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Chapter Text

It happened so fast, so unbelievably fast, that even as they stumbled through the streets of Yiling, Jiang Yanli was not sure how they got there.

They had been traveling for days, and her feet hurt. She was still in the soft soled house shoes she had been wearing when they left Lotus Pier, and they were starting to rip apart. As Wei Ying dragged them through the town, his small eleven-year-old body radiating outsized authority and certainty, people glanced at them curiously but stepped out of the way. Even dirtied and exhausted, they still looked like the children of gentry, after all—the children of Yunmeng Jiang.

“This way, this way, here…come on!” Wei Ying was pushing and pulling them forward until they were in a dank, old alley way. A’Cheng recoiled, but Yanli grabbed his wrist and yanked him along. Even being older and (just barely) taller than he was, she should not have been able to maneuver him so easily, but she was certain he was going into shock.

Wei Ying was banging on a door half sunk in the ground, as if it had once been the entry to a basement to a part of a house that wasn’t there anymore.

“Open up, Lao Wang!”

“What the fuck do you want?” An ancient man in a twisted body pulled the door open. Jiang Yanli was not certain he actually had any teeth. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Wei Ying!”

“The fuck?”

Wei Ying groaned in frustration and shoved the old man backwards into the room, pulling on Jiang Yanli who in turn dragged A’Cheng along. 

“Hey!”

“It’s me! Wei Ying!” Wei Ying said loudly, slamming the door shut behind him.

“You brat! Where the hell have you been?”

“I told you I got picked up by the Yunmeng Jiang sect, like, ten times already.”

The man looked more like a human yao than a person, wrinkled and bent with watery, clouded eyes he used to size Wei Ying up as he leaned heavily on a battered old cane. While he bickered with Wei Ying, Yanli stood very still next to A’Cheng, who did not appear to be entirely present. He had not been entirely present since his panic attack outside the gates of Lotus Pier, simply following along obediently and quietly the whole trip.

“Ying’er,” Yanli said softly, which brought Lao Wang and Wei Ying up short. “Where are we?”

“And who are you?” Lao Wang added, poking a long crooked finger at Wei Ying’s chest.

“I’m Wei Ying!” Wei Ying threw his arms up in the air in frustration.

“I know that! I mean them! Dressed too nice to street rats. I can’t use ‘em.” He banged his cane on the ground and sat down with a loud thump.

Yanli did not like the sound of that.

“That’s not why I brought them here, you wicked old man,” Wei Ying said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Yanli. “ShiJie, this is Lao Wang, pickpocket master of Yiling. I knew him when I was…when I used to live here.” He ended up looking down at the dirt floor and shuffling his feet.

“Oh.” She did not know what else to say.

“Been gone too long! You’re out of practice. Can’t use you either.”

“I’m not stealing for you!” He glanced over at Yanli. “Uh, not that I ever did. Because I didn’t! That would be wrong.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” Lao Wang banged his cane on the floor again.

Yanli let go of A’Cheng and stepped forward, not too close, but certainly far closer to a grown man than her mother would have approved.

Her mother.

She bowed. “Lao Wang, I apologize for my brother bringing us to your home. We are in a desperate situation and need a place to hide.”

“ShiJie,” Wei Ying whined softly.

“No, Ying’er, there is no point in lying. Everyone…everyone will know soon, anyway.” She held back a sob.

“No!” A’Cheng shouted and broke for the door. Wei Ying, obviously acting on instinct, tackled him to the floor before he could even grab the handle. The boys wrestled on the ground, shouting incomprehensibly at each other. Yanli knew who would win—who always won, and why that had really been such a burn to her mother’s pride. She stood there and sobbed while her brothers bloodied each other, unable to do anything to stop them.

“Ah, shit.” Lao Wang got up, waddled over and casually as tossing kittens around threw the boys apart with his cane and a martial arts move she had never seen before. There was a moment of quiet before A’Cheng broke down in sobs, and Wei Ying scrambled over to hold him tight.

Yanli knew she should do the same thing. She should be strong for them. She should hold them and tell them everything would be all right. All she could do was stand there and cry.

“What happened, child?” Lao Wang asked softly, staring at the tangle of her brothers. His hands were firmly set on his cane, but there was something soothing about his presence in that moment. It helped that he wasn’t actually looking at her when she started to speak.

“Father…Sect Leader Jiang found out that my brother and I are not his children. Our mother was an adulteress.” She took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself, starting to shake. “He…he kicked us out.”

Chapter Text

The official and very public drowning of Madam Yu was all anyone could talk about.

As soon as word of it made to Yiling (less than two hours after the fact, Yanli eventually found out), Yanli put A’Cheng under lock and key. The lock was Lao Wang and the key was Wei Ying. It had been fairly effective, because even though Lao Wang wandered out occasionally, Wei Ying was very committed to protecting Jiang Cheng, even from himself.

Which meant that for the following week, Yanli was the one out on the streets, trying to buy the worst looking cabbage and the roughest rice she had ever seen. She inspected the day-old, yellowed tofu that had been sitting in the sun too long and did not feel anything about it. In her former life she would have politely asked if the vendor was okay, was his family healthy, were there problems that the Yunmeng Jiang sect could help him with? But not in Yiling. She was nobody—no, she was worse than nobody: a poor nameless girl buying the cheapest food for sale. A bastard.

She was hollowed out, as broken and dirty as the bag of cheap rice at the bottom of her basket.

Her mother…

Her mother was dead.

The thought haunted her every moment of every day. She nearly went crazy imagining what had happened, how it had been done, what her mother’s final thoughts were as she was tied up with stones and thrown into deep waters.

Her mother was executed by the man Yanli had thought was her father, the man she loved and who had carried her around, plying her with sweets behind her mother’s back. The man who had looked at Yanli with disgust as he ordered her beloved and terrified servants to throw her in the street while A’Cheng collapsed next to her, blue in the face from lack of breath. Wei Ying had been held back by a senior disciple, screaming and fighting to get free. She had thought the last she would ever see of him would be as her father—as Jiang Zongzhu dragged him back inside Lotus Pier, closing the gate in her face.

Wei Ying once again surpassed her expectations and caught up to them on the road north out of Lotus Cove that night. Somehow he wrangled them onto a boat and upriver to Yunping, then overland to Yiling. She wondered how he got out, whether he had asked to be released from the sect, or if he had just escaped the first moment he could. She suspected the latter, but could not bring herself to ask.

He had likely saved their lives, since she and A’Cheng had run from Lotus Pier carrying almost nothing, certainly not money or food or weapons. Wei Ying, former street urchin, had known to bring all of that in several qiankun pouches. He had money taken from a drawer in her room she thought was her own private secret stash, plus more coins he refused to answer for with shifty eyes. He was armed with a mundane, old short sword and several knives, undoubtedly stolen from the Jiang Sect armory. He had brought a whole pouch filled with nothing but plain, utilitarian blankets and towels, obviously stolen from the servants’ quarters.

He knew from the start what they were in for.

Now her mother was dead and none of them had a home or a family anymore.

Her mother was dead.

“I can believe it. That bitch was always putting on airs. Mean as a snake!”

“She had the world handed to her and decided to whore around, anyway!”

“Those poor children, though!”

“They aren’t even the sect leader’s kids! He doesn’t owe them shit!”

“They are just children! How cruel can you be?”

“Hey, life sucks. That’s not Sect Leader Jiang’s fault. Madam Yu should have thought of that before spreading her legs.”

“I hear the ward ran away too.”

“Stupid kid. He had it made! Everyone knows he’s Jiang Fengman’s bastard. Probably would’ve been named heir.”

Yanli made it back to the bolt hole that was Lao Wang’s home without a thought in her head, exhausted beyond words and carrying the bare minimum four people needed to eat.

A’Cheng was in the very top bunk of the three-tiered bunk bed made for children long gone, wrapped up in a thin blanket, where he had spent most of the week in an ongoing state of shock. She knew he was awake, but let him be. What could she say to him? He was eleven years old and his world had just been destroyed: his mother revealed as a liar and adulteress, then executed; his so-called father, a stranger who threw him out like trash.

She got to work cooking. The fireplace was too open and Lao Wang had almost no cooking utensils, but she was making do. He was a very old man who had lived most of his life eating street vendor dishes and whatever he could snack on, so he was incredibly impressed with the food she managed to scrape together. They ate a lot of congee with eggs and cabbage, and each meal was the worst one she had ever made in her life. She quickly came to understand Wei Ying’s obsession with spices because she missed them desperately.

“ShiJie,” Wei Ying said, quietly cutting up the cabbage. “I don’t think we can stay here.”

“It is a great imposition on Lao Wang,” she agreed.

He laughed. “Not really. He’s eating better than he ever has in his life. I’m just worried about staying in Yunmeng territory.”

“What do you mean? I don’t think anyone is looking for us.”

“No, but they know we’re out here somewhere. There are a lot of people who would enjoy humiliating former gentry kids.”

“I find that hard to believe, Ying’er!”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you.” He looked up with a hard, mean expression that was becoming more familiar to her every day that passed. Yanli had learned quickly that the jovial, quick-witted, and smiling boy she had known was much more mature than she ever imagined. She had always considered his days living as a street orphan as a tragedy, but one that was simply background noise in his life. Instead, he was showing her a side to him that had been buried for years: street smart, canny, cunning, and surprisingly ruthless.

“We have to be careful, ShiJie. Out here?” He waved the knife around. “We’re just orphans. There are kind people in the world, but not enough of ‘em. You need to be smart and careful. Don’t go out past the market alone. Don’t talk to people you don’t recognize. Be quiet and stay unseen. You’re smart, ShiJie, I know you are! But people here will try to take advantage of your kindness and ignorance, and you can’t let ‘em.” He chopped the cabbage ruthlessly.

She remembered Wei Ying negotiating with Lao Wang for them to live with him for a while, and it was like watching two ancient aunties argue over the price of a chicken with butcher knives in hand and smiles on their faces. He later told her that the deal had not been about her cooking, as she had assumed, or even herself as a girl (they both blushed when he said that), but over A’Cheng. Lao Wang wanted him as a “runner,” to teach him how to be a pickpocket, and Wei Ying had refused.

She was so, so grateful that Wei Ying was there with them, even if it broke her heart.

“Where could we even go?” She asked. She had briefly considered her mother’s natal sect, but they had lost so much face by her actions and execution that they would likely them whip them to death if they dared present themselves. No sect would take them in. Yiling was not a great choice, but it seemed to her that any place was the same as the next, as a commoner.

“Yiling is out of the way of most sects. It’s not the worst place, but it’s still in Yunmeng.” Ying’er shrugged.

She took a deep breath. “You could go back, Ying’er. Fath—Jiang Zongzhu would take you in.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He might even make you his heir.”

“No.” He slammed the knife down.

“But—”

“I could never swear loyalty to a man like that. He threw you out, ShiJie! He made Jiang Cheng cry!” His eyes welled up with tears. “Never!”

“I’d go back.”

They both turned and looked over at the bunk bed. A’Cheng was rolled over on his stomach, looking at them.

“If he asked, I’d go back.” He looked at them, lost and afraid, before burying his face in his arms with a quiet sob.

Wei Ying made to go to him, but Yanli put out her hand. She went over herself, hiking up the ladder in a very unlady-like fashion until she could lean against his bunk and use one hand to rub circles on his back.

“Of course you would, A’Cheng. He is your father.”

“He’s not, though,” came the muffled reply.

“He raised us as his children. He is the only father we’ll ever know. It is okay for you to be sad about that, and to miss him.” She tried to keep her own sadness from her voice. She thought A’Cheng would start crying again—he had been crying more often than not, over the past few days—but instead he propped his chin on his forearms and looked directly at her.

“Is mother really dead?”

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Yes.” She had even seen the notice of execution posted publicly around town after it happened, but she wasn’t going to say that. He would see it himself, eventually.

“I’d still go back,” he whispered, his voice quivering, his eyes filled with tears and shame.

“I wouldn’t let you!” Wei Ying shouted up at them. “He doesn’t deserve you, Jiang Cheng! He’s a bad person and a terrible father!”

“Ying’er!” Yanli scolded.

He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “It can’t be unfilial if he isn’t actually anyone’s father!”

Jiang Cheng looked down at him in confusion for a moment, then barked out a laugh. He caught himself, slapping a hand over his mouth in horror, and he looked so ridiculous that Yanli started laughing, which set him off again. Wei Ying joined in and, for a moment, Yanli had a slim hope that they all might be okay.

Chapter Text

Yanli wondered what god she had angered. Was she paying the price for her mother’s sins? Was it unfilial of her to be angry about that? Was it possible to be unfilial to a mother who had, for all intents and purposes, been erased from history? Was she even her mother’s daughter if, officially, her mother did not exist anymore and had been stricken from all family records in both the Yu and Jiang clans?

Whatever the case, the basket she was locked inside of was rough and scraped her skin every time the wagon jostled over the road. Where it was going, she had no idea.

They had grabbed her on the edges of Yiling. It was her own fault for going so far out of the town on her own, just as Ying’er always told her not to do. But she heard that a small homestead by the river had extra chickens for sale. Her plan had been to get a layer so she would not have to buy eggs anymore, but instead, she had been grabbed by some truly foul smelling men, gagged, and shoved into a basket. That was, she thought, about two days ago. They let her out to relieve herself and give her some water and a ball of sticky rice, but never anywhere near a landmark she might have recognized.

She counted herself lucky, because at least one of the men had argued to abuse her for their own entertainment. What she did not count as lucky was why the other two men argued against it.

“She’s clearly a virgin and if we show up with her all bloody between her legs, we won’t get a good price. So shut up. I’ll buy you a night with a whore when we get our payout!”

“She’s plump and pretty, though. Come on, I’ll be gentle!”

“For fuck’s sake, are you trying to get in her pants or his? Both of you shut up and go to sleep. We get to Yunping tomorrow.”

Yunping it was, then.

She had nothing to do on the way but regulate her qi to keep her heart and lungs strong, and think about how much her brothers were panicking. She thought she should feel more guilty about it than she did, but a haze had fallen over her, a thick misery that ironically kept her from getting upset. It was less resignation to her new circumstances than it was simply an inability to care, even though deep down she knew she did care. It felt just like being in a basket: fate carried her along, and she had no say in it, not even in feeling her own emotions. She was untethered like a fallen leaf on the river.

Still, she meditated and circulated her qi. After all, she wasn’t dead yet.

When she was finally rolled out of the basket onto a proper floor, she was so disoriented that it took her a moment to gather her wits. All she could see in front of her was a truly ostentatious set of colorful robes with mediocre embroidery work along the hem. She rolled onto her knees and looked up.

One of the men who grabbed her stood there along with a very severe-looking woman wearing a very bright red lip color. The half-rate robes were hers. Behind her was a young man, possibly not much older than A’Cheng, looking very deferential as he stared at the floor.

The woman leaned down and grabbed Yanli’s chin, twisting her head back and forth. She felt like a horse at market, then realized in horror that the metaphor was accurate as the woman checked her teeth. This was the person who was going to buy her.

“Young, well taken care of. Hm. Yes, she’ll do. I won’t ask how much you paid for her.”

“A good chunk of silver, Madam.”

Yanli glared at the liar. The boy behind the madam saw her and visibly tried not to laugh.

“Meng Yao!” The madam snapped, and the boy stood up straight as a board, his expression going just as blank.

“Yes, Madam Lin?”

“Take her away. Get her fed and cleaned up. I don’t want to deal with her until tomorrow.”

“Yes, Madam Lin.” Meng Yao bowed far too low, then scuttled forward to grab Yanli’s arm and pull her to her feet. He helped steady her as he walked her out of the room, where the madam and Yanli’s kidnapper started haggling about her price.

He took her to a room that was little more than a closet with a cot shoved into it, and let her sit down on it before removing her gag and untying her hands. He stood by while she rubbed her wrists, then handed over a flagon of water.

“Thank you,” she said, after taking a very long drink.

“Welcome to the Dragonfly Shoal, Miss.” He bent into a very shallow bow.

“The Dragonfly Shoal.” Something her mother once said, caustic and brutal, floated up in her mind. “A brothel.”

He nodded. “The bathing room is busy right now, as the sisters are getting ready for opening time. I suggest resting first, and I’ll show you where to bathe in the morning. Would you like some food?”

She just looked at him, her mind blank.

“Miss?” He tilted his head and stepped closer, a look of pity on his face. “I know this is a shock. I’m sorry you are here, but I will do my best to help you adjust to your new circumstances.”

She straightened up and shook her head furiously. “My brothers—”

“They sold you?” His expression went even more pitying.

“What? No! No!” She gasped, clutching at her gown.

He shook his head. “Many of the girls here arrived the same way. It is terrible to be betrayed by family—”

He stepped back in shock as Yanli stood up to stand nose-to-nose with him. “My brothers did not sell me and if you say that again, I will slap you!” She hissed the words without thinking.

“Ah. I’m sorry, miss.” He took another step back, a bit more warily. She reassessed his age a little upwards, possibly closer to her than the boys.

“You will send a message to them.” She also stepped back to give herself some breathing room.

He shook his head. “No, I will not.” Before she could say anything else, he held up his hands. “Whether or not they were not the ones who sold you, it costs money to mail a letter, even if I offered to scribe it for you without charge.”

“I do not need your help with writing,” she snarled. Suddenly, she began to understand why her mother did it so often. Why she had done it so often.

He was unmoved by her aggression, though, and simply cocked his head. “You can write?”

She simply nodded.

“Hm. In any case, you can’t afford the cost of the ink, or the paper, or the price to mail it, or even the cost to hire me to post it for you. So no, I will not be sending a letter to your brothers.”

She felt her jaw drop. “The cost?”

“You are now the property of this brothel. Nothing is yours free and clear. The owner bought you for a price, and until you work off that price plus interest, you will have very little you can call your own.”

“What?” She stepped backwards again, her back bumping against the wall.

“You can borrow clothes and jewelry from the madam and other ladies, but then you will owe for those items as well.” He shook his head again. “It usually takes at least three years of working consistently every night to pay off enough to even start paying on your contract. That is, of course, if you don’t get sick.” He eyed her knowingly.

There was nothing she could say to that. She simply stared at him, the magnitude of her situation sinking in.

“I see you are beginning to understand.”

She nodded.

“What is your name?”

“Jiang Yanli,” she answered automatically, then cursed herself when his eyes went wide in shock.

“Oh dear.” He turned on his heel and left, locking the door behind himself.

She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor and stayed there, watching the bare candle flicker in the darkness of the closet, her mind and emotions gone clear as a stream. She had no idea how much time had passed when the door opened again.

Meng Yao was back, this time with a beautiful young woman only a bit taller than him, and slathered in entirely too much makeup. They closed the door behind them, and the woman, who was wearing pretty but obviously cheap robes, crouched down in front of her.

“Jiang Yanli? The daughter of the notorious adulteress Violet Spider?”

She nodded slowly, words failing her again.

Meng Yao leaned over the woman’s shoulder. “Mama, what do we do?”

“Nothing, A’Yao. Nothing.” His mother shook her head, and Yanli could see the resemblance, then. “If anyone finds out who she is, she will be put up for a bidding war. Every cultivator between here and Gusu will show up to fuck her.”

Yanli cringed and hid her face in her sleeves, forcing herself to keep breathing. Soft, small hands pulled her arms down.

“You’re a cultivator, correct?”

“Yes,” Yanli said with a frown. “But not a strong one. My health is such that my golden core is absorbed with keeping me well.”

Meng Yao’s mother smirked. “Then I have an offer for you, Jiang Yanli of Yunmeng Jiang.”

“You’ll help me escape?” She nearly choked on hope.

“No,” Meng Yao’s mother dismissed the idea easily. “No, that would get us all punished. What I offer you is this: my son and I will keep your secret, and you will train him in cultivation techniques.”

“Mama!” Meng Yao flushed, whether from embarrassment or surprise, Yanli could not tell.

“I would, but he’s too old, and without a solid base—”

“His father is a powerful cultivator. A’Yao has the talent, the raw talent, to be just as powerful, if he can simply get trained properly.” Meng Yao’s mother spoke fiercely, with full belief in her words.

Yanli considered the situation. Whether he could actually learn anything was far less important than their offer to keep her secret. She pushed herself to her feet, and Meng Yao’s mother followed her up.

“I agree, on one condition.”

“What is that?” Meng Shi smiled politely with the eyes of a shark.

“You provide me ink, paper, and a brush, and then pay to mail a letter to my brothers.” She glanced over at Meng Yao, whose eyebrows had shot up in surprise and possibly admiration. “And your son will post it, at no cost to me.”

Chapter Text

The first week in the brothel was spent following other “sisters” around learning how it all worked. Yanli thought with no small amount of amusement that it was very similar to a martial sect: she was a junior, learning from the seniors, and they were all bound to the rules (and whims) of the leader.

The main difference was that in place of loyalty, there was money.

Every single sister who worked at the Dragonfly Shoal owed money. They owed money to each other, to the seamstress who provided the gowns they wore, to the only doctor in town who would touch them, to the jeweler who deigned to sell his wares to whores, and, of course, to the madam. Only one sister was even close to paying out, and she was nearly forty years old. When Yanli delicately asked about their plans for “after,” none of them thought they would ever leave the place alive.

Yanli had always known how important money was, and been made aware that poverty existed despite so many righteous people exclaiming about how terribly unfortunate it was. She had never thought it could be weaponized the way Madam Lin used it, to create a form of slavery that would haunt every woman who "worked" for her until they died. So many of her mother's cryptic warnings made tragic sense, in retrospect.

Meng Shi gave Yanli the name “Jiayi” and taught her how to wear blush so it adjusted the shape of her face a little, just in case any cultivators came in who might have known her in her past life. It shocked Yanli to find out that cultivators patronized brothels at all, but Meng Shi merely laughed at her.

“All men have needs, meimei, even those stoic Gusu Lan boys. Don’t trust a man who says he doesn’t.” She paused. “Except for my son, perhaps.”

“Do you think so little of his honor?” Yanli asked, horrified that a mother would think such a thing of her child.

Meng Shi shrugged and returned to fixing her hair with beautiful dangling pins. “I know his father.”

That closed the conversation for good.

Meng Yao told her that the madam would let her ease into her new life for a month, which was actually rather generous for a brothel. The Dragonfly Shoal had a very good reputation, though, and the madam would not let anyone near the clientele until they had been trained up. Yanli didn’t question it. Her letter had gone out the morning after she made her deal with Meng Shi, so she expected her brothers to come get her before her time was up.

“Isn’t young master Jiang only ten years old?” Meng Yao asked when he took the folded and sealed letter.

“He’s eleven. And he has Wei Ying with him.”

“The other eleven year old bastard?” Meng Yao said with disbelief.

“Harsh words, Meng Yao,” Yanli said in her most displeased voice.

He drew himself up to his full height, which was just a finger’s width taller than her, but he was still a boy and so broader, stronger. She held her ground.

“I assure you, Miss Jiayi, that it takes one to know one.” He spun around and walked off. It was only then that Yanli remembered what Meng Shi had said about his father.

They were all bastards, all the way down. It would have been funny if not so tragic.

Fortunately, teaching Meng Yao turned out to be easy. He showed her the cultivation “manuals” he had been using, which his mother had bought for far too much money, but fortunately there had been enough legitimate advice in them for him to start forming a golden core. He displayed a truly astounding talent at recall as well, reciting pieces of what he had read over the years when she asked him questions about what worked to get him so far along. His mother was right about his innate talent.

“These are worse than useless, though,” she said as slashed through all the most egregious pages with a stick of charcoal. “Had you followed these instructions, here, it would have eventually dissipated your core through no fault of your own.”

He held a nervous hand over his lower dantian. “I did not think them so fragile.”

“Not fragile. Mine has been keeping me alive since I formed it. Before then, I was sick nearly all the time, my lungs and heart too weak from being born too early. Every moment I had with the strength and focus to practice, my mother—” She stopped, choking on the word. He just sat there, letting her recover, a bland and nonjudgmental expression on his face. “My mother pushed me to form a golden core, knowing that I probably would not live into adulthood without it. They are not fragile.” She closed the book and set it down before continuing.

“They are very particular, though. No two people circulate qi in the same way. Even twins rarely have the same energy signature. The real secret to cultivation is to find your own path on it. Every sect has their specific practices, but they are all built around helping the cultivator find and control their own unique power.”

He sat still for a moment, thinking. “In the way that two musicians can perform the same piece on the same instrument, but sound distinctly different.” He paused, clearly chasing the thought. “So, if you follow instructions that are specific to a person and not a path, then your core will unbalance itself, eventually ripping apart.”

He was so smart, she thought that it was a shame that he would not get a chance to know Wei Ying. “Yes, exactly! Since you have a core, let’s start with some basic meditation techniques for stability before you try to strengthen it further.” Before she could continue, he held up his hand to stop her.

“They are Jiang techniques, correct?”

“Of course.”

He let out a heavy breath. “What if I want to join a sect that is not the Yunmeng Jiang? Would being trained this way inhibit my chances to do so?”

She could almost see the shadow of his father looming over his shoulder. “No, it shouldn’t. Loyalty is prized, but people leave one sect for another sometimes, due to family reasons or marriage. You are very smart, so I think you could adapt quickly.”

He smiled at that, and for a moment he looked familiar, but she could not place it.

The second week at the brothel was a little more “hands on” in that she was called to help serve food and tea. The madam, impressed by her obviously high-born manners and etiquette, also tested her other abilities. She assumed Yanli could not read nor write, and Meng Shi had told Yanli to let her assume. No one paid more for literate whores, after all. (Yanli wondered how Meng Shi learned to read and write so well, but knew better than to ask.)

When asked to play the qin, Yanli faltered through no fault of her own, since she was simply months out of practice and it had never been her preferred instrument. She did better with the pipa. Where she really shone, though, was in storytelling and poetry. The madam had her reciting famous poems in the main room, keeping men entertained who were waiting for their paid company to be ready or who just enjoyed being fawned over by available sisters.

Meng Shi was right, plenty of cultivators visited the brothel. There were representatives from many different, mostly smaller, sects, but a couple of times senior disciples of Yunmeng Jiang walked through the door. Fortunately, Meng Yao would step in quickly and guide them to private rooms or more isolated seating so that they could not get a good view of Yanli. She recognized them, of course, and her heart twisted in grief at the thought of how the sect was just continuing as if nothing had happened, as if she and her brother and their mother had never existed at all. A seed of hatred settled deep inside her soul, as hard as she tried not to let her resentment fester. In a brothel, where lies were stock in trade, she could not lie to herself: she was furious.

But she could not show it, and so kept her repertoire to romantic poetry and stories of fated lovers and the beauty of nature, instead of the epics of war and tragedy that played out in her heart.

It was one such evening when Lao Wang fell through the door, blisteringly drunk and yelling for food, waving his cane around. Yanli froze in the middle of a verse, her jaw hanging open, as he careened through the room, chased by Sisi and Meihua who were trying to wrestle him into a chair or out a door. He was having none of it and kept bumping into tables as he made his way around, other customers yelling at him to go away. Yanli loudly tried to restart the poem, but by that time, Lao Wang had made it over to her and tripped dramatically into her arms. They both crashed to the ground, and in the next second, Sisi and Meihua were bodily dragging him back out the door amid shouts and threats of violence.

Meng Yao dashed in with several of the younger sisters and started cleaning up and soothing ruffled feathers. The madam stood at the top of the stairs and glared at everyone until some semblance of normalcy was restored, then motioned for Yanli to start reciting again.

No one noticed the folded paper Lao Wang had shoved into Yanli’s sash.

Chapter Text

It was a full day later before Wei Ying jumped down from the rafters and caused Meng Shi to shriek.

Meng Yao was a blur of motion, moving in front of both his mother and Yanli with a short dagger in his hands. Before anyone could say anything, Wei Ying fell flat to the floor and rolled under the bed, just as Sisi slammed the door open.

“What’s going on?” She took in their expressions and Meng Yao’s dagger and marched into the room. “Who is it? Where is he? I’ll cut your balls off, villain!”

Meng Shi looked at Yanli, up at the ceiling, and then at Sisi.

“I saw a spider.”

“Bullshit.” Sisi jerked a thumb at Meng Yao. “That one is not prone to over-reacting.”

Yanli got up and closed the door, speaking loudly. “The spider fell from the ceiling. We were all surprised by it. Ugly little thing,” she added, just to hear Wei Ying huff in indignation. After the door was closed, she willed up a little qi and put a low-level silencing ward on the door, just enough to muffle noise, and it would not last long unless Wei Ying or Meng Yao powered it up. “You can come out now, Ying’er.”

He rolled back out and stood up, glaring at Meng Yao, probably because he was the only man in the room. Yanli walked over and held out her arms, and he turned to fall into them with a cut off sob.

“ShiJie! We were so worried!”

“That’s your little brother? Tiny thing,” Sisi said, eyeing him like a fishmonger.

Meng Yao had already put his knife away and was sat down next to his mother, holding her hand and rubbing it softly.

Sisi then looked at Yanli. “So you’re a cultivator, huh? Smart to keep it a secret.”

Yanli nodded and pushed Wei Ying away a little. “This is my didi, Wei Ying.” She turned to him. “These are my friends. They have helped keep me safe, so be nice to them.” She poked him the way she did when the boys were supposed to be behaving like gentlemen. He instinctively dipped into a proper bow.

“This Wei Ying is pleased to meet my shijie’s protectors and thanks them for their help!” He stood up. “But we will be leaving now.” He grabbed her wrist and marched toward the window.

“Ying’er!” She pulled back from him.

“What? This is a bad place. You don’t belong here!”

“And we do?” Meng Yao asked sharply, standing up.

Wei Ying, flummoxed for a once, just stared at him. Yanli felt bad for him, because there was no answer to that question that wasn’t insulting to at least one person in the room.

“A’Yao.” Meng Shi spoke softly to her son, but the stern, motherly tone hit both boys like a battle ax. Wei Ying and Meng Yao slumped down, looking at the floor. She stood up and walked over to Yanli, but it did not feel kind. It felt like Meng Shi was preparing for battle. Wei Ying eyed her warily while Yanli pulled her shoulders back.

“We had a deal, Jiang Yanli of Yunmeng Jiang.”

“Oh.” Yanli stopped and thought about it for a moment. “Yes, we did.”

“Do you plan to honor it?”

Wei Ying glanced at Yanli in confusion.

“Mama,” Meng Yao hissed at her. “What are you doing?”

Meng Shi turned to him. “This is the world you will be entering, my son. The gentry are ruthless and selfish, and will tear you down every chance they get. You have to trap them by using their greed against them.”

“What?” Wei Ying almost yelled in affront, but Yanli put a quelling hand on his shoulder. Meng Shi was not entirely wrong, after all.

“She wants her freedom, A’Yao. I have the power to grant it, or revoke it. We made a deal that I would help her if she helped me.”

Meng Yao nodded, probably putting together the many times he had seen such “agreements” take place around the brothel. Yanli doubted this was the first time Meng Shi had taught this lesson.

“I mean to force her to keep it, one way or another.” She turned back to Yanli.

“You are a terrible person,” Wei Ying said, speaking as if observing a dangerous storm: objectively interesting, and a little bit awe-inspiring.

Meng Yao stepped forward. “You dare speak that way to my mother?”

Yanli squeezed Wei Ying’s shoulder until he cringed. “This Wei Ying apologizes!” He bowed quickly.

Meng Shi laughed. “He’s a good boy,” she said, waving a hand in Wei Ying’s direction.

“He is. As is your son.”

She looked over at Meng Yao, who was fighting back a blush. “He is. But he could be a great man.” Her eyes found Yanli again, and her expression went cold.

There was no question in Yanli’s mind that if she broke the bargain, Meng Shi, as kind as she had been to Yanli so far, would immediately go tell the madam not only that Yanli was on the run but who, exactly, Yanli was. She stepped away from Wei Ying and bowed deeply.

“This Jiang Yanli thanks Meng Shi for her kindness and protection. I ask that you allow your son to travel with us, so that he may learn more of cultivation and the world of the gentry.” She stood up. “I will care for him as my own brother, and help him achieve his goals as best I can. But you must understand that he will not reach those goals here.”

“Mama—”

Meng Shi raised a hand and Meng Yao’s mouth clacked shut. She stared at Yanli for a long time, until Sisi reached out and put a gentle hand on her forearm.

“She’s right, and you know it.”

Meng Yao paled, but kept his mouth closed. Meng Shi shut her eyes for a long moment, then nodded.

“Mama, no!” Meng Yao whispered.

Instead of answering, Meng Shi went over to her makeup chest and fiddled with one of the drawers. A secret chamber popped out.

“Ha! I knew it was all in the make-up cabinet!” Sisi announced in triumph.

Meng Shi pulled out a pouch that jangled, and brought it over to Yanli, who held out her hands.

“This is all I have.”

“Mama! Your debt!”

“No, A’Yao. This was never meant to pay off my debt to the house. I always planned to give you every last coin.”

Meng Yao looked like he had been hit with a shovel.

“I knew you would never take it, or would take the money and try to buy my freedom.” She focused on Yanli again. “This one is smart. She’s clearly the daughter of the Violet Spider, and will do what it takes to protect her family.”

The words shook Yanli to her core, but she took the pouch and bowed over it, her hands trembling. She held the bow for a long time, thinking of what Meng Shi was waiting for, before it all slotted into place.

“This Meng Jiayi thanks her mother.”

Meng Yao gasped and Wei Ying made a confused noise.

“I will protect my brothers and raise them to be gentlemen, as mother has commanded of me. We will bring honor to our family name. We will remember our ancestors and burn incense every day for our mother’s well being.” By the end of her speech she was crying, but she held her bow and the pouch in her hands.

Meng Shi lifted her from her bow and smoothed back her hair. “This Meng Shi is honored to have such filial children.” She smiled, and it was the first genuine smile Yanli had ever seen from her. She instinctively reached out, and Meng Shi pulled her into a fierce hug. “Let my boys protect you too, Jiang Yanli,” she whispered.

Meng Yao had covered his face, but was obviously crying. Meng Shi let go of Yanli and turned to murmur at him.

“That’s one hell of a spider, Jiayi.” Sisi smiled at her as she went to leave the room, but stopped for a moment in passing to pat Yanli on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of A’Shi, don’t you worry!” She left, slamming the door behind her.

Yanli felt a tug at her sleeve. “What’s happening?”

“We’re taking Meng Yao with us.”

“Why?” He scrunched up his face unhappily.

“He is the son of a great cultivator, and has already developed a golden core, but he needs further training. Because of who his mother is, most sects would not take him in.”

Wei Ying frowned, then turned to squint at Meng Yao, staring at him for a ridiculously rude amount of time.

“Oh! He’s a peacock!”

Chapter Text

Ying’er said they needed to rethink their plans, but to be ready to leave that night. Then he jumped back up into the rafters and disappeared into the dark (impressing Meng Shi and her son a lot). It was early evening, and the brothel was opening for business soon, so Yanli left Meng Shi’s room in order for mother and son to have a private goodbye.

She had given the money pouch to Ying’er, knowing he would probably hand it over to A’Cheng for safe keeping. Meng Yao’s fingers had twitched at that, but his mother did not object so he stayed quiet. They both knew that his life—his future—was in her hands, money or not.

And then they waited.

The problem with escaping the brothel was not a lack of exits. There were windows and doors a plenty, many of them kept open for air circulation, especially on the third floor. The problem was privacy.

The hired security there to “protect the girls” was also there to make sure “the girls” did not slip out of an exterior door without permission or crawl out of a window unobserved. Given all that, Yanli assumed that her boys would simply knock out a guard and sneak her and Meng Yao out after everyone had retired in the early morning hours, as that seemed easiest.

She should have known better.

Late in the evening when the clientele had settled down, some retiring to private rooms or just too drunk to be rowdy anymore, Yanli was helping sort tea sets in the kitchen when an all mighty crash reverberated throughout the building, along with a lot of shouting, followed by a furious stampede.

As in, a hooved stampede, punctuated by the angry braying of dozens of goats.

The kitchen staff just stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do, until a swarm of goats ran in and started jumping all over the work surfaces and knocking down shelves. The instantaneous pandemonium had people screaming and throwing things at the already enraged goats while trying to protect the stoves and ovens using pots and ladles.

Yanli pressed herself up against the wall and grabbed a talisman stuck to a passing goat. She recognized Ying’er’s handwriting but not the talisman in question, although she knew a sigil for “chaos” when she saw one. She dived out the door down the hall into the main room, dodging goats who were frantically running back and forth, jumping off and on furniture, and continuing the stampede right up the stairs to the upper floors while Madam Lin ran around screaming at security to “do something, you fucking worthless toads!”

“JieJie!” Ying’er said, materializing beside her wearing a bright red and black festival mask. “Get upstairs to the eastern corridor! A’Cheng will get you and Meng Yao out!” He grinned and then slapped another talisman on a goat who had hopped up on a table. It immediately brayed and flatfooted a jump to the top of a large shelving unit filled with decorative statuettes and porcelain vases that majestically tipped over with loud crash. Ying’er was gone in the next moment, leaving Yanli to dodge her way through goats and destruction to dash up the stairs. Meng Yao and Meng Shi were at the top of it, wide eyed.

“Thank you for all your help!” Yanli said to Meng Shi, quickly grabbing Meng Yao’s wrist and bee-lining for the eastern corridor. It was the administrative side of the brothel, with Madam Lin’s office and storage rooms. At the end of the hallway, A’Cheng stood, waving at them, also wearing a festival mask.

“Wait!” Meng Yao stopped and yanked his hand out of her hold.

“What? No! We have to go!” A’Cheng hissed at them as he ran up.

Meng Yao did not answer, instead going into Madam Lin’s office. It was only then that Yanli realized the door was open, not locked up tight like it normally was. The goat crisis must of have had her running out without securing it.

“Meng Yao!” Yanli pulled at his jacket.

“If I find mother’s contract, I can destroy it!” He had a manic gleam in his eyes.

“We don’t have time!” Yanli said. The noises from downstairs and other rooms were already dying down as people began herding the panicked goats back outside.

Meng Yao looked at the wall of records and bookkeeping in frustration. Then he eyed a large, fancy box on her desk and ran to it. It was a lockbox, but it only took him two tries to open it. He reached in and pulled out several strings of coins.

“Oh! Hey, here,” A’Cheng said and opened a qiankun pouch.

“That’s stealing!” Yanli said, peering back out into the corridor.

“It’s taking what is due to my mother,” Meng Yao said, his expression mean and determined as he piled string after string of coins into the pouch.

“Enough! Let’s go!” A’Cheng tucked the bag away and ran into the hallway. “This way!”

Meng Yao slapped the box closed and relocked it. As he walked out, he paused at the door, but Yanli grabbed hold of his wrist again.

“I’m coming back for her,” he snarled, and she might have been scared of him for a moment, if she weren’t already feeling panicked.

“Yes! You will! We will! But we have to go, Meng Yao!”

They ran after A’Cheng who took them up another small set of stairs Yanli had never seen before, but Meng Yao clearly knew about. “I can’t believe you!” He hissed at A’Cheng.

“I don’t know who you are, mister, but you better believe me!” A’Cheng said, leaning out of a window that had the latticework broken out already. Given that the remains of the latticework were strewn across the floor, Yanli had a good idea of how A’Cheng got in.

“You’re going to have to use a little qi, JieJie! Get ready!” He picked up a short, thick rope that looked waxed, and had a knot at each end. He slung it over a thick corded rope that she just then noticed was tied to the rafter and ran down in a gentle slope over the roof of the neighboring building to a second story patio of what looked like an inn, at least from the back. He helped her up to the ledge and kept her steady as she grabbed the rope just above the knots.

“Use your qi to keep hold of the rope and slow your descent, and try to tuck your knees up to your chest!”

She nodded and kicked off, sliding quickly down to the patio. As soon as she let go and dropped to the floor, the rope hand hold was whipped back up to the brothel window. She had not even noticed the string attached to it.

“You doing alright, Miss Yanli?” Lao Wang, said, helping her get her feet under herself again.

“I am, thank you, Lao Wang. It is very good to see you!”

A thump followed as Meng Yao dropped in. He pulled the rope hand-hold hard to snap the anchor string and untied the heavy cord they had ridden down.

“A’Cheng!” Yanli said, running to the edge.

“He told me to do that,” Meng Yao said defensively. “He said they had something they needed to take care of.”

“Probably to herd the fucking goats back to their pens, knowing Ying’er. I told him to just leave them alone, but he felt bad for the farmer. Stupid brat.”

Meng Yao stared at Lao Wang. “Who are you?”

Yanli started laughing so hard she cried, falling onto a floor cushion and holding her face in her hands. Lao Wang acted annoyed about it but quickly brewed up some tea, while explaining in colorful language that Meng Yao was now in the presence of the Grandmaster Pickpocket of Yiling, in the flesh!

The boys snuck in later, without the masks and absolutely covered in mud and reeking of goat. They apologized and hustled into a side room where a tub had been set up earlier.

Yanli looked around at the rather upscale suite of rooms, then very purposefully decided not to ask how Lao Wang had managed to afford it. It meant that everyone got their own sleeping mat while Yanli was given the bed. Part of her wanted to flee the city immediately, but she fell into an exhausted sleep before she even finished the thought.

The next morning, refreshed and well fed on the extravagant breakfast that Lao Wang ordered using his mysterious funds, Yanli emptied the qiankun pouch A’Cheng had given her, filled with both Meng Shi’s savings and all the purloined riches of Madam Lin.

“Perhaps we can buy a rickshaw? The boys and I can take turns pulling Lao Wang and our supplies.” Meng Yao looked critically at the money. All together, it was a significant amount, but he knew as well as she did that they would need to make it last for a while.

Yanli was not keen on the idea, as walking the whole way back to Yiling would take seven to ten days. She and Meng Yao were, technically, “escaped property” of Madam Lin and surely there would at least be a few local authorities looking for them.

Which made her think of Meng Shi. She looked up at Meng Yao. “Would this have been enough to buy her debt?”

He shook his head. “No.” He pursed his lips and his hands, resting on his knees, clinched his robe. Yanli gently reached out to place her hand on top of his, but remained silent. There was nothing she could say that would not hurt both of them. His mother was alive, but trapped. Her mother had been as free as a woman could be, and was dead.

A’Cheng walked up and looked the pile of coins over, hands on his hips. Yanli struggled not to smile fondly at him, as she knew it would just make him self-conscious.

“What do you think, A’Cheng?”

“Hmph. A small open-air cargo wagon, that black ox that was for sale on the edge of town, and travel supplies. We can sell the ox later, get that money back.” He squatted down and started doing mental calculations, sorting coins as he did so. Meng Yao looked at him in surprise.

“Can’t do much cooking on the road, takes equipment we don’t have and too long to set up and break down. We need to keep moving. If we travel like it’s a night hunt, Ying’ge and I can do some hunting along the way. Pheasant, fish, small game; things you can cook over a make-shift spit, JieJie! Then we only need to buy some salt, a few spices, and bread.”

Ying’er had wandered over by that point, looking over A’Cheng’s shoulder. “Do we have enough to buy a few sets of robes?”

“I bought JieJie a set to change into,” A’Cheng glanced up at him, confused.

“But we’ve got the other peacock now,” Ying’er said. Yanli almost laughed at how affronted Meng Yao looked at that as Ying’er continued.

“We need robes for him. Nothing he’s wearing is good for travel, and it stands out. Also, I think JieJie should dress up like a boy, at least for a few days.”

“What? No!” A’Cheng looked horrified, but Yanli nodded.

“They will be looking for a girl and a boy, not four boys,” she said. “It’s a good idea.”

A’Cheng grumbled but would not contradict anything she said, so she knew they had won that round.

When they loaded up and headed out of Yunping late the next morning with their new ox and cart and robes and boxes of supplies, Yanli considered pointing them towards Gusu, or even Qinghe, instead of back to Yiling. Someplace far enough away from Yunmeng that they would not be recognized, as Ying’er had suggested from the start.

However, before she could voice her thoughts, Lao Wang said loudly, “Time to go home!” and both A’Cheng and Ying’er, still high on the success of Operation Goats Release Chaos, had cheered, “To Yiling!”

And that was that.

Chapter Text

If anyone at all was looking for either the Yunmeng bastards or a stray set of runaways from the brothel, they would not see them in the four filial grandsons traveling with their elderly grandfather to return him to his ancestor’s home in Yiling for his final years, after a terrible flood in the south tragically killed the rest of the family and wiped out their rice farm.

The flood really happened, after all, and records of families in that region were not terribly exact due to how spread out all the rice farms were. Things which Jiang Yanli, now Meng Jiayi, knew well from her time helping with record keeping back at Lotus Pier.

The slow travel meant it took a week to return to Yiling. On the third day, she went back to wearing her own robes and putting her hair up in her familiar braided buns. It had been oddly liberating to run around as a boy, as weird as it was, and she was proud to have pulled it off so well. But they had seen not even a suggestion of pursuit, so she was glad to safely return to herself.

“You made a great boy, JieJie!” Ying’er assured her.

“It was fun!” She said, patting him on the head as he sat down with his kabob of roasted venison.

“It was weird,” A’Cheng grumbled. “Next time we’re dressing you up as a girl!”

Ying’er blinked thoughtfully at that for a moment before smiling brightly. “I would make a very pretty girl!”

A’Cheng looked at him in confusion, but Meng Yao and Lao Wang just laughed at both them.

As they traveled on, Wei Ying and A’Cheng made a tentative peace with Meng Yao by teaching him how to dress out field game for cooking. Yanli admired his determination, given that until that point he had probably never handled a single animal carcass in his life that wasn’t already butchered and ready to be cooked. He clearly found it distasteful, but he clearly understood that it was more about proving himself to the boys than anything.

The fact that he was Jin Guangshan’s bastard, therefore a half-brother to Yanli’s much-loathed former betrothed, had not inclined the boys to favor him at all. But the ice was thawing, she thought. (She tried not to think too much about how relieved Jin Zixuan probably was not to have her as a yoke around his neck anymore.)

She had bigger problems, as she assumed upon their return to Yiling that they would be recognized as the “former street kids.” When she expressed this out loud, Wei Ying shrugged and Lao Wang laughed at her.

“There is no one more invisible than the poor at your feet, young miss. I think I was one of two people who noticed that Wei Ying disappeared one day, despite him being underfoot for three years by that point. When he returned later with some Yunmeng Jiang disciples on a night hunt, no one recognized him at all!” He laughed.

Wei Ying nodded with a broad grin on his face. “Even the mean old dumpling lady had no idea who I was! She was so confused when I paid for twenty dumplings and only took one, but I was paying her for all the ones I stole out of her trash.”

“Stupid boy! They were already in the trash! Paying people back? Bah.” The words were harsh, but Lao Wang was also smiling.

He turned to Yanli. “Now, here we are with a whole wagon and an ox that we own, with money to spare: obviously we are upstanding, respectable people! Obviously that old crazy pickpocket Lao Wang probably got his throat slit in an alley somewhere at last.” He chuckled. “What would that have to do with this honored elderly patriarch of the Meng clan from the south, whose mother married out of Yiling two generations ago? Absolutely fucking nothing!” He cackled.

“Yes, YeYe,” Wei Ying said with an aggrieved sigh.

For a moment, the old man’s eyes looked extra watery at being called grandfather, but he rubbed his face with one of his gnarled, weathered hands and sighed heavily.

“They might think they recognize me, but more likely, they will assume Lao Wang was a distant cousin.”

“Mn,” Yanli said, considering his words. She tried for a moment to remember the poorest people of Lotus Cove, and felt ashamed that she was unable to recall most of them.

“But what will we do when we get to Yiling?” A’Cheng called back, always overly worried about everything. She hoped he grew out of it, and not into anxiety. Her mother used to goad his fears to make him work harder, and it had always struck Yanli as counterproductive. She decided she would take time to teach him some calming breathing exercises after they got settled.

“Eh, we have options. The old leather smith’s son died a couple of years ago, and the family never recovered. Moved west, I think. The siheyuan stinks of leather and its feng shui is wonky, not to mention it’s the last crafts house before the road to the Burial Mounds. It’s bad luck all the way around, so we can rent it cheap, with an option to buy if these boys manage to bring in enough money.”

“I will not live in an unlucky house!” A’Cheng announced with all the authority of an entitled sect heir. Yanli sighed.

“We live where we can pay rent, boy!” Lao Wang flapped a hand at him.

“You forget, young master, that we have four cultivators here,” Meng Yao said in that horribly polite way that he had. “We can fix whatever is wrong with the house.”

This took both A’Cheng and Wei Ying off guard. They looked at Yanli, who was herself surprised to be included in the count, even though it was technically accurate. She nodded.

“Meng Yao is correct. We are young but we are cultivators, and we can clear out the resentment and set up arrays to deflect what emanates the Burial Mounds. Lotus…our former home was built to align with the natural energies around it generations ago, so you never had to do that type of work. But architectural cultivation is important, and well within our abilities. We can’t rebuild the house, but there are many ways to fix the feng shui.”

They nodded at her authority.

Their deference, and Meng Yao’s comment, made her realize that of all of them, she was the senior cultivator of the group. Lao Wang could pose as a grandfather, but not a cultivator. While all three boys were already stronger than her in every way and were hardly untrained, they were years behind her in knowledge and experience across all subjects short of actual fighting.

Furthermore, to comply with her agreement with Meng Shi, she would have to incorporate the Six Arts into their education in order for them to become true gentlemen of the jianghu. At their ages and experience, she could handle furthering them along in everything but archery and horseback riding. Fortunately, both Wei Ying and A’Cheng were already good archers, and could teach A’Yao as long as they had bows and arrows to do it with.

Equestrian sport was a different problem. She was a fair rider herself, but the boys had barely started riding lessons before they left (were heartlessly thrown out like trash, she amended with an internal snarl of anger) and she did not consider herself competent enough to teach it, even if they could afford a horse one day. She put the matter aside for later with a sigh.

Hopefully, by the time her own skill sets were run out, they would be financially secure enough to hire tutors. She thought about it for a while as the wagon swayed down the road, passed occasionally by other travelers on horseback.

“YeYe, I have a question.”

It took a moment for Lao Wang to remember that he was supposed to be her grandfather. “Oh! Yes, my dear sweet precious granddaughter?”

Wei Ying looked up from his book and rolled his eyes.

“Do rogue cultivators ever travel through Yiling?”

This time Wei Ying looked up and paid attention.

“Often. Never stay long, but a few try the patience of the Burial Mounds sometimes.” He smacked his lips. “Wei Ying’s parents were the last ones to attempt it. Their deaths scared off most others for a long time.”

Wei Ying curled up into his book again.

“We may need some help with training the boys in a few years. Please keep your ears open for ones of good reputation.”

“Gonna have to pay them, though. Rogue cultivators won’t spit on you if you don’t pay.”

Meng Yao snorted out a laugh, then covered his mouth, looking away. A’Cheng, who had somehow migrated onto the back of the massive ox, glared at Lao Wang.

“Do rogue cultivators charge a lot?” She asked, realizing for the first time that she had absolutely no idea what cultivation was worth in terms of currency. That was something Yunmeng Jiang rarely charged for, even if people often gave them money or goods for clearing out a yao or settling fierce corpses.

“Depends. The worst ones charge the most, because they have to fight to get jobs. The best ones are more interested in the work, so usually don’t charge more than their expenses. But they all need to eat, so they all charge.”

“Would they charge more for teaching than for night hunting?”

He eyed her for a moment, and Wei Ying looked like he was on the edge of his seat, waiting for answers.

“Probably. That’s not something commoners would ask them to do, though. Sell them a few talismans, yeah. Teach them cultivation?” He snorted in derision. “But if you had enough money, well, they are fuckin’ human after all. Wave a few silver taels at them. Works on everybody.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Wei Ying said morosely.

“Damn sure is. Hard to come by that kind of coin honestly.”

She looked at Lao Wang, who had turned his attention to the fields passing by. “YeYe, I forbid you to do any pick-pocketing.”

He bounced his cane on the floor of the wagon. “Now look here, girl—”

“No,” she said loudly and firmly. Meng Yao swiped A’Cheng off the back of the ox and gave him the ox’s lead before heading back to walk next to the wagon, nearest to Yanli. Wei Ying put his book aside.

“No,” she repeated. “We are a respectable family now. You are our esteemed grandfather. You can curse and laugh and be rude to people, but you must not break the law and bring the authorities down on our house. I do not think anyone from the cultivation world is looking for us, specifically, but if we make ourselves known, there will be no place for us to hide anymore. A’Cheng and I are the bastard children of a notorious adulteress, Wei Ying is a sect defector who stole things on his way out, and Meng Yao is the son of a prostitute. One false step and we will all go down together.”

It seemed as if even the birds had stopped chirping at her declaration.

Lao Wang huffed and banged his cane on the floor again. No one spoke for a long time.

“As you say, SunNu. But show more respect for your elders,” Lao Wang—Meng YeYe—finally grumbled at her.

Wei Ying leaned into him, smiling again. “You just like her cooking.”

“Shut up, brat!” The old man snapped at him, but twisted a little to drape his bad arm over Wei Ying’s back. Meng Yao quietly returned to A’Cheng’s side, helping him crawl back up on the ox again while A’Cheng pestered him to explain what was going on.

Yanli let out a soft sigh of relief. Meng Yao looked back at her and smiled.

Chapter Text

Wei Ying was utterly, entirely, in his element. His commitment to his mission would be frightening to observe if Yanli had not seen him do the same thing numerous times over the years.

“Will he be okay? He didn’t even sleep last night. He should rest.” Meng Yao stood in the main hall of their newly rented, decrepit, smelly siheyuan with his hands on his hips while Wei Ying ran around breathlessly with a cheap, second-hand loupan and a piece of chalk. A’Cheng followed after him, complaining about everything but diligently holding up the bagua map every time Wei Ying asked him to.

“It’s just like the first week he was allowed in the sect library. I thought he would go blind, reading so many books in such a short period of time.” Yanli hummed happily at the memory.

“How does he know so much about feng shui?” Meng Yao shifted to cross his arms over his chest.

“Did I mention the sect library?” She giggled at Meng Yao’s consternation.

“How? He does not have a good memory.”

“Not everyone remembers things like you do, A’Yao. Ying’er is terrible with names and dates and recent events, but when he learns something important, he never forgets it.” She reached out to tug him away from the scene. “They will figure out what we need to do to fix the energies here.”

“They? It’s all Ying’er.” Meng Yao continued to grumble as he trailed after to towards the kitchen.

“No, the analysis is all Ying’er. A’Cheng has an impeccable sense of taste. He won’t let Wei Ying pile up pine logs in random locations, or pretend an old ugly pot is a ‘pond’.”

“Oh, good heavens.” Meng Yao rubbed his temples, looking ten years older.

“Tell me how your trip into town went.” She set about starting dinner. Cooking for a whole family every day was much different from cooking as a hobby, but after two weeks in their new home, she felt like she was getting the rhythm down.

“I have two clients already.”

“Really?”

He gave her a mild glare.

“A’Yao, it is not you I doubt! But you look even younger than you are. I’m surprised business owners would hire you to run their accounts.” He was barely fourteen, and she was not sure she would have hired him, even knowing how smart he was.

“I bought a hat. It makes me look older.”

“Hm. I’ll be the judge of that!”

“I like my hat.” He looked at her suspiciously. “Nothing better happen to my hat, JieJie.”

“If A’Cheng disapproves of it, I make no promises.” She pointed at a chopping board, and Meng Yao went over to start on the onions.

“An eleven-year-old should not be in charge of my sartorial decisions,” he grumbled.

“Believe me when I say that I trust him with mine. He’s been choosing the colors for my robes since he was six and learned the difference between purple and indigo. He was quite excited about it.” She smiled at the memory.

Meng Yao made a disbelieving noise, but then was silent for a while.

“Even with two clients, I don’t think I will make enough to support all of us. I will get more clients, eventually, but Yiling is not a large town, and Lao He has been doing accounting for many people here for over a decade. They won’t quit him, no matter how good I am.” He kept chopping, not looking up at her.

“Mn.” She sighed. “I thought of making talismans to sell—Wei Ying could help me—but I fear it would draw too much attention to us.”

“Mn,” Meng Yao nodded. He glanced up at her. “No offense intended, but what is a cultivator girl trained to do, if she can’t fight?”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh! Didn’t the boys tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About Jin Zixuan?”

He frowned at the onions. “Only that he is, I quote, ‘an arrogant, stuck up, rude, and ungrateful peacock.’ They may have included words unfit for a lady’s ears.” He smirked a little. She tried not to find it cute.

“They didn’t say why they hate him?”

“No. I assumed just boys having grudges against other boys. You know how it is. A playground fight.”

“No no no!” She laughed. “He is…he was my betrothed.”

Meng Yao froze with the knife hanging in the air.

“I thought everyone knew! But I suppose it’s not news that would matter to commoners. To answer your question, I was raised to be a sect leader’s wife.” She looked around the worn kitchen at some of the crooked planks in the walls and the evidence of a fire long ago in the scorch marks along the ceiling. “I suppose running a sect’s household is not entirely different from running a regular household. Just smaller.” She paused thoughtfully. “And poorer.”

He resumed chopping with a dignified chuckle. “Indeed.” They worked in silence for a few moments. “How is your needlework?”

“Excellent. I spent a lot of time on it when I was younger, since I was sick so often. Do you need something repaired?”

“No, I was thinking that is something we can sell.”

“I’m not a seamstress.” She shook her head.

“You don’t need to be. Ribbons, sashes, scarves, even tuanshan—a delicate hand with such items can bring a high price. Some of the most expensive and coveted items in the Dragonfly Shoal, outside of jewelry, were sashes and fans.”

She stopped and looked up, lost in thought, thinking of all the similar items she had embroidered over the years. “That’s a much better idea than being a street food vendor.”

“A what?” He sounded appalled.

She gestured at the dinner they were working on. “I am a good cook. I thought maybe I could open a soup or dumpling stall.”

He looked thoughtful for a long moment. “No. Overhead is more expensive for restaurants, even food stalls with no seating. Low margins. You can buy cheaper materials and use them to make uniquely embroidered products to sell for a very high price.” He then returned to chopping as if he had not just exploded her world.

Years of helping both her mother and the quartermaster at Lotus Pier had taught her a wealth of information about fabrics, threads, silk, and dyes—knowledge mostly known only by the mistresses of large households, very high-end seamstresses, weavers, and dyers. As a young gentry lady, she had also received extensive instruction on both embroidery and painting. Her skills were considered decent among her gentry peers, but few commoners outside of Lanling itself could produce anything better than she could make.

Her mind spun out with possibilities. Buying mid-range fabrics to start, she could create beautiful works of art and sell them for a significant markup. She could do a series of matching fans and sashes, which were always in demand among her gentry peers. She was better at painting flowers and animals than landscapes, but Wei Ying was showing promise as an artist himself. Together they could design standing screens featuring complex landscapes filled with details for her to embroider.

“That’s it! Yes!” She bounced in place, causing him to look up at her. “That’s what I’ll do! Do we have enough coin to spare for materials?”

His eyes went distant in the way they always did when he was balancing ledgers. “Yes. Not enough for expensive silks, but enough to get you started, now that I’ll be bringing in some income. We should go into town on market day, so you can see if you find anything acceptable. We might have to wait until one of the trader caravans comes through. I hear they travel by monthly, in good weather.”

“I’ve seen some fabric in town suitable for tuanshan. It’s the thread I’m concerned about. Yes, let’s plan on that.”

She smiled at him and he coughed, looking back at the onions. “I’m glad you like the idea.”

“I do! Thank you, A’Yao. You are so smart!”

He chuffed and shook his head, but continued smiling. Soon, he passed over the bowl of chopped onions.

“I was helping A’Cheng with his studies. He’s got a head for maths.”

She nodded. “He does. Before we…well, before. He was set to start being trained by, ah, Sect Leader Jiang on sect management. Mother was very proud of how well A’Cheng did with math and numbers and money.” She shook her head. “A good thing too, because Ying’er can barely add, and does not seem to understand money at all. As brilliant as he is, he works best with abstract theory or practical application, nothing in between.”

“Mn.” He paused before clearing his throat. “It might be good for me to take A’Cheng on as an apprentice. If he can learn accounting, he will never want for work.”

“Work.” Yanli looked at him, her mind gone completely blank.

Meng Yao studied her for a long moment. “He’s not a sect heir anymore, Yanli,” he said kindly. “Even if he becomes a powerful cultivator, what will he do with that? Become a rogue cultivator?” Meng Yao shook his head. “I can see that path for Ying’er, he has a wanderer’s spirit, but not A’Cheng. He is a homebody. He will never leave you behind, not unless he’s forced to.”

Yanli reached behind her for a stool and dropped onto it.

“Oh.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I just assumed he would join a sect one day.” Even as she said it, she realized how absurd that sounded. At some point, there would be no hiding who he was—who his mother was—and there would not be a sect in the jianghu desperate enough to take him in for fear of insulting the sect leader of Yunmeng Jiang. Qinghe Nie might not care and was powerful enough to stand against Yunmeng Jiang’s displeasure, but they were in a constant, informal war with the Qishan Wen and Yanli would not allow him to go there just to get killed in a pointless skirmish.

“Ah, Yanli,” Meng Yao said, coming over to stand next to her and rub her back. It was only then that she realized she was crying.

“He would have been such a great sect leader!” She hiccuped.

“It is unfair,” he said, and it was true, but it wasn’t enough. It was all unfair—that her mother had committed such sins and brought innocent children into the world to suffer for it; that the man she thought of as her father was so cruelly indifferent to the children he had helped raise; that Wei Ying was an orphan who had thought he found a home only to end up on the run with his new-found siblings; that Meng Shi was used and betrayed by a powerful man who could save her and her son for a price far less than the cost of some rings he wore.

Once she got her breath back, she looked up at Meng Yao. “I need you to take Wei Ying into town tomorrow.”

He frowned in confusion for a moment before his expression cleared. “I understand.”

With that, they returned to making dinner, silent but companionable company, while Yanli considered what she would have to say to A'Cheng the next day.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Meng Yao contrived a complicated escapade that required both Wei Ying and Lao Wang to go into town with him first thing in the morning. It was a little unnerving how completely convincing he was in the lie, but Yanli assumed it was a skill he picked up from the uncertain world of the brothel he grew up in. She was grateful, in any case.

A’Cheng was angry and confused at being left out until Yanli explained that she needed his help, specifically, around the house. He brightened up at the idea of spending time alone with her, and happily insulted Wei Ying as they walked away, Lao Wang bundled up into the little rickshaw pulled by Meng Yao. Wei Ying yelled an insult back at A’Cheng and Yanli quickly chivvied him inside the siheyuan before they decided it would be fun to wrestle in a ditch.

“What are we doing? Are we working on the main entrance?” He stood in the gateway looking over everything like a little lordling. Which he was…or used to be. “Wei Ying says we have to put a spirit wall here, at this angle, to block energies. How irresponsible of the owner to leave it like this!” He looked up over the roof to the looming, dark specter of the Burial Mounds with a frown.

“Yes, we can do that. Once we get some extra money coming in. First, though, I want to talk to you. Come have tea.”

He was immediately on his guard, and she couldn’t blame him. How many times had she admonished him for bad behavior over “a talk and some tea”? Quite a few times.

When they sat down, he promptly went about preparing the tea, looking at her once or twice to make sure he was doing it right. A’Yao’s words rang in her ears about how A’Cheng was not destined to be a member of the gentry, much less a sect leader, anymore. Yet even at eleven years old, he was mindful of etiquette and the subtleties of tea preparation, literally trained since birth to be aware of the social hierarchy around him and his role as a member of the elevated classes. His only path to such genteel society as a commoner would be to take the Imperial exams and become a bureaucrat, which he had the mind for but not the personality. He had spent too many years raised as The Heir of Yunmeng Jiang to tolerate being treated like a servant, and like their mother, he was short-tempered. Often she had acted more like a club than a whip in socially or politically fraught situations, and A’Cheng had inherited that tendency from her along with her sharp cheekbones and the shape of her eyes.

Yanli had heard servants say that the only thing A’Cheng got from his father was his wavy hair, and while that was probably true, it certainly had not meant what they all assumed it did. She thought it was ironic that A’Cheng and Ying’er had similar hair, and wondered if that was part of why so many people assumed Ying’er was Jiang Fengman’s bastard.

When he had poured cups for both of them and they were settled on the cushions, she folded all those thoughts away and smiled at him.

“A’Yao said that you are doing well with your math studies.”

He puffed up a little. “DaGe is very smart! He knows all the numbers already. He also showed me a money table, and how to use it with the abacus.”

Which meant that A’Yao had already planned to teach A’Cheng accounting before talking to her. She filed that away for future reference.

“I am very proud of you, A’Cheng.”

He did a valiant job of not wriggling in his seat.

“It is important, because we do not have much money now. It’s not like when we were at Lotus Pier, and Mother handled all the accounts. We won’t be getting allowances anymore.”

He nodded, a solemn expression coming over his face. “DaGe said he got a couple of clients for his accounting work. Will that be enough?”

“No.” She looked down at her tea.

“I can work! And Wei Ying! We can do…stuff! Maybe some farmers need help? Or…” He stopped, fishing around for ideas. She reached out and patted his hand.

“It eases my heart to hear you consider this. But, I think Meng Yao and I have an idea for me to do something that will make money, so I would prefer if you and Wei Ying continue focusing on your education.”

He frowned. “Why would you work outside of the house? You are Young Lady Jiang.”

“A’Cheng, I know we keep our own names in our hearts, but to the world outside, I am Miss Meng Jiayi, a simple commoner. To support our household, I need to earn money.”

“At what?” He looked genuinely insulted by the idea. “You shouldn’t have to work for money!”

She laughed. “Yes, I should! Just as you have to study hard and practice the six arts in order to become a strong cultivator.”

“Mn!” He nodded ferociously. “But what will you do then, JieJie? Oh I know! You can cook!”

“I thought of that too!” They smiled at each other. “But A’Yao convinced me of a better idea, something with less overhead. I will do fancy embroidery work and sell it at a high price. Sashes and fans and scarves.”

His eyes went wide. “Xie Furen had some beautiful aquamarine silk thread! And cadmium orange!” He looked thoughtful. “She had undyed linen thread too. We might be able to do some custom dying.”

How he even noticed any of that during their last trip into market, she had no idea. “You will be very helpful, DiDi! I’m very happy about this, I think it will bring in good money. What we cannot sell in Yiling, we can sell to the traders who come through.”

“Just not to anyone from Lotus Pier, though.” He scowled.

“A’Cheng! Don’t be petty!”

“No. They don’t deserve your work.” He folded his arms over his chest.

She sighed and refilled their cups. “Be that as it may, it brings me to the next topic I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Lotus Pier?” He dropped his arms and picked up the tea.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I need you to understand that we have left that world behind, along with Lotus Pier. Even when you and Wei Ying become strong cultivators, you will never be able to join a sect.”

“What?”

“Because Father is who he is, no sect will take you in. They will be too scared of offending him.”

He still looked confused. She took another deep breath. “A’Cheng, I am telling you that you will never be a part of the gentry again. The cultivation world won’t have you. At best, you could be a rogue cultivator. I know you and Wei Ying pretend at that sometimes, but maybe—”

“No!” He slammed his cup down on the table.

“I’m sorry, A’Cheng. But it will never happen, because Mother—”

“No!” He repeated, his face going red and blotchy. “You don’t get it! I don’t want to be in a sect ever again!”

“What?”

“Wei Ying is right! Father ruined us! He destroyed our lives! For what? Because he had another fight with Mother?”

“Ah, well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.” She grimaced and tried to hide behind her teacup.

“I know what they say! But Father believed it! Did he even have proof? Did he?” He jumped to his feet, fists held at his sides.

“I don’t know, A’Cheng. I’m sure he had some proof.”

“I’m not! He hated her! Just like he hates me!” Tears started rolling down his cheeks. Yanli went to get up but he stomped around the room, yelling.

“They don’t deserve us! They don’t! Mother was always mean to you and Father didn’t like me and they fought all the time!” The tears streamed down his face, dripping onto his clothes. “He wanted to get rid of me, so he did! Is that what it means to be part of a cultivation sect? To be like they were? Liars and cheaters and betrayers? I won’t do it! I won’t!”

“You…you don’t want to be a cultivator? Because our parents fought?” She finally put down her cup, trying to figure out what he was saying.

“No!” He howled and curled over himself, his face in his hands, breathing heavily. “No!”

“A’Cheng, I don’t know what you are telling me. I don’t understand.”

He snapped up straight. “I don’t want to join any stupid sect! We can be cultivators right here, in Yiling!” He took a deep breath that was more of a sob. “Wei Ying and I have it all figured out! We’re going to become the strongest cultivators! And then we’re going to cleanse the Burial Mounds! We’ll fight all the yao and liberate all the fierce corpses and disperse all the resentful energy! We’re going to do it! And then no one can call us bastards anymore!” He broke down sobbing after shouting out the last declaration, collapsing to his knees. Yanli went over to take him in her arms.

“That a great idea, A’Cheng. It’s wonderful. I know you can do it!” She was, actually, extremely doubtful of that, but it was a discussion for a later time. A much, much later time.

Eventually, he rubbed his eyes and sat up straight, fierce and proud and looking more like their mother than he ever had before.

“Don’t worry about us, JieJie. Wei Ying and I are going to be okay. We don’t need the gentry! We don’t need their help! We’re going to be the Twin Heroes of Yiling!”

Chapter Text

The best part of the day was when they all gathered in the main hall of the house in the morning with the wide doors slid open to let in the light while they ate breakfast.

After breakfast and basic chores, they sat around working—Yanli with her embroidery projects, Meng Yao and the boys on their studies, and Lao Wang doing nothing much at all other than napping in his excessively padded chair. Despite the dilapidated siheyuan and the Burial Mounds haunting the landscape and the simple, unadorned linen and cotton robes they all wore, it was exactly the kind of simple domesticity that Yanli had always dreamed of as a girl.

Eventually, all the boys would all troop into the courtyard to work through their martial art forms, and Meng Yao would at some point wrestle A’Cheng and Ying’er into meditating under the pear tree. Or, at least, he tried.

“Ugggghhhhh,” Wei Ying groaned and fell over. “This is borrrrring!”

“Stop distracting me!” A’Cheng kicked out with his foot, but Wei Ying rolled away.

“Boys, stop fussing,” A’Yao said with a bland and hostile smile on his face.

“Who are you calling boy?” Ying’er yelled, jumping up, ready to fight. “You’re not much older than us!”

“Is this how Yunmeng Jiang does it? Half-assed like caterwauling cats?” Lao Wang asked, gnawing at some jerky. It was his favorite snack, which, given his toothlessness, Yanli did not understand at all, but it was easy enough to make from cheap cuts of meat.

“No,” Yanli said with a shake of her head. “That is what head disciples are for, to keep everyone in line.”

“Mn.” He swayed forward in his chair a few times and eventually rolled up onto his feet. “Ying’er! Get over here!”

“Hmph.” Wei Ying kicked dirt aggressively before coming up to the porch. “What do you want?”

“Ying’er,” Yanli said warningly.

“This Wei Ying apologizes for being rude, honored grandfather,” he answered automatically with a stiff and recalcitrant bow.

Lao Wang pointed at the front gate. “Go run around the house for 500 steps. Count ‘em. I want to see you passing that gate at least ten times.”

Wei Ying stared at him in disbelief.

With a loud thump of his cane, Lao Wang shouted. “Go!”

Wei Ying spun around and ran off.

Yanli glanced over at Lao Wang, speaking softly. “Can you even see that far?”

“No, but he doesn’t know that,” Lao Wang whispered back with a grin. He waddled to his chair and sat down with a huff. “Kids like that, they can’t keep still for love or money. Gotta send them out on runs to tire their brain out.”

“But his meditation practice—”

“Bah. Counting his steps will stand in for counting breaths, and by the time he gets back he will be of calm mind, and can do a few minutes of intense qi circulating. That will get him farther than trying to hold him down.”

Yanli slowly looked up from her embroidery frame, a now-distant memory of their first night with Lao Wang surfacing. The boys had been fighting, and he had pulled them apart with an unfamiliar martial arts move.

“Grandfather, did you ever train at a sect?” She asked, whispering.

He was silent for a long time. A’Yao and A’Cheng were deep into their quiet meditation, still and focused as they sat next to each other. Outside, the sound of Wei Ying running around the house was a soft drum beat.

“It was a lifetime ago, child.”

“But…you don’t have a golden core? You don’t cultivate?”

She felt terrible for asking as soon as the words left her mouth, as he obviously did not, given his age and health. Even the weakest cultivators like her aged slowly, and rarely developed most of the ailments of aging even when they did. The very ancient cultivators she had known appeared to be simply worn out, not broken.

“No.” He glanced off to where the Burial Mounds sat, ominous in the distance and far too close. “War is a terrible thing and destroys good men in many different ways. There are horrors out there that I cannot bring myself to speak of, even now.” He settled down in his chair with a sigh.

She reviewed everything she knew about him, pieces falling into place like a puzzle. He had been a pickpocket who never got caught, who had taken in orphaned children and taught them how to survive. When her boys came to rescue her in Yunping, he had helped them get there and provided cover for them. He claimed to have lived his whole life in Yiling but had no relatives there or any other connection that she had ever noticed, or he had ever mentioned. In fact, as she thought about it, she realized that he had not actually claimed to be from Yiling, he just never corrected other people’s assumptions about him.

Yanli was much wiser to the world than she had been six months ago, and she was certain that without Lao Wang’s protection those first few days, both she and A’Cheng would have been snatched up by human traffickers and sold to a horrible fate. Wei Ying would only have been able to rescue them so many times.

“That is why you were not surprised about Sect Leader Jiang casting us out.”

“I’ve seen a lot of righteous men do the cruelest things for no other reason than pride. Or greed. The gentry has got a lot of both.”

She nodded and returned to her work, mentally reciting prayers of gratitude for Lao Wang, his former sect, and his ancestors—whomever they were.

Wei Ying stumbled through the gate sometime later, having passed it far more than ten times. He plopped down next to A’Cheng, still gasping for air, and meditated without complaint until A’Yao called an end. That became their regular practice once forms were over: A’Yao and A’Cheng sitting down to meditate, while Wei Ying went out to run his brain down before joining them.

It was clear to Yanli, though, that their forms were suffering.

Wei Ying was perfect in his forms and A’Cheng nearly so, but they were too young and impatient to be good teachers and they only knew the sets up to level three. The Yunmeng Jiang style had ten levels of forms, total, but she had never gotten far past three herself. A’Yao caught up fast, as she expected, but they were all getting ready to plateau and she was not going to be able to coach them much further. Not to mention, in the afternoons, A’Yao and A’Cheng went into town to do accounting for hire. It was necessary work that paid well, but not something a sect disciple would have had to worry about. If they were at Lotus Pier, A’Cheng would spend all morning doing martial arts, then his afternoon in various lessons across the six arts and sect management.

(She was beginning to understand why so much of the common populace considered cultivators to be pampered and spoiled. What an amazing life a person could live when they weren’t scrambling to survive!)

Not to mention, their sword work was going nowhere. A’Yao had managed to buy a few wooden practice swords (used, but not broken), but he was already at the age of needing a real sword, and the boys would be soon enough. Spiritual weapons were outrageously expensive, which was why only sects could afford to have them made for their disciples. Even rogue cultivators often used mundane swords until they had built up a name for themselves and could charge high prices for their services.

Yanli was at a loss of what to do.

When she talked about it with A’Yao and Lao Wang, the latter brought up her old idea of hiring rogue cultivators to help train. The only problem was that not many had come through Yiling. It was odd, but A’Yao thought it was because the Qishan Wen sect was heating up the politics of the jianghu, making everyone pull back a little out of caution. He did not say it, but Lao Wang did: war was likely on the horizon.

So, when she saw two rogue cultivators wandering through town on market day, she shoved her basket at A’Cheng and hustled over to them.

They were, as most cultivators were, very beautiful. The younger was lithe and ethereal, with a kind smile, and dressed mostly in white with black trim. His companion was his opposite in every way, not just because he was in black with white trim. He was stoic and stern and broad, imposing to look at but at least he had kind eyes.

“Honored Daoren, please allow me to—” She stalled for a moment. A young single girl asking to buy tea for two strange men was just short of scandalous, and highly suspicious. “Hire you! We have, mmmnnn, a fierce ghost! In our house!” She tried to look weak and pathetic.

“JieJie? What are you talking about? We don’t—”

Yanli stepped on A’Cheng’s foot.

“Oh, yes!” Wei Ying said loudly, picking up the thread. “A terrible one! Scary! It, uh, keeps knocking over Grandfather! And he’s so fragile and, and, old! Very old! Please, Mister Honored Cultivator Sir, please help us with the fierce ghost!” He exclaimed beseechingly and clasped his hands together.

A’Cheng kept his mouth shut, but Yanli could tell he was trying not to laugh.

The vendor who had been selling the cultivators some food nodded. “The old Luo place? Doesn’t surprise me. I keep telling you, Miss Meng, to move closer to town and away from the Burial Mounds. Can’t be good for the boys, or your grandfather.” She wagged her finger, and Yanli could kiss her because her comment caused the cultivators to buy into the story. They bowed in perfect, practiced unison.

“I am Xiao Xingchen, and this is Song Lan, courtesy name Zichen. We are happy to assist you with this matter.”

“Wonderful! Thank you so much!” She grabbed her basket back. “A’Cheng, go get the burgundy thread we were looking at and then catch up to us on the way home.” She plopped a few coins in his hand. “Don’t buy the green thread! I know you want to!”

“But JieJie, the turquoise will go perfectly with that design for the pink sash!” He yelled back and disappeared into the crowd. She sighed and turned back to Xiao Xingchen, who was smiling in amusement.

“He has very particular opinions about my embroidery,” she said.

“As he should!” The food vendor piped up. “Miss Meng does the best work in the region!”

“Thank you, Auntie.” She bowed. “This way, Honored Daoren.” She gestured for them to follow.

Wei Ying bounced around them happily as they walked, pestering a very tolerant Xiao Xingchen with a riot of questions about night hunting, while Song Zichen looked on placidly.

Chapter Text

When they walked the two cultivators through the front gate, Xiao Xingchen came to a complete stop, nearly causing A’Cheng (who had run to catch up with them, carrying both burgundy and green threads, of course) to stumble into him.

Song Zichen gave his partner a concerned look, then followed his gaze to the large, blooming pear tree in the courtyard.

“Who is studying cultivation here?” Xiao Xingchen asked pleasantly.

Both A’Cheng and Ying’er looked nervously at Yanli. She simply held out her wrist in the universal sign for “check my qi.” It was a little indecent for her to offer it to him, being unmarried as she was, and him not being a doctor. But she figured, needs must.

He took it gently, and she felt an incredibly pure wave of power wash over her. She stood there, dazed, thinking he was possibly the strongest cultivator she had ever met in her life, and she had met the previous Sect Leader Nie once.

“Xingchen,” Song Zichen spoke softly, his deep voice breaking the bubble of silence around them.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Miss Meng.” Xiao Xingchen pulled his hand back sheepishly. “Your golden core is doing admirable work, but you are not the one practicing here.” He motioned to the courtyard.

Catching her breath, she nodded. “You are correct. My brothers are in training. Including the eldest, who is out on business in town right now.”

Ying’er and A’Cheng took the moment to line up and puff out their chests in pride.

“How unusual,” Xiao Xingchen murmured, absently patting them on the head as he passed and strolled into the courtyard proper. “Hm. You do not have a fierce ghost here, do you?” He turned around and looked at Yanli.

She bowed, and after a beat, the boys followed suit. “No, Xiao Daoren. I apologize for the lie, but I needed to find a way to bring you here without arousing suspicion.”

Song Zichen was off to the side, inspecting the gateway and the spirit wall they had finally managed to buy the materials for a few months ago. “Feng shui,” he said simply, which caused Xiao Xingchen to start wandering around the courtyard, poking at things.

“Oh. Oh! What elegant work! Is there a feng shui master nearby?”

“I did it!” Ying’er said. “Me and A’Cheng worked hard on it!” He amended, when A’Cheng elbowed him.

“Did you?” Xiao Xingchen came back over to them. “You have a good understanding of it. I can see the array you put in.” He pointed at some rocks scattered around.

Ying’er paled. “Um.”

“Ying’er?” Yanli turned to him. “What array?”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. “I see.” He turned to Yanli. “Why did you invite us here, Miss Meng?”

She paused, thinking of explanations, but realized she had something better at hand. She looked at her brothers.

“Go and do sets one and two of the second level forms, slowly, and then repeat them as fast as you can.” She pointed at the training area, which was covered in sand and free of rocks.

They hopped to it, doing their forms in precise tandem. She saw clearly their weaknesses, and perhaps it had not been a fair request, given that they were not warmed up for it.

The daoren watched critically, with blank expressions.

“Now swords. Crane flying at night formation, then migrating carp.” They ran for their practice swords and then fell into the positions. “Good. Thank you. Now spar. First one to strike wins.”

Again, the cultivators watched with no reaction.

Yanli was so nervous about what the daoren thought that she did not even track who won, but when they finished, A’Cheng and Ying’er bowed to each other, and then bowed to the daoren.

“You are both very good,” Xiao Xingchen finally said, his expression softening. The boys lit up like the sun.

“Those are Yunmeng Jiang formations,” Song Zichen said, and turned to Yanli. She froze up. She had known they would likely recognize the style, but she did not know what they would say about it.

“Song Zichen?” Xiao Xingchen turned to him. “Isn’t that one of the great sects? Why would that be a problem? Surely those forms are common enough for this area,” He asked, obviously seeing more in Song Zichen’s expression than Yanli did.

Song Zichen never took her eyes off of her. “It is said that Sect Leader Jiang threw the bastards of his former wife into the street. No one has heard or seen them since.”

“Former wife? I thought he was unmarried and looking for a wife.” Xiao Xingchen scrunched up his nose, which Yanli would find adorable if she wasn’t so terrified. A’Cheng and Ying’er had migrated to stand beside her, both of them quiet as mice in winter.

“Mn. Both things can be true.” Song Zichen nodded, but did not explain further.

She bowed again, far more deeply, and held it as she spoke. “This one apologizes for being dishonest, Song Daoren.”

“Speak, and explain,” Song Zichen commanded.

She stood up. “We are called the bastards of Yunmeng.”

A’Cheng gasped and Ying’er’s chin went up defensively.

“We have hidden here under a false name, for our safety. Were it just me, alone, I would not care for my fate. My birth was dishonorable and my mother executed for it.”

“JieJie!” The boys yelled together, but she held up a hand to quiet them.

“But these are my brothers. They have potential, and ambition. As you can see, they are talented in their own ways, with strong golden cores. Wei Ying has a mind for talismans and tactics, and A’Cheng for maths and strategy. But they will never be taken in by a sect, because of who they are. Many will talk down about them, yet they have enough cultivator blood in them to be worthy of the title someday.”

Ying’er, fearless, stepped forward. “We are both the sons of powerful women cultivators! JieJie and A’Cheng are the children of the Violet Spider and I am the son of Cangse Sanren! Our father was Wei Changze, former head disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang and third maternal cousin of Sect Leader Jiang!” He slapped his chest.

Yanli stared at him, and A’Cheng frowned.

“No, we don’t know who my father was,” A’Cheng said waspishly.

“What? Yes, we do! We’re brothers!”

“Ying’er, just because you’re martial brothers doesn’t mean you actually have the same father.” Yanli said, her heart breaking even as she tried to be firm with him.

“It does, though! Didn’t Uncle Jiang, uh, Sect Leader Jiang tell you?” He turned to Yanli. “My father is your father, too! I thought everyone would know that by now. I mean, before I left…” he trailed off, realizing that Yanli and A’Cheng had not known that. He looked between them uncertainly.

She grabbed his shoulders. “You know this? You swear this is true?”

He nodded. “Yeah. There were letters. Remember the lightning strike? Before everything happened, while Madam Yu was on a night hunt? It hit her quarters, and one of the workman found the letters.” He looked away, his body posture closing off. “He showed them to me. He said…he said our father was a terrible person for what he did with your mother. That if I disavowed him, then Sect Leader Jiang would adopt me. He said it would be ‘righting the wrongs.’” He huffed and looked at her, eyes sharp. “He didn’t let me read all of them, but my father admitted that he was your father. Both of you. Anyway, I said no, and asked to keep one of the letters, just to have something of my father’s, but that made Sect Leader even madder and he sent me to my room. I think…I think he thought I’d be happy to be his son.”

Yanli just stared at him shock. A’Cheng was frozen, his eyes wide.

“But I’m not!” Ying’er shouted. “I hate him! I am the son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze and you are my sister and my brother! I’ll hate him forever for what he did to you!”

Yanli plopped down in the dirt, careless of decency.

“Miss Meng!” Xiao Xingchen was immediately at her side, checking her qi and heart-rate.

“We’re brothers? For real?” A’Cheng looked like he had been hit with lightning himself. “Why didn’t you say something?” He demanded.

“I thought you knew!” Ying’er said in exasperation. “I thought you just didn’t want to…didn’t want to share a father with me, or something. I mean, my dad was just a servant—”

“Shut up!” A’Cheng shouted at him, for once actually shutting Ying’er up. Then he launched himself at Wei Ying, wrapping his arms around him. “Brothers!”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Ying’er bounced around with him as they hugged each other. “Brothers!!!!”

“Miss Meng, is the boy correct? Is he the son of Cangse Sanren?” Xiao Xingchen asked quietly enough that the boys could not hear.

“Yes. This has always been known,” she said, nodding.

He helped her up, graceful as ever despite her wobbly instability at the discovery of her own lineage. She remained a daughter of Yunmeng Jiang! She was not nameless and without ancestors! It made her heart swell with pride, aligning something deep inside that she had not even realized was unsettled. There were so many questions unanswered, that might remain unanswered forever, but the whys and the hows of it were not her business, anyway. Those secrets died with her mother, like so much else. But whatever the truth was, Yanli did not have to think of herself as a bastard anymore. Never again. People could cal lthem whatever they wanted, but she knew the truth. She fought back a sob.

“Wei Ying,” Xiao Xingchen said, and the boys pulled up short in their celebrations. “Come here.”

Ying’er looked askance at Yanli first, but walked over. Xiao Xingchen looked down at him, and Yanli realized there were tears in his eyes.

“I am a disciple of the immortal master Baoshan Sanren, and your mother was my shijie. I did not know she had a son, or I would have looked for you sooner. I am so happy to find you now.”

It was Ying’er’s turn to look like he had been struck by lightning. “You knew my mother?”

“Yes. She left the mountain when I was young, but I remember her well. I am your martial uncle, if you will have me.”

Ying’er sobbed and threw himself into Xiao Xingchen’s arms.

Chapter Text

Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen did not stay at the house, instead living off the land, as was their sworn vow.

A’Yao spread the gossip that “Grandfather Meng” had hired the rogue cultivators for a short-term contract to work on reducing the resentful energy coming out of the Burial Mounds. Everyone agreed this was honorable of him, as surely raising children so near the cursed place was bad for their health, and any reduction in resentful energy in the area was of benefit to the whole town.

(Lao Wang teared up the first time someone stopped him in the street to praise “the honorable Meng elder” for doing such righteous acts for his family. To her dying day, Yanli would never get over the fact that the notorious pickpocket who had lived most of his life in the town was unrecognizable to everyone simply because of nicer clothes, well-combed hair, and a new name.)

Since that was the story, though, and Xiao Xingchen was incapable of lying, they did exactly that along with training the boys in more advanced cultivation techniques. Song Zichen sat down with Yanli and drafted out a training and education regimen for them to follow once he and his partner left after three months. Wei Ying was heartbroken to find out they weren’t staying indefinitely, but Xiao Xingchen gave him his solemn word that they would return within a year of their departure.

“It will be difficult, going forward, without spiritual weapons for them to train with,” Yanli sighed, looking over the budget with Meng Yao.

“Used weapons that were rejected for not being strong enough, spiritually, will occasionally come on the market. They are still expensive, though.”

Xiao Xingchen, who was sitting nearby helping Wei Ying with advanced talisman work, looked up.

“Song Lan, doesn’t Baixue sect have masterless swords?”

Song Zichen, who was helping A’Cheng with some particularly difficult footwork, looked over and nodded. Then he looked back at A’Cheng and pointed at his foot. He never touched the boys, who figured out quickly that he was not physically demonstrative the way Xiao Xingchen was, but it never took more than a slight gesture for them to know what he was correcting.

“Why?” A’Yao asked.

“Some swords become tainted with resentful energy and reject their masters. They can be cleansed, but they will never be as powerful as an untainted sword, so more often than not cultivators just toss them into the Burial Mounds, or a nearby volcano.” Xiao Xingchen waved an elegant hand in the direction of the Burial Mounds.

“It is a challenge to cleanse such a sword. My former sect specializes in the practice as a unique form of cultivation,” Song Zichen said. “We will be traveling by there, eventually. I will ask if they have any they wish to donate to three young independent cultivators without fortune to their name.”

A’Yao cringed a little at that, but Yanli knew he couldn’t argue. They did well between his accounting business and her embroidery work, but they could not claim to have a fortune on hand.

Song Zichen went back to coaching A’Cheng. In the same way Wei Ying had latched on to Xiao Xingchen, A’Cheng had connected with Song Zichen. It seemed odd to her at first, but then she realized that he had always been desperate for their former father’s attention and approval, which was ironic given that Jiang Fengman believed A’Cheng really was his son at the time. Whatever he had craved back then, he found in Song Zichen’s steady and supportive guidance.

If nothing else, it eased her worry about A’Cheng becoming jealous of Wei Ying and his martial uncle.

“What if we went into the Burial Mounds to find some swords?” Wei Ying said thoughtfully, and Xiao Xingchen reared back in horror. Song Zichen snapped out “no” very loudly, causing A’Cheng to misstep and falter.

“Ying’er! No! Never think of such a thing!” Yanli said with as much force as she could.

“Why not?” He crossed his arms and huffed in defiance. Yanli was suddenly terrified to her bones, thinking of him running into the Burial Mounds to fetch a sword.

“Because the fucking Burial Mounds ate your parents, you stupid brat.” Lao Wang yelled at him. To be fair, Lao Wang was yelling most of the time since his hearing was getting worse, but it was particularly pointed this time.

Wei Ying curled up into himself. A’Cheng bounded over, glaring at Lao Wang, and wrapped his arms around his brother.

A thought occurred to Yanli that had not really hit her since Wei Ying had revealed their shared parentage. She hiccuped a sob, causing A’Yao to immediately come to her side. “Yanli?”

“Our father, our real father, died in the Burial Mounds!” She clapped her hands over her mouth. Xiao Xingchen looked heartbreakingly sympathetic, and it just made her cry harder. Song Zichen came to stand close to his cultivation partner, using his horsehair whisk to gently maneuver him up from the floor. Yanli watched through tears as Xiao Xingchen nodded and gestured for Meng Yao to come with them.

He looked disinclined to follow them out of the hall. He had kept his distance from the powerful cultivators outside of classes and tutoring, despite Xiao Xingchen’s effusive praise of A’Yao’s quick advancements in cultivation. Nothing they said penetrated A’Yao’s polite, defensive veneer of distrust.

“C’mon, kid. Let them have their time to mourn,” Lao Wang said, physically pushing at A’Yao despite being at least a head shorter than him.

A’Yao looked down at Yanli, who gave him a shallow nod. He patted her shoulder and followed the other men out of the hall into the courtyard, and distracted himself by fussing over Lao Wang.

A’Cheng and Wei Ying were quick to close in on her, and she held them tightly. They were her brothers, truly and without question, and she needed them as much as they needed her.

“It was a long time ago, JieJie,” Wei Ying said, wiggling in closer. “Please don’t cry.”

A’Cheng, always a sympathetic crier, was already overflowing with tears. She held them close and let her tears fall. She had not cried for her mother, as much as her death had hurt, because it never felt like the right time. She had not cried for herself, for being thrown out of the only home she had known, because she was too busy taking care of her brothers. While she had cried for her brothers’ sakes, and for the general unfairness of life, this was the first time she felt her own losses like a blade cutting her from heart to liver.

A mother who would never love her as she deserved, a father who died long before she knew he existed, and the betrayal of a man who had once sworn to protect her as a father should.

“I’m going to destroy him one day, JieJie. I swear I am!” Wei Ying growled, and she realized she had said that aloud.

“We’ll burn his sect to the ground!” A’Cheng sniffled.

She shook her head to clear it. “Revenge will not serve us in this life, my precious brothers.”

“Maybe not, but it would feel really good,” Wei Ying said unrepentantly.

Yanli couldn’t help but giggle, as horrified as she was by her brothers’ bloodthirstiness.

“He doesn’t deserve to have a sect!” A’Cheng insisted.

She sighed. “Maybe not. But he is Jiang Zongzhu, and we are not his children.”

“Meh. Who needs him? We’ll start our own sect!” Wei Ying announced, and A’Cheng bounced on his toes.

“Yeah! And JieJie will be sect leader!”

“Yes! JieJie, you should be sect leader!” Wei Ying nodded furiously.

“What am I going to do with you two?” She said with a sigh, drying her eyes with her sleeve, and then cleaning A’Cheng’s face.

“I have it all planned out! You will be sect leader, DaGe will be head disciple, A’Cheng will be your marshal, and I’ll be your talisman master!”

“Ying’er, stop.” She put a finger over his mouth.

He pouted at her while A’Cheng remained defiant. “You have to be sect leader, JieJie. If we’re going to be the Twin Heroes of Yiling, you need to be sect leader.”

“Is everything all right?” A’Yao reappeared on the porch outside the main hall, peering at them.

“Yes! JieJie is going to be sect leader and you will be her head disciple!” Wei Ying said brightly, punching A’Cheng in the arm, who grinned back at him.

A’Yao looked flummoxed. “Oh?”

“Yes! We’ll be the, um, Yiling Meng sect!” A’Cheng announced. Yanli sighed and put a hand over her eyes.

“I think it might be more accurate to call it the Yiling Wei sect?” A’Yao said, a note of amused deference in his tone.

“Oh, not you too!” Yanli snapped at him, but she could not help but smile when she did. It was all absurd, and her brothers were ridiculous, but it felt good to laugh about their situation for a change.

She looked over his shoulder at where the daoren stood, staring at her with matching yet inscrutable expressions.

Chapter Text

Yanli turned sixteen as Meng Jiayi in a reformed siheyuan that had its back to the Burial Mounds. She was known in Yiling as the talented embroiderer Miss Meng, along with the three industrious Meng brothers and their slightly weird but venerable grandfather.

Several weeks before her birthday, news came from Lotus Pier that Sect Leader Jiang had married at last, after being without a wife for nearly two decades. Yanli’s mother had been utterly erased from history, in a way that hurt so much worse than she had ever expected. Legally and spiritually, Jiang Fengmian never had a wife and never had children, and it made Yanli both furious and, strangely, homesick. Lotus Pier had not been peaceful for its children, but it had been her home until she turned fifteen. She had been weeks away from her hair pinning ceremony, when her mother would pin her hair into a single bun and acknowledge her as a full grown woman of their clan. She had been so excited, and had worked diligently on the embroidery for the robes she was to wear that day.

She wondered what had happened to those robes, so expensive to make and so carefully decorated by her and her maids. She wondered what the hairpin her mother had chosen for her had looked like.

Jiang Fengmian’s “first” wife was a young, well-regarded daughter of Sect Leader Yao who was only a few years older than Yanli herself. She had visited with the girl plenty of times when they were children, and found her vapid and a weak cultivator—not because of health or other limitations, but because she didn’t care. All she had ever talked about was having babies and the latest fashions. Yanli tried not to judge her for that, given that was exactly what a well-bred gentry maiden was supposed to care about, but she found her to be utterly boring. She doubted that the girl would be able to manage Lotus Pier half as efficiently as Yanli’s mother had. Yanli had no space in her heart to hate her mother’s replacement, though. It served no purpose.

No, the person she had learned to hate was the man she had once called ‘father’. The more time passed from the disastrous morning they had been thrown out of Lotus Pier with nothing but the clothes on their backs, the more hate grew in her heart for him. She worked hard not to become embittered because she knew the toll such resentment could take on her qi if she let it, but it was there like a small seed of a vine, ready to grow and spread throughout her body.

But she did not let on to her brothers how she felt. She educated them, lectured them, dressed them, and helped them grieve their multiple losses in their own ways.

They celebrated her birthday with gusto, and even Lao Wang, who had not handled the winter well, managed to get out of bed to slurp some soup in her honor. They all felt the absence of Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen keenly, but the cultivators had left a while ago, so it was not a fresh ache for the boys.

A’Cheng and Wei Ying performed feats of archery for her, shooting down kites they had spent weeks making, then gifted her with boxes of pretty ribbons for her to use on her dresses and robes. If they were a little vague about where the money came from to buy the gifts, she pretended not to notice.

Meng Yao, ever more genteel, gave her a beautifully carved jade inkstone. It was not as high quality as the ink stones she used in her youth, but it represented a good chunk of income from his work as an at-hire accountant. In a way, it represented hope, she thought. A life of writing and beauty and art, something she had never thought much about when she had it. She smiled at him and got one of his rare, dimpled smiles in return, although she thought she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Later that evening, after Lao Wang had retired back to bed with a hot water bottle and some medicinal tea, and the boys were pretending to kill fierce corpses in the courtyard as the sun set, Meng Yao came over and sat down across from her. Something about his manner made her put her embroidery down and wait for him to speak.

He had a small bag in his hands and was uncharacteristically fiddling with it. Finally, he took a deep breath and opened it, letting a pearl button spill out.

“I got your inkstone from Lao Deng.”

“I thought I recognized his work! It’s very fine. He did a beautiful job.”

“He did.” Meng Yao rolled the pearl around. “I asked him to look at this.” He held it up so it caught the light. It was very pretty, and a fair size. Deng Haipeng was a talented artist who not only carved jade but did some jewelry work. He was not a great jeweler, but he could repair pieces and make simple designs. More importantly, he was the only person in Yiling who worked with valuable jewels, as rare as they were in such a place.

“He said it was nearly worthless. Not fake, but not much better than what you would find on an imperial dancer’s costume. Real enough to look right.”

He stopped there, looking at it.

“A’Yao?”

“My father gave it to my mother as a promise to come back and care for her. For me.”

“Oh,” Yanli said, her heart breaking. Of course, Jin Guangshan never meant to follow through and was cruel enough to say so with a cheap trinket, but not words.

Meng Yao looked at her shrewdly. “You think he never meant to come back.”

“No, I don’t think he did.”

“Our brothers had a lot more to say about my half-brother, when I asked them about your betrothal to him.”

Yanli tried not to cringe. “I hope they were not…too improper.”

He gave her a small smile. “Only a little bit.” He sighed. “At the brothel, I heard some things about my father, over the years. Bits and pieces of gossip the common people of Yunping would share. I could not take much of it seriously, one way or the other, because one week he would be a brave warrior selflessly protecting the people, and the next week he was a lecherous hedonist stealing daughters for his harem.”

“He doesn’t have a harem,” Yanli said, frowning.

“No, he doesn’t!” Meng Yao laughed. “I always wondered about that. Was Mama supposed to be his first concubine? But no. Your brothers said a lot about Madam Jin; I don’t think she would have let my mother cross the threshold of Koi Tower alive.”

Yanli grimaced, but nodded. “No. She would not have allowed that. She would never have willingly allowed any challenge to her own son.” She paused. “Who said that about Madam Jin?”

“A’Cheng. He claimed that she was too much like his mother.”

“Ah. Yes, he saw her more often than Wei Ying did,” Yanli confirmed.

He held the pearl up again. “This is your birthday, and meant to be a joyous occasion, so I hesitate to bring this up now. But I believe it is a fitting day to swear an oath to you.”

A chill went down her spine, but she did not reply.

“In five months, I will be fifteen. My plan was to go to Lanling and present myself, and this pearl, to my father.”

She frowned. “In five months?”

“Yes.”

“A’Yao, when is your birthday?”

He told her, and she reared back in shock.

“What?” He looked worried.

“That is A’Xuan’s…that is Jin Zixuan’s birthday. Exactly.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the implications sinking in, before she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t go. A’Yao, please, don’t go!”

He put a soft hand over hers, a scholar’s hand, and smiled sadly. “Before I left, Mama made me promise to go. She handed me this pouch and told me to go on my fifteenth birthday.”

“She could not have known the significance of the date!” She squeezed his wrist harder. “Please, A’Yao, you must believe me: Jin Guangshan is a not a good man. I was never allowed to be in his presence for long, and never without my mother’s guardians nearby.” She hoped they were still alive, but she suspected they had chosen to die with their mistress.

He shook his head and forced her to release him. Then he slipped the pearl back into the pouch, and handed it to her. She held it with shaking hands.

“I must go. I promised my…our mother. I will go.”

“No,” she whispered.

“A’Cheng will be able to handle the accounts I manage while I’m gone.”

“He’s just a boy!”

“He’s old enough to handle the book-keeping. Not the taxes, or anything complicated with the trader caravans, but he can keep everything neat and clean until I return. You have a head for accounts; you can help him if he runs into a snarl with the math.”

Yanli fisted her hands in her lap, clutching at the mostly-empty pouch, unsure of why she was so opposed. It was his birthright, after all, and maybe, just maybe, Jin Guangshan would do the right thing for a change. But then she thought of her mother, weighted down in the deep waters, an inconvenience forgotten by everyone except those who loved her.

“He will try to make you disappear,” she whispered, trying to keep from shaking all over.

“He might,” he replied. He pulled her hands between his so that they were both holding the pouch and looked her in the eyes. “But that is why I am leaving this with you. I doubt having it will make any difference to him, anyway. But today, on your birthday, I make this promise to you: no matter what happens, I will return to you and our brothers.” He pulled her hands to his forehead, as if praying over them, then got up and walked to the room he shared with the boys.

Four months later, he left on a “business trip” to Lanling. A’Cheng, still innocent in so many ways, suspected nothing and was mostly upset that he could not go along with him. But Wei Ying watched his older brother leave with a dark, heavy look in his eyes, and ran off into the woods for the rest of the day, only returning very late with two pheasants and meek apologies.

Yanli channeled her fear and sadness into her work, creating pieces with designs that broke tradition and stood out in the market like a phoenix among chickens. They were probably too unique, too wildly experimental, but they sold anyway. Yanli was long past caring about what was “right and proper” in a world that only punished good people for trying to do the right thing.

Chapter Text

Yanli had never before been so grateful to be a little too plain and a little too plump. Given her real parentage, she wondered where along the chain of ancestors she got her homely looks, but with both of the “men” of the Meng household indisposed—Lao Wang sick most of the time, and Meng Yao traveling “on business”—there were plenty of aunties in Yiling talking up marriageable prospects “for Miss Meng’s own good!!!”

Fortunately, with both boys already thirteen, the aunties approached them about it as the erstwhile stand-in Meng patriarchs. While everyone knew Wei Ying was the elder, it had somehow become common knowledge that they were fraternal twins, and that talking to one was as good as talking to the other.

And both of them absolutely did not humor any suggestions of marrying their jiejie off.

Yanli tempered their aggression simply by saying that A’Yao and “Meng YeYe” would surely make a decision on that very important issue as soon as A’Yao returned from his very important and extended business trip. Talk died down for a few days, then would start up again as soon as the weather improved and made every auntie remember their own wedding day. Yanli sincerely doubted that every single woman in Yiling had been married on a perfectly auspicious, perfectly beautiful day with perfectly clear blue skies, though.

Still, she managed to keep pushing them off with a polite “as soon as eldest brother comes home!”

What she never said, and what was never discussed even in the privacy of their home, was that Meng Yao had been gone for six months and had not sent any letters. She asked very caravan coming out from Lanling if they had word of him, or verbal messages to pass on. Most of the traders were familiar to them by then and knew Meng Yao personally, but they shook their heads regretfully. No one had seen hide nor hair of him.

Yanli feared the worst, but the boys were just confused and heartbroken.

In the meantime, she found out by accident that there was a high demand for her unusual embroidery in the cosmopolitan centers of the jianghu when two traders in town at the same time got into a bidding war right in front of her over a set of sashes. It wasn’t even her best work, but the price went up to a ridiculous amount, which she knew well enough had to be a mere fraction of what they would sell for somewhere else, or the traders wouldn’t bother. She increased her prices accordingly, much to their chagrin, and then started on more experimental pieces with even wilder color combinations. She had never been so grateful for A’Cheng’s keen understanding of color theory. The boy could not draw a circle, but he understood what made a composition stand out without being garish.

She felt quite a bit of pride about the recognition for her work, but also caution. A young, successful, single businesswoman only living with in infirm grandfather and two young brothers meant that too much attention might be drawn to the Meng household in Yiling, and not just from the gentry. Given all of that, Yanli started signing her work as “Crane in the Mist.” Creating a pseudonym was simply another layer of safety. Everyone in Yiling knew who she was, of course, but a few “casual” conversations with the oldest aunties about her concerns meant the whole city locked down on her identity.

Somehow, without even noticing, the little family she had pulled together had become fully accepted by the other families of Yiling as one of their own. She tried not to cry about it.

Fortunately for the boys nerves, Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen eventually showed up for another month of intense training. A’Cheng and Wei Ying were ecstatic to have them back, even if they were only planning to stay for a month.

Their initial slow walk through town also got all the aunties buzzing with an entirely different focus. Yanli was pretty sure Song Zichen was offered several marriage proposals almost immediately. When she asked about it later, his mouth curled down in distaste and Xiao Xingchen laughed so hard he started snorting, which set Lao Wang and the boys off until everyone but Song Zichen himself was crying with laughter.

Unfortunately, they did not bring masterless swords with them.

Xiao Xingchen glanced at Song Zichen when he said that, but did not speak further on the subject, saying only that he would explain it later. The boys were understandably saddened by the news, but picked up on Song Zichen’s displeasure and did not push for an answer.

It was several days into their visit when Xiao Xingchen sat down across from Yanli while she worked on the porch of the main hall to take advantage of the sunlight, her supplies arrayed around her. He picked up a bobbin of silk thread and studied it for a moment like it was some rare, unique treasure. Perhaps for him, it was. She got the feeling he was not actually that long off Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, with the way he treated such common items as strange and exotic discoveries.

“The old sect leader of Baixue Temple died.”

“My deepest condolences. I’m sure that was quite a loss for Song Daoren.”

Xiao Xingchen nodded. “The man was the closest he had to a father figure, from what I can tell.” He sighed and picked another bobbin, holding it up to study it with wonder. It was a sharp pink silk thread that glittered like silver in the sunlight.

“The new sect leader has a different leadership style. He is far more isolationist than his predecessor. While they have a dozen masterless blades which have been cleansed and could be passed on, he was not keen to part with any of them.”

“Oh, that is unfortunate. But I am sure he has his reasons.” Yanli bit her tongue after that and reminded herself to remain charitable.

“He does. Money.” He set down the bobbin and clasped his hands in his lap, a rare frown on his face.

“I beg your pardon?” She looked up at him.

“He wants to sell the swords to smaller sects who need spiritual weapons but cannot afford personalized, first class swords to be custom made.”

“Perhaps the sect is experiencing hard times?” She offered.

His frown drifted away and he smiled at her fondly. “You are generous of heart.”

“Ah! This one thanks you for the compliment.”

“You are welcome. It is deserved. But to your point, no, the temple is not experiencing financial difficulties. However, it seems there is the possibility of war on the horizon, and a man who is willing to be a profiteer can make a small fortune from others’ misfortune.”

He was obviously displeased with such base and unrighteous behavior, so Yanli simply hummed her agreement and picked up her work again.

Later that night, when she was alone with her family, she gave them an abbreviated explanation of why they would not get masterless swords anytime soon.

A’Cheng huffed and crossed his arms, staring at the brazier as if it had personally insulted him. “I suppose it makes sense, though. If the Wen are gearing up for a war of conquest, swords will become valuable.”

It showed both his burgeoning maturity and his grasp of the wider politics that he spoke of it that way, rather than focusing on his own disappointment. Yanli gave him a fond smile of commiseration.

“Sure enough, those fucking Wen will be messing up the jianghu. Food prices always go up during wartime, so I can’t say I blame a sect leader for waiting on the highest bidder to fluff up their coffers,” Lao Wang said, before coughing took over his voice. He still had not recovered fully from his illness over the past winter, and Yanli was worried about him lasting through another.

“I think it’s wrong! It’s selfish to hold on to weapons that actual people like us need just to make some money!” Ying’er said, aggressively tossing a soft, squishy ball back and forth in his hands. He always seemed to think better with his hands in motion, so Yanli kept a constant supply of fidget balls made ready. He usually destroyed them or lost them pretty quickly.

“It is, but it’s also not something we can comment on,” Yanli stressed, hoping that Ying’er would not say anything to upset Song Zichen.

“Yeah, but it upset Song Daoren a lot,” Ying’er said, pouting.

“It did?” Yanli asked, wondering how on earth he could even tell. The cultivator was so stoic and inexpressive.

A’Cheng nodded. “He said something about not going back to visit the temple anytime soon, then recited the chengyu about the snake eating an elephant.”

“Ooooh, not a man I would want to be on the bad side of,” Lao Wang whistled, shaking his head. “Seems like a good way to get the shit beat out of you.”

They all nodded in solemn agreement.

Yanli made a mental note to focus a bit more of their studies on politics, along with governmental affairs. If war was coming, it would affect all of them, whether they belonged to the gentry or not.

The daoren eventually left, and the boys trained harder with their practice swords and looked in the distance for the return of their DaGe. Yanli stitched and Lao Wang complained about his aching joints. It was as normal a life as they were going to get.

It was a bright clear market morning with the aunties all casually mentioning to a very annoyed A’Cheng that their son/nephew/young cousin was handsome and so, so sad to be so, so alone in the world, and Yanli was trying not to laugh.

“Are they trying to marry you off to them, or me?” He grumbled and stomped away. Yanli smiled and continued to pick through the collection of threads on display before moving on to the next stall.

“Stay close, JieJie,” Wei Ying said too casually as he looked at some brushes. He went through them quickly in his studies, as he was pretty brutal with them, no matter how often Yanli admonished him to clean them properly and stop chewing on the handles.

“Hm?” She glanced over.

“Strange men in town,” he said in a low voice, crushing one of his fidget balls in his other hand.

“Cultivators?” She asked, not daring to look around.

“No. But not good either.”

“Ying’Ge—” A’Cheng walked up, a bunch of colorful fabric and threads in his basket.

“I see them,” Wei Ying replied. “Let’s go home.”

“Perhaps lunch at the inn? They might just move on,” Yanli offered. She could tell from the way the boys looked at each other that they wouldn’t agree. Something about those strangers had them spooked. Their cultivation was high enough to sense resentful energy and killing intent, though, so she trusted their instincts. She just nodded and turned to head towards home.

None of them were surprised when the seven men showed up at their gate late that afternoon.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Miss! Is it just you and your brothers here?” The man in front asked jovially, standing right in the middle of the open gate to the siheyuan. He had a cracked tooth and while his clothes were of decent quality, they had been worn hard for a while. Yanli wondered if they were on the run.

He spotted Lao Wang hobbling over. “And grandpa?” His grin was mean and sharp. Lao Wang squinted at him, sizing him up with a sneer.

“If you want some food, best head back to town,” A’Cheng snapped at them, bristling with hostility.

“Now, now, young master, is that any way to speak to your elders?”

“Yeah, DiDi, can’t you see these are fine upstanding gentlemen who deserve respect?” Wei Ying said with a shit eating grin. Yanli wanted to strangle both of her brothers, just a little bit, for stirring the waters. On the other hand, she did not think there was a way to make things worse. These men did not look like they left witnesses behind.

The man sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "We just need you to cooperate, young miss.”

“You are not welcome here,” she said, squaring her shoulders. A’Cheng and Ying’er shuffled closer to her, bunching up their muscles like guard dogs (not that she would ever make the comparison where Ying’er could hear…ironically).

“Can’t say we didn’t try to be nice about this.” He waved his men into the courtyard, and sauntered in after them. He stepped aside and backhanded Lao Wang, who crumbled to the ground without a sound.

Wei Ying and A’Cheng closed ranks in front of her, but even as strong cultivators, they were too young and too outnumbered. She tried running to the kitchen, where at least she could get a knife to fight with, but was easily grabbed around the waist and swung up over a shoulder like a bag of rice. Unfortunately, it gave her a good view of the courtyard, where her brothers had turned into tiny tornadoes of violence. Their martial art forms were good and they were mindbogglingly fast, but it was a melee, not a supervised spar, and they were outclassed by men who were older, bigger, more experienced, and far, far more ruthless.

By the time Yanli found herself tied to the pear tree, A’Cheng was knocked out and Wei Ying trussed up like a goose and gagged. She thought it was a miracle they weren’t dead already.

“Cultivators, huh? Would have been nice to know. They run away from a sect or something?” The man who had taken the brunt of Wei Ying’s incandescent berserker rage winced as one of his comrades fixed up an arm sling for him after resetting his dislocated shoulder. That still left an ear half torn off and, from the way he limped, an injured leg.

“Nah,” the leader shook his head. “If they did, they’d have spiritual weapons. Probably paid a rogue cultivator to teach them some tricks. Not our problem. Turn the place over, grab what you want!” At his word, most of the other men started ransacking Yanli’s home. She refused to cry.

“What about her?”

“Young, and pretty enough. Might be able to sell her for a good penny.”

“That’s not why we’re here and you know it.”

The other guy shrugged, smiling.

“Oh, you want her. Okay. Once we’re done we’ll dispose of the boys and have some fun.”

Yanli’s blood went cold, and Wei Ying started screaming into his gag.

“Hey, that one is as pretty as she is,” another guy called out from the porch, holding a bag filled with goods and pointing at A’Cheng. “Don’t throw him out just yet.”

“You’re a sick man. Drag him into one of the rooms and close the door if you want a to do that.” The leader did not seem too bothered by the suggestion, though. “We don’t want to be here too long, though.”

“You never let me have any fun,” the other man said with a vile smirk.

Wei Ying went quiet. Yanli looked over at him and saw him wriggling around like an anxious worm, but it was a fruitless endeavor in her opinion. Time was running out, and no one was coming for them.

She felt herself sinking into shock as she watched the bandits destroy her home and leer at her every time they passed by. She and her brothers would die here after suffering unspeakable acts of violence. She regretted her spirit-calming ceremony, wishing instead that she could come back as a fierce ghost and kill those criminals.

Meng Yao would come home to a dead family. Tears welled up in her eyes again, even as rage coursed through her body. She suddenly understood why A’Cheng cried whenever he got angry—the emotions were overwhelming.

“What are you doing, kid?” One of the bandits said from where he was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking over at Wei Ying. Yanli followed his gaze and saw her brother holding a rock up in both of his hands, as if getting ready to slam it down on the rock under it. His expression was the one he always wore when he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, made macabre by the gag and the blood dripping down into his eyes.

The lead bandit started to walk over, but stuttered to a stop, his eyes wide with shock. He looked down to see the end of Lao Wang’s cane sticking out of his chest, then fell to his knees and toppled over, well and truly dead.

Lao Wang was up in a crouch, his arms still held out from throwing the cane like a cultivator would throw a spear. He stared at Wei Ying, his eyes clearer and more alert than they had been in over a year. “Do it now, Ying’er! Now!”

His yell was cut short by the sword of one of the other bandits slicing deep into his chest. Yanli screamed.

The clank of rocks hitting together should not have caught her notice, but it did, and drew her up short. The noise was hollow and loud, more like a massive drum being hit. It seemed to pull all the sound out of the air.

Yanli turned to look at Wei Ying again. The grin behind his gag was unmistakable. He had slammed the rock in his hands down on the other rock, and was feeding the rock pile his qi.

“Hey—” Before the man who had killed Lao Wang could finish, an array exploded under their feet, the lines and circles stretching out through the entire siheyuan, along with a crooked set of lines and seal script heading straight through the back of the main hall directly towards the Burial Mounds. The whole array lit up more like lava than sunlight, dark edges crackling with bright orange power. Too much power, Yanli realized. Wei Ying did not have that much strength. The only cultivator who might was Xiao Xingchen, who…

“I can see the array you put in.” He pointed at some rocks scattered around.

Wei Ying paled. “Um.”

“Ying’er?” Yanli turned to him. “What array?”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. “I see.”

She gasped. She felt the instinctive need to warn the men around her of the danger, but bit down on her tongue. Whatever Wei Ying had set up, it was meant to protect his family and his home. What those men were doing, what they had done, what they planned to, was on their own heads.

A black miasma rose out of the lines of the array, dark oily nets of resentful energy that ensnared the men and started strangling them, crushing them, ripping them apart. The screams hit a second later when all the bandits throughout the siheyuan realized what was happening. The man who had killed Lao Wang was obviously a very experienced fighter and was successfully slashing at the strands of resentment with his sword, at least for the moment.

But just as her boys had been outnumbered and overwhelmed earlier, the bandits were outnumbered and overwhelmed by the strangling threads of power pulled directly from the Burial Mounds. Their deaths were not kind or swift, but inevitable. She thought she could feel their very souls being dragged down into the array and off to the Burial Mounds.

When Wei Ying turned off the key by knocking over the stones, the array winked out and the resentful energy went with it. The resulting silence was absolute, not even their chickens clucking or insects humming. Yanli could see that behind and above her, the once-beautiful peach tree had atrophied and now looked like it had been dead for years.

“What the fuck?” A’Cheng, who had woken up at some point, was propped up on his elbows, staring around him at the carnage. Blood trickled down his hairline, and one of his legs was bent wrong at the knee, but he ignored that. “What the fuck, Wei Ying?” He shouted.

A murder of crows screamed from outside the siheyuan and spun in flight toward the direction of the Burial Mounds.

Wei Ying, still gagged and still smiling, his eyes deep blood-red and shining bright like sparks of fire, shrugged with a muffled giggle and then passed out completely.

Chapter Text

Wei Ying was unconscious for the rest of the afternoon and through the night, and was weak and lethargic when he woke up, although at least his eyes had cleared and looked human again. A’Cheng had actually been stabbed in his shoulder along with getting his knee broken, but with basic medical treatment and a heavy application of sleep and circulating his qi, he was healing quickly.

Which left Yanli to clean up and do something with the corpses. She had left them alone due to tending to Ying’er and A’Cheng and then collapsing from exhaustion and stress, but when dawn came, she could not put it off any longer, for any of their sakes. They had all slept in the main hall, taking comfort in being close, but even so, it took a while to get Ying’er and A’Cheng settled on the porch in a couple of old comfy chairs that Lao Wang used to use.

Wei Ying had insisted that he could help, then nearly passed out again when he tried walking more than ten steps. A’Cheng didn’t even offer since he couldn’t stand, much less carry anything, but he was very foul tempered about it, and glared furiously at the dead.

First, of course, was Lao Wang himself. His old, empty body was light as a feather as she carefully rolled him onto one of his winter capes in lieu of a proper burial shroud, tears streaming down her face. What she was going to do with all the other bodies, she had no idea yet, but Lao Wang deserved to be treated with respect. She had closed his eyes and his mouth, and put his cane next to him (she had removed it from the body he had thrust it into, yanking it hard to get it free, then promptly thrown up over one of the gravel paths). She managed to settle him in front of the main hall in a place of honor, in the shade, to await washing and dressing. Then she kowtowed to him in gratitude for all he had done for her family.

A’Cheng and Wei Ying sat like the idols of angry gods nearby, both their eyes dark with impotent fury even as they bowed their heads respectfully.

Then she got up and turned to the chore of dragging the other bodies around. Some were only in pieces and had to be gathered up with a shovel, but overall they were very heavy. The morning remained cool, however, so the bandits had not started rotting much yet. She needed to get them out of the house before too long, though, so did her best to haul them, piece by piece, to the front gate. It was taking forever and soon she was working in the heat of the afternoon, taking breaks every few minutes in order to not overexert herself. She knew she would not have the strength to start cleaning up the blood and gore until the following day.

“I should have had the Burial Mounds take them,” Wei Ying said as Yanli pulled one of the torsos along the ground.

“No!” She stood up and glared at him. “You asked enough of the Burial Mounds!”

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Meng Yao shouted from the gateway, looking around in horror at the multiple dead and bloody bodies. “YANLI!” He dropped the travel bag he was holding and sprinted towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders and scanning her with frantic eyes. “Yanli! Your face is scratched!” He reached up as if to gently touch her cheek, but stopped when she started laughing. And laughing, and laughing. He held her as she slowly collapsed on the ground, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, tears streaming down her face, the horror and the absurdity of the situation hitting her all at once as she clutched A’Yao’s arms.

“DaGe!” Both boys yelled, follows by thumps and cries of pain.

“Hey, hey, you boys just, uh, stay there. You look hurt. Are you hurt? Oh yeah, you are definitely hurt. Young Master! Over here!”

“Who are you?” Wei Ying yelled aggressively.

“Get out! Get out of our house!” A’Cheng shouted.

“Ying’er! A’Cheng!” Meng Yao snapped at them, and they shut up. He looked at Yanli, but she waved him on as she tried to catch her breath, so he got up and walked over to them. “You are hurt! Get back in that chair, A’Cheng!”

“Who are these strangers?” Wei Ying growled, and it brought everyone up short. The tenor of his voice was raw and angry and unnaturally deep, and the red tinge to the whites of his eyes was back. Yanli was instantly reminded that only the afternoon before, he had been tapped into the Burial Mounds.

The strangers in the courtyard backed up, sensing that something was wrong. She stumbled to her feet and pushed past A’Yao.

“They are friends! Ying’er! Listen to me!” She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her.

“No. They are strangers. Strangers steal from us. Strangers hurt us. Strangers must die.”

“Yanli—” A’Yao whispered behind her.

“Not if they are friends! Even strangers can be friends. We don’t hurt friends!”

He growled again. She used all her strength to pull him up close to her face. “Let go of him! Let go of him right now!” She shouted as loudly as she could with every ounce of qi her heart could spare.

Wei Ying’s eyes went wide and clear and he gasped wetly before passing out and collapsing in the chair.

A’Cheng and A’Yao both looked terrified as she settled Wei Ying into a more comfortable position.

“What happened here, Miss Meng?” A soldier in green and silver and leather stepped over to them. He was a cultivator, and he looked the part: a broad chested and handsome man with two sabers strapped to his back and radiating an aura of power.

“Bandits broke in. My brothers were hurt.” She raised her chin defiantly, calling on her memories of being the young mistress of Yunmeng Jiang. “We protected ourselves.”

The man raised an eyebrow and looked around at the carnage. “I’d say you did, at that.”

“An array,” someone else chimed in. He walked around the soldier, his delicate silks in varying shades of green swishing as he moved, the silver charms and embroidery catching the sunlight. He looked like a young cultivation master, although he did not carry a sword. He did, however, carry a fan. One of Yanli’s folding fans, in fact; one elaborately and riotously decorated with a matched pair of bixie, a tianlu and a pixiu, picked out with silvery blue thread. It was one of the most expensive pieces she had ever made, but he used it to gesture at the ground like a kitchen rag.

“A very powerful array that…hmmm…called on the resentful energy of the Burial Mounds?” He looked very smug as he said it.

A’Cheng’s mouth snapped shut. Yanli looked at A’Yao for an explanation of who was demanding answers of her family.

“A’Li, are you alright? What happened here?” He asked softly, moving to hold one of her hands in his. He paused, bracing himself. “Where is Lao—uh, Yeye?”

She gestured at the bundled form at the base of the porch. Several of the cultivators who had hurried up to A’Cheng and Ying’er stepped away from it quickly, with polite bows and regretful grimaces.

“They killed him?” A’Yao said, his voice filled with grief.

She nodded. “He died protecting us. He put his cane through that man there, and bought enough time for Wei Ying…it was Wei Ying’s array, and he managed to charge it up. It was keyed to the Burial Mounds.” She took a deep breath. “We’d be dead without it.”

Wei Ying was, himself, completely oblivious, still unconscious in the chair as everyone stared at him in varying degrees of horror, regret, and fascination.

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had spiritual swords!” A’Cheng cried out as one of the—Nie?—cultivators helped him get resettled in his chair.

“Yanli,” A’Yao gently pulled her away from where she was trying to fuss over Wei Ying. “I’m so glad you and the boys are safe,” he said, his eyes reflecting his grief and his fear. It probably did not escape him that had things happened differently, his return home would have been too late.

Speaking of…

“Where have you been? A’Yao! We were so worried!” She went to grab his shoulders and realized that he was taller than she remembered. He would never be an imposing man, perhaps, but he had finally cleared her own height. He smiled gently, but shook his head.

“I was on the run.”

She took in a deep breath and nodded. She would ask more questions later, but for the moment, she looked over at her brothers, now surrounded by Nie, including one who was possibly a doctor. Wei Ying was still out of it, and A’Cheng was clearly in pain. The man with two sabers was crouched next to him, feeding him some qi to help with it.

“So! Is this Crane in the Mist?” The young lordling swanned over, waving the fan Yanli had made around ostentatiously.

“Yes, Huaisang. This is my sister, Meng Jiayi, also known as the elusive master embroiderer, Crane in the Mist. JieJie, this is the young master and heir of the Qinghe Nie sect, Nie Huaisang.”

“And yet! You keep calling her Yanli.”

Yanli froze in the middle of her bow.

“Of course I use her milk name sometimes. We’re not that far apart in age,” Meng Yao said, bland and polite.

“Hm.” Nie Huaisang stepped away from them as if dancing. If he was a day older than A’Cheng, Yanli would eat her shoe. When she was a girl she had met his older brother and, of course, his father, but Nie Huaisang at the time was too young to bring out of the women’s quarters. Now, though, there was something bright about him that reminded Yanli of Wei Ying.

“Who designed this deadly array? I must congratulate them!”

“Ying’er laid it out. But as you can see, it has had a negative effect.”

The man with the two sabers stood up again. “Would that every negative effect had such a conclusive outcome.” He was looking around the courtyard in admiration. The Nie definitely came by their reputation honestly, she thought.

“Miss Meng! This is my bodyguard and cousin, Nie Zonghui.”

She bowed. “Thank you for bringing my brother home,” she said.

“Oh, he brought himself, Miss Meng. We’re here because the young master decided to run away to buy some fans.” He stood up from his own bow with a smirk on his face. “We’re the rescue squad.” He motioned at the other cultivators, some of who chuffed in laughter.

Nie Huaisang puffed up like a rooster. “I was fine!”

“You told me you had permission,” Meng Yao said with the air of a man rehashing a very old argument.

“DaGe did, in fact, give me permission to go and buy a new fan!”

“Did you tell him the new fan was located in Yiling, in Yunmeng territory?” A’Yao cocked his eyebrow, clearly knowing the answer.

“Not in so many words, no.” Nie Huaisang flapped his fan and refused to look at any of them.

Nie Zonghui chuckled and turned back to Yanli. “Don’t worry, Miss Meng. We caught up to them fairly quickly. Your brother can take care of himself, but Sang’er is a handful.”

“Hey!” Nie Huaisang put his hands on his hips.

“JieJie?” Wei Ying croaked, squinting at her. She flew to his side. Everyone else, she noticed, went very still.

“Ying’er!”

“It’s loud, JieJie. It’s so loud.” Tears welled up in his eyes.

“What is loud?” She looked around, trying to find a source for the noise he has hearing.

“The screaming. They are all screaming, JieJie! The screaming won’t stop!” He shuddered and put his hands over his ears. A’Yao crouched down next to him. No one else around them moved at all.

“Who is screaming, DiDi? Can you tell us? Is it the bandits? Are their ghosts bothering you?” He asked, reaching out to rest a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder. Ying’er sat up, unnaturally stiff, almost like a fierce corpse.

“They took it! We want it back!” His eyes flared red again and his voice resonated throughout the siheyuan like a gong.

The Nie medic punched an acupuncture needle into the back of his neck and he collapsed.

Chapter Text

Ying'er remained in a fitful sleep, aided by the Nie medic who seemed to know a lot about the effects of resentful energy.

While Nie Huaisang cozied up to A’Cheng, which was a convenient distraction, Yanli went into the kitchen to chop and fry her frustrations out for dinner. With Meng Yao returned and the Nie sect contingent under their roof, there were fifteen people to feed, which was a reach for the pantry. At least they had enough rice, she thought, looking in the bowl as she rinsed it.

Meng Yao slid into the kitchen quietly with the air of a penitent come to receive his punishment. She ignored him for a little while until her nerves settled.

“I moved Lao Wang into the eastern ear room,” he said quietly after a while. The ear room was small room off to the side of the main hall and was used mostly as an ad-hoc library. It was, at least in Yanli’s household, a place of honor.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and kept working.

“It has been almost seven months, A’Yao,” she said.

He flinched a little as he chopped cabbage. “Yes.”

“No letters, no word of you at all. I thought…I thought.” She stopped there, punching a ball of dough with intent.

He let out a long breath, then stopped chopping, setting the knife down and putting both hands down on the tabletop. She looked up, watching him carefully. He kept his eyes lowered.

“You were right. About my father.” Another long breath. “As I promised Mama, I presented myself to him on my birthday. He laughed, called my mother a whore, and kicked me down the steps.”

She gasped. “The steps?”

“Koi Tower.” He looked up at her with a haunted expression.

“A’Yao!” She abandoned the dough and flew around to him, holding his hands in hers. “That is hundreds of stairs!”

“Three sets of 108 steps.”

She shuddered. “No!”

He put her hands to her sides and then stepped backwards to make a deep bow. Yanli was too shocked to stop him, but she pulled him up as soon as she regained herself. “What are you doing?”

“If you and your brothers had not taken me in and helped me develop my cultivation, the fall would have likely killed me. Injured me severely, at least. Possibly damaged my brain, if not broken every bone in my body. I have you to thank for that. You saved my life, Wei Yanli, and I am forever in your debt.”

She refused to cry, absolutely refused. Instead, she drew him into a hug, and they stood there for a long time. It felt weird to be short enough to rest her head on his shoulder, but also nice. Safe.

They stood wrapped up together for a moment before A’Yao continued.

“I was still injured by it, but able to make my way to an inn. However, my father had seen enough. He knew I used some form of cultivation to brake my fall. Mama always thought that if I learned cultivation, my father would see my worth. Instead, my cultivation made him see me as a threat to him and his rightful heir, I think. Or perhaps it was Madam Jin. Either way, I was too dangerous to live. The first assassination attempt came that night.”

She shook her head, trying to deny it, clutching at him as fiercely as possible.

“I have been playing a game of chase with them ever since, back and forth across the jianghu, mostly living in the underbelly of whatever city I could disappear into. I managed to get to Mama and Sisi, and helped them escape and disappear. I had no doubt father would use them against me, since he knew they were still alive. But he does not know you and the boys even exist. I thought the safest thing I could do was stay away. I did not dare send any mail or even word by way of a trader. All I could think of was what would happen if the assassins traced me back to Yiling.” He held her tight. “So I have to ask, Yanli: were those bandits possibly working for my father?”

She thought back to everything they had said. Was it possible…?

“No, I don’t think so. It was just coincidence.”

“Hm.” He did not sound convinced, but let the matter drop. Ying’er had not left survivors, so there was no way to prove it one way or another. If they had been hired to attack her and the boys, they would know better than to keep proof of that on their person.

She pulled away, wiping her eyes and trying to smile at him. “I’m so glad you came home.” Then she thought about it, and frowned. “What changed?”

“I have no idea.” He shook his head, clearly vexed. “The men chasing me stopped about six weeks ago. I was not even sure of it at first, but I was deep in Qinghe territory by then.” He sighed. “I honestly thought I would have to keep heading straight through Qisan, and out onto the west. But eventually I figured out no one was after me anymore. I spent a whole week leaving myself open for attack, but none ever came.”

She smacked his chest. “That was for putting yourself in danger!” She huffed a little and flounced back to work on the dough, enjoying his small laughter.

“This lowly one sincerely apologizes to the honorable Miss Meng for worrying her.”

“Oh hush,” she said, smiling. “Tell me how you encountered Young Master Nie?”

“On the road. He was just walking along.” He waved the knife around in a confused manner. “No guards, no luggage.”

“Dressed like that? How did he not get attacked by bandits himself? He’s just a boy!”

“Hm, yes, that’s what he wants you to think. Watch him carefully and you’ll see a sharp mind behind all the silk and ribbons.”

She was not convinced, but did not argue.

“We got to talking, and he told me he was headed for Yunmeng to hunt down ‘the greatest master of embroidery alive, the Crane in the Mist!’” He said the last with obvious delight. Yanli looked up at him and stuck out her tongue. He broke out in laughter. “His guard caught up with us nearly six days later, but by that time we were on the edge of Yunmeng, and they are all wrapped around the young master’s little finger anyway, so did not dare stop him.”

“Why did it take so long? They were on swords—I mean, sabers, and you were walking.”

“Because innocent little Sang’er paid a fleet-footed look-alike to go in the opposite direction.”

“No!” She giggled.

“As I said, those silks and ribbons are a good distraction. I’m surprised his brother has not chained him to the wall.”

They both laughed, and continued working in silence. Even after the trauma of the last couple of days and with a bunch of bodies piled like cordwood in the yard, she felt more at peace than she had been for a while.

Given the bodies, though, she wondered where they might actually eat, as their main hall was not stately enough to hold fifteen people with the doors slid shut. Nie Huaisang, however, merrily told her that his retinue had spent the afternoon carting the dead bodies up with them on their sabers and dropping them into the Burial Mounds. She went out to see that the courtyard had been put back in order, with a few Nie raking sand over spots of blood like it was something they did every day, and two others cutting down the dead pear tree.

“They might end up as fierce corpses, but at least they will be locked out of the way. I have such great ideas!” he said, fanning himself with satisfaction. Nie Zonghui visibly restrained himself from rolling his eyes, by which Yanli took to mean it had actually been his idea.

“I doubt that. The array shredded their souls as it yanked them into the Burial Mounds. What was left of them was eaten by several hungry ghosts, I think,” Ying'er said with a shrug from where he was sitting up once more. He was groggy and grumpy, but entirely himself, which of course meant horrifying all the cultivators around him with his casual references to the power of the Burial Mounds and hungry, soul-eating ghosts.

“Did you plan that?” Nie Huaisang asked, slowly lowering his fan from his face in shock.

Ying'er rubbed the side of his nose. “Not…exactly?”

“Ying’er,” A’Yao said, pressing fingers against his temples. “What have we said about theory versus application?”

“‘Ask JieJie first’?”

“Yes!” A’Yao huffed in annoyance.

Ying'er turned his grumpiness on A’Yao with a fierce glare. “Well, you weren’t here to make sure I did that! So you can’t complain! You just went off and abandoned us!”

“Yeah!” A’Cheng chimed in.

“Right, then, let’s set up for eating,” she said, physically pushing the Nie away from that corner of the main hall to let the three of them hash out their anger and frustrations with each other. At least they had a lot of practice with it.

Chapter Text

Lao Wang was interred in the town’s public cemetery with all the honors befitting “the Meng patriarch,” with many Yiling citizens and the Nie standing as witness. She and the boys cried as they burned joss paper and incense, while Meng Yao presided over the event with the exacting etiquette Yanli had come to expect from him.

Privately, she worried about burying him with the wrong name, but Wei Ying assured her that the old man had made peace with it long ago, and had told Ying’er that her cooking was worth the displeasure of his ancestors. She smiled through her tears and picked the fanciest, most expensive memorial tablet design for them to keep in the house to honor him, and had A’Cheng carve his real name, Wang Qiang, on the back of it.

(She wondered if it was even his real name, given what he had revealed to her about his past, but it was too late to ask him anymore.)

“Only the best for the Grandmaster Pickpocket of Yiling!” Ying’er said brightly after they set it up in their private room that was, now, their ancestor hall. He gently leaned Lao Wang’s (scrubbed clean) cane against the shelf holding the tablet before breaking down in heaving sobs. A’Cheng held him tight and A’Yao stood close, a hand on each of their shoulders, firm and steady as a rock.

As for the Nie, A’Yao was right: Nie Huaisang had his guards wrapped around his little finger. He demanded to stay for two weeks to watch Yanli embroider several custom commissions for him, and not a single person, Nie or Wei, tried to argue him out of it.

At least he paid top dollar for the work, Yanli thought, as he also picked out three ready-made fans and then bought them for three times her asking price. The only reason she did not refuse the outrageous sums was because A’Yao assured her that it was still half the price of what her work was selling for in larger cities throughout the jianghu. She tried very hard not to be too prideful about that, but the amused expression on A’Yao’s face told her that she failed.

The Nie set up camp outside of the siheyuan in a nearby field, much to the spectacle of her neighbors, who were mostly farmers. Within days, the rumor was out that they had been chasing the bandits all the way from Qinghe and killed them in a big, dramatic battle at Meng Manor. And Grandfather Meng had died defending Miss Meng’s honor! What a noble way for the Meng Patriarch to move on to a glorious rebirth!

Yanli thought it was ridiculous, but Nie Huaisang looked very smug about it.

In the end, though, the Nie spent most of their time with Yanli and her family. Nie Zonghui was very aware of just how much food his squad needed, so sent several of them into town and bought enough staples to get them through, which endeared them to every grocer a ten-mile radius. A brother-sister duo also volunteered to help in the kitchen and turned out to be decent cooks on their own. One of them specialized in grilling meat, which earned her the immediate adoration of Ying’er and A’Cheng. Yanli thought they would have asked for her hand in marriage if she had not been a grandmother over forty years of age.

Wei Ying recovered quickly from his trial with the Burial Mounds, but was unable to explain to anyone exactly what had happened to him. The Nie medic told Yanli and A’Yao that it was something akin to a qi deviation, and they needed to be careful, since it was possible the experience had made him more susceptible to the strong yin of resentful energy than most young men his age were.

Ying’er was cagey when asked about it, but claimed he could not explain it with words. Yanli and A’Yao agreed privately to keep a sharp eye out for him.

Nie Zonghui generously offered to help all three Meng boys with their sword work, much to their undying joy (or in A’Yao’s case, his very polite and deferential gratitude), saying that since they weren’t working with sabers, he was not revealing any sect secrets. The only one who was unhappy about that was Nie Huaisang, who took to hiding behind Yanli when practice started up every morning. She did not mind because he was a fan of classical poetry and so they spent the time discussing (and arguing about) their favorite poems.

But eventually the custom pieces were finished and Nie Zonghui hauled Nie Huaisang onto a saber, despite his tears, and flew north again, headed back to Qinghe.

Then, quietly, everything returned to normal.

A’Yao took over the accounting business from a very relieved A’Cheng while Yanli finally finished converting the leather-smith workshop into a warehouse for all of her supplies and fabrics. Wei Ying adjusted his anti-pest talismans, which littered the kitchen and pantry, to account for silk, cotton, and linen. Yanli really wished there was a way to sell the talismans in town that did not reveal the fact that the Meng household was secretly filled with cultivators.

A’Yao’s penance for disappearing for so long was to regale the boys every night with a story about a place he visited while on the run. His perfect memory meant he remembered all sorts of details about even the most modest villages, and he was a decent storyteller (a skill she suspected he learned at the brothel, but she knew better than to ask). Naturally, he turned it into a challenging game that kept them all riveted far past nightfall for months on end.

“False! False! They do not ride goats like horses in Shangdian!” A’Cheng shouted out. He was busy wrapping a new skein of floss around a bobbin, so did not look up.

“You don’t know that,” A’Yao said with his blandest expression. Yanli thought he could play the most high-stakes game of weiqi with the emperor and never twitch a muscle.

“No no no, he’s right. There’s no way they ride goats like horses,” Wei Ying said, also not looking up from his project. He was sketching out a new landscape screen design for Yanli to embroider.

“That’s two votes. JieJie?” He smiled at her. She knew it was fake because it did not show his dimples.

“I also say no.” She shook her head.

“You are correct! They do not. I never saw any goats much bigger than what we have here in Yiling.”

“Ha! I knew it!” A’Cheng crowed in triumph.

“But that is where the story ends tonight. It is late, and everyone must go to bed,” A’Yao said, to groans of disappointment.

Yanli watched Wei Ying and A’Cheng carefully. In the months since the Nie had left, they had sometimes acted in secretive ways that bothered her. A’Yao had chuckled when she mentioned it, noting that they were both now fifteen years old, and that “boys keep secrets that girls do not want to know about.” She did him a kindness and did not mention that he was only seventeen himself.

They scuttled off to bed while Yanli and A’Yao made sure the house was closed up for the night, drowsey and moving slowly in the late autumn chill.

As she walked through the courtyard past the stump of the dead pear tree, which now served as the base for a large pot of kitchen herbs, she looked up towards the dark peaks of the Burial Mounds, where the miasma of resentful energy always swirled, blacker than the darkest of nights. Yanli had become inured to it, as most Yiling residents were, but no one could ever forget it entirely. It was a blight on the land and forever doomed the towns that skirted around it to poverty and instability. When she and A’Yao had finally purchased the house in full, the former owner made it clear there were no take-backs.

She went to bed, unsettled and exhausted, and suffered nightmares the whole night.

When she woke, it was to an entirely too quiet household. It was also very late in the morning, which was highly unusual. Wei Ying would sleep until afternoon if left unsupervised, but she always made sure everyone was up by dawn to start their chores and be ready for their studies after breakfast.

A’Yao was not a morning person either, but at least he got up with minimal fussing…without any fussing at all, usually, since getting him to engage in conversation before his morning tea was a fruitless endeavor. He and Wei Ying could not possibly be more different in personality, but before mid-morning they both walked around quietly, squinting at the world as if betrayed by the sun itself.

She sat up slowly, feeling heavy and lethargic. She rarely drank liquor, as it was ill advised for her health, but she knew what it felt like to wake up with a hangover.

They had not drunk any alcohol the night before.

Getting dressed, she opened the door to her room and headed over to the boys’ room and knocked on the frame.

“Uh?” A’Yao’s voice called out, sounding the way she felt. She gave him a moment to get his bearings. “What the hell?”

He almost never cursed, so she knew he was as thrown by the situation as she was.

“A’Yao, I just woke up myself. Are the boys in there with you?”

There was a long pause, and Yanli humored herself with the thought that she could hear his brain trying to engage.

“No.” He sounded confused. She heard him getting dressed and a moment later he slid the door open, one hand pulling up his long hair into a bun, a hair pin clutched in his teeth and a questioning expression on his face.

“I don’t know. I just woke up too. I feel hungover.”

He nodded, then pinned his hair in place. “I did too.”

He probably cleared it with his qi, she thought jealously as she led them into the courtyard. They stood there, looking around. They could feel from the energies around them that, aside from the chickens, they were the only ones in the house.

“What did those hooligans do?” A’Yao asked through clinched teeth.

Yanli thought for a second. “They served us tea last night, remember? They made a big production out of it.”

He put a hand over his eyes. “They drugged us and ran away? But why, A’Li?” He looked at the house gate, which was as closed as they had left it the night before, locked from the inside. Not that it was hard for the boys to simply use their cultivation to air-walk up and over the walls, they did it all the time. Wei Ying loved sitting on the roof at dusk.

“And where?” He added with a huff.

Yanli wracked her brain, dismissing options like “returned to Lotus Pier” and “joined a traveling circus.” As she stood there thinking, A’Yao straightened up, his gaze focused far past the house.

Toward the Burial Mounds.

She turned around so fast she almost made herself dizzy. There, in the ever-dark haze of the mountains, a series of red lightning bolts were shooting up off the east side of the nearest peak in a display she had never seen the likes of in the four years they had lived there.

“Those fucking idiots,” A’Yao shouted and ran for the gate, Yanli hot on his heels.

Chapter Text

Yanli had, like most sane people, avoided getting near the Burial Mounds. Their house was a little less than a li from what could charitably be called the edge of the cursed mountains, and most everyone agreed that was already too close. She thought that for commoners, it was too close, and privately believed that the former residents of the house had suffered a lot of bad luck because of it.

But the house had years of protection layered up throughout it as the four of them improved their knowledge and skill of cultivation, along with the efforts of Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen when they came through. Wei Ying’s talismans were particularly inventive and strong, while A’Cheng had taken his naturally good sense of taste and turned it to understanding and implementing feng shui in ways that the pragmatic, utilitarian minds of his brothers would never grasp.

Yanli, up until the moment she fled out of the house after A’Yao, had never once even considered getting closer to the Burial Mounds. She assumed it would be a death sentence for her.

She didn’t care.

She was already out of breath by the time they reached the edge of the mountain, where the resentful energy was strong enough to irreparably harm and even kill living things. Only the hardiest, blackest bamboo could thrive there; the trees were sparse and twisted; the noises from the mountain a mix of screeching crows and vultures along with the unnatural sounds of nameless things.

A’Yao pulled up short and Yanli walked up next to him, trying not to wheeze.

“Oh,” she said, wondering why she was surprised. A talisman was stuck to a tree ahead of them, like a beacon. The surrounding area was clear and bright, creating a circle completely free of resentful energy. Here and there a gruesome bone poked up through the dry, grey, crumbling earth, but there was nothing dangerous within the sphere of the talisman’s power. Beyond it, at the edge of its reach, another circle of clear air started, anchored at its center by another talisman.

It was a trail straight up the side of the mountain.

“I will wring his neck,” A’Yao growled. He turned to Yanli. “Stay here. I will go grab them and drag them back.”

“I am going with you.” She took a deep breath and cycled some qi to clear her lungs.

“No.”

“Yes,” she said calmly.

“A’Li—”

“Those are my brothers and I will not leave them there.”

“I will get them and bring them home, I swear to you!” A’Yao, for once, looked genuinely panicked.

She took hold of his hand and started walking forward. He tried to pull her back, but she kept going. His choice was to grab her and carry her back to the house and lock her up, or go with her into the Burial Mounds. They both knew it. She heard him grunt in frustration, but then stepped forward to take the lead.

Far ahead of them, the red lightning continued to spark through the dim, roiling clouds of resentment.

Talisman after talisman cleared the way. Yanli understood why the boys had drugged her and A’Yao, since creating the path had probably taken them most of the night. One of them would have had to play anchor while the other dashed into the dark to set the next talisman and charge it, and it had surely been a drain on their qi. They would have had to gone so slowly to make it so far. Yanli thought it was likely Wei Ying had hoped to be back before she woke up, but the raging storm ahead of them spoke to the fact that their plan had, somehow, gone wrong.

“Why would they do this?” She asked aloud, not expecting an answer.

“Swords.” A’Yao’s expression was grim.

“What?”

“Ying’er never let go of that idea of his, to find masterless swords dropped into the Burial Mounds.”

Yanli gasped, her free hand flying to her mouth. Of course he hadn’t. He had simply put it back of mind, expecting that Song Zichen would bring them swords from Biaxue Temple. But he hadn’t, and then the attack happened, and Lao Wang was murdered in front of them. A’Cheng had even said at the time that if they had spiritual swords, the bandits would not have gotten the upper hand.

Of course Wei Ying would have made a plan for this. Of course A’Cheng would go along with it.

They kept going, faster than it had taken the boys, but the incline became steep very quickly.

“How would they even know where to look?” A’Yao grumbled, side stepping over the boney remains of a hand holding a rusted ax. Yanli worked hard not to focus too much on what she saw littering the ground.

“Ying’er probably just asked,” Yanli said without thinking.

A’Yao stopped dead so fast she bumped into him. He turned to face her. “Go back. Go back, and wait for us at the bottom.” He physically turned her around and pushed her. She reached back and slapped at his arm.

“No!”

“Yanli!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Think for a second! If Ying’er is connected to the Burial Mounds again, he’s probably suffering a qi deviation by now! When I manage to bring him down you need to be there and ready to help him!”

“You’re just scared he might hurt me by accident!”

“YES!” Meng Yao roared, his anger flaring for the first time in all the years she had known him. “That idiot has messed with powers he doesn’t understand and he could very well kill you! Go back!” He tried pushing her again.

“What about you? What about A’Cheng?”

He stopped, and Yanli knew from the crushed expression he did not manage to cover up quickly enough that he suspected that A’Cheng, if not Wei Ying himself, was already dead.

“No!” She shouted and tried to push him aside. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she struggled.

“Stop! Yanli, please listen to me!”

They shoved and pulled at each other until Yanli managed to get a lucky move in and unbalanced him. He instinctively let go of her as he fell, and she spun around to start running up the trail again, but then froze, cold horror running through her veins.

“Jiang Yanli!” Meng Yao jumped to his feet, his entire being radiating frustration. He stopped when he looked at her, though, and cocked his head. “What?”

“I don’t think it’s a choice anymore,” she said, holding up a shaking hand to point back down the way they had come. He snapped his head around and looked down the path, and saw that the first talisman had gone dark, and the second one was flickering. Where the light went out, the oily miasma of resentful energy spilled in.

They both started scrambling up the trail. In a distant part of her mind, Yanli knew that if Wei Ying was dead or incapacitated, they would all likely die on the mountain. The Burial Mounds had taken the lives of much more powerful cultivators than any one of them, including her father and his cultivation partner. Yet, she could not prevent herself from hoping that she and A’Yao would reach the boys in time.

She was drenched in sweat and terror by the time they reached the thirty-fourth talisman, which was the end of the trail. There were no more safe oases ahead of them. It was the last talisman the boys had used. It was the nexus of whatever was going on, the red lightning roaring directly over their heads, so thick and loud that she swore she saw a dragon flying through the inky-black clouds.

The boys were nowhere to be seen.

“No!” She screamed at the talisman stuck to the dry, rotten husk of a tree.

Meng Yao stood behind her, slowly turning in a circle. “Wait.”

She bent over and put her hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

“He’s still alive,” Meng Yao said, walking over to her and rubbing her back.

“How do…do you know?” She barely managed to cough out the words.

“Think about it for a second: the talismans are tied to them. Both of them, as far as I can tell. The oldest ones are just running down, they aren’t disconnected.” He waved at the talisman hanging off a tree branch next to her. “This one is as strong as when they first put it up. If they were dead, it would fail.”

She slowly stood up and nodded, staring at the talisman. “But where are they? There aren’t any more after this.”

“No. But there might have been. Maybe they tried the next step up and were incapacitated. Walk around the clearing, look out into the dark.” He pulled them to the edge, and they walked in opposite directions, slowly pacing the edge of the light from the talisman and looking out into the swirling, foggy darkness beyond.

She almost missed it, with all the red lightning still raging overhead. A soft warm glow, like firelight from a cave.

“There! There!” She pointed and A’Yao raced over to check for himself. Then he spun back to the tree, gingerly grabbed the talisman, and slowly returned to her. The circle of clear light and air moved with him.

“Why didn’t they do this?” She asked, grabbing hold of the sleeve of his other arm. They began walking steadily toward the cave. (She hoped it was a cave.)

“They probably did,” A’Yao offered, his jaw clinched. “I think they set the talisman trail on the mountain as a fall back, a way to run for freedom if their plans failed.”

But they hadn’t run. They were still on the mountain.

The resentful energy just past the light roiled around them, as if annoyed that they were temporarily out of reach. They kept their pace slow but steady, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of the talisman and their own qi any further than they had to. It felt like an eternity had passed, but finally they were at the mouth of the cave, where a dim light flickered within.

But it was not a normal cave. It had an ornate, heavily decorated entryway, carved deeply with images of flowers and mythical beasts still visible to the eye despite being worn down by time. Over the arch at the top was a plaque with the name “Demon Subdue Palace” carved in an old, formal calligraphic script that Yanli could barely decipher.

They stood looking at the plaque for a moment. Yanli pulled herself together and finally took a step over the threshold.

Chapter Text

There was soft firelight down at the end of what Yanli could only describe as a hallway. It looked like a cave in a mountain on the outside, but once they stepped over the threshold, it was very obviously the ruins of an ancient palace. It was hard to tell if it had been built into the mountain originally, or if the mountain had simply claimed it over time.

They followed the light until they got to a large room, dominated at the back by a huge sculpture of a demon standing over a wide pool. A small, dying fire made of random sticks and branches was right inside the door. In the low light, the pool looked like it was filled with blood.

Next to it were a couple of pairs of boots and outer robes.

“No!” Yanli shouted, running to the edge of the pool. The water was thick and oily and red, and it was hard for her not to think of it as blood, however impossible that was. She stared at it in horror, then spun around. “A’Cheng! Ying’er! Where are you? Come out here right now!” She ran to the edges of the room, trying to find where they might be hiding, until A’Yao grabbed her arm.

“You know where they went, A’Li,” he said softly, pulling her back over to the pool.

She shook her head, sobbing. The “water” was motionless, nothing stirred in it. If the boys had gone in, they were still there. She yanked herself free from his hold and collapsed against the edge of the filthy pool, all of her emotions draining out of her all at once. What was it all for, if her brothers had simply thrown their lives away in the Burial Mounds? She hid her face in her hands, her whole body shaking from shock.

“A’Li, I’m…I’m not sure how we can get out of here,” A’Yao said, sitting down next to her, putting a hand on her back. “Even if I could re-create the talisman Ying’er used, we don’t have talisman paper.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care!” She yelled at the room. “I’ll stay here forever!” She glared at the demon statue over the pool. “I’ll curse you forever!” She screamed, pulling herself to her feet and pointing at it.

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, just holding on, and she felt more than heard Meng Yao hitch a sob at her back. She grabbed his arms and pressed against him.

“Those damned fools,” he whispered. She thought with sudden, sharp clarity that he had left off the important part.

“They are our damned fools, and we’re getting them back.” She pushed away and stepped closer to the pool.

“What?”

“I’m getting them out of there. I won’t allow that thing to hold them forever. We will get them out and then go down the mountain!” She pulled off her own boots.

A’Yao stood looking at her in shock. “We’ll be dead or insane before we get halfway down!”

“We’ll be dead or insane either way! I want my brothers! If we die, we are all dying together, Meng Yao!” She pointed a finger at his face and he recoiled. She turned back and undid her belt, and started yanking off her upper robe. After a moment, she felt him gently pull on her arm, taking her hands in his.

“I’ll do it. Yanli, stop. Let me do it.”

“You don’t know how to swim,” she hiccuped.

“It can’t be too deep. I doubt I’ll even need to do more than hold my breath.” He stopped and let her cry out in anguish before continuing. “I need you here at the edge to help…to help.”

Eventually, she nodded, the horror of the situation finally settling in her bones. They were planning to retrieve bodies, and that was never easy work, she knew well from helping with flood recovery in her old life. She had watched even the strongest cultivators nearly collapse under the dead weight of pulling a body out of the water. Her staying by to help drag them out really was the best approach, no matter how desperate and scared she was.

He stripped down to his bare feet and under-robes quickly, and sat on the edge of the pool, putting his feet in with a grimace. “It’s warm,” he said, voice filled with disgust. Yanli cringed, but squeezed his shoulder.

He stood up slowly, feet seeking the bottom. He kept going down until the liquid was nearly at his shoulders before he let out a short “a-ha!” and stood free. He examined the pool while shuffling forward. “I think it has a flat bottom, I could just…walk across.”

“It might have a drain, though. Hold on.” She looked around and spotted some timber that probably used to be a door, or some other feature, and pulled at it. She handed one end to him, so he held onto it with one hand as he slowly went forward, dragging his feet for obstacles.

And then dropped straight down and disappeared.

“A’YAO!!!” She screamed. She threw off the rest of her over robes and without thinking just jumped in feet first, the way she used to jump into ponds as a very young girl.

She was not sure what she had expected other than “the worst” but instead it felt like she had been grabbed by a heavy current and was being dragged down, down, down. She stopped fighting immediately—if this was where all the others had gone, then she didn’t care anymore what deep, dark watery grave they all ended up in. She felt the temperature go from blood-warm to freshwater-stream cold, and just when her breath ran out, she was falling through the air onto a hard, rocky surface.

“JieJie!” A solid force slammed into her and she hugged back on instinct while she was still trying to catch her breath.

“A’Cheng! A’Cheng!” She called out over and over, rocking him back and forth.

“Yanli,” A’Yao said, stretching out her name in obvious relief. She felt his arms wrap around both of them. A’Cheng, at fifteen, was usually not as open to physical affection as he had been when he was younger, but in this case, simply burrowed close to both of them.

“Ying’er?” She asked quietly, frightened of the answer as she opened her eyes.

“Right here, JieJie! Kind of, uh, a little stuck!”

“Don’t move!” A’Cheng roared at him, pulling himself away even as she tried to grab for him. Instead, he bent down and helped her to her feet. “I’m bringing JieJie over. You stay there!”

She finally looked around. They were in an icy cave, frost running down the walls and a small pond of water filled with chunks of ice. The rock shelf they were on was a decent sized platform, and on one side, Ying’er was on his knees next to a pristinely white guqin, using his bodyweight to hold down the strings. There was blood all over his hands.

“Ying’er! Let go! What are you doing?” She tried to pull on his arm, but frustratingly, A’Cheng stopped her.

“He has to stay there! That thing keeps trying to kill us with some kind of fucking sound attack.”

“Language, A’Cheng!” She said instinctively, but he just rolled his eyes.

“The Lan chord assassination technique?” A’Yao asked, rubbing his arms. It was only then that Yanli realized just how cold the room was. It was brightly lit, but there was no fire. If they didn’t have golden cores, they would all be dying already.

“Never heard of that, DaGe, but it fits,” Ying’er said. He was smiling even though his eyes were scrunched up from the pain. Incongruously, a rabbit hopped over his feet. No, two rabbits. Three?

“Rabbits?” She asked, looking around. “Are those…Lan headbands?” She squinted at them, trying to decide if she had a concussion or not.

“Lan rabbits,” Ying’er confirmed with a grin. “They are so cute!” He smiled and wiggled a foot so one of the rabbits jumped up on his calf.

“So weird,” A’Cheng shook his head. “But, it means there is a way out. They couldn’t possibly stay alive down here.”

Yanli bent down and picked one up. It radiated qi, as if reflecting it off a mirror. “I’m not sure about that.” She held it up to study its absolutely adorable headband. “Definitely Lan, though.”

“I supposed that means we are somewhere in the Gusu mountains,” A’Yao said thoughtfully, before turning to A’Cheng. “How long have you been in here?”

Ying’er squinted in thought, but A’Cheng shook his head, looking confused. “Not that long. How did you even know we were gone?”

“We woke up mid-morning to an empty house,” A’Yao said with deadpan delivery and furious eyes.

“Oh, huh. Guess it’s been a lot longer than we thought. You got in the blood pool too, right?”

She nodded and A’Yao hummed his (displeased) agreement.

Ying’er sighed. “We got dumped here as soon as we put our feet in it. So, pretty much the moment we got there.”

“At least a few hours, then,” A’Yao said with a stern look at them. A’Cheng cringed, and Ying’er looked suitably chastised.

“We really meant to be back before you woke up, JieJie,” Ying’er said.

A’Yao closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath that they all knew meant he was absolutely furious. The boys flinched, realizing that they were going to be grounded possibly forever and also put on indefinite chicken coop cleaning duty, which they both hated with a passion.

Yanli put her hand on A’Yao’s arm to calm him down and refocus him, for the moment. She was not opposed to grounding the boys until they were grandfathers and perhaps even then, but currently they had other, more immediate, problems.

“Our priority is in getting out of here. Our golden cores can keep us warm for only so long,” she said. She fully intended to yell at the boys later herself, but that was for when they were all safe. The blood dripping down from Ying’er’s hands was proof that they were not safe in many various ways, at the moment.

“I think that waterway might be a way out.” A’Cheng pointed to where it looked like the cave kept going. “When I’m under the water, the evil guqin doesn’t attack.”

A’Yao looked at it askance. As the only one of them who could not swim, it was reasonable that he would not be keen to use that as an escape. Yanli took a deep breath and stepped over to the edge of the platform, inspecting the water below her.

“A’Cheng, if you buddy up with A’Yao and go first, then—”

She stopped as the water roared to life with a huge wave, drenching them all and knocking her down.

When the water subsided, a beautiful young man with golden eyes and wearing the headband marking him as a member of the Lan inner family stood in the middle of the pond, soaking wet and staring back at them in shock.

Chapter Text

“Who are you?” Ying’er gasped, eyes wide as platters, his mouth hanging open. The Lan boy looked him over, startled, and seemed unable to look away.

“Young Master Lan!” Yanli scrambled to her feet, feeling twice as cold now that she was twice as wet. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

The Lan boy ignored her completely to step forward, glaring at Ying’er, swinging his arm out as if gesturing with his scabbard only to find his hand was empty. He stared at it for a moment before re-aligning his focus on Ying’er. “Remove yourself!”

“Uh, no! If I let go, these strings will try to kill us all!”

“Young Master,” Meng Yao said firmly, stepping in front of Ying’er. The Lan boy just glared harder. “The instrument is magically possessed. If Ying’er, ah, Second Brother lets go, it performs the Chord Assassination Technique. He is currently the one keeping us all alive.”

The Lan boy’s expression faltered for a moment, but then evened out. “We are trespassing.”

“No kidding! We all want to leave, but we can’t get out!” A’Cheng snapped. “Are you going to help or just stand there glaring at us?”

He continued to glare, but shuffled forward in the water towards where Ying’er sat with the guqin. Yanli had to admire the boy’s grace and elegance, despite being sopping wet and clearly thrown off his game. He stopped and inspected the instrument carefully.

“This is Lan Yi’s instrument.”

“That’s nice. Good to know. Who the fuck is Lan Yi?” A’Cheng drawled, rolling his eyes. Yanli quickly stepped up, pushing A’Cheng aside before everything devolved into fisticuffs.

“Young Master Lan, I am Meng Jiayi. These are my younger brothers. We do not mean to be here, and are uncertain of exactly how we got here, to be honest. We are from Yiling, in Yunmeng territory. We do not even know where we are, other than, I assume, within Gusu.”

His stoney gaze turned to her, and she realized how young he was, possibly about the same age as the boys. He even had a bit of baby fat clinging to his cheeks, despite his stature and obvious athleticism.

“Cloud Recesses.”

“Which is within Gusu, like she said!” A’Cheng groaned, earning another fierce glare from the Lan boy, before he turned back to Yanli with his unsettlingly blank expression. After a moment, he raised his hands in a slight bow.

“Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.”

Yanli gasped, and Meng Yao took a step backwards. The boys looked at each other, confused. She made a note to do better on their current events classwork.

She bowed more deeply, as a commoner would to such a high-ranking cultivator, even though she was older than he was. “Our deepest apologies, Second Young Master Lan.”

Ying’er let out a soft “Ohhhhh!” while A’Cheng’s eyes went wide, and he shuffled closer to Yanli.

Lan Wangji motioned at Ying’er again. “Release Lan Yi’s guqin. You have no right to touch it.”

“Hey! Did you miss the part where it is trying to kill us?” Ying’er yelled at him.

“I will lead you all out of this cave, but you must first take your hands off the guqin. Immediately.” He rolled his shoulders back, as if readying for a fight. Meng Yao sent Yanli a concerned look.

“I can’t! Did you hit your head? Do you not understand the words coming out of my mouth?”

“Release it.”

“Oh yeah? Or what?!?!”

“Release it!”

“Make me!” Ying’er actually stuck out his tongue.

Meng Yao put a hand over his eyes in consternation while Yanli called out, “Ying’er!”

Lan Wangji lunged forward and grabbed Ying’er’s wrists, determined to pull him off the guqin, but before he could put all his strength into the attack, A’Cheng body-slammed him.

“Let go of my brother!”

“Release me!”

“Ahhhhhh! Ow ow ow!”

At Ying’er’s pained cry, Meng Yao threw himself between him and Lan Wangji, trying to claw his fingers off of Ying’er’s wrists. Yanli grabbed A’Cheng around the waist, but was feeling both the exhaustion of her ordeal and the fact that he was a 15-year-old, strong cultivator in his own right. This was not the little boy she could easily drag away from a candy vendor’s stall anymore.

They were no better than a tangle of water-logged rats wrestling with each other, and even the stoic, graceful Second Jade of Lan was gracelessly thrashing in the water. Ying’er heroically kept his hands pressed down on the guqin’s strings, but the tussle was dragging him closer to the edge of the water, the legs of the stand holding the instrument scraping across the rock as his strength brought it with him.

And then everything stopped.

“What?” Ying’er yelped, hanging in the air. He was being held up not quite by the scruff of his neck, but by the back of his robes, which were tightly gripped in the hands of a Lan disciple. Or elder. Yanli was not sure.

The woman, who was tall for a woman but no taller than Ying’er himself, was holding him in the air with no difficulty at all. Her expression had the disdainful air of a market auntie holding a skinny chicken. Her other hand was held out, hovering over the guqin, the strength of her qi holding it in check.

A second later, the removal of Ying’er from their scrabbling caused the rest of them to all tumble backwards into the water, as graceful as drunkards.

They stood up sputtering, Yanli pulling on Meng Yao to make sure he did not breathe in any water. A’Cheng gave Lan Wangji a resentful shove, and got one in return.

“Boys,” said the woman, and everyone froze. “And young miss.” She tipped her head at Yanli, who let go of A’Yao and promptly bowed back, as low as she could, without smashing her face into the water. She heard A’Yao and A”Cheng follow her lead.

When she stood up again, she saw Lan Wangji was looking at the Lan elder as if seeing a goddess made flesh. Maybe he was? Yanli was not quite as versed on Gusu Lan mythology as, say, Lanling Jin. Unfortunately.

“Um. Honorable Lady Lan? This lowly one asks to be let down? Lowered? Released? Please?” Ying’er kicked his feet in the air. Blood was dripping off his hands, which was probably why he was not trying to grapple with the woman out of fear of staining the pristine white sleeves of her robes. At least it showed some of the legendary intelligence that Yanli knew was there under Ying’er’s impulsiveness.

“Hm.” The woman shifted lightly on her feet and tossed him into the drink without much effort, where he splashed around for a moment before A’Cheng pulled him up and they leaned on each other while Ying’er got his bearings. Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him, specifically. Yanli was not sure what that was about.

“This Meng Ying thanks—”

“Enough.”

His mouth snapped shut.

She sat down at the guqin and, with a simple gesture, cleared it of all his blood.

“You have sacrificed much to protect your family.” She looked up and focused on Ying’er. A shiver went down Yanli’s spine, and she stepped forward, not quite in front of him, but angling to take on the elder’s attention.

“This Meng Jiayi thanks the Lan Elder for her generosity and compassion. We are here by mistake, and have no desire to disturb your…uh, seclusion.”

“You are not Meng Jiayi. There is no Meng Jiayi.” The woman looked at her. It felt like being cored by sunlight, her qi was so strong and pure. Even Xiao Xingchen would have found her intimidating, Yanli thought, and she would have guessed the woman was Baoshan Sanren herself if not for the Lan head ribbon.

Lan Wangji’s attention zeroed in on her immediately when the elder spoke, but Yanli ignored him, keeping her focus on the woman who very likely held all their lives in the palm of her hand.

“There is no Meng Jiayi,” she said in agreement, bowing again.

“You are connected to Baoshan Sanren,” she stated, turning her gaze back to Ying’er. Lan Wangji visibly startled at that, looking quizzically at him.

“I am. She is my martial grandmaster, my mother’s master. Xiao Xingchen is my martial uncle, and is training me. My mother was Cangse Sanren.” He bowed, his hands still red with blood, if watered down.

“I do not know those other names, but I respect your lineage.” She turned to Lan Wangji. “You are my direct descendant.”

He bowed, and Yanli thought he would have kowtowed if not for standing hip deep in cold water. “I am Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji, honored ancestor.”

“Hm.” She looked around and gestured at the rabbits, who had returned from lurking in the corners of the cave. They hopped over and she petted them. “The rest of you may go.”

She waved her hand and Yanli felt herself being pushed out of the cave, much as she had been dragged down into the blood pool. She rolled out onto soft grass in front of a tall cliff, and part of her just wanted to lie there for a while, staring up at the brilliant blue sky above.

But she dragged herself to her feet, trying to adjust her robes—the one layer she had remaining—into some fashion of decency. They weren’t in an ice cave anymore, but she was still sopping wet and the air was crisp and cold.

Beside her, A’Yao and A’Cheng were also awkwardly getting up off the ground.

She looked around. “Where is Ying’er?”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long to realize that Lan Yi had not pushed Ying’er out with them. Yanli fretted for a moment by the cliff-face but realized there wasn’t much any of them could do about it. They were all three in their underclothes and shoeless, in no way presentable to polite society or able to try attacking the wall they had apparently been pushed through.

Not that A’Cheng didn’t try.

“Give him back! Give him back right now!” He banged his fists against the rock.

“A’Cheng—”

“Oh, let him go,” A’Yao said with a sour tone.

She looked over at him in surprise. He was standing there with a cross expression and his arms folded over his chest.

“A’Yao, don’t be petty.”

“No, A’Li, I have to disagree. This is an excellent time to be petty. He made us sick with worry, and now he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.”

She sighed, because he was right and she had to admit she was feeling a little petty about it herself. The boys had drugged them and then caused them a lifetime’s worth of fear and anguish. Letting A’Yao offload his frustration by passively watching A’Cheng make a fool out of himself seemed like a minor sin in comparison. Instead, she continued trying to wring water out of her skirt.

He shook his head before continuing.

“It’s not like we need to be worried. The Lan ancestor, who I assume was Lan Yi, obviously kept both Lan Wangji and Ying’er back for a reason. I can’t imagine any scenario where her intent is ill meant, or that she would harm them. So I get to appreciate A’Cheng’s comeuppance for a moment.”

“Mn,” she hummed noncommittally, which made A’Yao look adorably smug since he knew that meant she agreed.

“AAAAARGHHHH!!!” A’Cheng went for a flying kick against the stone cliff-face in his bare feet, then fell down. “Ow!”

A’Yao rolled his eyes and finally went over to help him.

“Ah! Hello! Who are you?”

They all spun around to face the speaker. He was a Lan disciple who bore a striking resemblance to Lan Wangji, if taller, and was adorned in exquisite robes of high status. Positioned in the dappled light among the trees, he radiated a casual, humble magnificence and the very air around him glittered with power, like a mythological prince straight out of ancient tales. Yanli thought she heard A’Cheng choking behind her.

Then she noticed that he also had four other, lower ranking disciples around him who had, to a man, unsheathed their swords and were pointing them at Yanli.

There was only one person who that could be, she reasoned.

“Lan Xichen, First Jade of Lan, I presume?” Yanli stepped forward and bowed. “This one is Meng Jiayi. My brothers, first brother Meng Yao and third brother Meng Cheng.” They had both trotted over to stand next to her, or limped over in A’Cheng’s case, and bowed appropriately—although she noted that A’Cheng could not take his eyes off Lan Xichen.

To be fair, Yanli really couldn’t blame him. The last time she had seen Lan Xichen, he still had a bit of the babyfat that his younger brother yet carried, and was at least a head shorter. He was always destined to grow into a magnificent cultivator, but it seems to Yanli that he had outstripped all expectations. He was so strikingly beautiful and his qi so strong that everyone around him just looked drab and dim.

Lan Xichen bowed back politely. “It is unusual to find commoners in the backfields of Cloud Recesses. May I ask where you came from?”

A’Yao plastered on his most polite expression, ready to lie to the furthest reaches of plausibility, but Yanli put a hand on his arm.

“We are a small family from Yiling, in Yunmeng,” she said instead.

All the Lans glanced at each other in confusion. Lan Xichen, perhaps unwisely, motioned for them to put away their weapons. He seemed far too trusting.

“You are a long way from home.”

“Mn. We did not get here in a conventional manner. First Brother and I were looking for our younger brothers.”

Lan Xichen flinched, and she knew she had hit home.

“I assume you are looking for your younger brother as well?”

“How do you know that?” One of the fiercer looking young Lans shouted.

“Su Minshan,” Lan Xichen said warningly, and the disciple settled back into line, if a bit resentfully.

“There are four of us, but as you can see, there are only three here. Second Brother is still trapped in an ice cave with Lan Wangji when we last saw them.”

For the first time, Lan Xichen turned a little frosty himself. “And how is it you are here, and they are not?”

“I believe Lan Yi had something she wished to discuss with them,” she said with an apologetic smile and without much expectation that he would believe her. Lan Xichen, who was much more emotive than his brother, let out a little gasp as his eyes widened in shock.

“Liar!” Su Minshan shouted again. “Young Master Lan, they probably killed them and left them for dead!”

“How dare you!” Meng Yao snapped, stepping forward as A’Cheng made a noise like an angry cat.

“Everyone calm down.” Lan Xichen did not yell, but it had the same effect, given his stern tone and the firmness of his command. Truly a young master of a great sect, Yanli thought with a pang of regret. A’Cheng could have had that kind of presence, but then she considered: at what price?

When everyone quieted, Lan Xichen studied Yanli for a while, then turned his focus on Meng Yao. Given that he was the eldest male of the three of them, it made sense, but it still rankled Yanli’s pride.

“It is an odd defense, to bring up our long-dead ancestor, Lan Yi.”

Meng Yao bowed deferentially. “My apologies for saying so, but either she is not as dead as previously reported, or her spirit is indeed very powerful. She appeared out of nowhere when we were trapped in a cold cave deep within the mountain, then somehow she pushed me, my elder sister, and younger brother out through that wall.”

“Hm.” Lan Xichen looked at them, then back at the cliff face. He seemed very worried, which struck Yanli as odd. Wangji had barely been there a few minutes with them.

“Young Master Lan, if I may ask, how long has your brother been missing?”

“A full day.”

A’Cheng gasped, and looked over at her with a worried expression.

Meng Yao frowned. “What is the date, today?”

He told them, and it was Yanli’s turn to frown.

“We have not been gone for five days!” A’Cheng exclaimed. Yanli nodded. Meng Yao looked like he was lost in the calculations, gazing off into the distance.

“Young Master Lan, your brother showed up less than a quarter hour ago in the cave. And I would swear to you that only a day or so has passed since our own journey began. Not five.”

Meng Yao nodded in agreement. A’Cheng looked pensive for a moment, then jumped in place. “JieJie! Our chickens!”

“Oh dear,” she said with dismay, and glanced at Meng Yao who was also cringing a little. They had not let the chickens out of the coop before their headlong rush to the Burial Mounds. If any were still alive—a slim possibility—they would not make it for the duration of them traveling back to Yiling from Gusu. “I’m sorry, A’Cheng.”

“Aw. Princess was such a good layer!”

Lan Xichen looked between them curiously, then motioned Su Minshan forward. “Set guards for this area, and notify me immediately if anything unusual happens.” He approached Yanli and Meng Yao.

“As it stands, there is very little we can do here, for now. Please follow me to our guest quarters, and we will provide you with, uhm, suitable clothing.” A fine pink blush ran across the bridge of his nose as he turned to lead the way, and it was only then that Yanli realized she had been conversing casually with the First Jade of Lan, the heir of Gusu Lan and the number one gentleman of her generation, while wearing her underclothes.

Meng Yao seemed to clock it at the same time and aggressively put himself in front of her, while A’Cheng took up the place behind her as they were marched along into the heart of the Cloud Recesses. Yanli marveled that Lan Xichen had not recognized her, but then again, it had been years since they had last met, and she was both taller and plumper than she had been back then.

As they walked along the trails, which were well kept up but rustic, Yanli’s exhaustion caught up to her. She stumbled twice, and ended up being propped up against A’Yao as they walked. Lan Xichen stopped the procession when he noticed.

“Do you need to see a healer, Miss Meng?”

“No, no. I am simply very tired. The run up the mountain into the Burial Mounds and then jumping into the blood pool took a lot out of me. I’m sure I just need a nap,” she said, feeling her mouth slur the words. She glanced up and saw a look of horror overtake Lan Xichen’s pretty face.

“Blood pool?”

“I think, Young Master Lan, that a healer might be called for,” Meng Yao said politely as he swung Yanli up into his arms.

“You’ve gotten so strong, A’Yao,” she said, patting his chest and resting her head on his shoulder with a pleased hum.

“Yanli,” A’Yao hissed in a strangled voice, but his words faded out as her world went dark.

Chapter Text

Yanli slowly came to in a bright room of immaculately pleasing feng shui. She blinked and stared at the ceiling for a while before her brain kicked in.

A woman who was old enough to be someone’s grandmother gracefully walked up and leaned over her with a thoughtful hum. She was dressed in the signature blue and white robes of the Gusu Lan, and had an inner clan forehead ribbon.

“Ah. Good. Are you ready to sit up?” Her voice was soft in the quiet building, but she did not wait for an answer, gently tugging Yanli into a sitting position. When she was settled with a pillow at her back, the doctor took her wrist. Yanli instinctively pulled away, earning her a chastising look.

“I know you are cultivator, Miss Meng. Your heart was stressed by the ill-advised adventure you went on, so we are monitoring your golden core to insure recovery.”

“Oh.” She looked at her wrist for a moment, thinking that it was unsurprising that the Gusu Lan doctors would notice a golden core, of all things, even a weak one like hers. With a sigh, she held it out again. As the woman took her pulse and checked her qi, Yanli finally looked around and saw Meng Yao and A’Cheng completely asleep on the floor, nestled up together on a thick mat.

“They would not leave you, even at the request of Grandmaster Lan,” the woman murmured, with a tone of approval in her voice.

“They are good men,” Yanli replied fondly.

“They are exhausted boys, is what they are.” She sighed before lowering Yanli’s hand. “It is almost dawn, and the sect will be waking up soon. I don’t think Grandmaster Lan will put off meeting with you for much longer.”

“Lan Wangji still has not returned?” Worry threaded through her fatigue.

The doctor shook her head. “No, and there is quite a tussle about what to do going on with the elder council. It was on my orders that you and your brothers were allowed to rest through the night, but I can only do so much.”

“Thank you, Lan Daifu.” Yanli bowed as best she could. The doctor gave her a nod and stood up. “I will go order breakfast for all of you. I suggest you get them up and presentable before the sun has crested.” She pointed out an open window to a range of mountains in the distance, barely outlined by the breaking light of dawn, then left as quietly as she came.

Yanli marshaled her forces and got A’Yao and A’Cheng awake. They had already changed into the borrowed clothing the Lan provided, so Yanli stepped behind a screen and did likewise. She wondered at her own brazenness; her mother would have shrieked with fury at Yanli changing clothes in the same room with a nearly grown brother and a man who was, technically, unrelated to her. But her mother was dead, and poverty and familiarity had inured her to such things long ago, possibly during their first night on the run. She understood why commoners often came across as brash and uncouth to the gentry: they had no time or money or energy for anything but the most practical approach to any situation.

They ate the plain but savory breakfast in silence, at least until A’Yao had two cups of tea and blinked his way to full consciousness.

“The doctor said Grandmaster Lan wants to meet with us,” she opened the conversation as A’Cheng stuffed a whole boiled egg in his mouth.

A’Yao nodded. “Lan Xichen ran interference, and your health was the deciding factor.” His smile was weary, but genuine. She loved it when his dimples showed up.

“At least it serves some purpose,” she said with a chuckle.

“JieJie,” A’Cheng (of all people!) admonished her.

“Ah, I am doing well, DiDi.”

A’Cheng grumbled and attacked another egg.

“They think we are a family of rogue cultivators who settled in Yiling, so they are being gracious. But until Ying’er shows up with Lan Wangji, the situation will be delicate.” A’Yao sighed.

“We can be delicate!” A’Cheng protested with his mouth full, then curled up at the twin looks of displeasure from her and A’Yao.

As they cleared away the dishes, a knock came at the door.

“Here we go,” A’Yao whispered, leading her to the bed. “Try to look fragile and confused.”

She held back a snort as she sat down on the edge. A’Yao and A’Cheng stood to bow properly as Lan Xichen and the man who could only be the austere and admired scholar Lan Qiren glided into the room. Yanli was beginning to wonder if the Lan had feet, or wheels.

He stopped abruptly and looked the three of them over critically, until coming to some conclusion and walking over to stand next to his nephew.

“I am informed that you are much recovered from your ordeal,” Lan Qiren said with a bow. “I am gratified to hear it.”

She bowed from where she sat. “While I am still tired and weak, I feel much better. I thank the Lan for their hospitality and support.”

That, apparently, was the end of the social niceties. A disciple who had followed them in started pushing furniture around and several more chairs were brought in. By the end of it, they were all sat in an informal circle, with Yanli still perched on the edge of the bed.

“My nephew says that you claim to have come here from the Burial Mounds.” Lan Qiren addressed Meng Yao, as he was the eldest male of the family. It continued to rankle Yanli a little, but she knew that was just how things were in her world. She had just gotten used to being treated with more respect in Yiling. She looked over at A’Yao and gave him a small nod to continue. He turned his focus to Lan Qiren.

“Yes, although I must clarify that we never claimed that. Your nephew overheard Miss Meng rambling from exhaustion before she passed out.”

Yanli readjusted her perceptions in that moment. Meng Yao was sitting there as properly and naturally as any young master of the gentry, a polite smile on his face and his entire posture radiating confidence. He had never looked quite so adult before.

“I see,” Lan Qiren stroked his beard. “But do you deny it?”

“No, we do not.” He gave a shallow nod, pleasant smile locked in place.

“Hmph. You understand how preposterous that is, of course.”

A’Cheng puffed up a little, but withered under Yanli’s quelling glare.

“We do,” A’Yao conceded.

“Can you explain it, then?” Lan Qiren demanded.

“Only so far as to tell you that it is true. I could relate the whole story, but I doubt you would believe it.”

Lan Qiren raised an eyebrow. “Is it so outlandish?”

“It is. Also, without Second Brother here, it is nearly impossible to explain.”

“Oh? How so? I invite you to at least try.” Lan Qiren settled back like he was in a teahouse, paying to hear the latest romance novel.

Meng Yao turned to A’Cheng. “I have actually been waiting to hear some of it myself.”

A’Cheng, to his credit, did not squirm, but did at least look chastised. He lowered his head for a moment, then dropped out of the chair to kowtow to Yanli first, then Meng Yao.

“This Meng Cheng is sorry to have caused my elders such difficulty!”

They were all close enough that Yanli could reach down and pull him to his knees. “Your apology is accepted, as you see the error of your ways. We will discuss punishment later. Right now, we need you to get up and explain to Grandmaster Lan what you and Ying’er did.”

He nodded and got back into his chair. “We needed spiritual swords.” He stopped there with a grimace.

“Ah.” A’Yao turned to the Lans. “Our home was attacked some months ago by bandits while I was out. It was sheer luck that anyone survived, but in the fighting, our honored grandfather was murdered. The boys are convinced that if they had spiritual weapons, they would have been better able to defend us.”

It was a masterful display of lying by omission, and Yanli was reminded once again just how smart Meng Yao was, under his artfully bland exterior.

“Mn!” A’Cheng nodded. “Since we can’t afford to have them commissioned, Ying’ge decided to go find some masterless swords in the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Qiren looked appalled. “He did, did he? Why on earth would any sane person think that?”

“You don’t know our brother,” Yanli offered with a smile.

“Hmph.” He motioned for A’Cheng to continue.

“He created some cleansing talismans, which we used to clear a radius of space around us. He made enough to stick to the trees as we went up the mountain so we’d have a way back. We did not find any masterless swords, but we did find the Demon Subdue Palace.”

Yanli watched Lan Xichen mouth “Demon Subdue Palace” in alarm.

“It was all broken down and dark, but there was an old pool in there. It was nasty. But Wei Ying said that there were swords at the bottom, so we went in.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was so disgusting! Looked and tasted like blood, not water.”

If anything, Lan Xichen looked even more horrified, not less, and Lan Qiren’s eyebrows were lifting higher on his head with every word.

“Anyway, we got in and whoosh! We were sucked into the ice cave with the killer guqin. Never found any masterless swords, either,” he amended with a heavy, regretful sigh.

Lan Qiren’s mouth was hanging open in a very undignified manner for a moment before he caught himself.

A’Yao was back to smiling pleasantly and blinking innocently.

“What he’s leaving out is that they drugged us to keep us asleep when they snuck out. We woke up midmorning, figured out what had happened, and went chasing after them, following the cleared trail left by the talismans. When we got to the old palace and saw the blood pool with their boots next to it, we thought—” A’Yao stopped there and closed his eyes for a long moment, his smile fading. A’Cheng looked abashed and Yanli primly folded her hands in her lap to stop the shaking.

“We thought it was a recovery operation, to be honest. I went in to retrieve their bodies, and likewise ended up in the ice cave with Lan Yi’s guqin. JieJie followed soon after.”

She shrugged. “My brothers were all gone. I was going to get them back, or die trying.”

“JieJie!” A’Cheng yelled, horrified.

“How could I not, A’Cheng?”

He put his face in his hands in shame.

Lan Qiren was rubbing his temples, and Lan Xichen was back to looking pale and horrified.

“So, let us start with these impossible talismans that cleared the resentful energy in the Burial Mounds.” Lan Qiren glared at A’Cheng.

“Not all of the resentful energy. Just in a modest circumference,” Meng Yao answered deferentially, obviously trying to ease the blow.

“They did not last too long, either! A few shi at most,” Yanli offered.

Lan Qiren did not look appeased, but just then, a disciple slammed open the door without even knocking.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lan Qiren snapped, standing up, while Lan Xichen looked shocked beyond words.

“Acting Sect Leader! Young Master Lan!” The disciple was panting heavily and looked utterly terrified. “Lan Wangji eloped!”

Chapter Text

Yanli, A’Yao, and A’Cheng sat there in the disaster of a room, chairs overturned where the Lans had run—run!—out of the room like it was on fire.

“What did that idiot do now?” A’Cheng whined, more confused than angry.

“I’m sure…I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” A’Yao said, although he did not sound too confident about it.

“Should we stay here?” Yanli wondered.

“No.” The Lan doctor was back, looking extremely unhappy about the mess. They all stood up quickly and bowed to her. She waved a hand and young girl of about ten or so appeared, eyes wide. “YiYi will take you to your guest quarters. I suggest you stay there until called upon,” she added a bit more gently.

They bowed again and followed the young Lan as she led them out of the medical complex and up a broad pathway filled with pristinely white gravel. Around them, it felt like the entire sect was in an uproar. She had always heard that gossip was forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but in practice that did not seem to be followed as she saw many clumps of Lan disciples of all ages animatedly chattering at each other and staring at them as they passed.

“Wait,” A’Cheng said, stopping. The little Lan kept marching forward a few steps until she realized they were not following her anymore.

“What is it?” A’Yao asked.

A’Cheng was wearing an expression of intense concentration, but his eyes were unfocused. “Do you hear that?”

Yanli tipped her head, trying to hear what he was talking about. A faint sound of “JieJie!” floated through the air.

“Ying’er!” She gasped. A’Yao must have heard it at the same time. He took off at a jog in the direction the call came from, A’Cheng hot on his heels. Yanli hiked her skirts up and followed.

“There is no running in the Cloud Recesses!” The little Lan called out helplessly behind them.

“JieJie! JieJie! DaGe! A’Cheng! JieJie!” The cries got louder and louder, so Yanli knew they were headed in the right direction. She relied on A’Yao and A’Cheng to lead the way, since they both had heightened senses due to their powerful cultivation.

“Ying’ge! We’re coming!” A’Cheng shouted, pulling ahead.

They ended up in a broad plaza, too big to be called a courtyard, yet surrounded by very official-looking buildings. In the middle of it, four Lan disciples were wrestling with Ying’er, while Lan Wangji was kowtowing to his uncle and brother. A bevvy of other Lan were standing around looking scandalized.

For all that he was the youngest, and often trailed behind Wei Ying in progress, A’Cheng was nonetheless the son of Wei Changze and the Violet Spider, a boy who had spent his earliest years training to be the heir of one of the great sects and was a student (the only student?) of Song Zichen. Yanli was not surprised when he barreled into the Lan holding Ying’er and within five moves had all of them flat on the ground, howling in pain.

Ying’er collapsed as soon as he was released and looked up at Yanli.

“JieJie!” He hopped up, and she grabbed him, holding him close. When she finally had the wherewithal to pull back, she noticed that Meng Yao had put himself between the three of them and Lan Qiren, standing with a sword in his hand, ready to fight. Lan Wangji was still face down on the ground and had not moved a muscle.

Yanli pulled A’Cheng and Ying’er close to her. “What is the meaning of this, Lan Qiren?”

There were a few gasps at her daring to use his name instead of his title, but she felt that, for the moment, he had lost that right.

“He took my sword!” One of the Lans who had been holding Ying’er crawled to his feet, holding his bloody nose and pointing at Meng Yao. Yanli recognized him as the cranky disciple who had accused them of murdering Lan Wangji.

“You lost it fair and square!” Ying’er taunted, high-fiving A’Cheng.

Meng Yao gave the Lan a vicious smile. “This thing? I just found it lying on the ground.” He twirled it menacingly, as if he had been wielding spiritual weapons for years.

Lan Xichen stepped forward, his hands out in peace. “Please, everyone, calm down. I believe there has been a misunderstanding.” He glanced off to the side, where one of the elders was visibly fuming. Yanli gratefully picked up on the lead.

“Why did you order my brother to be restrained?” She asked the elder.

“That common street-rat tricked our precious Second Jade of Lan into a betrothal! He needs to be beaten and thrown out!”

“This Lan Wangji was not tricked!” Lan Wangji said loudly, although he did not get up.

“Be quiet, child, while your elders are talking!” The Lan snapped at him. “You will be lucky to be spared the discipline whip!”

Yanli stumbled as Wei Ying shoved himself away from her. Meng Yao looked over at him, did a double take, and immediately pushed both her and A’Cheng backwards.

“You will not harm a hair on his head,” Wei Ying snarled in the timber of voice that Yanli was coming to recognize as the influence of the Burial Mounds.

“What is this? What evil is this? Guards!” Several Lan started shouting for help as Wei Ying marched toward the Lan elder.

“A’Ying!” Lan Wangji dashed over and grabbed hold of Ying’er’s wrist. It was then Yanli noticed that a malevolent totem was floating above his palm.

“They will not hurt you, Lan Zhan. I will not allow it.”

“It is the yin iron, A’Ying, not you. Please stop.” Lan Wangji’s voice was gentle, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

Yanli wrestled out of Meng Yao’s grasp and ran over to Ying’er. As expected, his eyes were bright red.

“Ying’er, listen to Lan Wangji! Please! We are fine, everyone is safe. I’m here, your DaGe is here, A’Cheng is here. Lan Wangji is here, and he is unhurt.” She reached out to him, but did not try to touch. “Please let it go.”

His nostrils flared, but he stopped walking. Lan Wangji reached to his other hand and pulled a small bag out of it, a heavily warded qiankun bag of Lan design, and quickly slipped it over the stone, trapping it inside. As soon as it was tied off, Ying’er’s knees went out. A’Yao, who had by that point moved up behind him, caught him in his arms and lowered him slowly to the ground. Yanli noticed that Lan Wangji had almost tried to do the same. Which was…interesting. Had they really eloped? It seemed improbable, but…

People were still screaming for guards and more Lan had flooded the plaza, many of them with their swords drawn.

“ENOUGH!” Lan Qiren said. He wasn’t shouting, but he had obviously used his qi to amplify his voice. Everyone in the plaza immediately went quiet. He turned to Lan Xichen, then over to where the rest of them were huddled together. “Lan Wangji, bring the Meng family to the Mingshi. Lan Xichen, join me for a moment.” He turned to them and gave a short bow, speaking to Yanli. “You will be safe there. It is meant to restrain spirits.”

“Lan Qiren! You cannot mean to allow that demonic presence to stay within Cloud Recesses!” The elder who had threatened Lan Wangji spoke with authority, and several Lan around him nodded agreement. Ying’er tensed up, and Lan Wangji glared even harder at the elder, which Yanli thought was quite a feat.

“Lan Hao, you have stirred up enough drama here today! Please retire to your home and remain there in seclusion until called for.” Lan Qiren snapped the words, and many people gasped. Even Lan Xichen looked surprised, but Yanli recognized it for what it was: a tussle for power within the sect’s politics. She did not envy Lan Qiren his position, but she had watched her former father and even her mother go up against annoyed Jiang elders enough to see it for what it was.

Lan Hao harrumphed and stomped off, followed by a few others.

Lan Wangji quickly and quietly herded them out of the plaza to a round building off to the side, and Yanli could not tell if he was clinging to Ying’er or if it was the other way around. The Mingshi, unlike the other buildings nearby, had wooden beams which were nearly black, and all the wards built into it radiated power. Yet, the feng shui inside was pleasing and placid. Yanli knew that such delicate work represented the efforts of many generations of spell masters.

A’Yao and the boys were still worked up from the confrontation, and Lan Wangji was, curiously, staying very close to Wei Ying. Suddenly she noticed why he looked different, why so many people had stared at him as he walked by: his clan ribbon was gone from his forehead. He must have noticed her looking, as he grabbed Ying’er’s hand and raised it. The sleeve fell back and there was the ribbon, wrapped around Ying’er’s wrist.

“Ying’er,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Do you even know what that means?”

He blushed. “Ah. Hm. The elders said it means we are betrothed? Sort of?”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji looked very smug about it. Meng Yao glared at him.

“Don’t you think you should have asked permission from his elder siblings first?”

“Too dangerous. We could not wait.” Lan Wangji’s smugness only intensified.

“What?” Yanli asked.

“Oh, JieJie, it’s a whole story. I mean, we were down there for days and days! A lot happened!” He blushed a blotchy, deep red.

“A lot of what happened?” Meng Yao bit out, stalking forward. In a fair fight with the Second Jade of Lan, he was doomed, but he was furious in a way that Yanli had rarely seen, and he did not seem to care about the odds.

Then it hit her.

“Oh!” She looked at Lan Wangji, her own displeasure rising. “Second Young Master Lan, did you take liberties with my brother?” She squeaked out the words.

“What?” A’Cheng shrieked and immediately grabbed Ying’er to haul him away.

“No! No, no, no! It wasn’t like that! DaGe!” Ying’er pulled at A’Yao’s sleeves to stop him while slapping at A’Cheng. Lan Wangji just stood there, looking offended.

“I sincerely doubt my nephew would do anything that was unwelcome,” Lan Qiren said from behind them, his voice like a bucket of cold water on all of them as they spun around. “Nonetheless, I too would like to hear more about what happened between Wei Ying and Wangji in the cave.”

Wei Ying.

Yanli sucked in a sharp breath. Around her, everyone froze.

Lan Qiren looked directly at her with knowing eyes and she thought that she had been a fool, a damned fool, the whole time.

“I believe we have much to discuss, Jiang Yanli.” Lan Qiren folded his hands into his sleeves.

Chapter Text

Quietly, everyone sat down. A nervous young disciple brought in a tray of brewed tea—there was no standing on ceremony, given the circumstances—then quickly hightailed it out of the room as soon as Lan Qiren let him.

Yanli’s mind had gone blank, in the way it did whenever she felt overwhelmed and uncertain. Distantly, she sensed A’Yao pick up her hand and start rubbing the back of it softly, and it reminded her of her last night in the brothel when he had done the same thing for his mother. It was very soothing. She took a deep breath and looked up at Lan Qiren, who was observing her with a neutral expression.

“What will you do with us now?” She asked. A’Yao and her brothers sat quietly next to her, tense, but waiting to follow her lead.

“I have no plans to do anything in particular,” he eventually answered. She almost slumped in relief, but took her cue from A’Yao, who sat as straight as an imperial minister and looked just as stern.

“As distasteful as I find your mother’s behavior, I do not agree with the idea of holding a parent’s sins against their children.”

Unexpectedly, both of his nephews threw a startled glance his way—at least, Lan Xichen was visibly startled, while Lan Wangji simply looked at his uncle with widened eyes. Yanli figured that counted. Lan Qiren, though, ignored them. Yanli put her curiosity aside for another day.

“I understand that any contact with us, as the bastards of Yunmeng, will cause political difficulties for you. One reason we have remained hidden in Yiling is that it is an area most sects try to avoid, if they can. Even Sect Leader Jiang rarely sends disciples to night hunt there. It is a poor region, and generally overlooked. If you will allow it, we will return there as quickly as possible.”

Oh, Lan Wangji did not like that, she could tell from the way he tensed up.

Ying’er noticed it too. “You can still visit me, Lan-er-gege!”

Lan Wangji’s ears went pink.

“Would you stop being disgusting?” A’Cheng grumbled.

Lan Qiren stared intently at the wall across from him and cleared his throat. Both of his nephews reacted on instinct, lowering their heads respectfully. She thought that was a neat trick and wondered if she could learn it.

“I assure you that we have no designs on Gusu Lan. Our trip through the cave was entirely by accident,” A’Yao intoned politely.

It was a mistake, she saw instantly, because Lan Qiren zeroed in on him. “And who are you, exactly?”

Right, because Lan Qiren knew full well that only three children had left Lotus Pier, not four.

A’Yao let go of her hand and bowed as deeply as possible while sitting. “This one is Meng Yao, from Yunping.”

“Ah.” Lan Qiren looked at him closely, then at her. “And you two have…married?”

A’Yao froze while the boys giggled. It took a moment for Yanli to find her bearings, the very idea having made her brain blank out for a moment for some reason.

“No, Grandmaster Lan! I was captured by slave traders not long after we left Lotus Pier, and taken to Yunping. Meng Yao helped me escape. He had been studying cultivation independently, so in gratitude I offered to continue his training with us.”

“Naturally, I accepted Miss Meng—ah, Miss Jiang’s generous offer and accompanied them back to Yiling.”

“Your family approved of this?”

“My mother did, yes. She sent me off with her blessings.”

“She figured out who I was rather quickly. Intelligence runs in the family,” she said, with a grateful smile at A’Yao, who smiled back.

“Hey,” Ying’er said softly in surprise, but got elbowed by A’Cheng. She did not know what that was about, so she ignored them.

“She offered me her family name as a way to hide our true identities, so we returned to Yiling as four siblings named Meng.”

Lan Qiren pursed his lips. “That is quite unfilial to your ancestors.”

“We couldn’t use our father’s name, though. It’s too recognizable. Everyone would know who we are if a group of Wei siblings showed up.” Ying’er shrugged. For once, it was A’Cheng massaging his temples in aggravation.

“Your…father?” Lan Qiren looked confused, which also meant he looked disturbed. Yanli imagined that people did not say confusing things to him very often.

Ying’er opened his mouth, but Meng Yao reached over and pinched his leg.

Yanli put on her most genteel smile. “As Gusu Lan does not gossip, I am sure you have not heard the news. The man my mother was in congress with was Wei Changze.”

There was a moment of long, drawn out silence as Lan Qiren stared at them in undisguised shock. Lan Xichen was looking at his uncle in worry, but Lan Qiren eventually rallied. “You are all siblings?”

They nodded, except for Meng Yao, who held up his hand. “To be clear, Wei Changze is not my father.”

“It’s too bad, really, because your father is a jerk. I really hate Lanling Jin.” Ying’er shook his head.

“Hate ‘em,” A’Cheng snarled in agreement. Yanli sighed and A’Yao’s smile went forced and brittle.

“Not as much as I hate Yunmeng Jiang, though,” Ying’er added thoughtfully. A’Cheng hummed and nodded with an expression of ‘yes, true, that is very reasonable.’

“Boys!” Yanli snapped and they both shut their mouths with audible clacks.

Lan Qiren put a hand over his eyes, as if in pain. “Cangse Sanren! I should have known that woman was involved.”

“My mother?”

“Mn.” Lan Qiren lowered his hand and looked him over critically. “You look a lot like her, although you have your father’s height and wavy hair.”

Ying’er gasped. “You knew both of my parents?”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth to say something, but stopped and, it seemed, really looked at the four of them for the first time. Yanli thought maybe, perhaps, there was a hint of pity in his gaze.

He ignored Ying’er vibrating in his chair and returned his focus to Yanli before speaking again.

“Despite your destitution and reputation, you have done well by your brothers and Young Master Meng,” Lan Qiren said. “Your persistence and filial duty as the eldest sibling, however unconventional, is admirable.”

“Miss Wei Yanli is a shining example of the highest ideals of the gentry,” Meng Yao said pointedly, while Ying’er and A’Cheng made firm noises of agreement.

Lan Qiren nodded, then drank his tea in silence, clearly lost in thought. Ying’er shifted a little in his usual impatience, but settled when Lan Wangji put his hand on his arm.

“That brings us to the current situation,” Lan Qiren finally said, putting down his tea.

“Shufu—”

Lan Qiren raised his hand sharply, and Lan Wangji bowed his head. “Not that situation.” He sighed heavily. “I mean the yin iron, and what happened with Lan Yi.”

They all turned to Ying’er.

“It’s simple, really. She was losing control of it, so she wanted to pass it to its protector before moving on from this realm. She also knows that several other pieces of it are in play, and asked us to track them down.” He shrugged and Lang Wangji went “Mn” and then they both just sat there.

Lan Qiren frowned and Lan Xichen looked confused and Meng Yao pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ying’er!” Yanli said, and he yelped as he sat up straight. “That doesn’t explain anything! Grandmaster Lan needs to know what happened!”

“I need to know why she chose you as the new protector, specifically.” His voice was as dry as old paper.

Ying’er frowned and Yanli knew that the next words out of his mouth would probably upset everybody. She had an instinct for it by that point.

“I’m not the protector. The Xuanwu of Slaughter is the protector! But she was asleep the whole time and only just woke up. We are going to use this piece of yin iron to lure her out of hiding and lead her to the Burial Mounds, where she belongs! Then she’ll eat the iron and everything will be fine.” He help up the qiankun pouch and Lan Wangji said “Mn!” again, unhelpfully, while a loud crow cawed in the distance.

They all just stared at them for a long, long moment.

“What the fuck does that mean?” A’Cheng burst out.

“Language, A’Cheng,” Yanli admonished him, but he only mumbled “sorry JieJie” and crossed his arms. She did not feel like pursuing the matter because, after all, he did voice the question on everyone’s mind.

Lan Xichen cleared his throat. “The mythological demi-xuanwu reported to have slaughtered untold scores of cultivators before disappearing five hundred years ago is…is the new protector of the yin iron shards?” Lan Xichen asked delicately, as it seemed Lan Qiren had lost the capacity to speak.

“No, she’s not the new protector. She has always been the protector. People back then stole from her and she got upset, and left the Burial Mounds to chase them down. They tried to kill her after dragging her out of her home and stealing her things! Rude!” Ying’er crossed his arms, genuinely affronted by the idea of cultivators trying to kill a terrible, murderous beast soaked through with resentful energy.

“Then when the wars ended and the yin shards got dispersed and locked away, she was forced into hibernation,” he said furiously. “But now she’s awake and we need to help her get back to the Burial Mounds before she goes insane.” He paused and grimaced. “Soon.”

“Mn!” Lan Wangji nodded once, firmly and with stout determination, but without any further explanation.

“Why do you always talk like a crazy person?” A’Cheng hissed at him.

“I’m not! It’s the truth!” Ying’er held up three fingers.

“You also said the Burial Mounds talk to you!”

“Who do you think told us to get into the blood pool?” Ying’er huffed.

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen watched the whole exchange in morbid fascination.

“Ying’er,” A’Yao said thoughtfully, which made them all pay attention. It was his ‘I’m trying to solve a complicated problem’ voice, and they all knew better than to interrupt. He paused for a moment before continuing.

“Ying’er, why did the Xuanwu of Slaughter wake up? Why was Lan Yi losing control of the yin iron?”

He bounced in his seat with a fevered intensity, and Yanli braced herself.

“That’s because Wen Ruohan is practicing demonic cultivation with the two pieces of yin iron shards he already has!”

Chapter Text

It had been a full day since Lan Qiren had dismissed them from the Mingshi that morning, but Yanli was not going to complain. They had been shown to guest quarters which were, for a great sect, very utilitarian and plain.

For a modest family from Yiling, however, it was more like a vacation at an expensive inn. The beds were clean and comfy, the blankets soft and thick, the views out the windows exquisite, and the bathing room warm and scented. Even the incense they were provided to burn in the gorgeously crafted burners was sublime.

A’Yao had sat on his bed, blinked, and then fallen backwards with a sigh. It was such an uncharacteristic reaction that the rest of them just stared at him until Ying’er nodded.

“You’ve never been on such a finely made bed before,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Yanli realized with a shot of guilt that while she and her brothers had, at least, spent a good portion of their youths as privileged children of gentry, A’Yao had gone from brothel to working class home life. If anyone knew what it was like to actually lay down on a very high-quality bed made for cultivators for the first time, it was Ying’er.

A’Yao just sighed again and closed his eyes and, shockingly, fell asleep immediately while they watched. Yanli motioned for the boys to pull his legs up and take off his boots, and suggested they follow his example and rest for a bit.

They were confined to the tiny house, but a simple lunch was brought to them, which got them up from their naps. After, they found a collection of paper, ink, and brushes in one cabinet along with a shelf of books in another. The books were cultivation texts, fairly generic to her eye, but A’Yao and the boys descended on them like vultures right after breakfast.

Wei Ying never took off the Lan headband wrapped around his wrist. She hoped that he at least removed it when he went to bathe. Given the elaborate and decorative knot, she doubted it. Maybe it repelled dirt and water?

It wasn’t until dinner that night that they all sat down to talk about the situation, refreshed and awake and clean. Ying’er had to be forcibly separated from the books, but then the food came and he eagerly sat down at the table. Unlike their lunch of simple vegetable bao, the dinner was generous and robust, at least by Lan standards.

“I always heard Gusu Lan food was plain and boring, but this isn’t bad!” Ying’er exclaimed, slurping some soup. “Could us more spice,” he added.

“Their chefs are some of the most talented in the jianghu, Ying’er,” A’Yao said, delightedly choosing a dumpling for his bowl. “They produce a cookbook every ten years, which is highly prized among both gentry and commoners.”

“Mn. My pork rib and lotus soup was a variation of one of their vegetable broths! With more spice, of course,” she laughed at the memory. For once, remembering her adventures in the Lotus Pier kitchens did not hurt. Maybe time did heal all wounds? She hoped so.

After the first rush to eat, Yanli set down her chopsticks. They all glanced at her warily.

“Ying’er, is there anything you left out when we talked to Grandmaster Lan?”

He immediately looked guilty, which was answer enough. A’Cheng groaned and A’Yao took a deep, calming breath.

Yanli motioned for Ying’er to keep talking.

“Ah. There was the marriage—er, the betrothal.” He held up his wrist. A’Cheng glowered at the ribbon as if it had insulted him personally.

“Which we will discuss in full soon. What else?”

He rubbed the side of his nose and refused to look at any of them. “I know where the other yin iron pieces are.” 

She frowned, trying to figure out why that was a problem. “You mean the ones Wen Ruohan has?”

He shook his head. “The other pieces.”

“Because Lan Yi told you?” A’Yao offered him a rope.

“No.” He sighed. “When I used the yin iron piece yesterday? In the plaza? And it sort of, uh, took control?”

Yanli did not like where this was going, and neither did A’Yao by the looks of it.

“It’s like…it’s like all the pieces are still connected, somehow. They used to be one whole thing, and that’s what they remember. So if you touch one, you know where the others are.” He looked around at their horrified expressions. “It’s a good thing! I means that Lan Zhan and I will have no problem tracking the last three pieces!”

“Three?” A’Yao frowned. “There were four pieces. Wen Ruohan has two, you have one. That leaves the fourth one.”

He started looking shifty again.

“Wei Ying!” Yanli said in exasperation. “Tell us everything! Stop trying to keep secrets.”

“Yeah, you’re really bad at it,” A’Cheng said.

“Like you can talk!”

“Boys,” A’Yao tapped his bowl with his chopsticks.

“It’s just really dangerous information, JieJie!” Wei Ying whined. “I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

This time, A’Yao smacked his chopsticks down on the table. “Perhaps,” he started with gritted teeth, “You should have thought of that before drugging your elders and running into the Burial Mounds.”

Yanli really admired how he could channel a killing rage with just a tight smile. The boys both curled into each other instinctively, and she let them squirm for a moment of great justice before continuing.

“Ying’er, why do you think there are more than four pieces?” She asked.

“Because I know there are six. I just know it.” He held up his hands, ticking off on his fingers. “The Xuanwu has what is left of the original chunk of it. Wen Ruohan has two. Lan Yi gave hers to me and Lan Zhan to help draw out the Xuanwu of Slaughter. There is one in some weird caves in Qinghe Nie. And the final one is…traveling.”

Yanli just sat there for a moment before rallying. “We should tell Grandmaster Lan.”

“Yes,” A’Yao hissed, getting up.

“No no no! It will just complicate everything! Lan Zhan and I are going to get the pieces we can and find the xuanwu. The Lan can try to get to Wen Ruohan. It’s a fair trade!”

“Ying’er, I taught you better than this,” A’Yao snapped. “It’s only a fair trade if both parties know what the deal is!”

Wei Ying sat there looking mutinous while A’Yao and Yanli glared at him. A’Cheng, on the other hand, leaned backwards and stared at his dinner bowl thoughtfully for a moment.

“What do you mean, one piece is ‘traveling’?” A’Cheng asked suspiciously.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Wei Ying yelped.

“That’s it. I’ve had it with you. Drugging us, disobeying a long-standing order not to mess with the Burial Mounds, and now you keep lying by omission!” A’Yao calmly, coldly, got up, grabbed the back of Wei Ying’s robes and dragged him out of the back of the house while he kicked and loudly protested his innocence.

“Is he going to kill him?” A’Cheng asked, picking up his chopsticks and looking warily out the still-open door.

“No, we went through too much trouble to find you both alive to ruin that now,” Yanli said pleasantly, which made A’Cheng hunch over with a grimace.

“We are sorry that we worried you. We thought our plan was foolproof!”

“Mn.”

There was a loud yell, followed by a splash.

“Now get up and run forty laps.” A’Yao’s calm but raised voice drifted in through the windows.

“It’s cold!”

“Fifty.”

“But Da'Ge!”

“Sixty!”

There was a wet sound as Ying’er flopped out of the pond and started running.

“Oooo, Da'Ge is mad. Do you think he will make him copy lines again?”

“If he doesn’t, I will,” Yanli said calmly.

“Oh. I supposed that means I you’re going to make me do it too?” He slumped.

“Yes,” she said with a snap. “You’re lucky I have not asked A’Yao to throw you in the pond and force march you as well.”

“Sorry, JieJie,” A’Cheng mumbled.

“You drugged us, which is unacceptable, A’Cheng! Then…then you two went tearing off into the Burial Mounds alone! What on earth possessed you? You’re supposed to be the sensible one!”

He blinked back tears, obviously realizing that a pity-play was off the board in the face of her anger. “I saw…I was awake when they killed Lao Wang. If…if we had swords he’d still be alive.”

She breathed in through her nose to calm herself. Chances were good that was not true, since Lao Wang’s health had been failing for a while. But if A’Cheng had been awake long enough to see him being murdered, it explained his willingness to go along with Ying’er mad plans.

“I’m sorry, JieJie. I’m so sorry!” He sniffled and collapsed into a truly abject kowtow.

He really had a tofu heart, she thought. It was almost superfluous to punish him, since he did such a good job of beating himself up unprompted. He would probably take over the laundry for a month, unasked, even after his punishment. She was looking forward to it.

There was a polite knock at the door, and at her nod A’Cheng got up, wiping his face. He bowed as Lan Xichen slid into the room.

“Young Master Lan, to what do we owe this honor?” She asked, getting up and curtsying. She tried not to sound wary, but A’Cheng had no compunctions and glared at him in outright suspicion, despite his root-deep blush.

“Forgive my late intrusion. I have come to see how you are settling in.”

“We are very well, thank you. The Lan are truly gracious hosts.”

He chuckled. “It’s the least we can do. After all, we will be family soon enough.”

A’Cheng made a choking sound but quickly went to clear their dinner tray and make some tea.

“Would you join us for tea? We have just finished dinner.” She motioned at the table as A’Cheng scurried around.

“It would be my honor. Your other brothers are not here?” He looked around as he took a seat.

“Ah. First Brother is punishing Second Brother for his infractions.”

“Mn?”

“He threw him in that pond out back and is making him run sixty laps. I think up to the big tree and back,” A’Cheng offered as he set out the tea set.

“Heh. Yes, I know that tree. The incline up to it is steep. In winter, the children like to take waxed tarps and slide down it on the snow.”

“Oh, how delightful!” Yanli clapped her hands together. “We never get that much snow in Yunmeng.”

“I imagine not!” He shook his head. “That’s a creative punishment.”

“He’ll make us write lines later. Probably sections of the Analects. Again.” A’Cheng said with a grimace.

“My uncle uses that punishment often.” He turned to Yanli. “Do you also force them to do handstands while doing it?”

“What?” A’Cheng whispered in horror.

“That is an even more creative punishment! First Brother will be delighted to hear of it!” Yanli said, meaning every word. That sounded like the kind of punishment that A’Yao would gleefully administer: brutal, efficient, and productive.

“JieJie!” A’Cheng hissed in betrayal, even as he poured them the perfectly steeped tea with the cultured grace of his upbringing. Lan Xichen watched him with an expression of intrigue. She wasn’t sure why, since he knew who they were, but she supposed that proper tea etiquette was easily lost if not practiced often. She, of course, would never allow such skills to slide under her watch.

Just then the door slid open and A’Yao came in, looking grimly satisfied, until he saw Lan Xichen and froze in surprise. He stared at them as they stood up, and it wasn’t until Lan Xichen was greeting him that A’Yao managed to get unstuck.

“This one is honored by your presence, Young Master Lan.” He spoke stiffly. A’Cheng threw a concerned glance at Yanli but she had no idea what was going on.

“Miss Meng was just…” He trailed off thoughtfully and turned to her. “Would you prefer to be referred to as ‘Miss Jiang’?”

What a considerate man! She smiled brightly at him. “Miss Meng is my preferred name for now, until I can claim ‘Wei’ publicly. Our connection to the Jiangs of Yunmeng is tenuous at best, in the current circumstances.”

He smiled back. Before he could respond, A’Yao gave them a stilted bow.

“Forgive me, but Ying’er managed to splash my robes with mud. I shall go change. Please do continue without me.” He turned to the boys’ room and marched out.

“What was that about?” A’Cheng whispered. Yanli gave him a cross look and he hurried back to preparing more tea. She did not, in fact, know what that was about, but Lan Xichen was lovely company and he was going to be her brother-in-law soon enough, so with a smile she sat down and finally asked the question that had been haunting her.

“Was Second Young Master Lan a quiet baby?”

Lan Xichen grinned so hard his eyes scrunched up into crescents. “Not in the least. Lan Wangji was loud and stubborn!” He leaned over conspiratorially. “He bit people when he was overwhelmed!” His laughter trilled through the air.

Chapter Text

Later the next morning, a suitably chastised and very sore Wei Ying stood in front of Grandmaster Lan and revealed everything he had told his family the night before about the yin iron.

(As Yanli had predicted, it turned out that Meng Yao liked the idea of doing handstands while copying lines as a punishment. He liked it a lot. Neither of the boys had steady hands that morning during breakfast.)

Grandmaster Lan was visibly displeased that the information had been withheld, but nodded approvingly when told that Wei Ying had been punished for it using a “cherished Lan technique of corporal correction.” Yanli thought Meng Yao was laying it on thick, but he seemed to know what Grandmaster Lan wanted to hear.

“Wei Ying,” Grandmaster Lan sharply. Wei Ying snapped to attention. “I am not so irresponsible a man as to send children out on such a dangerous mission.”

“But I’m fifteen!”

“And already betrothed,” Lan Qiren intoned. Lan Wangji sat up straighter, zeroing in on his uncle. “Yet, that does not make you an adult, and I certainly am not going to let you and my nephew go gallivanting around the countryside unchaperoned.” At that, he had a strange, wordless stare-off with said nephew.

Lan Xichen hid behind his sleeve, but it looked like he was laughing. Ying’er looked confused, but Yanli refused to meet his gaze, having a suspicion as to what Grandmaster Lan’s concerns were.

“Be that as it may, we do need to retrieve the pieces we can get to.” Grandmaster Lan said with a heavy sigh. “Can you provide us with accurate maps, or more specific information about where they are?”

Ying’er rubbed the side of his nose, and Yanli knew the answer was ‘no.’

“No,” he said.

Meng Yao breathed out through his nose slowly. “Details, Ying’er. Details.”

“Oh! Right. First off, I just got a flash of the locations when I was talking to the yin iron. Or, actually, it was talking to me? Through me? Hmmmm...”

Meng Yao cleared his throat.

“Which means I only have a general idea! And to get any more specific, I’d have to touch the iron again—”

“No.” Lan Wangji said with the firmness of an ax falling.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying whined.

“No.”

“I agree with Wangji on this. That artifact is dangerous and corrupted.” Meng Yao turned back to Wei Ying, who was still pouting at Lan Wangji. “Do you have any idea at all where the Xuanwu of Slaughter is?”

“Generally.” Wei Ying shrugged. “In Qisan.”

Grandmaster Lan frowned.

“Uncle?” Lan Xichen looked over at Lan Qiren.

“If it is truly hidden somewhere in Qisan, it will be difficult to send in a team to kill it—”

“WHAT?” Wei Ying shrieked, jumping up. “Kill her? No! We can’t kill her!”

“It is a dangerous demonic beast!”

“Didn’t you listen to me? We have to go rescue her!”

“Rescue the Xuanwu of Slaughter? Don’t be preposterous! It must be destroyed!”

“No! You can’t do that! I won’t let you!” Ying’er hopped forward, working himself in a rage. Meng Yao immediately grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“How dare you talk this way to me!”

“She’s an innocent demi-god of battle! She just wants to go home! How can you be so wicked?”

A’Cheng rushed to his feet and grabbed Ying’er’s other arm.

“You impudent brat! You are just like your mother!”

Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen were suddenly holding Lan Qiren back as well…or holding him up, Yanli was uncertain.

“At least my mother died righteous!” Ying’er shouted. Lan Qiren turned an alarming shade of puce.

“Enough!” Yanli moved between them and held her arms out. She nodded at A’Yao and A’Cheng who proceeded to haul Ying’er out of the Mingshi. She turned to Lan Xichen.

“I believe it would be best for everyone to take a rest and re-order our thoughts,” she said deferentially with a bow.

“Yes.” He nodded quickly. “We will talk later.” His informal address indicated how unsettled he was, and they were already pulling his uncle back to sit in a chair while the man huffed like a bull.

She took the dismissal and hurried out.

Down the path, Ying’er was hunched over, hands on his knees with A’Yao’s hand on his back while A’Cheng was counting off a breathing exercise. She slowed down and put her trembling hands in her sleeves. A’Yao looked over and gave her a worried expression.

Ying’er was hot headed and often careless of repercussions, but yelling at an elder with open animosity was unlike him.

“Ying’er,” she said after a moment when it was clear that he had caught his breath. “Let me see your wrist.”

He grimaced, but held out his arm automatically. She pressed her fingers to his pulse point and then nearly recoiled with a gasp. He looked away in shame.

“Yanli?” A’Yao asked, then took over when she gestured for him to check Ying’er himself. His face went stony when he realized what she had felt.

“You’re meridians are a mess,” he said.

“They want to kill her!”

“In 1-2-3-4, out 1-2-3-4-5,” A’Cheng started chanting. Too habituated to the practice not to join in, Ying’er began breathing along. Then he smiled weakly, seeing something down the path.

Or, someone. Yanli watched as Lan Wangji sped toward them. He definitely was not running, but she doubted she would have been able to keep up with him if she tried.

“A’Ying,” he breathed out the name as he came close, clearly picking up on their worry. Or maybe his own.

“I’m fine, Lan Zhan!”

“His meridians are a mess, as if they have been singed by resentful energy,” A’Yao said with a flat expression. Ying’er gave him a betrayed look.

Lan Wangji stepped closer. “A’Ying.”

“Aiya, it’s not too bad.” He swayed closer to Lan Wangji, who stepped forward again.

“Nope! Nope nope nope!” A’Cheng muscled in between them.

If a glance could burn a soul to ash, A’Cheng would already be sent to his next life from the expression Lan Wangji gave him. Ying’er, meanwhile, was staring at Lan Wangji like he was a complicated math problem.

Yanli was trying to figure out how to herd them all back to the guest house without further drama when she heard someone yelling down the way.

“Wangji-xiong! Wangji-xiong! You got married?” Nie Huaisang was flapping his way towards them at a full run, his arms waving wildly.

Yanli thought she heard a huff from the stoic Second Jade of Lan before he turned to face the onslaught. “No running in the Cloud Recesses,” he said when Nie Huaisang had already skidded to a stop.

“Don’t take that attitude with me, Wangji-xiong! This is important! I cannot—” He stalled when he finally took in the rest of them. “Miss Meng Jiayi?” He looked at A’Yao and the boys. “What are you all doing here? How did you even get here? Oh! Did you fly? Did you finally get spiritual swords?”

Lan Wangji reached out and pulled Ying’er to him. “This is my betrothed.”

“Betrothed? Oh, so you aren’t married yet? That makes so much more sense, Wangji-xiong, you would not believe the gossip…wait, Meng Ying is your betrothed?”

“It’s a long story,” Ying’er said, looking uncomfortable.

Yanli bowed. “Young Master Nie, it is good to see you again.”

Nie Huaisang wobbled around for a moment before bowing in return. “As it is to greet you again, Miss Meng Jiayi! I’m very confused right now.”

“Join the crowd,” A’Cheng sighed, glaring at where Lan Wangji still had his hand around Ying’er’s arm.

Lan Wangji was frowning a fraction more than usual. “You know the Meng family?”

“Oh, just barely! Passing acquaintances, really!”

A’Cheng walked over and punched him in the arm. “You lived with us for two weeks!”

“OW OW OW!!!! Meng Cheng! You are so cruel!”

“Don’t mind him, Lan Zhan! He wanted to commission some pieces from JieJie, so he followed Da'Ge home like a stray goat.” Wei Ying chirped.

“Hey!”

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Nie Huaisang, who raised his fan higher. “Was that when you disappeared from the last discussion conference?”

“Oh, was there a discussion conference going on? Goodness, how could I miss that? I’m sure Da'Ge would never allow me to leave such an important event.”

Yanli got the distinct impression that Lan Wangji sincerely wanted to roll his eyes, but didn’t.

“‘Allow’ being the key word,” A’Yao said.

“Anyway! There is a wedding to plan, and I’m here now!” He swanned forward and latched onto Yanli’s arm, unerringly turning them towards the direction of the guest house they were staying in, despite the fact that he should not have known that.

“Let us have some tea and snacks and make plans! I assume you will be doing at least some of the embroidery for the robes? Who is wearing the veil? Have the courting gifts been presented yet? Will Ying’er be marrying in? I have so many questions!”

He did not actually pause to hear answers, despite Ying’er trying desperately to derail him, and somehow all six of them ended up on the porch of the guest house with, yes, tea and snacks that Yanli did not remember having around before they left.

“No one is getting married until we finish our mission!” Ying’er finally shouted at him.

“Mission? Oh, is that why you all are here instead of in Yiling? Is this a family thing? What—”

“It is a secret,” Lan Wangji stated oppressively, causing Nie Huaisang to hide behind his fan. For a moment. Then he slowly lowered it, snapped it closed, and furiously turned to Yanli, slapping his palm with his fan.

“Whatever the Lan are paying you, I will double it!” He announced.

“Excuse me?”

“Nie Huaisang!” A’Yao snapped.

“What? Obviously they brought the Crane in the Mist here for a big project! They want to show me—uh, us! They want to show us up!” He turned to Lan Wangji, who looked very confused. “I won’t stand for this! I found her first!”

“Crane in the Mist?” Lan Wangji asked, looking at Wei Ying.

“It’s whole thing,” Ying’er said unhelpfully.

“I am ‘Crane in the Mist,’ Lan Wangji. It is the name I sign my professional embroidery work with. And no, Sang’er, I am not here on commission. We arrived here under unexpected circumstances.”

Nie Huaisang appeared mollified by that, for the moment. He grumbled something about wanting a new tapestry for the Nie greeting hall and then shoved a pastry into his mouth.

“Oh! Nie! Qinghe Nie!” Ying’er said and sat up. “Hey, Sang’er, do you know about any weird caves in Qinghe?”

“I’m sure I don’t!” He flapped open his fan. “Why?”

“It’s just that we know a piece of the yin iron is hidden in a weird cave there.”

A’Yao leaned close to Yanli and whispered. “So much for keeping secrets.” She had to hide her laugh behind her sleeve. Ying’er really was the worst at secrets.

“Ah! What? Yin iron? That sounds dangerous!” His eyes went wide. A’Yao was side-eying him, and Yanli remembered what he had told her about ‘innocent little Sang’er.’

“It is, but we still need to find it.”

“Hm. What does the cave look like? Do you know?” Nie Huaisang’s face was nearly fully hidden behind his fan and Yanli’s suspicions rose.

“Oh, hmmm…it looked like it was carved out of the stone, actually. But not like the Demon Subdue Palace.”

“The what?” Nie Huaisang squeaked.

Ying’er waved a hand around dismissively. “I mean, it wasn’t, like, a house or anything. A storage room? Full of boxes?”

“I’m sure I don’t know anything like that!”

Lan Wangji was staring off into space as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“Sang’er, you are lying,” A’Yao said pleasantly while pouring Yanli some more tea.

“What? No, I’m not!” He narrowed his eyes. “You spotted a tell, didn’t you? What is it? What is my tell? What did you notice?” He pointed his fan at A’Yao.

“Is Sect Leader Nie here?” A’Yao continued as if Nie Huaisang had not said a word. “Would he know something about the weird caves in Qinghe?”

“I am here, and I would like to know who is asking,” a low, firm voice echoed across the porch and Yanli looked up to see the handsome visage of Nie Mingjue, who appeared to be about a foot taller and twice as wide than the last time she had seen him.

He looked around and then stopped abruptly when he came face to face with her.

“Jiang Yanli?”

Chapter Text

Everyone froze in place under the stern, unforgiving gaze of one of the most renown cultivators alive. For all that he was still the youngest sect leader of the jianghu, Nie Mingju’s strength and power was never in question.

“Jiang Yanli? What are you talking about, Da'Ge?” Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “This is clearly Meng Jiayi, a professional embroiderer from Yiling, in Yunmeng! She’s here to oversee the betrothal negotiations between her younger brother, Meng Ying, and Lan Wangji!”

Nie Mingjue never took his eyes off of her. “Is that so?”

“It’s complicated, Mingjue,” Lan Xichen said with a fond smile directed at Nie Huaisang (who withered far further under his kindly expression than his brother’s displeasure). He walked up to stand next to his friend and colleague.

Yanli got her bearings and stood up to bow in greeting, followed quickly by A’Yao and the boys. “It is an honor to greet Sect Leader Nie.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said critically, but gave a polite nod of acknowledgment, anyway. He turned to Lan Xichen. “You said this had something to do with Wen Ruohan?”

Ying’er, who had been vibrating with excitement since Nie Mingjue showed up, bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! We need to know where those weird caves are in Qinghe, so we can find the yin iron and return it to the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and lead her back to the Burial Mounds! Therefore, you need to help us!” He smiled brightly.

A’Cheng slapped a hand over his eyes while A’Yao sighed heavily.

Yanli looked over at Lan Xichen. “This is why A’Yao and I will be handling the negotiating.”

“Indeed.” Lan Xichen chuckled. “Mingjue, you see why I wanted to have this discussion here. Wei Ying has specific insights into the yin iron and Wen Ruohan’s use of it that I think are critically important.” He motioned for them to sit down. A’Cheng ran to get more floor cushions to accommodate them.

At Lan Xichen’s prompting, Yanli gave him a very abbreviated version of what was going on. Wei Ying clearly wanted to interject, but A’Yao managed to keep him in check with well-timed pinches. She did not want to give the impression that her younger brother was purposefully toying on the edge of demonic cultivation to one as fiercely opposed to unorthodoxy as Sect Leader Nie, but the upshot of that, unfortunately, was to make Ying’er look very foolish and ignorant.

Nonetheless, as she talked, Nie Mingjue’s face grew more and more astonished until he was leaning far back in his seat and staring at her with his mouth open. When she finished, he looked over at Lan Xichen.

“You vouch for this story?”

“Lan Wangji does. He and Wei Ying brought a yin iron piece out from the cold pond cave.” He looked over at his younger brother, who nodded firmly with his signature “Mn!” of affirmation.

“As does Sang’er, at least for verifying that they live in Yiling.”

“Zong’ge will too! He was there in Yiling with me, remember?” Nie Huaisang added, then cowered behind his fan at the look from Nie Mingjue which suggested that, yes, he did in fact remember his younger brother running away from a sect discussion conference to go buy fans in a distant village.

“Both your brother and Nie Zonghui can confirm the array Second Brother used to kill the bandits, as well,” A’Yao said pleasantly, and Yanli wondered why he hated Nie Mingjue so much.

“It was very gruesome, Da'Ge! Body parts everywhere!” Nie Huaisang added, looking more like a Nie in that moment of cheerful bloodlust than he usually did.

“I will verify that. In the meantime, can someone explain to me why we’re pretending that these aren’t the bastards of Yunmeng?”

There was a long silence while Lan Xichen grimaced uncomfortably. Yanli tried to think of how to answer that, but once again failed.

“Technically, I’m the only bastard here,” A’Yao said, the challenge clear in his voice as he stared directly at Nie Mingjue. The boys shrank back a little, realizing how angry he was.

Nie Mingjue just raised an eyebrow, unmoved. Yanli thought it did look a little like a puppy trying to stare down a wolf, although she would never shame A’Yao by saying so.

“What is a bastard, anyway? Can anyone say? If you know who the father is, it’s such a philosophical—”

“Sang’er,” Nie Mingjue growled.

With a deep breath, Yanli stood up again, followed by Ying’er and A’Cheng. She bowed.

“I was raised as Jiang Yanli, of Lotus Pier. I live now as Meng Jiayi of Yiling, for the sake of protecting my younger brothers in a world that would shame and shun us if they knew who we are. But I am the daughter of Wei Changze, and while I have never taken his name formally, it is the name of my ancestors.”

She wasn’t sure what would happen next, but then Ying’er stepped forward.

“I am Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian, son of Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren,” Ying’er said, with the perfect manners he so rarely called on, as he bowed.

“I am Wei Cheng, son of Wei Changze and the Violet Spider.” A’Cheng bowed, and Yanli noticed that he had left off the courtesy name she knew Sect Leader Jiang had chosen for him.

Nie Mingjue stared at them for a long time before nodding, then turned to focus on A’Yao, who had not stood up.

A’Yao picked up his tea and sipped it like an emperor holding court. She admired his nerve.

“I am Meng Yao, son of the courtesan Meng Shi of Yunping.” He paused. “My father is a hedonistic reprobate who uses his cultivation for personal gain, and I will not carry his name in any lifetime.”

If nothing else, they had managed to impress Nie Mingjue. He sat there for a moment, Lan Xichen watching him carefully, before standing up. Only then did A’Yao rise himself, followed by a shocked-looking Nie Huaisang.

“This one is pleased to greet you, Wei Yanli. Meng Yao. Wei Ying. Wei Cheng.” He gave each of them a curt nod, no more than a sect leader owed to anyone lacking rank in the jianghu, but Yanli felt tears well up in her eyes as they all bowed back to him respectfully. From what she had heard of his strict sense of righteousness, it would have been easy for him to say that they were still illegitimate and worthless in his eyes, but he listened and acknowledged their true names.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Nie,” she said. At his gesture, they all sat down again.

“Now that the truth has been admitted in full, let us revisit things.” He turned his attention to Ying’er, who to his credit did not quail under it. “What in the celestial heavens made you think going into the Burial Mounds to find masterless swords was a good idea?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea. We just didn’t have much choice.” Ying’er shrugged like it was obvious, and A’Cheng nodded along. “YeYe would not have died if we had spiritual weapons, but we can’t afford them, and no one is going to give us any.”

“I was working on it!” Nie Huaisang complained, then hid behind his fan when his brother glanced at him.

“So you were just going to waltz into the Burial Mounds, pick up a few swords that happened to be lying around, and then walk out?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds stupid,” Ying’er huffed, and Lan Wangji had the sheer gall to look affronted on his behalf.

“Our mistake was in trusting the Burial Mounds,” A’Cheng added with a sour look at Ying’er, which had Nie Mingjue’s eyes go wide in shock.

“I admit I made a mistake!” Ying’er rolled his eyes, not looking contrite about it at all. “It’s not their fault. I asked the wrong question.”

A’Cheng looked betrayed. “You didn’t ask it where we could find swords?”

Ying’er rubbed his nose. “Ah. Not so much? I asked it to take us to the strongest weapons we could use. I guess that’s the yin iron. Makes sense when you think about it!”

“Wei Ying!” A’Cheng shouted, threatening to lunge at his brother. A’Yao pushed him back down into his seat.

Nie Mingjue wheezed and shook his head. “You talk with the Burial Mounds?”

“Erm, not really like that. It’s more I ask questions and then get weird answers.”

Yanli looked at him. “Should I ask what you actually intended the siheyuan’s protection array to do?”

“No, you really shouldn’t.” Ying’er shook his head vigorously.

“You talk with the Burial Mounds?” Nie Mingjue loudly repeated. Nie Huaisang hid behind his fan again and Lan Xichen looked even more worried.

“Yes,” Ying’er said tentatively. He at least had the inkling that maybe not everyone was happy about it, Yanli thought with chagrin.

“Are you not aware of how dangerous that is to your cultivation?” Nie Mingjue snapped. He wasn’t shouting, but Yanli guessed he probably would soon.

“Mn!” Lan Wangji agreed, looking beseechingly at Ying’er.

“I don’t get why you think it’s a big deal!” Ying’er waved a hand at him. “I mean, you do the same thing with your saber, and it’s filled with resentful energy!”

Nie Mingjue collapsed in his seat, going stark pale in shock.

“It’s what?” Nie Huaisang shrieked.

Ying’er looked confused. “How can you not know that? You have your own saber! All Nie sabers are filled with resentful energy!”

“They are not! We would never use resentful energy like that!” Nie Huaisang looked angry for the first time since Yanli had met him.

“Are too! Right there!” Ying’er pointed at the legendary Baxia, which started rattling in its scabbard. Everyone went stock still. Except Ying’er, of course, who just cocked his head curiously, as if listening to a conversation in the next room. “Ohhhh. You use beast cores when forging your blades. Huh, that makes sense.”

Nie Huaisang jumped up and turned on his brother with a ferocious expression. Nie Mingjue did not deny it, which was as good as an admission as any, Yanli thought. His expression was heartbreaking, though.

“Sang’er, I was going to tell—”

“NO. I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Nie Huaisang went running off.

Everyone just sat there for a long moment, before A’Yao sighed and got to his feet. “I will go talk to Young Master Nie,” he said, and simply walked off. It was probably the rudest thing Yanli had ever seen him do in all the years she had known him.

Lan Xichen, looking a bit shocky himself, turned to Yanli, but she did not have much to say. Ying’er realized that something bad had occurred and was curled into himself guiltily while A’Cheng whispered a breathing exercise at him.

Nie Mingjue had closed his eyes when his brother ran off, and seemed to be doing his own version of a breathing exercise. Lan Xichen busied himself with making more tea, despite the fact that given his age and rank, it was inappropriate for him to do so. He was just that rattled, she guessed.

Eventually, Nie Mingjue opened his eyes and looked at Yanli.

“If we ever had records of where we put a piece of the yin iron, they have been lost. However, I believe the ‘weird caves’ are my family’s sword crypts. It is where we bury resentful weapons of the Nie when their masters die.”

She had never heard of such a practice, but then, “spiritual weapons purposefully filled with the resentful energy from beast cores” were not supposed to be a thing that existed either.

She nodded, thinking it over. “It would be a good place to hide yin iron, as I assume the whole area is filled with resentful energy, correct? No one could tell the difference.”

“That would explain why the boxes are wrapped in chains,” Ying’er said thoughtfully.

Yanli sighed.

Nie Mingjue leaned forward, zeroing in on Ying’er again, this time with the full ferocity of his power and personality. Ying’er froze like a rabbit in front of a fox.

“Start over from the beginning, and explain to me how and why you know so much about the yin iron, and what Wen Ruohan is doing.” He paused, thinking. “And what the hell does the Xuanwu of Slaughter have to do with anything?”

Chapter Text

Yanli thought with chagrin that when all this was over, they should take their show on the road. By that point, they were all very good at explaining what had happened over the past few days, and took turns talking as if they were professional storytellers at a popular inn. Everyone had a part to play.

Which meant that, at least, they got through the explanation fairly quickly, filling in all the holes in the narrative she had left out in the original version she had told Nie Mingjue less than an hour earlier.

He sat there with his hands on his knees, listening intently, looking every inch the disciplined, well-respected sect leader he was. He listened, and did not interrupt, and nodded occasionally.

When they were done, he slapped his knees and looked over at Lan Xichen. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, shaking his head. The only reason A’Cheng and Ying’er did not object was Yanli gripping their wrists so hard she was surprised her nails weren’t drawing blood.

Lan Xichen tried very hard not to grimace, while Lan Wangji looked incredibly insulted.

“Don’t look at me like that, Zhan’er, you have no room to talk! Getting betrothed behind your brother’s back!” Nie Mingjue rumbled, his tone laced with disapproval.

Lan Wangji visibly warred with himself for a moment, but then glanced at his brother before bowing his head.

“Don’t be mean to Lan Zhan!” Ying’er challenged, bristling like an angry squirrel.

“You’re a feisty little guy,” Nie Mingjue said with what sounded like approval. Ying’er was so thrown by the backhanded compliment that he just sat there, blinking.

Nie Mingjue turned to Lan Xichen. “Given this information about Wen Ruohan, I believe we should take council with your uncle. It seems a trip to the Unclean Realm is called for, and this will take some planning. I need to send word to Nie Popo,” he added with a grimace.

Lan Xichen looked sympathetic at that, but nodded. As they stood to leave, Lan Xichen assured Yanli that the elder Lan was fine, recovering from the showdown with Ying’er thanks to the aid of some medicinal tea and private meditation. It was why, he admitted, that he had brought Nie Mingjue directly to them, in order to allow his uncle some peace and tranquility to balance his qi.

“Especially since it seems as if war might be coming to the jianghu soon,” he added regretfully, before leading Nie Mingjue and his brother away. Lan Wangji looked over his shoulder several times as they left, while trying hard not to look like he was looking back at Wei Ying.

Nie Huaisang and A’Yao had not returned by that point, so it left Yanli with Ying’er and A’Cheng, who both looked a bit worse for wear. Between all the meetings, the emotional strain of the past few days, and their respective punishments the evening before, they were flagging.

Yanli nibbled one of the remaining pastries and studied them quietly for a moment. She then put down her teacup, and both of them immediately went on guard, straightening up in their seats and looking at her warily.

“Ying’er, you’ve said that you got betrothed to Lan Wangji out of necessity, but I fear that it perhaps put you in an unwelcome position.” She cleared her throat. “If you wish to have the betrothal broken, Meng Yao and I will see it done.” It would probably not endear them to the Lan any more than the betrothal itself did, but she would not allow either of her brothers to be trapped in a loveless marriage filled with regret and animosity.

She had suffered as the child of such a marriage for the first fifteen years of her life, and knew the cost.

“You just say the word, Ying’ge! I’ll make sure that stuck up Lan never looks at you again!” A’Cheng snarled, looking ready to march out and challenge the renown Second Jade of Lan to a dual.

Ying’er blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. His sleeve fell down his arm a little, exposing the ribbon Lan Wangji had tied there.

“What happened in that cave, anyway?” A’Cheng asked with a frown, eyeing the ribbon with suspicion. “All you say about it is that Lan Yi tested your skills. Did she make you jump through hoops or something?”

Yanli had wanted to ask the same thing, but both Ying’er and Lan Wangji had been reluctant to talk about it. Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen were inclined not to push the matter since it involved Lan Yi’s spirit and, presumably, Lan sect secrets. All they knew at that point was that the boys thought they had been gone for about ten days from their perspective, not one. Yanli knew better than most how life-changing a mere handful of days could be.

“She wasn’t there for most of it. First, we had to find a way to ward off the chord assassination attacks on our own.” He held up his wrist. “Lan Zhan tied this around my wrist so it would recognize me as a Lan. I guess that was our betrothal?”

Yanli tried not to cringe. A betrothal made under duress did not sound promising to her.

Ying’er studied his wrist for a long moment. “But then we ended up in a cave with a qilin and had to answer one hundred riddles. One hundred!” He huffed in annoyance. A’Cheng reared back in horror, because he was far too literal and could never answer riddles correctly, and even Yanli found riddles difficult. To answer one hundred, in a row, correctly was nearly unimaginable to her, and something akin to torture.

“I’m sure you and Second Young Master Lan did admirably,” she said, trying not to sound as mystified as she felt.

“Thank goodness Lan Zhan was there!” Ying’er sighed dreamily, and Yanli recalibrated her assumptions about the betrothal.

“You like him!” A’Cheng announced accusingly. He looked like he had smelled a stink bug.

Ying’er opened his mouth to automatically deny it, but stalled out, a look of confusion on his face and his gaze distant as he lost himself in thought.

“What happened after that?” Yanli asked, hoping to avoid a bigger mess.

Ying’er blinked and drew his attention back to the conversation. “We ended up in some other caves, and I told Lan Zhan that he could have his ribbon back if he wanted it, but he said I should keep it. I promise I tried to give it back, JieJie! But he just would not take it.” He stared at his be-ribboned wrist again wonderingly.

“Ah,” Yanli said, nodding. She really did not want to ask the next question, but she needed to know. “We’re you two ever in danger?”

He brightened up. “Oh yes! There were the fire farting frogs, and then we had to cross a room where the floor was lava, and then there were the fierce corpses—” He stopped when Yanli held up her hand.

“I think… I think maybe you should write up a night hunt report for A’Yao,” she said weakly.

“Fire farting frogs?” A’Cheng yelled. “That sounds awesome! Were they disgusting?”

“They were so disgusting!” Ying’er yelled back, a broad smile in place as he took a deep breath to begin telling A’Cheng all the awful details.

“Boys,” she said, and they both settled quickly. She let them have a moment to calm down from the inherent glee of disgusting, fire-farting frogs.

“Ying’er, if you are pleased about the betrothal, then we will support you.”

“I…I really like him, JieJie. I don’t know if he feels the same. Maybe he just thinks he is obligated?” He looked tragically uncertain.

“If he doesn’t like you enough to marry you, then I’ll find those frogs and turn him into a fire fart myself!” A’Cheng announced, forgetting his former doubts as he hugged Ying’er.

Yanli suspected that Lan Wangji did actually feel the same, but it was not her place to force them to kiss or anything. Plenty of time for that after their wedding…speaking of which.

“You realize that you are only fifteen, and you cannot get married until you are twenty?” She asked, hiding a smirk.

“What?” Ying’er shrieked. “No! Blacksmith Cho’s son got married at seventeen! Why can’t I?”

“Because you can’t get Lan Wangji unexpectedly pregnant, you idiot!” A’Cheng smacked his arm.

“A’Cheng!” Yanli glared at him. He just sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Everyone knows it. All the market aunties talked about it for months. No one believes Little Fatty Cho was born three months early, JieJie,” A’Cheng said, looking very much like one of the aunties himself as he shook his head knowingly.

“Hmmm,” Ying’er hummed thoughtfully. Alarm bells went off in Yanli’s head.

“No. No wedding until you are properly an adult and have had your crowning ceremony,” she said ruthlessly.

There was a cough outside the door. It sounded like an older man, and Yanli’s mental alarms got louder. With wide eyes, she flapped her hands to get A’Cheng and Ying’er to leave through the back door quickly. They scrambled and were gone faster than rabbits, if not as quietly.

Yanli gave them an extra few moments to disappear by getting to her feet slowly. She finally went over to the door and opened it with a deep bow.

“Grandmaster Lan. This is one is honored to receive you.”

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren shuffled into the room like an elderly rooster, his previous physical grace lost to stress and, unfortunately, Ying’er’s confrontation with him earlier.

He took a seat and looked askance at the tea accouterments, which got Yanli busily setting them out and making them tea. She channeled every lesson she had ever received as a girl in serving tea to highly distinguished members of the gentry, going slowly and meticulously through every step of the process under Lan Qiren’s judgmental gaze. Oddly enough, the scrutiny calmed her down, as it reminded her of all the years of lessons at her mother’s side. Being a proper hostess of the gentry was something Yanli could do blindfolded and drunk (as her mother had once made her do as a test).

When she had placed his cup before him, he took it and sipped the tea. She waited patiently, trying to radiate elegance and feminine serenity. He finally put the cup down, and she refilled it.

“I assumed you would be in conference with Sect Leader Nie and Young Master Lan,” she prompted gently.

“They filled me in as I walked over here.” He cleared his throat again. “I realized as I meditated on the situation with Wei Ying that perhaps my judgment was clouded by circumstances.” He did not say he was sorry, or bow in apology, but given his age and status, she did not expect him to. It was an apology nonetheless, and required one in kind.

“I apologize for Wei Ying’s impulsive nature. I assure you, his heart is pure, and he has only the most righteous intentions.” She bowed her head, deciding for the moment not to bring up the issue of Ying’er’s scalded meridians.

“He has his mother’s brand of excitability.” Lan Qiren offered as he picked up his cup again.

“He will be delighted to hear it.”

Lan Qiren snorted but then caught himself and straightened up properly again. They sipped tea in silence for a while until he took a breath, as if steeling himself.

“When news of Madam Yu’s infidelity was delivered here, I admit I was quite certain that you and your brother—ah, your youngest brother, Jiang Cheng—would have been executed along with your mother.”

He said it more forthrightly than anyone else would have dared, but Yanli found comfort in that. It was a relief to not have to tiptoe around the truth, or suffer the pity of strangers.

“Many would condemn you for hiding behind a stranger's name, but I know what it is to try to raise two strong-willed boys against a backdrop of scandal and tragedy.” His gaze went distant, and Yanli did a double take. She had heard that the late Madam Lan had died in seclusion from a long illness, but it seemed there was more to the story. She decided to let it go and bowed in acknowledgement of his words.

“At the time, I thought being thrown out and disowned was the worst fate. I have since learned that there are many worse ways to live, and even more terrible ways to die. I am grateful to the heavens that I have been able to see both of my brothers survive to become strong cultivators in their own right. I hope that you may see them as I do, and not judge them for untamed, youthful pride.” 

“I have been accused of becoming intransigent in my old age, but I was thirteen when Lan Xichen was born.” He blinked slowly and picked up his tea again. “I believe the hardened shell of advanced age has yet to calcify around me,” he added drily, one eyebrow raised.

Yanli collected her wits and tried not to stare at the man who was nowhere near as old as she had assumed, tried to imagine having to raise a newborn when she was thirteen. At least the boys had been eleven, and she fifteen, when they had been thrown out. What could she have done if A’Cheng had been an infant? Other than cry? She yanked her thoughts away from that horror back to the moment.

“Indeed it has not, Grandmaster Lan.”

He huffed at her blatant flattery. “Be that as it may, my health has plagued me since childhood. Not enough to keep me from my duties, to my nephews or to this sect, but enough to affect me adversely when stressed. The news of Lan Wangji’s elopement was just such a situation, and Wei Ying did not improve upon it.”

“I sympathize, but again, I must stress that Ying’er’s heart is always righteous. He had no intention of trapping Lan Wangji into a betrothal without his consent.” She bowed formally from where she sat. “Whatever Wei Ying’s intentions or feelings on the matter, however, if Grandmaster Lan wishes to dissolve the betrothal, we will abide by that. We have no desire to offend the Gusu Lan.”

“I do not wish that. In fact, the opposite. I am here to confirm and solidify the betrothal.”

“You have such confidence in the youthful affections of boys?” She tilted her head, not quite mocking, but sincere in her doubts. Surely he, above all others, knew how flighty the fancy of young kids could be.

“Not in general, no,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “But in regards to my youngest nephew, yes.” He took a moment before setting down his cup again. “His mother died when he was six. Due to her…seclusion, he had not been allowed to see her often. Every visit, he would sit outside her door with a gift for her until the morning bell rang and she would let her sons in to spend the day with her. When she died, he either did not understand what death was, or refused to understand…with him, it is a toss up sometimes. He sat outside her door all day, then ran away from his room after bedtime to sit there all night.” He sighed again, looking into the distance at a faded but well-worn, unhappy memory. “He did that for months. No amount of punishment or explanations or pleading kept him from his self-appointed duty. I’m not sure he even knew why he was doing it or what he was waiting for, as it eventually became obvious she was not going to open the door. Yet, he persisted, long past reason.”

He finally looked at her again. “Even now, Lan Wangji is walking around without his sacred forehead ribbon. I believe he has made his choice.”

They once again lapsed into silence as Yanli considered his words. It suggested that Lan Wangji was tied to Ying’er in a way that would not be easily dismissed, even by the elders of his clan. She ordered her thoughts, considering the events of the past few days in light of Lan Qiren’s revelations about his nephew.

“You are at odds with a faction of the elders council, are you not?”

He blinked at her slowly, and for the first time, she clearly saw the blood ties between him and Lan Wangji.

“You are very observant,” he said noncommittally.

“I am the…I was raised as the eldest child of the leader of a great sect, Grandmaster Lan. While I was never considered a true heir, I was betrothed to one. I was taught to understand the politics around me, including the internal politics.”

His grimace was minute, but it was enough.

“Lan Hao has a faction against you?” She prompted.

“Indeed. He is my first cousin on my father’s side, and his son is a few years older than Xichen.”

A fight for the throne, then…although, as she considered it, she was unaware that the Lan had a throne. They were ostensibly far too egalitarian for that, she supposed.

“Wei Ying is technically a commoner, and even more-so a known sect deserter on top of that. I could have perhaps leaned on his mother’s lineage in a pinch, but then.” He stopped there, shaking his head and frowning. Yanli poured him another cup of tea, then began brewing some more.

“His association with the Burial Mounds adds fuel to Lan Hao’s argument, I suspect,” she said quietly.

He huffed, a small displeased sound. “You could say that. It would be a gross understatement, but you could say that.”

“But Lan Wangji is not the direct heir at this point. I think it would be more of an argument if we were discussing a betrothal to Lan Xichen.”

He glared at his cup for a moment. “There is more to the situation that is not up for discussion. Suffice to say, Lan Wangji’s impetuousness has caused quite a scramble among the elders.”

“With all due respect, Grandmaster Lan, I am unclear on how I could possibly be of assistance in this matter,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. She was genuinely regretful, but also, there really wasn’t much she could do for him.

“Inner Lan sect politics are not your responsibility, for which you should feel grateful. No, I am here for Lan Wangji’s sake.”

She blinked a few times before rallying. “You are? Ah, I mean—”

He waved a hand at her dismissively, and she snapped her mouth shut.

“He will be accompanying you to Qinghe Nie.”

She frowned. “Is that advisable?”

“It is not.” He said the words slowly, as if they were heavy. “But for one thing, Lan Yi charged him along with Wei Ying to retrieve the rest of the Yin iron shards. It would be extremely unfilial for any of the elders to countermand that, and even if they did, Wangji would likely do it anyway. His sense of duty is…acute.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“Were they simply two young boys of the gentry out on a night hunt, there would be no need to question their companionship. However, the issue is that as Wei Ying is betrothed to him, it would be highly inappropriate for them to travel together at all. Even chaperoned.”

“Ah.” She tapped her finger against her chin, thinking. “As such, it is an open door for Lan Hao’s faction to try and disrupt the betrothal, claiming that my brother behaved inappropriately along the way.”

He looked like he had eaten a very sour candy. It probably rankled him to talk about internal politics with her, but she was beginning to see why it was necessary.

“Does the elder council know of our identities?”

“I have left it unconfirmed, but Wei Ying is known by reputation, given his parents and the fact that he was the ward of Jiang Fengmian. It would not take a genius to figure out who his ‘new’ elder sister and younger brother are, even if they hadn’t heard the gossip out of Lotus Pier. I am sure a few recognized you, same as I did.”

“So, officially, the Second Jade of Lan is engaged to a disreputable commoner who was seen practicing unorthodox cultivation and is running off to Qinghe in the company of the Bastards of Yunmeng for unspecified reasons.” It was a pretty damning summation, and she could see clearly the problems it left Lan Qiren holding. Still, she had no idea what he was asking of her. He must have read her expression, as he nodded once and took a deep, steadying breath.

“The edict of Lan Yi has gone a long way with most of the council, but that does not change the facts as you have presented them.” He took another deep breath, and looked her directly in the eyes, which was possibly the most unsettling thing he had done yet.

“I am here to request that you not allow Wei Ying to ever use such evil arts again. Xichen and I can argue for Wangji’s happiness in the current circumstances, although the resistance is strong due to the politics. But if Wei Ying is known to actively court demonic practices through the yin iron, there will be nothing we can do to sway the council. Or, for that matter, general opinion in the gentry.”

“Then you would have to dissolve the betrothal,” she said, nodding in understanding. It was not a good situation, but she could see the forces at play.

“Yes…and no. I could try.” He frowned at the table between them. “I have told you the story of Lan Zhan’s youth, where he waited patiently for months on his knees in the depths of night, through all kinds of weather, for a dead woman to open a door. He would not wait so long if his fated one was simply farming over in Yiling.”

Her first thought was to correct him about the fact they were not farmers. Then the import of his words hit and she gasped, covering her mouth.

He nodded. “I do not believe Wangji would be at peace, leaving his natal sect, but I know he would do so, if pushed into a corner by the council. I have no leverage here, Miss Ji—Miss Wei. I am at your mercy. Please, please ensure through any means necessary that Wei Ying never practices the evil, unorthodox arts again. For his safety, yes, but also for my nephew’s happiness. For the sake of my family.”

He bowed then, obscenely deeply for such an elder to one of such low status as Yanli. She reached across the table to draw him up, but he stubbornly remained in position.

She could not promise such a thing, she knew. The road ahead of them was untested and already filled with too many unknowns. But she thought it was enough to try. She was not Yunmeng Jiang anymore, but “attempt the impossible” was too deeply ingrained in her to ever give up.

“I promise to do my best to ensure the happiness of our family, Grandmaster Lan.”

He straightened up and nodded, then slowly rose to his feet and shuffled out the door with no further words between them. There was nothing left to say.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Yanli found herself flying through the air towards the Unclean Realm.

She had not been on a sword in years by that point, but it was second nature to lean back and feed a bit of qi to the disciple who was giving her a ride to help offset the added stress of her weight.

“Unnecessary,” Lan Wangji intoned, not unkindly but firmly.

She just nodded and looked out at their convoy. Nie Huaisang was with his brother on Baxia, followed by Ying’er and A’Cheng each with a Nie disciple, while Meng Yao was being carried by the Lan disciple Su Minshan who did not look happy about it. A few other Lan and Nie disciples flared around them in defensive formation.

Ying’er had tried to finagle his way into riding with Lan Wangji, but Lan Qiren had put a stop to that with a glare that Yanli would remember to her dying day. Even Lan Xichen had shuffled backwards under the weight of it. Then Nie Mingjue offered to carry her, and A’Yao had said something pointed about propriety and so it was that she ended up riding with her brother-in-law-to-be and Ying’er with anyone else.

If she was a tiny bit disappointed that she did not get to nestle up to Nie Mingjue’s extremely broad and well-muscled chest, well, she was only human. No one ever had to know of her improper thoughts. Although she thought A’Yao might have picked up on them, with the sour looks he kept giving both her and the sect leader. She made a note to try to talk to him privately when they got to their destination.

She had almost been left behind with Lan Xichen but she had refused—politely at first, and then more sternly the more the men kept talking over her. It had finally taken A’Cheng slapping a hand on the table and shouting “Stop interrupting my elder sister!” before she got a chance to explain, quite simply, that where her brothers went, she would follow, whether by sword or by blood pool.

No one had dared argue with her after that, and soon they were on their way to Qinghe with Ying’er and Lan Yi’s (very well warded) yin iron shard.

And a murder of crows following behind them, which Ying’er swore was not a problem or ominous in any way. She did not blame anyone for not believing him.

When they landed a day later, deep within the massive fortress that was the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang flounced off with the bare modicum of politeness.

“Your room is that way!” Nie Mingjue yelled after him, pointing off in a different direction.

“The library is this way and I have a lot of work to do. No thanks to you!” Nie Huaisang did not even turn around as he shouted.

So, they were still on bad terms.

Nie Mingjue grimaced as he watched his brother go. Nie Zonghui approached him. “Sect Leader Nie.” He bowed, then glanced at Nie Huaisang’s retreating back. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said with feeling. Nie Zonghui startled for a moment, then realized they had unexpected guests.

“Miss Meng? Young Master Meng?” He looked around at them, confused. “Ah, Lan Wangji.” He bowed.

“Popo!” Nie Mingjue bellowed. Yanli looked around for a grandmother and instead saw a mountain of a woman stride over, as broad as Nie Mingjue if not as tall. She wore a truly elegant set of dark green robes in silk and velvet, embroidered heavily with silver qilins, and had a thick brace of braided gray hair piled up on her head, filled with beautiful hair pins, along with a massive saber strapped to her back. She did not look very old, other than the gray in her hair and slight wrinkles around her eyes, but she held herself with the weight of age and experience that younger cultivators could only pretend at.

“A’Jue. You boys fighting again?” She stood with her arms crossed, and while she was a head shorter than Nie Mingjue, she looked taller. The boys were thoroughly intimidated, and even Meng Yao stared at her with wide eyes.

“Please settle in our guests. I have to have an emergency conference with my lieutenants and the elders.” He bowed to them. “Rest well. We will be departing for the tombs in the morning, so we will discuss specifics later. I will send for you.” He left without much further fanfare, a very confused Nie Zonghui trailing behind him.

The woman they called Popo quickly whisked them off to guest quarters. The Lan all bunked together in austere barracks, including Lan Wangji, which was apparently a standing order for them when they visited.

Yanli, on the other hand, was shown a beautiful pavilion with private rooms and an attached bathing house. It felt like sliding back into her old life in the gentry, with the respectful address and the quiet servants arranging all their needs and requests. In the Cloud Recesses, everything was still very ad hoc and driven by necessity after their abrupt appearance in the heart of the sect’s grounds, but now in the Unclean Realm they were just another gentry family visiting the sect leader.

A’Cheng and Ying’er fell back into the formalities and expectations the same way Yanli did, although they waxed poetic about the small late lunch they were served of savory fried rice and a pile of spicy grilled meat.

They all took some time to refresh themselves and change into clothing more appropriate for guests of a great sect, most of them provided by Nie Huaisang courtesy of his extravagant shopping trip to Caiyi that his brother, tellingly, had not said one word about.

Throughout it all, Meng Yao was quiet, polite, and withdrawn.

A’Cheng, ironically the more socially adept of the two of them, picked up on the mood and asked Nie Popo to take him and Ying’er to an empty training yard so they could work out. Ying’er took the bait, and they ran out to go exploring. Nie Popo winked at Yanli and sauntered after them, which meant that for the first time in a long time, she did not feel compelled to worry about what they got up to.

“Come join me,” she said to Meng Yao, handing a small basket of sweet rice balls and tiny cakes to their assigned house maid. He looked after them for a moment before following. Out in the back was a lovely well tended garden, with an immaculately manicured miniature willow draped over a pond filled with brightly colored koi.

“Ah, are you familiar with the guest house?” A’Yao asked, bland and expressionless.

“No, but you visit one great sect’s guest house, you’ve visited them all.”

“Ah.” He sat down and watched as the maid set out their treats along with some chilled soy milk. Yanli motioned that she wanted privacy, so the girl scampered off to stand inside the main room, within sight but out of earshot. A’Yao watched her warily.

“Did you know the vase holding the plum tree branches by the entrance is an ancient Han piece?” He asked, again bland and expressionless.

She paused, thinking of the rustic but exquisite vase she had barely noticed in passing. It did not surprise her, though, since for all their brutal efficiency at cultivation, the Nie were still a great sect and rich enough to put such an expensive rarity in a guest house.

“I did not.”

He nodded as if she had confirmed a greater question, then sipped his milk.

“A’Yao, I beg of you to please share your burdens with me,” she said. “I see you are discomfited and would ease your mind if I can.”

He nodded and finally graced her with a small smile. Genuine, for all that his dimples did not appear.

“I understand what it means to be rich. Even in the Cloud Recesses, the elegance and expense were obvious.”

She nodded. “But they have a monastic tradition, and do not flaunt their wealth.” She thought about it for a moment. “Aside from the richness of their guans and outer silk robes.”

That garnered a chuckle. “How do they keep those robes clean?”

“It is a mystery that has haunted every housekeeper in the jianghu for generations!” She leaned over, as if sharing a secret.

He laughed, and they ate cakes in silence for a long while, enjoying the peace of the garden. Finally, he put down his cup and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I am simply wrong footed here. Oh, I know the etiquette. Between you and my mother, I am adept in any company, I like to think. But it is different. I see now the affectations of the Dragonfly Shoal were mere shades of true wealth. You simply handed that basket to a maid servant you expected to be there. You knew a private garden was yours to command. You know food will be served if you ask, that baths will be run. You do not need anyone to fawn over you because they already know their job is to keep you at peace by meeting every need.”

She really had no response to that, since it was true. Four years of relative poverty and obscurity could not erase fifteen years of privilege, she knew. Even the boys fell back into old habits, expecting that of course they would be shown to a training ground if they asked, and allowed to use it without any question of their right or qualification to do so.

“I cannot deny my rage that this is the life my mother should have had, and that I should have been raised in.” He closed his eyes. “I feel shame admitting that, but I cannot deny it. I fear you will think less of me for it.”

She reached over and picked up his hand, and he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I am fucking furious every day of my life,” she said softly.

He burst out with a loud, shocked laugh before covering his mouth with his sleeve. “Yanli!”

“I am angry at my mother for putting us in this situation. I can’t lie: I sometimes dream of a life where she destroyed those damn letters, where the evidence never surfaced and I am still the Young Mistress of Lotus Pier. I dream of a man who would have at least given us shelter when he discovered the truth, instead of taking out his rage on us. I dream of a betrothed who loved me enough to throw over the world to marry me, no matter my status. Every dream carries the cost of a rage that tears at my soul. A’Yao, I am so filled with resentment. And I fear I always will be.”

He had scooted closer as she talked, covering her hands with his.

“So I ask you the same question: do you think less of me for it?”

He shook his head. “No! Never, Yanli. You are so strong. So good. For all that I would burn the world down for what it has done to us, I would never bring harm to you. Never.”

She was not sure when they had leaned in so close, but their foreheads were touching as they whispered. “And I can say the same to you, A’Yao. You are good. You are kind. You are brilliant and clever and worth more than any damn vase.”

He chuckled. “Lao Wang would be so happy to hear you cussing.”

She giggled.

“What if I promised it all to you, Yanli? If I promised that we will take them down, those who hurt us and the ones we love? We will destroy them.”

“I would say you are extremely ambitious, Meng Yao.”

“I have a worthy goal to achieve.” He drew back to look at her and she thought, yes, kiss me. Please kiss me, A’Yao!

Right at that moment, the maidservant cleared her throat loudly.

They jumped apart and caught their breath as the front door slammed opened and the boys spilled in, jaunty and sweaty from their exercises, calling out for her as they made their way to the garden.

“We’re here to get cleaned up! Sect Leader Nie wants us to all conference together before dinner!” Ying’er said, then stopped short, looking between them in confusion.

A’Cheng just stood there, glaring at A’Yao. “Not you too!”

“Huh?” Ying’er looked at him. “What?”

“Never mind. Let’s go.” A’Cheng grabbed Ying’er and hauled him to the bathing room.

That’s when she noticed that A’Yao was blushing furiously and refusing to meet her eyes. She realized that if they had not been warned in time, her brothers would have walked in on them indecently kissing in public.

She looked over at the maidservant and mouthed the words “thank you” at her. She looked very smug and curtsied.

Chapter Text

They convened in what Yanli assumed was the Nie war room. She had seen the Lotus Pier war room a few times, and while it was very different from the what the Nie had set up, both had specific elements that identified them: layers of maps hung around the walls, and a large situation table that took up most of the center of the room. Only the major sects could afford to have an entire room dedicated to strategic planning for night hunts and possible battles, and the Nie unsurprisingly took it very seriously.

Yanli was astonished she and the others were even allowed inside. To give entrance to anyone from a different sect, much less complete strangers like herself and Meng Yao, so they could easily see the inner workings of the Qinghe Nie defenses was unprecedented.

From the sour expressions on a couple of Nie elder’s faces, it was also unpopular.

Currently on the table was a large map of the Qinghe Nie lands. Some parts were covered with paper to prevent the guests from seeing everything, but the uncovered parts showed the two well known approaches to the Unclean Realm, as well as a long mountain range that the fortress bucked up against. Yanli had seen maps that showed the mountainous area in vague gestures of ink, but this map showed them in considerable detail. She assumed it was the accumulated knowledge of generations.

Nie Huaisang stood next to his brother, looking far more serious and grim than she had ever seen. This was not the flighty boy who had bantered with her about poetry during long, slow days in Yiling while she embroidered on the porch. This was a sect heir, intense and focused on the matter at hand.

Nie Mingjue did not stand on formalities once the door swung shut. He stood proud but comfortable at the head of the table and looked around at them.

“This is a highly unorthodox meeting, but given the knowledge that Wei Ying has shared, I felt it appropriate.”

Nie Huaisang threw a vicious glance at the elders, who all rustled like nervous chickens but did not speak up.

“Wei Yanli, I assume you will not entertain the possibility of either your head disciple or your seneschal traveling with us to the sword crypts without your approval.”

There was another rustling around the room from the Nie. He was treating with her as if she were a sect leader, and using her birth father’s name to do so. She wondered for a moment exactly how difficult it was to sell this meeting to his full council of elders and lieutenants, for him to make such a declaration of her status.

She desperately wanted to look over her shoulder to see what A’Yao’s reaction was to being described as her highest ranking administrative aid. In most larger sects, the seneschal was of equal standing with the head disciple, and would naturally be in attendance at such a meeting. It was a neat way for Nie Mingjue to include A’Yao in an official capacity, but Yanli wished he could have warned them beforehand.

As it was, she wrapped herself in the memory of her mother standing by the Lotus Throne: proud, unbending, sharp.

“You are correct, Sect Leader Nie. My brothers and Meng Yao are precious to me and none of them will take a journey where their safety is not guaranteed to me, personally.”

She must have pulled it off, since out of the corner of her eye, she caught A’Cheng and Ying’er gazing at her with awestruck expressions.

Nie Mingjue nodded, then picked up a short pole and explained the strange path to the crypts, pointing it out on the map, and how long it would take to get there and back, approximately.

“If this one may ask a clarifying question, Sect Leader Nie?” A’Yao bowed formally.

“This is the time for it, Seneschal Meng.”

“Why are the sabers buried separately from their masters?”

“That is Nie sect business!” One of the elders snapped, stepping forward.

Nie Mingjue shrugged a little, but before he could agree with them, Ying’er leaned over the map and tapped it.

“That much resentful energy? It probably drove them mad and would keep them from moving on to their next life if their sabers weren’t locked away under wards,” Ying’er said thoughtfully, staring at the map. “Don’t your sect leaders usually die of qi deviations?”

Nie Mingjue actually put a hand over his eyes while the elders and Nie Zonghui looked thoroughly scandalized. Yanli squared her shoulders but said nothing, knowing that her lack of censure would imply approval of Ying’er’s brash forthrightness.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang hissed like a wet cat. “They do.”

“Sang’er—”

Nie Huaisang leaned over the map, slamming both of his fists on the table to brace himself while he stared at Yanli.

“That’s the deal, Sect Leader Wei. We help you find the yin iron for your collection; you allow Disciple Wei Ying to help us solve our resentful energy problem.”

“Nie Huaisang!” Several people yelled out at the same time.

Yanli could tell that A’Cheng was quietly practicing one of his breathing exercises while Ying’er looked at Nie Huaisang with wide eyes.

“Miss Wei Yanli, please disregard my brother’s rash demands. I understand the severity of the crisis with the yin iron, and will not be asking for favors in return. We all want to find a way to stop Wen Ruohan’s vile practices with it.” Nie Mingjue actually bowed—not deeply, but far more than a sect leader should to anyone who was not also a sect leader.

She paused, and A’Yao looked directly at her. His expression was blank, but his eyes spoke volumes. This, he was saying, was jianghu politics. To solve such a problem for the Nie would win them a lifetime of alliances, but to do that—to guarantee her brothers and Meng Yao a chance at being accepted as cultivators by the gentry of the great sects—she would have to step up and claim her birthright as both the daughter of Wei Changze and Yu Ziyuan.

It was time for Meng Jiayi to step aside so Wei Yanli could rise from the ashes.

She stepped up closer to the table and set her fingertips on it, softly mirroring Nie Huaisang’s pose.

“The Yiling Wei sect would be honored to assist Qinghe Nie in solving this problem, if it’s possible. Senior Disciple Wei Ying is a genius of the cultivation arts, and his understanding of the workings of resentful energy might well find the solution to this fatal flaw in Nie cultivation. I cannot make guarantees, but I commit us to sharing this path with you, without demands or compensation.” She lifted her hands and bowed back to Nie Mingjue, no more or less than he had bowed to her. She then gave another shallower bow to Nie Huaisang, who finally straightened up and bowed in return, a precisely elegant gesture from the heir of one sect to the leader of another.

One of the Nie elders harrumphed and walked out of the room gracelessly, but the others stayed, curiously observing Wei Ying. A’Cheng stood proudly next to him, looking like one of his prized chickens had laid an egg made of gold, and daring anyone to say otherwise.

Meng Yao stepped up next to her. “I suggest we return to planning this trip first.”

At that, they got down to figuring out the details. Yanli was not happy at the thought of A’Yao and Ying’er going off on such a dangerous journey without her, but the only way to keep A’Cheng back was for her to stay back as well. She knew that Lan Wangji would insist on going along, no matter what Nie Mingjue said about it, and there would also be Nie Zonghui and several other high ranking Nie to protect them.

When they had nailed down the details, Nie Mingjue nodded at two of his aides, who rolled up the map and set it aside. Another aide swept in and unfurled a different map, smaller and less detailed. Yanli looked at it with a gasp as A’Cheng and Ying’er ooohed and ahhhhed over it.

“This is Qishan?” A’Yao asked, leaning over it curiously.

“As best we know. A lot of this is gleaned from older maps, but I doubt the landscape has changed much over the decades.” Nie Mingjue turned to Ying’er. “You said the next piece you are going after once we’re done here is to find the Xuanwu of Slaughter.” He waved a hand over the map. “Any ideas?”

Ying’er scrunched up his face and shook his head.

“Here.” A’Cheng said, pointing at a river valley.

“Huh? She’s in a cave!” Ying’er batted at his hand.

“Yeah, and if she’s in a cave near Nightless City, Wen Ruohan would have found her already! Look at this landscape. She’d need a big cave, and you said she’s resting in a pond or underground lake. It would need to be someplace far away from towns and villages, and probably not close to farming land either. Look at the waterways. Here, and here.” He moved around the map. “Maybe here, if she’s deep enough in the mountain, but she’s not anywhere with fast runoff. We’ve had traders from up that river for generations, right JieJie? So that’s old, steady water, and these are slumpy, old mountains. So, here, or here.”

Yanli could not keep the smile off her face. “You just need to know how to read the water,” she said, and he looked up with a grin. Ying’er bounced over, pointing at the map.

“Yeah! Yeah, that—” he stopped dead and went completely still, his eyes going unfocused.

“Ying’er?” Yanli asked while A’Cheng tried poking him.

Slowly, a wide and malicious grin spread over his face, and his eyes took on the deep red cast that she feared so much. Every saber in the room started rattling, unsettling the Nie, a few of whom actually shifted away from the table with disturbed expressions.

“He’s here,” Ying’er said, or perhaps it was the Burial Mounds. Or the yin iron.

“Ying’er, listen to me,” she said, forcing him to turn and look at her. It was unsettling to see him look so wrong, as if he were just the shell holding a far older, far more malevolent creature.

“It’s okay, MeiMei. We will only get more powerful now.”

Outside, a crow shrieked.

“That is so creepy,” Nie Huaisang whispered to A’Cheng.

Just then, a guard walked in and went over to Nie Zonghui to murmur in his ear, who frowned and motioned for the guard to stand by.

“Sect Leader,” he said. Only then did Nie Mingjue look away from Ying’er and acknowledge the interruption. He nodded.

“There are two rogue cultivators at the front gate requesting an audience.”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue waited.

“Yes, sir. They claim to have captured the notorious criminal, Xue Yang.”

Chapter Text

Several years ago, gossip had ripped through the jianghu so terrible in nature that it overshadowed any lingering scandal about Madam Yu: an entire minor sect had been massacred by mysterious means, possibly through demonic cultivation. Signs went up everywhere for the capture of the dangerous criminal, Xue Yang, who had claimed responsibility and then disappeared.

The drawings showed a handsome young boy with a deranged smile, and Yanli wondered who he was, and what would drive him to such an act. Even given her own rage at her former sect, she knew she could never kill everyone there in cold blood. (Maybe just one person, but she hid that thought deep, deep down.)

But then time moved on and new “wanted” posters replaced Xue Yang’s face with older, less accomplished but still dangerous criminals, and Yanli had honestly forgotten about him completely.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen obviously had not.

“Laoshi Song!”

“Shishu!”

A’Cheng and Ying’er started running towards them as soon as they came into view. Song Daoren raised his horsehair whisk without changing his expression or letting go of Xue Yang, and both boys immediately slowed down to a respectable trot.

“Do you know them?” Nie Mingjue asked her.

“We do. They have been teaching Ying’er and A’Cheng for nearly two years now. As well, Xiao Xingchen is Wei Ying’s martial uncle, being a disciple of the honored immortal Baoshan Sanren.”

“Oh!” Nie Zonghui nodded. “I’d heard that another of her disciples had come down the mountain a few years ago! What an honor.” He looked about ten years younger with the star-struck expression on his face. They were overheard and soon a lot more Nie were shouldering each other around the edges of the plaza, angling to get a peek at Xiao Xingchen.

Who was, currently, hugging the stuffing out of both Ying’er and A’Cheng, a broad smile on his face. They had both grown since the daoren had visited, and it surprised Yanli to realize that while they definitely were not quite adults, both of them were almost as tall as Xiao Daoren. (Where had the time gone, she wondered? Why didn’t she feel quite so grown up herself, yet?)

Then he frowned, and pulled back to inspect Ying’er. She could not hear what he said, but it was easy enough to read his lips: what did you do? Ying’er looked meek and A’Cheng launched into some kind of diatribe, pointing at Ying’er.

Song Daoren kept walking forward, pulling Xue Yang by the arm. The boy, for Yanli thought he was probably of age with A’Cheng, was bound neck to knee in spirit binding rope, his feet shuffling fast to keep up with his captor. She found it hard to believe that one so young could have committed such acts of violence, but then she remembered how much she had learned over the past few years about the depths of depravity that humans possessed. He looked dangerous, even tied up and gagged, but Yanli couldn’t help but pity him. What a horrific childhood he must have had, to be driven to such insanity.

Song Daoren bowed. “This one is Song Lan, courtesy name Zichen, of no sect or alliance.”

That caught Yanli’s attention, as it represented a complete break with Baixue Temple.

“This one is Nie Mingjue, sect leader of Qinghe Nie. We welcome you, Song Daoren, to the Unclean Realm.”

“We have brought Xue Yang for trial. May justice be served.” He pulled Xue Yang forward. He was gagged, but he leered at Nie Mingjue like the cheapest sister in a brothel, who cringed at the attention.

“By the gods,” he muttered.

By that point, Xiao Xingchen and the boys had walked up. Xiao Xingchen was frowning, with his hand on the back of Ying’er’s neck. He gave Yanli a disappointed look, which immediately made her feel one inch tall, even though she was not sure what she had done to warrant it.

“Miss Meng, what happened after we left? It’s as if resentment carved a channel right through him.” He shook Ying’er like a kitten.

“It is a very long story, Xiao Daoren,” she said with honest regret.

Whatever he was going to say next was cut short by Xue Yang bodily flinging himself out of Song Daoren’s grasp and into Ying’er. He body-slammed him as hard as he could, hurtling both of them forward. Yanli barely had time to register what was happening before A’Yao grabbed her and swung her out of the way.

Xue Yang was screaming through the gag and kicking at Ying’er, who was so shocked that he just tried his best to scramble away. Everyone lunged at them all at once, the daoren and the Nie and Lan Wangji.

Yanli thought she landed on her feet wrong when A’Yao put her down, but instead she watched in confused horror as the ground rippled under their feet like water. There was a muffled explosion and for a brief terror-filled moment, she thought a volcano had erupted beneath them as people screamed and fell down, Nie Mingjue crashing gracelessly into Lan Wangji as several other Nie collapsed onto each other like falling trees, including Nie Popo. Before she could even understand what was happening, she found herself on her back, lying on top of A’Yao who still had his arms wrapped around her.

A guttural scream rent the air as Xue Yang, completely free of the gag and the ropes, stood up. Blood was dripping from his nose and eyes, which were deep red, so dark they looked almost black. He launched himself at Ying'er, hands outstretched like claws.

"IT'S MINE! GIVE IT TO ME!"

Xue Yang's first lunge missed Ying'er by a hair's breadth, the latter twisting away at the last second. The movement was so fast it left a ghostly afterimage, confusing Yanli as she tried to watch. Ying'er countered with a swift palm strike to Xue Yang's chest, but he seemed to absorb the blow, using the momentum to spin and deliver a vicious back kick.

Yanli had trouble keeping up with the fight by that point. Both Ying'er and Xue Yang moved in ways that should have been impossible, slipping through clouds of resentful energy, appearing and disappearing like demons, moving far faster than even advanced cultivators should be able to do. It was like watching a water spout over a lake, unpredictable and deadly.

The two danced around each other, their movements a blur of strikes, blocks, and counterattacks. Ying'er's style was fluid and graceful, each motion flowing into the next like water over stones. In contrast, Xue Yang fought with raw, animalistic fury, his attacks wild and unpredictable, yet devastatingly effective.

The problem was that no one could get close enough to break them apart. Going in with swords and sabers would likely get Ying'er sliced to ribbons along with Xue Yang, and the ones who tried to leap directly into the fisticuffs—Lan Wangji, Nie Mingjue, Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen—ended up wrapped up in resentful energy and thrown away like children's toys.

From one moment to the next, Ying'er and Xue Yang were fighting out in the open and then completely obscured by the resentful energy spinning around them. The dark miasma pulsed and writhed, occasionally revealing glimpses of the brutal fight within.

Yanli caught a flash of Ying'er's face, contorted with effort, as he narrowly dodged a crushing blow from Xue Yang. The miss left Xue Yang overextended, and Ying'er capitalized on it, driving an elbow into his opponent's ribs with a sickening crack. But Xue Yang seemed to feel no pain, retaliating with a head-butt that sent both of them reeling.

Yanli was screaming, trying to crawl towards them as the ground continued to shift disturbingly under their feet, but A'Yao was holding her back, yelling at her to stay safe and out of the maelstrom. Next to her, Song Daoren was holding A'Cheng face down, their legs locked together and his hands on her brother's back to keep him in place as he tried to claw his way towards the fight.

The swirling resentful energy was a separate force, and even Baxia was unable to completely cut through it despite Nie Mingjue's unbelievably powerful swings. Each time his blade met the dark energy, it sparked and hissed, like water on hot iron, but failed to penetrate.

Yanli kept screaming Ying'er's name, but either he didn't hear her or didn't care. Her voice was lost in the whoosh of displaced air and the thunderous impacts of blows landing.

When she could see them, they were grappling with each other more like street brawlers than martial artists, for all that their moves reflected the advanced skills they both possessed. Ying'er managed to catch Xue Yang's wrist, twisting it at an unnatural angle. But Xue Yang seemed oblivious to pain, dropping his weight and using Ying'er's grip to throw him over his shoulder.

Ying'er hit the ground hard but rolled with the impact, springing back to his feet with inhuman agility. He barely had time to raise his guard before Xue Yang was on him again, raining down a flurry of strikes and kicks. Ying'er weathered the storm, his defense an impenetrable wall, his expression focused as he waited for his moment to strike.

That moment came when Xue Yang over committed to a flying kick. Ying'er slipped inside his guard, grabbed Xue Yang's extended arm and used his own momentum to slam him into the ground. The impact shook the earth, sending tremors through the already unstable plaza. But Xue Yang did not stay down, and rolled to his feet with a grimace and snarl.

A Nie cultivator grabbed his chance and ran forward to slice down Xue Yang, but the boy shifted and flung a spear of resentful energy at him. He did not duck in time and ended up with his shoulder being sliced open to the bone. He fell with a painful shriek.

Ying’er stepped back, glaring at Xue Yang, and whistled. It was an eerie sound, less a tune than a long, plaintive note. The resentful energy hanging like a fog around them shifted, and Xue Yang looked at Ying’er contemplatively.

A large murder of crows dived straight down, shrieking in answer to the call. In an instant, they transformed into ghostly soldiers, wreathed in the dirty haze of resentment, their weapons inky black and glistening like blood, their faces shielded by helmets. Yanli gasped at the vision of Ying'er in front of them, snarling, his eyes red like the deep embers of an old fire, one hand reaching out with fingers like talons.

Xue Yang lunged, raging, screaming with the voices of a thousand angry, betrayed souls and charged at Ying'er, heedless of his strange army of ghost crow soldiers whose armor moved like feathers as they raised their swords. The entire plaza was instantly doused with a thick, toxic fog that Yanli prayed was not corpse poisoning powder.

Through the murk, Yanli could make out the silhouettes of the two combatants, locked once more in a brutal exchange, the ghost crow soldiers somehow keeping them contained to the plaza and also keeping Xue Yang from getting too much leverage. The fog amplified every sound, every impact echoing like thunder. She heard the sickening crunch of bone, followed by a howl of pain that could have come from either them.

Between one breath and the next, the crows took to the air in their true form again, lifting the fog with them.

As the mist cleared, the scene it revealed was one of carnage. The ground was littered with black feathers and dark, viscous liquid that had to be blood but in amounts that would suggest a major battle, not a one-on-one fight. Xue Yang was sprawled on the ground, strapped down as if in a spider's web with ropes of resentful miasma that pulsed flares of bright red power. He was surrounded by the bodies of dead crows, and Ying'er stood over him, his face a bloody mess. Overhead, the surviving crows circled, their unearthly cries of mourning overpowering the sounds of the panic-stricken humans below.

The fight was over, but the tension in the air remained, thick and oppressive. Yanli stared at Ying'er, barely recognizing the battered, wild-eyed figure as her beloved brother. As the moments dragged on, an eerie silence fell over the plaza, broken only by the ragged breathing of the combatants and the mournful caws of the circling crows.

“You don’t deserve it! You didn’t earn it! It’s mine! By right of blood, it’s mine!” Xue Yang screamed, his face a rictus of fury.

Ying’er made a small gesture and a tentacle of energy wrapped around Xue Yang’s face, covering his mouth and effectively shutting him up. With a sigh, Ying’er said something quiet, and Xue Yang started thrashing in the first display of genuine panic she had seen from him yet. It was so unsettling that everyone went quiet again, and Yanli held her breath.

Ying’er reached down and down and with a deep horror, Yanli realized that he was literally clawing through cloth and skin to reach into Xue Yang’s body. He rummaged around as if looking for a trinket in a qiankun bag while Xue Yang spasmed in mute agony, then withdrew his hand and held aloft a piece of metal no bigger than a small egg, dripping blood and gore.

Yin iron.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji’s shout of horror and despair broke through the haze, and Ying’er cocked his head as if he heard him from a great distance.

Without saying anything, he pulled out the warded qiankun bag holding Lan Yi’s piece of yin iron and dropped the new addition into it. He stood up, ignoring the shaking mess of Xue Yang crying on the ground, and held the bag aloft. A massive crow dived down and grabbed it, flying away with it tight in its talons. The other crows spun and followed it into the distance.

When Yanli looked back down, she saw Ying’er standing there, still bloodied but no longer red of eye or reeking resentment. All of the foul energy was simply gone. All that remained was just him standing in the middle of the blood-soaked plaza, surrounded by freaked out, fully armed Nie with a broken, whimpering Xue Yang at his feet.

He gave her a thumbs up and passed out.

Chapter Text

The Nie medic who had helped Wei Ying recover from his use of the array after the bandit attack was the second person to sprint towards Ying’er in the plaza, following on the heels of the trail blazed by Lan Wangji. They both nearly tripped over crow bodies and the broken pavers, the ground having ruptured from the earthquakes caused by Xue Yang’s fury.

The resulting commotion was loud and chaotic, with Xiao Xingchen protecting a mortally wounded Xue Yang from immediate execution by enraged Nie disciples while more Nie doctors made their way through, along with one of the Lan who was also, apparently, a medic. Lan Wangji was on his knees holding Ying’er, looking angrier than Yanli thought he could look, although she suspected that was due more to his fear and worry than actual anger.

She sent out a silent apology to Lan Qiren, because whatever happened from there on out, there was no hiding or downplaying Ying’er’s connection to unorthodox cultivation.

A’Yao was holding Yanli around the waist to keep her in check. Song Daoren had finally allowed A’Cheng to stand up, but had a firm grip on his robes. She was glad of it after a moment to catch her breath, since there wasn’t much she could do either, and it was better to stay out of the way of the doctors. Eventually, both wounded boys were carted off with Lan Wangji and Xiao Xingchen acting as bodyguards. Song Daoren and A’Cheng followed quietly behind.

Finally, finally, quiet descended.

Nie Mingjue stood in the middle of the broken plaza with Baxia’s tip resting on the stone, his hands on her hilt and staring at the blood at his feet. Both fighters undoubtedly lost a lot of blood during the vicious battle, but it looked like there was too much blood there, more as if a huge massacre had occurred and only the blood, and none of the bodies, were left behind. The dead crows, of which there were at least a dozen, could not bleed so much.

Everyone was walking around the bodies of the birds carefully, obviously remembering the demon soldiers they had been only moments before.

“What happened here, Wei Yanli?”

A’Yao bristled at the informal address, but Yanli could tell there was no disrespect behind it. Nie Mingjue was talking to her as an equal, as one elder sibling to another.

“Wei Ying has been channeling resentment since he activated the array during the bandit attack. You know he communes with the Burial Grounds, and with the yin iron, for all that neither are fully sentient. We have known it was unhealthy for him and have been trying to find ways to reduce its effect, but clearly we have failed in our duty to him.” She paused, then bowed deeply. A’Yao, taking her cue, bowed with her. “This one apologizes for the trauma caused to the Unclean Realm due to my oversight and underestimation of the danger.”

Nie Mingjue let her stay that way for a long moment, then sighed. “I don’t think any of us were planning on a powerful demonic cultivator showing up and challenging your brother to dual,” he said, his expression serious, but his tone of voice sardonic.

Yanli stood again and tucked her hands into her sleeves to hide how much they were shaking. She waited for Nie Mingjue to continue, A’Yao as placid and strong as deep water next to her.

In the meantime, Nie Huaisang approached, grimacing and tip-toeing through the muck, holding his skirts up nearly to his knees. He stopped once or twice to inspect the crows, then give instructions on their handling to a very nervous looking disciple, who peeled off to go start ordering others on what to do.

When he was standing next to his brother (skirts still held indecently high, but also high enough not to get soaked with blood), he sighed extravagantly.

“Is that the kind of power we can expect from Wen Ruohan?”

Nie Mingjue startled at the question, moving through surprise to horror to grim fury. Yanli had not thought that far down the road herself, and suspected the answer was probably “yes, and worse.” But that was just a guess.

“I cannot say, Young Master Nie.” She shook her head.

“With all due respect, this one can.” A’Yao spoke directly to her, bowing. She hated it a little bit, missing their familiar informality, but it was completely proper form for a seneschal.

“If you have insight to share, I think we all would welcome it,” she replied, giving him a nod of approval.

He stood up again. “Ying’er has talked informally with me and A’Cheng, as his brothers, about his connection to the Burial Mounds.” At Yanli’s displeased expression, he shrugged. “He refused to tell you about it, fearing that it would worry you.”

“I am fully and completely worried at this point,” she said in exasperation.

“This one apologizes. I was trying to watch him, to see if he was getting worse, before coming to you.” He did look genuinely apologetic, at least, before continuing on. “According to him, the Burial Mounds and the yin iron are intimately connected, as they were created at around the same time. As we all know, the Burial Mounds was the site of a savage battle between cultivators in ancient times. The resentful energy unleashed in that battle created the yin iron, the Burial Mounds, and—according to Ying’er—the Xuanwu of Slaughter as well. All three are linked, and when the yin iron was later stolen and broken apart by Xue Chonghai, it affected them deeply.

“We already know that when Ying’er used the yin iron given to him by Lan Yi, he saw where the other pieces were. This is how he knew what Wen Ruohan is up to, and about the Nie crypts. What he saw of the Fire Palace in Nevernight…no boy should ever see.”

“He told you details?” Nie Mingjue demanded.

“Not so much, Sect Leader Nie. But he’s been suffering nightmares ever since.” He gave Yanli another apologetic look. “It’s one reason he has not pushed too hard to use the yin iron again to figure out where the Xuanwu of Slaughter is. That, and he’s concerned about what has been revealed to Wen Ruohan.”

Nie Huaisang gasped. “It goes both ways?”

A chill went down Yanli’s spine, and Nie Mingjue reared back.

“Meng Yao! Why didn’t you tell me?” Yanli demanded.

He bowed to her again. “I was hoping to use the trip to the Nie crypts to convince him to tell you the full truth of the matter, or at least tell Sect Leader Nie. I was…superseded.” He motioned at the drying blood on the ground.

Nie Huaisang had let go of his skirts in shock, and was busy collecting them back up again as he talked. “But if using the yin iron shows where the other pieces are, what is holding Wen Ruohan back?” He paused, thinking. “He thought he had time. He had no idea anyone else would discover any of the pieces, and no reason to expect us to succeed at it even if we tried.”

A’Yao nodded. “I believe Ying’er’s use of the Burial Mounds in his protective array for our home all those months ago effectively woke the sleeping giant. There is no way to be sure, but if it were me sitting in the Fire Palace with two pieces of the yin iron, I would be doing a lot to make certain that I could get the other pieces without disturbing the Burial Mounds. He spent several decades securing the first two pieces, and he’s a powerful cultivator who will live a long time, all other things being equal.”

“He’s been leading up to a war of conquest my whole life,” Nie Mingjue countered.

“Exactly. Your whole life—that’s possibly only a tenth of his own life span. If war comes in two years or twenty years, it is probably all the same to him. He can afford to play with the string, teasing the cat, for as long as he wants. He’s already outlived one family, after all. I imagine he is far more worried about provoking the Burial Mounds than he is about antagonizing Qinghe Nie.”

“But not anymore,” Yanli said with a long exhale. “Ying’er has put a target on all of us.” She put a hand over her eyes.

“Do not rebuke yourself, Wei Yanli. I assure you that target was put on all of us long before you or I were born,” Nie Mingjue said, more kindly than the situation warranted. “But, Wei Ying has definitely moved up the timetable.” He turned to A’Yao. “Is it possible that he got a better picture of how things stand with Wen Ruohan, after…this?” He wrinkled his nose as he gestured at the plaza. Off towards the edges, servants and disciples were already bringing buckets of water, brooms, and mops to start cleaning.

A’Yao nodded, and Yanli hated him a little for it.

“Yes, but back to your original question: is this the kind of violence we can expect from Wen Ruohan? No. Not even a little bit. With two or more pieces of the yin iron and his insatiable lust for power, we can expect much, much worse.”

Nie Mingjue looked at his brother, but Yanli could not interpret the exchange.

“There are those who will say a man possessed by the spirit of the Burial Mounds should not be allowed to live,” Nie Huaisang said delicately, trying to hide behind his fan while not letting go of skirts.

A’Yao relaxed and put on a charming smile that Yanli knew hid a killing rage. There was a reason the drunkard of a wood carver had left town and never returned after trying to sell his eldest daughter to slave traders—according to A’Cheng, the man had pissed himself when A’Yao had smiled, given him a few coins, and whispered in his ear. No one had ever seen him again. A’Yao was still the accountant for the wife and daughters, who apparently had been the ones doing all the actual wood carving.

“I would not suggest any of the Nie try,” A’Yao said. “Not only would that immediately break our alliance, but I would like to remind you of what we just witnessed.”

They all looked at him quizzically.

“For one who is soaked in resentful energy to go up against one who commands resentful energy is a folly of staggering proportions.” He gestured broadly at the blood-soaked plaza they were standing in the middle of.

Nie Huaisang wore an expression of enlightenment, while Nie Mingjue grimaced and cast a wary look at Baxia.

“The Nie will not break oath with you, Sect Leader Wei,” Nie Huaisang said, bowing as best he could while still holding his skirts aloft with one hand and his fan with his other.

Nie Mingjue nodded heavily. “There is too much at stake for the Nie to be so foolish, not simply for our own sake. With the yin iron in hand, Wen Ruohan is capable of releasing untold horrors into the world in the name of subjugating the jianghu. It would not surprise me if his gaze is set on the imperial throne, in time. Finding the other pieces of the yin iron is the key to this fight, however long it takes.”

“Need I remind you, Sect Leader Nie, that if we are correct, then war is on the immediate horizon, and time is running out,” A’Yao said with a regretful glance at Yanli. “It might just be that our greatest weapon is not the yin iron, but the boy who can wield it.”

Chapter Text

A’Cheng did the work of worrying about Ying’er for all of them, pacing around their guest pavilion in an endless loop until Song Daoren showed up to drag him off to training. Yanli gave him a grateful nod and the usually stoic cultivator actually returned it with a small, kind smile of understanding.

Lan Wangji had all but moved into the medical rooms where Ying’er was kept, only leaving when the chief Nie doctor threatened to physically throw him out. He played Lan healing songs endlessly while Ying’er was unconscious, so Yanli was willing to leave him be, even if technically it was inappropriate for him to be so companionable with his betrothed.

Ying’er woke up the next afternoon anyway, then bounced back from his ordeal fully by the day after that. He then proceeded to harangue absolutely everyone about the trip to the Nie crypts until the doctors cleared him for travel, probably out of self-defense.

They left the morning after a very short afternoon of riding lessons for both Ying’er and A’Yao, neither of whom had much experience riding horses outside of the occasional lift given by a farmer. Ying’er, of course, had taken to it like he was born to ride, while A’Yao kept a polite smile plastered on his face the whole time. Yanli, who once considered herself a passable horsewoman, felt bad for them since they had no idea how exhausting and sore they would be after a full day in the saddle. (At least A’Yao had taken her warnings seriously, and packed a kit filled with muscle cream and pain killers.)

Yanli had been surprised that the top three Nie—Mingjue, Huaisang, and Zonghui—all went together on the journey. They left the fortress in the competent hands of Nie Popo, but it was very telling. A’Yao had not been happy about it either, expressing his worry that it meant the crypts were even more dangerous than the Nie had let on. Yanli did not embarrass him by saying so aloud, but she was very glad that Lan Wangji was going along specifically to protect Ying’er.

On the morning of the fourth day, while Yanli and A’Cheng quietly ate breakfast in their rooms and tried not to act as worried as they felt, her maidservant Liu Peng rushed in without announcing herself.

“Sect Leader Wei! Nie Popo has requested your presence immediately! Second Young Master Wei as well!”

Yanli almost asked who “Second Young Master Wei” was until she saw A’Cheng climb to his feet, then felt embarrassed about forgetting that they were all acknowledged Wei now.

She stood up. “Have we heard from Sect Leader Nie?” She asked cautiously, fearing the worst.

“No! No, this has something to do with visitors who arrived this morning!”

She and A’Cheng exchanged puzzled looks, but quickly followed the anxious servant out of the guest pavilion and into the heart of the fortress. They were taken to a large suite of rooms that Yanli assumed were the sect leader’s offices, where Nie Popo stood in the middle of the main room while several of her personal assistants sacked what looked like a records room. She turned on Yanli with a gimlet eye.

“Well, Miss Yanli, it’s time for you to decide just how far you are taking this ‘sect leader’ lark.” Nie Popo put her hands on her hips.

A’Cheng, predictably, bristled at the tone, but Yanli put a hand on his forearm, holding him back.

“I consider it less of a ‘lark’ than a necessity at this point, Nie Popo.”

The older woman studied her for a long, tense moment, something strange shifting in her eyes that Yanli could not pin down, her long silvery nails tapping on the cover of a book in her hands. Even the assistants had all come to a standstill to watch them. A’Cheng straightened up and Yanli realized just how much he had grown over the past four years, looking less like a lost little boy and more like the highly skilled cultivator he was always meant to be.

“Good.” Nie Popo glanced at her team, who all jumped back into whatever they were doing. “That’s very good. Because not along ago, Sect Leader Jiang showed up at our gates with a beaten down squad of cultivators and a very pregnant wife, demanding our assistance in re-taking Lotus Pier from the Wen army.”

All the air left Yanli’s lungs, and A’Cheng visibly startled, stepping backwards as if he could escape the news. Nie Popo gave them a slow nod of sympathy.

“Follow me.” She lead them into a smaller conference room and they all sat down. Yanli concentrated on breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts while Nie Popo’s secretary set out tea for them. A’Cheng grabbed his tea cup like a dying man.

“I have not spoken to him much longer than it took to hear his request and then send him off to guest quarters. What I can tell you is that it is a small squadron who have been traveling hard, and that this might possibly be all that remains of the Yunmeng Jiang sect in its entirety.”

A’Cheng gasped, and Yanli’s mind went spiraling away from her again. Nie Popo had the decency to give them time to collect themselves.

“Why didn’t he go to Lanling Jin? It’s closer,” A’Cheng finally asked, looking between Yanli and Nie Popo.

If anything, Nie Popo’s expression turned even more grim. “He did, apparently. Jin Guangshan offered to take them in but refused further aid, claiming a desire not to antagonize the chief cultivator.” She rubbed her eyes. “Our spies have told us that relations between Lanling Jin and Yunmeng Jiang cooled considerably after Madam Yu’s execution, but we don’t know if that was Madam Jin’s influence or if Sect Leader Jin simply wanted to distance himself from the scandal. In any case, no one is surprised by Sect Leader Jin’s unwillingness to go to war with Wen Ruohan over Lotus Pier, including Sect Leader Jiang.”

“Nie Popo, why would he come here? Yunmeng Jiang and Qinghe Nie have always enjoyed cordial relationships, but to my knowledge that never extended to a full alliance,” Yanli said as A’Cheng nodded next to her.

“You are correct on both counts. Never out of any discord, simply that we’ve never felt it necessary to extend that connection further than occasional cooperation on night hunts and, of course, trade relations. But his options were Qinghe Nie or Gusu Lan.” She spread her hands wide. It made sense, since if one was looking to ask for martial aid, then the logical choice was to go to the Qinghe Nie, who were already as-good-as at war with Qishan Wen.

“Do you intend to aid him?” A’Cheng asked through clinched teeth.

Nie Popo shook her head. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. With A’Jue, Sang’er, and Zong’er off on a night hunt, there is simply no one here with that authority.”

Yanli tilted her head, studying Nie Popo. “Or, at least, that is what you told Sect Leader Jiang.”

She gave her a broad grin. “I’m just A’Jue’s mean old granny. What can I do?” She shrugged elaborately, miming holding a fan, and Yanli suddenly got a good idea of where Nie Huaisang acquired a lot of his mannerisms.

They all chuckled for a moment. Yanli tapped the table. “So why invite us here?” She waved around at the room.

“Admittedly, I toyed with the idea of just putting you all under house arrest in the guest quarters, but we don’t know when A’Jue is coming back, and when he does, he will have little Ying’er with him. There won’t be hiding that.” She paused and gathered her thoughts. “Sect Leader Jiang is claiming there is an old accord with us, signed by his great-grandfather, and that under some interpretation of it, Qinghe Nie is honor-bound to come to his aid.” Her skepticism was evident.

“What I can tell you of Sect Leader Jiang is that if he says such a thing, he believes it. However, it could be here-say, something he was told by the elders and took as fact. I do not remember him or…or my mother ever mentioning such an accord.”

“I don’t remember my father-in-law mentioning it either, much less my son or grandson.”

Well, that settled the question of whether she was actually Nie Mingjue’s grandmother, Yanli thought with a bit of amusement.

“Hence, my staff looking for such a thing.” She sighed heavily. “We are, however, honor-bound to give shelter to him and his people. They look hard done by, and his wife is extremely pregnant, and probably should not be traveling at all, much less being carted around by sword flight at top speed.”

“He could have just left her in Koi Tower,” A’Cheng said with a snarl.

“With Madam Jin, the former best friend of the former madam of Lotus Pier?” Nie Popo chuckled. “People will say what they will of what your mother did, child, but Madam Jin is also a Yu woman, and they all take their sect motto seriously.”

We remember what is owed.

The Yu sect could not publicly defend an adulterous daughter, but Yanli remembered her own Yu grandmother, who no doubt would blame Jiang Fengmian himself for her daughter’s disloyalty. After all, the Yu were renown for their loyalty, so surely he must have done something to break it (Yanli could not even argue with that, although she could not explain why…she knew her mother, too, and nothing about that situation ever sat right with her). Even Madam Jin, with more cause than most, would not turn on her own husband. But she would find a way to retaliate in her beloved sworn sister’s name.

“So, they are here, and so are you, and A’Jue and his team will, with luck, be back within a couple more days.” She leaned forward, and for the first time, looked genuinely matronly as she focused on Yanli. “If you want, you and your brother can hide in the guest house until then.”

Yanli took a deep breath, then took stock of the situation. Nie Popo was right: locking her and A’Cheng out of sight from the Jiang would have been the easiest way to keep things quiet. But she was no fool, either.

“Are you asking for our help, Nie Popo?”

The broad grin was back. “Oh, you are a sharp one, aren’t you?” She nodded. “It’s not fair to you, but the easiest way to explain to Sect Leader Jiang that we are not going to help him at this time is to show him that we have made other alliances that prevent us from doing so.”

A’Cheng’s answering grin was positively wicked. He looked at Yanli hopefully.

She took the time to think about it. It would help Nie Popo to be able to make the Nie position clear without outright stating it, but such a public display of alliance with the children who were, technically, the bastards of Yunmeng, would be a slap in the face to Jiang Fengmian.

If nothing else, it was a bold commitment to her, Wei Yanli, as a sect leader who had promised to aid the Nie both in their war against Wen Ruohan and also their more long-standing problem of resentment filled sabers. She had not come to them with her hands out, begging. She had offered her help—their help—without strings attached, as part of their righteous quest for the yin iron pieces.

“This one is happy to assist Nie Popo in any way we can,” she said, bowing a little.

Nie Popo sent them off to get changed into more suitable clothing (again from the collection that Nie Huaisang had bought for them in Caiyi town). They were gussied up in nearly-matching robes of black silk brocade trimmed in wide peach-colored hems, with dark red embroidery and accents—belts and bracers for A’Cheng; a wide sash and a nearly transparent sleeveless over-coat for Yanli. Her maidservant appeared with a tray of beautiful golden hair pins for Yanli and a selection of brutally elegant bronze guans for A’Cheng, provided by Nie Popo herself for them to borrow. He chose the pointiest one, which Yanli thought was perfect.

When they were finally led to Saber Hall, where Nie Popo sat on the throne in her grandson’s absence, they were given a place of honor, right in front of the dais. Yanli squared her shoulders and checked on A’Cheng. He looked more like their mother in that moment than ever before: beautiful, powerful, and angry as hell.

She smiled and settled herself in place just as the doors opened and her former father, the man she hated more than any other in the world, walked in.

Three steps behind him, helping a very pregnant young Madam Jiang, was Meng Shi.

Chapter Text

Yanli almost startled at the sight of Meng Shi, but caught herself. A’Cheng noticed, but she gave him a very small head shake.

As the Jiang contingent walked up toward the dais where Nie Popo sat on the throne, Meng Shi did not break eye contact with Yanli until they came to a stop, whereupon she dropped her eyes and suddenly transformed into a humble, nameless, low-ranking maid of Madam Jiang, there to help her on her feet.

The fact that Jiang Fengmian had brought his wife to the meeting in the first place was scandalous, in Yanli’s opinion. The only value she had would be to engender sympathy from the Nie, so it was clear to her that he was hoping to play on Nie Popo’s motherly instincts. It soured Yanli’s mouth even more. She turned her attention to the other people with him, which numbered less than thirty. Even though they had managed to clean up and find suitable robes, they looked exhausted and worn down. If that was the totality of the survivors from the sacking of Lotus Pier, then it was indeed a tragedy. Yanli wished she could muster more compassion for the situation. People had died, after all.

(Just like her mother.)

It wasn’t until Jiang Fengmian got to the front of the hall that he registered who else was there. He came to an abrupt stop and turned to Nie Popo with a stiff, diplomatic smile.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, motioning towards Yanli. His wife, the new Madam Jiang, gave him a very confused look.

“These are honored guests of the Nie, the Yiling Wei sect. Sect Leader Wei Yanli, and her brother, Second Young Master Wei Cheng. I believe you know them.”

He actually recoiled, and any sympathy she had for him withered in Yanli’s heart. The names registered with the rest of his people, including his wife, who all drew back in shock.

After a moment, his placid expression was back in place. Had it always been so forced and false? Yanli could not trust her memories of him anymore.

“You dare insult Yunmeng Jiang with this farce?” He asked Nie Popo, politely but pointedly, as if talking to a child.

Yanli felt A’Cheng tense up next to her.

“Their presence here has nothing to do with you,” She responded firmly, not moving a muscle, one hand on her saber and the other on the arm of the throne.

“How can you expect me to believe that?” He spread his hands, his tone still blandly condescending.

“I expect you to not call me a liar, Sect Leader Jiang,” Nie Popo snapped at him. Around her, Nie settled into stances that made it clear they were ready to fight.

He patted the air in front of him as if calming a dog. “Nie Popo, I am here under duress after facing unimaginable hardships and tragedies. It is not too much to expect that the Nie sect would, at least, treat a sect leader with respect.” He waved a hand at Yanli. “These are bastard children of no name and no consequence to the gentry. I must insist they be removed.” He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for his demand to be complied with.

“We have a name, and we are cultivators. It is our right to start our own sect, which Sect Leader Nie himself has recognized.” Yanli said loudly, her voice filling the hall.

“You are a disgrace to Yunmeng Jiang and have no place in these discussions,” he said simply, as if describing the color of the sky. He wasn’t even looking at her directly, his gaze settled on the back wall.

Yanli raised her hand to hold A’Cheng in check, as it was obvious he was a hair’s breadth away from assaulting a sect leader.

“By your own admission, according to proof you shared with others, our father was Wei Changze, former disciple of Yunmeng Jiang and your distant cousin. While our parentage was outside of a formal marriage, it was nonetheless confirmed by none other than yourself. His first born son, Wei Ying, has legitimized us by his right of inheritance.” She paused and stared at him directly. “I never met my father, and he died when I was nine years old, but he was still a better father than you ever were.”

There were several audible gasps throughout the room, including from the Nie. Madam Jiang covered her mouth with both hands, looking wide-eyed between them. A’Cheng whispered “JieJie!” in a delightfully scandalized tone.

Jiang Fengmian finally looked at her, and all she saw was the same hateful anger he had directed at her when he ordered her kicked out of Lotus Pier.

“You are nothing,” he said, his tone final and absolute.

“You asshole—” A’Cheng started to move forward, but Yanli firmly grabbed his forearm.

“Be that as it may, Qinghe Nie has a formal alliance with Yiling Wei. It is not your decision whether they remain or not,” Nie Popo said, and bounced the tip of her scabbard on the floor in much the same way Lao Wang used to do with his cane. “I suggest you bring your request to the table, Sect Leader Jiang.

He was not happy about it, but realized that there was no point in continuing to try to get Yanli ejected from the room. Instead, he turned away from her as if she did not exist and explained to Nie Popo in formal language about the alliance he believed existed, but could not prove due to the destruction of Lotus Pier.

He was lying.

It was a surprise to realize it, but she had seen him in enough little white lies in her childhood to recognize that he was not telling the truth, and he knew he was not telling the truth. She frowned as he kept talking.

“I am having our archivists look for our copy of the agreement,” Nie Popo assured him.

“You won’t find it,” came the soft but firm voice of Meng Shi. Madam Jiang looked at her in shock, but Meng Shi stepped away from her and walked up to the front of the Jiang contingent.

“How dare you contradict me,” Jiang Fengmian said causticly. “Take her away.” He motioned to two of his older disciples.

“HOLD,” Yanli said, throwing some qi into her voice so it reverberated through the room. Jiang Fengmian looked at her in disbelief.

“You have something to contribute, Sect Leader Wei?” Nie Popo asked with no small amount of amusement.

“I do.” She stepped forward. “It is good to see you again.” She said to Meng Shi, careful of not saying her name.

“And you, Sect Leader Wei.” Meng Shi bowed courteously in accordance to Yanli’s rank. “If I may ask: Where is my son?”

“He is on an important night hunt with Sect Leader Nie and my other brother, who you may remember from that situation with the goats.”

Now everyone was looking confused except A’Cheng, who hid his smile behind his sleeve.

“Who are you?” Jiang Fengmian asked, stepping up to Meng Shi, grabbing for her arm, and yanking her backwards so hard she nearly fell down.

Before anyone could say anything, A’Cheng launched himself forward and punched Jiang Fengmian in the face, sending him sprawling halfway across the room. A’Cheng stood there for a moment, radiating satisfaction, the then bowed politely to Meng Shi, offered his arm to her, and walked her over to stand in front of Nie Popo.

Around them, everyone was suddenly armed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jiang Fengmian shouted, rolling to his feet and pinching his nose, which was so smashed that blood dripped down his chin onto his robes.

Nie Popo rubbed her temples. “Where is the Lan silencing spell when you need it?” She sighed. Then she sat up straight. “Nie, stand down! Sect Leader Jiang, order your disciples to put their weapons away before I decide this is an act of war.”

“That bastard hit me.” He pointed at A’Cheng, who snarled back at him.

“Enough, Wei Cheng,” Yanli said loudly. He looked at her, and then bowed deeply before turning to stand back by the dais again—orderly, politely, and in every way the epitome of a disciple following the command of his sect leader.

Jiang Fengmian gave a hand motion that Yanli knew well, which meant for his disciples to stand down but be ready for a fight. Did he really believe she was so dumb and ignorant not to remember the Jiang ranger hand signals? She fumed, but pushed the anger down. That was for later.

“You claimed Sect Leader Jiang was lying. That’s a serious charge Miss…?” Nie Popo left the opening for Meng Shi to give her name, or not.

“This one is Meng Shi, honored Interim Sect Leader Nie,” Meng Shi said, bowing gracefully and elegantly. Madam Jiang stared at her as if she had never seen her before.

“Miss Meng? I don’t suppose Sect Leader Wei’s seneschal, Meng Yao, is a relation?” Nie Popo asked, although it was clear she already guessed the answer.

“He is my son, Interim Sect Leader Nie.”

“Call me Nie Popo, everyone does.”

“Thank you, Nie Popo. To continue: This one was asked by the Yiling Wei seneschal to keep an eye on Yunmeng Jiang, in order to let him know if the Wen moved against them. I managed to escape the attack with young Madam Jiang, and have been trying to get a message to Yiling since then.” She turned to Yanli. “I did not know you had departed for Qinghe.”

“Actually, we ended up in Gusu first. It’s a long story,” Yanli said, motioning her to come stand by her side—showing to all present that Meng Shi was under the banner of, and protected by, Yiling Wei.

“Are you really Da'Ge’s mother?” A’Cheng whispered. Meng Shi smiled at him and he grinned back, because there was no better proof than Meng Yao’s own dimpled smile on her face.

“You put a spy into Lotus Pier?” Jiang Fengmian snapped at Yanli. “You are truly your mother’s daughter, duplicitous and—”

“Sect Leader Jiang, if you don’t shut up I will have you gagged,” Nie Popo said. Every Nie in the room readied for a fight again.

“I will be informing Sect Leader Nie of this outrageous behavior.”

“You do that,” Nie Popo said dismissively, then turned to Meng Shi again. “Why do you claim he was lying?”

“Because I heard him discuss the matter with Sect Leader Jin, who offered to forge a so-called legal copy that could be discovered in his own records, to back up Sect Leader Jiang’s claim. He was very eloquent in talking Sect Leader Jiang into agreeing with his plan, claiming that he could not assist directly but would be glad to help Sect Leader Jiang force the Nie into it. After all, he said, weren’t the Nie already at war with Qishan Wen?”

That sounded wrong to Yanli. What would Jin Guangshan gain if they went up against Wen Ruohan, other than the complete destruction of both the Jiang remnants and the Nie sect?

Ah.

Nie Popo was one step ahead of her in that reasoning, her face turning an alarming shade of red.

Jiang Yanli had the pleasure of watching Jiang Fengmian go pale as a ghost as the realization sunk in that he had been played by Jin Guangshan. He was clearly fishing around for something to say.

“Sect Leader Jiang, I suggest you chose your next words carefully,” Nie Popo said in a quietly dangerous tone of voice.

“I see no reason for you to believe anything she says.” Jiang Fengmian huffed, standing proud at the front of his people. Yanli thought that maybe his pride was all he ever had to fall back on.

There was a small commotion as Madam Jiang wobbled a little, looking pale and faint herself. Nie Popo pursed her lips unhappily.

“Sect Leader Jiang, may I recommend that your expectant wife be escorted back to your lodgings?” Nie Popo said critically, the weight of damning judgment in her voice.

Jiang Fengmian closed his eyes for a second, then turned and ordered two disciples to assist his wife out of the hall.

After she was gone and everyone had been given a moment to calm down, Nie Popo turned back to Meng Shi.

“Those are serious accusations. Do you have any proof?”

She shook her head. “I do not have anything at hand. However, if you can send word to your spies in Lanling to follow Jin Zixun, who is Sect Leader Jin’s nephew, I believe they will find ample evidence in both his ongoing correspondence and his direct orders.”

“That kid? He’s a useless brat,” Nie Popo said, raising an eyebrow.

“He is a kid, and a brat, but not useless. Desperate children are often very useful to men in power.”

Silence descended at her pronouncement, heavy and somber.

Jiang Fengmian continued to get paler, but unsurprisingly, did not rise to defend himself. Yanli wondered who he thought was coming to save him. Her mother had been the only person ever to fight for him, as much as she fought with him. For the first time, Yanli saw him as a pathetic man, truly alone in the world. There was no excuse for her mother’s actions, but it was becoming clear that the man never deserved her loyalty in the first place.

Nie Popo stood up, her natural height extended by her place on the dais, standing in front of the Nie clan throne.

“Sect Leader Jiang, do not look to the Nie for your salvation. You are welcome to remain in the Unclean Realm as our guests, and given your wife’s condition, I highly suggest you take me up on that offer. I will have a woman’s doctor sent to her as well. Eat, sleep, and plan your next course of action under the protection of the Nie. This offer will not be revoked, I swear to you. But further than that, expect nothing for the time being. We will resume this discussion when Sect Leader Nie has returned from his night hunt.”

Nie Popo waved an elegant hand through the air and a group of Nie guards broke away from the wall to make it clear that her dismissal was an order, not a suggestion.

Jiang Fengmian paused to stare at Yanli. She waited for him to say something, anything, but he eventually just turned his back on her.

Again.

Chapter Text

Nie Popo asked Meng Shi a few more questions, but nothing urgent came of it. Meng Shi had been undercover, serving as Madam Jiang’s maid servant, since her son had rescued her nearly a year ago (she did not specify where she had been rescued from, and Nie Popo did not ask), and had simply been at the right place at the right time to help Madam Jiang escape when the Wen attacked. Everyone knew there were a lot of holes in the story, but Nie Popo looked tired of the rigmarole and did not question her further.

Eventually they were also dismissed and Yanli gratefully took Meng Shi’s arm in hers as they retreated to their guest house. They entered to find their breakfast cleared away, but Liu Peng bowed respectfully and asked if “Sect Leader Wei and Madam Meng would like some refreshing tea?”

The three of them settled in the garden, and Yanli was getting ready to tell Meng Shi exactly what had been going on with them, but before sitting down, Meng Shi bowed deeply.

“Second Mother! Please, don’t! We are family, are we not?” Yanli tried to pull her up from her bow, while A’Cheng stood by the table, looking confused.

“Yes, and for that, this lowly one thanks Sect Leader Wei.”

“Oh, please—”

“You lived up to an agreement that you could have easily thrown over. Once you had my son away from Yunping, it was only your honor that kept you from disposing of him.” She finally stood up at Yanli’s urging.

“I gave you my oath,” Yanli said simply, slightly appalled by the use of ‘disposed’ and its implications.

“I have much cause not to trust the word of gentry.” Meng Shi smiled, the bitterness clear in the tight line of her lips.

“I cannot argue that, but I would remind you that we are family, Mother.”

A’Cheng took this moment to bow to Meng Shi. “Your name protected us, as other names did not.”

She smiled at him, a motherly expression that made A’Cheng flush like a little boy.

“Although I see you have moved on to another name, again?” She said with a sparkle in her eye.

Yanli groaned. “Yes! But I swear to you, this one is actually mine. You will find, though, that the name ‘Meng’ is highly respected in Yiling,” she offered.

“Hm.” She pulled a bag from her sleeves, and opened it, peering inside. She grabbed something and took it out, a simple, small box no bigger than her palm. “Then, as family, I have something to return to you, Wei Yanli, daughter of the Violet Spider.”

Curious, Yanli took the box and opened it, then nearly dropped it. Quietly cradled in a nest of dark blue silk, otherwise inert but still radiating spiritual power, was Zidian.

“JieJie?” A’Cheng asked, worried.

“Oh. Oh, Meng Shi. Mother.” She held the box and tears flowed down her face. She wasn’t sure who she meant, her birth mother or the mother who claimed her. Possibly both.

A’Cheng was behind her in an instant, staring over her shoulder (when did he get that tall?) to look inside the box. He seemed frozen in place.

Yanli pulled the hand chain from the box. It thrummed with power—too much power for her to wield with her soft golden core. But she had always known that.

She turned and took A’Cheng’s hand. He almost pulled away, but she held firm, and as soon as the ring was on his finger the rest of the piece came alive, slithering into place on his wrist, the enameled gold and amethyst jewels sparkling in the sunlight. He stared at it with his mouth ajar, minutely shaking his head as if in denial.

Yanli took his face in her hands. “Mother would want you to wear it. To use it. It is your birthright, as the son of the Violet Spider.”

He shook his head again. “It should be yours.”

“We both know why that cannot be.” She rested their foreheads together before taking a deep breath and stepping back, dropping her hands to her side. A’Cheng realized that something was about to happen, so he stood up straight, although he cradled the hand wearing Zidian with his other hand, as if afraid to drop it somehow. Yanli cleared her through, fighting off tears.

“Wei Cheng of the Yiling Wei sect, son of the Violet Spider and Wei Changze, my heir and head disciple, I charge you to command Zidian in the protection of your sect, your family, and innocent lives wherever you find them. May this weapon be a sign of your loyalty to your sect and clan, and may the gifting of it to you be a sign of our respect and loyalty to you. Do you accept?”

He squared his shoulders and brought his hands up in salute. “This Wei Cheng is honored by this duty! This one will endeavor to protect Yiling Wei to his dying day, Sect Leader Wei!”

“Then go forth! …and, uhm, maybe practice with it first?”

They both looked warily at the deadly weapon sitting innocently on his hand.

“I’m going to go see if Song Daoren can help,” A’Cheng announced.

“Yes, yes, that is a good idea.”

He gave them quick goodbyes and then jogged out, holding his arm in front of him.

“You stole that from Lotus Pier,” Yanli said to Meng Shi with a grin.

She gave her the exact same prissy expression A’Yao did when he refused to admit he was wrong about something. “I liberated it.”

“I am not certain Sect Leader Jiang would agree.” Yanli motioned for them to sit down.

“He is a smart man, but weak hearted and proud, which is always a dangerous combination. I suspect your mother kept him from his more foolish impulses.” She sighed, her opinion of him clear in the minute shake of her head. Yanli had to admit she was a little jealous of her elegant and effortlessly sophisticated mien.

“Poking around his correspondence, I discovered that Meishan Yu have been pestering him to return the weapon of the Violet Spider for years. He has kept it like a war prize, despite the fact that neither he nor any of his disciples can use it.”

The term ‘liberated’ suddenly sounded very, very accurate.

“It was a risk for you to take it.”

Meng Shi smiled, short of kind and edging into sharp. “Did my son ever tell you that he rescued me?”

“Yes, of course. We do not keep secrets from each other—but he did not provide details. He feared the long reach of Jin Guangshan, and spent many months on the run, risking his life to keep us all safe. I trust his judgment implicitly, and believe that if he thought I needed to know the details, he would have told me.”

Her smile turned fond. “I suspect it was more due to his modesty. It was quite an adventure, and I will make him tell you the tale one day. There I was in my room when another strange spider dropped out of the rafters!”

Yanli laughed, remembering Ying’er doing the same thing so many years ago. Meng Shi nodded. Such a refined woman never grinned but anyone could see that she wanted to.

“My son appeared out of thin air, a full-fledged cultivator, nearly a grown man, confident in himself in ways I never expected to live to see. I knew the reason for that was the frightened but determined young woman I met by chance at the Dragonfly Shoal. What risk was it to steal a trinket that was hers by right, compared to the risk she took on my son?”

Yanli wiped at her eyes. “Second Mother,” she said, her voice wobbly. She did not even know what she wanted to say. Meng Shi took her hands in hers.

“Sect Leader Jiang did not deserve you.”

Yanli took a deep breath, squeezing her fingers.

“Enough of worthless men!” She let go of Yanli’s hands and sat back. “Let us talk of my son…my sons. Tell me what has happened! How did you get to Gusu and then Qinghe?”

It was, as promised, a very long story, during which Meng Shi alternated between looking politely concerned to utterly horrified, and occasionally baffled. At the end of it, though, she asked the one question Yanli did not expect.

“Do you approve of the betrothal between Ying’er and that Lan boy?”

“Do I…what?”

“You are his elder sister, and sect leader. It is your right to terminate it, no matter the circumstances. That would be true even if he were a maiden with child.”

Yanli fought down a blush, but shook her head. “Ying’er is ecstatically happy with the match, and Lan Wangji is one of the finest young gentlemen of our generation. I cannot think of why I would disapprove.”

Meng Shi pursed her lips. “He is a Lan, though.”

“Yes, he is.” Yanli nodded in confusion. Meng Shi was acting like that was the worst thing about him.

“Lan have…a reputation.”

Yanli sorted through that statement for a moment. “Oh. Yes, I see. It is true that the Lan are hidebound and very strict, but I fully intend to have Lan Wangji marry in, as I cannot possibly lose any of my disciples at this point. I’m sure Grandmaster Lan will be displeased by that, and I don’t have much room to negotiate, but on the other hand, I do have Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji will follow him to the ends of the earth, I suspect.”

Meng Shi looked at her as if she had grown a third head. “You don’t know, do you? Your other mother never told you?” She frowned. “I suppose not, if you were not betrothed to one of them yourself.”

“This one is very confused by this conversation,” Yanli finally admitted after they had stared at each other for a while.

“The Lan are well known in the brothels. We never got many at…at my old workplace, but word gets around, in ways that would surprise most gentry men. They believe their money buys discretion along with our bodies and time.” She sighed heavily and sipped her tea for a moment. Yanli was too shocked by that news to say anything.

“They can be…shall we say, focused. When a Lan sets his eyes on a prize, he will die before letting it go. Occasionally, this has led to good luck for some girls, who end up getting bought out and married in. Other times, it has led to obsessive madness and unfortunate ends.” She peered at Yanli. “Grandmaster Lan did not tell you about the former Madam Lan, did he?”

An unpleasant chill ran down her spine. “I know only that she died a long time ago. Of a wasting illness, I think.”

“Yes, that is certainly the story the Lan want known. The truth is far murkier. I should say, the story is far murkier—no one but the dead woman herself could know the truth. You are aware that Sect Leader Lan is in permanent seclusion. Allow me to tell you what I’ve heard about why, from people who are in a place to know.”

It was a dreadful tale, one filled with mystery and tragedy. Meng Shi shared all the different speculations about it, from gentry tales of a wanton woman seducing a righteous man to the belief of many sisters in the brothels around Caiyi that Madam Lan had killed in self defense and been imprisoned for it by an obsessed stalker.

By the end of it, Yanli felt sick to her stomach. The incredibly spur-of-the-moment betrothal had seemed romantic, from one angle. Now, looking at it from another, she was horrified.

“I have to believe that Ying’er would at least tell me if he felt trapped,” she said, more to convince herself than anything.

“Perhaps. I do not know him as well as you do, obviously. But I will keep an eye on this young Lan he brings with him, I promise you,” she said with the air of a woman deciding how to butcher a pig.

Yanli nodded with a sense of relief she had not experienced in a long time. It was a weird feeling to know that an adult was at her back. She was nineteen and by all rights a full grown member of society, but she had spent the past four years trying to juggle her trauma, her grief, her brothers, and Meng Yao while hiding in the heart of the jianghu.

For all that her mother had been strong and taught her a lot about cultivation and running a household, Yanli had never thought that Yu Ziyuan ever supported her further than required by their roles: the madam of Lotus Pier and her daughter, the Young Mistress Jiang. As a person, Yanli felt like she had been left adrift since she was born.

She smiled gratefully at the woman she would formally claim as her mother, if she could.

Chapter Text

Yanli had Meng Shi set up in one of the bedrooms, figuring A’Cheng and Ying’er would not mind bunking together again for a while. Her maidservant doted on Meng Shi as if she was an empress dowager, which Yanli thought fitting and Meng Shi, used to being the lowest ranking person in the room, found disconcerting at first.

A’Cheng came back much later in the day covered in sweat, bruises, and a few bloody stripes from Zidian’s backlash. But, he was smiling like a little boy with his first toy sword, so Yanli forgave him when he picked her up and spun her around before being chased by both her and Meng Shi into the bathing room.

His lovely, deep, rich voice rang through the pavilion as he washed up, singing a romantic Yunmeng song about a lost fisherman looking for his beloved along the river. It was a familiar and comforting tune that had Yanli humming under her breath as she set up a new embroidery project in the main room.

“Pssst.”

She looked up to see Meng Shi lurking by a window, looking outside as if she was hiding from someone. She was waving Yanli over.

Quietly, cautiously, Yanli tiptoed over to her, wondering what danger they could possibly be in, given how deep they were located in the Unclean Realm. Meng Shi gently pulled her close so she could look out the window at the threat.

Outside, two young maidservants and a gardener were frozen in place, staring up at the pavilion…or rather, towards the bathing room where A’Cheng was singing. Yanli frowned. Was Meng Shi suggesting that they should be punished? Yanli had no qualms with hard working servants taking a break every now and again.

One of the girls swayed a little, her eyes bright and glossy. She elbowed the young gardener, who blushed and elbowed her back.

“Ah, the romance of youth,” Meng Shi sighed benevolently.

Startled, Yanli looked at Meng Shi and then back at the three teenagers. They all wore expressions of adoration and it hit Yanli like a club that they were crushing on the voice of her youngest brother. They had probably seen him coming and going from the pavilion, and knew how handsome he was (“for a child!” her mind screamed) and were now enamored of his very fine and, yes, romantic singing voice.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

It was Meng Shi’s turn to look at her in surprise. She covered her mouth and started laughing, which had the servants scattering to the wind.

“Have you not noticed how people look at him when he walks by?” Meng Shi said, still giggling behind her sleeve.

“He’s my brother! He’s…he’s a baby!” Yanli hissed.

Meng Shi shook her head, her eyes still delighted crescents. “He’s nearly a man, and a fine one at that. Tall, well formed, talented at the six arts, and cheekbones that can cut glass. His beautiful voice is like a pearl set near a diamond—extraneous, but no less valuable and admired for it.” She leaned over with a mischievous expression that Yanli knew well from Meng Yao himself, so she braced herself for Meng Shi’s next words.

“The sisters at the Dragon Shoal would surely fight each other in the alleyway to earn his favor.”

Yanli shrieked and covered her face with her hands. Meng Shi laughed again but took pity on her.

“Fear not, we are here to protect his virtue!” She gently guided Yanli back to her seat. “No one will win any of our boys without proving themselves to our satisfaction, A’Li, I promise,” she said, still with a teasing smile on her face.

Yanli determinedly put the thought out of her mind, but could not help but look at A’Cheng objectively over dinner. He was, in fact, exactly as Meng Shi described. While Liu Peng seemed immune, fortunately, several of the servants who brought food and took their laundry were definitely giving him longing glances.

At least, until Yanli chased them out of the pavilion.

A’Cheng looked confused while Meng Shi hid her laughter behind her sleeves, holding them up to cover her entire face.

It was all just a distraction from waiting for Ying’er and A’Yao to return, but fortunately, that wait did not go on much longer. The next morning, they were once again interrupted during breakfast, this time with news that Nie Mingjue and company were on their way back, with everyone accounted for and in lively spirits. They would be at the fortress in the early afternoon.

Meng Shi was oddly nervous about dressing to receive them, gratefully borrowing one of the outfits Yanli had not worn yet and fussing with her hair. Then she looked forlornly at Yanli’s makeup “kit” which was a small bag of pale face powder, delicate peach lip papers, and a cake of brown mascara.

“Gentry ladies don’t actually wear much makeup. It’s supposed to be a sign of our strong cultivation that we don’t need to,” Yanli explained. There were, of course, many cultivators of all genders who did wear makeup, but they tried to do so unobtrusively, or risk being mocked.

Meng Shi huffed. “I’m not a cultivator.”

“No, but you are the mother of the seneschal of the Yiling Wei sect, who is a respected cultivator and the student of two highly esteemed rogue cultivators.”

Meng Shi looked at her in surprise, as if she had never put that fact together before. Maybe she hadn’t. Yanli took her hand.

“You are a member of the gentry, now, Second Mother. Wear what pleases you. A’Yao will be thrilled to see you no matter what, I promise!”

Meng Shi nodded uncertainly.

“If madam desires, I can find some lip papers in red?” Liu Peng offered.

Meng Shi smiled gratefully at her.

When they stood in line next to Nie Popo and the other Nie, Yanli and A’Cheng were back in their formal black, peach, and dusky-red outfits (suitable colors for Yiling, Yanli thought with chagrin) while Meng Shi stood proudly in a beautiful soft green hanfu with touches of dark green velvet, a light dusting of powder on her face, and her lips dyed a delicate rose-petal red. Compared to her appearance at the Dragonfly Shoal, she was modest and subdued, yet still caused many heads to turn as she walked to the front gates of the fortress city. Liu Peng had brought not just lip papers but an assortment of hair pins loaned by Nie Popo herself. Meng Shi managed to put almost every single one of them in her hair and still look understated and elegant, which was a trick Yanli really wanted to learn. The pins jangled prettily as she passed by the Nie cultivators, bearing herself with stately composure, and they all stared at her with wide, worshipful eyes.

Yanli watched with amusement when Ying’er rode in behind Nie Mingjue and startled at the sight of them, then whooped loudly in confused joy when A’Cheng held up his hand to display Zidian.

That caused Meng Yao to stop trying to appear so formal and polished and look over at them as well. He paused, blinked, then actually leaped off his horse and ran straight into his mother’s arms, babbling as he asked her how she got there, how she was doing, was she well?

Ying’er did likewise, coming up to spin Yanli around yelling, “we did it! We did it!” Lan Wangji also dismounted, but followed at a much more sedate pace to come stand very close to Ying’er. Yanli caught the side-eye that Meng Shi gave him.

Nie Mingjue approached with Nie Popo and Nie Zonghui, who was wearing a lot of bandages over his face but seemed in a good mood about it.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Yanli said with a bow after finally pushing off Ying’er, who just transferred his exuberance to A’Cheng, grabbing his hand to look at Zidian with vicious glee.

“Sect Leader Wei,” Nie Mingjue said with a grin. “I heard we had some interesting visitors.”

Yanli blinked at him placidly, mimicking Lan Wangji as best she could. “Interesting is certainly one word to describe them.”

He shook his head in amusement, but then his expression turned somber. “It’s a bad sign that Wen Ruohan was so bold, and it has proven that the sects of the jianghu are not united against him.”

“I fear this might represent the start of our worst fears,” Yanli agreed.

He nodded, then looked over her shoulder and stalled out. He just stared, eyes wide, until Nie Popo snorted and poked him in the ribs.

“Ah! Ha ha! Ha! Who is this lovely lady?” He asked, a wild blush creeping up over his entire face. Nie Zonghui and Nie Huaisang looked at him like he had just shaved his head and decided to be a monk.

Meng Shi subtly shifted Meng Yao aside and gave Nie Mingjue the kind of elegant, graceful, and alluring curtsies that men wrote whole poems about. “This one is Meng Shi, Honored Sect Leader Nie.”

“Ah. Oh? Yes. Um.” He coughed. “Seneschal Meng’s sister, I presume?”

Ying’er barked out a laugh until A’Cheng stomped on his foot. Meng Yao, on the other hand, looked torn between hysterical laughter and righteous fury as he stepped forward.

“This is my mother, whom I told you about back in the Cloud Recesses,” he said sharply, causing the boys to flinch. Behind him, Meng Shi looked between them curiously.

Nie Mingjue’s expression cleared as he obviously remembered.

A ’Yao picked up his tea and sipped it like an emperor holding court. “I am Meng Yao, son of the courtesan Meng Shi of Yunping. My father is a hedonistic reprobate who uses his cultivation for personal gain, and I will not carry his name in any lifetime.”

Then he bowed. “It is an honor to meet the mother of such a brilliant young cultivator. Qinghe Nie welcomes you and thanks you for the loan of your son, who has proven his bravery and intelligence in the course of a dangerous mission.”

Meng Shi’s face flickered in shock for a moment, but she smoothed it away as she curtsied again, her head tilting just enough to make all of her hair pins chime sweetly. “He brings honor to our family and sect,” she said.

Nie Mingjue stood up and then lost his voice again, staring at her.

“Aiya! So good to be home, and alive too! How fortuitous!” Nie Huaisang announced loudly while physically shoving at his older brother, demonstrating strength he usually kept well hidden. “Time for us to go get cleaned up and stop smelling like donkeys!”

“Hey, wait—” Nie Mingjue finally registered that he was being escorted out of the plaza, but the rest of the Nie were already breaking up and returning to their work, while several led away their horses. Nie Popo chuckled and added her strength to Nie Huaisang’s, literally shoving their sect leader to the family quarters.

Meng Yao stood there, hands on his hips, glaring at Nie Mingjue’s back.

“I mean, you could do worse, Second Mother,” Ying’er said thoughtfully. “And by worse, I mean anyone from Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao turned his glare on Ying’er, but Meng Shi laughed, a surprisingly melodic sound, and covered her mouth with one of her sleeves as her eyes curved into delicate crescents.

Across the plaza, Nie Mingjue actually tripped, then turned around to stare at her again until Nie Popo bonked him on the head with her fan.

Chapter Text

Apparently, the upbeat mood of the expedition had less to do with securing a third piece of yin iron than it did with getting out of a deadly series of caves and crypts alive.

Less than an hour after the return of the expedition, giving everyone just enough time to clean up, Yanli sat calmly at the table while Nie Zonghui gave the formal after-action report to her and Nie Mingjue. He had time, at least, to put fresh clean bandages over the damaged half of his face…not that it made his report any less horrifying for it.

She knew her emotions were written on her face because Ying’er and Sang’er both looked nervously contrite, and even A’Yao was eyeing her cautiously. A’Cheng kept playing with Zidian as his frustrations mounted, but she was not sure if that was because he was upset over their multiple near-death experiences or because he had not been there to participate in the adventure.

She decided to let the boys stew in their discomfort for a bit, mostly because she had no idea what to do about it. They had not done anything wrong, technically, since she herself was the one who allowed Ying’er and A’Yao to join the Nie on their mission to the crypts. She shelved the issue of them recklessly putting themselves in the path of danger for the moment.

“I vouch that Nie Zonghui’s report is accurate and reflects everything that happened to us during the journey, and is being entered into the Nie night hunting records,” Nie Mingjue offered, clearly picking up on her mood. She nodded in thanks, fearing that if she said anything it would be to yell at him for endangering her brother and A’Yao, which would not exactly be politically wise. Not to any sect leader, and especially not the sect leader of the Nie.

Appeased, he sat back in his chair.

“Now, Sect Leader Wei, I would appreciate it if you could tell me more about the meeting with Sect Leader Jiang—”

“WHAT?” Ying’er roared, standing up so fast and hard that his chair skittered backwards. “He’s here?” There was a palpable weight to the air in the room all of a sudden, along with a drop in temperature.

Yanli stood up to draw his attention to her. “Wei Ying.”

“I will destroy him,” he snarled in the low, eerie timber of voice that she hated. Hands started shifting to defensive positions around them. Crows cawed outside, and Nie sabers rattled in their scabbards. Everyone looked at him warily.

“Look at me!” She ordered, and his eyes snapped to hers. “Not now. Not yet,” she said, putting as much promise into her voice as she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows go up, but Wei Ying took a deep breath, closing his eyes. A’Cheng reached out and slowly pulled him back down into his chair, whispering their familiar breathing exercise as he did so.

There was a long moment of silence as everyone settled down again. The crows gave one last unearthly call and flew away.

“I did not realize your conflict with Yunmeng Jiang was that serious. They are still allies with Qinghe Nie, even if our ties are not strong.”

She sat down, trying to look as regal as possible. “It is a personal matter, not a political one.” She left off saying ‘unless he makes it political’ but Nie Mingjue gave her a searching look that meant he understood her meaning, and her intentions, anyway. “We will cause no disturbances with him while we are here as guests of Qinghe Nie.”

They stared at each other until A’Cheng spoke up.

“For what it’s worth, I punched him square in the face,” he said to Ying’er with a smirk.

The tension broke as Ying’er grinned back at him. “How hard?”

“Sent him all the way across Saber Hall.” A’Cheng puffed up his chest. A’Yao’s eyebrows rose as Yanli put a hand over her eyes.

“A’Cheng,” she said warningly.

“It was great!” A’Cheng mock-whispered to Ying’er, and several Nie chuckled. They loved nothing more than a good showing of bloodthirstiness.

“I wish I had been there,” Sang’er said ruefully. It was the first thing he had contributed to the whole meeting.

“Be that as it may,” she started with vigor, making everyone settle down. A room full of boys, she thought with a tinge of annoyance, wishing that she could have asked for Nie Popo to join them. “I doubt there is much I can add to what Nie Popo told you. With his sect nearly destroyed, he’s not in a position to do more than beg for help, and allowing himself to fall for the political machinations of Jin Guangshan did not show him in the best light.”

Ying’er and A’Yao wore matching expressions of surprise at her words, but mercifully kept their mouths shut.

“She said as much, and added that it was her decision to have your sect represented at the meeting as a deterrent.”

Yanli ignored the intensely curious looks from A’Yao and Ying’er.

“I was honored to have my sect put in such an elevated position near the dais, although I fear our presence did not make the meeting go well.”

“I suspect it was not going to go well no matter who was there,” Nie Mingjue sighed. “It is not the place of my sect to get between you and your former sect leader, but had you not been there, we may not have discovered Jin Guangshan’s plans to try to destabilize us. For that I am grateful to you.”

Yanli bowed her head. “We all owe Meng Shi thanks for the intelligence she provided about Sect Leader Jiang’s meeting with Sect Leader Jin.”

A’Yao did shift at that, but kept his gambling face in place.

“Do you vouch for the fact that Lady Meng has been officially a spy for Yiling Wei this whole time?”

A’Yao twitched, but Yanli had been prepared for the question.

“Less as a spy than as advanced warning, to be honest. Due to…ah, circumstances, it was unwise for Seneschal Meng to bring her to Yiling. While he was not acting on my direct orders, he was nonetheless acting under my banner.” Given how talented A’Yao was at scheming when he wanted to, she felt that it was probably at least close to the truth. She nodded at him to continue the story.

“Sect Leader is correct,” he said deferentially, then turned to Nie Mingjue. “Originally, she was simply to reside discreetly in Lotus Cove to serve as advanced warning should the Jiang decide to come after us. The opportunity to become one of Madam Jiang’s handmaidens came up unexpectedly. It was fortuitous, and she was not ordered to apply for it, but did so on her own initiative.” He looked back over at Yanli.

“I believe everything she told Nie Popo,” she said, suddenly wishing she had been given time to debrief A’Yao about exactly what had happened, since he was probably wondering what his mother had said.

“Popo sent messages to our people in Lanling to focus on Jin Zixun, so it is merely a matter of waiting to hear from them. However, given what I know of Jin Guangshan, it is believable,” Nie Mingjue said, clinching his jaw.

“Sect Leader Nie, I am concerned about what the attack on Lotus Pier suggests about Wen Ruohan’s intentions. He has to know that we now have three pieces of yin iron.” She glanced over at Ying’er. “Can you confirm that?”

Ying’er grimaced. “Not conclusively, but yes, I would swear to it.”

Silence followed that statement. Eventually, Nie Mingjue leaned forward. “During the fight with Xue Yang, and with the, ah, situation in the crypts, did you pick up any information about Wen Ruohan that might be useful?”

“Ahhhh, I was a bit busy both times. I sensed his hold over the two pieces he has, and saw…stuff. He’s mad as hell is about all I can tell you for certain.”

“Why Lotus Pier, though?” Sang’er asked thoughtfully, then hid behind his fan (one of Yanli’s designs) when everyone looked at him.

“A show of force.” Nie Mingjue shrugged.

“No no no. He doesn’t need to do that. We know he’s strong. Everyone knows he’s strong.” Sang’er frowned, lost in thought. “He marched a whole army halfway across the jianghu to take out the most vulnerable of the five great sects. That’s not showing much force, other than in numbers.”

“It’s a good way to set up a southern army to face north and northeast,” A’Cheng said, looking off into the distance as he thought it through. “He would also have effective control over the headwaters of the Yellow River and the Yangtze.”

“And the Burial Mounds,” Ying’er added unhappily.

Sang’er was tapping his fan against his hand. “He didn’t get a chance to grab the other pieces of the yin iron, so he’s doing a land grab instead,” he said, and both he and A’Cheng nodded.

“They’re probably right, Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui said, his focus on Nie Mingjue who was staring at the table.

“Gusu is next,” Sang’er announced, and everyone flinched, but no one contradicted him. It was a fairly obvious choice if grabbing land was Wen Ruohan’s immediate priority. He might have a personal grudge with the Nie, but if he controlled both Yunmeng and Gusu, he would own all the major waterways to the coast. If Lanling Jin fell in line, that would leave the Nie very much alone to the north.

Nie Mingjue straightened up abruptly.

“Zonghui, go roust Lan Wangji. Tell him to get his ass to Cloud Recesses to warn them.”

Nie Zonghui was running out of the room before Ying’er could say “hey!”

“It’s dangerous for him to go alone,” Yanli said, hoping she got across her disapproval.

“He’ll take his retinue with him, and Nie Popo won’t let him leave without a squad of Nie,” Nie Mingjue replied, looking grim. “If nothing else, they will force him to turn back if the battle is already engaged.”

Unsaid was that he would have to be forced back, since he would probably insist on flying straight into the battle, if there was one. Ying’er was glaring viciously at the door.

“There is no way he got any armies all the way to the coast without Lanling Jin knowing about it,” A’Cheng said, confused.

“Would Jin Guangshan even care? If he’s guaranteed safety, if Wen Ruohan told him that he would get to keep his seat of power if he bends the knee to Qishan Wen, I’m not sure he would bother to complain.” Sang’er shrugged, and a few Nie nodded in agreement.

“The Emperor might notice,” one of the Nie elders said sardonically.

“He might, but the more the cultivation clans war with each other, the more he doesn’t have to worry about one of us trying to grab the dragon throne.” Nie Mingjue glanced at A’Yao. “As has been pointed out to me, Wen Ruohan has time on his side. He can humor the Emperor until he’s ready to strike. His biggest threats are all of us here right now, and Gusu Lan, who will not abide being subjugated by anyone, much less a man messing around with demonic cultivation.”

Yanli was flattered to be included in the list of threats, despite the fact that her so-called sect was a fraction the size of the current extent of Yunmeng Jiang. If Wen Ruohan was starting his long-predicted war, Qinghe Nie did not exactly have the strongest of allies, outside of Gusu Lan. Who might themselves soon be under direct attack.

“I’m adjourning this meeting until I can call in some of our long-range scouts to see if they are noticing any movement out of Qishan or Yunmeng. I assume, Sect Leader Wei, given the status of Yunmeng at this point, that you do not plan to return to Yiling at this time?”

It was a polite question but everyone present knew already knew the answer. She nodded. “With Sect Leader Nie’s gracious permission, we would prefer to stay close with our ally until we all have a better understanding of the current situation.”

They bowed to each other, everyone bowed to them, and the meeting was ended. Ying’er ran off to say goodbye to Lan Wangji, but not before Yanli got him to swear that he would not leave the Unclean Realm without her direct permission.

Even with that promise sworn, she sent A’Cheng after him, just in case.

Chapter Text

When she and A’Yao got back to the guest pavilion, they heard the lovely sound of a guqin playing a portion of the classic song, “Three Stanzas on Plum Blossoms.” For a moment Yanli wondered why Lan Wangji was playing alone in their pavilion when he was supposed to be leaving for the Cloud Recesses, but when she saw A’Yao’s expression of awe, she realized she was wrong.

Meng Shi sat in the main room, playing a gorgeous instrument, its surface polished to a dark, mirror-like finish that reflected the ambient light with a subtle, warm glow. A delicate inlaid pattern of mother-of-pearl traced along the instrument’s edges, forming intricate designs of entwining vines. It was a unique and outstanding heirloom-quality piece that had definitely not been in the room earlier.

Meng Shi smiled as she looked up, her eyes softening when she saw her son. They had not been able to do more than greet each other earlier, and Yanli was of a mind to let them have their privacy for a full reunion, so she offered to go out to the garden for a while to rest.

“No, please, Yanli, this one would be happy to have you join us.”

Yanli nodded and then motioned at Liu Peng, who ran off to get tea and snacks.

“Thank you, Second Mother.” She eyed the guqin as Meng Shi walked around it to sit with them at the table, allowing A’Yao to assist her, although she clearly needed no help.

“Where did the fine instrument come from?” A’Yao asked, sounding suspicious.

“Second Young Master Nie came by not long after you left for the meeting, and said his brother wished to gift it to me. It is very fine. I have never played one of such quality.” Meng Shi looked over at it with stars in her eyes.

Yanli covered her mouth. “Is he courting you?”

A’Yao glared at the guqin.

“Don’t be silly, Yanli. It is simply a gesture to our sect, a recognition of our status.” Meng Shi shook her head fondly.

“Hmph,” Liu Peng said softly as she set down the tray.

“Liu Peng, do you have something to say?” Meng Shi asked with an arched eyebrow.

She looked abashed for a moment, but then squared her shoulders. “This is the guqin of the First Madam Nie. No one has been allowed to play it since she died, not even the Twin Jades of Lan. To gift such a treasure of our sect to you, personally, is a not a political act.”

Yanli, Meng Shi, and A’Yao turned as one to stare at the instrument.

“Hmmmm,” Meng Shi hummed, eyebrows furrowed.

“We are sending it back,” A’Yao said with fervor.

Liu Peng looked horrified by the idea.

“I don’t think we can send it back without an official rejection of his suit, A’Yao,” Yanli said softly.

“There is no suit!” A’Yao snapped, his nostrils flaring.

“Now, now, children. Sect Leader Nie is an important man, so we cannot be hasty in our decisions.” Meng Shi smoothed out her robes as she settled. “He’s also a very handsome man,” she added with a sly smile. A’Yao turned to her in horror, while Yanli did her best to control her face and Liu Peng looked extremely smug. “Pour us tea, A’Yao.”

He did so with a very unhappy expression, but Meng Shi turned her attention back to Yanli. “What is the situation with the Jiang, now that Sect Leader Nie has returned?”

“Still peaceful, at this point. Nie Popo stashed them in a guest area far from where we are, here. Sect Leader Nie is about as happy as you would expect with Jin Guangshan’s meddling, so he might request further explanations on how you came across the information, depending on what they find out about Jin Zixun.”

Meng Shi nodded solemnly.

“Was the Yunmeng Jiang contingent really that small?” A’Yao asked.

“It was. Less than fifty altogether, counting disciples and servants.”

“I am not sure how they all got out,” Meng Shi said with a sigh. “The Wen army was massive. Sect Leader Jiang sent ten of us along with Madam Jiang before the fighting started, but it was clearly going to be a blood bath by numbers alone. I was genuinely surprised when he and the other survivors met us a day later, on the road to Lanling. Lotus Cove was devastated. I had time to warn Sisi to get out, but the smoke could be seen for days. I’m sure he’s given a full report to the Nie, but from what I’ve heard, the invading force was led by Wen Chao and his bodyguard, Wen Zhuliu. ”

The Core-melting Hand. Yanli shivered.

“Sect Leader Jiang is lucky to have escaped the worst of it,” A’Yao said judgementally.

Yanli thought about it for a moment. “I think…I think if the Violet Spider had lived, she would not have abandoned the fight, or allowed him to do so either. They likely would have both died, or worse. But Sect Leader Jiang is not a man to take risks, or to stay and fight a losing battle. He would view his survival as more important, as he is the sect leader and his heir has not even been born yet.”

Both Mengs looked judgmental at that.

With a deep frown, Meng Shi put down her cup. Something about it made A’Yao go cautious and quiet, watching her carefully. “Mama?”

“There are secrets to share, and secrets to keep,” she said, glancing at Liu Peng.

“Oh, Madam! You are almost out of snacks! I’ll go to the kitchens to see if they have anything fresh!” Liu Peng said with a hasty bow, and quickly left. If Nie Popo had hoped the girl would spy on them (most servants were expected to, in great sects, as Yanli knew well), she would be sorely disappointed.

“Mama, watch this,” A’Yao said bashfully, then stood up and used his qi to draw a privacy seal and send it to the walls of the room.

“Oh! A’Yao!” Meng Shi teared up with joy. “You are a proper cultivator now!” She dabbed at her eyes as A’Yao sat down, filled with pride, and they clasped their hands together.

Yanli sipped her tea and looked over at the guqin while mother and son shared a moment. Yanli was going to have to corner Nie Huaisang and find out if his brother actually gifted it or if he was trying to meddle in his brother’s affairs…literally. With a sigh, she put the matter aside for the moment.

“Ah, so, there is the matter of the Jiang heir,” Meng Shi said, her frown returning.

“There is?”

“No, not that anyone knows.” Meng Shi looked at Yanli, her expression hard. “I admit withholding this information until A’Yao returned, for reasons you might guess when you hear what I have to say.” She took a deep breath. “I suspect I know why your mother did what she did.”

“What?” The bottom dropped out of Yanli’s stomach and she clutched her robes. “What do you mean?”

“I was hired a year ago. Young Madam Jiang confided in me that while marital relations were strong, nothing was taking. That is not too uncommon, as he is a bit older and she is young.” She looked extremely displeased at that. Then she sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “And then, there was a discussion conference held in Lanling Jin.”

She stopped there for a long moment.

“Second Mother?” Yanli asked, fear running through her veins. A’Yao’s expression had turned to stone.

“I altered my face enough to go unnoticed, but…Sect Leader Jin has always liked them pretty and young.” She spat the words. “There was a time when most of the sect leaders were off watching a competition, where he claimed to have a headache and returned early. That man forced his way into Madam Jiang’s rooms, locked us out, and…took his pleasure.”

Yanli covered her mouth in horror while A’Yao’s face went completely blank.

“She missed her next course,” Meng Shi said, and looked pointedly at Yanli again.

“No,” Yanli gasped.

“That foul reprobate,” A’Yao spat.

They all sat in horrified silence for a while. Yanli ran through the facts over and over before speaking to Meng Shi again.

“You believe that Sect Leader Jiang is incapable of creating issue from his own flesh.”

“Signs do seem to point that way. Your mother was a much smarter woman than the current Madam Jiang, who is a simple, innocent girl. I had to give her nerve-soothing medicine afterwards to calm her down, and even then it took me a while to convince her not to say anything to anyone about the assault. I am ashamed to admit to you that I used your mother’s name as a cautionary tale, but it at least made her realize how precarious her situation was. When it became clear she was carrying, she panicked again, but now she understands it is not just her life on the line, but her child’s.”

Yanli felt sick to her stomach. She had no love lost for the woman who took her mother’s place, but she certainly did not wish such a situation on her. On anyone.

“It makes sense that my mother would, ah, take matters into her own hands if she believed the problem was with her husband.” She grimaced.

“Indeed. She would hardly be the first woman to do so,” she added, sounding genuinely regretful. “However, in this case, it was not Madam Jiang’s choice at all.”

“What you are saying is that, technically, there is no Jiang sect heir. Nor will there ever be one, from the main line. It dies with Jiang Fengmian.” A’Yao spoke softly, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Meng Shi patted his arm, then leaned over to take Yanli’s hands in hers. Her expression remained somber but was lightened by compassion and care.

“I do not tell you this as any kind of leverage against the Jiang. I hesitated to tell you at all, as there isn’t much it would accomplish other than getting another woman executed, as I’m sure Jin Guangshan would claim it was voluntary on her part. But I feel it is important for you to know about your own mother, so you might gain some peace from understanding her motivations, at least in part.”

Yanli nodded, and just then Liu Peng returned from her overly-long trip to the kitchens with a tray filled to bursting with pastries, candied nuts, and slices of fruit. She set it down triumphantly and went to set up the hot water kettle for tea. Her appearance effectively ended the conversation, so A’Yao asked for more specifics about the meeting with Jiang Fengmian.

Ying’er and A’Cheng showed up not much later, looking like they had gotten into a scrap, with Ying’er sour-faced and petulant. Yanli decided to do him a favor and ignore his mood, but gave A’Cheng a smile of approval. He nodded once, firmly, then stomped off to go clean up.

Ying’er got distracted by the guqin and mourned that Lan Wangji was not there to see it. Meng Shi offered to play it for him, causing him to blush when she said she would choose songs to “ease his aching heart.”

By the time A’Cheng reappeared, they were all well into the snacks and talking about skipping a formal dinner. She had her family around her, and while the future was uncertain, Yanli wanted to enjoy their company in the frankly luxurious opulence afforded to a visiting sect leader for as long as she could.

Meng Shi played a few more songs while A’Cheng happily fussed over their tea options, which was itself an embarrassment of riches. Ying’er sighed heavily like a maiden whose beloved had gone off to war (which was, unfortunately, too close to the truth) and A’Yao shifted between smiling adoringly at his mother and giving Yanli warm looks of contentment over several games of weiqi with the boys.

A few days earlier, Yanli herself had sent Liu Peng to buy her embroidery supplies from the market, and the girl had returned with a finely made standing frame, extremely high quality needles, and a box filled with silk threads which, combined, had likely cost five times the amount of money Yanli had given her. It had Nie Huaisang’s fingerprints all over it, but she decided to accept the “anonymous” gifts and had spent her time embroidering around the hems of the clothes Nie Huaisang had given them.

Meng Shi paused to look over her work. “Oleanders?”

“Mn. They are one of the few flowers that thrive near the Burial Mounds. We had bushes of them growing all along the back of the siheyuan, a peculiar breed with peach blossoms that start blood red at the center, and leaves so dark green they were almost black.” She held up the edge of a sleeve she had finished.

“Oleander is very poisonous,” Meng Shi said neutrally, although her gaze was admiring of the work.

A’Yao sat up with a thoughtful expression, then nodded once, firmly. “A suitable motif for the Yiling Wei sect, and the daughter of the Violet Spider.” He smiled at her. “Strong and hardy and beautiful and dangerous.”

Yanli scoffed, not feeling particularly dangerous, but blushed all the same as her brothers poked at each other, grinning.

“Yiling Oleander blossoms for the Yiling Wei sect, then,” she said softly, running her fingers over the embroidery. The boys cheered and Meng Shi looked almost as pleased as her son as she sat down and played an old Yunmeng tune, “Oleander in Twilight.”

It was the most pleasant, lovely evening she had experienced since the terrible day they had all run into the Burial Mounds.

The next morning, Nie Mingjue sent a messenger to the guest pavilion to let them know that a contingent of 10,000 Qishan Wen forces was headed into Qinghe, obviously aiming for the Unclean Realm, under the command of Wen Xu.

Chapter Text

Xiao Xingchen bowed to her. Behind him, Song Zichen was going over the cart that Xue Yang was settled in, and checking the harness on their newly-donated mule.

“Please, Song Daoren, it is the least we could do,” she said, bowing in return.

“Take this letter to Lao He, who is a fellow accountant in Yiling. He will arrange with the magistrate to have you listed as the renter of record for our property.” A’Yao handed over a letter wrapped and sealed in a heavy, expensive envelope, marked with a beautifully hand-drawn, stylized oleander flower. She would have to ask A’Yao how much of the Nie ink and paper stock he was “liberating.”

Xiao Xingchen accepted it with somber formality. “We appreciate your assistance.”

They were all hoping that while it was now technically under the rule of Qishan Wen, Yiling was far enough back from the front that the Wen would leave it alone for the most part. Xiao Xingchen had mentioned that he had no idea where they could safely take Xue Yang for his recovery, which would be extended. The boy’s meridians were severely corroded by all the resentful energy he had carried for most of his life, and so the physical damage from Ying’er pulling the yin iron out of him was going to take a very long time to heal. Xue Yang himself had gone non-verbal since he woke up, listless and angry and helpless.

Yanli had discussed with her family the option of letting them stay at their siheyuan and there was unanimous agreement. A’Yao was not going to send his mother that far away, mostly because she probably wouldn’t go anyway; and Yanli assumed with the war starting, none of them would be able to head home safely anytime soon.

“It will take you a few weeks to get there,” A’Yao said. “Here is a map, showing the route I took from Qinghe back to Yiling.” That, he handed to Song Zichen when he walked up.

“It is a kind thing you are doing,” Yanli offered.

Song Zichen huffed a little while Xiao Xingchen sighed heavily. “It is not kindness. I understand and sympathize with Sect Leader Nie’s argument for execution,” he said, and paused for a moment, looking for words. “Yet, I can’t help but blame myself for not realizing immediately that Xue Yang was under the influence of resentful energy. We brought him here for justice without even looking for a cause to his actions, without questioning what was presented to us.” He frowned, which was a truly awful expression on him, angry and heartbreaking and fierce. “It is right that we care for him in his recovery. Perhaps he is forever tainted, which is something we will have to deal with in time. But this is as much for my own penance as it is for his well-being.”

“I hope our home will afford you the space and peace of mind needed for such a task,” Yanli said delicately. Personally, she was unconvinced that Xue Yang would ever recover—even if his body did, how could one come back from having your mind broken that severely? But it was not her task, so she kept her opinion on it to herself while Ying’er and A’Cheng said their own heartfelt goodbyes to their teachers.

“Sect Leader Wei!”

Yanli startled as Liu Peng came running up to her, breathless.

“Sect Leader Wei,” she started, lowering her voice as she bowed and not waiting for any kind of proper response. “Sect Leader Jiang is having an audience with Sect Leader Nie, accusing you of stealing Yunmeng Jiang property!”

Zidian.

She looked over at A’Yao, who gave her a tiny grimace of sympathy. They had talked about what they would do once someone from the Jiang saw Zidian on A’Cheng’s hand, which was bound to happen sooner rather than later. A’Yao claimed that he had several arguments at hand, but they both hoped Jiang Fengmian would just ignore the issue as too politically sensitive to meddle with. She had planned to appraise Nie Mingjue of the situation, but unfortunately, the entire fortress city was akin to an overturned anthill as the sect prepared for war and there had been no time.

No doubt Sect Leader Jiang was accusing Meng Shi of stealing sect property, and while Nie Mingjue was sympathetic to the “Wei Sect” if only because of Ying’er’s connection to the yin iron, it was a serious accusation.

She told Liu Peng to go tell Meng Shi to stay inside their pavilion at all costs. There was no shaking Ying’er and A’Cheng, who had seen Liu Peng run up and were now both bristling like wet cats, so she walked with as much dignity as possible to Saber Hall with A’Yao and the boys trailing behind her.

Everyone turned to look at them as they entered. Jiang Fengmian was wearing his “frustrated with difficult people” expression, which only soured when he caught sight of Yanli, but he was not prone to outbursts like so many other sect leaders (Sect Leader Yao, she thought uncharitably) and simply stood there radiating displeasure as they approached.

Nie Mingjue had an expressive eyebrow raised, probably wondering how she had found out what was going on.

“Are the Honored Daoren on their journey?” He asked after she bowed in greeting.

“Yes, we saw them off just now.”

He nodded. “I suppose you know why Sect Leader Jiang is here?”

“This one was informed of his accusations,” she said with another slight bow.

“Then you understand the severity of the charge.”

She nodded.

Jiang Fengmian stepped forward again. “Jiang Yanli has admitted that she sent the spy into my home, and now it is evident that part of her assignment was to steal a powerful spiritual weapon from us. I demand compensation, the return of the item, and for the spy to be executed.”

A’Yao went stiff as a board, his face going blank. Yanli cleared her throat before stepping forward and speaking.

“Sect Leader Nie, the item in question is an heirloom of Meishan Yu that belonged to my mother. By rights it belongs to me, and I gifted it to my youngest brother, since only a direct blood descendant of Madam Yu could ever wield the weapon.” She held up her hand without turning around, and heard Zidian hissing behind her as A’Cheng brought it to life as proof of his control over it.

“It was a part of her dowry and is Yunmeng Jiang property,” Jiang Fengmian said with a placating smile. “We cannot expect inexperienced children to understand the legalities involved, for which I am inclined to be forgiving. However, the spy herself was fully aware of what she was doing and must be punished.”

“What dowry?” A’Yao said loudly. Everyone turned to him, and Nie Mingjue motioned for him to continue.

“There is no dowry,” he said firmly.

“The marriage ended unpleasantly, but I assure you, all rites and responsibilities were honored at the time of the wedding.”

A’Yao smiled and A’Cheng and Ying’er instinctively shuffled away from him, out of the line of fire. Yanli did not blame them, because as proper and inoffensive as he looked, anyone who knew him well knew the traps his brilliant mind could contrive. She held her breath.

“Meng Shi was our spy. No one disputes that.” He nodded condescendingly at Jiang Fengmian, who bristled. “However, part of her assignment was to fully investigate the legal standing of Madam Yu’s children.”

Yanli did not flinch. A’Cheng did. Jiang Fengmian frowned.

“Just now you referred to Sect Leader Wei as ‘Jiang Yanli.’ Not only was that a terrible breach of etiquette to a fellow sect leader, but along with your entire argument, it is legally incorrect.” He stepped forward and bowed to Nie Mingjue. “What I am about to say can be verified by the Nie sect archivists, I believe. At the time of her execution, Yu Ziyuan’s marriage to Jiang Fengmian was completely annulled. Notices were sent out to all the allied sects of Yunmeng Jiang notifying them of this change in status, along with the date of her punishment. However, while her children were disavowed as Jiang heirs, the notices never denied that they were her issue. She was acknowledged as their mother, even as they were excised from Yunmeng Jiang records.

“Furthermore, there is no official record of Meishan Yu demanding the return of said dowry. To do so would have been to acknowledge the marriage, which they could not do without losing face. Thus, legally, Jiang Fengmian was never married to Yu Ziyuan, therefore there never was and never could be a bridal dowry he can claim rights to. Any property of hers that survives—which is not much, I gather from Madam Meng’s investigations—belong to her acknowledged heirs, Wei Yanli and Wei Cheng, by way of their acknowledged father, Wei Changze. Madam Meng liberated such property from where it was being illegally hoarded by Sect Leader Jiang.” He side-eyed the man in question before smiling pleasantly. “However unintentionally.”

Nie Mingjue settled back in his chair. Behind him, Nie Huaisang was trying very hard to hide his delight behind one of Yanli’s fans.

“Sect Leader Jiang, do you dispute any of this?”

He stood up tall, one hand behind his back. “However it came into the possession of Yunmeng Jiang, it is our property.”

A’Yao tsk’d at him in obviously false sympathy. “Oh, Sect Leader Jiang, I’m afraid that jianghu law around powerful spiritual weapons tied to a specific bloodline is not ‘finders keepers, losers weepers’.”

“You!” He turned on A’Yao, hand moving to his sword.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Nie Mingjue spoke loudly, causing the man in question to stop his advance. “I ask again, and demand an answer: do you dispute any of the facts Seneschal Meng has presented here?”

He looked sour, as he always did when Madam Yu had called him out for his mistakes. “No.”

Nie Mingjue waited for him to say anything further, but after an extended moment of silence, he shrugged. “This sounds like a misunderstanding, and therefore I close the matter as resolved.”

It was a generous and diplomatic way to put it, Yanli thought as she smiled at A’Yao in triumph. He was looking smug and then turned to give Jiang Fengmian an entirely supercilious bow. The man huffily ignored all of them as he walked out of the hall.

Nie Mingjue sighed, bringing Yanli’s attention back to him.

“Since you’re here, I think it is time we talked about the yin iron. Wei Ying, do you have all the pieces in your possession secure?”

Wei Ying looked surprised at being addressed, then nodded, then remembered himself and bowed. “Yes, Sect Leader Nie.”

Nie Mingjue looked at Yanli for confirmation, so she nodded.

“Are they within the boundaries of the Unclean Realm?”

Ying’er stood up and tilted his head as if listening for something. After a moment, he shook his head. “No, sir, not at this moment, but they are still within the limits of Qinghe.”

“And you know this how?”

“The crows let me know,” Ying’er said, and Yanli thought that no one missed how vague he was being about that.

“They aren’t just sitting in some damn crow’s nest somewhere, are they?” Nie Mingjue asked, looking very long-suffering, which Yanli could relate to.

“No! That would be bad for their eggs. The crows who carry it for me trade off with each other, so it is always in motion.”

Nie Huaisang scrunched up his face. “Why?”

“Oh, so Wen Ruohan can’t target them.”

Several Nie cringed at that, but Nie Mingjue just nodded slowly.

Yanli remembered how, weeks before, Ying’er had described Xue Yang’s piece as simply ‘traveling.’ Apparently, being in motion interfered in pinpointing its location. She made a mental note to sit down with Ying’er and A’Yao to get clarification on that, later.

“Nonetheless, I believe Wen Ruohan sent his army here under the belief that the other three pieces are here,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Yeah, that makes sense. I always make sure the crows stay nearby, so it might look like the pieces are all here.” Ying’er thoughtfully looked up at a high window. They all followed his gaze, but nothing was there.

“So, you control the crows?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“What? No, you can’t control crows. You should know that!”

“I do, which is why I asked. I had a crow as a pet for a while, but they are very smart. I think it considered me its pet, actually,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his fan.

“That makes sense. No, I don’t control them. We just have, uh, an agreement.” He looked imploringly at Yanli. She turned to Nie Mingjue.

“Would you like us to depart the Unclean Realm with the pieces? It might divert Wen Xu.”

Nie Mingjue chuckled. “Nothing will divert Wen Xu. He’s been salivating for a chance to lay siege here for years. No, I think the best choice would be to increase our advantage, if possible.”

“The Xuanwu of Slaughter’s piece,” A’Yao replied solemnly.

Nie Mingjue looked very grim as he nodded in agreement.

Chapter Text

Nie Mingjue moved the discussion to the more discrete and far more heavily warded war room. Nie Popo arrived and stood off to the side with a couple of other elders, while the Nie lieutenants ranged around the table on one side and the Yiling Wei sect on the other. The big map of Qishan was laid out for them again, and Nie Zonghui placed a marker representing the Xuanwu of Slaughter in the general area A’Cheng had pointed out last time.

Ying’er nodded happily. “Yes! Since we’ve narrowed down the places where she might be, I can send crows out to look for her, now.”

“I don’t want you sending the yin iron pieces directly into Qishan by way of crow,” Nie Mingjue said, leaning forward.

Ying’er flapped a hand at him until A’Yao slapped it down with a hiss of “manners, Ying’er!” He rubbed his hand but continued on. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. But, uhm, it might take a little while?”

No one was happy about that.

Nie Mingjue gave Ying’er an intense look that had him going wide-eyed in response.

“I am allocating important resources to this salvage effort, Young Master Wei. Timing is critical, because if we can find the Xuanwu of Slaughter, then so can Wen Ruohan. Then he will have three pieces to match the three pieces you have, and quite frankly I don’t like our odds in that scenario. Wen Ruohan has had years—decades!—to learn the art of demonic cultivation with the yin iron, and he is both cunning and ruthless. He’s willing to sacrifice his own people, and he’s got a lot of people. By rights Qishan should be as remote and ancillary to the jianghu as Meishan, but the Wen have worked for generations to achieve the power and reach he enjoys now.” He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Vague generalities and half-truths will not be useful to me. They might get a lot of people killed, including people you care about.”

As he spoke, Ying’er went paler and paler, and seemed to withdraw into himself.

“You are the crux of this situation, as I believe that you are probably the only one who can successfully retrieve the yin iron from the Xuanwu of Slaughter, much less wield it. I need you to do your best, harder and better than you ever have in your entire life, to help us win this war. Can you do that, Senior Disciple Wei Ying?”

Yanli had never heard such a rousing speech given in such a foreboding tone, but it worked on Ying’er who stood up straight with a look of determination on his face.

“It will take at least a two days for the crows to find her. Maybe three.”

“Wen Xu’s army will be at our gates in another eight days, maybe less. Do better.”

Ying’er winced. “I might be able to send them closer in range if I use the yin iron.”

“No,” Yanli and A’Yao said at the same time.

Nie Mingjue looked at her for a moment, then gave her a curt nod. “Your sect leader forbids it, and I can’t say I disagree. We need you fully present, and you tend to pass out for a full day after you use the yin iron for anything.”

“Not a full day! Half a day, tops!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes. “Point taken, but my point stands.”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui said deferentially. Nie Mingjue waved him on. “Travel time is going to take over a day, by sword, to get to that area in general. Longer, since we have to do it without being spotted by Wen scouts.” He turned to Wei Ying. “Can your crows find you if you are in transit?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. They recognize the difference between me and the Burial Mounds,” Ying’er said, once again horrifying everyone in the room.

“What does that even mean?” A’Cheng hissed at him.

“It means I’m alive,” Ying’er said, slapping his chest. When all he got was confused looks, he sighed heavily. “It means the crows will be able to find me.”

Even Yanli could not tell if he was honestly confused by the question or just pulling on A’Cheng’s hair.

Nie Mingjue very obviously chose to ignore the exchange in favor of moving forward with planning. They spent some time hashing out the trip, but then Nie Mingjue focused on Yanli again.

“I wish with all my heart that I could say you and Madam Meng would be safe here in the Unclean Realm, but I cannot. Wen Xu is bringing a siege army of ten thousand, which is the only reason it is taking him so long to get here. I am sending Huaisang out to Tangshan, where we have an old ancestral manor. It’s remote and protected, up on the northeast coast. I offer you the protection of going with him.”

She didn’t want to accept. She thought she shouldn’t accept. Any other sect leader would likely be heading the expedition—as Nie Mingjue in fact planned to do, leaving the defense of his fortress city in Nie Zonghui and Nie Popo’s hands. That was how critical he believed the final piece of yin iron to be to their war effort. A sign of desperation, perhaps, but no less vital for it.

As well, Ying’er and A’Yao and A’Cheng were all going, because they had to. Ying’er, of course, was the obvious choice. But she and A’Yao agreed that A’Cheng was the best choice to rein his brother in when needed. A’Yao had expressed his concern with Ying’er’s sometimes erratic behavior in their journey through the Nie crypts, which was worrisome and something that had to be accounted for. With both Ying’er and A’Cheng going, a “senior disciple” of Yiling Wei needed to be there, too, and no one doubted A’Yao’s ability to think his way out of a problem. The three of them had trained together for years by that point and were a cohesive unit.

They were also her family.

But she would be a liability on such a trip. They did not need her diplomatic skills to take on the Xuanwu of Slaughter, or her embroidery skills to attack any Wen they came across.

She bowed to Nie Mingjue. “This one thanks you for the offer, and accepts it with gratitude.” The boys and A’Yao had the nerve to all look incredibly relieved, so she ignored them.

Nie Mingjue however, probably knew how she felt since he looked genuinely regretful for her sake, then shrugged. “Have fun traveling with Sang’er. He’s an absolute monster of a spoiled brat during long distance travel.”

The “monster of a spoiled brat” shouted at his brother, who just laughed at his antics. If it all seemed a little forced, a little stressed, Yanli could sympathize.

The meeting broke up and everyone went their ways to get ready for the weeks ahead, which would be a turning point in the war, one way or another.

As they left, Yanli put on a little speed and trailed after Nie Huaisang, causing some confusion with her brothers and A’Yao.

“Young Master Nie,” Yanli called out.

Nie Huaisang came to a dramatic stop, his robes swishing around as he performatively fumbled. He turned to her with an innocent expression.

“I would like a moment of your time,” she said pleasantly, which put him on guard. She waved off A’Yao and the boys, who to a man looked unhappy about it. But there were plenty of people walking around, and they were out in the open, so it was hardly indecent. They slunk away, looking over their shoulders as they went.

“How may I assist you, Sect Leader Wei?” He asked like sugar would not melt in his mouth.

“Did your brother actually gift his own mother’s guqin to Madam Meng?”

His smile was quickly hidden behind his fan. “Did she like it?”

“Sang’er,” Yanli said warningly.

“Ugh!” He stomped his foot like a five year old. “He told me to send her something she would enjoy as a gesture of his admiration.”

Yanli closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “You realize it looks like a courting gift, right?”

“Would that be so bad?” He looked genuinely hopeful.

Yanli looked around, making sure they were not being overheard, before lowering her voice. “It is cruel.”

“What? No! How?” He reared back, confused and hurt.

“She is Meng Yao’s mother, and a former courtesan. It is highly inappropriate for a man of Nie Mingjue’s stature to court her, and doing so makes it look like he is trying to, ah, procure her services.”

Nie Huaisang let out a bird-like screech, then waved off a few Nie who looked over in concern. “No!” He hissed at her. “That would never happen!”

“Explain to me using simple phrases how this situation is not an insult to Yiling Wei,” she said, folding her hands in front of herself. She was genuinely curious as to how he was going to talk himself out of this.

“Because it is actually a courting gift!” He said indignantly. That was not the answer she had expected, for a variety of reasons, so she had to take a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Does Nie Mingjue know it’s a courting gift?”

“I’m warming him up to the idea.” He held up his hands. “I know it looks unsavory, but Nie men…are like that. My mother was a courtesan, as was Nie Popo’s.”

Yanli blinked at him. At no point in her studies of other sects’ histories was it mentioned that Second Madam Nie had been a courtesan.

Nie Huaisang nodded like he heard her thoughts. “It’s not considered proper to talk about. Once they marry in, it’s never mentioned again. But one thing the Nie and the Lan have in common is a fierce kind of love. We might not love ‘only once’ but we love with all our heart.” He slumped a little. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Madam Meng, and he’s, uh, had his share of infatuations. And he needs a wife.”

“She’s already over thirty years old. There will be no guarantee of a child.”

“Oh please. Nie Popo was 44 when she had her last daughter, and Nie Zonghui’s mother was 37 when she had him, and she wasn't even a cultivator.” He leaned forward, a fierce expression on his face. “I just need him to have one heir!”

“So this is all about you not wanting to inherit the role of sect leader?” Yanli frowned.

“That’s definitely part of it! But no, not all of it. I want him to be happy, too. We don’t…Nie don’t tend to live long, either. Even if Wei Ying solves our problem, Da’Ge is never going to cultivate to immortality. We never do. I just want him to be happy while he’s alive.” He looked genuinely heartbroken at that moment.

Yanli sighed. “We are at war and now is not the time to broker betrothals, but I will discuss the matter with Meng Shi.”

“Thank you, Yanli-jie!” He hopped up and down.

“I make no promises! And don’t make any plans yet!” She called after him as he made his escape.

Chapter Text

It was generally considered rude to turn down an offer from your host to join him for dinner, but Yanli hoped Nie Mingjue would understand. The Xuanwu Rescue Brigade, as Wei Ying had pointedly taken to calling it, was leaving at first light the next morning. While most of their trip would be done at night through Qishan lands, they could at least speed to the far edges of Qinghe in little more than a day, and Nie Mingjue was not going to lose a full day of travel if he could avoid it. Yanli thought the only reason he was not leaving that night was because Nie Popo had all but sat on him in order to review their defenses.

So, they had a quiet family dinner in their pavilion, and Meng Shi played them beautiful, inspirational tunes to lighten their hearts before carefully storing the guqin for travel. Liu Peng was busy packing things for them, although Yanli wondered how she could be so busy when they had arrived with just the clothes on their backs, which had in turn been bought for them by Nie Huaisang.

After dinner was cleared away and Liu Peng bid them goodnight, they all settled in the main room by the light of braziers and a few candles. Ying’er and A’Cheng huddled on each side of Yanli like they were five again, while A’Yao sat next to his mother, shaping and buffing her nails with expert precision.

“Have you heard word of the Yunmeng Jiang sect?” Meng Shi asked.

“Nothing official,” Yanli said, rubbing the boys’ arms as they tensed up at the mere mention of their old sect.

“Hm. A little birdie told me that he is preparing to retreat to Lanling,” A’Yao said, not looking up from his task. Yanli assumed he meant Nie Huaisang.

“Back to the snake pit? After failing in his mission for Sect Leader Jin, I doubt he expects a warm welcome,” Meng Shi said with a frown. “And Madam Jiang should not be traveling at all. She is due in less than a month.”

“Officially or unofficially?” A’Yao asked, causing Ying’er and A’Cheng to frown in confusion.

“Unofficially.”

“To be fair, Second Mother, it would not be responsible of him to leave her here, either,” Yanli offered.

“He could have asked to allow her to join us in Tangshan. Sect Leader Nie is in an awkward position regarding Yunmeng Jiang, but he’s an honorable man. He would not say no.” Meng Shi inspected her nails as A’Yao changed hands. “Oh, lovely as always.”

“I asked, but no one in the Unclean Realm has nail polish,” A’Yao said regretfully.

“Big surprise there,” A’Cheng said with a snort, which made them all chuckle.

“If I had time, I could make you some, Mama.”

“I know you would, A’Yao,” she said with a soft smile.

“I think Jiang Fengmian is in a difficult situation,” A’Yao continued as he diligently buffed away. “He failed to convince the Nie to actively support him, and he knows Jin Guangshan won’t. That leaves Gusu Lan, but we don’t even know their status at this point, and that could mean traveling all the way across China just to find out that Cloud Recesses has fallen.”

“We don’t know that!” Ying’er sat up, radiating defensiveness.

“We don’t. No one does. Which means it would be a risk for Jiang Fengmian to go there,” A’Yao explained.

“So what are his options, then?” A’Cheng asked, squinting into the distance as he tried to think the problem through.

A’Yao sighed heavily. “Wen Ruohan.”

“What? No!” Several of them exclaimed at once. Even Meng Shi looked doubtful.

“Lotus Pier is in Wen Ruohan’s hands. No one, at this stage of the war, can get it back from him. Jiang Fengmian’s play for assistance from the Nie was never going to win it back, and in the end damaged what good relations he had with Nie Mingjue due to his falling for Jin Guangshan’s ploy, if indeed it was his idea in the first place. We know Lanling Jin has been angling to stay out of the path of Wen Ruohan, and Jin Guangshan is the type of man who would use the destruction of other clans for his own gain. For all intents and purposes, Yunmeng Jiang has been eliminated as a great sect, and is barely a sect at all. All he’s got are a handful of disciples and a potential heir.”

“More than we’ve got,” A’Cheng said with a shrug, then yelped when Ying’er reached over Yanli to pinch him. “It’s true!”

“Actually, I have two heirs, so I win.” Yanli said smugly, grabbing their hands. They both blushed and smiled, and Meng Shi chuckled sweetly at them.

“What can he offer Wen Ruohan, though? I mean, you just said he hasn’t got much of anything left. Nothing Wen Ruohan needs, anyway,” A’Cheng said.

A’Yao paused and looked up, his eyes going distant. “If it were me, I would send a message to Wen Ruohan offering my services as his spy. Jiang Fengmian is beaten down and his sect is hanging by a thread, but he’s got a good reputation overall and many long-standing relationships with all the sects of the jianghu, great and small. Many minor sects would look to him for leadership, anyway. Wen Ruohan does not need him, but only a fool would ignore the fact that he can use him. For better or for worse, he has been driven into a corner, between the fall of Lotus Pier and our usurping an alliance with the Nie, as well as positioning ourselves as critical to the war due to Ying’er’s control of the yin iron.”

“It’s not so much control as an ongoing negotiation…” Ying’er rubbed the side of his nose.

A’Yao sighed again. “Please don’t tell anyone else that, for now. My point is, even if Gusu Lan is unmolested, they have a lot more incentive to back Qinghe Nie and Yiling Wei than they do an already foundering sect whose land has been conquered.” He stopped and looked around at them. “It all rests on how desperate he is. At the very least, siding with Wen Ruohan might get Lotus Pier returned to him, if the Wen win the war. He’d be the leader of a subsidiary sect, but then, so would everyone else. He’d be alive, back on the Lotus Throne, and if he plays his cards right, he could even see to the destruction of the Yiling Wei sect. Provided that Wen Ruohan doesn’t kill us all first.”

Yanli shook her head. “You are clever enough to think of that, and I could see a truly desperate, craven man making such a bargain. But Sect Leader Jiang is not a risk taker, and for all that we have discovered how much he is without merit, he has never been ambitious. It’s one of the traits that Madam Yu hated most about him. I doubt such a course of action would even occur to him.”

Ying’er looked doubtful, but A’Cheng seemed convinced. A’Yao and Meng Shi traded loaded looks, but let the matter drop.

“In any case, I will send a message to Sect Leader Jiang tomorrow, letting him know that Madam Jiang is welcome to join us, as our guest,” Yanli said. They all looked at her like she was crazy. “What?”

Meng Shi shook her head. “There is no way he would not read malicious intent into that invitation. And even if he doesn’t, it still would be madness to leave his wife and future heir in your clutches.”

“You make me sound like a villain in an adventure novel!” Yanli laughed. “The point is that I will offer, because that is the righteous thing to do. I will not have him telling others that we turned our backs on a defenseless woman heavy with child.”

“You are an honorable woman,” A’Yao said, his eyes bright, and Meng Shi looked between him and Yanli in a way that made her blush.

Ying’er fell backwards with a heavy sigh. “I miss Lan Zhan!”

“Ugh, not this again,” A’Cheng said and got up to pour them all some more pear juice. The boys bickered until Meng Shi asked Yanli to recite a romantic poem, which Yanli knew had to be on purpose as it made A’Yao’s checks pink up. Eventually, though, the night crept up on all of them.

The boys were reluctant to go to bed until Meng Shi gently asked if they needed a lullaby to help fall asleep, “the way little babies do?”

Quietly humiliated by the comparison, they retired to their room boasting of falling asleep quickly “like soldiers!” so that they would be ready for travel in the morning.

Yanli had not laughed, which she thought she deserved credit for.

That night, she sat on her private porch overlooking the garden, trying not to worry and failing miserably.

Eventually it got late enough to be edging into morning, and still she sat, wrapped in blankets and staring out at the sky full of stars. There was no moon, which was fortunate for the Brigade’s travel plans, and allowed the sweep of the silver river to be clearly seen.

She heard some rustling and looked down at the railing, expecting Ying’er to pop his head up. Instead, it was A’Yao.

“Yanli,” he said, quiet and soft.

“A’Yao,” she answered, holding out her hand. He deftly cleared the railing and landed on silent feet to come sit next to her. They looked at each other for a long moment before she scooted closer to his side, and he raised his arm to wrap around her shoulders. They sat in silence for a while.

“I believe you will be safe in your travels,” he finally said.

“I believe you will not be safe in yours,” she countered with a sigh. She felt him smile as he pressed his face against her hair.

“Probably not.”

She loved his honesty most of the time. It was good to be held by a man who did not humor or lie to her. Still, part of her wanted him to tell her everything would be fine. He seemed to read her thoughts with his next words.

“I wish I could promise to be safe, and that we will all return to you hale and healthy. I want nothing more for you than peace of mind and happiness.”

She nestled in closer, feeling his breath over the sensitive shell of her ear. Stirred in a way she normally suppressed, she tilted her head up and finally asked the question she had left hanging for too long.

“Will you kiss me, A’Yao?”

“Oh, A’Li. Yes. Yes.”

They were quiet and gentle deep into the night, exploring each other in hidden ways. A’Yao was more passionate in his lovemaking than she had expected, but then, she herself acted on impulses that were far more aggressive than she ever thought she possessed.

They were not married nor even properly betrothed, so A’Yao tried to demur on taking her as a husband would, but she insisted. He looked at her for a long time, his naked body pressed up against hers as they panted for breath.

“A’Li, such a thing…it might have undesired consequences.”

She shook her head and ran her fingers over his fine, beautiful face. “I know. Would a direct heir be so bad?”

Speechless, he kissed her, and she cried tears of joy later as they laid in the mess they made. There was no guarantee that he would ever return to her, and she found herself pleased with the idea of possibly taking a part of him with her. Pleased enough to tease him, and roll over to settle on his lap for another round.

He snuck out as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the tops of the farthest mountain ranges, having barely slept. They kissed goodbye as secret lovers do over the railing, and her tears turned to ones of sadness once she was truly alone again.

She hoped she was not trading one life for another.

Chapter Text

Yanli stood with Nie Popo and Nie Huaisang at the high parapet that was the launching off point from the Unclean Realm for anyone traveling by sword. Yanli wished Lan Wangji was going with them, but as yet no word had reached Qinghe about the fate of Cloud Recesses.

Ying’er was with Nie Mingjue, while A’Cheng and A’Yao rode with other Nie. They had been given training sabers of low spiritual strength, which would help them in a fight, but were not strong enough to fly with. It just put her to mind of finding a way to get them true spiritual swords as they deserved…preferably before the heavy weight of war truly hit the jianghu.

A’Yao had taken a private moment to say goodbye to his mother earlier, but Yanli had walked with him and the boys up to the parapet to get every second she could with them in her sight.

“We promise to be as safe as we can, JieJie,” A’Cheng said, his words a little stilted as she adjusted the straps on the bag slung across his back. He was looking at the ground as he spoke, his hands clinched into fists at his side, probably trying to hold back from hugging her like a little boy, she thought with a private smile.

“I know you will. Please promise me that you will take care of each other, no matter what.”

“We promise, JieJie!” They said together, and it was all Yanli could do not to tear up. There was a very real possibility that the squadron would not return, or at least would not return whole, and they all knew it but refused to admit it. She went about checking their robes again, including A’Yao’s, which were plain and dark, but all of them wore an underrobe of black decorated with peach-colored oleander flowers Yanli had embroidered on them. As protection went, it wasn’t much, but they carried their sect emblem and all her love with them, and that was all she could give them.

As they stepped onto the swords of the Nie disciples giving them a lift, Ying’er turned to look out over the Unclean Realm, and frowned.

“Stay away from Sect Leader Jiang,” Ying’er said, his usually good-natured smile falling away. A’Cheng glanced at him in confusion.

“I am safe here, Ying’er, I promise,” Yanli said with a firm smile. Ying’er did not look convinced, glancing up again. Yanli looked and saw a crow circling high in the air currents, but she decided not to ask about it as the squad took off on Nie Mingjue’s orders.

Nie Huaisang was as melancholy as she was, standing there quietly with his open fan pressed against his chest, as if keeping his heart at bay, his eyes never leaving his brother until the fliers were well out of sight.

Nie Popo turned to them. Gone were her luxurious silks and velvets and elegant hair pins. Instead, she was in an outfit that was not much different from what Nie Mingjue himself had been wearing, with bracers, heavy canvas outer layers and a lot of leather. She was ready for war.

“You will all be leaving tomorrow morning, taking the north road, and traveling fast. Be ready at dawn.” She looked both of them over. “Dress for rough travel. Do you have needs or requests?” She directed the last to Yanli.

Yanli handed over the letter that Meng Shi had helped her write that morning, both of them working to find the best and least offensive way to say “don’t be an idiot, send your very pregnant wife to safety with us.”

“If you could see this delivered to Sect Leader Jiang, I would appreciate it.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise, but Nie Popo just took it with a searching look.

“I have offered Madam Jiang a place with our party, for her safety and the baby,” Yanli explained. Nie Huaisang’s expression grew even more shocked.

“We offered him the same thing, but he refused. He is heading for Lanling, leaving later this morning,” Nie Popo said without inflection, although her opinion of his decision was clear on her face.

“Nonetheless, I could not sit right with myself if I did not at least offer,” Yanli said.

She tucked the letter away. “You are a righteous woman, Sect Leader Wei.” She bowed. “I will see that he gets it before he leaves, and any reply will be delivered to you as quickly as possible.” Then she turned to Nie Huaisang just as he slapped his fan closed and tried backing away. Her arm snapped out and she caught him by the collar.

“Ack!”

“Did you finish that inventory of our grain stores with Nie Qian?” She said, shaking him like a puppy. “I want that done before you leave!”

Yanli quickly made her excuses and abandoned Nie Huaisang to his fate.

There was not much to distract her and Meng Shi for the rest of the day, as Liu Peng had already packed everything but their immediate necessities. She almost wished they had left at the same time as the squadron that morning, but since they were traveling by horse and carriage and taking a lot of luggage and cargo with them, their caravan required more time to assemble. Yanli knew that a good portion of the wagons were likely filled with Nie treasures they did not want to fall into the hands of the Wen in a worst-case scenario.

Meng Shi kept giving her sideways looks that said she had some idea what Yanli and A’Yao got up to the night before (they had been so quiet!) but mercifully did not ask any questions.

They ate breakfast in the garden and talked about poetry and the weather and whatever else they could think of that wasn’t war, politics, or their fears. By late morning, they both become quiet with worry, and Yanli put aside her stitching. She decided that she needed to stretch her legs before lunch was served, while Meng Shi demurred and claimed she was going to nap for a bit.

Staying out of the way of siege preparations was not easy, but a few helpful Nie pointed her to interior garden areas. She was sitting in one of the grander gardens, which was a lot more vibrant than she would have given the Nie credit for, when Liu Peng ran over to her and bowed hastily.

“Sect Leader Wei! Sect Leader Jiang would like to speak with you.”

Yanli took a moment. She had thought that Nie Popo would send word of his response.

Liu Peng must have seen her confusion. “He sent a disciple to the pavilion. Madam Meng is asleep, so I told him I would find you and let you know.” She bowed.

“I assume you know where he has been staying?”

“Yes! The Jiang contingent is over in the Qilin’s Haven pavilion. I can take you there!”

Yanli nodded and they headed out of the garden. Ying’er’s words of caution flitted through her mind, but she pushed them aside.

The Qilin’s Haven pavilion was, unsurprisingly, a much larger guest quarters, suitable for a sect leader with a large retinue. It was essentially its own siheyuan nestled toward the back side of the Unclean Realm, the buildings set in a terraced style up the incline of the mountain. Two Jiang disciples stood at the gate.

“I am here by request of Sect Leader Jiang. Please tell him Sect Leader Wei is here.” She said.

“Yes, Young Mistress—ah, I mean, Sect Leader Wei.”

“Thank you, Jiang Wu.”

Jiang Wu looked unhappy, but went inside with the message.

“Liu Peng, you may go. I will be fine. Jiang Fengmen is not an ally, but I will be safe.”

The girl frowned and was clearly trying to figure out how to argue with her without being disrespectful. “May I at least wait for you here?”

There did not seem much point in trying to dissuade her, so she nodded.

Jiang Wu came back and led her into the quarters. She was taken to the front hall, where Jiang Fengmian stood. They bowed to each other lightly, as sect leaders, and Yanli noticed that his wife was not there.

“I hope that Madam Jiang is doing well,” Yanli said, trying to start things off on a friendly note.

“She is resting at the moment, as we will be leaving shortly, but is as well as can be expected. Thank you for asking. Please, join me for tea.” He motioned at a table with two chairs to either side, already set up for tea. His manner was brusque but polite, and reminded her of how he often talked to many minor sect leaders. She figured it was the best behavior she could expect from him.

They sat down and a servant prepared the tea. When they had their cups in hand, he sighed and Yanli braced herself.

“Your offer to assist Madam Jiang in the evacuation of the Unclean Realm was generous. However, we are headed for Lanling, and plan to shelter at Koi Tower while hostilities continue.”

“Sect Leader Jiang knows best, of course.” She sipped her tea. “I only wanted to extend the offer as a gesture of goodwill after our rocky start.” She smiled.

He nodded with equanimity. “I perhaps did not show myself in the best light. It was…ah, surprising to see you. We had no reports of where you and the boys ended up.”

She continued drinking her tea as he spoke, trying to order her thoughts. “Given the situation, I felt it was better for us to remain obscure. Trust me when I say that without Wen Ruohan’s actions of late, we would still be in our modest home outside of Yiling.”

“Ah, you were always the level headed one,” he said, looking at her, and something about his expression set off alarm bells in her head. She remembered how he looked at her the morning they were thrown out, his eyes sharp and devoid of emotion, like a shark. She had never feared him before that day, but as she saw those eyes boring into her again, she wondered how she and A’Cheng had gotten out of Lotus Pier with their lives.

“Thank you. I…I…” She squinted as her vision drifted. “Oh?”

“Jiang Xia, please collect her cup,” he said, his voice sounding distant to her ears. She put her hands on the arms of the chair to steady herself.

“What?” She looked at him, swaying as a wave of dizziness swamped her. “You can’t…Nie…” Her tongue felt too big in her mouth.

“Put her in one of the trunks. Make sure she can breathe, and that the trunk is padded. We’re leaving immediately.”

She looked up at him, her heart beating fast but unable to speak as terror ran like acid through her veins. He leaned over to look her in the eye, and she wondered when he had stood up.

“If you had been more reasonable, we could have negotiated for Wei Ying privately. But I when I first saw you in Saber Hall, standing there pretending to be a sect leader, I knew you would be as stupidly stubborn as your mother. The only way we can win his obedience is with you as a hostage.” He stood up and smiled, but it was empty and cruel. “Wen Ruohan was very clear that I must keep you alive for the time being.”

She opened her mouth to scream, but her world went dark.

Chapter Text

Yanli woke up with a searing headache and a cramp in her foot. It was probably the cramp that woke her up, she thought as she fruitlessly tried to flex her foot while folded up like a fan. She managed to keep from panicking or screaming long enough to remember bits and pieces of her meeting with Jiang Fengmian, who had obviously drugged her. She did not remember anything past him saying that she was as stubborn as her mother…something about Wen Ruohan, maybe?

It was as she tried to wiggle around that she realized something was wrong. Not that she was locked in a travel trunk, which was obviously very wrong in principle, but that was not why she felt alarm throughout her body.

She was flying.

Or rather, the trunk was flying, likely being carried between two disciples on swords. She could tell by the familiar floating feeling, the sounds of air swooshing by, the way she was swung about in little jolts that would never happen in a wagon.

She took a deep gulp of air and immediately started one of A’Cheng’s breathing exercises to ward off the waves of panic. If they dropped her, there was nothing she could do. She was locked in a trunk and held high up in the air by disciples who probably knew she was Madam Yu’s daughter. Her whole body shook as she worked on convincing herself that this was not an elaborate assassination. If Sect Leader Jiang wanted her dead, she would already be dead.

The flight was interminable, dark and uncomfortable. She needed to relieve herself, but used her feeble qi to hold her bladder in check. It was not a long-term solution, but she refused to get out of that trunk soaked in urine.

It gave her plenty of time to berate herself for her folly. It was clear that Sect Leader Jiang had her watched, and sent for her when she was apart from Meng Shi or any of the Nie. Had A’Yao or Meng Shi been there, or even Nie Huaisang, they would have warned her never to approach Jiang Fengmian by herself. Ying’er had warned her before he left, even!

She had thought that he would follow the gentry etiquette she had been raised to emulate and admire, despite everything. She ground her teeth, realizing that in so many ways she was still a naïve young girl, and resolved never to leave her cleverer advisors behind ever again. Resolved even more-so never to assume the best of men like Jiang Fengmian, or give them room to outmaneuver her.

Finally, she felt the dip and slant that indicated they were descending to land somewhere. She did a few more deep breathing exercises to center herself, then tried again to flex her leg muscles, using a bit more of her precious qi to help with blood circulation.

The trunk thumped onto the ground and sat still for a few minutes, and she could hear voices around her rising and falling, the familiar sounds of disciples setting up camp. Eventually, the trunk was unlocked and opened.

Yanli was almost made dizzy by the fresh air, taking deep breaths to replenish her lungs, before opening her eyes slowly. Jiang Fengmian stood just in her field of vision, a few steps away from the trunk. He said nothing as she fumbled her way to standing, once again directing her qi to help with her circulation for a few moments. Finally, she felt steady enough to step carefully out of the trunk.

She stood up, rolled her shoulders back, put her shaking hands in her sleeves, and glared at her kidnapper with every ounce of her mother’s cold fury that she could channel. She remained still and did not speak, knowing that her fath—that Jiang Fengmian was a man who grew uncomfortable with extended silences.

Around them, many of the disciples had come to a complete stop. More than a few looked horrified to see her there—did they not know about his plan to kidnap her? How much was he hiding from his own followers? She caught sight of Jiang Wu, standing with a few other disciples, all of them wearing expressions ranging from shock to hopelessness. No, it was clear they had not known anything about her abduction. She wondered idly what Jiang Fengmian has told them about this otherwise extremely random trip into the wilderness.

Finally, he let out an aggrieved sigh, as if she was being a difficult child. She figured that was fair. She was nineteen and not a child anymore, but she planned on being as difficult as possible.

“Please cooperate. I have no desire to hurt you, but Wen Ruohan has no such reservations.”

She stared at him with every ounce of fury her mother had bequeathed to her. “My brothers will rescue me, and they will show no mercy when they do.”

He scoffed. “They have no idea. They believe you are safely back in the Unclean Realm, and I doubt your absence there has even been noticed yet. I timed this so that I and my disciples would leave there as expected. No one noticed that two of them had left a mere hour earlier with cargo.”

A chill went down her spine, thinking of Liu Peng waiting for her at the gate to the Qilin’s Haven. She would know that Yanli had never come out…what had Jiang Fengmian ordered done to her?

He lifted a hand and gestured at the scenery. “If you are curious, we are on the far side of Mount Muxi, the home of the Xuanwu of Slaughter.”

She knew she had not controlled her response when he nodded gravely.

“Yes, Wen Ruohan has known for a while where the last piece of yin iron is. Wei Ying’s control and connection to it are a fraction of what Wen Ruohan can do.”

Perhaps, she thought. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he already retrieved it? Something did not add up there, but she channeled A’Yao’s gambling face and said nothing in reply.

He sighed again. “Don’t be like your mother, A’Li. Try to understand the bigger picture here. Wen Ruohan is going to win whatever feeble attempt at rebellion the other sects put up. The force he sent to Lotus Pier was overwhelming, and there was only one end for us if we had fought back. Better to bend the knee before being annihilated and save my sect for the future.”

She held herself in check by sheer force of will, speaking softly. “What part of your soul did you sell to save your pride?”

He stood there for a long, quiet moment before answering. “You do not know what has been happening since you left—”

“Left? You threw us out!” She stopped and took a deep breath, shaking her head to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. Please, continue, Sect Leader Jiang.”

He had the same sour expression he wore whenever her mother interrupted him. At least she was coming to understand why her mother had interrupted him so often.

“Whatever has happened, Wen Ruohan demands that Wei Ying be turned over to him, along with the final piece of the yin iron, as a sign of my loyalty. As much as I hate to do so—”

Yanli actually snorted in derision, then covered her mouth, earning her yet another of Jiang Fengmian’s sour looks.

“Whatever you believe, A’Li, I never wanted harm to come to you or the boys. Throwing you out was a mercy; many men would have had you killed off, or sold you to a brothel. I did neither, and made no attempt to apprehend Wei Ying after he robbed our coffers and fled.” He held out his hands as if to say, ‘what would you have me do?’

Yanli thought about it, and decided he was lying. Suddenly, she heard Lao Wang’s voice in her head, saying clearly, “I’ve seen a lot of righteous men do the cruelest things for no other reason than pride. Or greed. The gentry has got a lot of both.”

After everything, she no longer doubted that he would have killed her or A’Cheng, and yes, he would have been within his rights to chase down Wei Ying for desertion and theft. For a moment, she left her own mind and considered how Meng Yao would see the situation, what he would say had happened, and it all crystallized in a cruel vision.

“No, that was not you. For all that you are a spineless coward, you would not have wanted me and A’Cheng around as reminders of being cuckolded. At best, you would have sent us off with a trade caravan with no questions asked of what would become of us. Perhaps you simply would rather have washed your hands of us in a way that did not stain your precious silks with blood or shame. A business transaction would have suited you well enough.” She rolled her shoulders back. “But no. Letting us live, turning us out onto the street—that was Madam Yu’s choice. That was my mother, making one last bargain.” She cocked her head. “Did she agree not to run away in exchange for our lives? To not fight you and all your disciples to the death? She would have, if given the chance, and we both know I’m right. Tell me I’m wrong, Father.” She sneered the last word, for once allowing herself to show her fury.

He reared back at the appellation, his nostrils flaring in disgust, but he did not deny it.

“You are just as foolish and naïve as your mother,” he snapped, then paused to settle himself. He hated losing his temper as much as he hated losing money. “Be that as it may, I know Wei Ying better than Wen Ruohan does. I convinced his representative that I stood a better chance of bringing him in alive with the yin iron than anyone else he could send—and that is what you are here for. You are my guarantee that Wei Ying doesn’t get uppity ideas or make rash decisions.”

As a plan, it was pretty good. She knew as well as Jiang Fengmian that Ying’er would rather cut his own heart out than jeopardize her life.

What he had forgotten, or never truly understood, was that Ying’er was not alone. And now, in addition to A’Cheng, he had A’Yao and Nie Mingjue and even the Lan on his side. Better, she thought, that he did not learn the full implications of that until it was too late.

She turned and closed the trunk, then sat on it delicately, as befitting a highborn lady of the gentry. She smoothed out her robes and tucked her hands away again before looking at him.

“I remember, once, when you took me along with you and mother to a negotiation with a small sect outside of Gujiatian. They were poor, but owned rights to a large copper mine. Lacking other resources, they simply had no way to mine it consistently. Mother told you to spend the money to buy it from them. Instead, you tried to play politics, thinking that negotiations would win you the mine rights without any serious outlay of money.” She could tell by his expression he remembered, but she was not telling this to him. She wanted the disciples ringed around them to know.

“If you have a point, make it.”

“The family tentatively agreed to the negotiations, then turned around the following month and sold the mine to Jin Guangshan. He offered a small fortune for it, but it has paid for itself ten times over in the past decade. Money you could have made for Yunmeng Jiang if you had listened to my mother, who told you that the family had already been exchanging messages with the Jin, based on her conversations with the madam of the family. You called her foolish and naïve then, too.” She smiled, channeling A’Yao at his most vicious, and several Jiang disciples shuffled backwards.

“My point is that you are as stupid and proud as a bull who walks himself to the slaughtering block.” She pitched her voice loudly, to be heard throughout the camp. “You have made a deal with a demon who will eat you alive as soon as look at you.”

He glared at her, then waved a hand at a disciple. “Gag her.”

Chapter Text

Yanli hated Wen Chao.

It wasn’t just because he was an insufferable bore with a very loose grasp of etiquette. It wasn’t because he was a spoiled brat of a man who grabbed at women like they were steamed buns for the taking.

No, it was because once, at one of the first discussion conferences that Jiang Cheng had been allowed to attend, Wen Chao had seen a feral dog in the street and set it on fire simply because it annoyed him. A Jiang disciple had run up and killed it, but not before the poor animal’s howls of pain traumatized A’Cheng.

It was not his first panic attack, but it had been the worst yet, and resulted in him missing most of the conference by way of being trapped in the Wen healing ward. At least the Wen doctors were renown, Yanli’s father had said, looking very disappointed in A’Cheng before turning and walking out without actually saying anything to him.

Wen Chao had made several unkind remarks about how ‘weak and girlish’ A’Cheng was for the rest of their visit. Yanli, being weak and girlish herself, found his denigration of both A’Cheng and, by extension, Yanli herself, not just insulting but stupid. At the time, they were the children of the leader of an important sect, and politics alone demanded courtesy. She understood that in the greater scheme of things, torturing animals was far worse than a political faux pas, but collectively it spoke to a person who was cruel simply because he enjoyed it and had no fear of consequences.

Yanli hated him.

“Shouldn’t they have shown up by now?” Wen Chao whined, sprawled out on a low chair with his mistress likewise sprawled across him. At least Jiang Fengmian had the grace to looked disgusted by the display.

“They stopped to camp at the edge of Qishan lands, and then stayed through the day to only creep on under cover of darkness,” he said, refusing to look at Wen Chao. “According to my scouts who watched them leave the borders of Qinghe, they are moving slowly out of an abundance of caution. They will probably get to the other side of the mountain in the middle of the night, tonight.”

Yanli would be shocked if Ying’er’s crows did not inform him about the Wen and Jiang forces laying in wait for them. Unfortunately, she had been gagged and her hands bound before she was pushed under a lean-to tarp, and would be out of sight.

Wen Chao frowned, then shoved the girl off his lap so hard she stumbled before righting herself. He stood up and dusted off his robe ostentatiously.

“Father recalled me here from our impending triumph in Gusu in order to deal with this very important matter! I have decided that instead of sitting around here listening to your excuses, we have plenty of time to go retrieve the yin iron and kill the beast ourselves!”

His shadow stepped forward and murmured something. Yanli kept her eyes on Wen Zhuliu, the very idea of him far more unsettling than either Wen Chao or Jiang Fengmian. She did not feel like she was in immediate danger, but in the end, her poor health meant that losing her golden core would be a death sentence, since it pulled so much weight in keeping her alive as it was. That was not even counting the trauma that having her modest core melted would entail in the moment. The man was utterly terrifying.

Wen Chao waved him off with a snarl. “Father only wants the one kid. We’ve got his sister, and we’ll have the other yin iron piece—he won’t have any choice but to submit! Then we can kill the others.”

Wen Zhuliu paused for a moment before nodding. It was clear to Yanli that he did not like the idea, but did not have the authority to countermand the second young master of the Wen.

“You may do as you like, Young Master Wen. The Jiang will wait here, anticipating your glorious victory.” Jiang Fengmian bowed as he spoke, and Yanli resentfully had to give him credit for being sarcastic. Unless he was being serious? No, she doubted that.

“You are coming with us!” Wen Chao snapped.

“No, we are not,” Jiang Fengmian said placidly.

Wen Chao looked like a kettle getting ready to boil over, but instead of any kind of childish outburst, he simply turned to Wen Zhuliu and said “They are coming with us!”

Wen Zhuliu made a hand gesture at his lieutenant and immediately, all the Wens drew their weapons.

Which was apparently the first time Jiang Fengmian realized that his squad of about twenty Yunmeng Jiang disciples were outnumbered three-to-one by an elite squad of over fifty Wen cultivators, with the Core-Melting Hand acting as their general. Yanli could have told him that he became superfluous once he turned her over, but there was a grim sense of satisfaction to be had watching him realize it on his own.

With the Yunmeng Jiang contingent disarmed and humiliated, they were forced to lead the way into the cave where the Xuanwu of Slaughter slept (she hoped it was asleep). Yanli had expected to be left topside with the other half of the Wen squadron, but Wen Chao was under the misapprehension that Jiang Fengmian still held any kind of affection for her, and told his men to bring her along to “insure his good behavior.”

She felt like she was surrounded by idiots, except maybe for one exception—she looked over at Wen Zhuliu, who for a flash of a brief second seemed to commiserate with her before turning away.

It was just too bad that he wasn’t the Wen sect leader, she thought. It made her wonder for the first time—and she was ashamed to admit that the idea had never occurred to her before—who exactly was in the line of succession for the Wen. Wen Ruohan probably expected to live forever, and was already well over 100 years old; his current heirs were his second set of sons, the previous ones ‘disappearing’ two generations ago, along with Wen Ruohan’s entire harem. Any siblings or direct cousins who could claim to be heirs were probably long in their graves, one way or another. They certainly weren’t listed in the official genealogy that the Wen published like clockwork every five years, which showed Wen Ruohan as a direct descendant of Wen Mao in a straight line with no other names listed in between. He was not actually a son or even a grandson of Wen Mao, that much was known, but he had eradicated the names of whomever came before him. The only reason that anyone knew about his former harem or previous sons was that the great sects still had the oldest versions of those genealogies in their archives.

What would Wen Ruohan give to burn those to the ground, to further elevate his own lineage?

She shuddered.

According to the official records, there were no viable heirs other than Wen Xu and Wen Chao, because there didn’t need to be. Everyone else still alive was so far down the chain of relations that they might as well be outer disciples. Wen Ruohan had never claimed to be immortal, but everyone in the jianghu assumed he already was or would be soon.

Despite her earlier thoughts, she dismissed Wen Zhuliu as a candidate because he had been born to another clan and taken the name, which was common enough for disciples but meant no one would back him for the fire throne even if he tried to grab it. Everything she had heard about him told her that he would never turn on Wen Ruohan like that, either. She wracked her brain trying to remember the last version of the Wen histories she had studied before being cast out of Lotus Pier.

She was not Meng Yao, so she did not remember many names, but trying to trace out the family tree was at least a good distraction from the hike down into a cave reeking of death and rot, which she was having to do with her hands bound in front of her and still wearing her gag.

The tunnel narrowed from the entrance and the decline was fairly steep, but she managed to keep her feet under herself until they all came to a stop at the edge of a massive drop off. Torches flung over the edge showed there was ground further below, so ropes were dropped for the Jiang to scuttle down. The Wen let them go first, probably waiting to see if anything would attack them at the bottom. Yanli was hefted over the shoulder of Jiang Wu with a whispered, “Sorry, Young Mistress Jiang” before she closed her eyes so as not to watch the precarious descent.

The Wen followed on their swords, led by Wen Zhuliu and eventually followed by Wen Chao. At least he had left his ridiculous mistress behind, Yanli thought uncharitably.

Jiang Fengmian was, for once, looking genuinely furious as his disciples were ordered around like servants, but a few sharp looks from Wen Zhuliu had him turning away and clamping his mouth shut. She wondered if he understood that Wen Chao was not planning on letting any Jiang (or her, for that matter) leave the cave alive, mythical beast or no.

A hike through a long, winding, cramped tunnel ended at the edge of a rancid pond that held a few leaves and branches and not much else. It appeared to be a complete dead end, but the leaves told Yanli that there was some kind of waterway leading out of the cave. The idea of swimming through the muck turned her stomach, but it was an option for getting out alive, at least.

Wen Chao stomped forward and grumbled, looking around the massive cavern as his soldiers raised up torches and lit talismans. Aside from the foul pond, which had a single massive boulder in the middle, there did not seem to be anything interesting there.

“Are you certain the beast is here?” Jiang Fengmian asked, not bothering to hide his disdain or doubts.

“Maybe it just needs to smell some blood to come out!” Wen Chao snapped, and spun around to look directly at Yanli. Her skin crawled. “Bring her here!”

Jiang Wu actually tried to step in front of her, but was pushed out of the way by several Wen, who grabbed her and dragged her over to Wen Chao. Wen Zhuliu looked on, blank-faced as ever, while Jiang Fengmian merely frowned.

“Put her over there and cut her arm. Let it bleed into the water,” Wen Chao said, flapping a hand at the water. The two Wen holding her did as told, pulling her far enough into the water that it covered her ankles. One of them undid her wrist bindings and held up her arm while the other kept a fierce hold on her, although both of them were glancing nervously at the pond. The one holding up her arm had a dagger in his other hand, but just as he brought it down, he stumbled away and fell backwards.

She turned to see what happened, and everyone was silent for a long moment, looking at the arrow sticking out of his eye socket.

“JieJie! Get down!” A’Cheng shouted from somewhere overhead and Yanli dove for dry land as pandemonium broke out.

Chapter Text

Yanli scrabbled across the gravel edging the pond as arrows flew overhead, taking down one Wen after another.

She looked up through the dim light provided by the torches that the Wen had set in the ground, and saw several figures high up on ledges around the cave’s ceiling. She did not need to see them clearly to know that A’Cheng and Ying’er were up there, and a few others, possibly A’Yao who had become a very good archer over the years. A few Wen got up on their swords to try a direct attack but were immediately picked off. It was clearly a harassing-fire tactic, designed to whittle down the enemy while keeping the sword fighters in reserve, a type of warfare Nie Mingjue would be very familiar with and a technique that she and the boys had discussed in their studies.

Trying to survive in the middle of it was very different from reading about it.

“Who is it? Who is there? Kill them!” Wen Chao shrieked. An arrow whizzed by him, but was deflected by Wen Zhuliu’s sword. Several more Wen soldiers fell as arrows cut them down, while others gathered around Wen Chao, slicing through every arrow that came their way.

“Fight!” Wen Chao yelled.

“With what?” Jiang Fengmian yelled back. “You took our weapons!” He looked around. “Jiang! Retreat!” He spun around and dashed back toward the long tunnel to where they had entered, most of the Jiang on his heels.

But not all.

“Young Mistress Jiang! Stay with us!” Jiang Wu shouted as he and Jiang Yimin sprinted towards her, picking up Wen swords as they ran. They managed to get in front of her just as she stumbled to her feet.

“I’ll kill you all! Get her! Bring her with us!” Wen Chao screeched, hobbling back toward the tunnel with an arrow sticking out of his leg.

Jiang Wu and Jiang Yiman put themselves between her and the remaining Wen, attacking anyone who tried to grab her, but were pressed backwards by the sheer numbers against them until her back was against the cave wall and their backs up against her. They could not retreat any further and she thought that both of the Jiang disciples were only moments from being cut down. Arrows kept flying, but fewer than earlier, and Yanli realized they were probably starting to run low.

“Nie to me!” Nie Mingjue shouted, jumping down from a ledge with Baxia swinging, landing in the breach between the Wen who were trying to follow orders and the Wen who had decided to make a run for the exit. Several Nie joined him from their own hiding places, sabers singing through the air as they cut through Wen.

“Wen Zhuliu! Fight me like a man!” Nie Mingjue yelled, enraged. Other Wen backed away from him, but Wen Zhuliu nodded calmly and walked over with his sword. Their weapons met with a resounding clang that echoed throughout the chamber.

She tapped Jiang Wu’s shoulder. “Go help them! I’m safe!” She pointed along the wall toward the back, where she hoped to hide behind a boulder or something. Jiang Wu frowned in worry, but nodded and grabbed Jiang Yimin. They ran out into the fight with their pilfered swords and a Jiang battle cry.

It was a total melee around her, with Wen and Nie and about five remaining Jiang fighting without quarter. Off to one side, the familiar and almost comforting snap and sizzle of Zidian sparked in the gloom, sending Wen soldiers flying through the air with a practiced crack.

The screams of injured and dying men filled the air. Yanli lost track of what was going on as she kept creeping along the wall toward safety, and that was her mistake. She gasped as Wen Zhuliu wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, her back to his chest, his other arm holding out his sword.

Nie Mingjue, who was halfway across the cave in pursuit, looked even more furious. “Coward! Put her down and fight me!”

“Shut up, you ignorant swine!” Wen Chao shouted at him, hobbling over to Wen Zhuliu, clutching the leg with the arrow still in it. “Put down your weapons or he will melt her golden core!”

Everyone froze where they were. She scanned the crowd and saw both Ying’er and A’Cheng at the back, holding the low-level spiritual sabers that the Nie had let them borrow for the trip. They looked enraged, but had the good sense not to move toward her. She could not bear it if either of them lost their golden cores for her sake…for any reason at all, really.

Wen Zhuliu shuffled backwards as Wen Chao slowly made his way to the tunnel entrance. Yanli was under no illusions of what would happen to her. Even if they kept her alive all the way out of the cave, her life was forfeit. She took a few deep breaths and made herself tremble like she was terrified, which was not hard to do since she was genuinely terrified. Wen Zhuliu had his palm resting over her belly, the threat clear.

Right as they got to the entrance to the tunnel, she screamed, which threw Wen Zhuliu off enough for her to jam her elbows into his torso and fling herself out of his grasp. She fell to the ground and starting crawling away like a panicked crab, but stopped when a pair of feet landed softly next to her. She looked up to see A’Yao standing over her with a saber in his hand, his expression fierce and vicious in a way she had never seen before.

Wen Zhuliu stepped forward without pause, sending his sword down to meet A’Yao’s much less powerful weapon with a strike that nearly brought him to his knees. He tried to fend off Wen Zhuliu, but he was outmatched and out classed, his sword being swatted like it was no more than an annoying fly. Behind them, the few Wen soldiers who were left held off the Nie and the Wei.

“Da'Ge!” Ying’er shouted just as Yanli saw the Core Melting Hand connect with A’Yao’s solar plexus. He screamed an unearthly shriek, louder than any man dying, the sound echoing through the cave. Yanli jumped up, using her body as a blunt force weapon against Wen Zhuliu to get him to release A’Yao, clawing at his arm.

A’Yao fell down, his eyes wide, still screaming as he clutched his belly, and Yanli fell on top of him just as one of the Wen soldiers shouted, which pulled Wen Zhuliu up short.

“It’s the beast! It’s awake!”

She looked up and saw that the boulder in the pond had moved, was currently moving, and had sprouted a massive head filled with teeth at the end of an unnaturally long neck. Yanli, who grew up on the river, knew her turtles and tortoises—this was neither.

The Xuanwu of Slaughter opened its mouth wide and let out an earthshaking roar. The stink from its breath filled the cave and chaos erupted as everyone scrambled for cover. She looked over and saw the back of Wen Zhuliu, who had hefted Wen Chao over his shoulder and sprinted down the tunnel back toward the entrance. Intellectually, she knew he was making the correct strategic choice, but she couldn’t stop herself from hissing the word “coward!”

A groan from A’Yao drew her attention back to him. The monster was splashing around behind them, so she grabbed A’Yao under his arms and dragged him to a very low overhang, tucking them both underneath it. She thought the Xuanwu’s head was just big enough it could not reach them easily, but on the other hand they were stuck there until the beast was killed.

She pulled A’Yao into her arms. He was whimpering and curled up like a bug, his whole body shaking with tremors. She hugged him as tightly as she could, watching the pond where Nie Mingjue was attacking the Xuanwu. He jumped around with superhuman speed, trying to find a weak spot as it thrashed its head back and forth. Several Nie dashed in and slashed at its neck in a bid to decapitate it, but it was moving too fast. The rest of his team were hacking at its legs and shell, trying to distract the monster.

Well. Most of the rest of his team.

“STOP STOP STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP!!!!” Ying’er was screaming at the top of his lungs. Yanli honestly could not tell if he was yelling at Nie Mingjue or at the Xuanwu of Slaughter. A’Cheng didn’t care and was hauling Ying’er away from the attack, arms wrapped around his waist.

The Xuanwu knocked two Nie down and swung its head toward them, its beady eyes zeroing in on Ying’er.

Nie Mingjue grabbed the moment of distraction to land on its head and shove Baxia through its skull like driving a piling into sand, using so much qi that it turned the blade red as it sunk down.

Once, when Yanli was a girl, she had been at the gate of Lotus Pier when a crate of fireworks blew up deep in the heart of Lotus Cove. Despite being some distance from the explosion, she still remembered how it had reverberated through her body, making her bones shake, and the way air itself seemed to act like water—first being blown away by the force of it and then rushing back in to fill the void. The sound was louder than any thunder she had ever heard, and it took her the rest of the afternoon to fully regain her hearing. Several people closer to the explosion never got their hearing back.

The resentful energy bloomed out of the Xuanwu and hit them all in the same way, even if the beast didn’t actually blow up. It stood frozen in place as the massive wave of resentful energy flooded the cave and Yanli’s bones and her ears and her skull then, in the next moment, collapsed back into the beast. Yanli’s ears popped.

Ying’er screamed in pain and stumbled toward the pond, but A’Cheng clung to him, dragging him down to the ground.

Nie Mingjue was still holding on to Baxia’s hilt when the monster stumbled backwards and then…disappeared.

Or, no, it did not disappear. Its shell was there, but its head had completely retracted into its body, taking Baxia and Nie Mingjue with it. The body plopped down into the water until only the slight curve of its back was exposed.

Everyone stopped where they were, waiting for something to happen, but aside from the water splashing up against the edges of the cave, there was no movement.

Ying’er shoved A’Cheng away and stumbled into the water, reaching out, chanting “no no no no” over and over. But it was his normal voice, not the echo of the Burial Mounds, and he seemed unsteady on his feet.

One of the Nie flew over on his saber and then jumped off to land on the Xuanwu’s shell. He stood there, listening, then swung his saber and brought it down in an arc of massive power. His weapon clanged and bounced off so hard he fumbled it. Then he jumped free as the shell quietly, slowly lifted back up.

By unspoken agreement, no one moved. It was obvious there was nothing they could do until the beast died, and why it wasn’t dead yet was a mystery.

Yanli saw its snout tentatively peek out, sniffing the air. Its blood-red eyes appeared out of the gloom, and then, inch by inch, the rest of its head lifted up and out, stretching out its weirdly long neck.

Baxia was still buried in its skull up to the hilt, but it was glowing, shiny and bright like it had been gilded with gold. Crouched over it was Nie Mingjue, although he was not holding on to his saber anymore. He slowly stood up, looking around in dazed amazement, until he was standing strong on top of the Xuanwu’s head, straddling the place where Baxia was impaled. The Xuanwu blinked and stood there placidly, almost like it was waiting for something.

Nie Mingjue took a deep breath and looked at his right hand as if seeing it for the first time, eyes wide and filled with wonder.

There, held tight in his grasp, was a massive black saber that glistened wetly, resentful energy rising up from its surface like oily smoke.

Chapter Text

“So, are you saying the Xuanwu is Baxia now?” A’Cheng asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

Nie Mingjue looked just as confused, while Ying’er nodded thoughtfully.

They were all gathered on the edge of the pond. The Xuanwu—Baxia, now, Yanli reminded herself—was settled mostly in the water, with its long neck extended so it could rest its head on the gravel. Its eyes were closed as if it was sleeping peacefully. Ying’er was patting its snout, while several Nie stood on its head, looking speculatively at the still-glowing hilt of the saber-once-known-as-Baxia which was sticking up out of the beast’s skull like the worlds tiniest, most ridiculous guan.

Yanli was sat a little ways away from them, A’Yao passed out with his head in her lap. He had refused to let anyone other than Yanli near him, despite Ying’er’s pleas, until he shuddered himself into unconsciousness.

The boys’ fury over their Da’Ge’s wound had been tempered by Nie Mingjue directing the Xuanwu—Baxia—over to them and then jumping down, still holding the cursed saber. It was apparently the piece of yin iron the beast had been protecting for centuries, although Nie Mingjue could not explain how it was now a saber or even how he had ended up with it.

(“Everything after impaling Baxia in her head is unclear,” he had said with a shrug, to Ying’er’s extreme frustration.)

She tuned back into the current conversation as she smoothed A’Yao’s hair.

“Just for a second! I just want to hold it for a second!” Ying’er wailed plaintively.

“No.” Nie Mingjue examined the saber. “But here.” He pointed it tip-down and held out his arm. After a moment, Ying’er clued in and wrapped his fingers around Nie Mingjue’s hand. His eyes flared bright red.

“Ah.” He snatched his hand back. “I don’t think we can merge all four pieces together, after all.”

“No, I don’t think we can,” Nie Mingjue said with resignation. “However, this does keep it out of Wen Ruohan’s grasp. He’s stuck with only two yin iron pieces, now. I have this one, and you have the other three.” He nodded at Ying’er. “We still have the advantage.”

“Also, you have Baxia!” Ying’er said brightly. The beast was looking exceptionally blissed out, having its snout scritched by A’Cheng.

“Right,” Nie Mingjue said with a conflicted expression.

“Can you even let go of the yin saber, Sect Leader?” One of the Nie asked, jumping down off the—off Baxia.

“I can shift it, but not put it down.” He tossed it back and forth between his hands. The blade sparked with orange lightning as he did so, making all the Nie take a step backwards. “There is some kind of feedback loop with Baxia, I think.”

“The turtle or the blade?” The Nie soldier asked.

Nie Mingjue just shrugged.

Ying’er nodded with an expression that Yanli knew meant he understood more than he was saying, but there was no reason to press him on it. They had more important matters.

“We need to find a way out of here,” she said softly, but everyone turned to her as if she had shouted. Several Nie grimaced as they looked at A’Yao before quickly glancing away.

A’Cheng and Ying’er both had matching expressions of anger, but she did not have time to deal with that at the moment. She instead focused on Nie Mingjue. He shook his head.

“The Wen dogs will be waiting topside for any survivors to crawl out,” he said. “I can command Baxia to slam through the cave wall, there.” He pointed across the way with the Yin saber as if it were simply an extension of his arm, ignoring everyone’s doubtful expressions. “I can get us all out easily enough, and we’ll be coming out on the opposite side of the mountain. By the time they realize what happened, we’d be well on our way, but the Wen will follow us. Wen Chao is injured, but Wen Zhuliu is still in charge.”

They all glanced at A’Yao again, but no one could look for long. He represented a cultivator’s greatest fear, outside of qi deviation.

The Nie who was obviously second-in-command looked over at the entryway to the tunnel. “This is a good opportunity, though.”

“That is true,” Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully.

Yanli looked at their numbers through his eyes. A’Yao was completely incapacitated, and two Nie were injured enough to be sidelined from fighting, although they were still mobile. There were about thirty dead Wen lying about, which left at least thirty topside. She did not count the Jiang, because Jiang Fengmian was many things, but he was not that stupid. He probably grabbed the rest of his disciples and left while the Wen were temporarily leaderless and no one was of enough rank to fight him about it.

She did a quick count and, including the five remaining Jiang, A’Cheng, and Ying’er, Nie Mingjue had nineteen cultivators fit enough to fight at his command. Going up against thirty equally matched fighters without the advantage of surprise was not good odds to rely on, but with the addition of Wen Zhuliu, it was more like a suicide run.

But if they could somehow take out Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao, it would be a massive loss for Wen Ruohan. Either way, they needed to get out of the cave eventually.

“We do have Baxia,” A’Cheng said. “They know she’s here, and probably think she’s eaten all of us. They didn’t get what they came for, so they are either going to come back down, or try to lure her out.” A’Cheng set his jaw. “Wen Chao wants to impress his father. Trust me, he’s not leaving.”

If anyone would understand the utter desperation of trying to impress a father who did not care for him, it was A’Cheng, Yanli mused.

“We could lure them first?” The second-in-command Nie said thoughtfully. Yanli wracked her brain for his name.

“What would Da'Ge do?” A’Cheng asked softly, looking at A’Yao while continuing to pet the monstrous beast of slaughter like she was a puppy. Ying’er nodded and stood with his hands on his hips, thinking furiously.

Suddenly both he and Ying’er perked up, looking at each other excitedly.

“Oh! Blood!” Ying’er clapped and pointed at Baxia.

“Yes! Okay, will she eat any of the dead Wen?” A’Cheng asked Nie Mingjue. Everyone recoiled.

“What?” Nie Mingjue asked, appalled.

“We need her to look like she ate everyone!” Ying’er was entirely too delighted by the idea.

“Right! Go collect—” A’Cheng pointed.

“I got it! Aish!” Ying’er flapped a hand at him and went over to the dead bodies.

“A’Cheng,” Yanli said with a hint of admonishment that brought both boys up short. “Maybe explain your plan to Sect Leader Nie?”

The idea was to make it look like Baxia—the beast, not the blade—had eaten everyone and then broken out of the cave, uncontrolled and violent. It would bring all the Wen tearing up over the mountain to attack her, and in doing so, allow the Nie squad to surprise them again. Even if not all the Wen came over (Yanli thought Wen Chao definitely would not), and even if Wen Zhuliu suspected some kind of trap, it would probably be the best fighters the Wen had.

“That is a very crafty plan,” Nie Mingjue said, somewhat begrudgingly.

“Da’Ge is very smart!” Ying’er said proudly, and everyone looked confused since A’Yao was still unconscious.

“Meng Yao has worked hard to teach his brothers cunning strategies. He made them copy lines of Sun Tzu quite regularly.” Yanli explained.

“Ah.” Nie Mingjue chuckled. “My father did the same.” He took a deep breath and started ordering his men, which by default included the four remaining (surviving) Jiang, to collect the Wen bodies. Baxia was actually not keen on eating the dead, to everyone’s relief, but there was enough blood spilled that Ying’er could smear and splatter her with bloody mud, which he made into a game of chase-and-splat. Yanli was uncertain of the rules.

“She’s…really enjoying this,” Nie Mingjue said, his words filled with a complex emotion. The black saber was now slung over his back in the same way the old Baxia used to be, still wafting off trails of resentful energy. Which was a very intimidating look, but…

“Sect Leader Nie, doesn’t the yin saber burn you? Corrupt your golden core?” She asked. The Nie second-in-command, who she finally remembered was Nie Wang, a close cousin of the brothers and Nie Zonghui’s brother-in-law, looked over at her words and came to stand next to them.

Nie Mingjue side-eyed her for a moment, then let out a gusty sigh just as Baxia roared playfully. Five Nie, four Jiang, and A’Cheng had joined the game and were all flying around her, sometimes turning on each other. It was a demented version of a snowball fight, she thought.

“Quite the opposite. It’s draining out the resentment I had stored up from using Baxia.” He dropped the words like lead weights. Nie Wang actually gasped.

“Sect Leader! That is great news!” He said, overjoyed.

Nie Mingjue nodded, but did not look pleased. “I’d be happier about it if I understood how the fuck it works—ah, my apologies, Sect Leader Wei.” He bowed a little.

“I hear worse in the market every week,” she said, laughing. “Ying’er called her the Guardian of the Burial Mounds, that her role there had been to ‘eat’ the resentful energy of the place to keep it in check. Her disappearance five hundred years ago resulted in the Burial Mounds expanding to include nearly the entire mountain range ringing Yiling,” she said, then paused.

“Then might she be eating the resentful energy of Baxia?” Nie Wang paused. “The blade formerly known as Baxia?” He tried again.

Nie Mingjue cringed, but nodded. “It’s possible.”

They all watched as a group volley of very red mud splattered all along Baxia’s face. She really did seem to be enjoying it.

“How is Young Master Meng, Sect Leader Wei?” Nie Wang asking, looking down at A’Yao with a frown.

He was still unconscious, which was a blessing. She put two fingers against his neck to check his meridians, then gasped.

She looked up in shock at Nie Mingjue, who crouched down to her level.

“I’m so sorry, Wei Yanli. It is a tragedy—”

“No! He still has…some of it? His meridians are damaged but… .” She nodded at Nie Mingjue when he held out his own hand to check.

He frowned, his fingers pressed firmly against a pulse point. “There is a lot of damage there, but yes, it seems there is still qi trying to circulate.”

“I interrupted the Core Melting Hand in the middle of his attack,” Yanli said thoughtfully. “Do you think that saved him?” She looked down at A’Yao, trying to hold her tears back. When she looked up, she saw A’Cheng and Ying’er had come over too.

“Perhaps it minimized the damage. I do not know of any doctor that could help him recover, though,” Nie Mingjue said softly, obviously trying to soften the blow for her.

“Then we will find one!” A’Cheng announced. “We will find the best doctor in the jianghu and save him!” The fact that he was drenched in bloody mud with a rotten maple leaf stuck in his hair gave him a slightly unhinged air of ferocity. Ying’er nodded sternly in agreement. Yanli couldn’t help but be grateful for her brothers’ firm—if irrational—optimism.

“We won’t find one here, though,” Nie Mingjue said, standing up and looking around. “It’s time. Everyone take your places. Do not fly out until I give the word!”

A’Cheng helped Yanli tuck herself and A’Yao back under the low overhand they had taken shelter in earlier while the rest of the Nie and Jiang went to hide in higher ledges again. A few had stripped off their robes and strewn them around the dead bodies, making it look like that Nie were among Baxia’s victims. It would only fool anyone who did not actually fly into the cave to check, but then, she figured anyone who did that would get picked off by the archers. They had recovered a few salvageable arrows, so while they were not ready to take down a full squad again, they could make a dent if needed.

Nie Mingjue flew up on the yin saber and stood high in the air next to the far wall of the cave.

“Baxia! Break through! It is time to fight!” He yelled, looking every inch like a general commanding ten thousand troops as he jumped off the yin saber, grabbed it, and swung it at the wall in midair with a massive burst of qi that caused the rock to shudder.

Baxia bristled a little, which reminded Yanli of a dog shaking water off its back, before running straight at the wall with a massive roar. Water sprayed and Ying’er and a few Nie threw up wards to keep the water from swamping all of them just as Baxia slammed head-first into the wall at the exact spot that Nie Mingjue had struck. A wave of resentful energy pushed past her and the entire side of the cave, indeed likely the whole side of the mountain, exploded outward.

Sunlight steamed in as Baxia forged through the falling debris, running out to cause as much chaos as possible to lure the Wen into their trap.

Chapter Text

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT WORKED!” A’Cheng shouted as the air sped by them. Or they sped through it—Yanli was uncertain which.

In front of them, Nie Mingjue stood on Baxia’s head as if she were a war chariot, arms crossed and looking forward with a determined expression. Yanli assumed he was somehow in communication with Baxia, telling her where to go. He had to be using his qi to keep his balance, though, as Baxia kept looking around at the world around her with her wide turtle eyes, head dipping up and down. Yanli was certain much had changed in the centuries since the beast had hidden herself away, and it must be weird for her to wake up to see how everything was so different from the world she had known.

She herself was on Baxia’s shell, along with A’Yao and a few injured Nie and also an injured A’Cheng, who had taken a Wen blade to his right thigh, so was using his qi to heal it and could not fly along with everyone else on their sabers (or captured Wen swords, in the case of the Jiang).

The ride should have been bouncy and dangerous, but Ying’er had politely bowed and asked Baxia to make sure his family was carried comfortably. The result was that her shell was moving gently, as if on suspension, keeping everyone balanced and safe no matter how steep the incline or rugged the terrain, or even how fast they were going.

It turned out that a Xuanwu of Slaughter at full gallop was very, very fast.

The battle had been shorter than expected, mostly because while Baxia would not eat dead Wen, living Wen were fair game. That, and once A’Cheng was injured, Ying’er had, according to one of the injured Nie who gleefully kept talking about it, gone “bug-fucking-bonkers!”

A massive murder of crows reeking of resentful energy had descended, running straight into the Wen—and in some cases, through the Wen—while Ying’er screamed bloody vengeance like a broken god, loud enough to be heard from where Yanli had been hiding in the cave. She was glad she had missed seeing that, but it was bad enough to have heard it. It gave her flashbacks to his deadly battle with Xue Yang, when he had called up his crow-soldiers and drenched the area in blood.

In the end, between Baxia, Nie Mingjue’s Yin Saber, and Ying’er’s murder of murderous crows, Wen Zhuliu had called a retreat.

When they finally pulled Yanli and A’Yao out of the cave, she asked why Nie Mingjue did not chase them down.

“Core Melting Hand is not a stupid man. He can see that even with his elite forces, he’s outclassed, and his primary assignment is to keep Wen Chao safe. I have no doubt he grabbed that brat and sped out of here.” He sighed heavily. “More’s the pity. I was looking forward to putting his head on a spike.”

Several Nie sighed in sympathy with him like lovelorn maidens, and Yanli made a note to always stay on the Nie’s good side.

The trip overland back to Qinghe and the Unclean Realm would have taken days on horses, but Baxia kept pace with even the fastest sword fliers, jumping over “small” obstacles like ravines and rivers and hills like an oversized Heavenly Horse.

Even as a stranger to Qinghe, Yanli could tell when they were approaching the land where the giant fortress home of the Nie was located.

Unfortunately, as they slowed down, it was easier to see the trail of destruction Wen Xu’s army had left in their wake when they marched through. Entire villages were smoking ruins, and the larger towns they passed were empty.

Except for the bodies of the magistrates hanging from the town defenses.

The Nie were generally, righteously infuriated, but Nie Mingjue looked close to qi deviation from his rage. He slowed Baxia down even more and sent several scouts to get a clear look at the situation around the Unclean Realm, himself leaving his mount to go flying off ahead with a couple of Nie and Ying’er with him to scope out the immediate area in a wide loop.

“It is truly war, then,” A’Yao said, his voice still scratchy and weak. His spiritual energy was locked down, the Nie medic concerned that what was left of his core would spin itself out trying to recover from the trauma he had endured at the hands of Wen Zhuliu.

“Did you doubt it?” She asked, brushing hair out of his face. The ride was as gentle as could be, but the air was still playing havoc on their hair and clothes.

“No, but it was possible that Wen Xu meant to make this a targeted skirmish to show dominance. This,” he waved his hand around. “This is an announcement of intention. He plans to annihilate the Nie.”

But what could they do about it, Yanli wondered? Even at a slowed speed, Baxia was traveling faster than a horse at full gallop. She was impossible to hide, and was a dangerous beast in her own right, but up against a whole army bent on the destruction of the Nie? Yanli did not like those odds. She assumed Sect Leader Nie would not like them either.

“Grab Wei Ying. Now!” A’Yao croaked out, eyes wide. She looked at him in confusion, but A’Cheng must have understood what he meant, because he got up with a forceful grunt of pain and jumped on his borrowed Nie saber to zoom off.

“A’Cheng!” Yanli called out in shock. His leg was healing well, but not enough for him to be leaping around on it.

“A’Li!” Y’Yao said, yanking at her sleeve. “You have to hold Ying’er back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sect Leader Nie is a good, honest man, but he is a sect leader first. He has a massive and powerful beast straight out of myth to ride into battle, and the Yin Saber to spite his enemies with, but he can’t win with those alone, not against a whole army. He will need the power of the yin iron.”

Her blood ran cold. She looked up to see A’Cheng dragging Ying’er behind him, their flight slow and meandering as Ying’er warred between forcing his brother to let him go and possibly hurting him further, or just playing along. He straightened up as soon as he caught sight of Yanli.

“JieJie! Tell A’Cheng that I’m fine!” He complained. They jumped onto Baxia’s shell, and A’Cheng stumbled with a grimace. “Look! He injured himself! Tell him he’s in trouble!” Ying’er declared, earning him incredulous looks from everyone around him, including the Nie.

“Ying’er,” A’Yao said, his voice soft and low and firm.

“I didn’t do anything!” Ying’er howled in automatic defense.

“No, you didn’t,” Yanli confirmed, setting a hand on A’Yao’s chest, both to hold him down and to let him know that she was handling the situation. He settled with a grumble.

She motioned them closer. Both boys came over and sat down, Ying’er fussing over A’Cheng until they ended up in a slap fight.

“Boys,” she sighed. They quieted, and she focused on Ying’er. “Sect Leader Nie will want to attack the Wen army, and subdue Wen Xu.”

They nodded.

“He can’t do it with just a small fighting force, Baxia, and the Yin Saber.”

A couple of Nie looked insulted by that, but wisely kept their own counsel.

“He will likely ask you to use the yin iron.” She waited for him to understand the implications.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!”

A’Cheng slapped a hand over his eyes while A’Yao snapped “No!” Yanli sighed heavily.

“It’s okay! I’ll be fine! Baxia will help!” He slapped at the beast’s shell.

“I forbid it.” She spoke simply but firmly, but Ying’er shook his head. She sat up straight in surprise. “Are you disobeying me?”

He bowed solemnly, which set all her alarm bells off.

“JieJie…Sect Leader, this disciple does not intend disrespect! But don’t think we have much choice in the matter.”

A’Yao frowned contemplatively, while A’Cheng slowly nodded, although he did not look happy about it. She motioned for Ying’er to explain.

“One of the scouts met up with some other Nie scouts who have been lurking in the mountains on Nie Popo’s orders. They told him that both Nie Huaisang and Second Mother are still there. Apparently, when the alarm went up at your disappearance, they refused to leave.”

A’Yao cursed.

“So, I don’t think Sect Leader Nie can be talked out of engaging with the Wen. Not with Nie Huaisang locked inside, under siege. Which means he needs all the help he can get.” Ying’er shrugged.

“That’s going to be a lot of help,” A’Cheng said, cringing. “The reports of the Wen army suggest a fighting force of 10,000 men or more, which means at least 1,000 cultivators. If nothing else, the Wen have numbers on their side.”

There was a long pause as they all considered those odds.

“Sect Leader Wei,” one of the injured Nie said deferentially. She nodded for him to continue. “Young Master Wei is correct. I’m sure you’ve seen the close filial relationship between the brothers; Sect Leader Nie will not leave Sang’er at risk. Especially not to Wen Xu, who is smarter than Wen Chao, but no less cruel. He would execute the boy just to show he can.”

“It’s a suicide run,” A’Yao said flatly, his frustration evident in his tight expression.

The Nie shrugged. “As final battles go, charging his own fortress city with a mythical beast at his command and carrying a saber of legend in order to save his brother is not a bad one.”

A’Cheng spoke up. “It’s too late to ask for help, if anyone would give it. The Jiang are under Wen Ruohan’s thumb, the Jin will stay out of it if they aren’t under direct threat, and the Lan…” A’Cheng petered off with a glance at Ying’er, whose expression had only gotten angrier.

Yanli raised a hand for silence. She could, as a sect leader, remove her people from the board completely. It would likely end any alliance they could ever have with the Nie, but then, if the Nie were obliterated, would it matter?

However, she knew that if the Nie fell, it would not be long before the rest of the jianghu was under Wen Ruohan’s thumb. Some, like Jin Guangshan and Jiang Fengmian, probably felt that would be a small price for surviving. Maybe for them, it would be.

But for her and her family, much less the Lan and the Nie themselves, it would spell annihilation. If nothing else, Wen Ruohan would stop at nothing until he either controlled Wei Ying, or killed him.

Furthermore, she was certain that the guilt Ying’er would feel at possibly being able to save the Nie and yet forced not to assist would be soul crushing for him.

She turned to the boy in question.

“Go fetch Sect Leader Nie. Tell him that we must strategize together how to use the yin iron that you control. I do not give permission for him to whisk you away to use as a weapon without a plan, or without my approval.”

Ying’er nodded firmly and jumped up, landing on his loaned saber with a wobble before zooming off.

“A’Li, I think his plan is ‘smash and crush.’” A’Yao scoffed. Several of the Nie nodded in agreement.

“That is his plan. That is not our plan.” She went back to gently removing hair out of his face.

“What is our plan?” He asked, looking up at her.

“I don’t know.” She smiled. “You’re my seneschal, Meng Yao. You tell me.”

Chapter Text

Everyone who was mobile all stood huddled closely together, with the injured, including A’Yao, behind them. At the back was Baxia, sitting like a very proud, very big boulder…or possibly a small hill. Altogether, they numbered less than thirty people and one demonic, but (somewhat) tamed, beast.

In front of them were Wen Xu and five of his generals, who were all cultivators. Behind them were at least five hundred soldiers.

Behind them, facing the Unclean Realm, were over nine thousand soldiers and cultivators.

“I see my brother once again failed abysmally at his job,” Wen Xu said with a smirk. “I suppose I will have to clean up his mess, as I usually do. Don’t bother to surrender, I plan on executing you all equally.”

Nie Mingjue took a deep, steadying breath. He stood at the front, with Yanli on one side and Nie Wang on the other. The Yin Saber was in his hand, but pointing down, its tip barely resting on the ground. Yanli heard A’Cheng and Ying’er shift restlessly behind her.

“Unsurprisingly, you misunderstood the reason for this meeting. I am here to demand your surrender, Wen Xu. If you come peacefully, I will be merciful and grant you a clean, swift execution.” Nie Mingjue spoke plainly, as if he threatened the lives of the heirs of major sects every day before breakfast. Yanli kept her trembling hands deep in her sleeves.

Wen Xu looked thrown for a moment before laughing obnoxiously. “Do you, now?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “Surrender, and I will let your army pass by unmolested. Save your men honorably, Wen Xu, as a proper leader of men should.”

“What an amazing bluff. I’m impressed.” Wen Xu sauntered forward a few paces. “I respect your brass balls, Nie Mingjue, but sadly, they are going to get you killed.”

“Brave of you to claim such a fate for me, when I have the Xuanwu of Slaughter at my back.” Nie Mingjue shrugged.

“I see a big-ass turtle falling asleep in a field. Did you drug it? No matter. I have over a thousand cultivators at my command. We will triumph over the beast.” He rolled his eyes. “This is your last chance: drop your weapons and kneel to me, and I will kill you all mercifully.”

Nie Mingjue took a deep breath and held out his left hand, as if giving up. “No.”

He stepped backwards and swung the Yin Saber up like raising a flag. Baxia rose, setting off a ground-shaking tremor, and shuffled forward to tower over them, Nie Mingjue standing under her chin—just in time for her massive shell to shield them from the volley of arrows Wen Xu called down.

“Now, Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue said calmly.

Ying’er, his face pale and drawn, pulled out the qiankun pouch one of his crows had delivered to him an hour earlier while they traveled to the meeting place Wen Xu had specified. Yanli spun around and went to stand by A’Yao while A’Cheng put a hand on Ying’er’s shoulder as the pouch fell open and the three yin shards inside floated out, ominously swathed in curls of resentful energy.

“You can’t just hide from us!” Wen Xu shouted in disbelief. “What do you think you are—”

And then the crows came.

Wave after wave of crows descended, a black torrent nearly blotting out the sky. They hit the ground in a flurry of feathers and dark energy, twisting and reforming into an army of spectral soldiers, resentful energy pouring off of them. Their weapons looked like the obsidian of crows’ beaks, their armor layered and reflecting light the way black feathers glistened in the sun. There had to be several thousands of them, Yanli thought in awe.

A few of the cultivators behind Wen Xu took one look at the slowly emerging demonic crow-army and took off, flying away on their swords, their cowardice overpowering any sense of shame. The rest looked at Wen Xu as they armed themselves, their uncertainty clear on their faces even as they readied for the fight.

Under the cover of Baxia's shell, Jiang Yanli watched in horrified fascination as the crow-soldiers engaged the Wen forces, who had turned in mass at the shouts of the remaining generals and Wen Xu, to charge at them. The air crackled with resentful energy, a palpable wave of darkness washing over the battlefield, flowing out from Wei Ying’s hands as he whistled a haunting tune.

Baxia lumbered forward, a shield against the Wen attacks for everyone taking shelter under her. The few Wen who somehow got past the deadly crow soldiers ended up crushed under her heavy, padded feet, their screams cut short. Yanli tried not to look as she walked steadily forward, allowing A’Yao to lean into her.

The battle raged and time slowed down. Nie Mingjue stepped out in front of Baxia to lead her to the main gate of the Unclean Realm, swinging the Yin Saber wide and felling Wen soldiers like knocking down toys. Behind him, just under Baxia’s head, Wei Ying walked slowly, his arms out and the yin shards floating over his palms as if juggled by invisible hands. A’Cheng and Nie Wang stood at his side, although there wasn’t much to protect him from with the crow soldiers piled up five-deep around Baxia, slicing down soldiers and arrows with methodical precision.

As they advanced, Jiang Yanli noticed a subtle change in Wei Wuxian. His movements became jerky, as if he was walking forward seemingly without seeing, his expression blank and his eyes turning that bright, livid red she hated so much.

She had been against the whole idea of the crow army as soon as A’Yao proposed it, arguing bluntly with him about it, but Nie Mingjue had pointed out that their options had run out. They could not even flee, as Wen Xu would no doubt send a massive force after them. It was attack or surrender, and A’Yao had let her squeeze his hand unmercifully as she agreed to allow Ying’er to use the demonic yin shards to raise an unnatural, cursed army.

She watched as the resentful energy swirling around him pulsed erratically, struggling against an unseen force. Beside him, A’Cheng stiffened, his hand tightening on Ying’er’s shoulder, his expression filled with concern, distrustfully watching the three pieces spinning in air.

“Nie Mingjue! You dare use demonic arts against me?” Wen Xu landed right in front of Nie Mingjue in the space he had just cleared of Wen soldiers. Wen Xu had three bodyguards with him, high ranking generals who were no doubt accomplished cultivators. Yanli thought for a moment that he was a suicidal lunatic, but then realized that strategically, the best bet to win the battle would be to cut off the head of the leader. Unfortunately for Wen Xu, Nie Mingjue was only nominally in charge—their fate rested in Ying’er’s hands. Or rather, the yin iron shards hovering over his hands.

Nie Mingjue roared like a tiger and lunged forward, Nie Wang at his side. The crow soldiers stayed clear, either on Ying’er’s instructions or simply because the battle between the highly skilled cultivators was too complicated for them. She had noticed, among the chaos, that the crow soldiers were pretty straightforward and did not rely on sophisticated martial arts. With every blow from their obsidian blades filled with resentful energy, they didn’t have to.

The six men fought faster than the eye could see. Around Baxia, the crow soldiers kept the mass of the Wen army at bay, allowing the turtle to shuffle forward with the rest of the Nie squad along with the three remaining Jiang arrayed around Yanli, under the giant beast’s belly. Ahead of them, she saw the massive front gates to the Unclean Realm creak open.

The fight between Wen Xu and Nie Mingjue raged on, but then they were reduced to five men as Nie Wang took out one of the Wen generals. Then four, as another Wen fell. That left Wen Xu and Nie Mingjue facing off while Nie Wang dodged and harried the remaining Wen general, keeping him from helping the Wen heir.

If anyone had asked Yanli even an hour ago, she would have said that there was no contest between Nie Mingjue and Wen Xu, given Nie Mingjue’s experience and sheer power as a cultivator. But Wen Xu surprised her by meeting him move for move, using speed and dexterity to outpace Nie Mingjue’s strength. He even managed to dance away from the strands of resentful energy the Yin Saber left behind as it sliced through the air.

“Mingjue—!” The name was punched out by Nie Wang, who stood speared by the other Wen general’s sword right through his heart. He blinked as the Wen yanked the sword free, then toppled over like a marionette with its strings cut. Both Wen Xu and Nie Mingjue had paused, weapons crossed, to watch the man fall.

Nie Mingjue screamed, a shattered sound that vibrated through Yanli’s bones. A’Yao pulled her closer, disturbed by it. Above them, Baxia grumbled, echoing her master’s rage.

The Yin Saber in Nie Mingjue's hand began to vibrate, emitting a low, ominous hum that rattled through the air across the whole battlefield, unsettling some of the crow soldiers, who transformed and took flight. His face contorted in a grimace of pain and fury as a wave of raw, untamed power pulsed from the saber and threw both Wen Xu and his general backwards several yards.

Still screaming, more demon than man, Nie Mingjue lunged forward with supernatural speed and with two mighty swings of the Yin Saber sliced both men clean in half. Wen Xu, sword still raised in his hand, looked shocked for a brief moment as he died, blood spewing out from where the halves of his body slid apart.

Ying’er shouted wordlessly and twisted, his hands grabbing the yin shards with a hiss of burned skin. All attention turned to him as he dropped to one knee.

“Ying’ge!” A’Cheng yelled, trying to pull him up. Ying’er snarled and punched him, knocking him down with extreme force. All at once, the crow soldiers dissipated, the surviving crows streaking up into the sky. Around them, the Wen army was in shambles, with only about a third of their force remaining and all their leaders, including Wen Xu, now dead. Many were already fleeing the field of combat.

“Wei Ying!” A’Yao shouted at him, but Ying’er ignored him, standing up slowly, clutching the yin shards in his hands despite the pain they had to be causing, the smoke wafting up from where they burned.

“Nie Mingjue!” Ying’er called out, his voice wrong and deep and old. It was not the echoing, vast sound of the Burial Mounds; no, this was the voice of a man.

Nie Mingjue turned to look at him in shock, and for a long moment they stared at each other.

“I will destroy you, boy!” Ying’er bit out the words. “Just like I did your father!”

Nie Mingjue’s expression turned from rage to madness and he swung the Yin Saber, ready to charge at Ying’er.

Before Yanli could even shout a warning, though, A’Cheng yanked Ying’er to the side by his shoulder.

“Leave my brother alone, you asshole!” He swung his arm back and Zidian flared out before he snapped it hard straight across Ying’er’s body, scorching a line down his face, neck, and torso. Ying’er dropped like a stone. Yanli shrieked and tried to run forward, but A’Yao and Jiang Wu held her back. A’Cheng fell to his knees next to Ying’er, who was motionless on the ground.

“Da’Ge! DA’GE!!!!”

Yanli looked up to see a streak of green and silver dash out of the fully opened gates, followed by a stream of Nie cultivators who started running after the retreating Wen. Nie Huaisang, though, barreled over human and crow bodies in a dead sprint, aiming straight for his brother.

Who was standing there, staring at Wei Ying, his eyes bloodshot with tears of actual blood streaming down his face as he seethed with fury, resentful energy spinning around him. The Yin Saber was cloaked in a rancid fog of resentment, pointed straight at where Wei Ying lay.

Qi deviation.

People called out in panic to try to halt Nie Huaisang's mad run, but he did not falter. He ran up and skidded to a stop in front of Nie Mingjue. He remained completely still as his brother raised the Yin Saber higher, ready to run him through. Yanli thought she heard Nie Zonghui yelling, but nothing broke Nie Huaisang’s concentration. He reached out slowly and clasped the flat of the blade between his hands, grimacing at the touch.

Nie Mingjue’s face cleared instantly, taken over by abject horror. In the next moment, he crumpled like a slow landslide, his eyes rolling up in his head. He was swarmed by Nie, his younger brother shouting orders as if he were a seasoned field general.

Baxia, sensing the battle was over, delicately stepped aside to go smash down on a pile of Wen bodies and blithely bob her head as she sun-bathed, little puffs of resentment wafting off her shell like steam.

Yanli finally managed to yank herself free and run over to Ying’er. He was looking up at the sky above him, wan and pale but lucid, the singed scar over his cheek and jaw left by Zidian weeping blood.

“Ying’er!” She got down on her knees, checking his eyes and patting the unmarred side of his face. A’Cheng looked both relieved and mortified as he watched her, not daring to touch his brother himself.

“JieJie!” Ying’er croaked, the word caught in his throat. “He’s still…he can see…please—” He held up his hands, his arms shaking from the effort, and she saw that his fingers were still wrapped around the yin iron shards. She reached out, but A’Yao grabbed her wrist. She glared at him.

“My core is already damaged, A’Li, and locked down.” He pulled the qiankun bag off of Ying’er’s belt and took his hands, slowly uncurling his fingers. “It won’t matter much if I touch the shards.” He still cringed as he did so, but that could have been because Ying’er hands were covered in burns and blisters, the blood thick and greasy as it ran down his wrists.

“Ying’er, oh! My poor didi!” She took his hands in hers once they were empty, heedless of the blood, and started crying.

“Don’t cry, JieJie. We won!” Ying’er smiled up at her with a mouth full of blackened blood. “We did it!”

She choked back a sob and nodded at him as A’Yao finally got all three shards back in the pouch and tied it off.

They had won, triumphantly and against all odds.

But at what cost?

Chapter Text

Yanli sat looking at the scroll in her hands, which had been tied closed with a roughly-woven white linen ribbon.

“A funeral.” She stopped. “For the crows.” She looked up at Nie Zonghui, who was shifting uncomfortably. “What?”

He nodded apologetically. “Young Master collected all the crow bodies and has organized an official funeral pyre for them.” He paused, before continuing with a huff and holding up one hand, pinching his thumb and forefinger closely together. “We at least talked him out of doing teeny tiny pyres for each bird individually.”

Next to her, propped up in the bed with his hands wrapped in thick bandages, his face and neck slathered with a healing salve and a few acupuncture needles sticking out of his forehead like porcupine quills, Ying’er blinked slowly. “Oh, that’s a good idea,” he slurred. The pain medication the Nie doctors were giving him regularly every few hours was quite strong.

“You think so?” Yanli asked, repressing a fond smile.

“Mmm. The ghosts…linger.”

Nie Zonghui looked confused, and Yanli shook her head. “The ghosts of the crows?”

“No, the soldiers.”

“The Wen soldiers?” Nie Zonghui asked, leaning closer.

“No, the soldiers who possessed the crows for me.” Ying’er blinked again at their shocked surprise. “You didn’t really believe the crows magically turned into human soldiers, did you?”

“Yes I did!” Nie Zonghui said, his voice pitching up an octave. “Are you saying the crows were possessed by the ghosts of dead soldiers?”

“Uh, yeah. The Burial Mounds has got a lot of ‘em, y’know,” Ying’er mumbled and then drifted off to sleep again.

Nie Zonghui took a moment to gaze into the distance with a horrified expression before he spun around and sprinted out of their guest pavilion without even a parting bow.

Yanli clutched the invitation, which was elegantly written on fine paper, until it crumpled.

“Oh dear.” Across from her, A’Yao gazed at where Nie Zonghui had dashed out of the room.

“Hm. I shall go have a word with Nie Popo.” Meng Shi got up from where she had been playing a restful tune on the extravagant guqin Nie Mingjue had gifted her and gracefully glided out of the room. Yanli thought she could probably teach the Lan a few things.

A’Yao watched his mother leave with a conflicted look. It took Yanli a moment to remember that Nie Popo had moved her office to Nie Mingjue’s sickroom, meaning that Meng Shi would probably be talking to him as well (if he was awake, which mostly he was not).

“Nie Mingjue is restrained to his sickbed, with both Sang’er and Nie Popo all but sitting on him. I doubt he will have the chance to be improper, if he’s even fully conscious.” Yanli smiled at him.

“Harumph,” he said, and pulled the cooling cloth out of the ice tub and wrung it out before using it to pat down whatever part of Ying’er’s skin was clear. The fever was not dangerous, but they were all taking turns trying to keep him cool. A’Yao could not feed him qi, as his damaged core was still locked down, and he grimaced with pain sometimes when he leaned over too far.

But they were alive. They were all improbably, unbelievably, alive.

The first few hours after the end of the battle had been pure chaos, and they had only managed to convince the Nie doctors to allow them to tend to Ying’er in their guest pavilion instead of the Nie healing wing because there was still actual fighting going on. The Nie forces had gone head-to-head with any remaining Wen, most of whom chose to fight to the death rather than lay down their weapons. The few who fled into the wilderness were ruthlessly hunted down, and not many brought back alive.

It took a full day for Nie Popo and Nie Zonghui to bring the fortress back to rights, which included finding a way to get Baxia inside the walls because she kept reacting violently whenever Nie Mingjue was carried out of her direct line of sight. A’Cheng cried laughing as he related how they had to put Nie Mingjue’s unconscious body on a litter to carry him around the fortress, luring Baxia to follow, then going halfway up the back mountain and down again to fly off a cliff and land in a large training yard, the turtle leaping after them. Tears streamed down his face as he described “The Flying Xuanwu of Qinghe.”

They had also turned Saber Hall into his hospital room, as the front doors could be slid all the way open and the hall itself was tall enough for Baxia to rest her head just inside, dozing and snuffling and keeping a wary eye on the very nervous doctors tending to their sect leader. Yanli had made Nie Huaisang promise to draw the scene because it sounded hilarious.

Less amusing was Nie Mingjue’s situation, which was for the most part unknown, aside from the symptoms. The Yin Saber was fused to his hand, and all signs pointed to severely disrupted meridians, but the doctors managed to keep him calm and lucid, which Nie Huaisang said would have been impossible if it was a true qi deviation affecting him.

“Sect Leader Wei, should I follow Madam Meng?” Liu Peng stood at the door, holding a tray of snacks and looking off in the direction that Meng Shi had gone. It seemed her coping mechanism for all the stress was attempting to stuff her charges as full of food as they would allow, so this was hardly the first try of goodies she had delivered that day.

“No, I don’t believe that is necessary.” Yanli closed the book she had been trying to read before Nie Zonghui visited them, giving it up as a lost cause for the moment.

Liu Peng carefully maneuvered over to them. An open-framed bed had been moved into the main room for Ying’er, as the boys’ bedroom was too small for all of them to gather and no one wanted to be out of sight of the others. It meant the room had become somewhat of an obstacle course, and Liu Peng still had a bandage over one eye from where one of the Jiang guards had knocked her out while she was waiting for Yanli to come out of her meeting with Jiang Fengman. It seemed like it had all happened months ago, not days, but it had been Liu Peng screaming for help from a closet that had alerted the Nies to the kidnapping. Yanli was assured by Nie Popo herself that Liu Peng’s eye was not permanently damaged, and Yanli was scheming with A’Yao on how to ask for Liu Peng to join their own staff without insulting her or Nie Popo.

Because, apparently, Yanli needed a staff now.

With the war well and truly engaged, it was fitting to call a conference of the great sects, but at the moment, of the three sects that should be standing with the Nie in opposition in the Wen, the Jiang were considered fallen (and Jiang Fengmian unaccounted for), the Lan fate unknown, and the Jin steadfastly claiming neutrality. At least, that had been the case prior to the return of Nie Mingjue carrying the Yin Saber and riding his beastly steed, Baxia. According to Nie Huaisang, there was already a popular song being performed in the inns of Qinghe about Nie Mingjue’s triumph in battle, dramatically titled “Caw of Shadows, Song of Slaughter.”

“L’zhahnnnn…” Ying’er mumbled in his sleep. A’Yao frowned.

“That is the first he’s said his name,” he said, studying Ying’er’s face.

They sat in silence as Liu Peng set out the plates of fruit and light pastries while Ying’er squirmed and repeated Lan Wangji’s name a few times before lapsing into a deep sleep. Yanli could not help but think that it did not bode well. Wen Chao had probably retreated to the attack on Gusu Lan after his spectacular failure at Muxi Mountain, and would likely push twice as hard against the Lan to make up for it.

“JieJie! I’m back! And look who I found helping out with the cleanup!” A’Cheng bounced in, blithely unware of the mood of the room, trailing Jiang Wu.

Liu Peng gasped and dropped a plate, which shattered. She did not even seem to notice, her entire focus on Jiang Wu.

Jiang Wu went pale and wide eyed. “You’re alive!”

Everyone looked between them for a moment, but neither of them moved.

The memory flooded Yanli’s mind as she watched them:

“I am here by request of Sect Leader Jiang. Please tell him Sect Leader Wei is here.” She said.

“Yes, Young Mistress—ah, I mean, Sect Leader Wei.”

“Thank you, Jiang Wu.”

Jiang Wu looked unhappy, but went inside with the message.

“Liu Peng, you may go. I will be fine. Jiang Fengmen is not an ally, but I am safe here.”

The girl frowned and was clearly trying to figure out how to argue with her without being disrespectful. “May I at least wait for you here?”

“Did you injure Liu Peng?” She asked, standing. A’Cheng glanced at Jiang Wu and subtlety shifted away from him, while A’Yao unsteadily dragged himself to his feet, a fierce glower on his face.

“No!” He turned to face Yanli then slumped. “But I did not help her. Jiang Yang knocked her out and dragged her into a closet. I…I stood by and—”

“You saved my life!” Liu Peng yelled, startling herself. She covered her mouth, then stepped forward and bowed. “The other one wanted to kill me! He was going to slit my throat! But you told him not to! You said knocking me out would be enough! Thank you! Thank you!” She had started crying, and one hand flew up to put pressure against the bandages. Yanli hurried over and forced her to stand up.

Jiang Wu dropped to the ground in a full kowtow. “This one regrets his part in the fair maiden’s injury and the kidnapping of Sect Leader Wei! I am so sorry! I—” He stopped and bowed his head to the floor.

Yanli frowned. The five remaining Jiang who had traveled with them were essentially deserters and had no protection from any sect. One had already disappeared in the night, presumably to try to return to Jiang Fengmian’s side, but Jiang Wu was one of the four who had fought honorably beside them and helped them during the trip back to the Unclean Realm, when he could have easily fled. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

“Why did you argue for her life?” A’Yao snapped the words, sounding like the seneschal he was.

“I…I did not know of Sect Leader Jiang’s plans, but we all knew that he was planning to flee Qinghe as quickly as possible for some reason. I had my concerns, but I have served Yunmeng Jiang loyally since I was accepted as a disciple when I was seven years old. I wanted to believe that…that Sect Leader could not possibly mean to betray our principles, that he would not condone the murder of an innocent servant!” He looked up at Yanli, tears in his eyes. “I remember, Young Mistress Jiang, I remember—I remember the day you were cast out. It was as if the heart of the sect went with you. Several shidi wanted to run on the heels of Wei Ying when he disappeared, but I told them you would not want them to. Yet I understood their desire, in that moment. My doubts were planted that day, and I swore to myself that if proof of Sect Leader’s descent into depravity became apparent, that I would leave the sect and become a rogue cultivator.” He finished with a shaking voice, and lowered his head again.

“What do you ask of Sect Leader Wei?” A’Yao demanded gravely.

“Nothing! Nothing is mine to ask. I only seek to explain why I was where I was, and my part in allowing the young maiden to be hurt. I accept all blame. I only beg the mercy of Sect Leader Wei!”

There was a long, heavy silence that followed. A’Cheng, who no doubt remembered Jiang Wu from before, the same as Yanli did, looked conflicted.

“Sect Leader Wei,” Liu Peng said, turning to Yanli. “I ask for leniency on his behalf. He saved my life, and has disavowed the sect who asked such deplorable things of him. Please show mercy.” She bowed.

A’Yao gave Yanli a look that said clearly it was up to her. She took a deep breath.

“You were always kind to me, and the littlest shidis and shimeis under your care. I believe your heart is good, and that your actions over the past week, including sparing Liu Peng’s life, speak well of you. I cannot extend any protection to you, but as of now, the Yiling Wei sect has no grievance against you. Please rise, and be at peace.”

He crawled to his feet, tears streaming down his face. A’Cheng sighed heavily and steered him back out of the guest house, talking loudly about how Jiang Wu could help him brush up on his rusty Jiang forms.

Yanli sincerely hoped that was the end of drama for at least a day or two. She knew she could not ask for more than that, given Wen Ruohan’s war at their door, but she prayed for that much, at least.

Next to her, Ying’er cried out for Lan Zhan again.

Chapter Text

“Good. Now flip that piece over.”

“Ugh, that looks awful!”

“Patience. We have to keep that section out of the way. Now take these braids and twist them together—yes, like that.”

Yanli sat with her eyes closed while A’Cheng tugged at her hair.

“Oh, wait, I see what you’re doing. Hold on! Hand me that ribbon, that one, yeah. Can you put it through a hair needle? Hmmm. Now, let’s see.” There was more tugging and twisting and poking.

“My goodness, A’Cheng, you have a talent for design!” Meng Shi said admiringly. “The way you’ve coiled the ribbon through those curls is so elegant! The peach ribbon against her lovely black hair makes such a bold statement. Now, take that section and make twelve micro braids.”

Yanli sighed.

Her mother had, of course, made certain that Yanli always represented the epitome of a proper young gentry lady, but she had never been one to fuss over fashion or hair styles. Yanli had worn the same braided buns in her hair from the time she was a toddler up to the day she was thrown out of Lotus Pier. All of this time and energy on a hairstyle she would wear for a few hours at a banquet seemed excessive to her. She felt like an expensive horse being gussied up for exhibition.

“Sect Leader Wei! You are so pretty!” Liu Peng cooed from where she was holding the tray with all the grooming supplies that Meng Shi had requested as soon as Nie Huaisang had announced the victory banquet. The crow pyre had finally stopped burning, and Nie Mingjue was at the point where he could sit up for several hours—which was apparently all that his younger brother required of him for a party.

“She will be the prettiest lady in the room!” Meng Shi said proudly.

“I will probably be one of maybe three ladies in the room, Second Mother,” Yanli said with a trace of sarcasm. She could not compare to Meng Shi or Nie Popo, for vastly different reasons, and as far as she knew, none of the Nie generals were bringing their wives. She hoped they did, if only to keep the focus off of her. There were female Nie cultivators, of course, but they were disciples and would be dressed as such.

“JieJie is always the prettiest,” A’Cheng grumbled. He sounded angry, but Yanli knew that just meant he was concentrating hard, so she stayed quiet and still.

“Sect Leader Wei will be the most important lady in the room,” A’Yao said with deadly finality. Yanli glanced over at him in surprise to see him staring at her with a grin just short of vicious and a possessive gleam in his eyes that sent a wave of heat through her…regions. She looked away quickly.

“Mn,” Meng Shi hummed in smug agreement. Then she came around in front of Yanli and inspected her face. Yanli braced herself for face powder and eyeliner.

“You will not only be the most important lady in the room, but one of the few sect leaders in attendance. You must move with grace, but confidently. Do not mince your steps. You are not there to coddle their egos, as they assume most women are. No, they must pay you respect,” Meng Shi said, almost hissing the last word. “We are among friends, so this will be a good trial run for you to practice being a sect leader at a public gentry event.”

“I am a weak cultivator, and my sect consists of me and four family members,” Yanli said with a sigh as her cheeks got dusted with a soft pink-colored powder.

Meng Shi tsk’ed at her. “You cannot meet men on their own grounds. They are stronger and meaner, and do not respect any woman who isn’t their immediate family, sometimes not even then. Instead, remember that the more important a man is— the greater his ego—the more insecure he is underneath. Do not mock or tease, that will rile them up, but never hesitate to cut a fool down to size. Use your grace and your education and your keen mind to whittle their power away. They might hate you for it, but then, those are the ones who were never going to treat you as an equal, anyway.”

Yanli tried not to blink as kohl was added around her eyes, absorbing the advice that sounded not unlike things Madam Yu had said to her long ago. It was telling, she thought, that not a single man in the room disagreed with Meng Shi’s pronouncements or advice.

“Yes, Second Mother.”

Nie Huaisang had brought up a jeweler from the city and rented a whole cabinet of accessories for Yanli and her family to wear. It included beautiful silver guans with rubies and obsidian for A’Yao and the boys, and a mass of gorgeous hair pins for Yanli and Meng Shi. Everyone was resplendent in the formal outfits that Nie Huaisang had bought for them back in Caiyi, and that Yanli had decorated with peach oleander blossoms along the collars.

Somehow, Meng Shi had come out of her room decked out in similar colors. Her gown and robes, however, were distinctly Qinghe Nie in cut and style, and heavily embellished with silver embroidery and decorations of stylized beasts. (Yanli thought A’Yao was going to spit blood.)

They were all walking in together, at least. After five days of intense recovery, Wei Ying was mobile, although his scar from Zidian was still livid down his face and neck, his left hand was lightly bandaged, and his meridians a scorched mess (again). He tired quickly and was the image of the walking wounded, but he was, at least, walking.

A’Yao remained plagued with body aches and fatigue, so had spent the afternoon napping and getting a massage from one of the Nie healers to help him get through the banquet. He was also given a cane to assist when fatigue and balance became a problem, which he had sneered at but used as ordered (after Yanli and Meng Shi ganged up on him about it). The doctors had explained to Meng Shi, once she made it clear they were required to do so, that he was suffering something akin to severe arthritis, in that the natural flow of qi through his body was interrupted and it sometimes pooled toxically in his joints. They kept his core locked down as they did feverish research on how to repair it, if possible, but aside from the cane and “meditate and find inner peace,” the doctors’ advice was not particularly useful.

But, it was enough. The five of them walked over to a large hall normally used for indoor training. It had been turned into an ad hoc banquet room, the advantage being that it was elevated and had a wide, broad patio where Baxia could rest her head and keep a beady eye on her master. It was telling that most of the Nie, by and large, barely paid the massive beast as much attention as they would a horse.

They were greeted by Nie Huaisang and Nie Popo, looking more like an empress dowager than a Nie cultivator, as they were announced. It was a peculiar practice of the Nie, which Yanli had always thought unnecessarily ostentatious, and resulted in everyone already in the hall stopping to look their way when “the Yiling Wei Sect, led by Sect Leader Wei Yanli!” was shouted out to one and all.

Not “the Bastards of Yunmeng.” Not “a family of commoners from Yiling.”

A cultivation sect, however small, allied with two of the great sects of the jianghu.

She thought of how haughty and sharp her mother was in such situations (when she rarely attended them) and how blandly disinterested Jiang Fengmian had been—then decided to toss out all comparisons. She was Sect Leader Wei Yanli and had her own path to walk.

She kept her chin up smiled at everyone as she passed, tipping her head so the many dangling pins in her exuberant hairstyle jangled pleasantly in the face of all the shocked gentry and merchants who had, perhaps, expected her to walk with small steps and lowered eyes.

Once they had bowed to their host, who was sat up on a rustic throne on top of a makeshift dais and looking very grumpy about it, the event quickly became exactly like every other gentry banquet Yanli had been allowed to attend in her youth: boring, vapid, and dangerous. It turned out that all the minor sects in Qinghe and quite a few of the most prosperous merchants had been invited, so Yanli was just one of many ladies in the room, which suited her just fine. A’Yao stayed by her side, glaring at any man who tried to approach her, which made Meng Shi giggle.

There were eddies to the politics of Qinghe that she and A’Yao did not know about, but he was good enough at spotting them to keep Yanli from insulting anyone by mistake. A’Cheng and Ying’er stood behind her looking like the glorious young lordlings they were, and eventually got pulled away by some senior disciples of Nie. Yanli thought she heard something about “fire farting frogs” and decided to stop paying attention.

“Mother, did you hear—Mother?” A’Yao turned in a circle, then stopped with a growl.

Meng Shi was sitting prettily next to Nie Mingjue on the dais. The Yin Saber, fortunately, had loosened up enough to allow itself to be sheathed, warded, and propped up behind him, so he was leaning toward Meng Shi with a besotted expression on his face while she spoke softly to him, her mouth covered by a gorgeous fan that Yanli was pretty sure she had not been holding when they walked in earlier.

“Don’t they make a fine couple?” Nie Huaisang sighed extravagantly, appearing out of the crowd. “Not that you two aren’t a match! Yanli’jie, your hair is exquisite! What a daring use of ribbons! I’m sure you will be starting a new trend among the ladies.”

Meng Yao leaned in close, smiling violently and hissing like a cat. “If a betrothal contract is not on my desk by morning, I will have Nie Popo throw you off the western parapet.”

“Eeek!” Nie Huaisang leaned backwards, flapping his fan.

Yanli gently tugged A’Yao back to her side. “We look forward to beginning negotiations for the felicitous happiness between our sects,” she said with a slight—very slight—bow.

“Of course! Of course!” Nie Huaisang nodded fervently.

There was a slight commotion and a Nie guard sprinted around the side of the large room and up to the throne. Nie Huaisang immediately started muscling his way through the crowd, and Yanli followed him, pulling A’Yao with her. Tensions were still high from Wen Xu’s attack, so the chattering died down quickly. Meng Shi had stood aside when the guard approached, so Yanli went to stand next to her. She was joined immediately by A’Yao and the boys.

No one felt any better about the situation when Nie Mingjue’s face went blank with shock. He nodded, and the guard sprinted off.

“A’Jue, what is going on?” Nie Popo stepped up to the throne.

He shook his head and motioned toward the front entrance to the hall, waiting. The place had gone silent, save for the soft snoring of Baxia from the patio.

People parted way when two Nie cultivators appeared, supporting a Lan disciple who was bloody and dirty, his hair hanging greasy from an unkempt bun, struggling with a pronounced limp yet somehow walking mostly under his own power. Yanli gasped and Ying’er cried out in dismay, held back by A’Cheng’s tight grip.

When he got to the dais, the Lan shoved away the Nie who were helping him, rolled his shoulders back painfully, and bowed, his hands shaking so hard his sword rattled in its sheath.

“Gusu Lan has fallen,” Lan Qiren announced, wavering on his feet for a moment before collapsing.

Chapter Text

The hardest part of listening to Lan Qiren’s long recounting of the conquest of the Cloud Recesses from his sick bed was keeping Wei Ying and Nie Mingjue from running out of the room to go kill Wen Chao. Or, in Nie Mingjue’s case, Wen Zhuliu.

“He…it was. Awful.” Lan Qiren closed his eyes, but the tears were obvious.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying croaked, held in place by A’Cheng.

“No. No, just…Xichen. As an…an example. My A’Huan, I’m so sorry,” Lan Qiren gasped, a hand over his mouth.

Silence filled the room. Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Lan, highest ranked of his generation and also possibly the generations before and after him, had become a victim of the Core Melting Hand. Lan Qiren did not even know if his nephew was still alive, and chances were very good he was not. He shook his head to clear it while Nie Mingjue stood there looking like he had been sliced open, Nie Zonghui and another cousin clutching at his arms in case he tried to make another break for the door.

“Wangji…I thought he had heeded my order and escaped with a collection of our most sacred writings. Everything else burned.” He had to stop again to breathe slowly, closing his eyes in order to concentrate. The Nie doctor studied him with worried eyes.

“He hid in the forests. He rescued the remainder of us, three elders and over two dozen disciples under guard. I believe Wen Chao was going to deliver us one by one to the Core Melting Hand for amusement. But Wangji, he got us out. Took on seven Wen guards and led us to a safe route down the mountain, then served as a distraction to give us time. We all made it to the river and stole a boat to come upriver, but Wangji did not follow. I do not know his fate.”

“Where is everyone else?” Nie Popo asked softly, moving to stand in front of Nie Mingjue, her very presence holding him in place—or holding him together, Yanli could not tell.

“Many hid in the cold pond caves, but they are trapped there now with no hope of rescue." The grim fate of those people weighed down everyone in the room. Lan Qiren took a deep breath to continue. "The ones Wanji rescued, I told to disperse while I undertook the journey here. Take what money they had on them and buy new robes, hide their forehead ribbons, and stay out of danger if possible. They might be all who are left of the Lan... I never thought I would give such an order, believing it better to die than to compromise our principles. But never… never in my life did I think that the price of Lan pride would be A’Huan’s golden core. His life.” He bowed his head as the words tapered off, and it was clear that he had reached his limit for the time being. The doctor chased them out of the room as Lan Qiren’s tears spilled down onto his chest.

Yanli stood outside the healing pavilion in a daze. Seeing a man as proud and regal as Lan Qiren reduced to tears as he spoke of doing things he would have had disciples whipped for in the past—removing their forehead ribbons, lying about their identities, stealing a boat—was heartbreaking. She could only imagine how badly his will had broken when he watched his cherished nephew be tortured and destroyed in front of his eyes.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and she thought she would be sick.

“JieJie?” A’Cheng said softly. He still had one hand wrapped around Ying’er’s arm, keeping him from running off. “Come on, JieJie. Let’s go back to the guest house.” He took the lead for a change, dragging a stunned Ying’er along and looking back at Yanli every few steps. When they got to their pavilion, Meng Shi and Liu Peng ushered them in and chivvied them to sit as hot water burbled over a brazier for tea.

A’Yao pulled Yanli down next to him on one of the loungers while A’Cheng bullied Ying’er back into his daybed.

“Was it that bad?” A’Yao asked softly. He had wanted to stay with them, but he had already been sweating from exertion by the time Lan Qiren had been carried to the healing pavilion, and Yanli had ordered him to escort Meng Shi back to their quarters. It said a lot that he had not argued about it.

Meng Shi settled a blanket over Ying’er (who seemed to have gone into a fugue state) and eyed Yanli critically.

“Worse than bad,” A’Cheng answered for them. “The Cloud Recesses was mostly burned to the ground. At least half the disciples are dead, and nearly all the elder council. Lan Xichen…” he paused, looking at A’Yao warily. “Wen Zhuliu got to him. On Wen Chao’s orders, apparently.”

A’Yao gasped, one hand flying to his belly.

A’Cheng nodded. “Lan Wangji is missing. He got his uncle and few other Lan prisoners out, then used himself as bait to lead the Wen away. No word of where he went.” A’Cheng held back from saying “he’s presumed dead” although it hung in the air. He glanced at Ying’er.

“He’s not dead,” Ying’er said, his voice dull and dry.

Yanli looked at A’Yao, but neither said anything. A’Cheng huffed, but also held his tongue. Liu Peng went around checking all their pillows again, before turning to focus on the tea. Meng Shi sat in her favorite chair, looking grim.

It could have been any other night of the past week, except for the weight of grief they all felt. Yanli thought that she would always have been sad to hear of Lan Xichen’s fate, but now, having met him, it was so much worse. He had been such a good man, and it was a tragic loss for the whole jianghu. She did not even realize she was crying until A’Yao gently wiped tears from her cheek with his sleeve.

“Lan Zhan is not dead,” Ying’er repeated with a snarl, still staring at the ceiling.

“This happened days ago,” A’Cheng continued. “Lan Qiren has his sword, but he was badly injured from the fighting and could not use it except for short flights to get over rough terrain, so he’s been traveling by foot this whole time while already injured. From the sound of it, everyone who survived was injured to some degree, which is probably why he told them all to go into hiding. Lan Wangji escaped the worst of the battle because Lan Qiren sent him off with a collection of their sacred texts, to preserve them, but when he came back to rescue the prisoners, he was wounded in the fighting. Grandmaster Lan has no idea of how badly. The rest of the survivors he saved scattered once they got up river.”

When he finished, they all lapsed into silence again. Liu Peng came up to stand behind Yanli, and started taking the pins out of her hair and undoing the fancy braids. It felt like a lifetime ago that A’Cheng was putting her hair up, Yanli thought.

A’Yao took a deep breath. “It’s telling that he did not even try to get to Lanling, given how close it is.”

Yanli nodded, considering it. “He thought Sect Leader Jin would hand him over to the Wen, didn’t he?”

Both A’Yao and A’Cheng nodded.

“Lan Zhan is alive and I need to find him!” Ying’er announced and threw off the blanket.

Everyone scrambled to stop him, but it was A’Cheng who got there first. “I will break your legs if you try going after him!”

“He’s alive!”

“You can’t help him if you’re barely able to stand up! Your hands aren’t even fully healed!” A’Cheng pushed him back down on the bed far too easily. “You’ll just weigh him down and get him killed trying to protect you!”

Ying’er blanched at that and snapped his mouth shut.

There was a rapping at the door. Liu Peng looked at Yanli, who nodded. It was late, but they were not in a position to turn away guests at that point. She stood, and the others followed her lead—except for Ying’er, who sat on the bed with folded arms, looking murderous, A’Cheng’s hand on his shoulder holding him in place.

Nie Popo, back in her battle dress, and Nie Zonghui followed Liu Peng in and bowed.

“Sect Leader Wei, we regret to disturb you at this time. I know we are all reeling from the word out of Gusu,” Nie Popo said.

“We are at your service, Nie Popo. Is there further news?”

Nie Zonghui grimaced. “No. We are here by order of our sect leader to request the assistance of the Yiling Wei sect.”

Yanli nodded for him to continue, but he just stood there, looking conflicted, until Nie Popo rolled her eyes.

“My grandson is being held back from heading straight into Gusu by a thread. He is aware, however, that the Nie sect needs him here. He is sending a scouting squad east, to travel covertly and look for Lan Wangji, and possibly discover the fate of Lan Xichen.” She stopped for a moment, her grief overtaking her. It hit Yanli then that the woman had watched Lan Xichen grow up—as such a close friend of her grandson, he had probably visited them often.

“He has asked me to convey to you the request that Wei Ying travel with the squad.”

Ying’er stood up so fast that he lost his balance and had to be set to rights by A’Cheng, who hissed at him.

“No.” Yanli spoke clearly and concisely.

“JieJie!” Ying’er cried out disbelievingly.

She ignored him. “He’s not well enough to travel, certainly not in the hard scrabble way such a squad would have to journey to remain undetected. Furthermore, his recent interaction with the yin shards, however much it won the battle for us, also made him vulnerable to possession by Wen Ruohan himself. I cannot allow him to undertake such a mission.”

“JieJie, I’ll be fine—”

“Wei Ying: be quiet.” She turned to him and put everything she had into radiating “sect leader energy.” He paused, shocked, and stared at her wordlessly. She was not sure she had ever spoken so harshly to him in his entire life, but he was not a small boy anymore and it was time to remind him of that. “You are a senior disciple of Yiling Wei, and one of my most valuable sect members. You are also my younger brother. You will do as I say.”

A’Cheng’s eyes were wide as saucers, but A’Yao was trying to hide a smirk. He really had a vicious streak sometimes, she marveled. But, that was for later. She turned back to the Nie.

“Wei Ying cannot do this, even if I was inclined to allow him to try, which I am not.”

Nie Popo nodded in understanding. “I cannot fault you for that decision, Sect Leader Wei. Please understand that we had to ask.”

Yanli nodded. “Of course. If I may offer an alternative?”

Nie Zonghui cocked his head. “An alternative?”

“It would serve our sects well to work collaboratively. Furthermore, as Lan Wangji is my younger brother’s betrothed, we are invested in saving him, if possible. My resources are minimal.” She gestured at her family. “But not insubstantial. I would like to offer Senior Disciple Wei Cheng to go in Wei Ying’s stead. He does not have the power of the yin shards to command, but he is a strong cultivator and quite an excellent hunter. He is a student of the great Taoist master Song Lan, and he wields the legendary spiritual weapon Zidian.”

A’Cheng looked more shocked than any of them for a moment, but then straightened up and nodded firmly at Nie Zonghui.

“This Wei Cheng is ready and willing to serve honorably on this mission!”

Yanli could feel Ying’er pulling himself together to argue, so quickly barreled on. “Furthermore, as Wei Ying’s younger brother, they share a valuable connection, as blood brothers.” She turned to Ying’er. “Could you send some of your ghost crows to follow them? Could they warn you if he was in danger, or injured?”

He paused, thinking, then nodded. “Yes.”

Nie Zonghui looked over at Nie Popo, clearly ceding the decision to her. She stood there considering it for a long, agonizing moment (at least, it was agonizing for A’Cheng, who was set to vibrate out of his skin). Being able to keep an eye on the squadron, however indirectly, was a boon that Yanli knew the Nie would not easily turn down.

She nodded, slowly and thoughtfully, before turning to bow to Yanli. “The Nie would greatly appreciate the assistance of Senior Disciple Wei Cheng on this mission.”

Chapter Text

They left at dawn, taking a portion of Yanli’s heart with her. A’Cheng tried very hard not to show her just how excited he was about being entrusted with the mission to find Lan Wangji, but it was clear that he was filled with pride and youthful optimism.

Ying’er, on the other hand, let her know exactly how he felt. He was never disrespectful, likely due as much to A’Yao’s gimlet eye as much as his inherent respect for Yanli, but he whined and complained and drove A’Cheng up the wall with advice nearly the whole night.

But before the squadron left, several of whom had been with Nie Mingjue and A’Cheng on the mission to Muxi Mountain, Ying’er turned serious. He made A’Cheng bleed into a few small glass vials donated by the Nie doctors, and carefully wrapped them with preservation sigils. He then pressed a freshly inked talisman up against the wound, and when it was wet with blood, whistled softly.

The air turned cold and a few sabers rattled, causing everyone to tense up and Nie Huaisang to hide behind his brother. But all that happened was a massive crow swooped down and landed, then paraded around in a circle as if inspecting his troops. Yanli would have laughed at its posturing if her stomach was not in knots.

Ying’er squatted and eyed the bird, wisps of resentment wafting off of it and frolicking around Ying’er’s fingers like jaunty sprites, before he gently placed the talisman on the crow’s back. It dissolved immediately, followed by A’Cheng squawking like a crow himself when the bird jumped up on his shoulder.

“This thing weighs as much as a donkey!”

“Pssshhhht.” Ying’er waggled his fingers, and the crow took flight.

“How dangerous is it for you to communicate with the crow?” A’Yao asked, his sharp eyes watching it as it soared up into some air currents above them.

“Not very!” Ying’er said with far too much chipperness.

“Ying’ge!” A’Cheng said with frustration just as Yanli scolded, “Ying’er!”

His expression turned serious again. “A little. You know I have to tap into the yin shards to do it, and it is very draining. It’s not like holding them or trying to control the resentful energy, but it’s a…hmmm…call and response with the Burial Mounds.”

Yanli was so grateful that Lan Qiren’s health was not recovered enough for him to be present for all of this.

“Did any of that make sense?” Nie Mingjue huffed, shaking his head.

“Yes. In a disturbing way,” Nie Huaisang said with a frown.

Ying’er waved his hand around. “I don’t have to connect with the yin shards enough to let Wen Ruohan through. That’s all that matters.”

Yanli did not think for a second that it was all that mattered, and Nie Mingjue looked like he agreed with her, but she had known that asking Ying’er to use his crows to track A’Cheng would cost him. It seemed like a lower price to pay than having him try to sneak out at night and go after Lan Wangji himself.

Which he still might, once he decided he had recovered enough. She considered asking Meng Shi to deal with him, as she had a very effective way of keeping the boys in line. A mysterious way having to do with raised eyebrows and pursed lips that Yanli thought might be something only mothers could master. Even A’Yao got meek and quiet when Meng Shi was dressing Ying’er down for getting out of bed without the doctor’s permission, and A’Cheng would go around looking guilty all night even though he was not the one she had scolded.

Yes, she would set Meng Shi on Ying’er wrangling duty.

With that decided, she motioned to Nie Zonghui before he followed Nie Mingjue. He came over and bowed.

“How can I assist you, Sect Leader Wei?”

“I would like a private audience with Grandmaster Lan Qiren…or is it Sect Leader, now?”

“He has asked us not to call him by that title, as he would prefer to hold out hope that Lan Wangji is still alive.”

“He’s alive,” Ying’er said from next to them. He sounded resigned to the repetition.

“Mn.” Nie Zonghui tried very hard not to be skeptical, which Yanli appreciated.

“Nevertheless, he is currently the acting leader of the Lan remnants, so I would like to speak to him.” She glanced at Ying’er. “Alone.”

“Of course, Sect Leader Wei. I will have a disciple come get you once the healers clear Grandmaster Lan for visitors again.”

Yanli picked up her latest embroidery project and stabbed at it, determinedly ignoring everything for a while. She was pulling the oleander flower banner off its frame when the promised disciple came to fetch her in the late afternoon. No one liked being left behind for the conversation, but in the end, she was the sect leader and they weren’t. Ying’er pouted, A’Yao turned icy and quiet, and Meng Shi played a boring, repetitive tune on her guqin that was probably good for meditation when not being weaponized.

Liu Peng followed, but as a servant, that was to be expected. Yanli reminded herself to talk with Nie Popo about securing the girl’s services for her sect.

Lan Qiren looked better after over a full day of rest, but he remained bed ridden, one leg elevated on a pillow. He bowed as best he could, although it was in line with how a seneschal would bow to a sect leader. She thought he came by his reputation for being a stickler about etiquette honestly.

“Please have a seat, Sect Leader Wei.”

She did, smoothing down her robes. “You have taken well to my new official title,” she said with a soft smile.

He simply nodded. “Nie Mingjue is one of the most straightforward and strict cultivators I know. If he believes that you have earned the right to start your own sect, I am in no position to second guess him.”

There were layers to that answer, but she let them lie as they fell. “Thank you, Grandmaster Lan.”

“I have also been told in some vague terms that the Nie have allied with the Wei. I assume that has more to do with than simply the yin iron, although it is not my business to glean the details.”

Which left the door open for her to share as much or as little as she wanted. She made a note to remember his politically artful approach.

“It is an alliance that is mutually beneficial,” she said with a pleased nod. But then she paused, and glanced away.

He huffed a little. “If you have concerns, I am willing to mediate. The Lan and the Nie are long standing allies, but I have a vested interest in your family…clan. Sect.” He cough to cover his mistake.

“Hm. It has been less than a day since you arrived, and your health is precarious due to battle and journeying. Have the Nie informed you of the events of the past few weeks?”

He frowned. “Only that Wen Xu tried to attack the Unclean Realm, and lost his life for it.”

“Mn.” She took a deep breath. “I do not suppose you saw the…ah, the big turtle in the banquet hall?”

His frown deepened. “That massive statue of a turtle’s head? Quite ludicrous, but then Nie Mingjue’s father was an eccentric from the day he was born.”

“Oh dear,” she said, realizing that no one had briefed Lan Qiren on Baxia or exactly how they had won against Wen Xu’s forces.

“What is it? What are you—oh no. No! Do not tell me that Wei Ying used resentful energy during the battle!” He covered his face with one hand. “That boy! Did anyone observe him doing so? Perhaps we can direct interest away from—”

Yanli stood up and bowed again, cutting him off as politely as she could. She would have kowtowed if her status had been one iota less than it was.

Then she asked Liu Peng to send someone for Nie Zonghui, or Nie Popo, or even Nie Mingjue if he was able to come.

“Wei Yanli?” Lan Qiren asked softly, genuine worry tempering his expression for the first time.

“Quite a bit has happened since we arrived in the Unclean Realm, Grandmaster Lan, and I believe it is only fair that you hear the full story in proper order rather than in bits and pieces from different people at different times.” She took a deep breath. “I will dispense with suspense on one matter for now: yes, Ying’er used resentful energy; yes, many people saw him do it, on several occasions. I am so sorry I could not keep my promise to you.” She bowed again.

He had paled as she spoke, picking up on her seriousness. “Please sit, Sect Leader Wei. I will wait for the others before asking anything further.”

Not long after, they all arrived, although it was mostly Yanli and Nie Mingjue explaining everything—the expedition to find the Xuanwu of Slaughter, Yanli’s kidnapping, the battles at Muxi Mountain, and the eventual battle with Wen Xu. Lan Qiren asked pointed questions about the yin iron, which led to Nie Zonghui providing an explanation of Ying’er’s dual with Xue Yang, then Nie Mingjue providing less of an explanation of his old saber’s new home inside of a giant turtle’s head.

When they were done, they sat there and watched as Lan Qiren rubbed his temples and grumbled under his breath for a while. None of them felt like they should speak until the elder had sorted out his thoughts.

Almost none of them.

“RenRen,” Nie Popo started, causing Nie Mingjue’s eyes to widen in shock. Yanli felt the same. RenRen?

“You can’t be mad at Little Ying’er. Without his powers, my grandson would be dead twice over and Wen Ruohan would have complete control of the jianghu, for all intents and purposes. The Nie are more familiar with the damage resentful energy can do than most, and I am not one to wave away the evil potential of such dangerous powers, but this is war the likes of which no one alive has seen. We need him, appearances be damned.”

Lan Qiren lowered his hands, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Yes, Nie Popo.”

Nie Zonghui was doing a masterful job of not laughing at his sect leader, whose eyebrows had shot up high on his forehead. Obviously, he had never seen such familiarity between the two elders before. It occurred to Yanli that in much the same way Nie Popo had watched Lan Xichen grow up, she had also watched Lan Qiren himself grow up. They were all just children to her.

She glanced at Nie Mingjue and tipped her head toward Lan Qiren. Nie Mingjue sighed.

“You should know that this morning I sent off a squad of my best disciples to sneak into Gusu and look for Wangji. Sect Leader Wei graciously provided her disciple and brother, Wei Cheng, to travel with him. Wei Ying is still recovering and could not join them, but he is using his ghost crows to monitor their travels, and should be able to know when they find Wangji. They have been ordered to assist any Lan remnants they find, but I felt it was too hazardous to bring them here. I do not know what Wen Ruohan will do next, but I am in his sights more than ever now.”

Lan Qiren bowed, and they all ignored his watery eyes. “Thank you, Sect Leader Nie.”

“Would you like to talk to Ying’er?” Yanli offered, although she hoped he would say no.

“No,” the doctor answered instead. He had been lurking by the door, but came forward to check Lan Qiren’s qi. “He needs more rest, not more upsetting news.”

The dismissal was clear, so they bowed and shuffled out into the breezeway, solemn and quiet as they went their separate ways.

Chapter Text

The following two weeks were surprisingly quiet.

Lan Qiren recovered enough to walk out of the healing ward and park himself in the Nie war room, much to Nie Popo’s amusement and Nie Mingjue’s obvious relief. Yanli herself attended a few meetings when asked, usually to discuss river traffic and possible disruptions the Wen might cause.

Sometimes she felt like the war was less “starting” than it was seeping into their lives like a slow flood, getting into every crevice and corner of her world no matter how hard they tried to dam the waters. They all shared the weight of knowing that despite everything that had happened so far, it was just beginning, and was inescapable.

A’Yao’s health remained precarious and he became a ward of the Nie healers in all but name, as they fussed and argued about his meridians and golden core (“fiercely debated,” he corrected; “they were shouting, A’Yao,” his mother countered; Yanli stayed out of it).

The disagreement stemmed from the fact that they could not decide what had really happened to it: had it partially “melted” away, or was it intact but in pieces? Or something else? They could not determine which was the case without unlocking A’Yao’s spiritual energy, which would put him at risk of his golden core destroying whatever remained by trying to heal itself and likely throwing him into a fatal qi deviation.

The fact that he was not wilting away or committing suicide also baffled the Nie, as that was previously the only history written about survivors of a Wen Zhuliu core-melting attack. Yanli could tell he was enjoying letting them stew in the mystery.

“They cannot conceive of a cultivator valuing his life without a golden core. I spent the majority of my life without one, and living among commoners.” He shrugged, when she finally asked him about it one night as they cuddled together. He had been warned against “strenuous activities” by the doctors, and Meng Shi, all-knowing, had given both of them a hard look that Yanli felt they did not deserve. (Much.)

So, they spent time cuddling and kissing, but mostly talking, under the covers. It almost felt like being married, except for how A’Yao snuck out before dawn so neither Meng Shi or, worse, Ying’er might catch him leaving her quarters.

Although most of the time, Ying’er was not there either. Once he got clearance to work, he absconded with Nie Huaisang to the Nie library to wrestle with The Nie Problem. Apparently, Nie Mingjue’s bonding with Baxia-the-Xuanwu, and the fact that she was now regularly “eating” the resentful energy he generated, had given them a course to pursue, and pursue it they did for most of the hours of the day.

Fortunately, Meng Shi and Nie Popo had teamed up to become, as Nie Huaisang dramatically exclaimed with dismay, the Twin Terrors of the Unclean Realm and used their powers to hustle the boys back to bed and force food down their throats. They did not, however, pull them off their mission. Yanli did not even complain about that, since it gave Ying’er a focus for his worries and anxiety.

Unexpectedly, Yanli found her time taken up by a strict regimen of political studies. Of a kind.

“But the He and Guo clans get along?” She squinted in thought.

“No, they are allies. But the brother of the previous leader of the He deflowered the youngest sister of the previous Guo sect leader, very much against her will, and resulting in a child and a predictably rushed wedding that neither party wanted. The groom then spent their marriage visiting brothels and refusing to sire any more children after their daughter was born. Both families blame the other, and the child was essentially sold off to a rich, mundane merchant as soon as she completed her hair pinning ceremony.”

Yanli sat with her jaw hanging open indecorously. While her mother had always made sure the He and Guo clans never sat near each other during meetings, Yanli had never thought for a minute it was over something so sordid and venal.

“That poor child!”

“As I hear it, she’s now a grandmother and well set up in her old age, having birthed four sons and outlived her husband.” Meng Shi smiled at her. “Sometimes the worst of situations can result in happiness, if left alone long enough.” She side-eyed the door to Yanli’s room, causing Yanli to blush for absolutely no reason.

The story of the He and Guo falling out was about the dozenth such tales, stories of intrigue and outrageously improper behavior across all the jianghu.

“How do you know all of this, Second Mother?” Yanli despaired over a candied melon slice. Liu Peng at least kept the treats flowing, she thought gratefully.

A soft expression of sadness swept over her face, but only for the briefest of moments. She smiled at Yanli. “I told you the story of the Lan Sect Leader…former sect leader, I suppose by now. I knew about the He and Guo gossip in the same way I knew about such a disastrous tale from a place as far away from Yunping as Caiyi. Stories travel through the underbelly of the jianghu, and we are accused of being uncultured gossips for the fun of it, but for many sisters, it can mean our lives and livelihood. We have to know which men not to seat in the same room, which men should not share mistresses, and which men hold the real power in the region. It is often not the one holding the highest title.”

Yanli thought of Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan, and frowned.

Meng Shi seemed to pick up on her thought. “Oh, sometimes, yes. But even then…for instance, it took me a long time to understand why Jin Guangshan never came for me or his son. I lied to myself often enough about it.” She glanced over at where A’Yao usually sat when he wasn’t napping or being prodded by the doctors. “He came, once, when A’Yao was nearly a year old. Held his son, praised him, praised me. I thought it meant something, but now I don’t know why he did it. Perhaps he actually hoped at one time to bring us into Lanling. But even before you dropped in our laps, I realized he was not coming for me. Because of Madam Jin.”

“Oh, yes, she is quite fierce.”

“I would not know. What I do know, however, is that like most high-ranking wives of the jianghu, she keeps spies in the brothels her husband frequents. Sometimes servants, sometimes other courtesans.” She leaned forward. “Jin Guangshan runs his sect, but Madam Jin runs his household. She undermined every attempt he made to bring in concubines, sometimes lethally. It only takes one poisoning for every sister to reign in her expectations.”

Yanli sat with that for a horrified moment, and Meng Shi let her. She understood then that what she was being taught was the real history of the cultivation sects, not the clean and erudite stories she had grown up reading in the Jiang library.

“Perhaps I should make you my seneschal,” she said with a wry smile.

Meng Shi returned it with a dainty smile of her own, her eyes filled with mischief. “I mean no offense, and you have my support as any daughter of mine should, but I have set my sights a bit higher than that.” She patted the guqin next to her.

Yanli laughed brightly. The official correspondence flying between Wen Popo and A’Yao had been getting thicker every day, and she wondered what on earth they could be negotiating, given how poor the Yiling Wei sect was. (She figured when she needed to know, A’Yao would tell her.) They were having extremely amusing “family” dinners with the Nie nearly every night, where Nie Mingjue tripped over his tongue, Nie Huaisang and Ying’er laughed at him about it, and Meng Shi smiled charmingly at him.

But during the day, Meng Shi ran Yanli through over 200 years of cumulative gossip, included stories about Wen Ruohan’s former family (“he loved his wife and children dearly, but they were assassinated by his younger brother in a coup attempt”) and even the Jiang (“Wei Changze was a cousin, yes, but rumor holds that he was actually the result of an illegitimate coupling of Sect Leader Jiang’s paternal grandfather—that he was brought in as a servant to prevent any battles for succession. Impossible to say, but we were always warned never to let anyone with the family name ‘Wei’ share a room or a courtesan with any of the Jiang men. It has always made me wonder about the so-called friendship between your father and Sect Leader Jiang, honesty”). It put so much of the odd relationships she had observed as a young girl into a new light.

If nothing else, Yanli was getting a lot of time to embroider the Yiling Wei oleander motif all over everything she could grab.

Fifteen days after A’Cheng had departed, Nie Mingjue made a formal visit. Fortunately, he had been working with Baxia to allow him to travel out of her sight, otherwise he could never have made it deep into the heart of the section of the Unclean Realm their guest pavilion was located.

He looked very uncomfortable, with a grim looking Nie Popo at his elbow. Lan Qiren was noticeably absent.

After formalities, he sighed gustily. “We have word that Wen troops are on the move again, headed this way.”

“Ah.” Yanli tried not to grimace. “Are they…substantial?”

“At least 50,000 strong.”

Meng Shi gasped and covered her mouth.

“What we pulled off with Wei Ying’s assistance was astounding, a legendary triumph, but I doubt even with the yin shards he has in his command that he could meet such a force and survive. Nor would I ask it of him, or you.”

“But if you stay—A’Jue!” Meng Shi reached out, worry etched across her face. Nie Mingjue looked at her softly and took her hand in his. Nie Popo gave them a disapproving look, but Yanli shook her head at the elder. It seemed fitting for the two, who were (nearly?) betrothed, to have a moment.

“I will not be staying,” he promised, then turned to Yanli. “We plan to abandon the Unclean Realm and turn to guerrilla warfare, as we can. I have 20,000 troops I can spread out to cause trouble for them, along with Baxia. You, along with your clan and A’Sang, will finally make that trip north to the coast for Tangshan. My mother’s summer manor there is still ready to receive you all.”

Yanli nodded. What else was there to say? War was coming to them, and they must flee or be wiped out. But the presence of Nie Popo was perplexing, as she was likely going to head out with Nie Mingjue to fight the Wen.

“What is it that you must bring your honored grandmother here to say?”

He let out a long sigh, finally dropping Meng Shi’s hand, and turned pleading eyes on Nie Popo.

“Scouts picked up a rag-tag group running east for the coast.” She paused, grimacing. “It was a few Jiang, along with Madam Jiang.”

Yanli stood there for a long moment before pulling her thoughts into order. “Has she given birth, yet?”

“Not yet, shockingly. But the travel has taken a toll on her, and she is not well. The Jiang escorting her have surrendered, and offered to fight on our side against the Wen as opposed to sitting in our dungeon waiting for the Wen to show up and execute them. I don’t trust them, but they have an incentive to live, and we need the manpower. As for Madam Jiang,” she stopped there, shaking her head.

“You cannot leave her behind, of course. Won’t further travel be even worse for her, though?”

“Probably. No: almost assuredly,” Nie Popo added. “Jiang Fengmian keeps falling in my estimations, even when I think he can go no lower—but on the other hand, his only real option was Lanling Jin, and as we have discussed, the mother and the child likely would not be safe there either. Madam Jiang claims he was trying to send her to a safe house on the coast while he returned to Yunmeng. Be that as it may, he’s missing and unwelcome here, but I will not leave her to the cruelty of the Wen. If you agree to shelter her, I will send a midwife along with you, someone I trust, as chances are good she’ll drop that baby before you all make it halfway to Tangshan.”

Nie Mingjue’s face scrunched up when she said “drop that baby” but he kept his mouth shut.

Meng Shi looked at Yanli, waiting for her decision. They could leave Madam Jiang behind, and let her fend for herself. Some would say she was justified in doing so.

But in many ways, Yanli was not her mother’s daughter. She was not so cold-hearted, and furthermore, she was a sect leader in her own right. She knew that she must model righteousness in all ways if her sect and her clan were to garner the respect of the jianghu.

“We will be glad to assist Madam Jiang in her plight. When do we leave?”

Chapter Text

It turned out that most of the preparations which had been made in the days before Yanli had been kidnapped by Jiang Fengmian were never fully unpacked, so one day later, at the break of dawn, Yanli stood before a large, comfortable carriage with Meng Shi and their hand maiden Liu Peng as two doctors and Nie Popo helped a pale, weakened, and obscenely pregnant Madam Jiang into it. She and Meng Shi shared a glance. It would be a miracle if the child held out for the whole trip, and a second miracle if the young mother lived through it.

Over the years, Yanli had humored a number of childish, silly revenge fantasies centering on Jiang Fengmian, usually focused on publicly humiliating him instead of actually doing him physical harm, but until that moment she wanted to put her hands around his neck and throttle him. Meng Shi’s dark glower suggested she was of like mind.

Fortunately, A’Yao, Ying’er, and Nie Huaisang were assigned the carriage ahead of them and would not be bothering the sickly Madam Jiang with their antics. Given the number of books Sang’er and Nie Zonghui were loading into it, she suspected they would all be studying (and arguing) about how to solve the Nie Saber Problem (as Ying’er had taken to calling it) the whole trip north.

It was not going to be a fast trip, either. Their travel train was long with ten pack wagons and two other carriages holding Nie elders, and surrounded by a contingent of over 100 disciples and soldiers who had forgone the chance to fight the Wen in order to volunteer to serve as protectors. The support staff and cooking wagons were another whole caravan of their own, following behind.

Yanli saw many people giving tearful goodbyes to each other. A significant number of families were planning to follow once they had packed up their own houses, but a larger number of the inhabitants of the Unclean Realm were simply going to melt into the landscape. Merchants would travel north and east; craftsmen would head to Lanling, or find mid-sized towns in need of their skills; those with livestock would take to the hills.

When Wen Ruohan’s forces arrived, not even ghosts would be in the massive fortress city.

Ying’er walked over once Madam Jiang had disappeared into the carriage, then whipped out a talisman paper and pressed it into the frame of the carriage body with enough qi that it fused into it. The carriage master frowned at him and opened his mouth, but Ying’er flapped a hand at him and started chattering excitedly.

“It’s new! I’m working on it! It’s a feather-light charm, to make the ride softer,” he said, gesturing at the door. “Nie Zonghui said some of the roads are worn and rocky.” He shrugged.

Yanli reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked down at her meekly.

“We appreciate your thoughtfulness, Ying’er.”

“Maybe ask first, next time, hmmm?” Meng Shi said with a wry twist of a smile while the carriage master huffed behind her.

Lan Qiren, who had wandered over with Nie Popo, harrumphed and stroked his beard, but stayed mercifully quiet.

“Yes! I will, Second Mother! I promise!” Ying’er bowed energetically at her. When she waved him off, he dashed away, trying not to look like he was expressly avoiding his future uncle-in-law.

“Kid has more brains than sense,” Nie Popo scoffed, examining the sigil burned into the wood. “This should make the ride feel like you’re gliding on a boat over smooth waters.” She tapped it with a long, sharp, silver-gilded fingernail. “Don’t worry, Yu’er, it won’t harm the frame or axles,” she said, glancing at the carriage master, who looked like he was at least sixty years old. With a blush and a muttered “thank you, Nie Popo” he scuttled back to tend his horses.

Meng Shi stepped aside to talk with the doctor assigned to Madam Jiang, Du Zhili, a sturdy middle-aged woman who would be riding a horse next to the carriage for most of the trip.

Nie Popo followed her gaze. “Aiya, it will be a hard trip for Madam Jiang. In truth, I don’t envy you having to share the carriage.”

Yanli was not looking forward to it at all, but she put away the uncharitable thought. “She’s scared and alone. I cannot imagine leaving her to suffer without companionship to comfort her,” she said, which was true enough.

“You do your clan proud, Sect Leader Wei,” Lan Qiren said. “You have a noble and righteous spirit, a beacon of light for your disciples to follow.” His own gaze was directed to where Ying’er had dashed away.

Nie Popo snorted at that, but bowed politely to Yanli. “This one wishes you safe and speedy travel. I hope when we meet again, it will be at a victory banquet in the Xuanwu of Triumph Hall.” She smirked as she said the new name of the old training hall that had been renovated for the turtle.

Lan Qiren looked like he wanted to roll his eyes as he huffed at the name.

“This one wishes you many successful battles, Nie Popo,” Yanli said, bowing in return. Nie Popo gave her a wistful, kind smile and then punched Lan Qiren in the arm.

“Ack!” He looked at her in shock.

“Don’t dilly-daddle, RenRen. There are no purple-tufted rabbits here for you to chase!” She spun around and just walked off.

“It was a brown desert hare and I was five!” He shouted in affront, then realized he was shouting and snapped his mouth shut, a blush rising over his cheeks. He refused to look at Yanli, staring off in the distance as if he could will his impropriety away.

Yanli managed not to laugh, though, and bowed to him politely. “Thank you for your guidance, Grandmaster Lan. I wish I could have followed your advice more closely.”

He sighed and finally turned to face her. “This is war, Sect Leader Wei. I still have my concerns about Wei Ying’s use of resentful energy, but in light of…events…” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, clearly thinking of Cloud Recesses and his nephews, and how few elders were left to even object to anything Ying’er did or did not do.

“I hope we received good news about both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji soon,” she offered, because the hope was genuine, even if thin. No one wanted to admit how high the chances were that both Jades of Lan were dead.

“Thank you.” He straightened up, then bowed to her as he would any sect leader. “Travel safe, Wei Yanli. May we meet again in peaceful times.”

She bowed in return and watched as he slowly walked away, still with a slight limp. Then, with a final look around, she gathered her skirts and took the hand of a Nie guard to help her into the carriage.

“Sect Leader Wei, if this humble one may request your time?”

She stopped short at Jiang Wu’s question. He was standing off to the side, and next to him was Jiang Yimin and the third Jiang whom she did not know, all three of them bowing. Of the five Jiang who had traveled with them from Mt. Muxi, one had simply decided to become a rogue cultivator and left the Unclean Realm with only the clothes on her back, while the fifth one had dashed off after Jiang Fengmian as soon as the Unclean Realm (and Wen Xu’s forces) had appeared on the horizon. These three were the only Jiang left. She had not seen much of them since Jiang Wu’s apology to her and Liu Peng, but A’Cheng had mentioned he was sparring with them regularly.

He turned and bowed to Liu Peng. “Miss Peng.”

To Yanli’s surprise, the girl blushed a little and curtsied. “Disciple Jiang.”

Yanli cleared her throat. “Jiang Wu. How is your shoulder?”

“Ah, Young Mistress—er, Sect Leader Wei is kind to ask. Much better, thank you.” He lifted his arm in proof.

“I am glad to hear it. What can I do for you?” She walked over and they bowed again. The Nie guards assigned to her settled behind her, ostentatiously shifting in their armor to make it clear they were ready to protect her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw A’Yao shuffling his way toward her quickly, his cane poking the ground.

“We would like to petition Sect Leader Wei to join the Yiling Wei sect.” All three of them bowed low and proper.

She just stood there, blinking at them, as they held their bows. Finally, she gathered herself together enough to ask incredulously, “Why?”

They stood up, and the other two looked expectantly at Jiang Wu. He glanced over her shoulder at A’Yao, but then focused on her again.   

“Things have been unsettled with Yunmeng Jiang for a while. It was not just your, ah, departure, although that was hideous blow to morale. The new Madam Jiang is a kind girl but has not been up to running the sect as the wife of a sect leader should, and Sect Leader Jiang has not been making the wisest of choices with trading partners. Moreover, when the Wen came, he surrendered immediately, despite the small show of force the Wen brought. I dared not say anything outright, at the time, but many of us felt like he had been expecting them.”

A’Yao narrowed his eyes. “What Sect Leader would send away his pregnant wife if he was not expecting a pitched battle?”

“That’s just it!” Jiang Yimin, who was much younger than Jiang Wu, piped up. “He told us to stand aside while Wen wrecked Lotus Pier, and burned much of Lotus Cove.”

Yanli’s blood boiled at that, thinking of all the people in the city whose livelihoods and homes had been destroyed for no reason. “He wanted to look like he had been chased out of Lotus Pier,” she said.

Jiang Wu nodded. “I think it was planned from the start. There was strong division among the ranks between capitulating to the Wen immediately, or fighting them to the death. We all knew he was in correspondence with Wen Ruohan, but no one knew the content. I informed Sect Leader Nie of all of this previously.” He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I do not want to be sworn to such a sect. He endangered his wife and unborn child, stood by while the city we had sworn to protect was needlessly destroyed, and willfully negotiated with a tyrant who is also a demonic cultivator.” Then he kowtowed all the way to the ground, and the other two scrambled to follow him. “We have shamed the honor of our ancestors by our compliance with such unrighteous actions! We disavow our oath! We make no claims of or rights to Yunmeng Jiang! This one disavows!”

“This one disavows!” The other two chanted with him, then they all went silent. In fact, the whole area around them was silent, and even Nie Popo had stopped to watch from afar.

“Did you know of Sect Leader Jiang’s intentions to kidnap Sect Leader Wei?” A’Yao snapped. Yanli was grateful for his words, because she was at a loss. Jiang Wu had claimed he didn’t when asked before, but the other two were unknown quantities.

“No, Seneschal Meng! The ones he picked to go with him had no idea what was in the trunk until we landed to meet Wen Chao! This one swears to you this is true!”

“It’s true!” Jiang Yimin echoed, sounding a little panicked. “He told us it was part of his plan to spare the Yunmeng Jiang sect from the wrath of the Wen and secure our future as a sect! We thought it was a chest of gold or treasures!”

Yanli glanced over at A’Yao. He looked contemplative, but she could see the distrust in his eyes, and knew what he was thinking: that one or all of them could have decided to “join” Yanli and her nascent sect as spies.

“Who are you?” She asked the eldest of them, the unknown disciple, who was old enough that Yanli should have known her from Lotus Pier.

“I am Jiang Minhao, Sect Leader Wei. I am a cousin of the previous Jiang Daifu. I trained at Lotus Pier, but I graduated to senior disciple when you were about three or four years old, and was sent out to serve on the Jiang trade ships.”

That was plausible. There were a few Jiang disciples who almost never set foot on land, once assigned to a ship. It was often joked that they married the river.

“Why would you leave the ships?”

“Trade dropped off for two years in a row, and Sect Leader Jiang retired three vessels, including mine.” Jiang Minhao sat back up, and shrugged. “Until a space opened up on another ship, I was grounded. Then the Wen came.” She scrunched up her face unpleasantly.

At the moment, all three could likely still return to Sect Leader Jiang with minimal, if any, punishment. Yanli also found it hard to believe that they had all decided to become spies. At least one of them probably was, but Yanli would let Meng Yao ferret that out. It was his job, after all.   

“You cannot remain Jiang,” she said to them. “Once you have sworn your oath to Yiling Wei, you must take the name Wei.”

A’Yao’s face didn’t move a muscle, but he saw the surprise in his eyes. Yunmeng Jiang, as a sect, had never required disciples to adopt the surname, although many did anyway. Based on looks, it was possible both Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao were actually Jiang by blood, even.

They all glanced at each other, but Jiang Minhao was the one to shrug, then rolled her shoulders and sat up proudly. “I was going to take my maternal grandfather’s surname anyway. I will not remain Jiang, either way.”

Yanli turned to A’Yao. He nodded thoughtfully before speaking.

“You will accompany us to Tangshan. Consider this a trial period, to see if we are a good fit together. Yiling Wei is very different from other sects, so if by the time we reach Tangshan you have decided to remove yourself from consideration, we will respect your decision with no further obligations by either party. Do you agree?”

They all kowtowed again and exclaimed their thanks for the opportunity. Yanli bid them to stand back up, then bowed slightly, surprising them.

“This one is honored by your faith in me as a sect leader.”

She wasn’t sure their faith was wisely placed, given the almost-certain annihilation the jianghu was facing from Wen Ruohan, but she was truly honored by it.   

Chapter Text

The trip was going to take over three weeks at the snail pace their lumbering caravan set. Everyone was on edge; Madam Jiang should not have been throwing up quite so much; and the only reason Ying’er had not run off into the wilderness after A’Cheng and Lan Wangji was that A’Yao and Meng Shi were tag teaming him day and night.

The only good news were the vague and sometimes confusing reports of A’Cheng variously “hopping,” “nesting,” and “hunting.” And occasionally “splashing.”

“I’m just saying, birds don’t really understand walking or swimming. My trick is that I marked him as one of their own, so they just think he’s a very odd crow. But then, most crows are odd. So.” Ying’er shrugged one evening as they sat around a fire pit, gnawing on some very gamey game birds for dinner.

A’Yao blinked at him in consternation while Nie Huaisang giggled. “Makes sense, Ying’ge!”

“You’re older than me!”

“Am I? Are you sure? I think I’m just a baby. Small baby.” Nie Huaisang widened his eyes innocently and puffed out his cheeks.

“Wei Ying is only three!” Ying’er declared.

“Ying’er,” Yanli broke in before they started crawling around on their bellies like infants. “As long as you know he’s alive and uninjured, that is enough.”

He nodded, resigned. “I’m not even sure if I’d know if he found Lan Zhan, to be honest. But…maybe? The crows would surely think he’s a crane or something! He’s so beautiful and elegant!”

“Right,” A’Yao sighed heavily, rubbing his chest. The travel was wearing on him as well, the constant pain of his damaged meridians making him walk around like a wizened old man, leaning    more on his cane than he liked to admit. His body was still suffering from his burned out meridians and locked-down spiritual power, and Du Zhili explained the effect as something akin to severe arthritis, in that natural flow of qi through his body was interrupted and sometimes pooled toxically in his joints. Massages and pain-relieving droughts could only do so much.

They spent most of their evenings talking nonsense for the most part, sitting around too-smokey fires and eating travel rations only barely elevated by fresh meat the disciples were catching. The stores of the Unclean Realm had been emptied, but Nie Popo explained apologetically that the best rations had to go the fighters, as they needed their strength. Slow travelers heading to safety would have to deal with bland congee, old bread, and foraging. It made sense, but it also made for tasteless meals.

Six days in, Madam Jiang finally hit her crisis, late in the afternoon. They were coming to a small town they would normally have bypassed completely, but the doctor insisted on getting her into a place with a roof and a clean well. Several Nie rode fast ahead to secure lodgings while a litter was put together to carry Madam Jiang as gently as possible. The three former Jiang helped carry her the whole way.

She was quickly flushed with fever, though, and incoherent. Du Zhili looked extremely worried and muttered quietly with Meng Shi as they all walked to the town behind the litter, surrounded by Nie guards. Ying’er and Nie Huaisang had stayed behind, utterly and openly terrified by the whole situation, but A’Yao insisted on coming with them.

It would hardly be proper to drag her into an inn for her childbed, so the Nie had found a family who was willing to rent out their house for a couple days. The siheyuan was modest, smaller even than Yanli’s home in Yiling, but clean with pleasing feng shui. As the family left with their overnight bags, the madam of the house looked over Madam Jiang with a worried expression, and gave Yanli her honest hopes that “her sister” would come through the birth, and that she would offer prayers for them. Yanli did not even have the heart to correct her.

There was no screaming and no wailing. Madam Jiang died quietly late in the evening, whimpering and calling out for her mother, while Meng Shi wiped her brow and Yanli held her hand. Du Zhili, who had been tense and waiting for the moment, already had her instruments ready to cut the child out of her.

The little boy did not cry at first, either. Despite being born on schedule, he was frail and weak. Yanli was already weeping as Meng Shi took the child in her arms with a grief-stricken expression. A’Yao had come into the room once he heard the child’s thready cries, and looked over his mother’s shoulder, heartbroken.

“Would you like to hold your brother?” Meng Shi asked softly. Yanli’s brain rattled at that, only then remembering who the true father of the child was. If Du Zhili heard Meng Shi, she did not react.

A’Yao choked back a sob but nodded, holding his arms out. As he took the tiny bundle into his arms, he mustered a small smile. “Hello, Little Brother. I am so glad I get to meet you,” he whispered. The moment would have a been endearingly precious if not so tragic.

“HEY!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET OUT!”

Everyone froze at the ruckus happening in the courtyard.

“I’m a doctor! I can help!” A woman’s fierce voice shouted over them.

Du Zhili looked at the child in A’Yao’s arms, then at Yanli, and shrugged. She was still cleaning up, and Madam Jiang’s corpse was on the bed between them. Liu Peng, who had been standing off to the side, came over and gently laid a shawl over her face with gentle, respectful care.

“I will go,” Yanli said and shakily got to her feet. She was shadowed by Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao, for which she was grateful.

The woman in the courtyard was short and dressed as a commoner, but she held herself in a familiar way, like a cultivator. They studied each other silently as Yanli approached.

The woman bowed. “This one is We-wwWang Qing. My name is Wang Qing. I am a doctor. I can help.”

“You are a cultivator,” Yanli said.

“I am. My clan specializes in medical cultivation. I am…traveling…with family. I was at the inn and heard there was a mother in crisis.” She straightened up and cocked her head, listening. “Is she…?”

Yanli shook her head. “She passed away. I’m afraid the child won’t last much longer.” She covered her eyes and took a moment to breathe.

“I know you don’t know who I am, but I might be able to help.”

“We have a doctor with us,” Yanli explained. She wasn’t quite sure how to simply say “no thanks”—and what if this random rogue cultivator could help? Did Yanli not have a responsibility to at least try to save the child’s life?

“But, we would welcome your insight,” she said instead, and turned to walk back inside. She was not surprised when one of the Nie guards joined the Jiang to follow Wang Qing into the room.

A’Yao was sat on the floor, still holding the infant and resting against his mother’s legs as they gazed sadly at the child.

“This is Doctor Wang Qing. She has offered her expertise.” Yanli spoke simply. Du Zhili intercepted her and they talked in hushed tones for a moment before Wang Qing walked over. She crouched down and visually inspected the baby for a moment, then looked sharply at A’Yao.

“Do you need to hold him?” A’Yao asked, his voice rough.

“Ah. No, not yet, I don’t think. Let me—” She reached out and put two fingers on the baby’s forehead, closing her eyes. Yanli could sense the surge of qi, gentle but strong, as it circulated around and through Wang Qing. Her eyes flew open, and she snapped out instructions for a medicine that Yanli was not familiar with.

Du Zhili froze for a second before her eyes went wide and she scrambled like a mad woman for her medical chest.

Yanli lost track of what happened after that. Wang Qing snatched the baby out of A’Yao’s arms and went over to Du Zhili. They huddled over him, acupuncture needles coming and going as they tapped medicines onto the baby’s tongue and the soles of his feet. A’Yao stayed sprawled on the ground, watching them with cautious eyes. Yanli came over and sat next to him.

How long they all sat there, Yanli did not know. Minutes? Hours? But then there was another cry from the baby, this time loud and strong, followed by a deep sucking gasp for air. A’Yao startled so badly his mother had to brace him, and Yanli nearly fell over.

“I’ll be damned,” the Nie doctor said in awe, staring at Wang Qing. “You did it. How did you know that would work?”

“Liu Peng!” Meng Shi snapped the words, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “Go to the inn, wake up the inn keeper, and ask for wet nurse. If he doesn’t know one, have Jiang Minhao and one of the female Nie cultivators escort you to the local brothel. They will know.” She pulled a coin purse out of her sleeve and tossed it at Liu Peng, who fumbled it, but then nodded and ran full tilt out of the room, Jiang Minhao on her heels.

A’Yao tried to get up and fell back on his haunches. Yanli and Meng Shi grabbed him, but in the next moment, Wang Qing was there.

“And what is wrong with you?” She asked, her words clipped and annoyed.

“Nothing, I am fine—”

“I’ll decide that,” she said and without a by-your-leave grabbed his wrist to check his qi. They all froze for a moment before Wang Qing gasped and yanked her hand back. She looked at A’Yao in shock.

“How are you alive?”

“We ask the same question every day, Doctor,” Du Zhili said with a heavy, frustrated sigh. At Meng Shi’s sharp look, she continued. “We are, of course, grateful that Seneschal Meng is doing so well! Truly a miracle! Praise the heavens,” she mumbled and then crab walked off to the side to fuss over the baby.

Wang Qing turned a beady gaze on A’Yao, who sat up as best he could, squared his shoulders, and stared right back at her.

“You still have a core.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Perhaps. My meridians are scorched and my core is either partially destroyed or simply fractured beyond repair, which is why it has been locked down by my doctors.”

“Mn.” She nodded slowly, lost in thought. “Wen Zhuliu, I presume?”

“You know of him?” Yanli asked, trying to keep her suspicion out of her voice.

Wang Qing rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t? He’s terrifying to all of us, isn’t he? And he’s Sect Leader’s highest ranking general, after his sons. Or, son. Rumor is that Wen Xu was defeated by the Nie,” she added thoughtfully, glancing around at the Nie in the room as if seeing them for the first time. Something in her manner shifted, and she stood up. “I must be going. My younger brother only knows that I came here for a medical emergency.”

A’Yao gave her a curt bow from where he was sitting. Meng Shi had already left the conversation to tend to the baby while the doctor moved to dealing with Madam Jiang’s corpse. They were going to have to take her with them, Yanli realized uncomfortably. She decided to get out of the room for a moment and breathe fresh air, so she led Wang Qing out.

“You are familiar with the damage the Core Melting Hand leaves behind,” she said, soft enough not to be overheard by the guards who trailed them.

Wang Qing side-eyed her but did not say anything.

“You also called Wen Ruohan ‘sect leader.’”

“He is the sect leader of the Wen,” Wang Qing replied with an insincere smile.

“You did not call him ‘Sect Leader Wen.’ Just ‘sect leader.’”

Wang Qing paused mid-step but then started walking again, picking up her pace. “I must get back to the inn,” she said loudly. It was obvious to Yanli that the doctor was past her point of allowing any further discussion on the matter and simply wanted to get away from the Nie as quickly as possible.

“Of course.” Yanli bowed to her at the entrance to the siheyuan. “Doctor Wang.”

Wang Qing rose up from her own bow with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I am Wei Yanli, sect leader of the Yiling Wei sect. You have done us a great service by saving the life of the child, and we owe you a life debt. You are obviously a talented doctor, and a rogue cultivator. Should you ever need assistance, please look to Yiling Wei. We stand by to help you.” She bowed again while Wang Qing stood there, looking stunned for a long moment, before quickly walking away.

Chapter Text

“Baby baby baby baby,” Ying’er chanted, staring down at the bundle in his arms. “Xiao Niao! Xiao Niao! Baby baby baby!”

If she had ever doubted that Ying’er would one day give her nieces and nephews, those doubts were put to rest by the radiantly happy expression he wore every time he got to cuddle Xiao Niao. There had even been a war of attrition between A’Yao and Ying’er for the baby, settled only when Meng Shi herself took charge of passing the infant back and forth between them.

Long before the sun rose the morning after the birth, Meng Shi had taken over the infant’s care and well-being like a general going to battle. She arranged for a wet nurse to join the caravan, going so far as to requisition the woman’s entire family as support for her while she nursed her own daughter and Xiao Niao. Yanli felt a twinge of sympathy for Nie Meitong, the leader of the expedition and one of Nie Mingjue’s top generals, whose every objection was hammered down like an errant nail by the combined forces of Meng Shi and Meng Yao.

Meng Shi hired a woodworker to fit a suspended “floating” bassinet securely into their carriage, and paid several local women handsomely for baby blankets, diaper cloths, and other essentials that Yanli had no idea they needed. Meng Shi had even arranged for the wet nurse’s eldest daughter to be hired as a nanny to assist with all the upkeep a baby required (apparently). By the end of the first day of Xiao Niao’s existence, he was as well provided for as any young lordling of the gentry could possibly be after such an inauspicious beginning.   

Ying’er started singing a Yunmeng song about birds and Nie Huaisang looked over his shoulder at the tiny infant with a squint. “The name fits. He’s too thin for a baby.”

“Hush! Xiao Niao is perfect in every way!”

“No, he is too thin,” Meng Shi said and imperiously retrieved the child from Ying’er grasping arms. He whined a little, but as she was taking Xiao Niao to the wet nurse for his last morning feeding before the caravan started up again, he knew better than to argue outright.

A’Yao looked on the domestic scene with a smug satisfaction that was devastatingly handsome on him. Yanli schooled herself to look elsewhere. Her brain was so tired from the events of the past day and a half that it was hard for her to remember to guard her reactions in public. It was just past dawn, but she was eager to get on the road and take a nap.

“Sect Leader Wei.” Nie Meitong approached her. A’Yao quickly walked over to her side, and the general bowed to him as well.

“Is there a problem?” Yanli asked, trying not to cringe. Between a sickly newborn infant, Madam Jiang’s corpse, and a wet nurse (and her entire family) joining their expedition, there were plenty of problems, in her opinion.

He grimaced a little, but then shook his head. “No. Not directly to us.” He motioned at the large and well-protected caravan. “But when we were in town, some of us heard odd rumors that I thought you should be aware of.” He looked up and Yanli saw Nie Huaisang being dragged over by an exceptionally tall and exasperated guard. It made sense, since he was officially the highest ranking Nie, but it caused Yanli to tense up because if Nie Meitong wanted Nie Huaisang to be a part of the discussion, it meant that it was important to all of them.

When Nie Huaisang was deposited next to them, Nie Meitong ignored his complaints with the ease of long practice and continued.

“There are rumors of a masked bandit harassing genteel travelers, including cultivators.”

A’Yao tilted his head. “Just one bandit? I don’t think that is something that warrants our concern,” he said as politely as he could.

The general nodded in agreement, however. “Yes, normally I would not have given him a second thought. Bandits like that eventually play their hand and get caught, and we are not a good target for him anyway… unless he has a death wish, in which case we are happy to oblige. However… he’s not just stealing. He’s… uhm, he’s giving away.” He looked genuinely confused.

“What?” Nie Huaisang asked, looking just as confused.

“He’s stealing from rich travelers and apparently giving the money and valuable items away to poor villages and families.”

Everyone just stared at him. He stared back, then nodded again. “Exactly. It’s…it’s very odd.”

Nie Huaisang looked fascinated. “Let me get this straight: he’s a masked bandit who is successfully stealing from people flush with money, not getting caught, and then turning around to give that money away to the poor?”

“Mn. And every time, he carves the phrase ‘war is murder’ in an obvious location. Near a well, or on the town gate.”

Nie Huaisang’s mouth dropped open.

“Is he a cultivator? Perhaps he was a member of one of the small clans Wen Ruohan destroyed,” A’Yao offered.

“That’s the weirdest part, though. We don’t think he is a cultivator, even if he clearly has some training. He uses a mundane sword, but he apparently can outfight any soldier or guard he comes across. He does not actively use controlled spiritual power, but he does use talismans quite well. He is masked, but people describe him as tall and well formed, as any cultivator might be. Graceful. Soft spoken. Exceedingly polite… except for all the burglary and illegal redistribution of wealth and carving nonsensical chengyu in public places.” He shrugged, truly mystified. “However, the common people are coming to admire him greatly.”

A’Yao narrowed his eyes. “How greatly?”

“Very greatly. He’s helping them prepare for wartime, after all. He’s providing them untraceable coin and fungible resources they can use in emergencies, enough to get through a hard winter. He’s even clearing out ghosts and some smaller yao, which honestly no bandit I’ve ever known of would bother with, if they even knew how.”

Yanli looked at A’Yao then back at Nie Meitong. “Yet you’re convinced he’s not a cultivator?”

“As best as we can tell, from the descriptions. Maybe he is, but is hiding it for some reason? It’s possible his training might too clearly identify who he is and what sect he is from. But it is peculiar behavior, and I thought it would be wise to share this information with you.”

“Does he have a name he goes by?” Nie Huaisang asked, and Yanli could almost see the wheels in his brain turning out a new poem or song, should the name be romantic and dashing enough.

“Not that anyone knows, but the common folk have taken to calling him Hanguang-jun*.”

Yanli blinked in surprise and A’Yao’s eyes went very wide. Nie Huaisang whipped out a small pad of paper and a writing stick to take notes.

“That is quite a noble title,” she said delicately.

“He only earned it recently, protecting a small village from a violent group of bandits…ironically. As I said, he does not act like a cultivator, but he has the makings of one, yet he doesn’t act like a bandit either. It’s very odd,” Nie Meitong repeated, as if trying to impress that fact upon them.

“We appreciate the information. If you hear more about him in our travels, please inform Seneschal Meng,” Yanli said. Nie Meitong looked relieved to have passed the responsibility off, bowed, then grabbed Nie Huaisang and dragged him away like a goat that needed tying up. Which was pretty accurate when she thought about it.

A’Yao pulled Yanli aside before they got to her carriage.

“It must be Lan Xichen,” he said thoughtfully.

“Ah! Yes, that makes sense.” She shook her head in amazement. “How virtuous of him to protect the common folk, even without a golden core.”

A’Yao snorted, and Yanli looked at him in confusion. He rolled his eyes, which was adorable, but she put that thought aside.

“Virtuous, perhaps, but he’ll be making enemies of local gentry and nobles. They tolerate bandits on the whole because they usually focus on stealing from other poor people. Once someone starts stealing from the rich, then it becomes a problem.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m half of a mind that he’s doing this on purpose, to attract attention to himself. But why? And why this far north of Gusu?”

“Ah, that is easy to answer. He is an older brother—he is trying to draw attention away from Lan Wangji, if he can. Would you not do as much for your younger brothers?”

A’Yao took a sharp breath, startled by the words.

“A’Yao! Did you think that our taking up the surname Wei meant that we disavowed you?” She asked, feeling hurt by the idea.

He shook his head. “No! A’Li, no, of course not! But I had assumed a more martial relationship would be appropriate now.” He paused as if trying to find the next words, but finally just settled on, “After everything.” He shrugged softly.

She glared at him and his expression shifted to wariness. “A’Li?”

“I suppose I’ll just have to marry you, then! That way, they will officially be your younger brothers!”

He looked completely stunned by her outburst, his mouth slightly ajar.

“What? Did you think I would not marry you?” She felt herself getting genuinely angry for once.

“MARRY? YOU ARE GETTING MARRIED?” Ying’er shouted from behind them, shocked and delighted, a grin bigger than the Yangtze spread across his face. “SECOND MOTHER!” He bellowed and spun around to run off just as A’Yao reached out to grab him.

“I will throttle him in his sleep,” A’Yao snarled, hands grasping at air.

“You sound like an older brother when you say that,” Yanli said primly, looking away, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “But if you do not wish to be his brother, that is your choice.”

He turned to face her, abashed. “A’Li, of course I want to marry you. I have dreamed of it! But you are a sect leader now, I don’t even have a core—”

“Meng Yao!” Meng Shi’s voice snapped through the air like a firecracker. She was walking over with purpose, Ying’er delightedly hopping around her, still grinning.

“Mama!” A’Yao looked utterly cornered, eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t!”

“I told you to let me handle this.” She reached out, grabbed his ear, and dragged him away. Ying’er cackled and more than a few Nie were trying to hide their laughter.

“He’s in so much trouble, ahahahah!” He rubbed his hands together.

“Ying’er.” Yanli said forcefully and he turned to look at her innocently. She sighed. “Ying’er, I proposed to him.”

He blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I proposed to him, not the other way around.”

He stared at her thoughtfully, but the expected remorse never came.

“So he’s getting punished for something he didn’t even do? AHAHAHAHHAA!!!!” He raised his arms in triumph. “Revenge is mine! Wait until I tell Huaisang!” He dashed off, then ran back and kissed Yanli on the cheek. “Congratulations, JieJie!” Then he was running away again.

“You can really tell they are brothers,” Liu Peng said pensively.

Yanli spun around in surprise. “Were you there this whole time? Did you hear all of that?”

She went wide eyed. “No?”

“…I’ll be in the carriage.” Yanli gathered her skirts and her dignity and marched off.

Chapter Text

Her mortification was given no rest. Liu Peng kept her eyes downcast, although she was very obviously smirking as they went through all the preparations for the day's travel in the carriage. When Meng Shi joined them, she sat next to the bassinet and asked Yanli, point blank, if she was with child.

“Second Mother!” Yanli gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Even Liu Peng blinked in surprise.

“Well?” Meng Shi speared her with a look.

“No!” She squeaked through her fingers, shaking her head. “No!”

“Hmph.” She leaned over and adjusted Xiao Niao’s swaddling. “A’Yao said the same thing.”

“You didn’t believe him?” Yanli asked, shocked.

“I know boys often have more reason to lie than girls do,” she answered softly, gazing down at her son’s half-brother. Yanli snapped her mouth shut.

Meng Shi took a deep breath. “He also claims that you proposed to him first. Of course, that is nonsense.”

“But I did!”

“You most certainly did not.” Her gaze lifted again, eyes focused and sharp. “That is improper, and there will be no impropriety associated with the sect leader of Yiling Wei.” The words landed like lead weights hitting the water. Yanli felt frozen in place. Meng Shi continued primly coddling Xiao Niao as she talked.

“A’Yao was overcome with emotion and proposed on the spur of the moment, instead of waiting for his mother to approach the eldest Wei brother, as is proper.”

Yanli sat there in silence, words failing her completely. It had never occurred to her—not once since she realized that her betrothal to Jin Zixuan died with her mother—that anyone would ask to wed her. She had spent years thinking she was simply off the market forever. Who would marry the bastard girl of Yunmeng? Who would dare take a chance on the daughter of an adulteress? She had never thought about someone approaching Ying’er to ask about a betrothal because it was impossible to contemplate.

But A’Yao wanted to marry her. A’Yao had agreed to marry her. The thought took root in her heart and spread out like warm syrup.

“Wipe that smile off your face!” Meng Shi tried to sound admonishing, but she was obviously suppressing laughter.

“Sorry, Second Mother.” Yanli lowered her head without any genuine remorse.

“Hmph,” Meng Shi grumbled again. “Too many moving pieces on the board for this nonsense.” She spoke softly, thoughtfully. “War, Nie Mingjue, the death of Madam Jiang, her son’s survival, and now your all-but-official betrothal.” She sighed heavily.

Yanli looked over at the baby, sleeping soundly as the carriage, still cradled by Ying’er’s feather-light talismans, glided along. Meng Shi’s words suddenly made her realize that there was a major issue they needed to discuss as a family, as a sect, as soon as possible. She also knew it would be unpopular, so she waited until after dinner.

A’Yao was holding Xiao Niao close to his chest, looking particularly pleased about it, while Ying’er glared at him jealously. Yanli sent Liu Peng out as well, which turned all their attention to her. With just the four of them, not counting the baby, Yanli sincerely missed A’Cheng. But she had business to conduct, so asked Ying’er to put up sound muffling talismans for their open-sided tent where they ate and relaxed in the evenings together.

“Everyone thinks he is the heir of Yunmeng Jiang,” she said. “We are already attached, but you know we have no claim to him.”

Ying’er expression darkened a bit, but he did not argue. Neither did Meng Shi or A’Yao. They knew she was right. After a moment, though, A’Yao straightened up with a grim determination.

“He’s my brother, and I refuse to lose him,” A’Yao announced.

“What?” Ying’er yelled.

“Oh, that’s right, you do not know,” Yanli said, cringing. “Second Mother…” She looked at Meng Shi pleadingly. Fortunately, Meng Shi was feeling generous, and explained the horrid story of Madam Jiang’s rape. By the end of it, Ying’er looked murderous.

“Jin Guangshan is trash!”

“He’s my father,” A’Yao said, although he sounded more resigned than defensive.

“I don’t care!”

“Ying’er, calm down,” Yanli ordered sharply. She did not like the glistening of red in the cornea of his eyes. He took a big breath and slumped down, crossing his arms. She turned to A’Yao.

“How? We can’t just claim a sect heir as our own.”

“Don’t see why not,” Ying’er grumbled.

“Sect Leader Jiang has every reason to fight for Xiao Niao, and no reason to believe anything we claim,” she pointed out. “It’s not as if Jin Guangshan will admit to violating Madam Jiang, or would take the child even if he did believe it was his.” She glanced at A’Yao, who did not flinch.

Meng Shi nodded. “It is a thorny issue. I agree that in an ideal world, the child would stay with his real family, which is A’Yao at this point, but it is true we have no legal standing. His mother was Madam Jiang, and that is all the legitimacy Jiang Fengmian needs to claim him, no matter the truth. As long as he lives, he will claim the child as his.”

Ying’er sat up straight. “Oh. You’re right.” He smiled at them. “That solves everything.”

“Ying’er, no!” Yanli exclaimed.

His expression turned chillingly somber. “He kidnapped you and put your life in danger in order to gain favor with Wen Ruohan. Do you think we’d let him live after that?”

A’Yao hummed in agreement, his own murderous expression only tempered by the baby drooling on his chest.

Yanli opened her mouth to reply, but Ying’er shook his head slowly. “A’Cheng and I vowed to kill him ourselves, JieJie. For everything he’s done to our family, he deserves to die.” He let the words sit for a moment before smiling at Xiao Niao. “Second Mother is right. That solves everything!”

“It does not solve everything,” Meng Shi said sternly. Ying’er frowned at her, but she shook her head. “Even with Jiang Fengmian dead, everyone will think this is his son, the heir of Yunmeng Jiang. There are enough relatives to demand the child be turned over to them to raise.”

That gave Ying’er pause.

If anything, A’Yao looked even more determined. “There are others,” he said, confusing Yanli with the non-sequiter. Even Meng Shi frowned.

“I heard rumors, when I was on the run. Other bastards,” he added softly, glancing at his mother before focusing on his sleeping brother. “I want them all.”

Meng Shi gave him a stern glare. “They are not weiqi pieces.”

“No, Mama. They are my family.” He finally looked directly at Yanli. “If my sect leader will have them, we can bring them in as disciples.”

“Of course, A’Yao—”

“There is no way to know,” Meng Shi interrupted sharply, a tone in her voice that was almost ragged. “We cannot prove Xiao Niao’s paternity. We cannot even prove yours. We cannot prove any of them.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and they all sat silent, waiting for her continue.

“I believed for too long that the pearl he left for me would prove to him that A’Yao was his.” She talked, but her eyes remained closed. “Not until A’Yao came to rescue me and Sisi from the Dragonfly Shoal did I learn that it was worthless and common.” She took a deep breath. “He probably leaves such trinkets strewn around the jianghu. No doubt other cultivators, other sect leaders, know he does so. To own one means nothing, not to the gentry.”

She finally opened her eyes, and they were filled with grief and regret. “You must listen to your sect leader, my son. The boy is not ours to keep.”

A’Yao shook his head, tears glistening along the edges of his lashes. “Mama,” he whispered, but no other words came to him.

Just then, a crow flew into the tent. Even the Nie wandering by outside ignored it, given the messengers were a familiar sight by then. It hopped around, inspecting the tent as if making sure everything was in order, before looking at the baby. It cawed at Xiao Niao, who woke up with a start and blinked in surprise.

“Get over here,” Ying’er grumbled. The bird hopped over onto his knees. Nothing seemed to happen, but after a moment, it flapped its wings and took off. Xiao Niao cried out in disappointment.

They all turned to Ying’er, who looked confused. “Sleeping, hopping…I mean, walking…I don’t know, doesn’t look like they are in Gusu at all. A’Cheng is very tired.” He frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“Is anything wrong?” Yanli asked.

“Not that I can tell. Just…weird. It’s like they are going in the wrong direction.” He sighed heavily. They all sat in solemn silence until Ying’er snapped up and yelled “Ah hah!” He reached in to his sleeve and pulled out the highly warded qiankun pouch he never let out of his sight, then carefully extracted one of the small glass vials wrapped in a stasis talisman.

“Blood!” He held it up triumphantly.

After a long moment, A’Yao sighed. “Use your words, Ying’er.”

“Oh! Right, right. I use A’Cheng’s blood to track him. It works with the crows because he’s my brother.”

Yanli was sure there was a connection there, because with Ying’er there always was, but his brain sometimes went in directions no one could follow.

Except A’Yao, who let out a soft gasp. He leaned closer, inspecting the vial. “You’d have to reverse—”

“Yeah! Exactly, not like a tracking talisman—”

“No, no, but perhaps a net? Capture. Connection.”

“That…oh, yeah, that might…hold on.” He put the vial away and turned to his small writing table, scribbling away on a worn old piece of thick paper with a charcoal stick.

Meng Shi and Yanli looked at each other before turning to look at A’Yao in unison.

He smiled gently. “He’s talking about a blood connection. Using a talisman to show the relationship between the blood of two people.”

“More like an array, I think. It would have to actively engage with their qi as well as their blood. I think. Hmmm.” Ying’er was already lost in the puzzle.

Meng Shi shook her head in wonderment and horror. “Such a thing could up-end half the jianghu, A’Yao.”

“They literally made their beds, Mama. I have no qualms about opening the doors to their shame.” He paused, shifting Xiao Niao and glancing slyly at Yanli. “If my sect leader allows, of course.”

Yanli did not answer at first. Meng Shi was right that a talisman that could connect blood relatives could very well cause utter ruin to many people in the jianghu. Some, like Jin Guangshan, would be rightly shamed by such revelations, but she thought of the now-deceased Madam Jiang and other women like her, who would no doubt be made to pay the price other men extracted from her body. She thought of herself and A’Cheng—how many children would be thrown away or worse if their blood did not prove “true”?

But…it could also reunite families torn apart by poverty, natural disasters, and war. Wives accused of infidelity could prove their innocence.

There was no simple solution to holding such power in your hands, she realized. She looked up to see all three of them studying her with varying shades of worried expressions.

“Jin Guangshan can throw away his offspring because few dare to show themselves, and he knows no one will stand in their defense. A’Yao is possibly the only one I’ve ever heard of who tried to present himself formally as his son. As you say, Second Mother: word gets around. Few women would risk the life of their child, knowing that story.” She took a deep breath. “But to gather all his bastards together, to give them shelter, and a family, and a name if they so choose…Sect Leader Jin could not ignore that. He would take it as a threat to his own position on the peacock throne, and I don’t think that’s an unreasonable assumption. Empires have fallen on lesser rumors. There is nothing I could say or do as a sect leader to fully assuage his concerns.”

A’Yao, who had understood her point long before she ever made it, sat quietly radiating frustration as he cradled his brother in his arms, expression drawn and staring at the ground. Meng Shi was looking at him sadly, a mother wishing for a way to ease her child’s heartbreak.

Ying’er…was smiling.

Yanli frowned at him.

He held up his hand, ticking off his fingers. “Wen Ruohan. Jiang Fengmian. Jin Guangshan.” His smile grew and he shrugged dramatically. “Who needs ‘em?”

Meng Shi startled. “That would leave nothing left of the jianghu! Both Qinghe Nie and Gusu Lan are insular in their own ways. The smaller sects, the ones who survived such a cataclysm, would be fighting for power for generations.”

“I note that you did not actually argue about whether it could be done or not,” Ying’er countered.

“Anything can be done, with enough planning,” A’Yao said thoughtfully. “But Mama is right. To take out three great sects would leave a massive void of power.”

“Unless?” Ying’er grinned even harder, eyes glittering as he stared down A’Yao in challenge.

“Unless someone was there and ready to fill the void.” A’Yao’s smile was slow and sharp and vicious as he turned to look at Yanli. “Unless there was a sect leader who had the power of the Burial Mounds at her back, her brothers at each hand, and marriage alliances with the two remaining great sects to stand on.”

Meng Shi let out a thoughtful hum.

Mortified, Yanli stared at each of them in turn. Her family was verifiably insane.

Chapter Text

The story of Xiao Niao’s precarious but eventually victorious arrival into the world was quickly transformed into a good luck blessing for the whole caravan as the days passed.

The hunters hunted harder and the merchants haggled harder and the guards all herded harder. Meat and rice became more plentiful, no doubt due to filling the pockets of farms and villages with generous coin as they passed. The guard posting for Yanli’s carriage became hot competition, up to and including arm wrestling contests for the privilege. Many Nie made sure to stroll by where Yanli and the others were bedding down for the night in order to recite a prayer, as if Xiao Niao was some sort of unexpected bodhisattva.

(Yanli suspected it had something to do with Nie Huaisang, because even though he remained completely unimpressed by the baby, he loved nothing more that stirring the pot for the sake of a bit of drama.)

A’Yao, particularly, took delight in subtly encouraging the protectiveness of their Nie guards, especially when he walked around with his cane in one hand to lean on and the    baby in the crook of his other arm, which Yanli knew without a doubt was entirely calculated on his part.

No one questioned the right of the Yiling Wei sect to take on the responsibility of the baby, despite the fact that he was ostensibly the heir of Yunmeng Jiang. It was not as if there was anyone left to challenge them for the right. Even the remaining Jiang had switched out of their old purple uniforms, opting instead for slightly mismatched black outfits with red and peach accents. (Yanli saw Nie Huaisang’s tiny little paw prints all over that, too.)

And as all that went on while the miles passed, Hanguang-jun haunted their caravan.

Not at first. The days following Nie Meitong’s reveal were quiet enough, aside from Xiao Niao’s cries. Reports had the bandit traveling northwest, but then he suddenly circled back around. Yet, for all that he seemed to be shadowing them, he never showed himself or got in sight of Nie Meitong’s rangers.

And then, one night, he decimated a Wen scouting party. With prejudice.

Even Nie Meitong, hardened Nie warrior and cultivator that he was, looked a little squeamish reporting it to Nie Huaisang and Yanli.

“It was not a battle. It was revenge. To utterly destroy them in such a manner…it was personal,” he said. He had gone out to view the site of the slaughter himself, once the tone of it had been related to him. It said something of what he saw that he refused to describe it with Yanli present, instead handing over a written report to Nie Huaisang who opened it, turned green, and shut it quickly before passing it to A’Yao.

A’Yao hummed. “Yet, his dealings so far have been, on the whole, bloodless. A few dead guards, but clean kills done in self-defense, and he leaves most of his victims alive even knowing they can identify him. He’s either incredibly sloppy or incredibly good.”

“Good. He’s…very good,” a disciple chirped from behind Nie Meitong, sounding both impressed and horrified. He shut his mouth quickly at Nie Meitong’s glare.

“Nie Feng speaks out of turn, but he’s not wrong. What I saw was the work of a trained warrior, a cultivator. At least two of the dead were cultivators themselves; there were ten total. Against such numbers, no common bandit would have prevailed.” He shook his head.

“He did us a favor, though,” Ying’er said with a shrug. “And if it is who we think it is, then we should not be surprised at his skill or vengeance.”

It had become common gossip that it was Lan Xichen, but no one dared to say so officially. It seemed unfathomable to Yanli that a such a kind-hearted man could turn to wanton violence, but then he was a highly trained cultivator, practiced in the art of battle. He had been tortured, his home was destroyed by the Wen, and likely he thought most of his family dead. There was no way to know how hard a man would break under such circumstances.

“Notably, he did not leave his usual chengyu around anywhere. I guess war is not murder when it’s revenge,” Nie Meitong said with a sardonic lilt.

“Or…” Ying’er looked thoughtful, tapping his chin. “Or he saw they were following us. That they posed a danger to us, specifically.”

“Ten against dozens?” Nie Meitong chuckled. “Hardly.”

“No, Ying’er is correct,” A’Yao said. “They might have been ordered to find out where we are going, to report back to Wen Ruohan.

“No offense to you, Lieutenant Nie, but your focus has been tightly held to protecting the caravan. Those Wen could have been following us the whole way from the Unclean Realm.” A’Yao tried to look polite about criticizing Nie Meitong’s job.

The man himself did not seem offended, though, and nodded. “You speak true, Seneschal Meng. In fact, we would not even have known they were, ah, dispatched if a farmer had not flagged down one of my own scouts.”

“So now we have our own guardian deity?” Nie Huaisang said with a chuckle.

“I would think the person in question would be keen on returning to Gusu, but for whatever reason, he’s staying close by.” Nie Meitong sighed in frustration.

“Can we bring him in?” Ying’er asked. “Invite him over for tea.”

Yanli tried not to laugh as Nie Meitong gave Ying’er a truly scandalized look. “We don’t actually know who he is, and you ask if we should invite a ruthless, murderous bandit into our camp filled with civilians and valuables? No.”

“Of course not, of course not,” A’Yao said so quickly and diffidently that Yanli knew he was already scheming. She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but he smiled guilelessly.

Eventually, they managed to send the very worried lieutenant on his way, but Nie Huaisang didn’t budge.

“No, I’m not leaving. You absolutely are planning to track Lan Xichen down and I want in on the action!”

“No you don’t. You hate being in on the action! You just want to place bets on whether we succeed or not,” Ying’er said, slicing through the air with one hand.

“That is a form of ‘action’ I’ll have you know,” Nie Huaisang sniffed.

A’Yao, noticeably, did not say anything as the boys squabbled. Yanli raised an eyebrow at him, which made Ying’er sit up and pay attention, which finally got Nie Huaisang to be quiet.

“We can’t invite him into camp, but not because of Nie Meitong’s concerns,” he started, raising a hand to stop Ying’er’s nascent argument. “I believe Lan Xichen knows who we are—if nothing else, he has spotted the caravan and recognizes the Nie. Yet, he’s keeping his distance on purpose.”

Ying’er scrunched up his face, but nodded.

“As long as Lan Wangji is at risk, Lan Xichen’s efforts are better used trying to draw attention to himself,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping a knee with his fingers, lost in thought.

“And we will help him,” Yanli said with a smile, picking up on the thread.

A’Yao nodded, pleased. Then he turned his focus on Nie Huaisang, who looked suddenly alarmed. “What?”

“You will finish that romantic poem about Hanguang-jun you’ve been hiding under The Analects, then you will find a way to share it as widely as possible.”

Nie Huaisang’s alarm quickly morphed into delight. “Yes, Seneschal Meng!”

“Ying’er, finagle your way onto scouting missions, and do your best to sabotage them when it comes to Hanguang-jun.”

Ying’er raised his hand in a three fingered salute. “I will do my best, Yao’ge!”

Yanli shared a look with A’Yao before speaking. “At least try to be subtle, Ying’er.”

“I am very subtle!”

“As subtle as a spider falling out of the rafters?” Meng Shi asked with a smirk, which caused Nie Huaisang to perk up and demand to know what she meant. They were all easily distracted by sharing the epic tale of rescuing Yanli and A’Yao from the Dragonfly Shoal, which had Nie Huaisang and even Liu Peng crying with laughter.

While Lan Xichen’s fate weighed on her heart, Yanli felt better knowing they were going to help him as best they could.

The next six days saw Nie Huaisang whining and, when that didn’t work, running away to “buy wine” in local towns they passed, no doubt dropping copies of the new anonymous song, “The Ballad of the Lonely Bandit,” off at inns. He spent most nights up late by the weak light of an oil lamp writing copies. Ying’er, meanwhile, badgered Nie Meitong into capitulating to his demands, and joined a few scouting trips. There wasn’t much for her to do, but Yanli enjoyed the sense of purpose they felt in trying to help Lan Xichen.

Then, one afternoon over lunch, when the caravan had paused to water the horses and allow the humans to walk around and stretch their legs, a crow fell out of the sky.

It landed with a thud on Jiang Yimin’s head, and they both tumbled to the ground, both squawking.

Yanli reached out to help him sit up as Du Zhilu made her way over. The crow kept squealing and keening as Jiang Yimin sat up in a daze, clutching the bird to his chest.

“What happened?” He asked, blinking rapidly.

“With luck, not a concussion. Stay still, Young Master,” Du Zhili tsk’d as she inspected his head.

“I think this is yours,” Jiang Yimin said, holding out the anxious bird to Ying’er.

“Probably,” Ying’er responded, gently taking the crow, who went quiet as soon as Ying’er touched it.

“Careful, I think his wing is injured,” Nie Huaisang said, peering at the bird.

Ying’er held the crow up to look it in the eye, then gasped, and the entire area was swamped with resentful energy pulled straight up from the ground. To his credit, Nie Huaisang immediately cast a shield of qi over Meng Shi and Xiao Niao, grimacing and swaying as the resentful energy at his feet started pecking at his feet. Jiang Wu had swung Liu Peng up off the ground into his arms, and Jiang Minhao had moved to cover Yanli and A’Yao, sword drawn. Around them, Nie were shouting and horses bucked in their harnesses.

“Wei Ying!” A’Yao yelled and swung his cane, whacking Ying’er straight across his back so hard he fell to his knees. The resentful energy dropped with him. A’Yao pulled his cane back again, holding it like a discipline board but not swinging it a second time…yet.

Yanli ran over to Ying’er and grabbed his shoulders. “What did you see? Ying’er, what did you see?”

Nie Meitong ran up, and everyone formed a circle around them.

“Trapped! Trapped!” Ying’er squawked like a bird himself. Yanli shook him hard.

“Ying’er, listen to me! I need to know what you saw!”

He shook his head, and his eyes finally cleared again. “He’s in a cage! Trapped! Lan Zhan is with him!” His rage started building again, so she took his face in her hands.

“Ying’er, please, focus on my voice. Listen. Tell me what you saw!”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them they were deep wells of grief. “A’Cheng and Lan Zhan, they are…caged up, but traveling…I think. Yes, a cage on wheels. The crows hate it.”

“Can you tell who took them, Young Master Wei?” Nie Meitong asked solemnly.

He grimaced. “Hard to say. The birds don’t see color like we do, it makes my eyes hurt. I could tell they are not Wen—no sun banners. But the robes could be any combination of darker colors.”

“A smaller sect, maybe, trying to curry favor with the Wen.” A’Yao tapped his cane on the ground, looking thoughtful.

“How do you know Lan Wangji is with him, then?” Nie Huaisang asked, peeking out from behind Nie Meitong, holding his favorite of Yanli’s fans up as if to ward off ill winds.

Ying’er smiled sadly and held the crow to his chest, petting its head. “My ‘crow brother’ has a white crane in the cage with him.”

“That could be any Lan,” A’Yao said. He had lowered his cane and was leaning on it heavily.

“No,” Yanli said, helping Ying’er to his feet. “Lan Qiren ordered the surviving Lan to disguise themselves as commoners. The only one who did not hear that order was Lan Wangji, who had already separated from them during their escape.”

Nie Meitong nodded. “He is a proud boy, and would not willingly hide himself without such an order. Lan Xichen, I could see going undercover…as, perhaps, a masked bandit. Hypothetically speaking." He shook his head once. “Lan Wangji would not.”

Ying’er nodded. “Exactly.” He gently pushed Yanli’s hands off of him and looked her straight in the eye. “I need to go save them,” he said, as if it was a foregone conclusion.

And as much as she hated it with all of her heart, Yanli knew he was right.

Chapter Text

Ying’er and a squad of only four Nie planned to leave under the cloak of darkness, in the dead of night.

“I cannot provide any more aid than that, Sect Leader Wei,” Nie Meitong said with genuine regret. “My orders are to get this caravan safely to Tangshan, and meddling in the politics of the Jin would not contribute to my success in that goal.”

It was a polite way of saying “this is your problem, not mine,” but Yanli respected his point. Even giving them four soldiers was more than she had intended to ask for, although she suspected that was due to Nie Huaisang efforts on their behalf.

“Any more than that and we’d make a spectacle of ourselves,” Ying’er grumbled, chewing on his thumbnail while looking over a map of the region laid out on a table.

“Which is to be avoided at all costs,” A’Yao said sharply. Ying’er    heard him and nodded but did not pull his eyes away from the map.

“Agreed,” Nie Meitong said with a sigh. “Young Master Wei Ying visibly traveling southwest into Lanling would be a give-away to the kidnappers, who might decide to hide their prisoners if they thought rescuers were on their way. It’s what I would do.”

Unsaid, but understood, was the fact that it was also possible there was another Wen squad out there, watching the caravan. Hanguang-jun taking out one did not mean there weren’t others, and as A’Yao stressed, Wen Ruohan had the people to spare.

It made sense, but that did not mean Yanli liked the situation at all. Both of her brothers would be far away from her, and there would be little she could do to help them.

“Circle this range here, closer to the coast,” A’Yao instructed, pointing at the mountain range directly south of them.

“That’s the long way around,” Ying’er complained.

“Yes, and it puts you into Gusu, which is solidly under Wen control, at least for now. Whomever has captured A’Cheng and Lan Wangji will not be expecting anyone to chase after them from that direction. They will be looking at the roads from the north.” He tapped a few which were much more convenient routes into Lanling.

Yanli nodded, seeing the situation unfold across the map. “I know you want to get to them as quickly as possible, Ying’er, but they are valuable hostages. Their lives are not in danger at this point, and any information you can get about the Wen occupation of Gusu will be important to pass on to Sect Leader Nie.” And Lan Xichen, she thought, if only they could find a way to pass word to “Hanguang-Jun.”

“I wonder how anyone could travel with a jade of Lan as hostage. If Lan Wangji is wearing the white and blue of his sect, he will stand out. Even the Jin would not be so bold,” Nie Meitong said with a frown.

“Perhaps not, but the Jin would certainly be happy to take advantage of the situation,” A’Yao replied. “What bothers me is that Wei Cheng himself is not a valuable hostage. The only reason to keep him alive is if one was informed of his part in the Battle of Crows, and knows both that he’s Wei Ying’s brother and what Wei Ying did at that battle. Wen Ruohan is looking for you,” he said, turning to Wei Ying, who had a murderous expression. “He’s looking for you and will stop at nothing to possess you and your powers.”

“They’re not my—”

“So you must take care.” A’Yao talked over him. “Whether Sect Leader Jin is a part of this scheme or not, in the end, it will be something he can leverage to his advantage,” A’Yao said with a shake of his head.

Nie Huaisang fanned himself thoughtfully. “Jin Guangshan is more the type to send out a small army to capture you and claim it was for your own protection.”

Nie Meitong looked pained, but did not disagree, while A’Yao nodded.

Yanli pursed her lips. “I do not like walking into political waters we do not understand, but the best we can do right now is set the sails to stabilize our ship.” She turned to Ying’er. “If you can, try to find out why A’Cheng and Lan Wangji were captured, but that is not as important as freeing them and all of you returning to me safely as quickly as possible.”

Ying’er nodded firmly, and the conversation turned to routes and supplies, and eventually broke up so that Ying’er and the Nie going with him could take naps. As he left the command tent, though, Yanli pulled him along after her. A’Yao glanced over and she shook her head. This was something she needed to say to Ying’er privately. A’Yao nodded and went to join Nie Huaisang for dinner. She was glad the two of them got along, but she also wondered what they talked about.

“JieJie?” Ying’er asked when it became clear she was leading him to the edge of the caravan’s camp for the night, in sight of the carriages and wagons but far away from the bustle. She stopped and turned him to look at her, her hands wrapped around his upper arms. She marveled at how small her hands looked, now that he was nearly a full grown man, even if she suspected he had another growth spurt coming in the years ahead. She had to tip her head back to look up at him, even so.

“I do not want you to go.”

“JieJie—” He started, looking pained.

“I know you must. As your sect leader, I am sending you on this mission, fully aware that no one else can go. Nie Meitong cannot spare a full company to rescue anyone, and no one else here is as qualified as you are to succeed. A’Yao is sidelined for the foreseeable future. But that does not mean I want you to go.” She took a deep breath, holding back her tears. He stood there, frozen as he always was, in the face of her grief.

“You are my younger brother. You are going to go save our younger brother, and possibly your own betrothed. War rages, even if Jin Guangshan wants to play both sides against each other in hopes of coming out unscathed. There is danger all around us, and I don’t want you to go.” She took another deep breath. “Please be cautious. Please stay as safe as you can. Please, Ying’er, please come back to me.” She could not stop the tears at that point, and he gave in, pulling her into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“I will. I promise! I will come back and I will bring A’Cheng and Lan Zhan with me, and we will all run away and never look back. We’ll steal Xiao Niao and disappear. Maybe we’ll all go live in the Burial Mounds! Yao’ge and I can clear it up, I know we can. We’ll be farmers and no one will ever find us and we’ll…we’ll be happy forever!” He clutched at her, his voice betraying his own tears. “This isn’t goodbye, I swear it to you, JieJie. I’ll save everyone and bring them home.”

They stood sobbing on each other for an embarrassing length of time, but Yanli refused to feel any shame. When they managed to pull apart and compose themselves, she sent him to the boys’ carriage to nap in peace.

She tried to stay awake long enough to see him off, but in the early dawn she woke up on a cot she did not remember lying down in. Meng Shi was sitting next to her with Xiao Niao on her lap, drowsy from his first feeding.

Ying’er was gone.

The next few days shuffled along as slowly as the caravan itself, trundling over roads at speeds Yanli thought she could outpace on foot. A’Yao coddled her when he could, and Nie Huaisang tried to entertain her with new verses to his now-epic song, “The Lonely Bandit Hanguang-Jun.”

In the meantime, she and Meng Shi took turns caring for Xiao Niao. The nanny stayed in the carriage with the baby at all times during the day, but Yanli and Meng Shi often switched off, one of them riding in the forward carriage with A’Yao and Nie Huaisang when they needed a break. Yanli had always known, in a distant sort of way, that babies were a lot of work, but she was stunned by the reality of it. She vaguely remembered just how tired her own mother was after A’Cheng was born, and she had been the madam of a rich sect who could afford a veritable army to help her and allow her to sleep through the night.

In comparison, both she and Meng Shi took to sleeping in the carriage at night so as to tend to Xiao Niao at any hour he demanded it, which meant that her own sleep was broken and shallow. When she expressed this frustration to the wet nurse, she got a sympathetic but resigned look in return, and only then remembered that the woman was nursing the fifth of her own children in addition to Xiao Niao. She bowed in apology and got a pat on the head like she was a toddler again, which she did not tear up over.

Hanguang-jun seemed to be circling closer, a dangerous game with Nie Meitong who had, with regret, stated that he could not be lenient for any thief, even if they turned out to be “someone of esteem.” After a long argument with Nie Huaisang and A’Yao, however, he agreed that if captured, Hanguang-jun would only be held prisoner and not punished until Nie Mingjue himself could serve as judge. Nie Meitong actually looked relieved by the compromise, likely fearing the fallout of being the man who chopped off Lan Xichen’s sword hand.

Due to all the delays along the way, though, the trip was going to take a full month. By the end of the third week, instead of skirting around Tangshan to head to the Nie manor just northeast of the city on the coast as originally planned, they were days out. Yanli was sick of road food and carriages and crying babies and dirty clothes, and perhaps was not hiding her displeasure as well as she should since Nie Huaisang walked up as she climbed out of the carriage for lunch, flapped one of her own fans in her face, and declared that she needed a break and he, gracious host that he was, would force her to take one if necessary. Meng Shi laughed and went to grab a nap while the nanny bounced Xiao Niao on her hip and nodded fervently at them.

Which was how she found herself with Nie Huaisang, two of her Jiang personal guard, and two Nie soldiers at a small inn in a small town nestled up against a small, pretty hillside, eating a princely amount of freshly cooked food. The inn keeper and his wife were delighted to be serving “such honored cultivators!” especially given all the “honored cultivator” coins Nie Huaisang was dropping on the table.

She and Nie Huaisang were not even talking much, enjoying the local delicacies filled with fresh meat and plenty of herbs and spices. Yanli felt a little like a barbarian with the relish she felt tearing into a sweet-glazed chicken thigh, but not enough to stop. Her mother would have been horrified.

What did stop her, though, was the door flying open and a whirlwind of a human being running in and throwing multiple talismans at their guards in rapid succession. Nie Huaisang screamed and ducked under the table, then reached out and yanked Yanli down with him.

The fight was over ludicrously quickly, and when quiet settled over them, Yanli shook off Nie Huaisang and peeked over the edge of the table to see Hanguang-jun, who was busy tying up the stunned cultivators. It would not hold them for long, she knew, but she also assumed that Hanguang-Jun was not actually there to rob them. She stood up, and the noise alerted him to her. He glanced her way, but his mask shaded his eyes.

“Lan Xichen,” she said, then stopped, unsure of how to follow that. Next to her, Nie Huaisang was slowly crawling to his feet.

Hanguang-jun stood with his back to her, his shoulders slumping minutely. He was dressed in dark, rough-hewn robes, and his sword was very obviously a stolen Wen blade, but not a spiritual weapon. He had defeated four skilled cultivators with a few talismans and little else other than talent and training. And no golden core.

“Lan Xichen, why are you here? How can we help you?” She finally asked.

He reached up and untied the mask, letting it fall into his hand. He squared his shoulders and turned around.

“Where is Wei Ying?”

Nie Huaisang gasped and Yanli covered her mouth in shock.

For the man standing in front of them was not Lan Xichen at all, but Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Lan.

Chapter Text

“Where is Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji repeated, more like a demand than a genuine question.

Surprisingly, Nie Huaisang did not seem even the least little bit intimidated by the formidable cultivator. Yanli had expected quivering lips and panic.   

“Don’t take that tone with me, Wangji-xiong! We did not hide your betrothed from you!” Nie Huaisang, clearly reading more into his (lack of) expression than Yanli could, circled around the table and wagged a finger at him. “You could have just sent a message! A bird! A talisman! But no, you had knock out Nie Fang and Nie Yuzhao, and now Tong’ge is going to have to punish them and then DaGe will blame me!” He stood there with his hands on his hips, foot tapping.

Lan Wangji raised one eyebrow a fraction, and glanced at the door without moving his head.

“No! I’m not telling you anything! You scared us and that was a very ungentlemanly thing to do!”

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes.

“Absolutely not, and I don’t appreciate your tone. You interrupted us.”

“Sang’er,” Yanli said, deciding to break the standoff. He huffed and crossed his arms. She thought Lan Wangji might have looked a little relieved.

“Lan Wangji, what did you do with the innkeeper and his wife?” She asked.

“Locked in the cellar.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you purposely mean to create a whole spectacle?”

“Yes.”

“Argh!” Nie Huaisang flapped his arms. “You are so bad at strategy! How are you related to Xichen’ge?”

Lan Wangji gave him a look so dry it could have evaporated a whole lake. “He is my brother.”

Nie Huaisang snarled. “I hate you so much.”

“Boys,” Yanli sighed. They turned to her with wide eyes.

“I’m going to sit down and finish my lunch,” she announced and went to back to her place at the table. Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji glanced at each other uncertainly. She pointed at the table. “You will both join me.”

They made their way over and sat down. Nie Huaisang kept throwing her wary looks, but Lan Wangji simply did as he was told, like a proper junior should. Yanli ate for a few quiet moments, but then…

“Wei Ying?”

Nie Huaisang groaned. “Aiya! He’s gone to rescue you!”

“What?” Lan Wangji refocused on Yanli, who sadly put down the delicious bowl of squash soup she had been enjoying.

“Sang’er is right. Four days ago, Ying’er took a squad of Nie and secretly headed south, first through Gusu into Lanling—”

“Why?” Lan Wangji dared to interrupt her and actually looked a little upset, which probably meant he was very upset. Even Nie Huaisang was surprised at his uncharacteristic discourtesy, although he recovered quickly.

“His ghost crows told him that Wei Cheng and Lan Wangji had been captured by some unknown cultivators,” Nie Huaisang said, his demeanor and tone extremely judgmental.

“His ghost crows?” Lan Wangji looked between them. “The crow soldiers?”

“No, just regular ghost crows.” Nie Huaisang shrugged in the face of Lan Wangji’s frustration.

“Sang’er, please,” Yanli said softly, and his mouth snapped shut. She turned to Lan Wangji. “A lot has happened since you left for the Cloud Recesses. What Sang’er is referring to is that A’Cheng joined a squadron of Nie sent into Gusu by Nie Mingjue to find and, if possible, extract Lan Xichen safely. You as well, if possible. Grandmaster Lan firmly believed that both of you are alive, despite…despite what Wen Zhuliu did to your brother.”

His expression barely changed but he radiated confusion and devastation. “You talked to Uncle?”

“Mn. He made it to the Unclean Realm and related the fall of the Gusu Lan,” she said, trying to make her words gentle.

“Oh.” He frowned down at the table.

“Did you not know he made it out alive?” She asked gently. If he had been A’Cheng or Ying’er, she would have put a hand on his arm, but she doubted he would find it soothing.

“I assumed he had, but that he would…stay hidden. Safe.” He looked so genuinely distressed that even Nie Huaisang kept quiet.

She nodded for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “He chose to go to his allies, to warn us. He is an honorable man, and he would not sit quietly by in safety while his nephews are unaccounted for.”

Lan Wangji did not flinch, but Yanli could tell it was a near thing.

“We all want to see our loved ones safe, Lan Wangji. I understand your pain—right now, both my brothers are at risk in Lanling, and my seneschal is suffering from an attack by Wen Zhuliu.”

His head snapped up. “Meng Yao lives after such an attack?”

She smiled softly. “Yes. As your brother does.”

His expression flickered with an emotion she could not read, but in the end, he nodded.

Nie Huaisang was thoughtfully tapping the scabbard of the mundane Wen sword with a finger, which caused Lan Wangji to glare at him and move it away, as if they were little boys arguing over a toy. Maybe, she thought, they had once been exactly that, during their infancies.

But instead of pouting, Nie Huaisang gave Lan Wangji a sharp look for a moment before shaking his head. “Your uncle had his sword. Where is Bichen?”

“It was held separately,” Lan Wagnji said crisply, with a finality that meant he did not want to talk about it.

“Of course, of course! I just imagined that would be high on your list of things to steal, Hanguang-jun.” He all but hissed the title.

“No.” Lan Wangji sat looking straight ahead at nothing. Yanli had no idea what was going on between them, but decided it did not matter for the moment.

“We need to find a way to bring you back to camp,” she started, but Lan Wangji shook his head.

“I know you want to be a distraction from your brother, but if he’s been captured, then it makes more sense to join us for the moment, until we get word from Ying’er.”

“No. I will leave immediately to follow him, to save my brother and my betrothed.”

“No, you will not!” Nie Huaisang burst out in frustration.

“I must.”

“Both of you, please be quiet for a moment,” she said, rubbing her temples. At least they obediently stopped talking, although they both still looked mulish.

Over to the side, Jiang Minhao groaned, followed by one of the Nie, and the solution to their problem dropped like a pearl into Yanli’s hands.

“Sang’er, go untie the guards and have everyone gather here. No, you must keep your mask off,” she said the last to Lan Wangji.

He paused with it in his hand, looking at her in confusion.

“I will explain in a moment,” she whispered. “You must trust me. Please.”

He paused while Nie Huaisang gently roused Jiang Minhao and Jiang Wu, then nodded and tucked the mask away.

“Stop kicking me, you menace!” One of the Nie guards snapped, lashing out at Nie Huaisang who was, in fact, kicking the Nie awake.

“It’s the least you deserve for letting Hanguang-jun get the drop on you! Wait until Da’Ge finds out!” He kept kicking at them as they untied each other and tried to grab his feet.

“Don’t tell Sect Leader!” The younger Nie whined, before he looked up and clocked Lan Wangji. “Wait, who is that? Is that Hanguang-jun?” He sprang up and reached for his saber.

“Stop.” Yanli held up her hand, and everyone froze. It was so incredibly gratifying to be a sect leader, she marveled. She stood up to hold their collective attention as she spoke. “This is Lan Xichen. He was chasing Hanguang-jun and stumbled across this inn just as the attack started. He chased the bandit away but stayed here to protect me and Young Master Nie.”

Lan Wangji blinked at her, and Nie Huaisang grinned. The Nie and Jiang exchanged glances that said very loudly that they knew they were being lied to. She was banking on the fact that they thought they were being lied to about the identity of Hanguang-jun, not being lied to about the identity of “Lan Xichen.”

After a long second, Lan Wangji stood up, bowed, and then…smiled.

Nie Huaisang gasped and Yanli did a double take, but with the gentle smile on his face, he could nearly be his own brother. Their faces were slightly different, and Lan Xichen was noticeably a few years older, while Lan Wangji’s eyes were more golden than amber, but to anyone who did not know either of them personally, who had only seen them from a distance, it was an exact match.

The guards immediately bowed deeply. “Sect Leader Lan,” they chorused. Nie Huaisang shot Yanli a look of triumph.

“I shall not mention this oversight to Sect Leader Nie,” Lan Wangji said, still smiling, and tilting his head a little. Lan Xichen would have smiled more along with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, but otherwise it was a passable imitation of the more tolerant, mild-mannered brother.

“Nie Fang, go back to camp and tell Nie Meitong and Seneschal Meng we’re on our way back with Lan Xichen!” Nie Huaisang announced, and one of the Nie bowed hastily before running out the door.

“Jiang Wu, please check on the innkeeper and his family. I suspect they were locked in the cellar,” Yanli asked more calmly. He nodded and jogged toward the kitchen.

Yanli scooted over to stand next to Lan Wangji while the others sorted themselves out and did a performative “search” around the inn for Hanguang-jun.

“I apologize for not warning you, but our guards were already waking up,” she whispered.

The smile fell from his face, and he nodded. “It is an acceptable ruse. If Xiongzhang has not actually been captured, it will throw off his pursuers to hear that he is this far north,” he whispered back.

She nodded, watching as he picked up his mundane sword. “You might also lock down your core, for now; everyone knows Lan Xichen lost his to Wen Zhuliu. It would not make sense for him to show up radiating spiritual energy again,” she said. She wondered if he had already done that, given that she was not picking up on qi vibrations from him—the better to pretend to be the bandit Hanguang-jun, she supposed.

He glanced away as he nodded.

As they walked back to the caravan, Nie Huaisang did not say anything but looked beyond thrilled by the whole charade, bouncing on his toes. Yanli kept up a one-sided “conversation” with Lan Wangji to hide the fact that he, himself, was not actually talking.

Nie Meitong jogged out to meet them, slowed down, came to a complete stop, then raised his hand as if to point at Lan Wangji. “That’s not—”

“NOT HANGUANG-JUN! We were so wrong!” Nie Huaisang shouted over him. “This is the brave and honorable Lan Xichen, who fought off the murderous bandit and saved all our lives!” He fluttered his fan around Lan Wangji as if presenting a prized horse. For his part, Lan Wangji was bowing and smiling again. She would have to warn him not to smile too much, or it would get creepy.

A’Yao walked over slowly, his own face morphing to one of amusement as he figured out the whole scheme. When he got to Yanli, he bowed, and then asked under his breath, “Whose idea was that?”

“Mine,” she whispered back with a polite nod. He hummed in approval and she tried not to blush.

“A few Nie surely will recognize who he is, as Lan Xichen was a regular visitor to the Unclean Realm. But I doubt they will say anything to compromise Lan Wangji, if only because Nie Huaisang is being so…obvious about it.” She kept her voice low as they slowly meandered over to where Nie Meitong and several of his aides were squinting at Lan Wangji uncertainly.

A’Yao chuckled. “If nothing else, they are all very used to going along with whatever schemes he sets in motion.”

“Indeed,” she said with a nod. “We will have to bring Nie Meitong in on the charade, though, for Lan Wa…Xichen’s safety.”

“And, perhaps, Nie Meitong’s sanity,” A’Yao said, trying not to laugh as he watched Nie Huaisang’s act. But then he gave her a solemn nod and shuffled off to arrange for a private meeting next to Nie Huaisang’s forward carriage.

Nie Meitong looked extremely relieved to find out he was not hallucinating, but he was also a bit sharper than most others in realizing that Lan Wangji was also Hanguang-Jun, no matter how much Nie Huaisang and Yanli insisted he wasn’t. He let the matter drop, but his expression told Yanli that he would bring it up again, eventually.

It was past the time for the caravan to start back up on its travels, so everyone around them was hustling to get the horses and oxen ready to go. Lan Wangji still looked like he was one breath away from running into the forest to chase after his brother and Wei Ying, but somehow Nie Huaisang was there every time he turned around, herding him to the forward carriage.

He gave Yanli a beseeching look.

“We will regroup this evening, I promise. For now, ride with Sang’er and A’Yao, rest, and—”

She was interrupted as a cry went up near the back of the caravan.

“To arms! To arms!” Nie Meitong bellowed, striding forward and swinging his saber in front of him. He and the other guards were staring up into the sky at a large flock of birds headed toward them in a V-shape. Yanli wondered for a confused moment if they were Wei Ying’s crows, but another look revealed them to be cultivators on swords.

“There must be hundreds of them,” A’Yao said in awe.

Lan Wangji squinted for a moment, tilting his head with what had to be the closest the Lan ever came to frowning, his eyes sparking with alarm. “Wen.”

Chapter Text

For a long moment, the entire caravan seemed frozen in ice, not a sound or movement from anyone, even the animals gone quiet. Then it exploded with activity, people yelling and running and scrambling to wagons.

“QUIET!” Nie Meitong yelled, using his qi to blast his voice down the whole line. Most people stopped, although a few soldiers kept running to their stations. “We have five minutes! Non-combatants to the blue wagon as rehearsed! Everyone else take up arms and get to your positions!” He grabbed Nie Huaisang by the arm and dragged him down the caravan as he kept shouting. “Spirit trapping nets over the precious cargo! All fighters range around the retreat wagons! Archers in position!”

A dozen of the Nie soldiers jumped up on top of wagons or into nearby trees, deftly stringing their bows as they went as only cultivators could. Yanli turned to Liu Peng.

“Get Xiao Niao’s things out of our carriage, and see to it the wet-nurse and her family are at the blue wagon! We’ll met you there. Jiang Wu, go with her.”

Liu Peng ran off, Jiang Wu on her heels, his sword already drawn to protect her.

Meng Shi clutched the baby to her chest, staring up at the oncoming Wen in horror.

“Don’t worry, Second Mother, they will probably not attack outright. They are here for Nie Huaisang, and keeping him alive makes for a better hostage,” she said, tugging at Meng Shi’s sleeve to get her moving.

The blue wagon had high sides and was used to haul the disassembled tents, but was led by draft horses in harness instead of oxen—faster to run if a retreat was called for, but strong enough to pull a wagon carrying a lot of people. A group of Nie had already thrown all the tent supplies out like so much trash, and elders were being loaded into the wagon as if they were sacks of rice. One wizened Nie, young enough that he still wielded his saber, stood (stooped as he was) next to the driver, his gaze fierce, clearly willing to sacrifice the rest of his old age to protect the wagon as a last defense.

Several Nie helped A’Yao into the wagon, while Jiang Yimin and Jiang Minhao assisted Yanli and Meng Shi. For the moment, most people were standing, shifting around to make room as more got on. Yanli looked out over the side and saw cooks standing behind the front-line soldiers circling the wagon, knives and cleavers in each hand, while carriage drivers stood by with whips and poles to protect the horses.

“Lady Meng!” The wet-nurse called out frantically, her family jumping up after her.

Yanli frowned at the crowd, which continued to grow. A’Yao saw her expression and nodded in agreement—fleeing was out of the question, but putting all the non-combatants in one place seemed like folly.

The Wen were almost on them when Yanli heard Nie Meitong shouting again. “Now, Young Master! Now!”

Everyone’s head whipped to the front of the wagon, where Nie Huaisang stood ahead of the horses with a fierce expression on his face and two of Yanli’s fans open in his hands. They were newer pieces done in her more exuberant Crane in the Mist style, a riot of colors creating a nearly abstract design done in complex stitchwork she had literally bled over, at times. She named the pair “Fighting Dragons” and had been glad when Sang’er had purchased both together.

There was a long pause as he took a deep breath, and then he started dancing, swift and sure steps all around the blue wagon and the one behind it holding the clan’s precious heirlooms. He pushed and pulled the fans through the air, which seemed to move around them in a heat haze.

“Young Master is threading a ward!” One of the elders exclaimed, sounding more delighted than scared. Others oohed and ahhhed as if they were at the theater. Meanwhile, the Wen were close enough to be seen clearly.

“Hold your fire! Do not engage unless they attack!” Nie Meitong bellowed.

Nie Huaisang made it around the back of the second wagon and sped up, his arms moving so fast the fans were simply blurs of color in his hands. Yanli watched, bewitched by what he was doing.

“It’s your fans,” A’Yao said cryptically.

Yanli shook her head. “I’ve never seen anyone build a ward like this.”

An elder tutted at them. “Qi-threading an array is a lost art of the Nie. The Lan sew a few dirt repelling arrays in their hems and call it day, but we used to be masters at qi-threading.” She nodded at where Nie Huaisang was closing the circle. “He’s been collecting the work of a modern master, Crane in the Mist. I’ve heard she’s a powerful rogue cultivator down south, near Yunmeng, and recreated the practice after studying with Baoshan Sanren.”

Another elder smacked his lips before speaking. “Don’t see how. Yunmeng’s big trade is silk and you can’t get silk to hold qi like good linen can. It’s got tensile strength but can’t conduct qi for shit. I’m betting Master Crane in the Mist is out of Qisan.”

“That’s ridiculous, Rong’er! What, she started with wool? Don’t be an idiot.”

Another elder sighed. “Wool is adequate for qi-threading, we have many records of it. You know that, YuYu.”

“Call me YuYu again and I’ll—”

They were all cut short by the clang of a powerful ward snapping into place around them. Yanli turned to look at A’Yao, at a loss for words.

He looked extremely smug.

“Did you know about that?” She whispered.

He shook his head. “I have never heard of qi-threading before. But it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve been doing it accidentally.”

She huffed in frustration just as everyone looked up.

The ward over them was a glittering mirage of the dragons on the fans, twisting and spinning around over them like living things. It almost felt like looking up through the bottom of a koi pond.

Beyond, the Wen were circling like vultures over a carcass.

“Hold!” Nie Meitong repeated.

Everyone including Yanli kept their faces upturned, cautiously watching the Wen. There were probably about 200 of them all together—less than 500, she was certain, but that was enough to decimate their caravan, even if the Nie made sure it was a bloody fight to the last man.

Five fliers broke away and came in for a landing. Nie Meitong, standing off to the side and braced by only two of his lieutenants, was the obvious choice of leader, and the fliers landed only a few lengths away from him.

When she realized that no one in the group was Wen Chao or Wen Zhuliu, Yanli let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. A’Yao raised an arm to wrap around her shoulders, and she leaned into the touch. It was an inappropriately public display of affection, but in the moment, she knew no one was looking at them and she did not care.

The ‘discussion’ went on for a while, but it was very clear what—or rather, who—the Wen wanted: Nie Huaisang. The young man himself was standing just inside the ward, his arms out to his sides with the fans held high, holding the writhing power of the qi-threaded dragons in place. He was sweating and looked understandably nervous, but he did not even twitch as he stood there.

The switch happened so fast Yanli did not even process it at first. Nie Meitong was talking to his Wen counterpart one second, and in the next, one of the Nie lieutenants was lying on the ground and arrows were flying through the air. Nie Meitong and his remaining lieutenant were fiercely battling the five Wen, and other Nie soldiers were sprinting in their direction.

The circling Wen started spiraling down, some getting taken out by Nie arrows before they could land, but it was only a couple of moments later before the entire caravan was swarmed with Wen.

The elder who had been standing next to the driver stumbled down the steps and jogged over to Nie Huaisang, making a seal with his hands before pressing them against his abdomen. The qi transfer was so strong that it was visible to the naked eye, and Nie Huaisang gasped as a surge of power flexed through the ward. The elder kept his hands in place as his knees buckled.

“Move! Let me out!” The elder who had objected to being called ‘YuYu’ pushed her way out of the wagon, falling more than landing on the ground before waddling over to take over just as the other elder stumbled away from Nie Huaisang, his spiritual energy entirely depleted.

The soldiers surrounding the two retreat wagons were outnumbered two to one, but were fighting with everything they had. Many of the non-combatants in the wagon dropped down to their knees to avoid watching the carnage being carried out to protect them, but Yanli did not blame them. War was terrible, and she would shield them all from seeing or hearing it if possible.

Thinking that, she turned to Meng Shi and pushed her down to the floorboards. She held    Xiao Niao tightly in her arms and looked up gratefully at Yanli. There was nothing to say. They both understood implicitly that either the Nie would win or they wouldn’t, and there was nothing for the people in the wagon to do but wait out their fate.

It felt like hours, but was likely only a few minutes before someone cried out and pointed to the sky. Next to Yanli, A’Yao looked up and frowned, and she followed his gaze.

Another flock of cultivators was incoming.

Several people wailed and broke down, crying out that more Wen were joining the battle.

“Be quiet!” A’Yao snapped loudly. Everyone turned to him. “It’s not Wen.”

A frisson of hope spread through the group. Yanli had no idea how A’Yao knew that, as she could not make out anything about the newcomers other than that they had to at least match the number of Wen…at least, not until they tipped down as elegantly as any flock of birds and the sunlight reflected off their golden raiments.

“Jin!” Someone called out. “Are they coming to help?”

Yanli and A’Yao glanced at each other, unsure of what to say, if anything, but less than a minute later the question was answered as the Jin plowed into the fight and began attacking the Wen.

Yanli fumbled through the people around her to the back of the wagon to get out, A’Yao following, telling Meng Shi to stay put until they gave the all clear. Just as her feet touched the ground, the ward around them finally faltered and dissipated, allowing fighters to spill into the space it had been protecting. Yanli ran for Nie Huaisang, finding him being cradled by the second elder, who looked on the verge of passing out herself. Yanli had to give the Nie credit for pure bull-headed stamina.

She fell to her knees next to them and took his hand to start feeding him a small trickle of her own qi. The elder nodded at her in gratitude, then her eyes flew wide in horror.

She heard more than saw A’Yao’s cane swing up to block a Wen blade that had been aimed for her neck. He almost crumpled from the force of it, but quickly flipped his cane around as he spun in place and cracked it against the Wen’s knee. Before the Wen could recover, he was impaled from behind by a bright, shining blade with a sword glare that Yanli knew well. The Jin tossed the Wen body aside and stepped forward to check on them, tall and graceful, a solid wall of cultivation power, his face fierce but almost ethereal in its beauty.

“Young Master Nie!” he said with genuine concern, then looked at the other three of them. He went pale in shock. “Jiang Yanli?”

“It is good to see you, Jin Zixuan.”

She was surprised at how much she meant it.

Chapter Text

Jin Zixuan had, tragically, only become more beautiful with age.

At fifteen, he had been pretty but a bit soft in the face and of a height with Yanli. At twenty, he had grown both up in stature and into his mother’s sharp Yu cheekbones, walking with the confidence of a warrior and the aura of a gifted cultivator. He was still unmarried, according to Nie Huaisang, but Yanli imagined that the maidens of the gentry were falling all over themselves to broker a contract with him.

“Yanli?” He repeated, staring at her. The sounds of battle were dying off around them, so Yanli stood up and dusted off her robes.

“Zixuan,” she said, breaking with convention. She was, as a sect leader, of higher rank than he was as merely an heir, but it was still a breach of protocol to simply call him by his name. Not that he knew that.

“Yanli?” He repeated yet again. “But…but…you’re dead?”

They looked at each other in confusion for a moment before Yanli rallied. “No. I am very much alive.”

“I see that,” he said weakly.

“Who is this celestial being come to save us?” Nie Huaisang whispered, gazing up at Jin Zixuan. Yanli wanted to thwap him on his forehead, as she had no doubt that he knew exactly who it was.

“Young Master Nie, it is I, Jin Zixuan! Remember me from our classes at Cloud Recesses?” He looked down with genuine worry at where Nie Huaisang was still cradled in the elder’s arms.

“Oh! Of course! I am merely in shock from surviving the vicious attack we have cruelly endured until you came to our rescue.” He gave Jin Zixuan a dopey look and batted his eyelashes. “My hero.”

The elder rolled her eyes and stood up, dumping Nie Huaisang on the ground and ignoring the resulting squawks. “I am needed elsewhere.” She bowed deeply to Yanli. “If you have no need of my services, Sect Leader Wei.”

“Of course, Elder Nie. Please see to your peers.”

She harumphed in displeasure and scuttled off to tend to the other elder who had helped Nie Huaisang.

“Sect Leader Wei?” Jin Zixuan squinted at her.

“Zixuan!” A young Jin disciple ran up, her blade still dripping blood. “Stop running off! We’re your bodyguard!”

“MianMian, I can take care of myself,” he said, his arrogant and disagreeable nature rising to the surface again.

A’Yao was helping Nie Huaisang up and glanced between Yanli and Jin Zixuan curiously, and with a hint of displeasure.

Oh, she thought after a moment of confusion, he is my ex-betrothed and A’Yao’s half-brother. She made a command decision for all their sakes and rolled her shoulders back.

“Seneschal Meng, please go and assist the non-combatants. I’m sure a few are in shock, and there is a considerable amount of, ah, clean up that needs to happen. If you see General Nie, please let him know we are at his disposal.” Nie Meitong already knew that, but A’Yao nodded, understanding the show she was putting on.

“Of course, Sect Leader Wei. This one will not tarry.” He bowed low, backing away respectfully before turning to walk off at a sharp clip, his cane held at his side like a sheathed sword. He would pay for those theatrics later, she knew, and made a note to tell Du Zhilu to check on him.

“Who was that? He looked familiar.” Jin Zixuan looked after A’Yao with his head cocked like a dog.

MianMian grimaced, but kept her mouth shut and her eyes to the ground, clearly seeing what Jin Zixuan did not. Yanli had heard of Zixuan’s close friend Luo Qingyang, of course, but had never met her. She already liked her, though.

“That was Meng Yao, my seneschal,” Yanli answered simply.

He turned back to her. “Your seneschal. As in, aide to a sect leader?” He shook his head. “What is going on? I thought you were dead!”

“Sect Leader Wei!” Nie Meitong jogged up. “I am so glad to see you are unharmed! And you!” He turned to Nie Huaisang, who quailed under his stern glare. “Sect Leader will hear about this!”

“No no no! Don’t tell him!”

“You said you could put up a protection ward, not that you had rediscovered the lost art of qi-threading!”

“I didn’t! It was Crane in the Mist!” He held up Yanli’s fans. “I just, uh, used them?” He seemed to realize his argument was crumbling before his very eyes.

Nie Meitong knew it too. “You masterfully used rare and powerful spiritual tools, Young Master. I will have to tell Sect Leader.”

Nie Huaisang slumped in defeat as Nie Meitong turned to Jin Zixuan.

“Young Master Jin.” He bowed deeply. “This Nie Meitong thanks you for coming to our aid. I fear to think what would have happened without your help.”

“Please rise. I am glad the Jin were able to assist.” Jin Zixuan dipped his head.

“That does raise the question of why you were able to assist,” Nie Huaisang said from behind a fan.

Nie Meitong frowned, then nodded before addressing Jin Zixuan again. “Yes. What brought you to this area in the first place?”

“Sect Leader Jin heard of the exodus of the Nie from the Unclean Realm, and worried for Young Master Nie.”

Yanli thought that was completely untrue, but no doubt something Jin Zixuan believed wholeheartedly. A shared glance with Nie Huaisang showed that he was of a similar opinion.

“So he…he sent you to help protect us?” Nie Meitong asked uncertainly. “Forgive me, Young Master Jin, but we thought your sect was remaining neutral in regard to the Wen attacks.”

Jin Zixuan shifted uncomfortably, much like a bird settling their feathers, but nodded. “I admit it was not our intention to join any battles.” He looked around in chagrin. “But Father specifically sent me to assure Young Master Nie’s safety. So here we are.”

“My safety?” Nie Huaisang squinted at him, his fan slowly dropping lower.

“Yes, of course.” Jin Zixuan bowed slightly, heir to heir. “The Jin have long been allies of the Nie, as well as the Wen. Tempers are high between your sects and my father wishes to assure your safety, as a sign of continued friendship between us.”

‘Tempers are high’ was an odd way to phrase ‘50,000 Wen marching to wage war against the Nie’ but Yanli was also    pretty sure that was something Sect Leader Jin would say.

“And how, exactly, were you meant to do this?” Nie Huaisang asked, folding up his fan to tap it against his palm, probably considering the same question. The whole situation was extremely suspicious.

“I am to escort you to Koi Tower for your safety,” Jin Zixuan said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Beside him, MianMian was a study in forced stoicism.

Yanli’s mind raced. Clearly Jin Guangshan was trying some political maneuvering here, and she did not think he was so bald-faced as to want to simply turn Nie Huaisang over to Wen Ruohan. Did he want leverage on Nie Mingjue? Was he trying to lure Nie Mingjue into Lanling? Surely he knew that Nie Mingjue’s own general would not simply turn the sect heir over to the Jin on a whim.

Jin Zixuan coughed again. “Your caravan can continue on, if you feel it safe to do so, General Nie. However, my father was direct in his command that I bring Nie Huaisang back with me. He’s very concerned for his safety.”

“As am I,” Nie Meitong said, his expression stern and his tone of voice nearly flat. “My orders are to bring him to Tangshan. With all due respect, Young Master Jin, the direct orders given to me by Sect Leader Nie concerning his own brother and heir outweigh your father’s concern.”

“It is a very complicated political situation. I understand that.” Jin Zixuan nodded. “But we both know there is nothing to stop Wen Ruohan’s troops from simply following you to Tangshan.”

Nie Meitong let out a slow, even breath, and Yanli thought it was the first time she had ever seen him close to losing his temper. “Even so, my orders are clear. If the Jin wish to join the escort in order to ensure that we arrive to Tangshan safely, we would welcome the support.” He spoke with bared teeth.

Yanli thought he might just pull out his saber and start a second front in the war if the Jin tried to grab Nie Huaisang, and could not really blame him. But they were outnumbered, and for all the jianghu often joked about how hedonistic the Jin were, no one argued with the fact that they were powerful cultivators.

Jin Zixuan looked frustrated but not surprised. Yanli instinctively wanted to step in and sooth ruffled feathers, but she was reminded of what A’Yao kept telling her, whenever they talked about politics: You are a sect leader, not a daughter or    a furen or a disciple. Your job is to protect your own sect’s interests at all costs.

So, she stood there as a silent observer while Jin Zixuan tried to find a diplomatic way to carry out a kidnapping. There was a long quiet spell as he debated his next words, and Nie Meitong let him stew.

They all started when an ear-piercing scream erupted from somewhere along the caravan. Yanli whipped around in time to see one of the Nie soldiers get attacked by a Wen soldier. A dead Wen soldier.

“What the fuck is that?” Nie Huaisang screeched. Around them, Nie and Jin fighters re-armed themselves and started hacking at the dead Wen rising up from their deathbeds.

“Demonic cultivation! Wen Ruohan is reanimating the corpses!” One of the elders shouted above the din of people screaming and fighting.

Nie Meitong slashed at two fierce corpses, beheading one and chopping the arm off another, but neither Wen fell. Even the headless one kept walking, arms out, bloody and grasping.

“Shit shit shit!” Nie Meitong shouted before using his saber to send a ferocious sword glare of power out like a wave, bowling down people and corpses. “Nie! Grab who you can and get up in the air! Now!” He used his qi to amplify his voice again and within moments, a bunch of Nie had taken to the air on their sabers, holding one or two people each as they rose up out of the fighting. There were still too many people on the ground, though.

Yanli felt herself being picked up and held tightly as she was pulled into the air. “A’Yao! Second Mother!”

“We’ll look for them!” Jiang Minhao yelled from behind her. There was a lot of yelling as people ran for safety. Yanli saw that Jin Zixuan had grabbed Nie Huaisang, and Nie Meitong was clutching the two elders who had still been near them.

“There! There!” She pointed at where A’Yao was standing in front of his mother and the wet nurse, his cane held out.

“Wait!” Nie Huaisang shouted, slapping at Jin Zixuan’s arm around his waist. “Wait! Hold on! They aren’t attacking non-cultivators!”

Yanli held her breath as she looked down, fearing the worst.

“I’ll be damned, they really aren’t,” Jiang Minhao said.

“For now,” Jin Zixuan added, drifting closer to where they hovered.

“It gives the civilians a chance to run for safety, though!” Nie Meitong yelled over the din.

A’Yao seemed to figure it out the same moment they did, lowering his cane. He looked around, then up. “Go! Get to safety!”

“I won’t leave you!” Yanli tried to fight her way out of Jiang Minhao’s hold, but it was pointless because she was nowhere near strong enough. She looked desperately around, but Jiang Wu was already carrying Liu Peng and Jiang Yimin was nowhere to be seen. She prayed he was not already dead.

“They’re only targeting cultivators! They might have backup on the way! You need to leave!” A’Yao shouted. Yanli screamed as a fierce corpse came up behind him, only to get sliced in two by Lan Wangji. He was still in his mask, and using his old Wen sword to keep the dead Wen away from the civilians, who were starting to cluster around A’Yao and Meng Shi for protection. The fierce corpses weren’t attacking them unless they were in the way, but it was still too close for anyone’s peace of mind. Lan Wangji and a few of the cooks turned to    clearing a path to the woods for people to escape.

“A’Yao!” She yelled again in frustration.

He grimaced in reply, then turned his eyes to Jiang Minhao. “Get our sect leader to safety!”

“No!” Yanli shrieked, struggling in her hold.

“Young Master Jin! We need to retreat! Our presence only puts the civilians in danger, and by leaving we might draw the monsters off!” Nie Meitong said, then turned to face the caravan. “Civilians! Scatter and make for Tangshan! Leave what you can’t carry! Nie Cultivators! Grab our elders and wounded! Follow me!”

“Jin! To me! We retreat!” Jin Zixuan shouted a moment later, and then they were all flying away.

Yanli’s last sight of the caravan was A’Yao leaning on his cane, shouting orders to the people around him, one hand clutching Meng Shi’s arm, while Lan Wangji plowed through fierce corpses like a whirlwind, refusing to leave with all the rest of the cultivators. She hoped it would not be his last stand.

Chapter Text

Yanli sat in her prison cell with all the dignity should could muster.

“Sect Leader, please eat,” Liu Peng said softly, holding out the cracked bowl. Jiang Minhao hovered behind her, radiating typical Jiang worry by looking very cross and annoyed.

In the cell across them from, Jiang Wu watched them with concern.

They were all still wearing the same robes they had on when Jin Zixuan’s troops brought them to Koi Tower three days prior. Jin Zixuan had respectfully introduced her to his father as “Sect Leader Wei Yanli, of the Yiling Wei sect,” only to stop in horror when his father burst out laughing and ordered Yanli and her disciples arrested.

“Father! Why?”

“The Jiang are defectors, and their so-called sect leader is a bastard girl of no consequence. The fact she is pretending to be sect leader is deserving of punishment on its own, but on top of that her brothers—also bastards—are responsible for the murder of the Chief Cultivator’s eldest son, the honorable Wen Xu.” He shook his head in a mockery of paternalistic disapproval. “Lock them up.”

“But Father!”

“Quiet! You dare question your father? This is about politics, A’Xuan. Leave it to me,” Jin Guangshan answered.

Jiang Wu had bristled and readied for a fight, but Jiang Minhao looked at Yanli questioningly.

She shook her head and stepped in front of her disciples. “Your disrespect to a fellow sect leader shames the Jin,” she said with a slight bow. “But I will not allow your crass words to influence my own behavior. We will go peacefully to your dungeon. But be forewarned, Sect Leader Jin: when it comes time, I will not show you any more mercy    than you have shown us.”

Jin Guangshan went red with rage, and Yanli knew the only reason he did not attack her was that Jin Zixuan got between them and ordered his own disciples to escort her to the dungeon. Nie Huaisang loudly exclaimed that his brother would consider such treatment of one of their allies as a hostile act, causing Jin Guangshan to turn his fury on him, Nie Meitong and the Nie elders who were also shouting at the Jin sect leader. Luo Qingyang took advantage of the distraction and quickly led them down to where they were locked up like common criminals.

Where they were still locked up like common criminals.

Yanli suspected the only reason they were being fed was through Jin Zixuan’s influence. Even his mother had not deigned to visit Yanli in captivity, which was not surprising, but sat like a bruise on Yanli’s heart. Madam Jin had been so kind and supportive of her, once upon a time.

The damp and the cold had affected Yanli, which after all the stress of the past few weeks meant that she had come down with a fever the first night. Luo Qingyang had brought in a doctor the next day, and made sure that Yanli was provided medicine, but it was clear that was the limit of the help she could provide, and she had bowed deeply to Yanli in apology.

Yanli had been mostly unconscious for the next two days and was only now able to sit up without sweating. She had not missed her spells of illness, but she also knew they were generally fleeting.

No, it was everything else that was upsetting her at the moment.

“Sect Leader, please.” Jiang Wu pleaded with her from where he sat in the cell across the hall.

Her stomach roiled with her anger and frustration, but she thought of her brothers and her responsibility to them, as well as her disciples trapped in cells with her. She opened her mouth and let Liu Peng feed her while Jiang Minhao looked on in grim satisfaction. When she could not take another bite of the flavorless swill, she put her hand up.

“I will meditate for a while, to circulate my qi,” she said softly.

“Mild inedia does not affect me much, Sect Leader. Please let me know if I can bolster your reserves,” Jiang Minhao said with a half-bow. Yanli nodded in reply, then settled in to do what she could with the energy she had, a little annoyed that the horrible food had, actually, helped improve her strength.

She had lost track of time when she heard Jiang Wu yelling.

“You treat a sect leader like this? Scoundrel! Dishonor upon the Jin!” He was pounding on the bars.

Her eyes flew open to see one of Jin Guangshan’s guards use their sheathed sword to poke hard at Jiang Wu’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards.

Jin Guangshan himself was staring directly at her.

His eyes were narrowed, assessing and thoughtful. He was a terrible human being, but no one ever accused him of being stupid, and Yanli felt the first frisson of fear at his calculating expression. With a flick of his wrist as their only order, his honor guard unlocked the door to her cell and dragged it open.

Jiang Minhao stepped in front of Yanli, obviously prepared to fight—and likely die—to protect her, but Yanli stood up from the floor with only a little wobble and put her hand on her shoulder. Unhappy but following her lead, Jiang Minhao moved to the side to let her by.

“Protect Liu Peng,” Yanli whispered as she passed, and Jiang Minhao bowed her head in obedience.

“Sect Leader Jin.” Yanli bowed properly as one sect leader to another, which was to say, not much. Jiang Minhao and Liu Peng reluctantly bowed as well, only slightly lower.

Jin Guangshan snorted in amusement. “You are keeping up this charade?”

“I am the sect leader of Yiling Wei.” She stated it plainly and simply, and folded her hands in front of herself. She wished she had a bit of the Lan stature, thinking that it might look more impressive to regally hold her hands behind her back, but the last thing she wanted to do was put his focus on her chest.

“You are a lost child, and a bastard at that. I admit, you have grown into your mother’s looks, though.”

Jiang Minhao actually growled. Jin Guangshan raised an eyebrow at her, then turned back to Yanli.

“Wen Ruohan wants your brothers.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“To execute them in revenge for the death of Wen Xu, I assume,” she said with a pleasant smile.

“Oh, of course. Of course. That goes without saying, which is why I find it interesting that he wants them captured alive. I know,” he raised a hand to forestall a protest that Yanli had not made, “You think he wants to kill them himself. You do not know the Chief Cultivator as I do, though. He prefers efficiency over vengeance, and usually I would say that anyone who can bring him their heads would be well rewarded. Not this time. I suspect he wants them for a different reason.”

Either he knew about Ying’er’s use of resentful energy, or he suspected something of the kind, but Yanli was not a fool.

“As you say: you know the Chief Cultivator’s inclinations better than I ever could.”

There were a few muffled gasps at the verbal slap, and Jin Guangshan’s expression went cold. He turned to one of his guards, putting his back to her. In any setting other than a dungeon, it would be considered extremely rude.

“Have her brought to my office, I’m tired of smelling the shit down here.” He walked off, a couple of the guard splitting away to trail behind him.

Jiang Minhao looked ready to throw down again, but Yanli walked out of the cell to the waiting guards, who did not bother to put restraints on her.

“Sect Leader!” Jiang Wu called out as she passed.

“I will be fine. Care for one another until I return,” she said loudly, to make it clear to the guards she took her role as sect leader seriously. As both of her mothers had explained to her in very different ways at very different times in her life: perception was often more important than reality, and presentation affected perception more than facts.

They led her up and through the buildings of the Jin sect, from dungeon to storage areas to low ranking offices and on up the hierarchy to the innards of Koi Tower itself. Jin Guangshan’s office was a large, impressive room laden with gilded decorations and precious items displayed on every surface. He stood by his desk as she was brought in, one of his ministers at his side, talking quietly together. He did not even look up or greet her when she was brought in, so she stood there quietly, focusing on looking out one of the windows, where a colorful wild bird hopped back and forth on the sill. It blinked at her and suddenly took off, and she was left feeling more alone in the nest of an enemy.

“Leave us,” Jin Guangshan said eventually, and everyone bowed their way out of the room, leaving her alone with him. Yanli stifled her nerves, which were as heightened as if she was trapped with a wolf. She thought she probably was.

“Don’t fear, I will not hurt you,” he said pleasantly, walking over to her. She took a step backwards instinctively, then willed herself to stand still. He smirked as he closed in on her. “Keeping you alive is a good way to draw your brothers in from the wild, so your life is safe.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

He studied her for a long moment, then slapped her so hard across the face that she fell down. He simply stood there while she pulled herself up off the floor, one hand cradling her burning cheek. She knew he had held back, because a full hit with his level of cultivation would likely have broken her jaw or killed her outright.

“You need to learn your place, girl.”

“You need to learn some decency,” she replied. Her eyes were tearing up from pain and frustration and fear, but she managed to keep from crying by force of will.

He did not even look mad, just amused. He did not consider her a threat, and was clearly finding the whole situation hilarious.

She hated him.

“I see a little lesson in appropriate behavior is called for.” He stepped away and undid the wide golden silk sash around his waist, throwing it on his desk, and slipped off his topmost robe. “A girl like you is only good for one thing, and it’s time you learned that your place is on your back.”

Her vision whited out for a moment, but then she thought of her brothers, and A’Yao, and Meng Shi, and stood up straight as a proper cultivator should.

And then, improbably, she remembered dear Lao Wang, and what he would say to a man like Jin Guangshan.

“You are a vile piece of shit. Go to hell.”

He stalled, shocked by her coarse language, eyes wide. Then he laughed, loud and obnoxious. She took the moment to back away from him. She had no plans, no way to stop him, but she was not going to let him just take what he wanted.

He noticed, of course, and started walking toward her again, a tiger stalking prey.

She backed up further until her hip pressed into a small table holding a vase. It was a precious, valuable piece, she knew that in the same way she knew fine silk when she saw it, but she dared not take her attention off Jin Guangshan as he closed in on her. The table jostled when she tried to back up even more, and the vase finally became unbalanced. She instinctively turned to catch it anyway, cursing her own reflexes when Jin Guangshan took the distraction and lunged the final distance between them.

It was a clumsy dance, with her grabbing the vase as it fell and Jin Guangshan grabbing her as she fell, and they all toppled to the ground together. The impact shattered the vase in her hands, pieces spraying out along the floor. Jin Guangshan quickly shoved her down onto her belly, and one of her arms slid out. She yelled when her hand was sliced open by a porcelain shard, the pain of it coalescing into fury, clearing her mind of everything other than survival. Every lesson she had gotten over the years—from her mother, from her brothers, from Xiao Xingchen, from A’Yao—rose up through her bones and her muscle memory, and she started fighting for her life.

She jammed one heel into his knee and then elbowed him in the neck. It was less like proper martial arts and more like the brawls Ying’er and A’Cheng would get into when they were younger, but it was enough to put some space between her and Jin Guangshan.

His surprise at her attack was enough for her to crawl free, but as she twisted around he jumped at her with snarl of frustration and grabbed one of her wrists. She slapped him with her free hand using every drop of qi she could call on for strength, then landed on her back when he simply flopped bonelessly to the side.

Her mind a haze of fury and fear, she stumbled to her feet , slipping on the wet floor, and only then realized that the hand she used to slap him was holding a long, sharp shard of porcelain that was soaked in blood. She took in a deep, slow breath and finally looked down.

She had not slapped him; she had slit his throat so deeply she could see cartilage. His blood spread out around them in a widening circle, covering her feet. His eyes were entirely vacant. Distantly, as if hearing someone in the other room, she thought that he had probably died almost instantly. Her brain cycled that information over and over on a loop as she stood there, the adrenaline and shock making her whole body tremble.

“Father, I’m coming in! I know you have Sect Leader Wei in there!”

She started at Jin Zixuan’s voice and almost slipped on the blood again just as the heavy wooden door slammed open.

She looked up to see Jin Zixuan and Luo Qingyang in the doorway, staring at her in shock, along with the sect leader’s personal guard. Nie Huaisang was peeking around them, eyes wide.

As one, all their gazes tipped down to where Jin Guangshan—Sect Leader Jin, the second most powerful man in the jianghu—lay dead at her feet.

Chapter Text

“Get in!” Nie Huaisang did something with his fan—one of Yanli’s fans, she noted with a drop of hysteria—and a strong gust of spiritually-charged wind pushed everyone into the room. He slammed the door shut and sealed it with a talisman.

Jin Zixuan looked like he could not decide what was more upsetting, his father’s corpse or being pushed around, while Luo Qingyang glared at Nie Huaisang. The three members of Jin Guangshan’s personal guard, on the other hand, had no qualms about unsheathing their swords and advancing on Yanli.

Still shaking, she pulled herself together and rolled her shoulders back. She would die unashamed and without regrets, she thought to herself as they came at her. Her brothers would avenge her.

Only to be taken aback when a powerful sword glare sent the guards bowling over. Yanli blinked to find Luo Qingyang standing in front of her, sword bright with power.

“Put your swords away!” Jin Zixuan hissed at the guards, but waved a hand at Luo Qingyang, who apparently understood that to mean he did not include her in the order.

“Young Master Jin!” One of them exclaimed as he rolled to his feet, sword still at the ready. “She murdered your father!”

“Did she?” Luo Qingyang snarled, pointing her sword at the guards. “Or was it self-defense?”

“She’s a bastard!” One of the other guards shouted, as if that meant she had to be a murderer too.

“I gave you an order!” Jin Zixuan shouted back, sounding surprised that they had not yet followed his command.

Yanli exchanged a glance with Nie Huaisang, who nodded at her in agreement, because neither of them was surprised that Jin Guangshan’s personal guards were more loyal to a dead man than that man’s ineffectual and politically sidelined son.

“Sang’er,” Yanli said far more calmly than she felt. “Give us some peace and quiet, please.”

She was not sure what he would do, only that he would do something. He nodded deferentially and then waved the fan around until brightly colored threads of spiritual power flew out and speared the three guards who fell down like puppets with their strings cut.

Jin Zixuan turned to him in horror. “Did you kill my disciples?”

“No! They are asleep! What kind of monster do you take me for?” He fanned himself aggressively.

“More like knocked out,” Luo Qingyang said, leaning over one and inspecting him carefully. She picked up his hand and then dropped it, and it thudded to the ground but the guard did not move. Satisfied, she turned to Yanli, and her expression changed. “Oh. Sect Leader Wei, I think you can put the, uh, weapon down,” she said softly, empty hands out in front of her like she was trying to tame a wild animal.

Yanli looked at her hand, covered in blood, some of it her own, she knew. “Oh. Oh, yes. It’s…it was a vase.” She dropped the shard and suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Yes, it was,” Luo Qingyang said with the same calm, placating tone of voice. “May I approach you to check your hand?”

Yanli glanced over at Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang, who both looked extremely worried for some reason, before turning back to Luo Qingyang. “Yes, I…I think…I…” she lost her breath entirely and her knees gave out. Luo Qingyang caught her and dragged her over to one of the plush chairs, their feet smearing Jin Guangshan’s blood across the beautifully inlaid flooring.

Yanli stared at the blood on the floor and heard her own blood rushing through her ears like a swollen river after a dam burst open, sweeping her away...

At some point she came back to herself, blinking, feeling as if she was waking up. Luo Qingyang was holding a cup of tea in front of her, from where Yanli had no idea. She looked at her hand, which was wrapped up tight with undyed linen bandaging, no doubt from Luo Qingyang’s own emergency supply, and only a little drop of bright red had bled through.

“Are you back with us?” Nie Huaisang asked. He was standing behind Jin Guangshan’s desk, with Jin Zixuan peering over his shoulder at where they had laid out quite a bit of paperwork.

“I think so,” she said, her voice still shaky. She looked around. “What?”

“It seems that Daddy Jin—”

“Could you please not call him that?” Jin Zixuan grimaced, glancing over at the shrouded form on the floor. The blood was still there, fading to brown, but they had thrown a blanket over him at least.

“It seems former Sect Leader Jin was involved in some shady dealings with Wen Ruohan,” Nie Huaisang amended. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but it does make this situation a bit more politically delicate.” He frowned at the papers.

Yanli took a long sip of the tea, clutching the warm cup with both hands when she was done. “Whatever his crimes, I will be executed for this,” she said, still feeling a bit like her brain was floating through fog.

“Not by me,” Jin Zixuan replied with a heavy sigh. “The elders might quibble, but it was clearly self-defense.”

“She’s just the only one who managed to land a killing blow,” Luo Qingyang said, her jaw tight and eyes dark with anger.

“What?” Jin Zixuan looked shocked. “I mean, I know he dallied with some of the staff—”

“It was never dallying, Zixuan!” Luo Qingyang snapped, then promptly stood up and bowed. “Forgive this disciple’s disrespectful temper, Sect Leader.”

“MianMain, there is nothing to forgive,” Jin Zixuan said, one hand over his eyes. “I suppose I should have known. He’s never had…an honorable…reputation.” He sounded pained to say it, as if admitting the truth for the first time.

“Your father was a reprobate and a rapist,” Nie Huaisang’s voice was soft and kind despite the words he used. “That does not have to be your legacy.” He put a hand on Jin Zixuan’s shoulder. Surprisingly, Jin Zixuan just stood there, head bowed, for a long, quiet moment.

“Forgive me, MianMian, for not seeing all this clearly.”

MianMian looked incredibly awkward being apologized to by the sect heir—no, Yanli corrected her thoughts. The sect leader, now. Which brought up a more urgent issue.

“There is no hiding this,” Yanli pointed out, interrupting the heartfelt conversation.

“Hiding what?” Nie Huaisang said airily, his attention drifting back to the paperwork.

They all stared at him in various shades of confusion.

“The…body?” Yanli suggested.

“Oh, that.” He took a deep breath and put on a sincere-looking expression of grief. “Tragically, an assassin was hiding in the room and decided to strike when you were left alone with Jin Guangshan. Sect Leader Jin heroically died defending Sect Leader Wei, whose scream alerted the guards outside. Coincidentally, the sect heir was showing a fellow sect heir—me!—the southern rose garden nearby when we heard the commotion and ran to help. Entirely too late, sadly! The assassin got away unscathed. We are all quite upset about it, obviously.”

They all continued to stare at him until MianMian put her hands on her hips. “And the guards in question? Who definitively know for a fact that there was no assassin?” She waved an impatient hand at where the three guards were still laid out on the ground. One of them picked that moment to let out a snorting snore.

Nie Huaisang looked at Jin Zixuan. “Your choice. We can kill them and make it look like the assassin did it—”

“No!” Jin Zixuan reared back in disgust, which Yanli agreed with.

“Then your other choices are to either put a forgetting curse on them, or bribe them heavily for their silence and hope they aren’t working for your opposition.”

“My opposition?” Jin Zixuan looked confused, and Yanli traded another speaking look with Nie Huaisang. “You mean Wen Ruohan?”

“He means half the elder council, and your father’s cronies.” MianMian sucked at her teeth, thinking. “Jin Zixun, for sure.”

At his cousin’s name, Jin Zixuan grimaced. “He’s terrible, but I would not describe him as my opposition.”

It was Nie Huaisang’s turn to look horrified. “Are you completely unaware of the fact that he’s been building up a shadow coalition of supporters with the goal of challenging you for the Peony Throne? Are you genuinely that stupid?”

“He’s not stupid,” MianMian said, although she did not sound entirely convinced.

“Hey!” Jin Zixuan looked affronted enough for ten people.

“Zixuan, your cousin has been your opposition since I got here when I was ten,” MianMian said, shaking her head, then looked at Nie Huaisang with a clear plea for him to pick up the explanation.

“But how would you know what my cousin is doing?” Jin Zixuan glared at Nie Huaisang.

“Stop.” Yanli spoke loud enough to carry, and stood up when they all turned to her. “Jin Zixuan, they are both correct. I’ve been outside jianghu politics for five years and yet I know this much: with your father dead, there will be a contest between several factions to win the sect’s leadership. At least one of them will be friendly with Wen Ruohan, and at least one of them will want to stand against Wen Ruohan. I have no doubt Jin Zixun has plenty of support for challenging you.” At his expression of dismay, she shook her head gently. “Were you not taught about political factions and warfare?”

He looked down at the ground silently, so MianMian answered. “Mostly warfare, dueling, and night hunting. I think,” she paused, looking cautiously at Jin Zixuan for a moment, “I think Sect Leader, uh, former Sect Leader Jin purposefully kept him out of learning about or being involved in politics.”

“But Madam Jin is a Yu,” Nie Huaisang said in exasperation. “I don’t believe she’d stand for that.”

“Father did not like me spending much time with her, either,” Jin Zixuan said. He was staring at the blood drying on the floor, and he sounded defeated.

Nie Huaisang was looking at the Jin sect heir as if seeing him for the first time. “You really need help with all of this, don’t you?”

MianMian nodded, then shrugged when Jin Zixuan glared at her.

“Time is running out; we can’t let him just lay there for much longer,” Yanli broke into the conversation. She turned to MianMian. “Are you on good terms with Madam Jin?”

She nodded. “She likes a good fighter, always said I should have been born a Yu.”

“High praise indeed. Go get her, but don’t bring her here too fast. I’m sure she will support Jin Zixuan’s succession, but we don’t know how much power she’s actually got in the political landscape, so talk to her on the way. See if you can glean anything from what she says.”

MianMian bowed and walked out of the room.

“She’s very competent, isn’t she?” Nie Huaisang said breathlessly, fanning himself. Jin Zixuan looked at him in hurt confusion, and Yanli decided to ignore that whole subtext, forever if possible.

“Sang’er, you will help Jin Zixuan with the political situation here in Koi Tower for the foreseeable future. You’ll at least be safe from the Wen, which will make Nie Mingjue happy, and we need Zixuan on the Peony Throne.”

“My pleasure.” Nie Huaisang said with a slow drawl. Yanli expected a courtship announcement (or two) within a year. “Do you think we can claim the assassin was a Wen?” He asked, turning his attention to the papers on the desk again.

“No. But Jin Guangshan had enough enemies. Uncertainly about the perpetrator’s allegiance will not be suspicious, especially once Madam Jin is aware of the situation.”

“You plan to tell her the truth?”

“Probably, depending on the signs MianMian gives us. Either way, she’s going to walk in and see me like this,” Yanli said, gesturing at her robes covered in blood, and her bandaged hand.

“Good point,” Nie Huaisang said with a shrug.

“I’m not sure Mother will be very upset by this turn of events.” Jin Zixuan continued to grimace in the direction of his father.

“I imagine not,” Yanli said, trying to soften the blow, but in truth, Jin Zixuan himself did not seem to upset. She figured it was the Yu in him. “That still leaves the guards. Forgetting curses are not fool-proof.”

Nie Huaisang flicked a hand at the guards. “True, they break down if you try to erase too much. The trick is to tweak a memory with a few false facts. Even if the curse gets removed, they won’t be sure what is the real memory and what is the false.”

Yanli nodded approvingly, as Ying’er had told her as much years ago, but Jin Zixuan looked appalled. “How do you know that?”

Nie Huaisang blinked like a fawn. “I read about it somewhere?”

“Boys,” Yanli said, and they both straightened up and focused on her. “The real problem here is Wen Ruohan. He has either been counting on support from the Jin, or counting on you staying neutral.” She turned to Jin Zixuan. “Siding with us will mean becoming an enemy of the Wen. I must ask clearly: Are you ready for that?”

For the first time since he walked into the room to find his father dead on the floor, Jin Zixuan stood proud and determined, like the cultivator he was always meant to be.

“I saw the dead he raised to fight the Nie caravan. His wicked tricks are against orthodoxy and all righteous standards. I give you my word that my sect will not align with such a ruthless and craven man. Under my leadership, the Jin will stand with its allies against Qishan Wen.”

He bowed to her, lower than a sect leader should bow to another sect leader. Behind him, Nie Huaisang gave Yanli an aggravatingly smug smile.

Chapter Text

A’Cheng and Lan Xichen captured by opponents unknown. Wei Ying’s location    unknown. A’Yao, Meng Shi, and Lan Wangji’s fate unknown.

There were too many unknowns and Yanli just wanted her family together again.

“It’s not unheard of for the leader of a minor sect to marry into a major one, combining them.” Madam Jin sat across from her, looking determined but not hopeful over the teacup in her hand.

“I am already betrothed, Madam Jin.”

“So you’ve said, and I don’t mean to denigrate the man you are betrothed to, who I am sure is an outstanding and honorable cultivator! But I ask: does he compare to the leader of a major sect?”

Yanli rather thought he did, especially given that he was said sect leader’s half-brother, but she knew it was not the time to sing A’Yao’s praises.

“Have you found Jin Zixun?” She asked instead. Madam Jin gave a small huff of polite annoyance at the forced change of subject, but did not push back.

“No. The latest reports say that he and his followers are traveling toward Pingyang.”

“Sect Leader Yao was a favorite of former Sect Leader Jin, it’s possible he has been Jin Zixun’s backer for a while now.” Nie Huaisang simpered, pouring more tea for them and demonstrating more delicacy and elegance than some of the sisters at the Dragonfly Shoal had done. Yanli suspected Meng Shi’s hand in there somewhere. Or, the more she thought about, more likely Nie Popo's.

“Oh, I’m sure of it. That nasty boy was more like his uncle—anyway, he’s out of our hair for now, and does not have the manpower to directly challenge my A’Xuan.” She spoke smugly, which given that past twelve hours she had the right to do.

As soon as MianMian deferentially brought her into Jin Guangshan’s office, Madam Jin had taken one look at her dead husband, then turned around to her chief attendant and said the words “Operation Fish Food.” Half her attendants ran out of the room like it was on fire and within an hour the entire sect was in turmoil. By lunchtime, a third of the Jin elders council was “missing” and at least another third of the sect’s servants were simply gone.

Yanli decided not to ask for specifics.

“More candied fruit, Madam Jin?” Nie Huaisang held up the plate, keeping his eyes lowered. Yanli really wanted to both roll her eyes and also knock the plate out of his hands on principle, the little manipulative brat. She wished Ying’er was there, because he definitely would do both.

“I told you to call me Auntie Jin, Huaisang.” Madam Jin, who Yanli thought could not be so thick as to not see what he was playing at, took a piece of candy with a kindly smile.

On the other hand, if it kept the woman from continuing to press her son’s suit on Yanli, maybe she should encourage it.

“Sang’er has been such a reliable resource in all of this chaos. Did he tell you about how he personally revived the lost art of cultivation using qi threaded weapons?” She said, taking a piece of candy for herself.

“Qi threading! I thought that was on old wives’ tale!” Madam Jin looked suitably impressed. “Where on earth did you source the weapons?

Nie Huaisang blushed delicately and she wondered how he taught himself to do that. “Sect Leader Wei is too kind. The fans I use were embroidered by the master Crane in the Mist. This one merely used them to protect the non-combatants from the vile Wen.”

“Truly an honorable goal.” Madam Jin nodded, pleased. “You are quite talented! Shame on Sect Leader Nie for hiding you away from competitions.”

“On top of all his work in organizing the caravan travel itself! Given the Nie have been without a furen for so long, he has done much to assist his brother in running the sect.”

Madam Jin gave her a knowing glance, clearly seeing what she was up to, but again did not put up a protest. A marriage alliance with the Nie would serve the Jin sect well, they both knew.

Presuming Wen Ruohan did not wipe them all out.

Madam Jin was setting down her teacup when the door opened and Luo Qingyang walked in. Her eyes brushed fondly over Nie Huaisang and he lit up a little, and once again Yanli decided to ignore all the subtext. That was Madam Jin’s problem.

“Madam Jin, Zixuan—ah, I mean, Sect Leader Jin is has some questions about the treasure room.”

“Hmph.” Madam Jin stood up and rolled her shoulders back like a soldier. As she passed Luo Qingyang, she patted her arm affectionately (something she used to do to Yanli when she was young girl) and then motioned for her to follow. Luo Qingyang gave them a quick bow before scampering off after her.

Yanli and Nie Huaisang waited a few seconds after the door closed to see if anyone else was going to enter.

“I have been informed that the caravan is completely abandoned, but unmolested. I think word of the Wen’s fierce corpses got out and even locals don’t want to go near the site,” Nie Huaisang whispered. They could put up a silencing talisman, but it would be obvious to anyone paying attention, and they did not want to be obvious given the political turmoil in the tower.

Yanli nodded, expecting that much.

“Not much word on where survivors went, but there were not many bodies left, so we assume they got away,” he continued. “I have my best scouts searching for them.” He tried to give her a reassuring look, but there wasn’t much reassuring to be done. The “them” they were searching for was A’Yao and Second Mother, along with Jiang Yimin and, of course, Xiao Niao. Yanli genuinely worried for everyone they had left behind, but those were the ones she feared for the most.

“Why are we whispering?” Liu Peng asked, replenishing the fruit tray. “If this one may ask,” she amended sheepishly.

“I trust Zixuan and MianMian, and by extension Madam Jin, but Koi Tower has always been a hotbed of intrigue and infighting. Jin Zixun has gone on the run, but that does not mean he is without support in these halls.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “Nor do we know who else might be in the mix. Jin Zixun is the most obvious claimant, but there are plenty of Jin cousins and other relatives who could step up.”

Liu Peng nodded with a frown. “But what does that have to do with us?”

“We are weak right now. Our sect is very small and fractured, and my own heirs are both being hunted by the Wen. Now is not the time to trust strangers,” Yanli said, looking into her own teacup. It held no answers, no solutions.

They sat with that in silence for a moment until there was a knock on the door. “Sect Leader Wei, Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao reporting in!” Jiang Wu said loudly.

Yanli nodded at Liu Peng, who dashed over to open the door, smiling at the sight of Jiang Wu, who glanced at her with his own soft smile. Yanli made a note to discuss the matter with Meng Shi when they were reunited. Marrying Liu Peng into the Wei sect would solve a lot of problems.

The two Jiang walked in, wearing clothes they had certainly not brought with them and which were exceptionally well tailored. The black and peach motif was carried through with the Wei oleander flower on their shoulders, along with red sashes and cuffs. Yanli turned her gaze on Nie Huaisang, who just hummed happily.

“You can’t keep buying whole wardrobes for us!”

“I’m not!”

She waved a hand at her two disciples, who stood looking at them in confusion.

“Meng Yao is keeping a very precise account of how much your fans and ribbons would cost at face value compared to the clothes the Nie sect supplements your wardrobes with.” He pouted. “Mist in the Crane’s pieces are extremely high-demand! I am still in debt. Expect your new hanfu collection to be delivered tomorrow morning, by the way. You’re welcome.” He huffed a little and glared off into the distance.

Her fans did not cost that much, she was certain, but far be it for her to undermine A’Yao’s careful fleecing of the Nie. She gave up and waved Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao over. They bowed, and she could tell that Jiang Wu was wound up a little. Hope flared in her chest.

“You have news?”

“Yes, Sect Leader! Second Young Master Wei and an unnamed Lan are being taken to the Pingyang Yao!”

“Unbelievable,” Nie Huaisang muttered darkly. “Let me guess: they were captured by the Yao sect on Jin Zixun’s orders?”

“How did you know?” Jiang Wu asked, shocked.

“Never mind, never mind. Do they have any idea who the Lan is, at all?”

Jiang Minhao shook her head. “Early reports were that it was Lan Xichen, but then they heard that we had been traveling with Lan Xichen after he saved Sect Leader Wei from the dread bandit Hanguang-Jun, so now everyone thinks it is either Lan Wangji or possibly even Lan Qiren.” She raised an eyebrow at Yanli.

“Of course,” she said solemnly.

“Who told you this?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“Pretty much everyone,” Jiang Wu said with a shrug. “With Jin Zixun having been chased out, anyone who knows anything is happily sharing all his secrets. It became hot gossip once we ‘accidentally’ confirmed the rumor that Second Young Master Wei used to be the Jiang heir.” He grimaced as he bowed to Yanli. “Apparently Yunmeng Jiang had let the story of your deaths stand uncontested all these years.”

Both Nie Huaisang and Liu Peng flinched at that, but Yanli felt nothing. It was what she had come to expect of Sect Leader Jiang, after all. Speaking of…

“No word on Jiang Fengmian?”

At their matched dark expressions, she assumed the answer was no.

Nie Huaisang tapped his closed fan thoughtfully on the table. “What is the likelihood that he’s also gone to Pingyang?”

“Why    would he?” Yanli asked.

“Jiang Wu just said that no one here had any idea that Wei Cheng is actually the former Jiang heir. How would Jin Zixun or any of the Pingyang Yao know that without being told? I could see Jin Zixun wanting a Lan—any Lan—to hold for leverage, either with his uncle or even Wen Ruohan, but if A’Cheng was captured with him, why keep him alive? He left with a small platoon of Nie, and we’ve heard no word of them being held hostage. Either they escaped or were executed.” He leaned forward. “But not Wei Cheng, Second Young Master of the obscure Yiling Wei sect, who no one cares about except Jiang Fengmian and Wen Ruohan.”

Slowly, almost against her will, Yanli nodded. “He sent Madam Jiang to the coast to keep her safe, because he was heading inland to meet up with the Yao sect, possibly on Jin Guangshan’s recommendation.”

“Given what we know of Sect Leader Jiang’s capitulation to Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan’s underhanded dealings with the Wen sect leader, we can be pretty sure that any place he goes is aligned with the Wen.”

“Hm. Perhaps Jin Guangshan was using his nephew to strengthen his ties to the Wen, while pretending to the other sects that he was staying neutral,” Yanli continued, lost in thought. Then gasped. “Ying’er!”

Jiang Minhao straightened up. “We can leave now to intercept him!”

Reluctantly, she shook her head. “He’s too clever to use any obvious route, I doubt you could find him.” She took a deep breath. “He knew he was walking into danger when he headed out. He will know to keep his head down until he can safely free A’Cheng and Lan…Wangji.”

Everyone was quiet while she mulled over their options, which was another thing she was learning to get used to. Despite Lao Wang’s and A’Yao’s help, raising her brothers had been more like wrestling goats than running a sect, and she was still adjusting to the automatic deference even troublemakers like Nie Huaisang offered her because of her position.

Finally, she looked over at the troublemaker in question, who straightened up automatically under her scrutiny.

“Ying’er is on his own for now, and while I would dearly love to march an army to go help rescue A’Cheng, right now my greatest concern is for Second Mother and A’Yao. They have Xiao Niao and, possibly, Jiang Yimin with them, if he survived.”

Jiang Wu visibly steeled himself at those words, but they all knew the Wen-controlled fierce corpses had targeted cultivators. They were all hoping more than expecting to find him alive.

“With all due respect, Sect Leader Wei, I do not think they would have kept going for Tangshan, knowing that you were being taken here,” Jiang Minhao offered deferentially.

Yanli sighed heavily. “I suspect you are correct.” She put herself into A’Yao’s head for a moment. Likely, he would get everyone into disguises, perhaps traveling as a displaced family. Claiming to be brother and sister would be easy enough, given his mother’s youthful looks. The Wen were looking for a mother and an adult son, so it would be an smart way to throw the trail off. Xiao Niao needed a wet nurse for the foreseeable future, so possibly traveling as rich merchants? No doubt, A’Yao would have ransacked the Nie wagons for money and valuables he could trade along the way. She opened the discussion with Nie Huaisang, who agreed, and Jiang Minhao offered the suggestion that for expediency they would likely travel by river.

“Where is Lan Wangji, though? Surely with you here and his betrothed walking into danger, he would grab the nearest spiritual sword and fly down. Unless he decided to go back to being Hanguang-Jun?” Jiang Wu asked, glancing between Yanli and Nie Huaisang, as if they had any answer to that.

Yanli shook her head. “I don’t have the manpower to go out and search for everyone and I cannot undermine Jin Zixuan’s consolidation of power within the Jin by asking him publicly for assistance.” Unsaid was the fact that Nie Meitong had told her directly, if regretfully, that he could not release any remaining Nie from their duty to protect the Nie heir, especially given the political upheaval among the Jin. She felt her frustration boiling under her skin. She was safe, but her family wasn’t, and she had no way to help them directly.

A pigeon flew into the room, one of the fancy owl pigeon breeds with poofy frills around its neck and legs that, in Yanli’s opinion, made it look like a fat pillow. It strutted around on the table next to Nie Huaisang before holding its leg out demandingly. Nie Huaisang chuckled but took the note and unwrapped it, reading the small piece of paper quickly.

He smiled as he handed the message to Yanli. “I might have a solution for that. Da’Ge and Baxia are on their way here.”

Chapter Text

“A giant turtle.” Jin Zixuan looked out over the city from their perch on a broad balcony at the top of Koi Tower with a complicated expression of horror and resignation.

Far in the distance, an army of thousands advanced on Lanling City. They looked like a smudge on the horizon…except for Baxia, who even at such a distance was very clearly a giant turtle.

“She’s a demonic beast.” Nie Huaisang shrugged as if that answered all questions.

“You realize that kind of makes it worse, right?” Jin Zixuan said with exasperation. It was easy to see in those moments that they had spent time together during the Lan lectures when they were younger.

“I suppose. But she’s our demonic beast. Even Lan Qiren eventually got used to her!”

Yanli thought that was perhaps a bit of a stretch, but Jin Zixuan looked surprised.

“Lan Qiren is alive?”

Oh, oops. Yanli cringed internally but stepped forward before Nie Huaisang could make things worse.

“He is alive. He came to the Unclean Realm at great risk to himself and while injured to inform us of the fall of Gusu Lan to Wen Chao. He is the one who told us that Lan Wangji survived, which was why the Nie sent a squadron in to rescue him. I approved their request to have A’Cheng, ah, the former Jiang Cheng, accompany them, since he now wields Zidian and is a formidable cultivator in his own right.”

“He is?” Jin Zixuan squawked in disbelief.

“Zidian survives?” Madam Jin gasped in the first real show of emotion that Yanli had seen from her yet, clasping her hands together over her heart like a maiden who just found out that her lover had returned from battle alive.

“So you see,” Nie Huaisang said, talking over both of them, “Baxia can’t be that terrible if Lan Qiren, the Grandmaster of Gusu Lan, approves of her!”

“Grandmaster Lan tolerates Baxia,” she finally corrected. “He understands the value of a powerful weapon,” she said the last to Jin Zixuan.

Nie Huaisang slumped a little but murmured “Yes, Yanli’jie” with a slight bow. Yanli would take her wins where she could. At that moment, it was at the top of Koi Tower waiting for Sect Leader Nie to arrive.

She had called for a meeting with Jin Zixuan and Madam Jin not long after Nie Huaisang got the message, which was extremely fortunate because before Nie Huaisang finished explaining that he had heard from his brother, a Jin general had interrupted with breathless news that a “massive Nie army and a giant demonic beast were on the way to attack Lanling!”

It had taken a few minutes for everyone to calm down enough for Nie Huaisang to swear that it was not an invasion or attack, just his brother and his giant pet slaughter turtle coming to check on him. Which in turn seemed to give Jin Zixuan constipation, followed quickly by Madam Jin bullying her staff to get the guest quarters suitable for a visiting sect leader.

Yanli and Nie Huaisang had spent the following day in relative comfort, painting (him) and doing embroidery (her) while Koi Tower erupted around them with activity. Yanli wondered where the vigil for Jin Guangshan was being held, but not enough to ask. It seemed the most either wife or son were willing to commit to their (assumed) grief was taking down a bunch of gilded decor, putting up white banners, and donning white sashes. Most everyone, including the Jin themselves, joined Yanli in her studied obliviousness.

As soon as Baxia was spotted on the horizon the next morning, Nie Meitong and most of the surviving Nie had immediately taken to their sabers to ride out to their leader, leaving a small bodyguard for Nie Huaisang behind to stand with the welcoming committee. Yanli currently had the remains of her sect—Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao—as her own bodyguard, with Liu Peng standing behind her.

She felt very alone.

Baxia did, indeed, move very fast and she was strolling down the main boulevard to the tower fairly quickly. Jin Zixuan’s jaw dropped lower the closer she got. He had not quite believed Nie Huaisang’s claim that since she was as wide as that boulevard it would need to be cleared of market stalls and civilians, but he had ordered it done when Yanli had backed Nie Huaisang up. Madam Jin, on the other hand, had an avaricious gleam to her eye that was more Yu than Jin.

“Is he riding it?” One of the (remaining) Jin elders standing behind them asked with dismay.

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang said proudly.

“Is it wearing a guan????” Another elder exclaimed disbelievingly, squinting ferociously. MianMian did a poor job of hiding her laughter.

“That’s the Saber Formerly Known as Baxia, impaled in Baxia’s head.” Nie Huaisang nodded as he spoke.

“I think perhaps you left out some details in your explanation, Sang’er,” Madam Jin said flatly.

“Perhaps we should go down to meet it…er, I mean, Sect Leader Nie?” Jin Zixuan did not sound very certain of that.

“No no, he’ll just park Baxia in the main courtyard and come up the stairs as usual.” Nie Huaisang flapped his fan confidently, as if he had already discussed the matter with his brother. Which, Yanli thought, he probably had via overstuffed pigeons.

Unremarked upon was what Yanli thought the most important part: lagging behind Baxia was the majority of the army Nie Mingjue had left the Unclean Realm with. The cultivators following on their swords and sabers included Nie Popo as well as Lan Qiren, who was out of his Gusu whites and wearing combinations of dark blues instead. But out past the gates, slowly making their way on horse and on foot, were thousands of soldiers. Yanli wondered just how badly the fighting had gone, for Nie Mingjue to pull so many from the field. She also wondered if this represented all the Nie who were still alive to pull from the field. Either way, the answer was a grim one.

“Oh no, it’s that woman,” Madam Jin huffed under her breath.

Yanli held back a frown and gazed out at the clutch of cultivators flying above Baxia as she…trotted?…down the grand boulevard to Koi Tower. There was only one person recognizable as a woman from that distance.

“Do you mean Nie Popo, Madam Jin?”

She heard Jin Zixuan suck in his breath next to her.

“I certainly do! Why is she here?” It was the closest Yanli had ever heard the older woman come to hissing. She turned to her chief handmaiden. "Set up the Immortal Rose pavilion now. If I hear a single complaint from that woman about the smell or the state of the bed linens, I will have every single one of you flogged!”

“Mother—”

“MianMian! Round up every female Jin cultivator and put them on guard duty for the whole east wing. Now, child! Now!”

Wide eyed, Luo Qingyang tried to bow while also spinning around to run off, nearly thwacking Jin Zixuan with her sword in the process before sprinting away.

“Mother, please calm down.”

Yanli flinched as Madam Jin turned cold, furious eyes on her only son. “Do not tell me to calm down, you insolent brat!” She snorted like a bull, causing Jiang Minhao and Jiang Wu to gently pull Yanli further away from her.

Whatever rebuke Madam Jin was going to give him was stopped in its tracks as the Nie contingent reached the bottom stairs of Koi Tower and started marching up. Nie Mingjue left Baxia in the massive courtyard, where she stuck her head into a large decorative pond and, presumably, ate all the fish.

Madam Jin let out a soft whine of dismay.

The Yin Saber was obvious at his back, even the hilt glistening darkly in the sunlight, its malevolent aura radiating off of it like a fine mist. Nie Huaisang had warned Jin Zixuan to warn his people about the saber, but even so, everyone watched Nie Mingjue’s approach with apprehension clear on their faces. Jin Zixuan’s expression had gone still and politely blank, but he never took his eyes off the saber.

Despite that, Nie Mingjue wasn’t two-thirds of the way up before Nie Huaisang finally broke, launching himself down the stairs for his brother to catch him. It was incredibly indecorous but also incredibly sweet, watching Nie Mingjue spin his little brother around as if they were both half their ages. Nie Mingjue kept walking up the stairs while Nie Huaisang hung off of him like a limpet, both of them whispering to each other. Yanli’s heart ached for her own brothers, but she resettled herself and eyed her people, all three of them, who each took the hint and made themselves look as proper as possible for a welcoming ceremony.

Nie Mingjue dumped Nie Huaisang as soon as they crested the stairs, leaving Nie Zonghui to grab him so he didn’t fall over. Nie Huaisang gave him a quick hug before jogging to catch up with his brother.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jin Zixuan said with a very slight bow, perfectly appropriate from one sect leader to another. “Welcome to Lanling. The Jin sect is honored to host you and your retinue.”

Nie Mingjue studied him for a moment, taking in the white mourning sash around his waist. “So it’s true that your father is dead and you are now sect leader?”

Madam Jin shifted unhappily but Jin Zixuan simply nodded. “It is true. A great tragedy of course, but he died fighting off several assassins while protecting the honor of Sect Leader Wei Yanli.” He lied like a true Jin, then slid his hand through the air gracefully in her direction, which Yanli took as her cue to step forward.

“It is reassuring to see you in good health, Sect Leader Nie. Nie Popo.” She bowed to them.

He did the same peer-to-peer bow back to both her and Jin Zixuan. “Sect Leader Wei, we are pleased to find you are safe. Sect Leader Jin, thank you for welcoming the Nie into your borders.”

Yanli turned to Lan Qiren, who actually looked a lot better than the last time she had seen him. “Grandmaster Lan.” She paused, but decided to forge ahead, despite the breach in formalities. “We have news about your nephews. It is not all good news, but they are both alive.”

He froze mid-bow. “Alive? Both of them?”

“Yes. We are not in direct contact with either of them, and the full story is…hmmm, convoluted. But as far as we know, yes, they are alive.”

He paused and closed his eyes for a long moment, emotions flickering over his face as he straightened up. For the first time, Yanli could see his resemblance to Lan Xichen instead of Lan Wangji, and it struck her anew how much closer Lan Qiren was to being their father than their uncle.

Everyone let him collect himself until he finally opened his eyes and nodded his head to Yanli. “I am truly grateful, Sect Leader Wei. Thank you for easing my worries. Although, I look forward to discussing how exactly you got here to Koi Tower.” He gave Jin Zixuan a look that was only a hairsbreadth short of suspicious. Jin Zixuan expertly sidestepped the comment and turned to his mother.

“I believe you all know Madam Jin, who is serving as my trusted advisor in this unexpected time of transition.” Jin Zixuan did another smooth slide of his hand, and she stepped forward.

“Lanling Jin welcomes you.” She bowed.

“I’m sure it does,” Nie Popo said. Madam Jin’s eyes narrowed, and Nie Huaisang slapped at Nie Popo’s arm with his fan. Everyone else pointedly ignored the exchange as Jin Zixuan continued.

“We have quarters set up for you, including, ah, the Immortal Rose Pavilion for Nie Popo.”

“Hmph,” the woman herself grunted, although she looked pleased. It seemed to give Jin Zixuan some confidence.

“Sect Leader Nie, we have a site suitable for your army’s encampment to the south of Lanling City proper. Luo Qingyang—oh, uhm, Jin Ziyi is available to lead them to the location and assist with logistics.”

A young and startled Jin disciple stepped forward with a hasty bow. Nie Mingjue sent him off with Nie Zonghui to fly back out to the army, which was making good time in closing in on the city.

With the formalities apparently out of the way, Nie Mingjue squared his shoulders, turned from Jin Zixuan, and speared Yanli with an intense look. “So, I hear we have cause to go to war with Pingyang Yao?”

Chapter Text

They convened in a room that was not Jin Guangshan’s former private office, but was at least as big and ostentatious. Instead of a large desk, though, there was a massive table with suitably elegant chairs around it. It looked official enough to Yanli, but Nie Popo stopped inside the door and squinted at the windows.

“Is this… ?”

Madam Jin, for all that Yanli knew she was master politician, could not keep her smug expression contained. “The Hall of Luminous Virtue? Yes, it is.”

The rest of the Nies looked as confused as everyone else, since the sign over the door had marked it as the “Lavender Repose Room,” but neither woman explained the exchange. Nie Popo tipped her head in obvious approval, then pushed her eldest grandson to keep walking. Madam Jin, for her part, nearly floated to her chair next to Jin Zixuan, radiating triumph. He looked askance at his mother for a moment, but decided to follow the lead of the majority and ignore them. He simply rested his hands on the table and looked around.

They did come close to filling it up. There were just the Jin, the Nie, one member of the Lan, and Yanli. Nie Huaisang and Nie Popo bracketed Nie Mingjue, while Madam Jin was next to her son, and their many advisors were arrayed behind them. Yanli represented the Yiling Wei sect, with Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao at her back (she had sent Liu Peng, still ostensibly a member of the Nie sect, to help them with settling in). Lan Qiren was in near isolation as the sole representative of the Lan, sitting next to her but in many ways separate. They were the only ones there, taking up a small portion of one end of a large oval table meant to hold the heads of up to thirty sects.

Nie Mingjue cleared his throat. “What is the situation with Pingyang Yao?”

Jin Zixuan let out a deep sigh. “My cousin, Jin Zixun, has retreated there. He is making a claim to the peony throne, and has quite a few backers. We believe he has aligned himself with Wen Ruohan in exchange for making Lanling Jin a vassal state once he’s deposed me.”

Nie Mingjue nodded thoughtfully. “That is troubling. However, forgive me for saying so, but that is an internal Jin matter. Until Wen Ruohan makes a further push into the jianghu, Jin politics does not concern the Nie.”

Nie Huaisang had half his face hidden behind a fan, of course, but Yanli could see he was not pleased by his brother’s statement. Nie Popo stared straight ahead without blinking.

“Of course it does,” Yanli said. Everyone looked at her in surprise. She had no idea why, but forged ahead. “The more solidified Wen Ruohan becomes, the bigger threat he is to everyone, including vassal states. We’ve seen what he does to minor sects who inconvenience him. We’ve also seen what a great sect standing in defiance will cause him to do.” She motioned at Nie Mingjue. “Your entire army, or what is left of it, is parked outside of Lanling. The Lan are reduced to remnants, much to all of our regret.”

Lan Qiren bowed his head in acknowledgment, but did not comment.

“Crucially, Jin Zixun has taken two sect heirs captive. He has retreated to Pingyang Yao with both Lan Xichen and Wei Cheng, who are both alive and, we presume, meant to be used as bargaining chips.”

“Lan Xichen?” Nie Mingjue exclaimed in surprise.

Lan Qiren frowned. “As much as I am pleased to hear of his survival, Lan Xichen is not the Lan heir. Surely Jin Zixun would know this.”

“Why not?” Jin Zixuan broke in, then flinched. Yanli wasn’t sure, but she suspected his mother had pinched his leg, as it was something she had done often when he mis-stepped as a boy too.

“He… .” Lan Qiren stopped, and it looked like his entire being had simply given up. He bowed his head.

“Regretfully, reports are that he was a victim of Wen Zhuliu.” Nie Mingjue said, his voice uncharacteristically soft as shock rippled through the room.

“Gusu Lan, like most sects, only allow clan members with golden cores to be sect leaders,” Nie Huaisang continued into the silence that followed.

They all knew that it was unlikely for Jin Zixun to have simply missed the fact that Lan Xichen was coreless, especially given that he was probably in terrible physical shape in the aftermath. Jin Zixuan had gone pale, and simply stared at them with wide eyes. His horror was reflected by every other Jin in the room.

“It remains that he is an important member of the inner clan.” Madam Jin tapped the table with her fingers. “I doubt even Zixun would be so foolish as to throw him away, if for no other reason than to present him as a gift to Wen Ruohan.” It was a cold, calculating perspective, but Yanli agreed with her.

“Either way, we must go rescue them.” Yanli spoke with as much authority as she could muster, ready to argue with the Nie as long as it took to convince them to join the rescue mission.

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said with a sharp nod.

“Oh.” Yanli stared at him.

His expression was sympathetic. “You thought I would disagree? No. You are right about the politics of the situation, and furthermore, we cannot allow Sect Leader Yao to think that siding with Wen Ruohan, even by proxy, is a choice he will survive. Furthermore, the Nie are still in negotiations with the Yiling Wei for my betrothal to your honored second mother, Meng Shi.” He glanced at Nie Popo with displeasure for a moment, clearly unhappy about the delays, but quickly turned back to face Jin Zixuan. “Therefore, I am honor-bound to at least attempt a rescue of Sect Leader Wei’s heir. Lastly, Lan Xichen is a dear friend, and his uncle has been working with us as a de facto marshal under my command. The Nie and the Lan are allied in every way that matters, regardless of how few Lan survive.”

Yanli bowed gratefully.

“Speaking of, you mentioned that you had news of Lan Wangji?” Lan Qiren interjected.

“He’s Hanguang-Jun!” Nie Huaisang chirped.

“Who?”

“He is?”

He looked delighted by the various outbursts around the table. Yanli sighed.

“We encountered him on our way to Tangshan, before the Wen attacked. He has been posing as a bandit.”

“A bandit?” Lan Qiren looked as if someone had spit in his tea.

“The common people have named him Hanguang-Jun, as he steals from the rich and gives to poor! The story is being sung in all the inns and tea houses!” Nie Huaisang added, conveniently leaving out that he was the one who wrote the song.

“He…he what?” Lan Qiren stared at Nie Huaisang in confusion.

“He’s very dashing! It’s so romantic.” Nie Huaisang sighed like a lovelorn maiden.

“Sang’er,” Nie Mingjue grumbled, obviously seeing his brother’s fingerprints all over the story. Yanli decided to break in, for all their sakes.

“It is true he was given the title Hanguang-Jun, and caused chaos for the Wen while helping common people by night hunting when needed. We presumed he was trying to draw attention away from Lan Xichen. He was heading northwest when we, ah, encountered him, and was unaware that his brother had been captured.”

“You presumed?” Lan Qiren zeroed in on the word.

“I convinced him to join the caravan for a short time, but before we could sit down and talk with him, the Wen attacked. It was chance that he revealed himself to us, and bad luck that we did not have    an opportunity to know what his intentions with the disguise are.”

“Why did he not join you in your escape?” Nie Mingjue rested his elbows on the table, fully in the role of general and not polite politician.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “He found out that Wei Ying was headed south to track down and free Wei Cheng. There was no way Lan Wangji wasn’t going to follow his beloved as soon as possible.”

Lan Qiren grimaced but did not argue.

“Last we saw, he was helping survivors flee into the woods. I’m sure once he delivered them to safety he went after my brother,” Yanli confirmed. “It’s possible he’s already on his way to Pingyang himself, on Wei Ying’s heels. I fear what they will risk to free their brothers.”

They all sat in silence while Nie Mingjue considered the situation. He looked at Nie Popo, who frowned, then over at Lan Qiren, who closed his eyes at the scrutiny.

“Unfortunately, this is not something we can set out to do immediately. Baxia is always ready for battle, but for all that we are strong fighters, we are tired. The past six weeks have been hellish. Huaisang and Nie Meitong told me about the fierce corpse puppets that Wen Ruohan sent against the caravan, and they are familiar. The Nie are not prone to running away from battle, but even a scorched earth policy holds little weight against monsters like that. Lan battle songs do little against the dead.” He nodded at Lan Qiren to continue.

“My most effective weapon, ironically, has been the song Rest. But it was never meant for a battlefield, much less mass graves that walk around. Only highly experienced Lan musical specialists can use it effectively, and only for a limited time, and with a limited range. I have tested all those parameters over the past month, as best as my age and failing health allow. But even with a phalanx of qin instruments played by true masters, we could not make much of an impact. The numbers are simply too massive.” He squared his shoulders. “The Assassination Chord Technique impacts the living, and Rest impacts the dead, but nothing changes the course of the war.”

“Why don’t they just march into Lanling, then?” Jin Zixuan asked, finally sounding less like a confused young man and more like an experienced cultivator. “If the numbers are that great, if his evil magic is that powerful, Wen Ruohan could simply overrun us and head straight for the Imperial City.”

“We honestly have no idea why. He’s pulled up short at the current borders of the Wen sect holdings for now, which unfortunately include Qinghe and reach down to Yunmeng.” Nie Popo tapped a sharp, silver-tipped nail against the table hard enough to dent the wood. “If we weren’t sure of that, we would not have come here. What we don’t know is whether it is because he is regrouping to plan a larger invasion, or if there is some instability within the Wen sect itself.”

“I know which I’m hoping for,” someone muttered, but it was pretty clear everyone at the table agreed with the sentiment.

“Yunmeng,” Yanli said softly, thinking.

“Have you heard much of the Jiang remnants?” Jin Zixun asked innocently, earning him vicious glares from every Nie (and former Jiang) in the room. “Ah, I just mean, uhm, is he not an ally? We have word that Lotus Pier was attacked and he barely made it out alive.”

“It was a rouse. He’s allied himself with Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue spat the words. “My people have orders to execute him on sight.”

That surprised Yanli, but then, she supposed that Nie Mingjue was not one to “forgive and forget.”

“Sect Leader Wei and I believe he’s headed to Pingyang as well. Probably always was, once he left Mount Muxi.” Nie Huaisang explained to the Jin.

“But Wen Ruohan has not officially claimed Pingyang?” Jin Zixuan asked Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue shook his head. “No. But he might be using it to tempt Jin Zixun. It is a vassal state of the Jin, after all, and he used similar promises to pull Jiang Fengmian off the lotus throne.”

“There was a time when Wen Ruohan once believed in sweetening his words; now he believes only in breaking bones.” Nie Popo spoke with authority. “Anyone who trusts his promises is a fool. Anyone who underestimates him is a bigger fool. He’s stopped his expansion for a reason, but I am not inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.” She turned to her grandson. “I agree that we must aid the Lan and the Wei sects, but make no mistake, even a minor strike against Pingyang Yao will be enough of an excuse for Wen Ruohan to stir from his nest.”

There was a long silence as everyone considered her words. Eventually, Nie Mingjue stood up, followed quickly by his brother and grandmother.

“Sooner or later, he will come for us all. I prefer that such a war be on our own terms.” He turned to face Yanli and Lan Qiren. “Give us ten days to recover and rest. Then we go fetch your errant disciples.” He said the last with a small grin, but then turned to Jin Zixuan. “We welcome the assistance of the Jin in this endeavor.” He bowed and walked out, the Nie following their leader with grim determination.

Jin Zixuan watched them go, then nodded approvingly. “I think that went well!”

Chapter Text

The days dragged on, and it was excruciating to wait helplessly for other people to get ready to rescue one, if not both, of her brothers. Yanli desperately wanted A’Yao and Second Mother to be by her side, advising her. She felt she was holding her own, and knew that everyone was giving her grace for her age and inexperience, but in the end she was the lone Wei in the building.

Yanli busied herself with negotiating with Nie Popo for Liu Peng’s betrothal to Jiang Wu. They were beside themselves with joy over their impending nuptials, and it raised the morale of everyone for a little bit despite the shadow of Wen Ruohan hanging over the whole of the jianghu. A few more Nie squadrons trickled in from the wilds of Qinghe, battered and traumatized but alive, which also helped morale.

Yanli attended the planning meetings for the Pingyang Yao raid, although she did not feel she had much to contribute. For all that Jin Zixuan had no mind for politics, he was an excellent cultivator, warrior, and tactician, and could meet Nie Mingjue on his own terms in the discussions. They played through various approaches and techniques, but it turned out that Pingyang was tucked up in a unique stretch of rugged mountains which made everything more difficult.

Through it all, no movement was reported from Qishan and    its expanded borders, and no word was received about the fate of Meng Yao and Meng Shi.

At least, not until two days before the Nie-Jin alliance was set to attack the sect home of Pingyang Yao, when everything happened all at once.

A confused looking Jin guard came in while everyone was having lunch in Fragrence Hall, which had been stripped of half its gilt and filled instead with antique vases and art that was no less expensive but far more tasteful, in Yanli’s opinion. The common lunches had happened almost organically, as the planning meetings and diplomatic discussions usually just gently shifted to a less formal conversation, shepherded by observant Jin servants making it happen around them effortlessly.

He handed the message to MianMian, who seemed to hover between being Jin Xixuan’s personal guard and personal advisor. She read it, frowned and then looked over at Yanli.

“It’s for you.” She looked doubtful and suspicious, though.

“You doubt its veracity?”

“I’m not sure. Didn’t you say that your second mother’s name is Meng Shi?”

Yanli’s heart soared and she stood up. “Yes!”

“A family of merchants has secured lodgings in town. The Meng family from Yunping. They claim they are vassals of the Yiling Wei sect.”

Liu Peng anxiously ran over to MianMian, took the note from her hands, then sped over to give it to Yanli.

Please deliver this to Sect Leader Wei Yanli with our most filial regards. The Meng merchant family of Yunping is staying at the Wandering Clouds Inn and would like to let our Sect Leader know that we have completed our travels safely and prosperously. We await her wise counsel on further travel.

Meng Furen

Yanli clutched at the sparse words in her hands, only realizing that Nie Mingjue was very indecorously reading over her shoulder when he spoke.

“That is A’Shi’s handwriting.” The expression on his face was so soft and relieved that Yanli did not have the heart to chastise him for his rudeness.

“Stop hanging off of Sect Leader Wei like a child begging for treats!” Nie Popo snapped, clearly not as affected by his pining as Yanli was. Nie Mingjue literally jumped a bit and scurried back to his seat, his brother laughing openly at him.

“Did she mention Xiao Niao? Meng Yao? Jiang Yimin?” Liu Peng asked, Jiang Minhao behind her looking sternly stressed.

Yanli shook her head. “She is being cautious.” She handed the note to her. “Take this to Jiang Wu and have him bring them here.” She turned to Madam Jin. “I’m afraid we will have to infringe upon your hospitality a bit more.”

“Of course. Your family is welcome here.” Madam Jin nodded gracefully.

Which was when Yanli realized she had just invited one of Jin Guangshan’s mistresses into the heart of Koi Tower.

“Ah. May we have a private discussion?” She looked at Jin Zixuan. “Your son should join us.”

Madam Jin was sharp as the knives she carried, and realized something was up. With a snap of her wrist she indicated that both Yanli and Jin Zixuan were to join her. Jiang Minhao moved to follow, but Yanli shook her head.

When they arrived at a small study that obviously belonged to Madam Jin or perhaps one of her high-ranking secretaries, Yanli took a deep breath.

“I have withheld this information as I was not sure how long we would be here. But with Second Mother on her way, it is important that you know.”

Madam Jin closed her eyes with a pained expression while Jin Zixuan just looked confused.

“Go ahead,” Madam Jin said after a long moment.

“Second Mother, Meng Shi, was a well respected courtesan in Yunping. My betrothed, Meng Yao is her son.” She cleared her throat. “You might find that he and your son share…ah, share some physical features.”

Jin Zixuan gasped like a maiden reading a ribald poem, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Seneschal Meng? Him? He’s my brother?”

Madam Jin was warring with something deep as she stared at Yanli.

“We will leave if you request. I would not rest well knowing that we have infringed on your rights as Jin Furen of Koi Tower. But I feel that I must stress that A’Yao is my betrothed. He will be Consort Meng of the Yiling Wei, my left hand and my closest advisor. He is no threat to your power, here.” The last she said to Jin Zixuan.

His expression had closed off as she talked. He shook his head, but she did not know what he meant. He turned to his mother. “Father is dead. This is my brother coming here. Surely he is not the only one?”

She folded her hands in front of her. “I do not know, but probably not. My interest was simply to keep them away from you, from us.”

He took a deep breath, then turned back to Yanli. “My brother and his mother—your betrothed and close advisor, and your second mother—are welcome here. I would ask you, Sect Leader Wei, to allow me to claim him as a step-brother. He will have no right to inherit, but surely, it would serve our sects well to be related by blood?” He bowed as one sect leader asking a favor of another.

Maybe he wasn’t half bad at politics after all? Yanli lifted him from his bow. Behind him, Madam Jin’s expression had turned to stone, but tellingly, she did not try to stop him, or counter his request.

“I agree, it would serve both our sects. However that is his choice to make. I will abide by what he decides, but honestly I will encourage him to accept.” She turned to Madam Jin. “Meng Shi is an intelligent woman. I doubt she will stir the waters with you.”

Madam Jin tipped her head. “See that she doesn’t, Sect Leader Wei.” She walked out.

Jin Zixuan’s face scrunched up as she left. “I apologize for her rudeness.”

“I accept and forgive. I am sure it will be a sore subject for a while yet.” An understatement, no doubt, but Yanli hoped that eventually Madam Jin would let go of her resentments.

He nodded slowly. She let him rest in the silence for a moment, but before she could make her own way out, he squared his shoulders.

“Do you think I have other siblings out there?”

Yanli kept a firm hold on her expression, trying to radiate sympathy. “I do, Sect Leader Jin. I am sorry to say that from what second mother has told me, and what I have heard over the years, he sowed his seed broadly and irresponsibly. I respect your willingness to accept Meng Yao as your brother, but what will you do about others who show up on your doorstep?”

“They will not need to,” he said firmly. “I will find them. It is our honor at stake. The Jin will make amends for my father’s licentiousness.” He squared his shoulders and set his jaw like he had just declared war.

“Some might claim relation who have none.”

He grimaced. “No doubt. But surely there are ways to prove it. I will have our master spellcasters and talisman makers solve this problem.”

“Oh. Uhm. Hmmmm.” Yanli wavered. He glanced at her shrewdly, and she could not tell if it was the Jin or the Yu in him. She sighed. “Wei Ying created a talisman to track his brother, based on their blood relation. I have no doubt if you asked him he could modify it to meet your needs.” It wasn’t as if Wei Ying had not already considered it, or as if A’Yao had not already decided to use such a tool, if Yanli let him.

He bowed again. “We will pay handsomely for his services.”

Which…well, that was something to consider. Her nascent sect would need an income, and licensing and selling talisman designs and spiritual tools was a good way to create one. She had wanted to sell Wei Ying’s designs from the start of their time in Yiling, and maybe now it was finally an option.

At least, once they got him back, safe and alive.

Anxious to welcome at least part of her family returning to her, Yanli made a polite, if quick, goodbye and departed. Jiang Minhao slid into step with her and they returned to their quarters to find Liu Peng ordering Jin servants around like she herself of Jin Furen. Walls were shifted and the rooms both expanded and multiplied, beds brought in, seating areas enlarged.

Yanli stood by, trying not to twist her fingers together. Soon…soon…

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Yanli braced herself as Liu Peng slid the main door open. The next moment she was flying into Meng Shi’s arms with a sob. Yanli was the taller of the two, but she felt so small being held tightly by the mother she had claimed for herself.

“Shhh, daughter, shhhh.” Meng Shi pet her head.

Yanli eventually pulled herself together and looked around. Jiang Yimen was in a wheelchair, being fussed over by both Jiang Minhao and Jiang Wu. Xiao Niao was already tucked in the arms of Liu Peng, who was cooing at him. Several other people were there, including a few that Yanli recognized as Jiang disciples…or perhaps former Jiang disciples, now. She looked and looked, but A’Yao was…he was not there.

“Second Mother?” Yanli tightened her grip on Meng Shi’s arms, panic welling up inside her chest.

Meng Shi shook her head, looking away with glossy eyes.

“He saved us,” Jiang Yimin spoke up. “He saved us by luring the Wen away in a river village we passed though.” He stopped and glanced at Jiang Wu before continuing. “That was the last we saw of him.”

Chapter Text

Yanli was on a daybed as everyone around her tried to act like they were not panicking. She had not passed out, but her knees had gone weak, and Jiang Minhao had scooped her up and put her on the daybed faster than Yanli could complain about it.

Meng Shi was on a stool next to her, holding her hand and looking worried.

“Second Mother,” Yanli said, meaning to go on, but failed.

“I believe he is alive,” she replied without preamble. “He is a survivor. Remember that he spent months hiding from Jin assassins after his father threw him out.”

Assassins that his father, or perhaps even a Jin elder, had sent. Madam Jin had not recognized Meng Shi’s name, so it was doubtful that she had been the one to try and kill A’Yao. Either way, they had not succeeded. She took solace in that.

“Like Lan Wangji, he likely tried to pull the Wen off our trail by giving them a better one to follow.” Meng Shi squeezed Yanli’s hand. “He will find his way to us.”

Yanli nodded. She had to believe it was true.

“Jiang Yimin, I am glad to see you.”

He bowed from the wheelchair. “I am pleased to have been able to return to my sect leader, if a little…encumbered.”

“Will you recover?”

“Enough to serve my sect.”

Jiang Wu rolled his eyes. “She gets the point, Shidi.” He looked at Yanli. “He will walk, but likely with a limp. If it had not been for Seneschal Meng’s quick thinking, he would have lost the leg.” The words sunk the mood even lower, and everyone looked to her, but she had nothing inspirational to say. But perhaps she could redirect things, if only to give herself time to regroup.

“Jiang Yimin, has Jiang Wu told you of his betrothal?”

Jiang Yimin sat up abruptly. “What? What?!??! No! Shixiong!” He twisted around to yell at Jiang Wu. Liu Peng covered her face to hide her embarrassed laughter.

Yanli let them squabble good-naturedly while she sat there, thinking. There were fewer people in the room than a minute ago.

“Where are the guests you brought with you?”

“Madam Meng sent them to the secondary quarters while we tended to you,” Liu Peng said.

“I thought I saw Jiang Ma.”

Jiang Yimin straightened up in his wheelchair again. “Yes, Sect Leader. We came upon them in Buhezhen, and they recognized me.” He paused, glancing at Jiang Wu and Jiang Minhao. “They claim to have defected from Jiang Fengmian. Jiang Ma said they had not decided where to go, or which sect to beg for shelter. Uh, his words, not mine.”

Jiang Ma had served Sect Leader Jiang for decades. He had been a feature of the wharf at Lotus Pier her whole life, a jovial man who took his job seriously. Yanli found it hard to believe he would simply turn on him so conveniently. But without A’Yao’s keen insight, she was not sure what to make of them.

Although…

“Jiang Wu. I have a mission for you.”

He stepped forward and bowed. “This one is at your disposal, Sect Leader.”

“Go to the Jiang who claim to have defected. Tell them they can join the Nie-Jin assault on Pingyang Yao, or leave Lanling Jin territory. If they volunteer, they open the door to possibly joining Yiling Wei; if they leave, they will be considered rogue cultivators henceforth.”

“Sect Leader is wise. I will record their responses for your review.” He bowed and swiftly left.

With that done, she had another moment to unspool her thoughts. She held out her arms to Jiang Minhao, who had been holding Xiao Niao—the youngest, and presumably last, of Jin Guangshan’s offspring. She felt a little guilt about not admitting that to Jin Zixuan, but on the surface the baby was Jiang Fengmian’s heir, which was the only flimsy excuse she had for keeping him under her care. She was undecided on the matter and mentally made a note to discuss it with Meng Shi later, in private.

The baby looked bigger and healthier, and Yanli marveled at how fast babies change. She patted his face and he blinked up at her, stretching out his free hand to grab a finger with a short “ah!” of triumph. After a long moment just enjoying his simple presence, she looked up again.

“In two days we march for Pingyang Yao to retrieve A’Cheng and Lan Xichen, and possibly Ying’er if he’s made it there. Jiang Yimin, Liu Peng: you are staying behind to tend to and protect both Second Mother and Xiao Niao. Be prepared to take in Meng Yao if he arrives, as well. I will leave word with Madam Jin—ah, with her staff that he might be on his way.”

Meng Shi raised an elegant eyebrow, very effectively conveying “I am so very interested in hearing about how all this went down with Madam Jin” without saying a word.

“You will be going with the forces, Sect Leader?” Liu Peng asked nervously.

“Yes. Perhaps it is unwise; I am no fighter. But in talking to Nie Huaisang about it, I realized that I need to show myself as a sect leader who will not hide behind my womanly skirts. I will be in charge of the logistics, including food and medical, which is no small thing.”

Meng Shi gave her a thoughtful nod. “In the past it wasn’t uncommon for smaller sect leaders to be in charge of logistics like that during wartime.”

She nodded back at her. “Exactly. There is precedence.” She felt her smile slip into a smirk. “I see you have been reading up on official sect histories.”

Meng Shi huffed and looked away, although her cheeks went a delicate pink. Yanli laughed and the others chuckled.

“Enough about me,” Meng Shi said, focusing intently on Liu Peng. “I must hear more about this betrothal.” Her statement was heavy with the expectation that it had been negotiated in Yiling Wei’s favor, and Liu Peng went bright red.

It was a pleasant day spent with family, and while Yanli’s heart was wrenching with anxiety about A’Yao’s fate, she tried to enjoy the present moment while she could. Soon enough, her small family and sect would be torn apart yet again.

The full force heading to Pingyang Yao was well over 3,000, including 264 cultivators who were mostly senior disciples of the Nie and Jin. The rest were seasoned soldiers. Their numbers only slightly outmatched the total size of Pingyang Yao, but completely outclassed them in skills and experience. And, of course, Nie Mingjue would be riding Baxia at the head of the army, carrying the Yin Sabre on his back.

It was more than just a rescue mission, Nie Popo explained; it was a message to Wen Ruohan. It was meant to show that the remaining great sects would not bow to him and would crush his allies. Yanli understood the political maneuvering, but since it was her sect and her brothers at the heart of this particular “message,” she was extra cautious.

They departed just as dawn broke over the horizon. The trip was five days in good weather by horseback, but an army and its support caravan would take seven days at least. Since there was no point in trying to hide such numbers, two days earlier, Jin Zixuan had sent official messengers ahead with a demand that Sect Leader Yao surrender, along with a separate missive ordering Jin Zixun to return to Koi Tower or face the consequences of his sect leader’s displeasure. Given that his sect leader and all of his advisors were already displeased, it was mostly for show, or so Yanli assumed.

The messengers, who had traveled by sword, had not returned. No one was willing to admit just how bad an omen that was.

The trip was not the luxury caravan Yanli had enjoyed with Nie Huaisang when they traveled towards Tangshan. Yanli alternated between riding a placid mare and sitting next to wagon drivers as they steered, mostly because she was years out of practice in the saddle. The roads of Lanling were well kept up, but that only lasted until they left the main thoroughfares. As the rolling hillside shifted to steeper, harder terrain, Yanli had to remind herself that this was her place now: with her sect, with her allies.

Jin Minhao had stayed behind with Jiang Yimin to be the honor guards for Meng Shi and, by extension, Liu Ping and Xiao Niao. Likewise, both Nie Popo and Nie Huaisang had stayed behind, reluctantly in Nie Popo’s case, in order to keep an eye on (and a thumb in) the politics. Lan Qiren had made it clear he was not being left behind, and ten of the disaffected Jiang disciples had joined the army (only three had decided to go rogue). With Jiang Wu and Yanli, it made a grand showing of twelve for Yiling Wei. It could be worse, she mused.

A thought she regretted when they finally made it to the border of Pingyang territory.

Yanli had been near the front, talking to one of the wagon drivers about the road ahead, as he had travelled it often on Jin business. When Baxia stopped, though, everyone stopped, and after a moment of silent confusion in the ranks, Yanli spurred her mare forward to see what was going on.

The territory marker was burned black, the stone dark and sooty as if it had been in the middle of a funeral pyre.

She found Jin Zixuan off his mount, crouched over the road marker but not touching it. Nie Mingjue had dropped down off of Baxia and was glaring at the marker suspiciously. As she studied it, she could understand way. The damage was bizarre and unusual, given that it was set next to a road and near a forest line that showed no evidence whatsoever of a recent fire. It was just a charred black mound of rock incongruously sitting in the open.

“What has happened?” Yanli asked, keeping it open ended. Maybe they saw something in the situation she didn’t.

“I have no idea,” Jin Zixuan said, sounding like he was shocked by that fact.

“Wen.” Nie Mingjue’s voice was tight with anger.

Yanli moved her mare closer to the marker. It still stood solid in the ground, a large piece of granite with the name “Pingyang Yao” carved deeply into one polished side. Or, what used to be polished. It looked more like a piece of charcoal than granite, and she half expected it to crumble when Jin Zixuan eventually tapped it with his sword’s scabbard. There was a poof of black dust, but it did not collapse.

“But Pingyang Yao are allies with the Wen?” She looked over at Nie Mingjue. Next to him, Nie Zonghui grimaced.

“Sect Leader Wen is not known for being considerate to his allies. If Sect Leader Yao did something to make him mad…” Nie Zonghui trailed off, glancing at his sect leader, who glowered but kept silent. Lan Qiren circled the marker.

“Wen Ruohan is a petty, cruel tyrant. This could simply be a warning to us, a show of force to tell us how far his power reaches. Or it could indicate punishment for Sect Leader Yao, who is a pompous ass and talked himself in to a corner.” Lan Qiren clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s a message of some kind, either way.”

All the men kept staring at the burned rock for a while, sometimes grunting or waving a hand around in a masculine form of unspoken communication that meant nothing to Yanli. Eventually, she cleared her throat.

“The longer we delay, the less road we will travel.”

They all jumped in surprise, as if they had forgotten she was there, but nodded in agreement and quickly returned to their mounts

Word of the burned marker had traveled the length of the caravan by the time she returned to her spot next to one of the wagons. The march forward was subdued as they rolled past the marker, everyone trying to decipher what it meant.

Whatever the case, she knew the burned marker was a bad sign. Yanli was as scared of Wen Ruohan as the rest of them, but that fear paled in comparison to the terror in her heart concerning her brothers. Where were they, and were they safe?