Even now, he sometimes feels the lightning travel down his spine, tingling down his legs, making his muscles twitch and his breath catch. The phantom sensation is especially strong after a nightmare—like now—but sometimes it surprises him, nearly making his knees buckle for no apparent reason. Lan Zhan always catches him and then smothers him with his concerned love that is as sweet as it is embarrassing.
Sometimes, Wei Wuxian wonders how and why the memory of Zidian dancing on his skin still lingers. This body has never felt it tear into his flesh until his back was bleeding, this body doesn’t carry the scars of a lightning bolt on his back. This body has experienced the electricity only once but it seems it was enough—the force of Jiang Cheng’s rage channeled down the purple crackling whip and into Wei Wuxian’s borrowed body, throwing him through the air until he landed hard and was left gasping for air that still tasted like thunder.
Perhaps it’s more about the wielder than the weapon, he muses, turning gingerly in Lan Zhan’s hold, easing the ache that lives in his memory. Jiang Cheng’s anger is driven by the feelings of betrayal and revenge; his disappointment in Wei Wuxian turning his back and leaving him to build the Jiang from the ashes alone. Wei Wuxian had broken his promise. It’s no wonder Jiang Cheng was upset. He still is.
Madam Yu, on the other hand...
Even though it had never been discussed openly in Yunmeng, it was somewhat a known fact that Jiang Fengmian had never wanted to marry the Third Lady of Yu. They’d both been strong cultivators in their own rights but when the Yu had proposed a marriage, Jiang Fengmian had refused. Some people said it was because he didn’t feel they’d be good for each other. Some people said it was because his heart already belonged to another. But despite the protestations, they ended up marrying anyway and even a child as young as Wei Wuxian had been when taken in had seen they were painfully unhappy and not suited for each other.
Sometimes, he wonders if things would’ve been different if his parents had left him on Lotus Pier before they went and died. If he had been left with Madam Yu from the beginning, would she have accepted him (or at least felt less furious)? Would the rumors of Wei Wuxian being Jiang-shushu’s child, spurred by his years-long search for him, have been diminished?
Would his body have carried fewer scars from her whip?
He shifts and bites back a hiss when a slash of pain licks down his spine right where the scars never fully healed before he died. In tonight’s nightmare, he’d lived through the decimation of Lotus Pier again, except that this time, Madam Yu had used Zidian to cut away his hand while Jiang Cheng watched with grim satisfaction. He’d woken up the moment the whip had curled around his wrist and the electricity had sparked bright enough that he had to close his eyes, only to open them into the comforting, familiar darkness of the Jingshi.
Sometimes he wonders what might’ve happened if she’d done it.
Sometimes, he wonders why she didn’t.
Sometimes, he thinks he would’ve deserved it.
Lan Zhan’s breathing changes slightly and Wei Wuxian isn’t quite fast enough to cover up his mood.
”Wei Ying?”
”Ah, go back to sleep, Lan Zhan,” he says and pats his chest lightly.
Lan Zhan lets out a small hum that sounds both more alert and worried and when Wei Wuxian glances at him, his concern shines through his eyes.
Damn.
”You are troubled,” Lan Zhan says quietly.
”Aiyah, it’s stupid,” Wei Wuxian mutters. ”Nightmares. Old things.”
”Mn.”
Lan Zhan gently moves him and then turns so that they are chest to chest, Wei Wuxian tucked close and safe in his arms. He’s watching him with a calm and patient look, expecting nothing but still wanting to hear anything and everything Wei Wuxian might have in his mind.
Honestly.
He doesn’t deserve this man.
”It was Madam Yu,” Wei Wuxian finally confesses, pressing his face into the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck so that he doesn’t have to see the look in his eyes. ”And Zidian.”
There’s a moment of silence where he can feel Lan Zhan gathering his thoughts. ”Zidian is a first-class cultivation weapon,” he says carefully.
”With the ability to detect possession,” Wei Wuxian adds.
Lan Zhan is quiet for a moment. ”Were you frequently possessed as a child?”
”What? No, of course not!” Wei Wuxian huffs.
A beat of silence. ”Then why would you be repeatedly whipped with a weapon of that strength?”
He shrugs. ”I was an unruly child. I deserved it. And…if not for me, it would’ve been Jiang Cheng.”
Lan Zhan’s hand twitches where it’s pressed flat in the small of his back. ”And how many disciples were routinely whipped with the Jiang discipline whip?”
”That’s reserved for crimes like murder or treason,” Wei Wuxian says and sighs. ”Look. I know where you’re going with this. But Zidian isn’t the same—”
”No, it is not,” Lan Zhan interrupts. ”It is worse. Zidian is meant for fighting, for liberating possessed individuals, for subduing ferocious corpses, for killing demons. It is not meant for discipline. And it certainly is not meant for disciplining children!”
Wei Wuxian squirms, uncomfortable. ”Lan Zhan—”
”Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, insistent and stubborn as he sometimes gets when he thinks Wei Wuxian is being purposefully obtuse. ”Madam Yu was not obligated to like you and it was not required of her. But she should have been obligated to care for the people under her rule. She singled you out due to her own grievances, not because you deserved to be whipped with a weapon equal to a discipline whip. She was wrong.”
”Lan Zhan!” he hisses, genuinely upset. ”You can’t say that!”
”Why not?” Lan Zhan asks calmly. ”She is not my ancestor, neither is she my mother-in-law. In this life, I owe her nothing.” The unsaid And neither do you rings loudly in the silence of the Jingshi.
”Because—because—!” It’s unfilial, he wants to say. I deserved all that and more and But Jiang Cheng and—
Lan Zhan hums, gathers him close, and tucks the blanket over them until it’s tight and snug like a giant dumpling. ”Sleep now, Wei Ying,” he says.
He wants to protest but in the back of his mind, a small, stubborn thought tells him to shut it and listen to Lan Zhan. It’s in the past where it belongs.
And slowly, in the warmth and unyielding shelter of Lan Zhan’s arms, the lightning under his skin dies down, and Wei Wuxian drifts back to sleep.