Chapter 1: The piper advanced, the children followed
Chapter Text
Rumor 1: The Yiling Patriarch will steal your children
Wei Wuxian was selling radishes in the Yiling marketplace like he always seemed to be doing these days. Truly, his hatred of radishes was only slightly exaggerated. They were so bland and it was only recently that they had started to be able to afford a few spices to flavour their food. Eating the same thing everyday was almost sickening, but nothing else grew well enough in the Burial Mounds for them to make meals out of.
Of all the things Wei Wuxian had been through in his life, being limited to radish-based meals was actually one of the mildest things that had happened to him. He had learned quickly from his years on the streets that being picky about food was no way to survive. As someone who had learnt to scarf down even rotten food with nothing but spice to mask the taste, eating fresh radishes everyday was almost pleasant. More recently of course, there was the three months he had spent in the Burial Mounds when it was much less habitable— he didn’t even want to think about how he had managed to survive there. The place the Burial Mounds was now was almost heavenly in comparison to how it had been.
Really, he complains so much about the food because it is the only thing he can complain about. If he stops to think about any other terrible thing in his life, he might start crying and screaming and just never stop. He’s only holding himself together by pretending that everything is alright. Complaining about a triviality makes him feel like the food is his biggest problem, which is the only way he is managing to keep a handle on his feelings.
After he manages to sell less than half his radishes, the crowds start dispersing, and he begins preparing to call it a day and go back. He can already hear Wen Qing’s irritation which masks the same worry he feels about being unable to feed A-Yuan a balanced diet. Though, he imagines that as a doctor, Wen Qing knows the dangers of malnutrition more graphically than he does, even if he had once been intimately acquainted with the thin hair and brittle nails that come with starvation. Suddenly, he feels a tug at the hem of his robes.
Turning to see who had been pulling his clothes, he notices a tiny child holding a fistful of his robes, large inquisitive eyes peering up at him. Immediately, he crouches to be at level with the child. He smiles, trying to seem as non-intimidating as possible. Upon seeing his smile, the child’s eyes widen further.
“Hello,” he says, pitching his voice to be even and keeping his tone light. “Can I help you?”
The child blinks at him. “A-Mei.”
“A-Mei,” he repeats. “Is that your name? Are you A-Mei?”
The child nods vigorously. Her grip on his robes loosens slightly, but she looks at him with a seriousness that is uncharacteristic for a child so small.
“Where are A-Mei’s parents?”, he asks. She’s too well dressed, too well-groomed to be a street kid. Too trusting of a stranger, too.
“A-Mei is lost. Mother told me to stay close, but buying vegetables is boring! The butterflies are fun!”, she replies. She says it in a matter-of-fact way that surprises him. She doesn’t look distressed at being lost, though Wei Wuxian is willing to bet the mother is currently losing her mind in worry.
“Where did you see your mother?”, he asks patiently.
A-Mei points to a stall. There is a large crowd between where they are and where A-Mei’s mother presumably is. “Will gege take me to mother?”, she asks, her lip wobbling. “Mother said if I get lost, I should ask someone nice to find her for me. You look nice, gege. Will you take me to mother?”
“Of course,” he says. He’s not going to let a kid wander the streets alone. Him helping her find whoever she was here with was never in question, though many would disagree with her assessment of him as ‘nice’. He gives her his hand. “Hold on tight, okay? A-Mei shouldn’t get lost again.”
She giggles and takes his hand. As they walk, she tells him about the butterflies and a story she had apparently been making up about them before she had gotten lost. Wei Wuxian listens to her animated narration while keeping an ear out for anyone calling out for the child. She’s almost finished with her stories when he hears cries of “A-Mei” coming from his right. He quickly cuts through the crowd and sees the woman near a stall crying for her child.
“A-Mei,” he gently interrupts, “Is that your mother?” he points to the panicking woman.
A-Mei’s face brightens immediately. “Mother!” she yells, launching herself in the woman’s direction. She doesn’t let go of Wei Wuxian’s hand until she’s halfway to her destination, so he finds himself tugged along for part of the distance.
When the mother notices A-Mei, relief overtakes her features. She runs to her child, wrapping her in a hug before immediately scolding her.
“A-Mei! How many times have I told you not to run off like that?”
A-Mei grins unrepentantly. “That gege brought me back!”, she says pointing at Wei Wuxian.
“You could have been in danger!”, the mother insists, not even looking in Wei Wuxian’s direction, which he is thankful for. If the mother asks for his name and recognizes it, things would go very badly.
“But I wasn’t! I found gege and he brought me back!”
“What if next time someone who isn’t nice finds you?”, she counters.
A-Mei pouts and her mother seems to melt at the sight. Wei Wuxian stays long enough to see the happy reunion, but the moment he overhears the mother saying something about thanking the man who brought A-Mei back, he runs. He doesn’t want to risk being recognized, and calling attention to himself would probably lead to that. Even if he gives her a fake name, giving anyone in a public space an excuse to look at him for too long is genuinely a terrible idea.
The next time a child finds him, he’s on his way to refill his dangerously dwindling supply of talisman paper. He suspects it might be because he’s letting A-Yuan use his paper for his little doodles, but it’s not like he’s going to stop A-Yuan from doing anything that brings him joy. The poor boy has been through so much already, if ‘drawing like Xian-gege’ is what makes him happy, nobody is going to object, especially not Wei Wuxian.
He’s lost in thoughts of A-Yuan when a streak of blue runs in his direction and proceeds to use him as a shield. A number of boys come running from the same direction, looking around. As their eyes scan the area, he feels two fists tightening their grasp on his robes. The tight grip stays until the group of boys decide to go back the way they came from.
Wei Wuxian turns to take a closer look at the child hiding behind him. It’s a little boy with dirt smudged on his cheek. He’s sniffling and there are clear tear tracks down his cheeks, and though he’s making a valiant effort to stand tall, his hands are trembling. Immediately, Wei Wuxian crouches.
“Hey, are you alright?”, he asks the boy. “What’s your name?”
The boy sniffs, then furiously rubs his eyes. “A-Yu.”
“Nice to meet you, A-Yu,” he says.
Slowly telegraphing his movements so A-Yu can push him away at any time, he uses his sleeve to gently rub the dirt and any remaining tears away. The little boy stares at him- not flinching, but not doing anything else either
“A-Yu, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’, he asks. When A-Yu’s eyes widen, he immediately adds. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I promise.”
The boy sniffs again. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian tapped his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. “Then do you want to get some candy?”
A-Yu perks up. “Candy?”
Wei Wuxian grins. “Candy,” he agrees. He points at a nearby stall selling a number of varieties of sweets. “Which one do you want?”
A-Yu points and Wei Wuxian quickly buys it for him, even carrying A-Yu when he asks. The boy's face melts into an expression of bliss as soon as the candy touches his tongue, making Wei Wuxian laugh. The boy frowns at him, then unwraps a new piece of candy and shoves it into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. It only makes him laugh harder.
As they’re walking away from the candy stall, A-Yu tucks his face into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and mumbles something.
“Did you say something, A-Yu?” he asks, keeping his tone casual.
The boy lifts his head off of Wei Wuxian’s shoulder but makes no move to look at him, so Wei Wuxian continues to walk as he had been doing before. This seems to relax A-Yu enough to encourage him to talk.
“My cousins always call me a coward,” he says in a mournful tone. “I’m scared of worms, so they like to bring worms near me to make me scream. Then they laugh at me.”
Wei Wuxian hums comfortingly.
“My parents say I’m a big boy, so I shouldn't be scared anymore,” he continues after a moment. “But I can’t help it! Worms are scary!”
“Can I tell you something?”, Wei Wuxian asks. A-Yu nods, burying his head in the older man’s shoulder again. “I’m scared of dogs.”
At this, A-Yu’s head shot up and he looked at Wei Wuxian in disbelief. “But you’re so big! Like my parents! Grown ups aren’t allowed to be scared!”
Wei Wuxian smiles gently. “Even grown ups are scared of things. It’s okay to be scared, you know. Fear is what keeps us safe from danger.”
“So… so it’s okay to be scared? I’m not a coward?”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he confirms. “It doesn’t make you a coward.”
“Oh,” A-Yu says, his eyes wide. “It must be true if a grown up says so.”
As they round the corner, the group of boys run towards them, chanting A-Yu’s name in chorus as soon as they catch sight of him. They ignore Wei Wuxian completely as they fall over each other to be the first to talk to A-Yu.
“A-Yu, I’m sorry!” one exclaims. “I won’t make fun of you again!”
“We’re all sorry!” another one says. “We should have protected you.”
“Come back and play with us,” a third one entreats. “We promise we’ll keep the worms away from you.”
Wei Wuxian sets A-Yu down. The boy inches towards his friends, then turns and throws himself at Wei Wuxian again, hugging him around the waist.
“What’s this for?” Wei Wuxian asks, amused.
“Thank you, gege,” the boy mutters before running off with his friends, waving at Wei Wuxian, who stands there a while, thinking of the boy who had once promised to protect him from dogs.
Wei Wuxian sighs as he waits in front of the herbalist’s tiny shop. She was the closest thing Yiling had to a doctor, so when people were sick, she often had to close her shop to go to them, leaving any customers waiting. While the inhabitants of the Burial Mounds had never needed her medical abilities when they had the greatest medical mind of their generation on hand, they did need some of the herbs that refused to grow in their soil. Usually, Wen Qing was the one who bought the herbs, and she had what was either sheer luck or an uncanny ability that allowed her to know exactly when the herbalist was in. Wei Wuxian, unfortunately, had no such ability, and the past few years of his life were enough to show him that his luck was abysmal. So here he was, waiting.
As he waits, he feels a tug on his robes. Aiya, what is with all these children tugging my robes? Don’t they know any other way to get attention? At this rate, some child is going to tear a piece of it off, he laments to himself, but promptly crouches to the child’s level.
This one is a girl and she’s looking at him with determination, no hint of worry on her face. Her tugging was not urgent either, so he thinks she must not be in need of comfort. Nor does it seem likely that she is lost. He is just about to ask her what she wants when she speaks.
“Pretty-gege,” she says, flashing him a dimpled smile, “Will you carry me?”
“A-Yan!” hisses an older woman who must be the child’s caregiver. “You can’t run up to people and ask them to carry you! Apologize to the young master!”
The girl, A-Yan shakes her head definitively, flustering the woman further. She turns to apologize to Wei Wuxian herself, but before she can get the words out, A-Yan interrupts again.
“Auntie said she wouldn’t carry me because her back hurts,” she pouts. “Will pretty-gege carry me?”
The aunt looks even more embarrassed and apologetic, but before she can speak, Wei Wuxian picks A-Yan up.
“You shouldn’t trouble yourself, young master,” she says. “A-Yan is a stubborn, spoiled child and she doesn’t know how not to bother others.”
“It is no trouble, madam,” he answers, smiling softly. “I know how children can be. It is good to indulge them sometimes.”
“Only sometimes,” she says with a wry smile.
As he is about to reply, he feels A-Yan poke his cheek. He turns to look at her, showing her she has his full attention.
“Pretty-gege,” she says seriously. “Will you smile for me?”
“Smile? What for?” he asks, amusement colouring his voice at the absurd but simple demands children seem to make.
“Want to see,” she mutters.
Wei Wuxian chuckles. “Okay,” he says, then smiles at the little girl in his arms.
She brings her hands up to press against her cheek in an exaggerated motion, and he has to tighten his hold on her so she doesn’t fall.
“Wow!” she says, “Pretty-gege is even more pretty when he smiles.”
“Thank you,” he says, ducking his head slightly. “A-Yan is also very pretty.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Not as pretty as pretty-gege.”
“True,” he concedes. “A-Yan is prettier.”
“No!” she says. Her jaw sets and she tilts her chin up in a stubborn look that wouldn’t be out of place on someone several years older than her. “Pretty-gege is most pretty.”
“I—”
“Say it!” she insists. “Say it, or A-Yan will cry.” Her lip wobbles and her eyes fill with tears almost immediately.
Wei Wuxian looks desperately at A-Yan’s aunt who is failing to hide her amusement. Children should be indulged, huh? her raised eyebrow seems to say.
“I did warn you that A-Yan is stubborn,” she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
He sighs. “Fine,” he huffs. “A-Yan is right.” He hopes she won’t actually make him say that he’s the prettiest, that would be beyond embarrassing and very narcissistic.
“Say it.”
And there go his hopes.
“Shall we make a deal instead?” he asks, hoping for some clemency. He cannot believe he is here, at the mercy of a child. He can imagine Wen Qing laughing if she ever finds out that he was bullied by a child not even a year older than A-Yuan.
“Deal?” she asks. Her eyes are narrowed. Wei Wuxian wonders where she learnt to act like an adult negotiator. Perhaps her family is training her to take over their business even from this very young age.
“I won’t say it, but I’ll smile at A-Yan again. How about that?”
“Hmm,” she thinks about it for a few seconds, then nods enthusiastically. “Deal,” she says.
The sight of the little girl acting so much like an adult is so adorable that Wei Wuxian doesn’t even have to try to smile again. He only stops when A-Yan begins clapping her hands in earnest, smiling back at him.
“Pretty-gege, tell me a story,” she demands. She does not ask, she demands.
He tells her a story.
Wei Wuxian is so glad no one here knows who he is. If they saw him cave to a toddler’s demands this easily, no one would ever respect or fear him again. Although perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would certainly rehabilitate his image. Then suddenly he has the vivid mental image of a toddler held in Jin Guangshan’s arms, demanding he hand over the Yin Tiger Seal, and he quickly dismisses that train of thought.
A-Yan seems content to listen to the stories he tells her until the herbalist returns. A-Yan’s aunt listens too, occasionally laughing, even asking questions. He is in the middle of a story about the first time he stole lotus pods, careful not to mention any names, when A-Yan’s aunt informs them that they need to go.
“No!” is A-Yan’s immediate response. “Want to stay with pretty-gege!”
“A-Yan,” her aunt sighs as the child’s arms tighten around his neck. “Your gege has to go to his home too.”
“No,” she insists. “Pretty-gege will go home and forget me. I won’t leave him.”
Wei Wuxian sighs. “A-Yan…”
“Pretty-gege will forget me,” she whispers and looks so close to tears. Honestly, Wei Wuxian cannot tell if she’s faking it this time.
“Shall we make another deal, A-Yan?”, he asks. She perks up immediately, but her eyes are still watery. “The next time we meet, I will get you a gift.”
“Promise?”, she asks. “Pretty-gege will come again?”
“I promise,” he says.
A-Yan finally agrees to go back home with her aunt. She waves enthusiastically at him until they turn the bend.
Wei Wuxian sighs again. So much for not telling Wen Qing. If he asks to be the one who bought the herbs occasionally, she is bound to ask questions. He resigns himself to being mocked about this for years to come.
It had been Wen Ning’s idea that in addition to selling crops, they could benefit from some supplemental income. Selling talismans was, of course, out of the question. Not only would it draw undue attention to them as cultivators, there were enough people pretending to be the Yiling Patriarch’s disciples to sell their fake talismans. There was no guarantee that people would buy their talismans over anyone else's. When Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian had pointed this out, Wen Ning revealed that he had actually intended that they sell paintings or trinkets.
A few of the Wens had apparently trained in jewellery making, and in the absence of precious metals or jade, they began making jewellery out of beads. Few more of them were well-versed in the art of making lanterns, some others contributed wood carvings. Wei Wuxian himself began to paint some of the more beautiful things he had seen in the past— the tall mountains of Gusu, the warm summers of Lotus Pier, the bold architecture of Qinghe. They found that this stall was often more profitable, though it was anyone’s guess whether this was due to the variety or the quality of what they sold.
Once the stall really took off, one day a month, Wei Wuxian would man the stall himself. He would do his painting there, while also offering to sketch the portraits of anyone who was willing to pay for it. Many of his customers, first time visitors to Yiling would marvel at the accuracy of his portraits, but complain about the price. This amused Wei Wuxian who wondered if them finding out that their portrait was painted by the Yiling Patriarch would increase its value in their eyes, or if that would make them summarily burn the portrait.
One consistent event that occurred every month was that a number of children would gather around to watch him paint. They would crowd round him in excitement and clamor for his attention in a way that Wei Wuxian found extremely adorable. They were easily impressed too, in his opinion. They ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ every one of his paintings, watching with fascination even when he painted a place they had never seen, and never might see. He had offered to teach them, but all of them had refused.
“Our parents will force us to learn when we’re older, gege,” seven-year-old A-Li had told him once. “We don’t want to paint, we just want to watch you do it. You’re so talented!”
As the rest of them chimed in to agree, Wei Wuxian had simply laughed and continued to paint.
Without fail, every time, the parents would show up to pull their kids away, and the children would beg and whine and plead to watch just one more painting. Some of them had to be physically dragged away from Wei Wuxian’s stall because it was their bed time, or because they were running late for a visit.
“It’s like you’re stealing our children,” a merchant had said laughingly to Wei Wuxian one day. “They would probably go to you without complaints.”
Wei Wuxian had laughed very uncomfortably at that. The man would probably say those same words if he knew who he was really speaking to, except they wouldn’t be filled with so much good cheer. It would probably be a rallying cry to unite everyone in baying for his blood.
He was sort-of stealing the children of Yiling, wasn’t he? But he had never intended to do it. It had just… happened, like most things in his life. At least this wasn’t a bad thing, just unexpected.
Chapter 2: Taking over the world, one kiss at a time
Notes:
This chapter contains mentions of emotional abuse, selling someone into prostitution, and homophobia. None of it occurs on-screen, nor are there graphic descriptions
Chapter Text
Rumour 2: The Yiling Patriarch will steal your women to be his concubines
It begins when Wen Qing goes to the market to buy supplies. She doesn’t often make the trips herself— she’s needed at the Burial Mounds more often than not— but when it’s specific herbs that need to be bought, she has to go herself, because Wen Ning is too conspicuous. Usually, these trips are uneventful, except for this one on this particular day, when she brings someone back with her.
She leaves the woman near the wards and approaches Wei Wuxian, who looks up from the seed he had been burying in the soil. Wen Qing knows very well how difficult it is to get into a rhythm while working in the harsh conditions of the Burial Mounds, so whatever she has to say must be important.
“If I needed to bring someone here to protect them, would that be alright?”, she asks.
Wei Wuxian frowns. “Do you think we are capable of offering this person protection? Isn’t there anyone less… ostracized than us?”
She takes a deep breath. There is a tightness in the corner of her eyes. “It can’t be anyone else.”
“And can we afford to keep them here?” he asks, wondering at the fact that he’s the one asking all these practical questions while Wen Qing is the one making an unexpected request.
“If we couldn’t, I wouldn’t have asked at all,” she replies.
The thing is, Wen Qing is smart. And despite being kind, she is unflinchingly pragmatic in a way Wei Wuxian is not. Or at least, he tries not to be, outside of combat. Wen Qing wouldn’t bring someone into their refuge if she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t bring danger to all of them, and she wouldn’t bring someone just to doom them to death alongside the rest of them. So as confusing as it is, he agrees to her request, and when Wei Wuxian gets up to greet the visitor, he is only slightly wary.
“This is Liu Chunhua, a cousin on my mother’s side,” Wen Qing introduces her, as the other woman bows in greeting. She seems nervous, but relaxes just the smallest bit when Wen Qing gives her a reassuring nod.
Wei Wuxian bows in return. “Welcome, Lady Liu,” he says, shooting only a mild curious glance at Wen Qing. “May I ask what brings you here?”
Lady Liu looks at Wen Qing, an entire non-verbal conversation passing between them before Wen Qing responds for her. They share many of the same expressions. “Lady Liu has recently become destitute,” she says. “Her husband cast her aside because she couldn’t bear him a child.”
“Ah”, Wei Wuxian scratches his head uncomfortably. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“I met her in the marketplace. She had nowhere else to go and no one willing to shelter her,” Wen Qing continues, her voice hardening. “Her husband’s father is claiming she brought great shame to their family and is trying to track her down to teach her a lesson.”
“I see”, he nods, forcing down the anger he feels in an effort to not unsettle Lady Liu. “Do you need me to handle the matter?”
“I’ve already come up with a solution”, she says. He thinks Lady Liu blushes faintly, but it could just be the heat of the midday sun.
“Which is?”
“I told the most gossipy vendors that Liu Chunhua is the Yiling Patriarch’s most recent concubine.”
He chokes on air. “You what?”
“That way, everyone thinks she’s under your protection, and her husband’s family will stop hunting for her unless they have delusions that they could take you in a duel.”
“Wen Qing!”, he glares as she continues to stare unrepentantly at him. “There are already rumours about me kidnapping virgins to defile! This is just going to add fuel to the fire!”
“Which is why I emphasized how consensually she chose to be your concubine!”
“It is truly an honour”, Lady Liu bows again, this time shallower. She looks at him through her eyelashes in a way that would be flirtatious if not for the mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You could have said anything else!”, he splutters. “Why didn’t you say she was my disciple? Do you know how many people show up to the bottom of the mountain to yell about wanting to be trained by me? We could have solved two problems!”
“Unfortunately, I am not a cultivator”, Liu Chunhua answers. “My husband's family would not believe such a story if they heard it.”
Wei Wuxian stops himself from saying that a golden core isn’t required for demonic cultivation, and that he’s pretty sure non-cultivators would be able to learn his techniques. That secret is probably better off staying a secret for a while. It’s bad enough that cultivators are lining up to learn his supposed “evil tricks”, he doesn’t need merchants and farmers showing up too.
“If there was any other way, I wouldn’t have done it,” Wen Qing says. “This is the way it has to be.”
Wei Wuxian groans loudly. Of course he’s not going to let Liu Chunhua remain in danger. “Fine, but if villagers show up with pitchforks, remember that this was your idea.” He points at Wen Qing who just rolls her eyes.
He sighs and turns to Lady Liu. “Welcome to our settlement, Lady Liu. I hope you’re able to make a good life here.”
“Thank you, Patriarch.”
He cringes. He will never get used to that. “Please don’t call me that,” he nearly begs.
Liu Chunhua laughs as she leaves. She laughs just like Wen Qing.
It happens again.
This time, a young girl, barely eighteen and starved to the bone timidly follows Wen Qing through the rows of fledgling plants.
“This is Qin Mingzhu. She’s staying with us.”
Before Wei Wuxian can do anything more than bow to Qin Mingzhu, Wen Qing has led her away towards some of the older women. Entrusting the girl to their care, she waits for her to relax slightly in the presence of the others before returning to him.
“Tell me what you didn’t want to say in front of her,” he says as soon as she’s close enough for a private conversation.
Wen Qing’s lip quirks up slightly. “You aren’t even protesting this time,” she notes before sighing deeply. “It’s not a happy story.”
“I didn’t think it would be,” he answers honestly. If someone was here, it was their last and only option. That did not indicate a good life.
“Her parents died recently, leaving her in the care of an uncle. The uncle has a drinking problem and not enough money to take care of her. He was planning to sell her to a brothel in the next town. She found out a few nights ago and ran away.” Wen Qing says all of this in sharp sentences, her tone dark and her jaw clenched in anger.
He closes his eyes. He had expected it to be bad, of course, and he had lived on the streets long enough to know what desperate people would do for money, but it still hit him hard. He knows how many choose to sell themselves, how many more are forced to do it, but to sell someone else? Someone whose care was entrusted to you? He can feel his anger rear its ugly head and it takes all the self-control techniques he and Wen Qing have worked on these past months to stop himself from playing Chenqing and wrecking everything in his path.
“I found her crying behind a tea house. When I heard her story…,” she hesitates. “She was hurt and I thought I could help her— maybe treat her wounds, but this?”, she shakes her head. “I couldn’t leave her to her fate. I thought if anyone would understand why I needed to help her, it would be you.”
“Wen Qing,” he asks softly, “Can we really give her a good life here? When we’ve barely figured out how to survive?”
Wen Qing sighs and meets his eyes. “If there was any other way, I wouldn’t do this, but there isn't. There’s no other way, Wei Wuxian. No one else will help that girl or protect her.”
He laughs then, a cold, bitter thing. “I know well how uncaring the streets of Yiling can be.”
They exchange a silent glance, and know that they’re both in agreement. Wei Wuxian marvels sometimes at how well they have come to know each other, how easily they can read each other. They are confidants and in a way, partners in ensuring that everyone in the Burial Mounds is as content as they can be, given the circumstances. For all that they bicker about radishes and potatoes and whose turn it is to wash the clothes, Wen Qing is his fiercest ally, and he will stand by her when she needs him to.
“She might be a bit afraid of you,” she warns him. “I told her the concubine thing was a ruse, but…”, she shrugs. “The men in her life have not treated her kindly.”
He nods. “I won’t make her uncomfortable, I promise. I’ll stay out of her way.”
Wen Qing’s face softens just a bit. For a moment, he thinks she might say something, but the moment passes, and they go their separate ways.
The next time, Wen Qing goes to Yiling, she brings with her a cheerful seamstress, Lei Xiuying who seems very pleased with her new lot in life. She offers no explanation as to why she came, but within her first week in the Burial Mounds, she has proven herself indispensable, fixing rips and tears in everyone’s clothing far better than Wen Qing or Wei Wuxian could ever hope to. She is keenly aware too, of what fabrics are sturdy enough for their lifestyle, and what is most affordable.
A month after her stay began, she sits by Wei Wuxian at dinner and talks to him the entire night, sharing stories of a misspent youth and a fruitful apprenticeship, while he shares stories of Lotus Pier and his life there.
“You’ve never asked why I came here,” she says during a lull in the conversation.
“I imagine Wen Qing knows,” he replies. “Whatever your reason, if it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.”
She stares at him for just a minute, her eyes widening and her eyebrows raising slightly before she controls her expression. “But you must have wanted to know,” she says.
“Yes,” he agrees easily. “But I was— and am— willing to wait until you want to tell me.”
She huffs out a laugh. “You’re surprising.”
He shrugs. She watches him. They stay silent for a while before she speaks again.
“I wanted to be a seamstress from the time I was five years old”, she says. “And I worked hard to do it. I had skill too! I was my master’s youngest apprentice, you know? I had my own shop at twenty!”
She sighs deeply, her eyes dropping to her lap. “Then I fell in love. I got married to someone I thought was an honorable man, someone who would love me like I loved him. I was so happy, I thought that feeling would never go away.”
She smiles bitterly. “He was so attentive at first. He would buy me the finest threads and silks, he would help me in the shop when he could, he was so supportive. And then he wasn’t.”
Lei Xiuying sips her fruit wine. “I tried to keep him happy, like other married women always told me. He started getting angry whenever I would go out without him, so I stopped doing it. He got jealous when I saw my friends, so I didn’t do that either. And then he started getting angry that I was earning more money than him, so I shut down my shop. He still got angry about everything and he blamed me for whatever went wrong in his life. One day, I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I left him.”
“Is that when you came to Yiling?”, Wei Wuxian asks. He suppresses the rage coiling in his soul with a reminder that Lei Xiuying is safe now, that she has not been harmed any further by that man. He soothes the part of him that is baying for blood by repeatedly telling himself that she is out of his clutches.
“I went to Lanling, but he followed me there. Then, I went to Yunping and he followed me there too. I came here after that, but he came looking for me here too. I thought if he heard that I was under the protection of the Yiling Patriarch, he wouldn’t come after me anymore.”
“Did it work?”
“As far as I’ve heard, he left Yiling a week ago and doesn’t plan to return.”
“Good”, he says viciously. If his reputation of being cruel and dangerous can keep people like Lei Xiuying safe, it is worth it. He will take any amount of slander, anyone’s hatred if it means he can keep his people safe.
Lei Xiuying looks at him strangely for a minute or two, before shaking her head and smiling. “You’re a good man, you know?”
He can’t stop the bitter laugh. “Many people would disagree with you.”
She shakes her head. “Maybe they don’t see it, but you are a good person”, she says. “Everyone here thinks so, whether the world agrees or not. Whether you agree or not.”
As if to confirm what she says, Qin Mingzhu meets his eyes from across the hall where she sits next to Granny Wen and gives him a small smile, something that would have been unthinkable when she first arrived. Lei Xiuying gives him a meaningful look before going to talk to Wen Qing. Wei Wuxian groans and buries his face in his hands.
The next few trips Wen Qing takes are uneventful, so Wei Wuxian assumes that she was done declaring random women to be his concubines. He was mistaken about that. He only realizes exactly how mistaken until the trip when she returns with three new women.
“This is Qi Meifeng, Su Lanying, and Jia Huiling,” she says.
“Nice to meet you,” he replies, though he levels a glare at Wen Qing that she chooses to ignore. His glares have nothing on hers, he has to admit. For all that the outside world is terrified of him, he can’t intimidate Wen Qing even when he’s truly angry, never mind when he simply pretends.
Wen Qing smiles sweetly, a look so foreign on her that he knows immediately that she’s up to something. “They were formerly prostitutes, but they have been let go because of some injuries they sustained.”
“Formerly?”, he asks. He doesn't know why he bothers, when he knows what she means already.
“Yes,” she keeps the sweet smile. “Currently, they’re your concubines, of course.”
“Of course,” he agrees wearily before turning to face them. “You’ll have to share with some of the other women until we build houses for you. I hope that’s alright.”
One of the women— Jia Huiling— smiles slightly, while the others avoid his eyes. “Thank you for your generosity.”
“No trouble,” he says, and finds himself mostly meaning it. It’s trouble in the sense that the people of Yiling are going to be saying more outrageous things about his non-existent sex life and it’s going to be extremely embarrassing when he goes there next. It’s no trouble, because it’s nothing he wouldn't bear to keep someone safe. “I hope you’re happy here.”
Jia Huiling turns to look at where his other so-called concubines are arguing around a pile of wood and smiles again. There is something more genuine in this smile than the previous ones. “I think we will be.”
Wei Wuxian had thought that Wen Qing couldn’t surprise him any longer. He had been mistaken about that too.
“This is Yao Junjie”, she says, introducing him to a young boy, barely older than eighteen, who is alternating awed glances between Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian. “His parents disowned him for being a cutsleeve, so he’s here to stay.”
“I see,” he says placidly.
“Are you really the Yiling Patriarch?”, the boy asks, his eyes wide.
“I am,” Wei Wuxian replies.
“You’re much better looking than they say,” he blurts out, then blushes and covers his mouth, looking horrified.
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian replies, his eyes betraying the slightest bit of amusement he sees mirrored in Wen Qing’s face. He is better looking than they say, but considering that the portraits of him are barely human-looking, that isn't saying much.
“Are you really collecting concubines?”, Yao Junjie asks.
“If the people of Yiling ask, yes,” he replies. Teenagers, he thinks fondly. Always blurting out every thought that enters their heads.
“And I get to tell people I’m one of them?”
“If that’s what keeps you safe, sure.”
“Cool!”, the boy says, his eyes wide in admiration. He bows quickly and leaves when Wen Qing ushers him further into the settlement.
Wei Wuxian snorts. He really thinks he’s getting better at dealing with these situations.
Chapter 3: Sweet music playing in the dark
Notes:
The final section of this chapter contains thoughts of self-harm (The section that begins with "Some nights are not good nights"). No actual self-harm occurs
Chapter Text
Rumor 3: The Yiling Patriarch plays his demon flute at all hours of the night to terrorize any poor soul that stumbles into his territory
It was a fact well acknowledged that Wei Wuxian had a soft spot for children. He could never resist their demands and would always spoil them— a habit he had picked up during his time as the Head Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, carried over to the Cloud Recesses where he would play with the children of Caiyi Town every time he snuck out, and now to Yiling where he seemed to run into a child every time he turned his head.
It was a fact even better acknowledged that Wei Wuxian was particularly vulnerable to A-Yuan’s demands. From the day that he had rescued the Wen remnants from the prison camp and A-Yuan had firmly attached himself to Wei Wuxian, it had been evident that he would love A-Yuan with all his heart. He would do quite possibly anything for A-Yuan, to make the little boy happy. For all that he was firm with A-Yuan, Wei Wuxian couldn’t deny him the little joys he wanted.
A-Yuan was very willing to take advantage of this fact as well. He would demand cuddles and play time whenever he felt like it, so Wei Wuxian would schedule his day around the possibility that his plans might be derailed by A-Yuan at any time. He spent a lot of time in the cave with Wei Wuxian, sitting next to him and babbling along about his day while Wei Wuxian worked on something, or doodling on the talisman paper Wei Wuxian found for him. The only times he was banned from the cave was when Wei Wuxian was performing a particularly volatile experiment. On one such occasion, Wei Wuxian had emerged from a long inventing session only for A-Yuan to proudly show him a picture he drew of the two of them together. He proudly displayed the picture in his cave much to A-Yuan’s delight.
Unfortunately, A-Yuan had spent his early years in a prison camp, surrounded by relatives who were frequently beaten or killed whenever the guards felt like it. This manifested in many ways. He stayed below the usual height for his age no matter how much everyone tried to slip him extra food. He clung tightly to his family because some part of him still expected that if someone left his sight, they wouldn’t return.
The day A-Yuan first recognized Wei Wuxian as part of his family was not a joyous event but a heartbreaking one. It happened early one morning when Wei Wuxian was preparing to go to Yiling to buy food and A-Yuan caught sight of him near the wards, handing a few talismans to Wen Qing. He had waved a cheerful goodbye to A-Yuan, only for the boy to cling to him, wailing loudly about not wanting him to go away like his parents had. It had taken Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian a long time to pacify and distract A-Yuan long enough for Wei Wuxian to sneak out, and his wails had roused half the Wens by then. After Wei Wuxian made several trips to Yiling and returned unharmed, A-Yuan finally relaxed enough to allow him to go, but the terrified screams he had let out that fateful day would never leave Wei Wuxian’s mind.
Another issue A-Yuan had was the nightmares he would get. They were frequent and recurrent— mostly centered around life at the camps before their escapes. He was too young to properly articulate exactly what he was seeing in the dreams, but he woke up sobbing silently in the heartbreaking way that children learn to do when they figure out that making noise would be dangerous for them. He was too young to remember properly, Wen Qing had said, but sometimes the mind remembers the behaviors that were learnt for safety, even if it doesn’t remember why. Every time Wei Wuxian thinks about how he could have learnt this, his heart aches, and he thinks he was too lenient while dealing with the guards at Qiongqi Path. They deserved so much worse for what they had done.
On nights when A-Yuan couldn’t sleep, he would come up to Wei Wuxian’s cave, where he was most likely awake anyway. He hadn’t slept through the night since before he was thrown into the Burial Mounds, and his mind was so full of ideas that he had to get out on paper before they were submerged by a fresh wave of ideas. He would always take a break for A-Yuan, though. He would lay the little boy on the bed that he hardly ever used, wrap him in the threadbare blankets they were using, and play a song on his flute.
A-Yuan was extremely fond of Chenqing, which never ceased to amuse Wei Wuxian. The sight of the flute or the hint of its song would drive grown men back in terror, but to a toddler, it was a favoured chew toy during the day, and at night, it produced the sweet lullabies that lured him to sleep. No matter the intensity of the nightmare, A-Yuan always calmed right down when Wei Wuxian played him a song, drifting into sleep with a small smile on his face. It was the most satisfaction Wei Wuxian ever got from playing Chenqing.
Sometimes he wishes he lived in a world where playing lullabies for A-Yuan was the only use he had for Chenqing. Sometimes he dreams of living that way. The dreams are sweet, but they only make the crash harder in the mornings.
As the Burial Mounds become more habitable, there is more time for leisure. Not by a lot, of course, but they are no longer scrambling to get things done constantly. They all have shelter and food, they are beginning to have a semi-stable source of income, Wen Ning is back, and the number of cultivators trying to break through the wards are fewer. Nobody wants to say it for fear of cursing themselves, but it seems like they are doing well. They aren’t flourishing, by any means, but they are truly living in a way they weren’t before.
They are able to have longer meals, now that people don’t constantly have duties to run to after eating. They are able to afford to eat more than just radishes. Wen Ning has proven himself a better cook than either Wen Qing or Wei Wuxian who had been splitting that job between themselves at first, so the meals are savoured, not merely gulped down for survival. They often gather around during meal times and tell stories or make jokes. At first, Wei Wuxian had stayed away, not wanting to intrude, until the day when Wen Qing had dragged him into joining them.
“I didn’t want to interfere with your family time,” Wei Wuxian had protested when she had called him out on avoiding them, a scowl on her face.
Wen Qing’s expression had softened. “You are part of the family,” she had told him. Then she had physically dragged him with her and shoved him into a seat before going off to help Wen Ning.
Since that declaration, Wei Wuxian has tried to take most of his meals with the Wens. Of course there are times when he gets so lost in inventing something that he misses a meal, but Wen Qing or Wen Ning always bring it to him. More recently, they have found it particularly effective to bring A-Yuan along, to distract him. He might ignore either of them when they told him to eat, but he could never ignore A-Yuan. Especially not after the one time Wei Wuxian had muttered something about eating later and A-Yuan had pouted and said ‘Xian-gege, eat’ in a tone surprisingly strict for a toddler, and refused to relent until he started eating. He’s pretty sure Wen Qing taught him to do that, but he can’t prove it.
Eating with the Wens is comforting. Even if he doesn’t say much out of an effort to not overstep, the pleasant sounds of their speech and laughter is familiar and soothing to him. He looks at the simple life they’ve all built together, the joy they take in the smallest things, the kinship they feel for each other and for him too, now, and he knows that for as long as he lives, he will not regret saving these people.
He plays his flute for them too, sometimes. He plays a few merry dancing tunes as some of the Wens sing or dance along. He plays some popular tavern songs and delights in the cheers. They play too, on instruments they have crudely fashioned themselves out of the bamboo and wood of the Burial Mounds. There is something powerful about the act of taking from the Burial Mounds— a place of death, despair, and destruction— and building things that bring joy; it warms him. The Wens play old songs from Qishan and Dafan and in turn, he plays a few songs from Lotus Pier, some he barely remembers the words to. He plays and plays and plays as the night falls, and he thinks he could be happy here.
Some nights are not good nights. Some nights, he can’t breathe and he chokes on the imaginary blood in his lungs. Some nights, his head pounds and the screams of the dead are so loud that he can feel them in his bones. Some nights, he wants to rip his skin off, wants to burrow himself into the unfeeling earth and let the Burial Mounds consume him. Some nights, he is only alive because he keeps telling himself that there is so much left to do, that he still owes too much to the living to let go.
Some nights he wishes he didn’t use a flute, but a string instrument instead, so he could play until his fingers bleed and feel something in that way at least.
Those nights, he sits close to the wards and plays a song of longing and melancholy, a song that he knows so well, even if he doesn’t know where he knows it from. As he plays it, he feels the scars on his soul knit back together little by little. The song is almost haunting in its beauty and it makes his heart ache. But it soothes him too, lays to rest all the pain and malice in him until he feels human again.
A Gusu folk melody, he assumes. Structurally, it sounds like one. The thought almost amuses him. For all that he doesn’t want to go back to Gusu just to be locked up in the Cloud Recesses for the rest of his life— doesn’t want to have the only thing keeping him in one piece ripped out of him— he is still using their methods for self-soothing. He wonders how the elders of the Lan Clan would react if they knew he was tainting their righteous methods with his ‘heretical abomination of a path’ as they described it. They would probably have simultaneous qi-deviations, he thinks, and then I would be accused of murdering them.
At least, he thinks, they’ll never know. Not as long as the rumors stay the way they are.
Chapter 4: Pushing the boundaries of what is possible
Chapter Text
Rumor 4: The Yiling Patriarch performs all manner of dangerous heretical experiments
The idea has been stewing in his head for years. He had been thirteen and on a night hunt when he and his fellow disciples had been forced to fight a number of malevolent spirits in the middle of a town, while ensuring that no harm came to the townspeople. It had been a brutal fight, as they couldn’t fight at full power for fear of hurting someone. In the end, it had taken them too long to subdue the spirits and two townspeople had received minor injuries.
It hadn’t been the first time Wei Wuxian had looked at a night hunting practice and thought it could be done better, but it was the first time an idea had latched onto his mind so tightly. He had believed, even then, that it would make things so much easier if cultivators were able to fight on their own terms instead of chasing after whatever ghost or fierce corpse they were hunting. It was just one of the ideas in the back of his head.
That was, until he had been thrown into the Burial Mounds and was forced to learn to manipulate resentful energy, which gave him a better understanding of both resentment and energy than he had had before. Suddenly, things just began clicking into place in his mind. His new ability to manipulate such energy was because he understood it on a fundamental level.
Of course, his use of demonic cultivation in the Sunshot Campaign was mostly out of desperation and necessity to survive, and he had often used unrefined techniques because he cared more about it as a way to win his battles rather than as a cultivation method in it’s own right. Once it was over, he was able to concentrate more on how he could use resentful energy as more than just a means to an end. But it was only back in the Burial Mounds that he was able to explore the limitations of demonic cultivation closely through experimentation. That had led to him figuring out the problem he had been tossing around in his head for almost a decade now— whether it was possible to use methods of attracting resentful energy to lure malevolent beings into an ambush.
“I call it the spirit-attraction flag,” he proclaims to Wen Qing and Wen Ning as he shows them his finished prototype. As the only others here who have backgrounds in cultivation, they are the ones he counts on to test the validity of his theories.
“I suppose the name is self explanatory,” Wen Qing says. “How far away is it effective?”
“Well,” he scratches his head. “I haven’t exactly been able to test that. The Burial Mounds is full of ambient resentful energy, it wouldn’t give me the most reliable results.”
“We could test it the next time we hear of a night hunt near Yiling, Young Master,” Wen Ning suggests. “We might have to hide from other cultivators if they decide to show up, but…”
“But testing this might be worth the risk,” Wei Wuxian picks up where he trails off. Wen Ning nods. “Wen Qing? Do you agree?”
Wen Qing thinks for a moment before sighing. “If it’s going to be of any use, I agree that it needs to be tested. I would argue that you should wait until it’s a little less dangerous for you to be out there, but…”, she shrugs.
“But that won’t happen any time soon?” Wei Wuxian says with a wry smile. For a moment, both Wen Qing and Wen Ning look pained and he can tell they’re both blaming themselves for him being on the outs with the cultivation world. He needs to lift the mood
“Right!” he says brightly. “We’re in agreement, then? The next night hunt?”
They both nod, the pained expressions fading slightly, but he can tell that the guilt still lingers.
“Great!” Wei Wuxian says, slinging an arm around each sibling’s shoulder. “Let’s go celebrate then!”
As he chatters on, he can feel the tension slowly leave both of them. He can’t help the fondness that fills his heart. He might have lost a family, but he gained one in return, and he will never regret helping them.
It was common for those who lived in the Burial Mounds to be woken by the sound of explosions, followed by loud apologies. Wei Wuxian was a genius inventor who saw the world in a way most struggled to comprehend, but that also meant that he had the unfortunate tendency to put things together just to see what would happen, even when what would happen was most likely an explosion. Nevertheless, everyone had gotten used to the fact that when Wei Wuxian was involved, explosions tended to occur, and usually ignored them.
Until this particular explosion, however, which was followed not by apologies, but cheers. Wen Qing immediately comes over to see what has happened. She finds Wei Wuxian celebrating with a talisman in hand. When he sees her, he beams.
“Wen Qing!” he exclaims. “I figured it out!”
“Figured what out?” she asks warily as she makes her way towards him. His smile doesn’t even falter as he hands over the talisman in question.
“The modification to the heating talisman I was telling you about,” he gestures eagerly. “We can use these to get each of the caves to the exact heat and humidity you need to grow your herbs!”
“Oh?’ she asks, looking vaguely impressed. “I thought it was giving you too much trouble?”
“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “I got stuck on that compass I’m working on, so I decided to work on this for a change.”
“Of course you did,” she says, an amused twist to her lips. “Alright, let’s try it out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?’ he whines. “Why not right now?”
“When was the last time you slept?” she asks sharply. He looks away, his face giving away his guilt. “That’s what I thought,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go eat something, then sleep.”
“But Wen Qing,” he continues, dragging her name out as he pouts.
“No,” she says firmly. “Now get some sleep before I stick a needle in you!”
He huffs and walks away, dragging his feet. As he goes, he turns back to see Wen Qing tracing her fingers on the talisman, a small smile on her face. For all that she’s harsh on him when it comes to his health, she is the one person who is always fully appreciative of his inventions while also understanding them. He wouldn’t trade her for the world.
“Do you think it’s possible to use resentful energy for healing?”, Wei Wuxian asks Wen Qing as he watches her prepare her herbs. He has offered to help, but she prefers to do it herself or with Wen Ning because they can’t afford to lose any herbs to improper preparation.
She hums slightly. “There’s no precedent, but then again, there was never any precedent for a golden core transfer either.”
“Nobody’s needed to research it,” he says, now simply thinking out loud. “Everyone who’s tried to work with resentful energy in the past had a golden core, so they could just use that to heal. But their failure to control resentful energy could be because they didn’t compensate for that.”
“Or overcompensated for it,” Wen Qing adds. He nods in agreement.
“But there must be some way to get resentful energy and spiritual energy to work together. Energy is energy, right?”
“Theoretically, yes. Practically? Nobody has ever figured it out, so who knows?”
“I mean,” he shrugs, “When I got thrown in here, I was badly injured. Wen Chao and his men beat the shit out of me and the fall definitely didn’t help. I’m pretty sure I stuffed my body full of resentful energy, and I somehow managed to heal enough to be able to walk out of here without any physical pain.”
“But you don’t remember exactly what you did?”, she asks.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s because I’ve forgotten or if it’s because I did it accidentally. And if I did forget, I have no way of telling if it was natural or if the resentful energy messed with my thoughts somehow. I was hallucinating pretty heavily for a while in here.”
“And there’s no way to know exactly how resentful energy affects you when you let it in unconsciously,” Wen Qing points out.
Wei Wuxian hums in agreement. “That’s what makes demonic cultivation dangerous,” he says. “Nobody knows anything about it. There are dangers associated with using spiritual energy too, it’s just that people have already figured out what those dangers are and how to mitigate damage. That’s what I plan to do with demonic cultivation too, but does anyone listen? No, the minute they hear the words ‘demonic cultivation’, all they hear is ‘dangerous’.”
He rolls his eyes and is uncomfortably reminded of how his every conversation with Lan Zhan since the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign has degenerated to the harm he was doing to his body with resentful energy. He can’t help but bristle everytime it comes up. He knows. He knows exactly what effects demonic cultivation is having on him, on his temperament, and what is simply because he no longer has a golden core. His constant fatigue, for instance, is because he no longer has a golden core to compensate for a lack of sleep. He looks more worn and haggard because he can no longer practice inedia. They aren't problems arising from his cultivation path. It irritates him that Lan Zhan won’t believe that he has, in fact, thought this through. He knows that there are significantly more dangers to his path than established forms of cultivation, but it’s not like those avenues are open to him anymore. Of course, he can’t tell Lan Zhan that, so he supposes the two of them are bound to argue about this endlessly.
“You should publish your work,” Wen Qing suggests, breaking him out of his thoughts. “People would understand it better if they read about it.”
He snorts derisively. “Who would want to read what the evil Yiling Patriarch has to say about heretical demonic cultivation?”, he asks. “Apart from the power-hungry people who regularly show up and beg me to teach them how to slaughter their families or whatever they want?”
He sighs and buries his face in his hands. From the gaps between his fingers, he can see Wen Qing come and sit across from him. He sighs again, louder, and lowers his hands to look at her properly. She grips his wrists softly. Her hands are gentle but firm— the hands he would entrust his life to, the hands he had entrusted his golden core to.
“Wei Wuxian,” she begins, her tone just as gentle and firm as her hands. “Listen to me. You have done the most unprecedented of things. Honestly, if anyone manages to create a healing method using resentful energy, it would be you. I have no doubts about that. You saw my research, heard the odds, rolled the dice on that and then followed through. You are a living, breathing embodiment of the Yunmeng Jiang ideal.”
He huffs out a laugh at that, but there’s no humour in it. “I did all of that because it was the only option available at the time, Wen Qing.”
“Anyone else would have given up years ago.”
He shakes his head, smiling sadly. “You know that wasn’t an option for me, Wen Qing.”
“Exactly. You never give up. I know that. You know that. But you need to listen to me now.”
“I’m listening to you,” he replies, meeting her eyes properly for the first time since the conversation began.
“Good.” One of her hands still holds his wrist, but the other cups his cheek, making sure he doesn’t look away. “You do not have to do this alone. You have walked alone for far too long. But now, you have me. There is no better doctor than me. And I will do everything I can to help you. So don’t do something stupid like stabbing yourself and trying to heal the wound, alright? That sounds exactly like the sort of thing you would do when you’re consumed by an idea.”
“I— uh… I won’t do that,” Wei Wuxian’s voice cracks as he tries to blink away the traitorous tears that threaten to make an appearance. “Thank you…”, he hesitates, then decides to take his chance. “Thank you Qing-jie.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies, the warmth in her voice unmistakeable. “Now,” she says, standing up, “Show me how much your tea-making has improved.”
Wei Wuxian laughs, glad that Wen Qing isn’t going to mention how watery it sounds. “I make the best tea, Qing-jie. Don’t lie, you love it.”
“We’ll see,” she sniffs.
Wei Wuxian laughs again. He could stay in this moment forever.
Chapter 5: EXTRA: far reaching consequences
Summary:
3 other times the rumors about the Yiling Patriarch's concubines came up
Chapter Text
+1
Wei Wuxian sits tiredly on the steps to one of the abandoned buildings in Yiling. He has, once again, failed to sell enough radishes to make the money they so desperately need. He sighs deeply, lost in thought, when a woman walks hesitantly up to him.
“Young master, if you don’t mind me interrupting…” she says slowly.
Wei Wuxian looks up at her and fixes a smile on his face. “How can I be of service?” he asks. He tries to help the people of Yiling, even despite the malicious rumors of him that abound there. He hopes that if it comes to it, they might have just the slightest of qualms about storming the home of the man who had helped them load their rice into a cart, or the man that offered them directions when they were hopelessly lost.
“If you don’t mind me saying, Young Master,” she says, “you look like you’re not having much success.”
Wei Wuxian sighs. “Is it that obvious, miss?” he asks wryly.
“Yiling is a difficult town to stay employed in,” the woman tells him. “But someone like you…” she trails off, biting her lip.
Wei Wuxian furrows his brow. Someone like him? Does she mean a cultivator? Can she tell? Does she know who he is? Before he can ask, she continues speaking.
“Forgive me, Young Master but I have seen you come here often. You look to have undergone some heavy burdens in the past months.”
That, he has. He is living on a mountain of corpses with a group of refugees, he is the only thing keeping the resentful energy at bay, they are all going hungry, and there are only so many nutrients one can get from a radish-only diet, but he can’t say that to the nice lady who is worried about him, so he lets her continue.
“If you are having trouble making a living… perhaps you might have better luck seeking an alternate form of employment?”
What is she talking about?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, miss,” he says as politely as he can, trying not to show how genuinely baffled by this conversation.
“That is to say…” she leans in closer and lowers her voice, “perhaps you might have heard that the Yiling Patriarch is taking concubines?”
“Uhhh…”
“I’m sure he would be unopposed to a face like yours,” the woman says, then blushes. “That is to say- I-” she splutters before hurriedly blurting out, “They say he has an eye for beauty.”
Wei Wuxian nearly chokes. No matter where he had thought this conversation was headed, it wasn’t this. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wishing he had put a stop to Wen Qing’s ridiculous idea as soon as she had come up with it. He wishes too, that the ground would open up and swallow him where he stood.
The woman, unfortunately, interprets this as fear of the Yiling Patriarch.
Who is him.
Who he would definitely not be afraid of even if he was a separate person, least of all because the Yiling Patriarch spends his days farming radishes, washing clothes, and playing with a child.
“You needn’t be afraid,” she assures him hastily. “I know they say he does horrible things, but I’ve heard he is kind to his concubines.”
Well, he does try to be kind to everyone at the Burial Mounds, so…
“Whenever they come down to Yiling, they seem cheerful and healthy, and they appear to be treated well.”
They have spent significantly less time subsisting on radishes alone than the rest of them, so that makes sense.
“If I may be so bold… I overheard one of them brag to a teashop owner about how thoroughly he satisfies them.”
He chokes. That he definitely blames on Liu Chunhua- she is undoubtedly the one of his ‘concubines’ who has taken to that cover story with an unholy glee. He also wishes he would be struck by lightning, so he could escape this truly mortifying conversation. Only the sweet release of death will spare him the embarrassment. To further add to his mortification, he blushes furiously, which the woman clearly interprets in a salacious manner if her smirk is anything to go by.
“You should think about it, Young Master,” she says. “When one has a pretty face, one must use it to their full advantage!”
“I… uhhh…”
“I apologize if I have overstepped,” she says- now, after everything she has already said- then quickly excuses herself, walking away humming a cheerful tune, like she hasn’t just suggested that Wei Wuxian offer to be his own concubine to escape a life of having to sell radishes grown in the Burial Mounds.
He huffs. How bold are people these days? To suggest such a thing to a stranger!
It’s only when he leaves that he realizes that the building whose steps he had been sitting on was a recently abandoned brothel. He supposes that might explain the woman’s boldness. Too bad she hadn’t offered a real solution to his current problem.
+2
Lan Wangji tries not to listen to rumors about Wei Ying. They are never honest. They always paint him as a monster, as a madman, a murderer, a heretic. The rumors, he supposes, are exciting to the common folk, and help whip the cultivation world into a frenzy. Every conference they have ends with at least one sect leader frothing at the mouth while spitting insults about the Yiling Patriarch.
So, Lan Wangji tries not to listen to the rumors.
Except one time, when he cannot help but hear them.
He is at a discussion conference where a disciple from the Cai sect is eagerly giving his testimony after spending weeks staking out Yiling. He has had no good things to say about the town, nor has he gotten a single glimpse of Wei Ying, which Lan Wangji is glad for. The less contact Wei Ying has with the cultivators who despise him, the safer he will be.
“... but I did see some very interesting women,” the disciple is saying.
If Lan Wangji was anyone else, this would have made him roll his eyes. Does this disciple truly think that his encounters with the women of Yiling are of importance to the conference? He cannot stomach it if this turns into a round of bawdy jokes. He is only here to see if there is a possibility that he might speak for Wei Ying— Wei Ying who has followed his heart and done what he believes to be just, and is now facing the censure of the cultivation world for it.
“There were three women I saw at a tea house,” the disciple continues, “and the people of Yiling seemed to know them well. In fact, when I asked one of the patrons, he told me some very interesting information. You see,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “The women were the Yiling Patriarch’s concubines.”
Lan Wangji stiffens. He hates the cold, ugly feeling that makes itself known to him as it envelops him.
The room erupts. There are cries about how this is further evidence of the Yiling Patriarch’s degeneracy, to try and acquire an entire harem of women. There are suggestions that he must have tired of the ghost girls he no doubt used to take to bed, because why else would he have kept them around? There are more cries, suggestions of potentially kidnapping one of the women and ransoming her.
All Lan Wangji feels is bitter envy.
All his life, he has been taught to be above petty emotions like jealousy, but something about Wei Ying just brings it out in him. He desires Wei Ying like nothing he has ever desired before, he wants to claim Wei Ying with an intensity that terrifies him somehow. The thought of Wei Ying with anyone else makes his heart ache and his blood boil.
He knows he only has himself to blame. He has spent Wei Ying’s entire time at Cloud Recesses pushing Wei Ying away. He has spent the entire Sunshot Campaign having disagreement after disagreement with him— his words always coming out wrong, Wei Ying always misunderstanding them. Wei Ying has no idea of his feelings, and for good reason— Lan Wangji has hidden them behind glares and silence, for the fear that Wei Ying would know somehow, and now he cannot blame anyone else for how things have turned out.
He has no claim on Wei Ying.
But when he pictures Wei Ying smiling at someone else the way he smiled at Lan Wangji, when he thinks of Wei Ying twirling a lock of someone else’s hair as he teases them in a low, flirtatious voice, when he thinks of Wei Ying kissing someone else-
The teacup in his grip shatters.
A few looks come his way. His brother looks worried. He hears one sect leader mutter “Hanguang-jun must be so distrubed by this depravity” and is very grateful that he does not blush noticeably, because if anything, his thoughts were more depraved than anything Wei Ying has been accused of doing today. His mind has automatically filled with images of himself journeying to Yiling and boldly offering to be Wei Ying’s concubine himself, images of what that might entail, exactly.
He reassures himself that the rumour is fake, like all the other rumours are. For all he knows, the women just happen to be some of the Wen remnants and the people of Yiling had simply drawn their own conclusions, perhaps because the women are attractive. Wei Ying may flirt like he breathes, but it is almost never with any true intent. After all, he had flirted with Lan Wangji on occasion, hadn’t he? And that had led to nothing.
He convinces himself that the rumors are fake.
It is the only way he can keep his heart whole.
+3
They lie in their bed in the Jingshi, sated and content, Wei Wuxian pillowing his head on Lan Wangji’s arm. Finally, after years, the grief has abated enough that Wei Wuxian finds it in himself to be able to talk about the people in the Burial Mounds, so he speaks about them with increasing frequency these days.
“You know how I have a weird amount of knowledge about what dyes and threads have been used to make your clothing?” he asks.
Lan Wangji nuzzles the top of Wei Wuxian’s head. “Wei Ying has a lot of knowledge about a lot of things,” he says fondly.
“Well, this knowledge in particular came from Lei Xiuying.” His voice is soft as he recalls the stories Lei Xiuying told him of her life— the happy ones and the sad ones.
“Who was she to you?” Lan Wangji asks, pulling Wei Wuxian back from where he had nealy gotten lost in his own memories.
“Unofficially, she was the seamstress for all of the Burial Mounds. Officially though, she was my concubine.” Wei Wuxian let out a bright laugh, unaware of the way Lan Wangji’s face had turned into a grimace, or what passed for one when Lan Wangji was involved, anyway. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I haven’t told you that story, have I?”
“No.” The word is short and clipped as Lan Wangji’s old jealousy burns unpleasantly, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t notice, lost in remembrance.
“Wen Qing used to bring these women to the Burial Mounds because they needed protection from someone or the other,” Wei Wuxian explained, looking that particular mixture of fond and wistful he always did when he talked about Wen Qing. “She needed a story to protect them from whatever trouble they were looking to escape from, so she would spread the rumors that they were my concubines, so people would know they had my protection.”
“Mn.”
Wei Wuxian sighs. “I guess the rumors of the Yiling Patriarch’s concubines didn't make it to the rest of the cultivation world, huh?”
Lan Wangji cannot hide the displeasure in his voice. “I heard them.”
“You did?” Wei Wuxian frowns, then grins, bright and mischievous. He turns in Lan Wangji’s arms to face his husband. “Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan, did you really hear those old stories?”
“Mn.”
Lan Wangji’s face remains stiff at the reminder of the unpleasant information. Wei Wuxian’s face, though, brightens further. He moves quickly to straddle his husband and looks down at him with an incredibly satisfied look.
“Tell me, Lan Zhan,” he drawls teasingly, “Were you jealous when you heard?”
Lan Wangji refuses to answer, staring pointedly at Wei Wuxian, but when his husband pulls his hair slightly, then pouts playfully, he finds himself unable to resist.
“I was,” he admits, the tips of his ears flushing pink in embarrassment.
Wei Wuxian lets out a pleased laugh. He cups Lan Wangji’s cheek gently and smiles at him, sweet and seductive.
“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” he says, his voice drops low and fills with heat. “You can be the Yiling Patriarch’s concubine now. The only one, in fact.”
“Mark your words,” Lan Wangji practically growls.
“Oh, consider them marked,” Wei Wuxian purrs back. Then, he leans down to kiss his husband, slowly and deliberately, pulling back and looking at him, a challenge in his eyes.
It takes less than a few moments for Lan Wangji to pull him back down immediately.
By the end of the night, Lan Wangji’s jealousy is sated quite thoroughly.
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