#Jin ling is right there yes but he’s growing up jiang cheng needs a toddler at his feet to piss him off/ unconditionally love him

[sanduchengjiu]

Instead of giving jiang cheng a wife to fix him i wanna give him a daughter akin to gu xiang. I feel like being a girldad would transform his life he’s literally built for it.

[sincerelystranger]

Author: Basically this is like step 2 in rebuilding the Lotus Brothers’ relationship.

—-

Jiang Cheng is not jealous. He is the Yunmeng Jiang Sect leader – very rich and very handsome – and he’s not jealous. He doesn’t even know what jealousy feels like actually. Never felt it before.

He’s just a bit… disappointed. Yeah, he’s disappointed.

He’s raised Jin Ling for 16 years! Given him everything under the sun. Changed his diapers for him when he was a baby! So it’s totally reasonable that he’s just a tiny (tiny) bit disappointed that Jin Ling seems to have tossed him to the side for his newly alive uncle, Wei Wuxian.

Jiang Cheng should have expected it, he guesses, irritation bubbling in his stomach. Everyone always seemed to like that insufferable idiot more than Jiang Cheng… Whatever, Jiang Cheng doesn’t care.

He had just expected that his nephew might show him some loyalty…

Whatever, he’s not jealous. Wei Wuxian can have Jin Ling if he wants! Good riddance, actually! Jiang Cheng will probably have so much more free time now that he doesn’t have to run to Koi Tower every time Jin Ling is upset. Wei Wuxian can deal with Jin Ling’s temper tantrums now. See how he likes that! Good riddance.

Yes, so Jiang Cheng is totally not jealous and he’s totally not eavesdropping right now. He just happened to be sitting right outside of the room that Wei Wuxian is occupying during his stay at Koi Tower. He hadn’t known it was Wei Wuxian’s room! He just wanted to rest his legs for a little bit. And it was a total coincidence that Jin Ling was in there, chattering away. (Jin Ling never talked this much when he was with Jiang Cheng…)

“Were you always scared of dogs?” Jin Ling asks, “Can’t you get over it? It’s annoying to make Fairy hide every time you visit.”

(Fairy doesn’t have to hide when Jiang Cheng visits.)

“Can’t you just get rid of that evil creature?” Wei Wuxian replies petulantly, “I can’t even go outside for a piss because I’m scared I’ll run into that demon.”

“Fairy’s not a demon!” Jin Ling says indignantly, “She’s saved my life a bunch of times. If she was a cultivator, she’d probably be an immortal by now.”

“Well I’ll do all your life saving from now on, so go on, get rid of that demon for your poor uncle Wei Wuxian.”

“You’re so annoying,” Jin Ling sighs. (The most annoying! Jiang Cheng agrees silently.) “It’s a wonder uncle didn’t murder you growing up.” (Yes! Is Jin Ling finally seeing the light?)

Wei Wuxian, infuriatingly enough, laughs at that. “I was too fun for Jiang Cheng to want to murder me. Besides, if he had murdered me, your mother would have been upset and Jiang Cheng would never risk upsetting your mother.”

(That was true. There used to be nothing worse than upsetting shijie)

“I can’t imagine my mother liking you that much,” Jin Ling replies cuttingly.

Wei Wuxian laughs again. “She was a saint,” he says, “Too good to have been cursed with brothers such as me and Jiang Cheng.”

“Was she really as kind as you say?” Jin Ling asks suspiciously, “I can only imagine her being like a girl version of uncle.”

“To be honest, she was probably even kinder than what I remember,” Wei Wuxian says, something wistful in his voice that makes Jiang Cheng’s chest ache. “The girl version of Jiang Cheng was actually your grandmother – Madam Yu.”

“Really?” Jin Ling asks. (Why didn’t Jin Ling ever ask Jiang Cheng these sort of questions?) “What was she like? Was she as scary as uncle?”

“Scarier,” Wei Wuxian answers easily. “She’s probably the scariest woman I’ve ever and will ever meet in my life – in both lives actually!”

(His mother was the scariest woman Jiang Cheng had and probably ever will meet as well)

“Scarier than uncle, huh?” Jin Ling says, something like awe in his voice. “How did you survive her?”

“What do you mean survive? She was kind to me,” Wei Wuxian says to Jiang Cheng’s surprise.

(Kind? Kind? His mother had been a lot of things – powerful, ruthless, intelligent – but kind? Even as her son, he had known that his mother was not kind. His mother had a soft side to her, yes, but he had never seen her show it to Wei Wuxian. Was Wei Wuxian… sparing her memory for her grandson? Did Wei Wuxian have that kind of forethought?)

“Was she really kind, or are you just saying that because that’s what all orphans are required to say?” Jin Ling asks, again to Jiang Cheng’s surprise. (What was Jin Ling talking about? Orphan? Hadn’t Jiang Cheng taken care of him? Wei Wuxian had also been adopted – he hadn’t really grown up an orphan, had he?)

“What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian asks.

(Yes, what does he mean, Jiang Cheng wonders.)

“Oh, you know,” Jin Ling answers flippantly, “Like Jin Chan’s mom is a horrible, horrible lady, but since she’s my aunt and she let me live in her house when I was younger, whenever someone asks, I have to sound super thankful or they’ll say I’m ungrateful and curse my parents.”

Anger, hot and deep, boils inside of Jiang Cheng at Jin Ling’s words. How was this the first time he heard of this? He had been so grateful to Madam Yang for taking in Jin Ling when he was just a toddler – she had said that it was no trouble since her son was of similar age! Had she mistreated Jin Ling behind Jiang Cheng’s back? Had Jin Guangyao known about this? Why hadn’t Jin Ling told Jiang Cheng before?

“Jin Ling!” Wei Wuxian says, something dangerous in his voice. “Did Jin Chan’s mother treat you poorly? Did you tell Jiang Cheng about this?”

“She didn’t like… beat me or anything!” Jin Ling backtracks hesitantly, as if unsure why Wei Wuxian is upset. “Isn’t it expected that she doesn’t like me? I mean, I’m always going to have a higher standing than her son and I’ve always been a better cultivator than Jin Chan. Second-uncle used to say that she was just jealous.”

“She didn’t beat you, but what did she do?” Wei Wuxian asks darkly. Jiang Cheng has a feeling that Madam Yang will receive a visit soon – he wonders if he should stop Wei Wuxian or join him. Murdering the wife of a high ranking Jin sect member probably wouldn’t be viewed kindly upon…

“It’s not a big deal!” Jin Ling mutters childishly, “She’s a just a mean lady and she never stopped Jin Chan from beating on me with his friends, and she never let me eat at the same table as them, and she made me kneel outside a lot to ‘reflect.’”

Jiang Cheng will definitely join Wei Wuxian to visit Madam Yang. Anger and guilt are boiling in his veins, threatening to explode out of him. His fists are clenched so tightly that they’re shaking.

“Jin Guangyao knew this and he did nothing?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice climbing higher with every syllable, “Does Jiang Cheng know about this?”

“He didn’t do nothing!” Jin Ling defends hotly (Jiang Cheng can’t fault him for defending that snake. He can… understand what it is like to love someone who everyone else has declared a villain). “He gave me Fairy – and she put a stop to Jin Chan’s antics. Besides, I never wanted to eat with her and stupid Jin Chan anyway so that worked out. And why would I tell uncle?”

“You told Jin Guangyao but you didn’t tell Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks incredulously.

“No, I didn’t tell second-uncle either! He just found out somehow – you know how he is – was! He just… knew everything all the time.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Wei Wuxian asks, “Jiang Cheng definitely would have taken you back to Lotus Pier! You didn’t have to suffer like that!”

“Oh stop being dramatic,” Jin Ling huffs, “I didn’t suffer. It wasn’t anything worth troubling uncle over.”

(There’s nothing too small, Jiang Cheng thinks hotly. He wishes now that he had gone into the room instead of listening outside in secret. But would Jin Ling have even said these things if Jiang Cheng had been in there?)

“Oh, Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian sighs, “promise me that you’ll let me know if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way. Promise me.”

“I don’t need you to coddle me,” Jin Ling snorts, “I’m the youngest sect leader – I get plenty of bad looks. If I reported every single one to you, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

“Promise me,” Wei Wuxian repeats, “promise me or I’ll make a scene. I’ll take all my clothes off and run around Koi Tower in tears, yelling the whole time. You know I will.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jin Ling groans, “I thought you’d be less protective than uncle Jiang, but you’re somehow worse.”

“Whatever Jiang Cheng can do, I can do better,” Wei Wuxian answers solemnly, “except scowl. He’s got it over me on the scowling.”

“Yeah, no one can out-scowl uncle,” Jin Ling agrees (to Jiang Cheng’s ever growing irritation), “Anyway, you never answered my question. What kind of ‘kind’ was grandmother?”

“Really kind,” Wei Wuxian answers.

He’s lying, Jiang Cheng knows. He’s horrified to know that Wei Wuxian is lying – lying to save face for a woman who hated him. Someone who beat him regularly. How many times has Wei Wuxian had to say this lie, Jiang Cheng wonders faintly. How many times had Jin Ling lied to him?

Was this why Jin Ling kept seeking Wei Wuxian out? To speak this language of orphans that Jiang Cheng didn’t understand?

“Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang were kinder to me than I deserved.”

“You’re lying,” Jin Ling says plainly, “Grandmother must have been really horrible for you to lie so much.”

“I’m not lying!” Wei Wuxian lies again.

“You are!”

“Am not!”

“You are!”

“I’m not!” Wei Wuxian says exasperatedly, “Uncle and Madam Yu really were very kind – your grandparents were very kind people.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jin Ling says, “I’ll believe that about grandfather, but I know you’re lying about grandmother.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you call grandfather uncle and grandmother ‘Madam Yu,’” Jin Ling answers matter-of-factly. “Besides, you said she was the female version of uncle – and uncle is great and all, but he’s barely nice to me, and he loves me! She must have been absolutely horrible to you.”

“She wasn’t horrible,” Wei Wuxian defends weakly, “She treated me fairly.”

Guilt and anger – two feelings Jiang Cheng is becoming intimately acquainted with during this eavesdropping mission. He remembers all those times he watched Wei Wuxian get punished. Punished for… being better than Jiang Cheng mostly. A better cultivator, a better swordsmith, a better archer – and Jiang Cheng had been helpless then. Helpless against his mother’s anger, her jealousy. He loved his mother – loves her still – but… it’s horrible, remembering the things she had done to Wei Wuxian. It’s one of the reasons Jiang Cheng can never find it in himself to raise a hand against Jin Ling. He’s never seen physical punishment used fairly.

“Sure,” Jin Ling says disbelievingly.

Wei Wuxian laughs at that, and Jiang Cheng can’t understand it. Why does that idiot laugh at everything? Does he think laughter will brush everything away? Every whiplash, every beating, every harsh word? There’s no way that Wei Wuxian has forgotten his mother’s cruelty – there’s no way that those memories could ever be something worth laughter. Jiang Cheng had only watched and even he can’t forget.

“Oh, Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian says fondly, “I was just a kid on the streets – your grandmother had no reason to let me stay, but she did, and I’ll always be grateful for that. Thanks to her, I got your mother, I got Jiang Cheng, and now I have you.”

Jiang Cheng has to leave then. Can’t bear to listen to any more of this horrid conversation.

He’s always known Wei Wuxian was stupid, but it’s… jarring to realize just how stupid he is.

Grateful, he says. Grateful. What an idiot.

----

Later that evening, Jin Ling eats dinner with Jiang Cheng in the room he uses whenever he comes to Koi Tower.

“Where’s Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asks, trying not to sound too interested.

“He’s probably in his room,” Jin Ling answers, his mouth full of food. It’s gross and Jiang Cheng definitely didn’t raise him like that. “I told him to join us but he said he didn’t want to risk being murdered over dinner.”

Jiang Cheng snorts at that. He wouldn’t murder Wei Wuxian in front of Jin Ling.

“You should try to get along with him,” Jin Ling continues, shoving more food into his mouth. “He’s not that bad once you get used to him.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng huffs. He doesn’t need to hear that from Jin Ling – he doesn’t need to hear that from anyone! He knows better than anyone that Wei Wuxian can be… tolerable at times. “Also, don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s disgusting.”

Jin Ling pouts (is he really the Sect leader?) but dutifully swallows his food before talking again. “You’re so annoying, uncle,” the impudent little punk says, “I know you actually want to get along with him but you’re probably embarrassed or something. You shouldn’t be embarrassed, he’s really easy, you know.”

“Keep talking and I’m going to break your legs,” Jiang Cheng growls. He knows, he wants to say. He knows better than anyone how easy Wei Wuxian is. He can’t remember Wei Wuxian ever getting mad at him. Can’t ever remember a time Wei Wuxian wasn’t smiling. He’d always been so easy to please – so quick to forgive. A word from shijie, a gentle shove from Jiang Cheng, or a swim in the lake, and he’d be back to the annoying smiley idiot he always was.

Jiang Cheng knows better than anyone that he holds all the tools to decide whether the relationship between him and Wei Wuxian gets rebuilt.  

But the thing is that… he’s never been the one who’s had to reach out first.

It was always Wei Wuxian who chased after him. Always Wei Wuxian who apologized. Always Wei Wuixian who soothed Jiang Cheng’s hurt feelings, his hurt pride.

Maybe Jiang Cheng had taken it for granted all this time, but somehow he was still waiting for Wei Wuxian to reach out to him first. There’s also a horrible thought in his mind that tells him that Wei Wuxian isn’t reaching out because, actually, he doesn’t want to. What if Wei Wuxian doesn’t want anything to do with Jiang Cheng after all? It’s a childish and humiliating realization – even to admit to himself.

“Tomorrow,” he says as naturally as possible, “We’ll have breakfast in Wei Wuxian’s room, tomorrow. I will not murder him.” Great. That was natural, right? Totally natural.

Jiang Cheng thinks he hears Jin Ling snort into his bowl of rice.

“I think I should make that a rule,” Jin Ling says, “No murdering of uncles at Koi Tower.”

“Is it murder if I’m just defending you from all his nonsense?” Jiang Cheng asks seriously.

“I can defend myself just fine, uncle,” Jin Ling answers, rolling his eyes. Where had he learned all this rudeness? Probably Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng never rolled his eyes like that.

Maybe he’ll tell Wei Wuxian to stop teaching Jin Ling all these rude things tomorrow at breakfast. He feels a little… nervous. What will he say? What if Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling just talk together and leave him out? What if Wei Wuxian says something stupid and Jiang Cheng can’t contain his anger and says something mean? Ugh… breakfast tomorrow was a bad idea. He’s already regretting it.

“No take backs on breakfast,” Jin Ling says, as if he can read Jiang Cheng’s mind.

“I said what I said,” Jiang Cheng replies hotly, “A man never goes back on his word.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jin Ling snorts.

Impudent little ingrate!

They finish dinner and Jin Ling hangs out for a bit. Brings Fairy into Jiang Cheng’s room and shows Jiang Cheng all the new tricks he’s taught her since Jiang Cheng last visited.

Jiang Cheng watches all the tricks dutifully. Jin Ling obviously worked at them, after all. But his mind does drift a little. Wonders why Jin Ling speaks about such… serious things with Wei Wuxian but not with Jiang Cheng. Did he not think Jiang Cheng was a good listener?

Jiang Cheng clears his throat after Fairy’s last trick. “Um, great job,” he says naturally. Super naturally. “Uh, Jin Ling… If you ever have anything you want to talk about with me… you… can.” Great job. Totally natural.

Jin Ling stares at him strangely for a couple of seconds.

Jiang Cheng stares back, feeling prickles of embarrassment making their way up his spine.

“What would I have to tell you?” Jin Ling says finally, tilting his head just a little. He looks like a toddler again like that, his soft cheeks looking even softer in the candlelight.

“Just… anything…” Jiang Cheng answers. “Anything that might be bothering you.”

“Well…” Jin Ling says slowly, “there’s one thing…”

Finally! Real bonding time with Jin Ling. Take that, Wei Wuxian!

“Why is Wei Wuxian so scared of dogs? I want to show him all of Fairy’s tricks too, and it’s annoying that I have to hide Fairy away every time he comes over. Do you think I could, like, train him out of his fear of dogs?”

Jiang Cheng feels the blood vessel in his forehead fill with blood.

“Nevermind,” he says, waving at Jin Ling to get out of his room. “I take back what I said. Don’t tell me anything. Get out before I break your legs.”

“I thought men didn’t go back on their word!” Jin Ling says cheekily, sticking his tongue out at Jiang Cheng before running out of the room. Fucking brat.

Wei Wuxian can have him.

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: chapter 16

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(on ao3)

The first time he sees Lan Wangji after the siege of the Burial Mounds is at a discussion conference in Lanling, two months after Jin Guangshan’s death. Jiang Cheng arrives early, as is his wont, to steal a few hours with his family before he has to settle into politics. Jin Ling is at that age where he devours stories and eagerly drags Jiang Cheng into play-fighting with him, and a-Mu is just old enough to run after him, wailing at him to play with her. He ropes them both into using jie’s garden as an obstacle course, naming different flowers as bases to balance on one foot or roll a ball to Jiang Cheng, who acts as the judge and timer. Jie and Jin Zixuan sit together on a bench under a plum tree, watching with matching looks of amusement. Fatherhood has mellowed Jin Zixuan — or maybe that’s the blow his arrogance took when he lost much of his cultivation. He holds jie’s hand as carefully as a peony blossom and watches his children race around like living blessings. “Are you trying to set a record for the earliest golden core formation with our kids?” he asks at one point. Bracing his hands on his hips, Jiang Cheng scoffs. It’s true that this game is based on the earliest training they give to initiates, but they won’t start their actual training till they’re ten at least. “They have Jiang and Jin blood,” he points out instead. “They don’t need any help.”

Jie shakes her head a little, but there’s a smile on her lips. 

“Jiujiu, I’m tired,” Jin Ling complains, running over to collapse against Jiang Cheng’s leg. A-Mu stomps after him, her hair a wild cloud around her head. Snorting, Jiang Cheng tousles Jin Ling’s hair to match and crouches down to scoop up a-Mu before she flops back down in the dirt again. “Are you going to be good and nap for your a-niang, then?” he asks. Jin Ling nods vigorously, his dark eyes big and wide in his face. Satisfied, Jiang Cheng offers his hand and tries not to preen when Jin Ling still clutches hold of him. It’s ridiculous to be thrilled by having his nephew like him. That doesn’t stop warm delight from blooming in his chest as he leads them back to their parents. “Oh, a-Mu,” jie laughs, covering her lips with a hand at the sight. Scowling, a-Mu tucks her face into Jiang Cheng’s collar as if that can hide the mess she’s made of herself. Jin Zixuan sighs, looking briefly exhausted. “I don’t imagine Sandu Shengshou will be washing all that off of her,” he remarks. “No bath!” a-Mu yells, full-throated, into Jiang Cheng’s ear.

Jiang Cheng winces but still passes his niece over to her father. He’s not sure if the Lans’ musical cultivation includes voice cultivation, but he thinks she might be a strong contender for it if it does. “No bath!” she shrieks again, flailing a little in Jin Zixuan’s arms. “Jin Mu, behave,” he warns, leaning back from her little fists. Unsurprisingly, his authority doesn’t seem to extend to a toddler. Still holding onto Jiang Cheng’s hand, Jin Ling frowns. “A-Mu,” he says gently, “a-Mu, be nice to a-die. No hitting.” She scowls, mouth trembling, and Jiang Cheng braces himself for the screaming to begin. As fussy as Jin Ling was as a baby, he has nothing on a-Mu: the girl could outscream a typhoon. “Here, a-Xuan, I’ll take her to clean up and rest,” jie says, holding out her arms. For a moment, Jin Zixuan looks like he’ll agree, but instead he shakes his head and adjusts a-Mu so he can stand. A-Mu fists one hand in the fine gold silk of his outer robe, her face still flushed and moments from tears. “I won’t be much help during the conference,” Jin Zixuan says by way of explanation. “I can take on bath time now.” Jiang Cheng flinches preemptively, and sure enough, at the word ‘bath,’ a-Mu leans back and starts wailing. Fat tears puddle up and drip down her chubby cheeks, and her shrieking scream pierces his ears. Jin Zixuan grimaces but just holds her a little more securely before starting toward their rooms. He still walks with a slight limp, his left leg a little slower than his right. Turning his gaze down to Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng gives his little hand a squeeze. “What about you, a-Ling?” he asks. “Are you going to be good while your die and jiujiu are busy?” “Yes, jiujiu!” he chirps. “A-Ling will be really good for a-niang. I’ll make sure a-Mu is good, too.” “Good luck,” Jiang Cheng snorts, and earns himself a scolding look from jie. They walk together back to Jin Zixuan and jie’s portion of the tower, Jin Ling holding one of each their hands. He hums a little to himself, content to bounce between them while they talk over his head. “I’m sorry we haven’t been to visit recently,” jie says. “Jin-furen has been unwell since Jin-zongzhu passed, and Jin Zixuan worries over her. Seeing little a-Ling and a-Mu seems to help.” Jiang Cheng shakes his head to brush off the apology, even as part of him warms at it. He’s always known his sister would leave Lotus Pier and build a new family here in Carp Tower. It’s still nice to here that she hasn’t stayed away by choice. “I could ask Wen Qing if she’d be willing to visit,” he offers. Jie hesitates, pressing her lips thin. “I hate to mistrust family,” she says, “but…” But they both remember Jin Guangshan’s eagerness to cut down any living Wens. The way he’d nearly screamed at Nie Mingjue when the younger sect leader declared Wen Qing was to remain in his custody. Even with him gone, there’s still a sense of unease that follows him here, the watchful weight of hidden eyes. “Anyway, she seems to have settled in so well at Lotus Pier,” jie says. “I’d hate to disrupt that.” “She has become a fixture among the physicians,” Jiang Cheng acknowledges. “Xiong-daifu is very fond of her, and they’ve started making changes to the subdistrict physicians’ practices.” “A-Cheng,” jie says with laughter tucked in the corners of her smile, “I don’t just mean with the physicians.” He frowns, meeting her eye. Wen Qing has seemed to settle in at Lotus Pier all around, but as a doctor, her focus has remained with the medical staff. Their dinner conversations no longer remain solely focused on work — he’s a little embarrassed how often he finds himself telling her stories of growing up in Lotus Pier instead — but he’s always pleased to hear the way she’s further pushing Yunmeng Jiang’s medicine. “A-Cheng, do you really not know?” jie asks, and now her laughter slips through so that she covers her lips, eyes bright with amusement. “Oh, didi, you’ll figure it out.” He’s a little miffed, but it’s hard to be annoyed in the face of a-jie’s pearl-like laughter. He huffs and looks away. By the time the rest of the sects arrive, he still hasn’t figured out what a-jie means, and so he pushes it to the side to focus on the leaders being announced. As the first arrival and given their family ties to the Jin, the Jiang are announced first, and he watches from the side of the hall as the Nie and then Lan are announced. These conferences have followed the same pattern in and out since the war. They’re almost always hosted in Lanling, and the same representatives seem to come from each sect. This time, Jiang Cheng is startled to see a familiar shadow at Lan Xichen’s shoulder. It’s been four years since he last saw Lan Wangji; he’d half-expected the man to remain in seclusion for the rest of his life. Instead, he walks with his chin lifted and gold eyes cold, wrapped in tight white robes. There is no blue in all that white, nothing to soften the sharp armor of grief. Something tangled rises up in Jiang Cheng’s chest and then subsides: grief like old blood, a sharp sting of jealousy that he can so brazenly wear his mourning. A weary understanding. Jie’s words come back to him from nearly two years ago now, and he resolves to speak with Lan Wangji when it’s possible. They were the only two there at the end, the only two who know what really happened. It’s easier to hurt when there’s someone who understands, he thinks. He doesn’t know how he would have gotten through these years without a-jie, Bujue — even Wen Qing. He thinks of Qian Xiashui and shivers away from that bloody spectre. At least he can offer solidarity, if Lan Wangji is willing to take it. They could return to that strange alliance they once held, where they weren’t really friends but would sit by the fire at night and accidentally say the things they couldn’t tell anyone else. By the end of those three months, they’d been nearly fluent in each other’s stiff silences. After this many years, perhaps they could build from there. They finish with all the proper greeting ceremonies, and then Nie Huaisang is at Jiang Cheng’s arm, and he loses sight of Lan Wangji. “Jiang-xiong, it’s been so boring lately,” Nie Huaisang complains. “You hardly visit anymore. What am I supposed to do?” “Practice with your saber?” Jiang Cheng suggests. Nie Huaisang pouts up at him, a look that is devastatingly effective coming from Jin Ling and absolutely revolting coming from a grown man. “Knock it off,” he scolds. “Anyway, did you ever find out more about the attacks?” He doesn’t specify which ones. He doesn’t need to; Nie Huaisang’s lips twist in something approaching genuine frustration, and he peels back with exaggerated disappointment. “Jiang-xiong, aren’t you asking a lot of me?” he whines. “Everyone knows I’m useless.” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer that. He believes Nie Huaisang is useless at wielding a saber or taking on even Jiang Cheng’s junior disciples, but he’s spent too much time around him to fully buy into the façade of flighty helplessness Nie Huaisang affects. “Whatever,” he says. “Let me know if you do find something out.” He dislodges Nie Huaisang and starts across the hall to where he spies a frosty pillar of white. “Jiang-xiong, where are you going?” Nie Huaisang gripes. “To greet Hanguang-jun,” he snaps. There’s a pause behind him, a hitch in Nie Huaisang’s walk. “Ah, Jiang-xiong, I—” he starts, but Jiang Cheng has already pulled away enough to make it to Lan Wangji unimpeded. He stops before him and offers a polite salute. “Hanguang-jun,” he greets, “I’m glad to see you here. Zewu-jun had told me of your seclusion.” Lan Wangji lifts his chin fractionally, just enough to direct his gaze above and to the left of Jiang Cheng’s face. Startled, Jiang Cheng stares. He hesitates, jaw working, before swallowing down some measure of pride and speaking honestly. “In truth, I had hoped to speak with you,” he admits. A flash of something sharp and vicious flashes across Lan Wangji’s face, and his gilt eyes shoot to Jiang Cheng. Rage burns in them, a wrath so overwhelming Jiang Cheng half-expects his heart to stop from the force of it. “Ah, Jiang-xiong, Lan-er-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang greets abruptly, clutching onto Jiang Cheng’s sleeve. “I’m so glad I caught up to you. Lan-er-gongzi, er-ge asked for you to speak with him and da-ge.” Lifting his chin, Lan Wangji steps neatly around them and walks away in silence. Jiang Cheng stares after, struck dumb with confusion and hurt. Nie Huaisang tugs on his sleeve, subtly yanking him out of the hall. He turns on him the moment they’ve crossed the threshold. “What was that?” he demands. Nie Huaisang at least has the grace to look sheepish as he releases Jiang Cheng’s sleeve. He takes a step away and flicks out his fan to shift the heavy air around them. “I did try to warn you,” he says. He glances up at Jiang Cheng. “I think it might be best if you don’t try to speak with Lan Wangji right now.” “What the— what have I done?” he demands. “I haven’t even seen him since the Burial Mounds.” The fan waves once, twice, as Nie Huaisang doesn’t meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “Well,” he says, “yes. You know what they say about the siege.” Recoiling, Jiang Cheng stares at him. Of course he knows what they say. He’s heard it a hundred thousand times: how Sandu Shengshou struck down his villainous shixiong and saved the cultivation world from the evil Yiling laozu, but— “But Lan Wangji was there,” he retorts. “He was—” Oh. Lan Wangji was there. At the end, he was the only one around who could have seen Jiang Cheng step forward with Sandu bared, the only one close enough to see him sink the blade into Wei Wuxian’s gut. Understanding dawns in horrifying light, and he takes a half-step back, shaking his head. “No, he wouldn’t,” he mutters. “He can’t believe—” Surely not. Lan Wangji has his own brother — would he ever turn on Lan Xichen if there were any other choice? He has to understand, somehow, that Jiang Cheng would never have killed Wei Wuxian if he’d had another option. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t meant to. He’d been trying to save Wei Wuxian, to stop him from doing something unforgivable. Lan Wangji has to understand. But. But Lan Wangji has never really cared for Jiang Cheng. Even in those three months where they were almost friends, it wasn’t for Jiang Cheng’s sake. They hadn’t bonded over their grief, then. They’d both been desperately searching for any sign of Wei Wuxian, any hope that he was still alive. They were arrows shot in parallel, not friends. And Jiang Cheng had killed Wei Wuxian. Whatever excuses he comes up with, that blood is still too-fresh on his hands. Touching a hand to Sandu’s blade, he can replay the memory in perfect detail. Can he really blame Lan Wangji for his anger? “Maybe just give him some time, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says, a little pityingly. Time. Right. Jiang Cheng straightens and looks away. If Lan Wangji really did just leave seclusion, he’s probably still adjusting to being in society again. Maybe there will be time later, in the future when the hurts aren’t so raw. He can wait. He’ll figure something out. This is a mountain he can climb, and if he can’t, it’s not like it really matters. For the rest of the discussion conference, he doesn’t approach Lan Wangji and he tells himself he doesn’t hurt. He can wait till Lan Wangji has calmed down and can talk civilly, and if that never comes, then he will move on. He’s only doing it to honor jie’s request after all, and maybe a little for Wei Wuxian’s memory. In the end, he only waits another month. He’s knee-deep in the lake, working with the older junior class, when he sees a lanky disciple come racing toward them. Raising a hand to pause the juniors while he’s distracted, he squints and finally recognizes the disciple as Ren Yinliu, the initiate who struggled with her letters at the start. She’s grown up in the last few years, turned tall and gawky and not quite sure of her limbs. Now, she nearly trips off the end of the pier as she hurries to stop and salute him. Drawing in a deep breath, he does not laugh or sigh. She’ll get there. Eventually. Hopefully before she actually trips over her sword in a night hunt. “Jiang-zongzhu, the second young master of Gusu Lan is here to see you,” she announces. Jiang Cheng frowns, arms crossing over his chest. Lan Wangji? He racks his brain for any memory of a request or announcement from Gusu Lan that their highest ranked disciple would be visiting and comes up empty-handed. “See him to the receiving hall,” he says absently, wading out of the waters. “Third Class, join the second class in the archery range.” A chorus of bows and ‘yes zongzhu’ sing after him as he unties his skirts and winces at the cool slick of sodden fabric against his skirts. He sets off for his own chambers, Yinliu scurrying ahead of him to get back to the main gate. He changes quickly, trading his plainer teaching robes for the more formal violets and blacks suited to politics. After their last disastrous encounter, he’s not willing to give Lan Wangji any extra opportunity to feel enraged or slighted. Dressed, he draws in a deep breath and steadies himself. Lan Wangji is waiting, perfectly composed, when he arrives. He stands still and straight as a young mountain, draped in all that brittle snow-white still. “Hanguang-jun,” Jiang Cheng greets. “I wasn’t expecting you.” One of the juniors has already been sent off to get tea from the kitchens, the mild kind they keep for visits from Gusu Lan. “Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Wangji greets stiffly, his bow precisely polite. Jiang Cheng waits a moment for some explanation, but none comes. He raises an eyebrow and resists the urge to fidget. “How can Yunmeng Jiang help you?” he asks finally. Lan Wangji’s lips thin ever so slightly, the faintest suggestion of tension. “They said you looked,” he says. “After.” Jiang Cheng blinks. Lifting his chin, Lan Wangji looks just over Jiang Cheng’s right shoulder. “For his body,” he clarifies. Oh. His stomach flips and then sinks. “Lan Wangji, there was nothing,” he says honestly. “The resentful energy — it destroyed him.” The only pieces of Wei Wuxian that had been left had been the blood spatter and bone shards Jiang Cheng combed out of his own hair. He’d thrown up until his throat burned, sobbing out bile and tears at the same time. “You were there,” Jiang Cheng tries. “You saw what it was like, in the end.” At last, Lan Wangji levels his eyes on Jiang Cheng. There is cold anger in the slant of his gaze. “I was there,” he affirms. “I saw you stab Wei Ying and kill him.” “I—” Jiang Cheng stops short. ‘I didn’t kill him’? He did. The resentment might be to blame for leaving them with no body to bury, but Jiang Cheng’s the one who killed him. “I wasn’t— He was my brother,” he protests. If anything, Lan Wangji’s expression turns colder, glacial, implacable. “Yes,” he agrees. “He was your brother. Your brother who gave you his own core, and you thanked him by killing him.” Silence hits the hall like a killing blow. Jiang Cheng stares at him, hand going slack around Sandu. His core? Wei Wuxian lost his core, he was caught by Wen Zhuliu back— “What,” he manages to grit out, “do you mean he gave me his core?” Frost crawls up his skin, turns his blood sluggish in his veins. Lan Wangji blinks at last, the slightest furrow appearing between his brows. “You didn’t know,” he says. “Lan Wangji, what the fuck are you talking about,” Jiang Cheng demands. His feet are rooted to the spot. Wei Wuxian lost his core to Wen Zhuliu. It’s not possible to give a golden core away. It’s not possible, it’s not— I know how to save you. “No,” he breathes. Lan Wangji’s lips part, the first hint of uncertainty flickering over his stupid, placid face. Anger flares up white-hot and snarling through Jiang Cheng. Of course. Of course Wei Wuxian would tell Lan Wangji, his Lan Zhan, this. Of course he would — he couldn’t trust Jiang Cheng with such an intimate secret about Jiang Cheng himself, but Lan Wangji? When had there ever been boundaries between Wei Wuxian and his beloved Hanguang-jun? He doesn’t realize he’s crossed the floor until Lan Wangji takes a step back, out of his reach. “Did he tell you? Did he fucking tell you, Lan Wangji?” he demands. “Have you been laughing at me all this while? Is that why you’ve always looked down on me? Because he told you when he couldn’t even tell me, his brother!” Lan Wangji’s lip twitches, a too-human reaction. “I never needed that to look down on you, Jiang Wanyin,” he says evenly. “Even with his core, you could never match him.” He throws the punch before he’s thought, but even in this, he falls short. Lan Wangji steps neatly to the side and Jiang Cheng stumbles with the force of his blow. “Get the fuck out,” he snarls, hands shaking. “Get the fuck out and never come back here, Lan Wangji. You hear me? You never step a foot in Lotus Pier again.” He doesn’t look at him, only sees him leave from his periphery. His whole body is trembling, a hundred thousand earthquakes shivering through his frame. Jiang Cheng, this is your only chance. Jie had told him about Song Lan, about how Baoshan Sanren had saved his sight. When he’d seen the rogue cultivator standing before them, perfectly healed, his heart had soared with elation that this would work, that Wei Wuxian had found a way to fix him. He had been so desperate to believe. It’s simple arithmetic. Jiang Cheng lost his core. Wei Wuxian promised a way to fix it. Three months later, Jiang Cheng had a golden core thrumming in his center with a strength that startled him, and Wei Wuxian stood hollowed and carved out. He can hear the laughter ringing in his ears, Wei Wuxian’s peals of amusement that Jiang Cheng couldn’t figure it out on his own. He’s an idiot. A fool. The embarrassment Mother always said he was. His steps carry him through Lotus Pier, past disciples and servants, unseeing. He stops only when he is before the sword rack in the ancestral shrine, his hands around Suibian’s wooden sheath. He’d seen the Jin disciples try to unsheathe it. He’d seen it stay stubbornly sealed. He curls his hand around the handle and tugs. The spring before they went to the Gusu lecture, he and Wei Wuxian had gone on a night hunt that went terribly wrong from their very first step. The yao turned out to be a demon, and when it lunged for Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian had pushed him out of the way and gotten his own neck caught in the demon’s claws. He’d clenched his jaw and yelled at Jiang Cheng to kill it, to not worry about him, even as he clutched at the gaping gash through his chest. At the time, Jiang Cheng had thought dying was the worst thing his brother could ever do for him. Now, holding Suibian across his palms, he knows better. “Zongzhu?” Bujue asks from the doorway. Jiang Cheng hears his footsteps first, then the hitch of his breath as he sees Jiang Cheng and Suibian’s bared blade.

“Where is Wen Qing?” he demands. “I — I think she’s in the infirmary,” Bujue says. “Zongzhu, the blade — Suibian was sealed. Does that mean—” He can’t take the rest of that sentence. Turning on his heel, Jiang Cheng shoves past Bujue and stalks out across Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian is dead. His loyal, obedient sword hasn’t unsealed itself. It was never sealed to Jiang Cheng at all. Wen Qing has her back to the door when he enters, and her eyes widen as she turns around. “Is it true?” he demands, shoving Suibian at her. “Did you tear out my brother’s golden core and give it to me?” Swallowing, she sets down the case of needles in her hand and stands straight before him. Her chin’s lifted just-so, just like Lan Wangji’s frost-edged judgment. “Yes,” she says. Her simple affirmation sends him swaying. He’s known since Lan Wangji said it, should have known years ago, but this honest confirmation takes his legs out from under him. “How could you?” he demands. “How could you do that to him? He was your friend. You — you — you lied to all of us.” Her hands are folded neatly at her waist, fingers so tight around each other her knuckles have blanched. “I tried to dissuade him,” she says. “He begged me to do it.” It would be easier if she said she forced him to do it, if she tortured him and gave him no choice. It would hurt less if Wei Wuxian hadn’t chosen this. It would be a lie. “Why?” Jiang Cheng says and hates the way his voice shakes. “Why did you do it?” She holds his gaze stubbornly, a spark lighting in their depths. When she speaks, her voice comes out unwavering. “Because you were going to die,” she says, “and no one could do it but me.” He’s not sure who moves first. He’s not sure how Sandu and Suibian wind up on the table beside them and not on the floor at their feet. He’s never kissed anyone before; when he was fourteen, a village girl pecked his cheek as a thank you for saving her from a ghost, and he’s never gotten closer than that. It’s clumsy, messy. Their teeth click, Wen Qing bites at his lip, he tugs at her hair. She hisses into his mouth and drags him closer. They stumble back until she’s pressed into the wall, his hands bracketing her head. Her hands slide across his chest, restless, and finally settle at his collars where she can tug him down to her. The tears start without him realizing, saltwater stinging his lips where her teeth have scraped over them. When they finally part, they’re both panting and tears track silver down their cheeks. Mother would be horrified. Wei Wuxian, too. He forcibly rejects both thoughts. He presses in closer, nips at the tears catching on her lips. Her hands fist in his collar, pull him at an angle where she can bruise the soft skin of his neck. There’s something searching, desperate, in every kiss and nip and tug. They wind up sitting side-by-side on the floor, both slumped and sniffing back tears. He’s always been an ugly crier, with puffy red eyes and snot all mixed up in the tears. He’s a little grateful that Wen Qing doesn’t cry with any more grace. Her hair’s all in disarray, wisps slipping out of her top knot and curling around her cheeks. He has at least two bruises high up on his throat that his collars can’t cover. “Did you love him?” he asks, toneless. It’s too late for it to matter. He can’t stop himself from asking. “Yes,” Wen Qing says, because of course. Why else would she do what she’d done? Why else would she go to him for help, for protection? “He was my closest friend since Wen Ruohan took us in. My only friend, really. And he understood — about owing and trying to protect what you had left.” Oh. Jiang Cheng swallows, but he doesn’t have the energy left to feel shame at his assumption. Wen Qing’s hands lie limp in her lap, and her head is tilted down to study them. “I’m sorry,” she says, lifting her gaze. “I don’t regret it, but even then, I knew we shouldn’t lie to you, that we should have told you.” He manages a slight hum of acknowledgment, threads it out around the knot in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say at all. They should have told him, they should never have kept it from him — would he have let them do it? if Wei Wuxian told him that the price for having his core returned was his brother’s own core? And if he hadn’t, what then? When he let himself get caught by the Wen patrol, it had seemed worth it. In his mind, he would be a small sacrifice for ensuring Wei Wuxian and jie were safe. Now, years later, he knows much of that was grief and shock. If he’d actually died, jie would have been left as heir to Yunmeng Jiang. She would have been the one forced to marshal their forces, drag together their broken sect and rebuild it from the ashes. It had been hard enough for him, and he’d been trained for this position all his life; jie had never gotten those lessons, never received any tutoring on how to manage a sect or lead an army. She would never have been able to marry Jin Zixuan. A-Ling and a-Mu would never have been born. And Wei Wuxian? Jiang Cheng remembers the last words his father said to him, remembers the horrible promise both his parents extoled from Wei Wuxian. If Jiang Cheng had died before Wei Wuxian got to him, his brother would have worn himself into dust trying to fix it, trying to atone for a sin he never committed. Closing his eyes, Jiang Cheng lets the tears fall. He can’t forgive them. He can’t say they were wrong. “I always told a-Ning that we were different from Wen Ruohan and his sons,” Wen Qing says to her hands. “That we came from healers and doctors and that made us separate from all the war and murder. And then he showed up with you three. Jiang-guniang was so sick, Wei Wuxian was terrified, and you — you didn’t even want to live.” She releases a shuddering breath that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob. “A-Ning — a-Ning could be so stubborn,” she says, then sniffs. “He was always so quiet and shy but underneath that was oak. He brought you to me and made me look myself in the eye and reckon with my own inaction.” Lifting her hand, she brushes away a tear with the heel of her palm. “I think he would have brought you to me even if he weren’t so enamored of Wei Wuxian, even if you were complete strangers.” She lets out a small, wet laugh. “And I only hid you because of who you were.” Guilt threads through her tone, echoes back the hurt in Jiang Cheng’s own chest. He understands, he wants to say. His brother was always a better person than him, too. This world has made it so hard to protect even the people closest to them; how can they waste any energy trying to take care of everyone else? “You can’t protect everyone,” he says. She makes a quiet noise that’s not a dismissal but isn’t quite agreement either. They fall quiet. The floor’s hard under him, the wall pressing uncomfortably into his spine, but at least the rest of the infirmary is empty. He doesn’t think he can be anyone’s sect leader right now. “Does jie know?” he asks after a few minutes. “I don’t think so,” Wen Qing says. “I asked him what he’d do when you found out, and he swore you never would. Said he’d die before telling anyone and made a-Ning and I both swear to take it with us to death.” So Lan Wangji did just figure it out on his own. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse. At least Wei Wuxian didn’t tell him. At least he didn’t bare Jiang Cheng like that. Instead, Lan Wangji now knows exactly how stupid and gullible Jiang Cheng is, how pathetically desperate he was to believe his shixiong could fix everything. Working his jaw, Jiang Cheng forces himself to draw in a breath. He’s still angry, he thinks, but he’s burnt out. His whole chest feels hollow, like something reached in and scraped it clean. “I don’t know if I can forgive you or him,” he admits after a moment. “I—I don’t know. But I don’t want to lose you too.” It’s unbearably vulnerable, like peeling back a bandage to let the air scour a fresh wound. He sighs, scrubs his face with both of his hands. “I really wanted to court you properly,” he mumbles. She exhales, hands pinching together in his periphery. “I’m a war criminal,” she points out. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Drawing in a breath, he reaches over and covers her hand with his own. “You were pardoned.”

[psychoinnocent]

You're So Wonderful To Think About (But So Hard To Live Without)

Author: PsychoInnocent [AO3]

Title: You're So Wonderful To Think About (But So Hard To Live Without)

Pairings: Pre-Slash WangXian, Wei Wuxian & Lan Wangji & Lan Sizhui

Warnings: Character Death, Grieving, Funerals. Spoilers for Ch. 111

Summary: Lan Sizhui was his sun, after Wei Ying died.

Now his sun is gone, and Wei Ying has returned.

(What if Lan Sizhui had died in Mo Village?)

AO3 Link: [Here] 

Notes: I love my son I say as I plot out how to hurt him and his family whoops

Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian had only looked away for a moment- a moment, to raise the corpses of the Mo family.

The next, the cursed arm was buried in the Lan disciple’s chest, right between the protective folds of his robes.

For a horrible moment, those white robes turned gold, and Wei Wuxian’s control on the corpses flickered. ‘I’m sorry Shijie, I failed again.’

The other boy- Lan Jingyi- wordlessly screamed. He charged at the arm, his sword attacking wildly, nowhere near the finesse it had been earlier. 

The arm pulled itself out of Lan Sizhui’s corpse, deflecting the desperate attack from the teen, advancing on him. 

Red eyes flashed.

“Get away from him!” The corpses moved with his roar, slamming into the arm with a ferocity no one had seen before.

Wei Wuxian grabbed Lan Jingyi by the waist, pulling the stunned teen away from the fighting- away from his friend’s body.

(He tried not to think about Jin Zixuan)

(He failed.)

“Sizhui! Lan Yuan! Lan Yuan!” Lan Jingyi was struggling in his arms as his voice growing hoarser, eyes focused on the still body. 

The corpses fell, one by one, to the might of the cursed arm.

The disciples were all shell shocked, fearful whispers in the air. It was clear the only thing keeping them from running was their pride.

Then-

The strumming of guqin rang through the clearing.

xXx

“We received a request from Mo Village. There are reports of Fierce Corpse sightings.”

“Lan Sizhui, you’ll be in charge of this night hunt.” Lan Qiren looked over the young man. “You can pick your team- report to HunGuang-Jun and ZeWu-Jun before departing.”

“Yes Sir!”

xXx

The arm was sealed. 

Only then did Lan Wangji approach the fallen figure. He fell to his knees, his shaking, pale hand reaching out, cupping the young man’s cheek. Wei Wuxian’s hold slackened as he watched Lan Wangji take a deep, shaky breath, reaching to, ever so gently, shut Sizhui’s eyes. 

Jingyi pushed out of Wei Wuxian’s grip, tumbling as he reached Sizhui’s other side, tears falling freely as he tried to speak.

The words never came.

XxX

There was something heartbreaking about watching Lan Wangji remove his outer robes, carefully wrapping them around the young man to hide his wound. He held Sizhui in his arms, holding him like someone would hold a sleeping toddler. Lan Jingyi stood beside him, face pale, his eyes never leaving Lan Sizhui’s.

Wei Wuxian, after some hesitation, collected Lan Sizhui’s sword and guqin before approaching Lan Wangji, bowing as he offered them to him.

“HunGuang-Jun, as the acting head of the Mo family,” As everyone else is dead, he thought privately. ”Please, let us know if you need anything. Medical care, transport, anything.” 

He paused for a moment, before adding softly. “We can prepare funeral rites for Young Master Lan here. Or prepare him for the journey back to Gusu.”

“...” To anyone else, Lan Wangji looked unaffected. But Wei Wuxian remembered how he had been inside the Xuanwu Cave. To Wei Wuxian, he looked like a grieving parent- his eyes were misty, locked somewhere far away. His shoulders were tense, his lips thin and pale. Slowly, he gestured to Jingyi to take Sizhui’s things, barely reacting as the teen carefully placed the guqin and sword around his back, resting against his own.

“Thank you.” Lan Wangji said quietly, inclining his head.

‘Who is this boy, for Lan Zhan to be so grief stricken?’ Wei Wuxian wondered, even as he called for the shaken servants to aid the Lan disciples.

XxX

Lan Wangji

Lan Wangji left once he was certain the others were being treated. Lan Jingyi, in an act of loyal defiance, met the Sect heir outside. 

There was something akin to gratitude in Lan Wangji’s eyes.

XxX

Missives were sent, courtesy of Lan Xichen.

(If they were written in shaky calligraphy, no one could fault him.)

Lan Qiren had half heartedly argued, though his voice held no malice.

(Lan Sizhui had saved Wangji, all those years ago. Who would help him now?)

And Lan Wangji?

He stayed in the bìnyíguǎn, his fingers laced with his son’s, transferring spiritual energy into the body.

(It was as useless as it had been in the Burial Mounds.)

XxX

Wei Ying’s nephew was distraught.

That was the only thought that echoed in Lan Wangji’s mind as Jin Ling barged into the room, his face stricken in grief. He inhaled sharply at the sight of Lan Sizhui, something young and vulnerable crossing his face.

‘He’s too proud to admit he’s friends with us.’ A ghost laughed in Lan Wangji’s mind, affection laced in his voice. ‘Young Master Jin is just that type of person.’

Sect Leader Jiang followed after his nephew, sympathy evident as he looked between Jin Ling and Lan Wangji.

Silently, he bowed to Lan Wangji before he placed a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Lan Wangji, on behalf on Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin, please accept our condolences.”

It was an olive branch- offered between Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui’s budding friendship.

Lan Wangji accepted it, hoping it’d keep him from drowning.

XxX

This was not the first funeral Lan Wangji had attended.

(Jin Zixuan’s had been an elaborate affair. Jin Guangshan had spared no expense in honoring his son.)

(Wei Ying’s had been tiny, with Wangji’s gupin strings playing a song as a prayer.)

Lan Sizhui had been well-liked throughout the Cloud Recesses. He was quick to help and slow to anger. He had gone on a few night hunts, and knew disciples from other sects. 

Yunmeng Jiang, Lanling Jin, and Qinghe Nie Sects all came. Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang, due to their connection to Lan Xichen, had come to offer their own condolences.

(Nie Huaisang looked especially grieved- but then, he had lost his brother not too long ago. He understood.)

Jin Ling was with his uncle, his eyes red with tears. Jiang Cheng had his arm around his nephew, whispering softly whenever Jin Ling spoke.

Lan Jingyi was with the other Lan disciples, his expression haunted and full of guilt as the others spoke around him. 

He carefully never looked over to Jin Ling’s side of the room, and Lan Wangji couldn’t spare the energy to guess why.

(He’d find out later, when Jingyi broke down in front of him. How Jin Ling had accused him of failing to protect Lan Sizhui. How he should have died instead of Sizhui-)

(Words borne of anger, of pain. Lan Wangji could only pull Jingyi into an embrace as the young man sobbed.)

X x X

Lan Wangji was surprised to see Mo Xuanyu- but then, he shouldn’t have been. His brother had spoken with the disciples- they would have told him about Young Master Mo.

Mo Xuanyu, looking far less disheveled then he had that fateful day, approached Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen. His face was cleaned of the garish makeup it had all those days ago.

He offered them a weak smile, stating softly. “I have no gift to offer Young Master Lan, but with HunGuang-Jun’s permission, I would like to thank Young Master Lan the only way I can.” He held up a dizi, nodding towards Lan Wangji. 

Lan Wangji didn’t react. Lan Xichen, on Wangji’s other side, smiled politely and nodded. “Sizhui would have appreciated the gesture, Young Master Mo.”

The other man offered a faint smile, and began to play.

At first, Lan Wangji didn’t react. But as the dizi played, he slowly began to raise his head, staring at Mo Xuanyu with widened eyes.

He said nothing, but tears began to fall.

xXx

“Lan Yuan is almost 15 now, is he not Wangji?”

“Mn.”

“Have you thought about a courtesy name?”

“...Sizhui.”

“...After all these years?”

“Mn.”

xXx

Wei Wuxian

When Lan Wangji had approached him after the funeral, Wei Wuxian had been in the middle of planning his departure.

He had no intention of going to the Cloud Recesses initially, but the letter from Lan Xichen changed his mind. He had known that Lan Sizhui was part of the direct Lan family- his patterned ribbon had been obvious- but he hadn’t realized how close to the Sect clan leaders he must’ve been.

(But then, hadn’t Lan Zhan held Lan Sizhui like a parent would a child?)

Maybe it was the guilt gnawing at his heart, but Wei Wuxian… wanted to see him again. Pay his respects.

Apologize 

XxX

The memorial was extravagant, compared to typical Lan Sect affairs. 

Sizhui’s coffin was dark, decorated with lacquered cloud designs of Gusu Lan Sect, with a small sun peeking out from the corner of each cloud.

An altar was placed before the coffin. A portrait of Lan Sizhui was placed there, with two candles lighting each side.

Wei Wuxian watched in curiosity as the funeral commenced.

Lan Wangji sat to the side of the altar, his appearance immaculate but his gaze dull and far away. In his hands, he held three covered plaques.

Lan Xichen, as Sect Leader, spoke first. Wei Wuxian tried to focus on what he said, but his eyes kept drifting to Lan Wangji.

He looks tired. Wei Wuxian mused as Lan Xichen thanked them for arriving. One of the Lan Disciples handed him a red envelope, which Wei Wuxian took absently.

The other sect leaders approached the altar, bowing their respects to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen. Jin Ling, at his uncle’s side, offered Lan Wangji a small bouquet full of the Jin Sect’s famed peonies.

Lan Wangji took it, resting the bouquet against the plaques in his lap as the queue continued, small gifts piling next to him as people paid their respects.

Wei Wuxian, after a moment, joined the throng of people. He held a dizi in his hand- a black and gold one that he found jammed in one of the shelves in Madame Mo’s room. The characters Mo Meihui were engraved in the wood, looking well loved and well worn.

(Mo Meihui was Mo Xuanyu’s mother, he heard the servants whisper. A talented dizi player, who, with a smile and a song, charmed her way into Xuanyu’s father’s graces.)

Wei Wuxian fiddled with the dizi as the line moved, trying to settle on a melody to wish Sizhui well. Most of the tunes he played were to raise fierce corpses, not put a soul to rest. 

After a moment, a melody fluttered to his mind, and he smiled.

He didn’t notice Lan Wangji’s tears until he finished.

X x X

Lan Wangji was carrying the plaques he had been holding at the funeral. As Wei Wuxian straightened to greet him, Lan Wangji’s expression turned… complicated, his grip tightening on the wooden slabs in his arms.

“Please, come with me.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“...To see Sizhui.”

“I-” He hesitated, seeing the look in Lan Wangji’s eyes. With a sigh, he nodded. “Alright.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head before he turned, guiding Wei Wuxian to the Lan Sect’s cemetery- one of the few places in the Cloud Recesses he had never seen in his previous life. 

Wei Wuxian glanced at the plaques in Lan Wangji’s arms, his mind whirling around. Were they, perhaps, Sizhui’s family? But then, why were there three? Unless Lan Zhan wasn’t Sizhui’s birth father-

He was startled out of his thoughts as they approached the cemetery, only to turn to another entrance- The Lan Family Crypt, where the direct descendents of Lan An were buried.

Lan Wangji entered without a thought, but Wei Wuxian lingered at the entrance, awkwardness bubbling in his mind.

“Are you sure I can enter here? Isn’t this place… well… forbidden to outsiders?”

“You are permitted.” Lan Wangji said quietly, meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Something there reassured him, and Wei Wuxian offered a faint smile in return.

“If you say so HunGuang-Jun.”

The other man shook his head and led him down the hall, their footsteps echoing in the candlelit chamber as they walked. Finally, his steps slowed and stopped in front of a vault.

It was decorated lightly, paintings hanging from the walls. Lan Sizhui’s sword and guqin were placed above the coffin, cleaned and polished. His names were engraved in the coffin- Lan Sizhui and Lan Yuan obvious in the candlelight.

Lan Zhan kneeled in front of Sizhui’s coffin, carefully arranging the plaques.

“Who are they?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but ask, taking in Lan Wangji’s conflicted expression.

Lan Wangji said nothing, but instead reached out to remove one of the veils.

Song Liqin

Born: Unknown

Died: Unknown, between Xuan Zheng Year 22 Ren Qu and Xuan Zheng Year 25 Yi Qui

Wei Wuxian sucked in a breath as Lan Wangji reached out to remove the second.

Wen Ju-long

Born: Unknown

Died: Unknown, between Xuan Zheng Year 22 Ren Qu and Xuan Zheng Year 25 Yi Qui

“Wen?” His eyes went wide, and a feeling of dread curled in his heart as Lan Wangji removed the final veil.

Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian

Born: 10/31

Died: Xuan Zheng Year 25 Yi Qui

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji looked at him, pinning him with a pained expression. 

“It can’t-“ His hands were trembling. He took a step back, his eyes flitting between the plaque and Lan Sizhui’s name.

His birth name.

Lan Yuan

Wen Yuan

A-Yuan

xXx

“A-Yuan, stay here.”

“Xian-gege!” 

“A-Yuan, promise me. Stay here.”

“No! I wanna stay with gege!”

“A-Yuan, please! I-“ A deep breath. “...You’re safer here qin’ai de.” A hand reached out, smoothing the boy’s hair. 

“Grow up strong Wen Yuan. I’m sorry I can’t be here for you.”

xXx

“You’re lying.”

His hands were shaking.

No, he corrected blankly as he hugged himself. He was shaking.

Faces flashed before his eyes. 

Granny Wen, pushing A-Yuan into his arms with a strained smile on her face. “Get him away from here Wei Ying.”

Wen Qing, apologizing as she walked away.

Jiang Yanli, dying to protect him.

Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, fighting to protect Yunmeng Jiang- to protect their children.

“I really am a curse.” He whispered quietly, sinking to the ground, pressing his forehead against his knees as he tried to contain the well of grief. 

It was silent, throughout the crypt. Then, a sound of shuffling, and familiar notes began to play. Wei Wuxian forced himself to listen, breathing in as the song slowly calmed him down and faded away.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji slowed down, his fingers still as his eyes met Wei Wuxian’s. Lan Wangji tilted his head, gesturing for Wei Wuxian to join him.

Wei Wuxian hesitated before coming to Lan Wangji’s side, turning to face the coffin before him.

(It was obvious now, what the design meant. The fact that Lan Zhan remembered. The fact that he dared to show off Lan Yuan’s heritage in front of everyone-)

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, and strummed the guqin.

It took Wei Wuxian a moment to recognize it- “Inquiry?” Lan Wangji nodded, playing the notes with practiced ease.

Lan Wangji barely stopped playing before a little ball of light appeared, hopping between the strings to play a greeting. 

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught, and he clenched his hands in his robes, his eyes never leaving the little light.

“A-Yuan.” He whispered, his voice shaky fearful. “A-Yuan I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I left you behind. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I came back and still couldn’t protect you.

The little spirit darted between the strings, a soft melody coming from the instrument. Lan Wangji translated, his voice rough as he spoke. “I don’t blame either of you, mama, HunGuang-Jun. Jingyi and the others are safe, and that’s the important part.”

He felt his heart ache as Lan Wangji carefully spoke, the words mama lingering in the air. A sense of longing grew in his heart as he watched the spirit- he had wanted to see Wen Yuan grow up, to see him fall in love, to know the young man that Lan Wangji had clearly raised and loved as his own.

Instead he cleared his throat, his voice solemn as he spoke. “A-Yuan, I promise that we will find out who that arm belongs to. We will find your murderer.” The words came out with a growl, a veiled threat and promise lying in his words.

“I know.” The spirit stopped for a moment, before creeping along the strings. “Don’t be rash mama. Baba,” and here, Lan Wangji’s voice shudders. “Baba only has you and shufu now.”

“A-Yuan.” Lan Wangji cleared his throat, his fingers stilling for a moment before he played a few more notes. “Qin’ai de, I am proud of you.” 

The spirit danced on the strings, a teasing laugh echoing from the guqin. Lan Wangji didn’t translate, but Wei Wuxian could guess, just by watching Lan Wangji’s gaze soften. 

“We’ll see you again one day.” Lan Wangji promised, quietly. He hesitated before he extended his hand, offering his pinky to the spirit. Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop the startled laugh that escaped him, riveted as the little spirit leaped up, landing on Lan Wangji’s finger before returning to the strings.

(Was Lan Wangji crying? Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell through his own tears, but then, he wasn’t one to judge.)

“I know you will. Goodbye for now, mama, baba.” Lan Sizhui’s soul pulsed once, twice, and faded.

Wei Wuxian wiped his eyes before taking a deep breath, turning towards Lan Wangji.

“Thank you, Lan Zhan. For everything.”

A small smile answered him, and, as Wei Wuxian lit some incense, he felt his broken heart mend.

Just a little.

XxX Fin XxX

Notes:

- I firmly believe that the Disciple trio knew each other prior to Dafan Mountain. It is canon that Dafan Mountain is Jin Ling's first night-hunt debut, but just the way the novel/donghua write their early interactions imply that they do know each other (and in LJY and JL's case, have a rivalry)

- It is canon that Lan Wangji adopts Lan Sizhui. It's specifically noted by WWX that Lan Sizhui's forehead ribbon markings mean he's blood related to the head family of the Lan Sect.

-The little dancing spirit with "Inquiry" is not canon but I saw a similar idea in another fic (Where wwx does answer lwj/lsz's inquiry).

-Lan Wangji transferring Spirit Energy into Lan Sizhui to keep the body fresh is blatantly stolen from Scum Villain haha.

-The funeral is not accurate to traditional Chinese Funerals- it's difficult finding information on funerals for young adults in Chinese traditions, so I was forced to get a bit creative with how I went about it.

-I don't know if it's ever mentioned in canon how the Lan Sect buries their dead, so I like to imagine they have a Garden Cemetery, and the head family has a crypt that they keep adding on to.

-Lacquer was used in Ancient China as decorations on coffins, so I ran with it for Sizhui's coffin decorations. The Gusu Clouds hiding their Wen Sun :)

- Qin’ai de (亲爱的): darling - Used between a Parent and their child or significant others. I just wanted something cute for WangXian to call their son okay.

- Wen Yuan is stated to the son of Wen Qing’s cousin. Wen Ning probably knows their names, but since they aren't given in canon:

Song Liqin (harp/lute/zither) Wen Ju-long (as powerful as a dragon)

-In regards to how exactly they found the names: I'd like to imagine that the Wen Sect kept an eye on all their family members and had records on everyone. With Jin GuangYao's help, Lan Wangji found Sizhui's birth parents- he intended to tell Sizhui his heritage once he graduated from Junior Disciple.

-- Dates are stolen from the Donghua.

Xuan Zheng Year 20 Geng Chen (title of year in a 60 year cycle from ancient chinese calander system) (is during the Sunshot Campaign)

Xuan Zheng Year 22 Ren Qu (Lan Sizhui’s birth year, since he was around 3 when wwx dies)

LSZ’s parents probably died during when the Wen labor camps were enforced. No concrete dates given.

Xuan Zheng Year 25 Yi Qui (5 years later, news that WWX is dead appears)

(13 years later, no name given) (going by a Chinese Calendar I found online, it’s approximately Xuan Zheng Year 38 Wu Xu)

--

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