#the other half of a broken soul (jun) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aiyexayen · 4 years ago

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The ChengXian/WangXian parallel gifsets about the sad boat rides with Wen Ning made me think, once again, about how Wei Ying was worried about being the Jiang Cheng in his relationship with Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying just had so few models of relationship, and only two real models of a serious relationship involving himself--Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He saw himself as a caretaker in each of them.

Even Jiang Yanli, ultimately, though there was certainly more give and take there. He only accepted a very specific kind of caretaking from her, though, and we see how fraught that was in the way Yu-furen shamed Jiang Yanli for it.

But Jiang Cheng was the most complicated. He and Wei Ying were the Yunmeng Shuangjie. Twin Heroes. Both of them strong male cultivators. Their relationship was such a carefully orchestrated imbalance. Wei Ying had to take care of Jiang Cheng even to the point of making sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel taken care of. He was stronger, but he had to make sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel weaker.

And at the same time, he had to be able to have his best friend and brother and navigate the lines of teasing and boasting that came with those dynamics and also with his natural brash and outgoing and free-spirited personality. It’s not something that weighed particularly heavy on him until later on, of course; it’s just How Things Were.

But Lan Zhan being Wei Ying's true equal was a heady taste of something new, something he was desperate for.

Someone he didn’t have to take care of in all those tricky, sticky ways. Someone who could understand him from the outside. That equality between them--of swords and strength and wit--formed so much of their early relationship. The ways Wei Ying and Lan Zhan excelled differently weren’t seen as anything but surface-level differences, cultivation styles. They could choose to take care of each other on their own (like in the Xuanwu cave) but there were no expectations except that which they set for themselves.

The best cohesive example I can think of is the situation at Dafan Mountain. Jiang Cheng has taken off after Wei Ying, to come and find his troublemaking brother and bring him home, ostensibly being the one to wrangle and care for his brother and best friend and someday-second. But as soon as he finds them, Wei Ying is clearly the one in charge. Jiang Cheng gets locked into a shield barrier, given a verbal half-teasing pat on the head, and left behind. Wei Ying goes off with Lan Zhan to find the source of the problems and their new level of partnership is beautifully put on display through their fight (other things happen in that fight, too, but that’s another post).

Jiang Cheng was never allowed to truly take care of Wei Ying. His parents never let him. Wei Ying never let him. He tried, all the time, most of all when he gave himself up to the Wen soldiers. But even that was immediately undone, turned back around on him.

Wei Ying never figured out how to attain any semblance of true equilibrium in his relationship with Jiang Cheng, even after everything at Lotus Pier, especially after everything at Lotus Pier, either before or after the core transfer. Maybe if he had, things would have been different. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have sacrificed his core to begin with.

It’s debatable how much Wei Ying expected to keep living after his core was gone. It’s even more debatable how much he really thought about anything past his own desperation in the moment, about all the promises broken with that single act, about how that would affect his relationship with anyone else. That doesn’t seem like a very Wei Ying thing to sit and think about.

Regardless, once the core was gone, he and Lan Zhan weren't equals. It messed up his relationship with Jiang Cheng, too, of course. The resentful energy was its own kind of strength but it couldn’t make up the difference in any way that counted. It just complicated everything by a thousand times and added in all kinds of new problems.

Even though Jiang Cheng had his core and Wei Ying had nothing but the tortured screams of the lost and vengeful echoing in his head, Wei Ying was still the caretaker there.

Don’t let Jiang Cheng find out the secret. Don’t let Lan Zhan become embroiled in it or expose the secret. Make sure Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli and Lotus Pier are okay. Lift Jiang Cheng up as a leader. Win the war. Apparently still be alive welp didn’t see that coming. Protect them all. Even if it means leaving.

But as much as he scrambled for strengths and leaned on his demonic cultivation he was still weak. Able to wipe out entire outposts of Wen agents yet repeatedly brought to a point where Lan Zhan could kill him easily and we know that the only way he could hope to match him would be to use this dangerous thing that's eating his soul, so shit could really get out of hand. Which wasn't really winning in the end. Demonic cultivation for him in general wasn’t strength so much as carefully-applied weakness.

Not to mention his reputation. They got so far off-balance where reputation and social standing was concerned.

Wei Ying’s merits had been contentious throughout his life--on the one hand, they're all he had to elevate himself beyond the need for the Jiangs' charity, or anyone's charity, as his status as family was so fraught and inconsistent. Being the best made all of that a moot point as much as it could be. And it also made him able to take care of said family, fulfilling all manner of "repay debt" vibes and "I'm obsessed with justice and protection" vibes.

On the other hand, they were definitely part of what made things so difficult with Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying’s reputation outclassing Jiang Cheng’s as a prodigy, a swordsman, a hero, even as he balanced it out by getting a simultaneous reputation for goofing off and being irresponsible. He did his best to make them complementary even though they were never really allowed to be.

But Jiang Cheng said it himself when he visited Wei Ying at the Burial Mounds--as soon as he started walking a different path, all of his merits and his skills and his reputation were turned upside down and used to make him a more effective villain.

So suddenly he didn’t even have any good social standing. He was mistrusted and then hated and reviled. On a number of levels, he could handle that, because it was more important to him that everyone who wasn’t him was okay. But it put him at complete odds with the great Hanguang-Jun, which was definitely something he made a point of noting more than once so we know it really, really mattered to him.

And that knowledge crept further and further in, between the war ending, things going back to some semblance of normal when he...couldn’t, and eventually him ending up in the Burial Mounds.

It was inevitable. He was the weaker one between himself and Lan Zhan, in every possible way. He knew of only one way that could go down.

It's a fear that got tangled up along with the rest of his paranoias, insecurities, traumas, resolutions, and twisted certainties pre-timeskip. On top of that, he lost a central piece of his identity and had no idea how to replace it.

If he isn't himself, who else can he be? Who else might he turn into? Someone who needs to be taken care of? Someone who might have his agency circumvented by a stronger person who thinks he knows better?

He sure did that to Jiang Cheng, and he never really had to own up to that piece of it. He never really regretted it either but he also sure didn't want to be on the other end of it.

Aside from that, Wei Ying just didn't know how to not be the strongest person. Being equal is the closest he’d ever come. He's never been allowed to be weak and taken care of unless he's play-acting and isn't that fucking heartbreaking? Fuck.

So who is he without that?

He still fought with the strengths he had and pretended to have the rest of them. And in one last great act of being the protector and caretaker, ran off to the Burial Mounds.

We do get to see Wei Ying and Lan Zhan working in tandem to bring back Wen Ning, and even though Wei Ying stumbles at the end (for the first time ever, I think, into Lan Zhan’s arms?), he does it successfully. They’re still able to work together, in spite of everything that’s happened, especially when Wei Ying is leaning into his actual talents. Even if Wei Ying’s weakness is still looming over his shoulder, as we see later.

Being with the Wens, living a simple life, leaning into his strengths, being part of a community and family, taking time to work on his scholarly/inventor hobbies, all this served to calm a lot of those fears and also conveniently take Wei Ying out of the scenarios and away from the relationships that caused them. It offered him tentative new pieces of identity to grab.

But then, of course, he lost that, too.

Post-timeskip, Wei Ying is thrust right back into a world where he has to finally face those issues. Whether you take it as he still has no core, or he has Mo Xuanyu’s really weak core, he’s not doing so great where that’s concerned.

He still has strengths. We’re not actually shown any indications that this man is weak at any point, not truly. He has a better grasp on the situation at Mo Manor than all of those precious Lan babies put together.

But we are shown that he uses a bunch of hands-on crafty tricks, talismans and spells and such. And, interestingly, in counterpoint we’re shown Lan Zhan descending from the heavens with his qin. Wei Ying doesn’t use a dizi here yet (let alone sword), and Lan Zhan doesn’t use Bichen. I do think that’s lovely.

However, Lan Zhan is still incredibly strong, in more ways than just physically: his reputation is strong, his presence is strong, his confidence is high, his mastery of the qin is unparalleled, he’s had sixteen more years to grow up and develop his golden core.

From the framing, and Wei Ying’s reactions, and the Lan juniors’ reactions, it’s pretty clear that’s the impression Wei Ying has. There’s an imbalance between them (along with alllll the other reasons he might have to want to stay away from/keep Lan Zhan out of things). He doesn’t see them as complementary, just as not-the-same.

He meets Jiang Cheng next and, hey, Jiang Cheng is actually really strong now, too (also he always was but meh). Again, Wei Ying uses his tricks to outwit and outmaneuver the situation at hand. Again, he’s struck by the impressive image of someone entering the scene like a badass.

And what a deliciously awful carousel of conflicting feelings. Pride? Despair? Longing? Love? Annoyance? Delight? Relief? Pain? Fear?

But as far as strength goes, clearly Jiang Cheng has it in buckets, now. Which means even if they still had a relationship, Jiang Cheng surely wouldn't even be the Jiang Cheng in it anymore. What a horrible realisation.

It can’t be helped much by the fact that Wei Ying almost lets himself get run through and Lan Zhan enters the scene to fucking save him. Even if it’s from the kid we know he just bested.

And that’s the back and forth we see at first. Wei Ying proving his strength and his character but the framing and his reactions proving that he’s still caught in the idea that Lan Zhan is stronger and better than him.

Lan Zhan is beloved. Lan Zhan is strong. Lan Zhan would never accidentally murder people he loved more than life itself. (OKay I won’t get into that but tell me he didn’t think that at any point I dare you)

He accepts it and plays it off as not a big deal, but it clearly is. In his rare serious moments, we see that.

So post-timeskip, Wei Ying has to figure out who he is and then how he can be said person. A significant part of the character and relationship development post-timeskip is about that.

He once again finds himself exploring uncharted territory of building relationship dynamics he’s never experienced with Lan Zhan. It started because he realised they were equals. It can’t develop further until he acknowledges that they still are.

He figures out how to be weak with Lan Zhan first, that it's safe and allowed and okay. There’s nothing wrong with being taken care of. It doesn’t have to define him and it doesn’t have to be about agency or about all the twisty psychological junk that was all wrapped up in his familial relationships at all.

Then he figures out that he still has the capacity to take care of someone like Lan Zhan back, that he’s still able to be needed, and not just someone to follow around and protect.

Wei Ying has strengths, strengths that were always there and always part of him as well as new ways he's grown and changed. He’s an inventor, he’s a genius, he’s a prodigy, he has his talismans and his music and his people skills and his teaching ability and his empathy and his heart.

All this definitely comes to a head on the steps of Jinlintai, by which point it feels like one of the only remaining imbalances that Wei Ying feels so keenly is their status, which of course Lan Zhan snuffs out utterly romantically.

It’s even more poignant that that moment comes right after Wei Ying gets Suibian back. And he's not nearly as good with it--Lan Zhan has to protect him multiple times in that fight and then of course he gets stabbed. But the point is still made, that he was still able to fight, and even his failures with the sword just drive home that this isn't who he is now. And that's okay.

By the time they're at the Burial Mounds again, Wei Ying has accepted the way they work as a team and that they can be complementary. And they fight flawlessly.

I love that growth for him.

He absolutely ends up being the Jiang Cheng, in a number of ways. He runs after Lan Zhan when he’s drunk to keep him out of trouble. He ends up left behind to take care of defenseless people while Lan Zhan runs off and has an epic sword fight in an evil fog bank.

He has to be taken from Lotus Pier, unconscious, in a boat, and is held so preciously in Lan Zhan’s arms.

But. Turns out it’s not so bad when the person you’re being Jiang Cheng for isn’t Wei Ying.

I swear this is not throwing shade at Wei Ying.

But he figures out, slowly, how to actually have a relationship built on even ground, as equals, in spite of being unequal in all the ways he used to think mattered. And he only manages it with someone once he’s on the weaker side of it.

I just think that’s super interesting.

And I think it sets a precedent for Wei Ying to understand the flaws in his old dynamic with Jiang Cheng. Especially once there aren’t secrets between them.

Everything has to change, anyway. Everything has already changed, almost two decades ago, and it isn’t going back. It can’t ever go back. Everything they were to each other was bound up in Jiang Yanli’s presence, in promises long broken, in dreams long dead, in a future that has already proved to not be real. In the old Lotus Pier, a lot of it, since they never really moved on from that, either, even back then.

Jiang Cheng has grown up. He’s raised a kid. He’s raised and trained disciples. He’s been a sect leader for over a decade and a half. He’s been to other people what he never could be to Wei Ying.

He’s also proven that he still wants his brother to fix things, still expects him to be able to. Still wants to fight, still knows how to cry. Still acknowledges fragmented pieces of their lost dynamic. Probably more of the healthy ones than Wei Ying ever has, too.

Jiang Cheng still, even in the wake of learning about the golden core, even after everything he’s built and has become, acknowledges Wei Ying as a strong person. As someone as strong as he is, if not stronger in many ways. As having the capacity of an older brother.

But then, Jiang Cheng was always able to conceptualise a world where he and Wei Ying were equals, complementary if not evenly matched, just as much as Lan Zhan was.

It wasn’t a fantasy that Wei Ying indulged him in. It was a reality that Wei Ying himself didn’t know how to accept and kept at a distance, carefully juggling too many separate parts of a whole he couldn’t allow to come together until they all crashed down.

But he’s been on the other side of it now and maybe it’s enough. Maybe he can take what he’s learned in building/rebuilding his relationship with Lan Zhan and apply it to other people. Especially Jiang Cheng.

And maybe Jiang Cheng has been a sect leader and an uncle long enough to not let Wei Ying get away with shit.

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i-like-plan-m · 4 years ago

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the wind on another star

[On Ao3]

Lan Zhan wondered if pirates, of all things, were going to succeed where dozens of far superior fighters had tried and failed to kill him before.

The wide open void of space mocked him. Millions of escape routes within sight, and all worthless to him with a sabotaged hyperdrive and navigation system. The Hanguang-Jun was stranded in the middle of nowhere and caught in the crosshairs of a rather established band of mercenaries who doubled as pirates when they were between paid jobs.

Lan Zhan stood at the helm of his wounded starship and watched the empty escape pods drift away with so much fury he half expected them to explode.

Su She had conned his way onto Lan Zhan’s ship, hacked the navigation controls to drop them out of hyperspace and straight into the heart of a company of heavily armed mercenaries, and taken the only escape pod that he hadn’t already ejected into space.

Lan Zhan’s crew was trapped. Lan Zhan was trapped-- his ship’s weapon systems were mostly offline, brought partially back to life only by Lan Jingyi’s sheer desperation and skill. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep a dozen fighter planes and two cruisers at bay.

“Ambush,” Mianmian said tightly from beside him. “This was carefully planned, Captain.”

“What did we ever do to piss off these guys?” Lan Jingyi asked over the open comms, an edge of panic to his voice that made Lan Zhan’s mouth twist. It was his fault that his cousin was here in the first place, after all; he’d offered him a position on his ship due in part to Lan Jingyi’s skills and also to get him out of Lan Qiren’s hair. Apparently a too-clever, loud mouthed teenager trapped in the peaceful City of Clouds in Gusu had driven everyone up the wall.

He’d reminded Lan Zhan of Wei Ying-- the irrepressible character, the frequent mischief, a voice that ricocheted off of steel walls like a blaster shot. He was joy and humor and noise, a welcome change from the solemn silence aboard the Hanguang-Jun. It made him think of things loved and lost, bittersweet memories that perhaps made him more lenient with Lan Jingyi than his family would approve of.

And Lan Zhan had brought him straight into a trap, likely to be picked off by power hungry mercenaries or held as a hostage.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the control panel beeped urgently, warning him that the cruisers had locked their missiles onto the Hanguang-Jun.

So they had decided to kill him after all.

His brother would be devastated, Lan Zhan thought distantly.

“I’ve still got the sonics,” Mianmian said, strapping herself into the copilot’s seat and reaching for the weapons controls. As his security expert and weapons master, Mianmian had seen them through insurmountable odds before; she remained as cool as ever under the flashing red warning lights. “I can pick off the missiles as they come, unless they unload several at once on us.”

“Can we use them to hit first?” Lan Jingyi asked, breathing heavily as he worked in the overheated mechanical room. “No one in the galaxy can counter Lan sonic tech.”

“They’re out of range,” Mianmian said regretfully.

“They haven’t attempted to hail us?” Lan Zhan asked, staring the largest cruiser down as it loomed over them in a blatant attempt to intimidate them. He suspected there was more at play here-- cruisers like this cost serious money, and even if simple mercenary crews got their hands on one, they didn’t keep them long. But two? Lan Zhan knew a set up when he saw it.

Lan Jingyi-- their mechanic and communications officer, because he was “skilled like that”-- made a sound of disgust. “No. So much for intergalactic law, right?”

“So many for just us,” Mianmian said, scowling out the front shield. “That’s half a damn army out there.”

The Hanguang-Jun had a reputation, though. Lan Zhan and his tiny crew went where the chaos was, and recently they’d taken on a number of jobs that had required the full force of their combined skill and strategy to survive. Except they’d not only survived, they’d demolished multiple bands of the rogue mercenaries that wandered the galaxy, terrorizing the helpless colonies too small or poor to defend themselves.

Someone had been paying attention, it seemed. And they had gone so far as to plant a spy-- Su She, hired only a week ago as extra support-- to lead them to an ambush in the middle of nowhere.

No one would know of their deaths for some time; the largest cruiser had an active jammer to block any distress signals, and Lan Zhan wasn’t due for a check in with his family for weeks.

He regretted the deaths of his crew. His friends. The loss his brother and uncle would soon face. And, privately, Lan Zhan regretted that he would never find Wei Ying. The bright, brilliant boy who’d vanished entirely after the Sunshot Wars, wherein the galaxy had come together to bring down Wen Ruohan before he could harness a sun’s energy to demolish entire planets.

So much left unsaid. But Wei Ying had broken the Wen remnants out of a prison world and disappeared into the darkness between the stars. No one knew where he’d gone. If he was alive. If they’d ever see him again.

Lan Zhan, it seemed, would never find out.

“Our shields?” He asked quietly, gripping the sleek rail separating the pilots’ seats from the rest of the control room so tightly his knuckles were white.

“In tatters,” Lan Jingyi said, trying to sound brave and landing somewhere around apprehensive. “I’m doing my best, Captain, but…”

“It’s alright,” Lan Zhan said gently. “We will try the sonic cannons.”

Mianmian’s eyes flickered to him, but she kept quiet. They both knew it would only take one missed shot to destroy their ship, and they were laughably outnumbered. But the comms were open and Lan Jingyi was listening intently from the engine room, so they kept their mutual understanding nonverbal.

“Well. It’s been an honor, Captain,” she murmured, too low for the comm line to pick up.

“For me as well,” Lan Zhan said, and dropped his hands to the pilot controls. He would try to help Mianmian dodge missiles as best he could, despite the futility of the situation.

The beeping became frantic, screaming in urgency as the second cruiser locked onto them. The cockpit was dim, lit only by the flashing warning lights that cast them in hues of red.

They waited, braced for the first burst of light that would signal a dispatched missile, surrounded on all sides, caught in a killing field with no way out.

Three bright souls on the cusp of darkness, facing a death that would leave them floating adrift in the eternal expanse of space. Not so terrible an end, he supposed, for a crew of wayfarers.

Mianmian suddenly jerked in place. “What the...?”

Lan Zhan’s attention snapped to her, wondering if he’d missed the beginning of the execution. He followed her baffled gaze, and then froze at the sight of a mid-sized, battered red cruiser dropping out of hyperspace, right on top of the armada.

He knew that cruiser. Had seen it only once, when a small collection of Wen prisoners had boarded it in the midst of a fierce storm with a slender, defiant figure guarding their escape.

The Yílíng Lǎozǔ drifted casually along, drawing the attention of the armada when its heavy artillery cannons dropped into active position. Half of the mercenaries turned their starships around to face the new threat.

“Is that who I think it is?” Mianmian whispered. Lan Zhan could not answer, though the hope in her voice matched the rising sun of his own.

“Is what who you think it is? What’s happening?” Lan Jingyi asked. They didn’t answer, too focused on the Yílíng Lǎozǔ and its unhurried course through the mercenaries’ ranks. Neither took much notice when he skidded into the cockpit to join them, breathing hard with wide, fever-bright eyes.

MianMian made a noise low in her throat when one of the cruisers disengaged their missile lock and turned it onto the Yílíng Lǎozǔ. “They’re going to get blown into pieces, why aren’t they moving out of range?”

Lan Zhan didn’t even notice the moment he stood, so tense his bones felt as though they’d shatter into pieces at a single touch. Wei Ying, what are you doing?

As if in answer, the largest cruiser angled to give chase to the Yílíng Lǎozǔ-- and exploded so abruptly and violently that Lan Zhan nearly staggered back in shock. Mianmian swore in mingled fear and delight, and Lan Jingyi exclaimed similar feelings at the top of his lungs.

“They dropped mines, did you see that?” She asked, leaning forward with bright eyes. “Completely off the radar-- we didn’t get so much as a blip, and this radar’s the only damn thing that is working on this ship.”

“Wei Ying has always been inventive,” Lan Zhan said, chest tight with something huge and undefinable.

“Fucking brilliant is what he is,” Mianmian said, and then made a face. “Don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

That implied Lan Zahn was going to see him, which promptly overrode every other thought in his head and made him feel as though he’d been struck in the head with a Lan sonic cannon.

Debris from the destroyed cruiser littered the battlefield, briefly hiding the Yílíng Lǎozǔ from sight.

“They won’t fall for that trick twice,” Mianmian muttered, leaning forward. “Careful, now.”

And then, so suddenly Lan Zhan and Mianmian made twin noises of shock, the starships closest to the Hanguang-Jun exploded. He thought at first it was another trick with the mines, but--

A ripple of darkness rocketed past the nose of their ship, far too fast to track. It was utterly undetectable except for the trail of destruction it left behind. The starship moved at impossible speeds; not even the Nie’s most advanced fighters could move like that, and they were the foremost engineers in the galaxy.

It took another moment, during which starships blew up like a pre-planned chain reaction, for Lan Zhan to realize there were two of these ships-- starfighters, combat aircraft built for speed and stealth. They worked off of each other like they were a hive mind, targeting clusters of enemy ships and annihilating them with some unknown invisible weapon that pulverized the ships into fragments.

A series of explosions along the remaining cruiser nearly tore it in half. Lan Jingyi whooped as it careened wildly out of control and erupted into blinding light.

Lan Zhan’s focus, though, was drawn inexplicably to the shimmer of darkness flitting through the ranks of the armada, slipping into impossibly narrow spaces, performing acrobatics that only someone absolutely fearless would even dream of.

Wei Ying had always taken “attempt the impossible” to heart.

“Look!” Lan Jingyi exclaimed, pointing outside their windshield to a furrow in the black void of space. A third ship, this one hovering just beside the Hanguang-Jun as a clear threat-- come any closer, and you’d be decimated like the rest of the ruined armada. Lan Jingyi waved, and the ripple of black dipped low and then back into place.

“What kind of weapon is that?” Mianmian wondered, watching in awe as a single shot from one of Wei Ying’s starfighters dissolved a starship into particles.

Lan Zhan remembered Wei Ying’s theories on dark matter, and he wondered.

It did not take long for the battle to end. None of the ships even had a chance to escape, and any that tried were chased down within a few heartbeats and destroyed.

The communications system blipped as the two starfighters finished off the remaining enemies. Lan Jingyi looked at Lan Zhan in question, who nodded and waited for him to open the channel to say, “This is Lan Zhan, Captain of the Hanguang-Jun.”

“Hello, Captain,” someone replied. A young man, by the sounds of it, and politely cheerful. “Our captain has asked me to escort you to the Yílíng Lǎozǔ, if you are amenable.”

That was almost certainly not the way Wei Ying had likely worded it. Lan Zhan found himself wanting to smile. “I am amenable,” he said. “My ship is badly damaged and in need of repair.”

“We can help with that,” the boy replied, and was then interrupted by a voice that made Lan Zhan’s stomach swoop violently.

“Lan Zhan! Are you really going to let me put my grubby hands all over your shiny ship?”

He closed his eyes, emotion swelling in his chest. “Wei Ying can put his hands on anything of mine he wishes,” he said calmly, and meant every word.

He heard a squawk, a faint crash followed by an angry beep, and then a third voice calling in concern, “Wei-gongzi!”

“I’m fine, Wen Ning,” Wei Ying said hastily. Lan Zhan eyed the small piece of debris spinning away into the void, as though it had been clipped by the wing of a starfighter, perhaps.

“Ah,” Wei Ying laughed. “Lan Zhan, I didn’t expect you to have jokes now! I’ve missed a lot, it seems.”

“I have missed more.” Too much, if Wei Ying had made advancements like this; he’d clearly discovered some secret to the universe and left the rest of them far behind.

Lan Zhan had let him slip between his fingers once before. He was tired of being left behind.

“Wen Qing is bringing the Yílíng Lǎozǔ to you,” Wei Ying said with more warmth than Lan Zhan deserved. He had, after all, let Wei Ying down all those years ago. “I’ll see you soon, Lan Zhan.”

“Soon,” Lan Zhan agreed, and let the comm line fall to silence.

Soon. He felt his heart skip a beat in anticipation. Soon he would be face to face with Wei Ying again, the boy he’d loved and lost before he truly understood the potential for what it was, too busy being offended by the concept of his own stupid infatuation.

Soon, Lan Zhan thought again, and his tiny, hopeful smile was witnessed solely by the blanket of darkness and the glittering, luminous lights of a nearby star. A secret of his own, held between him and a universe full of possibility.

#my fics #my writing #the untamed #wangxian #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #space drama #lan jingyi #mianmian #luo qingyang #wen ning #wen qing #wen yuan #a yuan #lan sizhui #mdzs #ficlets

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therosefrontier · 3 years ago

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Whumptober Day 5

No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER

betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

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Genshin Impact | Zhongli and his memories

(crossposted to AO3)

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“I met with Azhdaha again yesterday.”

Zhongli started his story while seated on an old stone platform in Guili Plains, a low crumbling stone wall behind him, an ancient tablet the only company by his side. “Virtue grows tall like a tree, though there be shade it will flourish forever,” the dome-shaped tablet read. At times like these, he often wondered at what all the author of those words had in mind when she wrote that.

“I…assumed this would happen, one day. Elemental spirits are nigh immortal beings, and it would be foolishness to assume that a sealed spirit won’t some day find their way out.” Zhongli paused for a moment, his words feeling heavy on his tongue, as if someone really were here that he had to explain this too. “He…left, of his own accord,” he finally said. “His spirit is once again sealed in the mountain. Although, we may very well meet again. I simply might dare to hope that next time, it would be under better circumstances.”

“My life is nigh on eternal. I will go on with the infinite flow of time. And you, Morax... You too will live for many a day to come.”

But Azhdaha would never again be free. This…this was their contract.

Zhongli looked down at his hands and at the ground, the events of many centuries earlier being all too clear in his mind. The events of yesterday were but a brief addendum to what already happened. Azhdaha’s roar of rage and pain, his accusations of treachery, the underlying grim reality of knowing that all of Liyue could be in danger if he didn’t end this here and now…all of that happened, already. Yesterday, Azhdaha was divided, his rage and his benevolence split into two beings. The first time they fought, the benevolent and wise Azhdaha that he once knew was nowhere to be found.

“I never thought I’d be able to speak with him again, like he was. Well, it wasn’t his form necessarily: his consciousness had possessed a random human, but still, once his memories were regained, the words and the voice were most certainly his.” Zhongli smiled weakly. “I must admit, that despite the inherent peril of the situation leading up to this meeting, I was glad. To see him, that is. It…was as if he were still alive.”

“Rex Lapis, we are at your command,” Moon Carver assured him with great gravity, he and Mountain Shaper and the other watching the approach of the rampaging earth dragon with a steeled gaze, ready to fight.

Rex Lapis hesitated only for a moment. Only for a moment did he allow his heart to twist in pain, did he allow his eyes to lose their vivacity as he looked down from the sky at the dragon who cursed his name through his own unfathomable anguish. There was no solution, he knew. Erosion was something that could not be reversed. But he didn’t want to believe it. Not for Azhdaha. He didn’t want to lose him, too.

“We will lure him into the cave underneath the mountain. Follow my lead.”

Zhongli found Azhdaha as a spirit sealed deep in the earth, a simple but unique rock without sight or motion. His stirrings had been the cause of many earthquakes and tremblings, so Zhongli thought it fit to draw the spirit of stone up from the earth and grant his wish, to give him a chance to be free in the world outside. They made a contract, then. Zhongli always made a contract, with those he invited to join him. There was only one for him for which such an agreement was delayed…only because at first, he did not know what their partnership was even to be called. It was one of many ways that Guizhong confused him.

But for the great stone dragon, their agreement was clear. If Azhdaha ever endangered Liyue and brought ruin to order, he would once again be sealed in the dark.

Zhongli always kept true to his contracts.

“Come, I wish to show you something,” Morax beckoned him with a slight smile, bringing his friend up to a ledge overlooking the waters, the sun setting over the mountains in the distance and washing the sky with color.

“What is this?” Azhdaha asked in a deep and booming voice, although its powerful aura was perhaps mitigated by the way he spoke with the curiosity of a child. “I have seen this water before; now it is different?”

Morax chuckled softly. “Take a moment and have a look.”

Azhdaha came up over the ledge with thundering steps. “Your sun looks different. The color has changed. Is it nearing death?”

“No, no, not at all,” Morax explained with a slight touch of amusement. “This is a sunset. The sun will soon disappear over the mountains. You asked last night why the light leaves the sky in such a way. So, I thought I’d bring you here to watch. Of course, the motion of the sun can be observed anywhere, but it carries a different effect, in some locations. The sun will change its color now, but after it disappears, it will come back the next day just as it was before.”

Azhdaha hummed in acknowledgement, then plopping down onto the grass with a shaking of the earth. “So now, we sit and watch?”

“Yes, I say we shall.”

“Morax, how do I look? Unimposing? Like a true human?”

“You look very well,” Morax agreed with a smile. It was in an elemental spirit’s nature to be able to change shape and form, but this was Azhdaha’s first time doing it on his own. His human form wasn’t exactly all that ‘unimposing,’ being that of a man quite large and broad-shouldered, but he looked enough like a human, at least.

“Mm, that is acceptable.” Azhdaha put his newfound fists on his hips and looked down at the Guili Assembly plaza down below. “It is time to interweave myself with humankind. I wish to first try the foods that people keep telling me about. I do not see the appeal of this ‘Grilled Ticker Fish’ that Pervases speaks of, as it is merely a single fish, but I wish to obtain this first, so that I may give him my full opinion!”

“Sounds like a suitable plan,” Morax agreed with a nod. “Then, let’s not keep our human and adepti friends waiting.”

Zhongli remembered his form then, strong with a youthful wonder that wizened into ancient wisdom over the passage of time. It was so startingly unlike the form half of him took yesterday, of a child with a bitter glare in her eyes.

“So here lies the wisdom of the gods? Destroy all deemed redundant, enlist tyrants to ravage the wilderness!” Jiu mocked in her (his) fury.

Zhongli had a contract to keep. He had to seal Azhdaha away. There was no choice.

“Is once not enough!? You would forsake me again!?”

It wasn’t what he wanted. But was there…really nothing he could have done? If he had stopped the humans from mining in the Chasm, if he had noticed the change in Azhdaha, if he had just taken the time out of his duties to pay him a visit, then maybe…

“Erosion ground Azhdaha’s consciousness into oblivion. Slowly, he forgot the face of his old friend, and his memories of defending Liyue Harbor disintegrated,” Azhdaha in Kun Jun’s vessel recounted his own story with a faint smile of regret.

Zhongli couldn’t stop erosion.

And yet…he mourned what came to pass.

Zhongli had known, for a very long time, that he would never again be able to mourn as a mortal would. Azhdaha was far from the only one he has lost to time and conflict. The name he called him, “Morax,” was a stark reminder of this, that name which he had walked away from a long time ago but never truly shed. Morax was a god of war, a slayer of thousands. Morax had for a long, long time grown used to the bloodshed that was Liyue’s reality, as god fought against god in the Archon War and sacrificed hoards of soldiers as pawns. Morax felt no disgust or horror when he walked through a battlefield after the fight was over, stepping over bodies and walking through pools of blood and entrails as he coldly assessed the damage done.

In some ways, Rex Lapis was no different. For that matter, neither was Zhongli. Although his thoughts on war had changed—he would avoid it through the employment of contracts and words, if at all possible—he could never feel the same revulsion towards death and bloodshed as a human would.

Rex Lapis saw many scores of yaksha and other adepti swear fealty to him over the millennia. They would give him their loyalty, and he would make a contract with them, and he would know, because of how many times it had happened already, that they might give their lives in his service. They might fall to the evil that plagues the land in battle, or they may be consumed by the very filth they faithfully eradicated. Rex Lapis did not consider their deaths to be meaningless, nor did he ever wish to sacrifice his subjects as a pawn of war, but…he might have accepted, at some point long ago, that such deaths were inevitable and necessary.

He could not mourn as a human would��or rather, as a human without authority might. A war god had to know, lest he be blind, that he was sending his people to possible death.

He bore that weight, and he accepted that responsibility.

But in that responsibility…what did that mean for Azhdaha? Whose soul was crushed not by the many battles they fought together, but by the erosion of the earth itself?

He was sealed forever by Zhongli’s own hands. That was their contract. That was justice.

He always kept his contracts. No matter the price, no matter what he had to do…even if it was a pact paid in blood with Celestia, he did what he must for the sake of Liyue…

But was it true? Did Zhongli, in that near-final meeting, betray Azhdaha?

“I did what I must,” he spoke again to the stone tablet, cold and motionless despite the warm words inscribed upon it. “Virtue grows tall like a tree, though there be shade it will flourish forever.” But how did one define what “virtue” meant? How much of this “shade” was acceptable? This increasing debt, made in blood…

“His anger, however, does seem justified, in a certain way.”

“Guizhong?” He looked up, a small drop forming in his near-human eyes. “Did I do the right thing?”

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #betrayal #fandom #fic #genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli quest #musings #azhdaha #zhongli has sadness

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the-acid-pear · 3 years ago

Text

Scarface was too fucking boring, didn't make it past chapter 3, but that's good, because that means Baki-Dou time 😍

Time to read the fourth book in this series! Excited to see Musashi <3

Chapter 1

COLORS

Baki please stop flexing

A FELLA SAYING THE SAME I SAID WHEN YUJIRO PULLED HIS SOB STORY, FR GO TRY SOMETHING ELSE! What happened with that whole "i don't care about fighting" eh Baki?!

Chapter 2

HOHO ALI JR???

ah no :/

HOLY FUCK is this quality bad!

He wants to taste defeat i see

TOKUGAWA PLEASE STOP SMOKING

Oh they removed the... Egg in the back of the neck, nice

God this guy's tits so fat 🥵

FINALLYYY HOW LONG SINCE WE SAW A FIGHT IN THE ARENA? A PROPER FIGHT I MEAN

Chapter 3

He doesn't even know 🐍

DON'T BRING THAT FELLA HERE RETSU KICKED HIS ASS IN TIME. RECORD

Oh i saw fanart of this scene

Baki, it's your fault that you are bored, you fucking teen

This shit boring ME

Chapter 4

Oh, goroukou is a title

I like how the prime minister is becoming a recurrent character

I thought he said babe for a sec-

That little "oh~" is a bit sus, are the old men... No, it can't be 😳😳😳

I'm fucking choking fuck

GOD ALMOST READ THAT AS JOHN CENA 😭

"yes <3"

These ppl never learn

Chapter 5

What a way to go, a la gamzee /j

This dude so weird lmao

FAHDGAHDH king

Dude he has huge round eyes tf you talking bout?

IGDUFSUEASEUURSS he's such a freakkk 😭😭😭

This is the most wtf thing Baki has pulled, remember when this was about fighters fighting? I don't know enough about science for this shit either man

Okay so their hug wasn't Tokugawa being touchy like he is, this guy is even worse, se juntaron el hambre y las ganas de comer HSHAFSFG

Chapter 6

Baki's dead

Katsumi about to kill get killed by my grandpa i see

ALSO KATSUMI OG HAIR WOOO

Katsumi bro don't be so happy over nearly killing him-

I love seeing him get better tho

Uwaadgsgsjdga 😍😳🤤 twisting my hair irl,,, 🥴

Finally Motobe remembered he was a character here 😐

FSGSHDAHDA KOSHO PLS

I LOVE that they got dark lips again

IM SORRY GOUKI HOW DO YOU KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT EVERYONE?! LTDKFsjyrd 😭

Jack's scar looks cool ngl

Retsu living the good life lmao

AND HOW DO YOU KNOW, GRANDPA?

Hana just doesn't care, smartest Baki character lmao

Idk what they talking bout but good for em <3

Cum basement

Chapter 7

SHOW US MUSASHI'S COCK

Obsessed he thought his heart was failing 😭

Dude you can just hear the heart beat of your friends/opponents just like that? 🤨

Notice Gaia in the top left 🥴

WHY CAN HE RECOGNIZE EACH OF THEIR HEARTBEATS AAHSGA

Thick 🥵

Unironically built different

Chronic back pain if you ask me, that's how I stand to relieve my agony

Did. Did you just call him a femb-

STOP SHOWING ME PANELS FROM VAGAMOND

I love John sm lmao

Mr Musashi has 2 (3?) dads

Chapter 8

HAIRY LEGS 🥴

Those things look like boobs

Bet you would know eh SHAFADB

They jerked off the mummy?

Reminds me of eye surgery

AFjshAFDGAJAHAF

Mf came out the tube ripped af 😭

Chapter 9

Everyone is so feminine lately good ol Kureha fell behind 😭

I like his bandana tho it's cute

OH HE TOO? AND HE'S NOT EVEN THAT STRONG

Fat tits 🥴

Eheojeudkshs 😖😳👉👈

JACK STOP YOU ARE BIG ENOUGH ALREADY

HOLY FUCK

You know like i understand Baki, he is at the highest he can be rn, NO ONE can defeat him, but the rest? Like c'mon y'all just beat each other up or something

Ah, the miracle of birth 😍

Chapter 10

I love how all these two do is hang out together in bars, boybosses

TF IS UP WITH THAT ICE? AHDHS

I love what they have

Hana thinking of getting his 4 limbs broken again i see

WOOO!! Nice cock Mr Musashi 😳

HANAYAMA PLEASE 😐

Chapter 11

I love those freaks

I just now I'm seeing the little scars on his cheeks from the fight with Spec ☺️

I love the fact that Musashi has hair in his legs BUT not his arms like ??? Okay king

Heated scientist moment

HOHO POGGERS 👀

Chapter 12

UTSURAARSDFAFA sibling goals

GIRLBOSS 😍

URAURUSYRSAESGA IN LOVE???

Holy shit she's amazing

Chapter 13

And his ass is very thick too 😳

Those fucking sunglasses, obsessed

Debatable, he got struck by lightning :/

HE WAXES HIS HAIR? OMFG OBSESSED

WHY IS HE WEARING THAT LMAO 😭

Nooo they censored the cock again 😔😔😔

DO IT QWEEN 💅

STOP SAYING SHE'S GONNA FUCK THE CLONE

"I'm exciteddddd" "ok."

Chapter 14

You just hate seeing a girlboss win

She truly is amaizing

Also i just realized spirits have been showing up since the first book so this isn't so crazy lol

MF HOW IS THAT GONNA HELP 😭😭😭

THE LITTLE BUBBLES AND SPARKLES... I BET HE DID 🥺

Chapter 15

WHY ARE HIS TITS SO ROUND AND FAT GODDAMN IT,,, 😳😖

Glad seeing some things never change

He looks so much like Jun

IGSITSURAURZES EPICCC

Someone question if Yujiro knew how too write obsessed,,,

Chapter 16

Goddamn it you got even older in the past 3 or so chapters bro

Mouth to mouth soul transference

OHHH

HIS EYEBROWS FELL HOW IGDUTSITDIYDIGD

Some mf got turned on by this HELP 😭

Chapter 17

I love how Yujiro and Hana are still getting ready to throw hands while this happens lol

Okay yeah that was super disrespectful honestly, guy is having a chat :/

HAHAGSJAHA obsessed

God i thought it was Hana the one grabbing some random lady for a second AFDJSJSSJS

He cute af ngl

POOR GUY MUST BE SO CONFUSED OMFG,,,

Fsr I'm surprised he can talk, like it should be obvious but in all the fanart i saw he never said a word, also, he's so damn respectful 😍

Chapter 18

Idk he was never that clever /hj

Hehehe blood

I love how John can only sit that way

The size of his balls lmao

Coward won't even fight with his dick out smh :/

God he mad cute-

Chapter 19

I MISS THE DEATH ROW FELLAS FUCKKK

Hm i think this random tiny bald man is not Tokugawa but someone that looks awfully similar to him

YEAH NO SHIT I FEEL SO BAD FOR HIM, HE MUST BE SO DAMN OVERWHELMED

Apparently there was a cameo, i don't know enough about anime to know or care

Chapter 20

He's tripping balls

Tokugawa should have gone a bit slower with this poor guy, this is like a lot to process at once <:/

Nvm he's doing better than me

Oydirsusefs look at himmm

WAIT A FUCKING SECOND OMFG DIDN'T DOPPO FIGHT THIS GUY?!

SOMEONE ELSE RECOGNIZED HIM HE ISSS

Chapter 21

OHDIRAYEASURRSUURS HE DOESN'T KNOWWW FFS

Musashi be like °_°

LOOK AT THAT SMILE LMAO

He's just chilling, mentally killing this dude

Murder baby

Chapter 21

The way his eyes are drawn is so cool

YRAURSUFSIDTGA

And he jokes too! Wow I'm in love 😍

(nsfw) CAN YOU HANDLE DICK LIKE THAT TOO? 😍

WOW

I TAKE BACK THAT QUESTION

I remember a show where you would bring your own knives and swords and go thru a bunch of test, Musashi should have been one of them

Mf truly is like :]

I love how he didn't buy it

I can't wait for him to fight Yujiro 😍

Chapter 23

He truly is 😌

ATFJAIDQYSF OBSESSED

He was happy this time at least, 5 times he lost already btw

Tokugawa truly in unhateable lmao

Chapter 24

IM SORRY, HIS LEG???

Oh I forgot Musashi does that

JAGSKSGSKSGS HIS FUCKING FACE I CAN'T 😭

I miss when translators would add notes i don't want to google shit myself :/

"I'm hard as rock" /j

Chapter 25

Look how happy he issss

MUSASHI POG MUSASHI POG-

I love how Tokugawa can't believe he got it first try and it's trying to lie now sjdakdyv

This mf is actually making me insane what the actual fuck i don't know what he has but he's gonna make me act up 😳

Mf be shadow boxing too dammit /j

Baki please

Chapter 26

OLD MAN JUST WANTS A PUBLIC TO SEE THIS LMAO

Look at the size of Baki's eyes holy fuck lmao

He's gonna yeet him!

OH NOOOO

FIRST HIS DAD NOW MUSASHI, THIS GUY CANT CATCH A BREAK LMAO

Chapter 27

How little time passed? They have barely moved

Yeah you did it last book too Baki

King shit

Chapter 28

AKSGSKGSJSGS KING

I love how he only now realized

Okay no he has a point

I love how he just calls him boy

Look at that smug face

I trust Musashi but at the same time he, really should be walking around this new world alone. Now, if i were to accompany him... 🥴/j

Baki please

Chapter 29

I love how soft the artstyle suddenly got, like if done big a big brush

Yujiro you just insulted every single anime character in history

Baby Baki's just like "Ok."

I like how Yujiro looks here

AUGHHJF HE'S SO BABY 🥺

HOHO badass

Chapter 30

He died 😔

Idiot hasn't even beat he 0.5 reaction seconds lmao 🤣

HOHOOOOO?!? 👁️👁️

"my curiosity exceed my fear!!" I RESPECT THIS MAN SO MUCH??

Chapter 31

AMAIZING HONESTLY

Fighter to fighter communication

SHIT LOOK AT THE STATE OF THAT HAND

He's just gone now LMAO

I honestly don't mind Baki being weak against this, he never fought against a two handed swordman, this is new territory

Chapter 32

Oh his really tripping balls now this is why he shouldn't be alone

NVM HE'S STILL DOING BETTER THAN ME ON A DAILY BASIS, I HAVE A LOT TO LEARN FROM THIS MAN

I just now realized he's barefoot

Nice ass king

The policemen are quite nice

He's very cooperative but i can't blame the cops either

Chapter 33

Yeah no shit that must be so insane

IF YOU HADN'T DROPPED OFF SCHOOL THEN...

That's kinda funny but idk man he's right i think

He's just like :3

I love how he isn't picking up a fight out of malice but rather just instinct like, he can't understand shit that is going on

YOU ARE SO RIGHT BAKI IT ISN'T BORING FOR ME EITHER

Chapter 34

Don't you fucking dare shave him Itagaki

It's funny how it took 2 books and a half for Baki to start being a protagonist

Holy fuck did Baki add height or is Miyamoto that big?

Wow how perfect i ran out of space just now!! Having fun with this book ngl :]

#luly talks #baki liveblog #little gay creature sees famous swordsman from the 1600s and loses their mind #"i want his gender'' they claim #also for a man who was born 2 days ago 400 years in the future he sure understands shit better than me 😭#maybe i too should stop having so much anxiety and just get ready to throw hands at ant moment #like back in the day... ☺️(😞)#anyway point is uhh silly little fun saga <3

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gusu-emilu · 4 years ago

Text

seven nights to turn (1/4)

chapter one: from first to fifth night

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days. He's spending the next seven in a cabin on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses. On the first night, he hears humming.

Rated E, Post-Canon, Rough Kissing, Oral Sex, Slight Temperature Play, Hate Sex, and a lot of Jiang Cheng brooding

Ch. 2 >

read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Jiang Cheng places the last of the heating talismans on Wen Ning's throat and chest.

It’s winter, and Jiang Cheng is sweating.

He touches skin only once, on Wen Ning’s collarbone. It’s as cold as the night air.

As he walks back to his cabin after he’s finished, he tells himself that’s why he did this. He wanted to touch the cold skin of the Ghost General so he could prove to himself that there is nothing more to the man than a dead body.

A corpse.

Nothing but a corpse…

════ 第一晚 ════

Jiang Cheng doesn’t expect to get any more sleep in the Cloud Recesses than he does in Lotus Pier.

If anything, he’ll get less sleep. It’s the first night out of seven here, and his chances of sound sleep for this week are already looking slim as he lies on his back in the darkness, wide awake, thoughts swarming around his head like gnats.

It’s not that the Cloud Recesses isn’t peaceful. It’s always been a quiet place. And remarkably, without the Lan Clan Leader out to enforce its rules, it’s fallen even quieter than Jiang Cheng remembers.

How fortunate for Zewu-Jun, that he can hide in seclusion, that he has an uncle and a brother to run his pretty little clan for him. This disappearing act would’ve never worked at Lotus Pier. Zewu-Jun has it easy in the Cloud Recesses, getting all the rest he needs for his poor broken soul.

Pathetic. As if any of us walked of out Guanyin Temple whole.

What would it be like for Jiang Cheng to lock himself up in seclusion? To avoid all of his responsibilities, and instead spend his time wiping his memory clean like Zewu-Jun? To avoid the incessant pleas from small sect leaders in his banquet hall and the even more incessant buzzing in the back of his mind?

He lets a moan drift up his throat. It settles behind his closed lips. He shifts onto his side, bedcovers curling and twisting around his leg, and now that’s uncomfortable, so he has to tug the bottom of the blanket out of place, and that rushes cold air over his body and makes him shiver, and goddamn it all he wants is one full night of sleep.

No one’s going to hear him here, so he lets the moan out fully, breaking the air. His lips are parted, but his teeth are still pressed together, and he’s still fiddling with the blanket—because he’s never been good at letting go of things, has he?

Conference. Go through the details of the conference.

He’s done that eighteen times already, but maybe the nineteenth will finally put him to sleep. It’s a simple matter, a three-way trade agreement between the Lan, Jiang, and Nie. For some reason, the Lan have insisted on conferring with Jiang Cheng for a full week before approaching Nie Huaisang with the proposal. Supposedly this extra preparation was taken at the urging of Wei Wuxian.

Everyone knows the Head-Shaker is a pushover, so why Wei Wuxian thinks Jiang Cheng needs to stay in the Cloud Recesses for an entire week to perfect this deal is beyond him. It’s a little insulting, if Jiang Cheng is being honest.

Still, he made the arrangements for a full week of absence from Lotus Pier. At least it’s unlikely to take that long to discuss the deal. The business proceedings will be wrapped up early, and he’ll have the last three days to do what he wants.

The vacancy promised by those last three days. Unheard of. Undeserved.

At some point his eyes open. Blue moonlight shines on the sharp angles of the room. He closes his eyes, shutting them tight.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

Humming.

Barely audible.

He opens his eyes again and searches the moon-drenched room for a melody he certainly won’t find here. Whoever is humming, they’re a good distance away in the woods.

Jiang Cheng requested a cabin in the forest on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses for his lodging. The farther he is from the Lan and their self-righteous rituals—and the farther he is from Wei Wuxian—the better. If he really does get the last three days to himself, he wants to be by himself.

The humming continues. It draws Jiang Cheng out of the quarter-beginning of sleep that had taken him so much work to get to, and pulls his body up against the silk covers as he strains to listen. Who’s out here at the edge of the Cloud Recesses?

The humming is far from perfect. The tone wavers, the transitions between notes are abrupt, and half of the melody sounds like it’s being made up on the spot.

But it’s raw and overflowing with emotion. So strikingly human.

A-Jie used to hum like this.

Despite how quiet the sound is, Jiang Cheng can’t block it out. It caresses his cheeks as it winds its way to his ears, clumsy and warbling. Seeps into him.

It only takes a few minutes for the melody to lull him to sleep.

════ 白天 ════

Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days.

It’s been four nights since he left A-Ling by himself in Jinlintai to fend off the regent that the elders have been trying to force in his place. It’s been eleven nights since Jiang Cheng was injured on his left shoulder by a demonic beast during a night hunt. It’s been one hundred and twenty-two nights since he found out his golden core wasn’t his and sobbed on the floor of Guanyin Temple.

He doesn’t think about the count for other things. The numbers are so big they swallow him.

His first night in the Cloud Recesses has passed. The day has enough to keep track of—being up and presentable for the criminally early time the servants bring a breakfast of bland congee, sifting through trade terms with Lan elders while Lan Wangji drills him with his eyes, answering three urgent letters from three different sects because apparently even in the home of monks he can’t escape the mail—that he doesn’t bother tacking a number on which sun is in the sky today.

And of course Wei Wuxian is stalking around, one hand behind his back and one hand in the air twirling that nuisance of a flute between his fingers.

If Wei Wuxian has work to do, he doesn’t show it. He talks to the junior disciples and no one else. His laughter rings through the Cloud Recesses, disappearing and reappearing when Jiang Cheng least expects it, like a fish swimming below the water’s surface and suddenly jumping out of the river with a splash.

Not unlike the time they spent receiving instruction here years ago. Perhaps Wei Wuxian is trying to relive something by only speaking to junior disciples.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t speak to any of them.

════ 第二晚 ════

On the second night, Jiang Cheng treats his wound before lying down to sleep.

The salve is sticky on his shoulder. He should have rubbed it in more, given it time to disappear in his skin before lying down on his shoulder and transferring the waxy ointment to the inside of his robes. They’re sleeping clothes the Lan have provided. It’s rude to dirty them, but he’s too tired to care.

For all the stiffness of the Lan, their fabric and beds are surprisingly soft. Another detail to add to the list of things he’s grateful for and will never mention.

The air around holds traces of the salve’s spicy scent and the fragrance of the crushed dried lotus flowers he’d brought from Yunmeng to set beside his bed. Sometimes the scent calms him. Sometimes.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

He sits up.

That humming again!

Last night, he indulged himself and let the melody lull him to sleep without questioning why someone was outside his cabin. A second time is too peculiar to ignore.

He steps out of bed. The wooden floor is cold. He puts on shoes and slings a layer of robes over his sleeping gown and walks away from the scent of lotus flowers, through the doorway out into the brisk winter air.

The forest is brighter than yesterday, causing the footpath to glisten when it should be dull grey stone. His shoes fall softly on the stone, his steps out of sync with the hummer’s song.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

The humming is louder tonight. The voice is a bit raspy, as if the person’s breath just falls short of traveling through them in a single stream. A faint breeze kicks up and rustles what vegetation remains in this part of the forest, carrying the melody somewhere else.

Jiang Cheng wanders after it.

He’s left the path, he realizes. Leaves crunch under his feet. He’s fallen in time with the rhythm of the song.

The melody aches. Heartfelt and slightly doleful. The notes lift up at the end, then crack and sink, then rise again, hopeful and beautiful and utterly lost. Emotional.

So starkly human…

He stops.

He knows who this voice must belong to.

It’s not someone he wants to see.

It’s not someone who should be human.

He turns and walks back to his cabin, unable to shut out the song that lays him back in A-Jie’s arms, its gentle melody too familiar despite its fumbling, and it doesn’t belong to that…that…

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

The salve has finally been absorbed into his skin, but the remnants of it are caked on the fabric over his shoulder. He lies on his back so he doesn’t have to feel it.

He would tell himself that the humming doesn’t lull him to sleep again, but it would be a lie.

════ 白天 ════

Fate must’ve wanted to punish him for last night, because the next day Wei Wuxian sits in on the trade proceedings.

“Hey, Jiang Cheng,” he whispers as he leans over while a group of Lan elders are deep in internal discussion, “whose moustache do you think looks the most disastrous?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says through clenched teeth. Pressure is building in his temples.

Wei Wuxian pouts—mockingly—and turns away.

Idiot.

In the month since Wei Wuxian has returned from his travels, they’ve fallen into familiar patterns like this the few times they talk. It’s easier, he supposes. Wei Wuxian’s always been one to hide everything behind a smile. And Jiang Cheng…he has his temper to guard him.

This hollow banter holds none of the fondness it did the last time they were in the Cloud Recesses together, yet it’s all they’ve been able to manage around each other.

There are other things besides nights that Jiang Cheng counts. One of them is the number of times he’s sworn to himself that he’d be the one to reach out, that a letter with the Jiang seal would find its way into his Wei Wuxian’s hands, that he’d invite Wei Wuxian to Lotus Pier first. Now here he is in the Cloud Recesses sitting next to his brother and it wasn’t even his idea.

The letters are in a drawer back in his study.

════ 第三晚 ════

On the third night, a guqin accompanies the humming.

He shrugs on the same pair of outer robes, paces down the same path, sets his jaw with the same tightness.

Doesn’t anyone know I’m staying here? Are the Lan so eager to have their guests disturbed? Is this some show of disrespect?

The music is fluid and shimmery, winding and tortuous like a flowing stream. It fills him, and he tries to pour it of his senses, but instead he ends up downing it greedily like the extra cup of wine he shouldn’t have had earlier tonight. It was inevitable—the wine, the craving for the music. The Cloud Recesses lacks the street bustle of Yunmeng to distract him from his thoughts at night.

The guqin is played in unmistakable Lan style, but it isn’t as clean as Lan Wangji’s playing. Its imperfection matches the broken, breathy humming that reminds Jiang Cheng of a flickering candle.

He’s strayed off the path. The song is close now.

On the bank of a silent brook, two silhouettes sit on a large low boulder. Their backs are to him, the edges of their forms gilded with blue moonlight. One is large and broad and completely still, the other is delicate and gently sweeping its hands over the length of a guqin.

The music stops.

“That sounds really g-good, A-Yuan.”

“You think so?”

A shaky hand reaches from behind a drooping black sleeve to graze the side of the delicate figure’s face, barely touching him. Tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Your practice is working r-really well. I can tell you’ve been doing it.”

The voice is familiar, tremulous and stuttering. Combined with the figure’s broad shoulders and pale skin, there can be no doubt that the hummer is the Ghost General. Beside him is Lan Sizhui.

“Thank you, Shushu,” Lan Sizhui says, his voice rich with fondness.

Jiang Cheng’s throat closes up.

When was the last time he heard Thank you, Jiujiu, in a voice so sincere, so joyful at the praise spoken before it?

When has he ever been able to treat A-Ling like this?

Like how Wen Ning treats Lan Sizhui?

But this thing had killed A-Ling’s father.

The anger that boils up inside him at that reminder is much more familiar than whatever gripped his heart before. Anger he knows. Anger he can use.

Lan Sizhui turns. Dark round eyes stare up at him from beneath a silver headband. “Jiang—Jiang-zongzhu!” Lan Sizhui stands and bows.

The larger shadow shifts, grows tense, but doesn’t turn.

“…Lan-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wen Ning finally turns, but only his head, just far enough for a long ponytail to drape farther down his back and for hesitant eyes to focus on the ground in front of Jiang Cheng. “Good evening, Jiang-zongzhu,” he says.

There is no hint of a greeting in his voice.

The soreness of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder wound flares up again, because now is a great time to feel more uncomfortable.

He’d known who he’d find here. It was senseless coming to confirm it.

“Wen Qionglin,” he says, deadpan.

The only sound is the faint babbling of the creek.

Lan Sizhui, always stuck between adults who don’t know how to speak to each other, hurries to fill the silence. “Jiang-zongzhu, we—we didn’t mean to disturb you on your walk.”

“I wasn’t on a walk.”

“Oh. I beg your pardon.” He ducks his head.

“I’m staying in the cabin.” Jiang Cheng points behind himself with his thumb. “Back there.”

“I hope Jiang-zongzhu enjoys his stay.”

Silence falls on them. Wen Ning still hasn’t made eye contact.

Jiang Cheng shifts his feet. “…I’m going back there now.”

“Goodnight, Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Sizhui says with a bow.

Jiang Cheng heads up the path and only looks back once.

════ 白天 ════

“The Ghost General sings now?” Jiang Cheng channels all the bitterness he can into his voice and lets it loose on Wei Wuxian, who is leaning on the railing of a walkway and tossing peanuts into his mouth.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Does he?” He smirks. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes for a moment before it disappears as he focuses his attention on another peanut.

Normally Jiang Cheng’s pride would never allow him to bring up Wen Ning around his brother. A knot has already formed in his gut at Wei Wuxian’s response, which is more of a taunt than an answer. But at least it’s something to talk about. They’ve had nothing and everything to talk about for too long. This topic is manageable.

“How do you know?” Wei Wuxian asks after a while.

“He’s been howling outside my cabin door like a dog.”

The package of peanuts crumples in Wei Wuxian’s hand at the word dog. He laughs nervously. “Ah, I’ve just fixed up his vocal cords recently.” He skews his lips and digs into the package for another handful. “He doesn’t exactly sound perfect, but he can hum now. He’s really excited about it.”

“Does he have to do it where I’m trying to sleep?”

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. “Ask him that, not me.” He pushes off the railing with his elbows, twists around stretching his sides for a few seconds, then turns to walk away. “I’m not the boss of him.”

════ 第四晚 ════

There is no guqin on the fourth night.

Just Wen Ning.

Now Wen Ning knows Jiang Cheng is living nearby, and still he has no shame about stumbling through his improvised songs, stringing haunted notes through the air and sending them into Jiang Cheng’s cabin.

It’s futile for Jiang Cheng to pretend he’ll fall asleep tonight, so he sits at the tea table in the center of the room, lights a candle, and watches the wax drip down the sides.

He can hum now. He’s really excited about it.

Clearly.

It’s strange to imagine being excited about something as effortless as humming. So excited that he spends every night doing it. Jiang Cheng can hum—and despite being untrained, he’s been told that his singing voice is decent—yet for the majority of his life, he’s never bothered to hum or sing. Never thought to do it.

Wen Ning’s ability to hum had been stolen from him for sixteen years.

If Jiang Cheng were in his place, would he start humming every night if his voice came back?

He hadn’t been able to speak to Wei Wuxian for sixteen years. He certainly doesn’t use his voice that way every night.

The dribble of wax he’s been watching reaches the bottom of the candle at the same time Wen Ning’s song reaches its lowest, most resonant note. The liquid hardens and twists, solidifying until he can’t distinguish it from the other distorted shapes of wax drippings.

Suddenly unnerved by watching the candle, he takes out a bundle of talismans and lays them on the table, sorts through them. Takes inventory of each crinkle of paper in his hands—hands that for some reason are unsteady tonight.

Heating talismans. He sets those to the side and examines another pile.

Why isn’t Lan Sizhui playing his guqin with Wen Ning tonight? How often do they sit outside and play music together?

They had only rediscovered each other in the last half a year, but their relationship is already so relaxed and gentle.

When the sect leaders gathered in Yunmeng to hear those two women reveal Jin Guangyao’s secrets, Jiang Cheng forbade Wen Ning from entering Lotus Pier. Even back then, before being aware of their true identities, Lan Sizhui stayed behind to keep him company. Even then, their bond was strong.

What is it about him? Why is it so easy for him to form that relationship?

What is it about me?

Jiang Cheng’s relationship with A-Ling is relaxed, too, but in a way that lets them bark at each other without care for respect or formality. He yells at A-Ling. A-Ling snaps back. Then they part ways.

Even Jin Guangyao—that weasel—had been more open about his fondness for his nephew, showering him with praise and spoiling him with presents. A-Ling fully believed that Jin Guangyao loved him.

Jiang Cheng crumples a talisman, or two, or ten, in his fist, because despite how much time he has spent with A-Ling since Guanyin Temple, he doesn’t know if A-Ling still believes that Jin Guangyao loved him.

He’s failed A-Ling. He’s been plenty busy helping him with politics, taking him on night hunts, arranging for his visits to Lotus Pier, but he’s never talked to him about…about how he feels.

Jiang Cheng would have given anything for someone to talk to when the last of his world fell apart at the age of twenty-two.

Who is that person now that Jin Ling’s world has fallen apart at the age of sixteen?

Does A-Ling know I love him?

Wen Ning’s song crescendos, swells to a climax, fades to silence. Like wine poured into a cup until it overflows, then left still until the surface no longer shimmers.

Jiang Cheng has never saved A-Ling’s life.

Wen Ning has.

That—thing has.

What if it causes a bond to form between them?

What if Wen Ning will develop a relationship with A-Ling, like he has so quickly with Lan Sizhui?

It’s not impossible. Since everything was revealed, A-Ling has grown rather sympathetic of the Yiling Patriarch and his Ghost General.

And they do have the chance to interact. Wen Ning stalks A-Ling’s night hunts just as much as Jiang Cheng. He’s seen them exchange a few words.

Wen Ning has just the right personality, doesn’t he? The ability to win over his nephew in a few months when Jiang Cheng has spent years taking care of—

Enough.

It’s ridiculous to think this way.

But he can’t help it.

He fiddles with the talismans, fixing the ones he crumpled, straightening the piles until no corners of the papers stick out of place.

If he’s honest with himself, can he even be angry at Wen Ning? Can he condemn someone who saved A-Ling’s life?

Shouldn’t he…thank him?

Of course, he won’t. He’s too prideful for that. Too selfish.

It’s his selfishness telling him that Wen Ning doesn’t have feelings, has no reason to want to be close to A-Ling.

It’s his selfishness that makes him ignore that he’s part of the reason Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui have only developed a relationship now, that makes him afraid that there is more to Wen Ning than just being dead…

The hum rises again, so messy and intoxicating that he can barely take it.

He jumps to his feet, jaw clenched, lip curling, fists shaking. He swipes up the pile of heating talismans for who knows what and stomps outside, fully intending to shout at Wen Ning to stop all the goddamn humming.

But when he reaches the boulder on the bank of the creek, he holds out a talisman.

The corpse’s eyes drift from the paper up to Jiang Cheng’s face, dark and languid. “What is this?”

“Heating talisman.”

Wen Ning blinks at it. Blinks up at Jiang Cheng. “Why?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“…Okay.” He carefully slips the talisman out from between Jiang Cheng’s fingers. “Th-Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng means to do something in response—grunt in acknowledgement, say “You’re welcome,” turn around and walk away, something.

Instead he just stares as Wen Ning uses two hands to draw the talisman close to his face, examining it, his eyes wide and full of adoration like he’s received a long-lost family artifact. He flicks the talisman to light its heat, and the warmth enters his expression as much it does the air.

He fumbles with the talisman, hovers it over his shoulder, his forearm, his chest, his knee, as if overwhelmed by the decision of where to put it for maximum effect. After all that deliberation, he ends up placing it nowhere, and instead presses it between his palms like he’s praying.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. Wen Ning looks up, startled.

“I have more,” Jiang Cheng says. “Stop overthinking it.”

Wen Ning’s only response is to lower his hands an inch. Jiang Cheng pulls more heating talismans from his robes and holds them out. Wen Ning takes them slowly, one at a time, like he’s afraid of them disappearing if he doesn’t account for each individually.

He lights them one at a time. “Why…” He leans away a bit. Louder: “Why?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs.

Wen Ning waits, then goes back to lighting the talismans, heating them all up before sticking them on his robes.

“Not like that,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Th-Then, like what?”

“It’s to make your awful humming sound better. Some warmth to help your vocal cords. You have to…” Jiang Cheng stops. He didn’t think through how to explain this. Didn’t think through coming here in the first place. “Put them—"

Wen Ning gapes up at him, dead lips parted.

Damn it. I’m going to have to touch him, aren’t I?

Jiang Cheng steps forward. Steps back again. “Um.”

“Y-Yes?”

“Don’t move.”

Wen Ning holds the remaining talismans closer, studies them, studies Jiang Cheng. Understanding crosses his face. He nods.

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath, then steps between the babbling creek and the boulder where Wen Ning sits, ivory skin bathed in moonlight and covered by dark flowing robes. Jiang Cheng pulls back the collar of his robes, just enough to reveal his collarbone and more ivory skin with black veins trailed across. He wonders how far down Wen Ning’s chest those black marks go.

What the hell am I doing?

He takes a talisman from Wen Ning’s hands, which are trembling slightly—Jiang Cheng’s own hands are shaking—and presses the talisman onto Wen Ning’s neck. Takes another and tucks it under the robes covering his chest.

“I’m no doctor,” Jiang Cheng says as pulls another talisman from the pile between Wen Ning’s fingers. “I’m not as good at this stuff as your sister, but at least this might help you sound a bit nicer.”

Wen Ning’s expression morphs into something…strange.

Something dark.

That might not have been the smartest thing to say, now that he thinks about it.

“You’re right,” Wen Ning says. “You’re not as good as my sister.” The intensity of his stare is like the sharp edge of a blade.

Jiang Cheng is beginning to regret this.

“Why…why do you want to help me now?” Wen Ning asks, his fingers closing tightly on the talismans he’s holding. “Where were you when my sister was still here?”

Jiang Cheng has no idea what to say.

No idea.

As he struggles to shove down the panic and guilt rising inside him, he sets his jaw and says, “Just—just put on the damn talismans yourself, then.”

“You said I don’t know how.”

They stare at each other.

Jiang Cheng should leave.

But what is he going to do now that he’s already standing this close to Wen Ning, already started to put the talismans on him? Back down and run away like he’s scared off by a few words from the Ghost General?

“Fine. I’ll finish it.”

As Jiang Cheng places the last of the talismans on Wen Ning, working much faster than before, Wen Ning doesn’t look at him. No. He glares. The entire time.

It’s winter, and Jiang Cheng is sweating.

He touches skin only once, on Wen Ning’s collarbone. It’s as cold as the night air.

A corpse.

Nothing but a corpse…

But the humming is richer now, more resonant. The heating talismans actually seem to have helped.

Before, the humming was faltering, rough, staccato, but Wen Ning tried hard enough that it was still nice.

Now, it sounds hauntingly beautiful.

Twice as human.

As if to spite Jiang Cheng.

He shouldn’t listen to it, he shouldn’t enjoy it—he’s too guilty to enjoy it, but it puts him under a spell anyway.

For the first time, he’s desperate not to fall asleep to Wen Ning’s humming.

He’s out within minutes.

════ 白天 ════

The trade discussions end early, as Jiang Cheng predicted. He visits the Cloud Recesses library for the first time since coming here for lessons as a junior disciple and finds a book on Herbal Remedies of the Mouth and Throat.

He takes it back to his cabin.

He’ll do better.

He can do better.

════ 第五晚 ════

The moon is darker on the fifth night, half of it cloaked by clouds. The other half of it seems to be cloaked by Wen Ning’s voice, raw and warbling, back to its original, rougher sound.

Jiang Cheng hides a distance behind the Ghost General. Watching. Listening.

He’s only here because he has a bone to pick. If he wants to wait and watch, to take a while before sinking his teeth in, he’s in the position to do so.

The humming stops. Wen Ning turns around. “Jiang-zongzhu,” he says quietly.

Did his stomach used to lurch like this when he heard that title from Wen Ning’s lips?

He nods. Clears his throat. “Qionglin.”

Wen Ning’s eyebrows shoot up. He doubts Wen Ning meant to start a naming game, but he expected some kind of reaction if he spoke only a courtesy name, and it worked. It’s payback for the pit in his stomach right now.

“Can I help you?”

“No.” Jiang Cheng manages to hold back from snapping. He tilts his chin down, turning his face away. “I just have something you might be interested in.”

“…Does Jiang-zongzhu mean to put more heating talismans on me?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Wen Ning shuffles his legs around the other side of the boulder to fully face Jiang Cheng and rests his hands on his knees. His posture is stiff. “I’ve…thought about that. L-Last night.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart beats a bit faster. He scowls, trying to hide the rising embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

“I think I’d like to take care of my voice myself.” He looks to the side and watches the flow of the creek. “If you have something else meant to change what I sound like, please don’t trouble yourself.”

Fire claws up Jiang Cheng’s throat.

Some thanks this is!

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

Wen Ning stares at him for a few moments, then shakes his head.

“Then come to my cabin.”

He storms off without checking if Wen Ning will follow.

* * *

The breeze whistles softly outside. Wen Ning sits at the table in the center of the room, his large frame awkward and looming. The fragrance of tea leaves and ginger fills the cabin. Not that Wen Ning can smell it.

Jiang Cheng sets a teapot and a cup on the table. The book from the library said that this tea creates heat throughout the drinker’s throat and chest, improving the quality of the voice.

He’s going to make up for what happened last night. He’s going to help Wen Ning with his new hobby of humming, and this time he’s going to be nice about it.

Of course, Jiang Cheng can’t just explain that so casually.

Wen Ning looks up. “Thank you, but I d-don’t taste anything, or need to drink. I don’t mean to trouble you.”

“Just drink it.”

“I—I really don’t need it. Jiang-zongzhu may enjoy it instead.”

Jiang Cheng backs away and crosses his arms. “Drink.”

Wen Ning glances up at him, then back down at the tea, still hesitating.

It doesn’t seem like he’s refusing for the sake of politeness.

He really just…doesn’t want it.

Why would he? Why would he accept something from you?

Jiang Cheng crosses his arms tighter, tucking away his hands that are now ashamed of their work, of sifting through tea leaves, peeling ginger, placing a cup in front of someone who didn’t even want it.

His pride is beginning to sting.

“Just drink it already!”

Wen Ning stares at the cup for a while, then raises it to his mouth and sips. Jiang Cheng doesn’t move until the cup is empty.

He takes a few steps toward Wen Ning. “Well?”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Wen Ning stands and bows. “Goodnight, Jiang-zongzhu.” He heads for the door.

Jiang Cheng cuts off his path. “That wasn’t the point,” he hisses from behind clenched teeth.

The breeze has stopped whistling outside.

“What else may I do?”

“Did it work.” Jiang Cheng gestures at the tea table with a sharp chopping motion. “Just tell me if it worked.”

The line of Wen Ning’s mouth tightens. “H-How?” he asks.

“The hell am I supposed to know? You tell me!” When Wen Ning just looks at him in confusion, he says, “It—It’s supposed to help your humming sound better. Make your throat warm.”

They stand frozen in front of the door.

Wen Ning narrows his eyes. He doesn’t look pleased.

But he begins to hum.

The song is fluid, graceful, more beautiful than ever, snaking past the sides of Jiang Cheng’s face and tangling in his hair, taking its time hovering over his ears before sinking into the crevices of his body. He shivers.

Jiang Cheng recognizes parts of the song by now. There are melodies that Wen Ning uses over and over, and others that are new every night.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

Jiang Cheng blinks.

Wen Ning is less than an arm’s length away.

He blinks again.

Wen Ning’s face is approaching his own, closing in on him.

He looks down, and now he sees the reason, that Wen Ning’s shoes are slowly stepping closer, softly falling on the floorboards. Jiang Cheng backs away, retreating until he’s flat against the door and can’t flee any farther.

He swallows.

The humming is richer now.

His palms are sweaty.

Wen Ning’s face is mere inches from his own.

The melody is reaching its end, rising to a high point and now cascading back down, each hum longer than the last, until the second-to-last note reverberates in Jiang Cheng’s bones.

The last note never comes.

Instead Wen Ning lurches forward and covers Jiang Cheng’s lips with his own, grabs Jiang Cheng’s shoulders with rough hands and shoves him against the door, the final note of the song hanging over them, tormented, unresolved.

Wen Ning’s mouth is still hot from the tea. He tastes like ginger. He stings like raw ginger.

Jiang Cheng’s breath rushes out in hot puffs and gasps. He’s suffocating by Wen Ning’s tongue.

Teeth bite down on his lower lip.

There’s no strength in Jiang Cheng’s body. His knees wobble, he whimpers, his heart races.

He tries to bite Wen Ning back to cover up how weak he is, to keep Wen Ning from seeing how his strength is melting away, but he’s already lost. Wen Ning has too much control. Too much force.

“I don’t want your tea,” Wen Ning mumbles between digs at Jiang Cheng’s mouth.

Finally he raises his lips from Jiang Cheng’s and lowers them to suck at Jiang Cheng’s neck, scraping teeth over his skin.

Jiang Cheng’s head jerks back at the sensation, striking wood.

He moans.

“I don’t want you to help me,” Wen Ning says, his voice thick with loathing.

One of Wen Ning’s hands slides over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, up to the other side of his neck. A little tighter, a little more to the center of Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he’d be choking him.

This shouldn't feel so good.

Wen Ning’s fingers twist in his hair, and his thumb pushes at the underside of Jiang Cheng’s chin, forcing his head to tilt up. Wen Ning’s other hand is locked around his bicep.

He can’t let Wen Ning force these reactions from him—can’t let Wen Ning play with him like a doll—

The pressure vanishes from Jiang Cheng’s arm and reappears at his waist. He yelps as Wen Ning squeezes, crushing his side.

“You never helped me before.” Wen Ning raises his head to interlock his lips with Jiang Cheng’s again. Wen Ning’s chest presses into him, pinning him to the door. Jiang Cheng struggles to match the pace of Wen Ning’s lips, the intrusion of his tongue, channeling all his energy into it. His shoulders slump with the effort.

Wen Ning bites down, tugging at his lip, then releases. “I saved your life, and you never helped any of us.”

The words hit like a blow to the stomach, driving the air from Jiang Cheng’s lungs.

For the first time since whatever this is began, Jiang Cheng’s thoughts wander. Flashes of memories—a child wrapped around his leg in the Burial Mounds, Zidian nearly striking Wen Ning’s talisman-covered body, and—

A lacquered wooden comb that still lies in his bedroom in Lotus Pier, tucked away inside a silk handkerchief.

No, he never helped anyone from the Wen Clan.

Not even Wen Qing.

He’s no fool. He knows Wen Qing never loved him. But he wanted to help, wanted to make some lasting difference in her life, yet all he managed was a comb that got returned to him, useless.

But Wen Qing left a lasting mark on him. His golden core inside him.

He wonders if Wen Ning is trying to leave a mark of his own, to carve another scar, to sear a brand of the lost Wen Clan into his skin.

How many times must a Wen do something irreversible to me?

He wriggles under Wen Ning’s grip, struggling to break free.

But does he…want to?

He hadn’t been able admit it to himself—or maybe he was too overwhelmed to notice—but he’s hard.

So hard.

Does Wen Ning notice?

He’s rubbing against Wen Ning’s thigh. He must notice.

Fuck.

Wen Ning pulls away from Jiang Cheng’s lips, pauses with their noses nearly touching. Their eyes meet.

“You like this,” Wen Ning says quietly. It sounds like a disbelieving question and a cruel taunt at the same time. Especially given that Jiang Cheng’s cock is still pressing against him.

He does.

Fuck, he does.

Heat spreads through Jiang Cheng’s face. “I—I—if you tried harder—”

The intensity of Wen Ning’s expression starts to mix with something else. Something like eagerness.

But within seconds, it disappears.

Wen Ning wraps his hands around Jiang Cheng and yanks him away from the door, shoves him against the bed. His hip slams into the side of the bed, but he manages to steady himself enough to stand hunched over with one hand pressed into the mattress.

Wen Ning glares down at him from where he stands by the door, his jaw set and his shoulders broad.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng fully understands how big Wen Ning is. In a fair fight, spiritual powers sealed, he could crush Jiang Cheng like a bug.

And I’d deserve it.

That thought makes his throat constrict, as if Wen Ning’s hand is still on his neck, choking him as punishment for the past. He chases the thought away, but it lingers, unwelcome.

“You threw my people away,” Wen Ning says.

Jiang Cheng shifts his feet, trying to hide the erection under his robes. Not that there’s any point. Wen Ning definitely knows.

“And you put a golden core inside of me!” Jiang Cheng shouts. “I didn’t want it!”

Wen Ning approaches him. Slowly closes the space between them, drawing in like a black curtain about to shut around Jiang Cheng. His breath catches in his throat.

Wen Ning narrows his eyes, his gaze dark. “Take off your robes.”

Jiang Cheng’s breath catches again. “I…why?”

“Take them off.”

More heat rushes to his face.

If it was even possible, somehow he gets harder.

The hell is wrong with you? Do you like being pushed around like this? Ordered around like a dog? You’re a clan leader!

He straightens his spine and leans into the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body fraught with tension, his sinews about to snap. His face is burning.

“I don’t answer to you,” Jiang Cheng says through a snarl.

Wen Ning’s shoulders draw up slightly.

“You’ll have to strip me yourself if you want my robes off.”

That might be more than he bargained for, because judging by the look on Wen Ning’s face, he has no issue taking up that challenge.

Wen Ning steps closer, then stands motionless over him—scanning Jiang Cheng’s body with his eyes, lingering on his neck, his chest, his crotch. It’s agonizing, slow pain, each second of scrutiny like a needle pricking his skin until he’s covered in puncture wounds, deflated.

He can’t let himself become so vulnerable. Can’t let Wen Ning of all people humiliate him like this.

He has to save some face, however small—

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng says with as much venom as he can muster. “Is the Ghost General scared?”

Wen Ning blinks at him, then his fingers graze the ties of Jiang Cheng’s robes, slowly undo the thick leather belt, peel away layers like picking petals off a flower. Jiang Cheng’s outer robe falls onto the bed behind him.

He’s gentle, Jiang Cheng thinks, surprised. Why the fuck is he so gentle?

Wen Ning opens Jiang Cheng’s inner robe, his cold fingers brushing Jiang Cheng’s skin. He exposes Jiang Cheng’s torso and leaves the robe hanging off his shoulders.

He trails his thumbs across Jiang Cheng’s chest. Across his whip scars. Across his nipples.

Jiang Cheng shudders.

Cold. Cold.

And yet—

His cock throbs.

Wen Ning narrows his eyes and meets Jiang Cheng’s gaze. There’s something behind his stony expression. Jiang Cheng has no idea what.

Jiang Cheng looks away before Wen Ning can see the shame in his eyes. Not that it’ll save him any dignity.

The icy touch finally lifts from Jiang Cheng’s skin. He’s left cold and sensitive as Wen Ning fully removes his inner robe and settles his fingers on the waistband of Jiang Cheng’s trousers. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

He gasps.

Wen Ning’s thumb is stroking the fabric over his cock.

“You—” Jiang Cheng tries to snap at him, but can barely form words. “Just—just get on with—”

Wen Ning shushes him.

His finger pauses on a wet spot at the end of Jiang Cheng’s cock.

It’s humiliating. The pad of Wen Ning’s cold thumb pressing his dampness back against himself. Teasing him, forcing this proof of victory into his skin, sending it throttling through his nerves.

“You’re wet,” Wen Ning says.

The heat in Jiang Cheng’s face fully blazes into a fire. He wants to punch Wen Ning, strangle him, anything to get back at him for making his shame undeniable by putting it into words, but he can’t bring himself to move.

His trousers come down. Suddenly his cock is cold.

He can’t imagine how much colder it would feel if it were Wen Ning touching him instead of the night air.

But there’s nothing touching him. Not even a sound reaches his ears.

He waits, bracing himself for another chill from gentle fingers, another rough shove against his shoulders, another bite of heat on his lips, but nothing comes.

The night sinks, until it feels empty like it usually does.

He feels…

Alone—

He opens his eyes.

Wen Ning is standing beside the tea table. “You wanted me to tell you if it w-works?”

It takes three tries for Jiang Cheng to get his mouth to move. “Wha—what are you talking about?”

“You wanted me to tell you,” Wen Ning picks up the pot of tea and holds it awkwardly over the table, “if this worked?”

Jiang Cheng just stands there with his mouth hanging open like an idiot.

Wen Ning pours a cup of tea. Holds the porcelain cup in front of his face, weighing it, tilting it. He places its rim to his lips.

He stares at Jiang Cheng as he downs it. Then another. The cup clinks when he finishes and sets it down on the tray. He straightens out his robes.

Robes—

Wen Ning has robes on.

Jiang Cheng is fully naked. Wen Ning is fully clothed. Funny he’s just realizing this now.

He never meant for anyone to see him like this.

The fact that it’s Wen Ning, that he caved and bent to Wen Ning’s will—

“You think my mouth should be h-hot,” Wen Ning says.

Jiang Cheng grips the edge of the bed tighter, his eyes widening.

“You think I need this remedy to make me more human.”

Wen Ning drops to his knees between Jiang Cheng’s legs.

Fear courses through Jiang Cheng’s veins.

Wen Ning looks him dead in the eyes. Waiting.

The understanding of what Wen Ning wants to do hits him like a heavy blow, and his heart leaps.

He shuts his eyes tight and nods.

“Then that’s what you’ll get, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Agh—ah! Wen—Wen Ning!”

There’s never been a mouth on his cock before.

The sensation pounds through his body. His ears ring.

Wen Ning’s mouth is wet. The heat is like the soft warmth of holding a teacup filled with steaming water, just hot enough to induce both discomfort and wild pleasure.

Jiang Cheng’s persona of authority and strength, his status as a clan leader, this shield that he spent his whole life building—it’s falling farther apart with every moment, undone by Wen Ning’s tongue.

Just when he thinks it can’t get worse, when his entire body is about to convulse and his knuckles turn white and he throws his head back and moans—

So close—

Wen Ning pulls his mouth away and grabs Jiang Cheng’s cock with his hand.

The cold shocks him. Knocks the breath out of him.

Sends him over the edge.

He comes in Wen Ning’s cold hand.

Exhausted. Humiliated.

It feels so good—it feels so fucking good—to finally have someone punish him.

To tear him down for what he did in the past, as he deserves.

Wen Ning leaves without a word as Jiang Cheng sinks to his knees.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

Ch. 2 >

#jiang cheng #wen ning #chengning #ningcheng #mdzsnet #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs #cql #the untamed #seven nights to turn #emilu fics #emilu creations

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another-fckn-incorrect-svt-blog · 4 years ago

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im a new carat and trying to learn seventeen's names and everything. are there any fandom inside jokes and songs by them that you can reccomend to me?? :D

Oh Hello new carat!!! Welcome to the family!

Hmmm lemme think how best to answer this - I know there are a good number of really good ‘Guide to Svt’ videos on youtube so I super recommend those!! Here is my (abbreviated) intro to the members, including some of my favorite moments from each: Seungcheol: Leader but also Baby. An absolute sweetheart, would die to protect this man. Favorite meme moments include when he ate a whole tube of toothpaste to keep the other members from getting it, his Dorky Dad Dancing or his ‘YAWAWOOOO!’.

Jeonghan: I call him Con Artist because he is. This boy is so Clever, and I relate to him because I too attempt to cheat at every game. He is one half of the Evil Twins who like to (lovingly) bully Seungcheol. Favorite moments include Every Time he’s cheated in a game and how willing he is to sleep at Any Time.

Joshua: Acts like a gentleman, is just as evil as his twin. Don’t believe the ‘church boy’ image PLEDIS tried to push for him. Favorite meme moments include his ‘sexy’ dance and... whatever went on when he was inflating a bottle with his nose.

Junhui: My bias, I love this boy Literally so much. He’s a bit of a shy bean but he’s also Weird As Fuck. Favorite moments include the strange dubbing videos he kept posting where he was providing voices for corgis and other animals, his excitement over his hot dog cooking machine and every time he mirrors whatever the others are doing (it’s really cute).

Soonyoung: Performance leader, absolute Meme, the Ultimate Gemini (legit he is gemini in Every house). Fun fact I want to fight him because he jumped in front of me at a random dance play and scared the SHIT out of me. Kind of a furry but we love him for it. Favorite moments include breaking into Jihoon’s studio to record a song about tigers & that time he almost fought some sasaengs.

Wonwoo: Probably in possession of SVT’s only braincell except it also goes on vacation sometimes. A beautiful, intelligent and sensitive nerd who I would commit crimes to protect. Favorite meme is definitely his line in Home where Carats all yell back at him in a super deep voice. Also his ‘hamburger’ aegyo is fucking cute.

Jihoon: Vocal leader, Genius Producer, literal definition of Tsundere. Probably has the braincell whenever Wonwoo doesn’t. He writes and produces nearly all of SVT’s songs - we STAN a hardworking man. Favorite meme moments include when he tried to hit Mingyu with a guitar and when he dodged everyone’s hugs onstage and ended up lifting one of the others over his shoulder.

Mingyu: The gentle giant, world’s biggest puppy dog. Essentially a real-life mary su - handsome, talented, but extremely clumsy. Can do no wrong, please protect him from himself. Favorite moments include every single time he’s dropped or broken something on camera, or his ‘AKITA SOUND!!!’

Seokmin: Someone help this boy I love him so much but he has No Braincells. Negative Braincells. But it’s okay because he’s so pure and sweet and has one of if not The most powerful voice in kpop. Favorite moments include when he touched some noodles and was so shook that his soul left his body, or just his general Screaming.

Minghao: A wine-drinking eboy art hoe and we Love him for it. Our fashion king, models everywhere are Shaking. Drops some Wisdom Bombs every now and then, we stan a woke king. Favorite moments include doing acrobatics out of Nowhere without his glasses even falling off, and every time he’s So Done with Jun.

Seungkwan: The world’s sassiest and yet sweetest angel, an absolute Icon. Like Seokmin probably has some of the most powerful vocals in kpop, but is also an absolute Variety King. Comedians everywhere have nothing on this boy. Favorite moments include at the Ode To You tour where any time a member talked too long he yelled ‘IT’S NOT YOUR SOLO CONCERT!’ and his outrage over someone else getting Beyonce as their meyer’s briggs type.

Vernon: This boy. A living meme. Also a fashion icon but in like. The opposite direction from Minghao. Everything he does is so fucking funny how does he do it? Also super sweet and has the best heart. Favorite moments include all his Meme reactions, and when he and Joshua went bungee jumping.

Chan: The future of kpop. An absolute ball of talent and passion, puts 120% into everything he does. Can do Anything, be Anything, and we will support him 120%. Favorite moments include all of his Dino’s Danceology’s, and the absolute regret on his face every time he’s forced to say he’s Jeonghan’s Baby until he’s 30.

And now for some of my favorite songs!

Title Tracks - Hit, Fear, Clap, Getting Closer, Adore U

Ot13 b-sides - Good to Me, Holiday, Crazy in Love, Snapshoot, My My

Japanese Tracks - 24H, Fallin’ Flower, Call Call Call

Unit songs - Change up (Leader line), My I (China line), Rocket (American line), Just Do It (Booseoksoon), Lilili yabbay (Performance Team), Don’t Listen in Secret (Vocal Team), Check In (Hip Hop team)

Sorry this got so long, I hope it was somewhat helpful or at least amusing! Again welcome to the family - in my experience Carats are one of the most welcoming & friendly fandoms, so I hope you enjoy your time here and with seventeen!!

#chet talks #hush up chet #long post for ts #long post //#Anonymous

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veliseraptor · 4 years ago

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Hey Lise, I was wondering if you could maybe just give me a quick and dirty synopsis of The Untamed characters? I really like your fics and wanna read them, but I have NO idea who anyone is hahaha

I was gonna like. Link to someone else’s rundown of this, but then I decided it might be fun to write my own, which was a mistake. But I make all kinds of mistakes! So unsurprising.

This is going to, by virtue of being a character overview, contain spoilers, so if you think you’re gonna want to watch and want to avoid spoilers then watch out for that. This is also broken down by sect because that makes it easier.

The degree to which I explain the plot here varies wildly and I’m not actually sure how coherent it is. If you want a more detailed rundown that has pictures and shit and also other information, see here; also some of these characters have more than one name, which I’ve noted where the usage of multiple names is likely to pop up in fic.

This is very much QUICK and DIRTY and NOT COMPREHENSIVE, just to underline that a few times. It’s also show focused rather than novel focused, because that’s most of the canon I’m working with. I have also not translated titles here (Hanguang-jun, Zewu-jun etc.) because they just sound better untranslated.

THE JIANG SECT

Wei Wuxian: Also known as Wei Ying or (if you’re nasty) the Yiling Patriarch. One of the two main characters of the show. He died (killed himself) in disgrace, universally reviled as evil, but it’s okay, he got better. Or rather, his soul got swapped into the body of a man named Mo Xuanyu, whose life really sucked and who almost never gets acknowledged by the narrative. Sunshine boy on the outside, but it’s complicated.

Sort of invented necromancy, or at least perfected it. Will kill you with his magic ghost flute, but mostly only if you deserve it. Mostly. Self-sacrificing to a fault due to basement level self-worth and a tendency to believe that he can handle things other people can’t. Swapped out his ability to do magic to keep his brother alive via nonconsensual surgery. This had a lot of somewhat unexpected consequences, it turns out. Got thrown into a very bad place called the Burial Mounds and came out with new powers and a whole new pile of trauma.

Rescues the Wen remnants from being killed in a prison camp after the war against the Wen Sect; this is not a popular move. Founds a commune with them in the aforementioned Burial Grounds. Also raises Wen Ning from the not-dead.

Adopted older brother (ish) to Jiang Cheng and younger brother to Jiang Yanli, adopted father to Lan Sizhui, eventual husband to Lan Wangji (at least according to novel canon and many, many post-canon fics).

Jiang Cheng: Also known as Jiang Wanyin, but only if he’s being a little bitch. He technically has a title (Sandu Shengshou) but I don’t remember if it’s ever actually used in the show. The youngest of the triad of Yunmeng Siblings (Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli), and possibly the most dysfunctional. Expresses all his feelings as anger, and he has a lot of feelings. Abandonment issues and inferiority complex the size of the lake that he grew up on. His entire family died and it fucked him up pretty bad, along with all the other terrible shit that happened. 100% Slytherin especially in terms of “protect my own people first and probably nobody else second.”

Adopted younger brother to Wei Wuxian, biological younger brother to Jiang Yanli. Uncle to Jin Ling (see below).

Jiang Yanli: I’ll take “oldest daughter who doubled as parent figure” for 500, Alex. Jiang Yanli is relatively quiet and mild-mannered but she loves her brothers very much and will throw down for them in a pinch. Tends to wilt in the face of people treating her poorly; not very good at standing up for herself. A professional at taking care of other people and not herself (Wei Wuxian and she have this in common!). She dies and it really does a number on her siblings.

Oldest sister of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, wife of Jin Zixuan, mother of Jin Ling.

Jiang Fengmian & Yu Ziyuan: Parents of Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng and source of the above’s dysfunction, in a lot of ways. Jiang Fengmian plays favorites (with his adopted son Wei Wuxian) and takes out his feelings about his wife (complicated) by ignoring Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. Madame Yu is straight up abusive; physically of Wei Wuxian, emotionally of everyone else. In her first appearance she walks into dinner and specifically targets everyone’s weak spots, demolishing three children emotionally in about two minutes, then leaves.

This family! It’s a disaster.

THE LAN SECT

Lan Wangji: Also known as Lan Zhan or Hanguang-jun. The other main character. Has a reputation for being very upright and righteous and rule-abiding; is that, sort of, but also kind of a socially awkward, deeply lonely boy who is trying to be a good person and thinks he can get there by following the right rules. Eventually figures out that’s not how it works. Doesn’t make friends easily but when he loves someone it is with all 500% of his heart.

His circle of people is very small, though. It’s kind of just two: his brother and Wei Wuxian. That’s all! Lan Wangji could use some friends, maybe.

He’s good! Also learns to rebel when appropriate, and “appropriate” especially involves things having to do with Wei Wuxian, for whom he will do just about anything, at least after he comes back from the dead. Before that it’s a little harder.

Younger brother of Lan Xichen, nephew of Lan Qiren, adopted father of Lan Sizhui, eventual husband to Wei Wuxian (see above).

Lan Xichen: Also known as Zewu-jun. He does have a birth name (everyone does!) but it doesn’t get used in canon. Also parented his younger brother (there’s a lot of sibling parents in this show!). Is the peacemaker, does not like conflict, diplomatic to a fault. Noticed how everyone else is very quick to jump to conclusions and decided he has to take all of the giving of the benefit of the doubt and good faith and “let’s wait and see and not jump to murder” because no one else is going to.

People in fandom give him a lot of shit for being stupid but he is not! He is just conflict-averse and cautious and inclined to reserve judgment on people. It just turns out that he happens to place his faith in the wrong person, which is to say Jin Guangyao. It does not work out. He ends up getting tricked/manipulated into killing Jin Guangyao by Nie Huaisang, and is about to stay and die with him when Jin Guangyao surprise pushes him away and thus saves his life.

At least one of the Lan brothers gets a happy ending!

Older brother of Lan Wangji, nephew of Lan Qiren, sworn brother/boyfriend of Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue.

Lan Qiren: Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen’s uncle who essentially raised them due to family dysfunction involving a mother who was basically on house arrest (because she killed someone??? not sure what happened there, information minimal) and their father seems to have been absent, and both died before series start. Rigid and hidebound, very much not a Wei Wuxian fan, very strict with both the Lan brothers and sometimes that involves corporal punishment and yelling.

There are no good parents or parent figures in this series.

Uncle to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen.

Lan Sizhui: Also known as A-Yuan / Wen Yuan. Originally a Wen kid, first adopted by Wei Wuxian when he founded the commune with the Wen remnants, then adopted by Lan Wangji when everyone in his family was killed and also Wei Wuxian. Grew up a Lan with no memory of his past. Lan Sizhui has two dads.

Cousin/brother (??) to Wen Ning and Wen Qing, adopted son of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Lan Jingyi: Sassmaster extraordinaire; the Lan kid who gets to say everything the rest of the Lans are holding back. Of the younger generation quartet formed by him, Lan Sizhui, Ouyang Zizhen, and Jin Ling. If a Lan kid in a scene is sassing someone, it’s Jingyi.

THE NIE SECT

Nie Mingjue: Also known as Chifeng-zun. Very strong opinions about right and wrong with not a whole lot of room for nuance. Formidable warrior. Anger issues, also daddy issues but we don’t get into those as much. Not exactly the friendliest of fellows but it’s not completely his fault, he’s being gradually poisoned by the malevolence of his own weapon. It’s a thing. Dies as a result of being poisoned by evil music courtesy of Jin Guangyao.

Sworn brother/boyfriend to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao. Older brother of Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang: Mastermind (sort of) of questionable morality, sometimes in order to get revenge for the murder of your older brother you have to wait ten years while building up a reputation as someone utterly useless, then get your old best friend resurrected as part of a series of dominoes meant to demolish your brother’s murderer’s entire life and reputation. Loves art and fans, not a fan of losing his mind to violent sabers as is traditional for the Nie Sect. Smarter than he wants you to think he is, and also just really good at winging it.

Younger brother of Nie Mingjue.

THE JIN SECT

Jin Guangshan: The actual worst. Sect Leader for the first half of the show. Should’ve been kicked down several sets of stairs; the world would’ve been a better place.

Father of Jin Zixuan, Jin Guangyao, Mo Xuanyu, and too many other bastards to list. Possibly Jin Zixun? I’m not clear on that.

Jin Zixuan: Disaster Straight. He comes off as aloof and arrogant but partly this is because he’s just really bad at interacting with people and incredibly awkward. Eventually marries Jiang Yanli after failing to express his feelings for 26 episodes. Shortly thereafter ends up dying when he’s fisted by Wen Ning (through the chest, you filthy animal).

Husband of Jiang Yanli, father of Jin Ling.

Jin Zixun: The other actual worst. When Jin Zixun is having fun no one else is, and when Jin Zixun is not having fun no one else is either. Just generally a tool. As far as I can tell has no redeeming qualities. His ambush of Wei Wuxian provokes the rolling disaster that results ultimately in the deaths of (in order) Jin Zixuan, Wen Qing, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian.

Cousin of Jin Zixuan.

Jin Guangyao: Also known as Meng Yao and Lianfang-zun, the former before he gets promoted by his absolute bastard of a dad. He’s complicated! A good boy, also responsible for a lot of the bad things that happen, with varying degrees of culpability depending on who you ask. Son of a (in everyone’s words, ever) prostitute, and he’s really got a problem with it. Made some valid points but also got possibly too much revenge on people who hurt him, including some preemptive revenge on people who might have. Does a lot of murder but mostly via other people or evil music. Gets kicked down the stairs twice, which if you ask me is a pretty good reason to be kinda worked up about things.

His hat is very silly and I will not pretend otherwise.

Dies at the end and it’s real sad, if you ask me. Incredibly gay for Lan Xichen, and who can blame him?

Son of Jin Guangshan, half brother of Jin Zixuan, sworn brother/boyfriend of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

Jin Ling: Part of the quartet of juniors including Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, and Ouyang Zizhen. A mess of a child. (Half)-raised by Jiang Cheng and it shows. Spoiled brat but also just like. Brimming with loneliness and desperation for someone’s approval.

Son of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, grandson of Jin Guangshan, nephew of Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao (and Wei Wuxian, and Mo Xuanyu, and too many other bastards to name, he’s got a lot of uncles).

Mianmian / Luo Qingyang: Mostly known as Mianmian, which is her nickname. She’s technically a servant but Jin Zixuan is her best friend. Ditches the Jin Sect when they start being jackasses about Wei Wuxian in a seriously epic mic drop moment. Actually lives to the end of the show which makes one female character!

THE WEN SECT

Wen Ruohan: The first Big Bad of the show. Pursuing world domination by the power of the Yin Iron, aka evil metal that lets you control corpses. It doesn’t go well for him.

Dies at the hands of Jin Guangyao - going, at the time, by Meng Yao.

Father of Wen Xu and Wen Chao.

Wen Xu: The oldest son of Wen Ruohan; he barely appears but he does exist. Or did, he doesn’t make it very long.

Wen Chao: Absolute worm of a human being. Like Draco Malfoy in early Harry Potter, but with more killing people. Dies an absolutely horrifying death courtesy of Wei Wuxian, but he did throw Wei Wuxian into a place he was supposed to horribly die in, so I don’t feel that bad for him.

Younger son of Wen Ruohan.

Wen Qing: Incredibly gifted physician, can probably fix anything, including transferring a golden core from one person to another which no one has ever done before. (That’s how Wei Wuxian’s ended up in Jiang Cheng.) Starts out as determinedly loyal to Wen Ruohan basically to protect Wen Ning and keep him safe, but keeps ending up helping our protagonists basically against her better judgment. This does not earn her any points with the Wens, and being a Wen does not earn her any points with anyone else.

Ends up getting swept up by Wei Wuxian when he finds her destitute in the street and they charge off to save her brother together. Subsequently lives in the Burial Mounds commune up until things go to shit and she goes to give herself up with Wen Ning in the hopes of mitigating damage after Jin Zixuan dies. She is executed.

Has a non-thing with Jiang Cheng because they’re very alike in ways that mean that, under the circumstances, they keep missing each other.

Older sister of Wen Ning, sister/cousin (??) of Lan Sizhui, adopted older sister of Wei Wuxian, sort of.

Wen Ning: Also known as Wen Qionglin, but like, once in canon. So you probably won’t see it much. Neither he nor his sister are actually related to Wen Ruohan - they’re from a branch of the family but serve him. Wen Ning doesn’t get to have a lot of nice things. He saves Wei Wuxian’s life (after Wei Wuxian saves his), and (along with Wen Qing) helps get Jiang Cheng out when he was captured by the Wens and protects Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli after their family and sect are killed.

After the Sunshot Campaign he is killed by Jin cultivators (or almost, it’s complicated) but brought back to unlife by Wei Wuxian. Unfortunately this makes him vulnerable to control to make him do things like, say, kill Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun. He and Wen Qing go to be presumably executed in an attempt to mitigate the damage to Wei Wuxian/maybe?? save his life; Wen Ning gets kept in a dungeon for sixteen years and comes back when Wei Wuxian does.

Younger brother of Wen Qing. brother/cousin (??) of Lan Sizhui, adopted younger brother of Wei Wuxian, sort of.

Wen Zhuliu: Mysterious assassin/bodyguard of the Wens, we know almost nothing about his backstory save that he owes them some kind of debt and he and Yu Ziyuan seem to have some kind of history. The main thing is that he’s capable of destroying the golden core of cultivators, aka rendering them an ordinary person devoid of special powers, forever. Gets killed by Jiang Cheng, whose golden core he destroyed.

Various Wen Remnants: You don’t get a lot of individual characterization from these folks - basically they are the remains of the Wen Sect after the Wen Sect is defeated in the war (called the Sunshot Campaign) that forms the arc of the first part of the show. Pretty much everyone wants them dead. Wei Wuxian rescues them and takes them off to the Burial Mounds, where no one else wants to go, and builds a commune with them, which works for a while until it doesn’t anymore.

They all die. It’s bad.

YI CITY CREW

These got long because I felt like I had to explain more about plot stuff.

Xue Yang: The gremlin! Will cheerfully murder just about anyone at the drop of a hat, he doesn’t really need a reason. Driven initially by a revenge quest for the guy who crushed his finger when he was seven; he kills his whole family, which is a reasonable response when you think of your own life as worth significantly more than anyone else’s. Subsequently and also during fixated on Xiao Xingchen. Kind of a genius?? but he’s pretty low key about it.

Really involved with the plot in a lot of weird ways. Introduced Wen Ruohan to the Yin Iron and taught him how it functioned-ish, worked with Jin Guangyao for a while on necromancy stuff, after the inevitable betrayal ended up getting picked up by a now blind Xiao Xingchen (more on that later) and a-Qing, and lived with them in domestic semi-bliss for three years while also tricking Xiao Xingchen into murdering a lot of people, up to and including his sort-of-ex-boyfriend Song Lan. Turned Song Lan into a zombie, sort of. Fell apart when Xiao Xingchen died (killed himself, on account of Xue Yang demolishing his entire life, whoops) and spent the next decade or so trying to bring him back from the dead.

Dies messily, as you might guess, and I’m still sad about it.

Xiao Xingchen: Grew up on a secret mountain isolated from the rest of society, came down from the secret mountain to help make the world a better place, it really does not work out for him. Travels around for a while being best friends/boyfriends with Song Lan, getting poetry written about him; unfortunately then he and Xue Yang run into each other which is widely regarded as a bad move. Things get messy, Xiao Xingchen ends up with his eyes in Song Lan’s head and blind, he adopts a teenage con artist (see below) and rescues Xue Yang (who he doesn’t know is Xue Yang).

Three years of domestic bliss (sort of) ensue, with the wrinkle that while Xiao Xingchen’s sword Shuanghua can sense corpses so he can still hunt things, it has a glitch where sometimes the corpses it senses are in fact living people that Xue Yang has poisoned and cut out their tongues. Whoops.

After he kills Song Lan (whoops), Xiao Xingchen finds out from a-Qing who he’s been living with and, uh, is upset about it. Xue Yang drops the bomb of “oh yeah so you’ve been killing people this whole time and also! yeah! killed Song Lan too! eyyyy” upon which Xiao Xingchen, his entire world wrecked, kills himself and shatters his soul.

He ends the series basically fragments of soul in a little pouch being carried around by Song Lan. When I put it that way it sounds kinda funny but it’s really not.

A-Qing: Teenage con-artist who pretends to be blind and adopts Xiao Xingchen after stealing his money (he notices, but he also just gives it to her). Knew Xue Yang was bad news but didn’t know how bad. Smart cookie. Xue Yang blinds her and cuts out her tongue (he just loves doing that) after she tells on him to Xiao Xingchen; she gets her revenge by leading Wei Wuxian & co. to figuring out what’s going on, and ultimately enabling the first mortal-wounding of Xue Yang.

Unfortunately, also dies.

Song Lan: Also known as Song Zichen, rarely. A Daoist priest (I think that’s right?) and “rogue cultivator” (in the sense that he’s not affiliated with any sect). He is definitely affiliated with Xiao Xingchen. “Affiliated with.”

Ends up getting caught in the vortex of Xue Yang when his entire temple-family is killed and he’s blinded; says some harsh things and a guilty Xiao Xingchen trades out his eyes to pay him back for being the cause of Xue Yang targeting his temple, then vanishes. Song Lan spends the next long time trying to track him down, eventually finds him in mid-domestic bliss (sort of) with Xue Yang (yikes), promptly attempts to kill Xue Yang, ends up getting his tongue cut out and himself corpse-poisoned and killed by Xiao Xingchen, who thinks he is a random evil corpse instead of his best friend/ex-boyfriend. Xue Yang turns him into a zombie controlled by him. He gets better (from the control, he’s still a zombie).

Literally the only one of the Yi City Crew to make it out alive and he’s not technically alive.

MISCELLANEOUS OTHERS

Ouyang Zizhen: Part of the juniors quartet with Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui, and Lan Jingyi. A budding romantic. Very good, has the misfortune of having Sect Leader Ouyang as a dad, but at least it’s not Sect Leader Yao (see below).

Su She: Due to a confluence of factors having to do with jealousy but also class/rigid hierarchy issues, ends up as Jin Guangyao’s right hand henchman. He’s very loyal when you’re actually nice to him. Really doesn’t like Lan Wangji.

Sect Leader Yao: Mostly just there to have really bad opinions all of the time.

#anonymous #conversating #i can't believe i did this #the untamed #the sad queer cultivators show #a very biased account by me personally #but hey!!! hope it helps anon #long post for ts

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kadeuxhyeonju · 4 years ago

Text

Rip Out My Heart

*TW: child abuse, violence, mentions of mental abuse (with kitsune illusions), emotional abuse ~all under “keep reading”

Self-Para-- (REALLY LONG--last one for a while)

Kadeu, Hearts Territory, Heart Side of The Joker Lee Hyeonju, Teenager, Night of Defection

Hyeonju did not look back. With his feet now standing over the invisible line that marked one faction from another, the young man’s wrist, only moments before marked with a Seven, was now emblazoned with a One. He’d done it. He’d finally summoned the courage, the audacity to walk away from Spade—from his mother. Now he walked to the end of the Joker, into Heart, stood at the edge, waiting.

“Well, look at that.” Hyeonju whipped his head toward a nearby alley. A man adorned in the most beautiful of garments stepped out into the lights given off by the nighttime businesses of Heart. Park Minjun. His father and a newly promoted Jack of Hearts. ”Our Lil Kit is growing up, defecting and making trouble. I didn’t think you’d do it.” Hyeonju prickled at the name. He didn’t like being called that. But it was his father and he respected—feared—him so he kept his voice even and controlled. “I did what I needed to do.” His father laughed at that. “Your face says otherwise, Lil Kit. Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re a Heart now. When Spade finds out you defected you won’t be welcomed back.”

Hyeonju refused to look behind him toward the dark streets of Spade. He refused to regret his choice. This was his one and only chance for freedom. He looked up at his father only to notice the stunning colors and sounds that came to life in the nighttime of Heart behind the Kitsune. He smiled, hope glittering in his eyes. “That’s okay. I don’t want to go back.” His father smiled with something akin to pride and ruffled the young man’s hair with his clawed hands—he seemed to relish showing off his foxy features; Hyeonju had no idea what he looked like without them. “That’s my Kit. Alright, follow me and we’ll make sure you rise to the top in no time.” Hyeonju’s feet carried him forward until he was swallowed by the temptations of Heart.

Hyeonju, Teenager, Heart Territory, Rank 1, End of First Year

“Is this a joke to you, Lil Shit?” Hyeonju was sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with shivers and pains too numerous to count. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. He lived off the leftovers those of higher rank tossed in the trash bins or on the ground. He hadn’t eaten a human since his mother’s last meal for him in Spade before he’d promptly snuck out of the barracks and defected. His Kistune powers were nowhere to be found. The only reason he’d lasted this long without succumbing to the drugs and thievery rampant in Heart was no doubt because of his Strongarm blood. He didn’t have the species’ strength, but their endurance and hardiness seemed to be working just fine. After all, the kicks and punches his father was doling out didn’t leave him broken like he knew it would full-blooded Kitsune.

Minjun looked down on him in disgust. They were in an alleyway somewhere in the High Rankers’ district. His father, realizing that Hyeonju had failed to rise to even a Two, had hauled the teenager from where he’d found him hiding next to a trash can and given the hybrid the thrashing of his life. Word was getting around—Lee Hyeonju, Spade Deserter, had failed to rise in rank among the Hearts. Now Park Minjun, sponsor and father to the child, was suffering the consequences.

Now Hyeonju was suffering, too.

Why haven’t you risen in rank, huh? I’ve provided you every opportunity, your mother gave you the combat skills, I gave you the art of etiquette and business. All you had to do was earn some quick cash, you Lil Shit. All you needed was to follow what I taught you. And you couldn’t even do that much. You’re a failure, Hyeonju!” Hyeonju mumbled something. “What was that? Speak louder, Lil Kit. I know we didn’t teach you to mumble.”

“I said I can’t do it!” Hyeonju yelled, lifting his head from the ground to reveal the desperation and defeat in his features. His father looked at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, but it wasn’t amused, not in the slightest. He grabbed Hyeonju by the back of the neck and lifted him so they were eye to eye. “You can’t do it?” the soft voice sent a ripple of fear through the young hybrid. He knew what came from this voice, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. The illusions his father created were levels beyond his own.

And they were terrifying.

The horror was inescapable so long as his father held him in place and Hyeonju was forced to endure it. By the time his father lifted the illusion, his son was a pile of fear and despair. Minjun looked down on him coldly. “You’re weak, Hyeonju. You won’t eat humans because you feel bad. You won’t steal because it’s dishonest. You won’t lie or get angry or cheat or charm or do JACK SHIT because you’re a weak lil bastard. You have some of the biggest potential given what we’ve taught you, but you can’t be bothered to use it. Let me give you a word of advice, my precious son. Kindness is weakness. Love and empathy and honor will get you killed. And even if you were to give those useless feelings of yours to another,” Minjun bent down and whispered, “someone like you will never receive it. You’re unlovable, Lee Hyeonju. Your mother and I are proof of that. You’ll die here in the gutters, unloved and forgotten by the world. Gods know I certainly won’t bother to think of you.”

At that, Hyeonju lifted his head and tears streamed down his face as he realized what his father was about to do. “Wait, father, please—don’t!” But it was too late. His father’s back was towards him, polished boots striding at a smooth and steady pace away from his son and toward the bustling, clean streets of Heart. “Don’t ever contact me, Lil Jun. If you do, I’ll kill you and throw your corpse to a manabeast. Let a hunter find you in their catch’s belly. Better yet, I’ll throw you in the nearest river and watch you sink. Feed the fish. You’re more useful dead, right?” Even with those threats hanging over his head, Hyeonju tried to give chase, but the pain from the pummeling and the mental exhaustion from the torturous illusions sent the hybrid sprawling in the dirt, unseen by the world.

Hyeonju was left to stare at the rolling grey clouds, a reflection of his emotions, his life. It seemed to be a never-ending sky of grey and rain and storms that shook him until his soul was scattered petals in the wind, until those pieces landed under the privileged feet of Kadeu and were grounded unawares to the persons above. Hyeonju had given up his life in Spade—risked the wrath of his mother, the ridicule of his father. He had seen the wealth and laughter and freedom granted in Heart and thought that maybe—just maybe—he could find a place among these colorful folk with their finery and elegant airs and boastful minds. All he had found this past year was a well of lies hidden behind jeweled masks and calculated smiles and cold, assessing gazes who saw Hyeonju as a commodity rather than a living being.

He lay there for an eternity, his father’s words like a mantra seeping its way beneath his skin to wrap around his heart, stitching itself into his very essence. When he had the strength to lift himself from the ground, the Rank One trudged his way back to the dregs of Heart. There he found the half-starved populace of Low Ranker humans too weak to survive in a world full of species who surpassed them in every way. Hyeonju wasn’t far from becoming like them, weak as he was. His stomach rumbled. When was the last time he ate? He glanced at the huddled figures, paused, then shook his head and continued on. He couldn’t do it. Not even to keep himself alive. Shame rose within him. He dug through the trash bins later that night. Eating half-eaten…something, Hyeonju huddled in a corner as thunder roared overhead, alone and forgotten.

Hyeonju, 152, Heart Territory, Vega Gem Apartment, Now, Rank Ten

The lightening could be seen flashing around the edges of the black-out curtains cloaking the windows of Hyeonju’s condo. The man himself was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. The storms seemed to be never-ending—and the memories that came with them. He wrapped the blankets around himself. Below the sheets, his hands fiddled with a dagger, old but well-cared for. His eyes remained unblinking, body shuddering at the rumble of thunder the only indication the Ten of Heart was alive—though not well.

The memories assaulted him, made his body tense as if he were reliving each moment again and again and again. All the while, Hyeonju couldn’t help but think in the back of his mind how ironic his life was. He had defected Spade to escape the pain his mother had caused, the scorn of his fellow Spades for not sharing the same pride they did. He had firmly believed that by joining Hearts, working hard, he’d achieve freedom, happiness. Hyeonju would never have to fight, never lie, never feel fear or anger if he could just make it to the top running on his pure, naive values.

What a joke. Not only had the hybrid failed to gain the freedom he so desperately sought, but he was plagued by the horrors he’d endured as a Low Ranker. He learned to beg, steal, lie, cheat, fight, kill. He made money and gained power off the backs of humans he consumed and throwing others, human and and everything in between, under the carriage.

Hyeonju had become everything he hated and more.

Hyeonju didn’t regret surviving, didn’t regret his choices because there was no point. Even if he’d been granted a second chance to make a different decision, he wasn’t sure he’d change anything because there was no guarantee he would be better off. At least in this life, he knew the hand he was dealt and could adapt as needed. Nonetheless, Hyeonju found himself haunted by faces of humans he’d beckoned to dark corners with trusting, beguiling eyes and pretty illusions only for their expressions to take on terror as he slaughtered them like cattle, consuming them with a desperation he couldn’t shake. He remembered the nights at the Red Dragon and Secret Room full of patrons seeking his physical company and all the pleasures they could afford with their bags of coins. Some were kind, most were...not. He remembers the words tossed at him for being everything he was. He can even pinpoint the exacts moments when pieces of himself he’d cherished fell off him like rusted, useless armor.

The memories, brought on by the tumultuous downpour and raging thunder, made the Ten of Heart want to scream. But he didn’t. His parents had taught him screaming was for the weak. Crying was for those who refused to do nothing to save themselves. So he held it in, though a part of him--a huge part of him--wanted nothing more than to let it all out, to have someone listen and not lift a hand in violence towards him or throw poison-laced insults his way or laugh.

He glanced at the amulet sitting on the pillow beside him. Maybe he could call for one of his friends. Max? She had no idea what he’d gone through in Hearts. Nari? She was plagued with traumas of her own. He wouldn’t dare to burden her with his. Sullivan? The man was as gentle as they came. He couldn’t bear the thought of sharing something so painful with someone so kind. Hyeonju raked his head for somebody—anybody to call, but each was met with the same thought—who would come? Who would understand? Among those who did—which would love him, despite all the terrible things he was made of?

You’re unloveable, Lee Hyeonju.

Thunder slammed against his ears, he closed his eyes. No tears threatened to spill—he’d forgotten how to do that long ago. He took the amulet from his pillow, stared at it, tossed it toward the kitchen where he heard it clatter against the floor. He pulled the blanket over his head and pulled the knife close to his chest. The storm raged on.

#kadeuxhyeonju #self-para #:rip out my Heart #well now i know what happened that first year #but im not happy about it #IM SO SORRY JUJU #i think i'll leave the rest of his life up to the imagination and further plots #just needed to figure out my muse's childhood and motivations and feelings #now i know too much and im HURTING #i hate his dad #hyeonju has a lot of trauma he needs to work through #QUEUED #i'll probably be asleep when this posts #won't be able to hear your heart break #but i'll feel it #feel free to scream at me #im doing that right now #self para

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grapefruitsketches · 5 years ago

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Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 24-30: Chapter 1, Gentle (Day 24)

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series:

Also available AO3: link

1,994 Words, Post-Canon, Songxiao, Wangxian, hurt/comfort, angst, recovery

Chapter 1: Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen are alive, healthy, and most importantly, together. But they still have a long way to go. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji understand this better than anyone

“I must return something to you,” Hanguang-Jun’s voice rung out like a shout to Xingchen’s sensitive ears.

They were in a guest room in Cloud Recesses, kneeling by a table, having just finished their first meal (breakfast? Dinner? Xingchen didn’t know) since Xingchen had awoken in his body for the first time in seven years. The Gusu Lan Sect food had been bland, but Xingchen had been grateful for that. Any warmth burned, any spice stung, any sweetness was sickly. His taste buds were used to dust and stale air. The scent of freshly cleaned linens and sandalwood was sharp to his nose. He felt full, but was unused to a body that could feel empty. His arms were weak. Zichen had taken the spoon from his hand after his shaky grip spilled nearly half the soup he had picked up back into the bowl. He was delicate, feeling more solid than he had in a long time, but he had also never felt so vulnerable. He was glad to be indoors, since he felt that right now, even a gentle breeze, so tied to his reputation (or previous reputation) in the cultivation world, would seem threatening to him.

“I kept it safe,” Lan Wangji continued to read aloud from the hastily scrawled words as Song Lan reached towards Xiao Xingchen, Shuanghua laid out across his palms.

Xiao Xingchen felt Song Lan’s shaking but warm hands fall into his, slowly sharing, then passing the weight of the sword back to its true master.

Xingchen flinched. He had been expecting the sword’s usual coolness, but the metal seared his skin with a cold he had been unprepared for, a jolt through his palms as the weight of the familiar sword hit his hands, and the backs of his hands hit the table, unable to hold the sword unsupported with the atrophied body he had returned to. He was not sure he wanted to carry the sword anyway.

It thrust forward. He felt the impact. “Is that you?” he had asked, not knowing that his question should have been directed at Shuanghua’s victim, not his seeming companion.

“Zichen? Zichen? Is that you?” he had said, this time directing the question to the right person, but far too late. The realization. The sharp kiss of the blade against his throat… no more until… until…

He swallowed, hands clenching tight on the sheathed blade. A touch on his shoulder, Zichen’s gentle hand, stabilizing his shuddering form as he held Shuanghua in his hands again. The blade that had done such damage. That he had trusted to such devastating effects. It made sense that his body, so unused to feeling, to touch, would be particularly repulsed by the blade that had destroyed first the innocent, then his heart, before finally turning on himself.

Though he was sure the others could see the hot, iron-scented tears he felt running down his face, he forced his mouth into a soft smile. The weight was his to bear. He was not at fault, he understood that now, after all these years of reflection, of slowly putting his soul back together. But it had been the pair of them, his hand and his sword, who had been the instrument of all this hardship, who had trusted each other and those around them too readily. And that would be his burden as the one who bore this hand, this sword, for his life to come.

He breathed, “Thank you, Zichen,” he said, managing to keep a quiver out of his voice as he leaned into the hand. Xiao Xingchen rose to one knee, then a foot as he stood up, unused muscles thrumming back to life as he used them to draw the sword for the first time since it had taken his own life.

Lan Wangji, meanwhile, watched Song Lan’s face. The soft frown, his brows laced with caution. The not so subtle glances from Xiao Xingchen’s face to Shuanghua, gleaming dangerously, no less sharp than it had been all those years ago, trusting the holder, but unable to forget the power of the weapon. Song Lan was a mirror of everything Lan Wangji had felt coursing through him four years earlier in Guanyin Temple, watching Wei Ying easily catch Chenqing and draw it to his lips, memories of quiet nights in the midst of the Sunshot Campaign, a flute and a guqin singing together through the night, overwhelmed and tainted by flashes of tears, blood, pain, Chenqing falling off the cliff first, and, as always, calling its master to follow its descent down… down…

Lan Wangji hoped Song Lan would write something, that it would be made clear that he was still meant to be here. The two rogue cultivators were silent and still, but for the slow circles Song Lan’s hand drew on Xingchen’s back and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers slowly travelling over every inch of the sword, as though looking for some physical defect to confirm its scarred history. Red tears streamed down Xiao Xingchen’s face. Song Lan reached for a still damp cloth from the tray where the now empty spirit pouch lay, reaching to catch the tears before they had a chance to reach white robes. Lan Wangji looked away. This felt like a private moment, but he could neither leave without a word, in case Song Lan wanted to say something, nor did he feel like he could interrupt to excuse himself. But the two, for the moment, seemed to recognize little else but each other.

He tried to clear his mind, closing his eyes and senses to the world around, blurring out the sound of Xiao Xingchen’s gentle whispers of thanks, of reassurance that he was ok, turning away from the tender but hesitant look and touch with which Song Lan refamiliarized himself with his beloved. Lan Wangji longed for a more concrete distraction from the scene before him, both out of courtesy and also because this reunion served as a painful reminder of the long years of separation leading to his own.

He was considering the merits of playing his guqin to remind the couple that he was still there, when Wei Ying, as always, came just in time to save him.

He entered the guest room with a handful of loquats. He grinned openly at Lan Wangji, whose reflexive response was a relieved if still restrained smile. Wei Ying tossed him a piece of fruit. Only after he confirmed that Lan Wangji, having easily caught the loquat, would actually eat it did Wei Ying turn to the guests, then back to his husband, who was still carefully avoiding any glance to that side of the room.

Wei Wuxian let out a quiet laugh, understanding Lan Zhan’s dilemma at once.

“Xiao-xiong! Song-xiong!” Wei Wuxian called. The two cultivators’ faces snapped towards the door, Song Lan blinking as though coming out of a dream, “I’m just going to grab Lan Zhan for a little bit if that’s ok? We’ll be by the warren if you need anything.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled, bowing his head mildly, seeming much less disoriented, or at least better at masking it, than his partner, “Of course, Wei-gongzi. We will come find you if anything comes up.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian bowed quickly, then beamed, grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist, “Let’s go, Lan Zhan!”

The two left the guest room, making their way to the rabbit colony. Wei Wuxian noticed that Lan Zhan’s hand, which had crept its way up to take his wrist’s place in Wei Wuxian’s hand, held his own more tightly than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked, earning himself only a slow, barely audible breath from his husband in response.

Wei Wuxian was not deterred. He had spent years decoding, studying, now practicing the subtle language of Lan Zhan’s expressions. He prided himself in its mastery, revelled in the looks of surprise whenever he correctly guessed even the most well-hidden of worries, (celebrated the rarity of the fearful, tearful, frustrated expressions that had often marked his previous life’s study of a face that should never bear anything but a smile).

While Lan Zhan might not be so forthcoming in the public, well-travelled areas of the Cloud Recesses, the bunnies’ warren provided just the privacy and comfort they needed.

They sat amongst the sea of fluffy snowballs, both silent, enjoying the quiet and the sun. Wei Wuxian felt a tickle on his hand, which was pressed into the ground as he leaned back. He looked down to see a small rabbit sniffing curiously at it.

Wei Wuxian smiled and picked the bunny up, stroking its ears gently, “Little rabbit, little rabbit, can you get my silly husband to tell me what thoughts are going through his head?” he asked, before turning to lay the bunny in Lan Zhan’s lap, “Let’s see if you have any luck.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened as though it was still a surprise that such a small creature would settle so cozily against his form. His mouth curved into the smallest smile as he lifted the bunny to his face. Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at his husband, who seemed unaware both that Wei Wuxian was watching him, and at the fact that his eyes crossed gently as they followed the bunny closer to his face.

Wei Wuxian settled back. He still wanted to talk to Lan Zhan about his conflicted expression in the guest room. He guessed it might be related to the bittersweet memories of their own reunion that their guests, one smiling, one silent, that had been brought to the front of his own mind since Xiao Xingchen had awoken. But Lan Zhan seemed to need some distance from the cause before he could discuss the effects. He knew Lan Zhan would talk to him once he had had the chance to regain his usual calm.

Closing his eyes to the warmth of the sun, the wind carrying a gentle floral scent towards them from somewhere upstream, he remembered a time when Lan Zhan was not simply quiet, peaceful as he was now, but closed off. He remembered the moments he had broken through that wall, first provoking anger, then concern, and finally, the first smile at a bunny on a lantern before they had made the pledge that would define so much of what followed.

He remembered having to slowly ease open the various gates and doors keeping others away from where Lan Zhan was most vulnerable. Admit to pain, to grief, to love. He remembered the simultaneous feeling that Lan Zhan was doing the same to him, tearing down barriers he hadn’t even known he had. The sheer intensity of the initial exposure of long hidden parts of himself to another, of uncovering wounds long concealed, many reopening before they could heal. He remembered a gradual climb, travelling apart, together, building and rebuilding parts of themselves that finally had the space to fall apart. Eventually able to settle into the synchronicity, the stability, the love that had now come to define their every day life together.

The looks on Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s faces reminded him of the them of before, shortly after Wei Wuxian’s return, the awkward reversal of grief, of guilt examined, forgiveness denied due to a refusal to blame. It drew them both to a time before so much healing, so much growth.

Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed and felt sideways blindly until he found the hand he was looking for and squeezed. Lan Zhan, silently squeezed back. Not a word was spoken, no glance exchanged, but everything that needed to be said was understood.

He was glad that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen were now able to start their long journey forward together. He and Lan Zhan would help however they could. He was though, perhaps selfishly, glad that this new beginning was theirs and nothing but a distant memory for him and Lan Zhan.

Next: Chapter 2, Harmony: Song Lan asks Lan Wangji for some help.

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #mdzs #cql #songxiao #wangxian #xiao xingchen #song lan #wei wuxian #lan wangji #I meant to write more of this today but it turns out I don't have the energy after all mypapers #so I guess for me the spring fest will continue about a week into May with this as the grand finale!#my writing #songxiao fix it series

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ghafahey · 5 years ago

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find a way ; make it right ; build us a better life.

At Qiongqi Path, Lan Wangji makes a choice.

__________________

A ripple goes through the cultivation world.

Words are shouted up and down Koi Tower. Voices tremble over words, gasping and full of red shades of rage.

Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian, the people spit his name like venom from their mouths.

Jiang Yanli knows they are wrong, they must be. A-Xian would never-

How cruel, how ungrateful, how dare he, Sect Leader Yao and Sect Leader Ouyang and Jin Zixun roar and turn their eyes to everyone else, trying to incite the same hatred.

Some nod, some join into the chorus of insults. Only a few avert their gaze, unsure and wondering and recalling moments they brushed aside until now.

Oh, brother what have you done, Lan Xichen thinks.

__________________

Rain pours down, biting-cold and glistening like small drops of diamonds.

“Is this the promise that we pledged our lives to keep?” Wei Wuxian cries into the storm with such force, Lan Wangji feels it like a shove to his chest. He does not stagger but clutches tighter at the umbrella, at Bichen, at the feelings swirling in his chest.

Far away at the entrance to Cloud Recesses, on a wall and carved into stone in perfect calligraphy, withstanding all time, three thousand rules are displayed. Lan Wangji doesn’t remember seeing them for the first time when he was still a child with little knowledge of the world. But he remembers learning them all, repeating them out loud and in his thoughts, writing them down until his fingers hurt and shufu deemed them perfect. Over and over like the endless dance of night and day, until he knew every single one and their number. They are a reminder as much as a grounding force, a guidance as much as a cage.

Do not fight without permission. Do not wander out at night. Do not run. Do not make noise. Do not be wasteful. Do not speak ill of others. Do not act impulsively.

They are as much a part of him as his arms and legs, laced into his very bones and a consistent, insistent whisper of what is right and wrong.

But what is, Wei Ying had asked. And who says so?

Lan Wangji used to hold the answer, all the answers, he thought. Now, his hands cold from rain or fear, he is not so sure.

Eighteen years and three thousand rules and all of it undone so quickly, so thoroughly, by one person alone.

Rule 2311. Do not break promises, his mind whispers now, tugging at the memory the nighttime questions have conjured.

Then what promise am I to uphold? He wants to yell at the sky. What promise am I meant to break? The one I was born into, molded into from the day I opened my eyes by hands that dealt out more punishments than tenderness? Or the one I made, a young fool not quite aware yet of all the terrors of this world, with someone by my side who insistently clawed his way inside my heart?

In front of him, separated by a curtain of rain and unaware of his inner turmoil, Wei Wuxian raises his hand, his arm outstretched and holding out Chenqing like an offering, like a barrier, like a question.

“Lan Zhan, if I have to fight with them finally, I’d prefer to fight with you.”

Stop, Lan Wangji wants to say but the word is stuck at the back of his throat.

“If I am doomed to death,” and here Wei Wuxian smiles, sadly but visible in the corners of his mouth, as if his death is such a trivial thing. “At least, I could be killed by you. That would be worth it.”

What a ridiculous thing to say within the midst of the storm. What a ridiculous thing to ask of the one you consider your soul’s mate.

There is a breath stuck in Lan Wangji’s chest, lodged beneath his ribcage, raging to be let out and make the choice expected of him. Step aside, let them pass. Or better yet, for the good of all the sects and their leaders, raise the sword and strike.

Eradicate evil, set up laws and then goodness will be everlasting.

Yet beneath the stream of rain Lan Wangji is nothing but a leaf tossed to the wind, free of rules and expectations and guilt.

There is a path, splendorous and bright and there for the taking, ripe with glory, filled with a future he thought he wanted. But maybe, after all, it was the expectations of others that made him think so. And then there is the darker route, the one that speaks of exertion and an endless climb, the one people will curse him for and frown and spit at; the one that he would not have to walk in lifelong solitude, the road one unafraid person will lead him on.

What an impossible choice to make at such an age, in such a moment with thunder roaring and rain pouring down and eyes on him that beg for something he cannot give.

The breath inside his chest releases, dead and trampled.

“You said, you took me as your soulmate in this life, the one who understands you,” Lan Wangji says, barely audible above the storm. But something, as lightning flashes, lights up in Wei Wuxian’s eyes too, understanding dawning. It is only because Lan Wangji’s gaze is so fixed on him that he sees his lips tremble.

I still do.

Lan Wangji takes a step, then another, slow and deliberate and calculated. One of the horses huffs, soothed by the hum of one Wen Clan survivor. Lan Wangji remembers their faces distantly, some of them at least, from Dafan mountain. He will have time to learn them anew now.

Wei Wuxian lowers his arm, the hand clenched around Chenqing trembling, his eyes wide as moons.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers – or maybe he doesn’t say anything at all.

Lan Wangji swallows and stares up at him and tries to put all of the sincerity he holds within the cage of his body into his words. “I still am.”

Lightning crackles, illuminating for just a second, the surprise on Wei Wuxian’s features, carved into them like rules into stone. His throat works against a reply that never comes. There is no need for one.

There is no order without rules, Lan Qiren had said.

Eradicate evil, set up laws and then goodness will be everlasting, he had made Lan Wangji read and memorize and write and repeat.

What is the 52nd rule of the Lan Clan? he had asked again and again.

Do not associate with evil, Lan Wangji had replied dutifully every time.

But within the darkness of night, beneath showers of rain, he sees no evil. Only a man trying to save the innocent, only a promise that ties them together and an understanding that binds their souls to one another irrevocably.

The umbrella meets the ground with a thud, dull and swallowed by another crack of the sky. With a lift of his feet, more elegantly than should be possible with the shock of ice-cold rain soaking his clothes and skin and hair, Lan Wangji sits upon the horse behind Wei Wuxian.

It protests with a huff, lifting his forelegs slightly and shakes as if it wants to throw them both off. A gentle hand soothes through its dark mane, breathing a whisper to make it settle down again. Like this, it barely fits them both, pressed so closely together they can feel each other’s body heat, the wetness of the other’s clothes. The rim of Wei Wuxian’s hat brushes Lan Wangji’s hairline as he twists around as much as the limited space allows, his eyes flitting over Lan Wangji’s face as if to memorize each pore.

“Lan Zhan…. Lan Zhan, no. They despise me already but you—... your Clan, your uncle, your reputation…”

He keeps uttering words without sense as if he wants Lan Wangji to change his mind, turn around and leave or take the offer of a fight and end it all right here in the wet dirt of this earth. Words that prick at Lan Wangji’s heart with guilt – although he knows it would be tenfold if he turned around now to lead the easy life that is waiting for him just beyond this path, just beyond the crossroad intersecting their lives.

So, he reaches out to where Wei Wuxian’s hand rests on the horse’s mane and lets his fingers slip in between the spaces.

“Wei Ying,” Wei Wuxian tenses, at the touch or the sound of his name, brushed right below his ear but he does not turn away.

“We made a promise,” Lan Wangji says, so easily as if this is all the explanation anyone would need. “And you promised you would let me help you. So, let us fulfill them side by side.”

__________________

The umbrella is what they bring back to Koi Tower, wet with rain and caked with mud and half-broken.

Wei Wuxian, how cruel, killing all those innocent people!

Wei Wuxian, traitor of the Jiang Clan! How low he must stoop to rescue the people that killed Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan! How little respect he must have for Clan Leader Jiang!

Wei Wuxian, how dare he! Choosing the crooked path and running from the law and kidnapping Hanguang-Jun, who only tried to do right and stop him!

An act of rebellion, an act of war!

Voices rise across Koi Tower, spreading farther to cities and towns and villages, words laced with the slow poison of tarnishing a reputation already crumbling.

Lan Qiren collapses in his chair, blood dripping from his nose.

Jin Guangshan huffs and adds a few well-placed words, oil to an already simmering fire.

Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth and balls his hands into fists until his knuckles crack.

Lan Xichen meets Jiang Yanli’s eyes and sees the same prayer written in them, the plea to some deity above to protect a younger brother on his path.

Jin Guangyao offers calming words and expressions of concern, then smiles into his sleeve.

Leagues away, the Burial Mounds bloom into a home.

#wangxian #the untamed #otp: in this world somebody still trusts you.#my writing #anyway this is from last night and i never posted here.... mhh.....

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imaginaryelle · 4 years ago

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The transportation array drops them in a small clearing with a flash of fire at their feet, a few lingering notes from Chenqing, and only slight disorientation. Lan Wangji has read that the use of the teleportation talisman is heavily taxing to the spirit and can often cause physical disruption in the user, but Wei Ying shows no sign of pain or confusion, and nor do Jin Rulan or Liu Weixin, who, if the array’s design can be trusted, also contributed spiritual power to the effort. Jin Rulan even manages to look somewhat bored by the process.

“I don’t understand why we all have to come look at whatever this is,” he says as soon as Wei Ying lowers his hands and the glow of the array at their feet fades. “Why can’t we just—” he cuts himself off and stares hard at Wen Sizhui, who wears an expression of distinct discomfort. “What?”

Wen Sizhui bites his lips and looks to Wei Ying, who has gone still.

“The buildings were burned down,” Zhou Xiuying reports quietly.

Lan Wangji follows her line of sight and strides quickly through the trees, but he can already smell the smoke in the air, lingering and acrid. He reaches the edge of the forest and sees only ash and rock in the large space where the compound once sat. There are no smoldering embers and no half-burnt husks to mark the structures; only lines of soot and the pattern of paving stones show any indication of the size or use of the space.

Wei Ying grabs his sleeve, and he realizes he’s walked right up to the edge of the ward’s inscription.

“Don’t touch it.” Wei Ying guides him back slightly. “How many people were here?” he asks.

“None.” The guards were dead when he left. Still, Wei Ying obviously has doubts. He raises Chenqing to his lips and plays a low and beguiling melody, coaxing and haunting by turns.

On the other side of the ward, ashes swirl in still air.

Rise.

Drift gently around ghostly faces—two, then three, the four, then more, until seven ghosts are drawing themselves together along the inside of the ward. They ripple as they cross over the etched lines, but seem to suffer no other effects; perhaps it is truly inert now, or deliberately broken.

Wei Ying cocks his head to the side and whistles, sharp and commanding. The ghosts rearrange themselves. There are men and women, some are old, others in the prime of life. Wei Ying turns and looks expectantly at Zhou Xiuying.

“What do you see?”

“They all died violently and without proper funerary rites,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, her sword gripped tight in her hand. “They can’t move on in peace.”

Wei Ying nods and shifts his attention to Liu Weixin, who presses his lips hard together and squints at the ghosts, as if that will improve his assessment. He sketches a talisman in front of his face and pushes it outward. Each spirit takes on a dull red glow, strongest at one end of the line and diminishing with each ghoul in succession.

“You’ve put them in order by the strength of their resentment,” Liu Weixin determines. Relief spreads over his face as Wei Ying nods again.

Jin Rulan scowls and stares off at the trees instead of meeting Wei Ying’s gaze.

“You wanted to go night hunting,” Wei Ying says, as if this is a familiar impasse.

“This isn’t night hunting,” Jin Rulan protests, waving his arm at the line of ghosts. “There’s no hunting involved.”

Wei Ying waits.

“That one suffered lingchi” Jin Rulan huffs, gesturing at a ghoul who bears innumerable cuts on his face and hands. It’s an unusual and harsh sentence, carried out for only the highest of crimes. Lan Wangji finds looking at the marks difficult; it is too easy to remember waking to the smell of blood and rot. Jin Rulan, he notes, also averts his eyes quickly. “And that one was drowned. Happy now?”

Wei Ying just grins at him and turns to Wen Sizhui.

“These ghosts were probably suppressed when the ward was active, and the fire was built into the design.” He points to three portions of the etched diagrams. “Whoever was here, burning the buildings was always part of their plan.”

“Mn. Make a copy of the ward; it might be useful later.” Wei Ying looks back along the line of ghosts. “Shall we try Inquiry?” he asks, and wheels on his heel to face Lan Wangji.

“I cannot,” Lan Wangji admits. Even if he carried a guqin, the spiritual power required is currently beyond his grasp.

Wei Ying’s face scrunches up. “I don’t suppose you know a transposition for dixi? Or perhaps Zewu-jun has one for xiao?”

There is no such transposition. “Inquiry requires seven strings.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Well, it was worth a try. They’re not too talkative. I think some of them had their tongues cut out.” Wei Ying turns back to Jin Ling. “How do you suggest finding out more about them?”

“Evocation requires a physical medium.” Jin Ling’s nose wrinkles. “Maybe Trace?”

“Could be helpful,” Wei Ying agrees. “Do you all have paper?”

Lan Wangji watches with interest as they produce paper and grind three grades of ink, from a watery gray wash to a thick, rich black.

“One of yours?” he asks, as Wei Ying steps back to watch his disciples work. But Wei Ying shakes his head.

“He Sect. They introduced it at a discussion conference a few years ago, for determining a spirit’s location of birth and death, along with their movements in the week before they died.”

It’s clever. Without a physical medium or sufficient knowledge of the guqin, determining more of a spirit’s history could lend valuable insight to pacification efforts. A spirit’s family or the site of a disturbed grave might be found much more quickly. Lan Wangji nods approval, and Wei Ying smiles lightly.

“Come watch,” he says as Zhou Xiuying and Wen Sizhui quickly settle cross-legged beside their prepared paper and ink. Jin Ling and Liu Weixin are only a few moments behind.

It is an interesting process. The ink blooms over the pages, gradations of definition outlining mountains and forests, roads and lakes and even crisp, dark characters—town names and Sect enclaves. A trail of footprints mark the last few days of a life.

The results are mixed. Only two of the ghouls seem to have died here, a few days’ journey caught between Moling and Gusu—a man bearing a cursemark that covers his neck and torso, and a woman who shows clear signs of death by qi deviation. The lingchi victim’s map shows a death in Yueyang. The drowned ghost met his end in Caiyi. The others record deaths in Tanzhou, and Yingchuan and Qishan.

Jin Ling glares at his papers. “This can’t be right,” he says. “Maybe it didn’t work.”

“It worked,” Zhou Xiuying insists. “Trace doesn’t allow spirits to lie. It’s a physical record of the soul, not a question.”

“Perhaps someone moved them for a night hunt?” Wen Sizhui sounds doubtful, even as he voices the thought.

“Perhaps,” Wei Ying agrees, but his eyes are on Lan Wangji. It is not difficult to follow his suspicions. Liang Feihong was desperate enough to risk two souls for vengeance. Something as simple and commonplace as a planned nighthunt is unlikely to prompt such an act.

“What do we do with them now?” Liu Weixin asks.

Wei Ying’s face twists as he examines the ghouls again. “A few might be pacified by offerings, but the rest are too bound to revenge.”

“So, banishment?” Jin Rulan asks, a talisman already held between two fingers.

Wei Ying considers for a moment. His eyes slide back to Lan Wangji.

“How many spirit bags do we have?” he asks his disciples.

Zhou Xiuying, Liu Weixing and Wen Sizhui between them produce four such bags.

“Build a shrine,” Wei Ying directs his nephew, “We can’t offer burial, but we can do that much. Perhaps some only want to know they’re remembered. We’ll see how many are left afterward.”

Jin Rulan’s shoulders slump, but he does as he’s been told and soon there is a small offering of their combined supply of travel food, a selection of loquats and a few handfuls of paper money to burn.

Wei Ying steps close and stands warm at Lan Wangji’s shoulder as Wen Sizhui starts the fire.

“Does burning paper money work?” he asks, soft enough that their companions won’t hear. “Did you get any?”

“It is not a Lan custom,” Lan Wangji tells him, because it isn’t. He doesn’t elaborate. He does not know how to put into words the vagueness of his thoughts on his own death, the lack of distinct memory combined with the iron-hard certainty that he did die.

“I burned some for you.” Wei Ying is watching the flames dance in the steel bowl Liu Weixin had produced for the purpose. “I—” his mouth snaps shut with a click and he steps away, careful space reinserted between them. Lan Wangji watches as he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly discomfited.

“Thank you.” It is … gratifying, in a way, to know that Wei Ying mourned him.

Wei Ying shrugs the thanks away. “Doesn’t matter much if you didn’t get it.” He coughs. “Looks like we’ll have to take care of a few of these the hard way after all,” he says, nodding at the spirits. Only one, the weakest, has responded to the offering. Lan Wangji lets the change of subject pass without remark.

“The ones who died here might be most useful,” he says instead. “They carry some of the strongest resentment, and likely saw their murderers. Xiongzhang could ask after the focus of their vengeance.”

“And Zewu-jun is too honest to hide their answers,” Wei Ying agrees, nodding. “Will you go to Gusu then?” he asks. “Or can I tempt you to Yiling first? I’ll give you the talismans I have made, of course, but in Yiling we could try other methods, and Wen Qing might know—” he talks faster with every word, like he thinks he has to be convincing.

“Yiling is fine,” Lan Wangji assures him. The curse’s implications eat at his thoughts, and he would like to have more evidence than a selection of angry souls to present to his brother. And of course, Yiling has the benefit of Wei Ying’s presence.

“Oh.” Wei Ying smiles, something tentative in the expression. “Good then.”

“Wei-zongzhu?” Liu Weixin approaches them. “Which spirits should we keep?” he asks, twirling his pair of bags around his fingers.

Collecting four ghouls does not take long—one for each bag, Wei Ying tells his disciples, as these spirits are more likely to tear into each other than not. Then he pairs them off and frees the remaining two ghouls from Chenqing’s control, for suppression and elimination. Jin Rulan in particular takes evident satisfaction in the act; Wen Sizhui, in contrast, is the most efficient in his movements, and Zhou Xiuying’s sword work betrays her He Sect training.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t get anything else,” Wei Ying says as Liu Weixin dispatches the last spirit, a grasping ghost with needle teeth and a hollow in its belly. “Though I suppose we should count ourselves lucky there was anything left at all. If these souls were gathered for a purpose, they should have been dealt with before the fire.” He holds out the collection of spirit bags with a curious quirk of his eyebrow, and Lan Wangji carefully adds them to his qiankun pouch.

“Lianfang-zun has such a clear memory,” Wei Ying sighs, “He hardly writes anything down if it’s not official business. If this really is his doing, it’ll be difficult to prove.”

Lan Wangji nods. Even in his own memories, on occasions when he knew for fact that Jin Guangyao exaggerated a recollection, or misspoke, it had been difficult to sway others’ belief in his words. The position of Chief Cultivator would seem to convey more respect on his shoulders, not less.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” Wei Ying says as he turns back to the forest, and the dim but still-glowing transportation array. “Today, we have other worries.”

They arrive not in the Mass Graves, as Lan Wangji expected, but in an open, airy courtyard framed on three sides by sturdy buildings and clean-swept boardwalks. The main gate, behind, is closely carved with talismans, and he can sense at least three layers of wards extending outward from his location for several li. To the west lies a lotus pond, and beyond it what looks to be an archery field. It is not Lotus Pier, in any sense, but it is clear that Wei Ying drew from his childhood home in the design of the compound, just as the dark woods and red embellishments recall the halls of Qishan Wen. The crows in flight, carved into latticed windows and screens and embroidered onto hanging curtains, seem unique to Yiling-Wei, and match the small embroidered details at Wei Ying’s collar.

Wen Qionglin is waiting for them, unchanged from the last time Lan Wangji met him but for his clothes, which are of finer fabric and much cleaner. He smiles at Wen Sizhui, and looks curiously between Wei Ying and Lan Wangji.

“Liang Feihong, patient for Wen Qing,” Wei Ying says, twirling Chenqing as he steps out of the array that, here, is etched into the stone and anchored to both the lotus pod and an encompassing iron rim. Zhou Xiuying has hardly stepped onto the boardwalk when a young woman in Wei sect colors comes running to meet her—her wife, Lan Wangji gathers, from the tone of their reunion.

“I’ll show you around in a moment,” Wei Ying tells him, “I just need to see Jin Ling off first.”

“I’m fine,” Jin Ling protests. Lan Wangji tries to focus on other things as what is evidently a long-familiar family argument erupts: Jin Rulan is adamant that he can travel alone, by sword, and that he has enough talismans, and that yes, obviously, he has his Jiang spirit bell and his Jin-embroidered protections and yes, even that charm you gave me, Dajiu, can I go now? Lan Wangji finds the looming menace of the Mass Graves as he examines the roofline, its position indicating that the Sect grounds likely sit just outside the town of Yiling itself, a guarding presence between the common people and a problem the entire cultivation world has been unable to solve for generations.

Wei Ying extracts a promise of a message by Jin butterfly as soon as his nephew reaches Lotus Pier, and then he rejoins Lan Wangji, walking with his hands clasped behind his back and looking pleased with himself.

“I think it’s the eldest sibling thing,” he says, as he draws close. “That, or he’s absorbed all the worst parts of Jiang Cheng and his father at once and there’s no room left for Shijie’s influence. A-Yuan has never been so intractable.”

Wen Yuan is inspecting a quiver of arrows and speaking quietly with Wen Qionglin on the other side of the courtyard. Lan Wangji does not comment on habits Jin Rulan might have learned from a cultivator whose general approach to rules at his age was to rather gleefully break them.

“What do you think?” Wei Ying asks, gesturing at the courtyard, the buildings, and the lotus pond. He grins, mischievous, and waves in the general direction of the Mass Graves. “You were expecting to be back there, weren’t you. In the Demon-Summoning Cave?”

Lying is forbidden, and the thought had, indeed, crossed his mind, even though the young Wei cultivators looked far too hardy to have spent so much of their daily lives among the restless dead.

“It’s still up there,” Wei Ying assures him, as if he might be disappointed if it weren’t. “I can show you later—some of my best experiments are there, still.”

Lan Wangji has no particular interest in revisiting what Wei Ying had termed his ‘blood pool,’ or any experiments of a similar nature.

“You mentioned Wen Qing,” he says.

“How’s that talisman feeling?” Wei Ying asks. “I could show you the library first—we’ve got a library, not as good as Gusu’s of course, but I think you’d like some of the collection—and, oh! We could get you a new horse-tail whisk, if you want one? Or a training sword? Or maybe you’d like to see the sword hall … ” his grin grows wider and wider as he speaks, until his eyes are nearly squeezed shut by his own mirth. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” he says. “You know, it’s really amazing. Your face is so different, but the expression is exactly the same.”

Something unfurls in Lan Wangji’s center like a sun-seeking flower. That Wei Ying can recognize him without the soul bond—that Wei Ying remembers him well enough, after so long a time, to make such an observation—soothes a prickle of unease in his thoughts. Small worries he hasn’t put a name to quiet as Wei Ying escorts him through the enclave’s sun-drenched pathways, pointing out lush gardens and chattering about his disciples as if he never sat in a dark, damp cave that smelled of mold and blood and called it his home.

Never wreathed himself in resentment.

Never gave up the sword.

on to part 8

#wangxian #wangxian fic #mo dao zu shi #mdzs fic #turnabout au #alex writes

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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

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a bow for the bad decisions: 24

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(on ao3)

chapter warning: alcohol, drunk kisses

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, as nonchalant as he can, “hold onto something for me, alright?” Lan Zhan turns to him with a question in his brow, but he doesn’t hesitate to offer out his hand when Wei Wuxian extends his fist. He drops the five nails in a little tinkling pile, and a small furrow develops between Lan Zhan’s brows. Wiping his hands off on his skirts, Wei Wuxian tugs the dizi from his belt and spins it between his fingers. “Yin iron,” he says by way of explanation. It’s not that he thinks he’ll go crazy and start commanding puppets again or something. He’d have to reforge them anyway, try to remake the entire Seal — but he’s never been very good at leaving things alone. For now, maybe it’s better if he’s not the one holding onto them. Lan Zhan studies him a long moment before giving a short nod. The nails disappear into one of his giankun pouches, and Wei Wuxian breathes a little easier.

The kids are still weeping, huddled around a-Qing’s little grave. Watching them, he feels hollowed out, emptied, carved. Lan Zhan stands quiet beside him, but there’s a tightness to his stillness like he’s hiding a stab wound. Taking a breath, Wei Wuxian drags up a smile and claps his hands together. “Come on, kids, enough crying,” he says. “You’re going to shrivel up like plums. Let’s go.” They’re still sniffling, but they scrub their wrists across their faces and nod obediently. Good kids, Wei Wuxian thinks a little distantly. Good kids, to cry for the bravery of a girl they never met, to lament the tragedy of men they would never know. It’s a long walk back down to the next town, and he spends it gritting his teeth against the encroaching thoughts of everything they witnessed. Lan Zhan walks in silence, his gaze downcast. Behind them, the juniors are quiet for the first part of the walk before they start murmuring amongst themselves again. “But what will Song-daozhang do?” cries the Ouyang kid. Endure, Wei Wuxian thinks, or not. He probably will. With Xiao Xingchen’s spirit, fragmented and despairing, in his care, Song Lan will probably keep walking until his feet wear down to nubs. Wei Wuxian sneaks a sideways glance at Lan Zhan, feeling his stomach sink further as he catches the pinch of his brow. He wants to reach out, wants to give his wrist a gentle squeeze or brush his hand against his elbow, draw his attention here and now and away from whatever terrible seclusion his thoughts are folding around him. His fingers curl into his palm instead. Lan Zhan looks so rigid, so brittlely strung. Wei Wuxian thinks of the cast of his eyes when Song Lan turned and walked away, and he looks away. He's been avoiding remembering his death so much he hasn't even thought about Lan Zhan at the time. Now, with the memory of Xiao Xingchen's broken spirit like a weight in his palm, he can't think of anything else. Lan Xichen had said cultivators had tried to summon his spirit with Inquiry and other rituals. He can't know for sure, won't ask Lan Zhan, but he has a feeling these weren't the half-hearted attempts of punks trying to raise a scary ghoul. And he knows the cultivator most skilled in association with spirits. There's a heavy hollow in his chest, in the space behind his solar plexus. He doesn't remember being dead, but he remembers moments of dying. He knows enough about broken spirits to make a good guess at what happened. His soul was already in fragments by the end, cracked and splintered by the Burial Mounds and the war and the Seal and all he'd done to survive. Spirits that badly damaged follow three paths: either they're completely destroyed in death and fall out of the cycle completely, they shatter and disperse till they're absorbed back into the world's qi and either repaired or simply subsumed, or they cling. Stuck to whatever is nearest, whatever is strong enough to hold onto their fraying thread: a loved one, a spiritual weapon, a project the owner spent hours pouring their intention into. Spirits like that, spirits that have been so utterly ruined, don't answer any song. Their music has been broken, the strings snapped, the bamboo split. They don't want to be persuaded, are too damaged to have any desire to pull on. The only way to bring them back is to command them. Drag them back with blood and fierce intent. Lan Zhan spent so many hours after the war searching for music to heal Wei Wuxian, to turn him away from demonic cultivation and purge him of resentment. Did he spend those same hours searching for a way to bring him back, trying to figure out why his spirit didn't answer any call? Did he play for him, waiting for a reply that never came till Dafan Mountain? How many nights did he wait, hoping into the silence? He's grateful when they get to an inn and it's serving liquor. He can't be too reckless in front of the little juniors — some ingrained part of him still fusses at making sure they're safe and keeping an eye out for them — but he can down three bottles at dinner and only feel warm, a little softer. His thoughts don't hook quite as sharply onto the same clawing spirals. Lan Zhan's weirdly permissive, the way he was when they met Nie Huaisang. It's...nice. He can imagine shijie's worried frown, but Lan Zhan is a warm shoulder against him and he doesn't even scold Wei Wuxian for drinking too much in front of his little Lan disicples. Lan Jingyi does, however, scowl at him like he's somehow corrupting their esteemed Hanguang-jun. "I don't see why we can't drink if you can," Jin Ling objects, stabbing at his pickled cabbage. "Because you're a baby, Young Mistress," Lan Jingyi sniffs. "Babies don't get wine." "You!" Before Jin Ling can lunge across the table to Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui shifts up a little on his knees to block his access. Jin Ling huffs out a breath and sits back down. "Whatever. Father’s let me try some wine at least," he says. "I bet you couldn't even hold a cup." Lan Jingyi's eyes narrow like he can tell he's being prodded but can't quite figure out an answer. Swishing his third bottle absently by the neck, Wei Wuxian leans his shoulder into Lan Zhan's and shakes his head. "Drinking before you're old enough to fly? Jin Ling, what would your mother say?" he scolds. In his periphery, he can see Lan Zhan's gaze slant toward him as if at hypocrisy, and he hides a snort by taking another drink. "Mother can outdrink Father," Jin Ling says dismissively before freezing, eyes going wide and face flushing. "I mean! My mother isn't a drunk. She'd never—" "Being able to hold your liquor is an important skill in Yunmeng," Ouyang Zizhen says with all the authority of a fifteen-year-old who's probably never been drunk. "Da-jie says you should never underestimate a noble lady with fine wine.” Biting his bottom lip, Wei Wuxian tries not to laugh at the solemnity with which he offers this advice. It's not wrong, really. Shijie had taught Jiang Cheng and him drinking games on the end of the docks when they were old enough. She'd been able to go toe-to-toe with them before the war. He still remembers the first night they all returned to Lotus Pier after the war. How they'd wound up in a pile at the foot of the lotus throne, drunk and sobbing into each other's shoulders. They'd all woken up hungover, heads pounding and stomachs uneasy at the scent of food. For a few moments, though, as he slid into sleep with shijie and Jiang Cheng's arms wrapped around him and each other, he'd felt safe in a way he hadn't in years. "Yunmeng wine is the richest," he informs the juniors now. "Emperor's Smile is the best, of course, but Yunmeng has the most complex flavors. Qinghe's alright but the mare's milk takes a while to get used to."

He pauses, contemplating the liquor he last had in Lanling before realizing the juniors are all looking at him a little funny. There were only two tables left in the room when they arrived, and so their party is huddled around them like ragamuffin sprouts. "Senior Mo, have you traveled so much?" Lan Sizhui asks, and bless him, he sounds genuinely curious. Has he traveled a lot? It doesn’t seem so. He’d always wanted to as a kid, had grown up chasing stories of grand adventures and mysterious lands, but then the war had happened and then everything else and then, well. “When did you travel so much?” Jin Ling demands. “You never left Jinlintai and then everyone said you were locked up because you went mad.” “Jin-xiong,” Ouyang Zizhen hisses, looking appalled. Lan Sizhui’s staring resolutely at his empty bowl, his face white as his robes, and Lan Jingyi’s eyes are about bugging out of his head. Wei Wuxian kind of wants to laugh, but there’s a well of melancholy rising in him, too. How horrible was this Mo Xuanyu’s life? His wrist pangs, and he reaches absently to close his hand around the hidden cut. “What? It’s true and anyway he’s my — well, he was in my sect. So,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms again. “He is worthy of your respect.” Lan Zhan’s voice is a low vibration through Wei Wuxian’s bones, spreading from the point where their shoulders are still pressed together. He doesn’t speak sharply but firmly, like it’s imperative Jin Ling listen. Wei Wuxian swallows, throat abruptly dry. It’s not like— well. He knows Lan Zhan holds him in — in some kind of esteem. He’s an idiot, but he’s not that oblivious. There was a time, once, when he was bleeding open and snarling at anyone who came close, when he thought Lan Zhan just viewed him as a project to fix, yet another example of Hanguang-jun’s righteousness. But he knows that wasn’t fair, couldn’t even hold onto that anger for too long — not when Lan Zhan got so upset when Wei Wuxian wouldn’t talk to him, not when he insisted he was still his soulmate, not when he stepped aside at Qiongqi Pass. He can’t quite understand why, but he’s accepted the abundance of evidence that Lan Zhan, for reasons comprehensible only to him, thinks he matters. It’s different to hear that aloud, to hear it in firm words and Lan Zhan’s most adamant tone. Something wobbly and warm tips over in his chest, like a jar of wine tilted precariously on edge. As fond as he is of the juniors, he suddenly doesn’t want to stay down here anymore. He wants to be able to hear Lan Zhan say his name again, the way the syllables are so soft and full in his voice. “Hey, Lan Zhan, we ought to check on our buddy,” he says, looping a careless hand around his wrist. “It’s been a while since we played for him.” Lan Zhan blinks up at him, brow wrinkling a little like he's worried something's wrong, and Wei Wuxian can't help smiling back at him. So much is wrong — the whole world's spinning on a bad axis — but he's here and Lan Zhan's here with all this stubborn loyalty and for this one instant, Wei Wuxian's greedy heart doesn't want anything else. He snags another couple bottles on their way up the stairs, and Lan Zhan's frown deepens a little but he says nothing. Upstairs, they set the giankun pouches careful distances from each other and settle into their nightly routine: Suppression, then Calming, then Cleansing, then Rest. It's not a perfect system, but the set works well enough to keep the various body parts from tearing through their giankun pouches as long as they do it regularly. It's gotten more difficult with the addition of each new body part, and now that they've added the torso and arm from Yi City, they wind up playing through each song three times before the pouches finally settle and stop rustling. Humming in quiet satisfaction, Wei Wuxian leans on his elbow and lets his gaze fall on Lan Zhan as he puts away his guqin. He does it all with such exquisite care, such unified focus. Not like Wei Wuxian, whose thoughts scatter and ricochet off each other in all the directions of the wind. He laughs a little, and Lan Zhan looks to him in question. "Hey Lan Zhan," he says, "remember when we first met Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan back in Yueyang?" A hint of sadness enters Lan Zhan's eyes, his eyelashes flicking down as his brows furrow. Wei Wuxian spins the bottle absently within the circle of his middle finger and thumb. "Back then, I thought we might be like them," he says. "You know, going off to fight evil and protect the weak."

He'd been so delighted, awed, over meeting his shishu and his companion. Looking at the two of them, their sure confidence and easy trust in each other, he'd nearly tripped over his own feet to show how he and Lan Zhan were like them. He’d felt something unclick in his chest at the sight of them, understanding like a lotus bloom unfurling. Now, he thinks of Shanghua a white gash across Song Lan's back, and he thinks of Lan Zhan's desperate voice in the rain of Qiongqi Pass. How naive, how hopeful. "Who would have thought such noble cultivators would meet such terrible fate," he remarks. “Ended so miserably for something that had nothing to do with them.” The thought makes him a little morose, dampens the pleasant golden fuzz that’s been filling him. “The world is truly unpredictable,” Lan Zhan says, flat. His fingers brush Wei Wuxian’s, pluck the bottle from his hand as deftly as any pickpocket. Wei Wuxian gapes, staring as Lan Zhan tilts his head back and downs the last of the bottle. “Lan Zhan?” he squeaks. Setting the bottle down, Lan Zhan blinks a little into space. Oh no, Wei Wuxian thinks. He vaguely remembers getting Lan Zhan drunk once in Cloud Recesses and a deep sense of exhaustion from wrangling him. This time, though, Lan Zhan makes no move to get up. His hand moves slowly to prop up his forehead, and he nods forward, eyes closing. Wei Wuxian stares. “Lan Zhan?” he prompts, leaning forward. No answer comes except for Lan Zhan’s slow, even breaths. A laugh bubbles up out of Wei Wuxian, and he claps his hands over his lips to stifle it. Oh no. This is too cute. He reaches out, smiling, to brush a lock of hair out of Lan Zhan’s face. It’s as soft as it’s always looked, sleek and silken against his hand, and Wei Wuxian runs his hand absently back against the crown of Lan Zhan’s head. “So pretty, Lan Zhan,” he hums, swaying a little as he leans against the table to study Lan Zhan’s face. “We really are lucky, aren’t we?” Relaxed in sleep, he looks so young. Wei Wuxian’s seized with an absurd urge to protect him, to bundle Lan Zhan up and take him far away from the world and its greedy, demanding hands. Lan Zhan deserves better. Lan Zhan should never look so desolate, so horribly alone as he did watching Song Lan walk away. “Young master?” Wei Wuxian startles hard enough his elbow slips on the table and he nearly cracks his chin on it. He whips around, a little unsteady and hand tight around his dizi. Wen Ning’s eyes blink at him from upside down through the window. It takes a long moment for him to make sense of the position. “Wen Ning?” he demands. “What are you doing?” A flurry of grey and black, and Wen Ning lands neatly inside the room. He’s wearing a dull blue-grey, the color some of the outer Jiang disciples pick for night hunts or training, and his hair’s been pulled up into a neat bun on the back of his head. Wei Wuxian squints. "I'm sorry, Wei-gongzi," Wen Ning says, still kneeling where he landed. Wei Wuxian frowns, crossing his arms and tilting his head. The shackles are gone from Wen Ning's wrists, which is good, though he still has — well, a lot of questions. Is Wen Ning part of Yunmeng Jiang now? Did Jiang Cheng adopt him? He tries to remember if Jiang Cheng ever mentioned wanting a little brother and finds himself looping back without an answer. "Come on, Wen Ning," he says. "Stand up, won't you?" Wen Ning's head dips lower, so that Wei Wuxian can see the plain grey ribbon wound round his hair. Well, at least it doesn't have lotuses embroidered on it. He'd have even more questions then. "Ah, well then," he says, and flicks back his skirts to kneel. "I guess this is alright." Wen Ning looks up with a jolt, brown eyes going wide. "Gongzi!" he yelps. "No, you mustn't!" He tugs on Wei Wuxian's elbow as if to lift him up to standing, and Wei Wuxian uses that to pull him up as well. He keeps a hand on Wen Ning's arm to make sure he doesn't kneel again and raises his eyebrows. "See? It's much better to talk like this, isn't it?" he prompts. Wen Ning doesn't look convinced, but he stays upright, so Wei Wuxian counts it as a win. Releasing him, he drops his hands to his hips. "Now, what's happened?" he asks. "What do you remember?" "Not much," Wen Ning admits, shaking his head a little. "I remember being chained up somewhere dark. Someone would come check on me, I think. I don't remember what they looked like, but they smiled a lot. I remember them putting the nails in my head." Wincing, Wei Wuxian swallows. He'd hoped that Wen Ning didn't remember that part at least. "It must have been Xue Yang," he says. "He also used nails to control Song Lan." "Why?" Fatigue settles into Wei Wuxian's bones like a heavy blanket. Trust Wen Ning to still question why someone would want to seize power over another, even when faced with the man who first did the same to him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he presses his palm to his inner arm till it pangs just a little. "Probably at the behest of the Jin sect. He was a guest disciple there for some time, Lan Zhan said," he explains. Wen Ning accepts this with a slight nod. There's a dismal cast to his eyes and brow, like he's about to wade into some task he'd really rather avoid. "Jie told me some of what happened since, and I heard from some others," he says. Wei Wuxian brightens at the mention of Wen Qing. For all that she maintained a horribly professional facade of indifference, she was great at gossip. She probably had all kinds of insights into the last thirteen years. "Jie said that the Burial Mounds are gone," Wen Ning says. "Our family...they're all gone." The wind cuts out of Wei Wuxian's sails abruptly, and he inhales sharply. He hasn't let himself think about this. If he thinks about it too much, he'll have to wonder if the seals he painted on their houses gave them any protection or just trapped them where the sects could burn and murder them. His stomach gives a funny, nauseous flip. "Young master, I heard that Jiang-zongzhu killed you," Wen Ning says. He sounds miserable, like he's revealing some great failing of his own. Wei Wuxian's shoulders sink and he sighs, waving a hand. "No, that's not how it is," he says. "Jiang Cheng didn't kill me. It was the backlash of the Stygian Tiger Seal." Has the whole world been left thinking Jiang Cheng killed him? Maybe it's for the best. Yunmeng Jiang had still claimed him up to the end, after all. They would have been in a tricky situation, too clear a scapegoat for the Yiling laozu's misdeeds. If everyone thought Jiang Cheng killed him, at least that would clear some of the blame. At least Jiang Cheng would know the truth. As long as he didn't blame himself, it wasn't such a bad arrangement. "Young Master, you died in such an awful way," Wen Ning says, and then his knees are bending, dropping back down to the floor. "I shouldn't have left you." "Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian gripes, tugging on his arms. "No, enough of that. You didn't leave me. I – I shouldn't have sent you away like that. I never should have threatened you." Wen Ning looks up at him with big, sad eyes that would be tear-filled if Wei Wuxian hadn't taken that away from him, too. Swallowing hard, he pulls on Wen Ning's wrists till he's standing again. His shoulders are still bowed forward, but it's an improvement. "What else have you heard?" he asks, already dreading the answer. Wen Ning looks up, his eyes brightening a little. There's such a terrible earnestness to his expression, that childish hope he'd seen first in Cloud Recesses. He can't help smiling a little reflexively at it. "Ah, young master," he says. "We have a niece! She's very kind and energetic. And jie is expecting another baby. She thinks it's going to be a boy."

Tears sting Wei Wuxian's eyes unexpectedly, and he gives out a shaky laugh. Of all the outcomes in the world, he never expected to see both sides of his haphazard family brought together like this. Even if he never gets to meet this little niece and her expected brother, he knows they're safe and happy. It's enough. "Yeah?" he says. "What are they going to name him?" Before Wen Ning can answer, there's a blur of white in the corner of his eye and then a boot on Wen Ning's chest and then— Wei Wuxian stares at the new hole in the wall where Wen Ning and Lan Zhan both disappeared before shrieking and chasing after. He was asleep! How did this happen? Outside, Wen Ning is picking himself up off the ground while Lan Zhan frowns down at him. He’s left Bichen and his guqin behind and seems to be planning on staring Wen Ning into defeat. It’s not a bad plan, really. No one has as intimidating a glare as Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” Wei Wuxian bleats, grabbing hold of him around his middle. Lan Zhan turns to him and gives a solemn nod that answers absolutely nothing except that he’s clearly still drunk. Wei Wuxian groans. “Ahh, Wen Ning, are you alright?” he asks, leaning around Lan Zhan’s side. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just drunk.” “I’m alright, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says. Still pressed close to Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan frowns and leans a little to the side as if to block his view of Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian has to stifle a laugh even as he wants to groan. Lan Zhan would be so embarrassed if he saw himself. “Will Lan-er-gongzi be alright?” Wen Ning asks. “Yeah, I’ll just take him up to the room and he’ll sleep it off,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Zhan turns a little towards him, still tucked up close, and it’s like a parody of a lover’s hold with him nestled in the circle of Wei Wuxian’s arms. His heart skips a little at the thought, at the jolt of want that shoots through his chest. To have it be real, to have a reason to hold Lan Zhan like this that isn’t corralling his drunk shenanigans. Clearing his throat, he lets himself tighten his arms around Lan Zhan and look over at Wen Ning. “It’s probably best if we talk another night,” he says. “Be careful and stay safe, okay?” There’s a hint of a smile on Wen Ning’s face as he bobs his head in an emphatic nod before turning and disappearing into the woods. A hand closes around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, and he looks up to find Lan Zhan staring intently at him. “Wei Ying,” he says. “Don’t go.” A giggle escapes Wei Wuxian and he stifles the grin he can feel slipping out. Where is he going to go? “Lan Zhan,” he teases, “what are you going to do? Tie me up so I can’t run off?” Lan Zhan blinks at him a moment, and Wei Wuxian’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Mn,” Lan Zhan says abruptly and reaches up behind his head. By the time Wei Wuxian’s brain has kicked back on, Lan Zhan has removed his forehead ribbon and started wrapping it neatly around his wrists. He watches, mouth parted in silent shock, as the white loops around and around, neatly covering his bracers. Lan Zhan ties it off in a series of knots that look almost like a braid, and Wei Wuxian tests it absently. It’s firm but not uncomfortable, the metal medallion resting just below the notches of his wrists. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian looks up. “Stay.” His eyes are honest and sad, like he really thinks Wei Wuxian’s going to leave him standing drunk in the forest without his forehead ribbon. Reaching up, Wei Wuxian pats his chest awkwardly with both hands. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” he soothes. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just go back inside, alright?” Lan Zhan nods and starts toward the door with a tug on the loose end of the ribbon. Wei Wuxian trips after him, trying desperately to stifle the giggles that keep bubbling up out of him. He feels young again in a way he hasn’t for years, like they’re still just kids in Cloud Recesses, trying not to get caught by Lan Qiren. Only it’s not Lan Qiren who catches them this time. Entering the dining room, they find all the juniors still there — now trying frantically to hide the wine they’ve clearly picked up in Lan Zhan’s absence and gawking at the two of them. “Ah! Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui greets, a little too bright, “how did you—” Right. They’d been upstairs before Lan Zhan kicked a hole in the wall. Wei Wuxian scrambles for an answer. “Lan Zhan heard something outside,” he says, “but it turns out it was just you all sneaking liquor.” He tries to make his voice sound disapproving, but he’s not sure how well it works. He is...not sober. Whoops. Lan Zhan gives a little tug on the ribbons, as if to start toward the stairs, and Wei Wuxian stumbles forward with it. There is a gasp too loud to be anyone but Lan Jingyi. Oh no. All the juniors are now staring at his wrists and the Lan juniors have gone white as death. He knows he read rules about the forehead ribbon back when he had to memorize them all. Something about restraint. Restraint, restraining— “Right! Lan Zhan was just showing me a special use of your clan forehead ribbon,” he says quickly. “To erm restrain fierce corpses when you need to take them back for further study.” “That’s not—” Before Lan Jingyi can finish, Lan Sizhui has clapped a hand over his mouth and is smiling brightly at the two of them. “How clever!” he chirps. “I thank our seniors for showing us such a hidden skill.” Lan Zhan gives another tug, this time more adamant, and Wei Wuxian gives a little wave to the juniors as he’s led up the stairs. They really look horrified, all big eyes and open mouths. Back in their room, Lan Zhan leads him to the bed and sits down carefully on the edge to face him. He’s so serious! Wei Wuxian laughs, letting his hands fall between them. “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s tone is almost helpless and his fingers are light as a feather as they brush against the curve of Wei Wuxian’s cheek. He looks up, laughter fading as he catches Lan Zhan’s steady gaze. On impulse, Wei Wuxian turns his head just enough that his lips graze Lan Zhan’s palm. There’s a quiet breath, but Lan Zhan makes no move to pull away as Wei Wuxian’s hands lift up to cradle his. “Lan Zhan,” he murmurs against his knuckles. “Lan Zhan, you’re too sweet. Too sweet, too sweet.” He presses a kiss to his fingertips, to the base of his thumb, the point on his wrist where he can feel his pulse jumping. He looks up through his lashes and Lan Zhan is watching him with lips parted, eyes dark and intent. “Do you like this?” Wei Wuxian asks, still watching as he slides Lan Zhan’s sleeve back a finger’s width to press his lips to the skin there. Swallowing, Lan Zhan gives a slight nod. Wei Wuxian hums and pulls him closer by his wrist, hands settling over his chest. His heart’s beating so quickly, like a rabbit racing under Wei Wuxian’s palms. “Lan Zhan,” he says, looking up at him, “tell me. Did you burn joss paper for me?” There’s a beat where they’re sitting there, suspended, Wei Wuxian’s fingers curled into Lan Zhan’s collars and then Lan Zhan moves. His lips are soft, form, his fingers tangling in Wei Wuxian’s sleeves. Wei Wuxian gasps softly in surprise and then presses in, crowds into Lan Zhan’s space.

Gods, Lan Zhan is kissing him. He’s kissing him, all that impossible focus bearing down on Wei Wuxian like his lips are a new field of study, the noises escaping him a new score for Lan Zhan to learn. Lan Zhan is kissing him. Oh gods. Lan Zhan is kissing him. Lan Zhan is drunk and he’s kissing him and Wei Wuxian started this and is kissing back and— He jerks away, shoving them apart with his hands on Lan Zhan’s chest. Lan Zhan stares at him, eyes wide and reddened lips parted as if he were still kissing Wei Wuxian and — and then Lan Zhan’s eyes widen impossibly and he reaches up a hand to smack the heel of it into his forehead. He collapses backwards, unconscious, onto the bed. “Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes, covering his face. In the morning, at least half the group is hungover — including Wei Wuxian. His head’s pulsing with a fuzzy thickness, like someone’s drumming cotton-wrapped mallets against the back of his eyes, and even breakfast left him feeling queasy. He can’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, but he can summon up all his unused uncle instincts and round on Jin Ling as they prepare to depart. “Stop arguing with your uncle when you get back,” he scolds. “Don’t come out night hunting alone anymore. You’re too young! Why are you in such a rush?” “I’m not a child!” Jin Ling snaps back. “That dog Wei Wuxian wasn’t much older when he killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter, wasn’t he? If he can do it, I can beat him!” Recoiling, Wei Wuxian grimaces before reaching back to rub at the nape of his neck. He’s pretty sure that’s not right. They were older than Jin Ling when they got stuck in that cave, and anyway— “Isn’t Hanguang-jun the one who killed it?” he protests. Jin Ling stops short, lips twisting to one side like he’s tasted something bitter. “You and Hanguang-jun… Whatever. I know about the Gusu Lan headband so if it’s going to be like this, then” — he swallows, two bright red spots rising in his cheeks — “just make sure to stay by his side properly. Don’t bring any more shame to Lanling Jin.” “The headband?” Wei Wuxian echoes, feeling some new horror growing in his belly. The headband just means restraint — right? It’s just an old tradition. “Shut up! Stop being so shameless. I’m done talking about it,” Jin Ling snaps. He looks away, crossing his arms. There’s something about his frown, the way his eyes have focused on the ground a few steps to his left that makes Wei Wuxian cant his head, waiting. After a moment, he looks sideways up at Wei Wuxian. When he speaks, his voice comes out small. “Are you really Wei Wuxian?” he asks. Wei Wuxian’s heart stutters in his chest, but he just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Do you think I am?” Jin Ling studies him a long moment before huffing out a breath and dropping his arms. He looks almost…disappointed? “I don’t know,” he says. “No. Cousin Yu always said he was a great cultivator and you’re clearly not. And jiujiu said he was taller than Hanguang-jun. So.”

He clears his throat and turns, waving his hand in dismissal.

“Behave yourself and don’t, you know, get yourself killed. I guess,” he says over his shoulder. A fond smile curls up Wei Wuxian’s lips at the brusque care. What a little monster. As Jin Ling returns to his own disciples, a Jiang disciple approaches. She’s the eldest of their group, tall and angular with a placid expression that nearly rivals Lan Zhan’s. He’s caught her looking at him funny over the past day, and every time, some sense of familiarity niggles at the back of spine, but he can’t quite place her. “Thank you for assisting us,” she says, saluting neatly before reaching into one sleeve. “I believe Jiang-zongzhu would like you to have this. Our da-shixiong designed it.” The talisman she hands him is familiar, the calligraphy for a different reason. His breath catches, eyes going a little wide as he looks back up to her. “Little pirate?” he asks. Sun Hai smiles abruptly, like a crack breaking through glass. There are tears in the corners of her eyes as she gives a quick little nod. “Little pirate!” he exclaims, something like grief and elation together winding tight around his chest. “Not so little anymore — you’ve grown up so much! You were as little as Jin Ling when I saw you.” The last time he saw her, she’d just hit a growth spurt that left her gangly and awkward and mortified by the lack of control she had over her own limbs. In the last weeks before the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, he’d promised to help her practice modifying talismans in exchange for her not hiding away in her rooms every time she stumbled doing sword forms. Now, she’s lean and tall and carries herself with the kind of grace shared by dancers and swordmasters: fluid, strong, and quick. With her sword at one side and other arm folded at her waist, she looks all grown up. “It’s good to see you, shixiong,” she says, smiling even as a tear slips loose down her cheek. “We’ve really missed you.” Oh. His fingers tighten a little around the tracking talisman in his hand before he catches himself and makes them relax. He gives an unsteady smile. “Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. “Yeah. Me, too.” She lingers another moment before drawing in a breath and straightening up. With another quick bow, she turns and heads back to where a little cluster is waiting for her, watching curiously. Wei Wuxian watches a moment before turning his gaze back down to the talisman in his hand. He recognizes it, though it’s been a long time. He originally designed it to keep track of a-Yuan when he went racing off around the settlement, dashing away from supervision. Had he sent a copy to Jiang Cheng? He must have. He sent so many absent ideas in his letters back then, anything he thought might be of use, anything that to help make up for the trouble he was causing. His throat feels thick with something, the headache clustering with something unsteady and unsure fluttering in his heart.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangxian #untamed fic #my writing

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chershare · 4 years ago

Text

Snippet from Discord 34

(On Ao3)

Someone was playing the guqin, and the deep tones were shivering through Xuanyu's aching glass meridians.

The cold burn of remembered fear and pain was slowly receding, the heavy dark of repression and memory pressing down on his lungs less and less. Each breath wasn't as much of a strain on him, didn't take nearly so much energy to complete. His heart wasn’t crushed under the weight of a desire for the end but held aloft by sweet tones and gentle notes.

Xuanyu was tired, body heavy and soul weary, yet he didn't dream of the horrors of future's passed. Instead, each plucked string hummed through the marrow of his bones and shivered in his aching golden core, rejuvenating.

As if someone was washing a wound that had been left to fester for so long, he’d nearly had to remove the limb, like Xue Yang had been forced to so long ago.

Sometimes, he could feel his little Yuan curled up in his arms, patting softly at his cheeks and telling him about all the things he did, and he held him as tightly as his frail body could. Sometimes, he could feel the safety of Wei Wuxian's arms around him and leaned into it, soaking up that comfort and kindness.

Always, there was the guqin, a spring water well in an otherwise barren landscape, feeding water into a long dried out desert.

This was… oasis.

He wasn't aware that his eyes were open until he saw the flutter of gauzy white and blue, the glimmer of a fine silver hairpiece in midnight dark hair. The beauty of a man unbent by the trials given to him by a war not long won, with a steady and clear gaze, stalwart heart.

Oh.

Blinking slowly, heavily, he sank further into the bedding as he ran his gaze over the pale wood of the cultivation tool. This guqin was the most beautiful instrument that he'd ever seen so close, not having been permitted around Zewu-Jun and his xiao because of his half-brother. Each elegant movement sent sound and qi fluttering across his senses in a similar way to Wen Qing's acupuncture.

It took a moment of focusing through syrup and fog, but he eventually saw it, the disparity of color amongst the ethereal display.

Red.

Tiny droplets from long elegant fingers that bore musician's calluses, the tips splitting from the strain of continuous play. Hanguang-Jun had been playing nonstop for who knew how long, soothing the roiling mess inside Mo Xuanyu's meridians, inside his cracked mind. He was hurting himself for Xuanyu's sake – no, probably for Wei Wuxian, who fretted and cared so much – and he didn't want that.

He didn’t deserve that.

"Nn," words were beyond him, but he could reach out to set a shaking hand over one of those large, pale ones.

Despite what they looked like, cold and untouchable like the Jade he was likened to, Hanguang-Jun's hands were... Surprisingly warm. Xuanyu was trembling bodily as the Lan stopped playing, stilled beneath his touch.

His breathing felt loud in the sudden quiet.

The ache slid slow back into his joints, but he didn’t pull his weak, dirty hand back despite the wetness in his tired eyes.

"Mo Xuanyu," Lan Wangji's voice was cultured and low, hints of concern in his stern tone. "Alright?"

"You," a laborious breath as he dragged open eyes he hadn't realized closed to look up into concerned gold, a line of heat drifting from the corner of one eye. "H-hurt..."

His voice sounded rasped and thin, like old paper crumbling into ash in fire. As if he’d been screaming, but Mo Xuanyu had long ago learned how to be quiet in the face of suffering.

Screaming didn’t do anything.

No one would come.

Hanguang-Jun looked suddenly quite alarmed, his hand twisting to cover Mo Xuanyu's where he'd forgotten it sat. Oh, he really was warm. His calluses were rough, but his hold was gentle and the qi that filtered through him cool and sweet like the Cold Springs of his home were said to be.

"I did not – "

"Lan Zhan!" The beloved voice of Wei Wuxian called out, drawing that heat into his chest. "Is Mo Xuanyu awake?"

There was no time for the man to answer, seeing as the boisterous immediately bundled Xuanyu's too thin frame into his lap. Ah, he didn't deserve such kindness, such care, but he selfishly soaked in the protective affection of his Yiling Laozu. The mixture of resentment and echoing pure cultivation energy was a heady sensation that Xuanyu could gladly drown himself in.

"Pretty stranger~ pretty, pretty stranger~" was singsonged as one of those familiar ink stained hands tilted Xuanyu's face up to smile down at him with red warmed eyes. "Are you better now? I gobbled up the bad man and no one gets to hurt my Xuanyu," a thumb slid over his cheekbone, gentle and sweet. “And our Lan Zhan played you pretty songs to give you sweet sleep! Oh, A-Yuan has missed his lessons with his Yu-ge, we have so many knew things to learn!”

One trembling hand lifted towards a smiling mouth, and he felt his nearly numb face try to copy the expression, feeling brittle and shivery. Ah, he wasn't suited for smiling anymore, not as cracked and broken as he’d become, as a shadow of existence. Xuanyu hoped he didn't look too horrifying, trying to pretend to be a person.

"Hello, my Xuanyu," Wei Wuxian leaned into his thin, scarred palm, cradling it with his own hand as he smiled, that sharp, comforting thing. "Did you like our Lan Zhan's playing for you? He’s very talented, isn’t he?"

"H-he... Hurt..."

Red and gray eyes blinked in surprise before Wei Wuxian’s gaze was drawn to the little bit of blood smeared on Xuanyu's hand. Blood he hadn’t even realized was there until the Yiling Patriarch looked at it on his thin, spidery fingers and palm. Realization had those bright eyes turning to look at Hanguang-Jun, who shifted in discomfort, face almost pinched.

There was – regret?

Why was Hanguang-Jun upset?

"I – I did not intend –"

"Lan Zhan," the Yiling Patriarch interrupted with a smile and a free, clear laugh. "Lan Zhan! He doesn't mean you hurt him, but that you're hurt. Look at your hands, silly!"

As the man did as instructed, he seemed startled at the sight of his own blood; as if he hadn’t felt the skin splitting and nails cracking. Wei Wuxian turned back to Xuanyu with a fond roll of his eyes and that lovely cutting smile that only cut other people.

One of his Wei Wuxian’s hands was a comfortable weight against his side, the other still holding Xuanyu's as he smiled down at him warmly.

When he looked at him so fondly, Mo Xuanyu couldn't help but want for the impossible. Hanguang-Jun was right there, glancing between Xuanyu and his bloody fingertips with something softening in his shoulders.

Relief?

"Even when you aren't feeling well, you think of others," his Laozu commented warmly. "That's my pretty stranger."

And then, as always, Wei Wuxian did the unthinkable.

He felt his eyes widen as a hot wet tongue slid out of that smiling mouth to slide over the blood on Xuanyu's hand. Breath caught in heavy lungs as he felt his fingers twitch at the sensation, heart suddenly pounding hard in his throat. Wei Wuxian's hot breath felt cool against the wet lines he left behind as he cleaned Lan Wangji's blood from Xuanyu's skin.

Red eyes slid slyly to the side to meet startled wide gold, and qi shivered through the air like promise.

When the blood was all gone from Xuanyu's hand, Wei Wuxian simply breathed against his flesh for a long moment. Those bright eyes turned back to Xuanyu's and his friend – his – his – what even was he anymore – smiled against his skin, warmth and fondness and something – something else in his gaze.

"Wei Ying."

As if in a daze, he watched the Yiling Patriarch turn towards Hanguang-Jun and take one of his long fingered elegant hands in his own ink stained ones. The Lan looked as if he'd taken a blow to the head, face and ears flushed and pupils dilated as Wei Wuxian leaned forward to press his lips to cracked fingertips, tongue flickering out to taste.

He wasn't sure which one of them had made that punched out noise at the sight of it, but Mo Xuanyu felt hunger coil in his stomach. That was…

He could – he could still feel that?

What was... What was happening? Was Xuanyu having an especially pleasant dream that would ache like a cracked tooth when he woke up? Would he forget when he opened his eyes?

Was this real?

It couldn't possibly be real. Mo Xuanyu didn't deserve things like this, and as such never received them. There was nothing he’d done to deserve this, to have earned the regard of two such powerful, honorable people as this.

He'd never been wanted by people who he desired in turn.

Wei Wuxian's wicked tongue curled around one bloody fingertip, making Lan Wangji's hand twitch and Xuanyu's heart jump to his throat. Heat pooled in Hanguang-Jun's molten gold eyes and they traveled from the Yiling Patriarch down to where Xuanyu was still situated in his lap.

Like he was also –

"Wei Wuxian!" The familiar cutting voice of Wen Qing sliced through the tension like a battering ram through rice paper. "Come here!"

The feared, infamous Yiling Laozu yelped like a kicked dog and suddenly Xuanyu was in a very different lap. Well-muscled arms wrapped around him hurriedly and carefully, soft white silk a jarring difference from dark cloth.

Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet and rushed out to the doctor's demand.

Swallowing thickly as his equilibrium struggled to find itself, he blinked rapidly, heart a heavy beat in his chest and throat. Without thought, he glanced up at Hanguang-Jun, meeting his stunned gaze with one of his own, uncertain as to what actually just happened.

It was automatic to duck his head against a broad chest in embarrassment to hide his face from the brazen eye contact, a familiar action with Wei Wuxian and his shamelessness.

His hair brushed against his cheek and for the first time he wondered just how dressed down he was.

Oh no.

Was he...

He was. He was in his simple sleeping robe, his favorite light blue one that Wei Wuxian had forced on him. His hair was improperly loose around his face and he was in Hanguang-Jun's lap like a - like -

"... Shall I play?"

Words seemed to difficult, so instead he shakily grabbed that powerful, graceful hand one again and shook his head negatively against that broad chest. Mo Xuanyu had long given up dignity, so there was little point in trying to extricate himself from the lap he’d so abruptly been deposited into.

Besides, Lan Wangji’s qi was… soothing.

“Then…”

A moment of silence, before that hand twisted in his once again and he was gently resituated in that wide lap into a more comfortable position. Cool, jasmine scented hair slid down against Xuanyu’s forehead, silkier and darker than his own wavy hair.

He kept his eyes closed and then –

Hanguang-Jun began to sing.

It was low and quiet, but it immediately settled into his meridians with a similar weight of cool consideration, even if the tune was different. His chest rumbled nicely, and Xuanyu relaxed the jittery tension he’d held in his too weak limbs at the sensation, familiarizing himself with different arms and sweeter qi.

If this was a dream… Mo Xuanyu didn’t want to wake up.

#mdzs #mdzs snippets #The untamed #Mo Xuanyu/Wei Wuxian/Lan Wanji #Mo Xuanyu #Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #Time Travel #Sweet Dreams

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