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#no one had known he was involved with the wens when he left so he's usually the one to go into town and sell their crops
robininthelabyrinth · 9 months
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survival (of a sort) - extra snippet - ao3
Wen Ruohan was not a man much given to self-reflection, let alone self-doubt.
On the contrary: the adjectives most often used to describe him had been ‘conceited’, ‘arrogant’, and – when the speaker was especially brave – ‘tyrannical’. From his youth to his adulthood, he had scarcely known a single moment of hesitation, never questioning that he was better than others, more worthy, more deserving. His vanity had known no bounds; he had seen himself as the sun in the sky, and he had never encountered anything that would cause him to question that assumption.
Right up until he had, of course.
There was something rather illuminating about being trapped in a lightless prison for years on end, robbed of sight and sound and company and even the ability to create, left crippled and as good as dead. He would have been dead, if it hadn’t been for Lao Nie’s particular madness about him. Certainly very few of the mad Sect Leader Nie’s other victims lasted very long once he’d fixed his anger on them.
It was a little ironic, actually. When he’d broken Lao Nie’s saber, Wen Ruohan had been lashing out in hurt, feeling that Lao Nie did not care for him as much as he cared for him; he had felt ignored, overlooked, taken for granted. He’d felt as though Lao Nie treated him with the same careless disregard as he treated everyone else, and it had burned at him, clawed at him, angered him past the point of reason. It was only after Lao Nie had gone mad that he finally learned the depths of Lao Nie’s affection – measured now, thanks to the qi deviation, by the equivalent depths of his hatred.
Wen Ruohan hadn’t wanted to lose Lao Nie, and it turned out that Lao Nie hadn’t wanted to lose Wen Ruohan either. And he hadn’t hesitated in ensuring that he wouldn’t: he had bound Wen Ruohan’s cultivation, imprisoned him in the deepest pit in the Unclean Realm, and cut off both his hands to boot, knowing that Wen Ruohan’s genius with arrays would otherwise let him find a way out as soon as he has the smallest possible opportunity.
If it hadn’t been for Nie Mingjue following in his father’s footsteps and finding him, Wen Ruohan would likely have lived out the rest of his life and then died in there. If it hadn’t been for Nie Huaisang’s (grossly underestimated) skill in painting an adequate depiction based on words alone, they might have all died there, victims of Lao Nie’s paranoia and blind reckless hatred. As it was, they’d cut it rather close…
The array had worked as intended, at least.
It had been, to be frank, a terrible idea. It had been a terrible idea when he’d mentioned it to Nie Mingjue, a terrible idea when Nie Mingjue had agreed to it, and an even more terrible idea when Nie Huaisang, tongue stuck out to the side in concentration, had painted it on the floor in front of the prison as a trap meant for Lao Nie. Wen Ruohan was not actually especially good at making traps, which were the specialization of lower-level cultivators whose primary purposes was the night-hunt – his focus had instead been on arrays that would make him stronger, bringing him closer to perfection, closer to divinity. But if you thought about it a certain way, divinity, too, was a way out…
Wen Ruohan hoped Lao Nie was happier now.
No – he was sure of it. Certainly the man could not be suffering any more than he already had been.
He was…less sure, when it came to himself.
Nie Mingjue had taken the throne of the Nie sect at once, as was only proper, and with it had assumed unquestionable control of nearly the entire cultivation world. Of the sects that had been conquered by Lao Nie, there was no one willing to risk finding out if Nie Mingjue, heir to Lao Nie and genius of the same cultivation style, was any less fearsome than his father had been, and the rest of the world was no more eager to discover that. The Jin had rushed to surrender as soon as they understood that doing so would no longer involve the execution of the entire family, as it would have under Lao Nie; thankfully Jin Guangshan was long dead, and there was no fear of them trying anything stupid. As it was, they would need years to repay the debts they’d acquired and rebuild their diminished treasury. The Jiang had kept their heads down, as they had these since the great massacre there, and the Lan had sent feelers out from their seclusion, hoping to revive old alliances now that it was safe to do so.
Old alliances, new fealty…
Nie Mingjue was a young man, not even at the prime of his life. His cultivation was powerful, and his face and body were handsome, particularly when he was wearing clothing that hid the scars. He held the world in one hand, and the sky with the other.
He had, to be frank, better options for dao companions than Wen Ruohan.
Wen Ruohan had never doubted himself before, but he found himself doing so now. He was no longer the powerful and terrifying man he had once been, rich and handsome, capable and influential. His cultivation had been damaged by his time in prison, and he found himself weaker not only in pure power but in ability to recover or improve in the future. His looks, of which he had always been quite proud, had suffered as well; his body was skin and bones, his hair shot through now with fine strands of silver, and even if you overlooked all the rest, there was always the matter of his missing hands, chopped off into unsightly stumps. And with his hands had gone the abilities of which he had been most proud…
Nie Mingjue had gotten him prosthetics, beautiful things made of jade, jointed like the bodies of dolls and carved with arrays to make them move through the manipulation of spiritual energy – to be specific, he’d commissioned Nie Huaisang to find someone who could build such a thing, and Nie Huaisang had dug up an enterprising young man in Yiling called Wei Wuxian, who had been more than happy to take on the job. His arrays were exceedingly clever, and Wen Ruohan had picked up something of a correspondence with him, a secretary taking dictation for him; the next set of hands were already under construction, and they both had every confidence that these would be much better. The present ones were too rough and too awkward, jerky and uncoordinated no matter how much precision he used in moving spiritual energy through them; they could pick things up, if he needed to, but could barely draw a straight line…Nie Huaisang had joked that they resembled Nie Mingjue’s own attempts at painting, and while it had been momentarily funny, it had pricked at Wen Ruohan’s heart in ways he could scarcely give word to. He had once been a very fine painter, better even than Nie Huaisang; to be reduced to the level of a Nie Mingjue was to fall very low indeed.
He didn’t even have a sect any longer.
His sons were dead; his closest kinsmen massacred; his generals long gone.
Those with his surname that had survived Lao Nie’s wrath had scattered into the dust, returning to their original surnames if they’d changed them, changing them to others if they’d been born with them. The largest group of them were currently surnamed Wei, after Wei Changze, Wei Wuxian’s father – finding that out had almost been enough to make Wen Ruohan stop writing to him. Not that there was anything wrong with Wei Changze himself, nor his wife Cangse Sanren; they had been very polite to him, respectful, and they had saved the lives of his family. Though none of them would admit it, including him, Wen Ruohan had recognized his own grandson in Wei Wuxian’s foster son, meaning that his line would continue and that was not nothing. All things considered, his remaining family had done relatively well for themselves.
He hadn’t been invited to join them.
Wen Ruohan had understood. He was rather infamous, everyone knowing that it was his actions that had caused Lao Nie’s actions, and his former family had no doubt been wary of inviting a snake into their midst; certainly he didn’t have anything to recommend him any longer, having lost everything that had once made him capable of being their sect leader. He knew the calculations they made in their hearts. He’d understood.
Nie Mingjue had taken rather more offense, the slight having pricked at his notions of fairness.
“Fine,” he’d said crisply when his suggestion that Wen Ruohan go for a brief visit to Yiling had been met with refusal – couched in polite words, but a refusal nonetheless. “So be it. They don’t want to be tied to a sinking anchor, so too will they avoid being lifted by the rising tide. When we tally up the strength of the various clans in the cultivation world, Yiling Wei is to be counted among the small sects, and recognized as no kin of mine.”
That had made a few of Wen Ruohan’s cousins blanch, abruptly regretful, although Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren had remained peacefully indifferent; they’d been rogue cultivators to start with, and had no interest in running a Great Sect, even if they’d generously shared their surname for wider use. Now that the threat was gone, they used Yiling as a home base more than anything else, and even their son Wei Wuxian seemed more likely to marry into the Lan than to remain in the Burial Mounds.
Wen Ruohan had been amused by that.
He was less amused when one of his cousins tentatively offered up his daughter, Wei Qing, to act as Nie Mingjue’s concubine, so as to bear him the heirs that Wen Ruohan could not, while coming as close as possible to having the same bloodline. The suggestion had offended Wen Ruohan on multiple levels, not least of which was that he had personally picked Wen Qing to be brought back to the Nightless City on account of her promising talent as a doctor – her being sent off to be a concubine would be a grotesque waste. Luckily, Nie Mingjue had agreed, and had instead insisted on her setting up a hospital instead, to treat all those who’d suffered under his father’s rule, and so that matter was settled.
Still, Wen Ruohan had to admit that in some ways, his cousins…had something of a point.
He certainly couldn’t bear Nie Mingjue any children. Without power, without ability, without looks, without even youth, what exactly was he bringing to the table?
“Stupidity?” Nie Huaisang suggested, and Wen Ruohan gave him a dirty look, though to no avail. He was irritatingly immune to Wen Ruohan’s glares. It was unclear whether this was an innate trait or something he’d developed after Wen Ruohan had accepted him as a pupil in the art of creating talismans and arrays – it had resulted in, in Nie Huaisang’s words, the first time Wei Wuxian had ever envied him for anything, a very novel experience, and worthwhile even if it did mean he had to practice painting arrays every single day, or at least every couple of days. He was the most intolerably lazy cultivator Wen Ruohan had ever met. “No, really. What makes you think that da-ge measures worth with standards like that?”
Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes. “He’s the head of a sect now. There are some considerations that are universal.”
“Not for da-ge.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Not so.” Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Just wait. You’ll see.”
“Wait for what? To ascend to the heavens?” Wen Ruohan asked sarcastically, bemused and trying to hide it. “Are we waiting for a family reunion?”
“For da-ge to prove his sincerity to you. He’s not easily moved.”
Wen Ruohan opened his mouth to say ‘ridiculous’ once more, and maybe to use his too-rough jade hands to pinch Nie Huaisang by the ears and give him a shake, only he found someone else’s hands snaking around his waist and pulling him into an embrace.
Nie Mingjue put his chin on Wen Ruohan’s shoulder. “Why am I proving my sincerity?” he asked, his voice a little warm. “Did I do something wrong somewhere? Do I need to grovel and make amends?”
Nie Huaisang laughed, and Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes again.
“You have indeed done wrong, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “My poor shifu has been your dao companion for several months, and you still haven’t married him – it’s only natural that he’d be cross with you.”
Wen Ruohan choked. What?
“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Ugh, fine. Shifu, you’re so mean. Rob me of the chance to plan out a grandiose wedding, why don’t you…”
“Get married yourself, you brat! Leave me out of it!”
“Aren’t you planning on taking Wei Wuxian as a second disciple?” Nie Mingjue asked Wen Ruohan, who inclined his head in agreement. “Well, do that first, and then Huaisang can plan out his wedding instead. It’ll be a good excuse to bring the Lan sect out of seclusion and back into the world for good.”
“Not to mention a good excuse to show the world that they’re part of the family,” Nie Huaisang said, nodding. “An old alliance is all well and good, but after everything that happened with a-die, being family is still better.”
Nie Mingjue nodded in agreement, serious as ever.
Wen Ruohan –
Well, he smiled.
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twig-tea · 26 days
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Love in the Big City Part 4: Having Trouble Letting Go
Processing part 4 was so much harder than the other three parts, for me, and I think the clear and concrete shift within the narrator and how he narrates in this part is why. Young has spent the last 3 parts pretending he doesn’t really feel much of anything; in my Part 1 write-up I called him an emotionally unreliable narrator and this is the first part where it feels like the emotions are present in the text rather than inferred based on my own experiences with the situations he’s described. It’s telling that his descriptions of Gyu-ho are, in his words “preserved under glass” (love that we both felt compelled to call out this quote @wen-kexing-apologist)  but his descriptions of his emotions grieving Gyu-ho in this part are the closest we get to true emotional vulnerability from our narrator.  
This chapter is also “about” Young’s relationship with Habibi, but it’s very clear that this relationship is only important to Young in that he was involved with this person while he was processing his grief at losing his relationship with Gyu-ho. I don’t know that the narrator would say that, but it’s how I read this section. Young's interactions with Habibi feel much more reminiscent of his relationship with Hyung in Part 2; lacking in vulnerability.
This is about a Young who is grieving what he lost by letting Gyu-ho go. The grief is ugly, and messy, and doesn’t come to any real resolution. But the fact that he’s actually feeling it, like @lurkingshan discussed in her post,  gives me hope that Young is able to find happiness again in future, and this time allow himself to keep it.
This reminded me a lot of the ending of The Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese, except we didn’t get to the part where the protagonist sits himself on the stool in the middle of the apartment, we’re still at the place where he’s looking at the ashtray in his garbage bin. This chapter left me so deeply sad for this reason, even while intellectually I see it as a critical step towards catharsis, processing, and eventually change. When I think about it, the ending of the book does give me hope for Young’s future happiness, but not with Gyu-ho, and not anytime soon. 
There are a few things that stuck out to me in this part; the way Young is ironically the most “present” he’s been in the whole novel and is also so dissociated from what’s happening in his present and is instead reminiscing about his time in Bangkok with Gyu-ho; The way Young tells the story about getting antiretrovirals in Thailand and how he wishes he’d known about the post-exposure prophylactic properties of PrEP (reminding me of my own sentiment about how I wished he knew about and had access to things from my Part 3 write-up); and the way Habibi feels so much less formed as a person than the other characters central to the other parts–which feels intentional and like result of good writing, rather than a gap. 
Regarding the adaptations and what I’m looking forward to as per @bengiyo’s questions, I keep thinking about the visual metaphors in this book and how well they’ll translate to screen: the blueberry stains on Young’s fingertips in Part 1; the pesticides and park grass in part 2; the bloody lip in part 3; and the crashing lantern with Young’s wish to be forever with Gyu-ho are all ones that come to mind. I’m also thinking about the many different ways Young managed to convey the concept that he was "toxic"–the latest in Part 4 being the dream in which Gyu-ho is taken over with dark ooze–and how heartbreaking I’m going to find those visually represented. With a visual medium so much more can be done with those recurring themes, and so I suppose the part I’m most excited to see in the adaptations is how the creators fill out the world that, by nature of having been a book written in the first person, does not have a ton of description. That gives the adapters a lot of room to have fun with the details.  
@hyeon-comb put it better than I could come up with, that one of the overall takeaways I’d love people to have from this book is that it’s ok to have made mistakes, to live with regrets. Like @bengiyo said in his post, I know Young, I love Young, and I see myself and many of my friends in Young, Jaehee, and the T-aras, and I want them to be happy (or, at least, happier) for their own sakes.
I loved the Acknowledgments and Translator’s Note (both of which appear at the end of my epub version of the book, which is why I’m discussing them now) and how both talk about the thrill of being depicted on the page. I want to call out how critical this is, and how much I loved that aspect of reading this book. This story felt queer, and queer in ways that were familiar to my experience (even though I’m not a man nor Korean nor ever been to Seoul). But I still share so many of these experiences, and have friends who have experienced even more. And the power in having those experiences represented accurately in a story is one that is still rare enough that it’s thrilling every time. I also love Young’s sense of humour and his devastating reads; I’ve loved his character since “you all have faces like rat dicks” followed by the table flip. 
I think this book does an incredible job of telling a story from the perspective of a character who have been the instrument of their own unhappiness and who is struggling with the result but thinks it was the right decision–and letting us, the audience, experience his emotions while also having enough distance to see where he’s not able to have perspective, where he’s made assumptions, and where he had value in the relationship before he gave it up. It’s not an easy balance to walk. I hope that this book gives others some perspective on the choices they may be making on behalf of others that they don’t realize they don’t have to make. 
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leatherbookmark · 1 year
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ALSO a bit on that topic and partially inspired by lise’s essay from yesterday -- jl.
the quote:
The smile had been so kind, so genuine that Jin Ling couldn’t believe Jin Guangyao had faked it. All of a sudden, fresh tears fell from his eyes.
Jin Ling had always thought that crying was a sign of weakness, and had treated it with contempt. Yet, other than this flood of tears, there was no way to release all the pain and anger in his heart.
He didn’t know why, but he felt like he couldn’t hate or blame anyone. Wei Wuxian, Jin Guangyao, Wen Ning — Each of them was responsible in some way for the deaths of his parents, and each of them had given him a reason to loathe them. But it also seemed like each of them had left him unable to do so. But if he didn’t hate them, who could he hate? Had he deserved to lose his parents? Was he not only unable to seek revenge, but also unable to simply hate anyone?
He somehow didn’t want to let go. He felt wronged. He felt like he’d rather die together with them and end everything.
Watching him cry soundlessly as he stared at the coffin, Sect Leader Yao asked,
“Jin-gongzi, why are you crying? For Jin Guangyao?”
When Jin Ling said nothing, Sect Leader Yao spoke as a senior scolding a junior.
“What are you crying for? Hold back your tears. Someone like your uncle doesn’t deserve anyone’s tears. Jin-gongzi, I mean no offense, but you can’t be so weak! This sentimentality is more suitable to the fairer sex. You should know what’s right and what’s wrong, and straighten up your…”
(...)
Jin Ling had thousands of thoughts and feelings whirling inside him already. Hearing Sect Leader Yao’s remarks, a fire surged in his heart.
He shouted, “So what if I want to cry?! Who are you? What are you? You won’t leave me alone even when I’m crying?!”
(chapter 110, EXR)
what does this scene mean, and why is it here?
i, personally, love it. jl says (well, thinks) it himself -- he has all the reasons to hate wwx, wn and jgy and blame them for the deaths of his parents. note that this is after he finds out about jgy’s involvement! he could easily go “i used to hate wn and wwx as the villains who killed my parents and love jgy as the uncle who gave me fairy, but now i see i had it all wrong and i should love them and hate him instead”. he doesn’t do that though. he still groups them all together, still grapples with anger, pain and hatred, and still finds that he can’t hate any of them.
and he struggles with it! he really does, to the point of bursting into tears. this is not just jc’s fault, before anyone tries anything -- the entire world jianghu seems to be into the idea that every bad thing that happens has a Bad Person who caused it and needs to be punished and reviled. first it was wrh, then wwx, now jgy. and later probably someone else. but here, jl learns a (very painful) lesson -- sometimes things aren’t so easy as “X is 100% bad”, or even “X is 75% bad, but even that is enough to condemn them”, OR even “X is 67% bad, but being 1/3rd Good they should have known better and GROW BETTER”.
sometimes people are people.
so what does this scene tell us about jgy? well, sect leader yao hurries with an explanation: jl shouldn’t cry, jgy isn’t worth it, and in fact, crying is for pussies; real men know what’s right and what’s wrong, and-- wait, no? is that not what we’re supposed to think? why is jin ling shouting at this kind senior who kindly offers advice?
well, perhaps because sect leader yao isn’t the best source there is.
but really -- that’s the question: is jl wrong, and sly right? is jl wrong to see Nuance in people, to realize that life is not as easy as finding a villain to blame, avenging your family and basking in the glow of satisfaction? or is he a manipulated victim who can’t see how horrible their abuser was, even when faced with proof of it all?
this is perhaps the last scene “featuring” jgy, not counting the one with people talking in the inn in the last chapter. in the previous chapter, wwx lays it all out in front of lwj, lxc and nhs: the explanation of what jgy wanted to do in the temple, the possible reason why he organized the burial mounds party. that’s it, that’s the end, we don’t really need anything more. if anything, it could be jc to lead the narration pov, looking at jl with fairy and thinking about this man who gave his nephew a puppy and turned out to have been a monster all this time. this, again, doesn’t happen.
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sizhuibattleguqin · 2 years
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continued from here [x]
It  had  been  a  strange  life,  his  father  had  been  aware  of  his  soulmate  being  out  there.  He  had  told  Sizhui  what  to  expect.  He  had  told  SIzhui  a  lot  of  things  that  he  needed  to  know  truths  as  much  as  things  that  might  help  him  cope  with  things  growing  up.  Since  it  wasn't  a  promise  you  would  have  a  soulmate,  or  you  might  be  born  at  different  times  it  was  very  complicated  to  read  about,  some  people's  soulmates  died,  other's  weren't  born  yet---  then  you  had  to  look  at  the  ones  who  simply  never  felt  a  soulmate.  
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He  had  known  for  a  long  time  he  had  one,  after  the  first  bruises  that  appeared  on  his  body.  SIzhui  was  well  trained  he  was  good  at  fighting  and  he  was  brilliant.  He  had  a  lot  going  for  him.  He  hoped  that  his  soulmate  was  alright  because  the  sheer  amount  of  damage  the  other  had  done  to  him  over  his  life  was  considerable.  Lan  Sizhui  was  amused  by  it  mostly  but  also  held  deep  concerns  for  the  other.  Of  course,  he  bore  scars  from  SIzhui  as  well.  The  time  he  fell  out  of  a  tree  and  had  to  get  stitches,  the  time  he  missed  a  parry  and  was  bashed  with  staff  by  Uncle  Wen.  
He  was  in  a  new  city  and  it  felt  like  a  new  world  completely  he  could  speak  Korean  so  it  wasn't  so  bad  but  when  he  first  got  there  it  had  been  enlightening.  Lan  Sizhui  felt  it  was  just  where  he  wanted  to  be  a  position  had  opened  at  the  General  Hospital  there  and  all  Sizhui  wanted  was  to  make  sure  that  he  would  be  where  he  had  to  be  to  take  care  of  people.  
What  he  didn't  expect  was  the  zombie  apocalypse.  
It  wasn't  what  he  expected--yet  in  some  ways  it  was.  The  government  had  proved  how  it  truly  was  when  it  bombed  the  place.  Then  it  began  to  imprison  survivors.  Yes,  they  would  need  to  be  quarantined  that  was  a  given,  but  they  were  all  exposed  to  each  other,  what  was  the  point  of  the  camp?  He  not  only  didn't  like  it  he  didn't  trust  it.  Then  his  Uncle  Wen  had  been  bit,  and  he  had  told  Sizhui  if  he  turned  like  those  others,  to  take  his  head  off.  Don't  leave  him  like  that.  
He  had  become  something  different.  He  haunted  the  backstreets  but  he  rarely  came  to  where  Sizhui  was  with  the  small  group  if  one  could  call  it  a  group--of  survivors.  Jingyi  was  with  him  because  where  one  went  the  other  would  follow--they  had  grown  up  as  siblings  and  it  felt  weird  to  not  follow  whichever  one  of  them  left  first.  So  he  had  support.  
It  was  the  awakening  of  the  wounds  on  his  body  that  left  Sizhui  worried,  he  had  dealt  with  the  troubles  that  he  possessed  as  carefully  as  he  could  but  now---while  he  could  see  there  was  a  scar  over  his  eye  and  a  rather  irritable  bite  mark  on  his  shoulder.  Had  his  soulmate  died,    had  he  become  a  zombie.  Sizhui  did  not  know,  he  had  yet  to  run  into  him.  He  would  continue  to  offer  prayers  to  the  ancestors  that  they  had  kept  him  safe.  
He  had  come  to  the  hospital  as  he  always  did  to  help  out.  He  had  rescued  people  there.  The  walls  were  painted  with  his  handwriting  telling  people  where  to  hide  if  they  saw  his  message.  With  a  date,  he  would  be  there.  He  tried  to  return  every  few  days,  but  that  was  getting  harder  and  harder  with  the  number  of  zombies  within  the  place.  Still,  it  offered  excellent  resources  for  all  the  dangers  involved.  Deep  freezers  and  enough  food  to  keep  people  going  for  years,  backup  generators,  one  of  which  he'd  already  stolen.  It  was  needed  for  the  clinic.  Sihui  was  always  careful--today  though  the  undead  were  all  over  to  the  point  he  blew  up  an  area  with  pure  oxygen.  Luckily  the  sprinkler  system  still  worked.  
Now  he  was  fleeing  down  the  hallway.  His  booted  feet  made  even  noise  on  the  marble  floor.  
He  did  not  expect  the  door  to  open,  he  did  not  expect  hands  to  reach  out  and  grab  him.  He  was  caught  up  and  spun  into  a  room.  The  jingle  of  the  bag  he  carried  along  with  quiver  as  he  banged  into  the  wall.  His  foot  angled  to  slam  the  door  shut  behind  them.  The  blade  he  carried  was  half  pulled  because  he  was  expecting  an  attack  on  the  soft  Shhhh.  Snapped  him  out  of  his  training  he  dropped  the  blade  back  into  its  sheath  with  some  relief.  
"Yes."  he  breathed.  "They  were  chasing  me  until  I  exploded  an  oxygen  tank...with  fire,"  he  said  he  blinked  and  caught  his  breath  adrenaline  was  still  present  but  wearing  off.    
"Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked  his  bangs  often  covered  his  eye  which  protected  it  with  the  strange  scar  over  it.  "This  hospital  isn't  safe,  did  you  not  see  my  warning  all  over  ?"     
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neverdoingmuch · 3 years
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i was thinking about a stardew valley au but i was like haha wwx moves to the abandoned farm called the burial mounds and ends up falling in love with lan wangji while slowly trying to build a home for himself,,, but my mind immediately went oh shit he’s on the run from the cops after breaking the wen remnants out of prison and now they’re laying low in some hickville and now i dont think that au would work,,,
#mdzs#modao zushi#wei wuxian#wangxian#cql#the untamed#have i ever played stardew properly? no. i just want to plant a pomegranate tree and pet my cat#may even learn how to fish#but im gonna give this a shot anyway#also fuck it#wwx helps in bringing down wrh (whos some idk super corrupt businessman) but then when he finds out that *all* wens would get imprisoned#he kinda sort maybe breaks wq and her family out of protective custody and takes them to the burial mounds#his grandmother had left the farm to him when she ran off with that lan lady and wwx just hadn't gone to it bc he had his brother and sister#but jyl is married to jzx and lives like four hours away & jc is so caught up in the politics of it all that he probably wont help#so he takes them and moves into the farm and lets say the farm is a bit bigger so that they can all fit there comfortably#and wwx is like completely broke.. he spent all of his savings on buying tickets for everyone and idk faking his death so he's so very poor#but!! on the second day or whenever a cute lil black cat that he names chenqing wanders over to his farm so it's all okay bc he has cat now#so the wens end up helping out a lot with the actual farming and wwx usually helps out with the finances and with looking after a-yuan#no one had known he was involved with the wens when he left so he's usually the one to go into town and sell their crops#and thats how he meets lwj!#lwj lives on the cr farm and he raises livestock for the most part (rabbits. theyre all rabbits. dont ask how or why but they are)#and he's doing okay i mean like small town everyone knows everyone and oh shit! is wrh the jojo mart guy? now jojo mart is owned by jgy#right so lwj meets wwx and he's this new guy who is Extremely Cute so he cant help but getting a bit curious#wwx introduces himself as wy but then goes oh fuck youre meant to call me mxy & lwj is like ah witness protection like no wwx is a criminal#i think im running out of tag space? but like wwx does all the mining and stuff but instead of using a sword he uses his flute#and just kinda tells the monsters hang out in the corner while he gets some gold#i might expand on this au if anyone wants an expansion
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wangxianficrecs · 3 years
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Follower Recs
~*~
Hello Mojo, hope you're doing well and that you had a good break! I wanted to signal boost the MDZS May Diaspora event collection on AO3, and point out my favorite fic from there: 归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home by dragongirlG! It's both tender and bittersweet and it features such mature writing. The author got some hate for it when it initially got posted so I wanted to counter that and give it some love instead! [Who would do such a thing?!  @dragongirlg-fics I’m sorry that happened to you, and here, have *so many hugs!* I’ll try to do a thing just for the diaspora event, but meanwhile, I’ll just treat this as a follower rec.]
归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home
by dragongirlG (M, 8k, wangxian)
Summary:  The destruction of the Yin Tiger Seal does not kill Wei Wuxian; it ages him instead. He takes shelter in a cave expecting to die, but instead he lives, slowly learning to embrace life with each new day.
Thirteen years later, a young man with a Lan forehead ribbon stumbles into the cave. His name is Lan Sizhui.
~*~
Hi Momjo!!! I recently read the most *adorable* fic, and I loved it so much that it dragged me out of seclusion (read: social anxiety cave) to rec it. It's called 'Covered in Bees' by ScarlettStorm in which the Cloud Recesses is an apiary, and Wei Wuxian has suddenly found himself host to a swarm of bees. ~ @akyra-talanoa
Covered in Bees
by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, wangxian)
Summary: “Cloud Reccesses Apiary,” says a toneless, deep masculine voice, with zero question in it. Wei Ying doesn’t care, because whoever possesses that voice is probably going to come save him from bees like a fucking hero while wearing like, a suit of armor. That’s what you wear to catch bees, right?
“I have like, so many bees outside my front door right now,” he says, mouth running out ahead of him before he can even begin to think about reining it in. “It’s like a sandstorm of bees out there. There are so many bees. I got out of my car and there were just bees and I don’t want these bees. Do you want these bees? Please tell me you will come get these bees. I can’t leave my house and I have enough food for maybe a week but then I’m gonna have to learn how to cook dry beans and no one wants that, especially not me.” Wei Ying runs out of air, takes a breath, and belatedly adds, “My name is Wei Ying. Hi.”
Or: The beekeeping AU that no one asked for.
~*~
Hi, you are a bless to this fandom. Your blog feels like a library, so thoroughly arranged and always within hand reach. [Thank you, wow!]  Recently, I was going through Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn is a Wēn tag and came across a fanfic, it has 3 chapters till now and is so intriguing that i thought to recommend it to you. I don't know if I can recommend or if you have already checked the story, The legendary Phoenix and his Dragon by Devipriya. I am in love with this story. I hope you will enjoy it too, do check it out
The legendary Phoenix and his Dragon
by Devipriya (T, 7k, wangxian)
Summary:  Wen Wuxian, the essence of who he is, he is a naughty child, a prankster, an enchanting dizi player, a graceful dancer, an irresistible lover, a truly valiant warrior, a ruthless vanquisher of his foes, a man who left a broken heart in every home, an astute statesman and kingmaker, a thorough gentleman, a righteous individual of the highest order, and the most colorful incarnation.
He has been seen, perceived, understood and experienced in many different ways by different people. Different people saw different facets of who he is. For some, he is God. For some, he is a crook. For some, he is a lover. For some, he is a fighter. He is so many things.
But the phoenix, seen from the eyes of time was just a playful man. A man who plays with his awareness, with his imagination, with his memory, with his life, with his death. An individual who does not just dance with somebody. He dances with life. He dances with his enemy, He dances with the one he loves, He dances even at the moment of his death.
To taste an essence of who is Wen Wuxian, be with me in the journey of exploration, NO! playful exploration of life of a playful man.
~*~
Hi! Thanks for running this blog, it's helped me find so many fics. For your next follower recs post, I wanted to rec "This love like a flood, a fire, a fear" by natcat5. Its summary is vague (which I suspect is why it isn't better known) but it is a beautiful retelling of canon from LWJ's POV with slight canon divergence. I love the author's characterization of him and the prose is gorgeous. It is easily my favorite fic in the entire fandom, and I don't say that lightly. ~ @nyanja14
This love like a flood, a fire, a fear
by natcat5 (M, 57k, wangxian, lan wangji & lan xichen)
Summary:  “I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch everything go wrong.”   - Lemony Snicket
~*~
i came to this ask to rec this baseball one called "Waiting for Spring" by thievinghippo on ao3. It somehow made me care about baseball soooo 'nough said ~ @scifikimmi
Waiting for Spring
by thievinghippo (E, 131, wangxian)
Summary:  “It is a well-known fact across the major leagues that one does not smack Lan Wangji’s ass.”
Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. Everyone smacks everyone’s ass in baseball. It’s how the game is played. Lan Wangji does not get to be exempt from this most sacred of baseball traditions.
Wei Wuxian will make sure of that.
Or, a Major League Baseball AU
~*~
hi mojo! i wanted to rec Something Good by boxoftheskyking (a loose sound of music/canon divergence au) and also MDZS: The Golden Engine by iffervescent (immortal wangxian modern au where they gotta solve a mystery and save china, featuring jiang cheng/lan xichen)
Something Good
by boxoftheskyking (T, 43k, wangxian)
Summary:  "That Wei Wuxian, you know he used to be such a promising cultivator. Head Disciple of the Jiang Clan, can you believe it? You see, juniors, the punishment for traveling the path of demonic cultivation. No golden core, not so much as a whisper of spiritual power."
As a punishment for real and imagined crimes, Wei Wuxian is sentenced to work at Cloud Recesses as the lowest of servants. When a surprising reassignment lands him with eleven children to care for, everything changes again.
A Sound of Music AU
MDZS: The Golden Engine
by iffervescent (E, 82k, wangxian, xicheng)
Summary:  In the modern era, immortals Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian return to Gusu. New evil and old friends + new friends and old evils.
~*~
Hi Mojo! First of all let me just tell you that you are amazing and this blog is like a gift from the gods! Bless you and your endless patience and hard work. [Oh, thank you so much!]  I know that you have just accepted follower recs and I have missed miserably but I still wanted to write and bring attention to a writer by the pseudo Xiao_Hua on ao3, I think they are quite good and I just recently found the account with so much content. If you do have the time to check them out, I'd rec catfish, my fox or the red ribbon.
The Red Ribbon
by Xiao_Hua (M, 21k, wangxian, TGCF crossover)
Summary:  Wei WuXian died but not before saving HanGuang-Jun and A-Yuan, leaving so much more behind than just his ribbon.
My Fox
by Xiao_Hua (E, 13k, wangxian)
Summary:  Once he headed to YiLing that all changed for him. His priorities have been mingled with and ordered in complete disarray even without him noticing as he was left heavily influenced by a creature.
Or one where Lan WangJi is a dragon-spirit and he finds his mate in the form of a fox.
Catfish
by Xiao_Hua (E, 15k, wangxian)
Summary:  Wei WuXian has a common sense that believes it has a nine-to-five job while Lan WangJi finds that incredibly hot.
Or one where two catfish realise that neither of them truly catfished.
~*~
Hi Mojo i'm recommending this amazing fic it is called song of joys and regrets. it's a time travel AU it's amazing. And your Blog is a Godsend Thank you! [Aw, you’re so sweet!]  ~ @highgoddess
Song of Joy and Regrets
by HelloKitten (not rated, 59k, wangxian, WIP)
Summary:  The Archery competition at Qishan this year has hit a snag. As the Sects face the wrongs perpetrated by their future selves, Wei Wuxian finds himself adopted by half of the cultivation world who are determined to save him from himself.
Baby Wangxian suffers. Adult Wangxian's job here is done.
"I'm starting to see a pattern to all his plans..." "Do they all involve him being bait?" "Yes" came deadpanned responses.
~*~
Here’s a 2021 Reverse Big Bang entry, in time for Father’s Day; [Oops, my bad, sorry!]  Under a Blanket of Black Wings, by ChaoticAndrogynous (#31398395); LWJ, recuperating from the 33 lashes, tells A-Yuan a series of fairytales about a heroic monster and the brave little boy he befriended. Vampire! WWX (in the framing story as well as the story-within-the-story); happy ending.
Under a Blanket of Black Wings
by ChaoticAndrogynous (T, 19k, wangxian)
Summary:  Lan Wangji tells A-Yuan a bedtime story about a beautiful monster and the brave little boy who was his friend. Thirteen years later, the monster returns.
~*~
Hello Mojo! Have you read ‘Key Differences’ by Pupeez4eva? Its a MDZS!WWX meets CQL!WWX and its really good! [It’s on my list!]
Key Differences
by pupeez4eva (T, 6k, wangxian)
Summary:  “I don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian said, while his alternate self continued to stare at him with almost a look of hurt in his eyes. There was longing in there too, which Wei Wuxian would have easily recognised if he paid enough attention. “How could you not get together, after everything. What even went on in the Guanyin Temple if you didn’t confess?”
“The Guanyin Temple,” Wei Ying repeated incredulously. “You’re asking me if I confessed at — honestly, a lot went on that day. It was a life and death situation. There was no confessing.”
Wei Wuxian stared at him, appalled.
(Wherein Wei Wuxian ends up meeting an alternate version of himself who, much to his horror, never married Lan Wangji. Obviously he has to do something to fix this).
~*~
Hey Mojo i would recommend this fanfic if you already haven’t, it’s called “ take me back to a time “ by DizziDreams. It’s sooooo good
take me back to a time
by DizziDreams (T, 144k, wangxian, 3zun)
Summary:  Wei Ying has a lot on his plate right now.
It’s finals week -- which isn’t so bad. He’s never had to study much to do well in classes. But that just means that things are that much more tense with Jiang Cheng, who, as far as Wei Ying can tell, only takes study breaks long enough to glare at Wei Ying where he sits on the couch playing video games.
It’s not studies that have Wei Ying stressed out. It’s everything else. It’s the recruitment for the research trial he’s coordinating. It’s jiejie and her impending marriage to His Royal Douchebag Jin Zixuan. It’s the volunteer work at the palliative care facility. It’s Wen Ning’s worsening condition. It’s Wen Qing working herself thin to care for her brother and Wen Yuan. It’s the way Wen Yuan never seems to have enough food.
So, yeah. There’s enough on Wei Ying’s plate already, meaning it’s not entirely welcome when he comes home and finds a man standing in his bedroom. A man in extravagant white robes, a ribbon tied around his forehead, long hair gathered into a topknot, fist clutching a sword at his side, who asks him, “Where am I?”
~*~
Idk if this has already been rec’d (I’ve been off the grid for a while now), but there’s this absolutely incredible fic called Restitution by an anon on ao3 people should definitely check out!
this one?
on restitution
by Anonymous (M, 78k, wangxian, jin ling & wei wuxian, lan sizhui & wei wuxian, WIP)
Summary:  When Wei Wuxian regains consciousness, he is in a bed. A real, proper bed, not the slab he called a bed in his cave in the Burial Mounds.
Jiang Cheng is glowering above him.
Wei Wuxian doesn't die during the siege of the Burial Mounds. Rather, he is captured in secret and confined at Lotus Pier. Things change accordingly.
~*~
Hi momjo! I feel like every time I come to your blog there's twenty more new and amazing fics for me to read. Thank you for everything you do for this fandom!  [Thank you, sweetie!  And yes, I think there ARE 20 new fics every day out there in the fandom.  It’s amazing!] Today I come bearing my own rec to you. I've recently read this and it's IMO one of the best fics out there. It's called Lapsteel by carriecmoney and it's a modern stormchaser AU featuring country songs and coming home. ~ @manaika-chan​
Lapsteel
by carriecmoney (T, 42k, wangxian)
Summary:  Now and then, I think about you now and then...
It's been thirteen years since Wei Ying ran for the prairies, leaving behind a family in shambles and a secret on the Pacific wind. What happens when the storm he swirled catches up to him?
Modern AU with country music star Lan Zhan, stormchaser Wei Ying, and shared crossroads.
~*~
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vrishchikawrites · 3 years
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Anon asks - There was another idea I had seen on @crossdressingdeath's tumblr where JC's reputation was ruined because of his behaviour and WWX's attempts to protect him from the consequences of his behaviour. The concept happens pre Qiongqi Path where JC attacks WWX to the point it injures and frightens him. A passerby sees WWX startled and asks him what's wrong but WWX dismisses it as nothing. Said bystander ends up thinking that JC had sexually assaulted him resulting in the cultivation world gossiping about JC being a rapist when really he isn't. Overall, the cultivation world gossips about the other shitty things JC had done and because he did alot of pretty bad things, he can't defend himself and resorts to victim blaming WWX. That however only has him dig a deeper hole for himself. WWX, on the other hand is left confused as to why everybody was pitying him all of a sudden when they used to hate and/or fear him. By the time the truth comes to light, the cultivation world thinks JC had deserved it anyway with it ending with JC hated just for him being himself and public opinion on WWX flipping. If you don't mind, can you make it light-hearted?
(Probably not as light-hearted as you would wish. It is a bit complicated. Be a little gentle because I wrote this twice and ended up fleshing it out much more. Is this a short prompt or a long one? who knows. writer is tired. she will sleep now.)
Everyone has personal boundaries, even people who are usually tactile and social. Boundaries exist even between family members who love and trust each other.
Wei Wuxian is a veteran fresh from war. He has survived bloody battlefields, spent days dealing with one hostile enemy after another. Even before that, he had spent his days constantly battling resentful ghosts and monsters in a place he can’t bear thinking of now. Before that, he had survived torture at the hands of the Wens. And before-
Better not to think about it.
So, when Jiang Cheng presses up against him threateningly, his face twisted and eyes furious, Wei Wuxian can’t help but flinch. He takes a step back and puts some distance between them quickly. Jiang Cheng has grown increasingly bitter and discontent in these past few months and Wei Wuxian is getting tired of dealing with it. He doesn’t want to be in such close proximity with a man seething with fury.
Unfortunately, that reaction proves to be a mistake because Jiang Cheng follows him, “What? Are you too big for us now? Turning away from me in disgust now that you’re a war hero and the best of us?” Jiang Cheng is so close, their noses almost touch and Wei Wuxian feels his hair stand on end in response.
“Jiang Cheng,” He says lowly, something unsettling stirring in his chest. He feels almost anxious. His heart is racing and the proximity makes him feel like he’s trapped, “Back away.”
“Back away?” Jiang Cheng snarls, “Who are you to command me, Wei Wuxian? Do you know what people are saying about YunmengJiang? Do you know who-”
“Back away,” Wei Wuxian says tightly, his skin crawling, “Now.” His hard-earned instincts are sounding alarms. He feels threatened and provoked. He feels the resentful energy in him respond to the danger.
“What are you going to do? Send a few ghosts at me?” He sneers, “Try it! We’ll see how brave you are under the wrath of my Zidian.”
No. Wei Wuxian isn’t going to just stand here and let Jiang Cheng pick up Yu-furen’s habits, He’s just about to react, to give Jiang Cheng the thrashing he clearly desires when he realizes they are outside. He glances beyond his Sect Leader’s shoulder and sees a small group of three clad in bright white looking at them with wide eyes.
He bites back his angry retort and masters himself. He’s not going to squabble with Jiang Cheng in front of Lan disciples. His relationship with Lan Zhan is strained as it is.
“We’re in public,” He says, hoping that concern for his Sect’s reputation would move Jiang Cheng if concern for Wei Wuxian doesn’t.
Jiang Cheng looks over his shoulder and sneers at the Lan disciples before rolling his head, “Lans, of course.” He snarls and pushes Wei Wuxian away roughly, “I’ll deal with you later.”
Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and watches his brother leave.
The Lan disciples are still looking at him with heartwarming concern. He waves at them with a smile and watches as they start like little ducklings and bow to him before fleeing.
Cute.
---
“We have to do something!” Lan Zhanxiao insists, “Did you see how he looked? Wei Wuxian was clearly trying to-”
“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Lan Lishan reprimands.
“Don’t say his name!” Lan Guan whispers urgently, looking around in a panic. There are already a few curious and interested eyes glancing in their direction. Wei Wuxian is a notorious name, after all. Even non-cultivators are interested in the man who had just a material impact on the war. It is hard to tell if they would’ve won without that powerful unorthodox cultivator on their side.
“We can’t just stand by and do nothing,” Lan Zhanxiao, always the righteous one, continues. He doesn’t care about the people around them, “If Wei Wuxian is hurt and we do nothing to prevent it, aren’t we culpable as well?”
“This is Wei Wuxian. Who would dare?” Lan Guan asks incredulously, “He is one of the most powerful cultivators in existence.”
“Is he?” Zhanxiao demands, “Doesn’t everyone know he’s very loyal to Jiang-zongzhu? Would he take a step against him? Even if it meant saving himself?”
“He should be building his own sect,” Lan Lishan says reluctantly, “He’s the Grandmaster of his cultivation form. It may be an unorthodox method, but it is still something new and entirely unique.” He would know. Lan Lishan is an avid student of history and cultivation theory. He knows that most cultivators with unique abilities tend to form their own sect to pass their teachings down.
He shudders at the prospect of cultivating resentful energy but Wei Wuxian has mentioned it is a technique people with absent or damaged Golden Cores can use.
The potential is almost limitless.
“See what I mean?” Lan Zhanxiao points out, “Hasn’t he been isolated from other cultivators because they fear his methods? If Jiang-zongzhu is really hurting him or…” He grimaces and lowers his voice, “That expression, Shan-ge, it reminds me of jiejie. What if Jiang-zongzhu is… doing something inappropriate?”
They all exchange alarmed glances, “You don’t think…?” Lan Guan breathes, horrified.
“He was scrambling to get away,” Lan Zhanxiao says, “And Jiang-zongzhu kept pressing-”
“We can’t talk about this here,” Lan Lishan says firmly, “Come, let’s leave.”
Unfortunately, they leave chaos behind.
---
Rumors are a powerful entity in the cultivation world. They are born in tea and wine houses, spread from one tradesman to another and spread to the far reaches of cultivation society in a matter of months.
The rumors about Jiang’ Wanyin’s treatment of a war hero are no exception to this rule. People gossip about it with their friends and neighbors, share the news with vendors while on errands, and the rumors continue to grow. With every retelling, the story changes, growing increasingly distorted and vile.
“The entire business is unpleasant,” A small clan cultivator says to one of his tradesman friends, “Jealousy really alters a man.” He speaks about old rumors then, speculations about Wei Wuxian’s parentage, Madam Yu’s wrath, and the Jiang heir’s relatively lackluster growth in comparison to his prodigious shixiong.
“Surely not,” Another cultivator scoffs, “Who would dare raise a hand against Wei Wuxian? Did he not decimate a large Wen battalion with just his flute and some music?”
“Merchants at Lotus Pier say Wei Wuxian always looks wan and tired these days. He has grown pale.” One woman whispers to her companion, “He spends more time in wine houses with ghost maidens than in the comfort of his rebuilt home.”
“It seems so improbable!” A young cultivator protests, “Why would Jiang-zongzhu provoke the sleeping dragon like this? Wei Wuxian is stable now but who knows when he will give into resentment?”
“Lan disciples saw it.”
And that’s the crux of the matter. If the rumor didn’t originate from Lan disciples, it might not have traveled so far. Lans are known for their honest and forthright nature, after all. What cause did they have to lie? And no Lan spoke carelessly, so their words must be the whole truth, without any exaggeration.
Because Lans are the source, everything they say is taken as fact. If one Lan disciple finds Jiang-zongzhu’s behavior horribly inappropriate then it must be. If another Lan is worried about Wei Wuxian’s safety, there must be a just cause.
The rumors spread and propagate, and soon almost the entirety of the cultivation world is aware of them.
---
Gossip is forbidden at Cloud Recesses. Disciples are usually discouraged from meddling in other sect business. Rumor-mongering is punished severely, with all parties involved facing the wrath of the disciple whip.
But Lans are raised to be righteous and compassionate. If someone is in trouble, a Lan must act. He must offer a helping hand and take the victim away from danger.
When the rumors reach Caiyi Town and land on the ear of one Lan Ruyao, he hesitates. He asks around, gets more information, and then rushes back to Cloud Recesses, intent on knowing it all.
Lan Ruyao seeks the three disciples that are the cause of it all and demands an explanation, his mind disturbed with worry. What he hears gives him no comfort for he cannot discard their concerns. The behavior they describe is alarming and their observations are precise, without any emotion clouding their judgment.
Lan Lishan narrates the incident in detail, describing every action with no embellishment or exaggeration. He speaks of Wei Wuxian’s retreat, of Jiang Wanyin’s insistence, the threat of whipping, and words spoken with cruelty and disrespect.
Lan Ruyao’s mind is disturbed as he retreats, absentmindedly assigning some lines to the junior disciples. They have erred by being so indiscreet but their cause is righteous. They don’t deserve severe punishment.
He meditates on the matter for an entire morning, trying to decide on a course of action.
You see, Lan Ruyao is Lan Wangji’s peer. He has known the Second Jade for many years, and while they are not close, they are of the same clan. The entire cultivation world may believe Lan Wangji hates Wei Wuxian, but Ruyao knows better. The Second Jade wouldn’t have been so insistent on bringing Wei Wuxian to Gusu if he didn’t care.
Lan Ruyao suspects both of them hold each other in some esteem. They have saved each other’s sides many times and seem to get along well when they’re not quarreling. He believes that they are friends.
It would be unwise to keep this from Lan Wangji.
Decision made, he quickly requests a private meeting with the Second Jade. The request is granted promptly and soon Lan Ruyao finds himself before his peer, readying himself for a difficult conversation.
The Second Jade listens to his piece without any interruption, his expression blank and beautiful as white jade. But his golden eyes are twin chips of flint, coldly furious.
Indeed, they are friends.
Lan Wangji summons the three junior disciples and questions them thoroughly. His demeanor becomes frostier as the interview progresses, his spiritual energy gaining a deadly edge when the juniors murmur of ‘inappropriate behavior.’
“You have my gratitude,” Lan Wangji says finally, bowing to him and nodding to the juniors, “Rest assured, I will address the matter directly.”
---
“Lan Zhan, wait!” Wei Wuxian protests as Lan Zhan drags him away by the elbow, his uncharacteristic behavior taking him by surprise, “Don’t take him so seriously, Lan Zhan! You know he’s a temperamental brat.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything until they are a fair distance away from Jiang Cheng and the Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian tries to get an explanation for such unusual behavior but his companion is entirely silent, guiding him towards a crop of trees that offer some semblance of privacy.
“How long have you borne this?” Lan Zhan asks once they stop walking, his golden eyes bright and fierce, “How long have you endured without speaking a word to me or your friends?”
“All my life,” He rolls his eyes, “You know Jiang Cheng has a temper and says careless things, Lan Zhan. Don’t worry, I know how to handle him.”
“All your life?” Somehow, Lan Zhan seems stricken, “Wei Ying!”
“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” Honestly, he is moved by Lan Zhan’s concern for him. They have spent so many years just quarreling and being distrustful towards each other. The concern is a pleasant distraction from the wretched state of their relationship, “Don’t worry about it. I can deal with everything Jiang Cheng throws at me.”
“How can you be so callous about your own well-being?” Lan Zhan asks, his tone betraying his dismay, “Do you not care-” He visibly bites back those angry words and calms himself, his voice taking on a gentler note, “Did you think I would not help? That your friends wouldn’t offer you shelter or protection?”
Really, this is a bit of an overreaction, isn’t it?
“Do I really have any friends left, Lan Zhan?” He asks casually but the reaction he receives is anything but casual. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen as though he has been struck, “Aiya, please don’t look like that,” Wei Wuxian feels a stir of panic because Lan Zhan looks almost hurt, “I’m just being a brat.”
“Have a care,” Lan Zhan says, “Your dismissal of this matter doesn’t put me at ease.”
“Lan Zhan,” He sighs, “I’m used to it. You saw how we were at Cloud Recesses. Did I look unusually troubled then?”
“You’ve become… accustomed to it?” Lan Zhan asks, once again looking uncharacteristically stricken. Wei Wuxian feels a stir of concern in his stomach and reaches out, placing a hand on the Second Jade’s arm, “You’re accustomed to it.”
Not knowing what to do in response to such open emotion from Lan Zhan, he looks for something to distract him. Immediately, his mind remembers an old promise, “Let’s focus on something more pleasant. It’s about time you saw Lotus Pier in its full glory, Lan Zhan! I want to show you all of my favorite places, including all of the trees I climbed!”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is low and pained.
Wei Wuxian’s smile softens as he tugs on the Second Jade’s arm, “Don’t think of unpleasant things, Lan Zhan. It’s a beautiful day and we haven’t seen each other in months! Let’s be happy, alright?”
Wei Wuxian feels a jolt of surprise as Lan Zhan raises a hand and covers his fingers, squeezing gently. The touch is warm and reassuring, and it sets Wei his heart racing.
Lan Zhan studies him for a long moment before dipping his head elegantly, his grip on Wei Wuxian’s fingers still firm and steady, “If Wei Ying wishes it,” He promises, “I will make it so.”
Oh.
---
It all comes to a head at the Discussion Conference. Wei Wuxian is accustomed to being the center of attention these days but the quality of that attention is different now. Instead of wary glances, he sees eyes filled with sympathy and tentative smiles of welcome.
Wei Wuxian being Wei Wuxian, ignores the nagging suspicion that lingers at the back of his mind and smiles brightly back at them.
That seems to make things worse because the looks of sympathy seem to somehow intensify. He even sees a few women blink their limpid eyes and turn away, as though disguising tears. Somewhat alarmed, he glances at Jiang Cheng and winces.
His martial brother is bristling with anger. There’s a thundercloud-like expression on his face as he meets every eye in the room with a clear challenge.
If glances towards him are filled with sympathy, those towards Jiang Cheng are filled with contempt and disapproval. Between that and Lan Zhan’s protective hovering, Wei Wuxian is at the end of his patience.
He needs answers and he needs them now before the situation can escalate somehow.
Baffled by the situation, Wei Wuxian looks around and finds the most reliable source of gossip he can find. “What is going on?” He demands as soon as he is at Nie Huiasang’s side, “Why are people glaring at Jiang Cheng like he’s a fierce corpse?”
Nie Huaisang waves his fan, his expression a strange mix of amusement and grim satisfaction. For one, his old friend doesn’t hide behind his usual prevarications. He glances around the room and seems to catch someone’s eye. Wei Wuxian follows that gaze only to blink as Lan Zhan walks sedately towards them, expression stern and disapproving, “Do you know what’s going on, Lan Zhan?”
The Second Jade remains silent, his eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian sighs in frustration and glares at Nie Huaisang, “Nie-xiong, what?”
His curt tone is enough to snape Nie Huaisang out of his musings. The man smiles wryly behind his fan, “Ah, Wei-xiong,” He waves his free hand, “There has been some speculation about your relationship with-”
“Why don’t you speak up?” A loud voice asks and Wei Wuxian turns around, “Why don’t you defend Wei Wuxian, Jiang-zongzhu? You’re going to let people slander your loyal Head Disciple so boldly?”
It’s Wang Jin, the Sect Leader of Runan Wang Clan. The man’s face is twisted in rage and disgust as he stares at Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian frowns, ready to step forward and stand by Jiang Cheng in such a hostile environment.
Lan Zhan’s hand on his arm stops him.
He looks at the Second Jade questioningly but the man just shakes his head, “Wait.”
“Why should he defend him?” An annoying Jin pipes up, his voice sharp and mocking, “We know what Wei Wuxian is! He may pretend to be loyal on the surface, but he is nothing but a faithless dog-”
“Jin Zixun!” Nie Mingjue snaps, “I will not have you insult one of our men in my presence! He fought and bled on our side.”
Nie Mingjue’s words silence him and Jin Guangyao speaks up soothingly as Wei Wuxian frowns, studying the scene with keen eyes, “Let us all calm down. I’m sure Wang-zongzhu means well.” He smiles placidly, “There have been rumors, just a bit of gossip about Wei-gongzi speaking ill of Jiang-zongzhu.” Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side, mind whirling.
He refuses to be angry. There’s something about this situation that has his instincts rattled. He needs to focus.
“The Hanguang-jin himself said they were lies. Wei Wuxian has never spoken ill of Jiang Wanyin!” Well, that’s not entirely true. He is certain he has called Jiang Cheng a temperamental brat in Lan Zhan’s presence more than once. “Jiang-zongzhu should know better than to-”
“Why does Jiang-zongzhu need to do anything for that man?” Jin Zixun demands and Wei Wuxian feels a stir of amusement. All of this drama on his account? He’s honored.
“What kind of Sect Leader is he?” Wang-zongzhu asks, fuming, “If he doesn’t even defend his own Head Disciple? Has he not brought glory to YungmengJiang? Doesn’t the Sect owe him a debt of gratitude?” Wei Wuxian winces and Jiang Cheng’s expression turns stony, “If you want to talk of rumors, why not discuss the other rumors?” Wang-zongzhu turns to Jiang Cheng with a scowl, “Is he not your brother in all but blood? Didn’t the former Jiang-zongzhu raise Wei Wuxian as his nephew? Is this how YunmengJiang treats its brightest disciple? How will you face Jiang Fengmian, Jiang-zongzhu?”
Wei Wuxian bites back a groan as Jiang Cheng’s expression darkens with fury. This is the absolute worst thing to say to his martial brother.
“Why is he so concerned about this?” Wei Wuxian asks, almost to himself.
Nie Huiasang leans in and whispers in his ear, “His sisters were… assaulted by the Wens.”
Wei Wuxian feels a shudder crawl down his spine and shakes his head. Those disgusting wretches deserved the death he inflicted on them.
He still doesn’t understand what this has to do with him.
He glances at Lan Zhan, he is looking at the scene with his usual frosty expression, giving nothing away. He looks ahead to see Jiang Cheng ready to erupt and frowns. “Lan Zhan, I need to… help, somehow.”
“Wei Ying needs to do nothing.”
He’s about to protest when Jiang Cheng finally snaps, “Glory to YunmengJiang? He has brought nothing but devastation to it!” Wei Wuxian flinches and Lan Zhan steps forward and to the side, pointedly placing himself between the two Jiang Sect cultivators, “YunmengJiang has always been glorious. My ancestors bled and fought for it! We earned our glory through centuries of cultivation and diligence! I owe him a debt? Wei Wuxian owes me the lives of my parents! He provoked the Wens to save Lan Wangji’s life and I lost my family because of it!”
“Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps-”
“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng interrupted Jin Guangyao, “How I treat my Head Disciple is none of your business.”
“It is very much our business if you’re abusing him,” Nie Mingjue says and it silences everyone.
Wei Wuxian is… dumbfounded. He feels like he’s just a mass of confusion at this point because nothing about this situation makes sense. “Abuse?” He whispers harshly to Nie Huaisang, grabbing his arm to drag him away to a quieter corner, “Nie Huaisang, what is going on? Jiang Cheng doesn’t abuse me!”
“Does he not?” It is Lan Zhan who speaks, his expression solemn, “Truly, Wei Ying? Does he not abuse you?”
“Of course, not-”
“So he didn’t threaten you with Zidian?” Nie Huaisang asks, “Or try to physically intimidate you while you were clearly trying to step away?”
Wei Wuxian frowns, “Well yes, but that is just him being angry! He does that all the time.”
“That is no comfort to us.” Lan Zhan says stiffly.
“Didn’t he push you away several times? We have accounts from people who saw you fall to the ground.” Nie Huaisang’s expression is unusually stern, “Didn’t he seek to isolate you from everyone? Didn’t he keep telling you Wangji-xiong hated you?”
“Wangji-xiong gave every impression of hating me.” Wei Wuxian firmly denies, “Let us not attribute that particular error to someone else.”
“Indeed,” Lan Zhan nods graciously, as expected. He wouldn’t be Lan Zhan if he didn’t accept his own mistakes without hesitation.
“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang tucks his fan away and he sees Lan Zhan focus on that, his eyes suddenly sharp, “He has been saying the same thing since you were at Cloud Recesses. He has always dragged you away from Lan Wangji. You saved Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan’s lives. Why is he so intent on our Second Jade, hmm?”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “You’re making this unnecessarily complicated.” He says, “On the surface, all of these actions appear wrong but the intent behind them isn’t cruel.”
“Your love for him blinds you.” Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes sharply at his old friend, “If er-ge treated Wangji-xiong like that, you’d be furious. Just the threat of da-ge whipping would have you reaching for your flute.”
“Huaisang-”
“Did you think we wouldn’t feel the same way?”
Wei Wuxian studies him and Lan Zhan, realizing they are utterly serious. Concerned and a bit baffled, he looks at Jiang Cheng over his shoulder, only to find him nose to nose with Wang-zongzhu. “Heavens,” He breathes and steps forward, determined to intervene.
“You think what?” Jiang Cheng’s voice is full of disgust, “You… you think I have… that I’m some disgusting cutsleeve?!”
Wait, what?
“How dare you?! I would never touch a man!”
“Is that what he’s focusing on?” Nie Huaisang asks incredulously.
For once, Wei Wuxian has nothing to say.
---
It takes a few weeks for fresh rumors to make their rounds. People now know that Jiang Wanyin hasn’t behaved inappropriately with his martial brother, but that doesn’t make much difference.
The cultivation world, in general, still believes that Jiang Cheng’s behavior is abhorrent. Wei Wuxian is tempted to point out the hypocrisy of their words but knows it is futile. Once the masses make up their minds about something, few can persuade them to think otherwise. Jiang Cheng’s reputation has been tainted forever and there’s little they can do about it.
Unfortunately, this issue has also cemented the break between Wei Wuxian and his Sect Leader. There’s nothing that can repair the relationship now. He feels a pang of loss but he had already resigned himself to that when he had given away his Golden Core.
Fortunately, it seems he has some options available.
“Come to Gusu with me,” Lan Zhan says, his tone softer, his voice imploring, “Please.” This time, Wei Wuxian can’t mistake his intent. Lan Zhan’s reaction to the entire mess made one thing very clear to him.
Lan Wangji cares about him.
Isn’t that something? Never in his life did Wei Wuxian think he would be in such a position. He had always assumed Jiang Cheng would be by his side and Lan Wangji would stand against him. But everything is different now.
Wei Wuxian thinks of his childhood home, thinks of a life that has been irrevocably changed, and sinks in those memories for a brief moment. Despite what everyone thinks, there have been some good times. He doesn’t regret the course his life took when he was welcomed to the Lotus Pier by Jiang Fengmian.
He lingers, briefly, on regret,
Then, he shrugs it off and looks into the golden eyes of his future with a grin, “I’ll come to Gusu with you, Lan Zhan.”
And that’s that.
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amedetoiles · 3 years
Note
lwj is almost as guilty for all the things jc is criticised for
Everyone is guilty for all the things Jiang Cheng is constantly criticized for. Torturing cultivators? Check. Not helping the Wen remnants? Check. Not standing by Wei Wuxian? Check. Shouting? Check. Lying? Check. Being an asshole at some point in their life? Absolutely check.
Everyone jokes around about the Lan’s Silencing Spell, including myself, but um, using your sect’s magical coercion spell to silence someone else’s voice multiple times is actually kind of fucked up? Nobody says anything about the Lans and Nies being equally, if not more so, complicit in what ends up happening with the Wens and Wei Wuxian, but it’s still Jiang Cheng who gets the most criticism, and I will never be okay with this.
Hell, Wei Wuxian himself committed pretty much all of these! As much as we love Wei Wuxian for his endlessly giving heart, we should keep in mind that he also didn’t do anything about the Wens until Wen Qing and Wen Ning were involved. That isn’t a criticism. That is just the nature of the society and culture that they live in, where blood feuds are a thing and wiping out a clan who killed your family is simply an equal and just exchange regardless of individual involvement. Wei Wuxian committed a massive cultural taboo for helping the Wen remnants. That isn’t to say he shouldn’t have helped, or that everyone isn’t complicit in the death of a bunch of villagers who were trying to move on, but that responsibility and criticism certainly shouldn’t only land squarely on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.
Especially when Jiang Cheng was still little more than a child himself. The Jiang sect was completely wiped out. Jiang Cheng was barely holding onto any political power as it is. They were being intentionally left out of political meetings by the other three sects. They were extremely vulnerable to being swallowed up and becoming subsidiary to the Jin sect. Jiang Cheng had an immense responsibility to his people who walked with him through war when he had nothing to offer them at time other than his word, and part of that responsibility was to not go around pissing off your next door neighbors who had a hell of a lot more power than you do at the moment.
And amidst of all this, Jiang Cheng was being actively lied to the entire time! He couldn’t possibly have known that Wei Wuxian, his genius cultivator shixiong, no longer had a golden core, whose only option was now demonic cultivation and who was neck deep in a veritable thunderstorm of trauma and self-hatred. Especially when Wei Wuxian was constantly telling him he was fine. Especially when Wei Wuxian was doing everything he could to make sure Jiang Cheng could never know the truth. While I do think Jiang Cheng was wrong about what options were available to him, I personally think he was the least obligated out of everyone to help.
You know whose sects didn’t get wiped out? Who still had political power and was actually at the table when the remaining Wens and labor camps were being discussed? Who still had experienced disciples and opinionated elders? Who had at least much more experience navigating the complicated web of political manipulations than Jiang Cheng? The Lans. The Nies. Both equally capable of putting a stop to Jin Guangshan. Both equally responsible for the murders of a bunch of villagers. Both absolutely one hundred percent more obligated to do so and in a position where it was possible than Jiang Cheng was.
But sure, let’s freaking blame the traumatized teenager whose family and sect were slaughtered for not being able to help.
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silverflame2724 · 2 years
Text
Not entirely happy with how this turned out but meh. It’ll do.
_____________
The moment Wei Wuxian saw the theory on the golden core transfer was the moment he decided to use his own core to help Jiang Cheng.
But something stopped him.
It was a little faded, but in the corner was a note of how a core of different strength might not only fail to be transferred but also harm its recipient. It was an unproven theory, after all.
Wei Wuxian hesitated then. It was well known that he had always been stronger than Jiang Cheng. What if the strength of his core caused harm to Jiang Cheng?
He couldn’t allow that to happen. But what could he do? Jiang Cheng was wasting away and Wei Wuxian did not want him to get any worse.
What if you found someone willing? His mind whispered.
But he shook off the thought. Where would he find a willing transferee?
The Book of the Mind. His brain remembered absently. In the Lan library, there has been a book detailed with songs that could affect the mind. It even contained songs that could make a person pliant and willing.
Such thoughts made chills run down Wei Wuxian’s spine. How could he think of doing this to someone? Was he crazy?
Even if he did find someone, he couldn’t pick from any Wen stationed here in Yiling. Wen Qing would find out about it. He also needed to find someone of similar strength to Jiang Cheng.
Wei Wuxian worried his bottom lip with his teeth. And then made up his mind.
……………
He changed his clothes and hairstyle and informed Wen Qing that he’ll be careful. He’s just going on a night hunt.
Wen Qing looked suspicious but acquiesced as long as Wei Wuxian didn’t bring any trouble to them.
Wei Wuxian understood her worries and waved them off. He can be careful if he tries.
So he left.
………………………
Wen Qing was wary when Wei Wuxian had left on a supposed night hunt despite the ailing condition of his brother. Especially considering how Wei Wuxian had been looking at her golden core transfer theory.
She was worried but nevertheless could do nothing about it. As long as Wei Wuxian didn’t bring harm onto her or her brother, she didn’t care what he would do.
(Though, she would come to regret this line of thought soon.)
.
.
.
Wei Wuxian returned and with him, a strange young man who seemed……odd, somehow.
“Wen-guniang.” The strange young man bowed. “Wei-gongzi has informed me of his plan to help his brother and I am willing to transfer my golden core to him.”
Wen Qing was dumbfounded. “Wha—” She wasn’t expecting this. “Why?” She asked carefully.
“I owe Wei-gongzi a life debt. And besides, I don’t want to be involved with the cultivation world anymore. This would kill two birds with one stone.”
Wen Qing glanced at the man and Wei Wuxian, who had been staring off strangely in the distance. “You are aware that this is an unproven theory, an untested surgery, yes?”
“Yes. Wei-gongzi has informed me.”
“Wen Qing, please.” Wei Wuxian spoke up. “Jiang Cheng can’t last…..”
“I…..no. Wei Wuxian and this…..gongzi. I am a healer. And I am unwilling to perform such a dangerous procedure that could possibly take your life. I can’t use anesthetics. It would interfere with the golden core.” With that, she stood up and walked out, the feeling of wrongness emanating from that young man not leaving her mind.
Where did Wei Wuxian even find someone like that?
………………
In the end, after a day and a half of begging, Wen Qing crumbled and agreed to the procedure. Wei Wuxian then fed Jiang Cheng a lie about Baoshan Sanren helping him and they were all off to a nearby mountain.
.
.
.
The procedure was a success. Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief. And the young man who offered his core survived too, but just barely.
It’s too bad, Wei Wuxian had thought. After all, that young man he had brought was one of the Wens that had raided Lotus Pier with Wen Chao. It was a surprise to see that guy nearby by but Wei Wuxian had taken a chance and used that song to make him pliant. After checking his core to see whether it was as strong as Jiang Cheng’s, he quickly fed lies to the young man’s mind.
Wei Wuxian was relieved to have seen that everything went smoothly. Though now, he had to somehow get rid of the man. Hmm, perhaps through an unfortunate night hunt? That was something to think of later.
For now, Wei Wuxian needed to get both him and Jiang Cheng to Meishan.
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Text
This is just something that came from a different story I’m writing, so, it’s just a one shot. And it’s not really editted (sorry). 
 This is A/B/O, with Omega wwx and Alpha lwj, but honestly it doesn’t really show up much, like it’s not a focal point of the story for the most part, it’s just kind of, there. There’s minor NieLan, and past wangxian with hopeful future wangxian (hopeful future IMO), and it’s modern non cultivation!
 Other than that, enjoy? And if you have questions feel free to hop into my inbox.
It had been years.
Five, to be exact.
Wei Wuxian wouldn't lie and say Lan Wangji never entered his mind, he did almost constantly. But he had long accepted he would never see the Alpha again. Lan Qiren had made it rather clear he was to never contact Lan Wangji again.
That hadn't been a pleasant conversation. Well. Argument.
For once Wei Wuxian was glad he was no longer in contact with the Jiangs, even if it wasn’t for long, he'd hate for them to have been involved. He's not entirely sure who's side Madam Yu would've been on, but he hoped she would've been on his. Although, if she was, he's not entirely confident Lan Qiren would still be walking around. Lan Qiren might be a hard ass, but he had nothing on Madam Yu.
He should write Nie Huaisang. See how the Jiang's are doing.
"Are you alright?"
Wei Wuxian blinks, brought back to the present, silently filing the idea to write Nie Huaisang for later, and looks up at Lan Xichen. Who he had just run into. Literally.
Wei Wuxian ignores the hand and stands on his own, "Perfectly. Just distracted. Sorry to bother you." Wei Wuxian says, nodding and turning, deciding he could get A-Yuan's candy later, after the milk. He had made it a few steps before Lan Xichen grabbed his arm. Wei Wuxian tenses, snapping around with a glare on his face before he registers that Lan Xichen isn't going to attack him. Not physically at least. So he lets the glare fall. "Sorry."
Lan Xichen drops his hand, "No, I should not have grabbed you. I apologize." An apology from a Lan. Maybe he died.
A-Yuan would be heartbroken. A-Yu probably doesn't know what Death is and probably wouldn't understand for a few years.
Lan Xichen was talking. Wei Wuxian should be listening, not thinking of his death. Lan Xichen smiles, as he normally does, "You were not listening."
"Sorry. My brain drifts, it pissed your uncle off to end, remember?" Wei Wuxian says, shrugging.
Lan Xichen nods, "Uncle seemed to anger easily around you, yes. I was wondering if you had the time, we could talk. Perhaps over tea?"
He can't ask for alcohol instead. For one, Lans don't drink. For two, he has to pick A-Yu and A-Yuan up in half an hour.
"I have a half hour, I guess we could finish up shopping and go to the Starbucks down the block." Lan Xichen's eyes tighten at the mention of Starbucks, which makes Wei Wuxian remember the heavily disturbed and deer-in-headlight look Lan Wangji had when Wei Wuxian dragged him there. Repeatedly.
Lan Wangji never seemed to get used to Starbucks.
None of the Lans seem to like it either.
Lan Xichen nods though, so Wei Wuxian does a U-turn to grab the candy he promised A-Yuan and then made a bee-line for the two other things he was missing. He loses Lan Xichen at some point, but when he gets to the check out, Lan Xichen is waiting by the door with a bag.
Wei Wuxian smiles at the Cashier, Mingyu, who seemed slightly concerned for him. But Wei Wuxian waves off the concern, even when Mingyu decides to ask, "Is he a friend or should I call security?"
Wei Wuxian considers this, Lan Xichen isn't a friend, but security isn't necessary. Wei Wuxian grins when he comes to a response, that's both honest and fun, "He's Daiyu's uncle." Wei Wuxian informs, finishing with his payment and taking his items. "See you in a week Mingyu!" Wei Wuxian calls as the other man is clearly trying to figure out how he hasn't met this uncle until now.
"A friend?" Lan Xichen asks as they walk down the road.
"Eh, more I'm a regular." Wei Wuxian shrugs. He only talks to Mingyu when he buys groceries. Not much other reason to talk to the teenager.
Especially since he tends to remind Wei Wuxian that, uh, he is only twenty-two.
That's not something he particularly likes to remember. Especially when he's on his way to pick up his kids. He looks older enough that none of the other parents comment on him being A-Yu and A-Yuan's brother, and none of them comment on the utter shame of having a child at seventeen. And presumably fourteen if A-Yuan was actually birthed from him. As he so often jokes, especially after A-Yuan learnt where babies came from.
A-Yuan thinks it's funny.
Wen Qing thinks it's stupid.
But it's meant to entertain the eight year old so it's not a problem.
"So you live around here." Lan Xichen comments, more to himself than to Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian has to mentally curse himself. For five years, no Lan has known where he lived. No one from that life knew where he was except Nie Huaisang. And for all he can be a coward, Wei Wuxian knows he wouldn't have given away his location to anyone.
But he just confirmed to Lan Xichen that he lived in this town.
Fuck.
"What're you doing here?" Wei Wuxian asks, opening the door for Lan Xichen and gesturing for the man to enter the Starbucks. Lan Xichen gives him a tight smile and enters, clearly not liking being inside the store.
Tough. Wei Wuxian doesn't want to be having this conversation, neither of them get to be comfortable. Wei Wuxian follows Lan Xichen in, walking up to the register and ordering a drink with a smile before turning to Lan Xichen for his order. Which he gives with a tense smile. The barista nods, repeats the order back and then Lan Xichen pays, because this was his idea and Wei Wuxian would much rather be at home right now.
They amble over to a table to wait for their drinks to be made. Well. Lan Xichen got his at the till since it was just a Green Tea, but they have to wait for Wei Wuxian's. Might as well get this chat over with.
"The Nie have a lakehouse a mile out of town." Oh right. Oh fuck. "Mingjue and I are having a little vacation." Lan Xichen says in response to his earlier question.
"And you came to get some groceries."
"Just a little. Mingjue will be back for the rest." Lan Xichen winces when he sips at his tea, clearly not liking it. He sets his cup aside, "You know, Huaisang seemed very against us going to this partical vacation house."
Oh for fucks sake. "Huaisang's specialty isn't subtly." Wei Wuxian says with a shrug, then stands and gets his drink when the barista calls out his name.
Lan Xichen waits for him to sit back down. "No, it isn't. Might I ask, why Huaisang knows where you are when no one else does?"
"I don't like the Jin. I don't want to burden the Jiang. The Lan want nothing to do with me." Wei Wuxian shrugs, "Nie Huaisang is the only friend I have left." Outside of the friends he now lives with. Wei Wuxian sips at his flat white.
Lan Xichen's brows twitch in a furrow before smoothing out, "What do you mean we want nothing to do with you.
Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow, "Was there a part of Lan Qiren's order that was unclear?"
Wei Wuxian's response only seems to confuse him further. "I believe, there has been some miscommunication." Lan Xichen suggests politely.
"Not really." Wei Wuxian refutes. "Lan Qiren told me to get the fuck out and never contact any of you again. Not much room for miscommunication."
"He said what?" Lan Xichen asks, sounding light and a little confused. But Wei Wuxian had spent enough time around Lan Wangji, and hence Lan Xichen since Lan Xichen was Lan Wangji's favoured company, to know he was getting very pissed off.
Huh.
Wei Wuxian shrugs, too little too late, in his opinion. It's been five years. "It was shortly after I left the Jiang, I went to stay with Lan- Wangji." Wei Wuxian catches himself before using the familiar address. Lan Xichen seemed to catch the slip up too. "Just for the night. The departure went a little more explosively than I meant for it to, I came to spend the night. Lan Qiren told me to leave and never return, that Lan Wangji wanted nothing more to do with me. Not to contact anyone in the family. Obviously I argued, but I had already argued with Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang that night, so, he won. I left. And then a week later he sent me two hundred thousand Yuan." That wasn't a pleasant night to remember. It wasn't a pleasant week. He found out he was pregnant, then the Wen shit happened, and he was moving across the country with Wen Ning and his family. Wei Wuxian shrugs again, drinking his flat white.
Lan Xichen's brow furrows slowly, and he shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Uncle told us nothing about this. All Wangji and I have known is that you left the Jiang and disappeared. Wangji certainly didn't say anything about not wanting your company anymore." Lan Xichen seemed offended at the very idea.
Oh.
Huh.
Lan Wangji doesn't hate him.
Oh fuck.
Lan Wangji doesn't hate him.
But he probably will. When he tells him about A-Yu.
Fuck.
"Is everything okay?" Lan Xichen asks, making clear that Wei Wuxian's panic is clear on his face.
"Um." Wei Wuxian swallows, twisting the paper cup in his hands, "In theory. If, uh, when I left, I had been uh," No. Nope. He can't think of a good way to say this. He checks the time. "Uh, do you have twenty minutes?"
"I'm supposed to meet with Mingjue in ten."
"Great. Uh. Meet me at the park with the giant octopus sculpture in fifteen, bring Da ge, I need to drop my groceries off at my house." Wei Wuxian doesn't wait for Lan Xichen to agree, picking up his groceries and hurrying out.
When he gets home, he dumps the groceries on the counter, giving Wen Qing a quick, "Lan Xichen's in town and he's metting A-Yu and A-Yuan, see you in fiften minutes. Thanks bye!" before running back out, not responding to her shout of 'what' that followed.
When he gets to the octopus sculpture, he doesn't have to wait long fo Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue to show up, thankfully. He bounces over to them, the nervous energy coursing through him a little too much to keep still. "Hi Dage."
"Wuxian." Nie Mingjue greets, as if Wei Wuxian hasn't been off the grid for five years and was still popping into his house every other weekend to do weird shit with Nie Huaisang.
Nice to know somethings don't change.
"What is it you wanted to show us?" Lan Xichen asks politely.
"Um, this way." Wei Wuxian takes them to the school, which was only a few minutes away.
"A school." Nie Mingjue deadpans.
Wei Wuxian looks at the other parents waiting, a few of them looking back at the group with furrowed brows. One of the mothers makes a very harsh 'come here' gesture, so Wei Wuxian turns to Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, "Uh, I'll be right back. Don't move." He was clearly confusing the pair, but they nod so he rushes off to Mrs. Yang.
"Is that Daiyu's father? Other father?" Mrs. Yang demands, almost glaring at Lan Xichen.
"It's his older brother." Wei Wuxian corrects with a tight smile. "Please don't go yell at him."
"Oh, his family decides it's okay for you to raise a child for five years on your own, and I shouldn't yell?" Mrs. Yang demands, already gearing up to go.
"Uh, I'm, about to tell him Daiyu exists."
Mrs. Yang blinks, clearly taken aback. "Wei Wuxian." Wei Wuxian flinches at her tone, oh no. He's in trouble. "Did you not tell the Alpha family you were pregnant?"
"In my defence," because he needed one if he wanted to survive, "their uncle had already told me their family wanted nothing to do with me before he found out I had gotten pregnant. I don't think that opinion would've been changed in my favour. Given we were seventeen, and unmated."
Mrs. Yang hmphs, but nods. "Fine. But if he seems anything less than overjoyed, I'll be having words."
"Yes Mrs. Yang. Thank you." Wei Wuxian says, nodding. He meant it. Mrs. Yang was one of the more supportive parents. Like Granny Wen she had more or less started treating him like family.
It probably helped that her eldest was only two years younger than Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian smiles and then hurries back to Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue as the elder grades started to be let out.
"I'm sorry, do you babysit?" Lan Xichen asks, clearly very confused. Nie Mingjue doesn't seem to be much better.
"Uh. Sometimes." Wei Wuxian shrugs, "Not today." His answer only served further confusion, but he wasn't paying much attention to the pair. Instead to his incoming missile.
"Xian-gege!" Wen Yuan yells, and Wei Wuxian picks up the eight-year old as the boy had launched himself at Wei Wuxian.
"A-Yuan! My, I think you've grown!"
Wen Yuan pouts, "You saw me this morning gege! I haven't grown at all!"
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, "Hmm, nope! You've grown a full inch! I know it."
"No! A-Yuan hasn't grown at all!" Wen Yuan counters, pouting more deeply. Ah, not in the mood to be teased today. Okay.
"Ah, ah yes. A-Yuan is correct." Wei Wuxian agrees, and puts A-Yuan down. "A-Yuan, this is Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. They're old friends." Wei Wuxian introduces.
Wen Yuan was half through a bored wave when he actually looked at Nie Mingjue and his eyes utterly lit up. "You're so tall!"
Nie Mingjue barely blinked, very used to this reaction, but he seemed delighted at A-Yuan's very prescence. "Yes." Seeing as A-Yuan was practically vibrating, Wei Wuxian gently encourages him, and really that was all that was necessary before A-Yuan was attached to Nie Mingjue's leg and asking a million questions a minute.
Nie Mingjue seemed amused, and politely answered every question he caught.
With A-Yuan distracted, Wei Wuxian looks around the schoolyard for his other charge. Normally Daiyu would be attached to his leg by now. He finally spots her hiding by a tree, or, behind a tree. Her eyes widen when they meet his, and he waves her over. She hesitates, but eventually decides to come over. She walks, and then runs the last little bit, entirely hiding behind Wei Wuxian's legs, peeking a little to look at Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.
Lan Xichen had frozen.
As expected, given Daiyu's golden eyes.
"Daiyu, this is Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen is your Bobo." Daiyu seemed very doubtful of that, making almost the exact same expression Lan Wangji did when Wei Wuxian had tried to convince him necromancy was a perfectly viable career path. Wei Wuxian would like to be offended. "I'm telling the truth."
"I thought Baba's family didn't want anything to do with us." Daiyu counters, doubt clear.
Ai. Who told her that? They didn't but still. "Who told you that?"
"Qing-jie."
...Ok. Wei Wuxian wasn't going to yell at Wen Qing for telling Daiyu that. Even if he wanted to. He was going to call her a liar.
"Well, she's wrong." Wei Wuxian crouches, turning to pick Daiyu up before standing straight. "It's complicated, and something I'll talk to you about in private. But Lan Xichen hasn't been able to be around until now."
Daiyu narrows her eyes but shrugs, "Fine." She didn't sound fine. But Wei Wuxian was not about to argue with a five year old. Not in public.
"Ok. Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, this is Wei Daiyu."
"Hi."
"Hello."
Daiyu looks at Wei Wuxian before responding, "Hello."
Well. This was awkward. And Lan Xichen looked like he was about to faint. "Why don't we go to the park?" A-Yuan seemed all for that idea. A-Yu looked like she'd rather not but when Wei Wuxian put her down she ran with A-Yuan toward the park. Wei Wuxian lead the adults in following after them.
While the kids played at the Octopus park, Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen sat down at a bench, as Wen Yuan had dragged Nie Mingjue into their game.
"You were pregnant."
Wei Wuxian nods. "Lan Qiren didn't know. I, didn't know, until a week after that argument." Wei Wuxian shrugs, "I took Lan Qiren's words to heart, and didn't contact Lan Zhan about her."
"But you told Huaisang." Lan Xichen states.
Wei Wuxian blinks, "Huaisang doesn't know. I only talk to Huaisang for updates on the Jiang." And other things, but, mostly the Jiang. Once or twice Lan Wangji, but not all that often. He probably wouldn't take it well if Nie Huaisang sent back that Lan Wangji had gotten married.
"You, didn't tell anyone?"
"Nope. You're the first person outside of this town that knows." Wei Wuxian shrugs, and Lan Xichen just, stops. Wei Wuxian worries he's broken him, but soon enough Lan Xichen shakes his head.
"I can't- Apologies, this is a lot to process."
"How do you think Lan Zhan will react?" He's expecting anger. That's what some of the other omegan parents tell him to expect, whenever he considers sending Lan Wangji a message about Daiyu. No Alpha ever takes a pup being kept from them well. That's what they always say.
Lan Xichen's eyes widen, then he winces slightly, "I imagine, you are the not the one to worry about Wangji's reaction." Eh? "I'm sure he'll be happy. Saddened to have missed her first few years, but happy none the less."
Wei Wuxian opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure how to phrase his question before giving up and just asking, "Is he with anyone?"
Lan Xichen blinks and turns to look at Wei Wuxian, confused for a moment before understand dawns and he shakes his head slightly, "No. Uncle has tried for arrangements, but Wangji refuses them all. but I'm certain if you contact him, he'll be happy to see you." (Lan Xichen does not mention that he's rather confident Lan Wangji will immediately run to Wei Wuxian's side and help in raising Daiyu if Wei Wuxian even hints that that is what he wants. That seems a little much for right now.)
Wei Wuxian nods, not entirely believing that, but not willing to argue. "Now I just have to get Daiyu to come around." He did not expect his daughter to be the stickler here. Then again, Wen Qing had made her opinion on Lan Qiren years ago and wasn't quiet about it.
"She's aware of what Uncle said?" Lan Xichen asks.
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, "Uh, my friend, Wen Qing, yeah, that Wen Qing, I'm living with her family, long story, anyways, Wen Qing knows, and she holds very unfavourable opinions about it and she's not quiet about them. So, even if Daiyu doesn't know the full story, Wen Qing has given her enough to go on that she's formed her own, unfavourable opinion." Wei Wuxian shrugs, he couldn't really argue against it. Up until half an hour ago, he was rather confident the Lan's hated him and wanted nothing to do with him.
Now he has to explain a five year misunderstanding to his daughter.
Fun.
“I have to tell Wangji what you just told me.” Lan Xichen states, clearly not looking forward to that conversation.
Wei Wuxian shrugs, “It’s Lan Zhan, he’ll make a displeased face and not talk for a week.” It wasn’t that big of deal. Lan Wangji doesn’t do grudges, not really. At least, he didn’t five years ago.
Lan Xichen’s face was pure pity, which Wei Wuxian didn’t understand but it was gone before Wei Wuxian could formulate a question. “Do you want us around or shall we leave you alone?”
Oh. Wei Wuxian hadn’t considered that. “Um, maybe leave us alone for tomorrow? I guess I can give you my number and, if A-Yu is agreeable you guys can hang around. If it won’t mess up your vacation.” Because, who wants to spend their vacation with their little brother’s ex and daughter?
“That would be wonderful.” Lan Xichen says, pulling out his own phone and letting Wei Wuxian type in his number. Wei Wuxian then texts himself so he’d have the number on his phone too. “We should be getting back, I believe Mingjue wanted to stop by the butcher and they close at five.”
“Yes, they do. Because he needs to eat supper and spend time with his kids.” He kne Changpu, he was nice. Stodgy, but nice.
Lan Xichen nods and stands up, walking over to the playing trio and speaking quietly to Mingjue, he bids goodbye to the children, before the pair start walking away, they wave goodbye to Wei Wuxian, which he returns, and then they disappear.
Then, Daiyu runs up to him, “A-Niang, does that mean A-Die doesn’t hate us? Will he come live with us? Will we see Xi-bo a lot? Are they going to live with us? Like Granny and Uncle Four?”
Fuck.
Upon returning to the cabin, Lan Xichen’s day wasn’t going any better. Nie Mingjue was cooking supper, so Lan Xichen was alone with the decision to call Lan Wangji about Wei Wuxian. Obviously, he would. How much to say though?
Wangji, as it turns out, would make that decision for him.
After exchanging greetings, Lan Xichen barely got out, “So I ran into Wei Wuxian today in the city near where Mingjue and I are vacationing.” Before the call was dropped. Lan Xichen blinked, staring at his phone where it said ‘Call Ended’, meaning Wangji hung up on him. Lan Wangji hung up without a word. Without letting Lan Xichen finish. He was never so rude. He normally at least made a sound to indicate a goodbye. Nie Mingjue laughed at him when Lan Xichen explained why he was so flabbergasted.
Lan Wangji showed up the next morning.
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ibijau · 3 years
Text
Jin Rusong Lives pt 13 / On AO3
Nie Huaisang investigates
“What do you mean he was taken?” Nie Huaisang snarled, tightening his grip on his disciple’s collar.
“I don't know, I was just on duty at the gate!" the man said. "They arrived and said to warn you right away while they get checked by Nie Zhilan, I don’t know what happened! They just told me he’s gone, and Jin Yixin too.”
Nie Huaisang pushed the man out of the way and ran toward the infirmary. He thought he heard Lan Xichen call his name, but ignored it, filled with terror over Jin Rusong’s fate.
He should never have allowed the child to leave the Unclean Realm, not even under surveillance, not even to a place so close. Jin Guangyao had left too many enemies behind them, and most of those didn’t have Nie Huaisang’s fondness for his son. Why should they? Jin Guangyao had ordered entire sects killed, people had lost sons, daughters, grandchildren, it was only natural they'd want the same to happen to their enemy's child. Nie Huaisang was the last person with a right to blame others for their dreams of revenge, and yet in this case, he could not allow it. 
Jin Rusong was family, just as surely as his brother, or his sect, or even Lan Xichen. They were all his and he would set the world on fire if anything happened to that child.
On the way to the infirmary, Nie Huaisang spotted Nie Funyu on the training ground. His first disciple looked surprised at first, then concerned when Nie Huaisang barked that lessons for the day were cancelled. He was a smart man though, and when his sect leader ordered that the distress signal Wen Ning had left them be used immediately, Nie Funyu asked no question and ran to obey.
There were four men in the infirmary when Nie Huaisang got there, as well as Nie Zhilan who had a severe look on her face. The first thing that came to Nie Huaisang’s mind when he saw those men was that they were not, and by far, the strongest cultivators to be found in the Unclean Realm. They were good, friendly people, and as large as most Nie disciples were, but their skill was nothing spectacular. Of course, it was Nie Huaisang’s own fault if Jin Yixin hadn’t picked anyone more capable to come with her and her student. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he’d have told her exactly who to take with her instead of leaving that to her own judgement. How could she have known who to trust, when she'd mixed so little with others?
Out of those four men, Qian Zhixian was the one in best shape, though he still had a number of bruises, and appeared to have trouble with one elbow. The others were more seriously injured, with one at least having a bleeding gash on his forehead, and another whose leg might have been broken. Qian Zhixian gave an awkward, one handed bow to his sect leader, and dared not meet Nie Huaisang’s eyes.
“Zongzhu, we have failed you.”
“You have. What happened?”
All four men winced at his tone, but Qian Zhixian started explaining. Everything had gone well at first, they’d reached that little field without trouble, and Jin Yixin had started her lesson. At one point, she had asked the four Nie disciples to walk a little further away, so she could explain certain things that pertained to the Jin sect’s particular way of cultivating. They’d done so without question, respecting the need for secrecy in these things, and had spread out in the field so they could continue keeping an eye on every direction.
As far as they could tell, all four of them had been attacked at the same time, though they were not quite sure who, or what, had attacked them, their opponents shrouded in dark mist to hide their identity. The fight had been too hard for them, and they all went down with shameful speed, losing consciousness for a while. Qian Zhixian had been the first to wake up again, since he hadn’t been hit quite as hard, and he’d quickly woken up his companions as well.
“We’d have sent a signal,” Qian Zhixian said when Nie Huaisang’s glare intensified, “but whoever ambushed us took them from us. So we came back as fast as we could, and gave the alert.”
“What about Jin Yixin? Where was she while you were fighting?”
“We don’t know. Since she was gone too, we think maybe she tried to protect the little boy, and whoever took him had to take her too.”
“Hm. When Nie Zhilan is done healing you, report to Nie Funyu for punishment,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “I will not be disappointed again. Did you look around at all for any clues before returning here?”
“We thought it was more important to give the alarm, zongzhu.”
Nie Huaisang cursed. If he’d been there, he would have sent one man to raise the alarm, and asked the others to search their surroundings, in case whoever took Jin Rusong had left some traces of their identity. Not that he thought those four were the sort who would have noticed anything. Good, kind men, but hardly sharp. If he’d been there, if he hadn’t stupidly trusted others…
“I’ll deal with you four later,” Nie Huaisang decided. “If you remember anything of importance, send someone to warn me. I’m going to inspect that field myself.”
Without another look at his disciples, he stormed out of the infirmary.
That was why he’d worked alone all these years. There were good people in his sect, loyal and strong and most of them kind, but they just weren’t cut out for the sort of world that Jin Guangyao had created, the world they were still dealing with. Everyone around him was just too honest, and stupidly assumed that others were as well. Honesty was all nice and well, but Nie Huaisang couldn’t count on people who didn’t even think to…
“Huaisang!” Lan Xichen called, running up to him just as he was about to reach the main gate. He was breathless and pale, as if the news had undone what several weeks of rest had restored of his health.
“He’s disappeared,” Nie Huaisang coldly said when Lan Xichen had reached him. “Jin Yixin too. I’m going to see if I find any clues.”
Lan Xichen startled, but nodded.
“I’m coming too.”
“In your state?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “What good will you be? It’s my fault if this happened, I’ll deal with it. Go rest, I can do this on my own.”
Lan Xichen grew paler yet, but when Nie Huaisang tried to move, Lan Xichen caught him by the wrist with surprising strength for a man looking so exhausted.
“I’m coming too. If you’re responsible, then so am I. If you’re going to look for him, so am I.”
“That’s not…”
“Don’t push me away again,” Lan Xichen pleaded, tightening his grip. “You don’t have to do it alone this time.”
Years of habit screamed in Nie Huaisang’s mind, telling him not to rely on others, not to get anyone involved in his business, least of all Lan Xichen whose honesty and determination to do things properly could only lead to disaster.
But Lan Xichen was right there, just as worried about what had happened to Jin Rusong, eager to help get their little boy back. And he was theirs now, at least for the time being. Their child, in danger.
Of course Nie Huaisang couldn’t do that alone.
“Then let’s go,” Nie Huaisang said, freeing his wrist so he could hold Lan Xichen’s hand and give him support as they left the Unclean Realm. 
-
Just as Nie Huaisang remembered, the field mentioned by Jin Yixin was quite close to the Unclean Realm, and visible from its walls. The attack might have been noticed if patrols had been more frequent, which told him he’d need to do something about that.
In Nie Mingjue’s days, the walls would have been guarded constantly, in all directions. In Nie Mingjue’s days, something like this could never have happened. 
“There are signs of struggle here,” Wen Ning noted quietly. “Not very strong ones, but it's there anyway, look..”
He had joined them as they were walking toward the field, explaining that he’d sent Lan Sizhui to warn Jin Rulan there was a problem as soon as they’d seen the signal. Hopefully, both boys would be there by morning.
It would not be pleasant to explain to Jin Rulan what had happened, nor what Nie Huaisang was starting to suspect about the situation. But he wouldn't throw accusations until he was sure of himself. The last thing they needed after such a mess was a diplomatic incident.
“There are only those weak signs,” Nie Huaisang remarked, coming closer to Wen Ning to look again. “Jin Rusong, no doubt. Whatever happened, he did not wish to go. But as for Jin Yixin…”
There was no sign of serious fighting in the spot where Jin Yixin and Jin Rusong would have stood when the attack occurred. Aside from the grass being slightly flattened in two places, leaving indents too small to have come from anyone but Jin Rusong, nothing was amiss. Odd, when she'd more than proven she was a very strong fighter.
“They might have knocked her unconscious right away,” Lan Xichen suggested, sitting on a rock, the walk to the field having been a little too much for him.
Nie Huaisang threw him a look. Lan Xichen grimaced, and shook his head.
“I also find it unlikely,” he admitted. “Unless they neutralised her in such a manner that she couldn't fight them off at all, and yet didn't fall either… But if she wasn't attacked, then it means she allowed all this to happen, and either ran away on her own or left with the kidnappers. Why would she do that? Didn’t you say that Jin Rulan vouched for her?”
“People’s trust can be misplaced,” Nie Huaisang retorted bitterly. “And I didn’t get to know her well enough to make an opinion regarding her personality. She made no effort to mix with us, and I was too preoccupied by other matters to go against her wishes. I should have seen something was strange! I should have guessed, there must have been signs…”
With some effort, Lan Xichen rose from his improvised seat and went to join the other two.
“I shouldn’t have let them come here today,” Nie Huaisang said while Lan Xichen took his hand. “I should have been more careful. To make a mistake like that…”
“It’s probably not that bad,” Wen Ning said. “They could have killed him, but they just kidnapped him. Whoever took him might just want to use him as a bargaining chip against you or Jin Rulan.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think,” Nie Huaisang snapped.
“It should be. A hostage can be freed, a corpse can’t be saved,” Wen Ning pointed out. Then, remembering his own situation, he sheepishly added: “Not usually, anyway.”
Nie Huaisang felt Lan Xichen shiver, while he thought he might faint, clutching too hard at each other's hand, both thinking of the last time Jin Rusong had gone missing. 
It had only been a very short while back then, and he'd been in Jinlin Tai with his family, all of his father's sect, as well as some prestigious guests. Nie Huaisang remembered that nobody had been particularly worried when they realised they hadn't seen the little boy in a while and started looking for him. He couldn't have gone very far, they'd all thought, and with so many people present, he'd be spotted soon. 
They'd been right. They'd found his body very quickly, and very near. Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen had been close by when Qin Su had screamed, and they'd seen that little boy they loved so much, lifeless on the floor of a small room near the hall where they'd been having a banquet. 
They'd all been drinking and laughing, while he died alone. 
Nie Huaisang could not go through that again. It would kill him if it happened again, and under his watch this time. 
"It's getting dark, you two won't be able to do much," Wen Ning remarked. "Go back inside, get some rest. I'll continue looking around in case they left some traces while escaping." 
It was the sensible thing to do, but Nie Huaisang had half a mind to keep looking as well. It just didn't feel right to merely go sleep, not when poor Jin Rusong was among strangers and likely terrified. 
If he had been alone, Nie Huaisang would have continued looking too. But Lan Xichen was there as well, shaken by the shock of that incident, still not fully recovered from his too harsh seclusion. If Nie Huaisang did not care about himself, he worried about Lan Xichen's well-being, and he knew the other man would refuse to return to the Unclean Realm alone. 
That either of them could sleep seemed unlikely, but if they managed to rest they would be of more use, should morning bring any news. 
-
After threats from Nie Zhilan, Lan Xichen reluctantly took some medicine to help him catch some sleep. Nie Zhilan was furious at him for exerting himself beyond what she'd allowed, and equally angry at Nie Huaisang for not preventing it. As Lan Xichen drifted to sleep, in Nie Huaisang’s bed rather than his own so he could be reached quicker if something happened, Nie Zhilan threatened to force feed her sect leader that same medicine as punishment, only dropping the matter when he made it clear he was in no mood for a playful argument. Nie Huaisang even managed to obtain a different medicine to wake Lan Xichen up, in case the first one had not naturally worn off by the time Jin Rulan and Lan Sizhui arrived. 
In the end, it was not necessary. Shortly after Lan Xichen woke up on his own, the two young men were directed to Nie Huaisang's private quarters. 
"You were supposed to look after him!" Jin Rulan exploded as he rushed inside the room. "And now your disciples tell me Rusong's been kidnapped?" 
Coming in after him, Lan Sizhui looked calmer, but equally unhappy. He frowned at the sight of Lan Xichen still laying in Nie Huaisang’s bed, and that hint of judgment, combined with the exhaustion of a sleepless night, and the guilt of failure, got the better of Nie Huaisang. 
"I was supposed to look after him, and Jin zongzhu was supposed to send a trustworthy teacher!" he snapped. "Every sign indicates that Jin Yixin helped his kidnappers, and is probably hiding with them right now." 
"She'd never do that!" Jin Rusong retorted. "Jin Yixin is a well respected elder! Uncle Jiang and me checked her background carefully before selecting her! She's always dedicated herself to teaching, never meddled with politics if she could avoid it. And she had a very good relationship with Qin Su, so she wouldn't hurt her son."
"You'd be surprised what people would do to their friends." 
"They weren't just friends! Jin Yixin and Qin Su are cousins, so she's family, she could never hurt Rusong." 
"I think Jin Guangyao proved well enough that family… wait, cousins ?"
Arms crossed on his chest, Jin Rulan nodded firmly while Nie Huaisang stared, too tired to make sense of that new revelation.
"Something close to that anyway,” Jin Rulan explain. “I think she might actually be Qin Cangye's cousin? But they're related anyway. I'd forgotten about it when we thought of asking her, but she told us she'd be happy to help her family, so obviously she can't have…" 
"Jin Rulan, you're an idiot," Nie Huaisang cut him. "And I'm an imbecile. Qin Cangye! Of course!" 
Lan Xichen slowly sat up on the bed, still groggy from the medicine he’d taken but looking agitated by the news.
"Did anyone warn him about Rusong?" he slurred. 
"I didn't think it concerned him," Jin Rulan said. "Rusong isn't his real grandson, is he? Uncle Jiang agreed, too." 
"You were raised in Lanling, so I'll excuse you for being stupid about family," Nie Huaisang said, starting to pace the room. "But your uncle should have known better, and me as well. Qin Cangye is a proud man, and he’s refused to believe what was revealed about his wife. Of course he’d do something if he learned Rusong is alive!”
Nie Huaisang stopped his pacing, and cursed. That was another reason he’d worked alone all these years. He was too sentimental. Having people he loved close-by made him distracted and stupid. If Jin Rusong hadn’t been living with him, Nie Huaisang would have been less emotional in the instance of a disappearance, and might have guessed right away that the Qin sect could be involved. If Lan Xichen hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have been so careless. Emotions made him weaker, and impulsive to the point of stupidity.
“Qin Cangye is an honest man,” Lan Xichen softly pointed out. “He rarely visited Jinlin Tai because he had a dislike of Jin Guangyao, but I think he was very fond of his grandson. If he has Rusong, at least we know he’s safe.”
“Qin Cangye is a decent enough man, but we can’t be sure he’s the one who orchestrated this,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “His sons might be less than enthusiastic at the news that Jin Rusong is alive. They'd have preferred to see him dead rather than have a living proof of their mother's shame. And if his grandfather insists on treating him as family, then he’ll get a share of inheritance someday. After such a miracle, he might even get preferential treatment over Qin Cangye’s other grandchildren, just because he had the good luck to survive. The Qin sect can be just as cut-throat as Lanling Jin when there’s money involved.”
“I’m right here!” Jin Ling complained.
Nie Huaisang turned to glare at him.
“You are, and I’m furious at you! You should have told me Jin Yixin was related to the Qin!”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“You didn’t think at all!” Nie Huaisang exploded. “You didn’t think when you decided to heal Jin Rusong and revive him! You didn’t think when you let him wake up among strangers, without a single familiar face to comfort him! You didn’t think when you sent him here, and you certainly didn’t think when you trusted that woman! And now Rusong could be in danger, he could come to great harm, he could die again, and I… I can’t… If I have to bury him again…”
A loud sob wracked through his body, leaving him breathless. He could still see Jin Rusong, lifeless and forced to die alone, still see his tomb so small and plain for having died too young. He’d burned incense for that child, and paper toys as well so he wouldn't get bored in the afterlife. He’d pitied Jin Guangyao when he’d thought it impossible to ever do that again, before hating him with renewed passion when he’d thought the man had killed his son. He’d missed Jin Rusong, and if he had to start missing him again…
Nie Huaisang hadn’t even realised that he’d fallen to his knees, not until Lan Xichen came to sit next to him and pulled him in his arms, holding him too tight.
“Nothing will happen to him this time,” Lan Xichen said while Nie Huaisang sobbed against his shoulder. “We’re going to make sure he’s safe, all of us. Do you hear me?” 
Nie Huaisang managed to nod, his tears already calming thanks to Lan Xichen’s soothing presence.
“You and Jin zongzhu are going to Laoling,” Lan Xichen continued. “If I were better, I’d go too, but there’s too much risk that I’ll be unwell and create more problems. So I’ll stay here, and help Nie Funyu if some news reach us, or if Wen Qiongling finds something.”
He paused, and looked at the two young men standing near them.
“Sizhui, how tired are you?”
“I can fly with them to Laoling, zongzhu,” Lan Sizhui immediately replied.
“And if I ask you to go to Yunmeng?” Lan Xichen asked. “I understand that Jiang Wanyin considers himself involved in the wellbeing of Jin Rusong, so he should be told what has happened. If nothing else, his reputation might scare the kidnappers into returning him to us. Everyone knows it is unwise to cross Sandu Shengshou, and he's sure to make a racket once he's aware of this.”
Lan Sizhui sighed at that request, clearly tired by his overnight trip to Lanling, but still nodded and bowed to his sect leader. Calming down at last, Nie Huaisang felt some pity for the young man, and some amount of doubt as well.
"I can send one of my disciples," he offered. “I'm sure I can find a fast flyer.”
"Is there anyone you trust enough for such a mission?" Lan Xichen countered. "Aside from Nie Funyu, who will need to hold the fort while you're gone?" 
"No, I suppose not." 
"I trust Lan Sizhui, and Jiang zongzhu knows him and will listen to him. Can that be enough for you?" 
It wasn't, not quite. Lan Xichen's trust had been misplaced before. But that Lan Sizhui boy was also dear to Lan Wangji, who wouldn't have wasted his affection on someone who wasn't righteous. 
Besides, Nie Huaisang didn't think that Jiang Cheng could be all that helpful, so ultimately it didn't really matter. 
"Fine, send him to Yunmeng," Nie Huaisang agreed, feeling guilty that he wasn't more trusting. But if Lan Xichen noticed his lack of enthusiasm, he said nothing, apparently satisfied that Nie Huaisang would allow this at all. 
With this course of action decided, things moved fast. Nie Funyu was informed of everything, while a light collation was served to everyone. As soon as they were done eating, Jin Rulan and Nie Huaisang left together in direction of Laoling, only taking a pair of Nie disciples with them in case it came to a fight. 
It felt like a longer flight than it was. Nobody would speak, Jin Rulan because he was tired, Nie Huaisang because even something this simple required great focus on his part. 
For once, his low cultivation was on his side. If he'd been able to fly his sabre more easily, Nie Huaisang's thoughts would have drifted to dark memories and pointless worries. Even like that, unwanted images of Jin Rusong's corpse, of the child alone and terrified, still plagued him and threatened to break his concentration more than once. 
When at last they approached the home of Laoling Qin, Nie Huaisang suggested that they try to fly over the sect's dwellings to see if they spotted anything unusual. It was a breach of decorum to spy that way, but Nie Huaisang had learned to be polite only when it suited him, and Jin Rulan was easily convinced. In spite of the errors the young man had made in this whole affair, Nie Huaisang found himself thinking that he liked Jin Rulan, if only because they both loved Jin Rusong. 
When they flew over Laoling Qin, Nie Huaisang did not expect to see much. It would have been foolish to kidnap Jin Rusong and let him wander around for all to see. If it had been him doing this, he'd have taken the little boy somewhere secluded, at least for a few days. If it had been him... And yet when Jin Rulan cried out and pointed down at a tiny shape far below them, Nie Huaisang nearly fainted when he too noticed a small dark green shape among all those wearing Qin colours. 
Without thinking, Nie Huaisang angled his sabre down, descending toward the inner courtyard of that house at greater speed than was wise for such a weak flyer. He only barely managed to avoid crashing and stumbled off his sabre without grace, while Jin Rulan landed just behind him with far more control. 
Around them, a number of Qin disciples, after recovering from the surprise of that intrusion, drew their swords, ready for a fight. Nie Huaisang paid them no mind, all his attention on three figures ahead of him. One was a man well into his seventies, though excellent cultivation made him look barely any older than Nie Huaisang, who looked more annoyed than surprised or angry at this invasion. Next to Qin Cangye stood Jin Yixin, who had changed out of the Jin robes she'd worn during her stay in the Unclean Realm, now favouring Qin colours. And half hidden behind her legs was Jin Rusong, an expression of terror on his face. 
Seeing the little boy so scared, Nie Huaisang acted without thinking. He took one step toward the child, determined to scoop him up in his arms and take him home. But seeing him approach, Jin Rusong clung harder to Jin Yixin's legs, and screamed. 
“Don’t!” Jin Rusong cried out. “I don’t want to see you! You’re bad, uncle Nie! You’re bad and you killed mommy and daddy!”
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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years
Note
lwj never really forgives his family's involvement in the siege, how does this manifest during the thirteen years?
If it had only been the pain in his back, the agony of punishment and icy chill of his family’s disappointment, Lan Wangji might have put it aside; he was accustomed to matters of discipline, and had known what he was likely bringing down on his own head when he had done what he did.
He knew his family loved him and only wanted the best for him, even if –
Even if.
But when Lan Wangji ran away from the jingshi to look for himself, finding only a small child, feverish but still capable of a little bit of babbling, still able to tell the story of what had happened – when he found the traces of blood on the ground, Wei Wuxian’s from when his power had backlashed on him – when he saw the bodies in the blood pool, already rotting –
They had kept this from him.
They had kept this from him on purpose.
They had all known.
For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji didn’t want to go home.
He knew he didn’t have a choice, of course. He had nowhere else to go, and the boy’s fever needed to be treated – but he didn’t want to go home.
“Is he all right?” a voice asked from behind him.
Lan Wangji turned, surprised: it was Jiang Cheng, who might very well rank at the top of people he didn’t want to see right now. He had led the siege against Wei Wuxian –
He looked awful.
Eyes full of broken blood vessels, with deep circles beneath them; skin sallow, even grey, as if he’d been stabbed and allowed to bleed out dry. He looked as though he was very nearly a corpse himself.
Jiang Cheng scowled when Lan Wangji didn’t respond.
“Is the boy all right, Hanguang-jun?” he asked, his voice raspy and harsh. “Is he – is he…”
His voice cracked.
“He lives, but he has a fever,” Lan Wangji said, ignoring the steadily increasing pain on his back. He had not been well when he’d escaped from the jingshi, not well at all; the doctors had estimated at least a year to recover, if he didn’t do anything to strain himself – after this outing, it would likely be three. The discipline whip was not kind. “Why do you care? Didn’t you execute the others?”
Jiang Cheng laughed, voice suddenly spiking into something high and horrible, and Lan Wangji abruptly became aware that Jiang Cheng was also, politely speaking, not well. No discipline whip for him, no, but something had gone wrong in the man’s brain – Lan Wangji might almost suspect a qi deviation, if only he hadn’t lived through a war.
If he hadn’t seen what grief could do to a man. How it could hollow them out while they still lived.
“I didn’t,” Jiang Cheng choked. “I didn’t – I told my people to gather them up, to take them back, we were going to interrogate them…at the time it happened, I was – not there.”
“Not there?”
“A coma, apparently,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “Not especially heroic, but then they do leave it out of all the stories: the great Jiang Wanyin, who took up arms against his own shixiong, then swooned like a blushing bride at the sight of – at the sight of –”
“The body.”
Jiang Cheng covered his eyes, shoulder shaking. “There wasn’t one left.”
Lan Wangji shuddered.
“Nothing to put in the memorial hall at home,” Jiang Cheng said. “Even his personal items, they fought over them like dogs, like they were trophies – someone stole Suibian, you know? I only managed to keep Chenqing because I fell on it. It rolled over to me. It was still –” He wavered, then laughed again, very nearly crossing the line between merely hysterical and actually insane. “I had to clean it.”
Lan Wangji had wished he had been there, at the siege, thinking that if he couldn’t save Wei Ying, he could at least die by his side, in his defense. He thought now, for the first time, that perhaps he was glad he wasn’t.
“Did you mean to kill him?” he asked, and Jiang Cheng shook his head mutely. “You led the armies so that you would have first rights to the spoils. To the prisoners.”
To one prisoner in particular.
“Nie Mingjue would have backed me,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “He obeys the rules of war – the largest faction leads, the leader claims the first prize. He didn’t want to be there, but I needed someone to support my claim to be the leader, I threw all those dead Nie cultivators at the Burial Mounds at him until he agreed…he cursed Sect Leader Jin to his face when he found out what they’d done with the rest of the Wens. I wish I’d done the same.”
“Your sect –”
“I wish I had done the same,” Jiang Cheng said, and there were tears dripping down his face. He didn’t notice them, didn’t bother to wipe them away; he had clearly become accustomed to the feeling. “At least then Wei Wuxian would be less burdened. He’s dead, you know.”
Lan Wangji knew.
“I think he must have died a long time ago, and I just never noticed,” Jiang Cheng said. “I was too blinded by my anger, by wanting to kill the Wens. I ignored it all. My shixiong died long ago, and in his place there was another person, the one who did all those things – I never understood why he did it, any of it. He once swore to me that he’d stay by my side, help me rebuild the sect, and then he turned his face away from me and never told me why, acted as if we were strangers, as if I meant nothing to him…and yet, when we were alone, he still talked as if he were the Wei Wuxian I knew.”
He shuddered, shaking hands reaching out to clutch at his sides as if he were suddenly cold.
“It never made any sense,” he mumbled, and maybe he really had lost his mind. “He said he’d stay by my side, but he didn’t; he said he wanted to do the right thing, but he – he killed all those people. So many people. He killed jiejie. He widowed her, then killed her, and – I don’t see how that’s doing the right thing. That couldn’t have been him, could it? Could Wei Wuxian, my Wei Wuxian, really have done all that?”
Lan Wangji didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to help – there was nothing he could do to help.
The only person who could help Jiang Cheng was already dead.
Thinking that, Lan Wangji decided to take his leave, but the barest hint of movement sent an abrupt spike of agony though his back, making him stagger; he had been standing too long, and movement was now a problem. He had promised himself he would only come for a moment, just long enough to see with his own eyes what had happened, and then he’d return – and then he’d found little A-Yuan, he’d known his time to stay was running out, he’d meant to leave, but then there was Jiang Cheng –
“Hanguang-jun? Hanguang-jun! Lan Wangji!”
The world went black before his eyes.
When he opened them again, he saw – some incredibly ugly drawings, etched into a wooden bed frame as if with a blunted dagger. He had never before seen anything quite so immediately repulsive to every aesthetic sense he possessed and yet somehow still oddly charming.
“You’re awake, then?”
Lan Wangji turned his head.
Jiang Cheng did not look noticeably better, though he had at least changed clothing; he was drinking a cup of tea with calming herbs, the uncontrollable tremor in his hand sloshing the liquid inside.
They were at the Lotus Pier.
“You brought me back?” Lan Wangji asked.
“The boy wasn’t the only one with a fever,” Jiang Cheng said. “Thirty three lashes with the discipline whip, and you went into a place as rotten as the Burial Mounds – you were almost asking to get sick.”
Lan Wangji could feel that his back had been well-bandaged, well-cared for – Jiang Cheng must have called a doctor. People would know, then, what he had done and what had been done to him in return - his reputation would be ruined, his family’s attempt to save face by claiming that he’d retreated into seclusion would be exposed for the lie it was.
He wished he was petty enough to be bitterly pleased by the thought, but all he felt was sick.
“No one will know if you don’t want them to,” Jiang Cheng said, almost as if he could hear Lan Wangji’s internal debate – he couldn’t, of course. Jiang Cheng was no Lan Xichen: he couldn’t read Lan Wangji’s expressions at all. “My Jiang sect’s Doctor Qin might as well be mute, for all he talks; he’s never said anything to anyone about anything other than medicine in the entire time I’ve known him. But he did say you shouldn’t be moved. For – a while. A long while.”
Lan Wangji wasn’t surprised; that was about what he’d resigned himself to expect. “When will my family come to pick me up?”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “The doctor didn’t say anything about you being deaf. Didn’t you hear me? You can’t be moved. You’re not going anywhere.”
Lan Wangji stared.
“No one uses this room, anyway,” Jiang Cheng continued, purposefully ignoring Lan Wangji’s incredulous gaze. “It’s off-limits to everyone, for good – sealed off. Might as well put you here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not getting into trouble; I’m just across the hall.”
Across the hall –
The ugly drawings, the style suddenly breathlessly and painfully familiar.
This had been Wei Wuxian’s room.
Jiang Cheng wanted him to stay here, at the Lotus Pier, in Wei Wuxian’s room.
He shouldn’t, of course. His duty was clear: he should return home.
Lan Wangji thought about returning home – to the cold and empty jingshi, where there was nothing left that reminded him of his mother but his memories; to his uncle who loved him but did not trust him, who had helped kill the one he loved; to his brother who had all but lied directly to his face about it.
He thought about not having to return.
His fingers relaxed. He hadn’t even realized they were tense.
“How is the boy?” he asked, and some of the tension in Jiang Cheng’s shoulders released; he had been afraid that he would refuse and insist on leaving at once, Lan Wangji surmised. For some reason, Jiang Cheng wanted him to stay.
Lan Wangji thought he might know why. They had spent all those months searching together, side-by-side, those months when Wei Wuxian had disappeared – thrown into the Burial Mounds, though they didn’t know it at the time. Being side-by-side with Jiang Cheng again felt almost like being back then.
When they still had hope of finding him.
“He’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, then frowned. “Depending on your definition of fine, anyway. He’d had a very high fever for a long time – by the time I got you both back here, he’d fallen unconscious; the doctor says he’s lost his memory.”
Lan Wangji thought about the things the boy had babbled about, the stories he’d told of the last moments of his family, the things he’d seen…“Good,” he said. “Better that way.”
“Never use two words when one will do, do you?” Jiang Cheng grumbled in a tone that had faint ambitions of sounding disgusted. “I guess I’ll just have to adjust to that…I’ve told my people that he’s yours, you know.”
Lan Wangji blinked. “Mine?”
“I couldn’t tell them he was surnamed Wen, could I? So it’s Lan Yuan, at least for now. Up to you if you’d prefer to keep your reputation intact by saying he’s a cousin, but it’d be easier if you claimed him as your own – that way no one could separate you. You visited Yunmeng during the war, I could say the mother was someone here. It wouldn’t be hard.”
Lan Wangji’s first instinct was to protest – A-Yuan was Wei Ying’s son, if anybody’s, not his own – but…no. The boy could not live at the Lotus Pier with the surname Wei.
Lan Yuan. It wasn’t a bad name.
He nodded his assent, and Jiang Cheng finished his tea in a single grim-faced swallow, standing up.
“I don’t suppose you told your family where you were going, did you?” he asked, and looked bitterly amused when Lan Wangji shook his head. “I figured as much. No one saw me bring you in, and no one ever comes here; the only ones allowed in the family quarters are my people, through and through. Unless anyone asks, I’m not answering. Let your family worry for a while; it’ll do them some good. You’re the best they have – they shouldn’t take you for granted.”
Lan Wangji wasn’t the sort of person who knew how to be pleased at other people’s misery, the type to be warmed inside by the spite of you hurt me now I’ll hurt you.
It was fine, though. Jiang Cheng would do it for him.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said, and didn’t say anything about telling his family where he’d gone. Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched in a smirk for a second. “Can you pass me the pouch I had with me?”
Jiang Cheng huffed and passed it to him. “You can’t play that thing all day and night,” he warned when Lan Wangji pulled out his guqin. “I’m just across the hall, remember?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“And…”
“I will wait until you have returned before playing Inquiry.”
“Like I even want to talk to him,” Jiang Cheng muttered under his breath, but he didn’t deny that that had been what he had been on the verge of requesting. “It’s just a nice tune, that’s all. Catchy.”
No one had ever described Inquiry as ‘catchy’ before, and Lan Wangji suspected no one ever would again.
“The boy’s still sleeping, but I’ll bring him here when he wakes,” Jiang Cheng said, changing the subject. “I’m hoping to bring Jin Ling here, once in a while – I think Sect Leader Jin will agree if I hint strongly enough that I’ll consider leaving my sect to him if he lets me. I don’t really know how to deal with babies, though.”
“We will figure it out,” Lan Wangji said, and allowed his (totally unjustified) confidence to sooth Jiang Cheng’s ruffled feathers. It wouldn’t be that easy, of course – Jiang Cheng was still walking the tightrope on the verge of insanity, Lan Wangji was nearly crippled, and his family would be frantic once they realized he wasn’t coming home. Staying here was a stupid idea. Stupid, and spiteful.
It felt good.
2K notes · View notes
sichengtual · 3 years
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— summary: wanting to make his big break as a song-writer, jun gets assigned to work with a band that has every intent on making it big. but it’s the 70’s, and just as he’s about to discover, love and rock&roll go hand in hand.
— pairing: wen junhui x reader.
— au: 70’s, song-writer!jun, rockstar!reader. 
— genre: fluff. 
— word count: 15, 273 (15.2k)
— playlist: somebody to love — queen ;  your song — elton john ; where you lead — carole king ;  tiny dancer — elton john. 
— warnings: alcohol consumption, some cursing, josh saying groovy every time he speaks.
— a/n: a part of me really wishes i was living in the 70′s and i think it shows here lol also, the moonwalker is inspired on the troubadour and the song jun writes is tiny dancer because it carried me the entire way, what an mvp. 
this one’s for @chocosvt​ ! i really hope you like it <3
Jun is nervous. 
The tapping of his feet against the cold, faux tiled floor produces no audible sound over the music coming from the speakers, but it’s still noticeable to him. He tries to keep a steady pace, even counting along to the beat as he plays the same words over and over inside his head. It’s his own voice speaking back at him, words a mere reminder, and, if he were to be completely honest, part of the reason behind his nerves.
He had promised you, on the very first day he met you, that he’d help you shine. That he’d make you succeed. Part a rush of the moment, part wanting to impress his boss and part a reassurance for himself, his promise had been easy to make. Then. And it’s not that he doubts himself, or you, but, at the end of the day, he’s a 24 year old making his debut in the music industry. And it’s hard, of course, because even when he’s not the one performing, it’s still his words that are being sung. 
Doing what he does is harder than people usually think. Jun’s lyrics are heart-felt, authentic, with his entire soul poured on the paper and ready to be dissected by whoever got to listen to the songs he wrote. He surrenders it to the artist, basically giving up any kind and sort of hold he has over the feelings he’s just reflected, giving them away for someone else to interpret them the way they want. The way they can. And as difficult as it is sometimes, it’s part of the job, and all that he can hope for is for them to be interpreted in the most authentic way possible. It’s hard, definitely, but after years and years of trying, he knows that having them expressed are way better than keeping them in.
Following the loud bang of a drum, he looks around as he keeps the pace with his foot. The entire room smells like entrapped smoke, and warm coffee, and it looks somewhat like it too. There’s a thick, almost translucent layer of fog-like smoke hanging on the air, slowly rising to the ceiling as minutes keep passing. There’s also a big arrangement of paper cups, both full and empty, resting on all possible surfaces around him, almost reflecting the passing of time in their placement; 8 in the morning on the desks, 2 in the evening on the equipment luggage, and a few hours past midnight on some parts of the floor. 
The practice room is a dimly-lit space, with a few round, orange and yellow glass lamps hanging on the ceiling and set a few meters apart, barely even enough to illuminate the entire room. In the evening, the last few rays of sunshine manage to break through the high set windows, reflecting on the tinged glass and breaking upon the dark purple walls in bright, warm shades of orange. 
He hasn’t been there a lot, only a few days since he had arrived for the first stop of the tour, but as he sets his eyes on it, he can’t help but think it almost resembles a sunset. He can see the colors, the exact same ones that paint over the sky just as the night is about to fall down, and it serves to help him ease a little bit. Sunsets, even the ones reflected upon the walls of a world tour practice room, are the same all around. 
“Why are you still getting it wrong? It’s all about the groove, man,” Josh whines. He’s sitting on a small wooden stool, his guitar propped up on his knee. 
“I don’t know, Josh, I’m the one that wrote this riff and for some reason I just can’t play it correctly again!”
“Beginner’s luck,” Chan comments, not really involved in the argument, but never one to pass the opportunity to strike a joke. He looks down to tune down his guitar once Mingyu turns to give him a stare. 
“That doesn’t make sense, I’ve been doing this for years.”
“Well, it certainly doesn't seem like it! Just try to make it groovy!”
He’s still getting used to the band. 
They’re a nice group of people; kind, loud and boisterous, but that’s just every band he knows. Having worked in the label for years, he’s used to seeing bands come and go, submitting his songs with no much more room for interaction left other than a Jun, they liked it! coming from his boss on the good days (the bad days are different, a little less remarkable, but they’re the ones he tries not to think about). This, his first time on the road with one of them, is a completely new experience, and if it wasn’t for finally seeing his dream beginning to get on track, it’d be one that would probably have him shaking in fear. 
But they’re warm, laid-back and easy to talk to, which he appreciates, knowing he’s not the best at initiating conversations... or maintaining them. He had felt intimidated at first, looking into a group of rising rock stars from the outlook of someone who’s just as into their world as he’s out of it, standing somewhere between the line that divides the outside and the inside. But he’s entering, just walking in and slowly stepping his toes on the water; and he’s doing it by the side of people he’s glad he can finally get to call his friends. 
“Jun, could you possibly tell Mingyu he’s been playing the wrong note the entire time?” 
“Yeah Josh, I already know I’ve been playing it wrong.” 
“Please stop fighting so we can practice!” Soonyoung says from his spot on the drums, backed up with a nod from Vernon, the bassist looking surprisingly bored at the altercation.
“Can you tell him to play the right note this time? And remember, make it groovy!”
He hadn’t heard the door opening, but you’re walking in the room just he finally tears his gaze from Josh’s bright red guitar. You turn to give him a smile, one he quickly returns, before turning back to the two bickering guitarists. He turns to look at the set playlist, with his name carefully penned down below all fifteen songs, and he tells himself that, despite his nerves, he might just be perfectly ready for the tour to start. 
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“Are you okay? You looked a little distracted today.” 
The diner is quiet. 
There’s really not much movement, with only another customer besides him inside the small establishment. He can focus on the clinging of his spoon as he moves it around in his cup, light, creamy bellows of steam rising as the aftermath of the ripples he creates on the dark liquid. The coffee really isn’t great, tasting a bit tangy against his tongue, even after he had added a small packet of sugar to try and ease the bitterness of the beverage. If he focuses enough, he can even make out a light buzz coming from the neon lights advertising the diner in the street, sound low but crisp against the pouring rain. 
It’s cold, and a part of him really regrets coming to the diner straight out of practice without going to his room first. He had just needed to write, and to do that, he needed silence. He runs a hand up and down his left arm, the coolness from his rings perceivable even through the thick wool of his shirt. 
He looks up, the ripples inside his cup long forgotten. 
You’re standing in front of him, looking just as tired as he feels, with a completely different stance than the one you usually show inside the practice room. Or on the stage. It’s relaxed, at ease, a little shy, even, and he can’t help but wonder if, behind the whole rockstar facade, maybe the two of you aren’t really that different. 
You take a seat in the chair in front of him, the laminated red seat squeaking as response to the movement. 
“Huh?” He lets out.
“At practice,” you move, trying to get comfortable in the cold, plastic chair. “You looked a little distracted. Everything okay?”
Jun shrugs, smiling softly. “It’s just nerves, I think.”
It’s not the first time you’ve seen Jun smile, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. And, in complete honesty, it was the first time it had been completely directed at you. He had always been a little quiet, ever since he was first introduced as the “new song-writer” by the label director, and, because of the chaos that naturally ensued whenever surrounded by the entire band, your interactions with Jun had been few and far-between. 
Here’s what you’ve managed to learn about him in the months you’ve known him: he likes to be alone when he writes, but he can also do it when sitting as far away from the speakers as possible. He likes drinking his coffee with both sugar and cream, and even if he doesn’t drink too much of it, he always finds a way to spill even a little bit, be it on his shirt or somewhere near his notebook (which has been the cause of many scares inside the practice room). He keeps a pen in his shirt pocket at all times, whether it be for writing down an incoming idea wherever he found or for clicking the seconds away whenever he got nervous. 
And he’s surprisingly shy about his lyrics, even when he sounds completely confident in them. You can tell, whenever you’re given them to sing them, that they are words he’s proud of; words that came from his heart as bits and pieces of the most beautiful poetry you’ve ever read. And they’re always accompanied by a small, shy smile and the slight reddening of his cheeks. 
“I know what you mean,” you say. You call the waiter just as Jun takes a sip from his coffee, not missing the slight purse of his lips as he swallows down the warm beverage. “I’m nervous too.”
“You don’t seem to be,” he comments. He looks back down at his coffee, hand still making circles with the spoon. “Whenever you sing, it’s like you’re completely used to it. It feels as if it were something you’ve always done, something you know like the back of your hand. And still… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you’re thrilled by it, even more so every day.” 
Jun looks up at you, hiding his words behind a smile. You don’t notice, too busy ordering a cup of chamomile tea to make anything of the way he’s staring at you from the other side of the table. 
“It’s amazing what putting on a brave face can do, then,” you answer. “I love being on stage. It’s just nerve wracking to think about it when I’m not there. It’s like Mingyu not being able to get his own riff right unless he’s playing in front of a live crowd.” 
“Oh, please don’t remind me of the riff incident. Joshua’s voice hasn’t left my head the entire day.” 
Rain continues falling. You can hear some melody coming from the speakers, which, even when it feels completely unfamiliar, makes Jun’s sway to the side as he rests his head on his hand. Maybe he knows it. 
“I hope it’s not a bad sign,” Jun mentions, pointing to the window with his thumb. “Starting the tour with a little bit of rain.”
“Seungkwan was talking about that earlier, too,” you say, thinking back of the keyboardist’s words from before you left the practice room. “But you know, if anything, I think it might be a good sign.” 
Jun purses his lips, head moving to the side. His fingers move across the table, fiddling with the empty sugar packet he had used. The bright pink paper shines bright against his hands, fluorescent yellow light reflecting from outside. It captures his eyes, and yours, and for a brief second, the both of you are stuck on watching how the packet’s shadow grows whenever Jun moves it around his fingers. It reminds you of him with the pen, a mere distraction. Or maybe just a way for him to set his ideas in order. 
You can tell he’s still a bit hesitant about the interaction, not knowing if they’re nerves at talking about the tour or just nerves at talking to you. As soon as he looks up from his hands, you give him a smile. 
“It’s a bit of a fresh start, isn’t it? And I think, right now, that’s what we all need.”
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As much as Jun wants to say he’s not surprised at the turn-out, his eyes are wide open at the influx of people coming through the doors. 
His heart beats loud against his chest as he looks down at the stage, empty of people but perfectly set with an array of instruments that are only waiting to be lit alive. The entire place is full of chatter; the ever-growing excitement of a crowd begging to be enchanted by an unknown performance. Up from his spot at the balcony, he can’t make out what they’re saying but he doesn’t miss how they’re saying it: and the pure excitement in their voices draws a chill from his spine. 
It’s a scene like the ones he’s been hearing about for years. Like the ones he’s been dreaming of witnessing, of being a part of it. And now he’s in one, not only as an spectator, but as the man behind the words. 
“It’s amazing, don’t you think? Or as Josh would say, incredibly groovy.” 
Seungcheol, the band’s manager, asks as he walks into the balcony. Him and Jun went way back, much more than anyone else in their group besides the band themselves. They were the new generation, the young dreamers at the office that were only waiting to be given a shot to prove themselves. They had been hired at the same time, both meant to work with a completely different artist that had ended up not taking them because of how young they were. 
They had built up their experience together, and it had been those late-night talks at the label’s office that made Jun able to call Seungcheol his friend, powered through by cheap coffee and tired conversations full of laughter. And they’re only part of the reason why Jun always refers to Seungcheol as a long-lost brother more than a newly found friend. 
“It’s almost sold out!” Seungcheol continues. He’s wearing a dark pin-stripe suit, as he always is whenever he’s on official business. His hair is slicked back, and his usual pair of gold wire-frame glasses rest on top of his nose, specs perfectly clean. “People keep walking in and walking in and walking in! It’s almost as if they’re the freaking Rolling Stones and not a band barely making their debut. Is that Hoshi or is it Charlie Watts on the drums?”
“It’s the Monday night show, it’s a guaranteed success,” Jun mutters. He knows Seungcheol would be able to see past his facade, to make out the true meaning of his words. Three years after meeting him, there isn’t much he can hide from him. “I’m happy for them, though. The first night’s important.”
“Yeah, me too,” Seungcheol smiles. “Vernon’s been freaking out in the backstage since he started hearing the crowd coming in. He’s just staring at his bass and Hoshi’s about to smack his head with his drumsticks.”
“They’re gonna do amazing. If Mingyu gets his riff right, that is.” 
“And everybody’s gonna love the songs,” Seungcheol says, pressing a gentle palm on Jun’s shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed he was shaking. “If only they knew the stud that wrote them. I bet they’d even like looking at those nice bell bottoms you’re wearing. Since when do you like purple pants?” 
“I bet they’re gonna prefer looking at Mingyu,” Jun laughs before Seungcheol does, and it almost distracts him from his surroundings. “Or even Josh. And Minghao gave me the pants, by the way.”
“Or even Josh,” Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head as he looks away from his friend. 
“Groovy,” Jun says. 
“Groovy,” his friend responds. 
Jun’s nerves have calmed down by the time the lights fall down. 
A half-empty beer bottle looks over the crowd, sitting immediately next to the balcony’s railing. He notices an entirely new atmosphere now that the room is only barely lit, as if the lights falling had only served to heighten the people’s emotions. It’s almost as if they’re in a different place altogether, with expectating hanging high in the air and out of everyone’s reach. 
The Moonwalker they had walked in, just a few hours before, barely resembles the Moonwalker they’re in right now. 
It had been lit by the natural light coming from the windows, bouncing over the wood-covered walls and reflecting over the little trinkets that served to adorn them. They had been the highlight of the place, attracting the eyes of everyone that entered to the rows and rows of pictures and memorabilia. What was that hanging over the bar, Bob Dylan’s hat? Jun had only been more impressed by the bright neon sign that spelled the bar’s name right on the center of the stage, after seeing it on newspaper cuttings for most of his life. 
A few days back, when Seungcheol had told him of the gig they had landed the band through a friend of his girlfriend (bless you Lily!), Jun almost couldn’t believe his words. The bright blue cursive sign had been the first thing that had come to mind, consuming his thoughts as a sort of finish line at the end of a marathon. It wasn’t only the bar’s trademark, it was also the backdrop of some of the most amazing debuts in modern rock n’ roll history. And now, looking at it shining brightly against the low-lit room, a part of him still can’t believe he might be about to see one of them with his own two eyes. 
He had heard of concert nights on the Moonwalker the same way he had heard the stories of the great mythic heroes. He had seen pictures the same way he had learned of iconic places and happenings. He remembers spending entire nights finding motivation in the dream of listening to his songs being played in the exact same place some of his favorite songs had been presented, of them finally finding their home within the same crowd that had once listened to The Byrds and Carole King. 
And as you walk onto the stage, commanding attention with each step, Jun is sure tonight is going to become one of those. And that it’s his songs that will be sung back by the crowd, resounding against the walls and enveloping the entire place in their meaning. 
The band had already been introduced by the club owner, but no one had actually turned to pay attention until you had walked on stage. You’re met by countless excited bellowings, a smile on your face forming at the sudden attention. 
“We hope you enjoy the show!”
The rest of the band follows, and Jun is struck by a thought. Words materialize in his head as if prompted by the first few notes, threading together into a complete, coherent phrase. It’s a phrase Jun knows. He might have heard it from someone, or read it from somewhere, and it’s stuck in his brain the same way the bridge of the song you’re singing once was. Or maybe it was just something someone had once told him. 
He knows that there are moments in an artist’s life that will define their career. Moments that let you know how it's gonna go. A preview of sorts. And he knows, looking at you shining under the spotlight, that he’s just witnessed something big. 
The entire crowd has gone wild at the music, and Jun knows it’s only the beginning. 
For now, he just smiles, and like the people dancing down below, he lets himself go. 
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The party is in full-swing by the time Jun walks in. 
The house itself is small, one story and a few rooms that hold a big part of the party-goers. He can tell it’s usually used as a holiday residence, not exactly a place of staying but merely a place of passing, because every single thing that’s visible doesn’t really have a function different from simply looking good. The entire place is covered in small, colorful trinkets that look like they’re part of some random collection that everyone always sees but no one actually ever looks at. 
It’s truly a rock-star’s house, because, really, nothing about it makes sense. 
Countless bookshelves rest against the colorfully draped walls, an array of uneven, colorful wallpapers shining under the light of the multiple glass chandeliers, but not a single book is visible to the eye. The floor itself is a great quality wood, but everything’s hidden below a series of fuzzy rugs that somehow match the randomness of the wallpapers. 
The music changes slightly as he keeps walking, an entire ensemble of genres, styles and decades all the product of a number of record players playing simultaneously all over the house. All of them are playing a completely different thing, but somehow it all blends into one cohesive beat. Jun could go into the technicalities behind it and say it’s probably in the beats per minute, or could maybe go somewhere into the meaning behind the lyrics, but for now, he just lets himself get immersed into the scene. 
The party doesn’t resemble anything he had lived before, or even heard of. And it’s full of people. 
The entire team (band and staff alike) had been invited to an after-party held by some music executive that’s friends with the owner of the club. It happened every monday after the show, they had said, entertaining executives, artists, and club-goers alike. And no one really cared who was which as long as there was music playing all around them. 
“Jesus, is that Billy Joel?” Seungcheol asks as he walks closely behind Jun. The two of them and Minghao, the band’s stylist, had been the last to leave for the party, having to stay behind to finish the last of the arrangements that followed a successful concert at the Moonwalker, with the rest of you leaving with some of the club’s crew. “Guys, I think that’s Billy Jo- jesus, he’s talking to Chan and Seungkwan.”
“Of course he’d be talking to Chan and Seungkwan, they probably went right to him when they saw him,” Minghao says. “Hey, can you see Vernon around?”
“He’s probably sitting somewhere next to the drinks or something. Or maybe he’s outside, I think there’s a live band playing somewhere out there,” Jun comments.
“Damn, should’ve booked us too for that, right?” Seungcheol says, laughing with the words.
“Don’t you rather just enjoy the party and forget about performing for a bit?” Minghao questions. Out of the corner of his eye, Jun can see Seungkwan and Chan walking away from the group of people they had been talking to, probably on their way outside for some fresh air. “The guys seem to be having a great time. Let go for a bit, Cheol! Let’s enjoy this whole rockstar life even if it’s just for tonight!”
He can hear Mingyu’s laugh coming from somewhere nearby, even if his eyes can’t locate the tall guitar player. He’s surprised he can hear him, with how low his laugh usually is and how high the music is playing, but once Seungcheol points him out in the crowd, he’s only a few steps away. He’s entertaining a large group of people, with Joshua smiling by his side, the both of them holding two glasses of what looks like beer. 
It’s no surprise the two of them would like to be around the growing crowd, with how easily they seem to be able to strike a conversation with whoever walks by. He had known them to be sociable, in comparison with some like Vernon, Minghao or himself. It’s still a bit surprising, though, how in control they seem to be of a conversation held with people they probably didn’t know five minutes ago. 
“I’m gonna go find us something to drink,” Seungcheol says, patting Jun on the back before walking away with Minghao closely following his steps. 
And Jun is left alone. Still, in a house full of people, he sticks his hands in the front bottom of his purple jeans. They had really been Minghao’s suggestion, along with the slick yellow button up and a pair of red boots. It was comfy, and Seungcheol had assured him he really did look good, so he hadn’t dwelled much on it when leaving the hotel room. 
He debates joining Mingyu and Joshua’s crowd for a second, but the growing scent of tobacco and beer has him making his way to the door after he raises his hand in a greeting. Josh manages to signal him to the backyard before Jun leaves, and he wonders whether he’s simply pointing in the direction of the live band, or Vernon, or you. 
As he walks outside, bumping bodies with a never-ceasing crowd, he discovers it’s the later. The outside of the house is just as impressive as the inside, or, as he finds once he begins to look around, even more. 
The entire yard (or at least the part that’s closest to the house) has been decked in continuous rows of fairy lights, hanging from the trees like a mere reproduction of the constellations shining up above. There are at least five campfires, all surrounded by people holding guitars or dancing along to the songs being played by a live band nearby. Their silhouettes are reflected on the ground, a product of the blazing fire, and it’s almost like they’re dancing with the people themselves, more than being a plain reflection of them. 
It’s almost like a scene taken right out of a move, only livelier than any he could ever think of. 
Jun finds you with your back against a tree, sitting cross-legged on a furry carpet, completely enthralled in the music. There’s a series of carpets draped all over the grass, the exact same kind he saw inside, completing the part of the scene that connects both places. As he walks over to you, he wonders where the rest of the band is, with you being alone in the backyard, until he sees Seungkwan and Chan, still hanging close together, sitting a few feet away with what he assumes is another group. A part of him is thankful at the seeming privacy, finding a bit odd how comfortable he is in the middle of a growing crowd when just a few minutes ago he had felt overwhelmed by the loneliness behind it. But then he turns to look at you, smiling carelessly even with your eyes closed, and he knows it’s not a product of the environment.
It's because of you.
“I just wanted to say congratulations,” Jun says, making sure to fall as carefully as possible as he sits down next to you. “Tonight was amazing. Truly, got me tearing up at all.”
“You’ve got your own lyrics to thank for that, mister,” you say, followed by a laugh. You’re still in your concert outfit, although wearing a pair of sneakers as opposed to the platform shoes that had been paired up with the colorful overalls. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t the only one tearing up tonight. I think Hoshi even cried a bit himself.”
“He probably cried at the crowd making tiger claws back at him more than he did at the lyrics.” 
“Yeah, Vernon told him not to do it but he did it anyway!”
“Where are those two, by the way?”
“Somewhere next to where the band is playing,” you answer. You close your eyes as you speak, resting your back against the tree. “I just wanted to get away from everything. Sometimes it’s fun to just observe from a distance.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve been looking at life from a distance for so long, sometimes I forget what it is to actually be living it. I guess it makes for some interesting lyrics though, so it’s been kind of worth it, at least in that way,” Jun says, smiling at you even when you don’t see him. He moves closer to you as he hugs his knees to his chest, feeling the top of your shoulder brush against his. “I think coming with you guys on tour might change that.”
“It’s the rock-star life, huh?” You smile, and Jun can’t help but notice it’s a mirroring of his own smile. In some way, it looks just as vulnerable. He looks away when he feels his cheeks heat up. “You know, you’re much different from what I thought you were when I used to see you at the office.” 
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. I just know I really like talking to you. Every day, I really look forward to being around you,” you laugh, and when he turns to look back at you, you’re finally looking at him again. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Wen Junhui.”
“Says the rock-star,” he laughs. He’s smiling, holding his knees as close to his chest as he can manage as he tries to hide his fluester in his body language. Not that it’s working, anyways. “I’m just some guy.”
“You’re the most interesting guy I’ve ever met.”
You shake your head, and by the way your eyes set on the sky, Jun isn’t completely sure if you’re talking to him or if you’re simply talking to the stars, trying to set your story in the skies for the entire world to see. It makes him smile even wider, anyways. 
“I wonder which one shines brighter. From down here, they look almost the same. But maybe it’s just the distance that taints our perspective,” you mutter, pointing to the lights on the trees. 
“I’d like to think it’s the stars,” Jun comments. “When I was a kid, I always enjoyed watching them. I’d find patterns and have them in my head for weeks as a sort of picture out of a coloring book. Somehow, the stars always seemed to have the answers to every single question that would run through my head, even when miles away.”
“You speak like that and call yourself ‘some guy’,” you laugh. “It’s always poetry coming out of your lips, and I’d listen to every single bit of it.”
The conversation stops, but silence never envelops the both of you, because there is music all around. And there are people dancing, so when you lose focus on each other and gian it in your surroundings, their movement is everything you see. It’s almost as if they’re dancing for the two of you to watch, and neither of you notice the moment your head comes to rest in Jun’s shoulder, way too immersed in a ballet of silhouettes to make anything out of the sudden movement. 
“I hope tonight was good,” you say. “It felt different from other nights, and I don’t know what it was. I’ve never felt that way when performing at home. It felt almost magical, standing there, under the limelight, in front of all those people. Maybe it’s just me, though.” 
Jun shakes his head, muttering a soft no as an answer. You turn to look at each other when he starts speaking, still as close as before. But now he gets to look at you as he speaks. 
“I can’t begin to imagine what you must have felt. I’m not familiar with that side of the gig,” he says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. Somehow, the beer he had drank back at the club was still making his blood run wild through his veins, cheeks reddening at the eye contact. “I wish you could’ve seen it from my eyes. Listened to it through my ears, felt what I felt the moment you started singing. I’ve never seen you shine any brighter.”
"You’ve been attending our concerts long enough. Well,if the fifteen person presentations back home even count as concerts.”
“I’ve been to all of your concerts,” he laughs. “And believe me, tonight was really special.” 
“It’s the Moonwalker’s magic,” you say, and Jun turns to look at you. “You saw the place, it was special. It made it special.”
And he doesn’t know if it’s the effect of the lights shining above your head, or the remaining adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he’s sure he can hear his heart beating against his chest. He can hear it over the loud music, thumping so hard his mind goes blank, falling closer to you as he begins to lean in. 
Because even when far away from the Moonwalker, he’s still smiling the same. He feels just as happy, somewhere in the backyard of a stranger’s house. The place is special, for sure, but only as much as you made it. 
“It wasn’t the Moonwalker that was magical. It was you.”
And you can hear him, because even when the world around you is spinning completely out of order, his smile is still front and center in your eyes. He’s smiling at you and everything else only but circles around it. 
As a new song starts playing from a record player far away, Jun kisses you under a thousand fairy lights. You’re still not sure of which one shines brighter -the artificial lights or the stars high above- but as Jun’s hand finds yours over your lap, you decide you don’t really care. 
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A part of you would really like to think nothing had changed after the kiss. 
In reality, the two of you had been so flustered he had ran back to Seungcheol and Minghao while you went to find Vernon and Hoshi, refusing to say anything about the moment to any of them. It was part of some unofficial and unspoken deal, sealed with only a look, sparing the both of you of any kind of conversation immediately afterwards. It had been a product of the moment, of adrenaline and slight tipsiness combined with a romantic scenery, and nothing else. 
That’s what you told yourself the entire night, even when questioned by Seungkwan about the sudden giddiness in your smile and the change in your gaze, slightly unfocused on the world in front of you, as if something more important was playing inside your head. As if that something was the memory of the feeling of Jun’s lips against yours, leaving your skin tingling as an aftermath of his touch. As if that something had been the way he had smiled at you right after, looking as if the affection you’d just shared was as unbelievable to him as it was to you. 
In all honesty, Jun’s kiss was more than one of the many that were shared that night by the people around you. It wasn’t just a product of the moment, of adrenaline and slight tipsiness combined with a romantic scenery, because the way you had looked at each other just before your lips connected had been a long time coming. That was the product of months of unknown pining; of you looking for him as soon as you entered the office, and of him not being able to take his eyes off you as soon as he saw you walking by. It was a product in the exchange that came with you singing for the world the words he had shared with you in messy scribbles over coffee-stained paper, something about the entire thing feeling growingly intimate the thought ran through your head. 
Because even when he wasn’t writing songs for you, or about you, he still trusted you with them. In your eyes, that was worth more than him signing one of them with your name on top of the page for everyone to see. And while you were sure it wasn’t an act of love (or at least not yet), you couldn’t deny it always opened the door for that possibility to walk in. Or for you to walk towards it, at least. Just like his songs, and for months on end, Jun had always been there. 
Well, at least up until the night he kissed you. 
You weren’t sure if it was intentional or fate making a cruel joke out of your feelings, but Jun had been avoiding you. As much as he could be avoiding you in the span of a few hours, at least. 
“Wanna sit with me on the bus?” 
You can’t really tell what Vernon’s wearing. He’s sitting next to you on the curb in front of the bus, a pair of sparkly sunglasses resting atop of his nose. He’s wearing a yellow hat that matches the color of his shoes, but that doesn’t really go with any of the other pieces of his outfit. 
“Aren’t you gonna sit with Hao?” 
“Ah, I don’t know,” Vernon drinks from a styrofoam cup he has on his hand. It’s the same as yours, so it’s probably to-go coffee from the hotel’s restaurant. “He’s been trying to talk about some outfit ideas he had during the concert last night. He called it a revelation or something. I’m pretty sure Seungkwan could be of more use to that conversation than me.”
You don’t really want to sit with Vernon. And it’s not that you don’t enjoy his company, because out of everyone in the band, he’s always been the one you’re closest to. But somehow, you know sitting next to Vernon will prevent you from any chances of even talking to Jun in the next six hours until you reach the next spot. You’re not sure if he’s even actually avoiding you, but you don’t really want to be correct. 
“Are you kidding? You wear this kind of outfits and you think you don’t have a sense of fashion? Vern, if anything, you’ve always been the Mick Jagger amongst all of us.” 
“Okay, those stage outfits were chosen by Minghao, it wasn’t really me putting together those suits and - whatever he has me wearing all the time.” 
You roll your eyes, playfully. 
“Although, I guess I could use this chance to keep him from putting me in another sparkly overall like the one from last night.”
“But you were such a star! It looked pretty nifty if you ask me.” 
“Keep going and I’ll tell him to find the most ridiculous hats for our next concert, just you wait!”
The rest of the band starts walking out of the hotel, Chan’s laughter pulling your attention from Vernon. As they walk next to you, you decide to ignore Hoshi’s tiger print overalls and Mingyu’s conversation of how he had met and talked to George Harrison at the party once Joshua had walked away from him.
“I don’t believe George Harrison would ever like to be entertained by your presence, Gyu. There were definitely groovier people to be around last night.”
“It’s not my fault you decided talking to Seungcheol was more important than stickin’ around, we literally see the guy every day.”
“Hey, I’m your manager!” Seungcheol wines from the hotel door, walking behind a groggy Seungkwan.
“Yeah, we literally see you every day,” Mingyu retorts. He has one foot on the bus steps, only turning to argue with the eldest. “Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you so often, with all your random hair-do’s.”
“Can it and get in, we’re late anyways. Everyone keep steppin’!”
“The only reason we’re late is because you couldn’t stop talking to your girlfriend on the phone,” Mingyu lets out before climbing in, somehow managing to avoid getting yelled at yet again. 
You get up after Vernon, following him into the bus as soon as Mingyu, Josh and Seungcheol had gotten in. You’d seen Seungkwan, Hoshi and Chan passing by, and quickly found them sitting together near a small kitchen area. 
The bus itself isn’t much different from others you’ve seen, with rows of faux leather seats set one after the other along the central aisle. All the way to the back there’s an area with what looks like a small bed, a door leading to a tight bathroom and a small kitchen space consisting of two cabinets and a microwave. And every single thing is either muted yellow or a dark orange, making the entire espace look probably smaller than it actually is. It’s comfortable enough, though. 
“Hey, Vern, come here,” Minghao calls from one of the seats. He’s resting his back against the window, with his feet on the couch and his knees pulled close to his chest. A small notepad rests on top of them, having only looked up from his sketches to greet the bassist. “Let me show you what I’ve been thinking of. I swear, the setting of the Moonwalker gave me so much clarity on what I want to put all of you guys in for the rest of the tour.” 
“Hao, give Josh a groovy Bob Dylan inspired hat!” 
“You wear the damn Bob Dylan inspired hat if you want, see how groovy it looks on your head.” 
Vernon looks at you to give you a small smile before sitting down next to Minghao as you walk past, stealing one of Hoshi’s snacks before plopping down on the seat behind him. You shift in your seat, hearing the slick material of the seat squeaking against the courness of your jeans. You quickly look at the small smiling daisies Minghao had painted with black markers all over the light surface, making for an interesting pattern when looked at from far away. Your fingers trace over the figures as you rest your head on the window, closing your eyes until you feel someone coming to sit right next to you. You had quickly placed your book on the seat when sitting down, but you find it on top of Jun’s lap as you see it’s him who’s by your side. 
“What an interesting thing to be reading!” He exclaims, looking at the beat up copy of On The Road. “You’re a Kerouac fan?” 
“You’ve read Kerouac?” You ask. 
Jun smiles. “Of course not,” he says, before breaking into a laugh. He doesn’t give you the book back, but turns it to read the back cover. “Read to me? It will keep us both entertained.” 
Without focusing too carefully on it, you can hear the distinct crisp sound of Joshua’s guitar coming from the front of the bus, and can make out the first notes of the Stairway to Heaven solo. It sounds better than you’ve heard him play, most likely the product of constant practice. But it all disappears when you turn to look at Jun. 
Smiling at you, Jun lets you straighten up on your seat before placing his head on your shoulder as he hands you the copy. You’re surprised by how familiar it feels, and feel your lips curling up at the memory of doing the exact same thing the night before. 
And you know that things have changed from the kiss, because now you’re not able to ignore the feeling in your chest that arises when Jun takes your hand in his. And you can only wonder if he feels the same, because he lets out a soft sigh the minute you tighten the grip, nuzzling his cheek against the fuzzy fabric of your corduroy jacket. 
Smiling at his touch, your eyes start glazing over the print as you begin to read. 
“I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up…”
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The dinner lounge of the second hotel is much fancier than the first one. 
The entire place looks like it’s been draped in velvet, every single ridge looking as smooth as a crease in the fabric. There’s a combination of wooden panels and wall-height mirrors adorning the walls, only interrupted by the golden frames of the windows. A dome rises on the center of the center, a thousand red roses painted in a mosaic of tinted glass, while the rest of the ceiling is covered in the exact same wood as the walls. The tables are all draped in expensive looking tablecloths, placed carefully under meticulously set tableware, and they’re accompanied by tufted chairs, all of them in matching red. The dark colors in the scheme makes the entire place look dim, despite all the chandeliers shining bright against up above the clients’ heads. There are candles decorating the tables, along with fresh roses matching the ones in the dome, but they serve more as a simple ambiance decoration than an actual light source.
And, even though the city they had been in had been just as big as the one they’re in now, and the budget had not changed in the slightest, the shiny grand piano that sits at the center of the small wooden stage at the back of the restaurant had caught Jun’s eyes as soon as you had walked in for dinner. 
It was supposed to be a group dinner, but Mingyu, Chan and Minghao had gone sight-seeing, Vernon had fallen asleep and Seungcheol had stayed back in his room to rest (and, probably, talk to his girlfriend on the phone while eating something from the room service). At the end, it’s dinner of five instead of a dinner of ten, and while it would have been nice to share it with everyone, the company you had was more than enough. 
“This place is groovy! Oh, Seungcheol went all out with this hotel,” Josh exclaims as you sit down at a table neighboring the windows, all five of you immediately drawn to the exterior scene. “I’d say he did an excellent job booking if it weren’t for the fact I’m rooming with Hoshi.”
“Hey!” The younger exclaims. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent roommate. Best you’ll ever have, you’ll see.” 
“Yeah, I’ll start thinking that once you pick up your dirty socks from the floor after taking them off, that’s not groovy at all.”
“Jesus, can we not talk about Hoshi’s dirty socks while at the table, that’s fucking gross.”
“You’re just overreacting, and please just stop saying groovy,” Soonyoung says, rolling his eyes and picking up the pastel pink menu from the table, locking his eyes on the cardboard. “Anyways, this one burger looks way too nifty to pass it up.”
“I was thinking of ordering the same thing,” Seungkwan says, closing the menu. 
“Have you seen the kind of restaurant we’re in? Order a pasta, or a salad, not a plain burger, go with the groove.” 
“Do you think we’re Seungcheol, Joshua? If you had asked for his card like we told you, maybe we’d be buying pasta and wine for the five of us without you having to tell us about it!”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re scary when you’re angry?” Joshua asks, probably deciding on a burger as well as he imitates Seungkwan and places the menu back on the table. 
“Only sometimes,” Soonyoung responds, smiling. 
You’re not listening to their argument, though, with your chin resting over your hand and your gaze lost somewhere in the movement of a stranger. 
It’s funny how being in a completely different country, in a city a million miles away, there’s some sense of familiarity behind simply watching people walking by. You’re not sure if it’s just the mere action, or maybe a combination of the movement in a similarly urban setting, with the lights reflecting upon the crowd as a sort of kaleidoscopic filter, but it never feels entirely too different. 
“Do you want to play a game?” Jun asks, whispering right into your ear. He’s leaning close to your body, sitting between you and Joshua. You can make out the scent of his cologne as he scoots even closer to you to point to a stranger outside the window. “Like when we counted the number of headlights on the highway on our way here.”
You nod, words suddenly stuck on your throat as soon as you see Seungkwan looking at the both of you. Because truly, it was oh so very easy to get lost in the moment whenever Jun was around, and the thought has you smiling as soon as you notice. It’s oh so very easy to get lost in him. 
“Okay, we’ll make it interesting. Whoever wins buys the other a cherry cola!” he says, his voice still sounding just as soft. If he’s aware of Seungkwan’s stare, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. “Let's spot all the people that look like they’re dressed by Minghao after looking at the Moonwalker, starting… now!”
But his words have you laughing, so deeply you can feel it in your chest as you throw your head back. He looks at you, a care-free smile etched all over your face, and he can’t resist the laugh that forms at the center of the stomach, completely imitating your actions as the rest of the guys simply observe. And it’s amazing, because somehow, you have found just enough comfort in the presence of each other to be able to forget about everyone else. It’s not shy smiles and nervous laughs when in public, but full on grins and bursts of laughter. 
The thing no one notices though, completely distracted by the boisterous laugh, is Jun placing his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb moving in delicate circles against the fabric of your jeans. He doesn’t spare a second thought on it, finding way too much comfort in your closeness to make it a conscious action. And you aren’t even surprised on how natural his touch feels by now, because, somehow, it feels like coming home. 
Or maybe they do, but they just smile at the sight. There’s something enthralling about watching two people falling in love, bit by bit, gesture by gesture. It’s a tell behind the warmth of a smile and the fondness of a look, and while it’s not entirely common, it’s too beautiful to disrupt. 
“Josh, have you really been looking at your reflection this entire time?” 
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It’s late, and everyone but you and Jun have left the restaurant by the time the piano player arrives.
You’ve long since finished your meal, having shared a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs after Jun had said he wasn’t even that hungry anyways. You had ordered two cups of coffee and a shared berry panna cotta, way too lost in making conversation about everything and anything to actually notice the passing of time. In reality, it’s only when the coffee has run cold and the musician has started playing that you notice an hour has passed since the guys had left for their rooms. 
The song is not one you recognize, but apparently does, judging from the movement of his fingers against the table. He’s looking at the musician while he runs his fingers on the tablecloth like it’s some sort of invisible piano, making sure to get every single movement right in a tempo that perfectly matches the one that’s being played. You’re not sure if he notices, but his body has begun to sway ever so slightly, somehow matching the movement of his fingers.
The place is the same, yet it feels like a completely different one, even when the only thing that has changed is the music. It’s almost atemporal, like it could be night and day at the exact same time, as if it was simply something out of a dream. 
“Do you know this song?” 
Jun nods. He keeps his eyes on the musician, and a part of you wonders if it’s because he wishes that were him. 
“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he answers, smiling. “I used to play it when I was growing up, back when I was learning. I remember how excited my parents were when I finally got the movements right after years of practice. I guess a part of their excitement that day was a part of what made me fall so in love with music that I decided it was what I wanted to do with my life.” 
“How did you learn to play the piano? Seungcheol says you’re really good, and yet, you’ve never played with me around.”
“My mom’s a piano teacher. She used to give classes at this one prestigious school in our neighborhood, and I would hide behind the kitchen door and listen whenever she had a student,” Jun says. “I always liked how it sounded, so one night I just sat down on the piano and started playing. My mom started giving me classes the very next day.” 
“And what about composing? How did that start?” 
You had ordered a refill for your coffee and drink from your cup as Jun starts talking. 
“I don’t know, maybe with school, or maybe just with books in general. I was always dreaming, thinking about stories. Sometimes I couldn’t get the ones I was learning about out of my mind, and before I knew it, there were so many scenarios being born in my head that I simply had no idea what to do with them.” 
“So you started writing them.” 
Jun nods. “After some time, they started turning into songs. I would be looking at the lyrics and would suddenly start hearing a certain tune playing from the back of my mind. It was only a matter of time until I realized what I kept writing were songs rather than just tales, and they started meaning something more to me. Music makes the world go round, but it’s the lyrics that give it meaning.” 
“Said like a true poet,” you say, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you raise your cup to then once more. “I can tell your lyrics mean a lot to you. I know it probably sounds a bit silly, but I can feel it, you know? The emotion behind them. The words come alive before they’re even in my mouth.”
“Sometimes I can’t really tell what I’m feeling until I turn it into a song. The words come from a place so deep inside I can’t reach them on my own, but have to turn onto a pen and a piece of paper to know what they are,” he finally looks away from the musician. He’s still smiling, softly, gently. “It's a little weird. They feel both so deeply personal yet completely different from myself, as if the Jun that exists in the songs is a completely different person from the Jun in the real world.”
You fall quiet. You try to make sense of Jun’s words in your head as he reaches to grab a hold of your hand, but they’re way too beautiful, too meaningful, for you to tamper with. So you feel your heart grow warm at the passion behind them, looking at the man in front of you like he had just painted the stars upon the night sky. 
“Will you dance with me?” 
“Jun, no one is dancing.” 
“And when have you let that stop you?”
Setting the napkin over the table, Jun gets up from his seat. He stretches his arm out at you, offering his hand, his silver rings reflecting the light upon its touch. And he looks at you, eyes sparkling brighter than ever under the restaurant’s delicate lightning, completely absorbed in the way your body imitates his movements.
You let Jun lead you through the sea of tables, all the way to where the little stage is located. There’s a small space that has been left between the stage and the neighboring tables, and you wonder if maybe dancing is what it’s meant for, despite not being used for it. But Jun is quick to replace your thoughts until they’re only about him, pulling you close to his chest and letting his hand rest against your waist. 
“Just focus on me and I’ll focus on you,” he whispers, moving to talk right against your ear. “Hold me a bit closer and forget about everything else.” 
Pulled flush against his frame, you let your hands fall on his back, closing your eyes as you allow him to sway you to the rhythm of the music. He moves in a way that almost has you wondering if maybe you are flying, but you’re not sure if it’s because of his dancing or if it’s just because it’s him. 
You recognize the song the minute Jun starts singing the words. It’s soft, so much you wouldn’t have heard him if you hadn’t been standing so close to him, basically hugging him flush against yourself. It’s Love Is (The Tender Trap) by Frank Sinatra, and you smile at the similarity between the lyrics and the feeling in your stomach. 
He gives you a twirl and it’s like there are a thousand butterflies flying within you, knowing there really is no getting out, because there is no denying something that manages to make you feel so wonderful. He smiles at you and you’re sure you’re falling in love with Wen Junhui, thinking of the way his kiss had made you tingle once upon a starry night. 
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“Keep on steppin’, you’re falling behind!” 
Jun laughs, turning back to face you. The breeze ruffles his hair as he moves, thin strands falling onto his forehead. The sky is a bright blue and the sun is shining with all its might, but Jun’s light blue button up and beige bell-bottoms still rustle in the wind. 
“It’s not my fault you walk that fast,” you say, quickening your pace to catch up with him. He moves smoothly as you meet him, circling your waist with his arm and holding you next to him as you walk. 
“Ah, that’s more like it,” he mumbles as he resumes his walk. His pace is not as fast, looking so much more at ease as he looks around at his surroundings. 
It had been Jun’s idea to spend your free day walking around the city, after Mingyu and the rest of his expedition crew had talked about their experience over breakfast. Some of the other guys had left earlier, excited about going to whatever stores they had seen on the bus before reaching the hotel, leaving you and Jun to simply stroll around and see what you find. 
“This is nice,” he mentions. “It’s been a while since I felt this relaxed.” 
“It’s nice you can feel relaxed in the middle of a tour,” you say, giggling. “But I get what you mean, having a break in the schedule, even if we’re only starting.”
“I think you’re the only rockstar I’ve met that actually uses the word schedule in their daily vocabulary.”
“Yeah, but that’s because I’m the only ‘rockstar’ you’ve met. I mean, besides… Seungkwan. Honestly, he’s the most rockstar material out of all of us.”
“Okay, Barbra Streisand.”
“You have not met Barbra Streisand!” 
“In my dreams.”
“Oh, I didn’t know those counted.”
The boulevard is lively. There’s people strolling up and down on both sides of the street, very much like you and Jun, with their pace and actions revealing there’s not much hurry behind their walks. Cars of all models and colors drive through the street, your walk having a varied background orchestra composed of revving engines, passing conversations and the occasional music that was audible from the entrance of some business. It made for the typical city noise, not much different from the one at home, but somehow perfectly fitting for the particularities of the sight. 
The two of you walk while holding the other, occasionally bumping shoulders with some other pedestrian when not paying particular attention. There’s truly not much on either of your minds behind the wonder of getting to know yet another city and enjoying the warmth of a sunny Thursday evening in each other’s company.
“Is there anything you wanna do?” Jun asks, slowing down his pace but not completely stopping. 
“Not right now,” you answer. “We could stop somewhere for a soda or something later, if you want. You know, since you won yesterday and all.” 
“Let’s go in here, then,” Jun says, moving his hand from your waist to your hand, softly pulling on you to the side. 
You quickly follow him as he walks inside one of the stores, never losing the grip on his hand. The front is small, walls painted red and a bright purple signboard hanging over the glass doors, reading Vintage Records and Books, along with a few music notes that look hand drawn over the surface in multiple colors. There are crates full of books and vinyls, the covers of all of them a bit faded by the sun or scraped over the passage of time. At a first glance you can identify some Johnny Cash copies alongside the assorted records, what must have been a bright green cover now looking surprisingly muted. 
And once you walk inside, the interior is just as lively as the outside. The place is covered in shelves, littered with books on one side of the store and with records in the other, with small placards dividing the shelves and categorizing the products. You can tell it’s a wide variety, with hundreds upon hundreds of colorful covers composing a contrast with the burnt purple of the walls. There are horizontal lines painted all across the walls in a bright green and an almost creamy white, which is replicated in a triangle patterned rug of the exact same colors, resting in the middle of the store. 
Among the shelves, there’s an assortment of indoor plants hanging from the ceiling in bright green ceramic pots, along with a few small trees located between some of the shelves themselves. On the rare vacant spaces in the walls there are band posters or book quotes, some of them autographed and some of them pasted one over the other with washed out tape. 
It feels oddly warm inside the shop, and you wonder if it’s merely because of the way the light breaks in from the tall windows up front. There’s a faint scent of flowers that reaches your nose as soon as you walk in, mixing in with the smell of paper and wood. And it’s heavenly.
“Hey, welcome!” Says someone from behind the bright pink counter. He looks around Jun’s age, with a long mane of dark brown hair that goes below his shoulders. He’s wearing a black hat and a green jacket, grinning at the two of you over the pages of a magazine. “Let me know if you see something you’re down with!” 
“It smells nice in here,” Jun tells you, but he must have spoken loud enough for the man to hear, because his grin grows in size. 
“Thanks, it’s home-made potpourri! I make it myself when there aren’t as many customers coming in,” he says, gesturing to a few jars displayed on a small counter. A few minutes ago, you wouldn’t think it was actually possible for someone to smile so big. “It’s for sale too, and it works really well on large spaces! Looks pretty groovy when it’s on display, if I do say so myself.” 
Jun smiles back, walking over to one of the tall stands where a bright orange sign announces a deal on the records.
“Oh, if you buy one of those, you can take a book from this bin right here for free,” the man says. You can’t make out the letters in his name tag from a distance, but you’re almost sure they start with an S. “You can try them out on that player over there, see if it’s nifty. They’re all second hand, but the quality’s off the hook.” 
You look around as Jun’s fingers graze over the records, flicking them so quick you’re not sure if he’s actually reading the title before discarding them. You hadn’t noticed the man had a record playing in the turntable he had signaled to, quickly recognizing the guitar solo of Jimi Hendrix’s Love or Confusion. 
“Hey, wanna get this Bob Dylan one for Josh? See if he likes the hat?” Jun asks, holding a record in his hand without turning back at you. “Maybe there’s a Kerouac book in that bin you can take with you. You know, for the next bus ride - oh, this one’s groovy!”
“Oh, of course you’d pick a Barbra Streisand record.”
“Yeah, she’s my best friend!” Jun giggles. “You know, besides from you. And Seungcheol, but he doesn’t really count.” 
“I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry. He won’t know you like me better.”
“A lot better.” 
You spend hours browsing the shop, laughing at the silly jokes made by the cashier (whose name is Seokmin) and talking about pasts spent together and pasts spent apart, conversations sewn together by a smile. You had even slow-danced to a couple Elvis songs, all while resting your head against Jun’s chest as Seokmin clapped at the two of you for, as he had said it, resembling a romantic scene from one of his favorite movies. 
And you’re not surprised at how familiar it feels, because in the last few days, Jun had come to mean much more to you than anything you could have ever thought. If you were as much of a hopeless romantic as he was, you’d even think it’s because your conexion runs even deeper than the simple process of falling for a friend, but you merely smile as the thought begins to form inside your head. And you laugh at how much it sounds like one of his songs. 
Because there’s as much beauty in the way he smiles as there is in the way it makes you feel. 
The sun’s beginning to set by the time you and Jun leave the record shop. The wind has gotten colder and the breeze has grown stronger, but as Jun tugs you close to his side, you don’t think you’ve ever felt warmer. 
He’s holding just as many records as you’re holding books, letting you make all the picks from the bin once he had purchased his vinyls, along with a jar of Seokmin’s home-made potpourri. 
His hand searches for yours as soon as you step outside.
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“Can’t believe we’re almost there.”
The walk back to the hotel is surprisingly quick. 
Jun had been humming the melody to a song Seokmin had played back when you were at the shop, adding a slight bounce to his step as the pitch in his voice rose and fell with the beat of the song. He had smiled the entire way back, occasionally stopping his hum to point at the colors in the sky or their effects on your shadows on the ground, never failing to look at the smaller details that worked together in one beautiful, cohesive picture. 
But it still feels so much quicker than it had been the other way around, almost seems shorter, as if it had been a different path altogether.
Maybe it’s because you’re not as distracted by the storefront and the other passerbys, or maybe it’s just the feeling of bathing in the setting sun when making your way back that somehow makes the entire thing seem shorter. Jun had stopped to get a pair of pastries and two cups of coffee at a small bakery you hadn’t noticed earlier but went unaverted once the signs lit up, which now await inside a small paper bag and in two paper cups, respectively. As you sip from one of the cups, you think it’s the best coffee you’ve had in a long while. 
Jun suggests yet another game on the way back, making you smile as he tries to locate every single red platform shoe worn by a woman over 5’0”, which, surprisingly, aren’t really that many. And you should have guessed from the moment he had said it, but he was just trying to let you win (because, after all, he had won the last two games and just had to pay the coke back). 
“Ah, you’re getting lucky with your pick!” 
“You were the one that chose what we’d look for!” 
“Just let it be our secret,” he says, turning to wink in your direction. 
You can feel the coolness of the breeze nipping at your nose when you finally reach the hotel, walking through the glass doors with Jun following close behind. He still hasn’t let go of your hand. 
“Do you want to get dinner?” You ask. You can smell the sugar and the cinnamon from the pastries, and your mouth begins to water. “There’s this other pasta dish on the menu that sounds just as good as the one we had yesterday.” 
Jun purses his lips, giving a slight squeezing to your hand. “Let’s get room service, I want to show you something.” 
He starts walking towards the elevator, moving slowly and letting you admire the pastel green lobby in all of its glory. There’s some faint jazz music playing as you walk through the lobby, which you hadn’t noticed until then. A big tree rises from the center of the room, matching some smaller ones that are perched next to the deep green tufted couches and complimenting the flower arrangements that have been used as decorations in both the small coffee tables and the bar at the reception. It’s a slightly different vibe than the one from the dining hall, but somehow, both of them look just as fancy. 
“What is it?” You ask. 
“You’ll see.”
“Can I get a clue?”
“No, you’re going to help me finish it.”
“Please don’t tell me you also collect those freaky deaky puzzles Chan likes to put together in his free time.”
Jun giggles, shaking his head as you reach the elevator. “Ew, the anatomy ones? No, no way.” 
The way up to Jun’s room is spent with him trying to guess the elevator music by singing random lyrics and seeing which one sounds best. Not that he got a single one right, but it was certainly entertaining to watch him try. When you finally reach the 10th floor, Jun is singing the lyrics to Cher’s Where Do You Go to a jazz melody very much similar to the one from the lobby, and you’re sure he’s only doing it to make you smile. 
“Bienvenue to my humble abode,” Jun mutters as he opens the door to his room, making sure to bow down and open his arm to signal the room, completing the entire gesture with a short giggle. “I escaped having Hoshi as a roommate so I have the room all to myself.” 
“And you have Seungkwan’s piano,” you mention as you walk inside, pointing to the small electronic piano that was carefully positioned next to the window. “Does he know?”
“No, I stole it from the van last night,” he answers, laughing and plopping onto the bed. “Oh, I’m so tired!”
The room is not too different from yours; a muted orange wallpaper matching the fuzzy carpet. Both twin beds in Jun’s room are covered in a dandelion yellow duvet, one of them holding all of his luggage while Jun rests on the other one (the one he must have slept in last night, closest to the window). There’s a small television on the vanity, the box a combination of bright beige plastic and faux wood, surprisingly going along with the white lamps that stand on both sides of it. 
“What is it that you wanted to show me?” You ask, coming to sit in one of the chairs next to the vanity. They’re big, tufted, and the color matches with the one of the duvets. The chair is not the most comfortable, but as long as the bed is, you don’t really have to worry about it. 
Jun’s purchases lay next to him on the bed, Barbra Streisand’s Stoney End sitting on top of the pile. He had bought five records, four for himself and one for you (though he had refused to tell you which one it was, insisting it would be a surprise). You had selected five books to match his purchase, including a copy of Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles, which Jun had suggested you take because of the colorful cover. 
“I’ve been working on a song,” he mutters, still facing down on the bed. The words come out muffled, but they’re still audible. “I think you’ll like it.”
You let out a laugh. “I like all of your songs.” 
“This one’s special,” he says, moving so he’s resting on his shoulders. His hair has gotten a bit disheveled, falling all over his face as his lips curl up in a hazy smile. “I’m working on the melody, too. I just need to hear your opinion about it.” 
“You’ve been inspired,” you comment, reaching over to the vanity where Jun had placed the pastries bag. You take a roll into your hand and notice it’s still warm. 
Jun winks before sitting up. “You’d know all about it.” 
“All I do is sing your songs,” you say, breaking a piece of bread and tucking it into your mouth. It melts as soon as it meets your tongue. “You’re the artist behind the art. Should I start calling you Da Vinci?” 
“I like Monet better. I’m a huge fan of the Impression Sunrise, even got a poster of it up in my room back at home,” Jun answers. He moves so he’s sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Seungkwan’s piano, grabbing a small notebook from the bedside table. You recognize it instantly, because it’s the one he always carries with him. He pats the space next to himself. “Here, I’ll show you.” 
You leave your things on the bed next to all his luggage, books carefully propped against a faux leather duffle bag. Jun takes a piece of the cinnamon bread as soon as you sit down next to him, moving closer as he does, a whiff of his cologne reaching your nose. The duvet is of fine linen, surprisingly soft against your fingertips as you place your hands at your sides. 
“I started writing it the other day,” he says, opening his notebook and placing it on his laps. You try to take a peek at it, but the (messily written) words aren’t readable from a distance. It looks beautiful though, fine lines of black ink rising like a carefully painted artwork on the thick, creamy white paper. “When you fell asleep on the bus.” 
“It’s your fault for making me read to you!” You laugh, moving and bumping his shoulder with yours. “And, in my defense, the top of your head was extremely comfortable.” 
“Yeah it’s like a portable pillow,” he jokes. “Maybe I should start advertising it.”
“Bet Seungkwan would take you up on it, he got asleep on the bus too!” 
There is something about Jun that makes everything seem lighter, helping the seconds run fast against the clock. 
“Here, I’ll show you the melody,” he says, straightening his back and placing his fingers on the keyboard. The assortment of rings he’s wearing had felt cool against your fingers. “I stayed up all night to come up with it. I haven’t finished the lyrics yet, but the music is already here.” 
“Is that why you asked me for help? Are you gonna fall asleep on me?” 
Jun smiles, but doesn’t turn to look at you. “No, not really,” he mutters. 
He plays a key, but doesn’t give it much thought. It’s a quick, crisp sound, not really one that’s a part of a movement, even less of a song. Maybe it’s a reflex, like the clicking of the pen had once been, a mere outlet for his nervousness. He keeps his eyes set on his fingers as he speaks, not really directing his words at you but surely saying them because you’re there to hear them. 
His voice is soft, almost shy. “It’s because you’re the inspiration behind it.” 
And he doesn’t say anything else, but lets his fingers graze upon the keys as he starts playing. You’re not exactly sure what you’re thinking of, mind and heart running a thousand beats per second as you feel it thumping against your chest. There’s a feeling growing in your stomach, and whether it's due to adrenaline or some deeper, more complex feeling remains a mystery. 
You close your eyes as Jun plays, each note igniting fireworks in your head. The music flows into your ears like honey, setting light upon the darkest places of your mind, overflowing your senses with Jun’s interpretation. Every single note sounds just like him, as if he’s becoming the music as he’s making it. His fingers run over the keys in the same way an artist’s brush glazes over a canvas, immersing itself in their creation to a point their creation is all they are. He has become a song, a beautifully crafted sonata, making your heart feel warmer with every moment. You know it’s because the song itself is beautiful - but so is he, and that translates into every single sound, every single feeling. 
You let out a gasp as he begins to sing; it’s broken, a few lines here and there. You can tell it’s the bits he’s finished, the ones he’s comfortable with, leaving everything like a game of fill in the blanks. He had sung to you before, either in the song demos or in some practices where he had been finishing a song nearby - but his voice had never sounded sweeter. Your heart tugs against your chest as you listen to him, words coming alive in your head like the ones in the pages of a romance novel. 
“Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man…”
Your hands ball up into fists, scrunching the soft duvet as you try to keep your eyes closed, no matter how much your eyelids are threatening to flutter open. You don’t want to see anything that isn’t him, or his voice; don’t want to feel anything that isn’t the sudden warmth that rises all over your body, making you feel like you’re flying - 
And he stops, hands suddenly moving away from the keyboard after a faulty note. 
“Stop distracting me!” He says, laughing as his cheeks grow red in embarrassment. He hands his hands on his lap, fingers absentmindedly fumbling with the rings he has on. 
You don’t open your eyes, joining him in his laughter and falling on your back onto the bed. You bring your hands to your face, hiding behind them as your laughter grows louder. 
“I wasn’t doing anything!” You answer. 
You feel the space next to you dip as Jun imitates your movement, resting onto his back. His notebook has fallen to the floor, open in half, but he doesn’t notice. He brings his hand to your face, taking your own and moving it away from your face. He props himself up on his elbow, connecting your fingers over the duvet in the space that separates the two of you. 
“Did you like it?” He asks, words falling from his lips between jolts of laughter. His voice is soft, and it feels like velvet against your ears. “You know, before I messed up.” 
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” you whisper, opening your eyes and rolling to your side to look back at him. “Did you really write it because of me?”
Jun nods. He’s smiling, looking at you fondly as he searches for the words inside his head. “You’re a song in and out of yourself.” 
He doesn’t move as you stare into his eyes. Looking at him, you’re suddenly reminded of the night he had kissed you - the same constellations that had shined high above your heads now reflected in his eyes, drawing you deeper into his spell. You feel like you’re falling, the entire world falling as you lay on the bed, his hand on yours the only thing pulling you back into reality. It’s as if the world around you changes every single time you’re with Jun, spinning wildly out of orbit and transforming into an unknown fantasy, with the only sure thing being the way his eyes come to rest upon you. You’re not sure if anything else exists apart from Jun, because suddenly he’s all you can see. All you can feel. 
“And I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” he continues. He keeps his eyes on you as he speaks, as if trying to assure you his words are only for you to hear. “Or maybe I already was, but only just noticed. I hear your voice in every word, see your face every time I turn around with your name etched deep in my heart. I don’t think I could get you out of my head no matter how hard I tried. And I don’t think I would ever want to.” 
You hadn’t noticed there were tears forming in your eyes until one fell down on your hand, ice cold against the warm skin. You open your mouth, searching for words deep down in your heart, but Jun shakes his head. 
“Just… let me say it, you can go after,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming of love my entire life. As far as I can remember, I’ve always dreamed of feeling it. It wasn’t just something out of a fairytale or a novel, not even a dream coming out to a song. It’s been the theme behind all my songs and the happy ending of all my stories. And never would I have thought it would feel like this. Never would I have thought those dreams would become you, but you’re there, in every single word. In every single thought.” 
He moves, fingers caressing the back of your hand as he gives it a squeeze. He moves his hand, placing yours over his chest, directly over his heart. Although faintly, you’re sure you can feel it beat. 
And you move forward, your other hand on his neck, connecting his lips with yours. It’s warm, and you can make out a vague saltness that is no doubt a product of your tears. But they are long forgotten, the feeling of Jun’s lips against yours setting your body on fire as his hands come to rest upon your skin. You can feel your every vein light up as you move as close to him as you can manage, the space between you always weighing upon the both of you no matter how much you try to reduce it, because the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other is one you simply can’t get enough of. 
He opens his eyes, eyelids fluttering open at the need to see you; to set the final piece of the puzzle in his mind. It’s a puzzle that looks, sounds and moves like you, composed of a love that burns too bright to ignore. 
And as he looks at you, resting comfortably on the soft linen sheets, he’s sure he has never seen such a beautiful sight.
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The next few days go by in a flash. 
The days start early, as early as the sun goes up and you have breakfast on some terrace with Jun by your side, with the sun reflected upon his skin like a golden veil. They’re spent in jolts of laughter with your friends, soaking in the sun when sight-seeing in all the cities you’ve visited. They’re spent carelessly singing in the bus, with Joshua and Chan backing up the vocals with loud strums of their guitars, not really caring about beat, or tune, or whoever may be listening. They’re spent getting to know the world with the people that make the entire thing worth it, smiling and laughing along. They’re spent in sleepless nights on stages or someone’s backyard, twisting and turning in Jun’s hand as he moves you to the rhythm of the music. They’re spent in him watching you from a balcony, dancing and singing along to the crowds adoring your every move, finding himself lost in your voice. 
And they’re spent in composing, with Jun finding inspiration in the smallest of your movements, lyrics suddenly being born in the crack of a smile and the fondness behind a look. 
By the time the song is finally ready to be sung, he’s still a bit nervous. It feels like a deja vu, with him tapping quickly upon a faux tiled floor. 
He rests his back against a wall, standing next to a closed door. He tries to move out of the way as people pass in a hurry, carrying equipment or reading from lists, simply looking around as he tries to count on the passing of time. He tries to maintain a steady beat with his foot, counting along in his head as he reads from the piece of paper he’s holding. Trying not to think about the sounds of a growing crowd, he can feel the paper crumpling in his hand, thinking that his grip on it might be a little too tight. Nonetheless, he can’t loosen it up, no matter how much he wants to. 
Night has fallen, and he can see the stars from the small window that rises at the top of the wall in front of him. There’s some moonlight breaking in, lighting up the ground and the glass detailings on the colorful tiles. For a second, he thinks of how familiar it feels, to be able to see a picture where there is none, and he smiles. Backstage or not, the night looks the same all around. 
He lets out a big breath, moving his free hand around as he does until he hears the door next to him flutter open. A laughing Chan walks out from it, followed by Josh and Mingyu, all of them with their guitars strapped down and ready to be played. They pat Jun on the back before they follow the small arrows on the ground, walking in the direction of the stage. 
He runs through the lyrics in his head as the rest of the band follows, you walking behind while trying to fix the back of your jacket. Minghao had suggested some fringes on the sleeves to add some “movement” but they had proven a bit impractical when getting stuck whenever you moved your arms. 
“Hey,” Jun says, grabbing your attention. “Do you have a moment?” 
You smile. “What are you doing back here? I thought you and Cheol were gonna watch from the balcony.”
“We are,” he confirms, nodding his head. “I just wanted to say hi.”
His voice is shaking as he speaks, as much as he tries to hide it. You take his free hand in yours, stopping his movements in midair, giving his fingers a slight squeeze as you attempt to bring him some comfort. 
“Are you nervous?” You ask. He simply nods, smiling when he feels you tightening your grip on his hand. “Is it because of the song?” 
“I know it’s a bit silly,” he comments. Despite holding the piece of paper, he runs his hand through his combed-back hair, causing a few strands to fall messily over his forehead. It looks so much better than when it’s gelled up. “But it feels different this time around. I don’t know, It feels a lot more personal somehow.” 
Bringing his hand up to your face, you give it a kiss. He sighs at the feeling. 
“They’re gonna love it, Jun,” you say. 
He smiles at you. “As long as you love it, that’s more than enough for me.” 
“Well, you already know that I do,” you giggle. “I’ll always love every single song you write.”
Laughing with you, he pulls you to his chest as he envelops you in a hug. Sighing against you, he tucks his face in your neck as he feels you hugging him back. You smile, feeling him press a light kiss on the exposed skin. He smells of sugar and cinnamon. 
“Leave them breathless,” he whispers as he breaks apart from the embrace. 
He kisses you one more time, quickly pecking the top of your head before he walks away. You give him one last smile, running your fingers down his arm as you begin to part.  
You walk in opposing directions, and Jun quickens his pace as he climbs the stairs leading to the balcony. He can hear the crowd growing with every step he takes, feeling a knot forming in his stomach as he moves his fingers around in an attempt to control his nerves. The way up seems familiar, consisting in dimly lit hallways and semi-peeled off posters on the walls, and he doesn’t even notice a few minutes have passed by the time he finally reaches the balcony. 
It’s not the Moonwalker, but the place shines just as bright. He greets Seungcheol, placing a palm on his friend’s back as he comes to stand next to him. 
“Hey, I was about to go looking for you,” he says, as a form of greeting. He smiles at his friend and motions to the public below with his beer bottle. “Great turn out tonight! I think this is our biggest venue yet, it’s amazing! I was talking to some guy over there, and he says a story is being printed on the newspapers about how successful the tour has been so far.” 
Jun smiles. “They deserve it. They’re an amazing group.”
“And they have amazing songs,” Seungcheol comments, nudging Jun’s shoulder with his own. 
Jun sets his eyes on the empty stage just as the lights begin to fall. A limelight focuses on the center of it, right where the standing microphone rises high among the sea of instruments. You walk out from the side with the rest of the band following close behind, and just like his very own, everyone’s eyes are on you. 
“We have a very special song for you tonight,” you say. You look up in the direction of the balcony, and Jun feels his heart beat loudly against his chest when you wink at him. “We hope you enjoy the show.” 
A breath gets caught in his throat when Seungkwan starts playing, fingers delicately grazing over the keyboard of his piano. He can feel Seungcheol’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, but all he can focus on is you. 
It’s always been that way, and the feeling on his chest lets him know it always will. It feels like a thousand butterflies finally setting flight. 
He smiles when you begin to sing, forgetting about everything else. The world around him stops existing, and just as the words start leaving your lips, he lets himself go. Because he had spent his entire life dreaming of this moment, thinking about the feeling being born in his chest. And he’s happy he’s waited, because it feels better than he could have ever imagined. 
Completely shaking off his nerves, he closes his eyes and lets out a breath. 
Hold me closer tiny dancer… 
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chalkrevelations · 3 years
Text
Back, finally, with Word of Honor, Episode 11, which involved a lot of waving my hands around over precious button Zhang Chengling and his concern about whatever ridiculous argument between his Murder Dads left his shifu in a snit and must be solved right this minute. I really think if he could’ve just pushed their heads together like two Ken dolls to make them kiss and make up, he would have. Didi, I could eat you up with a spoon, although not in the creepy way that Du Pusa threatens. I promise.
First, though, due diligence: Spoilers, possibly likely for the entire show, not just this ep, so scroll away and come back later if you are still, at this point in the game, trying to watch the whole 36.5 eps unspoiled. Also, this is hella long. Strap in. Hashtag long post (remorseful).
First thing I actually want to do is point out a couple of scenes that I found particularly striking for various reasons. The first one is not quite the opening scene - which is super-brief and involves Yueyang’s prep for the Heroes Conference, Gao Shan (AKA Chengling’s bully-in-chief) being smug about Yueyang’s upcoming ascendance (oh boy, are you in for a surprise, you little schmuck), and Gao Chong’s extreme weariness at the idea of Yueyang’s upcoming ascendance. Gao Chong is very tired, y’all. It’s been a long 20 years. There’s also a ginormous sword on display, like Yueyang is now having a dick-measuring contest with who they think is the disciple of the Changming Sword Immortal (and oh boy, are you guys in for another surprise. I’m not sure what part of “immortal” y’all don’t understand). But I digress - as I said, this is a very brief scene, and then we cut back to Luo Mansion, where we left Ghost Valley and Lunatic Wen at the end of the last ep. Everyone is gone except for Wen Kexing, who’s still plotting, Beauty Ghost, who’s trying to stay tf out of this current shitshow as much as possible (good luck with that), and Tragicomic Ghost, who is totally and completely Done With This Shit. She berates WKX for acting crazy, he gets snappy back – I feel like their relationship is maybe a little bit fraught at this point – and Beauty Ghost attempts to soothe the waters, leading to an eyeroll from Tragicomic Ghost with a directive to stand the hell up and stop being scared of this idiot child throwing his weight around. WKX dismisses Tragicomic Ghost so he can plan a Very Secret Mission for Beauty Ghost in secret. WKX is … he is super-tired at this point. Painfully, achingly tired. I would almost say weary. We can see it in Gong Jun’s face. It’s a nice subtle bit of acting, and it definitely says something about WKX’s relationship with these women that he’s willing and able to show it in front of them, even as he’s still throwing his weight around.
Anyway, Liu Qianqiao proves her smarts by showing her hand just enough for WKX and us to see that she’s seen through the Lunatic Wen act to the utility of chokin’ out a dude as a warning, to try keeping Changing Ghost in line (good luck with that), but she also assures all of us that she only wants to serve the Ghost Valley Master and has no agenda of her own. WKX assures her that he has everything under control (Uh … huh. OK, my dude) and tells her he has a task for her, before detouring into a quiz about her disguise technique (learned from Qin Huaizhang, Zhou Zishu’s shifu at Siji Manor, and this is probably a tipoff that the Very Secret Mission will involve disguising herself), about Siji Manor, and about why she never visited there. We get some interesting vague hints about her past, including the fact that she met Qin Huaizhang when she was “little” and he took pity on her “disfigurement,” according to both the Youku and Netflix English subs. @coralcoloratura pulled out 童年时 (tóngnián shí) from the Chinese subs for me, which does mean “childhood.” Given that the going story is Yu Qiufeng’s wife threw acid in LQQ’s face over their affair, this opens up some questions about how old LQQ actually was when all that happened. Viki subs, per @janedrewfinally, add that she says she treated Qin Huaizhang to a meal, so she couldn’t have been too young. But Qin Huaizhang dies when ZZS is just 16, and LQQ can’t be any older than ZZS, and is likely younger (good lord, I just checked actor ages, and Ke Naiyu is 7 years younger than ZZH, so that’s probably not a good age gap to port over to the show, because just. No.). All this leads me to place LQQ at somewhere between Zhang Chengling’s age and Gu Xiang’s age (at most) when this whole tragic backstory happened, which is still pretty freakin’ young, and I can see why she would consider herself a child, at least metaphorically, in terms of naïvete, if not literally. I don’t know how much exploration has been done about this, on the fannish side of things, but it seems like an area rich for exploration. Also, I CANNOT TELL YOU how much I now want to read the AU of WKX and LQQ both actually being brought to Siji Manor at various times by Qin Huaizhang and staying there. I suspect that with those two shidi backing him, ZZS might never have had to go to Prince Jin in the first place. (Clearly this makes some things problematic, including A-Xiang, but I keep thinking about ZZS, WKX and LQQ growing up together … And anyway, I’m ALSO willing to read the AU(s) where WKX’s storyline stays the same, but LQQ does come to Siji Manor – both the AU where she and ZZS together manage to save the sect, and the AU where she goes with them to Jin, and the kind of weapon she could be for ZZS there, as he runs Tian Chuang. Who’s writing all this? Anyone? Anyone?) Anyway, when WKX asks why she didn’t visit Siji Manor, LQQ tells WKX that she’s a ghost now and doesn’t want to think about the living world anymore, which is probably a way of saying she wishes she had gone there and doesn’t want to talk about her many and varied bad decisions back in the day; it also acts as an unknowing reinforcement of that bright line WKX is desperately trying to maintain for himself between the world of ghosts and the world of humans. Plus it gives him the chance to speak the very portentous line that “Yes, we’re ghosts, and ghosts disappear in the light,” pulling the theme of light back in, again and giving us all kinds of foreshadowing. Cut away as he leans in to whisper her mission to her.
The other really striking scene, for me, happens near the end of the ep, when Gao Chong visits the shrine room, with the memorial tablets of his various brothers and friends. This hit me not just because of Hei Zi’s acting (which is great, don’t get me wrong) but also because this is a scene that reflects both backward and forward in the show - back to ZZS in Ep 1 and forward to the two scenes that Zhao Jing will have in this same room – as well as giving us all sorts of subtle clues about relationships throughout the show. So first of all, we see, in a shot that will mean more the deeper we get into the show, tablets for Zhen Ruyu and Gu Miaomiao (or, “his wife,” as the Youku subs call her, and this is me, rolling my eyes), who were apparently close enough to Gao Chong that he keeps memorial tablets for them on his home altar - which helps explain why WKX is so incensed that none of these Five Lakes Alliance assholes helped his parents when they were turned out of the Healer’s Valley, although that’s not something we would have known yet on a first watch through the show. Gao Chong lights some incense and apologizes to the tablet of Zhang Yusen for letting Zhang Chengling get kidnapped. He talks about waiting 20 years to learn the truth – which is kind of cryptic, but probably means the truth about who poisoned his sword before the spar with Rong Xuan, which we hear about in a later scene this ep – and gets a little bit salty about the fact that it doesn’t matter if everyone else doesn’t believe him, but why didn’t Zhang Yusen believe him? Again, I’m assuming this is about Gao Chong’s protestations that he’s not the one who put poison on his sword. We also learn in this same ep – from Chengling – that Zhang Yusen’s break with the Five Lakes Alliance seems to have at least started that far back, and that Yusen would have been at Mount Qingya to stand with Rong Xuan against his other Alliance brothers, if Yusen’s shifu hadn’t broken his legs so that he couldn’t travel there. (Yusen clearly had some strong feelings about this, if that’s what it took to get him to sit still for it. Also, it makes me wonder how Ye Baiyi’s feelings about Chengling might change if he ever learned that Chengling’s father intended to defend and stand with a guy who Ye Baiyi considered his own child, as well as his disciple.)
Gao Chong then proceeds to have a little crisis of faith – he’s very tired, y’all, it’s been a long 20 years – and talks about how no one understands him, and he’s old, and everyone’s dead. He also yells at Rong Xuan’s tablet, calling Rong Xuan da-ge but also saying he’s sorry he ever met him, but then there’s this brief little moment after, when he seems a little bit shocked at himself for saying it out loud, which reminds me, honestly, of the moment in CQL (we’ve all seen The Untamed, right, I don’t have to put spoiler warnings for it, right?) when Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are in the Yunmeng Jiang memorial hall and Wei Wuxian talks about Yu Ziyuan’s punishments back in the day, then pats his own mouth and says “My fault, my fault, my fault” before bowing to her tablet. Like, yes, their relationship was multiple levels of fucked-up, and his reaction is not out of place given some of his continuing neuroses, but also, this is just not a thing you do, speaking ill of the dead to their faces. I’m sure Gao Chong does regret ever meeting Rong Xuan, and the way that led to the building of the Armory and the Five Lakes Alliance to guard it, and the position that ultimately put Gao Chong in - not to mention that if he never met Rong Xuan he never would have accidentally killed him. But you can’t say things like that OUT LOUD to the MEMORIAL TABLET. Then contrast this to Zhao Jing, who literally takes a piss on the tablet in one of the later episodes. Because he’s the worst. And THEN, Gao Chong kneels and talks to the tablets of Zhang Yusen and Lu Taichong, his dead Five Lakes Alliance brothers, saying they must have met again in the netherworld, and that they’re probably swearing about him right now, and this is the point when I sit straight up and exclaim, out loud, “Fuck. Me. This is Zhou Zishu’s breakdown at the mirror in Episode 1.” When he talks to Jiuxiao about how Jiuxiao and Jing’An must have met again in the afterlife by now and are probably discussing what an awful shixiong ZZS is, right? And then Gao Chong even laughs bitterly like ZZS, and cries like ZZS, and I just. OK. FINE, show. I’ll try to go a little easier on Gao Chong, because you’re clearly linking him to ZZS, here, and I’m willing to forgive ZZS for anything. I suppose I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t try to extend just a little bit of the same grace to Gao Chong.
So, that’s a lot of verbiage, and I haven’t even gotten to Wenzhou yet, but trust me, I have some things to say about them. While WKX has been terrorizing the troops, ZZS left Han Ying’s place and immediately started drinking again, because that continues to be the best way – in combo with his Nails – he knows to kill himself by increments, but so sad, he’s run out of wine as he wanders the marketplace, alone and zhiji-less. Inside Yueyang, Chengling finds a note purporting to be from “Xu,” instructing him to meet at the North Gate that night, and like the little idiot they keep calling him (he really is too pure for this world), he takes it at face value. On his way that night, he runs into Gao Shan, who inadvertently almost saves him by interrupting his sneaking around to try to bully him back to his room. Something something food as bonding, because the lie Zhang Chengling comes up with is that he’s hungry (he’s not eating Yueyang’s food, and it’s not nourishing him), and he’s on his way to find something to eat (because he and his Murder Dads are in a mutually nourishing relationship, and that’s who he wants to be with). Also, no, he would prefer going to find something to eat for himself and not eating whatever Gao Shan will bring back to Chengling’s room. (A little bit, I’m sad there’s never any place to fit in some canon-complicit long-form enemies to failboats to lovers fic for these two. I have to admit, I would read it. Someone should do something with the tension between them, although I don’t really want it to be anything that will make Best Boy permanently sad.) Anyway, A-Xiang shows up just as Gao Shan is about to frog-march Chengling back to his room, and Gao Shan never sees her coming before he’s knocked out on the ground. A-Xiang is confused about the note but nevertheless helps Chengling get to where he’s supposed to meet “Xu,” whereupon she gets beat up and gets her didi took by the Scorpions. (There’s an interesting moment here where Pretty Arhat is fighting with A-Xiang and asks what her relationship is to Beauty Ghost, which whaaaaaat? THERE’S some backstory I need more on. I’m assuming this is based on A-Xiang’s hand-to-hand fighting style, which I think is the only thing Pretty Arhat has seen at this point, and exactly WHEN has she gotten so familiar with Beauty Ghost’s fighting style? Also, I like the apparent nod to Beauty Ghost’s influence in raising A-Xiang (and we’ll see more of this).) Meanwhile, ZZS has been inexorably drawn to the place he left his child disciple child and is moping right outside of Yueyang, so he sees Pretty Arhat fly away with Chengling. Murder Dad 1 springs into action.
Yueyang disciples run around like ants whose hill has been kicked over, looking for Chengling in town, and two of them encounter Wen Kexing, out for a midnight stroll in a fetching pastel blue and green combo. They ask him about seeing a guy. With a pipa. Or maybe without a pipa. So maybe just a guy. Wen Kexing correctly deduces they’re asking about Phantom Musician Qin Song, who covered Pretty Arhat’s getaway by incapacitating everyone with his magic music. YY disciples are excited and tell WKX yes, this dude was involved in kidnapping Zhang Chengling! Y’all. WKX’s face when he hears that. He is not happy. Almost immediately, he spots Qin Song on a rooftop. Murder Dad 2 springs into action.
So, WKX the Ghost Valley Master finds Qin Song, asks him where Chengling is, crushes his playing hand, threatens to break every single bone in his body one at a time (meanwhile dropping the tidbit that he learned the number of bones in the human body from his dad), and tells him a little story about a time when – apparently – he asked another guy the same question (about WHO? has A-Xiang been kidnapped in the past, because that’s about the only other person I can imagine him being like this about?) and only had to break 80 bones before he got an answer. Meanwhile, ZZS actually finds Chengling, in the Scorpion lair where Du Pusa and Pretty Arhat have variously been molesting him (srsly, I feel like I should probably say something to a trusted adult Murder Dad), torturing him with unpleasant magic pixie dust, smacking him around (he loses a tooth, y’all), and waterboarding him. During all this, Pretty Arhat says she’s yet to meet a man who can stand up to waterboarding, and I’m kind of reminded of WKX’s scene threatening Qin Song, and I don’t know if that’s on purpose or not. Chengling literally spits in her face and proclaims that he’s the son of Zhang Yusen, none of whose sons are cowards, and about then, ZZS busts down the door like he’s WKX (by throwing Monster Jiang through it), tells the Scorpions he’s their daddy, and gets into a big fucking fight with all three of them. He flags a little bit somewhere in here as he starts having some Nail pangs (which, yeah, it must be getting about midnight, which is when that’s supposed to happen) and spits some blood, but he reassures Chengling and then tells the Scorpions no one can stop him from killing who he wants and getting what he wants (OK, Wei Wuxian …). Then he shoots some projectiles from some little contraption up his sleeve that we get a quick look at that I did not remember AT ALL from my first watch of the show but is literally like the gun hanging over the mantel in the first act. Huh. Anyway, he kills Monster Jiang, and Du Pusa (who didn’t give a shit about Monster Jiang OR Qin Song earlier), wants to capture him alive, supposedly so she can get revenge for them by teaching him how it feels “to want to die more than live.” Joke’s on you, lady – too late! That’s literally his constant state of being!
About this time, Qin Song comes flying through the doors – or what’s left of them – gasping his last breath as WKX makes his dramatic entrance. Chengling not only calls him “Wen-shu” but also has already figured out exactly how to manipulate Murder Dad 2 and tells him that in addition to kidnapping him, they also hurt ZZS. WKX is predictably murderous, and Du Pusa and Pretty Arhat run away and hide behind the skirts of Xie Wang’s robes as the Zombie Drug Man Army approaches. WKX tells ZZS to take Chengling and leave, ZZS refuses, and Xie Wang LITERALLY SAYS “IN LIFE AND DEATH YOU WILL NEVER PART. WHAT A TOUCHING MOMENT.” and I am DYING. Also, this will not be the last time ZZS/WKX will exhibit what Xie’er wants from his Awful Yifu. Anyway, Xie’er calls ZZS “Leader Zhou,” then tells WKX that he’ll tell them who he (Xie Wang) is if WKX tells them all who he is first. ZZS is Very Done with all of this and smoke bombs the Scorpions to escape. Xie’er shows he actually does know who both of them are – even though each of them doesn’t know everything about the other’s identity yet, and won’t for a while – by telling Du Pusa and Pretty Arhat that they’re the leader of Tian Chuang and the leader of the Ghost Valley and wondering “How did these two devils end up together?” Like calls to like, I guess.
OK, this is getting super-long, so I’m going to attempt to wrap up with the actual Wenzhou material. We cut to Murder Dads and Chengling sitting in the forest, around a campfire, and Chengling is in heaven, back with his family. He’s super-emotional, and ZZS is all, come on, be a man, don’t cry (OK, crybaby). WKX gives some campfire-cooked rabbit? maybe? to ZZS, who starts a precedent by passing it to Chengling. Please, A-Xu. WKX wants to feed his laopo, will you eat something, ffs? Chengling, still emotional, tells them that he knows they’re the only ones who are sincerely kind to him, that Five Lakes Alliance has all kinds of agendas and none of them care about him, and nobody has asked him what he wants. (I know, bb, they were awful.) ZZS asks what he wants, and Chengling says he wants to learn martial arts, to get revenge, and to not be a useless child anymore. Oh god, the cut to WKX here. His face, y’all. He is not cool with the fact that Chengling thinks he can’t be a child anymore, and probably with whatever role he (WKX) had in it. He is so sad. It’s killing me. However, it’s not as if WKX has lost his edge, and he also pounces, asking Chengling if something happened that made him suspicious of the Alliance. Chengling spills that his dad already didn’t trust them and also told him not to trust anyone ever, but he trusts his Murder Dads! This kid, I tell you. He tells them that his dad hid the Mirror Lake Glazed Armor in his stomach and starts getting ready to cut it out for them before ZZS stops him. He tells them Yusen gave him a letter for the Changming Sword Immortal detailing Rong Xuan’s injury (and we get our first iteration of the story of the battle between the Five Lakes Alliance brothers and Rong Xuan, the poison on the sword, and how that turned Rong Xuan evil). Per Chengling, the original argument was about the Combined Six Cultivation Method. Also per Chengling, the Alliance bothers should have been responsible for Rong Xuan after that, but no one stood up for him – I mean, Zhang Yusen would have, but his legs were broken. We learn that the poisoned sword that injured Rong Xuan belonged to Gao Chong. ZZS looks taken aback, but this all just CONFIRMS WKX’s SUSPICIONS.
Cut away for another scene. Cut back. ZZS has suddenly remembered that he’s pissed off and that someone (else, not him) is sleeping on the couch tonight. Earlier, they were sat in order of Chengling, ZZS, WKX. Now Chengling has been put between them. WKX asks for wine, A-Xu is being passive-aggressive and ignoring him before finally handing the wine gourd to Chengling to pass to WKX. He won’t even look at WKX. It is hilarious, particularly as he only remembered he was mad after they’d all eaten dinner, which WKX cooked, and the pair of them made sure their child was OK. Chengling wants to know if they fought and tells them there’s nothing confidants can’t resolve. He’s in full puppy mode. He tells WKX to hurry up and comfort ZZS, because you know he looks tough on the surface but he’s got the softest heart! Didn’t you teach me that tough women can’t resist clingy men? ZZS’s indignant little face at this is a picture. Chengling offers to apologize for WKX. WKX’s face is all fondness for Chengling, except for the eyebrows, which are doing the Tragic Sadness Eyebrows at ZZS. ZZS is all, OK, fine, although he immediately changes the subject and starts talking about the kidnapping attempt. He tells Chengling that the world is dangerous right now, and the safest place for him is Yueyang Sect. ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS? Chengling sadly nods. My little dude, c’mon. ZZS’s Nails are bothering him and WKX takes the chance to feed him qi, which ZZS accepts – might I note - without complaint. WKX waxes rhapsodic about A-Xu’s shoulder blades, and says he once saw a dead body with beautiful shoulder blades. Smashcut to a flashback of two people who we don’t yet know are Zhen Ruyu and Gu Miaomiao dead on the ground. Although this takes place immediately after the scene of Gao Chong at the altar, when the first tablets we see are Zhen Ruyu’s and Gu Maiomiao’s, we also don’t know yet to connect those names to these bodies. Tricksy, show. We see Zhen Yan place his hand on Gu Miaomiao’s back, and WKX’s voiceover talks about how he could tell she was a beauty despite the blood everywhere. ZZS interrupts this morbid tale to say they should let the past stay in the past, and then tells WKX, “My condolences,” even though WKX hasn’t actually mentioned anywhere in the story about this dead body that it was even anyone he knew, let alone someone he was related to. Because A-Xu isn’t stupid. Immediately after this - after saying they should leave the past in the past - ZZS asks WKX who he is. WKX goes into his Philanthropist Wen evasion spiel. ZZS shakes his head, visibly steels himself, and apparently comes to the decision to model the behavior he’s trying to encourage by coming clean about his real name, his relationship to Siji Manor, all of his bad decisions, his choking guilt over the deaths of all the Siji Manor disciples, and his reign of state-sanctioned terror as founder and leader of Tian Chuang. Notably, the very first word Chengling speaks to ZZS after hearing this rundown of supposed and actual crimes is to call him “Shifu” again to get his attention before asking for more info about the Scorpions. THIS CHILD. MY HEART.
ZZS tells them both, “I spent half my life alone, doing things I didn’t want to do and killing people I didn’t want to kill,” and I literally want to reach into the screen and shake WKX, because OMG LAO WEN. You are reflections of each other, and he’s baring his soul, and you’re going to continue to be so afraid that he’s not going to accept every part of you that it’s going to be episodes and episodes before you open up, and even then, only after he figures it out on his own. :hands: To make things even more OBVIOUS, ZZS then asks Chengling if he still wants ZZS to be his shifu after learning all of this, and Chengling doesn’t even hesitate, he says “Of course,” and ZZS and I are both about to cry. UGH. Zhang Zhehan, your face. It’s killing me. This is a man seeing the hope of resurrection for the sect he was convinced he had ground into dust. ZZS and Chengling are both so busy being emotional at each other that WKX has to take matters into his own hands, encouraging Chengling to bow, and we get a real bow to shifu this time, in a scene that once again mirrors the later scene when Zhen Yan makes his bow to Qin Huaizhang to become a Siji Manor disciple.
ZZS tells Chengling, all right, then. You are the first disciple of the sixth generation. (SHIXIONG. NO PRESSURE.)
End ep.
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bigbadredpanda · 4 years
Note
Hi Panda, would you happen to know what the Chinese fandom consensus on Madam Lan's backstory is? The consensus in English fandom seems to be that she was a victim of the Lan sect & abused by Qinheng-jun, but before I saw that I thought her and Qinheng-jun and the Lan sect had a misunderstanding, like wangxian in the cave vs the Lan elders after Nightless City, that sort of thing? The difference is so huge I need like an extra 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 50th opinion haha
Hi there! Mmn yes, it’s an interesting question, that part of the story is left ambiguous and led to a lot of speculation. I don’t think there’s really a consensus whether on the Chinese side or the international side. However, I’m not sure we can qualify what happened with Madam Lan and Wei Wuxian a misunderstanding. In my opinion, it’s more a difference of morality. What they did was justified from their perspective while in the eyes of others they have committed a grave crime.
Let’s look at the facts or at least what we assume to be facts.
Qingheng-Jun was a well-known and well-respected young man with a promising future ahead of him but he threw that away when he suddenly decided to marry and live in seclusion at a young age (弱冠之龄 according to the novel, the age when one receives during a coming of age ceremony the crown-like ornament men wore in their hair. It was historically 20 years old but MXTX lowered it to 15 in her setting to have the characters using courtesy names. I’m assuming that Qingheng-Jun is still meant to be 20. Anyway, brief digression). On his way home from a night hunt, he supposedly fell in love at first sight with a woman. However, that woman did not return his affect and killed his master. It’s unclear if that happened after their meeting or before. To protect her from reprisal from his Sect, Qingheng-Jun brought her to the Cloud Recesses in secret and performed with her the three bows that bound them together in marriage. Then, as an act of penance, he went in seclusion and locked away his wife in a separate cottage. That union eventually led to the birth of two sons. (Ch.64)
Of course, the big question is why did she kill Qingheng-Jun’s master? I use master because the term used here is 恩师, an honorific for an esteemed teacher towards whom the student feels grateful for his tutelage. The answer to that question is given by Lan Xichen:
“我不知,但想来无非‘恩怨是非’四个字罢了。”
“I do no know but it is assumed that it came down to a ‘dispute over a past grievance’.
This is fascinating as it explains everything and nothing. 是非 is literally ‘right and wrong’, the two characters together can mean ‘quarrel’. 恩怨 is also made up of the juxtaposition of two characters with opposite meanings, ‘gratitude and grudges’ (the same character 恩 is used in the teacher honorific above). It’s a concept rooted in Chinese culture that features particularly prominently in wuxia/xianxia genres where the notions of justice and honour are core precepts. This term designates old scores that need settling, a debt that has to to be repaid sometimes tenfold. To put it simply, when someone does you or your family a favour, you have a debt of gratitude toward them. When someone wrongs you or your family, you develop a grudge towards them out of deep-seated enmity.
Wei Wuxian is the prime example of this, he went to great lengths to return the kindness he was shown by the Yunmeng Jiang Sect and by the Wen siblings. To him, it’s a moral imperative, he was duty-bound to do so just like he was duty-bound to take revenge against the Qishan Wen Sect.
It’s this same concept that motivates other characters in the story. For instance, Wen Zhuliu’s steadfast loyalty stems from a debt of gratitude (知遇之恩), Wen Ruohan recognised his worth and accepted him within the Wen Clan (hence why he changed his name to Wen) and he cannot leave that debt unpaid (Ch.62). Xue Yang repays the grudge he held against Chang Cian tenfold by exterminating the entire Yueyang Chang Sect (Ch.30).
Coming back to Madam Lan. I’ve seen some speculation from Chinese fans about the origin of that ‘grievance’ between her and Qingheng-Jun’s master. Because of the age gap between them, it is surmised that this is something that happened one generation back. Perhaps he brought harm or even killed Madam Lan’s elder, parent or teacher. It was a duty for Qingheng-Jun to bring her to justice and see about that her crime did not go unpunished. Depending on the gravity of the situation, he might have been well within his rights to kill her himself in retaliation. Instead of pursuing that cycle of revenge, he took another path that protected the woman he loved but also punished the one who had killed his master. Because he went against the Gusu Lan Sect by marrying her in secret, his penitence is to live in seclusion, separate from her and from the affairs of his Sect.
In the Chinese fandom, it is assumed that Madam Lan must have been a woman with impressive skills if she managed to kill a Gusu Lan Sect elder. Did she resist capture from Qingheng-Jun and was forcibly taken to the Cloud Recesses? Did she resign herself to her fate and accepted being confined as punishment? Did she comply and eventually grew fond of the man who became her husband? We don’t know but Lan Xichen remembers his mother as a gentle person who never voiced a complaint about her own situation.
The exact circumstances are shrouded with mystery but most meta and fics I’ve read in the Chinese fandom tend to be of the opinion that love eventually developed between Qingheng-Jun and Madam Lan. But of course, that’s the way we would rather have. What is sure is that this was a tragic ending for all parties involved, including the children left behind.
I’ve also learnt something very very interesting from the meta I’ve read concerning the gentians growing near Madam Lan’s cottage. We know that MXTX has paid special attention to flower meanings with the peony that Wei Wuxian threw to Lan Wangji in Yiling (Ch.71). The flower's alternative name is 将离花, flower of impending separation or flower for saying goodbye soon, a peony can be a parting gift between lovers or would-be lovers forced apart and can have the undertones of "Will you be with me before we part?", "Will you wait for me?" In the audio drama, it’s made clear that Wei Wuxian knew the intended meaning before offering Lan Wangji the flower. Well, due to their bitter roots, in the Chinese flower language, gentians stand for 爱上忧伤的你. Which is. Wheeze. “You’re beautiful in your melancholy.”
In the end, Qingheng-Jun and Madam Lan‘s story is used in the novel to act as a foil to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s relationship. In the past, Lan Wangji also wished to bring Wei Wuxian to the Cloud Recesses and hide him away there. But he couldn’t bring himself to because Wei Wuxian was ‘not willing’ (Ch.72). Interestingly, this story is also framed to contrast with Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao who are sworn brothers. Remember that it’s Lan Xichen himself that recounts his parents’ story to Wei Wuxian after they have found evidence of Jin Guangyao’s treachery. Just like his father before him, he is torn between personal feelings and his duty to his sect, two conflicting allegiances. When he is asking Wei Wuxian’s opinion of whether his father did was right, what would have been the right thing to do, he is also looking for an answer for himself. Lan Wangji had made his own choice at the aftermath of the Nightless City massacre. He protected Wei Wuxian and brought him back to Burial Mounds, he took responsibility for injuring his Sect’s elders by returning to the Cloud Recesses and accepting being flayed by the discipline whip. He managed to reconcile personal devotion and his family/Sect duties with his own principles and harbours no regret.
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lillotte17 · 3 years
Text
Blossoms on a Bough
Fix-it/filler for the end of episode 36!!!
~
The first thing Wen Kexing notices, once his mind has floated up towards any sense of consciousness, is a bright cool light shining on his face. His brows twitch downwards in irritation, the intensity of it stinging his eyes even while they are still closed. His body feels like lead, and his thoughts are thick and muddy. He just wants to ignore the light and drift back off to sleep.
Wherever he is, he seems to have landed on something relatively soft and warm. It is surprising, since his general ideas about the netherworld involve darkness and cold, but he is certainly not going to complain. Perhaps, given the long list of his transgressions, his soul flew right past the Yellow River and dropped straight into hell, and now he is being fried in a pot just like that chicken that had chased Chengling around the Four Seasons Manor. The thought makes him want to laugh, but there is an odd tightness in his chest, so the best he can manage is an incredibly weak cough.
A faint rustling of cloth sounds by his ear as whatever he is reclining on shifts slightly. There is a vague sense of presence nearby, but he cannot tell more than that. Almost against his will, he cracks his eyes open to see who might be trapped in the stew pot with him, but there is only a dark looming blur surrounded by pale watery light. It makes him think of Zhou Zishu; his face bathed in sunshine, in moonshine, in starlight. He always seemed to glow with something intangible and dream-like. And Wen Kexing -helpless little month- could do nothing else but follow after it.
“Ah Xu,” he exhales in the barest of whispers.
A scent lingers in the air around him, crisp and lightly musky. It reminds him of burying his fingers in long dark tresses. Of the tenderness and care taken combing the tangles out of them afterwards. Of sliding his own hair pin into the carefully twisted knot at the crown of Zhou Zishu’s head. He should have brought him a different one to replace it, he thinks blearily. The key was most likely lost or broken in all of that snow, and now he will have nothing to remember him by.
This place is strange, wherever it is. Soothing and disorientating all at once. Is it some sort of hallucination? Did his soul get lost somewhere between life and death? Is he a true ghost now, doomed to wander the world in hopeless despair, witnessing joys he can no longer take part in? Thoughts spin around in his head in a billion tiny fragments. He cannot quite seem to catch hold of any of them, or arrange them in a pattern that makes sense.
“Am I dead?” he wonders aloud, his voice thin and raspy, not expecting an answer.
“You fucking better not be,” a cross reply rumbles out from somewhere above him.
Wen Kexing blinks. The sun still burns his eyes, but after a few moments of intense squinting, the dark blur leaning over him reconfigures itself into a familiar and beloved face. Zhou Zishu, leaning back against a dusty wall with Wen Kexing pulled more than half way into his lap.
“What…happened?” Wen Kexing wonders, head positively spinning in bafflement. Now that he is waking up a bit more, he is becoming more aware of his body’s aches and pains. It feels like a horse kicked him in the chest and then he fell into a river and drowned. Even wincing hurts.
“Something went wrong with the ritual,” Zishu tells him. His voice is raw and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks as haggard as Wen Kexing feels. “You collapsed. Your heart meridians were severely damaged, and your hair turned white. You must have used too much of your internal force. It has been more than three days since you lost consciousness and…I thought…”
His voice splinters and he trails off, looking away from him for a moment.
“But…it worked?” Wen Kexing presses, trying to feebly grip at Zhou Zishu’s sleeve, “You can hear me talking again now, so that means that it worked, right? The rest is fine, so long as it saved you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zhou Zishu answers, the first traces of a smile pulling at his lips.
“Yes. You are here.” Wen Kexing echoes, as though he still cannot quite believe it, “And…I am here, too.”
“You are.” Zishu confirms, his arms tightening around him, carefully tugging him up until he is all but leaning into his chest. “It was a near thing, though. My medical knowledge is limited, and even with the Yin Yang book, I was not certain that I could heal you.”
“Rong Xuan’s wife allegedly used the teachings in the book to heal his heart meridians and other serious injuries when he was near death several times over,” Wen Kexing hums thoughtfully, casually tilting his head against Zishu’s shoulder, “But she was an experienced physician. You have had no training, and yet you saved me on the first try. You must possess some kind of natural affinity for it. Ah Xu, you have so many talents, I am having a hard time keeping track of them all.”
“It had nothing to do with affinity,” Zhou Zishu huffs, sounding exasperated and perhaps even the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It was pure dumb luck.”
“Eh?”
“The Four Seasons Sect has a special technique that cripples someone’s heart meridians,” he explains somberly, a humorless smirk on his face, “I used it against Prince Jin to keep him alive, but bedridden. My master taught it to me, and as far as I know, I am the only one left alive who knows how to perform it.”
“That is very interesting, Ah Xu, but I am not certain I understand what it has to do with dumb luck,” Wen Kexing says smilingly.
“My master…he also told me how to counter the technique, so that the person’s heart meridians could be healed again and their qi could flow properly,” Zhou Zishu continues, turning his head slightly to directly meet Wen Kexing’s gaze. “I did not have much hope when I opened the Yin Yang book. You were slipping away, and there was no time for in-depth research. But…when I found the section detailing how someone with damaged meridians might be cured, it was obvious that…the techniques I learned from my master were based on this knowledge.”
“So…that means…my parents…?” Wen Kexing looks a bit lost at the revelation.
Zhou Zishu nods.
“It is likely that Lady Yue Feng’Er and your parents shared this precious knowledge with their friends, and possibly even helped my master develop this skill. I was only able to save you because of this.”
Wen Kexing furrows is brows, his thoughts whirling and his emotions complex. He seemingly stares at the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s lapels for what feels like ages, looking but not seeing, pensive and moody. Finally, he lets out a very tired-sounding sigh.
“And I only managed to save you because that dumb bastard Rong Xuan stole the manual for the Six Cultivation Techniques,” he says, sounding bitter, “But maybe no one would have needed all this saving in the first place if that old monster had never let his idiot disciple leave the mountain to begin with.”
Zhou Zishu frowns down at him.
“I know, I know,” he mumbles, a bit sulky, “The past is past. Zhao Jing was punished and the rest are dead. There is no point stewing on it now. I have just…been angry about it for so long, sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be anymore. Be patient with me, Ah Xu.”
“Hm?” Zishu blinks, as though suddenly coming back to himself. “Oh, it wasn’t about that.”
“Then what?”
“I was just thinking that…it really could not have been anyone else,” Zhou Zishu tells him slowly, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “I said it was only dumb luck, because I never believed in destiny all that much before. If you want to achieve something in this world, you have to be willing to create it for yourself. But…for things to end up this way… It had to be you, and it had to be me, didn’t it?”
Wen Kexing bursts out laughing, utterly delighted.
“I always knew you had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior,” he grins, slightly breathless, with an almost pleasant ache in his ribs, “But Ah Xu, I never imagined that you were secretly a romantic.”
“Shut up,” Zishu grunts, pinching his arm until he yelps, “Who is romantic?”
“Ai, there is no need to be shy about it now, is there?” Wen Kexing says pleadingly, giggling to himself all the while, “There is no one here except us.”
“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees blithely, a truly terrifying expression stealing across his face, “There is no one on this entire mountain except for you and me.”
“Ah Xu, don’t do anything rash,” Wen Kexing cajoles with a hint of genuine nervousness, “I only teased you a little bit, and I am still in such a delicate state of health. If you throw me out in the snow and beat me, I really won’t be-”
Zhou Zishu kisses him then, and whatever he won’t be promptly flies out of his head like a startled flock of birds.
The kiss is softer than he would have guessed, if he had gotten a moment to anticipate it. Clumsy, but tender. Hasty, but sincere. The mouth pressed so suddenly against his own trembles just slightly right before it pulls away. A thousand years too soon.
It is nowhere near the first time they have kissed each other, but Wen Kexing is almost always the instigator. It suits his own preferences to take the lead in most physical forms of intimacy anyway, so he would never complain about it. However, it does make the times Zhou Zishu reaches for him first feel more…something. Something that makes his heart full, and his eyes itch.
It makes him feel as though he is not only being accepted by this man, but chosen by him, too. As his partner. As his equal. As his friend. Lovers and soulmates and all the rest.
Wen Kexing is not certain that anyone else has ever chosen him before.
Not when there were other, better, options on hand, at any rate.
He swallows thickly, gazing up at Zhou Zishu with wide, startled eyes. Little flecks of cold mountain sunlight catch in the dark sweep of the other man’s hair almost like snowflakes. His grin is wide and fierce. Buoyant and hopeful in a way he has never been in all the time they have known each other. He looks impossibly beautiful, and horribly pleased with himself for managing to derail Wen Kexing’s usual babbling. There might be the slightest touch of pink to his ears, though.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing chokes out.
I love you.
But the words get stuck in his throat.
“What?” Zishu laughs, “Do you ever get tired of calling me?”
“No.” Wen Kexing offers him a weak smile in return, shifting out of his hold a little so they can sit facing one another.
Zhou Zishu heaves an exasperated sigh, but his eyes remain bright, his expression one of incalculable fondness.
“Is that all you were saying during the ritual?” he wonders, half joking, “You just sat there calling my name?”
“Huh?”
“You said earlier that you had tried speaking to me, but my hearing had gone,” Zhou Zishu reminds him, “What did you say?”
“Oh, yes, it was mostly just your name over and over,” Wen Kexing nods, “Plus a few embarrassing personal anecdotes I felt like sharing. Once I knew you had no way to stop me, I really couldn’t help myself.”
“Lao Wen.”
“Yes, Ah Xu?”
“After all we have been through together, what could you possibly still have to tell me that you think I would be unwilling to hear?”
Wen Kexing makes a face, caught outright.
“It…is not so much a matter of thinking you would not hear me out,” he admits carefully, “It is more that there are just things that are difficult to say to someone. The more important they are to you, the harder it gets, so between you and me… But when a man feels his end has come, all sorts of things seem to tumble out unwillingly.”
Zhou Zishu looks positively stricken.
“You could tell that the cultivation technique was backfiring?” he hisses out, gasping Wen Kexing by the shoulders, “And you still kept going?”
“What else could I do?” Wen Kexing asks helplessly, “If I had stopped wouldn’t we both die? Would it be better if I had starved to death with your corpse in my arms? Besides, that old monster promised me that this technique could save you, so no matter what the cost was going to be, of course I-”
“So, you knew there would be a cost already?” Zhou Zishu cuts him off, expression like a brewing storm cloud, “You knew this was likely going to injure you, and you did not even think to warn me first? We could have prepared beforehand! You could have looked through the Yin Yang book and point out things that I could use to help you in an emergency! Dammit, Lao Wen, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!”
“Was there really time for things like that?” Wen Kexing argues back, “Your senses were already dying out one by one, if we did not try the technique as soon as possible, you might not have been able to complete it! If I told you how risky it is, would you agree to it? Would you still let me try to save you?”
“I deserve the right to make that choice!” Zhou Zishu shouts hoarsely.
“You do!” Wen Kexing agrees just as hotly, “But I owe it to Chengling to save his family. And I owe it to our master to save his teachings. And I owe it to you most of all. I ruined your chance at happiness. To rebuild the Four Seasons with Chengling and the other new disciples. You threw it all away to try and avenge me… The number of people in this world who have been good to me are few enough to count on one hand. I would do anything for them, and you most of all. How could I live without repaying this debt?”
“And what if I hadn’t been able to save you?!” Zhou Zishu demands thunderously.
“I didn’t expect you to save me!”
For a few moments, the words seem to echo of the cold walls of the armory, bouncing back at them over and over. The silence that follows after them is deafening. Zishu’s eyes are red, and his hands are trembling on Wen Kexing’s biceps, but he looks as though he is about to breathe fire.
“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and deadly, “Very good. You feel like you owe me so much, but all you want to do is torture me.”
“What?” Wen Kexing baulks, “No! Ah Xu, that’s not what I-”
But before he can finish the thought Zhou Zishu has already pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his breathing erratic, and his face buried in the side of his neck. Wen Kexing makes a pained grunt, his ribs still tender from previous injury. It only makes Zishu’s grip on him tighten, however, holding onto him with a furious desperation.
“In such a short stretch of time, I have had to see you dead or dying before my eyes over and over again,” he mumbles thickly into the silk of Wen Kexing’s robes, “You spent all this time chasing me down, pestering me to let you stay by my side, begging me not to die, and telling me to find things to feel hopeful about. But now it seems as though you are set on leaving me behind.”
“I never wanted to leave you,” Wen Kexing protests, but his voice seems to have lost all of its strength, “I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if I died, and you had to be sad for a while, you have so much left to live for, and I wanted you to have it. I just wanted you to be…happy.”
“Bastard,” Zhou Zishu laughs wetly, “Wen Kexing, you really are…the absolute worst sort of person.”
Wen Kexing sags in his embrace, his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. His head droops, white hair falling across his eyes. Utterly defeated.
“I know.”
Zhou Zishu finally pulls back from him. There are obvious tear tracks down his cheeks, but he still looks fierce, regardless. He takes Wen Kexing roughly by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“You are also…my happiness.”
Wen Kexing gapes at him, for once in his life completely at a loss for words. Seeing an opening, Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to kiss him again. Harsher this time. Brief and chaste and biting. It does not seem to help the other man’s sense of bafflement in the slightest. Indeed, Lao Wen looks as though his soul might have just flown straight out of his body.
Zishu smiles at him again, but there is still something sharp and wounded at its edges.
“Eternity would be an empty place without you,” he says quietly, “How could you leave me to bear it alone?”
“I…I’m…sorry,” Wen Kexing sputters, as though he does not know what else to say. He finally reaches back for Zhou Zishu, cautiously taking hold of his wrists. The ache in his chest seems to have spread outward, and he is shaking so badly that he fears he might not be able to sit up straight much longer. “I’m sorry. I just did not… I did not know how else to save you.”
“Mn,” Zhou Zishu nods in understanding, “I suppose I can forgive you for it this time, although some part of me still would like nothing so much as to throw you outside and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.”
“I will accept any punishment you want to give me,” Wen Kexing tells him earnestly.
“Alright,” Zhou Zishu grins, “Then pay me back with your whole life. Stay alive, and stay with me. Always.”
Wen Kexing blinks in surprise, but the next moment he is laughing. Dizzy with relief and unexpected joy. Marveling at the gifts that fate has blessed him with after so many years of hatred and heartache.
“I can do that.”
~
When Zhou Zishu wakes up later that night Wen Kexing is sitting at the opposite end of their makeshift bed in nothing but his under robe. His back is facing him, and he takes a moment to stare at the snowy cascade of his hair. The living proof of what Lao Wen would sacrifice for him. It looks beautiful on him, as everything else seems to, but Zishu thinks he prefers the rich dark brown that he was born with. This new color comes with a twinge of guilt.
Not that he would ever say so.
“Lao Wen,” he calls softly, “What are you doing?”
Wen Kexing’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.
“Don’t come over,” he replies, “I’m not finished yet.”
“Ai,” Zishu grins, scooting close enough to lightly tug at a few strands of that bone white hair, “But that just makes me want to come over even more.”
“I have a knife,” Lao Wen says coolly, “I will use it if I have to.”
“You left our bed in the middle of the night to play with a knife?” Zishu laughs, not intimidated in the least. “Why?”
“If you stop pestering me for a few minutes maybe you’ll find out,” Wen Kexing snaps. Zhou Zishu is not fooled, though. He had caught the sharp inhale of breath when he had said the words ‘our bed’, and he is all but certain that Lao Wen’s threats are empty.
“But you’ll catch cold,” he coaxes, slipping his arms about his waist and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He obligingly resists the urge to peek at whatever secret Wen Kexing is fiddling with, though. The other man sighs, but does nothing to discourage him, as expected.
“The next time you accuse me of being insufferable, I want you to remember this conversation,” Wen Kexing says wryly.
“It must be your bad influence,” Zhou Zishu chuckles.
Wen Kexing hums noncommittally, going back to whatever he had been working on before. Zhou Zishu sits patiently behind him, leaning into the warm curve of his back, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the faint scraping sound of a blade chipping away at something. The proximity is comfortable, and the quiet almost meditative, and before long Zishu is already half way back to being asleep.
“Alright,” Lao Wen says finally, carefully pulling himself free of Zhou Zishu’s arms and turning to face him, “You can look now.”
Zishu has to shake himself a little to wake up again, but once he does, he finds that Lao Wen is holding out what appears to be an oddly shaped icicle.
“…What is it?” he asks after a few moments of trying to puzzle it out for himself.
Wen Kexing frowns.
“It’s a hair pin,” he tells him, as though it should be obvious.
“Ah.”
“What do you mean, saying ‘ah’ with such a doubting face?” Wen Kexing huffs in annoyance, “Of course it is a hair pin, what else would it be? You lost the one I gave you before, so now I have to give you a new one to replace it.”
“I lost the one you gave me before?” Zhou Zishu laughs.
“That’s right,” Wen Kexing nods seriously, “But I promise not to be mad about it.”
“Philanthropist Wen is too kind.”
“It’s true,” Lao Wen sighs dramatically, “People are always taking advantage of my generous nature.”
He firmly places the hair pin in Zhou Zishu’s hands. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be roughly shaped like a tree branch. There are two lumpy circles that might be meant to be flowers attempting to bloom from it. The finished product is crude, but the ice is clear and crystalline. Pretty, even despite the skill level of the craftsman.
“It is meant to be plum blossoms,” Wen Kexing admits somewhat sheepishly, “One bloom for each of us. There was meant to be a bud for Chengling, too, but I accidentally broke it off. Hopefully, that is not an inauspicious sign for him.”
“I see,” Zhou Zishu says, because he does see, and just like the morning he had woken up to find the Four Seasons Manor cleaned and Wen Kexing diligently repairing his master’s old painting, he feels very much like he wants nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms again.
“Ah Xu, will you accept it?” Wen Kexing asks, slightly trepidatious at his lack of reaction.
“Of course,” Zishu smiles easily, “But it’s made of ice, after all. If I wear it, it will likely melt or break in a day or so.”
“If it breaks, I will just make you a new one,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes soft. He plucks the hair pin from Zhou Zishu’s fingers, reaching up and carefully sliding it into the loose knot at the base of his ponytail. “I can make you a new one every day, if I have to. With any luck, they will eventually look less ugly.”
He takes Zhou Zishu’s hands in his own.
“There are still things I am not good at saying,” he tells him, “Things that I want to share with you. Things that you deserve to hear. Right now, my skills are not enough, but just like with the hair pin, if I keep working at it every day, eventually I can give you something worth having.”
Zhou Zishu tugs him down into his embrace. He thinks about kissing him. About pushing him down and pulling his robe open and showing him, again, how very much he is wanted. But Lao Wen is still recovering from injuries, and it would be a shame to snap his new hair pin tussling around in the sheets. So, he makes do with holding him close, for now. Tangling his fingers in hair the color of starlight.
“Say them, or don’t say them,” he says quietly against the shell of Wen Kexing’s ear, “Whatever they are, they have no bearing on your worth to me.”
“Doesn’t that seem like my current value is lower than mud?” Wen Kexing laughs nervously.
“It means you are treasured,” Zishu corrects him firmly, “There is no price that I would sell you for.”
“I suppose that means I can stop living in fear that you would truly try and sell me to a brothel.”
“You really are a brat.”
“Ah Xu?”
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
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