Chapter Text
Jiang Cheng was dying.
The healer who’d been specially summoned to examine him kowtowed on the floor of the main hall, shaking and apologizing for failing to provide a cure. Jiang Cheng’s reputation as a hothead must’ve preceded him, as the man braced for a violent reaction. What he couldn’t know was that the news wasn’t surprising. This healer was just one of many who’d arrived at the same conclusion—they had no idea how to break the strange curse ravaging Jiang Cheng’s system.
At first, Jiang Cheng had been furious. He’d shouted and threatened and thrown objects in a rage that not a single medical professional or cursebreaker could help him. But as the weeks passed, as the knowledge of his impending demise settled in, a profound sense of relief washed over him. Jiang Cheng had never realized how tired he was—how tired he’d always been, even before the massacre of his clan. The thought of closing his eyes to rest and never having to wake up again seemed...peaceful. A quiet end to a life of anger and bitterness and guilt. It was more than he deserved.
From the sect leader chair, Jiang Cheng dismissed the healer with an impatient wave. The man scrambled to his feet and left without a backward glance. At least he was sworn to secrecy and couldn’t reveal the truth to anyone. Not like Jiang Cheng had anyone who would care, except maybe for Jin Ling, though the boy was a sect leader now and had far more important duties than worrying about his pathetic uncle.
The moment he was alone, Jiang Cheng sagged on the beautifully carved and lacquered wood that was his father’s throne. The seat had never been comfortable, despite Jiang Cheng having sat there for well over a decade. He rubbed his temples and tried to ignore his mother’s shrill voice in his head, reprimanding him for improper posture. He was a grown man, a sect leader, and she was long dead, yet she’d never ceased to chide him from beyond the grave.
Jiang Cheng wasn’t aware he’d closed his eyes until there was a polite cough. A young serving girl stood before him, a tray containing a single bowl of rice, a set of chopsticks, and a cloth napkin balanced in her hands. She bowed. “Sect Leader.”
With a sigh and a slight twist of his lips, Jiang Cheng sat up to accept the meal even though he knew it was useless. Ever since fighting that rogue demonic cultivator two months before, Jiang Cheng hadn’t been able to eat. He possessed no appetite, and no matter what he tried, agonizing cramps would inevitably rip through his abdomen and force him to throw it all up. He could only drink water, as not a single morsel of food—in solid or liquid form—would stay down.
The servant watched him with big eyes as he took a tiny bite. The rice curdled on his tongue, and his stomach heaved. He spit into the cloth napkin and shook his head. The girl’s shoulders slumped, and Jiang Cheng scoffed to himself. What did she have to be so sad about? He was the one dying, and as soon as they disposed of his body, the Jiang Clan would get a better leader. Surely she and the handful of others who knew about his curse were counting down the days until they could stop dealing with him.
Once she’d returned to the kitchens, Jiang Cheng stood. A wave of dizziness swept through him, and he steadied himself on the armrest. It had been two months. Two months of inedia, where the only thing keeping him alive with his appearance intact was his golden core. How funny, considering the core wasn’t his at all. It was borrowed, stolen, an imposter he would’ve dug out with his fingernails if he’d known. And the original owner of the core was none the wiser to Jiang Cheng’s fate. Jiang Cheng wanted it to stay that way, even though in a moment of weakness, he’d actually considered summoning Wei Wuxian from his lofty home of Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian was a genius and a master of dark arts. If there was anyone in the world who could save Jiang Cheng, it was probably him.
But Jiang Cheng had no more words for that man, that former brother. No words to bridge a dark, gaping chasm that spanned a lifetime of hurt and rage and grief. Not to mention Wei Wuxian’s reaction when he found out. At best he’d be annoyed that Jiang Cheng would give up and waste the core he’d so selflessly sacrificed, and at worst he’d pity Jiang Cheng or be upset. No, it was better to leave Wei Wuxian alone. He didn’t need Jiang Cheng to drag him down, not when he was married to his soulmate and finally happy. Wei Wuxian deserved better—he always had, and he always would.
Back in his chambers, Jiang Cheng collapsed at his desk. He had business to attend to, especially since there was no telling how much longer his cultivation would sustain him before the symptoms of starvation set in. It was said that cultivators with strong mental aptitudes could practice inedia for months or even years while they meditated, but Jiang Cheng wasn’t that powerful. He already felt weaker, wearier, and he had too much to do to prepare his clan for a future without him. He couldn’t afford to pretend he wouldn’t die sooner rather than later.
Jiang Cheng shook his head to clear the fog clouding his mind. He unfurled a fresh scroll, grabbed his brush, and dipped the bristles in ink. First things first—a letter requesting Jin Ling to visit Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng hoped Jin Ling wouldn’t dawdle, yet at the same time didn’t want to rush his nephew unnecessarily. Jiang Cheng still had some time left, even though nobody knew how much.
Jiang Cheng was in the middle of reviewing his citizen registry when a servant appeared in his doorway.
“Sect Leader?”
“What?” he snapped.
The man winced. “The disciple you requested has arrived and is waiting in the main hall for you.”
Jiang Cheng had to wrack his brain for a moment to remember who he’d called and why. “Good,” he said when his memory finally clicked. He lurched to his feet, but immediately had to brace himself against the wall when lightheadedness surged through him. He blinked several times to regain his composure, then glared at the servant who was watching him with brows furrowed and hands outstretched, almost as if he wanted to help.
“Why are you still here?” Jiang Cheng barked.
The servant jumped. “I, Sect Leader…?”
“Just take this letter to mail and get out.” Jiang Cheng jerked his head toward the sealed envelope for Jin Ling. The man grabbed it then scurried away.
With a deep breath, Jiang Cheng centered himself and marched out of his room. In the main hall, he took his position in the sect leader chair again, eyeing the purple-clad disciple knelt before him. “Jiang Guoliang?”
Jiang Guoliang bowed his head lower. He was an average man with a stocky build and long hair plaited neatly down his back. An impressive sword hung at his hip. “Yes, Sect Leader. You requested a private audience?”
“I did. Now stand up and face me.”
Jiang Guoliang hurried to obey. Jiang Cheng regarded him coolly. The disciple was young—barely into his twenties. He’d been little more than a toddler when the massacre took place, and although he’d grown up in an outer farm village during the war, he later came to Lotus Pier as a boy ready to learn and excel. Jiang Cheng had been keeping a close watch on him along with several other promising candidates in his generation, ready to spot the highest achievers and have them advance through the ranks.
Internally, Jiang Cheng smirked at Jiang Guoliang, who met his gaze with a determination so fierce he’d tightened his jaw and clenched his fists at his sides. The boy—the man—had courage. Satisfaction curled in Jiang Cheng’s gut. This was the right choice. “I’ve been following your progress ever since you arrived at Lotus Pier. You’ve shown skill at cultivation, and you’ve surpassed most students in marks on your exams. I was also impressed by the answers you gave during the mock leadership interview.”
Jiang Guoliang’s mouth fell open, clearly stunned by the compliments. Jiang Cheng didn’t dole them out often, so he could understand the kid’s shock. A few seconds later, Jiang Guoliang seemed to remember himself and closed his mouth with a snap. He bowed his head again. “Thank you for the kind words, Sect Leader, but I know I still have many shortcomings.”
Jiang Cheng crossed his arms over his chest, pleased. Jiang Guoliang was not only smart, but also humble as well as kind. Jiang Cheng had observed him in town and the training fields, where numerous disciples orbited around him, laughing and smiling. Jiang Guoliang inspired loyalty and love, which was exactly what was needed for the next sect leader. Instead of spite and insanity, the Jiang Clan would have someone gentler, someone untouched by tragedy, to guide them.
“As you know,” Jiang Cheng continued, “I have not taken a wife and have no children. There are no immediate plans in the future to change this.” He definitely wouldn’t be alive for that. “Therefore, I must name a sect heir who will assume the role of leader upon my death.”
Jiang Guoliang’s eyes widened.
Jiang Cheng huffed to himself. The poor bastard didn’t realize how soon he’d have to fill the role, though Jiang Cheng wouldn’t leave him as unsupported as he’d been when he became sect leader. “I have spoken with the council, and they agree with my decision to name you, Jiang Guoliang, as sect heir.” That had taken some convincing, since the elders somehow held out hope Jiang Cheng would find a partner to marry. Too bad they were focused on the wrong thing.
Jiang Guoliang visibly gulped. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Do you accept or not? I need an answer.”
Jiang Guoliang appeared deep in thought for a moment, then straightened, his chin lifted. “I...I accept. Thank you for believing in me.” There was only the slightest wobble in his voice.
“You had better do right by the Jiang Clan,” Jiang Cheng said. “Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t, Sect Leader.”
“Good. Now in the next few days, I will be sharing documents with you. I’ve spent time writing out advice and providing context for situations you may find yourself facing in the coming years. I expect you to commit every page to memory so you can recite them back to me, word for word. I won’t tolerate less than that.”
“Understood.”
“I will also arrange for you to meet and speak with each advisor and each council member individually. They will help you make decisions, but the responsibility lies with you to carry them out and see them through to the end.”
Jiang Cheng continued to spell out the training regimen he’d designed to teach Jiang Guoliang how to lead the Jiang Clan. He wouldn’t go into the position blind, and Jiang Cheng was determined to be at his side as much as possible before the curse killed him.
By the time Jiang Cheng finished his speech and dismissed Jiang Guoliang—after piling scrolls in the man’s arms—fatigue had set in. Jiang Cheng excused himself to his room and, although it was humiliating, he settled in for a nap. A quick nap. After practically falling asleep on his feet during an evening training one night, he realized that if he didn’t nap, he wouldn’t have enough energy to face the rest of the day.
In the end, he managed to alter his rigorous schedule to accommodate the new breaks. That didn’t mean he’d stop pushing himself, though. He was a Jiang, after all and he had to attempt the impossible.
So what if Jiang Cheng was dying of a starvation curse?
There was still work to do, and he was the one to do it.