#playing jump rope with zidian

[khazadspoon]

Jump Rope

Well I got reminded of that post about playing jump-rope with Zidian so I just did it. At least I wrote it. SO have a slightly emotional but cathartic thing that happened in the space of half an hour. 

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He has been trying to be better in the past year. Trying to be kinder, gentler, softer when talking to Jin Ling. He knows he has failed the boy by being as harsh as he has been for most of his life. 

So when Jin Ling asks to practice with Zidian he doesn't refuse. Jin Ling is surprised but grateful, accepts his teaching with that same sharp focus Yanli tried to hide but never really could. It hurts to see some days, but it is worth it for the joy on his nephew's features when the whip strikes its target without fault. 

And, after a few lessons, even a hug or two as thanks, he starts to think maybe things are going to be alright. 

Then Zidian is missing. 

He wakes and knows someone has been in his room. The door is ever so slightly open, his books and scrolls are just a little out of place, and there is a smell of dog. That only leaves Jin Ling as the culprit and he can't help but wonder why the boy would take Zidian instead of just asking him to-

Laughter trickles in from the courtyard, the one only family and close guests have access to. Jiang Cheng is on guard despite the happy sound, still cautious about letting anyone near his home even though it has been the better half of two decades since it was destroyed. He throws on a robe, hastily slips on his boots and ventures outside. He keeps to the sides, hugs the walls as though this isn't his home and he hasn't been woken by theft and laughter. 

What he sees strikes his heart in a multitude of ways. 

The first is “I'll kill the little shit” as he spots Jin Ling, Zidian on his finger, the loose end of the whip secured round a tree across the courtyard.

The second is “he is actually quite skilled” as his nephew swings the whip round in large arches, controlled and precise. Better than he himself had been at that age.

The third is “why didn't we think of that...”

A gaggle of teenage boys, some in crisp white, some in red or blue, some in purple, Jin Ling the only one in gold, are gathered to watch as Lan Jingyi bounces happily in the ring Zidian makes. He jumps with a burst of laughter each time it comes to his feet, ducks his head as the crackle of energy gets too close to his hair, and jumps out when it becomes a little too dangerous. 

The next to try their luck is a girl, one from his own sect, and he makes a mental note to find out who she is later as she deftly jumps in and plays the game with ease. She even manages to tuck into a ball between jumps, skipping on one foot then another, earning gasps and claps as she spins and dances. It is impressive, to say the least. 

Lan Sizhui steps to take a turn and a loud voice cuts in. 

“Ah ah ah! Not before me, A-Yuan” the voice cries, jubilant to all ears but his own. He hears the worry in that tone and knows the expression on Wei Wuxians face before it comes into view. Of course he would be involved.  

Wei Wuxian strolls towards the arch of purple energy with the slightest hint of trepidation on his face. They have both felt Zidian's sting and the pain lingers in the memory far longer than on the skin. Jiang Cheng watches as Jin Ling hesitates, the arch slowing just for a moment before they share a look of understanding. It stings to see, but less than it had this time a year ago. It was… nice to see his family coming back together, small as it might be. 

“Alright. Now watch how the experts do it.”

His idiot brother steps, jumps, hops, and-

Falls flat on his face, the portion of his robes on his backside sizzling slightly as Zidian connects with a graze. 

Jin Ling retracts the weapon, concerned and red faced, while the other kids gasp and try to stifle their laughter. 

Jiang Cheng does no such thing. 

He laughs, loud and unabashed, the sound foreign to his ears after so long, but it feels beyond good. His chest heaves as he enters the courtyard, pointing shakily at his brother sprawled on the ground and pouting up at him. He grips his sides, sure the pain will kill him while tears roll down his cheeks. 

Wei Wuxian huffs at him. “Jiang Cheng! Stop laughing!” He moans, pointing up at him. 

Jiang Cheng shakes his head and reaches out, pulls his brother up by his hand and thinks maybe he isn't laughing now. The tears still come but they aren't as bitter this time. After all the crying he has done, it's nice to not feel broken when it happens now. He hugs his brother, tighter than is needed, and he knows the young gaggle of kids are looking at them in confusion (except Jin Ling who has grown so much since becoming a leader, his posture straight and proud but able to bend and show humility, able to accept he isn't always the strongest or smartest). They cling to one another, and he can hear the sniffles from Wei Wuxian even as he hears his own.

He lifts his face from Wei Wuxian's shoulder, extricates himself from his brother's grip and glares at the kids halfheartedly. “Alright, show's over! Next time you try to use a powerful weapon so carelessly, I will personally kick each and every one of your asses back to where you came from. Got it?” He bites. It sounds too soft even to his own ears, but the disciples all flush and lower their heads, bowing to him respectfully. 

They begin to leave and he grabs the back of Jin Ling's collar. 

“I- I'm sorry, uncle,” Jin Ling starts, his lips in a pout and he looks so much like his father-

Wei Wuxian claps them both on the back and tugs them into his sides. “No harm done. Except to me, which I think is more acceptable to our great Sect Leader here.”

“You-!” Jiang Cheng swats at his brother's arm but doesn't let the sting of the jibe get to him. He can see from Wei Wuxian's face it was an unintended sting. “Just… ask me next time, alright? You're skilled and improving with Zidian, but it is still dangerous. You need supervision for things like this.”

Jin Ling nods once and his lips curve up in a smile. “Okay.”

Moments later they are both squawking as Wei Wuxian ruffles their hair in tandem, laughing as their hands come up to bat him away. “And what's with all this hair being down this morning? Do you two have no sense of decency? Get back to your rooms and get dressed properly!”

He sounds so much like Madam Yu that Jiang Cheng feels his spine straighten and his face go ashen. “Yes-” he begins, before scowling and chasing his already running brother. “Wei Wuxian!”

He is doing better, now. The anger in his chest is still real, still potent and painful, but he knows how to temper it. His family is growing, there is more than just revenge and searching for answers to fill his time. The world is changing for the better and Jiang Cheng is changing with it.

[khazadspoon]

YES!!! This is what inspired the Jump Rope fic. I couldn’t find the post at the time so now I can add it as the inspiration there. 

a dangerous game indeed

[peridot-tears]

If LWJ had jumped off the cliff too, and WWX met Madam Lan

I am falling to my death.

Shijie.

I am falling to my death.

What did his sister think when her eyes closed? Panic? Relief, that she saved her little brother? Or fear?

Would that I could. I would take all that fear from you. And he put the thought away. What did it matter how Shijie felt in her last moments, when he had made her suffer, and now she was gone?

Besides, he thought, with his eyes closed. He was already halfway to joining her.

Would that he could.

.

For once in his life, Lan Wangji did not think. Bichen like a single wing in his hand, he flew. He flung himself from the cliff.

我陪你。

无愧于心。

In his peripherals, the spray of his own blood. In his tunnel vision, Wei Ying. Yes. Tunnel vision, towards Wei Ying. Nothing could attack him from the sides, anyway. His bleeding did not matter. He would not bleed to death tonight.

Wei Ying was so, so far. Lan Wangji reached inside himself for the spherical power undulating unbidden in his center; it moved still. He had energy yet. He gripped that spiritual energy tight, by the throat, and drew it into the wind.

Wei Ying once said that 妖魔鬼怪 were akin to the life and death of a tree. Lan Wangji was now a ship, with a sail. And he was streaking downwards, towards the achingly distant shape of a man.

Wei Ying.

His spiritual energy sputtered, then burst into a speed that threw him down towards Wei Ying. His black shape slowly became larger, and larger, till Lan Wangji reached out a hand and brushed his red ribbon.

More. He needed more.

Throttling the center of himself, he drew out the last desperate breaths of his spiritual energy; with one last burst, he closed the distance between himself and Wei Ying. The core of himself burned, but with a cry of relief, he wrapped Wei Ying’s body in his arms.

.

The name is on the tip of his tongue, and he opens his mouth to exhale it. But he finds that he cannot.

This is such a long fall, but Lan Zhan will not...Lan Zhan won’t—

Just let me die. Wei Ying’s tears are coming again, and the dull throb of his heartbeat has sharpened, is ripping him open from the inside out.

If mere moments and one blackness ago, Lan Zhan’s lips were pinched with the most obstinate look Wei Wuxian has ever seen, then one return to the world later, his face is soft and clear.

I can’t bring you down with me, Wei Wuxian thinks, panicking. He regrets opening his eyes, because he is not yet dead, and now Lan Zhan...he...

“Wei Ying,” he says, more gently than anyone has said his name in days.

Wei Wuxian finally manages to press Lan Zhan’s name out of his throat, though he cannot hear it in the gush of falling around them. He feels the name move the bones in his skull. He wants to tell him to go, but where could he go?

“I am coming with you,” Lan Zhan responds. “Without any regret in my heart.”

.

Wei Ying’s round eyes are blasted open with shock and pleading. His body is pulsing with blood and life.

Let it stay that way.

Lan Wangji tears his gaze away to look beneath them, at the ground materializing into nearness. Bichen trembles in his hand, and he is unsure if it is something in the sword spirit calling him, or the pulse of his own life. He twitches his palm, his fingers, and wills Bichen to listen: if he has one last request in the world—anything—then it would be Wei Ying’s safety.

Bichen loyally unsheathes itself. It matches their pace, tucking itself under Lan Wangji’s feet, killing their descent.

The ground stops rushing up so quickly to meet them.

Lan Wangji is waning, but he is flying Bichen now, both arms wrapped tight around Wei Ying’s waist.

Like a carriage jerked to a halt too quickly, Bichen stops just above the cold, hard ground. Lan Wangji tumbles into its embrace, but not before he rolls into his landing, softening the fall enough so Wei Ying will only feel a bump.

Safe.

Bichen retreats into his sheath at his unspoken command, and that is all he has the strength left to do.

.

Lan Zhan is on top of Wei Wuxian, pressing the breath out of him. His gaze searches him so much, Wei Wuxian feels like he is standing on that rooftop all over again.

Then, with an exhale, he collapses against his shoulder.

With the warmth of his weight on top of him, Wei Wuxian does not know how long he is down there, stunned, alive, crying. He clutches at Lan Zhan’s body. He wants to scream, but loses any desire to. He thinks the sky is too far away. He wants it to come down and bury him.

In the middle of the tears, of counting each spot in the sky where there should be a star, Lan Zhan’s heart beats against his. It is like a spark against flint.

“Lan Zhan,” he croaks, barely hearing his own whisper. “Lan Zhan.” Why did you save me, Lan Zhan?

He has been cursed with good instinct from birth—though it wasn’t good enough to save Yu Furen, or Shijie—and he knows that Jiang Cheng will climb down here to looking for them, even if he must turn Zidian into a rope and climb with each agonizing handful of lightning. He would kill Wei Wuxian. That is fine. But who knows if he would take anything out on Lan Wangji?

Wei Wuxian hefts Lan Zhan’s weight off of himself. He surprises even himself with the strength left in him, rolling him onto his back and brushing his own hair out of his eyes. Jiang Cheng can have him. Jiang Cheng should have him.

But no one should have Lan Zhan.

.

Lan Wangji would not blame Wei Ying if he left him beneath that cliff.

He left Wei Ying all by himself outside of Xuanwu Dong, after having sung him to sleep. He was sick, and delirious, and Lan Wangji left him to wake up alone. It must have been like waking up in a cold bed.

It was the right thing to do at the time. But if only he knew what would come after, how he would encounter Wei Ying next. And the next time. And the next.

His decisions had all been right. But the wrong thing could also be right.

He wakes up to the sensation of swaying.

It is akin to waking up after his first ever taste of alcohol. Wei Ying was there that night, too. They woke up together. He wishes he could see the way he burst into laughter in the late-morning sunlight, almost noon. He wishes Wei Ying could smile as sharply as that light again. But when all is said and all is done, he has granted himself his own wish. Wei Ying is alive.

He wakes up on Wei Ying’s back.

.

Lan Zhan’s breath is soft on his neck. Wei Wuxian wishes he wouldn’t wake up like this. He wants him to stay asleep until he is healed, and then never see Wei Wuxian again, because by then Wei Wuxian would finally have killed himself. And this time, he wouldn’t even have to see it and blame himself for not saving him in time.

“You’re awake,” he says.

Lan Zhan’s next breath carries the trace of a grunt. His throat bobs against Wei Wuxian’s hair as he exhales.

“Don’t try to talk,” Wei Wuxian says. Truthfully, he is telling himself this too. He should be mourning, so where is the energy to even open his mouth coming from?

Thankfully, Lan Zhan obeys, but he still breathes down his neck like a relaxed predator. Wei Wuxian should not feel so hunted, he thinks, until he realizes that there is nowhere to go. No one in the world would allow a criminal into their inn, much less the Yiling Laozu, who killed Jin Zixuan, who killed millions. Why, even his own sister—

Lan Zhan needs you right now, he thinks.

It is incredible, how long he can follow the rocks of the very bottom of Bu Ye Tian and not get caught. He walks until his feet ache as much as his chest, and then keeps walking.

He walks and walks until the land thickens into trees.

It starts to rain. Nevernight turns to night. Night turns to day. Turns back into night.

He keeps walking.

—

He is brought back to a certain other night, when he decided to walk back into hell to save a handful of innocents. And they later died. I wonder, would Lan Zhan die too? he thinks idly. Well, no. No, he won’t let that happen. Not again. Which is exactly what he declared to the world the last time.

Lan Zhan is unconscious again. Wei Wuxian lays him down under the eaves of the abandoned lean-to, thankful that nowhere else in the world is there wind as merciless as that in Luan Zang Gang. He kindles a small fire and bandages Lan Zhan’s arm.

Even after a battle, exhausted to death, Lan Zhan’s face is the smoothest cut of white jade. It is like the moon—could provide light even in the dark. Wei Wuxian traces a finger along his cheek, his jaw, and marvels at his own hands. They are trembling.

The irony is not lost to him. That he is the one very much breathing and moving—jittering, even—while Lan Zhan is sleeping like the dead. The whiplash of being alive is so repetitive.

His throat works. He hums to himself, then scrapes a leaf off the side of the lean-to. For all the sick feelings in his stomach at the thought of mouthing Chenqing again, he places the leaf under his lips. Its whistle is different from Chenqing’s. There is no power, just the vibrations of something that is still green.

This is what he has been reduced to, he supposes.

The song is nameless, but he knows it.

How long have I been alive? he chants to himself. He threads these words into the tune he plays, giving them lyrics. He wonders if Lan Zhan ever gave them lyrics. He threads that name into the harmony, too.

.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes to the sound of something that should be played on the earthy tones of his guqin. It has been turned into something more high and unreachable.

The first thing he thinks is that he does not hurt as much as he should, that his arm must be bleeding, and that it is rainy and cold.

But Wei Ying.

Their song is in the air. He twists his head in a ginger, delicate motion to see Wei Ying’s exhausted, pale visage, and that one pop of green against his lips.

He finds no need to speak.

.

Wei Wuxian has played the song at least three times before he decides to check up on Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan stares back.

“You’re awake,” he says. There should not be as much emotion in those words as there is.

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian doesn’t like how he’s responding. He’s looking at him as though he is the one lying barely conscious, and Lan Zhan is the one playing this song for him.

“Go back to sleep,” Wei Wuxian says. “The more you rest, the sooner you’ll get better. And then you can go back home, and tell your Shufu and brother that I took you away against your will. You can even take credit for killing me, if you want. After this, you’ll never see me again.”

“I will not leave you.”

Then I’ll leave you, but what’s meant to be a secret then leaves his mouth.

Lan Zhan is steadfast. “Where will you go?”

Wherever Shijie is. So I can say sorry.

Wei Wuxian elects to spread himself open. Where other people curl into a defensive ball, he lays himself on the ground, a child of earthly affairs.

反正天大地大，四海为家。

“The world is big,” he says, “and wherever I go, I can make it into a home. That’s what happened in Luan Zang Gang, but I don’t want to go back.”

But where else do I belong now?

.

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, but Wei Ying has frozen in time. There is not a physical whiff of smoke around him, but he shakes, leaf dropping from his grip. His lips move, as he has conversations with someone who died in a cruel fashion a long time ago.

“Wei Ying,” he calls.

His eyes are glazed over. Lan Wangji has seen this before.

“Wei Ying,” he calls again. With Jiang Yanli out of the world now, and out of wherever the ghosts possessing Wei Ying live—a person like her meets death with a greeting and a bowl of soup—only Lan Wangji has a flicker of hope in keeping him here.

He scrambles to lift himself, winces when he uses his injured arm, then heaves himself upright with core strength alone.

Grabbing Wei Ying’s arm is like touching a hot stone: In a flash meant to repel, it burns him. He should jolt and jump away, but instead clutches harder. He says his name again.

How long has Wei Ying been walking to bring them both out of the reach of the cultivation world? Where are they now? How long has he gone without sleep, when he should have stopped to grieve?

Wei Ying finally, finally takes enough breaths to find himself, finally has the space of mind to turn his head enough for Lan Wangji to realize how bloodshot his eyes are.

With one last shudder, he collapses.

.

魏无羡你想报仇吗？

Revenge? On whom? Himself?

Shijie does not belong on a battlefield. In another life, one where she could be as strong in body as she is in mind, she would be the best. She would beat anyone as easily as Yu Furen and her handmaids. When she is reincarnated, in her 来生，heaven will be kinder to her, because if not to her, then whom?

So why is she here, dressed in white for her own funeral?

There is a whisper she is trying to pass onto him, and the hand on Wei Wuxian’s cheek is already cold from lack of blood. Instead, she shoves him aside. She dies instantly.

That blade was meant for me.

It should have been me.

Jiang Fengmian should never have taken him in. He killed his daughter. Wei Wuxian should have been left to die on the streets.

Do you want revenge?

I want to die.

The voices have faces. Every one of them is Jiang Yanli. Such hateful words should not come from her mouth. He wants to raise Chenqing to the voices, but then, he would have to raise it to her.

He dreams of falling. Luan Zang Gang calls him. Come back, say the ones who gave him Chenqing. Don’t you want revenge?

When he hits the ground again, no longer able to see the sky, Shijie reaches a hand out. She does not belong here, either. “Go,” he tells her. “Go—”

Don’t touch her, he screams at the spirits. Listen to me. You promised, you promised.

Shijie raises one gentle hand to his cheek. He is too afraid to lean into her touch.

“—Ying!”

Read more

[ibijau]

Ahhh 85 for the prompt list (the guns one uwu) with jc and xy. I’m not envisioning it being romantic but please do what you think is best!!!

“children shouldn’t play with guns.” “who said I was playing?”

I have no idea what’s happening there but it’s happening anyway  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

warning for some mentions of violence

Jiang Cheng carefully stepped into the alley indicated on the email, expecting to find something dirty and dark, the sort of place an over dramatic informant might find suitable for this sort of exchange… and his informant was dramatic, he’d proven it more than once. Sometimes, Jiang Cheng suspected the man was just playing with him. Not that his tips weren’t good, he’d tracked down nearly all the demonic cultivators the Jins had ditched when Jin Guangyao had taken over his father’s business and decided to go clean. There had been too many close calls though, people who had clearly been warned, carefully laid traps he had only barely escaped.

So, Jiang Cheng expected drama.

Instead, he stumbled upon a bunch of children playing together, some jumping rope, others involved in a complicated pretend game. A few, the older ones of the bunch, were flying a drone, the sort that Jin Ling kept begging to have even though they were too fragile and delicate for a kid his age.

They all stopped their games when Jiang Cheng came into view. A few turned toward the young boy holding the drone's remote, the only kid who didn't acknowledge Jiang Cheng in any way. Soon enough, the others also returned to playing, but kept glancing toward this adult who was intruding into their world. 

Jiang Cheng checked the map on his phone. The coordinates were right, and he was barely one minute early. 

Less than a minute. His phone biped, informing him the time was now right. At the same moment, a melody rang, coming from the group of children playing with the drone. Jiang Cheng recognised it as the opening of a popular cartoon, one he sometimes managed to catch with Jin Ling when it was his turn to have him. 

Hearing it, all the kids froze, glanced at the boy with the drone's remote, and ran away screaming and laughing. Only that boy remained, and two young teenagers hanging out a little further, pretending to check something on their phone. 

The boy was still pretending not to notice Jiang Cheng, but his drone started closer and closer to him, nearly touching him a few times. It got annoying enough that Jiang Cheng had half a mind to grab it next time it passed close enough. 

He noticed the razor blades attached to the toy just in time to avoid slicing his palms open. 

The boy laughed. 

"Hey Jiang-ge, you're not half blind, eh?" 

Jiang Cheng glared at the kid, trying to keep zidian under control so it wouldn't reveal itself. 

"Are you working for Chengmei, kid?" 

The boy grinned in a way that would have looked playful without the intent glint in his eyes and his slightly too big canines. 

"I don't work for nobody, Jiang-ge. I'm an in-the-pendant." 

"Independent?" Jiang Cheng guessed. 

The boy's grin turned to a grimace. 

"I'm what I say I am, what's your business correcting me if you understood?" he snapped. "Jiang-ge, I get why there's all those guys who don't like you. I've just met you and you already piss me off." 

"It's mutual, brat. Now get Chengmei here." 

The boy started laughing again. 

"Jiang-ge, you don't get it?" he mocked. "I had figured already you weren't too bright but that's too much." 

Jiang Cheng glared at him, to which the boy replied by another smirk before launching his drone at him. This time Jiang Cheng simply drew out zidian and unleashed its power on the toy, frying it in a second. He turned again to the boy, ready to get threatening, only to find he had thrown away his remote and was now holding a gun, pointed right at Jiang Cheng’s chest. 

It wasn’t common to see that sort of weapon in Jiang Cheng’s circles. Guns were uncivilised and crude, cultivators still preferred to use swords or spiritual weapons. There was an unspoken rule that firearms were just rude. Still, he’d seen enough of those to tell the boy wasn’t just threatening him with a toy.

“Jiang-ge, you’ve really pissed off the wrong people,” the kid laughed. “It’s too bad, I had fun playing with you, and you’ve really helped me get rid of my competors.”

“Competitors,” Jiang Cheng grunted, tightening his grip on zidian and wondering if he could be quick enough. “Children shouldn’t play with guns, you know.”

“Who said I was playing?” the kid retorted, pulling the trigger at the same time Jiang Cheng lashed at him with zidian.