[He obediently turns his head back but he is definitely still flummoxed. Nobody has ever scolded him about his hair before!! ...Probably. He doesn't remember.]
[ (un?)luckily for lovecraft, the one with his hands wound up in his weirdo-sentient tentacle-hair is someone who digs up corpses of varying stages of decay for a living. ergo, when the hair starts moving
he yelps with shock and it transitions fluidly into laughter ] Oh my, what is this magnificent skill you have?
[Oh boy. Oh boy. Of course he's found out. Of course he's going to get questions. Lovecraft bitterly wishes that the floor could open and he could just drop in and leave this situation immediately.]
It's not a skill. Like I said, be careful. It's just...sensitive...
[It's obvious he's lying. The movement of the hair dies down, as if vainly trying to prove that yes, it's just regular hair! Nothing to see here!]
[ snickering, he slowly removes his hands from the ends of lovecraft's hair and dives for the roots instead, trying to fingercomb it straight - absolutely nonchalant ]
Does putting it up hurt, then? Braids? Ponytails? Little buns here [ he touches a finger to one side of lovecraft's head ] or here? [ and the other ]
[But still, now his anxiety is at an all time high - he nervously lets his hands grasp each other in his lap, straightening as the other's hands dive deep into his hair, touching his scalp.]
But I've never put it up at all, you know. But please, don't be rough...
[That sure is a lot of hair - Lovecraft winces at the hair slapping his shoulder, though it doesn't hurt.]
Okay...hair master...
[He could just say something, but he just falls silent - though those little giggles are nice, he guesses, even though twintails is NOT the best look for him at all.]
Everyone I know has really, really long hair. Most of us keep it up and out of the way, but one of my dearest and most darling companions -- you see, his fingers are always so stiff because he's dead -- and he needs help all the time with his hair. It gets caught on branches, leaves are always stuck in it, one time I found a mouse! A mouse! Poor thing didn't know what was happening, it must have gotten tangled up when he was running through the brush.
[ there are so many words happening
all while he balances the twintails, tongue between his teeth as he hefts them to ensure they're as even as possible. ]
Naturally, I learned all of my best tricks from older sisters -- do you have an older sister? Oh no, of course you don't. You'd have perfectly-kept hair if you did. I could be your older sister, I guess... I don't mind.
[This guy is a talker, isn't he? Lovecraft's hands flex and unflex as he listens, silent. A dead man? Older sisters? He purses his lips, unsure how to take all of this information in all at once.]
Maybe I also had a mouse in my hair once...I don't remember. [It's been so long...his past memories blur. He's lived for years upon years upon years.] And you want to be my older sister...? But you...aren't related to me.
Oh! My older sister wasn't related to me either. I was taken in by her father and mother, we didn't share blood. I suppose if it matters to you, we could share blood - there's ways to do that, but I needn't be your relative to be your older sister. It's fun, you can just say "you're my older sister" and it happens!
[ listen if lovecraft isn't chatty, someone has to fill up the silence with babble ]
I didn't find a mouse in your hair, by the way. Not even bones.
It's a little like this! Someone who sits and talks to you, brushes your hair.
[ among other things, like cook and calm you down when you're about to murder someone!!! ]
-- I found this, [ he did not find anything, he's just producing a nice green ribbon from his sleeve and pretending it's been hiding in lovecraft's hair, ] here, I'll fix your hair properly and you can wear it. We can having matching ponytails!
Ah... [He. Still doesn't really get it.] That would make...a couple of other people like older sisters. But this is the first time anyone has brushed my hair.
[He blinks slowly at the appearance of the ribbon, even cocking his head slightly in curiosity.]
Ponytails...your hair looks nice like that. I never really thought about something like that for myself.
Not that he has much left to cling to regardless; his filial responsibilities nearly all evaporated the second his mother passed on, chasing the echo of his father. Barely a difference of months.
Their only son, only remaining heir to the late General Xie An, unmarried and alone.
(Alone, is the part that wrenches something in his gut sideways. Almost as much as the guilt.)]
Can you do it?
[Xie Bi’an asks, nearly wringing his own fingers with bone-deep tension, though nothing in his voice breaks. Can you do it. Will you do it, he thinks, trying to swallow down the promise of uncertainty that hangs in the empty space between them.
In exchange for the promise of his estate, his treasured gifts and famed property. More than that, if that’s what this man wants— though he suspects if the stories about Wei Wuxian are true, offers without limits are likely as routine as breathing.]
[ yiling's patriarch doesn't sit higher than his guests; it's a practice he's fallen into, as naturally as he's fallen into curling his fingers through the hair of the young woman ( eight days dead, her nails and teeth sharp things that she hides in the folds of her gown ) who had heralded the arrival of general xie an's only son. her mouth a delicately-painted blossom that glides to his ear to whisper secrets and observations to him as xie bi'an comes across all of china in search of the young man who had become the blackest stain on cultivation's history. ]
Can I do it?
[ his voice is low, pointed in the same way that the woman's teeth are as she flashes a smile and scurries away like a demonic butterfly, fluttering softly behind some screens and fading from view. wei wuxian leans forward, fingers steepled and tucked between his knees as he contemplates the offerings before him. what pours over him is a smile, something once-bright that merely echoed his former self. and a laugh, brassy and bold. ]
Of course I can, of course I can! Young master Xie, there's no need to grovel before me. I know of the pain you are barely able to live with, I have heard the whispers of the truth behind Fan Wujiu's death -- it's a familiar tale to me. One I can't bear to see exist without some manner of epilogue.
[ one of his own, his ghost general, met a cruel fate as well, after all.
he holds up two fingers: ]
I don't need your land. I'll take half of your offered gold, as well as your smartest merchant, though - have it dispersed among my people and make sure that your merchant knows they'll be moving goods to Yiling and its people. No need to disguise such a fact from them. Your name, associated with mine, will be enough past that. I foresee a very long, very beneficial partnership, young master Xie.
[ he rises then, a raven accented with red and beckons for Xie Bi'an to rise as well ]
Come on! I think he'll take to his situation well if it's you he sees first with his eyes.
[The patriarch, in all his glory, doesn’t look even a handful of years older than Bi’an himself— though maybe that sense of nearness has more to do with the silhouette Wei Wuxian casts: layers of red and black, long hair loosely tied back, away from a beautiful jawline and half-lidded eyes.
(If Xie Bi’an were more desperate, more ill with irreplaceable loss, he might have mistaken Wei Wuxian for Fan Wujiu.)]
He’ll remember everything...?
[Asking question after question makes him feel naive in a way he only vaguely remembers from his own childhood: something in his head still runs on instinct and propriety, he knows he should be thanking Wei Wuxian for his mercy and generosity.
Instead he doesn’t hesitate to tuck himself into the space beside a man he barely knows, still wondering about the beautiful teeth of that woman from moments before.
Is that what Wujiu will become?
Would he forgive him for that, too?
Sick, hisses the knot in his stomach, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten in two days now. What travel hasn’t done, his tether to the dead has.]
[ fan wujiu will be fan wujiu, because the spirit is a continuation at all times. one only had the spirit they were created with, which wandered the world until the afterlife opened its doors or it was destroyed. from what wei wuxian had heard, fan wujiu's spirit had escaped both fates - hence, why he had requested that xie bi'an bring the umbrella that had been in fan wujiu's presence when he had mysteriously drowned.
with the general's son tucked under his arm now, he's a jovial presence, for such a vilified patriarch. he leads the way from where he holds audience, deeper into the bowels of his territory, patting xie bi'an's shoulder as he practically sings his explanations and words. anything to keep someone entranced, he's so much like a songbird, adoring attention, commanding the room with his brassy personality. ]
He's this way, this way. Don't mind the others, they have minds enough to know you are my guest, [ he refers to the creeping, elongated corpses that slip through shadow; the squat, round forms of toddlers who had barely begun to lose their baby fat, their teeth as sharp as the adult women who flowed like serpents through the halls, hands hidden below the folds of their clothes, sweeping the lesser corpses aside - heralding the arrival of yiling's master and the master's guest.
they enter a smaller chamber, candlelit and host to two forms - the slender-shouldered wen ning, who stands with hair unbound and arms softly crossed in study of the still, soul-emptied body of the drowned fan wujiu. the body of xie bi'an's dearest one covered in talismans, a dark veil covering his eyes - his pallor mirroring the ashen, dead tone of the ghost general who stands at his side. ] Wen Ning, [ wei wuxian introduces him to xie bi'an, ] a very dear friend of mine. He helped me spirit Fan from his shallow grave to this place. We've been preparing him for his soul, which -- you have in your possession. The umbrella, please?
[And oh, it feels wrong and so right, strolling between the living and the dead.
Back home, they say Xie An’s heir has gone mad. The curse of something once beloved that won’t smile anymore: pity preceded their avoidance, but the moment the local populace realized his charming nature had gone grey along with the hair at his temples, he might as well have become a ghost. It’s not difficult to see, knowing that, why Yiling’s patriarch is so reviled and feared. It’s easier to stomach the sweetness of incense and gentle mourning of laid gifts, rather than the harshness of cheeks stained slick with salt from howling tears, the hollow, sunken skin of a corpse, echoing the concept of mortal impermanence.
So, maybe he has gone mad. To look at shapes in the dark that don’t quite sit right and feel no twinge of apprehension. Maybe Wei Wuxian has gone mad, too.
But then, if that’s the case, Xie Bi’an supposes they couldn’t be in better company.
He only flinches when he sees Fan Wujiu’s corpse. When he’s asked to relinquish the one thing he’s clung to for so long, that he’s well and truly forgotten he’s been holding onto it altogether— that his fingers, nails longer now, bite into its sides of their own volition, rejecting the request.]
You said I should be the first one he sees.
[Bi’an reiterates it, maybe because he’s stalling— maybe also because he doesn’t know how to let go, worrying on some level that Wei Wuxian will steal him away.]
[ Xie Bi'an clings to the umbrella as though it will be enough to replace his old companion, as if it will soothe his aches and his growing madness in the way that madness is never soothed - only fed. The umbrella is a sad thing, limp from his clutching, tattered at one edge, all in black the way the Xie family's heir has been adorned in white. The juxtaposition between light and dark, yin and yang, does niot escape Wei Wuxian - he wears the mantle of darkness, after all. As intimately wound around his fingertips as an overzealous lover might be. Those same fingers, he gestures with, crooking one towards Xie Bi'an. ]
It's a little late in the game to begin mistrusting me, young master. I promised you that, indeed; I don't intend to break my most solemn promise. If you'll pass me the umbrella and stand in front of him, I'll be able to do just that. Pretend like you're about to see your bride's face for the very first time!
[ Without the umbrella, the entire movement falls apart; even standing there, in the middle of a space that crawls and swarms with the insidious, seductive lure of evil and of the dead, he can sense the fluttering thing that is encaged within. Fan Wujiu, or what was left of him apart from th corpse, is tucked away within the umbrella that he had with him when he had perished under that bridge. ]
[It isn’t mistrust, it is fear: Xie Bi’an never knew betrayal until recently, after all; its sting is still fresh. As long as he has Wujiu, the rest doesn’t matter. As long as he has Wujiu, he’ll grant Yiling’s patriarch his every wish, no matter how unreasonable or farfetched— paint the stars into his hair each morning, and tuck the sun between his fingers at dusk to sleep by.
Walk barefoot through these halls like one of the dead, though he knows already that’s not where his usefulness lies.]
Be gentle. [He urges softly, sweetly, letting broken weight drift into Wei Wuxian’s hands, their fingertips touching with devoted pressure as he folds the patriarch's grip into place.
The rest is all bodily movement. Steps just beside Wen Ning (handsome. striking even in death. had it been a wedding, too, when he was revived?) and lets sleepless, red-lined eyes fall only on Fan Wujiu's shrouded form, obscured for ceremony or modesty, or perhaps just to save Xie An's heir the pain of a second viewing.
How the world never saw value in him, Xie Bi’an never understood.]
[ the umbrella is laid tenderly in his hands, broken and battered by weather and struggle and Xie Bi'an's nervous, grief-stricken hands. he holds it to his eye level for a moment, studious and confident in his observations. Wen Ning, his tender-hearted friend, moves back in time with Wei Wuxian as he steps to the back of the standing corpse. The body of Xie Bi'an's handsome friend had been twisted in death, waterlogged and ill-cared for by those who had sought to bury him quickly, to hide the truth of his manner of death with water and sloppily-applied rouge.
behind Fan Wujiu, listening to Xie Bi'an's soft pleas and apologies, he presses the flat of his hand to the broken umbrella; red, electric-hot energy gathers in his palm and sparks forth from his eyes. a delicate, sinister glow that heralds his particular branch of cultivation. as he draws his hand upwards and the umbrella downwards, he draws the glow of a soul from it. the tendrils of sticky soul cling to the umbrella, reluctant to part with the last place that it could be safe, be found by its dearest companion, be left alone in his hands. in one sweep, he feels the echoes of Fan Wujiu's thoughts and emotions towards the one standing in front of his corpse.
he cups the soul in his hand, passing the umbrella into Wen Ning's awaiting arms and presses it between his palms ( nobody but he is aware that souls have the consistency of bao ) before he cups it, red light sparking frightful and sickly from the outer corners of his eyes as he feeds it slowly into the root of Fan Wujiu's spine. silently, he watches it sink in, watches it sit at the surface of his body - before it begins to spread and return to the deceased limbs.
with a finger held to his lips, he peers over Fan Wujiu's shoulder - he'll be silent now, standing at the ready with Wen Ning in case Fan Wujiu's first instinct is to lash out. it usually is, the dead he resurrects haven't normally died a peaceful death. ]
[ It wasn’t the river that bloodied him, or the rains, or the rush of flooded banks peeling silt from stone. So when Fan Wujiu wakes— wrong as it is to wake at all, away from the battered cage of that umbrella— it’s with a guttural, voiceless growl: lurching forward, joints snapping as though realigning with the roll of his shoulders, veil peeling back only far enough to cover one eye— the other brilliant gold and every inch as predatory as the rest of him.
Xie catches him. In the way he wished he’d been able to before, when Wujiu needed him most (thinking it was all fine, aside from the heavy patter of rain outside) slender arms tucking in beneath Fan Wujiu’s shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his neck, tangled in soft fabric and coarse hair. A loving embrace, even as sharp nails sink in, as teeth bury themselves across the slope of his shoulder, a few inches from his throat, growling, snarling. Wheezing through once-flooded lungs that still need time to clear.
Xie Bi’an pulls the veil away. Shushes him sweetly, voice like a songbird. He feels no pain.] Oh, I missed you. I missed you.
It’s all right now.
I missed you so much, you fool.
[Hours later, Wujiu’s face is fixed in a steep frown.]
It wasn’t really a wedding. [He insists, countering Xie Bi'an's reverent description of their reunion, and punctuating it with a low tch. His throat is still hoarse, but the only sign of it is that when he growls, the reverberation effortlessly carries. Even if it was a wedding, he concludes, he doesn’t like ceremony. That sort of thing fits Xie more.] So we don’t need a feast.
[The fact that offered hospitality might serve as a means for conversation and easy instruction on acclimating to undeath, predictably, eludes him. (There's also the fact that Xie hasn't eaten in so long, he looks thin as a rail, and in desperate need of hot tea and warm food— but to Fan Wujiu it feels like only hours. Only minutes, since they last saw each other, and he's currently entranced by the deadened color of his own hands, flexing and curling his fingers in alternating patterns)]
[ the cultivation world understands that wei wuxian cannot be allowed to run freely, trampling the structure and integrity of their long and illustrious pursuits with his own, perverse brand of study. short of eliminating yiling's patriarch at the source, there is the whispering from the capital itself, an emperor that had long since been no threat to the cultivators and their dealings beginning to speak of a campaign of consolidation. of central power. a greater threat than even yiling could present, in the long run.
instead, they decide to dangle the threat over yunmeng. the young master of the lotus pier, so battle-hardened and set with his teeth permanently sharpened against all that could threaten his own, is instructed to bring yiling to heel once and for all. to do so in a way that even the wild wei wuxian would concede to. the political peerage instructs yunmeng to wed to yiling, citing that their long childhood spent in one another's presence as grounds enough - as a long and oft-arduous courtship. they are to wed before the year is out, binding yiling to yunmeng and thus to the cultivation world.
should jiang cheng accomplish this task, he will be rewarded and yunmeng will be permitted to prosper for several generations, uncontrolled and supported by the other great cultivation clans that had solidified their power in the wake of the sunshot campaign. the right to rebuild, the money and goods freely flowing into the lotus pier -- surely they would be well-worth the marriage to wei wuxian, however ill-suited for yunmeng's brilliance he might have become. they instruct him to begin upon wei wuxian's next visit to yunmeng, and to succeed before the year has concluded -- court, wed and affix yiling to the jiang clan's name once and for all. it should not be any more difficult than collaring a stray dog or wild horse, and breaking it. surely madam yu's son can manage it, surely jiang fengmian would approve of the match, they whisper. ]
[ the instruction, however politely worded as it was, cloaked in flowery language and compliments, still sets his teeth on edge - because no matter the disguise, anyone would be hard pressed to claim it as anything else but an order - a threat hanging over his head like some kind of gathering storm, some crackling lightning in the air, a distant roar of thunder. jiang cheng wordlessly crumples up the scroll in his hand, the other moving to his temple to press down hard on the skin - once, twice, thrice, but the headache persists, a dull pounding in his head that doesn't help with his mood one bit.
his first reaction, as always, is anger - but as he waves away the messengers with a few curt words and start pacing the now-empty room from the desk to the door, then back again - hands crossed behind his back, eyes focused on nothing - his mouth sets in a tight line. there is no amount of pacing that would possibly help him with this, and jiang cheng knows it; his position as a sect leader among the cultivators is already a precious, precarious thing, his control over this entire situation nothing more than what a baby might have over a handful of candy. it isn't a pleasant thought, but jiang cheng is an optimist who's had to style himself as a realist, a cynic, and after another quick few steps to the desk, he sits himself down and writes a response, the strokes rough on the paper.
[ jin guangyao probably wrote it, seems like his m.o.
the peerage, with jiang cheng's response in-hand, sees fit to issue the same instruction to wei wuxian at yiling. the arrival of the neutrally-dressed messenger puts him on edge in his own way, prone to drama and theatrics and posturing as a truly horrific tyrant, corpses posed at his feet in the hopes that this - at least - will put off the messenger from coming to his door; the messenger arrives anyways, shaking in his boots and wei wuxian's written response sends the messenger scurrying back into the arms of the new-age politicians for safety. the grandmaster's "mercy" in the form of a hastily-scrawled scroll that basically amounted to a huge "ha ha, you're funny if you think he's going to listen to you".
his second message is written and sent to jiang cheng himself, arriving at the lotus pier in the hands of a messenger called upon from outside of yiling ( it's best to send neutral parties, he's learned, than risk his people upon his brother's state of mind -- most of them are remnants of the wen, after all ). the letter submitted, the messenger takes her leave to recover stamina nearby, ready to send jiang cheng's response if he should choose her services. the scroll wei wuxian has sent reads as follows: ]
Hey, Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng, I got some missive from the folks in power saying that Yunmeng and Yiling are to be bound by sacred vow, are you hearing this? And they say I'M the mad one! (´−｀) ﾝｰ Whatever ridiculous plot they're trying to contrive now, I know you're not going to just give in, I mean - we're brothers after all, and neither of us is into men like that, what a weird marriage it would be, ha ha! You'll make someone a cute wife some day, but I prefer ladies with gentle smiles and soft hands, good for plucking lotus seeds! Anyways, let me know if you've got some silly instructions like this, I'm due for a second good laugh in as-so many days.
Ciao! ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )
Your beloved older brother and China's #1 Love-to-Hate-Him, Wei Wuxian
[ a second letter in as many days, and jiang cheng's headache crescendos to an epic level that has everyone giving him a wide berth as he makes his usual rounds walking through the training grounds. everyone, from the youngest boys only recently joined to those who are directly in charge beneath him, knows of his temper by now; any wrong move or word and it could send them flying out of the gate.
- I know you're not going to just give in -
he says nothing, but as he stands on top of the steps (stand, not sit) where so often his mother would be, supervising everyone and not a good word for anyone, he idly fingers zidian on his hand, brows drawn, casting shade over his entire expression.
easy for him to say, someone who stays up on that mountain of his, shut away with a bunch of corpses and those wen-dogs of his, still continuing to do whatever the hell he wants to do. easy for the great, the notorious yiling patriarch. as always, it falls on himself, it seems, to try and hold things together. complacency is not his strong suit; but at this point, with everything hanging in the balance, what else could he do to preserve the one thing left from his parents?
the messenger, having her share of the meals and rest at the inn, receives this to take back: ]
You can have your laughs and your fun once you're in your grave, provided nobody comes to dig you out and play ball with that empty skull of yours. [ is that too harsh? but no matter. he isn't inclined to softness after all, not lately, and certainly never with wuxian. ] We need to talk. I will follow this letter in two days' time. Make sure you don't have any of your cursed dogs near.
[ wen ning brings him the letter from his shidi ( former ), handling it as if expecting it to combust in between his fingertips for daring to touch it. the messenger waits outside of the mountains, expecting another letter to be returned between yiling and yunmeng. she's a good lass, wei wuxian knows; quiet, discrete and raised in the shadow of his stronghold. with the letter in hand, he reads it slowly - there's not much to go on in return, jiang cheng is concise and direct as always.
two days. he has two days to clean and tidy and ensure the remnants of the qishan-wen that he has adopted into his fold are aware of jiang cheng's arrival. that they stay far from his gaze. it's not as though wei wuxian will allow them to be mistreated, not even by his oldest companion. he doesn't know if his letter will reach jiang cheng in time, perhaps it will meet him en route, but he pens anyways: ]
[ be glad that the letter didn't manage to reach Jiang Cheng in time - if there's anything he hates (and there are many, too many things about Wei Wuxian that grates him the wrong way) is exactly that sort of frivolous, unnecessary acts. in any case, the messenger only misses him in the span of few hours - him already having started for Yiling earlier that day. it is not a long way to travel - only around half a day's worth of travel, giving him plenty of chance to think about what he's going to say or do once he sees his former shixiong. but even by the time he reaches the foot of the mountain, Jiang Cheng has no idea what he is going to say.
it's frustrating, to say it mildly - he has his own pride after all, and being ordered around like this by the other sects wear down at his nerves like saw to a sapling, like nails on a chalkboard, and he is more than one hundred percent sure that whatever Wei Wuxian has to say about it (in person, even) isn't going to help with their situation one bit either. but then, it's always been that way with the two of them, hasn't it?
he decides to walk up, instead of going the rest of the way on Sandu - he tells himself it's to clear his head, get his raging temper in order, but in truth, he is trying to stall this as much as he can, in his own way. ]
jiang cheng's arrival at his stronghold is heralded by a scattering of birds, flocks of carrion-hungry crows that flutter into the skies and steer clear of the storm that brews on the ground below. they caw and squawk and generally fill the air surrounding the mountain where wei wuxian lingers, reluctant to walk down the winding paths to meet his brother. the knowledge that jiang cheng wishes to talk has been eating at him for the days since his shidi had sent him the terse message in response, the weight of the mere idea that yiling and yunmeng ought to marry in order to nullify one ( no, likely both ) of the rising, new powers of the cultivation world.
he knows what the new leadership is asking, and he knows what they mean, when they ask - it's not a question, it's a command. between himself and jiang cheng, there is only one of them who had always dug his heels in, stubborn as a donkey, when presented with a command, let alone an ultimatum - which, the entire situation is beginning to feel like one, to him.
still, he meets yunmeng's sect leader halfway down the mountain. wei wuxian greets him with a raised hand, his back aligned with a decrepit, half-rotten tree with gnarled branches that resemble hands clawing for salvation, for sunshine that does not come to this place. his flowing robes never seem to catch on the ground, nor does his unbound hair snarl or snag. with both hands raised in supplication, he greets jiang cheng: ] I tried to intercept you with a letter, Jiang Cheng! Goodness, you didn't have to come all the way out here to this place that you find so distasteful, you're so manly, so cool!
[ he looks thinner than before, the circles under his eyes worse, his fingers pretty and long in the way a skeleton's were. still, the smile on his face is bright, inviting. genuinely pleased to see his brother, even if he knows they'll part on ill terms. ]
[ there is a slight hint of irony lacing the edge of his words, a bitterness that he can't quite contain - but he had always been honest to a fault with this brother of his, convinced from the years they spent together that anything he says must, naturally, run off like water from a duck's back.
he stops a few paces away from the other; no clasping of hands, no slapping on the back, this time, and perhaps never again - the gaze he shoots back in return for the smile is cold, old, a messy, conflicted thing as he scans wei wuxian over quickly, noting the skeletal thin fingers like sun bleached bones, the dark half moon circles under his eyes eclipsing the smile that is, however bright he makes it, only a pale echo of what he remembers.
his mouth twists, twitches like words are backed up in his throat, crowding to get out, maybe something about what's been happening - even something about whether he's eating anything properly, but in the end what comes out is : ] How can you stand to live in a place like this?
[ the crying of the crows overhead annoys him in ways he can't describe, the gnarled twisted dead things that substitute for trees seem merely like bodies of corpses, their blackened fingers reaching out to them. a far cry from what he is used to, and the discomfort is apparent in the hard set of his jaw as he stalks up, closing the remaining distance between them, passing wei wuxian to head up the path. ]
[ he knows what jiang cheng means by it; the words prickle along his wrists and the back of his neck like a bitter wind that has picked up and slipped its fingers underneath the layers of black-and-red he wears. tucking his hands into his sleeves, he rolls his shoulders back and tosses his hair - certainly, he puts on a show like he's unaffected, but he knows that he does not go to lotus pier anymore. he hasn't, not since he'd taken the remnants of the wen into his arms and escorted them to safety. he won't, because he's responsible for them.
jiang cheng looks disgusted with him, for all he's become.
that's fine, then. one more thing he can rely on, to keep them both from having to obey the command of those who had fashioned themselves into the new regime among the remnants of the old cultivation world. he can press this point, that jiang cheng finds him a hateful thing, a reminder of the hurts he's been forced to handle alone. wei wuxian is more than happy to play the villain, if it means continuing to save his former shidi - whether he wants it or not. ]
It's a fitting place for someone like me and those who live under my protection, remember? We don't belong to that society anymore, which is why I'm soooooo surprised they'd think that tethering the illustrious Lotus Pier to my heels is a wise decision.
[ he picks up the pace, to fall in at jiang cheng's side, a careful distance kept between them where once there would have been shoulders pressed to one another's
[ and maybe that's the problem - with him, that jiang cheng just lets his words bottled up inside him, the true meaning sinking like mud at the bottom of the river, heavy in his heart as wei wuxian catches up to him, keeping with his quick steps as of old, but with a certain distance between them. this too, could have been managed - there is still some room, if one could be a little less prideful, a little less flippant, if there were some third party here to bring both of them to heels as so often she used to.
he doesn't glance at him, instead keeping his gaze fixed ahead, at the path up the mountain slope. maybe the purpose of the silence is to wait, until they are safely away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk in these desolate woods (because that sly fox over in the koi towers might hide more than one card up his golden sleeves), but it also merely just comes across as his usual hostility. ]
Couldn't have come at a worse time, you know. [ finally he mutters under his breath, spoken more through his teeth. ]
I expect you've heard about sister, no doubt?
[ who was, until just about not too long ago, had steadily progressing plans to be wed - a plan that came to another abrupt, grinding halt for no reasons whatsoever - but a reason that only seems clear now, in the light of what's happening now. ]
[ the domain is wei wuxian's, few people can stomach the density of it and fewer still dare to visit its borders. they fear corruption, they fear the patriarch himself - monstrous in his temperament in a way that even the nie clan would never become, for they were of the right and proper path. it was fine, in the end, to be left alone with his designs and his doings - it kept the people he cared for safe, be they within yiling or outside of it. in his mind, he does this for all of them - heaps the shame on his name, shoulders the loathing and fear, and everyone else will be able to get out from underneath it.
( perhaps this is why he reacts so sharply, to the mention of his shijie; they've not seen one another in so long, but he would always rise to her side -- ) black cloth swirls like a storming cloud, he spins on jiang cheng with his mouth open and his teeth set, ready to harangue him for burying the lede on such a matter. his mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion: ] What happened to her? Is she okay? I haven't heard a damn thing in this place, you know that!
[ what he feels arches off of him in sparks of black and red, burning without subtly - the whispers of his madness, his increased reclusiveness and mistrust, they are all true though he denies them with a smile. ]
[ he should be used to it - inasmuch as anyone could be used to this, but then who else is better suited to face against the Yiling Patriarch than his shidi? the responsibility falls on him, as always - to put a collar around that neck, to bring him to a heel somehow in the eyes of the rest of the world who see Wei Wuxian as nothing more than some wild, buckling beast, some untamed force of nature that they cannot control. it is not an easy thing, to convince him of this. it is not an easy thing to convince Wei Wuxian of anything these days, of things that lie beyond the borders of his domain, to look past the lines that he had so clearly drawn between him and the rest of the world - some might say it is an impossible thing.
maybe this time, he could be someone worthy of that motto.
his steps slow down, as the other turn towards him; Jiang Cheng fancies that he sees the aura around him, crackling much in the same way as Zidian - a force that sparks black and red in the air between them, raising the hairs just by the sheer charged intensity of it. his hands tighten minutely, veins standing out in the back of his hands, before he forces himself to slacken his jaw and breathe out; a short, sharp huff of air. ]
Maybe if you stepped out of this grave mound every once in a while. [ the wording is harsh, careless as always, but there's a hint of regret in the way he trails his gaze down from Wei Wuxian's face to the fluttering hem of his sleeves. ]
She's fine.
[ back in the day, it would have been so easy to just reach out in the space between them and smack him, on the shoulder or on the head, and laugh; it is not so easy now, even to smile. ]
The foxes at the Koi Tower are more clever than you think they are. They are stalling, to see what we would do about it.
[ jiang cheng's words are harse, careless and wei wuxian smiles despite them; a vast, empty little thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes, that threatens his decaying mind with the knowledge that he knows he will die here on the land that gave him power and commanded sacrifice in return. he finds it difficult to understand people those days, especially those who he'd always loved as his own - a form of face blindness, where he thinks deeply about what they can mean by their words, their expressions.
he is paranoid, his reaction to the news of jiang yanli is a testament to that. the sickly, insidious he questions jiang cheng's motivations for actually visiting are further proof. even still, he relaxes onto the balls of his feet when his shidi reassures him that she's fine, that she's unharmed and not made entirely unhappy. it leads to him reaching down for jiang cheng's hands, left drifting free at his sides, grasping them in his own - pale, thin - as he leans into his space and smiles broadly. ]
Those foxes, [ he scoffs: ] What do they know of what we're capable of? Does the thought make you unhappy, Jiang Cheng? If it makes you unhappy, I'll do everything in my power to resist it. I could do it easily, without hurting shijie - there's a lot that I've learned over my time spent here.
[ he wheels, one hand still fastened to jiang cheng's wrist, half-hauling him through the burial mounds towards the den where he's made his home, his office, his little studio of dark energies and malicious studies. it takes no time at all, once he truly leads, to bring jiang cheng within and find him a comfortable seat, carven stone with layers of cloth and fur thrown over it for cushioning. he lights candles, raising the atmosphere from one of oppressive darkness ( like a beast, ready to strike ) to a comfortably-lighted nest. in here, he resembles the carrion birds so starkly and finds his way to jiang cheng, fluttering and preening just like one. ]
[ the wagging tongues and the fluttering carrion birds of rumours don't reach wei wuxian's ears, buried deep within the mountains like some fell thing, some beast that haunts the night and children's dreams. they speak of him as some cursed creature, driven mad and insane, a man that has descended into something less than human; a demon, a devil, an evil terror that fleets through shade and shadow and everything dark.
he knows what they say. he knows what they whisper of his brother when they think he cannot here, and sometimes within his hearing, too. he knows that he would break every bone in their bodies for it.
the skeletal hands grab for his hands hold more strength than anyone would have guessed, but there is still a part of him that remains, even now, completely unsurprised - wei wuxian has always been someone on some higher pedestal, always just above and out of reach. just because he has shut himself away like a hermit within these mountains hasn't changed the fact.
jiang cheng doesn't break the hold. he lifts his head and stares into those eyes tinged with red, tinged with some sort of madness, and he doesn't flinch away.
perhaps it is because the same sort of madness that burns in him. the same smile, the same sort of strange, ghostly light that flickers in time with the way the fire and the smoke rises from the ashes of their home. ]
Idiot, [ he only ends up saying, in the end, reaching his free hand up to touch palm to the curve of a shoulder, briefly; a light touch from a hand that has only really know how to break and kill. ] you mean we could.
[ later, when they find themselves within the caves, he sits upon the seat directed and watches the candles light one by one, each tiny speck of light highlighting different parts of wei wuxian; a pale wrist here, a wisp of dark hairs falling over the line of his jaw, the eyes that still gleam and glow. they aren't the eyes of the dead. he is still - terrifyingly alive, even after everything that has happened to him and by him.
he almost doesn't catch the other's words, but when he does, jiang cheng nearly jumps out of the seat. ]
[ jiang cheng touches him, grips his shoulder in solidarity and gives voice to a thing wei wuxian has tried, time and again, to free his shidi of. the bondage of his madness should not touch jiang cheng, who is already so deeply pained by his losses and his furious grief, yet here he is all the same -- saying such thing as we could and warming him with the brush of his palm. his own hands lift, cupping around jiang cheng's hand now, fingers against the arch of wristbone, thumb set along his palm as he moved and manipulates that hand to hold it against his face.
quiet, pressed in against his shidi's hand with the aura of a once-beloved animal slowly giving in to sickness. he has enough mind to recognize the hand that has fed and loved him, but parts of him want to set his teeth into the meat of it and force jiang cheng away from the burial mounds, away from him - to save him from having to watch the way wei wuxian will waste away and rot. ]
Those too-clever foxes in the Tower wants us to marry, for you to be my husband - for all of my assets to become yours, for you to collar me legally and make a kept thing of me and prevent me from threatening their rise. You and I know it well, what they're up to. But, they could give so much to the Lotus Pier, if you do this - you could have so much, and it'd be foolish to decline. The fact that I'm a man, like you, has no bearing on such a thing.
[ he practically coos the words, stepping closer to jiang cheng; fingers on the small braid along one side of his head ]
I'm asking you not to speak with your pride, Jiang Cheng: would you want to marry me, if you weren't being told to? I just want to know where we stand, before we inevitably agree to their terms. They've got us pinned down, using shijie and her happiness against us, tch...
[ jiang cheng shivers - the movement involuntary as his brother's hand come to rest against his face, his hair, fingers moving over the tightly braided hair at the side of his head. they are still strong - he can feel the strength beneath those thin limbs. he has seen him rend countless lives to dust, to unlife, with a mere breath from his lungs.
strong, yes, but at the same time it feels like that of a stranger; the calluses of his hands are different, the knotted hard flesh against his fingers in places unfamiliar to him - he had held those hands in his own many, many times before, he could not forget it.
it makes him want to clasp the other's hands in his own once more. it remembers trying forever to play catch up with him, following in the shadow of his wake, catching the tail end of a glimpse like a meteor over the horizon, and he wishes -
all I care about is your happiness.
be well, be well, be well.
if he were a better man, maybe, he would be able to say such words. if he were truly his father's son, if he would do something, achieve a thing near impossible - if he had the mind and guts to do it. but jiang cheng still feels the loss keenly - his chest is still an open, bleeding thing, as if the wound of the discipline whip has never closed over. if he were a better man, someone less selfish, he would be able to - might be able to, but jiang cheng knows that he is not.
their sister's happiness rests on them. the fate of yunmeng, its blooming flowers with their lack of luster, the soft pink edges of the petals faded and bleached anemic, is more precarious than ever.
as always, it rests on wei wuxian to come to his rescue once more.
as always, it is he who ends up benefiting, wei wuxian willingly carving flesh and blood to feed these rabid, raving beasts. ]
It is only for a short while, [ he reasons; he voices his hesitation out loud. he tells himself that it is not an excuse. ]
Only for a short while, just until she is settled.
[ jiang cheng is not one for wistfulness, he knows. still, part of him feels the pain of those words; they are to be wed to one another politically, not even for their own gains but for the security of the other sects. because yiling is a power too great to be left to fester and loom over this new era of prosperity after the fall of the qishan-wen. jiang cheng, especially, must be sore over such a decision being made on his behalf; he may be young, but he is a sect leader as well. to be told to marry himself off to a sullied, former cultivator of his sect, a rogue one that is sick with madness... it must sting. it must feel like an insult, added onto all other injuries.
at the least, it does let him know where they stand. ]
Of course, [ away, his hand trails from the braid in jiang cheng's hair. it slides away into the deep folds of his robes, flowing like storm cloud and night fogs around him; unnaturally alive, as so many things in the bowels of the burial mounds were. wei wuxian has always known he is not material fit for marriage; he is a fatherless child, a fallen cultivator, a murderer of thousands. he bears the power of the burial mounds in limb and organ, held together as a corpse would be by the fickle graces of this place. ]
For only as long as necessary, then.
[ they can play this foxes's game, together. ]
Before you leave to tell them of your decision, I want you to have something. It's important you hold it close to your heart, okay? Don't misplace it or leave it behind, you'll make me cry if you lose my gift to you. It's a poor wedding gift, but you can consider it an advance on my meager dowry, future-husband Jiang.
[ it's with deft fingers, slender and pale, that he picks apart the folds of his dark robes. little by little, until the angle of his collarbone is visible and the robes are slack around his torso, the edges of the brand burned across his heart barely visible. there is ribbon there, that he fumbles with, bound to the inner folds of his robes -- and as he draws out one half of the tiger seal, the room smolders with sudden heat. hot and damp, as the depths of the cavern where he had found that cursed iron blade; sticky and wet, the way the inner thigh, the small of the back would become in the middle of the warmer season. he holds it up, before jiang cheng's eyes.
wei wuxian's own are scarlet, the pupils blown wide and dark - rapidly constricting to pinpricks, then back. the focus-disfocus of his eyes is almost hypnotic, were it not alarming how quickly it happens, how eerie it appears as he grows gaunt and fragile while the seal's half is boldly on display. ] Take it. You'll take it, won't you? I won't tell you where the other half is, but you should know that if I need this one, I expect you to be at my side with it, Jiang Cheng. You can't go far from me, for as long as you have this. You'll promise me, won't you? Just one promise, between us - the foxes at Koi Tower can find out, I don't care. I hope they squirm. Don't you?
[ the words are sharp, savage little things. hooks and barbs that he sinks into jiang cheng. ]
[ when wei wuxian undresses, loosening the folds of his robes - when he holds up the broken jagged half of the tiger seal before his eyes, jiang cheng has only one thought.
a stranger.
a strange creature, perhaps, staring at him from out of what had been his brother. it is a monster who gazes back, an unseemly, unearthly thing that is not who he knows wei wuxian to be.
he had always been the scorching midsummer heat and the cool of the river water. he had been as ripened fruits hanging heavily in the trees for them to pick - he had been such things as everything is bright and warm and good, to jiang cheng, and he cannot remember the days without the other at his side, behind him, warm like the very sun that hangs upon the sky.
now, it is like some shadowy ghost that he presents himself to him; he is the dying light of the dusk, the red glow of bonfires stretched across blood soaked fields. he is some sickly creature that has hidden itself deep within these mountains to wait out his time of death.
but jiang cheng will not let him.
call it childish, call it selfish if you will, but he had always held onto the idea deep within him - that one day, he could restore everything that had been taken from him. that he could have everything the same as it had been before. yunmeng jiang, for all its lacklustre withering, has been rebuilt to the smallest panel, to every detail he could remember. all it needs, all he needs is -
his hand closes about the other's. the air around them wavers hot and hazy, nauseating in the sudden turns, but his grip does not waver. ]
I do.
[ jiang cheng had, and always have, been the one with the softer heart, the one who feels the most and for longest.
he breathes out - soft and secret, and it feels less like the promises of old. it feels like a pact, like some contract with a power he does not fully understand, and he tilts his head - he leans up, to briefly press their foreheads together, their lashes almost touching. ]
[ it hangs between them, the most horrendously beautiful thing he's ever crafted; a weapon with a mind all its own, given to its own whim. he does not command the stygian tiger seal, anybody could do that, but it does reflect upon him as the children of echidna look upon their mother - the one that gave them form. the half that he offers to jiang cheng burns, where the other half feels like a cold weight against his stomach, settled low and hidden within the folds of his dark robes until he hides it away.
the command that yiling and yunmeng marry could only come from someone seeking to fetter them both in one another's embrace, to collar yiling's patriarch and bring him and his armies of the dead to heel under the strength of a proper cultivator. even if that cultivator was the remnants of a once-destroyed sect. they'd want the tiger seal, and he was not going to let them have it. not it, not wen ning and not chenqing. they could have him, in his shidi's family register, owned as a wife would be -- but they'd never, ever have him. ]
You really are so precious to me. My wonderful shidi, you're going to make me blush like this! My knees feel so weak, are you going to hold me up? You should hold me up, you're the one who's gone and made my heart flutter! I can't believe they want to waste you on me rather than finding you a proper wife.
[ the words are soft, tucked in the meager space left between them as jiang cheng leans in to his space. he feels the warmth of his brow, the soft flutter of his eyelashes; softly, wei wuxian's fingers find the softness of jiang cheng's throat, stroking down the fragile column to the hollow of it. his outburst of merriment fades softly, replaced again by that more somber, unnatural sheen that grips him. ]
Take it with you, okay? You need to go back and tell them we're agreeing to this demand, show them the seal's half to prove my word, and I need to prepare for the trip.
[ earnest, he has always been. serious to the point of rigidity, constricted by all of what he should be and could be, jiang cheng is no more free of the shackles than wei wuxian is, the lands of yunmeng binding him down as surely as that of yiling, how it sinks its claws into the flesh and coils dark in his blood and narrows, shining slick like oil spill in the gleam caught in wei wuxian's eyes in the candlelight.
they are trapped, each in their own ways. they are cornered as wild animals might, their backs to the wall and the rest of the cultivation world against them who seek to collar them both like this, against and along each other, to drown or rot or tear each other to shreds and they would watch gladly.
jiang cheng does not trust easily. the other three great sects - the only three great sects, yunmeng's faded brilliance obviously not worth being counted upon for much, by them - have induced them to hold a ceremony of brotherhood amongst them, to live and die by each other.
what then, remains? what can jiang cheng possibly do, but to turn to wei wuxian, to live and die by him as they have promised?
in the end, he only has his brother to call upon. in the end, he is the only one he could ask to help.
the hand against his throat feel gentle, creeping down and down along the too-fragile skin to the dip against his collar like some spider, like some snake that coils itself around. his voice too, is soft - soft like some poisoned mist that would choke one in their sleep, and jiang cheng swallows dry, nods without speaking.
he does not stay long, after that. wei wuxian is his ( just as much as he is wei wuxian's, now and forever ) but the air of yiling is too much for him, the dark cloying aura that spills from the depths of burial mounds sticking to his throat. as he steps out from the mouth of the cave and alights on his sword jiang cheng feels that he can still taste it; the metallic bitter tang of power like blood, like steel. the half of the tiger seal tucked into the folds of his inner robe burns and freezes in alternating fits and stutter that has him ever conscious of it.
i will go to koi tower, he has told wei wuxian. i will go tell them. they cannot deny it, not with this. ]
I once knew the son of a physician who told me a fun little tale - his father had once been detained by the furious relatives of a patient that he had allegedly killed with the wrong medicine. His father escaped in the night by swimming across a wide, vast river to reach home. When he reached home, he saw that same son studying medical texts and knocked them from his hands. His son, shocked at the violence from his father asked why he had done it - to which his father replied: "Don't be in so much of a hurry to study medicine! First thing's first: you must learn to swim."
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[He tries to turn his head around to see the braid perpetrator.]
E-excuse me?
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[ Scolding you, Lovecraft. He's only got about four little braids done and he's busy. ]
You leave your hair unbound like this, you're just inviting trouble.
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[He obediently turns his head back but he is definitely still flummoxed. Nobody has ever scolded him about his hair before!! ...Probably. He doesn't remember.]
What are you doing? It feels strange...
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[ braid braid braid
he's not hiding secrets in your hair, lovecraft. no not him. ] I'm taking care of the ends first, that's all.
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[He falls silent. Ah, probably said too much.]
...I have a lot of hair. Won't that take a long time...?
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[ EYES. EARS. HELLO WHAT WAS THAT, TIRED MAN??
and he gives lovecraft's hair a little tug, just to test the waters ]
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[Whoah, man, don't tug his hair like that!! He lets out a surprised noise, shoulders raising to his ears.]
D-don't do that, it's really...sensitive...
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[ tug tug. he even fingercombs the ends a little, just to be a brat. ]
Did you say something about being sensitive?
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[His hair starts to move on its own, like some soft breeze is moving through them. The way they move is almost like a bunch of rattled worms.]
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he yelps with shock and it transitions fluidly into laughter ] Oh my, what is this magnificent skill you have?
[ is your hair Petting Back ]
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It's not a skill. Like I said, be careful. It's just...sensitive...
[It's obvious he's lying. The movement of the hair dies down, as if vainly trying to prove that yes, it's just regular hair! Nothing to see here!]
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[ snickering, he slowly removes his hands from the ends of lovecraft's hair and dives for the roots instead, trying to fingercomb it straight - absolutely nonchalant ]
Does putting it up hurt, then? Braids? Ponytails? Little buns here [ he touches a finger to one side of lovecraft's head ] or here? [ and the other ]
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[But still, now his anxiety is at an all time high - he nervously lets his hands grasp each other in his lap, straightening as the other's hands dive deep into his hair, touching his scalp.]
But I've never put it up at all, you know. But please, don't be rough...
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he even manages to swat lovecraft across the shoulder with it. there's almost as much hair there as there is on lovecraft's head. ]
I take good care of my own hair, you're in good hands. Just relax! Let the master work.
[ and he immediately sets upon lovecraft's hair, putting it up in twintails while he tries to repress his giggles ]
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Okay...hair master...
[He could just say something, but he just falls silent - though those little giggles are nice, he guesses, even though twintails is NOT the best look for him at all.]
my angel, my squid
[ there are so many words happening
all while he balances the twintails, tongue between his teeth as he hefts them to ensure they're as even as possible. ]
Naturally, I learned all of my best tricks from older sisters -- do you have an older sister? Oh no, of course you don't. You'd have perfectly-kept hair if you did. I could be your older sister, I guess... I don't mind.
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Maybe I also had a mouse in my hair once...I don't remember. [It's been so long...his past memories blur. He's lived for years upon years upon years.] And you want to be my older sister...? But you...aren't related to me.
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[ listen if lovecraft isn't chatty, someone has to fill up the silence with babble ]
I didn't find a mouse in your hair, by the way. Not even bones.
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[What's family? Besides the random related eldritch gods and stuff that are out there that may or may not exist.]
Oh, I see. [Yay, no mouse!] I don't know what else you might find...probably just hair.
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[ among other things, like cook and calm you down when you're about to murder someone!!! ]
-- I found this, [ he did not find anything, he's just producing a nice green ribbon from his sleeve and pretending it's been hiding in lovecraft's hair, ] here, I'll fix your hair properly and you can wear it. We can having matching ponytails!
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[He blinks slowly at the appearance of the ribbon, even cocking his head slightly in curiosity.]
Ponytails...your hair looks nice like that. I never really thought about something like that for myself.
kicks in ur door at last;
Not that he has much left to cling to regardless; his filial responsibilities nearly all evaporated the second his mother passed on, chasing the echo of his father. Barely a difference of months.
Their only son, only remaining heir to the late General Xie An, unmarried and alone.
(Alone, is the part that wrenches something in his gut sideways. Almost as much as the guilt.)]
Can you do it?
[Xie Bi’an asks, nearly wringing his own fingers with bone-deep tension, though nothing in his voice breaks. Can you do it. Will you do it, he thinks, trying to swallow down the promise of uncertainty that hangs in the empty space between them.
In exchange for the promise of his estate, his treasured gifts and famed property. More than that, if that’s what this man wants— though he suspects if the stories about Wei Wuxian are true, offers without limits are likely as routine as breathing.]
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Can I do it?
[ his voice is low, pointed in the same way that the woman's teeth are as she flashes a smile and scurries away like a demonic butterfly, fluttering softly behind some screens and fading from view. wei wuxian leans forward, fingers steepled and tucked between his knees as he contemplates the offerings before him. what pours over him is a smile, something once-bright that merely echoed his former self. and a laugh, brassy and bold. ]
Of course I can, of course I can! Young master Xie, there's no need to grovel before me. I know of the pain you are barely able to live with, I have heard the whispers of the truth behind Fan Wujiu's death -- it's a familiar tale to me. One I can't bear to see exist without some manner of epilogue.
[ one of his own, his ghost general, met a cruel fate as well, after all.
he holds up two fingers: ]
I don't need your land. I'll take half of your offered gold, as well as your smartest merchant, though - have it dispersed among my people and make sure that your merchant knows they'll be moving goods to Yiling and its people. No need to disguise such a fact from them. Your name, associated with mine, will be enough past that. I foresee a very long, very beneficial partnership, young master Xie.
[ he rises then, a raven accented with red and beckons for Xie Bi'an to rise as well ]
Come on! I think he'll take to his situation well if it's you he sees first with his eyes.
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(If Xie Bi’an were more desperate, more ill with irreplaceable loss, he might have mistaken Wei Wuxian for Fan Wujiu.)]
He’ll remember everything...?
[Asking question after question makes him feel naive in a way he only vaguely remembers from his own childhood: something in his head still runs on instinct and propriety, he knows he should be thanking Wei Wuxian for his mercy and generosity.
Instead he doesn’t hesitate to tuck himself into the space beside a man he barely knows, still wondering about the beautiful teeth of that woman from moments before.
Is that what Wujiu will become?
Would he forgive him for that, too?
Sick, hisses the knot in his stomach, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten in two days now. What travel hasn’t done, his tether to the dead has.]
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[ fan wujiu will be fan wujiu, because the spirit is a continuation at all times. one only had the spirit they were created with, which wandered the world until the afterlife opened its doors or it was destroyed. from what wei wuxian had heard, fan wujiu's spirit had escaped both fates - hence, why he had requested that xie bi'an bring the umbrella that had been in fan wujiu's presence when he had mysteriously drowned.
with the general's son tucked under his arm now, he's a jovial presence, for such a vilified patriarch. he leads the way from where he holds audience, deeper into the bowels of his territory, patting xie bi'an's shoulder as he practically sings his explanations and words. anything to keep someone entranced, he's so much like a songbird, adoring attention, commanding the room with his brassy personality. ]
He's this way, this way. Don't mind the others, they have minds enough to know you are my guest, [ he refers to the creeping, elongated corpses that slip through shadow; the squat, round forms of toddlers who had barely begun to lose their baby fat, their teeth as sharp as the adult women who flowed like serpents through the halls, hands hidden below the folds of their clothes, sweeping the lesser corpses aside - heralding the arrival of yiling's master and the master's guest.
they enter a smaller chamber, candlelit and host to two forms - the slender-shouldered wen ning, who stands with hair unbound and arms softly crossed in study of the still, soul-emptied body of the drowned fan wujiu. the body of xie bi'an's dearest one covered in talismans, a dark veil covering his eyes - his pallor mirroring the ashen, dead tone of the ghost general who stands at his side. ] Wen Ning, [ wei wuxian introduces him to xie bi'an, ] a very dear friend of mine. He helped me spirit Fan from his shallow grave to this place. We've been preparing him for his soul, which -- you have in your possession. The umbrella, please?
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Back home, they say Xie An’s heir has gone mad. The curse of something once beloved that won’t smile anymore: pity preceded their avoidance, but the moment the local populace realized his charming nature had gone grey along with the hair at his temples, he might as well have become a ghost. It’s not difficult to see, knowing that, why Yiling’s patriarch is so reviled and feared. It’s easier to stomach the sweetness of incense and gentle mourning of laid gifts, rather than the harshness of cheeks stained slick with salt from howling tears, the hollow, sunken skin of a corpse, echoing the concept of mortal impermanence.
So, maybe he has gone mad. To look at shapes in the dark that don’t quite sit right and feel no twinge of apprehension. Maybe Wei Wuxian has gone mad, too.
But then, if that’s the case, Xie Bi’an supposes they couldn’t be in better company.
He only flinches when he sees Fan Wujiu’s corpse. When he’s asked to relinquish the one thing he’s clung to for so long, that he’s well and truly forgotten he’s been holding onto it altogether— that his fingers, nails longer now, bite into its sides of their own volition, rejecting the request.]
You said I should be the first one he sees.
[Bi’an reiterates it, maybe because he’s stalling— maybe also because he doesn’t know how to let go, worrying on some level that Wei Wuxian will steal him away.]
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It's a little late in the game to begin mistrusting me, young master. I promised you that, indeed; I don't intend to break my most solemn promise. If you'll pass me the umbrella and stand in front of him, I'll be able to do just that. Pretend like you're about to see your bride's face for the very first time!
[ Without the umbrella, the entire movement falls apart; even standing there, in the middle of a space that crawls and swarms with the insidious, seductive lure of evil and of the dead, he can sense the fluttering thing that is encaged within. Fan Wujiu, or what was left of him apart from th corpse, is tucked away within the umbrella that he had with him when he had perished under that bridge. ]
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Walk barefoot through these halls like one of the dead, though he knows already that’s not where his usefulness lies.]
Be gentle. [He urges softly, sweetly, letting broken weight drift into Wei Wuxian’s hands, their fingertips touching with devoted pressure as he folds the patriarch's grip into place.
The rest is all bodily movement. Steps just beside Wen Ning (handsome. striking even in death. had it been a wedding, too, when he was revived?) and lets sleepless, red-lined eyes fall only on Fan Wujiu's shrouded form, obscured for ceremony or modesty, or perhaps just to save Xie An's heir the pain of a second viewing.
How the world never saw value in him, Xie Bi’an never understood.]
I’m here, Wujiu. I know I’m late— but I’m here.
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behind Fan Wujiu, listening to Xie Bi'an's soft pleas and apologies, he presses the flat of his hand to the broken umbrella; red, electric-hot energy gathers in his palm and sparks forth from his eyes. a delicate, sinister glow that heralds his particular branch of cultivation. as he draws his hand upwards and the umbrella downwards, he draws the glow of a soul from it. the tendrils of sticky soul cling to the umbrella, reluctant to part with the last place that it could be safe, be found by its dearest companion, be left alone in his hands. in one sweep, he feels the echoes of Fan Wujiu's thoughts and emotions towards the one standing in front of his corpse.
he cups the soul in his hand, passing the umbrella into Wen Ning's awaiting arms and presses it between his palms ( nobody but he is aware that souls have the consistency of bao ) before he cups it, red light sparking frightful and sickly from the outer corners of his eyes as he feeds it slowly into the root of Fan Wujiu's spine. silently, he watches it sink in, watches it sit at the surface of his body - before it begins to spread and return to the deceased limbs.
with a finger held to his lips, he peers over Fan Wujiu's shoulder - he'll be silent now, standing at the ready with Wen Ning in case Fan Wujiu's first instinct is to lash out. it usually is, the dead he resurrects haven't normally died a peaceful death. ]
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Xie catches him. In the way he wished he’d been able to before, when Wujiu needed him most (thinking it was all fine, aside from the heavy patter of rain outside) slender arms tucking in beneath Fan Wujiu’s shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his neck, tangled in soft fabric and coarse hair. A loving embrace, even as sharp nails sink in, as teeth bury themselves across the slope of his shoulder, a few inches from his throat, growling, snarling. Wheezing through once-flooded lungs that still need time to clear.
Xie Bi’an pulls the veil away. Shushes him sweetly, voice like a songbird. He feels no pain.] Oh, I missed you. I missed you.
It’s all right now.
I missed you so much, you fool.
[Hours later, Wujiu’s face is fixed in a steep frown.]
It wasn’t really a wedding. [He insists, countering Xie Bi'an's reverent description of their reunion, and punctuating it with a low tch. His throat is still hoarse, but the only sign of it is that when he growls, the reverberation effortlessly carries. Even if it was a wedding, he concludes, he doesn’t like ceremony. That sort of thing fits Xie more.] So we don’t need a feast.
[The fact that offered hospitality might serve as a means for conversation and easy instruction on acclimating to undeath, predictably, eludes him. (There's also the fact that Xie hasn't eaten in so long, he looks thin as a rail, and in desperate need of hot tea and warm food— but to Fan Wujiu it feels like only hours. Only minutes, since they last saw each other, and he's currently entranced by the deadened color of his own hands, flexing and curling his fingers in alternating patterns)]
hey guess what it's arranged marriage au
instead, they decide to dangle the threat over yunmeng. the young master of the lotus pier, so battle-hardened and set with his teeth permanently sharpened against all that could threaten his own, is instructed to bring yiling to heel once and for all. to do so in a way that even the wild wei wuxian would concede to. the political peerage instructs yunmeng to wed to yiling, citing that their long childhood spent in one another's presence as grounds enough - as a long and oft-arduous courtship. they are to wed before the year is out, binding yiling to yunmeng and thus to the cultivation world.
should jiang cheng accomplish this task, he will be rewarded and yunmeng will be permitted to prosper for several generations, uncontrolled and supported by the other great cultivation clans that had solidified their power in the wake of the sunshot campaign. the right to rebuild, the money and goods freely flowing into the lotus pier -- surely they would be well-worth the marriage to wei wuxian, however ill-suited for yunmeng's brilliance he might have become. they instruct him to begin upon wei wuxian's next visit to yunmeng, and to succeed before the year has concluded -- court, wed and affix yiling to the jiang clan's name once and for all. it should not be any more difficult than collaring a stray dog or wild horse, and breaking it. surely madam yu's son can manage it, surely jiang fengmian would approve of the match, they whisper. ]
crushes in hand
his first reaction, as always, is anger - but as he waves away the messengers with a few curt words and start pacing the now-empty room from the desk to the door, then back again - hands crossed behind his back, eyes focused on nothing - his mouth sets in a tight line. there is no amount of pacing that would possibly help him with this, and jiang cheng knows it; his position as a sect leader among the cultivators is already a precious, precarious thing, his control over this entire situation nothing more than what a baby might have over a handful of candy. it isn't a pleasant thought, but jiang cheng is an optimist who's had to style himself as a realist, a cynic, and after another quick few steps to the desk, he sits himself down and writes a response, the strokes rough on the paper.
then, he supposes, it's time for planning. ]
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jin guangyao probably wrote it, seems like his m.o.the peerage, with jiang cheng's response in-hand, sees fit to issue the same instruction to wei wuxian at yiling. the arrival of the neutrally-dressed messenger puts him on edge in his own way, prone to drama and theatrics and posturing as a truly horrific tyrant, corpses posed at his feet in the hopes that this - at least - will put off the messenger from coming to his door; the messenger arrives anyways, shaking in his boots and wei wuxian's written response sends the messenger scurrying back into the arms of the new-age politicians for safety. the grandmaster's "mercy" in the form of a hastily-scrawled scroll that basically amounted to a huge "ha ha, you're funny if you think he's going to listen to you".
his second message is written and sent to jiang cheng himself, arriving at the lotus pier in the hands of a messenger called upon from outside of yiling ( it's best to send neutral parties, he's learned, than risk his people upon his brother's state of mind -- most of them are remnants of the wen, after all ). the letter submitted, the messenger takes her leave to recover stamina nearby, ready to send jiang cheng's response if he should choose her services. the scroll wei wuxian has sent reads as follows: ]
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- I know you're not going to just give in -
he says nothing, but as he stands on top of the steps (stand, not sit) where so often his mother would be, supervising everyone and not a good word for anyone, he idly fingers zidian on his hand, brows drawn, casting shade over his entire expression.
easy for him to say, someone who stays up on that mountain of his, shut away with a bunch of corpses and those wen-dogs of his, still continuing to do whatever the hell he wants to do. easy for the great, the notorious yiling patriarch. as always, it falls on himself, it seems, to try and hold things together. complacency is not his strong suit; but at this point, with everything hanging in the balance, what else could he do to preserve the one thing left from his parents?
the messenger, having her share of the meals and rest at the inn, receives this to take back: ]
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two days. he has two days to clean and tidy and ensure the remnants of the qishan-wen that he has adopted into his fold are aware of jiang cheng's arrival. that they stay far from his gaze. it's not as though wei wuxian will allow them to be mistreated, not even by his oldest companion. he doesn't know if his letter will reach jiang cheng in time, perhaps it will meet him en route, but he pens anyways: ]
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it's frustrating, to say it mildly - he has his own pride after all, and being ordered around like this by the other sects wear down at his nerves like saw to a sapling, like nails on a chalkboard, and he is more than one hundred percent sure that whatever Wei Wuxian has to say about it (in person, even) isn't going to help with their situation one bit either. but then, it's always been that way with the two of them, hasn't it?
he decides to walk up, instead of going the rest of the way on Sandu - he tells himself it's to clear his head, get his raging temper in order, but in truth, he is trying to stall this as much as he can, in his own way. ]
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jiang cheng's arrival at his stronghold is heralded by a scattering of birds, flocks of carrion-hungry crows that flutter into the skies and steer clear of the storm that brews on the ground below. they caw and squawk and generally fill the air surrounding the mountain where wei wuxian lingers, reluctant to walk down the winding paths to meet his brother. the knowledge that jiang cheng wishes to talk has been eating at him for the days since his shidi had sent him the terse message in response, the weight of the mere idea that yiling and yunmeng ought to marry in order to nullify one ( no, likely both ) of the rising, new powers of the cultivation world.
he knows what the new leadership is asking, and he knows what they mean, when they ask - it's not a question, it's a command. between himself and jiang cheng, there is only one of them who had always dug his heels in, stubborn as a donkey, when presented with a command, let alone an ultimatum - which, the entire situation is beginning to feel like one, to him.
still, he meets yunmeng's sect leader halfway down the mountain. wei wuxian greets him with a raised hand, his back aligned with a decrepit, half-rotten tree with gnarled branches that resemble hands clawing for salvation, for sunshine that does not come to this place. his flowing robes never seem to catch on the ground, nor does his unbound hair snarl or snag. with both hands raised in supplication, he greets jiang cheng: ] I tried to intercept you with a letter, Jiang Cheng! Goodness, you didn't have to come all the way out here to this place that you find so distasteful, you're so manly, so cool!
[ he looks thinner than before, the circles under his eyes worse, his fingers pretty and long in the way a skeleton's were. still, the smile on his face is bright, inviting. genuinely pleased to see his brother, even if he knows they'll part on ill terms. ]
Come up, it's just the two of us, I promise you.
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[ there is a slight hint of irony lacing the edge of his words, a bitterness that he can't quite contain - but he had always been honest to a fault with this brother of his, convinced from the years they spent together that anything he says must, naturally, run off like water from a duck's back.
he stops a few paces away from the other; no clasping of hands, no slapping on the back, this time, and perhaps never again - the gaze he shoots back in return for the smile is cold, old, a messy, conflicted thing as he scans wei wuxian over quickly, noting the skeletal thin fingers like sun bleached bones, the dark half moon circles under his eyes eclipsing the smile that is, however bright he makes it, only a pale echo of what he remembers.
his mouth twists, twitches like words are backed up in his throat, crowding to get out, maybe something about what's been happening - even something about whether he's eating anything properly, but in the end what comes out is : ] How can you stand to live in a place like this?
[ the crying of the crows overhead annoys him in ways he can't describe, the gnarled twisted dead things that substitute for trees seem merely like bodies of corpses, their blackened fingers reaching out to them. a far cry from what he is used to, and the discomfort is apparent in the hard set of his jaw as he stalks up, closing the remaining distance between them, passing wei wuxian to head up the path. ]
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[ he knows what jiang cheng means by it; the words prickle along his wrists and the back of his neck like a bitter wind that has picked up and slipped its fingers underneath the layers of black-and-red he wears. tucking his hands into his sleeves, he rolls his shoulders back and tosses his hair - certainly, he puts on a show like he's unaffected, but he knows that he does not go to lotus pier anymore. he hasn't, not since he'd taken the remnants of the wen into his arms and escorted them to safety. he won't, because he's responsible for them.
jiang cheng looks disgusted with him, for all he's become.
that's fine, then. one more thing he can rely on, to keep them both from having to obey the command of those who had fashioned themselves into the new regime among the remnants of the old cultivation world. he can press this point, that jiang cheng finds him a hateful thing, a reminder of the hurts he's been forced to handle alone. wei wuxian is more than happy to play the villain, if it means continuing to save his former shidi - whether he wants it or not. ]
It's a fitting place for someone like me and those who live under my protection, remember? We don't belong to that society anymore, which is why I'm soooooo surprised they'd think that tethering the illustrious Lotus Pier to my heels is a wise decision.
[ he picks up the pace, to fall in at jiang cheng's side, a careful distance kept between them where once there would have been shoulders pressed to one another's
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he doesn't glance at him, instead keeping his gaze fixed ahead, at the path up the mountain slope. maybe the purpose of the silence is to wait, until they are safely away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk in these desolate woods (because that sly fox over in the koi towers might hide more than one card up his golden sleeves), but it also merely just comes across as his usual hostility. ]
Couldn't have come at a worse time, you know. [ finally he mutters under his breath, spoken more through his teeth. ]
I expect you've heard about sister, no doubt?
[ who was, until just about not too long ago, had steadily progressing plans to be wed - a plan that came to another abrupt, grinding halt for no reasons whatsoever - but a reason that only seems clear now, in the light of what's happening now. ]
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( perhaps this is why he reacts so sharply, to the mention of his shijie; they've not seen one another in so long, but he would always rise to her side -- ) black cloth swirls like a storming cloud, he spins on jiang cheng with his mouth open and his teeth set, ready to harangue him for burying the lede on such a matter. his mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion: ] What happened to her? Is she okay? I haven't heard a damn thing in this place, you know that!
[ what he feels arches off of him in sparks of black and red, burning without subtly - the whispers of his madness, his increased reclusiveness and mistrust, they are all true though he denies them with a smile. ]
Is this why you really came?
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maybe this time, he could be someone worthy of that motto.
his steps slow down, as the other turn towards him; Jiang Cheng fancies that he sees the aura around him, crackling much in the same way as Zidian - a force that sparks black and red in the air between them, raising the hairs just by the sheer charged intensity of it. his hands tighten minutely, veins standing out in the back of his hands, before he forces himself to slacken his jaw and breathe out; a short, sharp huff of air. ]
Maybe if you stepped out of this grave mound every once in a while. [ the wording is harsh, careless as always, but there's a hint of regret in the way he trails his gaze down from Wei Wuxian's face to the fluttering hem of his sleeves. ]
She's fine.
[ back in the day, it would have been so easy to just reach out in the space between them and smack him, on the shoulder or on the head, and laugh; it is not so easy now, even to smile. ]
The foxes at the Koi Tower are more clever than you think they are. They are stalling, to see what we would do about it.
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he is paranoid, his reaction to the news of jiang yanli is a testament to that. the sickly, insidious he questions jiang cheng's motivations for actually visiting are further proof. even still, he relaxes onto the balls of his feet when his shidi reassures him that she's fine, that she's unharmed and not made entirely unhappy. it leads to him reaching down for jiang cheng's hands, left drifting free at his sides, grasping them in his own - pale, thin - as he leans into his space and smiles broadly. ]
Those foxes, [ he scoffs: ] What do they know of what we're capable of? Does the thought make you unhappy, Jiang Cheng? If it makes you unhappy, I'll do everything in my power to resist it. I could do it easily, without hurting shijie - there's a lot that I've learned over my time spent here.
[ he wheels, one hand still fastened to jiang cheng's wrist, half-hauling him through the burial mounds towards the den where he's made his home, his office, his little studio of dark energies and malicious studies. it takes no time at all, once he truly leads, to bring jiang cheng within and find him a comfortable seat, carven stone with layers of cloth and fur thrown over it for cushioning. he lights candles, raising the atmosphere from one of oppressive darkness ( like a beast, ready to strike ) to a comfortably-lighted nest. in here, he resembles the carrion birds so starkly and finds his way to jiang cheng, fluttering and preening just like one. ]
Would you want to marry me, Jiang Cheng?
[ no hesitation, no shame in asking ]
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he knows what they say. he knows what they whisper of his brother when they think he cannot here, and sometimes within his hearing, too. he knows that he would break every bone in their bodies for it.
the skeletal hands grab for his hands hold more strength than anyone would have guessed, but there is still a part of him that remains, even now, completely unsurprised - wei wuxian has always been someone on some higher pedestal, always just above and out of reach. just because he has shut himself away like a hermit within these mountains hasn't changed the fact.
jiang cheng doesn't break the hold. he lifts his head and stares into those eyes tinged with red, tinged with some sort of madness, and he doesn't flinch away.
perhaps it is because the same sort of madness that burns in him. the same smile, the same sort of strange, ghostly light that flickers in time with the way the fire and the smoke rises from the ashes of their home. ]
Idiot, [ he only ends up saying, in the end, reaching his free hand up to touch palm to the curve of a shoulder, briefly; a light touch from a hand that has only really know how to break and kill. ] you mean we could.
[ later, when they find themselves within the caves, he sits upon the seat directed and watches the candles light one by one, each tiny speck of light highlighting different parts of wei wuxian; a pale wrist here, a wisp of dark hairs falling over the line of his jaw, the eyes that still gleam and glow. they aren't the eyes of the dead. he is still - terrifyingly alive, even after everything that has happened to him and by him.
he almost doesn't catch the other's words, but when he does, jiang cheng nearly jumps out of the seat. ]
W-what?
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quiet, pressed in against his shidi's hand with the aura of a once-beloved animal slowly giving in to sickness. he has enough mind to recognize the hand that has fed and loved him, but parts of him want to set his teeth into the meat of it and force jiang cheng away from the burial mounds, away from him - to save him from having to watch the way wei wuxian will waste away and rot. ]
Those too-clever foxes in the Tower wants us to marry, for you to be my husband - for all of my assets to become yours, for you to collar me legally and make a kept thing of me and prevent me from threatening their rise. You and I know it well, what they're up to. But, they could give so much to the Lotus Pier, if you do this - you could have so much, and it'd be foolish to decline. The fact that I'm a man, like you, has no bearing on such a thing.
[ he practically coos the words, stepping closer to jiang cheng; fingers on the small braid along one side of his head ]
I'm asking you not to speak with your pride, Jiang Cheng: would you want to marry me, if you weren't being told to? I just want to know where we stand, before we inevitably agree to their terms. They've got us pinned down, using shijie and her happiness against us, tch...
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strong, yes, but at the same time it feels like that of a stranger; the calluses of his hands are different, the knotted hard flesh against his fingers in places unfamiliar to him - he had held those hands in his own many, many times before, he could not forget it.
it makes him want to clasp the other's hands in his own once more. it remembers trying forever to play catch up with him, following in the shadow of his wake, catching the tail end of a glimpse like a meteor over the horizon, and he wishes -
all I care about is your happiness.
be well, be well, be well.
if he were a better man, maybe, he would be able to say such words. if he were truly his father's son, if he would do something, achieve a thing near impossible - if he had the mind and guts to do it. but jiang cheng still feels the loss keenly - his chest is still an open, bleeding thing, as if the wound of the discipline whip has never closed over. if he were a better man, someone less selfish, he would be able to - might be able to, but jiang cheng knows that he is not.
their sister's happiness rests on them. the fate of yunmeng, its blooming flowers with their lack of luster, the soft pink edges of the petals faded and bleached anemic, is more precarious than ever.
as always, it rests on wei wuxian to come to his rescue once more.
as always, it is he who ends up benefiting, wei wuxian willingly carving flesh and blood to feed these rabid, raving beasts. ]
It is only for a short while, [ he reasons; he voices his hesitation out loud. he tells himself that it is not an excuse. ]
Only for a short while, just until she is settled.
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at the least, it does let him know where they stand. ]
Of course, [ away, his hand trails from the braid in jiang cheng's hair. it slides away into the deep folds of his robes, flowing like storm cloud and night fogs around him; unnaturally alive, as so many things in the bowels of the burial mounds were. wei wuxian has always known he is not material fit for marriage; he is a fatherless child, a fallen cultivator, a murderer of thousands. he bears the power of the burial mounds in limb and organ, held together as a corpse would be by the fickle graces of this place. ]
For only as long as necessary, then.
[ they can play this foxes's game, together. ]
Before you leave to tell them of your decision, I want you to have something. It's important you hold it close to your heart, okay? Don't misplace it or leave it behind, you'll make me cry if you lose my gift to you. It's a poor wedding gift, but you can consider it an advance on my meager dowry, future-husband Jiang.
[ it's with deft fingers, slender and pale, that he picks apart the folds of his dark robes. little by little, until the angle of his collarbone is visible and the robes are slack around his torso, the edges of the brand burned across his heart barely visible. there is ribbon there, that he fumbles with, bound to the inner folds of his robes -- and as he draws out one half of the tiger seal, the room smolders with sudden heat. hot and damp, as the depths of the cavern where he had found that cursed iron blade; sticky and wet, the way the inner thigh, the small of the back would become in the middle of the warmer season. he holds it up, before jiang cheng's eyes.
wei wuxian's own are scarlet, the pupils blown wide and dark - rapidly constricting to pinpricks, then back. the focus-disfocus of his eyes is almost hypnotic, were it not alarming how quickly it happens, how eerie it appears as he grows gaunt and fragile while the seal's half is boldly on display. ] Take it. You'll take it, won't you? I won't tell you where the other half is, but you should know that if I need this one, I expect you to be at my side with it, Jiang Cheng. You can't go far from me, for as long as you have this. You'll promise me, won't you? Just one promise, between us - the foxes at Koi Tower can find out, I don't care. I hope they squirm. Don't you?
[ the words are sharp, savage little things. hooks and barbs that he sinks into jiang cheng. ]
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a stranger.
a strange creature, perhaps, staring at him from out of what had been his brother. it is a monster who gazes back, an unseemly, unearthly thing that is not who he knows wei wuxian to be.
he had always been the scorching midsummer heat and the cool of the river water. he had been as ripened fruits hanging heavily in the trees for them to pick - he had been such things as everything is bright and warm and good, to jiang cheng, and he cannot remember the days without the other at his side, behind him, warm like the very sun that hangs upon the sky.
now, it is like some shadowy ghost that he presents himself to him; he is the dying light of the dusk, the red glow of bonfires stretched across blood soaked fields. he is some sickly creature that has hidden itself deep within these mountains to wait out his time of death.
but jiang cheng will not let him.
call it childish, call it selfish if you will, but he had always held onto the idea deep within him - that one day, he could restore everything that had been taken from him. that he could have everything the same as it had been before. yunmeng jiang, for all its lacklustre withering, has been rebuilt to the smallest panel, to every detail he could remember. all it needs, all he needs is -
his hand closes about the other's. the air around them wavers hot and hazy, nauseating in the sudden turns, but his grip does not waver. ]
I do.
[ jiang cheng had, and always have, been the one with the softer heart, the one who feels the most and for longest.
he breathes out - soft and secret, and it feels less like the promises of old. it feels like a pact, like some contract with a power he does not fully understand, and he tilts his head - he leans up, to briefly press their foreheads together, their lashes almost touching. ]
I will.
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[ it hangs between them, the most horrendously beautiful thing he's ever crafted; a weapon with a mind all its own, given to its own whim. he does not command the stygian tiger seal, anybody could do that, but it does reflect upon him as the children of echidna look upon their mother - the one that gave them form. the half that he offers to jiang cheng burns, where the other half feels like a cold weight against his stomach, settled low and hidden within the folds of his dark robes until he hides it away.
the command that yiling and yunmeng marry could only come from someone seeking to fetter them both in one another's embrace, to collar yiling's patriarch and bring him and his armies of the dead to heel under the strength of a proper cultivator. even if that cultivator was the remnants of a once-destroyed sect. they'd want the tiger seal, and he was not going to let them have it. not it, not wen ning and not chenqing. they could have him, in his shidi's family register, owned as a wife would be -- but they'd never, ever have him. ]
You really are so precious to me. My wonderful shidi, you're going to make me blush like this! My knees feel so weak, are you going to hold me up? You should hold me up, you're the one who's gone and made my heart flutter! I can't believe they want to waste you on me rather than finding you a proper wife.
[ the words are soft, tucked in the meager space left between them as jiang cheng leans in to his space. he feels the warmth of his brow, the soft flutter of his eyelashes; softly, wei wuxian's fingers find the softness of jiang cheng's throat, stroking down the fragile column to the hollow of it. his outburst of merriment fades softly, replaced again by that more somber, unnatural sheen that grips him. ]
Take it with you, okay? You need to go back and tell them we're agreeing to this demand, show them the seal's half to prove my word, and I need to prepare for the trip.
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they are trapped, each in their own ways. they are cornered as wild animals might, their backs to the wall and the rest of the cultivation world against them who seek to collar them both like this, against and along each other, to drown or rot or tear each other to shreds and they would watch gladly.
jiang cheng does not trust easily. the other three great sects - the only three great sects, yunmeng's faded brilliance obviously not worth being counted upon for much, by them - have induced them to hold a ceremony of brotherhood amongst them, to live and die by each other.
what then, remains? what can jiang cheng possibly do, but to turn to wei wuxian, to live and die by him as they have promised?
in the end, he only has his brother to call upon. in the end, he is the only one he could ask to help.
the hand against his throat feel gentle, creeping down and down along the too-fragile skin to the dip against his collar like some spider, like some snake that coils itself around. his voice too, is soft - soft like some poisoned mist that would choke one in their sleep, and jiang cheng swallows dry, nods without speaking.
he does not stay long, after that. wei wuxian is his ( just as much as he is wei wuxian's, now and forever ) but the air of yiling is too much for him, the dark cloying aura that spills from the depths of burial mounds sticking to his throat. as he steps out from the mouth of the cave and alights on his sword jiang cheng feels that he can still taste it; the metallic bitter tang of power like blood, like steel. the half of the tiger seal tucked into the folds of his inner robe burns and freezes in alternating fits and stutter that has him ever conscious of it.
i will go to koi tower, he has told wei wuxian. i will go tell them. they cannot deny it, not with this. ]
NSFW // FOR SHUZO.
This doesn't SOUND sexy at all, are you sure people are into this?
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Confidence ☆ is ☆ key!
Second-guessing yourself doesn't have much appeal, you know ☆☆
Try again.
Don't overthink it this time... ☆
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Your breasts are like two energetic puppies, straining at their leashes in diverging directions.
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But to answer properly: yes, I do love jokes.
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If you love jokes then you have to have a favorite, right?
Tell me.
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I once knew the son of a physician who told me a fun little tale - his father had once been detained by the furious relatives of a patient that he had allegedly killed with the wrong medicine. His father escaped in the night by swimming across a wide, vast river to reach home. When he reached home, he saw that same son studying medical texts and knocked them from his hands. His son, shocked at the violence from his father asked why he had done it - to which his father replied: "Don't be in so much of a hurry to study medicine! First thing's first: you must learn to swim."