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grand-theft-carbohydrates · 4 months

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wait im kinda new the 3k fandom, is half of it actual history and the other half just… homoerotic relationships with right-hand-mans?

first of all, welcome aboard! tldr: if your historical RPF doesn't ruin a politician's reputation for the next 800 years, are you even doing it right? yes Romance of the Three Kingdoms is based on actual history! it's set in the early 3rd century Han Dyansty (around 200 CE), during a bloody on-and-off civil war called the Three Kingdoms Period. The novel itself was written in the 14th century, nearly 1100 years after it all went down. if you disregard (most) of the supernatural elements, the story is fairly accurate, around 3 parts fiction and 7 parts fact. The novel was based on a compilation of historical records called the Records of the Three Kingdoms.

I must apologise on behalf of me and the mutuals for giving you a skewed impression of the homo. Sadly 3k is about 70% history, 25% socio-political allegory and only 5% Manly Love Between the Liege and His Vassal. Homoeroticism-Cao who was defeated at Red Cliffs and pines after the enemy general every sichen was an outlier and should not have been counted. that's on us.

the 3k novel was written during a time of civil unrest and a crises of national identity. during the Yuan dynasty parts of China were taken over by the Mongols, which eventually collapsed and gave way to the Ming. the author Luo Guanzhong lived during the late Yuan-early Ming period, he saw himself as an intelligent and capable man who never managed to find a worthy liege or a great cause to serve, in the end he became disillusioned and sunk to the lowest possible depths for a gentleman-scholar; writing novels (gasp!). the novel is only attributed to him because it was published anonymously, but it fits his MO. for example, Liu Bei's civil advisor/PM Zhuge Liang was changed so much he basically became the author's self-insert; he is a scholar-recluse who finds a worthy, benevolent master and then devotes his entire life to fulfilling his dreams of unifying the country. and also he's a military genius who single-handedly defeated cao cao and then everyone clapped.

This was also where a lot of revisionism became codified. Prior to this, Cao Cao was considered the real hero of the story, especially by the educated elite. His empire was also succeeded by the Jin Dynasty, so of course they needed to legitimise him. Liu Bei was seen as an opportunist and a disruptor, though he was always beloved by the common people who related to his struggles and were touched by his (seemingly genuine) kindness to them. The big change happened because after the Mongol invasion, the Yuan was split in two, the official dynasty submitted to Mongol rule. The other part saw themselves as the underdogs and righteous rebels, just like Liu Bei standing up to Big Bad Cao Cao.

Prior to this, 3k mainly existed in the form of folktales with different interpretations, and LGZ was the first person to create a single, unified narrative out of it. there's really cute accounts of contemporaries in different dynasties being all "idgi? all the kids boo when cao cao shows up, but they cheer when liu bei wins, and cries when he loses." truely a Blorbo of the people.

#asks #romance of the three kingdoms #san guo #press the button for a free infodump

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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[continuation of this] [read on AO3]

There was no practical way to hide the fact that the Sunshot Campaign’s dread Yiling Patriarch was a homicidal amnesiac (a mad dog, they said, a crime and danger to keep around; leashed only by the Jiang siblings and Hanguang-jun, and how secure was that leash, anyway? Jiang Cheng held his head high and kept walking, because he didn’t have the time to deal with every little thing and he didn’t have a cogent counterargument.)

How could it stay silent? He was still Wei Wuxian; he didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. He bounced around each night’s camp greeting people like they were new and asking what they were doing like they hadn’t done the same thing yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. He flirted with Lan Wangji so outrageously that Jiang Cheng was starting to think the Second Jade really must love the idiot, to tolerate it all. He still remembered Jiang fighting forms, even though he couldn’t do them all without a golden core; he whined to be dragged out of bed and then helped Jiang Cheng train the new recruits every morning, even though not once did he remember their names. He didn’t remember Jiang Cheng’s name, or Jiang Yanli’s, or where they’d grown up or...anything.

Sometimes he snapped in an instant from Wei Wuxian-typical smiling to something dark and cruel, and utterly heedless of political or other consequences. (So, exactly the same Wei Wuxian, a small, bitter part of Jiang Cheng muttered—no, that was what made it terrible. He so often kept smiling, too, almost the exact same smile.) Usually it was directed at the Wens, but more than one allied cultivator or mundane soldier died in cold blood because they said something rude—not so much to Wei Wuxian himself as to one of the people he “liked.” More to Jiang Yanli and Lan Wangji than Jiang Cheng himself, which was just fine by Jiang Cheng—the less, the better. Nie Mingjue tolerated the losses as part of war, which meant Wei Wuxian stayed, but the only reason LanlingJin didn’t pull out of the Sunshot Campaign entirely was that Jin Zixuan himself insisted he forgave the strangulation incident.

It was inevitable that the enemy tried to take advantage of it.

From the ground it was like this:

Jiang Cheng was in the thick of battle, wielding Sandu with no room for a whip, but that was fine because he had his disciples (new, all still new) around him to act as his second weapon and more. The Wens weren’t stupid: they came at him several at a time, hoping numbers could overwhelm his skill. He slashed at a red-robed fighter on his left, dodged a blow from his right, and pierced Sandu like a scorpion’s stinger through a man in front of him. Another strike came from the right and as he turned and brought up Sandu to block it, he thought, oh god, it’s contagious.

Because the cultivator was wearing Jiang purple (just an armband, but few of them had more than that), and yet he didn’t recognize her.

Then she tried to take his head off and he just barely parried, on reflex more than anything; the blade bit into his shoulder and he managed a clumsy riposte that bounced off her armguard. At the same time, he realized that he didn’t recognize her because she wasn’t one of his disciples.

The haunting dizi music that Jiang Cheng had come to accept as natural background to a fight, that couldn’t possibly suffuse all the area of a busy battlefield and yet always did, slid abruptly into a furious shriek. Before his foe could push her advantage, the man he’d just killed flung himself onto her sword, pushing forward up the blade so he could tear at her face, Around them the other Wen dead sprang up as well—as did the fallen of YunmengJiang, an awkwardness they’d all resigned themselves to. Sometimes Wei Wuxian thought to let their own dead lie, but most of the time he didn’t, and most of the time no one minded much—it was desecration, but in the name of fighting the Wen even beyond the very end.

But this time, they didn’t just attack the Wen. This time, the corpse of Liu Qingbiao, who had run away from her merchant parents to be a rogue and then Jiang cultivator, leapt from behind onto Huang Lao, who had taken up battle with the fighter on Jiang Cheng’s unguarded left. The Wen Huang Lao fought was torn down by one of his dead fellows; behind him, an unknown corpse with a purple armband ripped into another fighter in red. Around then, Wen and Jiang and not-Jiang turned furiously, awash with the dark smoke of resentful energy, on Wen and Jiang and not-Jiang.

A small corpse guard settled in around Jiang Cheng himself: three Wens, Huang Lao, and another man he didn’t recognize with a bloody purple sash around his waist.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng bellowed. “What are you—”

He lunged out between two of his unwanted corpse guards to stop a live Wen soldier who would have struck Yu Shanmei, who fought with them because Yu Ziyuan had been her favorite aunt. A moment later, the soldier got back to its feet, black-eyed, and lunged for her again.

“Wei– fuck.” Jiang Cheng flung himself onto Sandu and took to the sky. Toward the ridge overlooking the battle. “STOP IT, YOU IDIOT! YOU’RE KILLING OUR PEOPLE!”

He waved his hands as he shouted, regardless of the dangerous silhouette he was presenting. He didn’t need to worry—one arrow flicked past him and the music changed again; deep and fast as an ocean current and shadows sprang up around him, half-substantial ghosts and tendrils of pure resentful energy. A sudden chorus of cries from the treeline was no doubt suddenly doomed archers.

The shadows only thickened as he approached the ridge, where the Yiling Patriarch stood alone. Wei Wuxian didn’t acknowledge him. His attention remained fixed on the nightmare of a battlefield, his terrible dizi at his lips.

Jiang Cheng landed directly in front of him and yanked the dizi down. “Wei Wuxian, stop!”

There was a moment (there was always a moment) in which he thought Wei Wuxian wouldn’t recognize him. His eyes were as dark as the dead’s and his face showed nothing but implacable cold. By a narrow margin, Jiang Cheng’s heartbreak beat out his awareness that he was likely about to die.

Then Wei Wuxian blinked, some of the darkness receding, at least enough to show the whites of his eyes. He lowered the dizi another inch of his own accord (Jiang Cheng had barely been able to drag it down to shoulder height, even though he was still pulling. Wei Wuxian was weak without his golden core, but the shadows that wreathed him lent him plenty of strength.)

“Are you alright?” he asked, worried like Jiang Cheng had just hit his head on the dock, and nothing worse. He raised one hand to Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

Jiang Cheng batted it away. “Stop the corpses!” he shouted. “You’re killing YungmengJiang—” Wei Wuxian remained silent, watched him curiously; names, fuck, names. “The people in purple! You idiot, stop killing them!”

They had so few people to lose. Yu Shanmei was likely already down, unable to perform her best without room to snap a whip. Han Lingya was already recovering from a wound in her arm; Jiang Cheng should never have let him on the field today in the first place. He’d have to write to Liu Qingbiao’s parents, and Huang Lao’s, and Shen Chiwu and Wen Sichen (no relation) and Xi Yanji (they’d get him on the backstroke; he always left himself open—) Jiang Cheng couldn’t look down at them or he’d be lost; he just had to shake his death-eyed, half-gone brother until he stopped—

Wei Wuxian’s hand had come away with some of Jiang Cheng’s blood on it. He licked it off one finger, glancing away like a child who knew he’d done wrong. But when he looked back, his expression was familiarly mulish, save for all the dark and cold.

“They started attacking you. Someone lied to me. I know some of them are our fighters, but I can’t tell which ones, so it’s safer to just kill them all.”

It was funny because less than a year ago, Jiang Cheng would’ve been quietly ecstatic to be the absolute center of one person’s devotion. Not, admittedly, that he had that dubious honor even now—Wei Wuxian remembered Jiang Yanli better than anyone else, since that terrible night with the sliced wrist, but she was safe at base camp (thank fuck), and even Lan Wangji was with the forces at the other end of the valley.

“I know which ones!” Jiang Cheng snapped (begged). “And so do the ones who are actually Jiang Sect! Just—” they might be equally lost if the corpses stopped completely; they were still wildly outnumbered—“focus on the people in red! A-jie– your shijie would want you to leave the people in purple to sort themselves out!”

Wei Wuxian pouted, with a edge of real disappointment (he only ever seemed truly content anymore when he was slaughtering whole battlefields). “All right.”

He raised his dizi again (Jiang Cheng let go), and after a shuddering moment, Jiang Cheng forced himself to turn around around and watch. There were half as many YunmengJiang cultivators standing as there had been when he’d left, and a quarter as many mundane troops—well, standing and alive. Almost all were upright. It was too far to pick out individuals, but he could tell from the fighting style—he’d been training them all himself for months.

Their dead turned their focus back to the Wen troops in red, as did the Wen corpses themselves, and Jiang Chang let out a breath for what felt like the first time in several minutes. He fought to steady it, to calm his fluttering qi and push it into his shoulder to heal, while beside him, the Yiling Patriarch finished the battle.

It didn’t take long. It had already been hitting the critical point of dead overwhelming the living, before this terrible interlude. Jiang Sect’s fighters knew each other, cultivator and mundane alike; they dealt easily with the few remaining imposters.

As the battle died down (ha), there was a cloth-on-rock scraping to their left. Jiang Cheng turned to see a trio of long-nailed female ghosts—some of Wei Wuxian’s favorites—dragging forward the bloody remains– no, the bloody body of a still-living man. Though from the ghost women’s giggles, he wouldn’t be alive for along. Certainly he must already wish he was dead.

He had a Jiang-purple cloth tied around his left bicep. Jiang Cheng squinted at him, as the ghost women dropped their prize at their master’s feet, and didn’t recognize his face. Ropes of shadow wrapped around the man, cutting more lines of blood into his skin.

Wei Wuxian didn’t stop playing until the last red-robed Wen on the battlefield was dead, his eyes dark and his expression cold. It didn’t change as he left a few notes lingering in the air and looked down at the shadow-bound prisoner.

He bumped Jiang Cheng’s shoulder with his own like they were kids walking streets of Lotus Pier. “This is the one who came and told me there were reinforcements joining you from the rear, and to clear them a path. The ladies confirm it. Do you know him?”

“No,” said Jiang Cheng, just as cold.

“Well then.” Wei Wuxian nearly sang. The ropes that spread out from his shadow yanked their prisoner to his feet. The man’s mouth was gagged with twisting darkness; his eyes were bleeding but wide with fear.

Wei Wuxian smiled brightly and tipped the man’s chin up with the end of his dizi. “I can be patient, you know. We can ask him questions before I tear him apart.”

#mdzs #the untamed #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #FUN TIMES HERE GUYS #...i did not check to see if any of these are real plausible chinese names before posting hm #i shold probably do that #anyway this whole thing was def meng yao's idea so uh...blame him #also don't worry we're just gonna take this as a very pyrrhic victory and henceforth th yiling patriarch is going to have an ASSIGNED MINDER #for every fight #...and it's probably gonna be jiang yanli tbh #jc: you cannot put my sister near a battle!! what the fuck are you going to do next - ask /huaisang/ to do it?!#nmj: ok a) don't fuck with me or my brother. b) YOUR brother is a half-feral death monster and i'm ONLY letting this continue bc i fucking #HATE wen ruohan and he's undeniably good at helping us kill his minions - but apparently only if he's TIGHTLY AND COMPETENTLY CONTROLLED #and i respect your sister's ability to do that #jc: ...yanli IS the most competent person in this camp. and the world. except for her taste in men.

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