After A-Yuan leaves him, Wen Ning spends some time merely sitting on a rock and thinking about life, death, and existence in general. Not necessarily his own—he has the whole rest of his un-life to ponder on that—but about the way the cultivation world has turned in his captivity, who are left, and how they will build their lives from now on.
There are so many people he met briefly and lost before he had the chance to really get to know them. People who live in short bursts of fond memories he sometimes has the privilege to listen to, people whose existence is better defined by the emptiness they leave behind.
Sometimes Wen Ning wonders if he has the right to remember them. Hasn’t he caused enough grief to many people already? He might not have done it on purpose, but the fact is that he did, and that’s something that will weigh on his conscience for the rest of his days.
He comes face to face with this exact dilemma some weeks later when he’s following a trail of resentful energy and finds his way to an abandoned, desolate building with a mass of seething resentment inside. He’s thinking about what to do when a streak of gold speeds past him in a blur and heads straight to the thick of it.
Without a second thought, Wen Ning jumps after the blur, calling his chains out from their qiankun pouch. The answer eagerly to his summons and attack the resentment, whirling around him with a high-pitched whine.
The golden blur whirls around. ”You!”
”Sect Leader Jin,” Wen Ning says. He doesn’t bow but guides his chains around the young sect leader instead, piercing through a rope of resentment that was about to snatch him. ”I can keep it away from you,” he says.
The young sect leader’s eyes narrow and his lips press together in a move that reminds Wen Ning a lot of Sect Leader Jiang, but instead of yelling (like Sect Leader Jiang), Sect Leader Jin merely nods tersely and charges on.
They’re a good team. Sect Leader Jin has excellent reflexes, and while he might be slightly reckless, he’s a skilled young cultivator and good at his job. It takes them most of the day, but they manage to eradicate enough of the excess resentment to get to the root of the problem: a cursed broom, of all things.
”That’s the cause?” Sect Leader Jin asks, incredulous. ”A fucking cleaning equipment?”
”Perhaps it felt underappreciated and mistreated,” Wen Ning says.
Sect Leader Jin shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, but takes care of the broom with a couple of strikes of his sword. As the resentment clears, the air in the building turns instantly lighter. If Wen Ning needed to breathe, the change would’ve been even more obvious.
Sect Leader Jin lets out a hiss of discomfort as they leave the building.
”Are you hurt?” Wen Ning asks.
Sect Leader Jin shoots him a look from the corner of his eye. ”And if I were?” he asks with a small sneer, tilting his head up a bit.
Wen Ning doesn’t look at him as he stows his chains back into their qiankun pouch. They feel slow and sated, content with a work well done. ”I can’t give you spiritual energy but I still have the skills my sister taught me,” he says quietly.
Sect Leader Jin lets out a huff as he walks to a fallen log and holds out his left arm. There’s a gash, sluggishly bleeding and slowly dyeing his sleeve red. Wen Ning carefully peels the sleeve back, nods at the gash, and rummages his qiankun pouch for the mismatched first aid kit he’s slowly put together. Jie would be appalled by the state of it, but it’s enough for Wen Ning.
They don’t talk when he cleans and dresses the wound, nor does he say anything when he holds a finger above the cut and draws out the minuscule amount of resentful energy that lingers in it.
”Thanks,” Sect Leader Jin says gruffly when Wen Ning is done and packing away his kit.
”You’re welcome.”
”You know—” Sect Leader Jin starts, then stops. When Wen Ning looks at him, there’s a furious scowl on his face and he’s looking away from him.
”You don’t need to say anything,” Wen Ning says quietly.
”I know that!” Sect Leader Jin snaps, and then he huffs, as if annoyed by his own reaction. ”I know you weren’t behind my father’s death,” he finally says through gritted teeth.
”But I killed him,” Wen Ning says, not unkindly.
The scowl turns even more prominent. ”It wasn’t your fault, though.”
Wen Ning shrugs. ”You might say that, as a fierce corpse, the discussion about fault and guilt doesn’t apply to me. It could be argued that I am a weapon and weapons can either work as intended or be faulty.”
”Who’s said you are a weapon?” Sect Leader Jin demands, eyes hard.
At that moment, he reminds Wen Ning so much of Master Wei that if his lungs functioned, he would have trouble breathing now. Does Master Wei know that his nephew shares his sense of right and wrong and the furious need to address slights for others?
”Whatever,” Sect Leader Jin grumbles. ”I just wanted to say that you don’t have to stay away from Lanling. I’m not demanding you to visit,” he hurries to add. ”I can understand that you’re not that fond of anything Jin-related. I just wanted you to know. If it makes a difference.”
Wen Ning bows. ”Thank you, Sect Leader Jin. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sect Leader Jin sniffs. ”In that case, we probably should do something about your robes. There’s no need for you to wear those black rags forever.”
Wen Ning ducks his head to hide the shadow of a smile that creeps on his face. ”Of course, Sect Leader Jin,” he says.
”You might like him, Jie,” he says after Sect Leader Jin heads back to Jinlintai. ”He has no manners and he’s at least as temperamental as Jiang Wanyin, but he has a good heart.”
He chuckles at himself, thinking how Jie would scoff at the thought of liking such a brat as Sect Leader Jin.
”So, do they rust?”
Wen Ning glances to the side where A-Yuan’s friend Lan Jingyi is standing. He and A-Yuan caught up with Wen Ning a couple of days ago, saying that they were on an extended field trip and would like to travel with Wen Ning for a while, if he’d allow it. Of course he’d allow it: spending time with A-Yuan and his friends is always a pleasure.
They took care of a nest of snake yao and helped out a family whose house had a collapsed roof, and they’ve now made camp next to a small brook. A-Yuan is washing up by the brook and Wen Ning is tending to the fire.
”Do what rust?” Wen Ning asks.
”Your chains,” Lan Jingyi says, sounding genuinely curious. ”Sizhui said something about affinity and such—I guess that would mean they’re like your spiritual weapons. Or maybe I should say your resentful weapons because you no longer have a core but operate on resentful energy, right?”
”I’m not sure,” Wen Ning says slowly.
”About them being your spiritual weapons?”
Wen Ning huffs. ”No. Master Wei told me they are my spiritual weapons. But I don’t know if they could rust.” He cocks his head. ”I store them in a qiankun pouch when they’re not needed.”
”Qiankun pouches act as stasis,” Lan Jingyi muses, sitting next to him. ”But they could start rusting when they’re out in the open. The process would just be very, very slow.”
”I…haven’t really thought about that.”
”Huh,” Lan Jingyi says.
They sit in silence for some while. Wen Ning stares into the fading fire and next to him, Lan Jingyi’s fingers dance restlessly on his knee. He’s a curious Lan; brash and outspoken and restless, quick to act and quick to point out things—as Master Wei has said many times, the most un-Lan-like Lan he’s ever seen. Wen Ning wonders how that happened. How did the sect that values quiet and uniformity produce a cultivator like Lan Jingyi? And, more importantly, how is he allowed to be the way he is?
Back during the second siege of the Burial Mounds, Lan Jingyi was the one who diverted the suspicions away from Master Wei and loudly and unashamedly exposed Su Minshan’s shortcomings instead. Even when A-Yuan chided him for being too loud, Lan Jingyi didn’t care but went on, proud and righteous. And all the while, Teacher Lan was right next to him and did nothing to silence Lan Jingyi.
In a way, it’s a shame that A-Yuan is the current sect heir. The Lan would benefit a lot from someone like Lan Jingyi.
”Um,” Lan Jingyi says. ”If you don’t mind my asking, why do you call Senior Wei ’Master’?” When Wen Ning doesn’t immediately answer, he hurries to add, ”You don’t have to tell me. I was just wondering why.”
”In certain ways, he is my master,” Wen Ning says slowly, parsing through the complicated tangle of everything he feels for Wei Wuxian. ”Even if my soul didn’t fully depart, I did die. He called my soul back and bound it to my corpse and then retrieved my cognition.” He shrugs stiffly. ”He might not see it that way, but he is my maker and I am his creation.”
Lan Jingyi hums, a serious look on his face. ”It must feel very strange.”
Wen Ning thinks about the connection that hums quietly in the back of his consciousness, the way he can always turn and point exactly to where Master Wei is at any given moment. He remembers how it had felt for that connection to be cut off when Xue Yang pushed the nails into his head, and the way the insistent pull he had erased the nails’ influence when Master Wei called him to the Dafan Mountain.
”It’s a part of who I am,” he merely says.
Wen Ning is gifted a small patch of land in the back hills of the Cloud Recesses, away from the main pathways, hidden from sight. It doesn’t really bother him—he might not need either sleep or food, but he likes the idea of having something to call his own. A tiny hut, a small garden, a place to sit and think in peace.
He plants chilies and medicinal herbs and feels very accomplished when he sees the first tiny sprouts break through the soil.
A-Yuan and Lan Jingyi visit him time to time, and Wen Ning pretends he doesn’t see the jars of Emperor’s Smile they stash behind his hut. He patches the roof and fixes the broken daybed in the quiet hopes that A-Yuan might some day want to stay over, but is in no way surprised when the first person to use the daybed is Master Wei.
”Hey, I almost forgot,” Lan Jingyi says one time they stay over. He rummages in his sleeve for a small jar and hands it to Wen Ning. ”I got this from a blacksmith in Qinghe. They have experience with spiritual weapons that are at least partially resentful, so I thought it would probably be the best option.”
Wen Ning stares at the jar and then at Lan Jingyi.
”It’s for your chains!” Lan Jingyi beams. ”You have to make sure they don’t rust, right?”
Pleased, Wen Ning ducks his head. ”Thank you, Young Master Lan. That was very kind of you.”
Lan Jingyi waves his hand. ”No, no, no, you should call me by my name! At least when we’re under your roof. Young Master Lan makes me feel so stuffy—call me Jingyi. Please.” Then he turns to Sizhui and starts to loudly complain about something or another Jin Ling did or said.
A-Yuan meets his eyes over Lan Jingyi’s shoulder and smiles.
Wen Ning takes a breath he doesn’t need and lets his chains out of the qiankun pouch. Then he opens the jar, dips a rag into the oil, and starts to oil the chains, letting A-Yuan and Lan Jingyi’s conversation wash over him.
Wen Ning is on his knees in his garden, carefully picking out weeds. In general, he doesn’t bother—the weeds have as much right to exist as the other plants—but this particular brand of chili is finicky and seems to react badly to the weeds competing for nutrients. So, he picks them out.
The day is warm enough for even him to notice. Usually, temperatures don’t bother him; he reacts to the extremes and even then, it’s the freezing cold that affects him. Something to do with his body slowly freezing over, Master Wei said he’d look into it at some point. But when it gets warm, he notices the way air shimmers and his hair smells and how malleable many things feel. Luckily, his body doesn’t rot in the heat. That would be unfortunate.
He lifts his head when he hears steps from the other side of the hut. They’re too slow to be Master Wei or A-Yuan, and neither Jingyi nor Hanguang-jun visits him alone. Curious, he pushes himself to stand up and brushes dirt from his robes.
He turns just as Ouyang Zizhen walks around the corner.
”Oh, you’re here!” he says, bending into a polite bow. ”I hope I’m not disturbing you, Wen Qionglin?”
”No, of course not, Young Master Ouyang,” Wen Ning says, hurrying into a bow of his own. ”If you’re looking for A-Yuan or Jingyi, they’re not here.”
”Oh, I know,” Ouyang Zizhen says with a smile. ”I saw them earlier but they had some sect business to do, so I left them to it and decided to come and see you.” He looks around. ”Your home is quite lovely. Have you painted it since the last time I visited?”
Wen Ning nods. ”Yes.” It’s bright blue. Not the color he would’ve ever thought he’d choose, but he hadn’t wanted to paint it white, nor had he wanted anything that reminded him of the Wen red. Master Wei had said he could choose anything you like, A-Ning, really, just go for it!
So, he’d picked bright, clear blue.
”I like it,” Ouyang Zizhen says. ”It’s like the sky. Or a really clear, deep lake.”
Wen Ning shuffles his feet, feeling slightly awkward. Ouyang Zizhen isn’t someone he’s spent much time around, as he visits far less than Jin Ling. Of the four young cultivators, he’s the one he knows the least.
”Oh, is that your garden?”
Wen Ning glances behind him. ”Yes.”
”Sizhui has told me so much about it. He says you’re a very skilled gardener. And Jingyi calls you a plant-whisperer,” Ouyang Zizhen grins.
Wen Ning ducks his head and shrugs. ”It’s peaceful. Gives a lot of time to think.”
”A bit like meditation,” Ouyang Zizhen says. ”Repetitive, slow work that allows the mind to wander.”
”Mn.”
”Were you working right now? Can I do anything to help?”
”I was weeding,” Wen Ning says. ”But there’s no need for you to help.”
Ouyang Zizhen waves his hand. ”I’d be happy to,” he says, tying his sleeves back with practiced ease. ”I’m not sure if it ever came up, but one of my big sisters is very fond of gardening. She’s in charge of our orchards and the garden plots where she grows both kitchen herbs and medicinal herbs, as well as vegetables, berries, and flowers.”
”Flowers?” Wen Ning asks as he makes his way back to the chili plants. ”For decoration?”
”No,” Ouyang Zizhen says. ”She says that not everything we grow needs to have a purpose. Sometimes we can grow things just because they’re pretty. And…” he lowers his voice conspirationally. ”I’m not talking about the Jin kind of pretty. Lanling is a beautiful place but their gardens are just a bit too much for me.”
Wen Ning lets out a noncommittal sound.
They work silently side by side, picking out the weeds that cling to the chili sprouts. Wen Ning finds it charming how meticulous and careful Ouyang Zizhen is, taking his time instead of just yanking the weeds out.
He notices Wen Ning’s look and blushes slightly. ”I think I enjoy flowers the most when they can grow as nature intended. The different colors and shapes and sizes…it all adds to the whole. If everything is carefully curated and pruned, it loses part of itself.”
”Mn. That’s wise,” Wen Ning says.
”Not what my mother and sisters say,” Ouyang Zizhen says dryly. ”They complain that I’m a romantic who doesn’t have a sensible thought in my head and that I need a stern wife who will keep me grounded.”
”What do you think?”
For a moment, Ouyang Zizhen leans back on his heels and cocks his head, thinking. ”I haven’t thought about marriage yet. I know I need to marry eventually as I’m the only son, but…” He sighs. ”I guess I am a romantic because I’d like to learn to know and love my future wife with time, not under duress and the marriage contract hanging over our head. A loving marriage…” his voice trails away as his eyes turn distant and dreamy.
Wen Ning hopes he isn’t holding Master Wei and Hanguang-jun as an example. Yes, they have a loving and passionate marriage, but it took them a lot to get to this point. Most people would probably appreciate less death, torment, and depression before their three bows.
Almost like he hears Wen Ning’s thoughts, Ouyang Zizhen glances at him with a sheepish smile. ”But perhaps a bit less drama than Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun,” he says.
”I think that would be wise, yes,” Wen Ning agrees.
A-Yuan is fortunate to have such friends, he thinks as they kneel side by side and work. And they are fortunate to have him. All four young men have different temperaments, but they’re all skilled cultivators with strong cores and a solid sense of right and wrong.
You would’ve been so proud of them all, Jie, he thinks.
Under his hands, the earth is rich and warm and full of life.