Chapter Text
The Spirit
It has been four and a half years since Jiang Cheng found out that his Zhījǐ 1, the man he loves, was dead.
After the war ended, there were many murmurs running through the Jianghu about the man named Wei Wuxian.
Some called him a Hero
Some called him a Heretic.
Some called him a Demon.
Some even called him a Ghost.
But no matter what people named him, there's one thing the rumors always are sure of: Wherever the young Zongzhu of Lotus Pier went, Wei Wuxian would be close at hand.
His clinging shadow.
The dagger in his belt.
The dog at his feet.
Many people feared Wei Wuxian after his deeds in the Sunshot Campaign.
But the more discerning folks of the Jianghu knew that it's not the growling guard dog that you need fear, but the dog's short tempered master.
“Wei Wuxian, get your ass back on your own sword.” Jiang Cheng growled at the man draped over his shoulders.
“Oh come on, A-Cheng, just a little longer?” He could literally hear the pout in Wei Wuxian's voice, the sweet little whine he used when he desperately wanted Jiang Cheng to coddle him.
“No, We're almost at Jinlintai, you can't be seen switching swords! You know this, now go.” Truth be told, Jiang Cheng is not all that thrilled about losing his ghost blanket, while flying several hundred li above the ground, but one of them has to be at least semi-responsible here. They both know it won't be Wei Wuxian, at least not when responsibility requires him to uncling from Jiang Cheng for more than a quarter shichen. Truly, who knew ghosts could have separation anxiety.
Jiang Cheng feels Wei Wuxian's long suffering sigh against his back, and rolls his eyes at the dramatics. After sneakingly pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw, Wei Wuxian melts off him, dissipating into smoke and shadow before appearing next to him, flying on a long, pitch-dark sword.
Death has never suited a man better than it suits Wei Wuxian. He cuts a menacing figure in his new robes. Over-robes of a cloying black fabric that seems to swallow all the light that touches it. Deep purple under-robes that flash through the parting of his hems as he moves. A deep purple belt, with Chenqing secured to his hip. Twin red and purple tassels buffeting in the wind. As always, the signature red ribbon in his hair.
Wei Wuxian's eyes catch his, and he breaks out into a lopsided smile. He is really stunning like this, Jiang Cheng thinks.
Wei Wuxian drifts closer to him, “What’cha looking at?”
Heat crawls up Jiang Cheng's cheeks from being caught so blatantly staring, and he looks away quickly. “Just wondering why you still have that stupid smile on your face, considering where we're going.”
“Oh come on A-Cheng, it's Shijie's wedding, Can't I be a little excited? Even if she is marrying that Peacock.” Wei Wuxian huffs, crossing his arms as he does.
“It's still the first time you've been to another sect since....” Jiang Cheng trails off with a grimace and Wei Wuxian's face softens, he places a gentle hand on Jiang Cheng's crossed arms. “It will be okay, we've been planning this for months now. We've done all that we can to prepare, all that's left is to just get on with it.”
“Just because we're prepared doesn't mean that it can't go wrong...”
“I know but even if things go wrong, I have you, and Shijie, and you both have me. We'll be okay.” Wei Wuxian gives his arm a small squeeze, and presses one last kiss on his cheek before they crest the last peak; and the Golden City of Lanling sprawling out before them. Jinlintai looms in the distance, fast-approaching, and Jiang Cheng tries very hard to ignore the nervous pit in his stomach.
They dismount together when they reach the gates of the Jinlintai, Wei Wuxian falling into step behind Jiang Cheng.
Unfortunately, they had not had a chance to test their theory about the Jins' protections against spirits before the day itself; but they should theoretically function similarly to the ones in Lotus Pier, with perhaps a more pompous air.
They had been trying to figure out how to allow Wei Wuxian to enter protected areas for months now. Wei Wuxian's body had not survived much past the war; the natural process of decay— even as slowed as it was by Wei Wuxian's use of resentment— along with damage it had sustained over the course of the war had made it so that even the strongest attempts at deception would not be able to conceal from people that the fact that the man in front of them was not alive, and hadn't been for a very long time.
Therefore immediately post-war, Wei Wuxian went ‘into seclusion’ to recover from the effects of his new cultivation on his body, with the hopes of returning to the greater cultivation world once he was healed.
Even once they had managed to separate Wei Wuxian's spirit from his body, the matter of letting him move freely throughout the cultivation world without getting exposed still loomed over them. Wei Wuxian couldn't be in seclusion forever, sooner or later more people would start asking questions. Wei Wuxian would have to be able to move about freely in the cultivation world regardless of what he had become. To be entirely honest, despite his role in making Wei Wuxian what he is today, Jiang Cheng doesn't really know what to classify him as. He is simply Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Cheng passes through the gates of Jinlintai with his breath held, Wei Wuxian right on his heels. He knows the moment Wei Wuxian crosses the threshold, he feels a gentle tug on his qi, the bloom of talismans being activated, and then the telltale warm buzz of Wei Wuxian's hand on his back. Jiang Cheng exhales in relief. They did it. Now to make it through the wedding.
They'd arrived just half shichen before A-Jie's wedding procession, and Jiang Cheng is trying very hard not to pace a hole into the floor. Jinlantai is overflowing with life, people from every sect having come far and wide to see the marriage of his perfect A-Jie to that Jin Peacock.
Jiang Yanli is set to arrive any minute now. Jin Zixuan is standing just before the grand doors of the tower; he at least has the decency to look nervous. Wei Wuxian is standing just a hair behind his right side, he keeps rocking back onto his heels as they wait, not doing anything to mask his own jitters. Just before Jiang Cheng reaches the end of his rope and snaps at him to stay still, the sound of firecrackers explodes into the air, and everyone turns to watch the bridal procession crawl through the streets of Lanling, until it arrives at the golden gates of the Jinlantai.
As the bridal sedan comes to a slow stop right before them, Jiang Cheng feels a thin set of fingers discreetly curl around his hand. Hidden by the long sleeves of Wei Wuxian's robes, Jiang Cheng gives his hand a squeeze in response.
A-Jie looks ethereal as she's lifted by her handmaidens from the bridal sedan, and set upon the rolled out red carpet before her husband to be. Jiang Cheng notes the way her head sways towards their direction, and he can see that same radiant smile she's been wearing every day since the wedding plans had been finalized through her deep red veil. Jiang Cheng watches her eyes skip between him and Wei Wuxian, and knows in this moment that it was worth it: All the preparation, all the work it took to be able to have Wei Wuxian here for the wedding, was worth it.
Jin Zixuan looks like he's so nervous he's on the very edge of passing out; as Jiang Yanli closes the distance between them, stepping carefully over the low-lit stove separating them.
Jiang Cheng can see the shake in Jin Zixuan's hands as he pulls up Jiang Yanli's veil. The way his nervous expression lifts from pure anxiety, to a small nervous smile when the veil is lifted, and he is greeted with Jiang Yanli's beaming face.
Jiang Cheng is loath to admit it, but that smile lifts some of his lingering apprehensions about having the peacock as his Jie’s husband. Jin Zixuan takes Jiang Yanli's hand in his, and leads her into the grand halls of Jinlantai.
The procession follows along behind them, the excitement in the air is palpable as they make their way to the Jin Ancestral shine. Wei Wuxian's hand reluctantly slips from his, as they fall instep next to Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin, just behind the couple to be.
The Lanling Jin Ancestral Shrine is just as gaudy as the rest of the Jinlantai. Sparkling gold, decked out in red, and filled to the brim with people for the grand occasion.
The crowd shifts, and whispers hummed through the hall as Jiang Cheng led Wei Wuxian to their designated seats, at the front of the room. It had caused some stir when Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli had insisted that Wei Wuxian be given a seat of honor at Jiang Cheng's side, as one of Jiang Yanli's honored family members. Sure, everyone knew that Jiang Yanli called Wei Wuxian her brother, but to go as far as to include him in the ceremony itself? It felt a step too far, even for the free spirits of Yunmeng Jiang.
The siblings had put their proverbial foot down though. Jiang Cheng is glad they did, sitting here in front of this crowd, A-Jie and Jin Zixuan dressed in the brightest of red, and seated below them, he cannot imagine not having Wei Wuxian up here next to him.
Jiang Yanli takes the tea pot already set out before them, and carefully pours two cups. Jiang Cheng can see the tension in her hands, but the stream does not falter and the tea does not spill. Cups full, she sets the pot down, and presents the cups to Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin, one after another. Madam Jin gives Jiang Yanli perhaps the most genuine smile Jiang Cheng has ever seen from her while in the presence of her husband.
As his parents drink their offered tea, Jin Zixuan picks up his own set out tea pot and begins pouring two cups of his own. His hands are shakier than Jiang Yanli's were, the stream unsteady as Jin Zixuan struggles to quell his own nerves. But he manages to pour his two cups without spilling. Offering them up nervously to Jiang Cheng, and then Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Cheng accepts his cup with an even nod towards the shaking Peacock, which seems to calm him enough to withstand Wei Wuxian's sharp gaze. He can feel the promise of violence Wei Wuxian is projecting towards Jin Zixuan without even looking up from his drink; a butchers knife raised above the neck of the precious golden peacock, poised to cleave his head from his neck if the pathetic bird is dumb enough to let anything happen to Jiang Yanli.
Jin Zixuan meets Wei Wuxian's heavy gaze straight on, back straight and shoulders square: He answers Wei Wuxian's warning aura with a grave nod, before offering the steaming cup to him. A moment of communication passes between Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan in that moment, before Wei Wuxian accepts the offered drink with a nod. Jin Zixuan relaxes visibly, once the second cup leaves his hand.
The tea scalds Jiang Cheng's throat as he drinks. A-Die and A-Niang should be the ones sitting here, drinking from this cup. They should be here with them. A-Niang should be here to see this wedding she spent so long fighting for, come to fruition. He downs the rest of his cup, and sets it on the table before him with a shaking hand.
A cool hand slips into his; hidden from the rest of the room by the table before them, and the flowing sleeves of their formal robes. Jiang Cheng has to silently fight off a wave of emotion as the couple completes their bows. He will not cry.
First the Heaven and the Earth.
Second to their Families.
Finally to each other.
Jin Zixuan rises to his feet, and takes Jiang Yanli's hand in his, helping her up carefully. The gathered crowd cheers and hollers as the couple make their way out of the ancestral shrine, towards their marital suite.
Once the couple are gone from view, Jin servants pour into the room and begin ushering people towards the banquet hall: The real celebrations yet to begin. Wei Wuxian pulls him into the crowd with a beaming smile on his face. Almost identical to how A-Jie's was when they sent her off that morning. Jiang Cheng knows that all the work it took, for all three of them to be here for this day, was entirely worth it.
It is well past yín shí 2 on the third day of celebration when they retire to their rooms for the final time. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had long since retired to their own suite for the night, but of course the festivities continued in their absence.
Jiang Cheng was bone tired, he truly despised the political dance, and the fact that he had to do it at his own sister's wedding irks him. As soon as the door to their rooms closes he goes to collapse onto the bed, heedless of his formal clothing, only to be stopped by hand on his chest.
The fact that the hand in question slides right past his clothing to rest directly on his skin is, in itself, a testament to how tired Jiang Cheng is.
“A-Cheng, clothes first. Then bed.” Wei Wuxian's voice is wispy, and his form has an ever so slight haze to it, that it only gets when he's reverting back to a more ghostly form. Jiang Cheng frowns at him tiredly.
“Come on qīn'ài de3, I'd do it for you but it seems you're too tired for even that.” Wei Wuxian smiles teasingly, before gesturing for him to disrobe once again. Jiang Cheng lets out a long, tired sigh, before relenting and beginning the long and tedious process of stripping off his formal robes.
By the time he's done, he is now well and truly exhausted, and Wei Wuxian is lounging on his bed, his own formal robes dissolved away into a simple pair of sleeping pants. A bolt of jealousy flashes through Jiang Cheng's tired mind. Lucky bastard.
Jiang Cheng places Sandu and Suibian next to Chenqing on the weapons rack, before finally collapsing into bed next to Wei Wuxian. As soon as he does, Wei Wuxian is on him, wrapping around him and all but burrowing into his skin. Everywhere they touch is electrified with a low buzz, as the mess of qi and resentment that is Wei Wuxian sinks into his skin, and the current between them begins to cycle unimpeded once more.
“Hell—Would it kill you to warn me before you do that?!” The sudden influx of sensation makes Jiang Cheng shudder.
Wei Wuxian presses his face into the crook of Jiang Cheng's neck, as he hums his answer. “Mm no, but the way you jump when I don't is fun.” He lets out a little snicker at Jiang Cheng’s unhappy grumble to that answer, before snaking a hand up to Jiang Cheng’s face; pulling him into a long placating kiss. Jiang Cheng melts into the kiss, the soft current of qi flowing between them leaves him feeling warm. With a euphoric buzz that not even alcohol could replicate.
After a long moment Wei Wuxian pulls away, and runs a soothing hand over Jiang Cheng's chest. “Settle down now, and let me focus.”
Jiang Cheng begrudgingly does as he is asked, and pretends not to be disappointed. He really is too tired for anything more tonight, despite what he might wish. He lets his eyes fall shut, and sinks into the buzzing warmth of Wei Wuxian pressed up against his skin.
Jiang Cheng drifts off to sleep, lulled by the familiar sensation of Wei Wuxian cycling their shared qi between them.
It had taken them probably longer than it should have, to discover this side effect of the jīndān4 transplant. Perhaps if Wei Wuxian had never died in the first place, they never would have.
It had been just after a rather bloody battle; Wei Wuxian had burned through vast amounts of resentment, puppeting his other ghosts and corpses, fending off the waves, and waves, of Wen soldiers attempting to overwhelm them and take one of the Sunshot Campaign’s crucial strongholds. They had managed it in the end, but not without a high cost to their own forces.
The battle plans had necessitated that Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian be on opposite ends of the bloody fields. Jiang Cheng had been confident though, he's seen the extent of Wei Wuxian’s proficiency with ghost cultivation, and now that Wei Wuxian was not actively lying to him about all that had happened to him, the excitable man had been all too happy to ramble about the finer details of his new cultivation to Jiang Cheng whenever prompted.
At this point, Jiang Cheng was probably the only person in the world, besides the man himself, that had even a basic understanding of just what Wei Wuxian did, every time he summoned the dead to fight at his side with a flourishing tune.
Jiang Cheng knows what Wei Wuxian is doing, and he knows that Wei Wuxian is good at what he does. So, as he systematically cuts his way through the swaths of enemy soldiers, he spares only passing thoughts, and perhaps a few longing glances to that dark miasma of resentment on the other side of the battle field. He trusts Wei Wuxian to look after himself.
The battle lasted throughout the night, and well into the morning. By the time it was well and truly over, everyone was nearing the edges of their limits. After the battle he had gone back to the war room to debrief with everyone else, and had immediately noticed a distinct lack of the concentrated aura of resentment that he had come to associate with Wei Wuxian.
When he asked if anyone had seen Wei Wuxian since the battle ended, the young Nie deputy Meng Yao shook his head nervously saying that he hadn't seen him, nor had he heard other mention seeing him after the fighting ceased. Jiang Cheng had nodded his thanks, and bid that they start the debrief regardless. He figured the Wei Wuxian was probably just exhausted, and had retired directly to his tent not willing to risk making a stupid mistake in the post-battle haze, and being discovered.
There was a small part of him that was miffed that Wei Wuxian had not bothered to seek him out post-battle, but he knew that it would be dangerous for both of them if he was found out.
The meeting lasted longer than any of them really wanted. Lan Wangji stood statue-like as always, in the corner of the room though even his immaculate white robes were a little ruffled after such a long, drawn out battle. His face was as impressive as always, though Jiang Cheng got the distinct feeling that the stony man was irritated with him for some unknowable reason.
Jiang Cheng knew though that the man was particularly vocal about his dislike for Wei Wuxian's new method of cultivation, so he ignored the icy stare on his neck, as the rest of the leaders began to disperse towards their own people. Chalking it up to ire over Jiang Cheng's seeming indifference towards Wei Wuxian's heretical cultivation.
Jiang Cheng heads back towards their tents, very firmly ignoring the tiny sliver of worry digging into his mind at having not seen Wei Wuxian for this long, immediately following such a large battle. Jiang Cheng is sure that it's fine, Wei Wuxian is capable of taking care of himself, he trusts Wei Wuxian to take care of himself. This was perhaps, in hindsight, his first mistake. He reaches their corner of the encampment, and pulls back the flap of Wei Wuxian's tent, expecting to see the man in question sprawled lazily over his bedroll, recuperating.
Instead, he is met with an empty tent that has clearly not had any visitors since the battle started, late yesterday afternoon. A bolt of fear shoot up Jiang Cheng's spine. He tries to calm himself: Perhaps Wei Wuxian was simply being shameless again, and had gone to Jiang Cheng's tent instead of his own. He just barely manages to keep from running the short distance between their tents. Ripping open the flap of his tent, his stomach sinks as he is met with a similarly deserted sight.
He grabs the nearest Jiang disciple that he knows was stationed near Wei Wuxian during the battle, and demands to know if they have seen Wei Wuxian since the battle. The exhausted young man looks at him, startled, and it takes him a moment to respond, Jiang Cheng is holding onto his temper by a hair's breadth at this point. After much too long for Jiang Cheng's taste, the young man shakes his head, and stutters out a “No Zongzhu, I haven't seen him since he ordered us to retreat, half a shichen before the fighting ended.”
“He what?!” Jiang Cheng growls. “Why the hell, did no one tell me about this?”
The disciple stutters at the anger in Jiang Cheng's voice. “He said not to worry you Zongzhu, and that he would be okay, I assumed he'd already met up with you—”
Jiang Cheng gives the disciple a dark look, and cuts him off mid sentence. “Where was the last place you saw him?”
The disciple points west, towards where Wei Wuxian had been stationed for the battle, and stutters out some directions. Jiang Cheng dismisses him roughly once he's done, and immediately heads off in the direction he indicated.
The bloody fields sprawl out before him, the coppery scent of spilled blood fills his nose. Bodies litter the ground as far as eyes can see, teams of disciples moving through the field purifying the bodies of the fallen, picking through the fields for any lucky soul still living in a perfectly calculated fashion.
There is one area of the field they are avoiding though even from here Jiang Cheng can feel the miasmic cloud of resentment emanating from the far end of the battlefield. So thick and potent, that no mere disciple could dare step foot in it without becoming overwhelmed by it, let alone attempt to disperse it.
The disciples he passes shoot concerned glances in his direction, as he makes his way directly towards the suffocating cloud of resentment, before disappearing into it without even a hint of hesitation.
Jiang Cheng pulled the resentment around him, forcing it to flow past him without sinking into his skin. Months ago after he had first learned what happened, Jiang Cheng had demanded that Wei Wuxian teach him at least the basics of his ghostly cultivation. Just enough to allow Jiang Cheng to know what to do in the event of an emergency. Wei Wuxian had resisted for a long time, stating that it was dangerous; but eventually Jiang Cheng had threatened to start trying to learn on his own, and the idea of that had been enough to make Wei Wuxian reluctantly agree to teach him the very basics.
It had been gods awful, learning how to reach into the resentment alone had taken weeks, and once he did manage it, it had burned. His meridians had felt scorched for days after, from just letting the resentment touch him. Wei Wuxian had forbidden him from trying again, and all but refused to touch him until Jiang Cheng had recovered completely.
The second attempt went smoother, but every moment his spiritual pathways were open to resentment, it felt like someone was pouring hot fire directly into them. Getting it to even sort of obey his will was a trial in and of itself: It felt like trying to change the course of a boiling river, using nothing but his bare hands.
It took many weeks for him to get to the point that he could forcefully redirect resentment away from him, for even a moment. And it took many more to get to the point where he could sustain that control for even an kè4, let alone without leaving himself sick and feverish for multiple shichen, if not days. But eventually, he had gained a small amount of proficiency in controlling resentment, just enough to allow him to reach Wei Wuxian in moments like this.
The smog of resentment thickens as Jiang Cheng forces his way deeper, and deeper into it; the farther he goes the more he feels the burning weight of it, crawling into his spiritual pathways.
It feels like the fog goes on for li upon li, without change. Jiang Cheng trudges through the endless bloody fields, stepping past body after body. Most of which are clad in that distinctive red and white of the Wen. A massacre. The thought strikes Jiang Cheng as he picks through the bodies, searching desperately for any sign of Wei Wuxian within the never-ending sea of blood and death. So many bodies. The sheer amount of Wen uniforms fills Jiang Cheng with a terrible feeling. It dawns on him that without Wei Wuxian here, they would have been completely overrun within the day, maybe less.
There are whispers throughout the Sunshot Campaign, they call Wei Wuxian a force to be reckoned with, a one man army. Jiang Cheng knows the truth of these rumors, he has fought back-to-back with Wei Wuxian many times throughout this war, and yet. Standing here surrounded by an endless sea of enemy corpses, Jiang Cheng becomes suddenly, painfully, aware of just how much they rely on that one man army.
How crucial, Wei Wuxian was, for the continued survival of the Sunshot Campaign, let alone actually managing to win.
The thought frightens Jiang Cheng more than he is willing to admit. He hates the idea that Wei Wuxian is not wholly his anymore. He's the secret weapon of the Sunshot Campaign. Their Holy Grail, their first and last line of defense. He is not just the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, not just Jiang Cheng's right hand, not just his Liànrén5. How is he supposed to protect Wei Wuxian from himself, and from the world, if the world insists upon dragging him out of Jiang Cheng's sphere of influence? The idea fills him with dread, and a sickening sense of instability.
He can feel the resentment beginning to cloud his mind: This is by far the most resentment Jiang Cheng has ever subjected himself to. It is nauseating, and heavy, and it is taking all of his will not to let it crush him into the bloody dirt.
Jiang Cheng does not know where he is going exactly. He is working on nothing but instinct at this point, a bone deep feeling, that if he continues on in this direction he will find Wei Wuxian. Stumbling ever forward, tripping over bodies in various states of decay, searching desperately for the one face he is looking for, within the endless sea of faces. The farther he goes the thicker the sea of bodies is, until eventually, he makes it to the very center of the cloud. The eye of the storm: The resentment is so strong here, that Jiang Cheng can barely see past his own hand. He can feel a dense ball of resentment just ahead of him, thicker than anything else around, and he throws caution to the wind, scrambling towards it.
As he reaches it, his foot catches on a body in his way and he trips, knees hitting the blood soaked ground with a crack. Falling forward, sprawling over yet another body. He lets out a sharp grunt of pain, and attempts to push himself back up.
He turns his face to the side and is greeted with the sight of Wei Wuxian's face, his eyes devoid of life. The sight makes his heart crash into his stomach. He is reminded terribly of the night he learned about Wei Wuxian's death. Of finding Wei Wuxian collapsed in that clearing, ice cold with the terrible empty stare you only see in the dead. The panic of losing Wei Wuxian again crashes over Jiang Cheng in a second, so strong it nearly chokes him before he gets a grip on himself.
Jiang Cheng pressed his bloody palm against Wei Wuxian's chest, over his unbeating heart, and the sun branded into his skin. He pulls at the resentment surrounding them, and lets it drag him deeper into Wei Wuxian. He follows the ebb and flow through Wei Wuxian's scarred spiritual pathways. He looks and he looks, until finally, he finds it; that tiny spark of warmth, that telltale flicker of mind and thought. Thin and weak, but still there.
With his fears at eased slightly, Jiang Cheng pulls back, and begins to assess the physical condition of the body. His robes are ripped, and his dead skin is marred with countless wounds, many of which would have killed any living man. Suddenly, Jiang Cheng is grateful for the fact that Wei Wuxian is already dead. That mortal wounds like this are not the end for him. That he will not lose him this day.
Once he's content that Wei Wuxian is not going to fall apart the moment he touches him, Jiang Cheng stows Chenqing in his belt. Making sure to force Wei Wuxian's eyes closed, before he hefts Wei Wuxian's dead weight into his arms.
One arm under his legs, and another under his back; settling him so that the thinner man's head falls against his shoulder, before he begins to make the tedious trek back out of this violent miasma. Jiang Cheng picks his way through the bodies with even more care than before.
Despite the slow pace, he feels the fog beginning to lift much sooner than he anticipated. The clean air is a balm on his skin, and he feels the burning roar in his spiritual veins soften to a dull ache.
Unfortunately, his relief is quite quickly replaced by a growing sense of dread, heralded by the thrumming boom of a guqin. That dread only gets worse when the glowing figure of Lan Wangji descends from on high to block his path.
Wei Wuxian seems insistent that Lan Wangji hates him with every fiber of his being, but Jiang Cheng has seen the way the man watches Wei Wuxian, the way he hovers. Jiang Cheng doesn't know what exactly Lan Wangji's deal is when it comes to Wei Wuxian, but he is pretty confident that it's more complicated than just hatred, or dislike. But what he does know is that whatever feelings Lan Wangji is harboring towards his partner, his inflexibility and staunch reliance on the Lan Rules for what is right and wrong is a threat to Wei Wuxian. One that he cannot risk allowing too close.
His face is blank as always, but those golden eyes are honed in on Wei Wuxian's limp form. The stare is so intense, it makes Jiang Cheng's skin crawl, and his hackles rise. Lan Wangji knows what a corpse looks like, and given his strange fixation on Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng knows that if anyone is going to discover their secret, it will be him.
“Wei Ying—”
“Is fine. Just unconscious.” Jiang Cheng cuts him off briskly, and Lan Wangji cuts him an unimpressed look at the interruption, but a minuscule amount of tension lifts from his face. Jiang Cheng knows he's suspected the worst, and that the state of the man in question had done nothing to assuage that idea. He watches Lan Wangji's eyes scour over Wei Wuxian's body, and he has to resist every urge to tuck the dead man deeper into his hold.
“He is not well.” Lan Wangji frowns.
He has to suppress a rude snort at the very obvious statement. “He just single handedly decimated an army almost double the size of our entire encampment. No shit, he's not well.” Jiang Cheng bites out. Lan Wangji’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly at the sheer scale Jiang Cheng implies. Still he presses on, refusing to let Jiang Cheng skirt around what they both know he meant.
“Wei Ying is sick. This is killing him and you know it.” Lan Wangji's voice is firm, like he expects this to be new information for Jiang Cheng. ”He cannot continue on like this.”
“What would you have me do then?” Jiang Cheng growls, “Strip us of our best chance at winning this war just because it might be a little dangerous?” It's what he wishes he could do. Carry Wei Wuxian far away from this place, go back to Lotus Pier, and shut them both away from all this war, death and political nonsense before it rips even more from him. But he can't. He knows he can't, and Lan Wangji, if he has half the sense Jiang Cheng thinks he has, also knows this. They will not survive this war without Wei Wuxian, and his ghostly cultivation.
Lan Wangji flinches imperceptibly at the reminder, but he does not relent. “Allow me to play Cleansing for him, at least.”
Jiang Cheng glares at Lan Wangji, “He has told you before that he does not want that. What makes you think I will give you a different answer?” Playing cleansing for Wei Wuxian in his current state would be disastrous. At the very least it would weaken him considerably, and at the very worst? Jiang Cheng shudders to think what Cleansing would do to a dead man sustaining himself on resentment.
“You care about him.” Lan Wangji frowns, “You are his sect leader, he must listen to you.” Lan Wangji speaks so earnestly, as if this is the only possible truth of the world.
Wei Wuxian listening to him simply because he is sect leader, the thought is so laughable that Jiang Cheng actually snorts derisively. Lan Wangji looks at him quizzically, but Jiang Cheng doesn't bother to explain. “Then as his Sect Leader, I will have to formally decline your offer of Cleansing.”
“Jiang-Zongzhu! You—” Lan Wangji's face twists in anger, but he cuts himself off, forcing himself to take a calming breath. “Jiang-Zongzhu you are making a mistake, Wei Ying cannot— Cannot continue on like this, without causing permanent harm to himself.”
“Lan-er-gongzi. Wei Wuxian is a member of Yunmeng Jiang, what he does or does not need is a private matter. I do not appreciate you trying to tell me how I should handle private affairs within my sect.” Jiang Cheng growls, shoving past Lan Wangji, officially sick of the conversation. He sees Lan Wangji make an abortive moment in his direction, and cuts him a harsh look. What looks like anger simmers in the quiet man's eyes, but he presses his lips shut.
The look rankles Jiang Cheng in a way he doesn't bother to investigate. “Lan-er-gongzi seems very preoccupied with my second in command, despite how much he seemed to dislike him in our disciple days and... how little he actually knows about him.” He lets the barb slip from his mouth without thinking. He doesn't regret it though.
Lan Wangji looks like Jiang Cheng slapped him, and at least has stopped trying to get in his way. Jiang Cheng ignores the stunned man, finally managing to make his escape from the bloody battlefield. Ignoring the questioning looks he gets from the other cultivators, he carries Wei Wuxian's limp form through the encampment. Disappearing into his own tent without a word.
He lays Wei Wuxian out on his own bed roll, pointedly ignoring just how dead he looks like this. Jiang Cheng makes sure to tie shut the tent flap, placing a silencing talisman on the outer side with the hope that it will deter anyone from attempting to disrupt him, before lighting a small desk lamp.
He kneels down before Wei Wuxian, and begins to strip off his torn robes. Bloodstained, and ruined beyond repair. Jiang Cheng is going to have to find something else for him to wear, from his own clothing until they can replace Wei Wuxian's robes. The thought of Wei Wuxian in his clothing, most definitely does not send a bolt of self-satisfied warmth down Jiang Cheng's spine.
Stripped down to only his under clothes, Wei Wuxian’s body is a mass of pale gray skin, covered in crawling black veins and wounds, old and new. All nearly impossible to differentiate from one another, aside from the countless frayed bandages wrapped, wound around large swaths of his body.
Jiang Cheng sits next to Wei Wuxian's unmoving form and waits. He doesn't understand why Wei Wuxian is still unconscious. It's not like there's a particular lack of resentment around them. Hell, he'd literally dragged the man out of a cocoon of it. Yet he remains cold, and unmoving.
Jiang Cheng hates this. He hates not knowing what to do, he hates being powerless to help Wei Wuxian. That he wasn't strong enough to live without a jindan. He hates that Wei Wuxian, the bastard, somehow found the one person in all the Jianghu that could do something as insane, and unheard of, as transplanting a jindan. He hates that his sacrifice was for nothing. He hates that Wei Wuxian died for him.
He runs his hand over Wei Wuxian's stomach, right above where his jindan should be. His skin is icy, there's a giant ugly mass of stitches where a thin surgical scar should be. A twin scar to his own, disfigured beyond recognition by death and unhealable damage.
So many little quirks of Wei Wuxian's body that only Jiang Cheng ever knew, have been destroyed by death. The little scars and blemishes from their childhood together, rotted away. A lifetime of history, lost forever
He wishes he knew what to do. He wishes there was something else for him to do other than wait. Against his better judgment, Jiang Cheng gives into his desire for closeness, and rests his head on Wei Wuxian's unbreathing stomach.
Wei Wuxian is so cold, it soaks into his skin, zapping him of his own warmth. It feels wrong. Jiang Cheng used to be the one who ran cold. Wei Wuxian was never cold before, he was a human bonfire. He wishes Wei Wuxian was still warm. He tries to remember what Wei Wuxian's warmth felt like. If he tries hard enough, he can almost feel it, that old familiar warmth.
If he tries hard enough, he can almost believe that the soft skin against his is flush and warm.
He can almost feel his warmth soaking into the body beneath him. That endless spinning warm, flowing from his very center, passing his borrowed warmth back to where it always belonged.
He can almost feel it.
The passing of qi, the give and take, an interrupted circuit flowing freely once more after so long.
Jiang Cheng loses himself in that feeling; the gentle buzz lulling him into a deeper rest than he's been able to achieve, since the night he lost his own jindan.
He stays like that for hours, laying across Wei Wuxian's stomach, hand resting on his lower dantian. Lost in the humming warmth, until a cool hand comes to rest in his hair, startling him out of his meditative reverie.
“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian's voice is stiff, and rough in that way it becomes when he hasn't used it for a little too long. “A-Cheng, what are you doing?”
Jiang Cheng turns his face towards Wei Wuxian's voice, blinking up at his concerned face blearily. The nerve of this man. To look so concerned about him, after passing out in the middle of the bloody battlefield, and forcing Jiang Cheng to come and collect him like a worried mother hen.
“I'm not doing anything.” He frowns, annoyed at being shaken awake, since Wei Wuxian is obviously fine. “What are you on about now?”
Wei Wuxian shifts nervously under him. “You don't feel that?”
Jiang Cheng stares at him uncomprehendingly, for a long moment before Wei Wuxian shifts again, sitting up and forcing Jiang Cheng's head to slide off his stomach; landing squarely into Wei Wuxian’s clothed lap. The loss of skin-on-skin contact, the interrupted connection, feels like someone dumped a bucket of freezing water over Jiang Cheng. It's so jarring that he physically shivers, and almost instinctively leans back into Wei Wuxian's skin, looking for that calming warmth again.
Warmth? Wei Wuxian is the opposite of warm these days? He blinks up at Wei Wuxian, now even more confused, and sees a pained look on Wei Wuxian's face. As if the loss of contact had physically pained him. A thought flits through Jiang Cheng’s mind, and before he can put too much thought into it, he presses his hand against Wei Wuxian’s stomach, and sends the barest trickle of qi into his skin.
He expects Wei Wuxian to wince, he expects push-back from the qi's volatile reaction with resentment. He does not expect for Wei Wuxian to sigh, so deeply it borders on a pleased whine, nor does he expect to feel a similar wave of relief to wash over him. Like a river finally flowing freely after a dam breaks, a great and sudden release of pressure, he hadn't even noticed until it was gone. Wei Wuxian sways under the sudden onslaught of Qi, catching himself with a hand on Jiang Cheng's shoulder.
“What—Jiang Cheng what are you doing?” Wei Wuxian's voice is breathless as he speaks, he tries to say something else but whatever it was dissolves into an unintelligible moan: Almost collapsing over him when Jiang Cheng lets another wave of qi flow, from his palm directly into Wei Wuxian’s lower dantian.
Eventually, Jiang Cheng pulls back to let Wei Wuxian regain his bearings, cutting off the flow of qi slowly, as he does. Trying to avoid that painfully jarring disconnection from the first time. The loss leaves him cold nonetheless, and Wei Wuxian lets out a long mournful whine, curling closer around him as if he can chase the sensation.
“No, wait A-Cheng—A-Cheng wait—” Wei Wuxian seems jittery and longing as he speaks. He snakes his hand under the front of Jiang Cheng’s robes, searching for skin-on-skin in an almost desperate manner.
“Wei Wuxian stop, Hey—!” Jiang Cheng tries to fend him off, considering they don't know exactly what is happening, nor what the side effects of passing qi into a dead man might be. But Wei Wuxian is stickier than sweet candy on a hot summer day, and very quickly pins Jiang Cheng in his lap. Wei Wuxian is stronger and faster somehow, and he gets his cold hands pressed unrelentingly into Jiang Cheng's skin. Reopening that channel between them before Jiang Cheng can protest more.
That rushing warmth crashes over him once more, leaving him almost dizzy and light headed. It's his turn to let out a choked sound, as Wei Wuxian all but sucks qi from him. He clutches at Wei Wuxian's wrist, looking for something to ground himself. Just when he thinks it's becoming too much to handle, something shifts, Wei Wuxian seems to get a hold of himself, and changes tactics. No longer draining him of his qi in a starved frenzy, instead it now feels more like when he cycles his own qi, but ten times more concentrated. Jiang Cheng makes an involuntary sound of contentment, and leans into Wei Wuxian’s touch. Letting his qi flow into Wei Wuxian, as Wei Wuxian cycles it through himself, before passing it back to Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng doesn't think he's ever felt something quite like this, this push and pull, this perfect endless flow of qi from his body to another. Nothing has ever felt quite this right. He has never felt so perfectly complete since this moment, right here.
At some point he loses himself in the feeling once more, drifting off into a peaceful sleep, with Wei Wuxain curled around him, hand pressed against his bare skin; passing qi back and forth between them.