Equations of Motion

There once was a boy.

He was a strange boy with sharp eyes and a mouth perpetually quirked in a smile even though one might think he had little to smile about. He grew up on the streets without parents or other family members to look after him, somehow getting by without money. Perhaps it was because he was an omega and people had a penchant for an omega child’s sweet smile. Perhaps it was because he had sharp eyes but an even sharper tongue and quick legs to run away from trouble.

And yet, trouble tended to find him.

Perhaps it was because the boy, as quick and charming as he was, also liked to watch with detached curiosity as he slowly tore wings from dragonflies and cocked his head as he stepped on a mouse and listened to it scream.

Perhaps trouble liked him as much as he liked trouble.

When the boy was seven, he met an alpha who promised him nice and sweet things if he did a chore for him. ”It’s just a letter,” the alpha said. ”Take it to that leatherworker over there,” the alpha pointed, ”and then come back here and I’ll buy you anything you want.”

The boy agreed.

That was when the boy learned that alphas couldn’t be trusted.

Because the only thing that letter earned him was a beating and humiliation as the leatherworker—also an alpha—threw him to the street, straight into a pile of horse manure.

But did it end there? 

No, it didn’t.

Because the same alpha who had tricked him to deliver the letter, happened to walk by when the boy was returning to the alley he’d claimed as his own, so of course he confronted the alpha. ”You promised me sweets! You promised me pastries!” The boy cried. ”I delivered your letter! Give me my reward!”

”Like I’d ever ask anything from a literal pile of shit,” the alpha sneered and hurled him across the street with a wave of his hand. 

”No!” The boy screamed and ran at the alpha who kicked him on the side. He landed with a pained grunt that turned into a scream as the alpha deliberately ground the heel of his booth over the boy’s left hand until he passed out from the pain.

The first thing the boy remembered as he woke up was the adornment hanging from the alpha’s belt.

He would later learn it was the token of the Yueyang Chang clan. 

When the boy was thirteen, he got his first heat and killed the alpha who tried to mount him.

No one bothered him after that but no one wanted him in their city after that, either. Apparently, something about being covered in blood and grinning widely made people nervous.

So, the boy left Kuizhou with a swagger in his steps and blood drying on his shoulders and swore he’d be back later to collect what he was owed.

The boy was fifteen when he met his match, and for the first time in his life, he took a step back. 

He had originally planned on charming the omega and stealing her purse and the pretty ring she was carrying but he didn’t even make it out of the shadows when she pinned him down with her cold, furious stare.

”And who might you be?” The lady asked with narrowed eyes. Her voice was cool and smooth and the boy was sure she could kill him without raising a finger. Also, she might be clad in muted colors with no visible sect emblems but she sure as hell wasn’t a commoner. Her whole being screamed raw power and she knew it. 

A sect leader? A sect leader’s mate? What was she doing here alone?

The boy cocked his head. ”You can call me Chengmei,” he said and smiled.

She snorted, clearly unimpressed by the name he’d chosen for himself, and gave him one last, scathing look before continuing down the road. Intrigued, he followed her, drawing shadows over him like he used to do when he was about to rob or kill someone. It had always worked before and he was curious to see if it would work on her as well.

And it seemed like it did.

With wide eyes, he watched her freeze a group of alphas and then interrogate them before dispatching them with a flick of her wrist. His excitement distracted him and for a moment, his control of the shadows slipped and the lady tensed up and turned slowly around. Her eyes were cold and sharp and the boy felt as if something slithered over him, curling over the shadows he was wearing like a cloak. He didn’t know what it was but oh, how he wanted to know. The possibilities of that kind of power were endless!

His daydreaming cost him as the lady slipped away from him but he wasn’t worried. There was something about her, a trail of power he could use to track her. He was careful and meticulous and followed her to an inn and then spent the evening watching her bent over the desk, preparing something. It was bound to be a poison or potion of some kind because she had a cloth over her face and her movements were careful and precise.

He wanted whatever she was concocting.

How foolish of her to leave the window slightly open so that the boy had a clear line of view of whatever she was doing. It only occurred to him later, when she slashed his cheek with her sword that she’d set a trap for him. It didn’t matter, wounded or not, he still got away with a pouch of her potion.

The boy grinned, wide and delighted, and fled the town during the night.

Of course, he wasn’t stupid to try the potion himself. He captured people and experimented on them, cut them open and rubbed the powder on their wounds, made them inhale it like corpse poison, and mixed it with wine and water to digest. He found out it was an extremely powerful potion meant to instantly trigger a heat or a rut, resulting in a desperate, violent mating cycle that would take days to dissipate and that left the individual weak and shaken. How marvelous to get such strong reactions from such a small amount!

He had such fun trying it out, setting induced alphas against each other and releasing desperate omegas on the streets. It also made him a lot of money, not that he cared much about it. He had his means to make money, he didn’t need to waste his most entertaining tool for ages for something as trivial as money. 

He learned to make potions; liquid drugs that could make people do such fun things when dropped into their drinks, powders that turned them vacant-eyed when inhaled, and ointments that slowly absorbed when applied and painted the skin with vibrant colors and sores. He slowly figured out even more interesting ways to affect the body and when an experiment gone awry left his test subject null—

Well. 

Wasn’t that just intriguing?

Sadly, someone caught up with his fun. 

He sold a bit of the inductor to an alpha who seemed promising but he had to flee the small town before he could watch him play. It made him cranky because there had been a full gaggle of pretentious cultivators in white and he would’ve loved to see how things progressed with those alphas mixed in. But alas. Some tattle-tale idiot opened their mouth at the wrong place at the wrong time and as a result, he now had people trailing him, and not for the fun reasons.

The boy ran and, for a moment, he thought he’d made it.

Then he made the mistake of trying to take an alpha who carried a saber in his back and, well. Turned out they were way too powerful for him and also strangely prepared. 

They also seemed to see right through the shadows he’d cloaked himself in.

What the fuck? The boy thought before everything went black.

There once was a boy.

A strange, cruel, shameless boy. 

He loved to inflict pain on others, reveled in the agony of other people’s grief, and sighed contentedly at the cries of the dying.

He wanted to conquer the world, to turn it into his playfield of misery and torture, and see how many different ways a soul could be torn out from the body.

He was cunning and ruthless, used to lean into the shadows and watch the world burn.

And while he might be imprisoned now, he knew he wouldn’t stay trapped for long.

Because the boy had plans.

And those plans were important to people in high places.

All he had to do was to wait and they would come to him.

And then he would have the chance to play again.

Zhao Donghai doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. There’s no reason to be, right? The invitation was polite and addressed properly (he consulted both Mother and Grand-Aunt to make it absolutely sure), and he received a politely delighted reply. Storm Peak has been meticulously scrubbed and cleaned and inspected, the courtyards and stalls and marketplaces checked, and even their captains have made sure their vessels’ sails are clean and their banners bright.

Everything is ready.

And Donghai is nearly nauseous.

”Are you going to stand here and stare at the horizon until they arrive?” his cousin Xiaobo snorts. ”You’ll be lightheaded and dry-eyed in no time.”

”Well—yes, but—”

Xiaobo throws her arm around his shoulder. ”Yeah, I know. You want to make sure everything is in top shape when your intended arrives.”

Donghai shoves at her. ”He’s not—I haven’t—”

”Aiyah, I know. I’m just teasing,” Xiaobo says, bumping into him lightly. ”But honestly, you don’t have to worry. We’re small but capable and we’re proud of that, and for a good reason. And didn’t you say Young Master Wei liked his visit?”

”Well, yes…”

”There you go! Do you honestly think he’d be willing to visit a place he didn’t like?” Xiaobo has only met Young Master Wei twice: first in Nightless City where the Dire Owl made a shocking entrance, and the second time when they escorted Xue Yang to the Cloud Recesses. Both times had been fleeting but he’d managed to make an impression anyway.

”And your intended might not officially be your intended yet but I know you, cousin.” She leans close and whispers, ”You are smitten like a kitten and you smell like over-sweetened red bean paste.”

Donghai feels his cheeks heat. ”You—!”

A sharp whistle yanks his attention back to the horizon and, yes! There! A small group of people in mostly white robes rapidly draws closer, flying in an orderly formation. Donghai swallows down his nerves and hurries to the gate, nodding at the guards who take a step back. 

As he watches, he recognizes the first sword carrying two people; one in white and one in black—Hanguang-jun and Young Master Wei. Behind them, one other Lan cultivator carries a passenger, a slender form in dark blue robes… Donghai ducks his head, suddenly shy.

”Hello, Young Master Zhao!” Wei Wuxian yells and waves as Hanguang-jun descends with perfect control, not even a little disturbed by his mate’s erratic movements. 

Donghai smiles. It’s hard to hold back from answering Young Master Wei’s wide grin so he doesn’t even try. He waits until the Lan delegation has landed and then bows, seeing from the corner of his eye that Xiaobo mirrors it. ”Storm Peak is honored to welcome visitors from Gusu Lan,” he says. ”This is my cousin, Zhao Xiaobo, who will help you with anything you might need during your stay.”

Hanguang-jun and the Lan cultivators bow back in perfect unison. ”We are honored to finally be here,” Hanguang-jun says. 

Finally? Donghai wonders but before he has the chance to ask, Young Master Wei winks. ”The smoked tea you served me back when I visited, do you still have it?”

”Yes, of course.”

”Isn’t that a bit…strong for Gusu Lan tastes?” Xiaobo asks and immediately realizes her blunder. ”I mean, I know Gusu Lan prefers finer and more delicate flavors. Many people think our tea is overpowering.”

”See? Now you have to taste it!” Young Master Wei says, delighted.

Hanguang-jun’s reaction is a low hum that tells Donghai nothing but makes Young Master Wei cackle. They truly have a special relationship…

And then—

Mo Xuanyu is even prettier than he remembers. He stands next to the tall Lan alpha who carried him on his sword and smiles tentatively. ”Hello again,” he says.

”Yes! You too!” Donghai blurts and then closes his eyes. ”I mean—Welcome to Storm Peak, Young Master Mo—” he stutters and internally curses his flaming cheeks.

Xiaobo coughs. ”Perhaps we should go inside,” she says and turns. ”Please, follow me.”

Donghai braves a glance at Mo Xuanyu who is clearly fighting a smile. Behind him, the Lan alpha doesn’t look that impressed.

If he’s completely honest, Donghai doesn’t quite understand just how he managed to end up here. ’Here’ being all but formally courting a pretty and bright omega of his own.

Back in the Cloud Recesses, the dinner he shared with Sect Leader Jiang, Jiang Yanli (he’s still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that she asked him to call her by her name!), Hanguang-jun, and Young Master Wei was an experience to say the least but Jiang Yanli’s invitation for tea was…He had no idea why she invited him and even after the tea, he still had no idea why. Or, well, it seemed like Jiang Yanli wanted to introduce him to the cutest omega Donghai had ever met—but that made no sense. 

It still makes no sense but Donghai is willing to look past it.

Because Mo Xuanyu is cute and he has such a pretty smile and he has this one crooked front tooth that peeks from under his lip when he smiles and his laugh is loud and somehow reminded Donghai of seagulls (which could be considered insulting, but for him, it just sounded a lot like home) and—

Look, he’s just amazing?

Mo Xuanyu had been so shy at first, scent slightly bitter with nerves when sharing the space with a strange alpha but something about Jiang Yanli eased the tension and helped them both relax. She poured them tea, waved away their protests, and urged them to taste small cakes she’d made. It was all very warm and comfortable and nice, and before Donghai even realized, he was talking about the talismans he’d modified and then Mo Xuanyu pointed out other variations and then they jumped to talk about sailboats and sails and homing beacons, and suddenly, the tea was gone and all that was left of the cakes was a small pile of crumbs on the table. And Jiang Yanli was smiling.

It became awkward again when it was time to say goodbye. Donghai stammered and blushed and bit his lip because he wanted to continue talking with Mo Xuanyu, he really did! He just—he didn’t know if it was proper to ask—

”I have to say that even though my brother is advanced in talismans and I’ve learned a lot through him, I’m afraid that you lost me there completely,” Jiang Yanli said, shaking her head fondly. ”But it sounds like there’s more to explore?” They both nodded eagerly. 

Donghai ducked his head. Would he really— Yes. Yes, he would. He’d been brave enough to talk to Hanguang-jun about how his father propositioned his mate, he would be brave enough for this! ”May I—I mean, I would like to write—if it’s not too forward—”

”Yes!” Mo Xuanyu interrupted. ”I would like that, a lot.” His lips were drawn into a small smile and his scent was warm and happy, and, well.

And that was that.

Donghai returned home with not only permission to exchange letters with Mo Xuanyu but also with a special mission from Lan-furen, asking for his help with cleaning up the mess Xue Yang had left behind. 

So, yes.

That was—still is—a lot to wrap his head around.

After showing the Lan delegation to their rooms, Donghai returns to his own quarters and proceeds to bang his head gently on the wall.

”What the hell are you doing?” Xiaobo asks, holding back a laugh.

”I’m an idiot,” Donghai says, resting his forehead against the wall and closing his eyes.

”I already knew that,” Xiaobo says. ”What makes this time different from all the others?”

Donghai groans, stomps to his bed, and sits down. ”I made a complete fool of myself! I didn’t even greet him properly! And then I said I’d warm his hands myself if he got cold!”

”Yes, that sounded pretty stupid.”

”Not helping, Xiaobo,” he grumbles. ”What if he doesn’t like me? What if he, I don’t know, looks around and realizes this is a horrible place and we’re terrible people and never wants to hear from me again?”

Xiaobo stares at him for a moment and then pokes him on the forehead, hard. ”You, dear cousin, are an idiot.”

”I already said that,” he grumbles.

”No, I mean, really, properly, idiot.” She shakes her head in wonder. ”Young Master Mo flew over here on a sword—did you know he doesn’t really like flying on a sword? But he did it anyway because he wanted to come here. Anyway, he flew over. He smiled at you. He snuck glances at you when you ran away like a coward after blurting YOU want to warm his hands, personally.”

Donghai groans and leans forward to press his face on his knees, hooking his hands behind his neck.

He hears two knocks on the door and then the door opens. He doesn’t bother raising his head because the only one who knocks like that is his mother and he’d rather not see her face right now.

”Are you hiding?” She asks, amused. When Donghai doesn’t reply, she walks closer and kneels in front of him. In the background, Xiaobo murmurs her goodbye and then the door closes again.

”Donghai?” Mother asks, a thread of worry in her scent. 

He raises his head and looks at her, ashamed. ”I made a fool of myself,” he says. Mother cocks her head and says nothing, just grabs a gentle hold of his wrists. ”It was embarrassing. I didn’t know how to talk properly!”

”Were you rude? Disrespectful? Hostile?”

”No!”

”Then I don’t see the problem,” Mother says. ”Care to tell me what you said, exactly?”

To Mother’s credit, she doesn’t laugh at him, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ”You silly boy,” she says. ”You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

”Really?” he asks, unreasonably relieved.

She nods. ”Really. You got flustered and tongue-tied. It’s quite normal—in fact, if you ask Hanguang-jun, I’m sure he’s been flustered around his mate more times than he can remember.”

He stares, appalled. ”I can’t ask him that!”

”Or I can ask for you,” she offers.

”Mother!” he hisses.

She laughs then, squeezes his hand, and then pushes herself up. ”Now. How about you wash your face and then we can figure out how to save your intended from the game of Go your father will undoubtedly try to lure him to play.”

Mo Xuanyu avoids the game that night simply because an ugly altercation in one of the villages to the south ties both Donghai and his father to a meeting, leaving Mother to entertain their guests. It takes them late to the night to return and when he finally gets to his rooms, he’s too tired to do much else than wash up and crawl to bed.

Xiaobo wakes him up the next morning. ”I saw Hanguang-jun on my way to the kitchen,” she says as she places the small tray on the table. ”He said he and Young Master Wei would stay in—he said something about a rough morning, whatever it means.”

”Ah,” Donghai says and makes a mental note to ask if Young Master Wei would want to try their herbal liniment. He might find it helpful. ”Well. I was thinking about the docks?”

”That’s a lot to think about,” Xiaobo deadpans.

Donghai huffs and she grins. ”I’m free to chaperone but I have a feeling that Lan Bolin will be there too.”

Lan Bolin, the stern-looking alpha who had flown Mo Xuanyu on his sword had apparently dedicated himself as Mo Xuanyu’s personal guard which actually doesn’t grate at Donghai as much as Xiaobo probably assumes.

He takes time to dress and style his hair—nothing too fancy but still chooses one of his better robes and guans—before making his way to the guest quarters. He starts with Hanguang-jun and Young Master Wei’s room, knocks on the door, and waits until Hanguang-jun slides it open.

”Good morning,” he says. ”I heard that Young Master Wei wasn’t feeling well.”

”Mn,” Hanguang-jun says. ”Wei Ying is sleeping now. It was a…” he sighs, ”…a long night.”

”Would a herbal salve be of any help?” Donghai asks. ”Storm Peak is a windy place and in winter, it gets chilly. Many of our Elders have aching bones and our salve helps to relieve the pain. I used it a couple of years ago when I broke my shin, and I found it very effective.”

Hanguang-jun inclines his head. ”Thank you.”

Donghai turns to Xiaobo, ”Could you—”

”Yeah, I’ll ask a disciple to bring you a jar. Is Young Master Wei sensitive to any scents?” 

Hanguang-jun shakes his head. 

”I planned to take Young Master Mo to the docs today,” Donghai says. ”In his letters, he said he wanted to see the sea and the sailboats so…” he trails away, slightly sheepish.

”That seems like something he’d be interested in, yes,” Hanguang-jun says with an approving nod. He opens his mouth to continue but is distracted by a muffled groan from somewhere deeper in the rooms.

Donghai bows, cutting off Hanguang-jun’s apology. ”Don’t let me keep you any longer, Hanguang-jun. I hope Young Master Wei feels better soon. Don’t hesitate to send for a disciple if you need anything.”

Leaving Hanguang-jun to care for his mate, Donghai heads out to Mo Xuanyu’s door, stepping aside to patiently wait as he makes himself ready and then asks Lan Bolin to accompany them. He starts to talk about Storm Peak’s history to fill the space as they make their way to the pier, only to stammer an apology a moment later.

”I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask—”

”Ah, don’t worry about it,” Mo Xuanyu says with a small smile. ”It’s so interesting! I’ve never seen a building like this, built from rough stone with towers and walls like that. I know The Unclean Realm is a bit similar but I haven’t had the chance to visit yet.”

”Oh,” Donghai says, slightly relieved.

”But how do you keep the structure warm, especially in Winter? Are the rooms insulated? Or do you implement an insulation array during the construction or renovation process? Relying only on tapestries seems ineffective.”

Donghai blinks. ”Insulation arrays?”

Mo Xuanyu glances at him. ”Yeah. My mother and I used to live in a barn before Yanli-jie arranged our move and it used to get pretty cold in winter. I came up with an insulation array that helped a lot.”

”Oh?” Donghai says faintly. That’s…a lot of information he needs to examine closely later.

Mo Xuanyu nods. ”It needed more spiritual energy than I was capable of to run continuously through the whole cold period so I saved it for the really bad days.”

Feeling a bit lost, Donghai shoots a look behind them and meets Xiaobo’s wide eyes. 

”So, how do you keep the fishing nets from getting all tangled up?” Mo Xuanyu asks, drawing Donghai’s attention back to himself. ”Especially when all the sailing boats leave the harbor at the same time. Won’t they just end up with a giant tangled ball of nets weighing them all down?”

They end up talking about fishing nets and boats and tides and the different ways a wave moves in the sea and what you can interpret from the white foam that rides atop the wave. Mo Xuanyu is an attentive listener and makes wry remarks and asks sharp questions that push Donghai to think about just why they do things the way they do. Before he even realizes, they’re at the docs and step into the vessel Donghai was stationed for his mandatory apprenticeship. 

Which means he really should’ve expected the dead fish that hit him in the head.

He closes his eyes and lets out a controlled breath.

”Gege!” a gleeful voice cackles from the mast. ”You’ve grown old and slow!”

”Weimin!” Xiaobo barks. ”Get down here and apologize to Young Master Zhao. Now.”

The preteen alpha looks sheepish as he scrambles down and hurries to bow to Donghai, shooting glances at Mo Xuanyu and Lan Bolin from under his brow. ”This one apologizes to Young Master Zhao,” Weimin says, sounding almost sincere.

”Apology accepted,” Donghai says. ”And it was my fault. I should’ve known you’d try that trick again.”

Weimin grins. ”Yep, you should have!”

Donghai shakes his head as he turns to face Mo Xuanyu and Lan Bolin. ”Weimin might be young and wild but he was an excellent teacher when I was stationed here,” he says and nods at Captain Peng who makes her way to them. ”This is Captain Peng. Young Master Mo and Lan Bolin are part of Hanguang-jun and Young Master Wei’s delegation, visiting Storm Peak from Gusu Lan.”

”Welcome to my humble vessel,” Captain Peng says and bows. ”Have you been at sea before?”

As Mo Xuanyu draws Captain Peng into a flurry of questions, Lan Bolin looks around with assessing eyes. ”You said you were stationed here,” he says. It’s not a question but Donghai treats it as one.

”Mn. All Storm Peak residents spend a period of time serving in one of our bigger vessels. Usually, it’s for a month or two but I ended up staying for six months.” He smiles at Lan Bolin’s raised brow. ”Not because I was clumsy or slow to learn but because I found it both interesting and enjoyable.”

”So,” Mo Xuanyu says, sidling up to him. ”Captain Peng here says you are quite good climbing the mast?”

”I—”

”I’m faster!” Weimin pipes in.

Donghai knows a trap when he sees one but…he doesn’t really care. ”No, you aren’t,” he says.

”Yes, I am!”

”Oh,” Mo Xuanyu says with a mischievous smile. ”That sounds like something that needs to be proved, yes?”

Donghai narrows his eyes at Weimin who beams at him without a trace of shame and where does that leave him—especially when Mo Xuanyu is watching him with expectant eyes and a bright, curious scent curling around him? 

”I suppose I have my reputation to protect,” Donghai sighs. He glances up at the mast and narrows his eyes, brushing his hair from his face as a tuft of wind blows across the dec. Next to him, Mo Xuanyu shivers, pressing his lips tightly together. 

”Here,” Donghai says, swiftly taking off his outer robe. ”You’re cold.” He fights back a blush at how Mo Xuanyu’s eyes widen and his cheeks turn rosy, and turns to Weimin. ”You are going to lose.”

Weimin scales up the mast with a cackle and lets out a triumphant bellow when he reaches the top, and his smile could light up the sky with its brightness as Donghai gives an elaborate bow and admits his defeat. It’s all worth it, though, as he hears Mo Xuanyu laugh.

Later that day, after they’ve had dinner and tea and polite, lively conversation, Father gets a gleam in his eyes as he asks if Mo Xuanyu has ever played Go.

”Oh, yes!” he replies. ”Not much, though. We never had any games before moving into the Cloud Recesses. Yao-ge has been teaching me to play but I’m nothing compared to him.”

”Would you like to give it a try?” Father asks eagerly.

”Oh, dear,” Mother sighs, fondly exasperated as Father sets up the board. ”Tingfeng loves to play against new opponents. Donghai and I are no match to him and he claims we are boring.”

Young Master Wei hums. ”From what I remember, Sect Leader Zhao was a good opponent. I would offer to play but he might not like my style of playing.”

”Oh?” Mother asks. ”Does it involve stabbing? Because sometimes I very much feel like it should involve stabbing but I don’t think it’s according to the rules.”

”Explosions,” Hanguang-jun says, giving Young Master Wei an amused look.

”Sometimes,” Young Master Wei says cheerfully. ”It’s more fun when the rules can change at any moment. Keeps you on your toes.”

Mother snorts and from the corner of his eye, Donghai spies Hanguang-jun’s minuscule shake of head and the way Young Master Wei leans on his shoulder with a small, soft smile. They are completely at ease in each other’s space, and something about it reminds him of his own parents. 

”Wait a moment!” Father abruptly says, drawing Donghai’s attention back to the Go players. ”Did you just…win?”

Mo Xuanyu frowns. ”Was I supposed not to? I mean…it wasn’t hard? I was holding back to make the match longer.” He pauses, blinks, and when Father keeps staring at the board in silence, somehow shrinks into himself. ”Oh, I wasn’t supposed to win, was I?” he says in a small voice. ”I’m sorry.”

Donghai can’t explain what happens but suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Next to him, Mother is frowning and on the other side of the small table, Hanguang-jun stares at Father with narrowed eyes. Young Master Wei’s smile looks just…wrong.

”Oh, no. No no no, young man,” Father says, ignoring everyone else in the room. ”I haven’t lost a game in over three decades. I demand a rematch! Immediately!” He leans forward and adds. ”And don’t you dare to hold back.” He rubs his hands together in delighted glee and sets the board for a new game.

The pressure in the room lets up as suddenly as it built up, and Mother lets out a small sound of resignation. ”Now he’s done it,” she says, turning to Hanguang-jun and Young Master Wei. ”I might need to write Xuanyu’s mother a letter of apology because there’s a very real chance my husband won’t give up the best Go partner he’s ever had.”

”A-Yao and puzzle boxes,” Young Master Wei says. Donghai makes a confused sound but apparently Hanguang-jun understands what his mate means as his lips twitch. 

Young Master Wei grins. ”Our Lan-furen is, delicately put, irritable due to his late pregnancy. Highly complicated puzzle boxes are the only thing that seems to make him happy these days and anyone who dares to disturb him or his precious puzzle boxes is in peril.” Young Master Wei takes a sip of tea. ”He bit me.”

”Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says.

”What?” Young Master Wei says, indignant. ”He did!”

”You disturbed his rest and poked his shoulder. Repeatedly.”

”But puzzle boxes!”

”You have only yourself to blame,” Hanguang-jun says mildly.

They continue their comfortable bickering, making Mother’s frown melt away and Xiaobo’s shoulders relax. At the table across the room, Father and Mo Xuanyu lean over the Go board, both smiling lightly. 

It would only occur to Donghai much, much later to wonder whether or not Father realized just how close to death he’d been.

Time passes faster than Donghai could’ve ever imagined. Each morning, he gathers up their guests for their morning walk to the docs, and after lunch they spend time reading, experimenting with talismans, or anything Mo Xuanyu is interested in at the moment. After dinner, Father invites him to play, always reminding him that he’s free to decline if he so wishes, but so far Mo Xuanyu has been enjoying himself immensely. Father is yet to win even a single game and he’s unreasonably happy about it.

(On the fourth day, Young Master Wei tells him he doesn’t need to stop by their rooms each morning because apparently, the cooler and damper climate makes Young Master Wei’s body lock up. Donghai feels terrible until he spies a row of fresh love bites under Young Master Wei’s collar and sees how Hanguang-jun’s hand clenches on his mate’s hip. Then he just feels mortified he even noticed.)

They spend several highly educational and probably slightly unhinged days in an impromptu talisman workshop Young Master Wei sets up, inviting any Zhao disciples who might be interested. It ends up with singed eyebrows, a scorched wall, one exasperated Hanguang-jun, three destroyed copper pots, and a cackling Young Master Wei. Mo Xuanyu beams when Donghai is left speechlessly in awe by his insulation array and that in turn earns him an approving nod from Hanguang-jun.

All in all, the visit is a success.

Donghai hates that it’s almost over.

Two days before the Lan delegation is scheduled to head back to Gusu, Hanguang-jun approaches him, something awkward in his form.

”Would you have time to spar?” he asks slightly stilted.

”I—I would be honored!” Donghai stammers. ”Right away or…?”

Hanguang-jun turns slightly to look at Young Master Wei who makes some complicated hand waves that apparently mean something to his mate. ”Now would be acceptable.”

Donghai nods, feeling slightly lost. He turns and beckons at Hanguang-jun and they walk to the main training field side by side.

The fight, if it even could be called such, takes both ages and no time at all. Donghai knows he’s not weak, not as an alpha or as a cultivator, but it matters little when he’s facing someone of Hanguang-jun’s level. Even though he isn’t that much older than Donghai, his cultivation level and alpha powers both are ridiculously high and he’s a master swordsman. Donghai gives his all and doesn’t hold back, and yet Hanguang-jun faces him calmly, the other hand held behind his back. From someone else, it might feel like mocking but from Hanguang-jun it feels almost like…assessing? 

Wait—is this a test?

The fight ends when Hanguang-jun disarms him with a move that’s too fast for him to even see, and that’s when Donghai realizes they’d gathered an audience. His parents are there, of course, as are Young Master Wei and Mo Xuanyu, Lan Bolin, Xiaobo, and practically all their juniors. Young Master Wei grins widely and gives enthusiastic applause but Donghai has eyes only for Mo Xuanyu who stares at him with wide eyes and bright red spots on his cheeks. He looks gorgeous.

”—Master Zhao.”

”Uh,” he says dragging his eyes from Mo Xuanyu to meet Hanguang-jun’s amused, golden gaze. 

”I said, you fight well, Young Master Zhao.”

He bows. ”Thank you, Hanguang-jun.”

Whatever that test was, it feels like he passed.

They have a small feast on the last day. Small, because they’re a small sect but also because it’s obvious neither Hanguang-jun nor Mo Xuanyu enjoy crowds. Father gives up on the nightly Go game (because apparently he and Mo Xuanyu have come up with a way to continue playing via letters? Donghai isn’t sure but he knows better than to get between Father and his game) and instead, they enjoy Hanguang-jun’s playing. Mo Xuanyu joins him with his xiao for one song and Donghai feels like the only person in the room as Mo Xuanyu looks only at him.

”I hope the visit has been enjoyable,” he says as the feast slows down. They’re at the balcony that rounds the whole floor—alone, for now, even though Donghai senses Lan Bolin not far away. He appreciates the taciturn alpha for giving them a moment of privacy. It’s an unseasonably warm night but Mo Xuanyu shivers all the same in the small breeze, prompting Donghai to wrap him in his robe.

”It’s been even better than I imagined,” Mo Xuanyu says, smiling. ”Your home is wonderful and the people! Don’t get me wrong—I like the Cloud Recesses because it’s very calm and safe but…it’s also very quiet? I like the sounds of Storm Peak.”

Donghai nods, pleased. ”You are welcome any time,” he says and braves on, ”as a guest or…something more. I know we’re nothing compared to the Cloud Recesses and that we’re a small and humble sect but—”

Mo Xuanyu frowns. ”What do you mean, ’nothing compared to the Cloud Recesses?’” he asks. ”Donghai, my mother and I used to live in a barn. We wore rags and ate whatever leftovers my mother’s family deigned to toss at us; compared to that, this place is amazing!” He looks down and bites his lip, twisting his hands together. ”I…I was more concerned that…you wouldn’t want—”

”No!” Donghai exclaims, grasping Mo Xuanyu’s hands in his. ”I don’t know how you meant to finish that sentence but I don’t want to hear it. I—” He takes a breath and gently squeezes Mo Xuanyu’s hands. ”I know of your past. My parents know. We don’t care. We are a very young sect, founded by my Father’s grandfather late in his life. As you have seen during your stay, we don’t really care about hierarchy, we care about competence. And we don’t really care about tradition, either—both my parents are alphas and my mother is a sailor’s daughter from a village two-day ride to the North.

”Mo Xuanyu, you are amazing. You are brave and beautiful and so, so smart. And you like everything that’s in here—I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is so interested in the different weaves of fishing nets? You wanted to learn how to sail and how to salt fish and—” He ducks his head and closes his eyes for a moment. ”I would be so very honored if you—I mean, would you—”

”Yes!” Mo Xuanyu interrupts him and smiles widely. ”Yes, I want to be your mate!”

Donghai blinks. ”Wait—my mate? I—”

The smile drops from Mo Xuanyu’s face. ”You don’t want? I thought—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed—”

”No!” Donghai yelps. ”I absolutely, definitely want you as my mate—but—I was—” He takes a breath. ”I was asking your permission to court you.”

”But—” Mo Xuanyu says, looking genuinely confused. ”I thought you were already courting me?” he asks slowly.

”Not properly! I didn’t even send you any proper gifts! I have to find you something that represents us and our sect, and I have to write better letters and—”

Mo Xuanyu stands on his tiptoes and presses their lips together. It’s a dry, chaste kiss that only lasts a split moment before he draws back, ducking his head shyly. It might hide his red cheeks to some extent but his scent blooms, sweet and bubbly, making Donghai light-headed. Slowly, carefully, he wraps his arms around Mo Xuanyu’s slender body and hugs him, pressing his nose in his hair to draw in more of that lovely scent. 

They stay like that for some time and then Mo Xuanyu whispers, ”I would, you know. I would mate you right away.”

Donghai squeezes him tighter and then relaxes his hold. ”I want to do this properly,” he whispers back. ”I want to write you silly and embarrassing courting letters and I want to spend time finding you the perfect courting gifts. I want you to have that.”

Mo Xuanyu’s scent curls into something warm and happy. ”I guess you can,” he mumbles.

He huffs a laugh. ”Thank you.”

A moment later Mo Xuanyu sighs and adds, ”And the healers wouldn’t let me mate with you yet anyway. They want to monitor me a bit more.”

”Oh?” Donghai says, rubbing his thumb against Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder in a small circle. ”Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mo Xuanyu shakes his head, rubbing his nose against Donghai’s chest. ”It’s…uh. It’s a bit embarrassing but…My heat cycle? It hasn’t started yet. They think it’s because of the stress and all.” He shrugs and burrows closer to Donghai.

Stress? Yes. Malnutrition? Even more likely. ”You take as long as you need,” he says, drawing back a bit to look him in the eye. ”I’ll wait.” He cups Mo Xuanyu’s face in his hands and watches, fascinated, as rosy blush travels up his throat and into his cheeks.

Mo Xuanyu’s lips part slightly and Donghai leans forward, only a bit—

”Lan Zhaaan!” Young Master Wei’s voice whines loudly from around the corner. ”Do you know where our wayward protege has vanished? Zhao Tingfeng will never forgive us if we lose his favorite Go partner.”

They spring apart, both furiously red and avoiding each other’s gaze. Donghai grabs Mo Xuanyu’s hand and presses a quick kiss on his knuckles before releasing his hand, just in time to see Young Master Wei step into the balcony.

”Ah! Here you are!” he says with a bright smile. ”Lan Zhan! I found them!”

”Mn,” Hanguang-jun says. His eyes take in the scenery, the distance between Donghai and Mo Xuanyu, and it seems almost like he nods but Donghai might also be imagining things. (Young Master Wei’s exaggerated wink on the other hand is blatantly obvious. Donghai tries and fails to fight the blush rising on his cheeks.)

”What a lovely evening, right, Lan Zhan?” Young Master Wei says with a smile. ”So romantic!”

”Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun sighs.

(Later, when he glances at the balcony, Donghai sees Hanguang-jun and Young Master Wei smiling gently and resting their foreheads together. A romantic evening, indeed.)

The Lan delegation heads home early the next morning, loaded with delicacies and other Zoushan Zhao specialties, carefully selected for Mo Xuanyu’s mother, Sect Leader Lan and his mate, and Grandmaster Lan. Zhao Donghai isn’t sure why both Hanguang-jun and Young Master Wei are so eager to bring a batch of Storm Peak’s smoked tea with them but he isn’t sure he wants to know. 

”Are you sure you are warm enough?” he asks Mo Xuanyu, tucking the brand-new Zhao robe tighter around him. It’s a gift Donghai commissioned on the second day after noticing Mo Xuanyu shivering in the sea breeze, stormy grey like the rocks on the shore. Seeing his future mate wrapped up in his sect’s colors make something purr inside Donghai. 

Mo Xuanyu smiles. ”Yes. I’m very warm and very comfortable,” he says. Then he pauses for a moment and before Donghai has time to react, he’s on his tiptoes, and quickly rubs his cheek against Donghai’s before darting to Lan Bolin and on his sword, leaving Donghai staring dumbly after him.

”Travel safe!” Father calls.

”Don’t forget to write!” Mo Xuanyu exclaims.

And then they’re off, and Donghai is still staring dumbly after Mo Xuanyu.

”Well,” Mother says. ”I guess we’ll get to the official proposals soon.”

Donghai blinks and frowns. ”Wait, what? Why?”

Mother winks. ”Because that boy is in preheat.”

”Oh, good,” Father says. ”It cuts back the need for letters.”

”Tingfeng,” Mother says, exasperated. ”We’re talking about courting, not your unnecessarily complicated Go-via-letters campaign!”

”I know that, Baozhai,” Father says and presses a kiss on Mother’s cheek, earning himself a pleased huff. ”It doesn’t change the fact that I finally have a worthy opponent!” He hums and purses his lips together, narrowing his eyes. ”I need to strategize—”

As Father starts to mutter at himself, Mother shakes her head and tucks her arm around Donghai. ”So. Courting gifts. The warm robe was a very good idea, Donghai, practical and good quality, protective. Now, the next gift should be something that compliments him especially—”

Donghai shares a grin with Xiaobo and starts walking Mother back inside.

Flying, A-Qing decides, is fucking insane.

Sect Leader Jiang holds her tight as they fly but it does nothing to the swooping, nauseous terror clawing through her stomach. She refuses to give in to it, though—she’s long ago learned not to let fear rule over her and this insanity of speeding in the air while standing on a fucking sword will not best her.

Nope.

In all honesty, she’s not sure why she’s here. In all, full, raw honesty, she’s not sure what the fuck is going on other than she’s in one place while Xingchen-ge and Zizhen-ge are in another place with that insane murderer—they picked him and left her and now she’s going to yell at Sect Leader Jiang until she feels better.

She sniffles a bit—because she’s angry, not because she’s..like…sad or anything—and Sect Leader Jiang bends down while flying on his fucking sword and asks, ”Are you cold?”

”No!” she snaps back and hunches her shoulders.

Sect Leader Jiang snorts but he also digs something from his sleeve while flying on his fucking sword, and then he wraps a soft cloth around A-Qing and tucks her in so that she’s wrapped tightly like a dumpling.

It’s kind of nice, actually.

The ground speeds past in blotches of light sprinkled here and there in the black, making her eyes water and her head hurt. There’s so much she still doesn’t understand about her sight—or gift like Xian-ge calls it—and it makes her equally nervous and scared. 

A little while later, Sect Leader Jiang shakes her gently. ”Wake up, kid. We’re here.”

”Not a kid,” A-Qing mutters, biting back a yawn as she takes a look around. In front of them, Lotus Pier glimmers like sunlight reflecting on the lake surface; a sprawling web of gently pulsing light.

”It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

Sect Leader Jiang lets out a curious hum. ”You can see it? Interesting.”

He doesn’t talk as he carefully guides the sword down. A-Qing is too busy trying to take in the whole scope of Lotus Pier to fret about the landing logistics because…this is Lotus Pier! This is a whole fucking compound she can see! She definitely needs to visit other cultivation clans to see if it’s the concentrated use of spiritual energy that lights them up—

”Come on,” Sect Leader Jiang says gruffly, guiding her down with a hand on her shoulder. ”Today is your day off. Tomorrow you start to work to earn your place.”

And just like that, A-Qing’s mood plummets.

Fucking typical.

She gets a room and new robes and a stern-looking woman who beckons her to follow. 

”I’m Yu Qiaolian,” she says in a clipped tone. ”I was told to look after you.”

”I don’t need looking after!” A-Qing snaps.

Yu Qiaolian hums. ”Prove it,” she says matter-of-factly.  When A-Qing stops to gape at her, she sighs. ”You claim you don’t need looking after. However, Sect Leader Jiang has placed you under my supervision, and I tend to take my responsibilities seriously.”

”And what are you—my nursemaid?” A-Qing sneers.

Yu Qiaolian snorts. ”Absolutely not. As the Jiang head disciple, I have better things to do than guard an uppity little girl. Hence, prove to me you don’t need looking after.”

A-Qing bites her lip. Head disciple. Oops. She probably shouldn’t piss her off on her first day on Lotus Pier… So she bows, a little clumsily, and says, ”This one apologizes for the lack of manners. This one hopes to prove—”

”Get up,” Yu Qiaolian interrupts. ”You’re with the Jiang now, and the Jiang don’t grovel. I’m Meishan Yu, I have even less tolerance for groveling than the average Jiang.” She pauses for a moment. ”Can you see me?”

”I’m not blind!”

”Not what I asked,” Yu Qiaolian.

A-Qing purses her lips in annoyance and takes in what she can see of the head disciple. ”You’re bright,” she says slowly. ”Not as bright as Sect Leader Jiang and nowhere near the fucking absurdly bright suns at Gusu.”

”Mn,” Yu Qiaolian says. ”Also not what I asked. First lesson, girl: never offer more information than is needed. I asked if you can see me, not what you can see.”

”Wow, you’re so polite,” A-Qing says flatly.

”Thank you,” Yu Qiaolian says, sounding pleased. ”I do try.”

She leads her via a maze of piers into a bathhouse on the outskirts of the compound and A-Qing could swear some of the piers aren’t even in regular use because they’re partially fucking rotted. She almost calls the head disciple out on it but then holds her tongue because—is this a test? This feels like a test. 

It’s probably a test.

She doesn’t fall into the lake which probably—hopefully—means she passed the test, and when she finally sits down in the almost-but-not-quite-too-hot water, she bites back a groan. It’s been ages since she had a hot bath: they’d hurried to Gusu as fast as they could, and the Lan preferred their baths as cold and uninviting as their whole mountain. 

This, on the other hand…

”I will brush your hair,” Yu Qiaolian says, sitting behind her.

”I don’t—”

”I will brush your hair,” the head disciple repeats, the unsaid ’or else…’ hanging in the air.

A-Qing acquiesces, telling herself that she’s safe, this isn’t the crazy fucker playing with her hair, not this time. It doesn’t quite work but it helps that Yu Qiaolian’s hands are effective and practical, and that she hums a lilting tune under her breath as she works.

Xue Yang couldn’t sing to save his life.

Sect Leader Jiang gives her a long, hard look she can feel vibrating on her skin, then he lets out an agreeing sound and turns to talk sect business with Yu Qiaolian.

A-Qing concentrates on eating and thinks she might give this place a chance.

She learns to scrub floors and wash linens. She learns to listen to the sound of the pier under her feet and recognize what needs to be fixed. She learns to swim and row and fish.

She learns to call Lotus Pier home and it terrifies her.

Etiquette lessons are the worst.

Sect Leader Jiang snorts when she voices her displeasure. ”I don’t care. You need to know the proper protocol in and out, especially if—” He cuts himself off and takes a long sip of tea.

”Protocols are stupid,” A-Qing mutters.

”Sometimes, yeah. But you still need to know them. Besides, telling someone to fuck off is a lot more effective when they are fully aware you know exactly what rules and social norms you’re breaking and that you’re doing it on purpose.”

”Wait. I can actually say that?” 

”You’re already doing exactly that,” Sect Leader Jiang says dryly.

”Asshole. You know what I mean,” A-Qing retorts.

”That’s Sect Leader Asshole to you. Now. Do you know to write?”

A-Qing pauses to give him her best unimpressed face. ”I’m practically blind, your most gracious Sect Leader Lordship. How the fuck would knowing how to write benefit me?”

”That was an almost good insult,” Sect Leader Jiang says mildly. ”There are still situations where your signature is required. Hm. How about I infuse the ink with spiritual energy, that could work…”

She learns to write. She learns to read, too, because Sect Leader Jiang is a tyrant and an asshole and a surprisingly patient teacher. It’s terrible.

There are times when she thinks everything is fine, and then she wakes up at night, screaming and thrashing, reliving again the horrible agony of the poison burning through her eyes and pushing spikes right through her brain. Those are the nights when she shivers and dry-heaves until she’s a husk of a person unwilling to close her eyes because she knows what will be waiting for her.

Those are the nights when she stumbles out of her room—right next to Sect Leader Jiang’s for some reason—and to the small pier that’s supposedly Jiang Yanli’s favorite. She sits, hugs her knees, tries to draw herself into as small a bundle as possible.

Those are the nights when she always hears steps not long after she’s settled, and even without looking, she knows what happens: a warm, heavy blanket over her shoulders, a calloused hand clumsily petting her hair, a reassuring grip on her shoulder. 

Some nights, she lets the gently twinkling water ease her mind until she’s ready to return to her room. And some nights, she falls asleep only to wake up in her own bed, snugly tucked in, the sun warming her face.

On one of those nights, she steels herself and whispers, right as the hand lifts from her shoulder, ”How do you cope with them?”

”Nightmares?” Sect Leader Jiang asks.

”Yeah.”

He is silent for a moment. ”If it’s something that you did and you ended up hurting others, you make fucking sure you never make the same mistakes again. After you make sure they’re alright now, of course. And if it’s something that happened to you, if someone else hurt you or the people you love, you make sure they’ll never get the chance to hurt anyone again, ever.”

She glances up. Spiritual energy paints him up so that he’s always visible—not as bright as Xian-ge or Hanguang-jun but no one is as stupidly bright as them—and he’s wearing a scowl. It’s even more pronounced as usual which is because he’s thinking about Xian-ge. Again.

Sometimes, A-Qing is sad she doesn’t have siblings. Then she looks at Sect Leader Jiang and thinks that she’s perhaps better off without. Maybe.

He clears his throat. ”I have a messaging talisman you can use,” he offers haltingly. ”If you feel like it. You don’t have to. Just. So that you know you have the option.” He pauses for a moment and then adds in a quiet voice, ”Just because he felt he needed to do something doesn’t mean he abandoned you.”

”Aren’t you just talking about yourself now?” A-Qing asks, suspicious.

He scowls. ”Don’t talk back at me!”

”You like it when I talk back,” she points out.

”Little menace,” he grumbles. ”One of these days I’m going to break your legs.”

She nearly chokes. Those are the words—that’s the tone—she never thought—

”Don’t you dare to catch a cold,” Sect Leader Jiang mutters and wraps his arms around her and squeezes her close, almost tight enough to hurt but not quite. It’s fucking perfect even though A-Qing has something in her throat that tries to fight out as a sob. 

She bites it down and leans her head on Sect Leader Jiang’s shoulder.

They never acknowledge their nightly meetings in the brightness of the day. They belong to the dark and the silence and to the small hours when sadness is too close to the skin. The words, the blanket, the steady grip on her shoulder don’t make the nightmares or the grief go away but they make the hard things a little easier to carry.

A-Qing has a lot of words. Most of them are crude and insulting, blunt force objects she hurls around to create space where she can exist without hurting. Some of them are more polite, barbs instead of hammers, but they still bite.

In this, she and Sect Leader Jiang are the same.

Jiang Yanli, on the other hand…

The first time they met was at the Cloud Recesses when Xian-ge was recovering, but there had been so much going on that A-Qing hadn’t really paid much attention to her. But when she arrives home, at Lotus Pier, A-Qing is scared speechless—not because Jiang Yanli is frightening, no. She’s the exact opposite! And there lies her problem.

What if she doesn’t like A-Qing? What if she looks at her and decides she isn’t good enough to live in her home—what if she thinks A-Qing is still as good as a street urchin and hasn’t learned enough, what if—

”Stop it, you silly girl,” Yu Qiaolian snaps, smoothing down the robe A-Qing has wrinkled in her sweaty hands. ”She’s going to love you.”

”How can you say that?” she demands, her voice choked into a whisper.

”Because you are you and our Lady Jiang is who she is,” Yu Qiaolian says as if it means something to A-Qing.

”But—”

Yu Qiaolian clicks her tongue. ”Hush now,” she murmurs as they walk down the pier. 

It’s very bright due to the number of people waiting for Jiang Yanli. The Jiang style in general is very bright—they let their spiritual energy flow freely, almost bursting from the seams, and it makes everything easier for A-Qing. However, now that she’s had the space and time to truly learn to read her surroundings, meeting Jiang Yanli again nearly takes her breath away.

By all accounts, she isn’t a strong cultivator. A-Qing knows this.

And yet, the person standing at the front of the boat is radiant in a way A-Qing has never met before. She isn’t powerful like the other powerful cultivators she knows but—

”She’s beautiful,” A-Qing breathes out in awe. 

Sect Leader Jiang snorts. ”Of course she is,” he says like it’s an absolute truth, a foundation his life is built on. ”She’s a-jie.”

A-Qing is again struck dumb when Jiang Yanli steps to the pier and her radiance expands almost like it’s reaching out to the people who have come to welcome her home. A-Qing doesn’t understand but she waits with a bated breath until Jiang Yanli finally closes the distance between her and Sect Leader Jiang and wraps him in a hug.

”A-Cheng! I feel like I’ve been away for ages,” she says. ”How are things?”

”Adequate,” Sect Leader Jiang says gruffly.

Jiang Yanli chuckles lightly and then turns to A-Qing. ”And look at you! It’s good to see you again, A-Qing.”

A-Qing brings her hands in front of her and tries her hardest to perform a flawless bow. ”Welcome home, Lady Jiang,” she says.

”Oh, so formal,” Jiang Yanli says. ”You can call me ayi.” 

”What?” A-Qing blurts.

Jiang Yanli pauses, looks at her, and then Sect Leader Jiang who…hunches his shoulders slightly? ”Oh, A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli chides softly.

”What?” Sect Leader Jiang barks, sounding defensive. ”I wanted to wait for you. Obviously.”

Jiang Yanli shakes her head and sighs. ”Shall we?” she says, nudging A-Qing gently with a hand on her shoulder. 

They end up in Sect Leader Jiang’s office where he sets down a thick book that radiates spiritual energy.

”These are the Sect Records,” he says. ”This is where all past and present sect members are written down.” He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat, and says, ”You have found your place in Lotus Pier, A-Qing. If you would be amenable, I would like to offer you an official place in Yunmeng Jiang Clan.”

A-Qing looks from Sect Leader Jiang to Jiang Yanli and back to Sect Leader Jiang. ”I’d be Jiang Qing?” she asks in a small voice.

”You would definitely be Jiang Qing, yes,” Sect Leader Jiang says. ”Then there’s the issue of your courtesy name—”

”My what?”

”Your courtesy name,” Sect Leader Jiang says, sounding baffled. ”We could still call you A-Qing, of course, but as my heir, you’d need an official name.”

A-Qing isn’t sure whether to scream or faint. ”Your heir?” she repeats, slightly hysterical.

”Of course—”

”A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli gently interrupts. ”I think you skipped one rather important step.” She kneels in front of A-Qing—oh, wait, when did she sit on the floor?—and takes her hand. ”A-Qing. We’re all grown very fond of you. You are smart and tenacious and so very, very brave. A-Cheng would like to adopt you as his daughter and heir, and I would be so proud to be your ayi.” She brushes a lock of hair behind A-Qing’s ear and cups her cheek. ”You don’t have to decide yet. This is a big and important decision, you can have all the time you want to think this over. Send a message to your Xingchen-ge and Zichen-ge and talk it over. Talk with A-Xian. Whatever you need.” Her thumb smoothes over A-Qing’s cheek. ”But whatever you decide, you’ll always have a home at Lotus Pier.”

There are so many feelings in her chest that she draws slightly back and ducks her head, trying to keep it all inside. A home—she would have a home! A family! More family—she’d have more people—

”If you’d be my ayi,” she asks Jiang Yanli, proud of how her voice barely wobbles. ”Could I call you shushu, Sect Leader Jiang?”

He lets out a strangled sound. ”You’d better. Or I’ll break your legs.”

In the end, it’s a simple decision.

A home. A family. A place to belong, a place to return to.

She watches as Sect Lead—no, shushu pours enough spiritual energy into the ink to make it shine and writes her name under his. Jiang Qing, courtesy Xuelian.

”Snow lotus,” ayi says with a smile that radiates through the whole room. ”A rare, healing herb that grows on the mountains behind Meishan Yu’s borders. It suits you, A-Qing.”

Shushu and ayi take her to the family shrine and introduce her to their parents. She lights incense, kowtows, and promises she’ll do her everything to be worthy of the Jiang name.

”Mother would’ve liked you,” ayi whispers to her when they’re done. 

She has her first rut when she’s been at Lotus Pier for three years. She intensely dislikes the whole experience and complains about it until Qiaolian-jie pushes her into the lake. She’s a cruel woman and A-Qing’s best friend right after shushu.

A couple of weeks after her rut, shushu tells her to pack clean clothes for about a week, and then they head Southwest, to Meishan. A-Qing is no longer afraid of flying, even though she still insists it’s fucking insane.

”By the time Jiang disciples have their first heat or rut, they have their swords,” shushu explains on the way. ”It’s time for you to have your weapon.”

”But…I don’t have a core?”

”That’s why we’re here,” shushu says. ”Wei Wuxian has been talking with old Teacher Yu. She’s expecting us.”

If asked later, A-Qing wouldn’t be able to tell much about the encounter. A secluded house in the woods right next to a clear spring. An old omega who didn’t look like anything much but whose spiritual energy burned through her when she held A-Qing’s hand in her gnarly, tight grip. A week of intense, guided meditation to find her anchor, an emotion strong and pure enough to use as a channel for power.

Old, wizened eyes burning like stars.

Shushu’s palpable pride when she held her spiritual weapon for the first time.

A feeling of being whole again.

Later, the Cultivation World would talk in awed tones of Sandu Shengshou and his young, fierce daughter Jiang Xuelian whose white eyes see through lies and deception. She doesn’t wield a sword but has on her belt a light whip with wicked darts attached to its seven tails. When she fights, it bursts with white, burning cold light.

Her father wields Purple Lightning.

She wields White Fire.

Together, they let everyone know just what the Jiang Sect’s motto truly means.

Madam Lihong sits with perfect posture and a pleasant, small smile on her face as she sips her tea. She holds her sleeve with practiced ease and knows how to bend her neck just so. She ignores the hungry looks shot in her way with practiced ease as well, even though the knowledge warms her. To think that after all this time, she still has it. 

Or, at least for as long as she keeps still and the left side of her face stays covered.

It’s been several years since she lost everything—or almost everything—in the fire. Her business, her employees, her face… Luckily, she’d been insightful enough to invest in separate, independent businesses to make sure she wouldn’t lose it all if one endeavor was to fail but frankly, she never expected it to be her brothel in Yunping!

The letter burns against her chest, tucked into the small pocket in her underrobe. It’s been a while since she’s last read it but she remembers each and every word with perfect clarity.

Madam Cheng,

I’m writing to you to inform you that the events surrounding the unfortunate incident at your establishment have been investigated. There will be no further investigation and you have been compensated for your grievances. If you find this compensation to be insufficient, I respectfully ask you to cease all further requirements. Needless to say, you will not try to look for what has been misplaced. It would be a shame if something happened to a certain young man in Guangling, wouldn’t it?

Respectfully,
An interested party

She barely bites back a snort. An interested party—what a joke! That letter is an extortion attempt, plain and simple, and she’ll be damned if some uppity young omega is to best her.

Cheng Lihong has been in the business for decades and she knows exactly how this game is played.

(She is wrong.)

Her first move had been to relocate her son. They are not in contact as A-Bao doesn’t want to align himself with someone like her, but he’s still her son. She has to protect him.

She arranges A-Bao a new place to live in and a new place to work and decides it’s good enough. Then she starts to gather information on that wretched brat who destroyed her. And for what reason—for being used in what his body was made for? Well, the fact that she’d sold him to his own Sire was an…uncomfortable itch under her skin but it was hardly something to destroy property over was it? It was unreasonable and needlessly destructive.

As soon as she recovered from her smoke inhalation and got her business—or what was left of it—settled, she started making inquiries. It took her surprisingly little time to find both the brat and the old hag he’d dragged with him for some reason, and then she settled down to wait. She could’ve just torn into the brat’s business and destroy him as he’d destroyed her but it wasn’t just quite enough. She wanted to ruin him, teach him a lesson to not try and climb above his station. He was merely the son of a prostitute, sold to an alpha for pleasure, making him a prostitute as well. Who was he to condemn her? No one!

Three months after she’d found the brat, the letter arrived.

”Madam Cheng,” a soft voice purrs, and a young omega in lavish, pale grey robes sits across from her.

”I prefer Madam Lihong,” she says frostily.

The omega hides his face behind an intricately painted fan. ”I really don’t care,” he says, cocking his head. ”You look tired, Madam. Have you been sleeping well?” He raises a brow. ”Or at all?”

She bites back a hiss and takes another sip. The tea is truly excellent; a delicate white blend, expensive and exquisite. A brand she’s favored for years.

”Why do you insist on pursuing this?” the omega asks. ”You must know you’ll lose.”

She scoffs. ”Don’t be so sure. I’ve been playing these games longer than you’ve been alive.”

”Oh, but you’ve never played a game like this,” the omega says, amused. 

She sneers. ”What makes a puppy like you think you can outmatch me? Honestly…didn’t anyone teach you any manners?”

”But of course,” he says, fanning himself lazily. The motion is almost hypnotic and Madam Lihong has to make a conscious effort to drag her eyes off of it. ”I’m just reserving my manners for those who actually earn them.”

There’s something disturbing in his eyes, a cold calculation that tracks her every move. Madam Lihong isn’t very keen on that but she pushes her discomfort back, concentrating on keeping the boy talking. 

Her first reaction to the letter had been to snarl and throw a teapot to the wall. How dare he—how dare he try something like this! Madam Lihong was an immaculate professional, not some cheap trollop to be intimidated by anonymous letters and empty threats.

Her second reaction was to sit down and write a list of everything she knew about the brat—his business, his neighbors, his friends. He didn’t seem to have many, just the old hag and some young omegas, which frankly wasn’t a surprise. Who would want to befriend such a person? Then the hag died and it seemed the brat was left completely alone, which was when Madam Lihong decided to make her move. 

And it should’ve worked! 

She was so careful and so meticulous, planting rumors here and there, needing just the perfect moment in a public place to ruin him for good. And yet the brat managed to bump into nobility and fool some sect leader to court him! Alphas, always so stupid and gullible. Madam Lihong seethed in silence but decided she needed perhaps half a year more to weave her way around the sect leader. It might even be advantageous to her plans—perhaps she should alter the rumors into the brat being unfaithful? Yes, that would work.

She needed just a bit more time, that was all.

”Would you like some more tea?” a soft voice asks. Lihong barely bothers to glance up at the servant, just makes an impatient wave with her hand. The servant pours and steps back.

”What I don’t understand is why you insisted on this meeting,” she says, annoyed. The young omega has been blathering about for ages and Lihong is quite done with all of this. She sighs and downs her tea, making a face at the slightly bitter taste. ”Did you over-steep this?” she asks, glaring at the servant and—

Those eyes!

The brat merely smiles and shrugs.

Madam Lihong’s eyes snap into the other man who is once again fanning himself lazily and watching her with strangely glittering eyes. ”What is the meaning of this?” she hisses. ”How dare you—”

”Oh, please be quiet,” the omega says.

Lihong’s mouth snaps closed.

”I told you to leave the matter be,” the omega says and cocks his head. ”But you just…” he purses his lips and shakes his head, looking disappointed. ”I hate getting my hands dirty.”

”You’re not,” the brat says dryly. He reaches into his breast pocket, takes out a small bottle, and sets it in front of Lihong. ”Your hands have not touched this at all.”

”It’s the thought that counts,” the omega says, eyeing the bottle with distaste. Then he shakes himself and looks at her again. ”So. This is how this will go: you will take that vial and drink the contents. And then you will die.”

”Huaisang!” the brat hisses.

”What?” the omega—Huaisang asks. ”Everyone in here is my people. And besides, they all know why we’re here anyway.”

The brat closes his eyes as if he’s praying for patience. ”I—you know what? Whatever.”

Huaisang ducks his face behind the fan so that only his crinkled eyes are visible. ”You sound like da-ge.”

”I’m starting to realize why,” the brat mutters.

Madam Lihong grits her teeth. This would be a perfect time to cry for help or to flee but something is preventing her from moving. She feels heavy and sluggish and—did the brat drug her tea? He must have. She makes to stand up but manages only to sway in place, almost keeling over in the most undignified way. ”You…” she slurs.

They both cock their heads in an eerily synchronized manner, looking at her like some predatory birds. Something cold shivers down her spine as she starts to realize that she’s actually going to die here. 

Huaisang snaps the fan closed and leans forward. ”Cheng Lihong,” he says and her name comes out almost like a song. ”Pick up the bottle and drink the contents. Now, please.”

She tries to stop herself. She fights to keep her hand on her lap, tries to scream, tries to do anything but obey the…the monster watching her from the other side of the table. But it doesn’t matter because, despite her attempts, her hand reaches out and picks up the bottle, takes off the stopper, raises it to her lips, and pours it into her mouth. It feels both cold and hot going down, leaving behind a tingling almost like she has small ants in her mouth. The bottle clatters from her fingers as she swallows once, then a second time.

On the third time, her throat doesn’t work anymore; instead, it constricts almost like it has a mind of its own. Lihong wants to—tries to raise her hands to her throat and claw at it, to force it open but she can’t. She sits there, arms hanging limply on her sides, and watches in horror as the two omegas look on, waiting for her to die.

It takes a surprisingly long time. She still manages to draw breath first every sixth attempt, then every eighth, then every tenth. And even when she manages to inhale, her lungs don’t work properly. She feels like she’s suffocating and drowning at the same time and it’s terrible, she doesn’t want to, if she could just—

”I was told,” Huaisang says conversationally, ”that this particular poison feels very much like dying from pneumonia.” He turns to the brat. ”Wasn’t that how your mother died, A-Yao?”

There’s a ringing sound in Lihong’s ears and black spots dance in front of her eyes.

”Yes,” the brat says.

Lihong opens her mouth, tries to gasp, but nothing, there’s nothing, the room is full of air but none of it helps her she—

The last thing she hears through the erratic beating of her pulse in her ears is a deferential, ”Young Masters, would you like to sit at another table? I’m so very sorry for the inconvenience but it seems like someone forgot to take out the trash.”

Mother beheading Father was perhaps the best thing that ever happened in Jin Zixuan’s life.

Ah, no, that isn’t true—that was the second-best thing that ever happened because the best thing was realizing just how wonderful A-Li was. And pretty much all great things that have happened to him ever since have been because of her.

Zixuan knows himself. He knows he’s awkward and stiff and shy and the reason most people tolerate him is—has been—because of his status. It had been a bitter drought to drink when he’d first realized it but he’d resigned to his fate simply because he believed that was all that life had in store for him.

Jin Zixuan, the golden alpha and Sect Heir of Lanling Jin, a shining spark amidst snow.

What a hollow, insignificant position to hold.

If it hadn’t been for Mianmian who took none of his shit and pushed him to be an actual person…well. Zixuan doesn’t want to think where he’d be without her. 

”A-Xuan, are you ready?” A-Li asks from the door, yanking him from his thoughts. ”I think we need to leave now or we’ll be hideously late.”

Zixuan goes red at the sight of her soft smile. It still happens, even though A-Li and him have been betrothed for several years now and she spends half of her time in Koi Tower. It’s just—He’s the alpha and he’s supposed to keep track of things like time and important events and such, isn’t he? But all it takes is a moment alone and he gets overwhelmed and lost in his thoughts and then A-Li takes care of things for him and—she does it so effortlessly, and something about that makes Zixuan tongue-tied and clumsy. He should be used to this.

He isn’t sure he ever will be.

”Uh,” he says, clearing his throat. ”Of course. Let me just get—”

 ”The travel robes?” A-Li asks with an arched brow. ”I have them here.”

Zixuan shakes his head. ”Of course you do,” he says sheepishly. He walks to her, takes the thick, fur-lined robe from her arm, and gently dons it on her, letting his fingers brush her jawline. It makes him hot and leaves a tingling sensation dancing under the skin of his fingertips, but if the small, sweet smile on her lips is of any indication, his touch is not unwelcome. 

It hasn’t been in a long while, he thinks.

That, too, is something he should be used to but he has a feeling he never quite will. And he doesn’t want to—being allowed to touch like this should be a novelty and a gift every time, not a triviality to be taken for granted.

They’ll fly on his sword, as her core is not strong enough to both sustain flying and help her deal with the harsher climate in Gusu. He’d been terribly self-conscious the first time, unsure of where to put his hands or how close to hold her, all the while painfully aware of the Jiang chaperone’s judging eyes on him. The people of Yunmeng Jiang are fiercely proud and protective of their Lady Jiang, and that’s not even counting in her brothers.  And yet, she’d leaned against his chest and twined their fingers together, comfortable and trusting, fitting perfectly in his arms.

Zixuan shakes his head and with an elaborate bow, offers her his arm. She takes it, eyes twinkling and a grin dancing on her lips. She has a skill of allowing him to be silly without mocking him and he adores her even more for it. 

Before he let himself fall in love with Jiang Yanli, Zixuan hadn’t realized he was actually allowed to have fun.

They head out to the side balcony Zixuan prefers for take-offs instead of the main platform, but barely make it out of the room when they almost collide with Mother.

”Zixuan, A-Li. I—” Mother pinches her lips together and frowns at a small bundle she’s holding. ”A word, before you leave,” she says and adds, ”Please.”

A-Li glances at him but Zixuan is as confused as her. ”Of course, Mother. Please, come in,” he says, turning back to his room.

Mother looks…conflicted. There’s the familiar, tightly reined-in fury in her eyes but also softness Zixuan hasn’t seen in a while. The transition of power has been both easy and hard on her.

”I would like you to take this,” Mother finally says, holding out the bundle. ”You can add it to the official gift selection or give it to him in private.”

Oh.

Zixuan opens the bundle carefully, revealing a soft swaddle cloth, intricately decorated with delicate peonies.

”It’s beautiful!” A-Li breathes, tracing a finger along the golden embroidery.

Mother sniffs and inspects her nails with a forced indifference. ”Obviously it’s not the only one I have, nor the most beautiful or intricate, those I save for your children. But it’s one of the several I used for you, A-Xuan, and—Well.” She falls silent and her throat works for a moment before she straightens up and turns to face them. ”You can tell him it is from me.”

Zixuan opens his mouth and then closes it, wildly out of his depth. Mother wants to—she wants to gift Meng Yao one of the swaddles she’s been saving for Zixuan’s children? How is he supposed to react to something like that? What should he say?

Again, A-Li steps up to save him. ”We will. Thank you, Mother,” she says, gripping Mother’s hands in hers for a moment.

Mother clears her throat and brushes her fingers along A-Li’s temple as if tucking away an errant lock of hair. ”Take care out there, A-Li. Gusu is cold this time of year.”

”Yes, Mother,” A-Li says with a smile.

Mother blinks and then frowns at him. ”And you!” she snaps. ”Make sure she stays warm!” 

”Yes, Mother,” Zixuan sighs, then watches, bemused, as she walks out of the room, head held high.

”That was very brave of her,” A-Li says softly, folding the swaddle into a neat bundle and tucking it carefully into the qiankun pouch holding all the other presents.

”Mn,” Zixuan says. ”Shall we?”

Wei Wuxian is waiting for them when they arrive, almost vibrating where he stands. If he was physically able, Zixuan is sure he’d be jumping up and down. ”Shijie!” he yells so loud the Lan guards fail to suppress a wince. ”Shijie! You’re here!”

”A-Xian,” Yanli laughs as they land. ”Of course I am! How have you been? Have you eaten? Taken care of yourself? Gotten enough sleep?”

Wei Wuxian points a hand at himself. ”Me? Of course!—”

”When supervised,” Lan Wangji says.

”Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian gasps, pressing his hand theatrically on his chest. When Lan Wangji merely raises a brow, he sputters and ducks his head, cheeks gone rosy with…

…actually, Zixuan doesn’t want to know. Their relationship is so different from anything Zixuan has ever seen that he mostly tries to fade into the background and ignore them. So far, this strategy has worked splendidly.

A-Li shakes her head and reaches to cup Wei Wuxian’s cheek, offering him such an indulgently soft look it’s almost enough to make Zixuan jealous.

”Xianxian must let others take care of him, too, mn?” she murmurs. ”You are precious to us.”

Wei Wuxian almost squirms, going red and then misty-eyed and pouty, turning to Lan Wangji. ”Lan Zhan, shijie is bullying me!”

As usual, Lan Wangji says his name and only his name, but just as always, it means a lot more than just that. Wei Wuxian folds into his arms with a small wail and yet, Lan Wangji manages to bow to them. ”Welcome to the Cloud Recesses, Jiang Yanli, Jin Zixuan.” His disconcerting golden eyes are piercing when they meet Zixuan’s and once again, he feels like the gaze finds him somewhat lacking. (A-Li keeps telling him he’s being silly. Zixuan doesn’t quite believe her.)

”So formal,” A-Li chides, gently grasping Lan Wangji’s hands in between hers. ”I hope you have been well?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. ”Mn.”

”We’ve been busy,” Wei Wuxian says, turning in his mate’s hold. ”Xichen-ge has been preoccupied with the baby as is well and proper, so Lan Zhan and I have stepped up.” He shivers slightly despite his thick robe, prompting a frown from Lan Wangji. 

A-Li takes a step forward, gently taking Wei Wuxian’s arm and guiding him to move. They start up the path, Wei Wuxian chattering on and A-Li letting out small noises of interest and encouragement. In front of them walks…Lan Bolin? Zixuan thinks that’s his name—anyway, the Lan alpha who always accompanies Wei Wuxian nowadays wherever he goes.

With a nod to Lan Wangji, Zixuan follows them.

”How is your mother?” Lan Wangji asks after some while.

”Still adjusting, I think,” Zixuan says. ”But I also think she’s enjoying herself.”

”Mn.”

Zixuan doesn’t expect anything else so he startles a bit when Lan Wangji pauses and turns to him. ”Someone asked me to give you a message,” he says, slightly awkward. ”They said that they would like to speak with you if you have the time.”

Zixuan narrows his eyes. ’Someone’? ”Is that someone perhaps a woman?” he asks carefully.

Lan Wangji’s eyes search his for a moment before he nods.

Ah. Of course. Zixuan ducks his head. ”You can tell my sister that I would be delighted to have tea with her whenever she wishes.”

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the flicker of a smile on Lan Wangji’s lips.

The new Lan heir is small and…that’s pretty much it. Zixuan stares at the soft, downy hair and scrunched-up features and wonders if he’s supposed to feel something? Say something? …do something? Or, perhaps he’ll keep the doing in the minimum—Lan Xichen’s eyes are sharp as he watches over his mate and child. Lan alphas have legendary control over their instincts but this is still an alpha with his mate and newborn child, and Zixuan would rather stay as far and as unassuming as possible. 

”She’s beautiful,” A-Li whispers, cradling the baby close. Her smile is radiant and Zixuan has a sudden revelation that one day she’ll be holding their baby like that.

”She’s very wrinkly,” Meng Yao says, sounding amused. He’s on his side, eyes heavy with exhaustion and lack of sleep which probably explains his comment. ”I expect her to smooth out in a week or so.”

Lan Xichen huffs and A-Li lets out a soft giggle. It wakes up the baby and she starts to fuss, making smacking noises and waving her fist like she’s trying to declare something. With a soft coo, A-Li lifts her and sets her carefully next to Meng Yao who sighs and gathers her close. Zixuan feels his cheeks flush red and he whirls around to intently study the intricate pattern on the privacy screen.

”Oh, we have something for you,” A-Li says. ”A-Xuan?”

He clears his throat and rummages around the qiankun pouch for the swaddle cloth. ”This…um—”

”She’s not feeding,” Meng Yao says, sounding amused. ”You can turn around.”

Zixuan clears his throat again and turns, keeping his eyes carefully averted. ”Mother sent this,” he says as he steps slowly closer. He stops a couple of steps from the bed, waiting for Meng Yao’s permission to approach. ”She explicitly told us to say it’s from her.”

Meng Yao raises a brow. ”Did she now?” he murmurs, reaching out a hand to brush at one of the peonies.

”That’s very considerate of her,” Lan Xichen says.

”I think it would go nicely with the blue cloud-patterned robe we ordered for her 100-day celebration,” Meng Yao adds. 

”I think so too,” A-Li says with a twinkle in her eye.

Qin Su is a quiet, beautiful young woman who keeps herself carefully in check. She’s a beta and very aware of her status both as his sister and to him being an alpha. She greets her with cool eyes and an impeccable bow and he suddenly realizes he absolutely hates it. She’s his sister and definitely not by choice, she shouldn’t need to bow at him like that.

”Are you…I mean, is this…Is Gusu—” he starts, wishing A-Li was here to help him out.

Qin Su inclines her head. ”The Lan have been very kind to me,” she says, each word soft yet measured as if she’s infinitely aware of the connotations of her words and actions. 

”That’s nice,” Zixuan says. He downs his tea and then watches as Qin Su expertly pours him another cup. He takes a sip and burns his tongue.

”The reason I wanted to talk to you,” Qin Su says, raising her head to look him straight in the eye, ”Is that I want nothing to do with the Jin.”

Zixuan flinches. ”I understand,” he says. ”If there’s anything—” He stops when she raises her hand.

”I have decided to stay here for the time being,” she says, glancing out of the window. 

Zixuan nods. He’d offer to cover her expenses but she just said she wants nothing to do with him so he doesn’t.

”However…” she sighs and turns to look at him again. ”I am my mother’s only child,” she says quietly. ”I grew up alone and only recently learned I have brothers and sisters. I’m beyond grateful to Yanli-jie for reaching out and bringing me here, for introducing Yao-ge to me, and now giving me the chance to meet you properly.”

Zixuan opens his mouth to say they’ve already met but decides against it. They met years ago at some banquet and he has a feeling Qin Su doesn’t especially want to be reminded of her days in Jinlintai. 

”I’ve never had a sister,” he says instead. ”But I would very much like to have one—or more?” he offers tentatively. ”Even though I don’t know how to be a brother.”

Qin Su smiles and ducks her head. ”It’s alright,” she says. ”I don’t know how to be a sister, either. But perhaps we can just be ourselves?”

”I’ve been told that being just me might not be a ringing endorsement,” he cautions. ”But I’d like to try.”

She laughs, and it’s a surprisingly inelegant sound that somehow makes her seem more sincere than he’s so far seen.

Yeah. Zixuan would really like to try this being-a-brother thing.

The next day, he and A-Li have dinner in the Jingshi with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. It’s not the first time Zixuan has visited his brother-in-law’s home but something about it still makes him somewhat…not confused and not awed but perhaps speechless? The house is beautiful and serene with several carefully contained areas of complete chaos, clearly Wei Wuxian’s workspaces. What are supposed to be artfully arranged pieces on shelves, are pushed aside and making room for a mismatched collection of odd pieces, some of which are familiar but most are completely alien to him.

”She looked like a dried loquat,” Wei Wuxian says.

”A-Xian,” A-Li chides, trying to stifle her laughter. ”That’s a rude thing to say.”

”What? I like loquats! And you like loquats, right, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji gives him a dry look. ”My niece does not look like a dried fruit.”

Wei Wuxian huffs and nudges him slightly. The move is careful but not as stiff as Zixuan has previously seen which must mean he isn’t in that much pain. He’s glad—Wei Wuxian, and by extension, Lan Wangji, tends to be even more difficult to be around when he’s in pain.

”I bet your baby will be the most beautiful in the whole world!” Wei Wuxian imperiously declares, nodding at A-Li.

”What baby?” Zixuan says before he has the chance to think. ”There is no baby? Is there, A-Li?”

Wei Wuxian stares at him for a moment with a flabbergasted look, then keels over into Lan Wangji’s arms in a hysterical fit of giggles.

”No,” A-Li says with the small, fond smile she uses when she really wants to roll her eyes and tell him—gently—that he’s an idiot. ”I promise to you that when the time comes, you will know when we are making a baby.”

”SHIJIE!” Wei Wuxian shrieks, suddenly bright red. ”You—what—I can’t believe—”

”Hush now,” she says mildly. ”Drink your soup.”

Then she starts to talk about an irrigation system that could be modified to work in the Cloud Recesses, and Zixuan forgets to eat because he’s once more caught up in her wit, cunning, and smile. 

From the corner of his eye, he spies Lan Wangji’s brief look of understanding before the other alpha drops his gaze and puts more vegetables into his mate’s bowl.

They stay for a week. Meng Yao is still weak and recovering from the birth—Zixuan is told it was a difficult one and that’s all he wants to know about it—but he still has time to meet with Zixuan alone. Or, well, as alone as an omega with a baby can be. (Lan Xichen is visibly relieved when Zixuan politely declines the honor of holding the baby and retreats to the corner of the room to hum at her, looking like the epitome of a new alpha father enamored with his child.)

Zixuan draws his gaze from him to meet Meng Yao’s slightly amused eyes. ”They say it’s different when it’s your own child,” he says.

”They do?” Zixuan asks.

”Mn. Besides, you’ll have the whole pregnancy to grow into the role of a father.”

Zixuan clenches his hands together. ”What if—”

Meng Yao tilts his head. ”What if…what?” he prompts after a moment.

”What if I’m bad at it?” he asks and then goes bright red with embarrassment. ”I’m sorry! I shouldn’t burden you with my own worries, you—”

Meng Yao raises a placating hand. ”I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know, Zixuan,” he says. ”And I think you’ll be a good father when the time comes.”

”How…how would you know?” It comes out as a plead not really suitable for a Sect Heir but this is his brother, Zixuan reminds himself. This is Meng Yao who is also a parent, and all in all, knows a lot more about most things than Zixuan.

”Well,” Meng Yao starts, pushing himself to sit up in the bed. ”I think I can confidently say you don’t aspire to be like your father.”

”Obviously not—”

Meng Yao raises a brow. ”See, that already tells you you’ll be fine.”

Zixuan glares at him. ”That is a bar so low it’s on the ground,” he says flatly.

”True,” Meng Yao says with a grin. ”It also means you’re bound to be a better father than your own.” He glances at Lan Xichen and their baby, and the cynical edge in his eyes melts away. ”But I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about, Zixuan. You have your mother, you have Yanli-jie, you even have Wuxian and Wangji because disregarding their…” he wiggled his fingers vaguely, ”…everything, they are as devoted to each other as they are to the children they’ve decided are theirs.”

Zixuan isn’t sure whether to find the thought disturbing or encouraging.

”As much fun as watching your face right now is, I actually had a reason to talk to you,” Meng Yao says and adds, ”A-Huan?”

”Hm?” his mate asks, glancing at them with a slightly vacant look. When Meng Yao raises a brow, he blinks and then hurries to say, ”Oh! Right, my apologies, A-Yao.” He activates a complicated privacy talisman and then turns all his attention back to the baby.

”Just for privacy,” Meng Yao reassures him. ”I understand you’ve met our sister?”

Zixuan nods. ”Lan Wangji told me she wanted to speak to me. We met on the second day—I haven’t seen her since.”

”And you probably won’t,” Meng Yao says. ”She doesn’t like the Jin and she doesn’t like alphas, and she most definitely doesn’t like Jin alphas. Officially, she’s here for her musical studies. Unofficially, she’s here to figure out what she wants to do with her life.”

”I offered—tried to offer—” his voice trails away in an embarrassing croak.

Meng Yao shakes his head. ”She won’t take the offer. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just walked out and vanished from the cultivation world. Naturally, I’m trying to encourage her not to do that but…” he shrugs. ”If she decides to leave, I’m quite sure Yanli-jie would stay in touch with her anyway.”

”There’s no reason for her to stay.”

”No, there isn’t. And I think that’s how it has to be, at least for a moment. She’s free to stay and free to go, and whatever she chooses, she has our full support.”

Zixuan isn’t sure whether Meng Yao’s ”we” means the Gusu Lan or him and Zixuan. It doesn’t really matter, though, because Zixuan fully agrees. 

”Our little brother is also here,” Meng Yao continues. When Zixuan makes a questioning noise, he says, ”Mo Xuanyu and her young mother moved in a little while ago. He’s a bright thing, almost as clever as Wei Wuxian, and they look disturbingly alike.” He takes a sip from a cup by the bed. ”I believe he’s the one Yanli has been matchmaking.”

Zixuan very carefully does not think just what Meng Yao defines as a ”young mother,” and instead says, ”Ah.”

”He’s a very nice young man,” Lan Xichen says from by the window. ”He’s already charmed several elders and wormed his way into being Uncle’s favorite simply by gifting him a talisman that keeps his socks perfectly warm.”

”With his mother’s permission, Gusu Lan will stand in as his sect during the negotiations,” Meng Yao says. ”But unlike our sister, I don’t think Madam Mo would scorn Lanling Jin’s support.”

Zixuan would like to declare that they have it but makes himself pause. ”I can’t promise things for my mother,” he says slowly, ”But obviously I will support him.”

”Of course,” Meng Yao says, then tries and fails to suppress a yawn. ”I’m sorry, Zixuan—”

He raises a hand. ”Don’t apologize, I’ll leave you to your rest.” He stands up bows to Lan Xichen and Meng Yao, and turns to go. He barely manages to take a step before he whirls around, biting his lip. ”Do you know—have you met—”

”As far as I’m aware, we have four brothers and seven sisters,” Meng Yao interrupts. ”From which the oldest is 29 and the youngest is three. And no, I haven’t met anyone else except Qin Su and Mo Xuanyu.”

”Oh,” Zixuan says, dropping his gaze to the floor. He’s always known about his father’s lecherous ways but to hear he has this many siblings, that he has older siblings—

”You should talk to Yanli-jie about this,” Meng Yao says gently. ”This is her project, as you know.”

”Mn,” Zixuan says and stumbles out of the Hanshi.

He’s not even aware of his feet carrying him to A-Li but that’s where he ends up. She opens the door with a slight frown that melts into a small smile and beckons him inside, waving her hand when—oh, it’s Wen Qing—

”Too many big thoughts?” A-Li asks as he steps close and rests his forehead on her shoulder, and all he can do is nod.

She maneuvers them to sit and Zixuan ends up on the floor in an undignified heap, his head on her lap. It’s wildly inappropriate but he—she’s always been able to make him calm down and—Wen Qing is there, and it’s not like he’d try anything, he’s not his father—

He drifts off listening to A-Li and Wen Qing discussing contraceptive brews.

(Mo Xuanyu doesn’t look at all like him or his father and Zixuan is beyond relieved. He does look disturbingly like Wei Wuxian, especially when he starts to gush about a talisman, but Zixuan decides it’s just a bonus.)

”This is for your mother,” Meng Yao says when Zixuan and A-Li go see him in the evening before they return to Lanling. ”I was told she likes this kind of poetry.”

”Thank you,” Zixuan says, feeling slightly at a loss while holding a slim book bound in blood-red leather.

”It’s a first edition,” Meng Yao adds.

”Um,” Zixuan says.

”I’m sure Mother will like it,” A-Li says, plucks the book from Zixuan’s hands, and drops it carefully into a qiankun pouch. ”Now, do you think you’ll be fit to travel in about four months’ time?”

Meng Yao blinks and cocks his head. ”I should be. Why?”

”Wedding planning,” A-Li says with a small smirk.

Meng Yao huffs, raising a brow. ”Naturally. I’ll write.”

Zixuan doesn’t know what they’ll be planning but he’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with weddings.

Probably.

Their departure is a quiet affair, mostly due to Wei Wuxian having had a terrible night and being unable to get up from bed. They stop by the Jingshi on their way (even though it’s definitely not on their way) and Zixuan waits outside while A-Li says her goodbyes. The thick scent of Wei Wuxian’s pain makes Zixuan intensely uncomfortable, his alpha side itching to help a familiar omega in distress but he’s sure neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji would welcome him inside during a time of such vulnerability.

”Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, awkward but sincere, when A-Li emerges with a tremulous smile and red-rimmed eyes. 

”Oh, A-Xuan,” she says, cupping his cheek for a brief moment. ”Sadly, there is little either money or medication can do to help. A-Xian’s condition is…” she shakes her head and sighs. ”It’s complicated.”

”But if there is—”

”I will tell you. Thank you, A-Xuan.” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it slowly out. ”Let’s go home, shall we?”

”Mn,” Zixuan says. He doesn’t dare try and say anything more because A-Li called Lanling home right now.

So, he draws Suihua, steps on it, and carefully helps her on it.

”Comfortable?” he asks, making sure her thick travel robe is properly tied.

A-Li turns her head slightly to look him straight in the eye. ”Yes.”

Zixuan swallows and holding his love securely in his embrace, sets to flight.

Qin Su was sixteen when her mother handed her a letter without a word and then walked next to a window to stare out. 

Confused, she opened the letter and read.

Dear Madam, it read in an elegant script.

A short while ago, certain events of the past have come to my attention. I cannot even begin to claim I understand the pain and suffering you have gone through but I’m not trying to. There are others who share your fate, and who have experienced the same as you have. This letter is an offer to help, to ease your burden, and let you know that you are not alone.

Please believe me when I say I’m writing this in good faith and all your well-being in my heart. Your decisions are your own and have no effect on my life. I do not ask anything from you nor will you ever be indebted to me. I am offering information, solace, and peace of mind. Should you choose to decline, rest assured that it will in no way reflect back on you.

If you choose to respond, you can send a letter to this inn in Runan, addressed to Mei Hua.

”Mother?” Qin Su asked faintly, something cold and heavy in the pit of her stomach.

”Your father doesn’t know,” Mother replied, still looking out of the window. ”And he cannot know.” 

”I don’t—” she stifled a gasp when Mother turned around, finally facing her. Her face was almost grey, her eyes endless pits of rage and regret, and her scent a maelstrom of conflicting emotions easily readable even for Qin Su’s beta senses. 

”Almost seventeen years ago,” Mother said in a strangled whisper. ”I—a cultivator of high status forced himself—”

”Mother!” Qin Su cried, reaching out to grip her hand. She didn’t know what to say or what to do—in fact, she didn’t even know if Mother wanted her touch. She froze and tried to withdraw, only to stop when Mother gripped her hand in return.

”A-Su, let me make something abundantly clear,” Mother said in a low, firm voice. ”You have been and you will always be first and foremost my daughter. Mine. No matter how you came to be, you are mine and I cherish you. Do you understand?”

”Yes, Mother,” she said.

”Your father—your true father, the father of your heart and soul—must never find out,” Mother continued, in that same low, intense voice. ”He adores you as much as I do but the knowledge would crush him.”

”Yes, Mother,” she said again. 

”We recently received a preliminary inquiry on your hand in marriage,” Mother continued, throwing her a bit with the change of subject. ”It was from the main family—for Sect Leader Jin’s nephew.” A look of utter revulsion twisted Mother’s mouth before she forced her face back to her usual pleasant look. 

”I…I don’t want that,” Qin Su whispered. ’Sect Leader Jin’s nephew’ could only mean Jin Zixun, and Qin Su would rather fall on her sword than marry him.

Mother let out a strange sound, a mix of a snort and a hiss. ”Oh, don’t worry, A-Su. I’ll die first than let you marry into that cesspit of filth.”

The gratitude and relief made her slightly dizzy and she closed her eyes, leaning against her mother. 

”The letter,” she said after a moment of silence. ”Who sent it?”

Mother let out a hum. ”I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to find out.”

Thing was, Qin Su wanted to.

Several months later, when Qin Su rounded the privacy screen in a high-end tea house in the Unclean Realm only to see a young woman in purple Jiang robes kneeling at a small table lade with tea and small delicacies, she wasn’t sure what to think. The letters they’d exchanged had led her here during a festival her mother agreed to let her attend, and now—

”Please, sit,” Lady Jiang said, motioning at the cushion on the other side of the table. ”Would you like a cup of tea?”

She set a complicated privacy talisman on the table and activated it with a delicate flick of her fingers, sending a shiver down Qin Su’s skin as its power spread outwards. 

”Now we can talk,” Lady Jiang said with a smile. ”Let’s start with this: does your mother know you’re here?”

Qin Su ducked her head and bit her lip, then shook her head. ”She thinks I went shopping,” she said.

”Mn. We’ll make sure you have some shopping to show her when you go back,” Lady Jiang said with a twinkle in her eye.

Qin Su nodded, took a sip of tea, and blurted, ”Lady Jiang, why are you here?” 

After dozens of carefully crafted letters, sent with aliases, Qin Su had started to figure out what was going on. Her mysterious correspondent was reaching out to others like her—children born of rape and abuse—but she couldn’t quite understand why. For revenge? For leverage? Was she going to be a tool in someone else’s plans? And now she was here, sitting across from Lady Jiang who was a handful of years older than her, a sister to a sect leader and betrothed to another, survivor of the Lotus Pier massacre.

Qin Su didn’t understand what was going on.

Lady Jiang set her cup on the table and folded her hands neatly on her lap. ”First of all, you can call me Yanli. After all—” She paused, blinked, then tilted her head. ”What has your mother explained to you about the first letter?”

”That—” she choked up, cleared her throat, and tried again. ”That I am born of rape. That my Sire doesn’t know and neither does my father.” She swallowed and added in a whisper, ”I suspect it has something to do with the Jin.”

Jiang Yanli sighed and nodded. ”Unfortunately, yes.” She straightened and looked her level in the eye. ”You were sired by Jin Guangshan, current Sect Leader Jin. Two of your elder brothers are the current Sect Heir Jin, Jin Zixuan who is my betrothed, and Meng Yao, current Lan-furen. One of your younger brothers is Mo Xuanyu, whose mother was as old as you are now when he was sired.”

Qin Su pressed a hand on her mouth, forcing back a sound of revulsion.

”I’m tracking down several other siblings but you and Mo Xuanyu are my priority at the moment.”

”Why?” Qin Su asked.

Jiang Yanli took a sip of her tea. ”Mo Xuanyu’s family is abusing and starving both him and his mother,” she says, low-banked fury coloring her voice. ”And I heard from Zixuan that his cousin is looking for a wife.”

”Over my dead body,” Qin Su said. Her voice sounded foreign in her own ears, holding a growl and rage she didn’t quite recognize. And yet, it felt soothing.

”He’d need to go through several others to get to you,” Jiang Yanli said calmly and—

Thing was, Qin Su believed her. Something about this delicate, frail-looking beta woman belied the steel in her spine and pure iron in her core, making her more powerful and dangerous than Qin Su would probably ever be. So, if Jiang Yanli told her she’d be safe, she would be.

Something in her lost tension like a puppet’s string was cut.

”What do you want me to do,” she asked.

Jiang Yanli poured them both more tea a pushed a small plate of cakes closer to her. ”It has come to my attention that you have been easily tired since you were a child,” she said and sipped her tea. ”It’s something about a slight imbalance in your qi—something that especially musical cultivation can be of tremendous help. Perhaps because of that, you have some musical training beyond the standard curriculum, do you not?”When Qin Su nodded, she smiled. ”Gusu Lan is famous for its musical cultivation. Your parents are thrilled to send you to further your studies in the Cloud Recesses, especially when those studies will eventually help you with your slight health problem at the same time.”

”Ah,” Qin Su said. ”I do feel a bit faint, to be honest.”

Jiang Yanli hid her smile behind her sleeve.

Caiyi Town was bright and busy and colorful. Not as much as Lanling but then again, not many places were like Lanling. Lotus Pier, perhaps. Or that’s what Qin Su had heard.

(She never liked Koi Tower. Or Lanling. At first it was because of all the noise and aggressive sellers but in hindsight, she’s realized that a much bigger part of it must’ve been her own subconscious reaction to Mother’s simmering rage and revulsion that bled through her fraying control whenever they visited.)

But Caiyi Town was simpler. Well, vendors were vendors everywhere but Caiyi lacked the almost frenzied aggression Qin Su remembered from Lanling. Of course, the Lan Sect’s closeness helped immensely—no one was willing to be rude to customers when they were under the Lan rule. 

It was simpler. Qin Su found she liked it.

The Cloud Recesses on the other hand…

Saying she detested the polite detachment would’ve been a lie but the placid smiles made her skin crawl. Perhaps that way it came as no surprise when Yao-ge told her about the pus festering under the pristine surface. What a surprise—yet another major sect rotten from the inside. She seriously considered leaving  at that point but something made her wait. Stupidity, perhaps. Or some misplaced sense of obligation. Fine, perhaps Yao-ge was one of the main reasons, but she’d never admit that to his face.

Later, when the rot was cleared out (mostly) and the crisis averted (for now), Qin Su sat at her desk and thought. Would she really want to stay? Why? She enjoyed the music and she enjoyed the books but was that good enough a reason to stay with the Lan? 

”You are free to leave,” Yao-ge said one day when they had their afternoon tea while the baby napped. ”And I’m not saying this to remind you of your place.”

”I know,” Qin Su said, frowning into her cup. ”And I’ve been thinking about it.” Yao-ge let out an encouraging sound, prompting her to continue. ”I’m young. I know I’m smart. I have the means to support myself even though I know I don’t have to.” She raised a brow and Yao-ge didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what she meant. ”I would like to…” she raised her head and gazed out of the window, seeing none of the carefully manicured nature the Lan allowed to grow. ”I would like to do something else. Be something else, away from here and everyone.”

”Would that something include only the change of name or also your genders?” Yao-ge asked neutrally. ”The first one is easy, the second might take a bit of time.”

What did it tell about him, offering her so casually a perfect escape from her life? ”The first,” she said. ”Despite the downsides, I think I’m most comfortable as a woman. And being a beta is a blessing, truly—I think it’s wonderful you were able to carry a child but everything else that comes with the alpha-omega dynamics just sounds exhausting.”

”It can be,” Yao-ge allowed. 

”See, that’s the difference between you and me,” Qin Su said, pointing a finger at him. ”You know and understand the dynamics and revel in them. I know about them, understand even less, and have absolutely no wish to play by their rules.” She shuddered. ”I’d rather not have anything like that to confuse my mind.”

Yao-ge inclined his head. ”It truly sounds like you are what you want to be,” he said. ”The who you are is just decoration. However, I would appreciate it if you kept in touch. Not with me, if you’re not comfortable but at least let Yanli-jie know where you are.”

She quirked a brow. ”As if you weren’t perfectly capable of finding where I am, no matter how hard I tried to keep it a secret,” she said wryly.

Yao-ge took a sip of tea and somehow managed to look very prim. ”You are family. It wouldn’t be polite.”

She chuckled softly and shook her head.

”Thank you, Brother,” she said.

Yao-ge reached out to touch her shoulder just once, a gentle, careful brush of his fingers. ”You are most welcome, Sister,” he replied.

On a fresh, crisp spring morning, when the sun had barely started to warm up the ground, a maiden walked out of the Cloud Recesses gates. She wore practical yet well-made robes, a humble headpiece, and a powerful protective amulet disguised as a simple necklace. She made her way down the bright white steps in steady, calm steps as she was in no hurry. Behind her, loomed the mountain of the Cloud Recesses, and before her, stretched the whole world, open for her to explore at her own will and at her own pace.

Qin Shiluo took a breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward a new life.