn’t it, he’s sure of it. They’ve barely done anything for weeks.

After Guanyin Temple Jin Ling was swamped in meetings, in tasks, all kinds of research and preparation, and spent every spare moment and then some he had trying to finish them. But then he kept trying to help and just–screwing up…lowering taxes, securing alliances with nearby clans, military and judicial reforms, all of it wrong, all of it his fault. Jin Ling…he knows by now that he isn’t the most trustworthy or responsible leader, that…that they don’t…but–but surely–

No. Who is he kidding? What could he do to help? He’d tried, many times, and look what he did. Screwed up everyone’s finances, made relations worse with neighboring clans, caused tension among soldiers and disciples and judges.

No, Jin Ling is a–he’s a…there’s no getting around it, he’s a worthless, idiotic, waste of space, pathetic excuse for a sect leader–for a person. It’s for the best that they keep him out of things. Besides, regardless of the sect’s true state, it isn’t like he can accuse the council heads of lying or anything, it’d be completely out of line given their seniority and experience vs Jin Ling’s youth and utter incompetence–and ultimately just give them even more reason to sack him, whatever in gods’ name that would look like.

All of this to say, Jin Ling doesn’t have any reason to prolong the meeting. He releases his nails from his hands and begins looking around the room at everyone, feeling himself losing face with every passing second. Is it better to keep fruitlessly trying, or to admit defeat and give up completely?

“That is…all, very good. Thank you, everyone. If nobody else has anything…”

People are already starting to pack up, scarcely anybody paying attention to him. Jin Ling’s chest feels heavy. He ought to just give up, he wants to give up–but when he thinks about his jiujiu, about his parents, how ashamed they would be of him–

“I actually have something!” He blurts out suddenly. Several pairs of eyes turn to look at him, and most pause or at least slow in their packing up. Jin Ling swallows anxiously, his throat dry, nearly shrinking in on himself before so many imposing figures.

What, what in the heavens is he going to say?? Trying to do something would only work if he actually had a real idea, which, last time he checked, he did not?!

“I had…wanted to…”

Gods what could he say–he can’t suggest anything overly ambitious since they wouldn’t–and shouldn't–entrust it to him in the first place, he can hardly confront anyone about the lying when his leadership is already so precarious and for good reason, what he really should do is just get out of everyone’s way–

“I want to take a tour of the sect!” Jin Ling announces suddenly, mind whirling a mile a minute. “I thought that…since I haven’t seen too many areas outside of here, I should–it would be good to–take a tour of Lanling! Um–Yi-xiansheng, perhaps you and your county delegates might help me organize this…tour?”

Jin Ling is met with a range of looks from the elders and council members. Suspicion, disgust, uneasiness, disinterest. Yi-xiansheng’s lip twitches downward before he smiles again. “Of course Sect Leader Jin. Why don’t we stay back to further discuss some of the details?”

Holding his breath, Jin Ling allows a very cautious smile to spread across his face as he nods. A tour of the sect, so random–it's not like he really even cares about getting out anyway!-but, it is a rather convenient excuse for him to leave. He hurriedly gathers his papers and walks the few steps to Yi-xiansheng, perched on the edge of his seat, looking at someone across the room before returning his attention to Jin Ling.

Yi-xiansheng isn’t exactly an elder, probably closer to his xiao-shushu’s age, but still on the older side. He’s a very distant cousin who’s been around the court for as long as Jin Ling can remember, always remaining neutral, never getting caught up in anything that doesn’t concern him. One time when Jin Ling was fairly young, he and A’Song were running through the halls with a jar of cinnabar paint and ran straight into Yi-xiansheng, spilling it all over him in the process. He hadn’t seemed exceedingly angry or blithely forgiving either way, just nonchalant (though Jin Ling still got in huge trouble from his yeye who’d also been there). Jin Ling wonders if the man still remembers.

“So, Sect Leader Jin. When would you like to begin this…tour, of yours? And where specifically would you like to go? What do you want to do on it?” Yi-xiansheng sits with his hands clasped neatly on the table, his head tilted slightly up and to the side to look at Jin Ling through the long strand of hair that sits beside his face, similar to his yeye’s hairstyle.

“As soon as possible!”

Fuck, too eager, he scolds himself–and, coming off as insensitive towards all the work Yi-xiansheng already has. Great.

“–not–to–put a strain on you, though! I know you are extraordinarily busy. And, I certainly want to visit all the counties, as many cities as I can. I think it would be good to see as many citizens of Lanling as possible, to…” He can’t very well say his real reason, to save face and keep busy when in reality no one needs him.

“…to see what life is like outside of Lanling Jin, and so they can meet their sect leader.” He finishes, a bit uncertainly.

Yi-xiansheng tilts his head ever-so-slightly again, and it has Jin Ling’s mind spinning rapidly once more, thinking, analyzing–he hadn’t thought any of this through, it was all very spur of the moment, is there something he’s missing? Being gone, surely it wouldn’t interfere with anything…well, he’d miss council meetings, which could potentially look bad on him–is Yi-xiansheng thinking about that? Jin Ling would think getting out of everyone’s hair for a month would far outweigh the costs of a mostly ceremonial figurehead’s absence.

“I know it’s going to interfere with work here at Golden Carp Tower, but–”

“Sect Leader Jin, I would not worry about such matters.” The council head offers a somewhat different smile that Jin Ling doesn’t have time to unpack before he continues, “It is…good, that you want to see the sect. I have a meeting with my county delegates later today. Perhaps you would like to attend, and we can begin planning and smoothing out details?”

Jin Ling begins to nod vigorously at the invitation before restraining himself, thanking, and then parting ways with the council head. When he’s gone, it’s just Jin Ling alone in the expansive room.

Jin Ling returns to sit in his large silken chair–his xiao-shushu’s chair–staring hollowly ahead of him, running a nail along the smooth edge of the table. Just a few months ago he sat here for the first time, brimming with nervous, eager energy, in spite of all the things that had happened, in spite of his lack of training. Finally, he had an opportunity to actually do stuff, to be a leader, to help, to prove his worth.

How horribly everything had gone since.

Look at you. Pathetic. How can you call yourself a sect leader? You’re helpless, a lost cause.

What’s the matter, Sect Leader Jin? Jin Rulan, Jin Ling. Not gonna fight back? Not gonna do anything?

You are nothing. You are worthless. You don’t belong here, you don’t deserve anything. You should do everyone a favor and just kill yourse–

–Jin Ling shoots up and snatches his papers, leaving the room before the walls get any closer, his throat any tighter. Being alone in that room with just his thoughts, it’s a dangerous thing.

Of course, him being alone with his thoughts anywhere isn’t exactly the best idea anymore, but that’s a separate conversation.

Jin Ling begins aimlessly wandering through the vast halls of Lanling Jin, unsure what it is he wants, what he’s looking for. He has the county delegate meeting later…he should probably head to the training grounds and check in with, spar with his disciples, though the thought of facing Jin Chan and his cronies is nauseating.

He looks down at his feet, putting one right in front of the other like he’s walking on a tightrope and trailing his fingers along the wall. He stumbles a little bit, causing the bell fastened at his waist to jingle. He reaches down to steady it, catching sight of his torn up hands, the bell–fuck–

The events of the previous night suddenly return to him in full force, flooding his brain, filling him with a burning sense of shame. Heavens almighty, his poor uncle, how–

–how could I–

–how could’ve I–

–oh gods–

Jin Ling comes full circle to earlier in the morning and decides he wants to fall through the floor, to magically be in his bed and hide under the covers for a really long time, pretending none of his issues exist, pretending he doesn’t exist. He can’t.

He takes a small step forward in the direction of his room, his figure tiny in the enormous halls of Lanling Jin, filled with larger than life paintings and elaborately carved walls and the thick scent of cinnamon and incense. He takes another small step and stumbles, ducking his head when he sees a group of servants passing, laughing quietly about something–probably him–

–no, no no no I can’t do this here, not in the halls not in the open I can’t, I have to–

–I need–my room–the hidden tunnels, I can get away, I can use them to get away–

–I can make it I just have to go–just around the next turn and back behind–it’s isn’t far–

–I can do it I can do it I can do it I can do it–

–I can’t do it I can’t do it I can’t–

“Fairy! Fairy come back, Fairy–oh, Sect Leader Jin! I see Fairy has found you. I’ll leave you then.”

Jin Ling is scarcely aware of what happens in the next moment, of the servant who speaks to him, of suddenly having the wind knocked out of him.

One second he’s on the verge of collapsing in on himself, crushed by the weight of his own thoughts, the next entirely overwhelmed by a giant mass of fur that banishes all his ruminations completely, for the time being at least. He thinks he calls out a wobbly thank you to the servant probably gone already, but is too overcome by his amazing, beautiful, ginormous, fluffy dog jumping on him, knocking him to the ground, panting and licking his face and–

Jin Ling smiles lopsidedly and throws his arms around Fairy, burying his face in her fur, forgetting everything else for one blissful moment.

Fairy’s eyes are wide and bright as she pulls back to look at him, wagging her tail rapidly, still sitting on Jin Ling–a very comforting weight. Jin Ling runs his hands through her fur, spewing compliments about how nice she looks, how soft she is.

Fairy’s tail soon stills as she leans closer to him though, sniffing his face. Jin Ling instinctively pulls back, looking to the side–it’s fruitless, there’s no hiding from Fairy. Her ears drop and she lets out a low whine, slowly licking his cheeks, where for all he knows there were streams of tears just before. Jin Ling lets out a frustrated sigh and turns his head slowly, allowing Fairy to do so. She pulls back after a bit, staring at him, blinking, the question written plainly across her face. What’s wrong? Jin Ling looks at the floor, unable to answer.

After a few more moments, Fairy nudges him up and begins steering him in the direction of his room, Jin Ling’s plan to take the hidden passageways long forgotten–Fairy wouldn’t be able to fit through some of the sections anyway.

Jin Ling is so focused on having his best friend back, he doesn’t even notice all the people he surely passes along the way, and not too much later they’ve arrived in his room. Fairy pushes him to sit down at his desk and stands up on her hind paws, placing her front ones on his chest and licking his face a few more times. Okay, a lot more times, until Jin Ling is laughing, if you can imagine that.

“Fairy, Fairy stop, gross–I’m gonna have to take a bath if you don’t stop!” Fairy slowly pulls back, fixing him with a look that Jin Ling knows means You need to take a bath anyway. She’s right, he hadn’t taken one yesterday. Fairy is significantly cleaner than him right now.

She sits back and looks up at him, the look from before returned. What happened? Jin Ling bites his lip and looks away, but then she whines quietly again and puts her head in his lap and just–dammit, Jin Ling couldn’t deny Fairy anything.

“I got in a fight. With Jiujiu,” Jin Ling’s voice comes out quiet and hollow. “It was, um…it was, pretty bad.” Fairy studies his face carefully, not reacting one way or another, pushing him to continue.

“I don’t…I said a lot of really, really bad things to him. Before he visited, I was just thinking about that big meeting from a few weeks ago…I was going to tell him about it, but then he got–he was, oh Fairy, you know how he is, the tiniest thing can set him off, make him use that tone, and usually I just–I don’t do anything, I take it, because I could never win an argument with him, you know, and picking a fight with Jiujiu–it’s just not worth it. But I was in such an awful mood and I-I just…” Jin Ling hangs his head low.

“…I said…I said that I hated him…I told him I wished he wasn’t my uncle.” Jin Ling says the words just above a whisper, mortified to admit them to Fairy. Fairy who is a wonderful person–well, dog–and never does anything wrong…

…alright yes, since they’re a dog they also don’t have as complicated a life and relationships and responsibilities as Jin Ling but still. Jin Ling is well aware he isn’t worthy of her.

Fairy stares at him a few moments longer, big blue eyes trained on him intensely. Jin Ling’s lip quivers, he reaches up to rub at his eyes before anymore tears can escape. Fairy places a paw on his thigh before turning to his desk and, with great effort, getting paper out and nudging a brush and ink tray closer to him. It would seem that Fairy had reached the same conclusion he had. He just…

“Fairy…what do I write? How could I possibly begin to apologize–what if it’s too soon, what if he doesn’t want to hear from me ever again, I mean I wouldn’t blame him–what if–”

Fairy lets out a small, not unkind bark, nudging him closer to the desk, insistent. That settles that.

“Okay, okay, I’ll write, I’ll write to him! I just…” Jin Ling doesn’t know what to say, as he picks up the brush, dips it in wetted ink, steadies the paper. Fairy moves her head a teeny bit, brushing her nose against his arm. I know. But you have to try.

Jin Ling nods resolutely and sets to work. He thinks about all the things he feels, all the things he wants to say to his uncle. All his shame, not just from the fight, but as the Jin sect leader. He doesn’t get into too much detail there, preferring to tell his jiujiu in person, but alluding to it as best he can.

For once, he doesn’t hold back, and is brutally honest about the way Jiujiu snaps at him sometimes or can be so negative with no prompting, how it brings Jin Ling down and makes him feel sad, anxious, like he’s always walking on eggshells.

Even writing these things, very delicately with time to reflect on the proper phrasing, he’s terrified he’s going to make things even worse. He knows, however, that this is a critical component at the heart of the issues in his and his uncle’s deep but nonetheless rocky at times relationship. He isn’t sure he’ll have the courage to address it any other time, so, he does it now. And he’s very honest, too honest perhaps, about all his own shortcomings, because it’s far from a one-sided issue. Jin Ling knows he’s no peach himself. But–maybe they could be better together, corny as that sounds.

Most of all though, Jin Ling writes about how indescribably sorry he is. How much he loves his uncle, how heavily he regrets the things he said, that they aren’t true in the slightest. How much he wants to apologize in person, that he understands if it will take ages to earn forgiveness, if ever.

When he’s done, he reads the letter aloud to Fairy, who quirks her mouth in the closest thing to a smile she can manage. Jin Ling smiles faintly too and ruffles her ears when he’s done. He digs a few dried fish chunks out of the jar he keeps on his desk for her and murmurs, “What would I ever do without you, Fairy?”

Jin Ling sends the letter off, and by then it’s time for lunch–something he might’ve skipped had Fairy not been practically shoving him to the dining hall. He hasn’t had a proper appetite in weeks, but Fairy needs to eat, and she won’t let him off easy.

The Lanling Jin dining hall, at the heart of the entire court itself, was designed to house generations of Jin families. It boasts an elegant, high-ceilinged dome in the middle, the picture of wealth and elegance, all polished gold and lacquered wood. Now, Jin Ling feels like he’s surrounded by ghosts.

The massive table stretches throughout nearly the entire expanse of the large room, highlighting just how thin the main bloodline has grown. Jin Ling takes his usual seat just left of the head. Beside him three chairs remain pointedly, painfully empty.

Jin Ling pushes his thoughts away as servants begin bringing out dishes in stiff silence, a new set of unfamiliar ones–no one ever seems to stay long. Jin Ling wonders what it would be like to cook something with his own two hands instead of awkwardly letting strangers wait on him for no reason other than that he was born into money. He picks at the rice, moving it around with his chopsticks, passing the time until Fairy’s had her fill.

After lunch, it’s time to head to the state delegate meeting with Yi-xiansheng. Jin Ling instructs Fairy to wait for him near the training grounds, much to her dismay, where he’ll head after, knowing that not everyone is as on board with a massive two hundred pound spiritual hunting dog as he is. He continues on to the meeting room near Yi-xiansheng’s office, seeing a few other young men walking in carrying scrolls and brushes.

The meeting room isn’t as large as the main one they use for council meetings, thank the heavens. There’s sixteen seats, one at the head of the large table for Yi-xiansheng where he’s already seated, twelve for each district delegate, and a few extras for guests, such as Jin Ling.

He tentatively approaches, waving smally at Yi-xiansheng when he looks up. The man maintains his smile and gestures for him to come over. At the council head’s insistence, everyone takes their seats, Jin Ling at his side, looking around somewhat optimistically at all the delegates he hasn’t had the opportunity to meet. Perhaps…perhaps he might talk to some of them individually after the meeting.

“Good afternoon delegates, today Sect Leader Jin is here with us, to plan a tour of Lanling. He hopes to visit all the districts, to meet some of the citizens from all over the sect, and…‘see what life is like there.’” Jin Ling withholds a scowl, sensing the change in tone at the last part, and very faint laughter a split second later.

“Before we get to our main meeting we’ll begin planning this, so Sect Leader Jin can offer his input. Po-xiansheng, perhaps you can start, maybe telling Sect Leader Jin how many days you think he’ll need to see some notable parts of the sect, what those parts may be, and so on. We’ll go around the table then–”

Jin Ling pulls out his own paper he brought and begins taking notes. Some of the delegates suggest more days than others, which–Jin Ling wants to see everything equally, not favoring any counties–but then the sizes and populations are different and all, and hey what does he know, so he lets it go. A lot of people mention merchant hubs and districts, food and poultry, mineral and gemstone processing centers, large and influential estates.

Jin Ling realizes, not for the first time, how little he knows about Lanling, how little of China he’s seen. Of course he knows Yunmeng Jiang fairly well, and sure he’s been on a few night hunts, especially since everything went down with his uncle and Wei-qianbei and the Lan Clan, but it’s a very large land, and in terms of Lanling especially…

“–then that settles it! You’ll be gone for three weeks. We’ll finalize your itinerary, you’ll bring some disciples, each delegate will show you around before handing you off to the next, and you’ll leave at the beginning of next week. Now, thank you for joining us, Sect Leader Jin. We won’t hold you any longer since I’m sure you have many things to attend to, being such a busy man and all.”

Jin Ling pauses in his writing and looks up at Yi-xiansheng, at all the pairs of eyes trained on him, faces he doesn’t have the time to read. He looks back at the council head, the lighting in the room causing shadows to fall across parts of his face, his serene smile.

“I…”

What could he possibly say? He had hoped to speak with the delegates, get more personal input, learn about them, but…no, it was stupid to think he should stay. He wouldn’t help at all, he would just be in everyone’s way, people who actually do work. Jin Ling smiles tightly and picks up his papers.

“Of course. Thank you everyone for having me, I’m sorry if I disturbed your work. Please, continue your meeting.” Jin Ling stands up, pushes his chair in, and slowly walks to the door, Yi-xiansheng already having moved on. He steps outside and rests his back against the large set of double oakwood doors, running one of his hands over the stone that lies against his chest, trying not to destroy the notes he’s taken with his other.

Better, he tells himself. That wasn’t…awful. I didn’t stutter. I didn’t lash out. I smiled once or twice. That’s something.

The rest of the day blurs. Jin Ling legitimately blocks out the next several hours, throwing himself into drills and repetitions. He keeps his corrections helpful, his comments short, and doesn’t let himself so much as blink at Jin Chan and the others’ constant jabs. It’s a shitty situation, that much is true, being the sect leader who’s supposed to perfectly manage everyone and be above such petty matters when he really wants to just throw hands with all his clan’s juniors.

Finally training concludes for the day. He grabs a quick dinner before finally returning to his room, well and truly exhausted. He carefully strips out of his clothes and sinks into his mattress, kind of hoping to fall asleep immediately. His plans are thwarted.

“Fairy, what is i–oh.” Fairy is whining and nudging up against the cuts he’d left the other night, her eyes heavy and sad, taking on an almost tear-stained appearance.

Jin Ling lets out a resigned sigh and rolls over to pet her, scratching her head by her ears. “Fairy, I’m sorry, I had–things were pretty bad yesterday, you know…it’s not an excuse, but…”

Fairy continues whining lowly. Jin Ling sighs again and, very reluctantly, goes to bathe. When he’s done he properly cleans and dresses his wounds this time, then finishes getting ready for the night and eventually curls up in bed with Fairy at his side.

As his eyes adjust to the impossibly large room, the shadows that paint the walls and ceiling, he tucks his head and nuzzles even closer to his dog. He wishes, not for the first time, that his brain had an off switch.

Meetings…the sect tour…that damned fight with his jiujiu, insubordinate juniors, the satin pouch tucked away in his bed, his cuts–

Jin Ling groans and blows out the last candle on his side, fully settling in and resting an arm along Fairy’s back, resolving to name constellations rather than stew in his plethora of problems.

“G’night Fairy…hopefully tomorrow is a better day.” Fairy lets out a little grunt, wishing him goodnight as well.

Notes:

Small notes about chinese words/names/characters, I decided to use chinese titles interchangeably with the english ones like jiujiu/uncle for example. Also here are all the council members and their names/positions, I sure as heck can't keep track of them and im the author lol so figured I'd better throw anyone who reads this a bone (yes I spent way too long choosing the characters for everyone's name on pleco, feel free to analyze them at your leisure lmao)

-Ge/蓋-xiansheng leads intelligence (xiansheng just means Mr.)

-Yi/易-xiansheng leads state affairs

-He/和jiangjun leads the military (from my understanding jiangjun roughly means general)

-Guan/關-xiansheng leads economics

-Jie/解-laoshi leads education (laoshi means teacher)

-Jin-er-gongzi leads food supply (I made him a Jin cousin so he got the title second master of Jin, er means two and gongzi young master)

-Jin-shenpanzhang leads the judicial system (made him another Jin cousin but since he's a judge (shenpanzhang supposedly means presiding judge) I gave him that title instead of gongzi)

-Zhao/趙-xiansheng leads foreign relations

-Cao/操-xiansheng leads security

-Jin-san-gongzi leads the Lanling Jin court (idk in my mind kinda like the mayor of a capitol since they have such a big sect so their like palace or whatever is probably huge, also san means three so third young master of Jin since he's another cousin)

-Qiu/仇-yisheng leads the medical field (yisheng means Dr.)

-Yue/樂-xiansheng leads cultural affairs (idk kinda like an event planner esp bc there's so many big festivals and as the biggest wealthiest sect others have high expectations of them)

-Shan/單-xiansheng leads spiritual matters, like idk anything Daoist or Buddhist or any other religion/philosophy related

-Jin-yi-gongzi leads logistics so like anything planning/transport related ig, also a Jin cousin (yea ik in canon if someone is the first young master they omit the yi but some people also still call Jin Ling Jin-gongzi I think so idk I didn't want any confusion)

Wow I hated making this list and I created these ppl I'm so sorry, they're not like critical critical to the plot esp rn I just wanted to make like a guide if ppl wanted to go back and check who ppl are

Chapter 3: Castle (Halsey)

“H-ho–how much longer, Shaowei?” Jin Ling asks the lieutenant leading them to the twelfth and final district, trying in vain to maintain some semblance of authority, to keep the chatter out of his teeth. The sky is bleak and the wind unforgiving. Had the report he’d read for this district mentioned that the temperature dropped to those of late autumn in Lanling Jin, he would’ve dressed warmer. He’d assumed it would be fine to wear what he normally did, based on the “gentle, refreshing summer air.” Liars. He’ll certainly be having words with Yi-xiansheng about that when he returns…maybe.

“Not long at all, we’ll be there soon Sect Leader!”

Really? Jin Ling wonders in pure disbelief. He hasn’t seen any signs of life, of society, for quite some time, save for the road they’re on. No crops, no wells, no signposts. He knows they’re quite far out in the country, but still…

An ugly sound breaks Jin Ling out of his thoughts–a regretfully familiar one.

“Hahahahaha, Jin Rulan, what’s the matter, can’t wait just a little bit longer? So impatient! Do you need to go tinkle? Are you cold? Do we need to stop so you can get a wittle blanky?”

Jin Ling’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly–he’s gotten quite good at ignoring Jin Chan and his stupid taunts, if he does say so himself. Reprimanding him or making threats is futile, given his branch of the family’s power and connections, as he’d learned the hard way. Sticking it out seemed to be all he could do. It’s hardly a long term solution, but with the way Jin Ling’s administration is going, hey, long-term plans may not even apply to him.

Jin Chan’s circle of cronies begin laughing behind Jin Ling, undoubtedly at one of the many dumb nicknames they’d given him that they thought was so clever, Lazy Jin Rulan. The urge to snap back itches in his throat, but he clamps down on it. Jin Chan isn't worth the fallout–and Jin Ling's not sure he'd win anyway.

Below at his horse’s heel, Fairy lets out a low, nearly inaudible growl. A small smile tugs at the corner of Jin Ling’s lips, knowing there’s at least one person, or dog, who’s on his side.

“We’re here, Sect Leader Jin!” A guard from up ahead hollers back, bringing his horse to a halt. Jin Ling and everyone else in their party follows suit, coming to a stop in one large cluster.

Jin Ling rubs his horse, Feifei’s, neck and ears in gratitude for the long journey, looking around in astonishment. It’s even worse than the last district! If they hadn’t been called to stop, he’s almost certain he would’ve ridden right past it.

There’s a very light smattering of old, worn-down looking structures, all quite small in stature, that sit a ways back from the road. The grass that leads up to them is dry, a very muted shade that can hardly be called green, as are the few trees in the area, which is otherwise completely barren.

Jin Ling keeps turning his head, looking for…something, something more, some sign of life, but it’s like he’s stepped into a ghost town. The structures’ wood appears to be practically rotting through–he still doesn’t see a well, or even a little creek, a mountain stream. There can’t…possibly be people who live here, surely not in these conditions? And it’s so cold, not even winter time yet…perhaps, further up the road, there are more houses, communal structures…?

“Ah! Sect Leader Jin, right on time. Welcome to Shuangfeng Qu, what a pleasure to have you.” Zang-xiansheng, presumably, makes his way through the sea of guards and disciples to Jin Ling, a wide smile stretched across his face. Maybe Jin Ling’s just tired and unfocused after traveling for the last three weeks, but he can’t help but think how similar Zang-xiansheng’s person and disposition are to all the other district representatives he’s met.

“Thank you, Zang-xiansheng, the pleasure is mine.” Jin Ling bows courteously and draws his face into a now-practiced expression of diplomacy. “What is first on the agenda for this district?”

Jin Ling had been allotted only one day for the final leg of the journey in Shuangfeng Qu, aproposly named Frostpeak District. It had been described to him as a quaint, picturesque mountain village, almost like a retirement community where people went to get away from the busy life. It had sounded nice in theory, but…

In all honesty, Jin Ling hadn’t let himself look forward to much on this tour–but the mountains…well, maybe a small part of him was looking forward to them, just a bit. He was finally getting to see the world, Lanling–not from palace balconies or through secondhand reports, but for himself.

“You’ve all been traveling all morning, we’ll head to the inn we’ll be staying at so everyone can have some time to set their things down, take a break, and then we’ll have lunch there. If this is alright with Sect Leader Jin…?”

“Yes, of course, lead the way Zang-xiansheng.” With a spur of their horses, everyone’s following after their guide, further up the mountain. Conditions do not improve.

Jin Ling keeps his face schooled the entire time, but…well there’s no getting around it, the district is entirely different than that in the reports. The area looks flat out impoverished. Can people genuinely thrive under these conditions? Shouldn’t Lanling Jin be doing more to support them?? Are there even people here???

The sun occasionally peeks out from behind a cloud, but other than that it’s overcast and shadowed, too cold to be considered comfortable. What little green there was below seems to drain away with each pace their party takes up the mountain. Still no sign of anything, anyone, except the intermittent houses, which look more like shacks that sit forebodingly at the edge of the barely-there paths leading up to them. One of them is missing a door altogether, and when Jin Ling peeks in he sees a lone chair in the path of the entryway.

Once again, he would’ve kept on riding, if not for the representative that brings them to a stop in front of a slightly larger building. It really isn’t that different from all the others they’ve passed, just a bit bigger is all. The wood is marginally less rotted, the little grass out front somewhat maintained.

Jin Ling is eager to meet the innkeeper and ask about life here, what a day looks like, the struggles they must endure living so high up on a seemingly desolate mountain, how Lanling Jin might be able to help–but Zang-xiansheng instructs them on where to leave horses and where to go inside, as if there is no innkeeper at all.

Jin Ling sets a few bags in his room, wondering how everyone else will possibly fit in the few others. It takes a minute to realize that they really won’t, which causes an relatively unfamiliar feeling to spread throughout his system. It’s on the tip of his tongue for a few moments before he eventually identifies it as shame. Jin Ling’s eyes turn downcast and he bites his inner cheeks. It would be fruitless to say anything, to offer to share, so he shoves the thoughts from his mind and grabs his overcoat to head downstairs. He gets some water on the way and takes a moment to collect himself, finally returning to the sparse common space and approaching the district representative.

“Zang-xiansheng, thank you so much for all your efforts on this trip,” he says in what he hopes is a kind tone, discreetly sizing the other up.

Upon closer inspection, he had not been wrong; Zang-xiansheng is almost startlingly similar to the other delegates. Likely around twenty-five years of age if Jin Ling had to guess, the same small bun done up in the back with a thick ribbon securing it, clothing all identical save for the varying district emblems–which, fair, it is a uniform–same expression, the one he can’t quite puzzle out.

Everyone’s been very amiable towards him, occasionally not fully answering, downplaying, or redirecting an answer. They all smile at him. The look in their eyes–it isn’t the same as if his jiujiu were smiling, it’s…it’s almost hidden, isn’t it? Like there’s something else?

But then, it's dumb to expect his county delegates to look at him the same way as family. Gods, Jin Ling’s hardly been in a right state of mind lately.

Zang-xiansheng smiles that smile again and looks down at Jin Ling, clasping his hands neatly in front of his robes. “Of course. I hope you have been enjoying the trip so far. Are you ready for lunch yet?”

Jin Ling hesitates only a fraction of a second, keeping his hands deliberately loose and open at his sides, maintaining eye contact. “That sounds wonderful, perhaps we might meet the people who keep this inn as well?” So far so good.

Zang-xiansheng hesitates a moment as well, his smile nearly dropping so quick that it very well could’ve been Jin Ling’s imagination. In a second he’s the same as before, if anything was ever amiss.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Sect Leader Jin. The people of this town are quite busy, many of them are off hunting in the woods I suspect while it’s still daylight. Maybe we’ll see some people returning closer to dusk.”

A true ghost town, Jin Ling thinks grimly. His face must shift, because the man hurries to reassure him that all is well. He’ll have to work on that more.

“Not to worry though, the innkeeper and his wife had pre-prepared meals before leaving this morning. I have to say, the wild boar meat here is delicious, I’m sure you’ll love it–”

Jin Ling is ushered to an outdoor table where several disciples and guards have begun regrouping, eager for lunch. Jin Ling couldn’t care less about lunch, he would trade his next three meals just to meet one person here!, as he’s beginning to realize he very well might not.

It was nearly the same in the last town, everybody seemingly gone, only there for a day not even. At long last he’d managed to meet a property owner, who didn’t reside there permanently, and told him everything was fine despite the apparent general lack of basic human necessities.

A few minutes later lunch is being served–not by the innkeepers, by their own servants. Zang-xiansheng was right, the boar meat is tasty, but food is the last thing on Jin Ling’s mind. He sneaks away pieces to give to Fairy at the side of the table.

Zang-xiansheng encourages everyone to take their time, of which most have no qualms. Jin Ling fiddles with the hem of his coat, flexes his fingers, trails his nail along the patterns of his clarity bell–

Jin Ling’s chest sinks, upon remembering he still has not received a response from his uncle from that fight weeks ago. He’d sat down and written everything out again, sending another in case the first had gotten lost. Then he’d sent a small Jin butterfly to make sure that they were in fact received. No response. He was being ignored. He’d been trying not to think of it while touring the sect, not wanting it to interfere with official matters. ‘A true sect leader always keeps a cool head’ after all (which was rich as fuck coming from his jiujiu), but…

Unable to sit there a moment longer, Jin Ling stands up, hands splayed on the rough table, a splinter digging into his palms. Jin Chan and several others dramatically roll their eyes a few chairs away, but he pays them no heed.

“Zang-xiansheng, we’ve been here quite some time, and the sun will begin to set soon. Surely there’s still much else we have to do before the day ends and the tour is over?” Jin Ling prods as politely as he can muster; a sharp contrast to how he behaved not six months ago. That was when he was still the invincible young master of Lanling Jin without a clue as to how the world worked, always under his xiao-shushu’s, and by extension Sect Leader Lan and Nie’s, protection. When he hadn’t spurned one of the only–no, perhaps the only person to ever love him, excluding his long-gone parents.

Zang-xiansheng closes his eyes and smiles graciously, dipping his head forward. “Of course, Sect Leader Jin. We’ll begin cleaning up here, and then take a stroll through the village. There’s a scenic path through the woods I thought you might like to see.”

Jin Ling swallows. He returns the smile, the one he’s practiced. He sits down. He knows better than to lift a hand and help clear the dishes by this point in his life.

They finish cleaning and getting ready to head out. They see no one while walking to the trail, in spite of Jin Ling’s hypervigilant watch.

The trail itself isn’t bad, but it would’ve been better if all the plants weren’t so bare, if they ran into some animals, or people, along the way. The only one they do see is a lone bird soaring high in the sky, flying far away from them. Jin Ling also suspects that this isn’t an oft-used local trail, given the freshly cut grass and branches, and lack of a truly worn path.

When they return to the inn the sun is just beginning to set, casting everything in a dusty bronzed haze. Everyone has been dismissed to do as they please until supper, but Jin Ling holds back, digging his maps and reports out of his satchel as Zang-xiansheng begins walking away.

“Zang-xiansheng, hold on if you please–just a moment,” he grits out, words polite but tone still in need of work. He’s flipping through the dogged parchment until he lands on Shuangfeng Qu. He’d studied it arduously before the trip, and along the way when he had time, and they just don’t–

Zang-xiansheng pauses before spinning around, hands behind his back, hair still perfectly squared away despite the hike through the woods. “What seems to be the matter, Sect Leader Jin?” Hickory eyes blink at him, unwavering in their look, mouth still fixed in a honeyed smile.

Jin Ling pauses too. He’s a little out of breath and flushed, things he tells himself are just from the mountain trail, all the uphill walking. Because all of the sudden his heart rate picks up and his thoughts jumble–which is utterly ridiculous because there’s no reason why talking to a junior official under his command should make him so nervous, absolutely not–he’d done so with such ease in the past, so he shouldn’t be–this shouldn’t–

Jin Ling’s mouth is dry. Zang-xiansheng’s eyes continue to bore into him. He clutches the papers in his hands before thrusting them out in Zang-xiansheng’s line of sight, the other man’s eyes casually dipping towards them, and then back up at Jin Ling.

“These reports,” Jin Ling reigns in the shaking in his voice, furiously fighting the sudden urge to turn and run. “They just…don’t quite match up with what we’ve seen–supposedly there were several hundred people who live here, and, it’s just, we haven’t seen a single person yet. And the area was a lot bigger on the map than what we’ve covered today as well. Surely…there must be something that we’ve missed, something…”

Jin Ling falters in pursuit of the right words. He feels his heart pounding and adrenaline surging. Zang-xiansheng eyes him coolly while the wind blows past them, rustling up some dry leaves around their feet, pushing a few branches in the distance up against one another. The only sound in the otherwise deathly silent town.

Zang-xiansheng lowers his eyes. His smile shifts, he tilts his head, laughs blithely. “Sect Leader Jin, surely you must know that maps and reports–they’re not always entirely accurate. Sometimes information simply isn’t known and must be estimated, as is the case with many such district documents. Perhaps the numbers are off, but I assure you, this is Shuangfeng Qu, and really all there is to it. It’s a simple mountain district in which people keep to themselves. It’s a nice life, truly, the people are more than content, and you need not worry. I should know, after all, I’m the district delegate.”

Jin Ling blinks at the man, forcing himself not to breathe so heavily, digging nails into his palms. That…that’s not right?? To explain away the absence of hundreds of people in a dilapidated town with the desire for privacy–

“Oh…I see, that–that explains it then. Thank you very much, Zang-xiansheng,” Jin Ling finds himself saying as the delegate continues to stare at him, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he has time to process them.

The information…it just seems…it must be blatantly wrong, he has yet to see an single person the entire time they’d been there–

–but Zang-xiansheng is so sure, so confident, the way he looks at and speaks to Jin Ling–

–no, Jin Ling must’ve done something wrong, must have misunderstood–he is always the problem.

“Of course, Sect Leader. I will see you later.” Zang-xiansheng turns and walks away. Jin Ling swallows thickly and puts his maps away.

It…it is true, it is impossible for documents to be completely accurate in cases such as this, and they probably make them sound nicer on paper than they are in reality. Everything here…it must be fine, if the man says so…

…or–

Well. Or I’m just being fed more lies about the sect’s true state because I’m too incompetent to actually solve anything, which is the whole reason I sent myself on the tour in the first place. But regardless–there’s nothing…nothing for me to do, nothing I could do to…

With a still heavy chest, Jin Ling wanders around until dinner time, mulling over how his tour has gone. Eventually he sits on a tree stump by the side of the main path, Fairy at his side, feebly hoping to catch sight of some of the supposed hunters on their way home.

“What do you make of it all Fairy?” Jin Ling absentmindedly scratches her ears and feeds her pieces of lunch from earlier, of which she’d already gotten a huge share. His eyes are locked on the edge of the woods in front of him, scanning, still hoping for just the smallest sign of life, something to prove to him that things are alright here, that nothing is amiss. Even if it doesn’t matter, and there’s nothing he personally can do about it if they’re not.

Fairy lets out a noise that isn’t quite a bark or a whine, somewhere in the middle. A conversational tone, almost. Jin Ling briefly glances down at her eyes, slightly narrowed, also watching the woods as she chews.

“Yeah. It is weird,” Jin Ling mutters, tossing her another piece of pork and leaning back a bit. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his bangs probably, pondering over his next move.

It had been nice to see the sect. There were moments where Jin Ling felt like he was actually serving a purpose, learning about important regions and their features. But then there were also the moments where they skipped entire towns, when Jin Ling forced himself to ask the uncomfortable questions only to receive unclear answers, when delegates told him all the districts were fine and needed no help.

It’s all an illusion; Jin Ling is just a child playing sect leader, who will soon return to Lanling Jin with all its pointless meetings and dismissive disciples.

Jin Ling lets out a very low groan, forcing his hands away from his bangs before they get any worse. Fairy licks his hands, a few scrapes still healing from when he’d lost it on the training grounds those few weeks ago, when his jiujiu…

Jin Ling shakes his head and adjusts his hand, allowing Fairy to better lick it. He ruffles her ears with the other one. “You hungry, girl? You must be, there’s not a lot of food to be had around here. Don’t worry, tomorrow we’ll be back at Lanling Jin, and there will be plenty of birds for you to chase around and hunt. Plus the kitchens.” Fairy lets out a satisfied grunt, resting her head on his thigh.

“We should probably head back. Tomorrow’s going to be a very long journey getting back to the court, we’ll have to leave super early–even still it might take longer. If we didn’t have so much stuff, we might be able to just travel on swords…” Jin Ling doesn’t mind traveling on foot, he often does because of Fairy. Upon reflection, he’s actually grateful for the extra time he won’t have to be back in Golden Carp Tower.

Jin Ling gets up and dusts his robes off, pulling his coat tighter around him while walking back to the inn in the fading light. He finds a loose stone that he kicks for a bit, before sending it far away by accident that sends Fairy bounding after it.

“Fairy!–” Jin Ling rolls his eyes, running after his hound. It isn’t like they’re in any particular rush to get back to the inn, nothing’s really happening and there’s still a little time before dinner, judging by the rapidly setting sun.

“Fairy, come on, we need to head back–we shouldn’t be around here anyway, this house might belong to–someone…”

Jin Ling halts in his tracks. Straight in front of him, not ten paces away, Fairy is sitting and wagging her tail in front of an incredibly surprised looking man, perhaps around his uncle’s age, clutching a few logs of firewood and staring at Fairy like she’s a vicious beast.

“–oh–hello Sir! Do you live here, in Shuangfeng Qu? Are you a local?”

They must be, because by this point Jin Ling is more than acquainted with everyone in his party, and this man is not among them. His wide dark eyes shoot over to Jin Ling, slowly approaching, what he really hopes is an easygoing smile breaking out across his face (he hasn’t practiced this one as much).

The man’s eyes rake over Jin Ling, likely taking in the fine yellow robes, the Sparks Amidst Snow symbol, the red dot on his forehead–he quickly turns away and begins retreating to the house.

“Hey stop–I mean–uh, wait–Sir please! I want to speak with you! I mean–if that’s okay!”

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully. His xiao-shushu always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Jin Ling isn’t very good at it, but he’s trying.

He carefully follows the man, motioning gently for Fairy to get back lest she scare him any further. The man continues backing away.

“I mean…of course you–don’t–have to! I will leave if you’d like! I just–wanted to speak with someone who lives in the area, to see…to see, um, how things are going here? If um–if-if Lanling Jin could do anything to help, if–”

The man finally stops, just shy of a flimsy back door hanging off its hinges. Jin Ling chews on the insides of his cheek, his hand awkwardly clasping his arm behind his back. Aw, fuck, he’s probably bothered this guy and blown the whole thing, trespassing on his land, with his giant dog no less–Zang-xiansheng had warned him that the people here liked to keep to themselves, that they lived private lives–

“You want to speak to me?” He asks, finally speaking back to Jin Ling, tone unreadable, voice low, almost dangerous, like his jiujiu’s. Jin Ling is tempted to approach further but keeps his distance, hesitating before nodding slowly. His eyes narrow just slightly as he squints at the man in the barely-there light, suddenly sensing that something’s off, trying to place what it is.

“Yes…I would very much like to speak to you–or others–I haven’t seen anyone here all day. You see, I’m visiting from Lanling Jin…” The man is practically shaking, his face rapidly shifting between ugly expressions, brows and eyes and mouth contorting in borderline fury, as Jin Ling tries not to gape.

The man lets out a humorless laugh, a mocking one, that Jin Ling is all too familiar with. His mouth hangs open a tiny bit, trying to make sense of the situation. He isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, but he does know when someone wants him gone. His stomach begins to churn.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? Speak to us? Help us? What are you guys playing at? What kind of sick, fucking torture method is this now–”

All of the sudden the man lunges towards Jin Ling inhumanly fast, a crazed, impassioned look in his eyes–he’s so caught off guard he doesn’t even have time to draw his sword–

But a blade swings out in front of him nonetheless, stunning the man, cutting him straight through the middle–he lets out a fierce, monstrous howl of rage, disappearing before Jin Ling’s very eyes. A shiver wracks his body as he blinks, placing a calming hand on his chest, his pendant, eyes darting around, settling on–

–Zang-xiansheng. Zang-xiansheng is at his side, an impassive expression on his face, glancing at the now empty space in front of Jin Ling before putting away his sword and dusting off his hands. Jin Ling’s fingers sift through his bangs–he turns around, mouth agape, before looking back at the district representative–

“A…a–ghost…?”

“Indeed,” the man confirms, beginning to steer him away from the scene, meanwhile Jin Ling tries to move back, to crane his head and try to catch a glimpse of–he doesn’t even know what. He felt something–something almost dark though, fleeting as it was, something he’s never felt the likes of before–

“I am deeply sorry if they disturbed you Sect Leader Jin, I suppose it must have slipped my mind since it’s such a rare occurrence, but there are a few ghosts that appear here every once in a while. You know, people that die here who are angry and bitter, and go around causing trouble for all the others. These are all outliers, naturally, seeing as most people here are quite content.”

Jin Ling has nearly maxed out his talking to officials capacity for the day, but he can’t just not ask about–about whatever just happened. He twists away from Zang-xiansheng to better speak with him.

“Xiansheng, that ghost–he seemed…he seemed deeply disturbed by me, by Lanling–he seemed to think that I meant to harm him, that I…there was some energy, this qi that he, that I…” Everything had happened so fast, Jin Ling finds he can’t even put his questions into words.

They come to a stop. They’re near the inn, where from the sounds and smell of it, everyone else is already inside and ready to eat. With immense difficulty, Jin Ling holds his ground under the official's smile and gaze.

“The people here value their privacy, and are distrusting of outsiders, Lanling officials or not. Some even draw inane conspiracy theories about us, one of which that ghost must have been.” He says each word slowly, enunciating fully, as if explaining things to a small child–and then it hits Jin Ling.

Oh gods that’s it! That’s the way everyone’s been staring at him, all the delegates–they look at him with that knowing look in their eyes, that controlled smile, they look at him like he’s…like they’re just entertaining…

“Sect Leader Jin, you need not concern yourself with Shuangfeng Qu. It is not an important district, and the locals don’t care too much for those who don’t belong here. You’ve seen all the district has today, which is nothing. Tomorrow you’ll return to Lanling Jin and can forget this place even exists. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

For the briefest of moments, Jin Ling needs to school his face, to withhold an irritated, nasty expression he used to wear all the time, one that hasn’t made an appearance in quite some time. But a second later it’s gone.

Pathetic, helpless, lost cause–

Insufferable, incompetent, spoiled–

Jin Ling forces himself to nod slowly. “I understand. Thank you, Zang-xiansheng.”

His chest aches. His head hurts. His throat stings from holding back tears.

The man babbles on about something meaningless, leading him to dinner inside the inn–still no innkeepers.

“–just the last time I was here. In fact, the birds were so numerous one could hardly see the ground, though they’ve migrated by no–Sect Leader–where are you going?” Jin Ling stalks past the dinner table, instructing everyone to begin eating; they don’t need to be told twice.

“I’d like to go night hunting on the mountains. I’m going to get ready.” Several disciples groan loudly as Jin Ling continues up the stairs, amidst protests, to change into more appropriate clothing and get his bow and arrows. A few minutes later he’s at the door, ready to go, Fairy waiting patiently outside and wagging her tail. Jin Ling takes a few deep breaths and splashes some water on his face.

“Sect Leader Jin, please reconsider. You have a very long journey tomorrow, it’s near dark out now–your disciples are still eating, they don’t want–why, you haven’t even eaten yourself!”

Face carefully expressionless, Jin Ling looks down and adjusts his archer’s gloves. “We can leave later tomorrow if need be; no disciples need come with me, I’ll be fine with just Fairy. I’ll eat when I return.” He nearly adds, “And, Zang-xiansheng, darkness is sort of the point of night hunting.” He doesn’t though, biting his lip instead, ignoring the stinging that lingers in his throat.

Jin Ling is more than ready to set off, but they won’t just let him go off on his own, mostly because it would be disgraceful to Lanling, especially when so many disciples are readily available. So, finally, Jin Chan and the others agree to hurry up and go get ready. It’s nearly a half hour later when they’ve all finished and changed and are ready to set off with the proper supplies. It isn’t long before the taunts start–one of the many reasons why Jin Ling had wanted to go alone.

“Stupid Jin Ling, I bet we won’t even find anything all the way out here in bumfuck nowhere, and even if we did you probably couldn’t catch it, not without your precious jiujiu, or all those golden nets.”

Jin Ling’s fingers curl around Suihua as the group of them approaches the forest; he tries not to think about how much he agrees with Jin Chan’s assessment. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, tracing the imprint of his necklace under his robes. He tries to let the pointless anger leave his body, as some of the others poke fun at him too. Fairy growls lowly and shoots Jin Chan a dirty look.

“Enough. This is no time to be messing around, we’re on a night hunt. I’ll write all of you up for insubordination when we return to Lanling if this persists.” Maybe one or two disciples recoil at that idea, but Jin Chan quickly puts an end to that.

“Oohhh, I’m so scared, not some paperwork!” His remark is followed by low snickering. Jin Ling doesn’t dignify it with a response.

As they’re pushing their way through the thicket, Jin Ling is horrified to realize that his throat is aching and eyes stinging, still on the verge of tears, and furiously fights the urge to cry. These guys cannot see him cry.

They walk for some time in silence, the only sound the crunching of dried leaves and branches under their boots, or the occasional noise from Fairy, all else silent. A light mist creeps around their feet, growing thicker as they press onward, wrapping around them and all the twisted trees. Overall, it isn’t as helpful in clearing Jin Ling’s head as he’d hoped it would be, not with his company.

Jin Chan is just starting up another round of insults when Jin Ling holds up a hand to halt everyone, ordering them to dim the lights. His eyes narrow and widen a few times, adjusting before zeroing in on a group of shadows far away he knows was just moving, but has gone still now. Watching.

A horde of angry ghosts, or fierce corpses maybe? Probably not yao or guai, judging by the shapes. He hopes they’re just low level ghosts, if that is indeed what they are, that they’ll be able to exorcise them without actually fighting.

Jin Ling brings mentally flips through all his knowledge of ghosts and spirits, recalling his earlier interaction as well, and indicates for the others to slowly crouch down. He slowly points a finger over to the group opposite them.

Jin Ling takes a few more moments before formulating a plan of attack, and then conveying it to his disciples. Though rude and insolent, at the very least they seem to know when to shut up and follow directions, and begin splitting off to form a two-pronged attack. Jin Ling takes the right flank, eyes locked on the group of shadows the entire time.

Jin Ling notches an arrow, noticing that as they get closer the group seems to split up, ducking into thick underbrush, behind trees. Coordinated. Calm. Adaptive. Definitely not low-level spirits. His stomach sinks. In the back of his head he prays that he isn’t leading everyone into some kind of ambush that will get them all killed.

When both sides of his party have stopped, Jin Ling counts off with his hand, steeling himself for the worst. One. Two. Three.

There’s some screaming and clanging as blows are exchanged, which party attacked first indiscernible. He grits his teeth, wishing there was some light in this thick forest so he could see what they were up against.

Jin Ling charges toward a figure directly ahead of him. They immediately dodge his attack, fast and graceful–not a corpse then. Mid-step he switches over to his sword, drawing Suihua in one fluid motion and coming from above, but his hit is blocked once again and followed up with an immediate riposte. The two of them go back and forth as Jin Ling tries to get a better hold on the situation and ascertain what they're up against, when a large branch, with rather unfortunate timing for his opponent, falls close to him and causes him to stumble to the ground, giving Jin Ling the opening he needed to gain control.

A bit sloppily for his liking, Jin Ling manages to topple over the other being, Suihua at their throat in less than a second, rendered immobile though by the other blade holding it firmly in place. He can’t believe what he sees when his eyes adjust.

“Sizhui?!”

Notes:

Shaowei, from my understanding, means lieutenant, also if anyone else is confused abt all the different kinds of spirits I thought this was a nice refresher/explanation: https://www.tumblr.com/adhd-wifi/615310322154209280/tonyglowheart-adhd-wifi-妖魔鬼怪-in-mdzs (I also referenced the ghost hierarchies from HOB since bc why not lol)

I study Chinese but am not nearly fluent/smart enough to come up with wordplay insults so these were the ones that chat cooked up for me lol that the jin juniors use against him: Jin Rulan/金如兰 -> Jin Rulan/金如懒 (last character was switched from orchid兰 to lazy懒), and Jin Ling/金凌 -> Jin Ling/金零 (last character was switching from…idk the exact meaning of his name lol my dictionary says ice/insult/approach/soar lol凌 to zero零)

also, for other Chinese learners/speakers, just learned the Chinese word for Fairy's name is just 仙 meaning like celestial/immortal being, so the fact that it was translated as Fairy (which I could see if it was specifically 仙女) is kinda sending me lmao

Chapter 4: Enchanted (Taylor Swift)

“Jin Ling???”

Jin Ling immediately scrambles away, getting off the white-clad youth and calling out to the other disciples in the process, “Everyone, it’s the Lan juniors! Hold your fire!” Sizhui calls out a similar thing to his group.

“…Sorry–about–that,” Jin Ling eventually forces out through gritted teeth, roughly resheathing Suihua.

Great. Just what he needed at the end of a long day, accidentally attacking another clan’s juniors on an already disastrous night hunt.

After slinging his bow around his shoulder as well, Jin Ling bends down and offers a hand to Sizhui. Sizhui stares at him owlishly for a moment with those wide gray eyes of his before accepting it and allowing Jin Ling to pull him up.

His hand is warm, Jin Ling notes. Jin Ling doesn’t know when the last time he held someone’s hand was, but the moment is over before he can even begin to savor it.

“Thank you,” Sizhui says slowly in response, a bit aloof, still eyeing him a little funnily. In the meantime the rest of the Lan and Jin disciples begin to gather around them. When Fairy also returns to Jin Ling’s side, he realizes belatedly that some poor Lan junior had been attacked by her…whoops.

“Sect Leader Jin,” Sizhui says, drawing his attention back, as he and all the other Lans fall into a bow. Jin Ling’s mouth hangs open a little, hands twitching to reach out and stop them–he’s their friend for god’s sakes–but a split second later he restrains himself.

He’s not their friend; he’s the leader of a sect, a wealthy and powerful one at that, and they’re just the juniors of another clan. Jin Ling’s shoulders sink almost imperceptibly, as he runs his tongue along the back of his teeth.

“Lan S–” Jin Ling goes to return the bow, realizing dazedly that it’s no longer appropriate for him, a sect leader, to address another clan’s disciple by their first name, courtesy or otherwise. He hardly cared a lick about that stuff in the past, especially when he wasn’t surrounded by officials and disciples, but now…

“Lan-gongzi,” he amends, nodding for the other Jin disciples to follow suit. “What brings you to Lanling?” He asks politely enough, rising once more, looking back and forth between the white-clad juniors. His brows lightly furrow as he wonders if it’s just him, or if Sizhui and Jingyi are taller than the last time he saw them.

A look of surprise flits across Sizhui’s face at Jin Ling’s question, and he glances back at the other Lans.

“…Lanling? Are we really that far north?”

When Sizhui asks the question, more rhetorical than anything, Jin Ling briefly panics and wonders if it’s possible his fuckery has reached new levels, and he somehow teleported them all to Gusu.

“Ohh, um–heheh, funny story Sizhui,” Jingyi pipes up off to the side, clutching a worn piece of paper. “So, you know when I dropped the map in the stream a while back? Well. It turns out that the map is not as serviceable as we thought, and I…may or may not have…been–um. As sure of where I thought we were going as I said, and…I think we’re lost.” Jin Ling’s so relieved, the thought of rolling his eyes doesn’t even cross his mind.

The Lan juniors glance at Jingyi, nearly indiscernible frowns tugging at a mouth or two, but Jin Ling has to give them credit, for the most part they don’t react. Sizhui closes his eyes for a moment and takes a small breath, reminiscent of Zewu-jun. When he’s done, he turns back to Jin Ling, face perfectly schooled.

“Sect Leader Jin, please forgive our intrusion onto your land, it was an unfortunate accident.” Sizhui bows to him once more, but Jin Ling purses his lips and waves him and the others off.

“No need. I’m sure it was a genuine mistake.” To trespass on another clan’s land in an official capacity without some kind of notice could be seen as a grave offense, especially depending on the clans. Thankfully, the Lans and Jins are on friendly terms, so it isn’t a huge deal.

“So–what brings you all the way out here?” Jin Ling asks, feigning disinterest as he fiddles with his bow, noticing his own disciples starting to grow restless to the side. Dammit, not a good sign–it’s bad enough he has to take their shit in his own territory, but in front of the Lans? That would be…less than ideal.

“We’ve been tracking a ghost the last several weeks, a menace level. It isn’t too powerful, but it is getting stronger, and has left a few casualties in its wake. We’ve been trying to communicate with it, to see if there’s anything it wants, but it’s a very angry and uncooperative ghost. We may have to resort to suppressing it, or even dispersing it soon. Are you all…also on a night hunt?”

Jin Ling jerks his head down affirmatively, exasperatedly praying to the heavens that none of the others speak up with some snide remark about being dragged off against their will.

“We actually had our ghost just a few minutes before, it can’t be far. We thought it was you at first. If you aren’t pursuing anything else, would you…like to join us, in trying to find it?” Sizhui asks kindly, with the most genuine smile Jin Ling’s seen in months.

For most of his life, Jin Ling’s been a do-it-yourself kind of guy; if he had his druthers he’d be alone at the moment. Once upon a time he might’ve shrugged the offer carelessly off and gone his own way, but the thought of even being in the presence of the Lan juniors, given all the other company he’s kept as of late, honestly sounds like a refreshing breath of air. Unfortunately, his feelings aren’t the only ones he has to consider.

Jin Ling’s eyes dart over towards Jin Chan and all his cronies, wondering how much shit they’ll give him for saying yes. In all fairness, they’ve only been out twenty minutes at most, and they’d had a fair amount of down time earlier in the day during which he’s sure they were all napping–plus he moved their departure time forward for the next day. They’re far from a reasonable bunch though.

“Thank you for your invitation, we would be honored to work with such knowledgeable disciples and learn from you.” He replies eventually, inclining his head forward, hoping he’s being courteous enough as befitting of a sect leader. His own disciples begin to groan behind him, quietly at least. He shoots them a warning glance, more for show than anything.

“The honor is ours, I’m sure we will learn from you,” Sizhui responds with equal gentility, a song and dance of social rules and customs. Jin Ling has to force himself not to laugh at the absurdity of the statement, nevertheless.

The two groups huddle up and make some quick introductions for those who haven’t met, after which Sizhui gives them more information on the ghost with occasional input from the other Lans. They’d first become aware of the ghost in Caiyi Town where it’d severely injured a little boy, prompting Gusu Lan to get involved and send disciples to investigate. From there they’d tracked it quite a ways north, following the strings of casualties that didn’t appear to have any relation. Young, old, men, women, rich, poor. The Lans never received any response when they played Inquiry, rare as that was, other than angry screaming and flashing lights.

“–that sums it up, I’m afraid that’s all the information we have.”

Jin Ling rests his head on his fist, smoothing out part of his robes with the other, trying to puzzle out anything the Lans could’ve missed since it helped to have a fresh set of eyes sometimes–not that his input is anything special. The odds of him solving something the Lans couldn’t–it’s…laughable. Perhaps he should’ve declined their invitation, so another clan wouldn’t witness him screwing up their night hunt and making a fool of himself. But he can’t back out now–and he has to show engagement somehow…

Once the Lans finish making a few more remarks among themselves, Jin Ling takes a deep breath and looks back at Sizhui, speaking up.

“H-Has the ghost ever attacked any of you?”

What the fuck–what the actual shit, did I just fucking stutter??? In front of the Lans?!

Jin Ling curses himself, desperately wanting to crawl under a rock and die. His officials already knew what a dumbass is he but the Lan juniors?!, gods not them too–his question was probably so stupid, everyone would look at him like he was some kind of idiot and point and laugh at him and–

“No…no they haven’t. I’m not sure if they’re scared of us, maybe? Whenever we find them, it’s like…it’s like they throw a fit, screaming and making objects fly all over the place, before disappearing until the next time we see them.”

Jin Ling lets out a small sigh of relief that nobody appears dumbfounded by his question. Sizhui and the other Lans look thoughtful; his own disciples stopped paying attention several minutes ago.

“If we’re all ready, we can continue on?” All the Lans and Jin Ling nod. As they get up, Sizhui adds, “Jingyi, you are off navigation for now. Lintai, you take over.” Jingyi laughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his head, while the other disciple agrees and takes the waterlogged map and compass.

They end up walking in a long, spaced out cluster, everyone assigned a direction to watch so they have all sides covered. Sizhui and him take the front with Fairy, most of the other Lans in the back, and most of the Jins in the middle. Jin Ling is just relieved that he gets to be separated from Jin Chan and all the others, even if only for a short while.

They haven’t completely banned talking, so long as it’s quiet; Jin Ling hears very low murmuring behind him and figures he should probably be polite and say something to Sizhui, but his mind draws a complete blank. He never has anything nice to say, and wouldn’t silence be better than accidentally insulting the other? What would he even say? They’d already spoken earlier, established why they were both there and what’d they’d been up to. It’s like there’s nothing left.

Fuck fuck fuck! It shouldn’t be this hard! Gahhh what do people normally talk about–I could say something about the night hunt, but–we already covered all that stuff–shit, uh–the weather?? Fuck what to say what to say what to say–

“Sect Leader Jin, how have you been since we last saw each other?”

Oh–how are you–duh. Gods he’s fucking dumb.

Jin Ling’s always been shit at social stuff and ends up being overly pessimistic and blurting out insults he barely processes, but even he knows that saying he’s thought about offing himself nearly every day for the last two or three months does not make for good conversation, so instead he says, “Good.” You know, like a liar.

“Things in Lanling have been fine.” He adds curtly after a pause, as if qualifying his former statement, absentmindedly twisting a strand of hair around a finger. Fairy barks softly at his heels, which he of course recognizes as a snort, but hopefully Sizhui just chalks up to a dog being a dog.

“What–about–you?” Jin Ling returns, such politeness tasting foreign in his mouth. He can do better though!

“And Gusu?” He continues, “How have you and the other juniors been, and…and–Wei-qianbei, and…Hanguang-jun, and Zewu-jun, and–” At that point Jin Ling just starts listing every remotely relevant name he can think of, mostly in an attempt to keep the conversation off him.

Sizhui spares him a brief glance, one he just barely manages to catch through the small beams of moonlight that occasionally make it through the dense forest, and smiles beautifully.

Nicely. What? Nice, not beautiful–not that…Sizhui doesn’t…not, have a beautiful smile or anything, just–kinda weird to think that…

…What the fuck.

Jin Ling swallows and looks away, lamenting the fact that he can’t bang his head on a table or something right about now.

“Everyone’s been very good! Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun have started letting us do more solo missions. We’ve been mostly successful, though we still have a ways to go to be anywhere near their level. Last month we dealt with a horde of water ghouls in Caiyi Town, a couple weeks ago we tracked a yao that was back prowling the mountains of Gusu, and now this. It’s been very good having Wei-qianbei with us. I think…I think he complements Hanguang-jun very nicely. Even Lan-xiansheng has been warming up to him, if you can imagine that! And Zewu-jun…ah, I’m sure you know he’s still in seclusion. I have seen him a few times though, and I think he’s been feeling somewhat better as of late.”

Jin Ling is so focused on how animatedly Sizhui talks about all the wonderful people in his life, he forgets to offer any kind of response. A beat skips; Sizhui glances down–down! dammit he did get taller!–and asks him another question.

“I know that our group did get fairly lost and all,” Sizhui reaches out and pushes away a particularly large branch blocking their path, holding it out of the way for Jin Ling. Jin Ling pauses and blinks. His eyes briefly dart up at the other junior, who looks at him amiably, and he quietly murmurs thank you as he passes, pulling his notched arrow tighter in his grip.

“But if I’m not mistaken,” Sizhui continues, “we’re still quite far from Golden Carp Tower, are we not?”

“…We are. We’re far north up in Shuangfeng Qu, Frostpeak District, near the border.” Sizhui doesn’t immediately respond to that, and Jin Ling scrambles to come up with another thing to say, wondering if he’d missed something.

“I’d–uh, I’d–be–happy, to supply you with a new map, if you follow us back after the night hunt.” He says, eyes shooting over at the Lan once more to assess whether or not he’d said the right thing. Sizhui smiles kindly in turn, his eyelids creasing at the ends.

Haha, yes! Jin Ling mentally high fives himself. He should be able to find a map no problem when they go back, and if not he can give Sizhui his own copy. A moment later he thinks, just don’t read any of the information about the district, because there’s a good chance it’s inaccurate as fuck.

“What, if you don’t mind my asking, brought you all the way up here?” Sizhui asks again, not rudely; Jin Ling isn’t sure the Lan youth is capable of being rude.

He chews the inside of his cheek, scanning the dimly lit forest as he ponders his response. He supposes talking about the sect tour–it’s safe enough. It’s not like he has to say the reason for it was him being so unbelievably incompetent in his role that he wanted to put himself as far away from Lanling Jin as possible so as to stop being such a burden to everyone around him.

“We’re currently on a tour of the sect. Visiting all the districts, speaking with locals.” Trying to speak with locals, anyway. “Very important matters. Today was the last day though, we’ll return to Golden Carp Tower tomorrow.” Jin Ling sniffs and tosses his ponytail over his shoulder.

After a pause, he opens his mouth to invite the Lan juniors to return with them and rest for a few days before returning to Gusu, god knows they have the space and money and the company would be much appreciated, but he quickly closes it; he doesn’t need the Lans to see what a massive failure he is up close and in person. Besides, it isn’t like they’re friends–Jin Ling nearly laughs at his thought from earlier.

Friends. How presumptuous of him. Who would ever want to be friends with him? Jin Ling had been brash, unpleasant, and downright awful to most everyone when they were tracking Chifeng-zun’s limbs. The Lans wouldn’t even want to come.

“Hahaha, the little mistress wanted to leave her cushy bed and go off in the middle of the night, in these old woods? Well what do you know!”

“Jingyi!”

Jin Ling is still processing the comment that came from several paces back as Sizhui snaps at the other Lan, but a moment later pure dread washes over him when he hears the Lans being drowned out by a sea of Jin laughter, courtesy of Jin Chan.

“Little mistress, hahahahaha, that’s a good one! We’ll have to remember that!” A voice he identifies as Jin Bofei guffaws obnoxiously. Jin Ling clenches his teeth, and his knuckles go white around his bow and arrow. He can’t bring himself to look at the Lans beside him.

“Hilarious,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes, snapping a branch out of the way and pretending like he doesn’t feel the far too familiar feeling of stinging eyes and a sore throat.

Gods he used to lay into the disciples for their crap all the time, and he could get pretty creative with his insults. Now he can’t even think of one. And even if he could, it would be unbecoming of him to use it.

Fairy starts growling quietly at his side. Jin Ling reaches down to brush her ears. “Fairy, let it go,” he murmurs, but her growling doesn’t stop. He follows her line of sight and quickly realizes it’s not the disciples she’s growling at.

“Everyone, stop!” Jin Ling calls out, quietly as he can manage, eyes locked on a very faintly glowing ball of light far ahead.

“Aww, did we hurt the little mistress’s feelings?” Jin Chan asks mockingly.

“No, I’m serious!” Jin Ling calls back, pulling his arrow, aiming not quite at the ghost.

“Everyone stop, look ahead!” Sizhui says commandingly, turning to address all the juniors–pretty much just the Jin ones actually–and pointing ahead. This shuts everyone up real fast. Jin Ling tries to stop his lip from twitching, unsuccessfully.

The light ahead flickers precariously, seeming to bounce all over the forest floor and swing from the branches. Jin Ling just barely tilts his head and narrows his eyes, studying the ghost closely.

The group of juniors begins cautiously approaching the ghost, which starts to wander away. It’s unclear if they’ve been spotted or not yet, so they maintain their servant’s distance and allow it to lead them through the forest. The woods seem to grow thicker, the trees and their gnarled roots bigger. The forest is eerily silent, save for a light breeze that sweeps through from time to time, carrying with it the earthen scent of dirt and decaying leaves.

After ten minutes of this, the forest begins to suddenly open up, all the trees disappearing, giving way to a wide clearing. The juniors continue to follow the ghost this way until it suddenly disappears too.

“Aww, man!” Jingyi sighs and crosses his arms, several other Lans shushing him. Jin Ling keeps his eyes peeled and bow and arrow ready to strike if necessary.

“Jin Ling, look where you’ve led us now, we’re in a ghost town with no ghost. I can’t believe you dragged us all the way out here for this–”

“Take us a little further why don’t you, maybe we’ll end up in Qinghe–”

“Why did you make us team up with them in the first place–”

Jin Ling was going to try to let it go, but under no circumstances will he allow his shitty disciples to insult another clan, the Lans no less.

“Watch your mouth,” he whirls around and snaps at them, futilely hoping the Lans aren’t paying attention to his group’s shenanigans. “The Lans have been tracking this ghost for weeks, and we wouldn’t have even known about it without them. I’m sure the ghost didn’t go far.”

Before he can be met with any smartass comments, Jin Ling spins back to find Sizhui, who is unfortunately looking straight at him with an expression he can’t quite place.

“Lan-gongzi, how would you like to proceed?” He asks tightly, taking extreme care to ensure his voice doesn’t wobble, waver, or crack, that he doesn’t stutter over any words. He can only pray that he doesn’t look as aggravated and mortified as he feels.

Sizhui hesitates only a moment before responding, “Let’s split up and search the area. I agree, I doubt the ghost went far. Perhaps it’s hiding in one of these structures.”

Upon closer inspection, after the moon comes out from behind a thick patch of clouds, the clearing is actually quite spacious, and has numerous little structures throughout. Rotting, overgrown homes, buildings; the apparent remains of a once decently sized town. There’s something…almost off about it, though. The air has a thickness to it, a strange qi the likes of which Jin Ling isn’t sure he’s ever felt before. It clings to the ground, old and half-buried, like the lingering scent of a fire long since doused. It isn’t…it doesn’t feel resentful, not quite, but…it still leaves a strange taste in his mouth.

“I’ll take my disciples, we’ll take this side,” Jin Ling asserts quickly, dreading the idea of any of his juniors causing the Lans any more grief than they already have, much as he hates to be with them. Sizhui eventually agrees to this, and so they split off their separate ways.

The buildings are filthy, covered in thick layers of grime and dust. Jin Ling nearly has a coughing fit going into the first one and warns the others–better dust than corpse poisoning though.

There’s something chilling about walking through ruins, a place that was once full of life, full of people. Now only the shell remains, like a long forgotten memory. Jin Ling wonders what this town could’ve been, since it’s probably in Lanling territory. Then again, they had been close to the border…perhaps they had fallen outside, and that’s why there was no record of it on the maps. Or it had been abandoned for so long, nobody knew of its existence. Still might be worth an ask to Zang-xiansheng.

“Euughhh!” One of the disciples, Jin Jinghua, recoils in disgust, jumping away from the corner where he’d been standing.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Jin Ling rushes in from the other room with Fairy, as do several other disciples, to see what the commotion is. He follows Jinghua’s line of sight and spots a rat running along the wall, trying to escape through a broken window. Jin Ling rolls his eyes, glancing over to where the rat had been to see if there’s anything of import. He stills when he spots a few old, rotted bones sticking up out of the dirt and slowly approaches.

Jin Ling crouches, squinting at the brittle skeletal remains peeking out of the dirt. Some long-dead nobody, probably. He should walk away…

Jin Ling’s hand hovers, frozen, something catching in his throat. They…should have had a grave. That’s just…basic respect, anyone should have a grave, right?

He starts to cover them slowly with dirt, brushing away the urge to look up and see who’s watching. It’s–just a small gesture, nothing more; he pointedly avoids considering the implications of the Jin sect leader shoveling dirt on a nameless corpse with his bare hands. Fairy tries to help him as best she can, brushing some dirt with her nose.

“Filthy rat,” Jinghua mutters, making a show of brushing off his pristine, untouched robes.

“Careful Jinghua, that’s not a very nice thing to say about our sect leader.” Jin Chan says very seriously, bursting out laughing along with everyone else immediately after. Jin Ling freezes up for a second before he finishes pushing the last bit of dirt over the mound, his ears ringing with laughter–and Fairy’s growling. He exhales quietly, most courteously expressing restraint and withholding an expression of rage, before standing up and turning around to face his insubordinate disciples.

Stop. Breathe. Think. Speak carefully.

“Enough. It’s bad enough at Golden Carp Tower, but it reflects poorly on all of us in the presence of another clan.” Jin Ling says, his voice clipped, eyes trailing over every junior and eventually settling on Jin Chan. He remembers so vividly the times they drove him off with tears in his eyes during his childhood, when he was greatly outnumbered, or already in a foul mood. He tells himself he’s changed, that his throat and eyes don’t burn as he stands so small before them all these years later. Pathetic.

“Or what,” Jin Chan smirks, slowly stepping towards him. Jin Ling holds his ground, eyes following him as he approaches, fingers practically itching to draw Suihua.

“You’ll file some paperwork? Give us a lecture about kindness and respect? Tell me, what could you possibly do, worthless Sect Leader Jin?” Jin Ling’s hands clench into fists and he tries not to shake as the other youth continues walking towards him slowly.

“Perhaps you’ll go crying to your precious jiujiu? Oh, wait, I forgot! He’s not speaking to you anymore, is he?” Jin Ling’s eyes go wide, as Jin Chan somehow manages to spin each insult, every word into something that slices through him to his core.

“Or maybe, you’ll tell you’re xiao-shushu to take care of it? No no, I forgot, your traitorous fuck of a bastard uncle is dead, and so is his so-called sworn brother’s support for you.”

Jin Ling’s breath catches as Jin Chan stops right in front of him, huge and towering, his smirk sharp as a knife. He jabs his finger in his chest as he delivers the final blow.

“Then maybe, you can go whining to your mommy and daddy? Oh, oh no, wait–they’re dead too. Face it Jin Rulan. You have nothing. No family, no allies, no power. Just a title you’ll never live up to and a sect that’s crumbling under your watch.”

Fairy barks sharply. Blood pounds in Jin Ling’s ears, ringing resounds off the walls of his mind. His parents–the fucking nerve of Jin Chan, not even when his jiujiu said–did he–

A surge of what Jin Ling can only think to describe as bloodlust surges through his body, he wants to take his father’s sword and bring his insolent cousin within an inch of his life until he begs for forgiveness, until he cries out for his own parents–who are both still happily alive–and begs Jin Ling for forgiveness, and–

Stop. Breathe. Think. Speak carefully…

Jin Ling drops his hands to his sides, expression unreadable. He lets out a low breath and squares his shoulders, looking back up at Jin Chan amidst the cruel laughter that still rings out in the old house.

“At least I didn’t need my father to bribe half the sect just to keep me around.” The laughter stops abruptly.

“What did you say, you little bitch,” Jin Chan shoves Jin Ling, hard, hard enough to send him falling into the decaying wall behind them, leaving Jin Ling in a rocky pile of dirt and dust. Jin Ling coughs hard and sits up, brushing his robes off. He waves Fairy away before she can bite anyone’s arm off, or they accuse him of only relying on his dog; Fairy looks back and forth between all of them before sprinting out of the house. Jin Ling sets his eyes on Jin Chan once more.

“I said,” Jin Ling grits his teeth and stands up, eyes narrowed, “without your daddy’s money, you’d be nothing but–”

Jin Chan’s fist collides with the side of his face, pain bursting throughout his eye and cheek. Jin Ling quickly recovers and stands up once more, albeit shakily, drawing his own fists into a stance of defense.

“Jin Chan, I will not fight you like this!” Jin Ling shouts fiercely. “We don’t have time for this, the ghost could come and catch us off guard any minute–”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you dragged us off into some haunted ghost town at god knows what hour of the night,” Some of the other juniors approach, sneering, and shove him backwards into the chipped wall again. Jin Ling’s head bangs against it, his vision swimming, but he refuses to fight them–furious as he is.

“Everyone–seriously, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?!–we’re on a night hunt with another clan–if you don’t stop acting like five-year-olds the ghost–”

A shriek like metal being torn apart echoes through the ruins as the blinding ball of light comes crashing down through the rotting ceiling, sending disciples scattering in panic. Jin Ling hits the wall hard, dust choking his lungs. He scrambles to his feet, snatching his bow and arrow that lay fallen on the floor, eyes zeroing in on the ghost sending torrents of dirt and rusted pottery at all of his disciples' heads.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH–”

“OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK–”

“Use the–the formation, the one we went over last week!” Jin Ling coughs out, his voice hoarse with dust. No one listens. The disciples are too panicked, either flailing uselessly and yelling over each other, or making weak attempts at fighting the spirit alone. He sees Jin Chan trip and nearly eat dirt. Fucking idiot.

Jin Ling clutches his bow tightly, heart pounding, trying to make sense of all the chaos. What on earth is its angle? Why isn’t it attacking me?

“FUCK, LET’S GET OUT OF HERE–”

The Jin disciples pour out of the small house and into the wide field outside, Jin Ling tailing after them. The ghost just switches tactics to use rocks and branches instead. Jin Ling spots the ghost about to drop an enormous log on Jin Chan who’s fallen and rushes over to use his sword to shield him just in time, the wood splintering sharply against his blade. The ghost ignores him completely, flying around him to chase Jin Chan who’s running away.

Jin Ling shivers as an unnatural wave of cold air crashes through the night, leaving sweat dripping down his face and back. In spite of its inherent darkness, it also leaves him with some kind of feeling–different from the qi surrounding the ruins–it’s from the ghost, he’s sure of it–it’s like…it isn’t like all the ghosts Jin Ling has encountered before, it’s…small. Like–they’ve been made to feel small…

The ghost grows more sporadic by the second, like a child throwing a tantrum, lashing out with all kinds of debris lying around, showering his disciples with it–

But not him–

Not him, not the Lans, but his disciples–

All the different victims, they all–

“Hurry, let’s form an array!” A sharp voice rings out, startling Jin Ling from his thoughts. His head snaps the other way and he sees that the Lans have arrived, with swords and talismans at the ready, Fairy in tow, fanning out in a wide circle with practiced ease.

“Everyone, get back, help us with the array!” Sizhui shouts at his disciples. Several of them turn around and begin sprinting towards the Lans, Jin Ling makes to head towards them as well, in his peripheral vision he spots Jin Chan cornering the ghost in a moment of vulnerability, perhaps having spotted the arrival of the Lans as well. In a moment of uncharacteristic competence, Jin Ling watches in horror as he slashes through the spirit with his sword.

An ear-shattering, blood-curdling wail tears through the clearing–Jin Chan jumps back and sprints towards the Lans as well–the ghost begins to shake glowing brighter and brighter–dark qi pulsates from the spirit rolling off in thick waves that causes a vibrating that Jin Ling can feel throughout his body, the ground begins to shake–

“Everyone run NOW–it’s absorbing energy, it’s going to qi release!”

Sizhui begins grabbing petrified disciples and pulling them furiously towards the edge of the clearing, everyone else sprinting away. Something holds Jin Ling back, that feeling still gnawing at him from earlier. It wasn’t entirely qi, it was feeling…he had felt something, it was like it was–familiar in a sense…

He takes a step towards the ghost, tilting his head, studying them as they grow more erratic, zipping up and down and in circles. Chased by cultivators for weeks–cultivators who want to help–but they don’t understand…their victims, they’re… they’re hurt! They’re just hurt–that’s all–

Many things happen in the span of a second. Images flash through Jin Ling’s brain that he doesn’t have time to properly process–fights with the Jin juniors, his grandfather, his advisors–something clicks in his head, as he closes his eyes and lets a deep breath of air escape his body, seized by some kind of overpowering instinct, something he doesn’t understand, but decides to trust nonetheless.

“JIN LING!!!!!”

Jin Ling drops his sword, unslings his quiver, and flings his bow far away in one fluid movement. He breaks out in a mad dash towards the hovering spirit, white-hot energy still rolling off it in thick, intense waves. He can’t explain what he does, why he does it–a hunch maybe, or pure, dumb luck, or being somewhat suicidal–perhaps a touch of all three.

“Wait–” Jin Ling coughs out, throat still sore and dry. It feels like he’s stepped too close to a fire, a huge bonfire, but instead of running away, he races into the flames. Everything is burning hot, especially his unshielded face–he brings an arm up to try and block himself as best he can, fighting the dizzying, maddening heat.

“It’s okay–you don’t have to do this–” Jin Ling rasps, unsure if he even said anything, his voice inaudible over the raging inferno of ghost qi. He tries to get a glimpse of the ghost, but all he can see from behind his arm and hand is blinding white light.

“Please–” Jin Ling cries out again, taking another step forward, his head exploding in pain. “I know it isn’t fair. I’m sorry–” his voice cracks completely as he takes the last step forward and throws his arms around the shaking light, every fiber of his being on fire, in pure agony.

Jin Ling thinks this might be it–he hopes it’s enough for the other juniors to get far away at least, even if it doesn’t work, enough to give them some kind of opening, to stop the ghost and this cycle of violence.

“It’s okay…everything’s okay now,” he whispers, tears sizzling down his cheeks, his sight and hearing effectively gone, holding on to the ball of energy with everything he has left, burying his face in the devastating hellfire–

–the fire that gradually cools until there’s no heat left at all. Jin Ling slowly opens his eyes, wondering if this is it–the end of the line for him.

He feels a light pressure on his back and flinches, wondering if he’s ended up in the pits of hell, if some terrifying monster straight out of children’s ghost story is coming for him–

“Th…thank…thank you…”

Jin Ling looks up–down, rather. The surging ball of white light is gone, replaced with a mirage-like silhouette, faint traces of a face visible in the moonlight. They’re a lot smaller than before–Jin Ling falls to his knees to better accommodate them, to see their face.

It’s a girl. A scared little girl with sad eyes and twig-like arms that Jin Ling can just barely feel hugging him back. Jin Ling swallows thickly as the little girl buries her face in his chest and tightens her grip around his neck. Before he can even formulate some kind of response, pull her closer, she’s already fading away. Jin Ling slumps on his knees in the meadow, staring at the translucent, barely-there figure that remains, his hands loose in his lap.

“–N LING–JIN LING!”

Jin Ling blinks; Fairy’s at his side in an instant, sniffing him and his robes. Sizhui appears in front of him a moment later, calling his name and waving a hand in front of his face.

“Jin Ling? Jin Ling? Can you hear me, are you alright–oh god your hair–”

Sizhui shifts towards him, his eyes trailing after the Lan a second or two later, watching him pat out the smoking ends of his singed hair. Fairy whines at his side but doesn’t go any closer.

“I’m fine,” Jin Ling coughs weakly, finally snapping out of it and affixing a scowl to his face. “I'm fine,” he repeats, voice a bit worse for wear, but still biting. He doesn’t look at Sizhui, just brushes ash off his burned sleeves. He watches them fall to the ground, thinking that could have been him if things hadn’t worked out. Perhaps he’s too tired, but Jin Ling doesn’t feel anything at all about that realization.

Sizhui sends him a strong look of disbelief as the other Lan juniors begin to show up; he doesn’t have to look to know that his own disciples are still a ways away, if they even left the forest in the first place. Sizhui starts to examine Jin Ling more closely, while he tries to blink away all the spots in his vision and shake the ringing out of his ears. After some prompting from the other, he offers a very abridged summary of what happened, not wanting to get into specifics.

“But how did you know what to do? Why did the ghost suddenly decide to stop attacking?” Jingyi asks dumbfoundedly, an extremely puzzled look etched into his face. Jin Ling frowns and stares at him for a moment, hesitating, before looking off to the side. He’s trying to decide what he wants to say when Sizhui intercedes.

“Jingyi, he’s probably tired, and still a little out of it. Why don’t we give him some time?” Jin Ling glances back over at the other Lan, his voice kind but firm, leaving little room for disagreement. Just barely, the ends of his lips curl upwards.

“Great. Let’s head back to Shuangfeng Qu then,” Jin Ling pivots and tosses his singed hair over his shoulder, looking back to make sure everyone is following. Sizhui fixes him with a look that lasts a beat or two longer than he would’ve expected.

“Well? Are we going or not?” Jin Ling feels surprisingly exposed under the Lan’s calm, indecipherable stare, desperately trying to hide behind a mask of irritation, wanting to look away but forcing himself to hold those silvery gray eyes.

“Yes,” Sizhui responds softly, standing up. “We can put salve and bandages on when we get back. But don’t touch anything in the meantime.” Sizhui manages to pack a shocking amount of intensity into such a small sentence. Jin Ling blinks and nods before his expression reverts to its default resting bitch face.

Sizhui and Jingyi carry his weapons back, Fairy sticking close to his heels. After performing a small ritual for the ghost, they turn around to trace their way back through the forest, picking up the Jin disciples on the way, who had indeed been waiting at the edge of the ghost town. Personally Jin Ling wouldn’t have really wanted them there in the aftermath, but it still reflects poorly on their sect yet again that they weren’t. He doesn’t have the energy to care right now.

Lintai proves to be much better with the map than Jingyi, thank the heavens, and they make it back to Shuangfeng Qu in about an incense stick’s time; his hearing and sight have also mostly returned to normal by that point, thankfully.

Jin Ling watches as his disciples continue onward to the inn, passing by without a word. He wants to make sure they’re in decent shape, that no one got too hurt on his watch; they’re all fine except for a small cut or two on their face, or a bruise beginning to take shape. Other than that their hair is still neat, their robes untouched. Jin Ling hesitates before continuing onward with them, hanging back instead.

“Are you sure it’s alright to set up camp here?”

Jin Ling turns to see Sizhui approaching him, the other Lans beginning to get their camping supplies ready. He inclines his head forward.

“Mm. There aren’t any buildings for at least a five, probably ten minute walk from here, and it’s already a mostly deserted town. On the slim chance this is someone’s property though don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Sizhui nods slowly, satisfied with his response.

Jin Ling turns his head back the other way, catching sight of his disciples’ rapidly retreating figures. It should be safe enough to return now without having to see or speak with them again tonight.

“Sect Leader Jin,” Sizhui grabs his attention again, before he can wander off. “I still have to dress your wounds–and I’d like to ask you a few more details about what exactly happened, if you don’t mind. When we return, I have to write a report of our night hunt for Hanguang-jun.”

“I’m fine,” Jin Ling insists, crossing his arms, still thinking up an excuse to deter Sizhui from his other request.

“Even if you…feel…fine, your hands and head were uncovered during the qi release and got burned. You need medical attention.” Arguing would be the wrong word to describe Sizhui’s words, and he’s sure the Lans have a rule forbidding that in the first place. But Sizhui is adamant, and Jin Ling finds himself feeling more irritated by the second under the Lan’s watchful gaze.

“Don’t trouble yourself, I’m sure somebody can help me when I return. Besides, what is there to ask me? You were there, you saw what happened didn’t you?” Jin Ling’s tone is beginning to gain a temperamental edge; he’s aware he’s being entirely unreasonable. It’s like he’s powerless to stop himself though, watching in slow motion as he destroys yet another relationship, this one barely even formed.

“It’s no trouble at all; you assisted on our hunt and got hurt on our watch. It’s the absolute least I can do to treat your burns. And, the light was too bright for me to see much after you started running towards it. All I know is that it was about to explode, then gone the next second like it was never there. I was hoping you might be able to provide some insight, having been at the center of it.”

Jin Ling is fully facing Sizhui now, his eyes sizing the other up. Sizhui remains unchanged, his face still perfectly neutral, posture still perfectly poised, robes still perfectly in place. Gods, just the sight of him makes Jin Ling want to implode.

But.

That would be very un-sect leader-like of him. Why…is he so mad, anyway? All the other wants is to help him, and get information for his report, both perfectly logical. He doesn’t particularly care to discuss the ghost, but–that isn’t the Lan’s fault.

Jin Ling huffs halfheartedly and tosses his head, looking the other way. “You’re awfully persistent, you know that?” Sizhui just smiles in response. It’s almost unnerving, how he doesn’t seem to get mad no matter how difficult and obstinate Jin Ling is.

“Fine,” Jin Ling relents. He supposes it isn’t the end of the world. It shouldn’t take long, and he won’t get into too detailed specifics about the ghost.

One of the other disciples, Yiyao (Jin Ling figures he ought to start learning the other Lan juniors’ names), brings over a medical kit before returning to help set up tents. Sizhui leads him and Fairy towards the edge of the forest where they entered, the two of them sitting on a fallen tree with Fairy to the side. Sizhui rinses his hands, quiet and methodical, Jin Ling watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Why don’t I start with your hands?” He asks, getting out salve and wrappings. Jin Ling’s eyes dart towards his hands, looking redder by the minute. Fuck. Maybe he’s a little more hurt than he thought. He probably won’t be able to train for at least a few days, if not a week.

“Sure.” Jin Ling stiffly holds out his hands. He tries hard not to wince when Sizhui starts to rub salve on raw skin, but thankfully the other boy is quick and adept with everything so it doesn’t last too long. He starts inquiring about the night hunt soon anyway, distracting him.

“I know the gist of what happened,” Sizhui says after a moment, his voice even. “The ghost appeared just before us and began attacking all of you. We were going to contain it with the array, then Jin-gongzi struck it and it reacted violently, preparing to qi release. What I don’t know,” Sizhui pauses, glancing up at him through dark lashes, “is why you decided to not only stay, but run straight towards it–without any weapons no less.”

Jin Ling looks anywhere but Sizhui’s eyes. He shrugs nonchalantly. “I had a hunch.”

Sizhui raises a brow. “A hunch?”

“Yes, a hunch. The ghost never attacked me, so I just–got the feeling I wasn’t a threat or whatever, and left my weapons behind.” Jin Ling eyes his hands in Sizhui’s, the way the other boy wraps them so gently, like he’s delicate as porcelain.

Jin Ling doesn’t know the last time anyone touched him like this–hell he doesn’t know the last time anyone touched him in general, outside of a fight. He isn’t sure if he likes it or not. It’s…strange. Unfamiliar. He jerks his arm back when Sizhui starts to go a bit past his wrist, pressing the edge of his sleeve back. The last fucking thing he needs is the Lan seeing his still healing scars from the last time he decided to take a dagger to his arms.

Sizhui halts in his movement, eyes looking up to search Jin Ling’s but his own have darted away. He, mercifully, doesn’t ask about his reaction, or try to go lower. He goes back to Jin Ling’s palm, asking his questions instead.

“What happened then, once you got to the ghost? Why didn’t it finish qi releasing?” His tone is more curious than accusatory, as he begins to wrap his hands.

Jin Ling hesitates. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“…I asked it to stop.”

“…You asked it. And it actually stopped.”

Jin Ling glares. “I didn’t say it made any sense.”

Sizhui is staring at him far more dubiously than a Lan should be capable of–even Fairy rolls her eyes at his feet. Jin Ling huffs out another breath and decides to grace his companion with a small amount of elaboration, already saying more than he’d wanted to.

“Look, I didn’t know if it would work, okay? I really just had a hunch and decided to try it. If I hadn’t, we all might’ve died in the blast anyway.” It’s mostly the truth. Jin Ling just omits some of the more personal details that had led him to make all the decisions he did. He runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth and twirls a strand of his hair around his already bandaged hand. Sizhui’s eyes follow the movement before looking back at him.

“You shouldn’t have done it though,” he says quietly, diligently beginning to wrap Jin Ling’s other hand. Jin Ling scoffs in disbelief.

“We probably would’ve all died if I hadn’t. It’s simple math–one life instead of sixteen is a pretty good deal. What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s not the point.” Sizhui’s face is still frustratingly, impassively calm, with restraint Jin Ling could only ever dream of.

“Then what is the point, Lan-gongzi?” He demands, tapping the nails of his free hand against the log they sit on. It does not have the desired effect, since Sizhui has individually wrapped his fingers, nails and all.

Sizhui pauses at his question, a small crease–finally!–forming between his browns, a frown tugging at his lips as well. He looks back up at Jin Ling, gray eyes boring into his, clouded with…could it actually be anger?

“J…Sect Leader Jin, you scared me!” He is angry! Jin Ling isn’t sure whether to be proud or disgusted with himself. For one thing though, he’s not surprised. He does have a talent for making virtually everyone he encounters, who doesn’t work for him, angry with him. The people who work for him undoubtedly get angry too of course, just on the inside.

Actually processing Sizhui’s words, Jin Ling frowns as well, trying to figure out the other’s meaning. Scared him?? “I–…what do you mean? Why–how?”

Sizhui’s soft gray eyes take on an almost stormy color, as he gingerly sets Jin Ling’s other wrapped hand down and gives their discussion his undivided attention. Jin Ling feels the absurd urge to sink back and hide from the Lan’s gaze.

“You ran towards a deadly spirit with no hesitation, no regard whatsoever for your life, and almost died! It’s true there’s a chance we all could’ve died if you hadn’t, but–there’s also a chance we could’ve ran and figured out another strategy–a safer one, that wouldn’t cost lives.” Once again, Sizhui’s tone and words can hardly count as angry or arguing, but he pauses to catch his breath, letting out a sigh and adjusting his headband, which has come just slightly askew.

“You got lucky this time,” Sizhui acknowledges, cleaning his hands again, “but you might not always survive situations like that. Close your eyes–I need to put salve on your face now.” Jin Ling opens his mouth to protest, but Sizhui is adamant. Jin Ling lets out a noise of frustration and crosses his arms.

He should let it drop. Why can he never just let things go?

“I got rid of the ghost, everything’s fine–wasn’t that the whole point?” Jin Ling snaps, trying to infuse extra anger in his tone to make up for his inability to glare at Sizhui. He patiently waits for the comeback, but it doesn’t come. All he feels is the jarringly cold salve being applied to his face that makes him want to scrunch up his features and flinch back. He can feel his face heating, something he chalks up to the burns, and not the ever-gentle press of the Lan’s fingers.

After a while, it becomes blatantly obvious that Sizhui must have decided he was behaving like a child and to stop engaging with him. Jin Ling, unconsciously, reaches up to touch his hidden necklace as he weighs his options–make another antagonistic statement? Sit there in silence the rest of the time? Both of them…are probably poor choices, once again unbecoming of a sect leader.

He could always…try to…apologize…

Jin Ling’s face contorts into what he imagines is an expression of extreme displeasure. He hates apologizing!!! But…he should…probably…get better at it, because–things always go poorly when he doesn’t. What should he apologize for, though? Why is Sizhui really mad? Because Jin Ling is being annoying and keeps arguing? Because he almost messed up his night hunt? Because he–oh! Oh Jin Ling knows.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jin Ling grits out, “Look, I–…I’m…I’m s-so–rry, that I…defeated your ghost, or, whatever.” It’s a shitty ass apology if Jin Ling ever heard one–he’s trying though, okay?!

Sizhui stills, his fingers right over the spot where Jin Ling normally places the signature cinnabar Jin mark, probably long gone by now.

“Sect Leader Jin…what do you mean? Why…why are you apologizing for taking care of the ghost?”

Jin Ling’s brows furrow. Had he messed up the apology? Was it really that poor? What is he supposed to say now?

“I–…you’re…mad at me, aren’t you?” He begins cautiously, trying to listen for any kind of reaction, any clue to help him out. “I…got rid of the ghost you and the other Lans had been hunting for weeks, it was your ghost to handle, but I…” his voice trails off uncertainly. Yeah, he probably fucked things up again.

It had been an important training mission for the Lan juniors. They’d tracked it for weeks, interviewing all kinds of people, following its trail of evidence, camping out in the wilderness all the while. Then Jin Ling came along and dealt the final blow without doing any of the work. How selfish of him.

“Jin…Sect Leader Jin, I…I’m not–mad at you,” Sizhui says, somewhat incredulously.

“You’re…not?”

“No!” Sizhui exclaims, finally finishing his face and sitting back on the log, leaning up against the nearby tree. Jin Ling cautiously cracks an eye open, now entirely confused by the situation.

“Jin Ling, I was terrified when I heard Fairy barking and turned to see that you were still there, right by the ghost! And instead of snapping out of it and running our way, you dropped your weapons and sprinted right towards the spirit–which was about to let off a deadly blast of energy! Jin Ling, do you not understand!? You could’ve–…”

Sizhui’s voice trails off, plunging them into silence once more. Jin Ling hears a few crickets chirping, and a lone owl hooting somewhere high above. He finishes slowly opening the rest of his eye, then the other, gazing curiously at Sizhui who’s looking off in the distance with a faraway look in his clouded eyes.

“Forget it. Just…don’t be so reckless in the future.”

Jin Ling does not understand. It almost sounds like Sizhui actually cares about him and doesn’t want him to die, which is weird because he can count the number of people who genuinely care about him on one hand–maybe he doesn’t even need one at the moment, given the state of things with his jiujiu. What does Sizhui care if he lives or dies? It’s not like they’re friends, not really. It’s not like Jin Ling is some saintly, heavenly do-gooder; in fact, he’s a pretty overall terrible person, all things considered. But, if this is his olive branch, he’ll sure as hell take it.

“Got it, no more…risky night hunt stuff, or, whatever.”

Sizhui sighs and looks down, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Jin Ling hesitates before asking, “So…can I go now?”

Sizhui opens his eyes. He studies Jin Ling. Jin Ling tries not to squirm.

“Yes,” Sizhui nods, starting to gather his things. Jin Ling brushes off his robes and makes to stand as well. Sizhui still shoots him a couple looks, and freezes all of the sudden, his eyes trained somewhere on Jin Ling’s back.

“What is it? What’s wrong now?”

Jin Ling blinks and brings his ponytail around to his side–he hadn’t actually seen the extent of the damage yet. The ends are burnt to hell.

On an ordinary day, he’d probably be freaking out and running around in a circle screaming. At this point, he’s one minor inconvenience away from collapsing where he stands and falling into the sleep of the century.

“It’s…not that bad…” Jin Ling lies through his teeth, examining all messy, blackened tips. “This is fine…I needed a trim anyway…”

Sizhui does not look reassured. Jin Ling sighs and crosses his arms loosely across his chest. “If it’s such an eyesore to you, why don’t you cut it for me?”

“…Me?” Sizhui’s voice spikes half an octave.

Jin Ling rolls his eyes. “Yes, you. Who else? You’re good with a sword, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Sizhui looks mildly alarmed, but Jin Ling’s already sitting on the log again, back turned. After a long pause, Sizhui moves as well and draws his sword.

Jin Ling feels his hair being grabbed in the middle, the same gentle touch that had applied his salve and wrapped his hands. A thought pops into his head just then, and Jin Ling wonders if this isn’t…well it’s kind of–intimate–isn’t it? Touching his hair…? He doesn’t think anyone’s touched his hair since he was like, eight. All of the sudden, he understands Sizhui’s reserve.

It’s no matter! It’s fine! Jin Ling thinks to himself, decidedly ignoring the fact that he was the one who had so casually suggested it. He screws his eyes shut, willing it to be over already.

There’s a moment of stillness, then his ponytail being pulled taught, and finally the soft swish of blade cutting through the air.

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” Sizhui asks nervously, holding out the cut ends to him. Jin Ling glances at it and then inspects the hair still on his head. He lets out a sigh of relief he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Looks fine. Still long. Thanks.” Sizhui nods, evidently relieved as well. Jin Ling stands up and starts dusting his robes off again before thinking better of it, since they’re going in the trash anyway. Fairy gets up as well and stretches her legs, a strange sort of smile on her face. Jin Ling gives her an odd look.

Before he can walk away, Sizhui holds out the cut strands awkwardly in front of him. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“It’s burned, I don’t care. Just toss it on the ground I guess.” Jin Ling shrugs, making the rest of the way towards the little camp that the other juniors have set up.

Sizhui goes to return the medical kit he’d borrowed and retrieve Jin Ling’s weapons. While Jin Ling is waiting, Jingyi approaches him, a surprisingly bashful expression on his face. Jin Ling scowls upon seeing that they're nearly the same height now, when he’d had several centimeters on him just a few months ago. Arms crossed, Jin Ling raises an eyebrow curiously. Fairy more or less mirrors him at his feet.

“Heyyy, Sect Leader Jin, heheh, um. I just wanted to apologize for earlier. That was really out of line of me. My comment. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying…I didn’t mean to be rude, or to seriously insult you or anything. But it was still wrong! And I’m sorry.” He falls into a deep bow at the end, to Jin Ling’s utter surprise.

“It’s…uh. Fine. Really, I…” No one ever apologizes to Jin Ling. He isn’t really sure what you’re supposed to say in turn.

In truth, Jingyi’s comment had stung–but mostly because of what his own disciples did with it. Watching Jingyi now…it’s true that the two of them had never gotten along in the past, but! Jin Ling is a sect leader now, he does not get into petty fights, and he’s bigger than things like this! And he isn’t…he isn’t so…well what does it matter if he gets insulted these days? It’s not like he…

“Woah, really? You’re not gonna like, press charges against me or sue my clan or anything?” Jin Ling blinks and frowns, wondering where on earth the other junior would’ve gotten such an idea–is his reputation really that bad!?!?

“No, of course not…” Jin Ling responds, Jingyi looking quite happy now, grinning from ear to ear.

“Awesome–thank you so much! I guess you are capable of being a good person after all!” Jin Ling’s mouth hangs open, eyes narrowing at the (somehow) Lan disciple.

“Of course I’m capable of being a good person–what the hell is that supposed to mean?” He demands, though his tone must not be sharp enough, because Jingyi shrugs it off like it’s nothing.

“Oh–before I forget. I found this when we were leaving earlier. Not sure who it belongs to, I just figured whatever fabric you use on your guys’ robes must be crazy expensive, so maybe you’d want it back.” Jingyi fishes a long, thin slip of golden yellow fabric, unmistakably Jin, out of his pocket and hands it over to Jin Ling. Jin Ling doesn’t have the heart to tell Jingyi that Lanling could so very easily afford to replace a torn robe millions of times over, and carefully pockets it.

“Thank you,” he says graciously, inclining his head. Jingyi tells him no worries before bidding him goodnight and going off to one of the tents. Sizhui emerges from another shortly after, glancing back at Jingyi before stopping in front of Jin Ling. Fairy starts wagging her tail when he shows up, and Jin Ling shoots her a look, because what the hell she never wags her tail for anyone except him.

“Here’s your sword back, and bow and arrows. How far is your inn from here?”

“Not far, less than an incense stick’s time.” Jin Ling tries to grab his weapons, to resheathe Suihua and sling his bow and quiver over his shoulder, but Sizhui stops him.

“I’ll carry them for you–your sheathe looks damaged, and your shoulders are probably burned anyway.” He’s already putting them on himself before Jin Ling has the chance to protest. That…that damn infuriating Lan! Why does he have to be so…so…

“Lan-gongzi, that’s…very kind of you, but if I’m not mistaken, it’s way past your Lan bedtime. You’ve been up for so long, and traveling so many days. I’m sure you’re completely worn out. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll make it back to the inn just fine carrying my things.” But Sizhui is nothing, if not determined.

“Exceptions are made for night hunts. We’ll likely sleep a few extra hours tomorrow anyway. It’s truly no trouble to accompany you a little while longer.” Sizhui’s eyes shine bright in the moonlight as it breaks through the clouds, a small smile resting on his face.

“But–you don’t–need to accompany me…” Jin Ling insists frustratedly. He really can manage on his own! And besides, he already invaded the Lans’ night hunt, and Sizhui just spent fifteen minutes treating his burns. He really doesn’t need to trouble himself further and spend an incense stick’s time walking him back like some delicate maiden in need of a chaperone.

Jin Ling naïvely thought he might’ve won. Sizhui eyes him calmly and smiles again though, before delivering the blow that does Jin Ling in.

“But I want to.”

Jin Ling stares in stunned silence for a few moments, processing the Lan’s words, wondering if he’d heard correctly. He had. What…what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?!

“Alright alright, you can come!” Jin Ling caves, turning and setting off immediately–anything but continuing that conversation! “We’d better get going, so you don’t come back too late.” He ducks his head, trying to get his bangs to fall just so, so as to avoid the stupid blush he feels heating up his face, for which his burns are absolutely 100% to blame.

On the way back to the inn Sizhui asks more about his tour of the sect, and it’s weird, he asks for details and has follow-up questions, like he actually cares about anything Jin Ling has to say. Jin Ling will describe the features of a district, and then Sizhui will ask something like, what his favorite part of it was??? After pondering it for a few minutes though, realization dawns on him that Sizhui is just being polite and making conversation, and thank the heavens for that because conversation is a lost art on Jin Ling. Or so he’s been told.

“Well…this is it.” Jin Ling says, Sizhui finally allowing him to take his weapons since he’s so close to his room and all. Fairy sits down, still wagging her tail.

A glance inside the inn reveals that all lights are off, everyone else seemingly fast asleep; he’ll be joining them shortly.

Sizhui is staring at him–not quite in the eyes, just to the side–Jin Ling clenches his jaw and looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears, wondering if his face is starting to scab and looks really ugly.

“J–Sect Leader Jin, your face, did you…you have a bruise by your eye, I thought the ghost didn’t attack you at all?”

Jin Chan. Shit.

“It…didn’t! I’m just…uhh…really clumsy, and–and walked right into a wall. Because I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. And I'm clumsy. It’s fine, I’m fine.” Sizhui stares at him. Jin Ling screams at himself in his mind. He flashes a pinched grin and quickly changes the subject.

“A-Anyway, thank you for everything today, the night hunt, bandages, walking me back, maybe you could come to Lanling sometime and night hunt there.” The words are scarcely out of his mouth before he realizes he’s just extended an official invitation to Gusu’s disciples, without any input or approval from any of his advisors. Fuck. It should be fine, right? Surely it’ll be fine.

Sizhui blinks a few times, his eyes going a bit wider than moments before. Jin Ling resists the urge to fidget with his robes.

“That would be…very nice. Thank you, Sect Leader Jin,” is Sizhui’s response, as he falls into a bow. Jin Ling stares at Sizhui’s dark hair that slips down his front, the graceful slope of his shoulder and arms, his forehead ribbon blowing gently in the wind. He swallows tightly, before remembering to return the bow.

“Goodnight,” Jin Ling says at last, rising once more, Sizhui mirroring him.

“Goodnight,” he echoes, voice soft and quiet.

Jin Ling gives the Lan one last look before slipping inside, shutting the door, and immediately heading to his room. His heartbeat hammers against his chest and he’s almost a little breathless for reasons he can’t name. He ignores the feeling, hoping it’ll go away.

Later, when he’s lying in bed with Fairy at his side, Jin Ling stares at the ceiling for what must be at least an incense stick’s time, tossing and turning, pulling his covers every which way. No matter what he does though, a certain pair of misty gray eyes refuses to leave his mind.

Notes:

yayyy first zhuiling chapter😁😁

I realized I forgot to clarify in the last chapter lol, when I was itallicizing (how to spell T _ T ) the names I was trying to signify the Chinese insult aspects, whoops. The new one for this chapter (also courtesy of chat) is Sect Leader Jin/金宗主; (worthless) Sect Leader Jin/斤宗主 (first character, Jin, was switched from the last name Jin金 (meaning gold) to Jin斤 (a small unit of measurement like a pound, so like using in a belittling you're small type sense)

Happy Memorial Day weekend if you're in the states!

edit: just realized Fairy would've been able to smell the Lans from like a mile away lol. Welp, can't catch all the plot holes🤷‍♀️ second, yes I know lsz's guqin level is skilled enough that everyone is forced to answer bc he sacrificed quantity for quality in his early studies, my thought process was that the ghost is actually a little kid who's like, pretty young so they might be too scared to understand/process the guqin questions…idk just bear with me pls lol

Chapter 5: Lonely (Noah Cyrus)

By the time Jin Ling wakes up the next morning the Lan juniors are long gone. He wanders aimlessly around the edge of the forest, fresh dew seeping into his boots, the scent of it mixing with faint traces of a long extinguished campfire; the only indication they’d ever been there in the first place. Fairy sniffs around it halfheartedly before sitting down and looking up at him, confirming what he already knew.

Jin Ling lets out a slow breath, leaning against a tree with hands clasped behind his back. Hair falls in his eyes, his long ponytail trailing down his chest, the ends freshly cut.

He thinks about last night. The night hunt. The Lan juniors. His own juniors. The ghost…and–

Jin Ling clears his throat and shoves off the tree.

“Come on Fairy, we’ve got places to be,” he mutters, shoving thoughts of a certain Lan out of mind, thoughts that leave him with a weird, funny kind of feeling he isn’t sure what to make of. He clenches his teeth and begins stalking back down the path, kicking a stone as he goes.

Stupid, what reason could they possibly have to wait for me? They have places to be as well, and that’s that.

Back at the inn, the other disciples are still fast asleep, but the guards, attendants, representatives and such had gone to bed relatively early and are already up. They are less than pleased when he enters and they see the state that he’s in.

“Sect Leader–!”

“Look at his face, his hands–”

“How could you be so careless?!”

Before Jin Ling even has the chance to say anything amidst all the crossed arms, shaking heads, and tutting, Zang-xiansheng makes his presence known with a deep sigh.

“Sect Leader Jin, surely you must know it isn’t becoming for the leader of such a prestigious sect to present such a battered appearance. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking you were weak, or incompetent, from one measly night hunt.” The other Jin sect members quietly murmur in agreement, while Zang-xiansheng easily begins pouring more cups of tea.

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully.

Jin Ling needs to take a moment to calm himself, before he shows everyone what “unbecoming” really looks like. He digs his nails into his arm after a few seconds pass, a practiced smile on his face and apology on his lips; he goes back outside to cultivate before Fairy and him both blow their shit.

His disciples rise perhaps an hour later. They have a small breakfast of rice porridge–the simplest, barest meal he’s had yet on this trip, reminding him once again that not everyone has access to a fully stocked palace kitchen and team of chefs, something he’d never even considered until actually getting out on that first night hunt of his all those months ago. Once they’re done they finish packing and then hit the road; they don’t see any townspeople the whole morning, naturally.

As for the trip back, with all the dirty looks, unexpected rainstorms, time spent lost, and yao run-ins, it shapes up to be a pretty miserable journey. It feels more like a week than a very, very long day when, at long last, they arrive back at Lanling Jin.

Jin Ling offers a brief, mostly sincere thank you to everyone who assisted on the tour, decidedly out of pure obligation. He bolts to his room immediately after, as he suspects everyone else does too, ready to pass out for the next, say, twenty-four hours.

“G’night Fairy–sleep tight,” Jin Ling yawns, collapsing onto his ridiculously sized bed and burrowing under the covers. Fairy grunts in response, sidling up to Jin Ling as he throws an arm around her. He’s out cold in a matter of moments.

The next time Jin Ling wakes up it’s well into the afternoon, sunlight pouring in harshly from all the windows he’d apparently forgotten to close. He feels the full force of all his injuries even more acutely than he had the day before and groans deeply, the sound muffled by his pillow. Fairy licks his face and nudges her nose very lightly against his bandages.

“Stop, stoppp–I get it, okay!” He half-heartedly shoves her muzzle away and wipes dog slobber from his cheeks. He may or may not lay in bed for another five, ten, forty minutes before actually getting up. It’s an off-day anyway, he thinks lazily, going to pick out an outfit and brush his hair.

Off-days; by far the best part of his schedule. No appeasing councilheads, no standing around uselessly trying to find menial tasks to keep busy, no scheduled training sessions with his disciples that would inevitably turn into everyone ganging up on him. He could train on his own terms, and spend all the rest of his time holed up in his room without having to answer to or perform for anyone.

Well, he probably wouldn’t be doing much training given his current state, but you get the picture.

“Let’s go get you some breakfast, you must be starving,” Jin Ling finishes getting ready, hooking the clasp of his necklace and tying his red ribbon in his hair, eyes carefully avoiding his reflection all the while. With the smallest movement of his head, his long hair slides over his shoulder, and he catches sight of the ends. He touches them lightly. They look…fine. Clean. Neat. Nice, even. He frowns a moment later.

Not because of who cut them, obviously. Just–the principle of it. It had hardly been anything. Anybody could’ve cut his hair and it would’ve turned out fine, just–it happened to be Sizhui is all and–

Fairy yips and begins pulling at the hem of his robes, bringing Jin Ling out of his thoughts. “Right. Food.” He smooths his hair and robes out one more time before bounding after his dog and following her out the door.

Jin Ling doesn’t get far from his room before a servant darts around the corner and nearly runs straight into him. “Ah! Sect Leader Jin, there you are–good morning! Or, er–afternoon? No matter! The kitchen wasn’t sure what you’d prefer at this hour, so they’ve gone ahead and prepared everything. Breakfast, lunch, and some early dinner options as well. Does any of that sound good?”

Jin Ling stares blankly. His body aches. His head’s still fuzzy with sleep, and memories of an impromptu haircut. Before he can process the words, let alone formulate a response, the boy smiles and says, “I’ll tell them all three! It’ll be ready by the time you get there,” bows three times in rapid succession and sprints off down the corridor–without looking him in the eyes even once. Naturally.

Fairy snorts. Jin Ling drags a hand down his face and sighs. “I didn’t say yes–I didn’t say anything.” There’s nothing that can be done now though; Lanling is a force to be reckoned with.

When Jin Ling enters the dining hall, cavernous as ever, every inch of the enormous gold-lacquered table gleams. Steam curls from at least a dozen dishes–stuffed duck, abalone stew, five kinds of vegetables he won’t even touch, and several unopened bottles of Heaven’s Kiss, Lanling Jin’s signature drink. Jin Ling swallows tightly.

He walks the table’s length until he arrives at the head’s lefthand seat. The servants, already finishing their placements, step back and vanish without a word, not sparing him a second glance. Jin Ling watches them go, his mouth moving as if to say something, but it takes his brain a few seconds to catch up.

“Thank you!” He finally remembers to blurt out, albeit awkwardly. Whether or not they hear him, he couldn’t say, but they don’t look back and all continue filing into the hall that leads to the kitchen. The doors swing shut with a loud bang that echoes throughout the hall; Jin Ling flinches, almost imperceptibly.

It’s eerily quiet after that. The sound of Jin Ling’s chair scraping against the floor resounds loudly, ricocheting off the walls. There are no windows; candlelight flickers across his face as he comes to rest at the edge of his seat, back ramrod straight and legs folded neatly, and waits. And waits.

He isn’t sure how long he sits staring blankly ahead, waiting for a blessing to begin eating that will never come. It’s Fairy who brings him back to reality once more by tugging at his robes under the table. Jin Ling blinks and frowns, his mouth parting slightly. His eyes cloud when he realizes what he’s done; a slip-up he hasn’t made for weeks. His face scrunches up in anger as he snatches a pair of gold chopsticks and begins to eat.

The food tastes…fine. Perfect even, just like…always. He thinks so anyway. In actuality, he hardly registers anything, everything tasting more or less the same. He has no idea why.

Jin Ling sets down his chopsticks shortly after and wonders just what the hell is wrong with him, as he stares out at the decadent spread.

As his eyes drift from one dish to another, fingers running over the intricately embroidered tablecloth, his mind has a sudden thought. He begins to wonder how many families–how many villages this feast could’ve fed. The thought makes his stomach twist. He stares for another minute before pushing his chopsticks further away, appetite now entirely gone; his stomach growls in protest.

Fairy looks up from her meal down below at the sounds of his clattering chopsticks. Jin Ling feels bad and assures her, “I’m not hungry–but you finish eating first, then we’ll go.” Fairy and him have a silent standoff before she resolves to quickly finish the rest of her food, knowing Jin Ling won’t budge an inch on this.

Something akin to a smile starts to spread across his face, until he looks back up and spots those damn empty chairs by him. His face goes blank.

Jin Ling shakes his head and looks away, only to see more empty chairs. He looks another way and sees the all-too-spacious dining hall, with its godly paintings and tapestries. He looks away again and stares out at the long table, nearly every surface covered in food. His nails curl into his palm. He places his face in his hands a moment later, resting there for a brief period, until his no elbows on the table instinct wins out and he snaps back into a more proper posture, staring hollowly out ahead of him.

He stares, and stares. He half-expects to see a head of golden hairpins and a pair of burgundy eyes staring him back, staring listlessly through him, but of course he doesn’t. The woman pops into his head nonetheless. He remembers the last time he saw her–body long cold, pale yellow robes soaked in what could’ve been spilled wine, if her expression hadn’t been one of horror and pain. And he had been there, with that–that goddamned fake smile, those hands patting his shoulder–those same hands that had–

Jin Ling chokes and bolts up, hands coming up to rub his throat. He coughs a few times and waves Fairy down, reassures her she should take her time, trying in vain to flush images and feelings he knows he’ll never be able to from his brain.

Fairy is having none of it. She gets up and begins tugging him towards the exit, and Jin Ling? Well, he’s not in much of a state to protest, so he allows her to, in a total daze the whole time Fairy guides him through the twisting maze of halls that make up the palace. There is a moment when panic flares in his chest, when he looks around to see if there’s anyone around who might give him grief for such an act. He relaxes immediately after though, knowing that Fairy could smell anyone a li away, and wouldn’t be leading him on so improperly otherwise.

After an immeasurable period of time, Fairy stops abruptly. Jin Ling nearly trips. He rubs his eyes and gives them a few moments to adjust before finally realizing where they are.

Unsurprisingly, Fairy knows just what he needs. She’s led him all the way to the ends of the manor where a most always deserted courtyard lays. It’s hardly the most impressive that Lanling Jin has to offer, and it’s relatively small in comparison to some of the others, but it is by far Jin Ling’s favorite.

Soft jade grass covers the expanse of the yard, with scattered trees of peony, jasmine, and other fragrant flowers, but the true gem lies in the center–a lotus pond. Not just any lotus pond either; the one that his father built for his mother.

There’s a delicately crafted stone bench that sits to the side of it, under a large cherry blossom tree. Jin Ling always sits on the ground, right up against the pond, even if it means getting mud on his precious robes.

Jin Ling stares longingly at the cool water, slowly dipping a finger in. All of the sudden he’s five years old again, sitting on his jiujiu’s lap, begging to hear all the stories of his father making a perfect fool of himself in trying to earn his mother’s love.

The pond one was always his favorite. From trying to pretend he wasn’t the one who’d made it despite being caught red-handed to falling over in it, it never failed to make little Jin Ling laugh. His jiujiu would always skimp on details though, and he’d have to beg him for more. If it was his xiao-shushu though, he would use animated hand gestures, different voices–now those would send him into full on hysterics. He’d always been better at story-telling than his jiujiu.

“I think they’re gonna bloom soon Fairy–it is almost lotus season, isn’t it…” Jin Ling trails off, absentmindedly reaching out to brush his fingertips against a lilypad. He closes his eyes, feeling the smooth green pad with droplets of water on top, the thick summer heat, the light breeze…

Jin Ling is somewhere else again now. Yunmeng, hot and humid, the pier slick with water and algae, his jiujiu laughing as they dove off the edge…there were days they’d spend entirely outside, when they would swim for hours, and pick and eat lotus seeds right out of the pod, wandering all the stalls along the piers at night…

Of course, that’d been before.

His jiujiu and him–they hadn’t spent a summer together like that for probably seven years, not since–

Jin Ling withdraws his hand and begins shaking and hitting his head, blinking, screwing his eyes shut–anything to erase memories of…

Jin Ling’s hand unconsciously makes its way to his back, flaring with that age-old pain whenever he thinks about…

Fairy licks his face several times and rests her head in his lap, letting out a small whimper, effectively drawing him out of his stupor once again. Jin Ling huffs out a pained laugh.

“Heavens almighty. I really am a mess today, aren’t I Fairy,” Jin Ling mumbles, shaking his head and softly raking a hand through his dog’s fur. He sighs as he stares out across the lotus pond with clouded eyes, lost in deep thought.

When sweat begins to drip down his back, his face, Jin Ling moves to leave, sparing one last glance at the pond. He tilts his head and squints his eyes, trying to picture what his dad might’ve looked like, dirt caked on his wet robes, smudged on his probably red cheeks. His mother would have smiled warmly, holding up a hand to contain soft laughter.

The image blurs before he can hold onto it. Jin Ling’s chest aches with a phantom pain. He swallows thickly and turns to leave.

The walk back to his room is considerably long, all the way on the opposite side of the palace; even if he’d been able to take the short-cut tunnels, it still would’ve taken about the same time. Jin Ling walks absentmindedly, unfocused, mostly following Fairy.

Since it’s an off-day for everyone except some household staff, Jin Ling does not expect to run into anyone.

He has been known to have pretty crummy luck.

“Sect Leader Jin, is that you?” An aged voice inquires, stopping the youth dead in his tracks. He gets a sudden burst of adrenaline in having to face someone, but it fades mostly a moment later upon seeing who exactly it is.

“Qiu-yisheng! What are you doing here…today’s…an off-day…isn’t it?” Jin Ling’s brows furrow and he mutters the last part to himself, wondering if he mixed things up, if he’s been ignoring meetings all day, and begins to freak out.

“It is,” Qiu-yisheng acquiesces, approaching him slowly. Jin Ling, internally, breathes an enormous sigh of relief. Fairy sits at his heels and cocks her head at the newcomer, blinking owlishly.

“Then, what are you doing here?” Jin Ling asks again, puzzled. Qiu-yisheng’s wrinkled face betrays no emotion, as per usual, hands clasped behind his back as he stops in front of the young sect leader.

“I heard you were injured on a night hunt two days ago. I wanted to see for myself.” Jin Ling may as well be a specimen being examined under a looking glass with the way the elder circles and scrutinizes him. He leans in close, sizing up Jin Ling’s face. He makes an indication for him to present his hands, and arms. Jin Ling purses his lips and complies, pointedly refusing to look at how his injuries are faring today, preparing himself for the admonishment for being careless.

“Come. Your wrappings need redressing. I need to examine you further.” Qiu-yisheng doesn’t wait for Jin Ling’s reply before turning and walking off in the direction of the medical wing, with far greater speed than someone his age should be capable of, frankly.

Jin Ling bites his inner lip, desperately wanting to return to his room and…perhaps take a nap. His brain is too weary for much else in his free time these days. But Fairy wags her tail a few times and trots after the old man, shooting Jin Ling a look and indicating for him to follow. Seeing as he has little choice, he eventually does, forcing his feet to move one in front of the other.

The medical wing isn’t too far from where they were, so they reach it quickly. It’s deserted of most anyone else, save for a few nurses cleaning and doing paperwork. Qiu-yisheng leads him to the back and has him sit on a patient’s table while he gets out salves and new bandages. Fairy waits patiently outside, as per the medical staff's rules.

Jin Ling kicks his feet in the air like he used to as a child, remembering when his xiao-shushu would let him have sweets after going to the doctor’s office. His feet still when he dully realizes this is his first visit to the medical wing that Xiao-shushu won’t be waiting for him. Then he scowls and shakes his head, trying to prevent the headache he normally gets when he thinks of his xiao-shushu and…well…everything that happened.

“So. There was a ghost that burned you, huh? With its qi waves?” The doctor delicately takes Jin Ling’s hands and begins undoing them with far more care than he always expects of the old man. Jin Ling watches and hums affirmatively.

“Whoever wrapped these did an excellent job,” Qiu-yisheng mutters, finishing unwrapping the gauze and studying his discolored wounds. “Looks like they put an ointment on it, probably cleaned them, wrapped them just enough to give some breathing room without being too tight.”

“A-ah, that would be one of the Lan youths, Lan Sizhui.” Jin Ling has to stop himself from rambling on about the junior in question. He narrows his eyes at himself.

“Well. He did a good job. You should’ve had someone else change them yesterday though.” Jin Ling opens his mouth to respond, but the doctor continues. “It’s no matter now, what’s done is done. I won’t lie, they’re not great, but they should be healed within a couple weeks. Probably won’t leave any permanent scarring. But until then, no training. Definitely no holding your sword, or bow and arrows. Try not to hold anything at all. Give your hands a break.” Jin Ling, sullenly, agrees.

When the doctor goes to put salve on his face, Jin Ling finds it’s nothing like when Sizhui did it. There’s no…he doesn’t feel…he can’t quite put his finger on it, but it just isn’t the same. The contact though is welcome nonetheless, seldom as he gets it these days.

“For what it’s worth…try not to scrunch up your face at all either. Don’t want any of the wounds to crack and reopen.” Jin Ling has to refrain from curling his mouth backwards at the very idea of his soft face scabbed and cracking. Perhaps it’s best that he avoid looking in the mirror entirely the next few weeks.

“Is…that all?” Jin Link mumbles when the doctor steps away, his face full of healing cream and hands doused in bandages. He slowly blinks open his eyes and uses his shoulder to brush off some of the salve before it can get in his mouth.

Qiu-yisheng studies him for another almost uncomfortably long period of time, before eventually sighing and looking away, rubbing his face.

“Be careful, Sect Leader Jin. You…just–look out for yourself.” There it is, the obligatory code words for don’t be such a shameful fuck up to the sect. Jin Ling purses his lips and nods, hopping off the patient table and fixing his bangs.

“Of course. Well…thank you, so much, Qiu-yisheng. I will, uh…see you at the meeting then, later this week?” The elderly doctor nods and hands him a jar of ointment for his burns before sending him off, instructing him to return at least every day the next week for someone to change his wrappings. Jin Ling promises, slowly tip-toeing out of the office.

When they reach his quarters, he’s so deep in his own head he nearly walks past the door. Fairy paws at it a few times, breaking his trance.

He steps inside. Closes the door behind him. And just–stops.

He stands there for a moment, blinks. The next second he’s slowly sliding to the floor, body impossibly heavy, all the air sucked from his lungs. His back slumps against the wood, hands coming to rest limp on the tiled floor.

His head tips back. He stares at the ceiling. Tears begin flowing rapidly down his cheeks, silent and unbidden, and he just. Lets them. His chest heaves once, twice, and then he's laughing an ugly laugh, his whole body shaking; a vile sight to be sure. Disgusting. Pathetic. Pitiful.

Fairy sits beside him quietly.

To be honest, Jin Ling isn’t quite sure what happened. Sure, he was tired before; he’s always tired. But when he set foot in his room, it’s like that feeling was amplified tenfold, his ever-constant headache beginning to pick up, that nagging feeling of hopelessness surging like a wave that suddenly he's drowning in.

In sum, he feels really, really awful, and doesn't know exactly why, or what to do about it.

He tries to breathe, in and out, calm down–it's just exhaustion, fatigue from the trip, that’s all, surely. Probably. He’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Fairy,” he croaks out, after several minutes pass with no sign of his tears letting up anytime soon, “on a scale of one to ten, how terrible would it be if I didn’t do anything else today?”

Fairy licks his cheek. Jin Ling slumps even further. “Thought so,” he mutters, beginning to stand even though it feels like a thousand weights are pulling him back to the floor. A bit wobbly, he begins stumbling towards his bed. Somewhere along the way he trips, maybe over a carelessly thrown set of robes, maybe over nothing, and finds he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get up. He just peels off his outer robe, and crawls a little further until he can collapse over a pile of blankets he must’ve flung off earlier in the day.

He’s tired. So tired. He can’t explain it, but he just…he just has this terribly strong desire to not exist anymore, and sleeping seems to be the closest he can bring himself to that.

Fairy joins Jin Ling a moment later, curling into his side. He moves a little closer to her, resting his head by hers. His still shaking fingers find the pendant at his throat, curling around it without thinking. He closes his eyes. And sinks.

He gets the same sinking feeling in his chest when he wakes and discovers he’s managed to sleep most the day away, as fading rays of amber slip in through the cracks in his curtains. The feeling only grows as the amber fades to nothingness and he’s enveloped in complete darkness.

He should get up. He should really, really get up–he should’ve been up hours ago. Off-days come so rarely, the one time his time is his own–there are so many things he could be doing–but instead he just lays there, frozen somehow, the panic increasing with each passing minute that he doesn’t do something.

He shifts his body in a small, failed attempt to get up. His face scrunches, before he can remember not to because of all his burns, when he finds his pillow is wet. His face goes slack when he realizes why, reaching a bandaged hand to brush away his damp cheeks.

God–fucking–DAMMIT–what the hell–

Fairy makes a soft noise, not quite a bark, not quite a whine, as she presses her face to his and licks his cheeks. It only makes his cheeks grow wetter though, as she moves even closer to Jin Ling and rests her head on his chest, letting out a heavy sigh, ears flattened.

“I’m so sorry,” Jin Ling chokes out, forcing himself up with small, choppy movements. “You must be absolutely starving. You should’ve–you didn’t need to–I could’ve–” Jin Ling fruitlessly cuts himself off, knowing it’s in vain. Fairy leaps off the pile of blankets, when he finally makes it up, and follows his slow and droopy steps over to his desk.

“Here–it’s not much, but we can–…I’ll…” Jin Ling leans against his desk, feeling like he’s on the verge of collapse, as he empties the jar of treats he has stored for Fairy into a bowl of hers on the floor. It’s not nearly enough for dinner, she needs to eat more, and exercise more, and–and Jin Ling, he–

Silent sobs wrack his body as he does collapse, sliding to the floor again, head resting on his knees. Fairy sits right beside him and lays her head overtop his, of course she does, but it just makes him cry harder.

He can’t explain it. Why he gets like this. Why even the easiest things–getting out of bed, brushing his hair, going to the kitchens–feel like an impossible, never-ending uphill battle he could never hope to win. Why his whole body seems to protest even existing. He rubs at his temple, trying to soothe the ever-present pounding in his skull. It doesn’t help.

It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be like this.

“You should go,” Jin Ling whispers, voice muffled against his knees. “The kitchen staff will feed you. I can’t take care of you today. You shouldn’t have to wait around for me.” Fairy isn’t some frail little human like him, she’s a massive spiritual hunting hound who can’t just forget about and scrape by without basic needs. Jin Ling can’t take care of her like this–hell he can’t even take care of himself.

Even in the extraordinarily faint light, Jin Ling sees that Fairy knows this too. She’s torn, looking back and forth between him and the door for a long while. She paces a few times, her claws clicking against the tiles.

“I’ll be fine, really, you go,” Jin Ling insists, pushing her towards the door again for emphasis. She eyes him doubtfully.

It takes quite some convincing, but after Jin Ling has at least stood up and lit a few candles, she very reluctantly agrees to go. He opens the door for her, and with one last nuzzle, she begins racing off down the halls, glancing back his way a couple times.

With Fairy gone, Jin Ling leans against his door and takes several deep breaths, closing his eyes and massaging his temple again. He does this for a long time in hopes that it’ll go away, but it doesn’t. It gets worse if anything.

“Aghhhhhh!” Jin Ling pounds a fist against the door and pulls at the roots of his hair, beginning to pace around this room. It won’t stop, none of this will stop–he doesn’t know how to make it go away, he just–he wants a break from it, this constant misery that’s just consuming him, always lingering but more tangible now than ever, that nothing seems to fix.

His deep breaths turn into rapid, labored ones, his legs shake under him until he stops at his desk, hands splayed on either side of it, head lowered–soon it’s his whole body that’s shaking with this feeling–he doesn’t even know how describe it, anger? Agony? Irritation?

–I want it to stop, I want it all to stop! I want out, out of this godforsaken palace, this–this cursed body of mine, cursed life–this pain that never lets me be, I want to disappear–disappear! I want to be gone, rid of it all, no duties no performances no guilt nothing–anywhere but here, oh god–AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH–

A sharp, shrill cry breaks Jin Ling out of his violent spiral. His breaths slow and he blinks a few times, taking stock of what’s going on, where he is.

His face is buried in soft fur, and there’s an arm, a paw against his back, pressing him close. He’s on the floor–how had he gotten on the floor?–and everything hurts, different from before–the ache is still there, but now there’s a pressing sort of stinging he feels…on his arms, his chest, his legs, his hips, his…

Fairy is making a terrifying sound, a highly distressed sort of howling mixed with whimpering, that sets Jin Ling on edge–how could Fairy be so upset, what could’ve possibly happened to bring her to this state to–

…

Jin Ling hears blood rushing in his ears and every heartbeat of his chest; his vision begins to swim when his eyes fall on his dagger, lying on the floor in front of him, the edges dripping and stained crimson red.

He stares at it for a long while. He doesn’t come out of…whatever state he’s in for some time. If he thought his feelings were indescribable before, it’s nothing compared to now. It’s almost like…blank. Everything is just…strangely blank.

“Fairy…” Jin Ling says quietly, the first flicker of movement managing to flow through his body in probably some time. His fingers weakly card through his dog’s fur, and he repeats her name again, his voice small and raspy.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…I…” Jin Ling mumbles absentmindedly, vaguely aware of Fairy slipping away for what could be a second, a minute, or an hour for all he knows. When she returns, she’s dragging a box that he recognizes, that he’s come to be increasingly familiar with over the last several months.

“I…you’re right. That’s…probably a, good idea,” Jin Ling murmurs, voice practically a whisper, as he reaches out to sift through the box’s contents.

Fairy sits with him for a very long time, while he pets her back and stares at the wall in front of him. At some point he drags himself to take a bath. The water clouds slowly, hazy and pink. He watches it for a few moments before closing his eyes instead, sinking lower into the water. Later he stands in front of the mirror, the box Fairy brought him on the table, and eyes the many gashes that now line his body, some deeper than others. He rubs disinfectant and bandages each one sluggishly; there’s a lot by the time he’s done.

As the night progresses, Jin Ling doesn’t get better, but he supposes he doesn’t get worse either. He’s just…stuck. Numb. Quiet. The ache still throbs beneath everything, but for now, it’s like he’s detached from it all somehow, like none of it matters. It’s all just so…surreal.

When he crawls into bed at some point, his only surfaced emotion being hopelessness at the prospect of having to wake up and do everything all over again, Fairy takes her place beside him and sets something carefully in his lap. His eyes flicker down towards the little bag, the one normally hidden away in his mattress.

Fairy stares at him imploringly, nudging the qiankun pouch closer to him. He looks back up at her and gives her a wary look, exhausted.

“You can’t be serious.” Fairy stares. Jin Ling stares back for a short while, before letting out a long, ragged sigh, and pressing his forehead to his knees. He stays like that for some time, but when he looks back up Fairy is still in front of him, inching the bag closer.

Too weary to have a staring contest or argument, Jin Ling sighs again, burnt out and nerves frayed, and accepts his fate. He forces himself to reach out and open the bag one movement at a time. Fairy looks satisfied as she returns to curl up by his side. Jin Ling pretends he doesn’t feel the first flicker of something that isn’t numbness or misery in the last eight hours.

He moves to lay down on his stomach, feet tucked together up in the air, more so out of habit than anything as he spreads aged papers in a semicircle with careful hands. The old parchment is brittle and yellowed, the ink faded in places and violently messy in others. There are half-slanted, overly cramped annotations in the margins as well. He recognizes his xiao-shushu’s brushwork on a few. Others are probably Xue Yang’s, chaotic and sharp-edged. Jin Ling hesitates before he brings his personal notes close to him, wetting and lining up his ink and brush.

“Stupid, Jiujiu isn’t even talking to me right now, let alone him. He’d probably have my head if he knew I was even touching this stuff,” Jin Ling mutters, trailing off. He glances sideways at Fairy. She gives him a look.

“It’s dumb!” He adds quickly. “And evil! And boring.” Fairy doesn’t blink. Jin Ling purses his lips and goes back to running his hands along the papers, skimming familiar words with a featherlight touch.

Shortly after his xiao-shushu’s death, Jin Ling had found an array of manuscripts (among…other things) hidden throughout his quarters, regarding gui (and mo) dao. The him of many months ago would’ve tossed them in a fire with fiery vengeance, watching until the last second to make sure they were truly burned to a crisp. The him of more recent…well. Curiosity killed the cat. He may or may not have decided to read over a few of them before making any rash decisions. The more he read though, the more confused he became–not about the methods, but those were confusing too–but the people.

For all his life, Jin Ling had been raised to hate cultivators who took up the demonic path. Especially Wei Wuxian. He can’t count the number of times his jiujiu, xiao-shushu, yeye, nainai, Lanling officials, guest cultivators, literally everyone he ever met, recounted stories about the fearsome Yiling Laozu, tempted by dark magic, betrayed all his family and friends, turned into a monster. For someone to so selfishly turn on everyone, to kill people, many people, all for the sake of more power…it had always horrified him, and filled him with indignant rage in the name of his jiujiu and their family, and he swore to the heavens that if that Yiling Laozu ever came back, he would make him rue the day he was born…

…and then he did come back, and after a half-hearted stab attempt (well–not attempt, unfortunately) and some serious reflecting, Jin Ling had learned that everything he thought he knew, the world…it’s not as clear-cut as it’d always been made out to him to be.

What actually happened all those years ago with his jiujiu, Wei-qianbei, the morality of it all, he can’t say. But he doesn’t think that Wei-qianbei is a bad person–in fact, he desperately wants to know more about him, to be closer to this person his mother had loved so dearly. But seeking him out in any way always just feels like a betrayal to his jiujiu. Plus he did stab the man, and he’s pretty sure he’s on Hanguang-jun’s hitlist because of it.

But back at Guanyin Temple, the way his jiujiu looked at him, when he didn’t think anyone else was watching…Jin Ling swallows the lump in his throat.

If I could just understand this, he thinks, If I could explain it better–show him that Wei-qianbei isn’t what everyone said he was–then maybe...maybe they could…

Jin Ling shakes his head, refusing to let himself get caught up in such–such ridiculous fantasies. He whacks his head with his brush a few times, ignoring the pain from all his burns and cuts, and goes back to his studies.

Jin Ling starts with review. He closes his eyes and tests himself on everything he’s taken note of so far–the internal qi circulation map and method, the reorientation process, the talisman making process, all the safeguards. He isn’t surprised when he opens them and sees he’s got everything word for word; memorization had been critical to surviving his schooling.

After that he continues putting what he can into practice, which is mostly just reorienting his meridians. While true that this cultivation style could be taken up by anyone without a golden core, it still requires precise study of how to channel and control the resentful qi.

Reorienting his meridians to be able to take in the qi he isn’t accustomed to has been hard, something he’s still working on after months. He tries not to dwell on the fact that Wei-qianbei had essentially invented and mastered the method in less than three months. His circumstances had been pretty dire though, and there are vague references in his notes, also expanded upon by Xue Yang and his xiao-shushu, that forcing the cultivation too fast could contribute to a loss of control and shift gui dao into mo dao territory, which would be…very bad. This placates Jin Ling, somewhat.

It’d be much easier if he had a teacher of course, like Wei-qianbei, to guide him through all this so he didn’t accidentally do something catastrophic, but that was a big no for many reasons. Also these days Jin Ling doesn’t even really care if he accidentally blows himself up while playing around with dark magic, so.

Pain suddenly flares in his wrists, his body begins to shake, and he has the sudden urge to cough up blood. He blinks rapidly and goes back to scanning the current paper in front of him–did he forget something, did he skip a step somehow?

Qi, gateways, chest, wrists, channel, careful, pool, concentrate–where the fuck did he screw up, he took note of each stop and went through them beforehand, there shouldn’t–

Channel the energy slowly from your hands to your lower dantian.

Slowly. Ah. Fuck.

Jin Ling curses Wei-qianbei and his shitty handwriting for the umpteenth time, immediately slowing the flow of qi in his body. He stops shaking and his head clears a minute later. Jin Ling pauses to take a breather after that. Why couldn’t he have nicer handwriting like Wen-guniang?

Wen-guniang’s notes, at least, were legible. Her medical essays on golden cores hadn’t been directly useful, but they made sense. Jin Ling would never admit it but he had devoured every one of them, scrawling small summaries into his own notebooks. One had a marginal footnote about qi compatibility that had actually helped him understand his own blockages better.

Jin Ling tilts his head on his fist and bites his lip, flipping through papers to try to assess his progress. Once he finishes grasping the concepts and preparing his meridians, putting gui dao into practice will prove a bit of a challenge. He’s only ever done his studies in his room, carefully hiding all evidence in his qiankun pouch, but the thing is you kind of need resentful energy in order for the cultivation to actually work.

Resentful energy can have many forms–restless, unsatisfied ghosts being the most powerful and obvious, but also simpler things like a young tree being chopped down, or someone going through a personal ordeal that left them with lots of negative qi, some of which would seep into universal qi.

If you know what you’re looking for, which, having studied guidao Jin Ling now does, then you would be able to parse that Jin Ling’s room is actually covered in a dull haze of resentful qi that grows stronger by the day. Having no experience, Jin Ling doesn’t know what would happen if he tried to use it. It would be much better to test things out for the first time somewhere with a lot less people in the vicinity…

He’ll need to go somewhere else. Somewhere farther, somewhere where his presence won’t–

Jin Ling stops. That same thought again. I wish I could leave.

His gaze flickers toward the window. Thickly barred. Gilded. Just like the rest of Lanling.

“Whatever,” Jin Ling scoffs, shoving the thought down. “It was stupid anyway.”

Eventually, he finishes copying a diagram he half-understood several weeks ago. It makes a little more sense now. A little.

Jin Ling’s halfway through his preparation and conceptual foundations. Not ready to practice properly, not ready to risk testing anything outside this room, if he ever even gets there in the first place.

He tucks everything away–his notes, the scrolls, the brush. The qiankun pouch disappears back into the folds of the bed. He gets up, walking slowly, barefoot across the chilled floor to extinguish the candles. Fairy follows him around the room with wide eyes and a spring in her step.

Back under the covers, she presses close to him. Jin Ling breathes out, long and shaky, arm draping across her shoulders. “Clever girl,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

The ache is still there. He still feels broken. Tired. Not sure if he’ll ever be okay again. But for tonight, Fairy is here. And so is he. He’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe.

Notes:

Sorry this chapter is all over the place, I was trying to cover a lot of story-building elements in one place lol and, well. You can see the result lol. Also may have made Jin Ling a tad too ooc…but I promise it's for important plot reasons™ later on

question, anyone know the differences between mo and gui dao? from my limited research (that one reddit post lol) gui uses the energy in a positive way to help beings vs mo just takes w/o regard for the source and uses it like, evilly? Idk for sure so I'm kinda bsing unless anyone has a definitive answer

Chapter 6: Fine on the Outside (Priscilla Ahn)

The sun hangs low in the sky, but the temperature still rises until it feels more like the inside of a blacksmith’s shop than that of a cool spring morning. Heat envelops Jin Ling, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to him like a second skin, and brings his bangs to stick firmly to his forehead and his ponytail his back. He takes a peony-embroidered handkerchief to dab at his cheeks and brows, careful to keep his wrist and hands from smudging the ink of his notes again.

The courtyard is filled to the brim with members of elite family households, merchants, military officers, disciples, even foreign clan ambassadors and councilors. Golden banners flutter in the faint breeze, the only sound that breaks the eerie silence that has fallen. Jin Ling feels a thousand eyes glued to his face, watching his every move.

He swallows. Resists the urge to grasp his necklace hidden under his robes. Wonders if it was a mistake to tell his jiujiu not to come.

Jin Ling looks down to the right and sees Jin-san-gongzi give him a nod before going to take his seat. He looks down at his notes one more time and begins to chew on his inner cheeks before stopping himself a split second later. Instead, he concentrates on his breathing and skims through the agenda in his mind.

Everything should be perfect; there’s no reason for it not to be. He knows this material like the back of his hand, he’s reviewed it at least a hundred times. He knows every tax adjustment, every judicial reform, every clan’s new law, and even visited each neighboring one within the last week. He memorized the quarterly reports, the crime stats, the grain surplus records, everything. He even painstakingly, personally arranged the seating himself, with some input from the council.

He won’t let anyone down. He’ll make everyone proud this time.

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you all for being here,” Jin Ling stands, hands sliding along the table until they come to rest naturally in front of him, in a way his xiao-shushu would’ve approved of. “Especially those who came from afar,” Jin Ling nods politely to the table of foreign dignitaries. They stare back at him, expressions unchanged. Jin Ling doesn’t let himself get hung up on that though and turns his attention back to the front.

“As you all know, the Jin clan has hosted this summit for generations, to directly address the people and inform them of the state of the sect. We speak today not just to celebrate our past, but to shape our future. While it’s true that we’ve faced setbacks this year,” Jin Ling’s mouth goes dry. No matter how many times he practiced that line in particular, it took everything he had to get it past his lips.

Setbacks. An unfathomably generous way to describe the Jin scandals that had rocked the cultivation world.

Jin Ling had agonized over how to address the shitty situation his uncle and grandfather had left for him to clean up. It was his xiao-shushu who had emphasized the importance of taking due accountability, especially as a leader (no, the irony is not lost on him)–but not unnecessarily. Does this count as undue accountability? It’s not like Jin Ling had any control over their actions.

But if he’d learned anything the last few months, people need someone to blame.

His yeye is gone. His nainai is gone. His xiao-shushu, shenshen, A’Song too, not to mention his parents. Who else is left to blame for the state of the sect, other than their grandson and nephew, perhaps doomed to repeat the same mistakes? A rotten apple from a rotten family tree.

“–we will not be defined by these hindrances,” he continues smoothly, continuing to look to new people every few seconds. “The Jin sect has faced tribulations before, and will face more in the future. We’ve stood the test of time, and this year will be no different. So, without further ado–”

He presses forward, words flowing from a script carved into his mind. He’s practiced every line, every statistic, every diplomatic turn of phrase, every expression for hours on end in his mirror. His delivery is flawless–his voice doesn’t even shake. But when he looks up–

The crowd is completely unreadable. Flat. Cold. A sea of blank, still faces. No reactions, no nods, nothing, just–watching.

Heat crawls up his neck, the sun’s rays burning his skin like fire, as he sneaks a look during a transition towards his side. One of his councilors–Ge-xiansheng–whispers something into Yi-xiansheng’s ear. The latter smiles slightly. Another, Jin-er-gongzi, eyes him like a cat about to pounce. A chill curls down his back.

Keep going. Fear is not a luxury that he can afford.

Jin Ling almost trips up a few times as he nears the end, his heart about to beat right out of his chest, but manages to hold on. Finally, he concludes his address, bowing slightly.

“–so let us continue moving forward, as the time for change is now. Thank you.” Jin Ling looks up, slightly out of breath. No one claps. No one reacts at all. Everyone just continues to stare at him. Jin Ling has to wrangle the urge to grab the fan at his side to fight the torrent of sweat that’s sliding down him, glistening in the now blazing hot sun.

“Thank you, Sect Leader…Jin,” Jin-san-gongzi says, tone teetering between condescension and amusement, as he stands up to address the crowd. Jin Ling’s mouth falls just slightly open, his nails curling into his hands on the table before him. He tries to stop his lip from trembling while Jin-san-gongzi opens the public forum.

“I’d like to know,” the first man begins, voice ringing out over the courtyard, “why funding for the merchant’s guild was cut this year, after we’ve contributed nothing but prosperity to the Jin economy for decades.” Whispering immediately breaks out amongst the crowd.

Before Jin Ling can formulate a response, another voice cuts in. “Indeed! We neighboring clans would like to know why Sect Leader Jin,” the man, dressed in Qin sect robes, spits his name like a curse, “is so eager to sabotage not only his own sect, but all regional commerce. Was that a decision based on malice, or simply incompetence?”

Jin Ling knows exactly what reforms they’re referencing. When he’d first taken over, he’d decided to move around some of the vast resources available to the merchant’s guild, a flourishing but exclusive network of companies and businessmen. He’d taken less than 2% of funds available to them and put them towards smaller businesses trying to get their foot in the door, excluded from the guild. That had gone quite poorly though, so then he moved the funds back and pulled the ones for small business from the Jin clan’s unused money, of which there was quite a lot.

“The funds were restored shortly after a review. While there was an initial misallocation–”

“To useless street rats, you mean,” comes a sharp sneer from Qian Zhengsheng, the wealthy, influential head of a well-known family. “You took from old families who built this world and handed it to peasants who don’t even know how to read.”

The murmurs grow louder now, echoing across the yard like a ripple of thunder. Jin Ling feels all his breath leave his body. His instinct is to turn and look for his jiujiu for help–who of course isn’t here at his own behest–or even his council members, but he doesn’t. He’s the sect leader for gods’ sake, this is his responsibility, and he’ll take care of it!

“The reason for these changes is–”

“To what, buy loyalty from people who couldn’t even tell you who the sect leader is?”

Jin Ling takes a slow, even breath. “The intention behind all of these changes is to help–”

“To help? Then explain the new taxes!” Someone interrupts, as more and more begin to swarm towards the stage, like predators smelling blood in the water.

“You raised them on us,” another shouts, “and lowered them on city limits and border trash!”

Jin Ling tries to breathe, in and out, in and out. “They were returned to their original values–and there’s still tax relief available for families experiencing hardship as well–”

“Hardship? We’ve paid tithes to this sect for generations. You penalize those who uphold the system and reward those who feed off it–peasant taxes were kept lowered, were they not?!”

Another voice barks out from the edge of the crowd, faster than Jin Ling can keep up, “What about the border districts, Sect Leader Jin? Have you even been to Hongtu Qu since you rolled out that so-called police reform? Bandits swarm the roads! My estate was ransacked twice!”

“My cousin was injured–your guards said they didn’t have the authority to intervene anymore. Did you seriously pull their command, in the most crime-ridden district in the sect?”

“My restaurant couldn’t get stock for a whole week because you changed the food supply chain. Why is it that we couldn’t get the high quality ingredients we needed, ingredients that were rerouted to places where people wouldn’t even be able to tell you the names of them?!”

The sun burns impossibly hotter, Jin Ling feels it digging through his robes, branding his skin–the crowd is a blur of shifting mouths, pointing hands–he can’t tell who’s speaking anymore, he can’t–

“I tried to–”

“Try harder!”

“Try acting like an actual leader–”

“Or maybe resign while there’s still something left to salvage!”

Jin Ling’s heart thunders in his chest, sweat trickles down his back like spilled ink–he can’t look at anyone, he wants to run he wants to disappear it doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop oh god it won’t stop–

“What’s wrong with you–is it weakness, or laziness, or stupidity?” Someone asks, “Or do you just take after your grandfather?”

The noise drops suddenly. Everything fades away, until there’s but a low hum in his ears. His vision blurs at the edges.

“Your last two predecessors ran this sect with confidence–harsh sometimes, but at least they were decisive. And here you are, crumbling under a few measly questions!” A new voice hollers.

“But his grandfather was a degenerate, wasn’t he? Kept a whole harem of women, half of them against their will! Who’s to say he isn’t already doing the same thing?”

“Yeah, and what about his uncle, the one whose mother was a brothel whore, and married his own sister! You can’t expect a boy with blood so stained to amount to anything good–”

“Or his other uncle, the war criminal who murdered ten thousand people with his wicked cultivation! Maybe he takes after him too!”

“I wonder just what kind of sect leader is raised by nothing but traitors, rapists, and murderers.”

Jin Ling flinches with every attack thrown his way and shakes his head. He pleads desperately with unfallen tears, “Stop–please, just–stop–let me–” but a voice slices through his feeble words like steel.

“Sect Leader Jin, do you truly believe you’re qualified to lead this sect?”

And just like that, his world unravels. The ink bleeds from his notes, his hands stained black–the table melts under his grip, the sky turns blood red, then black, until it’s gone entirely–the banners twist in the wind–no, not banners, chains, flying, coming for him–the crowd laughing, jeering, the sound distorting and echoing like it’s coming from inside his own skull.

Jin Ling turns he needs to leave he has to get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out–only to feel fingers at his throat, invisible hands, so tight he can’t breathe he can’t breathe!

He tries to speak, to scream, his voice is gone it’s all choked off buried beneath the laughter, that cruel laughter–he claws at his neck, the void splits open and he’s falling–

Jin Ling gasps and jerks up, swallowing mouthfuls of air and clasping a hand to his chest. It takes a couple minutes before he can catch his breath, wild eyes darting around the room, that faint laughter still ringing in his ears.

Fairy whines and licks his cheeks, placing a paw lightly on his thigh. Jin Ling takes several slow, deep breaths, before turning to place his forehead against Fairy’s and run his fingers through her fur. He closes his eyes. He sits there, trying to forget…everything.

“…I had that dream again,” Jin Ling murmurs into Fairy’s fur. Fairy moves closer to him and lays down over his lap, licking one of his hands. Jin Ling looks up at the ceiling with dull eyes, feeling what little energy he’d woken up with leave his body with every breath.

“…the one about that…awful–summit,” he whispers, voice scarcely audible. Fairy whines again. As Jin Ling stares, his vision begins to blur, and he sees images of furious citizens, sneering councilors, ink dripping down his hands–

“Fuck!” Jin Ling shoots up out of bed, not even caring that the sun hasn’t risen yet, anything to stop his mind from undoing all his efforts to erase his memories of that day. He wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep again anyway.

Having risen so early proves to be a blessing in disguise. Between the throbbing headache that accompanies him most waking hours and his lack of desire to do virtually anything, it ends up taking him more than an hour to get ready. He has to force every movement–each step forward, each stroke of his brush, each tie of his robes. Most days he would leave for a council meeting five minutes before the start and arrive just on time. Today he leaves a whole fifteen minutes early, and still manages to arrive just barely in time.

As Jin Ling approaches the meeting room’s smooth lacquered doors, which only seem to grow taller with every visit he pays them, he realizes with horror that he had not prepared himself to be in this room. His dream hadn’t quite gotten to that part yet, but–but still–fuck fuck fuck!!!!

–he can feel those fingers around his throat, those lips in his ear, those hands on his robes–

–GODS–

“Good morning everyone!” Jin Ling says, perhaps a bit too loudly as he yanks open the doors and half-runs to his seat. He rubs his wrists and reaches up to finger the pendant at his chest, ignoring him as he walks straight to the head of the table, amidst all the council heads’ greetings and bows back towards him.

Tour review, council head summaries, Lan junior night hunt–Jin Ling repeats the list over and over in his mind, refusing to let the room, that man, the disingenuous greetings sent his way distract him.

“Thank you all for being here, it’s good to be back,” Jin Ling lays his notes out carefully on the table in front of him, breathing through his headache. He sits up in the head chair, perfectly poised and attentive. He shifts away from a ray of sunlight streaming in through the window that blinds him.

“A special thank you to Yi-xiansheng for helping organize the tour from last week, it was a wonderful opportunity to learn more about the day to day life and functions of our sect–”

Jin Ling doesn’t spend too long talking about his tour. By this point he knows it’s all a big sham, that he’s nothing in the eyes of all of them. But he feigns a smile and plays his part. What else is there to do?

“–ended on a high note in the secluded, mountainous Shuangfeng Qu. Now, with that being said, does anyone have anything pressing they’d like to share before we move onto our ordinary matters?” Jin Ling could’ve told you before he’d asked that the only response he’d get would be barely stifled yawns and disinterested scowls. But he plays his part.

“Perfect. Yi-xiansheng, please,” Jin Ling sits back a bit in his chair as the state head takes over, settling in to take notes for indefinable reasons. It’s not like he’ll be able to use them, and they’re probably inaccurate. Perhaps it’s just that it gives him something to do, otherwise he might just stare off into the distance and completely zone out, his mind drifting to…less than savory thoughts.

For the next two hours, Jin Ling listens to his closest advisors reassure him that the sect’s finances, the people’s finances, are prosperous, that testing scores are up, they have a surplus of food, the judicial branch has overseen more cases than ever–and so on.

He thinks of Shuangfeng Qu, and all the other districts or areas he’d been quickly ushered through, the ones without the sprawling farms and orchards, the bustling artisan’s markets and trade centers. He wishes there was something he could do. Wishes he had even an inkling of power, intelligence, or capability.

At the end, Jin-san-gongzi sends him his signature look, signalling the end of the meeting. Jin Ling nods back and stands up again, offering some generic closing remarks before bringing his last point to the table.

“Actually, if I might have your attention for just one minute,” everyone just barely withholds groans, no better than his own junior disciples. Jin Ling looks around the table and catches–his–eyes by accident–

You really won’t even fight? Are you truly that spineless? I could kill you, right where you stand, and you wouldn’t even try to stop me, would you?

You’re a disgrace. How you’re a Jin is beyond me–gods, you’re even more docile than your mother like this you know?

What are you gonna do? Nothing? Just like the way you run the sect huh, ruining everything, in spite of everyone’s efforts to help you…

“–der Jin? Sect Leader Jin?”

Jin Ling blinks and gasps quietly, his mouth falling open. He looks around the room and remembers–the council meeting…his point, he’d had a point…the three things–meeting, three points, he…he had wanted…tour, normal stuff, the other thing–the other thing, oh god–

Everyone stares at Jin Ling as he stands at the front, mind blank, chest beginning to seize up, not unlike that day. He didn’t mean to look at him, it was an accident, he hadn’t been prepared, he hadn’t–he wasn’t–

“Sect Leader Jin, we don’t have time for this, if you do not have–”

“IwanttoinvitetheLanjuniorsforanighthunt!” Jin Ling blurts out suddenly, fighting waves of nausea that threaten to leave him doubled over and dry heaving, god knows he doesn’t have anything to actually throw up.

“Ahem,” Jin Ling smooths his hair and robes and takes a deep breath, shifting his notes down below him again. Everyone watches, thoroughly unimpressed. Jin Ling fiddles with his sleeves under the safety of the table.

“I mean…I would like to extend a formal invitation to Gusu Lan’s junior disciples to come night hunt in Lanling. I think…it would be a very good opportunity to further our relations with the Lan clan. I thought of the idea last week and only wanted to confirm with everyone, before I sent such a letter…”

Everyone cares so little for his contributions by this point, they don’t even bother to wait for a date to be decided upon, leaving the matter up to him. A few months ago, the prospects of handling such a diplomatic outing most all on his own would’ve thrilled him like nothing else. In this case though, he recognizes that this is hardly a diplomatic outreach, so much as just another thing to keep him entertained in their eyes.

A few offhand, nonchalant comments are offered, before everyone finishes packing and files out. Jin Ling hunches over his notes and pretends to look busy, so he doesn’t have to face any of them.

When the last of the council leaves, finally, he drops his head into his hands, listening to the sound of their footsteps fade. He slumps over, hunching into himself, deflating like a burnt out paper lantern. His limbs lose all elasticity, fingers going slack sending his worthless papers fluttering to the floor. The headache behind his eyes flares again, dull and constant, like a gong that won’t stop ringing. He rubs his temple, but the ache doesn’t leave.

Outside, he hears the real gong sounding, signaling the end of the hour. Jin Ling shivers. The room is uncannily quiet, especially once the bells stop tolling. Too quiet.

He stands up all too quickly, scraping the chair legs harshly against the floor. He winces at the sound, but doesn’t slow. He needs air needs space needs out now–

Jin Ling stumbles out of the room, squeezing his eyes shut, leaning against the wall. Panic flares again when he hears voices approaching, the servants probably coming to clean, and scrambles further up the hallway, instinctively ducking behind a large, floor-length portrait of some of his ancestors. The painting is heavy, especially with its thick gold frame, and it gets stuck on the floor–but Jin Ling knows how to get it open just a crack, just enough for him to slip in and out, by this point in his life. He leans against the back of it, chest heaving, waiting until the voices pass before letting out another long-winded sigh, and fishing a small light talisman out of his robes.

Since Fairy isn’t with him (banned from council meetings for being “too distracting” and “unprofessional”), Jin Ling figures now is as good a time as any to take the hidden passageways back to his room, and spare him from running into anyone in his current state. They’re damp and tight, the walls pressing in on all sides, but at least it’s quiet once you get to the inner passages. The only sounds there are the occasional drip of water, and every so often, Jin Ling swears he hears a child’s laughter echoing off the walls.

He isn’t entirely sure when or why the tunnels were built, or even how many people know about them, only that one day he and A’Song had stumbled upon them by accident, and hide and seek was never the same after that. While he’d been scared of the endless dark passages, A’Song was never afraid of anything and looked up to him so fervently, so Jin Ling had put on a brave face and found a candle so they could explore the web of tunnels.

In retrospect, that was probably the best year of Jin Ling’s life. His shenshen still doted on him, the closest thing to a mother he ever had. And who cared about his stuffy old yeye, or shitty older cousins when A’Song looked at him like he was the strongest hero to ever walk to face of the earth?

But then he found A’Song’s mangled body at the watchtower, and everything changed.

Jin Ling pauses on a ladder and rests his head against the rough stone wall, stained with an indistinguishable substance. He thinks he hears that same laughter again, somewhere around a bend in front of him, but who could say if it’s only in his mind or not. He shakes his head, trying to unsee images from that night, all those years ago. He sniffs and swallows the lump forming in his throat before pressing on.

The tunnels are all nearly, if not wholly pitch black, cramped and awkward in many places, leading you up and down stairs, crawlspaces, ladders, and plenty of other obstacles. When Jin Ling almost stumbles over a large, protruding stone, he knows to turn right and begin fitting his hands and feet into the rough patches, crawling up the wall to his final destination.

A short while later, Jin Ling squeezes through layers of clothes and swings open the doors of his dresser, promptly losing his balance and tumbling onto the rug in front of it in an ungraceful heap. Ow.

Fairy appears by his side a moment later and has the decency not to laugh, nudging a container of fruit and milk his way. She must’ve gone to the kitchens while he was gone and somehow brought something back.

Jin Ling stares at her dully, the ends of his lips downturned, and considers shoving it all to the side and going to hide under his blankets. He almost does, but the look Fairy gives him–she knows just how to get him with those goddamn puppy dog eyes, all big and sad and wet with fake tears. Even like this, Jin Ling can’t find it in him to say no.

“Thank you, Fairy,” he whispers eventually, slowly ruffling her soft fur. He sits up against the dresser and closes the doors behind him, dragging the tray over to his side and beginning to nibble on a persimmon. His stomach thanks him immensely.

They sit together for a while, eating in silence. The fruit is fresh and sweet, the milk cool against his throat. It helps. His headache is still there, but not quite as sharp. He ends up petting her belly in the end, which earns a content sigh and a wag of her tail. For a brief moment, the air feels lighter, and his lips almost uncurl into the faint ghost of a smile.

“I owe you another hundred belly rubs,” Jin Ling says, breaking the silence, “but I should probably get this letter written before I put it off any longer.” With considerable effort, he manages to pull himself up, wiping his hands on a napkin and trudging over to his desk. Fairy follows after him a moment later, sitting at the foot of his chair and cocking her head just to the side. Jin Ling sits down and mechanically wets his ink, selecting a fine brush and drawing a sheet of his personal parchment. Then he pauses, hand hovering over the paper, suddenly quite unsure of himself.

Fairy jumps up and puts her paws on the desk, glancing at his writing–or lack thereof, rather. When she sees the blank page, she shoots a questioning look back at him. Jin Ling sighs and sets his brush down, brushing a hand through his bangs.

“I’m…trying to write to invite the Lan juniors to a night hunt here, but I’ve never written a letter like this, I don’t know what kind of things to say…do I make it straight to the point? Is that rude? I don’t know what else to even talk about otherwise…”

He turns sluggishly in his chair to face his dog, hoping she’ll somehow magically have the answers that he needs. Fairy tilts her head a couple times and wags her tail as well. Jin Ling scrunches his brows, searching for any clue to help him decipher her meaning. She places a paw on his leg and licks one of his hands.

“Okay…okay yeah, yeah I get it. Just start. Better to send something than nothing at all.” He turns back to the page, muttering, “Right, right, just an invitation. That’s all, nothing more…” He dips the brush again and begins the letter with his most careful calligraphy.

Honorable Lan-gongzi, he writes at the top; a safe way to start and title a formal letter. Fairy looks over his shoulder and nods in approval.

After an embarrassingly long amount of time that leaves his burned hands cramping and even bleeding in a few places, Jin Ling has written a very neat, respectably sized letter cordially inviting the Lan juniors to night hunt with him. At Fairy’s insistence, he agrees to read the finished product out loud, rolling his eyes and fighting a tiny, miniscule grin. He clears his throat and sits up straight.

“Honorable Lan-gongzi, it is my sincerest hope that you and your clan’s juniors have returned safely to the Cloud Recesses, following the culmination of your night hunt. On behalf of the Jin Clan, I thank you again for allowing myself and my disciples the opportunity to accompany and assist in your endeavors.

“As previously stated, it would be an honor for us to host the juniors of such a prestigious clan, and as such formally extend an invitation to you all and any others in your party to join us in a night hunt in Lanling. Kindly name a date that would be opportune for your visit, and we will begin making preparations for your impending arrival. Should you need any further information, please do not hesitate to send your inquiries. Respectfully, Sect Leader Jin.”

Jin Ling takes a deep breath and looks back up at his audience, clutching the paper tightly in his hands, taking care not to let the still damp ink run.

Fairy does her attempt at a smile and barks happily–the golden seal of approval. Jin Ling, forgetting everything else in his life for just a minute, reads over his letter again, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “You’re right, it is pretty good, isn’t it? Some of my best handwriting too…”

He isn’t quite sure what possessed him to take such utter care in ensuring every stroke was written just right, he certainly never put so much effort in for his tutors, but regardless the letter is a work of art the likes of which he’s never produced before. His chest feels light when he thinks of running off to show his xiao-shushu, always encouraging him to improve his brushwork. It sinks a split second later, when reality sets in.

His shoulders fall further when he realizes he doesn’t even have his jiujiu to show, still ignoring his letters. He considers preparing another one, seeing as he’s on the way to the mailroom anyway, but ultimately decides against it. He’s already sent five; his uncle has made it perfectly clear he wants nothing to do with Jin Ling for the foreseeable future.

A mini breakdown and pack of tissues later, he carefully folds his now-dry letter into an envelope, writes Gusu Lan’s address and Sizhui’s name with the same painstakingly delicate calligraphy, and presses the Jin Clan wax seal to the front. When that’s done he runs it downstairs to the couriers’ office, and for a few short moments, he feels…accomplished. Capable. He might even call it a good moment, walking back with something vaguely resembling a spring in his step. This feeling is, naturally, short-lived.

On his way back down one of Lanling’s hallways, he runs into the Jin juniors all red and sweaty, swords at their sides. He has perhaps a second to turn away–but Jin Chan sees him first, before he can even think of bolting.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jin Rulan. Didn’t see you at all yesterday, or this morning. Slacking this week, are we?” He crosses his arms and sends a positively obnoxious grin at Jin Ling, stopping just short of him, completely invading his personal space.

“He’s just too good for training now A’Chan, he’s the sect leader after all. His sword-fighting–and archery–are the best of the best. Why waste time training with us when he has so many important things to do?” Jin Mingjun approaches as well and smiles at him, making it abundantly clear he’s more than aware of all the “important things” he has to do.

Jin Ling momentarily considers defending himself and his injuries, but quickly decides against it. The only thing that would do is spark a new round of taunting at how weak and fragile he is.

“I had a meeting with the council this morning, and an important letter to send after,” Jin Ling replies diplomatically, rising to his full height, which is admittedly not much. Even though he’d always been relatively tall for his age, he’s the youngest of his cousins, and consequently the shortest as well. He’d had a growth spurt not quite two years ago, but since then grown less than a couple centimeters, something that frustrates him to no end.

“Oh I’m sure,” Jin Chan smirks, blowing a few loose strands of hair out of his face, the others grinning menacingly at Jin Ling too. He wipes his brow and flicks a bead of sweat that lands on Jin Ling’s hand. Jin Ling moves to swipe it off, internally recoiling when he realizes it’s seeped into his bandages. Jin Chan’s smirk only widens.

Jin Ling knows it’s not worth it, that he shouldn’t rise to the bait. But as he stands in the large hall, cornered by the other juniors, it ignites something in him, a feeling–anger. It’s the strongest he’s felt about much of anything in days, as opposed to the blank numbness, and he can’t help himself from at least shooting back, “Qiu-yisheng forbid me from engaging in any intense training due to my injuries from the night hunt, perhaps you recall, the one in which you all ran and screamed like little kids because of one measly ghost? Does that jog anyone’s memories?”

Jin Ling taps his finger against his chin and looks thoughtfully off into the distance, as smirks turn to pointed scowls before him. It isn’t very sect leader-like of him, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel good.

“Anyway, I’m more than happy to accompany you to the training grounds and assist from the sidelines, since you all seem so interested in my attendance,” he continues in a sweet, honeyed tone, realizing a split second later he sounds just like his xiao-shushu would during official meetings, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. The deep frowns of irritation from every disciple make it almost worth it.

“Whatever, see if we care,” Jin Chan mutters, aggressively shoving Jin Ling as he passes and ramming into him with his shoulder, the others shooting dirty looks his way before following after. Jin Ling lets out a sigh when they’re out of sight and rubs his still-tender, burned shoulder, lamenting his commitment to go to training, but knowing he needed to make an appearance anyway.

Still, he takes his sweet time, stopping by his room first to grab his water canteen, dropping by the infirmary to get his bandages changed. When he finally reaches the training grounds, the others are already running drills. The air is thick with sweat and shouting, swords clashing in the distance. Fairy trots at his side protectively, a comforting presence amidst the chaos.

The training area itself is massive–armories stocked with the highest caliber models of virtually every weapon known to man, a near endless supply of practice dummies, plentiful sparring rings and obstacle courses set up across the field. Past the expansive training grounds lies an enormous forest that marks the edge of Lanling’s city, usually crawling with all kinds of spiritual creatures once you get a ways out. Jin Ling used to sneak away to that forest and practice his archery sometimes. He hasn’t been back there in probably a year or more.

When he arrives, the other juniors are already running laps around the yard. Jin Ling quickly stretches and joins them, falling into the rear of the formation.

He’s usually good with endurance. He can normally outlast most of his cousins, even the older ones, in feats of attrition. But not today. His muscles ache, his lungs protest every breath, and he can feel the acute sting of every agitated burn and cut and bruise that lingers on his skin. By the second lap he’s lagging; by the fourth, he can barely keep up.

“Nice form, Bofei!”

“Good pace, Zihao!”

“Rulan what are you doing–keep your chest up! Move your feet! Are you out for a Sunday stroll, or here to train?”

Wu-xiaowei is their instructor for today, a colonel in Lanling’s military. He doesn’t really like Jin Ling.

It’s strange to think there was a time no one would’ve dared say anything remotely negative about him–no adults, anyway. Jin Ling can hardly remember that time.

A few people closeby snicker at Wu-xiaowei’s comment. Jin Ling doesn’t respond, and just keeps running. When the run comes to an end, he feels like he might be sick.

The air is hot and sticky under the thick summer sun. Once everyone stops, they fan over to rest under the redwood trees that dot the middle and sides of the training ground. Jin Ling was about to fall out himself, and hides a throbbing cramp in his side as casual stretching.

After more stretching and some calisthenics, Wu-xiaowei moves them under a large tent and begins the instructional component of today’s lesson. He calls for attention as he stands between two sparring dummies, blade in hand.

“Today, you learn one of the Jin style signature moves–the Double Sweep Spiral Flow." At first, the colonel performs a rapid series of movements, over in the blink of an eye, ending with his sword stuck firmly in one of the dummies’ lower gut. Jin Ling tilts his head ever so slightly, eyes narrowing. It looked like two blows with some footwork in between, but he would need to see it again to be sure. He fishes his notes and a brush out of his bag, careful to hide them behind the backs of others.

“Again–watch closely,” At perhaps half the speed, he raises his sword, then begins the motion in slow sequence: an arcing diagonal cut from the side–a feint, a quarter-pivot on the back foot, half-step spiral back the original way on the front foot, and finally a concealed thrust with the wrist twisted at a slight angle. While the man performs it a few more times with some juniors asking questions, Jin Ling begins discreetly writing in his notes.

The move is unmistakably Jin, elegant, complex, and geometric. Built on footwork and misdirection, the theory being if your opponent can’t follow your movements, they can't stop the killing blow.

It also assumes your opponent is a decent amount slower than you, and dumber, one of the Jin style’s fatal flaws. Jin Ling bites back the critique though and sketches a few diagrams, eyes darting over to the archery targets that sit all the way at the end of the field before back to his paper.

Pairs are called up to attempt the move with wooden swords a couple minutes later. Some juniors struggle with the pivot, over-rotating or stepping back too far, when it needs to be exact and precise. Others miss the angle of the final thrust entirely, too focused on the prior footwork that needs to happen near instantaneously.

Jin Ling watches each match silently, mentally correcting footwork, adding comments in the margin of his notes.

Too flat on the pivot.

Thrusting from too low.

A Jiang would just dodge then slice the leg during that opening.

A well-trained Lan would probably be able to follow and predict the movements, quickly dealing a fatal blow during one of the pivots. Or they would just eviscerate you from a distance with their instruments.

“Fucking loser,” someone mutters not far from him, “taking notes like some goody two-shoes.”

“He won’t even spar today, what a wimp–”

“Maybe he’s hoping someone’ll have sympathy for him and his stupid little paper cuts, poor little sect leader.”

Jin Ling pauses his writing, continuing to stare down at his paper. His grip tightens around his brush until his knuckles go white. He thinks about turning and shooting something nasty back, but his head is too sore to think of anything good. It would be inappropriate anyway.

He glances over under his bangs at the instructor who stands not ten paces away. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t hear. More than likely though, he just doesn’t care. Jin Ling bites his lip and goes back to his notes, counting every painful minute of the remaining hour of training.

He doesn’t look up again. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t raise his hand. Just keeps writing–messier now, more lines scratched through, ink blotting in parts as his grip grows tighter. He presses the end of the brush so hard at one point, the tip gives out, the hair cracked and spread beyond saving.

By the time Wu-xiaowei finally calls the end of the session, his hands are stiff and sore and bleeding, sweat and ink and blood stained across his cuffs. The others begin filing out, some toward the baths, others toward the mess hall, everyone laughing too loud about senseless things that don’t matter at all.

Jin Ling waits until they’re mostly gone, pretending to repack his bag, fiddling with the straps of it, having another sip of water. Fairy nudges his shin gently. He sighs, praying the people behind him are on their way out as well. They are–but not before leaving him with one more disdainful comment, because why not?

A quiet voice, barely a murmur, passes a ways behind him. He hears it crystal clear. “He really didn’t spar once? What’s the point of even showing up? Does he even do anything these days? I heard–”

Footsteps fade, along with their owner’s voice. Jin Ling doesn’t turn. He just stares at the ground, until something eventually makes him begin the long walk back to his room, fingers clenched around his bag, eyes trained straight ahead.

It’s far too bright on the walk back. The sun has risen high and harsh over the courtyard, burning into the white and gold stone walls. It reminds him of his dream from last night.

His boots scrape against the marble floor of the west corridor, his hands raw from all his writing, and head pounding with every thought. He thinks about stopping by the infirmary again. He knows he won’t. He lifts a hand to rub at the side of his face, only he doesn’t quite make contact. His hand just…hovers there for a moment, before falling back to his side.

He doesn’t remember getting back to his quarters. Doesn’t remember opening the door, or sitting down, or pulling his knees to his chest. He finds himself on the floor, back against the wall, boots still on, forehead tilted into his palm. The room is warm from the sun spilling through the balcony windows. He closes his eyes. Fairy pads over and curls up next to him.

He stays there, stuck in a state of dissociation, for a long time; the kind of long that doesn’t have seconds or minutes or hours, all blending together, that tastes like ash and sounds like crushing silence. The stillness just stretches on, and on…and on…

Eventually, he breaks the quiet and whispers, “They were right…they’re–always right.” His voice cracks halfway through. He rubs his eyes again.

He thinks about how many days it’s been since he did anything that mattered. How many days it’s been since he heard from his jiujiu–since he visited his parents’ shrine. His chest aches at that thought, eyes pricking with tears against his will.

Jin Ling tilts his head back, eyes still shut, and says softly, “Would…anyone even notice, if I just…disappeared?”

The words hang there, stale in the summer heat. Would they notice? …Maybe. They’d notice all the unsigned reports and missed council meetings, eventually. They’d whisper. Spread theories, all kinds of wild ideas about his absence, before ultimately pinning it on his bloodline–but would they care? Would anyone grieve?

Jin Ling swallows hard. He knows the answer, in his heart. He doesn’t give voice to it.

He grits his teeth and slams his head back against the wall, his hand drifting towards his desk off to the side. The bottom drawer is filled with bottles from his xiao-shushu, bottles he wants to pull out and guzzle by the dozen like he did earlier in the week, anything to forget–though that certainly hadn’t been their intended purpose.

“No,” he mutters aloud, “No, we’re not doing that again.” Jin Ling curls his nails into his palms and shakes his head. His hands twitch, itching to do something, anything, to alleviate the numbness. His eyes drift towards the other drawer, housing another gift from his xiao-shushu…

Fairy barks. Just once, quiet, but firm. Jin Ling flinches, blinking, realizing he’s stood up and begun walking to his desk with an outstretched hand. He pauses and exhales shakily, burying his face in his palms, forcing himself back to the floor.

“…I suppose you’d hate that, wouldn’t you?” Fairy pads over and rests her head against his leg, warm and solid and grounding. He lets out a weak laugh, torn between fondness and despair.

“I’m not–” he chokes, swallowing again, “I’m not gonna…do–anything. Not now, I won’t. I just…gods, fucking–fuck, Fairy, I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how to do any of this! I don’t know what to do!”

Jin Ling thinks about what would happen if he told someone how he really felt. Word would travel rapidly to his council, who would undoubtedly, collectively, declare him unfit for rule; the perfect excuse to get rid of him. They’d send him to some faraway temple, or monastery. Lock him up. Perhaps they’d seal his core until he could be “rehabilitated.” And if his jiujiu knew?

Jin Ling clenches his jaw. Shakes his head hard. No. No, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t let that happen. Jin Ling doesn’t want to be one more stain in his family tree, one more burden to his uncle, he just…he just wants to not feel like this–even just for a little while–he wants to escape all this–all this–this–

“I just–I need to get out of my own head! And I don’t know how! Everything and everyone here is just one more reminder about–about how much I–aghhghh!” Jin Ling snaps and runs a hand through his tangled hair, letting out another frustrated growl when his fingers catch in a large knot.

At his side, Fairy perks her head up and flicks an ear, then turns her gaze toward the far window. While Jin Ling continues grumbling and finds a brush nearby he must have carelessly thrown on the floor, Fairy stands and stretches, padding across the floor to the balcony doors and pressing her nose against the glass. Jin Ling pauses in his attack on his hair and eyes her suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?”

Fairy lets out a soft bark and glances at him, then outside, then back at him. Jin Ling blinks again, slower this time, his eyes widening a couple seconds later.

“No…no you can’t possibly mean–I can’t just–”

Fairy lifts her paw and scratches lightly at the door frame, looking back at him again over her shoulder. He stares at her owlishly.

“Fairy,” he says flatly, “I haven’t gone into the city in years.” She wags her tail, once.

“I’m not allowed. You know that. I’ve never been allowed–not without a whole–twenty person entourage anyway, guiding my every move. They’ll notice if I leave! There are guards, patrols, arrays and spells and–the city’s under surveillance anyway–and it’s not like I can just walk out the front gate.”

Fairy tilts her head her head at him, ears flopping to the side, and trots over to stop in front of his dresser. She lets out another short bark, staring at him earnestly.

Jin Ling’s mouth opens–then shuts. His heartbeat stutters. He turns, slowly, to look at the dresser in question. There…is indeed a passage, a long-forgotten tunnel he barely used even as a child, the one A’Song had found…

“…That…is a really stupid idea.”

Fairy barks again. He spins toward her and gives her a look. “I’m the sect leader!” She nods once, continuing to eye him. Jin Ling scowls and continues, “I can’t just sneak out of the palace like I’m some–some angsty–pissed off teenager! That would be like, so immature!” Fairy watches as he begins to pace.

“It’s not like I even want to go out. I haven’t wanted that in forever! I don’t–” Jin Ling cuts himself off and pauses abruptly, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t…I don’t care about the city! Or–or the fireworks, or festivals, or temples, or gardens, or rivers, or markets, or street food, or commoners, or–”

Fairy yawns and scratches her ear. Jin Ling deflates. He groans and rubs his face with both his hands before glancing back toward the dresser.

“…What if it’s…bad?” he whispers. “What if I just get out there and feel the exact same? What if–I mean, I’m still me no matter where I go, so–so–”

Jin Ling swallows hard. The thought starts to take shape in his mind, a seed that’s taken hold and won’t stop growing. He could be anyone out there–no council, no juniors, no hefty family name. Just…just for an hour, or until sunset, or–until it stopped hurting…

Fairy licks his hand, sitting at his feet. Jin Ling closes his eyes.

“You…would have to stay here,” he says gently, leaning down to pet her head. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Fairy doesn’t argue. She moves obediently over to the foot of his bed and curls up, looking back at him very innocently. Jin Ling purses his lips and walks slowly toward his dresser, his hands trailing along its handles. He brings them open with a quiet pull, reaches inside and moves aside layers of clothes, and the board that slides in the back. Jin Ling stares; the dark passageway stares him back.

I shouldn’t…it could be dangerous…there’s a reason I was never allowed out, and I really should tell somebody where I’m going, just in case anything were to happen–maybe I should just–

“NO!”

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jin Ling strips out of his clothes and finds the oldest, plainest looking robes he can. He tucks his hair into a low, modest bun, furiously wipes his Jin mark away, and cobbles together a bag of water and money. He slings it over his shoulder and pulls his hood up, climbing into his dresser and giving one last look to his room, to Fairy.

Fairy stands up and barks, wagging her tail, ears perked up. Her eyes are bright, the ends of her lips curled up in something that vaguely resembles a smile. Jin Ling takes a slow, steady breath before returning it with a lopsided smile of his own, and then jumping off down into the maze of tunnels.

Notes:

Finally got the chapter up, even several days later than I wanted (I got sick lol) 🥳🎉🥳🎉

there is so much happening in the world rn so uhh everyone pls stay safe, wish I had a more comforting chapter to offer you🫠 as a rule of thumb like unless sizhui shows up it probably won't be a super comforting chapter lol (he won't be in the next one but he will be in the one after that, so dw, the zhuiling content will be, indeed, super sweet😌💅 (help i also can't stop quoting the lego movie–

also random question, I was thinking of naming chapters w song titles that fit the vibes so by the end I have like a nice story playlist, so if anyone has any ideas for anything at all, esp chapters that are alr up, pls share🤲 I have a playlist rn but it's more so general vibes then by chapter so idk id have to go through it in depth to see. thanks in advance if anyone has anything! and uhhh, happy father's day ig? tho i doubt there are any dads reading this LMAO

edit: omfg I just realized I forgot to uncensor all the curse words for this chapter💀💀💀 just fixed it, when I first started writing ff many years ago I would censor all my curse words in case my mom went into my google drive and saw me cursing and now just keep doing it out of habit, so if I ever forget to undo them again that is why😭 also forgot to mention I'm basing (or trying to anyway) the Jin sword style off of Spanish destreza after someone on reddit suggested that lol, but to anyone who actually knows anything about swords/fencing my sincerest apologies for all the inaccuracies bc holy frick there's so much stuff to know and learn, and I alr spent a while researching it so I couldn't possibly hope to have an accurate idea of what to write haha, and am just doing my best

Chapter 7: Out There (Tom Hulce and Tony Jay)

Jin Ling walks the cramped tunnel with slow but deliberate steps. The air is cold and damp, and the silence almost jarring. His hands clutch the straps of his bag tightly, knuckles pale beneath layers of bandages. His hood is pulled close over his face, though there’s no one there to see him.

He walks along the living quarters’ hallways, left near the dining hall, left again underneath a guard station, with an air only someone who’d spent countless hours in the web of tunnels could. But eventually, he comes to a crossroads that leaves him uncertain.

There are three ways to turn, two he knows well, and one he does not. His foot hovers in midair, the only sound a steady drip of water and Jin Ling’s own shallow breathing.

“A’Lan come on! This one goes outside, I know it!”

The voice that slips into his mind, unbidden, is bright and laughing and carefree, in a way only a young child’s could be. “A’Song,” Jin Ling breathes, the name fading almost as soon as it’s left his lips.

He doesn’t mean to keep walking, his head is all muddled now, but his feet carry him on anyway. His hand brushes against the stone wall, catching on an old circular indentation–larger now, and perhaps a bit smoother from wear over time. He reaches out to slot his hand in the hole, which scarcely fits.

“See? It’s the twisty one, with all the weird rocks and the wall with the scooped-out part, like someone punched it!”

He follows the echo deeper, almost in a trancelike straight. The tunnel narrows, and the air thickens. He stumbles on uneven stone, and ahead, just barely visible from the faint glow of his light talisman, he can make out a jagged rock formation that juts up past his waist, but with just enough footholds that a couple of seven-year-olds could’ve made it over.

He’s more than capable of scaling the rocks by swinging his legs over. He finds himself putting his hands and feet in all the little cracks and divots though, hoisting himself up clumsily.

“You got it? You can pull me up then–we’re almost there!”

After an incense stick’s time of climbing, crawling, and jumping, Jin Ling crests the last ridge. His hands are wet and robes discolored in a few places from the stream that runs through most of this tunnel, making the rocks slippery. He crouches low and brushes a fingertip along a dark, rust-colored stain. A drop of his own blood, a cut from the sharp rocks, rolls down a finger and lands on top.

“A’Song, are you okay?!”

“Don’t worry about me, I just slipped is all! My knee’ll be fine.”

“…”

“A’Lan, don’t give me that look! It’s fine, really!”

“It looks like a lot of blood! What kind of older cousin would I be if I let you get hurt and didn’t do anything about it? Here, maybe I can use my robes to clean it up or something…”

“If I was really hurt…would I be able to…do this?!–tickle fight!”

“Hey!–A’Song–A’Song stop, oh my god I can’t breathe–hahahahahaha–”

Jin Ling exhales, a soft, involuntary huff of breath, not quite a laugh. He hears it again then–A’Song’s laughter, clear as a bell, bright and wild and full of mischief, echoing through the stone cave. It hits him like a jolt of electricity to his chest.

Jin Ling stands up abruptly. His hands find the wall and he keeps going, over the last patch of rocks, past another sharp twisting turn, through a door and a smaller tunnel and another door and beams of wood–

–and bursts into open air, blinking in the sudden, arresting gold of afternoon light. The space in front of him is long and narrow, dusty and weed-ridden–but he can feel warm, dry air, see the unmistakable blue of the sky far above, and beyond it all–

He hears it. Spinning wheels, thundering hooves, shouts echoing, laughter ringing, bells chiming and boards and banners blowing and music playing–the sounds of a city just beyond, a city that’s alive, and boundless.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, Jin Ling runs, earnestly.

He runs out of the alley onto a narrow road, then another, and another. He passes a handful of pedestrians, then more, then dozens. There are tarps that stretch overhead, buildings that swell in shapes and sizes, archways that become more frequent, and he runs and runs–until–

–oh–

Jin Ling stops at the crest of a hill, completely frozen, and eyes glazed over. Below is all of Lanling, spread before him in all its beauty and brilliance. There are towers painted bright colors, dark colors, pastels, marketplaces bursting with signs and stalls and tents; banners flying in the breeze, temples, teahouses, courtyards, gilded arches–and people. So many people.

He’s breathless, eyes wide, clutching the necklace at his throat like a lifeline. He’s never seen anything like this–he hasn’t been to the city since he was, what, eight? They’d skipped it on the tour, and even if they hadn’t it would’ve been heavily influenced, heavily guarded. This is entirely different from that–surreal, almost–walking in such a big city, all by himself. No name, no title, no responsibilities or expectations, no servants or disciples or guards or soldiers or council members, nothing. He’s all on his own, in a big city–his city, it’s–it’s–

It’s not a big deal! It’s just a city, it’s not like I’ve never been outside before, Jin Ling chides himself, shaking his head and starting down the hill. It’s not even that…that great, or special or anything… he purses his lips and frowns at the ground, continuing on down the road.

Some people shoot Jin Ling pointed looks, leaving him anxious and unsettled, like lead pooling in his stomach. He’d been warned before that people outside the palace could be cold and cruel on more than one occasion–but most people on the tour had been nice, even if it may have been fabricated…but when he’d been out with the other juniors and Wei-qianbei, most of the people they met were nice too…perhaps it’s just that they’re onto him, about to turn him in to a guard any second. He hunches further and averts his eyes, adjusting his hood lower, but still peeking out at everything that comes his way with wide eyes.

For every look, every glare he gets, Jin Ling can’t help thinking I’m an outsider, a cog in the clockwork that doesn’t belong. Maybe…maybe they’d all been right; Jin Ling shouldn’t be here, doesn’t belong–he fervently resolves not to interact with anyone, to mind his own business, keep out of spaces he shouldn’t be in in the first place…

Of course, it’s easy to think everyone is out to get him, when in reality it’s only a fraction of all the people he passes. For the most part, everyone just goes about their business freely, like there are no worries in the world–he can see it in the way they carry themselves, the expressions they wear–something so foreign to him that he can only gaze at helplessly.

At a corner, a group of boys around his age are cracking sunflower seeds and shoving each other playfully as they watch a street performer toss knives at a spinning board. Jin Ling nearly walks into them, transfixed, and profusely apologizes, leaving before anybody recognizes him, sends him away. The boys don’t even notice.

Further down, a pair of elders argue over the price of turnips with a young vendor, adamantly standing by their original price. Jin Ling watches a few moments too long, and when he sees the vendor exasperatedly sigh and turn, catching his eyes, he immediately bolts, feet carrying him far away again.

A songbird chirps from an upstairs window, the melody of a dizi sounds from an upscale teahouse, a swarm of carriages comes with horns and fanfare that Jin Ling just dodges, pressing himself flat to a wall. Gold trim, painted crests, perfumed curtains, undoubtedly a wealthy old family he’s probably familiar with.

He tilts his head as he watches them go by, as he hears merry laughter spilling from inside the carts, struck by the sheer joy he can feel radiating from them, so different from anything, anyone he’d been around growing up. A fleeting thought hits him, wondering what could’ve been, perhaps if his parents had–

Jin Ling swallows and turns, descending further into the city, shoving that thought far from his mind.

The further he goes, the more he notices that the streets he walks are near spotless, all the buildings as well; the air is clean and fresh in spite of all the people living and working here, with lingering scents of lavish regional dishes Jin Ling knows well; there are even Lanling guards posted on most corners and patrolling the streets, putting him further on edge and honestly making him think maybe he should just retrace his steps and go back to wallowing in his room before he causes any trouble. In a way, it’s very similar to Golden Carp Tower–but Jin Ling knows it’s entirely different, for one reason.

The city breathes with life, in a way that Golden Carp Tower never has.

Once he gets a bit further into the inner city, the roads open up to busy pathways with all kinds of pedestrians going every which way for all kinds of business. He eyes the shops and restaurants that line the sides, biting his inner cheeks and curling his nails into his palms, debating whether or not to risk stopping in one, when something soars through the air and comes cluttering to his feet. Jin Ling peers at it before reaching down to wrap his fingers around the object and bring it closer for inspection.

“Ah, my fan!”

Jin Ling looks up. A few paces away stands a group of servants, and at the center two young ladies wrapped in Wang pink and red silk robes, hair done up with all kinds of elaborate twists and braids and buns, as well as jade and gold pins sticking out of it. One of them has a pout on her face and arms crossed while the servants anxiously begin to fret, searching for the fan. Jin Ling’s face drops, and his brain short-circuits.

Wang Suyin. And her sister, Wang Yuhua.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK–

He knows them. One of the many doomed matchmaking attempts his xiao-shushu arranged last year; Sect Leader Wang’s own nieces (by marriage, twice removed), who had grown up in the same social circle as him, who he’d met on many, many occasions, god fucking–

“Guniang look! That boy over there has your fan!”

Panic flares hot in Jin Ling’s chest as Wang Suyin and all the servants turn to look at him, and he thinks he might simply die right then and there.

No no no this wasn’t part of the plan!!! Jin Ling wasn’t supposed to interact with anyone, get caught up in anything, and now they’re all going to recognize him and tell someone and he’ll get sent back and kept on an even tighter leash and it’ll ruin everything–not to mention the whole ordeal is just plain mortifying, and of course the gossip will spread like wildfire, and–and–

Jin Ling is still rooted in the same place as before, brain fried, trying in vain to sink beneath his hood, and determinedly avoiding the gaze of Wang Suyin. He’s considering chucking the fan at her and sprinting, hoping he’ll be fast enough for any guard she may have nearby to chase after him for such an offense, calculating how long it’ll take him to get back and mentally retracing all his steps, when the girl’s maid approaches and takes it from him.

“Thank you…Nongmin–xiaoge,” she says with a sniff, eyeing him somewhat disdainfully, before taking the fan from his hands like it’s mildly radioactive and returning it to its owner. Wang Suyin doesn’t even spare him a second glance–her sister hadn’t looked at him even once–turning up her face and complaining about having a dirty fan, before her party continues onward.

Jin Ling, dumbstruck, blinks several times in disbelief, and cranes his neck to catch sight of Wang Suyin and the servants’ retreating figures, walking on like nothing had happened. He stumbles backward and runs his hand through his sweaty bangs, just then catching sight of himself in a shop window.

His clothes are dull and drab, torn in places from the rocks getting here, dappled in other places with moth-eaten holes, not to mention the still drying water, and even a few blood stains. His hands are bandaged, some of his skin dirty, his face streaked in dust.

Nongmin-xiaoge–the name echoes in his mind–the way the maid had looked at him–Wang Suyin hardly looking at him, Wang Yuhua not looking at him at all–

All of the sudden, Jin Ling begins to laugh.

He laughs hard, perhaps harder than he’s laughed in the last decade of his life, in a way that shakes through his body and forces him to grab the wall for support.

Nongmin-xiaoge–oh my god–

Jin Ling presses his lips together and brings a fist to his mouth, trapping his laughter in his chest. Nong-min-xiao-ge, gods almighty, Jin Ling doesn’t think he’s ever been addressed so casually, so…disrespectfully–and not one of them had given him more than a second thought! The sisters hadn’t cared about him at all just before, because he isn’t some hot shot sect leader right now, he’s just some dirty peasant kid, in his old stained robes, with blood on his hands and dirt on his face–gods–

Jin Ling leans against the side of the shop, still grinning faintly, before slipping back into the stream of foot traffic with lighter steps. When people glance at him this time he doesn’t duck away, taking it in stride. Let them stare. Let them see. Nobody knows him.

He keeps heading down and soon approaches the pulsing heart of the city. He sees numerous grand archways spanning overhead, painted bright golds and bold reds that leave him staring in wonder. They blend beautifully with the town’s already impressive architecture, truly the sign of a magnificent city, Jin Ling can’t help but think.

The further down he goes, the smaller Golden Carp Tower becomes behind him. He glances back at it once, twice, relishing the sight of the impossibly large estate shrinking with every step he takes.

He rounds a corner and finds a wide, bustling square at some point, a large open space that connects many different roads, lined with high-end businesses, several fountains and peony shrubs scattered throughout. A raised platform sits in the center, already gathering a crowd. Burning with curiosity, Jin Ling edges closer, wedging himself into the audience.

“–and now, behold! Spinning plates–on the tightrope!”

The crowd gasps in awe. Jin Ling’s eyes snap to the performer, a young man standing on a thin tightrope stretched the length of the courtyard. Another man, his assistant presumably, sets spinning plates on sticks on both the performer’s hands as well as his head. The man smiles out at the crowd before taking confident steps forward, not missing a beat, the plates spinning in full all the while.

Jin Ling’s eyes go wide as he realizes that this is no cultivator, he can’t sense any qi being employed whatsoever, and that the man is performing the entire act from pure talent. He…he hadn’t known that such a thing was possible!

He watches with bated breath as the man sways just a bit but quickly regains his foothold on the thin wire, pushing onward like nothing had happened. He moves gracefully, artfully, reminiscent of the Jin style sword movements. The sunlight catches the gold paint on the plates, throwing flashes across the walls like little stars. By the time the man lands in a final bow and tosses his plates into the air, catching each one flawlessly, Jin Ling is breathless and almost shaking from how tightly he’d held himself still.

Applause and cheers immediately break out as the man takes his bows, amidst a shower of gold coins. Jin Ling blinks as air fills his lungs, realizing he’d been so nervous for the performer he’d stopped breathing. He starts to clap slowly at first before breaking out into full applause like the rest of the crowd, digging a gold coin out of his bag moments later to toss as well, amazed at the impressive display.

“Thank you, thank you!” The performer calls, bowing low. “And now, for my next act, I’ll need a volunteer…” The man grins like a cat, eyes sweeping over the audience. People quickly begin to quiet down, looking back and forth between one another, some backing away.

“Come on, don’t be shy! Any volunteers…? Anyone? Hmmm…what about…you?” Jin Ling swears his soul leaves his body when the man’s eyes finally settle on him, shoved to the front by all the retreating people.

Nope nope NOPE

Jin Ling pivots and tries to discreetly slip away, a difficult feat given all the eyes aimed in his direction, after the man looked and pointed to him. He tries to squeeze through people who now, to his horror, are trying to shove him forward to the stage.

“Me!?” A timid voice squeaks out. Jin Ling’s body is surging with adrenaline, heart thumping wildly, and he wonders if he’s achieved astral projection that such a sound came from outside of him.

But he glances worriedly back a second later and sees another person, a boy a few years younger than him dressed in Jin clothing–perhaps a distant cousin he might recognize if he wasn’t on the verge of his second heart attack within the span of ten minutes–now being pushed to the front.

Jin Ling doesn’t stick around to find out though. He’s already bolting down the next street, breathing hard, his heart thudding like he’d barely escaped death. He doesn’t look back, not stopping until he’s several blocks away from the town square, taking shelter behind a large pagoda tree.

He leans his back against its trunk and reaches up to wipe the sweat from his brows, sweat that clings to the back of his neck and bleeds through his wrappings as well. He fans himself with his hands, silently cursing the fan he didn’t bring. He straightens up and blows out a hot breath of air, running a hand through his tangly bangs.

Once he’s caught his breath, Jin Ling observes the new area he’s stumbled into. It’s a bit less crowded than the other places he’d been before, a long paved street lined with many pagoda trees, all well trimmed, providing ample shade from the summer sun. Sitting far back are large, splendid manors, perhaps private residences, spaced out from one another, each with a sprawling courtyard separating them from the road. He can’t help but stare at them in amazement, trying to commit them to memory, in case he never comes again.

“–and I’m telling you, the Jiang style is best! It’s adaptive nature allows for all kinds of offense and defense, the likes of which you don’t really see in other styles–”

“But at what cost? The jack of all trades and master of none–not to mention it steals from the other styles–”

“Oh nonsense, so there’s some similarities–”

Jin Ling’s ears perk up at the cultivation-related conversation he can’t help but overhear. He moves away from the tree and switches to leaning against a stone wall, allowing him to take in the street view better. He pulls a pouch of water from his bag and goes for a long drink, hoping to look more natural and less suspicious as he sizes up the approaching newcomers.

Two men, perhaps around age thirty, evidently cultivators. Their hair is styled modestly but elegantly, their clothes plain but not unrefined. Most of all though, they carry themselves with a certain air and don’t bother to reign in the powerful qi that encircles them. Jin Ling doesn’t recognize the colors they wear or see any distinguishable symbols, so they must be rogue cultivators simply passing through.

“If you ask me,” one of them lowers his voice, “the Wen style was best. It’s gone now of course, no one would be caught dead practicing it–well, except the Ghost General I suppose–but what a form! Lots of movement, not too brute though like the Nies, very clean and thorough, kind of like the Lans, but…more energy. More effective–and more fun to watch.”

“Well anyway, what about other forms? The main ones in this part of China are all Daoist based, but Confucian and Buddhist ones shouldn’t be knocked just because they’re not as popular.”

“Tell me then, if they’re so great how come I hardly know anything about them? There’s a reason the Daoist styles are best.”

“Come now, they just haven’t spread properly to this region yet! If you go far to the West you’ll find that Buddhist styles are on the rise. Confucianism is harder to master, you have to really work at it, so naturally not as many people are willing to put in the time and effort when there’s Daoism. Hard to understand at times, but simultaneously very simple.”

There’s a pause. Jin Ling closes his eyes, sifting through their words. In truth he knows very little about the Wen style, having been born after they were virtually wiped out, though he finds himself mostly in agreement with the first person. Jiang is his favorite for its adaptive, fluid nature. He might appreciate Jin more, which isn’t without its merits, if all the other practitioners didn’t totally suck.

“What…do you think of demonic methods?” The question snags in Jin Ling’s chest like a thorn. He stops pretending to drink from his pouch. His hands still.

The first man scoffs. “They’re highly dangerous, obviously.”

“I agree. While effective at times, the cost is decidedly not worth it. It’s just wrong.”

“Perhaps…if they were better studied–” the first begins to muse, before abruptly cutting himself off. “Bah! That Wei Wuxian studied them for years, and look what it got him. Trouble is what it is–any form is better than that.”

Jin Ling’s ears burn and his eyes flash, suddenly eager to jump into the conversation. The men go on, speculating vaguely about “dangerous consequences” and “unstable energy,” bemoaning the disgrace of people like Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang repeating history.

Jin Ling wants to snap. He wants to step in and say, You don’t know what you’re talking about! He wants to shout, Gui dao is different from what you’ve heard! He wants to get into all the knitty-gritty details about the benefits and misconceptions of mo and gui dao and the differences between what Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian had done and–

But he doesn’t. He lowers his head and lets them pass.

He used to think like that. Not so long ago. Used to echo those same judgments, spit the same lines with righteous fury, because he just didn’t know. He wonders when that changed, wonders how long he’s been quietly defending something he used to fear, and why it hurts so much to hear others say it now.

A nagging voice in the bag of his head angrily rebukes Jin Ling’s thoughts. You shouldn’t think that way, those cultivators were right! The demonic path is dangerous and immoral, it’s what got your own parents killed, hundreds, thousands of others too, you sniveling ingrate–

Jin Ling sighs and presses his fingers to his temple, leaving his unrelenting thoughts of betrayal and filial impiety for yet another time.

He shoves off the wall and walks out of the neighborhood, getting lost in all the new scenery once more. After a couple blocks he makes it back onto some main roads, and the first building he comes across is a temple. Towering, sun-washed, incense smoke curling into the sky, standing proudly at the end of the road. Resplendent fountains, trees, and statues fill its courtyard, people amble about, some in large groups and some individually.

The carved and painted characters at the front gates gleam. Jin Ling stops in front of it and stares, lowering his hood further in the process. He tips his head to the side as he studies it, brows lightly furrowed, his tongue sliding between his teeth.

Lanling City Temple…

Jin Ling closes his eyes, as the scent of incense washes over him like a surging tidal wave.

“A’Lan, A’Song, come! Here, take these sticks…”

“Thank you Shenshen! What…do we do with them again, though?”

“Walk to the altar, hold out the incense stick with your left hand, recite a mantra, place it in the burner, then bow. You can recite scriptures or prayers as well and continue bowing, or leave offerings, which we'll do since we brought lots of food.”

“Could we…maybe do it together, Shenshen? All three of us?”

“Of course dear, always.”

Jin Ling’s eyes flutter open. People walk around him as he stands frozen in front of the entrance, swallowing thickly, watching faint mirages, ghosts of his memories move about the temple grounds. The sun shines harshly on his back, easily heating his skin through his thin robes. It had been sunny that day too.

Auspicious, his aunt had remarked. Jin Ling hadn’t known what the word meant, but grinned nonetheless. Him and A’Song had repeated it back and forth among themselves until they wore it out.

Always, she had also said. Always. Ha. Nothing lasts forever.

Jin Ling blinks and sighs quietly, entering the temple. Inside it’s quiet, cool. Almost familiar. It smells like sandalwood and old prayers. He trails his fingers slowly across the walls as he walks.

He’d only been here a handful of times as a kid and had been pretty little, so of course he remembered it as being larger than life, and the most amazing, most beautiful place he had ever seen outside of the palace. He’s shocked to find that having returned grown up, his assessment is still the same.

The first room is a grand, spacious chamber, the inside painted a deep mahogany red, lined in orange and gold. Hundreds of candles adorn the walls, and thousands of statues of deities the ceilings. The temple houses a wide variety of shrines for various gods, but the main one is for the Jade Emperor, Yuhuang. His statue sits in the very back of the main room, the largest by far, as well as possessing the most offering tables.

There are entrances to hallways on either side of the temple containing more shrines. Jin Ling debates over turning one way to seek out someone specific, but ultimately decides any are as good as the other, probably. He takes a deep breath and walks forward, getting in line to worship the Jade Emperor.

Walk to the altar

Jin Ling patiently waits his turn, reluctantly sifting through his mind for all the things he wishes to pray for. Answers. Guidance. Help. Healing. Forgiveness. He observes all the others going before him, all different kinds of people, reverently kneeling, whispering silent words, kowtowing. He wonders what they pray for.

Hold out the incense stick with your left hand

When he gets to the front, he accepts an incense stick from a monk and makes a mental note to leave a donation when he leaves. He turns back to the front then, staring up at the imposing gold statue of the Jade Emperor, and finds an empty kneeling pad. He approaches slowly, the smoking incense stick in his left hand.

Recite a mantra

Jin Ling has been to precious few temples in his life, having spent so much time within the walls of Golden Carp Tower. If he had enough time, he might be able to scrape together a few different mantras, but the first one that comes to him is the Blessing of the Incense, aproposly. He closes his eyes and begins to recite it in his head.

Place it in the burner

Opening his eyes, Jin Ling moves forward to plant his stick firmly in the piled ash of the incense burner in front of him. His lips almost quirk up, taking delight in the simple act he’s so rarely engaged in.

Bow

Jin Ling leans forward to rest his knees on the kneeling pad and kowtows several times, saying a prayer to himself that he wonders if anyone will really hear, let alone care about, or do something to help.

O great and wise Yuhuang…I humbly come to you to seek your help and wisdom. My name is Jin Ling; I’m the sect leader here in Lanling. I…I have more problems than I have the time to tell you about, but, at the very least, I pray that you guide me to the answers to be a better ruler, to do my job and manage the people under me well, in a way that benefits all the sect. I just…I just want to do good. If my jiujiu never forgives me, if the other juniors are never nice to me, if the headaches and restlessness and misery never go away I don’t care–I can live with all of that, just…so long as I make a difference. So long as I could be a just and good ruler…

Jin Ling coughs quietly, standing up. He doesn’t linger, moving quickly for the next person to take his place. A bittersweet smile comes to rest on his face as he fully rises and turns to exit the temple, dropping several coins in a donation jar on his way out.

He looks back once over his shoulder as he leaves. It really is a sight to behold–Guanyin Temple doesn’t even compare. And he thinks, if he weren’t stuck in such a state of turmoil, he could spend hours wandering the halls, taking in every different feature of every statue and painting, kneeling surrounded by the all-encompassing agarwood incense.

But he is, and one of the main points of Daoist temples is to self-reflect, so he doesn’t.

Back in the streets of the city he wanders along the sides aimlessly, pulling his hood up again as the crowds return. He tries to shrug off some of the glares directed his ways and changes directions whenever he sees guards looking his way as well, weaving around people too close for comfort.

He spots a cart stacked high with produce turn onto a main road, and, never having seen such a thing before, instinctively follows. He watches as it’s unloaded near a massive market square, several helpers approaching to carry crates, forming an assembly line in the process. The vendors they hand boxes off to are already calling to buyers with practiced flair.

Jin Ling looks one way; he looks the other way. He lightly taps his fingers against his leg a couple times before making his decision. He slips in–and nobody stops him. A small grin blooms on his face.

The tables near the entrance are laid out with fresh fruit, every kind you could possibly think of–persimmons, loquats, peaches, plums, apricots, mulberries, apples, winter melons–vendors swat at flies with plumed sticks, meanwhile hordes of customers walk the aisles, haggling with merchants. There’s vegetables too, turnips, yams, taro, bok choy, squash, and all kinds of roots and herbs–

“Peanuts, peanuts! Special price if you buy now–10% off! You Sir! You look like you could use some peanuts–very good for you, good for your skin!”

Jin Ling’s mouth falls open slightly as he stares at the vendor, aggressively selling to him the second he set foot in the place. For a moment he considers buying–when was the last time he had peanuts anyway?–but before he can make a decision the seller has already found a new person to pitch to and turned away.

Jin Ling’s eyes catch on the next table over, selling tofu smothered in soy sauce that leaves his mouth watering. The vendor notices this and tries to get him to buy, but then Jin Ling sees the next table over has candied hawthorn, and naturally goes to look at that while the merchant moves to the next person.

This cycle continues for the better part of an hour, and by the end, after covering perhaps a third of the whole market total, Jin Ling is quite overwhelmed. He’s never…he’s never been to a market this big–he can count on one hand the number of markets he’s been to as well. There’s just so much, and everyone is trying to beat out the person next to them with a better sales pitch, not to mention all the other customers walking about.

It is truly overwhelming, but…it’s in a good way, almost. Jin Ling smiles to himself when, at long last, he decides to go with honeyed milk ice. The vendor eyes him distastefully, but takes his coins and looks away again. Jin Ling doesn’t pay them much mind, far too distracted by the sweet flavor cool against his throat and perfect for the summer heat. It tastes like heaven.

The marketplace is enthralling, but loud. Busy, crowded, overstimulating. Jin Ling drifts from it, meandering on through the streets until his ears suddenly perk up, eyes beginning to dart around. He hears it, he knows he does–the flow of water. He pauses, trying to ascertain where it’s coming from, before setting off in that direction. His steps grow faster, his pace quickens–and suddenly, he’s running again. He runs and runs and runs and catches himself on the ledge of a stone fence, and oh–

Thrashing far below are the strong, green waters of the Jade River. The river flows slow and gentle just beside Golden Carp Tower, but it’s another thing entirely to see it like this, carving a winding path past city walls.

It tumbles over cliffs in breathtaking waterfalls, the mist catching light in a thousand rainbows, and the farther down it goes the more the city fades giving way to lush, verdant forest. Jin Ling looks the opposite way upstream and sees the largest bridge he’s ever encountered in his life, wide and tall, painted with arches, and thick pillars supporting it sprouting up from the water. Caravans, carts, and carriages all roll across it, as well as people on foot or with horses or donkeys.

Jin Ling’s fingers lock around his pendant as he tries to capture the picture in his mind–the bridge, the glittering river, the forest beyond, the rainbows shining in the mist, it’s all–god it’s all just so–beautiful–not even just the river but the whole city, the streets, the neighborhoods, the markets, the temple, the people, just–

Jin Ling laughs shakily when he realizes that mini streams of water flow down his face, unsure what could’ve possibly triggered such a thing. He shakes his head and wipes them up with his bandaged hands, walking slowly along the river until the stone fence gives way to steep patches of grass. He treads carefully down a grown-over path until he reaches the rocky riverbank, sitting down on a damp stone and quietly finishing his ice. He stares out at the crystal water as it tumbles down waterfalls, his eyes going wet once more against his will.

Why had he never come out and seen Lanling like this? Why had he kept his distance from such a wonderful city–his own city? Why had he…

Jin Ling’s thoughts trail off. Of course he knows the answer.

You can’t go A’Ling–Lanling isn’t safe. If I had my druthers you would never set foot in it again!

A’Ling, you don’t understand. How could you? Don’t worry about it. Just–run off and play. Stay here though, don’t leave the palace. Do you understand?

Running away again I see? Tsk tsk. This isn’t a good look for you, Jin-gongzi. Leaving your family, defying their wishes, to what? Go off and see people who don’t care about you, cruel and callous people who would do you harm? You wouldn’t belong, Jin Ling. You belong here, inside the palace.

I hear…that you tried to leave again, Jin Ling…is this true?

Jin Ling shakes his head furiously, anything to cut off what had–that noise, the crack, he can–he can feel it all over again–shit, fuck–

Jin Ling sets his empty cup to the side and buries his face in his hands, slowing his breathing. He focuses on the rushing of the water against the rocks, the sound of birds calling out to one another flying far overhead. He takes another deep breath and leans his head against a rock behind him, sitting still for some time.

Of course he knows the answer. What he doesn’t know is why things had been that way–are that way.

Eventually the sun, still high in the sky, begins to creep towards the horizon, prompting Jin Ling up. He splashes some of the cool, refreshing water on his face, and turns to head back towards the city. He finds somewhere to throw his cup away and walks up the hill again, past a shopping district.

He sees a family out with their kids, the youngest one pointing to something and begging their parents to buy it until they finally relent. A group of friends walks by him, faces all wearing ear-splitting grins as they talk about a musical performance at a restaurant they’re on the way to see. Even a pair of guards that stand at a corner share a laugh about something, clutching their stomachs in mirth. Jin Ling smiles faintly before turning away, choosing to look at the shops he passes instead.

A tea shop, an ironwork store, a place selling fabrics that flutter out the front. An art gallery, an inn, a bakery stall, a–

Jin Ling slows and frowns, taking a closer look at the next storefront, its purpose indiscernible. It's quiet, no lingering customers out front or in the windows, nestled between two larger buildings. No bright fabrics, no music. The roof juts out with sweeping arches, the building surprisingly monotone colors, almost out of place amongst all the other colorful, decorated shopfronts. Jin Ling can just pick up the smell of ink and dried glue as he unconsciously moves forward.

There’s a carved placard hanging beneath the eaves with painted characters that read Willow Nook. Before he can question himself, he steps inside. A soft bell chimes.

The interior is cozy and dim, lit by the golden glow of hanging lanterns. An old staircase winds up along the side. Shelves line every wall, stocked with scrolls, bamboo strips, stitched books, paper, brushes, and ink stones. A bookstore. Jin Ling has…never been to a bookstore before.

“Hello Xiao-gongzi,” Jin Ling startles when a voice appears, a woman coming down a staircase in the back, her hand trailing along the bannister. “Are you browsing? Looking for something specific?”

Jin Ling flounders, stomach twisting in knots. He hasn’t spoken to anyone like this all day, one-on-one, alone–what if she recognizes him? What if she’s one of the cruel ones? The memory of voices hissing Lanling isn’t safe echoes in the back of his mind.

His throat tightens. He shifts from foot to foot for a few moments before stuttering out, “I…I don’t know what I’m–looking for.” The woman nods thoughtfully, not pressing further.

“That’s quite alright. Do you like to read?” Jin Ling blinks several times.

“I…” Flashbacks hit Jin Ling like a wall of bricks. All the nights spent curled up in his cousin’s bed with his aunt in between them. All the later nights spent hunched over a textbook, well into the early hours of the morning. He clears his throat softly and looks off to the side. “I used to,” he offers lamely.

“What did you like to read?”

Jin Ling blushes, looking at the ground now. “S…storybooks, I suppose…just–when I was younger, of course.” He feels quite silly at this point and is debating just running out the door and forgetting all about his little detour, unsure what’d led him to go inside in the first place.

Jin Ling braces for some kind of laughter, but it never comes. “Those are often the best ones,” she says instead, easily. “What changed?” Jin Ling looks up and takes a moment to study her.

She seems young for a shopkeeper, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties–perhaps a family business. Her skin is pale with a faint dash of freckles across her face. Her dark hair is swept up into a tight bun held by a wooden pin. Her eyes are dark, almost black, studying him, not unkindly, as well.

“I…got busy,” is all he says, voice small, fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve. The woman nods like it makes perfect sense, then, without further comment, she turns to a low shelf in the middle of the room. Her fingers skim the spines before pulling a slim, bound book.

“I always recommend short stories for those just getting back into it. Less pressure, just one little tale at a time, and a small time commitment.” She places the book gingerly in his hands. The title is etched in delicate calligraphy, Epic Tales of Tianmen Shan. There’s a simple, faded drawing of mountains and cranes below it. Jin Ling brushes his thumb across the cover. He flips through a few pages, curiosity piqued once more. He sees stories about foolish rulers, wandering swordsmen, ghosts who fall in love with humans. He’s never seen anything like it.

What is this filth you have, Jin-gongzi? You’re not to waste time on such childish things anymore, these stories will rot your mind. Let me see that–have you finished memorizing the Analects yet? If you can’t recite all the passages, you certainly don’t have time to waste on something like this.

“I…didn’t know they made books like this.” Jin Ling shakes his head lightly and looks back up at the shopkeeper. The woman smiles, not unkindly, an almost knowing look in her eyes.

“It’s true, books like these can be hard to find. You just have to know where to look.” Jin Ling stares at her, then looks back at the book in his hands, tracing the cover once more. Words of scorn and rebuke bounce back and forth in his head, rapid-fire images flash through his mind.

–filth–

–childish–

–immature–

–waste of time–

–rot your mind–

“–can I buy it?” Jin Ling asks sharply, a small note of hope in his voice. The woman stares at him for a moment before laughing delicately, quietly, her hand coming up to her mouth and eyes fluttering shut. Jin Ling purses his lips, anxious, wondering if he’s said something wrong, when–

“–of course you can buy it, this is a book store after all. Here, I’ll ring you up.” Jin Ling lets out a sigh of relief and follows the lady over to a counter. She pulls out a pad of paper and an abacus that she begins moving, telling him the price. Jin Ling nods and goes to get the coins out of his bag. He sets them on the counter and stands with his hands clasped in front of him while the shopkeeper counts them, glancing around the store again, eyes settling on a stack of books and scrolls sitting just to the side. Jin Ling’s mouth falls open when he reads the top one’s cover.

“You…you have The Divination by Astrological and Meteorological Phenomena!” He exclaims, moving to get a closer look at it. Before he can stop himself he’s flipping over the first page and tracing the diagrams he knows by heart.

“I have all kinds of books,” the lady grins, resting an elbow on the counter and her head in her hand. Jin Ling looks up as well, cheeks going a little red and setting the page down he’d picked up so callously, without even asking. His eyes move away again and he goes back to twirling a loose thread around a finger.

“So…do you have…other, astronomy books, then…?” The woman laughs again, lightly.

“Take a look at the rest in that stack.”

Jin Ling angles back towards the books in front of him and looks through them curiously, a little smile beginning to take shape on his face, when he sees the collection of different astronomy books. Some he knows, others he doesn’t.

“So. You like astronomy, then?”

“Well–I mean–like is a strong word,” Jin Ling sputters, twining a longer strand of his bangs around one of his fingers. “Just–it’s just–kind of a cool subject, I guess. I’ve read…a few books about it, in the past…”

The woman smiles again and opens her mouth to say something, when–

–BANG!–

–a loud commotion erupts outside, scraping and shouting and crashing. Jin Ling’s head whips toward the window. He abandons the stack of books and runs to the storefront, peering through the glass to see what could be causing such a disturbance.

A group of people is gathered across the street in front of the bakery he had passed by earlier. Two guards, a red-faced shopkeeper, and between them–a scrawny little girl, barefoot, no older than twelve, standing defiant with her head high, strands of messy hair escaping her loose ponytail.

“–better go back to the gutters, where you belong,” one of the guards says, voice brash and steely, frame large and muscular, drawing a sword at the cornered girl, “unless you want to spend the night in a cell.” The kid rolls her eyes.

“Can’t even buy candy in this place without getting stabbed,” she mutters under her breath before looking up again. “What’s wrong with you people?” The kid scoffs, entirely unphased, not even looking at the sword dangerously close to their face.

The bakery owner, a middle-aged man, scowls deeply and staggers forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the girl. “She was loitering right next to the side display, practically breathing on my custard buns and putting her grimy little hands on everything! You know what her kind are like,” the baker sneers, eyeing the child viciously.

The girl raises a brow. “And just what kind would that be?” She challenges, moving closer in spite of the sword still in her face, expression bordering on livid. The second guard draws his sword as well.

“Dirty little vermin. Filthy, thieving–” The bakery owner advances as well, but the first guard pushes them to the side and steps in front.

“Enough of this! You–you’re coming with us!” He wraps his thick fingers around the girl’s bony wrist and begins to roughly pull her towards him, finally jolting Jin Ling out of his shocked stupor.

“Hey, stop!” His voice cuts out of him, high and angry, more than prepared to give the soldiers a verbal lashing before sending them to their superior for further reprimanding, perhaps sending them back to training or reassigning them to a different task as well–

At his words, four heads swivel his way, everyone’s eyes landing on him. Jin Ling’s mouth hovers open for a moment, fierce words caught in his throat, before he awkwardly closes it, swallowing thickly and standing there rigidly.

Ah. He’d forgotten. He isn’t Sect Leader Jin right now.

He doesn’t even remember walking outside, let alone opening his mouth to speak. Shittttt–

“Oh great, another one,” the shopkeeper mutters, making a big show of crossing their arms and narrowing their eyes. “Gods almighty, they’re everywhere lately!” The pair of guards start to sneer at him as well.

“Let me guess, you came to help your little friend?” The second guard asks, eyes beady and irritated, angling towards him and tone dripping with contempt. A low exhale of breath escapes Jin Ling’s throat, hands shaking.

“N…no–no! I just–I heard noise and came to see what was going on–only to find three grown adults picking on a child who hasn’t done anything wrong!” Jin Ling gradually finds his courage, standing up a little straighter, a shadow of his once ordinary poise and grace.

“You watch your tone, or you’ll be spending the night in a cell, just like her,” the other guard jerks the girl towards him roughly, nearly causing her to lose her footing. Jin Ling’s fingers twitch as they instinctively move to grab Suihua, only to freeze when he remembers he doesn’t have it. He settles for a deep scowl instead, looking at the guards and baker with revulsion.

“For what, simply speaking out, and defending an innocent? Do you even have any proof that she took anything? Look at her, look how young she is–even if she had stolen something she doesn’t belong in a cell! What kind of justice is this?!” Jin Ling’s voice quivers, wondering how such a scenario could be playing out in his own sect, that such officers could have made it this far through recruitment and training and however long they had been working under the Jin name.

“Silence, street rat! You will pay for your impudence, by spending a week in the palace jails, along with her!” The other guard draws his sword at Jin Ling and begins advancing towards him, but Jin Ling is hardly paying attention.

“…what did you just call me?”

His voice is low, dangerous; he’s more shocked than anything, though. Nobody–even at his very lowest–no one has ever treated him so disrespectfully. Street rat. Jin Ling’s blood begins to really boil, his fists shaking at his side, eyes burning with rage.

“Filthy street rat, talking back–that’s two weeks now! Keep going and I’ll make it a whole month!” The guard almost reaches him but Jin Ling pulls back and evades, glaring daggers at the man.

“Stop this–and release that girl at once! I order you to!” Jin Ling demands, chest heaving. The baker, observing the whole scene from the sidelines now, laughs heartily at his comment. The pair of soldiers’ eyes each take on a murderous haze as they return Jin Ling’s glare in full, advancing with swords once again.

“How dare you speak to us like that! What makes you think you have the right–three months in solitary, how does that sound to you? You wanna keep going?”

Jin Ling shakes, a small bit of fear beginning to creep into him as he reaches up to pull his hood back, wipe the dirt from his face, and announce his true self–there will be consequences to be sure–but he can’t think of that now, not in this moment, having seen such a blatant miscarriage of justice before his very eyes, carried out in his name.

“You–”

Suddenly, as the guards close in and Jin Ling prepares to reveal his true identity, the little girl moves in the blink of an eye, bringing a knee rapidly up from the ground and nailing the guard loosely gripping her now right in the groin. He lets go immediately and lets out a yowl of pain, stumbling off to the side–the second guard turns away from Jin Ling upon hearing the clamor, but the girl is there waiting, foot sailing through the air and getting him in the same place, producing similar results.

“Come on!” She shouts at Jin Ling, grabbing his wrist in one fluid motion as she brings her leg back down, turning and breaking out into a run in the next second amidst furious protest from the baker. Jin Ling, caught up in all the chaos, allows himself to be pulled away, scarcely aware of what’s happening anymore.

The girl moves surprisingly fast for her age and stature, maintaining a death grip on Jin Ling all the while, as she pulls him through the streets. He nearly trips keeping up with her as they dart down an alley, weaving through lines of laundry and bins of trash, cutting past startled pedestrians and leaping over a food cart. She skids to a stop beside a stack of crates and begins to scramble up them like a monkey.

“Climb!”

“I–what?!”

“NOW!”

Leaving little room for dissent, and not having any better options, Jin Ling decides to listen and scrambles up after the girl. She grabs his wrist again as soon as he’s at the top and breaks off into a sprint. They run across the roof tiles, leaping from one building to the next. He glances back over his shoulder once he’s got the hang of it, heart nearly leaping out of his chest when he sees the unmistakable glint of palace armor closing in, fading rays of light bouncing off swords racing towards them, and a lot more than just two figures.

Sighing heavily, or he would be anyway if he wasn’t currently running for his life, Jin Ling turns to his little guide.

“Um–excuse me! Uh–Xiao-jie? Er–Xiao-mei–?”

“Name’s Xiaotou!”

Jin Ling blinks, once. Twice. “Xiao…Xiaotou? Like, as in thief? Little thief, that’s your name?”

“Yep!”

“That’s the name that’s written in the system for you?, like, your parents actually decided to name you after a type of criminal–”

“Let’s not talk about my name right now!”

“Okay, well, Xiaotou! The guards are gaining on us and will probably catch up in less than a minute,” Jin Ling pants, looking over his shoulder once more to see that the distance between them and their pursuers is growing smaller with every passing second. “We should probably just stop and try to talk to them again–”

“Absolutely not!”

Jin Ling lets out a noise of disbelief; he would be throwing his hands up in exasperation as well, if he weren’t still on the run for his life. “Well, we have to do something! You know, maybe if you hadn’t interrupted me back there, things wouldn’t have come to this!”

“Had to, you were about to do something really dumb, I could tell.”

Jin Ling sputters and scoffs, fumbling for control. “I-I was not! I had things well under control! Now, we have to come up with a plan, I still think the best course of action is to–”

“Have you never been on the run, there’s usually not this much talking–hey do you have a sensitive nose?”

“A sensitive–what–?”

“Guess we’ll see!”

The girl–Xiaotou–suddenly tugs him down a stairwell, past a hanging sign, then ducks into a narrow passage behind a row of broken stalls. She yanks it up; a sharp stench hits them both in the face. Jin Ling recoils, not sure he’s ever smelled something so foul in his life.

“What–what is this?”

“Trash chute, come on!”

“Excuse me?!”

Xiaotou doesn’t hesitate. She swings her legs over the side, shoots him a wicked grin, and drops down. Jin Ling stares after her for a split second, utterly horrified–but then he hears more shouting behind him, and the thought of having to deal with the mess that would await him upon being caught is marginally more nauseating–

–so he jumps in after her.

He holds his breath and slides far down, past all kinds of garbage he very deliberately does not look at, slams into something, drops again, until he finally lands in something cold, damp, and possibly alive. Jin Ling shoots up and stumbles around in more trash, wiping some godawful brown substance off his eyes he really doesn’t want to think about, until he spots Xiaotou watching him from the side, clutching her stomach as she shakes with laughter. Jin Ling narrows his eyes.

“I hate everything about this.”

Xiaotou grins, still laughing, grabs his hand again and pulls him down a long sloping tunnel. At the end of it she vaults onto a low wall, Jin Ling following her carefully, adrenaline surging through his veins. They scale a narrow stack of crates and scramble onto the tiled roof of a seamstress shop, across several more roofs far to the left, then back in another alley, through a stream. They go up, down, over, between; the city blurs into red clay and charcoal chimneys, dark in the low light. Jin Ling looks over his shoulder again, and finds that the guards are long gone.

At long last, the two of them emerge through a busted pipe onto cracked stone and sudden open air. It’s quiet, completely different from how the inner city had been. Jin Ling blinks up at the sky–burnt orange, with streaks of gold and lavender. There’s still enough light though to see that everything here looks…different. The buildings are low, crumbling in places. Everything smells faintly of smoke and mildew. A stray dog scampers past, matted and covered in fleas. Jin Ling stumbles backwards.

The street is mostly empty, but signs of life are everywhere. Drying clothes well worn, small makeshift gardens in chipped pots, a pair of soot-faced children darting between alleyways, chasing each other with sticks. Jin Ling turns in circles, trying to place where they are, wondering if they’ve stepped through some kind of portal.

Xiaotou walks beside him with crossed arms, watching his behavior closely. Jin Ling looks her way, confusion deep-set in his eyes.

“Where…are we…?”

“Welcome to the other side,” Xiaotou says, a wry smile on her face. “Home sweet home,” she mutters the last part under her breath, looking off to the side again. Jin Ling cocks his head at her, his frown only deepening.

“Other side? Of what?”

Xiaotou rolls her eyes. “Lanling’s capital. Duh. This is the outer city.”

Jin Ling stops dead in his tracks. His mouth falls open. No. No, that can’t be right. He turns in a slow circle, taking in the sagging rooftops, the cracked stone, the dirt-packed roads.

Outer city.

Lanling capital.

Jin sect territory.

No–

Jin Ling spins, looking closer at all the dilapidated buildings. Some are overgrown with weeds, some broken and on the verge of collapse, others rotted through entirely. Even the nicer ones, decently cleaner, still look ages-old, like they’d been built more than a century ago. The roads are dirt, unpaved, weeds growing in them too. A barefoot woman scrubs laundry at a basin in an empty lot, others lining up behind her with threadbare baskets. There are no restaurants, no stores, no schools, no guards or lanterns or clinics, signs for anything, just…nothing–

No this has to be a mistake, some small, rural hamlet outside their borders, maybe one the registry had accidentally overlooked. This…this level of poverty couldn’t exist within Lanling. Not under his family's rule. Not under his own rule.

“But…but–if this is Jin sect territory–how could–how could–they…” Jin Ling fumbles for words in a state of disbelief, denial.

“They don’t care about us. The Jins. They never have,” Xiaotou says this like it’s the most natural, well-known fact in the world, easy as stating the sky is blue. Her lip curls backwards in a scowl when she says the name, Jins, before smoothing out again, walking on. It takes everything Jin Ling has to follow, scarcely processing the information that’s being dropped on him so suddenly.

They walk in silence for a while, Jin Ling trailing behind like a kicked dog. Xiaotou leads him down a side path where the buildings widen a little, the road sloping toward the sound of running water–the Jade River, he realizes–flowing quietly up ahead before widening into a large lake. On the other side is sparse farmland that fades to forest just beyond.

They pass a few more homes Jin Ling stares at, trying to soak in every detail of this strange, surreal place. An old man dozes in a chair with a fan across his chest, a young mother combs out of her daughter’s hair with her hands, a boy hangs clothes across a thin line strung between two trees. Every person they pass calls out to Xiaotou, who keeps her distance but says hello back. Some inquire if she’s brought anything good back; she tells them not today.

“So…where’d you say you were from?” Xiaotou asks, hands stretched behind her head, looking at Jin Ling out of the corner of her eyes. They’re walking down a wide dirt road, the sides wet and muddy. There are fewer and fewer buildings and more empty spaces, some half-sprouted gardens.

“…I’m from here,” Jin Ling says hollowly, voice cracking. “Lanling.”

Xiaotou shoots him a look, giving him a once over. “Yeah, sure you are,” she mutters sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

Jin Ling opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. Even if he told the truth, what good would it do? She’d hate him–everyone here would hate him. As…as they should. Jin Ling swallows tightly, chest aching as he continues staring at the desolate town.

So he doesn’t respond. Just walks with his head lowered, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, dragging his feet through the dirt.

“Got a name at least, mystery boy?” Xiaotou asks, drawing Jin Ling from his inner thoughts. He looks up at her in surprise, her question playing again in his head. Name. Name–he needs a name he can’t give his name, what if she or someone else here knows it, he’ll be public enemy number one–and for good reason–but they would turn on him and he wasn’t even supposed to be out of the palace in the first place and if word somehow got out he would get into all kinds of trouble and fuck fuck fuck he needs a name–

“Uhhhhhhhhhh–” Jin Ling panics, offering the first surname that comes to his head that isn’t Jin.

“–Lan! Lan…Ling?”

He draws a blank on first names and ends up tacking on his own. He’s always sucked at naming things and can’t very well say something like Xiaoai or Huahua, so, Ling it is.

“Lan Ling? Did you seriously just steal the name of the city we’re standing in?”

Unfortunately for Jin Ling, his made-up name is the exact same name as their region, tones and all. Xiaotou closes her eyes and presses her face to her hands, sighing very deeply in what Jin Ling can only assume is frustration or disappointment.

“Whatever. Keep your secrets, not like it matters,” she waves him off, a small frown setting in her features. Jin Ling grimaces and falls behind her, grateful she hadn’t pressed but feeling horrible for lying, a small frown setting in his face as well.

“Hey, how come you helped me back there anyway? You don’t even know me.” Jin Ling catches up and falls into step by her side once more. Of all the people he would’ve expected to be awful to him, based on what he’d been told, he would’ve expected it to be someone like her–

–as soon as he has this thought though, Jin Ling immediately recoils, horrified. Someone like her. He’s no better than those guards or the baker from earlier, and flushes dark with shame.

“You helped me–well. Tried to, anyway. You gave me an opening, I helped you get away from them. Honestly you got a lot more out of it, I was gonna steal your necklace to even us out but realized it’s only a crappy counterfeit, so I let it go. Anyway, we’re even now…Lan-xiong.” Xiaotou snorts again, giving him another once over. Jin Ling swallows and reaches to grasp his necklace, only to find it’s slipped out over his robes. He quickly tucks it back under, grateful for its peeling gold.

A few minutes later they turn a corner into a wider square where loose earth gives way to soft patches of grass. A large, rusted pot is suspended over a low fire in the center, manned by an older woman in patched rags. People sit all around in mismatched circles on crates and stones and stumps. The smell of yams and rice hits Jin Ling like a punch to the gut.

“You hungry?” Xiaotou asks, already moving toward the fire where a little line is formed. Jin Ling’s stomach growls in response. He hangs back though, foot suspended in midair, eyeing the scene with wariness and mild alarm.

“I’m…I’m not hungry, I’m fine,” he mumbles, biting his lip, wringing his hands, glancing around skittishly. Xiaotou sighs and turns back, grabbing for his wrist again and tugging him along to the back of the line.

“I don’t know who you are or what your business is, but you’re one of us, and everyone eats on Sunday nights,” she says definitively, crossing her hands on her hips.

Those words–one of us–squeeze something painful in his chest; he feels nauseous. He doesn’t belong. He’s not one of them. He has no right to be standing here, infiltrating their community when he’s caused so much harm, stealing their food when then have so little–

Jin Ling stammers protests the whole way through the line, but the old woman at the pot beams at him, ignores his refusals, and heaps a large ladle into a chipped red clay bowl. He stares down at the simple, steaming congee. No one here has anything. But they’re still feeding him, a stranger, an outsider. His fingers tremble.

He lets himself be pulled to an empty log near the back, taking a seat beside Xiaotou, watching him amusedly.

“You know, the people here pride themselves on making sure everyone eats these Sunday nights. Everyone rotates contributing bowls, ingredients, cooking. You shouldn’t worry about it, we don’t get many visitors anyway.” Xiaotou blows on her congee while Jin Ling stares down at it, guilt tearing apart his soul.

“Besides,” the girl adds, eyes darting over at him briefly, “you look like you’ve skipped a few meals in your time.” She reaches over and pokes him lightly in the chest, where his ribs are just starting to poke out. Jin Ling follows the movement and looks down at himself. When had he gotten so thin?

While Xiaoutou digs in, Jin Ling’s eyes flit around all the other people sitting in the open area, dressed in old rags, most of them barefoot, hair knotted. He stares at the bowl in his hands, a cracked earthen red, with a tiny faded flower painted on the side of it. Jin Ling’s eyes water, as he finally forces himself to pick up his spoon and take a bite–and it’s delicious.

“Have things…always been this…bad?” Jin Ling whispers, clutching the worn, chipped bowl in his hands tightly, staring off into space. Xiaotou pauses in devouring her congee, scoffing.

“You mean poor? Dirty? Falling apart?” Jin Ling winces, trying to retract his words, but Xiaotou cuts him off, staring down at her near empty bowl.

“They have, yes. I haven’t been around so long, but others have. Some people’s families have lived here for generations. Always poor, always falling apart, always just…missing basic needs. The people are great and what make this place home, but they have so little…” Xiaotou’s eyes harden suddenly. “Course the inner city’s starting to push out now, getting closer and closer to us every year.”

Jin Ling looks up in surprise, the first feeling of relief flitting through his chest since he arrived at the little town. “Oh, that’s–that’s good then, right? If the inner city pushes far enough, they’ll fix up all the houses and add–they could add medical centers, and marketplaces, and stores–”

“No, it’s bad,” Xiaotou cuts him off with a frown, swirling her spoon in her bowl. “They’re not coming to fix it up for us, they’re coming to push us out. They don’t care what happens to us, if we live or die, if we have no food to eat, no clean water, no place to live. In fact, they’d probably be happy if we all just died off.” Jin Ling gapes. He swallows hard; he has no response for that.

They eat quietly for a bit, Jin Ling’s head racing, trying to understand how his own sect, seemingly, consistently ignored this village, and apparently sought its ruin. A few kids wander over during that time, one of them recognizes Xiaotou and plops down next to her, demanding a story. Another asks Jin Ling where he’s from. He panics again, stammering something incomprehensible when Xiaotou cuts him off.

“He helped me get away from the guards earlier today,” She says, catching the interest of the kids and some of the others sitting close by them. Jin Ling tries to sink into the log when Xiaotou is begged to tell the tale from earlier today and eventually relents, embellishing every detail, and making her as well as Jin Ling sound way cooler than they had been.

People who had eyed him curiously before start to warm up to him. More come over, someone even offers him a sweet potato. There’s smiles, laughter, and for just a moment, Jin Ling actually feels like he belongs, when–

“Xiaotou.”

A voice cuts through the air like a blade. Everyone stills. A woman steps into the firelight, tall, strong, callused hands and hard eyes that rake over Jin Ling like he’s an insidious disease. “Who’s your friend?” She tilts her head just so, voice deceptively neutral as her eyes continue boring into him.

Xiaotou coughs and clears her throat. “Just someone I met in the city earlier. Helped me get away from some guards.” The woman slowly approaches, eyes narrowing, until she stops right in front of them. Jin Ling gulps. Xiaotou leans back on the log, eyes lazily roaming from Jin Ling to the woman, who must be of special import here, given the way everyone seems to inch away.

She studies him extremely intently, her lips drawn together in a thin line. Jin Ling is working up the courage to ask Xiaotou who she is, muddle his way through a haphazard introduction, when she leans down and stares him dead on, cedar eyes narrowing even further.

“Your forehead’s a little red in the center, boy,” she says to him, speaking at a normal tone, but her voice carries loud and clear to everyone who’s stopped speaking to hear her. “I wonder, could it be that you hit your head? It’s such a small, almost perfect circle though, and faded. Could it be…the traces of a cinnabar mark?”

Jin Ling freezes, blood going ice cold. A whisper rustles through the crowd. His hand twitches with the desire to reach up and touch his forehead, but he restrains it. He could’ve sworn he’d wiped it all off, he could’ve sworn, so how–how–

“I–”

The woman steps forward again, directly in front of him. “Who are you, boy?” Xiaotou straightens beside him, realization dawning. Jin Ling’s head turns into a flurry of panic, fear, and utter incoherency.

“I–I didn’t mean to–I wasn’t trying to–to do anything–”

“You’re a Jin.”

Someone gasps in the distance, “He’s one of them!” More and more people begin whispering, making comments that are achingly, painfully familiar, that pierce through Jin Ling’s heart.

The woman steps back, her eyes never leaving his. Her voice isn’t raised, but it's firm, ice cold, cutting through Jin Ling to the bone.

“Leave.”

Jin Ling doesn’t move at first, he can’t, not with a pounding headache that’d come out of nowhere, completely derailing his thoughts, and a heart that’s about to leap right out of his chest. Not until someone else closeby murmurs, “Spying on us now–they always pull dirty tricks like this, probably just here to see how much we’ve got left to bleed.”

Jin Ling’s throat tightens. His feet finally move. He stumbles backward, a hundred pairs of eyes watching his every move. He turns around. He runs.

The air is colder now and the roads darker, something he hadn’t realized in the heat of the fire and all the people. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just moves, breath tearing out of him, lungs burning.

He loses count of the number of times he gets lost trying to find the tunnel he’d crawled out of what feels like a lifetime ago, the number of times he makes a wrong turn, terrified he’ll run into someone who will hurt him, into a guard who will toss him into the pits of Lanling’s deepest cells without a second thought. He’s an unsightly mess by the time he does make it back, covered in layers of filth and sweat, tears and snot streaming down his face, before he finds the tunnel again.

When crawls back inside, re-boarding up the planks of wood and closing the sets of doors behind him, he falls against a wall and sinks to the cold, wet, rocky ground. His hand clutches his necklace so tightly the pendant begins to make indents in his palm. He begins to shake and laugh and sob, mind flashing through images of the outer city, and wonders for the thousandth time since leaving, How could I not have known?

Notes:

DAM GUYS SORRY IT'S BEEN A MINUTE

I tend to write slower for the non-romantic ship chapters and this was one of them so sorry it took three weeks💀💀💀 sorry this chapter got out of hand and ended up wayy longer than I thought it would be, I was just trying to cover a lot of ground and set up more future plot stuff😪 also I realize I'm making it seem like jl was almost rapunzel level sheltered in this chapter which doesn't fit canon too well so uhhh don't think too hard abt jl's canon freedom, I'm doing my best to roll w it and work it in haha

happy fourth of july! and happy birthday to me🥳 lol, finally finishing this beast of a chapter is like the best present tbh. If there's any mistakes it's bc I stayed up until like 6am finishing this (same goes for this trainwreck of an end note)

other tiny notes, nongmin means farmer/peasant, and xiao-ge kinda means (little) brother, so like nongming-xiaoge would roughly translate to peasant kid I think

Chapter 8: Behind Blue Eyes (The Who)

Jin Ling sits still as a statue, his back rigidly straight and shoulders taut with tension, just inside the main entrance to Golden Carp Tower. Sunlight spills in through paper-screen windows, glinting off gold melded into the walls and floor, bright enough to blind. A bead of sweat rolls down his back.

He breathes in. He breathes out. In, out. In, out, in out in out in out–

Your people starve while you sit on thrones of gold…

A child playing king, wearing stolen crowns.

They’ll see what you really are–

Jin Ling swallows, his gaze stubbornly locked on a courtyard outside. It’s too quiet. He’s been here too long. The Lans had arrived well over an incense stick’s time ago and should have been here by now, never mind the fact that if it weren’t for Lanling’s multitudinous social customs he could’ve easily met them near the back entrance quite a while ago. But of course, that would mean skipping the front entrance, with all its gold-flecked koi ponds and imperial archways and bronze bodhisattvas. They couldn’t have that, naturally.

Jin Ling’s eye twitches, and the memory claws at him again for what must be the thousandth time. Ramshackle homes and hollow‑eyed children, the thin congee that stuck in his throat. The way nobody had mentioned it once in all the careful inquiries he’d made since, god knows he didn’t dare try his luck and ask about it outright, and then have to deal with the repercussions of sneaking out.

Maybe…maybe it’s possible that–none of the higher-ups are aware…? Maybe only the foot soldiers, the MPs patrolling the city knew, and never mentioned it…?

Even if this is the case, it hardly solves the problem. Rather, it creates even more for Jin Ling. He’s at a loss for how to help them, meanwhile every day more and more people starve, even children–

His heart hammers painfully against his ribs. But the last thing he can afford right now is panic. Focus, the Lans are almost here! He reminds himself. Fairy looks up from where she’s resting at his feet, a brow arched in questioning. Jin Ling shakes his head almost imperceptibly, waving her off.

“Sect Leader Jin, the Lans are nearly at the gates, you may go to receive them now,” an older servant approaches and bows very deeply before sinking back into the shadows, before Jin Ling has the chance to respond. He purses his lips lightly as he stands up, smoothing his robes and hair. He takes a steadying breath and pushes open the great lacquered doors, stepping onto the sunlit marble terrace and beginning his measured descent of the grand staircase.

To his right, a small procession winds around a sweeping peony archway. Upon closer inspection, he notes that they aren’t on horseback. He blinks, surprise cutting briefly through the fog. Had the servants not offered them horses? Or had they refused?

It doesn’t matter, he thinks a split second later. He continues down the stairs, his boots hitting each stair in time with his pulse. His shoes touch the last step at the same time the Lan juniors reach the gates. The timing is perfect, just like everything else in Lanling. He fights a bitter smile that threatens to spread across his lips.

“Sect Leader Jin,” a calm, clear voice calls–Sizhui.

Jin Ling spots him first walking slightly ahead of the others, posture impeccably straight, spotless snow-white robes, hair pulled back without a strand out of place; squared away as ever. He sighs internally, forcing his hands to remain at his sides rather than start sifting through his hair again.

As the other approaches, memories of their last encounter fly through Jin Ling’s brain. The ghost, the bandages, the walk. He’s been so busy since then, he isn’t sure the Lan has crossed his mind once, but all of the sudden everything returns to him in perfect clarity–his own hands held carefully in the other’s, Sizhui’s eyes trained solely on him as he asked about the sect tour, his smile shining in the moonlight–

Jin Ling’s cheeks, unbeknownst to him, begin to take on a slightly pink hue.

“Lan-gongzi, gongzi-men,” he returns, perhaps a beat late, stopping a few paces away. Fairy stops by his side as well, sitting to his right and looking back and forth between the troupe of Lans.

Trying to retake control of his head, Jin Ling focuses sharply on protocol. By Lanling custom the guests should bow first–especially seeing as Jin Ling outranks them all as a sect leader. He waits for them to make a move, but none of them budge even an inch. His brows tighten somewhat in confusion as he tries to figure out why. Has he missed something? Is he dreaming? Did he forget his own customs? Did–

–oh. That’s just it; his own customs.

Very vaguely, a memory resurfaces in the back of his head. Tucked away in a dark corner of Golden Carp Tower, surrounded by thick texts, his tutor droning on and on about all the different clans. Lans wait for hosts to bow first, a hospitable way of thanking the others for accepting the invitation.

Before the moment can stretch on any longer, Jin Ling grits his teeth and falls into a quick bow. He can practically hear his grandfather’s derisive laughter–he can only imagine the horrified expressions and sharply drawn breaths of his servants standing out of the Lans eyesight. There will, undoubtedly, be words about this later.

The Lan juniors immediately bow in return, expressions blissfully serene, seemingly unaware of the faux pas. Jin Ling straightens warily, face carefully composed though, finding it a little odd the meticulous Lans hadn’t been aware of such a custom.

“Welcome to Golden Carp Tower,” he says reflexively, voice smooth, controlled. After lingering only a short while, his gaze slips past Sizhui to the others. Jingyi’s eyes are wide, his usual half-smirk gone as he gapes at the towering hall behind them. There are six others whose names Jin Ling has half-memorized–but no Wei-qianbei. He feels his stomach dip before he can stop it.

–extend an invitation to you all and any others in your party–

Jin Ling had worded that part very carefully and deliberately, leaving the invitation open, hoping–naïvely–that Wei-qianbei might read it, and might decide to come for the sake of the Lan juniors to oversee their training, even if it meant interacting with his shitty nephew of sorts who had kind of tried to kill him–he’d even left space for Hanguang-jun to come!–but–

Jin Ling blinks. His eyes flicker briefly downwards, his shoulders slumping the teeniest bit.

Of course…of course he hadn’t come. The Lans can handle night hunts on their own, and why would he come for Jin Ling? Who would ever come for Jin Ling?

“We’re honored to visit,” Sizhui replies kindly, his tone somehow authoritative and formal while also managing to be warm and inviting, a feat Jin Ling could never pull off. He starts to stare at the other on the verge of zoning out, but ultimately stops himself. Fairy pads closer to him and grazes her nose across his knees. He absentmindedly reaches down to ruffle her ears and blinks a couple times. He brushes a hand across his cheeks, wondering why they feel so warm.

“The honor is mine,” Jin Ling insists, if a bit quickly, lifting his chin. Words gradually begin to tumble out of his mouth as he finds his footing. “I’m sure you’ve all had a long day of travel. I’ll take you to your rooms now so you can rest before dinner. After that, if you’re feeling up to it we can go on a night hunt. If not we can wait until the next day.”

And then, just when he thought he’d gotten things all under control, as he speaks to the other juniors those old familiar voices begin to surface in his mind. Jin Ling nearly stops in his tracks, his blood going cold at the completely unbidden words, careful as he’d been to keep them at bay thus far.

The Lans don’t want to be here with you, why would they?

Always making everything about you, no regard for others, never a kind word to spare–

Bossy little mistress, always giving orders, making others follow you–

–like a puppet on a string, a child playing with toys, leading them around your golden castle, while your people are–

–do everyone a favor and just kill yourse–

Jin Ling does stop, swallowing thickly, throat dry, and discreetly gasping for air. He digs his nails into his palms, hard enough to draw blood, or at the very least leave dark indents–anything to snap him out of it.

“Is this…schedule, agreeable to you?” He asks, turning to the Lans, forcing his voice not to come out a meek whisper.

They all nod and respond politely, affirmatively. Jin Ling can’t help but eye them with masked suspicion now, wondering how they really feel about him, behind their perfect Lan faces of neutrality.

Once that’s all settled, they begin the long walk to the guest hall, located in Jade Blossom Chambers. The front entrance staircase alone takes several minutes to ascend. Then the enormous main hall building, Peony Palace, sunbeams shining through thinly sliced glass’ complex geometric overlays, creating the same patterns in shadow on the golden brick floor. The largest courtyard lies beyond, centered among the six wings of Golden Carp Tower and filled with lily ponds and arching bridges and statues of immortals, before finally giving way to the rear central wing.

Jade Blossom Chambers houses the Jin family rooms, as well as important guests on the third floor. Placing the junior Lans at such a high level of importance may be a bit of a stretch, but the guest rooms haven’t been used for months, and the idea of leaving them far off in another building feels…well. It just feels wrong, anyway.

As they stroll through Peony Palace, Jin Ling catches more than one of the Lans marveling at the impossibly high ceilings held by grand pillars covered in vermillion coats, the intricate carvings and paintings adorning every wall, the perfectly polished floors that shine with one’s reflection in mirror image. Jin Ling keeps his gaze forward, every step weighted.

How many bowls of rice would it take to buy just the gold inlaid on that pillar…?

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a few of the Lans hanging half a step back now, eyes angled up at a vast wall. Oh, no. He knows exactly what they’re looking at, fuck, why–

“Sect Leader Jin, is that…the original "Ode to the Fading Lotus," by Li Quan?” One of the other juniors–Lan Mingfei, Jin Ling’s brain supplies a moment later–asks incredulously, looking in the direction of a paper scroll mounted high on the wall with elegant seal script.

Jin Ling feels his face heating. The Lans–they must be absolutely disgusted by this point, they of all people would know how priceless that scroll is–not to mention everything else they’ve passed–and look at it, just hanging there in a dark corner like an afterthought! They…he doesn’t–he can’t–

“Ah…yes, that is the original piece, yes,” Jin Ling mumbles, mouth tasting like ash, forcing himself to turn and meet the Lans’ eyes. He braces for sidelong glances and cold politeness, because the Lans are too kind to outwardly condemn him.

“Incredible!”

“It’s even more splendid than the copies!”

“Look at the colors in the lotus at the bottom–”

None of the Lans are looking at him, or even close anymore. All of them have begun walking towards "Ode to the Fading Lotus" with bright eyes and slightly parted mouths.

Jin Ling tilts his head, exhaling slowly. Huh…it almost seems like all the Lans are…genuinely excited? Perhaps…it’s some kind of ploy to better disguise their true feelings towards him? Could they really be that good of actors?

No, no, that couldn’t be it. Jin Ling brushes off the thought as soon as it surfaces. The Lans value openness and honesty, they wouldn’t go so far as to concoct a whole scheme to trick him like that. The thought is, in hindsight, ridiculous.

But–maybe they’ve been distracted, caught up in "Ode to the Fading Lotus," and after the novelty wears off they’ll realize this infamous piece is being used as nothing but a space-holder in a third-rate banquet room, and that Jin Ling really is just the worst isn’t he, and why did they even come to Lanling again?

This is much more plausible, Jin Ling decides as he stands several paces back, observing the Lans as they study the calligraphy with a complicated expression. He straightens up, his expression vanishing, the second they begin to turn his way.

“Do you…have any more…like this?” Lintai asks a bit bashfully, as the Lans finally turn away from the scroll. Jin Ling stands frozen, Fairy leaning warm against his calf.

“Well, of course,” he hears himself say cautiously. “The hall of poetry has plenty of works like this–or the hall of paintings too, or–just scattered throughout Golden Carp Tower.”

“Could we–” Yiyao begins to ask a question before cutting himself off, covering his mouth and looking down. Sizhui looks like he wants to say something reproachful, but can’t quite bring himself to.

Jin Ling studies the juniors for a couple more seconds, hesitating. “Do you…want to…see the rest?”

“YES!” Most all the Lans explode, surprisingly unguarded expressions of disbelief and wonder etched on their faces. Jin Ling’s mouth settles into a thin line. Distraction, he confirms. Notorious lovers of the arts, the Lans have just been so caught up in the unexpected appearance of a renowned classical piece, they’ve momentarily let all his other faults slide.

“Well…tomorrow, if you’d like, I can give you a proper tour. We should have the time,” he offers, only a little stiffly. He’s nearly blinded by all the dazzling, awestruck smiles he receives in return. You would think he would’ve told them they were going to see a famed female performer, not a bunch of stuffy old documents collecting dust. He supposes that’s Lans for you though.

“It’s…really nothing,” Jin Ling tries to say, amidst being showered in thank-yous. He can feel his face going several degrees hotter, unused to this…this–whatever it is. He’s mostly regained his wits by the time the others stop and is prepared to move on and forget the whole thing for the time being, but unfortunately for him, Sizhui.

“Sect Leader Jin, it’s not nothing, truly. We’re very grateful for you taking time out of your busy day to show us your sect’s collections.” Now the Lans all have nice smiles, nothing like his own snotty juniors, but Sizhui’s is truly breathtaking. Just, with his–his–his stupid pretty eyes! And his long lashes, and perfect skin and–what the fuck is he thinking?!?!

Jin Ling clears his throat after a pause, and decidedly ignores the way his heart rate has suddenly skyrocketed. He flips his hair over his shoulder and gestures for the others to follow.

“Well–a-anyway, we should get going. It’s still a while to your quarters, and I imagine you’ll want to rest before dinner.” He can feel Sizhui’s infuriatingly kind eyes boring into his back and reaches down to pet Fairy’s head in an attempt to distract himself.

The journey to the rooms from leaving the Peony Palace truly is long, Jin Ling hadn’t been exaggerating. The courtyard that stretches in between them is enormous and takes close to two incense sticks’ time to clear on foot, so they take horses to shorten the distance.

He learns that the servants had indeed offered them horses when they’d arrived in the back, but not knowing just how large the estate was, the Lans had politely declined. Jin Ling’s shoulders hunch, masked by the rise and fall of riding horseback, reminded once more of the needlessly vast residence that could have been used for so many other things.

At long last they approach the Jade Blossom Chambers, handing the horses off to servants and then walking towards the central staircase to get to the third floor.

“I–wasn’t sure if you’d prefer to room together or separately, so I had both prepared,” Jin Ling keeps the worry out of his voice and hands glued to his sides so as not to wring them.

From what he can recall the junior disciples tend to share rooms in dormitory style at Gusu, even some senior ones as well. He hadn’t been sure if they might like that since they were used to it, or if they’d want to take the opportunity to be by themselves for once? But–maybe it was stupid–I had both prepared, oh gods, it did sound stupid, they were his guests and he hadn’t even gotten the rooms ready himself, surely that was something they would’ve done at Gusu since they didn’t have servants and actually put their money into bettering the community instead of wasting it all on gaudy palaces while the common people went hungry–

“Ah, you didn’t have to go to the extra trouble! Together is fine.” Sizhui speaks for the others after trading looks with them. Jin Ling nods quickly and looks away before slowing himself down, wishing it would all be over already so he could go hide under his bed covers.

“Great. Dinner will be at sunset on the first floor in the far right, just ask a servant if you can’t find it. Then the night hunt, if you’re rested.” The Lans nod, and they continue up the staircase.

Jin Ling spares a moment to press a hand over his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart. Trying to watch for every little reaction of each Lan, respond appropriately in turn and not do something embarrassing, juggling with his own nightmarish thoughts, speculating what the others really think, and the voices that slip past his barriers and remind him of everything wrong, all his failures and mistakes and–

Why is this so hard? Xiao-shushu and Jiujiu always made it look so easy–

Thoughts of his two uncles, one dead and the other pretending he doesn’t exist, unleashes a whole new torrent of hellish thoughts Jin Ling isn’t prepared for in the slightest. He barely gets the Lans settled in–smiles, bows, and awkward exchanges still raw on his lips–before the mask starts to really crack. Fairy sends him a look, trotting after him.

He makes it to a small stairway at the end of the hall, stumbling his way down half a floor to the barely chipped ledge and opening the smaller hidden staircase just inside the wall; Fairy really doesn’t fit, but she pushes her way in anyway, and Jin Ling’s so out of it he hardly notices. He falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, his hands clutching the scant railing in a death grip, his head banging against the uneven wall.

No no no no no, stop–please stop, please, Jin Ling begs, to who exactly he isn’t sure, but it doesn’t work. His breathing begins to pick up like all the air has left his lungs, his chest aching with searing panic. He’s vaguely aware of Fairy letting out a low, scarcely audible whine as she lays her head across a thigh. He can’t even bring himself to look at her though.

His nails dig deeper crescents into his palms, his breath comes faster and faster and faster faster faster–there’s spots at the edge of his vision–the corridor tilts and churns like a ship at sea, Jin Ling grasps the iron railing for support, gasping, gasping–

Insufferable, incompetent, spineless little prince–

You’re so goddamned selfish, arrogant, and prideful!

Why? A’Ling, can you tell me why?

Jin-xiao-gongzi, why are you crying? Are you crying over Jin Guangyao?

–you can’t be so weak, this is the soft-heartedness of a woman, you must know what is right and what is wrong–

I wonder just what kind of sect leader is raised by nothing but traitors, rapists, and murderers?

You are nothing. You are worthless. You don’t belong here, you don’t deserve anything. You should do everyone a favor and just kill yourself–

You’re a Jin–leave.

Jin Ling inhales sharply, a silent sob wrenching itself from his throat in vain. His fingers dig deep into Fairy’s fur–he tries to stop, he’s being–he’s being too rough, but he can’t–

“Please–make it stop!” Jin Ling cries frantically, repeating it over and over again, his voice no louder than a whisper. His vision swims, a mosaic of faces and surroundings blurring before him, before he can make sense of them–

Very slowly, inch by inch, minute by minute, Jin Ling forces air back into his burning lungs, and wipes at eyes that won’t stop leaking. Fairy leans against him all the while, a low rumble in her chest.

By the time Jin Ling gets his bearings, shame fills him like a rising tide. He’s Sect Leader Jin, the master of Lanling, and here he is sobbing on a dark, dirty, hidden stairwell floor, barely breathing, clinging to a dog. His heart sinks further when he remembers he still has company to face for the majority of the night. He slumps bonelessly against the tiny stairs and stone wall, and probably would have started sliding down the steep steps if not for Fairy sitting just below him.

His throat is stinging painfully when he finally moves to stand against the cold wall. He sways a couple times before getting a firmer grip on the railing and takes a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna take the passageways back to my room, Fairy. Rest a bit myself before dinner,” he chokes out, raking a hand helplessly through his now tangled bangs. His eyes dip down towards his dog, watching attentively. “That means you can’t come this way with me.” Fairy barks quietly in response. Jin Ling reaches down to slowly pet her head, and scratch behind her ears.

“Okay,” he breathes, moving back up the steps and opening the door so Fairy can get out. Once she’s safely on the other side again, he carefully slips the door back into place and continues up the stairs to the seventh floor, from which point he has to crawl a little ways until he reaches the main tunnel that connects to his room. Then he climbs up and through his wardrobe, collapsing forward onto the floor in a sad pile of Jin Ling. With great effort, he drags himself over to his mirror and pulls himself up by the legs of the dresser it rests on.

Jin Ling has come to resent the figure that stares him back in the polished glass, the one that he once took such pride in. Eyes that had been praised as large and feline look sunken and hollow to him now. Skin that had once been effortlessly smooth and clear looks sickishly pale and thin. A half-hearted frown tugs at the corner of his lips as he reaches out to touch messy hair that curls against his will.

A faint, purr-like noise draws Jin Ling’s attention away from the mirror. He looks down and sees Fairy circling his feet, a thick-set comb resting in her mouth. She drops it on the ground and nudges it closer, blinking up at him.

“You’re right. I know my hair is a disaster,” Jin Ling mutters, reaching to grab the comb. He supposes his hair is as good a place to start as any.

Sighing, he forces himself to look back in the mirror, taking in the state of his hair. His bangs are sweat-soaked and in complete disarray, frizzing and flyaways and several strands sticking up out of his ponytail, which is somehow knotted in several places, stringy in some parts, clumped in others, and the ends beginning to curl in a manner that is decidedly unattractive. Holy hell, disaster is an understatement.

Eyes glancing at the sundial outside, Jin Ling sets to work at fixing his hair, something that takes a good incense stick’s time. When he’s done he moves on to his face, splashing his eyes with water to try to bring down the red puffiness, smoothing them over with rouge with practiced ease.

His mind is, mercifully, too tired to torment him any further at the moment, but when he finishes and looks outside to see that he needs to leave for dinner already his body sags with deep exhaustion, and he wonders for the umpteenth time what the point of any of it is, and thinks it’d really be easier to perish right here and now and be rid of the vexing earthly world.

But it would be unspeakably rude of him to kill himself while the Lans are visiting, so he groans and pushes himself off the vanity, heading for the door and selecting the mask that he’ll wear for dinner.

Dinner isn’t in the main Jin dining hall, Jin Ling doesn’t think he could stomach it. It isn’t that he thinks the Lans are below eating there, it’s just, he can’t bear to see other people in chairs that will always belong to family he’ll never see again.

Instead, the meal is served in a side banquet hall. Smaller, though still dazzling. Carved screens, pearl inlay that glints under lamplight, a delicately crafted porcelain vase holding a fresh bouquet of peonies. The mahogany table that sits in the center of the room is nearly buried under dishes.

Jin Ling had requested an array of vegetarian offerings–sesame noodles, stir-fried lily bulbs, mapo tofu, turnip congee, picked radishes–hoping to make the Lans feel at home, knowing they didn’t eat meat very often. Unsure of his decision though, he’d gone back and asked for local favorites from Lanling in case they’d rather that–braised pork belly, seafood soups, plum cakes. The kitchens, naturally, had gone above and beyond.

They trade polite greetings when they all arrive, and are promptly shown to their seats. Jin Ling tugs at his collar for a split second before bringing his hand down to his side, when he sees the way the Lans eye the enormous, decadent spread of food.

There goes their distraction from "Ode to the Fading Lotus," Jin Ling sighs internally. One glance at the dining room is surely enough to solidify in all their minds how wasteful, how spoiled he is.

Servants pour tea, not wine, since the Lans don’t drink. Jin Ling had initially been relieved to skip the traditional toasts, but realized later it would be wrong to discard them completely, so he’d spent hours practicing the words for a tea toast instead. Who would’ve known buried in dusty basement archives he would’ve found such an antiquated tea toast for this exact circumstance?

Anything is better than the coronation ceremony, Jin Ling thinks with a shudder, suppressing memories of sleep-deprived panic spells learning everything last minute, stumbling over words that hadn’t yet set into his mind. He takes a large sip of tea.

Another thing about the Lans? They eat in silence. Something about respect, or discipline?

At first it seems like a mercy, no need to keep an appropriate conversation afloat. But soon the silence turns heavy–every scrape of a spoon against dishes, every flicker of movement at the table makes his shoulders tighten. He doesn’t know where to rest his eyes. The worst part is all he can hear are his own thoughts. It takes an iron resolve to get through dinner without falling to the floor and clutching his head like he had not an hour before. By the end, he feels like he’s held his breath for the entire meal.

Eventually people finish eating and plates are cleared away. Jin Ling stands, hands still sweaty no matter how many times he wiped them, and says, “If you would like to proceed with the night hunt, we can meet in the back courtyard in fifteen minutes’ time. It’s just outside the doors opposite the ones we took to come in, in front of the training grounds. From there we’ll walk to Mount Baifeng’s forest.”

Jin Ling’s voice rings clear and steady, more so out of practice than anything. The Lans nod and bow to him, assenting to beginning the night hunt. Jin Ling bows back and then pivots to leave, before his mask can fall.

A short while later they stand at the mouth of the forest trail, swords and talismans in hand, and Jin Ling with his bow and quiver. He mentally groans when a sea of yellow appears practically out of thin air, prowling towards them. How could’ve he forgotten?

“The Jin juniors will be joining us tonight,” Jin Ling spins and says to the Lans, tone and face painstakingly carved in an expression of neutrality. At least Fairy can openly glare at them. He lets out a low breath and turns back to greet his cousins. Distant cousins, anyway.

“Sect Leader Jin!” They call out to him in chorus, bordering on mocking, falling into animated bows. Jin Ling takes a moment before responding and bowing back. One cutting remark might just be enough to send him barreling into a panic spiral, courtesy of the voices inside his head. He must be on his highest guard in front of them.

If he had his druthers they wouldn’t be here at all, but far be it from him to go above Lanling’s customs and not invite his own juniors to partake in this joint night hunt (he had actually thought about it, but then they would complain to their fathers who would speak to his councilors and ultimately cause extra trouble for Jin Ling with the same result, so).

Jin Chan steps forward, his smile paper-thin. “We weren’t sure if you would wait for us. Or perhaps you’re just running late?” Jin Ling can’t say he’s surprised. Jin Chan’s words are exactly on brand with his usual, characteristic antagonism. Fairy vibrates against him as her head leans on his leg, a growl trapped in her throat. Jin Ling pets her ears.

“Of course we would wait. It’s 7 on the dot, exactly according to schedule,” Jin Ling sniffs with indifference, adjusting his archer’s glove, mentally putting walls in place to keep Jin Chan and the others out. Not today, bitch. Only my mind gets to fuck with me.

“So it is. I do so look forward to you leading us on this night hunt, Sect Leader Jin. A rare treat, to be sure.” Jin Chan smiles in a manner those who don’t know him might describe as pleasant. Jin Ling smiles thinly back, hiding a wince when his gloves slide against dark, painful bruises from his nails earlier.

Yeah I’ll bet you do, he thinks silently. He does a mental checklist of all the juniors’ old tricks so he doesn’t end up ass-first in a pile of shit again. He already has so little face left, but he’d probably lose it all if something like that were to happen.

“Shall we begin?” Jin Ling faces everyone and asks his group amiably as he can manage. With no opposition, he nods decisively and begins walking into the woods, and so begins the night hunt.

Mount Baifeng is enormous, more of a mountain range frankly, and one of the most highly sought after grounds for night hunts practically teeming with evil spirits. It’s a popular competition spot that’s been used many times in the past, though not recently since…everything involving a certain uncle of his had gone down. Jin Ling shakes that thought out of his head.

The main hunting and competition grounds are many li away, and tend to be more dangerous. Jin Ling has no problem throwing himself at such beasts, but recognizes that endangering all the other juniors in the process would be wildly irresponsible, so the thought to head there never crosses his mind. Whenever he and the others train here under senior disciples they would also stick to the outer area, so that’s where they walk tonight as well.

His cousins fall to the back of the party, whispering amongst themself. Jin Ling can only imagine the things they’re saying this time, catching his name on their lips more than once. He keeps a wary eye on them, glancing back every now and then.

“Sect Leader Jin, are there any creatures native to this area you expect to see?” Lintai asks, keeping a careful watch around them all the while.

“Ahh…not particularly. I’ve seen yao, guai, ghosts, and corpses here before. It could be anything.” Jin Ling keeps his eyes peeled as well, sweeping over large twisted trees, fallen branches, piles of dead leaves, creeping vines. Nothing unusual. They’ve only been walking a few minutes though, so it would’ve been extraordinary to come across something already.

“How strong have the spirits you’ve encountered in this forest been?” Another Lan, Lan…Qingshan? Qingshen? Qing something asks.

“Nothing too bad since we’re close to the outskirts.” Jin Ling replies definitively, if curtly. He thinks he hears a stream somewhere in the distance and begins leading them that way, hoping to catch a yao perhaps. It would be a pretty lame night hunt if they didn’t come across anything.

“Do you take this trail often?” A third Lan chimes in–Yiyao–after a slight lull. Jin Ling withholds a sigh and clenches Suihua tighter, wishing they would just stop. He’s lost enough face around them today as it is and will have to talk to them plenty tomorrow during the tour, not to mention it’s just one more thing for him to juggle, making sure he responds timely and appropriately.

“Not very often, no.” His response leaves little room for follow-up questions. Jin Ling turns to disguise a small but triumphant smirk when the Lans begin to fall a bit back as well, speaking quietly amongst themself. Perfect. Or so he thought.

“That wasn’t very nice you know.” Jin Ling’s head whips around to see Jingyi at his side, sending him a stern, disapproving look that he can hardly take seriously. His arms are crossed, talismans clutched in his fingers. Jin Ling looks for Sizhui in hopes that he’ll come to reign his friend in, but Sizhui has fallen back as well, caught up talking to another Lan. Damn. He glances down at Fairy, who watches Jingyi calmly. What the heck, Fairy!?

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jin Ling says smoothly, refusing to look at the frustrated junior glued to his side. He can feel Jingyi shooting daggers into his back, which is, well…nothing compared to anything he normally faces. He keeps walking, scanning the dirt for prints, sniffing the air for a trace of any leads.

“They wanted to talk to you! And you just ignored them!” Jingyi huffs. Jin Ling laughs as Jingyi tries to move into Jin Ling’s line of sight; he looks up, down, side to side, but the other boy irritatingly moves whichever way he looks. He lets out a low, nearly inaudible growl of frustration.

“What’s so funny?” Jingyi demands, walking backwards to face Jin Ling. Before he can stop himself he glances at the junior, whose umber eyes light up as his face breaks into a wide grin. Jin Ling mentally curses himself and doubles down on refusing to look at him.

“Nobody wants to talk to me,” Jin Ling snorts, sidestepping Jingyi when he nearly trips over a root sticking up. A tiny smirk falls across his face once more.

After picking himself out and straightening out his borderline wrinkled Lan robes, which honestly has to be some kind of dress code violation, Jingyi catches up to him once more and falls closely to Jin Ling’s side. “What do you mean?” He frowns, plucking a stray twig out of his hair.

Jin Ling starts to roll his eyes on instinct, but quickly stops. Sect leaders don’t roll their eyes. Jin Ling’s face scrunches up for half a second, practically feeling a slap.

Instead he closes them and takes a breath. He shouldn't be engaging with Jingyi like this in the first place, it’s bound to lead him to slip up and do or say something inappropriate–loathe as he is to quit bickering with the annoying Lan, as his past self had frequently indulged in.

“Never mind,” he says quietly, gently brushing past the other once more. A slight wind begins to blow, fluttering through low-hanging pines, stirring up dried leaves at their feet. He inhales, searching for–aha! Jin Ling switches directions once more to follow the wind, sensing something not too far ahead.

“Jin Li–shoot, I mean um–Sect Leader Jin! I don’t, uh, presume to know what you might be thinking, but what I do know is that the others just want to be nice and like, get to know you better, you know? Wasn’t that the whole point of this trip?”

Jin Ling’s eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, lamenting his lapse in focus in tracking the spirit. But Jingyi’s words get to him.

What is he supposed to say to that? Of course he’s right. Of course it’s the whole point of this trip, yes, yes, he’s right. But he knows nobody really wants to be friends with him, that it’s all one big fake act of diplomatic social courtesy and nobody wants to be here in the first place. And he can’t say that.

Jin Ling clears his throat and coughs. “Please…f…for-give–me…Lan-gongzi. You are c–corr-ect. I will…make a greater effort to partake in conversation tomorrow.” The words taste entirely foreign on his lips, and judging from the comically startled expression on Jingyi’s face, they sound just as weird too.

Jingyi looks like he’s trying, in vain, to formulate a response to that, when Jin Ling calls everyone to a stop.

“Everyone, look up ahead! There’s something that way!” Jin Ling points off to the right where there’s an unnatural swaying of branches, something moving just out of their sight. Perhaps it’s because the Jins are further behind him and the Lans, but everyone breaks into a run with weapons drawn practically as soon as the words leave Jin Ling’s mouth. It’s almost strange, people actually listening to him, and so quickly.

When they get there there’s a slight break in trees, giving way to a small valley, rocks and trees jutting out the sides. The air is several degrees colder, damper, and the wind stronger, biting. Leaves swirl furiously around them, billowing up like smoke, and clouds pool overhead, blocking out the dying rays of the sun. Fairy begins to bark. Jin Ling thinks he feels his heart stop.

He’d thought…he thought he’d caught a yao…

It’s a forest–there are always plenty of plant and animal spirits, especially in these parts–just a harmless undead bear pack or something that would’ve taken maybe twenty minutes to handle, that’s all he’d wanted!–and then they could’ve gone back and turned in early, it would’ve been perfect, but–

A yao. Jin Ling nearly laughs.

Sitting in front of them, materialized out of thin air, is a house. Modestly-sized, thick and heavy, filthy with mud and leaves and roots like it sprung forth from the earth itself, though peeling paint and rotted wood suggesting a once wealthy home that had fallen into a state of utter dilapidation. The window frames are metal, rusted. The roof slopes into a curl, dirt collecting at the top. What really makes Jin Ling’s skin crawl though are streaks of something dark, dried to black, trailing from the window sills down warped walls, as if the house itself had bled.

“Oh my god,” Jin Ling whispers, wondering how his simple diplomatic outing had turned into him getting everyone brutally fucking murdered.

“We have to get out of here!” He hisses, beginning to creep away, eyes locked on the house–he swears it inches closer to them. His knuckles go white around Suihua’s hilt.

“What…is that?” Jingyi croaks, hands shaking, threatening to drop his talismans. The other Lans appear apprehensive, though more confused than anything, meanwhile the Jins seem uncertain.

“It’s–the Red Yun House!” Jin Ling sputters, trying desperately to keep his voice from wavering, to keep Suihua from trembling. His free arm stretches wide, as if blocking the other juniors from the house.

Loud, cruel laughter rings out, bouncing off the stoned valley. Jin Ling doesn’t take his eyes off the house, rapidly forming the semblances of a plan to get them out of there with as few casualties as possible.

“Stupid Jin Ling, what, do you still believe in little kids' bedtime stories? There’s no such thing as the Red Yun House, it’s just some old ruins! Don’t tell me you’re afraid of one measly, little old house?” Jin Chan shoves past Jin Ling’s arm before he can stop him, walking up the steps. Jin Ling’s eyes are wide as saucers as he goes closer and closer, his confidence spurring the other Jin juniors on, also sneering, moving past Jin Ling to the front.

“Jin Chan–stop! We don’t–even if that’s not the Red Yun House, it’s still dangerous! Don’t you feel its qi?” Jin Ling pleads with his idiot of a junior in spite of his consistent recklessness. Jin Chan just snickers in response.

“Sect Leader Jin, what’s the Red Yun House?” Sizhui asks quickly, appearing by Jin Ling’s side. Ronghua is poised gracefully in one hand, a strong talisman with broad yet delicate strokes in the other. His face is calm, betraying not even a hint of worry or anguish.

“It’s an old legend–a family estate where the father turned crazy, forcing his son to help him slaughter countless others, even in death. It appears randomly, feeds on the living, then vanishes without a trace,” Jin Ling eventually gets out, his voice shredded. “If it’s really that house…it won’t leave without blood.”

And there–on the door. A dragon carving, twisted, half‑splintered, but unmistakable. Jin Ling’s breath catches, chest ice cold with a sinking feeling.

A dragon, for luck. Yun.

Fuck. It is totally the Red Yun House.

Jin Ling’s mind races for a plan–maybe if he can time it just right he can distract the house while the Jin disciples leave and they can guide the Lans back out of the forest and–that’ll work it’ll work he can do that it’ll work–everything will be–fine–

“Jin Chan, come back right now, all of you–that’s an order! Step away carefully, and take the Lans back!” Jin Ling takes a deep breath and begins to edge forward, eyeing the house as well as the Jin juniors for any further movement. The closer he gets, the more heavily he can feel the qi seeping into his body–resentful energy, it’s oozing resentful energy, lapping at his skin, almost like it's…He wonders, if…perhaps when the others leave…he could test out the methods he’d been studying–

“Ha! You are scared of these old ruins–”

“Jin Chan, please! Look at the dragon on the door, that’s the mark of–”

“There’s nothing inside, Jin Ling,” Jin Chan says tauntingly, taking the final step, hand closing around the door handle. Jin Ling’s breath hitches, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s resheathing Suihua, sprinting forward along the rocky path, shoving the other Jins down the stairs, and–

It happens in slow motion. The door creaks open, the sound loud and ominous, spreading throughout the small clearing, deafening in his ears. It’s pitch black inside, not a single thing visible. The qi he’d felt before flows ten times faster now, beginning to overwhelm Jin Ling’s senses. Jin Chan turns his head to sneer and gloat at him. Jin Ling’s mouth opens to protest and cry out, to stop him.

He’s too late.

Before he knows what’s happening, Jin Chan is gone, sucked away into the abyss, echoes of his scream left in his wake, the only indication he’d even been there in the first place. Jin Ling falters, words stuck in his throat as his mouth hangs open–he can feel…he can feel it–the qi, it–it’s building up again, it’s…it’s coming–he has to…he has to–

“JIN LING, COME ON!”

A sharp pull on his sleeve almost sends him falling to the ground, but a steadying hand grips his wrist and tugs him back, down the steps, along the path, through the forest. Jin Ling watches the house shrink, the qi retreating, returning, sucked away from him. He feels…he feels…

Jin Ling blinks, the spell gone, and his dread returning tenfold from before. “N-No I have to go back! I can’t just leave him!” He gasps, suddenly fighting the pull to go back–it was supposed to be him swallowed up–he can’t let someone die on his watch, no matter how stupid or deserving or cruel, he can’t–

The one dragging him is stronger than Jin Ling though. He can’t break away, and so his wrist remains firmly in their grasp. If his mind weren’t in such a state of disarray, he would’ve immediately deduced who it was by process of elimination.

“That house is too strong, if we don’t leave it will take all of us!” A pained, hoarse voice cries back, causing Jin Ling to look over at them.

Sizhui. Of course it was Sizhui who had taken charge and rescued him. Perfect in every way, a natural-born leader, always making everything look so easy and effortless even at their age, like some shining hero out of an epic tale, sent by the gods themselves to grace humanity with his silky flowing dark hair, and strong, broad shoulders, and–

Jin Ling grits his teeth–god–dammit his brain is doing that thing again! And what horrible timing! It’s like, he can’t decide if he’s angry, or jealous, or…

Beyond frustrated, and desperately wanting to return to the pressing issue at hand, Jin Ling looks away from the source of his messy, muddled thoughts and turns his head over his shoulder again. His eyebrows shoot far up his forehead.

“We need a plan, and we need reinforcements! We’re not strong enough like this–”

“Sizhui–”

“–regroup and understand what we’re up against, and then try to save him–”

“SIZHUI!”

“What?!”

“THE HOUSE IS GONE!”

Sizhui skids to a halt, Jin Ling as well, since his wrist is still locked in a death grip by the Lan. He takes the opportunity to wrench free though, chest heaving, faintly rubbing his throbbing arm.

Sure enough, though they’d covered a decent amount of ground in perhaps thirty seconds, they can very clearly see that the house is no longer there. Dread pools in Jin Ling’s stomach. Just ahead of them, others pause as well after hearing him scream that the very thing they were running from had disappeared.

“The stories say that once the house chooses its target it’ll chase them–hurry, everyone get your talismans out, let’s form an array right here, and I’ll send out a flare!”

They scramble into a loose circle. The Lans all immediately begin fishing bundles of talismans out of their robes, keeping watchful eyes on the darkening forest around them. The Jins, slower, fumbling, exchange looks edged with despair. They don’t have nearly as many talismans on them, being less commonly used in Lanling than Gusu.

Jin Ling dips his own hand into a pocket and rips out a flare, something he never thought he’d use; he can still hear his jiujiu telling him not to dare come back empty-handed from a night hunt. But, he never left for a night hunt without it, not after that time the Lans had run out of them and been scolded by Wei-qianbei. He pulls the trigger and aims through an opening in the trees above, shooting high into the night sky. Orange‑gold light streaks upward, swallowed by low clouds.

Please…someone see it, anyone–

Jin Ling can’t bear the thought of so many people dying on account of him, not to mention the diplomatic nightmare it would create for Gusu and Lanling, and hell maybe even Yunmeng too.

“Keep your eyes peeled–if it comes…let’s start by trying to repel it with talismans.” Jin Ling’s voice takes on an almost questioning tone at the end, and he finds himself turning to look at Sizhui at his side. The other boy nods in tacit approval, a thick stack of paper in one hand, as he bends down to finish drawing an array in the dirt the other Lans had started. Unfamiliar with this particular one, Jin Ling can only look on helplessly, before whipping around the other way, realizing he needs to be keeping look out. He grabs an arrow from over his shoulder and notches it in his bow, infusing spiritual energy in it.

“Sect Leader Jin, is there…any way to defeat this…Red Yun–House?” A Lan asks in a small voice, eyes moving around furiously, contrary to their rigid stance and otherwise calm features. If Jin Ling weren’t so preoccupied, he might remember at least a part of their name, but his brain is racing far too wildly to concentrate on something so trivial at the moment.

Jin Ling hesitates, mouth coming to rest in a grim line, before slowly shaking his head. “No one’s ever tried,” he says. “It usually appears in places without cultivators. It takes what it wants and then vanishes. This…this has never happened before.” Faces pale further. A hush falls, heavy as damp earth.

Jin Ling draws in a shaky breath. The cold seeps deeper, aching in his joints, and the wind howls, rattles branches overhead. Shivering, he wishes he could lean on–

“Fairy–”

His dog’s name comes out a cracked whisper on Jin Ling’s lips as he begins frantically looking around for any sign of her, unable to remember the last time she was there.

“She ran away with us, but kept running when we stopped to form the array,” Sizhui says beside him, voice soft as a feather, hand brushing briefly against Jin Ling’s shoulder–grounding, warm, and terrifyingly gentle. Jin Ling jolts at the touch nevertheless, nodding and shooting the Lan a grateful look before his eyes dart away again.

Please let her be okay…please let her be running for help, Jin Ling pleads to himself.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there waiting for…help. Or death. Whichever came first. Perhaps only a few minutes, perhaps closer to thirty. It’s hard to say with the adrenaline that surges through Jin Ling, keeping him on edge the entire time. He’s just beginning to give up hope when–

There!–he feels!–

But…No, it can’t!–

The resentful qi flares out of nowhere, hot and stinging under his skin. At first Jin Ling was overjoyed to have caught such a small trace of it, hoping to have some time to plan strategically as it approached, but it had immediately flared up into something impossibly strong, unbeatable. His head snaps up, breath catching. “It’s coming–” he rasps, hands shaking no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

Sizhui turns to him just a split second later, alarm flashing in his eyes.

“Jin Ling–?”

Then the ground cracks open. Something that vaguely resembles roots whip forth from the crumbling earth, black and wet, unfurling from–

–the doorway!–

–like a tongue, slick and barbed and–

“MOVE!”

Chaos erupts. Screams, talismans igniting in blue flame, what he thinks is Fairy’s bark echoing somewhere distant. Jin Ling spins and tumbles, knocked to the ground, falling over someone or something as the tongue lashes forward. One by one, juniors vanish, yanked backward, shrieking, eyes wide.

Jin Ling feels fingers snag his sleeve, pulling–Sizhui’s grip, strong, desperate–

“Jin Ling!”

He twists and turns, ripped away from the Lan by the thick tendrils that wrap around him, around his eyes, around his throat–

The last thing he sees is Sizhui’s face, fear raw, hair whipped across pale cheeks, and those gray eyes, wide, fixed on him. Then the ground tilts, the cold hits his bones like frigid autumn water, and the world goes black.

Notes:

Sorry my time in between posting chapters keeps going up :') originally this chapter was going to contain a lot lot more but then I realized it was way too long so I cut it into halves but then even that was too long so I now cut it into thirds (unfortunately the next two parts aren't written yet, but on the bright side there's still two more chapters with Sizhui coming, ik I kind of skimped on their interactions this one but dwdw I promise good stuff is coming)

also not sold on song I used for this chapter, couldn't find anything to fit the mess of vibes I have going on so if anyone has any better ideas feel free to suggest!

(also Yun運 means luck in Chinese and dragons are a symbol of luck)

Chapter 9: Seven Devils (Florence + The Machine)

Jin Ling can’t pinpoint the exact moment he wakes. All he knows is that he’s lying on the ground in a pile of what feels like cobwebs, rocks, and dust, his head and throat are throbbing painfully, and he can’t even see the end of his nose let alone his surroundings.

Bitter confusion burns through him. His mind scrambles in a furious attempt to ascertain where he is and what’s going on, why he woke up alone and pained in a dark corridor–

Memories, promptly, begin to flood his mind.

The Lans. The night hunt. The Red Yun–

Oh, fuck!

Fuckkkkkkkk fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck fuckkkkkkkkkkkk–

Jin Ling immediately shifts into alert mode and tries to sense any kind of energy, any presence around him–it’s been here before he’s sure, it’d been one of the most malevolent qis he’d ever encountered, not far off that of Chifeng-zun’s, and if it were anywhere near he’d be able to sense it no doubt.

But he can’t. There’s nothing here now, just traces of the long-gone spirit. Jin Ling isn’t sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

Very cautiously, he begins to sit up, fingers trailing in the space around him until they settle along the familiar curve of a sword’s hilt–Suihua. Relief floods his chest as he finds his bow and quiver just beside the sword, and even more so when he manages to produce a light talisman next. He takes care to keep its glow dim, just enough to see what’s around him.

Blinking a few times as his eyes shift into focus, he sees that he’s lying on a rough wood floor, filthy and splintered, the walls narrow and lined in peeling rice paper. There are doors on either side of the passageway, one after the other, stretching farther than Jin Ling’s light talisman reaches in both directions. As he strains his eyes to make out what lies beyond, because in reality the house only had so much space, so he should’ve been able to see an end wall or stairwell or something, he gets an unsettling feeling that there isn’t an end. He swallows silently.

Alright, a hallway, then. An ominously long hallway. And, he is completely, undeniably alone. Goddamn. How had things come to this again…?

His mind threatens to turn back, to the other juniors and the night hunt, every little thing he had done wrong tonight that had gotten them here–but he shoves it vehemently away. Getting caught up in the past won’t do him any good, not now anyway. The only thing he can do is move forward.

Jin Ling sighs quietly, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple as he mulls over his priorities. First and foremost is getting everyone out alive. Eight Lans and eight Jins had come in here in one piece; sixteen juniors need to return in one piece as well. Or–well. Fifteen at least. The question is, where is everyone else?

The house had been large, but not so large he wouldn’t have seen at least someone by now if they’d been dropped in together, which means…

Jin Ling’s stomach twists into knots, his jaw clenching. One possibility is they’d all been split up–perhaps there are some behind the hallway’s doors, still unconscious just as he’d been; it could also be that the house is just so impossibly big on the inside, it actually made perfect sense he hadn’t seen anyone else, or an end for that matter. Another possibility–

Jin Ling physically shakes the thought from his head before it can fully form. No. No, there isn’t any evidence for that yet, and without evidence he refuses to consider the possibility that…that…he just won’t, okay?!

Using the talisman, he shines a small beam of light around him again, down the hallways. It’s eerily quiet and still, like Jin Ling is the only thing that’s ever breathed life in this space. There really isn’t any present qi either, not from the spirit or even the faint traces the other juniors would’ve given off from their cultivation. Perhaps he would find something behind all the closed doors…if there are even real rooms behind them, and they’re not just illusions.

Either way, sitting here and wringing his hands isn’t helping anybody. He looks back and forth down the long hall a couple times before exhaling slowly, squaring his shoulders, and standing, taking off in the direction in front of him.

Taking cautious footsteps, Jin Ling drifts down the hall, his boots padding softly in the thick film of dust that coats everything. He starts to shiver and unconsciously pulls his robes tighter against him, glancing at the first door he approaches warily. He brings his light close to it, taking note of the rotted doorframe, the rusted door handle, the skeletal remains of a once beautifully painted dragon. He tilts his head to the side, ever so slightly.

He’s always been decent with picking out details, but not the important ones, nothing to put the pieces together and realize the overall bigger picture. Not like Sizhui.

Jin Ling lets out a low growl that doesn’t quite make it past his lips at memories of being shown up by Sizhui, by the other Lans, in front of Wei-qianbei–

–not that it mattered! It’s not like…like that was important, or anything.

Gods, focus A’Ling! he reprimands himself, as yet another one of his faults rears its ugly head, getting distracted so easily. There will be plenty of time to ruminate later when he goes to bed, or if he’s killed and turned into a restless wandering soul, which is a very real possibility if he doesn’t figure out how to escape.

Jin Ling takes a breath. Old door, once nice now rotted. Nothing else he can deduce. He lays a hand tentatively against the wood, feeling for qi, vibrations, patterns, substances, anything, but just like when he’d first woken and looked around, there’s nothing.

Jin Ling decides on a course of action then. He nods curtly to himself, looks over his shoulder one last time to make sure the hallway is still empty, and then slams the door open with Suihua and his light poised in each hand. He does a rapid sweep of the room to determine whether there are any active threats, any spirits or monsters; there aren’t. What he finds instead though is…worse, frankly.

The room is quite simple. Relatively small, no furniture, no windows, nothing other than the chipped wooden floor and ceiling–and all the dark figures piled against the far wall.

At first glance, Jin Ling had been terrified it was some kind of evil being he somehow hadn’t sensed, low and all spread out in dips and ridges and bumps, but a millisecond later recognized it wasn’t moving, wasn’t alive at all. Upon closer inspection, his heart races with dread as he realizes just what it really is.

Jin Ling crouches down and shines his light over the sea of human remains, all in varying degrees of decomposition. Some have been reduced to nothing but dirt-stained bones, their empty eye sockets peering up at Jin Ling accusatorily, some are nearly piles of ash with fragments of their skeleton remaining, but some–

Some of them are more recent, lifeless, wrinkled pieces of skin blue or even black and still clinging to the bone, dried blood stuck on festering wounds that must have done them in, organs spilling out, missing limbs with jagged edges that look as if they’d been bitten off, shriveled lips caught in a perpetual scream–some of them still have decaying eyeballs, frozen open, pupils staring at Jin Ling, pleading, begging, piercing his soul–

Jin Ling finds himself in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall and emptying the meager contents of his stomach a split second later, as the rancid odor fully invades his nose, putrid enough to bring tears to his eyes. He coughs a few times and wipes his mouth, finding those missing and rotting eyes all staring intensely back at him the moment he turns his head around. He closes his own and breathes slowly, willing the morbid scene away. It doesn’t work.

That’s an image that’s seared into my mind forever, Jin Ling laments, before straightening up and forcing himself to approach again, wanting–no, needing, rather–to get a closer look. He doesn’t think any of them could be his juniors, none of whom could’ve possibly fallen into such a state of rot in…what, a few hours at most? But…he needs to be sure…

Chewing his inner cheeks, he kneels to the ground and visually sifts through each and every corpse. There are twenty-four in all, the more rotted ones lying closer to the wall while the fresher ones sit at Jin Ling’s feet. It’s hard to make out any of the details from the ones in the back, as there’s hardly any features to analyze and most of their clothes have turned to ash as well, but he can mostly pick out pieces of the closer ones.

There’s a coarse robe in pale colors on a couple, perhaps made of hemp, meanwhile two others bear fine blue silk, a couple more a faded brocade. Some of them are larger bodies, tall, wide, others are small–Jin Ling even spots two that look maybe half his height at most, likely those of small children. There are some bodies with the hair still attached; twin pairs of messy buns held in place by simple wooden pins with a flower carved on the end sit on two, four more with close-cropped hair, perhaps monks or nuns, two with black muslin futou hats, six others with broken straw ones a farmer might have worn.

Victims of each and every kind lay scattered before Jin Ling’s eyes, some stabbed on either side of the chest, some missing both their forearms, some sporting nasty, mottled skin doubly bruised around their body. But none of them bear peony-emblazoned robes of gold, or ribbons of white across their heads.

It should bring comfort to him. But Jin Ling’s body sags until his knees hit the floor and pounds a fist feebly against the grimy planks of wood. A single drop of water escapes his eyes and hits the floor, his throat closing up in the process.

All of these peoples’ lives were stolen from them–and he can’t give them a proper burial, any rites, he doesn’t–he doesn’t have anything on him, he doesn’t even have any dirt to shovel over them, any incense or joss paper to burn…

Is this what waits for him behind every door? Piles of bodies, brutally slain and left for dead, without a shred of dignity left to them? Numerous lives uprooted because of one single, vengeful spirit, that nobody had even known existed with certainty?

There’s a small puddle forming just under Jin Ling’s gaze now. He takes a shaky breath and uses Suihua to stand up, sniffling and wiping his face. If he makes it out…if he runs into any of the others…just one person would need to make it out and perform basic funeral rites…

Unable to spare much longer, given that he still has to track down the juniors and find a way out, he says a silent prayer in his head before turning to leave.

The hallway is unchanged when he emerges, still forebodingly quiet, bare, and devoid of any qi. Jin Ling swallows a lump in his throat, holding his light talisman out in front of him and continuing down. The walls are still darkened wood with strips of ashen paper falling off, no pictures, paintings, or portraits, no carvings or vases, lanterns or tables.

As he comes to a stop at the next door, this time on the other side, he glances down far as his light shines and sees the hallway stretching endlessly, just as he’d suspected. Lovely. Jin Ling sighs deeply.

He eyes this door apprehensively, quite similar to the last; the apparently signature dragon is etched onto it, or pieces rather. Half a head, part of a tail, a couple feet. Jin Ling briefly closes his eyes before performing all the same checks as last time. Finding nothing, he takes a deep breath and busts open the door, eyes washing over every nook and cranny, ultimately determining there to be no threat. And no pile of corpses, something greatly appreciated.

Lowering his sword the tiniest amount, Jin Ling cautiously proceeds, a bit surprised by all the furniture and items in this room, completely unlike the last one which had seemed nothing more than a dumping grounds for the house. There’s a large canopy bed far to one side, red silk coverings mostly intact save for a few tears and holes. Two night stands sit on either side, each one with a candle and incense burner. There’s wicker chairs with remnants of cushions, matted rugs, dressers, even desks, one with scattered papers everywhere. Curious, Jin Ling creeps towards it, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.

When he reaches the desk, he tilts his head, brows furrowing, while he nudges a scroll with Suihua. Neat characters line the page, some figures and a diagram dot the side, and at the very end is a signature. Yun Weizhe.

Yun Weizhe…could that be the father? Or perhaps a brother or servant–maybe even the son? Jin Ling muses to himself, tracing a fingertip over the long-dried ink.

It’s a business paper, outlining the family’s wealth and assets, and plans for future investments. There are several more of that nature under it and off to the side, as well as a few old history and science texts. A light crease appears on his forehead as he circles a line, something in the writing tugging at him, almost like it’s familiar.

When he can’t figure it out, Jin Ling dismisses the thought; he’s wasting time. Every moment here is another moment the juniors might be–…he has to keep moving!

Getting ready to leave again, he kicks something with his foot and looks down to see a worn bundle of pages threaded together, the cover gone. Hesitating a moment, Jin Ling groans before reaching down to pick it up and dust it off, flipping through several pages as his curiosity gets the best of him.

There’s dates at the top and a name at the bottom–Yun Weizhe. It’s the same handwriting as before, though this time the contents tell stories, snippets, fragments of a life, in place of tedious finances. Jin Ling’s eyes drift to the first entry.

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 88, 9th Month, 15th Day

The new house is spacious. Smells faintly of mildew, will have to burn incense. Needs to be repainted too. The garden is overgrown and needs tending; the servants will begin work on that tomorrow. The children are settling in nicely. Mingzhu misses the old home. Overall I am pleased.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 88, 10th Month, 1st Day

The boys’ tutor starts today. He comes highly recommended. Business carries on as usual, I am certain I can persuade the merchants from the north to agree to the new deal. Mingzhu still misses the old home. A’Qiang now does too and won’t do much other than cry these days. I find it all rather grating.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 88, 10th Month, 21st Day

It rained this morning, I was almost late to work. Guiren and Honghui have made great progress with their tutor. Xiaosi continues to lag behind. Mingzhu is expecting again, and is already so dreadfully emotional.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Ling rubs his hand over his face, listlessly skimming through several more entries. Yun Weizhe appears to be the head of the household, kind of a prick, and one of the dullest authors Jin Ling’s ever had the misfortune of having to read (which is really saying something). He doesn’t have anything interesting to say, and his writing doesn’t provide any insight either into the legend of the Red Yun House.

Annoyed, Jin Ling skips many pages into the middle to see if things pick up.

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 91, 1st Month, 10th Day

One of the servants has died of frostbite and now I must find another. Mingzhu cooked in place of her today, everything was quite bland. Guiren will take the imperial exam this fall. A’Chen and A’Yu will not stop wailing; as if I needed more daughters. Will have to try for another boy soon.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 91, 2nd Month, 3rd Day

The delegation arrived today, I found them to be tolerable. They are knowledgeable of the accounts at least. Still cannot shake the feeling everyone is talking behind my back. Xiaosi is the worst of them all. He has neither intelligence nor physical aptitude. I am not sure what I could have possibly done in a previous life to deserve him.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Ling frowns as he skims over more entries. 15% of it is Yun Weizhe discussing his work, 75% of it is him complaining about his family and servants, and 10% of it is him describing odd things. Out of patience, he decides to skip to the last entry.

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 93, 4th Month, 4th Day

Cannot take it anymore. They all must go.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Ling blinks. He checks to see if the page is missing anything, if the writing has corroded, but nothing is amiss–other than the shaky, near illegible handwriting. He decides to go back and look at the entries just before that one.

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 93, 2nd Month, 14th Day

I put Mingzhu in her place today, she thinks I can’t hear everyone whispering at night or see their shadows. She’s had it out for me since our courtship and now turned our children against me. She threatens to leave with them–I saw to it that she won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Dynasty, Year 93, 2nd Month, 10th Day

I quit today, imbeciles, the lot of them. They accuse me falsely and senselessly. I don’t even need their money, I have plenty of it. I think I shall leave them all behind, rather than put up with this idiocy another day.

Yun Weizhe

 

Jin Ling decides that the journal isn’t going to help him any, other than confirm that Yun Weizhe is indeed a deranged psychopath, so he stalks off to the next room, grabbing the frayed journal and tucking it in his robes at the last minute.

He continues checking rooms, some entirely empty, some with more bodies, occasionally another bedroom. He finds what must be the withered bodies of the family members in some, seeing child-sized corpses, spotting names from the journals on furnishings or papers.

A’Chen and A’Yu are together, they can’t be more than five. He finds Guiren and Honghui, A’Qiang and perhaps another sister too.

After what must be more than an hour of this, Jin Ling can’t take another step and falls to the floor, trembling, clutching Suihua to his chest, whispering silent prayers to anyone who will listen.

Maybe this is his fate. To wander the limitless halls of the Red Yun House for all eternity. He supposes he’ll die of starvation eventually, and then what, be added to one of the piles of bodies for the next victims to find?

Just as a scream of frustration threatens to wrench itself from his throat, Jin Ling’s body is suddenly flooded by the malevolent qi, surging like a tidal wave as it courses through his veins. In the blink of an eye he moves into a stance of defense, eyes wildly shooting around the hall, searching for the spirit.

The ground under his feet begins to shake. The walls start to move inwards and out, gradually picking up tempo. The doors open and close, creaking furiously on their rusted hinges.

His heart pounds in his ears, racing faster than the rapidly swinging doors. A horrible, terrible sound overwhelms him in the next moment, like metal being ripped apart, and then the wind howling as it flies down the corridor, whipping Jin Ling’s hair around his face, and then there’s screaming too–all of it blends together into one nightmarish cacophony of terror.

“Show yourself!” Jin Ling calls out, hoping his voice doesn’t sound half as scared out of his wits as he feels. “What kind of a ghost are you, hiding, toying with me, rather than fighting with honor! How can you have any face left?!” He realizes, in hindsight, that provoking Yun Weizhe in this manner is quite useless. Yun Weizhe is not a man of honor, and he’s dead now, a malevolent spirit; what need does he have for face?

Still, as if his demands have been answered, the door closest to him begins to shake violently, like it contains a powerful force that won’t be held back. Jin Ling takes a step away and holds Suihua out in front of him, preparing a maneuver for the second it emerges.

The door shakes and shakes and shakes until it seems to collapse in on itself, finally spitting out a dark looming figure straight at Jin Ling. Jin Ling doesn’t hesitate, pouncing, shouting, tackling this newcomer to the ground, easily gaining the upper hand until he holds Suihua just in front of their neck.

“Jin Chan?!” He cries in disbelief, and disappointment, groaning deeply and reluctantly backing away from his cousin. Jin Chan sits up muttering, rubbing his head and frowning deeply, as all the tremors of the hallway fade away. The qi disappears too, receding like a tide, returning to the exact same it’d been the last…however long Jin Ling’s been wandering alone.

He can’t believe this–the spirit finally deigns to show itself, only to deliver his stuck-up, idiotic, wreckless, sorry excuse of a junior disciple to him?! What the fuck, Yun Weizhe?!?!

Jin Ling looks over Jin Chan and sees that he’s not too worse for wear, no major wounds, just dirty and disheveled, which is…a relief…he supposes. He takes a moment to gather himself before speaking.

“Jin Chan. Where have you been? What happened to you since you got sucked into the house?” Jin Chan has the audacity–the audacity!–to snarl at Jin Ling, and blame him for all this!

“Ha! Looks like you got yourself stuck in here too! Serves you right. You just couldn’t resist following in after me, huh? You know we could’ve avoided all this if you’d actually done your homework and researched the area. That was your job, wasn’t it? How was I supposed to know the Red Yun House legend was true?” He rises to his full height and jabs a finger into Jin Ling’s chest for good measure, once, twice, eyes dangerous and accusatory.

Now Jin Ling more or less hates himself, and would take all kinds of criticism for things not even remotely his fault these days from all kinds of people–but he draws the line at Jin Chan.

Jin Ling laughs in disbelief, knocking the other’s arm away. “What a joke coming from you. If you hadn’t arrogantly ran towards the house, we might all have been able to escape it instead of getting sucked in! Now everyone’s stuck in here, maybe already dead!”

His words clearly don’t land, as Jin Chan scoffs flippantly and starts walking away, muttering miscellaneous curses at him. His fingers grip Suihua’s hilt so hard, he thinks it might splinter if it weren’t such a high-caliber spiritual weapon.

“Hey–where are you going?! We have to stick together!” Jin Ling calls, chasing after the other junior. He glances at the hallway as he runs, the exact same it’s been, stretching on and on no matter how far they walk. Whatever hope he’d had at getting out, or at least finding something new with the appearance of Jin Chan, is dashed.

“Looking for a way out. Away from you. Obviously.” Jin Ling sprints ahead and stops in front of Jin Chan, spreading his arms and blocking him from continuing on. Jin Chan snarls at him again.

“Look, I know you hate me for whatever stupid reason, but we gotta stick together, that’s like–haunted houses 101. So, can you just tell me what’s happened to you since you got sucked in? So we can compare stories and figure out some kind of plan of action?”

“Out of my way, Jin Rulan. Like hell am I working with you.” Jin Chan shoves past him, elbowing him too, and stalks onward. Jin Ling’s nose twitches at the warped tones of his names. Rulan. Not the tones for his characters, 如兰; like an orchid. 辱烂. Shameful. Rotten. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but it stirs something inside him nonetheless.

“What is your problem?! Why are you like this?! Why do you hate me so much–we’re trapped in a deadly haunted house for gods’ sake, and you can’t even work with me, your sect leader, to help save all the juniors who might not have gotten caught up in this if you hadn’t been so full of yourself, completely disregarding my words and thoughtlessly provoking the obviously hostile spirit?!?!”

Jin Ling is gasping for breath by the end of his tirade, anger and perhaps even a hint of hurt etched into his eyes, as he stares right back at Jin Chan’s livid gaze, towering before him. They stare at each other a beat, until Jin Chan starts to laugh cruelly, his head thrown back as his lips fix themselves into a hideous sneer.

“What’s my problem? Why do I hate you so much? Please, don’t act so stupid Jin Ling–as if you didn’t know.” Jin Ling gapes helplessly back, lost entirely.

“Your branch of the family has caused nothing but problems for our sect. Your grandfather wasn’t smart enough to hide all his perversions, and your uncle wasn’t smart enough to cover up his faults either–not that he should’ve ever been allowed to take up rule in the first place–it should’ve gone to my family, my father, who was next in line, but nooo, let’s let the talentless bastard from fucking Yunping become the next Jin sect leader! And now look at you, given the throne and all its riches just because your dad was in line, who never even made it to sect leader. What great things have you accomplished and fixed in your reign, huh? Nothing! You’ve made things worse for everyone!

“You don’t understand at all how the world works, and when you couldn’t meld it the way you wanted, you gave up entirely. Now you’re nothing but a ceremonial figurehead, and everyone knows it. It’d be better for everyone if you just disappeared, like you were never even here. Why don’t you run away and become a rogue cultivator? Or, better yet, why don’t you just kill yourself! Completely end your branch of the family, and then it’ll be passed to mine like it should’ve been generations ago.

“Because you know what, Jin Ling? Not only are you weak and incompetent, you’re absolutely terrible luck. Both your parents? Gone. Both sets of grandparents? Gone. Your shushu and shenshen and sick abomination of a cousin? Gone. We all almost died on that last night hunt you took us on, and now look at us, probably going to die this one. Face it, you’re a xiongxing, an ill-starred curse just hanging over us.”

All the air leaves Jin Ling’s lungs.

It’s hot all of the sudden, it’s too hot, it’s too–

“A’SONGGGGGG!!!!!!!”

–there’s blood on his hands, on him, he sees–he sees–

–his head is bleeding–

“…A’Song…?”

“A’LING!!!!”

Where’s his sword, where’s–where is Suihua? He can’t feel Suihua anymore, can’t see, where–where is–the wall, the doors–there’s peeled paint under his nails now, he falls–

“Shenshen, I don’t understand…why–why did you do it–why?”

It smells like incense, he can still see the maroon stains even on her spotless white garbs–

–is this what his mother had looked like?–

His hand is on his shoulder, he’s whispering in his ear.

“A’Ling, oh A’Ling, I don’t know what to tell you…”

In his room, on his floor, no headstone, no funeral, no rites–the tiles are cold on his knees, seeping through his pants and robes–he can’t even ask why, because–he knows why, doesn’t he?

A shadow passes over him, it circles, footsteps echoing loudly even in the dust, the swing of a blade, sharp and cutting through the air–

–can’t breathe–

“You’re pathetic, Jin Ling, Jin Rulan, Sect Leader Jin. I could gut you right now, and no one would even know. They’d thank me for avenging you, even. Tell them that monstrous demon took Sect Leader Jin–oh they’d believe it alright, wouldn’t they?!”

Suihua moves before Jin Ling can process a thing, intercepting the downward strike, just barely. His body moves for him next, rolling away, pushing up off the wall, darting forward into a lunge.

He wants–he wants to look for–he had just been…where is A’Song? Where…where did his shenshen go, Xiao-shushu, he–

“Aghh!” Jin Ling cries out, as Jin Chan’s sword knicks him just below the shoulder, somewhat deep, on his sword arm too. He shakes his head and drops his light talisman, clutching his wound with his left hand while pushing forward, launching into defense while Jin Chan keeps circling, slashing at any openings he can get.

“Jin Chan, stop this! We’re on the same team!” Jin Ling pleads with what little breath he has left, scrunching up his eyes as Jin Chan’s image shifts several times, the junior one second, a shadowy figure the next, then a deceased family member, gods his head, he can’t–

“Nobody’s on the same team as you–you’ve always been alone, haven’t you, Jin Rulan?!”

Jin Ling gasps and blocks another heavy hit, meanwhile tiny red cuts begin to bleed through his clothes, as Jin Chan manages to evade some of his feeble attempts at shielding himself. If he weren’t so out of it, he’d probably be able to overtake the other in a few steps, but it’s near impossible when his mind keeps slipping, flashing images of past events he doesn’t wish to recall, blending with the present–

They go back and forth, back and forth–Jin Chan is by no means a poor martial artist, Jin Ling isn’t sure why he won’t just finish it, surely he could’ve taken him out long ago–is it some kind of sick game to him? Like he’s toying with Jin Ling, drawing things out, watching him suffer and struggle to tell what’s real and what’s not?

“JIN CHAN, ENOUGH!” Jin Ling screams, begging for it to be over–he can’t take it anymore–

–and then!–

–Jin Chan’s face begins to waver, like there’s a screen casting an illusion over it. Jin Ling blinks rapidly, trying to snap out of it, but it doesn’t stop. It wavers until it’s wrinkling, melting practically, the skin sliding away to sunken bones, the eyes bursting–

Jin Ling stumbles backwards and watches in terror as time seems to course through Jin Chan, decades in a span of seconds. His lips split open and his teeth fall out, his skin–what’s left of it–takes on a nasty shade of yellow-green. It laughs at him as it sinks to the ground, dissipating, and for just a hair of a second, Jin Ling sees something that’s not Jin Chan at all, something else entirely that sends shivers down his spine, throughout his body. He can’t give name to the way that it looks at him, but it fills him with an indescribably horrifying feeling of dread.

…

…

What…what the fuck just happened?

Jin Ling stumbles forward, his head banging against tatters of rice paper and fragile, aged wood. He closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing. He chokes several times, sliding to the floor, sorely wishing Fairy were with him. His hand finds his necklace, fingers wrapping around the pendant that mercifully still hangs at his throat. He thumbs it absentmindedly, feeling the indents, trying to soothe his mind, trying to put the pieces together as to what happened.

Jin Chan had appeared…why had the house delivered the junior to him? And why had it suddenly killed him off, just like that? And what had happened at the end, that–that…whatever it was, it wasn’t…surely it wasn’t Jin Chan…had the spirit killed him and then possessed him somehow, just before turning him to ash? Why would it do that? Why…

–and Jin Chan–

NO–no, no, no. Jin Ling doesn’t want to think about what had transpired with the junior specifically. Not now. He can’t think of it he won’t think of it not now not now not now–

Having somewhat regained his breath, Jin Ling crawls over to the space where Jin Chan had vanished, feeling around for any traces of qi, any clues. None. He’s too late. Maybe if he’d thought of it sooner, in the immediate aftermath…

His head hurts. A lot. He wants to lay down, wants to fall asleep and not wake up for years and years, but that’s hardly an option right now; he can’t let his guard down. So much as he wants to curl up against the wall and pretend that none of this is happening, he…he won’t…he won’t, he can’t, he has to keep going! The other juniors, they could still be–they could be hurt, or–or trapped, or…

Jin Ling coughs and sits up. He gets his light talisman that’d fallen down the hall; he’ll have to get another one out soon. He grimaces, taking stock of all his cuts, some deeper than the others, some still bleeding through his clothes and onto the floor. He brings a slip of water out of a pocket to clean things off as best he can. He has a few bandages on him that manage to cover the worst of what’s there.

When he’s done, he sits there for a long time. He knows he should get up. He can’t think of much else, his mind point blank refusing to properly analyze matters. Instead, all he can think of is how nice it is to just stay here…just stay…he needs to leave, he doesn’t want to, just wants to stay…

The last of his light burns out, plunging Jin Ling into darkness. He blinks. He thinks about getting up. He honestly doesn’t think he’s going to, when finally something spurs him on and he sits up. He gets another light talisman out and activates it, watching the familiar hallway enter his vision once more. And then, with terrible effort, pushes off his knees, puts one foot in front of the other, and soldiers on down the forlorn path.

Jin Ling wanders down the hall, in and out of rooms in somewhat of a daze, tripping over his feet a few times, Suihua nearly falling to the floor. It’s much the same as before, and he begins to wonder if he ever even encountered Jin Chan in the first place, or it’d been nothing but a fabrication, entirely of his own mind.

Strips of paper. Dirt and dust. Frigid air. Bodies. Bodies. More bodies. It smells. His eyes are heavy. His sword is heavy. He wants–

“Sect Leader–” Jin Ling jumps a mile high, whirling around, coming face to face with one of the Lan disciples–

“You–!”

“Sect Leader Jin, thank goodness, I finally found someone!”

Jin Ling stands up tall, watching apprehensively as the Lan youth approaches. They bow lowly to him. A beat skips. He slowly returns the bow, never taking his eyes off them. The one who had spoken while they were in the array earlier. Lan…he doesn’t even know.

“Where–did you come from?” Jin Ling’s throat is cracked and dry, and it takes quite a bit of effort not to stumble over his words, to maintain some kind of regality in the face of a Lan junior.

“I’ve been walking down this hallway for ages–I can’t believe I finally found someone! I thought I recognized your silhouette but wasn’t sure–but it was you! Oh, what a relief!”

Jin Ling hadn’t heard or sensed any movements, hadn’t seen a light coming from the opposite direction. He swallows thickly, realizing just how doomed he is if he couldn’t even sense that–he needs to be more alert, he needs to wake up–it’s a blessing the Lan found him when they did, they appear far more calm and collected than Jin Ling feels. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by the other, their eyes widening and hands flying to their mouth.

“Sect Leader Jin, what happened to you? Did you find the spirit? Is there anything I can do to help, here, I–I might have some extra bandages on me–Lintai was carrying more of those today though…” Jin Ling gives himself a once over while the Lan fumbles for bandages and water, and almost wishes he hadn’t. It’s true he’d run out of wrappings and had to leave the lesser ones to bleed freely. He’s…not exactly a sight for sore eyes.

“It’s fine,” he wheezes, clearing his throat, rubbing his chest. “It’s fine.” He repeats, a bit more authoritatively, waving the other off. They frown at him lightly, worry laced in their eyes, but leave it be. He and Jin Ling briefly recap what they’ve seen thus far, and ultimately decide that it’s best to continue on.

Him and the Lan don’t have much to say to each other; Jin Ling’s far too drained to make conversation anyway, and what is there to say even? He’s far more agreeable company than Jin Chan had been though. Jin Chan, who had tried to kill him, who may be dead, who…he shakes his head and goes back to looking out for spirits.

He doesn’t know how long they go on down the hall, occasionally dipping in rooms, but at some point the Lan asks to stop and rest. Jin Ling acquiesces, getting some of his water out and tipping it into his mouth. He looks over to offer some to his companion, in case they’d run out, only to choke on it.

“Lan…Lan-gongzi, are you alright?!”

The boy wears a stricken expression that bears such pain, that leaves Jin Ling scrambling to ascertain what could possibly be wrong. He looks around for injuries and asks what’s wrong, but no words leave the others’ lips as he screams silently, clutching his arms, his legs–Jin Ling moves closer, his hands flitting around to try to find the cause–he can’t feel any qi, he doesn’t know what to do–

“Hold on, we’ll get through this!” Jin Ling does his best to keep frantic worry out of his voice, a race to determine the cause of this Lan’s terrible pain. His breath catches when he sees a horrible, nasty darkness spreading over his limbs, blackening his skin, leaving it dried and shriveled in its wake. He reaches out to try to feel it, to stop it–

–THERE–

–he feels it, that qi, the spirit! It’s the spirit’s qi, it’s here, it’s on the Lan, it’s–it’s consuming him!–

A bloodcurdling scream leaves the Lan’s lips as the qi spreads to his face, his body disintegrating before Jin Ling’s very eyes–the qi is completely immune to his weak attempts to stop it with his inexperienced cultivation–and so for the second time, he’s forced to watch a junior crumble to ash, this time in his own hands.

But there–just as they’re slipping away, something that vaguely resembles a corpse or skeleton resurfaces, just like before with Jin Chan–it stares straight through Jin Ling like it knows everything about him, and laughs at him again, the raucous laughter filling the halls–and it’s gone in the next instant.

Jin Ling is left in a pile of dust, the remains of a Lan junior whose name he hadn’t even known sifting through his fingers like sand.

No…no…no that didn’t…that didn’t just happen…

It didn’t happen…

It didn’t happen…

It didn’t…

It didn’t, nothing’s…everything’s…fine…

Jin Ling’s chest rises erratically with labored breaths. His vision goes fuzzy. His body feels like it’s been weighted with ten thousand bricks. Dust flows down his hands, onto his knees, onto the floor. He turns his head to stare at it, belatedly. He watches as more trickles down. More. More. More.

No.

No…

NO!

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO–

“NOOOOOOO–”

Jin Ling’s scream tears through the hallway until his throat is raw and bleeding, until his knees give out and he slams onto the dust-strewn boards. The sound echoes back at him–he thinks it does anyway, but he can’t even be sure anymore.

A Lan junior. A Jin junior too. Dead. On his watch. Jin Ling’s never felt like this before, this emotion he doesn’t have a name for.

How…how could’ve he let that happen?! He–he…there were two lives! Two lives lost now–two more in addition to all the other victims over the centuries–on him. On Jin Ling, because he wasn’t strong enough! Because he failed to protect them, because–like Jin Chan had said–he hadn’t thoroughly researched the part of the forest they were going to, he had just–assumed, that–that it would be…gods, how can he ever face anyone ever again after this?! He can’t, he–

Oh god, the politics.

The political minefield flashes through his head–Lanling will denounce him entirely, send him into exile, deport him, best case scenario, or perhaps they’ll just outright kill him–Jin Chan is right, there are so many who want him dead, who are just waiting for him to do something like this, surely–not to even mention the Lans.

The Lans may very well wage war, with Hanguang-jun more or less running Gusu at the moment–if he learns that one of his precious juniors died because of Jin Ling’s negligence, his stupidity, he–

Jin Ling breathes rapidly in and out, pressing a hand to his face. Their faces. The way they looked as they were crumbling before his very eyes–the Lan’s face especially, so helpless and pained, there hadn’t been anything Jin Ling could do to stop it, stop the–the spirit, he–completely–useless!–he should just–

For a sick, lurching moment, Jin Ling thinks it would be easier to just stop here. End it all. Sink into the dark. Leave the rest of them to someone who…someone who isn’t bad luck, won’t ruin and kill everything they touch.

His fingers twitch around Suihua. One sharp motion–he could make it quick and painless. There’d be no more mistakes, no more guilt, no more juniors dying on his watch…

The idea sits there, cold and heavy. It would be so easy–and no one would even know. Lanling wouldn’t even have to lose face, knowing that he’d brought about his own demise, because it would be so simple to just explain it away as a night hunt turned tragedy.

He really thinks about it. He actually comes pretty close he thinks, but at the last second, a pair of lupine blue eyes flashes through his mind. His breath hitches. His hand goes slack.

Fairy…how could I do that to Fairy? he thinks mournfully, tears gathering in his eyes at the image of his dog wandering around the woods, tracking his scent. The other juniors–the ones left–finally escaping, his body in tow. The way Fairy would look at him, would come to the realization, would cry and howl inconsolably, wouldn’t leave his side even in death, and he–

No, he can’t do it. Not yet at least–not until he has more answers. He hasn’t even tried his hand with the spirit itself for gods’ sakes, he can’t give in like this! He owes it to the other juniors to try, at least.

An idea sets into his mind then, the seedlings of a plan. He tears open his robes, searching his pockets for blank paper. When he can’t find any he snatches the one with the least writing on it and lays it flat on the ground. He moves his finger towards the bloodiest bandage on his arm then back to the paper and begins writing in messy strokes. What he writes, he’s not even sure he could say, but some kind of instinct guides his hand.

He finishes with one final flourish, gritting his teeth and then slamming the talisman into the wall, hollering, “SHOW YOURSELF, YUN WEIZHE!”

Silence. Not even a flicker of movement. He tries again, again, again and again. Still nothing.

Despair wells in Jin Ling’s chest at his failure of a summoning talisman–but before it can overtake him he tosses the talisman to the side and charges forward, streaming down the hall. If asked why, he probably couldn't say, when in all likelihood all that waits for him is more doors–but he has to do something.

So he does. Tries to, rather.

Throughout the night he runs into more juniors, each one swapping various stories with him, the Lans kinder and more helpful than the Jins, and each one melting away in the end as well–dust, ash, rot, and that same mocking laughter.

With every passing death, his driving anger is chipped away at, his chest tightening and head throbbing just that much more, until he can’t make much sense of anything, can’t feel anything other than all-consuming hopelessness.

So when Jingyi finds him, Jin Ling has a dull, blank look in his eyes, and Suihua angled vaguely towards himself.

“Oh my god, Sect Leader Jin! I–woah are you okay?!”

He blinks blearily up at the normally grinning Lan, who appears so genuinely concerned as he crouches at Jin Ling’s side, hair slightly disheveled, ribbon askew. His eyes flick over the other, noting he doesn’t appear hurt.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll turn to dust soon. Just like the rest of them.

“What happened?! Are you okay? Hey, hey Jin-gongzi–Sect Leader Jin, can you hear me? Here, I think I’ve got some bandages–”

Jin Ling watches the other move towards him warily, something deep inside him telling him to move away–he isn’t sure he can stand someone else being so close to him, touching him, not now. But then another thought pushes back.

He thinks to himself, We’re all gonna die here anyway, aren’t we? The ghost has just been fucking with me, saving me for last so I have to watch everyone else go…so nothing matters anymore, right? What’s…what’s the harm then? I want…I want to feel…

“–get that one wrapped up again, it’s falling off–lemme see where else you’re hurt–oof!”

Jin Ling knocks the strips of gauze from his hands and surges forward, pulling Jingyi into a bone-crushing hug. His face presses close to the smooth white fabric of his robes, his tears soaking through it, his breath shuddering in and out.

It’s strange and dumb and his body’s gut reaction is to shove away, entirely unused to this sensation of being so wholly wrapped up in another–in Lan Jingyi of all people–especially as he returns the hug just a few seconds later, a little hesitant at first, then firmer. He really isn’t used to it, doesn’t know what to think–but he’d be lying if he said his chest didn’t feel just a bit lighter for it, that he didn’t feel so alone anymore. That he wishes he hadn’t waited until hours, maybe minutes before his death to remember what a hug feels like.

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, trying to soak up every last bit of the Lan’s warmth–but that’s when it hits him. Jingyi’s embrace is comforting, warm, safe–until it isn’t. Jin Ling starts to feel strange, like something–

–the qi, he can feel it–

–changing–

Jin Ling jerks back just in time; the blade seemingly meant for his chest hisses past, slicing through cloth instead of flesh. Jingyi, he–he–

–whatever it is curls back, lips sliding into something that’s not quite a smile, it tilts his head, the features flickering and sliding away–

–and then there’s that same corpse underneath, rotted dark eyes sunken deep, rows of cracked teeth, a jaw stretched too wide–

Jin Ling stumbles far backwards as the thing gapes at him and starts that terrible, obnoxious cackling, before disappearing once more. Jin Ling stays away, panting, clutching his chest where Jingyi–…that…that thing that–that looked like him at least–had slashed, destroying his sect’s peony…

That…was not Jingyi…

Does that mean…does that mean–that they were all…

…were any of them–ever…real?

Jin Ling doesn’t know what to think anymore. He sobs, screaming and punching and kicking the wall, practically tearing his hair out, because WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH–

Jin Ling crashes out, fallen on the floor one second, shouting at the top of his lungs and fighting air the next, or trudging down the never-ending hallway, Suihua scraping into the wood.

And then it happens again. And again. And…again. The first few pretend to be real, and Jin Ling is still uncertain so they catch him off guard, adding to his list of wounds. When he’s positive they’re fake, he tries to talk to Yun Weizhe, but is continuously met with that horrible melting and laughter. He thinks he hears the laughter even when there’s nothing there, thinks he hears something whispering his name. He doesn’t know.

Once he’s certain they’re fake he stops trying, just launching straight into an attack. Some of them jump out at him from doors, some appear out of thin air, some of them wait for him as he treks down the corridor, smiling eerily at him. And just when he thinks they’re all fake, he fatally wounds one of the Lans, who falls to the floor, tries to stop their bleeding, watches him with pure, unadulterated fear.

Jin Ling only looks on coldly, waiting for it to appear and show its true self, start cackling; but it doesn’t. As seconds turn to minutes, the Lan goes paper-white, still bleeding out and on death’s door now. Jin Ling’s unease turns to anguish as he eventually falls to their side, questioning them–they sound just like a Lan, talk like one, the emotion in their eyes is so real, and they know things, try to prove they’re real, talking about their trip to Lanling and arriving just earlier that day.

And just as Jin Ling begins to weep, thinking he’s truly brought an innocent Lan to their deathbed in a moment of recklessness, they lunge forward with none of the fragility of someone dying and manage to nick Jin Ling’s neck before fading to the melting, laughing corpse.

He nearly collapses after that, half-heartedly stopping the bleeding on his neck now, so close to giving in, hazily thinking he should be at least slightly more cautious in case he really does run into a real junior.

If. It’s a big if.

His night…day, maybe, now. Who could say? It moves forward once more in a blur, a fever dream of sorts though, some rage, some terror. Mostly just exhaustion.

Faint whispers and faint tremors, rotting corpse rooms, spirit attacks disguised as juniors. Sometimes there are long periods that seem to stretch for hours in between, other times they come one after the other. He thinks he’s seen everyone at least…twice. A few upwards of five maybe. Or maybe some of them are just in his head, as he seems to fade in and out of consciousness.

Jin Ling swallows slowly and steadies his sword arm when he spots the ceiling just ahead of him beginning to flex and coil, the tell-tale sign of another spirit encounter; his pulse barely even spikes at this point, having grown so accustomed to it. And sure enough, a moment later it spits a Lan out, landing gracefully into a kneel not ten paces away, robes settling perfectly.

Another puppet, another corpse in a…borrowed, or imitation skin. Another round in the house’s endless theater. Jin Ling knows his part, his lines. He flexes his fingers, sizing the newcomer up.

This time the ghost spits out Sizhui. Jin Ling’s eye twitches. The spirit disguised as the Lan coughs a few times, standing up until their back is straight and poised, the fake Ronghua held protectively out in front of them. Jin Ling watches the performance with a calculating gaze.

All he has to do is play the spirit’s game. Toss a few angry questions at him, ultimately determine he’s a fake, spar a bit, get hurt, watch him disappear.

He wishes he didn’t have to play; the spirit hadn’t even been kind enough to put him out of his misery all the times he refused to engage and laid there, hurting him instead just enough to make his little song and dance more enticing than bleeding out at a snail’s pace, never close enough to actually die.

As Jin Ling waits in the ready, the imitation Lan’s expression finally lands on him; soft relief. It twists something deep in Jin Ling’s gut. Yun Weizhe has gotten far too good at this.

“Sect Leader–Jin Ling, oh I’m so glad to see you–”

The acting is usually spot on; this time is no different. He looks exactly like Sizhui, not even just in face, but in mannerisms too. He carries himself with the same dignity, the same gentle expression, with just the right amount of disconcertment to fit the situation. His eyes even widen, face shifting into one of deep concern as he gets closer.

“Jin Ling?! What happ–”

Jin Ling doesn’t let him finish his sentence, holding Suihua out between them, taking a step back. The fake Sizhui’s eyes drift towards the sword pointed just below his chin, astonishment clouding over, before they return to his own.

“…Jin Ling…?”

“Prove it.” Jin Ling’s voice is quiet, nothing like the angry, emotional outbursts he’s so known for. Truthfully, he just doesn’t have the energy to care, to sound any other way.

Sizhui’s mouth falls open, his brows knitting together. “Prove…what?”

For fuck’s sake. Jin Ling’s so sick of this.

“Prove that you’re the real Lan Sizhui.” He recites his lines lazily almost, his voice low. Suihua starts to slip, so heavy in his shaking, cut-up arm. He raises it again, to Sizhui’s chest. He blows a loose strand of hair out of his eyes, only for it to return.

Frustration, hurt, and sadness all muddle this Sizhui’s pretty eyes, painting a picture the spirit has no right to produce. He lowers Ronghua a fraction, not sheathing it though.

“I don’t…Jin Ling, I am the real Sizhui. I don’t know how…how do you want me to prove it?”

Jin Ling used to laugh darkly when it would say stuff like that. He doesn’t have the strength anymore. “That’s what they all say,” he sighs apathetically. “Every single one.”

When Sizhui stares at him questioningly, pleadingly, so infuriatingly realistic, Jin Ling decides to get this over with as quick as possible. He darts forward, falling into a half-lunge that bears vague resemblance to the Lanling Jin sword style, his arm moving to strike. Fake Sizhui jerks back with razor-sharp reflexes, something a scared, powerless junior who’s been stuck in a house of horrors for longer than Jin Ling could even begin to imagine surely wouldn’t possess.

Another fake. Another trick. Just as he’d suspected–known.

Jin Ling moves in for a killing blow he knows won’t land, when Sizhui moves away again and blurts out, “Wait! Let me try to prove it! I–I could tell you–details about something! About…about the first time we met? The last night hunt we were on? The–”

“The spirit reads minds,” Jin Ling mutters, loud enough for the imposter to hear still, continuing to press forward with his assault. The fake Sizhui’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Okay…what if I…I could play my guqin! How about that?”

“How am I supposed to know whether the spirit can mimic guqin playing? Perhaps it even knows how to play itself.”

The clang of swords rings out in the long, stretching hallway, Jin Ling at least making an effort to find openings, waiting for the moment Yun Weizhe will decide to show himself.

“Then…then…what if I…did a…qi transfer?” Jin Ling doesn’t even bother sending the faker a look at that.

“Yeah, sure, why don’t I let you get close enough to transfer some qi so you can catch me off guard and try to slice my neck open again?”

“Then–then…what if I swear a binding oath?!”

Jin Ling pauses mid-air, falling back a moment later. His mouth falls open, his head tilts to the side. He keeps Suihua between the two of them, mulling over the other’s words.

A binding oath…the spirit had never suggested that before…of course it’s thrown surprises at me periodically, but this…damn, why didn’t I think of that ages ago?!

Seeing his hesitation, the…the…whatever being is in front of Jin Ling this time takes the opportunity to calmly resheathe Ronghua. He gets down on his knees, bringing three fingers of his right hand to his forehead, eyes never leaving Jin Ling’s. Jin Ling’s heartbeat echoes in his ears as he looks on dumbfoundedly.

“I, Lan Sizhui, swear a binding oath to the heavens that I’m telling the truth about my identity, that I genuinely am Lan Sizhui. Should my words be false…may the celestial emperor himself take my soul right now, and send me to burn in hell for the rest of my immortal life.”

Jin Ling’s eyes are wide as saucers, as Suihua falls lower and lower to the ground. Truthfully he expects Yun Weizhe to appear a second after, laughing uproariously as flames erupt around his decomposing body, trapping Jin Ling, and perhaps the other juniors, in an eternity of damnation in the Red Yun House.

But it never happens.

Jin Ling goes still, watching as the boy in front of him doesn’t dissolve into rot, doesn’t start laughing with Yun Weizhe’s hollow rasp, just–he just, kneels there, all steady and silent, hand remaining at his brow as he looks on at Jin Ling.

No surge of resentful qi comes. No doors swing open, no floorboards crack apart, no walls close in. Jin Ling gradually starts to breathe again, the weight he feels in his chest, in his soul, faltering. He swallows once, hard, taking bigger breaths of air. He pats his chest, his hand settling over the bump that’s his necklace.

Does that mean…

Could this be…

“…Lan…Sizhui…?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

Notes:

hrrrnggghhhh ok so I had to split up *yet another* chapter bc I was writing and writing and writing this one and I'm at like 14k now and was like. the poor readers sanity💀 so the good news is like half of the next chapter is alr written and features the promised zhuiling content, hopefully I'll finish it relatively soon since I've been on a roll trying to get this one out

in other news just wanted to ask/remind if anyone has any writing feedback I would be v grateful, like, idk if I reuse the same phrase over and over again, orrr…if any passages don't make sense, not in like a panic attack way but in a tf did i just read way lol, any glaringly obvious typos/grammar things my sleep-deprived brain missed. and if anyone has song recs that fit jl/the fic! A lot of the title songs haven't come from my playlists and I've had to dig lol. also sometimes I hear a song and am like, lemme write a chapter around that one haha, just wanted to put that out there

also sorry this chapter took a turn for the dark tbh, literally was not my original intention at all to saddle jl with that much more trauma just. kind of happened as I was writing around the one zhuiling scene coming up I've had planned for like, so many months :')

Chapter 10: Meet Me in the Woods (Lord Huron)

Notes:

hope yall are hungry bc I have prepared a zhuiling FEAST, get excited

“…Lan…Sizhui…?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

Jin Ling takes a half-step back out of pure instinct, his sword still raised, though the tip drags toward the floor. His hands are clammy against the hilt. He raises his other hand to his head and blinks at the floor, wondering if he’s really even awake. He…he wouldn’t put it past Yun Weizhe to have invaded his mind, creating a nightmare scenario even unconscious…

“Jin Ling…I swore a binding oath before you,” Sizhui says quietly, patiently, still keeping his distance. His voice has no edges, no gloating, no fear, just, calm certainty. “That can’t be faked. You know that.”

Jin Ling does know. Binding oaths can’t be faked in any capacity–even in dreams or illusions. It would take some incredible power to get around that, and it’s not that he thinks Yun Weizhe is weak, certainly not. But Jin Ling has felt his true power countless times by this point, and he knows deep down that not even that horrible spirit has a tenth of the power you would need to get around something like a binding oath.

His chest tightens once more, panic and something else he can’t quite name threatening to spill over. He shoves it down, snaps his posture straighter, and clears his throat. Fuck. If this–this is the real Sizhui, and he–he’s seeing Jin Ling like this right now–oh fuck fuck FUCK he’s such a mess–

“Alright. So–you’re the real Lan Sizhui then,” he allows eventually, still cautious. Sizhui’s shoulders ease, his eyes softening and lips quirking vaguely up, though he keeps a respectful distance. Jin Ling forces himself to sheathe Suihua, his fingers stiff from gripping it so tightly for so long.

“What’s…happened to you? Since we were pulled into the house?” Sizhui asks carefully. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t mention Jin Ling’s grisly state, though the way his eyes slowly trail over every inch of him, from his torn up boots to his hair falling out its ponytail, Jin Ling knows nothing has escaped the Lan’s notice. He wishes he were a turtle with a shell he could simply sink into, and never emerge from again.

“Nothing,” he insists, coughing lightly, canting his head so as to get his long hair to cover some of the worst of the wounds on his front, twisting a front strand around a finger. “I mean–not much, anyway. Just…this house likes to play games is all. Wh-what about you, where have you been, since–since the house sucked us in?”

Sizhui’s mouth settles into a thin line, his eyes narrowing like a hawk’s as he continues to stare at Jin Ling’s torn and bloody robes. He has the decency not to comment on Jin Ling’s somewhat obvious attempt to turn the conversation away from him, playing along.

“I was in a dream state for a long time. The house…the spirit…it was showing me some…old memories of mine, that I thought I had…forgotten.” Jin Ling doesn’t push either. He can see from the pain that lies in the Lan’s cloudy eyes that it wasn’t anything pleasant. A small part of him wonders what old memories the otherwise perfect Lan could possibly have to elicit such a reaction.

“After that,” he continues, taking a deep breath and retying his crooked ribbon, “I met a ghost. Yun-gongzi, the eldest son of the household. Sisi. He told me about his father whose temperament continued to decline while alive, until he snapped one day, killing their family, friends, neighbors, servants…he even forced Sisi to help him. In the end Sisi was able to subdue him, but–not before all the damage had been done. His father was filled with such resentment, such a voracious appetite for claiming the lives of others, that he continued to do so even in death, getting stronger with each victim…Sisi has been tied to him all this time. Not nearly as strong, he’s never able to fight back, only live in fear, trying to help people escape…he said he’s never been successful though. His father’s always won, in the end.”

Jin Ling is quiet as he absorbs the story. It checks out with what he’d read in the journal, all the things he’d seen leading up to this point. He didn’t think it possible, but he feels even more hatred for this despicable man who had ruined so many lives, even able to continue doing so after death, with apparently no remorse.

“Sisi also said that his father likes to drag things out. Play with his victims.” Sizhui turns a sharp, discerning eye on Jin Ling, who shrinks back against the wall unconsciously. “What games exactly did he play on you?”

Jin Ling just stops himself from flinching, from moving to cover up more wounds. All of his cuts sting, burning with the memory of that callous, inhumane laughter.

"The house…” he begins uncertainly, after a pause. “It…swallows people, you know. Like it did with us. Messes…messes with your mind a while…before killing you, I guess. And he’s been doing it for centuries–if the sheer amount of bodies I found is anything to go by." His voice is flat, devoid of emotion, as if he’s simply reciting facts, not alluding to all the horrors he witnessed.

Sizhui looks up from where he had been studying a stab wound near Jin Ling’s abdomen, his eyes wide with alarm. "Bodies? You…you found bodies?"

Jin Ling looks away into the distance, staring at the endless hallway. "Piles of them. In varying states. Some fresh, some ancient. The house just…keeps them. Traps them. Like it’s trapping us." He begins to shake, that surefire anger of his returning from early, beginning to seep into his voice.

"And it plays with you. Makes you think you’ve found someone, someone safe you can trust, makes you think there’s hope, and then it takes that away too, in all kinds of ways. Right in front of you."

He can’t look at Sizhui as he says this, unable to meet the pity he knows he’ll find there. He prays he doesn’t ask for details, because he doesn’t want to admit how many others he’d already encountered, how many times he’d been fooled, how many times he’d watched them turn to dust in his hands. The shame of it burns hotter than any of his physical wounds.

Sizhui, ever perceptive, doesn’t push. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze softening further. "I see. I’ve experienced a few strange things as well. It’s…it’s very disorienting."

When he looks up, he seems to want to say more–probably some mushy Lan bullshit–I’m so sorry Jin Ling, that must have been terrifying, are you okay?–blegh. Before he can decide on what to say, Jin Ling speaks first.

“So," he says, forcing a brisk tone, "what do we do now? We’re stuck in this endless hallway, with a murderous ghost that plays mind games and melts people into dust. Any brilliant ideas…Lan-gongzi?"

Lan-gongzi. He hopes to put some distance between them again, to get the other to stop–stop looking at him like that! He’s fine, he found someone now, he’ll just…forget everything that already happened, pretend it never…it’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, really!

Sizhui stares at him, quiet, thinking. Jin Ling’s lip begins to curl back into a sneer; he has to stop himself from letting it fully form. He’s angry–furious, even. That doesn’t mean he should take it out on the Lan. But it’s so hard as they’re trying to talk, and now all he wants to do is just–scream, and–cry in deep frustration, and…

He sighs and rubs his temple. He doesn’t even know what he’s thinking anymore.

“Our goal is to escape and find the other juniors.” Sizhui says, breaking the silence. Jin Ling nods smally, his eyes still closed. “This house is huge on the inside–Sisi drew me a map before, and he mentioned the hallways can stretch on forever. Since this house seems unbeatable and wandering won’t help, I think we should rest here. Sisi said he would come back and let me know if he found the other juniors.”

Jin Ling looks up, over to Sizhui, starting to shake his head. No–no he doesn’t want to rest, they need to keep going and find the others and the way out and hurry before it’s too late so they’re not stuck here that much longer and–

–and goddammit, Jin Ling doesn’t want to see what kinds of things the spirit will do to him, will make him see if he stops and rests for so long, he can’t, he won’t–

“–and you need medical attention.” Sizhui adds. Jin Ling opens his mouth to protest. Sizhui beats him to it this time. “That’s non-negotiable. Sect Leader Jin, you are actively bleeding from at least eight different areas, I can’t possibly let you continue on like this.”

His chest rises with a gasp of air, his eyes wide, wild, as Sizhui finally begins to move towards him, while he tries feebly to back away. “No–no I’m fine, really, I–”

As he fumbles with excuses, he thinks that part of him…maybe part of him still doesn’t trust this Sizhui. He hadn’t wanted Sizhui’s help last time either though. Hadn’t wanted to…to show weakness. Admit that he needed help. It’s still like that now, but ten times worse, as it’s not just his body but his mind that’s been through the gutter. And something about letting the Lan–anyone, really–up close and personal like this, in his space, all his flaws on full display, it just…

He thinks of Jingyi. The fake Jingyi, the one that had been the giveaway that none of the juniors were real. He had trusted that Jingyi. He had let him in. Hugged him, pulled him so close–but it had been the spirit all along. It makes–it makes his skin crawl thinking about it, about letting someone else close again–

“Please,” is all Sizhui says, stopping just short of him. He has spare bandages and water and even salves and antiseptic. There’s something in his voice, just barely but still, that Jin Ling can’t quite place, a half a tone off from his normal unshakeable calm.

…Jin Ling can’t…say no, can he? It…perhaps…it would be silly to refuse something he so obviously needs at this point…maybe he could offer at least–

“I–I can do it myself, if you really insist. There’s no need for you to–”

“Please,” Sizhui says again, firm. Jin Ling positively hates the way those brilliant gray eyes bore into his own, into his soul. Fuck, he can’t–

–he can’t–

…

…

“…fine…”

If you weren’t straining your ears and standing within a foot of Jin Ling, watching his lips, you wouldn’t have known he’d spoken at all. His words come out lower than a whisper, unable to echo and lost to the faint wind that blows down the hall the second they leave his mouth. Fortunately, Sizhui hears.

He sets to work immediately, washing his hands, taking in the full extent of all Jin Ling’s damage. It’s all Jin Ling can do to look away, feeling like he’s going to spontaneously combust at any second.

The majority of cuts are on his arms, chest, and stomach. He’s terrified Sizhui will ask him to take his robes off, because god knows all the still healing marks he’d find littered across his skin, far past the point that he could just explain away as intense training sessions, but he doesn’t. His robes are tattered enough that Sizhui is able to work on each specific area easily, cleaning them out and redressing them properly, unlike Jin Ling’s few haphazard attempts from earlier.

Jin Ling’s zoned out of it, unable to contend with the feeling of Sizhui so close, right at his side, his impossibly gentle hands gliding over his broken skin and setting it right, he jerks upward when spiritual qi begins to flow through his veins.

“Sorry, I should have given you a heads up,” the Lan murmurs apologetically, his fingers pressed to one of Jin Ling’s bony wrists. Jin Ling doesn’t say anything, but watches the qi transfer, feeling his depleted core fill again, piece by piece. He hadn’t realized he was so low. He also realizes he can no longer hold any doubt as to whether this is the real Lan Sizhui; the spirit never would’ve been able to replicate such pure qi as this.

“Don’t…don’t give me too much.” Jin Ling tries to pull away, but Sizhui holds him securely, determined to give him more. Guilt starts to gnaw at his chest, at the other junior being in a weakened state going forward because of Jin Ling’s…utter incompetence, from the second he entered the house. Sizhui ignores him, continuing to pour his qi into Jin Ling until the latter finally shoves him off.

“Enough,” he snaps, voice sharp with something closer to panic than command. He rubs his wrist, where Sizhui’s cool fingers had been. "What do you think you’re doing? You’ll exhaust yourself!"

Sizhui simply smiles ruefully almost, a soft, understanding look on his face. “You needed it, more than I did.” His voice is maddeningly calm. Guilt continues to eat away at Jin Ling. Sizhui’s qi is like…like a breath of fresh air, a drink of water to someone on the verge of dying of thirst on a brutally hot summer day. He feels…he almost feels normal. Almost. Physically, at least.

“That’s not–” he cuts himself off, fists curling tight.

That’s not the point! He doesn’t want to watch someone else burn themselves out for him, doesn’t want to see Sizhui stagger and collapse from qi deficiency as a ghost attacks them, bleeding all over the floor because he was unable to defend himself.

He stares off with Sizhui. Anger is what he knows, and it’s a hell of a lot easier than the tight, raw ache that’s twisting in his chest.

But then, before he can spit another furious line, the air shifts. It grows heavy, the now faint light talisman flickering as a figure lengthens against the wall. Tall, pale, lean, until he can make out the shimmering mirage of a young man, still obscured by all the darkness.

Jin Ling’s on his feet in an instant, moving without thought to plant himself between Sizhui and the shadowy newcomer.

“Wait!” Sizhui cries, rising too, grabbing at Jin Ling’s arm to pull Suihua down. “It’s alright–this is Yun-gongzi, Sisi.” Sizhui only manages to lower his arm a small amount. Jin Ling glowers at the ghost, but doesn’t attack.

The ghost appears frightened, shrinking in on himself, avoiding Jin Ling’s eyes. He wears fine scholarly robes, an intricate pattern stitched in mirror image on both sides. His hair is done up in buns, a somewhat odd look for a young man, but he’s seen far stranger things today. His face is scrunched up in worry, but other than that it’s smooth and clear, save for a couple marks near his hairline. Jin Ling’s hand unconsciously moves to his own forehead, where he has a scar of his own always hidden by bangs.

“I-I see you’ve found each other–you must be Jin-gongzi?” He asks timidly, meeting Jin Ling’s harsh gaze once before looking away again. “That’s–that’s good. I had hoped when I helped Lan-gongzi escape Father wouldn’t separate you. I see he hasn’t.”

“What do you want? Why would you help us?” Jin Ling’s voice cuts through the thick air like a butcher’s cleaver. Once, at the start of all this, Jin Ling might’ve exercised Sizhui’s level of trust. Not now. Not after everything he’s seen in this cursed house.

The ghost startles at his tone, an expression of surprise flickering across Yun-gongzi’s face. “I–I want to stop my father too, of course…I’m tied to him, my soul can’t move on until he’s stopped…even if…even if the gods decide to punish me for the things he made me do, at least…at least his cycle of violence will stop.”

Sizhui steps around Jin Ling’s arm and smiles at the spirit. Jin Ling glares really hard.

“Yun-gongzi, thank you for coming to find me again, and helping me get to Jin-gongzi. Were you able to find any of the other juniors?” Jin Ling’s face twists into one of disgust when Sizhui even bows respectfully to the other.

“I–I did find the others, yes–yes, they were unharmed. They’re all still asleep–”

“Where?” Jin Ling interrupts coldly, still glaring. Sizhui shoots him a look as well. Yun-gongzi replies, trying, and failing, to appear unphased.

The ghost cowers backwards. “In–in a back room of the manor, a couple floors down. My father…my father prefers…he likes his victims isolated. He keeps those he has no interest in locked away, unconscious. He’ll…he’ll come for them though, when he tires of you two.”

That same weight he’d carried earlier returns to Jin Ling’s chest, sinking like lead. He thinks of those blank, glassy stares from all the corpses he’d seen, all the shriveled bodies, rotted to the bone. He can’t let that happen to any of the others, will not.

“And why should we believe you?” Jin Ling snarls icily, his fury for Yun Weizhe surging once more–perhaps he speaks with Yun Weizhe himself, disguised as his son this time; another clever ploy hiding up his sleeve.

“You…I suppose you shouldn’t,” Yun-gongzi’s face turns sorrowful, his eyes closing, body angling away. “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine all the things he put you through, Jin-gongzi. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you earlier like Lan-gongzi.”

Sizhui lays a slow, gentle hand on his shoulder. Jin Ling has to stop himself from jumping, the touch having come out of nowhere. He lowers Suihua, unaware of his own movements, turning his head to look up at the placid Lan, who looks towards their ghostly companion now.

“Yun-gongzi, thank you for all your help. Do you know how we might weaken your father? Is there any way we can defeat him?”

The spirit shakes his head sadly. “I…I try. Every time. But he always just, grows stronger…always stronger…I can only protect people so long before I have to give in, before he forces me to submit to him. Again. Please–please forgive me, I’m still–”

The young man’s words cease abruptly, face paling even further till it turns nearly translucent.

“He’s awake.”

The house lets out a heavy groan, a low rumbling. The floor and walls and dust begin to vibrate, a pulsing Jin Ling can feel in his bones. The temperature drops in an instant, breath fogging between them.

“I cannot stay–if he senses me here he’ll strike at you through me, I have to go–” And then he vanishes into thin air, like a puff of smoke dissipating from a heavy blow of wind.

Jin Ling and Sizhui both turn, spinning, watching as the wall begins to shake, the wind howling, just as Jin Ling’s light talisman fades to a dull ember, then nothing. The paper turns to ash in his hand–just like…just like…Jin Ling shakes the memories away.

“Sizhui–” he calls, voice cracking halfway through the Lan’s name. “Sizhui where are you?!” His chest tightens and his breathing starts to come faster, dreading whatever horrors Yun Weizhe has in store for them.

“I’m here,” Sizhui reaches out and wraps a hand around one of his wrists, sliding it down until his fingers lace through Jin Ling’s, and moving closer until they’re shoulder to shoulder. Jin Ling doesn’t have the luxury to worry about their proximity, finding himself pressing closer to the Lan too, desperate for some kind of anchor.

Even though their talisman is out, another light still flickers in the hall, flashing like lightning, turning everything blindingly bright, that endless corridor stretching on for infinity. A sound tears through it, the same one Jin Ling remembers from when the first fake Jin Chan appeared. It’s piercing, deafening, all-encompassing.

Jin Ling opens his mouth to scream, when suddenly–

The house starts to tilt.

The world turns upside down. The floor seems to give out, dropping from beneath them, sending them tumbling down down down, bouncing off floating walls, somersaulting through the air. Wind howls past his ears, dust filling his throat, his stomach flipping until he can’t tell up from down.

“JIN LING–”

“SIZHUI!”

The two of them scream each others’ names, Jin Ling clutches the other with a death grip, remembering when the house had first sucked them in, tearing them apart–he doesn’t want to be alone again, he can’t keep facing this on his own, he needs–he needs Sizhui–

The house moves up and down, side to side, sending them plunging, plummeting every which way. He feels his ears pop, the air coming in hot and cold bursts, his heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his mouth–

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything comes to an abrupt stop. The two of them slam down onto something hard, everything else silent and still as the qi ebbs away, leaving them in the stone-cold darkness.

Jin Ling gasps for air, coughing up dust in the process, meanwhile his heart continues to race faster than Golden Carp Tower’s most prized stallion. It’s pitch black around them–though a glimpse in that last flash of light had shown him enough. A tiny room no windows no doors–the walls are pressing close, uneven, studded with strange protrusions all around–

–oh fuck oh fuck OH FUCK–

“OH MY GOD!” Jin Ling shouts at the top of his lungs, fervently trying to wedge Suihua into a corner, pushing off it with his foot, anything to stop this, they can’t die like this no no no no no nononononNONONONONO

“Jin Ling!–panicking won’t help–”

“WE’RE ABOUT TO BE FLATTENED LIKE A PAPER TALISMAN I THINK SOME PANICKING IS FUCKING WARRANTED SIZHUI!”

The two of them are pressed so close now, hardly any space remaining, as the walls keep closing in–they start shifting too, jutting out farther in some places, waves forming, like it’s alive–Jin Ling supposes it is alive, FUCK–

The room twists and turns every which way, one last time, before it finally lets up. Some areas have been warped into jagged bulges that pin their limbs awkwardly, leaving barely a sliver of room. Jin Ling wheezes, heart hammering, reassuring himself that the walls really did stop, that they’re safe–for now.

“Jin Ling…are you okay?” The two of them are still breathing hard, adrenaline lighting their veins on fire. Jin Ling gasps for air, nodding shakily. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. You?” Sizhui replies he’s alright. Jin Ling nods again, catching his breath, trying not to panic any further.

But a minute later, the adrenaline finally wears off, his head is no longer depleted of oxygen, and he realizes just what position that absolute fucker Yun Weizhe has left them in.

It is, blatantly speaking, a pretty fucking uncomfortable and compromising position. Sizhui is wedged against the crooked wall opposite Jin Ling, sitting on a kind of makeshift chair from one of the wall’s lumps he assumes, meanwhile Jin Ling–

–Jin Ling–…

…he is stuck goddamn straddling the other junior, no fucking joke. His thighs are locked around Sizhui’s waist. Chest pressed to chest, close enough to feel every rise and fall of breath. Sizhui’s head is half-buried against his sternum, tucked under his chin.

A wall presses close against Jin Ling’s back; another pins his sides too. The ceiling is just above his head. There is no space to be had. There is no escape.

Jin Ling clears his throat awkwardly, voice coming out strangled.

“Um…perhaps…perhaps…I could…try to–move…” Jin Ling, beyond embarrassed, makes a pretty earnest, though wholly in vain attempt to get off Sizhui’s lap. Unfortunately for him–both of them, really–becasue there is literally nowhere else to go, he just ends up…well. Grinding on Sizhui’s lap, for lack of a better term.

SIzhui is frozen beneath him, not moving an inch. “Ah…Jin Ling? Could you. Um. Please stop that. It’s–okay. Really.” The Lan’s voice is tight, clipped, a guqin string pulled taut. Jin Ling has to take a moment before responding, to keep the sheer mortification out of his voice.

“Um–yes–yes, sorry, I’ll stop,” he mutters, tears welling in his eyes at the fucking absurdity of the situation. He can feel Sizhui’s breaths hot against his chest. This…does not help things.

Trying to think of something, anything else, he takes note of the acute pain he’s started feeling all over his arms. He moves them around, in the limited space, and realizes that there are tiny spikes adorning the walls where his arms rest (rest is a generous word, given the cramped angles the misshapen walls have forced) at his side, and every shift in movement just brings them closer to all the sharp points, digging into him like needles.

Literally fuck Yun Weizhe.

“I have. Um. Light talismans…on me. I can’t reach them from…um. From. This angle, but–maybe…you could…?” Jin Ling is grateful for another distraction…

…until he realizes just what this entails. Fumbling around in Sizhui’s robes. Great. Just…great.

He sucks in a silent breath. “Yeah. Yeah, where are they exactly?”

Sizhui describes the location. Jin Ling winces as more of the walls’ spikes drive into his arm, while he slowly tries to move it, eventually managing to snake one arm back around the piece of the wall that prevents what should be easy access to Sizhui’s inner robes. He has to suck in his stomach deep to get at the frankly nonexistent space between them, at long last finding the opening where Sizhui’s robes are tied.

The Lan robe is different from the ones he’s used to, so it takes Jin Ling many tries to find the correct pocket. It doesn’t help that he has less than an inch of space to work with, and, you know. Him straddling his fellow junior while accidentally feeling him up.

Sizhui quietly yelps at one point, cutting himself off with a fit of coughing. Jin Ling freezes instantly, his eyes blown wide with deep concern.

“Sizhui? Are you okay? Did I hurt you–do you have a wound on your chest or something?” Truth be told everything under his hand feels like heat and fabric and mortification, he has no idea what he’s touching, and in hindsight it’s fairly probable the Lan might have had some kind of injury on his chest, from this night hunt or otherwise, that Jin Ling had just irritated.

“N…no. Nope. I’m good. Please…please continue…Sect Leader Jin.” Now Sizhui’s voice is the one that comes out all choked. Jin Ling considers pressing, but knows that Lans don’t lie, so it must have been something else.

“If you say so…”

A miracle and a half later, Jin Ling successfully manages to drag a very crumpled light talisman from the Lan’s robes, and light it only another three minutes after. The small, flickering light illuminates their faces, revealing the raw mortification on Jin Ling’s, and a faint blush dusting Sizhui’s ears. The limited space feels even tighter now that they can fully see each other, pressed together in the ridiculous position. Honestly, Jin Ling kind of wants to go back to when they couldn’t see anything at all.

“So,” Sizhui clears his throat, trying to pull back as far away as he can from Jin Ling’s chest (impossible, since there’s wall right behind him), though Jin Ling feels every movement. “We’re stuck.” Jin Ling snorts.

“Do you think…he’s going to suffocate us here? I don’t see any holes, any way for air to flow to us–”

“No. Not at all.” Sizhui looks up and arches a brow at Jin Ling’s insistence. Jin Ling looks away. He makes a move to cross his arms, only to remember they’re all but pinned, and he can’t.

“To kill us here like this would be completely unlike this guy’s MO. He likes playing with us, messing with us. There’s no element of that if we just run out of air here, that would be boring. This is just another one of his games.”

When silence sets in, Jin Ling realizes that he’s interrupted and disagreed with Lan Sizhui, the brightest junior of them all, also far better at solving things than he’d ever been. His face turns a different shade of red now, this time flushing with shame.

“I-I mean–” he sputters, hoping to backtrack, “I just–think so, anyway, I could be wrong. What–what were you going to say, L-Lan-gongzi?”

Sizhui studies him owlishly. Jin Ling starts to squirm, but immediately stops, you know given the whole being trapped on Sizhui’s lap thing.

“No…you make good points. This probably isn’t it, it wouldn’t fit. I don’t suppose there’s any way to escape this room?”

Suihua and Ronghua both lay by their feet, Jin Ling’s bow and quiver too, just out of reach. Even if they could draw them though–well, they simply couldn’t, given the space restrictions. Jin Ling’s core is still recovering, and Sizhui is somewhat disadvantaged as well, having given so much qi to him. Even if they’d both been in perfect condition though, he doesn’t think the two of them would be enough to take down Yun Weizhe and his Red Yun House, if he’s being brutally honest. There aren’t any cracks or openings where they are either, another thorough scan reveals.

“So…guess we’re stuck here until he decides to let us out, huh?” Jin Ling murmurs, hoping, pleading, praying it doesn’t mean that Yun Weizhe grew bored of them and tucked them away to go play with a new set of juniors instead.

Sizhui doesn’t respond, and so they fall into silence–which is how Jin Ling prefers it, frankly. He’s exhausted beyond belief, sapped of mental, physical, and spiritual energy. He looks up at the ceiling in despair, lips set in a grim line, wondering for the thousandth time today if this really is the end. If that would even be such a bad thing.

Since there’s nothing to do, he closes his eyes and tries to meditate as best he can, cultivating his golden core; he can only imagine the state it would be in if Sizhui hadn’t lent him all that qi.

He does this for a while. Maybe Sizhui does too, he’s not really paying attention, but after a spell Sizhui speaks, his soft voice managing to echo given the incredibly cramped space.

“Jin Ling. You’re bleeding.” Jin Ling’s eye twitches, his concentration broken. Yeah no shit Sizhui, I’ve been stabbed like thirty times today, he thinks. He does have some decorum left, since they’re not actively dying, so of course he doesn't say this.

“The spikes–they’re sharper than I thought. Maybe you could…move your arms…set them somewhere else…” Jin Ling doesn’t even bother to laugh, looking around at the room, or lack thereof rather. He glances over at the points Sizhui is talking about and sees that it’s true, several have broken his skin, drops of red breaking out, a few dripping onto Sizhui’s perfect white robes. If they ever make it out of his, he makes a mental note to reimburse him for it.

His eyes follow the spikes, widening a fraction when he sees that he’s not the only one who’s dealing with the needly wall.

“Sizhui your arms–you should move them too, there’s gotta be something we can–”

Jin Ling cuts himself off. He looks back at Sizhui, who’s looking conveniently away from him, almost grimacing, like he regretted saying anything. And then he gets it. There is exactly one spot he can rest his arms away from the sharp wall, and it’s…less than ideal. The thing is…Sizhui’s done so much for him, they’re already stuck like this. What’s…what’s the harm in making things a bit worse then? Go big or go home, right?

“Just–move your arms Sizhui, it’s fine, really.” Jin Ling sounds somewhat defeated, sighing lightly. Sizhui starts to shake his head. “I mean it, I insist. It’s the least I can do for you.” Sizhui still hesitates.

“Jin Ling, the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable–”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather be uncomfortable than watch your arms get slashed to ribbons. How about that, Lan-gongzi?” He wonders if Sizhui knows there’s no real bite behind his words. He’s just mad. Mad at Yun Weizhe, being stuck in this room, having to do…this, now. It creeps into his words before he can even think to restrain it.

“Then…then you have to move your arms too. It’s only fair that way.”

There’s also exactly one place Jin Ling would be able to shift his arms to, also far from ideal.

The two of them finally lock eyes. Sizhui’s ears are still a bit pink, but his gaze is still serene, determined. Jin Ling would be so lucky to have even a tenth of the Lan’s grace; he doesn’t want to think about what his own face looks like right now.

“…alright. Fine,” he grits out. What the hell. They’ve been stuck here so long, might as well get comfortable. In truth his arms really do sting, another fresh layer of cuts on his recently bandaged others, not to mention his old healing cuts that lay below them.

So begins the moving process. It takes a lot of patience, and a lot of wiggling, getting their arms unstuck, then worming them around each other. It’s like when he’d initially tried to get off Sizhui, except so much worse, because this time it’s both of them moving, and it’s for a prolonged period of time, not just a few seconds.

And then, just when Jin Ling thinks things couldn’t possibly get any worse, they do.

His body completely betrays him, he chokes as he feels heat flushing through him, creeping down, past his stomach, somewhere it has absolutely no business going. He freezes up immediately, trying helplessly to do damage control.

No no no no no no no–this can’t be happening, no no no no no–and with Lan Sizhui of all people?!?!??! Gusu Lan’s most prized junior disciple, Hanguang-jun and Wei-qianbei’s precious, favorite student?!?!?!

Forget his relief at the juniors still being alive and avoiding a war with Gusu! If he makes it out now…oh god, he can see it–perverted Sect Leader Jin tried to seduce the most innocent and pure of them all, Lan Sizhui–harassed and tried to corrupt him–how dare he–

Stupid fucking hormones, Jin Ling bemoans internally. He tries to focus on the pain in his arm, his dull headache, his half-empty core, anything–but his mind keeps going back to how close they are, how warm Sizhui is beneath him, how steady, how calming his breathing sounds even in this nightmare–which is, like, totally fucking absurd, because Sizhui is a guy, and it’s really just the fact that they’re pressed so close that’s…

Not enough I need more I need to try harder! Jin Ling panics. He squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Come on A’Ling, think of something else, something…something awful! All the dead bodies from earlier, Jiujiu’s face when I told him I hated him and all the ignored letters, Xiao-shushu nearly choking me out, all my family’s dirty laundry being aired at Lotus Pier, Shenshen stabbing herself in front of me, Rusong, Yeye, Nainai, the coronation, that–that fucking terrible summit I hosted, and then G–him, the–the–

All the air leaves Jin Ling’s lungs. He gasps silently. Fuck, he went–he went too far–

“…Jin Ling?” The voice cuts through, gentle but firm. Sizhui. Jin Ling jerks, desperately forcing air back into his lungs, blinking rapidly, trying to leave–trying to stop seeing, to–to get away from there–he doesn’t want to go back there, he doesn’t want–he needs to get away from him he can’t he can’t he can’t–

Jin Ling, of course, cannot leave. He’s trapped–against Sizhui though, not…not him. He realizes Sizhui’s hands have stilled against him, his whole body following after. Jin Ling blinks. He looks down at Sizhui. Sizhui peers up at him…with some kind of emotion he can’t put a name to. Jin Ling looks back and forth between his eyes a few times, trying to drown himself in wells of silver, rather than pools of baby blue.

“Jin Ling, are you alright? You kind of zoned out for a minute there–”

“I’m fine,” Jin Ling snaps, too sharp, too sudden, too fast. It comes out hideous and fiery, as he tries fiercely to regain control over his mind. It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine, he tells himself, repeating this in his head over and over again.

He always expects Sizhui to recoil at his words, frown at him, probably lament to himself that he’s stuck with Jin Ling. He never does. It’s…Jin Ling doesn’t understand. He’s so…he’s such a shitty guy, why does Sizhui have to be like this? Why won’t he just–get angry at him, yell at him, for being such a jerk and always taking a tone, anyone else would’ve put him in his place long ago, lashing back verbally, challenging him to spar–he doesn’t understand why he won’t just–why he–why he–

Sizhui doesn’t say anything. His eyes flit downwards before climbing back up to Jin Ling’s face. Suspended in their attempts to move their arms, both sets are squished near their chests, their hands close together. Sizhui finds one of his, threading their fingers, and squeezes it gently.

Jin Ling is speechless, caught off guard even more so than he had been before. Something about the gesture is so…so…whatever, it doesn’t matter, it’s stupid! He swallows thickly and looks up, the only way he can hide his face from Sizhui, and decidedly ignores the new wave of unfamiliar, and definitely unpleasant emotions that churn through his body.

At some point–he has no recollection of them having moved on, genuinely having zoned out then–they both finish shifting their arms. His hands settle very reluctantly over Sizhui’s shoulders, while Sizhui’s hesitantly come to rest around his hips.

The new position is marginally more comfortable, providing some relief from the awkward angles forced by the walls, and of course all the spikes. Jin Ling thinks the new kind of discomfort it brings really might not be worth it though. He wouldn’t have agreed to this at all, if he hadn’t felt so bad about Sizhui getting hurt when he could do something to stop it.

He has to remind himself several more times that he’s not…there. The arms caging his waist in are still, steadying, gentle, entirely unlike the last pair that had gripped hard enough to leave dark bruises. When a distraction finally comes, Jin Ling more than welcomes it.

“I’m sorry your night hunt turned out this way.” Sizhui says, words somewhat muffled by Jin Ling’s chest. Jin Ling pauses and turns them over in his mind, making sure he’s heard them right.

“Why are you apologizing to me? This is literally all my fault.” He frowns, realizing he probably owes the Lan a deep apology. Ugh. Fucking stupid apologies. As if he needed more reminders of what a failure he is.

“Your fault?? Jin Ling what do you mean, how could this possibly be your fault?” Sizhui asks, perplexed. Jin Ling glances down at him. God, his face is just so…what’s the word…open? Sincere? Like he actually doesn’t know…

Jin Ling huffs out a haughty breath. “We’re in my territory, and I’m the one responsible for this night hunt after all. Of course it’s my fault.” Sizhui doesn’t appear convinced.

“You couldn’t have possibly foreseen this though, it’s not like you knowingly led us into a death trap. This isn’t anybody’s fault. Well–except Yun Weizhe, I suppose.”

Naïve. That’s the word he was looking for. It’s like he doesn’t…Sizhui probably has no idea. Maybe things are different in Gusu. Of course he’ll be blamed for this mishap, like he personally procured the Red Yun House himself. Even if they were to all make it out alive somehow…Jin Ling chuckles silently to himself. Oh, there will be consequences alright.

He lets it go though, not wanting to think about politics and punishments another second. He lets out another sigh, pondering if he should try meditating again. He’s just so tired. He uses one of his shoulders to try to rub his eyes, deciding to skim over everything that’s happened since he woke up, and see if he missed anything.

The hallway. The rooms. The bodies, the notes. The fake Jin Chan, all the fake juniors pretending to be real, all the ones that had attacked him. Sizhui showing up, swearing the oath–

“Hey wait a second,” Jin Ling starts, Sizhui looking up curiously. “How come you didn’t make me swear an oath back? For all you know I was a fabrication playing tricks on you.” Sizhui is a trusting individual to be sure, but could he be that trusting???

The Lan smiles faintly. “It’s true I didn’t encounter all the fakes you did, but I still thought you were the real Jin Ling. You confirmed it for me.” Jin Ling raises a brow.

“I confirmed it for you.”

“Yes. You have tells. Things you probably don’t even notice that I doubt the ghost could’ve known to replicate.” Jin Ling gapes in disbelief.

“Tells. You’re joking.”

“No joke.”

“Well–what are they then?” Jin Ling demands, curiosity now burning through him. Tells, what tells? Sizhui barely even knows him, how could he possibly know something like that that even Jin Ling doesn’t?

“I can’t tell you,” Sizhui insists, “then they wouldn’t be tells anymore.” Jin Ling stares off with the Lan, unamused. It becomes increasingly apparent though that he’s not going to budge, so he lets it go. He’ll figure out what these supposed tells of his are one day.

“Alright, well since we’re still stuck here, why don’t we…I don’t, make a list of all the things we’ve seen, and brainstorm ways to defeat Yun Weizhe. If he ever actually shows himself to us, that is.”

Sizhui agrees. Jin Ling grabs the other talisman he’d accidentally pulled out earlier, the back of it blank, and moves to dip his finger in some of his bloody cuts.

“Jin Ling.”

“Sizhui?”

“Please do not use your blood to make the list, and make your wounds worse. I have a vial of ink in my robes.”

Jin Ling just stops himself from fixing the other with a look. He would sooner hurt himself further than dig through his companion’s robes for some ink they really don’t even need–but Sizhui fixes him with a look too. It’s firm, serious, pointed–honestly out of place on him. But Jin Ling finds himself shrinking under it, grumbling under his breath, irritatedly going to fish for the ink. At least his hands, given their…current placement, are much closer to the robes’ inner pockets than he’d been before.

Jin Ling reluctantly retrieves the ink vial with as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances. He pops the lid open with his teeth, scowling the whole time, and pours some on his finger.

They start by re-establishing everything they’ve seen. Sizhui is extraordinarily stingy with details around whatever visions the ghost forced onto him in his sleep, but he does confirm that they were deep, distressing memories, something he only could’ve gotten ahold of by digging into the recesses of his brain. This checks out with the fakes Jin Ling kept running into, some of them possessing intimate knowledge of his life and personal feelings.

“What did the corpses look like? Could you tell how they…died?” Sizhui asks, when Jin Ling gets to the rooms full of bodies from his tale.

“All different kinds of ways. They all looked…I don’t know, like–they’d been made to suffer. No quick deaths, more so drawn out torturous stuff. Like, deep slices, mauling, some just missing several limbs, oftentimes kinda concentrated in the same place too.”

“In the same place…so, like a targeted area on their bodies?” Jin Ling hesitates, shaking his head thoughtfully.

“No, not quite. More so like…like, on both sides of the chest, both the shoulders, both the thighs. Stuff like that.”

“So…symmetrical?”

Jin Ling considers the question. “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

He goes on, listing the limited details he feels comfortable describing from his encounters, delving into possible attack plans at the end. He brings his voice to a low whisper, sometimes resorting to drawing characters on Sizhui rather than voicing them aloud.

One of them could be the distraction, the other attacking from behind. Both could go on immediate defense, trying to overwhelm him quickly. Things would be different, naturally, if they were able to locate and wake the other hopefully still unharmed juniors, working with them as backup. Sizhui listens, eyes trailing over his arms, shoulders, chest.

“–so, obviously he’s very powerful…I guess every second we can rest here actually works in our favor, huh? Replenishing our qi?” Jin Ling watches Sizhui now for any kind of reaction. Sizhui turns his full attention back to him, to his face, then looks at the note-filled talisman Jin Ling’s made. His nose scrunches up like a bunny, his eyebrows pinch together.

“You write like that too.” Jin Ling is caught off-guard.

“Like what, like who? What’s wrong with my writing?” He demands, looking over his notes too. Sure, his writing is messier than usual. It’s not like he has the ability to sit up nice and straight at his desk with an expensive fur brush like he normally does though.

“The radicals. You write some of them out of order. Yun-gongzi did too, when he was drawing me the map.” Jin Ling opens his mouth to defend himself, but he can’t.

He does write his radicals out of order sometimes. It had started as a protest to his terrible tutors–most of them were just so awful, and it was one of the few things he could do that would really get their feathers in a bunch. He still does it when he’s not writing official documents, and had slipped into the habit just now too. Sizhui, raised in Gusu, clearly finds the practice repulsive.

Jin Ling sighs, lamenting his handwriting, trying not to let Sizhui’s comment get to him–it’s not a big deal or anything. You write like that too…you write like that too…

Jin Ling blinks. He purses his lips and frowns, brows furrowing. But before he can finish his thought–

The walls around them start to groan, a low rumble shudders throughout the floor, shooting up the walls and ceilings, cracks forming, dust flying down, causing the light talisman to flicker. Before either of them can say a word, the whole space lurches sideways, vaulting them into a horrible repeat of what had happened earlier.

Jin Ling swears, clutches at Sizhui instinctively, wrapping his arms tighter around his neck. Ink spills from the vial onto his lap, bleeding into his robes in a thick smear, his skin wet and dripping now.

They spin and spin, the air filling with dust and splinters, the tiny chamber stretching like sticky rice, then snapping back–and forth–and back–and forth–and–

–and then they’re somewhere else altogether. A doorframe slams open, a gust of fierce wind sends them rolling through it, out into a long hallway–different from the one before though. Faint light leaks from boarded up windows, a staircase sits looming at the far end. Along the walls are broken furniture, paintings with clawed faces, a parlor room even.

“Come on come on we have to go, he’s coming, he’s coming!”

Yun-gongzi materializes at their sides, grabbing both their wrists with his wispy hands and trying to drag them along as best he can. Jin Ling stumbles after him, glancing behind them, and then he sees it.

At the far end, what can only be Yun Weizhe waits, pale, white, misted eyes clouded over. He holds a larger than life ax in one hand, a long sword in his other. His looming figure, clad in shredded robes, casts a shadow that towers over them and nearly reaches the ceiling. A horrible scream, a battle cry spills from his throat, and he begins to charge.

Everything after that is chaos. The house warps and circles them back, forcing them always into Yun Weizhe’s path. Splintering tables, collapsing beams, blades cleaving walls like parchment. Dust rains down, smoke in their throats. They hardly have time to draw weapons, Suihua shakes in Jin Ling’s hand as if it might crack under the pressure of the malevolent qi flooding the air.

They duck into an alcove finally, gasping. Jin Ling presses his back against the wall, sweat soaking his hair, as Sizhui meets his eyes.

“Array–”

“Array–”

They both speak simultaneously, apparently having the same thoughts. An array seems their best bet. It will take time and energy to draw one remotely capable of trapping Yun Weizhe. All they need is a moment though, to suppress him.

“You do it–you’re better with them. I’ll distract.” Sizhui tries to argue, but Jin Ling is right; he is more experienced when it comes to arrays.

“I’ll–prioritize power,” Sizhui decides, grabbing another bottle of ink from his robes and falling to the floor. Jin Ling nods. It’s hardly ideal, but sacrificing distance and time for power seems the best option. They’ll need to trap Yun Weizhe precisely since it’ll have to be small, and it won’t hold very long. It’ll have to be enough.

“Yun-gongzi, let’s go! You and me need to keep your father busy while he draws an array to trap him. Can you help me?!” Yun-gongzi, despite not needing air, pants heavily beside them, shivering, shaking, looking around like his dad might pop out at any given second–which, he might, actually.

“I…I…I-I suppose I can. But we should hurry then–he might come back any second, he’s probably charging up his qi as we speak.” Jin Ling nods. He looks to Sizhui once more, trailing his tongue along the back of his teeth. The Lan has already set to work, drawing complicated symbols that form a circle, sending torrents of his qi into them.

“Good luck–good luck, Lan-gongzi,” Yun-gongzi approaches and pats his shoulder once, twice. Sizhui pauses and looks up, his eyes lingering on Yun-gongzi’s hand. He turns to Jin Ling then and pulls his wrist a couple times. “Jin-gongzi, let’s go, let’s go!”

As he begins to get dragged away, before he can change his mind, Jin Ling summons a powerful blast of qi, and sends it barreling into Sizhui. It’s a painfully crude qi transfer that undoubtedly loses some of its power due to its rushed nature. He can feel the loss immediately, having gone from a decent amount to significantly less.

Sizhui looks up at him as his body re-absorbs the qi that he’d originally passed on. His steely eyes lock onto Jin Ling’s as he sprints down the corridor with Yun Sisi, and an expression that–maybe he’s seeing wrong, but Jin Ling can only think to describe as pure anger ?–takes over his face.

“JIN LING–”

“You needed it more than me!” He hollers over his shoulder, disappearing down another hall, as he hears the telltale signs of Yun Weizhe hunting them again. He really hopes Sizhui has enough qi…

Now that he’s had a little time to cobble together a plan of attack, he puts Suihua away and brings forth his bow and arrows for their long-range abilities–though it’s practically useless against such an all-powerful ghost if he doesn’t infuse any qi in the attacks, which is hard now that his core’s levels are so low again. It’s better than his sword at least, close-range and qi-less.

Jin Ling notches an arrow. He closes one eye and lets it fly loose. It lands squarely in Yun Weizhe’s chest, but it does little other than annoy him. Figures.

They run for what feels like ages. Upstairs, through the ceiling, around the staircase; the house groans and bends, denying their escape. Yun Weizhe follows everywhere. But at least he does follow them, and not Sizhui.

“Are the other juniors safe?” Jin Ling shouts, concentrating on not falling over and keeping up.

“They’re safe, they’re safe I can sense it–the room they’re in is still untouched, since the last time I went there.”

“Can you go to Sizhui and see how much longer he needs? I’ll stay here and keep your dad busy!” Yun-gongzi nods, slipping away from him and dissipating into the floor. Jin Ling pivots and sends another arrow flying back, this time in his head. He screams, gurgling through a somehow bloodied throat, and continues chasing Jin Ling around. Jin Ling slips into a somewhat hidden room abruptly, one he’s been in several times already, and catches his breath.

He keels over and rests his eyes a second before leaning against the wall, blinking blearily. He rubs them too, blinking again as they gradually settle into focus, landing on the wall opposite him. It’s absolutely littered with slash marks, probably from Yun Weizhe’s sword. For someone so powerful, he has terrible aim. Seriously, the amount of times he’s hit the house itself instead of Jin Ling and his son is weird. Maybe it’s just another game, a cat and mouse.

He’s about to look away, when his brain–something in it just clicks, like–like he’d seen something, just for a hair’s breadth of a second–fuck, what had he seen??? He looks over the slashes again, trying to notice a pattern or something…most of them are in strange little clusters, slashes up and down, sideways, diagonal. He thinks he even sees a radical or two, heng…heng zhe gou…heng pie w–

Jin Ling’s train of thought comes screeching to a halt. He rushes to the wall to get a closer look, to see if really is just his mind making pictures out of nothing, or if–

No, it’s there. It’s…it’s…Jin Ling gapes, spinning in slow circles around the room. The clusters are everywhere, a very coarse, but unmistakable character that Jin Ling can no longer unsee.

帮. Help.

He hadn’t been paying attention. The spirit–Yun Weizhe–comes barreling into the room, jolting Jin Ling’s senses as he leaps a foot back against the far wall. Yun Weizhe stands there, as they engage in a kind of stare-off. Jin Ling moves his bow and arrow in front of him, but doesn’t raise them to shoot. He watches, scrutinizing every detail as the lengthy, thin sword in Yun Weizhe’s hand rises sharply, then makes contact with the wall, cutting scraping.

He makes a heng, crude and thick, but an undeniably horizontal cut. One, two more. A pie. Pieces of information fly like a sandstorm in his head as he stumbles backward, he–

–the journal!–

Jin Ling pulls the journal out of his robes so fast he almost tears the fragile, aged booklet to pieces, almost drops it to the floor. He flips open to a random page, finger tracing the lines, reading the characters, looking back up at the wall.

He drops the book.

“…you–”

“JIN-GONGZI, JIN-GONGZI!”

Yun-gongzi is there, eyes wide, face pale, blood trickling down both sides of his hands, Yun Weizhe lets out a terrifying, inhumane roar–Yun-gongzi speaks to him, grabs him, pulls him along, his father chases. Jin Ling’s ears buzz, all he can hear is ringing, as he’s pulled along. When he snaps out of it, they’re back by the alcove where Sizhui’s been drawing the array.

“Hurry hurry hurry–hurry we have to trap him come on come on!” Yun-gongzi screams, the sound all distorted as Jin Ling looks up at him.

Sizhui stands by his array, Yun-gongzi between them, looking back and forth, and at his dad charging down the hall. Jin Ling looks at him. Then Yun Sisi. Then Sizhui–Sizhui’s looking at the father.

NO–

Several things happen then, all in the blink of an eye. Yun Sisi moves away from the array, moves to the side, prepares to channel his weak qi to assist in funneling Yun Weizhe to their trap. Jin Ling dashes forward with Suihua, putting everything he can into pushing him back, before Yun Weizhe arrives, before Sizhui can get it wrong–except Sizhui appears right ther beside him, Ronghua in hand, eyes shocked, as both of them exert just a strong enough blast to send Yun-gongzi flying into the array. Yun Weizhe slows, coming to a stop, weapons clattering against the floor.

“Guys–guys what are you doing–get me out we have to trap my father he’s right there he’s going to kill both of you, and then all your friends–hurry hurry let me out now!”

Jin Ling looks over to see hesitation on Sizhui’s face, at the son’s frantic pleas. Jin Ling has no hesitation. He looks Yun Sisi dead in the eye and says, “It was all you. Wasn’t it.” It’s not a question. The young man appears to hyperventilate and sweat, blood still, somehow, spilling from his hands onto the array–which manages to hold, something he’ll have to ask Sizhui about later.

But then he stops. He looks down at the floor, hiding his face, still as a statue. Jin Ling wonders if something’s wrong, or if the array’s just that powerful and stopping him–

Yun-gongzi’s appearance begins to melt, he begins to shake, and a horrifying, spine-chilling sound Jin Ling could hardly describe, yet knows all too well breaks out of his withered throat. Jin Ling can’t help himself when he jumps backwards, heart hammering, breath coming in pants. The laughter, if it can even be called that, fills and overwhelms the room, overwhelms his mind–

–oh god, make it STOP–

“I must’ve been pretty sloppy this time if you figured me out that fast! I’m hungry, hungry you see, it’s been a while since I ate, a while. I couldn’t resist playing with my food though. Old habits die hard, old habits die hard.” His voice is warped, twisted, demonic, wholly unlike the soft, timid one of before. His appearance has shifted completely too, just like the sickening old corpse that Jin Ling would see right before all the fake juniors turned to dust.

No longer hesitant, Sizhui brings his guqin out and launches into a fierce attack, sending thick waves of pulsing qi towards Yun Sisi with every chord he plucks. It’s mesmerizing, seeing the powerful Lan technique, so much so that Jin Ling almost forgets to assist–not that he has much to offer.

Laughter booms, exploding from the ghost’s chest, even in spite of their hits. “Is that all you got, is it? You two are finished, finished, just like all your friends will be–they will be. In just a few moments I’m going to devour both of you whole, all whole!”

Jin Ling’s body is on the verge of collapse once more, he can barely form thoughts–one look at Sizhui is enough for confirmation that the array really won’t hold much longer–that’s it then, they aren’t strong enough, he’ll escape and consume them and then all the other juniors too and–

No. Jin Ling won’t let him do that. No matter what it takes.

Spurred on by his impending demise, all the others’ deaths, the juniors–Jin Ling does something beyond reckless. He sucks in a death breath and crouches, touches his hand to the floor, embracing the furious, dark qi that courses through it. Like a dam burst, it floods through him instantaneously, sending him practically crumpling to the floor.

“JIN LING!”

He hears Sizhui call his name amidst all the noise. It’s near impossible to sit up, like an entire mountain has been placed upon his shoulders. He hears voices in his ears, that laughter–he can feel his body, his will slipping by the second, the qi trying to take root in his body, in his mind like saplings–he tries to gasp for air, but–

–he wants to sink. He wants to sink beneath all the wails and cries of pain, wants to let them fully invade him, wants to let them use him as a vessel and…and…

–no, no…no, he doesn’t want that, he…he needs…oh god, the NOISE! IT WON’T STOP! ALL OF IT WON’T STOP PRESSING HIM, PUSHING HIM DOWN, WHISPERING, TOUCHING HIM, HE CAN’T HE CAN’T HE CAN’T HECAN’THECAN’THECAN’THECAN’T–

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH–”

“HAAAAHAAAAHAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAAAHAAAA–”

Thrum, thrum, thrum–

“JIN LING–!”

“–LOOK, LOOK AT YOU, SECT LEADER JIN, HAHAHAHAAAHAAAHAAA–”

JIN LING!

Jin Ling–

Jin Ling

Jin Lingggg

Jin Ling?

JIN LING–

Jin Ling can’t form a single thought. He collapses, nearly hitting the floor, just before a strong pair of arms catches him at the last second, calling his name in vain.

Notes:

Lmao I created such weird energy in this chapter😅 so first off, yayyy finally some good zhuiling content🥳🥳🥳🥳 ik i was waiting for this for a super long time. Ik it probably wasn't the greatest chapter and the side plot with the ghosts was messy and hard to follow (ill get into it more next chapter) but hey, we got zhuiling :D also haven't put this in the tags yet bc it feels rly premature but I do hope to write sm3t for them eventually👀 im just rambling i was rly excited to get this chapter done and out lol sorry

I did in fact write this whole night hunt/lan visit around a fanart I saw buried somewhere on my board for them, if anyone wants to scroll through a bunch of zhuiling fanart you are more than welcome here's my board: https://pin.it/4ihUVUBd7

edit: if u happened to click on this within the first like ten minutes of me posting, sorry i forgot to uncensor the curse words, i fixed it now😅

Chapter 11: Control (Halsey)

Notes:

warning, this is a short chapter (I did the thing again lol where I was like in order to not have a 15k chapter we gotta break this up, and this felt like the most natural split point even tho it's pretty short), ALSO, pls check the updated tags!! trigger warning for this chapter in terms of like,, vague violence ig? Idk i don't wanna spoil stuff but

Jin Ling

You’re pathetic, Jin Ling, Jin Rulan, Sect Leader Jin!

Jin Ling…

LOOK AT YOU, SECT LEADER JIN, HAHAHAHAAAHAAAHAAA

Jin Ling?

–you can’t be so weak–

Jin Ling??

–worthless–

–Jin Ling–

–kill yourself–

JIN LING–

“Jin Ling!”

Jin Ling gasps and shoots straight up, blinking rapidly, a hand flying up to rest over his chest as if to quell his pounding heart. Everything looks, feels, sounds distorted, like the way things look when he…when he gets all lost in his head. He swallows. He reaches his other hand up to forehead, becoming aware of a raging headache. He lets out a low groan.

“–yisheng? Qiu-yisheng, he’s awake!”

Jin Ling blinks some more. The black haze at the corners of his vision fades, all the blur goes away too as things turn from shapeless, abstract objects to real people, and suddenly he realizes exactly where he’s sitting.

“Sect Leader Jin?”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake–”

“Oh hey look, I think Sect Leader Jin is–”

There’s a small crowd of people milling about in the spacious room, boots squeaking against perfectly polished floors, and lanterns burning brightly from every wall. The air reeks of medicinal herbs and antiseptic. Fucking hell.

His hand by his head slips further, over his shoulder and down his back–god shit fuck all his outer robes are gone, his back bare and exposed to the world, anyone–everyone could see, what if this time it doesn’t–

–a moment later Jin Ling’s hand glides across impossibly smooth skin. It still works. He lets out a sigh of relief as his shoulders lose perhaps a fraction of their tension, his hand coming to fall in his lap.

Qiu-yisheng says something to the nurses as he approaches. Jin Ling isn’t really paying attention. He swallows and stares straight ahead until the doctor stops in front of him, staring with those ever-calculating eyes.

“You’ve woken earlier than I thought you would…can you hear me clearly, Sect Leader Jin? Can you see me? Do you feel alright?”

It’s too loud–too many questions, too much noise, too bright, too pungent, too–it’s too much.

“Yes, yes I can see you,” Jin Ling snaps, waving the old man off. “Why am I here, what happened? I feel fine.”

Jin Ling does not, in fact, feel fine, but it slips out before he can even think of stopping it. His headache honestly gets worse with every passing second, he can acutely feel the sting of every cut that litters his body, covered now in pristine bandages–not an inch of skin can be seen on his torso, all wrapped in white–and then in his head, he hears–he feels–

…he’s not quite sure, actually. Faint echoes…something that leaves him uneasy, unsettled, gone before he can even fully grasp it. Something…something bad.

“You were on a night hunt and collapsed.” Qiu-yisheng says flatly. “Probably from all the resentful qi that was flooding your body, though I’m sure the thirty-some stab wounds didn’t help. The qi healers purged it so it should be all gone now, but your body is still strained and will need some time to heal from it all. It is my recommendation that you remain for observation overnight.” Jin Ling clenches his hands to stop himself from shaking.

“I don’t wanna stay here, I feel fine,” he mutters, rolling his eyes off to the side, starting when they settle on–that–that goddamned Lan–Lan Sizhui!!! What the fuck is he doing here?!

The Lan sits with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in his lap, a few small bandages tied around his arms, one on his cheek. His eyes bore into Jin Ling’s, with concern, sympathy, pity, all things he wants no part of. Jin Ling huffs quietly and looks off to the other side, which is thankfully empty of any unwanted visitors.

“J–Sect Leader Jin, do you remember what happened?” Sizhui asks patiently, compelling him to look back his way. Jin Ling shoots him a glance, but that’s all before looking away, scowling.

“Of course I remember. That stupid Red Yun House, Yun Weizhe–no, Yun Sisi and all his tricks, and then–” Jin Ling falters, realization dawning that he has no idea what had happened after…the last thing he remembers is taking…all the resentful qi in…

“What of the other juniors? Are they alright?” His voice is sharp as he turns back to the two figures at his right, scrutinizing every inch of their face for clues. Despair, grief–there’s no way they’d be able to disguise such a thing.

“They’re fine! Completely unharmed. Sisi wasn’t lying…they really were asleep the whole time. After his soul dissipated, taking the house with him and freeing his dad, we found all the other juniors just waking up nearby. They all left for bed once we got back.”

Sizhui has a small smile on his face, almost rueful as he recounts the night, gazing at Jin Ling with some kind of look he can’t place. Jin Ling doesn’t know what to make of it. He shifts in his seat and looks away.

“How long have I been out?”

Qiu-yisheng answers him this time. “About an hour.”

“An hour?!”

An hour?!?!? Oh god, that’s so–embarrassing!!! If he’s been out an hour, then that means…that means that he’d been unconscious the entire journey from out in the woods back to the medical wing–oh fuck, they must’ve carried him on a stupid stretcher–and he’s not even that hurt! Just a bit of bad qi and some scrapes, he’s fine, he really didn’t need…

“Yes, and you’re lucky it was only that. Count your blessings, Sect Leader Jin.” Jin Ling just stops himself from flinching.

Ahh. There it is. That signature steely, stern voice, that disapproving look. He’s never expected any less from anyone on his council. Speaking of the council–

“Is it true that Sect Leader Jin is awake?”

Time slows down. Jin Ling can hear the slow thrum of every heartbeat in his chest. The room becomes a blur again, and all he can see is him. His smug smile of faux-kindness, his pale eyes that crinkle in the corner, his golden robes glowing like fire in the lantern light. Jin Ling has the sudden urge to vomit.

“Councilors. What can I do for you?” Qiu-yisheng turns and addresses the men who have entered the room, stopping just before him. Yi-xiansheng and Jin-san-gongzi are there–He-jiangjun, Guan-xiansheng, Shan-xiansheng too–flanking him on either side. Jin Ling can feel his eyes raking over him. He blinks and stares at his calloused, wrapped hands in his lap, and tries to breathe.

“Why–we just came to see that the sect leader is recovering well. Indeed he is, how wonderful. Good evening, Sect Leader Jin.” Yi-xiansheng speaks to him, lifting a hand politely in greeting. His smile widens, beside him. A beat skips. Jin Ling inhales quietly, nodding courteously, raising a hand back.

“Thank you for your concern, gentlemen. As you can see I’m fine.” It takes every ounce of courage to look each one of them in the eye, including him. Jin Ling's eyes dart away at the end, looking out the window by his side, lips settling in a thin line.

“How good to hear. Since you’re doing well, we were hoping we might consult you on a few matters, regarding the night hunt. Would that be alright with you?” Jin Ling chokes silently at his distant cousin’s question.

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. Sect Leader Jin only just woke up, I was just telling him that he needs to stay overnight for further observation. Discussing such matters could slow his recovery; surely they can wait for another day?”

Qiu-yisheng attempts to shut them down, probably to spite Jin Ling and make him sound weak. But he doesn’t have to look at all the newcomers to know the way they must be eyeing him, what they must be thinking. Would that be alright with you? What a goddamned joke. Fuck! When had his life become so…so…like–this?

“That’s really alright Qiu-yisheng, like I said I feel fine. I’m happy to discuss details with them now. There’s no trouble.” Jin Ling doesn’t know how, but he manages to keep his voice low and even, not wavering or cracking at all. His eyes fall to the doctor close to him, currently shooting him a barely disguised glare. Jin Ling somehow musters a smile of his own to send back.

“Actually I think your nurses were calling for you on the other side of the wing, Qiu-yisheng. A patient they were struggling with, I believe?” He speaks this time. It sounds silly, nothing more than an all too convenient excuse, but Jin Ling believes it. And sure enough, a moment later a nurse comes running around the corner, begging Qiu-yisheng to come help with a patient possibly going into cardiac arrest, as if he manifested it himself. And then there were eight.

“Lan-gongzi…what a kind, dedicated friend you must be to have waited for Sect Leader Jin to wake all this time.” Jin Ling can’t bear to look at Sizhui as Yi-xiansheng says this–friend. They aren’t friends, gods, Sizhui must be disgusted. And waiting for him to wake all this time, the fuck?? He makes it sound like Sizhui personally accompanied him from the time he collapsed and hasn’t left his side since, like, like…he just didn’t, alright?!

“–but I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave now. We have sect related matters to discuss, you understand, surely?” Jin Ling doesn’t look, but he can sense Sizhui’s eyes trailing back and forth amongst them all just to his right, maybe even biting his lip, wringing his hands. He’s too tired to theorize why.

“It’s late Lan-gongzi, you should go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow for the tour.” He finally turns, honey brown locking with misted gray. Something in his throat catches when he sees the Lan though, eyes so wide, face so genuinely clouded with worry and hesitation, head tilted forward. Surely it’s not…because of…him…right?

“Are you sure?” He asks quietly, gaze trained entirely on Jin Ling now. His voice is so low, the councilors a few paces away might not have even heard.

Jin Ling studies the other, trying to make heads or tails of him, heart still beating rapidly. For a very brief, very fleeting moment, images of them surface, running off down the hall, leaving this godforsaken place behind. He sees the Lan smile at him fully, unreserved, pulling him gently along by the hand. He wonders what those strong arms might feel like wrapped around him, pulling him close, without the guise of being trapped in a crushing space in a haunted house–

But then a throat clears, and everything shatters. Jin Ling remembers his place. Remembers that he’s swapped one nightmare for another. He clears his own throat and tosses his hair over his shoulder.

“Lan-gongzi, please. It must be ages past hai time. I assure you, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.” His voice is hard, definitive, no room for dissent. He doesn’t look at Sizhui as the other youth slowly moves to leave, bowing to the councilors before exiting the medical wing. And then there were seven.

Jin Ling tugs at a loose wrapping on one of his hands and turns to face the six men at his bedside, focusing on his breathing, forcing himself to look them all in the eye again. He tells himself that there’s nothing wrong with his advisors coming to consult with him, that he can’t feel his resolve crumbling with every passing moment.

“We’ll be brief, Sect Leader Jin,” Yi-xiansheng nearly sneers Jin Ling’s name as he moves in, crossing his arms. Jin Ling stiffens, pulling harder at the thin cloth. “As you know we wish to discuss this eve’s night hunt with you.”

Stop, breathe, think, speak carefully–he can get through this, same as anything else. Jin Ling takes a steadying breath and stops himself from sinking into thin padding he’s currently seated on, much as he wishes he could dissolve into the cushion and be rid of this confrontation from hell.

“Well. What do you wish to discuss specifically?” His voice comes out just above a rasp as he makes himself look at each councilor again. If he weren’t half so tired, he might’ve said something else in an attempt to take control of the conversation, as opposed to walking right into that.

“It was a tactical failure of epic proportions. An unconscious sect leader being carried back half-dead is a goddamned embarrassment to the Jin sect name.” He-jiangjun speaks bluntly, eyes cold, boring into him. His posture is stiff and rigid, hardened from a lifetime of military service; various pins and badges signifying his bravery and accomplishments shine in flickering light. Jin Ling swallows thickly, starting to wrap the now fully separated bandage back around his hand.

“He-jiangjun, so harsh! It was not a tactical fail of epic proportions, just…hmm. A situation that could have been handled better, shall we say?” Yi-xiansheng’s smile is like acid, his teeth sharper than a wolf’s, as he cuts in. He-jiangjun doesn’t bother arguing with him, grunting in response. Jin Ling’s bandage he started re-wrapping begins to cut off his circulation.

“I’m not sure about that, Yi-xiansheng. I agree with the general. Disaster that it was though, it could have easily gone significantly more poorly, were it not for his soldiers’ ardent search efforts, and Shan-xiansheng’s timely prayers.”

Jin Ling sits on his hands to stop them from shaking now. He can look at everyone collectively, but he can’t–he can’t make himself look at him for so long, while he speaks so brashly of Jin Ling, fuck, fuck fuck all he can think of when he sees him is–oh fuck–

Shan-xiansheng laughs awkwardly off to the side, bouncing like an echo down a stairwell in Jin Ling’s mind. “Ahaha, it was nothing, He-jiangjun’s men did most of the work! We just burned all that incense and prayed to the gods for a favorable outcome…”

Words flow through his mind, but Jin Ling is so concentrated on not falling apart right then and there, he can’t make any sense of them, can only stare solemnly, purse his lips, nod occasionally…

“Without which Sect Leader Jin surely wouldn’t have been saved. Your efforts are seen and appreciated, Shan-xiansheng.” Jin-san-gongzi speaks kindly, placing a hand upon Shan-xiansheng’s shoulder. The man laughs again and brushes it off. Jin Ling can’t breathe.

Try acting like an actual leader–

No–

–here you are, crumbling under a few measly questions!

–no!

Do you know what I think of you, Jin Ling?

–NO–

“No–please stop–” Jin Ling gasps quietly, clawing at his neck, fighting for air, fighting to get those damned eyes out of his face, those damned lips away from his ear, his hair–fuck fuck fuck fuck shit motherfucker–

“Ah, well, if you insist Sect Leader Jin. The point of this meeting is really just to ensure you understand what this night hunt and your negligence has cost us all–”

Look at you. Pathetic–

No, no no, understand…understand…the night hunt…understand what the night hunt–

Not gonna fight back? Not gonna do anything?

NO–no, no, he was saying–need to understand, night hunt, negligence…

You’re a disgrace–

No, no, no–understand, night hunt, negligence…cost…negligence…cost…wait–

Jin Ling, with his concentration hanging by a thread, finally manages to process his councilor’s words–and then stares at Yi-xiansheng near incredulous. The man flickers, eyes going from dark brown to pale blue, his frame becoming larger and more muscular, god fuck he doesn’t want to see him!!!!!!

FUCK–the night hunt! Negligence, cost–he’d known that he would be blamed for it of course, but–but cost…????

“To put the lives of Lanling’s most influential families’ sons at stake is bad enough,” the state councilhead goes on, waving his hands around absentmindedly, leaning against Jin Ling’s bed–he scoots a half-inch backwards, eyes going in and out of focus as he fights to see the man who’s really speaking to him, “Something I’m sure will scar them for the rest of their lives as it is, but to drag the Lans into it? Such a thing could have cost us war…surely you’ve considered this?” Jin Ling blinks, speechless, when he picks through each word being thrown at him, which is no small effort.

“We’ll have to close that section of Mount Baifeng now, won’t be able to allow anyone to go inside it. He-jiangjun’s men will have to find replacement trails to train in, goodness knows all the damage control Ge-xiansheng and I will have to do within Lanling before this spreads, not to mention the economic impact this could have…” Yi-xiansheng trails off, looking to his right. Guan-xiansheng, who’d been quite absorbed in studying his nails, suddenly looks up, arranging his face into a nasty expression.

“That’s right, the economic impact! Absolutely terrible. I have…I just have no idea how I could ever contain this…the economy will just…suffer…probably…so yeah! Just–just you wait til my father hears about this, Sect Leader Jin!” He tosses his head, mutters something about being woken up so late, and then storms off, fanning himself fiercely, running into tables and desks. And then there were six. Jin Ling doesn’t even spare him a glance.

Everyone’s voice starts to blend together in his mind, every line, every word, just one more mark against his character. It’s a lot like an official council meeting in that regard, except usually not so outwardly like this. It’s always more…implied, swept under the rug, like it can’t be helped. Jin Ling always wondered what the tipping point would be to bring things into this territory; he’d never imagined it would be one ridiculous night hunt gone so wrong.

“I…should go help Guan-xiansheng! Perhaps…perhaps he’s in need of some spiritual guidance. Let me know if you discuss anything of import. I wish you a speedy recovery, Sect Leader Jin.” Shan-xiansheng smiles tightly and then dashes off in the direction the economics councilhead had gone moments prior. And then there were five. Jin Ling doesn’t look at him either.

“Well, this has certainly been a lot for you, Sect Leader Jin.” Yi-xiansheng fully approaches now, stopping just short of Jin Ling, hands tucked neatly in front of him. He has the same look that all his little underlings had had on the sect tour; he looks at Jin Ling like he’s a child. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Jin Ling’s mouth falls open even further.

A million words fly through his head. How he couldn’t control the Red Yun House appearing, couldn’t have possibly known even if he had studied the area better, given the unpredictable nature of it. How the only other person harmed on the night hunt was Sizhui, who was practically fine when he’d been there just before. How He-jiangjun never used the trail before, how there can’t possibly be any kind of economic effects from an isolated night hunt, how he’d done his goddamned best to take the ghost down, but–

–but it’s not enough. Jin Ling will never be enough, something he’s…long come to accept. All the words die in his throat, before they can even make it to his lips. Eventually, he takes a deep breath and says, “You’re–right. I’m…I’m…s…s…so–rry. Sorry. I’m sorry.” There, is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what you wanted from me? To admit to you all that I’m–that I’m really that pathetic??!

“Are you though? Sorry? Forgive me, cousin, but I fail to see this as anything more than pure oversight and inadequacy. Do you really have any remorse? How are we to know there won’t be any repeats?” Jin-san-gongzi wears a half-smile on his face, slipping by the second, that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Jin Ling has nothing to say to this. His mind eventually defaults to stop, breathe, think, speak carefully, though it does nothing when he can’t think of a response, and continues echoing in his head uselessly.

“Our sect cannot afford this weakness, Sect Leader. We cannot afford you stumbling, again and again, while others clean up the mess. You must learn to be strong, responsible, and competent, before we all pay the price.” He-jiangjun sneers at Jin Ling, scoffs, then leaves the medical wing in sweeping strides, his cape swishing around his feet as he walks. And then there were four. He raises his head a beat too late to call out a few parting words, suddenly realizing that that’s one person closer to it being just Jin Ling and…and him.

“Ah, enough of this tonight! Look how pale the sect leader is, we should let him rest. Forgive us, cousin, we can finish discussing this at the next council meeting.” Dread pools in Jin Ling’s stomach as Jin-san-gongzi smiles fully now, waving, leaving, bidding them all goodnight. And then there were three.

No–no surely not, surely he won’t, no–

“Perhaps Jin-san-gongzi is right; we wouldn’t want to put such a strain on you. Please, do get better, Sect Leader Jin. I’ll see you later this week.”

NO

NO

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

“YI-XIANSHENG–” Jin Ling futilely calls out for the state councilhead, trying to jump off the bed, to run out of the medical wing, to call for anyone–

–a hand is slapped over his mouth, words muttered so faintly he can’t make anything out, can only see a pair of lips quickly uttering them–

–silence–

–his voice is gone suddenly, just like–just like–

–how does he know how to use that spell?!? Had he learned it from Jin Ling’s–

“When will you learn, A’Ling? Always fucking things up, always doing something to stain the family name–I bet it’s that bastard Meng Yao’s influence, huh?”

–his back stings with fiery pain, tearing through his skin, so all-encompassing he can scarcely remember what’s going on anymore–his mouth opens wide to scream, to call for help, but nothing comes out–

“What misfortune you always seem to have, Jin Ling–”

A hand twists in his hair, pulling so tight, tears springing into his eyes, pulling his head back and exposing his throat–

“You’re pathetic A’Ling, you and your father both–”

He can’t breathe, he can’t–pain blooms along his chest, his shoulders, his back, FUCK–

“Look at you…you’re unraveling, Sect Leader Jin…”

That smile–

Those hands–

No…

no…please, no…

Blue, that icy blue, swallows everything, sucks up everything else like a black hole until it’s all he can see, all he can think, feel, darker, closer, fading….black–

–black–

–nothing.

Notes:

hopefully next chapter coming soonish since I already have a decent amt written. Also sorry I keep torturing Jin Ling–you know what you signed up for when you clicked on this story tho

do yall prefer shorter or longer chapters ? (and yes i realize my chapters all run a bit longer than normal probably hehe)