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curiosity-killed · 4 years

Text

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

They don’t talk more of it that night and by the time they arrive in Lanling, Jiang Cheng has all but forgotten the conversation. He can feel the wards still tethered like a thumb and index finger around his left wrist, even from this far away. There’s no tug like Sandu or Zidian, just a gentle pressure. Wei Wuxian claps him on the shoulder as they separate before the opening and Jiang Cheng draws in a steadying breath before walking over to the other sect leaders. It’s hardly the first time they’ve split up at these official events, but it is the first time Jiang Cheng’s been alone at one. Before, his father had always been at his side when they met with other sect leaders and heirs. In the war, Wei Wuxian had dutifully attended all those strategy meetings, the obsidian blade at Jiang Cheng’s back. Now, he is acutely aware of his own youth as he greets Jin Guangshan and then Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen’s the closest to his own age and technically only became sect leader a few months before Jiang Cheng, but he’s been acting sect leader for so long that the title seems to fit as well as any robe. Jiang Cheng finds himself approaching Nie Mingjue instead.

“Chifeng-zun, Yunmeng Jiang thanks you for allowing us to host Young Master Nie this last month,” he says, saluting. “His presence was welcome.” The words feel awkwardly floral from his mouth, and part of him expects Nie Mingjue to laugh at his attempt at propriety. Instead, he accepts the thanks politely, if a little stiff. “Qinghe Nie has long valued our friendship with Yunmeng Jiang,” he says. “Our fathers trusted in one another, and as we return to peace, we would reaffirm that bond.” If all the rest of his life is to be spent trading polite formalities with men older than him, Jiang Cheng thinks he might run off and become a rogue cultivator after all. He’s never had jiejie’s grace nor Wei Wuxian’s charisma. Nie Mingjue huffs out a noise that’s somewhere between a grunt and a laugh as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Last time you and Wei Wuxian visited the Unclean Realm, he promised my second a duel,” he remarks. “He could come fulfill that promise now.” Surprise and hope twine through Jiang Cheng’s chest at the invitation. He doesn’t know how to say that Wei Wuxian will never fulfill that challenge now, but they can address that when they have to. For now, it’s a start, an opening to build the relationships they so badly need. “Maybe he and Huaisang can remember their forms together,” Nie Mingjue mutters. Swallowing, Jiang Cheng salutes quickly. “Wei Wuxian would be honored to learn from the Nie sect’s example,” he says. It isn’t wholly a lie, even if he doesn’t mean Wei Wuxian will be using Suibian any time soon. Wei Wuxian has always had a voracious hunger for knowledge, and they both spent a mortifying summer of their adolescence infatuated with Nie Mingjue the year Jiang Cheng turned thirteen. If nothing else, a visit would give Jiang Cheng a chance to tease Wei Wuxian relentlessly. “Da-ge, Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen greets with a smile, joining them. Nie Mingjue shifts subtly, opening the space at his side. “Zewu-jun,” Jiang Cheng greets. “I am looking forward to seeing Yunmeng Jiang’s archery firsthand,” Lan Xichen says. “I recall both Jiang-zongzhu and Young Master Wei made an impression at the last discussion conference.” Wei Wuxian was the one who made an impression at that conference, sailing into first as if he’d been shooting since he could walk. Jiang Cheng had been pleased to beat Jin Zixuan to second, earning his father’s hand briefly on his shoulder. “It will be good to see the competition in a friendly air,” Jiang Cheng says instead of that. “The competition will only be between your brothers, I think,” Nie Mingjue says. “I can’t remember the last time Huaisang touched a bow.” “Mingjue,” Lan XIchen scolds, fond. “You are too hard on a-Sang.” Nie Mingjue shoots him a skeptical look as if to ask which of our brothers didn’t even fight in the war? Jiang Cheng politely averts his gaze and doesn’t comment. He knows without needing it confirmed that Wei Wuxian has been practicing increasingly absurd trick shots with their shidis over the last couple weeks. Before the sects are announced, Jin Guangyao arrives to politely usher them to their seats, and Jiang Cheng sits feeling newly settled and a little more comfortable than he was at the start. He might even enjoy this after all. The sects process in, Nie then Lan then Jiang. Wei Wuxian walks at the head of their disciples, head high and already half-smiling. They’d wrestled him into a robe of bruised blue and black, still Wei Wuxian but clearly part of Yunmeng Jiang, and seeing him in front of their shidis, Jiang Cheng feels a surge of pride well up in his chest. This is his clan. This is his brother. His work, his struggle and triumph. He lifts his chin and lets the warmth suffuse him. He tries to keep his face when jiejie arrives with the Jin entourage, but he can’t help smiling a little at her. It’s just – a lot, all at once. This feeling, this sudden bloom of hope and tentative belief in the future. Their sect is going to be strong once again, and they’ll be together to lead it, and it will work out. He’d forgotten, in the years between his parents’ deaths and Nightless City, what hope feels like. He’d been running on survival all that time, the dagger-edge drive of necessity. There had been plans and expectations, yes, the steps along a path laid out by need. There had been none of this, this bright-lined smiling thing that buds tentatively in his chest. Then Jin Guangyao brings out his surprise. Tension ripples through the crowd like a contagion, hands tightening on bows and eyes widening at the Wen prisoners traipsed out. In his periphery, he sees Wei Wuxian step forward, tension running through him like a bow bent to its limits. He shakes his head slightly, quickly, and can see the fight on Wei Wuxian’s lips. They can’t afford a mess. “What is the meaning of this?” Nie Mingjue demands. There’s a rustle through the assembly, and Wei Wuxian eases back into line. “It’s only meant to be a challenge for the participants, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says with a reassuring smile. “These prisoners fought under Wen Ruohan against us in the war.”

Unease slithers under Jiang Cheng’s skin. The prisoners all wear Wen red, but they’re dirty, unkempt. Dirt and grime cover them and the spare patches of their skin that are visible are pale and gaunt. He swallows. Wei Wuxian has done trickier things than shoot a single arrow over someone’s head. Jiang Cheng knows his aim, can call up a dozen memories of Wei Wuxian shooting the small black pupil out of a high-flying kite’s eye. It’s not his aim that worries him. “These are prisoners, not props,” Nie Mingjue continues. “Just treatment requires they be treated appropriately.” “Nie Mingjue,” Jin Guangshan calls from his seat across the dais, “are you defending these people who killed your father?” It’s too late in the season for frost, but Jiang Cheng feels something cold and biting creep across his skin. His hands tighten into fists in his skirts. Jin Guangshan never fought in the war, barely lent any forces at all, but his has been the sect to surge into the gap left by Wen Ruohan’s fall. The Jin sect is powerful in a way none of the others are: its leader is older, more experienced; its citadel was never burnt or besieged; its forces barely suffered a dent in all the fighting. Jiang Cheng bites his tongue. “The man who killed my father is dead,” Nie Mingjue says. “As Lianfang-zun can attest. These prisoners belong in their camps, as you agreed, not out here as target practice.” He’s still seated, but there’s a thrumming tension in his broad shoulders and the stiffness of his back. “Perhaps it would be better to remove the prisoners,” Lan Xichen suggests delicately. Between Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue, he holds himself carefully poised, in a precarious balance between his sworn brothers. Jin Guangyao wears a nervous smile still, hands folded before him like a lifeline. “The Nie sect will not shoot,” Nie Mingjue declares. Jiang Cheng’s fingers tighten. “Da-ge—” Jin Guangyao starts, placating. “Lives are not playthings,” Nie Mingjue interjects, even. “The Nie sect will not compromise its principles for fanfare.” There’s a soft sigh beside Jiang Cheng, and Lan Xichen rises to salute Jin Guangshan. “Respectfully, Sect Leader Jin, it is against Gusu Lan principles to risk others’ lives impulsively,” he says. His voice is as mellow and gentle as ever, and Jiang Cheng almost misses the meaning underneath. Two sects are standing against Jin Guangshan, however politely. He hesitates, sprinting through calculations he hadn’t expected to ever do. He stands and bows. “Yunmeng Jiang respectfully recuses itself from the competition,” he says. For a moment, his torso still dipped in deference toward Jin Guangshan, he thinks there will be a fight. The cultivation world has stood in careful alliance since the burning of Lotus Pier. The memory of conflict is still too fresh, wounds still scabbed and not yet scarred. His heart gallops, wild and terrified in his chest. “Ah please, brothers, Jiang-zongzhu,” Jin Guangyao says quickly. “The competition was only a ceremony. Clearly all cultivators here are more than capable of the hunt. Let us just begin, yes?” It’s not an apology, not quite an admission of a mistake, but it’s enough to at least soothe the tensions rising around them. The sects disperse with quiet murmurs, that uneasiness still threading interstitial through Jiang Cheng’s ribs. He crosses the grounds to Wei Wuxian and their shidis at just a careful enough pace that no one could accuse him of running to his brother. “Well that was exciting,” Wei Wuxian remarks when he’s close enough.

The grin he breaks out is a little brittle, too much tooth showing, and his hand has curled tight around Chenqing. “We don’t need any fights breaking out,” Jiang Cheng warns. Releasing Chenqing, Wei Wuxian heaves a sigh and waves his hand as he turns toward the gates. His shoulders are a little stiff, but there’s none of that snarling anger Jiang Cheng saw in the war. Everyone will surely be on edge until the hunt is properly underway. The knowledge isn’t the reassurance he’d like it to be. “Yes, yes, I know. I’ll be on my best behavior, Jiang Cheng,” he says, shooting a taunting grin back. “Go on, don’t wait around for me. I’ll see you on the mountain.” He waves an absent hand back at Jiang Cheng in farewell. For a moment, as he passes under the shadow of the walls, black bleeds the blue from his robes and he is only a shadow, a sliver of night, walking away. Jiang Cheng reaches absently for his wrist, curling his hand around the tether of the wards. They pulse twice, a familiar heartbeat, and lie still.

#mdzs #the untamed #chen qing ling #untamed fic #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #my writing #nmj and i are NOT agreeing lmao

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ligninandink · 5 years

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Spirits Along the Edges of Memory

SUMMARY: Jiang Cheng will cast a balding spell on Wei Wuxian if he doesn’t move back to Lotus Pier after everything is said and done. Wei Wuxian, scared and bewildered at this oddly specific threat, finally gets to go home. Lan Wangji then promises to come visit often. So often, in fact, he kind of just drifts into terminal orbit around Yunmeng.

A.K.A. Wei Wuxian’s mischief and stubbornness is partly his need to exert some kind of control over his own life. Lan Wangji knows Wei Wuxian trusts him but how far does it go? He courts Wei Wuxian in the rainy season when nature spirits bless them with every step, during moonlit boat rides and fragrant night hunts where nocturnal critters serenade them.

(Also, no beta. Sorry.)

Part 01.

He can hear the rain hiss over the silence in his rooms. Once only a soft sprinkle it now came down in gossamer films, shattering against the baked shingles and gurgling along the rain chains around him. Hazy and comforting he allows it to lull him back to sleep. Maybe it will give him a chance to capture his elusive dream again.

Somewhere far away from here a long set of legs are carrying a lithe body through this weather. He imagines them slick with sweat and rain, the white layers embroidered with clouds clinging to each curve and hollow.

Would he use his qi to stay dry? Maybe he is floating on Bichen, just above the dove gray clouds swollen and moody like a woman in her last days of pregnancy.

"Wei-Gongzi," a tiny voice calls out.

He focuses lazily on the carved beams supporting the roof. There is a window just high enough on the wall for him to see a sliver of the lowered sky. He doesn't answer.

"Wei-Gongzi, there is a guest."

A feeling almost passionate enough to become something more coils itself inside his belly and his stomach tightens, pulling on his various puncture scars. All he wants is to luxuriate in not being harrassed, to take this time to recharge and resupply before he has to plaster on a smile for the outside world again.

Apparently that’s too much to ask for.

“Is Sandu Shengshou back already?”

“Wei Ying,” a deeper voice answers.

Oh. Wei Wuxian chuckles to cover up his startled shivers, “I was just thinking about you, Lan Zhan. Come in.”

Only the windows are opened to the elements, illuminating sections across the room. They gently swath Lan Zhan in shifting light as he drifts through each block only to stop, not quite crossing into the pillowy alcove where Wei Wuxian hasn’t bothered to get up from.

“Hm, what’s wrong? Come closer,” Wei Wuxian coaxes rolling onto his stomach, indecent in his undergarments. “I don’t bite.”

The room seems to dissolve away from him, leaving only Lan Zhan’s pale skin and white robes resembling a painting against the unlit shadows.

“I’m dirty from the road.”

Wei Wuxian hums again then calls out, “Mianmian, where is the bathing tub?”

“I will bring it--”

“Nonsense, put one of the layabouts on the pier to work.”

“Yes, Wei-Gongzi!” Mianmian chirps.

Something flickers across Lan Zhan’s supremely stoic brows and Wei Wuxian says, “Now, now, I even have a set of clothes made especially for you when you visit.”

“I see,” Lan Zhan says, smiling faintly. “Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian clutches his blanket to his chest in theatrical shock, “What, you’re not going to argue? Or say you’re sorry for imposing?”

“I thought I had an open invitation?”

Wei Wuxian grins, “Aw, you remembered.”

Lan Zhan watches with lowered lashes darkened by the rain until Wei Wuxian was within the same softly lit patch splashing in from the window.

“Hi,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Hello,” replies Lan Zhan.

---

“I miss you.”

Wei Wuxian nearly chokes on the tea he was tasting as he sets the table for a snack. Clutching the poor tea cup, he looks up to see Lan Zhan in low-slung trousers and a single inner robe hanging loosely from his shoulders. His mind blanks out.

Lan Zhan drops on the mat next to him, not across, but nearly on top of him and Wei Wuxian ties to scramble away. He trips on his clothes instead and can only soundlessly beg for mercy when Lan Zhan caught him, holding him in place by an immovable arm around his waist.

“H-Hey,” Wei Wuxian’s voice cracks. “Me, too. Ah, Lan Zhan...”

“Mmn?” Lan Zhan responds while carefully prying open Wei Wuxian’s fingers from the tea cup.

His hair is still damp, and Wei Wuxian’s dream is now sitting next to him with water trickling down his chest, turning the robe translucent. He can make out the Qishan Wen iron brand on Lan Zhan’s chest.

Wei Wuxian manages to croak, “Aren’t you cold?”

He’s steaming, is not the thought Wei Wuxian wants floating around in his head right now. Lan Zhan’s body heat is much higher than the surrounding humid air.

Lan Zhan looks at him and Wei Wuxian helplessly traces a bead of water curving down his face, “No.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian hears himself say, “that’s good.”

“I was only given this to wear.”

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian snaps out of his daze. How? Did he really forget something that basic? “No, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Yes, yes he did. The white outer garments with their accessories is still folded neatly in the carved sandalwood chest. He’d only retrieved the top tray which held the layers closest to the body.

“I’m so sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, handing over the missing pieces.

Lan Zhan graciously accepts, “I don’t mind.”

Well, I do. Wei Wuxian manages not to say that out loud. I can’t think with you like that.

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?” He pretends to be busy, mopping up the miniscule spills on the table.

“Will you help me with my ribbon?”

---

“There, I hope you like it,” Wei Wuxian says, struggling to hide his trembling hands.

Lan Zhan traces the long fall of hair over the carefully placed forehead ribbon then followed the subtle designs woven at his temple and gathered into his topknot. “Thank you.”

“Heh, you’re welcome,” Wei Wuxian says, plopping down next to him again. “It’s a secret but I used to help Shijie with her hair all the time.”

“Wei-Gongzi even helps Mianmian!” The little girl who escorted him in pipes up from the entrance. “My hair is so thick. It’s annoying but no one lets me cut it.”

“I would be very sad if you do,” Wei Wuxian says, waving her over. “And your mother will scalp me in retaliation.”

“I won’t let her!” Mianmian fiercely declares from behind the large basket of food. “You’re my master, I will protect you from everyone!”

Lan Zhan nods approvingly.

“Ah? How are you going to protect anything if you keep falling asleep during your studies?” Wei Wuxian says, taking the basket. “And Hanguang-Jun please don’t encourage her.”

Mianmian sniffs, “I am your first disciple! It’s my duty.”

“I have not accepted you,” Wei Wuxian points out.

“Yet!”

“Persistent isn’t she?” Wei Wuxian sighs at Lan Zhan.

“A good trait in a Cultivator,” Lan Zhan says with all the gravitas his title grants him.

“Are you two ganging up on me? How is that fair?”

Lan Zhan ignores him and watches Mianmian’s dedication to arranging the sweets just so before presenting them to him, “How are your mother and father?”

“They’re good! They’re somewhere in Baling right now but I asked if I can stay with Wei-Gongzi.” Mianmian says while carefully folding a couple of bamboo leaves into a bird and sat it next to Lan Zhan’s utensils. “For Hanguang-Jun!”

“Thank you,” he admires the little construct then blinks when it flaps its wings. “How clever.”

“Heh, Wei-Gongzi taught me,” Mianmian says, tossing her head in pride. “He says his paper puppets are going to be next if I can master this.”

“Mianmian,” Wei Wuxian raises a brow at her.

Mianmian looks up, “Oh, yes, thank you for the compliment! I also like what Wei-Gongzi has done with your hair. You look really pretty. I mean, you always look pretty but this style looks good on you.”

“I--” Lan Zhan, caught off guard, simply finishes with, “thank you.”

“Seal the rest and weigh it in the river to keep cold,” Wei Wuxian instructs and Mianmian bows in confirmation.

She salutes Lan Zhan and he acknowledges her before she leaves. “She’s just like her mother.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian smiles.

Lan Zhan lifts his cup, enjoys the fragrance then says, “If you don’t take her in, I will.”

“Lan Zhan, are you here just to steal my kids?”

“I thought you haven’t accepted her?”

“Taking on that kind of task requires reflection, you know,” Wei Wuxian takes a sip from his own cup. “It’s a lot of responsibility, of course I’m going to take my time.”

“Mmn,” Lan Zhan’s eyes sparkles in the light and Wei Wuxian glimpses the smile behind his cup.

“Wait, are you...” Wei Wuxian leans in, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “Are you teasing me?”

“I, Lan Wangji, do not know what you mean,” Lan Zhan solemnly states, settling into an even straighter position.

“Uh huh,” Wei Wuxian says, wincing in sympathy at what the other man has subjected his poor spine too over the years. “Anyway, how are Zewu-Jun and the kids?”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders slopes a little at the mention of his brother and Wei Wuxian felt immediately contrite, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, it’s fine. He’s doing better but is still in seclusion.”

“I see, I wish him...” Wei Wuxian trails off, not sure of what to say with everything that has happened between them.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “He will appreciate the sentiment.”

Wei Wuxian wonders if this is similar to what Lan Zhan had to go through when he was accused, judged and executed without a fair trial. Was it worse or better that Lan Zhan knew him so thoroughly that he never faltered in his support despite what Wei Wuxian had also done?

He stares at the feathery shadows cast across Lan Zhan’s cheeks, “Lan Zhan, thank you for coming.”

When Lan Zhan looks at him with eyes reflecting the shimmering rain Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches, and when he says, “I wanted to come earlier.” Wei Wuxian feels his face heat up.

He looks away first and clears his throat, “Well, you’re here now, unfortunately it’s raining or I would take you to all of my favorite places.”

Lan Zhan picks up one of the little sweets, watching as it wobble slightly before taking a careful bite. “Why let a little rain stop us?”

---

TBC

Also on AO3

#romance #wangxian #mdzs fanfic #don't look at me #I'm soft #when and where is the CQL emotional support group taking place? Please send me an invite #specifically if it’s about the Jiang siblings because CQL expanded on their relationship #now my feelers are CRUSHED over them #mdzs #the untamed #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mdzs live action

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