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Chapter Text

After two wars, Lan Xichen thinks he can speak authoritatively on the matter — the bulk of the work always comes after the war.

This argument between Lanling Jin and a coalition of smaller sects has raged on for hours now, late into the night. It’s far past Gusu Lan's traditional bedtime, and Lan Xichen can slowly feel exhaustion beginning to chip away at his patience.

"I would like to advocate again for the open dissemination of the Yiling Patriarch's notes," he says tiredly, for what feels like the fourth or fifth time. "Parts of his research have the potential to be used for good. Everyone should be able to benefit from them."

A minor sect leader shoots to his feet. If Lan Xichen remembers correctly, Sect Leader Yao is his name. Lan Xichen does not remember the name with much fondness.

“But what of the parts that could be used for harm?!” Sect Leader Yao cries, appalled. “The common people cannot be trusted with such evil techniques! Furthermore, there’s a high risk of things going wrong if they are practiced incorrectly. How can these notes just be so carelessly distributed?!”

“And that’s why Lanling Jin is best suited to safeguard these notes,” Jin Guangyao interjects, smiling. “We have a guest disciple who has the knowledge to interpret them, safely testing out the techniques so we can figure out which ones are safe for public use.”

Nie Mingjue, a hitherto quiet figure, finally lets out a cold laugh.

“You’re talking about Xue Yang,” he says.

Lan Xichen winces, sensing an oncoming argument.

“Da-ge—” he begins placatingly.

“Your entire Jin Sect is a pit of vipers,” Nie Mingjue spits, “and I wouldn’t trust you with a dagger, let alone an entire manual of dangerous cultivation techniques.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Tell me, when are you going to hand Xue Yang over for trial?”

Even though he does not address the question to anyone specifically, his eyes are pinned on Jin Guangyao. The other man drops his eyes, avoiding his gaze.

“My, my, Sect Leader Nie,” Jin Guangshan begins silkily. “Such venomous accusations. Won’t you give your sworn brother some face?”

Jin Guangyao stiffens at those words. After a moment, however, Nie Mingjue just scoffs, turning to the man sitting silently at his side.

“And you, Jiang Wanyin?” he questions sharply. “Do you have nothing to say?”

Everyone startles at that, turning to the young sect leader, having all but forgotten about his presence. He had been so quiet, so still, just staring vacantly at the table for the whole discussion. Even now, he does not even twitch, sitting still as stone. 

“No,” he replies, monotone.

Nie Mingjue lets out a frustrated, disbelieving noise.

“You alone have veered the furthest from the demonic path,” he presses. “You alone have condemned it whole-heartedly, eliminated all that would misuse it. And now, you will not fight to safeguard these manuals from falling into the hands of unscrupulous others?”

When Jiang Wanyin still says nothing, Nie Mingjue leans in.

“Jiang Wanyin,” he hisses. “You have the strongest claim to his possessions. You will not fight?! He was your shixiong! He was your brother! You have the right!”

There’s a crackle. 

The flickering purple of Jiang Cheng’s ring casts a conspicuous glow in the dim room, painting his still features in eerie shadow. 

“He was no brother of mine,” Jiang Wanyin says without inflection. “I lay no claim.”

Nie Mingjue sits back in his chair, seemingly backing down.

“Calm yourself, Jiang Wanyin,” he mutters. “You want no part in this? Fine. I’m not going to argue with you.”

At those words, the crackle dies, and the room eases a little. This, however, is apparently enough for Jin Guangshan to resume his machinations without fear.

“And yet,” he drawls, leaning back in his seat, “the young Sect Leader Jiang continues to hoard the most valuable piece of the puzzle. Is the ghost flute Chenqing not in your possession? Do you not guard it zealously at your Lotus Pier?” 

Jiang Wanyin does not speak, and after a moment, Jin Guangyao reaches out to grip discreetly at Jin Guangshan’s sleeve. 

“Father,” he murmurs worriedly. 

“Don’t call me that,” Jin Guangshan snarls, flicking Jin Guangyao’s touch off with a wave of his sleeve. He does not even look at Jin Guangyao, eyes fixed single-mindedly on the other sect leader. “Is it even in Lotus Pier, Jiang Wanyin, or have you hidden it elsewhere?"

Jiang Wanyin’s gaze, previously fixed unmovingly on the table, rises slowly to meet Jin Guangshan’s eyes. Lan Xichen can’t help but feel a strange sense of foreboding. The young man in front of him had once been so easy to cow, always wary of offending his elders, always keen not to draw anyone’s ire, but now, he meets Jin Guangshan’s gaze head-on, without any hint of an apology.

"You have evaded all attempts to inquire of its whereabouts, all attempts to hold you to accountability," Jin Guangshan continues. "Do you really think you are above questioning?! Do you really think we will allow you to hold Chenqing indefinitely, without explanation, without justification?!”

Outside, the trees rustle briefly, disturbed by a sudden breeze. The gust flutters at the edges of the papers on the desk, setting the candles on the table violently a-flicker. The dancing candlelight lights Jiang Wanyin's face from beneath, his eyes flashing dangerously in its glow, but still, Jin Guangshan doesn’t seem to notice.

“We will not have another person holding onto dark weapons without any means of accountability,” he concludes, bringing his fist firmly down on the table. “We will not have another Yiling Patriarch!"

Lan Xichen blinks, and when he next opens his eyes, the long discussion table has tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud, thunderous crash. The candles on the table fall to the ground, lighting the scattered maps and notes on fire. With that, the room is thrown into sudden darkness, shadows flickering and flashing dizzyingly against the walls as several others begin to stamp out the fire, shouting in alarm.

Jin Guangyao’s shrill voice cuts through the din like a knife.

“Jiang Wanyin!” he screams.

Lan Xichen looks up to see Jin Guangyao falling backwards, knocked away by a fierce sweep of Jiang Wanyin’s arm. With the other hand, Jiang Wanyin has reached across the toppled table, and is gripping Jin Guangshan by the collar, all but lifting him off his seat.

“You want accountability?!” he hisses. “You want justification?!”

“Jiang Wanyin, stop this!” Jin Guangyao shrieks. He grabs Jiang Wanyin’s elbow, pulling at him with his whole body, but still, Jiang Wanyin will not be moved.

“Then let me tell you!” Jiang Wanyin thunders. “Chenqing is on my person! It is on my person right now, as it has been since I gained possession of it, and as it will be until Wei Wuxian returns to claim it!” 

“You’re mad!” Jin Guangshan shrieks. “Claim it?! How?! He’s dead! Dead!” 

“How would you know?!” Jiang Wanyin bellows, shaking Jin Guangshan violently by the neck. “Did you see him die?! Did you find a body?! There was no body! No bones! Nothing to claim— nothing to bury!” 

“Let go of him!” Jin Guangyao screams, still pulling desperately at Jiang Wanyin’s arm, even as Lan Xichen rushes around the smoldering wreck of the table.

“Jiang Wanyin!” Lan Xichen hollers, grabbing Jiang Wanyin’s other arm. “Control yourself!”

Nie Mingjue leaps across the table as well. But in Jiang Wanyin’s mad rage, not even the combined efforts of three prominent cultivators can restrain him. 

“He’ll be back!” he spits in Jin Guangshan’s face. “And when he finally comes for me, when he finally comes for his accursed flute— I’ll kill him, and kill him, and kill him dead!”

This memory is what plays in Lan Xichen’s mind, over and over, while Jiang Wanyin bows his head, presenting a red letter in gold lettering. 

“For our brothers’ happiness,” he says tonelessly, “please accept my proposal.”

After the whole train of disasters leading up to the confrontation at Yunping, the confession at Yunping, Wangji and Wei Wuxian had vanished for three whole months, returning with an announcement that had shaken the foundations of the Gusu Lan Sect— they had married in the in-between, and asked that their marriage be recorded in the family registry.

A fierce argument had ensued between them and the elders, one that had eventually resulted in an ultimatum.

"It is improper for the younger to marry before the older," the elders had declared. "You will have a proper wedding after Xichen is married. Then, and only then, will your spouse be recorded in the registry."

After so long as sect leader, after a decade and a half mired in year after year of politics, Lan Xichen sees it for the ruse it is. It's a smart ploy, one that will down two birds with one throw. 

Ultimately, the elders had not believed the relationship would last. They had hoped to delay the wedding long enough for Wei Wuxian to grow bored and depart, whilst simultaneously pressuring Lan Xichen to leave his seclusion and get on with what he'd been delaying for years— finding a suitable wife.

Unfortunately, with Jiang Wanyin's proposal, that had backfired on them in the worst possible way.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, concentrating on the scrape of wood over his scalp as his brother draws a comb slowly through his hair.

"The first comb—" he murmurs, "a marriage that will last from root to end."

He draws the comb all the way down to the very tips of Lan Xichen's hair, before starting again at the top.

"The second comb—" he continues, "a hundred years of bliss."

In a proper wedding, these lines would have been recited by a female elder, one married and preferably with children, perhaps grandchildren. Today, however, with the elders in uproar and refusing attendance, there had been no one else to conduct the ceremony.

Lan Xichen looks at his brother in the bronze mirror as he finishes the second comb, and begins the third. Wangji wears no expression as he draws the comb, once more, from base to tip, the motion slow and measured. The room around them, though draped in a festive red, is uncomfortably unfamiliar.

Lan Xichen quickly closes his eyes again.

"The fourth comb—" Wangji finishes, "a life lived to white-haired old age."

And with that, he stands, and goes to retrieve the glutinous rice balls that will complete the ceremony.

The entire wedding, Lan Xichen knows, is perfunctory at best, an afterthought at worst. He and Jiang Wanyin had hashed the details out in a single day, without input nor help from their elders. 

The majority of the usual rituals will be left unperformed. There will be no bridal games— no festivities that will bring the cheer and good humour needed in any wedding. It would be inappropriate, they had agreed. As neither would be moving to the other’s residence, there would be no fetching of the bride. There will be no tea ceremony either— no ritual to signify the acceptance of a spouse by the family. 

The Lan elders had refused to be present, and Jiang Wanyin had no elders to whom they could serve the tea.

Wangji returns moments later with a plate of glutinous rice balls.

"Xiongzhang," ^[1] he finally says. "Are you sure?"

There’s a crease between his brows now, his eyes confused, troubled, as he peers searchingly up into Lan Xichen's eyes.

Lan Xichen lowers his gaze.

Wordlessly, he consumes the first rice ball.

The proposal had initially been met with a fair amount of disbelief, but Jiang Wanyin had been quick to persuade Lan Xichen of its benefits. 

The elders had followed their ultimatum with mounting attempts to drive Wei Wuxian from the Cloud Recesses— he had been deprived of his own rooms, and had taken permanent residence in the Jingshi as a result, and the wall of rules had quickly been lengthened with a variety of ordinances prohibiting interaction with him. Juniors who spoke to him, or who joined him on night hunts, were punished swiftly and summarily. It was heartbreaking for a soul so social to be deprived of that.

Aside from allowing their brothers to marry, aside from bringing an end to that needless cruelty, Jiang Wanyin had also argued that their marriage would bring stability to the cultivation world as a whole. In the past, he had argued, the cultivation world had been held in balance by the strong coalition of the four great sects. Gusu Lan, Lanling Jin, and Qinghe Nie were held closely together in brotherhood, while Yunmeng Jiang had been tied to Lanling Jin in marriage and in a shared heir.

That balance had been broken with the events of the past year. 

Jin Guangyao was dead. Lanling Jin was in chaos, rife with infighting and continuous attempts to seize power from its rightful heir. With Lan Xichen in seclusion, tributaries of Qinghe Nie had also begun to challenge Nie Huaisang’s power, knowing that he was now without the protection of the late Chifeng-zun's sworn brothers. The scales of power had begun to tip.

"We can restore the coalition," Jiang Wanyin had said. "We can restore the balance of power."

Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan would be strengthened by the marriage, giving them the political leverage to tighten the young Jin Rulan's hold on his position. Together, they could help to stop the infighting, to bring stability back to Lanling Jin, and from there, they could continue on to assist Nie Huaisang in his troubles.

The benefits having been thusly laid out, Jiang Wanyin had gone on to present a list, detailing the items in the crates upon crates of gifts he had brought. Lan Xichen had taken it, reviewing it without too much attention. All the appropriate gifts for a betrothal had been present. After that, he had put the list down, and looked back up.

In that moment, he could feel only numbness.

"When shall the ceremony happen?" he had asked.

“In two weeks,” Jiang Wanyin had said.

They'd had to make arrangements very quickly after that. On that same day, they had ironed out the rest of the details. The wedding, they had agreed, would take place at Carp Tower. It was a neutral location, which was appropriate given that neither would be moving into the other’s residence. It would not be appropriate to marry in Lotus Pier or the Cloud Recesses, they had agreed. And as for the engagement rites… 

"I’ll have betrothal gifts sent to Lotus Pier by the end of the week," Lan Xichen had promised, before hesitating. "Should I— also include a dowry?"

"Yes," Jiang Wanyin had said decisively. "Upon receiving your betrothal gift, Lotus Pier will also send a dowry."

The engagement had thus been sealed.

With slow, measured steps, Lan Xichen moves towards the banquet hall. There are only servants walking the halls now, head bowed, steps quick, their faces lowered and solemn. Some of them are dressed in Lanling gold, but others in Yunmeng purple or Gusu white. Some of the older servants in white, those with familiar faces, meet Lan Xichen’s gaze with troubled eyes, but he just smiles, dips his head, and continues.

As they finally stop before the great doors of the banquet hall, however, Wangji finally seems unable to hold his tongue. 

“Are you sure, brother?" he whispers again, and Lan Xichen smiles.

“It is for the best," he insists.

A servant steps forward then, bowing briefly to the both of them, before grasping the brass rings of the double doors. The doors open slowly, in time with those facing them on the other side of the hall. In the opposite doorway, Jiang Wanyin looks up. 

Their gazes meet across the room.

After a moment, Jiang Wanyin dips his head in greeting. His eyes are flat, devoid of life, and devoid of love.

Lan Xichen still remembers the first time, even before the peace negotiations had started, that he'd spoken to Jiang Wanyin as one sect leader to another.

Gusu Lan had been busy with war for years on end. While Lan Xichen had traveled from battlefield to battlefield during both wars, bringing aid and reinforcement where he could, Uncle had served as regent back home. With the end of the Siege of the Burial Mounds, however, they had finally reached a measure of peace, and with that, Lan Xichen's ascension could no longer be delayed.

The ceremonies had lasted three whole days. Three days of rituals, but also of celebration. On the third day, Lan Xichen had emerged from the ritual hall, dressed finally in the full regalia of his station. There, in the banquet hall, he had met Jiang Wanyin— young definitely, but already five years into his sect leadership.

Lan Xichen had cupped his hands, and he had bowed.

"Please guide me," he had murmured.

Jiang Wanyin had laughed then, he remembers. He had laughed, loudly and bitterly. 

Then, he had turned, and walked away.

In the aftermath of two wars, Jiang Wanyin had been changed irrevocably. He had once been meek, but war and loss had sharpened him into a blade. Quiet throughout the bulk of the coming negotiations, his heavy presence was like the silent night, but in his outbursts, he raged like a storm with no direction, no end. His anger, his volatility, and his bursts of uncontrollable ire had torn the cultivation world asunder in the aftermath of their final siege.

Like thunder incarnate, conference rooms would grow heavy with his presence, darkened by the storm of his rage, and tense with the promise of lightning. Sometimes, the sound of a crackle, the final signs of a temper close to snapping, could be enough for minor sect leaders to immediately cease their demands, redirecting the entire course of a negotiation without him speaking a single word. 

They all knew that when the storms hit, Jiang Wanyin was like a natural disaster — undirected, ruthless, and devastating, leaving only destruction in his wake. He had not shied away from physical violence, even in the negotiation hall. And so, while the leaders of the great sects had soon learnt to weather those storms, cliffs standing stoically firm before the gale, the threat of Jiang Wanyin’s ire had soon become enough to send those lower in station scrambling like ants.

It was in this way that the completely razed Yunmeng Jiang had emerged from the war, status as a great sect challenged by no one.

Firecrackers go off loudly as they walk slowly across the banquet hall towards each other. The room is draped in silken finery, awash in the sounds of celebratory music. A suona player plays a loud tune amidst the clash of cymbals, but the crowd remains oddly quiet.

In the middle, Uncle sits upon a dais, the only elder in attendance. The chair beside him is empty, and he looks slightly ill. He looks down upon them with thin lips as a herald announces the bows.

"The first bow to heavens and earth!" the herald cries, and Lan Xichen closes his eyes. It feels like his body moves without his command, like something has possessed him and is moving him through this farce of a ceremony.

"The second bow to the parents!"

He looks his uncle in the eye then, before he bends, pressing his forehead to the ground in front of him.

"The third bow— to each other!"

Finally, he and Jiang Wanyin rise, and turn to each other. Jiang Wanyin's eyes are lowered, not meeting Lan Xichen's gaze, and after a moment, Lan Xichen lowers his eyes as well. He bends, and presses his forehead to the ground.

And with that — it is done.

With it finally over, Uncle gets up immediately, striding off the dais and out of the room without another word. Lan Xichen gets to his feet as well, a lump rising inexplicably to his throat, and turns to face the audience. Amongst them are a number of Gusu Lan disciples, their young faces peering up at Lan Xichen with lost and bewildered eyes. The Yunmeng Jiang disciples, in comparison, stare straight ahead with straight-backed discipline, their stiff postures matching that of their sect leader's.

After a long moment, the young Jin Rulan stands.

"May the celebrations begin," he announces.

As firecrackers go off, the music starts up once more. Wei Wuxian emerges from the crowd, stopping in front of Jiang Wanyin. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly as he searches for words, before finally, he settles on a tremulous smile.

“You look beautiful, shidi," he whispers. 

Somehow, it sounds like he’s about to cry. 

“I never thought I’d get to see this," he continues shakily. "I never thought I'd get to be a part of this."

He bites his lip, and dips his head.

"Thank you," he murmurs, "for inviting me."

Jiang Wanyin just looks down at him, completely expressionless, until they are interrupted by a loud scoff. A man in Lanling gold has stepped forward out of the crowd, and is sneering openly at Wei Wuxian.

"Indeed," he says haughtily. "I do wonder why this person has been allowed to attend. For thirteen years, Sect Leader Jiang has made his opinions clear, but in the last year, it feels like the whole world has gone mad. Gusu Lan is sheltering a war criminal, and now, even Yunmeng Jiang has forgiven his crimes?"

Jiang Wanyin's brows draw together.

Suddenly, the celebratory atmosphere seems to grow heavy, seems to grow dark with his ire.

"Ah, Jiang Cheng!" Wei Wuxian cries, raising his hands placatingly. "Don't be angry! This is a joyous occasion!"

Lan Wangji steps forward.

"He who does not know propriety should not deign to speak," he says harshly. "What is your business provoking the grooms at their own wedding?"

"This is a wedding," Jin Rulan agrees sternly. "This is my uncle's wedding. This is not the right avenue to voice your discontent. Please restrain yourself."

"Gusu Lan has gone to the dogs," the Lanling Jin cultivator hisses, and sneers at Jin Rulan, before continuing more quietly— "And so has Lanling Jin."

"You—" Jin Rulan begins.

"You do not command me," the man declares, and spits on the ground between them. "You are not my sect leader."

Jin Rulan's bottom lip trembles, but he says nothing, seemingly unable to summon up any reproach.

A sharp crackle interrupts further conversation, and the air between them grows heavy with static. Sparks of purple hiss and snap as Jiang Wanyin steps off the dais. His expression remains stoic, but his eyes flash as Zidian uncoils slowly from his right hand, a sinuous whisper of steel across stone. 

He takes another slow, deliberate step forward, and the Lanling Jin cultivator goes pale, quickly retreating a step.

“I will take my leave," he says shakily, and vanishes swiftly into the crowd.

Around them, the rest of the guests begin to murmur, watching Jiang Wanyin apprehensively. After a moment, Lan Xichen closes his eyes.

"Please put that away," he says tiredly. "There is no need for hostility on such an occasion."

Beside him, Jiang Cheng clenches his teeth. His jaw works, before he raises his fist. Zidian arcs through the air like a gash of lightning, striking the ground before him in a shower of sparks. The motion produces a clap like thunder.

The musicians stop.

Around them, the guests go quiet.

Jiang Wanyin looks slowly over all of them, unflinching under their wide, fearful gazes. He looks at each of the gathered Lanling Jin disciples in turn, eyes alight with warning, with threat, before finally— he tips his chin up, and recalls his weapon. Zidian slithers back up against his thigh, winding quietly around his finger. He folds his hands together, the fingers of his left hand caressing the steel band ponderously.

“We will retire to the wedding chamber,” he finally says, and turns away. “Enjoy the banquet.”

The old banquet table at Carp Tower, Lan Xichen remembers suddenly, had been a work of art — a long mahogany piece, inlaid with intricate mother-of-pearl branches, gold leaves, and flowers of ruby and sapphire. At the head of the table, where the Sect Leader had always sat, an ivory carp had been exquisitely etched into the table, jumping into crashing waves, with a dragon rising from the waters behind it.

Lan Xichen remembers that table vividly, just as he remembers the fateful day he’d walked past the banquet hall, only to find it broken cleanly into two. Rubies and sapphires had littered the ground where they had come detached from the once magnificent structure, and the ivory head of the great dragon had been split right down the middle. The broken halves of the table laid on their sides in the center of the room like miserable, beached whales.

He had stopped there in his tracks, eyes widening.

“What happened here?!” he’d blurted out, appalled at the brazen destruction of one of Carp Tower’s most public treasures.

Beside him, Jin Guangyao had slowed to a halt. His eyes had followed Lan Xichen’s gaze to the ruined table, and then, he had laughed.

“What else?” he’d asked simply. “Jiang Wanyin did.”

A scorch mark had sat squarely in the middle of the crack, split into two halves. Put together, however, they made the rough shape of a fist.

Chuckling dryly, Jin Guangyao had gestured politely for Lan Xichen to continue walking. 

“As you know,” he had continued, “Lotus Pier has recently begun clamoring for joint custody of our A-Ling. Jiang Wanyin was here to discuss the terms of that custody.” 

He had laughed again.

“Though perhaps discuss is not the right word,” he admitted. “He demanded an even split, with A-Ling spending half the year with us, and half the year with them. We all thought it was preposterous, of course. A-Ling is a Jin, and the future head of Lanling Jin at that! When I took it upon myself to propose more appropriate terms, however...”

He had shot Lan Xichen a meaningful look, and then he had raised his fist, bringing it down sharply down onto an imaginary surface.

Then, he had smiled.

“And that,” he had said, “was what happened.”

Afterwards, they had left the wing to stroll through one of Carp Tower's many stone gardens.

"Two days ago," Jin Guangyao had continued, "his matchmaking date with Maiden Yan ended in catastrophe. It was disastrous enough that he's been blacklisted by all of the cultivation world's matchmakers, every last one. They've refused to match him with any more women, mainly because in the aftermath of his last meeting, a large portion of their clients have declined to meet him, under any circumstance."

That had surprised Lan Xichen. It had seemed impossible, had seemed beyond belief that the matchmakers would reject a client of such status.

"What happened at the meeting with Maiden Yan?" he asked apprehensively.

"What else!" Jin Guangyao had cried, his frustration beginning to peak, even through his careful composure. "His legendary temper had gotten the better of him once again, of course. He flew into an inexplicable rage after Maiden Yan praised him for successfully vanquishing the Yiling Patriarch, and sent her running with a lash of his whip."

"Drawing his weapon on a woman?!" Lan Xichen had exclaimed. "That’s bad even by his standards!"

"He did not just draw his weapon," Jin Guangyao had clarified. "He lashed her. Thankfully, it missed and hit the ground between them instead. That whip has slain men in a single blow. I do not wish to think of what would have happened if it had actually struck her."

"That’s—" Lan Xichen had begun, at a complete loss. "That's wholly unacceptable. No wonder he's been blacklisted."

Jin Guangyao had barked out a laugh.

"He’s getting from bad to worse," he had declared. "If he does not reign himself in, we should all begin to fear for the future of the Jiang sect. With a temper like that, what woman would agree to marry him? Who could have the patience to love him?" He had shaken his head. "The Jiang bloodline will die with him if he doesn’t get his act together, and what a pity that would be."

"You never know," Lan Xichen had responded automatically, "perhaps he’ll eventually find someone to love— someone to calm and soothe him, to subdue his anger and bring him peace. There’s no person who’s truly unloveable, A-Yao."

Jin Guangyao had laughed.

"Oh, Er-ge!" he had cried. "You are the goodest man I know, but even you—?"

He had cut himself off with a sigh.

"Imagine being a woman," he had said. "Could you tolerate being married to a man like him? Could you love him, Er-ge? Could you?"

Lan Xichen had been silent for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he had finally admitted. “But I would try. Everyone deserves to be loved, A-Yao. Everyone deserves someone who will look at them, past the flaws, and see the most beautiful parts of their soul. No one is unredeemable. No one."

Jin Guangyao had not said anything for a long, long while.

Then finally, he had turned his face up to Lan Xichen. There had been a smile on his face then, a smile Lan Xichen had not understood at the time. It had been the smile A-Yao had worn in his final moments, as he'd pushed Lan Xichen away, before he'd been snatched up by Nie Mingjue's fierce corpse, and summarily slaughtered.

“Every person who has done wrong,” he had whispered then, “would pray to be dear to a person like you.”

Finally, they draw to a halt outside of the wedding chamber. Jiang Wanyin turns to Lan Xichen at the door, as expressionless as he'd been over the rest of the night.

"Good night," he says, with a small nod.

Then, he turns, and continues walking.

"Where are you going?" Lan Xichen asks, surprised.

Jiang Wanyin stops, and then turns around, his expression puzzled.

"I have my own set of rooms here in Carp Tower," he says shortly. "I do not wish to infringe any further on your privacy. I will sleep there for the night."

He nods his head again.

"Again," he says. "I bid you a good night, and a good stay here in Lanling."

Without another word, he turns, and continues down the hallway. Lan Xichen watches as Jiang Wanyin disappears around the corner, before he turns towards the door, sighing quietly, and pushes it open.

Inside, the wedding chamber is awash in vibrant reds and golds. The matrimonial bed is draped in embroidered silk and on the bedcover, a tray of oranges and candy awaits. As he sits down on the bed, he notices a silk pouch beside the traditional sweets. Atop the pouch, there is a single lock of hair, along with a pair of gold scissors.

He throws his head back, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs. Truly, Jiang Wanyin has been thorough in his preparations.

He pulls the gold pin out of his hair, and lets it fall down around his shoulders. Then, he cuts a small lock of hair from the ends of his hair, picks up the lock of hair from the tray, and ties it securely with his own, before tucking it neatly into the silk pouch.

The duty of keeping the pouch, it seems, has fallen to him.

As he lifts the tray, and sets it on the table, he can't help but recall his words to his once-sworn brother. Who would have thought he would truly end up married to Jiang Wanyin? Who would have thought that the person who would eventually be in this position— would be Lan Xichen himself? 

In that long-ago time, he had promised to try, had promised to love. But now, as he sheds the ceremonial layers of his wedding robe, he knows that the person who had once said those words, and the person that Lan Xichen has become now, are two very different people.

He has changed. He is no longer the immaculate, blameless Zewu-jun that Jin Guangyao had seen when he had looked at him back then. He is flawed and imperfect. He is human, and not even, he has come to realize, a particularly good one at that.

He sets the silk pouch down on the table, before sitting down on the bed. The traditional goodies lie uneaten on their tray, but there is no one to eat them with him, no one to partake in the post-wedding rituals with him. 

He sighs, and pours himself a cup of tea.

There is a jar of ceremonial wine on the table. 

It remains untouched.

Chapter Text

Life, in the wake of the wedding, is not much different than before. Jiang Cheng spends his mornings in training, his afternoons in meetings, and his nights at his desk, taking care of the endless pile of letters and paperwork that arrive, day after day. Jin Ling visits a few times, coming by to ask strange, inane questions like how are you doing? and are things alright here?

It's exceedingly strange, the way Jin Ling seems to be dancing around the topic of something bigger, and eventually, as he pesters Jiang Cheng in his study about his eating and sleeping habits— Jiang Cheng finally puts his foot down.

"Things are fine here," he snaps. "They are not fine at Carp Tower. What are you doing here, A-Ling? You should be taking care of things at home."

"I'm worried about you!" Jin Ling protests. "Wei Wuxian is too. We've been writing to each other, and he's just as worried as I am. Doesn't that say something?"

"No, it doesn't," Jiang Cheng says flatly, and turns his attention back down to his letters.

Determined to be a nuisance, Jin Ling plants his bottom on Jiang Cheng's desk, sitting on a very important letter.

"A-Ling," Jiang Cheng grits out. "Get off my desk."

"No," Jin Ling says stubbornly. "Not until you tell me honestly how you're doing."

Jiang Cheng glares at him, and Jin Ling tips his chin up, glaring defiantly back at him in return. As the years pass, it seems Jiang Cheng's pointed glances only do less and less to intimidate his nephew, so after a moment, he gives up with a sigh. He leans back in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you expecting me to be doing badly, A-Ling?" he asks tiredly. "Nothing has changed."

Jin Ling hops off the table.

"Everything has changed!" he cries, with a big, dramatic wave of his hands. "You and Zewu-jun haven't seen each other since the wedding! Is that called alright?!"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jian Cheng challenges. "We didn't marry for love."

Jin Ling folds his arms, scowling.

"Political marriages are common, A-Ling," Jiang Cheng points out. "That's what this is. A political marriage."

"But still!" Jin Ling cries. "You can’t possibly live out your lives avoiding each other, can you?!"

Outside, frogs croak in the falling dusk, their song broken only by the chirping of cicadas, and the sounds of distant voices. Amidst those familiar sounds, a faraway argument seems to echo in Jiang Cheng's ear.

From this day forth , that broken voice whispers, let us never see each other again. ^[1]

He picks up his brush, and applies it to parchment.

"My parents did," he says quietly.

When a letter arrives with the Gusu Lan crest the very next day, he thinks, for a moment, that Jin Ling had to have something to do with it. Then, he opens the letter.

Jiang Wanyin:

Please come to the Cloud Recesses at your earliest convenience. This is with regards to the recognition of our marriage by the Lan elders. As the nature of their objection is rather sensitive, the situation will be best explained in person. I apologize that I cannot give you further information at this juncture.

Lan Xichen

The terse tone and the contents of the letter itself paint a rather alarming picture, so Jiang Cheng immediately informs his deputy and his senior subordinates of his departure, and leaves for Gusu on that very same day. The Gusu Lan disciple on guard duty, however, seems rather surprised to see him.

"You have to let me in," Jiang Cheng says curtly, after a moment of silent staring.

The disciple just stares some more.

"Have you lost your token, Sect Leader Jiang?" he finally asks.

"I never had one," Jiang Cheng says.

The disciple blinks, seemingly incredibly surprised and bewildered at that, but dutifully escorts him in through the wards and towards the Hanshi. Lan Xichen rises from his desk at his entrance, and nods at the disciple with a smile.

"Thank you, Lan Yu," he says. "I would like a moment alone with Sect Leader Jiang. Would you be so kind as to close the doors when you leave?"

He waits quietly, watching as the disciple bows, closing the doors behind him. Then, he turns to Jiang Cheng.

"The elders are trying to annul the marriage on the basis that it has not been consummated," he says immediately.

Jiang Cheng is a little taken aback by the directness of that response.

"What evidence do they have?" he enquires.

"They found out that you slept in your guest room instead of the matrimonial chamber on the night of the wedding," Lan Xichen says.

Jiang Cheng blinks once.

"Well," he says. "There's a simple solution then. We will consummate it tonight."

Lan Xichen takes a stepback.

"I can assure you that I am not the sort of person to—" he splutters furiously.

"I meant that I will sleep in your room tonight," Jiang Cheng interrupts. "We'll mess the sheets up in the morning, and they will have no way of proving that we haven't consummated— unless they are intending to have witnesses in here?”

"No," Lan Xichen says quickly. "No witnesses."

"Then it's settled," Jiang Cheng says, before smiling wryly. "Don't worry, I won't kick you out of your bed. I will take the floor."

With that, he turns to leave.

"They are also trying to annul the marriage on basis of long-term separation," Lan Xichen informs him then. "They are using the fact that we haven't seen each other since the wedding."

"Then we'll set up a visiting schedule as well," Jiang Cheng says briskly. "How does two days every two weeks sound? We can take turns. That way, each of us will only have to make the trip once a month."

Lan Xichen just looks at him for a moment, expression inscrutable.

"Alright," is all he finally says, and Jiang Cheng nods.

"Then it's settled," he says. "Tell the elders that we will speak with them first thing tomorrow morning. I will stay out of your hair until tonight."

He leaves the Hanshi just as quickly as he had come. As he emerges into the courtyard, however, he comes to the belated realization that he has no real idea where he can wait until nightfall. He certainly doesn't want to wait in the Hanshi, but he doesn't want to wait out here in the cold either.

For a moment, he considers returning inside to ask Lan Xichen where he may go, but then finally decides against it. Surely as the sect leader’s new spouse, no one will tell him that he may not wander the premises without supervision.

He recalls that the Cloud Recesses has always had beautiful gardens.

Returning in the direction he came from, his surroundings soon become familiar again. There are a series of courtyard gardens here, all linked to one another in a long meandering path, each courtyard designed according to a different theme. 

This is one of the most commonly taken paths from the main entrance to the banquet hall, and so, it is one he has taken many times in his capacity as a sect leader. Unlike the previous times he's walked this path, however, the disciples he passes are all openly gawking at him. As he finally meets the gaze of one of the disciples, raising an eyebrow questioningly, the disciple flushes red and bows frantically, before scurrying away.

He sighs and keeps walking. 

Several courtyards in, he pauses in step as a familiar voice drifts to him from the courtyard ahead.

It is Lan Qiren’s voice.

He hasn't seen Lan Qiren since the wedding. As he mentally prepares an appropriate greeting, he comes to a strange realization: this will be their first interaction as in-laws, won't it?

Since Lan Xichen took the reins over a decade ago, Jiang Cheng has always referred to Lan Qiren as Master Lan, but that term of address seems a little too distant now. Technically, he should be referring to Lan Qiren as Shufu, ^[2] but he winces at the thought. That goes from too distant to too familiar all too quickly, an especially awkward choice when they both know that this marriage is a farce. Would Xiansheng ^[3] be better? A respectful acknowledgement of their past relationship as student and teacher?

In the end, after a good long bout of consideration, he just sighs, and turns to head into the courtyard on his right instead, effectively stepping out of Lan Qiren’s path, and conveniently avoiding the issue of diplomacy altogether. 

There are gardens here too, so he just continues to walk, courtyard through courtyard. He's never taken this path before, but as he gets deeper into the complex, he soon realizes that these courtyards seem to increasingly be meditation and contemplation spaces, some of them with open areas for training. 

Not for guests then, but for those living permanently here. 

He wonders briefly if he should return to the more public courtyards, but the disciples he runs into, despite the gawking, eventually collect themselves enough to nod in greeting, before moving on without further fanfare. No one seems concerned that he's here, but then again, he is the sect leader’s new spouse. He's not strictly just a guest anymore.

Wandering aimlessly in this way, he offers silent nods to each of the disciples he passes, but otherwise remains quiet, alone in his thoughts. In the midst of his absent wandering however, the sound of running water eventually gives him pause. It doesn't sound like a tap, nor like water being drawn from a well. In fact, it sounds like some kind of water feature. 

The last few courtyards had all been training grounds. He'd even passed the kitchens and the servants’ quarters at some point, so he definitely hadn't been expecting to find another garden this far out into the periphery of the estate. After a moment, however, curious despite himself, he takes a turn towards the gentle sounds of water.

He stops in the doorway to that next courtyard, surprised by the space that he finds. 

This courtyard is quite unlike any of the other ones he's seen in the Cloud Recesses so far. It seems split into a number of different sections. On one side, there's an open training space, but also a patio overlooking the training area beside it, with meditation cushions, a low table with a tea stove, and a set of bookshelves. The other side is taken up by a garden, designed around a small pavilion set in the middle of a modest pond. Water tumbles down the surface of a rock formation and into the pool — clearly the source of the trickling sounds. 

It is a strange space, seemingly a place for training, meditation, private relaxation, and entertaining guests all rolled into one, but what surprises him most of all, are the lotuses, planted in the water all around the pavilion.

From the personal artifacts scattered messily around the area — books, brushes, half-done talismans and letters — this courtyard clearly belongs to someone rather than being a communal space. He knows he should probably leave, but first…

He approaches the lotuses, bending down on one knee to inspect them. Indeed, they are lotuses and not lilies, the only lotuses he's seen in all the gardens of Gusu.

That’s probably for good reason. 

Although perennial lilies are still able to flourish at these altitudes, lotuses require specialized care to survive the cold winters. The pots have to be lowered and raised with the coming and ending of winter, and even outside of winter, the colder temperatures at this elevation are much more difficult for lotuses than they are for perrenial lilies. 

He touches a finger to the water’s surface, and is surprised to find that the water is slightly heated. He puzzles over this for a moment, before rising and striding over to the rock formation on the far side of the lake. When he peers behind it, his suspicions are confirmed. There’s a small tank feeding the water that's trickling down the rocks, and inside the tank are steel rods that appear to be heated by flame talismans.

Truly, a lot of thought and care has gone into the maintenance of these lotuses, and suddenly, as he hears the sound of sprightly footsteps approaching, much too lively to be a Lan disciple — he realizes why that must be so.

He raises his head in time to see Wei Wuxian skipping in through the doorway, faltering at the entrance to the courtyard, his jaw dropping open. For a long moment, Wei Wuxian just stares, as if not quite believing his eyes. Then, as Jiang Cheng sighs, straightening from his crouch, Wei Wuxian seems to shake himself out of his stupor.

“Jiang Cheng,” he greets with a small, unsure smile. “I— I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I took a detour from the main path and ended up here,” Jiang Cheng says shortly, brushing his hands down the front of his robes to straighten them. “Apologies for the intrusion. I'll get out of your hair.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen as Jiang Cheng starts heading towards the exit. Very unfortunately, there is only one entrance, and therefore only one exit — the one that Wei Wuxian is standing in. As Jiang Cheng makes to slip past him, however, Wei Wuxian finally seems to come to his senses.

“Wait,” he blurts out, turning to grip Jiang Cheng's forearm.

They both stiffen at the sudden contact, Wei Wuxian blinking at his own hand, seemingly shocked at his own audacity. Finally, Wei Wuxian yanks his hand back, as if burnt, and tucks it behind his back with an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry,” he says, and clears his throat. “Would you— like to stay for tea?”

Sitting on the patio a short while later, Wei Wuxian tends diligently to the tea stove as Jiang Cheng gazes out over the lotuses. For a moment back there, Jiang Cheng had considered saying no. However, when he had remembered that he had nowhere to go until nightfall, he had steeled his heart, and resigned himself to unexpected company for the foreseeable future.

The silence stretches out between them as Wei Wuxian pours the tea, awkward and a little tenuous. After all that has happened, they have little clue what to say to each other.

The trickling sounds of water fill the quiet between them, accompanied only by the occasional crackle of charcoal beneath the teapot, and the gentle chirping of sparrows flitting amidst the bamboo. The courtyard is so far out into the periphery, flanked on one side by what looks like the outermost wall of the Cloud Recesses, that there isn't even the sound of passing footsteps to break the silence between them.

Eventually, however, Wei Wuxian clears his throat again.

“Here to visit Zewu-jun?” Wei Wuxian finally asks, tone forcibly light.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says shortly.

Despite the blunt tone, Wei Wuxian seems to brighten a little at that. Chuckling, he picks the teapot up, testing his finger briefly against the side of it, before pouring out a cup for Jiang Cheng, seemingly satisfied with the temperature.

“I'm glad that you are talking to each other after the wedding,” he says happily, before pouring a cup for himself as well.

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow as Wei Wuxian sets the pot back on the stove.

“I hear that you and A-Ling have been writing back and forth about the state of my marriage,” he says.

Wei Wuxian stiffens, looking suddenly unsure. Jiang Cheng scoffs, rolling his eyes, and turns away.

“I'm not going to tell A-Ling that he can't write to you,” he says wryly. “You can relax. I'm just sorry to dash your hopes — I'm here because the Lan elders are trying to annul the marriage on the basis of long-term separation. A visitation schedule has become necessary to prevent that from happening.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says.

He lets out an mm, and then an ahh, and then clears his throat again, more delicately.

“You know, before I married in,” he begins, “I always wondered if Zewu-jun’s whole nice guy shtick was at least partially an act, especially after the whole Jin Guangyao reveal happened. But, well, Zewu-jun has changed a lot since then. He went into seclusion for a long while, but has come out to handle affairs again since the wedding.”

The elders would probably not have accepted the wedding if Lan Xichen had stayed in seclusion, Jiang Cheng reflects. After all, how could a secluded sect leader marry in the midst of his seclusion? 

But bad things happen in this world — Jiang Cheng knows that perhaps more than most — and sometimes, you just have to pick yourself up and move on. The world waits for no one.

“Anyways,” Wei Wuxian continues, “I've been here for a while and… I've realized that Zewu-jun really is that nice. He's easy to get along with. He's kind and forgiving and he’s a good conversationalist as well.”

He pauses then, looking nervous and a little hesitant, before clearing his throat once again. Jiang Cheng is growing tired of that careful, stilted sound.

“I think you should give him a chance,” Wei Wuxian concludes. “Even if love doesn't blossom— I mean, you don't seem to be into men— but, well, I think you can at least have a companionship, if not a relationship like the one Lan Zhan and I have.”

At that, Jiang Cheng finally turns and looks at him. Wei Wuxian flinches back, seemingly on instinct. His expression turns apprehensive.

Jiang Cheng really can't stand it.

“You've been on edge around me ever since the wedding,” he finally observes, and raises an eyebrow. “Since when has the Yiling Patriarch walked on eggshells around anyone? Even in this second life of yours, you’ve never hesitated to insult the people around you.” He smiles, a little wryly. “What was it that you said to me again when we first met? That I've not grown in our years apart?”

Wei Wuxian winces, and then laughs nervously.

“So you still remember that,” he says, with an awkward cough.

Jiang Cheng can't help but huff a little at that.

“This mousy attitude doesn't suit you,” he says bluntly, and allows a hint of a sardonic smile onto his face. “Do you think that you owe me something now?” 

Wei Wuxian's silence speaks for him, and Jiang Cheng laughs harshly.

“Stop being daft,” he snaps. “I'm repaying a debt, so now we’re even— and just so we're clear , I didn't do it for you alone. The alliance will benefit A-Ling, and with everything that's happening at Carp Tower now, he needs it.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says quietly.

He seems to steel himself for a moment, before looking up and meeting Jiang Cheng’s eyes. 

“Since you said not to walk on eggshells, then I'm just going to come out and ask directly,” he declares, tilting his chin up defiantly. “If you're here to see Zewu-jun, then how did you end up all the way out here?”

It's not confrontational. He seems curious more than anything, despite all his bravado, and so Jiang Cheng just shrugs.

“The primary concern being raised by the elders now is that the marriage hasn't been consummated,” he explains. “I will sleep in Zewu-jun’s rooms tonight, and that will be enough of an ordeal that I think I should give him some space for today. While looking for a place to pass the time until nightfall, I stumbled upon this place by accident.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, before he smiles. “Well, you're perfectly welcome to stay here until then.” He pauses for a moment, then adds— “If you want some privacy, I can go back to the Jingshi.”

Jiang Cheng raises both eyebrows.

“I am not going to kick you out of your own courtyard,” he says, incredulous. “If you want, you can read or do whatever you want to pass the time. Don't feel like you need to entertain me. I'm perfectly fine just sitting here.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says again, and then, in a smaller voice, “Okay.”

He hesitates for a moment, then stands up and goes to the bookshelf. He is, inexplicably, smiling a little to himself as he bends down, retrieving a sheathed sword from behind the shelf— it's Suibian, Jiang Cheng notices for the first time. That done, Wei Wuxian jumps down into the training area, and begins to practice forms with his sheathed blade.

It's the Yunmeng Jiang swordform and, for some reason, a strange knot begins to rise in Jiang Cheng’s throat.

He watches for a long minute, the lump only seeming to grow, and grow, until finally, he has to close his eyes against it. It does not look like Wei Wuxian has forgotten a single step. After a moment, he pulls his legs into a half lotus position, and breathes out slowly.

If Wei Wuxian is going to train, then Jiang Cheng must as well meditate until nightfall.

The rustling sounds of movement, somewhere nearby, is what wakes Lan Xichen in the morning. 

For a moment, he stiffens, taken aback by the sounds of someone so close to him while he was asleep. When he opens his eyes, however, sitting up in alarm, it takes a moment for the memories to rush back and the situation to register. It's just Jiang Wanyin, awake, and evidently starting to pack up the bedding they had taken from Lan Xichen’s bed for him to sleep on. 

Lan Xichen had tried to insist that Jiang Wanyin take the bed, of course, but Jiang Wanyin had refused. After much back and forth the night before, Jiang Wanyin had simply laid down on the bedding that Lan Xichen had put down, already in his under robes, and simply refused to engage in further argument. Left with little choice, Lan Xichen had retired to the bed.

Pulling the covers back now, Lan Xichen swings his legs off the side of the bed, looking towards the window. From the color of the sky outside, it is just before the Lan stipulated waking time. As he stands, there is the sound of a gong, reverberating throughout the estate.

And there it is. 

Lan Xichen quietly wishes Jiang Wanyin a polite good morning, before sitting at the vanity, picking up his hairpin and beginning to pull his hair together for the day.

“Don’t put your hair up,” Jiang Wanyin says suddenly.

Lan Xichen pauses.

Jiang Wanyin is still busily gathering the bedding in his arms. He does not look up at Lan Xichen.

“Excuse me?” Lan Xichen finally says.

“Leave your hair down,” Jiang Wanyin repeats.

Lan Xichen stares at him for a moment. 

“We—” he begins, in disbelief. “We need to get ready to meet the elders. You said first thing this morning. They are expecting us.”

“We aren't going,” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

He puts the bedding on the bed, and begins to tuck the sheets back around and under it. Lan Xichen is speechless.

“What do you mean we aren’t going?” he finally questions, incredulous.

“We aren't going,” Jiang Wanyin repeats simply. “We need a witness. This is how.”

Having fixed up the bed, he turns around, picks the blanket up, and arranges it so that half of it is tousled messily on the mattress, the other half hanging off the side to puddle on the floor. Then, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, folding his legs into a half lotus position.

“We might have to wait for some time,” he says. “You may meditate if you'd like. You don't have to entertain me.” 

He closes his eyes and, it seems, begins to meditate.

They wait in utter silence until, about a quarter of a shichen into their wait, an angry fist begins to thunder against the front doors to Lan Xichen's rooms.

Lan Xichen lets out a huff.

“Am I to answer then?” he asks, tone sharp despite himself.

Jiang Wanyin uncrosses his legs, finally opening his eyes.

“Yes,” he says shortly. “Close the bedroom doors behind you.”

Stiffly, Lan Xichen gets up from the vanity, and goes out into the sitting room to answer the summons, closing the bedroom doors behind him. Uncle is standing on the other side, looking furious. His eyes sweep down over Lan Xichen’s figure, evidently taking him in—  hair down, still in his sleeping robes, barefoot. When he meets Lan Xichen's eyes again, he looks livid.

“We’ve been waiting for a quarter of a shichen, and you haven't even gotten out of bed?!” he hisses.

He pushes past Lan Xichen into the sitting room, closing the door behind him, before allowing his voice to raise slightly. He is clearly trying not to shout.

“Jiang Wanyin, perhaps I could forgive,” he manages. “Their sleeping schedule runs later than ours, but you, Xichen? I've sent someone to retrieve Jiang Wanyin from his guestrooms.” He jabs a finger towards the closed doors of the bedroom. “Get dressed immediately.”

Lan Xichen remains absolutely silent, standing there for a good long moment, unable to say anything in his own defense.

A creak sounds from behind them.

They turn as one to see the bedroom doors opening slowly. After a moment, Jiang Wanyin steps out of the bedroom, hair down and still in his sleeping robes. Behind him, the bed is visible, clearly in disarray with the bed curtains down, but parted just enough that the tousled sheets and the blanket, hanging half off the bed, are visible. 

Jiang Wanyin steps carefully forward, holding Uncle’s gaze the whole time. Then, he lowers his eyes, extends his hands before him, and gives a low, formal bow.

“Deepest apologies, Shufu,” he says expressionlessly. “I was the one who kept him past his bedtime.”

There's long moment of silence. Lan Xichen does not dare turn to see the expression on his uncle’s face. Jiang Wanyin does not rise from the bow either, holding his position.

Finally, after a long, long moment, Uncle lets out a laugh, the sound low and hoarse in his throat.

“Well-played,” he says quietly. “Well-played.”

Uncle turns around, the motion slow, and leaves without another word. Once he's gone, Jiang Wanyin rises from his bow. 

“Let’s go,” he says tonelessly.

When the meetings are finally done and over with, Jiang Cheng emerges from the conference room into the still air of morning. His breath mists before him as he exhales slowly. It's chillier than he’s used to, up in the altitudes of the Cloud Recesses. He closes his eyes, breathing in again, and out once more—

Then, raising his chin, he steps forward off the patio, and begins the long walk back to the Hanshi, alone.

He had brought little with him, and had not unpacked at all, so it takes only a matter of seconds for him to pick up his scarce belongings. Lan Xichen and the elders will be headed to the mess hall for breakfast, no doubt, some of them more disgruntled than others, but Jiang Cheng had cited urgent business back in Yunmeng as an excuse not to dine with them.

With this as his reasoning, he is somewhat surprised to find someone waiting for him in the courtyard when he exits the Hanshi. 

It is Lan Qiren.

At the creaking sound of the folding doors opening, Lan Qiren turns slowly to face Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng pauses in the doorway for a moment, before he sighs, and offers another formal bow, even lower than the one he had offered in the morning.

“I have made use of you, Master Lan,” he says quietly. “I apologize.” 

He rises from his bow, and steps down from the patio so that they are standing on equal ground.

“Thank you for being there at the wedding,” he says, “and thank you, just now at the meeting, for not making things difficult for us.”

For the most part, Lan Qiren had remained quiet throughout the meeting, even as some of the other elders had tried to dispute, had tried to argue. He had spoken only once — to confirm — when Jiang Cheng had mentioned spending the night in Lan Xichen’s room and being discovered by Lan Qiren in the morning. Otherwise, his eyes had remained on the wall behind Jiang Cheng’s head the whole time, his gaze somewhere far away.

Here and now, however, his gaze is clear and completely lucid, and fixed sharply on Jiang Cheng.

“I do not approve of this marriage,” he says bluntly. “But that is because it is a farce and a sham, Sect Leader Jiang, not because it is you.”

Jiang Cheng is somewhat surprised at that.

“I see,” he says, unsure what else to say.

Lan Qiren closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. When he next meets Jiang Cheng’s gaze, he looks suddenly exhausted, and it makes him look older than all his delayed years of aging should warrant.

“We have maintained an amicable working relationship for more than a decade,” he says, “and Yunmeng Jiang has always been a steadfast ally. So I am not inclined to alienate you, or make life difficult for you, Sect Leader Jiang.”

Jiang Cheng hesitates for a moment, and then bows again.

“I appreciate that,” he says, before adding— “and I hope I have not alienated you either, by my actions.”

Lan Qiren gestures for him to rise, waiting for him to straighten before he turns around, looking pensively over the intricate patterns of the rock garden outside.

“We all make moves on the chessboard to achieve our goals,” he says quietly. “Sometimes, those moves backfire. But chess moves cannot be undone, and we must accept the way that the pieces have fallen, and make the best out of our next move.”

He sighs, then turns to face Jiang Cheng again.

“The other elders and myself may not like it,” he declares, “but you are family now, and we will not mistreat you. I ask only that you be kind to Xichen in marriage, and that you support him, as a true spouse would.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet for just a moment, surprised by Lan Qiren's sudden acceptance. Then, he quickly steps forward.

“Our alliance is now cemented in marriage,” he says firmly. “We are no longer just allies, Master Lan. We are family, and Yunmeng Jiang will provide its support accordingly.”

Lan Qiren smiles, a little sadly, at that.

“I do not mean just on the political front, Sect Leader Jiang,” he says quietly.

Confused, Jiang Cheng frowns, but before he can ask any further questions, Lan Qiren just sighs, and gestures towards the exit. 

“You have expressed your intentions to leave for Yunmeng immediately,” he says. “Please, let me see you to the door, Sect Leader Jiang. It's impolite to allow someone of your station to leave unescorted, and especially so now that you are family.”

Jiang Cheng eyes him for just a moment longer, but somehow, he senses that the conversation is over, and that Lan Qiren will not speak further on the subject. So finally, he just nods, and bows once more.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he says quietly.

Chapter Text

The role that love and fate would eventually play in his life had occupied a great deal of Lan Xichen’s childhood imaginings.

Perhaps it was to be expected with the history of their clan being what it was. Lan An’s great love story had been passed down in history after all, generation after generation, from the time of Gusu Lan’s founding, to the day Lan Xichen had been born. It was anchored in the bones of every Gusu Lan disciple, buried in every one of their hearts from the time they were children.

So, although it was somewhat embarrassing to admit as an adult, he'd fantasized quite a bit about his fated one, and the happily-ever-afters that would come when they finally found each other. They would be perfect for each other. It would be like two puzzle pieces fitting together, two halves finally complete. They would complement each other perfectly, making up for each other's strengths and weaknesses — and she would stand by him, support him throughout all the trials of being sect leader.

With her around, he had thought, he would never be lonely again.

When he had met Nie Mingjue for the first time, he had no longer been a boy, but he still remembers the instant draw he had felt between them. He had idolized Nie Mingjue, he knows now, looking up to him as one would look to the sun, admiring and aspiring towards his confidence and strength. They’d become fast friends as sect heirs, and even faster allies in war. There, on the warfront for the first time, with his blade drawn and Nie Mingjue by his side, he'd felt unstoppable, invincible, nearly afloat with all the unending confidence and righteousness of the young.

He remembers the night they'd been sitting together in the Unclean Realm, celebrating, after the decisive victory that had killed Wen Xu and routed his army. They'd been in a pavilion alone, Nie Mingjue with his jar of wine, and Lan Xichen with his cup of tea, toasting and laughing and speaking of the future. They had talked until the moon rose high in the sky and the earthen jars had collected by Nie Mingjue’s thigh.

There and then, in the moonlight, Nie Mingjue had finally leaned in— and kissed him on the lips. 

Lan Xichen remembers how he had frozen in shock. He hadn’t known how to respond then, how to react to what he had considered the unthinkable. He hadn't really considered men before then. They'd stayed with their lips pressed together for just a second, before Nie Mingjue had drawn back. He'd looked Lan Xichen searchingly in the eye for a long moment, then his eyes had softened, and he had smiled — fondly, but also wryly. 

“Don't worry about it,” he had whispered, and pulled away. 

Afterwards, he had just resumed talking as if nothing had happened. 

They had never talked about it again.

But in the interim years after that, Lan Xichen had eventually come to realize that the draw that he’d felt to Nie Mingjue right at the beginning, the draw that had begun their friendship — that had been attraction. He had been fresh out of boyhood, sheltered and unable to recognize his own feelings, but Nie Mingjue had been almost a man.

So perhaps Nie Mingjue had seen it. 

Perhaps he had always seen it.

Perhaps that was why, that fateful night, he had made that first move, and why he had seemed so wry, but fond afterwards, knowing that Lan Xichen had not yet grown enough to understand his own feelings.

Lan Xichen had had much time to think in the interim years, however, and he’d eventually realized, after much thought, that it was attraction and not love that had drawn him to Nie Mingjue. The love he had always imagined would exist between him and his fated one as a child, was not the love he felt for Nie Mingjue.

Even so, in the years after Nie Mingjue had died, Lan Xichen had found himself revisiting that night again and again. He had wondered, over and over, what would have happened had he returned the kiss that night. He had wondered what would have happened had he, at any time in those interim years before Nie Mingjue’s demise, just leaned over one night — and kissed him again. Even if not for love, and only for attraction. 

Would it have changed anything?

Would it have changed nothing at all?

He knows now that he will never know the answer.

It takes about two weeks to settle things back home. The Lan elders aren't happy, not by any measure, but they seem to finally be arriving at the conclusion that there is absolutely nothing they can do about it. Two weeks of talks, of arguments and negotiations, and then it is time for Lan Xichen’s visit to Yunmeng. 

The moment he lands, he is ushered inside by a disciple, and it is not long  after that before Jiang Wanyin comes to receive him in the main reception hall.

“Zewu-jun,” he greets formally, before gesturing him politely inside the compound. 

Lan Xichen has been to Lotus Pier many times in his capacity as a sect leader. Being one of the great sects, Yunmeng Jiang has hosted many a conference within its premises. Still, the tour that he is offered this time is far beyond the usual scope of his past wanderings.

This time, Jiang Wanyin offers him an extensive introduction to the private wings of Yunmeng Jiang, introducing places where he may pass the time — the private courtyard where Jiang Wanyin trains, the pavilion he takes his meals when not eating with the rest of the sect, and the lotus lakes at the back of the estate. He shows Lan Xichen to the kitchens, where he may request extra meals if hungry, assuring him that he will be provided with vegetarian fare, and introduces him to the servants who will be waiting on him during his stay.

The tour ends at Jiang Wanyin’s own rooms, where a second desk appears to have been newly set up in the study.

“You may work here if you ever need to,” Jiang Wanyin says perfunctorily, before showing him to the bedroom, where a divan in the sitting area has been set up with comfortable bedding.

With the tour concluding back in the study just outside the bedroom, Jiang Wanyin clears his throat, and turns towards his desk.

“If you need to take care of anything,” he finishes, taking a seat at the desk, “the study is open to you, but otherwise, I have arranged for someone to show you around Yunmeng.”

Lan Xichen can't help but raise an eyebrow at that.

“I've been here for discussion conferences,” he says. “I've seen the city.”

At that, Jiang Wanyin chuckles wryly.

“You haven't truly seen a city until you've been shown around by a local,” he says, amused.

Lan Xichen thinks over his options for a moment. He thinks of spending more time in this room with Jiang Wanyin, with the air between them so forcedly sterile — and at that thought, he can't help but feel tired. 

“Alright,” he says quietly.

Over on the other side of the study, Jiang Wanyin nods once, picking up the topmost document from the stack in front of him.

“Your guide should be waiting in the next courtyard down from here,” he says shortly.

Without another word, he straightens the document, and promptly begins to read.

In the next courtyard down, Lan Xichen finds the young Sect Leader Jin, practicing sword forms with a somewhat moody look on his face. At Lan Xichen's entry, however, he immediately turns around, cupping his hands and offering a polite bow.

“Zewu-jun,” he greets, before straightening. “Have you decided to head out into Yunmeng?” 

“Yes, I have,” Lan Xichen confirms. “Are you my guide?”

Jin Rulan nods, and then extends an arm towards the nearest exit.

“Please,” he says.

They begin to head back out of Lotus Pier, not saying much. Much like his uncle, Jin Rulan seems to be quite comfortable in silence, speaking only to quietly greet the disciples that they pass. Still, it is not long before Lan Xichen clears his throat.

“What brings our young Sect Leader Jin to Lotus Pier?” he finally asks.

Jin Rulan gestures him through a corridor on their left, indicating a turn.

“I came to visit my uncle,” he says.

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow as he follows Jin Rulan down the corridor.

“If you're here to visit your uncle,” he says, a little bemused, “then how is it that you've wound up here, with me, instead of with your uncle?”

Jin Rulan just lets out a sigh at that, raising his palm to his forehead for a moment, before speaking again.

“Likely Jiujiu’s idea of a punishment for visiting without prior notice,” he mutters disgruntledly.

Lan Xichen stops in his tracks.

“Punishment?” he asks.

It takes a moment for Jin Rulan to realize that Lan Xichen is no longer following, but when he does, he turns to face Lan Xichen, looking first confused, and then slightly panicked. He waves his arms frantically.

“Not you!” he blurts out. “You're not the punishment! It's the whole— pretending that he doesn't have time to entertain me, since I'm here unannounced, which is the punishment.”

“Alright,” Lan Xichen says, still a little concerned.

Jin Rulan rubs at his face with both hands.

“Ugh, just forget that I said that, alright?” he mutters.

“Alright,” Lan Xichen says again.

Waving one hand in a flippant gesture, Jin Rulan guides him out of Lotus Pier and into the city outside. Over the first half of the afternoon, he patiently shows Lan Xichen around Yunmeng, telling him which restaurants are good and which aren't, bringing him to the market to show him where he can buy things he may need, and even recommending street foods to try.

“The lotus paste pastries are a must,” he says matter-of-factly. “They’re especially fresh in Yunmeng. If you'd like, you can buy some back to Gusu on your last day. Jingyi loves them.”

He points down an alley towards a bustling storefront.

“This here is my favorite store, but my uncle prefers the other shop, there.” He points to another store on their other side, and confides, “he thinks the pastries here are too sweet.”

He rolls his eyes then, before adding, with an offended little huff— “There's no accounting for bad taste.”

Lan Xichen can't help but laugh.

They have lunch out in the city, then, as the sun rises high in the sky, and noon slowly turns towards dusk, they finally make their journey back towards Lotus Pier. Jin Rulan drops him off at a pavilion overlooking the lotus lakes, loudly announcing his intentions to drag his uncle from his study to have tea with them.

Lan Xichen waits there patiently, amused at the young Jin Rulan’s daring, but when the little sect leader does not return for a long while, he finally gets up curiously, and heads further into the compound to look for him. He recognises the route from the tour Jiang Wanyin had given him in the morning, so it's not long before the sounds of raised voices draw him towards the family residence.

“Jin Rulan, for the last time—” Jiang Wanyin is snarling.

“You've been holed up in here all day!” Jin Rulan cuts in defiantly. “There's no way you don't have time to take tea with us. Grow up and let's go.”

“It's the monsoon again, and you know that there's always flash-flooding in this region,” Jiang Wanyin bites back irately. “Do you know how many letters came in this morning? I have duties — as do you, so tell me why you're here again instead of back in Lanling?”

“I'm here because I knew you'd do this!” Jin Rulan cries. “If I hadn't come, you'd just be ignoring Zewu-jun the whole time!”

Lan Xichen blinks, taken aback to have so suddenly become the topic of conversation.

“I showed him around this morning, didn't I?” Jiang Wanyin growls.

“Yes, and then you left him to me for the rest of the afternoon! ”

Lan Xichen peers into the doorway in time to see Jin Rulan planting his hands on his hips, looking very unamused.

“He actually is very nice, you know?” he says, unimpressed. “Wei Wuxian was right, and if you could keep your spectacular temper in check for all of three seconds, I think you'd actually get along with him. You can't keep foisting your husband off on me.”

On the other side of the courtyard, Jiang Wanyin groans, turning away to massage agitatedly at the bridge of his nose.

“A-Ling,” he snaps. “You are twenty years too young to be chaperoning me. We did not marry for love. I did this for you, do you understand? He's going to be your ally going forward, so you should get to know him. Make the most of this situation. I did this for you.”

“Are you trying to guilt me into doing things for you?” Jin Ling asks suspiciously. “That’s not going to work.”

Jiang Wanyin spins back around.

“You—” he splutters, jabbing a finger incredulously at him, before he throws his head back with a frustrated cry. “You were so obedient when you were a child! When did you stop listening to me?!”

Jin Rulan rolls his eyes.

“When you started being a coward, that's when!” he scoffs.

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw drops.

“You cheeky little—” he reaches towards Jin Rulan’s cheek, a grabbing motion.

For one shocking moment, Lan Xichen is sure that he's about to slap his nephew across the face. Then, as Jin Rulan dances back out of reach, sticking his tongue out, Jiang Wanyin thrusts his hand down, and his whip snaps against the floor. A moment later, the steel links of his weapon flick upwards, glinting against the sun, and—

With a burst of speed, Lan Xichen pushes forward, inserting himself between them.

“Whoa!” Jin Rulan cries from behind him. “What—”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes widen.

He reacts instantaneously, pulling his arm sharply back, but is still unable to recall the strike completely. The spiked links snap dangerously close to Lan Xichen's face as the length of the whip curls away, but Lan Xichen reaches up, grabbing the end before it can slither back to its owner.

He had been trying to make a point by catching the end in his hand, but reminded of just how sharp those links can be against human skin, he has a moment to regret his hubris— Zidian has not drawn blood, but his palm is stinging fiercely.

There's a moment of silence, Jiang Wanyin seemingly shocked to speechlessness, but then, as he seems to come back to himself— he explodes on Lan Xichen.

“What do you think you're doing?!” he bellows.

“What do you think you're doing?!” Lan Xichen snaps back at him, incredulous. “Drawing your whip on a child? Your own flesh and blood?”

“You thought that I would actually strike him?” Jiang Wanyin snarls, disbelieving and angry.

Jin Rulan steps between them, hands held up placatingly.

“Hey, hey! Calm down, you two!”

He is ignored.

Gritting his teeth, Lan Xichen raises his fist slightly, the end of the whip still held within it.

“This whip,” he says coldly, “has slain grown men with a single lash.” 

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes flash, his expression going thunderous. Seeming to sense the coming storm, Jin Rulan shoots Lan Xichen a quelling look, before turning to face his uncle.

“Jiujiu, calm down,” he murmurs. “Calm down, alright? You promised you wouldn't lose your temper. You promised. ”

But Jiang Wanyin just glares at him. 

“A-Ling,” he says dangerously, “I do not need your supervision to keep my temper in check.”

He turns back to Lan Xichen.

"Do you believe," he grits out, "that I am inept in the use of my own weapon?"

"Your competence with it isn’t the issue here," Lan Xichen says stiffly.

"Then why," Jiang Wanyin continues, still through gritted teeth, "do you believe I cannot stop it from hurting who I do not intend to hurt, and striking who I do not intend to strike?"

He stares Lan Xichen down.

"If I had meant to hurt him," he finally says, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, "you would not— be holding the end of my whip, unscathed."

He recalls Zidian with a flick of his wrist. 

The spiked edge of one of the links draws a searing line across Lan Xichen's palm. It is a shallow cut, more a nick than even a scratch, but it stings, nevertheless. Lan Xichen closes his fist, and puts it behind his back, determined not to show any sign of injury.

After a moment, Jiang Wanyin raises a brow.

"That, too," he says, looking meaningfully down at his concealed fist, "was intended. The links are sharp, are they not?” He narrows his eyes. "Let that be a lesson. Do not intercept my whip again."

And with that, he turns and stalks back off into his study.

It has been a long time since Lan Xichen has had to walk off a bout of anger, but Jiang Wanyin continually manages to achieve the impossible. It takes a moment for Jin Rulan to catch up with him, as furious as he is in his stride.

"What was that for?" Jin Rulan asks, bewildered. “He wouldn't have hurt me.” 

“He drew his whip on you.”

“It would have just hit the floor!” Jin Rulan cries, throwing his hands up. “He does that all the time!”

“He nearly slapped you!”

“Slapped me? When? He's never done that. He's only ever grabbed my ear or pinched my cheek. Sometimes he knocks the back of my head a little, but it's never meant to hurt.”

Lan Xichen stops suddenly, and turns to face him.

“Does he shout at you like that all the time?” he asks, concerned. “Does he lose control like that often?”

Jin Rulan looks confused for a moment, before he sighs, massaging his brow. 

“Look, I know my uncle,” he mutters tiredly. “He yells a lot, but he was not even truly angry until you caught his whip. Can we talk about the more important thing now?”

Seeing that Jin Rulan is adamant on the subject, Lan Xichen decides to drop it for now.

“My apologies,” he says, backing down reluctantly. “I am not trying to offend you, Sect Leader Jin.”

Jin Rulan just sighs again, and waves a hand flippantly.

“Alright, alright, no need for apologies,” he grumbles. “I'm going to go talk to him now. Dinner will be where I left you for tea. Can I trust that you'll be there without me to guide you?”

Unbidden, Jiang Wanyin's words come back to him — you are twenty years too young to be chaperoning me — but unlike Jiang Wanyin, Lan Xichen can't help but find Jin Rulan’s precociousness rather charming.

“Don’t worry, Sect Leader Jin,” Lan Xichen says, holding back a wry smile. “I am capable of entertaining myself until then.”

At dinner, however, Jin Rulan is nowhere to be seen. Jiang Wanyin is already sitting at the stone table, however, back perfectly straight, so Lan Xichen sits opposite him, looking around a second time before speaking.

“Did you ask Sect Leader Jin to return to Lanling then?”

“I can ask him to do many things,” Jiang Wanyin grits out, “but to my greatest regret, I have lost the ability to make him do anything, which apparently includes sitting down to have a goddamned meal.”

He picks up the teapot, pouring himself a cup , before setting it back down on the tea stove with a loud clunk. Lan Xichen's cup had already been filled when he had sat down, so Jiang Wanyin leaves it alone.

“He's still here,” Jiang Wanyin clarifies after a moment. “He just thinks that we need space.”

It sounds as if he's saying the word encased within inverted commas. 

Jiang Wanyin raises the cup to his lips, knocking it back like it's wine and not tea, before setting it down with another loud clunk. He picks up his chopsticks then, silently gesturing towards the dishes before them.

Taking the cue, Lan Xichen picks up his chopsticks as well.

It is perfectly quiet for a time after that, both of them just eating in stilted silence. Jiang Wanyin’s brow and the corners of his lips are tensed, however, as though he’s trying, and somewhat failing, to stop himself from scowling. Lan Xichen just keeps quiet, just continues to eat wordlessly, until finally— Jiang Wanyin puts down his chopsticks, and folds his hands in his lap.

"I must apologize for my earlier behavior," he finally says, stiff. "You must understand that a whip is not like a sword. I can control how I wish for it to land, but if you insist on stepping abruptly into its path, I have less control on the way it strikes you.”

Lan Xichen puts his chopsticks down as well, sensing that Jiang Wanyin is not quite done.

“I asked that you not do that again,” Jiang Wanyin continues, still in that same stilted tone, “not because I do not care for your opposition as to who I use it on, but because I do not wish to hurt you.”

For a moment, Lan Xichen just looks at him. When it becomes clear that he is done with his speech, however, Lan Xichen picks his chopsticks back up.

“Your apology is noted,” he says.

Jiang Wanyin closes his eyes. He clenches his jaw, and then, seemingly with some effort, unclenches it.

“We have always maintained cordial working relations as allies,” he tries again. “I hope we can continue to retain a professional relationship in marriage.”

Lan Xichen blinks, once.

“A professional relationship,” he repeats, and then— he can't help it, he laughs, the sound more incredulous, more bitter than he had intended.

“A professional relationship,” he says again, and nods. “No, of course. I echo your hopes.”

After a moment, seeing Jiang Wanyin still sitting there, he gestures for Jiang Wanyin to continue eating. Seeming to sense some part of Lan Xichen's displeasure, Jiang Wanyin picks his chopsticks back up, silent and expressionless.

They do not speak for the rest of the meal.

For the rest of the night, and the day after, even despite all of Jin Rulan's best efforts to start a conversation between them, they do not say another word to each other.

When Lan Xichen had first met him, Meng Yao had been a scrawny, underfed thing. He had kept his head down when other people were around, knowing by then not to meet the gazes of those who considered themselves his betters, but in private, hiding alone in the back of the brothel with Lan Xichen, his eyes were intelligent and lively. 

Lan Xichen still remembers those eyes, the way they would light up, like stars in the night sky, as Meng Yao asked him question after question about cultivation, about cultivation society, about the world that he had longed to be part of for all his life.

“I've never met him,” he had confided quietly, his cheeks flushed with a mix of shyness and excitement, “but my mother says that my father was a great cultivator.”

Lan Xichen had pitied him back then, just as much as he had appreciated him — for his company, for his kindness, for his endless patience, even when Lan Xichen could not cook, nor clean, and every piece of laundry that found itself in his hands was inevitably torn to shreds.

Still, duty had soon called Lan Xichen back to the cultivation world. The war had begun, and Lan Xichen had fought for his life, fought for all the lives that would come after. He had fought, and fought, until his hands stained red and the last of his boyhood had left him. When they had met again at the end of the war, they had been boys no longer.

In Meng Yao, the boy, he had found an unlikely, but much appreciated friend.

In Jin Guangyao, the man, he had found not just a friend, but a capable and respected ally, a close confidant, and a partner in all things. They'd stood united against the cultivation world in politics, and supported each other emotionally in private. They had already seen each other at their worst and most beaten down— surely, Lan Xichen had thought, there was nothing in the world that they could not tell one another.

By then, Lan Xichen had no longer been a boy chasing fairytales and happily-ever-afters. His fantasies of a fated one meant just for him seemed silly and far-fetched. But the relationship he'd had with Jin Guangyao — a partner in all things — had been perfectly real, and it didn't seem unreasonable to want that out of a spouse.

That relationship soon became the benchmark against which he measured his marriage prospects whenever the matchmaking letters came in. However, he had never felt the same way with any of the women he met, and so he had never accepted any of those matches, even as his elders grew more and more impatient for an heir. He'd been looking for something more, and he didn't want to settle. He could be patient, now that he knew what he could have, if he just kept looking.

And so it went on for more than a decade.

When Jin Guangyao had eventually told Lan Xichen of his engagement, laughing and bright-eyed, it had landed like a punch to the gut. Lan Xichen had expressed his heartfelt congratulations, of course, had done his level best to share in Jin Guangyao’s happiness. Afterwards, however, alone and confused, he had slunk off to lick his wounds. He had thought on it for a long, long time, trying to figure out why he felt so troubled, so alone, and finally, he had come to a startling conclusion.

He had never felt the same sizzle of attraction towards Jin Guangyao that he had felt towards Nie Mingjue, and so he had not realized his own feelings until it was too late—

What he had felt for Jin Guangyao had been love , albeit not attraction.

After Jin Guangyao had died, the memory of their last moments together had played, again and again, in his head on loop — the grief, the betrayal, and the hatred in his eyes, emotions Lan Xichen had never seen in Jin Guangyao's eyes before, let alone directed at himself. It had turned that familiar face, that person he thought he knew best, into a complete stranger, up until those final moments of his life.

That final, pained smile, as he'd pushed Lan Xichen away from the coffin, had been familiar, and it was that expression that had haunted Lan Xichen for months after.

In those months, Lan Xichen had thought back, again and again, to all the times he'd seen that pained smile over the years, always tinged with sadness, with yearning. He had thought of the way Jin Guangyao had looked at him throughout those years, trying to make sense of those final moments. Jin Guangyao’s gaze had always been so gentle and fond, filled with adoration, but also a strange sense of awe — like Lan Xichen had hung the moon and the stars, like he was the source of all that was light in the world.

The stars that Meng Yao had held in his eyes when he gazed at Lan Xichen in that brothel, listening to all those wonderful stories about a cultivation world high up in the clouds, had never gone out — not until the moment that Shuoyue had pierced his chest. Lan Xichen would never forget the dark despair that had replaced the light of those extinguished stars.

Weeks into his seclusion, Lan Xichen had realized that Jin Guangyao had loved him too.

That realization had threatened to upend everything.

In the months that followed, he had wondered, endlessly, what would have happened had he only realized his feelings sooner. Given Jin Guangyao’s history with his father, he would never have taken on a lover in marriage. But Lan Xichen had looked more than a decade into the past, to a time before Jin Guangyao had ever met the woman who would become his wife. What would have happened had Lan Xichen leaned in, one of those nights while they sat talking, and kissed him — just like Nie Mingjue had kissed him all those years ago. Not for attraction, but for love.

Would it have changed anything? 

Would it have changed nothing at all?

Six months into his seclusion, he had received urgent summons from Jiang Wanyin. The other man had written letter after letter, day after day, until eventually, Lan Xichen had broken his seclusion for a single meeting. There, he had been presented with that letter written on red paper, the letter that had sealed his fate.

Now, it is too late to wonder if he would ever again find someone who’d love him the way Meng Yao did.

On his next visit to Gusu, Jiang Cheng runs into Wei Wuxian again, right as he's leaving the Hanshi. For a moment, he considers pretending that he had not seen Wei Wuxian at all, but Wei Wuxian's eyes are already widening from across the courtyard. Jiang Cheng has already been spotted, and their eyes have already met.

He resigns himself to another round of awkward conversation.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian cries, face brightening as he hurries over. “You're here again! Are you looking for Zewu-jun?”

“I just saw him,” Jiang Cheng says shortly. “We had breakfast, but he's busy now, and I don't want to disturb him further.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, and smiles. “Well, I'm heading to the courtyard, so if you'd like to join me again, you can.”

Seeing as Jiang Cheng has nowhere to be until lunch, he resigns himself to this fate.

“Sure,” he says.

As they begin to make their way back out of the residential wing, Wei Wuxian begins to sneak not-so-furtive looks at Jiang Cheng.

“What,” Jiang Cheng finally deadpans, and Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow.

“Well?” he prods nosily. “How was breakfast? Did you two talk about anything?”

Jiang Cheng huffs.

“You've been writing to A-Ling, haven't you?” he asks sardonically. “What do you think?”

Wei Wuxian shoots him a flat look, and after a moment, Jiang Cheng gives in.

“We didn't say a word to each other all throughout breakfast,” he admits. “He was being very distant.”

Wei Wuxian sighs.

“I think you two just need to spend more time together,” he says, and then snaps his fingers. “I know! You two should go on a honeymoon!”

The suggestion is so ludicrous that Jiang Cheng actually stops dead in his tracks, shooting Wei Wuxian an incredulous glance.

“You give terrible advice,” he tells Wei Wuxian bluntly.

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms at that.

“That's untrue,” he says sternly. “I mean, just look at me! I’ve been happily married for so long—"

"You have been married for less than a year," Jiang Cheng points out.

"— so I'm clearly the best person you can come to for marriage advice!" Wei Wuxian finishes, ignoring him completely.

Jiang Cheng does not immediately respond, honestly struck a little speechless. Eventually though, he sighs, reaching up to massage his brow.

“Look,” he finally says, “we didn't marry for love. There's no point in acting like we did. As much as possible, I'd like to keep our relationship professional.”

“But it's not very professional at the moment, is it?” Wei Wuxian points out, unimpressed. “Jin Ling says that when you two are together, the tension is so thick you can feel it on your skin. That's not going to help at conferences, and the next one is coming up in just two months! How are you going to present a united front if you can't even stand to be in the same room?”

“So he has been tattling to you,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

Wei Wuxian puts his hands on his hips. 

“We’re both concerned!” he defends.

He continues looking at Jiang Cheng expectantly, so after a moment, Jiang Cheng just closes his eyes.

“Fine,” he concedes grudgingly, “you do have a point about the upcoming conference, but— I’m just not sure that spending more time together is going to make things better. Whenever we're together, we just seem to get on each other’s nerves. The last thing we need is to give ourselves more opportunities to argue. Wouldn't it be best to just stay out of each other's way?”

“And sitting together in hostile silence is not making things worse?” Wei Wuxian demands.

Jiang Cheng has no retort, and after a moment, Wei Wuxian’s expression softens.

“Lans are actually quite romantic at heart, you know?” he continues, more gently. “I think that although he hasn't complained, Zewu-jun might actually be a little sad about this whole situation, which is why he's acting distant. Can you try to be a little nicer to him? I know that sharp tongue of yours. Try to tone it down, alright? I think you guys could really get along if you'd just give it a chance.”

He reaches out, patting Jiang Cheng's shoulder.

“Just think about it, alright?” he says gently. “You don't have to be lovers, but you don't have to be unhappy.”

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng actually finds himself mulling over Wei Wuxian's words in the hours leading up to lunch. Wei Wuxian had wordlessly begun to train when they had reached the courtyard, leaving Jiang Cheng to his thoughts, and although he'd tried borrowing one of Wei Wuxian's books, he had barely taken in a word of it in the end, and had quickly given up reading.

It's true that things have been tense between him and Lan Xichen, and it's also true that it won't go well at any conference. There are too many vultures vying for power in the aftermath of recent events, and those sharks will seize whatever weakness they can find. The scent of blood in the air will surely send them into quite the frenzy.

At that thought, Jiang Cheng sighs, lying back on the patio, and draping a hand over his aching eyes.

So yes, he admits glumly to himself, it does look like he and Lan Xichen will have to sort things out before the next conference.

The air in the pavillion at lunch is every bit as tense and torturous as it was at breakfast. This time, however, Jiang Cheng bites down on his pride as he takes a seat at the table.

“I believe,” he begins, folding his hands together over his lap, in a posture that is beginning to feel familiar, “that we have started this marriage on the wrong foot.”

Lan Xichen looks up at him, but does not say anything.

“I meant it when I said that I want to keep things cordial between us,” Jiang Cheng tries again. “I was a bad host the last time, for which I apologize.”

Lan Xichen blinks once, completely expressionless, and then nods.

“Your apology is noted,” he says.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

Gods, this is like pulling teeth. After a moment, Jiang Cheng determinedly pushes down his ire, and perseveres.

“Coincidentally,” he continues, “I’ve been meaning to make a trip to the areas surrounding Yunmeng to check on the flooding situation. If you're amenable to the idea, perhaps I can show you around the area? Is there anywhere you want to go? Anything you want to see?”

Lan Xichen is quiet for so long that, at first, Jiang Cheng thinks that he's just going to ignore Jiang Cheng's offer altogether.

Then, after a moment, he looks up.

“Yunping,” he says determinedly. “I'd like to go to Yunping.”

Yunping, while small in size, is far from what anyone would call a sleepy town. The market bustles with countless vendors and the square is filled with people even at this early hour, both locals and passerbys.

The wooden planks of the docks are dark and shiny from recent rainfall, but thankfully, the city stays dry all morning while Jiang Cheng speaks with the dockmaster. In the end, it seems that the situation is more contained this year compared to the year before. A bridge on the outskirts of the city is in need of repairs, having been partially swept away by a flash flood, but that seems to be the extent of it. With some relief, Jiang Cheng mentally recalculates the aid budget.

“That should be all of it,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Xichen, as they leave the docks. “Now, is there anything you want to see or do here?”

Lan Xichen has been quiet since they got here, eyes cast downwards. Whenever he looks up, his gaze seems somewhere far away. Right now, however, he doesn't raise his eyes.

“The market,” he eventually says.

They head in the direction of the market, Lan Xichen leading just a step ahead, as Jiang Cheng quietly observes him from behind. He's distant, as he's been every other time, but this time, Jiang Cheng hasn't the faintest clue what he could possibly have done to upset Lan Xichen.

He sighs.

They'd had a cordial relationship as sect leaders. Why are things so difficult now?

Lost in his own thoughts, Jiang Cheng nearly walks right into Lan Xichen as the other man stops suddenly in his tracks. Jiang Cheng retreats a step, and then shoots Lan Xichen a questioning look, but Lan Xichen doesn't seem to notice, too busy staring with wide eyes at the building before them.

“This place used to be a brothel,” he mutters, shocked. “What happened to the brothel?”

“A brothel?” Jiang Cheng repeats incredulously.

He can't picture Lan Xichen as the type to visit a brothel.

“When I fled the burning of the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen continues absently, still seeming inexplicably upset, “I hid for a couple of months in a brothel here. But it's gone now.”

A niggling suspicion is beginning to eat at Jiang Cheng.

He recalls rumors that Jin Guangyao had once saved Lan Xichen’s life before the war, and he still remembers all too well the temple that Jin Guangyao had buried his mother in, the one where so many painful things had finally come to light. This must have been the brothel Jin Guangyao grew up in, and suddenly, a laugh breaks from him, more bitter than he'd anticipated. 

“So he’s the reason you wanted to come here,” he says harshly.

He sounds acidic, disdainful to his own ears, and Lan Xichen’s expression immediately shutters. 

“I understand that you may hold uncharitable feelings towards him after all that has passed,” Lan Xichen says coldly, “but he was, for a long time, an ally and friend to me.”

He turns away and, without another word, continues walking.

After a moment, Jiang Cheng follows. There's a strange buzzing under his skin now, however, a churning, roiling layer of anger and upset. He doesn't understand why he's upset, nor does he understand the deeper feelings driving his turmoil.

He closes his eyes.

This shouldn't matter to him. None of it should.

Irritated and confused, he absently begins to turn his ring around his finger as he walks. Lan Xichen glances briefly at his hands , and frowns, but does not say anything else. They walk in silence this way, in a strange growing tension, until finally, Lan Xichen seems unable to tolerate it further, letting out a sigh.

“What is it now?” he asks tiredly.

“What is what now?” Jiang Cheng snaps defensively.

Lan Xichen exhales. He does not turn to look at Jiang Cheng as they continue to walk.

“I am well-acquainted with your displeasure,” he finally says. “It is always very palpable.”

That quiet, disapproving tone of his chafes at something deep inside Jiang Cheng.

“It is, quite frankly, none of your business,” he growls.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes.

“No,” he says, “it isn't.” 

They walk on, an terse silence between them. Before they can walk too far, however, an old man runs up towards them from behind. He hurries around to face them, staring at Jiang Cheng’s face for a long moment. Seemingly failing to find what he was looking for, he draws his eyes up and down Jiang Cheng's figure, before his gaze seems to catch on the clarity bell at his waist. Suddenly, his face slackens with something that looks like joy and relief.

“It's you,” he says breathlessly. “It's really you, isn't it? You're Sect Leader Jiang of the Yunmeng Jiang sect?”

Jiang Cheng does not recognize the man, and is immediately wary.

“Yes,” he says curtly. “Do you have business with me?”

The old man only looks more overjoyed at the confirmation.

“Your late father left an item with my store many years ago,” he explains, gesturing excitedly now. “Although he was not able to come back for it in the end, it seemed like a possession of great importance to him, so it never seemed right to sell it, nor to discard it. Since you're here now, perhaps I can return it to you?”

He steps back, still beaming, and points to a shopfront opposite the square.

“It's in the workshop at the back of my store,” he explains happily. “Please, will you follow me?”

When Jiang Cheng does not immediately respond, the happiness slips a little from his face, closely replaced by a look of horrified realization. He quickly begins to wave his hands in denial.

“This isn't a sales tactic!” he cries. “Your father paid for the repairs upfront! There'll be no charge, I promise. I just want to return it to you.”

Finally, Jiang Cheng steps back, and examines him.

He’s clearly old, and isn't wearing a sword at his waist. He doesn't seem to be a cultivator, or even a combatant, and it says something about the man that the first conclusion he’d jumped to upon seeing Jiang Cheng's doubt was sketchy merchant and not assassin . And even if this is a trap…

Jiang Cheng sighs.

He’s fairly sure that he and Lan Xichen are more than capable of defending themselves. The old man seems sincere in his intentions, and Jiang Cheng is curious about the alleged item.

“Lead the way then,” he allows.

The old man’s store ends up being a jewelry store, of all things. As they step past rows and rows of display racks, Jiang Cheng can't help but observe that the items on display are all of exquisite quality. Jiang Cheng is surprised that the man had left the store unattended for long enough to chase them down.

The old man leads them towards the back of the shop, where there's a door leading into what must be his workshop. 

Lan Xichen stops in the shopfront.

“You have personal business to attend to,” he says, when Jiang Cheng shoots him a questioning look. “I will browse the store while you settle it.”

Jiang Cheng nods, and follows the old man into the back.

Inside the workshop, the old man crosses the room towards the shelves lining the far wall, carefully retrieving a long box from a drawer. The space is a little cluttered, nearly every surface covered in tools, materials, and designs sketched on parchment, so Jiang Cheng waits by the doorway for the old man to slowly pick his way back towards him.

“Sect Leader,” the old man says respectfully, handing the box to him. “Please.”

With a nod of thanks, Jiang Cheng takes it from him, sliding the lid open. A jade hairpin sits inside on a bed of red silk, and his eyes immediately widen in recognition.

“My mother's hairpin,” he whispers.

The old man looks surprised at that, and then, his eyes soften.

“A gift for his wife then,” he says quietly. “That does explain why.”

When Jiang Cheng just looks at him questioningly, the man chuckles, and elaborates.

“The late sect leader bought this hairpin from my store a very long time ago,” he begins. “Now, I usually don't remember customers who aren't my regulars, but I remembered the late sect leader all the same, because he had come back some months later, flustered and upset, with the hairpin in pieces, and asked me if it could be fixed.”

He smiles, a little sadly.

“It's not often that I get requests to fix jewelry, you see,” he explains. “Most of the time, when customers break their jewelry, they just buy new ones. So I knew that the hairpin must have been important to him, and did my very best to repair it. Luckily, it had broken cleanly, and only into two pieces, so I was able to restore it to how it looked before. But even though it seemed important, he never returned for the hairpin, and I later found out that a great tragedy had befallen the sect on the very day he had come to my store. It left a great impression on me, so I kept the hairpin for all these years.”

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, the signs of kindness etched clearly into the aged lines of his face.

“I was glad to hear that you had lived,” he says gently.

He eventually putters off to the other side of the workshop, saying something about finding a bag to put the box in, but Jiang Cheng gets the feeling he had sensed that Jiang Cheng needed time to process his thoughts.

Because they had fought about a hairpin, Jiang Cheng is recalling now. They'd fought about a broken hairpin, on that fateful day when it had all gone to hell. The argument had been the reason his father had not been around when the Wens had first struck Lotus Pier. He’d stormed off after the fight, not to be away from the shouting, as Jiang Cheng had always assumed, but to find someone to fix the hairpin he had broken.

That argument had been the last time his parents had spoken to one another, and Jiang Cheng can still hear his mother's voice till today, can still hear the last words she had ever uttered to her husband.

From this day forth, let us never see each other again.

Closing his eyes, a yawning emptiness seems to open up in his chest. He thinks of his parents again now. He remembers, of course, how poorly they had gotten along, but he also remembers now, how most of the time, they had still tried.

He remembers how his father would spoon out the soup for his mother, and how he would help her across high thresholds. He remembers how his father had never been one for gifts, but had come home with that hairpin all the same, after an explosive argument that had rocked the very foundations of Lotus Pier. 

That hairpin had been the only gift he'd ever given his wife, and she had kept it. She had used it. She had worn it every single day from the day she received it, to the day she had died.

Even though they did not love each other.

Even though they did not get along.

At the end, Jiang Cheng remembers how his father had flown back to get her. Jiang Cheng remembers the look in his eye. Father had known that he would die, but he had also known that if she died, then his duty would be to die by her side. 

They didn't love each other, Jiang Cheng knows this with all his heart. There had never been love in their marriage, and there never would have been, even if they had lived.

But they had tried.

They had still tried.

When they emerge back out into the store, the box now tucked safely into a paper bag, Lan Xichen is standing over a display of hairpins. The hairpins on this rack are more masculine in design, and Lan Xichen is holding one up at eye level, seemingly appraising the quality of the jade. He turns at their reentry, and smiles, muted but sincere, as he carefully sets the hairpin back on the rack.

“These are exquisite,” he praises kindly. “Did you make these yourself?”

The old man bows.

“Yes indeed, young master,” he confirms, looking flattered.

“This is Sect Leader Lan,” Jiang Cheng corrects. “He is my husband.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he immediately bows again, lower this time.

“Of course, my apologies,” he says, before straightening with a wider smile. “I heard news that Sect Leader Jiang had married recently. I must say that you make a beautiful couple, and I wish you all the happiness in your long life ahead.”

Lan Xichen is quiet for a moment, before he smiles. This time, it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, turning away. “You're too kind.”

In the end, Lan Xichen does not purchase the hairpin he was looking at, but does engage the vendor in a conversation about jade carving that delights the old man to no end, before bidding him a friendly goodbye.

“I'm sorry,” Jiang Cheng says, the moment they step out of the store. “The mention of Jin Guangyao brought up some bad memories, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you.” He swallows, then bows his head a little. “In the future, I will try harder to keep my temper in check.”

The smile that Lan Xichen had seemed to wear so naturally for the old man slips from his lips. When he turns to look at Jiang Cheng, he is expressionless once more.

“Your apology is noted,” is all he says, and begins to turn away, as if to continue walking.

“We didn't marry for love,” Jiang Cheng tries again, a little more desperately, “but I hope— I hope that we can still get along.”

Lan Xichen pauses. He is quiet for a long moment, before he smiles, eyes downcast. It's a small smile, tired and strangely resigned. 

“Thank you for your consideration,” he says, before he turns away fully, and begins to walk back into the market. 

For a moment, Jiang Cheng just watches him from behind, but Lan Xichen does not turn around again.

They tried, Jiang Cheng reminds himself. 

They had still tried.

Chapter Text

As heir to a sect as prominent as his own, Jiang Cheng had always known that there would come a day in the future that he would be arranged to marry. The marriage would be political, as it was between his parents, and it would not be for love. After all, it was the duty of a sect heir, he’d known even as a boy, to marry for the future of the sect.

And so, he had never expected love. Marrying for love was a luxury meant for people like Wei Wuxian, who no one expected to marry for politics. All Jiang Cheng had hoped for, witnessing the constant arguments between his parents, was to find a spouse he could have a cordial relationship with. They didn't need to love one another, but they needed to be able to live together. 

That was all he could hope for.

When the matchmaking letters had finally begun to come in, he remembers the requirements he'd sent in return to the matchmaker: someone elegant and graceful of course, but more than that, someone gentle and soft spoken, family-minded — someone dutiful. 

A dutiful wife with whom he could find no quarrel.

A dutiful wife who, he had vowed, he would be dutiful to in return.

Those were the promises he had made to himself, growing up. 

In the aftermath of the war, however, he had grown restless. He had wallowed in blood for so many years, and even in peace he could still feel the violence under his skin. It would burst from him in fits of rage. He tore through his enemies, first on the battlefield, and later in the conference rooms, without any shred of mercy in his heart. 

When he'd finally accepted those matchmaking letters, all the women who had come to him were the gentle and soft-spoken women he asked for, but as they each flattered him for his achievements in the war, for his reputation on the battlefield, for his military strength — it had lit in him a strange sense of disconnect. 

They had never seen bloodshed.

They never would, and he resented them for it.

When he had been blacklisted, and the matchmaking letters had stopped, he had been almost relieved. If he’d still had elders, perhaps they would have forced the matter on his behalf, all of them clamoring for heirs the way the Lan elders had. But he had not a single elder left, only the odd concerned aunt and uncle from Meishan, which was miles and mountains away, and who he saw only on the odd and rare occasion. And so he had dedicated himself, instead, to his sect, to his people, and to the young nephew he had sworn to raise.

The husband he has now, however, is graceful and elegant, soft-spoken and good. He is everything that Jiang Cheng had asked for all those years ago, still so gentle even despite the role he had played in the war that had taken everything from Jiang Cheng, that had taken too much from all of them.

He is Jiang Cheng’s husband, dutiful, and gentle, and good, and even if they had not married for love, even if everything about their marriage is a sham— heaven be his witness , Jiang Cheng is going to be a dutiful husband in return.

He will try.

He has to try.

It's easier said than done.

Meals are silent and tense. Lan Xichen is distant as always, making no effort to start any conversation, and responding to Jiang Cheng’s stilted attempts at conversation with unforthcoming answers. It chafes at him, and when that happens, he can't help the acid that drips from his words, the sarcasm that lines his voice. It feels like he's trapped in a vicious cycle— try, lash out, apologize, and try all over again.

“This is just you and your bad temper again, isn't it?” Jin Ling bemoans some weeks later.

Jiang Cheng tells him, once again, that he isn't accepting marriage advice from a child.

But he can't control it. He can never control it. He hates when Lan Xichen wears that resigned, forbearing look on his face. He hates when Lan Xichen uses that quiet, disapproving tone. Most of all, however, he thinks he hates himself for lashing out.

He considers giving up many, many times. In those moments, he opens his bedside drawer, and takes out his mother's hairpin. He reminds himself that his parents didn't marry for love either, but they had tried. That becomes his mantra, even as he comes to feel, more and more, that he's trapped in the same kind of marriage they had, the same kind of marriage he always swore he wouldn't be in.

“He reminds me of Father,” Jiang Cheng finds himself confessing one night, drinking with Wei Wuxian in Caiyi, after yet another dinner passed with only one-sided barbs.

He has refused to let Jin Ling meddle in his marriage, but in Wei Wuxian, he's found an unexpected confidant. Wei Wuxian had been a terrible listener when they were boys, much too rowdy to sit still for long, but in adulthood, he seems to have mellowed out.

It certainly also helps that Jiang Cheng has been spending most of his visits to the Cloud Recesses in Wei Wuxian's courtyard, instead of in Lan Xichen's rooms.

“I always swore that I'd never become like them,” Jiang Cheng continues after a moment, before confiding, in a quieter voice— “that I wouldn’t become her.”

He knows that Wei Wuxian understands what he means.

After a moment, he just sighs. He tosses back another cup of wine, and then leans back in his chair with one hand draped over his eyes. He just can’t help himself. The more Lan Xichen wears that cold, long-suffering look, the more he just wants to scream.

Eventually, he realizes that Wei Wuxian has been quiet for too long, and opens his eyes to look at him. 

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Wuxian blinks, seeming to come back to himself.

“What?” he returns.

“You're wearing that face,” Jiang Cheng points out, unimpressed. “Your troubled face.”

Wei Wuxian laughs at that, but his laughter doesn't reach his eyes.

“I just can't help but wonder if I forced you into this,” he admits, “if I forced you into this unhappy marriage.”

Jiang Cheng sighs again. Reaching forward, he picks up the wine jar, and tops up both of their cups.

“I made my own decisions,” he says gruffly. “Besides, I did it for A-Ling as well, didn't I?”

Wei Wuxian is quiet for another moment. When he laughs again, the sound is a little wet.

“Am I selfish?” he asks quietly. “There's a part of me that's still thankful, despite it all, that this situation has at least given us a chance to talk again.”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Wei Wuxian whispers after a moment, but Jiang Cheng just shakes his head.

“I was angry at you for a long time,” he says, “but I'm not anymore.”

When he looks up again, Wei Wuxian is staring at him with wide eyes.

“If Lan Wangji has gone to the extent of planting lotuses on mountainous terrain,” he says, “then you must be missing the lotuses back home.”

He swallows audibly.

“You can visit if you'd like,” he says. “Lotus Pier has more than enough room for you and your husband.”

Wei Wuxian's eyes are moist now, shining in the dim lighting of the restaurant. After a moment, he manages a watery smile.

“Lan Zhan is busy lecturing,” he says, “but if we can make space in his schedule, I'd like to come down for a night hunt.”

Jiang Cheng nods.

“I'll be expecting you, then,” he agrees.

He does not snap at Lan Xichen even once for the rest of his stay.

The letter arrives mid-week. It's his first time receiving a letter from Wei Wuxian since he'd begun his second life, but his handwriting is exactly as Jiang Cheng remembers. They will arrive at the end of the week.

Zewu-jun asked to come as well, Wei Wuxian had written.

It's the first time Lan Xichen has initiated an unscheduled visit, and despite himself, Jiang Cheng can't help but feel a little nervous. On the day of their arrival, he spends half the morning pacing his study, before finally giving up and setting off for the kitchens. If he won't be getting any work done, then he might as well cook the meal himself. He'd been planning to prepare the soup for Wei Wuxian anyway. While he's already in the kitchen, he can take care of the rest of the dishes as well.

He is informed of their arrival just as he's finishing up in the kitchen. When he heads out to receive them, however, they are not standing in the reception hall, as he'd expected, but outside the main doors instead, all still carrying their traveling packs. He raises an eyebrow as he peers out of the doorway.

“What are you all doing out there?” he asks.

“Were you expecting them, Sect Leader?” the disciple at the door asks, sounding surprised, and suddenly, Jiang Cheng understands what must have happened.

“In the future, all of these individuals are t be allowed into Lotus Pier without question,” he says.

The disciple nods, bowing his head.

“Of course, Sect Leader,” he murmurs.

Jiang Cheng turns back to his guess, allowing his eyes to soften a little as he meets eyes with Wei Wuxian.

“Took you long enough to finally visit,” he says, haughty, but with no real bite to it. “Come in and put your things down.”

Wei Wuxian grins.

“There's no need,” Lan Xichen says abruptly. His expression is blank, but by now, Jiang Cheng is more than able to tell when he's displeased. “We can stay at an inn. I booked two rooms before we left Gusu. We can eat there as well.”

Jiang Cheng is surprised for just a moment, and then, a mix of strange emotion begins to churn within him — irritation and anger, of course, at the terse tone, but also a little bit of hurt. 

Lan Xichen had never intended to stay at Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng reaches down, beginning to turn his ring around his finger in agitation. Lan Xichen's eyes flicker down towards his hands, and then, once more, his expression grows tired and resigned.

It chafes.

“Is my company so unbearable that you cannot stand to share even a meal together?” Jiang Cheng asks coolly.

Lan Xichen’s face shutters.

Wei Wuxian blinks, looking between them with some surprise. Right, he hasn't actually witnessed them together before this, has only heard mention of it through Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Cheng has probably instructed the kitchen to make something,” Wei Wuxian cuts in, and smiles. “It would be rude to waste the food.”

The three visitors put their belongings away in their respective rooms, and then they all settle down in a pavilion that overlooks the lake. At this time of year, the lotuses are very nearly in full bloom, a sight that Wei Wuxian seems to appreciate. As they begin to spoon themselves servings of the various dishes, Jiang Cheng waits in anticipation for them to take their first bite. He begins to turn his ring once more, nervous.

Lan Xichen purses his lips as he notices the motion.

“Is something the matter?” Jiang Cheng asks, with acidic mockery. “You look displeased.”

On the other side of the table, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji pause, looking up from their food in surprise. It looks like they may have been in the middle of a conversation when Jiang Cheng had suddenly spoken. Lan Xichen frowns, shooting him a warning look, but does not answer the question.

“The food is great, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian cuts in suddenly. “Especially the soup.” He clears his throat then, looking suddenly shy. “Did you…?”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says shortly, and lets his expression softens slightly. “A-Jie’s recipe.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, and smiles. “I've missed it.”

As Wei Wuxian happily spoons himself a second helping of the soup, Jiang Cheng turns his gaze towards his own husband. Wei Wuxian is eating with usual gusto, his husband partaking more politely in the vegetarian dishes with appropriate appetite, but Lan Xichen has not touched his food at all. He has not even picked up his chopsticks.

“Rest assured,” Jiang Cheng can't help but interject sarcastically, “the food is perfectly safe to eat.”

Lan Xichen's expression grows tighter.

“I may have a reputation for ruthlessness,” Jiang Cheng continues, “but even I would balk at the prospect of poisoning guests in my own home.”

There's a moment of silence.

“Is this fresh chilli?” Wei Wuxian says suddenly, a tad more high-pitched than usual. “I haven't had chilli like this since I moved to the Cloud Recesses!”

Jiang Cheng had suspected as much. He had pounded the chilli himself.

“It is,” he says instead. “You can bring some back with you, if you'd like, but I doubt it can keep.”

You'll have to come back for more, he doesn't say.

The other two finish their meals relatively quickly after that. Lan Xichen had helped himself to a bit of the spinach in the end, but had barely nibbled at it. His rice remains untouched.

“I'd like to take a closer look at the lotuses,” Wei Wuxian announces, the moment he finishes his tea. “Do you mind if Lan Zhan and I take a walk?”

“Go ahead,” Jiang Cheng says.

The lovebirds stand. As they pass Jiang Cheng on the way out of the pavilion, however, Wei Wuxian reaches out, squeezing Jiang Cheng’s elbow discreetly below the edge of the table.

Talk to him, the touch seems to convey.

Lan Xichen waits for them to be out of earshot before turning on Jiang Cheng.

“Are you unable to control your temper for just one meal?!” he finally explodes.

It's the first time he has ever shouted at Jiang Cheng, the first time he has even responded to any of Jiang Cheng's barbs in weeks, and Jiang Cheng can't help but laugh.

“There it is,” he spits viciously.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen snaps. “I do not wish to argue with you. You can say whatever you wish to me, but my base expectation is that you control yourself when other people are around.”

“I'm sorry,” Jiang Cheng bites out sarcastically. “Was I embarrassing you?”

“You were embarrassing yourself,” Lan Xichen says.

“Is that right?” Jiang Cheng questions.

“It is,” Lan Xichen says firmly.

“No, go ahead,” Jiang Cheng continues, picking up his cup of tea — his hand is shaking from anger. “Tell me what you really think.”

Lan Xichen slams both hands on the table, the plates rattling loudly at the motion, and then he stands. He’s so angry that his pupils are dilated completely. He exhales forcefully, seemingly struggling to bring himself back under control.

“We can talk again when you're in control of yourself,” he says coldly.

He turns, and begins to stride off.

“Talk?!” Jiang Cheng repeats incredulously, and laughs, before calling after him. “Since when have you ever bothered to actually — fucking— talk to me!?”

By the end, his voice has risen to an incensed shout, but Lan Xichen does not bother to reply. He does not even bother to turn back.

By the time Jiang Cheng reaches his bedroom, he is shaking. Part of it is rage, of course, but there's also a flurry of other emotions churning in him, buzzing under his skin like ants trying desperately to crawl towards air. 

Humiliation? 

Grief?

He pulls his bedside drawer roughly open, taking out the hairpin that has grown to be his source of comfort. The shape and grooves of it are familiar under his touch by now, grounding him, centering him.

After a moment, he puts the pin down on the mattress beside him, and buries his face in his hands.

Fuck.

Thinking about his own efforts for Lan Xichen now, he can't help but feel so pathetic. It’s humiliating. He feels like a wife, trying desperately to appeal to an uninterested husband. 

Is this what his mother had felt like? Trying and trying for a man who didn't love her? For a man she didn't even love in return?

He remembers suddenly how she would so often seem anxious when his father came to observe training sessions. She'd been training the disciples for as long as he remembered, and he remembers now how she would always stress to them to give a good showing, how she would turn her ring nervously throughout the showcases. He remembers the iron discipline with which she managed the household, and the time she had stormed into the kitchens, screaming, because Father had bitten into badly deboned chicken at lunch and nearly broken a tooth.

In her own way, she had tried to be a good wife, and now, he can't help but remember the way she had slowly stopped smiling over the years, never seeming to measure up to expectation. Thinking back now, the anger in her eyes had always held a tinge of helplessness, and her bitter words had contained a note of grief.

Did she feel like this? he wonders. 

Did she feel this humiliated, this belittled, this pathetic?

Did she feel as helpless as Jiang Cheng does now?

He thinks about the first time they had traveled out together as a family for a discussion conference. Jiang Cheng had been eight and still too young to make the journey by flight, so they'd taken a carriage instead. Yunmeng had always been all flat marshes, but they had ridden through a mountainous area on the way to the conference. 

He remembers how quiet she had grown then. He remembers how she had stared out the carriage at the mountains, and how her eyes had gleamed with a layer of moisture, as if she had been holding back tears. 

Had Lotus Pier ever felt like home to her, or had she, throughout the long years, always just wanted to go home?

Overcome by a wave of sudden grief, sudden regret, he feels blindly for the pin, and clutches it fiercely to his chest. He had never comforted her. He had never thought to comfort her. Instead, he had just endured her, and secretly vowed that he would never become her. 

Gods, how much humiliation had she endured? How much pain had she suffered, all for an uncaring husband, and an ungrateful son who had never once understood, nor cared to understand her pain?

“A-Niang,” he whispers, clutching the pin more tightly to his chest.

There is wetness on his cheeks now.

“A-Niang,” he sobs between hitched breaths. “A-Niang.”

In the silence of his sudden, unspeakable grief, however, an unwelcome voice intrudes suddenly from the doorway.

“What— is happening?”

Surprised, Jiang Cheng looks up to see Lan Xichen standing at the door. He's staring at Jiang Cheng, eyes wide with what looks like disbelief.

“Are you— crying?” he finally demands incredulously.

Somehow, Jiang Cheng had thought that after the argument they'd had, Lan Xichen would surely have left Lotus Pier, would surely have gone to sleep in the inn that he had mentioned booking. Apparently, however, he had stayed, and now he’s here , because he has to sleep in Jiang Cheng’s room for the night.

Mortified, Jiang Cheng turns his face away, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand.

“I don't want to see you right now,” he mutters.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen begins.

“I said I don't want to see you right now!” Jiang Cheng shouts.

Gritting his teeth, he clutches at the hairpin, and prays that Lan Xichen will just leave, like he always does. This time, however, it seems his luck has finally run out, because Lan Xichen has seemingly had enough.

“Jiang Wanyin,” he snaps, voice tight with helpless frustration. “I did not come here to argue with you, but you— you have to see how this time, your actions really were—”

Anger surges within him, along with embarrassment, humiliation. His hand tightens around cold jade as the emotions swell beyond his control. He turns back around, his fist coming up instinctively.

“Go away!” he screams.

There's the sharp sound of something delicate shattering, and immediately, he goes cold all over.

Too late, he realizes what he's done.

He immediately stands up, horrified. Lan Xichen had flinched back when he'd thrown the pin at him, but seems to have recovered now, because he shoots Jiang Cheng one last exasperated look, before bending down to retrieve the broken hairpin. There's a frustrated furrow to his brow, even as he turns the pieces carefully over in gentle hands, examining the damage.

“The hairpin?” Jiang Cheng whispers.

“Broken,” Lan Xichen confirms, and then sighs tiredly, standing up and laying the pieces down on the dresser by the bedroom door.

It's been broken into four, maybe even five or six pieces.

“It probably can't be fixed,” Lan Xichen says, and sighs again, clearly frustrated, as he runs a hand back over his hair. “But there are many things in life that can't be fixed, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng just stares at the pieces for a good, long while. The old man had said that previously, it had broken cleanly, and only into two pieces. That's how he had been able to repair it. Now, however—

“And that's why I hope, from this incident,” Lan Xichen continues, “that you will learn a measure of self-restraint—”

“Get out,” Jiang Cheng whispers, very quietly.

Lan Xichen blinks, pausing in the middle of his sentence. For a moment, he looks as if he doesn't believe what he had just heard.

“Excuse me?” he finally asks.

“Didn't you hear me?” Jiang Cheng says. “Get out.”

When Lan Xichen does not immediately react, Jiang Cheng steps forward, and sweeps the tea set off the table between them. It crashes to the ground and shatters, the shards going everywhere.

“Get out!” he screams. “Get! Out!”

He upends the table with a cacophonous crash. One of the legs breaks off, and he snatches it up and hurls it, with force, at the wall. It takes a vase down on the way, shattering it as well. He picks up one of the fallen stools, throwing it across the room. Then, he catches sight of the broken hairpin again, still laying on that dresser.

Suddenly, the anger dissipates, escaping him just as quickly as it had come.

He takes a staggering step forward, porcelain crunching under his boots, and gently picks the pieces up in shaking hands. It's broken, shattered. He can feel dust under his fingers from where parts of it had simply disintegrated. 

He sits heavily on a stool by the upended table, and goes completely silent.

The sound of running footsteps heralds the arrival of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. For a long moment, they just stand in the doorway, speechlessly taking in the scene of destruction around them.

“What happened?” Lan Wangji finally asks.

Wei Wuxian seems to clue in a little faster.

“It’s okay!” he cries, waving his arms frantically. “Erm, maybe you two need some space from each other?”

There is no answer.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian cuts in, seeming to make a decision then and there. “Can you take Zewu-jun and wait for me in the next courtyard over? I’ll talk to Jiang Cheng first, alright?”

Lan Xichen hesitates, looking towards his brother, but after a moment, Lan Wangji just nods. Lan Xichen hesitates for a moment longer, but finally sighs, turning to follow his brother out of the room. As he steps across the threshold, however, Jiang Cheng speaks again.

“Don’t come back,” he says quietly.

Lan Xichen stops in the doorway. There is a moment of utter silence.

“From this day forth,” Jiang Cheng says, hollow and empty, “let us never see each other again.” 

For a long moment, Lan Xichen just stands at the threshold, still turned away, but not saying anything.

“I’ll talk to him,” Wei Wuxian finally urges. “Go first.”

Lan Xichen swallows audibly.

They leave without further fanfare.

After a moment, Wei Wuxian sighs, and begins to approach Jiang Cheng, stepping gingerly around the wreckage of broken table, thrown chairs, and shattered porcelain.

“Jiang Cheng,” he begins quietly, sounding a little exasperated, but mostly just sad. “Why did you—“

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what Wei Wuxian sees that causes him to falter.

“Jiang Cheng,” he finally whispers, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply. After a moment, Wei Wuxian crouches down in front of him, and immediately spots the broken hairpin in his hands. He takes it from Jiang Cheng, very gently. Jiang Cheng lets him.

“What’s this?” he asks.

Jiang Cheng swallows. He feels his cheek twitch.

“It was the hairpin Mother always wore,” he rasps, “the only one Father ever gave her.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says.

He tries to slot the pieces together. 

“I think— I think we could still glue it back together—” he says, before his face falls. “Oh, but there’s a chip here, oh, and over here too. Those might show but— but we can still put it back together, Jiang Cheng, I think.”

There's a moment of silence. Jiang Cheng thinks even Wei Wuxian knows that it's unlikely.

“The day the Wens came,” he whispers, after a moment, “Father left because of an argument about a broken hairpin, do you remember that?”

Wei Wuxian does not answer at first.

“He left—” Jiang Cheng continues emptily, “to find someone to repair it for her. Even though he was angry, and even though they didn’t get along.” 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“He died trying to return it to her,” Jiang Cheng rasps. “He died trying to fix things—”

He feels his own face crumpling.

“And I broke it.”

He curls over himself suddenly. Wei Wuxian immediately shuffles forward, pulling Jiang Cheng tightly into his arms as he begins to sob like a child.

“Oh, Jiang Cheng, oh—“ Wei Wuxian whispers, stricken. “Jiang Cheng, it's alright.”

But Jiang Cheng barely hears him.

“When this hairpin was first returned to me a few months back,” he continues through his sobs, “I thought that I had to try, because they tried too, didn't they? They tried, even though they didn't love each other, and they died trying.”

He laughs, wetly.

“But I've tried!” he says. “I've given it everything I had, but like always, my everything is never enough.”

Murmuring unintelligibly to him, Wei Wuxian pulls them up, and guides them onto the bed.

“I don't know what I was expecting,” Jiang Cheng admits, sobbing blindly into Wei Wuxian's shoulder, as he settles down on the edge of the mattress with Jiang Cheng in his arms. “What father doesn’t love his own child? If I couldn’t even make my own father like me, why did I expect I could make anyone like me?”

Wei Wuxian's cheek is wet against his temple.

“Do you think she felt like this too?” Jiang Cheng gasps. “Did she feel this pathetic, this helpless? How much humiliation did she have to bear, trying and trying for a man she didn’t even love? How much pain did she keep in her heart? I said I’d never become her, but I never knew, until I was put in her position— how much it must have hurt.”

He laughs then, loudly and bitterly.

“Father was right,” he hiccups, and laughs again. “I am a bad son.”

After that, it's just tears, an endless flow of tears as Wei Wuxian holds him, crying as well.

“You tried,” Wei Wuxian whispers brokenly, over and over. “You tried, Jiang Cheng. This isn't your fault. I'm sorry.”

It's a cold night out in Yunmeng. The chill here is different from that of the Cloud Recesses, from the dryness of the mountains. Here, the cold seems born of the night dew rising off the grass, of the humidity of the lakes, damp and a little sticky.

Crickets chirp amongst the croaking of bullfrogs as Lan Xichen closes his eyes, deep in contemplation.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji finally speaks.

“Do you think I’ve been unfair to him?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji just says again, more unhappily this time.

After a moment, Lan Xichen sighs.

“No,” he says. “It’s alright. That’s for me to answer.”

When he had first entered the rom, Jiang Wanyin had already been crying, he remembers now. He had probably been upset because of their argument, and Lan Xichen almost laughs at that. Truly, who would have thought? Who would have thought that even the fearsome Sandu-Shengshou would cry after being walked out on during an argument? 

He rubs agitatedly at his face. 

He’s ashamed to admit it to himself, but it had, perhaps, never quite occurred to him that Jiang Wanyin had feelings too , and so he had never thought much about blatantly treading all over them. But evidently, Jiang Wanyin is not made of stone. He cries, and bleeds, and misses his dead mother when he’s hurting, just like any other human being.

Lan Xichen lets out a breath, and looks up at his brother. Wangji is looking at him quite worriedly. 

“Don’t worry,” Lan Xichen finally says, forcing a smile. “I’ll work things out with him. I won’t let this affect your happiness, Wangji.”

But Wangji’s lips only turn down further at that.

“And what about your happiness, Xiongzhang?” he asks. “If you really do not love him, then…”

There's a moment of silence, but before either of them can speak further, there's a creak. Wei Wuxian is coming out of the family residence, but his eyes are red. He looks like he’s been crying.

“I will stay with Jiang Cheng for the night,” he announces, with a tired smile. “Zewu-jun, can you room with Lan Zhan until morning?”

“Wei Ying…” Wangji murmurs, even more unhappily. “You’ve been crying.” 

“I’m really sorry for the trouble,” Lan Xichen immediately says, standing up. “Did he— Did he shout at you?”

Wei Wuxian’s expression turns a little odd at that.

“What makes you think he shouted at me?” he asks, and Lan Xichen blinks, surprised.

“Ah,” he says. “Jiang Wanyin has a bad temper. He is quite upset right now, and I know you two have not been on good terms since you came back. I thought he may have taken it out on you.”

He bows then.

“Wei-gongzi,” ^[1] he says formally, “I must apologize.”

When he straightens, however, Wei Wuxian's expression is inscrutable. 

“What for?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“I shouldn’t have let my marital problems endanger your marriage with Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, and bites his lip. “I promise I will try harder in the future. You also took the brunt of Jiang Wanyin’s anger tonight, which was originally directed at me, and for that, I must also apologize.”

After a moment, however, Wei Wuxian just crosses his arms, expression complicated.

“Zewu-jun,” he finally says, “is that the reason why you’re holding on? For my marriage?”

“And also for the young Jin Rulan,” Lan Xichen says dutifully, “and for the stability of the cultivation world as a whole.”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, looking suddenly pained.

“Jiang Cheng didn’t shout at me,” he finally says.

His voice is hoarse.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen says, surprised. “I see. I apologize.”

He pauses for a moment, unsure whether to continue.

“It’s just that…” he finally says, “you look like you’ve been crying, Wei-gongzi. Are you… are you quite alright?”

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a long moment.

“I have been crying,” he finally admits. “I’ve been crying because my brother has been weeping in my arms for the last half a shichen. ^[2] If you had to see your brother in such a state, Zewu-jun, would you cry too?”

“I—” Lan Xichen begins, mortified.

Perhaps it's best that Wei Wuxian had interrupted him, because he doesn't know what he would have said otherwise.

“Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian says. “That hairpin— was the very last thing Jiang Cheng had to remember his parents by. It belonged to his mother.”

“I‘m so sorry,” Lan Xichen says numbly. “I didn’t know. I didn't think—”

“No, you didn’t!” Wei Wuxian snarls, and then laughs. 

He turns away, seeming to try and collect himself. 

“Zewu-jun,” he begins again after a moment. “Does Jiang Cheng really not factor at all into your decision to keep trying? You hold onto him for the happiness of other people, but you do not seek to make him happy yourself?”

Lan Xichen winces.

“Wei-gongzi,” he says.

But it seems that Wei Wuxian never needed an answer.

“When I gave my brother to you,” he says in a raw voice, “I did not expect that you would love him, but I also did not expect that you would make him so unhappy. ” He turns back around. “But if he’s not even a factor in your decision to keep this marriage, then I will take him back. I have thought about this long and hard, and I do not need my marriage to be recognized to be content . What I truly need—”

He pauses then, closing his eyes. 

“What I need,” he whispers, pained, “is to stop being a cause for misery in Jiang Cheng’s life.”

“Wei Ying,” Wangji chokes out as Wei Wuxian covers his face, expression twisting with grief. After a moment, however, Wei Wuxian just holds out a palm.

“Jiang Cheng,” he continues, seemingly determined to continue this conversation to the end, “I think has always known, despite my best efforts to deny it, that Uncle Jiang resented him. Uncle Jiang loved a woman, but was forced to marry a woman he didn’t love. He resented his wife for that, so much so that he resented the son she bore him too. His wife and son… never stopped trying to earn his approval. That has always been a deep wound in Jiang Cheng’s heart.”

He looks Lan Xichen in the eye.

“You behave just like him,” he tells Lan Xichen. “You resent Jiang Cheng. You’re kind to everyone else, but you’re cold with him. When he lashes out, you endure in silence, making him feel unreasonable for being unhappy, making him feel that it’s his fault for driving you away, that it's the things that are lacking in him that made you dislike him.”

He smiles sadly.

“But the truth is that you resented him from the beginning,” he says. “You were the one who accepted his proposal, and yet, from the moment you did, you decided that you would never forgive him for it. Jiang Cheng never had to do anything for you to dislike him, and there's nothing he can ever do to gain your approval. You damned him from the start.”

Lan Xichen reflects numbly on those words and, after some thought, concludes that they’re true.

He thinks back, now, on all of Jiang Wanyin’s clumsy overtures, all his awkward attempts to reach out. He thinks about how he had resented them, how he had spurned them. He recalls all the times Jiang Wanyin had stood up when he’d entered the room, stood up so quickly, so anxiously to greet him. He recalls how Jiang Wanyin would spin his ring while Lan Xichen ate, watching to see if he liked the food.

The fidgeting was clearly out of nervousness, but Lan Xichen was determined to see it only as a sign of anger, impatience, and encroaching violence. He was determined not to see the desperation and hurt in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes every time he lashed out, determined not to see the effect of his own cruelty.

Finally, Wei Wuxian bows low.

“Zewu-jun,” he says formally, “thank you for what you’ve done for my husband and I, but if you will not care for my brother, then I will not allow you to keep him from finding someone who will.”

He straightens, turning to look at Wangji with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” he says softly, “but we can always find another way.” 

“Mn,” Wangji immediately agrees. “I also do not wish for Xiongzhang to be stuck in a marriage that makes him unhappy.”

Wei Wuxian reaches out to touch his knuckles to the side of Wangji's face. The faintest of smiles lifts the corner of Wangji’s lips as they look at each other. There's so much love in their eyes that it makes something in Lan Xichen ache.

“I’ve been gone for too long,” Wei Wuxian finally says, and turns firmly back towards the family residence. “I must return to Jiang Cheng. Rest well, and have a good night.”

He offers Wangji a last lingering look, before he hurries off.

The moment he's gone, Lan Xichen puts his face in his hands. 

“Xiongzhang…” Wangji whispers.

“I’ve been unfair to Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen mutters.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji says unhappily, “you must also be fair to yourself.”

But Lan Xichen just shakes his head.

“No,” he says, voice raw. “Wei-gongzi is right. I have been unfair. I’ve held Jiang Wanyin at fault for this marriage despite accepting it of my own free will. I have— I have not received his overtures of peace fairly due to my own resentment of him.”

“Let's take a walk,” Wangji interjects, sounding worried. “That may help to calm your anxieties, brother.”

They take a long walk along the pier, eventually settling in the same pavilion they had eaten at before. There's a long boardwalk leading out towards it, the wood creaking quietly under their boots as they make their way towards the pavilion.

It had made a similar sound when Lan Xichen had stormed back to shore, earlier in the day.

He closes his eyes, but all he can see is the trembling form of Jiang Wanyin, sitting curled up on his bed with that hairpin clutched to his chest. He recalls how Jiang Wanyin had gone so silent, so wide-eyed upon throwing the pin, and how he had gathered the broken pieces with shaking hands. He recalls what he had so callously said to Jiang Wanyin, that it couldn’t be fixed, and that he ought to learn self-restraint. He recalls how Jiang Wanyin had been calling, so softly and heartbrokenly, for his mother.

He feels numb.

They finally reach the pavilion, but when he looks down at the stone table, looks at the stone stool he'd been sitting in when they'd had that final, explosive argument— he cannot bear the thought of sitting down in the same seat as before.

“I'm going to the kitchens,” he blurts out instead. “I need some tea. Stay here, the kitchens are nearby. I'll— I'll bring a pot back for us.”

He strides off so quickly that Lan Wangji does not even have the time to respond.

Agitated and disturbed, he finds his way to the kitchens in a blur. He stops in the courtyard, however, at the sound of voices. Through the paper screen over the window, he can see the shadow of four figures standing inside the kitchen. Disciples from the sounds of it, rather young, cleaning up after dinner.

“—and there was so much left!” one of them is hissing. “Zewu-jun didn’t touch his food at all!”

Lan Xichen freezes.

There's the sound of quiet splashing. They are washing the dishes.

“Why is he like this?” someone mutters after a moment.

“Sect Leader even cooked the entire meal this time!” another one exclaims. “I was on washing duty too when he came in. He already told the cook that he was going to prepare the soup, but changed his mind today and said he would do the rest of the dishes as well.”

“And Zewu-jun didn't eat anything?” the first one gasps, incredulous. “But Sect Leader’s cooking is so good!”

“The zhai ^[3] he makes for new year is always amazing,” someone else moans, “but he so rarely cooks for everyone.”

“If it’d been me sitting at that table today,” another laments, “I would have licked my plate clean.”

There comes the sounds of vehement agreement, before finally, someone sighs.

“Let’s not mention it anymore,” the fourth person mutters glumly, speaking for the first time. “Sect Leader has been so upset lately, especially after seeing Zewu-jun, and I heard— I heard that they were shouting at each other on the pier today, and that Sect Leader went into his room after, and hasn't come out since. He missed all the internal meetings that were scheduled for this evening.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“He never misses meetings,” someone finally says.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence passes, before someone, the youngest from the sounds of it, speaks up with forced positivity.

“It's okay!” he says. “Let’s just think of a way to make him smile during training tomorrow!”

“You think we can convince Young Master Jin to visit?” someone speculates.

“Sect Leader wants him to stay in Lanling and deal with matters there though. He'll be mad.”

“Oh, we all know he's just pretending to be mad. He loves Young Master Jin the most. Question is: can we even get the seniors to sneak a letter to Carp Tower for us?”

Lan Xichen does not listen to the rest.

His ears ring, blood buzzing under his skin as he rushes back to pier, just short of a run. Wangji stands, alarmed, as he bursts back into the pavilion, running his hands agitatedly over his hair.

“I must fix this, Wangji,” he says desperately, “I must find a way to make it up to him.”

He fists his hands against his temples, looking out over the waters as he thinks.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji says, sounding bewildered and quite alarmed. “You must calm down.”

Lan Xichen barely hears him.

He needs to apologize, but after all that's happened, a mere apology can't be enough. No, he needs to return Jiang Wanyin’s overtures, needs to find a way to show his sincerity, but what can he even do? He can’t fix the hairpin— if it were made of metal, it could be welded back together, but jade can’t be welded, and there had been too many chips for it to be simply glued.

But he needs to do something .

Suddenly, he remembers the trip to Yunping. That craftsman— and what he said about the item left behind by late Sect Leader Jiang— Lan Xichen had held the hairpin in his hands earlier, had seen the carvings on it. The craftsmanship and make had been stunningly similar to some of the pieces he'd seen in the store. The box Jiang Wanyin had taken away from the shop had been the right size and shape as well.

That old craftsman must have been returning the hairpin.

He had been the one to craft it.

Lan Xichen runs back out onto the boardwalk, mounting his sword as he goes. A moment later, Wangji catches up with him mid-air.

“Where are we going?” he asks, bewildered.

“Yunping!” Lan Xichen shouts over the sounds of rushing wind.

The stores are mostly dark by the time they touch down in Yunping, but the jeweler’s shop is still half-lit. The old man looks up, startled, when Lan Xichen comes running in. He had been counting out ingots on the table at the back, clearly about to close for the night.

“Ah!” he says after a moment, eyes widening with recognition. “Aren’t you—”

He breaks into a smile.

“You're Sect Leader Jiang’s husband!” he cries. “It’s such an honor, Sect Leader Lan! How may I help you?”

“Please,” Lan Xichen says desperately. “I need to buy him a hairpin that he will like. Could you recommend one? Maybe— Maybe something similar to the one you returned to him?”

The old man blinks, and then looks more closely at him.

“You seem frazzled, Sect Leader Lan,” he observes. “What’s the matter?”

“I've done something terrible,” Lan Xichen admits. “I wish to fix things. I wish to make amends, but I—”

His throat closes up, and he has to take a moment to compose himself. In the end, however, he does not know what to say, too ashamed to continue.

The old man looks at him searchingly.

“You remind me of the late Sect Leader Jiang,” he finally says. “That hairpin was a gift for his wife— an apology gift, as I found out later. Several years after that, I repaired it for him once, as another apology gift. Regrettably, the hairpin never reached her.” 

He nods quietly, and slowly begins to put the ingots away into a box.

“That you have come here today in similar circumstances…” he murmurs. “Perhaps it is fate.”

He locks the box, placing it in a drawer under the desk, before he stands.

“I'm guessing you would prefer not to return to Yunmeng without the gift,” he says.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen confirms.

“If you're willing to wait overnight,” the old man says, “I'll work on something custom-made, and you can pick it up in the morning.”

For a moment, Lan Xichen is struck speechless, before, overcome by gratitude, he bows low.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

They check into a nearby inn, but it takes Lan Xichen longer than usual to fall asleep, and even after that, he spends the rest of the night in shallow, disturbed slumber. The hairpin is ready, however, as promised, when they return to the store in the morning, and the moment the old man draws back the lid, Lan Xichen knows that he made the right choice by coming here.

The jade is the exact same color as the one that has been broken, and with similar marbling and translucency. It curves in a similar shape, but lacks any dangling accessories, and ends in a taper as opposed to the cluster of blossoms carved of silver. In place of the carved flowers, there is a lotus etched more subtly into the jade, the grooves filled delicately with silver.

It is clearly a matching set to the original hairpin, except meant to be worn by a man.

It's perfect.

He pays the man handsomely, before flying back to Lotus Pier. At the main doors, he runs into the young Jin Rulan, who appears to have received a letter after all. When he sees Lan Xichen and Wangji, however, he just turns away, and continues into the estate, not stopping to greet them.

Trading a look, Lan Xichen and Wangji pick up their stride slightly.

“Did you receive a letter from those disciples?” Lan Xichen asks.

Jin Rulan shoots him a bewildered look.

“What disciples?” he asks. “I received a letter from Wei Wuxian in the middle of the night. After I read the contents, I decided that I had to come.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen says.

Perhaps the disciples had not managed to find a senior willing to send out a letter after all.

They walk in silence until they reach the private wings. It is only as they approach the family residence, however, that Jin Rulan finally makes a disbelieving noise, and speaks again.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Go back to Gusu.”

Lan Xichen is taken aback. The last time they had spoken, Jin Rulan had been cordial, almost close. For a moment, he isn't quite sure what to say.

“Have I offended you in some way, Sect Leader Jin?” he asks carefully, after a moment.

Jin Rulan folds his arms.

“Wei Wuxian said that you were screaming at each other last night, and that Jiujiu destroyed a table during the argument,” Jin Rulan says bluntly. “And now, you're just walking into the family residence? Do you have a death wish?”

“I'm here to apologize,” Lan Xichen explains. “What happened last night was regrettable and—”

“No!” Jin Rulan snarls.

Lan Xichen falls silent, shocked. 

After a moment, Jin Rulan finally turns to face him fully.

“You know, Zewu-jun,” he bites out. “This whole time I’ve been telling Jiujiu to give you a chance, to rein in his temper, to try. But perhaps I've been blind, or maybe Jiujiu was right , and I'm just a child who’s not qualified to be giving marriage advice. Wei Wuxian didn't want to tell me much either, probably because he also thinks I'm a child, and yet somehow, I’m still getting the impression that Jiujiu isn't the problem!”

“Sect Leader Jin,” Wangji tries to intercede.

“No,” Jin Rulan snaps at him, and then turns back to Lan Xichen, raising his chin proudly. 

“He told me to be courteous to you, you know?” he says. “He told me to treat you as family, that you would be my ally in the future, and to ask you if I needed help. But I don't need your allyship, Zewu-jun.”

He tightens his jaw, raising his chin further. In that moment, staring down his nose at Lan Xichen with that fire in his eyes, he looks uncannily like his uncle.

“I don't need him to do this for me any longer,” he says, more quietly.

And caught there under Jin Rulan’s cold, contemptuous gaze, Lan Xichen finds himself suddenly thrown back to that moment, all those years ago, that he'd seen this very same stare directed at Jin Guangshan, only coming from a different set of eyes. He remembers the moment that Jiang Wanyin had shed the very last traces of his boyhood deference, the moment from whence he had refused to ever be cowed again.

Faced down now by such similar eyes, Lan Xichen finally sees the steel in the young Sect Leader Jin, the hints of the man he will one day become.

“Go home, Zewu-jun,” Jin Rulan finally says.

He heads into the family residence without another word, not looking back.

For a long moment, Lan Xichen just stands there.

“Should we leave?” Wangji asks.

Lan Xichen sighs, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“Probably,” he admits. “But first… I want to leave the hairpin here before we go. Even if he doesn't want to see me, I want him to have it.”

“Alright,” Wangji agrees.

It takes about a quarter of a shichen before someone else comes out of the residence. Wei Wuxian looks faintly surprised when he sees them. He smiles first at Wangji, even if it doesn't quite meet his eyes, before turning to Lan Xichen.

“I honestly didn't expect you to still be here,” he admits.

“I'm here to apologize,” Lan Xichen explains.

Wei Wuxian blinks.

“Oh?” he says.

He doesn't sound very moved.

“Jiang Wanyin probably doesn't want to see me,” Lan Xichen says. “I mean, he said he didn't ever want to see me again, but I’ve brought an apology gift, and even if he won't see me, I want him to have it.”

“Show it to Wei Ying,” Wangji urges.

Lan Xichen hesitates for a moment, but eventually pulls out the box, sliding back the lid. Wei Wuxian's eyes widen as he looks into the box.

“I went to Yunping,” Lan Xichen explains. “I was there when he got back the original hairpin, so I went back to the same craftsman to have this made.”

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a moment, before finally, he nods. When Lan Xichen holds the box out to him, however, he does not take it.

“I'm going to talk to Jiang Cheng,” he says instead. “Wait here.”

When Wei Wuxian comes back out some time later, the young Sect Leader Jin emerges with him. Jin Rulan’s eyes are a little red, and he refuses to look at Lan Xichen.

“He’s agreed to see you,” Wei Wuxian says. “We will wait by the lake.”

With a final nod, he and Jin Rulan head off in the direction of the pier, and Wangji soon follows wordlessly.

Lan Xichen enters the wing alone.

He finds Jiang Wanyin sitting by himself in the bedroom. His hair is up, but he's still in his under-robes, and although Lan Xichen has seen him this way dozens of times by now, he's never seen him like this before — with his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, his shoulders caved in with defeat.

“What is it?” Jiang Wanyin finally asks.

His voice lacks the anger that Lan Xichen has become used to. Right now, he just sounds exhausted and resigned.

“Wei Wuxian persuaded me to see you one last time,” he says, when Lan Xichen doesn't immediately reply. “So speak, and afterwards, we can peacefully keep our distance.”

The broken table and shattered vases have all been moved out of the room, and so have all the stools, so after a moment, Lan Xichen just crouches in front of Jiang Wanyin.

“I've brought an apology gift,” he says quietly, and offers the box to Jiang Wanyin. “I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Jiang Wanyin takes the box from him, but does not open it. For a long moment, he just looks down at it without speaking. Finally, however, he sighs.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks tiredly. “I was the one who was yelling.”

“Yes, but—” Lan Xichen begins, and then pauses for a moment, trying to find the words.

I owe him honesty, he tells himself.

“I've not received your attempts to make peace with fairness,” he admits. “From the beginning, I've treated you with animosity, but even then, you continued to try. You— you've given everything, and I've given you absolutely nothing.”

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw tenses, his bottom lip trembling, but he does not speak.

“Wei Wuxian told me off last night, you know?” Lan Xichen confesses, and then laughs, self-deprecatingly. “He told me that I’ve made you feel at fault for something that wasn't your fault in the first place. He said that I've made you feel like it was you who was driving me away when—”

He swallows. His gaze flicks up to meet Jiang Wanyin’s, but Jiang Wanyin doesn't say anything, anything at all. He just watches Lan Xichen silently.

After a moment, Lan Xichen presses on. Jiang Wanyin deserves that much.

“When from the very start,” he continues quietly, “I resented you for trapping me in a loveless marriage, even though I had accepted your proposal of my own free will.”

A tear slips down Jiang Wanyin's cheek. He immediately brings a hand up to wipe it from his face. He is silent after that for a while, but eventually, he lets out a soft, sad laugh.

“I don't understand you, Lan Xichen,” he says, in a cracked whisper. “Why did you say yes then, if you were only going to hate me for it?”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, and lowers his head.

“I don't know,” he admits.

They sit there in silence for a long moment.

Outside, birds chirp in the dawning morning, but otherwise, the family residence is quiet. There are no footsteps of disciples passing outside on their morning errands. There are not even servants sweeping in the area, seemingly all staying clear to give their sect leader some modicum of privacy— to give them some modicum of privacy.

“I never dared imagine that I had the luxury of marrying for love,” Jiang Wanyin finally says. “I always knew I would one day have to marry for politics. So I didn’t expect you to love me, Lan Xichen. I just expected—”

His face twists briefly, and he seems to choke on his words, cutting himself off mid-sentence. He quickly seems to wrestle himself back under control, but doesn't continue.

“Expected what?” Lan Xichen prompts gently.

And Jiang Wanyin’s face crumples.

“I just expected that you wouldn't be unkind to me,” he whispers brokenly, and then, he's crying all over again. He bows his head to hide his tear-streaked face, but Lan Xichen can still feel pain blossoming in his chest at the sound of his gasping, hitched breaths. 

After a moment, Lan Xichen lowers his head as well.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

In light of all that has happened between them, the apology feels hollow and inadequate.

For a while, there is only the sound of Jiang Wanyin's hitched breathing as they sit there, heads bowed together in silence. Eventually, however, Lan Xichen hears Jiang Wanyin shifting, lifting the box up from his lap. 

There's the sound of him sliding the wooden lid back, and Lan Xichen raises his head, watching Jiang Wanyin as he opens the box. Jiang Wanyin’s chin is still lowered. Lan Xichen can't see his face, but can hear his breath hitch as he takes the pin out of the box with shaking hands.

“I flew to Yunping last night to have it commissioned,” Lan Xichen explains, and hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “I think— we could still try to put your mother's hairpin back together. It won't look the same as before, but the grooves where the edges chipped off— I think that man could fill them with silver, like he did for the carvings on this one. In the meantime, however, I hope you will accept this one as a temporary replacement.”

Jiang Wanyin looks down into the box for a long moment, expression flitting so quickly between emotions that Lan Xichen can't even begin to tell what they are. Finally, however, he closes his eyes, and lets out a low, rattling breath.

“You were in love with him, weren't you?” he asks quietly, and Lan Xichen blinks, startled.

“What?” he says.

“Jin Guangyao,” Jiang Wanyin clarifies. “You were in love with him.”

He does not sound upset.

He does not sound angry.

He just sounds tired.

Lan Xichen bites his lip, but keeps the promise he had made to himself. Jiang Wanyin deserves his honesty.

“Yes,” he admits truthfully, and manages a strained smile. “But I loved Da-ge too, long before I loved him, even if it was in a different way. He was more than his bad deeds, but what he did to Da-ge—”

He chokes, and has to take a moment to fight down the lump in his throat.

“I don't think I can ever love someone else like that again,” he whispers, and laughs wetly. “Something broke inside me when I found out what he did, and I don't think it can ever be fixed.”

Jiang Wanyin lowers his gaze at that, drawing his thumb along the grooves of the hairpin.

“I gave him a hard time at first,” he finally says, “but I grew to respect him over the years. He was family to A-Ling, and A-Ling is family to me. I'm sorry… if I made you feel that you couldn't grieve him.”

Lan Xichen stares at him for a long moment. 

Unbidden, a long ago memory returns to him, one that he had all but forgotten about.

It had been just after Jin Rusong’s untimely death. Lan Xichen had rushed to Lanling upon hearing the news, and coming up the long stairs leading up to Carp Tower, he had run into Jiang Wanyin.

“ Zewu-jun,” the other man had greeted.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen had returned, waiting for him to be out of earshot, before turning quickly to Jin Guangyao.

“Jiang Wanyin was here?” he had asked, concerned. “Was he giving you a hard time again?”

Jin Guangyao had not replied at first. He had just sighed, and beckoned to him, and they had begun to head into the estate.

“No,” he had finally said. “He was not giving me a hard time.”

Stepping into the more private wings of Carp Tower, they had walked together in silence for a while, striding side by side through quiet courtyards.

“He came to offer his condolences,” Jin Guangyao had eventually explained, “and to offer his political backing, should I wish to pursue the ones who killed Rusong. He said that the Jiangs and Jins are family through marriage now, and promised that he would help me see it to the end.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen had said then, surprised.

They had continued to walk in silence, carving their path towards the Fragrant Palace. As they had passed the silent, empty rooms that had once held a squalling infant, however, Jin Guangyao had raised his face to the sky above, and smiled sadly.

“Jiang Wanyin will go to the ends of the earth for those he considers family,” he had said, and chuckled wryly. “So perhaps I was wrong about him after all.”

Lan Xichen had shot him a questioning look, but Jin Guangyao had barely noticed. Under the shadow of a weeping willow, he had closed his eyes, a hint of self-deprecating sorrow breaking through the mask.

“If he were to ever be unbanned by the matchmakers,” he had said softly, “he would surely treat his wife and children with fairness.”

Back in the present, Jiang Wanyin raises his eyes to meet Lan Xichen’s.

“There are many things in life that can't be fixed,” he says quietly, returning Lan Xichen’s own words back at him, but with infinitely more kindness— “I didn't marry you expecting love.”

“I don’t expect you to love me either,” Lan Xichen says quickly, “but seeing as fate has thrown us together like this, I would like if we could live our years together amicably. Even if we choose to part ways now, I still hope that it can be on amicable terms.”

Jiang Wanyin looks down at the pin again, drawing his thumb gently across the lotus etched into it.

“I wasn't intending to break off the marriage,” he admits. “It would be too much of a scandal.”

“I don't want to break it off either,” Lan Xichen says, relieved.

Jiang Wanyin seems to collect himself for a moment. Then, he nods, and looks up at Lan Xichen again. This time, Lan Xichen can see in his eyes that he has reached a decision. 

Holding Lan Xichen’s gaze, Jiang Wanyin reaches up slowly, and carefully draws the hairpin he's wearing out from his guan. ^[4] Then, he reaches down for the one Lan Xichen had given him, and, just as carefully, slides it slowly into place against the crown of his head. He pauses then to take in a shaky breath, before raising his chin.

“Yes,” he agrees, “we didn't marry for love, but seeing as fate has thrown us together like this…” He pauses, and lowers his eyes. “I also wish… that we can live our years together amicably.”

He puts the box aside, and then, to Lan Xichen’s shock and confusion, he bows.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What for?” Lan Xichen asks, bewildered.

When Jiang Wanyin raises his head again, a self-deprecating smile has settled onto his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “that you had to settle for me.”

Lan Xichen has to close his eyes for a moment after that, fighting down the lump that is rising in his throat. Finally, however, he lets out a rattling exhale, and opens his eyes again.

“Can we try again?” he pleads hoarsely, reaching out to take Jiang Wanyin's left hand in both of his.

Jiang Wanyin closes the now empty box with his other hand, then puts that hand on top of Lan Xichen's.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Let's try again.”

Lan Xichen squeezes his hand, feeling strangely overcome. They silently hold each other’s hands for a moment, looking at each other, and then— Lan Xichen musters up a fond smile.

He thinks that it might be the first true smile he has offered his spouse.

“This time,” he vows, “we’ll do it right.”