#Wei Wuxian has had his self worth ground into dust

[any-mouse]

So, I totally did several people dirty. I read a fic marked Dead Dove. I know what that tag meant. I knew it going in. And I was still upset that I got Exactly What Was On the Tin. (No I didn’t leave a comment or complain, I’m not a *heathen.* I exited out.) But it got me thinking.

So the basic premise of the fic was Imperial Prince Lan Wangji yadda yadda, Lesser Noble Ward Wei Wuxian in distress, etc, but with a Dark and Dead Dove twist. So. Here’s the resultant not!fic my brain came up with.

Wei Wuxian is, understandably, Pissed at being blackmailed/extorted into being Hanguang-Wang’s consort. However, in another universe this is the same man that Took A Fourth Option when dropped into the mass grave of resentment. So. He bides his time. He’s good at that. The relationship he shares with his husband notably cooks in public. Their private activities continue to be as heated as ever, but Wei Wuxian grew up with the ever angry Madam Yu. He knows how to play the game. Nothing he does in public can be pointed to as being impolite or over stepping his bounds. Nothing. Everything is done with the level of exact propriety. You can’t exactly punish someone for being too polite.

Hanguang-Wang enjoys breaking down the distance between them in their nightly games. (The fic that spawned this was a Dead Dove.) He does miss having his consort come to him playfully during the day however. He has his pretty little toy all to himself, he is confident he can coax back the daytime affection.

And things proceed, time passes, Jiang Cheng is quietly working to gather enough forces to rebel in the background, and then we get to the fun stuff. Wei Wuxian is pretty. He is very pretty, and Hanguang-Wang is not the only one who has noticed. Meng Yao is already dead, so there is no one to stop Su She from being an idiot. He tries to undermine Wei Wuxian’s confidence in Hanguang-Wang’s affections for him, to try and shift the pretty, polite consort’s attention onto himself. He is not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is, but Hanguang-Wang is not concerned. He knows exactly why Wei Wuxian agreed to stay by his side always, and that his consort will never do anything that might jeopardize Jiang Yanli. He pretends to be away for a day, and Su She takes his chance.

Wei Wuxian is unmoved by the increasingly less subtle come ons during this farce of a tea.

“Hanguang-Wang claimed everything of me the moment he laid eyes on me,” he says serenely with a sip his tea. “I am well aware that his eye will wander eventually. There will be nothing to be done when that happens, certainly not from a minor person such as your self. He will tire of Wei-Mou, and eventually some other noble ward in unfortunate circumstances will catch his eye and he will start his games again. In time, this will cause men like you to approach me, to offer me consolation for my diminished attentions. Some will undoubtedly be sincere in their regrets, while others will be looking for a less than discreet tryst. I will refuse them all. Eventually this will cause a scorned would be lover, or perhaps Hanguang-Wang’s newest toy to arrange for me to be caught in compromising circumstances. Hanguang-Wang may or may not believe my protestations of innocence.“

Wei Wuxian tilts his head slightly, gaze still calm and unaffected by Su She’s stuttering indignation.

“In the end it will not matter if he believes me or not. My supposed paramour will have been killed on the spot, while his family receives a purse of compensation. And I will have been a discarded toy, and one caught breaking oaths and surrendering honor. It will be a pig cage, or the Death of a Thousand Cuts, or the Death of Strangulation for Wei-Mou.“

He took another sip of his tea as Su She gaped at him. Really, one would think that someone so desperate to ape Hanguang-Wang would have at least attempted to hold his composure with half so much dignity.

“I’m looking forward to the rest. I believe I shall smile when I pass. I wonder what the gossips will make of that,” he mused. “Oh dear. It appears you’ve finished your tea. This has been an, interesting time of conversation. The servants will show you out.“

A dazed (and slightly aroused) Su She is escorted from Consort Wei’s courtyard. Tucked behind a tree, a stunned Hanguang-Wang doesn’t move until the two of them are alone. He looms behind his petite consort, his wife, his pretty little toy, still lost for words.

”Do sit down, Hanguang-Wang,” Wei Wuxian indicates the vacated seat without a hint of surprise. “There is still some tea left in the pot if you must insist on sitting with Wei-Mou now.“

Hanguang-Wang does move now, wrapping himself around other man, biting at the supple neck that yields to him. There is no warmth, as there has been since his toy reclaimed his memories. But neither is there the embers of resentment, no fire to be tamed into passion.

“Never,” Hanguang-Wang hisses into the smaller man’s ear. “This one will never set aside Wei Ying. Will never let anyone else touch him, claim him. He is mine.“

”Wei-Mou is yours, Hanguang-Wang. Hanguang-Wang has taken my body. Hanguang-Wang had not seen Wei-Mou for more than an incense stick before he took my body. Hanguang-Wang has claimed this lowly one’s body many times. Eventually Hanguang-Wang’s eyes will wander to another’s body. He will not make the same mistakes with this lowly one’s junior. This lowly one has no doubt that his junior will never notice the lost memories or time.“

Some back and forth, with possessive Hanguang-Wang and indifferent Wei Wuxian. Eventually we get to my favorite line.

”Hanguang-Wang has claimed my body, and in doing so has forfeited my heart.”

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Twelve

I decided to end the chapter here for the moment because it got kind of long

Also there are only like 3 sets in this piece because we are on a BUDGET so everything happens in the laundry yard. Sorry take it up with the finance department

In which there is a Party (Also self-worth doesn’t come from rich people)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

Engagement celebrations are not traditional in Gusu, but they are in Qishan, and the husband’s family are responsible.

“So, basically, His Excellency is demanding the Lan Sect throw him a party,” Wei Wuxian says. “That sounds like Wen Ruohan.”

“Oh, yes, Wei Ying,” Wang Xiaolu teases, flicking water at him from where she’s kneeling on the paving stones. “You know everything about the noble houses! You are so worldly!”

“Aiyah, Lulu!” Wei Wuxian starts chasing after her with his broom.

“Children!” Madam Xiao shouts, wagging a gnarled finger at them.  “You will have plenty of time for nonsense once the celebration has come and gone. I may not know everything about the noble houses, but I will not be the housekeeper that lets dust collect on His Excellency’s hem.”

All of the disciples are practicing a demonstration for the honored guests, so their lessons stretch late into the evening. The little ones seem delighted to be in classes with their older cousins and siblings, taking their roles very seriously even though they’re mainly tasked with holding supplies and staying out of the way.

Wei Wuxian tries to steal time here and there to watch them practice, giving them giant smiles and exuberant applause for every skill performed. Lan Wangji stands next to him, and Wei Wuxian could swear he sees the corner of his mouth twitch. Every time it happens he cheers louder.

But the result of all the cleaning, cooking, and other preparations is that Wei Wuxian barely has any time with the children. He makes sure they’re fed, washed, and in bed by nine, but there’s very little play time. 

He’s hemming some new robes for the Sect Leader—he’s still quite proud of his new sewing skills, so he’d begged Lan Biming for the job—when Lan Wangji stops by the laundry yard.

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Hey, Master Lan! Check out these stitches. Have you seen anything straighter?”

Lan Wangji actually comes over to crouch next to Wei Wuxian where he’s spread out on the ground, carefully lifting the fabric and looking intently at the fresh hem.

“It is very fine work.”

“Thank you!”

Lan Wangji stays crouched next to him for a moment, saying nothing. Wei Wuxian carefully ties off his thread and folds up the robes before turning to him.

“Well?”

“Well?”

“Are you just visiting the laundry yard to get away from the preparations? I imagine Lan Qiren is as demanding as ever.”

“Uncle is— This is the first major event held at the Cloud Recesses since the ambush. The first under Lan Xichen’s leadership. Everyone is taking it very seriously.”

Wei Wuxian salutes him, the effect somewhat ruined by the way his trousers are riding up on his legs, his knobby knees sticking out.

“I wonder, if you have time, if you could take the junior disciples to the back hill for a while this afternoon.”

“To see the bunnies? Of course! Are they finished with rehearsal?”

“Uncle would like to continue working with everyone, but I think it would be best if the younger ones departed for a short while.”

“They need a break, huh?”

Lan Wangji nods.

“I’d be delighted! Just let me get these robes to Master Lin and I’ll be over.”

Lan Wangji is, as usual, correct. As soon as they leave the main compound, half of the kids go absolutely wild, running and screaming and rolling down the hill.

“Hey, watch it! You’re not wearing your play clothes today, and the Grandmaster will have all the hair off my head if you get grass stains on your nice robes!”

Lan Ting flops down into the grass. “Wei-qianbei, will you please cover me with rabbits? I am so tired and my brain is so confused, I just need to be covered with rabbits.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and straightens the boy’s robes over his legs. “Feifei, Yixian, come help me catch some rabbits to bury your cousin.”

He sits down in the midst of them all and lets himself enjoy the shift in energy. He likes the other servants quite a bit, and they like him more than they used to, but it’s nothing like being in this crowd of wild, chubby-cheeked troublemakers.

Lan Jingyi comes up behind him and leans against his shoulder. “I miss you, Wei-qianbei,” he says and he tucks his arms around Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“Ah, Jingyi, I still see you every day.”

“But not all of the day.”

“No, because I have work to do. Don’t you want to be proud of the Cloud Recesses when all the other clans come to visit? It must be sparkling clean! It should be as shining in the sun as if a fresh layer of snow has fallen over the whole mountain!”

“But you’re my Wei-qianbei, and I need you to play with me.” 

Wei Wuxian hauls him over into his lap. “How about a nice cuddle now instead?”

“Okay. Can you cuddle me and I cuddle a rabbit?”

“Yes, of course.”

All in all, it’s the nicest day he’s had all week.

The day before the other sects are to arrive, Lan Wangji comes back to find him in the laundry yard where he’s wolfing down dinner, grateful for ten minutes of quiet. It’s going to rain, which makes him rather resent the time he’d spent mopping down the entry stairs. Half of his hair is falling out of his topknot and whipping around his face, getting into his bowl, striping chilli oil across his cheek.

It seems unreal that the day is almost upon them. He has been carefully not thinking about what will happen when the sects begin arriving, trying to keep his thoughts blank and focus on cleaning this stone, chopping this turnip, carrying this child. Nothing beyond.

“Wei Wuxian.”

“There’s no one else here,” he says, with his mouth full.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

Surprisingly, Lan Wangji comes over and sits next to him on the bench. He’s warm, noticeably so in the chill. On a normal day, he thinks that would hold his attention; he’d be hyper aware of the solidness of Lan Wangji’s shoulder, how he warms Wei Wuxian’s arm down to the elbow. But today his mind is empty, wind whistling through.

“Wei Ying. Tomorrow the sects arrive. It will not be the largest gathering, but all of the leaders will attend. That means Wen Ruohan. And also Jiang Wanyin.”

Wei Wuxian shoves in another mouthful, nodding.

“Are you—” Lan Wangji sighs, frustrated. Wei Wuxian chews and lets him think.

“Is there an assignment,” Lan Wangji says, slowly, “that would make the next few days easier for you?”

Wei Wuxian swallows, wipes his mouth. “How do you mean?”

Lan Wangji glares, slightly. “It will be best for everyone if you are out of the way of Wen Ruohan, to avoid any unnecessary disruption. But if you’d like to see Jiang Wanyin, you could—I don’t know—tidy the guest rooms where he is staying.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“If I want to see him. If I can see him.” Wei Wuxian puts down his bowl. “Is— Do you know if my sister . . .”

“I don’t. I haven’t heard who is attending.”

Wei Wuxian nods, looks up at the sky. It starts to rain, spitting down on him.

“I will instruct Lin Biming to assign you wherever is easiest,” Lan Wangji says.

“Probably best if I keep out of the way, don’t you think?” Wei Wuxian closes his eyes against the rain. When he opens them, Lan Wangji is gone.

---

He ends up on dish duty, which is fine. He’s only crossed paths with visiting servants so far, and most of them don’t give him a second glance. 

He’s clearing the tea service from a private meeting room when he sees Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian is inside, and his brother walks by the open door. He’s in his customary purple, but with a golden sash which seems to pay homage to Lanling Jin. Wei Wuxian sets his tray down silently and moves to the door, watching him as he turns into another pavilion.

He seems thinner than Wei Wuxian remembers, his jaw possibly sharper. My, Jiang Cheng, is Shijie not feeding you?

When he’s out of sight, Wei Wuxian sinks down onto his heels, leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees. I thought I’d feel it, he thinks to himself, trying to drown out the buzzing in his ears. Shouldn’t I be able to feel it when he’s near? Shouldn’t he feel me?

But he doesn’t rise, chase after him, call his name. He breathes until his hands quit shaking, then he gathers up the tea tray and goes back to the kitchens.

He manages to stay safely out of the way for the first two days, but on the third he decides to risk discovery to watch the children perform their demonstration. He sneaks in the back of the crowd, head tucked down and hands occupied with the small kettle of tea that is his excuse for being there in the first place. He can’t quite relax without being in danger of burning himself, but it’s helpful to remain alert.

Wen Qing is seated near Wen Ruohan, shimmering gold headpiece and even more intricately embroidered robes than usual. Jiang Cheng is at the side of the room farthest away from the door, seated with Jin Zixuan and Jin Guangshan. Jin Guangshan leans over and says something to him, and a polite smile flashes across his face. It looks unnatural. Wei Wuxian shifts so that he’s blocked by another servant. Yanli is not there.

Wen Qing looks around as the disciples enter and catches his eye. She’s made up in a way he’s never seen before, looking more like a delicate flower than the solid oak he knows her to be. She gives him a little smile before turning back to watch the children.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t honestly pay a lot of attention to the demonstration. It’s not that it hurts, he tells himself, to watch young people reveling in their spiritual power, tossing it around like it’s nothing, like it’s never-ending. It’s just that he’d rather watch his children, see who stands properly still, who’s fidgeting, who misses their cue and has to scramble across the stage. Normally he’d cheer and whoop and shout out each name, but he just claps politely and grins at the ones who spot him.

After the demonstration, it’s time to serve more tea. He tries to be clever and serve some low ranking member of a minor sect who may not recognize him, but he gets turned around in the shuffle and ends up standing beside Wen Chao. After the first pour he doesn’t look up, but Wei Wuxian feels himself begin to sweat, like an animal stuck inside a trap in the moment before the net pulls tight. They’ll need to pour at least three more cups to cover all of the toasts.

The first toast, proposed by Wen Ruohan, is dedicated to the hosts in Gusu Lan. The second—Wei Wuxian’s hands only shake a bit as he pours—goes to the happy couple, Lan Wangji and Wen Qing. Lan Wangji has taken his place with the other members of his sect following the demonstration, so all eyes scan across the room between him and Wen Qing. Wei Wuxian braces himself, but their gazes just slide over him.

For the next toast, Jin Guangshan speaks up.

“Honored sects, it is Lanling Jin’s great happiness to announce the engagement of my son and heir, Jin Zixuan, and the sister of our loyal ally, Jiang Wanyin. The wedding will take place in one year, and will bind Lanling Jin and Yunmeng Jiang together in the bonds of family.”

He nods to Jiang Cheng, who straightens. “Yunmeng Jiang is honored to join with Lanling Jin, and my sister is blessed with a fine husband-to-be.” He looks around, awkwardly, then finishes with “We are very happy.” He even smiles.

The handle of the kettle creaks in Wei Wuxian’s grip. How dare he, he thinks. They won’t even say her name, like she’s just an object, or an animal changing ownership. Like she’s a treaty to be signed.

He pours the last cup, and his hands shake, sloshing tea over the side.

“Aiyah, you fool!” Wen Chao yells. He yanks back his sleeve and glares up at him. So does everyone else.

Wei Wuxian freezes and stares down at the ground, hoping they just see the grey uniform and topknot, no one worth noticing.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Chao says at top volume, anger transforming into delight in an instant. “Of course it would be you. Look, this demon tried to burn me.”

The room explodes into noise, murmurs and scoffs and whispers and even a few bursts of laughter. Wei Wuxian can’t help himself, he looks up directly at Jiang Cheng. His brother’s eyes are fiery, jaw clenched and hand on the hilt of his sword. For a moment the rest of the room fades away and Wei Wuxian almost speaks, almost says his name. Jiang Cheng looks away.

Wei Wuxian feels an insistent hand on his elbow and lets himself be tugged backward.

“Come on, Wei Ying,” Lin Biming says in his ear. “Give the kettle to Xiaolu and go.”

The kettle is gone—he doesn’t notice it happening, just the sudden absence of weight, and then suddenly he is outside under grey sky with his hands pressed hard against his middle. He doesn’t realize he’s not alone until he feels hands on his shoulders.

“That’s it, breathe. You’re all right, boy, just breathe.” Lin Biming tugs him gently down the walkway until the uproar from inside fades into nothing more than rising and falling tones.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian forces out, all air.

“No, don’t worry. It’s all right.”

“I just wanted to see . . . I wanted to . . .”

“I know, it’s all right. I should have protected you.”

Wei Wuxian looks up, startled. Lin Biming’s red face is all concern, and though his features aren’t the same, he looks so much like Uncle Jiang it’s difficult not to lean in and rest his cheek against the man’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my job, to protect you all.”

Wei Wuxian gives in and hugs him, earning a small grunt of surprise. It’s like hugging a tree trunk, but eventually he feels a gentle pat in the center of his back. Despite everything, it does actually make him feel better.

Lin Biming leaves, flustered, and Wei Wuxian wanders somewhat aimlessly back to the kitchen. He feels naked, like he’s been stripped in the middle of Caiyi Town, left standing on his own with nothing between him and the wind.

Time passes, somehow. People move around him, shifting him gently into a corner so they can clean the dishes, start preparing dinner. A few folks pat his cheek, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, squeeze his shoulder. Part of him—most of him—feels it like embers inside him, like something that will become a warm and comforting fire when he can pull the lid off and expose it to air. 

Dinner is served without him. He stays in the laundry yard, grateful to find a torn bedsheet on the line that’s been left for later. He stitches as the sun goes down, slow, deliberate, each stitch exact in length and straightness. It’s almost becoming hard to see when Wen Qing finds him.

“Jiang Wanyin asked me if I knew where you were,” she says, evenly.

Wei Wuxian tucks the needle into the fabric and joins her where she’s leaning against the stone wall.

“To make sure I stay out of sight, I suppose. Out of trouble.”

“He wants to see you.”

“What are you doing, talking to strange men at your own engagement party? Have some shame, Lady Wen.”

“Wei Ying.”

He turns and rests his forehead on her shoulder. “I can’t. I can’t see him. I can’t.”

“How long has it been?”

“He was at the trial. I can’t face him after that. You don’t know what it’s like, watching him just sit there—”

“Watching the people who are supposed to be my family sit in silence while Wen Ruohan decides my future for me, separates me from my brother and everyone I know to fill a role I never wanted and don’t belong in? Clearly I have no idea what that is like.”

Wei Wuxian groans. “I know. I know. I just can’t. The way he sat there and talked about Shijie, like she’s nothing. I expect it from Wen Ruohan, not from Jiang Cheng. Before— When we were together he hated Jin Zixuan as much as I did. Now, he announces their engagement and he smiles? Truly, anyone can be bought.” 

“He does what he has to do.”

“So do you, but you don’t smile about it.”

Wen Qing shoves him off her shoulder. “I’m clearly not performing as well as I thought. Wei Ying, you have to understand. Wanyin and Yanli had nothing when the Jins took them in. Jiang Wanyin approves of Jin Zixuan because he protects her.”

“He doesn’t protect her. Jin Guangshan and his money protect her.”

“He protects her from Jin Guangshan.”

It takes a moment to hit him, then he hits the wall. He doesn’t notice he’s done it until the skin on his knuckle splits.

“Fuck!” he punches again, smearing a line of blood across the stone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” As he strikes again and again, a thin stream of black smoke emerges from between his fingers.

Wen Qing grabs his arms. “Stop it!”

“Fuck!” he shouts again, fighting her. But he’s not strong enough; he couldn’t overpower her if he wanted to. Not without Chenqing, not without summoning more than he can handle. “Fucking useless,” he breathes, dropping his forehead against the wall, hard.

“It’s all right. She’s under Jin Zixuan’s protection, no one will touch her.”

He whirls on her. “What about those that aren’t? Would I be protected in Lanling? Someone like me?”

“You’re not really Jin Guangshan’s taste.”

“Wen Qing.”

“There’s nothing to be done. Someday Jin Zixuan will take over and things will be better.”

“That’s not good enough. I hate this. I hate this. I didn’t know it would be like this. I never thought the power mattered, but to just sit and watch— ”

“I know.”

“You don’t.”

“Wei Ying, what’s my fucking name? Of course I know what it’s like to be powerless, to sit and watch. But we don’t sacrifice ourselves if there’s no chance of success. We don’t waste our lives on battles we can’t win.”

“Fuck.”

“Calm down, all right? Sit down, come on.”

Wei Wuxian leans against her side and breathes, eyes closed. Lifts one hand on an inhale, breathes out, pushing away. I am glad for . . . I am grateful for . . . I have . . . I . . .

It takes a few minutes, but his heart rate slows, the red recedes from the corners of his vision. His hands are clear, no black smoke.

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“She shouldn’t have to marry him just for that. That shouldn’t be enough.”

“Everyone pays for protection, Wei Ying. Even you.”

“You mean serving the Lans? That’s not payment.”

“Not people. Are you saying there wasn’t a cost? For feeling powerful again, feeling whole?”

Wei Wuxian nods. “It never felt whole. It just wasn’t empty.”

Wen Qing pulls a jar of salve and roll of bandages out of her bag and starts treating his hand.

“Even in your engagement robes, you’re always ready.”

“Wen Ruohan can make me what he wants on the outside, he has no power over anything else.”

Wei Wuxian grins at her, then hisses at the sting. “Ah, Wen Qing, it may not be your first choice, but I am so glad you are here. And that if you have to marry someone you don’t want to, it’s someone in Cloud Recesses.”

Wen Qing ties off the bandage but keeps a hold of his hand. “It could be worse.”

Wei Wuxian gasps in mock indignation. “You’re marrying Lan Wangji, and that’s the best you’ve got? It could be worse?”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes, but stays with him and watches the shadows lengthen. 

“I need to go back,” she says finally, rising and brushing off her robes. “Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen will be playing music tonight. You’ll be able to hear from outside. It may do you some good.”

“I do miss music,” he says, walking her to the entryway. “I really could play. Remember? Those weeks we were together, you’d work and I would play?”

“You’ll play again.” She gives him half a smile and leaves. 

He goes back to his torn sheet, folding it neatly until he begins to hear a guqin—faint, but pure, calling him out of the yard, pulling him along like a tide.

Part Thirteen