raven sun: Ch 1/3, 4.6k
for @mdzsbingo prompts “rarepair, mission, hostile, paranoia”
Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning
Summary: Wen Ning becomes possessed by a vengeful spirit. Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng is the closest target.
Rated M, contains nonsexual but dubconny dom/sub elements in later chapters
Post-Canon
Angst and Eventual Hurt/Comfort
Antagonistic Uncles to Less Antagonistic Uncles
Dom Wen Ning
for those who saw the golden core reveal and said “needs more degradation”
Swordplay with Suibian (and all its implications)
Jiang Cheng’s plans for this night hunt did not include this much physical contact with the Ghost General.
His plans hadn't involved any physical contact with the Ghost General. Nor did they involve his right leg being immobilized by a blast of resentful energy from a tiny figurine, or limping out of a crumbling farmhouse with Wen Ning supporting him, arm around his waist. But most things don’t go the way Jiang Cheng wants them to.
As he and Wen Ning hobble out of the farmhouse, each step sending a jolt of pain up Jiang Cheng’s leg, the figurine releases a fiercer storm of resentful energy. As if angered by their attempt to escape, it kicks up dust and shards of wood that fly around them as the house collapses.
A beam crashes to the floor.
Wen Ning grabs Jiang Cheng by the shoulders and leaps forward. His jump is so powerful that it propels them through the doorway and into the forest a few dozen paces away. Jiang Cheng lands on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him, Wen Ning on top of him. They slide across the forest floor, turning up earth, until they crash sideways into a tree trunk.
Ears ringing, Jiang Cheng draws on his spiritual energy to restore his breath. He tries to stand, impatient to check how the juniors fared the attack, but he can only push up against Wen Ning without going anywhere.
Wen Ning seems to be shielding him with his body, a gesture which is thoroughly insulting.
“Get off me!” Jiang Cheng growls.
He lets his anger grow, feeds on the frustration of being trapped. He ignores the disturbing sliver of comfort that the weight of Wen Ning's body brings.
“Get off!”
The weight lifts.
Jiang Cheng sits up. “Where’s Jin Ling?”
“I’m not sure. Jin-zongzhu and the others escaped the house before us.”
“At least they got out,” Jiang Cheng says tersely.
At least one part of this night hunt is going according to plan: Jin Ling is safe.
And, he must admit, he’s been almost as concerned with keeping the other juniors safe, too. He’d taken the blow of resentful energy for Lan Sizhui, managed to shield him just in time. He’d be injured for nothing if the Lan boy doesn’t make it out of the night hunt alive.
He would’ve thought that perfect Hanguang-Jun’s perfect little child—the “most promising disciple of his generation”—would’ve been able to hold his own on a night hunt. But if Jiang Cheng must run around saving the boy…fine. He’ll do just that.
Jiang Cheng’s right leg is still locked, completely immobile. He makes it to his feet with difficulty, but quickly enough that Wen Ning doesn’t have the chance to help him. Thankfully. A few more overly attentive, patronizing gestures from the Ghost General, and Jiang Cheng might let Zidian demonstrate why Wen Ning ought to keep an appropriate distance.
Calling for his nephew, Jiang Cheng starts to make his way back toward the farmhouse, which is likely little more than ruins by now. He wonders if he’ll ever make it there to find out. He can barely manage to limp, dragging his leg behind him.
“Jiang-zongzhu, let me help—”
“Forget it. Just go ahead of me. See how the juniors are doing.”
Wen Ning just stares at him. When he isn’t ducking his head and looking at his feet, his black eyes have a soul-searching steadiness that is both chilling and disarmingly gentle. It makes Jiang Cheng want to crawl inside of himself.
“…Thank you,” Wen Ning says. “For…A-Yuan—”
“I didn’t do anything for ‘A-Yuan,’” Jiang Cheng snaps, refusing to look at Wen Ning any longer.
Wen Ning remains in place for a few moments. Then he turns and runs away, chains clinking behind him.
Last month, Jiang Cheng had to help him put those chains back on after they got knocked out of place by a demonic boar. A lovely experience for everyone.
By now, Jiang Cheng has figured out that Wen Ning keeps those chains on not just to use a weapon, but also as some strange form of comfort. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand it. But for some reason, he just knows it’s true.
After so many night hunts, he’s developed a disturbing level of familiarity with Wen Ning’s habits and expressions. It crept up on him slowly, a few threads woven in at a time. Yet another thing that was not part of his plans.
Unfortunately, spending time in each other’s company seems unavoidable. They are both committed to protecting their nephews. If A-Ling must be friends with the Ghost General’s only living relative, Jiang Cheng will just have to grit his teeth and endure it.
At least it’s somewhat useful to know how Wen Ning fights, as it allows them to coordinate their protection of the juniors more easily. But it’s still unnerving to know the finer details, like the exact way Wen Ning likes his chains arranged, as if Jiang Cheng ever wanted to have so much knowledge about the man.
He doesn’t even care about Wen Ning.
And if he owes a debt to Wen Ning—owes a debt to protect what remains of Wen Ning’s family, too—that doesn’t affect his feelings at all.
Doesn’t even enter his thoughts…
* * *
As willing as Wen Ning usually is to defer to others’ judgment, admitting when Jiang Wanyin is right pricks a nerve. Still, they do need to look after the juniors first, and Wen Ning can do that fastest on his own.
Wen Ning also feels a bit guilty leaving Jiang Wanyin behind while he’s wounded—especially when he’d taken that injury for A-Yuan. But there will be time to heal him later.
Maybe it's because he doesn’t have Jiejie anymore, maybe it's because he has A-Yuan to look after, but Wen Ning has become preoccupied with caretaking. Perhaps it’s for good reason. He has the ability to protect others, and he knows the lost medical techniques of the Dafan Wen. What better use for his unnatural existence than to help others? What better way to atone for the past?
He arrives back at the wreckage of the farmhouse, but it’s deserted. He returns to the forest to continue searching for the juniors.
“Wen-qianbei!” he hears from bushes in the forest near the wreckage.
“A-Yuan?”
The juniors nearly leap out of the forest.
“Wen-qianbei!” Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi excitedly call at the same time. They shoot somewhat surprised glares at each other, then hurry over along with A-Yuan and Ouyang Zizhen.
“We’ve been looking for you!” Lan Jingyi says.
“Yeah, we were really worried!” says Ouyang Zizhen.
A-Yuan puts a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder. Fondness warms him as soon he meets A-Yuan’s gaze.
“Are you alright?” A-Yuan asks.
“Of course,” Wen Ning says, almost wanting to laugh with the relief that washes over him at seeing that everyone seems unharmed. “I’m always alright. I should be asking you.”
The juniors all seem so happy to see him. Even Jin Ling is smiling. He still isn’t quite used to affection from them, especially not from Jin Ling.
“Is everyone okay? Any injuries?” Wen Ning asks.
He’s met with a cheerful chorus of various variations of “We’re fine.”
Except from Jin Ling, whose smile is fading. “Where’s my jiujiu?”
Wen Ning nods over his shoulder. “Close behind. But he needs help getting here.”
Jin Ling flies off to find him.
After Wen Ning has checked the other three juniors for injuries, they start inspecting the ruins of the farmhouse to search for the figurine. But Wen Ning hangs back, a feeling of dread churning inside his chest, clawing at him.
He’d already felt unusually anxious for this night hunt before embarking on it. Still, he’d been able to face it.
But he hadn’t expected the figurine’s spirit to be this powerful.
The rumors about the figurine had all been similar, and had seemed typical for a mid-level vengeful spirit. Recently, a new footpath was created to connect two villages that lay a two-day traveling distance apart, with the abandoned farmhouse as the midpoint. If a lone traveler spent the night in the farmhouse, nothing happened.
But if a group of travelers slept inside, one of them would become possessed. The possessed traveler would accuse their companions of horrible deeds and attempt to murder them all in the name of retribution.
After some research, it was discovered that the family that used to live in the farmhouse had always gotten into fierce arguments—and one day, they all killed each other inside the house. The sole witness was a small figurine of an immortal. The figurine soaked up all the family’s hatred and bloodlust until it developed its own spirit.
And developed an aptitude for possession.
It’s possible that the figurine had destroyed itself when the house collapsed, but unlikely. The juniors will have to dig it up and figure out how to pacify it.
Wen Ning watches from a distance while the juniors search through the ruins. Anxiety continues to churn inside him. It’s different from the nervous excitement he usually feels about night hunts, having never gone on a proper night hunt before his death. And it’s different from his typical parentlike worry for the juniors.
The juniors should be relatively safe confronting the spirit. They have high cultivation levels for their age, and they underwent spirit-calming rituals as infants. Their risk of possession is low.
But Wen Ning is the perfect conduit for possession. To approach a spirit this strong would be like holding a metal rod in a lightning storm.
The memory of fighting against Baxia’s saber spirit still hangs heavy over him. Almost as heavy as what happened in Qiongqi Path. Despite Wei Wuxian having taught him how to maintain some autonomy while in the clutches of resentful energy and spirits, he still has so little control over himself.
He can’t get near this spirit. He could put everyone at danger if he does.
“They’re back!” Ouyang Zizhen calls. The juniors run over to the edge of the forest.
Jiang Wanyin and Jin Ling emerge from the forest. Jiang Wanyin’s leg doesn’t look any better. He’s still dragging it along behind him, with Jin Ling supporting him the way Wen Ning had a few minutes ago.
“Jiang-zongzhu,” A-Yuan says with a small bow. “Thank you for—”
“What are you talking about? I did nothing. Get back to work,” Jiang Wanyin says before he can finish. “The spirit is in that wreckage somewhere. We should deal with it fast before something else happens.”
A-Yuan glances back at Wen Ning, looking a bit disappointed. Wen Ning just shakes his head.
“That means all of you,” Jiang Wanyin says to Jin Ling when his nephew doesn’t move from his side.
With a mix of concern and displeasure, Jin Ling helps Jiang Wanyin over to a tree he can hold for support, then joins the others. The four juniors make to leave, then stop and look over expectantly at Wen Ning when he doesn’t follow.
Wen Ning should help them search for the figurine. Should help them pacify such a dangerous spirit. But anxiety freezes him in place.
A-Yuan seems to notice his discomfort. He smiles and gives Wen Ning a tiny nod, making gratitude swell inside Wen Ning for how perceptive his nephew is.
A-Yuan steps forward. “Wen-qianbei, Jiang-zongzhu, we can complete the rest of the night hunt. Facing the spirit on our own would be valuable experience.”
“We are an ideal team,” Ouyang Zizhen adds.
“Yeah, we can hold our own!” Lan Jingyi chimes in. “The four of us even escaped the spirit’s attack way faster than you guys.”
Jiang Wanyin frowns. A-Yuan shoots a chastising glance at Jingyi.
“You’re right,” Wen Ning says, feeling a bit more relaxed. “You’re all capable enough to handle this. I’ll stay behind to heal Jiang-zongzhu. The two of us will be close by if you need help.”
The juniors head back toward the wreckage.
Jiang Wanyin side-eyes Wen Ning. “Why so eager to let them run off without you? Is the Ghost General scared of a doll?”
His words wouldn’t bother Wen Ning so much if they weren’t absolutely true. “They’re all capable cultivators, and Jin Ling is a sect leader. They’ll be fine without us. But you need to be healed.”
“Worry about them first. I’ll last until the spirit is dealt with—and that’ll happen a lot faster if you put yourself to work.”
“They’ll be safer if both of us are on our feet and ready to help if they call.”
Jiang Wanyin sighs. “Fine.”
He winces as Wen Ning helps him to the ground, his back propped against the tree. Wen Ning kneels beside his injured leg. He lifts Jiang Wanyin’s violet robes and trousers up to his mid-thigh, revealing a black wound traveling from his ankle up to just below his knee.
“It’s a curse mark,” Wen Ning says in disbelief.
The skin hit by the curse is blackened and swollen, the muscle tissue immobilized. Currents of resentful energy snake along the wound’s surface like a second set of veins outside the skin.
It looks just like the curse mark Wei Wuxian transferred to himself from Jin Ling, but worse. Now both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin have received curse marks to protect a boy that the other cares about.
Wen Ning can’t decide whether he finds that surprising or not. He knows that Jiang Wanyin cares fiercely about his family, but he also knows that he isn’t the best at following through on it. And he definitely didn’t know that Jiang Wanyin might care about any member of the Dafan Wen.
He looks up at Jiang Wanyin. “This curse mark won’t disappear until—"
“I know how curse marks work,” Jiang Wanyin snaps.
Wen Ning takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Jiang Wanyin received this wound while protecting A-Yuan. “The curse won’t disappear until the spirit’s grievances are resolved, but I can apply a charmed tourniquet to keep it from spreading up your leg.
“…Alright.”
Reaching into his qiankun sleeve of medical supplies, Wen Ning pulls out the tourniquet and begins tying it around Jiang Wanyin’s leg, just below his knee.
Jiang Wanyin tenses as he continues tying. He isn’t sure if it’s because Jiang Wanyin is in pain, or if he just feels uncomfortable with Wen Ning touching him. Probably both.
“Don’t you need a windlass to tie a tourniquet?” Jiang Wanyin asks. Remarkably, it sounds like a genuine question, not criticism.
“The purpose of this tourniquet isn’t to stop blood flow, and the charm is very effective, so it doesn’t need to be so tight. It actually needs to be a little loose so your qi can flow to the wound and suppress the curse mark.”
“Hm.”
Wen Ning could explain more. Could explain how the charm was cast, how the material of the tourniquet was chosen, how it’s designed to last for hours. He enjoyed learning details like this from Jiejie when he was young, and now he enjoys teaching them to A-Yuan. He rarely has the opportunity to share his knowledge with anyone else.
But the topic of medical operations hangs between him and Jiang Wanyin with an uncomfortable weight.
He tries to fill the silence anyway. “Even if the tourniquet did need to be tight, my arm strength is probably good enough to tie it without a windlass. Not that…not that that’s good medical practice—it’s really bad medical practice, actually—so I wouldn’t do that anyway—”
Jiang Wanyin scoffs and turns away. “Just hurry up.”
Wen Ning finishes tying the tourniquet. “Done. Wait—”
Jiang Wanyin tries to stand up. Wen Ning presses down on his shoulder to keep him in place, which earns him a perplexed glare.
Wen Ning doesn’t want to return to the wreckage just yet. Not when he doesn’t know what to do about his dangerous susceptibility to possession. And Jiang Wanyin is the last person he wants to explain that to.
Thankfully, he has a good reason to stall: Jiang Wanyin still needs more treatment.
“I have some herbs that might be able to weaken the curse,” Wen Ning suggests.
“Fine. After that, you’re coming with me to go solve whatever that doll’s grievances are.”
Wen Ning pulls out a satchel of herbs that, at one time, would've smelled sweet to him. He begins rubbing them on the curse mark as delicately as his clumsy hands can manage, while Jiang Wanyin quite obviously tries not to flinch from pain.
“You aren’t here to heal me,” Jiang Wanyin says suddenly.
Wen Ning looks up, expecting to see Jiang Wanyin scowling. What he sees instead is a surprisingly calm gaze of careful scrutiny.
“You’re scared of something.” Jiang Wanyin continues. He speaks slowly, like it’s a question he isn’t sure he should ask.
Somehow, over the course of these night hunts, Jiang Wanyin has learned to read him a bit too well.
* * *
“Well?” Jiang Cheng says. “Is there some other factor in this night hunt that I don’t know about?”
Wen Ning looks unnerved by the question, but he just continues applying the herbs, swirling them in small, gentle circles—almost caresses—with his fingers. It creates a steady stream of pain that makes Jiang Cheng grind his teeth, but Wen Ning’s touch is light enough that it doesn’t hurt more than necessary.
That alone is enough to eat at Jiang Cheng. That Wen Ning is this careful not to inflict undue pain on him—that Wen Ning is helping him at all—when the man has no reason to care about him. Has no reason to be gentle with him other than out of condescension.
But Wen Ning has let down the mask before. Let his thoughts flow freely. Although Jiang Cheng hates to admit it, Wen Ning has hurt him before.
Since then, Jiang Cheng has tried to drop the mask a second time, to get Wen Ning to reveal the spite he knows lies beneath it, but he can only catch mere glimpses.
He knows he’s hurt Wen Ning, too. Knows he deserves nothing.
Knows Wen Ning despises him.
It would just be nice if Wen Ning acted like it.
“If there’s a reason for you to be scared of something,” Jiang Cheng says, “I think I should be informed of it. Unless you’re implying that I’d be of no use even if I did know.”
Wen Ning's jaw tightens. “I’m scared of being possessed,” he says coldly, without looking up. “I’ve lost control in the past, and I don’t want to lose it again.”
The honest answer catches Jiang Cheng off guard.
Visions of how the Ghost General might have looked like at Qiongqi Path flash through his mind—visions of how he might have looked as he slaughtered dozens of cultivators, as he drenched his hands in Jin Zixuan's blood.
Anger seethes through his veins. But something else rises in him, too.
Something almost like…pity.
Wen Ning lifts Jiang Cheng’s leg slightly to rub the herbs on the underside of his calf. His touch is still agonizingly gentle.
“You seemed fine on every other night hunt,” Jiang Cheng says, unsure how to respond.
“This spirit is especially skilled at possession.”
“If you’re so worried about it, what would you do if the juniors called for us right now? Ignore them and keep hiding?”
Wen Ning pauses, resting his hand on Jiang Cheng’s knee. He stares at the ground, his shoulders hunched. “…I’d go help them.”
“And if you get possessed?”
“A-Yuan knows what to do if that happens.”
“And if ‘A-Yuan’ can’t do anything?”
Wen Ning looks up at him.
“Then you can strike me with Zidian.”
A chill runs down his spine.
He’s struck Wen Ning with Zidian three times before—all in the same night, the night Wen Ning struck him with truth in the form of a sword’s blade.
He would strike Wen Ning with Zidian again if he had to. He wouldn’t hesitate. He knows he wouldn’t.
The only problem is that—
“Zidian can only exorcise spirits from the living,” he says.
The spiritual weapon can’t easily incapacitate Wen Ning either. Normal fierce corpses can be taken out in one blow, but Wei Wuxian, in his infinite brilliance, made Wen Ning several times stronger. Zidian would have to nearly destroy Wen Ning to incapacitate him.
Not that Jiang Cheng would have…hesitations about that. Not if it came to protecting A-Ling.
At least, he tells himself he wouldn’t.
Wen Ning is silent for an uncomfortably long time.
“You’re skilled enough of a cultivator to stop me,” he finally replies.
Jiang Cheng ignores how that makes the tiniest bit of heat rise to his cheeks. Silence envelops them again, and Wen Ning resumes rubbing the herbs into the curse mark.
Jiang Cheng has seen Wen Ning heal the juniors on night hunts before, but he’s never needed to be treated by Wen Ning. It feels strange to depend on him.
The thought gives him an inexplicable urge to kick something. Maybe Wen Ning. Maybe himself. He holds himself back for the sake of sparing himself another leg injury.
“What’s Lan Sizhui’s method to stop you?”
“…It’s not necessary for you to know.”
“If there’s a risk of you losing control and harming my family again, I deserve to know how to prevent it.”
Wen Ning’s expression hardens.
That came out more accusatory than he intended.
As if he cares. As if he was ever able to meet gentleness with anything but a daggered tongue.
“Unless you don’t truly believe I’m capable enough to manage it? Unless that was a lie?” Jiang Cheng continues, his tone biting.
He’s already dug himself a ditch. Might as well look like he intended it. At least dealing with an angry Ghost General is less sickening than receiving his kindness.
Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes. “Or maybe you don’t believe I’m reliable enough?”
“I do believe in your capability,” Wen Ning says sharply. It sounds like an insult. “But this has nothing to do with you, Jiang Wanyin.”
Jiang Wanyin, not Jiang-zongzhu. He’s losing Wen Ning’s respect. Good to know. As if he ever had it.
“Nothing to do with me?”
“No. This is personal, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Personal?” Jiang Cheng leans forward, already regretting the words he’s about to say. “Do you think the death of my sister’s husband isn’t personal for me, too?”
Wen Ning rises to his feet. At this angle, he towers over Jiang Cheng. The smallest bit of fear flares up inside Jiang Cheng’s chest, making him angry at himself for feeling any fear at all.
“I’m sorry,” Wen Ning says, raising his voice. “I’ve been sorry for sixteen years.” He gestures down at Jiang Cheng’s leg. “I’ve done all I can for your wound.”
He walks off, sinking into the forest. Rage and guilt erupt inside Jiang Cheng, biting at him like wolves.
“Wen Ning!”
Feeling every last bit of dignity leave his body, he manages to stand up and limp after him, using his sword like a cane and dragging his cursed leg behind himself. A pit grows in his stomach as he continues calling for Wen Ning.
Wen Ning—the one to apologize and walk away from an argument, something Jiang Cheng could never do. Just like how Wen Ning was the one to save Jin Ling in Guanyin Temple, the one to protect Wei Wuxian until the end. Of course Wen Ning is everything Jiang Cheng couldn’t be. Can’t be.
“The juniors are still at the wreckage!” he yells once he’s deeper in the forest. “Are you such a coward that you’re just going to abandon them?
“They’d be in more danger if I’m nearby,” says a quiet voice overhead.
Wen Ning is sitting in a tree, not bothering to look down.
Jiang Cheng sighs. He’s found Wen Ning, and now what is he going to do? Say he was wrong? Grovel at the base of the tree?
Having spent most of his life picking up broken pieces, always cleaning up Wei Wuxian’s messes, he should be better at putting back together the things he breaks himself. Instead he always cuts himself on the shards.
He thinks of how Wen Ning saved his life once. Thinks of how much A-Jie liked Wen Ning. The pit in his stomach deepens.
“Back then, maybe you weren't able to stop it from happening. I don't know,” he says, painfully aware of how much he’s stumbling through this already.
No response.
“But you need to snap out of it. You fought against Baxia’s possession in Guanyin Temple."
Still no answer. He'd rather just shake Wen Ning out of the tree at this rate. He grits his teeth, shoves down his impatience, and forces himself to keep talking.
"Look, you could’ve killed Jin Ling. But you didn’t. This figurine spirit can’t be any stronger than Baxia. You can fight it.”
Wen Ning shifts slightly.
“If you give up on this night hunt and the juniors…if you give up on Lan Sizhui—”
That gets Wen Ning to look down at him. He resists the way his body wants to shrivel up under that critical gaze.
“You’ve gotten control back before.” Jiang Cheng swallows and turns his face away. “You could do it again.”
You’ve saved A-Ling plenty of times. I trust you with him, gets stuck in his throat.
Wen Ning still doesn’t speak. The restless silence of the forest is too uncomfortable for Jiang Cheng to keep his mouth shut.
“What you can’t be doing is giving up on protecting the juniors! If you’re not an ally on these night hunts, then I’ll have to consider you a—”
“If it came to it, I would still face the spirit.” Wen Ning’s voice is quiet. Tranquil.
Jiang Cheng scoffs. "Good."
Wen Ning leaps down from the tree, landing with a loud thud. It’s a wonder his legs don’t break with the way he always throws himself around, as if he doesn’t care about looking after his body. Jiang Cheng finds himself startled that he wants to tell Wen Ning to stop doing that.
“I should still keep my distance from the wreckage if I can,” Wen Ning says. “Thank you for…I’m…I’m surprised that you—"
“Well, then don’t be so damn surprised,” Jiang Cheng hurries to interrupt before he has to hear more of Wen Ning’s deadly honesty. “We’re going back to the edge of the forest now.”
Wen Ning doesn’t try to support Jiang Cheng while they walk back. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he’s grateful for the space either way.
Just before they reach the last line of trees, a loud boom comes from the direction of the wreckage, followed by shouts from the juniors.
Jiang Cheng tries not to panic.
Even if things get messy, the juniors can handle themselves.
He forces himself to limp faster—
“Wen-qianbei!”
“Jiujiu!”
Fuck!
“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng calls.
He tries to run toward them, but he can only limp so fast. He unsheathes Sandu to fly instead.
Can’t fly.
The damn curse wound must be distorting his spiritual power—
He turns to Wen Ning. “Come on!—”
His stomach sinks.
Wen Ning is frozen in place, staring blankly ahead.
Jiang Cheng grabs him by the arm. It trembles beneath his hand. “Wen Ning! We need to move!”
“I...I…”
“Now!”
Wen Ning sinks to his knees.
The juniors' cries grow louder.
Fuck.
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See, I'm the terrible person who would ask for a kidnapping situation in the Renouncement verse regardless of Sizhui's feelings on the matter =D
(author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)
When Wei Wuxian opens his eyes, he is dimly aware that the last time he was conscious, he was somewhere else.
In fact (unless he is very much mistaken) he was out on a night hunt with Sizhui and Jingyi; the three of them went to investigate a demon boar near the border between Gusu and Zhoushan, and Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling both joined them there. Wei Wuxian went scouting ahead with Chenqing as he usually does, cautioning the juniors to keep back until he could get a good look at the beast and decide if it was something the boys could safely defeat, and then he remembers slapping at the back of his neck to kill a biting insect and finding a silver needle there instead.
And then the world went black around him, dissolving into a shadowy realm of pain and invisible snarling creatures only a few feet away, and someone laughing—laughing from somewhere high above him, while Wei Wuxian lifted his feet to run and discovered that they were chained to the ground.
And after that, there was nothing.
“Lan Zhan?” he croaks, reaching out until his hand catches on soft silk and then at the end of what feels like his husband’s forehead ribbon. “Lan Zhan, where are we?”
Someone pulls back a curtain, at that, letting so much light into the room that Wei Wuxian covers his eyes, and someone else bursts into tears, while a third person (most likely Jingyi, he decides) flings himself out the door and yells for Lan Xichen.
“Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian moans, vaguely aware of the quivering hands helping him sit upright against a pillow. “Not so loud, I—”
I’m in the jingshi.
How did I get back here…?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says—and oh, Lan Zhan is here, climbing up onto the bed beside him and embracing him so tightly that Wei Wuxian can scarcely breathe. “I should have come with you, I should have known something would go wrong!”
He must be the one who was crying, Wei Wuxian realizes, because tears are trickling onto his head, and every part of Lan Zhan’s body is shaking so hard that he can feel it through the six layers of robes his husband seems to have wrapped him in.
“Tell me where it hurts, xingan. We bandaged the bites, and the scratches, but I—I could not wake you to ask if anything else had gone wrong, even though Xiongzhang was certain you were only in shock, and you—”
“What happened?” he manages to say at last, after forcing his eyes fully open and glancing around their bedroom. Lan Qiren’s shadow is just visible behind the privacy screen, sitting at Lan Zhan’s qin with his hands frozen on the strings and so clearly relieved that he has actually begun to slouch a little, and Wei Wuxian can hear Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling shouting at each other (or possibly at some poor Lan healer) on the porch outside. “A-Yuan and I went after a demon boar, not—not—”
“You were kidnapped,” his husband whispers. “Someone had lured the demon boar out of Zhoushan and into Gusu territory to trap you, they knew I was away in Qinghe with Xiongzhang, and so you were stolen away the moment you left Sizhui’s sight in the forest. He heard footsteps leading away from the spot, but he thought they were yours, and so—”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “That doesn’t make any sense, Lan Zhan. How did they even get hold of me?”
“Xiongzhang found a needle-prick in your neck,” Lan Zhan tells him, as Wei Wuxian puts his hand up to feel for it. “It was laced with some kind of seizing poison, he said. And the dose was low enough for a non-cultivator to be affected by it, which means that they knew about your golden core.”
That would explain it, certainly, because when Wei Wuxian woke in that other place—the place with chains and slavering beasts and cries that sounded like they came from human throats, though they were not human in the slightest—someone had said something about his golden core, from far overhead so that he could scarcely hear it, and then there were teeth sinking into his arms, his shoulders, right before he thrust his hands straight into something cold and sticky like old rotting meat and closed his hands around bone.
“Come back, sweetheart,” he hears his husband call. “I’m here, Wei Ying. I’m here.”
“How did I get out?” he asks, when Lan Zhan brings him a cup of mint tea to settle his stomach and produces another blanket from his sleeve to drape around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. “And who kidnapped me, anyway?”
“Someone whose father and grandfather died at Bu Ye Tian, from what we discovered. There were many others involved, all with grievances against you, and from their accents I believe some might have been connected to Lanling Jin.”
“...You mean you don’t know for sure?”
“They attempted to stand in my way when I reached the place you were being held,” Lan Zhan tells him. “I—did not see any reason to preserve their lives, at the time. The few who surrendered were questioned by Nie Huaisang, and we thought he would turn them over to Gusu Lan to face justice, but instead he requested Xiongzhang’s permission to execute them.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide. “And Xichen-ge let him?”
“Do you know what they did to you?” Lan Zhan asks, instead of answering the question. “Can you even remember?”
“Ah, Lan Zhan, you know I have a terrible memory. I barely even remember the last siege on Qishan, because of all the resentment I was channeling, and it couldn’t have been that bad if you—”
“They threw you into a cellar filled with fierce corpses and left you there to die,” his husband chokes, openly weeping now as he pulls Wei Wuxian back into his arms and sobs into his hair. “You—they had gagged you, so you would not be able to whistle—” and that explains the strange raw feeling of Wei Wuxian’s mouth, now that he thinks about it— “and they left Chenqing behind on the spot where they took you, because they could neither break it nor take it with them, and you had nothing to fight the corpses with but the leg bones you tore out of the rotten ones—”
He does remember that, oddly enough.
“How did you find me, then?” he wonders. “How was there even time?”
“I was already on my way back to the Cloud Recesses, and when I reached it I found Shufu and Xiongzhang arranging a search party. “Sizhui summoned Wen Ning, and I followed. It was—when we reached you, it was almost—”
His face twists, and another river of tears drips down his face and soaks Wei Wuxian’s blankets.
“I almost lost you again, sweetheart,” he whispers, “and it was my fault, again.”
___
Several hours later, after Lan Xichen examines him and declares him perfectly healthy aside from the bruises and corpse bites, Wei Wuxian finally makes his way to the kitchen table with A-Yu whimpering in his arms and sinks down onto a bench while Lan Zhan prepares a serving of plain white egg congee with tiny slivers of diced meat in it, seasoned with only salt and pepper because Wei Wuxian had been sick when Jingyi and Sizhui brought him a bowl of his favorite spicy guqiao mixian earlier that afternoon.
He would have loved to soothe the uneasy feeling in his chest by burning it out with chili oil, but his stomach had rebelled—probably because of the corpse-stench he spent hours breathing last night, Lan Xichen suggested—and denied him that comfort, too.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, rocking his son back and forth as Lan Zhan puts a spoonful of warm porridge between his lips and then feeds some to Xiao-Yu. “See, your Papa made congee for us, Yu’er. Be a good boy and eat some, ah?”
Xiao-Yu turns his head away and wails into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “No! A-Yu wants noodles!”
“Xiao-Yu, baobei, it’s been a long day, and Papa is very tired,” Wei Wuxian pleads, picking up the spoon himself and holding it up to the baby’s stubborn mouth. “It’s good, sweetheart. Try some.”
“Hush, my love,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “You must eat enough, Wei Ying, since you have had nothing since last night. Wait here for a moment, and I will fetch the noodles. He wants the guqiao mixian A-Yuan brought, that is all, and there is plenty left over.”
And he was beside himself when his A-Niang did not come home, no matter how much he cried for him, Lan Zhan doesn’t say. He watched his own mother die before you adopted him, and when Jingyi returned alone...
“I won’t go anywhere again,” he promises—close to Xiao-Yu’s tiny ears, but with his eyes fixed on Lan Zhan’s. “A-Die won’t leave you, A-Yu. Don’t be scared, hm?”
“Xiao-Yu was scared!” the toddler sobs, rubbing his button nose against Wei Wuxian’s arm and leaving a damp trail of tears all down his sleeve. “A-Niang, no go!”
“I won’t, I won’t. Don’t cry, Xiao-Yu, I’m here!”
Lan Zhan pulls them both into his arms, at that, and the three of them sit together near the hearth until the porridge goes cold. Lan Zhan still insists on feeding it to them, though, and then on tucking them both into bed with Wei Wuxian sleeping in the middle so A-Yu and Lan Zhan can keep him warm.
(He loves his family so very much, especially in times like these.)
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