#eel xian | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

curiosity-killed · 4 years

Text

a bow for the bad decisions: chapter 14

prev | start | next

(on ao3)

Two years after the siege of the Burial Mounds, his niece is born. Jin Mu has her brother’s fierce scowl and her mother’s small chin. Cradled in his arms, she stares up at him with fierce black eyes and Jiang Cheng feels something around his heart ease and crack through, an aching thaw. Little a-Ling hovers at his side, nestling up next to Jiang Cheng when he sits with a-Mu in his arms. “Hello little Jin Ruxia,” he murmurs, carefully stroking her cheek with one fingertip. “A-Mu!” a-Ling corrects. Breathing out a soft laugh, Jiang Cheng feels the corner of his lips pull up in an unfamiliar smile. He shifts a-Mu in his arms so that his right is free to circle around a-Ling and pull him close. The boy nestles into his embrace eagerly, still watching his baby sister like he’s never seen her before.

“She’s beautiful, jie,” Jiang Cheng says.

A-jie hums, a contented smile curving her lips. It still feels strange to see her in Jin gold, but he’s growing used to it. At least her clarity bell still hangs with its familiar saffron tassel from her belt. “I’m happy you came to meet her,” jie says. “And choose her courtesy name.” Swallowing, Jiang Cheng nods and his arm tightens reflexively around a-Ling’s shoulders. Neither of them mention what they’re both thinking of. Jin Ling has no memory of receiving his own courtesy name, of course. He’s far too young to even know about what happened when his uncle came to meet him. He sits happily at Jiang Cheng’s side and one thumb rubs against the lotus-seed bracelet dark against his wrist. “Couldn’t have her named after another sect,” he says, a little thick. “Mm I don’t know, Runie might be a nice idea,” jie teases. Jiang Cheng snorts, looking up to find jie watching with a quiet grin. It’s easier to smile like this, when it feels like a secret between the two of them, a small memorial. How many times in those months had they laughed about Wei Wuxian’s pick of names? It had always been an inside joke, and now, he feels something ease and settle as jie offers it back to him. He doesn’t understand how she can forgive him but he’s too selfish not to take it with open, greedy hands. He swallows, tight, and keeps his gaze on a-Mu’s sleeping face. “Jie,” he says, low, and forces himself to look up at her. “I’m sorry. I promised you I’d bring him back and I — I didn’t even bring back his body. I’m sorry.” “A-Cheng,” jie soothes. She looks suddenly tired, as if an ancient fatigue has settled into her bones. “A-Cheng, please don’t.” She sighs and stands in a rustle of silk. Scooping a-Ling up, she settles beside Jiang Cheng and gives his arm a little tug. Reluctantly, he shifts to face her. He can’t help feeling like he’s done something wrong now, like when he was little and Mother caught him playing with his father’s brushes. “I should never have asked that of you, a-Cheng,” jie says now. “I was — there was so much going on, then. But it wasn’t fair of me to ask that of you.” He frowns. He doesn’t understand. A-jie thins her lips a moment, running her thumb over Jin Ling’s bracelet. He’s tilted his head up to gawk at her but stays quiet, as if he can sense the solemnity of the moment. “I think… Sometimes, I think that all of us were too late to save him,” she admits. “It almost seems inevitable, now.” Resignation is a physical thing in her voice, like a spirit finally setting down generations of grief. It’s strange, sometimes, to remember that she’s the eldest of them. So much of his life, he’s tried to protect her, to keep her from harm. He forgets that she has seen terrible things, lived through war and loss. Panic rises in his chest, an aching fear, and he twists to face her more fully without disturbing a-Mu. “Jie, I’m looking,” he promises. “Our network has eyes out for any sign of him, and if anyone summons him—” “A-Cheng.” She rests her hand on his shoulder and gives a small squeeze. He opens his mouth to protest, but she only shakes her head. “A-Cheng, he would want you to live a full and happy life, not chase after him like this,” she says. “A-Xian is — is gone, but we aren’t. We’re still alive, and we carry his memory in our hearts.” He doesn’t know how to answer that, can’t speak for the words choking in his throat. How can he say that he’s been chasing after Wei Wuxian his whole life, that he doesn’t know how else to be if he isn’t running after him? Jie pauses and gives a-Ling a little squeeze before turning a soft smile up at Jiang Cheng. “We should try to live as happily as we can,” she says firmly. It’s nearly an order, that stubborn firmness a-jie always hides under her sweet smiles and soft demeanour. “And…I think there are still others who carry his memory as well,” she adds more gently. After a moment’s hesitation, he gives a reluctant nod. Lan Wangji flits through his mind, the utter desolation in his eyes. It’s not an auspicious start but — but maybe jie’s right, as she often is. Maybe he can start here and not have to figure out the rest wholly alone. They were something almost like friends, once. Fitting, that losing Wei Wuxian might bring them together again. “You are on your way to Qinghe, aren’t you?” jie says. “Have you spoken recently to Nie-gongzi?” It would be rude to roll his eyes, and jie doesn’t deserve it — but it is a close call. Settling for a scowl, he earns her bright laughter. He subsides, turning back to a-Mu so his smile is hidden. He leaves in the early afternoon, while the sun’s still high in the sky. A-jie lets him carry Jin Ling to bed for his afternoon nap, and he gives her a hug and a-Mu a kiss to the forehead before setting back out across Carp Tower. As he reaches the edge of the main pavilion, he spies a pale figure descending gracefully from their sword. For a moment, he almost thinks his brief thought of Lan Wangji has summoned the man himself — but then he takes a step closer and sees the small smile and bright guan and realizes his error. “Zewu-jun,” he greets with a bow. “Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen answers, equally formal. Straightening, Jiang Cheng hesitates. Lan Xichen wears the same gentle look as always, but there’s a stiffness to his shoulders that speaks of tension, discomfort. Jiang Cheng swallows, tries to think of something appropriate to say and blurts out the first thing to come to mind instead. “I haven’t seen your brother in some time. I hope Lan Wangji is not ill.” Something shifts in Lan Xichen’s eyes, a minute cooling of his expression. It’s remarkable the difference a smile can make; with his ever-present friendliness slipping, it is as if Lan Wangji stands before him instead. “Jiang-zongzhu’s concern is appreciated but unnecessary. My brother is in seclusion in Cloud Recesses, mending the music damaged in the war,” he answers, crisp. Ah. Of course. Jiang Cheng’s heard of Gusu Lan’s propensity for secluded meditation, though he’s never seen the appeal; he grew up meditating in motion, while walking or swimming or practicing forms. Now, he wonders how much of Lan Wangji’s seclusion is for his sect and how much is for himself. Seclusion would offer silence and a reprieve from the eyes that are otherwise always watching the second young master of a great sect. Copying down old scores from memory is surely the last thing that could remind him of Wei Wuxian. “There is certainly no one better suited to such work,” Jiang Cheng says. “If there is any assistance we can provide as you rebuild, we would be glad to.” He’s never been good at this, at balancing sincere compliments with subtle words that don’t give away too much. The words feel awkward and unwieldy on his tongue, like they’re the wrong shapes for his meaning. Lan Xichen’s smile thins slightly, though it stays firmly in place. He folds his hands together and gives a polite salute. “Jiang-zongzhu is too generous,” he says politely, and Jiang Cheng hears the dismissal. He wants to protest, wants to tell Lan Xichen that he’s not speaking as a sect leader but as Jiang Cheng, as someone who might understand if Lan Xichen lets him. Lan Xichen had seemed fond of Wei Wuxian in his own way, and Lan Wangji had — well. There ought to be some common ground between them, at least some opportunity for camaraderie if not friendship. He stews in it all the way to Qinghe, needled in a way he can’t quite explain. It feels like there’s something he’s missing, in that way that’s always made him hate discussion conferences and politics. It’s like there’s always a second layer to the conversation that he can’t quite read, a hidden page in every book that everyone but him got to see. It’s enough of a distraction that he almost doesn’t notice the flurry as he arrives in the Unclean Realm. Nie Mingjue doesn’t greet him in the courtyard but Nie Huaisang, fan-less and flustered. “Ah Jiang-xiong,” he greets with a too-bright smile. “Such good timing. Come, come, no need to stand out here in the sun.” He’s doing the thing Wei Wuxian sometimes did, chattering over nerves as if he can avoid them if he only talks fast enough. The problem is that Wei Wuxian was much better at making it natural, letting it be an extension of his natural loquaciousness. Nie Huaisang is too transparent, too truly helpless. “Nie-xiong, what’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng demands, grabbing his arm just above the elbow. “Ah, Jiang-xiong!” he yelps, twisting out of his grip like an eel. “Ah ah nothing’s wrong, it’s fine. Why don’t we just get inside?” Jiang Cheng scowls, holding back a moment. There’s something approaching genuine fear in Nie Huaisang’s eyes, and the fingers of his right hand have curled into the hem of his sleeve so tightly he’s surprised there aren’t holes in the delicate fabric. Releasing his arms, Jiang Cheng sighs and gestures for him to lead on. Relief is an obvious wave through Nie Huaisang, and he hurries to lead Jiang Cheng further into the citadel. They don’t follow any path he recognizes but wind through the hallways toward the inner rooms of the fortress until Jiang Cheng isn’t sure he could find his way back on his own. His hand tightens around Sandu, unease rising in his chest. They round a corner, and Nie Huaisang releases a gusty sigh before twisting back to catch Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “Sorry, Jiang-xiong,” he says, “had to be careful.” “Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng growls, “what is going on?” He’s going to throttle him. He’s going to pick his scrawny body up with all the frills and silk and dunk him straight into a horse trough like they’re ten years old. Before he can, Nie Huaisang leans back and pushes open a door to his left. Jiang Cheng is guided inside to find a small sitting room, unfamiliar. Nie Huaisang hustles him to a seat at the table before flopping onto the other side with an aggrieved sigh. “Jiang-xiong, you would not believe the day I’m having,” he huffs. Staring at him, Jiang Cheng crosses his arms and waits. He came here as a sect leader to meet with Nie Mingjue, not be hustled about by Nie Huaisang’s whims. Lifting his wrist from his brow, Huaisang peeks at Jiang Cheng before slouching up onto his knees. “Ah sorry, Jiang-xiong,” he says as he reaches for the tea kettle. “It really has been a busy day.” Jiang Cheng raises his eyebrows pointedly and doesn’t yet accept the cup. “Fine, fine,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “It’s just that the residents of our Unclean Realm haven’t quite taken to Wen-daifu as might have been hoped.” Jiang Cheng’s hands clench in his sleeves, his chin jerking up at the answer. “Wen Qing?” he demands. “Is she injured? What happened?” “Jiang-xiong, hold on,” Nie Huaisang gripes. “I’m getting there. Zao-jie says she’ll be fine. They just caught her by surprise, and da-ge’s guarding her now.” That doesn’t provide all the answers he’d like, but he can’t risk asking more without embarrassing himself. She’s a war prisoner, after all. Yunmeng Jiang can’t afford to earn a reputation for leniency towards criminals. “Isn’t your Unclean Realm supposed to be unbreachable?” he asks instead. For once, Nie Huaisang’s flippant mask slips. His lips tighten, twisting a little to the side, before he catches himself and gives a little laugh. “Ha well, there are ways over every wall, I suppose,” he says, still tight. “But we’ve caught them. They never get far.” Releasing his arms, Jiang Cheng finally takes his cup in hands, but he can’t help the scowl that furrows his brow. Wen Qing was supposed to be safe here, protected by the Nie sect’s rigid laws. “How many times?” he asks. “Hm?” “How many times has she been attacked?” he asks, gritting it out. Nie Huaisang turns his cup carefully between his fingertips, watching Jiang Cheng. Taking a sip, he sets it down gently on the table, slender fingers still caging it. “This was the sixth,” he admits. Six. His hands tighten, and he forces them to release from their tight clench around the fragile mug. Six attempts in two years, in a place where she was meant to be safe. He speaks before he’s conscious of the words in his mouth. “She could come to Lotus Pier.” Nie Huaisang blinks at him, cup halfway to his lips. Startled by his own words, Jiang Cheng stares back a moment before realizing what he’s doing. “If she’s not safe here,” he says, forcing his voice to steady like he isn’t making this up as he speaks, “she could come to Yunmeng.” Across the table, Nie Huaisang leans back a little and sets his cup down. Jiang Cheng meets his gaze stubbornly. It’s not like he can back down now. “And why should Wen-daifu be safer in Yunmeng than Qinghe?” Nie Huaisang asks. The answer’s obvious, of course, even as it can’t be said aloud. He bites down any mention of his dead brother and straightens his shoulders. “Everyone knows Wen Qing has been sheltered here in Qinghe,” he says. “If she’s moved to Lotus Pier without fanfare, there will be some time where they still think she’s here. That will give your Nie sect time to root out the source of the attacks without using her as bait.” Tapping his middle finger against the cup, Huaisang cants his head as if in thought. His expression is back to cheerful guilelessness, but his eyes are sharp. “Wen-daifu is the most renowned physician in the cultivation world,” he points out. “Why should Qinghe Nie give up such expertise?” “Keep whatever research she’s written here, have her come back on unannounced trips as you wish,” Jiang Cheng returns, flicking his hand in both dismissal and irritation. “Her expertise is no good to you if you let her die.” “You would let a prisoner travel so freely?” He pauses, breath catching briefly. In all this, he’d almost forgotten. Wen Qing wouldn’t be coming to Lotus Pier of her own accord but as an exchange of prisoners, transferring responsibilities. The thought sours in his throat, bitter and distasteful. “If Chifeng-zun acquits her, she’ll be better able to travel without undue attention,” he says. Nie Huaisang’s fingers still against his cup before tapping a rapid triplet as he smiles. “Well, we ought to talk to da-ge, shouldn’t we?” They meet Nie Mingjue in a larger audience room, still tucked in the annals of the citadel. Being maneuvered through these back hallways has unease itching at Jiang Cheng’s skin. For all the childhood summers they spent tearing around the Unclean Realm with Huaisang, they apparently were still kept from these corridors. He’s newly certain that Nie Huaisang has a better map of Lotus Pier than Jiang Cheng does of the Unclean Realm, and it makes something sour and toothed coil tight in his belly. Nie Mingjue stands in the middle of the room before them, Wen Qing a step behind and two to the right of his shoulder. He lets himself glance at her only briefly, only from the corner of his eyes. Her scarlet and burgundy have been traded for sooty grey, simple but clean and neat. There are shadows under her eyes and one hand is held with the palm flat against her belly just below her ribs. His heart squeezes, pain and anger in his gut, and he looks back to Nie Mingjue. “Chifeng-zun,” he greets with a formal bow. “Wen-guniang.” “Jiang-zongzhu,” Nie Mingjue greets. “Huaisang suggested you had cause to speak with us.” This whole trip was originally to speak with Nie Mingjue, but he doesn’t point that out. There’s something about Nie Mingjue’s posture that reminds him of the war, a tension like he’s ready to lash out and fight. They might be allies, but there are few alliances can’t be broken. “Da-ge, Jiang-xiong has offered for Wen-daifu to stay in Lotus Pier for her own protection,” Nie Huaisang says, standing at Jiang Cheng’s side. “If she’s acquitted, she’ll be better able to travel unimpeded for treatment.” Nie Mingjue levels his gaze on Jiang Cheng, cool and appraising. “Jiang-zongzhu believes Lotus Pier’s defenses better than the Unclean Realm’s?” he asks. Yunmeng Jiang is the only sect in the world with barriers built off their land’s own resentment, with unique arrays crafted by one of the most brilliant inventors in generations. Jiang Cheng does not say that. No one outside the inner disciples actually knows that, and he would rather keep that advantage than have to explain to the other sects why Lotus Pier is protected by demonic cultivation. Besides, there’s something dangerous in Nie Mingjue’s tone, a too-level neutrality like he’s waiting for Jiang Cheng to trip up and provide an opening. “Whoever is trying to kill Wen-guniang clearly has some familiarity with the Unclean Realm’s defenses,” he points out. “Lotus Pier has strong defenses as well and will require the attackers to learn how to get through them. That would allow time for both our sects to work together to identify the source of the attacks.” It’s the same thing he told Nie Huaisang, but he speaks with more confidence this time. For all that the words crossed his lips before he’d consciously thought them, it’s a solid plan. If Nie Mingjue wants to ask why Jiang Cheng is so sure none of his disciples will attack Wen Qing, he will ask in turn why she has been kept here in their citadel rather than in any of the settlements like the other prisoners. Nie Mingjue doesn’t ask. He studies Jiang Cheng a long moment before turning to Wen Qing. She meets his eyes before folding her hands before her and saluting. “I have been honored by the Nie sect’s hospitality during these years,” she says. Nie Mingjue’s lips twist before he exhales and releases his arms from where they’ve been crossed over his chest. One hand reaches into the opposite sleeve, and he draws out a passage token — granite and jade above a tassel of sage green and silver. “You have provided great aid to Qinghe Nie and shown honor throughout your stay here, Wen-daifu,” he says, extending the token. “Qinghe Nie holds Dafan Wen pardoned and as welcomed guests.” Wen Qing bows low as she accepts the token, but Jiang Cheng catches the way she swallows, jaw tight. There is no Dafan Wen left. She’s the only survivor of a family that had nothing to do with the war in the first place. They leave two days later, when Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue have finally actually spoken and Wen Qing is healed enough from the attack to be able to travel. She had a sword once; he remembers admiring it alongside its wielder. He hasn’t seen it in longer than he knows. Did she have it at Indoctrination? He can’t recall. Perhaps he can ask, see if it was stowed in one of the Wen strongholds or if it’s stashed in Jin Guangshan’s treasure vault like so many others. If it’s the latter, the sword is well and truly lost. For now, she flies with Sun Luzhou. The trip is made in silence, a strange pall over the party. He’s not sure if it’s apprehension due to Wen Qing’s presence or if it’s just the weather. They cut along the edge of a front of rolling black clouds that will break in roaring thunder and sheets of rain by the time they reach Lotus Pier. For some of the younger disciples, it might just be the unease that clings to new visitors to the Unclean Realm; the butchers’ sect has never been inviting to outsiders. As their feet touch down on the docks, the first raindrops break along the wood. It’s still mid-afternoon, but the sky is dark and sullen. The disciples disperse to their own duties, and Jiang Cheng is left standing with Wen Qing, newly unsure of himself. This is his home, he is the master of this sect — and he feels as wrong-footed as if he stood before Lan Qiren as a student once more. “Well,” he says when they’ve stood in uncomfortable silence for too long, “here, I can show you around, if you’d like.” She dips her head in polite affirmation. Out of step with himself, Jiang Cheng finds himself leading her through Lotus Pier and reciting the history he was made to memorize as a small child. He feels like a fool as he speaks, as he describes their ancestors, those wanderers who ranged across the continent, and those who settled Lotus Pier itself. He can’t delude himself into believing she has any real interest in the stories he recites, but he is equally incapable of shutting himself up. “These are the physicians’ offices,” he blurts out in relief as he spots the door. “If you want to use them.” He slides open the doors and gestures for her to enter. Inside, Xiong Chunfeng has already risen, alongside her assistants. “Zongzhu,” they chorus, bowing low. “Xiong-daifu,” he greets. “This is Wen Qing. She will be staying in Lotus Pier for some time.” Xiong Chunfeng straightens and looks over Wen Qing appraisingly. Her lips are thin, dark eyes hard as she takes her in. At last, she gives a slight nod and salutes Wen Qing. “I have heard much of your abilities, Wen-daifu,” she says. “I would look forward to discussing some of your theories on qi stabilization if you would be willing.” “It would be an honor, Xiong-qianbei,” Wen Qing replies. A silly, unearned sense of success sweeps through Jiang Cheng. It’s small, but at least it’s a start of something, an opening for Wen Qing to find a place here. They continue forward until they come to the guest quarters where a space has been made for Wen Qing. The rain still falls in gentle streaks around them, blurring the sunset to brush strokes of pink and orange. He pauses, fiddling with Zidian’s ring. “Wen-guniang,” he starts, hesitant. Drawing in a breath, he releases Zidian and straightens. “Wen-guniang, I am sorry that we failed to protect your family. And that — that things turned out as they have.” “Jiang-zongzhu need not apologize to this one,” she says. “Yunmeng Jiang has been generous to Dafan Wen. The consequences of our sect’s actions are our own.” She speaks so formally, sounds so collected. It feels like a distance carefully imposed, an arm stretched out to push him away. He swallows down the sting. “Our scouts have kept watch for any sign of your brother,” he says. “If anyone spies him, he’ll be brought here to you, I promise.” Wen Qing gives an abortive shake of her head, lifting her gaze somewhere to his left. Swallowing, she looks to him. “There is no sign to find, Jiang-zongzhu,” she says calmly. “A-Ning would never leave our family by choice. If he was not killed in the Burial Mounds, then he has already died elsewhere.” Her words are as even and steady as any others, and they hit like a sword hilt straight in the soft meat of his belly. “Wen Qing, I—” “It was my family to protect,” she interjects, firm. “We knew what would happen when Wen Ruohan was killed. At least those last years were — were not so unhappy. I am only sorry that we took Wei Wuxian from you.” That’s not what he wants at all. How can she be apologizing for his own sins? He’s the one who killed Wei Wuxian. He’s the one who couldn’t bring the Burial Mounds settlement to Lotus Pier where they’d be protected and safe from the other sects. Their blood is on his hands, the blood of old men and women, of Wei Wuxian and little a-Yuan. “No, that’s not—” he starts. “Please, Jiang Wanyin,” she says, meeting his gaze. “I appreciate your generosity and assistance but I — I do not wish to cling to the past.” Oh. He takes a slight step back, as if he really has been hit. Of course. He was a child when he made that promise, offered her that comb and safety whenever she should need it. That he has finally made good on that promise, years too late, does not mean she wants it. She had nowhere else to go, after all. His protection wasn’t even her last choice — it wasn’t a choice at all. He clears a careful distance between them, straightening into proper posture once more. “Of course,” he says. “I will leave you to settle in. Wen-guniang is welcome to eat dinner among the Jiang disciples.” He gives her a polite salute and steps neatly around her to return to his own chambers. His hand slips over to curl around the tether point at his wrist, and he squeezes until the dull ache covers the familiar pulse. There is nothing here to grieve. He has no right to sorrow.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #untamed fic #my writing #we are finally getting to the romance fam!!#i mean #not yet #but like it's getting there eventually lol #there's no more death??

4 notes · View notes

goodjiujiu · 4 years

Text

Post 2

“Where did you see him last? How long have you been going downstream?”

“I don’t know.. one hour? More? We were a bit east of that fishing village with the good eel noodles,” says Jin Ling.

Wei Wuxian is about to shake him, demanding ‘What does that mean, brat?,’ when Lan Zhan says, “Meiling village?”

“Yes, that one. We started east of there - maybe five, six kilometers - but after we saw the Three-headed willow-snake, I don't know how far we went.”

“And the boat?” asks Wei Wuxian stiffly.

“I don’t know, it was just there... Jiujiu threw me in, can we go now? I’ll show you where he is!”

Jin Ling is right, there’s no time, but he’s wrong if he thinks he’s coming with them. He nudges Zidian lightly with his qi.

"What are you doing! WEI WUXIAN, RELEASE ME!” Jin Ling screams, but Zidian has him wrapped tightly again. Wei Wuxian drops three flares onto the boat, beside him.

“When you get closer to Caiyi, Zidian will let you go. Use the flares to get the Lan clan’s attention, and send them after us.”

“Don’t do this!”

“We’ll find Jiang Cheng and keep him safe, but three-four people can’t stop a three-headed willow-snake; you must get us reinforcements. Lan Zhan?”

Without a word, Lan Zhan helps him onto Bichen, and they rise, Jin Ling crying and pleading, trussed up on their boat.

“We’ll find him, Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian can only nod.

He can’t believe that Jiang Cheng would pull Madam Yu’s move, like this. His shidi better live so that Wei Wuxian can wring his neck.

They can’t find him, is the thing. They start looking about six kilometers east of the village, but there are few signs that any monster had been there.

“The goat, that blasted goat,” says Wei Wuxian. Jin Ling had not accounted for the distance they traveled looking for it, so Wei Wuxian had assumed it hadn’t been far, but now there’s nothing. “Towards higher ground?” he asks, and Lan Wangji adjusts course wordlessly.

Ten minutes later they do see signs of a fight, a fresh one, and Lan Wangji pushes his sword lower but faster. Wei Wuxian can’t stop squeezing his hand where it wraps around his waist. They end up crossing the ridge, and finding a second stream, the path of the fighting curves north, and they follow it, everything looking fresher, until Wei Wuxian can’t breathe with the terror of it.

Where is he? Why is it so quiet?

“There!” he cries, and Lan Wangji swoops down towards the monster, green scales shining easily through the foliage, the body nearly as wide across as Wei Wuxian is tall.

It’s dead, and Wei Wuxian dismisses it easily, jumps to the ground even before Lan Wangji is quite within ten feet, and nearly doesn’t stick the landing.

Because there’s a trail, bloody, and not quite straight, leading to that leaning boulder, and he can sense someone there and he sprints. The world lights up momentarily, in the light of Lan Zhan’s flare, calling for help.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian cries, hitting the ground beside him. His shidi looks up at him, confused.

“...found Jin Ling? Already?”

“It was a coincidence, we found him floating down stream and had to come see what you were doing,” says Wei Wuxian, and he can tell that his voice is too sharp, he doesn’t sound right, but that’s because his hands are shaking as he undoes Jiang Cheng’s belt, loosening his robes, and trying to breathe because he looks stabbed, only snakes don't have swords they have fangs.

“Safe?” asks Jiang Cheng.

“We let him drift, but he shouldn’t be in danger,” says Wei Wuxian. Still clipped, because this venom was nearly always fatal. “It has to be a dry bite, Jiang Cheng, you have shitty luck so just once,” says Wei Wuxian, baring the wound and ugh, that looks awful. Lan Wangji, kneeling down on Jiang Cheng’s other side, has already removed first aid items from his qiankun pouch, handing it over silently before his hands go to the meridians at Jiang Cheng’s neck, and shoulder.

“Don't bother,” says Jiang Cheng, when Wei Wuxian unsteadily cleans the wound. He can’t press it closed, that would trap the venom inside, so until they get him the antivenom... but he keeps bleeding.

He shouldn’t keep bleeding! Jiang Cheng has been stabbed before, has even had his powers sealed away while stabbed, and still recovered. “Don’t be silly, Jiang Cheng, this isn’t a bother. Can you... shit can you breathe?”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t answer, but does manage a ragged inhale. “Watch Jin Ling. Take care. You as well.”

“Jiang Cheng, don’t - Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, do something. We have to do something,” but they can’t. Jiang Cheng takes his hand, their hands wet with blood, and squeezes. “I’m here,” Wei Wuxian says softly. “I’m here Jiang Cheng, but please, hold on.”

He doesn’t last much longer. Blinks up at Wei Wuxian a few more times, chest heaving but unable to breathe. He’s drowning in his own blood, and Wei Wuxian can only. Hold his hand until. He stops.

And no, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want this this isn’t fair, he wants Jiang Cheng back, this isn’t fair. Lan Zhan tries to pull him away but Wei Wuxian is clutching Jiang Cheng’s body close, he’ll wake up, he has to wake up.

Wei Wuxian had taken his own core out to fit inside Jiang Cheng in another life. He can’t do that now, but he can... he can... He raises Chenqing to his lips, he’s sure he can get Jiang Cheng’s spirit back inside, where could he have gone, really?

But Chenqing is yanked from his grasp, hurled away, and Wei Wuxian looks up, betrayed, at Lan Zhan. “You don’t get it, I can fix this, he doesn’t have to die.”

“Wei Ying.” Strong arms wrap around him, tugging him back from running for his fallen flute.

“Let me go! Lan Zhan, trust me, I can save him, Jiang Cheng’s not dead, and even if he is, I can stop it.”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian stills for just one moment, one moment of complete and utter betrayal before he screams, wordless rage, before twisting in Lan Zhan’s hold, going straight for the points to break his hold, "Let me go, let me go, let me go.”

Perhaps with a different body, a different core, Wei Wuxian could have fought him and won. Right now, even rage isn’t enough to break Lan Zhan’s hold, though he tries, he tries, twisting and kicking and even bites, but Lan Zhan doesn’t even use the Lan silencing spell on him to make him stop, just takes it, and still doesn’t let go.

“Please,” says Wei Wuxian, slumping against him. “Please, please, please, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything, please just let me try, Lan Zhan you have to let me try.”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, and he sounds sorry, sounds broken, but he still means no.

Wei Wuxian breaks in his arms.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how long it takes before reinforcements arrive.

Barely remembers being helped onto Bichen, while the cultivators lift Jiang Cheng’s body on a litter to get back to Lotus Pier.

They’ll tell him later that he’d given instructions for the funeral, but he has no memory of it.

What is clear in his mind, is Jin Ling.

“Why are you preparing for a funeral? Wei Wuxian, bring him back!” he yells even as he runs up to him. Jin Ling is taller now, just an inch shy of Mo Xuanyu, but he looks like a child, “Why haven’t you brought him back yet? Does it take some time? If you need anything, then I can get-”

“No,” says Wei Wuxian.

“No?” repeats Jin Ling. “You’re saying you won’t. You just won’t.”

“Jiang Cheng would not want to be a fierce corpse,” Wei Wuxian says, “Jin Ling I’m so sorry,” but when he tries to put a hand on his shoulder, he’s shrugged off.

“You’re sorry,” says Jin Ling, voice strange. “If you’re sorry, then fix it. Bring him back.”

And Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan who had whispered to him again, and again, that Wei Wuxian should not; that Jiang Wanyin would despise being a fierce corpse, that he could not desecrate his memory that way.

“So it was you!” cries Jin Ling. “You’re the one who said he can’t. How does. So Sizhui gets to have his uncle brought back to life? Even though he's literally nobody, even though his family slaughtered my grandparents and the whole of Lotus Pier, and yet My Jiu-jiu isn't worth it?”

“Jiang Wanyin would not wish for such a fate, even if Wei Wuxian were able to reproduce his miraculous resurrection of Wen Qionglin,” says Lan Wangji. The words are unkind, but his voice is not. Lan Wangji has lost his parents. Has raised a child.

“You’re wrong! I knew him better than all of you! He wouldn’t leave me! Jiujiu would never!”

“Sect Leader Jin -”

“You didn't bring my mother back! Jiujiu said, after Xiaoshu died, said it was different, that you were half dead and out of your mind yourself! But you’re fine now! You just don't care, bring him back!”

Wei Wuxian can’t stop himself, he’s crying, but he chokes out, “Jin Ling. I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t. Get out. Get out of Lotus Pier, and don’t come back.”

“Sect Leader Jin, Wei Wuxian is Sect Leader Jiang’s brother-”

Zidian sparks on Jin Ling’s finger, making the Jiang disciple and Jin Ling start, and look down at the ring. What’s left of Jin Ling’s composure cracks visibly across his face, then shatters, and he has to press his hands to his mouth to stifle his sob.

He looks up at Wei Wuxian. “You’re not his brother. Not after. Just, leave,” he cries, then turns and runs.

Wei Wuxian stumbles backwards, then turns away.

Wei Wuxian is hiding beneath the pier. He doesn’t know if Jiang Cheng remade this part of the Pier the same way, or if it had survived the Wen. He doesn’t know, because he wasn’t around.

< A-Xian, don’t take his words to heart >

What? Who was? He feels a hand press gently down on his shoulder and turns to see Shijie’s kind, gentle face.

“Shijie!”

<Shh, A-Xian be quiet> Her fingers reach out to silence him. <You’re hiding, remember?>

He nods, blinking, unable to understand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Shijie your A-Xian is so incredibly sorry, I let Jiang Cheng, and Jin Zixuan-”

<Hush now. Let your Shijie look at you.> Careful fingers brush his hair back, and he can’t hold back tears, though he does hold his tongue. <My A-Xian should live well. But if he wants, he can also. He can also save our A-Cheng.>

“I don’t know how,” he cries. “Wen Ning was just. I don’t know how, can’t, and Jin Ling thinks-”

Close his eyes? And look away from her? He stares at her sweet, beloved face for just a moment longer, before shutting his eyes tightly.

He feels soft lips press against his forehead.

Like a blessing.

0 notes