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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Pastime (with good company) (ao3) (aka the NMJ/WWX/LWJ one) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, past 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

There were few enough causes to be grateful for Nie Huaisang’s shopping addiction, Nie Mingjue reflected, but it did mean that they had enough materials available for Wei Wuxian to work out his anxiety over what they were doing by incessantly arguing with Lan Wangji over the exact type of metal to use before finally selecting one and handing it over.

The middle of the night, in the midst of a thunderstorm, was not the most auspicious time to begin the forging of a spiritual weapon, but Nie Mingjue thought it suited Wei Wuxian better than most.

Especially now.

He hadn’t missed the gaps in the story he had heard, the oddity of Wei Wuxian losing his golden core despite Jiang Cheng being the one to bear the marks of torment from being captured by the Wens – perhaps Wei Wuxian did not know that Nie Mingjue knew of those. But then again, he had served a different role in the war than they: his demonic cultivation was a distance weapon, the overseeing general of the troops of fierce corpses he summoned, and so he did not know the dirt and grime and muck of the front line, the feeling of blood and viscera on your blade and splattered over your body and how unlike a simple duel it never seemed to end. The way that the adrenaline that carried you through your first battle eventually failed you, leaving you empty and exhausted; the way you had to keep going anyway, relying on muscle memory and sheer willpower to raise your blade up even when all hope had gone, when all sense of the future was gone, when it wasn’t fighting but merely butchering.

As a general matter, Jiang Cheng was highly sensitive about who saw him undressed, but after a solid week of war at Nie Mingjue’s side, he had thrown himself into the first stream they’d found without reserve, just as Nie Mingjue had, desperate to be clean and uncaring of anything else.

And so Nie Mingjue had seen – he had known. He’d seen similar marks all too much already in this war.

So the gaps in Wei Wuxian’s story didn’t make sense. He might even call it odd and go so far as to say unnerving, but Nie Mingjue wouldn’t press on a wound that was clearly still bleeding. It was already a matter of great trust that had brought Wei Wuxian here, that Lan Wangji had chosen to bring him here, and Nie Mingjue was honored by it.

Shocked by it, even.

Nie Mingjue didn’t know if it was due to the misfortunes in his youth or some deficiency in his nature, but despite his relatively casual views on the subject of who shared his bed, he’d always been very slow to actually warm up to people – to actually like them. He routinely judged people’s characters as part of his duties, of course, whether positively or negatively, and there were plenty of people he approved of, but there was a vast chasm between approval and actual friendship that very few people had ever figured out how to cross, and even he himself didn’t know how they did it.

When he was younger, he’d had cousins that he’d considered to be friends, but that had turned out to be habit and familiarity more than anything else, and the stiff formality of his role as sect leader, taken on too early, severed most of those relationships at the root. There were a few rare exceptions that could pretend otherwise – Nie Zonghui, who liked practicing saber techniques to a degree even Nie Mingjue found excessive, was one – and they were as precious to him as rubies.

There was Lan Xichen, of course, who’d pestered his way into it after Nie Mingjue’s father had died. He’d forced his way into the Unclean Realm, declaring that he had to come, that they were best friends, that Nie Mingjue was expecting him, even though up until that point their relationship had been little more than the vague obligated friendliness of two heirs of allied sects, especially ones with several years between them in age. He’d refused to leave until he was sure Nie Mingjue was all right, and ever since then, Nie Mingjue had taken their friendship as seriously as he’d ever taken anything.

And then there was Meng Yao –

He didn’t want to think about Meng Yao.

Everything that had happened with Meng Yao had made him more cynical, untrusting, less optimistic than before – he had truly liked Meng Yao, beyond merely respecting or valuing him. Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought of him merely as a competent deputy or even as one of his precious Nie sect disciples, but as a true friend, and he had tried to make that as clear as he could given the positions fate had put them in.

He had known, of course, that there would always be the issue of power between them, staining each and every one of their interactions; there were texts aplenty that spoke of the inherent loneliness of authority, the way that no one could ever really forget which one had the power of life and death over the other. And yet he had tried so very hard to give Meng Yao a sense of security despite that inherent imbalance, to give him sufficient funds and personal authority to carve out some autonomy within the sect, the freedom to leave it if that were what he desired, and also space so that he could determine how he wished to present himself to the world.

He’d known, too, of the insults Meng Yao faced, through no fault of his own. How could he not? But he had made clear to Meng Yao early on that he would interfere in his personal affairs only if asked, stressed that Meng Yao was welcome to ask no matter who was on the other side, and then he’d backed off. If he wanted to be a friend, he had to give Meng Yao the right to decide on his action.

And then, he supposed, Meng Yao had decided.

Nie Mingjue had seen Meng Yao’s true colors that day, a chance meeting that ruined everything for them both – Meng Yao’s plans, his dreams. Meng Yao had not been prepared to be caught, and not planned out his excuses ahead of time, and in scrambling to construct one that might serve had accidentally let the curtain drop on the process he used to create them.

That’d been the problem, really. To learn that everything between them had all been a sham designed to cater to his preference – that the very personality that he had allowed into his heart was nothing more than a means of manipulating him for Meng Yao’s advantage – that his Nie sect had been used as if it were nothing more a stepping stone aimed at the Jin sect…

The worst of it was that he thought he probably would have liked Meng Yao anyway.

Nie Mingjue tried to be righteous, but he was only human – he would have promoted Meng Yao if he’d been only competent, competent and selfish, selfish and vicious and ruthless, and might even have befriended him regardless, but it had broken his heart to grow love the kindness and gentleness and righteousness that reminded him so much of Lan Xichen only to learn that it had all been a lie.

The war had been brutal, and there were weeks where the entire army’s morale seemed to depend entirely on Nie Mingjue being some sort of war god, undefeatable and untouched. There had been no room for a man that wanted to shed tears for the men he’d lost in the victories he’d won, that empathized with the war-ravaged innocent lives that he could not afford the time to help more, who was tormented by nightmares filled with blood and memories of still worse – he had needed a friend, someone he could trust and rely upon, and Meng Yao had taken advantage of that weakness.

He’d done it deliberately.

It’d been easy enough to follow his traces now that Nie Mingjue knew to look: the people who had answered questions about him, the inciting incidents that had allowed Meng Yao to accidentally come into his path. Meng Yao had come prepared, as he’d always come prepared, and he’d managed their growing friendship as efficiently as he’d managed his duties as Nie Mingjue’s deputy.

Meng Yao had hurt him, doing that, and he had never apologized, not really, not in any way that mattered. Worse, he’d kept right on with the stupid pretense that Nie Mingjue already knew was a lie, insisting on treating him like an outsider that could be deceived, all smiles filled with daggers instead of finally letting down his guard and showing who he really was at last – he still didn’t respect Nie Mingjue enough to trust him with actual friendship, not even after they’d sworn brotherhood.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t really held out much hope for anyone else, after all that.

Even when Nie Huaisang had asked him what would happen if he fell in love with his husband, when they’d been discussing his marriage to Wei Wuxian, he’d more or less shrugged it off – lust was easy enough, for him. As for love…

Love was love, uncontrollable and untamable and unpredictable. It would happen whether he wanted it or not, so why worry in advance?

Perhaps he should have worried.

Perhaps he should have reflected on Wei Wuxian’s effortless charisma, his causal but often justified arrogance, the smile that always reached his eyes in the way the now-named Jin Guangyao’s never did and perhaps never had, his overwhelming desire to do the right thing no matter how unpopular or how much he would have to sacrifice for it. Or perhaps instead he should have reflected on Lan Wangji’s steadiness and faith, his steel-bright sense of righteousness that reminded Nie Mingjue a little of Baxia, unbending and inexorable, the hints of humor hidden deep within his solemnity, the awkwardness of the youth he remembered disappearing into the elegance and poise of the man.

Perhaps he should have thought about all of that when he offered to marry them, and they him, because now they trusted him.

Not just the trust imposed on him by virtue of his role as Sect Leader Nie, which was his responsibility and his burden to bear, but personal trust. They turned to him first, before all others, sought out Nie Mingjue and not anyone else because he was Nie Mingjue, their future husband, and because they did not want to lie to him even by omission.

Other than Nie Huaisang – who hadn’t had much choice in the matter – no one had ever put him first just because they wanted to. His Nie cousins and disciples were bound to him by duty, Lan Xichen had his sect to consider, and Meng Yao had his ambitions…

He liked how it felt.

He liked to be trusted, and to feel that he could trust in return.

He liked them – he liked the way they unabashedly watched him as he forged the base for Wei Wuxian, a process that was both strenuous and complex, a matter of carefully trained skill and even more carefully deployed spiritual energy. They had been especially delighted to discover that he preferred to do his forging shirtless because of the heat of the flame he was using, relying on his cultivation to guard him against any sparks that might fly.

He liked the way they blushed when he spoke to them, he liked the way that they liked him, he liked –

Nie Huaisang was right. He really was good-for-nothing when it came to romance.

“I haven’t yet told Huaisang the full truth behind the cultivation of the sabers,” he said to them, dismissing all his thoughts as unhelpful. So what if he liked them? He was going to marry them – now would be the stupidest time of all to start pining, especially for something he would very shortly have. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from doing so as well, at least for a time.”

“How can he not know?” Wei Wuxian asked, chin on his hand. “You said he cultivated his golden core using the Nie sect’s traditional technique. Surely comprehension is an invaluable part of mastering a subject?”

Fancy words, coming from someone who had very obviously been devoting the last shichen to comprehending the mysteries of Nie Mingjue’s ass.

Not that Nie Mingjue minded.

“Comprehension aids in mastery, but it is not required,” Lan Wangji noted, logical as always. “Instinct is a different teacher, but no less worthy. Is there a reason you haven’t told him, Mingjue-xiong?”

“It would only cause him pain, and I have no stomach for that,” Nie Mingjue admitted. “And to be frank, it always seemed, well, unnecessary. Huaisang has never learned anything through comprehension – sending him to Gusu was a fool’s errand –”

“Only if the goal was for him to learn something about cultivation, politics, ethics, or etiquette,” Lan Wangji said, his voice a little dry. “As destination for an aspiring painter or poet, however…”

Nie Mingjue’s lips twitched, and he didn’t deny anything.

He’d always spoiled his little brother. He always would.

Instead of answering, he turned his attention back to his forging, letting the voices of his two brides-to-be wash over him as they lightly debated the artistic merits of the Lotus Pier against the Cloud Recesses – Wei Wuxian not even bothering to try to defend the Yiling Burial Mounds beyond a mention of how it was very interesting from a certain aesthetical perspective – as he shaped the metal on the forge.

Forging was a basic skill in Qinghe, with smithing of all sorts being one of their main exports alongside the meat and animal products his sect was still so strongly associated with, but spirit-forging – the creation of a spiritual weapon, a living weapon – was a rare skill, typically reserved for those members of his sect that devoted themselves to it entirely. Nie Mingjue had become enamored of it when he was younger, and it was one of the very few interests that he had managed to preserve after becoming sect leader. He had missed it very much during the war, when it was too dangerous to take his attention away for the time it took to complete a full weapon, and it wasn’t exactly something that could be done out in the open where everyone could see.

This particular type of spirit-forging, creating a channel capable of manipulating a cultivator’s qi, wasn’t generally done for outsiders at all, in fact, though that was a rule Nie Mingjue had a bad tendency to break.

He was still getting dirty looks from any number of his cousins for having gifted Meng Yao with a hairpiece that could filter an opponent’s qi to help him bear or block a blow from a stronger man – that had been before Meng Yao had left for the Jin sect and Langya, a farewell gift of well-wishing. Back then, Nie Mingjue had still had his illusions about Meng Yao’s character, had still foolishly hoped that he might come back one day once he’d seen Jin Guangshan for what he truly was, had not yet realized that Meng Yao knew perfectly well what Jin Guangshan was and still wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything Nie Mingjue could give him.

Still, even Meng Yao hadn’t been allowed to see him actually making it – even Lan Xichen had not, and he had several pieces in his collection that had come from Nie Mingjue’s hand.

But neither of his sworn brothers were marrying into his sect, while his brides were, and he could think of no other way to repay them the trust that they had put in him than by trusting them in turn.

Do you think I’m being a fool again? he thought at Baxia, who he had placed into the stand he had made for her, appropriately placed to watch as he forged.

The saber spirits did not naturally speak as humans did, shaping feelings into words, but after enough time and cultivation, they were capable of the sorts of reactions that might be deciphered into something not unlike a response if one were creative about interpretation.

Finally paying attention to me, Baxia hissed at him, sounding smug, and Nie Mingjue refrained from rolling his eyes only because it might cause his brides to ask questions he wouldn’t be able to answer without sounding like he’d gone mad. The new saber will be good this time.

I’m not making him a saber –

For you it will always be a saber, she said, and a shiver went down his back. She was not talking about the metal beneath his hands. You do not value anything else. All metal contains impurities: last time it was too brittle, shattering at the first blow. This time it will be better.

There are two of them, you know, he told her, feeling a little helpless – everything was so clear-cut to a saber spirit, everything split into black and white, good and evil, and sometimes he thought it would be so much easier to live like that. I’m not just marrying one.

Xingyun and Liushui can be wielded apart, but they are better as one; it was not greed that drove your cousin to pick them both.

Nie Zonghui’s dual sabers, the moving clouds and flowing water – he supposed in the world of sabers that was the closest precedent for what he was doing with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure any of the saber spirits actually understood the concept of marriage, or indeed of the notion of sexual reproduction, much less political marriages between pairs that couldn’t reproduce. But then again he wasn’t sure Baxia was wrong in her analysis, either: both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were men that could kill as easily and indifferently as the whistling wind and would if they were badly handled – as vicious against evil as any Nie saber, and as beautiful.

He would have to prove himself worthy of being called their husband.

He would have to –

“What are you doing?!” someone shrieked.

Sect Leader Jiang is here, Baxia helpfully told him far, far later than would be helpful. She’d kept it back from him deliberately, the troublesome little minx, indifferent as ever to all things that did not rise to the level of evil in her mind. When you’re done calming him, maybe we kill something?

Sect Leader Jiang’s appearance during the war had usually heralded a battle; she’d gotten accustomed. He’d have to train her out of the association.

I’m not going to spoil you right after you played a trick on me, he told her.

“Is there something you need, Sect Leader Jiang?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the metal in front of him. The spiritual part of the forging was done, at least, or else he’d be angrier at his sect disciples for allowing an outsider in while he was working.

He suspected Nie Huaisang might have had a hand to play in that.

“Yes!” the man bellowed. “A fucking chaperone! Ever heard of it?! Or does the Nie sect believe that swanning around half-naked is an appropriate measure of preserving your bride’s reputation?!”

Baxia cackled in his ear, and he sighed and put the metal down; it was basically done anyway. It wasn’t much to look at yet – a mere circle of metal small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, but layered many times over with spiritual arrays and qi mixed in with the metal and Wei Wuxian to the point that it all but glowed to his senses with the feeling of him, intimately understood in the way only a creator could.

He’d have to make another one for Lan Wangji, too. He couldn’t wait to compare them.

“There have been guards outside the door at all times,” Lan Wangji said, but he sounded embarrassed, and Wei Wuxian’s little huff of surprise made clear he hadn’t even realized that much. “You have my apologies regarding the impropriety, Sect Leader Jiang. It was my fault.”

“Your fault?”

Nie Mingjue couldn’t fault Jiang Cheng for the surprise in his voice: Lan Wangji was truly the last of them that might be expected to violate the rules. Indeed, Nie Mingjue had known the matter to be urgent merely from the fact that Lan Wangji had brought Wei Wuxian to him in the middle of the night when he ought to have been asleep, and he himself had fallen back into the habits of war, when only dealing with the crisis was important, nothing else, and all social norms could simply be ignored.

If he’d been thinking, it wouldn’t have been an issue to resolve. Really, he should have just called some old lady of his sect with impeccable credentials and absolutely no hearing to sit with them.

Still, they were engaged, the date set and everything signed – the only remedy for impropriety of this sort was marriage, and they’d already agreed on that, so the only thing they’d lost was face.

Assuming that Jiang Cheng would ever let it be known that this meeting had occurred without him being present, of course.

“Come out night-hunting with me,” he said, already sighing internally at how this wasn’t going to help Baxia’s association of Sect Leader Jiang with fun in the slightest, and three eyes turned to stare at him. “Sect Leader Jiang only. You’re right – I was disrespectful in permitting myself their company without appropriate supervision, for all that I vow to you that I did not lay a finger on them. Allow me to make it up to you.”

“Do you know how long I flew to get here,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, but Nie Mingjue had an eye for people: he wasn’t tired at all, full of nervous energy and adrenaline; a hunt would be just the thing to get it out. “Fine. Let’s go. Right now. Because this whole thing? Never happened.”

Nie Mingjue nodded in agreement. “Once it’s cool, it’s yours,” he told Wei Wuxian, nodding at the circle of metal. “Master it as soon as possible, and then we can discuss what form you’d like it to take. I have some ideas.”

In fact, he’d gotten a new one just now, looking at Jiang Cheng. Zidian spent most of its time as a ring, deceptively simple, and only sometimes became a whip. It, too, was a spiritual weapon, an ancestral one – someone had once forged the core of it the way Nie Mingjue had forged this new one, still unnamed.

A ring was the universal symbol, representing the sky and the earth, and it was near to the fingertips, which were tied directly to the heart – one of the main channels of cultivation. There was a reason swords and sabers were held in the dominant hand, and Zidian worked on the same principle; if Nie Mingjue made Wei Wuxian a spiritual weapon that functioned as a channel for the resentful energy he now cultivated and tied it there, he could use the ring as a connection between himself and any other object he might choose.

Chenqing, for instance – or even Suibian.

Nie Mingjue thought Wei Wuxian would like that.

He put back on his robes and swept out the door, Jiang Cheng behind him.

“You’re lucky it was me that found you,” Jiang Cheng told him as they went out to the back mountains to find something worth hunting – and there was always something worth hunting there. The Nie sect made sure of it.

“I am,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Not everyone can be trusted to keep secrets.”

Jiang Cheng had been about to continue complaining, probably about how he (unlike others) wouldn’t feel the need to stab him or shame him for being alone with his brides for too long, but the unsought-for compliment immediately tripped him up the way Nie Mingjue hoped it would.

After a few stunned moments, Jiang Cheng huffed. “Yes, well,” he said. “Wei Wuxian’s my shixiong; my Jiang sect couldn’t bear to have it said that he was badly raised. I’ll keep your secret.”

“Thank you.”

“I won’t even ask why both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian turned bright red when you said you hadn’t laid a finger on them.”

Nie Mingjue coughed, glad that he wasn’t inclined towards blushing himself, and ignored Baxia’s cackling to incline his head at Jiang Cheng, conceding the point.

“You’d better behave better in the future, though,” Jiang Cheng said, looking pleased with himself for having scored a point. “I should hope that you can hold off a little longer. It’s not even that far away, now!”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, and his heart felt full. “No, it’s not.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him, and Nie Mingjue grinned at him – they’d become something like friends during the war, Jiang Cheng seeking him out as the only other person who might understand his situation and be willing to give him advice on all the things his father had not thought to teach him.

Nie Mingjue had shared all the things he’d wished he’d been told back when it had been his turn to take the heavy role of sect leader too young and unprepared, a difficult and unpleasant conversation that had nevertheless felt good when it was over.

Perhaps it had been that connection, however slight, that had given Jiang Cheng the confidence to come to him with his bizarre request that he marry his shixiong – to choose to trust Nie Mingjue once again, and in doing so give him more than he had dared to dream he might have.

Feeling unusually pleased with life, Nie Mingjue reached out as he rarely did and patted Jiang Cheng on the back, feeling as he did the warm spark of his cultivation, passionate and almost – strangely familiar.

As if he’d felt it before, very recently.

“So tell me,” he said, throwing the puzzle to the back of his mind for the moment. He was acting as host, and night-hunting could be dangerous no matter how familiar the environment; he could figure it out later. “I take it that you’ve been the one that’s been providing Wei Wuxian with spring books?”

“There was only one!” Jiang Cheng howled.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jin guangyao #meng yao #special mention #my fic #my fics #pastime with good company #this chapter is a fifth of the entire fic so far #but NMJ wouldn't stop being introspective #oh well

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crossdressingdeath · 4 years

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Okay, rant time. Someone on mxtxconfessions said they didn’t think JC was that tragic, and there was someone who responded who started out strong, pointing out that losing his entire clan is actually pretty tragic, and how the Wens tortured him, but then went ahead and said that he had no idea WWX had given him his golden core, and how JC now had a broken relationship with his brother, which was apparently really tragic, as if JC himself didn’t ruin it, which makes me so mad, because one, WWX also lost all those things, and suffered even more, and two, can we stop portraying WWX and JC’s relationship as something sad? Leaving each other is the best thing they could’ve ever done, and it made me happy that it happened, but this fandom does not agree with me. Also, again, JC was not alone during all of this! WWX was at his side experiencing this things too! Why are these people forgetting that? Also, the worst thing that happened to him was losing his golden core, which was probably the only thing that affected him, as he was completely fine after he got it back. Yes, he had trauma, which is horrible, but I’m tired of fans overplaying it, and acting like his entire life was just so so sad, when he was actually one of the luckiest characters. He has wealth, privilege and status, and no one can say anything against him. And don’t even get me started on the whole ��hE hAs No FrIeNdS’ argument. He has no friends because of his shit personality. He doesn’t have a wife because of his shit personality. You make friends by being nice, not by being mIsUnDeRsToOd, and cannically torturing people! Also, him doing one good thing for WWX doesn’t automatically make him a good brother. Honestly, I’m surprised WWX didn’t have a more platonic version of Stockholm Syndrome because of what JC has done to him. Also, how JC speaks to WWX is a very well-known tactics abusers use, to guilt their victim! More people need to speak up about that. Also, if y’all are so mad about the core transfer, start writing fics with WWX not giving up his core to JC, and make it seem like actual canon. Wait! You can’t, because JC wanted that core! He wants it so fucking bad, and that’s why he hates it! Also, JC stans need to stop with the whole-victim blaming! Like, shit, because of those stans, it makes me want to dump JC in a ditch, and let him rot as d!e there.

Wow, this got out of hand.

Honestly? Given WWX’s habit of insisting that everything JC does to him is justified even when it’s things like calling him a traitor to the sects and leaving him to die, I think if he’d stayed with JC much longer he very well might have ended up with something similar to Stockholm Syndrome. After all, if I’m remembering right one of the signs of that is the victim thinking their captor is being kind because they’re not as cruel as they could be. That certainly sounds like Yunmeng bros’ dynamic to me.

JC’s life was sad. He lost his home, his parents... it sucks. I’m not going to say he hasn’t been through a lot of shit, because he has. But the thing is, MDZS has a very strong thread of tragedy running through it. Everyone’s life is sad in this! Especially in the flashbacks! WWX lost everything JC did and more; LWJ’s mother died when he was young and his father died when his sect was burned to the ground, not to mention the love of his life dying horribly and leaving LWJ as almost the only one in the world who mourned him instead of celebrating his death; one of LXC’s dearest friends killed the other and was killed in turn by LXC himself, along with the aforementioned parental death; NHS’s brother died horribly right in front of him, killed by someone NHS trusted and loved like a second brother, and he gave pretty much his entire adult life over to revenge; JL’s parents both died when he was a baby and then as a teenager he learned that the man who raised him who he loved dearly had a hand in at least one of their deaths and did a bunch of other horrible shit besides; and that’s not even getting into the Yi City arc... Everyone suffers in this story. One of the major running themes, though, is that you cannot let that suffering make you cruel. Think of XY, who wiped out a sect over a finger; think of JGY, and everything he did. Their atrocities were fueled by their suffering, and the narrative makes it very clear that this is not okay. The narrative makes no attempt to justify or handwave the things JC does as not that bad because he was sad, because that’s not a justification. JC did terrible things. He shouldn’t get out of atoning for them because he had a hard life; the only reason he can is because an accident of birth gave him the power and status the major villains could never have. JC’s situation is tragic, but the kind of tragic that’s only a tragedy because those involved chose to make it that way. JC could be surrounded by people who love him, he could do so much good, he could fight to keep anyone from suffering the way he did again. Instead he wallows in his suffering, brings it down on anyone he doesn’t like, drives everyone who might have stood by him away. Whether he can see it or not, JC is alone because he chose to be.

(And yeah, isn’t it funny how there are no fics where WWX keeps his golden core and JC loses his and remains reasonably in character? Wonder why that could be. It can’t possibly be that even the most hardcore JC stans can’t find a way to make that setup work, could it?)

#mdzs #cql #grapehate #anon #asks

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aspiratixxn · 4 years

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Ink spills on your skin (1/?)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None at the moment

Summary:

If the perfect blank canvas walked in, wouldn’t you want to paint it too? Or in which one Wei Wuxian colors the entire world of one Lan Wangji.

Inspired beautifully by @eledsart‘s Tattoo Artist WWX drawings!

[Link to AO3]

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Wen Qing is going to kill him.

Look, when you’re friends with Wei Wuxian this long you learn all his quirks and habits, including the one where he gets up barely five minutes before opening and comes barreling around corners like a bull in Spain. She’s seen him skid right into walls with how fast he’s going, tumbling over himself and popping right back up with that megawatt smile still pasted on his face. But sometimes, especially when it’s this important, you’d think he wouldn’t be late.

She’s carrying A-Yuan in her arms, bouncing him up and down as he dozes off. Wei Wuxian is lucky that she adores A-Yuan’s little toddler face but mark her words, Wei Wuxian is going to pay for making her wait. She’s waiting in front of the shop, not open yet. It never opens before noon, since the gods themselves would not be able to drag Wei Wuxian out of bed.

Last night, he had requested (begged) with his big puppy eyes for Wen Qing to take A-Yuan, just for the night because he was going to be up working and he didn’t want A-yuan to be kept awake by his paper shuffling or his bone popping. Bones don’t pop, she said, but agreed anyways. Besides, Wen Ning was begging too with his own big puppy eyes behind Wei Wuxian and she wasn’t so cruel as to say no.

But now it’s time for her to get to her own work and she taps her foot, rolling her eyes when she finally spots him sprinting down the street like he’s going for the olympic gold. Another thing she’s learned about Wei Wuxian is that he’s really good at dodging obstacles, weaving over, under and around people and their items. Someone shouts as he barely misses them. Wen Qing is starting to think maybe she can get to her appointment with her professor on time when she watches him crash straight into someone else, sending a whole flurry of papers out of their arms and into the air.

She sighs, pulls out her phone and emails her professor.

Wei Wuxian has the worst luck. He’s always managed to get into trouble, whether he was looking for it or not. He always liked to say that trouble was looking for him and Wen Qing would smack him over the head with her notebook. But man, this is probably the worst since he can see Wen Qing in her knee-length red cardigan, impatiently bouncing his ward on her hip. He knows she’s got an appointment and he’s going to be really sorry about this later. Should’ve been more careful, he thinks as papers flutter and the person he bowled over sits up. “Sorry! So sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going! Well I was but then again I was going like seventy three miles an hour and I didn’t mean to bump into you I’m so sorry again,” he’s babbling a little but he can see the exasperation in Wen Qing’s face as she pulls out her phone and he’s scrambling to pick up sheets of paper, collecting them in a haphazard pile in his arms with corners sticking in every direction. Most of the sheets aren’t even facing up probably but he’s really got to go. Once he’s acquired most of them on the ground near him and has done a quick sweep around to make sure he hasn’t missed any, he holds them out and sheepishly smiles. “Sorry again, I didn’t mea-”

So here’s the thing about Wei Wuxian. He is many things. Troublemaker, chaos creator, absolute fucking moron. Brilliant designer, inventor and artist. He is also, now, in love.

His jaw drops as does the volume of his voice, an awed whisper. “Holy shit you’re so fucking cute.” And it’s true, an angel in all their radiance has descended and blessed Wei Wuxian with an adorable fucking person.

Said person looks like they’ve swallowed a lemon with their sharp eyes and pursed lips and yet still, he is captured by the hazel gold that gleams in the sun. He could sit for hours and count the flecks in their eyes that dance as they shift to collect more papers with their long fingered hands, elegant in a way that Wei Wuxian could never be. The slope of his broad shoulders held high, the thickness of his thighs that were pressed against the formal black of his slacks. And his hair, a bit fluffy. Wei Wuxian wonders if he could run his hands through it, it looks so soft.

“Shameless.” He’s broken out of his dream by a tight voice as the person finishes collecting their papers and stands, compelling him to stand as well, still holding a pile of papers. Mouth slightly agape in how beautiful that one word sounded. Head filled with thoughts about how his name might sound, formed by those lips. The man takes the stack of papers with a small huff, glaring once more at Wei Wuxian and then he strides past. He smells like sandalwood and bergamot.

Wei Wuxian is many things and as of this moment forth, he is also a lovestruck idiot.

“Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing’s irritable voice breaks him out of his daze and his face falls. Aw, shit . A-Yuan’s big eyes brighten and he reaches his little toddler hands out, wanting his Xian-gege to pick him up even as Wen Qing bounces him. She, on the other hand, does not look as cute with a glowering frown that makes Wei Wuxian’s entire soul shrivel up a little. If looks could kill.

He sprints the last distance, apologies pouring from his mouth again. He’s said sorry seventy three times today and it hasn’t even been an hour since he woke up. That’s got to be a new record. “Wen Qing, you, light of my life, are the only thing that keeps me grounded in this world so cruel.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m so fuc- uh, so sorry I’m late! I missed my bus and then it would’ve taken forever to arrive again so I kind of sprinted across like seven blocks? And then I ran into this absolute cutie-”

“I’m aware. I saw you.” He shuts his mouth with a blush that could reach the high heavens. “Now stop being a moron and take A-Yuan or my professor really will have my head.” She holds out her arms and A-Yuan already has his arms outstretched, making little grabby hands. Wei Wuxian takes the precious gift gratefully, shifting to perch A-Yuan on his own hip. He bows to her, another quiet apology as A-Yuan starts babbling off everything they did last night, from dinner to a movie to board games and coloring and magic tricks with Wen Ning. “I’ll be late tonight, Wen Ning will bring you guys dinner later today. And do not forget that you need to get milk from the store. A-Yuan was very upset we didn’t have any this morning.”

Wei Wuxian at least has the sense to look slightly ashamed of himself but he pops up just as quick with a salute. “Yes ma’am!” A-Yuan mimics him before dissolving into giggles, pulling on Wei Wuxian’s sleeves. “Do you want anything? Maybe some tiramisu? I can also make my classic double chocolate chip cookies!” A-Yuan lights up and though Wen Qing still has a sour look on her face, she nods. Her phone buzzes and she sighs, reaching up to pat A-Yuan’s head before bustling off and vanishing in the crowd.

“Xian-gege, Xian-gege! I want to play! Can I color on you again?” Wei Wuxian chuckles as he starts to shuffle around for his keys. “Ning-gege says he made lots of these!” He has to resist a shudder when A-Yuan’s slightly clammy hands start poking around his neck where wreaths of flowers and other tattoos crawl up. “And he said that jiejie made them too! Can they make some for me?” Fishing out his keyring, Wei Wuxian just laughs again.

“Maybe when you’re a little bigger A-Yuan.” That earns him a pout but soon enough it morphs into a look of wonder as Wei Wuxian unlocks the door and opens up his store. Yiling Tattoo was well known in the area for its incredible artists who were always fair with their price. Wei Wuxian was the only one who was there all the time (as the owner) but people whispered far and wide about the delicate lines Nie Huaisang painted or the more bold and contrasted work that Jiang Cheng marked. Jiang Yanli was also a commonplace sight though she had apparently retired since her marriage to THE Jin Zixuan, multimillionaire and heir to the Jin luxury goods empire. There was also the recently hired Xiao Xingchen, who had made a name for himself using intricate dot work and wandering the globe with his tools.

Setting A-Yuan down, Wei Wuxian gets to work flicking on all the lights and starting up the thermostat. He takes all the tools and sticks them into the autoclave. They’ll be ready when the shop opens, probably. Just in case, Wei Wuxian has always kept an up-to-date stash of disposable, sterile tools tucked away in the supply room. He puts A-Yuan up on the counter of the front desk (where Mianmian works) and pecks his cheek, sending the child into peals of laughter. “Be good while I clean okay?” A-Yuan nods but as Wei Wuxian turns to get the cleaning supplies, he’s stopped by a rather firm grip on his sleeves. “Mm? What’s up bud?”

“Wanna help gege.” Wei Wuxian might keel over and die right now with how adorable A-Yuan looks, cheeks puffed out and determined eyes. “Can I? Please?” Wei Wuxian wonders how in the world he ever got this precious little bundle of joy in his life.

“Mm, are you suuuuure? It’s hard woooooork.” Even sitting on the counter, A-Yuan doesn’t quite reach eye level so he has to crouch as he speaks, pinching A-Yuan’s cheek. “You don’t want to play a little?” But even so, A-Yuan isn’t deterred and shakes his head vigorously.

“Nu-uh! Wanna help Xian-gege! Pleeeeeease?” And who’s Wei Wuxian to turn down such an honest request.So he picks out the disinfectant and the mop and all the other cleaning supplies he needs to make this place as germ free as possible. He sets A-Yuan on the floor and crouches, lowering his voice to a stage whisper, “Okay, here’s the plan…”

It takes longer than usual to finish cleaning up but they finish before the store opens. Mianmian is the first to arrive, laughing as she watched A-Yuan delicately place the design images around the walls in the waiting area. She knows the drill, already prepared with so many activities for him. Today’s activity seems to be some sort of lanyard weaving or something, if Wei Wuxian’s eyes don’t betray him when he sees the spools poking out from her “A-Yuan bag”.

Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are right on her heels, arriving only a few minutes later. Nie Huaisang has a smirk on his face as he pulls out a coffee from behind his back. Caramel macchiato just like Wei Wuxian likes. He stows the cleaning supplies away first before taking the cup with a moan. “Nie Huaisang, love of my life!” Jiang Cheng snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Put a hand on him and you’ll lose it.” Wei Wuxian quickly jerks his hands back, feigning offense. Jiang Cheng should have a PhD in eye rolling, right up there with Wen Qing. He stalks off to go enjoy the coffee in the backroom they reserve for more private tattoos and piercings. Sighing, he sits and glances over the schedule of appointments on his phone. They have about half an hour before opening so he takes his sweet time sipping.

It’s a busy day as always. Jiang Cheng is working on a large piece that stretches across the whole back. Huaisang is doing mostly touch ups and walk-ins. And Wei Wuxian, well, he’s only got one appointment in the evening so he resolves to spend time designing and drawing up front with Mianmian and A-Yuan. She handles most of the admin work so he can sit back with his thick black notebook, bursting with all kinds of drawings. Mostly stylized though he does have a few that are more realistic.

The bell chimes and he looks up, expecting a customer or perhaps his shijie with a bowl of steaming lotus root and rib soup. Instead, his book flies out of his hand and slams into the counter and he pushes his chair back to stand and look at the face of the very angel who he had crashed into in the morning.

Accompanied by another man with similar features and a much kinder smile. Accompanied by Nie Mingjue. (“Ah, da-ge!”) Accompanied by Jin Guangyao (probably, Wei Wuxian doesn’t remember the Jins very well despite being family).

Wei Wuxian has a knack for names and faces but he swears up and down he would’ve remembered seeing these two brothers (?) before if they were friends with Nie Mingjue. He swallows, leaning so far forward over the counter that he’s inches from the tipping point. “So,” he smirks, eyes lidded, “what’s a beauty like you doing here?”

Behind him, Mianmian covers A-Yuan’s ears and snickers. Wei Wuxian is far too into his head to care though there’s no doubt that she’s going to rib him into the ether later. For his credit though, the angel just levels a cool stare and Wei Wuxian finds that he really doesn’t mind it at all. Especially when he notes that his ears are turning a gentle shade of pink.

The other handsome stranger sweeps in, saving his brother (?) the trouble of finding a real reply. His lips crest in a smile but his eyes dance with a mild threat and Wei Wuxian backs off, knowing there’s trouble to be had and for once not wanting to get into it. “We have an appointment. With Wei Wuxian.” One glance at Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao shows exactly how smitten they are with this pretty, pretty voice that floats melodically in a shop full of buzzing needles.

“Uh, that’d be me! You’re…” He glances down at the open appointment list on Mianmian’s computer. “Lan Xichen?” He receives a nod. Returning with a nod of his own, he quickly pulls up the appointment details. As a matter of fact, it’s not just Lan Xichen but apparently also Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. They’re getting matching tattoos? Wei Wuxian had never pegged Nie Mingjue as the type but there’s a first for everything he supposes as he prints the details out and sticks the paper into his notebook. “Well, follow me I guess.” He hopes the angel follows too as he takes them to the consultation room in the back.

Wei Wuxian has a process when it comes to his art. First, accept no walk-in that isn’t well thought out. Second, never ink on the first meeting without thorough discussion of every detail, including a sketch if it’s a simple design. Third, he will not touch other people’s work just like he would hope no one touches his own. Finally, the tattoo must be completed with a customer satisfied before he lets it go. Granted, this has caused some problems in the past with people who would stumble in drunk and demand something in his style without any care or consideration. And with a few disgruntled customers who thought they were getting one thing even when he went through the whole process with them from start to finish. It was always weird when someone was upset with their finished product when they had been the ones to okay every detail (with forms!) every step of the way.

The angel does follow though a bit slower. Gold eyes seem to flick every which way, taking in the organized mess that is the Yiling tattoo parlor. With Jiang Cheng’s grimace as he intensely shades and Nie Huaisang’s tongue poking out as he finishes the last delicate line on a camellia, it’s no wonder. Still, Wei Wuxian kind of wished those eyes would be watching him. Maybe they would be when he was working later.

The backroom is much quieter, with padding in the walls to block noise going in and out. He gestures at the chairs across the table and the four of them take a seat, the angel sitting a bit further in the back. Wei Wuxian takes his own seat and sets his book on the table, flipping open to a fresh page and popping the cap off his pen to take notes. “Alright, what’re we in for today?”

There’s a moment when the three exchange looks and Wei Wuxian feels like they’re arguing about who should speak. In the end it’s Lan Xichen who does it, though he seems a bit annoyed if the slight tightness in his voice is any indicator. “We were looking for something that could connect across motifs of nature.” Okay, kinda broad. Thankfully it looks like they’ve put thought into this as each of them pulls out a sheet of paper. It’s funny to see them side by side. Lan Xichen’s is folded so neatly it doesn’t seem human. Nie Mingjue’s is kind of crumpled, like he shoved it into his pocket without thinking. And Jin Guangyao’s is neat and messy at the same time, the corners and edges having taken a beating.

Wei Wuxian collects them and scans them with bursting concentration, taking his pen and marking up the pages without restraint. He can see Nie Mingjue twitch a little out of the corner of his eye but well, what’s paper for if not for ink? It seems like their motifs are centered around osmanthus or plum blossom flowers, colorful flames, and the moon hidden behind clouds. Okay, well, nothing too unusual. But this is going to be a pretty big project and Wei Wuxian chews on his lip as he compiles a list of things to consider and ask.

Thankfully (again), it seems like they already have a basic shape idea in mind as well as style, size and coloring. Wei Wuxian is so goddamn thankful that they really did think this through. It makes his life so much easier and within the hour, he’s already got a rough sketch which he shows off with pride.

It’s a circle of flames intertwined with osmanthus and plum blossom both, circling around the hidden full moon. He’s scribbled some rough details around the edge, indicating size and colorings. This piece isn’t his usual kind (it’s more up Nie Huaisang’s alley actually) but as they pore over the drawing, he finds himself getting more and more invested. There are small tweaks and details but it seems like overall they’re satisfied with the design. Jin Guangyao requests that the flames be a little more explosive and Nie Mingjue seems entirely caught up on the positioning of the flowers. Xichen focuses specifically on the moon but by the end of a long session, they’ve settled on a final design which Wei Wuxian will draw up later and send to them in its final form, without all the scribbles in the margins.

He pulls up a few forms and has them fill out basic information as well as consenting to the tattoo design and process. They will be charged at least partially upfront due to the size and complexity of the piece. Finally, they fill out details about where they want the tattoos and any final notes they want to be taken into consideration.

All this while, the angel has sat ramrod straight, watching with a level of curiosity that doesn’t show anywhere but in the gleam of his eyes. Wei Wuxian wonders what it might take for him to stop looking like a complete sourpuss. With the forms signed and returned to him, he collects them with the three papers they brought and puts them all collectively into his notebook. He stretches and stands, letting out a sigh. “That’ll be all for today. I’ll send over the final design within the next few days. Please feel free to make any changes but do be reasonable about them. We’ll set up another appointment with Mianmian and we can start inking when everything’s in order. Sound good?”

He’s met with three identical nods. Lan Xichen’s smile is brighter than the sun. Jin Guangyao is more reserved but his lips curl and he has that happy bounce in his step. Nie Mingjue even cracks a grin and ruffles Wei Wuxian’s hair on the way out. As he takes them back out to the front, Wei Wuxian notices that the angel hasn’t spoken once, nor does he seem to intend to. He’s ringing them up for the consultation fee and maybe his staring wasn’t quite as covert as he had hoped since Lan Xichen, when handing over his card to pay, also gestures to the silent beauty. “This is my brother, Lan Wangji. He’s here for… Emotional support.” That gets a snort out of Wei Wuxian that breaks out into full laughter as Wangji looks like a strangled cat. Lan Wangji, a name pretty enough to match. How would it taste in his mouth?

“Well!” He slides the receipt across for a signature, never breaking eye contact with Lan Wangji. “It was nice to meet you both, I look forward to your future patronage and then some.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Lan Wangji’s ears flare red that seem to crawl to his cheeks. Again, he speaks just one word in that perfect, beautiful voice of his.

“Shameless.”

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weeweewuxian · 5 years

Text

LWJ is perhaps one of the few characters I respect so immensely to the extent of him being worthy enough to be called a ‘role-model’. His ‘perfect’ character is actually built up with a lot of exterior influences that are not at first obvious to the eye. Those between WWX and him are perhaps the most obvious, as we see how WWX opens LWJ’s eyes to an entirely different world that is not so dull and deadpan as he thought at first.

At the very beginning, we see LWJ as a ‘perfect’ student. But that’s not entirely true---he is only ‘perfect’ because LQR says he is. But if you think more deeply, at first he is the exact one-dimensional character we all initially thought he was: good in everything he does, obeyed the rules, skilled in cultivation and his sect’s techniques, etc. He is perfect BUT only in LQR’s eyes, but LWJ isn’t really living a life of his own, he is just doing whatever he was told, meeting up to people’s expectations. He’s the very ‘ideal child’ a traditional Asian parent would want, which is wrong. You live for yourself, not for others. But young Lan Wangji did not know that at first, he’s bred to believe that he should live for his sect and his uncle’s expectation (to be ‘different’ from his father).

Remember the phrase ‘someone has to be the first to do it’. That WWX said at first? In the donghua, it carried on to LWJ who repeated it in front of one of his elders (where LQR miraculously supports him bc its LWJ despite being something that was originally from WWX). But there is a possible follow-up to this:

As the cultivation world gradually gets ruled by greed and power, MianMian was the first to stand up for herself and leaves her sect due to her disagreeing with her sect’s moral principles.

Shortly before LWJ saw her example and follows her without a word:

This really brings about the meaning that ‘someone must be the first to do it’, and then other people of similar interests would follow. It is sufficient to say that LWJ is really uncertain of the path he wanted to choose---he is not always a know-all, and as he grows up he gradually begins to doubt his role and the part he plays in this world. He wants to make a difference, and for that, he has to have power, authority, and influence, but this was not the kind of scenery he expects. It is a given he wants to stay out from a place as toxic as this, but he lacks the little bit of confidence to do so (because all his life he’s stuck to either his brother or uncle, to defy the cultivational world would mean putting him on the other side of those two), but MianMian was the one who gave him this bit of confidence that he needed.

This was the first instance of LWJ standing up for himself before he continuously does so in future and continues to defy the common ‘righteous’ standards if he thinks it’s impossible to comply with. This might not be obvious in the novel as we are seeing everything from WWX’s side, and it’s impossible for WWX to see what change took place in LWJ in those 13 years. But still, several hints were given out: JC sardonically saying that LWJ does not appear in meetings before WWX’s return. Which is strange, as the last time we saw a grand meeting took place through WWX’s eyes---the one where MianMian walked out---LWJ was present. it was as though ever since that time he walked out, he never came back until 13-15 years later.

In this part, it shows that he is also not naive. Because while WWX stands out, called the people out on their behaviour, is admirable, it’s not doing anyone any favour---they get angry, no one listens to WWX. These are all things LWJ have seen too. This is because this sort of ‘standard’ has already been so interwoven into society no one really sees it being anything wrong, and those who want too are too afraid to stand on a side that nobody is apparently supporting. It’s difficult to expect the world to change just because one person decides suddenly that what they’re doing are wrong. That’s why LWJ never interfered, even though he silently disapproves.

So LWJ finally decides, or realized, that he did not want that sort of authority or power or association if it means becoming like them. He’s decided that he would try to make a difference on his own, individually, instead of depending on others.

Additionally, in the donghua, it’s sort of shown that LWJ’s thinking had been diverging from his sect’s ever since he was 17 years old.

It’s not actually strange for Gusu Lan to be the one to send help to Yunmeng Jiang when they’re under attack. WWX gave us that bit of information that Yunmeng and Gusu were the closest to each other, only by 1-2 days away (If I remember correctly). So LWJ was simply sending help to his neighbours, and it might not necessarily be 100% for WWX, which LWJ thought was the right thing to do, only to be reprimanded by an elder of his sect (to which thankfully our cranky uncle LQR came to save his favourite), that he was ‘saving others but dooming themselves’.

And another part I think which is linked to this is the thing LWJ is famous for: “He goes where the choas is”. When he started going out on soditary quests to help with supernatural issues on ghosts and demons where big sects refused to help and small sects too powerless to help. He carries on this phrase of “someone must be the first”, and since LWJ always preferred to show his intentions through his actions, he begins this habit of his, in hopes that he could make a difference and that people would start following him just like how he followed MianMian.

And just who picked up on his habit...

MianMian who is now revealed to be Luo QingYang!

LWJ is what I would call a character I respect because he is ‘not pure’ as he’s seen death, suffering, and all sorts of disgusting sides of humans, but despite being a part of those he still remains pure and pristine in a sense. He’s had his family murdered, his body broken, his heart broken, and lost loved one throughout the series. Yet, at the end of it all, even when he’s lost faith in his sect, he still stuck with them. Even when he’s lost faith in cultivators, he stays away but still remained as part of that community hoping to make a difference. Even when he’s lost trust in society, he still does community service and helping people who might never have the chance to repay him, meaning he gains no benefit from it. At the end of it, despite having gone through things that make him ‘unpure’, he is still ‘pure’ in a way, seeing how he only beat up those 33 elders enough to make them leave him and WWX alone. He did not kill them. He could have gone to the Burial Mounds that live with WWX and die together (a foolish choice) but he did not, because his loyalty and place still belong in his sect, no matter how little faith he has in them now.

LWJ never stoop to as low as the other people who surround him, eliminating and killing whoever they think is a threat to them. He did not break and he did not waver. It is exactly how much he loathes their behaviour that the idea of being the same as makes him tries his best NOT to become the same kind of people he hates.

LWJ is more than a ‘jealous obsessive husband’ and a sex maniac. His character is not ‘flat’, considering he grows with each stage of his life, even though gradually.

P.S.: LWJ is probably only jealous of WN bc he personally heard WWX played Wangxian.mp3 for him. Which is a song LWJ made exclusively for WWX. I guess anyONE would be mad. Just imagine yourself giving your friend a gift you throw all your heart and soul in, only to find they had given it to someone else.

So I used an incredibly lengthy post to prove one point AJDASDASD, which is kind of embarrassing. But my point is: there are frankly a lot of points scattered across the novels that LWJ’s current personality is built by people around him---he observes, learns, and carries them on in himself, which eventually shapes him into Hanguang-Jun.

#lan wangji #mo dao zu shi

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azure7539arts · 5 years

Note

may I also request something mdzs related? that post about wwx going down lwj memory lane, may you write his reactions to lwj receiving his punishment, finding lsz, and maybe inquiry? your writing is really captivating! (and very angsty)

Thank you, anon! And, apparently, angsty is what I strive for in life lmao And yes, feel free to send in more asks. I’ll get around to them when I have the chance~

[Read part 1 (i guess?) here]

► Note:

• Bu Ye Tiancheng: Nightless City

• LuanZang Gang: Burial Mounds

• Yun Shen Buzhi Chu: Cloud Recesses in the English translation (or literally, land lost in the clouds, unable to be found)

As always, SPOILERS! SPOILER ALERT. PLEASE SCROLL AWAY IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS.

Wei WuXian didn’t think he was breathing.

He didn’t think he was breathing because the air felt leaden in his lungs as it sat like an ominous weight right in the center of his chest, just waiting to burst forth straight out of his rib cage.

He’d been trying to think, trying to piece together some sort of coherent thought or explanation or just anything at all, but all that he could come up with was a broken loop of why, why, why, why.

He understood why, but that didn’t mean he had to comprehend or accept it. He understood that Lan Zhan was a stubborn, headstrong man with a will of iron forged in the most searing of flames in the high heavens. He understood that once Lan Zhan loved, there was nothing or no one who could sway him otherwise (because, deep down, the six-year-old boy who resolutely sat on those stone steps to wait for his mother to open the doors for him was still there, still patiently waiting even then after all this time—and this was already more than enough evidence should anyone ever want to know exactly just how unwavering and unfaltering Lan Zhan could be once he’d decided that he’d give someone hold over his heart.)

Wei WuXian understood it all, but as it was, he didn’t understand why Lan Zhan just had to go to this length for him.

He had been trying in vain for what seemed like hours to stop the discipline whip from striking and cutting any more slashes into Lan Zhan’s already bloodied, torn up back, the wounds so deep Wei WuXian could see the sickening sight of white bone peeking out in some places underneath the shredded flesh. He knew there was no use to it—whatever remaining rationality screaming at him that this was just a memory of the past flashing by—but he couldn’t help it.

He had to do something when there were people were hurting the one person he loved most in the world.

By the end of it, Lan Zhan was bedridden for three years.

By the end of it, Wei WuXian couldn’t remember what his past counterpart had been doing during those three years up on LuanZang Gang anymore. All he could hear and see, taste and smell, were the tears and sweat and blood that shedded for him.

“Don’t go so fast,” Wei WuXian said into this quiet void of talking to himself, itching eyes watching as Lan Zhan, in a frantic panic, dressed himself and proceeded to ignore every unbidden wince of pain that he was pulling out of his own lips thanks to that series of hasty movements that were disturbing those barely healed wounds. The slashes had still bled sluggishly sometimes, even after three years. “Worry about yourself first.”

Those were futile words.

Lan Zhan had disappeared from Yun Shen Buzhi Chu that day and had brought himself—no matter the pain it took—to LuanZang Gang. To the one person who had directly and indirectly caused him all the hurt, beyond the physical sense, that he had been bearing for years and years on end.

But long before he had managed to drag himself there, the Wei WuXian of this bleak past had already been long gone from the world.

(Wei WuXian didn’t think he would ever forget the sheer desperation that had been on Lan Zhan’s face as he had looked around in search for any traces, any remaining traces at all, of the person whom he given everything he could to protect.

There had been none.)

And Wei WuXian wondered, numbly, what had kept Lan Zhan searching. Stubbornness? Despair?… Hope? It was hard to say, and in the meantime, Wei WuXian was trying his utmost best not to look too closely at his surroundings anyway. The broken pots on the ground, the makeshift houses razed to the ground, the just growing crops burnt and mercilessly squashed… The Wens had all died in this place along with him.

It wasn’t until Lan Zhan pulled a too thin, unconscious and feverish boy out of the hollow of a tree littered with all sorts warding talismans, that he could feel the coiled tension in the pit of his stomach relax incrementally.

A-Yuan had subconsciously clung onto Lan Zhan like a lifeline, and either too far gone or thinking that there had been no one around to witness it anyway, Lan Zhan had allowed a grief-stricken look to shroud over his face, and Wei WuXian could only cast his eyes out into the dark expanse of the starless night sky above, overwhelmed and exhausted yet relieved at the same time despite himself. Despite already knowing that Lan Zhan would eventually find this poor boy who had once called him Xian-gege and had now become the sole survivor of an entire family.

“A-Yuan ah…” Wei WuXian whispered, hand motioning in an attempt to try and stroke a hand through the child’s sweat and dirt matted hair that he could still remember to be so soft and tender. “You’re safe now. He’ll take good care of you.” Better than I could’ve ever done myself.

Wei WuXian thought he remembered where his soul had gone, after that sweeping raid on LuanZang Gang, but he wasn’t thinking about it. Instead, the sound of the guqin lingered with him, as much as it had done with Lan Zhan, almost everywhere, constantly, the hauntingly desolate notes wrapping around him like binding threads of gossamer. Spinning and spinning and spinning.

Lan Zhan had played Inquiry everyday (like he he had kept waiting for his mother to open the door to receive him into her arms everyday even though he had no longer come by to sit on the steps of her private quarters anymore after his schedule had gotten too irregular to keep up the habit.) He had played Inquiry every day, had gone to buy Emperor’s Smile whenever he had missed the bright boy of the past and his rich laughter too much, and had gathered every piece of Wei WuXian that he had still kept from long ago together to form what almost seemed like one last final breath of a life before had died out in a shriek of agony.

He’d held onto all of that, tucked them away for safekeeping, and continued playing that one song of Inquiry day after day without fail.

Wei WuXian looked at his husband, his hands ghosting over the too silent strings that was the hallmark of an unanswering soul, and wondered what would have become of them, of Lan Zhan, if Mo XuanYu hadn’t given him another chance at life.

(The idea of Lan Zhan, cold and alone and unable to move on from this almost terrifyingly encompassing love, love for a person—for all he had known—who was never coming back, made Wei WuXian shudder as the despair bubbled up from deep inside his chest and spilled over like spider lilies falling into the darkness.)

His limbs were cold, and Lan Zhan, just like that, was clasping Wei WuXian’s hands with his own his steady, warm ones, all the while blowing hot breaths onto the icy palms and kneading the underlying muscles for better blood circulation.

Lan Zhan allowed him his silence for a few long moments before cracking his lips open and saying, “It’s not your fault.”

“You told me that already,” Wei WuXian replied sullenly, head heavy with a pulsing pressure wedged right behind his eyes.

“It’s true.”

Wei WuXian pursed his lips and said nothing. His fingers were still stiff with cold.

“I…” Lan Zhan began again, and for a man of not many words, he was trying hard to get this point across. Because it was important. “I do not want there to be any sense of gratitude or apology between us.”

“That’s not—” Wei WuXian was in the process of shaking his head in denial when Lan Zhan levelled him a pointed look, one eyebrow slightly arching upward, and Wei WuXian clicked his mouth shut at that.

Lan Zhan sighed, the circular motion of his massaging thumbs moving steadily along Wei WuXian’s hands until they settled over inner, sensitive skin of his wrists now. And he tried again, no interruption this time: “I do not what that because everything I did, I did because they were right. No more.”

Meaning, Don’t feel grateful towards me when I was only doing the right things.

Meaning, Don’t apologize when I have no regrets.

Meaning, You were—are—right to me.

Because unlike his father before him who had had to lock both himself and his own wife, the love of his life, away because he couldn’t reconcile the conflicts he had felt over loving her so much even though it had been wrong and had gone against every teaching he had received since young, Lan Zhan knew that this love, to him, was right.

Wei WuXian was right, to him. For him.

“You told Jiang WanYin it was better not to dredge up the already bygone past, and this is the same.” Lan Zhan leant down, pressing gentle kisses over the pulse in Wei WuXian’s wrists. “We’re here now.” As in, what’s done is done.

Let’s enjoy the present.

And Wei WuXian closed his eyes, throat tight with the piercing of a thousand needles, but at the same time, he understood this. He comprehended what his husband was saying, and he agreed. The past was the past, and beyond that, it was already another lifetime for him, and if he kept living in regrets, even now that they had gotten married and had only just begun spending their lives together for the rest of their days to come… Then what was the point in all that suffering that they had gone through to be with one another? What was the point in all the pain that Lan Zhan had endured?

Gratitudes and regrets poisoned a relationship, and Wei WuXian should know this better than anyone else.

So he surged up and settled himself into his husband’s embrace, arms wrapping around him and holding him close. Never leaving. Never again.

“I love you,” Wei WuXian said, a genuine smile on his lips despite the sadness that was finally ebbing in his eyes. He was happy. Happy that Lan Zhan had gone out of his way and tried so hard to explain his thoughts to Wei WuXian, laying his heart out in the open like that, just so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding between them.

“Mn.”

(It was an almost terrifyingly encompassing love, but at the same time, Wei WuXian didn’t mind. His love was possessive, too, with the weight of too many losses and the stigma of a madness that hadn’t quite faded away even after crossing over lifetimes. And that was just how they were… They helped balance each other out and made themselves all the more stronger for it.

In the end, this was all that they had ever wanted or needed.)

#my writing #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wangxian #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #gdc #wei wuxian #lan wangji #answered #lmao I hope this was what you were looking for anon #Anonymous

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