[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.]
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.]
[ 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.
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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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my angel, my squid
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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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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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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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