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valtiantian · 10 months

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Shrike

However it happened, he's not sure, but Lan Wangji finds himself laying on the ground and tainting the soil with blood. A certain ghost finds his way to him.

CW: death

The concept of time is a faraway thing when one is close to death. Lan Wangji lays on the ground, cold and damp, and stares at the starry night above him. Ignores the pain coursing through his body. He waits, knowing that death is not going to bring him closer to Wei Ying, but not strong enough to fight it and live.

He can feel the mud beneath his palms, sticky from all the blood; the metallic scent fills his nose until it's all he can smell. He doesn't really remember what happened, he assumes a night hunt gone wrong. It feels unlikely, yet it's true. Even Hanguang-Jun is not immortal, just like Wei Ying wasn't.

It's getting colder now. Either that or he's the one getting colder. He shivers, and tries to listen to the songs of the birds, the owls that croon to each other, but everything sounds muffled. He wonders how long it would take for the soil to become one with his skin, if maybe flowers will grow over this particular patch of dirt, or if it'll be tainted by his decaying skin and bones forever.

His heart is heavy, yet he feels like he's floating, barely even touching the ground. The sounds around him distort, until the bird songs sound like whistles from the wind that struggle to even reach his ears. There are other sounds fighting for his attention, yet he can't concentrate on any of them.

The only clear sound is the beating of his heart, heavy and loud, with the weight of his fleeting life. All other sounds are drowned out by the ringing of his ears, the blood flowing through and out of his body. He thinks he can hear whimpering from far away, but it is unimportant now. He can't move, no matter how much he tries. And he tries, for a-yuan, for his brother, for his uncle. For Wei Ying; for there to be at least one person that thinks of his memory lovingly instead of with disdain. He fails.

So he just looks up at the moon, bright and mighty, the only source of light he has. He's vaguely aware of a figure that approaches, walking through the darkness as though gliding. He doesn't truly realize until the black figure covers the light, and suddenly he can see; dark long hair, carefully wrapped in a bright red ribbon, flowing down until it almost touches his chest. He can't help the gasp that escapes him, or the desperation that grabs hold of him. His ribbon is so close he could touch it with his fingertip, if he were to have enough strength. He tries to do just that, with a shaking hand that wavers before it even reaches it, and ultimately falls back down.

makes him move erratically, struggling against the pain that covers his body. He tries to grab the ribbon, so close to him, but his arm fails him, falling back down to him as it trembles and he shivers from the cold.

He recognizes him, how could he not. He's scared he's hallucinating, but when he's in front of him, how could he bring himself to care. The dreams of Wei Ying are still better than not having him at all. He tries to call out to him, but his voice is ragged and tired, more a wheeze than a word.

All sounds have ceased. Maybe it's his body that's failing him, maybe he's searching for one specific voice, everything else so unimportant to his senses he can't even hear anything.

And he heard him, clear as a songbird.

"Lan Zhan," he says, and it sounds so close he could drown in it. He will, if he doesn't catch his breath soon. He can hear his heartbeat again, louder and louder; a drum that takes him closer to death. He understands, in a far away manner, that he's losing blood faster.

He inhales, urgently. His breath rattles, a painful sound, wet with blood. He coughs, and tries to say his name again. It hurts, but he tries, panicking while knowing it will do no good now.

"Wei Ying-" he manages, voice raspy and guttural, blood flowing down his lips as he coughs, and he's left breathless again. He's shaking, and he sees his chest going up and down, faster and faster. His arm moves almost unconsciously, and so fast, to take hold of that red ribbon. He succeeds this time, and it shakes with the exertion, before falling down; that incredible surge of strength completely gone. He can only hold the ribbon tighter, taking it down with him until it lands on his fluttering chest.

Wei Ying's hair falls down in waves, unraveling fast until it covers them both. There is no light that reaches his eyes, only Wei Ying's face, wide eyes and trembling lips. He wants to kiss him so much. If he could, maybe he would try; just to know what it's like before he never sees him again.

He cries, because he doesn't know what else to do. The tears cloud all his surroundings, until all he knows is that face, staring back at him at last (at last, too late). He's weeping with a voice that barely carries itself, sounds that are painful to the ear. He holds that ribbon close and feels the soft touch of a hand, like a breeze caressing his face. Going from his eyebrows to the tip of his nose, until the pad of his fingers reach his lips, and he opens his mouth to try and kiss them.

He feels him come closer, feels him kiss his forehead, gently. He's so gentle now, now that Lan Wangji's falling apart, trying to dry his tears with his hands, unable to even do that. He wants him now, wants him desperately, and he cries for how far they still are, even while being so close.

Wei Ying is above him, crooning softly. A song he knows so we'll. He wonders if Wei Ying even remembers where he heard it, if it matters at this point. "It's alright Lan Zhan, it's all well," he mutters. Even when his own eyes are wet with tears that refuse to fall, he doesn't falter his comfort.

"I love you," falls out from his lips. A plea, a mercy. It comes out ragged and wrong, but it rings true all the same. He wishes he had been able to say it sooner, before everything has gone wrong, before the chance was taken away. Now he's here, saying it to a ghost, one that has come to comfort him. He doesn't even know if he's real. But he has to say it, before he takes it to his grave.

"Shh, it's ok Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, laying their foreheads together, trying to caress his cheek. It's all in vain; the only thing he can feel is a slight breeze, colder than his own dying skin. It hurts, it hurts that now the only trace of Wei Ying he can feel is a cutting cruel cold. "I know, i know," he keeps saying, crying out to him like that will make him feel him more, keep him tethered. Finally his tears fall, and they still feel so cold.

"Wei Ying," he weeps, like a child calling for his mother, holding the ribbon close with all the strength he has. He wants to close his eyes, but he has to see Wei Ying; he's desperate to keep him close, in the limited time they have.

"Lan Zhan," he pauses, but the tears continue to fall. He's struggling to say it, face twisted in agony, the tears falling near constantly. He manages, with a frail, shaking voice, "I wish I could have been buried with you," and Wei Ying breaks down too, closing his eyes against the onslaught of pain, crying out, choking on the breath he doesn't need. "I'm sorry Lan Zhan, so sorry. I didn't know," Lan Wangji can barely see him, everything's so blurry now; he doesn't truly know from what. He tries to comfort him, but can't move at all. He can only hum back gently the song from before, taking pauses every time his breath hitches, hoping it doesn't sound as painful as it feels.

If they had been buried together, maybe they would see each other again. Lan Wangji thinks, desperately, that maybe he would have liked to die with Wei Ying. That maybe his bones would have been unearthed decades later, holding the person most precious to him. They could have died together, hand in hand. If only he hadn't been a coward.

He sobs at that thought, humming completely forgotten under the pressure of his aching heart. He feels his breath slow, and he looks at Wei Ying's eyes, scared and alone, save for a ghost that has followed him home. Wei Ying understands, and starts a stream of gentle nothings, trying so hard to comfort him. He combs through his hair, as futile as it is; the gentle wind of his hand holds him together.

"It's alright now, Lan Zhan," he whispers, pained and clogged with tears. He touches his cheeks and keeps his hands there, as Lan Wangji slowly feels himself lose his last amounts of strength. He breathes out, trying to call out to him one last time.

He can't, but Wei Ying still understands. He simply says, "You can rest, Lan Zhan," and kisses his forehead. Wei Ying is smiling faintly, eyes glistening. He manages to smile back to him, however small, before death takes hold of him, Wei Ying's face his last memory.

#mdzs #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wei ying #death tw #obligatory english is not my first language #appreciate corrections #i don't like this one much anymore #but i want to get it off my chest so i can write other stuff hfjdh #my writing #why am i so emo istg #I'll write cute stuff again #probably #also can you tell I'm bad at titles?

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undead-merman · 2 years

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A goblin man tries to mug you. He has large pointed teeth, a broken and chipped knife, and an awkward yet excited stance. And you just kick it to the side, not wanting to deal with this right after work. But during that brief moment, he sees your faces hidden in the hoodie. A human! A rare find, he's entranced by your strength and keeps trying to court you on your way back from work.

He tries really hard to figure out what humans like, but it seems to be mixed up since he knows so little about 'wooing' stolen rings in old fast food burger boxes; weeds with thick roots still covered in massive dirt; half-melted chocolate bars, some half eaten. He lets you meet his dog, a small blink dog, untrained but affectionate to both its master and you.

You are being mugged again, this time by a yuan ti with a much sharper, vemon covered blade, claws, and large fangs. Then your small friend gets them to jump on that yuan ti screaming "Don't touch MY human!!!", though not without a strike to the face. You're able to deal a knock out blow but he's quivering on the ground clutching his face saying it doesn't hurt when his nose is dripping blood.

You take him and his pet to treat his injuries. He's sitting on your toilet lid as you fish out a first aid kit. He's admiring everything and smiling at your counter top, the shower products before you treat his nose. It hurts like hell and he throws a fit. But hey, it doesn’t hurt as badly. And that bandage you put on? Well, it's a gift. A gift from his human!! He beams at the bandage, even if it's a dinosaur or Hello Kitty design. He loves it. A gift in his society is rare; only other goblins who care deeply for each other do this.

You really are the one for him.

#undead talks #short writing #d&d #urban fantasy #goblin character

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astralcrew · 8 months

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@astrcls. → unprompted.

yanqing, bless him, is a veritable fountain of youth, energy, and enthusiasm; no matter how many times he and jing yuan spar, the boy still wants to go another round. to his credit, jing yuan has tried his best: despite the throbbing pain in his chest from the wound phantylia inflicted upon him, and the lingering exhaustion he has yet to fully shake. ( and that's to say nothing of the way his throat has ached since this morning, or the stuffy nose, or the frequent sneezing. jing yuan hasn't had a cold in centuries --- fate, it seems, is a cruel mistress indeed, kicking him when he was already down. ) "give me a minute, yanqing," he says, dropping down onto the ground with a grunt and leaning heavily against his favorite ginkgo tree, honey-gold eyes fluttering shut. "i am ... rather spent."

he'll definitely beat jing yuan this time . that's what yanqing tells himself every time they spar , what he's told himself the past two rounds. & yet , he's wound up in the dirt both times , just like every other time they've sparred. but he's quick to his feet , brandishing his sword once more , eager to go again ...

❛ c'mon , general , one more -- huh ?? ❜

... until the general drops to the ground , leaning against the tree & closing his eyes. for a moment , the lieutenant merely watches , amber eyes blinking in surprise for a moment. his sword returns to its sheath , feet bringing him to the general's side , no small amount of concern in his eyes.

sure , jing yuan had told him he'd be fine to spar for a bit. but was that the truth ?? or was jing yuan just putting up a front again , to keep him from worrying ??

❛ ... if you weren't feeling well , you should've just said something. ❜

it's half grumbled , half sighed as he frowns down at jing yuan , leaning against the tree. he looks exhausted & yanqing's expression becomes one of worry , shaking the general's shoulder lightly as he sits beside him.

❛ c'mon. you should go lay down , the ground isn't good for resting. ❜

he is , after all , the general's aide. & if that involves making sure he gets some rest , he's happy to do so ...

( slowly , yanqing's own eyes begin to close , his head falling onto jing yuan's shoulder. )

... maybe after a short rest himself.

#╰ 🚂 ⋆ ˚ ｡ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜. : ———— answered ask .#╰ ❄️ ⋆ ˚ ｡ 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬. : ———— yanqing .#astrcls #im CRYING this is soft that's his dad ur honor

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benalove · 2 years

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Car beauty car wash up the big cat

The cost of the washing powder, while low, but because be alkaline detergents, damage to the car paint is very big, if long-term use washing powder to wash the car, our car surface will gradually lose luster.

Some owners to XiCheDian, see workers wash very carefully, washing the bubble of all over the place, "clean, decontamination" ability, again dirty car seems to can cleaning, had washed from the appearance it's very clean. If you want to know what XiCheDian is with what wash your car, you can use your fingers squeezed, nose to smell the bubbles, will find that is washing powder.The car beauty maintenance right up the big-wash the car article Phenomenon: now, use washing powder spraying foam, the agent for the car paint dirt clean car wash the car body shop appears to be the general practice, however, this kind of practice is correct?Answer:

after a bag of washing powder with half a day. The most basic purpose is to wash the car to clean off the car besmirch, only use water is certainly won't wash clean, with what to wash the car, affirmation have exquisite. Now in the market XiCheDian used car wash detergent, basic can be divided into three types: washing powder, essence that wash clean, special car shampoo.Some owners to XiCheDian, see workers wash very carefully, washing the bubble of all over the place, "clean, decontamination" ability, again dirty car seems to can cleaning, had washed from the appearance it's very clean. If you want to know what XiCheDian is with what wash your car, you can use your fingers squeezed, nose to smell the bubbles, will find that is washing powder. Use washing powder, detergent instead of car wash agent will hurt the car paint. The cost of the washing powder, while low, but because be alkaline detergents, damage to the car paint is very big, if long-term use washing powder to wash the car, the car surface will gradually lose luster, to the destruction of the body is very large. Washing powder to car lacquer corrosion in the short term it is difficult to see, so a lot of the owner does not know the bad, this will give some roadside car wash field earn mei heart money manufacturing opportunity. Original paint surface if maintain good, life can reach 10 years or so, if the long-term use of these inferior products washing the car, the car paint will sell at a discount greatly, and most owners don't understand this among them truth, the businesses of this kind of knowledge is consumer blind area, just outside interests.Revealed: professional car wash agent and washing powder is more than 10 times the cost investment, obviously, with low prices of the washing powder to replace price is on the high side of special wash the car agent, for stores certainly is an invisible income, it is this one of the profits and amazing, that led to merchants sacrifice of the interests of consumers.According to information, a bottle of professional car wash agent packaging price 100 yuan to 150 yuan between, and washing powder in the supermarket is the most expensive a bag of also but 10 yuan or so. According to wash a car of cost estimation, professional car wash agent and washing powder, compared to a car wash costs vary more than 10 times. In addition, the professional car wash of foam agents, a catty of foam agent can against the 50 pounds water, probably can swab 60 cars; But a big bag of washing powder, a large bottle of the essence that wash clean water to wash confirmed after more than 100 cars, windfall profits is amazing. Some undesirable businessman is see this one of the profits, and will be driven by the interests of the consumer fraud.Learn to scientific car maintenanceAll people having all hope his love open for a long time, reduce maintenance costs. To do this, must learn to scientific car maintenance. But in, car maintenance often arise in such situation, opinionated car maintenance, but in fact it does damage to the car, some even damaged paint protection layer, lead to paint peeling, this is why on earth?Actually don't think wash the car just wash wipe, most owners do not know spent money should be what kind of services. Professional car wash to need special treatment should be from the place clean began to advance, then scale of heavy parts for special cleaning, such as tyre, engine external, bumper, parts, and then clean the whole body (including body, tires, automobile glass and other parts), finally using professional tools of inner decoration do thorough cleaning, polishing.Artificial car wash generally divided into the following several steps:1, water cannons during a car wash all the body surface;2, with car shampoo cleaning the car table, and with the brush cleaning tires, the wheel hub;Three, use water cannons during a car wash away all the body surface of car shampoo;4, towels, chamois polished whole car (here to emphasize that: it will take to the towel in article 2 ~ 3 left and right sides, because different part, wipe with different towels);5, with FengQiang will vehicle body some not easy to wipe the local water blow dry (mainly include: the window to strip seal, door frames, trunk border, etc.).Automatic type car wash general points the following steps:1, high pressure water spray, its function is to make the body attached to the asphalt spots, grease, sand, etc and the car paint separation;2. Give body spray on car washer special car shampoo;3. The top brush copy type car wash top;4. The side brush and skirt car wash brush both sides;5. Rinse off with water washing liquid;6. Give body spray on car washer special light wax;7. Strong drying system, car body blow the water, and put the light even blow in the body surface wax;8. Senior polishing brush on the body surface polishing.Compared with artificial car wash, automatic car washer the biggest advantage is that: clean completely, cleaning speed, automatic spraying car shampoo, more important is the backup camera washer wax lotion, can form the same clothes as stealth car paint protection layer, equivalent to washing the car DVD also play on a layer of wax.Wash the car to use car washer special car shampooComputer car washer special car wash the kinds of liquid can be roughly divided into three types: neutral car shampoo, acid and alkali car shampoo car shampoo. At present, neutral car shampoo usually used for various have brush computer washer, acid and alkaline wash the car washing liquid liquid usually used in all kinds of brushless computer car washer. When the choose and buy and use please refer to the instruction.

#carsbeauty #luxury #luxury cars #cars washing #ilovecars

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guqin-and-flute · 3 years

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Holding Me Holding You--Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

[This should be the last one of heavy, unabating angstiness--next chapter should the comfort part, finally. If all goes according to plan 😬 But we are mostly through the woods! TW: Dissociative state, mild (dream) unreality, Emetophobia warning--nonexplicit, starts at 'it threatens to curl him over', just lasts for that paragraph line.]

Wangji is wasting away in front of him--like their mother, like their father. It strikes Xichen as he carried his brother back in his arms, blood seeping into rain soaked robes. Wangji remains glazed while he is brought into the bright chaos of his own home, filled with two panicking young boys and the small cadre of confused night guards that had been brought running by their cries.

Even when the doctor he summons rebandages Wangji's wounds and talks seriously over his body about infection and spiritual energy and scars. Even while A-Fu keeps sobbing and sobbing, wild and lost against Xichen's chest as he mechanically apologizes and apologizes and holds him. Even as they coax Wangji's son from out of the corner where he is cowering from the noise in feverish half-consciousness, Wangji is glassy and unseeing, eyes fixed on the door. As if uncomprehending. As if he doesn't understand how any of this has happened.

Xichen doesn't understand either. He can't identify when the decay began.

He just knows that he has seen that look on his father, staring into nothing in the dimness of the Hanshi. Has seen it on his mother, near the end that he hadn’t known was the end. Has seen it on countless cultivators lying broken on the battlefield as they bled out.

Death. The end.

Xichen is losing him, as he had lost them. This was never supposed to happen again. He had promised himself he would be better next time. He knows Wangji better than anyone else. He should have done more.

The horrid crimson of Wangji’s wounds flash in the dressing of his back. The sound the strikes had made against his flesh echoes in Xichen’s ears.

He should have done less.

When the other adults leave, finally, the glances that they cast behind themselves are shaken and dubious. The Twin Jades of Lan, soaked and blood smeared and hollow eyed. Fallen so far.

What is jade?

Xichen is shivering and staring at the same blank, white wall as Wangji. A-Yuan has been taken to sleep in the infirmary in a medicated stupor that is supposed to keep his temperature down where the doctors can closely observe him. Wangji is not aware enough to know that he is gone.

A-Fu refuses to sleep at all, now that he has stopped crying. He digs through one of Wangji’s potted plants and there is just not enough left of Xichen to stop him. Any time he moves, A-Fu’s head whips around to find him, dark gaze intense and panicked. Afraid he’s being left alone again.

He has done nothing but make the boy suffer. Cry.

What is jade? Jade is peerless. Valuable.

Rain is thundering on the roof. The world has narrowed to this room.

It's wrong to attend to business and leave Wangji. Xichen can't abandon him again. He will stay here. He will let the world burn in penance for how it has failed his brother.

It's wrong to stay and leave his post unattended. He cannot be selfish. The pain of Wangji's punishment is right to rest heavy on Xichen's shoulders as well, sharing the burden for his part in every crime against the cultivation world and the Lan. He cannot be his father and abandon his duty.

These truths somehow occupy the same reality, one he is unsure whether he himself occupies, right now. Rule number 1,276: Do not be of two minds. Broken.

A-Fu tips the pot with a dull clank, flopping down with a surprised, “Oof.” Dark dirt spills over his feet. Wangji doesn't blink, staring sightlessly.

It is wrong to inflict the fallout of his inadequacy on this poor orphaned boy. His cowardice. This is irrefutable, singular truth.

Jade is noble. Jade is flawless.

Unbreakable.

When Wangji cannot find it in himself, Xichen can be jade enough for the both of them; for A-Fu, for all the Lan. Unbreakable.

He will do what is right.

Tomorrow.

A-Fu tracks dirt over, toddling and crawling until he pulls himself upright on Xichen’s sleeves. Little muddy handprints. His cheeks are blotchy. He garbles something. Xichen can only catch, "Wanna."

Words are...hard. Harder than they should be. So Xichen pulls Liebing from his sleeve. Wangji's drying, bloody handprint glares from its translucent skin from where he had tossed it aside. He plays, winding, low, and slow.

A-Fu sinks down to squat, blinking slowly, fists still wound in Xichen's sleeves.

A minute later, his eyelids flicker. Then, he tips himself over and lays his head on Xichen's thigh, glassy eyes hooded.

He does not let go.

When Xichen pauses for a breath, the boy mumbles, “Again." So he plays songs of healing, of calming, stirs the sluggish sparks of energy through his meridians, for Wangji and A-Fu.

Wangji lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Closes his empty eyes.

Good.

The music buzzes in his lips, under his lungs, methodical and numbing--meditative.

Until there is an overbright wringing in his core, flashing out through his meridians like wildfire. The note shrills up piercingly and chokes off. Blood spurts over his tongue, past his lips. Bright and iron-sour--ringing and burning and surging--

He at least has the presence of mind to lean forward, avoiding A-Fu.

He stares at the scarlet splat on the rug by his knee. Feels a single drip from his nose make its way over his lips, down his chin. Overstrained. Qi mismanagement.

Get a hold of yourself .

A breath.

Quelling. Controlling.

Slowly, he wipes his face on his damp sleeve. Rule 783: Do not begrime your clothing without just cause. Broken.

He watches the stain sink, into his sleeve, into the rug, absorbed down into the weave of the fabric, drunk up until it’s indistinguishable from Wangji’s slowly browning next to it. Meditates on that. The abstract form of his emptiness blurring at the edges. Liebing is warm in his hand.

Wangji is asleep. A-Fu is asleep.

If Xichen dreams, he doesn't remember it.

When the sun rises, he unfolds from his post and bundles A-Fu into his blanket. He checks Wangji’s breathing (rough), his wounds (oozing), the acupuncture needles (still set). Takes his wrist and loses himself in his pulse. It’s there, bumping up against his fingertips, the nudging nose of a persistent minnow. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Stay .

He calls for a guard to ensure Wangji cannot leave on his own again. He carries A-Fu back to the Hanshi. Sends instructions back with the disciple that brings them breakfast.

A-Fu insists on clambering into his lap as they eat. Xichen’s mouth is too dry to taste any of the food. He feeds A-Fu with hands shaking so badly, he spills half of it down the boy's robes--but doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he slushes it gleefully across the tabletop.

Xichen barely feels human.

Then let me be jade.

Something displeases A-Fu about bathing, today, and he angrily tries to shove all the water out of the washing tub in a fit of toddler pique, scowling and hollering nonsensically. Soapy water splats to the floor and Xichen’s chest and lap when he thrashes.

Xichen lays his forehead on his soaked arms on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

When he is changing his own twice-soaked and bloody clothes, he hears quick little, unsteady feet slaps come around the privacy screen. Then, "Owie."

He turns. "Owie," the boy insists and raises a hand, eyes fixed on Xichen's back. Numbly, he turns to the mirror. Finds long, purpling bruises crisscrossing across his shoulder blades and back. It's probably from hitting the shelves in the storage room.

They don't hurt. Sometime in the night, his body has moved somewhat to the left of himself and sensations are...distant. It is a sign of how he has neglected his cultivation that they have not healed, yet.

“A-niang kissit?”

Xichen shakes his head, mutely. A-Fu seems to consider this, brows furrowing in thought. Then, “ A-Fu kissit,” he decides, resolutely.

There is a pressure beginning somewhere in Xichen’s chest. Squeezing.

He kneels down. The kisses are applied by A-Fu kissing his own palm and clumsily smearing them on like a healer’s balm to his shoulder. Xichen accepts them without protest.

When they are both presentable, Xichen takes the child by the hand and lets him totter beside him through the wet and misty grass, lets him pull up a clump of flowers out in the front garden of the Hanshi, lets him take the time to marvel at all the shiny facets of the rocks on the path, marvel at a crawling beetle. For when they come into sight of the temporary orphanage, A-Fu freezes, then scrambles to try to climb his leg. “Up! Up, p’ease!"

Xichen can’t move. When clinging doesn't work, A-Fu collapses like a hamstrung deer, dangling from his hand. And begins to plead.

"No p'ease! No p’ease! Nonono!"

The women have received instructions, sent from the disciple who had brought them breakfast, and they are ready this time. Two come out with sympathetic faces and words. They coax and coo and reason as they pick A-Fu up. Peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams wildly, "Nooo!! Ahhhh!! Nooooo !!!"

Jade. Cold. Flawless.

Tiny, wickedly sharp nails rake down his hand, scrabbling.

"A-Huan, you are the eldest. You need to set a good example for A-Zhan. That's enough, now, you're too old for this. Collect yourself. When you are like this, he gets uneasy and unruly. Come, now, show him how it's done. Deep breath."

That pressure is growing.

Jade. He is jade.

The boy abandons words, just shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.

"Huan-er, don't cry, you have to go with shufu. Oh, I know, I know, I don't want you to go either. I'll see you in a month! Next month-- don't cry, I'll see you then. Don't cry, Huan-er, please don't cry--"

It's for the best. It's for the best. It's...

He looks so scared.

Wangji screams Wei Wuxian's name. He hears it from halfway across the battlefield, despite the din. Hooks in his soul…he is so afraid--

The door shuts. The screams muffle.

And Xichen is left standing alone on the grass. He feels nothing but that intense, crushing pressure. It threatens to curl him over. He makes it to the tree line before he throws up bile. Barely.

A crack. A flaw.

Rule 589; Do not be ill mannered.

He coughs. Breathes.

Rule 712; Be strict with yourself

He does not know how long it is until Uncle finds him there shaking. “Who is making so much noise?” There is a silence when Xichen doesn’t respond right away--he can’t. He just can’t. A hand comes, squeezes his shoulder. “Are you well?”

He just shakes his head. He should be asking after Uncle’s health. Reassuring him. He should be….

“Xichen. You help no one if you do not rest properly.” Uncle’s voice is low and persuasive--gentle.

He is failing.

Uncle moves closer, presses the back of his cool hand to Xichen’s forehead, then sets his fingers on the pulse in his wrist. That alien pressure squeezes Xichen’s throat until it’s choking him.

“You cannot go on like this. I will head things until you have collected yourself. Go. Sleep.”

It is familiar command that draws him up by puppet strings to standing straight, to bowing woodenly.

“Look at me.”

Xichen does. His uncle looks the same as he ever has, save hints of darker circles beneath his eyes, the skin thin and bruised. His severe expression holds concern and disapproval and a glimmer of something that looks like fear. “You mustn’t do this,” he says with insistent force. “Your people are looking to you and you mustn’t allow yourself to do this. You are to return to the Hanshi and sleep until you wake naturally and then you are to meditate until you are fully within your own control. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, shufu, ” he says, hoarsely. He has failed in his every duty in every way. He is...He is….

Uncle regards him with growing consternation, his mouth tightening. “What on earth is the matter, Xichen?”

Everything. Everything I have done and have not. “I….Wangji.”

Deep lines appear beside Uncle’s nose, his lips whiten and his jaw works. Rage. Grief. Betrayal. Regret. “Wangji is experiencing the consequences of his actions,” he says, stiffly. “He was given ample time and ample guidance and yet he throws it all back in the face of the Clan who has raised him.” His nostrils flare as he glares down the mountain. “How are his wounds.”

Xichen’s breath is tight and burning, as if he is crying, but he’s not. He’s shaking. He’s empty. “...Will you not go to him?” He whispers.

Pain and anger flicker. “I will not. There is work to be done. He is in the doctor’s hands.”

Xichen bows wordlessly.

And disobeys.

He returns to Wangji’s home, down the mountain on locked kneed legs. The house smells of char and hemostatic and antiseptic and rain. It burns his nose. Wangji is pale and haggard and alone, somehow rendered small in his own bed by his bandages. Xichen rinses his mouth, sheds his boots and his guan and crawls up to collapse next to him, as he had when they were small and Wangji couldn’t sleep. Just like then, he finds one of Wangji’s lax hands and wraps it in his own.

You have me. I’m not leaving you.

Leaving. The memory of A-Fu’s screams tighten his gut and his throat until he is sure he will vomit again. However, the sound of his mother’s voice soothes it away. “How is he doing?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds her kneeling beside the bed, stroking Wangji’s hair with concern. Sitting up, he scrubs a hand over his face and offers her a weak smile. “ Niang, you should be asleep. Don’t worry, I have him.”

Wangji sleeps, his face turned away, back rising and falling.

Their mother stands and rounds the bed, taking Xichen’s face in her warm, dry hands and kissing his forehead, right over the cloud pendant of his headband. “I know you do, Huan-er. You are the best gege anyone could ask for. Don’t you think you should be sleeping?” She teased, tweaking his nose.

“I’m not tired.” And he wasn’t, just very curiously heavy. Every movement of his head seemed to take twice as long, every movement of his hand twice as much effort. “I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I need….”

“Oh?”

The words were escaping, jumbling up like mush, and he frowns politely. “Hm.”

“Yes?”

Looking up into her face, he finds it round and sweet and familiar with glittering mischief in her eyes, waiting with a small smile. “I can’t...think of it.” It doesn’t bother him particularly, not truly--a minor frustration--but moisture buds in his eyes like pebbles of rain. Xichen blinks in surprise and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Oh no, save those!” His mother gasps in alarm, searching about for something. “No, you need those, don’t, Huan-er!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, her frantic energy seeping into his chest. He tries to breathe deeply, to center his qi, to close his eyes, but they will not recede, threatening to spill over. “I’m trying, I don’t...I’m not….”

“It’s alright, love, but quickly, try to remember--who was the last person to have them?”

As hard as he can, he tries, fumbling for the memory. “Was it...was it A-Yao? Or Da-ge….” He remembers them holding something, something warm, something familiar.

“Oh, that sounds right. Here,” she has produced a piece of white silk, though the long ends have been dipped in blood. She hurriedly dabs at his eyes. “Mind your robes.”

“Yes, a- niang, ” he replies dutifully, taking it and soaking up all the tears into the fabric before they fall, holding the blood away from him as she beams down at him.

“Perfect boy. Do you remember properly, now?”

“I think it was A-Yao. I think...I think it was when I ran….”

Her dark eyebrows rise and she pets over his hair--it’s so light that he can barely feel it at all. “That long?”

“I’m not quite sure….”

She sighs, shakes her head. “Wangji needs them, remember, love.”

“Of course,” he says, though he can’t quite remember why. He knows that it’s true, though. “More than I do.”

“Exactly. You have to be strong. He’s so much younger.”

Xichen smiles and takes the fabric away to inspect his progress. Only half of it is soaked and the tears have diminished to just hazing his vision. He feels abstractly proud. “Oh, well, he’s grown since you’ve--” When he looks up, the room is empty.

But reality is seeping in the edges with cold fingers, the feeling of waking from a dream. She has been gone from here for a while. He can feel it. He is alone and has been for a while. How long has he been talking to himself?

When he stands, slowly, weighted by rocks, he is in his mother’s home, in the center of the dark floor, surrounded by a layer of dust, cleared of furniture. The lanterns are all cold and wickless, the windows stuck shut. It is dim, the air thick and stale on his tongue. Had he decided to stay here? He can’t remember.

A deep unease threads through his chest. He cannot stay here. He knows the rules. He cannot be away too long.

When he steps forward, he realizes the door is so much further than he had initially thought and with each step, it seems to fade. When he reaches it, it is a smooth, impenetrable wall and no matter how many times he moves around the edges of the room, it does not reappear.

Did they leave him? Would they be back?

...Did he do this?

He opens his mouth to call for help when--

Raw sound crashes over him, bolting him up in bed. His breath is heaving, icy adrenaline rushing through his veins. It’s pitch black and smells wrong. Rain hisses over the roof, but the windows and door are in the wrong places and for a moment--is he in--was it--

Silent strobes light Wangji’s room as bright as day. Weak relief trickles through him, even as the thunder immediately follows with a boom of wall shaking fury. Not the Jingshi. The middle of the night, with Wangji. Safe.

Another flash, overlapped by another boom that makes him jump, even though he had been expecting it. The storm must be directly over them on the mountain from the strength and instantaneousness of the thunder. Through the dimness, he peers down at his brother, heart still hammering. He seems to have remained motionless in his needle-assisted unconsciousness despite the noise. As the tail end of this last salvo grumbles away, Xichen’s adrenaline slowly bleeds away as well, leaving him watery and exhausted, even as his breath and heart still speed. Laying back, he stares at the bruised shadows lashing in the ceiling in bright purple flashes and finds himself hoping--though he has no right--that across the Cloud Recesses, A-Fu isn’t afraid.

#3zun raise jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my stuff #my fic #3zun #I say if all goes according to plan because I have a few other scenes that need to happen #and those have a tendency to be a lot longer than I think they will be #But it should be very soon #Also I promise I'm gonna fix it next chapter 😬 We all know what happens. We all know he is Dad™

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tossawary · 3 years

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Chapter 29: “The Ringing Bells” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

It’s just been him, Yue Qingyuan, and the not-so-modest Qiong Ding entourage befitting Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s leader. Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan still haven’t talked about anything personal (Shang Qinghua kind of hopes they never will!), but putting up a united front and then putting up with other sects seems to have brought them closer together again.

If Shang Qinghua had given in to his idea of bringing a flask of emergency wine in his sleeve, they could have made a drinking game or something every time someone managed to “casually” mention that Zhao Hua Temple Sect’s barrier techniques were the best in the world. With that face Yue Qingyuan made after the third, ear-gouging hour of listening to a long line of Zhao Hua experts condescend to them about security measures that will surely stop invading demons in their tracks, Shang Qinghua would have bet the man could have been talked into it. Big Bro would have been down, he’s sure.

AN: There is something immensely amusing to me that Yue Qingyuan and Shang Qinghua of all people run this sect (like, sure, SQQ and WQW and the other peak lords do stuff too, but YQY and SQH seem to be the ones who actually deal with worldly affairs and interact with people). To me, they both have such “I don’t want to be here” energy. YQY would rather be thinking about his slow reconciliation with Shen Qingqiu, and SQH would rather be daydreaming about the sexy ice demon he’s been betraying the sect for for 20 years.

But nooo, they have to be responsible.

Yue Qingyuan nearly dying at the end of SVSSS to me had such... vibes of relief? This man is carrying SO MUCH stress over his position and his responsibilities and appearances, that his reaction to dying seems to be at least a little bit: “Oh, time to put everything down. I can give up. I don’t have to be the invincible sect leader above it all anymore. Thank goodness.” You can fit so much trauma and unhealthy ideation in this man!

Which is, I think, why this connection between SQH and YQY was a little inevitable in this story. They’re both carrying so much stress and trauma, and doing their best to not let anyone see it, so they really relate to each other but... in a way that’s kind of one-sided on both parts? Because SQH isn’t supposed to know shit about YQY’s past or pressures. And YQY doesn’t have the full picture of what SQH is dealing with at all. After their fight after SQQ died and SQH coming forward about their invasion, SQH and YQY are finally getting to have some more direct connection, but neither of them are willing to put their masks down yet. It goes against their natures and their perceived duties (as sect leader and a transmigrator/traitor) to honestly confide in each other.

YQY and SQH both kind of have a “I know better than you” thing going on here. Yue Qingyuan because he’s the sect leader and he’s been taught that he has to manage himself and everyone else. Shang Qinghua because he’s a transmigrator and also... the fallen creator god of this world?

Yue Qingyuan is apparently just as eager to make it home as Shang Qinghua is. Their travel pace puts them a full day ahead of schedule, and Yue Qingyuan courteously sends his youngest personal assistant ahead via flying sword to warn the sect.

“Shen-Shixiong and Wei-Shixiong will need time to hide the mess from all the parties they’ve been throwing in our absence,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Yue Qingyuan looks at him with polite but concerned bemusement.

“Aha, never mind, I’ll just… go check the last report my head disciples sent me again.”

None of them are expecting the assistant, who flew off with all the energy and eagerness of youth, to return only a little over an hour later. The assistant is red in the face and panting for breath. He collapses in front of Yue Qingyuan.

“Shizun, I-! I turned back as soon as I saw- in the distance-! The sect was on fire! Qiong Ding Peak was on fire!”

Yue Qingyuan and Shang Qinghua exchange a look of shock. When Shang Qinghua joked at the beginning of their journey that the sect would probably set itself on fire without them there to do damage control, he really was only joking! He’s had way too much of the shit he says coming true on him!

AN: I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but Yue Qingyuan’s youngest assistant is the kid that Shen Qingqiu shoved on him from the House of Rejuvenation mess. Qi Qingqi and Liu Qingge picked up Luo Fanli from that, Shen Qingqiu picked up Fu Qiang from that, and Yue Qingyuan got this kid.

He doesn’t have a name yet, but he’ll probably get one at some point. Probably in Part 4 when Shen Yuan and Fu Qiang’s story comes to the forefront.

“Shishu!”

Shang Qinghua turns and gets an armful of nephew. Binghe’s arms wrap around him with no care for the bandage around one of them and Binghe’s warm face is buried into his neck - he’s so tall now - to share his dirt stains.

Shang Qinghua has no idea what to do. He wants to hug his very huggable nephew, of course, but in front of so many people?! He can’t just shove Binghe away either! Luckily, Binghe seems to realize his mistake about two seconds after contact and launches away from Shang Qinghua, bowing deeply enough to hide his face completely.

“Apologies for tripping, Shishu!”

Shang Qinghua nearly laughs. “Ah, ah, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

This is probably one of the worst kept secrets in the sect, anyway.

AN: This is absolutely a reference to Binghe pulling this trick in SVSSS canon, only unlike SY, Shang Qinghua recognizes the excuse.

Luo Binghe clears his throat and intervenes before his friend can accidentally kill Shang Qinghua with kindness or something. “The demon saintess Sha Hualing and her followers attacked.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, relaxing a little.

“Is that all?” he thinks. “Phew! Earlier than I was expecting, but okay!”

AN: It’s very funny to me to have CQMS going, “Demon attack! Demon attack! Totally unexpected demon attack!” And Shang Qinghua going, “Shit, I think I put that down on my calendar wrong. Did I put that down on my calendar...?”

This apparently prompted Liu Mingyan and Luo Fanli to volunteer at the same time.

“They looked like they were going to argue over it, at first, or even fight over it,” Luo Binghe says. “Qi-Shigu and Liu-Shishu didn’t seem to want to let them fight, but they just ignored them and almost started a quick hand-game over who would get to fight. And then the demoness said… she said… she...”

“What?” Shang Qinghua asks.

Ning Yingying lifts her nose to the sky and declares, “She said: ‘If I get a say in this, I want to fight the pretty one in the veil, and not the old lady!’ So rude!”

“...Ah,” Shang Qinghua says again.

That explains the awkward grimace Binghe is making right now.

“Liu-Shijie and Luo-Shijie froze, then Luo-Shijie just looked at Shizun and Qi-Shigu and Liu-Shishu,” Ning Yingying continues. “ Snap! And then it was really quiet. And then Shizun said, ‘I’ll allow it.’ And Qi-Shigu and Liu-Shishu and even Liu-Shijie didn’t say anything.”

“Of course not! Shizun outranks them,” Ming Fan says.

As though that has ever honestly mattered to Liu Qingge or Qi Qingqi.

“So she got to fight the demoness,” Luo Binghe says, like it was a foregone conclusion that his stubborn auntie would get what she wanted. Who’s surprised about this? Not this long-suffering nephew!

AN: So, Sha Hualing made the “old lady” joke in front of 1) Qi Qingqi, Luo Fanli’s teacher who knows about her student’s past with the House of Rejuvenation, 2) Liu Mingyan, Luo Fanli’s friend who either knows about it or recognizes that LFL is touchy about her age, 3) Liu Qingge, LFL’s brother-in-law who also knows, and 4) Shen Qingqiu, who was THERE and that’s how they met.

So, there’s sort of a collective, “If we don’t let Luo Fanli try to beat the shit out of this demon girl, we will never hear the fucking end of it,” here.

Also, as soon as I made Luo Fanli into Liu Qingge’s apprentice of sorts, there was no way that she was NOT going to want to fight Sha Hualing, and it seemed a good way to shake things up from canon while also doing some stuff with the Fanli & Binghe relationship. I’m really trying to breathe new life into all the scenes that I’m redoing from SVSSS.

“She kicked that demoness’ ass!” Ning Yingying squeals.

“Ning Yingying!” Ming Fan hisses.

Shang Qinghua snorts. “Oh? Really?”

“It was rough,” Luo Binghe says, while Ning Yingying and Ming Fan both turn bright red realizing what she just said in front of a Peak Lord. Binghe, however, has totally heard Shang Qinghua say way worse than that. “The demoness was really good and really mean, and she kept getting up even after she got slammed into the ground, but eventually she got pinned and had to forfeit to keep her head. Fanli is still mostly in one piece. She’s over there right now with Mu-Shishu and Liu-Shishu.”

Shang Qinghua follows his nephew’s finger, then winces. His little sister-in-law looks pretty roughed up, her face is beginning to swell and she’s got a lot of claw marks, but she’s grinning up at Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge looks totally fine, besides some flecks of blood that must belong to other people, and is smiling down at her.

Mu Qingfang looks less than enthusiastic about all this as he treats Luo Fanli’s injuries of victory.

Aha, yeah, Liu Qingge is definitely the one explaining this to Luo Jiahui later.

AN: I really like building and having built up all these relationships. I like giving Binghe friends, even if they’re friends that he kind of runs rings around given his manipulative tendencies (NYY and MF rely on just grabbing him at this point and relying on sheer force of obliviousness/authority). I like giving Liu Qingge more connections in the form of Luo Fanli and Mu Qingfang too.

This cast is... so big at this point. I didn’t really expect this when I started.

Inside the cell is… a bloody demon girl who looks about fifteen-ish (sixteen-ish, maybe?), with dark hair in many braids, a sharp face and a sharper stare, and clothing that looks like it was made out of not nearly enough silk ribbons. Ah, wow, that’s way more skin than Shang Qinghua ever wanted to see of Sha Hualing. No jewelry at all, though, not even a belt. Not even boots or even slippers. Just lots of blood splatter.

Both Sha Hualing’s arms and legs have been restrained. She’s also been muzzled, though that doesn’t stop her from showing off her teeth in the least happy-looking smile anyone has ever smiled. There’s blood in Sha Hualing’s teeth! That’s blood there smeared around her mouth!

Qi Qingqi is in the cell too, utterly unimpressed, making sure that Sha Hualing is properly restrained and even treating an injury on the girl’s thigh. Demons are pretty tough, Sha Hualing would probably be fine, but Shang Qinghua supposes they can at least be a little kind toward the poor disciple who’ll have to mop the floors here later.

“So good of you to finally join us,” Shen Qingqiu says to Shang Qinghua. His voice is dry, as usual, but it might be missing its worst sharp edges? The man seems pleased at having caught himself a demon.

“Ah, I didn’t want to show up the sect leader with my speed,” Shang Qinghua replies.

That gets an amused look from Yue Qingyuan. “Let us speak elsewhere,” he says, politely admonishing everyone to shut up in front of their guest. “Qi-Shimei?”

“A moment,” Qi Qingqi says.

“Oh, don’t leave me all alooone,” Sha Hualing says, only slightly muffled by the muzzle, her eyes going wide and scared. “I’ll behave! This is really too much! These restraints are hurting me. Please… it’s making it hard for me to breathe, please…”

Qi Qingqi ignores her and finishes up her work.

Yue Qingyuan lets the Xian Shu Peak Lord out and then seals the cell behind her. Shang Qinghua is familiar with those seals and yeah, there’s very little chance Sha Hualing is getting out of there on her own. The demoness complains loudly about being left behind in a cold and lonely cell. Shang Qinghua can still hear her wailing as Yue Qingyuan instructs the guards on, mainly, not letting anyone in and not taking any of Sha Hualing’s bait no matter what lies she tells.

If anyone gets “seduced” by that teenage girl - a trick pulled many times by the wily Sha Hualing in Proud Immortal Demon Way - Shang Qinghua is going to be so disappointed. Surprised? Not really! But still… depressingly disappointed!

AN: It was... hm... important to me that none of the characters here actually sexualize Sha Hualing or disregard the fact that she’s very young to them. In his narration, Shang Qinghua mentions her skimpy clothes and the possibility of her seducing a guard, but it’s with the casual detachment of someone who was writing a stallion novel and knows the tropes.

I wanted to focus more on the fact that Sha Hualing is not just a “wife character”, but an extremely dangerous non-human individual and already a minor political player, if currently trying to play outside her league. She’s an enemy. Also, just because she is currently playing outside her league doesn’t mean that she’s not dangerous and shouldn’t be taken seriously.

All she needs is someone to get close and she will inflict life-long injuries.

I also wanted to use her here for some Mobei-Jun stuff, which I’ll talk about later when I get to the Mobei-Jun part.

“Shang-Shidi, do you recognize any of these materials?” Shen Qingqiu asks next, like he’s reading Shang Qinghua’s mind now! He looks so unimpressed by Shang Qinghua’s startle. “You are, after all, one of our experts on tracking down the source of such strange things.”

“Aha, off the top of my head? I couldn’t say! But… I would suspect part of this weapon came from the far north of the Demon Realm...”

Wei Qingwei finally looks up. “I would make the same guess,” he says, like a real bro. “If only this weapon hadn’t broken, we could have tested its limits of disruption! But our plans have been disrupted there… I’d like to see how something like this would go up against the different types of barriers out there.”

“Zhao Hua Temple’s barriers, perhaps?” Shen Qingqiu suggests.

Yue Qingyuan audibly sighs.

“Of course, they won’t wish to see proof that there are demon lords preparing to invade,” Shen Qingqiu says icily. “How remiss of me to forget that fact. What does it matter if a demon lord’s daughter was swinging around a previously unseen weapon like a child’s favorite new toy?”

AN: So, when I say that I want to breathe new life into the canon scenes that I’m redoing and reinterpreting, my goal for this one was to really... build up the upcoming Immortal Alliance Conference and actually connect Sha Hualing’s invasion to... well... anything.

In SVSSS, Sha Hualing’s invasion happening is just following PIDW events apparently, and SVSSS in my opinion isn’t... really too interested in PIDW worldbuilding or Sha Hualing’s character from the standpoint that this really is a real world now. It’s all about Shen Yuan reliving the PIDW plot.

So, if I’ve put 200,000+ words at this point into actually trying to establish that this is a real world, these are real people, there are real long-lasting politics and sect relations, that world elements aren’t just spawning into existence when the plot needs them and exist now, even if I’ve been doing so kind of as a joke because I think it’s funny to make Shang Qinghua deal with that, I wanted to actually try to place and connect Sha Hualing’s invasion to other story elements and place Sha Hualing’s character in relation to the others.

Here, Sha Hualing’s invasion is a spoiled and violent child looking to make herself look good and cause trouble, as it is in SVSSS, but here it’s emphasized that Sha Hualing really is 1) a child, 2) a demon lord’s child, and 3) a future demon lord herself. And Sha Hualing is showing off her family’s inventions in preparation for the Immortal Alliance Conference. This is a move that has consequences for her and for Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, and will continue to have consequences for her (partially indebted to MBJ’s clan) and for Cang Qing Mountain Sect (it makes them look bad in front of the other Great Sects).

“Aha, off the top of my head? I couldn’t say! But… I would suspect part of this weapon came from the far north of the Demon Realm...”

“Zhao Hua Temple’s barriers, perhaps?” Shen Qingqiu suggests.

Yue Qingyuan audibly sighs.

AN: Me to myself: “...Is there canonical evidence that Mobei-Jun can read and write???” Because, like, the impression I get from this guy is that he basically raised himself and barely survived, so the System could interpret that to make an AU in which MBJ never learned to read or write.

Mobei-Jun can read and write in “pride is not the word I’m looking for”, Shang Qinghua is just exaggerating here because he’s a little miffed.

But it’s kind of tempting to write an AU now in which SQH realizes early-on in knowing MBJ that... his king can’t really read or write... his upbringing was so shitty and his father was so careless that MBJ never learned more than a few words that he picked up from context. That’s fucking horrifying. MBJ’s poor socialization and communication levels reach new heights!

“It’s just that something like that happened before, remember, Uncle?” Binghe presses. “With the skinner demon? That same light and that same warm, almost burning feeling! It was different this time - that weapon wasn’t going to hit me, I was blocking it; I know that I was blocking it the right way - but it’s too similar, isn’t it?”

“It’s… very similar,” Shang Qinghua agrees slowly.

“System?! Bro?! This is your fault!” he thinks. “Why the fuck are you leaving these explanations to me?! If you take points off me for any of this, you piece of shit, I’m going to find a way to strangle you, I swear! Preemptively: fuck off!”

Shang Qinghua lets himself visibly think about, trying to figure out what the fuck to say here. Binghe looks up at him like he’s trying to see into Shang Qinghua’s head to watch his thoughts come together. It’s a lot of pressure to put on a man all of a sudden! Binghe is too clever to be easily fooled by weak bullshit! How is a man supposed to come up with a decent lie under these circumstances?

“Well, ah, it’s happened when you’ve come into contact with demons who are trying to kill you, so it seems like it’s… some kind of unique reaction between that demonic energy and your spiritual energy,” Shang Qinghua says finally, because it’s better than explaining that there’s some shitty, no-good god-like being invested in a predestined plot. “Strange things happen sometimes in life-or-death situations, you know. Cultivators can accidentally pull off great feats sometimes when they’re desperate or panicked, without knowing how they did it.”

Binghe doesn’t look very reassured. Which makes sense, because a long-winded way of saying “I don’t know, it sounds like a freak accident to me” isn’t really reassuring.

AN: This, plus Sha Hualing’s invasion, is about Shang Qinghua’s coming up against the consequences of his choices. He can’t really have everything at once! He’s managed to have a lot all at once so far, but the time for Binghe’s demon reveal is coming closer, and Shang Qinghua is going to have to make some tough decisions and live with them. He’s going to have to deal with the people in his life having opinions on his tough decisions.

Shang Qinghua is trying to keep the System happy, with his eyes on the end goal of keeping Binghe out of the Abyss, which makes him unwilling to take certain risks deviating from the plot. But, if you’re looking at it from the perspective of someone who doesn’t know about the System or the plot, Shang Qinghua’s decision-making seems completely illogical.

Binghe is too clever not to at least notice that there’s some bullshit happening here. He doesn’t know what his uncle isn’t telling him, but Shang Qinghua isn’t the greatest bold-faced liar, so he knows there’s something.

At the end of the day, Shang Qinghua leaves his fellow Peak Lords (Shen Qingqiu, Qi Qingqi, Liu Qingge, and Tang Qingling) arguing in circles over cold trails (Yue Qingyuan is stuck refereeing, poor bastard). He returns to his Leisure House and finds a familiar ice demon lounging in his sitting room, eating some of his snacks.

“My king, did you help Sha Hualing escape?!” Shang Qinghua demands.

“She did not contribute,” Mobei-Jun answers.

Mobei-Jun looks good, like breaking in and out of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect last night was no trouble for him. Why would it be any trouble for him? He’s been doing it for years and years without getting caught, after all!

“How did you bypass the cell’s seals so cleanly?” Shang Qinghua wonders, as he puts some papers aside and kicks off his boots.

The cell doors hadn’t been ripped off its hinges, just… taken off like they were never attached… which combined with the ice-related injuries on the guards, plus the fact that the intruder slipped in like a shadow and left the same way, kind of gave the whole thing away.

Mobei-Jun raises his eyebrows. “You have shown me many such protections.”

“Ah… yeah… I guess I did do that.”

AN: Presenting Sha Hualing as I did: a dangerous and political figure even though she’s only a teenager, was also meant to reflect on Shang Qinghua’s relationship with Mobei-Jun. Mobei-Jun is the enemy. Mobei-Jun may be on Shang Qinghua’s side and his own side, but he is not on Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s side and he has loyalties to people in direct opposition to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

Sha Hualing is, in many ways, Mobei-Jun’s people. He’s completely unfazed by her violence. To him, Sha Hualing’s behavior is normal and expected, if the foolishness and arrogance of someone trying to act grown-up. He is not human. He is from a completely different world to Shang Qinghua.

And their separate worlds are now colliding.

Shang Qinghua really can’t have everything he wants here. He’s a traitor and, realistically, he can’t expect that not to come out sooner or later. He’s making decisions for the sect (releasing SHL to prevent another demon invasion (and also to keep the plot on track)) that Yue Qingyuan might have agreed with if he knew the full picture of SQH’s spying (all he knows at the moment is that SQH has informants), but that YQY doesn’t know about and so can’t agree with, so SQH is acting beyond his authority letting MBJ break SHL out.

It’s a mess! It’s not sustainable! Shang Qinghua’s old character role and his new character role can’t continue to coexist like this.

Thinking of worrying unnecessarily, desperate to change the subject away from the looming plot, Shang Qinghua brings up the very important subject of Mobei-Jun possibly, maybe, if he has the time, letting him know when to expect him, when he’s going somewhere, and when he’ll be back. He’s brought this up before, though mostly in a “my king, this humble servant would really appreciate it if you at least learned to knock, but if that’s too much to ask, it’s fine, it’s really fine, never mind, forget I brought it up” kind of way.

He only realizes just how daring it sounds after he says it! He’s always kind of figured that the proud Mobei-Jun would take offense to the concept of being at Shang Qinghua’s beck and call in any way. Why would Mobei-Jun need to explain himself?

“Why?” Mobei-Jun even says.

“...Why?” Shang Qinghua repeats, kind of hoping that he wouldn't have to explain the things he asks for. Mobei-Jun said he could ask for things, but he has to explain himself too? That's really too much. “I didn’t get to see you at all while I was gone! I got back and I didn’t know when I’d get to see you again, my king.”

This gets him another random pinch to the cheek, but it also gets him another surprising kiss. Mobei-Jun is apparently not even a little bit offended by this request. So it’s fine! This one thing, at least, is really fine.

AN: But Mobei-Jun is also becoming one of SQH’s rocks in many ways! This relationship is new and exciting and comforting! Giving up or betraying Mobei-Jun is completely out of the question for Shang Qinghua.

I’m kind of fucking loving these secret forbidden romance vibes.

If Shang Qinghua asked, Mobei-Jun would whisk him away from everything right now, but he understands that Shang Qinghua needs to be here for his nephew, his sister-in-laws, and his students. With his father as king, Mobei-Jun doesn’t have the position or authority yet to make any kind of peace with CQMS. MBJ’s relationship with SQH could get him in deep shit with his father, with his uncle, and with other demon lords.

Shang Qinghua is a filthy traitor and he’s dragging MBJ down with him.

#tossawary commentary #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word

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qhostqizmo · 2 years

Text

The Flirt and The Jealous

me, praying To The Gods Amayla does not assault me-

-----

He had a thousand watt smile bright enough to light up a room, but a brain the size of a pea, Essätha reasoned. Money could buy this wealthy aristocrat his many trinkets, his glittering gold bangles, and the shining gemstones decorating those shimmering rings on his fingers; but they weren’t going to buy him the ability to comprehend the atmosphere around him. Unable to read the room or grasp reality, he outstretched his his hands with purpose to reveal his jewelry and flaunt his expensively embroidered vibrant blue-dyed fabrics and gesture to his paintings, the architecture of his home, his vases and oddments.

The sorceress didn’t much care; zoning in and out, that this particular rug was four-hundred years old and made by a blind priestess in the mountains of Etheron. Nevertheless, the man continued to eagerly boast the accomplishments of his many generations of family legacy in collecting these assortments. It sounded less and less like achievements hard-earned, and more and more like a silver-spoon lineage.

“Master Mévouifulin, I appreciate the tour of your enchanting home, but-”

“My dear Miss Essätha, you may call me Arcamend,” they cut off with a twirl of their hand. “But yes, I appreciate your adoration for my treasured family home. Now, if you’ll follow me-”

“Sir,” she stressed, barely containing the urge to roll her eyes or yawn of boredom. The Yuan-Ti woman stepped forward, blocking the heir’s locomotive urgency to continue full-steam ahead.

He frowned at her, truly baffled. “My apologies, madame. If these things do not interest you, perhaps you would like to see the bedrooms? You’ll find the guest quarters are adequate, but the imported silk sheets in my room are quite luxurious and fitting of royalty. If you’d like a chance to examine them closer…”

Essie stared blankly in response to the odd statement; the man’s casual playful smirk completely missing their charm and mark. She gave a shake of her head, sighing.

“I’m sure they’re all lovely Master Arcamend, and I am grateful for your willingness to spend your time with me, but I’m afraid I’m a bit pressed for time. You mentioned you would show me to your impressive private library, if I recall? Could we perhaps go there next?”

“Private indeed,” Arcamend agreed with a lided gaze that swept over her features. He rested his big stupid brown eyes on hers after a fumbled step on his expensive carpet in a sad attempt to do a casual lean against a sidetable. She wondered how the man had managed to lose his footing staring into her eyes all doopey; perhaps the weaving had bunched up in the middle somewhere and caught on his boot?

“Alright,” she stated; cautious. “Lead on, if you’d please.”

“Right,” he stalled slowly. “I could have a servant fetch us a nice merlot; would you fancy some cheeses while we read? I could get you the finest gaperon you’ve ever had, or perhaps you would like boursin blue cheese with some pepper crackers?”

How insufferable could one gentleman be, Essätha pondered. Did he not get the hint that they were going into a library, a place usually reserved for peace and quiet, not for snacks and beverages to be knocked over and stain precious rare copies of literature? Did he not see that she was pressed for precious time, and did not wish to spend any of it on him where possible?

And how did he not see how incredibly obnoxious and pompous he was behaving? As if rubbing it into everyone’s noses how many rare and exotic things he owned was going to make him more interesting or likable? She had half a mind to grab Arcamend by the earlobe and drag him out to the streets, and take him to the nearest shelter where the luckier homeless went for temporary food and shelter. Not that it would matter, she reasoned; anyone that full of themselves would probably spend the whole time clutching to their things fearful of dirt rubbing on them or believing that a little thief may snatch their pearls.

Well, perhaps she would get some dark amusement out of either of the two happening, anyway.

The sorceress cleared her throat, politely folding her hands in front of her abdomen as she murmured; speaking as if to a child, “If it would not be too much trouble, Master Arcamend, I would like to be alone. It will make my work quicker, and more efficient. Your library follows the standard dewey decimal classification, I presume? I will be in and out of your hair, no troubles at all… Unless you feel as though you need send any of your attendants to watch over me, just to make sure I do not damage nor take any of your belongings.”

As she spoke, she watched as the wealthyman began to deflate like a balloon. Whatever was bringing him down, she couldn’t put her finger to. Disappointment for his conduct, she prayed. Still, her final remark seemed to cause him the most discomfort at all; a flush of color warming his face as Arcamend ruffled a hand through his bronze colored locks.

“I- no of course not I- meant nothing by it- I mean-”

Essie quirked an eyebrow.

Shoulders slumping, Arcamend heaved a heavy exhale, reaching as though to take her hand. “Miss Essätha, I meant no harm to an outstanding and delightful woman such as yourself. Please, allow me to reconcile this atrocity I’ve brought to your honor.”

She stepped forward, just out of his arm’s reach. “I care not for what you meant, Master Arcamend; I care for what I came here for. I do not want to take up any more of you day or your staff’s than necessary, and would like to return to my companions as soon as possible. They need me.”

“O-of course, madame, whatever pleases you,” the elitist mumbled, “I will show you the way. My humblest apologies.”

When she did not respond, the man strode forward with a pouty lip to lead the way down the elaborately decorated passage. The Yuan-Ti woman huffed, blowing a few stray curls out of her face, and moved to follow; careful of the carpet. What a childish prat, she thought with sincere sympathy. To grow up with more coin than you ever had need or want for, and then to spend it on such nonsense without recourse or care. He never had to lift a finger; never had to struggle, to fight, or even leave his cozy home if he so desired.

What a lonely, miserable existence.

It hit her, then, like a strike of Magic Missiles. Perhaps the poor man was destitute. That would explain the clingy, needy, chatty mannerisms. She’d pity him if he wasn’t so annoying, and she wasn’t so uncomfortable. Usually her commiserative ways and gentle heart lead her to easily bending and stretching for a moment to help the weary, the broken, the lost and the hurting; but in this case, she felt a surprising amount of nothing.

Swallowing, the sorceress gazed up from the floor that she had been glued to to see that the rich snob had stopped before a looming set of doors. He pushed it open before her, revealing indeed a vast wealth of knowledge. Books upon books in neatly aligned shelves and rows; tall enough that it required a mobile ladder to traverse to the top shelves.

Her heart nearly swooned.

And then she looked to Arcamend; so miserable he could not catch her eye. Finding a bit of remorse returned to her, she reached out to touch the man’s forearm.

“Thank you so very much for your assistance, Master Arcamend.”

The man once more began a beacon of light so radiant she almost had to squint to look upon him. Grinning from ear to ear, he retrieved her hand from his skin to press a humble kiss to her knuckles.

“It is my utmost pleasure to serve you, Miss Essätha. Could I get you anything at all? Or perhaps you would like me to walk you through the archive, and I can help you look? Or explain to you the history of how my family collected-”

And just like that, her compassion for the man was gone with the slimy feeling of his sweaty palm clutching helplessly to her fingers, and the moisture of his lips on her hand; the feeling of his breath bathing her skin. Her insides curled; a far-away memory being clutched at by the ghostly hands of her thoughts. Rough hands, and warm breath dancing against her, and dark, dark eyes…

She snatched her hand away a bit roughly.

“Thank you again, Master Arcamend but no thank you; I can take it from here.”

As though she owned the very estate she walked on, the sorceress stepped confidently into the library.

“V-Very well-” Arcamend called, moving as though to follow her. “And if a little dove shall require anything-”

Essätha turned to close the door right into the aristocrat’s face, thumping her forehead against it with a silent gasp of relief as she heard the muffled voice stall and fizzle out on the other side. Her gaze, slowly, turned upon the true vast wealth the man had at his disposable in the enormity of his collection. The sunlight coming from an upper balcony window sparkled in the golden sunshine hues of her iris.

At least now she could enjoy some silence, with something far more interesting than Arcamend Mévouifulin.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~

Blowing a raspberry, the Yuan-Ti woman flopped backwards onto the bed with a final exasperated huff. “Honestly m’lord- you wouldn’t believe how incredibly obnoxious one man could be!”

A soft chuckling answered her. “Oh, I’m sure I can imagine.”

Lifting her head, Essätha looked over to see her nobleman; shed down to his tunic and trousers alone, sitting on the edge of mattress and looking directly over his shoulder at her. Her heart did cartwheels beneath that warm regard held in the depth of those ocean-hued eyes. She loved how he smiled at her most of all though; not just with his lips, but how the entirety of his face grew relaxed and soft as he looked at her. She had to wait to catch her breath until he turned back to untying his rather large boots.

“S-Seriously, the man gloated the entire time,” she vented. “He came to check up on me almost every ten minutes; I thought about barricading the doors!”

“Sounds difficult when you’re busy reading.”

“Exactly! I’ve seen pride, and I’ve seen vanity, but this Arcamend fellow was a level of ego I could not wrap my head around. And this was only after I had to try, numerous times, to get his attention and remind him I was there for his library. All he wanted to do was parade me around like a young pup on a leash, showing me around to all his big, glistening, expensive knick-knacks. ‘This was owned be so-and-so who was once held a seat of the Council’ this and ‘my sheets are made of silk spun from the hairs of an angel’ that… More or less.”

“… Did he, now?” Amon murmured slowly; hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Essie responded; growing equally cautious now hearing the unease in his voice. “Presented me to his ‘secluded secrecy's’, like I was already showing any interest in his sculptures, he felt the need to take me to his gallery room. I mean, the craftsmanship of the paintings and mediums was nice, but how many people find it logical to have a room dedicated solely to paintings and a single sofa made of some rare fabric? How often are you going to go in there, if not to show off that you can have a room dedicated just to paintings? With a sofa you refuse to even sit on, or allow guests to sit on?”

This time her nobleman grunted, setting aside his footwear.

The sorceress swallowed anxiously, rolling on to her side to reach out for him. “… I’m not upsetting you about all of this, am I?”

“Hmm? Why would I be upset?”

“I-” her face warmed, and she glanced away. “I don’t want to sound like I’m picking on the guy just because he’s… loaded with coin.”

A hand blanketed on top of hers; worn and calloused. A flutter emerged inside her, and she felt like she was floating as her gaze moved up, trapped instantly in the softness of Amon’s soothing gaze.

“No, Essie, I don’t think you’re releasing your frustrations because Master Mévouifulin happens to be rich.”

Her brow knit. “Then why the… unresponsiveness. You usually love talking to me.”

Her smile was mirrored in his own expression. “I do love talking with you.”

“Then…?”

The Bearmaster licked his lips nervously. Gradually, he turned to face her, taking her hand in both of his own to give a careful squeeze.

“… His arrogance is not something new to me,” her nobleman began. “It is something easy to fall into. Even I have shamed myself by wanting to appear more larger than life; extravagant events, large parties, venues; wanting to show off my abilities and skill with what I had, what I killed, what I could afford. He has growing still to do, if he wishes to better himself as an individual rather than an accessory to money. Luckily I had great teachers; time, humility, embarrassment, Marie, and… you.”

She felt the blushing feeling in her face intensify beneath the fond way that he looked at her; the way he cradled her hand between his own. It was entrancing; intoxicating, the man could rip away all her thoughts, all her fears, her worries, her past. All she ever saw; all she ever felt when she was with him, was the here and now. Experiencing the joy of just belonging in the same space as him. The comfort he exuded in his understanding and compassion. The ease of his presence; the way he made her feel secure and confident and wanted. There was no before, and there was no future to worry about, as long as she knew he would be there.

There was no place on the planet, and no time, she would rather be at than this. To have him hold to her hand and to see those tender eyes. To be the one to witness him smile; genuine and kind, it did things to her she could not describe. Of all the treasures she ever longed for, she never would have dreamed he would be the only one she’d ever come to crave so deeply that nothing else in the known universe mattered or compared. Not even by a thousand miles. She’d give up her very last breath, for him.

Amon cleared his throat after a moment, and let go of her hand. His posture stiffened as he informed her, gazing away: “I do not think that Master Mévouifulin was simply showing you these things to make himself look better or more successful, Ess’. Clearly he wanted you to think well of him and to be impressed, but I think his intention was to… flirt with you. Terribly, it seems. I think he wanted to show you the things he could get and afford and… perhaps to show you an example of how comfortable a life with him could be.”

A hush fell over the room. It seemed as though everything was muffled; even the sound of Caesar’s groans as the mastiff flopped over with a bored huff. The sorceress could see the strain in the muscles on her nobleman’s face. His knuckles were bone-white clutching to the sheet, and his jaw and throat moved at random as though he was clutching his teeth and swallowing deeply.

Essätha remained quiet for a while longer, absorbing this suggestion. It was utterly… absurd. And yet the almost comical desire for him to remain attached to her side; to show her everything, to even suggest his bedroom upon his sheets of all things as a place to mingle… It wasn’t that far-fetched, when she really bothered to see the obvious slides right in front of her.

Finally; with annoyance, she grumbled: “Does he think I haven’t seen a plate before?”

Her nobleman turned to stare at her, his mouth agape at the amount of exasperation still in her tone. She didn’t even have the time to meet his shocked expression, busily drawing her hand in the air to theatrically show her vexation.

“I mean really, his idea of wooing a lady is to show her his old plate held on the wall that was painted? Or his sheer curtains made of lace that require special washing? If he wanted to impress me he could start by showing me how gracious and generous he can be; not by how much crap he owns. He could do more to prove that he is kind, and warm, and thoughtful, and intelligent, and loyal, and funny…”

As she spoke, Essie’s eyes finally captured Amon’s astonished gawking inspection. Her rosy cheeks; which felt like they had only just finally simmered down, heated up once more. She found it incredibly difficult to draw air into her lungs until she could bare to look upon his eyes any further, and glanced shyly away with a shiver dancing down her spine.

“… Or that he could protect my heart,” she finished in the smallest, softest voice imaginable; looking to the bedspread. Her pulse had accelerated a hundredfold in a split second, the image of one man appearing every time she blinked behind her eyelids. If she could only turn her head and look at him in the face without giving away everything; everything inside her. How she wanted, how she craved, what she’d give for just a chance with him, even brief. Even just a moment to taste the reality of calling him hers.

So engrossed in the throw-blanket, she could not see the yearning in the man’s gaze that was so breathless enraptured just watching her. Suffering in his yearning; tongue-tied in his hunger but unwilling to yield to it. Oh he ached for her in more ways and words than and language, dead or recent, could describe; in a burning nature that was beyond rational or expression, past reasoning or primal thirsts for things. He desired her in a way that was profound in realms few rarely got to touch; in styles of art written about and few experienced, as though two souls were bound to each other invisibly by choice as much as fate.

As she could not help obsessing about the shape of his lips and how they may taste in her thoughts, his own were following the exact same trail of rational as his regard dropped to her mouth and then roamed all around what he saw as golden perfection. The vision of an angel.

It was not courage that brought Essätha back to the presence of the now; it was the gravity relaxing between them, the urgency to climb into him that subsided enough that she could look to him without grabbing for his collar and begging him to love her, and to kiss her that allowed it. Still his eyes mesmerized her just the same. They’d been waiting for her, after all. It still gave a the rhythm of her heart a new song to play, but she liked it.

“I could never fall for someone as blind and careless and dull as Arcamend Mévouifulin,” the sorceress concluded firmly.

Amon licked his lips, spellbound to her luminous beholding. Her every work had sunk into him; aspirations to live by, things to do. She was writing him a list to lead by without her knowing, and one that he desired to live by; little knowing it was all that she already saw in him and more.

“You… You are much to good for him.”

Essie smirked a bit tightly, raising her browline. She had hoped for a moment that maybe her nobleman might…

No, she should be careful of her heart and its wanting. This was virgin territory; a frightening realm. Her heart was delicate; never offered, always behind a barrier. She shouldn’t expect much, and yet…

“I am, aren’t I?”

She watched, wanting to once more drag her fingers into his hair and pull him in to her lips as his expression collapsed into one nothing short of pure admiration.

“You’re too good for this world and everyone in it, but I know you can do better than him.”

So much better. She drew the tip of her tongue across her lips reflexively, wishing the lingering taste of his mouth was on her own.

“I suppose he’ll just need to find a new dame to impress with his nude marble figures and lavish sheets then, mm?”

To her great delight, her nobleman gave a throaty laugh of amusement. It was a deep and liberal sound; so free and hearty and delightfully homey. She loved it. She loved everything about him.

“Good luck to the both him and his figures, hopefully they do not go sliding off the bed.”

Stifling her giggles entirely proved impossible. Essie sat up a little to swat against his shoulder lightly, falling into his side.

“You’re terribly naughty.”

He gave her a grin; albeit a bit anxious. “But you like me anyway.”

“I very much do, m’lord,” she agreed; swiftly and without a drip of hesitation. Her arms found their way around him, wrapping tight as she squeezed herself perfectly into the dip of his pelvis bone and up into his scapula, she she could rest her chin along the nook of his shoulder. It was a perfect angle to view up into his face, and watch as his cheeks turned pink and flush.

Amon wormed his arm free to wrap around her side. He folded towards her; ending up resting his bearded chin upon the crown of her head so she could nestle her face against his collarbone instead.

“I like you, too.” Gruff; raspy, as though he was whispering a secret into the black waves of her hair.

She hummed, clinging to him a little tighter as he turned further into the bed to be able to grasp her fully and pull her into chest. Right back into the home she wanted to be in. Right where she felt like she was meant to always be.

It would have to be enough, for now.

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written

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fannish-karmiya · 3 years

Text

Another fic extract

Here’s another extract, this time from chapter 1. This is an AU where LWJ is older than WWX, and they don’t have any sort of pre-existing relationship (just for a little background).

Before they make it very far, though, a tiny blur rushes up to them, and Lan Wangji freezes as it attaches itself to his leg.

“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Wangji warily, remembering how angrily Jiang Cheng had reacted when A-Yuan did the same to him. “Come here, you can’t keep sticking to people’s legs like that, what if you try it with someone who isn’t nice?”

And A-Yuan, ignoring him, runs a muddy hand over Lan Wangji’s robes. “Pretty.”

“Yes, so you shouldn’t get it dirty-” Wei Wuxian kneels down, reaching for A-Yuan.

As he does, Lan Wangji also kneels down, and gently takes A-Yuan’s hands, inspecting them carefully. “You need a bath,” he finally proclaims.

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Eh?”

A-Yuan’s nose crinkles. “Not yet!”

Starting to feel a bit more at ease, Wei Wuxian chuckles. “It is too early for that, isn’t it? If we give you a bath now before the weeding is done, we’ll just get you dirty all over again, hmm?”

In response, A-Yuan sticks a muddy hand in his mouth.

Wei Wuxian sighs, torn between exasperation and affection. “No, A-Yuan, you need to stop doing that. Do you know what’s in the dirt? I’m sure your Qing-jie could tell you more, but none of it’s good for you!” He glances to Lan Wangji and smiles wryly. “He’s always running away from his popo. Come on, let’s go find her,” he says to his little charge.

He spares a thought for Lan Wangji, who surely didn’t expect anything like this when he decided to go on a night hunt in Yiling.

#fic

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littlemdzsdump · 3 years

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crescent moon smiles - scents of love series

They used the same incense despite their different rooms. But in childhood, the wafting scent of sandalwood would linger in the walls as the candle burned between them. Their shared room was one of the main reasons why their scents matched for such a long time. Until, one day, Lan Zhan realized that his brother no longer smelled of the same incense.

If anyone were to ask, Lan Zhan would not be able to pinpoint when they no longer shared the same scent.

Walking beside Lan Xichen on the path past the stairs to where the bunnies reside, his brother smelled of light jasmine and melancholy. His cheeks had sunken in deeply during his time of isolation. It had been a few months since he had returned and Lan Zhan didn’t want to overwhelm him. Despite his older brother’s insistence on helping, Lan Zhan for the better part only asked him to play with the bunnies. Lan Zhan spent most of his mornings walking his brother to the bunnies at the edge of the hill and spending a few minutes tending and feeding them before he left the little fluff balls in his brother’s care.

Today was the same as any other, their light steps barely making much sound over the gravely dirt path that opened to the edge of the hill.

The moment that the two Twin Jades stepped into the fields, the bunnies’ attention was quickly caught. They hopped closer to the fluttering white robes, nosing at the edges of their sleeves and shoes. At their anticipation, Lan Zhan kneeled down with his basket of food while his brother did the same. Even without food, some of the bunnies already began clamoring into Lan Xichen’s lap.

Lan Zhan was surprised, but not at all displeased. Maybe he should give the small creatures more credit on how well they could read human emotions. Lan Zhan began feeding each of the bunnies their food.

Those that had yet to be fed began circling around Lan Xichen, wondering if he had any treats. Lan Zhan tilted his head as he heard his brother next to him, huffed out the smallest of laughs. He saw how gentle Lan Xichen’s hand was on one of their heads. Watching his companion being patted, the bunny in Lan Zhan’s lap hopped away from an enticing piece of lettuce to join its friend in his older brother’s lap. The only sign of surprise was Lan Xichen’s widened eyes. He breathed out another laugh as the bunny nudged under his open hand.

“Ah, Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, as a third bunny made its way into his lap. Surprisingly it nuzzled into the crook of his stomach, just as it did when it was comfortable. Lan Zhan had only seen this happen once before and it was when A-Yuan was very small and played with the bunnies every day for an entire year.

“She likes you,” Lan Zhan explained. Lan Xichen smiled softly, placing a small hand under the bunny to get it in a more comfortable position.

“I used your incense today, maybe they have mistaken me as you,” Lan Xichen admitted. He seemed unnecessarily guilty about that.

“I think they like you no matter what you smell like,” Lan Zhan replies.

His older brother looks up at him for the first time since they arrived, the smallest of smiles on his face.

It would take a long time for the smile to fully reach Lan Xichen’s eyes like it had used to. But Lan Zhan was willing to wait.

The Scent of Xichen-ge as digested by Lan Wangji

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explodingsynapses · 4 years

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@gimme-a-chocolate challenge Together with you is my favorite Place to be.

The original challenge was for gifs but my talents are very limited there.

Four-part ficlet stretching across canon and post canon from Lan Zhan's POV. Missing scenes and internal thoughts. Read it below or here on ao3.

Together with you is my favorite place to be

Library Pavillion: transcribing rules as punishment

Lan Zhan stares at the slumped, slumbering form of Wei Ying a few chi away from him. His head had dropped to the desk, the ink has stained the scroll where he was copying the rules.

Considering Wei Ying’s atrocious penmanship is a mockery of the art of writing, the stain does little to hurt the poor shape of the scroll.

Lan Zhan knows he should not let him sleep. This is a punishment.

Even in his waking hours, he has been dawdling or chatting off Lan Zhan’s ears.

Lan Zhan also knows that despite transcribing the rules around sleep several times, Wei Ying does not sleep at night. He does not need to catch the wayward disciple each night to know that.

The yawns and bags each morning have been enough of an indicator.

He skipped lunch today. He had missed breakfast. And he had been picking on his dinner yesterday.

His various bemoaning monologues about eating grass have informed Lan Zhan sufficiently over his aversion to GusuLan food. Lan Zhan doesn’t condone the entitlement.

But if he lets Wei Ying rest a little longer, hearing to the soft, barely-there snores; then he is not being indulgent. He does need to care for the health of his charge. If he has been allowing this for several days, well Wei Ying will simply have to spend more days in the library wrapping up his punishment.

Lan Zhan does not even pretend to try to work. Once he had thought that the first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang would be less of a distraction if he was quiet or sleeping.

The past few days have corrected him of the misguided notion.

It is not the snores. And perhaps, it is also not the fault of the person slumped in front of him.

It is not him that is allowing the breeze the ringlets of his hair across the cheek. It is not him who humphs and scrunches his nose deliberately. It is not him who is presenting his hand spread wide, each finger open to the inquiry of Lan Zhan’s eyes. It is not him who smudges ink on the side of his lips. It is not him who constantly compels Lan Zhan to ogle at the mole under the lower lip, or sleepily swat his tongue down at it.

He drools sometimes. Sometimes, there is no snoring. There is just a gentle rise and fall of Wei Ying’s chest that tells him that the man sleeping like the dead is in fact in deep slumber. It is hypnotic, that movement.

Sometimes the smooth lines of the face furrow, the eyebrows bunching. Sometimes the fingers stiffen, perhaps a nightmare. Until they smoothen out slowly.

Lan Zhan has long thought that Wei Wuxian smiles like the sun.

It is this time, a shichen in between the discipline in the library that the light is not merely in the smile. Something about Wei Ying alights things, and Lan Zhan just basks.

He hasn’t been so content merely by the presence of someone for so long.

****************

In the aftermath of The Tortoise of Slaughter

His leg is throbbing. His palms and fingers sting with the cuts that using Chord Assassination against the Tortoise of Slaughter has left.

Wei Ying is passed out in his lap. Lan Zhan has passed him spiritual energy. He has hummed his heart out at his zhiji’s request.

He does not think Wei Ying would remember. He is not even sure if both of them will survive this cave.

They are injured, have very little spiritual energy, no food, no clean water.

Wei Ying is running a fever and he is not letting go of that sword he found somewhere inside the shell.

It reeks of resentment.

Wei Ying is delirious and has nightmares. His face contorts in agony and the one hand free of the sword grabs at Lan Zhan’s robes, clenching hard as if trying to hold on.

Lan Zhan hums the song in that instance. It’s his first instance of comforting someone. He uses his sleeve to wipe away the forehead. He threads his fingers through Wei Ying’s matted hair.

And he speaks aloud, saying his Zhiji’s name in a soothing tone. He tells him that help is on the way. He tells him that he is not alone and whatever darkness is chasing him, Lan Zhan would fight it for him.

When Wei Ying is calmer, Lan Zhan thinks of his home, his brother, his uncle, his sect.

He thinks of the time they have been given.

He understands his mother a little better in that cave. He had often wondered why she had remained in Cloud Recesses, why she did not fight for more time with them. Why put up with it all?

He looks at Wei Ying’s sick, delirious form, hears his soft whimpers and movements.

He would want Wei Ying to be in better health. He wanted a lot of things for Wei Ying, with Wei Ying.

But in the absence of them all, this time still was a treasure.

Wei Ying was here. That is all that mattered.

Perhaps that is all that had mattered to mother too. Any time with people you love is better than no time at all. Any place with people you love can hold fond memories.

*****************

In the Jingshi: After the Sword Spirit attacks Lan Qiren

Wei Ying never sleeps early, so Lan Zhan expects him to be loitering in Jingshi on his return.

He finds the lamps dim, almost fizzled out, and panic grips him.

Surely, Wei Ying wouldn’t just leave. He barges in the door and finds him sprawled near the dinner table.

Dead, no, he can’t be dead.

Wei Ying’s back rises and falls.

Just asleep then. So much weight leaves Lan Zhan’s body that he staggers and slinks down silently on his knee. He just wants to wrap Wei Ying and hide him away and…

It is a familiar enough sight, Wei Ying sleeping away on a desk. It makes him feel hollow. And it makes him feel so full.

Lan Zhan does not need to taste his tears to know that he is crying, but he tastes the salt all the same.

Over time, he has made peace with his tears. He sheds them freely for Wei Ying, always has, indifferent to the reproach of others.

It is hard to reconcile this. For the longest, everything around him has been marred with unadulterated, indelible, ubiquitous grief for this one man.

His Wei Ying, his Zhiji, his …..

For sixteen years, Lan Zhan had tried to hold on to the peace and the light being near Wei Ying had brought to him. He remembers grasping at faint traces of it even as pain and darkness shrouded him and giving it all to A-Yuan.

He had forgotten the feeling of being able to see this gentle rise and fall. He had forgotten the music of those soft snores. He had forgotten what it felt like to have Wei Ying living, breathing, near him; and not being hostile or distrustful.

Lan Zhan had probably hoped for this very sight for ages, murmured it in quiet prayers, strummed in longing tones of their song, and now Wei Ying was right in front of him and Lan Zhan did not know what to do.

He had never thought he would feel alive like this again. He had never thought that one moment every instance of his life would not need to be in memory of Wei Ying.

This isn’t a mere memory. Wei Ying is here, alive. He is gaunt, the cheeks have sunken since the library pavilion. There is weariness in the body. But those are the same fingers, and there is the same mole under the lower lip.

The eyebrows are furrowed. This Wei Ying does not know how to rest peacefully. That luxury was taken away a long time ago.

He is still the brightest light of Lan Zhan’s existence.

The night after Wei Ying turns around on the hill with his crinkly smile

The inn room is comfortable and warm. That’s good. Lan Zhan knows by now that Wei Ying feels colder in the absence of his core.

Wei Ying does not look worse for the wear. That is a relief.

He is still thin. His hair is still messy. His body cricks when he moves. There is dirt under his fingernails. His skin is getting dry and taut. His clothes are clean but worn, and not nearly warm enough for the weather.

Lan Zhan is making a list of all the things that need taking care of.

Wei Ying may be made of brilliance, but he is hapless when it comes to his own needs.

It does not matter. He is still Wei Ying.

Wei Ying pads out from the bath beyond the privacy screen in his threadbare inner robe. His feet are wet and they leave stains behind as he drags them across the room.

If Lan Zhan had put in relaxing herbs in the bath and might be to blame for the sleepiness in that gait, well he happily takes all the blame.

Wei Ying sleepily gets to the table, sleepily talks away as Lan Zhan serves him food, pours him alcohol.

The inner robe clings to the slightly damp body, and the hair is a mess of tangles. The eyes still sparkle through the haze of sleep, and that tongue is as much a tease as it ever was.

Wei Ying dozes off as he is sitting, once he is done eating. One moment he is regaling Lan Zhan about the flavors of a distant town and one moment, his eyes are drooping, his mouth is hanging slightly open and his body is starting to slump.

Lan Zhan catches him, stands behind him, and pulls Wei Ying’s head against his own abdomen.

He moves his fingers through the hair. They are a mess, but they are a soft mess.

And he clicks out in disapproval, “You need to comb and braid this so they don’t tangle.”

Wei Ying is half dozing and he makes a small noise of confusion but there is no protest.

Lan Zhan pulls out his oil and comb from the qiankun pouch. He needs to fix his zhiji’s hair.

His fingers thread through the tresses, pouring oil into the roots. He hears an appreciative hmmm as Wei Ying leans further into him.

The hair is combed and braided. Wei Ying had taken to steadily humming their song somewhere in between, but it stops once Lan Zhan’s hands have stopped touching him.

“I did not know the Chief Cultivators could take night hunts, Lan Zhan? How long are you here for?” Wei Ying asks.

“Not a night hunt,” He responds, as he starts to clear the table and place the tray outside their room.

When he turns around, Wei Ying is slightly more awake and staring at him in some confusion.

“I did not know there was sect trouble in these parts. I swear I am very well informed about the gossips here.” Wei Ying says, a little put out.

“No trouble,” Lan Zhan shakes his head, then adds after a pause, “Only Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying does not need Lan Zhan to speak to understand him most times, so Lan Zhan is not surprised by the shocked widening of eyes and an immediate, incredulous inquiry, “You came to see me?”

Lan Zhan hmms in affirmation.

Wei Ying gets into a tirade of how he has behaved, there should be no one complaining to Lan Zhan about him, how sorry he is.

“Wei Ying,” He says with great patience, “I simply missed you. Besides, if someone had the gall to complain, they would find themselves being corrected.”

“Miss me?” Wei Ying whispers in the same incredulous tone, “But you did not have to come all the way here Lan Zhan. You should have taken a decree out and ordered me to show myself to Cloud Recesses.”

“You do not like Cloud Recesses. You left for a reason. I will not make you do things you do not wish to do. Other people have spent a lifetime doing that. You deserve better.”

Wei Ying is opening and closing his mouth for several moments, and then he takes a deep breath and says, “I left for a reason, yes. Cloud Recesses is your home. It is your favorite place. It has your brother, uncle. It has A-Yuan. It has rabbits. And now it is your seat as the Chief Cultivator. The Yiling Lazou does not make sense there.”

Lan Zhan blinks and stares at Wei Ying and then closes his eyes to compose himself, “Wei Ying, tell me you did not leave because you thought there was no place for you there.”

Wei Ying is starting to say something and before he says something rattled with wrong assumptions and non-sensical, Lan Zhan grabs his shoulders lightly and forces him to look into Lan Zhan’s eyes, “I let you go that day because I thought out of everyone you deserved freedom. Cloud Recesses is not my favorite place. It is home, yes. It has everyone and everything, maybe. It does not have you. Together with you is my favorite place to be. It always has. There is no one else whom I dearly want to be with all the time.”

He sees tears slide down the cheeks of his zhiji, but Lan Zhan doesn’t waver in his meaningful gaze. Wei Ying needs to understand the weight of his confession.

Wei Ying grabs the front of his robe and bunches his hands, and looks away slightly, “I don’t know when it happened Lan Zhan. Maybe when they first threw me in burial mounds or before…I…you are my safe place. Even in my head with all the resentment, the things that made me hold it together were Shije and you. You are my zhiji, the one who has tried to hold me as I fall, you are my safe place, you are also my favorite place to be.”

Lan Zhan presses his lips on his hair, and Wei Ying encircles his arms as he hugs Lan Zhan’s through his middle. Lan Zhan replaces his hands to cradle Wei Ying’s head instead.

He says gently as he feels hot tears against his robes, “Then, let’s not walk separate paths or go to different places, shall we?”

******

Fin

#mdzs fanfiction #the untamed #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #fytheuntamed #canon compliant #softlwj #intimacy #myfics #moreshowthanbook

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somuchnonsense · 3 years

Text

October Drabbles

Previous drabbles

26. Garden (post-canon Wangxian featuring bunnies)

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a farm yet, but he does have a garden on the back hill in Cloud Recesses. “Why here?” Lan Wangji asked him when he started planting. “The rabbits will eat everything.”

“I don’t mind if my hard work goes to feeding the rabbits,” Wei Wuxian responded, grinning. “Besides, I’m not here consistently enough to tend to it and harvest things when they’re ready. At least this way, someone will enjoy the fruits—or vegetables, I suppose—of my labor. And maybe then they’ll love me like they love you.”

Lan Wangji smiled, petting one of the rabbits as they both curiously watched Wei Wuxian work. “I’m sure they will.”

It’s debatable, a few months later, whether the rabbits love Wei Wuxian any more than before, but they do love Wei Wuxian’s garden, and Lan Wangji loves watching him kneeling in the dirt, celebrating the first shoots of a new plant or complaining when the rabbits ate one before it even had a chance to grow. He looks so happy, so comfortable, so relaxed, not the fearsome Yiling Laozu or the brilliant cultivator Wei Wuxian with his ever-active mind, but just an ordinary young man, content with his simple life, with no fears and no painful memories weighing on him.

“What’s that look for?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyeing Lan Wangji with a freshly pulled carrot in his hand. There’s dirt on his cheek and a sparkle in his eyes.

Lan Wangji says nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself, but Wei Wuxian smiles like perhaps he knows anyway, and cheerfully turns back to his garden.

27. Serendipity (Wei Wuxian canon gen/character study)

It would be easy to think that Wei Wuxian has bad luck. He lost his parents young, and then the people who took him in when he was alone. He lost his adopted sister, and the people who lived with him like family for a year. He lost his golden core and the trust and respect of his peers, and the love of his adopted brother. He lost his home, and the one he found to replace it. And after all of that, he lost his life too soon.

But if you ask Wei Wuxian, he’ll tell you he’s lucky. He lost his parents, but then he was taken in by a new family. Sure, they weren’t perfect, but they saved him from a lonely life on the streets and they loved him, mostly. He lost them too, though not all at once, but then he had the Wens to care about him. That didn’t last, but he got Wen Ning and Sizhui back, at least, and he has the other junior disciples who are ready to fight for him, and Lan Wangji, of course. As much as he’s lost, he’s also been loved by many people, and isn’t that lucky?

As for the rest, well, the loss of his golden core was a fair trade for Jiang Cheng’s life, and it led him to abilities that helped avenge the Jiang Sect and defeat Wen Ruohan and later Jin Guangyao. He’s not the strong cultivator he was as a teenager, but he’s found new ways to be strong and fight the battles he needs to fight. He’s also blazed a new path and invented new things and made a name for himself, in his own way. Isn’t that lucky?

And yes, he died once, painfully, but that’s over and done with and he got a second chance at life. In his second life, he’s fallen in love, made new friends, done some good in the world, and at least done a little to make up for his past mistakes. So few people get a chance like that, including many who are much more deserving than him, so in the final sum, isn’t he lucky?

28. Drunk Confessions (junior quartet gen)

It started with a few bottles of wine and Zizhen declaring that true friends share their secrets with each other, but nobody could have imagined that it would end like this.

"You're what?" Jin Ling asks, his voice low and strained.

"You're what?!" Jingyi echoes in a loud squawk.

"I'm a Wen," Sizhui repeats, his nervous expression belying his calm voice.

"You never told me!" Jingyi's voice is still far too loud, his expression almost comically betrayed. "How could I not know that?"

"You knew Hanguang-Jun took me in," Sizhui points out.

"Yes, but I thought your parents were Lan cultivators who died back then, or at least non-cultivators from Gusu. Not...Wens." Jingyi grimaces, but wipes the expression of his face when he sees Sizhui's face fall.

“Sizhui is still the same person, right?" Zizhen puts in. "And we know Wen Ning's a nice guy. It's not like all Wens are bad."

"Right," Jingyi firmly agrees. "But I can't believe you didn’t tell me sooner!”

"I didn't know until recently. After meeting Wei-qianbei and Wen Ning, some memories came back." Sizhui finishes the drink in front of him, getting some liquid courage before he looks at the conspicuously silent Jin Ling. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I hope this doesn't change anything between us."

Jin Ling clenches his fist on the table, brow furrowed, and for a long, tense moment, the whole group is silent. Finally, he sighs exasperatedly and says, "Well, it's far from the worst secret I've heard about someone I knew. Do you two at least not have any dark secrets?" He waves his cup and Jingyi and Zizhen.

"None, I promise," Zizhen declares.

"If I do, I don't know them myself," Jingyi says.

"I've met his parents," Sizhui interjects. "They're nice, normal Lan cultivators for several generations back."

"Good," Jin Ling says. To Sizhui, he adds, "For this, you can at least buy us another bottle or two of wine."

Sizhui smiles brightly, getting to his feet. "Right away."

29. Cars (modern AU Wangxian featuring the Jiang sibs)

Jiang Cheng says Wei Ying drives like a maniac. Wei Ying says Jiang Cheng is a wimp and also boring and besides, he doesn’t go any faster than he can safely drive, but he does always slow down when he sees Jiang Cheng’s knuckles turning white.

“You’d better drive more carefully on your date with Lan Zhan,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “He probably drives perfectly the speed limit and obeys every traffic law to the letter. He won’t be able to deal with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Wei Ying insists. “And it’s not a date!”

“Just don’t rush,” Yanli says. “You’ll have more time with Lan Zhan that way. And I’m pretty sure it is a date.”

“Not you too,” Wei Ying whines.

Later, though, when he picks Lan Zhan up and sees him looking very dashing even though he’s in what passes for casual clothes with him, Wei Ying has to admit that okay, yes, he wants it to be a date, and sure, okay, he wants to impress Lan Zhan, or at least not scare him away by driving too wildly. He forces himself to go only a little above the speed limit as he drives to the cafe where they’re going to study together, and Lan Zhan doesn’t complain or grab the panic handle like Jiang Cheng does.

On the way home, though, after endless hours of Lan Zhan sitting across from him looking casually hot but looking at his textbook or talking about economics instead of kissing Wei Ying, he forgets himself and drives as usual. Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, so Wei Ying doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he stops in front of Lan Zhan’s building and sees him looking suspiciously paler than usual, his hand still gripping the door handle. “Oh, uh, Lan Zhan…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan says tightly.

“Say, um…” Wei Ying feels bad and all, but he’s spent hours not kissing Lan Zhan and wishing this was a date and he just has to know if maybe it was, or at least could be. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turns in his seat and presses his lips to Lan Zhan’s. He’s not expecting to promptly get pulled into Lan Zhan’s lap, but he’s definitely not complaining, especially when it’s followed up with a whole lot more kissing.

They only stop when someone honks and Wei Ying realizes he didn’t pick the best parking spot for making out. “So,” he says, grinning shamelessly as he moves back into the driver’s seat, “let’s go out on another date some time soon?”

“All right,” Lan Zhan agrees without hesitation. He’s not smiling, but he is eyeing Wei Ying in a way that he really likes. “But next time, I’ll drive.”

30. Dessert (modern AU Wangxian, just a tiny bit NSFW)

The first time Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan in a cafe daintily eating whipped cream off the top of a parfait, he can’t believe his eyes. There’s something so unexpected about strong, serious, stoic, ever-responsible Lan Zhan enjoying any kind of dessert, let alone the same kind Wei Ying’s sister and her friends love—unexpected and adorable.

“Wow, Lan Zhan! I had you pegged for the health food 24/7 type,” Wei Ying says, sneaking up on him from behind. He’s obviously trying to surprise Lan Zhan, but he doesn’t expect it to actually work, so he’s thrilled when it makes Lan Zhan jump and then turn a glare on him. “Hey, no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something sweet.” The temptation to stick his finger in the whipped cream and dab some onto Lan Zhan’s nose is so strong, but Wei Ying doesn’t want to die today, so he restrains himself.

It takes nearly a year after that encounter for them to start dating, though Wei Ying does manage to put whipped cream on Lan Zhan’s face twice before that. (Maybe he should have guessed that Lan Zhan liked him, despite never mentioning it, by how he didn’t murder Wei Ying for doing that.) It takes another five months after they get together for Wei Ying to convince Lan Zhan that whipped cream will also be delicious when licked off his body, but oh, is it worth it.

31. Trick or Treat (modern cultivation AU, A-Yuan and Wangxian)

“I want to go as Uncle Wen!” A-Yuan declares. Wei Wuxian blinks at him, turns and blinks at Lan Wangji, and then starts to laugh. “I mean, I think a ghost or a vampire or a cat or something is more typical, but sure, you can go as a fierce corpse.” “Not a fierce corpse!” A-Yuan protests. “Uncle Wen!” Lan Wangji gives Wei Wuxian his patented You are not treating this child as he should be treated look. “Yes, of course,” Wei Wuxian amends. “We’ll find you the best Wen Ning costume anyone has ever had.” “Can Uncle Wen come with me?” A-Yuan asks. Wen Ning won’t do well with crowds or a sugar high A-Yuan, but on the other hand, he’ll blend in on Halloween in a way he usually can’t. “We’ll all come with you,” Lan Wangji tells him. “Yay!” A-Yuan jumps up and down in excitement. “What will you be? Ooh, I know! You should be a bunny.” He gestures at Lan Wangji, and then to Wei Wuxian, “And you should be a carrot.” “A carrot?” Wei Wuxian grimaces. “Come on, between the two of us, don’t I look more like a bunny?” “At least he didn’t say a donkey.” Lan Wangji keeps his voice low, and before A-Yuan can demand that he repeat it, says, “Those are excellent choices.” “You’re so mean to me,” Wei Wuxian whines, but that doesn’t stop him from going out on Halloween evening in a big carrot costume, hand in hand with rabbit Lan Wangji, with mini Wen Ning skipping on ahead of them and actual Wen Ning looking fondly on.

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fic #cql fanfic #the untamed fic #wangxian #wangxian fic #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan sizhui #jin ling #lan jingyi #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #mine #fic #flufftober

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

sometimes I forget (2/3)

chapter two: grieve what I happen to grieve

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng travel to Dafan Mountain to find the cure to Lan Wangji’s fever. Their animosity results in a very strained partnership, which only becomes more complicated when Jiang Cheng develops the fever too. But along the way, they address the scars that haunt them and find something new in each other.

< Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 > | Art

Post-Canon, Rated T - read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning stood up. “I-I’d like to visit the memorial I made with A-Yuan. I’ll be back soon.”

Jiang Cheng grunted with indifference.

Wen Ning headed out, but he had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Wen Qionglin.”

He turned back to Jiang Cheng, who had now opened his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Take care of yourself,” Wen Ning said. “That’s what you should do.”

They fell silent for a few moments, staring at each other.

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng reached out to receive Sandu. “Fine. I won’t fly.” He turned abruptly and strode down the forest path.

Walking the rest of the way did not cost too much time. The village on Dafan Mountain was closer than they realized.

At first, Jiang Cheng’s only noticeable symptoms of the Four-Sunsets Flu were a slight temperature and haggard breathing. But by the time they reached the foot of the mountain, Jiang Cheng’s skin was slick with sweat, his hands shook, his knees gave out.

They still had a tall summit to climb. Jiang Cheng was not strong enough for it.

Knowing Jiang Cheng would be too stubborn to agree to wait behind, Wen Ning said, “Let me carry you.”

Jiang Cheng pressed his sword into the dirt like a cane, his limbs wobbling. Beads of sweat appeared at his temples. “I’d sooner die than let you carry me twice in one night.”

This did not offend Wen Ning. Nothing much out of people’s mouths did anymore. Yet, he realized, his usual desensitization was not why this time, he didn’t mind the harsh words.

It was because behind all the spite, there was humor in Jiang Cheng’s voice. Dark and bitter, but still humor.

Wen Ning did not know what to do with that.

“It’s morning now,” he found himself saying. “So it doesn’t count.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed and started up the mountain trail. He struggled after just a few steps, his legs uncooperative, his brow knitted.

Wen Ning watched from below, waiting for him to give up.

He was soon forced to a stop. Jiang Cheng clutched the mountain terrace on the side of the trail and hunched over, his breath unsteady. He shot a glare down at Wen Ning that looked like he wanted to hurl rocks at him.

“Will you agree?” Wen Ning said as he easily scaled the slope.

“Just get it over with.”

Instead of carrying Jiang Cheng bridal style like before, this time Wen Ning carried him on his back. A piggyback ride did not have the chance of eye contact. Less awkward.

But this was an even more vivid reminder of the night he rescued Jiang Cheng from Lotus Pier. This was exactly how Wen Ning had carried him.

The pressure of Jiang Cheng’s weight was different—partly because Jiang Cheng was much older now, partly because everything felt different as a fierce corpse—but the sensation was still too similar to be comfortable.

They reached the summit.

Hazy orange-blue light of the morning’s earliest hours crept through the sky and cloaked the village. The Dafan Wen residence was a phantom of its former self, abandoned and decaying. Raiders had scrounged through it multiple times over the years.

Despite the village’s decline, Wen Ning knew these paths of caked yellow earth all too well. It was still the same home he had spent his childhood in.

How fitting, that at the beginning of Wei Wuxian’s second life, he and Wen Ning had reunited at this village. The place where everything had started for Wen Ning. The place where part of his soul was snatched by the Goddess Statue, leaving him spiritually distorted and unable to fully cultivate, and enabling Wen Ruohan to use him as collateral against his sister.

The place where years later he destroyed that same Goddess Statue at Wei Wuxian’s command. Felt the rust of catharsis at defeating his childhood monster.

The place where Wen Chao had turned Wen Ning’s entire family into puppets just to ambush Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Where the remnants of his clan were taken captive by the Jins, marched to Qiongqi Path for forced labor.

And now the village was dead.

Wen Ning had thought that constructing a memorial here with A-Yuan would finally grant him peace about his family.

It was foolish to have thought that. Nothing ever ends so easily.

“Are you going to put me down?” Jiang Cheng said.

Jiang Cheng had been purposely sagging his weight for the last half minute, Wen Ning realized.

“Sorry.” Wen Ning released him.

Jiang Cheng held his forehead in his hand and swayed back and forth.

“Can you stand?”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng snapped, despite how he leaned onto the wall of a house and then sank to the ground. His face flushed pink.

“W-W-Wait here.” Wen Ning hurried down the dusty road of the village.

“Where are you going? Wen Qionglin!”

As Wen Ning turned the corner, he stumbled a bit at the sound of his courtesy name.

Jiang Cheng had not called him ‘Ghost General.’

It felt strange. But not unpleasant.

Wen Ning rummaged through the village for any trace of herb satchels or bottles of tonic that might have been left behind. The Dafan Wen Clan’s medicine worked better and faster than any other. He could find something to get Jiang Cheng back on his feet before they hunted for the final cure to the Four-Sunsets Flu.

But it was a slim chance that anything would be left. Thieves had stripped the buildings bare. They had even stolen the tattered red curtains that used to hang over the doorways.

Wen Ning regretted not going through the village when he visited with A-Yuan, to recover what few items remained. Instead, he had avoided the village and only gone to his clan’s burial grounds.

Somehow, it had been easier to visit the graves. Those were supposed to be lifeless. His home was not.

He sped up his search. He did not want to spend any more time in these empty houses.

In one of the elders’ huts, he found a secret stash of medicine in the wall. He hugged it all into his arms, hoping that he wouldn’t break anything, and ran back outside to where Jiang Cheng lay limp against a wall. He was farther down the street than where Wen Ning had left him. He must have tried to follow Wen Ning and not gotten far before falling back down.

Wen Ning squatted down and dumped the medical supplies in front of Jiang Cheng. A jumble of bottles, vials, and jars rolled in the dry yellow dirt.

“What is all that?” Even when collapsed from fever and exhaustion, Jiang Cheng still managed to channel enough sass into his voice for a man and a half. He wrinkled his nose. “It smells awful.”

Wen Ning had no sense of smell as a fierce corpse, so this was new information. Although it didn’t especially matter to him if Jiang Cheng disliked the scent.

Rearranging the bottles, Wen Ning said, “I might be able to give you some temporary treatment.”

“What’s the point when the cure is here? Don’t waste our time.” Jiang Cheng eyed the bottles suspiciously as Wen Ning lifted them one by one to decipher the faded labels. “How do you know those aren’t rotten? You’re going to poison me.”

“They keep for a long time.” When Jiang Cheng scowled more, Wen Ning said, “It might take a while to find the cure. So I’d like Jiang Wanyin to have some strength back before we start searching.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Wen Ning looked up from the bottles. “You shouldn’t come on this journey and then make me do all the work.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. Whatever it takes for me to not be your patient any longer.”

He was surprisingly cooperative as Wen Ning held out wrinkled old herbs and a vial of bitter fluid. He took the medicine without a complaint, other than a few coughs and a disgusted grimace.

Several minutes later, some of the redness left his cheeks, and he was able to stand. “You better not have poisoned me,” he muttered as he brushed dust off his robes. “Where do we find the cure?”

“The remedy hasn’t been needed for centuries. All I remember from my family’s story is something about an ice-blue flower that blooms on this mountain at night. But I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s it?” Jiang Cheng yelled. Having regained his strength, his voice had also regained its volume. “We came all the way here and that’s all you have to go on?”

You could’ve asked before deciding if it was worth it to come, Wen Ning thought. But what he said was, “We have to check if any ancient texts were left behind. They might have the answers.”

“Shouldn’t you already know if there are records left? Didn’t you come here with that Lan boy?” he said, as if he didn’t know Lan Sizhui’s name. “What kind of descendant doesn’t guard the relics of his clan?”

Wen Ning winced at this. Jiang Cheng had an unmatched skill of firing shots of criticism posed as questions. But masked or not, his words cut just as sharp.

Back then, Jiang Cheng had lost everything. He had rebuilt Yunmeng from the ground up. Fought for the Jiang Clan, clawing its way back to power, leaving his people in want of nothing but an heir.

What had Wen Ning done for his clan but let it die?

Was the pain of their loss not equal? After Jiang Cheng’s parents were murdered and his city was burnt to cinders, he still had the strength to create something from the ashes. Was Wen Ning too weak to even lay eyes on the ashes that remained of his own clan?

Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. The sound brought Wen Ning back to the present.

No, he decided. Their situations had not been equal.

Wen Ning did not have the foothold that Jiang Cheng had. For years he was chained up by the Jins, tormented and experimented on. Stripped of his consciousness by nails shoved in his head. Even if he had the freedom to try to rebuild, there had been no foundation left. His clan had been wiped out.

Why would he want to create something from ashes as dead as he was, when there was life elsewhere?

“A-Yuan,” he found himself saying.

He did not look at Jiang Cheng, but he felt the man’s gaze boring into him.

“A-Yuan is my clan now. And A-Yuan has been granted a new life with the Lans.”

He did not dare voice it, but to himself, he said, Wei Wuxian is one of mine as well.

When he turned to Jiang Cheng, the man was staring at the ground, his eyes frail and downcast. “I…”

His fingers shifted in his clenched fists, as if he were channeling whatever he had to say into his hands—perhaps into Zidian—instead of the air. Then he set his jaw and marched down the narrow street, leaving Wen Ning behind.

* * *

They scavenged through the village until noon, searching for ancient Wen texts. They stopped every hour for Wen Ning to prepare another dose of medicine for Jiang Cheng. The treatment kept him upright, but each dose was less effective as his condition worsened.

They did not have much time. Two sunsets, and the fever would reach its peak.

They overturned the few pieces of furniture left in the buildings and gouged every crack in the walls. All they found were a few keepsakes—a necklace, a burlap sack, a compass—that Wen Ning set aside so he would not have to imagine the faces of the people they had once belonged to.

Nothing remained of the Dafan Wen Clan’s medical literature.

Now Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng stood in the dusty street, baking under the hot sun, feeling as hopeless and bleak as the ghost town. Jiang Cheng’s face was bright red. His hands were trembling slightly. The midday heat was not helping his fever.

Panting, he retreated into the shade of one of the houses. “I thought Wei Wuxian said we would find the cure here.” It was meant to sound accusatory, but most of the bite had been sapped out of his voice.

“We will,” said Wen Ning. “The ice flower grows somewhere hidden on this mountain. I just don’t know where it is or how to use it.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He shook his head disapprovingly for a few moments. Then, “What about the cave?”

“The Goddess Statue’s shrine?”

He nodded.

“I think it will be empty. But we can try.” Wen Ning started on the path to the cave. He looked back when Jiang Cheng didn’t follow.

Jiang Cheng still leaned against the wall, avoiding eye contact.

“…Do you need me to carry you?”

Jiang Cheng did not answer, so Wen Ning took it as a yes. He heaved Jiang Cheng onto his back and headed for the cave.

It was strange to see the shrine with no Goddess Statue. As much as Wen Ning hated the goddess that stole part of his soul and killed his father, he wished that she still loomed over the cave floor, frozen in her haunted dance. At least that would be something on Dafan Mountain that wasn’t gone.

Wen Ning let Jiang Cheng rest against one of the rock formations beside the shrine as he searched the cave. There were a few offerings remaining from when the villagers at the foot of Dafan Mountain used to worship the goddess, but those had long since rotted away.

Having found nothing useful, Wen Ning wandered aimlessly around the cave, more to have something to do than to continue searching. He trailed a hand along the wall and wished that the stone beneath his hand felt real like it used to. It used to send a chill along his arm, giving him goosebumps. Now his body was just as cold as the stone, and he felt nothing.

If I don’t find the cure, will Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin die?

He tried not to think about it, but fear was eating away at him. He could not be responsible for more deaths. Especially not two people that Wei Wuxian loved.

But what hope was there?

A-Jie…I need your help…

If only Wen Qing had survived instead. She had always been smarter than Wen Ning, more perceptive than him. She would have known how to find the cure.

After a few more pointless circles around the cave, Wen Ning returned to Jiang Cheng.

“I don’t know what to do,” Wen Ning said.

Jiang Cheng looked up, his eyelids heavy. “You will.”

Wen Ning sat down front of Jiang Cheng, feeling hopeless.

And angry.

Resentful energy swirled inside him. He knew that it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t find the cure, and neither was it Jiang Cheng’s, but for some reason he wanted to hit both of them.

“I wish I knew what to do.”

“Do you want to get us killed?” Jiang Cheng yelled.

Wen Ning flinched backward. “W-W-What’s wrong?”

“You can’t make wishes here! That goddess has stolen the souls of people who made wishes in her presence!”

Wen Ning looked at the empty space behind the goddess’s former shrine. “But her statue is destroyed. She isn’t here anymore.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust that. Her spirit could still be around.”

Her spirit…

Something clicked in Wen Ning’s mind. “What if she can still be summoned?”

“Even worse, then. That goddess is a nuisance.”

“We should summon her.”

Jiang Cheng looked at Wen Ning like he was crazy. “For what?”

But before Wen Ning could answer, Jiang Cheng had already turned his attention to the shrine. His brow softened. “You’re right…if her spirit is still here, she might be able to help us find the cure.”

Wen Ning scooted closer to Jiang Cheng. “Can you summon her?”

“Can I summon her? Your clan lived here. You should do it.”

“I…” Wen Ning stared at the ground. “I can’t. I’m not alive.”

“Oh.” Jiang Cheng frowned. There was regret in his voice. He dug his fingers into the stone wall as he tried to push himself up to stand. “Sometimes I forget.”

Wen Ning meant to go forward and help him, but instead he sat frozen in place, repeating Jiang Cheng’s words in his mind.

Sometimes I forget.

As hard as Wen Ning searched for sarcasm or disdain or malice, there was none. He had said it simply, sincerely.

With his cold, stiff body, and his empty eyes, and his skin streaked with black veins, who could forget that the Ghost General was not alive?

“A little help?” Jiang Cheng said.

“S-S-Sorry!” Wen Ning hurried to support Jiang Cheng as they approached the altar, his mind still spinning.

Jiang Cheng sank to his knees and pulled a stick of incense from a qiankun pouch in his robes. “Leave me be.” Once Wen Ning backed away, Jiang Cheng lit the flame as an offering and closed his eyes.

Wen Ning imagined the rich, musky fragrance of the incense that he could no longer smell.

Another reminder that he was, indeed, not alive.

And yet…

Sometimes I forget.

He stepped closer to Jiang Cheng.

The incense smoke snaked through the air in front of Jiang Cheng. His face, usually dour and strong-lined, was calm and soft as he fell into the trance to summon the goddess.

Everyone knew that Wen Ning was not alive.

The juniors, as much as they enjoyed his company, were careful to avoid his cold hands and the resentful energy that bound his body together. Once they had grown comfortable enough with him, they even started making playful jokes about his un-dead condition. The banter helped Wen Ning feel better about life as a fierce corpse. But it also continued to remind him that he was different now, and he could not change it.

Lan Wangji did not seem to mind his presence, but Wen Ning always felt like he was intruding on the Cloud Recesses, even though it was his new home.

Perhaps a few of his family members had accepted him as the same A-Ning they one knew, but they were all gone now.

And Wei Wuxian…

Although Wei Wuxian had done all he could to make Wen Ning feel human again, and asserted his humanity to anyone who questioned it, he had also transformed Wen Ning into his weapon. Into the Ghost General.

Wen Ning would have killed for Wei Wuxian. It had been his choice. And with one note of Chenqing, Wen Ning would kill again, if his friend needed him to.

But would that still be his choice?

Who could be controlled this way other than a fierce corpse?

So then how could Jiang Cheng, the man who had raged against anyone who dared speak the name of the Ghost General, who hated Wen Ning for making his nephew an orphan, who refused to let Wen Ning set foot in Lotus Pier—how could he so casually ‘forget’ what Wen Ning was?

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng gasped and jerked awake. His eyes were wide. Disbelieving.

“J-Jiang Wanyin?”

Jiang Cheng seemed to struggle for words. He turned his head toward Wen Ning. He almost looked like he felt guilty about something.

“Go outside.”

“What…what happened?”

“Go.”

Wen Ning obeyed and hurried out of the cave. He looked over his shoulder at Jiang Cheng and saw him remove a small tan pouch from his robes.

What is he doing?

Wen Ning decided that it was best to respect Jiang Cheng’s demand for privacy. Anything to get them closer to the cure.

He found a comfortable place to sit and played with a handful of pebbles as he waited, rolling them through his fingers, wondering if the sensation felt a bit more defined than usual.

Several minutes later, there was a scuffing sound. He glanced up, expecting to see a standing figure, but had to redirect his eyes downward to where Jiang Cheng was crawling on the ground at the mouth of the cave.

Wen Ning jumped up. He helped Jiang Cheng to his feet, holding him upright. “Did you summon the goddess?”

A peculiar expression appeared on Jiang Cheng’s face. He shifted his jaw in discomfort, his dark eyes darting away. “I summoned something.”

“What was it? Does it know how to find the cure?”

“The Ever-Frozen Flower grows in the center of the western forest. Its nectar is the cure. It only blooms for a few moments at the coldest point of the night, and we need to harvest its nectar while its open.”

“Great! That’s it, then!”

Jiang Cheng nodded. He looked a bit happier than before, but still troubled by something.

Wen Ning noted that Jiang Cheng did not tell him what he had summoned.

Well, that was less important. They would have hours to wait until night when the blossom opened, so Wen Ning had time to ask again later.

This evening would be the second-to-last sunset before the fever fully consumed its victims. They had found a lead just in time.

“There’s hope,” Wen Ning said. “Thank you, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “It was your idea.”

“But I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I’m…it’s good that you came.”

Jiang Cheng leaned away, which didn’t get him very far as Wen Ning’s arm was wrapped around his torso. “Er. Right. Let’s get out of the sun.”

His fever had already gotten hotter. He radiated heat so strongly that even Wen Ning felt it as he held the man’s shaking body.

It had been a long time since Wen Ning had this much physical contact with someone. Especially someone so…warm.

“R-Right.” Wen Ning guided him back into the shadows of the cave.

Wen Ning prepared another dose of medicine, taking his time now that there was no rush to rummage through the village or find clues. They had their answer. They just needed to get the timing perfect to harvest the Ever-Frozen Flower’s nectar. Wen Ning felt lighter now, relieved that a cure was in sight.

“Here.” He held out the medicine to Jiang Cheng, who was all but melting from the fever by now.

He swallowed it immediately. “Thank you.”

Wen Ning shifted his weight as he kneeled in front of Jiang Cheng. Something felt off.

Since when did we start thanking each other for things?

“There’s only one dose left,” Wen Ning said. “There wasn’t much to begin with. I can get more medicine later.”

Jiang Cheng looked better already. “At least this sunset isn’t the last one. We have a full night to get the cure.” He rested the back of his head on the cave wall and closed his eyes. “Let’s hope whoever named this Four-Sunsets Flu didn’t get excited and overcount.”

Suddenly Wen Ning was laughing.

Jiang Cheng peeked at Wen Ning with half-open eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up. “You should know better than to laugh at a dead man.”

“You aren’t dead.”

“I sure feel like it.” His shoulders relaxed as he leaned into the wall more.

“…Jiang Wanyin?”

“What?”

Wen Ning stood up. “I-I’d like to visit the memorial I made with A-Yuan. I’ll be back soon.”

Jiang Cheng grunted with indifference.

Wen Ning headed out, but he had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Wen Qionglin.”

He turned back to Jiang Cheng, who had now opened his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

Wen Ning could only stare at him in disbelief.

He wants to visit my clan’s burial grounds? Is the flu affecting his mind too?

Then he realized that Jiang Cheng was staring at him, and he should have responded by now. “Oh—Oh, you should rest. It’s hot outside.”

“If you’d prefer to go alone, that’s fine.”

Wen Ning gently clasped his hands together. “No…that’s not what I meant.”

After a few moments, Jiang Cheng raised an arm, indicating for Wen Ning to help him up.

What a strange sight. The Jiang Clan Leader reduced to a feverish puddle, waiting to be picked up by a dead person he despised, to go visit more dead people. Wen Ning could’ve burst into laughter again.

* * *

With Wen Ning’s arm strapped around Jiang Cheng’s torso, they bowed in front of the memorial together, slightly out of sync.

The memorial that Wen Ning and A-Yuan had built was not too large. It was a carved stone that sat to the side of the older memorials in the Dafan Wen burial grounds. Simple and rudimentary, but crafted with care. Wen Ning could not imagine it any other way. Their branch of the Wen Clan had not been one for ostentation.

The bodies of Wen Ning’s family were not here. He did not even know if the Jin Clan had given them a proper burial. It filled him with rage to think about it.

The most he could do for his family’s spirits was to act like they were here. To hope that after he and A-Yuan honored them with the memorial, they had found their way home.

“A-Jie, it’s me. I hope you’ve been well.” Wen Ning’s throat felt dry. “A-Yuan has been growing up. He’s very happy with the Lans. You’d be proud of him.”

He pulled from his robes a small canister of dried fruit that he had packed before leaving for the journey, and placed the jar on the ground. “A-Jie, I b-b-brought apricots for you.” They had always been her favorite.

Suddenly Wen Ning felt heavy. The air was heavy, the sunlight was heavy.

Guilt struck him. He should have brought some of Uncle’s favorite liquor, and some rice cakes for Granny, and—

I miss you.

He should have been with them.

But now, how could he die?

What a cruel trick of fate. He was a walking reminder of what had become of the Dafan Wen, left behind to carry on their bloodline with no blood.

As he stood before the memorial, he felt phantom touches from years ago.

A hand in his.

He remembered lying in bed, just before falling asleep. Wen Qing held his hand. She made the bed tilt a little when she sat on the end of it, creating a tiny slope for Wen Ning to lean closer to her.

She loved music, but she was terrible at singing, so if Wen Ning wasn’t too sleepy he’d hum a song for her. It made soothing vibrations in his chest. Humming always felt the best when it was for his sister.

After he finished the song and began drifting off to sleep, Wen Qing squeezed his hand every so often, letting him know she was still there.

Then he remembered sitting on Granny’s lap. Feeling the subtle rocking of her body as she weaved red thread into a tassel she gave to Wen Ning. It was a charm for luck and protection. Wen Ning carried it with him everywhere.

He lost it three years later while exploring a forest. Granny had not been mad. She just weaved him another. By then, Wen Ning had grown too big to sit on her lap, so he sat at her feet instead to watch her weave, feeling warmth on his back from the small fire crackling behind him.

He didn’t know where that tassel from Granny was now.

He remembered Wen Qing’s hand on his forehead. Those gentle pats that she always gave him. Sometimes soft, sometimes chiding, but always loving. How she had to stand up on tip-toes to reach him once he got too tall.

A flash in his mind. He was overwhelmed with pain of the labor camp at Qiongqi Path. Blisters on his hands from chipping away the carvings of the Wen Clan to replace them with murals of the Jin Clan.

Hypocrites.

Broken bones in his legs when he didn’t obey. Agony that had only been bearable because he shared it with his family.

And then—a wooden spear through his chest. Ghosts that tore at him. Darkness and freezing cold.

Crinkly papers stuck all over him, and hard rock under his back. Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing’s breath on his neck as they pleaded for him to come back, and how desperately he wished he could.

The day he did wake up, nothing felt the same. Not even his family embracing him in celebration, or Wen Qing hugging him tighter than she ever had before.

But he had felt her tears of joy—warm droplets on his dead skin—and that made him feel a little more alive.

He wished that he could cry now. That he had tears to drop into the dirt below the memorial, and maybe his tears would make Wen Qing a little more alive.

A hand in his.

The day he and Wen Qing stood before Jinlintai, Wen Ning had given his sister’s hand one last squeeze.

Why couldn’t he squeeze his sister’s hand again, and let her know that even now, he was still here?

A-Jie, please come to your next life soon. I will search until I find you.

Jiang Cheng was trembling as Wen Ning held him.

He hadn't been shaking so much before. Had the hot sun made the fever worse?

“Why did she choose Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was quiet.

All Wen Ning could manage was a confused grunt in response.

“She gave her life for him.”

The shaking stopped.

“I should’ve been the one to do that!”

Wen Ning did not know how to react. Who would have expected that at his own family’s memorial, it would not be he who cried out, but the man who let them die? Jiang Cheng had feelings for Wen Qing once, he suspected, but he never would have thought they ran this deep.

“Wei Wuxian had already given up so much to let us live in peace a little longer,” Wen Ning said quietly. “It was the least we could do in return.”

Jiang Cheng gave him a perplexed look, as if Wen Ning had said something offensive and out of place. Then his expression melted into unease and he quickly turned away, like he was afraid of Wen Ning discovering something in his eyes.

Then Wen Ning understood. He had been talking about Jiang Yanli.

Both of them were mourning their older sisters.

Wen Ning decided that it would be kinder to pretend he didn’t know Jiang Cheng’s true thoughts. “She did like you,” he said.

Jiang Cheng shifted, but didn’t respond.

“Although she wished that you stood up for us. We all did. But in a way, we understood. No one’s position was easy back then.”

Stillness. Only the numb feeling of Jiang Cheng in his arms.

“You had your clan to worry about. And there was…” Wen Ning trailed off. There had been Jiang Yanli for Jiang Cheng to worry about, but it was better not to say that.

Jiang Yanli had gotten married while the Wens lived at the Burial Mounds. She had visited them, given Wen Ning soup he couldn’t taste, but he appreciated that soup more than most meals he had when he was still alive.

When Jiang Yanli visited, she had even let him see her bridal dress.

And I killed her husband.

Her own death was just as terrible. It hadn’t been at Wen Ning’s hand, but it might as well have been, linked as his sins were with Wei Wuxian’s.

Jiang Yanli would not have died if Wen Ning had been able to control himself at Qiongqi Path.

And neither would have Wen Qing.

A-Jie...

A thought that Wen Ning had been pushing down rose to the surface of his mind.

Was Wei Wuxian’s life more important than Wen Qing’s?

She had warned Wen Ning to stay away from Wei Wuxian. Yet he had chased after the boy over and over, first only doing small things like stealing Wen Qing's medicine to give to him, but eventually bringing Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli to Yiling as fugitives, when his sister had never asked to save them.

At the Burial Mounds, Wen Ning had tried to convince her not to turn herself in to the Jins. She hadn't listened.

But it was Wen Ning who owed the most to Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing had made enough sacrifices.

It should have been Wen Ning who went to Jinlintai. Only Wen Ning.

I should’ve protected her.

Would things have really been different had Jiang Cheng protected the Wens? Would Wen Qing still be alive?

His mind drifted back to the memorial in front of him, to Jiang Cheng, who now felt a little more solid in his arms.

“It’s okay,” Wen Ning said. “Caring about my family too late is better than never.”

“Don’t act like it’s worth anything now,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “You shouldn’t be so quick with empty words like that.”

“I didn’t mean that I forgive you. I don’t.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged and looked away from the memorial.

Wen Ning stared at the jar of dried apricots on the ground. It was such an inadequate offering for his sister, but he knew she would be happy with them anyway. She had never asked as much of Wen Ning as she should have. “There are others who will forgive you no matter what.”

Jiang Cheng began trembling again. Perhaps he was still thinking about his family.

Or maybe this time, it was Wen Ning who was trembling. Their movements were starting to blend together the longer they stood in front of the memorial.

They were not friends. Even by a stretch, they could barely be called allies. But if they were together right now, then they should be together, shouldn’t they?

Wen Ning took Jiang Cheng’s hand and squeezed it.

Jiang Cheng glanced down at their interlaced hands.

Wen Ning was not meant to touch the living. Not even A-Yuan accepted his touch without a shiver. Yet this felt natural, like it was the only thing meant to happen right now.

“I miss my sister too,” Wen Ning said, deciding to stop pretending that he didn’t know Jiang Cheng was thinking about Jiang Yanli.

“Your sister…your sister was a good person,” Jiang Cheng said.

“So was yours.”

The sound of Jiang Cheng’s breath became uneven, then slowly steadied. “...So are you.”

* * *

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

Ch. 3 >

#chengning #ningcheng #mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #the untamed fanfic #powered by sufjan stevens #mdzs #the untamed #cql #jiang cheng #wen ning #jiang wanyin #wen qionglin #ifdchallenge2021 #emilu draws #emilu creations

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biwenqing · 4 years

Note

Hello! If you're still writing prompts, then 15 with the yunmeng sibs and a-yuan. I can't have enough of wwx getting to raise a yuan.

Thank you so so much for this prompt because, same anon, I can’t get enough of WWX being able to raise his baby. Or him getting to be with his siblings! I hope you enjoy this! What AU this is, I’m not sure, but they’re all together <3 Prompt: “when I’m with you, I’m home”

Little Jin Ling was two now, which Yuan had decided was the perfect age to attempt to pick up his cousin. This wasn't a very successful activity, because even though Yuan was almost three years older, he was still a little small for his age and Jin Ling had always been a big baby. They both got uncontrollable giggles whenever Yuan hugged Jin Ling under his arms and lifted, Jin Ling kicking his feet in the air. He would shriek with laughter whenever Yuan then tried to walk.

What was even funnier than watching the kids, was watching the way Jiang Cheng got jumpy every time this happened. Wei Wuxian tried to hide his laughter as Jiang Cheng twitched again as if he might be needed to catch the kids should they topple over.

"How are you not worried? What if they fall off the pier?" Jiang Cheng didn't look away from monitoring his nephews.

"Firstly, we are so far away from the pier, they would have to run," Wei Wuxian gestured to the awkward waddle Yuan had managed with Jin Ling's kicking, unable to hide his smile at his brother or the kids' antics. "Second, I have been teaching a-Yuan to swim and he is very good at it."

Jiang Yanli added from her place on Jiang Cheng's other side. "Plus a-Cheng, we know you'd catch them before they got that far."

"How are your children stressing me out more than you?" Jiang Cheng asked with a huff.

"You have to get used to it so you don't try and keep them hidden from the world." Wei Wuxian leaned forward to refill all their teacups.

"Is that why you let a-Yuan eat dirt?" Jiang Cheng asked.

"That was one time! And I didn't see him!" Wei Wuxian played into being deeply affronted, leaning into Jiang Cheng's space until his brother shoved him as if they too were still just kids. "Why did you let my son eat dirt? That is the real question."

"A-die!" Yuan's voice cut through any retort Jiang Cheng might have come up with. Yuan had put Jin Ling down but was holding his hand as they stood in front of the table.

"A-Yuan!" Wei Wuxian responded and beamed at him, reaching out to gently boop his nose. "What is it?"

"You promised we'd catch frogs," Yuan reminded.

"Frogs!" Jin Ling agreed.

"Alright, alright," Wei Wuxian stood and turned to his siblings. "You heard the kids. To the frogs!"

[...]

The summer sun was hot on the back of Wei Wuxian's head as he came to rest on the river's shore. Jiang Yanli followed, her robes rolled up like his, damp where they had been wading in the shallows of the river. She rested her head on his shoulder as they both sat and watched.

Jiang Cheng was still in the water, trying to show Jin Ling how to gently hold a frog before letting it go again. Yuan was helpfully bringing frogs over for the demonstration. Both kids were completely wet, given a few face plants into the water and some splash battles.

It all felt so much like when the three of them had been kids. They could play for hours in the river and the lotuses. Jiang Yanli taught them the way to sneak up on a sunning frog in the shallows. Splashing each other until they were soaked enough to look like they had been dunked underwater. Their laughter wrapping around the rays of sunlight until it felt like it filled the whole world. It was some of the happiest Wei Wuxian had ever been.

"I'm glad we came to visit," Jiang Yanli said.

"Do you ever wish you still lived here?" Wei Wuxian asked, looking down at her.

She shifted her head on his shoulder to get more comfortable but kept her eyes towards the kids. "Sometimes," Jiang Yanli sighed. "Mostly I miss you both."

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath. "Me too."

Jiang Cheng came up their way, but not before instructing the kids to stay on the shore. They seemed to be inventing a game together, from the snippets of excited conversation that came their way. Jiang Cheng flopped to the ground, head resting on Wei Wuxian's thigh.

"Ow, you're poking me," Wei Wuxian complained, before reaching to gently take off Jiang Cheng's hairpiece. He set it carefully on the ground beside them. He then tried to poke Jiang Cheng with his finger for revenge, but Jiang Yanli swatted his hand away.

"This is home," Jiang Cheng murmured, head turned to continue to keep an eye on his nephews.

"Of course it is," Jiang Yanli said, a slight question in her voice.

“No you don't understand," Jiang Cheng continued. He wouldn't look either of them in the eye. "Only when I’m with you, I’m home. It's not the same otherwise.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed, trying to stop his throat from closing with emotion. He looked at Jiang Yanli, who had reached out to start petting Jiang Cheng's hair. He rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to ground them both.

"That doesn't mean I want or expect you to move back," Jiang Cheng added, just as softly. "I know you are both happy, that you have others who rely on you. And I'm fine."

"I've been planning on visiting more often, now that a-Ling is getting older," Jiang Yanli said. "I want him to train here when he is old enough."

"How'd your husband take that?" Jiang Cheng asked and Wei Wuxian gave an amused snort.

"He was very in favor," Jiang Yanli scolded, before adding with an innocent smile, "Once I explained to him that it was the only option."

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both looked at each other, before bursting out with laughter. "We should never doubt our shijie's power," Wei Wuxian managed once he calmed down enough.

"What about a-Yuan?" Jiang Cheng asked, and Wei Wuxian could hear the hope in his voice, even if he tried to hide it.

"Ay, it's complicated," Wei Wuxian said truthfully.

"Don't tell me your son is going to be taught the Wen methods of cultivation." Jiang Cheng sat up and added in a teasing tone. "Or worse, the Lan?"

"So rude," Wei Wuxian shook his head at his brother and got an eye-roll in response. "He'll of course train here, but he has other obligations. I just want to make sure he gets to be a kid."

"I'd take care of him," Jiang Cheng assured, and Wei Wuxian smiled because he knew that was the truth.

"I know," he said. "But you should be warned if you think I'm not going to be here the whole time he is training..."

"Oh no." Jiang Cheng flopped back down dramatically.

"Careful what you wish for. Ouch! Shijie, he pinched me!"

#jiang cheng #jiang yanli #wei wuxian #jin ling #lan sizhui #the untamed #lan yuan #uncle jiang cheng #jiang sibs #my fic #i was so so excited to see this prompt #i love them all so much!#probably the same au as the one i posted last #aka the yuan saves the day au #a talks #a answers #anon

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