Chapter Text
The first thing Wei Wuxian notices is how clean they are.
He breaks off his argument with Wen Qing, his stomach twisting inside him, as Jiang Cheng steps into the clearing and gazes around with confusion and anger. Jiang Yanli daintily picks her way behind Jiang Cheng, her beloved face clouded with worry. They’re both so clean, their faces and their hair and their clothing, their fingernails free of dirt. Jiang Cheng’s silver hair ornament could feed the entire Yiling sect for a month. Jiang Yanli’s delicate pearl-and-gold earrings, twice that. Easily. Jiang Cheng’s indigo traveling robes gleam like a beacon against the dull, ashy air.
Wei Wuxian feels self-conscious in front of them, suddenly hyper-aware of the mud on his robes and the tangles in his hair, but they’re his brother and sister. His family. He rises to greet them. “You’re here, Jiang Cheng,” he says to his brother, striving for his old playful manner. “Which do you think is better, potatoes or turnips?”
Jiang Cheng stares at him. He doesn’t look angry anymore, so much as he looks...shocked. Appalled. There’s a terrible silence, one in which Wei Wuxian feels the last few connections he has to the family of his upbringing start to fray, and then Jiang Yanli steps forward, placing a hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm. “Turnips,” she says firmly.
Relief floods into him, but Wei Wuxian widens his eyes and mouth in mock outrage. “Shijie,” he pouts, “how can you say that? Why is everyone against me?” He casts a glance over his shoulder at Wen Qing, who raises her chin at him in triumph.
“Turnips are a more practical crop, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says sweetly, exchanging a conspiratorial look with a still-gloating Wen Qing. “You can eat the leaves as well as the roots. Potato leaves are poisonous.” She enfolds him in a hug, smelling of perfume and comfort and home.
“You’re going to grow food on a mountain of corpses?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Will it even be edible?”
Wei Wuxian meets his eyes over Jiang Yanli’s shoulder, unblinking. “Believe me,” he says. “When people are extremely hungry, they will eat anything.”
It’s meant to be an admonition, a reminder that Jiang Cheng, for all his talk, has no idea what Wei Wuxian has had to do to survive, and he can see that it hits home. He feels a savage, ugly satisfaction at that. Let Jiang Cheng judge as he likes.
“Let me look at you,” Jiang Yanli says, stepping between them, brushing a strand of hair out of Wei Wuxian’s face. “We were so worried about you! Weren’t we, A-Cheng?”
Jiang Cheng clears his throat, and the stiff Sect-Leader-Come-to-Lecture-His-Chief-Disciple look slowly leaves his face, leaving behind a Long-Suffering-Younger-Brother look that Wei Wuxian feels much more equipped to deal with. “You might have told us what you were going to do,” he grumbles.
Wei Wuxian opens his mouth on a stinging retort. Wen Qing hits him in the ribs with her sharp elbow, and he coughs. “I know,” he says instead. “But there...wasn’t really time for that. Everything happened so fast, and I thought it was best to get everyone to safety as soon as I could.”
“Safety,” Jiang Cheng mutters, looking around them dubiously. Wei Wuxian follows his gaze. He’s been so proud of what they’ve accomplished in the last few weeks — the half-constructed buildings, the newly-tilled ground, the tiny habitable chunk they’ve been able to painstakingly carve out of the Burial Mounds — but through his brother’s eyes, all he can see is the ashy, poisonous air; the exhausted people, huddled together in dull terror against this new possible threat; the mud and the bones and the decay. He feels a surge of defensive anger on their behalf. They’re doing their best.
“What are you doing?” he tells them. “Back to work.” He tries to imbue his words with confidence and reassurance — there’s no danger here, I have this under control — and to his relief, they comply.
“You really mean to stay here, then,” Jiang Cheng says. “You’re not returning to Lotus Pier.” He says it like an accusation.
“Since Yunmeng and Yiling are so close together, I can go back when I miss Yunmeng,” Wei Wuxian replies, as if it’s that easy.
Jiang Cheng starts to say something, but before he can, little A-Yuan barrels in and wraps himself around Jiang Cheng’s leg. Wei Wuxian will have to have a word with the kid about having more discriminating tastes — why hug Jiang Cheng’s boring old leg when his brilliant, interesting, devoted Xian-gege is around?
“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian admonishes the child, “how can you just hold the leg of whoever you see?”
A-Yuan peers up at him thoughtfully, chewing on his fingers, which Wei Wuxian belatedly realizes are covered with mud.
“Oh, little one,” Jiang Yanli coos, squatting down next to A-Yuan, “don’t put your fingers in your mouth, they’re all muddy.” She gently takes his hand out of his mouth; he gives her a slobbery, chubby-cheeked grin in response, and doesn’t so much hug her as he does sort of launch himself at her. Grinning back, she scoops him up and stands with him on one hip, heedless of the mud being smeared across her cloak. She looks up at Wei Wuxian with shining, limpid eyes. “Oh A-Xian, I understand now, I see why you had to help them.”
Jiang Cheng gives her a look of complete and utter youngest-sibling betrayal.
“Look at them, A-Cheng,” she says quietly, nudging him. “Look at these people. What could they have done, without Wei Wuxian’s help?”
He looks around, sneering a little. “Those clan leaders thought that you had gathered a group of remnant rebels to throne yourself in the mountain, waving some flags,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “They turn out to be a group of the old, young, and weak.”
“And what does the Jiang sect stand for, if not for protecting the old, young, and weak?” Jiang Yanli asks.
“We can’t protect anyone if there’s no sect,” Jiang Cheng snaps.
“A-Yuan wants Popo,” A-Yuan announces, clearly bored by their conversation.
“Where is she?” Jiang Yanli asks him. “Can you point her out? Maybe we can go visit her together?”
A-Yuan eagerly points a grubby little fist to where his grandmother is weaving mats. Jiang Yanli looks to Wei Wuxian; he nods his permission. Giving Jiang Cheng a stern be nice glare over her shoulder, she walks off, whispering nonsensical things in A-Yuan’s ear.
Wei Wuxian watches them walk off, smiling fondly, then turns to his brother. Jiang Cheng is still looking tense, uncertain. Wei Wuxian sighs.
“Where is Wen Ning?” Jiang Cheng asks, and Wei Wuxian knows they’re not OK yet.
Over Wen Qing’s objections, he takes Jiang Cheng into the cave and shows him where Wen Ning lies still, covered in fluttering talismans.
It turns out that Jiang Cheng has been under the impression that Wei Wuxian is raising some kind of army of the undead. He has to laugh at the idea — as though he’d have that kind of time, with fifty-odd people’s lives hanging fragile in his hands, with scraping himself raw just to keep Wen Ning clinging to the tiny thread of life the Jin clan had left him. As though he hasn’t been working himself down to a shadow, just to survive. He hasn’t even raised turnips yet, let alone an army of the dead.
They end up shouting at each other, because of course they do. Jiang Cheng tells him that anyone with the name of Wen is marked for death, as is anyone who defends them — like that’s a reason for Wei Wuxian to give them up, and not the reason he’d hidden them here to begin with. He throws the opinions of the four great clans in Wei Wuxian’s face, like Wei Wuxian has ever given a single flying fuck about what any of them think.
“If you defend them,” Jiang Cheng finally yells, tears in his eyes, “I won’t be able to defend you.”
There it is, then. That’s what Jiang Cheng has come here to say. Sentence these people to death, or lose your family. It’s an easy decision to make, although he’s sure Jiang Cheng would make a different one.
“Unable to defend me?” Wei Wuxian asks, and his voice only shakes a little. “Just leave me then. Tell the world I defected.” He turns his back, hardening his heart. He knows how to be alone, now. He can do it. “From now on, the things I do don’t concern the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jiang Yanli’s voice is sharp from the entrance of the cave. “You’re not leaving the sect.”
Both of them look up at her, startled. Behind her, Wen Qing is peering in with worried, unapologetic eyes.
“A-jie,” Jiang Cheng says, attempting to take a lecturing tone. “We’re still rebuilding the sect. We don’t have the money or the manpower to defend these people. Not when Jin Guangshan has said they must die. If we try to stand against him, we’ll lose everything. Think of the sect. Think of your own happiness,” he pleads.
Jiang Yanli raises her chin, her ears going a little pink. “Jin Zixuan has promised that whatever our clan’s reputation, he will stand by me,” she says primly.
Wei Wuxian turns to Jiang Cheng with a look that says What the hell does Jin Zixuan have to do anything? Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and returns a look that says I’ll tell you later.
“You always think everything has to be solved with a sword fight,” Jiang Yanli admonishes Jiang Cheng. “A-Xian is our brother, and we’re not abandoning him. If YunmengJiang can’t protect him on our own, we simply need to ally ourselves with a sect who can.”
“What do you suggest?” Jiang Cheng asks, eyeing her suspiciously.
Jiang Yanli looks at them both with a twinkle in her eye. “Wei Wuxian needs to get married.”
~*~
Nie Huaisang casts a nervous glance at his brother. Nie Mingjue’s face is thoughtful, which means he hasn’t fully rejected the Jiangs’ proposal yet, but he’s also looking deeply skeptical, which means they’ve got more work to do.
“...And QingheNie has both the land holdings to resettle the refugees, and the military might to defend them,” Jiang Cheng is saying. “In return, YunmengJiang is prepared to offer concessions on shipping, exclusive trade routes —”
“— Not to mention Wei Wuxian’s extensive array of inventions and talismans, all of which would be part of his dowry,” Jiang Yanli adds. “No other sect has access to that body of knowledge, not even us. The talismans in particular are already generating quite a bit of interest in Yiling, and have the potential to be a source of some distinction for the cultivation sect that can master them, not to mention a lucrative source of income.”
“You’re speaking of demonic cultivation,” Nie Mingjue rumbles. “Wicked tricks.”
“QingheNie are familiar with alternative methods of cultivation,” Jiang Yanli points out sweetly. Nie Huaisang’s never seen this side of her before; when they’d studied together at Cloud Recesses, she’d always seemed so meek, but she’s come here in her capacity as mistress of the Jiang sect and she’s clearly prepared to do business. He’s into it. “Wei Wuxian’s methods are unusual, but that doesn’t make them wicked,” she continues. “He has invented an entirely new school of cultivation theory — something no one’s done for hundreds of years — and while it’s true that not much is known about it now, given the right environment for him to develop it, it could lead to a lot of exciting discoveries.”
“Discoveries that would be solely the property of the Nie clan, were Wei Wuxian to marry into it,” Jiang Cheng adds.
Nie Mingjue snorts. “So you want us to take him on, because you think we can control him.”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Good luck with that. From his vantage point to one side, Nie Huaisang can see Jiang Yanli viciously poke him under the table.
“What about the disciples he’s taken on? This army he’s trying to raise? I can’t just accept a bunch of unknown cultivators into the sect.” Nie Mingjue’s voice is stern, but Nie Huaisang knows that the fact that his brother has dropped the topic of demonic cultivation and moved on to a new objection is a good sign.
“There are no disciples,” Jiang Cheng says, like he’s angry about that for some reason. “It’s just a bunch of elderly farmers.”
“Jin Guangshan seemed to believe —”
“I’m afraid Jin-zongzhu may have been given some incorrect information,” Jiang Yanli interjects smoothly. “I’ve seen these people with my own eyes. There’s no army. Just a small group of refugees, ordinary people who had no part in the war. I’m sure Jin-zongzhu had no idea how terribly they were mistreated in his prison camp.”
Nie Huaisang is sure of no such thing; from his humorless chuckle, it sounds like neither is his brother.
When he thinks about it, Nie Huaisang’s not opposed to the idea of marrying Wei Wuxian. He’d sort of thought he would avoid the whole question of marriage altogether, and he’s not really attracted to Wei Wuxian, but that’s fine — they can both seek pleasurable company outside their marriage, in the grand tradition of political marriages everywhere. The important thing is that Wei Wuxian is his friend, one of his closest friends, and he’s in trouble. Nie Huaisang would marry him for that alone, and it’s not like he has anything else going on, anyway. The fact that it will also royally piss off Jin Guangshan is just a fun added bonus.
“QingheNie would not allow him to practice necromancy in the Unclean Realm,” Nie Mingjue is saying now.
“He’s not practicing necromancy, for fuck’s sake, he’s planting turnips,” Jiang Cheng growls.
Nie Huiasang has to suppress a roll of his eyes, and although Jiang Yanli’s expression stays mild, he gets the sense she’s doing the same.
“Again, I’m afraid that the rumors that Chifeng-zun has heard are not based on reliable information,” Jiang Yanli says evenly. “Wei Wuxian has raised no one from the dead. Wen Qionglin was gravely injured, and close to death; my brother has worked tirelessly to save the boy’s life. It’s not necromancy, just an experimental medical treatment — one that, I might add, has been successful. Surely Chifeng-zun can have no objection to this.”
“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang interrupts. Nie Mingjue turns a baleful eye on him, but he’s spoken up now — might as well make his case. “Your sworn brotherhood has strengthened our ties to both the Jin and the Lan; it would be to our benefit to strengthen our ties to the Jiang as well. And Wei-gongzi is my friend. I believe he’s a good man. I — I have no objection to marrying him,” he finishes somewhat weakly, aware that he’s not saying I would be very excited to marry him. “Really, it would be fine.”
Jiang Yanli turns an absolutely radiant smile on him, like a small and gentle sun flowering into existence before his eyes. It’s a shame no one’s asking him to marry the Jiang sibling who’s a beautiful woman with heartstopping smile and skin like the perfect ivory-pink petals of a lotus blossom; he supposes the sibling who’s a devious, hilarious bastard who appreciates Nie Huaisang’s pornography collection will have to do.
Nie Mingjue glowers at him, seemingly unmoved by Jiang Yanli’s smile. “It won’t work,” he declares.
“Nie-zongzhu —” Jiang Cheng begins, but Nie Mingjue cuts him off.
“It won’t work,” he says again. “If what you need is for the full strength of the Nie sect to stand against Jin Guangshan — potentially the entire cultivation world — in the matter of the Wen remnants, then marriage to Huaisang, or to another senior Nie disciple, will not send a strong enough message of our support. Whether the rumors about him are founded or unfounded, there is a strong sentiment of fear against Wei Wuxian right now, as well as against anyone with the name of Wen; an insufficient show of strength on our part could look like he’s manipulating us for his own purposes, which would endanger us, and bring exactly the kind of animosity that YunmengJiang is trying to avoid with this marriage.”
Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli exchange a worried look. Jiang Cheng sets a comforting hand on his sister’s arm.
“For this to work,” Nie Mingjue continues, “I’d need to marry him myself.”
Fuck, that’s a good point. Nie Huaisang’s own reputation is...whatever, but Nie Mingjue’s is beyond reproach.
“What a thoughtful suggestion, Nie-zongzhu,” Jiang Yanli enthuses, becoming, if possible, even more radiantly lovely than before. “Of course, the Jiang sect would be honored to accept such a match.”
Nie Huaisang blinks. He’s pretty sure his brother wasn’t actually proposing marriage so much as he had been thinking out loud, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t correct her.
“Wei Wuxian is a hero of the Sunshot campaign,” Nie Mingjue muses. “I was impressed with how he acquitted himself there. I’m not convinced that the Jin sect should be custodians of the Stygian Tiger Amulet; it may be prudent that Wei Wuxian has withheld it.”
Opening his fan, Nie Huaisang hides a smile behind it. So da-ge also thinks it would be fun to piss off Jin Guangshan. Interesting.
“I can’t approve of how he handled things at Qiongqi Way, but if the situation is as you say, I can understand his reasons for behaving as he did. Huaisang vouches for him, which carries a lot of weight with me —”
Nie Huaisang sits up, surprised. It does?
“— And my sworn brother, Zewu-jun, has always spoken highly of him as well.”
Aha. There it is.
“Your brother has a lively character,” Nie Mingjue continues. “He is bright, and talented. I have enjoyed the time I have spent with him in the past.”
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Wei Wuxian is so pretty. Nie Huaisang knows that everyone thinks he’s the only artistic type in the family, but Nie Mingjue has always had a keen eye for beauty. Particularly — although not exclusively — in men.
“I have already designated Huaisang as my heir,” Nie Mingjue rumbles, wagging a warning finger at the Jiangs. “This marriage would not change that.”
Jiang Cheng snorts. “Well, marriage to Wei Wuxian is unlikely to produce an heir, so we should be fine there.”
“We understand,” Jiang Yanli adds, blushing a little. “Now, shall we discuss terms?”
~*~
The teahouse in Yiling is dark, and busy. Wei Wuxian has actually never been inside before; the proprietor takes a glance at his homespun clothing and ushers him to a small table toward the back. It’s hard to get that worked up over it, knowing that they have wine and that Jiang Cheng will be picking up the tab.
He drains half of the first bottle before he’s even fully aware he’s doing it — he must be more nervous than he thinks. If Jiang Cheng wants to meet, it must mean there’s some news on the betrothal front. There are only so many clans with an heir of anything like marriageable age. Perhaps a minor clan, one whose status would make them less likely to draw the ire of LanlingJin? Clan Leader Ouyang has several sons, if Wei Wuxian remembers correctly; although now that he thinks of it, one of them may have died in Sunshot. Clan Leader Yao has no children, thank all the gods and immortals.
He allows himself the briefest thought of soft white silk draped over hard muscle, of deep honey eyes and a deeper quiet voice, an umbrella drooping in the rain, a white ribbon wound around his wrist. But that’s — that’s not the kind of thing he gets to hope for, anymore. GusuLan is still rebuilding, and Lan Qiren would never agree to take him on. Besides, Lan Zhan must hate him now, after everything he’s done. He should put it out of his mind.
Jiang Cheng bursts into the teahouse like he’s already angry with everyone and everything in it. The staff scurry to accommodate him, unaware that that’s just how Jiang Cheng enters most rooms. Wei Wuxian’s not even sure he knows he does it. Jiang Yanli trails in behind him, and Wei Wuxian feels his spirits lift — his shijie wouldn’t have come along unless there’s important news.
The teahouse proprietor nervously bows them to Wei Wuxian’s table, making several offers to move them to a nicer table along the way. They both smile and assure him that this table will be fine, and he hurries off to fetch their drinks.
“Congratulations,” Jiang Cheng says as soon as they’re seated. “You’re betrothed.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart kicks in his chest like a frightened animal. This is ridiculous. He’s a war hero. “To whom?” he croaks.
“Of the four major clans, only QingheNie has the necessary wealth and political power to protect you,” Jiang Yanli says. “LanlingJin would not be...workable, and GusuLan is still rebuilding both Cloud Recesses and the sect as a whole.”
He ignores the pang he feels at this. “OK, so...Nie Huaisang, then?” That would be OK. Kind of weird, but OK. Fun, even, maybe. Nie Huaisang is great, and they already get along. If nothing else, Wei Wuxian will never want for porn again.
Yanli clears her throat. “That was our initial idea, yes, but…” She and Jiang Cheng exchange a look. “...Chifeng-zun felt that to be successful, the show of support between our two clans should be as strong as possible. He suggested that the marriage be...to him.”
Wei Wuxian blinks at her. “To Nie Mingjue.”
“Congratulations,” Jiang Cheng says again, pouring himself a cup of wine.
Nie Mingjue. Chifeng-zun. Nie Huaisang’s intimidating older brother, with the square jaw and sculpted cheekbones and biceps bigger than Wei Wuxian’s head. Tall, taciturn, muscular Nie Mingjue. “Well,” says Wei Wuxian, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
During the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Mingjue would often lead his men in drills in the morning; as the sun grew hotter, he would sometimes discard his outer robe, leading saber drills with his inner robes sweat-stuck to the powerful muscles in his back. Wei Wuxian was a mess at the time, but he still remembers it distinctly. Nie Mingjue is strong; he hefts his saber around like it’s nothing. He could probably pick Wei Wuxian right up and...
Bend him in half, for example.
“Um,” he says, aware that his siblings are staring at him. “I...Nie Mingjue is a very, uh, righteous and honorable man,” he stammers, trying to get a hold of himself.
“Your astrological charts are very compatible,” Jiang Yanli says encouragingly. “It would be quite the match.”
“Yes! It would.” He would be married to a sect leader. Does that mean he’d have to do...sect...things? Run his household? How does that work, when you’re both men? “And I’ve always thought Chifeng-zun was very…”
One time, during a skirmish on the battlefield, Nie Mingjue had taken a shallow sword-slash across his ribs. Afterward, he’d stripped to the waist so the field medic could clean the wound, a trickle of blood running down the grooves of his stomach, sweat glistening on his broad shoulders.
“...Shoulders,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, having lost his train of thought entirely.
“Gross.” Jiang Cheng makes a face. “Quit being gross.”
“Yes, he is extremely shoulders,” Jiang Yanli laughs. “So I take it you approve?”
“What about the Yiling sect?” Wei Wuxian asks, wrenching his mind back to the present.
“Part of his wedding gift to you will be a tract of land, about half a day’s ride from the Unclean Realm,” Jiang Cheng says, dropping into his Sect Business voice with an air of relief. “It’s undeveloped, but should be decent farmland once it’s tilled. There is a town not far away. The land will be yours, to do with as you wish, so if you want to start a refugee settlement there...go ahead.”
Whatever condition the land is in, it’s bound to be better than breathing poisonous air, traveling all morning to the nearest source of clean water, pulling up bones alongside the turnips. Wei Wuxian drains the last of the wine bottle and signals for another. “And...Wen Qing and Wen Ning?” he asks, trying not to sound like everything hinges on the question, even though it does.
Jiang Cheng scowls. Jiang Yanli reaches across the table and takes Wei Wuxian’s hand. “We told Chifeng-zun about how they saved our lives — all of our lives — after Lotus Pier was taken,” she says gently, “but he said that Wen Qing can’t go unpunished for aiding Wen Ruohan during the war, regardless of her reasons for doing so. She would have to live in exile: confined to the borders of your land at first, though over time, he may expand her confinement to all of Qinghe. She would have to swear to never take up the sword again.”
A queasy feeling wells up in him. Nie Mingjue’s sentence could be seen as reasonable — generous, even, considering that Jin Guangshan is calling for her head — but Wen Qing isn’t a criminal. She doesn’t deserve to be punished at all. She’d been a prisoner, a hostage. She’d done as little harm as she could, risked her life on multiple occasions to save his, and spent the last year in imprisonment and destitution. “No,” he says sharply.
“A-Xian.” Jiang Yanli squeezes his hand. “Please, will you discuss it with her? Before you refuse? She might welcome the opportunity to remove the price from her own head.”
Anger feels different now, different than it did before his time in the Burial Mounds. Every surge of rage in his blood is met with an answering surge of resentful energy, spiteful ghosts encouraging him to vent his spleen on the world. The Stygian Tiger Amulet frets and mutters at his hip. He has to focus, calm himself, channel it away. He’s getting better at it. “What about Wen Ning? He’s making so much progress; he should be able to move on his own soon.”
“That’s wonderful!” Jiang Yanli beams, because she’s the only truly good and pure person in the world.
“What will happen to him?” Poor Wen Ning, who just wanted a peaceful life with his sister, who’d brought him medicine at Nightless City and carried Jiang Cheng out of Lotus Pier on his back. Poor Wen Ning, who’d slaughtered four men at Qiongqi Way before Wei Wuxian even understood what was happening. That blood is on Wei Wuxian’s hands, and no one else’s — he’ll tell Nie Mingjue so, if the man tries to argue otherwise.
“He will also face exile and must give up the sword, but will face no further punishment.”
“Under the circumstances,” Jiang Cheng spits bitterly, “Chifeng-zun seemed to think Wen Ning has suffered enough.”
“You say that like you’re upset about it.”
“Why would I be upset about it?” Jiang Cheng demands. “It makes no difference to me what either of them do.”
~*~
“It makes no difference to me,” Wen Qing says later that evening. “How is exile different from where we are now?” She gestures at herself. “Do you see a sword that I could be giving up?”
He’s come back from Yiling in a fragile, mercurial mood, vacillating between puckish good humor and deep melancholy at top speed. She should have expected it — he gets like this, when he’s seen Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He’s also brought back a bottle of liquor, which she’s deigned to allow him to share with her, and the night air is quiet and even a little fresh, so it’s not all bad.
“You’re the greatest doctor of our generation,” Wei Wuxian points out. “You should be practicing medicine, and...and publishing treatises, and whatever great doctors do.”
“Well, lately I’ve been planting turnips and doing laundry,” she says, indicating the bundle of A-Yuan’s clothing she’s folding, which Wei Wuxian is supposed to be helping with, instead of carping on about some imagined slight to her imagined honor. “I can publish treatises from Qinghe. Don’t turn him down on my account.”
He doesn’t answer, just moodily stares up at the sky.
It doesn’t matter where we go, she wants to say to him. Jin Guangshan will never stop demanding our execution. He will never stop trying to get the Stygian Tiger Amulet. Whatever we do, it will all be temporary, and that is enough for me: to get to spend this time with my family, with my brother, is already more than I had hoped for. Save yourself.
But they’ve had this conversation too many times, and each time he refused to listen to her. Wei Wuxian really thinks that if they stay out of sight for long enough, the world will forget them. He may have been the cream of the cultivation world at one point, but he still doesn’t really understand powerful men and how they react when they’re denied something they want. “Are you going to do it?” she asks instead.
“What, get married?” He shrugs. “I guess. He wants me to come out there in a few days, to...I don’t know, court me or something. Get to know each other. If it doesn’t go well, I can always change my mind.”
“I can’t help but feel like we’re selling you to him.”
He laughs. “Well, at least I’m fetching a good price. I ought to, don’t you think? Someone as smart and charming and handsome as I am? The fearsome Yiling Patriarch? I assume all the sects were lining up to claim me as their son.”
“Wei Wuxian.” He’s joking, but there’s a sadness underneath it.
“It’s fine,” he says, waving her off. “I always assumed I would get married at some point, just...not under these exact circumstances, maybe.” He leans on an elbow, looks at her. “Didn’t you?”
She makes a face. “Marriage puts you at a man’s mercy.” She very carefully does not think about the polished mahogany comb she still carries with her. “I owe enough debts as it is.”
“I really don’t mind it,” he says. “It will make things easier for the Jiang clan, especially for shijie. And A-Yuan should get to grow up in a place where the sun actually shines.”
“Mn.” That’s a hard one to argue with.
“Nie Mingjue is...well, I don’t know if he’s nice, exactly, but he’s fair. That’s something. And he’s gorgeous, which helps,” he adds, rolling his eyes toward her with a sly, debauched smile. “I certainly don’t mind being invited to the Unclean Realm, if you know what I mean.”
“Why do I even bother talking to you,” she says, snatching the liquor bottle away from him as punishment for his crimes.
“Because I’m so smart and charming and handsome, of course,” he grins.
~*~
Lan Wangji has heard jealousy described as “drinking vinegar” before, but it seems a weak descriptor for the emotion that is turning his mouth, his throat, his stomach, into one long burning column of pure acid. Wei Wuxian is betrothed. Wei Wuxian is betrothed to Nie Mingjue, a man Lan Wangji has liked and respected and admired his entire life and who Lan Wangji would cheerfully skewer on a sword point right now.
“Congratulations, da-ge,” Lan Xichen says, with a warm hand to Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. “But I have to admit, I’m surprised. I didn’t know you were even considering marriage.” They’re sitting in the Hanshi, drinking tea and discussing Nie Mingjue’s startling news — this is a social call, not official sect business, so it’s just the family.
“I wasn’t,” Nie Mingjue replies. “But it’s not a bad time to strengthen our ties with Yunmeng, and the Jiang are in need of an ally.”
Lan Wangji’s brother shoots him a brief, worried glance, but Lan Wangji is quite sure his face is doing nothing, nothing at all. “Wei-gongzi is...smart, and capable,” Lan Xichen says slowly. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
Wei Wuxian is smart and capable. Wei Wuxian is beautiful and brilliant and creative and kind, with a heart as big as the sea, and eyes as dark and deep. Wei Wuxian is his, his, should by all rights be his, as he is Wei Wuxian’s. They belong to each other. They’ve been inside each other’s minds, they were bound together in the sacred cave of Lan Wangji’s ancestors, and none of that matters. GusuLan cannot protect an entire group of Wen remnants that the Chief Cultivator has marked for death, not while they’re still rebuilding Cloud Recesses and the sect, and even if they could, Uncle Qiren and the Sect Elders would never allow it.
“That boy is a menace,” Lan Qiren huffs, speaking Lan Wangji’s thoughts aloud. “You shouldn’t be associating with him at all, let alone marrying him, Nie-zongzhu. Resentful energy is not something to be tampered with — it will twist his mind and his spirit, if it hasn’t already, and if you’re not careful, it will corrupt you as well.”
“All the more reason for someone to take him in hand, Uncle,” Lan Xichen’s voice is mild and quiet. “If he can be saved, he should be, and it won’t happen while he’s holed up in the Burial Mounds.”
Lan Wangji swallows a wave of bitterness. If he can be saved, he should be. If things had just gone a little differently, Wei Wuxian would be here now, in Gusu, safe and hidden, and none of this would be necessary. He takes a sip of tea, slow, controlled. His hands are completely steady.
“His cultivation is unorthodox, but it won us a war,” Nie Mingjue says. “I don’t forget that.”
“Marriage is not something to be entered into lightly,” Lan Qiren warns him. “If he marries into your sect, he becomes your responsibility, not just as his husband, but as his Sect Leader. Are you ready to be held accountable for his actions?”
He could say it. If Lan Wangji were in the habit of blurting things out, which he decidedly is not, he might have already done so. He could tell Lan Qiren and the other Sect Elders about what had happened in Cold Pond Cave. They’d be furious, and they’d try to talk him out of it, and they’d punish him brutally, but if he stood his ground they’d have to accept. He could be married to Wei Wuxian himself, within the month.
At which point they’d lock Wei Wuxian in the Jingshi for the rest of his natural life.
The anger and jealousy gutter out like a candle, leaving dark sorrow behind. Lan Wangji is not his father, and Lan Wangji will not let Wei Wuxian suffer his mother’s fate. Nie Mingjue is a good man, a fair and honest man, someone Lan Wangji has known and trusted since he was a small child. He will not treat Wei Wuxian cruelly, and he will not force him into seclusion, which would be all Wei Wuxian could hope for if he came here. It’s for the best.
“That’s why I’ve come here, actually,” Nie Mingjue is saying. Lan Wangji realizes he hasn’t been paying attention to the conversation, but Nie Mingjue’s tone has shifted in a way that suggests he’d like the Lectured About His Life Choices portion of the evening to conclude. “We’ve arranged for Wei-gongzi to visit the Unclean Realm, before the betrothal is formalized. Unfortunately, Jiang-zongzhu can’t spare anyone from Lotus Pier for so long while they’re still rebuilding and Wei-gongzi needs a chaperon. I was hoping Wangji might be willing to come to Qinghe for the week.”
Startled, Lan Wangji looks up from his tea for the first time all evening. Nie Mingjue gives him a fond smile, and despite his dark mood, Lan Wangji can’t help being a little warmed by it; Nie Mingjue doesn’t smile much, but he really does have a great smile. “I know the two of you are friends,” Nie Mingjue says. “I think he might like having someone there that he knows. Huaisang will be there, but as my brother, he’s hardly an appropriate chaperon.”
Lan Xichen’s eyebrows raise in alarm. He darts another concerned look at Lan Wangji. “Oh, I don’t think —”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, before his brother can protest any further. “I will come.”
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmurs, his eyes full of sympathy. “You don’t have to —”
“I would like to go,” he interjects firmly. “If brother will allow it.”
Lan Xichen smiles at him, a small, sad smile, one that says that he knows how much this visit will cost Lan Wangji. “If you truly wish to go, we can spare you.”
“The Nie Clan would be grateful for your assistance in this matter,” Nie Mingjue says.
Uncle Qiren tuts into his beard, but Lan Xichen has already given his permission and Lan Wangji knows that their uncle won’t cause his brother to lose face in front of Nie Mingjue by contradicting him.
Nie Mingjue had better appreciate Wei Wuxian, appreciate his boundless heart and his laugh like the sun, his teasing mouth and his gifted hands and his blade-sharp wit. Lan Wangji will go to the Unclean Realm, and he’ll watch Nie Mingjue pay courtship to the love of Lan Wangji’s life, and if nothing else, he’ll make sure Nie Mingjue understands the gift he’s been given, the person Lan Wangji would die for, kill for, one hundred times over. He’ll go, for Wei Wuxian.
How else is he ever going to see him again?