Sect Leader Jiang's 31 step program to happiness

Four years after the events of the Guanying Temple, Yunmeng Jiang hosts its first cultivation conference post-Wei Wuxian’s return. It’s not the first cultivation conference since the war—it’s been way too long for that—but it’s the first one in this weird new world Jiang Cheng finds himself living in. 

After the shitshow and death and horror and terror and one traumatized nephew, Jiang Cheng watched as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji fucked off into the sunset and apparently got married. Somehow, Lan Wangji ended up saddled with the title of Xiandu, a post he handled with diligence and utter loathing. The cultivation world was still reeling from the collapse of Lanling Jin, and while sorting that mess out, Jiang Cheng didn’t have much brain space to keep an eye on what happened outside his territory.

(Madness. Utter madness happened because, apparently, two years ago, Lan Wangji flatly informed the sects that he would step down as Xiandu and that he didn’t really care what the sects did with the information. The sects selected Nie Huaisang as the new Xiandu. What the fuck.)

But now there is peace on earth, the four major and countless minor sects are stable, no one has married their sibling and produced an incestuous heir, no nefarious plans for cultivation world dominance are brewing (Sect Leader Yao doesn’t count), and there’s even talk about the Lan lectures starting again. A perfect time to host a cultivation conference because Jiang Cheng is an idiot.

He checks himself in the bronze mirror, frowns at the barely there crease in the lapel of his brand new robes, and adjusts his guan. He knows he looks good—the dye of his new robes is impeccable and in his guan, the amethysts sparkle like Zidian. His appearance is a living proof of the mastery of Yunmeng artisans, and he’s proud to wear the best they can produce.

”Stop preening and get going,” Yu Qiaolian says from the door.

Jiang Cheng glances at his first disciple via the mirror. Qiaolian is his third cousin from Meishan, a sharp, angular, no-nonsense woman who reminds him of his mother’s maids. She’s extremely capable and takes none of his shit, a necessary trait for his right hand. She’s not Wei Wuxian, but…no one is Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng is okay with it. (Mostly.)

”Is that a way to talk to your sect leader?” he asks, raising a brow.

”Yes,” Qiaolian says flatly. ”And you like it.”

He snorts and gives himself one last look before he whirls around, picks up Sandu, and heads toward the Sword Hall.

No matter how many times he sits through these ridiculous gatherings, he always ends up annoyed. He has no interest in small talk, no use for flattery, and he mostly dislikes the other sect leaders. Obviously, Jin Ling is an exception, and he can’t say he dislikes Nie Huaisang. Lan Xichen, freshly out of seclusion and terribly thin and frail for all his bland smiles, only invokes pity in him. (Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji aren’t in attendance. He tells himself he doesn’t care.)

When Sect Leader Yao stands up and draws breath to launch into another pontification, he’s ready to gouge his brains out through his ear with a chopstick. Before he has the chance, a series of loud, extremely fake coughs drowns out Yao Yongzheng’s voice. He falters and looks around, but as he can’t seem to locate the culprit, he shrugs and draws breath to start again.

And again, someone coughs loudly enough to interrupt him. The sound echoes around the Sword Hall, seemingly coming from everywhere at once, conveniently masking the person making the noise.

It happens twice more, and by then, Yao Yongzheng’s face is bright red, and the crowd is barely holding back laughter.

Jiang Cheng raises a brow and scans the assembled cultivators, and almost by accident, his eyes stop at a group of Lan cultivators. There’s a couple he recognizes—A-Ling’s friends—but most of them are young cultivators he’s never seen before. One A-Ling’s friend ducks his head slightly and the coughing starts again, and if Jiang Cheng wasn’t looking, he wouldn’t have noticed how the only thing betrying the perpetrator is the way his hair moves in the rhythm of the noise. (Well, that and the exasperated look Lan Sizhui shoots at him.)

A rebellious Lan? 

Huh.

Jiang Cheng feels like he’s met this young man before…

”Well, that was interesting,” Qiaolian says as she accompanies Jiang Cheng back to his office after he yelled that the conference would rest a whole fucking shichen, or else.

Jiang Cheng snorts. ”Interesting is how the old coots find something to posture over like aging cocks preening to chicks who couldn’t care less,” he says sourly.

”Not what I meant, but thanks for that image,” Qiaolian says. ”I meant our anonymous benefactor.”

”The Lan boy?” Jiang Cheng asks. ”He’s one of A-Ling’s friends.”

Qiaolian raises a brow, amused. ”Boy?” she echoes. ”He’s older than you were when I arrived in time to save your ass.”

”My ass doesn’t need saving, and they’re all boys in my eyes.”

She doesn’t dignify him with an answer. ”Jingyi,” she says, snapping her fingers as if she just remembered his name—prompting a yelp from behind the door.

In a blur, Qiaolian darts out of the door to grab whoever was loitering on the other side. Jiang Cheng barely has Sandu in hand before she’s already back, holding a white-robed cultivator by the scruff.

”You,” Jiang Cheng says, narrowing his eyes at the very person he and Qiaolian had been talking about.

”Um, hi?” Lan Jingyi says, offering a small wave. ”Fancy seeing you here, Sect Leader Jiang.”

”Truly,” he says flatly. ”A wonder indeed, considering this is my office.” He tilts his head and raises a brow. ”Don’t you Lan have a rule about eavesdropping?”

”Oh, yeah, it’s a terrible habit. I should quit,” Lan Jingyi says cheerfully. ”On the other hand, we’re not in the Cloud Recesses at the moment.”

”Why did you do it?” Qiaolian asks.

”Because I wanted to know if you realized it was me,” Lan Jingyi says, as if it makes any sense. When neither of them reacts, he glances between them, blinks, and then says, ”Oh, right. You’re talking about the coughing?”

”Obviously,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath.

Lan Jingyi shrugs as well as he’s able while hanging from Qiaolian’s hold like an unruly kitten. ”Sect Leader Yao is old as balls and should step down because no one really wants to deal with him anyway. The problem is, he has no kids of his own and has so far refused to name an heir, pretending to reach immortality by sheer force of his over-inflated ego. Anyway, that’s why he keeps being the loudest voice in the room.”

”And you provoked him because…?” Jiang Cheng says.

Lan Jingyi’s grin is sharp like a knife. ”Because I wanted to.”

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng snorts. ”You’ve spent too much time with Wei Wuxian.”

”What can I say? He’s a good teacher,” Lan Jingyi says. There’s a challenge in his eyes but Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what kind and honestly, he doesn’t give a fuck. (Really, he doesn’t.) 

”So, now that you know we know it was you, what are you going to do about it?” Qiaolian asks. She’s still holding Lan Jingyi from his scruff and showing no sign of a strain. Jiang Cheng has never quite come around to ask about the Meishan Yu training regimen, and he’s not about to start now.

”You know, I didn’t think about it that far,” Lan Jingyi admits, showing no sign of any other emotion than good cheer and self-satisfaction. 

Qiaolian huffs and drops him, pointedly turns him toward the door, and gives him a light shove. ”In that case, you can go.”

Lan Jingyi turns around to give Jiang Cheng a perfect bow, and then something he sees in Qiaolian’s face makes him hurry out with a small meep.

Jiang Cheng raises a brow when Qiaolian turns to face him again. 

”What?” she asks. ”If he didn’t want to get caught, he should’ve been sneakier. Besides, you like him,” she adds.

”Whether I like him or not is irrelevant,” he says. 

He contemplates a bottle of especially strong wine an elderly merchant had imported from Tanzhou and decides that, if he’s going to make it through the day, he might as well take a drink. He ignores Qiaolian’s knowing look and downs two cups of the bright orange drink, savoring the way it burns on the way down.

The conference drags on like a decapitated fierce corpse with mangled extremities. As he tunes out the assembled cultivators, Jiang Cheng keeps asking himself why he volunteered to host in the first place. It’s not like the sects don’t have any other place to gather—it’s not even said that the host should be one of the Big Four. Nowadays, many minor sects are rich enough to host a gathering, so it’s not even about the finances.

…perhaps he was feeling lonely and it induced a minor mental break? Must be.

However, it’s not like the event has been a complete disaster: there’s a need for talisman regulation, exchanging information, updating the bestiaries (there’s something very weird going on in the ruins of Qishan, and the resulting monsters have been a headache for all sects), and so on. Jiang Cheng might dislike gatherings like this but he understands the necessity.

On the fourth day, there’s a small presentation for the junior cultivators in attendance, and he grits his jaw so hard it cracks to keep from smiling like a maniac when the Jiang juniors emerge victorious. The Lan are a good second, and he can see Wei Wuxian’s influence in the way they deal with water-based yao. After the activities, the Lan juniors gather around Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, giving their reports and listening to feedback with serious frowns on their faces.

Jiang Cheng watches them from the corner of his eye and doesn’t yelp when Qiaolian suddenly says from behind him, ”He’s good with kids.”

”For fuck’s sake,” he hisses.

”Just saying,” she says, unrepentant, and then leaves him to his annoyance.

The last night’s feast is properly grand—not in the way of the Jin of old and nowhere near as sophisticated as the feasts in Gusu, which in Jiang Cheng’s mind is a raging compliment. (Unlike the Lan, they have wine! And food with actual flavor!) There are more speeches and some more posturing, but it’s tolerable because he knows they’re almost done and he’ll soon have his peace (of mind) again.

He strolls the Sword Hall and exchanges some inane pleasantries with other sect dignitaries before stepping outside to the main yard. The festivities have spread across Lotus Pier’s public areas, and he pointedly ignores the low murmur of voices, occasional giggling, and other sounds he might or might not hear from the shadows. 

He stops to lean on a pillar, gazing at the lake, studiously not thinking about the people who aren’t here, and hopes the steps he hears from behind him move along without stopping.

No such hope.

”Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Jingyi says from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder. ”Lan Jingyi,” he greets with a small nod.

Without invitation, Lan Jingyi steps next to him, quiet for a change, something Jiang Cheng figures is a rare occurrence. He takes a quick look around but doesn’t see Lan Sizhui.

”Congratulations on a successful cultivation conference,” Lan Jingyi says. ”I bet you’re happy everyone leaves tomorrow.”

”Isn’t gambling forbidden?”

Lan Jingyi’s teeth flash with his grin. ”Again, we’re not in the Cloud Recesses now, Sect Leader Jiang,” he says. 

He has a cup in his hand, filled with clear liquid. Jiang Cheng side-eyes it. ”Is that tea or wine?” he asks.

”Wine,” Lan Jingyi says. ”We’re not—”

”—in the Cloud Recesses now, yes, yes, I heard you,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. ”Have you even drunk wine before?”

”I have!” Lan Jingyi retorts and, almost as a demonstration, throws back the wine in one go.

Jiang Cheng snorts, but his amusement turns into bewilderment when Lan Jingyi blinks twice and then drops like a sack of rice.

”Fuck!” Jiang Cheng yelps and scrambles to catch the Lan before he cracks his head on the pier and causes an inter-sect conflict. Lan Jingyi is heavy and solid in his arms, bulkier than his robes indicate, and he smells like cherry blossoms.

Why the fuck is he thinking about cherry blossoms?

He lowers Lan Jingyi gently on the ground and checks he’s breathing, which, yes, he is. So what the hell is—

Wait.

He remembers this.

Didn’t Wei Wuxian talk about Lan Wangji passing out immediately after downing one cup of wine?

Is this a Lan thing?

Why are they like this?

With a heavy sigh, he sits down next to Lan Jingyi and leans his back against the pillar. He probably should just haul Lan Jingyi to the guest quarters and make them deal with him but he doesn’t quite feel like it yet.

He’ll do it in a moment.

”Are you just going to sprawl there like a corpse until the morning?” he says.

Which is, of course, when Lan Jingyi opens his eyes, sits up, and turns to look at him.

”Sect Leader Jiang!” he says and gives him a bright, sunny smile.

Jiang Cheng squints. ”So, are you actually awake now?” he asks. 

Lan Jingyi leans forward, leans his elbows on his knees, and rests his chin on his hands. ”Mmm…yes?” he says. His face is open and fond, and Jiang Cheng has no fucking clue why the kid is staring at him like that.

”Are you going to remember this tomorrow?”

”I fucking hope so,” Lan Jingyi says with a smile. ”It would be a shame to forget all about the one time I finally get to sit alone with you.”

”What?” Jiang Cheng sputters.

”I mean, you are—” Lan Jingyi makes a sweeping motion with his hand, almost toppling over in the process. ”And I’m just me.”

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. ”I am over forty and you are barely twelve,” he says.

”Twenty-two, actually,” Lan Jingyi says cheerfully. ”But age is just a number, you know. Hanguang-jun is the same age as you, and Senior Wei…” he frowns. ”Actually, how old is he?”

Xianxian is three, a voice from the past tickles in the back of Jiang Cheng’s mind. He ignores it in favor of, ”If you think using Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian as an example of anything but shamelessness is a good idea, I’d suggest otherwise.”

Lan Jingyi purses his lips and cocks his head. ”Yeah, but see, you’re all—” he makes a weird clawing motion with his hand and growls (what the fuck?), ”—but in reality you’re just a man.” Somehow, he’s shuffling forward until he’s close enough to poke Jiang Cheng’s cheek. ”Obviously, a devastatingly attractive man, but a man and not some…um…psshhh…monster.”

”What,” Jiang Cheng says, because, honestly, what the fuck?

Lan Jingyi tilts his head to the side but unbalances himself and ends up sprawling on Jiang Cheng’s lap. As if the evening wasn’t absurd and a bit too much already, he now has an inebriated, unhinged Lan on his lap, talking nonsense while smiling like Jiang Cheng is the best thing he’s seen in a while. 

”I really like you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Jingyi mumbles. He reaches out a haphazard hand and ends up patting Jiang Cheng’s face sloppily a couple of times.

”You don’t even know me,” he says, a little helplessly.

Lan Jingyi shrugs, a move that looks like he’s squirming in place. ”I know enough,” he says.

Then he closes his eyes and promptly goes to sleep.

”What,” Jiang Cheng says again, feeling out of his depth.

It’s not that he hasn’t met people who had had a crush on him, because he has. Usually, they’ve been junior disciples with a serious case of hero worship, or young villagers who see him sweeping in and saving them from monsters or resentful energy or mudslides or whatnot. He knows that his status comes with appeal; he’s young, Sect Leader to a wealthy major cultivation sect, and he has no spouse or concubine or a child of his own blood. Even though he’s been banned by matchmakers within several days of flying distance, he knows that if he actually wanted to, he could easily find a spouse.

He just…hasn’t felt the need.

Also, what the fuck, Lan Jingyi? He glances to his lap at the young Lan, who looks even younger passed out, a small smile playing on his lips. Jiang Cheng brushes a strand of hair from his face, carefully avoiding the forehead ribbon, and heaves a sigh.

Hopefully, Lan Jingyi won’t remember this tomorrow. As flattering as admiration from a young, talented cultivator might be, there’s no point in entertaining the idea even as a joke. He should focus his attention on someone who’s younger and not as prickly and bitter as Jiang Cheng.

A soft sound alerts him to Qiaolian’s presence. Luckily, she doesn’t comment on Jiang Cheng’s lap situation but merely raises a brow and says, ”I’ll take him back to the guest quarters.”

”Thank you,” he grunts, hoping she’ll meet no one on the way.

He doesn’t look as she hauls Lan Jingyi off. Instead, he crosses his arms on his chest, leans on the pillar, and scowls.

The next morning sees more or less hungover cultivators leaving Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng sees them off as the competent (reluctant) host he is, nodding his head and offering platitudes to people whose backs he can’t wait to see growing distant on the horizon. 

The Lan contingent bows in unison.

”Thank you for your hospitality,” Lan Xichen says. He looks a bit tight around the eyes, which means he’s probably relieved to retreat back to seclusion.

”My pleasure,” Jiang Cheng says, and this time it isn’t even that big of a lie. ”It was good seeing you, Lan Xichen.”

He makes the mistake of glancing behind Lan Xichen, where Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi stand, just in time to catch the wink from the latter.

He ignores it.

Lotus Pier is blessedly quiet after the conference. Jiang Cheng barks his disciples into attention and makes them run laps, clean up the piers, refresh the wards with slight alterations (it’s not paranoia if there’s a reason), and slides back into his routine like putting on a well-worn robe. Everything is back to normal. It’s good.

And yet.

A couple of weeks later, he finds himself in the familiar pier, leaning on the pillar, and staring at the lake with his arms crossed on his chest. He isn’t moping, but he’s thinking. Or wondering, more like.

What’s wrong, A-Cheng? A-jie’s soft question seems to drift in the gentle wind carrying the scent of rain and lotuses. He tries to brush it off, but it doesn’t quite work when the voice is in his head instead of coming from an actual person whom he can try to distract.

He’s wondering why. What on earth made a kid two decades his junior claim he likes him? Sure, Lan Jingyi is the loudest and most irreverent Lan he’s ever met, but he’s sharp and loyal and, from what he’s seen and heard from A-Ling, one hell of a cultivator for his age. When he thinks back on the brief interactions he’s had with Lan Jingyi, he also remembers the way he didn’t hesitate to call other (older) cultivators out on their bullshit.

He’s a very Jiang-like Lan.

Jiang Cheng still doesn’t understand.

Back when he and Wei Wuxian were kids, they sometimes hauled a blanket over a table and pretended it was some mythical beast’s lair. Even at the tender age of 9, they barely fit under the table, but it didn’t hinder their imagination. The lair was small and cramped, sure, but not all mythical beasts were big, right? Some of them could be small and hide in small, cramped spaces.

Mother put a stop to their adventures when she found out, snapping that if they thought their blankets better served as tablecloths, they could sleep without. They didn’t build lairs over tables after that but hauled the blankets over their heads instead, and pretended they were in narrow tunnels leading to treasures and hidden valleys.

He’s grown out of adventures and playacting by now, but every time he draws a blanket over his head, a small part of him turns into that little boy from decades ago, wondering where this dark, cramped tunnel would lead.

If nothing else, it offers him an escape from thinking about Lan Jingyi.

Which he isn’t.

Thinking about, that is.

Nope.

When he hears Qiaolian enter his office, he doesn’t turn away from the window. He leans on the widowsill with the unopened letter in his hand, feeling heavier than it should.

”Wanyin,” Qiaolian says. When he doesn’t reply, she lets out the kind of sigh he knows would be an eyeroll if he were looking at her. ”What do you want to do?”

It’s been two months since the cultivation conference, and he’s been able to push Lan Jingyi out of his mind, not that he occupied a lot of his mind in the first place (perhaps a small lie). Now, there’s a letter sealed with an official Lan seal but with an informal address written in handwriting he doesn’t recognize as either Lan Xichen’s or Lan Qiren’s. (Lan Wangji isn’t even an option. He hasn’t graced Jiang Cheng with a missive since he stopped being Xiandu.)

”Do I need to do something?” He knows he sounds petulant, but if there’s one person he can be petulant with, it’s Qiaolian.

”Of course not,” she says easily. ”You can check the letter for any actually important information and then ignore it. But I asked what you want to do, not what would be the easiest thing to do.”

He gives her an unimpressed look over his shoulder and, yep, there’s the eyeroll. 

”It’s stupid,” he says.

She shrugs. ”People are, in general, pretty stupid,” she says, and grins at his exasperated look.

”I just…” he starts, then lets out a frustrated huff. ”I just don’t understand. Why me?”

”Why not?” she shoots back.

”I’m old enough to be his father.”

”Maybe he likes older men.”

”Yeah, that. I’m a man.”

”I think I can confidently say that Yunmeng Jiang has produced at least one cutsleeve cultivator before,” she deadpans.

”I’m difficult and annoying.”

”Yes, and yet people seem to find you tolerable.”

He rubs a hand over his face in frustration. ”It doesn’t make any sense,” he grumbles.

Qiaolian heaves a put-upon sigh, sits at the low table, and gives him a pointed look to sit the fuck down. He does, and she starts to prepare tea.

”Have you considered,” she says while measuring leaves into the pot, ”That he might want a challenge? Or a change of scenery? Or, I don’t know, maybe he has a thing for spiritual whips or something.” He pours water into the pot, sets the lid in place, and leans forward.

”And have you considered that against all odds, against everything you think you know, against everything you believe, that you actually deserve to do things that you want? Not just things that need to be done for the good of the sect, but things that are good for you?”

Jiang Cheng scowls and turns his gaze to the side.

”I know about the ridiculous requirement list you wrote when you were a teenager. Did you really think that no one would realize you were just describing your sister?” She snorts, amused. ”You don’t need a spouse like your sister; you need someone who would push back and hold you accountable.”

She stirs the pot and pours tea for them both. It’s dark and strong with a barest hint of pepper in the aftertaste. Her favorite, not his.

”If nothing else, wouldn’t it be nice to have a companion to lead the sect? The privacy of your bedchamber or the number of bedchambers aside, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone by your side? And before you say you have me—it’s not the same, and you know it.”

He closes his mouth with a snap and gives her an unimpressed look.

She shrugs, unrepentant. ”Just saying. You should think about it.” She takes a delicate sip of her tea. ”And perhaps you should read the letter.”

(He reads the letter later that day. It’s over three pages long and makes him smirk several times.

He writes a short, terse reply, and absolutely doesn’t bite his nails while waiting for the reply.

When it comes, four days later, it’s six pages long and it makes him laugh.)

”Are you sick?” 

Jin Ling’s suspicious voice would’ve made Jiang Cheng startle if he hadn’t already heard the ruckus he and Fairy made after they landed.

”No,” he says without turning around, and keeps chopping lotus roots.

Jin Ling stomps next to him and pokes at the peeled lotus roots waiting next to the chopping board. ”You’re making The Soup,” he says, sounding accusing. ”I didn’t tell you I’d be stopping by today.”

”Remove your fingers before I remove them for you,” Jiang Cheng says calmly. ”And I can make soup whenever I like, A-Ling.”

Jin Ling grabs his shoulders and turns Jiang Cheng to face him. He presses a hand on his forehead and peers into his eyes. It’s rather endearing, but also annoying. 

”If you’re not sick and you’re not cooking for me—” he pauses and an uncertain look flickers across his face. ”I didn’t forget some important date, did I?”

Jiang Cheng sighs, puts his knife down, and turns to fully face his nephew. ”I’m not sick, and it’s not an anniversary of any kind. I just…” he shrugs. ”Felt like cooking.”

”You,” Jin Ling says slowly. ”Felt like cooking.”

”Yes,” Jiang Cheng says, turning back to his chopping board.

”Huh.”

He tries to concentrate on chopping and stirring the pot, but finds it surprisingly hard with Jin Ling’s narrowed eyes watching his every move.

”Jiujiu, are you moping?”

He turns to give Jin Ling an incredulous look. ”Excuse me?”

”Because if you’re not sick and you’re not cooking for me, then…do you have someone? A woman?”

”No,” he says curtly.

A moment of silence, then a hesitant, ”…a man?”

”A-Ling,” he says through his teeth.

”Which is totally fine!” Jin Ling hurries to add. ”I don’t give a fuck if it’s a woman or a man as long as you’re happy.”

For a moment, Jiang Cheng considers leaving the kitchen. He doesn’t, though, because that would mean abandoning the soup, and that’s not a thing he’s ready to do. So, he lets out a long breath and finishes his chopping, then concentrates on the slowly simmering broth.

”I mean it,” Jin Ling says quietly some while later. 

Jiang Cheng glances at him from the corner of his eye, takes in the slight frown and the determined set of his jaw. It makes him look like his father, but when he looks up and meets Jiang Cheng’s gaze, the look in his eyes is pure a-jie. 

”I’m not saying you have to have someone. But…just that you deserve to be happy. That’s all.”

Jiang Cheng snorts to cover up the tight feeling in his throat. ”Brat,” he says brusquely. ”I don’t need your permission to do anything with my life.”

”I know,” Jin Ling says, serious. ”But you have it anyway.”

After they’ve eaten, Jin Ling leans his elbows on the table and leans forward. ”So, who is it?”

”Who is what?”

Ah, the eyeroll is definitely from Jiang Cheng. ”You never denied it when I asked if it was a man. So, who is it?”

He sighs. ”Can’t you just let it be? It doesn’t matter anyway.”

”What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” Jin Ling says and frowns. ”He isn’t already married, is he?”

”Not that I know of,” Jiang Cheng says and immediately wonders why he even said as much. ”He’s young.”

Jin Ling narrows his eyes. ”Young as in…?” he hedges. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply, he says, ”Is he, like, fifteen?”

”No!” Jiang Cheng exclaims. 

”Good! Not that I thought so—”

”Then why the fuck would you even say something like that?”

”I wanted a reaction!” Jin Ling snaps back. ”Because if he’s older than I am, then he isn’t too young.” He pauses, raising an expectant brow. ”Well? Is he older than I am?”

”Yes,” Jiang Cheng says through his teeth.

”Do I know him?”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and grits his jaw and hears Jin Ling let out a breath.

”Okay. So, I know him.” He pauses for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. ”Wait—it’s not—Sizhui?”

”Absolutely fucking no,” Jiang Cheng snarls.

Jin Ling nods several times, making the beads in his hair jingle. ”Oh, good,” he says, sounding relieved. ”That would’ve been weird, considering he’s sort of da-jiu’s son. Just think about it--having him and Hanguang-jun as your in-laws?” He makes a face.

”You can stop talking any time now, thank you,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

Jin Ling ignores him, tilting his head a bit as he thinks. ”If it’s not Sizhui and I know him, that leaves Zizhen and Jingyi, right?”

Jiang Cheng wishes he had wine.

Sometimes Jiang Cheng wishes Jin Ling were a little less his because the kid is stubborn as fuck and chases a lead with single-minded determination. He would be proud if he wasn’t annoyed.

”Yeah, no, it can’t be Zizhen,” Jin Ling says slowly, watching Jiang Cheng’s face like a hawk. ”He’s a sect heir and way too romantic for you.” (Jiang Cheng isn’t sure whether to be amused or offended.) ”Which means it has to be Jingyi.”

”It does?” Jiang Cheng asks, raising a brow.

Oh, wow. That look is uncannily similar to Lan Wangji’s bitchiest expressions, and Jiang Cheng despairs thinking about the amount of time Jin Ling has had to spend in his close proximity to imitate it.

”Look, jiujiu,” Jin Ling says earnestly as he leans forward to look Jiang Cheng better in the eyes. ”Is it weird? Fuck yes. It’s weird and kind of creepy because you’re my uncle, and Jingyi is my friend? Abso-fucking-lutely it is. Do I care?” He pauses and tilts his head slightly. ”No, not really. He’s an adult and can make his own decisions, and as you just reminded me, it’s not like I have any say in your life decisions anyway.”

Right now, Jiang Cheng is regretting many of them.

”What makes you so sure it’s him anyway?” he asks. ”I never said it was him.”

Jin Ling gives him a slightly pitying look. ”You didn’t deny it, either,” he points out. ”Also, your face did a thing.”

”What thing?”

”A thing,” Jin Ling repeats but slower, as if it would help Jiang Cheng understand it better. It doesn’t.

”A-Ling,” he starts and then stops, not knowing how to continue.

”Also, I’ve known about his stupid crush for years,” Jin Ling says and shrugs.

”You’ve WHAT?” 

Jin Ling rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt. ”Jingyi has never been quiet, whether it’s his likes or dislikes. His hero-worship switched from da-jiu to you a couple of years ago, and when I got tired of listening to him compose poetry about the noble line of your nose or some shit like that, I told him he should just propose to you and be done with it.” He makes a face. ”He told me, and I quote, ’Sect Leader Jiang is worth more than just a cheap tumble.’ I shoved him into a ditch.”

Jiang Cheng blinks.

”So, yeah. It’s been going on for a while.” 

Jin Ling stands up and gathers their bowls, then walks to the washing station to clean up. A moment later, Jiang Cheng follows to pour the rest of the soup into a smaller tureen, places a stasis talisman on the lid, and brings the pot to wash.

”Point is…” Jin Ling says when he’s rinsing the bowls, ”I don’t like that you’re alone here. Yeah, yeah,” he barrels over Jiang Cheng’s protestations, ”I know Qiaolian-jie is here, but it’s not the same. I worry about you sometimes, jiujiu.”

Bemused, Jiang Cheng says, ”I feel like we’re doing this backwards—shouldn’t I be the one to worry about you?”

Jin Ling huffs and nudges him with his shoulder. ”You’ve worried about me for all my life. Let me worry about you for a change.” He turns and pokes Jiang Cheng in the chest. ”Just make sure you treat Jingyi and yourself right.”

”And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Jin Ling raises an unimpressed brow. ”None of the, ’I’m a big and important sect leader, I don’t need anyone, grr grr, go away,’ bullshit, you hear me?”

”Mind your language, or I’ll break your legs!” Jiang Cheng snaps.

”I’ll speak the way I fucking want, I’m a sect leader!” Jin Ling says, patting himself on the chest for good measure.

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng snorts. ”Brat,” he says fondly.

”I come with gifts!” comes a yell that immediately induces a pounding headache. Jiang Cheng takes a breath and grits his teeth, finishes his letter to Sect Leader Li, and sets his brush to the side before he snaps it.

A moment later, Wei Wuxian walks in with a grin, holding two clay pots like a prize.

”You,” Jiang Cheng says.

”Me!” Wei Wuxian says and shoves the pots at him. ”Here!”

He takes them and holds them at arm’s length. ”What’s in them? Wine? Poison? Bones?”

Wei Wuxian pauses and blinks. ”Why would there be bones? Has someone gifted you bones in a clay pot before?” He frowns and shakes his head. ”People are weird. Anyway, it’s neither wine nor poison, it’s chili paste!”

He sits on the edge of Jiang Cheng’s desk even though there’s a perfectly good chair right next to him. ”I found a new seller when Lan Zhan and I were coming back from Qishan. Very strange, very potent, I couldn’t feel my tongue for two days!” He lets out a dreamy sigh.

Jiang Cheng sets the clay pots gingerly to the side. He might need to burn them later. ”How was Qishan?” he asks, ignoring the way Wei Wuxian’s fingers dance along the edge of the table.

”Weird,” is the answer. ”There’s something very fucked up going on—I don’t know if it’s the volcano or whatever seeped into the ground during Wen Ruohan’s experiments or something else entirely. Wen Ning couldn’t get a sense of it either, and Lan Zhan only managed to stir some hapless ghosts who had long forgotten if they were even human.” He looks slightly lost for a moment before plastering a grin back on his face. ”But I have ideas for arrays that might help to figure out where to start. You see—”

”Start what?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. ”To untangle the unholy mess that the Wen left behind, of course. Or, well, the Wen, me, us, the war, everything. I don’t think anyone wants it to turn into another Burial Mounds.”

Jiang Cheng shivers. ”True.”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head and gives him a scrutinizing look. ”So, what’s up with you? Everything alright?”

”Nothing’s up with me!” he snaps. ”I’m fine.”

With a raised brow, Wei Wuxian leans back slightly and raises his hands in a placating move. ”Alright,” he says slowly. ”I was just asking. It’s been a while.”

”And why is that?” Jiang Cheng says, before he can stop himself. ”I’ve been here; you’re the one who’s been gallivanting around with Hanguang-jun. Where is he, anyway? I thought he wouldn’t want to let you out of his sight.”

”Lan Zhan is booking a room at an inn,” Wei Wuxian says. ”I wasn’t sure you’d want—”

”Want what?” Jiang Cheng says quietly, leaning forward. ”Want to host the great Hanguang-jun and Yiling Patriarch under my roof? Want everyone to know you’re here? Or do you mean that I wouldn’t want to be associated with you, huh?”

”Jiang Cheng—” Wei Wuxian says, a little helplessly.

”Your room is where it’s been the whole time,” Jiang Cheng grits through his teeth. ”Until you clearly say you don’t want to stay here, you’ll fucking stay here when you’re in Yunmeng, is that clear?” He narrows his eyes and sneers. ”And I mean you, specifically. I don’t give a fuck about what your precious Hanguang-jun thinks about.” Which is true. He doesn’t.

”Okay. Alright. Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, his eyes a bit bright and a hesitant smile on his lips. ”We’ll stay here.”

”Good,” he says. ”Now, fuck off, I have work to do.”

He doesn’t look up when Wei Wuxian leaves his office, but he closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a long breath.

Then he side-eyes the clay pots.

A short moment later, he reaches out to grab one and carefully pries off the lid to take a sniff. The spice hits him in the face like the Xuanwu (with less rot and a lot more what he imagines is tormented souls screaming in pain), and his eyes start to water.

”For fuck’s sake,” he wheezes and scrambles to close the lid, slapping on a sealing talisman for extra caution.

Wei Wuxian is the worst.

(He still makes sure to check his room, just to make sure it’s aired and properly cleaned. Before he leaves, he pins a note on the wall:

”Use a fucking privacy talisman, or I’ll break your legs!”)

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s visit goes surprisingly smoothly, mostly because they stay out of Jiang Cheng’s way (and remember to use privacy talismans). Whenever he comes across Lan Wangji, they share brief nods, and then Lan Wangji’s eyes slide away from Jiang Cheng. He’s more than fine with it.

Wei Wuxian is a nuisance, but what else is new? He pesters the cooks, interferes with the juniors’ classes, annoys Jiang Cheng, and acts all dramatic as is his wont. It makes something ease in Jiang Cheng’s chest—not that he’d ever admit it to Wei Wuxian. 

(On the third day, Jiang Cheng grabs him by his scruff and drags him to the Ancestral Hall. ”I can’t believe I have to drag you in here because apparently, you haven’t paid your respects yet,” he says. ”Now kneel the fuck down, greet Mother and Father, and make sure you tell a-jie everything you’ve been up to lately.” He storms out but stalls long enough to hear rustling and Wei Wuxian’s soft and earnest voice saying, ”Jiang-shushu, Madam Yu, this unworthy one greets you and hopes you are well. Your son Jiang Cheng is a formidable sect leader, and you can be so proud of him—” 

Ears burning, Jiang Cheng hurries off.)

The chili paste Wei Wuxian brought with him is infernal. Jiang Cheng carefully dips the very tip of his chopstick in and brushes it on his tongue, and the resulting burn would make him yell at Wei Wuxian except that he can’t feel his tongue, and he can’t see because his eyes are streaming tears. 

Wei Wuxian eats a whole portion seasoned dark red with the stuff. He’s clearly insane.

”Why did Jingyi send you a letter?” Wei Wuxian asks one day as he walks into Jiang Cheng’s office (uninvited, again). He’s holding Jiang Cheng’s correspondence, and he’s going to have words with the disciple who handed them over instead of bringing them to Jiang Cheng as they should have.

Jiang Cheng says nothing, only holds out his hand.

”Is he asking advice? Why is he asking you?”

”I wouldn’t know, I haven’t read it yet,” Jiang Cheng says, snatching the letters from Wei Wuxian’s hand. He knows better than shoo him out or turn around to read in private, because Wei Wuxian is (very much like A-Ling) incredibly stubborn when he senses a secret. So, he sits down and reads several inane letters first (Sect Leaders Yao and Li again, he notes with an edge of despair. Or perhaps it’s murderous intent. Or indigestion. Hard to say.) and writes down some notes before picking up Lan Jingyi’s letter, extremely aware of Wei Wuxian’s curious eyes on him.

He knows better than to show anything on his face.

Sadly, Lan Jingyi has the effect of ruining his mask.

”That was a smile!” Wei Wuxian exclaims. ”You smiled! At Jingyi’s letter!”

Jiang Cheng ignores him and reads through the letter (and is very proud when he manages to keep from snorting), and then opens the cabinet where he stores his important correspondence, and places the letter into the slot in the back of the cabinet, next to Lan Jingyi’s other letters. He closes the door and locks it, slipping the key into his sleeve.

Wei Wuxian is staring at him. ”You—” he starts and then snaps his mouth closed, giving Jiang Cheng a searching look.

”Stop it,” Jiang Cheng snaps.

A slow smile spreads on Wei Wuxian’s lips, making Jiang Cheng instantly wary.

”What,” he says through his teeth.

To his surprise, Wei Wuxian shakes his head, and the smile stays small, almost fond. ”Nothing,” he says. 

”What do you mean, ’nothing’?” Jiang Cheng says, suspicious.

”Whatever it is that makes you smile, I’m glad,” Wei Wuxian says softly. 

He sounds sincere. It makes Jiang Cheng’s skin crawl. ”Fuck off,” he grumbles. ”Don’t you have a husband to annoy?”

Wei Wuxian winks. Winks. ”Sure. I’ll leave you to your letters, shidi.”

”Who’s your shidi?!” Jiang Cheng barks, but he’s already out the door, whistling as he goes.

Jiang Cheng is waiting at the gates when the juniors land, hands behind his back and a flat look on his face. In reality, there’s no need for him to be at the gates—the juniors are all senior disciples now, adults and accomplished cultivators in their own right. But after looking after A-Ling for most of his life, it’s hard to set the protective feelings aside.

”Jiujiu!” Jin Ling greets him with a sloppy bow. ”Is something wrong?”

He raises a brow. ”Just because I’m greeting you at the gates doesn’t mean there’s something wrong. Unless you mean that you’re bringing trouble with you.”

Jin Ling rolls his eyes but before he can retort anything, Lan Sizhui bows and greets him with all the gentle politeness Jiang Cheng is used to expect from someone whose uncle is Lan Xichen.

”Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Sizhui says. ”There was no trouble with the night hunt, and we are all unharmed.”

”Greetings, Sect Leader Jiang,” Ouyang Zizhen says and bows as well. ”Jin Ling has offered the hospitality of Lotus Pier on your behalf and we’re more than grateful for it.”

”Has he now?” Jiang Cheng asks, glancing at Jin Ling from the corner of his eye.

”We can book a room at the inn if you don’t want us here,” Lan Jingyi adds with a small smirk. 

”And ruin my reputation?” Jiang Cheng snorts, ignoring the smile that tugs at his lips as a response to Lan Jingyi’s expression. ”Enough of this; you all know perfectly well that the gates of Lotus Pier are always open to you. Get in.” He whirls around and starts toward his office. ”A-Ling, Qiaolian wants to test your archery later today,” he throws over his shoulder and grins at the groan it receives.

”Again?” Jin Ling grumbles as he leads his friends towards the rooms that are semi-permanently set aside for them.

Jiang Cheng tries to keep himself from looking back and fails, only to see Lan Jingyi’s smile and a small wave. 

He tells himself the small hiccup in his chest is due to indigestion and has nothing to do with the cheeky young Lan.

The kids spend two days lazing about before Qiaolian hunts them down and makes them show her their skills. She finds them severely lacking, but as she finds everyone, including but not limited to Jiang Cheng himself, lacking, it’s perfectly normal.

The Jiang juniors are having the best day of the year, though, watching her beat them.

Jiang Cheng stands in the shade and watches them and tells himself that he feels completely normal about the way Lan Jingyi handles his sword.  

”We’re heading to the market, and you’re coming with us,” Jin Ling announces from the door.

”I am?” Jiang Cheng says.

Jin Ling stomps in and takes the brush from his hand, sets it on the stand, and stands with his hands on his hips. ”Yes. Come on, we’re late!”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes but relents. It’s a lovely day, he’s already done all his most pressing duties, and frankly, these letters can wait. ”And where are we late from?” 

”The day,” Jin Ling says imperiously, giving him a judging once-over as he walks around the table.

”Am I presentable enough for you?” Jiang Cheng asks, amused. ”Or should I change?”

Jin Ling purses his lips as if giving it serious thought, then shakes his head. ”Nah, you’ll do.”

”What a relief,” Jiang Cheng says dryly. He picks up Sandu and makes sure his money-purse is full, and then follows Jin Ling out. For some reason, his nephew is almost vibrating with nerves, and Jiang Cheng decides not to think about it further to save his own.

The market is bustling with people, the air thick with scents from various food stalls. After the war, it had taken a painfully long time for the Yunmeng people to reach the vibrant, busy life they had but now, it looks like there never was a war that devastated the land and wiped out most of the cultivators. The Jiang Sect has done a lot of work to make the people under their protection feel safe and secure and, well, protected again, but as Jiang Cheng looks around, he feels proud of what they’ve accomplished.

Jin Ling leads his friends around with an imperious air, points out stalls and vendors like they were his, making wistful yearning mix with the pride in Jiang Cheng’s chest. 

Look at him, a-jie, he thinks.

”Oh, wow!” Lan Jingyi exclaims from his left. He glances over to see him stare wide-eyed at a stall that sells frankly ridiculously big tanghulu. The skewers are the length of an average man’s leg and probably so heavy that they need a cultivator (or two mundanes) to carry one.

He’s in no way surprised when Lan Jingyi points at the biggest skewer in sight and buys it.

”Care to share?” Lan Jingyi says, looking at Jiang Cheng with wide, pleading eyes. 

”You do realize there was absolutely no need to buy the biggest tanghulu anyone has ever seen?”

Lan Jingyi tries to look innocent but loses the fight to his grin. ”But then I wouldn’t have the biggest tanghulu anyone has ever seen to share with you!”

Jiang Cheng ignores the way the vendor’s eyes dart from him to Lan Jingyi and back before she blinks and waggles her brows exaggeratedly at Jiang Cheng. He scowls, and it does nothing to deter the auntie.

Perhaps the vendors in Yunmeng feel a bit too secure.

”Thish ish delishioush,” Lan Jingyi says, mouth full and cheeks bulging. ”You should try shome, Shect Leader Jiang.”

”You are ridiculous,” he mutters, but leans in to take a bite. 

”Bhut it’sh good, right?” Lan Jingyi insists.

He rolls his eyes. ”Yes,” he allows after swallowing (because he has some manners). 

Lan Jingyi gives him a wide smile, and he doesn’t stare at the sticky smear on the corner of his lips.

Instead, he clears his throat and inclines his head slightly, indicating they should move along.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Jin Ling hold his friends back and doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes or snort. 

Subtle, his nephew is not.

”Soooo?” Jin Ling asks later that night when Jiang Cheng is done with the day and getting ready for bed. When he doesn’t say anything, Jin Ling huffs and rolls his eyes. ”Did you have fun?”

”Was that your objective today? To make me have fun?” he asks, raising a brow.

”You are allowed, you know that, right?”

Jiang Cheng snorts. ”I know I’m allowed. You also know that I was having fun at Lotus Pier way before you were born, right?”

Jin Ling frowns. ”Yes, but sometimes I feel that you’ve forgotten about how,” he says, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

Jiang Cheng cocks his head and looks at him for a moment. His nephew is an adult now, but it’s so easy to see the uncertain, blustering teenager right under his skin, even though he hasn’t been that in years. Jin Ling has learned his way around his sect, has done a lot of ungrateful work to weed the filth and rot out of the Jin, and as a result, he’s found himself.

Sometimes, Jiang Cheng misses the kid his nephew was.

”A-Ling, what are you doing?” he asks softly.

Jin Ling takes a breath and lets it out slowly. ”I asked if you were having fun today,” he says, just as softly.

”Yes, I was,” Jiang Cheng says after a moment. And it’s true; Lan Jingyi is brash and outspoken and wry, he has a braying laugh and a quick mind, and Jiang Cheng enjoyed his company.

”Good,” Jin Ling says. ”You looked like you were having fun, but I wanted to make sure you admitted it.”

”Why wouldn’t I—” Jiang Cheng starts and then pauses when Jin Ling raises a haughty brow that makes him look a lot like his father. For a moment, they stare at each other without a word before Jiang Cheng asks, somewhat confused, ”A-Ling, are you trying to matchmake me?”

”So what if I was?” Jin Ling says, slightly defensive. ”I don’t think you’re as hopeless as the matchmakers would let everyone believe, and I think Jingyi would be good for you.”

”So, what, should I send a letter to Sect Leader Lan to inform them of my intention to court Lan Jingyi?” he snorts.

”Yes!” Jin Ling exclaims, throwing his arms wide in exasperation. ”Why is this so hard for you to understand?”

”Why the fuck would they say yes?”

Jin Ling lets out a garbled sound of frustration. ”And why the fuck would they say no?” he shoots back. ”You’re a sect leader, jiujiu, and you’re young and not ugly, I guess—(”Thanks,” Jiang Cheng says dryly)—and any sect would be happy to have strengthened ties with the Jiang.” He shakes his head. ”And also, do you really think anyone could make Jingyi do anything he doesn’t want to do?” he asks, and then adds, ”Or that Sizhui wouldn’t support him?”

Which—

Fine. Jin Ling does have a point.

But still.

A courting offer? Really?

The sucky thing about actual, official courting is that when something unexpected happens and one must cancel the previously agreed upon meeting, it leaves one feeling like one let someone down.

Said one being Jiang Cheng, and that someone being Lan Jingyi. 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like the feeling of letting someone like Lan Jingyi down.

After the weird(ly encouraging) talk with Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng took his sweet time really considering the matter. He wrote lists, contemplated the upsides and downsides and side-sides, found countless arguments for and against, and almost drove himself to a fit trying to decide what to do. In the end, it was Qiaolian who sat him down and gave him one of her I’m tremendously disappointed in you and embarrassed to call myself your cousin -looks.

”There’s only one question you need to ask yourself,” she said, her arms crossed on her chest. ”Do you want this or not?”

”Yes, but—”

”No buts!” Qiaolian cut his weak protests short. ”I don’t give a fuck about your lists or the logical traps you try to strangle your mind in,” she snapped. ”Do you want this? Or do you not want this?”

And the thing was (is)…

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, swallowed, and finally admitted, ”Yeah. Yeah, I want this.”

”Then that’s the only thing that matters,” Qiaolian said. ”Now write that fucking courting offer, Wanyin.”

So, he did.

The reply took almost a week (only a week), and when it finally arrived, it took him unreasonably long to crack open the seal and read the letter written in Lan Xichen’s flawless calligraphy.

To Sect Leader Jiang
Jiang Wanyin
Lotus Pier
Yunmeng

The Lan Sect is honored by the courting offer of Sect Leader Jiang to Lan Jingyi. Gusu Lan agrees to and supports this offer. 

Lan Xichen
Sect Leader Lan
The Cloud Recesses 
Gusu

It was short but he didn’t care—they agreed, and it was enough for him.

(The first letter from Lan Jingyi after Lan Xichen’s letter was nine and half pages long and more than made up for the shortness of the official reply.)

Jingyi,

I’m truly sorry, but I can’t make it to Gusu to meet you for the food festival. The situation in Qishan has escalated to the point that they’ve requested my presence immediately, and I’m pretty sure I won’t make it back until the festival is over. It’s nothing to worry about (probably), but apparently, the volcano is acting up and messing with the wards there, and they need someone of my expertise to do something about it.

I’ll figure something out to make this up to you.

- Wanyin

It feels daring to use Jingyi’s name like that and even more to sign the letter with his courtesy name alone. He hopes that doing so will distract Jingyi from the actual content of the letter.

Wanyin (you don’t mind I use your name, do you? I assumed by the way you signed your letter),

Oh, I guess I need to stock up all the good stuff I can find. Now, obviously the goods in Caiyi aren’t as good as the goods in Yunmeng, but I’m going to assume they’re good enough. And look, I wrote some version of ”good” four times in a sentence. This is what happens when you talk about a volcano messing shit up in Qishan. And what do you mean, someone of your expertise? Does it mean you’re the only one who actually knows that stuff or that you’re the only one (apart from Hanguang-jun) who knows how to work with Senior Wei’s wards?

Nevertheless, I’ll try to cope and survive without you. If I perish, I’ll come back and haunt you.

- Jingyi

Jingyi,

Obviously you can use my name. That’s what it’s for.

I should’ve known you’d figure out my ”expertise” right away. I don’t know whether to be impressed or apprehensive.

Try and haunt me. I dare you.

- Wanyin

Wanyin,

Was that meant to encourage or discourage me? I’m not sure.

- Jingyi

Yes.

- Wanyin

The pressing need for Jiang Cheng in Qishan turnes out to be completely useless young cultivators who, for some reason, were petrified to realize the one in charge of the wards is no other than Yiling Laozu himself. The mental strain proved to be too much for most of them and they fled, leaving Wei Wuxian to deal with the mess alone, as Hanguang-jun was held up with some other work Jiang Cheng didn’t give a fuck about.

Sometimes Jiang Cheng despairs over the younger generation. How are they going to manage on night-hunts if a little bit of demonic cultivation makes them piss their pants?

(It’s possible he’s slightly grumpy because he had to cancel his trip to Gusu for this.)

On his way back home, Jiang Cheng makes the impulsive decision to stop in Gusu. It’s in no way on his route, but as he’s the Sect Leader, he makes the executive decision to not care. The food festival is long over, but he figures that a day in Caiyi might still interest Jingyi.

When he walks up the stairs to the white gates, the juniors at the gate give each other a quick, slightly confused look before facing him and politely asking him to wait. He doesn’t see any kind of messaging talisman, but in a short order, Lan Sizhui makes his way down the white staris and welcomes him with a bow.

”Sect Leader Jiang,” he says. ”We didn’t know to expect you.”

He brushes his apologies away. ”I know, I didn’t send a letter. This is a…surprise.” To me as well, he doesn’t add.

Lan Sizhui blinks and a small, pleased smile spreads on his face. ”I see. In that case, please, follow me.” He turns and starts up the stairs, clearly expecting Jiang Cheng to follow.

They climb the stairs in silence for some while before Jiang Cheng says, ”I came from Qishan.”

”Oh,” Lan Sizhui says. ”Is Senior Wei alright?”

”Yeah,” he says and then frowns. ”Why wouldn’t he be?”

”Ah,” Lan Sizhui says, ducking his head slightly. ”Hanguang-jun is here and Senior Wei has a tendency to…not take care of himself properly when he’s alone.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. ”Tell me about it,” he mutters under his breath. ”No, he was alright. Even slept in a bed most nights.”

”Good.”

It was good, Jiang Cheng admits, to see his…Wei Wuxian in (mostly) clean, good quality robes, visibly well-fed and cared for. It eases something in his chest, and perhaps some day he’ll be ready to examine those feelings closer. 

Lan Sizhui leads him past the official receiving rooms and into a training field Jiang Cheng isn’t familiar with. The reason why becomes obvious when Jiang Cheng sees Jingyi leading a group of kids through what must be the preliminary, basic Lan sword forms. He’s surprisingly stern and strict with his instructions but he’s also patient and gentle when he corrects the kids’ stances. Jiang Cheng isn’t very familiar with the Lan forms, obviously, but all basic forms have enough in common so that he can see where each kid is struggling.

And Jingyi is…really good with the kids. 

When the lesson seems to draw to its end, Jingyi adds more and more levity, until the kids are beaming (or the Lan equivalent of), and when they bow and thank their teacher, they all seem to be in a good mood.

”You’re a good teacher,” Jiang Cheng says, walking close to him.

Jingyi lets out a startled yelp and whirls around so fast his legs get tangled up in his robes. He stumbles and would’ve fallen on his ass on the training field if Jiang Cheng hadn’t caught him.

In his arms.

Like in those silly romance books a-jie used to read.

”W-Wanyin—” Jingyi stammers, wide-eyed and a blush staining his cheeks. It’s a nice look on him, Jiang Cheng notes.

”It’s Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Sizhui says serenely. ”I decided to bring him straight here instead of fetching you and interrupting your lesson.”

Still encircled in Jiang Cheng’s arms, Jingyi narrows his eyes at Lan Sizhui. ”How very nice of you,” he says.

”I know!” Lan Sizhui says with a smile that looks suspiciously like the one Wei Wuxian used to wear whenever he tried to get away with his pranks. ”Sect Leader Jiang,” he says and bows, then shoos the gawking kids away without actually making any shooing motions.

”Um,” Jingyi says, realizing their respective positions. ”This is nice?”

”Is that an observation or a question?” Jiang Cheng asks, amused.

”Asshole,” Jingyi mutters and nudges his chest once before stepping out of the embrace.

Jiang Cheng tells himself he isn’t disappointed.

”So, why are you really here?” Jingyi asks as they’re slowly making their way through the Cloud Recesses.

Jiang Cheng momentarily thinks about evading and then decides, fuck it. ”I felt bad about letting you down,” he admits, scowling at the perfectly manicured bush next to the path. ”I wanted to surprise you.”

”Wait, really?” Jingyi says. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t comment, he steps in front of him and tilts his head slightly to look him in the eye. ”Wanyin, you didn’t have to do that,” he says slowly. ”I know you have obligations—”

”I wanted to,” Jiang Cheng interrupts him. He clears his throat and adds, ”I thought that— if you have time—”

A slow grin spreads on Jingyi’s face. ”Sect Leader Jiang,” he says, thrilled. ”Are you asking me to accompany you to Caiyi town now? In the middle of the day?”

”Not if you’re going to be weird about it,” he says flatly.

Jingyi presses a hand on his chest, trying to reach for a shocked look and utterly failing. His smile draws Jiang Cheng’s lips into an answering smile and he bites his cheek to keep it under control.

”I’m supposed to lead more lessons today but considering Sizhui brought you here and kidnapped my class, I think I’m safe to assume that I can have a day off.” He grabs Jiang Cheng’s arm. ”Come on, if we take the back path, we can avoid Teacher Lan’s office and you won’t get in trouble.”

”I won’t get in trouble?” Jiang Cheng snorts.

Jingyi huffs and throws him a haughty look from the corner of his eye. ”I’ve never gotten in any kind of trouble in my life,” he says.

”Isn’t lying forbidden in the Cloud Recesses?”

”I’m not lying. I’ve never been in any kind of trouble but I’ve been through plenty of educational experiences that have greatly impacted my training.”

He looks absolutely delighted when Jiang Cheng throws his head back and laughs.

The market in Caiyi is less chaotic than the market right outside Lotus Pier but it’s no less busy. Jiang Cheng lets Jingyi tell him about the vendors and the Gusu specialities on display, the regional treats, and the best stalls to get Emperor’s Smile. They buy snacks and drinks, and when they’ve walked to their hearts’ content, they make their way to a restaurant by the canal to eat. Jiang Cheng lets Jingyi decide where, and is relieved when he chooses a restaurant Jiang Cheng hasn’t visited before.

”How was Qishan?” Jingyi asks as the proprietor hurries off with their order.

Jiang Cheng takes a breath. ”Hot, ugly, and exhausting,” he says. ”There’s a lot of work to do if we want to keep it from turning into another Burial Mounds.”

Jingyi shivers. ”Is that likely?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs and opens his mouth to reply when the proprietor arrives with a pot of tea and two cups. He waits until he has a cup in his hand and takes a sip as he thinks. ”Wei Wuxian seems to think no,” he says slowly. ”But he alone isn’t enough to stop whatever is going on.”

”Hm,” Jingyi says, gazing into his teacup. ”There probably isn’t enough organization or oversight,” he says. ”And I’m not talking about the Qishan situation alone but in general. There still aren’t enough cultivators to pick up the work after all the shit that went down but I’m not sure what to do about that.” He frowns. ”Something like a concentrated effort, a network or something…”

Jiang Cheng makes a face. ”The sects might not be enthusiastic about that,” he says. ”Years ago, Jin Guangyao suggested watch towers and… well.”

”Too bad he was what he was,” Jingyi says. ”He had some good ideas. I mean, not the chopping up his sworn brother or trying to cut Jin Ling’s head off with a wire, but, you know. But!” He slaps his hands together, making Jiang Cheng jump a little. ”Enough depressing topics! I have a real question to ask.”

Jiang Cheng raises a brow. ”Go ahead,” he says slowly.

Jingyi leans forward with an intense look in his eyes. ”Tell me, Wanyin, do the frogs of Lotus Pier harmonize when they sing?”

For a moment, all Jiang Cheng can do is stare. ”What the fuck—”

And then Jingyi starts to laugh.

One of the (many, many) things that sets Yunmeng Jiang apart from other cultivation sects is that, regardless of age or status, everyone is expected to work for the good of the sect. It might be brushing the yard or washing the walkways or doing inventory—whatever needs to be done. And the sect leader was not exempt from the work, either.

Not that Jiang Cheng would even want that; he remembers the days of the past when Father tied the sleeves of his most weather-worn robes back and climbed into a boat to scrape barnacles and lichen from the piers. Mother, for all her sharp tongue and furious temper, took care of the sect as was her duty as the Madam; she oversaw the accounts, kept a list of trusted merchants all over Yunmeng and Meishan, and made sure Yunmeng Jiang’s reputation as a small but mighty sect spread far and wide.

(Sometimes he misses them so much it hurts. And some days, he’s beyond grateful they’re gone and can’t judge him or his choices to his face. On those days, he usually makes sure to light extra candles for his unfilial thoughts.)

It’s the tradition of Sect Leader Jiang working next to his disciples that has Jiang Cheng where he now is: on the roof, cleaning out the partially composted plant matter from the gutters. He has a glove in his hand and a metal spike in the other, alternating between digging the muck with the spike and dragging it out with his hand. It’s ungrateful, exhausting work that everyone dislikes, which is why it’s usually him doing it. 

(Also, he gets some grim satisfaction from the somewhat shame-faced look on his disciples when they realize who’s on the roof.)

One might think the Lotus Pier’s gutters were clean, considering it’s surrounded by the wide open lake, but for some reason, they end up almost completely clogged, resulting in unbecoming waterfalls in the most inconvenient places. Hence, annual cleaning.

He can already feel his shoulders and back aching, even with the extra spiritual energy he’s circulating through his meridians, and dreads the following day when he’ll be sore all over. He might need some soaking in a hot bath after he’s done.

Thinking about gutters and plant matter and roofs leads him to think about the Cloud Recesses. He has Jingyi’s latest letter waiting on his bedside table as a reward for today’s hard work, and he’s almost completely nearly able to ignore the anticipation tugging at the corners of his mouth. He can’t remember the last time he’s been smiling so much, and he isn’t sure whether to be appalled or amused by the fact.

Perhaps he should ask Jingyi how the Lan clean their gutters? They live on a mountain surrounded by pines; their gutters must be filled with needles and other shit.

Without his permission, his mind drifts back to Jingyi. With his arm strength, he probably would be completely fine with this kind of manual work, although he definitely would need to wear something else than his customary white Lan robes with their ridiculously large sleeves—and then he realizes that if (when) he and Jingyi marry, Jingyi would wear the purple robes of his new sect, and the cinched sleeves would be way more practical than the billowing sleeves of his natal sect.

Thinking about Jingyi in purple robes is dangerous. It makes him slightly light-headed and his heart hammer in his chest, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think he was sick. However, even though he fully understands that the weird sensations in his body are due to Jingyi’s everything instead of spending long hours in the sun, it doesn’t stop him from pausing and staring into the air with unseeing eyes.

Jingyi. In purple robes.

Purple.

”Did you fall asleep there?” Qiaolian exclaims from the ground, startling him from his daydreams.

(He’s not daydreaming.)

He turns to snap at her, but somehow miscalculates and instead of neatly twirling in place, his foot slips and with a yelp, he plumments from the roof.

It’s not a long fall.

He should be fine.

Except—

”Shit!” he yelps as young A-Fang runs out from the room right under him. 

With a desperate burst of his spiritual energy, he twists in the air and nudges A-Fang out of the way before landing on his leg with a sickening crunch.

”You fell from the roof and managed to break your leg into eleven pieces,” Qiaolian says the moment Jiang Cheng opens his eyes. ”That’s impressive, even for you.”

”The alternative was to break A-Fang, and that wasn’t an option,” he grumbles. His leg aches.

”I never said it was,” she points out. ”You live up to your sect’s motto.”

”Oh, shut up”, Jiang Cheng groans and closes his eyes again.

Qiaolian sighs. ”I’m going to pretend you said that because of the pain medication and not because you actually meant it.”

Jiang Cheng actually, truly, fully meant it.

”Anyway,” Qiaolian continues, ”You’ve successfully removed yourself from manual labor, congratulations. Doctor Yang says that you need to keep your weight off the leg, so you’ll have crutches to help you hobble around. I’m sure you’ll be very intimidating.”

”Thanks,” he says flatly.

”Your almost-but-not-quite-betrothed will be here in a couple of days.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap open. ”My what—what??”

Qiaolian raises a brow. ”Did you hit your head as well?”

He pushes himself to sit up and ignores the feeling of hot pokers being jammed through his leg. ”Why is Lan Jingyi coming here? Who invited him?”

Qiaolian cocks her head and narrows his eyes. ”You invited him, ages ago. And, honestly, Wanyin… if he was hurt, would you appreciate it if the Lan kept it from you? You’re courting, you idiot, and that includes knowing when the other is, has been, or will be in trouble.”

”But—”

”Let him fuss over you,” she interrupts, uncharacteristically gently. ”If he is to be your companion in life, you need to trust him also when you’re weak.”

”It’s embarrassing,” he mutters, scowling at the splints tied on his leg.

”Of course it’s embarrassing,” Qiaolian says matter-of-factly. ”You’re a man. Men are embarrassing.”

”I feel so much better now, thank you, Head Disciple Jiang.”

Her grin is sharp. ”You’re most welcome, Sect Leader Jiang.”

He isn’t actually allowed to move around yet. Doctor Yang explains that his leg isn’t merely broken, but shattered, and that they needed to do some very delicate work goading the splinters back to their proper places before binding and splinting it, and he needs to stay put and absolutely, under no circumstances, NOT move his leg.

Jiang Cheng is many things, but he knows better than going against the doctor’s orders. He has a table moved next to his bed and uses a tray with legs as his working station, taking care of paperwork that he set aside for later (turns out, ”later” is now). It feels a bit grating to have meetings from the bed but at least he’s in the healing pavilion, not in his personal bedroom. Nevertheless, he’s sure the healers will be just as relieved as him when he’s allowed to leave the healing pavilion.

Jingyi arrives two days later, landing dramatically in a billow of white and blue (Jiang Cheng later hears the awed narration of some juniors who would probably die of mortification if they knew he was at a hearing distance), and makes his way straight to the healing pavilion.

”Wanyin!” he exclaims as he enters, startling him badly enough to spill ink on a letter (It’s a letter to Sect Leader Yao. He can deal.). ”I heard you had a bad fall!” He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him, and his hand hovers uncertainly over the splints.

”More like a bad landing,” Jiang Cheng says. ”It was an accident. I would’ve been just fine if I hadn’t done some complicated air acrobatics to avoid falling on top of a three-year-old.”

Jingyi’s eyes go wide. ”Is the kid alright?”

Something in Jiang Cheng’s chest goes warm at Jingyi’s concern. ”Yeah. He’s been over every day to check in on me—apparently, his parents told him he needs to apologize, but it seems like he now thinks he needs to apologize every day.” It’s endearing. Jiang Cheng might or might not have ruffled his hair and given him sweets last time.

”And you…are you alright?”

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. ”Yeah. Bored, mostly, and annoyed at being cooped up in here. The pain is tolerable, and I think I can move out today or tomorrow.”

”Mn,” Jingyi says. ”It seems I came at a good time. And before you say you don’t need me here, I’ll let you know that I want to be here, my duties in the Cloud Recesses have been delegated, and I have Sect Leader Lan’s leave to stay for as long as I want.”

Jiang Cheng can feel a small smile tugging at his lips. ”I wasn’t going to protest,” he says. ”In all honesty, I’m glad you’re here.”

And it’s true: while he might’ve felt embarrassed at first (what kind of a cultivator incapacitates himself by falling off a fucking roof?!), the moment he heard Jingyi’s voice, a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying on his shoulders fell away.

”Oh,” Jingyi says and blinks, and ducks his head to hide a pleased smile.

With Jingyi present, Doctor Yang decides Jiang Cheng has recuperated enough to move from the healing pavilion to his own rooms. He is handed crutches that make him feel like the first time he tried to fly on Sandu, except that he’s leaning heavily on one side because the splints in his leg prevent it from bending. He would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for Jingyi’s hovering.

But they make it: Jiang Cheng hobbling with his crutches and Jingyi as his supportive shadow. His steps are short, and the crutches’ impact sends an unpleasant spike of pain through his leg, and by the time they finally reach his rooms, he’s shaking from the exertion. (He’ll later learn that Doctor Yang had presented an option of being carried, but Qiaolian had laughed the suggestion down. He’s grateful.)

”You’ll go straight to bed,” Jingyi says as he slides the door open. ”I’ll get some wet towels and a sponge to wipe you down.”

”You make me sound like a horse,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

Jingyi gives him an amused look. ”A lame horse,” he says cheerfully. ”Possibly drugged.”

Jiang Cheng snorts and doesn’t particularly bother trying to keep down a sigh of relief when he inelegantly drops on his bed. Jingyi heads straight to the privacy screen and returns a moment later with a basin, a sponge, and a towel. 

”Do you want my help?” he asks.

’Want,’ not ’need,’ Jiang Cheng notices. Smart, because if he’d asked if Jiang Cheng needed his help, he would’ve said no.

”Yeah,” he says after a moment. ”Removing my clothes with the leg splinted up like that is challenging.” Luckily, he’s dressed down because changing the full sect leader regalia would’ve been a bit too much.

”Okay,” Jingyi says easily. ”Just tell me what to do.”

Together, they manage to remove the plain linen robes and trousers reserved for patients, wipe him with a warm sponge (Jiang Cheng manages that all by himself, thank you), and change him into a clean set of pajamas with a soft robe over them. Jingyi’s hands are quick and sure, and neither his eyes nor his hands stray when Jiang Cheng is nearly naked. It’s not exactly what he thought would happen the first time they undressed in each other’s presence—not that he’s thought about that. Much.

”Anything else?” Jingyi asks when Jiang Cheng finally leans back against the pillows with a sigh. ”Or should I settle down and unpack?”

Without opening his eyes, he waves vaguely with his hand. ”Yeah, sure, you go ahead. Qiaolian will have a room set out for you.”

There’s a moment of silence and then, ”It’s cute that you think I’ll be staying anywhere but here.”

Jiang Cheng turns sharply to look at him. ”You—”

Jingyi raises a brow, effectively silencing him. ”It’s either a nurse or me. Your choice.”

Narrowing his eyes or scowling does nothing to deter the look on Jingyi’s face, so finally Jiang Cheng huffs and says, ”Fine. Whatever you want.”

”Thank you, Wanyin,” Jingyi says sweetly.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

Apparently, hobbling around on crutches was more taxing than he’d thought, which is the reason he ends up falling asleep and wakes up to a dimmer room lit by candles. Somewhere to his right, he hears shuffling and murmuring, then some off-key humming as Jingyi putters around. In some way, it feels strange to hear another person moving around in his private rooms, but at the same time, it feels exactly right.

”Oh, you’re awake!” Jingyi says and hurries to Jiang Cheng’s bed. ”Feeling better? I figured you needed the sleep and didn’t bother waking you. If you feel like eating, I’ll fetch dinner.”

”No need,” Jiang Cheng says. ”There’s always a couple of disciples hovering around; you can send them.”

Jingyi nods and walks to the door to send for dinner, evading the curious disciples’ questions with good cheer. Jiang Cheng listens to him with a small smile, recognizing Li Ting’s voice. She has a habit of needling his seniors until they relent, and Jiang Cheng can’t wait to see her try to use that tactic on Jingyi. He has a feeling Jingyi is going to win.

”What do you usually do in the evenings?” Jingyi asks him, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

”Read, if I have the time.”

Jingyi lets out a thoughtful sound. ”Would you like me to read to you? I have this adventure story of a young, absolutely reckless girl who ends up in all kinds of trouble.”

”An adventure story,” Jiang Cheng echoes slowly. ”Where in the Lan library did you find it?”

Jingyi grins. ”Nowhere. I got it from a market in Tangxi some while ago. The girl is nine and an absolute menace.”

”A cultivator child?”

”Nope. She’s a commoner.”

Jiang Cheng stares at him.

”Don’t give me that look!” Jingyi huffs with a laugh. ”It’s a good story!”

”If you say so…”

Jingyi rolls his eyes as he stands up and rummages around a decent-sized qiankun pouch before presenting his prize with a smug air. The book is a shoddy work; cheap and nearly breaking up at the seams, but it has the air of a well-loved treasure.

Jingyi takes a seat next to the bed, clears his throat, glances at him from the corner of his eye, and starts to read.

Jiang Cheng has to admit that he’s a good storyteller. He has a pleasant voice, and he knows the story well enough to give it a bit of a dramatic flair. He uses a different voice and intonation for each character and even acts out the action parts.

He can’t help but think about how the youngest disciples would adore Jingyi for this.

”Wait—where are you going to sleep?” Jiang Cheng suddenly asks when the dinner is over, and he’s nursing Doctor Yang’s pain-relieving tea. It has a pungent smell and he doesn’t want to drink it, but he will because he knows he probably wouldn’t sleep without it.

”Well, I wanted to sleep next to you…” Jingyi starts, fluttering his lashes and making Jiang Cheng nearly choke on his medicinal tea. ”But I’m not going to,” he continues, more serious. ”I don’t want to jostle your leg by accident.” He inclines his head to the other end of the room. ”I had a cot brought in when you were sleeping. I’ll sleep there.”

”You can’t sleep in a cot,” Jiang Cheng protests.

”Why not?”

”Because!”

Jingyi looks at the cot and then back at Jiang Cheng. ”It’s a perfectly good cot, the mattress is softer than what we have in the Cloud Recesses, and the sheets are ridiculously smooth. Why wouldn’t I want to sleep there?”

”But—”

”Wanyin,” Jingyi says, leaning closer and placing his hand over Jiang Cheng’s wrist. ”I understand that you feel I should have my own rooms as the respected guest, but honestly, I want to sleep close enough to help. We might be betrothed—” (something freezes in Jiang Cheng) ”—but as we’re both men, I don’t think there’s much of a chance for a scandal. Especially with your leg the way it is.”

Jiang Cheng should say something.

He will.

In a moment.

”Wanyin?” Jingyi says. ”Is something wrong?”

”I— you said—” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. ”You said, ’We might be betrothed.’ ”

”Yes?” Jingyi says. ”Aren’t we?”

”Are we?” Jiang Cheng asks. When Jingyi merely frowns, he hurries to add, ”Yes, we’re courting, but I haven’t sent a proper bethrotal gift or made an appointment or—”

”Wanyin,” Jingyi interrupts, laughing lightly. ”Zewu-jun would’ve never agreed on the courting offer if he didn’t agree on bethrotal as well.” He winks. ”We Lan take these things extremely seriously.”

”Oh,” Jiang Cheng says weakly. ”Good.”

Jingyi watches him for a moment, eyes warm and fond, and his attention makes Jiang Cheng feel fidgety. (Ridiculous. He’s a sect leader! He’s over forty! He shouldn’t feel flustered by a young—handsome, smart, kind—cultivator’s attention.)

”I have something for you,” Jingyi suddenly says. He reaches behind his head and removes his forehead ribbon. ”You know that our ribbons are sacred,” he says, gazing at the almost liquid-looking ribbon pooling in his hand. ”Only parents, children, and spouses are allowed to touch them.” He raises his head, looks Jiang Cheng in the eyes, and softly says, ”Give me your hand.”

Speechless, Jiang Cheng holds out his right hand and tries to keep himself from shivering as Jingyi ties the ribbon around his wrist, securing it with a neat knot that looks deceptively simple.

”There,” Jingyi says, squeezing his wrist once.

Jiang Cheng isn’t sure of what to say. He stares at his wrist and carefully brushes his fingers over the ribbon. It’s silky smooth and so white he feels almost scared to touch it. What if he stains it? What if he accidentally spills something on it and ruins it? What if—

”It’s woven with arrays that keep it clean,” Jingyi says, almost like he heard Jiang Cheng’s thoughts. Or perhaps saw it plain on his face.

”Thank you,” he whispers, still staring at the ribbon.

Jingyi’s fingers brush the ribbon and then his fingers. ”There’s no need to thank me, Wanyin. It’s yours.”

They develop a routine: in the morning, Jingyi wakes way before Jiang Cheng, meditates, does his morning ablutions, and then goes to get them breakfast (he does this even though the aunties in the kitchen keep telling him he doesn’t have to). After they’ve eaten, he helps Jiang Cheng with his robes, arranges his things as per his demands for the day ahead, and then leaves him to his work. They meet for lunch, and when the day is done, Jingyi returns with dinner, a sponge bath, and cheerful remarks on what he’d seen during the day.

When he’s deemed fit to move a bit more, Jiang Cheng forces himself to hobble his way to an actual desk to save his bed for sleeping. It’s still uncomfortable and awkward and requires a supporting stool for his fucked up leg, but it’s better than his bed. He can’t wait to get rid of the splints, even though he knows he still has a long recovery ahead.

In the evenings, Jingyi reads to him. First, it’s the adventure book with an improbable nine-year-old girl protagonist, and after that, Jingyi reads poetry, weird tales, and for some reason, cooking books.

”Do you have an interest in cooking?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Jingyi shrugs. ”Not really, no. I mean, I can cook sufficiently enough to not starve, but I can’t say I’m any good at it. I just like to read the recipes and wonder how and what made someone combine the ingredients like that in the first place.”

”Huh,” Jiang Cheng says. ”I never thought about that. I wonder if a-jie—” He closes his mouth with a snap.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. ”Your sister was an accomplished cook,” Jingyi finally says softly. ”If you ever want to talk about her, I’d be honored to listen.”

It takes Jiang Cheng a moment to make his throat work again, and even then, his voice comes out as hoarse. ”Maybe later,” he says gruffly. ”I’d…I’d like that.”

Jingyi hums, an acknowledgment that asks nothing. 

I think you’d like him, a-jie, Jiang Cheng thinks. And I know he’d adore you.

Getting rid of the splints doesn’t mean freedom, just another set of gruelling exercises he needs to do diligently every day. When he complains about it, Qiaolian looks unimpressed and Doctor Yang tells him flatly that a mundane would’ve been crippled for life. ”Just because you have a ridiculously strong core, doesn’t mean you can just brush away injuries like this,” Doctor Yang says. ”Your shattered bones need to be strengthened through conservative, mundane means as well as healed with spiritual energy. I’m sure our sect leader is smart enough to understand that.”

Jiang Cheng takes a breath. ”This sect leader stands corrected,” he says through gritted teeth.

”Good. I’ll give the training regimen to your betrothed,” Doctor Yang says.

”I can’t even be trusted with my own rehabilitation instructions?”

The doctor gives him a withering look. ”No,” he says dryly.

Jingyi listens to the instructions carefully, asks a number of needlessly detailed questions, and then takes Jiang Cheng to a small walk around the private yard outside his rooms. He would resent the experience if he weren’t exhausted and barely upright on his buckling leg.

”You’ll get there,” Jingyi says cheerfully. ”When I was first assigned the handstanding punishment, I crashed right on my face too many times to count. It was pretty embarrassing.”

”How very encouraging,” Jiang Cheng mutters and pretends not to sway when Jingyi claps his shoulder.

The good thing about getting rid of the splint means he has access to new (old) places. One of them is the top shelf of his wardrobe and the small, locked chest in the back. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get to it without crashing into his face on the floor, but he manages and ends up sitting on the bed with the chest next to him.

It’s an unadorned thing, plain and simple, but it’s the contents that make his hands sweat and his heart pick up. 

Inside are the few things he has left of his mother.

A scarf. A pair of earrings too simple for the Wang woman to take when Lotus Pier was sacked. A hairstick.

It’s a delicate, silver hairstick with blue stones and silver flowers. Slightly too feminine, perhaps, but he’s pretty sure Jingyi won’t mind. His betrothed is a man who sees the intention behind gestures (which is a fucking fortunate thing, considering what Jiang Cheng is like), and the hairstick of the formidable, late Madam Yu is a gesture everyone in Lotus Pier will understand.

He closes his fist around the hairstick, feels the grooves and silver petals press into his hand, and thinks about his mother.

He hasn’t thought about her in a long while.

Perhaps he should visit the Ancestral Hall. With Jingyi.

”I have something for you,” Jiang Cheng says the next day at lunch. He feels nervous. Why is he feeling nervous? It’s annoying.

”Hm?” Jingyi says, half a chicken wing stuffed into his mouth. He chews and swallows hastily, then sets his chopsticks neatly down. ”Yes?”

”I—” he pauses and starts again. ”I’ve been thinking about this. Ever since you gave me your…” he touches the white ribbon, neatly wrapped around his wrist.

Jingyi cocks his head slightly. ”Oh? You do understand that I don’t require anything in return.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. ”I know. I wanted you to have this.” He purses his lips and then makes up his mind. ”Get that comb from my night stand and come here.”

Jingyi’s brows shoot up, but he does as asked, sits down in front of Jiang Cheng, careful not to jostle his leg, and holds out the comb over his shoulder. Without a word, Jiang Cheng takes it, removes the silver hairpiece, and takes down his usual half-bun. Jingyi’s new forehead ribbon is a simpler one without the silver motif, probably meaning he’s marrying out. Jiang Cheng isn’t sure. He probably should ask about it sometime.

”I don’t have many things left from my mother,” he says quietly as he brushes Jingyi’s hair. ”The Wen took most of it, and while we got many sect treasures back, most of her personal belongings were lost. This is one of the few things I have. I thought you might like to have it.”

Jingyi is sitting carefully still, barely breathing. Jiang Cheng gathers his hair in his hands and twists it into the simple half-ponytail most Jiang disciples favor. He smoothes down the errant hairs and then carefully puts the hairstick in place. 

”There,” he says.

Jingyi’s hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to gently touch the hairstick. ”Oh,” he says and scrambles up to take a look in the mirror. ”Oh,” he says again. ”Wanyin, it’s beautiful.”

No, you are, he doesn’t say when Jingyi whirls around with bright eyes and a wide smile on his face. The hairstick is undeniably feminine, but it suits him and the white-and-blue robes he wears.

He can’t help but think that now, everyone will know where Jingyi belongs.

The Ancestral Hall is quiet when they slowly make their way in. This is the first time in a couple of weeks that Jiang Cheng visits—mostly because he couldn’t quite make it with the crutches and the splint, and he didn’t want his parents to witness the indignity of being carried in. Now, he still needs the crutches, but it’s easier, not as unseemly anymore.

He still can’t kneel, though.

”Mother, Father,” he says. ”Forgive me for not kneeling.” He leans the crutches against the wall and bows deeply, immensely proud when his leg holds. ”My apologies for not visiting. Your son was clumsy and hurt himself and needed time to recuperate.”

Slowly, carefully, he makes his way to their tablets, brushes them clean from the errant specks of dust, and bows again.

”I have brought a visitor," he says. He straightens his back and turns to hold out his hand to Jingyi. ”This is Lan Jingyi. He is the second strongest cultivator of his generation, an accomplished teacher, and—” he pauses. ”As you can see, Mother, he is wearing your hairpin.” He swallows and turns to face the tablets again. ”Lan Jingyi will be my companion in this life, my cultivation partner.”

Jingyi folds on his knees with the grace one could expect from a Lan and kowtows. ”This Lan Jingyi greets Jiang Fengmian, Yu Ziyuan, Jiang Yanli, and the Jiang Ancestors. I am proud and humbled to be considered worthy of Jiang Wanyin’s regard and swear to do my best to bring honor to both my natal sect and my new home.”

Jiang Cheng blinks several times to clear his eyes, but does nothing to keep a smile from his face.

Oh, A-Cheng, he imagines a-jie’s playful whisper. You’re smiling! Lan Jingyi is already honoring the motto of his marital sect.

He smiles wider. I know, a-jie, he thinks. I know.

As Jiang Cheng’s leg keeps healing slowly but surely, he starts to make plans for Jingyi’s own quarters. Despite Jingyi’s protestations, Jiang Cheng isn’t actually that keen on stretching the rules of propriety, which means that by the time Jiang Cheng is fully mobile again, Jingyi should stay somewhere else than in his rooms until they marry.

”It’s not like I’m throwing you out,” Jiang Cheng points out, ignoring Jingyi’s wide-eyed pout. ”I want you to have your own space where you can spend time without me bothering you.”

”You’re not bothering me,” Jingyi argues.

”Not yet, perhaps, but probably someday in the future,” Jiang Cheng reminds him. ”And when that happens, I want you to have a space that’s fully yours and where you can, if you want to, forbid me from coming.”

”Why would I—oh, never mind. If it makes you happy, Wanyin, sure.”

For some reason, that makes his cheeks heat up. ”It’s not about making me… whatever,” he grumbles. ”I was thinking about renovating Mother’s old rooms for you. There was some fire damage, but that was repaired years ago, and now it’s basically just bare walls. You can do whatever you want with it.”

Jingyi narrows his eyes. ”And if I want to have a whole library filled with silly adventure books featuring stubborn nine-year-old girls?”

Jiang Cheng sighs. ”Then I’ll contact the carpenter to build you the bookcase of your dreams.”

He doesn’t bother hiding the smile at Jingyi’s exclamation of joy.

The inconvenient thing about having his brother back is, unfortunately, having his brother back. Which means that one day, Wei Wuxian walks in, takes one look at Mother’s hairpin in Jingyi’s hair, and lets out a scream.

Jiang Cheng decides his betrothed knows how to deal with Wei Wuxian’s special case of everything, and locks himself in his office. At least Wei Wuxian left his husband home this time.

Turns out that Jingyi actually wants a massive bookcase in his rooms, so Jiang Cheng makes it happen. He commissions it from the same carpenter who built his office, trusting him to do his most excellent best. He’s on his way back to his office when he hears Wei Wuxian and stops. (He’s found this is most often the best thing to do. See or hear Wei Wuxian: stop.)

”And I’m not sure what to think,” Wei Wuxian says, in what sounds like the end of a longer sentence.

”You don’t have to think about anything, really,” Jingyi says.

”But he’s my shidi,” Wei Wuxian says, now with an audible pout in his voice.

Jingyi lets out a noncommittal sound.

After a moment, Wei Wuxian huffs. ”Well, he might not appreciate me calling him shidi, but that’s what he is to me. Despite everything, he’s my brother. And it’s my duty to protect him.”

Jiang Cheng barely bites back a scoff.

”Is that so?” Jingyi says mildly.

”Of course! And that’s why I feel like I need to remind you that if you hurt him—” He stops and then starts again. ”I mean, you’re both adults. You know what you’re doing, or at least I assume you know. I just want you to know—”

”Respectfully, Senior Wei,” Jingyi interrupts him in a tight voice. ”I don’t think you are in any position to say that, considering how much your thoughtless actions have hurt Wanyin. Yes, you meant well. Yes, it probably saved his life. But you were out of line, and you lied to him, and I will not listen to a lecture from you. Not about this.”

For a good while, it’s completely silent. 

Then, ”Fair enough,” Wei Wuxian says softly.

”I will submit to punishment later,” Jingyi says woodenly.

Wei Wuxian lets out a quiet chuckle. ”You Lans and your punishments. There’s no need for that, really.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, ”I’m glad he has you.”

The pier creaks as Wei Wuxian walks away, followed by a stuttering breath Jingyi lets out. Jiang Cheng hears shuffling and then a soft thump as something either topples over or collides with a wall, and he decides that he’d better see if Jingyi is alright. He rounds the corner and sees Jingyi sitting with his knees up, back against the wall, head pressed to his knees. He’s hyperventilating.

Jiang Cheng wishes to sit next to him, but getting back up from the floor is still a bit embarrassing, so he stays standing. But he stops next to Jingyi and nudges his shoulder.

”You okay?”

”I talked back at Senior Wei,” Jingyi mumbles into his knees.

”No, you didn’t,” Jiang Cheng says. ”You talked back at Wei Wuxian.”

”Is there a difference?”

”Of course there is,” Jiang Cheng snorts. ”Senior Wei is your teacher and your night-hunt supervisor. Wei Wuxian is my annoying brother who just got smacked down and for a very good reason.”

”Oh, gods,” Jingyi wails into his robes. ”You heard that? I didn’t mean you to hear that!”

”But I did,” he says. ”Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”

Jingyi’s head snaps up and he glares at him. ”Of course I did! He had no fucking right to do that and keep it a secret.”

…and the thing is? 

This is the first time someone has said it to Jiang Cheng’s face, and he had no clue just how much he needed to hear it said aloud.

It’s a bit awkward with Wei Wuxian after that. Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother pretending he doesn’t know why, but he also doesn’t bother doing anything to change it. During these past years, he’s learned to deal with the whole thing between himself and Wei Wuxian and…perhaps some day they can be normal about it. Maybe. (Honestly, it’s doubtful—this weird dynamic between them has been a thing since they were kids, and Wei Wuxian’s death and resurrection haven’t really done anything about it.)

”I’m heading out tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says some days later as he saunters into his office and disturbs his work. What else is new. He’s holding a crude clay bottle that looks suspiciously like the terrible brew old lotus farmer Rong makes. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand where Wei Wuxian’s weird fascination with the stuff comes from.

He lets out a grunt.

”Say…Jiang Cheng…” Wei Wuxian says, uncharacteristically quiet. 

When he doesn’t continue, Jiang Cheng lets out a sigh and looks up. ”What,” he says flatly.

Wei Wuxian glances at him and averts his eyes, takes another drink, sniffs, makes a weird move with his shoulders, and in general acts so oddly that it’s making Jiang Cheng’s teeth ache.

”What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks.

”I’m really happy you have Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian finally says, still unable to hold his gaze. ”He’s such a smart, good, fierce kid.”

After a moment of silence, Jiang Cheng sets his brush down and leans back in his chair. ”Is it a ’but’ or an ’and’?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian blinks. ”What?”

Jiang Cheng refrains from rolling his eyes. Barely. ”That sentence sounded like it should continue. So, is it ’He’s such a smart, good, fierce kid, but’ or ’He’s such a smart, good, fierce kid, and’?”

”Why would it be either of them?” Wei Wuxian asks, just to be contrary, the fucker. ”It could also be, therefore, nevertheless, inasmuch, howtofore, whereas, or—”

”Oh, shut the fuck up already,” Jiang Cheng huffs.

Wei Wuxian grins, and it makes the weird feeling dissipate somewhat. He sits on the edge of Jiang Cheng’s desk, takes a drink, and offers the bottle to Jiang Cheng, who thinks about it for a moment, gives a mental shrug at the disapproving image of Doctor Yang in the back of his mind, and takes a drink.

It’s exactly as bad as he remembers.

”I don’t understand how you can stand drinking that,” he wheezes.

Wei Wuxian shrugs and gazes at the bottle with a small smile. ”It brings back memories,” he simply says.

”Good or bad?” Jiang Cheng asks before he can get a hold of his mouth.

The shape of Wei Wuxian’s smile turns into something Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to name. Vulnerable, perhaps. Or bittersweet. Or longing? Who the hell knows.

For some time, neither of them speaks but the silence isn’t comfortable, not as it used to be in their previous life. Jiang Cheng wonders if it ever will be—perhaps not. Their relationship is too tangled up, too thorny, too burdened with past debts and regrets and wishes that burned up and left only ashes behind. There are things he wants to ask Wei Wuxian, but there are also things he should tell; secrets he’s stuffed far back inside himself, behind a sturdy door with a sturdy lock and shielding arrays. 

Secrets about a rainy day before the war.

Secrets about how he actually lost his core.

But that door is heavy and the lock has been stuck for decades, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know where to find the key or how to disable the arrays guarding it.

But perhaps he can say something else.

Perhaps he can be brave.

”Give me that,” he grumbles and holds out a hand for the bottle. He ignores Wei Wuxian’s raised brow and takes a drink with only a mild grimace. 

”Will you be here?” he asks, frowning at a scrape on his desk. ”When we get married?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Wei Wuxian’s head snap up and wide, startled eyes looking at him, but he can’t lift his gaze, not now. Not when there’s too much in both their eyes.

”You want me here?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Jiang Cheng’s lips part for a small snarl. ”I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” he snaps.

”Oh,” Wei Wuxian says softly. ”Sure. Of course. I’ll be here.”

Jiang Cheng nods at his desk. ”Good. Fine.” He clears his throat. ”Now fuck off, I have work to do.” He sneaks a glance up and something clenches in his chest when he sees Wei Wuxian’s small, pleased smile tinged with disbelief.

Jiang Cheng knew to expect the letter from Gusu, but when it finally arrives, it still feels like someone pushed him into the lake. It’s very polite and courteous, but the message is clear: If Sect Leader Jiang is feeling well enough to move around without assistance, Gusu Lan would like to have Lan Jingyi back, please and thank you, Yunmeng can have him after the marriage ceremony, yours, respectfully, blah blah blah.

For a moment, Jiang Cheng entertains the option of sending a single word back: No.

But he’s an adult, and he can send his betrothed back to his natal sect for propriety or some other ridiculous shit. He can.

Doesn’t mean he’s going to like it even one bit.

”How is it possible that I have seven times the amount of stuff that I had when I arrived?” Jingyi huffs, hands on his hips, and scowls at the unpacked mess around him.

”Because you have no impulse control and buy everything you like at first glance,” Jiang Cheng says from the doorway. 

”Lies and slander!” Jingyi exclaims. ”I have almost all my money because someone has been buying stuff and that hasn’t been me.”

Jiang Cheng gives him an unimpressed look. ”I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says in a deadpan and suppresses a smile at Jingyi’s eye rolling. He watches as Jingyi moves a thing from one pile to another and a moment later moves it back, only to repeat the process several times with other items. He fiddles with books, robes, some odd knick-knacks, brushes…anything and everything his eye catches. After a moment of observing this, he says, ”You know you can just leave most of it here, right? They’ll be waiting for you when you come home.”

He blushes slightly as he realizes what he just said. When you come home, like this is already a place Jingyi belongs, and Gusu is just a place he visits. But that’s what he feels right to his core; Lotus Pier is Jingyi’s home. He belongs with the Jiang.

”I know,” Jingyi says. ”But what if I miss them when I’m in the Cloud Recesses?”

”Then you message me, and I’ll send you what you want,” Jiang Cheng says.

”That’s terribly practical of you, Wanyin,” Jingyi huffs. ”I’m trying to be sentimental and emotional here and you’re ruining it.”

”Sorry,” Jiang Cheng says, not feeling sorry at all.

Jingyi wants to take one last round at the market and charms the aunties and uncles to gift him piles and piles of sweets and souvenirs that Jiang Cheng ends up carrying. He does it with a long-suffering air, but inside he beams at the way Jingyi interacts with the commoners. He has a similar easy air about him as Wei Wuxian does, but instead of compulsory flirting, Jingyi is full of wonder and good cheer that don’t hinder him from making sharp remarks where he sees fit. 

Jiang Cheng pretends not to see the approving nods and winks thrown his way. He’s a sect leader; he doesn’t need the commoners’ approval of anything. (True. He doesn’t need it, but he sure as hell appreciates it.)

On the evening before Jingyi leaves, Jiang Cheng makes a quick detour to his rooms to change into a set of slightly better robes for their last dinner. He’s sure he heard Jingyi’s voice on the other side of the compound which is why he’s more than baffled when he opens the door and sees Jingyi halfway inside his wardrobe.

”Um,” he says.

”Hi!” Jingyi yelps, reeling back and shuffling something behind his back. ”Wanyin! Fancy seeing you here!”

”Yes,” Jiang Cheng says slowly. ”This is my room.”

”It sure is!” Jingyi says, tilting his head. ”And it’s such a nice room.”

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes. ”What are you doing here?” he asks, taking a step forward. Jingyi swallows and hastily takes a step back, and something about his shifty demeanor makes Jiang Cheng want to crowd closer. ”What are you holding behind your back?”

Jingyi blinks several times. ”Nothing?” he says innocently.

”Really.”

”Uh-huh?”

He squeals when Jiang Cheng leaps forward and swirls him around to see—

”My night-robe?” he says, genuinely confused.

Jingyi swirls around, now clutching a bundle of purple silk against his chest. ”We’re going to be apart, Wanyin, and I’m sure I can’t sleep when you’re here and I’m in Gusu, and I wanted something to remember you by, and I really like this night-robe, so I decided to get it and, okay, bye!”

He darts forward, presses a kiss on Jiang Cheng’s cheek, and rushes out of his rooms, leaving Jiang Cheng standing, stunned, in the middle of his room.

(Thinking about Jingyi in his purple night-robe does not help Jiang Cheng sleep.)

Jingyi’s absence feels like a persistent ache, and Jiang Cheng tries to fill the void with work. He goes through the ledgers with a single-minded concentration, writes out several plans for the renovations Lotus Pier will face in the coming years, and overhauls the recruit plan for new disciples. Qiaolian gives him two weeks before she stomps over, snatches the brush from his hand, and orders him to get out of Lotus Pier and not come back for at least three weeks.

Jiang Cheng argues and grumbles and snaps, and obeys his first disciple.

He heads to Qishan.

Probably stupid because the chances he’ll run into Wei Wuxian are pretty big, but apparently his temper was so…delicate that the Jiang disciples have cleaned out all night-hunting prospects about two days flying distance from Lotus Pier. 

Fuckers.

Anyway, Qishan is hot and ugly and annoying, and the only good thing about it is that Wei Wuxian is not there. Instead, he runs into Lan Sizhui and Wen Qionglin.

”Sect Leader Jiang!” Lan Sizhui says with a hasty bow, slightly taken aback when he lands in front of the kid and the corpse. ”I didn’t know you were around.”

”Neither did I,” Jiang Cheng says dryly. ”I was thrown out.”

A moment of silence.

”Thrown out of where?” Lan Sizhui asks carefully.

”From my own fucking home,” Jiang Cheng huffs. ”According to Qiaolian, I was moping and irritable and a general pain in the ass.” He sees Lan Sizhui and Wen Qionglin share a quick look and ignores it. ”So. Is there anything to do around here?”

”Ah. Yes. Of course,” Lan Sizhui says, his composure back in place. He’s such a precocious kid. Jiang Cheng wonders how he’ll manage when Jingyi moves to Lotus Pier.

Hm. Jingyi would probably like it if he extended a standing invitation to Lan Sizhui. That would probably mean he should invite Wen Qionglin as well, but…maybe that’s something he can learn to live with. A-Ling tolerates him and he’s proved himself very useful several times.

Lan Sizhui stops talking and looks at him expectantly.

”Mn,” Jiang Cheng says, hoping it’s a sufficient reaction. He has no clue what Lan Sizhui just said but he figures the situation can’t be that much different from the previous times he was in Qishan. At worst, rampant monsters and resentful energy out of control; at best, annoying cultivators who neither understood what they were dealing with nor had the skills to do anything about it anyway.

”If it suits you, Sect Leader Jiang, we could meet at the main yard tomorrow morning and proceed from there?” Lan Sizhui says.

”Yeah, sure,” Jiang Cheng says.

Lan Sizhui gives him a small, polite smile and bows (Wen Qionling just bows because he can’t smile), and then they leave Jiang Cheng to his own devices.

Jiang Cheng sighs. It’ll probably be a long three weeks.

They work together surprisingly well. Lan Sizhui is fast and skilled, and doesn’t mind Jiang Cheng’s style of unpredictability combined with barked orders. Wen Qionglin makes himself useful around them, securing the perimeter and scouting further into seething masses of resentful energy than would be wise for people who are actually alive.

”Do you have any theories where these come from?” Jiang Cheng asks, scowling at a thing that looks like someone combined a cat with haphazard parts of a rooster and a frog. ”Or do they just sprout from the volcano like this?”

”I don’t know,” Lan Sizhui says with a slight frown. There’s a smudge of something unspeakable across his cheek, and Jiang Cheng hands him a handkerchief to clean it up. Lan Sizhui blinks but accepts the cloth and attempts to remove the smudge. It doesn’t really work.

”Senior Wei has some theories, though.”

”He always has theories,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. ”And why do you call them Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun anyway? Aren’t they more like your dads?”

He gets an easy shrug as an answer. ”It’s mostly a habit. I call them dad and father in private.” He smiles. ”I don’t really mind, and neither do they.”

Jiang Cheng thinks for a moment and then decides that, fuck it. He’s getting married soon and can be gracious. He clears his throat and says, ”You should call me shushu, though.” He scowls as he flicks blood and viscera from Sandu. ”If you want, that is. I’m not going to make you—although, according to Jingyi, I couldn’t make you do anything anyway. Apparently, you’re annoyingly stubborn.”

That startles a soft laugh from Lan Sizhui. ”Father would call it steadfastness,” he says. ”Dad just says I can be as bull-headed and petty as father.”

”Oh, great,” Jiang Cheng mutters. At least Sizhui is more polite than Lan Wangji. Probably learned that from Lan Xichen.

”Same time tomorrow, sushu?”

Jiang Cheng’s lips twitch into a small smile. ”Sounds good, Sizhui.”

Two weeks later, Jiang Cheng is done with Qishan. Oh, there’s still work for years, but personally, Jiang Cheng has had it with the stink of sulfur, the slimy feel of resentful energy, the absolutely bonkers yao, and people who aren’t under his authority but who nevertheless turn to him when they’re in trouble.

At least Sizhui and Wen Qionglin are competent.

”Are you going back to Yunmeng now, shushu?” Sizhui asks.

The address makes something pleasing zing through Jiang Cheng, and he’ll never let anyone know. ”I guess I have to,” he sighs. He isn’t exactly thrilled about returning to a Jingyi-less home, but he’s an adult, he’ll deal.

”You could fly with us and visit the Cloud Recesses,” Sizhui says innocently, almost like he’s reading his mind.

”Don’t tempt me,” Jiang Cheng mutters. 

”I wouldn’t dream of it, shushu,” Sizhui says.

And yet, he considers it, and immediately discards the idea. It wouldn’t do for him to appear uninvited, no matter how much he misses Jingyi. He’ll write instead.

”Will you deliver a letter from me?” he asks.

This time, Sizhui’s smile is genuinely pleased. ”It would be my honor,” Sizhui says.

Instead of Gusu, he takes a detour to visit Jinlintai and appears just in time to witness Jin Ling verbally destroy a council of pompous elders. He isn’t yelling but using a soft, silky voice that’s eerily like a combination of a-jie and Wei Wuxian, and it’s disturbing enough to make the elders shift nervously.

Jiang Cheng is so proud of his nephew.

”What are you doing here?” Jin Ling asks bluntly after the last elders shuffle out of the room. ”Is something wrong? Is the marriage off?”

”That’s what worries you?” Jiang Cheng asks. ”Nice to see you, too, A-Ling.”

Jin Ling rolls his eyes and waves his hand. ”Yeah, yeah, whatever. But honestly, is something wrong?”

”Everything is fine,” he says. ”I spent a lively couple of weeks in Qishan with Sizhui and Wen Qionglin killing monsters, hunting things, the usual.”

”And you’re here because…?” Jin Ling asks as he prepares tea.

”Because I can’t go to Gusu and I didn’t feel like going home yet.”

Jin Ling pauses to frown. ”What’s wrong with Lotus Pier?”

It doesn’t have Jingyi, Jiang Cheng thinks, but merely says, ”Nothing. I just didn’t feel like it.”

Slowly, Jin Ling sets the teapot down and gives him a searching look. After a moment, he shakes his head and says, ”I can’t believe it. You’re moping! Jiujiu!”

”I’m not!” he snaps.

”You so are! You don’t want to go home because you miss Jingyi? How old are you?!”

He narrows his eyes. ”Old enough to break your legs if you don’t stop,” he barks.

”Oh, please,” Jin Ling says, rolling his eyes. ”Have some tea, jiujiu. It’ll calm your nerves.”

”Brat,” Jiang Cheng grumbles but takes the cup and sips. It’s good tea, one of the few Lanling blends he actually likes. 

They drink in silence, and when the pot is empty, Jin Ling sets his cup on the table and gives him a stern look. ”Now. Tell me.”

Telling his nephew anything is the last thing he wants to do, so Jiang Cheng deflects instead. ”I told Sizhui to call me shushu.”

Jin Ling merely blinks. ”About time,” he says. ”Have you been sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself?”

Jiang Cheng groans and pinches at the base of his nose. ”What the fuck do you take me for, A-Ling? I’m your uncle, your senior—”

Jin Ling lets out an impatient sound. ”Yes, and you’re also getting married—hopefully sooner than later—and even though you don’t want to show it, you are nervous.”

”What do you mean, hopefully sooner than later?” Jiang Cheng asks, frowning. ”Is there something I should know?”

Jin Ling closes his eyes and groans the way he did when he was fifteen. ”You are impossible!” he huffs.

”It’s in our motto,” he deadpans.

The look Jin Ling gives him is positively withering.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but it’s a bald-faced lie, at least when it comes to Qiaolian. She greets him at the gates with an unimpressed face, gives him a one-over that clearly leaves him lacking, and says, ”So, you’re back.”

”And hello to you, too,” Jiang Cheng says, earning himself a raised brow. He sighs. ”Anything that needs my attention?”

”Your bath, your stomach, and your bed, preferably in that order,” Qiaolilan says.

”Well, I guess I’ll be on my way then.”

Qiaolian lets out a long-suffering sigh. ”I suppose I can bring you your letters after you’ve cleaned up,” she says begrudgingly.

”Letters?” Jiang Cheng says, perking up.

Qiaolian shakes her head. ”Unbelievable,” she mutters, and shoos him off.

The Lan invite him back sooner than Jiang Cheng would’ve originally thought. Either they felt pity for him, or Jingyi pestered Lan Xichen long enough for him to relent. Either way, Jiang Cheng isn’t complaining.

He’s shown to his designated guest quarters by a junior he’s never met before. He stays surprisingly calm and collected and doesn’t bat an eye when Jiang Cheng swears, so he’s either related to Lan Xichen or thoroughly prepped beforehand by Sizhui.

”You are invited to dinner with Sect Leader Lan and his family,” the disciple says before leaving. ”A disciple will escort you.”

He nods at the junior and doesn’t bother pointing out that he knows his way around the Cloud Recesses well enough and doesn’t require an escort. It would probably have as much effect as Jiang Cheng telling himself he doesn’t need to be nervous, which is none at all.

The dinner is…passable. The food isn’t to Jiang Cheng’s liking, but the small bottle of chili oil for Wei Wuxian does make the food better. The company is what it is; the Lan don’t talk, and Jiang Cheng wishes Wei Wuxian would talk a bit less. Lan Qiren looks like he wouldn’t mind if the house caught fire immediately.

After, they talk through the wedding logistics. It’s mostly for show; the important things have been hammered in place months ago, and what is left is mostly cosmetics. Jiang Cheng understands the necessity, even if he couldn’t care less about the cosmetics. Most of his comments are a variety of, ”Yu Qiaolian is in charge of this,” or ”Whatever Jingyi wants.” 

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the slightly pained look on Lan Xichen’s face, but he also doesn’t really care.

When he finally makes his way back to his rooms, he’s ready to pass out. He doesn’t, though, because when he lifts the blankets to slip under, there’s a letter waiting for him. 

Meet me tomorrow at noon at the gate.

- Jingyi

Jingyi raises his hand into an enthusiastic wave the moment he sees him. ”Wanyin!” he calls out. ”You made it!” For a moment, it seems like he’s going to fling himself into Jiang Cheng’s arms, but the presence of a dour-faced Lan next to him holds him back.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. ”Of course I made it,” he huffs. 

Jingyi grins and grabs his hand. ”Come on,” he says and tugs.

Jiang Cheng thought they’d head to Caiyi, but Jingyi steers them into the woods only a short distance from the gates. There’s a narrow trail that leads through the woods, looping gently around boulders and thickets, until it emerges on a cliff overlooking a gorge and a small river.

”This is my special place,” Jingyi says, looking suddenly shy. ”It’s where I come when I need to get away for a moment.”

He sits on a fallen log and taps the space next to him, ignoring the disapproving look from their chaperone. Jiang Cheng sits and tenses slightly when Jingyi leans on his side, resting his head on his shoulder.

”Is everything alright?” he asks quietly.

”Yeah,” Jingyi says just as softly. ”I just…does it make me unfilial to say I already miss Lotus Pier? The Cloud Recesses is where I grew up, but—” He shrugs, and the move jostles Jiang Cheng slightly. ”I’ve always felt a bit like I don’t belong? Senior Wei calls me the most un-Lan-like Lan he’s ever met, and while I know he means well, and it’s a joke, it…”

After a short moment, Jiang Cheng says, ”He does that. He means well.” And he ends up hurting people anyway, he doesn’t add.

”Lotus Pier felt like home,” Jingyi whispers, almost like a confession. ”I wasn’t too loud or too weird. I was…me.”

Without a word, Jiang Cheng takes Jingyi’s hand in his and squeezes it. ”In Lotus Pier, you can be as loud and as much you as you want,” he promises and tilts his head to rest it against Jingyi’s.

Jingyi squeezes his hand back and lets out a contented sigh.

Jiang Cheng can’t believe he’s doing this.

”I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says through gritted teeth. ”If you have a moment, I’d appreciate your…advice.”

In front of him, Lan Wangji finishes his letter in unhurried strokes before he sets his brush on its stand, moves the paper to the side, and finally—fucking finally—raises his gaze to meet Jiang Cheng’s.

It’s not like Jiang Cheng doesn’t have information. For fuck’s sake, he’s an adult; he’s come across his share of lurid spring books and confiscated enough art pieces of questionable quality from his junior disciples to know. He has read through dual cultivation manuals and taken a look at several books that deal with marital relations.

But.

In all honesty, he hadn’t really thought about himself and marital relations since—well. Since a-jie died and Jiang Cheng had to pick up the pieces of his sect, take care of A-Ling, and not to fall apart while doing it. At some point, he’d thought about marriage but discarded the idea because why bother? Yunmeng Jiang no longer had Elders who could demand things from him, and with Wei Wuxian’s core burning inside him, he knew he could cultivate to immortality with little to no difficulty, so securing an heir was a thought his mind shied away from.

And then, Jingyi.

And suddenly, Jiang Cheng wants to know more.

”Let’s start with the fact that I hate having this conversation at least as much as you do,” he says to Lan Wangji, who stares at him like a particularly judgmental dead fish. ”But it’s Jingyi,” he says, a little helplessly.

Something in Lan Wangji’s eyes sharpens. ”What about Jingyi?”

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and takes a breath. ”I would be grateful for any additional information you would be willing to share to—” he pauses and steels himself. ”—to make our marital relations more…uh…enjoyable. To Jingyi.”

For a moment, absolute silence. He braves to open an eye and take a look at Lan Wangji.

”Marital relations,” Lan Wangji says flatly.

”Yes.”

”You want advice.” The words sound like what Jiang Cheng would assume Lan Wangji would sound like when observing something indiscribably unpleasant.

He takes a steadying breath. ”Despite my fervent wish not to know, I’m fully aware of how active and, ”he grimaces around the word, ”passionate your private life with Wei Wuxian is. Jingyi…I want him to be happy, and I want to make sure—I don’t want to hurt him.” He hopes this is enough. He never wants to share any of these words with Lan Wangji ever again.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji intones. He’s still staring at Jiang Cheng. It’s fucking annoying. ”Is there a reason you are not speaking with Wei Ying?”

It’s Jiang Cheng’s turn to give him a judgmental dead fish stare. ”Yes,” he says flatly.

”Hm,” Lan Wangji says. He stays silent for a good while, while pondering whatever he is pondering. Finally, he seems to come to a conclusion and stands, turns to a cabinet by the wall, and picks up a thin book. He considers the book for another silent moment, and then turns to hand it to Jiang Cheng.

”This is not a gift,” he says. ”Read it and return it to me before leaving.” He pauses. ”You can take notes,” he allows graciously, as if granting him a boon.

”Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says and turns to go.

He’s almost out the door when Lan Wangji’s voice stops him. ”Jiang Wanyin,” he says, and waits until Jiang Cheng turns to face him. ”What makes you so sure that Lan Jingyi is the receiver in your relations?”

Jiang Cheng blinks. Blinks again. 

Lan Wangji raises a brow.

”Uh…”

”You might want to talk to Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says serenely.

Jiang Cheng is almost sure he looks smug.

Bastard.

Without another word, he whirls around and walks away from Lan Wangji’s office.

(He’s not thinking about talking to Wei Wuxian.)

According to everyone, one’s wedding day is the happiest day of one’s life. 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know who ”everyone” is, but he firmly disagrees. To him, the wedding is a necessary obstacle to get through to actually start his life with Jingyi. He dislikes the stress, the crowds, the banquet, the whole ordeal. Not the bows, though; he understands the necessity of tradition and filial duty, although he doesn’t see the need for all the hassle.

In the back of his mind, he understands Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s decision to elope. 

”A toast!” Sect Leader Yao exclaims, prompting yet another round of cheers and toasts.

Jiang Cheng briefly contemplates the benefits of using Zidian to silence him.

”Well,” Jingyi says when they’re finally alone in Jiang Cheng’s chambers. They’ve been decorated as well, and Jiang Cheng will assign extra stable duties and chamberpot inventory for the disciples who decided to cover everything in red and add more, no, more, no, even more on top.

”Mn,” Jiang Cheng grunts.

Next to him, Jingyi is a sight in his red robes, his hair carefully done in a deceptively simple hairdo, complete with the hairstick Jiang Cheng gave him. It clashes with his robes, but neither he nor Jiang Cheng cares about that. Jiang Cheng’s own robes are resplendent, and he can’t wait to get out of them.

”What’s next?” Jingyi asks, tilting his head, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. ”I mean, I know what’s supposed to be next, but honestly…I’m dead tired. I wouldn’t object to just sleeping with you.”

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng is relieved. He isn’t nervous—ah, no, fuck it. He is nervous and not especially eager to try forcing himself to do anything while the drunk wedding guests make a ruckus outside. He’d rather give himself and Jingyi time to get to know each other, to grow comfortable with each other, and…well, things will progress naturally?

”Yeah,” he says, rolling his neck to relieve the tension.

”May I?” Jingyi asks, stepping closer. ”I bet all those pins are making your brain hurt.” He starts to undo Jiang Cheng’s hair, picking apart the tension and bright, pulsing points of headache with each pin he removes. When the weight of his headpiece lifts, Jiang Cheng lets out a relieved sigh.

”Better?” Jingyi asks.

”Fuck yes,” Jiang Cheng says. He starts to undo the knots of his robe, then pauses, and looks at Jingyi. ”Do you want to undress me or should I do it myself?”

Jingyi lets out a small chuckle. ”Oh, you bet I want to undress you, Wanyin,” he says with a wink. ”But whatever you feel comfortable with.”

He huffs and lets his hands drop, raises a brow in a challenge.

”Then this humble husband will undress you, husband,” Jingyi says with an over-the-top bow.

They end up under the covers with their sleeping robes on. It takes a moment to figure out how they fit, where to put their hands, how to tuck the blanket over them, but they manage. On their sides, facing each other, so close Jiang Cheng feels Jingyi’s breath tickle his cheek.

”Don’t get me wrong, Wanyin, I want to do stuff with you,” Jingyi says. ”But not yet.”

”Mn.” After a moment, he asks, ”Have you ever…?”

”Yeah,” Jingyi says. ”Boys’ dormitories, close quarters, young and curious juniors, and so on and so forth. Things happened, you know.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know. Lotus Pier doesn’t have segregated dormitories and the only one he’s ever shared a room with was Wei Wuxian, and thinking about doing anything with him makes him nauseous. 

”What about you?” Jingyi asks.

He’s quiet for so long that Jingyi opens his mouth to apologize, so Jiang Cheng finally hurries to say, ”No. Never.” 

Jingyi lets out an interested sound but says nothing, giving Jiang Cheng time to think.

”For a long time,” he says slowly, ”I thought I wasn’t built like that. I was sure I’d never be interested in anyone. Or anything.”

”And that’s completely fine,” Jingyi says softly. ”And I want to make absolutely, unquestionably clear that if you don’t want to, I will not push.”

”Mn,” Jiang Cheng says with a slight frown. ”I think I do. But not yet.”

”Of course,” Jingyi says easily. ”Just to make clear, is hugging okay? And kisses?”

Jiang Cheng thinks for a moment and nods. 

”Good,” Jingyi says and uses his Lan arm strength to yank Jiang Cheng into his embrace. 

The next morning, Jiang Cheng wakes up disoriented, plastered against a firm chest, a steady heartbeat in his ears. It takes him a moment to remember that one, he’s a married man now, and two, his new husband is holding him, and it feels nice.

It’s been a while since he last slept next to someone, and even longer since he felt this much at ease. Perhaps a year ago, he would’ve felt smothered or embarrassed, relaxing in the arms of a much younger man, but the Jiang Cheng of now has learned that he can trust Jingyi to keep safe both his person and his heart.

”No…not the chicken wings…” Jingyi mumbles, distracting Jiang Cheng from his thoughts. He’s still asleep, a vaguely annoyed look on his face. Jiang Cheng huffs softly and extracts himself carefully—he’d love to stay in bed, but he needs to relieve himself, and fighting that urge would ruin the cuddling anyway.

When he returns, Jingyi has turned to hug Jiang Cheng’s pillow. He looks at peace, younger than his years, and gives absolutely no inclination whatsoever to wake up, even though it’s way past the Lan waking hour. 

But since this is Lotus Pier and not the Cloud Recesses, Jiang Cheng leaves him to sleep. He’s feeling restless and needs to move, so he picks up Sandu, leaves a short note next to Jingyi’s forehead ribbon to let him know where to find him, and heads to the private training yard. It takes him no time at all to sink into the familiar rhythm, to flow from one stance to the next, to let his mind rest and his thoughts fly away until nothing remains but the flow of his spiritual energy through his meridians, rushing like the rivers that flow into the lotus lake.

When he finally opens his eyes, the sun has risen properly, and the sounds of the compound waking up fill the air. He turns around to see Jingyi leaning on a pillar, Jiang Cheng’s overrobe haphazardly tied up, hair unbound save for his forehead ribbon.

”Don’t stop on my account,” Jingyi says with a lazy smile, letting his eyes roam over Jiang Cheng’s sweaty body. Then he pauses, frowns, and adds, ”Is it okay to say so? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I also want to appreciate my husband as the peak specimen of human perfection he is.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes but considers the question with the seriousness Jingyi clearly means. ”I don’t mind if it’s you,” he says as he sheathes Sandu and starts toward Jingyi. ”To me, my body is a tool; an instrument I need to take care of to do the work that is my purpose. I’ve never considered it—or any other body for that matter—a cause of…uh…erotic thoughts.” He stammers slightly over the last words and his face heats up, but there’s nothing but keen interest in Jingyi’s eyes.

”Okay,” he says easily and changes the subject. ”The Jiang forms are more fluid than the Lan forms. I suppose I should learn them now? Do you want to teach me yourself or throw me to the wolves? And by wolves, I mean your first disciple.” He shudders slightly. ”Yu Qiaolian is a formidable woman, but she’s also scary as fuck.”

”If you tell her that, she’ll take it as a compliment,” Jiang Cheng points out.

”As she should,” Jingyi says. He takes a step forward and presses a short, chaste kiss on his lips. ”Good morning, husband. Thank you for letting me sleep in.”

The heat from Jingyi’s lips stays on his, and Jiang Cheng resists the urge to chase the feeling with his fingers. ”You seemed to have some intense opinions about chicken wings,” he says. ”I didn’t want to intrude.”

”Oh, no,” Jingyi wails, closing his eyes and pressing his hands on his face. ”That’s—It’s just—I’m not part of the Lan anymore, and—”

”To think I’ve fallen second to chicken wings,” Jiang Cheng deadpans. ”And it’s only the first day of our marriage.”

”Wanyin!” Jingyi sputters. His face is red but he’s laughing, and the mirth in his eyes makes Jiang Cheng chuckle as well.

Together, they head back to find some breakfast. Chicken wings, congee, and anything else they’d want.

It’s late afternoon when Jiang Cheng lands in front of the gates, startling the young disciples on guard duty. He waves away their stammered apologies; they weren’t slacking, just unprepared for the sudden appearance of their sect leader, and thus let out a pair of frankly embarrassing yelps.

”Even if you’re startled, try to act like it’s nothing you’ve seen before,” he says gruffly.

The disciples nod, straighten up, and square their shoulders. ”Welcome home, Sect Leader Jiang,” they say in unison.

”Thank you,” he says and walks in. 

Behind him, the group of seniors that accompanied him to Qishan has finally caught up with him, and they land and add some good-natured scolding to Jiang Cheng’s feedback. He tunes out the guards’ indignant protests and takes a deep breath. 

It’s good to be home.

The situation in Qishan has slowly started to stabilize. Wei Wuxian’s new arrays, fortified with the Lan musical cultivation, are gradually chipping away the deeply ingrained resentful energy, allowing the other sects to do more than just react to whatever abominations the volcano has spawned in its vicinity. It’s grueling work that’ll take years to complete, but at least now they have an actual goal in sight. It’s a relief.

(Wei Wuxian, being Wei Wuxian, has already started planning even more elaborate arrays he apparently wants to try out in the Burial Mounds. Jiang Cheng is pretty sure he’s addicted to unhinged, badly thought-out plans, but decided to say nothing. After all, Wei Wuxian is Lan Wangji’s headache now, and Jiang Cheng feels completely normal about it.)

He’s back early by several days, a surprise to the whole Lotus Pier, because he didn’t send a letter beforehand. He probably should have, but he didn’t want to—he wanted to surprise Jingyi, a thought that makes something warm flare in his chest and cheeks.

They’ve been married for almost a year now, and it’s been both easier and harder than Jiang Cheng could’ve ever imagined. Easier, because Jingyi is cheerful and positive by nature, and he balances Jiang Cheng’s innate grumpiness out. Harder, because Jingyi is smart and intuitive, and knows how to expose all Jiang Cheng’s sharp, painful edges to observe and gently smooth out. It’s ugly work, and sometimes it hurts.

Their first big argument had scared the shit out of Jiang Cheng—he knows he’s too much like his mother; he knows how to use his sharp words the way they hurt the most, and when he feels backed into a corner, he tends to attack. He knows himself and tries to keep that from happening, but sometimes everything just gets too much, and he reacts without thinking.

(Sex. That argument had been about sex, and that was all Jiang Cheng’s fault. Jiang Cheng can understand the appeal, but he doesn’t really feel the need for it. The preparation is messy, the aftermath is messy, and the act itself, while enjoyable, often feels more work than it’s worth, no matter which way they do it. Jingyi, true to his words, never pressures him, and whenever they end up doing anything, he always asks if Jiang Cheng feels comfortable to keep going.

Sometimes, Jiang Cheng fears he’s being too selfish and inconsiderate; that he’s depriving Jingyi of something he wants and needs. He tried forcing himself once when he wasn’t really feeling it, and when Jingyi noticed, he lashed out. The result was…well. 

Let’s just say that Jingyi was very upset when he realized what Jiang Cheng was trying to do.

”Never do that again, Wanyin! Do you understand me? Never,” Jingyi hissed, almost white with anger. ”I have two functioning hands and a very good imagination, and that’s enough for me. I didn’t marry you to take advantage of you or, you know, take you against your will, for fuck’s sake!”

He hasn’t tried to force himself after that, and they’re both better for it.)

…except that Jingyi is definitely not like Jiang Cheng’s father. Where Jiang Fengmian bent and apologized and smoothed the way and yielded before his wife’s wrath, Jingyi stands his ground. He is a rock against whom Jiang Cheng can rage and lash out like the storming sea, and who stands still (but not quiet) until he’s exhausted himself, and then proceeds to take apart all Jiang Cheng’s arguments until the bruised core is left, and then forces him to face what he really feels.

It’s terrifying. 

But also effective. Jiang Cheng has never been as well-adjusted as he is now.

”He’s down by the children’s pier,” Qiaolian says as he checks in on her. ”Brace yourself.”

”…for what?” he asks.

”He has a kid. Or perhaps I could say you have a kid now,” she corrects, and adds, ”The whole sect is enamored with her.”

Jiang Cheng stares. ”I—what?”

She shrugs and smirks. ”I’ll let Jiang-furen explain the details, but the main thing is this: someone dropped a child at our gates over a week ago, and he fell instantly in love.”

”Did you—”

”Yes, we tested her for curses and such,” Qiaolian interrupts. ”We also used Wei Wuxian’s talisman for detecting direct blood relatives with no results. She’s human, a bit malnourished but otherwise fine, no signs of abuse.”

Jiang Cheng frowns. Why would someone bring a child to Lotus Pier proper when the Jiang sect supports several very good orphanages? Strange.

”Go see your husband, Wanyin,” Qiaolian says. 

”Mn,” Jiang Cheng says (still frowning), and goes.

The children’s pier is a short, wide pier in the shallow water by the shore, warded with talismans that prevent kids from both wandering in or straying deeper into the lake. Despite the name, it’s not meant only for kids, but for everyone who can’t swim to the standards of the Jiang sect. Each person, cultivators and mundanes alike, starts from there and isn’t allowed to progress to the regular piers until they can swim, dive, and get out of the water clothed (and drunk if they’re of age) on their own. That’s where Jingyi started, too.

Jiang Cheng can hear his husband’s voice before he can see him, and it draws a smile on his face. It probably should be silly to feel so at home just because of Jingyi’s voice, but it’s been a long, long couple of months flying back and forth between Yunmeng and Qishan, and Jiang Cheng is more than ready to just bask in his husband’s company. And he will. In a moment.

He peeks around the column and sees Jingyi sitting on the pier with his robes bunched on his lap, gently swaying back and forth with a baby on his lap. One of his boots is next to him, half buried under his overrobe; the other boot is nowhere to be seen. Jingyi is singing softly, a silly tune of nonsense, and the baby shrieks with delight every time he bends down to nuzzle her hair. It’s a painfully domestic picture, making Jiang Cheng’s heart ache.

How many times did he sit on this same pier, a shrieking A-Ling on his lap? How many times did he carry his baby nephew around, tired to the bone, heartsick and grieving, and yet unbearably glad that he still had him in his arms? How many times has he wondered if he’ll ever have a chance to do that again?

Jingyi makes a swooping sound and leans slowly back until he lies flat on the pier, his feet still in the water. He gently flies the baby over his stomach, and she giggles and giggles, making Jiang Cheng smile, too. He must make some kind of sound because Jingyi pauses and bends his neck to look at Jiang Cheng upside down.

”Oh!” he says and carefully scrambles to sit up. ”Look, Baobao, it’s Sect Leader Jiang! He’s a very important man, but he’s a lot softer and nicer than he might first look like.” He holds the baby on his lap and smiles at Jiang Cheng. ”Welcome home, Wanyin.”

The combination of his smile and welcome makes Jiang Cheng’s voice catch in his throat, and he has to swallow a couple of times to manage a greeting back. 

”This is Baobao,” Jingyi says. ”She likes the lake, congee with red bean paste, and Yu Qiaolian.” The baby looks at Jiang Cheng with wide eyes for a moment, then holds her hands up in the universal up! plea. ”Oh, and apparently, she also likes you.”

Her weight settles on his hip with easy familiarity, and he unconsciously shifts to accommodate her flailing hands. She grips the lapel of his robes in her hand and waves around with the other, babbling something in her baby talk at the same time.

”I see,” Jiang Cheng says.

She narrows her eyes at him and then smiles widely. She has four teeth in her mouth, like small, bright pearls.

”She’s been sleeping in our room so that I can keep an eye on her,” Jingyi says softly. When Jiang Cheng glances at him, he’s watching them with his head slightly cocked, a soft smile on his face.

”Who is she?”

Jingyi shakes his head. ”We don’t know. The blanket she was wrapped in had no identifying embroidery. She isn’t cursed, she isn’t a yao or a spirit, or anything else Senior Wei’s talismans might reveal. I even used Inquiry to see if that helped—or not me, I’m not nearly proficient enough, I sent for Sizhui—but, again, nothing.” He shrugs. ”The disciples have been asking around the nearby villages, but no one knows how she appeared or why she was abandoned at our door instead of any of the orphanages.” He brushes a finger on the child’s cheek. ”It seems she has no one.”

Jiang Cheng’s arms tighten around the baby without his say-so, and he has to make a conscious effort to relax. ”That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a family,” he warns.

”I know,” Jingyi says. ”But she also might not have a family.”

Later that night, after a dinner and welcome wishes from the whole sect, after Jiang Cheng has taken a long bath, and after Jingyi has put the baby to bed (Jiang Cheng is glad that someone had the sense to dig out some other crib than the one A-Ling slept in because that would’ve been a bit too much), he rests his head on Jingyi’s lap while his husband pretends to comb his hair. He’s actually carding his fingers through it idly, but Jiang Cheng enjoys it far too much to call him out. It’s nice, this easy familiarity and the way Jingyi has the knack of making him relax without it feeling like he’s demanding more.

”What do you want to do?” he asks, then adds, ”With the baby, I mean.”

Jingyi looks in the direction of the crib. The baby is asleep, her soft breathing an achingly familiar background noise. Jiang Cheng wants.

”I’d like to keep her,” Jingyi says softly. ”No, fuck that, I want to keep her. She’s delightful and wonderful, and I adore her already. But we can’t just decide to keep her, can we? We need to make sure she really has no one else, that she isn’t stolen from some other family.” 

Jiang Cheng lets out an agreeing sound. 

”But it’s been over a week already,” Jingyi continues. ”If someone wanted to find her, shouldn’t they have done so already?”

”Not if she’s from far away,” Jiang Cheng allows reluctantly.

Jingyi is silent long enough for Jiang Cheng to open his eyes, worried. He looks devastated. ”Oh. Right,” he says.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat and says, ”We’ll give it three more weeks. Then it’s been a month. That should be more than enough time for someone to come claim her.” He reaches up a hand to brush his fingers on Jingyi’s cheek. ”And in the meantime, we’ll take good care of her.”

”Of course we will,” Jingyi says. ”What about—do you want to keep her a secret?” He frowns at his own words and shakes his head. ”Ah, not a secret…I mean—”

”I know what you mean,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. ”That’s really up to you. How do you feel?”

Jingy bites his lip. ”I told Sizhui not to say anything to Senior Wei or Hanguang-jun, but they might be able to help. Senior Wei is unparalleled with talismans, and while Sizhui might be the best of our generation, Hanguang-jun’s skills with Inquiry are beyond comparison.”

”Why did you tell Sizhui that?” Jiang Cheng says, stopping Jingyi’s nervous flood of words. 

Jingyi makes a face, glances at him, and then away. ”Because I didn’t want him to come here and make fun of you,” he admits.

With a huff, Jiang Cheng untangles Jingyi’s hand from his hair and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. ”Thank you for guarding my peace, but I’ve been dealing with Wei Wuxian’s nonsense for longer than you’ve been alive—”

”Technically, not true, considering he was dead for over a decade—”

”—and I’m sure I can deal with my brother even when it’s about a baby,” Jiang Cheng concludes, raising a brow.

Jingyi blinks and cocks his head. ”You called him your brother,” he says softly.

”Because he is,” Jiang Cheng says bluntly. It doesn’t even hurt as much now as it did back when—well. Back then. ”He’s a moron and a pain in the ass and sometimes just plain fucking annoying, but he’s my brother, and there’s no one else I’d trust with finding out where our baby comes from.” He realizes the slip a moment too late but decides to let it be. She’s theirs to look after for now, anyway.

”I love you, you know,” Jingyi says with a small smile.

”Yeah, well,” he says, coughs, and scowls. Jingyi’s easy declaration feels hot in his chest, spilling warmth through him like a flood of potent spiritual energy. He’s yet to say it back, but he will. Any day now. As soon as his mouth decided to stop disobeying him.

Wei Wuxian arrives with his usual pomp and ridiculousness, Lan Wangji gliding after him like a statue. He heckles the disciples, tries (and fails) to poke at Qiaolian, and goes completely still when Jiang Cheng greets him with Baobao in his arms.

”Jiang Cheng,” he near-whispers. ”That’s a baby?”

”Congratulations, you have eyes,” he says dryly. ”She was dropped at our door a couple of weeks ago. We need help figuring out who she is.”

He leads them into his office, and Wei Wuxian’s wide-eyed wonder shifts into eager determination as Jiang Cheng explains what they’ve already tried. ”Okay, so, I think I can adapt the blood relative talisman to show strong emotions—ah, perhaps limit that to strong positive emotions, and that might give us some additional information if she has aunties or neighbors or such who miss her.” 

”You can do that?” Jingyi asks.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. ”Yeah. I mean, it’s not hard, I just haven’t seen the point.” When Jingyi gives him an incredulous look, he says, ”That talisman would be terrifying to have around, don’t you think? If you could be slapped with a talisman and it showed everyone who you like?” He shudders.

”Oh,” Jingyi says slowly. ”Right.”

Wei Wuxian is already fiddling with talisman paper, drawing out several designs and discarding even more, muttering at himself under his breath as he goes. Jiang Cheng leaves him to it and turns to Lan Wangji.

”Jingyi says that Sizhui already tried Inquiry but it yielded no results. Do you think your version would have a bigger range?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes flicker to Jingyi and back, then he turns his gaze to Baobao. She looks back with wide, serious eyes and blows a spit bubble. Jiang Cheng could swear he sees Lan Wangji’s eyes soften slightly.

”Mn,” he says. ”On the pier.” He turns around and flows out, apparently expecting everyone to follow him. 

”Water carries both the sound and spiritual energy,” Jingyi says and nods his head in the direction where Lan Wangji disappeared.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have an ear for music. He can blunder his way through the basics as is expected of the gentry, but that’s it. To him, Inquiry—just like other spiritual Lan songs—is a series of qin noises, and not particularly pretty ones. But he can’t deny the sheer power that radiates from Lan Wangji’s qin as he plays out the opening chords, precise and expectant.

There’s no reply, and Lan Wangji plays another set of chords. They sound slightly different but Jiang Cheng couldn’t say how. This repeats several times: a set of powerful chords, silence, another set, another silence. He’s pretty sure all his hair is standing on its end due to the concentrated spiritual energy Lan Wangji is pushing out, and when he glances at his hand, he’s surprised to see that Zidian isn’t sparking.

Finally, there’s a faint, barely-there whisper of a sound.

Jingyi’s head snaps up and his grip on Jiang Cheng’s arm turns painfully tight. Lan Wangji tilts his head and plays again, and this time his spiritual energy is like a tight beam, directed toward one specific point.

”Oh,” Jingyi breaths when the second, even fainter reply plays out. Jiang Cheng grits his teeth to keep from barking what he means because Lan Wangji is still playing. He can wait. (Barely.)

A short while later, Lan Wangji places his hand gently on the strings, bows his head, and lets out a breath. Then he vanishes his qin, stands up, and stops in front of Jiang Cheng and Jingyi.

”Did I understand it correctly?” Jingyi asks. ”She’s really alone?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. ”Mn. Her mother died of complications soon after she was born, and her father died in a mudslide before she was born. They were new to the village they lived in and had no close relatives.” He looks at Jiang Cheng and the baby in his arms. ”Her mother’s spirit was very weak. She thinks it was their neighbor who brought her here.” Gently, carefully, he touches the shell of Baobao’s ear with his finger. ”She said she knows she’ll be safe here.”

Something relaxes in Jiang Cheng and he gives in to the urge of pressing a kiss on top of Baobao’s head. 

When he looks at Jingyi, his smile is bright like the sunrise.

”Yes, I know Lan Zhan already figured out what was really going on with her, but if you want, we can still check her with the talisman,” Wei Wuxian says later that day. Predictably, he’d been too invested in his talisman design to give it a rest, even though it wasn’t needed anymore.

”Is it safe?” Jiang Cheng asks, eyeing the talisman. It makes his brain hurt.

”Is it—of course it’s safe!” Wei Wuxian says, indignant. ”I wouldn’t risk a baby.” He gives Jiang Cheng a hurt look. ”Fine, I’ll show you.”

Before he (or Lan Wangji) can stop him, Wei Wuxian activates the talisman and slaps it on his own chest, and suddenly a blinding, pure white light surrounds Lan Wangji (unsurprising), making Jiang Cheng blink away black spots from his eyes. 

”As you can see, no harm done,” Wei Wuxian says. He pries back the talisman, but not before Jiang Cheng realizes that he, too, is bathed in almost as bright a light. As it winks away, he looks up at Wei Wuxian, who avoids his eyes.

”Except that I can’t currently see,” Jingyi grouses.

”Just a testament of my eternal love for Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian says.

”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. Jiang Cheng can’t believe he can actually detect the note of fond exasperation in his voice.

Wei Wuxian blushes but turns to busy himself with the talisman. ”So, if I just switch the direction, it’ll show us who has warm feelings for her instead of what she’s feeling. She’s obviously a very bright and smart and excellent girl, but that would be a bit too much to ask from a literal baby.” He finishes the talisman with a couple of more brush strokes, then hands it to Jiang Cheng. ”Activate it and then hold it with your sleeve or something.” He pauses and adds, ”I think we’d better go outside for this.”

Jiang Cheng does as he’s told. The moment the talisman touches her, both he and Jingyi start to glow, and the disciples gathered around have a soft halo around them. A beam of light even reaches out from Wei Wuxian.

But there’s no light coming in from outside the compound, not that Jiang Cheng expected anything else.

They have a small feast in the evening to celebrate, just for the immediate family and Jiang Cheng’s closest advisors. He can already see a calculating look on Qiaolian’s face as she leans over to talk with Jingyi. Baobao is taking everything in stride, looking around with curious eyes and giggling with her pearly teeth glinting.

He makes the mistake of giving her to Wei Wuxian, who goes misty-eyed and coos softly after looking at Jiang Cheng like he can’t believe he’s trusting his new daughter to him. And then he makes an even bigger mistake of glancing at Lan Wangji because the look on his face is indecent, and Jiang Cheng is going to throw them both out of Lotus Pier if they can’t control themselves.

The next morning, he wakes to a quiet but insistent knocking. Jingyi is already up (probably having a morning meditation meeting with Lan Wangji), and Baobao is safely bundled in a small, snug nest in the space next to Jiang Cheng. With a small sigh, he gets up and lets Wei Wuxian in.

He’s disheveled, his hair’s a mess, and Jiang Cheng is pretty sure the stain on his shoulder is from Baobao’s spit-vomit bubble from last night.

”Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks.

”What? Why? No?” Wei Wuxian answers, distracted. He tries to run his hand through his hair and looks momentarily confused when his hand meets a brush. ”I was busy. Here.” He shoves something at Jiang Cheng, looking shifty.

”What’s this?”

Wei Wuxian rubs his nose, leans a bit to the side to take a peek at Baobao, sways on his feet (just balancing from one foot to the other, not swaying as if about to faint, thank fuck), and finally meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes. ”It’s a. Talisman? Or a charm? A permanent.”

He sighs. ”You’re not making any sense,” he mutters and firmly guides Wei Wuxian to the table. ”Sit down before you keel over,” he says, giving him a small push. Wei Wuxian folds onto the floor, looking slightly affronted about it.

”A talisman or a charm,” Jiang Cheng repeats, holding up what Wei Wuxian gave him. ”Where did you get good-quality jade during the night?” He turns to look at Wei Wuxian. ”Please tell me you didn’t repurpose a Lan token for this.”

Wei Wuxian waves a hand in his direction. ”Ah, no, it’s. Lan Zhan.” He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a breath. ”Lan Zhan gave it to me, but it was a raw jade piece. Not a Lan token of any sort.” He pauses and says softly, ”It’s for her.”

Jiang Cheng raises a brow and takes a closer look at the charm. It’s carved into a lotus (he knows better than to ask where Wei Wuxian got the tools to carve jade during the night) and filled with tiny, precise talisman script. He can recognize variations of safety and happiness, but there’s a lot he has never seen before.

”It’s inactive,” Wei Wuxian says, something shy in his voice. ”It needs her blood to activate—just a tiny drop in the middle of the petals!” he hurries to add. ”It’ll guard her against the common stuff like pain and hunger and cold and that sort, but also against resentful energy, malicious ghosts, and such.” Something flickers over his face. ”I even warded it against me, you know. Not that I’d ever—it’s just a precaution. For. Well.” He lets out a strained chuckle. ”Anyway, when she’s older, I can teach her how to use it as an emergency messenger tool, or I can teach you and Jingyi to do it instead…” His voice trails away under Jiang Cheng’s stare, and he ducks his head, glances aside.

There are too many things whirling in Jiang Cheng’s mind, and he doesn’t even know where to start to unravel the pile of absolute horseshit Wei Wuxian just ended his speech with. He grits his teeth, takes a couple of steadying breaths, and aches at Wei Wuxian’s flinch when he holds out a hand.

”Do you still have one of those positive thought detecting talismans?” he snaps. ”The original ones, the kind you used on yourself.”

”Uh,” Wei Wuxian says. ”Yes?”

He raises a brow and snaps his fingers, and when Wei Wuxian hesistantly gives him one, he doesn’t think twice before activating it and pressing it against his chest. Brilliant light flares up behind him where Baobao is snuffling in her sleep, and a beam shoots out to wherever Jingyi is.

And right in front of him, a bewildered Wei Wuxian is bathing in a halo of pure white light.

”You are my brother, you asshole,” Jiang Cheng says through his teeth. ”Of course I know my daughter is safe with her shushu.”

”I…shushu?” Wei Wuxian says softly.

”Obviously,” Jiang Cheng snaps and busies himself with the talisman to avoid seeing whatever is going on with Wei Wuxian’s face.

”Okay…okay!” Wei Wuxian says, a slight wobble in his voice. ”You can’t take it back, Jiang Cheng! I’m going to teach her all about talismans and curse-breaking, no matter what you say!”

”I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he huffs. ”Now go take a bath and eat something, you’re an embarrassment.”

”I’ll show you embarrassment,” Wei Wuxian mutters as he scrambles up and starts to make his wobbly way out.

”Only every time we meet,” Jiang Cheng says, and doesn’t fight a grin when Wei Wuxian shows him a rude gesture over his shoulder.

On the bed, Baobao shifts and smacks her mouth, and then opens her eyes.

”Well, we’d better get it over with,” Jiang Cheng mutters. He bares her heel and, after purifying his dagger with a burst of spiritual energy, makes a small cut into the skin. She lets out a startled sound but doesn’t cry as he carefully adds pressure to make one drop of blood well from the tiny cut. It hovers in the air for a moment and then vanishes into the folds of the jade lotus.

At first, nothing happens.

Then an immense pressure gathers in the room, a weird sensation he can only describe as something holding its breath, before it flows outward with enough power to make his ears pop. In his hand, the lotus is warm to the touch and hums softly as the delicate carvings slowly turn pale pink.

Baobao lets out a giggle and holds out her hand, trying to reach the charm.

”I suppose this is yours,” Jiang Cheng says and hands the jade lotus to her.

She waves it around a couple of times, blows up a spit bubble, and promptly puts the charm into her mouth.

Of course.